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ilium-ilia · 1 month ago

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tongue on loving wound

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader | omegaverse!au | alternate universe to In Limbo | alpha!ghost x omega!fem!reader | masterlist

Simon Riley has a keen sense of smell that's kept him alive working for John Price and his illicit business, and it's a sense that's not easily fooled. But when he comes across you, an omega who has no distinct smell except for the lingering aroma of something much too sickeningly familiar, he finds himself infatuated. Little does he know, there's something else lurking in the depths of your silage, something that will leave him wrapped around your very fingers.

Chapter One: paint me red with your desire

tw: gore, death/violence, minor dub-con, alcohol/intoxication

Simon Riley has a keen sense of smell.

A blessing and a curse—it’s a good tool but it always leaves him feeling nauseous at work. Here, in the midst of bodies pulsing to wicked bass beneath inadequate lighting that leaves his eyes straining through the numbra that cloaks Terminus like a sack placed over his head before a hanging.

Pheromones waft through the air like spoiled food. Thick and unheeded, burrowing through his nostrils, overloading his senses until his scleras are red with spiderwebbed veins. There’s the thick musk of alphas, puffing their chests and flaunting the strengths of their genes. Sharp teeth, canines that—back in the day—were used for gutting; for protecting fawning omegas who trail behind them with wide eyes and unabashed smiles. Clubs like these replace the hunt. The primal urge to capture prey and nourish them.

It’s why Simon isn’t surprised when he can smell a fight coming.

Ancient rust spills across his nose as he stands with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes focused on a growing crowd near the bar. It clashes with baneberry, tart on his tongue, saliva glands constricting until his mouth is dry—he watches a man bear his teeth. Hand on his omega’s shoulder, sneering at a too-comfortable intruder, he barks. They’re too close to their ruts. Musk thick on their throats, lips dry and waiting for the rainwater of delicious ichor to coat them—Simon steps in before the first punch is ever thrown.

Hand on the alpha’s shoulder, fingers curling in his flesh to pull him back, he snarls a quiet, “Calm down.”

The man turns, eyes wild and pupils dilated, teeth still on display, digits twitching as if ready to sink his claws into Simon. But he’s bigger, broader—a pristine and prime example of the wildness of animals.

“I know you wanna fight, but you can’t do that shit ‘ere,” Simon murmurs, voice cutting through the dull thrum of the music. His attention flickers over to the omega, standing dazed with glassy eyes and a flushed face as she stares at her alpha. The want rolling off of her is palpable. That sweet redolence—that concupiscence bundled up nice and pretty—curls around his spine, and he hums. “Take your girl home.”

“You’re kicking us out?” the alpha growls, bewildered.

“I don’t need some pillock too close to his rut startin’ fights,” Simon retorts, looming over him. “Look at you. Poor fuckin’ excuse for an alpha. Can’t you see how badly your omega needs you right now?”

As if suddenly splashed with cold water, the man looks over his shoulder, eyes locking onto his dazed partner as her body sways to the music. She’s liquid beneath his touch when he takes her hand into his and begins to lead her out of the club, neglecting to say a word to Simon edgewise.

The world is a jungle, and the city is a dangerous mix of too-close hibernaculums and territorial creatures.

He leaves for a smoke after the situation is diffused. A tenebrous alley swallows him whole as he shrugs off the winter cold to light his cigarette and chew on the filter as he breathes in the nicotine. It’s a reset. Something to temporarily numb his senses as thick swathes of tobacco rolls over his tongue to mute the memory of sillage, of too many conflicting flavors in the air.

Simon tries not to cringe at the memory of how he used to be like that—an unruly alpha driven by wretched hormones and unbridled rage. He used to be dangerous. He still is, but he’s predictable now. In control. Not only does he have the power physically—beast-like strength coursing through his muscles, sharp teeth meant to gouge and swallow flesh in a single bite—but he retains the mental fortitude. It’s why John Price keeps him around.

A very good, well behaved dog on a very tight, very short leash.

To reward him for his good comportment, Simon is tasked with being a chaperone. Trustworthy. Impeccable restraint. He trails behind Mrs. Price every time she decides to come to Terminus. An omega with claws of her own, he’s not sure why he’s given this job. She’s not a helpless woman. Flaunting the teeth marks on the side of her neck, very few are foolish enough to toy with the woman who smells of lingering musk.

Though, he is worried about the near-pitiful creature trailing behind her.

Well guarded with shifting eyes, you keep yourself properly protected with a turtleneck collared shirt and your palms rubbing flat over your biceps. You are the perfect fantasy, he thinks. The little fawn every alpha yearns for when they’re plagued with wet dreams of sweet omegas who don’t know any better falling right into their open, begging maws.

Scapulas rolling, Simon inhales slow and steady, senses weaving through the medley of scents produced by the crowd. Usually, he’s a bloodhound. Nose sharp enough to slice out anything unwanted, whittling the gristle off of meat until it’s edible, but when he tries to get the vaguest taste of you, there’s nothing.

Curiosity piqued, he licks his lips.

“There’s our little shadow,” Aelin Price beams, half drunk and with her drink sloshing in hand the moment her eyes find Simon. She says it as if he were hiding, but he’s not anymore. Not when he’s needing to profile you—to familiarize the scent that can’t quite reach him. “Or, I guess little isn’t the right term, is it? Tall bastard.”

Your tense giggling is stifled by the tips of your fingers as you warily watch Aelin take another sip of her drink—perhaps one too many. The bite of vodka assaults his nose and he huffs as she pulls you closer to him, readying a clean palette to breathe you in.

“Chip, this is Simon, he works with John for security. Simon, this is Chip, my best friend,” Aelin introduces.

You begin to flounder, hands in front of you, toying with your cuticles as you attempt to get your gaze to rise from your feet. Timid. A lamb on wobbling legs. You swallow as you give him a sheepish smile, but his eyes only narrow when he realizes he can’t pin your scent. Not even synthetic suppressants cloak the natural order of things as well as this. You’re an empty slate, with a hint of something macabre—

“It’s nice to meet you,” you eventually choke out.

—a hint of danger that’s all too familiar.

For the rest of the night, Simon doesn’t let you leave his sight. Lurking the way he always does, shady eyes raking over every inch of your body as he attempts to sift through the catalogue of scents in his brain, willing himself to recall what you’ve bathed yourself in. Saccharine like cherry pie with a hint of nightshade lurking beneath the crust, waiting to spring forth and trap him. An enigma hidden behind a kind facade. He doesn’t trust you nearly as far as he can throw you—lifeless corpse bobbing in still water, mistaken for a log, never to be missed or seen again.

