write-it-motherfuckers:

There’s tales about your house, of a monster that once lived there. Your ancestors had headed the cries of the people speaking of a great evil, and had cornered it in its home. Somehow, they had won, though the house was badly damaged, and as they were unable to fully kill the monster, they had it cast, bound and powerless, beneath the foundations of the ruined home. As a last display of their success, they had claimed the building as their own, and rebuilt the grand structure, on top of the creatures eternal resting place.

Everyone in your family knew the stories, though their belief in them began to fade over the generations. You had always found yourself oddly drawn to the story, and as a child, you would constantly sneak away from your nanny, just to explore the darkest places of your home.

One evening, having fled from a rather frustrated nanny while she was focusing on your siblings, you came across a small door, hidden behind one of the tapestries. Curiosity getting the best of you, you had crawled into it happily, torch in hand, the door a perfect size for your young body.

To your surprise, you had found an entire new level to the home, though it looked to be badly scorched in places, merely acting as supports for the floors above. Never having been afraid of dark places, you eagerly set about exploring, curious at the strange feeling in the air. 

It wasn’t long before you found it.

In the centre of the floor in what seemed to be the heart of the building, you found a large circular vault, set deeply into the ground and covered in symbols and designs. Somehow, you could feel that something was alive in there, something old, and it dragged up all your memories of the stories you were told. 

A feeling washed over you, and you knew that it was suddenly aware of you. Instantly, a boom sounded as the vault shuddered, startling you enough to have you racing back up into the main house, thoroughly spooked. Unfortunately, you were a rather stubborn thing.

It didn’t take all that long for you to muster up the courage to sneak away the next day, and go back down. Again what ever it was that was trapped, seemed to become aware of you quickly, once again making the vault shudder. This time however, you didn’t go far.  

Every time you would try to get too close, the vault would shudder again, as if trying to warn you away and scare you off, but eventually it gave up, a feeling of resignation floating in the air. With your fearless personality and never ending curiosity, you started to sneak down to the vault when ever you got a chance.

You’re not sure when you started babbling away or asking questions to the one inside, but either way, it became something of a routine over the years, though you never got a verbal reply. You had a feeling that they couldn’t reply, nor move particularly well, it often left you questioning just how completely their bindings were. 

Years later, now reaching adulthood, and still just as fearless and hard to control, you lay atop the silent vault. This place had become comforting to you, somewhere to hide from your cold family and the never ending rules. 

A wave of comfort rolled over you, as if they sensed your turmoil, and absently you wondered if anyone else in your family line had ever been able to feel the emotions of the creature locked within, or if it was simply something you made up in your head out of loneliness. Sighing shakily, you traced your fingers over the dusty symbols.

“They’re going to force me to marry.” You said finally, and at once felt all go still, the one within the vault listening intently.

“It’s crazy, especially in this day and age… but they’re not playing around. They already have someone picked out. Someone that can teach me some manners”  You murmured bitterly, mocking their tone of voice.

Something sharp and angry flared across your strange bond for a moment, before it once again went silent, the being within, trying to control their emotions. Silence fell again for a while, and to your shock, you realised you were crying, something you hadn’t done since you were a babe.

“I don’t know what to do….. I….I’m scared” You said honestly, voice cracking.

The vault shuddered below you, and you felt a tentative wave of protective comfort wrap around you. Sighing shakily, you decided to simply hide down here a while longer, where no one would find and hassle you. Slowly, you drifted into a restless sleep, tears still running down your cheeks, body curled up on top of the vault lid.

write-it-motherfuckers:

You’ve lived your whole life in this small town. Despite not being treated too kindly, there’s no where else for you to really go. With your parents having been halfhearted about their raising you, since realising you were blind, and your teachers not properly equipped to help you, you weren’t exactly given the best head start in life. You’ve managed though, becoming independent out of necessity, at an early age. You even have a small home, renting out the granny flat at the back of a nice elderly woman’s yard. You only just manage, money wise, lucky to have found a few smaller jobs around town with people who are willing to have you. The small town mentality towards disabilities, is always tough to manoeuvre, and unfortunately weighs you down, shackling you to this place, without the means to go elsewhere. 

