creation // destruction

indie rp/ask blog for jw franchise's indoraptor // multiverse/ship // wip

[creatixndominus]

they’ve brought someone to see him. he hadn’t expected this; after and between his violent outbursts, his twitchy nature, and his uncontrollable demeanor, he had expected to be left alone in his cages for a long while, if not the rest of his life, and that had been fine by him.

now, though, this... he understands it well enough. they’re trying to socialize him– him, the hybrid, the mixture of prehistoric and modern alike in the shape of one of them, but not quite... right.

“Who are you supposed to be? My new trainer?” he asks, his eyes scanning them with a critical quality from head to toe. “Tt.”

he might not be as smart as his older cousin was– cold and cruel, where he is blazing hot with rage and malice (or so he likes to think), back when she brought their island he never knew to its knees– but he knows enough to know this. “’Cause... that’s not going to work.”

[creatixndominus]

((*shows up two years later* hey I think I’m back what’d I miss))

[creatixndominus]

Hiatus Update

((My hiatus is still on for the moment, but may be ending soon. I’m working on adjusting my version of Indoraptor to fit closer to the movie’s and still keep traits that I want in place without sacrificing canon, so it’s taking a minute, but I’ll be back! :) Just an update for anyone who’s interested!))

[creatixndominus]

Hiatus Announcement

((I loved the movie, but my muse for Indoraptor is currently nonpresent, so I’m going to be going on a hiatus/semi-hiatus for the time being. I’m not sure when this will end, if my muse comes back for Indoraptor. Thanks for understanding!))

[fairestfall]

he is a little awed that she is able to so quickly process his words and find it within herself to calm down and agree that she will follow his lead as he followed hers to escape the first time- only, this time, there will be no escape, as he knows, and she is following him into a certain state of perpetual waiting, of being caged in increasingly furnished rooms, in, potentially, the manor.

(but there was a potential to escape, something small inside of him said, something barbed with quills and osterderms and armed with sharp teeth and sharp claws, there was a potential for him still to escape, to use this new body and it’s new strengths to his advantage- together, if they bided their time, he and Snow could find their way out, be Indo and Snow again, instead of experiments in lock-up, fancy as that lock-up might be.)

she is following him into something much worse than what he was willing to follow her into when they first met, and he is surprised that she trusts him so much, even after the time that they spent together in the course of their escape from the facility the first time, not to mention their time on the island, living in the wild, free of the shackles of pretending to be anything but what they truly were, out of the eyes of the humans- he can’t possibly imagine what kind of force of will it is taking her to agree to play nice with the people who have tortured her so, apparently for no purpose, judging by the fact that he’s seen nothing to indicate any results coming from the tests done on her.

“Yes, we do have to stick together. I’m very tired of being alone, and you must be, too, after all this time. And… by the way… thank you for trusting me. I won’t let you down.”

it’s the longest consecutive statement he’s ever made, and he wonders if the humans are impressed, if they’re all looking at each other in awe and taking down notes of word count and the quality of his dialogue, as he gives his all to speaking to what may be his only friend in the whole entire world- and then he gestures at the doors, bare and thin, thinking of the rooms beyond it, where more recreational activities lie in wait.

“We could… play ping pong. I don’t know what ping pong is, but we could play it. Or there are other rooms. We could find something to do, while we wait for class, I’m sure.”

(not that he’s sure she’ll have class- she’s already educated in how to act human, in how to speak human, and he’s the one that still needs to learn, for their sake.)

        Snow glances into his eyes, buoys of color that keep her afloat. The storm inside her calms somewhat when she observes a familiar twinkle of defiance in them. They are broken, it is true, but not defeated. They’d earn the humans’ trust and reach this manor. Even if it takes years, they will wait patiently, like a spider poised on a web, until the opportune time to escape. 

They are prehistoric gods trapped in human form. They are made to roam free, to demonstrate their power unashamedly. Snow swears they would do so again. 

At last, a weak yet sincere smile tugs at her lips. She knows he won’t let her down. She, in fact, doubts that he could, even if he tried. They had been through too much, and she feels that the kindred ties that bind them together have been strengthened. He is exactly like her now: a ‘human’ face that hid a beast. 

After centuries of searching, the last of the nephilim has found a companion, and she is willing to walk through hell itself so long as they remain together. 

“I’d love for you to show me around. And, if you’d like, I can teach you how to play ping pong.” She nearly laughs at the incredulity of it. Is this how the scientists expected them to spend their time? Learning obedience and playing table top games? 

Greed isn’t humanity’s fatal flaw, she realizes. It’s their feeble illusion of control. 

[creatixndominus]

he’s glad to see her perking up a little bit, even though he can tell by the scents on the air that she’s still feeling a strong sorrow, something similar but different, slightly more bitter-scented, than that that she was feeling when she was stitching up his bullet wounds back on the island that they had made their temporary home before the humans came and kidnapped them, brought them back here and unmade him to mold him in their own shape.

