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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.28}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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It was the middle of March when a simple trip to Hogsmeade turned into the beginning of the very end.

Robin had let Cas and Jorien talk her into coming along to town this Hogsmeade Saturday, and she had used the opportunity to sell another batch of rare ingredients in the small dingy shop she had actually come to appreciate for just that at this point. After dropping the girls off at Honeydukes, she'd gone on to the potions shop by herself, scared the shop owner beyond reason yet again just for her own amusement, and left a little while later with an even larger sum of galleons in her bag than the previous time she had been there. Really, it was incredible for just how much some of the stuff she possessed sold even around here. Thus, content and smiling to herself for the well accomplished mission, she made her slow way back from the shady part of the village to where she was supposed to meet the girls on high street in twenty minutes. Hopefully time would pass quickly… it was terribly cold outside, even for March, and Robin couldn't wait for a nice hot cup of coffee in whatever cafe the girls would surely drag her into next.

When she crossed from one mud covered street into an even narrower alley of much the same sodden ground, her smile was wiped off her face however, in the very instant a repelling spell hit her square in the chest and sent her flying backwards into the half frozen dirt of the larger road before she even had the time to register what was happening to her. Suddenly void of every air in her lungs, Robin gasped, then yelped when her back hit the hard ground and unruly stone, sending a hot searing pain up her spine that made her eyes water. Adrenaline rushed into her veins, as flooring as it was exhilarating, and while her mind was spinning as it tried to grasp for a sense of what was happening, she already had her wand in her hand only for it to be knocked straight out of there again by an Expelliarmus spoken by a very much familiar voice. Oh no…

"A path of shadows isn't a good place for my little songbird to dwell in… It isn't safe out here. The cats might come to prey on you." Damion Morgan sighed exaggeratedly, while he picked Robin's wand off the ground before she ever had the chance to reach for it. "Get up now dear, before you become as sodden as the ground."

Robin's mind spun in hazy circles of panic as she scrambled to her feet without taking her eyes off the man in front of her. Really, it was her bad luck that it was his turn to supervise this particular Hogsmeade weekend. And away from the school, away from anyone who would witness the incident, she was as good as doomed alone with him in this bloody back alley. For a second, her mind sped through her options. Apparating away? No, not without her wand. Wandless magic, perhaps? In the matter of a few seconds she tried every defensive spell she knew she could do without her wand, running a string of words through her mind with as much focus as she could fathom, but they all proved ineffective against the smug man in front of her. Fuck… he certainly wouldn't make it as easy for her as the last few times, he had already shown her glimpses of that back on new year's. Perhaps he wasn't quite as untalented in the dark arts as she had always tried to convince herself of.

"You needn't try, darling. After the little stunt you pulled on me on the night of the welcoming feast, I have seen to it that my own resistance to your admirable spellwork was fit to counter. And after years of studying you in my class, I know just what spells you have up your sleeve." He told her just in that moment with a disgustingly sweet smile. Dropping his arm with his wand to his side then, he took a step closer to Robin to be right in front of her now. "I had so hoped we could do this in another way. I had hoped it would never have to come this far, if only you had chosen me as I have chosen you. Now, all there is left for either of us is pain."

"Indeed." Robin replied in a breathless huff, and while she didn't understand a single thing of what he was saying with his many words, she knew that she wouldn't get a better chance than this. Without wasting any time overthinking for once, she curled her hand into a fist and punched Morgan straight in the face as strongly as she could. Magic was nice and all, but sometimes the muggle way to do things did work just as well. The blazing pain, the sting and burn that spread from her knuckles up into her entire arm in an instant was well worth it as she discovered, for Morgan dropped both Robin's wand and his own when he instinctively clutched his hands to his hurting face.

What followed then definitely followed too fast. Robin went to claw for her wand immediately, but so did Morgan with his own. Both reached theirs in a striking simultaneity, and in the very same they directed at each other their respectively chosen spells. It wasn't a matter of thought, of conscious action or strategy, but rather an adrenaline driven instinctive defense that made Robin send yet another stunning spell at Morgan. And it seemed no less instinctive for him to send a curse to her in return. Both spells hit their target, both too quick and intricate to deflect. Morgan once more landed on his behind in the offgoing alley, groaning but unfortunately still very much in consciousness. Robin on the other hand let out a bone chilling scream, then crippled into a heap on the very ground she had stood upon, ridden by such a sudden explosion of pain in every cell of her body that it replaced both sense of self and thought. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move… Her wand lay only inches from her hand, but she found the distance impossible to cross, impossible to think of fighting back at all. All she could do was to keep her eyes wide open as she lay curled up on her side in repeated shivers of pain that drowned out even the cold around her, beneath her, and to watch how Morgan came approaching her once again. His wand raised and pointed at her with a sneer on his face.

"You will have to be better than that, my dear…" He sighed in a raspy voice, then finally crouched down right in front of her and almost affectionately brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "You will never succeed if you do not even try. The time has almost come, I'm afraid, and I can no longer hold it off. Neither can I resist you anymore. Oh, how I wish you just could've been mine."

All Robin could do in return was to whimper, as pathetic as it was, but she had no capacity left within her being to care about anything but the pain that was eating her up from the inside. Only in blurred lines above her in her quaking field of vision, Morgan's face twisted in as much agony as she felt, and yet he wore an expression of the utmost sympathy. Robin suddenly felt sick and terribly exposed, and she turned her face downward in a vain attempt to shield herself from the sight of him. Pressing herself into the mud and stone beneath her even if the rash pebbles cut into her skin like a million shards of cruel fate.

"I could end it right here, you know… I should end it here and in this instant." He spoke again, through a layer of sincere remorse. "But I cannot do it if you do not resist. I… I can't, Robin. Not like this. Please don't make me do it like this."

The pain in her body surged to new heights with every word he said, and she let out a strangled sob, a cry of sheer agony even, and perhaps an equal amount of fear. Every atom of her body was torn apart, stabbed with a million knives over and over again while her soul was split into a state between life and death. So much for fighting back… so much for doing anything to protect herself. There was nothing she could do now. She's had her chance, and she'd waisted it on the mildest repelling spell she knew. A bloody idiot, that she was, and nothing more. Perhaps, for that, she did deserve death after all.

No. She was better than that. Robin couldn't give in, not now, not like this, not ever. She had made a mistake by choosing the wrong spell, yes, but she had to work with the consequences now. She would not give up. Never. She couldn't do that to Snape… after all he had been through in his life, he deserved happiness that lasted longer than bloody two and a half months before the next tragedy came haunting him. So did she. They deserved better, and no bloody Damion Morgan could get in the way of that. With the most miserably shaking hand, she tried reaching for her wand, fingertips brushing against the dark wood after what seemed like eternities of pain. Do it do it do it do it do it… Her instincts begged her to finally make use of one of the thousands of horrible curses she had come across over the years, or even to just apparate away for good. But when her sight fell onto Morgan's highly expectant, almost begging expression, her reason won over the instinct. He wanted her to fight. Wanted her to try running. And she would not play this game by his rules anymore.

With another pained whine, Robin clasped her wand in her hand, holding both tightly pressed against her chest, then she rolled onto her back to look up at Morgan's twisted face above her, and even further up at the blindingly white sky. A new wave of maddening pain, she could hardly breathe. Hardly think.

"You really are quite beautiful, you know… Even now, like this." Morgan sighed sadly while his eyes traced the paths Robin's angry tears had painted on her muddied skin. "And while I look at your lovely being every morning and every night of every day, you I hardly ever get to see. I must say though that the earrings are a nice addition. Very… modern."

His words still made no sense to Robin's mind, not now, not when the pain took away most of her thoughts in the first place. But she knew that she wanted him to stop playing with her. Think, idiot, through the bloody haze of pain! She'd done it before, pushing the pain away behind the walls in her mind… just enough to make room for reason. Just to focus, just for a moment.

He expected her to fight, or to run, to act in any way they had been taught in his very own class. Therefore he must be looking out for those spells, ready to stop her, ready to attack in return. He wanted her to resist, to fight back, that much had been clear for a long while now… and if she attacked him like that indeed, she very likely wouldn't survive the backlash he had probably been preparing for months now. At least not in her current state of painforced weakness. A state she had brought upon herself when she had let him put that curse on her. A curse of the kind he could only uphold if he put his entire focus on it. Gods! That was the flaw in his actions she had been looking for.

Still very much trembling, she lifted her hand to point her wand up at the sky, then closed her eyes when Morgan started to smile at her doings. He was still waiting for her to make the move that would finally allow him to murder her after all… but she wouldn't do him that favor. She had learned long ago to follow her reason, not her fight or flight instincts. This had to work, she had to be better. For herself, for Snape, for her friends. A faint Lux Obscurius left her lips in even less than a breath as her eyes flew open again, and a broken second later she could feel the earth beneath her vibrating when black lightnings hit the ground around her like a relentless hailstorm of her own fury.

It was enough. Enough to catch Morgan by surprise, to make him lose touch with his spellwork, his focus on Robin, and when the echo of soundless thunder overtook the air around them, the curse's pain was gone from Robin's mind, pushed out of her body by enough adrenaline that forced her onto her feet in an instant. Her wand gripped tightly in her hand, she pointed it at Morgan who staggered to his feet a second later when sound returned to the world.

He tried throwing another curse at her, but Robin had no problem deflecting it even without a word now that she knew what to expect. He tried again and again, growing in desperation and anger while losing in focus and determination, which made it all the easier for Robin to counter while her body and mind slowly recovered from the horrible pain. Luckily the curse had only been on her for a mere few minutes. She was still hurting now… but more so from her hard landing on the ground and a few scratches than from any kind of magic. So far so good.

"Haven't you learned anything throughout the years?!" Morgan cried out at her after a moment, and the string of spells thrown at Robin stopped for the moment as he caught his breath. "You are supposed to fight me! I'm trying to kill you and you just stand there like it's none of your goddamn business! Defend yourself properly, for heaven's sake!!! Try at least! Please!"

"No." Robin got out more or less calmly, but she knew better than to let his talking distract her again. She had made the mistake of letting him catch her off guard once, of underestimating what he would do to her if he got the chance. She wouldn't do it a second time. Neither would she attack him though, even if she had in past times almost hoped for a situation like this. An opportunity to get rid of him. But now that it was here, right in front of her, she found that she couldn't even curse him. Leave alone kill him, like she had always thought she would want to if it came this far. But she simply couldn't bring herself to do either.

"You are just like her, you know that?!" He yelled across the short distance between them, half in laughter, half in despair. "You're too bloody perfect, too much of everything I need to live. I have never been one for irony, but you, love, you are perhaps fate's cruelest twist of bloody irony in existence!"

Robin didn't respond to that. She wouldn't have known what to say anyway, not when he clearly was having a conversation with someone that wasn't her. Not really, anyway. He was just insane; only a madman talking nonsense who was trying to kill her for fun or his own delusional reasons whenever they met outside of class. That was all there was to it, all there could to be. Deep down however, Robin was starting to doubt just that more and more. He didn't seem insane… only caught up in a different reality than her. She was merely clinging onto her version of things for her own good at this point, and she would continue to do so until there was a more reasonable explanation. But for now, she stayed silent either way.

