#sketchy stormie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aylish91 · 1 year

Note

You! You beautiful, creative, amazing person! It's your fault I got back into the fandom and now I'm hyperfocused on Leviathan!Tale, again! (No but seriously your works are amazing and you should be proud of yourself!)

I have a request for Leviathan!Tale, (if you have the time) when did the reader join the shiver? And how? Were they wondering alone? Maybe almost killed off for being different? How did the others react to reader joining? Were they scared and refused to eat unless Nightmare or Dream was near?

Hello beautiful Anon! I deeply apologize for how long this has taken me to get to. I have kept it and hoarded it like a dragon with its precious treasure. It has brought me such great joy every time I reread it.

I have made this for you, dear friend. I hope you are still with us undertale folk, and thank you! May you find answers within these chapters!

For those looking for the new/fresh chapter:

or below

~~~

New awakenings

Ugh.

You did not feel quite right. Your body was heavy and ached like you were coming down from a fever, lungs and throat burning and agitated. Guess it serves you right for going out on such a stormy night. Shrine Rock was sketchy to traverse on the best of nights, what possessed you into thinking you could do it with no moon and turbulent seas?

Uuuugh. You could be extremely reckless sometimes, but at least you were alive. A bit worse for wear, but alive.

Shifting, you contemplated opening your eyes. Despite your condition, you were starving and needed to get up and ready. It would be the last morning in your childhood home on the island and you had to get to the ferry by nine if you were going to make the bus into the city. You could tell by the muted bickering of your neighbors that it was already far past time you should have woken.

Groaning, you rolled to reach for your phone, blanket tangling around your legs uncomfortably. Shifting again, you weren’t expecting your bed to move or something else to wrap around you. Eyes snapping open, a frightened gasp left you breathless.

You weren’t in a bed at all. You weren’t even in your house. Wrapped around you were absolutely massive tentacles boxing and encasing you within their mass. They were a deep black, hints of bioluminescence giving them an iridescent sheen.

Warm.

Alive.

R e a l.

You would have thought you were in some sort of dream if you couldn’t physically feel every panicked movement. It made you roll and squirm, trying to bring your legs up to brace yourself against them. It also made you realize why the blanket had been so uncomfortable.

There was no blanket. And there were no legs…

In place of your legs were a mass of bunched and tangled tentacles, much like the giant ones surrounding you. They were curled up close to your center, winding amongst themselves. Out of reflex, you pushed away from them, only to have them unfurl and chaotically flail around. It was uncanny how you could feel each individual limb as they whipped around.

Then, everything tumbled and moved, the larger tentacles sliding away to open to the outside. There was a drastic drop in temperature as water flowed around you. Your breath hitched. Hunching into yourself, you frantically looked around.

To your horror, an animated skeleton seemed to climb or slide over the top of one of the tentacles, black trailing down from its sockets with a shark’s lower body. The connection of bone and body was seamless from the lower ribs down, some sort of glowing energy in the shape of a target above its bony chest.

You couldn’t move as it spoke.

“Finally! Would ya look at that. You made a little you boss.” It swam closer. “How interesting.”

Another, larger, voice vibrated the water. “Killer—"

To say you had a bit of an overreaction was an understatement. Adrenalin swamped your systems when the creature came forward with an outstretched clawed hand. Crying out, your first reaction was to kick it away. However, without legs to kick, your tentacles were the things that lashed out.

Two smashed into the face of its skull as a third and fourth wrapped around their arm. Startled, the creature jerked backward with a yelp, pulling you further into the open. Your limbs tightened, the rest flailing and grabbing anything they could reach. In the end, you grappled both of its arms and the majority of its torso.

You both made undignified panicked noises as tentacles and fins thrashed about, each of you doing your best to simultaneously free yourself while attempting to maintain some sort of hold on the other. The glowing target pulsing above his sternum continued to glow brighter and more erratic. One of your tentacles almost made contact with it but the creature managed to grab the appendage with a desperate snarl before it could.

“Boss! Nightmare!” A different tentacle found an opening around an upper rib causing a choked gasp. “A little help!!?”

You were so preoccupied unwillingly wrestling that you missed the laughter building around you. It took the rising rumbling chuckle vibrating the water again before you noticed it all.

Why was it so familiar…

Water swirled around you before large dark skeletal hands gently took hold of you, slowly removing your offending appendages from their target. “Calm yourself little fish. Do not fear. You are safe here among my own.”

You stilled, eyes wide.

The great Guardian Nightmare, thought to have been nothing more than a dream, held you in his hand, his fabled servants hovering not too far past the edges of his great limbs.

His shiver of loyal sharks.

Skeletal Mer sharks…

All the stories and warnings your grandmother had ever told you swarmed your mind. Everything simultaneously made sense and didn’t. You had heard many stories of the guardians saving wayward travelers and those loyal to them. But you were regular old you.

Had you really been judged and chosen?

…

Your thoughts were interrupted by a skeletal mer with shimmering golden fins and eyelights appearing over Nightmare’s shoulder, their subtle glow stunning you into stillness.

Their voice was as soft and smooth as you had once imagined…

“We’re glad you are finally awake. We were beginning to worry.” Gliding closer, he smiled, just close enough to be friendly. “I’m Dream. It is lovely to finally meet face to face. Nightmare was quite quick to hide you away.” His eyelights brightened with a sly look back. “My brother seemed to think you were quite agreeable.”

The giant hand you were in pulled away, another coming to shield you from view. “Brother. Perhaps you could be more useful and take the others to fetch some nourishment. Their sleep has been unexpectedly long.”

Circling your living barrier, Dream chuckled, playfully twirling his body as he went. “Of course. This is quite the occasion. If I must, I will keep the others busy while you get them comfortable.” Flicking his tail, he slipped past the shiver to call over his shoulder. “Come along then. We wouldn’t want anyone else spooking them and ending up like Killer.”

The circling mer erupted in laughter once again, the mer from before giving an indignant squawk as he darted after the mischievous guardian. It wasn’t long before the sound of their teasing banter faded into the distance.

The tension in your shoulders and… limbs eased, your fears fading away. Settling into the palm, you idly wrapped around the large bony fingers as you processed. Despite how far down you seemed to be, the world seemed clear and bright. Sunken ships of various ages littered the open expanse around you, your host casually sprawled atop an old wooden vessel elevated atop a rocky platform.

You knew beyond shrine rock was referred to as the depths, but still. How had something like this never been discovered? None of this felt real. You didn’t feel real, but the subtle twitch of tentacles and the feel of the cool water around you kept you grounded.

Your Grandmother’s stories didn’t do any of this justice.

You took a breath and looked up when you felt everything shift, Nightmare’s low calming voice bringing you back to him. “You must be full of questions. It is not very often a mortal finds themselves within our realm.”

You did have a lot of questions, but they all swirled and meshed together until they stuck in your throat. What was appropriate to ask? How should you address such a being? What did he expect of you?