(they had played god with him, had tried to create something in their own image, and had created something stronger instead- they had created something powerful and inhuman, and he would keep that secret as much as he could and bide his time until his power would be of use to them, perhaps sooner, perhaps later.)

“Okay. I’ll show you around, then. And, by the way... what is ping pong, exactly? All I can tell is that there’s a little ball and two ‘paddles.’ Is it a kind of fight? Or is it a ‘game?’”

he doesn’t know much about games, only knows that they have told him that there is such a thing, told him that ‘game’ has many meanings, and that he made ‘game’ of the humans before he changed, and that he can’t do that again- but they’re already his game in more ways than one, game in that he’s playing with them, and game in that he’s hunting them, prepared to unleash his teeth and his new body against them when the time comes... prepared to shed their blood, the same as they’ve shed his.

without further ado, he heads towards the far door at the edge of the room, and tugs it open, revealing a room with, true to his word, a table with a small net in the middle, two paddles on either side, and a small white ball laying off-center on the blue-green surface- this is ping pong, he knows, and also knows that it will bring them no closer to escape, except in that pretending to be tame enough to be content playing games, he will fool them into complacency, furthering his goal of achieving entry to the manor.

[obsidianmagpie]

She holds his hand in hers trying to figure out how deep it was embedded. Despite the door being such an aesthetic piece, the ancient door had become such a safety hazard.  After studying it and istening to him describe the pain, she concluded that the splinter must be touching  the distal phalange in his finger. She held it gently, trying not inflict anymore pain than the the pain he’s in now. That’s cruel enough when you have an unreliable door, so it’s the least she could do for him.

“I can tell, it’s in there deep, but I think I can easily pull it out ”she mumbles, as she suddenly pulls out the splintered wood within a quick flick of her wrist, trying not to pulll out too much skin as she needed to.

“However the rest I probably need to grab with pliers, sorry. But is there anything else you can tell me though?”

[creatixndominus]

he raises his hand absently after she removes the splinters, sniffing the blood to check for any immediately detectable infectors- nothing presents itself, and he lowers his arm again to his side, letting his fingers dangle as a little bit of blood trickles down along his skin to dribble from his fingertips onto the fancy flooring, not something that occurs to him to prevent, due to his overall disinterest in the humans’ luxurious items, even when he was around his predecessors preserved forms in the manor.

“Pliers are fine. I’m not sure what else there is... I used to be a dinosaur, completely, before they changed me. And I’m still not all the way ‘normal,’ as far as most consider ‘normal’ at least. I have abilities.”

he gestures with his injured hand, twists it around, to indicate his earlier sniffing to check for infection- then he taps at his eyes, his ears, his jaw, his stomach, his arm.

“I have stronger senses than normal humans. Sight, sound, and smell, mostly, but all of them are altered. And I’m stronger than a normal human- not sure how much. I’m also able to consume raw food without a problem. I’ve still got dinosaur digestion, or something like that.”

[fairestfall]

he wants to respond to all she has to say, respond to her and tell her that it’s okay, that he doesn’t blame her for not protecting him, that she doesn’t have to blame herself for what has been done to him, despite all that he’s lost- he wants to tell her that he is sorry for what she’s lost, too, for the time and the pain she’s endured under their thumbs, yet longer than even he did, for he was set loose before her if her presence only now in the recreation rooms is of any indication as to how long they tortured her.

but instead of that, he gives a savage growl of hostility in the direction of the cameras, and reaches up to tug at his own collar, nearly forgotten, as it delivers a shock of its own in response to his animalistic delivery of sound- something that they are punishing him for as equally as they are his mostly void threats, now that he’s unable to truly fight back against them, in this new, unfamiliar form that he was never going to be ready for.

(the collar was small, and he had initially been convinced it was a necklace of some sort, like those the guards wore with their names engraved in the rounded rectangular pendants that hung from them, and so he had let them place it around his neck, and bore his name of a sort it did in that, Indoraptor- not that he could have prevented them from placing it around his neck, cold from the air, as he lied bound to their tables, with his body half-formed, half-dinosaur, half-man, in all the wrong ways.)

“I’ve missed you, too.”

he navigates the words carefully and slowly, forming his lips around them and curling his tongue against his teeth to utter the words, finding them easier and easier the more than he speaks- they are becoming something he is more fluid with, but ‘missed’ is not something he’s heard before in that tone, so it takes him a moment to absorb it, to figure that there’s not a sense of failure in the word, but instead one of sorrow, the same sorrow she exhibited crying as she stitched his wounds from the humans’ bullets.

“We’re… not going to get out of here soon. I don’t think so, at least- I’m sorry. They told me the better I behave… the more rooms I get. They said maybe they’ll even let me into the manor.”

he wonders what the manor is, wonders if its furnished with more than the moldy green-grey shag carpets that the furthest rooms he’s explored have down here, wonders if it looks like the mansion that the characters on the television live in, full of ornate things and beautiful, hollow people- he wonders, also, if someone came to the manor and saw him, if they would recoil, seeing him for what he is, or if he would look like just another person.

