#he's described as having a large beak like nose and i just | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

britishassistant · 4 years ago

Note

The multiple Yuus' suffering won't end yet.

I feel like Villain! Yuu and Villainous Paranoiac! Yuu are similar personality-wise but do you mind switching them too?

I can imagine them sleeping with one eye open in their new world, cuz they don't trust anyone.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

You cover your nose and mouth to muffle your breathing as best you can.

Costumed adults run past your hiding place, crouched behind a series of pipes. They’re boiling hot, feeling like they could burn through your thin pajama sleeves even though you’re trying to keep your distance from them while staying concealed.

“Princess? Oh, little Princess? Come out, come out, wherever you are~” The voice of the older woman who tried to kill you when you woke up croons. You can see her shadow on the wall next to you.

Your lip curls involuntarily at the nickname, and you hunch down further into yourself.

“Are you sure we wanna do this?” The other man asks. “If the Night Raven finds out about this...”

“He won’t.” The woman snaps. “Not if we do this properly. That pampered little brat needs to die. If it’s another one of those annoying alternate versions, killing this one means there’ll be no way for our version to switch back here. If it’s a de-aged version, then even better. Either way, we’ll finally be free of that weak, pathetic pushover of an employer. Now go check over there!”

“R-right!”

You watch as their shadows move across the wall, until they vanish as their owners exit through the doors on the other side of the room.

You bite the skin on the side of your thumb. You thought this place was where that...reporter version of you came from, and that you were in the lair of one of the seven supervillains you met before, but everything you’ve seen and heard so far runs counter to that hypothesis. None of them were using the whole clockwork and steam motif that this place is decorated with, and the way those...minions? were talking, it sounds like a version of you is the one running this place.

And not very well, judging by the employee dissatisfaction.

You want to just curl up and stay hidden behind these pipes forever, but the longer you stay here, the more likely it is you’ll be cornered with no chance to run. Plus the heat’s making your head spin, and you know with your luck you’ll end up burning yourself. Better to get out now while the getting’s good.

You slip out, and go through the door that the two minions came from, peeking around to make sure the coast is clear before darting for the next bit of cover. You wish not for the first time you had shoes to muffle the sound of your bare feet against the rough floor.

You need to find an exit, get out of here as fast as you can. But if you can’t find a way to distract the minions, how long will it be until they just follow you to wherever you try to take sanctuary, just like the Scarabia students did back over winter break?

You’re in an even worse spot that you were then. At least then, you had Grim with you.

Here? You’re all alone. Defenseless.

Your right ankle twinges again, making you stumble and clip a bunch of nearby boxes. You frantically need to spread your arms to catch the boxes so the crash of them falling over doesn’t alert any of the security.

And injured. Can’t forget your overblot injuries.

You’re already panting after running for only a few minutes, your lungs burning in your chest. Nurse Kamac told you you’d find physical exertion much harder now, but it’s one thing to hear it and another thing entirely to feel how much effort it takes to do things you used to be able to do with ease, how much your body protests against the one advantage you used to have, how much more useless you are now.

You slump at a corner, sweat beading on your brow. Your vision is swimming, and your knees feel unsteady under you.

Something liquid and hot is sliding down your collarbone. You think your throat is bleeding again.

“Kreek?”

You yelp, tripping over your own feet at the sound, hitting the ground with a hard thud. You whip your head around to find the source of the noise.

There is a huge crow perched on a pipe above you.

It’s massive. Are birds allowed to get that big?

It tilts its head at you, before taking off from its perch and fluttering down to land next to you, hopping a few steps closer.

“H-hey, nice birdie...” You rasp. Then, recalling something the minions said earlier, you venture, “...Are you the Night Raven?”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then the crow erupts into a raucous, croaking squawks that sound suspiciously like laughter.

You purse your lips, running a hand through your sweaty bangs. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It’s not like I’ve been sent to a whole other world again or anything, and whoever this ‘Night Raven’ is seems to be the only thing between me and those guys who think killing me will ensure some supervillain also ends up dead. Because of course they do, that’s just how my life is, it’s not like I don’t already know my birth was enough of a mistake. Ugh.”

You drop you head onto your knees and squeeze your eyes shut tight. You’re tired. You’re sore.

You just wanna wake up back in your bed at Ramshackle with Grim cuddled up next to you, muttering about tuna, and have all of this be some horrible nightmare.

You flail at the feeling of a series of sharp pinches on your good shoulder and a heavy, warm weight unbalancing you. “Hey, what the—!”

The crow croaks at you from its new perch on your shoulder, looking both mildly annoyed and unphased by your floundering. You jerk as it’s wickedly sharp beak darts forward and—!

Closes around a section of your mussed up bangs?

The bird pulls your hair back into place as best it can, tugging hard on your scalp as it repeats the process until it’s satisfied you’ve been groomed enough.

It is one of the weirdest experiences you’ve ever undergone. And you’ve played in a Heartslaybul crocket match.

The crow pushes off your shoulder, smacking you in the face with one of it’s wings in the process. It lands on another set of pipes some distance away and turns back to look at you. It caws in a distinctly impatient tone when you don’t immediately follow it.

You weigh your options. On the one hand, it could be leading you into a trap, and you’ll end up dead, though that doesn’t explain why it would try to groom you. You also don’t know your way around this place, and ignoring the bird could lead to it making even more noise as it attempts to get your attention again, which would alert your pursuers and get you killed even faster.

“So I’m following birds now. It’s official. I’ve finally lost it.” You mutter to yourself, pushing yourself shakily to your feet, and counting yourself lucky your vision only goes fuzzy once when you’re upright.

The crow guides you through the...lair is the only word suitable for it. It has a knack for landing on areas that will allow you to take some cover should some of the minions looking for you pass by, hissing whenever it wants you to stay put, and giving that same impatient caw once it’s time to move on again.

It’d be nice if that system could be foolproof.

Unfortunately, as you’re running past a doorway that you thought was clear, you hear a cry of, “HERE! THEY'RE HERE!! THE IMPOSTER IS OVER HERE!!”

You curse, and make yourself run faster, trying to ignore how it pulls the ridged scars along your left thigh and hip and your sudden shortness of breath. You can’t afford to acknowledge that right now, especially when you yelp as actual gunfire erupts behind you and real, genuine bullets whiz past your head to embed themselves in the stacked boxes near you.

The crow has the same idea, taking off to fly just ahead of you, soaring into the faces of any minions who try to cut off the path it’s leading you down with sharp talons and beak at the ready.

You follow it to a huge room, slamming the large double doors shut behind you.

You shove back against them as the doors jump when your pursuers collide with it. Your breath is coming in harsh pants as you fumble with the bolt and padlock, barely clicking it shut before the entrance is forced open.

You stumble away, blindly colliding with a desk and hitting the floor as you desperately and feebly try to suck in air that your lungs can’t seem to inhale, your breaths getting shallower and and more panicked as your vision fuzzes out again. You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe—

A loud cry erupts above you, and you faintly see dark shapes descend down on you, feeling dozens of sharp pinches on your upper body, the force of what feels like dozens of dozens of wings dragging your upper body up and back until you’re leaning upright against something and there’s a monumental. warm, fluffy weight against your chest, alternating between getting heavier and lighter, forcing it to expand and contract in intervals of four seconds under it.

It takes a while, but eventually, your hyperventilating finally, finally stops, as you carefully and slowly suck in grateful lungfuls of oxygen and your eyesight gradually returns.

Then you have to blink hard.

You are covered in what you think Epel would describe as a metric fuckton of birds.

They’re all staring at you, some of them picking at your pajamas, others making a caw-like noise that can only be best described as a worried peep.

You lift a hesitant hand to try and maybe shoo some of them off, only for your heart to melt as one of them honest-to-Seven nudges into your palm, like it wants you to pet it or something.

You wonder if the supervillain version of you trained them to do this. If so, at least they did one thing right, because Great Seven this is adorable.

The monsterous crow who led you here lands next to you, squawking and flapping its wings indignantly. The black birds gradually hop off you at this display, much to your subtle disappointment.

“Alright, alright, I’m up.” You grumble, shakily pulling yourself to your feet. “Now what Crow?”

The leader of the birds lands on top of the desk you hit earlier, tapping on some sheets of paper with its beak. You pull them towards you, trying to puzzle out what you’re seeing. It looks like some kind of...schematic? For a water-powered machine that seems to be the power source of a death ray or something. What’s most interesting though is the part of the plans with a section labelled ‘self destruct’ near the top of the construction.

“Okay, so this going boom would make for a good distraction so I could escape.” You chew at your nail. “But now I’ve got to find where it is so I can do that...”

The crow pecks at your other hand. When you pull it away, it shoots you an unimpressed glare and turns around.

You lift your head and follow where it’s looking.

There, along the back wall of this huge room, sits an absolute behemoth of metal and glass surrounded by scaffolding, a huge clear water tank like the one in the plans already filled to the brim and gurgling with movement.

Oh.

You purse your lips at the Crow, which is still shooting you an unimpressed glare. “In my defense, I was kind of having too much trouble trying to keep those guys out, and then breathing to really notice...that.”

It laughs at you again.

There’s a percussive boom from the doors, all the birds taking off and circling with warning squawks.

You push off of the desk as you dash towards the machine, trying to ignore how you want to flinch as several more booms follow the first one. You grab the scaffolding and frantically pull yourself up, trying to climb as fast as you can. If you can just reach the top before they break through—!

There’s an ear-splitting explosion as the doors fly open.

“THERE! THERE THEY ARE!! STOP THEM!!”

You shriek as the gunfire starts again, the need to climb, to get away warring with the instinct to try curling up as small as you can so you’re less of a target.

Your footing slips when you jump to grab the last ledge, leaving you to desperately grab onto the scaffolding with your bad arm. You whimper at how the rounded scars on your shoulder scream in protest at taking almost all your weight, the blackened bite mark on your elbow throbbing with pain like a second heartbeat.

You feel a flare of agony in your right thigh that makes you almost lose your grip. You whine through your teeth as you grab onto the metal and heave yourself up and over, rolling away from the ledge and curling up so your attackers can’t hit you.

“Cease fire! Cease fire you idiots! You’ll break the tank!!”

It takes you a second to realize that you’re curled around the circular podium where the schematics said the self-destruct button was mounted.

“Come down, Princess!” The older woman’s voice floats up to you. “You don’t know what you’re doing up there, do you? There’s nowhere left for you to run. Just be a good little nepotist and come face your fate with some dignity. I swear to you it’ll be quick.”

You grit your teeth as you haul yourself up. “Fat chance.”

You can see her at the head of the pack now, scoffing as her face twists with hate. “Typical. Bloody typical isn’t it? Even the other version of you was an ungrateful little shit, but at least it knew when to keep its head down and listen to its betters. It’s galling to be demoted to working under an imposter, a fake human like that thing!! Spending all its time with birds and playing around with those stupid civilians, hah! You’re no better than an animal! Just a dumb little pet that the Night Raven thought would be funny to give a title and call his ‘heir’!! A disgrace to the pursuit of villainy and evil!!”

“Are you sure about that?”

You take far too much delight in the way she pales as she sees your hand hovering over the self-destruct button.

“H-hold on princess,” She babbles, reaching a futile hand up. “W-we can talk about this, just don’t—”

“Shut. Up.” You growl. “If you wanted a heroic little fairytale princess to terrorize, you picked the worst person you could.”

“‘Cause me? I’m the damn wicked witch.”

You slam you fist down on the button.

There’s a wailing of alarms as the structure below you shakes. Tons upon tons of water bursts out of the machine.

The woman can’t even scream as the flood swallows her.

The crows caw wildly above your head, and you tear your eyes away to see the largest one leading the flock in flapping around a ladder leading to a hatch in the roof. You stagger over to it, your hands almost slipping off the metal rungs several times.

You push hard on the metal hatch and breath in the cold, dry air of the outside, the rough stony roof feeling like it’s cutting into your feet. You can still hear the alarms blaring as you close the hatch again after the last of the birds have flown out.

You’re tired. So tired. Your eyesight is going blurry again and the right leg of your pajamas feels uncomfortably wet, giving off little pulses of agony that has you whimpering.

“Hey, Crow?” Your voice sounds very far away. “I think I’mma pass out now.”

The world tilts sideways before everything goes black.

#ask #twisted wonderland #twst #villainous paranoiac yuu #harrassed villain yuu au #supervillain au #the supervisor #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #a.k.a #yuu has a the worst time #the worst #diavolo the crow #villainous paranoiac yuu would make a much better villain than their counterpart #meanwhile the supervillain version straightens from where they’re failing to terroize high schoolers #why do I feel like something of mine just got destroyed again

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plush-rabbit · 4 years ago

Text

The King with Golden Eyes

Warnings: Noncon, Dubcon, Implications of drugging/hypnosis Word Count: 5.4K A/N: I took liberties with his appearance and what ~powers~ he has, its kinda heavy?? idk

There’s a heavy weight against your neck. Tight and thick, a necklace of chains pushing you into the mattress, making your color deepen, darkening and veins pulsing and your body reacts before your mind, or your mind reacts before your body- you’re not entirely sure- and your heels dig into the mattress, harsh, ugly wheezing that sounds past your clenched teeth, your hands shaking and fingers flexing in the air, a crazed dance as they grab hold of whatever is on your neck, and tighten their hold, nails digging into something soft and silky. It finally registers to you that you can open your eyes, that the consuming darkness is because you have kept your eyes closed due to the horror that is of restricted air. But opening your eyes only adds to the horror.

The room is dark, shadows casted from the moonlight stretch into different shades and lengths against your room but what catches your eyes are the ones above you. Glittering in gold, unblinking and wide, peering into you with curiosity. Wide and innocent as whatever it is lays above you, weight against their hands as they choke you.

You cry and you beg for your life to be spared, vision spotting with a black that cannot be explained as it spreads like a dying film, burning against your vision and you cling desperately to the silk against your neck, arching your back and unable to push the person above you. You open your mouth to scream and a hand slaps your mouth. It makes your teeth rattle and ache and you can taste a faint hint of blood on your tongue.

Your room spins and memories blur, burning like film, spots clouding over faces as you take your final breaths. Your room, once smelling of citrus and peonies, is replaced by something richer, something that lays heavy above it, sophisticated and minty, sweet on your nose and stinging to your eyes.

“Please,” you whisper against the palm, trying to swallow the spit that has pooled in your mouth, trying to keep it from bubbling past the corners of your lips. You hold on tighter to the hand, your movements grow weaker, heels and kicks losing their kick as you succumb to the lack of breath. Your vision grows bleary, the deep weight against your chest growing heavy, thoughts subsiding as fog moves in, piercing, glowing eyes that look into you and as your hands slip from the silk, sliding past the wrist and onto the soft curve of your chest. Your breaths grow weaker, a mere breeze compared to the deep, ragged ones before, vision flickering in and out and your final thought is nothing tangible, incorporeal and enough to make your head hurt.

As if waiting for you to give up, the hands leave your neck. They slide down and cup your hands, the soft fabric gentle against your hands as they hold them tenderly, flipping them over and tracing the lines over your palms with such ease.

Breath is slow to return to you. Your body and mind in too much pain, too much awareness and lack of cognitive thinking that you lay still on the bed, your hands heavy and they slip an inch, only to be held tighter, in a grip that makes you whine under your breath, heading moving in a slow shake and your lips mouth soundless words of denial.

Your eyes are closed and beside you, something dips, the space under your sides deepening and there’s a flash of light that glows behind your closed eyelids. Something dark flashes across your closed vision, making a gruelly shadow appear over your body. The color in your face lessens, returning to your normal shade as you lay under your attacker.

You try to collect your thoughts. There is nothing that comes to mind and everything comes to mind and it’s all too much, filling you with such a terrible headache that you truly did wish you had died. Limbs heavy and carressed by whoever is above you, fingers that dance below your wrist in a walts and stop short of the crook of your elbow, watching as your skin pulses and twitches under and the eyes burn holes into your skin.

“Do you know who I am?” The voice says in a whisper. You can hear him sigh in displeasure. The hand on your arm moves and rests against your neck, fingers poised as they press down and search for your pulse, feeling it light underneath their fingertips. “You’re still alive. I see no reason why you have the audacity to not answer a simple question.”

“No,” you choke out below a whisper. “I don’t.”

The hand leaves your neck, a soft caress as it moves across your skin and lifts into the air. You aren’t ready to open your eyes and deal with whatever it is that you have to deal with. You aren’t ready to see your attacker linger above you in all their intensity and ferocity. You don’t think you can handle whatever is above you.

“I have many names,” the person says in a slow, tantalizing voice. “Names that vary from region to region-” you slowly begin to open your eyes, brows furrowing when light meets your vision- “names that people worship or curse under their breath-” it gets easier to breathe with each passing breath- “names that most confuse for what it is they are trying to seek-” you take a sharp gasp and close your eyes, blinking them slowly as the person above you ficuses in- “for now, you may call me Overhaul.”

You look above you and once again, you are unable to breathe. Above you sits a creature, beak fused where his nose and mouth should be, the beak plated in magenta and gold, gold that glistens from the lamp and is polished and smooth, not a single scratch against it. Golden eyes peer down at you, glistening and following your every movement, tracing down your face and tilting his head as he reaches your lips, gloves on hands, white and pure, pristine and clean against the creature. He wears a dark green cloak that wraps and covers his body, sheer and thick material that spins around and wraps around his body and a mix of fur and feathers that form against the collar and tuft out in all directions, brushing against his pale skin that is unblemished. Slowly, a glove is removed, pinched between the beak and letting the fabric fall onto your chest. His hand is large, fingers slender and fluttering against the air. Scale-like gold sticks to his skin, flickering out as it nears his cheeks and grouping together the closer it gets to his ears, getting lost underneath his auburn hair.

A pale hand reaches towards you, slender fingers that reach out with nails that are stretched and sharpened, claws that tap against your flesh, black, inky paint that decorate them is bold against you. The hand is cold to the touch, making you flinch against him, nails piercing your skin and his head tilts, golden eyes wide as they watch scarlet beads against his claws, and he pushes himself forward, the tip of his beak is a soft brush against your lips.

“Such a pretty mortal,” he murmurs, his hand leaving your face, watching his index intently as your blood stills on his finger, bright against the inky darkness. “So fragile and delicate-” his eyes flickering back to yours- “so naive and doltish.” His tone is soft, words whispered in a single breath, condescending and making you flinch as he reaches for you again. He sighs and rises from his position above you, the bed silent as he slithers off, raising his arms over his head, the mix of fur and feathers on his coat brushing against his ears, eyes coming to a close. You watch with fear, hands gripped tightly on your blanket, your neck still too tight and much too warm, the weight of his hand still lingers. “Do you know what loneliness feels like?” He asks, cracking his neck- loud and unforgiving and it makes a sinking feeling in your stomach deepen when you realize what kind of force it must take to crack something of his compared to your own. You fail to answer and he sighs, it’s exhausted and bored, tired like he’s just tired of it all. “Come on, I asked you a question-” he waves a gloved hand around, and you wonder how the fabric doesn’t rip under his claws- “don’t make me repeat myself. I’m not a fan of that.” he has a disgusted look on his face, head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed dangerously and you nod your head. He gives you a raise of his brows, his bare hand flexing against his side, your blood splashing against your floor.

“I-” your voice comes off in a single breath, and you clear your throat, tears springing to your eyes- “I do- I know what loneliness feels like.” It’s such a silly question, so miniscule and something that is only asked and answered when you’re too sleep deprived to realize what you’re really asking, too sleep deprived to know that you’re being vulnerable in a way that really matters.

“No, you don’t,” he corrects, clicking his tongue with a disappointed look in his eyes.

You mimic him, shaking your head, your eyes distant. “No, I don’t,” you whisper.

“How could you-” he says the word like its poison on his tongue- “know what true loneliness is like? You’ve only been alive for a blink of an eyes while I’ve been here since-” his voice trails and there’s an odd spark on them- “since a long time.” He glances back at you and laughs softly, his hand curling over the top of your head and threading his fingers through you. “What is loneliness like to you?”

“I- It’s when you’re cold or uh,” you pause and you can’t seem to find the words to describe what loneliness really is. Have you truly felt it? Have you ever felt the loneliness that he so desperately wants to describe?

He laughs and it’s like the laugh an adult gives to a child, a laugh so pitiful and forced to make someone feel better and he gives it to you. He twists a piece of your hair around his finger, watching strands peek and unfurl with just a simple pull. “Of course you wouldn’t know,” he coos. His voice raises, booming and echoing against your walls and making a picture frame rattle. “You could never understand the loneliness that I felt. The emptiness that swirled in me, made my blood ice cold, fury, a white burning fire that scorched everything in its path-” he sweeps his arms out in front of him- “the solitude and boredom that I felt waking up everyday. The emptiness that made me broken,” his voice falls to a whisper, brows furrowed into a pinch, “an emptiness that won’t ever be fixed no matter how much time passes. One that physically hurts and makes me sick,” he spits out, voice low and menacing. His hands cover his beak, running down the golden grooves, glove against him and sweeping off, his bare hand following in motion and falling against his side. “You’ll never understand what true loneliness is.”

You don’t know if you should apologize to him for assuming that you could know what it is he felt. But there’s also the chance that he would hate your pity, that he would hate to be pitied by a mortal. You’re tired and scared, mind foggy the more that you look at him, the gold on his body shimmering against the dim glow of your lamp and making you squint as you gaze among him. You want to fall asleep, but you’re too terrified to do so, unable to move, unable to respond to his rant about what it means to be lonely.

“But I don’t have to be lonely anymore,” he comments and his hands are wrapped around your forearms. “Do you want to know why?”

You nod your head. “Yes, please.” You don’t want to. You’re too afraid of the answer. There’s only one reason why he would show up to you, why he would make his presence known. His hands tighten around you, pulling taut against your skin and imprinting himself there and his skin burns. It’s cold and freezing, making you wince, fear in the back of your mind that his hand will get stuck against your warmth and it’ll have to be pulled off with little care towards your own safety.

“Because I have you.” He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, something so simple and easy to understand. The fog that settles in your mind turns thick, unable to be rid of and making your eyelids droop, your vision blurring and when you yawn, tears forming and clinging to your lashes when you close your eyes, only to open them and find that his beak gone, replaced by what a human looks like. And slowly the fog dissipates. “I forgot how delicate mortals are to Gods. My apologies, dear.” He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and when his hand comes into view, the claw is filed, a regular nail in its place, black and normal looking and you’re completely terrified.

