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beatlescartoonimagines · 7 years

Text

Norwegian Woods

Request: “Can you do one where you accidentally get infected by the glitch and one of the glitch boys talks to you about how to manage the feelings?” – Anonymous

Warnings: Body horror

Summary: Ever since you came to Dollar Circle, the Cryptid Forest has been a source of intense fascination. After a while, the temptation to visit it becomes too great.

Length: 2923

A/N: The glitch boy I used to help you is Glitch Ringo. Also, I know this is like, really long, and a lot of the beginning is focused on how you get glitched, but there is focus at the end about how to manage the feelings and such!! :::)

Dollar Circle is, in many ways, the best place to be in this strange world. A safe haven from the crueler of the strange Beatle-creatures that roam the universe, all of the incarnations here are kind to you. OctoRingo especially is very kind to you, making sure you always have enough to eat and that your diet is varied and healthy. Glow George, while difficult for you to understand, gets the point across that he wants to keep you safe as well. This place is overall much safer than the castle, where you know others are stuck.

Well, for the most part.

On the edge of OctoRingo’s realm, small and yet seemingly unending, there is a deep forest. You’ve always been strangely curious of the forest, ever since you popped into this world by ways you can’t quit remember. A few times, Glow George has caught you on the edge of the gardens, staring at the forest. The Cryptid Forest. Every time he catches you, Glow George manages to convey to you that you should not go in there and distracts you, getting you to do something else. But the forest still calls to you.

It’s gotten to the point where you spend almost all your waking hours gardening, helping OctoRingo just to distract yourself. You’re not as strong or as fast or as multi-limbed as him, but because of the amount of time you put into it, you get a similar amount of work done a day. OctoRingo, when he notices, will tell you to take a break and go back home for some tea. He knows that all that work makes you tired, but you don’t want to be left alone with your thoughts. You don’t want to be tempted into going somewhere you know will cause you harm.

You don’t want to sleep anymore either. Your dreams – or perhaps they’re nightmares – all draw you to the forest. You can almost see it, almost touch it. You hear a voice that beckons you, a low voice that doesn’t make any real sense. You can still understand it. It wants you to come to the forest. You want to go into the forest.

There isn’t much you know about the object of your obsessions. You know the cryptids who live in it are much more dangerous than OctoRingo, Glow George, Smorge, Doublennon, or any of the other cryptids who reside in Dollar Circle. The cryptids in the forest were supposed to be cruel, infectious. There were non-Beatles trapped in the forest as well, but otherwise, the forest was and is a mystery.

This morning, you can’t stand it anymore. As you wake up from a dream where you were almost there, you cannot control yourself. You get up and go out into the almost-dawn, the undetermined source of light you ignorantly call the sun barely rising. You feel yourself being pulled as if by a string as you slowly but determinedly pad towards the forest, your feet barely feeling the sand and grass beneath them.

There is a very low hum you can hear immediately upon entering the tree line. The trees, you realise, are very dark. Gnarled and leaf-bare, they somehow managed to crowd out the sky. It’s so dark you can barely see, and as you turn around for a last look at Dollar Circle, you can’t perceive the buildings anymore. All you can see is a nearly blinding light that lets anyone in the Cryptid Forest know when they’re near the edge.

You keep forwards. The sounds you typically associate with a forest are absent here, replaced by the humming and occasionally, something you might mistake for a voice. The snap of someone stepping on a branch randomly cracks from different directions as you go forwards, your head swiveling like an owl’s every time you hear something. For the first time, fear is bubbling in your consciousness, but you keep going, feeling like you know your way.

It feels like time is no longer running. You don’t have a watch, and you can’t see the sky. It seems to be getting darker and darker as you go forwards, your hands trembling as you realise you are cold. The humming is getting louder, and you keep going, not entirely by your own accord. You are being drawn forwards by someone else’s will. Your thoughts are slightly fuzzy, only reacting to what is immediately happening, not thinking any deeper than the surface.

