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ADS THAT SUDDENLY TAKE UP THE WHOLE PAGE

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Forget the War

Mother Nature had sent her children, and they had come to restore balance. It began as a peace discussion. But, her Children were different in many ways from us; and their demands were deemed unrealistic. Talk failed. 

We would definitely win the war. There was no doubt. The battles began at the countryside, small towns gone ghost overnight. It spread to the larger towns, then the cities. Around the world, the Children flooded the streets and highways, and we blasted them sky high with our advanced weapons and guns.

But, where the bodies fell, both Theirs and ours, trees grew impossibly tall and wide. Still, many of the office buildings reached high above the canopy, outstretched fingers of modern day that sought the clouds and heaven. The cities, quite literally, became an urban jungle. We were forced to retreat in large number to select ‘safe zones.’ It had only been a couple of months. And, we were losing the war.

Unable to accept this defeat, we rallied. We allied ourselves in the first all-encompassing global alliance and began discussion of a successful strategy against these invaders. A week later, bombs fell from the sky to destroy the efforts of the Children on our cities. To wipe out the enemies that threatened to push up from home and country.

Those that have survived the fallout sit huddled under burning skies, secure in the knowledge that we won the war. With our planet ravaged, the air so painful to breathe-- I can’t help but wonder if we forgot the reason for the war.

To protect our cities. Our citizens. 

To protect our pride.

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Wood, Crystal and Resin Jewelry - including Glow in the Dark Pendants - by Cut Branch Jewelry on Etsy

More like this

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Asian American Tarot

The Daughter • The Hangman • The Shopkeeper The Prisoner • The Devil • The Fool

I recently had the opportunity to illustrate six cards for the Asian American Literary Review’s project reimagining the major arcana through an Asian American lens. The deck will accompany Open in Emergency: A Special Issue on Asian American Mental Health.

This project is currently being funded on Kickstarter! Rewards include digital downloads, prints, the AALR tarot deck, and the full Open in Emergency issue.

You can back this project and check out all the art for the cards here!

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There are some things about Paprika’s design that need to be animated.

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Murphy’s law, applied to fanfics.

- The fic starts out great, nice style, language, captivating summary. It’s unfinished and has been abandoned since 2013.

- The fic is complete, nice style, language, tons of kudos speak for themselves. It’s about your NOTP.

- The fic is about your OTP,  it’s complete, it’s kinky as hell. The plot is absolutely dumbass.

- The plot sounds great, it’s about your OTP, it’s complete. The characters are horribly OOC.

 - Everything is perfect in this fic, starting from the first letter and ending with the last full stop. It’s exactly 800 words long.

- The fic’s word count is a six-figure number, it’s about your OTP, characters are compliant with your head-canon. It’s dull and boring as seven hells.

- The beginning is enthralling, everything’s great, the plot, the style, it’s long and it’s even about your OTP. It features something that makes you close the tab as soon as you open it, like father/daughter incest or mpreg or some other squicky thing. 

- Everything is perfect in this fic, the length, the characters, the language, the style, you forget you’re reading fanfic, thinking it’s a masterpiece of true literature, you cry tears of joy and write a huge review full of gushing love and then rush to the author’s profile to read every other thing they’ve written. It’s their only work.

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star

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Monster Underneath

Light was absent from the windows, technology put to sleep so black screens reflected furniture empty of its owners, except for the beds where the families and others rested. Yet the house was awake with small, whispering sounds, the scuff and creak of floor boards, the hushed breath of air that muted the deep breaths of the sleeping occupants, except for the occasional unfortunate being.

Children, it was usually the youngest of the households that were bothered by the noises. Another scurry and rustle of fabric had me peeking out, blinking owlishly into the dimly lit bedroom. Objects that looked like toys but could have been anything were scattered around the floor of the room, appearing menacingly sharp and unearthly in the faint glow of the light plugged into the wall by the door. It was so far away, so tiny, the golden circle could not even reach the foot of my small bed. Somewhere in the house, a groan had me looking side to side, nervously, eyeing the bedroom door as if expecting it to creak open.