“I don’t know what to think,” you whisper. You really don’t. There’s too much information to process with a mind that is barely starting to lose its fogginess.

He smiles at you, pleased with your truthfulness. “Of course you don’t.” He sits at the edge of your bed, holding your hand in his. “You see,” he starts off slow, grabbing your finger in his hand, “I am known as Overhaul- ruler of the Underworld- and for far too long I have been alone. Emptiness and loneliness filling me like a disease and infecting every inch of my body with a pain that won’t go away no matter what I do. But-” he curls your finger and rubs over the nail- “one day, I found you.” His smile is twisted, lips stretching upwards, teeth exposed in a cruel joke of a grin, almost wistful and fully bone chilling. “You were gathering flowers for a friend I funeral I believe. You were out in a field, your dress bellowing in the wind, basket in hand and despite the tragic event, you still had this smile- small, like you were remembering the good times that you had with your old neighbor and well- the way you decided to just spend the rest of your days holed up in your room, too distraught over the fragile life of a human- really now, there’s no reason to cry,” he murmurs, wiping away a tear, catching it on his thumb. “They were old- they were going to die eventually. There is no reason to cry over such a fleeting life-” he waves his hand in the air- “now as I was saying, you were just so alone.” he pauses and tilts his head. “Huh,” he breathes, “perhaps you do know what it’s like to be lonely. No one visited you did they? They all tried to comfort you but they didn’t care. You cried over some lady that was meant to die and-” the smile reaches his eyes and it makes them glow- “you were alone. And so was I.” He holds your face in his hands. “But not anymore.”

Tears flood in your eyes, burning and spilling over, slipping into his palms and making your vision blurry. “I don’t want this,” you breathe out, still against his touch. “None of this is making sense and I-” You’re quieted with a hand that covers your mouth.

“See, I’m not asking you. Of course, you wouldn’t understand or it would take you longer. If I had to be honest, I wasn’t exactly thrilled at what you made me feel either, but here we are.” He sucks in a deep breath. “You’ll understand eventually. You’re going to have to.”

“Please O- Overhaul,” his name is thick on your tongue, “I- If you’re the ruler of Underworld then you should be able to have any- someone who isn’t a mortal. Someone with a fragile life and- and-” you don’t know what else to say. You can’t reason with him. As human as he looks right now, you can see the gold that still adorns his skin, the coldness of his body that makes you flinch, his sharp teeth that are too pointed to be human and the way that his eyes remain bright, glowing even in the light.

He clicks his tongue. “I see no reason why I have to look elsewhere when I already made my decision.” His hands grab at your blanket and he pulls it close to him, your bare legs pricking with bumps and he ignores your gasps and attempts to grab at the blanket, yanking it out of your hands with a simple tug. “Like I already said, I’m not looking for your consent with this. I’ve made my decision already and I’m not changing it to some other mortal that isn’t worthy.” The blanket is folded and he raises from the bed, placing the blanket on a spare chair beside your bed. He turns to you, his shoulders squared and the other glove slipping off of his hand and disappearing into the green folds. “I don’t have to threaten you-” he steps towards you, heels clicking against your floor- “I rather not deal with the mess.” He kicks his shoes off and places them in a neat line, coming to straddle you, his knees against your sides. “I’m not a fan of mess so don’t make me do something that will only result in my anger.” He looks down at your bare legs and with a small push of his hand in between your thighs, your legs open, your gown barely covering what is to be hidden from viewers. “You mortals commemorate events, don’t you? Something to show the love between said lovers?”

“Oh god,” you gasp out, chest heaving and your hands coming to cover your eyes.

“Funny,” he chuckles, “but there’s not a god who’s going to meddle in my affairs.” He flashes you a smile, innocent and wide, lips curled over his teeth and eyes closed. “See, I have a habit to be rather intense.” His eyes open and all pleasantries have vanished, leaving a hungry look in his eyes. “Now, I want to make sure that tonight is perfect. It is our first night together after all.”

As if holding a mind of their own, the robes slither off of him in groups, strands and ribbons mixing in and slipping off, the feathers falling down his back and disappearing before they reach the middle of his spine. He is bare above you and he looks intrigued as he stares at you, bottom lip trembling as you mouth an old prayer, not daring to look at whatever is in front of you and he sighs, boredom laced into the air. He grabs your legs, hooking them over his arms and pushing them close to your chest, your core hidden under your underwear.

“I didn’t want to have you less than cognitive during our first time, but if you refuse to look at me, there’s only so much I can do.” The air around electrifies, sizzling and crackling, the pressure rising and making you feel like you’re about to burst until it drops and everything returns to normal, your mind growing heavy and hands slipping down the side of your face, palm face towards the ceiling and fingers curled inwards. “The effects will dull over time but for now-” the beak is solid, strong and sturdy as it brushes against your cheek- “you’ll feel heavy and slightly aware of what your surroundings.”

Your core, once protected by a single piece of cloth, is exposed, meeting the cool air and your body reacts, heat pulsing and flexing against nothing as he runs a hand down the slit, feeling your bundle of nerves tense under the stranger’s attention.

“Please,” you murmur, “I can’t- you can’t-”

“Oh?” Gold flickers out, long lashes fluttering in disbelief. “Is the mortal commanding me now?” He gives you a tired sigh, shaking his head softly. “Little human,” he says gently, “you really have no say in this matter. You see, alongside my loneliness came boredom and nothing quite pleased me the way it should, but I’ve watched you for quite a while at this point and I know how you would go under the blankets and have your hand slip between your folds while you clawed at the bedsheets.” A hand traces against your inner thigh, the feeling soft and ghostly as he continues to talk. “Such a high libido for such a little thing. Always before the dead of night and washing yourself right after- so cute and clean.” He dips his head, the beak barely grazing above your sex and you hear him take in deep breath. “I could always smell your sex. Sp intoxicating and abundant in the air. To be honest, I’m surprised with how long I lasted before I finally came in.”

Your words of plea fall onto deaf ears as a slender digit is pushed inside of you, moving experimentally inside the gummy walls. “Overhaul,” you choke his name out, “please.” Tears fall over the curve of your face and spill onto the pillows as he adds another finger, curling and petting them inside of you, drool pooling in the back of your mouth.

“I was going to kill you. Put you in my realm but then I wouldn’t be able to feel your warmth,” he muses, twitching his fingers inside, head tilting at the soft shucking noises that emit. “I didn’t know humans can get so wet,” he comments, pulling his fingers out, watching in fascination as your essence sticks and breaks apart as he pulls his fingers. “A work of art,” he mumbles, staring at your sex.

His digits are pressed inside of you, slender fingers that move expertly inside, massaging against your gummy walls. Your body reacts to the stimulus, mind fully against it as you let out a sob. Your legs kick out, nudging against his, your hands curling into soft fists where red blooms as you tighten them only to loosen as he presses his fingers deep within you.

“I don’t want this,” you sob, turning your head to look away from him, vision blurring and images dragging around in a lag. “I’ll do anything else, please, just not this.” You let out a shuddering breath, high pitched and shaky, chest heaving as tears spill and sully your face.

His eyes meet yours in a lazy roll of the eyes, a thin brow raised as he holds a hand in the air. “You see,” he starts with a drawl, “as much as I enjoyed your muffled moans, I’m not one to really care about your pleading. So either you shut your mouth or-” his hand flexes turning to a shade of red, dark and pulsing with black lines running through him, thick and thin, twisting and intersecting with the other lines- “I have to show you just how awful I can really be.”

Your eyes widen in fear, feeling the air sizzle around him, practically feeling the power that courses through him. The arm is thick, muscles protruding with claws that mimic the color of his skin, shape and flexing against the air. Snippets of black veins reaching past his beak and coursing through his face in a mask, creasing as he narrows his eyes at you, his beak slowly opening and drool spilling out. You yelp when it touches at your thighs, sizzling and searing into you, your muscles flexing, back arching as you try to kick your leg in a desperate attempt to get the drool off. The monstrous hand is placed against your thigh and wipes the drool off, and you watch as it morphs back into a regular hand. You slowly close your mouth and eyes, nodding your head.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, voice sultry, and his beak stretches, pulling into what you assume to be a grin. His fingers flex inside of you, curling and prodding against your walls, watching your face scrunch up, tears beading against the corners of your eyes as you contract around him, suckling his digits further into your body. “You see, you're already enjoying this.”

The pressure forms quickly. It’s searing hot, budding and blooming in your lower belly, a tight coil as it wraps around and pulls you further, arousal leaking past your lips, making you shine in a pale glow. You grit your teeth, breathing harshly through your nose, rolling your lips in order to keep your cries muffled, your hands clawing against the sheets, twisting them until your wrists hurt, aching and clit pulsing as he continues his assault.

“You’re close, aren’t you? Your scent when you reach your little high is something I won’t forget.” He takes a deep breath or air, head tilted upwards, his beak parting slightly and thin strands of drool roll against the appendage. He comes down with a bob of his head, eyes half lidded and darker. “I’m sure that it feels good, so why don’t you thank me?” You shake your head, biting your bottom lip, whining under him as you try to get a control on your body. “No? You see princess, I’m only being good to you so I can go in easy but you’re already stretched enough. So either you thank me and I let you reach your high or you keep being an ungrateful brat and I’ll make sure that I reach my own high.” The fingers inside of you stop moving, slipping out leisurely.

“No,” you breathe out, clenching at your sex, feeling arousal slip past your quivering hole. You cover your mouth with your hands, brows furrowed and body shaking.

His fingers pinch at your bud and you cry out. “Beg for it.” You give him a horrified look, mouth parting open in disbelief. “Beg for your King to make you feel good-” he leans close to you, beak grazing above your cupid’s bow- “and I promise to make my subject pleased.”

You keep your lips shut tight, eyes pinched together as the headache swirls to a stop, heavy and dull against your frontal lobe, eyes heavy from glancing at him, breaths coming to a shallow, slow stop. The tightness in your belly dissipates, flowing into nothing and leaving you tense. You whine as you feel his hands hold onto your thighs, a soft brushing of his nails, your essence trailed and against your warm skin.

“I suppose you’re going to stay quiet.” He doesn't wait for a reply, grabbing at your legs and pulling you close to him. Your heat is flushed against something rigged, something that is hard and pokes against you. “Shame. But you’ll beg for it in due time-” his beak nuzzles against your neck, the sharp tip pointed against your pulse- “we both know that.”

You’re left breathless as something firm is pushed inside of you, expanding against your walls and filling you deep, a heavy groan that reaches your ears and mixes in with your whines of pain, hands twisting and pulling taut against the sheets, your breath coming out in harsh puffs of air through your nose.

“”S hurts,” you mewl, “Over- Overhaul,” his name breaks against your tongue, “it hurts.” Tears flood your eyes and spill over in heavy, warm trails.

“I did tell you to beg for it and you were the one who denied my offering of pleasuring you-” his breath is warm against your flesh, fanning across you, the beak is solid against you, poised and sharp as it moves against the sensitive area of your neck- “you only have yourself to blame.”

He pushes himself deep against you, hissing through his beak, eyes clenched shut, a hand gliding up to your chest and gripping at a breast painfully, the other coming to hold himself up, palm flat against the bed. You try to squirm away, twisting and turning your body, your words slurring together and getting choked up as he ruts against you. He pushes himself deep, your walls molding and entrance burning with an unfamiliar pain as you’re forced to widen around him, molding into his shape.

“Overhaul, please-” you push against his chest, eyes stinging with fresh tears, throat raw- “I’m sorry. It hurts.”

He coos near your ear, the tip of his beak creating a thin cut that runs below your jawbone. “Now you know better,” he sighs, rolling his hips against yours, the tip of his cock hitting against your cervix. “You see I’ve bred many before you, so-” his voice turns into a soundless moan as he feels your walls tighten- “tell me, do you think you could produce an heir?”

“No,” you gasp, pushing harder against his chest, “please- no.”

“You’ll be a lovely mother,” he praises. “Full of my child and tits full of milk, ah,” he groans, head rising and beak pulled apart, thin and thick strands of clear saliva stretch from the top and bottom beak. “A sow made for breeding.” He makes an attempt at a laugh, rich and broken by cawing. “A beauty all for me.” His beak presses against your lips, the top of his beak presses between your lips, parting them, a slimy, heavy tongue slipping past and filling your mouth, drool forming and spilling between the corners of your lips and when he looks up he has a smug look, brows raised and eyes glinting. “While I’m not a fan of spilled fluids, I must say that the drugged out look suits you nicely,” he comments cooly, hips never slowing as he searches for his release.

“Overhaul,” you sob, your hands falling from his chest and fluttering over your mouth, wincing at the stickiness that is your drool. “I can’t- Too much.” The pain subsides, dulling for a moment as pleasure overtakes, your body choosing to enjoy what the God above you wants, fluttering and tightening around his shaft. You feel as if you’re about to leak, bursting at the seams, your core tight and pulsing, muscles tightening as you can feel the edge of it lap around your sex. “Please-” your eyes roll to the back of your head, your mouth stretching open and you begin to arch your back- “it’s too much,” you wail behind your palms.

“There’s the pretty girl,” he croons, thrusting deeper against you. “Obedient and pretty. What a good little thing.” He continues to move inside of you, cock heavy and flooding you with warmth as clicking sounds fill the room. His eyes come to a close, brows twitching as he reaches his edge, essence dripping past your leaking core and wetting the sheets below. “I can’t wait to see your belly swell,” he says in a gentle voice, the tight grip against your breast releasing and going to curve over your stomach. “It’ll be a sight to see,” he murmurs, head tilting and eyes squishing into what could be a smile that reaches his eyes. “My human-” he slams against you- “filled with my seed-” he twitches his head as he thrusts against you, voice cracking and strained- “what a sight to behold,” he breathes out, stilling above you, warmth flooding inside.

You gasp, closing your eyes and biting the inside of your cheeks as thick discharge floods out of you, warm and filling, pushing deep inside of you until it can no longer fit and sliding out in slimy trails that make your legs twitch and cunt leak. You stay still, turning your head and flinching when his hand caresses your face.

“I’m no longer alone,” he breathes out, and the air around him comes to a still, the air lightening and you’re able to think without your thoughts being pulled and jostled. His lips are soft against yours, an innocent peck against your lips. “And neither are you.”

You look up, tired eyes meeting golden ones that shine and shimmer, glinting and glittering against the dim light, looking at you filled with promise and false love. He smiles delicately at you, body still pressed against yours and face held tenderly. He rests his forehead against yours, the shadow it creates is small and only darkens lightly, but his eyes still glow bright, gold and menacingly.

#chisaki x reader #kai chisaki x reader #kai chisaki imagine #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul x reader #bnha overhaul #overhaul imagine #yandere overhaul #bnha imagines #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw:drugging #why did i go so far with this fic #sorry lol #i hope you like it

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

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When Our Hands Next Meet

Series summary: Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last.

This series was created for @analogicalweek and made in collaboration with the lovely @birdsongisland! Please go look at their beautifully detailed piece they made for this work and support them with reblogs so it can be seen!

Credit to birdsongisland for beta reading this and everything else this past week! One last thank you as this wouldn’t have been as polished without you ^-^

Chapter 7: I Remember

Chapter Summary: In a nostalgic museum of their own creation, Virgil feels as content as he ever has living out lifetime after lifetime with Logan.

Day 5 Prompt: Free Day

Warnings: none. If there are any please let me know!

WC: 1787

AO3 link

Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi @logans-library @im-an-anxious-wreck @edupunkn00b

“Which one did you like chickens in?”

Logan poked his head out of the kitchen window while being sure to hold the dish he was drying well away from the sill. “Chickens?”

“You liked chickens in one of our lives for some reason.” Virgil didn’t look up as his tongue poked out of his mouth in concentration- something that never failed to make Logan smile since according to him Virgil did that in every life. Blowing away the dust from the mistake he had sanded away he grabbed up the carving tool and started again, holding the figurine a little too close to his face to technically be safe but he was far past the point of caring. He held his breath as he dragged a smooth line across the dark stained surface. It was perfect. All he needed to do was drag it the other way and-

Groaning in frustration he threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to cry over something so stupid. It was a chicken- and a wooden one at that- no more deserving of tears than a child’s block tower being knocked over. But as the slight tremor in his hands continued to betray him as the years went by he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of frustration. There were so many things he wanted to do and create and as their lives went by it became harder and harder to keep up with it all; thankfully he was stubborn enough that it never kept him from trying.

Opening his eyes as a cool breeze swept past him he couldn’t help but smile at the early morning sky, full of the deep purples and blues that they had both favored since their souls first formed. Cool and calm and deep the colors blended together with a soft brilliance he admired every time he reached for the soulbond he and Logan shared. He hardly knew how to describe the way Logan filled his life to the brim with a happiness that made him feel safely rooted to the ground and flung him headlong into the clouds at the same time. A kind of breaking open of the chest while still feeling as if everything was securely nestled in their proper places. He supposed the way the colors swirled endlessly between the stars- brilliant galaxies forming and reshaping in picturesque moments that would be gone in an instant- maybe that came pretty close.

Grinning to himself he carefully gathered up his tools and his current work in progress, nudging the door open with his foot and stepping into the warm comfort of the living room. They had spent an entire lifetime making it their own, as they so often did when they finally found each other again. Often there wasn’t a day wasted when they became whole again to pick up right where they had left off in their previous life, collecting an eternity’s worth of memorabilia that no one could ever hope to understand but them. Setting down his armload on a side table he eased himself into a rocking chair situated by the window, the gentle movements a pleasant stim as he listened to Logan move around in the kitchen.

He leaned his head back slowly to rest on the back of the chair, staring up at the dark stained bookshelves overflowing with all manor of things they had made or collected in the decades they had been together. The old but thankfully sturdy wood bowed under the weight of books either so old they were bound with leather and cracked at the seams or so new the pages were still visibly crisp from the printing press. There was one in particular bound tightly in soft brown leather with a bright green gem stuck in the center of it that neither of them had ever opened but had found and added to their collection nonetheless. Whatever it was, it fit the aesthetic so neither of them could complain.

Tilting his head to the side he watched as Logan bustled around the kitchen getting their morning dose of coffee set up, refracted light from various forms of open geodes glittering around him and making his glow in the room. They had become veritable hoarders in this lifetime, though Virgil suspected they always did, collecting everything from crystals that matched their colors perfectly to pond skipping rocks that had felt too perfect in their hands to ever give up to the water. Their vast collection of seashells littered nearly every surface as well with a suncatcher made from them hanging in the large window overlooking their yard. He nearly laughed as he caught sight of it, a wooden flute he had carved hanging with it as well reminiscent of Logan’s hippie phase he had yet to let him live down. He had justified it by saying it was just another thing to remember their time together with, but mostly he just loved the playful eye roll he would get every time Logn caught sight of it.

Of course the better caving he had made for him was on the shelf behind him, nearly life size wooden ice skates that Virgil had made with as much care poured over them as he could muster. He remembered making and presenting them to his best friend after one of his competitions- they’re fingers brushing and a thousand and one memories cementing their souls together once again. Since then their house had slowly filled with blocks of wood molded to the memories they gained of an eternity spent together. Several small blocks were shoved in the spaces they could fit, depicting all the constellations Logan had told him about when they would go out in a field or lay on the roof of one of their houses and talk the night away. There were so many animal figurines they could likely make a replica of a zoo- if of course that zoo featured mostly horses, cats and various other farm animals they swapped stories of when a memory struck them. He already knew where he was going to fit the chicken, he just needed his hands to cooperate long enough to get the feathers right.

Looking back down he scowled at the stubborn piece of wood for having the audacity to not simply shape itself the way he envisioned. Chickens, as it turned out, were hard enough to get right in the first place, what with Logan seeing them being plump fluffy things meant to be pet and cuddled. Virgil, on the other hand, saw nothing but mini dinosaurs that had to be smaller just to spite him with their sharp beaks being ankle height. He had seen what the tiny terrors could do with their beaks and talons, beady eyes zeroing in on a target and having little to no regard for what it was, so long as it reacted to being chased and pecked at. But Logan had loved them and still held them in fond regard even if he no longer worked on a farm, so Virgil had wanted to solidify the past life with his tools just as he did all the others. He’dthank his hands for not allowing him to finish it if he wasn’t so sure it would make Logan’s face brighten with the smile Virgil lived and breathed to see.

His chin was taken gently and tilted so that he was looking at his husband, that smile Virgil had fallen for time and time again gracing his lips as he ironically tucked a sprig of forget-me-nots behind his ear. Their house was full of them, dried and paired with lavender and tucked into nearly every feasible space they could. The dusty scent of their favorite flowers mixed with the wide variety of candles strewn about on spare surfaces, a collection of scents they had discovered reminded them of different places and times spent together. A gentle flick at his bottom lip returned him to the present, the smile now a smirk as Logan tapped his nose.

“I cannot fathom why you are attempting to carve a chicken if you despise them enough to nearly combust a replica with a glare.”

“You like chickens and I like you. So you’re getting a chicken.” Virgil rolled his eyes at the teasing, clenching his hands into fists in his lap. “I just need my useless hands to cooperate with me or I would have had it done ages ago. I can never keep up with everything I’ve done in the past.”

Virgil huffed and smiled ruefully up at the other who looked to be considering something. Before he could ask him for his thoughts however he was pulled carefully to his feet, his rough hands held tightly in dry slender fingers. Rubbing his thumbs over the back of them Logan brought one of his hands to his lips to place a gentle kiss to his knuckles, doing the same to the other even as Virgil blushed profusely and was pulled into a soft embrace.

“I love and appreciate your talents and passion, making our memories real to remind us of the happiness we shared in the past.” Logan’s breath tickled his ear as he rested his chin on his shoulder, Virgil burying his face in the crook of his neck to hide his ever deepening blush. “I love your hands as they are, whether you find them useful or not. They’re there for me to hold and kiss and that’s use enough for me.”

“Logan-”

“You’ve made so many things that we’ve loved unconditionally throughout our lives. But it was never about our past or future, it’s just us.” Logan moved away to place his hands on his cheeks instead, steady gaze radiating warmth and comfort. “I love you. I always have and I always will- and I certainly don’t need you carving a quote ‘diet dinosaur’ to know that you feel the same.”

