#but rough animator only has 1 brush :[

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words 🎨

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[lovemomhatepolice]

as a boyfriend - max verstappen

navigation taglist requests

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, mention of sex, slightly suggestive, jos verstappen, English is my second language!

summary: how is he acting as your boyfriend?

more content: formula 1 masterlist, max verstappen masterlist, max verstappen nswf alphabet, latest oscar piastri one-shot ,as a boyfriend - lando norris, as a boyfriend - oscar piastri, as a boyfriend - charles leclerc

boyfriend!max who never lets you walk on the side of the road closest to traffic—always switching spots without saying anything

boyfriend!max who loves animals just like you and even though you already have 3 cats and a dog, doesn't think that this is the end of your menagerie

boyfriend!max who always walks a little closer when you’re in a crowd, like a silent protector

boyfriend!max who is very afraid of becoming a father because of what his father was like to him, but you know very well that he will be a wonderful father who will give his whole heart

boyfriend!max who after winning the championship for the 4th time immediately ran to you, leaving his team behind, to celebrate it with the person he wanted to do it with the most

boyfriend!max who insists he doesn’t care about social media but secretly checks the memes about himself and laughs way too hard

boyfriend!max who needs to be touching you afterward, whether it’s his arm around your waist or your leg tangled with his [nswf]

boyfriend!max who acts like he doesn’t care about home decor but has very strong opinions about the carpet

boyfriend!max who from the first day of the new season took all the rookies under his wing, declaring himself as their adopted father, which consequently makes you their adopted mother (Max even organized a joint meeting)

boyfriend!max who gets a thrill out of knowing he’s the only one who gets to see you like this, whispering, “Mine. Only mine.” [nswf]

boyfriend!max who secretly loves taking care of you when you’re sick, bringing you soup and pressing his lips to your forehead to “check your temperature.”

boyfriend!max who hates seeing you cry but never rushes you—just wipes your tears with his thumb and murmurs, “I’ve got you, schatje.”

boyfriend!max who insists he doesn’t miss you when he’s away for a race, but then he calls you at 2 AM just to hear your voice

boyfriend!max who thinks he’s slick when he steals your snacks but gets caught every time—“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, crumbs on his face

boyfriend!max who gets so competitive over the dumbest things—racing to the car, finishing dinner first, even brushing your teeth faster—just to say, “I win.”

boyfriend!max who always holds the back of your neck when he kisses you, like he wants to keep you as close as possible

boyfriend!max who can be rough, but afterward, he’s all soft touches, pressing lazy kisses against your temple as he holds you close [nswf]

boyfriend!max who always “accidentally” steals your pillow when you’re gone, but when you point it out, he just shrugs—“It smells like you.”

boyfriend!max who always, when you're not there, makes a big evening of conversation, where he takes all your pets with him to the couch and takes it very hard, saying "Mom left us, see?"

boyfriend!max who, late at night, after a long day, just looks at you and thinks, Yeah. This is it. This is home.

A/N: please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

short one again, let's go with that serie, hope you like it! feedback always welcome <3

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

nymph. [part 2] l General Marcus Acacius

Summary:  you have been with him for a long time, but he has never seen you

Warnings:  +18, smut, fluff, oral sex (f!receiver), unprotected sex (don't do it), mythological figures treated in a simple way

A/N: I hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

>> PART 1

nymph [masterlist]

You gasped for air. Brown gentle eyes were staring at you as if you were an incredible miracle that suddenly found itself in his arms. 

Marcus wanted to say something and the words were already forming in his mouth when he saw the fear in your face. With a quick movement you slid off him, sitting on the edge of the bed, just like a wild animal that was ready to run away.

"Wait. Don't be afraid." he whispered, sitting up and slightly raising his hand, "You're in no danger from me."

There was no answer, but you didn't run away either. You watched him carefully, though. The glow of the candle flames danced on his bare chest, and his face showed curiosity, delight, but also fear.

When General Acacius woke up, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen was sitting on his hips, with a face that had haunted his dreams for so long. He wanted to get to know you, but at the same time he had the impression that he knew you so well.

"I've seen you before." he said finally. He tried to choose his words carefully, he didn't want to scare you. Your eyes twitched at the sound of his voice. "After the battle. You were standing there, in the middle of all those corpses... So beautiful and so intimidating at the same time."

"It was a terrible battle." you replied quietly, and Marcus was delighted to finally be able to hear the sound of your voice too. "Many lost their lives... Many tears were shed by the mothers of the fallen..."

He heard the pain in your voice as if you had also physically suffered during that event.

"Why did I see you?" the question he had been carrying around in himself for so long finally came out "Who or what are you, sweet bird?"

You looked away as if you were trying to find the answer to Marcus' question yourself. It wasn't easy or obvious. However, you knew that you had to be honest with him, because that was the only way both of you could enter a common path.

"I am... I was a servant of the goddess Minerva. One of many." you answered.

"Nymph?"

You nodded. "Yes, that's what you call us and that's the name we took." You took a deep breath. "You saw me, Marcus, because I lost my guard for a moment. It shouldn't have happened..."

"Why?" he was surprised.

He carried this memory of you like his most precious treasure, and the knowledge that he had acquired it unfairly, almost stealing it, hurt him a little.

"I didn't want you to know about me..." you replied quietly "I was supposed to be like the wind enveloping you, I was only supposed to watch and accompany you... I guess I got too involved."

The General moved a little closer. You quivered uneasily when his warm fingers brushed your bare shoulder, your eyes looked at him in fright.

"I've felt you by my side for so long..." he said, tracing his fingers that were roaming over your soft skin, so different from the roughness of war "You drilled under my skin so deeply that even a red-hot iron couldn't get you out. You were like a grace from the Gods, like a blessing... Don't take away my hope that you were meant for me."

"Only the Gods know what is meant for us." his fingers moved to your shoulder, and a strange shiver ran down your spine.

"So why do you say that what happened to us was just an accident? A mistake? I think that's what they wanted for us."

You sucked in a breath through your parted lips, and your chest rose sharply.

Maybe there was a grain of truth in what he was saying, maybe the Gods really had been planning this for you for years. 

Was it really an accident that you found yourself near this man? Could it be an accident that his eyes finally saw you then? You didn't know the answer to these questions. All you could do was flow with Marcus as it was planned for you...

His closeness stunned your senses, just like incense did in temples. Unconsciously, your hand found his cheek. Marcus closed his eyes as if your touch was a pleasure he had never experienced before.

"The Gods bless you, Marcus." you said, stroking his face, running your fingertips over the small wrinkles around his eyes, over the scar on his cheek. "All your successes and victories, the glory you brought to the Empire, all of this is the sum of your strength and their love."

"It's all just dust if I can't have your love, sweet bird." he lifted his eyelids and in his brown eyes you saw that these weren't empty words "May the earth swallow me, may the Gods curse me if I can't know the taste of your lips... That's all I've been dreaming about for so long..."

Not a single word left your mouth. When your lips brushed his, you already knew that you'd never forget that taste. 

The next touches were as gentle as the touch of a butterfly's wings, but Marcus wanted more with every moment. His strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you onto his lap, then he kissed you with all his might. You had never experienced a kiss like this before, deep and full of lust, almost stealing your breath and soul. 

You clung to his strong body, your hands sliding into his curly hair as you kissed him back as if that was the only thing that could keep you alive. His tongue deep in your throat drew sweet moans from you. But then you felt something else beneath you, his hard manhood twitching lustfully.

You finally pulled your lips away from his, rested your forehead against his, feeling his hands caressing your back hidden under the soft robe.

"My dreams were full of you." Marcus whispered, he looked at you, but you had the impression that he didn't see you at all, as if all his senses were playing tricks on him. "But reality is even more beautiful, more perfect..."

"Forgive me, please. It was the only way I could pretend that I was one of you, mortals. It was the only way I could accompany you, even for a moment." You slid your hands to his chest, you felt the strong beating of his heart under his skin.

"Since you are like me now, you can experience it yourself. For real."

He saw a flash of fear in your eyes, but also suppressed hope. "Do you want me, Marcus?"

"More than all the gold in the world we know. More than glory and immortality. If being with you was the last thing I would do before I died, I wouldn't hesitate for a moment."

There was no lie in his gaze. There was no empty desire that you sometimes saw in other people's eyes. This man wanted you, all of you, just as you were. He loved you before he was even able to lay a finger on you.

"So take me as I am. Give me this moment so I can love you..."

"I'll give you my whole life for this, little bird..."

You kissed again, and his hands carefully slid the robe you were wearing from your shoulders. The curves of your breasts revealed themselves before his eyes, your nipples hardened from the change in temperature and fear. But you weren't afraid of Marcus, nor were you afraid of what was about to happen. 

But you realized that every time he looked at you was the first real one. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't a stolen moment on a battlefield. You were there with him. Alive, with a beating heart, with blood flowing through your veins. The same as him, mortal.

Marcus' lips kissed your jaw and slowly went down your neck, all the way to your collarbone. He took your breasts in his hands, kneading them gently, feeling their softness, his fingers caressing your nipples as his lips showered your shoulders with kisses.

"Marcus..." you sighed, closing your eyes, desire flared in your lower abdomen, and his caresses only strengthened it.

"I've never wanted anyone like I want you." he whispered, one of his hands slid lower, right between your spread thighs, "I want to lose myself in your body..."

He felt how wet you were under his fingers, proof that you wanted him too. He ran his fingers over your folds, and then found the place where your body tensed in a pleasant sensation. 

In one swift movement he laid you on your back on the bed, his lips finding yours again as his hands greedily removed your robes. Finally, you were naked beneath him, the glow of the candles dancing on your skin. Perfect.

A trail of kisses stretched between your breasts, across your stomach, and to the inside of your thighs. You gasped loudly as his hot tongue licked your core. Marcus threw your legs over his shoulders so you couldn't escape his mouth, which sucked and licked your most sensitive spots.

Moans and spasms escaped your throat, fingers tightening in his hair as he, hidden between your thighs, shamelessly brought you to the edge of pleasure.

He sucked and kissed, long licks through your folds, drinking your juices sweeter to him than the best wine. And when a loud moan escaped your throat carrying his name, he knew he had paid you the proper homage. 

He raised himself on his shoulders and looked at you from between your trembling thighs. His beard and lips were shining, his hair, thanks to you, was a total mess. But it was his eyes, darker than before, that drew you to him.

You quickly sat up and took his face in your hands, moved to kiss his lips that tasted of you. 

His whole body was tense, wanting your closeness, the relief that only you could give him. One of your hands shamelessly reached for his strained cock, stroking it. Marcus' lips parted in your kiss at this sweet pleasure.

"I beg you..." he panted "I want to feel you."

So you pulled him behind you, and he fenced you with his broad arms. The tip of his cock, guided by Marcus' hand, brushed against your entrance and slowly slid into you. A pleasant feeling of stretching and filling spread through your body, but it was only when Marcus slid in completely and hid his face by your neck, inhaling your sweet scent, that you felt that he was fully inside you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, stunned by how complete you felt in the arms of this man. You didn't notice when he lifted his head to watch your face with the first thrust of his hips. 

At first it was slow, just enough for you to get used to his size and how you felt him inside you. But when your legs closed around his waist, it was a signal for him that he could allow himself more.

Marcus raised himself on his shoulders, curls falling over his forehead, dark eyes shining with excitement as he stared into your face. To him, you were equal to the Gods. Your parted lips, slightly closed eyes, the quiet moans escaping from your core as he moved faster and harder inside you - it was worthy of worship in temples.

"Marcus... Please..."

You didn't ask for anything specific. Maybe just for him to end this, because you weren't sure if the next fulfillment that was building in your lower abdomen wasn't meant to be your end. 

Could ordinary people survive feeling so much? It was almost too much, and all you just had was your first sip, your first bite, your first breath with him by your side.

His hand grabbed yours and pressed it to the pillow just above your head, your fingers intertwined almost painfully, but you didn't care. You opened your eyes to look into Marcus’s focused face. Furrowed brows, quickened breathing and his hips perfectly slapping and grinding between your legs.

"Can you feel it? Can you feel how perfectly you fit me?" his voice was low, hitting you with a vibrating sound, as if you were a copper bowl in his hands. "They made you for me. Just for me... They couldn't be wrong. Ugh! I want to fill you with my seed, my love..."

"Do it... Mark me as yours..."

His. You were his. You were no longer just a fleeting being between worlds, doomed to live forever. You could feel, love, desire, but also suffer, cry and lose. But you wanted all of that if you could have it with Marcus.

His movements became stronger, his hand tightening on your thigh as he slammed into you. Then you reached your peak, tears pricking your eyelids, your body arching from the fulfillment that went through you like a bolt of lightning.

Marcus was right behind you. When your velvet walls squeezed his cock, he knew that he would only want to feel you for the rest of his life. A few more, strong thrusts, a low and deep moan escaped his throat as he tilted his head, showing you his beautiful neck. His seed filled you up, to the brims, and his cock twitched in the remnants of an orgasm.

If one of your sisters had been with you in that tent at that time, she would have had a truly amazing view. Your tangled and sweaty bodies, your deep breaths, the sweet and suffocating scent filling this place.

"Marcus..." you whispered, brushing his wet hair away from his face.

He mumbled something incomprehensible, and you laughed quietly. He seemed completely dazed. However, he raised his head and looked at you, his eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky.

"Tell me I'm not dreaming. Tell me you're really here. With me."

These words were like a pleading prayer addressed only to you. Even though he had you in his arms, even though his cock was still buried inside you, he still feared that you were just a dream.

"I am. I am with you, Marcus. And if you only let me, I will stay until the last beat of my heart."

"The Gods are truly kind to me."

He stole a kiss from you, still hungry for more. A strange feeling of emptiness came as he pulled out of you and lay down next to you, pulling you so that you were as close to him as possible. His seed lazily dripped down your thigh.

"Tomorrow we go back to Rome." he said, but he sounded like he didn't want to think about it. "I will take care of your safety. You will be able to find shelter in my home" his fingers drew unknown signs on your arm "I don’t want you to find yourself in the Emperor's court right away. You are too good for this..."

"The Gods have their own plans for him." Marcus kissed the tips of your fingers that brushed his lips.

"Do not say that in front of other people. Betrayal is severely punished." he said and you nodded "In Rome we can only trust ourselves, little bird. And I will do everything to make you happy and safe."

"You are enough for me."

He kissed your forehead, hugging you even tighter. Marcus was still afraid that despite everything you would dissolve like morning mist. He was afraid that he would wake up in an empty bed, that he would return to Rome alone, and the memory of you would fade with each passing day. He couldn’t bear it.

However, when he opened his eyes, after a few hours of deep and soothing sleep, you were still next to him. You were curled up at his side, sleeping, beautiful as every time he saw you. 

He didn't think he could ever get used to the sight. You were the grace of the Gods, their gift to him. A prize more precious than anything the Emperor could give him. 

"You are safe, little bird..." he said softly, kissing your temple. "I will never stop loving you. For the rest of our lives, for eternity."

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist: @ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal @missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing

[saladscream]

Merlin’s hair is unremarkable.

Short. Dark. Unworthy of note.

