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qualityfunnyscenariosfire · 3 months ago

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Chapter Three: A Good Crow is A Dead Crow

“Yes, dear!” Mrs. Beauregard nodded, her mother quickly entering behind her.

Ruth had changed attire, wearing more leisurely clothes. On her was a pair of deep purple loose fitting slacks and a soft green long sleeved shirt that’s sleeves flowed loosely on her. Her peppered hair was now under a star printed scarf, put up in a ponytail securely under the cloth. She had on a pair of hooped earrings that bounced when she walked. She looked over at her bewildered son-in-law, smirking.

“That’s right Winston. Get used to seeing this face for the next couple weeks!” She beamed.

Mr. Beauregard peered past both women, seeing some of his staff carrying her bags of her belongings. They turned right into one of the manor’s guest rooms down the hall.

“NO! NO! I forbid it, Kendra!” He said between coughs, taking a swig of the bourbon that sat in a small glass on the desk. “You know how I feel about this-this witch!” He hissed, pointed a finger at Ruth.

“Oh please, Winston!” Mrs. Beauregard begged. “Mother’s gonna help me with the twins while you work! Besides, she promised to not be..that finatic with her job and love of the occult.” Kendra said calmly, glancing at her mother.

“I swore it, Winston,” Ruth replied, making a cross over her chest then putting two finger’s up in a scouts salute. “So don't get your knickers in a bunch. I’ll lay off my readings and tellings and palm stuff.” .” She smiled, carefully sitting her daughter down in Mr. Beauregard’s lounge chair that sat right by the room’s huge window.

“Look woman,” Mr. Beauregard grimaced, pouring himself another glass. “you better not read damn zodiacs or fortunes while here. I don’t want my children’s earliest memories be a crazed elder-”

“AHHHHHH!”

The scream echoed so loudly that it alerted even the bodyguards outside.

Mr. Beauregard quickly got up, hearing more screaming as the women followed.

“What was that?!” He yelled, seeing Diana and Francine right down the hall.

“I think it was one of the girls?!” Mrs. Beauregard gasped, seeing the two women go further into the room.

Ruth picked up speed as some of the staff peered out the other rooms.

“You think something happened to the children?! She asks, Mrs. Beauregard barelling into the nursery.

Francine was pointing at something, motioning right to the twins’ cribs on the other side of the room. Mr. Beauregard and Ruth pooled into the space as they saw Diana taking her heels off.

In the middle of the room was a huge window that gave a nice view of outside the home, facing the woods on the manor’s right side. It was shattered, glass covering the floor and cribs as a huge branch of the tree that sat right next to it had fallen into the room.

The same three crows were back, roosting right on the windowsill. They hopped right onto the fallen tree, moving into the room and perched themselves right on the twins’ cribs.

The crows squawk as Diana waved her shoe at them, trying to shoo them off only to get hissed at. “These damn birds have just been staring at the children ever since the window broke!” She yelled, Francine nodding.

“It’s true sir.” She says, clutching some sheets in hand. “I left to get Mrs. Ruth some bedding and decided to check in on Diana and the children. She was changing their diapers when all of a sudden, the tree fell through the window. These crows came flying in and look!” She yelled, motioning to the crows just staring at the children.

Mrs. Beauregard quickly got to the children, checking on them with Diana. Both were fine, completely knocked out from a bottle. They stirred slightly from Mrs. Beauregard gently touched them. Mr. Beauregard peered over her shoulder before waving his arms at the birds. They didn’t budge, squawking at him like they did Diana.

“Get some more maids to clean up the glass Francine. I’ll handle the damn birds.” He said, grabbing the rock he had in his pocket. He chucks it at the birds, one hit right in the chest. It lets out a loud screech before taking off out the broken window. The other two stay for a moment before swooping out right after.

“Winston!” Ruth yells, looking at him. “Never mess with a crow! That’s bad luck!” She says worriedly.

“Oh please!” Mr. Beauregard groaned. “They’re just birds.” He retired, pushing the cribs.

“Birds that carry omens! You know that broken glass is bad luck too and-”

“What did I say about your occult talk? You promised.” He hissed, motioning to Mrs. Beauregard who watched the two bicker. Ruth groans softly, watching him walk back over to the cribs.

Francine entered the room with a few maids, each holding brooms to sweep up the glass. Diana watched while she helped Mrs. Beauregard with the children, rocking one of them as they watched Mr. Beauregard loudly pushed Mirabel’s crib onto one side of the room. Francine took the sheets off the bed and shook glass and crow feathers off it while he moved Martin’s. Another made it as Diana handed him his daughter.

“The children won’t be near that window until it's fixed, Kendra.” He says, Mrs. Beauregard letting out a sigh.

“Good. I didn’t want any glass pouring into their beds anyway.” She says, rocking Martin. “Now let’s leave the children with Francine and continue with Mother’s move in. I’ll make them another bottle come 6.” She hands Francine the twins as the other maids cleans and set up the beds. Mr. Beauregard just looked down at Mirabel, rubbing her small temple before setting her down once the beds were done.

Weeks had passed and Mr. Beauregard became more irritated.

His mother-in-law, in his opinion, was overstaying her welcome. To him, Ruth had completely changed the household by baby-proofing everything.

She had the Help cut up pieces of old pool noodles and tape them to every sharp edge of the house. From window sills to table edges, she had these multicolored noodle ends curved around corners in case the children ran into them. By that moment, the children had only started to crawl and she feared they could get hurt. She even bought baby gates so they couldn’t crawl up or down the stairwell or into certain rooms.