"You know that I will not stop trying, don't you? I cannot stop!" Morgan went on instead, loudly and unbothered in his desperation as if they weren't still in the middle of Hogsmeade. "And unless you kill me first, there is nothing you can do to change your fate!"

The loud banging of a wooden door to Robin's left suddenly caught both her and Morgan's attention then, as it flew open harshly before a bulky barrel of a man came stomping out with a deep frown on his face. Must be the backdoor to one of the taverns, Robin remembered just then. A truly lucky coincidence.

"What's all that shouting and yelling about now again?! Y'all be scaring my customers away!" The burly man bellowed in an instant, and his small angry eyes scanned Robin at first, then Morgan, and finally both their battered and dirty appearances. His anger turned into weariness in an instant, and he addressed Robin with an almost reluctant gaze and a motion towards Morgan. "Need any help dealing with that fellow?"

"Thank you…" Robin replied with a polite but very much feigned smile, then didn't even take her eyes off the barman while she sent a silent Stupefy at the still distracted Morgan, who registered her sudden attack only way too late. Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw how the professor was thrown back and down the road by the spell, then stayed lying on the ground in a motionless heap. Truly unconscious, at long last. And yet, Robin's eyes did not once leave the flabbergasted bar owner who stared at her in return as she went on with her statement after a breath. "But I believe I am just fine."

"I, uh… Sorry, for… for interrupting." The man finally stammered out after a moment of taking in Robin's perfectly feigned calm and Morgan's unconscious body. "I'm just… gonna get back to my bar and leave you to your own business."

"Actually," Robin was quick to stop him from vanishing through the door, as she took a determined step towards him, "I would very much appreciate it if I could shortcut to high street through your… establishment."

… … …

Ten minutes later, Robin had almost reached the shop where she was supposed to meet Cas and Jorien. She'd gotten rid of the mud and water that had clung onto her in chunks before setting foot onto high street, which then had left her only with messy hair, a bleeding scratch over her eyebrow and too many thoughts yet to be dealt with. A look into one of the shop windows confirmed that she still looked quite as terrible as she felt; cold, confused, exhausted and anxious enough to burst. Putting her hair up into a bun and a stasis charm onto the scratch to provisionally keep it from bleeding did a good enough job at fixing the outside flaws, but her mind remained troubled as it could be when she finally went to seek out the girls. She was 10 minutes late anyway, no need to let them wait even longer than that.

But even when she slowly approached their meeting spot, she couldn't quite move past what had just happened. Sure, Morgan had hurt her before, had said things along the same lines of her belonging to him, but this just surpassed it all. She didn't doubt that he truly wanted to kill her, even if her refusal to fight back seemed to have hindered him in that today. He certainly wouldn't allow himself to make such a mistake another time, wouldn't hold back nor let his twisted emotions overcome him. His intention was more than clear at this point; his reasons were not. Because as much as Robin wanted to blame it all on insanity, the things he'd said and done, the sincere desperation and agony displayed on his face when he had begged her to fight back just didn't add up anymore. There was a reason to the things he did, a very much sane one, but it was yet veiled in darkness. He said he would try to end her again… So she would have to find out what the hell was going on before then. Why he had said those weird things that still kept nagging at her mind in the strangest way, ringing some distant bells she couldn't quite put her finger to. Gods, she felt exhausted enough for her hands to shake even beyond the cold… it was a miracle that her legs hadn't given out yet.

"Finally you grace us with your presence, Robin!!! Jorien and I have been freezing to death out here for the last ten minutes!" Cas' relieved and reproachful voice pulled Robin out of her thoughts, but it also made her jump in an instant. Visibly, for once. Great…

"Are you alright?" Jorien asked immediately with a big frown on her face, just when Robin came to stand in front of them. "You look-… There's really no nice way to say it. Tired and battered is the mildest one, probably."

"Oh, you know me… always running into one thing or another." She replied with a sigh and a half smile that was more feigned than sincere. "But yeah, I'm quite exhausted, and way too cold. I'm sorry I made you wait, I was held up and couldn't get away from the situation for the longest time."

"It's fine…" Cas sighed as well, a lot milder in her expression already. "We were late anyway, so we really only waited a couple minutes out here."

That finally brought a sincere smile to Robin's lips, even if a small one. Of course they'd been late as well… they always were. Well, thank Morgan for holding her up long enough to spare her the waiting time. Robin snorted at her own thought, and couldn't quite understand why almost dying was suddenly so amusing. Then again, Snape had always been saying that her humour could be quite morbid at times. He was right, as always. Gods, she just wanted to be back with him already, wrapped up in a tight hug, telling him all about what happened… but he was still stuck with the dunderheads who had earned themselves detention this week, and wouldn't be free until after dinnertime. Which was one of the main reasons why Robin had agreed to go to Hogsmeade today in the first place.

"If you're exhausted, we perhaps better skip the next part of our grandiose plans for the day…" Jorien said, thereby regaining Robin's attention in time for her to see the sheer disappointment on both girls' faces. "It probably was a stupid idea anyway. Let's just go to a cafe instead."

"No, it's alright! Don't worry about me." Robin replied in an instant, when her inability to bear seeing the girls sad got the better of her. Damn her empathy, a cozy cafe sounded nice right now… and whatever plans they had made surely wouldn't be nearly as relaxing. But as much as she annoyed herself by doing so, she couldn't help putting them and their happiness first. "We can do whatever you guys originally planned. It's fine!"

The smiles were back on their faces in an instant, as was the excitement and mischief, and while Robin didn't know what she had just gotten herself into, she was prone to find out when they immediately started dragging her off down the street. Two minutes later, they stepped through the door to one of the surprisingly many clothes shops in the small village, and this one obviously seemed to cater more to the younger generations. That was the only thing Robin could tell from the look around she had immediately upon their entrance. A nervous habit, really, that had only intensified now after getting so stupidly taken by surprise earlier.

"So…" Cas started with a grin while she walked ahead in obvious certainty where she wanted to go. "You know how in a week I'm going home with Simon for the easter holidays, right?"

"You mentioned it a couple million times, yes." Robin sassed in feigned annoyance, but her small smile was a sincere one yet again. How could she forget, when both Cas and Simon had been speaking of little else over the last few days. It was rather adorable, really, how excited both of them were to spend time together outside of school for once, at last, after over a year of dating. Robin had the utmost understanding for that, and for them in general.

"Funny." Cas rolled her eyes at Robin, but then went on while she slalomed around shelves and tables of clothes with the others in tow. "Anyway, I wanted to get some nicer things for the occasion. You know, like some pajamas and underwear and stuff… Everything I have is terribly childish or boring and just meh."

Oh dear… Robin could relate more to that than she wanted to admit, and that level of subtle embarrassment wasn't something she currently wanted to deal with. Nor did she want to discuss these matters with her roommates, even if they seemed to have no reluctance to do so the other way round. To her luck, they at least weren't here because of her. Or so she sincerely hoped.

"To shortcut Cas' elaborations, we picked out some stuff for her, but we couldn't really decide and weren't too sure if it was too much or too little, so we were hoping you could give your usual overly-rational evaluation." Jorien concluded factually, and Robin only nodded her agreement with a silent sigh.

This really was the most horrible timing; she had no room in her mind for insignificant matters like clothing! There was only fear and anxiety and concern… and Morgan's words still nagging at her. 'You are just like her', he'd said. Like who? Did Robin remind him of someone who all of his anger and affection likewise were actually directed at? 'While I look at your lovely being every morning and every night of every day, you I hardly ever get to see.'... What the hell was that supposed to mean? Robin always made a conscious effort to avoid Morgan as much as possible, to the extent of almost hiding from him during mealtimes. They only really met in defense classes these days. So he really hardly got to see her indeed… but he looked at her being every day? One of the photos of her that had been in the paper, perhaps? But then he would see her as well, not her being. Ugh, this was just-...

"Earth to Robin!" Cas snapped her fingers in front of Robin's face with raised eyebrows. They were standing in front of a line of changing cubicles now, or rather Jorien and Robin were, while Cas stood in the door of one and moved back towards the mirror inside where she looked at herself. Robin had to frown when her attention returned to the current moment. Cas was still wearing her own clothes, but in the mirror, her reflection wore the piece she was trying to show to her friends.

"Interesting spellwork with the mirrors…" Robin mused before she could help it. "Is that a common thing in clothes shops around here?"

"...yes?!" Cas scoffed incredulously at the –to her– obviously inane question. "You really don't go shopping often enough. The mirrors are charmed to show you what the pieces would look like on you. Then you only have to try on the things you actually like on yourself for the right size. We've done that already, so it's just deciding between the looks now. What do you think?"

With an almost impressed expression, Robin studied both the mirror and Cas' reflection for a moment to actually make an effort at last. Perhaps this wasn't quite as terrible as she'd thought… Sure, it seemed kind of ridiculous to be here shopping now after she'd had to fight for her life half an hour ago. But perhaps that was why it was a good idea after all; a remedy for all the ghosts in her head, the fear and anxiety in her body. It might do her good to get some distance to the events before trying to understand them.

Thus for the next forty minutes Robin did her best to actually focus on the girls and on helping Cas with her shopping. They really had picked some nice things that weren't too over the top, and after Robin had given her commentary and evaluation as well, the selection Cas was left with was well worth their efforts. Robin was almost led to believe that allowing them to drag her here hadn't been quite such a terrible idea as she'd originally thought.

That was until Jorien and Cas were fooled enough by Robin's desperate efforts to push through this endeavor with the very last of her energy and enthusiasm to try to make her try things on as well. And that Robin really didn't have the mindset for today. Being alive was currently a higher priority to her than being well dressed, which the two younger girls of course had no understanding for. They couldn't, really, and Robin wouldn't burden them with it either. Thus she agreed to let them pick whatever while she would patiently stand in front of the mirror to let them gawk at the reflection, as long as she wouldn't have to actually physically change. Or make an effort to show sincere interest in any of the pieces any longer.

For a while the girls picked all kinds of both horrendous and actually quite nice pieces just to giggle and fawn over and Robin simply let them. As long as they were having fun, she couldn't care less if they made her reflection look like a clown or a magazine model. And while her reflection's garments changed from t-shirts to dresses to pajamas to lingerie, she resumed her pondering of Morgan's words and actions as well as her own. Ignoring the outside world as successfully as ever for a good twenty minutes at least.

"How strange…" Cas' half humoured and half confused huff was what pulled Robin back into the reality around her at last, and she followed the girl's line of sight to her underwear-clad reflection. Good gods… she looked like the closest thing to a piece of pastry she'd ever seen. Or an 18th century mistress. Or both.

"What's so strange?" Jorien asked a short moment later, and frowned at Robin's ridiculous reflection as well.

"I haven't really noticed before either, because I was admittedly distracted by the fun pieces of clothing, but it's really quite obvious now." Cas replied and crossed her arms over her chest with an almost smug expression. "Tell me, what do you see?"

Jorien scoffed, then rolled her eyes, but went to answer nonetheless. "Well, I see Robin, looking like an ancient painting of some royal hooker. Don't tell me you see any more than that in the mirror…"

The words sent a surge of immediate anxiety and adrenaline through Robin, and while she thought that it was due to the discomfort upon looking like a tart at first, the impression soon was replaced by the nagging in the back of her mind that picked up stronger than ever. Her mind started spinning too fast, thoughts tumbling over each other in both panic and reason. Gods, she could almost grasp the thought, the words that were haunting her now.