It is also thick and strangely soft. Arthur knows this because he has touched said hair on quite a few misguided occasions. One does not always think before engaging in laddish horseplay, and some rough instances of unguarded familiarity have devolved into getting closely acquainted with said shock of hair. So Arthur is cognisant of the fact that it is thick, dark and deceptively soft. Soft in the way that a wild animal’s pelt can be smooth and deep and precious. Thick and dark in a way that speaks of untold strength and stubborn impulse.

Anyway, it’s unremarkable.

Merlin keeps it rather short, like most commoners. Probably to stave off headlice. Not that his hair is dirty or unkempt. It is always scrupulously clean though at times tousled, and Arthur usually recognises a hint of lavender soap amidst the more noticeable whiffs of cold stone and fire smoke that pervades everything within the citadel walls. More damningly, underneath it all, Arthur knows he can also recognise the smell of Merlin himself. He can’t help but think it slightly unbecoming that he should have such precise knowledge of his manservant’s personal scent. As a matter of fact, he’d rather fall on his own sword than admit to the sweet, unsteady flutter that the scent never fails to send through his belly. Intimate and somewhat incriminating. It is a very unremarkable scent at that. Merlin smells of the forest and earth and horse tack and honest masculine sweat. And Arthur really doesn’t know why he’s dwelling on any of this.

It’s just hair. Familiar hair.

It slides between Arthur’s fingers with a gentle sensuousness that disarms him. He should have kept his gloves on, he realises belatedly. Beneath him, Merlin comes to with a gruff ‘ouch’ that is both reassuring and ridiculous considering he’s just taken an axe to the head. Granted, it was only an accidental swipe of an axe that just grazed his scalp, but Arthur’s heart stopped ominously in his chest all the same as he witnessed the near miss.

Arthur breathes again as Merlin grunts and blinks up at him. Feeling oddly vacant with relief, he tries to quash a fond smile while reminding his manservant that he’s supposed to dodge swinging implements of death.

Practice has been called to a halt, and Arthur plans ahead. Merlin is going to be escorted back to Gaius’. Arthur is going to wipe the wet smear of dear blood gracing his palm onto his shirt. Sir Godric is going to regret getting out of bed this morning.

But for the moment – for one more moment of baffling, tender closeness – Arthur is cradling the back of Merlin’s head, fingers lost in the short, dark, thick, soft hair. And as he flounders in an emotional and sensuous mire of his own making, the base of his thumb brushes Merlin’s ear and his heart stutters at the naked feel of it.

The rest of the world fades into insignificance.

There’s just something about Merlin’s ears.

[Many thanks for the reblogs, likes and comments! I truly appreciate the love. ❤️ Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged for the next instalments. Only 2 or 3 to go, I think. 🤔]

Tagged: @miyriu @neptunesyellowsands @gd-dollopole

1 - Merlin's eyes

2 - Merlin's lips

3 - Merlin's hands

4 - Merlin's throat

5 - Merlin's hair

6 - Merlin's ears

7 - Merlin's legs

8 - Merlin's forearms

9 - Merlin's chest

10 - Merlin's penis

11 - Merlin's arse

[kidasthings]

Echoes of Eden by Kida

Noa x Mae - #omgisthisastorywithplot?

Chapter 2: Echoes of Eden by Kida – @kidasthings on Tumblr

Prologue

Three centuries after a catastrophic virus decimated human intelligence, turning the survivors into primal shadows of their former selves, the world has irrevocably changed. The ALZ virus, originally intended to combat Alzheimer's disease, not only ravaged humanity but inadvertently gave rise to a new dominant species: intelligent apes.

Near the ruins of what was once Los Angeles, Noa, a valiant chimpanzee of the Eagle clan, has just thwarted a power-hungry bonobo, Proximus Caesar, from enslaving his people. Guided by the teachings of a certain orangutan, Raka, who revered the nearly forgotten, peace-loving chimp Caesar, Noa believes in a world where apes and humans can coexist peacefully. However, during his quest, he encounters Mae, a human who defies his expectations. Mae, immune to the virus and possessing the ability to speak, challenges Noa's perceptions of humans as mere animals.

Together, Noa and Mae manage to prevent Proximus Caesar from seizing a cache of potent human technology by flooding an old bunker. In the process, Mae secures a crucial computer drive that enables her underground human community to reconnect with distant survivors, bridging isolated pockets of humanity; she also manages to betray Noa and his clan by leaving them to fend for themselves.

As Mae's group in Los Angeles prepares to merge with new allies from Fort Wayne, Indiana, tensions escalate. Unaware of Mae's bond with Noa, a small but well-armed scouting party from Fort Wayne comes across the Eagle Clan’s village on their way to Los Angeles to meet up with Mae’s people.

Far more adept on their own home turf, the scouting party is caught by the apes, rounded up, and held hostage. Their weapons are confiscated. Mae is called in when the scouting party never reports to the underground bunker where the rest of the intelligent humans in her group seek refuge. Caught between her origins and her convictions, Mae faces the ultimate choice during the tense encounter: stand with her human kin or protect Noa, the ape she has come to admire.

This story explores the fragile hope for reconciliation in a world torn apart by fear and prejudice. Can Noa and Mae forge a path toward peace, or will the shadows of old wars darken the future dreamed of by the legendary Caesar?

---------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1

In the dense shadows cast by the towering trees that skirt the Eagle clan's village, the air was thick with tension and the faint scent of smoke from distant fires. The setting sun bled red over the horizon, casting long shadows across the rough-hewn faces of the Eagle clan and their new captives. Five ALZ-immune humans from Fort Wayne sat bound and rigid, their eyes darting nervously as they listened to the low, ominous murmurs of the assembled apes.

Noa moved deliberately among the captives, his demeanor stern yet marked by an inherent fairness. Each human he approached met his gaze with a mix of defiance and fear, but none spoke. They clung to their silence like a shield, even under the weight of Noa's penetrating stare.

"No purpose here can be good if it starts with secrets," Noa stated, his voice resonating with a calm authority as he paused before a younger man whose jaw was stubbornly set.

The chants from the simian crowd grew louder, a discordant mix of anger and fear, with proposals of banishment or worse. They remembered what happened with Proximus Caesar, the obsession with human technology and worldly knowledge, and want none of it. Noa raised a hand, called for silence, but the restlessness was palpable, a living thing that fed on uncertainty and fear.

At the perimeter of the village, a human woman keeps a low profile in the brush. She had followed a single flare that burst bright in the sky to this location. It was a habitual thing, to bypass this region when doing her rounds in the forest. Immunity to the Simian Flu had bequeathed her the role of tracker, hunter, and scout after her initial mission was completed. Brown hair, blue eyes like the sky, Mae can only watch the scene unfold with a pounding heart. Worry lines were etched deeply into her brow, and her hand reached up to clutch at something around her neck - Raka's pendant - the symbol of peace promoted by an ape named Caesar long ago.

Noa gave her that pendant. For an inopportune moment, Mae was lost in reverie.

Without warning, a strong hand gripped her shoulder, yanked her from the shadows. Mae stumbled forward, dragged into the open. Her breath caught as she was thrown unceremoniously to the ground before Noa and his human captives. Dust and small stones bit into her palms as she caught herself, and a small grunt escaped her lips.

The sudden appearance of the human - a known and not particularly fondly remembered human - amongst them drew shocked gasps and murmurs.

Noa’s eyes widened in recognition, then narrowed in a complex tumult of emotion. The last time they parted, it was with a promise of peace, and yet here she was, thrown at his feet, disrupting the fragile balance he had fought to maintain.

Mae’s chest heaved as she pushed herself up slightly, her voice raspy but resolute as she met Noa's gaze. A single word hangs between them, charged with layers of meaning, a plea, a greeting, a reminder of shared dreams and bitter realities.

"Noa."

In that moment, the world narrowed to the space between them. Noa stood motionless, the voices around him faded into a distant hum. His heart fought a fierce battle within, torn between his duty to his clan and the undeniable pull he felt towards this woman who embodied both the past they shared and the future they might still forge. He can see Caesar’s pendant, an encircled diamond, as it swung from Mae’s neck wildly.

She still had it.

It is a symbol of ideals that suddenly seem so distant in the face of palpable tension and looming conflict.

The standoff stretched out, every breath, every silent plea, every hope and fear suspended in the dusty air of the dying day.

“Noa,” Mae tried again, defeated. She pulled herself up to stand on shaky, coltish legs. The Eagle Clan scout that initially seized her did not reach for her again as Noa lifted one hand to stay him.

Noa closed his eyes, as if in contemplation.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked, as he reopened his eyes and shuttered his gaze.

Mae’s lips thinned out into a seamless line, and she cut a gaze over to the trussed-up humans attached to poles in the center of the village.

Noa nodded, once. He did not need much more than that as he added, “They approached our borders. We do not yet know their intention.”

The five Fort Wayne humans, still tied tight, share deliberate looks of fear between themselves. There is clear intelligence writ into their faces. They are not gagged, much to the chagrin of some of the villagers, as Noa would not have it. Still, they are oddly quiet. A few cast curious looks at Mae, no recognition in their eyes. The only woman in the group chewed her lower lip in frustration. Her blonde hair is cut short in a severe bob.

“Let them go, Noa.” Mae stated boldly, taking a step forward. Two other apes, positioned parallel to her, moved to intercept her advance towards the hero of the Eagle Clan. Once again, Noa lifted his calloused palm and gritted his sharp canines.

“Follow,” he told her, indicating something or someplace to the left with a sharp jerk of his head.

There is a short murmur of indignation from the gathered villagers, save for a small group which consisted of Soona, Anaya, and Noa’s mother. They appeared stuck in a shallower tumult of emotion. Noa’s mother took a step forward, unsure, but Soona placed her palm on the female ape’s furry shawl-covered shoulder and stopped her.

Mae’s eyes followed Noa, capturing his unique profile in a blink, and then dipped her head and hesitated. It is always that hesitation, caught between following an ape and leaving her kind behind, but with a reluctant glance at the captives she turned to follow.

He led her to a towering edifice of wood and natural materials that might be described as a tree house. Far above them, hawks circled in the sky, their soaring shadows blotting out the last rays of the sun. They landed at the top of the tower, a dizzying height, and screeched down at her.

Noa ascended a small ramp and stepped past a woven flap of material.

Mae did the same after taking a moment to peer backwards over her shoulder to ascertain the serious faces of a few apes herding her to the entrance.

Once inside, the darkness enveloped her, and the woman became hyper-aware of a dual pair of reflective eyes that watched her in the darkness of the interior.

“You came back,” he said, voice rough with something like emotion.

“Not by choice,” she quipped, and then stepped sideways away from the shaft of light thrown down by the door.

“Why?” It’s a simple question for a complex answer, and she wasn’t ready to answer it.

“I saw a distress signal in the sky,” she replied easily, eyes skating over the shadows and shapes in the interior of the newly rebuilt tower. “I had to see for myself. It looked like a human flare.”

“A flare?” he questioned; voice flat.

“It’s a human thing,” she sighed.

She heard him padding closer to her, his eerie eyes backlit by whatever reflective photo-sensitive cells nocturnal animals possessed. More of his face came into detail. After he stood about a few feet away, he stopped.

Mae froze.

“You have  ... it,” he informed her quietly.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

A hand reached out, seemingly disembodied in black space, and she felt the immediate lift of the small weight at her neck.

“Do you ... still believe .. in what it stands for?”

Her answer is the same as before, the same empty mantra. “I-I don’t know, Noa.”

A huff, a sigh. The weight on the back of the cord returned and he stepped back.

“Let them go,” Mae demanded, again.

He did not reply, not right away, but he did give her a long look. It was hard for her to discern in the dim dark, but it might be a soft rebuke. “I have to know … why they are … here.”

Mae’s mind shut down, because she wasn’t ready, or can’t tell him that. Her group of survivors had been expecting the Fort Wayne scouting party for months now. The underground bunker housing her people was the last of its kind for hundreds of miles. They had not come across any other intelligent humans in that time, so this must be the group they awaited. Mae was not an idiot; she had seen the sentry apes rifling through a small stockpile of guns on the ground when she was roughly manhandled to the ground.

She trusted Noa situationally, sure, but did she trust him with this?

There might have been a flash of hurt on his face but the dim interior concealed it well. “They belong with me,” is all she can muster.

“Tell the truth,” he parried back. There was a frustrated edge to his voice, nearly a growl.

“I am telling the truth,” she quipped stubbornly.

“Mae,” he refuted quietly, moving so fast that he is suddenly in her space again, too much and too soon. She gasped, caught off guard. His fingers found Raka’s necklace again, still around her neck. He was staring hard at it.

“Tell … me.”

Her tongue is nothing but a slug in her mouth, unable to form words. Noa had never been this close before, taking up her space, her attention, her very being. Caught between one moment and the next, she shook her head in utter disbelief. She could see his features more clearly, the craggy brow, the dark-light eyes, the slight downturn of his mouth beneath an inhuman nose. For a second, he gripped the pendant around her neck tightly, as if he wanted to hold it for some length of time, and then released it yet again to step past her.

Their shoulders brushed, and Mae forgot to breathe.

His voice carried over from somewhere behind her, close to the entrance. “If you will … not speak …  they will.” A rustle of fabric against fur, and he is gone.

Within the crude tower, Mae lets out the breath she held in a slow whoosh.

Noa.

[multifamdomfan]

The Arcane art style (from the League of Legends animated series) is gorgeous — it's rich, painterly, expressive, and very cinematic.

Here are tips to help you capture that vibe:

1. Focus on Shape and Silhouette First

Arcane characters have strong, clear silhouettes. Their designs are recognizable even in shadow.

When sketching, exaggerate important shapes — Vi’s strong arms, Jinx’s wiry frame, Viktor’s sharp lines, etc.

2. Painterly Textures Over Clean Lines

The show doesn’t use hard "anime-like" outlines — instead, it paints edges with color and value.

After your sketch, paint over your lines and blend them into the forms.

3. Dramatic, Cinematic Lighting

Arcane lives on mood lighting: backlights, rim lights, dappled light through windows.

Think "how would this character be lit in a movie scene?"

Use high contrast lighting to create drama.

4. Rough but Thoughtful Brushstrokes

Arcane art looks a little rough close-up, but the strokes are very intentional.

Use bigger, visible brushes for hair, clothing, and backgrounds, but don't over-blend. Let the brushwork show.

5. Color Palette: Muted, But Punchy Accents

Most backgrounds and outfits are muted earthy tones (grays, browns, dark blues).

Then they pop the characters with vibrant accents — like Jinx’s neon blue hair, Vi’s pink gauntlets.

6. Subtle Facial Expressions

Arcane expressions are extremely realistic and detailed.

Focus on micro-expressions: slight eyebrow lifts, small mouth movements, tension in the jaw or cheeks.

7. Backgrounds: Soft and Detailed at Once

The backgrounds are softly painted, with layered depth.

Focus detail around the midground where characters interact; background details fade out.

8. Mix 2D and 3D Mindsets

Even though it's 2D painted, Arcane was built with 3D models.

Try to build solid volumes with your painting — imagine your characters as 3D sculptures.

9. Master Edge Control

Not all edges are sharp!

Use soft edges for less important areas (like the lower body or background) and sharp edges for the face, hands, or anything you want to draw the eye toward.

10. Study Screenshots

Pick a few screenshots from Arcane, and break them down:

What's the lighting setup?