        Anger gives way to sorrow. Her porcelain countenance crumbles and appears as tragic as a marble relief of the Virgin Mary cradling her crucified son. She indeed feels that she is cradling something, the corpse of her innocence and whatever hope she had left for the world. Humans… They could all burn. 

Her digits delicately trace her collar (like a leash on a dog; she wants to tear it apart but fears they will give her a lethal dose). 

“Then… perhaps I had better behave, too.” It takes every fibre of her strength to not spit out the words like a curse. She is an embodiment of the divine. She was created to conquer and rule, not pace in a cage and bow to the mortals’ every whim. But this is about survival now. She’d acted before. She could do it again. 

“I’m tired of tests, of needles and scalpels. And I want to be with you again. If following their rules gets me out of here, then so be it.” 

That is the truth, at least. Despite her introverted nature, she despises being alone. They kept her isolated as they played. She died and came back to life so quickly that her mother’s arms couldn’t even reach her. She wants to be around someone she can trust and, right now, Indo is the only being in the entire world who she does.

She is too discouraged to smile. She hopes her words are reassuring enough. “We can help each other, just as we always have. We who only outwardly pass as humans have to stick together, hmm?” 

[creatixndominus]

he is a little awed that she is able to so quickly process his words and find it within herself to calm down and agree that she will follow his lead as he followed hers to escape the first time- only, this time, there will be no escape, as he knows, and she is following him into a certain state of perpetual waiting, of being caged in increasingly furnished rooms, in, potentially, the manor.

(but there was a potential to escape, something small inside of him said, something barbed with quills and osterderms and armed with sharp teeth and sharp claws, there was a potential for him still to escape, to use this new body and it’s new strengths to his advantage- together, if they bided their time, he and Snow could find their way out, be Indo and Snow again, instead of experiments in lock-up, fancy as that lock-up might be.)

she is following him into something much worse than what he was willing to follow her into when they first met, and he is surprised that she trusts him so much, even after the time that they spent together in the course of their escape from the facility the first time, not to mention their time on the island, living in the wild, free of the shackles of pretending to be anything but what they truly were, out of the eyes of the humans- he can’t possibly imagine what kind of force of will it is taking her to agree to play nice with the people who have tortured her so, apparently for no purpose, judging by the fact that he’s seen nothing to indicate any results coming from the tests done on her.

“Yes, we do have to stick together. I’m very tired of being alone, and you must be, too, after all this time. And... by the way... thank you for trusting me. I won’t let you down.”

it’s the longest consecutive statement he’s ever made, and he wonders if the humans are impressed, if they’re all looking at each other in awe and taking down notes of word count and the quality of his dialogue, as he gives his all to speaking to what may be his only friend in the whole entire world- and then he gestures at the doors, bare and thin, thinking of the rooms beyond it, where more recreational activities lie in wait.

“We could... play ping pong. I don’t know what ping pong is, but we could play it. Or there are other rooms. We could find something to do, while we wait for class, I’m sure.”

(not that he’s sure she’ll have class- she’s already educated in how to act human, in how to speak human, and he’s the one that still needs to learn, for their sake.)

[fairestfall]

they had hurt him so terribly, after the sudden attack on the island when he had been goring them apart desperately in the haze, pulled him apart just the same, and put him back together, fused his old self with a new self, one that was softer and more pliable to their tools, their wishes, even their words- his new form was not as swift, was not as strong, and though he was still more than the humans, he was not what he used to be, and that was obvious enough as they tore into him again and again, changing him more and more, until he looked just like them, down to the smallest details… on the outside.

on the inside, he’s still the same, and he’s glad, in some ways, for how they had already hurt him in creating him the first time, because a creature who had gone through less might have been changed, the topical matter of their mind altered, or even broken completely, by the process of unmaking, unbecoming that he is put through as they splice him with other things, and the reconstitution of his being, periodically while he is awake enough to feel the pain and give his barest attempts to prevent himself from screaming in pain.

(he never succeeds, with what they do- he always screams.)

and then, suddenly, there was something more than the cold tables and slabs of concrete, more than the torture- there was physical therapy, as they called it, rehabilitation, and there was education, them teaching him how to use his complicated new mouth to do more than choke mimics of his old sounds, but to form their own instead.

most of all, there was recreation, when they would let him sit folded whatever way he liked, or stand, or even walk or run, in the spaces designated for him in his, as they said, ‘young life’ that he possessed- and while he did not fully understand some of the things provided to him in terms of their purpose, like the static-laden television or the table with a net in the middle featuring perplexing fins they called ‘paddles,’ he enjoyed them in a manner of speaking, aware as he was that it was yet another test of his newfound form.

his nostrils flare as he’s watching the forms of people moving on the television, learning about the humans’ view of ‘romance’ in the form of one of their shows, and a familiar scent drifts to him- he twists around, cocking his head, not yet entirely shed of his animal mannerisms despite their reeducation courses in trying to make him appear more human, and locks his eyes onto a familiar pale face with a yet more familiar sound of his former kind emitting from it.

