#silly creature prancing
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My friend told me to write about a silly creature prancing so here it is:
Silly silly aillly sillly sillyyyyyyy creature. Prance prance prance.
Yes this is the correct account I just wanted to post this on here. Please send more requests.
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copy that, romeo
— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡
⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆
CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER >
♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader
♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.
♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.
♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything]
. SERIES PLAYLIST .
WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet
Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.
May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.
Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.
But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.
Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.
Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.
Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette.
And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.
Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.
It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.
January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.
February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.
March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet.
April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.
May.
You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.
The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.
Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.
Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.
Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.
But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’
A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.
“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”
Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.
Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde.
Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.
“Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”
The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.
Too grim?
A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper. You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.
You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.
One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.
Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.
You took the job.
May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.
What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?
Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!
Clothing, check.
Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.
Accessories and essentials, check.
Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.
True American, illegal weaponry, check.
All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.
“Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..”
Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.
Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?
Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.
Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..”
Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right?
One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.
You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”
The tree bears no reply.
“Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.
Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood.
Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence.
“Say cheese!”
America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.
Joy is a luxury now.
A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”
Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.
The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you.
Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.
“Holy shit.”
Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.
An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.
A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.
Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’.
Un–fucking–believable.
Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.
Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.
After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed.
“C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.
Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.
Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.
Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels.
Not so good for the respiratory system though.
Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—”
Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.
“Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.
Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.
Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—
“Sup Maple lake, you there?”
A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.
But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.
Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—
“This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.”
Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.
You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.
The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.
Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”
“Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”
Her?
Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—
“Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?
“Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama.
And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.
“You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.
“Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.
“Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.
Ouch.
“For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”
“Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.
“Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.
“Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.
“What?”
Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy, “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?
“That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”
Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”
Please.
And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting.
“Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”
You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.
“If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.
“Are you drunk?” has to be.
Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.
Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?”
“Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.
You a hundred percent forgot though.
Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.”
“Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.
A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles.
“Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”
“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.
“I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.”
Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”
“Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.
Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.
Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”
“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.
“..”
A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.”
You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”
An omissive summary, you meant.
There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.
A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.
“Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.
“No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”
Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.
Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.
“Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.
That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together.
“No problem, sleepyhead.”
So many nicknames.
Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco.
Stygian tones.
“Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.
“Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.
“Yeah, man.”
“Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”
How would you know?
In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more.
Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting.
“Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.
Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.
A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.”
They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.
There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.”
“My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.
“Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”
“Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.
Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.
“Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.
You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”
“Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.
“Don’t gotta tell me once.”
By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.
Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.
“Whatever you say, newbie.”
And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.
if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡
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#ellie williams#⋆⋆; 🌲— copy that romeo#ellie williams x reader#ellie tlou#lesbian#sapphic#ellie x reader#ellie williams x fem!reader#ellie williams fic#tlou fanfiction#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams series#firewatch!ellie#tlou ellie#ellie williams tlou2#ellie the last of us#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams au#ellie williams concept#ellie williams angst#ellie williams fluff
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Held Dear
Draco kept taking the wrong turns: the place was a maze, and he was only half-looking, skidding past corners on his socks and trying to swallow the smile, to temper this riot in his chest. Went for a cup of tea, got lost, found himself—nowhere, over-warm and nearly skipping. His hand couldn’t stop running down his neck, under the hem of his jumper, tracing the marks Potter’s mouth left that he could still feel. The slight irritation from his stubble—luckily there was a mirror in the corridor, and Draco stopped in front of it on a gasp.
His hair was a mess (Potter’s hands ruffling through it, his reverent fingers ever-gentle, ever-sweet); his cheeks were flushed (Potter’s kisses), and his lips red and bitten (him or Potter, who’s to say). Not visible: his heart going thump-thump-thump, and this thing buzzing on his lips, coming from deep inside, something awful like affection or delight. Something—bright.
“Draco?” he heard from a distance. “Where did you go, silly creature?”
Flushed from head to toe: “I’m just down here.”
He could feel Potter’s laughter more than hear it, ticklish on his pinked skin—then, leaning on a doorframe and destructively handsome, his Potter in all his naked glory, hairy chest and thick thighs and dark bitemarks that made Draco hungry all over again. Insatiable, he was, whenever Potter was around: running through him, thick like warmed honey and just as sweet, desire raw and tight.
“There you are,” Potter said, fond eyebrows and half a smile. “Did you get lost?”
“Of course not,” prancing, heart dancing in his chest. “Don’t you look just lovely.”
Potter gave an appreciative hum, came a step closer. “You’re overdressed. It’s not cold, is it?”
It was, Draco thought, before Potter appeared. Now he couldn’t even remember what cold meant. An opposite, probably, of this, finally close enough to touch, his hand mindlessly caressing Potter’s sides, one thumb catching his chin.
“I’m cold,” Draco said anyway. “Warm me up.”
Potter was only too happy to oblige, clear from his smile (going wider still), from the look in his eyes (a devastating thing, sending shivers down Draco’s spine), from the noise he made, half a growl and half a plea. His arms wrapping around Draco, and his mouth tilting closer for a kiss. His taste (divine), his hair (so soft under Draco’s fingers), his, ah, body, pinned against Draco’s and writhing, moving, endlessly and frantically.
“You’re perfect,” Draco thought he said, out loud maybe, and tried to swallow the words back from his lips. “Potter—”
Sucking little bites onto his neck, hands roaming, searching under his jumper, till his clever fingers found a nipple. “Ah,” as Draco's whole mind melted, “Potter, ah,” as he tweaked it once, twice. Grinning against Draco’s face, the most ridiculous angel to ever exist.
“Come on,” Potter whispered, kissing all the way down his jaw to the shell of his ear. “Let’s go back to my room. I’ve—fuck—Draco, I want you so badly.”
You have me, Draco wanted to say, almost did, heart fluttering madly at the thought. Closed his eyes, leaned his head back, tried to contain all this—impossible, fizzy joy.
“Take me, then,” he managed, only a half-truth and everything he cared for. Potter’s smile was delirious as he picked him up, bodily in his arms: and Draco’s squeal, and his laughter, all muffled in the crook of his neck, holding on tight.
The house was a maze, and they weren’t looking, and it didn’t matter. Around corners and down long corridors, their lightheaded laughter, a sock, then another, left strewn like breadcrumbs, Draco’s jumper and his boxer shorts, beacons for the morning. For now, this—Potter and that little noise he made, the one that tore right through him, Potter and his hands, and his eyes, and his mouth, and his thighs. And his smile, still somehow going wider, wild and sweet and perfect.
When Potter said, “Come,” Draco nearly burst. Kissing him and kissing him, hungrily, frantically, mewling little yes, yeses in a throaty voice. In a too-big house and still without his tea, this bright thing inside him, loud and frantic like happiness.
(Flufftober day 6. Find the soft AO3 collection here).
#drarry fic#flufftober2023#rated M#soft soft soft soft#gentle gentle#they're just so happily entranced with each other#what can i say. it's fluff#700 words#rockingrobin69#prompt: corn maze
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Sirius' Weird Taste
Sirius has very peculiar taste - which is good and thankfully he doesn't make that a big part of his personality but you can see it just with Remus, who at an early point of their relationship really considered if Sirius wasn't dating him because of his lycanthropy. After all he has a lot of scars and this affected his whole appearance since he got it very young. He isn't attractive by popular standards although he is tall but too lanky for it to look natural and his skin has some dents from the scars even when it heals back to his natural skin colour. He also has too much hair, be it facial or anywhere else, and whether it's natural or not too much wrinkles and eyebags for his age. It has happened that students took him as a new professor if he wasn't wearing his school's robes.
His point is that by all standards Remus would be considering ugly, something he has stopped saying at loud because every single one of his friends would bemoan or scold him and come up with senseless arguments. He will never know if he would have looked any different without the bite so he learnt to deal with it but it still leaves the question on how Sirius Black ever fell for him. Remus isn't stupid or oblivious like he might like to act time to time which is why he is fully aware that Sirius is smitten with him - despite everything; although Remus honestly can't judge him on that because if Sirius is down for him then Remus is so far down he might fall off the earth for Sirius.
Sirius has assured him many times that he doesn't like Remus for his lycantropy - which is a bit of rude question when we just snogged twice Moony - and that even without his fancy scars he would bend over for him. All his friends have helped him make peace with his werewolf counterpart, Sirius particularly, but only because they are the same person with just one side more moody - but you give Moony a fair opponent, Sirius said before kissing him.
Remus has learnt all Sirius' whims and his likes or dislikes - how he dresses up like a bloody deity before bringing the ugliest looking sweater ever as a gift because of how amazingly ugly it is which is why it's pretty? He also noticed how Sirius likes crups or hippogriff, always trying to pet them with compliments, but what really seems to really make him go is the weirdest things. The first time Sirius saw a platypus at the zoo, one of their dates, he couldn't stop laughing and yet didn't want to move on - Who cast a spell on it? What is it supposed to be? Why did you pick that nose and short legs you dimwit? You look silly. Let's get one!
Murtlap? Sirius insults them over their 'haircuts' and 'why are you still naked you twat' as he fed and pet them in their Care of Magical Creatures class. Which is surprisingly not him making fun of them but just his weird way of loving them, with silly insults and teasing.
Remus has realised it is exactly how Sirius and Regulus act with each other so the insults really must be just obscure petnames. So Remus supposes that sometimes that's how Sirius just show his love; it's not like they never insulted each other before and while kissing or cuddling.
So Remus is used to Sirius' surprising taste even if he can't always predict them. Like this weird-shaved cat that he proudly shows him. It looks like it came back from war but not in one piece with how odd its black dark grey fur looks to the touch and some spots almost completely naked. You could easily think that someone did it because the poor cat has no fur around his eyes and mouth.
"What is that supposed to be?"
"It's a werewolf cat."
"What?"
"It looks incredible, doesn't it? I know we are dog people but I love her and she is very sweet," Sirius explains as the cat rubs herself against his chin. "The muggles call them werewolf cats because of how rugged they look so I thought she fits perfectly for us. Also sometimes she will be butt-naked because she moults but we don't want a pervert prancing in our home so I'm going to make her clothes."
So they call her Garou - because we have a theme Moony - and she is very sweet with Remus, rubbing, slow-blinking and all at him - because you are related - even if he almost got a heart attack when he went to the loo in the middle of the night and she stood there like a dead animal ressurected.