Eventually, you stray from the flock. Sweet little wannabe omega stumbling away from Aelin, lubbering legs dragging you to the crowded water closet. Simon loiters outside the door. Inside he can hear giggling, the popping of lips, smell the silage of synthetic pheromones pressing against necks and wrists—then, it’s the danger again.

You again.

Before you can wander back to where Aelin sits at a table for two, glassy eyes staring at her phone as she titters to herself, Simon’s fingers find their home wrapped around your arm. Your squeak is smothered by the pulsing music as he carefully drags you closer to him.

“O-Oh, hi Simon,” you greet, muscles tensing beneath his touch. You’re next to him now, back against the wall while his eyes survey the crowd before the two of you like he’s waiting for something. A distraction. “Erm… is there something I…”

Your question is smothered in the back of your throat as Simon curls over you, attention now brought to your stunned face as he places his hands on either side of your head, palm against the sticky brick behind you. Tobacco fills your nose, but it’s all you can smell—you’ve never had a very good sense of smell. But you don’t need pheromones to read the blunt warning in his gaze as his nostrils flare.

It’s hard not to flinch when he leans closer, nose brushing your cheek like butterfly kisses before his head dips down. Wide eyes stare up at the ceiling as he prods at your neck. It’s painted black. You can see where the uneven coating thickens in patches, pooling with paint, glistening bright beneath black lights and neon purples. Then, you turn away when he inhales, deep and slow. The grunt he exhales is difficult to read, but he doesn’t sound satisfied.

“You keep interestin’ company,” Simon notes. He leans back just far enough to look you in the eye but not enough to let you free. Hands still planted firmly around you, arms curling like a cage to keep you close, you see the purposeful flash of his teeth as he snarls. “I’ll be watchin’ you, little ‘mega.”

With that, he sends you on your way, and he does well to keep his promise. It would be stupid of him not to—especially now that he’s recognized that scent clinging to you like a second skin as Marco’s.

That night, after Terminus is emptied and he’s laying in bed, Simon contemplates warning John and Aelin of your elicit friend. Truly, he’s impressed the overly protective alpha hasn’t noticed it off of you himself. You reek of him. Of Marco and his twisted greed for all things good and pure. His lighter flickers to life as he burns through half a pack staring at the ceiling, smoke curling upwards like greedy fingers.

No—maybe for once he can indulge. Maybe he can allow himself to enact the revenge he’s so desperately coveted for longer than he can remember.

Come morning, the other half of his pack is absorbed by his lungs as he sits in his car across from your apartment. It was a little challenging finding the address without ousting himself from the shadows, but he managed. He has a keen nose, after all. You sleep in late. Either that or you like the dark. Curtains drawn tightly closed, not a single morsel of light to bleed through the fabric; you don’t exit your apartment until 11:30.

You’re not wearing enough clothes—fighting off the bite of winter with a simple jumper, another turtleneck shirt, and a thin pair of jeans, he watches you shiver down the pavement with a folded envelope clutched in your trembling hands. He waits for you to round the corner before his engine is quietly sputtering to life and he’s following you along the street.

Too easy of a target, you don’t notice him at all. Never once do you lift your head to check your surroundings, you keep your gaze down to your feet, counting each crack in the cement before you stumble into a laundromat. Simon pulls into a car park across the street and lights another cigarette just in time to watch someone strut in after you.

Marco.

The man who nearly got his brother killed. The man who got him involved in this life of crime in the first place.

Your rendezvous is relatively short. Just long enough for a lingering conversation before Marco’s skipping through the door again, hands occupied with something in his pocket. There’s a pull to his lips—a faint simper—that makes Simon’s fingers curl into his palms, nails digging into his flesh, claws begging for blood; for the chance to let loose. Countless dreams have come to him in the dark of night, each playing out ways in which he’d like to bring about Marco’s demise. A knife straight through the liver, internal bleeding overwhelming him in an instant. Hands crushing his windpipe. Knuckles cracking across his face until it caves in—an unrecognizable corse.

After five minutes, Simon cuts across the street and bursts through the laundromat door to find you sitting on a bench, string wrapped around your fingers, and head hanging low as if you’re caught at the gallows. You jump when he enters. All broad shoulders and furrowed brow, you can smell the rage rolling off of him in thick, suffocating waves. The bobbing of your throat is hidden beneath your turtleneck, and you quickly stow away your string with a sniffle.

“S-Simon? What’re you doing here?” you question cautiously.

His eyes darken before they flicker across the room. It’s a small building. A simple 24 hour laundromat with countless machines, rundown tile flooring, a rusty drain that looks half clogged, and cheap detergent being sold for way too much in coin slots on the far wall. An old box television drones on in the center of the room, but besides the default news station, it’s quiet.

“Could ask the same to you,” Simon quips, attention narrowing in on you as he steps closer.

“I’m just… doing laundry,” you say, but your gaze adverts before you can finish your sentence.

“Yeah?” he challenges. “Where’s your basket then, love? Which machine are you using?”

Mendacities being torn apart limb from limb, your attention falls to your lap, fingers twisting together as if attempting to recall something. Muscle memory. A gentle motion to soothe. Simon stops in front of you, toes nearly touching yours as he curls forward, towering over you. The rage he feels now is similar to what he feels when he’s about to go into rut—uncontrollable and all consuming—but he knows he’s months away from it. This is pure virulent desire. This is the urge to make Marco pay.

“Who was the man in here with you?” he questions.

“I-I dunno, he was just, coming to check on-”

“Bullshit.” His interjection silences you, but he can smell the fear emanating from you now. Still, it’s faint. Quiet and dainty, but robust like the churning of soil during a storm; a wicked desire to be free, to flee, to fall back on human’s most basic nature. “Told you I was keepin’ an eye on you, pretty ‘mega, now cut the shit, yeah?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips, you raise your head just enough to look at his stomach, but you go no further. “Simon, look, I don’t- I don’t know what you think is going on, b-but-”

“What I think?” Simon repeats with poorly concealed acrimony. Despite the edge to his words, his hand is gentle against your chin as he tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him. “What I know is that you came into Terminus reeking of Marco. One of the most dangerous bastards in this city. I don’t take that shit lightly.”