Looking into the dark skeleton’s singular eyelight, A sense of calm overtook you. You had already talked with him before. There was no need to be so afraid. No questions had been wrong and there was no proper way to speak with him. Simply being yourself had been enough.

He had been so curious, kind, and alluring…

Regaining your courage, you attempted your voice. It cracked and burned, but you managed. “I had thought all of this was a dream, but… If this is true, I offered you my… Shouldn’t I be…”

He hummed, socket lidding. “Dead? Indeed. But I did warn you. When you offered me your soul, I took it for myself. You live, because I breathed life back into it.”

You could feel the sting around your eyes. “Why?”

“You intrigue me. It is rare to find someone such as yourself and you had already proved your loyalty. Sometimes, for a being like me, that is all that is needed.”

You mulled that over as you fought your emotions. “You are a Guardian. A king of the deep abyss. You chose to save me, grant me one of your gifts, because I was Interesting?”

That same deep chuckle vibrated the water, his body moving to lean against the mast. “In a way, little fish, yes.” He paused, grin turning solemn. “As I said that night beneath my raging storms. I am a greedy and selfish creature. I found you upon that rock, worshiping a being you had never seen and who had been silent for a great many years. You were not angry or pleading when you witnessed my approach. You did not beg or demand anything of me. We spoke cordially, as if we were equals. And when I then offered you my most coveted of gifts, you instead offered me that which was most sacred of yourself.” Tilting his head, he delicately ran a clawed bony finger under and along a few of your tentacles. “For that, you have earned my favor. Whether from my own greed or your appealing nature, it matters not. I have already claimed you as my own.”

Just like the night you died, you found yourself in utter awe of him, a warmth spreading through your chest from his admission. You couldn’t help redirecting away from yourself and your bubbling mix of feelings.

With a shaky chuckle of your own, you playfully looked up. “You might regret this later, you know. Look at me, I don’t even know how to tentacle properly.” As if by fate, one immediately jerked back to smack you in the face, making you grunt and quickly shove it back down.

The Guardian, much to your embarrassment, did a good job holding back a laugh, only letting out a quick rush of air… water?... before hiding behind an amused smile. “You will learn in time. You are still young and new. A pup does not learn everything in a single day.” He turned his head. “Isn’t that right, Cross?”

Your entire body twitched when you followed his gaze. A skeletal shark mer with one red and one white eyelight hovered a little away from the mass of Nightmare’s tentacles. The thing that struck you the most, however, was the jacket and belts he wore despite being underwater. The jacket was black and white with a fine amount of floof around the edges while two belts criss-crossed on what would have been his waist. The next thing that got your attention was his tail. Purplish in hue, it darkened around the tips of his fins and reminded you of a thresher shark’s tail. It especially gave you that impression when compared to the first mer, Killer’s, mako-esk body. When he looked up in greeting, there was a small scar beneath his right socket.

He looked uncomfortable, sending subtle glances your way as he fidgeted with something in his hands. “Um, yeah...” There was an awkward silence until he coughed. “I uh… Dream sent me back with something light while he helps the others. They went topside closer to the reef.” He held out a small mesh bag with what looked to be two crabs moving about inside.

Nightmare sighed. “I see. Let us take it elsewhere then.”

You had to brace yourself when everything around you began to move. Bringing you near his chest, Nightmare slipped down from the ship towards the bottom of the rockface. Once there, he ever so gently extracted you from his palm and fingers to set you down amongst a soft pile of seaweed and sand. Backing away, you watched in awe as he maneuvered the bottom half of his body into the curved opening of a cave. Even though it wasn’t very deep, it was enough to get his tentacles snugly within. It allowed for a better position next to your resting place more at your level. While you watched, Cross hesitantly swam down to join you, staying closer to Nightmare’s elbows a safe distance away. He didn’t relax until the Guardian had settled.

Loose sand clouded the water where the leviathan lay. “There. Now, if you would Cross.”

The mer scrunched into his jacket, looking anywhere but at you. “Yes sir.” Ever so carefully, he swam close enough to hand you the bag. “It’s not much considering, but they still taste good.”

…

Yep. Live crabs. You now had a big bag of crabs, and it wasn’t even market day. You suppose you were going to have to put them in your mouth.

Heh… Focus.

You had never eaten a crab raw before and they were still moving. Would the meat come out the same if it wasn’t cooked? Were you still susceptible to seafood poisoning now that you weren’t technically human? You were starting to get nervous.

Just staring…

Cross didn’t know what to do with that, becoming visibly more distressed. “I mean, I could go get urchins or oysters or something?”

You felt just as awkward. “No, no. This is fine. I mean, the other two things sound wonderful too, but I can just… Uh… I’ve never eaten it raw before? And they are still alive so… Um…”

You were floundering.

Nightmare chuckled when understanding dawned on Cross’ face. “Oh. Yeah. I forget humans like to cook their food.” Your tentacles curled when he came forward again, this time getting close enough to reach inside the bag. “They should be fine to eat. None of us have any problems. Here.”

Taking one of the crabs, he turned it over before jabbing the underbelly down the center with a crack. With it now limp, he grabbed all the legs on one side, pulling the entire chunk away from its body to hand to you. You tried not to grimace.

You had seen the fisherman at the docks and market do something similar (although either with a sharp knife, pick, or bang) so you weren’t surprised. But it was still raw, and he made killing it with his fingers seem so easy.

Cross was watching with such hopeful attentiveness now though. Quietly thanking him, you gave him a gentle, yet uneasy, smile and did your best to separate meat from the base portion connecting the legs. Using your newfound sharpened nails, you were able to get some just fine, and the smell was actually quite nice.

You still hesitated.

“Go on, little fish. You need it. Others before you have questioned. They too found their way. You will find your taste in food has changed alongside you.”

You couldn’t really argue with that. He was an ancient being after all who had undoubtedly gone through this with countless others. You wondered if Cross was one of them.

Nodding, you took a breath and made the plunge. It was startling how different it tasted compared to when it was cooked. Or when you had been human? It was good! Better than plain, although, you wished you were able to dip it in butter. Your stomach was at least ready to accept more if nothing else. The single taste was not enough.

You were suddenly aware of just how empty your stomach was, quickly digging, mashing, and pulling more from your meal. Cross graciously passed over the other half during your ravenous display, taking the time to prepare the second crab for you as you ate. You were so focused on eating at the time, you almost didn’t catch the dopey grin spread across his face as he watched. Nightmare grinned down from the palm of his hand. Your mind was too overcome by the frenzy to care.

They were kind enough not to mention it.

By the time you had finished, your stomach thanked you. However, you were far from satiated and your body still ached.

You sighed.

Tidying up your mess for Cross, you quietly thanked him when he took it and swam off to dispose of it. Nightmare looked on, eyelight sharp and focused.

Feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable, you sank into yourself and took a tentacle in your hands. If you focused on it instead, perhaps you wouldn’t feel so much. There were a few things you were curious enough to ask about too…

“You are in pain.” One of Nightmare's bony fingers startled you as it brushed against your limbs. Unconsciously, you willed one of them to wrap around it for comfort.

You had to look away. Cross was in the distance heading upward and towards something.

“Y/N.”

Something in you shivered at your name, but you never got the chance to answer him. A shout along with other voices announced the return of the others, Killer making a particularly quick approach. Circling the patch of seaweed, he smirked at your flinch.

“Wooow. Movin pretty quick Boss. Only the first day and ya already got em—”

You didn’t know tentacles could move that fast. One moment Killer was circling above, the next he was wrapped up tight enough to clamp his jaw shut. Nightmare was no longer as relaxed, spilling out of the cave enough to effectively sit among his agitated limbs, a couple looping around your little area.

“That is enough teasing for the day. Behave yourself. I am hardly in the mood.”

Killer didn’t seem affected by his predicament in the slightest, nodding with a muffled reply. As soon as he was released, he let himself sink to the ground with a wink. Dream, Cross, along with two others soon joined him with their spoils.

You ignored the pain and the suspicious eye of Nightmare in favor of looking over your new companions. Everything was strange and new. Only time could tell what was ahead of you.

You only hoped you were worthy of it.

Grand Master Post Leviathan Au

#my writing #ask #special thanks #undertale #leviathantale #nightmare sans #nightmare x reader #dream sans #killer sans #dust sans #horror sans #horrortale sans #x reader #mer reader #mermaids #sirens #undertale fanfiction #guardians of the deep

138 notes · View notes

doodleferp · 1 year

Text

Couple sketchies of Cryptid Vash! He lives all alone in a giant cave deep in the woods, and he’s been fascinated by humans since he was a teeny tiny. One stormy night, he saved Ari from being washed away in a strong storm, and he thinks she’s so super cute that he starts trying to court her.

Unfortunately, this means that Ari can no longer leave his cave. Oh, well. He’ll wow her so hard with his ability to care for her that she’ll HAVE to see he’s the perfect mate for her.

EDIT: There’s a fanfic now!!! Read it here!

38 notes · View notes

magixfairyix · 2 months

Text

Memes Based on my Dreams (most are Winx Club cause that’s what’s in my brain 24/7)

Context: Prison is supposed to be person. Got taken hostage in a mall by a random person and was trying to stop gay panicking. So help me.

—

Context: And this happened twice. Was being sacrificed to revive the Ancestral Witches (aka my brain placing me in the role of my oc) by the Trix and I just find it fucking hilarious that I’ve been attempted sacrificed twice.

—

Context: Yes I got injected with poison in my neck by Darcy, only because my dream self didn’t think to run. She has shit priorities.

—

Context: I was in a weird camp. They were clearly sketchy (and they ended up being sketchy) so I decided to summon the characters that have tried to get rid of me me multiple times in my dreams to help.

I mean it worked. Darcy and Stormy showed up. Icy didn’t though. How dare she.

—

Me half the time in my dreams: I am in trouble

Me, to the Trix: GET YOUR ASSES HERE!

—

Literally though even last night I was being stalked by a weird group who killed my children (something I don’t have, but anyway) and I was wandering through a field to get to some fancy hills cause “oh that seems like somewhere the Trix would be.”

#dreams #shitpost #dream memes

5 notes · View notes

primaviva · 7 months

Note

"this is just like that artist that tried to reap the benefits of those fighting to free congo by releasing a horrible song she wanted to get streams by people who thought all the money she made would go to donations for humanitarian aid but instead she stayed silent."

Hi!! I saw this in your reblog and were you referring to the song that's like "I feel like you're abusing me"?

YES!!! there’s always something so sketchy about how she goes about it because i at first did support the song but then people began to ask questions and she showed over cropped screenshots as proof and was overall not someone i really trusted to uphold the promise of donating. that doesn’t have much to do with palestine but it was an example of how people always take advantage of others suffering because even if she donated or not you can still state in the end she benefitted more than those being abused in congo by having a spike in her indie artistry. i believe she had good intentions because she did actually make posts and raise awareness on the issue and provided links but then people came out saying she wasn’t even from congo and then the messy business with the song its just… i was not about to be a detective just to see who i should support

tbh i feel a better example is baby stormy who already has a problematic music history like the graveyard video shoot but beside that she also made a very broad song she states is about genocides and injustices happening around and put the congo, palestine, and other nations struggling which is absurd cus if you saw the music video you would know why… it honestly seemed like a cash grab to appear as an advocate and i don’t doubt she had bad intentions as well but it comes across as insensitive because it’s not really her place to make a creative statement through music such as that about issues that don’t apply to her (i mostly say this about palestine and the others she included).

but the BEST person to serve as an example that i actually no for a fact is more shitty than a dog park is that one comedian girl that was a very big advocate at the start of the palestine awareness 😭😭😭😭 i don’t know her name but she made those filters and claimed she got no money from them again and again and it came out that she was actually extremely racist and has a history of employing social justice movements to her account to get money from false advocacy. just the racism alone is contrasting to the character she presented when discussing the horrors palestinians go through for no reason BUT SHE HAD A HISTORY OF SCAMMING LIKE ???? i just donate on my own accord and sign action letters as well as other things.

#👑 — dalia’s speaks!

7 notes · View notes

dollarbin · 6 months

Text

Shakey Sundays #14:

Stills-Young Band's Long May You Run

I've gone all soft on Stephen Stills of late. After seven straight months and 50+ posts spent excoriating Neil Young's nemesis/buddy/paste-eating boyband classmate I've given Stills a break in March. He had no business interrupting my vital appreciations of Karl Wallinger, Kris Kristofferson and Sandy Denny. There was barely room for him in my far less vital ruminations on Neil Young's Life or Peace Trail.

But your play time is over young Stephen. It's time to pack away your blocks, crayons and wah wah peddle and face my puritanical, yet objective, judgment regarding a core phase in your suckiness: that's right, it's time for me to actually listen to all of Long May You Run.

It took me a few years to find this relatively common-place Dollar Bin record way back when in the 90's. That's because all my usual haunts dumped their fairly worthless copies of Long May You Run in the never-of-any-interest-to-anyone-with-a-decent-sense-of-ethics-and-self-respect Stills, Stephen section instead of in Young, Neil.

But I knew the album's title track from Decade and from what remains my most prized Neil Young record: a bootleg copy of his 74 Honey Slides Bottom Line Show (note: the bootleg is better than Neil's recent official release of the show in that every rambling, humble word and harmonica fumble remains intact). That bootleg was so expensive at a very sketchy shop on the Santa Monica Promenade (the place also sold Star Wars ephemera and water pipes) that I convinced three of my buddies to chip in $5 each in exchange for my commitment to have it transferred to tape for each of them post haste.