While Sirius and Garou spend their time badmouthing each other, or at least he supposes because Garou likes to meow whenever Sirius talks about her. What did I tell you about strutting around naked? Oh you don't speak to me like that you bald lady. If you didn't look already homeless I would throw you out.
Sirius tries to teach her to attack Regulus but somehow James becomes her prey. Sirius also goes out with her, walking or shopping, throwing dark looks at anyone who looks at them weirdy.
Remus finds no reason to complain and if anything he is more amazed and amused every time.
#hp marauders#marauders#sirius black#remus lupin#wolfstar#marauders headcanon#remus loves sirius#sirius being sirius#I just love werewolf cats I'm sorry#remus x sirius#the marauders#myriadparacosm
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This is WIP "Addiction", and like I said All -------> Reader :v
(I love all your silly ideas.)
Amongst the Primarchs, feelings of desire and affection were weaknesses best buried deep. Honor and duty formed the pillars of their lives, with little room for softer sentiments.
In the quiet corners of their minds, each Primarch nurtured a secret longing for the same person, about you, an Imperial Agent.
When you enter their chamber, their eyes find you out, drinking in your graceful form and aloof. When you departed, their thoughts lingered on fleeting glimpses of skin, a curve of the lips suggesting a hidden smile.
They told themselves your presence meant nothing, you were but a tool, and deserved neither their notice nor care. But you remain etched in their memory, haunting the desires they dared not speak aloud.
When your name arose in conversation, each of them listened with keen interest under the guise of strategy or necessity. They poured over reports bearing your sigil, seeking any new morsel of insight, awaken dormant longings within their hardened hearts. They contemplated all the things they imagined you might be, a prize to be won, a mind to bend to their will, a body to claim, a fleeting moment of solace. Fantastical musings, soon banished with derision at their own foolishness.
The Primarchs would banter and plan wars, oblivious to how each mind wandered elsewhere, to fleeting imaginings of limbs entwined, hands caressing cold skin brought to strange warmth, lips parting in sighs never meant for them. You, who had awakened desires long thought dead within unyielding souls.
But such impossible visions must remain unspoken, poisonous fruitless imaginings better left buried. They continued on, concealing aching desire behind masks of duty and pride. All wondering if any hint of their secret longing would betray itself, should you ever truly look upon them and see.
*******
The Emperor sat upon his golden throne, deep in thought. Unknown to his sons, he was aware of their hidden longings for an Imperial Agent. And this one who had unknowingly captured the hearts of his mighty sons. The Primarchs, great generals crafted to span galaxies and shape Imperium, now found themselves longing for the simple nearness of one so seemingly without artifice.
Their feelings were neither surprising nor shameful, but had the potential to cause discord if left unchecked. Discreet intervention may be needed.
The Emperor chuckled softly. "It is the way of things." He said to you. "Great beasts in nature preen and prance, trying their best to impress the one they desire. They become awkward, stubborn creatures, guided not by reason but longing."
He remembered well those struggles, those endless games of courtship played out in the guise of duty and honor. And though his sons were made for mightier things, part of him rejoiced to see stirrings of love within their stony hearts.
"My Emperor, forgive me for my ignorance but I don't understand." You confused.
The Emperor smiled. "Like peacocks displaying their plumage."
You are oblivious to the Emperor's hints. Still remained focused solely on relaying information, missing the sign in his words.
The Emperor sighed. "As dawn breaks and the flowers blossom." He continued. His words grew more obscure, comparing his sons to suitors hoping to catch the eye of a beloved. Yet still you did not grasp his meaning.
The Emperor suppressed a chuckle. "As seeds drifting on the wind, hoping to find purchase in fertile soil." he said wryly. You listened, but still blind to its context.
The Emperor's smile widened. "How unfortunate that so many should work, while you remain oblivious to their achievement."
You bowed, taking leave in confusion. The Emperor sighed. His sons' affections were obvious to him, but they themselves were blind. You were untouched, seemingly unable to perceive how you had captivated the hearts of beings never meant for softness.
Although his great plans were set in motion, he saw now how one small change, one cracked egg in the nest, could unravel it all. The tiniest mortal, a mote of forgotten dust, now held the hearts of his greatest designs within the unaware hands.
He wondered, if you ever understood. If amidst all their plans and war, your simple "Yes" might reweave their fates in ways beyond any vision, any cunning or will he possessed.
The Emperor paused, considering. Perhaps it was for the best that his subtle hints fell on deaf ears. What good would come from you knowing the power you held, without ever asking for it?
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//Sung Jinwoo Yume
I'm gonna talk abt them finally, nobody would read this but I like talking to walls so heheheh and introduce to wall-san my oc who I yume with Jinwoo: Moon Minseok
Minseok didn't partake in Jinwoo's life in the first timeline after they had graduated hs. Jinwoo also never found Minseok there because he actually died after being sucked into a gate^^. (Jinwoo would actually later find his corpse in one of the gates he raids but never realized it was Minseok all along).
Their actual love story begins when Jinwoo regresses through time, back to the past where the gates never opened. Jinwoo actually didn't recognize Minseok at first, it took him a while to remember that Minseok was actually his childhood friend and of course just like in the original timeline— Both of them were classmates.
Jinwoo didn't really remember much about Minseok. Just memories of how pretty the boy was with his amber eyes, his round blossom eyes, and freckled cheeks. A baby-face that suited Minseok childish personality.
He was very bubbly, in contrast to the Shadow Monarch's gloomy and rather nonchalant personality. And since Minseok was a very upbeat person, he often hung out with Jinwoo and babbled to him about all sorts of things.
Jinwoo knew his memory was fuzzy,but he had no recollection about Minseok's hyperfixations about the galaxy, the sea creatures (especially the medusas), dinosaurs (don't judge baby:<<<) and fungi and flowers!!! He could name them all in even scientific form. Minseok could even point at which star is which, which constellation was located— He was just very knowledgable!
It slightly overwhelmed Jinwoo at first, he wasn't used to such an eccentric person— But he never pushed Minseok away. Instead, he listened to all his rambles. At first, he would just keep his eyes closed, but when he noticed Minseok had cute little habits while talking— He paid even closer attention to Minseok.
You see, Minseok has a habit with his hands. He curls them into lil cat paw fists and shakes them around. Jinwoo has never seen such body language before, so his grey eyes closely followed Minseok's little 'Cat Paws' as he listened. He found it...Cute.
What started as him as just him listening to his old friend's rambles— Slowly blossomed into something more.
Minseok introduced Jinwoo to the more finer things in life. Things that he didn't know that can be therapeutic outside of his daily exercises— From cafes, to breads in the bakery, to sweet stores all around them. Jinwoo just started learning the more cuter things in life.
And all the prettier sides of it too. Minseok would always take Jinwoo to the parks they cross by after school, and maybe even the little beach near them. Jinwoo would watch him pick up seashells and seaglass. His grey eyes followed that freckled boy as he pranced around in the waves, picking up silly little things.
The shadow monarch couldn't help but smile softly.
'That boy is so radiant.' He would think as he picked up Minseok's discarded shoes by the shore.
The more Jinwoo watches him, the stronger his desire grows to protect that sweet boy. That sweet, sweet boy. Prettier when he smiles so carelessly. Jinwoo wanted to protect that innocence, shield him away from everything cruel and ugly— Cover him up with pillows and thick blanket and coddle him
'Coddle? I'm out of my mind.' Jinwoo shook his head. Minseok's silly attitude was rubbing off of him a little.
Yeah, that's right.
The more Jinwoo hung out with him, the clumsier he got. He even broke the punching game in the arcade once due to Minseok's contagious childishness. It was as if he was slowly letting his guard down, he was relaxing more. Smiling a little more.
He was in love.
All those days he watched Minseok, all those hours of him killing time as he listened to the latter's rambles, the small things that he was introduced to.
It was making Jinwoo's heart flutter.
He slowly started building a habit of subtly touching Minseok. It started with little pokes on the shorter boy's hands, then gently holding to rub that small and delicate— Dainty little hand. When he feels bolder, he'll bring up his hand to swipe away some stray hairstrands blocking him from admiring Minseok's pretty face.
While Jinwoo's gestures were by touches, Minseok's admiration was through sketching him.
Little did Jinwoo know, Minseok has a sketchbook of him. From the angle of his jaws, the height of his nose, the way his eyes curve, and how his hair fluffs here and there.
Minseok was Jinwoo's Angel.
While Jinwoo was Minseok's Muse.
Their love story was slow, like a flower taking it's sweet time to fully blossom. Jinwoo would let Minseok hold on to him as much as he liked. And when he feels like it— He would Join Minseok as he danced around under the pouring rain. Their fingers intertwined as they waltz away in the puddles and in the cold weather.
They were just so in-love.
Soon though, soon. Jinwoo couldn't contain himself anymore. When he saw how radiant Minseok looked against the setting sun, thats small but the prettiest smile he could ever wish for, the wind softly blowing at Minseok's fluffy black hair that made him look like a fairy— Jinwoo's remaining self-restraint got obliterated.
Thus, he tugged at his hand. Holding him tightly but not firm enough to cause any harm. No. Jinwoo would rather kill himself than ever hurting his angel.
He held him in his arms, leaning down to him and embracing the plump lips he longed to taste for many nights and days. The kiss was gentle, but it had the fiery flame of overflowing love.
"Seokkie..." Jinwoo cooes as he pulled back, his grey eyes lovingly watching Minseok's flushed out face. "It's selfish of me, but I love you."
"Then I guess that makes us both selfish."
#spur of the moment#Jinwoo yume#ive completely gone delulu#im so sorry#not like anyone is gonna read this#but fck i love them sm#you dont know how many times ive repmayed their love story in my head over and over#u have no idea#i love them#Jinseok
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7 cus I think you'll excel at it and 40 cus I'm trying to figure out how that one would work in rpf
yessir! first off:
40. because the world is ending // cl16.lh44 // G // major character something???
The horizon was red. Sebastian would probably make some gloat about Ferrari, thought Lewis. Would've, anyway. If he were still alive. He wondered if Charles would say anything about it. Guy destined for red, last thing he sees is the color of his car, his mythos.
Charles continued to spin his chair round and round in a circle.
