#please create some tiny wretched little creatures
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Here’s a free base to use if you would like to create your own little guy! Here’s the link to the transparent PNG! Do whatever you like with it but I’d love to see anything you make with it so feel free to tag me!
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OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS CROSSOVER: GODS AWAKEN (PT. 23)
In Belos’ laboratory, three guards were surrounding the portal machine whilst others were casually speaking with each other.
“So that human woman will be the first human executed under Lord Belos?” a guard asked. They were both wearing attire appropriate to any serving the Emperor’s Coven. His partner was slightly taller and had a gruffer voice.
“Bah, I’d think the Emperor would be less merciful in regards to that rat creature.”
Beyond them, more of Emperor Belos’ enchanted suits of armor were continually being created and stowed away in boxes. The process was the same as it ever was: rock harvested from the petrified statues were collected and pitched into vaults containing scorching liquid metal. They were then placed on the conveyor belts upon being cooled and fashioned. Rinse and repeat a thousand times, and this became a daily occurrence for the guards. It did not bother them where the rocks they were using to mold the armor came from. In fact, some were blissfully going about their business without fully knowing they were harvesting rocks from petrified statues.
The doors opened up revealing the Owl Spy to be behind it. “Afternoon.”
The other guards turned around to meet the masked man. When the door was fully opened, they dropped their weapons, freezing in place. There was a good reason for it: behind the door was that owl demon they had encountered back when Lilith used to lead them. That same owl demon that completely swept the floor of them.
“I-It can’t be...” one panicked; his ankles were locking up because of fright, “It’s the Devil!”
The guards braced themselves for the imminent pound down they were anticipating. After a couple seconds, there was no hint of provocation coming from the feathered fiend. They slowly uncovered their faces in confusion.
“Why is that...thing here?” one guard finally mustering up to speak.
“The Emperor had informed me that this owl demon would be of great use to our cause,” the Owl Spy replied.
“What, but how?”
“The Owl Lady had gone through a few...sessions, and I was finally able to extract an answer from her: this owl demon is a high-tech security system; with this fine system at our arsenal, he can be a worthy weapon against our enemies.”
The guards glared at each other then back to the owl house. While the monster had filled their dreams with night terrors for months ever since Lilith led them to try to capture the Owl Lady, they did acknowledge, if ever so slightly, that he was of considerable value. With a little fine-tuning, the owl demon could work for them.
“Besides; even if the house is still loyal to the Owl Lady?” the Owl Spy noted, “the Emperor had permitted us to serve the demon in a great banquet in a celebration of the human woman’s death.”
The gruffer voiced guard nodded. “I have heard that their type of meat is of exquisite taste.”
The guards mumbled for a few seconds and shrugged. Reclaiming their electric-tipped weapons, they slowly approached the house some taking the northern and southern parts of it. They looked in through the windows to see if anyone was inside, but they were obscured by purple curtains.
“What of the prisoners,” one of the guards asked the Owl Spy.
“They already have front row seats to the execution,” the Owl Spy replied in a deadpan fashion.
“You don’t mind if I send a few men to corroborate the story?”
“Sure, by all means; why not take it directly to Belos then? I am sure that he would love to hear that one of his minions would dare question his word especially if it was ordained by the Titan.”
The guard backed off raising his hands in the air. “Well played.”
As the owl house was being brought in, a shorter-framed guard tapped his weapon on the side of the house as if to see if the house truly was, hopefully in his case, dead. Like he expected, the house did not suddenly bolt to life. While his curiosity should have been satiated at that moment, he decided to lean in closer. He walked to the door and saw the owl demon’s wretched face. Its eyes were closed tightly apparently not hearing all the running wires in the laboratory let alone the probing that was being done to its outer casing.
He walked onto the porch of the house, his weapon drawn higher than before, until he was inches away from the owl’s face. He turned to look at his men seeing that they had slowly become frightened. Turning back to the owl house, he tapped the flat end of his staff on the bird’s beak. It rung out singing a hollow tune. He waited a few minutes to see if this was the final nail that could stir the demon from its deep slumber. He was about to turn away until he heard a small murmur. His neck nearly snapped with how sudden its turn was: nearly a 360 degree. His feet became glued to the ground and he was stiff as a wooden board. The owl’s beak started to move.
“Sleeping....sleeping....SLEEP HOOTING!!!”
In a flash, Hooty’s tube body surged with a renewed energy and shot out like a speeding bullet.
“HEY GUYS!” Hooty shrieked. He looked around the room seeing all the bizarre gadgets and buttons.
“Ooo, what do all these buttons do?”
In his excitement, Hooty shoved the guard out of his way with his long body and smashed his way through the machines ripping and tearing his way through them regardless of the sparks flying from them. Slipping his way through the board containing all the buttons, Hooty resurfaced like a breached whale with a huge chunk of wires and scrap metal between his beak. Even when the wires were popping with electricity, it didn’t seem to catch any concern from the owl demon.
The guard ran down from the door post flailing his arms. Hooty’s neck struck again effortlessly infiltrating one of the guard’s masks and, somehow, Hooty crawled into four guard’s masks before erupting out the final one. He had strung himself through them as skillfully as a string going through the eye of a needle. He swung them around somehow maneuvering their bodies and making them perform inhuman actions. They were all the marionettes being controlled by their puppet master.
“It’s great to have so many friends!” Hooty shouted, hooting incessantly.
The doors to the house shot open. Before the guards could have time to react, Luz, Amity, and King sprung out. King latched his tiny body around one of Belos’ minion’s face. The man began to panic and ran around in an endless circle. He reached out to forcibly pry the small demon off his face to no avail.
“Oh, dear Titan! Get it off me! Get it off me!!”
Luz withdrew paper and slammed them on the ground. Ice propelled from the ground encasing several guards in between the large columns of ice. So many ice columns in fact, they had to scrunch together. Any sudden movement, and they could be jabbed by the sharp blades of ice. Some pieces were dangerously close to stab them in the eye.
One guard was able to slip a hand and curved their fingers over their mouths. They whistled signaling more guards to enter the laboratory to take down the threat. Luz continued to dish out paper after paper containing the glyph for the ice spell and it froze several of them in place.
Lilith and Eda emerged from the house carrying frying pans to make up for their minimal power. The sounds of the pans colliding with the skulls of Belos’ minions rang out. With their ages, they were gradually beginning to show exhaustion, but they continued trying to press on.
“Whew, my back’s starting to chafe,” Eda groaned, “how are you holding on?”
“My frying pan is already starting to wear out.” She held it up taking note of the massive dents in it. It was barely holding on by its handle. Any other swing of it, and it would likely be ground up like a piece of raw meat. “But if it’s for Luz’s sake, then I can muster up a little more strength.”
The two sisters ran back into the house to find other items to throw. The guards start to flood into the house trying to capture the two women.
“Abomination, rise!”
Amity raised her hands and from the ground, her abomination erupted. She directed her mindless servant towards the horde of minions. They turned to see the lumbering Goliath approaching them and raised their weapons to intercept the encroaching beast. A colossal fist rained down on them, falling dozens of them. They launched javelins and other weapons at the beast, but they merely stuck through him and were vacated out of the other side. Hooty was continuing to happily clobber guards and had trapped one around his coils and pinned on the ground. A board game was in the middle. Hooty had already taken his first move.
“Your turn, hoot! Hoot!!”
The guard was hyperventilating and shaking like a leaf. It was apparent that he was sobbing. “Mommy, please! Help...”
Motionless guards were around the man. Eda saw this and winced. “Almost makes me feel bad for them.”
“Come to think of it, I thought your house system had its soul tossed into space-time,” Lilith remembered, “how did he come back?”
Hypnos sat on the couch drinking tea and casually watching Hooty play his game. “Oh, I saw his soul flying around the time that Amity and Luz first arrived to Earth; just thought to save it until the time was right.”
“Hoot! Hoot! I was in some world with a lot of mushrooms, and they made me their king!” Hooty proudly proclaimed.
Hypnos snickered in amusement. “I am in awe at how you were able to get your hands on a Great Old One.”
Eda raised an eyebrow. “Great Old One?”
“You seriously thought that all Hooty was good for was being a security system? This boy here is probably the most powerful being on the Boiling Isles; usually Great Old Ones would be locked away, and for good reason: Hooty can easily destroy the Boiling Isles if he wanted to.”
Lilith and Eda shared an equal look of bewilderment mixed with horror. “WHA!?”
Hypnos nodded his head and sipped his tea. “I agree; that is quite a cumbersome dilemma; wouldn’t want to be the poor sap who has to deal with that.”
The fact that Hooty was immensely powerful and held the fate of the Isles in his invisible hands was hard to swallow. Mistreating the owl demon was something that was done without much thought. But now, Hooty could possibly bring an apocalypse on the land if he so pleased. Luckily for them, Hooty was neither good nor evil, just a creature of pure chaos.
“When this is over, remind me not to mess with Hooty, Lilith,” Eda finally said.
Lilith nodded.