Your eyes widen. “I… I smell like him?”

“I dunno what you’re playin’ at love, but I don’t want you stepping anywhere near Terminus or…”

His warning dies on his tongue and rots the moment he catches sight of your neck. Faux pink leather stares up at him, playing peek-a-boo through the top of your turtleneck like a blinding beacon. Hand lowering, he pulls at the fabric until your neck is exposed, and his stomach churns at the sight.

You’re collared. Like a dog. An animal. Something less than human. It’s held together with silver buckles and a small lock pad without a key, keeping it secured tight enough to hide your scent gland from sight—to keep it safe from biting teeth. He’s heard about people who do this. Degrading them to that of an animal, holding the false sanctity of virginity over the rights to one’s body, it is a disgusting act of possession to do such a thing. To deny someone the very thing that makes you human.

Your bottom lip begins to tremble when his fingertips brush against the synthetic leather, tracing along the edge until he’s reached the tag. Having dulled over time, it doesn’t shine nearly as bright as the rest of the collar, but Simon has no issue making out the engraving in the metal.

Marco’s Girl ♡

Clutching the fabric of your shirt, you yank your turtleneck up over the collar, forcing Simon’s fingers to fall from the tag as you cast your gaze downwards. He smells the brine—the stinging salt that plagues the tears in your eyes as you sniffle. When you stand to your feet, he relents by stepping back while you wipe your face on the edge of your sleeve.

“I-I really have to get to work now. Have… have a good day, Simon,” you mumble.

He lets you leave. Vanishing out on the streets, swallowed up by the pavement—a dull cement jungle gym caught in the throes of two crime syndicates. You’re in the crossfire. Directly in the center. Threatened by Marco’s ever hungry maw.

After that, Simon gathers as much information about you as he can, and it’s a pitifully easy feat to accomplish. You work at a restaurant—some fancy Italian place he’d never be caught dead in outside of going for a date—and you always take the late bus back to your apartment. Sometimes he’ll catch you perched at your window, in that building that looks like it’s rotting from the inside out, scribbling away at a journal.

You are a sweet thing. Something his instincts urge him to scoop up and hide with. There’s a spot in his den that he knows you’d look perfect in—swaddled with blankets, nesting like you should be doing instead of living in fear. You behave unlike any omega he’s ever seen. He wonders if it’s because of your anxiety—how it slithers through your ribcage, weaving between too-tight bones.

An alpha would fix that, he thinks.

“Why? Are you interested in her?”

Simon’s made the mistake of approaching Aelin for information about you, prompting questions in what he thought was casual conversation but seems to be something the woman is all too good at sniffing out. She looks up at him while making herself comfortable in John’s office chair, hands on the arm rests, legs crossed, and a proud smirk on her lips.

“Really, I introduced the two of you because I was hoping you’d get together. Or at least hook up,” Aelin concedes. Rosewater washes over his nose as she taps her fingers against the chair, but it’s not enough to cover the bitter musk of regret. “Chip is… well, I get a little worried about her, I guess. She’s a little stunted, if that makes sense. I’m sure you’ve picked up on her near lack of scent. I think it makes it hard to have anyone pursue her and… well, it makes me sad. Thinking of her all alone. Without someone to take care of her.”

Aelin doesn’t know it, but she’s planted a seed in his chest—one that germinates all too quickly. Rooting through him, he thinks of you in what he tells himself is a slow workup to a bloody revenge on Marco, but he can’t deny the swelling. The primal urge to care for you, to stick his nose against your scent gland until he catches something worth savoring. He needs to know you. You, the only creature who seems to evade his sharpened senses, an enigma he needs to learn; to study.

So then it is surely intentional when Aelin drags you out to Terminus on the next weekend he works. You smell different—wrong. Bathed in synthetic pheromones, slathered with glitter across your eyes and too much alcohol in your system. You’re being paraded around. Put on display. A flaunting show all for his approval.

Dazed, you seem ignorant to his watchful gaze, and a squeak erupts from you when his hand finds the small of your back. Standing behind you, neck curling forward, he whispers to you: “Follow me, sweetheart.”

You trail behind him like a kid following behind a Judas Goat, ignorant to your impending fate as he seals you into one of the VIP rooms. The door locks with a click and you’re left stunned, staring at the opulent decor before you. A conversation pit sits below a thin, gossamer chandelier, and large windows give a near birds-eye view of the bottom floor. Simon’s feet fall heavy against the stone floor, and he catches the way you shiver as he gently guides you to sit.

“I-I’m sorry.” Your apology spills past your lips as you keep your gaze straight, following his direction as you sink into the pit, body bouncing on the sofa. “I know you told me not to come here again, but Aelin insisted, a-and I couldn’t say no to her-”

“I’m not mad at you,” Simon interjects before you can spiral too far. He sits next to you, weight causing the cushions to dip, nearly getting you to fall into his gravity. Blinking, you look up at him, eyes shining with unfallen tears. “I just wanna know more ‘bout this.”

He gestures to your throat, and instinct forces you to grab it—to feel the leather that skulks beneath the thin fabric of your turtleneck—but your hand quickly drops as if realizing your mistake. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Leaning closer, Simon solemnly searches through your eyes and counts every little fracture that forms in your facade. “You don’t need to lie, sweetheart. I already know you owe Marco money.”

You lick your lips, and he can smell the alcohol. Absinthe—anise. Your mind visibly swims as your head bobs, gaze cast down into your lap, fingers picking at the dry skin around your knuckles. “No, that’s… I’m not supposed to talk about this. I shouldn’t.”

“Yeah? That why he gave you that?” he questions.

An ant beneath a magnifying glass, you shift under the heat. The searing sun that lies behind Simon’s eyes—powerful and unyielding. “It’s insurance.”

“Insurance?” he repeats.

You nod. “I-If I ever make late payments or… try to run… it keeps anyone else from claiming me. It keeps me—like—pure, I guess, for Marco.” As if realizing the words spilling from your drunken mouth, your eyes widen as you look up at him, feet pushing against the floor as if ready to run. “I shouldn’t have- I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

Soft and demulcent, Simon shushes you. Every thought in your mind quiets until your eyes are empty, and he attempts to bring back the light as he leans forward, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand. Though you might not smell like it, you’re still an omega at heart. Fluttering lashes, the desperate desire to be taken care of, to have a silly alpha under your thumb to do your bidding—it ignites somewhere within you.

