PavellumPendulum
oh, to be seen as the poet, not just the muse
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Romance, modern, comedy, post-apocalyptic, slice of life.
It was following him into adulthood.
Basilio Bulalacao had been an easily disturbed child. A crybaby, a silly little thing whose eyes grew wet at the slightest conflict, a horrifying yowl leaving their lips the moment things grew even slightly uncomfortable. After all, his little paradise had cradled him so long that it'd taken years for him to actually learn of the world outside his bubble, how people were not meant to fawn over you every second of the day to make sure that all of your worldly needs and more were satisfied. In those times, the dreams and flashes of strange, unfamiliar sights had been oddities, gracing him perhaps once or twice a year at most. They'd see shining lights, smell scents they could not yet identify in their youth, hear voices that did not belong to their parents, nor their sisters. Those moments were frightening to the young child, but they never lasted long.
Now that Basilio was no longer a bubbly baby, finally a full grown adult (if a wispy, daydreaming free spirit like him could be considered one), those dreams came more often. They came when he was awake, bombarding him with visions of the sea, both at rest and during agitated storms. They came when he was asleep, showing him glimpses of people, incredibly beautiful people, calling to him, over and over again. They showed him fantasies, where he sat among the clouds, lovingly gazing upon those below him, they showed him starlit skies and ignited warmth in his chest, like a candle burning anew on passion alone. These daydreams were both welcomed and not. He felt conflicted at times, confused by their mysterious timing and growing frequency, though he'd never told anyone about them. Surely, people would dismiss it as his normal dreaminess, head in the clouds, miles away as his body moved in autopilot.
The dreams showed them sun-kissed skin. Clothes being peeled away. A thumb, brushing against his knuckles tenderly, hands locked together and fingers intertwined. It showed him too much, things that he knew had not happened, because of the intense fire that it set alight within him when he woke up, the gasping and the sweating, his body yearning for someone who was not there, someone who did not exist. His imagination was overactive, a child finding glee in poking his poor brain with a stick, watching him twitch and flail.
Basilio blinked, staring down at the penguin in his grasp, watching it wriggle easily out of his gloved hands. "Ay... Sorry, Rosie." He stood up, blinking in a faintly disoriented fashion once more, trying to remember what he'd been doing. Rosie squawked at him impatiently, waddling over to the door, wanting to be brought back into the habitat with her friends. Right. He'd got lost in his thoughts during a routine checkup. They sighed deeply, glad that their coworkers had not been there to giggle at them. Poor Rosie, she was probably confused about his sudden lack of action. Smoothing out his uniform, he opened up the door and followed Rosie to the penguin habitat, allowing her back in before closing the hatch. He watched her dive back into the water, likely glad that she was no longer being examined.
His phone told him that it was past closing, nearly 7 PM. Oh dear. There was no dinner waiting for him, back at the apartment. The fridge was empty (his fault, of course). As he changed out of his uniform and headed out for the evening, his mind was searching through all of his favourite restaurants, trying to figure out what he felt like ordering for takeout that evening. The little Chinese place across from their apartment complex? That family-owned Ethiopian restaurant a block away? Or perhaps even that fancy pasta restaurant they'd tried the week before, when they'd forgotten to pick up groceries again? As they exited the aquarium, the scent of salt greeted them, the sun making its descent into the ocean, ready to rest after another long day of illuminating the now blushing sky.
They adjusted their blouse. They fidgeted with the straps of their bag, with the cute little pins attached to it. They chewed on their lower lip, turning it white from the pressure, then red from the blood rushing back into the flesh.
They bumped into someone.
Classic, him not paying attention. "Oh, um, sorry. I'm not paying attention, I-" he started at first, before he froze, staring at the person in front of him. ... Leave it to him to bump into one of the most gorgeous people he'd ever seen in his life and watch his tongue turn into a piece of useless, flopping meat in a single second. "... Um, hi. Sorry again." His voice was a tad higher. He sounded like a mess. His cheeks felt like they were on fire, an intense feeling of both embarrassment and relief flooding his body. What on Earth was going on with him?