Virgil snorted and leaned forward to rest his forehead on Logan’s, simply taking in the quiet as they stood in each other’s embrace. To love and be loved by someone across multiple lifetimes was something he cherished above everything else, the lines of fate tracing forwards and backwards to weave them together again and again. He realized as he stood there, surrounded by a nostalgic museum meant only for them and lit with the soft glow of the early morning sun warming them further, that there truly was no one else for him. He leaned against soulmate and smiled, thinking through everything that had happened in the past and everything that would happen in the future, he had Logan.

And that was enough.

#false writes #analogicalweek #analogical week #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #virgil sanders #analogical #fluff #domestic fluff #collab #collaboration

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years ago

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Farewell Revenge - pt. 8

A/N: Woops...

James was in glee when he started to notice you and Sirius became friends. He had felt like the happiest man alive when he could be himself around both of you, loose and calm. He could hold your hand and kiss you in front of his friends, and he could talk about his friends when he was with you.

It was easy.

“What do you want for Christmas, love?” he swung your hand up and down like a little boy before jumping in front of you and walking backwards. His grin stretched far to the corners of his eyes, glinting as he continued to watch you with adoration.

“Christmas?” you laughed, holding his hand just by the tip of his fingers as you walked forward. “You don’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s a trap, mate.” Sirius added and jumped to James’ side, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and walking backwards with him, steps in sync with each other. “They all say that.”

“No.” you laughed again but Sirius could feel something changing in your tone. “I really don’t want anything.” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Shame, it wasn’t even a question in the beginning.” James walked to you and kissed the tip of your nose. “I’m getting you something, no no’s, no nothing.”

“And me?” Sirius opened his arms. “Hey, Pads what do you want me to get you for Christmas? - Oh, Prongs, you still see me.” he went to James side, batting his eyelashes. “But nothing really, you don’t have to.” he waved his hand like nothing, letting both of you snort. “Third wheeling is a gift on its own.” he put both of his hands on each of yours and James’ shoulder and squeezed himself inbetween.

James ruffled Sirius’ hair and pushed him away. “Doesn’t feel good being on the other side, does it?” he laughed and Sirius gasped dramatically.

James didn’t bother. He took you by the cheeks and continued to gaze into you. To see your eyes, drown in their colour. To remember the shape of your nose, the arch of your lips, the curve of your chin, the touch of your skin... it’s what made him go through the day without you. To remember it. To marvel and be mesmerized by your beauty because he was deeply, heavenly in love with you. With you he was his best self. With you, words couldn’t describe his emotions. With you everything seemed lighter, clearer.

So he took you in, like a breath he would hold until he saw you again.

He gazed lovingly into your eyes and despite his eyes that were enlarged by his glasses, the colour in them were an extraordinary mix of green and light brown. If you looked closely enough, which you had the chance more than once, there were darker brown stripes following from the edge of his iris and into his pupil, little yellow spots trying to hide themselves into the brown. You swore to yourself you could have felt your whole body melt right then and there.

There was something James brought in you. Something so foreign yet so pleasing to feel that it scared you, good and bad. You put your palms on top of his hands and smiled brightly.

His cheeks bulked up and hid his eyes into a thin line. “I’ll see you soon.” he kissed you softly on the lips, then brought the kiss with him to your forehead.

You embraced him into a hug... perfect, you could say. Your arms went under his as your head leaned onto his chest. You could feel his heartbeat in under your ear, warmth radiatiating from him. His arms wrapped gently around your shoulders, his chin and jaw, leaning on your head as he brought you closer for a split second before letting go.

He would say it. He would say it right here and now but he couldn’t. As perfect as it felt, it wasn’t perfect enough. He will say it.

“Hello! Single chap right here!” Sirius waved his hands. “Really single. As happy as he is, you’re making it extremely hard making him happy being single.”

Both of you pulled away and laughed.

“At times like this I really hate Quidditch.” James sighed.

“Go.” you pushed him away. “You’ll be late.” you tried to let go of his grip but he only whined.

“I wanna be clingy.”

“You’ll be clingy later.” you laughed and he finally let go, walking away with a pout.

“Finally!” Sirius jolted towards you. “LET’S SMOKE!” he took your hand and pulled you away as James stopped in his tracks, confusion growing on his eyes.

“Wait, what? Don’t you have Astronomy?” he stopped a few feet away.

Sirius grinned, still holding you by the wrist. “Yes, I do but you know me-” he stopped as he noticed James wasn’t very pleased with what he said. He let go of you and pointed his index finger to you. “It was her idea.”

“Hey!” you punched his shoulder and let out a whine.

“Ouch!” he rubbed the side of his shoulder. “You’re hurting my muscles.”

“Oh, your muscles.” you poked it with your finger as he jumped away. “More like a noodle.” you pinched it and he slapped your hand away.

“Stop!” he pinched your arm.

“Ow!” you rubbed your own shoulder and punched him back but he moved away before you could. “Get back here!”

“You started it!” he started to run from you. “And my arms are not noodles. They are rocks.” he tried to flex but the robes didn’t show any of his toned arms.

“Oh, wow. Sirius Black, what a stud!” you fanned yourself, pretending to swoon over it.

“You’re such a bully.” he snorted, shoving you away gently as you let out a laugh.

“Let’s just go before any of our professors come.” you bumbed him a bit, walking to James and taking a hold of his chin.

“You’re ditching class with Sirius?” his eyebrows raised, voice lowered into silence.

“It’s only Divination. She doesn’t even realize I’m gone.” you gave him a peck on the lips. “And don’t worry. I don’t smoke with that tosser.”

“Hey!”

James glanced over to his best friend behind you, then back into your eyes as you smiled. “Alright.” he said somewhat unsure of how he felt.

“Have a good practice.” you let your hand fall to his and this time he was terrefied of letting go of it.

If he let go... let go right now then what will happen. You and Sirius would walk away together and... and... and what if the two of you never come back. Sirius was more handsome than him, wasn’t he? He had piercing grey eyes that shone from the blackness of his hair. He started to grow a stubble and it was trimmed neatly because Sirius always put a lot of effort into his appearance. His hair were silkier, his jawline more outlined. He saw Sirius’ body which wasn’t as toned and defined as James’ but it was still attractive to others. Sirius’ laugh was loud but it was lovable. Everybody could fall in love with his laugh, could you to? Could you fall in love with him?

James... his hair were a mess. His eyes were hazel, which is the worst eye colour to have. He didn’t have pure grey like Sirius. He had a mixture of every colour- what even was that?! Why couldn’t he have one colour like everybody else. And he had glasses. Sirius didn’t have glasses. His eyesight is perfect but James had his glasses since he was a young boy. The only time he changed them was when he was thirteen but... what if you didn’t like him with glassess? James wasn’t neat. His robes were never ironed, his hair was a mess, he didn’t smell as good as Sirius did, his beard wasn’t growing evenly so he always shaved it.

Insecurities poured into his mind like a waterfall. The joy he felt before suddenly disappeared into thin air. The two of you were gone and he was still standing there as an insecure fool.

He shouldn’t be jealous.- He thought, turning his heel and making his way to the Quidditch field. “I’m overreacting.” he forced a smile but the anxiety kept crawling back inside. You wouldn’t fall in love with Sirius. The two of you are just friends, right? Sirius could never steal his girl from him. He never did in the past to make him think that. He wouldn’t now.

But what if you fall in love with Sirius instead of him? It’s still a possibility...

---

“Totally a bird.” he said, shaking his head.

“It’s not a bird!” you argued. “It’s clearly a horse!”

“How can you see a horse?!”

“LOOOK!” you pointed your finger at the sky and pointed at the edge of a cloud. “There’s his snout and the ears, even the mane is there!”

“That’s not a snout it’s a beak!” he raised his hand as well. “And it’s a full bird! If you see only a head of a horse than it’s not a horse.”

“What do you mean it’s not a horse! Then tell me what other creatures exist with a horse’s head?”

“I’m just saying that it’s clearly a full bird and you only see a head of a horse, which is clearly not a horse because you can even see the tiny little legs of a bird.”

The cloud started changing its shape in the sky but you couldn’t have let this argument go.

“Those are not feet. Those are ears.”

“Can’t believe you’re arguing with me on this.” he let out a snort. “Isn’t your house a bird?”

“It’s a raven.”

“Raven is a bird.”

“And eagle is-”

“Eagle is still a bird.”

“I will murder you, Sirius Black.” you spoke annoyed and clear.

He let out a wheeze of triumph and continued to laugh. “Okay, next shape, come on.”

“I’m not doing this anymore.” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Nooo! Come on.” he bumped his shoulder into yours. “I won’t be a smartarse, I swear.” he turned his head to you but you continued to look at the blue sky. He nudged you again, cooing. “Come onn...” he nudged you again, pursing his lips together and watching you. “Next fluffy white foam in the sky.”

You felt his stare from the side, causing your lips to turn upward into a defeated smile as he continued to act like a child. “Fine.”

“Yes.” he turned his head back onto the sky, raising his hand up. “That cloud!”

You looked at the sky but weren’t sure which cloud he was pointing on. There was one large cloud that poured into a smaller grey one. The third was smaller than the last, changing it shape fast. “Which one?” you scooted closer to Sirius, trying to see where his finger was pointing from his point of view. “The small one?” you asked but didn’t get anything in return.

Sirius heart stopped. He didn’t know why but when you were this close to him, trying to catch a cloud all he could think about was the scent of your shampoo and the exposed neck in front of him. His hand was still up but his eyes, his eyes weren’t on the clouds, his thoughts in a dangerous zone.

“The grey one is definetly a teacup. You can see the handle pouring into the gigantic cloud.” you scooted back to your place, further away from him and narrowing your eyes at the sky. “The smallest looks like a...uhm... a ball maybe?” you giggled. “I don’t know... it looks like a cloud.” you continued to talk, fully focused on the gigantic cloud. “The largest reminds me of your ego.” you joked and finally decided to turn your head to him, eyes locking and shaking him out of his thoughts.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Why was he looking at you like that? Why wasn’t he retording something back?

“Hah.” he forced a laugh. “I saw a... a...teacup, yeah.” he stuttered a bit, clearing his throat over and over again. “I can see a teacup.”

You continued to look at him, trying to figure out what the hell went through his head.

“Also you have something on your cheek.” he grinned, turning his eyes back at you. “Right here.” he put his finger to the edge of his eye.

“Really?” you started rubbing your eye. “Here?” you rubbed it over and over again.

“Yeah, yeah.” he started to smile wider and you noticed the teasing in his tone.

“You prick.” you punched him in the shoulder as he started to laugh out-loud.

He rolled on his side, holding onto his stomach until he rolled onto it, burrying his head into his arms and chuckling. “Can’t believe you fell for it!”

“I hate you.” you started to laugh as well, crossing your arms in defense as he poked your shoulder.

“You mad at me?” he cooed but you didn’t budge, only laid flat on the grass and stared at the sky, resisting the urge to smile to his facial expressions he continued to make right next to you. He poked you again. “(y/n)?” he asked innocently. “I can’t live with you being so mad at me.” he pouted and you turned your head away, releasing the urge and chuckling.

“You fucker.” you laughed and he laughed with you.

“I knew you couldn’t keep it long enough.”

“Shut up and look at the clouds.”

“No. I think I’m going to take a nap.” he laid his head on his arms and turned it away from you, taking a deep breath in and out.

“Alright.” was all you said before it got quiet between the two of you and all you could see was the blue sky, all clouds leaving it empty. It made you wonder how can the sky be so blue and from all the colours, why blue? But if it was red, then you would ask yourself why red? Or if it was always purple, you would ask yourself why purple, why not blue? So simple, yet so complicated.

Sirius, however, was looking at the green field in front of him. As green as it was, all he could think about was the pressure he felt when you were close. The pressure in his stomach that caused his lungs to stop breathing, his heart contracting into a small crumb as his nostrills took in the smell of your shampoo and your eyes consume the way your hair strands curled around your neck. Every muscle in his body started beating and he was so afraid of you feeling just how tense he really was when you were close. It wasn’t him being upset, it was him feeling scared because he felt all those feelings he shouldn’t have felt. He shouldn’t feel all of this. The way his mind worked after you moved back to your place. Everything was released and he thought the little crumb in his chest would burst into the sky as if it was shot by a slingshot. You pulled it back and threw into the teacup in the sky. When you caught him staring, you cought him thinking dangerous thoughts. He was soley focused on your lips, your plush lips that had a nice rose colour due to the little sun they were exposed to. He would imagine his hand reaching down to yours and interlacing his fingers with yours. You would look at him the way all girls do when he touches them; hungrily, desperately. He would smile and move himself on top of you, placing his hand on your cheek and kissing you. Your leg would claw his hip and his hand would go from his thigh to your ass, grabbing it as his lips would be interlocked with yours. He’d kiss you passionately and hugrily. He would unbutton your shirt and take a hold of breast, kissed lowering into your neck as you would let out a gentle moan.

It turned him on to fantasize about it but when you looked at him, your eyes weren’t lustful or desperate. They were just eyes who looked at him. That was all, eyes looking. Not gazing, not shimmering, not telling him anything but just... just looking.

And he remembered when you looked at him with your eyes, the ones where didn’t show a bit of interest in him, he remembered. He realized what his thoughts were. He knew you weren’t just any other girl he hooked up with. You were not somebody to grab and kiss.

James. He had to think of James.

He squeezed his eyes shut adn gritten his teeth. ‘ What’s wrong with you, Sirius?!’ - He screamed in his head. He wanted to wallow on the grass, burry himself deep into the earth. ‘How can you think that?! He’s your best friend!’ - he scolded himself as he buried his head deeper into his arms, the grass tickling his nose.

The images didn’t leave his mind, though. He wanted them to leave. They will leave. They will leave as soon as he sees another girl.

Not you. It’s not you.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders imagines #marauders era #marauders x reader

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kyndaris · 3 years ago

Text

Shadows of the Mind

Red-rimmed eyes stared back at me. Disgusted to see how low I had fallen, I splashed cold water onto my face – hoping against hope that it would also wash away my addiction. No such luck.

Studying my reflection, I ran a tired hand over the stubble that I should have shaved off yesterday morning…or had it been the day before last? Time blurred when sleep was taken out of the equation. And it had been a long while since I had rested my head on a pillow.

Yet though I craved the comforts of a warm bed, the only beating thought in my head was the same refrain I had heard a million times before: just one more. After all, what could it hurt? I was already late. Even if they didn’t fire me today, I would not be long for the chopping block when the next review came up.

A better man would have done more when his wife and their two children had threatened to leave because of the nights spent in the casino. A better man would probably have talked it out and made steps for self-improvement. When the accident happened, a better man might have used the opportunity to finally turn over a new leaf. Or, perhaps, a better man would have poured all their energy into digging into the truth of the situation.

But I was not a better man.

When I could not afford to continue gambling away my money at the slot machines, I turned to drink to drown out the pain. Kicked out of the house that had cost me two decades of labour and bleeding money from the debts that had gone unpaid, I was at the end of my rope.

The yellow eye in the centre of my left palm looked up at me. Judgement writ clear.

I blinked and the image disappeared. My hand was pink flesh once again. No sign of an eye anywhere. Had I just dreamed it? Or was there something more sinister? Linked, perhaps, to the work I was doing? How else could I explain the cadavers that were brought in with ridges of scales and webbed toes.

It should not have come as a surprise. There had always been rumours of a curse being laid on the small seaside town since time immemorial. Folk tales, mostly, to scare kids into behaving.

But what if it was all true? It would explain the accident. There was no way that Morgan would have missed the turn. She had always been a careful driver, particularly when there was heavy fog. And the kids were in the back…

The police had stopped by the house and had asked plenty of questions. Did I have any suspicions that she might have had suicidal thoughts or that she was not coping in any way? The idea was ludicrous. I told the officers as such. ‘Morgan would never have done it on purpose. Our kids meant the world to her. Hell, she had been heading to her parents – nowhere near the promontory…’

A sharp slap to the face brought me out of my spiralling thoughts. God. I was losing my mind and there was nothing I could do about it. One of the side effects, probably, from the antidepressants and anxiety tablets I had been prescribed.

I reached for the bottle. Twisted the lid. Two small capsules popped out into my cupped hand. Within seconds, I had swallowed them dry.

As I felt them slide down my throat, I risked one more glance at the mirror. My clothes were crinkled, dark bags rested under my eyes and the tuft of hair I still had would do little to cover my encroaching baldness. In one word I looked like shit.

Still, I had seen worse. And I found that I didn’t much care whether I lost my job today or in the near future.

I was tired of fighting. Easier to submit to the inevitable once it came. Whether that was the drugs I had taken, I couldn’t say. The fog that descended over my mind made it hard to think about it too much. Maybe that was good. At the very least I would not have to combat the crippling anxiety that would have come with it.

Gambling had taken away my family. It had taken away the roof over my head and the food to line my stomach. Soon, it would take my life. One way or another.

Within minutes I left the small cramped flat and took the rickety lift down to the rundown carpark. A tan overcoat was tastefully slung over my right arm in the hope that it would give me a modicum of respectability. I only prayed that no-one looked too closely at the frayed sleeves and the weathered scuff marks. In my other hand, I carried a battered leather briefcase that I had dug out of the closet. As I reached in for the keys to the bucket of bolts that I called a car, I realised that I had forgotten my security pass.

Cursing under my breath, I dumped most of my belongings into the passenger side seat and raced up the stairs rather than wait for the lift. Legs burning and puffing hard, I stopped at the second floor to catch my breath. Just as an errant chastisement was once again about to regale me with all my failures up to that absolute second, I mustered up what remained of my strength and staggered up the remaining flight of stairs to my two-bedroom unit.

It was then a simple matter of busting open the door and nabbing the pass sat on what could not reasonably be considered a proper dining table – an elevated plastic chair with three stools around it. Oh, how far the mighty had fallen. If only my old friends could see me now…

But I had lost most anyone that would have cared to offer any sort of aid for my self-inflicted plight.

By the time I pulled up at the security gate, I was ten minutes late. The guard took his time checking my pass and confirming my name in the system. He reminded me of a raven with his sharp beak-like nose and the shifty glint in his small beady black eyes as he looked at my face and then the computer screen with needless scrutiny.

‘Everything appears to be in order, Mister Hinds,’ he said. His voice was unusually nasally, almost high-pitched, for a man of his size and girth. ‘Be sure to clock in on time tomorrow. I’ve had journalists sniffing up here the last few days, trying to sneak in. You know how it is when it comes to the work that goes on. Probably know it better than I do.’

I nodded and made to retrieve my security pass. ‘No need to tell me twice. I’ll be doubly sure to set the alarm to a quarter to seven,’ I replied with a polite smile. ‘Thank you for your exemplary work, Horace. Doing us all proud.’

Once the gate was up, I pushed my car into gear. It trundled through, picking up speed as soon as I reached the main building and the carpark resting underneath. Built forty years ago, it was an impressive creation of concrete. Passing under the awning as I entered the carpark, I could barely make out any windows on the exterior. Appropriate, considering the secrets that we kept hidden away from prying eyes.

When I finally arrived at the laboratory, after changing into my white lab coat in one of the only sterile areas of the facility, it was ten minutes to eleven. Already a migraine had formed behind my eyes, throbbing with each beat of my heart. All I wanted to do was to take a sip of smooth whiskey to ease away the pain. Except, of course, I didn’t even have enough money to buy a pint at the local pub, let alone anything stronger.

Before I could entertain my fantasy further, Gladstone strode in from the far door. “Good to see you actually make it out of bed, Hinds,’ he said, barely looking up from his notes on the clipboard. ‘We need you downstairs. One of the,’ he hesitated slightly as he looked for a word to describe the subjects that were kept in less than humane holding cells, ‘creatures had a little incident last night. Look into it.’

Just like that, I was dismissed.

Orders given, Gladstone sat at a free desk, his eyes never leaving whatever was on his clipboard as he tapped his pen arrhythmically against it. Maybe it was my overactive imagination or perhaps it was my sleep deprived brain, but I could not help but compare Gladstone to a big cat, just waiting to pounce upon the unwary. Surely, the elongated teeth and sharp curling fingernails were due to the fact that I had been awake for the last thirty-six hours.

With a great shake of my head, I picked up my belongings and made for the far door from whence Gladstone had come through.

As I made my way down, my footsteps on the metal steps echoed through the concrete well. There was naught in this passageway to dampen sound. Austere and spartan had been the design choices when it came to top-secret laboratories nestled a few miles away from town.

Deeper and deeper and deeper I went. It was as if I was descending into the bowels of the Earth.

My only companion was a small wispish ball of bluish light, shaped into an amalgamation of an eyeball and wings. I knew I should have been disturbed by the sudden evolution in my hallucinations. Yet, I could not find the strength inside me to care. After all, what were a few demons and devils from myths and legends, when I had seen men who had sprouted bat wings and women with large bulbous eyes with gills beginning to form on their necks?

Besides, it seemed harmless anyways. Staying always three feet behind me. For a brief moment, I came to a stop at a landing and eyed it for a few seconds, daring it to attack, before shrugging my shoulders when it remained docile, impossibly hovering in place.

How exceedingly odd.

Knowing that it was not real, I did not reach for it. Even as I tried to rationally explain the phenomena floating beside me with science. In the end, I simply chalked it up to the drugs and thought no more on the matter.

Something strange was happening and it was my job to find the answers. It mattered not that I was wracked with guilt and grief. Gladstone, for one, couldn’t care less. All that mattered was that I did what I was paid for. Nothing more. Nothing less.

As I stepped through the pressurised doors and into the decontamination unit, I turned my addled mind to the task at hand. With great effort, I managed to rouse it from its stupor. By the time I emerged into the top-secret containment area, I was as focused and sharp as I was ever going to be with soporific drugs pumping through my veins. Which, to be fair, wasn’t much. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open as I stumbled forward, one hand blindly reaching for a wall to steady myself as I adjusted to the change in temperature and lighting.

‘Hinds! Thank God you’re here. I’ve tried my best to stabilise it but this is beyond my skills.’ Pritchard rushed towards me, her hands covered in a deep shade of blue and a frantic look in her eyes. ‘You know what’ll happen if we were to lose it. And I’d rather not have my head on a pike.’

‘Show me.’