"Did you call your." Lewis paused.
Charles stopped turning. He looked at Lewis. People usually used some variation of woodland creature to describe Charles. Lewis would settle on some kind of critter right now. Small. Unassuming. "I tried," he said at last. "No one picked up."
Lewis nodded. He should probably be used to all the condolences at this point — giving and getting. It didn't make it any easier to say. "Sorry, man."
Charles shrugged, and his smile was empty. Silence swallowed the room once more as they waited. That was the problem, thought Lewis. The waiting. Charles wasn't moving the chair anymore. He remained sat there, staring out of the window. Lewis considered asking him if he wanted to go for a drive.
"I used to think about this day," said Charles out of the blue. The red, thought Lewis, and almost laughed.
"Let me guess," he said instead, grinned. "This is exactly how you pictured it."
Charles laughed. "Yes, I always wanted to spend The End stuffed away in a conference room."
Lewis snapped his fingers. "Knew it." He left a little breath. "But, I'm guessing that wasn't actually it."
This time, the laugh was a little softer. Charles took the quip as it was intended. An invitation. Something to fill the void. "No. It was quite silly actually. It was usually somewhere high up — a mountain maybe. Or just floating in the sky. And I was with."
Lewis waited. The wheels on Charles's chair squeaked slightly. "I am not sure," he said at last. "I guess my girlfriend? Maybe my, uh. Wife? I guess?" He said 'wife' the way someone might mean 'if you say so'. "It was just the two of us, and she'd turn to me as it all happened and—"
He went red. Redder, anyway. From that, Lewis could fill in the rest. He offered a small smile, because any bigger would've felt wildly out of place. "That sounds really sweet, man." Charles's mouth puckered up at the corners in response.
Their teammate stint would hit one and a half years the next day. They wouldn't reach that. Lewis had learned to talk about Ferrari like it was the dream of a lifetime. Charles had learned to stop talking about it like it was the lifeline of a dream. They'd converged somewhere in the centre.
That didn't mean Lewis expected to spend his last moments with him.
Around half-ten, Fred came in and told them it was over. For real. He said it in English, and then he said it in Italian — Charles told him that, once Fred had left. "It was the same thing. That he is sorry. He said we could join the crew downstairs if we wanted to."
"Do you want to?" asked Lewis.
Charles shrugged. He stayed put, where he'd moved to the floor in front of the windows. Lewis had gone between watching the trees turn crimson, the fountain of the prancing horse darken like crushed berries, the drip of it over Charles's cheeks.
At eleven, he sat beside him. Cross-legged, and their knees didn't touch. "It's close, I think," murmured Charles.
Lewis tilted his head. "Yeah." Charles looked at him — properly looked. So Lewis could see his eyes, and they were green usually but now they looked brown, like tree stumps and coffee and soil.
"How high up did you imagine it?" he asked.
Charles blinked. Realization seemed to tick slowly a second later. His tongue darted out. He glanced through the window. There wasn't much left to see. "Something like this, I guess."
Lewis reached out and touched his jaw, very lightly. Charles's head turned into it. The Rebirth — that's what his family called it. And the day will come, where everything must rise anew. This wasn't the end for him — not the same way it was for Charles. Lewis hadn't grown up picturing what he'd do, the day it happened. He thought maybe he'd have liked to be on a boat somewhere in the warm sea. He'd have liked all his friends and family around a roast dinner. He'd have liked his parents. To hold their hands.
He'd get that, he thought. Eventually.
As the side of Charles's throat started to bleed, Lewis guided him close, and kissed him. He kept his eyes open long enough to see Charles's slacken shut. He closed his own. Everything went red.
#bro tell 2021 xiaoluclair theyre gonna write chewie that bitch is biting ur arm off and blocking#effective IMMEDIATELY#how times-ah change-ah#f1 rpf#fic: cl16.lh44#x: writes#toni my beloved#chewie#forgot im meant to tag that#if you use a tag youve blocked on your own post#is your own post blocked from you?????#these are the Questions
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so I prompted the Chat bot a Klaroline/Little Red Riding Hood AU and this is the funniest shit I've ever read
Caroline might be a furry in this idk idk lmao
Can you write fanfiction of Klaus and Caroline from the vampire diaries, that is inspired by the tale of Little Red Riding Hood?
!
Once upon a time, in the mystical town of Mystic Falls, there lived a beautiful blonde named Caroline. She was the epitome of innocence and kindness, always wearing a bright smile on her face. But little did she know, a dangerous and alluring predator was lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce on her.
Klaus Mikaelson, the original hybrid, had set his sights on Caroline ever since he first laid eyes on her. Her vibrant energy and sparkling personality had drawn him in like a moth to a flame. But he knew that approaching her directly would only scare her off. So, he decided to play a little game.
One day, Caroline was walking through the forest to deliver some goodies to her sick grandmother. Klaus watched her from behind the trees, admiring her beauty as she pranced through the woods. He transformed into a wolf and approached her, pretending to be a friendly creature in need of her help.
"Hello, little one," Klaus growled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "What brings you to these woods?"
Caroline smiled warmly at him, not suspecting a thing. "I'm on my way to see my grandmother. She's not feeling well, and I wanted to bring her some treats."
Klaus's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her grandmother. "Oh, I see. Well, I hope you get there safely. The woods can be dangerous, especially for someone as sweet as you."
Caroline blushed at the compliment, feeling a flutter in her stomach. "Thank you, that's very kind of you. Are you sure you don't need any help?"
Klaus smirked, enjoying the thrill of the hunt. "Actually, I could use a little guidance. Do you mind if I walk with you?"
Caroline nodded, and the two of them set off through the forest. As they walked, Klaus couldn't resist teasing her, playing the role of the big bad wolf. But Caroline was too pure and innocent to see the danger in his words.
"You know, little one," Klaus said, his voice low and seductive. "I could just eat you up."
Caroline giggled, thinking it was just a joke. "You're silly, Klaus. Wolves don't eat people."
Klaus smiled at her, his eyes flickering with hunger. "Oh, but I'm not just any wolf, my dear. I'm the big bad wolf. And you, my little Caroline, are my Little Red Riding Hood."
Caroline's eyes widened in shock as Klaus revealed his true nature. She tried to run, but he was too fast, chasing her through the woods. But even as she ran, Caroline couldn't help but feel a strange attraction to Klaus, drawn in by his dark charisma.
Finally, Klaus caught her, pinning her against a tree with his powerful arms. Caroline trembled as he leaned in close, his breath hot on her neck.
"You know, little one," Klaus murmured, his lips grazing her skin. "You're much tastier than any treat you could bring to your grandmother."
Caroline's heart raced as Klaus pressed his body against hers, his hands roaming over her curves. She knew she should be afraid, but she couldn't deny the fire that burned inside her.
And so, Klaus and Caroline gave into their primal desires, surrendering to the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface. Klaus claimed Caroline as his mate, the two of them becoming one in the darkness of the woods.
From that day forward, Caroline was no longer the innocent Little Red Riding Hood, but a fierce and powerful wolf, feared and respected by all who knew her. And Klaus remained by her side, the alpha to her omega, their love a force to
At that point it stopped because it decided what it was writing MIGHT be in violation of its content policy lmfaoooo
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Arceus
Everything should culminate here, as Arceus stands as the Pokemon world’s origin point, its creator god. Of course, Arceus doesn’t even mark the halfway point in the numerical ‘dex order at this point, but y’know. It’s the thought that counts.
Arceus is quite the interesting design, and probably isn’t quite the first thing you think of if you were to picture what a more fantasy monster-like design for God could look like. Though, Arceus still follows a couple angelic design conventions, with its predominantly white and yellow color scheme, its ever-so-slightly off and absurd body shape and details, and the halo-like ring circling its body. I’ve heard some people say that Arceus is a bit silly in concept, that God would be this quadrupedal ungulate-like creature, but I don’t see why that makes Arceus any less of a fit at the end of the day. It certainly doesn’t look like anything that ought to be prancing around a forest, especially when it stands at 10 feet tall.
Arceus, usually, is a pure Normal type, which as I’ve said before, is likely an analogue for being typeless in cases like it. Being the master of the universe and reality itself, though, Arceus is able to change types at will by holding one of the special plates, scribed in its honor, that represent each type. The same can also be done with Z-Crystals, but those aren’t really relevant to Arceus’s whole shtick. The type Arceus becomes also changes the type of its unique move, Judgement, a name which further enhances its whole God-like status. Apparently, Arceus ought to be able to freely change types whenever pleases, it is apparently unable to now as the plates are spread throughout the world. However, a unique Legend Plate can be given to Arceus which allows it to regain this ability, letting it change its type to whatever it most effect for its current opponent.
In fact, for as powerful as Arceus is already, it appears to be somewhat incomplete, unable to demonstrate its full power as the universe’s creative deity. After all, it’s still a monster that you can catch and command at will. One of the Pokedex entries mentions that Arceus formed the world with 1000 arms, which it clearly doesn’t have, at least in this state. Sure enough, Arceus is said to be able to create a puppet of sorts, a piece of itself which it can use and inhabit outside of wherever its home dimension may be. This seems to imply that the Arceus we see is only a fragment of the original’s power.
Arceus is also said to have directly created Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina, in order to help give its world shape and order, likely giving them each a piece of its power. This would explain why the Origin Forms of Dialga and Palkia (and to a lesser extent, Giratina) resemble Arceus so much, that they’re adapting more to the form that Arceus takes in the dimension of the Pokemon world with the power they’re reawakening.
Arceus is also shown to have a certain affinity with the Unown, with their version of Hidden Power even mimicking how Arceus’s Judgement works when it holds the Legend Plate. It’s possible that Unown, in their ancient glyph-like forms, also represent some fragments or Arceus’s power, or are so rich in latent godlike power that they increase Arceus’s by being near it. It’s never been confirmed one way or the other, but I find it quite interesting, at least.
Overall, Arceus is quite the cool godbeast and has a good amount of backstory and ambiguous mystery to help bolster the title it’s built up to have. A successful job at incorporating a God into Pokemon’s catalog, methinks.