"Well duh…" Cas rolled her eyes, then tapped against the glass on the height of Robin's ribs. "There's no scar, idiots! As far as I remember, Robin has a rather visible scar on her rib cage, while the reflection doesn't. Isn't that odd? As if the reflection isn't even you."

A wall inside Robin's mind collapsed in that instant, and buried her under the impossible weight of its ashes. Its implications. She could hardly breathe. Paintings… Reflections… Scars… Earrings. A wild rush of adrenaline. Panic. She felt sick as soon as she finally understood.

"Robin, are you alright? You look terrible again… Did we say something wrong?" Jorien inquired instead of reacting to Cas' explanation, and half a second later both girls were gazing at her in concern. Robin had no capacity left to care that she worried them. She had no capacity for anything outside of her own mind.

"I need to get back to the castle. Now." She said in a quiet voice, staring at her own eyes in the mirror for just a moment longer before spinning on her heels and making for the shop's exit. Every cell in her body stood on edge, every emotion locked away behind the thickest walls she could muster up to cope with reality. Right now, she only needed reason, as much of it as she could get. And in a spurt of just that she looked over her shoulder at the two confused girls once more before she reached the door. "I'm sorry, I just remembered something very important that I have forgotten about for far too long. Do go on shopping without me though, and be sure to tell me all about it at dinner, yes?"

Then, without waiting for an answer, she was out of the door and on her way back to the castle. Her lungs hurt, heart racing, head spinning, and her eyes stung terribly from both the wind and unshed tears of raw anxiety. Perhaps it was only the shock of realisation hitting her, or perhaps she was really quite so scared. She didn't know if she hoped to be right or wrong in the unnerving suspicion that had fallen upon her like the darkest of night. Because frankly, either way would end in a nightmare.

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virgil-writes · 3 years ago

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 11 - fever dream

trigger warning, body horror and blood, lots of blood. around 3.8K words.

He knew he had overstayed his welcome by the tiredness in her eyes, a stab of guilt very close to piercing through his skin though he resisted. He had struck a nerve without meaning to, his flirting and prodding taken too far, what he intended to bring them closer making her recoil instead. Heisenberg had left her cabin with shoulders slumped and heart heavy, but the way she had bid him goodbye told him everything would be just fine. It was all forgotten by the time he turned the corner to go further into the forest, all suppressed under a boot-clad stomp. He would not consider how he might have personally hurt her, how he might have dug in too deep and crossed the few lines she had established. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a stupid little voice told him that he cared, even if he didn’t mean to, and there was only so much he could ignore it before it bubbled to the surface. He had dealt with worse. Keeping feelings and memories buried was a skill he had developed over almost a hundred years.

Her feelings were not important right now, he reminded himself, because the plan took all precedence. There would be no more village if Miranda saw her plans fulfilled, no little witch to offend and no metal man to call stupid nicknames. Maybe once they were free he would be interested in truly making friends, sitting down to talk things through and giving her time to answer his questions, not when he pressed but when she was ready. Bah, who was he kidding? He was not a man meant to play house, to have healthy relationships that were based on dialogue and mutual understanding with. He was the worst friend a person could have. She could die mad.

Still, perhaps there were lines he would better not cross, at least to keep her complacent. From the very beginning he had intended to keep her in the dark as much as possible, only tell her what was strictly necessary to have her help him. Learn what she could truly do, exploit it as covertly as possible, then unceremoniously dump her so he could finally fight his battles. Get from point A to point B, make himself an ally, but not a friend. She was a tool, as were all others, living or dead. He would see his ambition realized. He would set himself free.

Hours bled into days and into a week before he saw her again. His days once again become a blur of planning and building, head empty if not for the thoughts of revenge and the rage that fueled him ever onward. Research at the factory was going smoothly enough, problems here and there. Miranda was mostly out of his hair, as was Alcina, having finally given up after he told her, time and again, that nothing other than lycans inhabited the woods. Some power failures in Eins were a true head-scratcher, night after night of writing and drawing, assembling and disassembling. It was a good way to pass the time. Sturm was still a failure, a project put on the back burner until the right inspiration hit him.

It all reached a boiling point not soon after, stress catching up to him when a mining drill down the mine shafts malfunctioned and exploded, the cave-in cutting off a whole team of haulers and all the resources they had gathered. The bodies soon began to rot and the stench filled the vents, crept through tunnels to find him in all rooms he thought he could hide in. Night and day his soldiers would drill and get nowhere, night and day he would work to see no returns. He had descended into a fit of rage that brought out the worst within him, his transformation no longer his to control after the first few minutes of thrashing and shouting. It hurt as much this time as it did every other, flesh tearing and pulsing and twisting and expanding, tendons pulled, muscles sore, skin stretching far beyond what it should ever be able to. Pain seared through every inch of him, a gust of flame where his blood should be. It burned unbearably hot while chilling him to the bone with the sheer horror of it.

His conscience would never fully slip him in those moments. He would not recognize himself in the mirror, his appearance no longer that of a man, but he was still him, still a genius of engineering, still a silver fox that could charm the pants off of anyone if he wanted to. At least that was what he told himself, though there was definitely and underlying hunger that he could not suppress, that was not entirely his. Not for meat like the Duke’s, not for blood like Alcina’s. Not at all physical, but gnawing on his bones nonetheless. A need for violence, for terror, to destroy everything and crush everyone. Turn every living being to a pulp and make art with the carnage, paint the walls red and hang their insides from the ceiling. His fingers itched for it even when they no longer existed, his heart pulsating with rage and anticipation. It was hard to keep himself in check sometimes, to stop the spiral that brought him ever downward, towards the blackened waters of oblivion that he felt were always so dangerously close to consuming him. He would be no better than any of them if he gave in, he repeated it as a mantra, no better than the family of abominations who consumed flesh and drank blood like the finest wine, no better than the lycans who toyed with the villagers only to eviscerate them and then suck the marrow out of their bones. But how would it feel, a small voice asked in the back of his mind, to be so free, to let his rage flow with the blood he spilled, vindication for thousands of days of suffering. He could almost taste it, feel his sins washed away by the sacrifice, dangerously within reach, so very tempting. Every time he resisted, and every time it became harder to do so.

He can’t remember the last time he’d lost control, the last time he’d blacked out and woken up a day later in his birthday suit and covered in guts that weren’t his. He can’t remember if it had been yesterday or last year or thirty years ago, but he remembers the feeling all too well, the sickening soft touch of tissue, foul smelling bits of flesh underneath his nails. He could never know who, or why, or how, and could only hope he hadn’t blown his cover, hadn’t killed someone Mother would miss. The last time, he never quite managed to wash the contents of the poor soul’s stomach from his hair, the stench nauseating. It had been the first time he had taken scissors to his hair and cut it with a fury and desperation he did not know he possessed. Ther uneven strands only served to remind him that his monstrous self was but a failed project away, looming in the darkness, a return to the bloody roots Miranda had ingrained within him on that operating table all those years ago.

Fists slam against the table in an attempt to let off some steam as he curses his temper, his family, that crow bitch for ruining him forever. But it only serves to stoke the fires, to anger him further, cloth rips as he yells and everything goes downhill from there.

These moments between man and beast are always the most difficult, the ones that seem to last forever, the ones that plague him with so many thoughts he feels his head will explode. Would an army be enough to stop her? Hundreds upon hundreds of lost souls hanging overhead, conveyor belts transporting his army on an endless display of his greatest accomplishments. He could only hope enough of his machines would survive the waves of lycans she would throw at them; he could practically see it, teeth bared and eyes gaunt, claws reaching to grab onto something, anything that would give it purchase, an armor plate, perhaps the tube that kept the soldier’s blood pumping. One after the other the lycans would fall, until they had become too many, a pile of writhing half-humans feasting on its disgusting prey. He could practically hear it, and every exploded reactor chipped away a sliver of his confidence - and his sanity.

He never intended to get involved, never intended to join the battle and cut through monsters. His eyes had always been set on Mother, Mother and the stupid lieutenants she called her children. Moreau crying for it all to stop, Donna cowering with Angie behind moldy wings. Alcina would be the only one to face him head on, he knew, and finally he would be able to tear her apart with her own nails. He would then pluck one out to shoot it right at the dollmaker’s face, right onto the squirming parasite that inhabited the half of her face where her eye ought to be. To Moreau he would give a present, a grenade for him to swallow whether he felt hungry or not, a tasty last meal for the disgusting fish man who scraped the bottom of the muddy river. As for Miranda, he hoped it was enough, he was enough, all of his experimentations and studying and training coming together to make him unstoppable. Only time would tell, and with each passing day he grew wearier, and the beast stronger.

But what did he have to lose?

His mind barely registered his actions as he made his way out of the factory, a bundle of papers tucked under his arm, hammer and cigar long forgotten. The world greeted him with a sheen of milky fog, of faded colors that threatened to jump at him in full vibrancy at a moment’s notice, threatened to overwhelm his already weakened perception. His tendons pulled and muscles ached with each agonizing step, left knee and elbow burning like he had shoved them inside a furnace and forgotten to take them out. His head hurt worse than the most gruesome of hangovers, light swimming in his eyes and creating a dozen blind spots that could lead him to any number of traps. Beads of perspiration had gathered on his brow despite the cold, the kind of feverish sweat that keeps you awake at night and makes you see stars and aliens, eyes rolling back but somehow wide open in a never ending fever dream. He had grown accustomed to it, the high of growing into a behemoth of flesh and steel, and the lows that came with it when it was all over and he had to return to being a shell of a man with enough rage to make the devil jealous.

Most times he would lie face down against the factory floor, let the stone ease him into restless sleep, until some hauler tripped over him and decided to drag him along and out of the way. It had become so common he had instructed them for it, too, to leave him at his quarters and then carry on working, so that he could also carry on working as soon as this hurdle was over with. But then sometimes the fever grew so hot he would stumble out into the yard to find the nearest mound of snow to flop onto, and he could swear he could hear it fizzle under his skin.

This time he had taken to walking, the only thing in his mind as his body protested and he pretended not to listen, one foot after the other, though he had no clue where they would take him. His wounds bled as they always did, a new collection of scars every time he transformed and the metal lodged itself deep within his flesh, left a trail behind as he made his way down towards the river, the trees his only support. It was then he heard it, the faintest of whispers, the most alluring of laughs. He raised his head to catch a glimpse of her, running away to hide from him, inviting him to chase her and catch her, lay her on a bed of twigs and thorns and explore her endless delights.

His little witch in the woods, naked under the moonlight just like he had imagined, standing right in the middle of the bridge that shook more violently than ever before. She did not seem to mind the cold, did not care about her dignity, her cheeks flushed and desire in her eyes as she called to him, and he could not help but follow.

He had stumbled on the last plank, foot stuck between a rusty nail and loose splinter just as he was about to catch her, when he reached out his hand and felt her hair slipping between his fingers. His face had hit the ground before he could register what happened, his little witch gone, a mouthful of snow and dirt all he had, papers scattering in the wind with the fall.