Amity and Luz saw the fight beginning to die down, and they bolted for the stairs leading to the top of the portal machine. Amity looked at Luz seeing her desperately carrying the papers in her hands. They fluttered in the rushing wind. Sweat beads were manifesting on Luz’s forehead with her breathing becoming strained with every time she exhaled, her breath came out in a sharp hiss.
“You did have our Plan B if something goes wrong, right?” Luz asked Amity.
Amity nodded. She rustled through her pockets and withdrew a small box. They got to the top of the stairs and paused to catch their breath. “Alright, you start putting the glyphs down, and I’ll keep watch.”
Luz nodded. As she turned, the breath was nearly kicked out of her lungs.
“Luz!” Amity held out her hand on instinct. Luz grabbed onto the rim of the stairs and was dangling over one of the vaults containing the boiling metal. The liquid metal sizzled and popped. Luz could hear the muffled screams of terror coming from the souls of the suffering witches.
Kikimora stood by the place where Luz fell and watched her dangling from the edge. Amity got on her knees to make attempts of grabbing Luz’s hand, but the little pint-sized demon was blocking her way.
“Go out of the way you foul creature, are you mad?”
Kikimora spoke with disinterest. “I will not allow you or your friend to intrude on Emperor Belos’ plans.”
Amity strained harder to grab a hold of Luz, but Kikimora swatted her hand away. Luz’s fingers were desperately trying to hold on for dear life, but tiredness was beginning to take hold. Invisible needles were pressing into her digits. The need to clinch her fingers became ever tempting, but she struggled against fate. Kikimora took her foot and stepped on Luz’s left hand. Luz grinded her teeth to keep herself from screaming.
Amity scowled her eyes flaring up. “Emperor Belos lied to you! Can’t you see that he is wanting to destroy the Boiling Isles?”
Kikimora looked at her with her one visible eye. “What are you saying?”
“It’s true!” Luz shouted, “Emperor Belos lied about everything; the Titan; the Day of Unity; he’ll destroy us all if we do not do anything about it!”
Kikimora slowly lifted her foot much to the human girl’s relief. Kikimora cupped her chin between her two fingers pondering. It seemed to be hours, but the two girls had their rest assured that the demon lady would reconsider.
“Even if that is the truth behind my master’s plans, he is my master nonetheless.”
Push.
Luz looked down and saw Kikimora fall past her. She instinctively darted her eyes away once Kikimora was obscured by a pillar of smoke coming from the sizzling concoction. Deciding the worse was over, Luz saw Kikimora’s white-golden robes on the surface of the metal before it sank underneath. At that moment, Luz completely lost her grip and fell towards the burning liquid.
“Luz!”
Luz closed her eyes to accept her fate, but she felt herself stop. Looking up, the Owl Spy had her and pulled her up. “You have no idea how long I wanted to do that.”
Luz was helped back on her feet, her breathing becoming heavier. Amity ran and embraced her. Luz’s cheeks became red. “You’re crushing me, Amity.”
“Oh...oh right, sorry,” Amity chuckled embarrassingly.
The Owl Spy saw more of Belos’ minions running up the stairs. “I believe now is time for that Plan B.”
Amity took the box running to the top of the stairs. The stairs were shaking from the combined weight. She angled the box just right and with a controlled breath, she tossed it. It landed on one of the furthest stairs and opened. The guards stopped in their tracks.
“What in Titan’s name?” one guard said.
“I’m gonna see what it is,” guard number two said.
“Might be one of those magic bombs.”
Despite the urgency in the first guard’s voice, the guard went to pick it up. However, the box was glued on the stair. He grunted every pull becoming more stressful on his back. Eventually, something oozed from underneath it. “Oh my...”
The box ripped open revealing some large, amoeba-like monster. It jiggled and shifted. Eyes were all over its gelatinous mass alongside mouths and pseudopodia. It wheezed and folded in of itself measuring around fifteen feet across. But most unappealing of the massive beast, it could form organs of varying size and shape without appearing to have the mental contingency to do so. Nevertheless, it slithered down the stairs as a writhing wall of eyes, mouths, and protrusions.
The guards fired shots into the beast, but they merely were absorbed by the pulsating walls. Protrusions reached out and wrapped around several of the guards’ legs to draw them into their gaping mouths. There were struggles coming from the guards, but the plunging pressure coming from the beast was too great.
The Owl Spy turned to his daughter. “Alright; so I will have to return to Emperor Belos to report on what’s going on; but first, I will give you the directions to find Edric.”
Amity agreed non-verbally. She and her father ran past the rampaging Shoggoth. Amity saw her Abomination while it was still in the process of clobbering the minions. It looked at the Shoggoth with a wide expression, its movement becoming stiff. If Abominations actually had hearts, Amity’s would assuredly be skipping a beat. Amity waved her hand, but that was not enough to stir his attention.
“So now you get to know how I feel nearly every day,” Amity thought to herself.
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Author: Tea Rose
Prompt: Insects at night; bubble bath; Victorian
Group: C
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North Star
The water was deliciously warm, and Belle sighed, sinking lower in the bath and letting her knees rise up. Tiny bubbles were rolling down her thighs into the water, waves of white foam from the rose and lavender soap she had used. They piled against her wet skin, and she lifted a foot, lathering the soap between her hands and stroking fragrant froth between her toes. The sound of swift footsteps made her glance around, and she smiled as her maid, Ruby Lucas, entered with a copper jug full of steaming water.
“Last one, Miss Belle,” she said breathlessly, and Belle sat forward, hugging her knees as Ruby poured in the hot water, making the bubbles seethe and burst.
“Thank you,” said Belle, relaxing back and letting her arms stretch out. “Did I hear the front door just now?”
“Mr Gold arrived,” said Ruby, and seemed to bite her lip to hide a smirk as Belle squeaked.
“Mr Gold? But he hasn’t visited in an age! Is he staying long?”
“Tiana was making some supper for him while I was fetching the water,” said Ruby, with a grin. “So it looks that way, Miss.”
Belle floundered, pushing herself upright and splashing water over the edge of the tub.
“Hurry! My blue dress!”
-
Ruby was used to her mistress’s impulsive nature and swift decisions, and she managed to get Belle dressed and ready quickly, although Belle thought it fortunate that she hadn’t washed her hair that evening. She hurried from her room as soon as the last pin was in place, and paused at the top of the stairs, hands smoothing her skirts nervously. Voices were drifting up from her father’s study, and Belle clutched at the smooth oak banister, her heart pounding and the colour rising in her cheeks as she recognised the warm brogue of Mr Gold. She closed her eyes briefly, remembering the way his smile made the corners of his mouth twist and his eyes gleam with a soft, amber light.
He had been friends with her father for some time; Maurice French’s strange inventions and boundless enthusiasm for the latest scientific discoveries made him somewhat eccentric in the eyes of his peers, but Mr Gold shared his interests, and the two of them had struck up a friendship. Gold had a fine house in London and an estate north of the Scottish border that Belle had regrettably never seen. Maurice didn’t like to travel, preferring to spend all his time at home, shut up in his workroom or reading in his library. Gold travelled a great deal, searching far and wide for a son he had lost and was desperate to find.
Belle had seen a picture of his son once, a drawing in charcoal of a dark-haired boy of around fourteen. It had been crumpled and a little smudged at the edges, as though it was looked at often. Thinking of the pain that Gold had carried for years made her heart ache for him, but he always had a smile for her, and a present from his travels, and fascinating tales of the places he had visited. He had been coming to the house regularly for the past five years, and Belle had been completely in love with him for around four and a half. For all the good it did.
She took a deep breath, composing herself before she entered the room, and both men turned to look at her, Maurice short and round with a balding head and bristling white mustache and Gold a little taller, thin and clean-shaven. He wore his brown hair longer than was fashionable, curling over the collar of his coat and brushing his cheeks. It was turning silver at the temples, and she had always thought how soft it looked, and how much she wanted to touch it. There was an old ring on his right hand, a moonstone in a heavy gold band, which she had noticed him turning between finger and thumb when lost in thought. Gold bowed his head as she entered.
“Miss French,” he said. “You’re looking remarkably well.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s been too long since we saw you, hasn’t it, Papa? Where did you go?”
Gold glanced between them.
“I just returned from the south of France,” he said. “Choppy waters in the Bay of Biscay, but the winds were with us.”
“Oh!” said Belle excitedly. “I’d love to go to France! Please, tell me what it was like!”
Gold turned towards her, the little smile he often wore twisting his mouth and making his dark eyes gleam in the lamplight.
“I rode a horse through endless fields of lavender,” he said softly. “The scent filled the air around me, and seemed to sink into my skin, so that I could smell it at night when I lay down to sleep. The road was hard earth, baked and cracked by the sun, winding between small villages and farms where the locals dozed in the shade of the olive trees with their cats. In the evenings, the sun would set in a blazing puddle of molten gold, and I ate fresh bread and soft, pungent cheese and drank red wine that was dark as blood and tasted of spices.”
Belle could feel her mouth fall open as the sound of his voice washed over her, filling her mind with the images his words created. His eyes were fixed on hers, his gaze steady.
“Must be a shock to come back to London, what?” said Maurice jovially, and Gold looked away, breaking the spell.