Score: 5/5
[Gen 4 Archive]
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Neverafter Episode 5 Live Thoughts
Under the cut
I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE GEMS ARE YOU SILLY MAN
“The mechanic of confusion” you said it ally
Ooo we got updated icons for the characters that we didn’t see last episode
Lou Wilson I love you never change
BEATS TO STUDY TO im cryig
Seriously the new dome effects are cool as hell
So this is “You and your party walk into a tavern” opening?
I can’t take the cock and toad seriously bro
“A bunch of woodland creatures in a cloak” ah yes three racoons in a trenchcoat
Rosamund’s hair is so curly wow
I really want to know her subclass PLEASE i’m thinking it might be beast now because of the cloak of beasts?
YLFA DRUID
YLFA DRUID???
I AM IN LOVE WHAT SUBCLASS
I’m thinking moon or wildfire?
The fire on her cloak in her dream makes me think wildfire Also they have another person who can heal thank goodness
The owl getting scared is really funny
The disappearing glass jar
So pib
Okay yeah red blowing the fire hotter makes me think wildfire, that’s actually a really cool way of skinning it
“Why does everyone think I’m flirting?” Gerard got that autistic boy swag
Lou you're killing me with that description of pinocchio
YES PLEASE TELL THEM ABOUT YOUR MOM
She’s awful and i hate her
“How did we know to come here?” Zac asking the big brain questions
Calling it now the bad fairy that pinocchio is talking about is the step mother
Psa do not trust the fairies at all
Do you think brennan practices crow noises just randomly?
Zac’s little dance when PIb is getting scritches is so cute
I KNEW IT WAS THE DISH FROM HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE
Ally and Lou playing keep away with the invisible book is so funny
Committed arachnid i’m dead these are so funny
THE SPIDER TALKS
Wait does this mean we’re gonna get miss muffit too??
“Honking like thunder”?? Hmmm the gander??
It’s really funny bc i just finished crown of candy where we had ranger liam and now we have ranger rosamund and it’s just really funny to me
Rangers really are the best in campaigns like this
Wait does that mean that we don’t get anymore cindy??
Oh okay nvm
Ooo this is very interesting, there’s someone writing in the book
WAIT THIS IS DOPE SCHEHERAZADE
So does this mean that the other owners of the magic books are just people who have collected tales in different cultures?
WOMEN IN ARMOR AGENDA LET’S GO
Aesop too?? So it think there might be some kind of truth to my theory my game theory
Yes babes pls make a better plan
Stray together, stay together
“Im just kinda pushing on your frog abdomen” ALLY
Okay okay so we need to find a laughing dog and a cat with a fiddle
The goodberry thing is so smart, i’ve never thought of that before
Senator i miss you
Senator i love you keep prancing
“This is all temporary” okay take a shot he said the thing
No no con saves only vibes
WHAT ARE THE BEANS are they like levels of exhaustion that you carry through your lives?? If you hit 6 levels typically you die so maybe at 6 beans the character is perma dead?
Is the boar one of the 3 little pigs??
I like geese and the gander is terrifying
Okay okay they got a good stealth let’s just hope that they learn from last time and dont get caught, please y’all be safe
YO THE DARK LIGHTING THAT’S SO COOL
WE 110 percent are getting the spider that sat next to miss muffet, “nobody wants to be friends with me”, the town name sounds similar to tuffet, i think i’m right???
#neverafter#neverafter spoilers#d20 neverafter#d20 spoilers#dimension 20#dimension 20 spoilers#d20 neverafter spoilers
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I thabk you for doing my request and I love it . Now I have to more ideas for request, you can choose either to do one or both of them I am fine either ways . This ideas are mostly like platonic
1) ok I don't know if you know the OFF fangame called continue/rise/stop or take request of fangames of OFF but I will just leave the idea anyways. Well in the game the player left the batter after turning off the switch but not intensionally it was just out of their control . They just simply wake up at a kind lady house and her named Celeste house , they don't remember much about what happened so she them stay at her place and work at shop . A few days past and someone new came was a familiar looking duck but he left before you could ask him ....more minutes later and the door burst open .
The duck return but this time with a ghost and lastly batter. They remember batter obviously and was happy to see them . The other two were obviously sad even though the ghost didn't admit it. Batter then explain that they are ghost batter and bad batters , the 4 of them went on an adventure and the boys got attached to the player thinking them as a younger siblings so if anyone dares to upset them then they will get purified (some of the elsens are extremely rude)
2) XD ok this one is mostly a silly idea. The player finished the game and they wake up back to their world. Of course they thought it was a dream until they saw ghost batter was Infront of them . They thought they were hallucinating but believe it when batter pinched/lightly punch them . Then after a few more days it was summer time and it was really hot they wishes they had something to cool down until they got an idea and just hugs batter since his body is cold as ice XD
YOU! I HAVE PLAYED C/S/R AND I LOVED IT! I never would have thought I'd get a request for that game, so this makes me so incredibly excited! Ghost was my favourite character out of them all too! I never would have thought I'd end up liking him this much!!!
Reader Hugging Ghost Batter to Cool Down
Notes: A lot of cussing
A world where heaven itself was corrupted with the idea of making a paradise on earth itself, where horrid creatures would attempt to take over once again, where its fate was placed upon the hands of four heroes, three who were one, and one to accompany all three. The hardships that were suffered amplified by a strained bond haunting two brothers. And yet, despite all that, it was a world not beyond saving. For even when you faded away, saying your goodbyes with tears in your eyes, you could leave knowing others would finally live again and not merely survive.
Yet, was any of it truly real? That dream, two adventures where you were the saviour with your companions, it was not the first of its kind. Those dreams would occur every once in a blue moon. Lying in your bed you stared at your ceiling, a vain attempt at making sense of what had happened. All the memories you’ve made, the good and bad ones, left an aching hole in your chest. Such was the nature of a dream, it had the power to leave you with the bitter aftertaste of a world you could no longer return to. Turning to your side, you took your phone in your hand, wanting to check the time.
“Fucking finally, you woke up. You got any godforsaken idea how long I fucking waited for your tired ass to wake up?!”
Giving your attention to that familiar voice immediately, you were met with black, empty eye sockets. A white, floating being, crossing its detached arms over where its chest may have been, it very much resembled a ghost. For a moment, you simply stared at the being, gears turning as to who it reminded you of. “Oi, are you still prancing around in that shitty heaven? I have no goddamn clue whatsoever where the fuck I am and I need your fucking help to figure things out.” Could it have been…?
“Ghost Batter? Is that you?”
Huffing, he got closer to you, sitting down on your bed, his tail wagging as he approached. “Which other cocksucking asshole would I be?”
Well, this did not seem very realistic at all. Although it was possible to dream about people you have not met yet, it was highly unlikely you would dream of something inhuman, much less a ghost. Therefore, you deducted this was another dream of yours, even if the setting would suggest otherwise. Then again, perhaps this was a dream of the non-lucid kind. The mere thought of this was ironic. Nevertheless, you sighed. “Is this another part of my imagination again? Am I still asleep?”
Ghost Batter leaned closer towards you and you could feel the air growing a bit more chilly. “Again? You saved one shitfeeding world and decimated another cockbusting one! You’re as awake as it gets, you sad fuckgoblin!” Lightly, he hit you over the head, the sudden cold making you inhale sharply. All things considered, he was corporeal enough, making you wonder just what exactly happened. You had never seen a real ghost in your world before, after all.
Strange as it may have been, you had to admit, having his company was nice. The profanity aside, it was pleasant to have someone familiar at your side, who you went through thick and thin with, a reminder, that your journey was not in vain and wasn’t going to be forgotten either. Still, it did leave you wondering what had happened to Batter and Bad Batter. Uncertainty may have been creeping up in your mind, but that worry was not welcome, if anything, you should consider potentially meeting them again as well.
But it wasn’t that thought, which was killing you as of right now. While you had been preoccupied with your new roommate, summer had left its blessed curses upon these lands. The heat had you sweating bullets, with every move being an unbearable necessity. Even your popsicle was only a temporary relief. Glancing at Ghost Batter, he did not seem to mind the high temperature whatsoever, sitting on the couch and reading a comic. Jealousy was a disease and you were haunted by its fever.
Once the cold sweetness had melted entirely in your mouth, you put the wooden stick on top of its wrapper, already yearning for an alternative. Again, you looked over to your former companion. Certainly, he would put the “ghost” in “Ghost Batter”, right? Spirits of the dead, that would no longer produce any sort of warmth. Some might even say the air freezes around them. It was worth a try: At best you’ll cool down, at worst you’ll get cussed out.
Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled him closer to your body. The effect was instantaneous. He truly was cool to the touch. But your action was met with light resistance. “The fuck are you doing??”
Still, you refused to release him, no matter what, putting your head on his shoulder instead, making sure your forehead touched his neck. “I’m hot, you’re cold. Stop moving.”
Looking you in the eyes, he was unamused. “Do I look like a fucking ice cube to you?”
“No, but you feel like one. Plus you’re not doing anything anyway. A hug wouldn’t kill you, but the heat will kill me.”
Despite uttering more of his creative curses, he complied, leaving you holding onto him until the night had come with a slightly more bearable temperature like a koala. This was to be an endless cycle, only broken by the salvation of autumn and winter, where you were to complain about him planning to freeze you to death every time he was in your close proximity.
#OFF fangame#continue/stop/rise#c/s/r#ghost batter x reader#ghost batter x player#I'm actually playing through BX:Execute too right now#but the game is so hard and I'm bad at viddy game!#either way I am so stoked to work on that second request you made here tomorrow#sibling reader stuff gives me life#and yeah the Elsen are very rude in that game#some of them at least#but they smile sometimes and it's the cutes thing ever so!!!#god there are some other fangames i wanna play too#like home#my friend really wants to play that one since Judge is his favourite character#hhh sorry for rambling again! i was just so happy to see ghost get some love too!!!
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In the fantastical world of Pegasus, where majestic and powerful winged horses roam freely, one might find it odd that there is a concept of morbidity. After all, how could something so magical and otherworldly be morbid?
But believe it or not, morbidity in the land of Pegasus is a very real and often bizarre phenomenon. It refers to the strange and often silly behaviors exhibited by these creatures when they venture outside of their usual habitats.