“Snow.”

his voice rumbles out of him, deeper than he remembers it to be every time, and he blinks at himself, at the sound of her name in their words instead of his own- but he’s happy to see her, and he unfolds onto his feet, looks down at his limbs, twists them and tests his fingers by crooking them in against his palms and then out again, still missing his claws.

“They… took me apart and put me back together all different again. They told me I was like Humpty Dumpty, but better.”

(an indignation, to be sure, something as proud as him being reduced to referred to as a broken egg- but he allowed their disrespect, because he is softer and more pliant now.)

        The tears that she previously held at bay overflowed. Like Humpty Dumpty, but better. Fools! A sound akin to both a growl and a sob caught in her throat. Hollow, corrupt, depraved fools! Cutting her open and stitching her back up was one thing. She had expected it even. Humans were easily seduced by greed and the promise of her immortality was enough for them to commit unspeakable deeds. But Indo? He was already unnatural. A dinosaur spliced from dozens, perhaps hundreds, of different sources, and now they made him into this. A fleshy, clawless biped that they assumed would follow their orders better. 

She knelt before him, shaky digits reaching out to cradle his face, before wrapping her arms around his neck. In that moment, she mourned for them both. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m so, so sorry. This is my fault. I should have protected you better, should have never let them lay a hand on you. But I swear to you, I’ll tear through row after row of them before they take you away from me ag–” 

She leaned back with a small cry of pain. She glanced downward, looking for the source of the high voltage shock, before her gaze landed on the electrical collar around her neck. Her head swiveled toward the cameras overheard and she bore her teeth, eyes darkening. 

“Hurt me all you wish, but I swear to you that I do not jest. Now it is war between us–!” 

Another, stronger shock stiffened her limbs. She grit her teeth and glanced away. 

To say she was angry would be an understatement. She was, in fact, absolutely livid. Her delicate claws ached to rend flesh from bone and her teeth longed for blood. But… she was reunited with him again. That was enough, for now. 

She turned back to her companion. Her countenance was a storm of emotion but one positive feeling remained: relief. “Well, despite what new hell we’ve landed in… I’m glad to find you alive. I’ve missed you.” 

[creatixndominus]

he wants to respond to all she has to say, respond to her and tell her that it’s okay, that he doesn’t blame her for not protecting him, that she doesn’t have to blame herself for what has been done to him, despite all that he’s lost- he wants to tell her that he is sorry for what she’s lost, too, for the time and the pain she’s endured under their thumbs, yet longer than even he did, for he was set loose before her if her presence only now in the recreation rooms is of any indication as to how long they tortured her.

but instead of that, he gives a savage growl of hostility in the direction of the cameras, and reaches up to tug at his own collar, nearly forgotten, as it delivers a shock of its own in response to his animalistic delivery of sound- something that they are punishing him for as equally as they are his mostly void threats, now that he’s unable to truly fight back against them, in this new, unfamiliar form that he was never going to be ready for.

(the collar was small, and he had initially been convinced it was a necklace of some sort, like those the guards wore with their names engraved in the rounded rectangular pendants that hung from them, and so he had let them place it around his neck, and bore his name of a sort it did in that, Indoraptor- not that he could have prevented them from placing it around his neck, cold from the air, as he lied bound to their tables, with his body half-formed, half-dinosaur, half-man, in all the wrong ways.)

“I’ve missed you, too.”

he navigates the words carefully and slowly, forming his lips around them and curling his tongue against his teeth to utter the words, finding them easier and easier the more than he speaks- they are becoming something he is more fluid with, but ‘missed’ is not something he’s heard before in that tone, so it takes him a moment to absorb it, to figure that there’s not a sense of failure in the word, but instead one of sorrow, the same sorrow she exhibited crying as she stitched his wounds from the humans’ bullets.

“We’re... not going to get out of here soon. I don’t think so, at least- I’m sorry. They told me the better I behave... the more rooms I get. They said maybe they’ll even let me into the manor.”

he wonders what the manor is, wonders if its furnished with more than the moldy green-grey shag carpets that the furthest rooms he’s explored have down here, wonders if it looks like the mansion that the characters on the television live in, full of ornate things and beautiful, hollow people- he wonders, also, if someone came to the manor and saw him, if they would recoil, seeing him for what he is, or if he would look like just another person.

[creatixndominus]

he tilts his head, thinks, tries to find the words to explain himself, and comes up short, so decides to go with the easy version, the blunt truth of what he really is, of what the humans made him into, a mold of one and the other all smashed into one, predator instincts in a soft body.

“I’m not human, not like them. I’m also not a dinosaur. Not their Indoraptor, like they call me. I’m both of those things, all mixed together.”

his fingers play across the wood edge of the door he’s standing in, nearly catching splinters in soft skin as the tips impact edges, and then he draws his hand back in to his side and presses them against his palm, turning human eyes down from the ceiling to make eye contact.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to just share that, but I don’t care. It’s not… that important to me right now.”

in reality, he just wants to say it- wants to put it out into the air and hear himself admit to what he is besides to the psychologists they bring in to speak to him, the scientists… and he wants trust, and this is a good way to get it.