In his clarity he could hear the shuffling of feet in the distance, the frantic sniffing as the wolfmen smelled its prey in the air. Dozens of pairs of eyes watched him from behind the trees, hungry, desperate, waiting for his conscience to slip, for him to never get up, for him to stop walking, to heed their call and fall into their trap. The anxious tingle on his fingertips tells him he’s on edge, that fear creeps up his bones and into his blood and out of his pores like the sweetest of perfumes. But his bones hurt, so very much that there is no space for anything else in his mind. He picks himself up and walks, walks like he has a purpose, like he knows where to go and just what to say. Heisenberg no longer strode with the confidence of a man who knows there is nothing in this world more dangerous than himself, but with the sensation of being so small, so insignificant, a bundle of flesh and blood that could be torn and consumed. All that was left was the hope, the knowledge that something old prowled the woods, older than himself, something immensely powerful that meant him no harm.

He cannot tell if the sigh of relief stays only in his head when he sees the fence in the distance, rounds the yard lightning fast for a feverish man, the sound of his steps crunching the snow almost comical as he tried to run faster than his legs could take him. He catches himself on the porch railing before his teeth can hit the wood as he stumbles once again. There is no fear, only humor in his laughter, because he has made it, reached the safe haven of that decrepit cabin hidden between the mountains.

The witch stood at the porch, basket of laundry at her hip as she made her way out the door, an improvised clothesline strung between a post and a lantern hook. She was not startled this time, the expression on her face telling him he was expected, the smell coming from inside the cabin making his stomach rumble. He tries not to stare too long, not to pay attention to her beautiful features; every second they seem more twisted, a sinister smile, a hole where her face should be, a multitude of eyes, a pair of antlers. The disappointment was perhaps the worst of all, the look of disgust in her eyes. He cannot tell apart reality and dream and at this point he would prefer not to.

She blinked once, twice, confusion adorning her features as she looked him up and down but surely failed to understand just why Karl Heisenberg had dragged himself all the way up to her home wounded, naked except for his trench coat and hat, and looking like a man so high he could see beyond time. He had no shame left in him, between his confidence and the fever, and despite the weirdness of the situation, she was unfazed after the first few seconds, even when she lifted his chin to look him in the eye and he recoiled like an injured beast. If she hounded him for answers, she would get none. She would be lucky if he managed to mutter his own name.

He can’t tell if he had found the sanity to greet her, mind relaxing and patting itself in the back for successfully bringing him to his destination. She sets the basket down and walks towards him to come fetch him, one hand on his shoulder and the other settling on his waist as she guided him inside, and he cannot help but notice there are fingers and toes where her laundry should be, a bountiful, but gruesome harvest. A warning light flashes in his head when the cabin looks different, hands and organs and heads displayed in a macabre backdrop of blood and guts. He is shaking like a leaf when she sits him down on the couch, papers (papers?) taken away from him to be placed on the dinner table, and only when he motioned to grab them did he notice his hand was long gone, blown away like it had been caught in a shrapnel blast. He bites down on his lip as a last ditch attempt not to scream in horror, teary eyed and hurting. An entire mess and a half, with no explanation to give either him or her, but she did not seem to mind, busy grabbing her tools (saw, knife, cutters), wearing the bloodshed like a cape that was made to fit her.

She left him unattended but a moment before returning with the same box of supplies she had used when they first met (surely the tools she had hid within her apron pockets), cloth and antiseptic and the promise that this would burn, bad. He had half a mind to tell her not to worry, to let him bleed and heal on his own like he knew he would. He meant to tell her it was all good, and he had lost that hand before, and the leg, and the blood, and the sanity. It hurt but would not kill him, nothing could, even though he had tried. Instead he said nothing, for he had vastly overestimated his capabilities, less than half a mind at this point, pain and fear sloshing within him like a furious tide. The hat was the first to come off, and he tried to ignore how gentle her touch felt when she brushed back his hair to get a better look at his face.

“Are you still with us, my lord?” Her voice was but an echo inside his head, light as a feather as he rested against the couch and felt sleep tugging at his conscience, though the shock would not let him go. He is unsure whether he is asleep or awake after that, if the feeling of her fingers tracing over his skin are a hallucination or reality, but he sees it clearly regardless, feels it just the same. He taps his foot on the floor impatiently and notices that it is wet, it is all wet, the waters come in through the open door and flood every nook and cranny, only a matter of time before they are both drowned. Not water, no, blood, viscous, fresh, warm blood.

His trench coat is gently pushed off his shoulders, blood staining the throw that lined the couch but getting lost in the scenery, and dexterous fingers run over his scars, find their way to the open wounds speckled on his skin like a starry sky. Her touch was gentle but it hurt regardless, the haze in his mind imprisoning him in what felt like a perpetual state of suffering. The burning turned instead to the raw sensation of being torn apart, the flesh of his abdomen rending impossibly under her ministrations. He looks down to see her hand has disappeared on him, no, in him, the corners of her mouth stretched into an impossible smile. He is fully gone when something tugs at him, within him, bile gathering in his throat at the thought, at the feeling of having someone poke around his insides - again.

It is then that it all hits him, laughter explodes and he bellows - he has finally died. He sees it now, how it was all an illusion, and in reality he had been splayed in the snow all this time, blood pooling around his body and inviting all manner of predators to feast on him when the bones of the earth failed to claim him so many times before. A clever lycan had found a nice open spot to wedge its claws in and pull his guts out to munch on, another tore unceremoniously through to the same effect, and his visions of the witch were nothing but a pleasant mirage his brain had decided to afford him, a small mercy as he bid his consciousness goodbye at long last.

Tree tops and the dark sky are all he sees when he opens his eyes. At least he’d go in style, he thought with a snicker, and the hallucinations of her hands on him just like he’d fantasized spurred something within and made him stand to attention. What a fitting end, open and spilled like a bag of grain, guts wrapped around the papers he had brought with like an exotic crimson ribbon, and the biggest hard-on he had ever had.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #only the gods can judge me #virgil writes

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thesunlounge · 4 years ago

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Reviews 370: Coyote

I have been mostly absent as of late due to the pressures of completing my PhD studies, but now that the work there is finishing, I am trying to return to regular reviewing. And for months and months now, one of the records I’ve most wanted to discuss has been Coyote’s Buzzard Country, released last year on their home station Is it Balearic? Recordings. In fact, my delay has been so extreme that, not only has Coyote released an accompanying Buzzard Country Remixes 12”—which I will cover here as well—they have also dropped the incredible Return to Life 12”, and even announced a new 2xLP slated for the summer called The Mystery Light. But better late than never, and there is no way I can pass up the chance to at last write in depth about the music of Timm Sure and Ampo. I say “at last” because, despite the fact that I consider Coyote amongst my very favorite recording artists, you would be forgiven for not knowing that by scanning the Sun Lounge archives. Though I’ve had opportunity to discuss their work here and there via remixes (such as on Blank & Jones’ Relax: The Sunset Sessions 2 and Joe Morris’ Cloud Nine 12”), by some strange turn of fate, Coyote has released no vinyl of their own since this blog’s inception...something that only changed very recently. Indeed, prior to 2020, the last time the duo put out solo works on wax was their stunning 2016 run, which included the Song Dogs LP, the Fight the Future 12” on Clandestino, and the seventh EP in their long running self-titled series on Is It Balearic? Which is not to say they weren’t active, and in fact, Timm Sure and Ampo delivered a really great set of digital singles and EPs in collaboration with Music for Dreams, and additionally, they remained active with remix and DJ work. As well, Buzzard Country was due quite a bit earlier than 2020, but was unfortunately plagued by production delays. To at last get to the point, this is all a roundabout way of saying that I am really excited to have plenty of Coyote to write about now and in the future, so that I can finally pay proper tribute to this foundational duo of the modern balearic beat.

As I’ve explored the balearic soundworld, Ampo and Timm Sure have always been beacons of light guiding me on my path, whether through their eclectic productions as Coyote, through the curation of Is It Balearic?, Über, and the Magic Wand edit series, or through their mixes and DJ sets, which are typically loaded with unheard treasures that lean towards the trippier and dubbier ends of the chill out spectrum. And it is this tendency towards the psychoactive that most endears me to Coyote, for the duo have always championed an authentic balearic spirit, one that foregrounds the music’s connections to the hippie hedonist heydays of Ibiza, to the second summer of love, and to a spirit of ecstatic abandon, one that is equally imbued with a magical sense of melancholy…of a feeling of being in paradise, but knowing it can’t last…as if the moments of revelatory magic—of wild nights dancing and sunrise comedowns—are tempered in real-time with senses of longing and regret. Which brings me finally to Buzzard Country, Coyote’s fifth full-length LP and a pitch-perfect encapsulation of their signature mixture of wistful melodic nostalgia and daydream seaside grooving. Across the album, baggy beats morph between downbeat disco, stoner dub, and world exotica while bottom heavy basslines work the body. Echoing vocal samples thread around hand drums tapestries, emotional washes of synthesis flow over radiant piano chords, and at crucial moments, the exotica guitar flourishes of longtime collaborator Saro Tribastone carry the mind away to lands of faraway fantasy. As for the Buzzard Country Remixes 12”, the A-side is given over to the Hardway Brothers, who brilliantly transform the album’s “Sun Culture” into varying landscapes of ultra deep Chain Reaction style dub wizardry. Then on the B-side, Woolfy vs. Projections and Max Essa respectively flip album stand outs “Shimmer Dub” and “Ranura de Marihuana” into their own specific strains of equatorial dancefloor euphoria, with each remix pushing the mind, body, and spirit towards maximal beach boogie mania.

Coyote - Buzzard Country (Is It Balearic? Recordings, 2020) “Soaring” begins with buzzard calls and hovering breaths of synthesis evoking a new dawn. Ripples form in the ether via bubbling squarewave synth leads, and pulsating dub bass sits beneath a blanket of sighing strings. The carrion calls continue streaking through the mix and celestial pianos rain down while echoing playfully across the spectrum. Plucked bass electronics bounce in counterpoint and hesitate woodwind glimmers call to mind flashing laser lights beneath a beautiful sea surface…almost as if a flute has been transmuted into a rapid fire fractal vibration. At times the strings back away, leaving layers of rainbow colored ocean ambiance to flutter and dance, all before ending with white noise delay oscillations that mimic the swell of ocean waves. Then in “Soft Top Saab,” an echo-soaked voice muses on the sunrise, with chills running down the spine as the solar affirmations are increasingly surrounded by space age string synths, and by Sara Tribastone’s mystical guitar filigrees. Reversing melodies enter the spectrum and swell the heart while shakers and tambourines hold a gentle beat. Tribastone’s guitar serenades softly overhead, with plucked textures of synthetic wood and stone dancing in the background. Further delay-laced pianos fade into view, with the track ebbing and flowing…growing and receding…and sometimes backing down into understated back and forth between guitar and piano, wherein harmonious brass layers and swells of spectral space glitter moving at the periphery. The result is a conversational interchange between seaside melancholy and romantic nostalgia, one which is eventually superseded by cosmic flutters, soft six string dances, and the spoken spells of a reggae mystic, who gives thanks to the sun, and its bounty of restorative light.