Every moment of the show is rich and fulsome, including the premier of the song Long May You Run, which Neil introduces as a song he wrote for his new bus because he can no longer deal with flying airplanes, a detail that goes a long way to understanding the concept behind one of his most complicated records, Landing on Water.

youtube

And so I am still never prepared to hear the original album mix of this song. Young ditched not just Zuma-era Crazy Horse but also his savant producer David Briggs to make the entire coked-up record; out of an equal mix of savvy and bitterness Briggs then remixed Stephen Stills almost entirely out of the song on Decade. He also chucked the most Briggs-like event in that original version, a what-the-hell-just-include-it errant harmonica blast before the song gets started. "No sloppy sounds are allowed, Neil" Briggs boomed from his captain's chair. "Not unless I'm around to approve them!"

youtube

The song is a Young classic, sure, but it's never been one of my favorites. Too pretty; too earnest. Yes, the verses include a good sex joke (we found things to do in stormy weather) and some juicy Beach Boys non sequitors, but Young is too wasted to land his own jokes.

Neil has a dozen or more different ways to sing while wasted. There's his terrific tequila stagger (just about everything on Tonight's the Night), the terrifying "someone, please someone, pull me out of my dumpster of sorrow" vibe on songs like Pardon my Heart and Borrowed Tune, not to mention his, "Hey, everybody look! I'm so high I'm a flapping penguin" vocals on Vampire Blues or Cripple Creek Ferry.

I could go on; Neil is a connoisseur of making art while altered. The only time Neil sounds unappealingly stoned is whenever Stills's percussionist/vocalist/dealer Joe Lala is around, cutting lines of coke for everyone on his handheld mirrors. Here are Lala and Young together during his Trans tour. Neil is inquiring where he went wrong; Lala is indicating that it all goes back to hiring him to play bongos.

Throughout Long May You Run, it sounds like Neil keeps catching glimpses of himself in Lala's chop glass, and every time Stills and Joe are there grinning over both his shoulders; you can hear the dull, self-loathing result in Long May You Run's vocals.

The same thing happens, only worse, on Young's potentially best song on the record, Let It Shine. I first came to the song via driving and soaring cuts from 76 Japan bootlegs (catch my details on that vital tour here).

youtube

But on the record Young sings Let It Shine with self-hatred and a layer of very unattractive menace. There's nothing funny here; it's just ugly. And the guitars sound like they too are supplied from Joe Lala's terrible stash.

I've never done cocaine. The reasons are many: too scary, too expensive, too many lives ruined by the drug trade, and did I mention, too scary? But I've never really needed to think twice about the drug because I've heard this song once a year, or so, for the past 25+ years. If this is what coke does, I want nothing to do with it.

youtube

Neil shakes all this weighty failure off a few times on the record. He sounds appealing silly on Ocean Girl, helps the band make a Bee Gees audition tape on Midnight on the Bay (Joe Freakin' Lala passed the test; I imagine Stayin' Alive is the best song he ever performed on) and earnestly asks us about some complex nonsense on the Florida-based, wave riding precursor to Surfer Joe and Moe the Sleaze, Fountainbleau.

youtube

For the record: I do not know who put the palm over your blond, Neil. Nor do I know who's been moving everything to where it last was seen. But I do know that Joe Freakin' Lala does everything he can to wreck this otherwise groovy track with his terrible, whoops-I-dropped-my-bong-on-my-bongos-again percussion.

I only play this record when I've got the chance to sit beside the turntable. That's because there are four Stephen Stills tracks littering up the mix, each of them unlistenable. But I will now make myself listen to them anyway.

Here goes:

Make Love to You is ugly terror. Stills thinks he's Ray Manzarek meets Neil Diamond. He gathers the band around him to buff and polish both his nails and his lizard skin pants. The song was recorded 48 years ago but the "girl" in question is probably still in hiding after hearing Stephen the bar crawling man monster bust out his bluesiest warble to announce that he wanted to make love to her and that it was gonna take all night.

There's a flute driven bridge planted in the middle of this harrowing track like a Trump Flag at a pro wrestling event; someone get me the hell out of here before Stills wants to make love to me too.

youtube

Black Coral is a soundtrack for my nightmares. The piano riff is fevered and gross, Joe Lala thinks he's getting paid per beat, and Stills has shanghaied us 200 feet down underwater (with Jesus of Nazareth apparently in attendance, I guess? Maybe he forgot how to walk on water?). Stills has no coherent plan other than reminding us to take care: turns out he's more than a terrible musician, he's also the world's worst scuba instructor. There's more flute here too. The drummer, Joe Vital, is responsible. He probably figured, I played a mean flute in elementary school so, what the hell? How could a song like this get any worse?

12/8 Blues is actually worth listening to, once, so as to hear Neil's tiny, I'm a mouse and I'm trapped, backing vocals and his fairly killer guitar. But the riff is toxic and so are the lyrics. Stills tells he's dying, but don't get your hopes up. He wants us to know that he's "got the music" and he grunts like he knows how to pump iron while Neil tries to make something worthwhile out of it all.

youtube

The album closes with Guardian Angel, which somehow manages to be boring and nauseating all once. Lala shows off his touch typing skills throughout. Curses upon him. Stills' guardian angel demanded reassignment the moment they heard this song.

Neil has a guitar solo towards the end of Guardian Angel that's mixed to sound like he's in another state; which of course he was, as he literally told them all to eat a peach and went back to Crazy Horse at his first sober and available moment.

And that's exactly what I'm going to do now too: leave the Stills-Young band solidly in my rear-view mirror, listen to Zuma and recover.

#stephen stills sucks #neil young #joe freakin' lala #shakey sundays #honey slides

2 notes · View notes

silas-writes13 · 1 year

Text

The Ethics of Creation

Every mad scientist needs that perfect dark and stormy night. They can see it so clearly: thick black clouds choking out the light of the stars, rain threatening to crash through rickety ceilings, thunder that shakes the frame and lightning that’s dramatic and well-timed enough to illuminate the true madness of creation.

This wasn’t one of those nights. And, for that matter, Axel wasn’t a mad scientist. They weren’t “mad” (unless you were talking about anger - Axel was as bitter as anything), and they were only a “scientist” by the thinnest gossamer stretch of a particularly optimistic imagination.

Axel fancied themself a folklorist, but there wasn’t much respect for that field in The Academy. The Academy generally frowned upon anyone who wasn’t hunkering down in some dingy lab somewhere - sketchy science was very much en vogue - and that person simply had to have a PhD. They didn’t give doctorates for anything less than remaking yourself (and others) in the light of divinity, so Axel had done their due diligence. They’d sat through Brains (The Science of and Power Within), Things to Do With Blood Vessels, and the one scant ethics class where the professor had spent most of his time shrieking. Axel had gotten the feeling that “playing god” was something that professor did on Sundays, after a hearty bout of laughing maniacally and spreading general academic mischief.