[obsidianmagpie]

She tilts her head in confusion watching his movement as he explains. But it doesn’t make sense when he reveals his truth. Sitting on the couch, she’s in deep thought, trying to comprehend this revelation. Not a man or a dinosaur or an indoraptor whatever that is.

But she assumes it’s important because he told her this truth. Even though she doesn’t know enough to make a decision, because this was a new depth of the unknown world she has yet to explore, despite seeing weirder things that almost seem to come out of a Lovecraft fantasy novel. Minus the insanity, the horrors can bring. Yet he’s telling her that he’s not supposed to share this information, so there must be a more complex truth than the simple one he’s telling now. She couldn’t really make a decision, without having enough evidence to help her pick a side on the matter of such things

But this train of thought is put to a stop when she decides to help him out with his splinter. She stands up calmly and approaches him quietly as the wooden boards creaked under her feet. “Sorry about the door. I need to get that replaced. It’s too hazardous for its own good. Luckily the splinters are easy to get out.” She extends her opened and tattooed hand in the hopes she can get a better look at an opportunity to help him, someone not entirely human-like she was, and to also find more answers from there.

[creatixndominus]

he slowly offers her his hand, the splinters sticking out of his skin as red blood wells around the shards of wood- it hurts, but he’s ignored it up until now, more interested in this new off-kin of sorts, something or someone else who is not entirely human, in the same manner that he is, making him raise his hackles with a keen kind of interest.

“It doesn’t hurt too bad.”

an oversimplification, to be sure- because it does hurt, rather badly, but he’s so used to pain that it’s background noise to him, this thing that blares up from his arm into his head to warn him that something isn’t right, because nothing is ever right anymore, not since he woke up in the wrong body and saw that he was gone, that they had pulled him out of himself and put him into something entirely new.

“Mostly its just throbbing. I think it might have hit something important. That one.”

he points at a particularly large splinter with a wide finger and then cocks a brow at her, wondering what she’s going to do about this- in a way, he’s glad for the injury, because it gives him a chance to play the wounded animal, and make himself easy to look at as someone to help instead of someone to be afraid of, a freak, a monster.

he’s not sure how she’d look at him, if not for the blood on his arm- but he’s sure that he doesn’t want to find out, not just yet.

[fairestfall]

@creatixndominus​

        She had had such high hopes. Isla Sorna was overrun with predators and brimming with places to hide. She thought they could evade InGen forever. She thought they would eventually give up the search. 

She was a fool. 

Just when they dared to let their guards down, THEY came with guns and nets and tranquilizers. Before she could so much as twitch a muscle, the air became full of smoke and artillery. Her spotty vision observed the events, shocked mind registering everything in slow motion. She stumbled forward in vain, legs soon buckling beneath her. She remembered weakly reaching for her companion before all grew dark and numb. 

Snow knew not whether she merely fell unconscious or died– She thought it must be the latter due to the amount of pain she felt upon gasping awake. And, when she did, she found herself in the middle of a padded white room, strapped onto a gurney. 

She wasn’t sure how long they kept her in there or how much of her they took. Blood. Hair. Skin. Organs. Her tissues were poisonous and thus ineffective for transplantation or consumption, she knew, so they must have done further tests just to see how much she could take. 

After what seemed like an eternity spent in that terrestrial purgatory, she was allowed a glimpse of another part of the facility, an improvised rec room, bare save for cameras in every corner. Her squinting eyes fought to adjust to the dimmer light. Her head tilted, nostrils flaring once she detected a familiar scent. For the first time in ages, something other than anger welled in her chest: hope. 

Male. Strong. Friend. Indo. It was Indo! 

Her pace quickened and a habitual churr-like greeting welled in her throat until his form became clearer. Her insides grew cold and her breath caught in her chest. 

It was a man. Human? Was this some sick joke? A hybrid created from another hybrid? 

Her bosom rose and fell quickly, nearly to the point of hyperventilation, and she lowly keened. 

Or did they cause him even more pain in her absence? 

Her voice, hoarse from lack of use, made its presence known. “I-Indo? What did they do to you?” 

[creatixndominus]

they had hurt him so terribly, after the sudden attack on the island when he had been goring them apart desperately in the haze, pulled him apart just the same, and put him back together, fused his old self with a new self, one that was softer and more pliable to their tools, their wishes, even their words- his new form was not as swift, was not as strong, and though he was still more than the humans, he was not what he used to be, and that was obvious enough as they tore into him again and again, changing him more and more, until he looked just like them, down to the smallest details... on the outside.

on the inside, he’s still the same, and he’s glad, in some ways, for how they had already hurt him in creating him the first time, because a creature who had gone through less might have been changed, the topical matter of their mind altered, or even broken completely, by the process of unmaking, unbecoming that he is put through as they splice him with other things, and the reconstitution of his being, periodically while he is awake enough to feel the pain and give his barest attempts to prevent himself from screaming in pain.