Mrs. Beauregard didn’t mind this, seeing that it was just her mother being as protective as she. She was glad at her mother for being weary over the children, much like herself had been, but Mr. Beauregard didn’t like it one bit.

His irritation worsened when the crow returned. He found them one morning sitting on his study’s open window, staring at him as he worked. Their heads moved in unison as beady eyes curiously watched him file and read papers at his desk. He tried to shoo them off, using a broom and threats of throwing more rocks at them, but the crow didn't care. Mr. Beauregard was certain they were mocking him—their shrill cries, their cold black eyes never blinking every time. The crows never cared, liking the attention they got from the family.

Ruth however, didn’t care. She would sometimes feed them, buying them seed and leaving it out in a little bowl whenever she opened her window. Other times, she’d leave out water and even little birdhouses she crafted by it. She liked watching them play around in Mrs. Beauregard’s garden in the backyard, the three birds always taking sticks and berries and tossing them up and down so the others could catch. She found it adorable.

If they weren’t playing, they’d be seen perched on the roof, right above Mr. Beauregard’s study. Knowing he could hear them, the sound of their claws scraping against the shingles like fingernails on a chalkboard. The grinding noise gave him headaches, ending up yelling in annoyance at his ceiling as the birds would then slide off the roof and dive down past windows in enjoyment.

By the midday, they’d fly right back down into Mrs. Beauregard’s garden, perching right up on her shed. She’d be outside by that point, deciding to get some fresh air from Mr. Beauregard’s smoke filled rooms with the children. The crows’ would watch, leaning over to watch the twins play in the flowers. She didn’t mind their presence but Mr. Beauregard felt it was just another insult, watching them from his study’s window.

His hatred soon turned into an obsession, buying a telescope to watch their movements. Everytime they appeared, he’d stare furiously out through it, studying their every move. If they’d move, he’d move. If they sat at a window, he’d go to that window. He’d do this for days, just waiting for them to do something that made him act. And one night, the crows broke him.

They woke him with a jolt, making repetitive sharp tapping noises at his bedroom’s window. It was covered by a long black curtain that was draped close, some moonlight still seeped into the room though. It startled him into a sit up, the noises getting louder and louder. Mr. Beauregard turned around, checking on his wife.

Mrs. Beauregard was still asleep, nuzzled into their soft feather pillows as he petted her head. He sighed, getting out of bed. He begrudgingly made his way to the window, peeling the curtains back. There at the window were the three crows, each holding these shiny pebbles proudly on the sill. They tapped the rocks against the window for his attention. Mr. Beauregard just stared furiously at them, fixing his messy hair.

“That's it! I’m done." he hissed under breath. “I am done with this! Damn fucking birds!” He stormed out the room, grabbing his silk red robe that hung behind the door.

He went right to his study on the other end of the hall, briefly looking into the nursery to see Francine sleeping on the couch right by the cribs.

He turned into the room, walking over to one of the bookshelves. Above it was this huge portrait of his late father overhead, a painting of him holding a rifle in the Kenyan outback. A dead lion under his boot.

Mr. Beauregard gripped one of the drawers at his desk, pulling it open to reveal a silver key. It was dusty and a bit old, him whipping it off on his pant leg. He moved over to the bookshelf, getting on his knees to open a low drawer.

Inside was his father’s old hunting rifle and a green box of ammo. The gun was covered in cobweb, untouched since Martin Beauregard IV’s passing. Mr. Beauregard grabbed it, taking a handkerchief off his desk and carefully cleaned it. He blows air onto the barrel before opening the box of ammo, loading a few rounds into the rifle’s chamber.

He then oppened the drawer above, finding his metal flashlight. He clicked it on, the light flashing into the room before turning it back off.

He makes his way down the grand stairwell and out the house, hearing the crows’ cawing from the back of the home. His bodyguards watched as he walked right past them, grabbing Mrs. Beauregard’s spare garden key from under a hedge. He walks over to the gate and unlocks it, pushing the metal door open as the guards move from their posts.

They spot the rifle in his hand and fear the worst, running after him while he walks down the cobblestone pathway that leads into the garden.

He shined his flashlight around as he pushed the hanging flowers of Mrs. Beauregard’s chinese wisteria out his face.

��Sir, are you okay?” One bodyguard asks.

“Perfectly fine.” He said blankly, passing Mrs. Beauregard’s vegetable greenhouse. “I do suggest you two head back to your posts.” He stared widely ahead, taking the safety off the rifle as he stepped on Mrs. Beauregard’s petunias.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, sir.” The other said, reaching for the rifle. “You have a meeting in a few hours!”

Mr. Beauregard quickly moved the gun away, hissing. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill myself. And if you two want your next paycheck, then you better go back to the front and leave me be.” He cocked the rifle. His thumb quickly took the gun’s safety off as he heard the crows cawing in the dark. The men nodded and ran right out the backyard.

The crows could see Mr. Beauregard walking around from their spot, watching him step carelessly over Mrs. Beauregard’s other flowers and fauna. He shined the light all around as the birds squawked.

“I know you pests are still here.” He yelled, hearing the flapping of wings overhead. “Show yourselves!”

He turns, seeing the crows now perched on the gate behind him. He gritted his teeth, watching as they got ready to take flight.

“Go on," He muttered, taking aim. “Fly away."