We headed deeper, passing by huge containment units filled with all manner of strange creatures and monsters. Many had been found washed up on the beaches dotted along the western coast. Some had been hostile, attacking anyone or anything nearby. Others had been positively docile, more curious than dangerous.

Even their appearances varied. I had seen several that looked like they had stepped out from my worst nightmare. There was no word to describe the monstrosities. Videos I had glimpsed showed unspeakable terrors – a mix of tentacles and shapeless horrors. Bringing them back to the facility was never an option. The casualty numbers had been astronomical. We were fortunate when the retrieval team returned with footage.

Should the retrieval team manage to subdue one of these creatures, which they did on a rare occasion, they were almost always dead upon delivery. And utterly useless for our research.

Imagine what we could learn if we actually had a living breathing monster before us! The knowledge that we would have at our fingertips!

Most of what my team and I had been able to study were specimens that were mostly humanoid in appearance. One had stood out in my memory had looked like a man that I had seen on a Missing Persons poster that had been hanging outside one of the telegraph poles near my flat. The only difference had been the ridges of scales that had lined his jaw and knuckles as well as the yellowish tint to his eyes.

It had been clear that he had been in the midst of metamorphosis. How or why had remained a mystery. We had kept him in isolation, unsure how best to classify him.

Unfortunately, he had not survived long in captivity. I had been the one to discover his body one rare morning when I was actually sober a few days before Morgan’s ill-fated attempt to leave me. Suffice it to say, there was naught we could do to revive the man. The autopsy, too, had failed to pinpoint the exact cause of death. Those thoughts had consumed me prior to my gambling binge. And all I had wanted was a distraction to escape the realities of my job.

Pritchard led me to a small enclosed room. It was filled with a variety of medical equipment. At the centre of the room was a cot. Two nurses were crowded around it, their eyes fixed on the heart monitor as it beeped erratically. They looked up as we entered.

‘How’s it looking?’ said Pritchard.

‘Not good, Laura,’ answered Lopez as he rose to his feet and made some space. He was a tall burly fellow and sported long hair that was tied into a neat ponytail. If I did not know him, I would have said he looked out of place, dressed in green scrubs and a white lab coat. Despite his appearance (which would better fit a wrestling ring), he was one of the best nurses I had worked with. Professional and exacting, I could always count on Lopez on following my instructions to the letter.

‘Do you know what happened?’

Lopez shook his head. ‘Escape gone wrong? The security team found it in the early hours of the morning. It was already bleeding. Then it tried to attack one of the men. In a panic, one of the junior officers shot it. The rest is what you can see.’

Head pounding with the onset of a hangover, I pressed my thumbs into my temples. Things were rapidly going wrong and I needed to make a decision. Time was of the essence. I could not afford to second guess myself or watch as a life slipped from my fingers just because the only thing I could think about, given the emergency, was how good whisky on the rocks would taste on my parched tongue.

Time passed. I could not say how long we worked until we managed to stabilise the creature until I glanced at my wristwatch and saw the time. Over the course of minutes that had seemed like hours, and hours that had seemed like days, we struggled to keep it alive. It fought us tooth and nail. I suffered two scratches on my right arm and Pritchard was sporting a cut lip. It was as if it would rather death than another moment in captivity in a holding cell. A part of my sympathised with it. What was a life confined to four walls and where strange men dressed all in white came to poke and prod you?

Sweat dotting my brow, I managed to inject tranquiliser into the creature, as the rest of the team – Pritchard and the two nurses held it down. Once it took effect, we all exchanged exhausted smiles. Standing back up, I glanced at the machines recording its vitals.

‘Keep it sedated. The sutures should hold but better not risk it,’ I said to Pritchard as I dabbed at my forehead with the back of my sleeve.

‘Hinds, you’re a lifesaver.’

I shook my head. ‘We aren’t out of the woods yet. Keep an eye on the equipment. Message me if anything changes.’ Pulling off my gloves, I added, ‘I’m going to grab something to eat. Oh, and Pritchard, tell Gladstone that I can’t keep doing this. I’m a scientist. Not a bloody surgeon.’

With that, I stepped out of the cramped tiny room that we had been in for the four hours. As I did so, my stomach grumbled. A reminder that I had not eaten anything substantial for a good long while. It was a torturous trek back up the stairs. By the time I reached the top, my knees were aching and it hurt to breathe.

Why didn’t anyone think to build a bloody lift? What if an incident happened down in containment and we needed to flee for our lives? The monsters would get us all before we even made it up one flight. Except, maybe, Lopez. He looked like someone that ran marathons on the weekends. Working as a nurse in a top-secret facility was wasted on him.

Once I was able to inhale without an accompanying twinge of pain, I gingerly passed into the main laboratory. Gladstone was still seated at his desk. His eyes barely flickered as I walked by. ‘Would it be a safe assumption that the situation has been rectified, Hinds?’

I stopped at the exit, my stomach twisting itself into a knot as it sought any type of sustenance. ‘For the time being. Sir, if I may, how long must we continue to prolong their torment? These experiments are not humane. And who’s to say when the next incident may occur. Lives will be lost.’

‘You grow bold, Hinds. However, it is not your place to question the orders you are given. You need money, yes? What would your wife and children think if you came back home with no job to support their ever-growing needs? The solution here is simple. You do as you’re told.’

‘Sir, they’re—’ I closed my mouth, thinking better of it. Of course, Gladstone had forgotten the funeral. He was a man focused on results, never mind the means. The people he worked with were not colleagues or humans with lives that varied from the complex to the very simple. They were tools. Nothing more. Even now he was still intently reading through the data that had been collated over several months. On occasion, he would stop and make a brief annotation.

Were it not for the drugs, I might have strangled the indifferent bastard. As it was, I could barely summon the energy to remain on my feet. My entire body seemed to shake terribly and I desperately hoped Gladstone would not notice. God forbid what would happen if he, for once in his life, was actually aware of those around him.

‘Is there a reason that you are still here, Hinds?’ The dismissal was clear in his voice. And I gladly welcomed it with both arms.

‘No, sir. Apologies, sir.’ I left quickly, hardly daring to look over my shoulder as I made my exit.

The corridors of the facility were a dull grey. Given the nature of the research conducted within its walls, there had been no need for bombastic decorations. No potted plants lined the atrium. No colour broke up the endless shades of concrete. If there was one word I would use to describe my place of employment it would be utilitarian.

Though it was past the normal lunch hour, the cafeteria was still bustling with staff. Grabbing up a tray, I joined the queue, grabbed the first thing that would fill my stomach and headed to a table near the back of the hall where I could remain, hopefully unobserved, for as long as I desired. After all, I had told Pritchard to message me if anything changed. Beyond that, I needed time for myself.

Perhaps it was the fact that this was the first time that I had a full stomach in days, or that I was thoroughly exhausted after a sleepless night, or that the afternoon sun shining through the frosted glass made the spot I had claimed my own so warm and cosy. My eyes closed. Before I knew it, I was adrift on the seas of sleep and darkness consumed me.

At first, I did not realise that I was dreaming. Once more, I was back in the house that we had first bought when we moved to the town. It was not a mansion I had promised the kids, but it did have an excellent view of the sea. One that I usually tended to enjoy on the rare Sunday afternoons that I was actually at home. Unfortunately, the sky was overcast and from my vantage point, I could see the waves crashing onto the beach with a vicious ferocity.

‘Tom, you’re going to catch a cold standing out there in this weather. Why don’t you come in?’

I turned around. Standing near the glass sliding door was Morgan, a concerned look on her face. She was all rugged up, a shawl draped over her shoulders. In her hands, she cradled a mug of hot steaming coffee. I joined her. With a smile on my lips as I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek as I took the offered mug.

‘Thank you for always looking out for me, darling,’ I whispered into her ear before cheekily nibbling on her lower lobe and trailed a finger down her neck.

‘Stop that, Tom,’ said Morgan, though her body language belied her words as she pressed up against my chest. ‘Not in front of the June and Jasper.’

‘And why ever not? They’re old enough to know about these things.’

She twirled around in my arms and lightly pressed her lips against mine. Before I could deepen it, Morgan pulled away, and flashed me an enigmatic smile. ‘That may be true, but there are some things, Tom, that are better left in the bedroom.’

I chased after her. Morgan had always been such a tease, even back when we had first dated in university. She squealed when I picked her up by her legs just before she managed to slip inside. The impulse to ravish her there and then thrummed through me. Grinning from ear to ear, I marched across the threshold. My destination: the bedroom.

As I stepped through, the scene before me changed. Morgan vanished from my arms. Blinking, it took me several moments to realise that I was now in the kitchen. The lights were off. Tableware had been smashed to a thousand tiny pieces and crockery was strewn across the floor.

Somewhere in the distance, I could hear crying. Immediately, I recognised the memory for what it was. And though I wanted to find Morgan and comfort her for all the pain I had caused her, I found myself rooted to the spot, breathing heavily as if I had just run a marathon. My hands were clenched tight into fists and I resisted the urge to punch the marble countertop.

It was then that I realised that I was still holding onto a bottle of whiskey. Carefully, I placed it back on the kitchen countertop. There was no point in wasting good alcohol. Even in anger.

What I really needed was space and time to clear my head.

Glancing down at the mess that Morgan and I had made, I made a mental note to clean it all up when I came back. Then, once tempers had cooled, we would sit down and hash things out. I dared not think about the inevitable fight we would have once she learned that I had left to gamble away more money on the slot machines in the local pub. What she did not know would not hurt her.

Besides, I deserved it. What did it matter if I spent a few hundred dollars? This was the money I earned from my labours up at the lab. How it was used was up to me.

I grabbed the keys from where they hung on hooks next to the door. It would only be a short drive down into the town centre. Then, it would be only a few hours of watching the slots spin. In my bones, I knew that luck would be on my side. Today would be when I won the jackpot. Lucky 7s all the way through. And then I could leave my job and everything that it entailed.

With a resounding slam, the front door shut behind me.

As it did, the world once more swirled around me. It took several moments to realise that I was facing the front door rather than the street. A sudden feeling of dread filled my stomach. At that moment, I knew what memory had been pulled to the fore.

Despite my attempts to fight the course of destiny, my body was not my own. My hands fumbled for the house keys. In the pre-dawn light, I struggled to identify the right key. Each one I used never quite seemed to fit. Why was it so hard to open my own goddamn front door? There were only two locks for fuck’s sake.

Had I really drunk that much? Frustrated, I gave the door a kick, expecting that I’d break a toe for my efforts.

The door crashed open. It had been unlocked. Surprised, I chanced a glance inside. Everything was a mess. Clothes and books and papers lay on the ground. I knew what had happened and I wanted desperately to leave. To turn tail and get back into my car that was parked on the street rather than the garage. Or to chase after them, praying that, somehow, I’d be able to save them before they met their inevitable demise at the bottom of a cliff.

But the inexorable march of fate would not allow me to make the smart choice. It was like I was in a horror film and trapped in the body of the characters. How many times had I screamed at the screen, telling the blonde cheerleader to run instead of investigating further?

Just like those that came before, I cautiously entered the house. ‘Hello?’

My first stop was the living room. Turning the corner, I spotted upended furniture and streaks of red along the walls. There was not a soul to be seen. No sign that anyone was in the house that we had lived in for the last three years. What terrified me the most was the fact that neither the kids nor Morgan answered my entreaties.

A chill went down my spine as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

Behind me, the creaking of floorboards warned me of someone’s approach. Immediately, I whirled around, arms up. I didn’t know if I could fight off my assailant. After all, I was a researcher. Ever since I was young, the best words to describe me were tall and gangly. I had never been much for sport, preferring to stay indoors than being out in the sun where I would be more likely to suffer injury.

The thing before me could hardly be described as human. As my gaze alighted on its hideous form, I recoiled – both mentally and physically. I knew then that my trip down memory lane was ended and the nightmare begun.

It looked like it had three misshapen heads. Three pairs of discoloured eyes blinked up at me. Instead of hands, it sported crooked claws, the nails of which were chipped and terrifyingly long.

‘Tom,’ it croaked in a broken chorus of voices. ‘Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom!’ Morgan. June. Jasper. Three melded into one.

I backed away. Until my back hit wall. It came closer, claws outstretched. No. No. No. No. This could not be happening. This wasn’t real. It was a dream. A nightmare. I closed my eyes and willed myself to just wake up. All I needed to do was just wake up. WAKE THE BLOODY FUCK UP!

‘Help me,’ moaned the abomination. After all, that was what it was. Something so twisted that it ought not to exist in the waking world. ‘Heeeeeelp us!’

Cracking open one eyelid, I discovered that nothing had changed. Only that the creature now had me pinned to the wall of the living room. It was so close, the smell of it so exceedingly rank that the urge to gag was overwhelming. I was trapped with nowhere to run.

It slunk ever closer on unsteady legs. One foot scraped along the floor. Or was it a tail? Scaly, twisted, I dared not risk another glance. Instead, I screwed my eyes up tight again, wishing and praying in equal measure that I would wake up.

Something slimy alighted on my cheek. I batted it away, choking back the scream that threatened to escape. None of it was real, I reminded myself. I only needed to wake up. Slowly, but surely, it became a mantra. My one lifeline in a world gone mad.

As something gripped my shoulder, I flinched from the touch.

Breathe, Tom, breathe. It’s just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream…

‘Hinds! Hinds! Wake up!’

It was the sting from the slap that finally tore apart the complex tapestry that my subconscious mind had woven. I blearily blinked up at Pritchard, confused and scared in equal measure. The last tendrils of the nightmare still clung to my thoughts. I couldn’t tell what was real and what was not.

A moment passed. Then two. As I took in the empty cafeteria and the late afternoon sun fading into the horizon, I realised that I had been asleep for far too long. Unsteadily, I rose to my feet and mumbled an apology.

‘Has something happened?’ I asked, running a weary hand over my face. My eyes felt like they had been gummed together and my head was pounding. What was worse was the sudden dryness and stickiness that pervaded my mouth. It was as if I had eaten taffy. My tongue darted out to moisten my chapped lips but it little to soothe my discomfort.

What I wouldn’t give for eight hours of undisturbed slumber.

Pritchard opened her mouth, then closed it. A few moments passed in silence. Unable to stifle it, I let out a particularly leonine yawn. When next she spoke, her gaze fixed a few inches above my shoulder, I knew it wasn’t what she had initially intended to say. ‘You don’t look well, Hinds. P-perhaps I can go tell Gladstone? I’m sure he’ll understand.’

‘What do you mean?’

She wrung her hands and forced a smile to her face. ‘It’s really not much, Hinds. Gladstone was just looking for any and all volunteers for something. We are at the stage where we’re on the cusp of discovering something new. And honestly, while your expertise would be welcome should things go awry, it’s fine if you wish to decline. That’s not to say, of course, that your presence wouldn’t be appreciated. I know that this is something that you’ve been wanting to be witness to for a long time coming. I just thought that you looked tired and a little pale in the face, is all.’

Her remarks had hit far closer to the truth than I would have liked. It was as if Pritchard saw through the thin façade I had erected at work. I didn’t like it. Nobody had cared before. Why now?

I realised too late that the quiet had stretched too long between us. ‘I’m fine. Really,’ I said, hoping to fill the void with idle chatter. ‘You saw me. A little nap was all I needed. Now, where are we expected?’

The look Pritchard threw my way said that I had done little to persuade her. And though I could her innate curiosity wishing to dig further into my personal affairs, she had the wisdom to hold back. For that, I was thankful.

In silence, we headed back to the laboratory and the containment area. When we arrived, the presentation had already begun. Sneaking in, I felt the weight of Gladstone’s gaze on the back of my head as it bored a hole right into my skull. Gladstone never much liked interruptions. Nor did he suffer individuals that were late to one of his meetings. It meant unnecessary repetition.

I kept my head low as I took my seat near the back and glanced at the whiteboard. On it was a picture that had been blown up almost a thousand times. It did not look like much – a mess of pixelated flesh. A new acquisition, perhaps?

‘As I was saying, the next few days will be crucial. We will need to act fast if we wish to secure the specimen and bring it back here for observation and research. This may be our one chance to show the world that our work has not been in vain,’ said Gladstone. He looked down at his palm cards and pushed his glasses further up his nose. ‘Remember: this mission is top-secret. If we manage to pull this off, we will be making history. Now, are there any questions?’

My hand shot straight up. There were a thousand things I wanted to ask. Why weren’t the retrieval team being sent out? What had I missed that the strict procedures that we were meant to follow were being tossed out the window?

A flash of frustration flitted across Gladstone’s face as he spotted my waving hand before he managed to school his expression into one of disdain and disinterest. ‘Yes, Hinds? What is it?’

‘Why are you sending us? We’re scientists. Don’t we have trained men to handle situations like this?’

He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘If you had been here for the briefing earlier instead of who knows where, you would know that the situation is delicate. Timing is of the essence. Our current teams are unavailable. As such, the powers that be made the decision to have any willing staff join in this mission. Now, if there is nothing else, I must leave. There are preparations that I need to see to before departure.’

Gladstone straightened his lab coat and then stalked out of the room. I chased after him, a thousand different enquiries in mind. Before I had even rose halfway off my chair, I felt someone tug at my sleeves. I turned around, ready to snap the head off anyone stupid enough to stop me.

Couldn’t they see that I was trying my very best to make sure that we weren’t all walking into a death trap? That I was looking out for everyone involved? A sudden spear of pain shot through my head and my hands were clammy. In my chest, my heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest.

Shit. How long had it been since I last took my pills? Was it already time for another dose?

Pritchard had a look in her eyes as she mutely shook her head. Was it a sign not to aggravate Gladstone any further? I couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t humans just explicitly say what they wanted instead of dancing around the subject? If Morgan had—

No. Best not go there.

I lowered back on the chair. ‘What?’ My tone came out a little brisker than I had anticipated.

‘There’s no need to be like that, Hinds,’ hissed Pritchard. ‘I warned you, didn’t I? Told you explicitly that you didn’t need to come. But you, of course, being all macho, said that “you were fine.”’

My cheeks flushed red and I looked away. Words sprang to the tip of my tongue but I choked them down. I knew when I had been properly chastised. Pritchard was right. It had been my own stubbornness not to ask further. And when Gladstone had sprung, I had been caught off-guard. Stupid, really. I should have known something was wrong from the start.

This had been no normal meeting amongst scientists. It had been a war council.

As I brooded over everything that I knew, silence filled the gap. ‘You can’t really be serious about participating in this madness, Pritchard,’ I said finally. With some effort, I forced my gaze to meet hers.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t see any way out of this, Hinds. A lot of the others are in the same boat. If Gladstone says “jump” we respond with “how high?”’

I swore under my breath. ‘We know nothing about this…thing. How can he be so sure that it’ll be docile?” I asked, motioning to the picture that sat centre stage on the whiteboard. Looking at it, I could not repress the shudder that went through my entire body at the sight of the horror. This was no creature of the Earth. Neither human or part of the animal kingdom. It was an abomination, plain and simple – something wholly alien and terrible and unspeakable.

Years of research, completing my doctorate thesis on bioengineering and eugenics, and here I was chasing monsters. I was meant to find a way to elongate the human lifespan. This was not it.

True, the possibilities of the research had been enticing at first. I had been ecstatic when I first joined, believing that the sea creatures could be the key to unlocking the final mysteries of what I had sought for so long. But the more I saw and learned, the less it seemed my dream would come to fruition. Gladstone’s goal had diverged. We were no longer pursuing science for the betterment of society. Instead, we were trying to unearth something that should have remained closed.

‘We don’t,’ said Pritchard as she flashed me an ironic and sad smile before she rose to her feet.

As she made her way across the room with her fellow scientists, her hand lingered a while on my shoulder. I watched her round the corner and disappear from view. Another person I had failed to save. Glancing back at the whiteboard and the aberrant creature displayed on it, I made the only decision I could given the circumstances.

For hours I had tossed and turned, but sleep continued to elude me. The cot beneath me creaking with every movement. Frustrated, I finally settled on my back and stared up at the dimly lit steel roof of the truck I now found myself in. Around me, I heard the other volunteers shift in their sleep. Some were snoring, somehow falling asleep though the truck shook and rattled. But I knew a good number were probably lying awake just as I was.

Perhaps they were pondering their life choices, wondering where they had gone wrong and regretting their decision to volunteer. Or maybe they were fretting on what the future might bring.

Had I not volunteered, I would have been in my small cramped apartment and downing can after can of beer. Elsewise, I might have spent an evening at the pub, nursing one good drink until the early hours of the morning as I ruminated on why I had not gone with the others in my team. And if the bartender pitied me enough, they might have slipped me another.

It would have been another round of bad choices, culminating in me stumbling to my bed and falling into it head-first and still fully-clothed – unable to shake off the ghosts that haunted me still.

At least, by choosing this, I was doing something and making a difference. Whether it helped or not, I couldn’t say.

The only kick I had got was seeing the shock on Pritchard’s face when she saw me board with one of the tan duffel bags, that had been stuffed with amenities that had been handed out, slung over one shoulder for the overnight trip. I had flashed her a weary grin before I made my way over to the cot that I’d been assigned.

Tomorrow was an early start. If I wanted to be any help to the team, I needed rest.

But as soon as I closed my eyes, Morgan and June and Jasper appeared before me. Their faces as pale as the moon, their mouths open wide in a soundless scream as they beat against the windows of the car.

I jolted straight up, my breathing harsh and loud in my ears. One hand flew to my chest, hoping to calm my heart that was thundering a wild tattoo. Shit. Fucking goddammit. Where was a bottle of vodka when you needed it? Why hadn’t he thought to return to his apartment to pick up his pills before coming here? Two angry fists thumped against the too-soft cot.

‘Hinds?’ The whispery voice was filled with concern. Had I woken her up? A mixture of guilt and frustration bubbled through me. I didn’t dare turn towards her, knowing that my face was an open book.

‘It’s nothing,’ I said tersely. ‘Go back to sleep, Pritchard.’

‘You can talk to me, you know,’ she persisted. ‘Like we used to. Back when Morgan was ali—'

‘I said I’m fine.’ In the silence that fell across the entirety of the truck, I hated how loud I sounded. God, why couldn’t people just leave me alone?

Behind me, I heard Pritchard settle back into her cot. Minutes passed. Slowly, but surely, the snores resumed. I lay back down, the cot creaking as I adjusted my weight, and stared up at the roof. Finally, when exhaustion tugged at my bones, I closed my eyes and let the movement of the truck lull me into a fitful slumber, haunted by images of the restless dead.