“Please don’t tell Aelin,” you beg, voice hardly above a whisper.

“I won’t. This’ll just be between us,” Simon swears. His other hand is on your knee now, fingers gently curling around behind the back of your thigh, pressing into the soft tissue there until you’re whimpering. “How long has this been goin’ on, sweetheart?”

Your bottom lip is quivering again. “Too long.”

“Poor girl,” he coos. His voice is thick—so much so it nearly gets caught in his throat, but you let yourself drown in it anyway. “Need an alpha to take care of it for you? Huh, little ‘mega?”

You’re leaning into him now. Knees knocking against his, basking in his warmth as he lures you in closer. He notes the way your nostrils flare, taking long drags of him as if he’s your favorite brand of cigarettes.

“Take care of…? Take care of what?” Caught in the depths of ecstasy, you’re hardly coherent, but you’re right where he wants you. Where he needs you.

“Marco,” Simon explains, thumb rubbing over the apple of your cheek. “He won’t bother you again.”

“You’d do that? But why?” you question.

“Not a fan of him, sweetheart. Besides, look at what he did to you.”

“So you’ll talk to him for me?”

Simon nods. “Yeah. I’ll talk to ‘im.”

After that, you spill. Everything spews out of you like blood from a wound. You drunkenly explain everything he’s ever done to you—the touching, the kisses, the threats—each meant to break you down, to render you nothing but a pliant dog just for him. Something roars to life within Simon; an all-too-familiar rage that nips at his heels, urging him into action. You’re so sweet in the palm of his hands. How anyone could ever want to do anything other than cherish you is beyond him.

When your rambling dies, Simon leads you out of the VIP room and retrieves a cup of water for you. As he holds it to your lips you let one last thing slip.

“I have to meet him tomorrow.”

Simon pauses. He almost can’t hear you over the music, but he reads the shine on your lips well enough. “At the laundromat again?”

You shake your head. “Usually we meet there, but he wants to meet at the pawn shop this time…” For a moment, you distract yourself with a sip of water before coughing. “Tsar Trading… I hate it there.”

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart,” he assures. “I’ll take care of it.”

Once he’s satisfied with the amount of water you’ve consumed, Simon returns you to Aelin, who doesn’t at all seem too worried about where you had vanished off to. A knowing smile pulls at her lips when you stumble back into her arms. Her nose brushes against your shoulder, and her eyes only narrow. She throws a disappointed look to Simon, who only shakes his head before he vanishes off into the crowd; a shadow blending into darkness, a prowling animal off to hunt.

In the morning, your head pounds so fiercely you swear someone is living inside of your skull, angrily hammering away at your broken psyche in an attempt to fix it. You spare nothing but a simple slap to your phone as you turn your alarm off before rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling. Stress fractures dance through the moulding. You have dreams that this place will cave in on you someday. You’re not quite sure if it’s a nightmare or a fantasy.

Preparing for the day is a slog. One shoe on, and then the next. Cold water on your face. You longingly stare at the shower, yearning for the gentle soap to cleanse your body, but you’ve already overslept, and Marco doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

He is not a patient man.

You hate going to Tsar Trading. It’s halfway across London, and it smells acrid, like camphor left to rot in the walls for too long. The bus jitters across the streets, and you attempt to lean your head against the shuddering window, groaning to yourself at the bite of the frost growing in the corner. If you did not have so much cash tucked into your pocket, you’d allow yourself to fall asleep—to be dead to the world for a little longer.

Instead, your mind plagues you with visions from the previous night. Of Aelin’s beaming smile and the liquor she kept shoving into your hands, of the scent of tobacco and Simon’s hand on your back, of the fuzzy memories that attempt to resurface. There’s something about deliverance. A troth whispered with your face cupped in loving hands.

You push it out of your brain—there is nothing to save you; it’s simply a fantasy.

Marco is already waiting for you. His presence seeps from the building as you traverse across the dilapidated car park. Verdant eyes pierce through you like a mangy alley cat’s as you approach the counter—the two of you are alone, and you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse. Unwanted knick-knacks and heirlooms stare up at you from glass enclosures while peeling wallpaper titters at you in line with Marco’s too-perfect simper.

“You’re late, babe,” he notes in a sickeningly cheery tone.

“Sorry,” you murmur, fluttering eyes staring at the counter. There’s a new item added to the collection of blood goods and pawned treasures—a small fox. She’s clay, you think. Or maybe ceramic is the correct term. Glossy coat, vibrant red fur; she’s perfect for a fairy garden. “I overslept a little.”

Marco continues to talk to you, but your fuzzy hearing doesn’t quite receive it. It’s nothing but dull sound waves bouncing off of your skin, dropping to the ground and shattering into silence as you focus your attention on the cash in your hands. You count the notes one by one, murmuring the number underneath your breath, before you push it towards him on the glass countertop.

“There, that should be a thousand.”

When he goes to reach for the money, he snatches up your wrist instead. Unforgiving fingers, claws digging into your skin, leaving behind indentations that you fear may never wash clean—he brings your arm up to his nose, teeth flashing as he inhales. You watch the forest green of his eyes be swallowed up by darkness, and you wince as his grip only grows tighter.

“Where were you last night?” he demands.

“W-What?” you stammer. “I was at Terminus. A friend brought me and we just-”

“A friend?” Marco interrupts. He yanks on your arm, virulent smile tugging on his lips as he brings you closer. “Did you let this friend fuck you?”

Bewildered, you attempt to wrench your hand free from his grasp, but you only whimper. “No, I just- I just had a couple of drinks and went home, that’s it!”

“Are you sure? Because you smell an awful lot like Simon fucking Riley.”

Need an alpha to take care of it for you?

You so desperately wish to scream for Simon, but you’re not even sure why. It’s as if his name has been branded on your tongue for all eternity but you’re just now learning how to sound out the syllables. You know what his name means—safety, security, alpha.

Your alpha.

You feel him. It’s as if he heard your silent plea; the desperate attempt to get him to come for you. Fat palm on your shoulder, presence looming from behind you like a vengeful apparition—Simon growls. He’s always been a territorial creature.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off ‘er.”

Marco relents, and you feel yourself stumbling backwards, feet catching on the torn carpet, rump colliding on the unforgiving floor. Tears welling in your eyes, you stare up at Simon just in time to watch him snatch Marco’s shirt into his grip, and then everything seems to go dark. You’re alone with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and the thudding of your heart in your chest.