Where are edges sharp vs soft?

What color palette is used?

How loose or tight are the brushstrokes?

---

Brushes for Arcane Style

You want a painterly set that has texture, variation, and isn't too "perfect."

Here’s what you should look for (or set up):

Sketching Brushes

Pencil-like Brush: Light texture, not too opaque.

Charcoal Brush: For rougher sketches and underpaintings.

Painting Brushes

Chunky Oil Brush: Big, slightly rough, opaque strokes. (Great for hair and clothes.)

Soft Round Brush: For smooth blending where needed (like cheeks or soft fabrics).

Grainy/Texture Brush: To add subtle grit and realism to skin or metal.

Detail Brushes

Fine Brush: Thin strokes for things like wrinkles, scars, or stitching.

Dry Brush: For faded effects, dust, scuffs.

> Programs like Procreate, Photoshop, or Clip Studio Paint usually have these, or you can download free brush packs that say "painterly" or "oil paint" style.

---

Mini Practice Cheat Sheet

Here’s a simple practice plan to start learning Arcane style:

---

Day 1: Shapes and Silhouette

Pick 2 characters (like Vi and Jinx).

Just draw their shadows — focus on big, bold shapes without details.

Goal: Recognize them just by silhouette.

---

Day 2: Lighting Study

Grab a screenshot.

Do a quick grayscale painting (no color!) focusing only on light and shadow.

Goal: Understand how cinematic lighting builds drama.

---

Day 3: Painterly Brushstrokes

Paint an object (a glove, a boot, a bottle) using big brushstrokes.

No tiny blending!

Goal: Let brushstrokes show. Focus on "where do I need detail?"

---

Day 4: Color Palette Study

Pick a scene.

Eyedrop the main colors.

Make a tiny color palette swatch of it.

Then repaint a small area using only those colors.

Goal: Muted base + bold accent colors.

---

Day 5: Face Study (Micro-Expressions!)

Zoom in on a character’s face in a dramatic scene.

Draw just the expression — forehead tension, tiny smile, furrowed brow.

Goal: Subtlety and emotion.

---

Bonus Tip:

Overlay a grainy noise texture (low opacity) over your final painting.

Arcane scenes often have a slight gritty texture that ties it all together and keeps it from looking too "clean."

---

[worokapi]

after god art style study --part 1

first off disclaimer I don't really know if there's a supposed professional/appropriate method of studying artist's art styles so please don't expect this to be polished or like a tutorial in any way this is just me spending a lot of time admiring eno sumi's art

thoughts overall

eno's art has a pretty semi-realism leaning anime art style. it's not conventionally cute, the level of detail is what you'd see in a seinen manga. thumbs up it works out just right

because this is manga with what looks like a monthly to biweekly release schedule yeah I too would want to be paid $$$$ as my full time job if I were drawing with that crunch deadline so shortcuts and corner cutting are taken to make the job easier. I particularly want to study some of the shortcuts in addition to the way she stylizes certain things in her art style.

I used to have a very cutesy/baby-faced anime art style and had really wanted to move more away from that to something more mature-looking. studying how an artist stylizes something is a cool way to figure out how you want to depict something in your style too. obviously still do take life studies and all... there is nuance between understanding how an artist builds on top of fundamentals versus copying plainly what is depicted. I know how to draw noses but I couldn't figure out or visualize how it'd best look in my artwork.

I dooooo still have to learn how to draw old people like old-old people aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

clip studio paint and tools -------

I previously identified in an older post eno most likely works with clip studio paint.. eno has posted here about CELSYS which is the company that owns CSP.

more csp stuff:

background black swirls is 黒うず from ベタ部分に使うブラシ

you guys like the default crack brush? me too the triangle shape is very noticable

some of the other cracks in the scene looks like its from 瓦礫を描くブラシセットおまけ付き

lightning brush from lightning brushes

this is a very good water brush set

3d models -------

I personally cannot really discern perfectly if 3d models were ever used for posing the characters- if there was use of 3d character models then thank god they weren't directly traced over bc 3d does not translate to 2d well when it's directly traced over and that type of jarring uncanny proportions is what I'm used to seeing when that happens.

however, sometimes it is kinda noticable when the anatomy looks a little bit wonky or rushed. I don't blame it that much for comic making standards

[tokinaga are you okay you look kinda rough]

[ch.32 has a bunch of can models]

3d models are most often used for the backgrounds in After God or for smaller, repetitive objects. they're integrated pretty seamlessly in my opinion, but also in my opinion I have to consider my bar is below the ground because I read webtoons time to time and the number of poorly or lazily implemented 3d background assets makes me sad

[tokinagas apartment] [2]

I remember in my blog read through I had google translate catch she mentioned she used home design 3d or something something to make the house models. unfortunately I don't know where the exact mention was (i dont speak or read japanese bummer) so take it with a grain of salt

noses -------

nosesss!!

they are more detailed than the typical "single dot/line" anime nose, I really appreciate that. the variety within the main characters isn't very wide, but I digress. if it's easy to draw then it's easy to draw and it's nice to feel no pressure drawing what you want to draw

the most common nose drawn is a line for the bridge and two lines indicating the nostrils. the two nostril lines may vary in direction depending on if you're viewing the face, differing angles from above or face from below

frequently, in addition to that, the tip of the nose is also defined.

sometimes the bridge is given some additional depth with some hatching instead of a singular line.

sometimes, only the nostrils are drawn. shading may be used to define the nose shape instead of using lineart.

sometimes instead of a line for the nose bridge, a "triangle" shine shape is drawn. usually it shows up on smaller images.

very rarely does it ever end up being drawn as a single line (either for the nose bridge OR the bottom of the nose).

the diversity of noses typically shows up the most on the older aged characters. or the non-japanese characters.

chin-up profiles -------

honestly i don't see really actual bottoms of the chins drawn that often and when I do it's rather rare or simplified

---

cont in part two

[the-toskaverse]

“Matches in the Snow”

Chapter ii: The train

Summary: The 68th hunger games is upon us. Follow district 4’s tribute Nokoa Fontaine as she fight for her life and others to survive these games.

Read chapter 1 here (x)

This part was supposed to be out long before but I got sick and I’m out for summer sooooooo yeah

Word count: 2613

Warnings: cannon typical violence and death, blood and gore, child death, murder but I mean it is the hunger games so it shouldn’t be a surprise

Nokoa watched ahead of her as once again a Peacekeeper jabbed her partner in the back how was dragging his feet. Even though she didn't have any problems with Koi growing up, since he tended to keep to himself, she would say that this behavior was unwarranted to his actions

Of course as a conditioned district citizen, Koi did a good job of keeping his mouth shut. If it were her the hard stares wouldn't be the only thing getting thrown at the Peacekeepers.

The pair that had their rough gloves around her arms squeezed tighter. For a moment Nokoa could have sworn a glance was thrown back by her partner but the moment was fleeting.

Instead taking up most of her view was a large sleek train parked in the station. Only once has Nokoa really seen the beast. Dropping of and exporting their good didn't require this much style and pizzazz of the Capitol, but the train was parked only a bay over.

Nokoa could recall that the train was only there for a drop off that day she saw it. and she really hoped it wouldn't be for the same reason that she'd be shipped back to her district after the games.

She could feel the rumbling below her feet. Her certain doom was guaranteed at the end of this ride. A fact that truly resonated into her bones now and one that, against her own will, made her step closer to the older boy as they entered the train.

Inside was just as extravagant as the imagine of the capital she had in mind. She felt the Peacekeepers let go of her finally and gave Nakoa one final push before they forgot about her completely.

They wouldn't lay away at night, haunted by the day they just had. Nokoa was almost positive they had no awareness to anything at all, sending children to their death without a bat of an eye and a hard shove in the back.

No one from the Capitol would mourn her, for it was just a game for them.

Koi brushed passed her and stepped silently further into the luxury car. Silently. Nokoa couldn't help but notice, a fact that unnerved her more-could this be how she died? Stabbed in the back without ever knowing it was coming.

The car had a long navy couch at its center facing a glass stand with fishes swimming inside of it. The rather fragile looking coffee table had the same details, clearly a set. Perched in the center of the table were the dress shoes that belonged to the man already lounging on the couch.

His gelled hair sparkled in the lighting and Nokoa could clearly see just how much it took to create these pikes atop his head

Dendron Rosewood draped a sparkling clad arm over the side of the couch and smiled at Nokoa and Koi, overjoyed he spoke with enthusiasm.

"Well would you look at you two!"

His attitude clearly wasn't left on the wooden stage back home. Dendron's genuine happiness made Nokoa want to jump across the room at him. Did he enjoy this work? Watching pairs just like them go by every year? Draping them in fine fabrics in an act to try and help them.

"So much better already than the two last year," he started with a wave of the hand. "Couldn't take constructive criticism, made my job loads harder."

Eva, Reid's girl was a tribute last year. Nokoa could remember the heart filled goodbye that was given and the 3 Fontain kids refusing to watch to games until someone gave the news.

Reid couldn't stand to watch her demeaned in the games, though he knew she was strong he was prepared for the worst. They were no better than animals in the games in their eyes. Would her brothers watch her fight, take the lives of others? Did they truly think she could win?

Nokoa's body shivered with the hollow cries she could still hear coming from her brothers room after word came in that Eva's time in the arena was up.

A blank expression crossed her face. This man that sat lounging in front of her didn't even care to remember Eva's name, let alone say anything positive about her. Nokoa was now certain Dendron Rosewood wouldn't be making it to the capital with his over caked up face in tact.

With a hard step Nokoa was half way across the room before an arm shot out to stop her. Her mouth opened ready to snap at anyone at the moment but the wide eyes of Koi stared back at her.

He gave her a slight shake of his head. Even though she didn't like being told what to do she stopped at gazed at him perplexed.

Koi's expression didn't reprimanded her or scolded her for the anger so evident on her face. Instead it read more as a 'not right now'. He seemed to promise her a time to explode at this bedazzled capital man.

Strange. The DeCastellos back in 4 were jewelers. A snobby household that were prided on the finest things in life. More times than not, Nokoa would watch the huge, lumbering man that turned out to be Koi's father sell his wares directly to the capital.

Their big house back in the district seemed to suggest that the family was good at what they did, and their overly full bellies concluded it.

Nokoa wasn't a fan of capital kiss-ups, she'd seen what the peacekeepers could do on a whim, what they did to her family already.  The boy standing in front of her couldn't have been more opposite to what she thought of them in this moment. Though maybe that's what he wanted her to see, she still wasn't fully trusting of his intentions.

Volunteering usually means a great deal of determination to win. Koi's a volunteered tribute. Just like the other districts that called themselves 'Careers'

"Feisty," Dendron quirked his eye brows up and flashed his teeth at her. He waved down the peacekeepers staring at the scene. "That's the spirit we need in the games, already to play are we?" His tone suggested that she was about 5 years old. Nokoa scoffed but didn't return the punch.

She caught a glimpse of Koi rolling his eyes before he took returned to a semi-relaxed stance.

"Well hopefully you already know but I'm Dendron Rosewood and I'll be your Capitol escort and one of your stylists.

"Let's test," he started and sat up straight with both feet on the floor. Nokoa was confused by what he meant until he spoke.

"Nokoa was it? What a sad scene with who I could assume was your brothers." He stuck out his bottom lip at her but continued turning his attention to her district partner.

"And of course our lone wolf, Cod. No distractions and all determination. I like it." He clapped his hands, some of the pearls in his suit hit together with a 'clunk'.

"Koi." The younger boy corrected him in a monotoned voice. He didn't raise his voice nor moved at all but something flashed across Rosewoods face.

It was Nokoa's turn to roll her eyes.

Dendron's composure was back in an instant and he stood now. "A fish is a fish." He walked over to the pair and was brave enough to clasp them both on the shoulders. Nokoa glanced around the car for a moment, her eyes landed on the peacekeepers and she fought the urge to shrug this Capitol man off.

"Speaking of which, I know I'm hungry." Does he ever stop talking? Nokoa glanced at Koi's face but his attention was elsewhere. Undeterred by the lack of response Drendron continued. Clearly he never gets the hint either

"Come on I'll show you the dining car."

The highly decorated cars hurt her eyes a little bit as the trio passed through them. Her family back in 4 weren't the wealthiest but comparing her town with this train alone- there were nights the nets weren't filled and the stomachs felt a little hollow-

and the stories she's heard of other district, Nokoa could determine no district would ever truly live up to the Capitol.

Dendron ducked a bit so his spiked hair could fit through the train cart. Once they got to the dining cart Nokoa looked around with wide eyes.

There was a water fixture towards the side of the car making it look like it was raining. The carpet was a deep blue and the long table was the same fish tank idea as the coffee table. Nokoa scoffed a little, they were really leaning heavy into District 4's trade

"Bet I can guess what's for dinner." Koi spoke over his shoulder quietly when Nokoa's steps fell next to his.

Already sitting at the end of the long table was the blonde hair boy from the reaping. His eyes racked over both tribute in front of him but a grin filled his face when his eyes landed on Dendron Rosewood.

The Capitol escort sauntered over and lounged in the seat next to their mentor, as if they've been friends forever. The pearly suit man pointed to both kids in turn. "Nokoa, Cod."

"Koi." This time Nokoa felt the venom lace her words along with Koi who corrected the man once again.

"Well," started the blonde on the end standing up from his seat and making his way over. "I'm Finnick Odair." He stuck out his hand for a firm handshake.

"You won, what? Like 3 years ago?" Koi started dropping his hand back down to his side. "You were 14?"

"Meaning I was good." Finnick flashed his signature Capitol smile. It didn't really fool Nokoa since it didn't reach his eyes.

"Meaning," Koi stepped back slightly, taking a real look at their supposed mentor. "You're still a child."

Nokoa eyes blew wide for a second. She never really connected the dots yourself. Everyone in 4 knew about how Finnick was the youngest victor.

They took pride in that.

"You're 17?" Nokoa spoke quietly. A child was going to teach them to kill other children. Great.

"It doesn't matter honey." Finnick's smile wavered for a moment. "I know how the Capitol works, I'm your best shot at getting home." His last word dripped with something different than venom.

Nokoa pushed her lips into a fine line. That's all she wanted. She wasn't sure if she really wanted the glory and respect from the districts and Capitol alike, she wanted to be back home. In her creaky house helping her brothers fish and sell. The run her hands along the tall grass and see her birds.

Who would feed them when she's gone?

But most importantly she just wanted her family. Reid and Theo were there her entire life, she couldn't let their family break even more.

Koi scoffed beside her but remained quiet. The tension was broken by Dendron speaking up of course. "If you 3 are done can we get this meal started."

Finnick gestured for the table and Nokoa glanced at him slightly before taking her own seat at the right of the table. Before Koi could sit as well the blonde grabbed Koi's arm and reached up to whisper something in his ear.

Nokoa couldn't quite make it out but Koi remained with his hardened expression.

It was starting to drive her mad really, he didn't seem to care what would happen to them at all. The most emotion she saw was him correcting his name.

When everyone was once again seated serves flanked the room with plates adorning their arms. Within the bunch there were exotic fruits Nokoa only ever saw at the market. Other main dishes were unfamiliar to her but the Salmon at the center of the table brought her back home.