As the six of us disembarked, we were greeted by a grey overcast sky on a grey pebble beach. Two tents had been set up on the sand. Not too far away were stacks of metal crates. Our supplies had been offloaded first – water, food and weapons. The thought of wielding a gun had my stomach doing somersaults and I hoped there would be something more substantial than cheese and crackers, though I didn’t feel particularly hungry.

What I really wanted, more than anything else, was a can of something cool on my tongue. Preferably a pint of lager, but anything would do.

Something brusquely brushed against my arm. I whirled around, a harsh condescending reprimand on the tip of my tongue, when I caught sight of Pritchard. It was obvious from one glance that she had not slept well. Like mine, her eyes had dark bags underneath. And there was something jittery in the way she moved. She did not smile at me. Instead, she gave me an incidental nod of acknowledgement as a greeting.

A few moments passed before I had the foresight to close my mouth, lest anything fly in. Pritchard said nothing before she joined the rest of the team near the tents. It was like a huge pit yawned between us. One that was both shared history and the pain that we had endured. But I knew that the distance between us was mostly my own creation. Over the past year, it had seemed like she had been above it all. Unshakeable. Ever-loyal to Gladstone. Whereas I had been bitter about my loss and thrown myself into whatever self-destructive behaviours that I could.

But what if she had been just as hurt and in pain as I had been?

Pritchard and Morgan had been quite close, though they came from two different worlds. There had been family picnics and barbeques and a host of various activities that had slowly petered out when my addictions had taken hold. And though Pritchard did not know the exact nature of the rift between my family and I, she had been intuitive enough to know that something was wrong.

Maybe if she had intervened earlier, things would have been different. A part of me resented that she had never reached out. How much would have changed by just one act of kindness?

Stop it, Tom. There’s no point in going over old ground. You’ve a job to do, I chided myself. Find the specimen. Take it in. Go home. Easy as pie.

Gladstone had only just begun his well-rehearsed spiel when I joined them. His eyes narrowed when they alighted on me. I flashed him a grin and gave him a jaunty wave, knowing that it would irk him. He pushed up his glasses and turned away, refusing to rise to the bait. It was a rare moment of wisdom from the man. Or perhaps Gladstone was more concerned about the success of the mission than exchanging petty barbs.

It certainly seemed that way as he droned on in his officious voice, once again going over the extraction procedures and the likely dangers that might be encountered. Perhaps there was more going on behind closed doors if the sweat on his brow and the frantic patter to his words were anything to go by.

As I lowered my hand, I startled at the lidless reptilian eye that stared up at me. A spear of cold fear shot through my heart. Gingerly, I reached out and poked it with the index finger. It didn’t even flinch at the touch. Yet, the moment I made contact, it seemed as if my finger went straight through. I poked it again, feeling only warm flesh as well as a light pain as I scraped skin. Another hallucination. And yet it looked so real.

The world seemed to spin around me.

I staggered over to one side, leaning against the metal crates for support. A moment to breathe. That was all that I needed.

Breathe in…two…three…four…

Out…two…three…four…

Okay. I could do this. Just because I hadn’t taken anything in the last twelve hours didn’t feel I wouldn’t feel any lingering side effects. Maybe it was a sign of withdrawal. What had the doctor said? I wracked my brain, trying to recall the conversation that we had shared nearly a month or two ago.

The memory was piecemeal. Nothing seemed connected.

Frustrated, I shook my head to clear my thoughts and cracked open an eye. This was going nowhere. And if Gladstone knew what was happening, he would see me as a liability. Not that I cared, of course, what the man thought. It was merely my pride on the line.

As I steadied myself for the day ahead, I saw movement at the periphery of my vision. I turned towards the tents and the supply crates. At first, I couldn’t make out anything beyond the norm. And then, I saw them. On the boxes were translucent worm-like creatures. Hundreds. Everywhere. They stretched out towards me, as if sensing my warmth and the life pumping through my veins.

Something slimy and disgusting touched my leg. Then, before I could do anything, it seemed to slither up it.

I jumped, yelping at the top of my voice. It felt like they were all over me and I needed to get them off. I brushed at my arms and slapped at my trouser pants, panic overriding nearly everything.

Shit. Shit. Shit! Had I got them all? Were any still crawling on me?

Eyes turned towards me, taking in the spectacle that I represented. I barely noticed. Consumed by the immediate threat to my person. What would they do? Burrow into my skin? Destroy me from the inside out? I did not want to go out like that. No. My death should be my own choosing.

I did not hear the screams until it was too late.

By the time that I heard the warning, I had almost no time to react. Before I knew it, I found myself face-down in the dirt and there was a piercing pain in my head. For several heartbeats, I lay on the ground stunned as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Were we under attack? Who would fire upon us? And why?

That was when the sound of gunfire filled the air. A shrill screech answered in kind, filled with pain and fear. Head throbbing, I clasped my hands over my ears, unable to bear it. It seemed to go on for hours. Until finally, it stopped.

Blessed relief swept through my body. Slowly, I rose to my feet, dizzy and disorientated. I scanned the beach, my gaze alighting on the tents, somehow untouched, and the body that lay across the pebbles. Heart in my throat, I raced towards it. The short brown locks a familiar sight.

No. No. No. No.

Pritchard was still breathing, albeit shallowly when I reached her. Eyes closed, she looked like she was asleep. I shook her as gently as I could, hoping to awaken her. She did not stir. ‘Come on, Pritchard. Wake up!’

No response. I brushed away her hair and caught a sight of iridescent scales along her brow. They had formed a ridge and were cold to the touch. I recoiled even as I tried to squash the disgust that welled up. The implications supported one of the many theories that had been floated around the laboratory. Had she always been one from the start or had this been a recent transformation?

Could it be contagious?

I dared not think too long on it. Pritchard was hurt. There weren’t any obvious wounds but for what reason would she be lying here insensate when moments before she had been alert, fit and healthy. Unlike me, she had readily volunteered to be a part of Gladstone’s mission.

It was then that I thought to stop and ponder. Where were the others? Glancing around the ruins of the makeshift camp, I could see no sign of the other scientists. Thankfully, I could not make out any immediate dangers either. Pritchard would be safe. For now.

With some effort, I scooped her into my arms. It would not do to have her out in the open and on the hard stones. I nearly tripped on one of the tent pegs when I finally put her down. She did not stir.

Nearby, one of the metal crates sat open, the lid askew. Inside were three or four rifles. I would have liked to have believed that Gladstone would not have provided live rounds. We were a motley crew of scientists and nurses – prone to sitting at desks and conducting experiments, not battlefields. If the ‘specimen’ we sought was not as docile as initially reported, it was entirely possible they would have provided tranquilisers.

But that was not what I had heard earlier. Nor did it seem that the creature that we were after would go quietly.

Behind me, I heard another round of gunfire. Without thinking, I grabbed the first gun I could reach. It almost slipped from my hands. Nothing felt right in my grip. The butt bit into my shoulder. The trigger seemed too far away for my finger. How did someone use these things? It felt unwieldy and far too heavy.

Still, if it meant that I could put a stop to whatever was happening, I would take the opportunity offered to me.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of colour and movement to my left. I hurried towards it, weapon up. Though I did not know squat about sight-lines, the basic concept of using a gun was simple. Point and shoot. It would have to do. After all, someone needed to bring this whole thing to a close. Once and for all. Whether that was putting down the specimen or cutting down Gladstone – I couldn’t say. But the insanity that had gripped the laboratory – that had infiltrated my family and the town – needed to reach its final conclusion.

Up ahead, I caught a glimpse of one of the scientists. His name eluded me. It didn’t matter. At the sound of my approach from behind, he whirled around, gun at the ready. There was a crazed look in his eyes, one that implied alarm or panic or both. His face was deathly pale. From just a casual glance, I could see that some injury had caused his nose to bleed.

‘Name!’ he demanded. ‘Don’t lie. I’ll know. All the others…they lied because they weren’t real. Please. I need someone to be real!’ The desperation in his voice sent a chill down my spine. It niggled a part of my brain that said something wasn’t quite right.

‘Hinds! Tom Hinds. I’m one of you. Us. And I’m real. As real as can be,’ I said, taking a cautious step forward and trying to appear as friendly as was possible. ‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’

It was as if he did not hear me. As if he were lost in his own world. That was when realisation struck me.

As soon as his finger twitched, I immediately fell prone on the ground. Bullets whizzed over my head. Fuck! I grappled to swing my gun around. Time seemed to slow. Every wasted movement seemed to bring my impending doom ever closer. The man stomped forward. He snarled at the air above me, his lips stretched over his teeth. It was animalistic and territorial.

‘You can’t run from me now. You’re one of them, aren’t you? Well, say something!’

I kept silent – unsure if any answer I provided would placate the man. It was as if he had taken some form of hallucinogenic. The symptoms were all there. He was talking and interacting with something that wasn’t real. That he was carrying a weapon made it all the more complicated.

Desperately, I tried to crawl away. Something had happened to him. I couldn’t say what. Minutes ago, he had been listening patiently to Gladstone, the next…

There was a pregnant pause and then the man cried out in alarm and something dropped to the ground. I risked a glance over my shoulder. He was cradling his arm. Blood dripped from a new gash. And then, before he could reach for his weapon, he was thrown thirty feet away. He landed with a crunch and remained still.

I scanned the deserted beach, trying to make sense of what I had witnessed. There was no sign of his assailant. A terrible idea gripped me. What if the—No. I quickly shoved the thought to the back of my mind as I scrambled up to my feet, a sudden pounding behind my eyes.

There was no sense in trying to make sense of the impossible. It would only serve to pull me down an endless spiral – straight into the abyss. I needed to find the ‘specimen’ and put a stop to all this madness.

As I scoured the beach for Gladstone, I stumbled upon two harrowing encounters. One was Lopez. Just like the nameless scientist before him, he seemed unaware of my presence. Lost in his own world, gun cast aside, it almost looked like he was trying to settle into a domesticated life atop the rocks even as the waves threatened to knock him down. When I tried to talk to him, he knocked me aside as if I as just the buzzing of a fly in his ear.

Stunned and confused, I watched as he continued to speak in Tagalog to people that were not there. From the distress on his face, it appeared as if he was embroiled in a domestic argument. It was uncanny and disturbing.

Yet, no matter how many times I tried, I could not wake him from the delusions that gripped him. It was on my last attempt that I was pushed aside that I saw the rogue wave building up. Too late, I shouted my warning. But it was as if he did not hear a word. I watched, in mute horror, as the wave crashed into him and dragged him out to sea.

Another soul I had failed to save.

The second person I met on that lonely beach was Patricia Hastings. Though we had not worked together in the past, I knew Patricia from the work she had done on genetic modification. Her reputation proceeded her in academic circles, mired though it was in controversy. In the last few years, the media had portrayed her as an overly ambitious woman driven only by the thirst of knowledge and what could be done, ethics be damned.

With her back facing me, I had, at first, thought that she had escaped whatever ailment that had afflicted the others. But as I cautiously approached, I realised that something was wrong. Patricia stood as still as a statue. Her eyes moved from left to right and back again as if she was tracking something. In fact, she barely seemed to blink. When I waved my arm in front of her face, she did not respond.

Just as I turned to leave, Patricia uttered a low guttural moan. She took one step forward before collapsing to the ground. When I reached her, her eyes were still open – endlessly tracking whatever it was she was seeing. A cursory examination revealed that her heartbeat was slower than average and she felt a tad bit colder.

For several terrifying minutes, I debated my next actions. I could not, in good conscience, leave her unattended. What if she was suffering from a stroke or a seizure? How could I leave her here?

The other part of my brain, however, whispered that the only way to solve the problem was to track down the ‘specimen’ and kill it. There had been numerous reports from the retrieval team that many of the men had experienced both auditory and visual hallucinations. Some had even killed themselves.

While the creatures that we had experimented on in the lab had demonstrated any such abilities, it was clear that we were facing a much greater threat than Gladstone had advised us in the briefings.

In the end, cold ruthless logic won through. There was naught I could do for Patricia. For all I knew, killing the monstrosity would free the others from whatever power had ensnared their senses.

What I dared not consider was why I had not been affected.

For twenty odd minutes, I searched high and low for where Gladstone might have disappeared to. But the beach was empty of all save a few of the volunteer task force.

As I rounded the headland, the sea roaring beside me, I spotted spatters of blue on the rocks. Some of it was still wet. Bending down, I touched it with a finger. Many of the creatures that we had experimented upon had blood rich in iron. Perhaps, because, many were still humanoid in appearance. The one Gladstone had sent us to chase, however, was different. It was possible that it might share more similarities with cephalopods or certain species of fish.

For the first time in a long while, excitement thrummed through me. If this was true, then we might have stumbled upon something ground-breaking. This discovery was sure to push our understanding of the human genome. Diseases might be cured. Cancer would just be a footnote in medical history! We would finally show the naysayers the power of science. Finally, we could refine what God had created and fix the flaws in our own design!

The possibilities were endless! Gladstone was too small in his focus. If we could only uncover the secrets behind these creatures, the secrets we could uncover…

At what cost, though? If these creatures were sentient, what right did I have to take experiment on them? At what point would it be okay to cross that line? The thought gave me pause and sobered me from the grandiose ideals that gripped me. Was it worth the lives of everyone dear to me? What about my ever-slipping sanity? I could not keep doing these things. Cutting into their bodies, trying to figure out their physiology…what had any of that accomplished over the last four years?

Murderer. Butcher.

I took a deep breath and rose to my feet. Find Gladstone. Find the specimen.

The sun had begun to set, the chill wind biting into my bones, when I spotted the cave cut into the side of the cliff. Just outside the entrance, on the huge plateau, was a huge spray of blue. Mixed in was one set of boot prints. If I was right, that meant Gladstone had followed after the specimen. I hurried into the cave, gun at the ready. There was no telling what I would encounter inside. For all I knew, Gladstone might have killed the abomination. Or, perhaps, the reverse was true.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

One way or another, this would end.

Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I stalked into the gloom. Far ahead, I heard the drip drop of water hitting rock. As for Gladstone or the monster, there was no sign.

I continued forward, my eyes adjusting to the dim light that filtered through. A part of me worried what would happen if I did not find Gladstone or the specimen before nightfall. Foremost in my thoughts were Patria Hasting and Laura Pritchard. With a concerted effort, I shook my head to clear it of my fears. I would cross that bridge when I got there.

Distracted, I did not see that the passageway sloped downwards. I stepped into air and felt my heart lurch as I tipped forward. A frightened cry left my lips, arms pinwheeling.

As the ground rushed up towards me, I managed to catch myself on the slippery rocks. The heels of my palm barked with pain, along with my knees. I took a shuddering breath in to steady myself. Felt it leave. And then took another breath even as I began to play a familiar refrain within the confines of my brain. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. God. I had been so stupid!

If that hadn’t tipped Gladstone or the creature off…

I scrambled back to my feet and dusted myself off before taking a look at my new surroundings. The cavern was huge. Ahead, I saw the path branch into three separate openings. Centred above the crossroads a narrow shaft allowed the fading light of the afternoon in. It did little against the darkness.

Which way to go?

There was no sign or clue as to which way they had gone. But instead of trusting to luck, I waited. Closing my eyes, I strained my ears for the slightest sound. I’d look like a fool but it was my one recourse. If they had thought I had fallen, perhaps they would drop their guard and make a mistake that I could capitalise on.

Seconds bled into minutes. It was as if the entire world was holdings its breath.

Somewhere in the darkness, I heard a strange scuffling sound. A feral grin stretched across my face as I dashed towards the opening on my right. Within moments, whoever was in front realised their mistake. They broke into a run, the pitter-patter of their footsteps echoing through the cavern.

I raced after them, lungs burning and legs threatening to buckle out from beneath me. Still, I pressed on. I could not afford to lose the opportunity before me.

Movement ahead lent a burst of speed and suddenly, we emerged into another open area. The last vestiges of sunlight filtered through, casting the large lake in a rainbow of colour. At the centre of the subterranean waterway was a small platform, on which sat a forgotten shrine made of driftwood and refuse.

Ensnared by the beauty of the scene before me, I forgot, for the briefest of moments, what had led me there. Until, an elbow flew straight for my nose. There was a loud crunch and a sudden intense pain. Blood spurted. The world seemed to shift in and out of focus as I tried to stem the flow.

And then Gladstone was running down towards the lake and the shrine at the centre. He looked over his shoulder, the expression on his face was a mixture of fear and spite. The thin strands of hair on his head were dull and greasy, plastered to his scalp. His clothes were tattered. In his hands, he held a strange box-like object.

Fuelled by rage, I grabbed hold of my rifle. I aimed down the sights. I pulled the trigger and a burst of gunfire exploded from the other end. The shots went wild, missing by a wide margin. Gladstone risked another glance over his shoulder, a smirk on his smarmy face. God. How I wanted to wipe it off. Pritchard did not deserve the hell he had put her through. Nor had any of the others.

Cursing under my breath, I gave chase.

I cornered him in front of the shrine, weapon at the ready. At this range, there was no way I would miss. A stitch was forming in my side but I refused to acknowledge it as I wheezed – desperately trying to get air in my lungs.

‘It’s over, Gladstone!’ I panted, dying for a drink or a smoke or something that would take the edge off the pain. ‘I don’t know what you intended to do, but it ends now.’

Gladstone turned around. ‘Hinds,’ he sneered, slicking back his hair with one hand. ‘Why am I not surprised? You’ve been a thorn in my side since the moment you joined the team.’

‘This isn’t a negotiation. I have the gun.’ I made a show of tightening my finger on the trigger. ‘Put down the box, Gladstone. Surrender. Once we put down the creature, everything can go back to normal and—’

It began as a chuckle. Before I knew it, Gladstone was doubled over with laughter. His free hand, slapping his knee.

‘What’s so funny?’ I demanded. ‘Stop fucking laughing!’ God, I wanted to hurt him so bad. If only I could march up to him, hit him in the stomach with the butt of the rifle…

Gladstone straightened and wiped the tears from the corner of his eye. ‘Ah, Hinds. Always dreaming too small.’

‘Cut the cryptic shit, Gladstone. You were never a proper scientist. Instead, you were a small insignificant man with delusions of grandeur. A middle-management pencil pusher. That’s what you’ve always been. And what you’ll always be. The life of an academic too hard and difficult for you, eh?’

I watched as his face went red and his posture go rigid. ‘You know nothing about me,’ he snarled. ‘All the years that I poured into my research and the price I’ve paid to keep my project…this project afloat. So, don’t try and get up on that high horse of yours and preach to me.’

‘Yeah, well, this project is being shut down.’

‘You’re too late. You can’t stop what’s already in motion. The Elder Gods are coming. When they step through the veil and into our world, I’ll be waiting. Ever loyal. Along with the Herald. To be rewarded for my service and dedication to the cause.’ Madness gleamed from his eyes as he let out a low chuckle. ‘Even though you tried to pull me down, I rose. Triumphant.’

Before I could stop him, he turned and slammed the box-like object down onto a small pedestal in front of the shrine. A dark glow began to emanate from the shrine, pulsing with power and evil intent.

The air grew heavy. Oppressive. There was a sudden ringing in my ears. It was sharp and insistent, bringing me to my knees.

My finger tugged at the trigger. Before I could cut Gladstone down, the world around me warped and fell away. Suddenly, I was surrounded by four white padded walls. Orderlies banged against the sealed metal door. They wanted to get in. To stop me from what I had to do. My heart thudded in my chest. I couldn’t let them stop me. To sedate me. To drug me.

I screwed my eyes up tight, grit my teeth and forced myself to calm. It was the same old nightmare that I had experienced again and again after Morgan, June and Jasper had taken that ill-fated drive up towards the cliff. I focused on the dirt beneath my boots, the weight of the rifle in my hands, the ebb and flow of the water…

Hesitantly, I cracked open one eye. I was back in the cavern. Good. Still standing a few metres away was Gladstone. He was crouched over the box, mumbling under his breath. The glow had faded and his body language screamed thwarted ambition. I caught only a few words. Something about ancient texts and a prophecy. I gave it no heed as I squeezed the trigger and felt the impact of the stock thumping into my shoulder.

Gladstone fell.

For a single moment, it felt as if a weight was lifted from my shoulders and everything was right again with the world. But then the box began to throb once more. I watched in horror as it slowly began to float in the air and spin and spin and spin. A rip formed in the air just above the shrine. It was dark and cold and menacing. Something reached through and the mere sight of it sent a shiver down my spine.

I turned. And ran.

To stay would have only sealed my doom.

Breathless, I emerged from the cave and into a tempest. The winds raged and the sea roiled as if in answer to what Gladstone had unleashed.

There was nowhere to hide. No place that was safe from their wrath. I could not say how I knew that fact. Only that I did. Still, there was Hastings to think of. And Pritchard too. None of them had asked for this. If I could save them then perhaps there was still hope for me still.

Something struck me from behind and I was flung to the ground, the rifle flying into the water. Pain thrummed through every part of my body except for my right arm, which seemed to be non-responsive. I staggered to my feet and kept going. Death waited but I would not go into that sweet oblivion without a fight.

Each step sapped what little of my strength remained. The distance from where I was and the tents seemed to grow. I fell to my knees, exhaustion weighing down my limbs. Though I shouted at myself to move, my body refused to acknowledge my commands. I lay on the pebbles and stared up at the storm as lightning flashed and rain peppered my face.

I could not say how long I stayed there as oblivion tempted me with sweet release. It would be so easy to simply let go. After all, I had tried to do good in the world. My intentions had been for the noblest of reasons. Surely, whoever manned the pearly gates would see that and consider me worthy of entering Elysium.

A siren song pulled me from my thoughts. I craned my neck towards the rising waves and saw what must have been a final gift. Morgan, June and Jasper – whole and without blemish. With the last remaining ounce of strength that I had, I crawled towards them. It couldn’t be. And yet, it was. Right before my very eyes.

The unshed tears that I had refused to let fall burned as I made my way into the surf.

Finally, I could be reunited with them. With that thought in mind, I allowed myself to sink into the soft embrace of the water and let it carry me away.