Dusty acoustic guitars and sunrise vapors introduce “Shimmer Dub,” while dancing dub bass portends the first real taste of a groove. A rocking hypno-rhythm comes into focus and laid back snares guide the infectious glide, while tablas roll overhead and evocative vocal layers thread through the mix. Steel pan synths are seen through the titular shimmer and wavering wavefronts of blurred melody wash over everything, until the mix drops down into a haze of stoned exotica comprised of a minimalist pallet of tabla rhythms, bleary-eyed pads, and thrilling vocal incantations…the effect like awakening on the shores of some faraway ocean paradise, with visages of desert caravan rituals preceding in the distance. The dubbed out groove eventually resurges, with passages given over to extended echo percussion experiments and the fragile songs of tropical idiophones. Feminine vocals glow like some intoxicating gas of multi-hued magic, and springy basslines guide the body while hi-hats and snare work through a psychedelic skank. Smoldering currents of ether move through the stereo field and moments of subtle intensity erupt from the horizontal vibe out…with airy woodwinds shrouded in static, claps cracking, and hand drums creating webs of groove mesmerism. And as the beat starts to vaporize, echo oscillations set the air aflame amidst fantasy orchestrations.

“Ranura de Marihuana” bathes in echo acoustic guitars that seem beamed in from some distant past…these evocations of classical folk music futurized via layers of fx. An ecstatic scream washes the mix clean, and a four-to-the-floor kick drum emerges to pound in the void, while overhead, Flamenco-indebted guitars spin webs of magic and reverberating vocals call to the spirits of sea and sky….sometimes whispering, other times shrieking wildly into the night. Sub-earthen bass movements are felt more than head, with exotic dub lines moving far beneath the surface. Bongos and congas pop and nervous shaker patterns lead the downbeat disco strut, while guitars work through further Mediterranean hooks and Iberian flourishes. A moment is given over to heavy bass and kaleidoscopic hand percussion–with scatting vocals, reverberating snaps, and lost souls wailing in desperation–and when the groove snaps back, there are touches of tango kissing the preceding, which bring to mind a rose-in-mouth glide across some dark and mysterious dancefloor, wherein spindly psych folk guitar melodies work the mind and airy drum rhythmics entrance the body. The kick climbs back towards dancefloor strength, with desert mystic percussions moving all around the mix and vocals morphing though fever dream echo layers. Elements from across the track refract through oscillating delay machines, and touches of rave haunt the rhythms, especially as subsonic basslines and subdued breakbeats work together.

A single piano note brings light to the darkness in “Sun Culture” and layers of radiance rain down in the form of heart-melting piano chordscapes, with some of that Screamadelica soul bliss suffusing the progressions. Warming pads envelope everything and deep dub pulses walk down white sand beaches, with shakers and lysergic breaths giving shape to the groove. Hi-hats, snare taps, and beachside bongos enter and buzzing guitar notes give off waves of golden light while overhead, liquids drip from the roofs of ocean cliff caverns. The single piano note continues to glow while souflul chords hold the mind in a state of psychedelic rapture, and space age ethers blind all vision as they spread outwards, then recede. Coyote move the track progressively towards a state of horizontal bliss, with almost everything washing away except the summery piano incantations, which are so soaked in reverb as to generate billowing cloudforms with every single note. Hushed rhythms return and hand drums take on a slight sense of urgency while pads generate layers of oceanic warmth, resulting in an audial invitation to greet the rising sun, and a naturalistic tribute to crashing waves and drifting clouds.

Intergalactic pads breath in “Dos Canas,” with tones wispy and suffused with inner light. Palm-muting electric guitars dance like bubbles through the ocean blue, and a touch of kosmische ambiance is soon tempered by bulbous dub basslines and splayed out layers of percussion, wherein the mechanic and organic merge seamlessly. Electroid sketches and seed shakers move in time as a slow and low balearic skank emerges, with glorious tones of brass pulsing overhead before ascending to the heavens on currents of humid tropical air. Hand drums circle the mix as the heavy atmospheres recede, leaving vaporous rhythms and golden synth strands to intertwine. Heartwarming chords give off mirage shimmers as the dub bass works its way back in, bringing with it further layers of world drum delirium. Soft sirens pan before giving way to more of the ascendent brass synthesis, and hisses of white noise add layers of subtle psychotropia. Snares are blasted into bursts of desert sand and all throughout the mix, various strands of melody and harmony are caught within oscillating delay cycles…progressively distorting and roaring into the ether. Shakers and 16th note hi-hats lead the groove while bongos and idiophones dance playfully against the snare and kick, until it all breaks down into an ambient outro of serene static, sighing strings, and layers of phasing rainbow light.

“Feedback Valley” closes the show with synth incantations portending the glow of a glorious sunrise, while shakers generate an infectious shuffle. Tribastone and his acoustic guitar explore Flamenco landscapes and a four-four kick drums hits against the body while layers of synthesis radiate compelling colorations. Babbling voices ride a serpentine synth sequence and touches of acid bass move in support, with cut-off filters opening as the snare drops, creating a head-nodding and body bopping groove that lifts the spirit towards the sky. The sequential electronics are so effective as they bob and weave through the mix, creating an effortless vibe of beach dance perfection…of hands-in-the-air euphoria and the abandonment of all worry or fear. Additional touches of six string sunshine push the mind every towards the shores of Ibiza and during a breakdown into burning delay feedback, synthesizers filter into solar squelch and guitars drift towards psychedelic delirium. A slow yet anthemic snare roll calls to mind big room trance as it brings the groove back into focus, now with 3D synth snaps firing in the left ear as the ever-present sequence reduces to a calming purr. Tribastone continues letting loose threads of sunshine lysergia and points of synthetic light swell into magnificent globes of blinding incandenscence. And towards the end, an echo-shrouded choir of the sea sings beneath a brief guitar fantasia before it all washes away in a scream of oscillation.

Coyote - Buzzard Country Remixes (Is It Balearic? Recordings, 2021) The Hardway Brothers take “Sun Culture” into ultra-deep territory across two versions on the A-side, with the first being the very aptly named “Balearic Channel Remix”…which is of course a reference to the work of Mark Ernestus and Moritz von Oswald. Underground warehouse kick drums pound beneath hissing space fluids, as a low down Chain Reaction-style groove emerges, though with its eyes locked on a melting sunset panorama. Liquiform chords flow into cold industrial caverns and string synths suffuse the reverberating spaces with splashes of sunshine, while sub bass motions vibrate the soul. Shadowy tracers flit across the sky and DMT vibrato waves squiggle at hyperspeed, yet their effect is blunted and muted. Claustrophobic clouds fade in then out while melodic piano chordstrokes reflect in strange ways off of glowing walls of stone, their effect like gemstones glimmering underwater, yet with their luster sanded away by the march of time. Muted dub chords are caught in crackling delay chains and the deep kicks and jacking bass never relent in their heads down, hands-in-the-air stomp. Snares are reduced to a whisper and shaker patterns cause head-bobbing hypnotism as funky chords bring touches of liquid fusion grooving…only as if proceeding in the middle of a dub techno fever dream. Insectoid chitters move in from all corners of the mix, sawing sirens swirl into screams of feedback, and all the while, drum circle flourishes are shattered into a web echoing delirium.

Next comes Sun Culture “(Hardway Brothers Meet Monkton Uptown),” which sees the bass going even deeper somehow, as growling riddims menace the mind and rattle the ribcage. We soon find ourselves in another subaquatic dub techno dopamine dream, wherein kick, snare and hi-hat lock in for maximal hypnotic effect. Sometimes the bass guitar of Duncan Gray seems to take on a post-punk drug chug edge, and at some point, the rhythms pull away, leaving chopped up voices to decay into the void. Bassline and beats return and streaks of feedback sing softly over everything, while fogs of seafoam move at the outer edges of the stereo field. Clouds of solar static are seen from millions of miles away and traces of flamboyant fuzz guitar are submerged into a pooling vortex of deep dub delirium, emerging stretched out and mutated into currents of neon starshine. Gray's melodic basslines serenade through the underground club grooves, those funky chords return to sing their 70s fusion songs within layers of sighing feedback, and increasingly, the mix is overwhelmed by distorted blasts of drug-induced haze. Abstracted voices filter from one ear to the other…their unintelligible spells of esoteric mystery pushing the mind ever further towards astral activation. And towards the ends, the original tracks Primal Scream-style piano chord structures can just be heard amidst feedback fires, delay detritus, and morphing vocal abstractions.

In the Woolfy vs Projections mix of “Shimmer Dub,” the original track’s hand percussions intermingle with gurgling rhythmic fluids…the effect like wandering upon some tribal jungle ceremonial. Big blasts of downer synth bass are soaked in reverb, repetitive synth pulses tickle the mind, and pillowy arpeggios flow into view while those familiar synthetic steel drums shine in the sunlight. Fingers roll across myriad skins as the kick drum drops away, leaving the mind to swim in a world of equatorial energy. Then, as the bass drum resumes–with shakers never relenting–a new bassline emerges, bringing with it a heavy touch of wiggling squiggling Italo boogie. The vibe is hesitant…anxious even…with a persistent refusal to lock in, and as bass bursts grow in intensity, the rest of the mix begins reverberating into a balearic dreamscape. Following a delirious pause, the track explodes into flamboyant disco funk perfection, as sweltering chord hazes melt from the sky and bouncing basslines join an infectious and tropically tinged body groove. Chords scat, virtual marimbas dance, synthetic steel pans shimmer across the spectrum, and swells of white light synthesis overwhelm the mind...the whole thing as massive a groove as there could possibly be. Touches of electro kiss the rhythms and futuristic synth riffs fire as we back down into a swinging breakbeat, with rapid keyboard riffs locking into heady funk cycles and stadium-sized tom tom fills splaying out across the stereo field. Guitar licks are soaked in sunshine as they lead a dubwise swing, and as we explode once more into the block rocking groove, double time shakers and hats push the vibe towards dance party mania…all as coral-colored leads rush through star ocean fx clouds.

Max Essa’s take on “Ranura de Marihuana” sees a four-four kick smacking with infectious disco dance energy and hand percussion flowing all around. A snare crack introduces another groove indebted to Italo boogie, with big bottomed synth basslines accentuating the vibes of beach dance euphoria. Shakers spread into sandy clouds of atmosphere and heatwave pads sweat and squelch as starlight arppegios race across the sky. The vibe of Ibizan melancholia is here perfected, causing body and soul to merge in hedonistic ecstasy, and though the track resembles one of Essa’s characteristic blue ocean dancefloor cruisers, its a little slower and baggier than usual, which fits completely with Coyote’s zoner stoner vibe. Seascape pianos bring a peaktime fee and at certain moments, the groove momentarily recedes, only to rush back in on an infectious snare crack. Ivory melodies are increasingly strange and psychotropic as they flutter across the mix, with decaying vibration tails carried away on an aqueous breeze. The radiant piano chords and vocalizations from the original swim into the stereo field as Essa barrels down into a heavy bassline stomp, with every pulling away aside from smeared out voices and 70s prog rock pads that evoke a string orchestra tuning to the sounds of the stars. Further clap cracks bring back layers of equatorial euphoria and the vocals are used to incredible effect, with echoing snippets repurposed as anthemic hooks. Pianos continue their alien dance over relaxed disco rhythms and snapping funk basslines, and as we move towards the end, claps and basslines fire rapidly as vocals morph through slapback oscillations…all before dropping into one last expanse of seaside dancefloor magic, with dub disco beats, infectious world percussion rolls, and a pleading voices diffusing towards a gorgeous sunset horizon.