One of the main reasons for this morbidity is the fact that Pegasus are typically solitary creatures, living in isolated and peaceful areas such as mountaintops or remote valleys. So when they do venture out into the more bustling parts of their world, they can become overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and interactions with other creatures.
This can lead to some bizarre and comical behaviors, such as Pegasus prancing and frolicking in open fields, pollen showers from flapping their wings too vigorously, or even clumsily bumping into trees and buildings. It's not uncommon to see a Pegasus try to fly through a narrow alleyway or get their wings stuck in a fence.
Another factor contributing to morbidity is the Pegasus' irresistible attraction to shiny objects. Like magpies drawn to silver, Pegasus have a weakness for glittering gems and metals. They can often be seen chasing after butterflies or swooping down to scoop up shiny trinkets, much to the confusion of humans and other creatures.
But perhaps the most bizarre aspect of morbidity in Pegasus is their fascination with humans. Pegasus have an innate curiosity and fascination with human beings, leading them to often imitate human behaviors. This can result in Pegasus attempting to walk on two legs, mimicking human speech or even trying to wear clothing.
These strange behaviors have baffled researchers and scientists for years, with some speculating that it is a way for Pegasus to adapt to their changing environments or to release pent-up energy. Others believe it is simply a way for them to express their inner goofiness and playfulness.
Whatever the reason may be, one thing is for sure – morbidity in Pegasus is just another example of their unique and eccentric nature. So the next time you spot a Pegasus outside, prancing, frolicking, or chasing shiny objects, just remember – they're just letting loose and being their lovable, loopiest selves.
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fantasy
I want to be your unicorn.
I want to prance around your thoughts every moment so much so that you don’t think it’s real.
I know you already think that of me.
I know so many people think that of me.
I’m so unreal, I’m so untouchable, so they must not love me,
right?
I’m so unreal that I’m unlovable.
I’m just like a unicorn,
and you are the kid that’s too embarrassed to say that they believe in it.
The kid that’s too embarrassed to say that it’s their favorite animal,
because why would it be?
I’m not real.
But just believe in me a little bit harder.
I promise I can be manageable.
I promise that it’s a fake horn and I promise that I’m not some fantasy.
Let me into your fable.
I promise that I won’t be silly.
Don’t let me be an untouchable creature in your life.
I can shrink myself.
I’ll dye my mane into a more mundane color. I’ll chop off my horn so it doesn’t stand out too much.
I’ll be quiet.
I’ll be small.
I’ll be anything you want.
Please just don’t leave.
Conquer me,
behead me and put me on your wall of statues as something else that you caught
something mystical and unreal.
Show me off to other people for praise of how you caught me.
Except, can I be in your home?
I don’t want to be a part of your museum of other creatures you caught.
I don’t want to be a character that builds you up,
I want to be yours.
I want to be on your wall,
I want to be your trophy,
I don’t want to be me.
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Void-003
Requested by sploofpal: A void that's like super wacky would be cool. Like just a bunch of random weird stuff would be cool, like creatures who look funny and do funny things.
Void-003, the epitome of wackiness within Weirdcore Ville, unfolds as a cosmic carnival of absurdity. Step into this kaleidoscopic void, and you're immediately greeted by a parade of eccentric creatures with comically mismatched features and a penchant for the utterly ludicrous. Multicolored squiggly beings waltz alongside levitating upside-down pineapples, and sentient bouncing puddles engage in spirited conversations with floating bowler hats. Gravity, here, seems to have taken a vacation as polka-dotted elephants prance gracefully through the air while playing accordions.
In Void-003, the laws of physics dance to the rhythm of a whimsical symphony, and the very fabric of reality is stitched together with invisible threads of laughter. Mischievous giggles echo through the void as sentient whoopee cushions play pranks on unsuspecting interdimensional travelers, and rubber chickens engage in heated debates on the meaning of existence. The landscape itself is a masterpiece of absurd architecture, with upside-down houses, floating pianos, and talking doorways leading to destinations unknown.
Navigating Void-003 is an endeavor in delightful chaos, where the unexpected is not only anticipated but celebrated. It's a realm where the peculiar reigns supreme, and every corner unveils a new spectacle of silliness. In this cosmic carnival, one can't help but join the laughter that echoes through the void, embracing the zaniness that defines the heart and soul of Weirdcore Ville's most whimsical creation.
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I don’t write nearly enough about necromancy as praxis and mostly just meme reblog on here. Which is half the point! But maybe I want to get silly with it.
I spend too much time dragging myself up down escalators and not enough time frolicking. Prancing gaily, even. I need to go experience a waterfall sometime to unclog my brain, look at the dirt and ask how the mountains were. I need to visit a cemetery and remind myself that if I can get angry about how hostile it is there, if I can clean off a gravestone, I can wash that one pan in my sink that fills me with existential dread.
And then I’m going to get silly with it and see if the butcher sells alligator bones. There’s a crafting recipe in ESO for a soup for werewolves, general meat and bones and herbs, and then DRAGON BONES, and the closest analog irl is alligator I think. I want to make the videogame soup. Become creature.
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Evo-23 (Part 2)
Part 2 - Blackberry Eyes
Pairing: Zombie/Infected Monster (Ji-woon) x Gender Neutral Reader
Warnings: Gore, Horror, Cannibalism, Graphic Gore and Wound descriptions, Death.
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PART 1
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“Ji-woon!” You hollered as you battered at an infected's head with the small axe in your hand. You slashed at the creature before shoving it hard and watching it fall to the floor. In a moment you were on it, smashing it’s skull in with two heavy blows. The Other, your companion, clicked and gurgled behind you, his back meeting your own before he screeched behind the gag, black veins running out from his eyes and down his arms. You’d seen him do this many times now, but the unnatural shift in his muscles and the bulge made you shudder. His fingers flexed before he howled, spit flying from his mouth, dripping down his chin as he flung himself at an infected, throwing it to the floor before he caved in its head with his fists. Another stumbled behind him and the other grabbed it by the neck over his shoulder and pulled, dragging it’s head from its body as the rest of its corpse went flying into the bushes. Ji-woon span back to deal with another as another gun shot fired at the two of you. It would attract even more infected. You were sick of it already. With a growl you beat at another infected before shouting again.
“We need to get to that shooter in the trees!” You hollered.
The Other gurgled as his reigns flew behind his head and he rushed forwards, his body unnaturally low to the floor like a big cat. You screeched as he outstretched his arms and grappled you, holding you against his body as the veins spread and he sprinted towards the trees, sliding in the dirt, spraying leaves and mud upwards in arcs as he dodged the bullets being fired. With a howl at the hunting perch, Ji-woon flung himself at the trees, claws scrabbling at the bark as he snapped at the other human’s feet, his gag and reigns stopping him from getting a mouthful of the man’s toes.
The man cried out and aimed the hunting rifle down, shooting a round through Ji-woon's shoulder. The bullet slammed through the Other, sending him flying to the floor, but you clung to the ladder tightly, climbing up to the perch before you slammed yourself into the man. A scream sounded as he was sent flying over the edge and towards the floor where Ji-woon was waiting with open arms, foaming at the mouth at the prospect of fresh meat.
“He’s all yours!” You screamed at the Other as he gave a delighted gurgle, his arm flopping at his side from where he took the high calibre round to his shoulder.
“NO, PLEASE!” The man screamed before Ji-woon flexed his hands and popped his temples inwards, smashing bone into his brain.
You descended the ladder slowly, watching the Other prance around the body, heaving and gurgling with fresh blood and spit dripping down his chest. You sighed and carefully undid the gag and reigns, watching as Ji-woon screeched at the lingering infected, teeth clicking and snapping, before he dug his fingers into the man’s hips and dug his way to the bones he wanted to lick clean. You shimmied back up to the perch to get the gun and bullets, sitting in the little chair with a sigh as you tried to ignore the slick eating noises beneath you. The Other needed to eat just as much as you did. Humans were the best food source for him to be able to protect you, but it didn’t make you feel any less guilty. Even if this man deserved what he was getting for trying to have you torn apart by zombies after you let him have water. You closed your eyes and clutched the rifle as you listened to the Other swat at infected and command them away. With one eye open you dared to look at the Other as he wrenched the femur from the man’s flesh and cracked the middle of it open, peering into the bloody, gooey mess inside of the hard cortical shell. With a gurgle, he pressed his lips to the end and swallowed the syrupy contents gladly. Your stomach churned and you looked away, fighting the retching that threatened to tighten your throat.
So you sat in the hunters perch quietly, looking through the man’s back pack for anything useful aside from his rifle and bullets. He had a cleaning kit in his bag for the gun and you leafed through the things with a mild amount of confusion. You knew some things but others were beyond you. Hopefully you could learn. You shook the bag again and watched as a small journal fell out along with some old cereal bars and a compass. You pocketed the food at lightning speed before opening the notebook. The first three pages were illegible scrawl beyond the first sentence.
‘I deserve to die for killing him.’
It was repeated over and over again before the dates started to appear and the scrawl became messy writing. Most of it was mild observations about the days he had lived since killing his son. He was infected was written in a lot of the explanation but it didn’t seem to make him feel any better.
‘I wish we had let him die of the leukaemia so I didn’t have to put a bullet in his head and then my wife.’
The reality of everything settled heavily in your stomach as you closed the man’s notebook. You only opened it again to tear out the pages about his gun maintenance. The diagrams were crude but would serve you well later on. You shoved the pages into your bag after folding them tightly. The rest of the journal you put away in his bag before you swallowed your tears and moved to the ladder. Ji-woon was finished with his meal, his belly slightly rounded and very little left of the man beyond pieces of grizzle and empty bones. His head was untouched and you felt bile burn your throat before you took it and a small trowel from your bag. The Other watched wordlessly as you dug a shallow grave for the man’s remains, burying them with his backpack before you dusted the blood away with plenty of dirt and a dip of your hands into the algae ridden fountain. Still, the Other followed you quietly, waiting for you to replace the gag and reigns like you usually did after he’d eaten.