#short story #shadows of the mind #writing

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arwenkenobi48 · 3 years ago

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The Fiend and the Fugitive Character Profiles: Stardust, Drakon and Smokey

I found the traditional format for these character profiles a little too taxing, so I’ll simply describe each of these characters with a little bit of prose and dialogue, then include trivia relating to each of them.

Stardust

He removed the crash helmet and goggles from his head, revealing two small conical horns upturned on his forehead, with two smaller ones aligned vertically on the bridge of his nose and between his eyebrows. The young man swished back a rich crop of hair, the colours of which were most striking, starting out with a deep purple and ending in an electric turquoise. The area around his eyes and halfway down his cheeks were marked by what appeared to be some sort of ritual tattoos, a rich crimson in colour, forming abstract shapes closely resembling crescent moons, only more angular. His bright purple eyes sparkled happily as he adjusted his parka, bowing modestly from side to side as the crowd cheered. “Thank you, thank you all, thank you very much,” he beamed, his voice rich and cultured. There was no doubt about it; this eccentric figure was indeed Robin’s childhood friend, albeit going by a different name. How on Earth did he manage to earn so much money? Surely not by becoming a human snowball every time he went skiing.

——————————

“Mephistopheles, hold this for a moment, will you?” Stardust placed a large object in the demon’s hands, so heavy he nearly dropped it, then calmly took it back and placed on the now immaculate shelf. “Thank you, old chap,” “What was that thing?” Mephisto demanded. “Oh, just a giant cosmic pearl gifted to me by a relative,” Stardust replied casually. “Why, whatever is the matter, Mephisto? You’re looking awfully peaky all of a sudden!” “I think it drained my dark energy,” Mephistopheles gagged. “Well, that’s certainly something else, as they say. I’m sure it’s not as bad as that. You know those things absorb energy like spherical sponges,” “I didn’t know that,” grumbled Mephistopheles, who now felt like he had just been cured of a cold, but in the worst way possible. As much as he felt bad for his rival, Stardust couldn’t help feeling rather amused that what dragons considered medicine had made a demon sick.

Stardust is one of my oldest OCs

His name is actually an English translation of the Draconic name Esrah, which quite literally means “essence of the stars”

Stardust is demisexual and panromantic

He’s a philanthropist who protects dragons that have been made homeless and have suffered discrimination from humans

Many assume that Stardust’s odd appearance is due to body modifications, but he is actually half dragon and can shift between human and dragon forms. This is technically called a Dragon Angel

Stardust’s only relative that he’s in contact with is his grandfather, Mitsuo, who is a 1000 year old Japanese water dragon

The only thing Stardust and Mephistopheles can healthily bond over is table tennis. Regular tennis is out of bounds after Mitsuo got knocked out during a rather heated match (quite literally, the ball was going so fast it was gathering heat)

Despite having sold his soul to Mephistopheles, Stardust repents and is able to retrieve it. He has already proven himself to be a good person after donating his riches to support his fellow dragons

Stardust enjoys listening to heavy metal and opera

Drakon

The dragon was around the same size as a Shetland pony, but at first glance nowhere near as cuddly. The dark blue scaly skin contrasted with an armour-plated golden underbelly, the curved horns, spines and barbed tail also indicated that this was a creature you wouldn’t want to mess with. Although he had sharp, owl-like claws, his hands and feet were bizarrely humanoid in shape and the powerful muscles seemed to indicate that this creature could be both bipedal and a quadruped, although being an all fours appeared to be the more comfortable of the two. His golden eyes peered up and his nostrils flared. He was clearly trying to appear intimidating as he stretched his wings out, but he somehow failed in spite of himself. “Now, listen ‘ere, human,” he warned in a voice with a strong regional accent. “I don’t know exactly what you’re up to, but let’s get one thing straight, yeah? You don’t wanna be starting any fights, especially not with me!” He bared his teeth, but they didn’t look as though they were capable of doing damage to anything other than a shawarma.

—————————

“Eh, who am I kiddin’?” Grumbled Drakon, sinking to the floor like a depressed panther. “I let you down. All cause I got the collywobbles seein’ them humans all at once. I wish I didn’t scare so easily, Smokey,” The baby’s reaction seemed to indicate that he not only understood his guardian, but empathised with him and wanted him to feel better. Even in his sadness, as a lump formed in his throat and a tear in his eye, Drakon couldn’t help but smile.

Drakon’s name is the root word of “dragon” in Greek

Drakon and Smokey are implied to be brothers from different clutches but with the same mother, although nobody knows for sure

After his cave was destroyed by humans mining for gemstones, Drakon resides in the House of Stardust. He thinks highly of Stardust and considers him his best friend. The feeling is mutual and they frequently protect one another from the cruelty of humans

Drakon loves shawarmas to the point that he put on quite a few pounds and now has a build similar to a bear

The inspirations for Drakon came from the Cowardly Lion in the book version of The Wizard of Oz and Captain Haddock from The Adventures of Tintin

Drakon hates trumpet music. Whenever he sees a trumpet he will do everything in his power to destroy it (and by that he’ll usually yell at it, stamp on it or at worst, set it on fire)

Smokey

With a loud whine that sounded like a cross between a baby bird chirping and a kitten mewing, Smokey came galloping down the hallway. His round body was shaped like a squashed pear and his limbs were short and stubby, although he could function perfectly well. He clearly still had a lot of his baby fat, but despite that, he was surprisingly fast. His mottled skin was so dark grey it was nearly black, although a bright red belly and round eyes resembling those of an owl stood out from this. His wide yet snub beak gave him a strong resemblance to a potoo bird and his wings hadn’t matured yet. The most striking feature of this infant dragon, however, were his floppy, comically lopsided ears, which flapped around like ribbons as he galloped along. He didn’t speak, as he was much too young to learn how, but simply uttered his trademark “nee-nee-neesh!” noise as he hugged Stardust’s leg.

Smokey is five years old in human years, but that’s closer to two years old for his subspecies

He can’t breathe fire yet, but manages to sneeze out a fireball to protect his friends from the forces of Hell

Being so young, Smokey cries very easily. Possibly as a result of losing his parents, he also gets upset whenever someone leaves the room, as he thinks they won’t return. This results in him running after them and clinging to their legs while ‘neeshing’ loudly.

I was originally doing to give Smokey some dialogue, but decided against it, as I felt he’d be much cuter without it and his actions would speak louder than words

He gets his name from the fact that smoke always blows out of his ears whenever he tries to test his fire breath

Smokey hates Mephistopheles and can sense his evil aura from a mile away. Whenever he sees him he makes a noise like an angry teapot coming to the boil

Despite being little more than a newborn in dragon years, Smokey is capable of great empathy and comforts his friends when they’re feeling down

His favourite album is Shepherd Moons by Enya

Smokey was based on a plushie I use for emotional support

His favourite food is Greek honey cake

Apologies for the absence again; mental health really hasn’t been great at all, but I was still determined to deliver some of the content I promised. I realised that there was nothing stopping me from writing the first draft of The Fiend and the Fugitive, so I made a start on that and I’m looking forward to officially beginning the project in September!

#the fiend and the fugitive #original intellectual property #OC: Stardust #OC: Drakon #OC: Smokey #dragons #original characters

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 4 years ago

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One man’s curse is another man’s blessing (Prompt: Nightmare)

The raven monster looked around frantically for an escape, he was in the woods again, his woods, his home. But he was being hunted. He could sense the villain pursuing him, like so many of its kind, it came with fire, traps, and a crude understanding of what he was. But unlike the other hunters who had all fallen before him, this one knew the ways of magic and knew how to use them against the feathered king of the forest.

“Mr. Lawrence?”

For the first time in the beast’s life, he genuinely feared what would happen to him, he was terrified of this one-legged hunter who would otherwise be nothing but an appetizer to him. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the hunter, the man was looking directly at him and taking careful aim with his gun...

“Mr. Lawrence?”

Not wanting to get shot with whatever magical concoction the hunter undoubtedly put in the bullets, the raven spread his wings and flew away.

*BANG*

*CRRAAACK*

As the tree fell on his back and he fruitlessly struggled to get out of his self-made prison, he cursed himself for being so stupid! The hunter wasn’t aiming at him, he was aiming at the old tree!

“Mr. Lawrence?”

The Raven king’s blood turned into ice as he heard the uneven yet steady footsteps approaching him, his life flashed before his eyes as he part of him wondered what the hunter’s goal was. Did it come to strip the beast of his lovely iridescent-black feathers? Did it come to take him down for sport? Or did it come to avenge the others that he had killed? He howled and flapped his free wing as hard as he could as his hunter came closer and closer to him...

“’EY SAMMY! SOMEONE’S TRYIN’ TA SPEAK TA YA!”

Sammy snapped back to the present; he was human, in the studio’s break room, there were other people here, some of them looked at him like he was either hurt, crazy, or both.

“Huh?! What?! Oh. ...What was the question again?”

“I just asked how you and Joey met each other...”

“Right, that...” Sammy pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and recited the detail-scrubbed truth he had told many times before. “He was on a hunting trip and he trespassed on my property. It was dark, and he was firing his gun near me. So at the time, I thought he was out to kill me.”

“Oh.”

“He’s still embarrassed about it and I don’t like remembering it.” Sammy took a long sip from his coffee. “And for future reference, my name’s not “Mr. Lawrence”, Just call me Sammy.”

“Okay then...”

“If that’s all you wanted from me,” He stood up from his seat, taking the coffee mug with him “then I’m going back to work.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

His talons were dulled and cut, his sharp beak was given the same treatment, his beautiful, glossy feathers that practically sparkled under sunlight and had been the envy of the world of monsters and world of mankind alike had all been plucked out. He stood naked and helpless in a form he had called his prey as long as he could remember, and was told that it was his true form.

Sammy Lawrence woke up from his nightmare in a cold sweat to discover that he had fallen asleep with his charm on, keeping him in what he called his “work skin”. Reaching for the charm Joey gave him and ripping it off, he sighed in relief as he saw his human body getting covered in feathers. But paused in confusion as he saw no further changes take place.

“Don’t panic...” he told himself as he fumbled around in the dark for the phone. “Don’t panic...” he repeated as he punched in Joey’s number. “Don’t panic...” he repeated again as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Joey’s groggy voice answered “Sammy, what time is it-”

“JOEY SYLVESTER DREW, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOUR CURSED NECKLACE DO TO ME?!”

“Sammy, what happened?!” The bird monster heard shuffling on the other line, most likely Joey getting his shoes and coat on. “Can you describe the problem?”

“When I took it off, it wouldn’t let me change back all the way!”

“That’s... unusual...”

“Does sleeping in it effect the charm’s power?”

“Physically, no, it shouldn’t do that.” Joey grabbed some of his spell books off the shelves “Unless you were wearing it for literal years without taking it off, but I highly doubt that’s what’s going on.”

The bird monster heard the sounds of tires screeching.

“Joey?”

“Yes, Sammy?”

“...Are you driving while talking on the phone again?”

“That’s not the issue at hand, are there any other details about your condition that you need to tell me?”

“Joey you idiot, you’re going to get yourself killed if you keep pulling shit like this! Either hang up the phone or I will!”

“Good news, I’m pulling into your driveway as we speak!”

Sammy slapped his forehead in frustration as he hung up the phone. Sure enough, as he looked outside his window he saw the familiar beat-up Rolls Royce that had somehow managed to survive being Joey’s car for at least fifteen years. The same car Joey threw him into all those years ago.

He exited his house and saw Joey hobble out of the driver’s seat trying to balance the almost comedically large stack of books he had brought with him with his cane.

“Need help?”

“It would be appreciated.”

Sammy wordlessly took the large stack out of Joey’s hands and led him into his ‘home’.

As soon as the pair were in, Joey immediately went to work on trying to figure out what went wrong, flipping through his large stack of books and poking and prodding at Sammy’s feather-covered form.

“Did you recently eat or drink anything that felt ‘off’ to you?”

“No.”

“Have you recently been in or near areas that belong to the fae and or any other supernatural being?”

“Do I look like an insane dumbass?”

“First off: Hey! Second off: What about people, did you recently meet someone who you felt was out to get you and or had strong magical abilities?”

“Not any that know about my “Condition” as you call it.”

“Oh dear...”

“What is it?!”

‘Oh dear’, ‘oh no’, ‘oops’, and ‘oh well’ were the four worst phrases Sammy could ever hear Joey say.

“Sammy, how much are you aware about the nature of your condition?”

“I’ve been a raven monster for as long as I could remember, sometimes I would change my size for convenience's sake and could somewhat alter my form to have an extra pair of talons in my wings if I wanted, and then after you stole me from my forest, I could look like a somewhat-normal human being with your charm.”

“I meant, what do you know about the background of your condition, do you know why you have it?”

“Well, there was what Allison said, but I still think she was just spouting hogwash to convince me I’m one of you people...”

“What was it?”

“According that fortune teller friend of yours, my ‘curse’ was put on me by my mom’s relatives. They couldn’t stand the fact that she eloped with a black man so they “cursed me to take the form of a monster he’d grow the boy into anyway” and that it would only be broken when I found my “Real family”. But I’m pretty sure that if I had a human family that wanted me, they’d look for me.”

“That makes explaining this slightly easier;” Joey sighed. “Sammy, did you know that magic takes more than just blood relations into account of who your family is? In fact, spiritual family connections that are mutual between two parties tend to be stronger than blood family connections.”

“I think you’ve said something like that before...”

“I’m telling you this because I think that you’ve loosened your curse.”

The bird man blinked in disbelief.

“Are you telling me..?”

Joey twiddled his thumbs sheepishly as he spoke, the man was clearly uncomfortable to break the news to him.

“You are genuinely a human being, and your curse is slowly but surely being lifted.”

Sammy stared at Joey wide-eyed with his visible skin was white as a sheet. He left the room and Joey heard muffled screaming coming from that area.

“Now Sammy, I’m sure you have a lot of mixed feelings about this, but I know we’re bound to find a solution somehow!”

The muffled screaming continued as Sammy was still taking in the fact that his worst personal nightmare was real and happening right now. The songbird musician felt sick to his stomach... He used to eat humans for fuck’s sake! They were one of his favorite meats before meeting Joey, and now he was being told that he was one?!

“Sammy?”

And the pack... Without him, what would happen to the werewolf pack in the studio?! He needed his wings to properly watch after them! Even if they knew his scent too well to attack him while they were wolfed out, a human being is much slower and weaker than a pack of werewolves, they could get themselves hurt, or worse, killed if he couldn’t keep up with them! And what if one of them accidentally turned him?! None of them would ever be able to live with the emotional turmoil of that!

“Sammy..?”

He was useless now! Nothing more than a pathetic wreck of a human being who had thrown away all his value because he let his guard down, got too soft in the humans’ world, too comfortable talking with them... And now he doomed himself to be one of them, and the wolf pack to a terrible fate.

“Sammy.”

The musician felt a reassuring hand on his back, and looked up to see Joey Drew’s concerned face.

“Take a few days off if you need them, I can understand if you need space to sort all of this out.”

He stayed silent as he thought over his situation.

As it turned out, taking some space was exactly what he needed. All it took was a few days back in the woods, far away from the studio, and the people there and he was back to his former glory, only turning human again when he put on Joey’s cursed trinket.

He knew he’d have to return eventually, but when he did, he’d know better than to let his guard down again.

#hauntober #nightmare #bendy and the ink machine #batim monster au #sammy lawrence #joey drew #fanfic

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thebibliomancer · 4 years ago

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Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 18

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because sure the book is only half over but don’t you think we should really find that flute now?

Last times on book: Kylan, Naia, and Tavra have traveled to Home-in-Shadows to find a magic firca that will help them warn all Gelfling about the Skeksis. Maudra Argot’s delightful son Amri has joined the party to lead them to the Tomb of Relics.

Chapter 18

The gang meets urLii the Storyteller! They find the cedar box of Gyr’s firca! What a fulfilling chapter!

Amri gets them all lanterns and then the gelfs split up because they’ll cover more ground that way.

... Kylan imagined Naia and Tavra were seeing the same as him: a passage lined with dusty, lichen-covered, boxed, locked, rolled, stacked, and latched items. There were so many things crammed among the shelves that it was hard to tell, especially in the lacking light, where one item ended and the next began.

I’ve been taking all of the books off of my multiple shelves to move and I feel this description very hard. My room is just stacks of books now. Floor is books and bed is books.

And yet I feel a secret forbidden library/archive inside a mountain might be my ideal dream home.

Kylan walks through the Tomb of Relics and sees lantern light and a figure down a hall. Its Tavra and she tells him to get back on task.

The first room gave him no success, though not for lack of trying. There were so many things crowded in every cubby that he was sure he hadn’t possibly looked through everything. Yet if he followed his impulse and inspected every crate and scroll he found, it would take forever. Each artifact was unique, and wonderful, and Kylan knew he could spend his entire life in the Tomb if he lost track of his goal.

In the last chamber of the row, Kylan finds that a shelf against the far wall has collapsed (possible from an earthquake... shouldn’t that be thraquake?) and spilled books and boxes and chests and artifacts and broken stuff into one jumbled pile.

And then the pile starts to move as a Mystic rises from underneath it. Huh, guess the shelf collapsed recently or he was taking a long rubble nap.

Amri and Naia show up and Amri introduces the Mystic as urLii and that he sometimes comes down from the Sanctuary to bring new stuff to the Tomb of Relics.

Heyyyy, urLii the Storyteller!

He was great in the Age of Resistance comic! In that, he sorta lived in the Tomb of Relics like a dragon with a bunch of piles of treasures. He also guarded the Dual Glaive and had named the Tomb of Relics that to make it sound spooky because he didn’t want a lot of company.

urLii the Mystic finally cleared enough of the pile to step free of it. In full view, Kylan could see he was indeed the same race as urVa, the wise archer they’d met in the Dark Wood. He had a long body, from his long face to his long, heavy tail, his skin marked where it was visible with etching-like whorls and spirals. He was clothed in a simple mantle, wrists decorated with metal cuffs and cord ties. He cleared his throat and patted his body, as if to make sure it was intact, and then drew a pair of eye-prisms from the clutter. Once they were snug on his nose, he looked at the three Gelfling more closely.

Huh! I think this is the first Mystic with glasses? Even though skekOk wears multiple glasses, his counterpart urAc wears none.

... Although I’m seeing on the wiki that skekOk wears glasses just to look smarter. Amazing.

urLii recognizes that this is Amri’s first time in the Tomb and explains he was looking for something, which he doesn’t remember now, when a shelf fell on him.

Amri decides to ask for urLii’s help in finding the firca.

While Amri described the firca to urLii, as casually as with a sibling, Kylan tried to quiet a sudden pulse of jealousy. It was a bad feeling, and he didn’t like it one bit. Not only did the Grottan have access to such a trove of ancient treasure, but they knew one of the Mystics like a family friend? He sighed and tried to wave the feeling away. There was no need to be in competition with Amri, who was only doing everything he could to help them.

If you didn’t hate being underground so much, I’d suggest asking Maudra Argot to adopt you. She seems cool. And Amri could be your brother!

But, yeah, no, it’d never work.

urLii believes he knows where the firca is. Although he’s waffling a bit on which way that is and keeps getting lost and wandering from chamber to chamber.

While they follow him, Naia asks why Amri didn’t mention that he knew a Mystic.

“Mystic? Um... I guess he is pretty mystical, now that you say it! urLii has taught the Grotan clan for ages. He’s a master song teller, and he taught us all to dream-etch. We call him the Storyteller. Our younglings travel to the Sanctuary when they come of age to learn... Is that strange? Are there others like him?”

Kylan’s heart ached. A friendship with one of the Mystics, those that were as wise as the Skeksis were shrewd! Yet in all his ancient knowledge, Amri didn’t even know how lucky he was.

Naia speculates how cool it would have been if urVa had lived with the Drenchen and taught them and mentions that urLii could probably teach Kylan a bunch of songs he’s never even heard.

Oof, kinda inadvertently putting salt on the jealousy wound there, Naia.

It’s not explicitly mentioned but I imagine that the fact that all Grottan learn dream-etching and can read has got to contribute to his feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Dream-etching was his special skill that he brought to the group but they’re bringing Amri along and he can do it too.

urLii eventually finds a shelf that he insists is where the firca is, even though Kylan is pretty sure they’d searched that shelf twice.

The Storyteller searched the shelves with all four long-fingered hands at once, picking up small chests and shifting things aside, looking and grumbling hmm, hmm the whole while.

Oh, to have four arms and super good at sorting...

Amri asks if he’s sure that this is the right shelf, I guess having the same misgivings as Kylan. Aw dangit, Amri is even misgiving better! Poor Kylan!

But urLii insists! He’s a very organized relic keeper! Since Gyr the Song Teller was a Sifa, he put it next to the Sifan Charms of Zale, a sextant, some Nebrie hide, and charms.

Amri suggests instead that urLii moved it or maybe it fell when there was a booklanche in the other room.

The Gelfs all split up to cover more ground again but in the same room.

Kylan stayed near urLii, waiting for the courage to speak to the Mystic. They worked side by side while Amri joined Naia on the other end of the room. Kylan had questions, and he wanted to hear everything the Mystic had to share, but no matter how long he waited, the courage never came. He could not ask about Gyr, or the firca, or even whether the Mystic race knew their Skeksis counterparts had broken the Heart of Thra. Instead they looked in silence, Kylan’s lungs filling with dust as he uncovered dozens and dozens of shelves, finding nothing.

Naia eventually declares that the firca isn’t here, prompting urLii to shake his head and respond “Oh, where, then?”

Is that catty? Can Mystics be catty?

I know they can be sassy, especially urSol, but I didn’t know catty.

Oh, and then Tavra comes in with the cedar box the firca is in, which she says she found two chambers over.

Womp womp.

She also notices urLii but doesn’t really respond to a Mystic being here. Like ‘well this might as well happen.’

Instead of presenting it to Amri, who could have been said to be the owner of the box on behalf of his clan that protected the Tomb, or to Naia, who had been their unofficial leader through everything, Tavra brought the box to Kylan. He accepted it in both hands.

“Here’s your firca, Song Teller,” she said.

See, now that definitely sounds catty or perhaps spiteful.

Naia encourages Kylan to crack open the box but he takes time to savor the moment or perhaps just to examine the box in detail so as to set the scene. It really is a great box.