She spared a glance from the fish to Koi but his eyes were trained on his own plate.

Finnick cleared his throat and wiped the blonde locks from his eyes. "We should arrive tommorow afternoon, closer to sunset." He shoved some bright orange fruit into his mouth and then continued. "I was thinking about talking about more serious matters over breakfast."

His sea green eyes landed on Nokoa who was about to speak up. Perfectly straight teeth flashed at her. "Someone's eager but let's save it for later."

"I-" Nokoa said bitterly, "was actually going to ask about the older women with you today." God was that really today? The reaping felt like a distant nightmare already, but she was barely far from home.

"Why do we have two mentors? This isn't a quarter quell." Koi spoke up again. All facts as usual. "Mags isn't it?"

"Someone's brushed up on their history. Smart boy." Finnick pointed across the table. "She's...helping me. Smart as a whip and has been around a while for her share of games." Finnick paused every once in a while to find some words. For the first time since meeting him, Nokoa saw his confidence waver.

"She's resting at the moment. But she'll be a good asset to you both."

Nokoa sat back in her seat for a moment, her plate was still half full but thoughts of tomorrow spoiled her appetite. She'd was sure she'd be kicking herself for not eating the rest later tonight.

Since Dendron wasn't the center of attention for the last half an hour, he decided it was time to add. "And you'll be meeting your stylist tomorrow- preparation for the interviews is always my favorite."

"I could guess why." Koi spoke under his breath only to Nokoa, and she huff in amusement.

The platters and cutlery was the only sound for the rest of the meal. Orange hues from the setting sun filtered into the room. The blue that was wrapped around almost every surface was becoming discolored by the orange. Nokoa's plate still sat half untouched

Though her day normally didn't end this early, Nokoa only wanted to be harried in her bed away from the people that constantly watched her. She couldn't shake the feeling she wouldn't have time to herself again.

As if their mentor could read their minds, Finnick shot a look towards Dendron before speaking. "Im assuming you weren't shown your rooms. When I was here for the first time I remember the reaping caused me to turn in early."

Nokoa felt her body move on autopilot and droned along between the two boys. Her tired mind finally presented the fact to her. Both boys were a year older than she. All three were now in the same boat, heading towards a foreign land.

Her ears rang, she watched as Finnick opened the door to what she assumed was her quarters. Nokoa barely registered the quiet voice of Koi wishing her a goodnight. How could it be good? Despite her training Nokoa wasn't sure she could be a victor. Could she do the unthinkable?

Nokoa came to the end of her large bed in the darkened rooms. Her feet felt around for a second, the floorboards didn't squeak. Of course they didn't.

Of course Nokoa couldn't leave her room and be met with her other brothers lounging on their couch, their feet propped up with no fish in the table.

Of course she couldn't be normal ever again.

She stood for a moment in the room, the weight of truly being alone finally hit her.

Nokoa moved to the side of the bed, no lingering smell of Banana pudding or of the oceans salty air.

Everything was different here and Nokoa was alone.

______________________________________

Hope you enjoyed!

@sugutoad @wagyusaichi@nixandtonic

[crystalbeetle888]

Animal Instinct Pt.2

Charles X reader X Erik In the wake of losing a friend, you seek out revenge on Sebastian Shaw. However, you are not the only one after him, as a team of meddling mutants try to convince you to join forces. Will you give in to these persuasive outcasts, and join their family? or do it alone as you always have?

Master List Pt.1 - Pt.2 - Pt.3

Word Count: 2,697

Content: Violence, swearing, sexual references, possible bigotry it’s the 60s, slow burn, some angst, eventual happy ending, maybe smut?

The blinding morning light cracks through the curtains and into your eyes, waking you from your restless slumber. You moan in pain as you stretch from your huddled position on the floor. Your body is sore and your head aches as you prop yourself against the door. You feel hollow as you stare down at your crusted, red stained hands, your breath shaky as you remember the events from last night. The way Stars eyes widened in fright once she realized what had happened, the choking gasping noise she made as you held her, trying to keep her alive, the metallic stench that stuck to you. That fucking stench. You quickly rise to your feet, nausea washing over you as you stumble into the bathroom. Stripping off your clothes you quickly hop into the shower, not bothering to wait for it to warm up, and begin to scrub at the blood staining your arms. You slather the soap across your entire body before allowing yourself to breathe. You watch as the red water runs across your body and down the drain. You begin to cry, actually, sob for the first time in a long time. You crouch down in the shower allowing the hot water to run off, staying like that until the water runs cold.

Exhausted, you hop out and throw on some raggedy ass clothes. Deciding you needed to fetch some food, you reluctantly leave your room and walk across the parking lot to ‘Jacks’ Cafe and Diner’, one of the shadiest places you’ve ever eaten at. It wasn’t uncommon for degenerate men to stay the night at the motel with an escort, and buy breakfast at the diner the next day. Great business model given that their both owned by the same sleazy-bag slumlord. Sitting down at a booth you brush a few crumbs off your table as a rough looking woman walks over “What'cha want?” she asks “I’ll get a B&E sandwich and a water" She hums “Oh, and send out Ricky, I need to talk to him” She looks you up and down before rolling her eyes.

Ricky watches all of the security cameras at the cage fights, he sees all and knows everything about everyone. He has an acute psychic power, allowing him to see insights into people's memory when viewing them. ‘Nosey fucking bastard’ you think to yourself. The door to the kitchen swings open and a tall African man walks out “Aye beasty, my favourite girl! What are you doing here?” He asks, strutting over. His optimism falters for a moment, obviously having seen last night's memory, “Oh Animal, I’m so sorry, I know she was a good friend” he mutters in solace, sitting down across from you. 

You choose to ignore him. "I need to call in a favour” he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“You will owe me one” he says causing you to scoff “I set you up with that pretty singer girl”

He hums in thought “Hmm I suppose you did aye, alright, what do you need?” You roll your eyes at his antics.

“I need you to look at someone from last night's match and tell me all you know,” you whisper. He nods “Alright, I can do that later tonight” “I need you to do it now Ricky” he huffs before taking his apron off “You’re a persistent lady” he says defeatedly, knowing that there was no point in arguing with you. 

The two of you travel back to the supposably abandoned building, entering through the main door “I thought this was all under construction?” you ask, “Nah, backstage just doesn't like sharing with anyone from the ring” Ricky smiles back at you cheekily. You huff, walking through the building and into a small room. Inside is a couch across from a large box TV and VCR setup. “Alright, what do you want to see?” He says crouching down in front of the machine. “There was a white man in the east-wing corridor directly after my fight, I want you to look at him” He nods, turning everything on and rewinding the video footage. “The top right is what you want” He mutters in focus. You lean forward, “There, that’s him” you point at the screen.

Ricky stares at him before humming in thought “What do you see?” You whisper. He turns to you hesitantly, “Ani, nothing you do to this fella will bring her back”, you glare at him “He deserves to die”, you counter back through gritted teeth. Ricky nods, taking a deep breath in and out “He’s going to be in Las Vegas, at the Atomic Hellfire Club in two days time. He’s meeting with someone, someone in government I think” He furrows his brows “I can’t get much more, it’s too garbled”

You stand “Thank you Ricky” you say before turning to leave “Animal, he has a telepath, be careful” You nod at him as you walk away. 

The evening begins to cool as you make your way through the airport. You only had one bag of belongings in total. You didn’t like to be held down by material belongings, just a few pictures of the circus and some locks of hair from loved ones’ who’ve passed. You didn't know why you kept their hair. You suppose it’s so you can continue to smell them and be reminded of home. Home was always more about the people than the place for you, especially after your mother died. Shaking off your thoughts, you board the plane and sit down. Plucking out a cigarette to calm your nerves, you settle into your seat, ‘This is gonna be a long flight’ You think, shifting in discomfort.

After what seems like eternity, and an entire packet of cigarettes, the plane finally lands with a harsh bump. The jostling causes you to grip the armrests of your seat “Oh god” you whisper to yourself. You didn’t like flying. I mean you did, just not in a plane. Out of the plane and through the airport, you hail down a taxi “Take me to the Atomic Club” the cab driver nods, peeling away from the curb. You also didn’t like car rides. Too many ways to be in an accident. 

The drive isn’t long, but it is overstimulating. Flashing neon lights, crowds stumbling across every inch of sidewalk, horns honking, the stench of alcohol and greasy food. “What and awful fucking place” You mutter to yourself. “Are you here for business?” the cabbie asks. “Of sorts” You reply. The bumper to bumper traffic slows to a stop “I’d be easier if you hopped out now ma’am, the club is just up the street over there” he says pointing out the window. “Alright, here” You hand him some money before grabbing your suitcase and hopping out. The streets are loud, people bumping into one another as you weave through the crowds. Making your way up the street you stand outside the Atomic Club. ‘Gentlemen’ and scantily clad women walking in and out of the establishment. Looking around you spot a motel just up the street, ‘Perfect’ you think. Entering the building an older woman looks up from her newspaper at the front desk. “Just you?”, “Yeah, three nights” She passes you a key as you pass her the money. Trotting up to the fifth floor you find your room and enter. It was small, one window overlooking the rank-ass streets and the Atomic Club, a double bed, and a small bathroom. “Home sweet home” you remark before throwing your stuff on the floor and jumping into bed, ready to sleep off the jetlag. Snuggling in, you quickly drift off to sleep.

The following day is spent perched on the window seal, waiting for an opening. When night finally falls you spot your opportunity, a limo filled with lingerie clad women. Quickly stripping down you throw on your one set of black lace underwear and heels, and book it out of there. As you trot down the street you shift your form, growing your hair longer and blonde, your waist more snatched, your bust bustier, your birthmark smoothed away, and a completely new face, just in case. ‘Got be palatable to the males’ you think slightly annoyed.

Joining the group of women, as they strut through the entrance and into the foyer. A blonde lady dressed in white invites us in. The room is tall and crowded, loud music mixes with the men's chattering and whistling. Walking down the stairs you mingle with the crowd, sauntering around them as you try to pick up a scent, and as they try to gain your attention. Star always told you to pick a random object in the distance to focus on so it seemed like you were going somewhere important. After some sniffing around you pick up Shaw's scent, following it into an empty curtained booth. You sniff around the seats, then the table, the centerpiece smelling strongly of many different hands. Pressing down on it, the room rotates, opening up into a large empty office. Your ears grow and prick, searching for the slightest of sounds. A muffled conversation can be heard behind the far bookcase covered wall. Sneaking over, you grow your ear to that of a bat and press it to the wall, closing your eyes you focus. The noise forms an image in your head. A fire crackling in the center of the room and gentle music overwhelm the other sounds, ‘Focus Animal’.

“We’ve had this conversation. You put our nukes in Turkey or anywhere that close to Russia, and you’re looking at war. Nuclear war” a man sitting across from Shaw speaks. The woman from earlier sits next to him and an unknown man sits at the bar in the corner. ‘This must be that government person’ you think. Stripping down naked you morph your skin into cuttlefish skin, camouflaging yourself with the surroundings wallpaper ‘There’s only one way in, all I have to do is wait’ you think to yourself. You’re thought is quickly interrupted by a loud bang on the wall, opening the secret door ‘Never-fucking-mind then’. 

You silently slip through the gap and step around the older man laying disheveled on the floor. You hold your breath and still your thoughts. Shaw, the blonde woman, and the random guy approach, standing over him. Sneaking around the group you crouch to the ground ‘He’s right fucking there’ you think desperately.

As Shaw chatters aimlessly the woman next to him transforms into glass. ‘It’s now or never’ you think. Whilst he’s distracted explaining some useless crap you pounce on him, jumping on his back and throwing him to the ground. You bite into Shaw's neck with your sharp feline-like teeth and pull back, ripping the chuck of meat from him before spitting it out, and going in for another bite. Before you can however, a strong force of wind throws you into the wall, deactivating your camouflage and new form. The, apparently diamond, woman whistles loudly, the noise echoing throughout the room. Azazel, the devil man from before, appears “Get rid of her!” Shaw splutters to him, clutching his throat. Lunging at him again, you're abruptly grabbed and teleported high above a lake. You fall gracelessly. Hitting the freezing water hard, you let out an involuntary gasp as you go under. Kicking to the surface you cough and splutter. “FUCK!” you scream into the night. “That fucker! That stupid ugly motherfucker!” you cry out to no one, completely defeated.

After swimming back to shore, you proceed to spend the rest of the night walking back to your motel, the front desk lady not sparing you a second glance as you walk in completely soaked and naked. Dragging yourself back to your room, you throw yourself onto the bed, too tired to cry, you fall asleep as the sun just begins to come up.

Meanwhile, back at the Atomic Club, Moira McTaggert just witnessed the attempted assassination of the mysterious Sebastian Shaw, by an even more mysterious shapeshifting woman. She managed to accidentally walk in on this woman as she was undressing and camouflaging into the wall. Moira stays hidden behind the bookcase, listening into the rest of their conversation as Colonel Hendry is teleported off by this Azazel man. She quickly backs away from the door and slides back into the booth before booking it out of there. Slipping into her colleague's car, she calls her superior McCone, attempting to explain the situation. “Listen to me, I suggest that you stop wasting my time.” He pauses “I got bigger things to deal with right now, MacTaggert” He hangs up abruptly before she can get a word in “Sir, I…” She huffs in frustration. “Have you lost your mind? So now what?” Her colleague asks. “We find an expert on genetic mutation” She answers. 

After pulling some resources MacTaggert finally finds someone, Charles Fransis Xavier, a soon to be Professor of Genetics, is giving his presentation tomorrow evening. ‘This is him’ she thinks to herself.

The trip to London is long, but nothing she hasn’t done before. She gets to Oxford University early, allowing herself time to scope out the scene before going inside and taking a seat. After the presentation, Moira waits outside for Professor Xavier to leave, the light rain bounces off her umbrella creating a relaxing tapping noise. Finally, the Professor leaves the building, squished up next to a pretty woman as they share an umbrella.

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to be called a professor until you actually have a teaching position” he says to the woman as they pass by Moira. “I know, but it suits you,” She replies. “Don’t say that. Do say, ‘Let’s go have a drink ", “Let’s go have a drink”, “Wonderful”, she eavesdrops on their banter.

Moira follows them to a local pub where Charles and the woman friend begin to drink, quite enthusiastically actually. Charles begins chugging from an incredibly long glass, a chanting crowd forming around him. They erupt in cheers as he finishes. Moira slips through the crowd as they begin to disperse, intercepting Charles as he attempts to reach the bar. 

“Congratulations, Professor” she shakes his hand firmly, “Thank you very much. It’s much harder than it looks, actually” he says smugly.

“No, on your presentation.” She corrects him. “You were at my presentation? How nice of you. Thank you very much” he drunkenly chatters, obviously quite chuffed with himself.

“Moira MacTaggert.”, “Charles Xavier”, “Do you have a minute?” She asks. He smiles and brushes her hair gently back “For a pretty little being with a mutated MCR1 gene? I have five” 

“I say MCR1, you would say auburn hair” he throws his arm over her shoulder and leads them to a table. “It’s a mutation. It’s a very groovy mutation. Mutation, right, took us from single-celled organisms to the dominant form…” He slightly slurs his words as he talks at her. Moira rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed “You know what? This routine may go over great with the co-eds, but I’m here on business” she states firmly. He looks at her confused, “I really need your help” she reiterates. He nods his head gently “Alright” he huffs, trying to sober up enough for a serious conversation.