After what you’d judge to probably be thirty minutes, the humming suddenly becomes unbearably loud. You cry out and cover your ears, your shout echoing around you as you drop to your knees in pain. Eyes shut tight, an infinity passes in an instant and suddenly it is silent. You open your eyes slowly. The humming is gone, as is the feeling of needing to go further. Broken from the trance, you are on your own, in the middle of the forest, your thoughts back with you. And you begin to panic.

You have no idea where you are, how deep you went, or even which direction you came from. Jumping to your feet, you glance around, trying to see in the dark. It seems like there is a fog in the trees, keeping you from being able to see more than a few metres in any direction. The fog is… strange. Like it’s full of static. You step forwards to see it better, eyes squinted, but it moves back as you move forwards, keeping the same relative distance to you. You stare at it, trying to decipher if what you’re seeing is accurate, until suddenly something comes at you in the dark.

Letting out an echoing scream, your eyes shut and you collapse to the ground as something grabs you. Its hands are grabbing your wrists, its grip burning your skin and seeming to vibrate. As its hands move, the sensation remains, spreading slowly down your own hands. You open your eyes in panic and look up at what is on top of you, screaming again in reaction. You cannot even perceive its face, but it is everchanging and derelict, left to waste on a contorted body. It is desperately clawing at you, previously unseen jaws opening wide as you close your eyes again. You hear a whisper – the whisper from your dreams, untranslatable but understandable. You open your eyes and it is gone.

Getting to your unsteady feet, you pick a direction and take off running as quickly as you can. You can no longer feel your hands, but all you care about is getting out as the strange burning, tingling numbness spreads slowly up your wrists. You don’t care how much noise you make as your crashing footsteps echo through the trees, searching desperately for the light.

It takes a long time, to the point where your lungs are making it difficult to go on, but you finally can see a growing light. Gasping for air, a strange fuzziness beginning to fill your chest, you burst out into the light and the grass, collapsing to the ground in exhaustion once you feel you’re far away enough from the tree line. Shaking, you swallow hard and stare up at the sky, eyes watering. You finally look down at your hands; if you could, you would have let out another scream. They seem to be in five positions at once, shifting before your eyes, their borders hazy, your flesh and bone seemingly warped and staticky. Feeling the fuzziness in your chest slow down your breathing and quell your leaping heartrate, you close your eyes, losing consciousness about as quickly as you lose feeling in your body.

When you wake, it’s night again. The low humming of the forest prompts you to jump up to your feet, and unsteadily you make your way home. Slamming the door behind you, you’re suddenly overcome with how strange you feel. You can’t really feel your body – it’s like you’re entirely numb, but you can still control yourself. You stumble through your house to the bathroom, with the intention of taking a shower. At least, until you glance to the side and see yourself in the mirror.

With a bloodcurdling, oddly echoing screech, you shatter the lightbulb and the mirror in the bathroom, as well as any other nearby lightbulbs in the house. Your hand clamps over your mouth, and you stare into your now cracked reflection.

Your face is… faded. Everything is still there, but every time you move, it leaves an impression in the air behind it, like moving a source of light quickly in the dark. An imprint on the eye. Your skin, your features, your silhouette are all blurry. Even as you stay entirely still, it’s like parts of you are ever moving, ever changing, a strange fuzzy static appearance having taken over your especially mobile parts. You scramble out of the bathroom and into your bedroom where you have a full-length mirror, filled with both insatiable curiosity and deep-rooted fear.

Your entire body has become corrupted. Your hands and feet especially, up to the elbows and knees, seem to be phasing in and out of existence while staying still. Your abdomen is mostly alright, but your head… you want to scream again, but you slap your everchanging hand over your mouth once more, not wanting to shatter another mirror. Tears fill your eyes, flickering in and out of sight before splattering onto the mirror at full speed, the movement of your features enough to rocket it off.

You’ve become what Glow George had warned you of. You’ve become glitched.

Before your thoughts could continue to spiral in what would inevitably become self-destructive, you hear a loud, multi fisted knock at the door. Someone shouts your name. “Hey! Are you alright? We heard some glass breaking and a scream.” You hear OctoRingo call out. You can’t let him see you like this. He’d know you broke the rules; he’d know you’d become a monster.