Etched in great detail on the lid was a drawing of a bird, standing next to a grove of trees to demonstrate its fantastical size. Its head was all beak with an eye on either side, wings half-spread over a clutch of boulder-size eggs. The only thing peculiar about the etching was a character burned into the corner of the drawing, the symbol for S. The etching still felt warm, but then again, everything in the stuffy chambers did.

You have good taste in boxes, Gyr. And/or whoever boxed it. Possibly urLii?

Hmm, I wonder if the etching on the box is etching etching or dream-etching.

And I wonder about that S.

S forrrrrr Song Teller?

Kylan imagines the firca before opening the box, something that looks so similar to the tiny instrument he learned to play but just oh so much cooler and more powerful and also capable of saving the day against the Skeksis!

Which I’m not sure about. There’s like a hundred pages left.

Though, just finding the thing isn’t the end of the story. They still get to use it to graffiti the truth absolutely everywhere.

Kylan cracks the box open and.... aw dang.

Resting in the padded box was a collection of white fragments - bone, no doubt, and some still large enough to show intricate carvings. There were just enough pieces to know what it had been, and what it could never be again. All that mattered now was what it was: Gyr’s bell-bird firca, smashed into a thousand pieces.

What a shaggy fizzgig story.

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #Song of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Kylan #Naia #Amri #Tavra #urLii #the Storyteller

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blueburds · 4 years ago

Text

The Vision

Set a couple of weeks before the chapter Bloodline of my fic, To Reclaim what was Ours.

Word count: 979

Fendithas was unaware of his Force-sensitivity for the majority of his youth. Yet even now, at his age of thirty-three, he still experienced visions he’d not yet seen before. As it came into focus, he saw a flash of red; the chill of the night air made him shudder as he suddenly plummeted into darkness. Despair.

This was certainly not the first vision in which he saw his own demise. And while Fendithas knew that visions could always be misinterpreted, he felt… certain about this one.

He was running out of time. Quickly.

The front door to the cabin swung open, taking Fendithas out of his thoughts. He watched his owl companion flutter inside, perching atop one of the chairs. Zenith entered after and carried a limp, large-sized animal around his shoulders. “Got lucky today.”

“Mind the blood, please. I just cleaned the floors this morning.”

The other man huffed and moved into the next room, plopping the mammal atop a stone counter. Fendithas held out his arm and his bird fluffed its wings before flying over and sitting upon his wrist. “Thank you for bringing him home safely,” he muttered with a faint smirk upon his lips.

“Hey- your buddy almost blew our cover,” Zenith called from the other room.

“Nonsense. He’s an adaptive creature; everything he learns is from you and I.”

“Well last time I checked, we were both pretty good at keeping our mouths shut while sneaking up on things.”

Fendithas clicked his tongue in annoyance, sarcastically shaking his head, “I’m certain you were doing your best, my dear Evanescent.” His fingers gently brushed the owl’s back feathers.

“Nadia’s scheduled to come by today,” Zenith said, coupled with a sound of a crack. “Should probably check her ship again. Something seemed off with her navicomputer last time.”

“I trust that she’s gotten it fixed,” the Jedi replied.

Zenith chuckled dryly, “Glad you do, but I’ve got a feeling that won’t matter.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was tampered with,” Zenith leaned back to meet Fendithas’ eyes, “meaning someone’s on to her. Or, us. We can’t stay here for a lot longer, otherwise we’re gonna have trouble.”

Fendithas pursed his lips, his gaze falling below in thought. He recalled his vision from his early-morning meditation; someone would indeed come, but he knew not who, nor why. He could only tell that their intentions would be malicious.

“Fen?”

“Apologies,” he muttered, standing and letting Evanescent flutter off elsewhere. Zenith arched a brow, but the he waved his hand dismissively, “Perplexing Jedi thoughts. Nothing you should concern yourself with.”

And Zenith shrugged then went back to work. He learned to just leave it at that; often the majority of Jedi spoke in weird, cryptic ways. Trying to understand them was more effort than it was worth, so he was content with just dropping it. He trusted Fendithas to address his thoughts if they were indeed something he should be concerned with.

Fendithas turned and looked out the window, watching wildlife drink from a nearby spring: the spring he used as his meditation spot. His jaw clenched lightly and the pace of his heart began to quicken-.

“Hey, no! No, absolutely not! Fuck off back to your master, would you?”

Fendithas sighed and turned to investigate whatever his companions were doing. Evanescent had a chunk of meat in his beak, no doubt torn from the dead animal’s carcass. The Jedi shooed his owl away and into the other room, to which Evanescent was content to just snack on what he was able to grab.

“The thing’s driving me up the wall,” Zenith grumbled, pointing the tip of his knife toward the owl. Fendithas gently lowered the man’s hand but said nothing. Zenith gave him a quizzical look, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

The Jedi wouldn’t lie to himself: he felt awful. Panicked, flighty, nervous. Everything in his vision felt so real. He’d felt his own heart stop, witnessed himself drawing his final breath. Unnerving was describing the sensation lightly.

His eyes flicked up to meet the other’s, his brows knit in concern.

“You look like hell,” Zenith said, “What’s wrong?”

“I do not know,” Fendithas lied. “Anxiety, I suppose. Stress, perhaps.”

Zenith exhaled a soft sigh through his nose. “Okay, so what can we do to get you to relax?”

“Talking is soothing.”

“We can talk about whatever you want.”

Fendithas paused. “Tell me of a mission you went through on Balmorra.”

“Think you’ve heard just about all of ‘em by now,” Zenith said, but noted the look in the other man’s eyes. “… But I can think of another. Had a scheme to funnel a bunch of colicoids in Sobrik. Pulled it off somehow, guess we got just the right people.” A faint smirk found his lips, “One of the big wigs even came out to personally see to us. I always thought I knew exactly what a stereotypical Imp looked like, but this guy? He was the spitting image of what every Imp probably wanted to look like. And he had a really punchable face.”

Fendithas managed a small laugh, “Did you have a chance to?”

“Punch him? No. Drove a pack of colicoids his way but never actually saw him die. Probably got eaten.”

“I would imagine so.”

“Had to pull back eventually, but it felt good to hit ‘em right at the heart.”

“You’ve always excelled in the battlefield. I am sorry that I’ve taken you away from that life.”

“It’s what I wanted, Fen. And for now, it’s the best call for both our sakes.”

A lazy smile curled the Jedi’s lips. His head fell forward, pressing gently against the other man’s neck. And Zenith wrapped an arm around him, holding him securely, before Fendithas stood up straight once more. He tentatively leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Zenith’s lips.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #jedi consular #swtor zenith #i had this sitting around for a while - and i wanted to write a sad scene with him and Nadia too #but eh. maybe i will! yall can have this for now tho haha #gives some insight into Fen's relationship with Zenith c':

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ducktracy · 4 years ago

Text

176. porky’s garden (1937)

release date: september 11th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: tex avery

starring: mel blanc (porky, chickens), george humbert (neighbor), earle hodgins (salesman)

this would be tex avery’s final black and white cartoon until 1941, and his second to last porky cartoon. how time flies! i enjoy his porky entries a lot. the blow out, the village smithy, and of course porky’s duck hunt are all shorts of his that i find myself coming back to frequently. but, of course, greater tex cartoons lie ahead. interestingly enough, this is also the second and final credit for animator elmer wait, who passed away in july of 1937. chuck jones once described him as “a fine young assistant animator who died too young." i’ve heard speculation that tex’s little-known character elmer fudd was named in wait’s honor--i’m not sure if it was that, or the fact that every other cartoon character in the 1930′s was named elmer, but this is a claim i can find myself believing with more conviction than other animation claims. for now, we visit farmer porky, who’s eager to enter the local contest for the largest home grown product. however, his stereotypical italian neighbor seeks to out-perform him at any cost.

this cartoon is a peculiar anomaly in the tex avery-verse, in that it feels much more like the 1936 avery porky cartoons than the 1937 bunch—and almost deliberately, too. the cartoon starts off very similarly to his first directorial entry, gold diggers of ‘49, laying out the time (1927), the place (podunk center), and the population 500 502 — mrs. castle bottom just had twins!). though tex would constantly reuse gags all throughout his career (and quite well, often elevating the hyperactivity of the gag), it’s rather uncharacteristic for him to reuse a gag for nostalgic purposes. nevertheless, the opening is amusing, and faster paced than its facsimile over at gold diggers of ‘49. the sound of the baby wail as the 500 is replaced with 502 is an extra bonus.

a sign gag featuring the tried and true income tax gag (which has been used, and will continue to be used, in a number of cartoons--tex’s milk and money is another porky entry that uses this gag):

porky is amongst the group crowding around the sign, joyfully declaring that he’s going to win first prize with his garden. cue the antagonist of the picture, porky’s curious italian neighbor, voiced by george humbert. humbert was an italian actor, starring in a large number of hollywood films throughout the ‘30′s and ‘40′s. if i recall, bob clampett once mentioned that tex would go to the movies to get ideas, no doubt his reasoning for getting humbert to do the cartoon. humbert’s vocals shine and add a lot of vitality to this otherwise tame entry. speaking of, italian neighbor is quick to contradict porky: “ohohohoho no, i gonna ween with my cheeken!” with that, he leapfrogs over porky, who is quick to bumble along after him.

we get a brief overhead shot of the two neighbors and their respective houses, the overhead shot once again calling back to earlier porky entries such as milk and money. the competitors both go to their gardens to out-perform the other. cue a short gardening sequence with porky, who uses his straightened out tail to dig holes in the soil, big enough to drop seeds in. his neighbor, on the other hand, concocts a meal full of vitamins and tonics for his chickens cheekens, narrating all the way. the underscore is a stalling favorite, “chicken reel”, and if my memory is correct, i BELIEVE this is the first instance it’s used in a warner bros. short? cue a seemingly arbitrary cut back to porky, who finishes the job of planting. back to the neighbor who summons his chickens to eat his mystery feed of who-knows-what. the chickens dig in... only to halt, spit out the food, and hold their noses (beaks) in disgust. great timing--the drawings especially of the chickens rejecting the food feel quite avery-esque, which is nice: it’s always nice to feel the personal touches of the director.

cut back to porky, a cue of “carolina in the morning” (which is impossible for me to hear without thinking of daffy kaye’s rendition of it in the anomaly that is book revue) underscoring his plan to use hair growth tonic as a means of growing a quick, hearty, full harvest. the scene is cute, yet sluggish--if the cartoon were made even 5 years later, it would have been twice as fast, if not more so. nevertheless, his plan works: the ground shakes beneath him, and crops as tall as the eye can see spurt out from the soil. satisfied, old pigdonald strolls inside, “uh-veh-vuh-vo-do-de-oh”ing and “uh-uh-eh-beh-beh-boop-de-oop”ing all the way along (to remind our audience that this cartoon takes place in 1927--because, why not, right?)

meanwhile, pesky neighbor pops his head over the fence, equally as impressed with the results as porky. perfect food to fatten up the cheekens! the animation of the neighbor is rich and full, humbert’s vocals of course magnifying the quality. with that, the neighbor loosens up one of the boards in the fence, sparking the feeding frenzy: “come an’ get it!”

the chickens do just that. calling back to the days of porky the rain-maker (where there were vegetable gags galore), we get a montage of semi-amusing “chickens eating vegetables in creative ways” gags. one chicken uses a tomato vine as a straw, sucking out the pulp from all of the tomatoes connected. another rolls a line of peas straight into its mouth, rolling up the shell like a toothpaste tube.

though the gags rouse polite chuckles at most today, the most uproarious gag is the last one: a chicken and a baby chick fight over a watermelon. big cheeken asserts its authority by flicking the baby chick away, spouting tearful insults at the bully chicken. just then, fortune: the chick spots a patch of spinach, the seeds belonging to jones (yes, that chuck jones--whose birthday is today! happy birthday, chuck!) garden company. i can’t say this with staunch certainty, but i do have reason to believe that this cartoon was backlogged for a few months: chuck jones would have been at bob clampett’s unit during the time of this cartoon’s release, but the allusion to his name, the animation of this scene looking peculiarly reminiscent of bob clampett’s animation, and the lack of irv spence animation leads me to believe as such. nevertheless, as you may be able to surmise, the chick transforms into a caricature of popeye, complete with jack mercer-esque mumblings and popeye speak. the newly transformed chick socks the chicken right in the face, usurping the half-eaten watermelon slice and gobbling it down all in one go. easily the highlight of the cartoon, and a gag that can be appreciated regardless of time period.

one last eating gag of a chicken plucking a ripe worm from an apple (fittingly scored to “in the shade of the old apple tree”). the joke suffers from constipated timing, more on the part of carl stalling than the animator. there is a nice, quick, shiver take as the chicken attempts to rip the apple open into two halves. fade out.

fade back in on the feeding frenzy. porky takes notice, and is not happy about it. he does a lumbering, quick little run that calls back to the 1936 porky entries where he was much more short and squat (virgil ross animation?), zooming out of screen, then back in again to retrieve a nearby broom. porky swats the chickens frantically, but to no avail: despite his angry demands for them to get out, they continue to eat.

virgil ross animates the next scene as porky confronts his neighbor: “hey, n-nn-ne-neighbor, eh-teh-teh-tell your cheh-cheh-cheh-chi-chickens to keep outta my uh-geh-eh-geh-eh-geh-garden!” the neighbor complies, his vocals hilariously disingenuous as he haggles with the chickens, who, predictably ignore him. thus sparks an overly-profuse string of excuses from the neighbor, who doth protest too much. “you see? i talk to them! but a-they don’t listen to me!” he pauses. “i’m too sorry for you.” another pause, just as we think he’s finished. “...but i cannot talk-a cheeken talk!” one more pause. “i can no make-a the cheeken coming out!”

neighbor finally leaves the disgruntled pig to his own devices, laughing as he talks to the audience. “eet’za too bad...” he looks at the audience and gives them a knowing wink as he finishes “but not too bad!” overall, a great scene. humbert’s vocals are divine, as is the comedic timing. porky’s befuddlement by the rapid-fire responses from his neighbor is another plus.

back to a downtrodden porky, who mournfully sulks along to a succinctly timed rendition of “am i blue?” (if you listen closely, you can hear the beats lining up exactly with his footsteps.) suddenly, a thick vine growing out of the patch catches his eye. he follows the vine, pulling it like a rope...

and the perfect solution awaits on the other side of the fence: a giant pumpkin! perfect for the harvest contest.

porky lugs his new prize out from the fence, which instantly attracts the attention of the hungry chickens. spark the ever transformative avery moment, where the cartoon halts to make a big production out of nowhere--in this case, football. the favorite “freddy the freshman” score serves as the backing track of the makeshift football game as the chickens line up to take position: “HIKE!”

the next sequence appears to be animated by chuck jones: porky runs long, pumpkin in hand as he swats away the oncoming rush of chickens. the extra touches of making porky do some twirls and swivels as he attempts to maintain balance are not taken for granted. a nice straight-ahead shot of the football field turned garden, with a trellis in the foreground and clothesline in the background to form goal posts--very clever!

it’s not the chickens who serve as porky’s pumpkin demise, but rather a spare crate left on the ground. porky trips, horrified as he watches his pumpkin launch into the air and across the yard. we get a tashlin-esque concealed pan as porky darts through his house to retrieve his prize, the action obscured: we only see a brief glimpse of the house’s facade, the drumroll and sound effect of the airborne pumpkin being our only indicator to the success of the stunt. thankfully, porky shuffles out of the other end just in time to catch his pumpkin (topped off with a triumphant “ta-da!” fanfare.) wasting no more time, porky dashes down the road and off to the fair. meanwhile, the neighbor’s chickens are all plumped up, ready to win the first-a prize.

“the merry go round broke down” scores the scenes at the fair as we catch our hero bumbling along with his prize pumpkin into the fair, neighbor and cheekens not far behind. there’s a line of posters advertising the various attractions at the fair, including a caricature of bobe cannon (once more reinforcing the idea that this cartoon was back-logged: he would have been at the clampett unit by the time of the cartoon’s release.)

earle hodgins voices the salesman (a specialty of his--he played the pill-peddling salesman in porky the rain-maker, as well as the oil huckster honest john in get rich quick porky) peddling the miracle “reducing pills”. his test subject? an elephant. the salesman pops a pill in the elephant’s mouth, who stares at the audience nonplussed as he shrinks to the size of a mouse... literally.

the next scene of the salesman is great, as it’s full of energy, zaniness, and fervor. i wonder if it’s a clampett scene? the voice of the salesman rises into astronomical pitch as he describes the size of “teensy, weensy, weensy, bitsy, weensy, teeny little mouse”, capping it all off with a flamboyant “WOO!” and pose. the pose looks similar to the same one struck by daffy in clampett’s entry the henpecked duck 4 years later, hence my reasoning. nevertheless, a great scene of zany eye candy.

peddling his wares, the salesman accidentally knocks over a spare bottle of reducing pills, right in the trajectory of the passing cheekens. and, predictably, the cheekens devour the pills in no-time.

cue a rather blunt cut to porky, who’s about to receive first prize for his pumpkin, standing on stage and politely soaking in the glory. just as the judge reaches to give him his dough, he halts, spotting the ginormous array of poultry behind the pig. the judge is quick to take back his bag of money, much to the awe of porky (which also gives us this intriguing little error for a few frames). neighbor accepts the bag--that is, until the pills kick in. the chickens revert back to the size of chicks, and there’s just enough comedic pause to let the joke sink in before the chicks revert back to mere eggs.

we iris out--or so we think. just another declaration of tex’s love of playing with the iris out gags. that is one steamed ham.

not the snappiest entry in the avery repertoire, but not exceedingly dull, either. george humbert steals the show with his acting, and the popeye gag with the chick is wonderfully amusing. the cartoon mainly suffers from sluggish pacing in some parts, tired gags in others, but not enough to exclude a watch-through. it’s a fond look back at the earlier days of tex’s directing, and asserts just how far the cartoons have yet to improve. so, for that, i’d say i’m relatively neutral on whether or not to persuade you to watch it: the porky lover in me and ‘30′s cartoon lover in me say go for it! there are bits of greatness that you should definitely seek out. but it won’t kill you to skip this one either.

here’s the link! (excuse the butchered titles/credits: opening title music is the merry go round broke down which is wrong, and the title card music is the opening to porky’s tire trouble--also wrong, as is the porky “that’s all, folks!” ending over the written script)

#lt #looney tunes #porky’s garden #reviews #long post #avery

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satyr-syd · 5 years ago

Text

“The stitching on that hemline is impeccable!”

When Kai was kicked off the acting team, he never thought he’d be so...okay with it.

“The silk was an excellent choice. It really shimmers under the spotlight!”

Turns out that being a stagehand is kind of fun. Kai likes how hands-on it is, and how he always has something to show for himself at the end. Acting is ephemeral, but costumes can last a long, long time.

“I love this dresser, I’m so glad you were able to find it under all those other props!”

Of course, it helps that he likes the stage crew members. Legosi’s a weird guy, but he’s pretty chill when he’s not doing something completely insane. Fudge always knows the latest gossip. Riz is quiet and polite. Kibi is a bit of a wimp, but he’s funny.

And then there’s Dom.

read on ao3

“You’re such a fast learner, Kai, I’m so glad you’re on our team.”

From the very beginning, Dom has made Kai feel welcome. He showers him in compliments, goes out of his way to include him, and spends extra time teaching him the ins and outs of stage management.

It’s...nice. In fact it’s almost too nice. Why is this bird being so nice to a mongoose? Kai knows that the Drama Club is renowned for their close interspecies relationships, but he always thought those were just casual friendships. That’s how it was on the acting team. At least, that’s how it was for him.

Well, that’s how it’s supposed to be, but apparently Dom didn’t get the memo, because everything Dom does makes Kai want to be closer to him. Kai can’t help it when Dom’s the one to lean over him and guide his hands along the sewing machine, to stay late to help him finish painting a set, to retrieve the box of light bulbs from the shelf that’s too high for Kai to reach. Doesn’t Dom know that his scent drives Kai crazy? Doesn’t he know better to be left alone in a room with a carnivore? Maybe that’s why Kai’s so attracted to - uh, fond of the peacock. Because he trusts Kai not to eat him.

Kai doesn’t know if it’s the smell of bird meat or the smell of Dom that’s driving him crazy, but whatever it is, Kai needs to sort it out.

The best way to sort it out is just asking. Probably.

The stage crew is reorganizing the Drama Club’s storage house in order to make room for the new dinosaur statue from this year’s Meteor Festival. It turns out the room is messy as hell, and if they want to be able to find anything for future productions, they need to clean it out.

Kai tosses a dozen threadbare, dusty costumes to the ground. “The actors couldn’t be bothered to help, huh?” He kicks them into the steadily growing pile of unusable costumes that were still taking up space here for some reason. “Not like it’s all their shit we’re cleaning up after.”

“If the actors were here, they wouldn’t know how to handle the equipment and they’d break all our stuff,” Fudge says.

Kai cocks his head. “Good point, actually.”

The crew continues organizing for an hour until the setting sun’s orange rays permeate through the windows. Dom dismisses everyone and thanks them for their hard work (Except Legosi, because he didn’t even show up in the first place. Punk.)

“Kai.” Kai’s ears perk up at the sound of that voice saying his name. Dom smiles at him as he asks, “Could you help me with one more thing?”

Kai nods. “Of course!”

“Thank you. The rest of you, have a good night.”

His heart starts to thump louder as the crew files out. Shit. Should he ask now? Now’s the perfect time, isn’t it? When it’s just the two of them?

Dom has him untangle a fake barbwire fence that got caught in some cords. By untangle he means use his teeth and claws to tear through it, because they don’t need the cord anyway and it takes a lot less time than trying to actually untangle it.

“Why did you ask me?” Kai tugs at another knot. It snaps in half. “Riz and Fudge have claws too.” Not to mention Riz’s claws and teeth are much more powerful than his.

Dom sits on top of a wooden table next to him, working his way through a big plastic box of every hat in every size you could ever imagine. He places a bowler hat twice the size of Kai’s head beside him in the ‘keep’ pile. He isn’t wearing his blazer - his white collared shirt is pulled tight across his chest, like he’s wearing a size too small. Kai feels the strange urge to buy him a shirt that fits him better. He’d be more comfortable that way. Or his buttons would be, at least.

“You’re a hard worker,” Dom says. “I like that about you.”

“Is that the only thing you like about me?”