"Hey.."

I turned my head, tilted as I waited for a response.

"Are you sleeping?"

I could hear the wood of the bed slats creak as a weight shifted, but no other sounds. I held my breath, counted as I listened for the breathing. Steady, deep-- there would be no response.

Leaning on my forearms, I sat up cautiously, barely lifting my head from where it had rested, wide eyes glancing towards a flutter of shadows in the periphals of my left. Nothing moved. Just darkness. I narrowed my eyes, squinting; daring for something to move again. Nothing did. Until I turned my head again, no longer staring directly at the spot. Just like always.

"There's nothing there. It's just my imagination."

The small hairs at the nape of my neck rose, heart pounding heavily against my ribcage. My mouth felt dry, but I had to do this. I could not spend another night hiding, cowering in the darkness. My senses were straining to catch sight, to hear, to smell something that might otherwise make me duck under-- to safety. How many nights had I spent like this now? I swallowed, fingers curling into my palms as I clenched trembling hands into small fists. Too many. No more.

A shuddering inhale, slow shaky exhale, "No regrets."

I glanced to the bedroom door once more, gauging the distance from bed to door as best as I could. It wasn't a far distance by any means, several steps that somehow seemed to span the width of a canyon in the dim light on the bedroom. Now, would it be better to do it slow? Or to simply be done with a leap and quickness? Another creak in the room sent a shiver down my spine, my body quivering with nerves. Though my head spun with half-formed plans of action, my body had made my decision for me.

When two pale feet were firmly planted on the floor, I paused in hesitation, overwhelmed by my need to make a choice. Now. Quick. One step, two steps. Just several more brisk steps and it would be over.

Third step.

Just as the fourth step was to be taken, I shoved out from hiding, one hand extended to grasp the lagging foot. But, the boy was quicker. He choked on a gasp, yanking his ankle away and turning to take a flying leap to his own bed. I could hear the sheets rustle, my eyes peering out from the bed sham to stare at the oblong mirror across the room. I could see the reflection of a bundle on the bed above me, the bright glow of a flashlight shining underneath the sheet. It was just as they said; hiding under the sheets was the default shelter for children.

Emboldened by my near success, I grinned into the darkness, sharp teeth gleaming predatory. I could see the small beings that made the house groan, the noises echo into the silence as they skitter to and fro mischievously from shadow to shadow. They were excited by the attempt, their energy peaked by the fragrance of fear that wafted from the child atop of my bed. Bringing my arm back under the bed, I watched the reflection with narrowed eyes, admired my own unnatural twin pinpoint emerald fires that marked my gaze.

I could do this.

The thought made me stretch my lithe body languidly, letting clawed hands slide out from the bed to scrape along the oak floorboards. Nothing deep, nothing lasting; those were the rules. I was too young still to tango with an adult, but I was old enough for a child; for this child. The quivering of the sheet calmed, made me pause in my minor celebration and I waited, curious.

"Think," the boy whispered. "Think, Levi, think."

The words made me tilt my head, uncertain on how to react. Was he talking to himself? I tapped a short curved claw on the wood bedpost, watching as the bundle jumped under the sheets, but otherwise did not react. I pressed my back against the bottom of the bed, using my strength to lift the bed just enough to startle the child once more. I could smell the fear, could see the boy's jittery reaction every time I taunted him. But, each time, he calmed, more quickly than the last; until finally, he yanked the sheet from off his head.

The mess of ink-black strands cast askew by his makeshift fort of sheets made me grin, a snort huffed out as I stifled a laugh. The sound, the subtle movements of the bed sham with my movement made him finally look into the mirror where I knew he could see my glowing eyes. The other critters of the room seemed to be still as we all waited for the child's next move. Maybe this was normal for children? No one could give me the answers I sought; not right now, but I would be sure to ask the others later.