“The city is even busier and dirtier than I remember,” he said, with a grin. “It’s strange: I tell myself each time I go that I should sell the house and leave London entirely, yet something keeps pulling me back, turning me home. Like a guiding light. Like the North Star.”
He glanced briefly at Belle, and she felt a blush begin to heat her cheeks. Please don’t leave, she thought. Please don’t leave me.
“It’ll keep your housekeeper on her toes,” chuckled Maurice.
“Poor Mrs Potts,” said Gold, sounding rueful. “I fear the house will still be shut up tight. I’ll have to let myself in and build a fire. It’ll be the devil’s work for my valet trying to make me presentable tomorrow morning; he does like to do things properly.”
“Then stay with us, my dear fellow!” cried Maurice, patting his shoulder. “Goodness, you can’t be expected to open up the house yourself at this hour!”
“Well, it would certainly be a relief not to have to go out again,” said Gold. “The journey was rather tiring. Of course, I wouldn’t want to impose...”
“Not at all, not at all,” said Maurice. “Let me speak to Mrs Lucas. I’ll have one of the guest rooms made ready, and Locksley will look after your man.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind.”
Maurice bustled out, and Gold turned to Belle with a smile.
“I’m sorry to be calling so late, Miss French,” he said. “After travelling for so long, I almost lost track of the day, not to mention the hour.”
“We’re very glad to see you,” she said warmly, almost reaching for his hand before remembering herself and pulling back. “And you must be tired. Please, don’t feel that you have to stand on my account. Do take a seat, I insist.”
Gold’s smile widened.
“I could never refuse you anything, Miss French.”
-
Gold was served a simple supper of raised game pie, bread and cheese, and afterwards he and Maurice drank brandy and talked over the latest news. Belle was eager to hear more stories of the trip to France, and Gold obliged, telling her of the sights he had seen on the roads through Provence to Avignon.
“Sounds dusty,” declared Maurice. “And much too hot. This summer has been wretched. Far better to stay at home.”
“Well, I would love to travel,” said Belle. “I always wanted to see the world. I’ve lived twenty years, and barely left London! What I wouldn’t give for some adventure!”
“You young people are too restless,” grumbled Maurice. “Certainly I have no desire to be always going here, there and everywhere. And certainly young women shouldn’t be travelling alone and - and adventuring. It’s unseemly.”
“This is the Victorian age, Papa,” said Belle severely. “If Her Majesty is considered capable of ruling an entire empire, then allowing the rest of us women the freedom to do as we please will hardly bring about the downfall of civilisation.”
Maurice clicked his tongue.
“Really, Belle!” he said. “What must Mr Gold think of you?”
“Mr Gold agrees wholeheartedly,” said Gold. “The world would be far better if women had the same freedoms as men, and were recognised for the infinitely superior creatures they are. Where will you go on your travels, Miss French?”
Belle thought for a moment.
“Perhaps I shall start a little closer to home,” she said. “I have always wanted to visit Scotland.”
“Well, you’re more than welcome to come to Dundorcha,” he said. “Although at this time of year, the midges will want to eat you alive.”
“Perhaps in the winter, then,” she suggested, and he smiled.
“I’ll make you very welcome.”
-
It was nearing midnight. Maurice was snoring in his chair, and Belle had followed Gold out onto the balcony overlooking the rear gardens. The summer night was cool, the only light coming from the oil lantern that Gold had carried with them and placed on the table where Belle took her morning tea. A moth appeared out of the night, batting translucent wings against the lantern’s glass shade. Smaller insects joined it, the glow from the lantern catching them, brief flecks of light in the darkness. Gold was gazing out into the night, his expression distant, thoughtful. His fingers turned that old ring, the gold band catching the light from the lantern.
“Where did you get that ring?” asked Belle. “I always meant to ask. It looks old.”
Gold looked down, splaying his fingers.
“It is,” he agreed. “Older than you might think.”
“Is it a family heirloom?” she asked, and he smiled in an almost secretive way.
“Something like that.”
“A good luck charm, perhaps?” she suggested, and he shrugged.
“It’s supposed to help the bearer find what it is they want most in the world,” he said, and leaned towards her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s magic.”
“Really?” she asked, a little breathless at his closeness of him. Gold pulled back, a tiny sigh escaping him.
“Well, that’s what I hoped,” he said, sounding resigned. “A fool’s hope. There is no magic in this world. At least, not any more. Perhaps there used to be.”
He sounded despondent, and she wanted to comfort him, to tell him there was always hope.
“Is there no word of him?” she asked gently. “No word of your son? I’m sure you’ll find him. I can feel it.”
Gold shook his head, his mouth twisting.
“I’ve been searching for so long now,” he said quietly. “Every time I hear the faintest rumour I pick up and I chase after it. Every time I’ve been disappointed.”
“You mustn’t give up hope,” she said, and he turned to her with a sad smile.
“I try to keep faith that I’ll find him,” he said. “Alas, this time it was not to be. I didn’t choose the right place. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even in the right time.”
“The world is vast,” she said. “Trying to find one person out of - of thousands - must be next to impossible. You can’t blame yourself.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “And perhaps it isn’t merely my own misfortune. If he wanted to be found, he wouldn’t make it so difficult.”
Belle stepped closer.
“You think he’s - hiding - from you?” she asked curiously, and he sighed gently.
“There was a misunderstanding,” he said. “Before he - before I lost him. I think he might still be very angry with me.”
Belle bit her lip, shaking her head.
“But you’re his father,” she said softly. “He must know that you love him. He can’t stay angry forever.”
“I hope you’re right.”
His eyes were downcast, and he suddenly looked very tired. Tired and sad. On impulse, Belle stepped close, turning her face upwards and pressing her mouth to his. She felt him freeze at the touch of her lips, and she drew back, her heart pounding. Gold was staring at her wide-eyed, a stricken look on his face, but then his gaze darkened and he reached out to cup her cheeks with warm hands, bending his head to kiss her.
Belle opened her mouth a little, a moan escaping her as his lips met hers, soft and warm. The touch of his tongue made her rise up on her toes and press her body to his, and he let out a low groan as she slid her hands around his waist. A faint, jagged noise seemed to burst outwards, like the sound of glass shattering in the distance, and Belle’s eyes flew open as what looked like a rainbow-hued ripple spread out from them and dissipated. Gold was breathing heavily, staring at her wide-eyed.
“What was that?” she gasped, and he smiled broadly, gazing at the ring on his finger, which seemed to pulse with a soft light.
“A second chance,” he breathed. “A spark of magic. I can find him. With this I can find him.”
“Magic?” she asked, puzzled, and he cradled her cheeks with his palms, still grinning. He looked to be on the verge of tears, and she couldn’t understand it.
“The most powerful magic of all,” he said softly. “Powerful enough to transcend realms and trigger the spell in this ring. True love.”
Belle clutched at his waist, nodding fiercely.
“Yes!” she whispered. “I do love you! I’ve loved you for so long!”
“And I love you, too.” He pressed his forehead to hers, seeming to breathe in her scent. “I never dared to hope that you might feel the same, my darling Belle. I never dared to dream that you might want me. And now you’ve given me this gift. This chance.”
“I - I don’t understand,” she said. “What did I do?”
His thumbs stroked her cheeks, his nose brushing against hers.
“There’s power in love, Belle,” he said. “Love creates magic. Magic enough to let me find my boy. Will you come with me?”
Belle smiled at his strange talk of magic, reaching up to stroke a hand through his hair. It was every bit as soft as she had thought.
“I’d love to,” she said. ”We’ll see the world, just as I always wanted. I’ll help you find him, I swear it. Whatever you need.”
Gold kissed her again, soft lips gently pulling at her own, and she melted into the kiss, safe in his arms. Magic or not, it would be the most wonderful adventure.
-
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A Ghost Will Seem Within the House to Reign || Solo
Even vegetarians are entitled to a cheat day every once in a while.
There was no movement within the coffin.
Every so often, the body inside might twitch. Eyelids might flutter, revealing slits of unfocused eyes before rolling back into oblivion. An insect might crawl through the darkness, often many at once, twisting and threading through clothes but never once sampling the flesh underneath. Hallucinations had ended long ago, no longer blending the line between fiction and reality, no line now existing at all. He didn’t see anyone, nor hear anything, and he didn’t stir as Lachlan Richter wiped his forehead, the afternoon sun starting to bear down on him.
Damn heavy thing. Wasn’t every day you dug up a coffin on your land. He’d gotten Geena out as soon as he had struck it, and his wife hadn’t left his side as he set about digging it up. Took him hours. All whilst she sat flicking away flies from her perch on a beat-up old deckchair, leafing through the latest issues of her The American Gardener subscription with licked fingers. She’d laughed when he’d suggested that there could be treasure inside, had to be more than a skeleton. Your muscles just gettin’ old she had replied, and he had shrugged. True, he supposed, rubbing his back as he circled the coffin – discerning where to find a good place to lodge the crowbar in. After a moment, he hooked it under the lid centre-right, his wife affixing him with a beady gaze from where she sat. Still undecided as to whether she wanted to cop a glance at a dead body. Maybe it was cursed; she’d heard the stories. The wood splintered, filling the air with the sound of pine giving up against ancient iron nails. Geena dropped her magazine to the dirt, craning her neck forward before tip-toeing to peek behind her husband’s shoulder.