(he never succeeds, with what they do- he always screams.)

and then, suddenly, there was something more than the cold tables and slabs of concrete, more than the torture- there was physical therapy, as they called it, rehabilitation, and there was education, them teaching him how to use his complicated new mouth to do more than choke mimics of his old sounds, but to form their own instead.

most of all, there was recreation, when they would let him sit folded whatever way he liked, or stand, or even walk or run, in the spaces designated for him in his, as they said, ‘young life’ that he possessed- and while he did not fully understand some of the things provided to him in terms of their purpose, like the static-laden television or the table with a net in the middle featuring perplexing fins they called ‘paddles,’ he enjoyed them in a manner of speaking, aware as he was that it was yet another test of his newfound form.

his nostrils flare as he’s watching the forms of people moving on the television in the wall in the bare room at the beginning of the recreation areas, learning about the humans’ view of ‘romance’ in the form of one of their shows, and a familiar scent drifts to him- he twists around, cocking his head, not yet entirely shed of his animal mannerisms despite their reeducation courses in trying to make him appear more human, and locks his eyes onto a familiar pale face with a yet more familiar sound of his former kind emitting from it.

“Snow.”

his voice rumbles out of him, deeper than he remembers it to be every time, and he blinks at himself, at the sound of her name in their words instead of his own- but he’s happy to see her, and he unfolds onto his feet, looks down at his limbs, twists them and tests his fingers by crooking them in against his palms and then out again, still missing his claws.

“They... took me apart and put me back together all different again. They told me I was like Humpty Dumpty, but better.”

(an indignation, to be sure, something as proud as him being reduced to referred to as a broken egg- but he allowed their disrespect, because he is softer and more pliant now.)

[jurassicmasterlist-blog]

If you want to be on a roleplay masterlist for Jurassic Park/Jurassic World characters, please reblog this post. As I said, characters from all movies are welcome (the Jurassic Park trilogy and both Jurassic World movies). As well as OCs, multi-muse blogs and characters from other fandoms with crossover verses. Simple put your characters name, if canon/oc/multi/crossover in the tags. I thought this could be helpful now that with the new movie coming, the fandom will hopefully be alive again.

                                              THE LIST CAN BE FOUND HERE.

[creatixndominus]

teeth part as a hiss cuts the air like a knife through butter, and his jaws drip with spittle, hungry in his solo hunt as he creeps among the brush, crimson eyes shining with the dim light as he keeps them on his prey- and he is ready to strike, quills rippling down his back.

he leaps into the air with a screech of sound, declaring his domain over this prey, this hunt, before he lands- and his claws are flying, rending into his kill, his mind in a frenzy as he devours, unaware of any approaching others.

[creatixndominus]

he tilts his head, thinks, tries to find the words to explain himself, and comes up short, so decides to go with the easy version, the blunt truth of what he really is, of what the humans made him into, a mold of one and the other all smashed into one, predator instincts in a soft body.

“I’m not human, not like them. I’m also not a dinosaur. Not their Indoraptor, like they call me. I’m both of those things, all mixed together.”

his fingers play across the wood edge of the door he’s standing in, nearly catching splinters in soft skin as the tips impact edges, and then he draws his hand back in to his side and presses them against his palm, turning human eyes down from the ceiling to make eye contact.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to just share that, but I don’t care. It’s not... that important to me right now.”

in reality, he just wants to say it- wants to put it out into the air and hear himself admit to what he is besides to the psychologists they bring in to speak to him, the scientists... and he wants trust, and this is a good way to get it.

[fairestfall]

does he want her to do this- such a thing to unload, that, a question of whether he wants something, a question that he’s never really been asked before, because no one cared to ask the imperfect, mad creature that they had created whether it wanted anything in the world, much less if it wanted them to run their tests with their needles and their sharp objects like his claws, like tearing teeth from his head and scales from his body for their own desires.

does he want her to do this- a question that has a second meaning, because he’s sure that he will most probably die if he is not allowing of her attentions to his wounds, is sure that the steadily flowing blood will transform into a devastating flow that will leave him lethargic and then, finally, a corpse for the other dinosaurs to come looking for when they smell him, to look upon him as a freak and a meal and nothing more.

so, yes, despite the pain that flows through him in a less physical sense, he decides, he wants to be fixed- and he says so, coughing a confirmation at her as he lowers himself onto his belly, pressing his claws both front and back against the floor for purchase as he wraps his jaws slowly but surely around a steel bar that is bent out from what appears to be part of their new hideout, or, rather, nest.

is he prepared for the pain- no, perhaps not, but it is necessary, and he has endured much, has endured them tearing pieces of his being out one by one, leaving him a half-thing, a shadow-thing of what he used to be, when he was born, when he was growing, and so he makes a low groan to encourage the process and then slides his crimson eyes shut, anticipating the agony to come.

        Snow is certain that she will be in as much pain as he, if not more. Large brown eyes survey his form and white teeth worry the inside of her cheek to prevent her from grimacing. This only proves to her how hollow the humans are, how cruel. She, on the other hand, promises not to be. Even if she has to shed oceans of her own blood, she will protect him from further pain. She will be gentle, kind. She will save him from the dark shadows that even now loom around them. 