They ruffled and cleaned their inky black feathers, watching them gleam in the flashlight’s glare like oil. They quickly took off from the fence, heading for a nearby tree but one turned around and perched itself right on top of the garden shed.

The crow stared at him down, fearless. Mr. Beauregard just tilted his head in confusion, slightly lowering his gun. He waited a moment, wanting to know if the bird would move.

It didn’t.

So he raised the rifle back up in the air, his fingering twitching on the trigger.

Then BANG!

A shot rang out past the trees, startling the whole house awake. The bird crumpled off the shed in a flurry of feathers. Its body falling right into a hedge behind the shed.

The manor’s lights all turn on in rapid succession, Mrs. Beauregard looking right out the bedroom window to see birds from the nearby forest taking off in alarm. She looked down and saw Mr. Beauregard and his smoking gun.

For a moment, there was silence. Then he looked back to see a few staff members come rushing out the home. Ruth was seen in the backyard doors that were on the small porch who’s steps led right into the garden. She unlocked and pushed them open, wearing a fuzzy white robe and soft long sleeved pajamas. She was barefoot, stepping absentmindedly onto the cool grass with her slippers in hand.

“WINSTON!” She yelled, Mrs. Beauregard still watching before rushing right out the room to go see if their children were alright.

Many of the staff were home when Mr. Beauregard shot the bird, the few that remained actually lived inside the manor, including Diana. She was up the entire night so far, finishing paperwork and talking on the phone with someone. She had spotted Mr. Beauregard walking in the backyard from her room behind the kitchen, fearing the worst like the bodyguards when she spotted the rifle in the moonlight.

She had alerted the staff briefly just as the gunshot rang out, rushing outside with everyone as Ruth came running down the steps. Now outside, she pushed past other workers to go right to her boss, all watching as he neared the shed.

Ruth quickly made her way down the soft stone steps, kicking grass off her feet and sliding on her slippers in urgency. She stepped carefully over Mrs. Beauregard’s lovely bedelias, rushing right over to Diana by the shed. She peered over to see a splatter of blood on the plastic roof and some feathers.

“What did you do?!" Diana yelled, clutching her chest. “Boss, a-are you alright?”

Ruth felt her heart pounding in her chest as her daughter finally made it outside, holding their children. Mrs. Beauregard kept her distance as the staff crowded near her shed.

“Winston, are you alright?” She yelled over the mumbling staff.

Mr. Beauregard didn’t hear either of them, his heart pounding in anxious excitement within him. He was too busy following this small trail of blood next to the shed, leading him to the back. He followed it to where he had seen the bird fall, shining his light right where the blood stopped.

Ruth followed with Diana, feeling something roll under her foot as the younger woman went behind her boss. She moved her foot back, looking down to see the shimmering metal casing of a bullet in the grass, glowing from the dim house lights.

There, behind the shed on a small hedge, was the crow. The very crow he threw a rock at in his children’s room. It was sprawled out on its back, a hole was deep in its chest. Blood still dripped from the wound, wettening its feathers. Ruth made her way on the other side of the shed, looking right at Mr. Beauregard near the bush. She gasps, hearing the bird make a gurgling chirp noise.

#dark fantasy story #poc in fantasy #poc characters #original character #chapters #poc mc #dark fantasy #poc vore #original writing #original worlds

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qualityfunnyscenariosfire · 3 months ago

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#38 “ THE ALCOTT ” template by jessource.

original and free template. if using please like / reblog and don’t forget to leave credit somewhere visible. fonts used: 04b03 and Jellyka Delicious Cake.

*television set is from google, i just made it into a png.

don’t redistribute, steal or claim as your own.

any issues, don’t hesitate to contact me.

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qualityfunnyscenariosfire · 3 months ago

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They love to scare prey and at the same time want to protect them, to keep them around. My favourite dynamic 🙌 What's yours?

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NSFW blogs, please do not reblog

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qualityfunnyscenariosfire · 3 months ago

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Quick question: How do y'all feel about the Beauregards so far? Especially Mrs. and Mr. Beauregard.

#questions #my post #my text

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qualityfunnyscenariosfire · 3 months ago

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Btw, I just read one of your chapters in your story (which was good by the way, dont let the rest of this fool you I did like reading it), and the tags you chose somewhat confused me.

It had a lot of common vore tags, but there was no vore in that chapter. I would understand if perhaps you had used a tag like "vore story" to indicate future vore, but the way it was taged was a bit misleading to me.

Essentially, the way it was tag implied there was vore in that chapter, but there wasn't. There are tags out there to ensure people know you are a vore based account, such as the tag "vore account" (I believe that's it, otherwise its something very similar. I dont use it much personally cause almost all I post is vore or stuff that doesn't need to be taged).

Is there a specific reason you did this? I understand trying to reach your target audience, but it still felt a bit misleading to me since tags are often what is in that post, and none of what was taged was in that post.

I honestly put a ton of tags because of the vore audience I have even tho the current chapters don't have any vore but I might dial it back until I actually get to the vore. Also thx so much for reading!

#answered

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qualityfunnyscenariosfire · 3 months ago

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Chapter 2: The Car Accident

Hours went by until the Beauregard parents were able to take their children home, Mrs. Beauregard was able to get a final checkup before being cleared to leave. Her husband surprisingly helped her into her wheelchair and took her out of the hospital once he signed the last paperwork. The two waited outside the hospital for their personal driver, Leonard, to pull up in Mr. Beauregard’s own car.