She should’ve screamed, but she couldn’t. Shock seemed to come much more naturally in the movies.
*
Agony.
Eyelids jolting open and then squeezing shut just as quickly, hands clawing in pure, unadulterated agony. Something howled, wretched – there was no person yet, only an animal; could only make the noise of an animal. Lachlan Richter stumbled back into his wife, eyes as wide as the full moon. The animal could smell them. Man. Woman. Blood. Blood.
Eyes that had squeezed shut at the onslaught of light snapped back open, irises bleeding red as blue dissipated like spilt blood in a body of water. Fangs burst from gums and fate played its cards: Lachlan Richter was now a man deader than the creature that threw itself at him, pathetic human as he was too slow to dodge. Not just fangs but teeth carved through his neck, mangling instead of puncturing, shreds of skin and gore catching in a vampire’s maw like tiny ribbons.
“Lachlan! LACHLAN!”
The finally-found scream startled him. His teeth lost their grip, and blood sprayed like a cow at slaughter and the woman shrieked to new heights as it hit her, an inhuman level of wailing that was like daggers to the eardrums. After that he didn’t notice the woman running, biting down again and again and again into different patches of the man’s skin, desperate for every drop that he had to offer. His flesh stripped like butter in his maw. Not enough. His fingers tore at his chest cavity, then his teeth, scrabbling for purchase until he could tear through the skin to snap the ribs in his hands. The heart was still beating, barely there, and he twisted the muscle free, hungrily ripping at meat and ventricles for the last the corpse had to give. Blood ran from his mouth, coating him; it tasted like life, life different from what even animals had. The woman had more. He lifted his head, watching her inquisitively now as she bolted like a caged rabbit set free for some curious looking domain. Good. Would make the heart pump faster.
The vampire dropped the spent carcass. Needed to get out of the sun. Needed more. He ran, she ran, they both ran, joining together in Geena’s last ever activity before it was ended when he quickly met her at the homestead front door.
“Please… p-please don’t do this.”
He could hear the words, but he couldn’t understand them yet. Had been too long. Only knew how to speak in one way.
Geena moaned, and the vampire snarled. Her last words had already been said.
He reached out and her hair bunched together in his clenched fist, her forehead smashing forward into the front door as she slammed against it, her frame immediately crumpling in his hold. An unintelligible gargle began to build forth from her throat, blood spurting onto the white-washed door as the force turned her teeth into her tongue’s guillotine, but it was only a small, quick jet in comparison to the burst from her neck as fangs sliced into her carotid. Red filled his eyes, ran down his front like a fountain as his arms tightened around her as she convulsed. Her hands flailed against the wood, creating echoes that weakened with each passing moment until they stopped completely, her arms slipping limp to her sides. He sucked at her wounds, savouring every mouthful. He could taste her impending death, could feel every tiny shudder in her body as the life flowed out of her. When she died he could escape the sun, lock himself in their strange little abode, and sure enough, when he tested the handle she had almost gotten to, entering posed no problem for him.
Invitations were not necessary when there were none left to do the inviting.
*
The vampire licked his forearm to his fingers, tasting the blood that was beginning to lose its lustre as it dried in the open air as he paced around the table in the centre of the room. At first he’d hunched himself in a corner, scared, hurt, confused - but now there was a feeling beginning to wash over him. His legs were starting to feel as if they didn’t want to cooperate, simultaneously wanting to stiffen and turn to jelly at once. He was becoming acutely aware of how uncomfortable he felt – his hair matted with mud, skin caked with dirt and blood with wet clothes rubbing unforgivingly against his skin. His hands fisted, fingernails digging into palms, before unclenching and repeating. The things surrounding him… he didn’t recognise any of it.
He stopped mid-pace, puzzled.
Why did his mouth taste like he’d drunk from the cup of the Gods itself? What was his name? Where was he?
He pinched his arm.
You are dead vampire you are dead the Devil will ravage your corpse and not a soul will mourn you do you know that do you know that vampire and your whore will follow suit as you burn together by the Glory of God I send thee abomination back to-
His shoulders seized and his arms tightened around him like a vice, and he wanted to retch but couldn’t. Could only dig his fingers into his sides until he brought blood, well beneath fingertips already dyed with it. The people. The torch brackets. Running from them, trying to hole himself up in that god-forsaken house where they had all lived, him and the others of his kind. The rocks being thrown through windows as they tried to get in, the hatchets to the doors. The hauling through the streets. Standing there with his arms forced behind his back as they all stood there and tried to decide what to do with him. The verdict being the idea to nail his heart to the grave, symbolic for the soul. Blake staggered, losing control of his legs as he collapsed backwards into the lounge. Foreign sights swam in his vision; from the black box on the other side of the centre table to strange, realistic paintings adorning the walls, but he couldn’t take it in. Fingers went from his sides to his hair, tugging it from his scalp as he leaned forward, feeling his eyes change and his fangs unsheathe yet again this time not as a response to hunger but as a defence mechanism. Oh God Oh God Oh god oh god She was dead. She was dead. Eilis was dead – he had seen her as they forced him into his coffin, saw them tie her to the oak overlooking his grave in wait for the sun.
He looked back up and the paintings on the walls focused, and he cried out, horrified. There was another, a smaller one on the little table beside him, and he snatched it up, pressing his hand against the glass. In shuddering gasps his whole body shook, his fingertips sliding down its surface to uncover smiling faces. The faces of prey stared back at him; the face of a man who would never again work amongst the buckwheat that he laid lifeless in at the base of the oak tree, the crop planted there the sowing season beforehand. The face of a woman, his wife, the woman he had met in high school fifty-eight years beforehand, who would never again keep the house as spotless as it was now. Because of him. 86 years, and he had never hurt a soul, never had the taste of human blood on his lips. 86 years.
To himself he said:
“Your name is Blake Emery Prescott, you are 86 years old, you live in Ashkent Creek.” He stopped, stammering. He glanced around in fervour, drinking up the sights surrounding him – nightmare visions of nothing he recognised. This wasn’t the world that was only 86 years of his life. He looked back down at the picture in his hand. The man and woman were doing more than smiling. Something was funny. He was. Mocking him, that’s what they were doing.
“I think I have been away for a very long time,” he whispered.
On the other side of the glass, they laughed.
#solo: a ghost will seem within the house to reign#this is just my app so whatever#greetings and salutations 2 all of u :')
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Charred or Chard The Cat
Just a little silly thing I scribbled down today.
I tend to collect a lot of random (and usually useless) bits of knowledge. The facts here are based on what I learned when I spent time with my aunty who was once a breeder of cats on a whim.
“Han,” Jesse said, a pained look on his face. “No…”
The…thing…hung complacently from Hanzo’s hands, its hind legs curled demurely over its groin which was a blessing because it wasn’t neutered.
…and it was hairless.
“Yes,” Hanzo said seriously. “You said you wanted children of the four-legged variety.”
Jesse sighed, running his flesh hand through his hair. “Han…I think said of the furry variety. That…thing…” he shuddered. “Hon, it looks like a shaved ball sack.”
“You would know,” Hanzo replied, much to the discomfort of the kitten’s owner. He scooped it into his arms like one would hold a baby and turned to the woman that had put the kitten up for adoption. She looked very much like she regretted agreeing to meet with them but she still smiled kindly at them. “How much?”
Jesse whined. “Han.”
The woman’s eyes flicked to Jesse. “Hon,” she said gently to Hanzo. “Maybe you should make the decision with your…friend?”
“Husband,” Hanzo corrected absently as he toyed with the cat’s paws. It was complacent enough to bat at his hands gamely; when it “caught” Hanzo’s finger, it brought it to its mouth and licked at it.
Never had Jesse wished so badly for someone to be homophobic and take the cat…thing…away from Hanzo. But the woman was a kind sort and smiled. “Husband,” she repeated sweetly. “Maybe you should ask your husband what he thinks.”
“He thinks he looks like a shaved ball sack,” Hanzo pointed out. “He made it very clear what he thought of him.”
The woman winced. “Yes, but I’d rather not cause a break in a marriage over a cat,” she pointed out. “And I’d hate to get this poor guy’s hopes up that he’d find his forever home.”
Jesse could never get used to that phrase. “Forever home”. It made sense and was kind of sweet but at the same time he thought it was kind of weird…but that was just him.
Startled, Hanzo looked back at Jesse. He groaned. “Ma’am,” he said kindly to the woman. “Y’ mind if we have some people-talk? Guy talk? Like…me and my husband?” It still felt weird to call Hanzo his husband but it was a good kind of weird that sent thrills up and down his spine.
The woman smiled and held out her hands for the cat which Hanzo very reluctantly handed back to her. “You can go in the dining room over there,” she said, pointing to the room in question. “Just give a holler if you need me.” Murmuring to the cat, she lumbered off to the couch and sat down with a groan. The kitten curled up on her ample belly and closed its eyes as if to nap.