(images from my personal copies)

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beetlefursuits · 4 years ago

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Why Your First Fursuit Commission Was a Disaster! (or How to Prevent it)

Being approached by a stranger asking you to be THE fursuit artist they have chosen can make you feel AMAZING and eager to say YES!

Out of all the artists out there, they picked you!

The immediate assumption is that you can knock that project out and get some money in your pocket, while filling out your portfolio, gaining some experience, and having some fun!

But pause a moment, step back and think “Am I ready for this? Is this the right client for me? Do I even WANT to do commissions?”

Before you jump into business with someone, consider the following list of reasons that this project (or this client) might not be the correct fit for you.

Six Tips For Success in Choosing Which Fursuit Commissions to Accept (and which to avoid!)

#1. Will I ENJOY Doing This Project?

Is this REALLY something you want to make?

When a new project crosses your eyeballs and you get that excited glow, you can immediately imagine how great it will be to show off the finished product in your portfolio.

But stop and REALLY think about the project you are considering, break it down into every aspect, every small detail that you will have to source and buy materials for, that you will have to construct and sew and cut and sculpt and paint, and then decide how jazzed you really feel about building it.

300 rosettes (you realize only after counting each one) will look amazing but consider sewing each one and how does that make you feel. Sew a test spot just so you can time yourself and feel it out.

Those cool markings? How will you do that? By machine? By hand? Do you have the fur for it in stock? Does it even exist and do you know where to find it?

How will you do the long hair to get that particular shape? Does it have Spikes? Horns? Both? What will they be made from? Have you done it before? Does that prospect of making something new excite you? Or do you feel dread?

If you are not starting it immediately, consider how interested you will still be in a few weeks or months once that initial glow has faded, the deposit has been spent, and what’s left is a pile of materials and the prospect of a lot of hard work.

If there is an aspect of the project that you do not like, consider that future clients will see this work and assume it’s the type of project you wish to do again.

#2. Am I CAPABLE of Completing this Project?

Building a commission is NOT like building a personal fursuit.

With a personal project, you do not need to discuss your ideas with others, you do not need to stick to a reference or plan, you can cut corners with sewing or final finishing, etc.

A commission requires a lot of back-and-forth discussion between the artist and the client. You have to consider the opinion of someone else. You need to accurately size it to a person you have never met and who cannot try it on during the process. Everything has to be finished and durable and clean.

Following are 4 quick tips to consider if you’re ready to accept client work:

Do you know how long it takes (roughly) to build a (non personal) fursuit?

Have you already made and sold artistic liberty/artist-designed/premade projects? When you are starting out, this is how you decide on your pricing and deadlines. It’s not good to enter into an agreement with no idea what to charge or how long it will take you!

Do you have a dedicated work space/guaranteed amount of time available?

Fursuit making takes a lot of space (Huge awkward foam rolls to store and fur to spread out while you pattern/cut. Duct tape dummies awkwardly starfish out their arms and legs all the time and don’t help at all with the sewing) and it’s much easier to work on commissions when you separate life and work areas.

If you currently have other major obligations besides fursuit making (such as work, family, health, and school) which already take (or have the potential of taking) most (or all) of your available time, then it might not be the right time to take full suit commissions. Artist-designed projects and smaller projects will offer more flexibility for unpredictable and limited time—and energy.

Are there a lot of new elements to the project that you have not done before?

Some things may look easy and then when you start building it you realize that it’s much more involved than you expected. This can be a huge drain on your time, your money, and your motivation (which just compounds those first two issues).

An example could be a character with 3 tails. It’s just 1 tail(X3) right? But will they all fit correctly together? Do you make and attach them as one tail or leave them separate? Will they bounce or sit weirdly? Do you now need to make a new ‘side tail’ pattern so they splay out in an appealing manner?

Or say you take on a particularly tall client and you suddenly have to research and develop all new larger hand and foot designs as your current ones do not fit them or the padding you normally make looks too small now and needs to be remade larger.

These are all aspects worth considering. To prevent taking on more than you can handle, my suggestion is to take on no more than one new aspect (that is preferably no more than 10-15% of the project) on each commission that you’ll need to research and develop. You will probably go over time and over budget on these new processes at first (as you gain experience you naturally find ways to craft things quicker and easier) so it’s best to not knowingly take projects that you do not yet have the skills and/or experience to fulfill.

Can you take criticism?

Paid artistic work invites criticism. Sometimes something you make does not work out. You loved it and the client hates it. Or it doesn’t fit. Or it fell apart. That is all part of learning and growing and trying new things. Can you take the corrections, make it right, and move on?

If you feel that you currently cannot emotionally/mentally/physically handle potential setbacks/obstructions/times where things just don’t go your way; stick with non-client projects that are easier to control and fit to your schedule (premade suits. ears and tails. fursuit props.) and revisit commissions further down the road.

#3. Is the Client Displaying Red Flags?

Knowing which clients to turn away is a valuable skill.

As your business grows, it pays in your time, resources, and sanity to know when to refuse a commission (or when to cancel a commission) and to do so as early and gracefully as possible.

If you watch for situations like these, you can focus on cultivating happy, excited, and RESPECTFUL clients who love your work and your preferred artistic style. Not those who try to cut corners or denigrate or manipulate you for their own goals.

Here are 6 ‘red flags’ to consider when picking or accepting client projects.

The client complains (a lot) about their previous artist(s)

Simple, constructive, and legit complaints are one thing (the client says “Artists tend to get this marking wrong so here is how I really want it.” or “My last artist used these materials but it broke so can we try something else.”)

If instead the client immediately gossips about/trash-talks previous artists to you, it shows a lack of social boundaries and the high potential that they will then trash-talk about you/your work in the future.

Poor Quality Reference art.

This one is not a deal-breaker as long as it is not paired with an uncommunicative and/or demanding client.

If the client wants a “sly grey wolf” then we may proceed as long as we both understand that it will be my personal version of that idea and might not match what’s in the clients head.

If the very specifically-desired concept involves complex unclear markings, specific tattoos that are not consistent across the reference, the client’s desired fursuit and the reference do not match, a blurred photograph of a scratchy OC reference, etc; IE ANYTHING you cannot make heads nor tails of.. then ask them to clear this up with a favorite reference artist first and get back to you.

(And If YOU are your favorite reference artist, make sure to charge appropriately for the extra service!)

The client is a child or cannot/will not prove their age.

Children cannot be held to a contract in the USA and most fursuit artists require their clients to be over 18 (many are starting to ask for proof such as a photograph of a legal ID). You may choose to proceed with the project but the contract, payment, and all discussion needs to go through the child’s legal adult caretaker.

A client who micro-manages you and/or your work through constant criticism, proposed changes, or ‘redlines’ of your work.

These clients (though generally well-meaning) are honestly hell on the self-esteem. The occasional suggestion or constructive criticism (as mentioned earlier!) can be very helpful in determining the angle to take on a project or future projects.

But CONSTANT red lines and complaints and ‘suggested changes’ to your work (that they keep suggesting because they don’t even KNOW what they really want from you) means that NEITHER of you is going to come out of it feeling very happy about the art. Cancel and refund them and move on. I promise that it’s worth it.

The client disagrees with the quoted price/requests a discount/attempts to change the commission parameters.

“No” is a complete sentence.

To elaborate on that further; not everyone who asks for a discount is like this but be warned that there ARE potential clients who look for bright new fursuit makers, with the intent to jump on them early and obtain a new commission at a low price by (knowingly or unknowingly) taking advantage of the artist’s inexperience.

I am going to give a fictional example of this situation to show how insidious it can be:

You are still unsure about fullsuit commissions but you say on social media that you’re thinking you could try a head? An acquaintance says yes! Me! PLeeeeese. They seem excited so you agree for an introductory price. This new client chats a lot and seems friendly.

Could they get feet?? Feeling on-the-spot you agree since they’re ‘friends’. You’ve not made feet on commission yet so you underestimate the difficulty and under-charge. The client seems happy tho. They discuss a few changes they want to the head (that they’re sure they mentioned in the initial quote). Maybe you forgot??

This all takes some time and meanwhile they show you some reference art they just got done of a different character and ask to move the commission to this since you don’t have THAT much done yet. Also how much for hands?? They find you at a con and offer to buy you a drink. You restart the work.

A few more rounds of these (or similar) behaviours. The client starts to complain how long it’s taking. Maybe they drive other potential clients away with their actions or threaten an artist beware on you. And eventually you realize you’ve been manipulated and bullied into taking on a complicated fursuit that you had no intentions of making and have very severely undercharged for. Not fun!!

Instead of this situation coming to pass, hold your ground in the beginning and refuse to ‘add’ to a commission or to change a commission after it’s been paid for and/or started. This muddles what you’re working on and allows the client an opportunity to keep changing things forever. (instead treat the add-on as a brand new commission to be started only after the current part is finished and paid for)

Do not entertain those who think you’re not worth the price you’re asking for. Do not give ‘friends discounts’. Friends want to see you succeed!

Other artists warn against working with them.

Get to know other fursuit artists! We are usually happy to vouch for good clients and warn about any particular issues you may experience with others. Sometimes there are issues that prevent one artist-client relationship but can be managed within another and eventually other artists might recognize which clients to refer to you (and you to them).

If you are wondering how to start this type of discourse, there are public groups on Facebook or considering joining a fursuit artist’s Patreon and/or Telegram chat! Many fursuit makers have one (or both) of these with various mentoring tiers.

As an example, all of my patrons are given a link to join my Telegram chat where you can share your work and receive critique from a like-minded audience. At higher tiers you can join my Discord to share and chat in real time.

If there is a fursuit artist that you admire, ask them and see what they offer!

#4. Do I Need The Money?

Fursuits are maybe NOT quite the jackpot they might first appear to be

Fursuits are deceptive. It sounds like a great deal to gain several thousand dollars in one simple cheque, but, if you are not careful with budgeting, if you undercharge, or under-estimate how long it will take; you can find yourself falling into a state of using future projects to pay your current project materials, shipping, taxes, etc; as well as your regular life expenses like rent, car, insurance, utilities, loan repayments, etc.

The simplest practice is to prevent this entirely right from your first commission! My suggestion is to first take on smaller projects with a quick turn-over. This keeps you flexible to increase your prices or change your practices as needed. Then when you have enough savings to keep yourself afloat (so that you will not need to dip into your fursuit deposit money even if things don’t go exactly on schedule), you can take larger projects with longer turn-around times and higher price-points.

If you do find yourself in a situation where you NEED the money immediately; the issue is that you will be much more motivated to take on more difficult clients, less fulfilling projects you don’t really like, and overall accepting a worse deal for you for the reward of immediate payment (which then exacerbates the issues by giving you more work for the future and then pushing you further into the hole). Sadly, getting out of this situation can be very difficult.