She takes a steeling breath and sets to work. First, the bullets are removed with a deft hand. Then, the wounds are disinfected. Lastly, she threads rent flaps of scaled flesh closed. All the while, she sings in tones lovelier than a dove’s coo. This is what she did whenever her children, now long dead, were hurt. The action is comforting in its familiarity and meant to calm her just as much as her patient. 

“When I am down, and, oh, my soul, so weary When troubles come, and my heart burdened be Then, I am still and wait here in the silence Until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains You raise me up to walk on stormy seas I am strong when I am on your shoulders You raise me up to more than I can be.” 

More tears well in her eyes but, just as before, she refuses to let them fall. For, if she were to truly mourn how their innocence was lost, she would never stop weeping. 

The last stitch is looped closed. She reaches up and soothingly rubs the male’s taut neck. 

“It’s done. Thank you. I’m certain you’ll be better in no time.” 

[creatixndominus]

he can smell her sorrow on the air as she works, its potent scent, an acrid sweetness, thick like syrup’s cloy but stinging like citrus fruit’s intensity, filling his nose and distracting him as his crimson eyes, pupils slit, survey her shadow each time it falls above him- he wonders what this emotion arises from, if it’s for him or if it is for another, or perhaps both in part, and he decides that it is none of his business even if he could find a way to ask after the reasons for her sadness, and instead remains still and silent, his sides rising and falling as his breaths come great and slow despite the bleeding and the agony of the gunshots, as well as the removal of their payload.

her singing is comforting despite the emotions on the air, and the metallic scent of his blood, reminding him of rawing himself on the cage trying to escape when they locked him in, the tiny bars so thin when he was a hatchling that they would tear into his hide when he pressed his small body between them to try and escape- but then, as he would lay and heal, he would hear distant singing, through the tunnels of the vents that cool air emerged from, making him shiver in his cage even as a kindred spirit above sang gently...

this is a different spirit, but a kindred one still indeed, perhaps yet more, and he raises his head slowly, the completion of the act of fixing him long since complete and he having lost himself in contemplation, nostrils flaring to scent the cleaner on the closed wounds as itching sets in, denoting healing taking hold in its beginnings- he sees glistening in his pack-mate’s eyes, and parts his jaws, chortling gently to try and reassure her, as he takes his feet again, wobbling in place before finding his balance.

their new home demands his attention sooner rather than later, he knows- as soon as the other humans are gone from near the nest, he will have to begin gathering knowledge in order to better understand the new place he will be calling a home alongside Snow.

[fairestfall]

friend- yes, he’s glad to have a friend, to have someone who will help him and stay with him, away from the humans so prepared to make him suffer for their own gains.

he bobs his head and chortles a confirmation that he can run- it will not be fun, but he will do his best, and so he drags himself to his feet, slowly but surely, his tail dipping behind him droopily as he raises his head, taking a deep breath, even though blood is still pooling underneath him, slick across the floor of the boat, from his wounds, as if one of the bullets might have struck badly.

but he ignores it all the same, and bares his teeth, steeling himself for the run as the shore approaches, the boat beginning to groan across the shallows- and as soon as it halts, the sand only a few feet away, a golden-creme tone, he launches himself over the side, splashing into the water with a bleat of sound before bolting for the edge of the jungle, knowing that Snow will keep pace with him after all she’s already done by his side.

behind him, the sound of more boats approaching fades into a muffled background noise as the leaves envelop him, thick and green, and he ducks under branches as he sprints, keeping his head low and his body stiff as he ignores the pain rippling through his body- push the pain away, he reminds himself, from back when they would hurt him, sparely an hour ago at most… but soon, he will never have to hurt again, just hunt and eat and live.

        She steels her worry at his shaky stance and all the blood painting the bottom of the vehicle with thoughts of how much he has already endured. Still, it doesn’t make the sight of him wounded any easier to bear. She takes a deep, calming breath as the boat nears the shore and then follows the male through the forest at a sprint that would put the mortals to shame. Soon, they are side by side and Snow leads him with soft calls and jerks of her head. 

At last, they reach the nest. Snow hurriedly swings the foliage-covered door open and gestures for Indo to go first. The underground space isn’t ideal, she knows. After they are certain that InGen has abandoned the chase, they will find something above-ground. 

“Don’t worry. It is safe,” she reassures. 

Her head swivels about and she notices a blood trail. She kicks at the soil until their footprints fade from view and pours dirt over those dangerous splotches of crimson. Then, walking slowly backward, she brushes away any new prints until she reaches the entrance. She registers crackling brush in the distance right as she lowers herself inside and closes the door behind them. 

Snow finally allows herself to sigh in relief. They did it. They went up against InGen and won. 

However, as adrenaline fades, pain becomes an unpleasant reminder of their escape. Swallowing a groan, she switches on a dim lamp overhead and limps over to her supplies. Indo was hurt more than she realized. He will need stitches, so she thinks it best to tend to him first. Besides, once she removes the bullet in her leg, she will be completely healed by the next morning– one gift from her father that she doesn’t mind having. 