“The kind of mutations that you were talking about in your thesis. I need to know if they may have already happened.” Charles sits up straighter in attention, “In people alive today” she continues. He slips his hand up to his temple and focuses in on Moiras’ memories. Images enter his mind. Images of Shaw talking to Colonel Hendry, the diamond woman, the naked woman becoming camouflage, and later shapeshifting as she attacks Shaw. He’s never seen someone with such an interesting skill set before. Except for Raven of course, but that was different. Charles doesn’t even hear Moira as she continues to talk.

“Something tells me you already know the answer to your question” He says leaning in “This is very important to me, and if I can help you, I will do my utmost”. She nods gratefully “Thank you”

[lavender-laney]

choking on sea salt, chapter three

chapter 1, chapter 2 part one, chapter 2 part two, chapter 3

Sadie awakens to the sound of creaking wood and footsteps. ­Her eyes flick open, and she’s met with the very first rays of sunlight streaming through the broken windows and illuminating the dust that endlessly fills the air of this house.

“You awake?” a gruff voice asks, and Sadie startles, the sun’s light suddenly blocked by the stocky man peering down at her, wisps of hair falling over his bloodshot eyes, coveralls hanging off his starved body. Nikolai, she remembers. He’s a rough-looking man, with a crooked jaw framed by thin white hairs that could, in some ways, be considered a beard. His mouth seems to perpetually hang open a bit, revealing gaps in his yellowed teeth.

Sadie throws the blanket to the side, finding the yarn has become even further unwound during the night, and sits up, gingerly moving away from where the man looms over her form. She stands, brushing the floor’s dust from her clothes.

“Yes, yes,” she stutters, wondering how long he’d stood there before she’d woke up. “I’m awake.”

He stares at her for a moment longer before nodding absently. Turning away, the man begins to make his way towards the door, lumbering footsteps leaving imprints in the dusty floorboards. Still shaking off the last dredges of sleep, Sadie follows, and as they step outside she realizes the sun has only just begun to peek its way over the horizon. The moon still overlooks the rolling fields, and Sadie is reminded of summers spent at her grandparents’ farm, of her grandfather shaking her awake at dawn’s first light, of shoving on her grandmother’s old work boots and mucking her way through the barns in shoes a few sizes too large.

The tense silence between Sadie and Nikolai doesn’t have nearly the same peaceful feelings as mornings spent on her grandparents’ farm, however. Whereas Sadie would expect birdsong or the last dawdling crickets from the previous evening, instead the air is filled only by the whistling of the breeze and the scuff of dirt under the pair’s shoes. The sheep pasture is along the dirt road, within the fence that Sadie recalls seeing as Joseph led her into town the night prior.

Nikolai pulls open the gate, and Sadie gets a closer look at the barn that houses the animals and the fence that surrounds the pasture.

The barn is in similar disrepair as the house Sadie spent the night in, though attempts to patch holes in the roof or reinforce broken fences have clearly been made. As they pass through the outermost fence, iron rods have been used to keep the wood standing where it has been weathered. Sadie peers closer and realizes that the fence has not only been aged by the elements but has also splintered outwards at the height of Sadie’s hip in many places. Her steps slow where she follows Nikolai and she leans closer to the wood. Clumps of wool catch in the damaged posts, shadowed by dark stains that Sadie quickly realizes is blood spattered around the impact points. An unnerved feeling abruptly fills her chest.

“Let’s go,” Nikolai calls, standing at the entrance of the barn, looking back at Sadie with a stern expression and shadowed eyes.

With one last glance at the fence, Sadie rushes over, fighting to avoid the man’s searching gaze. He scoffs, leading her further into the barn. The inside is in worse shape than the exterior, worsened by the smell of unclean wool, feces, and mildew. Sadie is sure the horror must show on her face and feels thankful Nikolai has not turned to look back at her, instead bending down with a pained breath to gather a tin bucket in his frail grip. He turns back to her.

“While I head over to the well, go ‘round letting them outta their pens,” Nikolai says, voice gruff. “Now I need you to listen close to this part,” his tone gains a stern quality, and Sadie feels the nerves in her chest tighten. “Do not give any of these animals an opportunity to get outta that fence out there. They like to … wander, you could say, and then I’ll have to come out and round ‘em back up because you weren’t paying attention. So watch what you’re doin’. These creatures are smarter than you’d think.” He pauses, eyes searching her face. “Do you hear me?’

Sadie nods, eyes wide. “Of course, yes. I understand,” she responds.

Nikolai’s eyes stay trained on hers for a long moment before he huffs, heading back out the barn door, bucket held against his hip. “I’ll be back.”

Sadie nods again, waiting until the man has started to make his way out of the fenced area and down the hill towards town. She grimaces. If he has to walk that far to collect water, no wonder his joints ache, she thinks. She’s certainly not complaining, however, and instead takes the opportunity to survey the barn. As she’d noticed before, it’s clearly an old building, and the closer she looks, the more unstable it appears. She risks a glance at the roof above her, and quickly looks away, choosing not to think about the decaying wood above her head. As she steps further into the barn, the sheep pens become more visible. They’re simple, fenced areas bordered by planks of wood. Each one holds a sheep or two, some with fragile-looking young lambs. Many of them, though, are empty, and Sadie is reminded of Mary’s words the night prior.

“We eat what meat is available to us,” she’d said, all shifty eyes and nerves.

Sadie steps up to the low door of one pen, studying the sheep and lamb that rest together within. They lie together, the lamb leaned against its mother’s stomach, but in perhaps the most … detached manner that Sadie has ever witnessed an animal behave. Although they huddle together for warmth, the animals appear as though they’re hardly aware of one another’s presence. Their gazes are glazed and unfocused, legs sprawled out and ears limp against their skulls. Their bodies, especially the mother’s, are littered in bald patches and wounds. The mother has a large wound across her forehead, her wool stained brown with dried blood. Sadie thinks of the damage to the fence outside, the clumps of wool and crusted blood decorating the wood, and cringes at the implication. With their current disposition, she couldn’t imagine either of these animals ramming their bodies against the fence with enough desperation to harm themselves.

Trepidation worsened by this realization, Sadie lifts the latch to the door and pulls it open, and the creaking wood draws the animals’ attention. The sheep blinks, lifting her head, as if reconnecting to the world around her. She stands, clumsily and without care for her lamb, who is sent tumbling to the ground soundlessly. Sadie can’t help the gasp that escapes her mouth, but the sheep doesn’t seem to notice, simply stepping over her lamb and stumbling out of her pen and past Sadie, making her way out to the pasture. Sadie’s gaze follows her, but the sheep continues on her way without a glance back.

The shuffling of hay brings Sadie’s attention back to the lamb, who is attempting to right itself, weak legs shaking under the weight of its own malnourished body. Caught in a moment of morbid curiosity and a cautious desire to help, Sadie steps forward hands outstretched, but the lamb finally gains its balance, shoving past Sadie’s legs without a care. As it walks past, the matted wool on its backside becomes visible, and Sadie wonders just how long the two had laid there together, unmoving.

As the lamb follows its mother, Sadie sighs, attempting to shake away the goosebumps that have spread across her skin. She moves towards the next pen, and the lone sheep it holds. This one, a ram with cracked, blunt horns curled in a wicked shape around its ears, is in a similar state as the first two and makes its way out of the barn in the very same, unnerving manner. She makes her way down the rows, but the last pen draws her to a stop. It holds a young ram, a little too large to be a lamb, but too leggy and awkward to be considered an adult. Its horns are still small, and the tips are dull. It stands in the corner of its pen, facing the wall with a dogged focus. Its legs are racked with shivers, and Sadie wonders how long it has stood there, weakening its muscles to the point of tremors. As she stands there, wondering how to draw its attention to the open door, it leans its weight back on its hind legs, preparing itself, then rears forward with the full force of its body. Its horns meet the wall with a harsh thud as wood splinters,­and Sadie flinches, immediately stepping forward to grab at its wool the same way you would hold an unruly kitten’s scruff.

Only after she’s done it does she realize how risky of a move it was, how easily the animal could rear towards her to drive keratin and bone into her stomach or kick out with its hind legs. No matter how frail they may seem, a tired muscle won’t prevent a distinctly hoof-shaped imprint on Sadie’s midsection and worn-down stubs won’t prevent a bruised kidney.

Even as the ram remains still, seemingly unaware of Sadie’s grip on the back of its neck, she envisions what her grandfather would say about a mistake like this one. She remembers the first summer she’d stayed at their house, the first time she’d stepped foot into the barn holding rows of dairy cows --- distinctly in better shape than the one she stands in now, met with the excited calls of hungry cows rather than the eerie silence of ill sheep. Her grandfather had led her to one of the stalls, occupied by the oldest and most tame of his herd. He’d held Sadie’s hand as they stepped towards the animal that towered over Sadie’s young frame. As the cow leaned down to snuffle at Sadie’s hair, her grandfather told her in a steady voice all the ways in which a peaceful creature can be dangerous. How quickly a playful horse can buck its rider, how easily milking a cow can become a hoof to the stomach, how even the sweetest of roosters can dig its spur into soft skin at a too-fast movement.

Sadie releases her hold on the sheep’s skin, nudging its shoulder to turn towards the open door. It follows her touch mindlessly, and the first step it takes out of its hay-filled pen and onto the packed dirt of the barn’s floor seems to bring it to awareness just a bit, just enough to take its own unsteady steps towards the door, following the same path as the others.

Sadie watches for a long, tense moment, and begins to understand the glazed, dissociative look in the animals’ eyes, wondering if perhaps she should’ve stayed in Pruitt’s stuffy classroom listening to the overconfident chatter of Bradbury and his peers. With a thud that splits the heavy silence, the pen door swings closed before her. Sadie snaps back to reality. She shudders, both at what she had just witnessed, and at herself for feeling so affected by it. The seed of frustration that had welcomed itself into her chest last night grows, and she pushes the pen door back open and steps into the pen with a huff, determined to get something out of this strange morning.

The pen looks fairly normal, if a bit barren and dirty, but Sadie moves further in, peering at the wall the sheep had been so focused on. The wood is spattered with blood, dried and fresh, and has started to splinter in places. One such crack has formed a sizeable hole in the wood, about the size of Sadie’s fist, and she kneels down in the hay to peer through it, uncaring for the way its filth dampens her knees. Through the hole, the pasture outside is visible, and Sadie can see the flock of sheep making their way past the barn, towards the farthest fence. Past the farthest fence, the ocean is barely visible, the rolling waves audible if Sadie strains to hear them. Sadie wonders if the sheep simply wanted outside but feels there must be more to it. When she surveys the rest of the barn, she finds nothing more of substance, and resigns herself to the unfulfilled curiosity weighing on her.

“Alright,” she huffs to herself, voice breaking the heavy quiet of the barn. “Alright.”

As Sadie follows the flock’s path, she finds the animals gathered at the farthest fence. Some apathetically dip their heads to gather the yellowing grass of the pasture into their teeth, while the others simply … stare. Just as the last sheep was, they’ve planted their hooves in the dirt and watch the horizon, the ocean, like dogged sentries. Sadie steps up beside them to share the view. The sun has crept its way up past the horizon in the time Sadie spent inside the barn, though the sky is still dark with early morning. The ocean looks calm, waves rolling in and out slowly, meeting the sands of the beach gently. The picturesque sight is marred by the utilitarian iron fence that lines the grass just before the beach’s sands begin. It is tall, tall enough to withstand strong waves and winds. The base of the fence has been rusted by seawater and the sea salt encrusting it is visible even from a distance. Although it would certainly hinder a person from making their way to the water, it doesn’t appear impossible to bypass in any way. Based on Mary’s and Edith’s reactions last night, Sadie wonders if the fence is more symbolic than anything, a reminder of the fear of the ocean already held by the townsfolk.

As Sadie is studying one of the younger lambs, peering at the crooked position of its back leg and the grime encrusting its wool, she hears the outermost fence creak open and turns to see Nikolai carrying the bucket of water. At the same moment Sadie turns at the sound of the door, numerous sheep wheel around quickly, desperately, and force their way towards Nikolai, heavy step by stumbling step. One makes it quite close, too, as Sadie has already moved forward with a hand outstretched, prepared to grab it before it can bolt. Nikolai kicks out with a shout, nearly dropping the water bucket, and slams the gate closed. The sheep is unbothered by his reaction, and rushes forward anyway, slamming into the closed gate with the full weight of its body. It crumples into a heap, dazed by the impact, but its legs continue to kick, pushing at the dirt beneath it, mouth opening and closing without sound.

Sadie can only watch in horror, clenched hands still outstretched, even as the other sheep lose interest, rejoining their position against the far fence. Nikolai scoffs, stepping past the writhing animal to make his way toward the barn. Sadie looks between the man and the sheep, overwhelmed with a desire to move closer to the animal. Not to help, though, but to peer closer at its face, at the way its pupils roam, unseeing, and its mouth begins to foam with its desperation. She wishes she could pull out the notepad that sits in her pocket and record its behavior to study later.

“Are you comin’, or are you just gonna gawk at the damned thing?” Nikolai’s voice calls, and he sounds winded.

Sadie watches the sheep for a moment longer as it begins to lose energy, diminished to a twitching, heaving body. She commits the horrid image to memory, and follows Nikolai back into the barn, finding the man tipping the bucket of water into the troughs within each pen.

“Well,” he begins, heaving a deep breath as he sets the bucket on the ground. “Were there any dead?”

Sadie watches as he picks the bucket back up and carries it to the next stall, turning a calculating eye on her as he walks past.

“No,” she says, wondering what she would have done if she’d opened one of the pens to find a dead, decaying sheep. She wonders what the lamb would have done if its mother had died in the night, if maggots and flies had taken to her body with a frenzied hunger. Would the lamb have continued to lay against her cooling, festering corpse without even noticing her demise? Or, and this thought brings a nauseated feeling to her stomach, would it have joined the scavenging insects in their feast?

Nikolai grunts in response, continuing his task.

“What’s … wrong with them?” Sadie dares to ask, watching Nikolai closely for his reaction.

He pauses in his movements to look back at her. His chest is heaving in exhaustion, and his wrists tremble where he holds the weight of the nearly empty bucket. The looseness of his jaw somehow appears worse than it had just an hour prior, and the shadows beneath the redness of his eyes create a distinctly sickly appearance. Sadie can’t help but be reminded of the fragile, unnerving state of the sheep.

“They’re sick,” Nikolai spits, the most emotion she’s seen from the man. “The animals’re sick, the people’re sick, the land is sick. It’s all goddamned sick, and you’d do yourself an’ the rest of us a favor to get yourself the hell away from this place.”

The silence of the barn is suffocating following the man’s tirade. With the remaining energy from his proclamation, he heaves the water bucket up and dumps the rest of it in the next trough. That seems to be the extent of his capabilities, though, and he drops the bucket with a startling clang. It rolls, stopped by the edge of Sadie’s boot, and the man follows it, sliding down the side of the stall wall, coming to rest in the mud. His chest rises and falls rabbit-quick, and his eyes roll in their sockets.