Hanzo looked so honestly concerned that Jesse had to tug him into a tight hug. “Now don’t think that, Han,” he murmured. “If you want ‘im, get ‘im. I’m just…not on board with the whole ‘hairless’ thing. I’m serious when I say it looks like a shaved ball sack.”
“So you’ve said,” Hanzo muttered into his chest. “I just…”
Jesse tipped his head up and gave him a soft kiss. “It seems like a sweetheart,” he said. “I’m just…not confident I can hold it without being disturbed. But…if you want it…it’s yours. And I’ll support you and…it…I’ll get used to it eventually. But darlin’…never worry that I’ll make you give it up. That ain’t happening.”
Hanzo searched his eyes before gently kissing the painted thread around Jesse’s left pinkie. “I like him.” While it was relieving to hear – they had searched seemingly hundreds of shelters and ads for cats that met Hanzo’s apparently strict standards – Jesse wasn’t sure he really liked this particular cat.
“Then let’s get him.”
His husband (!!) looked so pleasantly surprised and Jesse received a truly warm kiss in thanks. It made him feel almost guilty for already hating the hairless monstrosity.
When Hanzo told the owner-breeder of the kitten that he’d take it, Jesse got a truly pitying look from her husband. Great.
“Damn,” Fareeha said as the kitten explored the common room before their weekly Chopped marathon.
Angela peered at it. “It’s ugly,” she said and wrinkled her nose. “Do all cats have that much skin? And where are its whiskers?”
As if protesting her words, the cat gave a raspy meow.
“Yeah,” Fareeha agreed. “It’s ugly and…hermano…you’re so whipped.”
Zarya tucked her legs up on her couch when the cat wandered her way. “Is unnatural.”
The doors slammed open and Rein, still a little dirty from work in the Diner, stumbled in. “I heard Hanzo’s cat was here!” he boomed. The cat in question had frozen in terror, its bright blue eyes wide as it processed the sudden noise.
“Yeah,” Jesse said as neutrally as he could. “Close the door so it doesn’t run out.”
The big man scrambled to obey, nearly smashing Ana in the process but she was quick and managed to avoid death that day. “Where is it?” Rein asked excitedly. “What kind of cat is it?”
“Looks like shaved nuts,” Zarya said flatly, eyeing the creature where it crouched under the coffee table.
Rein’s excited face froze awkwardly. “What?”
Hana giggled where she was curled up with Jesse. Bastian occupied the other side of the couch with a safe distance so Hanzo could sit beside his husband; Lucio was perched on the arm, frowning down at the cat.
Everyone’s reaction to the cat, in Jesse’s opinion, were absolutely priceless. Rein’s was no exception – his excited face fell immediately upon seeing the wretched creature. “Where is that cat’s fur?” he asked flatly.
“It doesn’t have any,” Jesse said, running a hand over his face tiredly. Hana giggled.
“Actually,” Sombra corrected, once more startling everyone with not only her presence but her willingness to talk. “They do have fur, it’s just very fine. They still can and do create dander but it’s just at a much-reduced rate and volume – why they can be called hypoallergenic.”
They all frowned at her. It was the longest she had spoken in a long time and most of the time no one knew what to do with her when she did speak or laugh. But where Sombra was, Gabe couldn’t be too far away.
“How?” Bastian asked curiously.
Sombra shrugged as Gabe entered the common area. Seeing the cat – which had begun to emerge from the table, he turned around and walked out without a word. Giggling, Sombra heckled him in Spanish as she followed. Some of her suggestions were that he should knit The Cat clothes so it wouldn’t be too cold.
It suddenly occurred to Jesse that he had no idea how to take care of it.
Is this what being a parent feels like? He signed to Hana and Bastian who turned to look at him when he began signing. Being terrified when you realize you have no idea how to take care of another life? Hana laughed and said nothing; Bastian shrugged solemnly though his clear eyes were amused.
Ana was peering down at The Cat which had slowly begun approaching her. “It looks so worried,” she said with a laugh, running a careful finger over the wrinkles between its ears. It butted its head into hers, trying to solicit more pets which she obliged. She laughed again. “It’s so soft! You should feel it!”
“Like shaved nuts!” Zarya roared, outraged, from where she was curled up. Angela and Fareeha giggled and joined her there.
Jack, who had just opened the door, paused. “What?”
“Don’t ask,” Jesse told him tiredly. “She’s talking about The Cat.”
The man visibly hesitated. “You guys finally found one?”
Hana giggled. “Yes!”
“Does he have a name?”
It suddenly occurred to Jesse that he had absolutely no idea if Hanzo had named The Thing. “We can ask Han,” he said when everyone turned to look at him.
The cat grunted when it was picked up in Rein’s massive hands but didn’t struggle like Jesse half-expected it to. “He’s so tiny!” Rein exclaimed.
“Isn’t he soft?” Ana asked, wiggling her finger in the cat’s face. He batted at it without his claws and went limp in Rein’s hands.
Jack leaned over the couch by Jesse. “That…thing…is a cat?”
“Yup!” Hana said a little too-loudly.
Rein’s booming laughter echoed. “Shaved nut sack!” Zarya roared when he tried to hand the cat to her.
“Oh!” Ana tsked. “Just hold him! Or touch him!”
Zarya didn’t look amused as he was dangled into her space. The cat’s legs were extended as he tried to keep his balance. She tilted her head all the way back in an effort to not look at the creature. “I feel like I’m violating him,” Angela said faintly, also looking anywhere but the creature being dangled in front of them.
The residents of that couch were saved by Hanzo’s return. What exactly he thought when he saw Zarya, Angela, and Fareeha cowering away from the cat which was being dangled over them by Rein, Jesse couldn’t be sure, but he seemed pleased enough that not only were they interacting with the wretched thing, but that Hana looked happy.
Jesse collected a kiss from him as he moved past and scooped the poor animal out of Rein’s massive hands. It met Jesse’s eyes over Hanzo’s shoulder and he tried not to laugh at how utterly relieved it seemed.
“He’s so cute,” Ana said and Jesse made gagging faces at Zarya, Angela, and Fareeha who nodded in agreement. “Does he have a name yet?”
Jesse’s couch was becoming crowded but privately he thought it was strange to learn after five-odd years of sitting on the same couch in the same spot that there was a recliner chair built in, but it worked in his favor because it meant that not only could Hana, Bastian, and Lucio all sit on the couch with him, but he could also cuddle with Hanzo.
Except now he cuddled with Hanzo, who sat between his legs with his back against Jesse’s chest, and Charred, the hairless cat.
Ugh.
The cat, despite still being rather young, was very mild-mannered which was nice. It didn’t run around or seem to get sick of being in one place for so long but simply seemed content to sit on Hanzo’s lap and accept scritches.
Despite Jesse’s own dislike of the ghastly thing, he loved the smile it brought to Hanzo’s face.
Worse, the thing was friendly and tried to solicit pets and scritches. Fareeha, Zarya, and Jesse were the only ones so far holding out. Angela was a little disturbed by the sensation but would occasionally pet Charred though she privately admitted that she felt bad that it was named such a depressing name.
But he was more Hanzo’s baby than Jesse’s so he really couldn’t protest the name so much but it really was rather morbid. As Sombra (and his previous owner had) explained, the strange grey-black splotches over Charred’s back were from the color of his nearly-invisible fur. If it had been longer, he’d be white with black or grey splotches but now he was a strange shade of fleshy pink with big ash-colored spots.
More than his unfortunately morbid name, Jesse felt almost bad – almost – for not giving Charred the scritches he obviously wanted from him. He was a very well-behaved cat when asking, patting the leg or arm of a person with his claws retracted and trying his best to plead with his wrinkly face.
“Looks like E.T.,” Zarya said flatly when Charred tried to solicit pets from her. “Like E.T. had baby with shaved ball sack. No.”
Charred was endearing, Jesse had to give him that. Once he got used to his…unfortunate…features he could almost find Charred cute.
He just couldn’t bring himself to actually touch him which made it hard when Charred tried his best to endear himself to Jesse.
He’d wind around Jesse’s legs when he fed him in the morning (something he volunteered to do despite Hanzo’s insistence that he could), would try to rub against Jesse and get his attention as much as press up against him with a cute little mew. Jesse always felt bad nudging the cat away with a socked foot but he just couldn’t deal with the thing.
It was insufferably cute though, to see the little knitted clothes that Ana made for him. Unsurprisingly with no fur to keep him warm, Charred needed some assistance. If he transported the cat between the Barracks and Base, Hanzo tucked him in a hoodie or in his coat with him.
Though Gabe thought Charred was disgusting, he created a lined pouch that looked like a messenger bag that would keep the cat warm while he was outside. He shrieked outright when Charred tried to rub against him, seemingly in thanks.
Two weeks after Charred came to the farm, they learned that his name was actually Chard.
Like the vegetable, which turned out to be one of Hanzo’s favorites, especially to cook with. Like the rainbow chard he had on his tattoo on his right arm.
Chard, not Charred, like he was crispy.
Huh.