You sat on the edge of the fountain and sobbed softly. A gurgle drew your attention away from your feet and you peered at the Other crouched by your knees, his sticky hands patting your knees in some semblance of a comforting gesture. If he was human, maybe it would have said that it was going to be okay, but the cold hands only reminded you that you had condemned a man to death for the sake of maybe finding out some truths. It made you feel sick again and you reached for the Other’s hands before realising that the sticky hands were coated in blood and other bodily fluids. You tried not to cringe as Ji-woon reached upwards, his sticky fingers stroking over your cheek, moving along the flesh in a downwards motion towards your chin. His cold fingers tilted your chin upwards so you had to look at his bruised face. His black vein infested cheeks twitched before his lips parted and he smiled wide, exposing his pointed, clot covered teeth.
“Smile.” The Other gurgled as he watched you snort at his ridiculous looking face. It was silly. A mutated superhuman bleeding from his nose, smiling at you like it was some comfort. To a sick part of your brain, it was. Ji-woon wasn’t just one of the Others, he was something more than that. Part of him was still human or fighting to remember how to be.
“I’ll try.” You whimpered as the Other reached and tugged at your cheeks, pulling the flesh taut before he let it go and patted them awkwardly, his cold fingers twitching against your warm flesh. With a heave and a shuddering sob, you finally found the strength in your knees to stand up. Ji-woon tilted his head to peer up at you, grinding his teeth and drooling as the black veins over his bruised skin receded back up his neck and into his eyes. His chest bowed outwards with a heavy breath, as though he was about to scream, but Ji-woon simply let out a long, shuddering sigh as he pulled his hands away from your skin and reached for the reigns in your hands. Gently, he tugged them free, and reached backwards to fasten the gag and attach the reigns back in place. Drool dripped through the gag, despite him just eating, but you carefully looked at his arm. The bullet wound was long gone, leaving only a dark bruise behind, and his arm was back in perfect working order. He flexed the muscles and twisted his fingers as he listened to the surroundings, his black eyes quivering back and forth, focusing on a million different things at once. He waited, patiently, like a well-trained hound, as you shouldered your backpack again and brushed off the dirt from your bottoms.
The Other watched quietly as you headed over and grabbed at the leather reigns, tugging them gently before you started back along the path towards where the blackberries were growing.
“I guess we can go and get what we came here for now…” You whispered as Ji-woon followed behind you, gurgling quietly as you both kept a watchful eye out for any lingering infected. The blackberries you wanted grew along the bramble infested outskirts of the former city park, growing up the old iron fences. There was a lot. You pulled out a box from your backpack and smiled at Ji-woon as you plucked on of the berries free and chewed the sweet flesh. It tasted amazing in comparison to the bland, plain food items you could get your hands on normally. So, for a minute, you chewed as many as you could fit into your mouth, giggling as juice dripped over your chin before you pilled at many as you could into the container. With some gelatine you could make jams. You filled the container to the brim before pulling a few more off the brambles for yourself. Ji-woon watched from the edge of the bramble patch, his black eyes following the rivulets of juice as they dripped over your neck.
“Can you eat human food?” You wondered out loud to the Other.
Ji-woon tilted his head as he moved through the brambles, the thorns catching his skin. The cuts healed as fast as they opened and you swallowed your mouthful as he took hold of your fingers, gurgling behind the gag as he looked at the stained pinky coloured juice over your skin.
“Can you?” You asked again.
Ji-woon rolled his shoulders and shook his head violently, as though he was trying to dislodge the gag and you scowled, remembering that he was probably eyeing up your hand as a food source. You snatched your hand away and clipped the box shut, leaving Ji-woon in the brambles as you scampered back to your bag. The Other gurgled and followed on your heels again.
“I don’t know why I asked. You only want to eat me anyway. After we find out what happened to you, you’ll just eat me and leave the outside of my bones for the crows.”
The Other stopped, holding you in place by refusing to walk on the reigns, his black eyes looking you up and down before he surged forwards and caught you by the arm.
Ji-woon forgot his own strength, clasping his hand tight enough around your bicep to bruise.
“What?” You asked with a small quiver to your voice, “You can’t even talk to tell me I’m wrong! You’ll devour me just like that man as soon as you get the chance, with or without knowing you were once human!” You screeched, tugging away from his grasp.
Ji-woon’s hairless eyebrows dipped again as he grabbed you by the shoulders this time. He dragged the fingers of one hand down the side of his cheek, tugging at the leather straps of the gag before you dared to reach up and undo it for him. The buckle jingled as you let the gag and reigns fall away, dripping in bloodied spit. The Other clicked his jaw sharply, his teeth snapping together with a harsh grind.
“Look after…until…human.” The Other gurgled before he touched the space over the top of your heart, “F-F-Find.” He chirped before opening his mouth and leaning over in order for you to muzzle him like a dog again. He chewed against the gag as you replaced it, fingers shaking as you struggled to keep yourself together.
“Until we find about what happened. I know buddy.” You whispered before Ji-woon pressed his cold fingers to your chest again and reached upwards, dragging you towards him by the shoulder. He grumbled, spit dripping from his mouth before he blinked more bloody tears down his cheeks and clasped you tightly in a hug.
The flood gates opened again, and you sobbed into the Other’s shoulder, wailing like a child as you clutched his torn shirt and grasped at his powerful shoulders. Fat tears streaked your cheeks as you sobbed into the bloodied material, listening to the rattling breaths of Ji-woon as he chewed against the gag and gently petted your back and hair, running his fingers over your scalp softly before he cupped the base of your back and squeezed again. The touch was comforting in the loneliest way. You hadn’t been held like this since the whole event started, and now you relished the cold arms around your body as you sniffled and hiccupped into Ji-woon’s embrace.
“Protect.” He promised against the gag with a hiss of spit, and you nodded, not saying a word as you let his cold fingers soothe the worries from your spine.
“One day you might not be able to…” You whispered under your breath before you pulled away from him and smiled gently, “Come on then. Let’s go home, huh?”
Ji-woon nodded slowly, his hands twitching by his sides as he watched you turn away from him, dragging the length of reign behind you. With a click and a gurgle, he followed in your footsteps, his head tilting towards the sides, listening for danger.
The park was not far from the local hospital and you shuddered as you looked up at the building, the windows smashed and rotten, sun bleached skeletons hanging from the windows and laid on the tarmac. When everything had broken out, it was the first place in chaos, and you pitied the doctors who had been turned into meals for the Others and infected on that day. You remembered the bodies hanging from the window rotting that first year, dripping stinking flesh down onto the tarmac where starving infected licked the surface clean. Even the thought now made your stomach churn. You walked past quickly, with Ji-woon mimicking your speed, following close behind you.
“They used to claim that this place was where the first of your kind came from.” You told the Other, “It was the original test subject who got loose in the hospital and started the whole event on a mass scale. There was some top-secret research place attached apparently.” You spat on the tarmac, “I hope they were all eaten for making this mess.”
The Other's eyes wandered from the tarmac, looking around at the empty bones before his eyes fixed on the bodies hanging from the windows and I’m the suicide nets between the two large hospital towers. They had died being torn apart and the zombies that had eaten them were long rotten, hanging through the nets in strewn piles of limbs and jelly. Ji-woon peered at the buildings individually before he planted his feet and stopped in his tracks.
“No way. Not today, mister.” You cursed at him as he tugged on the reigns, “We can’t go in there. It’s full of infected!”
Ji-woon reared back again and took hold of the reigns and gag, tugging it insistently, pushing himself closer so you had to look into his eyes. His mouth dripped with spit and blood as he loomed over you, his shoulders twitching. His eyes begged you even if he could not say the words. He wanted to go in there, with or without you.
Your hands shook as you looked at the building and you sighed, reaching for his gag, “One quick look. That’s it!” You insisted as Ji-woon babbled to himself and took your hand in his own, dragging you to the barricaded front doors.
The doors had been piled with rubbish bins, wooden benches, and heavy dumpsters, preventing a hoard of most of the patients from escaping. You didn’t doubt that most of them had probably rotted away in the hallways, but you had seen even the slimiest rotten bodies still crawl. Ji-woon clicked before he heaved the dumpsters away, black veins crawling up his arms as he pulled. They swam up to his fingers where he clenched his hands and howled, tearing away the two dumpsters and letting them clatter down the steps to the building. In response to the groans both inside and outside, the Other hissed sharply, demanding no help as he dug at the planks boarding the automatic doors shut. The electricity was long gone so once the planks were gone, Ji-woon had to heave the doors open himself. You only watched as he did so and cringed, gagging as the smell from inside the hospital was released. It burned your nose it was so foul. The smell of hundreds of rotting bodies rushed out, and you reached for your scarf to cover your nose before pausing and rummaging in your bag for the filter mask you had. It would be better for cutting out any spores from rotting bodies as well. You found it quickly and pulled it over your head with a grumble before you dared to follow Ji-woon into the festering hospital.
The hallways by the doors were littered with bones. Corpses were laid over the remains of others, and you could only assume those were the remains of the infected who had eventually faded from existence too as their brains leaked from their ears and their bodies gave in. Ji-woon lifted a bone to his nose under the reigns, the black strap over his nose wiggling as he sniffed at it and dropped it to the floor again like a used toy. He rummaged through the bodies before tugging at the reigns and gag again. You had forgotten to remove them the first time, and so you carefully pulled them free, letting his mouth free. The Other gurgled, cracking his neck and jaw in his hands before he flexed his fingers and arms in a wave, clenching the muscles tight as the black veins spread over his bruised skin. The muscles twitched as his eyes blinked before they rolled backwards and be bent over backwards to look at you, clicking in a long groan from the back of his throat. His mouth opened in a giant, spit dripping grin, before he snapped back over and rushed forwards, disappearing down the hallways. With a gasp, you rushed after him, listening to the screeching of infected as Ji-woon smashed them against the concrete walls. You had to run quick, following the blood trails down the linoleum floors. With a screech you slipped in the guts of one infected and went flying, tumbling to your knees as you slid through the mess on the floor, staining your hands and knees. The fabric of your combat bottoms was stained a brown tinged red.
As you fought against the tangle of intestines, you heard the buck fire of a shotgun. The snap of pellets against the wall was followed by the blood curdling scream of Ji-woon. It came from the stairs. You rushed to catch up with him as infected lumbered up from the floors and piled towards the doorway as well. They had no interest in you, covered in zombie blood and guts, and so they cajoled you along in their group as they crawled and hobbled into the opening of the stairs.