“Oh god---!” Sadie begins, stumbling forward, kicking the bucket away. She kneels beside him, arms held out but wary to touch. “Are you, are you okay?”

Nikolai turns to meet her panicked gaze, seeming to regain a bit of clarity amid the frenzy. “Don’t you touch me,” he says, spittle flying from between the gaps in his teeth. “It’s your fault, you know? It’s always your damned fault. If you would just learn your lesson, just learn your place,” he leans forward suddenly, gripping at her shirt the same way Sadie had held the sheep’s scruff. “If she had just known her place, we wouldn’t be in this damned mess.”

Despite the pounding of her heart, the nerves wracking her limbs, Sadie’s curiosity, her damned curiosity, latches onto the man’s words.

“If who had known her place?” she asks, voice even, peering into his eyes. “Who, Nikolai?”

His demeanor has changed, though. His eyes have refocused, and they’ve lost their frantic quality. His grip on Sadie’s shirt loosens, and he instead uses his hand to push himself up from the ground, legs wavering beneath his weight. Sadie steps back, disappointment curling in her chest, as he fights to right himself. Once he’s found his feet, he huffs, and turns away from Sadie, bending to retrieve the bucket. Without a word, he carries it back to the corner it was originally retrieved from, leaving it to rest against the wall. Still avoiding Sadie’s gaze, he leaves the barn, making his way towards the pasture fence. The sheep that had tried so desperately to escape must have collected itself in the time it took to refill the troughs and has rejoined the rest of the flock down by the furthest fence.

“You’re gonna come back this evening to gather the animals back into their stalls,” Nikolai says, and Sadie rushes to catch up to where he has opened the gate. The sheep only have time to lift their heads, eyes widening, before the pair have slipped through the gate and closed it behind them. As Sadie pulls the latch closed, the sheep swing their heads back around to return to gazing down at the ocean.

“By myself?” Sadie asks Nikolai, now walking beside him. She wonders if he remembers how he’d acted in the barn, what he’d said, if he’s just choosing to ignore it. Sadie certainly won’t forget the way his crazed eyes met her own, nor the gnashing of his crooked jaw as he spit out the nonsensical words. Not for a long time, she’s sure.

Nikolai doesn’t look back at her when he says, “Can you not handle that?”

His tone is questioning, and Sadie feels like she’s being tested.

“Of course I can handle it,” she responds evenly.

Nikolai nods. “Alright then,” he says simply.

They walk to town in a tense silence, occupied only by the questions filling Sadie’s mind, and the echo of the heaving, desperate breaths of a man and a sheep.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

We're finally starting to get into the interesting parts...

Excited to hear what you guys think!

Tag list (lmk if anyone would like to be added or removed!)

@megarywrites @at-thezenith @repressed-and-depressed @plasma-studios @wrenofthewords @pb-dot @communist-mariner @phantomnations @thelittlestspider @inkingfireplace @silverslipstream @atreegrowss @i-rove-rock-n-roll @your-absent-father @borisyvain @ashfordlabs @digital-chance @boundedsea @kaze-writes @thebearthatreads @innocentlymacabre

[dawn-of-worlds]

Riders and Steeds

Siarruk turn 9: 5 (leftover) + 1 (non-hoarding bonus) + 8 (roll) = 14 pts

Humans - travellers along the coast, exiles from the jungles of the Cardinal River, and intrepid explorers - have of late settled in the maze-lands of the southern continent. Their lives there are rough and short; the land is bereft of the cover they have learned to rely on, and food is hard to come by here. Sorrow and toil dominate their days.

Siarruk takes pity on these itinerant fools, and blesses one of their number, an expectant mother. Her child will be born with silver hair, a clear mark of greatness, the wisdom of youth in a young body; they name her Mpaden, Moon-Seeker.

Create Avatar: 7 pts

Mpaden shows great facility with the beasts of the maze-lands, charming turtles into her arms, and as she grows an idea sets into her head: she will tame the greatest beasts of all, and banish the fear from her people's hearts.

The monsters of the maze-lands, longmeer, are feared by the unprotected humans for their size and strength. Their crocodilian bodies and strong legs move swiftly over the tops of the ravines, while their meter-long necks and mouths full of teeth reach down into the brambles to pluck berries, eggs, and animals as large as young boars. They are viciously reactive and suspicious of newcomers, and are named also the killers of huntsmen. When Mpaden set out into the brush to tame a longmeer, her clan holds a funeral for her; her father whips himself with a braid of silver to mourn her foolishness.

Mpaden seeks out a mother longmeer in her nest, and at first is chased away, but she will not relent. Making camp in the barrens, she discovers a turtle in her bedroll, and spears it to death. She smears its blood and flesh on her body, and when she enters the nest the longmeer does not kill her, but licks the meat from her skin. She spends the night in its den, and leaves the next morning with two eggs cradled in her arms.

Command Avatar (Create Subrace): 2 pts

Mpaden raises the young longmeer from the egg, and they grow to follow her without question. The bonded pair of beasts become her mounts as she unites the clans of the maze-lands. Named Unna and Enna, they are the first of many, and Mpaden's people use their new mastery of longmeer to great advantage. In her middle age, Mpaden herself leads a band of raiders north, where they take treasures from the clans which once exiled her ancestors; but in the battle she is struck down by a stray spear. Her body is pinned to Unna's back, who bears her uncomplainingly home.

Her people prepare a great funeral for their founder, but Unna will not allow her body to be removed. When her father approaches, furious in grief, silver whip in hand, Mpaden's lifeless body raises an arm to take it from him - and Unna and Enna trot off into the night.

The Moon-Seeker remains a rider in the night. She becomes a legend among the longmeer-people, who are named the Denni. In moonlight she can be seen roaming the earth, always far from the road, but her eternal mounts' steps are sure. With a whip of silver hair she chastises poachers and despoilers, but a few claim to have met her in the wilderness and been invited to ride beside her on Enna. These few invariably return changed, gifted with the tongues of beasts.

Advance Civilization: 5 pts

In the next hundred years, the Denni set themselves apart not only as raiders of the jungle-peoples but as consummate scouts and survivors on meerback. They forge new trade routes on the continent they learn to call Akhon, from the maze-lands and the southernmost peninsula to the Cursed Sea. In time they come to regard themselves as separate from island- and tree-borne humanity; they are generally shorter and squatter, with their close bonds with the longmeer, practice of self-flagellation and blood baptism, and skill with necromancy setting them apart.

Siarruk has 0 points remaining.

[bluestar22x]

Chapter 1: Found

Alien Son - Chapter 1: Found

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: Unbeknownst to him, Cade was a product of an experiment with the goal of raising a super solider. Saved from that fate by his adoptive parents, he is still hunted. Eventually, as it always does, his past catches up with him, though now there's another plan for him, one he could've never imagined.

With the help of friends, Cade must escape his captors again, resuming his life on the run in hopes of finally ending it once and for all, before another generation of his family line has to suffer the consequences.

Rating: 18+ series (explicit content, sensitive topics)

Chapter Word Count: 1,300(ish)

Series Warnings/General Info: Science fiction, mpreg (due to fictional science), violence, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, friendship (found family), romance (male x female), eventual love scene, violation of autonomy (by the antagonists), cloning, inter-species relationship (sort of - Cade is part human/more human than not), xenophobia, alien super human abilities

--- Don't like, don't read or comment! ---

xxx

Cade Dalton was being followed. He was certain of it. It was too dark of a night to see whatever or whoever was on his trail and the long dirt road to his rented home absorbed sound too well for him to hear his stalker through the wind, even with his sharp senses, but he had that primitive sensation of being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention.

He cursed under his breath, and picked up his pace, wishing for the millionth time that day that his rusty 1993 Chevy Lumina wasn’t in such rough shape that he’d needed to bring it to the local mechanic. Of all nights to be pursued, it had to be the night he was without a ride. To make it worst, he’d left his handgun in his safe as well.

Cade silently chastised himself for being so careless. Every time he slipped up in some way, he exposed himself to being taken by them. Whoever they were. His parents had never revealed names to him. They’d been too afraid of what he’d do with the information at the time. They’d thought they’d always be there to protect him. He only knew that the mysterious they his parents were running from, were protecting him from, belonged to a wealthy corporation somewhere in the southern U.S., and that they were hunting for him because he was special. Gifted. More like cursed.

Like a prey animal, Cade’s eyes darted left and right, his pulse quickened, and he geared up to bolt at the sound of leaves snapping nearby in the dense forest along the path. But before he could, a deer’s head popped out of the brush yards ahead of him and swung around to stare at him.

Cade felt his adrenaline crash at the sight of the doe, and he burst out laughing, clutching at his stomach with one hand. Somehow, the creature was not alarmed by the sudden loud noise being admitted from him. She only stared in his direction and flicked her ears around, more curious than cautious.

Once he’d composed himself, Cade combed a hand through his thick, short dark hair and shook his head at his tawny companion. “You are much braver than you should be. You do realize it’s hunting season, don’t you?”

The doe snorted a response at him and trotted back off into the woods. As she did, Cade exhaled loudly, and did his best to shake off the remaining physical repercussions from the surprise encounter.

“Get a grip,” he muttered to himself at the sight of his trembling hands.

It had been a full decade since an attack from the corporation’s hunters. For all he knew they’d forgotten about him or simply given up. Maybe he’d finally hidden too well and too far away. Maybe they had more important things to focus on.

But maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Turning a corner on the road, Cade reached his driveway. At the end of it was an old, but cozy looking log home. It had been his rental for the last month. He was hoping to get another couple of months out of it before moving on.

Cade approached the front porch and climbed. When he reached the only door in, he took one last wary glance at his surroundings, then unlocked the door and slipped inside. He immediately relocked the door behind him and flicked on the kitchen light. He wasted no time heading into his bedroom to swap his tool belt for the Glock in his gun safe that was hidden under his bed. He loaded some rounds in it and strapped it to himself before returning to the kitchen to heat up some leftover pizza he’d bought at a gas station the previous night.

The microwave had just beeped when Cade heard one of his tin trashcans tip over outside on the porch. He stiffened. It’s probably just a raccoon, he thought reasonably. But it was better safe than sorry. He pulled his Glock out, flicked the safety off, and held it in both his hands at ready as he slowly approached the front door.

When he opened the door, he quickly scanned his surroundings. He saw nothing too concerning. There was no sign of someone or something being out there, except for his tipped over trashcan.

Maybe it was the wind.  

Cade shrugged to himself and applied the safety back to his gun before sliding it into its holster. He bent to pick up the wayward trashcan and to throw the trash bag that had flopped out back into it. He was reaching for the door handle again when he felt a slight stinging sensation in the side of his neck. His left hand automatically flew up to the area and he felt something metal with a soft tip sticking out of his skin. He tugged on it, and it fell out.

It was a silver tranquilizer dart with pink fluff on the end. 

Almost immediately after pulling the dart out, Cade started feeling the effects of the whatever drugs it had injected into him. Fear gripped him as he suddenly felt like a ton of bricks. He stumbled, trying to fight the effect, to get inside to safety, but quickly collapsed and fell unconscious.

Out of the shadows of the trees, a bearded man twice as bulky as Cade strolled towards him, a dart gun slung around his right shoulder.

“He’s down,” the shooter shouted.

A scraggy, scarlet haired man who was a few years younger than Cade emerged from behind the cabin.

The shooter sighed impatiently as the significantly shorter man fixed his glasses and opened the silver briefcase he was carrying. Inside were a handful of test tubes, needles, paper, and other things the bulky one could not identify.

While waiting for his coworker to prep, he studied Cade’s face and frowned. “Weird. You’d think an alien kid would look more…you know, alien. He doesn’t even have Spock ears. You sure this is the right guy, Percy?”

“Adam was genetically engineered to look like a human,” Percy explained. “Besides, his mother had shapeshifting capabilities. So even if he hadn’t been, he’d have likely been able to blend in perfectly anyway.”

“Still finding it weird to think they’re among us,” the shooter said wryly, poking Cade in the ribcage with the barrel end of his shotgun.

“Just him now, as far as we know,” Percy told him as he drew blood from Cade’s forearm. “What’s left of the rest is at our lab.”

He proceeded to inject the drawn blood into a blood tube and cap it before snapping the tube into a small handheld metal device that looked like nothing the shooter had seen before.

“What’re ya doing?”

Percy glared up at him, annoyance in his pale eyes. “You’re paid to shoot, not ask questions.”

The device beeped and he glanced down at the screen. “Yep, perfect match. This is definitely Adam. I need you to get him in the car.”

The shooter grunted. “You’re not going to help?”

Percy snorted. “Who’s the one here who’s got at least fifty pounds of muscle on him? It’s definitely not me.”

“This kid doesn’t have a ton of muscle or fat on him, but he’s gotta be only a couple inches shorter than me and it’s a ten-minute walk to the car. Any help would be useful.”

“Throw him over your shoulder and deal with it.”

The shooter flipped him the finger, which Percy ignored, then did as instructed. “Oof. Let’s get going then, before he wakes up.”

Percy nodded, buckled up his briefcase, and followed his coworker into the forest.

xxx

Series Masterlist

xxx

[hellogirlslikegirlslikeboysdo]

And the lights are not fluorescent, and there are no words on the page. - Zuihitsu/Hybrid Essay

Author's Preface and Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7

Description: My final portfolio for one of the creative writing courses I took based around exploring the creative nonfiction essay in its many literary forms, with any and all identifying names or signifiers censored out.

This essay may not actually, in the most technical sense available, “pass” as a submission to the “Essay 3: Zuihitsu/ Hybrid” assignment.

If you are interested in financial compensation for your loss, feel free to contact us at 1-800-THIS-AUTHOR-IS-PHYSICALLY-ALLERGIC-TO-UNDERSTANDING-BASIC-DIRECTIONS. We are taking the time and liberty to inform you of this upcoming inconvenience not only as a hook for the first line of this essay, nor to plead “ignorance of the literary law” during its grading process, but rather to provide a reference point based in where said essay is coming from, and where it plans on going for the remainder of its duration.

As we’re sure you’ve found in your time as an academic instructor working at [REDACTED], [REDACTED]’s famous claim of a “gradeless” curriculum in the traditional sense (ie. a lack of letters or percentiles) may hold up in the previously mentioned technical sense (excluding the GPA our final evaluations get translated into during the grad school application process), however, most of the expectations and requirements professors hold in their classrooms act as a sort of “pass/fail” grading system anyway, though the unique teaching philosophy shared amongst them and facility tends to inspire only two genuine points of grading criteria: “Is the assignment complete in provable effort and its entirety?” and “Does it follow the awarded instructions?”

After countless scouring on the internet, our class notes, the description and examples left in the Canvas page, and our memory of class the day you explained it, we have come to the dreaded conclusion that this essay may not fit the second criterion.

Our continued rough drafting is committed, rather, to the hope that our confusion on the nature of the hybrid essay, the actual difference between Zuihitsu poetry vs Zuihitsu essay writing, the necessity of following a particular theme or idea throughout, the assigned process behind this essay, each supposed segment’s expected length or whether this portion’s subject matter qualifies it as an actual part of the essay, or even the correct way to separate each section, will somehow act in the spirit of Zuihitsu literature: Following the pen wherever it leads you.