Anyways, to get to the point, Axel was, shall we say, frazzled. They’d DONE the work. They’d put in the time. And now tonight it was all going to come to fruition…probably.

At this very moment, they are standing in front of a large circle drawn in orange chalk on the floor of The Academy’s Dingy Lab #13302 (“please leave the space clean when you’re done, others have blasphemy to get done here too, be considerate” reads the plaque next to the door). They have no table, no volts, no open skylight, no hallmarks of The Night of Invention. What little they do possess amounts to some candles, a knife, two colors of chalk, a jacket stained with what might be paint and is probably also grass, dirt-encrusted fingernails, and a book. Axel had reserved this 6ft x 6ft room by sheer miracle, as The Academy frowned HEAVILY upon their chosen field. To figure out what it is exactly that Axel does, you really should know that the title of the book (solid black hardcover with gold lettering and a couple water stains) is “Fae, Fairfolk, Sidhe and Mysterious Beings: How To Summon”.

Axel sighs loudly with the smallest tinge of dramatic inclination and wipes their thick brown hair off of their sweaty forehead. They try desperately not to cringe while they hold their bleeding palm over each of the five candles, and the center of the circle. When there is a sufficient amount spread across the floor, they wrap up their palm with dirty gray bandages and fall to their knees. Grunting quietly, they mix the blood with the chalk and draw the required sigils. Ten sigils, twenty sigils, thirty. They know the markings have to be drawn before the blood dries if they are to have any effect, and they’re running out of time. Their fingers shake as they finish the last swoop, and all the dizziness catches up to them in a rush. They curse their frail mortal body under their breath, and gulp down some water wildly, being careful not to spill any of it on the fresh glyphs.

Then, it’s time. They take a deep breath and clear their throat, wrapping cloth around their eyes for good measure. For a moment the complete darkness terrifies them, but they’re a professional. They choke down their fear and store any lingering feelings of danger deep in the marrow of their bones, far away from their conscious mind. It thrums through them, becoming background noise, becoming irrelevant.

They run their hands over the book once, twice, three times for reassurance. They know this has no place in the coming ritual but fuck it, intentionality matters as much as the rest of it. Finally, they put their hands on their legs and sit up straight on the outer edge of the circle. They know they can’t move. They are afraid they won’t be able to help it.

They say the words, old worlds, ancient words - it doesn’t particularly matter which ones. They say the words they found in the book, then some they had found scratched onto a plank of wood by the train track, then some they thought they had heard a large black crow say to them weeks ago. They whisper and the air they displace with their intoned speech becomes song, becomes divine, becomes magic. They feel a stirring in the room, not a physical shift necessarily but something just under the surface - something writhing on some other adjacent plane.

They don’t feel the moment of genesis when it happens and they’re struck with pangs of disappointment, but they can see it - oh gods, they can see it. The light shines through the black cloth of their makeshift blindfold and burns through their closed eyelids. For seconds that feel like hours it’s almost as if they have been staring directly into the sun, and then all at once it dims. Axel hears the soft rustling sound of the candles going out, and an even softer sound of someone…or something…breathing. Slowly, they remove their blindfold and open their eyes.

The candles are nothing more than puddles of wax on the floor. The sigils that took so much blood have sizzled to nothing more than gray ash, and in the center of the circle sits the most beautiful thing (person?) Axel has ever seen.

She has long, curly red hair that tumbles down her shoulders and rests against her back. She’s wearing a green long-sleeved shirt and long pants, both made out of leaves, but even the full coverage couldn’t dim the light of the sigils that are glowing on the surface of her arms, torso, and legs. They glow orange and seem to be shifting slightly under her clothes, and Axel doesn’t know what to make of her. They try to remember the rules of fae interaction, remembering distantly that if you’re not careful the fae will take you for all you’re worth, but that is so far gone from them now.

The fae looks up at them with a start, and her eyes are a piercing silver color, run through with a snake-like vertical slit instead of a human pupil. Her face is round and covered in constellations of freckles, and when she speaks it resounds through the air like every molecule was holding its breath, waiting for her words.

“Where am I?”, she asks, leaning towards Axel. Her voice is truth. She doesn’t blink.

Axel tries to gulp and finds their throat dry. They clear it instead, and gesture to the room around them.

“You’re in my lab, well, not my lab, technically a rented space - I really have to clean all this up - holy hell, you’re everything I’ve been trying to prove for years!” Axel remembers themself and jumps to their feet. “You’re real! Faefolk, shifters, they’re real! And they TOLD me I was crazy!” They’re practically shouting now, smiling maniacally.

The fae looks down at herself, at the room, and at Axel. “I don’t want to be here.” She looks at the floor. “You - you’d bind me here?”

Axel’s joy fades, a little bit. “I, I’m sorry about that,” they say, “It was just a precaution. I’ll break the circle if you swear not to run away.” They slowly lower themselves to the floor, putting their hands where the fae can see them. The fae nods and Axel runs a finger across the chalk line, smudging it in one spot. The fae smiles then, a tinge of malice spreading across her face, and laughs.

“A gesture is not a contract, youngling. Thank you for setting me loose.” She stands, and walks briskly past Axel. As she passes, Axel smells The End on her. They smell the lingering scent of a forest, burnt entirely to the ground.

Their heart stops for an instant and they can feel thick, curling gray smoke in their lungs. They cough, loudly and dangerously, and feel their eyes tear up, and then start to burn.

“No - wait - please!”, they choke out, but the fae is already leaving. She turns back to look at Axel, sprawled on the ground as they are, clawing at the air in utter desperation. She cocks her head to the side and closes her eyes. She takes a deep, lingering breath as Axel’s vision starts to blur, and then everything stops. Suddenly there is no air in the room anymore but Axel finds that they don’t need to breathe. The pain is gone, just as quickly as it had consumed them.

“What do you want from me?”, they ask, when their vocal chords remember their purpose. The fae looks beyond them, and then looks through them, searching for something in the hollow of Axel’s chest. She walks back to Axel and sits down before them languidly, her movements as fluid as water, as natural as the wind.

She reaches out to cup Axel’s cheek in her hand and Axel finds themself heating up. Her hand is the extreme, the burning heat of cold and the numbing chill of being burned alive, but to Axel it just feels like a campfire.

“Follow me,” she whispers, and the sharp silver knife of her words pauses just before Axel’s jugular, and that, at least, they can sense. They find, after all that, that they don’t care much. Screw The Academy. They were right, and now they’re going to do something few people in academia ever have. They’re going to change the world.

Axel gets up and follows her, a lovely moth to a violent flame, out of the laboratory and into the night. As they walk they change - they become more wispy, less tangible. They find they can move through space like they’re just an amalgamation of parts instead of a whole. They can feel all of these parts, and feel how they’re all connected to something gently beating beneath the ground. As Axel and the fae walk, the beating becomes drum beats, the faint whisper of wind through Autumn leaves becomes raucous noises of merriment. The fae leads them down, down, and then Axel’s gone.