One day, as you’re carefully feeling over the fresh produce, making sure you’re buying the right things, you see something out of the corner of your eye. Forgetting all about your shopping, you turn towards it, with wide “unseeing” eyes. 

You’ve “seen” little things in the past, things you’ve brushed off as your hopeful imagination. Certain plants outlined in a faint pale glow, the occasional animal, coated in that same pale glow, some stronger than others. Never have you “seen” something so clearly. 

Two figures stand there, just having entered the shop -you assume from their distance- a man and a woman it seems. They glow, brighter than anything you could have imagined, every inch of them pulsing with some strange light, gathering in their core and leaving behind quickly fading trails as they move. 

They seem to be looking for something, carefully making their way down one of the aisles. Its not until they get to yours, that they both straighten, and beeline for you. You can’t find it in you to care how strange they may find a blind person staring in their direction intently, and luckily, you needn’t worry. As they stop before you, you can see that glow, curiously reaching out and brushing against you, shivering as you actually feel it too.

“We’ve been looking for you. Somewhere we could talk?”

write-it-motherfuckers:

Your father had always hated crows. He hated a lot of things actually, and he was never very subtle about it. You would watch him storm out there sometimes and pelt rocks at them, or try to run them over when he would come up the street. He always enjoyed starting fights over petty things, and hurting animals was something he adored the most.

You loved the crows, though you had to do so from afar for years, not wanting to anger your father. One day though, as a young child, you saw that one of the crows had gotten caught in one of the traps that your father had set out. Luckily he had yet to see, and so you quietly crept out, knowing that he would kill it should he have the chance. 

You can remember the distrustful way it looked at you as you padded over, yet strangely enough it stayed silent as you worked. Once you released it, it stared at you for a moment, before flying away. It had made your day back then, even if you did get in trouble for being outside barefoot.

From that day on, you would do little things for the crows. Some stolen scraps, purposely sabotaged traps, small twigs and such for nests, anything you could do to apologise to the crows for your fathers behaviour. To your surprise, the murder of crows seemed to remember all of your kind deeds.

Over time, you began to find little trinkets and shiny things, dropped on your window sill of a morning. You adored every single one, no matter how strange or simple, and took to saving them away in a little wooden box under your bed. 

As you grew older, and your father left you alone more often, the crows would come and sit on your window sill, listening as you rambled about anything and nothing at all, or letting out soft caws in time with your singing. Strangely enough, whenever you mentioned liking a certain thing, or your need to get something, you would find the gifts shifting to centre around the topic of your discussions. Though you chose to never question it, simply thanking them as you always did. 

Unfortunately, as time went on, your father became a more and more hateful man, leading to many fights over inane things. There were many a time when you found yourself running to your room to hide away from the aggression, grateful for the locks on the door. 

One morning, after a particularly large blow up, you found yourself curled up on your bed, crying, and listening to the sound of your fathers truck screeching angrily down the street. You ignored the faint tapping at the window, not up to facing your feathered friends, but

seeing you curled up as you were, they refused to be deterred.

You didn’t hear the lock slowly click open, nor the window being lifted up, but you did feel as the bed dipped, and a large clawed hand gently ran through your hair. You were quick to look up in shock, sight bleary from your tears, and heart pounding with a sudden burst of adrenaline.

Even with your vision blurred, there was no mistaking the large black feathered wings that spread from behind the stranger. You watched as they slowly folded down against their back before vanishing in a wisp of dark smoke as the stranger rolled their shoulders. Gently they continued to run their clawed fingers through your hair, waiting for you to speak.

fungusamongus:

doodle sad monster man before class