Something within you aches. A splinter wishing to push free from your skin. It rattles inside of you as you watch Simon pull Marco over the countertop. Marco is not a small man—always obsessed with his appearance and the tone of his muscle—and still he is tossed around like a ragdoll. Your lips part in awe as Simon’s head lowers. Marco’s pushing against his face, but there’s no force in the world that can stop the glistening canines that graze against his skin.

You watch as the muscles in Simon’s jaw flexes, but there’s a disconnect. Though your eyes are open, it’s nothing but TV static. White noise in your vision. The overwhelming urge of your brain attempting to save itself from the gore.

Finally, you see it—Marco, limp on the ground.

There’s a bite-sized hole in his throat, displaying the gummy cartilage of his carotid artery that no longer contracts enough blood. It wanders to his trachea, severing his airway, leaving behind nothing but bubbles as Marco attempts to breathe in and out. He’s drenched in blood, and you can smell it—the iron. It’s the rust of violence, the same kind he wielded so flippantly at you, now blanketing him in his final moments.

Then, there’s Simon, standing over his fallen prey, chest heaving with the thrill of the kill, and mouth painted red.

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literaryvein-reblogs · 8 months ago

Text

a list of "beautiful" words for you

to try to include in your next poem/story

Acrimonious - deeply or violently bitter

Adust - of a gloomy appearance or disposition

Alluvium - clay, silt, sand, gravel, or similar detrital material deposited by running water

Apophenia - the tendency to perceive a connection or meaningful pattern between unrelated or random things (such as objects or ideas)

Asterism - a group of stars that form a pattern in the night sky

Atrabilious - given to or marked by melancholy; gloomy; ill-natured, peevish

Bloodroot - a plant (Sanguinaria canadensis) of the poppy family having a red root and sap and bearing a solitary lobed leaf and white flower in early spring

Camelopard - an archaic word for giraffe

Clairsentience - perception of what it not normally perceptible

Decumbiture - a horoscope calculated at the time of taking to one's sickbed

Fluvial - of, relating to, or living in a stream or river; produced by the action of a stream

Gamboge - also spelled camboge, can be used to describe the vivid yellows of autumn

Grimalkin - a domestic cat—especially an old female one

Hibernaculum - a shelter occupied during the winter by a dormant animal (such as an insect, snake, bat, or marmot)

Monochromatism - complete color blindness in which all colors appear as shades of gray

Mordant - biting and caustic in thought, manner, or style

Offing - the near or foreseeable future

Pareidolia - the tendency to perceive a specific, often meaningful image in a random or ambiguous visual pattern

Riparian - relating to or living or located on the bank of a natural watercourse (such as a river) or sometimes of a lake or a tidewater

Sirocco - a hot desert wind that blows northward from the Sahara toward the Mediterranean coast of Europe; more broadly, it is used for any kind of hot, oppressive wind

Squall - describes a sudden violent wind often accompanied by rain or snow

Stereognosis - ability to perceive or the perception of material qualities (such as shape) of an object by handling or lifting it; tactile recognition

Struthious - of or relating to the ostriches and related birds; and more specifically, ignoring something that needs attention

Susurrous - full of whispering sounds

Synastry - concurrence of starry position or influence upon two persons; similarity of condition or fortune prefigured by astrology

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or send me a link. I would love to read them!

More: Lists of Beautiful Words ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

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herpsandbirds · 1 year ago

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SPECIAL HIBERNATION CUDDLE BUDDIES!!!

Prairie Rattlesnake (Crotalus viridis), family Viperidae, VENOMOUS, and Wandering Garter Snakes (Thamophis elegans vagrans), family Colubridae, basking outside a communal hibernaculum, Colorado, USA

It is not uncommon for both rattlesnakes and garter snakes to use communal overwintering dens/hibernacululae, often sharing the site with other species. Other snakes do this as well.

The Wandering Garter is a subspecies of the Western Terrestrial Garter Snake.

photograph by Emily Taylor

#rattlesnake #crotalus #viperidae #venomous #garter snake #thamnophis #colubridae #snake #reptile #herpetology #north america #animals #nature

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technicallyclassyperfection · 1 year ago

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Hibernaculum! On steam.

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ledreca · 7 months ago

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working on a signalis/2001 space odyssey crossover au since im really fixated on 2001aso and enjoy the world and characters of signalis, might dump lore and such here for it eventually but its mainly only hal because I just wanted to draw him as a replika and it spiraled into this lol. . .

special thanks to @fivepebbleseater for helping me design it

insane ramblings below cut, includes 2001 space odyssey and signalis spoilers

HALR aka Halberd or Hal (don't have any real good ideas for what the german in the acronym would stand for yet as I do NOT speak a lick of german) is a replika based off HAL-9000 from 2001aso. I kind of stretched the replika naming standards for this because I couldn't find any good birds or bird names so I just resorted to the first bird I knew starting with H, the hawk or goshawk (sorry talk tuah fans). also he's named after and uses a halberd because it sounds like Hal Bird and im funny like that. halberds are also sick as hell and can counter falke spears which I thought was cool.

purpose-wise he's basically a sigma male merge of LSTR and FKLR units with both of their specialities combined, i.e. the ship maintenance skills and "stoicism" of LSTRs and the combat prowess and Bioresonance of FKLRs. He does pretty much everything HAL9000 does in 2001aso, like controlling the entire Discovery and maintaining navigation and the hibernaculums while engaging with the crew (or just Dave lol). my reasoning for his deployment over another LSTR unit, besides just being an upgraded and more capable variant, is due to his strong biores and use as protection.

in an earlier period of the world (I'm not too confident on the timeline in tandem with the actual game including the whole ariane dream situation so like. Alternate Universe Split Timeline or whatever) the Nation ends up being the first to secretly dig up the Tycho Monolith and trace the emanating signal to a far off planetary system. this prompts the designing of a replika that can handle both prolonged space expeditions and any potential conflict it may encounter in a first-contact mission with alien lifeforms. as far as the public and Hal's crew on the Discovery are aware, he really is simply just an upgraded high-end alternative to LSTRs. they're a big scary corporation of course they wouldn't want people including the literal pilots and scientists to know they're looking for aliens lol.

