They settle late. Ian’s already fourteen, already old enough to understand what love is, what loss is. Bob (no one calls her by her full name, not when Ian doesn’t) ends up small and soft, pink and sweet and smiling, with stubby soft fingers and bright frills, nothing at all like the ball of spikes Ian feels like he’s swallowed.
It’s just over ten years later when she settles again – ten, eleven years and a bullet in the shoulder and a circle that shreds them to bits, turns them inside out, turns her into something Ian wouldn’t have recognised if he’d even been able to recognise himself –
She’s unsettled when he wakes up in a hospital bed with darkness where his right eye should be, soft and warm with fur like if kittens and dreams had a baby curled around his neck, fangs and spines and armoured scales when Rosa and her Queenie come calling, a fat warm armful when he and Mira finally get a chance to touch.
It takes about a week for them to decide they can’t keep this up. It doesn’t…hurt, exactly, but adults aren’t meant to be unsettled like this, aren’t meant to shift and change like this. Sooner or later, they have to grit their teeth and let the chips fall.
Bob’s the ugliest ginger tabby when Ian wakes up with a ball of gold in his skull in place of an eye. She’s one-eyed to mirror him, missing a chunk of an ear and patches of fur where the lines of scar tissue rope across her belly and her back. And the ugliest ginger tabby she stays, dream-soft despite her mangy appearance, her needle fangs and claws staying hidden under soft pink toes and a smile. The ugliest ginger tabby she stays, ordinary, unassuming, a little smug. Settled.
(They both know – they both can’t stop knowing – that she doesn’t have to be.)
The aspens open up before him, their too-green foliage hissing secrets, their blackened eyes staring balefully as Ian drifts through the dreaming woods. They seem familiar, somehow, like a snippet of song from a distant childhood, slightly off-key from the memory. He’s been here before. Maybe in a past life. Maybe just in a past dream.
But because he’s been here before, he knows where this trail is leading him. And he knows who he’ll find waiting for him when the woods part, whose single eye will be watching when he steps out of the trees –
“Wait, this is backwards,” Ian says to his mirror image, whose smile slowly fades. “Why am I the triangle?”
His double shrugs, a look of unease crossing his pale pink face. “I thought you were here to taunt me and torment me with how similar and inseparable we are.”
“What? No, that’s your job, this is my -” Ian stops, smacks a hand to his – well, he’d usually call it his forehead, but he guesses right now it’s just a two-dimensional plane. “Of course. Of course, it figures.”
His doppelganger turns in a circle, keeping Ian in sight as Ian floats around the perimeter of the clearing, inspecting the construction of the dream. It’s pretty solid, but he can see where the right lever could crack it wide open.
“What are you talking about? This is my dream!”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re technically right, now shh.” Ian crosses his arms over his…surface?…and considers. “I don’t have time for this existential-dilemma nightmare baloney, I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning with the network and I’ve gotta be in peak mental condition. How about this instead?”
He snaps his fingers. The forest shakes, the ground trembling as something massive pounds into it. The woods fill with a distant roaring.
The look of fear mingled with confused innocence slips off of Ian’s double’s face, replaced with pants-shitting terror. “You thought a T-rex would be better?”
“If you start running now, you might wake up before it catches you!” Ian says, brightly. His double glares at him.
“You can mess with this dream? You could’ve made it anything, why another nightmare?” He freezes, with a look of realisation crossing his face before that frightened innocence overtakes it again. “If you’re really supposed to be me -”
“Eesh, cut that crap out,” Ian sighs, as another bellowing roar cuts through the pensive silence, much closer this time. “This is a chasing nightmare now! Better get running!”
His doppelganger shoots another glare in Ian’s direction, before taking off into the trees.
…
Ian sits bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. Beside him, the lump that’s stolen all the covers rolls over, sprouts an arm, flails around until a hand grabs Ian’s. Mira’s muffled voice emanates from the lump. “Bad dream?”