“Of course not,” Dom says. Kai waits for him to elaborate, but the peacock doesn’t look up from his hats.

Kai snaps another cord in half. “Then why…?”

Dom shrugs. “I like to spend time with you.”

Kai gulps. He must know how that sounds, right? Like a deathwish. “Even when it’s just us?” Kai asks. “Even though...you and I...and I’m a - and you’re a - you know…”

Dom hops off the table and walks over to him in large strides. Kai resists the urge to step backwards as Dom stops right in front of him.

Kai’s painfully aware of how tall Dom is. The top of Kai’s head barely reaches Dom’s shoulders. His neck seems a mile high. Maybe because he’s always dwarfed by Legosi and Riz and the other larger carnivores in width, but Kai never thought of him as big. Yet, right now, when it’s just them, Dom standing mere inches away, looking down on him with sharp, glossy eyes, Kai feels like prey.

It’s absolutely thrilling.

“Kai,” Dom says in that gentle, not-quite-but-almost condescending tone. “I don’t know if you know this, but peacocks aren’t herbivores.”

“Uh...what?”

Dom drops his head down to Kai’s level. They’re nearly nose-to-beak. “If I wanted to... ” sunlight glares off the tip of his beak. His sharp, sharp beak. Kai never noticed how sharp it was before, “...I could eat meat.”

Kai gulps.

Dom straightens and takes a step back, smiling innocently like he hadn’t just completely flipped the narrative of their species . “Not that I’d ever choose to, of course~!”

“Oh of - of course,” Kai says, mirroring that innocent smile as well as he can, pretending he wasn’t just staring at his friend’s mouth. A mouth that, apparently, was made to tear through flesh just like his.

He waits until Dom returns to sorting the hats before he allows himself to breath. Keeping an eye on Dom, he reaches behind him and runs his hand over the wall. Fingertips fall into deep divots, punctures formed by his own claws. He’d dug them into the wall to keep himself from lashing out.

This wasn’t like that time with Louis. After hearing Tem’s position wouldn’t be his, Kai had lost himself to anger, a blind rage that had stripped him down to only his base instincts. This time, he’s lost himself to something else. Oh, it was definitely hunger - just not the kind he expected.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He’s embarrassed for not realizing sooner that peafowls aren’t strictly herbivores. Not that Kai would have any reason to know a peafowl’s diet...Dom’s the only peafowl Kai’s ever known.

Honestly, though, he’s relieved. It’s crazy enough to be attracted to another species, let alone another whole class of animals - Dom’s not even a mammal! If, on top of all that, Kai was attracted to a herbivore...he’d probably think he’d gone crazy. Or that he was just hungry.

That night Kai scrolls through his phone, reading as many articles about peafowls as he has the patience to.

Kingdom: Animalia Phylum: Chordata Class: Aves Order: Galliformes Family: Phasianidae Genus: Pavo Species: Pavo cristatus

The females of that species look much different than Dom. Kai doesn’t think he’s seen a single female peafowl at their school - not that Dom would be interested in them. Thank the dinosaurs for that.

Peafowls’ original diets consist of plants, insects, snakes, and small mammals. Small mammals. Was Kai a small mammal in Dom’s eyes? He’s much larger than mice and other rodents, but not nearly as big as Dom...Kai shivers thinking about it.

Honestly though, their diets aren’t too different. Mongeese can eat insects, snakes and small mammals, too. And birds. In another lifetime, a millennia ago, maybe, they might have tried to eat each other.

There’s one thing that stands out to him, though, more than anything else. It’s the first thing he runs into when searching for characteristics of peacocks: big, colorful, beautiful feathers.

Of course Kai has seen peacock feathers before. Everyone knows what they look like: they’re so distinctive, a marker of the species. Beginning at the small of their backs, the feathers form a long, tail-like covering called a train. It looks like one half of a woman’s poofy skirt, cascading from their waists down to their toes.

It’s only then that he realizes he’s never seen Dom’s train before.

Today, Dom doesn’t have to ask Kai to stay behind. All the other stagehands have excuses to leave early - Kibi is studying for a math test, Fudge has a date, and Riz has to refill his prescription. Legosi, once again, left early to do whatever it is he does when he ditches them.

Most of the older costumes and broken props have been moved and reorganized, so today they’re dusting. They use faux feather dusters with a long reach, Kai sweeping underneath cabinets and tables, Dom reaching the nooks and crannies at the top. They make a good team, Kai thinks.

Kai’s never been one to be afraid of confrontation - nor could the adjective “patient” be used to describe him. He can’t help himself from bringing up what’s on his mind the minute after everyone leaves. “Hey, Dom.”

“Yes?” Dom pauses his dusting to look down at him.

“Do you...uh…” Kai touches his lip, figuring out the nicest way to word it. “Do you have, like, a train?”

Dom’s eyebrows shoot up, and he immediately swivels his neck around and continues dusting along the shoe shelf. “Yes, I do.”

Kai looks at Dom’s backside, as if confirmation that he indeed had a train would suddenly make feathers appear out of nowhere. All he sees is Dom’s familiar backside - shirt and pants, nothing out of the ordinary. “So where is it?”

Dom’s neck straightens as stiff as a pencil. “Well, that’s a rather personal question.”

Crap. “Sorry, I didn’t -

“But if you must know, I keep it tucked away, under my shirt.”

Kai slides a little closer, just a little, and scrutinizes the back of Dom’s shirt. Sure enough, he can see faint bumps and lines pulling the fabric taut, and spots, nearly invisible, spread under the white cotton threads. His hand wants to leap out and touch it, run his fingers down Dom’s back, but he forces his hands to stay at his sides. They curl into fists in frustration.

He remembers from his Zoozling that peacock trains are long - nearly twice the height of their heads, usually. “How does it all fit under there?”

“I clip it short.”

“Why?”

Dom glares at him a moment before he returns to dusting. “Someone’s full of questions.”

“Sorry.”

Dom sighs. “If I don’t clip them, they get in the way, and I - well, I don’t want to appear too ostentatious.”

“Why not?” Kai says. “Your feathers are beautiful.”

Dom stiffens for a moment. His shoulders drop. “It’d be like a carnivore baring their fangs. It’s uncouth.”

Again, Kai wants to ask why. Why hide such beautiful feathers? But he thinks he understands why. There are creatures in this world that want animals they deem threatening to hide what they are. His hyena parents made sure to teach him that; they knew firsthand how important it was to their well-being to hold make their cackles. Society views the display of abnormal traits as a creature’s act of pride, when really, they’re just existing. A lion with a well-groomed mane isn’t boasting his feral instincts; he’s just caring for the body he was born in.

“Can I see them?”

Dom glares at him. The glare says Didn’t you hear what I just said, moron?

Kai jumps in to make his case. “Carnivores show each other their fangs all the time. And you said showing your feathers is like carnivores baring their fangs, so it’s basically the same thing, right?”

Dom raises an eyebrow. The eyebrow asks Are you serious?

Kai folds his arms and stands his ground.

Dom sighs. “If you really want to see them that bad.”

Dom sets down the duster and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Immediately Kai feels warmth spreading below his gut. No, no no no, it’s not like that! he tells himself. But his body doesn’t listen. He just gets warmer and warmer; with each button Dom undoes, Kai swears the temperature of the room increases another degree.

Dom shrugs his suspenders off his shoulders, and then the rest of his shirt with it. The peacock’s bright blue plumage flows all the way down his torso, right to the waistline, where it begins to darken.

Then he turns around.

Long feathers fall straight down, no longer bound to his torso by the confines of his shirt. They’re everything and nothing like Kai imagined. Extraordinary blues and greens and purples and golds and teals, whose radiant iridescence couldn’t be captured in the images he saw on his phone, flow from the base of Dom’s waist in a river. A river cut short - the train stops just below the back of his knees, cut off in a razor straight line. Just looking at it makes Kai wince. He imagines what it might feel like if his hands were declawed, or his canines ripped out.

He can’t stop himself from reaching out. “They’re beautiful…” he says, stroking his hand along a single feather the size of his palm.

Whoosh. The feathers fly out of his hand, nearly smacking him in the face.

They spread around Dom in an arc, shielding him behind the most beautiful fan in the world.

“Oh my goodness,” Dom whips back around, backside toward the wall, trying to push his feathers down. Outlined in the colors of his species, cobalt blue spots like eyes stare holes into Kai. Even with his train clipped short, Dom looks like a god.

“Wow.”

Dom tries to press his feathers down, to no avail. “I’m so sorry - this, this doesn’t normally happen - ”

Kai steps toward him. He takes Dom’s hands and holds them behind their chests, stilling his frantic motions.

Dom shivers, causing his feathers to quiver. Or shimmer, more like it, in a rainbow of bright colors. Fairy-like. Magical.

And Kai is 100% under their spell.

“You’re beautiful.”

Dom said he didn’t want to appear too ostentatious. Kai has a feeling he means it as more than a species thing. Everyone already knows Dom is gay, even though Dom himself never talks about it, or does anything that might draw attention to that fact. Maybe he feels that his feathers, with their large display of unavoidably bright colors, would draw that unwanted attention. It makes Kai angry that Dom feels this way, and it makes him feel that much more special that Dom has shown him this part of himself.

“Before, I thought I wanted to be around you more so I could eat you, but now I think I just wanted to see this,” Kai says. He licks his lips. “I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” Dom smirks. “Are you sure you don’t still want to eat me?”

“Can’t say I have an appetite for bird,” Kai says. “Plus I think you’d kill me with that beak of yours before I had the chance.”

Dom chuckles. “You’re right about that~”

Their hands are still clasped. Kai’s hands are starting to sweat, but he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to make this moment last - just him, and Dom, in this moment, where they can be themselves, without any reservations or niceties or bullshit. “Thank you,” Kai says. “For showing me your feathers.”

Dom smiles. “I’m glad I could show this part of myself to you.” Then he lowers his head next to Kai’s ear and whispers, “I’d love to show you more parts of myself...if you would have me.”

Kai nods. He nods so quickly he thinks he sprains his neck. “That would - yes - I would like that very much.”

“Then you better make sure the door is locked, Kai-chan.”

#beastars #kai beastars #beastars kai #dom beastars #beastars dom #their ship doesnt have a name bc they appeared in two scenes but YOU KNOW WHAT #that shouldnt stop you cowards #smh gotta do everything myself around here #kaidom #my writing

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obliviouskind · 4 years ago

Note

There is a gift for Cyrus! It's a wooden abacus with coloured beads, the kind that children might play or learn with. This one is clearly second-hand, maybe even third-hand. One of the 'rungs' is missing entirely, along with all of its beads. The remainder of the beads have chipped paint, and the whole thing looks very scuffed and worn. Look on the bright side, though - maybe it's an antique? But probably not...

Merry Christmas

@mercenaryrocket

---

Upon the palms of his hands, the pads of flesh beneath his skin. Against the plastic, rounded armrests of his modest desk seat; he leant. Broad windows spanned the very left of his office, inviting in the pale, artificial glow of lamp posts onto the hardwood floors, upon the Oakwood bureau… And Cyrus, quietly, reminisced over the fact that perhaps, just maybe, he wasn’t so different from his father as he had thought himself to have been. From that of height, to their shared appearance – the two men could be read as brothers had the younger of the two carried a bit more weight upon his bones. --They weren’t so different in the words that they choose, either; both spewing lies before crowds and seeking refuge from the world once their ire becomes too much to bear.

They were lonesome, when others, conceivably, wished for them not to be.

They both would be spending Christmas on their own, cooped up within offices that were not at home and all that he missed, perhaps, was a wife whom awaited his return and a son that he could bypass and ignore.

Josefina could, and most likely would, play the part of mother if only she were asked to; but a boy, he had not blessed her with. And he would not. No matter her wishes for one of her own.

(Oh, he knew very well that he was cruel, cruel, cruel…)

The chair bounced upon its feathers as he sat down within it. Turned, by the dip of his toes shoved into the ground below and it was in the waning light of the December eve that he blindly reached for neatly folded envelopes and unraveled them into that of pure and honest faults.

Perhaps he should’ve turned on a lamp to spare himself eyestrain…

It would seem that Annika had cried wolf.

That Elvira claimed witness of unbecoming behaviors while Stefan, in writing so hasty it bordered upon unintelligible, laid claim to his errors in a hope that salvation and forgiveness would come knocking upon his ajar door – as long as he confessed, after all, then the punishment would not be so harsh.

… Hannah went out with a crowd of three last weekend, where one select soul drank much more than their body could hold while the other sought romance from a boy whose age was far less than that of an adult… Robin and Miriam never confessed to these accusations, however, and held fast that between the three – it was Hannah who lied.

Veronika, Fanny, Linnea and Morgan believe that they have seen treason from Ylva, while Tove and Tristan have been exposed as secret lovers.

Malin was pregnant, and Cyrus had reason to believe a certain Commander may have fathered it.

Two fingers settled against the bridge of his beaked nose. His arms, folded across his chest as he sunk into his seat as though a child within one that was far too big. A sigh expelled from his breast as aloud, in his lonesomeness, Cyrus simply confessed;

That he did not care for these quarrels, and that they were not his business to sort.

That he did not care to know what sins others held within their breasts.

… That he did not, in fact, have an obligation to care for the spawn of a commander who wouldn’t ever confess to his involvement in the very first place.

No, if Cyrus were to truly be honest; today, as snow lapped upon the streets of Veilstone and children’s choirs sang within sanctuary halls – he did not care for much of anything at all. --He would turn twenty-two in but an odd number of days – and time, it seemed, was running by fast.

The next mountain of letters were accompanied by that of supposed ‘evidence’.

Filip had managed a photograph of Jakob’s money meddling – sending earnings to foreign relatives without giving a notion that this was something that would be occurring. An act of treason in the form of trust, if nothing more, and though Cyrus felt the act was harmless in and of itself… it was a matter that ought not to be fostered. Trouble would begin to brew if it were.

Cyrus fingered at paper bags and sealed off packages. At boxes within boxes, notes within notes; all provided for the sake of letting him know whom it was he should trust, and whom he shouldn’t.

Anya claimed angels whispered into her ear at night, of wicked desires towards their one and true Messiah. The crude drawings were something he perhaps would’ve wished to have been spared, but their sorting system has yet to be properly defined, as well as refined.

It was a hiccup that could be dealt with by re-schooling… Perhaps psychiatric contacts would be a resource worth investing in…

“… Cyrus?”

Tired eyes redirected from the task at hand; to that of Jupiter. Stood against the frame of his office door, her hip jutted while her fingers daintily drummed upon finely carved wood. A prototypical uniform adorned her slender form, that of a pencil style skirt and blouse; something that he, in the now, saw as unfit and undesirable.

“One usually waits outside before entering a superior’s office, Jupiter,” Cyrus quietly remarked. No true authority, however, lingered within his tone; and so perhaps that was why she didn’t feel her actions were all that wrong. Noon, after all, had come to pass hours ago and in the presence of but the two… Well, exceptions had been made in the past…

He fiddled with the handle of one of his bureau desk drawers, fishing out a paper and pen to scribble down a note for their uniforms to be looked over and reconsidered once more. A hand, waving her way. “At least feign formalities if you can’t wait another minute or two.”

Her heels rhythmically clicked as she traversed the space between them.

“… I was heading out,” she began, raspberry eyes darting from side to side – anywhere that wasn’t him. Despite appearances, she seemed to hold some sense of shame within herself for her actions after all. “However, there was a package left at the front desk. Elinore left an hour early and so no one got the notice and, well, it seems the giver didn’t fancy themselves finding anyone to bring it to our attention which is just, really fucking inconvenient and-”

“Josefina.”

Her cheeks flushed.

“Right, sorry.”

However embarrassed she may have felt over his impatient promptness seemingly weren’t enough to stump her invasive ways; for rather than simply handing him the package, kneel and leave – Josefina rounded his desk and took a seat upon the armrest of his seat. A place that he, within himself, assumed to be a rather uncomfortable place to sit – though he wouldn’t be voicing this observation of his.

Least she asks if he had somewhere else in mind for her to sit.

“… I don’t know what it is,” she eventually said, after seconds had passed in simple and pure silence. The package was handed to him and now, Cyrus decided, it seemed ‘present’ perhaps was a better term used to describe the given item. The wrapping was plain, unassuming and lacking in any decorations that may have suggested it as such; but a neatly scribbled sticker was placed upon the brown wrapping. Upon which, his name was written neatly. “… But, I don’t think it’s a late report.”

“I think you’re right about that.”

Cyrus sat himself up once more – properly again, with his shoulders flush against the back of his seat. Room was lacking now, with candy seated against his left arm (his father came to mind once more…) --He grasped the supposed present from his commanders hands and begun unraveling its contents one section at a time.

---

“This, dear boy, is an abacus.”

Father Orlov had presented him with the wooden object one late afternoon, when Sunday schooling had long since passed and the boy – himself, in this case – hadn’t wished to leave for home. A question of why had been posed, and as often was the case with children whom fear punishment or ridicule; an answer had not been given. --Orlov had deemed it inappropriate, but understandable, and suggested they go to the sanctuary until Cyrus felt ready to return to his parents once more.

Something that Cyrus had appreciated very much, but hadn’t voiced.

“Did you know that man weren’t created with the idea of numbers in their thoughts? Counting, of course, occurred; but a visual means of presenting ones work hadn’t been presented in any academic sense.”

In an effort to find him something to spend his time with, however, father Orlov had taken to scouring the shelving for textbooks and scriptures to engage within and use. What he had found instead, however, had been said abacus.

It had sat awkward within Cyrus’s hands, though not unfamiliar. His elementary school had used these frames to present math as a less intimidating matter than one may first assume.

Cyrus, however, never had seen the utility of them – he could count, and knew how to do so well even before the children of his age range could count to one hundred and two.

“Miss Ulrika gave us one of these at the start of grade one,” he had expressed, gently placing the abacus down onto his desk. Ignore it, he wouldn’t – but play with it was another thing entirely. “I never needed to use one.”

Orlov’s large hands had placed before him upon the desk, then, and not for the first time in his life had Cyrus thought that his pastor was a man of significant stature. Not in the way his father was, certainly not; but he was towering, no matter whom it was he stood before. --And Cyrus was quite small, still.

Orlov’s smile had been warm. “Hm. Perhaps you didn’t… Or at the very least, not for mathematical calculations.”

“… What else would you use it for?”

---

The chair creaked as Josefina shifted where she sat and over his shoulder, her locks cascaded like imperial curtains. “A counting frame?” She said, reaching for the item as though it was hers, and not his.

He didn’t stop her. --It was held over their heads – the beads, sliding every which way it was tilted.

“Abacus.” He mindlessly corrected, settling his elbow upon the armrest of which was not currently occupied. “It’s an abacus.”

“Abacus, schoty, soroban…” He gave her a look. She waved her hand his way, returning the frame. “What? I like learning new words. Besides, it’s still a counting frame no matter what its ‘fancy’ name is.”

It felt heavier now, with one side holding most of the lingering beads. The fact that it was broken and old, was perhaps its only fault; counting upon it wouldn’t exactly be useful. “I didn’t know you were so knowledgeable about… arbitrary things such as these.”

His pastor had known a lot, too.

“I have hobbies outside of being your little helper too, you know…” Her shoulder nudged his. “Though, I will say being with you is by far my favorite of the… (one finger, two…) three.”

---

“The one’s your teacher offered you undoubtedly were one created within a factory somewhere. Carved by machinery and workers alike, with little care for the quality and style of the frame outside of the state requirements.” Father Orlov had spoken with certainty and poise, as though he was holding a lecture within the church halls rather than speaking about a simple wooden toy. Perhaps it was why Cyrus had cared to listen. “… This one however, my dearest boy, is nothing like what you have ever held before.”

His eyes had diverted, then, from that of his pastor – to the abacus within his hands. Its thick frame was carved out of oak, with its rungs created from metal surely found within one out of Sinnoh’s rich mines. --It was… Unremarkable.

Ugly, even.

“… It’s just an abacus, father.” He had expressed and the laugh that echoed afterwards caused his cheeks to flush with heat.

(Was he so wrong?)

Orlov’s voice was covered with mirth as he spoke. “It is indeed but an abacus, Cyrus. But even the most simple of things have history.” The item was taken out of his hands, as gently as though an infant was dealt with – and here, as the frame was held up against the backdrop of the setting evening sun, the beads glimmered as though honey gold.

It had felt almost magical.

“… We may not always see the value of the past when we first encounter it,” Orlov had stated, lines forming at the ends of his lips of which aged him beyond his given years. “However, if we allow ourselves to study it from a different angle… Perhaps we will be richer still.”

---

The pad of his thumb brushed over the beads, gently attempting to see – just tell – if there was something hidden within. --It seemed these were simply wood, and nothing more.

“Y’know,” Josefina eventually voiced – thumb set upon her plump bottom lip in thought. “… I don’t think this is a Sinnohan model, despite it being a… children’s toy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Instead of stealing the toy, this time the woman simply pointed. At the piece of wood of which separated a vertical row from the rest. “Sinnohan ones don’t have this separation, and the drops are usually oval shaped and round at their edges.”

He fingered at a red-chipped bead. “These are carved to a point.”

“Exactly.” Her hands clapped together in excitement as she stood from her seat. The chair rattled from its loss. “Sinnohan ones also have two differently colored beads in each row. Save for two, where there’s three, while this one only has two over all.”

His cheek settled upon the knuckles of his hand, the toy balanced upon his thigh by but a single digit. “… Is this one of your, what was it… three interests, commander?”

She stuck her tongue out at him like a child. “I write, boss… Sometimes it leads you down weird rabbit holes of information. This happened to be one of them.”

“I see.”

Her heels clicked as she rounded the bureau, met at their points once she stood before it and after that – she gently kneeled. Like the proper employee that she pretended to be. “Well, Merry Christmas, sir. I hope you enjoy your toy.”

With that, she left; a giggle surely bubbling within her throat.

Cyrus turned in his seat, so that he faced the broad windows to his left. The sun was long since gone, hidden by winters cold and even though he tried to – attempted, to mimic an act from so long ago – the streetlights outside did not give away any hidden truth within the abacuses broken frame.

… Perhaps not all things are valuable. --It was, after all, but a broken children’s toy.

#(ic - muse)#(Guest - Josefina)#(Guest - Orlov)#drabble #mercenaryrocket #deadass forgot to put a read more on it at first oop #jul

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