ALSO, he utilizes biores to basically form the same connection and hold to the ship as HAL9000 does in the form of a sort of halo or "crown" of flashing cords that trail behind him, connecting to his back and upper arms and flickering in and out of existence like half tangible processor threads. modified HAL terminals on the discovery walls act as anchor points for him to connect to and fully immerse himself in the workings of the ship, this makes his crown spread farther and fully tangible (I hemmed and hawed with my friends about the colors they'd be because gold wouldn't really make sense so I just ended up using technical difficulties aka my pride flag). he can also manifest his cool trusty red halberd as means of protecting his crew, though he will of course take great pains to keep peace among other lifeforms.

I think thats about all I've got so far, uhh some quick facts: he's 8 feet tall, 245cm, could probably beat falke in a fight, anchoring stabilizes his persona and singing and flowers degrade it (had to shoehorn in daisies somehow), his pixel logo is based off the USAA logo from the space odyssey film jumpsuits, he/its pronouns, and he and dave WILL be kissing. android sesbian lex and robot say gex solidarity 🤝

I will prob be posting more fanart later as it comes idk I draw slow

#2001 a space odyssey #signalis #halberd9000 au #replika #2001 aso #hal 9000 #dave bowman #halman #signalis oc #sorry in advance

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book--brackets · 8 months ago

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Summaries under the cut

I Survived by Lauren Tarshis

Ten-year-old George Calder can't believe his luck -- he and his little sister, Phoebe, are on the famous Titanic, crossing the ocean with their Aunt Daisy. The ship is full of exciting places to explore, but when George ventures into the first class storage cabin, a terrible boom shakes the entire boat. Suddenly, water is everywhere, and George's life changes forever.

The Mother-Daughter Book Club by Heather Vogel Frederick

The book club

is about to get

a makeover....

Even if Megan would rather be at the mall, Cassidy is late for hockey practice, Emma's already read every book in existence, and Jess is missing her mother too much to care, the new book club is scheduled to meet every month.

But what begins as a mom-imposed ritual of reading Little Women soon helps four unlikely friends navigate the drama of middle school. From stolen journals, to secret crushes, to a fashion-fiasco first dance, the girls are up to their Wellie boots in drama. They can't help but wonder: What would Jo March do?

Silverwing by Kenneth Oppel

Shade is a young Silverwing bat, the runt of his colony. But he's determined to prove himself on the long, dangerous winter migration to Hibernaculum, millions of wingbeats to the south. During a fierce storm, he loses the others and soon faces the most incredible journey of his young life. Desperately searching for a way to rejoin his flock, Shade meets a remarkable cast of characters: Marina, a Brightwing bat with a strange metal band on her leg; Zephyr, a mystical albino bat with a strange gift; and Goth, a gigantic carnivorous vampire bat. But which ones are friends and which ones are enemies? In this epic story of adventure and suspense, Shade is going to need all the help he can find -- if he hopes to ever see his family again.

The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles by Julie Andrews Edwards

The Whangdoodle was once the wisest, the kindest, and the most extraordinary creature in the world. Then he disappeared and created a wonderful land for himself and all the other remarkable animals—the ten-legged Sidewinders, the little furry Flukes, the friendly Whiffle Bird, and the treacherous, "oily" Prock. It was an almost perfect place where the last of the really great Whangdoodles could rule his kingdom with "peace, love and a sense of fun"—apart from and forgotten by people. But not completely forgotten. Professor Savant believed in the Whangdoodle. And when he told the three Potter children of his search for the spectacular creature, Lindy, Tom, and Ben were eager to reach Whangdoodleland. With the Professor's help, they discovered the secret way. But waiting for them was the scheming Prock, who would use almost any means to keep them away from his beloved king. Only by skill and determination were the four travelers able to discover the last of the really great Whangdoodles and grant him his heart's desire.

The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge

In 1842, thirteen-year-old orphan Maria Merryweather arrives at Moonacre Manor, her family's ancestral home in an charmed village in England's West Country, and she feels as if she’s entered Paradise. Her new guardian, her uncle Sir Benjamin, is kind and funny; the Manor itself feels like home right away; and every person and animal she meets is like an old friend. But there is something incredibly sad beneath all of this beauty and comfort, that shadowing Moonacre Manor and the town around it. Maria is determined to learn about it, change it, and give her own life story a happy ending.

The enchanted valley of Moonacre is shadowed by a tragedy that happened years ago, and the memory of the Moon Princess and the mysterious little white horse. Determined to restore peace and happiness to the whole of Moonacre Valley, Maria finds herself involved with an ancient feud, and she discovers it is her destiny to end it and right the wrongs of her ancestors. Maria usually gets her own way. But what can one solitary girl do?

Chasing Redbird by Sharon Creech

To Zinny Taylor, life is like trying to untangle spaghetti—she needs to escape the chaos of her family. So when she finds a long-forgotten trail in the wild woods near her home, she resolves to follow it. It's a journey that leads her to unravel the dark secrets of her aunt's life—and her own. And while Zinny chases ghosts in the woods, gorgeous Jake Boone is determined to chase her...

Mandy by Julie Andrews Edwards

The magic of finding a home Mandy, a ten-year-old orphan, dreams of a place to call her own. Escaping over the orphanage wall to explore the outside world, Mandy discovers a tiny deserted cottage in the woods. All through the spring, summer, and fall, Mandy works to make it truly hers. Sometimes she "borrows" things she needs from the orphanage. Sometimes, to guard her secret, she even lies. Then, one stormy night at the cottage, Mandy gets sick, and no one knows how to find her--except a special friend she didn't know she had.

I Funny by James Patterson

Jamie Grimm is a middle schooler on a mission: he wants to become the world's greatest standup comedian--even if he doesn't have a lot to laugh about these days. He's new in town and stuck living with his aunt, uncle, and their evil son Stevie, a bully who doesn't let Jamie's wheelchair stop him from messing with Jamie as much as possible. But Jamie doesn't let his situation get him down. When his Uncle Frankie mentions a contest called The Planet's Funniest Kid Comic, Jamie knows he has to enter. But are the judges only rewarding him out of pity because of his wheelchair, like Stevie suggests? Will Jamie ever share the secret of his troubled past instead of hiding behind his comedy act?

The Wanderer by Sharon Creech

The sea, the sea, the sea. It rolled and rolled and called to me. Come in, it said, come in. Sophie hears the sea calling, promising adventure as she sets sail for England with her three uncles and two cousins. Sophie's cousin Cody isn't sure he has the strength to prove himself to the crew and to his father. Through Sophie's and Cody's travel logs, we hear stories of the past and the daily challenges of surviving at sea as The Wanderer sails toward its destination—and its passengers search for their places in the world.