Panicking, you scramble for your window, somehow managing to phase through it and fall to the ground outside. “Hey! What was that?” You hear from the front of your house, and you take off running towards the forest. You’re fast, faster than you used to be, but your lack of familiarity with your newly corrupted limbs prevent you from being able to outrun Glow George. He seems to appear next to you as you feel yourself being grabbed. For a moment, you struggle, but as the panic ebbs you collapse into sobs. Blue and olive light reflects on your face as Glow George, concerned and confused, realises who you are and holds you up so you don’t fall to the ground.

You barely register the easily identifiable footsteps of OctoRingo as he catches up to you two, letting out a gasp as he realises who – and what – you are. He bends down and puts a hand on your trembling shoulder, stifling a groan as your corruption feels as though it burns his skin. Luckily, it wasn’t contagious - yet.

OctoRingo tries to ask if you are alright and how you are feeling, but you can’t manage to say anything. You can’t stop crying, so OctoRingo glances up at Glow George. “Let’s bring them back home. I think I know someone who can help.” Your hands – however many you seem to have now – grip onto Glow George’s jacket as he lifts you up, and you continue to sob helplessly into his shoulder as he carries you to OctoRingo’s home.

When you get there, you have run out of tears, but you’re still sniffling miserably and unable to convey a coherent sentence. Glow George sets you down on the couch and sits next to you as you put your heads in your hands, trying to stay calm as you feel the shifting of your face and the shifting of your hands briefly conflict before paralleling each other. You only lift your head as OctoRingo comes into the room and offers you some tea, which you take gratefully. The first sip ends up vibrating onto your shirt, and with a wracked sob, you nearly burst into angry tears. OctoRingo’s quiet affirmations keep you calm, however, and you manage to slowly, slowly consume the remainder of the cup without spilling it or vibrating it into a gas.

“I’ve called someone who can help, and he’s going to come in the morning, okay? It’ll be alright. He can help you. I put something in the tea to help you relax, and I want you to go to sleep, alright? Things will be better in the morning.” OctoRingo assured you in a voice that made you relax. Something about him was very calming. You nod, and they stay with you until you slowly fall asleep on the couch.

You’re woken up by the sound of two Ringos. One was OctoRingo, and the other was more… corrupted. They’re calmly discussing something when their voices suddenly cease. As you slowly sit up, you realise you’d been moved to a bedroom. You blink, the world losing its haze as someone opens the door to the room you’re in. “Yes. They’re awake.”

The other Ringo, as it turns out, is Glitch Ringo. He seems to glide in the room as he moves to sit down next to you, and OctoRingo stays closer to the door as he holds it with three of his hands. “Glitch Ringo can help explain what you’re going through.” Your multi-limbed friend explains, and you nod slowly, turning to Glitch Ringo as OctoRingo nods and leaves the room.

“So you went into the forest.” He begins, and you take a shaky breath before nodding. Obviously your regret is clear on your face, as he looks sorry that he asked so bluntly. “I –” You begin, eyes widening as you hear your own voice. Other than the strange echo, it sounds like it’s been corrupted; recorded on an old VHS player, left to rot, and then fed back onto a computer before being compressed. Putting a hand on your shoulder, Glitch Ringo’s reassuring expression keeps you from losing it again. You swallow hard, before admitting that you felt compelled to go in. Then you explained, stiltedly, what had happened while you were inside.

Glitch Ringo held out his hand, which was clearly experiencing something similar to yours but much milder. You tentatively put yours in his, and suddenly you’re much more aware of your condition. He narrows his eyes. “Huh. I’m not sure who did this to you, but it’s certainly something. This could have destroyed me. If only!” He jokes – half jokes? – and you give a slight chuckle as he inspects the way you’re glitching.