@Aslee
Basilio Bulalacao had been an easily disturbed child. A crybaby, a silly little thing whose eyes grew wet at the slightest conflict, a horrifying yowl leaving their lips the moment things grew even slightly uncomfortable. After all, his little paradise had cradled him so long that it'd taken years for him to actually learn of the world outside his bubble, how people were not meant to fawn over you every second of the day to make sure that all of your worldly needs and more were satisfied. In those times, the dreams and flashes of strange, unfamiliar sights had been oddities, gracing him perhaps once or twice a year at most. They'd see shining lights, smell scents they could not yet identify in their youth, hear voices that did not belong to their parents, nor their sisters. Those moments were frightening to the young child, but they never lasted long.
Now that Basilio was no longer a bubbly baby, finally a full grown adult (if a wispy, daydreaming free spirit like him could be considered one), those dreams came more often. They came when he was awake, bombarding him with visions of the sea, both at rest and during agitated storms. They came when he was asleep, showing him glimpses of people, incredibly beautiful people, calling to him, over and over again. They showed him fantasies, where he sat among the clouds, lovingly gazing upon those below him, they showed him starlit skies and ignited warmth in his chest, like a candle burning anew on passion alone. These daydreams were both welcomed and not. He felt conflicted at times, confused by their mysterious timing and growing frequency, though he'd never told anyone about them. Surely, people would dismiss it as his normal dreaminess, head in the clouds, miles away as his body moved in autopilot.
The dreams showed them sun-kissed skin. Clothes being peeled away. A thumb, brushing against his knuckles tenderly, hands locked together and fingers intertwined. It showed him too much, things that he knew had not happened, because of the intense fire that it set alight within him when he woke up, the gasping and the sweating, his body yearning for someone who was not there, someone who did not exist. His imagination was overactive, a child finding glee in poking his poor brain with a stick, watching him twitch and flail.
Basilio blinked, staring down at the penguin in his grasp, watching it wriggle easily out of his gloved hands. "Ay... Sorry, Rosie." He stood up, blinking in a faintly disoriented fashion once more, trying to remember what he'd been doing. Rosie squawked at him impatiently, waddling over to the door, wanting to be brought back into the habitat with her friends. Right. He'd got lost in his thoughts during a routine checkup. They sighed deeply, glad that their coworkers had not been there to giggle at them. Poor Rosie, she was probably confused about his sudden lack of action. Smoothing out his uniform, he opened up the door and followed Rosie to the penguin habitat, allowing her back in before closing the hatch. He watched her dive back into the water, likely glad that she was no longer being examined.
His phone told him that it was past closing, nearly 7 PM. Oh dear. There was no dinner waiting for him, back at the apartment. The fridge was empty (his fault, of course). As he changed out of his uniform and headed out for the evening, his mind was searching through all of his favourite restaurants, trying to figure out what he felt like ordering for takeout that evening. The little Chinese place across from their apartment complex? That family-owned Ethiopian restaurant a block away? Or perhaps even that fancy pasta restaurant they'd tried the week before, when they'd forgotten to pick up groceries again? As they exited the aquarium, the scent of salt greeted them, the sun making its descent into the ocean, ready to rest after another long day of illuminating the now blushing sky.
They adjusted their blouse. They fidgeted with the straps of their bag, with the cute little pins attached to it. They chewed on their lower lip, turning it white from the pressure, then red from the blood rushing back into the flesh.
They bumped into someone.
Classic, him not paying attention. "Oh, um, sorry. I'm not paying attention, I-" he started at first, before he froze, staring at the person in front of him. ... Leave it to him to bump into one of the most gorgeous people he'd ever seen in his life and watch his tongue turn into a piece of useless, flopping meat in a single second. "... Um, hi. Sorry again." His voice was a tad higher. He sounded like a mess. His cheeks felt like they were on fire, an intense feeling of both embarrassment and relief flooding his body. What on Earth was going on with him?
@Aslee