For his part, Hanzo was no stranger to Jesse’s thoughts on Chard. (And Zarya’s…and Fareeha’s…and Gabe’s. Really, he could go on.) He was pleased that Jesse kept his promise – not that he doubted he would – to not mind Chard’s presence. He volunteered to feed him, would bring back toys or treats, but he still staunchly refused to touch him directly.
At first Hanzo was hurt because he at least enjoyed the feel of Chard’s fuzzy skin and he and Ana often played with the cat’s wrinkled forehead and scraggly whiskers. Yes, his junk was disturbing, but they got used to it.
(Hanzo, did, at least. He could still hear the cries of disgust when Chard flipped his tail up in a friendly greeting and treated everyone to an eyeful.)
Still, he was beginning to worry about Jesse’s reticence.
He need not have worried because nearly a full month after adopting Chard, he found the two of them napping in a golden beam of sunlight in their room. Jesse was cradling the majority of Chard’s body with his whole arm and the stump of his other. The cat’s head was tucked into the crook of his neck and one of his paws rested on the bared flesh of his collarbone through the open collar of his flannel.
From the flick of Chard’s ears as he unlocked his phone, he knew Hanzo was there but Jesse didn’t stir as he snapped a few quick pictures. Chard grunted and shifted and Jesse’s hands tightened on him instinctively before relaxing as the cat settled again.
Hanzo managed to get a few more pictures before Jesse peeked his eyes open. He smiled sleepily at Hanzo and tipped his head back for a kiss.
His thumb rubbed gently along Chard’s lower back where he cradled him gently. “L’ke ‘a shaved ball sack,” he said sleepily. It was almost smug and it was the tone that got Hanzo.
The startled burst of laughter from Hanzo startled Chard enough that he leaped to his feet and raced away. Even Jesse agreed as Hanzo cleaned them with hydrogen peroxide with Chard watching them reproachfully from the doorway that the lines of scratches over his chest were almost worth it.
Fun facts about Sphynx (”hairless”) cats I learned from my aunty (and also some things about Chard):
As Sombra mentioned, they do actually have fur, it’s just really short. Due to fluctuations in their hormones, the mama cats sometimes grow fur which is surprisingly soft.
My aunty’s breeding female’s fur was tight and swirly for lack of a better word. It wasn’t quite curly but just the way it grew it made it look wavy.
Even after she had weaned her kittens, she kept her fur. Not sure what happened there but whatever.
The breeding female was more or less pure evil. She was the queen of the house and was absolutely enamored with my aunty.
They do actually have whiskers and “eyebrows” even if it doesn’t appear that they do - they just grow in so fine and brittle that they break off.
Chard looks kind of like this. His coloration is based off of one of my aunty’s cats and she told me recently that she had initially considered naming him “Charred” but the rest of his family’s names ended in an “O” sound so she couldn’t.
He has blue eyes.
His attitude is very friendly and relatively laid back.
Some cats are very amenable to training due to breeding, natural aptitude, and/or their general demeanor. Chard is definitely one of those cats. My cat in RL is not.
#Good Directions#nsfw-ish#lots of creative language#mostly to male reproductive glands and the skin that covers them#a slow day#reactions to Chard are based on real reactions I've heard from people#I'm kind of sorry#DC writes
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Dnd idea: beholders reproduce by their dreams coming to life. Tales of eldritch beasts with indescribable, terrible forms start trickling from a tiny village in the mountains. Many claim to have seen them, some to have fought them, and a precious few to have vanquished them.
After scouring the mountains and coming across shadow beasts whose bodies disappear as they are slain, the adventurers find a cavern with a sleeping beholder and the skeleton of an elf. Here, smaller shadows drift about. Some of them speak, garbled, but gentle and recognizable as a humanoid voice. Others speak more clearly, speaking soft murmurs of encouragement and kindness.
The beholder itself is smaller than average, curled up next to the skeleton. On further examination, the skeleton is discovered to be of a nomadic clan, and very old. A few crumbling documents appear to be a journal of observations about "a unique specimen" that hasn't reached maturity, and the scientific opportunity at hand.
The beholder begins to stir, and as its milky, clouded eyes open, the adventurers realize that it is blind. The voices it creates are from dreams of its caretaker, the distorted shadows due to living without sight. The elf died of a sickness she had come to cure with eyes harvested from the beholder, but first was swayed by the fact that they might be too damaged to help, then by its helplessness, and as the end drew nearer, by love.
"Other than what was gleaned from LL, little is known about beholders in their juvenile form. This one appears to have an infantile mind, and as far as I can tell from observation it has either not yet developed, or developed without, the second identity common to the species. Perhaps, if all else fails, I might implant myself into the creature, if only to extend my life. Of course, the ethics of this are questionable, whether or not the beast possesses significant intelligence."
"I am nearing the end, now. Even if I were willing to sacrifice their life to save mine, I am too weak to perform the ritual. I still have the backup plan, and a part of me is ready to leave it in the hands of fate. Elivardos, should this reach you, please put my work to good use. If by chance the beholder still lives, get them to Rockabral. They should be safe there. As for me, my spirit will remain here until someone as foolish as I scales these wretched mountains to find it. After that, we shall see.
All the best,
Blythesaria" (elf names gain 1 syllable per century lived)
Among the elf's possessions, they find a bright glowing pendant on a chain. Using detect magic, the party realizes that the elf's spirit has been bound to the stone.
If they havent killed the beholder yet, the adventurers must make a decision. It will keep spawning the dangerous shadow creatures, so they cant leave it. It is otherwise harmless and technically still a child, so the implications of killing it are... bad. The journal offers some half possibilities, incomplete or scribbled out rituals to a) neuter the beholder (unethical, dangerous to the magic user and the beholder); b) implant the elf's consciousness into the beholder as a second identity (questionable, possibly dangerous, involves smashing the pendant so no going back); or c) restore sight and increase intelligence, consequences unknown (may connect with beholder hive mother, may turn evil, etc.).
Regardless, the adventurers will be encouraged to bring the beholder to Large Luigi at Rockabral, and the journal to Elivardos (now Elivardoset a'Brin'vye, as 4 centuries have passed since Blythesaria died.)
Beholder reproduction and elf names ideas courtesy of @probablybadrpgideas
Large Luigi is from 2e apparently?? Idk look him up hes chill and like. The name. Come on.
#dnd ideas#campaign idea#probs cant run this now cause some potential players are among my followers#but thats whatever#dont have time to run it rn anyway#dungeons and dragons
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4. What is their most embarrassing memory? 17. What are they like when they’re drunk? 20. Fears? 21. Favorite kind of weather? 22. Favorite color? 23. Do they collect anything? 61. When bored, how do they pass time? 78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy? For: Odina, Tamm, Wicke, Tionishia, Centorea, 18, 21 and Mama Defleni.
under read more because it got kinda long
4. most embarassing memory
Odina: Shit. Thisone time, uh. This one time, i was in the same room as one of thoseinfinite magic creating generators they dig up from time to time. Andyeah, me? And something with limitless magic? My ass got so huge itswelled up and got me stuck, right in a doorway. I was trapped therefor HOURS. Some shithead used me for furniture, they sat on my buttand slept there! God… so mortifiying.
Tamm: In my earlydays of learning to take on a bird form, I got lost in the body. Abody you take does have its own instincts and it can overwhelm yourmind; some take on a new form and it takes their mind, and theyforget who they are, becoming just another creature with faintmemories of someone who is gone now. Fortunately I didn’t go thatfar, but I did wind up eating carrion and little bugs. Theembarassing bit? A student saw me do it, and never let me forget…!
Wicke: OnceLusamine and I wore matching uniforms, along with our assistants, topresent the image of a united group to our backers, this being beforethe Aether Foundation became a distinct organization, mind you! Theproblem is, the tailors weren’t given my own… extreme…dimensions in mind and the hips were far too small! The skirt justshredded when i tried to walk; I had to spend all day trying to avoida wardrobe failure and I just know they noticed…!
Tionishia: I oncehad a human boyfriend and I greeted him with a hug so tight he… ah,had some back trouble. It was so embarassign! I learned the hard waythat humans are rather fragile, you know?
Centorea: As youknow, things around here tend to get more than a little odd with thetransformations. The first time I grew a few extra set of breasts onmy horse section, rather like an udder I suppose, I got… verymilky. And sensitive. And unfortunately I sat down on my speciallyadapted couch but didn’t realize someone was on it, and thatsomeone was Suu. There were complications but a long story short, aLOT of milk flooded everywhere and then right into her; she gotkaiju-sized and we had a DEVIL of a time calming her down…! Ugh.How dreadful.
Android 18: I gotsome energy absorbing relay coils installed and I dared Krillin totest them out with some ki projectile fastball. I caught ‘em, yeah.Not so good at the CONTROLLING the blasts thing. Accidentally losthold of the things and blew a huge hole in our house. Ugh, lookinglike a loser in front of your cute, tiny husband… awful.
Android 21: Ionce turned all of the planet Jupiter into a giant chocolate ball. Iwas AIMING for an asteroid, but, well, my aim isn’t always perfect!And of course, so much tasty sweetness got me hungry and I would haveeaten it all if I hadn’t been stopped…! As it is, well, now thereare more than one gaps in it.