They’re something else now. If you put your feet in the dirt and tilt your head towards a starlit sky, you’ll feel them. Just listen. Just listen.

#fae #mad science #creative writing #writing #modern prometheus #ttrpg #fiction #queer writer #writeblr #queer people rock

7 notes · View notes

beerecordings · 2 years

Text

Wolf Bite - Part 15

As the wolf who stole him walked him away from his house, a hand gripping the back of his neck tightly, Chase remembered one of the kids from his last foster home who kept running away from anywhere she was placed. She was always trying to get back to her sister, he heard, but to get there she would sneak off, take rides with sketchy people, and always wind up in danger. The last time she went missing, she didn't come back. The police put out footage of a van letting her in and then driving away, and Chase's foster brother had popped the bubble of his gum and said, "once they get you where they want you to go, you're as good as dead."

It was ringing in his head. He wanted to run. His whole body was tense with the need to take off at a sprint. It would only take him ten minutes to get to Jackie's at a run, and he was sure the bigger wolf would protect him and Henrik both, and that he could handle both of the strangers at once, probably, and everything would be okay.

But he couldn't run. That hand was squeezing his neck, and the smell of the other wolf surrounded him in a way that made him feel hazy and confused. The moon was rising over him, so near to fullness that his teeth ached with the need to shift, but he couldn't. He wanted Sean so badly he could cry.

The second black wolf was walking ahead of them, Henrik at his side. Chase didn't know if the wolf forced him to shift while the first one wrangled Chase, or if instinct got the better of him and he shifted to protect himself, but it didn't seem to be helping anything. Henrik was in wolf form, but so was this other stranger, and the black wolf was smaller than Henrik, probably faster too. With his teeth so recently wrapped around Henrik's neck, Chase knew neither of them would be able to run.

"Why are you doing this?" Chase managed, his voice trembling. "Who are you? Why us?"

The wolf who stole him cast glances at the houses around them before speaking, but they were getting into seedier parts of town, and it was deep into a stormy night, though at least the rain had quieted into a drizzle. No one was going to do anything. He doubted anyone would even see them.

"We're just a small pack right now," said the wolf. "But we'll get bigger. You two were just the start of that."

"How did you know my name?" Chase croaked.

"Oh, don't be silly. It's on all your mail, after all, even if you weren't some kind of famous. We know everything about you, Chase."

"We?"

"Yeah. The pack."

"So who's this, then, your lackey?"

The wolf's grip tightened on his neck. "You don't concern yourself with him."

The little black wolf looked back at them, tongue lolling out like they were all on a one AM walk in the rain together just for fun. There was something bizarre about that. Chase stared at the black wolf for a moment, trying to find any sympathy or cruelty in his gaze, but the wolf just wagged his tail and kept moving, turning back towards the pavement. He was smaller than the wolf who stole him, and a couple white markings distinguished him too: one on his snout and up around his eye, and another on his back right paw like a single white sock. He smelled like caramel and book glue.

"Is he... young?" asked Chase, blinking. He hadn't seen adolescent wolves before, but not only was this one smaller than him, he seemed lankier, and almost like his ears were too big for him, in a way.

"I said don't worry about him. I won't tell you a third time."

"Well, how about you, then? You just get off on this, huh? Just a stranger who - what, stalked me? And picked me just because? Because I was isolated, huh?"

"I didn't pick you. Any of you."

"So who did?"

"You'll find out soon enough, won't you?"

He thought he was going to cry. He'd really rather not find out who, on second thought.

"Try not to be so nervous," said the wolf, tone a little less mocking. "Just... things will be good as soon as we get out of this fucking town. Out to the wild. And you'll be able to let all of this stupid human shit go. We all will."

"You're out of your mind," Chase croaked, wiping rainwater from his face. "It doesn't work that way. We're wolves, but we're human too. You can't just pretend one side doesn't exist. Trust me, I tried. Please, please - we don't want to go with you. Please let us go."

"It's cute that you think I would go to the trouble of kidnapping you twice and then let you go if you asked nicely."

For a moment, in front of them, Henrik seemed to sway on his paws, his air coming in and out so roughly that it was almost like he was coughing. He shuddered and sank to the ground, panting so hard Chase thought he might throw up.

"Keep him moving," said the bigger wolf.

The one with the white sock glanced back at him, tilting his head for a second.

"Come on," said the first wolf. Frustration seeped into his scent and his voice alike, but there was also something else there. Chase tried to identify it. Concern? Maybe even fear? "You can still understand me, come on. Can't you?"

The black and white one let his tongue out again and then stepped over Henrik politely, putting his head down to nip at his scruff. Henrik yelped and got back up again shakily, the smaller wolf bounding up to go with him like they were playing. When Henrik didn't wag his tail or come chasing after him, the wolf's ears fell flat.

"If you really wanted us for pack, you wouldn't treat us like this," Chase managed. "You're scaring the hell out of him. Out of both of us. That's not how this is supposed to work."

"Once we get out of town - "

"No, nothing will change once we get out of town! We'll still be terrified of you! You're fucking abducting us! I don't know you, I don't want you. I don't even know your fucking name!"

The wolf's grip tightened on his neck as he yanked Chase close, pushing his head down slightly, and Chase whimpered despite himself, eyes burning.

"You stop talking like that before we all get in trouble," hissed the wolf.

"We?"

"Just shut up, okay? Shut the fuck up. Just - we just need to get back to the den. Walk."

Chase stared at him as his grip loosened and he lead Chase forward, gripping his arm gently to keep him moving. The wolf's eyes were fixed ahead, his mouth sullen and taut.

"It's Anti," he added after a moment.

Chase blinked at him, letting him pull him on. "What?"

"My name."

"Oh. Is that - ?"

"No more talking," said the other wolf. "Don't make this worst than it has to be, alright? Soon, we'll all be pack."

They were approaching a dilapidated house in a row of wrecks, and his throat closed up abruptly. For all the questions that he had dammed up, Chase couldn't get them out past the fear.

The nurses at the hospital know Sean by name. In a way, it's a good thing, because Marvin knows that they're going to take good care of him. But there's something jarring about it too. About all of this. Like it shouldn't be real, watching them coming in and out and talking about the nice werewolf who always sits with the newly-turned wolves. Is it real?

He and Jackie sit in the chairs outside Sean's room, watching doctors and nurses running in and out, but they never wheel Sean down to surgery, which Marvin hopes is a good sign. Jackie won't stop rocking in his chair and sucking on the strings of his hoodie, and it's kind of driving him crazy, but he's not going to ask him to stop, either, because they're both at the brink of losing it completely.

"You're supposed to have your medicine," says Jackie, the exact minute the clock hits eight. "You're going to have a seizure."

"I don't always take it right at eight-thirty, Jackie, we'll just make sure I get it before bed."