Mrs. Beauregard just rested with her two children in her wheelchair, feeling sluggish as her husband was busy looking at his watch. He glanced upward and noticed the cloud blocked the sun starting to. He grumbled to himself as he took out his flip phone, dialing some number before putting it up to his ear. He spoke to his driver on the other line, complaining about his tardiness and wondering what was taking him so long.

“Damn Leonard.” He spoke, hanging up abruptly as his wife gazed up at him tiredly. “I just got this new Pontiac and the man’s already running late with it. I swear to God if he damages it, I’m reducing his salary.”

Mrs. Beauregard chuckled tiredly as she rocked their children. “He’s just running late, nothing too bad.” She said softly, watching him take another puff of his cigar as he leaned against a column that supported the arch way of the hospital above.

“Notihng too bad?!” He said mockingly. “Kendra, the fucking game comes on at 5 and its already 4:30! I gotta see if our team makes it the finals!” He says, tapping his foot against the cobblestone floor beneath them.

Mrs. Beauregard just rolled her eyes, looking back down at her children when suddenly three crows flew past overhead. Their beady little eyes stared right at the children as they perched themselves on the nearby gate, leaning foreword in some curiosity. They cawed as Mrs. Beauregard held the children a bit close, unnerved by the three birds.

Mr. Beauregard notice her stares, blowing out a puff of smoke before lowering his cigar stub. “Damn crows.” He said annoyed. “Can’t even make a normal bird call to save their lives.” He grumbled, upset over his tardy driver.

“Really, Winston?” Mrs. Beauregard said, looking back at him with a confused expression.

Rain picked up overhead, heard dropping on the small roof above them. The air blew a chilly wind that made the couple shiver slightly. The crows cawed louder as the rain splashed down on them.

Poor Mrs. Beauregard already felt unnerved, shuffling in her wheelchair as Mr. Beauregard grew annoyed at the birds. Deciding to grab one of the display rocks that cluttered around a freshly cut hedge, he tossed it up and down in his palm with a scheming look on his. He made a mischievous smile and got ready to throw, pulling up his white linen shirt sleeve and winded back his arm.

“Winston!” Mrs. Beauregard yelled, staring at him disapprovingly as he stopped mid-wine. “Don’t you think about it!” she hissed, holding the children close. “You know my mother’s superstition! She says it’s bad luck to bother crows.”

“Bad luck, my ass,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he readied to throw again. “Damned Ruth don’t know what luck even is if it hit her in the face!” He chucked it right at the birds as Mrs. Beauregard frowned.

The crows didn’t even move, one of them simply squawked. Their eyes shifted to look at Mr. Beauregard, their gazes icy. The rock had struck the iron bars under them with a loud clang, just inches from the crows’ feet.

“See, they’re fine.” He scoffed, grabbing another before the sound of a car’s horn stopped him. Headlights flashing in their direction as Mrs. Beauregard spotted her husband’s Pontiac roll up to the hospital entrance.

The car was a 1987 black Pontiac driven by a white man with slick shoulder length black hair. He wore the typical chauffer outfit, a black suit and black polka dotted tie with a white dress shirt underneath. His white gloved hands gripped the leather steering wheel tensely as he parked right in front of the couple.

“Thank god.” Mrs. Beauregard mumbled, positioning her wheelchair to face the backseat passenger door. Mr. Beauregard locked her in place as Leonard rolled the front passenger window down.

“Sorry boss, I had to g-get the car washed and-” Leonard’s New Jerseyian accent cracked as Mr. Beauregard bent over in the window, giving the poor man an intense look.

“Just unlock the doors, Leonard.” He said blatantly , gripping the door handle.

The car locks’ clicked and Leonard reached across the front passenger to open the door for Mr. Beauregard. He gets out of the car as Mrs. Beauregard is carefully place in the backseat with the children.

“Your kids sure are beautiful. Twins?” He asked, trying to lighten the air as Mr. Beauregard loudly shut the door.

“Not in the mood Leonard.” Mr. Beauregard replied, watching the driver fold up the wheelchair and placing it in the popped trunk.

“Yessir.” Leonard said, watching his boss get into the front passenger and shuts the door behind him. He hops back in the driver’s seat and pulls slowly out of the hospital. The car rocks as the wind outside brushes a harsh gust against the metal. The crows were still watching, getting ready to take flight as the care made it out onto the street.

Mrs. Beauregard wearily sits up, rocking her children as their car drives down the blck, watching them go past many stores and homes. The crows started to follow the black car, soaring over the hood and past the many electric posts overhead.

The Pontiac’s tires hissed against the rain-slicked pavement as they left the hospital behind, its looming structure disappearing into the storm. The passing city streets were quiet and dim, streetlights illuminated storefronts and parts of the sidewalk. Not many cars were on other lanes nor seen on the few neighborhood blocks they rolled by, giving the space an empty feel. The store’s with neon lights flickered onto the car’s metal as they turned.

Mrs. Beauregard watched the rain and passing lights quietly, silently rocking her children. Still shivering despite the warmth of the blanket, she clutched the twins close as they made it through downtown Brackenwell.

Townhouses and apartment homes littered the streets with their brick facades dampened by the rain, streaks of water cascading down like thin veins. Many of the buildings had barred windows, and some stoops were littered with soaked newspapers, their ink bleeding onto the concrete. A few figures shuffled along the sidewalks, huddled beneath umbrellas or hooded jackets, their faces obscured by the dim glow of flickering street lamps. Pawn shops with iron security gates lined the corners, their cluttered displays barely visible through grime-coated glass. A liquor store’s red neon sign buzzed erratically, its broken ‘Q’ flickering.