Mama Defleini: Afriend hugged me from behind when I wasn’t expecting it and…well, I gushed ink EVERYWHERE. Milk ink, at that, over the entireauditorium. And since I was playing on a band at the time, there isphotographic evidence. Tends to come up when I am trying to beserious, which is not at all helpful!
17. What are theylike when they’re drunk?
Odina:Surprisingly mellow, a bit passive, but even more of a stone wallthan usual. Tends to just ignore everything.
Tamm: Very much abit of a chatterbox!
Wicke: Extremelysweet and affectionate, tries to be helpful and often just falls onyou.
Tionishia: Veryhuggy; this is both dangerous from her immense strength, and comfy,because at least her massive bust is soft!
Centorea: Becomesunexpectedly gloomy, but swings into happy mode for no apparentreason.
Android 18: Angrydrunk, MEAN drunk. She will fight you for looking in her generaldirection, or breathing near her and sucking up her air. She willfight you and it will hurt.
Android 21:Becomes very hungry and eats random stuff; will start chewing ontables and gets really sleepy, really fast.
Mama Defleini:Not really any change at all, but she becomes a bit more talkativethan normal.
20. Fears?
Odina: Shequietly dreads that, one day, she’ll turn on her magical powers andit won’t turn off; she’ll keep draining and growing without beingable to stop it. She’s also scared of getting caught up insomething that’ll go VERY badly for her, and get her killed orworse.
Tamm: Herdaughter killing her, again. Alternatively, she dreads the return ofthe loathsome True Fae from their mysterious realm, for when theycome, they will leave nothing behind.
Wicke: Beinghelpless to stop something truly evil and wretched, or worse, beingcomplicit in it. She dreads her own potential passivity.
Tionishia: Herimmense strength killing a human, or similar species. Just hug sohard, and then hear a horrible little snap. And then, blood onher arms, and a death on her hands.
Centorea: Failureto uphold her duties, so that her lord and her family dies on herwatch. More than that, she fears failing to uphold her oaths and thatshe may act in a dishonorable way, shaming herself irredeemably.
Android 18:Becoming destitute and homeless again, and worse, dooming her familyto the same fate. She would do anything rather than suffer such adoom, and it motivates her to some ruthless acts.
Android 21:Losing control of herself, and becoming a mindlessly gluttonous andcruel monster that would devour her own children, friends and alliesjust to slake the fiend she has become. She dreads the multiversebeing broken by her appetite.
Mama Defleini:She speaks little of her own fears. But in the depths, she has knownthat SOMETHING is coming, however distant, and she hears the echos ofsomething vast and indifferent to mortal suffering, and it is coming.She fears, more than anything, that the ages will come and destroyall that she has built… and worse, that she can do nothing to stopit.
21. Favorite kindof weather?
Odina: “I likeit rainy, a bit stormy. Feels good, you know?”
Tamm: “As longas it is wet, I enjoy it. Heavy rain is my preferred sort.”
Wicke: “I loveit sunny, more than anything! GIve me open sun and strong light!”
Tionishia:“Strong winds, and cool, dampness.”
Centorea: “Iprefer my days a bit cloudy, to be honest.”
Android 18:“Overcast. When it’s sunny, it’s too hot. Rain is not fun,either. Snow’s the worst. That shit can kill you.”
Android 21: “Idon’t have a preference, honestly! I like it cool, but that mayjust be my body; easier to hold myself together, and it’s not thatmuch of a fondness.”
Mama Defleini:“Mist and cool weathers please me the most.”
22. Favoritecolor?
Odina: “Red, Iguess?”
Tamm: “Purplesare lovely!”
Wicke: “I lovepink! It’s my favorite.”
Tionishia:“Yellows look cute and heroic!”
Centorea: “Ilean towards blues, I suppose!”
Android 18:“Black.”
Android 21: “Ido love greens.”
Mama Defleini:“Magenta, dear. Can’t you tell?” (Rubs her tentaclesaffectionately)
23. Do theycollect anything?
Odina: Collectsvideo games, preferably ones that are a bit more obscure or havegenres unknown in the modern day.
Tamm: Likes tocollect little knick-knacks and enchant them; her chambers andworkplaces resemble a witch’s cottage mixed with a magpie nest.
Wicke: Herfriends joke she gets younger boyfriends. She generally collectsplush toys of all sorts, ranging from obscure toylines to variationsof a given model, and takes pleasure in organizing them to the minutedetail.
Tionishia: Cuteaccesories and fancy hats!
Centorea:Collections of medieval books, old lore, and Arthurian legendry fromover the ages.
Android 18:Books. Until recently they were a luxury for her; they’reexpensive, difficult to carry on the go, and require careful keeping,so she was unable to have any until she and her brother came to theattention of the Red Ribbon army. Now she takes pride in being ableto get as many as she wants.
Android 21: Worksby influential figures she respects; also comic books and manga ofall kinds! She prefers lighthearted and jokey things instead of moregrim or serious material.
Mama Defleini:Apparently, ships. Not model ships or toys; ACTUAL ships. Presumablysome of these are relics from her time as the Kraken of legend, butshe’s diversified into spaceships in the here and now.
61. When bored,how do they pass the time?
Odina: “I liketo read. And enjoy the boredom; it don’t last long, usually.”
Tamm:“Birdwatching is usually a fine hobby to pass the time.”
Wicke: “I liketo take naps, dear! Or perhaps watch some television.”
Tionishia: “Iplay with the local pets; with the people we associate with, there’splenty to find!”
Centorea: “Iwork out! A knight must always refine her body, for it is her finesttool!”
Android 18:“Watch TV, I guess.”
Android 21: “Iread as well!”
Mama Defleini:“Painting, usually of visions I experience or of the unreal imageryI am heir to. It tends to give mortals headache to look at them, butI think they’re pretty.”
78. How do theyact when particularly happy?
Odina: Verymellow; tihs ia clue in itself, as she is normally very guarded andgrim. Any sign of happiness at all is a pretty damn big deal!
Tamm: Softsmiles, gentle asides, ocassionally some faint noises that sound abit like pleased chirps. She’s not too demonstrative of herfeelings.
Wicke:Ebulliently cheerful, almost radiant! She becomes a beacon ofemotional light!
Tionishia:Extremely huggy, to the point that her grasp over how much strongershe is becomes looser than usual, and spines are put to GREAT stresesfrom her hugs. From her arm strength, and her massive boobs; theymight be soft and milky but they’re also EXTREMELY heavy
Centorea: shetries to be tactiturn, in the image of the unflappable knight, butwhen super happy, she ironically acts more like the lady of a courtlyromance; flushng over small feelings, beaming brightly, and speakingin poetic phrase. It’s noticable since usually she IS somewhatstoic.
Android 18: whenhappy, she tends to loosen up a lot; she leans back, probably plopsinto a couch (possibly breaking it) and gets friends/family inaffectionate headlocks. Her happy tends to have a bit of the ‘flirtygirl bully’ vibe.
Android 21: Itcan honestly be difficult to tell, as she doesn’t act TOOdifferently from how she mght otherwise, but she acts a lot like herrobot son Android 16, whose core personality was her biological son;she gets a little more open, more expressive, and she doesn’t seemso closed off.
Mama Defleini: Ingeneral she affects an air of genteel cheeriness; there’s not a lotof interplay between her moods of ‘not super happy’ and‘genuinely super happy’. When she’s sincerely happy, though,she gets very warm and easy going, and parts of her body becoming abit more ink-goo than normal. She literally loosens up!
#anon replies#replies#ask meme replies#crossthicc!wicke#crossthicc!android 21#crossthicc!android 18#crossthicc!tamm#crossthicc!tionishia#crossthicc!centorea#my OCs#mama defleini#odina#Anonymous
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Text
If Any Would Avenge: 21
Chapters 01-10|| Chapters 11-20|| Chapter 21|| Chapter 22|| Chapter 23
|| Chapter 24|| Chapter 25||
Centuries Ago:
The air was heavy and fetid, and the sky above a deep, starless ebony; an abyss hanging above the sere forests and lifeless valleys encompassing the entire realm. Fortunato's nose itched, repulsed by the rancid stench of decay but also craving it. His stomach growled as his thirst strengthened, and he had to muscle up all his willpower not to lunge at Kidd. Caught up in his own bewilderment at the realm, Captain Kidd hardly noticed Fortunato's hunger and simply observed the landscape from their perch on a cliff. It too quite sere.
"This is the place? This is the land that holds the artifact that will grant us all we could desire? This is what I…?" Kidd glowered, grasping his arm and rubbing the stump end where his wrist and hand were once attached. The bandage wrapped around it was still bloody, though mostly dry - the result of him deciding it was better for him to lose an arm rather than piss off whatever sort of being Fortunato was.
"What were you expecting? Rainbows?" Fortunato muttered, successfully curtailing his thirst.
Kidd scowled. "This realm's supposed to be brimming with magic." His gray eyes surveyed the withered trees and bushes, their leaves needle-thin and a dull gray. The ground itself consisted of dry, crumbling dirt with very few patches of sere lichen and grass. Observing his surroundings, Kidd nearly gagged as the stench of decay mixed with the stale scent of dust overwhelmed him, and he covered his mouth to stave off breathing in too much of the wretched stuff. "Do you see any sign of magic?"