Wish us luck, dear reader.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I found the same kind of fun in the animal diary that I find in all our in-class hands-on work: Obvious, self-explanatory, and buried deep within the depths of the most artistic/freeform aspect of the activity. Like clockwork, it requires me to brush away the specks of uncertainty in the directions, my withered hands revealing the big, bright label plastered on top.

It reads exactly how you imagine it reads: “See!! See, look, I told you I was here! You were so focused on making sure this assignment helped you towards your next essay, you thought you wouldn’t have room for me, but here I am, idiot! You’re having a good goddamn time drawing a funky little platypus, and it’s all thanks to me! Leave your thank you on the way out, ya dumb bitch!”

Apart from the question of why this metaphor requires a labeling gun with such long stickers, one has to wonder what disgusting alleyway all that distracting stress crawled out of. The supposed safety net of my professors, generally speaking, knowing what exactly they’re doing (those PHDs don’t exactly just pop into existence one day) does quite little to sway this approach to learning in all its hypervigilance. I’ve posited many theories over the years, tangentially and never allowing myself the time for a full conclusion; It could be the looming threat of how little time I have to devote to brainstorming how to attack my assignments, maybe the unshakable internal insistence (blame capitalism or the public schooling for that, either’s a fine scapegoat and the “why” is too abstract to help me in the middle of class) that learning has to be productive towards a traceable later goal, instead of myself as a whole and an academic (if I have nothing tangible to show for my efforts, how can I be sure I even followed the directions correctly?).

The most troubling option, embarrassing as it is for someone who claims to prioritize her career as a writer above all else, is that I’m simply trying to justify using the skills and techniques as they are given to me, in hopes that the results they wield in class are shiny enough for me to actually use them outside of the class.

I do wonder if I took the animal diary this seriously when I first encountered it. My memory flickers under the winds of time, but I’m leaning towards no.

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It does, of course, come to my attention what asking for clarification on the instructions could do, but the things classification has done in the past (make just as little sense as before, confuse me further, led my mind even farther from the intended understanding, you know the drill) brushes the thought away.

Years of fractured, sprawled-out education has taught me my best approach for tasks I’m not fully sure about is to set my concerns aside and simply go with what I think is best, consequences be damned!

(And by damned, I mean, as I’m sure you guessed, professionally dealt with at a later date.)

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Maybe the apologetic, justifying tone gives me away, maybe it's the heavy overarching theme in this freeform-style essay, but I should confess that my current thoughts are mixed in the way they always are. Half are swirling around the task at hand and what little attention I can pay to it (as always). The other half is on what I really wish I was writing (ie. what I am always thinking about, somewhere, way in the back): Whatever nonsense my brain has deemed flashy enough to name my current hyperfixation (The Stanley Parable at the moment I’m writing this, though I’m sure it’ll have changed by the time I come back to edit this).

That latter half, of course, brings me to the conundrum I’ve left out to dry ever since I labeled myself a writer. I want to spend this entire essay rambling on about this stupid little video game, and its two stupid little main characters, and the actually brilliant way they need each other more than the narrative itself needs them in one blog-style expository essay, well underneath 750 words. But that just won’t work, in the same way that what I wish I was writing even more than that (fiction, prose in particular) won’t work either. In the simplest of terms, that’s not what this assignment is about. And in order to actually learn, to grow as a writer, I can’t just write what I want to. I have to write what I need to.

[shioritsumi]

Lilo and Stitch (2025) so you don't have to part 1

I saw the new live action Lilo and Stitch so you don't have to!

...which is good bc let me be honest, you don't have to. (You can if you really want, but you don't have to, just watch the original.)

Lemme break it down for y'all

(I'd say spoilers for the whole movie but it doesn't really do anything new we didn't see in the original movie)

Actually Imma break it into two posts bc this is getting REALLY long.

We are immediately introduced to Stitch, and THEN Jumba as his creator. And lemme just address Jumba before we continue through the plot and it's many problems.

He's a different person with the same name. He looks almost the same as an alien but he's...too small. Less round. More like a thick rectangle than the rounded ovals that were everywhere in his design originally. In general there are lots of less round shapes in the live action movie. More characters are designed with lines and squares in mind rather than shapes and circles and ovals like the original.

And don't tell me character design doesn't work the same in live action as animation here because you can TOTALLY incorporate shapes into live actor designs because people are literally differently shaped.

And then there's Jumba's voice and attitude. Adding on to him being a different person, he's the quiet too sure of himself mad scientist, not the loud boisterous one. Instead of laughing at the world because HA HA YOU CALLED ME CRAZY AND THEN YOU SCREWED UP he's more like uhhh yeah you were supposed to press the other button duh it's exhausting being so much smarter than everyone else i wonder how i do it every day. He's insufferable. And not in an entertaining way that grows on you.

The "trial" is played out almost beat for beat to the original, with the exception of a few mildly amusing cuts for Jumba explaining what Stitch can do while claiming he built Stitch for the federation. (I got a reasonable chuckle at Jumba's claim Stitch is smarter than 100 million supercomputers, but they just show him make the first move in chess and Jumba immediately ragequits) and then over the course of the next 2-3 minutes we see Stitch captured, escape, and fly off to Earth. Pleakley is introduced in quirky loud obnoxious fashion, he's fun. He claims to be the only expert on Earth but he also later says he "majored in Earth studies" meaning he...isn't the only Earth expert in the federation????

Pleakley gets easily overwhelmed and wants hugs. Permission to hug the Grand Councilwoman is never granted. He hugs Jumba several times and Jumba hates it every time.

We FINALLY get to Lilo and Hawaii. Lilo likes to hang out at a touristy resort, getting in by pretending to be friends with tourist kids. She apparently hangs out there bc she likes the hot tub and they have free facilities so she doesn't have to go to hula practice soaking wet. She likes to mess with her neighbor's chickens. She literally steals the bobbers and fishing lure of a tourist's fishing pole bc it's pretty and so she can make her own friendship bracelet to try to fit in with the other girls at hula class-they are so mean, but for basically no reason??? Actual mean girls. There is no meaning given to Pudge the fish, Lilo is presented as saying a weird thing about Pudge and her teacher just brushes her off. (they never tell us how the Pelekai parents died, Ms Kekoa just says they died recently so Pudge really does have no bearing on the story or Lilo's mentality i guess)

Nani is late to Lilo's dance because her truck won't start. (this one is a theme so Lilo is established as knowing what to do when a car engine won't start and it's fine) Lilo gets overwhelmed and shoves Myrtle off the stage, which is less than like two feet. She's fine. The adults call Lilo out of control while her teacher tries to weakly defend her, saying she's "going through a rough patch right now, she really is a sweet kid". (This is in the background so we don't get to hear it very well.)

this is actually a good note on the world building. Lilo DOES have a community, her teacher doesn't understand her but he is shown from time to time to defend her. Her neighbors know her. They know Nani. But they don't build on it more. I actually don't know why Lilo doesn't have friends because she's actually pretty extroverted here, but the clique of girls she's shown with seem to actively go out of their way to torment her. They literally cross the street at one point to call Stitch ugly and try to steal her doll. (who we know is Scrump but is never introduced to the audience)

I'll continue this in the next post but rest assured....I have more to say. We're not even halfway through the movie. This is all still SETUP. Stitch hasn't even shown up yet.

[alice-grim]

Oblivion's Masquerade: The Fallen Star

Original Story: Chapter 1⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

Dreaming, flying… Swirled in the cosmos like the tiniest speck, regal blues and purples spiral like clouds.

An ethereal face, tender eyes… hands grasping, cradling. So blinding, unable to make out details.

But, a Soft voice echoing with the affection of a mother, a familiarness…

Then falling… the glow of her, the warmth and affection, dimming slowly until there was nothing but darkness.

But the promise echoes, cautiously yet adoring;

“You will return to me, yet I hope this world is kinder to you. Stars guide you, little one…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────

The smokey rasp of her mother’s voice startles her awake, molten venom stinging her ears.

“Liv..! If you don’t get your arse off that bed..!”

Disheveled from sleep, and groaning, Livie flips her body and blindly reaches for her alarm clock. Blanket strewing themselves around with her aggression, falling from her pathetic bed happily. The beast awoke early this morning and made it her problem. It’s merely a quarter to Seven; seven, when her alarm goes off.

Finally sitting up, groggily, when her mum’s screeching pipes up again.

Olive hunches over the hand-me-down vanity to prep her rat’s nest. Muttering under her breath as the beast ransacks the flat. ‘minging twat.’ Her normally kempt black waves, muss over her face like a swamp-monster. She pulls a face at her reflection as if trying to intimidate it. Glowering at the bags under her soft hazel blue eyes.

Her gaze lowers, hand brushing the damaged picture frame of her and her father, she used to tell herself how pretty she is because she has his looks. But they seem only to insult her mother, spitting image of the man that left her with such a burden. Oliver Morgenstern. Not his fault he’s dead.

Olive ruminates whether her namesake was given out of affection or as a reminder, while she dresses herself. The thin walls continue to echo with the clattering of who-knows-what in the other room. Livie’s room is nothing more than a closet with a poorly kept thrifted bed shoved into it across from a vanity. Cramped and cluttered with her stuff, albeit organized onto the floating shelves she made in materials class back in Secondary.

A simple floral skirt that reaches her knees, and an oversized sweater-blouse combo, then puling on her short boots. Nearly ready for another shift at the bookshop.

Another few months saving up should suffice a cheap ticket, and a run-down studio apartment at the next town over. Far enough away from her current situation, and the woman who torments her.

Grabbing her Walkman and stuffing it in a green carry-on, Livie attempts to slip out the door without a confrontation, however her the beast emerges from her room stomping about.

Bleached blonde hair fading to darkened roots put haphazardly up into curlers, with a fag hanging from her gangly, clawed fingers– supporting her smoking arm in a half-crossed look.

“I ‘ave me a date, don’t bother steppin’ in tonight, nitwit.”

The older woman’s face half done up, and scowling, as if she interrupted the hag putting on her face just by existing. Livie tenses with the urge to bite back yet only lowers her gaze and steps out of the flat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Stepping away from the rough flats that should be reported for some kind of code violation, the rest of the street isn’t much better. Crumbling buildings overgrown with flora, infested with pests and average stray animals. At least they are free. The abandoned pavement cracks and crumbles against perforating roots, and old earthquakes from longer ago than she was born.

There’s a strange beauty to the derelict buildings and huts of the Dendrum city roughs, and as nice and clean the upper heights are– or at least what the stories say, she’d never afford even visiting. Even if she could imagine it, the closest would be that of a squeaky clean, medical wing of a hospital like she’s seen on the faded advertisements.

Looking to the leaden sky, Livie gets lost; standing still from the whiff of freedom, though she’d be expected by the next morning as routine. The street smells of moss and cigarettes, wind whistling through the holes in nearby buildings while she sways. Livie wishes in the moment that she could remember that dream she’d been cruelly torn away from.

Barely an inkling, something softer than her own life. It seems to flee each time she reaches for it in her mind.

“A-ahh!” A sudden force barrels into her back and lifts her from her feet, twirling her.

Familiar long chestnut twists fall onto her shoulder, and girlish giggles of her best friend pierce her ear. Turning once she regains her bearings; her hands find the young woman’s arms for support.

“Sunny..! You startled me.” Mock-annoyance filters into an affectionate relief.

“You’s staring into the smog like a wack..? I coulda’ been anyone, Dreamer.” Carson ‘Sunny’ Cadwaladr, her closest friend since primary school. Their dad’s worked together as restoration contractors. Both taken during the riots when they were both little.

“Where d’ya go when you do that, babes?” Quite literally shaking Livie’s shoulders when her eyes glaze over again, piercing her doll-like eyes into her soul with a scrutiny. Far away for minutes at a time, with her head in the clouds. Sometimes literally.

“Wha..? Ughh.. sorry, a rather trying morning… ‘The old hag’ spooked me awake, quarter to seven… ransacking the flat like a rhino.” Livie gestures her arms around in her frustration. Her mother often has dates, a few times a week. Livie’s never sure if she’s soliciting or stealing. Not that the brunette ever sees a dime, only the extravagance she returns with.

A smile cracks Sunny’s plump mahogany cheeks, hiking the plastic grocer bag over her shoulder with a dramatic hip tilt. Her soft, round nose scrunching in reaction. She’ll never know why the bird wears shorts when it’s tit-freezing outside. ‘I’m wearing an under shirt and socks,’ she’d say. As if she wouldn’t wear both of those if the cold ever truly left the Dendrum Roughs.

“Huhhf… you sharing, luv?” She asks, bumping the woman’s hips with her own; nudging her pout to the snack bag seemingly displayed on purpose to get Livie’s attention.

Sunny shrugs with a teasing grin, taking her hand with a free one and dragging her towards their workplace. Quite a contrasting pair, strutting down the dilapidated street. Sunny’s favorite sunflower t-shirt, quite ironic, over a long-sleeve in baby blue, navy blue star socks and bright pink trainers- albeit faded and used, they make her very approachable. Yet it’s far too early, and cold to see many other pedestrians.

It's their routine, even if Olive was rudely wakened a bit early. This way they have plenty of time to walk to work, minding the cracks in the streets, dodging protruding roots and vines; and still having time to eat breakfast when they get there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The walk to the cluttered old bookshop is a short 20 minutes from the residential district, the view getting only slightly better past the rickety stream bridge that connects the two sectors. Still technically in the Roughs unless you venture past the gaudy checkpoint guarded by glorified bobbies.

The shopping district’s a mite livelier, people at stalls, or perusing windows. Keeping their distance from the road to make room for passers.

The old shop, made of dusty brick with cracked, half-boarded windows boasts a sign, faded, that reads [‘s Bookshop]. The name of the original owner long eroded by time and obscured by wall ivy. Thankfully, Livie never works the front– far better at replacing books, unloading, and sorting. Right on cue, stepping in the back of the store, a pile of books grace the trolley and a post it telling her to resort it.

Likely one of the districts common pranksters knocked a shelf over. Giving her more than enough work to pass the time during her shift.

Minutes morph into hours, mindlessly working, and listening to her Walkman. She can hear Sunny’s perky voice in between songs, ushering customers about. Far better interacting with them than she is anyways. That’s why she’s the face of the shop, agreeing with her boss, Ms. Hart. The older woman offered them both positions right after secondary, needing helping hands because her husband passed.

Livie used to sneak out of the flat in primary, the woman’s old bookshop a safe haven, a place filled with the voices of the past. Even if the fiction, or the kid’s books. And they were far kinder to her.

“Babes, do you eva’ take a break?” Livie pulls off one of her earphones, checking the time, Ten past lunchtime. Punctuated by Sunny’s incredulous face and the plastic bag of goodies she dumped in front of her work.

“Only when you tell me to..?”

“Well, I’m telling now.” Dragging one of the wooden chairs up to the table where Olive sorts books. The shop doesn’t really have a break room. Most shops don’t anymore unless your in the wealthy market district past the gates. Ms. Hart used to tell of times when their wasn’t a gate, right after the riots died down. For what seemed like moments, both sides were a mess of rubble overtaken by green, but you could visit them both. Then Dendrum City was bought, and the impoverished locked out.