For a few minutes, he keeps a strangely calming hold on your hand as the rampant corruption seems to calm in your system. “I wish I could tell you that this’ll go away, but unfortunately, it won’t. I should know.” That last sentence is said with intense regret, and you can suddenly understand why Glitch Ringo always seems a bit depressed. You sigh, already knowing that this was permanent. How couldn’t it be, with the way it had consumed your entire form? “But don’t let it get you down. It could have been a lot worse.” You probably should have died, his unspoken words in the air practically leap at you. “I know it’s easy to get upset, but there are benefits.” He insists, and you look back up at him.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’ll get used to it. If you ever feel it taking you over – that fuzzy feeling? Yeah. If you feel it taking you over, just take some deep breaths and keep your mind on yourself. It can be annoying, but it’ll be alright. And if it feels as though it’s too much, you can call me.” You bite your lip and nod. So it was like a disease – a really, really disturbing disease. “It’s alright! It’s not so bad. Like I said, there are benefits. You’ll probably get faster, and sometimes you can do things you couldn’t before. Like the way I skate around? Haha, yeah.” He can see you’re feeling a bit better now. It’s not so bad, you reason to yourself.

For the next hour, Glitch Ringo helps you control your appearance. As you calm down and picture yourself the way you used to be, you find that you can minimize the glitching to the point where you look almost normal. You still look hazy around the edges, but for the most part, it’s alright. You’re alright.

Glitch Ringo gives you a smile and you feel calm again. Not quite like yourself, but a lot better than you had the night before. He offers you a hand and helps you to stand, and you both exit the bedroom, finding OctoRingo and Glow George hanging about very close to the door. “You look much better!” OctoRingo says with a smile as he hands you some tea, and Glow George’s eyes were purple and olive with happiness and worry. You give him a smile, and most of the olive goes away. Most of it.

As you head back home after having tea with everyone, you feel a lot better about yourself. Glitch Ringo gave you his house’s number, and you know you can call him if everything came crashing back to you. You don’t even feel much of the numbness anymore, and soon, you know keeping how you looked in mind would become second nature. This should be alright. You just wish you weren’t a glitch…

… and that you’d never gone in that forsaken forest.

#beatles cartoon imagine #beatles cartoon #cartoon beatles #octoringo #glow george #glitch ringo #trigger warning #tw body horror

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beatlescartoonimagines · 7 years

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She’s Heading Home

Request: “Imagine a Paul (any Paul) stalking you in the middle of the night, and he ends up killing the reader.” - Anonymous

Warnings: Death, violence, stalking

Summary: After being kept back at work/school, you find that you’re going to be getting home later than you thought. So is someone else.

Length: 2262 words

A/N: I chose to use Glitch Paul, or a glitched Paul for this. Also, I’ve done this in second person but if anyone would prefer I write future imagines in first person instead, please feel free to message me!

It’s late – again. You’d been asked to stay behind, which you thought would be fine, but that meant you missed the bus. And then the train. Night had fallen a few hours ago, and now it was nearing midnight. At this time, once you transferred trains and got to your station, the buses wouldn’t be running. You’d have to walk the rest of the way home.

Without entirely realizing it, you end up playing on your phone as you wait the hour to go. You just glance up in time to see the sign change and announce your train coming into the station, so with a few hurried movements, you stand up and walk out onto the main platform. You’d had to take the train this late before, a few months ago, but this time there was nobody else around you. It was comforting and disconcerting at the same time; there were no strange people, but there were no people. You’re entirely alone as the train came into the station and to a stop, surprisingly quiet. They hadn’t even used the horn, but that you assumed was due to the late hour.

You quickly shuffle into the closest train car, finding it quite vacant as well. That was strange; you lived close enough to a city that the train was never empty. After all, the station you transferred at was the city’s. The thought shakes off as you realise other people are probably in other train cars – you just happened to pick an empty one.

Sitting down and quickly plugging in your phone, you settle into one of the seats. All that phone use earlier had drained the battery, so you just put on a music app and plug in your headphones. A familiar song begins to play and you lean back, relaxing as the train pulls out of the station and starts taking you home.

After a few stops where the only sounds aside from your music were the pre-recorded announcements of stops and the sound of the train itself, someone finally boards the same car as you halfway to your transfer stop. Alright, so you aren’t crazy, or entirely alone. The conductor will surely be around shortly. You had taken the ticket out of your bag and moved it to your pocket in anticipation, but they haven’t come around yet. Usually the conductors were fastidious, but because it was late, maybe they’re just a little slow. After all, with so few people, the job must go by much more quickly.