"No," says Jackie, a little too loudly. His hands are gritted into fists. "No, you're supposed to have your medicine. Every day. At eight-thirty. You need your medicine in thirty minutes or you'll have a seizure."

Marvin breathes out, turning to look at him directly. He sets his hands on Jackie's shoulders and squeezes him gently. "Well, we're not doing too much just sitting here. How about you go back home and get my meds and some food for all three of us? You can take some time in the quiet. Shower the blood off. Can bring back your headphones too."

Jackie glances back at Sean's door anxiously, but the pull of providing for his pack with food and healing is too great for an Alpha to resist. Marvin's alone in the hallway when the doctor finally comes out and tells him Sean can have visitors.

Marvin shoves into his room without further questions.

Sean's scent is buried under gauze, blood, and antiseptic. The flagging hints of his coffee scent makes Marvin's eyes water. He's not supposed to smell like this. He's not supposed to be here. Why is this happening?

"What the hell were you thinking?" he whispers, stepping up to Sean's bed and leaning down to rub a little of his scent into his shoulder, brushing his hair from his face. Sean shifts unexpectedly, hand gripping at Marvin's shirt.

"I'm up, I'm up," he mutters.

"Fuck, Sean, are you with me?"

Sean rubs at his face, wincing as his neck strains. The bandages around it and his shoulder are already spotted with red. "Yeah, I'm... yeah."

Marvin sits down beside him, resting his arms on the bed. "Should I call the doctor?"

"They were in here just a minute ago. I'm in and out. They must have me on the good stuff."

He makes his voice goofy at the end, high-pitched and wavering, pretending to be loopy. Marvin's mouth doesn't even twitch. Sean looks down at the sheets of the bed, picking at a scrape on his arm.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Marvin asks. "Maybe the truth, this time?"

Sean swallows, glancing up at him. "So I hurt a couple people," he says lowly. "They deserved it."

Marvin closes his eyes, trying to breathe. "Is there even a point to calling you a hypocrite?"

"They weren't random fights with people who pissed you off on the street, Marvin. Perpetrators, that's who I went after. And just a couple, okay?"

"You really bit a man's hands off? Sean."

"He deserved it," Sean snarls, with a sudden venom that makes Marvin sit back in his chair. "He hurt her. And they just let him off. He was going to hurt other kids, I knew it. I knew it!"

Marvin stares as Sean sinks back in his bed, having made himself dizzy. He reaches up to touch his head, eyes sliding shut.

"I'm sorry, brother," he whispers, a moment later. "I know I told you I'd stop, but I got a scent of that wolf who turned them, and I wasn't even going to hurt him, just try to understand, to make sure he wouldn't do it again. His scent was right there in the park. I realized he was coming there, maybe regularly, to run like any other wolf. All I had to do was wait, and he came to the park. Right under our noses. Like he wasn't even afraid. And when I finally got the smell of him face-to-face, he... it was too late."

"He already smelled like Chase and Henrik," Marvin says.

"Yes," chokes Sean. "He took them, I know he did! Marvin, you and Jackie have to go after them, now!"

"Sean, we told the police everything we know. There are a couple wolves who track for them, they said. They'll follow their scents."

"No," cries Sean. "No, that's not enough. Do you have any idea how many werewolf cases I see fall through the cracks every week, Marvin? You have to go after them!"

"Sean, we can maybe go track tomorrow, but right now the police are on it and you need to rest. I won't leave you - "

"No, no," Sean protests, heart rate rising on the monitor. "They'll be killed and no one will solve it, or they'll just disappear, or two months from now they'll be arrested because somebody found them feral on the edges of town, and then they'll go to prison - "

"Sean."

"Or somebody else will take them for pack and they'll never be free of some Alpha who hurts them, they're just new, how can they know? They could be trafficked or tortured or a million, million other things, and if I don't do something, no one's going to, and people will get hurt, because that's what's always happening, always!"

Sean's own shudder cuts him off; he turns whiter than ever and grips at his shoulder, flopping back into the pillows. Marvin grabs his hands, staring wide-eyed, and nearly lunges for the panic button, but after a beat, Sean just goes limp against the bed and stays there, eyes red.

"Sean," says Marvin, one more time. "How long have you been feeling like that?"

He just shakes his head, pallid against white sheets.

"You've been bottling too much up," Marvin whispers. "Working too much at work you're not supposed to do all on your own. When did the world start looking so evil you had to go out attacking people?"

"No one else is doing anything," Sean croaks. "I'm the only one who can help. If I don't work everyday, if I'm not everywhere, people get hurt, or disappointed, and then I've failed."

"Fuck, Sean. Fuck. For the love of the moon. You gotta go see a therapist."

Marvin holds his hands as Sean gets tired, having worn himself out in more ways than one.

"You have to go after Chase and Henrik," he begs.

"Jackie and I will go look for them if the cops don't find them tonight. If we can track their scents, we'll let them know where they are. But the rain... it will make it hard for everyone."

"No, you and Jackie have to find them and get them," Sean whimpers. "Please, the cops won't be able to."

"Sean, Jackie's my Alpha. He'll decide that. This wolf was able to take you down, Sean, and you're no weakling. Jackie makes decisions about our safety. We can't just get maimed too."

"Bring him to me, then, please. I'll tell him."

"He'll be back soon, I promise. Right now, you have to rest."

"Oh, but I have court tomorrow! I have to call the mom and let her know - "

"No." Marvin squeezes his hands, trying to pull him back. "No, Jack. You just have to rest."

Jack takes in a shuddering breath. He looks like a paper doll in that hospital bed.

"I'm letting everyone down," he says. "Everyone will be so disappointed."

"People will understand, Sean. Time to take a break. You put so much weight on your shoulders. Time to sleep."

"I haven't slept," Sean says. "In years, it feels like."

"From here on out, you will sleep. I'll make sure of it."

"Gonna knock me out?" asks Sean, a hint of levity coming back, and this time, Marvin grins.

"Yep. Every night. Pow."

He mimics punching Sean in the head, his knuckles bumping into his hair.

He sits beside him and guards him til his eyes close and his mouth parts, his breathing coming in slow draws. The beeping of his heart rate monitor soothes into a steady rhythm.

“A workaholic and a martyr,” Marvin whispers, pushing a strand of hair from his friend's face. “Idiot.”

There's one thing he's right about, though, thinks Marvin, glancing out at the rain-swept day, and that's that Henrik and Chase need help right away, before they're lost for good. But there's no tracker on the police force who can follow a scent after a storm like that. Marvin knows for sure – because he can't track after a storm like that either.

“You two better be okay,” he whispers.

The basement was frigidly cold, the summer heat sapped from its walls by the rain and the wind. The slam of the door that lead upstairs felt like a death toll as Anti and the black wolf forced the two of them downstairs, and then followed after.

Henrik shook against Chase's side, his head tucked into his stomach. Chase kept his arms wrapped around him, shivering just as hard, and only partly from the cold. Usually, he would think Schneep might make a decent blanket in his wolf form, but in that moment, they were both sopping wet.