Ian gives her hand a squeeze, feeling a smile cross his own, familiar face. “The triangle again.”
Mira’s groan sounds as exasperated as Ian feels. “Again? What’d you turn it into this time?”
“T-rex chase,” Ian says, and the lump of covers bobs slightly as Mira nods.
“Nice.” She considers for a moment, before giving Ian’s hand a pat. “Next time, try drowning it in bunnies.”
“I’ll give that a try.” Ian pushes what little of the covers Mira hasn’t stolen yet over onto her side of the bed, swings his legs over the side and hisses at the shock of cold on the bottoms of his bare feet when they touch the floor. “I’m gonna get something warm to drink. Want anything while I’m up?”
“Glass of water,” Mira mumbles, already turning back over, cocooning herself more tightly in the blankets. Ian pats her shoulder before padding off towards the kitchen.
i think the best thing about that drawing is the juxtaposition of Mira being fuckin srs badass ur dead sob and Alcor could literally be a pinup photo like this nerd thinks he’s a panty destroyer and doesn’t cry when watching bambi
He had just wanted a break. Just a small breather for a while, while
Maddie was at school. Just a few hours to not have to pretend, not have
to spend any energy on staying physical, not have to try to forget that
he only had one child now…
Happy TAUmas to @uovoc! Enjoy a twitter as done by Mr. Ian Thomas Beale himself! Below are some samples of the madness!
Imagine Ian and his crew are all 100% invested in making the show as eldritch as possible and so every week he sits utterly straight-faced in front of Gisnep’s S&P equivalent as they patiently explain yet again that ‘no we cannot have viscera and oozing orifices on a children’s show Mr. Beale, please consider our company image Mr. Beale’
And he nods and makes a mental note to hide the nooses better next time, then goes back to his paper-strewn cubbyhole where the entire crew can hear him muttering ‘what are they talking about, kids love the morbid stuff, I’ll show them’
For @anahhzp! They requested something with Ian and they have such a warm inviting art style I wanted to write something cute to match it. Partly inspired by a suggestion posted to the main blog by @uovoc
Going over the script and boards for the next episode we have three edits to make. As follows:
Mizar may refer to the character at min. 7 as “Butt-trumpet” or make fart sounds at the sight of him. Doing both is too vulgar for the network.
Please remove all summoning circles from the backgrounds of Mizar’s home. Children may imitate them and subsequently summon demons.
At min34 sec1-30 character Wendala holds a sign for a party including the words “bottles will be spun”. The flyer must be changed because of its inappropriate implications.
Happy TAUmas to @uovoc! Enjoy a twitter as done by Mr. Ian Thomas Beale himself! Below are some samples of the madness!
Imagine Ian and his crew are all 100% invested in making the show as eldritch as possible and so every week he sits utterly straight-faced in front of Gisnep’s S&P equivalent as they patiently explain yet again that ‘no we cannot have viscera and oozing orifices on a children’s show Mr. Beale, please consider our company image Mr. Beale’
And he nods and makes a mental note to hide the nooses better next time, then goes back to his paper-strewn cubbyhole where the entire crew can hear him muttering ‘what are they talking about, kids love the morbid stuff, I’ll show them’
So basically, Reincarnation has a name very similar to a song I really like, so I wrote a… I don’t want to say parody, because it’s not very funny, but a song to the same tune as that. I’m not gonna record it for a while, because my mic sucks, and there’s not really anywhere quiet for me to record in my house at the moment. Original song embedded at the end, feel free to record it yourself if you want. From Ian’s point of view.
Reincarnation Blues
His time has come and gone
But I’ve always been his pawn
All his chips on my shoulders
Subtle pushes growing bolder
But no matter what he makes me do
I’d die for you
Reincarnation blues
Can’t run I’m just not that fast
From my past that isn’t my past
I scream, it turns to laughter
Ready for what comes after
But no matter what he makes me do
I’d die for you
Reincarnation blues
I’d die for you
Reincarnation blues
I’d die for you (Continued in background for next verse)
backup 