As the train finally rolled into the city stop, you and the other person left the train car. Now you’re confused – there’s nobody here either, and this is a much bigger station. Huge, even. You suppose, as you find a seat on the platform, that they’re inside waiting for their trains. It’s a bit cold, and you can’t see other platforms, so you dismiss the thought. At least the other person was there – or, you thought they were. Glancing around, you find you can’t see the person who’d shared your train car anywhere. You knew they’d come out behind you, and you hadn’t seen them leave, but perhaps they’d doubled back through the train to get to another platform while you weren’t paying attention. At any rate, you are alone once again.

You glance down at your phone – the train will be there in ten minutes, and your phone had charged up to 84%. That was enough to check your apps, you reason. The next ten minutes go by blissfully quickly, and you only look up when you hear your train roll in. You realise suddenly that the conductor had never punched your ticket on the first train, so as you walk into the nearest train car you root through your bag, searching for an older ticket where only one way had been punched out. You didn’t want to waste a train ticket space. You had just managed to find it when something slipped out of your pocket – and the person who’d been with you on the previous train caught it.

You almost gasp, having not realized they were right behind you, and quickly snap shut your bag with your older ticket in hand as they hold out what you dropped: your phone. You blink as you stare at them for a moment before managing to mutter out an apology and take your phone, unable to avoid the feeling of their skin as you did so. They were very cold. The person, a man who looked to be in his early twenties, nodded and stared back. You both stand there for a few moments, still as a windless night.

There is something off about him. His too-large doe eyes have a strange shine to them, his skin too cold and a little off-colour. He’s wearing a very old style of suit that is oddly smooth, as if it doesn’t have any seams. He seems almost blurry, but you reason that you’re just tired and your eyes aren’t being entirely reliable. After the cold moments passed, you thank him again and turn to sit down in the nearest seat. He nods, shuffling past, his eyes not leaving you until he is out of sight.

That was – strangely disconcerting. Something about him has rattled you, and your hands are shaking as you plug your phone in again. He is definitely off, and now that you thought about it, he’s strangely familiar looking. He reminds you of – well, you think it’s an older musician, but you can’t think of which one. It was too late for this; checking your phone again, you see it’s around 1 AM already. With a deep sigh, all your thoughts of the other man slip away and are replaced by heavy resignation at how late it would be when you got home and how little sleep you’d be getting.

The train shuddered to a start a few minutes late, at which point you are on your phone again, paying attention to social media and the distracting sound of music. You’re only brought back to the present when you realize your phone battery is draining faster than it was charging. You cut out of your apps in a bit of a confusion – this was the same type of train as the first one, but then again, you’d only been listening to music then – and, after a few more minutes, you turn the music off as well. Your phone is somehow at only 33%, and as you stare at it in disappointment, you watch it drop to 32%. Luckily this train ride is short.

In the newly found silence, you heave a sigh. You’re tired. A little antsy now, you cast a glance around the train. You know you didn’t hear the strange man leave the car, but you can’t see him. He must be slumping down in his seat; he’s likely as tired as you. As your mind comes back to the man, his face swims back into your consciousness. He looked like he could have been handsome, but something about the expression he’d given you makes you nervous. His eyes had been especially strange, but now that you were thinking of it, the other things you’d noticed made him seem weirder. His skin had been practically poreless, as if it’d been airbrushed. His dark hair was perfectly shaped into a sort of mop top, no stray hairs at all. In fact, his entire appearance was inhumanely perfect. His suit, his hair, his skin – nothing had any sort of imperfection that you could remember. Strange.

You manage to shake the thought of the strange man, checking your phone again. It was all the way down to 16%. What the hell? You grunt in frustration and turn it to a power saving mode before shoving it into your pocket, grabbing your stuff as the train came into your station. The conductor hadn’t come around on this train either, but that isn’t really on your mind. All you want to do is go home and go to bed, as it’s half past one and you’re exhausted. It hardly crosses your mind that the man, who seemingly had come out of nowhere, came out of the car at the same stop as you. You just want to walk the twenty minutes home.