The rain kept pouring as Leonard navigated through the winding streets with some ease. Brick buildings became wooden houses, then isolated farmsteads with skeletal trees bending under the wind’s weight. The streetlights became fewer and farther between, their warm glow swallowed by the creeping darkness beyond.

Then came the turn. A part of road curved rightward into some dense and thick trees on the outskirts of downtown, a single path that would take them into the wooded side of Brackenwell. It was narrow and winding, flanked by towering oaks with gnarled branches clawed at the sky, blocking out the bare sunlight still outside. They swayed violently overhead, some scraping the roof as Leonard steady drove past. Its’ headlights barely cut through the twigs and a dense fog rolled in.

Mrs. Beauregard cowered slightly in the back seat, instinctively holding the twins closer as the familiar unease from earlier slithered back into her chest. She heard the crow’s caw again, seeing three figures flying through the dense trees as they drove deeper into the woods. The path beneath them turned from tar to gravel, the car shaking more as it rocked from each little rock bits.

Leonard could barely see as rock, rain, and now mud splashed up onto the windshield, the wipers working hard to push the muck away. “I hate it when it rains.” He grumbled, pressing a button on the wheel that sprayed wiper fluid onto the glass.

Mr. Beauregard merely grunted in response, cracking his window slightly and taking a puff of his cigar. He blows out a small cloud of some before looking back at his wife and children, knocking the ash of his cigar out the cracked window. “You okay, back there?” He asked, glancing at the kids.

“Yea,” She said tiredly. “The children are just resting.” She smiled tiredly. She spots the three crows come flying out the overhanging trees, one suddenly soared away. The Beauregard suddenly lurching foreward as the car goes into a sudden spin.

Something wedged into the windshield wipers as mud clogged the rims, preventing the wheels from rolling anymore. The car spun around as it slid backwards onto a small ledge in the woods. Leonard fights with the wheel, pumping the brakes while the couple screamed. Mr. Beauregard rocked in his seat as he tried to help, his wife curling herself around the children as the car slammed into two trees. The trunk pops open as the back takes most of the blow.

The front slammed against the second, temporarily locking them in between both trees. Mr. Beauregard’s head slams against the window as Leonard’s door bent from hitting the tree bark. Mrs. Beauregard rocked in the back, shielding the children in her arms as Leonard finally braked.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Mr. beaurgard yelled, shaking as Mrs. Beauregard steadily uncurled around her children. She swaddled them more as Leonard groaned from the deployed airbag hitting him. He turns the engine back on, carefully putting the vehicle into drive to move the car slightly.

“Goddamn mud!” Leonard screamed, kicking the crumbled front door open once it was free of the tree. The door fell right off as he got out, his loafers sinking into the lot before he went to the back. Mr. Beaurgard places a weary hand on his head, leaning back in the soft seat cushions as his driver pushes the car back where they came.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Beauregard?” Leonard asked in a shaky breath, looking into the back passenger. She just nods, her husband showing a moment of compassion as he reaches back to hold her hand. Leonard got the car back onto the trail, tossing the mud off the wheels with his bare gloved hands. “Good, now let’s get you two home.” He said, getting back into the car.

The ride continued in a silence, Leonard just glancing through the rearview mirror at Mrs. Beauregard and over at Mr. Beauregard as the path widens. Passing the trees, they made it to a clearing that was covered by a cobblestoned driveway that led straight up a hill to the front of the Beauregard Manor. It was an imposing structure, with dark stone walls rising up from the fog like a phantom. Rows of arched windows stared down at them, black and empty. Its great double doors at the entrance gleamed under the dim light of the gas lanterns lining the driveway, but even their glow did little to dispel the shadows clinging to the house’s edges.

Leonard steadily made it up to the manor’s front gate, grabbing his ID card out of the broken glove box. The security guard sitting in the small security booth out in front of the gate, got out to peer into the car. He nodded before reaching into the booth, pressing a button that unlocked the gates. They creaked slightly with layers of paint chipping off from movement. He nodded as he drove up to the front of the home, pulling right up to the white marble steps. Leaves and muck from the woods fell off the broken car, scattering the cobblestone driveway as it screeched to a halt. Mr. Beauregard wearily gets himself out of the car, carefully opening the back door for his wife.

Watching them were the three crows, now perched on the archway over the front door. They stared down at the three as Mrs. Beauregard rocked the children wearily. Two guards, standing in front of the home’s two grand mahogany doors quickly open them for the tired woman, nodding to her as Mr. Beauregard helped her into the home. Leonard wipes his feet on the welcome mat as the doors slam behind him.

The rest of Mr. Beauregard’s staff was waiting in the main foyer to greet them, gasping at how weary and messy the trio looked. The headmaid, Francine, quickly rushed to Mr. Beauregard to wipe his messed up cigar ash off his face. “Not me, him.” He said, gently swatting her hand away as Leonard shoke off more mud.

“What happened?” She asks, Leonard looking down at her.

“The trail’s washed up.” He simply answered, carefully sliding his loafers off before following Francine further into the home. Another maid, named Gabby, approached with a mob and bucket to clean up the mud as Mrs. Beauregard headed in the direction of the manor’s kitchen. Mr. Beauregard’s assistant, Diana, watched silently before walking right up to him.