"I knew you were there, monster," the boy-- Levi-- spoke in a steady hush.

It was his quickness that had set the wheel of events into motion, his steadfastness to his choice that had me staring-- caught-- into the beam of light. Levi crouched on the floor beside the bed, flashlight turned towards the darkness beneath and dark eyes peering into my own. He was pale-- naturally-- but with fear as well, yet the thin furrowed brows and the narrow-eyed glare was almost convincing. "You will not scare me.”

I wanted this to be read as if it were initially from the POV of the child in bed, so it may have been confusing. To clarify: the POV is that of the young monster (in this case, Eren) under the bed as he watches Levi (the child). It is Eren’s first attempt at scaring a child, at teasing out fear from the young human in order to begin the process of stealing the child himself-- or his soul, whichever he prefers. Levi is about 7? And, he’s talking to Mikasa who is sleeping in her own bed, though they share a room. :D Yup.

TLDR; Eren is the monster under Levi’s bed, attempting to make his first scare. Levi, a young boy of 7, makes a choice that he hopefully will not regret. Even monsters can be scared.

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Here’s a Rose:

Blood is seeping out from the creases of a pale fist, fingers curled tight so skin is all but translucent over knuckles. You're staring at me-- a breathless, gasping bowed heap of flesh-- bewildered by my no-doubt filthy, exhausting, and terribly unattractive appearance; but you have not turned away yet. In fact, you haven't said anything after my abrupt confession-- an introductory onslaught of words that had included my name, my place of occupation (for whatever reason that might be useful), this is where I lived, and the fact that you were gorgeous-- but I'll take the fact that you haven't ran far and away as a good sign. It is only when I feel your fingers prying at my fist that I look up from my nervous bow, watching as you disentangle my digits from around the rose that I had haphazardly torn from my own garden in my rush to offer you something more appeasing than myself. The thorns sting more so when they tear free from flesh, drops of blood pooling to run off my hand, and all I can remember later that day is the warmth of your smile as you take the crooked stem of that rose, and say, "Well.. Levi, right? You were my last delivery.. so we could walk and talk..if you’d like?’"

Random blurb of writing where our recluse Levi is confessing to Eren, a young bike courier that regularly delivers the older man’s packages, that he’s been pining over for quite a bit. You can’t really tell Eren is a courier, though. I fail. u_u But, it’s what my brain came up with. ~_~ A bit OOC for Levi, though, I guess... >_> Too bad, I liked the image of it. XD lol 

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Peter Pan AU - SnK

He said, "Peter Pan. That's what they call me. I promise that you'll never be lonely." 

- Ruth B, “Lost Boy”

The midnight air is stagnant and cool, raising bumps along exposed flesh as he climbs the sturdy branches of the tree. Sun-kissed caramel skin glows ethereal under the silver of the full moon as he balances precariously on bare feet, walking along the length of a branch towards a window. A sudden breeze startles him, has him waving lean arms frantically for balance before he stills with a heavy breath of relief. Unruly brunet hair tickles the line of a sharp jaw, the loose short sleeves of his tunic doing little to provide warmth in the spring air. Eren combs the wayward strands behind his ear, a poor attempt at taming the wild nest of hair, eyes glancing around nervously in habit. The windows of the house he faces remains dark, the rest of the neighborhood still silent with sleep.

A shimmer of light pulses in his chest pocket of his shirt, movement fluttering in the material before the source of light darts out from the clothing. It zips about in front of his face, left then right, before hovering in front of him. The soft golden glow pulses bright for a long moment, heat wafting over face as he frowns at it. He shakes his head, then jerks his chin towards the window. Several pulses of light answer him, a rapid succession of amber light. He frowns, reaching up quickly to cup his fingers over the light that was only just larger than his own hand. Gently, he swats the fluttering light away and towards his pocket once more, where he feels the ball of heat settle against the thin material.