For the first few minutes, your focus is just on walking, until you slowly realise how quiet it is. Sure, there aren’t any birds at this time, but there isn’t anything else, either. The electric hum of the streetlamps is absent, and you notice that all of them seem to be off. No cars, no talking, no nocturnal animals, nothing. Absolutely nothing – except for some quiet footsteps behind you.

It’s unnerving, that sound. You become stiff and you walk a little faster, but the footsteps don’t get any quieter. A cold sensation runs through you and you’re wracked between the need to turn around and the fear of what you’ll see. After an eternity that lasts for about a block, you glance backwards to see who is following you. It’s him. The man from the train.

You’re suddenly struck by the realization that you were right when you thought he looked like an old band member; if you didn’t know better, you’d have called him Paul McCartney, but nearly sixty years ago. Except that he is… airbrushed. His proportions are off. There is just something wrong about him, and as you tempt another glimpse backwards, you think you see him shift.

What makes you practically jump to a stop is when you hear his voice. You can’t make his words out, but it sounds as if he is right behind you. You feel a breath at your neck as the hair raises on your arms, and you’re off. You break into a run as fast as you can, desperate to get away from something you aren’t entirely sure of. At full speed, you dash across a parking lot, through someone’s yard, whatever it takes to get to your house as quickly as possible. You tear your phone out of your pocket, but it’s dead. Which is impossible, seeing as the mode you’d put it on would most definitely stop it from losing that last 16% in five minutes, but that’s not the priority. You shove it back into your pocket and keep running. There’s nothing else to do.

Glancing back, he’s gone from sight, but you know somehow that he’s still there. He’s still following you. As you manage to heave yourself over someone’s fence, you crash to the ground, wildly groping for a hand hold to try and keep going. Despite the fact that when you turn around you can’t see him, you know that he’s gaining on you. Maybe it’s old instinct, but you are overcome with fear. As you manage to get back on your feet, you have the strange sensation that he hadn’t caught up to you on purpose. Like he was making this a game.

As you crawl out of the person’s backyard and leap back onto the main street, you break back into an uninterrupted run in the direction of your house. He’s coming. You know he is coming. Your futile glances back become more and more infrequent as you realize that wherever he is, you aren’t going to be able to see him. You can hear his footsteps, his strangely calm breathing, but otherwise it’s as if he doesn’t exist.

As your street comes into view, the footsteps suddenly get much closer and you’re arrested by the cold sensation of a hand clutching your arm. You call out, but no sound escapes your throat as you’re dragged backwards into the darkness. For a fleeting, absurd moment you wonder again why all the streetlamps are out, before you see his face and try to scream again. Again, no sound escapes, but you don’t even notice as all your thoughts focus entirely on his… face. It’s shifting before your eyes, blinking almost in and out of existence, leaving what seems to be a particle trail wherever it moves. It’s like he’s leaving shadow imprints of his face behind as he leans in towards you, his corrupted mouth spreading into a grin.

“Got you.” He says, in a voice somewhere between one you’ve only ever heard on song tracks and one on an old cartoon show. You try to rip away from him, but you’re paralysed by his ever-changing appearance. He might be laughing, but you’re not sure. “P-Paul?” You manage to spit out, actually making a sound this time, though your own voice sounds distorted. What he has seems to be spreading to you, and you’re becoming filled with the choking sensation of phasing in and out of yourself. He seems to nod, pleased that you know who he is. “Yes.” That arresting voice confirms, and suddenly his fingers dig into your arms, what feels like claws breaking your skin. You want to scream, but it’s all you can do to hopelessly stare at his shifting, glitching eyes as you lose control of your body.

The process is quick, but to you, it feels like ages are passing. He’s saying something, but it sounds like static through the intense pain rioting through your nerves. As your head gets heavy and you begin to feel yourself actually choke, you finally catch some of his words.

“Delicious.”

Faster than your eyes can process, one of his arms rips forwards and grabs at your throat, and it’s over.

#beatles cartoon imagine #beatles cartoon #cartoon beatles #glitch paul #trigger warning #tw violence #tw death #tw stalking

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