senri
in
bedlam_mix
(Animorphs - of the flesh)
Genre: Gen
Warnings: T+ for ick
Characters: Arbron - and if you don't know what happens to him this won't make sense.
Notes: For 31_days December 1: "Let snow and silence mark the site of my unseemly appetite".
The first bite of flesh he takes, it’s sweet. It melts in his mouth, blood and juices, dripping tubes and chewy tendons. The Andalite in him screams in horror, the Taxxon in joy, the Hork-Bajir broken on the ground just screams and flails as best it can.
Arbron ducks under the blades whistling through the air, lets his brother/sister Taxxons - no, no, no, he is an only child he has no brothers nor no sisters, especially not these creatures writhing with starved sinuousness around him - nonononononono - lets his siblings and companions take the blow. A spasm of the bladed arm snicks off several of his neighbor’s globular eyes and Arbron’s - the Taxxon’s, curse it, curse it - gaping mouth scoops them up before anyone else can. They’re sour. Salty. Delicious. Not enough. He is ravenous, ravenous, starving. He rakes his razory teeth at the other’s face, snatching another mouthful before it disappears. Gulps another bite of Hork-Bajir, the meat so much better, juicier, so far beyond screaming and struggling now.
It’s good. Just what a body needs. Eat or be eaten, eat or die, and what was he before that remembers fresh grass pulping sweet under his hooves? Who is this person screaming at him now, stop stop stop, you monster, you disgusting creature, you fool -
They eat the Hork-Bajir. Even the bones. The marrow. Even the soil, soaked with blood, every scrap of tissue. They eat the Taxxons wounded in the fray, and it’s Arbron, again, who steps away, the beast he fumbles to balance upon quiescent beneath him once more. Finally, finally, finally. He controls the pricking legs, the dripping mouth.
He thinks first, where’s Elfangor?
Next, what’s the time?
(In retrospect - those moments of ignorance before the truth might be the happiest of his life.)
Warnings: T+ for ick
Characters: Arbron - and if you don't know what happens to him this won't make sense.
Notes: For 31_days December 1: "Let snow and silence mark the site of my unseemly appetite".
The first bite of flesh he takes, it’s sweet. It melts in his mouth, blood and juices, dripping tubes and chewy tendons. The Andalite in him screams in horror, the Taxxon in joy, the Hork-Bajir broken on the ground just screams and flails as best it can.
Arbron ducks under the blades whistling through the air, lets his brother/sister Taxxons - no, no, no, he is an only child he has no brothers nor no sisters, especially not these creatures writhing with starved sinuousness around him - nonononononono - lets his siblings and companions take the blow. A spasm of the bladed arm snicks off several of his neighbor’s globular eyes and Arbron’s - the Taxxon’s, curse it, curse it - gaping mouth scoops them up before anyone else can. They’re sour. Salty. Delicious. Not enough. He is ravenous, ravenous, starving. He rakes his razory teeth at the other’s face, snatching another mouthful before it disappears. Gulps another bite of Hork-Bajir, the meat so much better, juicier, so far beyond screaming and struggling now.
It’s good. Just what a body needs. Eat or be eaten, eat or die, and what was he before that remembers fresh grass pulping sweet under his hooves? Who is this person screaming at him now, stop stop stop, you monster, you disgusting creature, you fool -
They eat the Hork-Bajir. Even the bones. The marrow. Even the soil, soaked with blood, every scrap of tissue. They eat the Taxxons wounded in the fray, and it’s Arbron, again, who steps away, the beast he fumbles to balance upon quiescent beneath him once more. Finally, finally, finally. He controls the pricking legs, the dripping mouth.
He thinks first, where’s Elfangor?
Next, what’s the time?
(In retrospect - those moments of ignorance before the truth might be the happiest of his life.)