“Fuck!” Someone cursed from the stairway as the zombies started to pile together, climbing the stairs slowly. It gave Ji-woon an opportunity to heal enough to launch himself at one of them, screaming as blood dripped from his mouth and eyes. His fingers met the woman’s eye sockets and he pressed her against the wall before shoving his thumbs in as far as they would go. She screamed, her legs kicking out at the Other, and you tried not to watch as Ji-woon leaned over to lick the blood and juice from her cheeks, purring happily as his blackened tongue swiped at the snack. He twisted his thumbs with a violent jerk and pulled out the ruined mess of her eyeballs before popping them into his mouth with a happy purr. The shotgun fired again, and you cried out as Ji-woon’s ear and half of his neck was sent flying against the window behind him.
The Other screeched, flying backwards into the wall before the only sound he could make was a pathetic whistling noise. The small hoard he had summoned were quick to slow and the remaining survivors seemed to deal with them quickly, smashing open their skulls before they grabbed you out of the mess, kicking and screaming. Ji-woon gurgled, blood bubbling in his open trachea before it flopped back and the cartilage started to heal, his hands flying out to grab at your bottoms as a male and a young girl dragged you in front of the man with the shotgun. They didn’t dare go near the healing Other but they were quick to drag their friend’s corpse away from him to delay his recovery. Ji-woon gargled violently and slammed his fist into the concrete in an attempt to grab at the foot before it slid away from him. He missed and swooned before thudding against the first step, his nose cracking and bleeding, broken, from the impact. The survivors only then dared to tie him up, grappling his arms and legs, hog tying them behind his back before they dragged him up the stairs away from you. You didn’t shout for him, you looked at the floor as you were put before their leader and the gas mask was torn from your face.
“Now what is someone, alone, doing with an Other on a leash, hm?” He asked as he cocked the shotgun, “You know what they do…so why have you got one as a pet? Couldn’t bare to kill your lover? Pretty fucked up to let it loose on people.”
You didn’t reply, just looked at the floor. You couldn’t afford to tell these people anything.
“Fine. Be that way. We’ll see what the Doctor has to say about an Other listening to a human.” He dismissed you and turned, the shotgun perched on his shoulder. They were all dressed similarly, in old, tattered looking military clothing, and you made sure to make yourself a bit of a dead weight as two of them grabbed hold of you and heaved you to your feet. You followed willingly enough as they chatted quietly among themselves, heading up six floors before they dragged you into the floor and relocked and barricaded the doors behind them. You caught sight of Ji-woon only briefly before they carted him into an examination room, their hands full of heavy dog chains and cuffs. Fear churned in your guts as they dragged you into the side room to the examination room and sat you in a chair. They were quick to cuff you to it, ensuring that you wouldn’t be able to escape, and you felt your eyes and throat burn with tears as you looked through the glass and saw Ji-woon, naked, delirious, unhealed and chained to a hospital bed.
You whispered his name but said nothing else as the Other’s blood dripped down the hospital bed and his neck sealed itself back shut. Still, he was loopy, delirious and upset, throwing his head left and right in an attempt to clear imaginary fog from in front of his eyes. As you watched the Other come around, the door opened quietly behind you, revealing a man in a lab coat, the sleeves rolled up his aging arms revealing puckered scars. The man was tall and thin, almost gaunt, as though his work consumed all of his waking hours. His greying hair was tied back at the back of his neck and a cigarette was perched between his lips. Dark brown eyes looked you over twice, head to toe, before he removed the cigarette from between his lips and blew a great cloud of smoke out over towards you.
“I’ve never heard of an Other listening to a human, never mind a human that takes their pet out to snack on other survivors.” he drawled as he puffed on his cigarette and looked you up and down again.
“He doesn’t listen to me.” You whispered, “He just uses me.”
“A likely story. My entire group heard you shouting for it. It has a name, which I never thought the Others could remember. Whatever this little thing the two of you have, it’s something I’m interested in looking at.” he confessed as he looked over at the large machinery Ji-woon was being pushed inside, “But first I need him to heal that brain of his fully.”
“What do you really want out of this?” You asked, looking the Doctor in hi dark eyes. You were shocked by the lack of depth. They were cold and uncaring.
The Doctor laughed at you as he reached into his pocket and slammed down a notebook on the table in front of you before he followed it up with a bulging folder. The front was labelled with a ‘top secret’ stamp, but he opened the folder and flicked to a blue coloured tab.
“Does this answer your question?”
You leaned forwards as best as you could, straining against the ties around your arms to get a good look at the images and writing. There was an image of Ji-woon, not unlike the image on his teacher ID, and then there was a more gruesome one of him pinned to a table, his eyes peeled open with needles piercing the pupil, back into the optic nerve.
“Your little pet was one of the originals.” The Doctor droned from behind you, “He was kept here after his first escape and then escaped again before causing all of the problems. The outbreak in the city was all his fault. This hospital was the breeding ground, and he was the catalyst.”
It was like you had swallowed a heavy rock. Your stomach clenched as you realised just why the zombies had listened to Ji-woon's call. He was their master. Most of the infected in the city were his doing. Even the Others might be his doing. You felt sick. You reached quietly as the Doctor only laughed and stubbed his cigarette out in a full ashtray.
“Did you think he was innocent? It’s one of the Others now. He’s killed more people than any of them combined.” The Doctor gloated before he leaned over the controls in the corner of the room, looking at the heart monitor they had attached to Ji-woon. The beep was quiet and there were long pauses between them.
“Even the fact his heart works is a miracle.” The Doctor continued, “All because of some little human he couldn’t bring himself to kill.”
“If he’s the original, what do you want with him?” You asked meekly as the Other stirred in the other room. The MRI whirled to life, the magnets letting out a high pitch whine as they span.
“To study him. He might be the cure to the this, and I want my people to be able to live with the knowledge that if they put a foot wrong, they won’t be turned into monsters.” The Doctor droned as he turned to the small control panel and flicked a switch. The magnets hummed and you leaned towards the glass as Ji-woon stirred, his black eyes opening as his wounds finally closed.
The magnets span and the MRI scanner hummed to life. You held your breath, watching the Other thrash against the dog chains. His shoulder clicked back into place only to be popped back out of its socket as he dragged at his chains, pulling them taught as the scanner started. He was quickly snapped back into place as the outside pully system went tight, keeping his head back and his shoulders pressed to the bed. You gasped as the scan started and Ji-woon let out a horrific howl. It went on for an age, the magnets spinning as his lungs roared until he couldn’t anymore, and he spat blood, whining as his eyes rolled and more blood dripped from his eyes and nose. The chains only went slack when he fell back against the bed, his mouth open as spit dripped from his mouth, mixing with the blood he had splashed all over the bedding from his thrashing. The Doctor tutted at the images and started another, initiating another round of howling from Ji-woon, his arms bulging as black veins swam down his face and shoulders then invaded his arms. The chains were drawn tight again, and you cringed at the unholy howl that left the Other as they scanned his brain again. The third scan had Ji-woon pass out, his nose pouring blood as his eyes rolled back and his teeth chattered in his mouth.
The Doctor looked at the scans, ignoring his creature in the other room and you in favour of focusing in on one area of Ji-woon’s brain. The brain stem was enlarged at the back, with a strange looking organ attached beneath the main area. It almost looked like a tumour. You wondered if he had once been a patient, given the experimental therapy to help with a disease of some sort.
“Amazing.” The Doctor commented, “So not only has his brain enlarged but there’s a whole new area.”
“It looks like a tumour to me.” You commented bitterly.
“That’s precisely what it is. A tumour growth turned into a new centre of control. The brain stem controls all basic functions down to breathing, but this centre seems to be responsible for the Other’s abilities. Like the ungodly strength and speed, you’ve seen him have. This is the reason.” He sparked his cigarette again and hummed, “Its sad I’ve got to cut it out of him.”
Your blood ran cold, “You’re going to do what?”
“A live brain surgery. We can’t kill an Other but removing the organ in his brain might do the trick.” The Doctor snorted, “It isn’t human anymore. Why do you think it is? That thing would eat you if I threw you into there right now.” A smile curled his lips upwards at the thought, “In fact, let’s see what he does, hm? A little live experiment never hurt anyone.” he took hold of the back of the wooden chair and tipped you backwards before dragging you to the door, laughing and wheezing as he puffed on the cigarette. His people looked on in confusion before he demanded for the door to the scanning room to be opened.
“Please don’t do this!” You begged as fear churned your guts and hammered at your heart.
“I thought you trusted your little pet?” The Doctor mocked as he slid you inside the room, your back to the thick glass viewing window, “Let’s see how much he repays you!”
You tugged against the bindings to no avail as the door slammed closed behind you and the Doctor’s wheezing laughter bounced down the corridor.
The room was silent as Ji-woon’s mouth dripped spit and blood back against the hospital bed, his eyes closed and wiggling behind his eyelids. He was alive. His chest moved rhythmically up and down, breathing wheezily as he recovered from the MRI. What it had actually done to the Other, you didn’t know. He was dazed and sleepy, tossing his head with occasional twitches as the veins in his arms pulsed with a black light. It was something you had never seen him do before, and it worried you as you looked at the tied rope and cuffs which bound you to the wooden chair.
“Ji-woon?” You whispered softly as the Other twitched violently against the bed, his shoulders bending as his back and hips bucked forwards.
The Other gurgled again as his head rolled towards you, his ears twitching as black veins burned under his skin. His bruised face was covered with them like lines of tattoos, and they were quickly spreading down his chest. His arms were already covered, and you watched them pulse as Ji-woon tugged on the chains lightly. They were slack. Like a chain reaction, his arms bulged, and his eyes shot open as blood dripped down over his cheeks, painting him like a horror as he let out a screech and pulled the chains as taut as they could go.
There was a commotion outside before a gravelly laugh sounded and the chains holding Ji-woon dragged against the holes, completely slack. The metal slammed against the MRI scanner as Ji-woon tore himself free and flew towards you. His mouth opened wide, exposing the black insides of his cheeks and his slick black tongue. The Other launched himself at your chair, sending you both flying back against the viewing wall. His mouth dripped spit over your shoulder before his tongue dipped out of his mouth to taste your hot skin. He purred at the taste, gurgling just like the first night you met him. Hungry. Feral. Insane.