Best Friends by Judy Blume

Rachel is Stephanie's best friend. Since second grade, they've shared secrets, good and bad. Now in seventh grade, Alison moves into the neighborhood. Stephanie hopes all three of them can be best friends, because Stephanie really likes Alison. But it looks as if it's going to be a case of two's company and three's a crowd. Can the girls' friendship be saved?

#best childhood book #poll #i survived #the mother daughter book club #silverwing #the last of the really great whangdoodles #the little white horse #chasing redbird #mandy #i funny #the wanderer #best friends

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spacedimentio · 26 days ago

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Discovery Carousel Floor Plan

Spent several hours making this in MS Paint because I couldn't find any movie-accurate maps. (These maps, while very handy, don't quite match up.) The second pic is the same map, just with the ladder in the middle because it nicely divides the sleeping and work areas and another perspective never hurts.

Things to note:

I didn't pay any particular attention to proportion.

I didn't specifically label most of the consoles because it's not plainly obvious what they're for. I did not miss a chair at the trio of consoles, there isn't one at that console.

One door has to be for the bathroom but idk which one.

Yes there is in fact a piano, it's from a cut scene of Dave playing it and you can still catch glimpses of it. If you've ever noticed that there's a seemingly random stool amongst all the chairs, this is why.

The walls have several other features that I didn't add; the doors, lockers, and large electronic panels stood out the most.

I had no idea there was a sink let alone two. You'd think one sink would be enough but I guess they don't want to share.

I could only identify which hibernaculum is Kimball's, the other two I took an educated and slightly crazed guess on.

If you'd like to read about my descent into madness trying to figure all of this out, open the read more.

This whole thing got started because I was looking for the piano. If you don't know, there's a small scene of Dave playing the piano which was cut. We've got behind the scenes pictures of him practicing with it.

I also knew that you can still barely see it in the movie, so I set about trying to spot it in the jogging scenes, which show off everything in the carousel. It's actually pretty easy to find, as the first thing I noticed is that there's a random stool amongst all of the identical armchairs. It's a piano stool. Bingo, that's where the piano is, you can even see a little corner of it.

So I go through the jogging scenes trying to find if you can see more of it. You can, almost the whole thing.

I then notice that Frank abruptly changes directions between shots, which is an error I'm surprised isn't on IMDb. (I have since added it myself.)

See look, he runs past the two empty pods, the tanning bed on his right, and the hibernation control console on his left. Then in the next shot, the camera changes perspective and he is running past the tanning bed on his...left? and the two empty pods?? Yep, he's running the other direction suddenly. I go hmm and add it to the masterdraft.

I find a reddit post with a nice compilation of Keir Dullea playing the piano. I'm looking for pictures because I'm going through the movie shot by shot while collecting clips to make AMVs, and while I'm at it I'm closely scrutinizing things for fun and dumping all of my random observations, analyses, and trivia knowledge into a very long tumblr post. (This is the aforementioned masterdraft.)

The reddit post is asking what song Keir Dullea is playing, as there's sheet music displayed on a screen in front of the piano. Now I'm also wondering this. The post has no answer so I start digging. All I can find is a tweet claiming it's Mozart's 12 Variations on "Ah, vous dirai-je, maman", but they don't say if they figured it out themselves or anything. I go on /r/classicalmusic to double check. I get confirmation that it is, in fact, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as that guy said. I find this exceedingly funny because 1) space haha and 2) Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is for beginners and Keir Dullea doesn't know how to play piano as far as I can tell (although the version pictured is much harder than the preschool one RIP).

I add the picture to my post and then learn that the piano scene was not something that was removed before release like I thought, but was actually in the movie. As it turns out, 17 entire minutes were cut from the movie shortly after the premiere, and those 17 minutes have been found but not released out of respect for Stanley Kubrick's wishes. I then get thoroughly side tracked for several hours researching the lost scenes, which include some more shots of Frank jogging. This perhaps explains why he abruptly switches direction. I make an account for lostmediawiki specifically to fix their frankly pitiful article and add everything I'd found. I won't get into all the details but you can read it right here where I dumped it all. Look in the history if you don't see anything about a slipper because that means some idiot deleted my hard work.

It's now the next day. Detour over, I continue looking through the jogging shots, moving on to Dave climbing down the ladder and getting his food. I'm now trying to understand the locations of everything, but I can't seem to get a grasp on it. I slow down. I start looking closer. I look at the above pic. I look at the gifs. Something's weird.

The food dispenser is on the wrong side of the table.

Why is the food dispenser on the wrong side of the table.

I desperately scour the footage trying to understand. Why the fuck is the food dispenser on the wrong side of the table. It's supposed to be on the right, Dave is to the right of the table when he gets his food, why does it keep showing up on the left. I keep looking. HAL's console is wrong. He has four screens to each side of his panel, plus four additional screens off to the left. They're on the right. There's a locker that's normally to the left of the console, but it's on the right edge of the picture. Then I realize.

The scene is flipped.

I flip the picture horizontally. Suddenly everything is where it should be, so that's indeed what the problem is. But why did they flip it? What is the purpose? I theorize that maybe it was to try to conceal where everything is in the carousel, to make it feel bigger or more impressive.

I start trying even harder to figure out the layout of the carousel. I consult the maps stuckasmain kindly provided us. The layout of the carousel floor is almost right, but it doesn't match. Guess I have to make my own map.

I open MS Paint.

The first jogging scene is very nice and normal, but has two places where you can't see anything, mainly the back of the ring and the front where the camera is positioned. I draw the sleeping area and leave the work area until after the gap can be filled.

The second scene is flipped as we've discovered. This is annoying to contend with but I manage. There's a problem because I have put the ladder at the end of the drawing and it is now revealing things on the other side of the ladder when I don't know how long the drawing should be. I make some notes instead.

Wait one fucking second. What the fuck is that?

Is that a motherfucking sink? Since when was there a sink???

Yup that's a faucet and a mirror. Makes sense, I've just learned there was supposed to be a shower that didn't make the cut and of course there's gotta be bathroom stuff.

Third shot. Finally, stuff that's next to the hibernaculums I've already put down. I add several things before realizing that this shot is also flipped and I'm sticking stuff in the wrong places. What the hell. Alright, ctrl+z and do it again.

But hold on. Wait just one god damn minute.