Sparkle Kreations writes:

In my earlier business years, I found myself in a deep hole; I struggled financially day to day, I had over 80 clients on my list, and I was overwhelmed by the amount of work to be done. There were solutions, all very challenging decisions laid out before me. One path was the one most recommended, was that I go out and get a full-time job as I slowly refunded everyone on my list (a viable decision, advised to me by furry and non-furry alike) while I continue living and paying my living expenses. Another path was that I completely close off all large commissions, only taking on a few quick/small commissions to keep a bit of income flow, closely budgeting every dollar that I spend as I worked on my queue and knocked out my commissions until they were all complete. So I chose a hard path to regain my business name; I started by being completely honest with all of my customers and offering refunds if they chose. I then worked 6-7 days a week/8-10 hours a day, for about 5 to 6 years. I watched my budget closely, avoided going to conventions so I could instead refund customers. I now run a successful business that is financially stable, with a comfortably-sized queue, where myself and my assistant comfortably work a 5 day/35 hour work-week.

Finally, keep in mind that what really matters is not the $$$$ on the cheque but actually how it distills into $/hour. An artist is limited by the hours they are able to put into the work and a sexy $$$$ fursuit deposit might not actually gain you more in the end than several smaller $$$ projects with quicker overall turn-around times. Track your time and choose the most profitable options to promote and pursue.

(For much more on the physical realities of running a business, read my previous blog article “What I’ve Learned From The Past Decade Working as a Professional Fursuit Artist”)

#5. Can I communicate effectively with others?

Good communications are key with all client-artist interactions.

Can you stay calm, be professional, and set expectations? Poor communication (on either artist or client end) can easily snowball into angry clients and artists, stress and anxiety, emotional withdrawal from your work, misunderstandings, and even artist bewares.

There are several important aspects to communicating effectively:

Can you stay calm and professional even when the client is combative?

At some point, you will have a difficult client. When this happens, you need to stay professional and work through the issues with them. If you cannot agree then you might need to part ways. You must do so with the grace and assurance that you did everything possible to fix the situation. If you think “Taken out of context, will this screenshot look bad?” And the answer is “yes,” then you need to step back, collect yourself, and rewrite your reply.

Can you set expectations?

As the artist, you can choose your commission methods, but you need to be VERY CLEAR to the client what those methods are, what your expectations are (for them and for you), and how the commission process will proceed. Before you take any clients, figure out what you what you want out of the commission process. Do you want to take on clients for money? For the satisfaction of a job well done? For the social challenge of managing an artist-client relationship? Or the artistic drive of working to a specific goal and schedule? Aka WHY do you want to take commissions??

If you have not developed your own drive and are not familiar with your own commission process then you are not ready to move a client through that process

Are you ready to directly and clearly (and repeatedly if needed) communicate your policies to a client through the design, payment, construction, delivery, potential changes or repairs of the commission?

If you need payment by X date or they’ll be dropped from the queue, you need to inform them of this. If they have an issue with the work you did (and you need them to ship the item back asap so you can fix it before their warranty runs out), you need to inform them of this urgency and what failing to act by the deadline will result in.

Don’t leave it up to the client to know your policies. Your policies/procedures should be on your website Terms Of Service (TOS) that you had the client read and agree to, but a little refresher (plus a reasonable and clear deadline, if applicable) allows everyone to move on informed and aware of the consequences.

Do you have a method to communicate with your clients and be available for them to discuss issues with you?

I’m not saying be available 24-7 (an important self-care aspect is having certain hours of the day and/or the week to yourself without any work concerns) but if the client has an issue, how will they communicate that with you so that you can respond in an effective and timely manner? Do you prefer Telegram? Email? Twitter? Decide how you want to conduct business matters and let clients know where/when to contact you.

Do you have a method to update your clients and ask their opinions?

Depending on how you like to work, you do not need to ask a client’s opinion on every aspect of the build. However, showing your work and giving updates on the progress will make the client feel happy and secure in their commission choice.

One easy method for updating that I like is to keep a Trello board of projects where the client can always see the current progress of their commission. Telegram is a popular group chat client. It’s nice for sending pics/videos to clients and the ever classic email is perfect for initial quotes and longer back and forth discussions.

Can you always be honest with your clients?

It’s hard to run an entire business by yourself and you might promise too much or underestimate how long something will take or you life circumstances change and you now have less time to work. When these things happen, you need to be honest and transparent to your client. Explain the issues you are having (in simple, appropriate terms), apologize, and try to work with the client on a solution.

If you are going through some things that might affect work or deadlines, let them know. Keep in mind though, this doesn’t mean you have to share ALL of your struggles if what you are going through will not affect them. Just share what you feel they need or deserve to know.

#6. Do I have other artistic or personal goals right now?

Are commissions even right for you?

If you have other things that are important in your life right now, it’s perfectly acceptable to focus your time on them instead of commissions.

Depending on your stage of life, you might still be in school. Or have a family. You might have another job or a hobby you enjoy. You also might just have other artistic goals that existing commissions do not fit into right now. People love your canines but you want to try cats instead. Or cosplay.

Or you don’t know what you want to do yet but agreeing to a many-month long contract is not that.

The desire for quality fursuit work from reputable artists is high;

if you are active in your community, your peers might try to convince you into taking their project.

It’s great that they love your work! But if the project is not in the direction you wish to go, does not offer enough money in compensation for sacrificing something else you want to do instead, or you do not feel like you can dedicate the time needed, it’s okay (and probably necessary!) to say no!

The ultimate goal in taking client commissions is to have them bring you MORE satisfaction and fulfillment than they take away; Be that in monetary, social or artistic terms.

Figure out your personal drive in being a fursuit artist. Create and run a thoughtful, intentional, and passionate business; whether you decide to take on 30 clients, 1 client, or zero clients.

Above all, have fun with it! Bring those characters to life without losing your own.

#Tips #Health&Wellness

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layer-bloody-sun · 4 years ago

Note

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OCS IMMEDIATELY. Also please rate them on a sale from 0 (not at all gremlin-like) to 10 (absolute gremlin bastard) thank u -Miserytheapprentice

For the sake of myself I won't talk about all of them but only the mains of my recent stories. The Layers are also out because there's 57 of them, I'll just keep Cana because I see you're into the Arcana 👀

So let's start with her ! Cana is a girl, my apprentice, her full real name is Darla Morgasdottir and she is Lucio's sister. She is very kind and protective, ready to put her life on the line (as shown during the plague). As one of the Layers she has some special abilities, in game this shows as her knowing what to do at certain times. Her Ego is named Déluge and he can control destiny.

•She is self aware in some realities/routes.

• Cana loves having friends and family around her, her cat familiar Coony is like half of her soul,

•Mélusine (@nimusicaltrash apprentice) is like a little sister to her !

Next up is Luard. He's my own Oc for my story The Traveller's Journey and the main character along with the next one. Luard us a demon from a race closest to human in appearance, so he possesses horns and pointy ears. He is very calm and composed, he has this sage aura surrounding him. He is loving and cares a lot about his family. Luard is a loving father,

• He crave peace and understanding between his people and humans.

• His purple eyes means he has affinity with thunder lightning, yet he's more proficient in fire magic

• His horns lacking ornaments other than very simplistic ones symbolise grief.

Ambre is the second MC of TTJ, she is a bright young woman looking for her father who instead fall upon Luard and they have to travel together. She is energetic and loves to learn, she has an open mind and easily adapts to new environments. She loves reading, learning, and talking.

• She is the daughter of the Hero and has an incredible magic potential

• Her favorite animals are foxes

• She does a 360° after meeting Luard

Orville is the dad of the MC of a new story of mine that still doesn't has a name (neither does the mc). He's a guardian watching over the forest that takes most of the small country they live in. He loves joking around and teasing his daughter. He's this crazy sage aura. He loves tending to the little creatures of the forest

• Orville isn't his real name, he forgot it, Mc's mother gave it to him

• He has scars from barbed wire on his head and neck from when hunters tried to take him down

• Mushrooms and tree bark are growing on him but he doesn't mind

Narish is from NoDol (D stylized), he's a police officer that is in charge of the case of recent murder plaguing the city. He's short tempered and snarly, only like coffee, stay cats and dogs, and sometimes people.

• Clinton Balagoire, his subordinate, is his only human friend

• Has an unhealthy obsession with the local weirdo

• once spend four days awake to catch a spider in his flat. He called in sick as well. He was not victorious.

Barchal, local weirdo and engineer, is an adept of teasing. Especially Narish. He's a creator that has done wonders for the city, and yet is the officer's main suspect in the murders. He's a workaholic fueled by coffee and sheer willpower

• Had a friend named Anthony that passed away soon after Barch open his workshop

• his library is full of books about deities and strange alchemy myths

• His workshop is so messy Allan once disappeared for days under piles of blueprints.

Allan is what could be called either a umonculus or a chimera, he is not human in the slightest and tends to frighten people by his appearance. He's a very sweet and the naive creature, always willing to help his 'father'. He loves playing around and helping Barchal.

• his favorite task is making coffee

• he can't speak nor make any kind of cries/sound

• He thinks Narish is funny

Jack is from Underground Wanderers, he seems to be a talking skull that also can use a little magic. He helps the Mc in exchange for finding his body as they climb the different levels. He's annoying and presumptuous, sees himself as some kind of superior being and is a real dick. Despite all that he also has a softer side he shows Mc after a while. Deep down he cares and enjoy her company.

• May have made him a hot human for the ending

• Uses magic through singing. Dislike any remark comparing him to bards

• Came here to become a 'Caretaker' yet can't remember where he came from of when exactly he came here

Cleïa is the Mc mentioned above, she is very sweet and shy, she got trapped underground because of a haunted house trip that turned sour. She's frightened easily and doesn't like people much, probably has anxiety problems but it never got checked out. She loves reading, resting, and write everything that happens in a notebook

• Always has a satchel but it's filled with useless stuff

• Slapped Jack the first time because he scared her

• Where does the bandage on her cheek comes from ? Who knows, not me

Taya is from Blurred memories, she's an energetic young woman that lives with her brother but longs for adventure. She can't stay in place and tries to get stuff done all the time. She loves stories and myths and want to learn always more about everything around the world

• proficient in water magic

• is forbidden near any alcohol

• Has mismatched eyes

Oliver is her big brother (but Hezekiel is the oldest of the family). He is composed and calm, very mature and civil. The epitome of a gentleman. He owns a bar in the human part of their world and tries to slowly change the reputation of witches. He loves a good cup of tea and a nice book, as well as naps.

• can be too strict but cares deeply

• his best friend is the reason for a creepy legend and is basically a living cryptide.

• his the Guardian of the youngest prince but doesn't do his work right because he doesn't care.

Tad is a young man the same age as Taya, he's the third prince of the witches and tries to be like Oliver who he fancies. He's shy and clumsy but does his best in everything he does. He's hard working, just not talented. He loves the sea and spending time with his friends

• Has a sea shells collection

• Has three perfectly aligned beauty marks on his right cheek

• Did a power move once and started getting more secure about himself since (it'd be a spoiler sorry)

Bäriste is a Demon under the form of a late teenager girl (19) that comes from my story It Started Before Us. She's an adept of sarcasm and tease, loving to just mess with people and their lives. She can be a bitch and is detached from emotions in general

• It's her last reincarnation so she's making the most of it

• Her hair split in the middle on each side and gets darker and horn-like

• Has a necklace she never takes off

Last but not least, Gayl is a werewolf, also 19, attending the same school as Bäriste. He acts cool and mysterious but is actually socially awkward and dislikes people in general. He loves peace and quiet, which he never gets at home since he has a very big family. He loves them a lot too tho.