“You two got in a wreck?! How are the children?” She yelled worriedly, dismissing the other staff.

“They’re fine thank god. The road was too muddied on the way here and it got in the Pontiac’s tires. The car slid around and Leonard fought the wheel til we stopped spinning. Thankfully, we got out alive though my damn car is a wreck.” He said. “I need a smoke after a killer of a headache I got from the crash.”

He took a deep breath as Diana quickly turned his head to the side, a deep gash wound bleeding down the side of his forehead. “You need medical attention sir.” She says, clapping her hands. Mr. Beauregard just shook his head, leaning against the nearby wall as a maid ran up with a first aid kid. They tend to him as he watched Mrs. Beauregard hand the children to someone right as their home phone rings.

Mrs. Beauregard goes to answer, smiling tiredly as she hears a voice on the other end of the line. “Darling, it's my mother! She’s arriving soon to see her new grandkids.” She called out, Mr. Beauregard’s eyes widening.

“Tell…Tell that witch we’re not home!” He yelled, held back as the maid stitched his wound. “I don’t want that devil woman coming to my home!”

“Too late dear, she’ll be here in 10 minutes!” Mrs. Beauregard beamed. Mr. Beauregard nearly faints at her words, placing a weary hand on his head while Diane helped him to the living room to rest.

The room was a grand yet calming space, scented with the smell aged wood and lingering cigar smoke from Mr. Beauregard's many cigars. The walls were painted in dark mahogany, their glossy finish reflecting the flickering light from the large stone fireplace at the room's center. Above its mantle hung an imposing oil portrait of his grim-faced father Martin Beauregard IV, his stern gaze peering into anyone who enters soul. The fireplace itself was a beast of carved stone, its intricate patterns curling like vines up to the mantle. Embers crackled within, casting faint shadows that danced across the room’s velvet drapes and high-backed armchairs. The furniture was rich and overstuffed — deep crimson cushions with brass studs lining the arms, the upholstery slightly worn from years of use.

A massive Persian rug was sprawled across the floor, its deep auburn color covered in intricate patterns that faded in spots where foot traffic wore thin. A low oak coffee table sat right on it, a tarnished silver ashtray overflowing with cigar butts and a box of cigars next to it. Mr. Beauregard reaches to lit one as Mrs. Beauregard got up to grab a book off the bookshelf on the other side of the room.

The shelf leaned slightly forward, its shelves sagging under the weight of countless leather-bound volumes. Framed photos were tucked between the books — faded family portraits that seemed to capture moments of the couple and larger family. Right next to it was Mrs. Beauregard’s new rocking chair, swathed in a knitted throw blanket, sat near the fire. There used to be a wooden chair that Mr. Beauregard had carved for her years ago in its place but the old chair had caught on fire one night and he had to toss it before it could do any more harm. She rests in the chair, taking in the calming silence of the room before a loud bang interrupted their piece.

The footsteps of heels causes him to be grugededly sit back down. “WINSTON!” An older female voice is heard as the sound of a cane hitting against the home’s hardwood floors echoed after. The shadow of a woman reaches into the living room as Mr. Beauregard got an annoyed look on his face. He rubs his temple as he looked up.

Ruth Chance was a woman of remarkable presence. Draped in an velvet emerald-green dress that shimmered in the low light, she stood with the aura of someone who never took a “no” for an answer if the situation called for it. Although her grey streaked hair and usual baggy eyes made her come across as a bit frantic of a woman. She fixed the string of pearled necklaces on her neck as her black fur shawl clung to her shoulders. Her ring adorned fingers taped impatiently against the polished cane she didn’t need as she coughed.

“WINTSTON…Where are my grandbabies? I got a call from your assistant that they had been borned before I arrived. Where’d you put ‘em?” She asked. “And what the hell happened? I saw your car a mess and mud on the welcome mat?!”

“Oh I’m sorry Ruth,” He said dramatically, blowing cigar smoke in her direction. “It’s not my fault that the road here turned to mud in the middle of a storm. So don’t come at me today.”

The old woman coughed, using her scarf to cover her nose. “I really can’t see why you love those damned things. Especially with grandbabies in the house, you could get them sick.” She groaned while approaching her daughter, giving Mrs. Beauregard a big hug.

“Well they’re not in here huh?” He mocked. “Besides, the children have been taken to the new nursery upstairs.” He leaned back in his chair as Ruth scoffed.

“I’ll go up there as soon as I talk to my daughter, Winston.” Ruth shook her head, turning back to face a tired Mrs. Beauregard. “Kendra dear, you rest up as much as you need to during this time. You make sure those two get the most sleep and food they need. You know to call me if anything, right?” She says sternly.

“I know Mom.” Mrs. Beauregard said softly, smiling. “But let me get you outta here. I know Winston doesn’t like it when you get too close, gives him a migrain. Besides, he needs some space right now.” She gets up from her chair, walking with her mother out the room.

Leonard soon comes rushing in, stopping to tip his hat to Ruth before walking up to Mr. Beauregard. “Boss, you gotta see this!” He yelled, biting his lip.

“Oh what now?” Mr. Beauregard exclaimed, getting up from his chair. “Can’t I get a moment’s rest?”

“It’s only for a moment, boss. It’s important.” Leonard respond, heading back to the front of the house with Mr. Beauregard. Some of the staff were standing around the wrecked car, still wiping it down as Francine handed Leonard something.

“Boss, I told all the staff what happened and they came out to help me with the car..but while we were cleaning the muck off, Francine found what caused the wipers to get stuck.” He says, uncurling his palm.