“Ji-woon, please, it’s me.” You begged softly as his teeth pressed against your skin. He’d already torn your sleeve away and it laid down at the bottom of your wrist.
The Other gurgled before black goo dripped from his mouth and he heaved over your back, letting the spit, blood and black bile dripped over your shirt.
“J-J-Ji...woon...” He gurgled before he screeched again.
You flinched, moving to cover your ears, and Ji-woon wrenched himself backwards, clutching his head as he let out a shriek and another howl. You watched in horror from the floor as his back rippled and cracked, the veins spreading like a web over his shoulders and down to the base of his spine. The muscles contorted in painful spirals before he let out a piercing human shout and spasmed violently. He clutched at his hair, fingers tearing scratches into the shaved sides as he tore at the pain.
“Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!” You shouted at him. Ji-woon only flinched away from the noise and collapsed, holding his head against the floor as his back bowed and a great black appendage tore from his shoulder blade. The mucus covered limb spread itself before the pointed tip slammed down against the linoleum, tearing a giant hole, revealing the solid concrete underneath. Another shriek left the Other as he slammed his feet against the floor and scrambled to hold onto something as another black, pointed, mucus covered limb burst from his skin, tearing a wound in his back. It was followed by four more in quick succession, and you tried not to cry as they slammed close to your face.
Ji-woon clicked like a possessed child, groaning as the limbs lifted him like a spider and slammed against the sides of the room. His face was almost completely black, and you shuddered as chitin plates moved underneath his bruised skin and burst from underneath covering his face like a grotesque, insect like helmet. The slit along the middle left room for his eyes, but there was no recognition as the black limbs clicked along the walls and grabbed you by the rope that tied you to the chair, lifting you close to the Other’s face. The plates shifted and revealed his mouth, open, hungry, and filled with black pointed teeth. They snapped near your face before the Other sniffed you. He reared back slightly with a gurgle and flinched as the MRI whirled to life. A great, wet laugh sounded as the plates of his helmet shifted and clasped over his ears, protecting him from the noise as his black tongue licked at your hot skin, tasting the sweat that drenched you.
His teeth tore open your shoulder a moment later.
Agony laced your veins as you looked down as where the Other was suckling on the gouge. He pulled back and you watched your blood drip from his mouth. A great purr sounded as he hoisted you high with one limb dripping blood over the chair and his body as you felt the area burn with unimaginable heat. It would take you an hour to die and then three more to turn. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t wake up as an infected, but as one of the Others. At least then it wouldn’t be such torture living inside your own head. You’d remember nothing, or at least you hoped. You hung from the appendage as Ji-woon peered up at you, licking his fingers as he held you aloft, admiring the bite mark on your shoulder. The Other purred at the taste of your blood until the door slammed open. The helmet pieces snapped back into place, covering his face as the appendages whirled and slammed into the door frame. A shotgun kicked and the pellets sprayed against the hardened tentacles as Ji-woon’s arms grew again, the veins pulsing before his arms turned black completely. Thorns shot out of the skin as he howled and lowered himself, walking on four limbs as the others deflected the gun shots. You were hoisted high above the carnage, woozily swinging back and forth as you bled and the pain around the bite mark seared down to your fingers. As Ji-woon advanced on the people, you felt tears drip from your eyes, down onto his wild hair. He ignored the salty tears as he tore open a woman by her throat, the trachea held fast between his jaws. His maw opened again to tear more meat from her arms, the monstrous tentacles whipping around and piercing the other humans, leaving them with gaping holes, bleeding against the linoleum.
“Ji-woon. Please.” You wheeze above him as he jumped on another person, tearing open their stomachs before he popped the rib cage open and crunched the bones in his mouth. The tentacles thrashed harder growing as the thorns on his arms became tough scales and his helmet moulded to the back of his head, holding his hair high over his head in a crazy spikey updo. You wept softly as he lowered you down to his eyes, black orbs shining inside the helmet before he opened his jaws, the plates parting, now part of his face, to reveal his black mouth, full of blood clots and bone shards. He clicked before reaching out a cold hand and running it up your thigh. He stopped above your knee and then smiled. Blood dripped from between his pointed teeth and ran down his chin, and he whipped his head back and forth like a dog. His hand came away from your thigh to touch the bite mark. He licked away the blood on his fingers before he touched his cool fingertips to your chest, pressing hard over your heart before he pressed them to his own chest.
“We can’t be together like this!” You sobbed, “I wanted to help you, not become one of your thrall.”
Ji-woon’s eyes blinked away blood, and it dripped over the plates over his face, “Together.” He promised you as he held you away from danger again.
The Doctor appeared in the hall, and you watched in horror as Ji-woon slammed one sharp tentacle through the man’s stomach, pinning him to the wall with a slam and a great splash of blood. Ji-woon followed his appendage, growling as he met the man against the wall, cracking his black fingers as the ends shifted into points. With a snarl he slammed his hand through the man’s chest, enjoying the blood with a feral madness. He wailed again, the black covering his skin spreading, the plates and scales growing as he let the man fall to the floor. Spit slicked his chin at the thought of the marrow, but with a bite, he was upset. Ji-woon spat the blood and meat after the Doctor’s cries of pain.
“Stupid thing. I’ve been dying from the cancer for three years. My body will only make you ill.” He laughed as he reached into his pocket, pulling free a syringe, “But you might want this.”
You didn’t catch sight of it before a tentacle snatched it from the Doctor. Ji-woon inspected the liquid before the Doctor laughed and snatched something from his lab coat. He slumped forwards, slamming the syringe into Ji-woon’s leg. The serum seemed to have no effect, and Ji-woon swatted him away with a smash of a tentacle, sending him sprawling down the hall, his head twisted grotesquely.
You sobbed above the Other as your arms burned in agony and your chest went viciously tight. You coughed, tasting blood in your mouth as you were lowered again. Ji-woon twitched violently as he presented you with the vial. You read the side and sniffled again. A lethal injection. The poison had already been ejected from Ji-woon’s body, and the clear fluid leaked down his bare leg before it too was covered with insect like plates.
“Please.” You begged softly.
The Other eyed you, his eyes twitching left and right, before he placed you on the floor and held the needle and syringe in front of your eyes. With one violent movement, he crushed it, and let the millilitres of drug drip from his clawed fingers.
“Together.” he stuttered again as he linked his fingers and took hold of the back of the chair, tugging you along behind him as he lumbered along the hospital corridors, groaning the word ‘together’ repeatedly like a ghost.
When you woke again, you were laid in your small apartment. You wheezed as you looked up at the ceiling, feeling your limbs burn as you dragged them against the floor, attempting to touch your head. A cold hand grasped yours as you blinked away the red in your eyes. An armour clad Other peered at you with warm black eyes. Blood leaked from his eyes and mouth, between the creases of the plates of the helmet covering his face.
“Ji…woon.” You wheezed as your chest burned. Agony seared at every nerve as you shivered and coughed blood over his armoured thighs. A tentacle swept over your thighs, tucking you back against the mattress before it dragged your blankets over you.
“Together.” Ji-woon wheezed at you with a purr before his sharp teeth snapped and he gave you another bite on your hip. He said it again and bit your arm. The pain was already intense. You didn’t really register the bites as you raised your other hand and touched his head.
“So much for finding yourself, hm? I s-should have known… that you were a monster all along.” You heaved at him as you dragged your hand over his hair and cupped his cheek, “You’re still Ji-woon at least.” You whispered as your chest burned and you gasped and hiccupped violently.
Ji-woon’s arms went slack as the tentacles around him waved gently. His mouth parted, dripping your own and his blood over the mattress as he leaned over your body.
“Together…Ji-woon a-a-a…” The Other gurgled as he reached for your body and touched your skin. You were cold. Freezing cold. Dead. It was as though it all came rushing back, and the Other wailed as he clutched at your body, looking for the veins that should be weaving over your neck and arms. Nothing moved under your skin. You were not going to turn into one like him. He howled, his tentacles thrashing, lashing blood and mucus over the walls as he desperately touched your face and pressed against your throat. He clicked, softly, louder and then screeched near your ears, calling for an Other who wasn’t there. Violently, he shook your body, crying for you as he cried black and red tears over your body. There was nothing. The Other wailed, throwing himself on top of your corpse as he heard his thrall thunder through the hall.
Dead.
He cried over your body again before he tore open his arms, spreading his blood over your lips before he took his teeth to your neck, spitting and bleeding into your mouth and the wounds to try and get you to wake back up. Your chest compressed with a breath before your eyes opened, red rimmed and burning with an orange glint around the pupils. You were not an Other. A gurgle sounded from your throat, and Ji-woon reached to cradle your head as you slumped into him. His blood dripped over the both of you as he stroked your hair like a doll, combing his fingers through the mess. Your eyes drooped shut again and your chest stilled before your body convulsed against him. Ji-woon knew what it was, and you were close to being with him, forever, if only he could get you to eat. He reached for his own leg and gouged his nails against the flesh. It hurt, but he continued, peeling open his calf underneath the plating. Blood and gore stuck under his fingernails as he plucked free a piece of muscle, fat and skin, dangling it in front of your mouth. Your eyes shot open, the veins in your eyes pulsing with black as your lips wrapped around the treat. Ji-woon let you have it, purring as you chewed and swallowed. It was then that he chirped and slid his nail under the back of your skull, straight into your spinal column.
The scream that tore from your throat made him flinch, but he held you fast as his skin twisted and a black appendage grew from his pointed black nail, weaselling under your vertebrae before it shot upwards into your brain stem and poked the small tumour growing at the back. Ji-woon focused as his form broke off and wrapped around the tumour, stimulating the centre with new black veins, filled with the mutating virus. Your eyes rolled back as the veins webbed over the back of your neck, and Ji-woon waited for your eyes to go black before he purred and leaned forwards, kissing your dead lips. You only came to when his tongue pressed into the back of your mouth, tasting of your combined bloods and the faintest hint of blackberries. Maybe that was thanks to your last meal? You didn’t know but the veins in your neck pulsed and wormed their way down your chest, bucking you forwards, into the kiss with the Other. Your brain throbbed with the taste of food, and you reached up your cold hands to tug at the Other’s hair for a further taste of what would be your forever. Together, forever with the Other.
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