Before Fortunato could respond, a chilling chuckle wafted towards them; its origin somewhere below the cliff where they stood. As the red-eyed man shared a glance with Kidd, the chuckle drifted upwards and increased in volume – its owner approaching closer and closer. Gritting his teeth, Kidd brandished his gun while Fortunato bristled and stood ready, his fangs visible beneath his curled lips. The chuckle drew nearer, until it was just beneath the cliff edge.
"Who's there?" Kidd growled, inching towards the edge to peek down at whatever creature approached. He sucked in a breath when nothing but empty air greeted his gray eyes and the laughter suddenly stopped, only to return, quite loudly, behind them. Both men swiftly turned on the spot, glaring behind them at what was supposed to be the doorway leading in and out of the realm. Instead of a door, there stood a large canvas, as tall as a man and framed with a tarnished silver. "What in the...?"
"I'm no expert, but I think you're assumption about the lack of magic in this place was a bit premature." Fortunato replied nonchalantly, his crimson eyes drinking in every inch of the canvas: its subject and sepia hues. Or rather subjects, as the paint seemed to writhe and twist on the canvas, morphing into various scenes and beings and all manner of beasts, until settling on one.
That of a cradle by a fire and a large raven perched above the hearth, gazing down though its piercing onyx eyes seemed to gaze directly at Fortunato and Kidd. Its talons wrapped around a dagger, the blade of which was a dark ebony, the fowl sat and stared. Its eyes never blinking.
Kidd stared back, unable to glance away; the bird's glare chilled him and seemed to pierce into his very soul. Fortunato though shrugged off the unnatural leer, and instead glanced at other parts of the painting. It didn't take him long to notice the words written near the bottom of the canvas.
The Hand of Nemesis.
Fortunato's thin lips twitched reading that, the words vanishing the next moment, as did the painting itself. In its place appeared a large golden bowl on top a marble pedestal and filled to the brim with rust-red water. It smelled peculiarly of blood, and Fortunato felt his thirst return. While beside him, Kidd took off the pendant he wore about his neck and approached the bowl, as though compelled by some silent force. Without a second thought the captain dropped in the pendant, and stared wordlessly as the water bubbled around it.
Holding the orange-red gemstone in his palm, its tiny and elegantly crafted surface shining brilliantly, Fortunato peered down at it and tightened his grip on his tanto held in his other hand. It too shone, the scarab-skull engraving on its metallic blade glowing a rich crimson. His thin, cold lips twitched as he leered at the gemstone and positioned his tanto above it. The magic of the one fed off the other, building in strength until the air warped and sparked from it.
"Come on." Fortunato growled, concentrating on the summoning spell; he bit hard down on his lip bracing himself. The air crackled, the magic growing more and more intense, such that it would eat away the flesh of any normal person, causing excruciating pain. Fortunato merely shrugged, concentrating on summoning the object he sought, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as it started to work. The next moment he hissed, dropping the gemstone and tanto after a powerful shockwave reverberated, dispelling the magic. "...shit."
"Caw, caw." Watching the spectacle across the room, a large raven laughed at the scarlet eyed assassin. Perched before a heavily shadowed oil painting, the bird peered at Fortunato with its onyx eyes, observing the assassin's failure with something akin to glee.
"Shut up." Fortunato growled back at the ebony fowl, and bent down to pick up the tanto. As his cold fingers wrapped around its handle, the raven's laughter suddenly ceased and the air shifted. A chill raced down Fortunato's spine as both the blade and gemstone vanished in a cloud of smoke.
"Looking for something, dearie?" Gold hissed, appearing behind Fortunato, the gemstone and tanto in his hands. His eyes narrowed and a snarl twisted his face as he glanced over the two items. It took barely a second for him to sense the remnants of a summoning spell powered through blood magic, and less to realize whose blood was seeped into the tanto. He glowered. "...you stabbed Belle with this. Stabbed her - our - unborn child." Gold clenched his teeth and slid towards Fortunato, reaching the foolish mercenary within seconds. "...I slaughtered the rest of your brethren simply because one of them injured Belle while trying to assassinate me." He grabbed the assassin by the throat, his eyes livid and murderous. "What I did to them is nothing compared to what I plan to do to you now."
"...oh?" Fortunato leered back, a smirk pulling at his lips after his initial surprise at Gold's arrival. Both the haughty sound and sneer rankled the Dark One, and he plunged his hand into the motley attired man's chest.
Outside Storybrooke:
"What do you mean - 'erased a child'? I haven't done any such thing." Henry protested, denying the ex-Author's accusation, his face filled with incredulity. "I…."
"You erased my Heroes and Villains book." Isaac countered, fiddling with the handle of his coffee cup before taking another sip of the tawny brew. Studying Henry closely as the young man did likewise to him, Isaac downed about half of his cup of coffee before placing it back on the table. "Including a character I created just for it."
Henry blinked, his lips parted mid-way on refuting the older man. His first idea upon digesting Isaac's claim was that it was impossible, that it was beyond the Author's power to create characters. The Author was meant to record stories, not create them after all, so it shouldn't…. He grimaced, his brow furrowed as he realized the faulty nature of his assumption. Though the Author was tasked to only record stories, that hadn't stopped Isaac from changing the story when he was the Author. Isaac creating a character wasn't as impossible as Henry first assumed. "You...created a character?"
"Yeah. A child, who was erased with the rest of the book when you undid my work." Isaac resumed drinking his coffee while Henry absorbed his words, the younger man shaking his head.
"But...but that wasn't...the whole book was erased so none of that was real. None of it happened." Henry mumbled, more to assuage his horror-twisted stomach than refute the other man. If Isaac was telling the truth about creating a character, that meant he had erased a child. Unknowingly, but that did little to counter his unease. Erasing someone - making them never to have existed - had to be worse than killing them.
"Judging by the horror on your face, you believe me and feel the weight of what you did." Isaac leaned back in his seat, slightly pleased at the horrified guilt in the younger man's eyes. One of the best things he'd enjoyed about being the Author was manipulating the heroes into doing something they'd regret. Their emotional turmoil made for a better story. "...I'm guessing you'll feel even worse if I mention for whom I wrote the child."
Henry's gaze, downcast as he pondered how horrible being erased was compared to dying, shot up at Isaac's supposition. His jaw and body tensed. "...who did you…?"
"Rumplestiltskin. I wrote the child for him, since I couldn't do much about, well, your father Baelfire." Isaac replied, eyeing Henry as the young man drew back and frowned. "Before you ask, no the child wasn't Gideon. Characters written and erased by an Author's power can't be brought back so easily. I found that out during my first few experiments as the Author." He muttered and glanced out the diner window, gazing at the parking lot and the field across the road.
"How…." Henry started to ask, curious about Isaac's testing of the Author power and the rules governing it. Despite vowing not to sway from simply recording stories when he became the new Author after Isaac, Henry was anxious to use his power to alter the past few days. To undo Nemesis' murder of Gideon. Or if he couldn't do that, then maybe he could do something else, like… 'Maybe I could write this erased child back into the story. Would that...work? How will grandpa and Belle react?' He pondered quietly, getting pulled from his thoughts only by Isaac standing up to leave. He grabbed the older man's wrist. "Wait. Wh…."
"Look, as I see it I made a clean break from Storybrooke and all its drama and whatnot when I left town. I don't see how what's happened is my business." Said Isaac as he pulled his arm away. "Sure, a child dying is a terrible thing but it's not a particularly rare thing outside of your little town. Just watch or read the news." He gestured towards a newspaper being read by one of the other diners. On its opened page was a photo and blurb about a grisly death of a child nearby. Along with a fire at a motel. "Horrible things happen everywhere. I don't see you using the Author pen to help fix them."
"I can't. It's imposs…."
"Impossible to change things out here using the Author's pen." Isaac interrupted, frowning and shaking his head. "So is bringing back the dead through magic, but you seem intent on doing just that. Don't get me wrong, looking out for your own family is human and no one can fault you on that. But…." He glanced back out the window, his eyes narrowing at something in the parking lot. The next moment shook his head as though discarding a thought, and returned his attention to Henry. "Anyways, I have plans for today. And I don't see a way to help you." Frowning, his teeth clenched tightly beneath his lips, Isaac turned away but then hesitated, as though a silent debate raged in his mind. For a moment he seemed about to say something else to Henry, yet he decided against it and hurried off.
"Wait, Isaac…." Henry grimaced as the older man hurried away, his own way blocked by the waitress cutting between them. In her hands was the bill and on her face was an unamused scowl.
#ouat fanfiction#once upon a time#once upon a time fanfiction#fanfiction#belle gold#Rumplestiltskin#revenge#Mr. Gold#mr gold#emma swan#killian jones#OC#original character#child death#character death#Fortunato#captain kidd#includes characters from edgar allan poe's stories#tags apply to whole fic#tragedy#drama#Regina Mills#henry mills#if any would avenge
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