Is this the same sink???

I spend at least five minutes being convinced it's the same sink, because the faucet being on the left when it was previously on the right doesn't mean anything when the camera is being so fucky. Also because this is a spaceship and space is a commodity. It would make the most logical sense to have only one sink that the astronauts share, especially considering that in the book Frank and Dave have opposite shifts and only spend meals together.

I look closely at the things around it. There is a set of lockers, a big panel, and a door on opposite walls. The first sink doesn't have these things beside it.

It's a second sink. Well ok. Sure. Why not. Toss it on there.

Fourth shot. This time I check first. It's also flipped. What in the actual fuck. Why are three of the four jogging shots flipped.

I discard my theory as to why they did this. I have no earthly idea. Is it just the camera they used? At this point it seems to be purely to inconvenience me as I try to wrap my head around where things are.

I finish the map and it is time to label things I only put generic placeholder labels for. I still don't know what most of said things are for. The detailed maps are once again inaccurate but they do provide a list of ideas the things could be.

I don't know where the doors go. One is almost certainly for the bathroom but which one? Idk. The other could go either to the flywheel or the scrapped shower.

What about the big panels? One is theoretically the Water Waste Recycling Control Panel, which is mysteriously not beside the Water Waste Recycling Control Console in the detailed maps where you would think it would go. No idea about the other panel. Ship-wide life support readings maybe.

The lockers are probably for clothes but the detailed maps insist that one set is actually breaker panels. Idk why you would make your lockers and your breaker panels look the same; imagine being half asleep and trying to get out some socks only to accidentally turn off all the computers. There's also an individual locker beside the breaker panels that's labeled as a space suit locker, which doesn't make sense at first considering those are hanging in the pod bay but it might be for emergencies. (There is an emergency oxygen closet with a spare spacesuit in the book.) There are a lot of things that look like they could be for storage scattered all over the place. I make no attempt to add them to the diagram.

There are 7 consoles total and I have no idea what most of them are for. Obviously the big one has HAL and is the command and communications console. The singular console by the hibernaculums is the main hibernaculum control console. One is the piano. The other four have no visual indications and are never used during the movie. They could be: Reactor Monitoring/Life Support, Climate Control Station, Radar Mapping Control Console, Remote Probe Control Station (they do shoot off some probes in the book), Surveillance and Detection Station, Atomic Engine Control, and Science Station.

Alright well I guess those won't get specific labels. But what about the hibernaculums? The trouble begins again.

I scour the movie for help identifying which hibernaculum belongs to whom. Dave and Frank's are easy, I think. Frank's is the one on the double pod side and Dave's is the one on the single side.

Wrong.

Why wrong.

This is why wrong.

Frank's getting a tan and watching a video message from his parents wishing him a happy birthday. The bed above him is empty. I don't know why they made him a cake he can't have. I bet he wants cake real bad now. I've also just this second as I'm typing this noticed the microscopes. Idk why you would put those beside the tanning bed and not at one of the work stations. For the close-up ig.

Next two shots.

Ok well I guess he's gone to bed. Next shot then.

HUH??? Why did they cut it like this? Is this a time skip? Is it the next day? Did Frank have two birthdays? Is he rewatching it? What is happening.

The birthday message continues uninterrupted. You get a very close view of his nipple at one point. I am once again reminded of the essay about Frank's homoerotic shorts.

Alright well that cleared up nothing. Let's consult the scene where Dave is standing there sketching the hibernaculums, because I know for a fact that Frank is seen sleeping in that shot.

...Did I mention I'm bad with faces? I label the two hibernaculums appropriately. Now let's see who the other three belong to.

I look. I look some more. There's nothing.

Every close-up is too close to tell which hibernaculum it is and every shot where you can tell you can't see what name is on it. The only names you see up close are Kimball's and Kaminsky's, and they both have two initials on the end so you can't pick it out based on the general shape of the text. Half the time you can only see the end of the name because there's a big fat line of reflected light that blocks out the rest of it aka the bane of my existence. I'm terrible at faces so that's no help either.

Eventually I find this shot during the interview.

This is the only shot that contains both a name and a piece of the surrounding environment. That bit of white thing in the top right corner is the foot of the other hibernaculum in the double pod. Finally, I can tell which one I'm looking at.

But the name is so blurry. I once again turn to MS Paint to save me. God bless MS Paint.

It's hard to tell, but it looks more like J.R. than V.F and nothing like a C for Charles. It's a little easier to make out on the full shot above. Satisfied, I summarily slap Kimball's name on the left double hibernaculum. What about the other two?

Zip. Zilch. Nada.

But then, a light

There's a bit of yellow lighting near the single. It's unclear if this is shining on the actual hibernaculum where you would be able to see it in a close-up, so I keep looking. I have reached Charlie Day Conspiracy Board levels of desperate. I still don't find anything else so I start searching for more of the yellow light. It's never on the double, only the single, but is it possible for it to be seen on the face area? If it can't, then it tells me nothing.

...Good enough! I conclude this is Charles Hunter and the right double must be Victor Kaminsky.

How can I conclude this? Well, there isn't any yellow lighting or reflections on any of the close-ups. The only close-ups we see are for Kimball and Kaminsky. Process of elimination. It's not exactly concrete evidence but it's literally the only thing I could find. Ultimately, who is where doesn't matter all that much.

I wonder why there was no close-up of Charles Hunter which might have made this easier. After all, why would they show Kimball twice during the life functions terminated scene? I remember that the three doctors used to be Victor Kaminsky, Jack Kimball, and Peter Whitehead, and that those are still the names used in the book. I become willing to bet that there is no close-up of Charles Hunter because it still says Peter Whitehead on the pod. I have no evidence supporting this.

I nod my head sagely at my theory and complete my map. I come to consciously understand that there are actually two distinct areas, the area with all the hibernaculums, and the area with all the work stations. I make a second version of the map with the ladder in the middle because it neatly sections off these areas. I add my map to the detailed maps post, then come make this individual post so people can see it in the tag. I proceed to get unhinged in the read more, which is just something that the Space Odyssey series does to me and which I've learned to accept. Such is hyperfixation.

The worst part of all of this is that I'm still not done looking for the piano.

#2001 a space odyssey #2001 aso #reference material #maps #dave bowman #keir dullea #frank poole #gary lockwood #ngl i got unhinged about my research in the read more #come for the information stay for the journey #image id in alt text

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