"This house is kind of a junker, I admit," rumbled the wolf who stole him - Anti - as he looked around. "But like I said, we'll get out pretty soon. Forest won't be so claustrophobic. We're thinking the Rhineland, maybe. There's a nature park out there, and the laws aren't as harsh against us. I kind of think the Americas would be cool, though. All that space out in Canada - we could hunt anything."

"You're crazy," Chase croaked. "We're not going to fucking Canada. Or wherever the hell the Rhineland is."

Henrik gave him a look that, even in wolf form, managed to be skeptical, and Anti went, "holy shit, Americans. Whatever."

The smaller black wolf padded past Anti and snuffled at a grouping of boxes and pallets of wood, arranged in the saddest amalgam of housing Chase has ever seen. The wolf pushed himself inside and laid down, still thumping his tail determinedly.

"You gotta share blankets," Anti told him, walking towards the shelter. He reached in and tried to yank out a blanket, but the wolf was sitting on it. "JJ! Move!"

The wolf grabbed the other side of the blanket with his teeth and tried pulling it back.

"No, we are not playing," Anti snapped. "Give that here, now. Can you just behave for once?"

The black wolf dropped the blanket. His tail stopped thumping and he slunk back into his shelter, flopping to the ground and staring out at Chase and Henrik miserably, like a rain-soaked cat instead of a dog. Anti tossed the blanket at Chase, making him splutter as he caught it.

Out of the rain, he could smell both of them more clearly, and the blanket was packed with both of their scents. Chase wrapped it around himself and Henrik uncertainly, sniffing at the pack scent there. Anti was the one who smelled like a storm, he knew that from their time together. This other wolf's caramel and book smell was pretty shockingly pleasant too, for a wolf who's soaked with rain and also just bit Henrik into submission. Chase snuffled at the blankets, and Henrik lifted his snout to help him.

"If he wants to shift, there's some clothes in the bag," Anti said, gesturing half-heartedly to a backpack by the bottom of the stairs. "Whatever's comfiest, I suppose. Bathroom's through that door, even if it is a mess. Knock upstairs if you need anything, but I am going to lock it. I won't have you running off again. If we hadn't decided to let you both be rehabilitated, I would have been... well, I'm not having you run off again, that's the point."

"There's a third smell here," Chase mumbled. "Or maybe just on this house. Like... a river, maybe. Like spring-water. But also something chemical."

"Wow, good catch." Anti rolled his eyes hard.

"How long will we be down here?" asked Chase. "How can you act so blase about this?"

Anti ignored his second question, but Chase took a second to look at him, hoping to find the answer in his face. All he seemed to be was pale, though, and somewhere between stressed and annoyed. His right eye had a fading bruise, nearly gone, but from the mottled spots around the eye, it must have been a good hit.

"Til we're ready to leave," he answered Chase. "Or til you realize you're pack now. Up to you which comes first."

"I have kids," whimpered Chase, one last attempt at convincing him to give them their freedom.

"You were going to lose those kids already," sneered Anti, turning to walk up the stairs. "Instead of watching that fester for years, we amputated it."

Henrik let out a sudden snarl and Chase squeezed him close, burying his face in his fur. At the top of the stairs, he heard Anti laugh, and then the door closed again, this time with the click of a lock.

"Holy shit, holy shit," Chase whispered, the reality beginning to sink in. "This isn't happening, it can't be."

Henrik kept growling. Chase breathed out and looked up, finding his friend's gaze fixed on that pile of boxes. Chase cleared his throat. "Are you here to guard us, then?"

There was no reply from the boxes. The wolf was looking back at them with big eyes, licking at his wet paws.

Movement beside him turned him back to Henrik just in time to see white fur fading. He averted his eyes for modesty's sake as the doctor shifted back to human and pulled the blanket around himself, shivering.

"There's something not right about him," whispered Henrik.

"Is your neck okay?"

Henrik didn't answer. His whole throat was purple and black with bruising already, but Chase was just grateful the wolf hadn't pierced his neck. He could have lost a lot of blood. Fucking wolf teeth in his throat.

"I'll get you clothes," Chase assured him, rising to get the backpack from beside the stairs. He moved cautiously in case the black wolf jumped at him, but all he did was give one sad wave of his tail. Chase dragged the backpack back to Henrik and unzipped it.

"Hey, what the hell? This is an actual school backpack." He started pulling out notebooks, textbooks, a calculator, and a bag of pens. "Who is studying International Politics in this fucking radical anti-human werewolf cult?"

Henrik dug into the second section of the backpack and started pulling out what looked like workout clothes, a t-shirt and sweatpants. At least they were clean, and dry too.

"Look, a wallet," Henrik said, pulling it out of the front of the backpack.

"Is there ID?"

Henrik had it out a moment later. His face slackened.

"What is it?"

"He's only nineteen."

Chase stared at the ID. A London University student ID, with the name J. JACKSON printed on it.

"How do you decide to drop out of college - in the middle of your classes, apparently - and run off with werewolf extremists?"

Henrik shook his head. The black wolf turned over on his side and started grooming his back.

"This whole thing is not right," Henrik whispered. "Sean and Jackie and Marvin all agreed this is not normal pack behavior. Strings are being pulled. We need to get out of here immediately."

"How are we going to do that?"

"Let's scope the place out. Look at that kid, he won't do anything the two of us can't handle together. You only got your teeth in me because you came for me in my sleep, by the way!"

JJ cocked his head at them, tail flopping.

"By 'scope the place out,' do you mean noticing that?" Chase pointed up to the ceiling. Henrik followed his gaze, and Chase smelled the twist of added fear in his scent as he noticed the black camera in the corner, staring at them with one red eye blinking. Henrik sucked in a breath and leaned in closer to speak quietly.

"We can't let them take us out of the city. I don't even want to be here to meet the Alpha."

"What?"

Henrik looked at him, blinking. "That Alpha. The springwater and chemical one."

He pushed the blanket back towards Chase. Chase picked it up again, pulling it to his nose, and inhaled deeply.

Anti smelled like he had a pack. He had always smelled that way, the same way Alphas do, coated in more scent than one, familiar and warm and authoritative at the same time. But this other smell... the faint difference between the way they carry each other's scents...

"Anti's not the Alpha," Chase whispered. "He's the Second. Oh, no. No, no, no."

"If we think the Second is bad," Henrik began, "then I do not want to meet the Alpha."

In the pile of boxes across the room, JJ whined aloud.

#MID-WEEK WEREWOLF WEDNESDAY WOOOO #to be clear this is character jack but jack's said he's cool with fanfic that not's sxual or shipping anyhow so cheers!#let me know if you enjoyyyy thanks #werewolf au #bee writes #abduction tw #kidnapping tw #imprisonment tw

15 notes · View notes