It was a black crow feather, covered in mud. Mr. Beauregard stumbled back a bit. He coughed, regaining his composure. “A feather? Really?” He says, taking it from Leonard. He inspected it as Leonard nodded.

“I guess when that crow flew by, one of its feathers fell off and got caught.” The man suggests.

Mr. Beauregard just shrugged. “Take the car to a mechanic after you’re done cleaning it.” He said, soon groaning as he heard his mother-in-law call out from inside the house.

“Winston! I’m gonna need some tea and blankets for-” The old women peered her head out, seeing Mr. Beauregard holding a crow feather. “Wintson! Where’d you find this?” She asks, approaching him.

“This is what caused my wreck! A damn bird’s feather.” He groaned.

“I-How?” She takes it from him.

“Ma’am, a crow flew past us on the way home and I’m guessing a feather fell off and got lodged into the windshield wipers.” Leonard spoke up.

“Odd.” Ruth mumbled to herself for a moment, looking at Mr. Beauregard. “Winston, did you see any crows before getting into the car?”

Mr. Beauregard was too busy lighting his cigar, taking a few puffs before looking down at the old woman. “Huh?...Oh yea! Me and Kendra saw three of them when we got out the hospital.” He said nonchalantly, blowing the smoke in her direction.

“Did they follow you?” She asks worriedly, gripping the feather.

“Yea, a bit. But I didn’t realize that they strayed the entire way home.” Mr. Beauregard didn’t want to dwell on it, stepping back inside.

“Leonard, if you see any more crows just tell me.” Ruth says, following her son-in-law. She felt like something was off, feeling like it felt coincidental that it took a simple feather to have something as drastic as a car accident to happen.

After the staff finished cleaning the car, Leonard moved it into the manor’s garage. It was a large shed the size of a small single floor home, housing the two other vehicles the Beauregard’s used. On the right side sat Mrs. Beauregard’s car, a yellow Volkswagen beetle with floral print interiors. Right next to it was Mr. Beauregard’s first ever car, an auburn Cadillac, gifted to him by his late father as a birthday gift.

Leonard carefully parked the car on the only available space left, right by some gardening equipment. Just as he stepped out, the driver’s side door falls off the car, the window smashing into pieces on the concrete floor.

“Crap.” He groaned, picking it up. He leans it against the door only for the front passenger door to fall off. “God fucking damnit!” He sighed, kicking the messed up car. The entire mess of a Pontiac collapses in on itself, getting glass and metal onto the fine leather seats.

Leonard just stared in disbelief, combing his fingers between his hair and walking right out. He went right back inside, heading up the grand staircase to the second floor. He passed by the Beauregard’s new nursery, seeing Mrs. Beauregard and Ruth tending to the children for a brief moment. He walked right up Mr. Beauregard’s study, the door cracked open.

The air inside was thick with cigar smoke, its scent clinging to the heavy drapes and dark wooden panels that lined the walls. The room felt dim, with only the faint glow of a green glass desk lamp and the flicker of the fireplace casting shadows along the corners. His mahogany desk, worn yet grand, sat in the middle of the room, cluttered with ledgers, fountain pens, and a crystal decanter half-filled with whiskey. Stacks of paperwork were pushed to the side, precariously close to toppling over.

Bookshelves behind it stretched from floor to ceiling, sagging under the weight of countless dusty tomes — some with gold-embossed spines, others with cracked leather covers barely holding together. An old globe stood in the corner, its brass stand tarnished yet still gleaming faintly.

Leonard coughed from the smell, cracking open a window as Mr. Beauregard turned in his swivel chair.

“Boss, your car’s totaled. It collapsed the moment I put it in the garage.” He says, watching Mr. Beauregard takes another puff.

“Just…call the mechanic in the morning. I do not have time to deal with this right now.” Mr. Beauregard sighed, clutching his temple.

Leonard worriedly nodded, quickly leaving as Mr. Beauregard leaned back in his chair. He looks out his window, staring at the tree right outside his study. It was shaking from the overpassing storm, hitting the window pane repeatedly. His eyes widen as his study’s door bursts right open moments later.

It was Mrs. Beauregard, looking more lighthearted then she did earlier. “Dear... I have news! My mother’s going to be staying for the next few weeks.” She says, sitting on his desk.

Mr. Beauregard choked on the inhaled smoke, coughing as he exhaled it out. “WHAT?!” He says, setting the cigar down in his ashtray.

#dark fantasy #poc in fantasy #poc characters #poc vore #dark fantasy story #original character #original writing #original worlds

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qualityfunnyscenariosfire · 3 months ago

Text

The Tragic Tale of the Beauregard Twins: The Horrid Beginning

Chapter One: The Bad Start

The tale of the Beauregard twins does not end happily. Nor does it start happily and neither is the middle, for it isn’t even mild or mundane.

Their tale is all around plain awful and I advise that you'd close this book and pick up something more lighthearted.

What is even sadder, is that even at their very beginning, the Beauregard twins were destined for a horrible life.

It began on a horrid Wednesday morning during a January Freeze. The sky was grey from a downpour of freezing rain that dumped buckets onto the small town of Brackenwell.

In its small hospital sat the Beauregard parents, Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard. Sitting in a cramped room, Mr. Beauregard was on a chair in the corner, watching his wife writhe in pain on the hospital bed with a cigar in his mouth. He’d casually glance back at her and the newspapers, reading the Brackenwell Bugle ’s sports report and lottery numbers. The rain pelting against the windows with icy ferocity, sounding more like hail than droplets of water.