With a quirk of mischief gleaming in large bright eyes, he leans forward to tap on the bedroom window. One. Two. Three taps with his knuckles and then, he waits, poised with hands on hips, a grin curving soft lips in prepared greeting. Maybe the person would be nice enough to give him what was his, and he’d be back home before the morning star peaked in the sky. Who knows? Eren waited, determined to keep his faith in good tidings. And, his trust in a bit of pixie dust certainly made him more relaxed should the evening go sideways.

Had a random image of Eren in a Peter Pan type AU. Idk. lol In my little imagination of this scene, the house he’s knocking on belongs to Hanji. And, he’s looking for his shadow, naturally. Can you guess who the pixie is? Poor thing, having to meet Hanji. And, then there’s the fact that.. Hanji can’t sew. n_n But, that’s alright.. because they know who can, am I right?! :D

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can we take a moment to just think about how incredibly scary magical healing is in-context?

You get your insides ripped open but your friend waves his hands and your flesh just pulls back together, agony and evisceration pulling back to a ‘kinda hurts’ level of pain and you’re physically whole, with the 100% expectation that you’ll get back up and keep fighting whatever it was that struck you down the first time.

You break your arm after falling somewhere and after you’re healed instead of looking for ‘another way around’ everybody just looks at you and goes “okay try again”.

You’ve been fighting for hours, you’re hungry, thirsty, bleeding, crying from exhaustion, and a hand-wave happens and only two of those things go away. you’re still hungry, you’re still weak from thirst, but the handwave means you have ‘no excuse’ to stop.

You act out aggressively maybe punch a wall or gnash your teeth or hit your head on something and it’s hand-waved because it’s ‘such a small injury you probably can’t even feel it anymore’ but the point was that you felt it at all?

Your pain literally means nothing because as long as you’re not bleeding you’re not injured, right? Here drink this potion and who cares about the emotional exhaustion of that butchered village, why are you so reserved in camp don’t you think it’s fun retelling that time you fell through a burning building and with a hand-wave you got back up again and ran out with those two kids and their dog? 

Older warriors who get a shiver around magic-users not because of the whole ‘fireball’ thing but the ‘I don’t know what a normal pain tolerance is anymore’ effect of too much healing. Permanent paralysis and loss of sensation in limbs is pretty much a given in the later years of any fighter’s life. Did I have a stroke or did the mage just heal too hard and now this side of my face doesn’t work? No i’m not dead from the dragon’s claws but I can’t even bend my torso anymore because of how the scar tissue grew out of me like a vine.

Magical healing is great and keeps casualties down.

But man.

That stuff is scary.

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the monarchy functions like in chess, the King is constantly threatened, the queen is a ruthless killer, castles are constantly moving, bishops are no help, and the kights face so many restrictions they can barely do anything.

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XD Too true. 

THIS WEEK ON

‘WHY HAS THAT WIP I’M FOLLOWING NOT BEEN UPDATED?’ ROULETTE!

Author got little to no feedback on previous chapter, thinks nobody cares and/or everyone hates the story

Author received negative feedback and thinks everyone hates the story

Author started another story in order to get rid of writer’s block brought on by WIP and is now totally consumed by new story, keeps staring guiltily at WIP reminding his/herself to continue it

Author’s real life suddenly got TOO REAL.

Author got seduced by another fandom

Author doesn’t use sofware that autosaves and lost most of the next chapter, is too lazy to rewrite

Author has sudden case of believing everything they write is absolute shit and doesn’t want to subject you to sub-par work

The story has been pretty much leading up to the next chapter and Author is now procrastinating out of fear and self doubt because they’re pretty sure they’re gonna mess it up

Author thought it was okay to lead into this one plot point, but due to feedback/further reflection, has now realised that they need to write another 3000 words to get there and is not emotionally ready

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