Several Roughs like Dendrum lined the city, but if you went further out to the countryside, where Livie was planning to escape to, you’d find nearly hospitable towns. Untouched by the riots but still claimed by mother nature. It only took a train ride there and enough to claim a flat or something similarly small, which costs a respectable sum.

But Sunny is staying.. they’ve had that conversation before too many times. Her family still lives in Dendrum, and she’s set on rebuilding them like their fathers used to.

There’s no changing Sunny’s mind when she’s set on something. Though you could say the same about her. Even if she’d be starting over, the thought of that freedom drives Livie.

“You remember I told you ‘bout that charming enby that stopped by last week?”

Livie nods in between bites of vege-cake, some soft flakes escape from the tear. Another crush on a patron. It’s not as if Sunny is a shut in, she could find plenty of peers to fancy at some party or event.

“Yeah..? How’s this one different than your last crush..?” She laughs, raising a brow towards the perkier brunette.

“How..? You daft? You’ve seen them. Tall.. dark, with sad eyes. Those big fluffy looking hoodies..”

“I’m just not all that interested in romance, Sunny. Besides, I’m not staying here long.”

“Right, right. Saving up for the ‘freedom of the countryside’ I remember. What if it’s not the dream ya’think it is?” She pouts, even knowing her best friend won’t change her mind. They’re both so stubborn.

“I’m happy for you, luv. Love freely, old friend, you deserve it.” Then smashing the cheesy vegetable pastry back into her mouth.

“You sound like an old sod.” Deadpanning towards Livie while her mouth is occupied with a juice can.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The night chills against her as they walk back to the residential district. Face to the stars she feels an uncomfortable pull. One that’s always kickstarted her travelling feet. But it would be far too dangerous for a night walk in a town like this.

Livie knows she can’t exactly return home, but she keeps her mouth closed. Sunny’s mom, while a sweetheart very willing to host her, also works like a dog and has to support their larger family. Another mouth to feed wouldn’t be much, but Ms. Cadwaladr could use the sleep after the shifts she takes constantly.

But that’s just an excuse.

Livie avoids asking her friend for a place to stay, well.. because being around her family for that long causes an empty ache she’d rather avoid. Unlike Sunny’s mum, her own began to resent her when her father died, and Livie’s been forced to pick up all of the pieces while under heel.

She parts with Sunny about half-way.

“You sure, babes? You could bunk with me?”

Giving her friend a curt nod, letting her disappear into the stairs. Only leaving after the assurance that she made it up to her home.

Livie stops short of her darkened flat, lanterns off showing her mum expects her absence. Sucking in an aching breath, she sits on the steps for a break.

She could climb in through the bathroom window if she gets desperate. But for now, the chill greets her pale cheeks with a flush, causing her to bury her face into the plaid green scarf she’d bundled with before they’d even stepped out the bookshop’s door.

Perhaps a walk could be justified. A quick one, just to clear her head before she’d have to use her ‘superior’ espionage skills, by twisting her lanky frame through the tiny, frosted window. At the end of the block, the building become more like ruins, completely abandoned. In such disrepair and reclaimed by the green that they aren’t even an adequate shelter for the desperate. Plenty of unnamed, unowned, ruined buildings closer to the epicenter for that.

But, there’s a certain beauty to it. In her opinion anyway. Once corporate and soulless, even the housing is now in shambles. The proof of humanity slowly degrades, as nothing escapes the grasp of nature for long.

Livie has her headphones in, with a lovely classical distracting her ears while she hops over poorly lit paths crumbled by time. As if the trees wished to make their own pattern of stone steps from the embedded concrete. The old, rusted lamps being lit doesn’t surprise her. Cables still run to the power grid that runs lines through the roughs from inside wealthy district. Not perfectly, several are destroyed; Livie’s never been interested in electrical work. Or even the old technology. Sunny’s brother is more interested in that, tinkering with old world tech, smuggling it into the roughs since all that is monitored and held over them.

Just like now, her head is always in the clouds. Books and music, fiction distracting her from the harshness of her reality until she’s able to leave. Able to meet new people in the countryside and have an actual life.

The wind picks up around her as she walks, the chill on her neck deciding she should go back. As she turns, and reaches for her scarf to bundle herself further, the garment is grabbed by the breeze and torn from her shoulders.

Being dropped back behind her a few feet away.

Livie grumbles under her breath, leaving a soft cloud to puff from her upturned, Grecian nose. Hunching slightly to grab it as quickly as she steps, but something catches her eye.

Before she’s able to grab her scarf, it’s snatch from the ground by a shadowy… thing.

“Is that… a rabbit?” Voice hushed into a higher pitch in her confusion, she trots after the beast.

Vaguely rabbit shaped, but as she draws closer, opalescence eyes shine from the shadowy blob. No matter how close she gets, the details remain obscured. Ears and fluffy tail far too jagged, but still rabbit-like. It scurries further into the brush when she nears yet stops just short of disappearing. As if beckoning her.

Or more likely taunting her.

For a moment, her thin, dusty rose lips quirk into a frustrated pout as she weighs whether she wants to chase some rabid animal into the dark of the Roughs ruins, whether her old, ragged plaid scarf is worth the risk. Then it seems to laugh at her.

Subtle, childlike snickering coming from the creature only a mite away from her. Livie would be terrified if she wasn’t so annoyed.

The brunette darts after the beast, giving into impulse to retrieve her belonging. Hopping over twisted trees and fallen debris from nearby ruined structures. Branches claw at her sweater and pull her flannel open, inviting the cold. The wind whips harshly against her pale olive skin, furthering her need to bundle back up. Her flannel give some reprieve as she wraps the side closer to herself, but her scarf usually staves it off the rest of the way by covering her neck.

Sure, she’s lives here forever, but the cold still goes right through her. If she’d known she’d be running through the ruins, she would’ve worn a warmer jacket.

Livie dodges spike-like roots protruding from crumbling walls, the beast corralling her into a ruined building covered in flora. Pushing aside the curtains of creeping vine, following into a dubious opening into a ruined building. Stopping short when she looses sight in the pitch-black. The angry whistling of the wind behind her settles a paranoia in her bones.

She fishes out a box of matches, shakily fiddling with the stick for a light. It’s even colder in the dark, causing a prickle in her hands that’s barely kept at bay by the tiny flame. There’s no sign of the beast, so she steps further inward. Her mind screams to turn back, the uncomfortable walk home in the frigged wind would be preferable to getting lost and freezing to death. Then she hears the beast’s distorted giggle to her right.

Following further, she catches sight of its eyes again. Or… is it eyes? The same opalescence that she remembers the bunny-monster having grow larger as she draws closer. A swirling, glowing… thing, like out of a dream, sits ahead of her at the size of a double door set. Yet like a puddle staining the wall and the floor. She bristles in a curiosity overshadowed by the wrongness. Taking a step backwards.

Whatever it is, it’s exuding a light warmth that calls to her freezing form.

“Feels like a ‘Hansel and Gretel’ trap to me.” She says to no one.

Livie nearly turns, but the tiny beast catches her eye nearby. Chewing on her scarf lightly and looking up in her direction with those unearthly eyes. She scrambles to catch the beast, caging it in her arms.

It struggles for a moment before curling into her for warmth.

“Oh.. were you just cold, too..?” You’re sort of… cute, in an unsettling kind of way.”

It’s fur is the softest thing she’s ever felt and seems to suck in all like that attempts to unobscured it. She curls the scarf around her neck and swaddles the strange little ‘void bunny’ in her flannel. The creature simply look up at her under dark eyelashes, and a few more of those opalescence disks open around it. Two? Six? No.. eight eyes.. like a spider.

“You’re nickname is now Spider, little bunny.” Livie’s giggles are interrupted by a rumbling, cracking noise. Fear etches its way onto her face. An earthquake? Oh no..

Livie scrambles to her feet and books it, now towards the opposite direction of the strange glowing splatter to get out from under the ruin. If it’s an earthquake again, she doesn’t want to be trapped in a dark hole. A large hulking piece of concrete from above crashes in from of her, knocking her off-balance. Spider startles, wiggling in her flannel before popping right out.

“Ahh..? Okay..?” She struggles to pull herself back onto her feet, when something is tugs at her scarf. The rabbit-thing is tangled, seemingly on purpose, into her scarf. Looking up at her with strangely intelligent eyes for merely a moment, until the rumbling starts up again. Then concrete cracking.

Spider bolts towards the glowing puddle, dragging her behind, and it startles Livie how effortlessly she’s roped along. She struggles against the beast as the ruin above her peppers sediment onto her in small chunks. Livie screws her eyes shut in response to the shadow of a larger chunk breaking off and falling towards her. It flumps right in front of her as she’s scooted out of the way and further towards the rabbit’s destination, but not before a fist-sized chunk of concrete knocks her right in the temple.

The ruins seem to engulf her as she loses consciousness.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

There was once two ethereal beings at the dawn of time: the god Arimus and the goddess Elinoi. The legends say they fell deeply in love with one another when they were still young. The goddess embodying life and creation, and the god representing what comes after, good and bad.

They, together, created the plane of Psofim'katal and breathed life into the beings who reside there. The god being tasked with protecting the veil, the barrier between worlds.

They had five children at first, their eldest, known now as the moons of Psofim'katal. Which encircle the plane and signify the phases of day and time. Then came the sky filled with stars, her daughters.

Elinoi had love for all the creatures that became. From the stars that shone to the smallest insect. However, Arimus grew jealous. Her attention was scattered among their young, the life blossoming from their creation. He wanted Elinoi all to himself and began destroying anything he could to regain her attention. Including one of the moons. Her eldest son, now a handful of space dust scattered across Psofim'katal's sky. The debris moves in rotation with his siblings, left as nothing but a carcass.

The goddess known for her love of all life had a temper so hot it could rival the brightest star. Of all the things he destroyed, she couldn't forgive their own child being slaughtered. Ablaze with rightful rage, she retaliated to his tantrum. She defeated the god easily and sealed him away for the protection of the rest of her offspring. Leaving him buried beneath the soil of their love for all of eternity.

On his walk out to see the moon at her brightest, a form catches his eye. Curled in on itself in a pile against the stargrass. Unable to stifle such an innocent curiosity, the masked man startles slightly as a voidrabbit scurries in front of him and hisses.

It’s eight pupils slitted, and jagged maw agape in warning, showing it’s glowing spilt tongue. Guarding the obscured form that he’s so curious to see.

“There, there… little one, I am a friend.” Kneeling, he strips a glove off his hand and offers the darkened flesh for a sniff. Cautiously approaching the man, and sniffing his hand, the creature chitters in response. Then it scurries to hide itself among the fabric obscuring the form it was protecting.

It’s merely a kit. It must only have gained it’s voidhopping magic. Likely losing it’s mother and litter, and attaching itself to the first being it saw.

The stranger beneath his knelt form stirs, groaning. Taking initiative, the masked man brushes it’s hair away. Her hair, from what he can see. Unless she otherwise corrects him once conscious. The rabbit nuzzles and curls into her overcoat.

A large bruise on her temple directs his attention. Brushing an uncovered thumb over it until the bruise fades, then returning his glove to its place.

Livie’s eyes are hazy when she wakes up. The ache in her brain from whatever hit her numbed somehow. Her fingers feather across the lavender grass. Grass? Her eyes drift down to observe the brush, then to the huddled form of the strange rabbit in her flannel. Face buried into her clothing. Shifting to an elbow she looks ahead of her, and stares in a frightened wonder.

A starless sky.

One giant moon, and three little ones cast a glow against the purplish grass beneath her, and it glitters like starlight. Where’s the light even coming from?

“If you stare at her too long, you may go blind madame.”

A feathery, almost whisper of a man’s voice calls from behind her, and she turns with a scare. Spider wiggles in her arms in a protest, before she’s lifting them into her arms and sitting up. Huddling further away from the masked man in front of her.

His mask is Venetian style, she’d seen it in a cultural book. Curly black hair protrudes from a jester’s cap. The bells attached twinkle in the wind like a subtle chime. Almost silent. A turquoise glow emanates softly from the eyeholes. Yet they hold a steady shape, as if a pair of shy, patient eyes. A familiar heat rises to her cheeks as if she’s some teenager again. Has anyone looked at her like that? Spoken to her with such softness, like she’d break if their voice raised?

Letting out a gasp, Livie realizes she’s staring at the poor jester…

[caylemthechaoticgayrat]

Possible eyestrain (sorry) and dark themes?

It's Glitch and Blooper!!! My two best brother boys. They're both post-death but unfortunately I haven't come up with lore as to why yet. Regardless! They were definitely involved in some type of reality tv show but in a kind of eerie way. Like obviously they're cute but there has to be something creepy going on behind it.

Anyway they're sweet lovely boys. Glitch is a little shorter and rounder. He's the younger brother. Blooper is the older brother. They're cat-cow hybrids as displayed by the horns, tail on Blooper, Glitch's hooves, and the whiskers and tail, and Blooper's paws. They're meant to be digitigrade fursuit style type things because I think that's very cool. I listen to music a lot to help get the creative juices goin so I'll list the songs I was listening to for each of them too.

Also Glitch only has 1 arm in case you didn't notice

Here's Glitch's Reference

I love his back patterns so much I really need to draw from the back or side more I just haven't come up with any poses like that yet. Perhaps I shall look around for some.

I haven't used set color palettes very much before so I wanted to try it for him. I was listening to the sunset lover animation meme so I was like sure sunset palette and this was the first one pinterest offered. I showed him to one of my friends and he was so transfixed by the colors he didn't even notice that he was missing an arm lol.

But yeah he's got the same ear and general head shape as his brother except that he's got rounder cheeks and thinner sleek feet paws. He also still has both of his eyes still. I noticed on art fight last year that a couple people asked to draw gore of Blooper so I wanted to make it easier for anyone who wanted to in the future with Glitch, especially since he's more roughed up.

Uh yeah unfortunately my Clip Studio Paint files got messed up while I was moving him into Live2d to maybe animate him so I only have the .png version of his reference :( But the animation came out cool. The software is usually for VTubers but it worked for my purposes. It's not done yet though.

Here's Blooper!! He's more cat like since I hadn't fully solidified the hybrid status in my mind. One of his eyes is missing which is what the X is for and I liked the idea that his eyes would change based on expression like in animation memes. I've always liked that. Also I was listening to Pork Soda by Glass Animals when I made him so he is canonically scared of pineapples like cats are sometimes scared of cucumbers. I'll figure out a real reason later maybe.

I used to work in the awful drawing program, sketches school because it's what my iPad came with. You can't undo and there are only a certain number of colors to choose from. There are also no layers. It was very formative for my art style. I liked the charcoal brush the best and I've loved it since then. Definitely my comfort style now. But that's where the color palette came from. The greens and blues were so specific and saturated, it was what I needed.

I really could have made this 2-3 separate posts.

His patterns were super fun to design too, the back was a challenge but I enjoyed it a lot. I tried to animate him in Alight Motion once and it was awful. Since then I've learned Adobe After Affects so maybe I'll try again. Looking at older, even a few months, makes me really happy cause I can see my progress so clearly even in the reference sheets. (Compare Blooper's ref to the new Cinder one).

As a reminder all my ocs are up for attack on art fight CaytheFox including ones I haven't talked about yet :3 Have a lovely night and stay hydrated folks. Thanks for reading all this if you got here.