Mrs. Beauregard’s face was pale and clammy, twisting with every contraction as the storm roared outside. “Winston!” She grunted, her voice strained as she reached out toward him past the helpful nurses, her fingers trembling with effort.

"You're doing fine, Kendra," Mr. Beauregard muttered, not lifting his eyes from the paper. His tone was as dull as the pencil in his hand, lacking even the faintest hint of empathy. He tapped it restlessly against the paper, leaning back comfortably while his wife sat up in agony.

The doctor, standing near the end of the bed, cleared his throat, glancing disapprovingly at the detached husband. He was an older man, with thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and an expression that had grown weary from years of delivering babies into all sorts of circumstances. He places a reassuring hand on the pained woman, pushing her carefully back down as she keeps contracting. He turned to his assistant nurse and nodded. “It's time. Mrs. Beauregard, you’re going into labor!” He yells, hoping to get Mr. Beauregard’s attention.

The storm began to roar outside as Kendra braced herself, gritting her teeth as she pushed. The freezing rain hammering against the windows as if protesting the new arrivals.

After what felt like an eternity, a cry echoed through the room. A boy—small, red-faced, and wailing with a ferocity that startled even the seasoned nurse. She quickly swaddled him in a blanket, her hands steady despite the heaviness of his small form.

“One more, Mrs. Beauregard," the doctor said gently.

Kendra’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Another?" she rasped, her breath catching.

She hadn’t prepared for twins; no one had mentioned it during her sparse checkups. But there was no time to dwell on it, another contraction gripped her. She cried out as the second baby entered the world—a girl. Her cries were softer than her brother’s, but they carried an eerie, mournful tone that sent a chill down the spines of everyone in the room.

Kendra gasps, laying back against the pillows as her daughter was wrapped up in a warm pink blanket, being laid next to her brother where her cries quieted to soft coos. Kendra’s body shook, quaking as it calmed from the sporadic pulsing and tensing. The twins were soon placed in her arms and she just stared at them, a blank look on her face.

“They’re….” She breathed heavily as Mr. Beauregard finally got up from his chair. Walking over to her, he took the cigar out of his mouth and blew a puff of smoke into the air. “They’re yours to deal with. But they are cute.” He says, eyes scanning up and down both his children.

“They’re perfect, Winston.” She grumbled, her brief happiness quickly replaced by annoyance. “And oh please, we both know you’ll love ‘em too.”

“Easy for you to say, you won’t have to pay the medical bill.” He retorted, going back to his cigar as she rocked the children.

Kendra and the nurses glanced at him in shock, soon looking back at the twins slept calmly in her arms. Soon taken away by the nurses for further check up, Kendra sat in bed as the storm grew worse outside.

“What are you gonna name them?” Mr. Beauregard asked, crossing his legs in the chair as his wife stared at him tiredly.

“You got any in mind?” She retorted, nuzzling into one of the pillows.

“For the boy? Yes. For the girl…no.” He grunted, taking another puff from his cigar. “Martin sounds nice for him.”

“Really?!” She says, fixing her messy hair as a nurse comes back into the room with food for her. “After your own father.”

“What?!” He shrugs, handed a coffee he had ordered an hour before. “It’s a good, strong name for a black man. Our boy could take over the family business or do good things with that name!” He chuckled.

Mrs. Beauregard rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Fine, Martin it is. But if you’re naming the boy, I get to name the girl.”

“Fair enough,” Winston said, leaning back in his chair, his cigar now a stub resting in the ashtray.

Mrs. Beauregard tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling as rain pelted the window. A name danced on the edge of her mind, one that brought warmth despite the storm outside. “Ruth,” she finally said, her voice soft.

Mr. Beauregard raised an eyebrow. “Ruth? Why Ruth?”

“If we’re going off this whole older, inspirational family member theme for names, then I want our daughter to be named after my grandmother.” She said, smiling tiredly. “She was strong. Smart. Held our family together when everything fell apart. I want her to have that.”

Mr. Beauregard cocked his eyebrow, scoffing. “Ruth and Martin, huh? That has no rhyme nor ring to it. How about your mother’s? What was it again? Mabel? Margret? Or something like that.” He groaned, rubbing his temple as he sipped his coffee again.

“Mirabel.” Mrs. Beauregard sighed, thinking about it. “And that isn’t bad.”

“Then it’s settled. The children will be called Martin and Mirabel.” He smiled finally, leaning back in his chair.

“Long as Ruth is somewhere in her full name.” She perked up, another nurse walking in to hand her the twins birth certificates.

“Fine.” Mr. Beauregard groaned, still not like the name. Or rather, the woman who it belonged to. Let’s just say, they didn’t have the best of relationships a mother and son-in-law should have.

Mrs. Beauregard smirked, seeing the flicker of annoyance on her husband’s face. “Good. I’ll sign their certificates then.” She’s handed a pin writing the names Mirabel Ruth Beauregard and Martin Winston Beauregard on both respectively. “Oh don’t look so glum, Winston. I’m sure their names are just as perfect as you wanted them to be.”

Mr. Beauregard grunted in reluctant agreement, signing his name afterwards but his expression discreetly softened as he looked at the twins bundled up in their cribs.

#dark fantasy #poc in fantasy #poc characters #original worlds #original writing #original character #writers on tumblr #writing #poc creator

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