“No more running now until you’re healed. Tomorrow I can hunt for both of us.” She kneels down next to him and meets his gaze with a soft smile. “You’ve done well… Thank you for trusting me.”

She chuckles weakly. “But you might change your mind after this is all over. Some of those bullets went deeper than I thought. You’ll need stitches, thread through your flesh to keep the wound closed. And I, of course, have to remove the bullets.” Her brow furrows. “It will hurt but I will try to be as gentle as I can. However, it is your choice. Do you want me to do this?”

[creatixndominus]

does he want her to do this- such a thing to unload, that, a question of whether he wants something, a question that he’s never really been asked before, because no one cared to ask the imperfect, mad creature that they had created whether it wanted anything in the world, much less if it wanted them to run their tests with their needles and their sharp objects like his claws, like tearing teeth from his head and scales from his body for their own desires.

does he want her to do this- a question that has a second meaning, because he’s sure that he will most probably die if he is not allowing of her attentions to his wounds, is sure that the steadily flowing blood will transform into a devastating flow that will leave him lethargic and then, finally, a corpse for the other dinosaurs to come looking for when they smell him, to look upon him as a freak and a meal and nothing more.

so, yes, despite the pain that flows through him in a less physical sense, he decides, he wants to be fixed- and he says so, coughing a confirmation at her as he lowers himself onto his belly, pressing his claws both front and back against the floor for purchase as he wraps his jaws slowly but surely around a steel bar that is bent out from what appears to be part of their new hideout, or, rather, nest.

is he prepared for the pain- no, perhaps not, but it is necessary, and he has endured much, has endured them tearing pieces of his being out one by one, leaving him a half-thing, a shadow-thing of what he used to be, when he was born, when he was growing, and so he makes a low groan to encourage the process and then slides his crimson eyes shut, anticipating the agony to come.

[fairestfall]

snow- Snow.

Snow, he thinks, like the fine white dust that would collect in the dingy window when it was at its coldest in the basement, his scales feeling shriveled and his body shaking as he laid against the metal- but this is a good Snow, a kind Snow, and he likes this Snow far more than that snow, so he pushes aside the memories and chortles a response instead, a response of understanding and identification towards her name.

and then he tells her his, and the only name he has is indoraptor, so he coughs out the closest thing he can mimic, his species’ tongue for ‘inside’ and then for their own kind, for ‘raptor,’ because that is all he knows- he knows not if he has a name, certainly not if the humans called him anything else, because indoraptor is all he ever heard besides ‘monster.’

so indoraptor is his name- Indoraptor, he thinks, and supposes its an okay name, though perhaps he would call himself by just ‘inside’ if he could, because he is what he is within, not what he is without, and so Indo he prefers, and coughs that out next.

he gives her all he has, there, laying himself out bare in giving himself a name, and he stares at her with crimson eyes, blinking- he hopes he doesn’t appear vulnerable.

he would hate to be vulnerable.

        As the male speaks, the woman’s gaze is soft and understanding. Inside-raptor. Indoraptor, the name the humans gave their hybrid weapon. And then, she tilts her head at his preferred address: Indo. It is a name that could never belong to a human and it is just as unique as Snow, which causes a flood of warmth to well in her chest. They are both anomalies in this world but at least they will no longer have to be alone. 

She notices how open he appears and how a sliver of fear enters his gaze. With misty eyes, she slowly reaches a hand forward and rests it against the side of her companion’s head, rubbing her thumb against rough scales. 

They would survive together. They had to. 

“Indo. Friend,” she responds. 

The sound of approaching motors grows louder but the sight of a nearby island grows closer. They are almost there. 

Her eyes crease with worry. “I know you’re in pain, and I’m sorry, but do you think you can run a bit more? It is a mile to the nest.”

[creatixndominus]

friend- yes, he’s glad to have a friend, to have someone who will help him and stay with him, away from the humans so prepared to make him suffer for their own gains.

he bobs his head and chortles a confirmation that he can run- it will not be fun, but he will do his best, and so he drags himself to his feet, slowly but surely, his tail dipping behind him droopily as he raises his head, taking a deep breath, even though blood is still pooling underneath him, slick across the floor of the boat, from his wounds, as if one of the bullets might have struck badly.

but he ignores it all the same, and bares his teeth, steeling himself for the run as the shore approaches, the boat beginning to groan across the shallows- and as soon as it halts, the sand only a few feet away, a golden-creme tone, he launches himself over the side, splashing into the water with a bleat of sound before bolting for the edge of the jungle, knowing that Snow will keep pace with him after all she’s already done by his side.

behind him, the sound of more boats approaching fades into a muffled background noise as the leaves envelop him, thick and green, and he ducks under branches as he sprints, keeping his head low and his body stiff as he ignores the pain rippling through his body- push the pain away, he reminds himself, from back when they would hurt him, sparely an hour ago at most... but soon, he will never have to hurt again, just hunt and eat and live.

[dinodorks]

Concept art of “Velociraptor sornaensis”.