• Fall in love of Bäriste on sight, to his latter utmost horror.

• he wears glasses which is ironic since werewolves have good eyesight. He's the only one in his family

• His best pal is a vampire that tried to feed off Bäriste and would have been killed if Gayl hadn't intervene by accident.

Gremlin scale :

Cana : 5

Luard : 0/1

Ambre : 3

Orville : 6

Narish : 2

Barchal : 8

Allan : 0

Jack : 3

Cleïa : 8

Taya : 10

Oliver : 0

Tad : 2

Bäriste : 10

Gayl : 0-5

There, if u want more about them tell me, or if you want to hear about other ocs or even the Layers...just hmu 👀

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thetypedwriter · 5 years ago

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How to Repair A Mechanical Heart Book Review

How to Repair A Mechanical Heart by J.C. Lillis

This book was such a cataclysmic experience for me-it was like two of my favorite worlds combined and then combusted and blew apart. “How to Repair A Mechanical Heart” is a short and sweet YA novel from author J.C. Lillis who apparently has written other novels although I haven’t heard from her before.

I could tell that this was one of those novels where the author took the whole ploy of “write what you know” to the extreme and while sometimes it came across as cheeky and charming other times it just came across as indulgent and ridiculous.

But let’s jump in.

The novel features primarily our main character Brandon who is going through a repressed-gay-awakening and suffering though crushing amouts of Catholic guilt (same bro, same), crippling self-doubt, and regular bouts of self-loathing and criticism from said Jesus-filled upbringing.

Despite all this, surprisingly, Lillis manages to keep a pretty upbeat, light, and humorous tone, which to some extent is appreciated when discussing all these particularly heavy topics, but also shaves off the gravity of the situations the characters are facing and the depth of the characters themselves.

Brandon finds himself on a six week road trip around the US with his best friend Bec and his would-be-crush Abel as they travel the continental midwest for Castaway Planet conventions, the made up fandom that both Abel and Brandon are obsessed with.

The book features at length discussion on fandom culture, including but not limited to merch, action figures, fan vlogs, fangirls, twitter beefs, and fanfiction. Holy Hell, the fanfiction. About ⅓ of this book was about fanfiction and fanfiction culture and norms.

Now, I’d like to intercede here to say that I. LOVE. FANFICTION. Honestly, it gives me life. I write it, I read it, I adore it. I have loved fanfiction since I was twelve years old and to this day there are still fanfictions that are dearer and nearer to my heart than actual novels.

That being said, I didn’t really enjoy it here in the novel? I thought I would like it, but Lillis makes fandom and fanfiction culture simplified and almost petty and I didn’t always groove with her portrayal of it. Now, this might very well be her own personal experience with her own fandoms, but it’s not mine and it rubbed me the wrong way even if I can recognize that.

The clash between the fanfiction world and the real world in the novel often collided so much that the line was blurred between what I was reading really being a novel or if it was a glorified fanfiction. Or both. Or consequently neither.

And while the love story between Abel and Brandon is cute, it’s just...not anything else? It’s cute and Abel is witty, but them as characters and their story as a whole is highly forgettable.

There wasn’t much about this book, other than the blatant cross-over of the fanfiction trope, that was stunning or memorable to me. And Bec, Jesus (oh, no Father Mike must be condemning me!), the super OC, super bland, could-be-the-poster-girl for Corn Flakes, was about the most useless character I’ve ever seen. I think Lillis used her just to have someone be able to film Abel and Brandon because she had very little to offer in terms of character, personality, or plot.

This is one of those books, that while enjoyable in the moment, fades with pleasure as time goes on, like chewing on a piece of Juicy Fruit, it’s sweet and satisfying for a hot second and then turns bland and boring and you spit it out. And while that may seem harsh for “How to Repair A Mechanical Heart” it’s unfortunately true.

I did like the double entendre that the fanfiction Brandon was reading and then consequently finished was also called by the same name-how clever!-again, it just shows the distortion between whether Lillis was writing fanfiction about OC characters that nobody cared about, or about a novel that didn’t quite get the depth or maturity it needed to flourish.

Recommendation: If you are absolutely starving for some LGBTQ+ fiction and have scrounged up dry then I suppose you can read this. Or if you really get a kick out of seeing your secret fanfiction world come to life in another fictional world than this will really get your socks off. But in general, not the greatest love story, deepest characters, or best writing that I’ve seen, although some of her metaphors were quite funny and well put.

Score: 6/10

#how to repair a mechanical heart #jc lillis #ya fiction #YA Books #YA literature #YA Book Review #book blog #book review #book rec #LGBTQ fiction #Teen Romance #fanfiction #fandom

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supcrgrl · 2 years ago

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GUIDELINES

do not follow or interact: minors, personal blogs, maga republicans, radical pro-lifers, terfs, pedophiles, homophobes, racists, nazis, drama llamas, etc. i am over 30 and i will block you, i don't care.

don’t follow me if you have no intention of interacting with me or my characters. i am here because i want to rp and i don’t want my follower list full of people who don’t want to do the same. i will end up softblocking those who have never reached out because i like keeping my blog organized.

i am mobile 99.9% of the time so please feel free to cut/format our scenes however you’d like since i can’t do it for us. i don’t always use icons or gifs and i don’t require anyone else to either.

make sure your rules/info are easily accessible and formatted for mobile users. i won’t follow you back if you don’t have a pinned post or a link in the description to your age, rules, etc. and i probably won’t follow back if you use a lot of fancy text that’s hard to for me to read.

i don’t automatically follow back. if i haven’t followed you within a couple of days then i’m probably not going to – please don’t be offended! there’s just only so much my brain can handle and i want to be able to have time for everyone i do follow. i have zero interest in writing against real celebrities, anime characters, furries, or cartoons — sorry! i also might not follow if i don’t know anything about your character or the fandom they're from.

use basic common sense. don’t be a jerk, don’t god mod, don’t force me into weird situations. you do not know my character's deep dark secrets unless it’s canon or we’ve discussed it. i love plotting so chances are i am interested in whatever it is you’re thinking if you just ask!

i am very open to various canon, headcanon, alternate universes, and crossovers. i'm also oc friendly.

you can totally send memes in any time if we’re mutuals and you want to write. i also respond to everything with the intention of it going past the first reply.

i’m a big supporter of quality over quantity. i’m just getting back into writing so i’m not a purple prose, tons of paragraphs kind of writer. i prefer writing in the third person and keeping things less than a couple paragraphs, though i know sometimes a scene calls for more. in any case, i typically try to match my partner.

i can get easily overwhelmed and anxious due to depression and undiagnosed adhd. i might solely focus on one thing sometimes and that’s nothing against you, it’s just what my brain can process at the time.

all sexual posts and scenes are tagged as nsfw or usfw. i might throw in a tw for random triggers, but i typically don’t think of it since i am not personally triggered by much. i try to keep smut to discord though.

for the record, i really don’t care if you don’t like certain characters or who i ship with. no one is making you look at my blog or follow it – mind your own business.

don’t blur the lines between ic and ooc. i’m in no way here to tell people how to play their characters, i know most of us are just here to have fun and we’re doing our very best, but please take your self inserts elsewhere.

when it comes to shipping, i love it! but please talk to me before assuming i’ll automatically write anything romantic with you. some of my characters might have crushes or i might have a headcanon that they're in a relationship with someone else, but i will never force ship on anyone. i expect others to show me the same courtesy. i'm also multi-ship friendly!

#rules

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8eyed6armed · 6 years ago

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📝

Send 📝 for a rule you think is important when it comes to role playing

i feel like it’s hard to pinpoint one solid rule in rping, but i think one of the more important ones is to separate ic from ooc. imo you definitely shouldn’t blur the lines between what you think and what they could think, because it can discredit both you and your muse. having similarities isn’t bad at all and representing yourself in your muses can be incredibly important, but sometimes it can make everything rather messy, like drama & very strong situations. self-inserts are also in a separate category because that’s what they’re meant to be lol ,

edit: i want to stress that having similarities between you & your muse is ok! ocs just (imo) shouldn’t be used to force your views on people. as well, not everything ic should be taken too seriously. it’s not that deep.

#ooc.#answered.#Anonymous

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rebaobsessivelywrites · 7 years ago

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Lies an Ties that Bind Us

You can find this series here on AO3.

Fandom: Leverage (TV) and Highlander: the Series (TV)

Series Description: A series that will be five or more one-shots about one or more of the Leverage members being immortal. They will stand alone.

Series Warnings: cannon-typical violence, temporary character death, character death, original characters

One-shot word count: 6,328

One-shot warnings: nothing I can think of... (no OCs seen in this one)

Summary: Nate and Jim have been friends for a very long time. They just don't always know how to show it. Now, they're each neck deep in their own form of trouble, but they can only help each other so much.

Please read the fic! Masks and Pasts that Haunt Us, more to come, master list. And let me know if you want to be tagged.

Nate jogged through the lobby of the impressive sky scraper, trusting Eliot to handle the terrorist goons, focused on a single goal. A steady buzz rattled just behind his eyes, guiding him as he exited a final door to the sight of a black sedan pulling away with purpose. As far as Nate was concerned, the car could be a minivan and he’d still know that it was that car that he needed to follow.

Thinking on his feet, Nate slipped past the valet and into a newly parked, and rather elegant, red sports car. It would do. Once he was speeding down the road, he spared a thought for the con.

“Ok, we’re done; everyone out,” Nate ordered, certain his com would pick it up, “Hardison, Eliot’s here— ground floor —find him, free Sophie. Everyone’s in the extraction points.”

“Woah, woah, Eliot’s here?” Hardison’s voice echoed in his ear.

“Yeah, just follow the trail of terrorists, you won’t miss him,” the mastermind assured his hacker.

“Where you going?” the hacker moved on to the next issue.

Nate allowed himself a shadow of a smile, “I’m going after Sterling.”

“Where’s he going?” Hardison persisted.

“Well, he’s escaping with the target.”

“How’d Sterling get the weight?” Parker pitched in, sounding out of breath.

“No. The real target.” Satisfied his team had the situation under control, he didn’t wait for any sort of response. He simply pulled his earpiece out with one hand a stuffed it in his pocket, before refocusing on the task at hand and the humming in his head. He didn’t need an audience for this.

There. A black sedan—that was the one. Nate hit the gas, in hot pursuit. As though sensing his renewed pursuit, the sedan whirled around a corner. Unperturbed, the mastermind hit the break and spun the wheel, hurling around the corner at break-neck speed, tires screeching as they slid across the pavement underneath him. Ahead he could see the black sedan accelerating and swerving, paying no mind to the yellow lines. Tongue pressed against his teeth in concentration, Nate gunned the gas and shifted the stick, rapidly gaining in his (stolen) flashy red sports car.

The two cars toyed with each other, swerving back and forth as the black sedan repeatedly blocked the sports car from slipping past. Finally, though, Nate saw and opening and hit the gas with all he was worth, speeding past the larger car in a blur. For two heart beats Nate continued straight, before hitting the break with even more gusto than he had the gas, swerving to a stop directly in the path of the sedan. Calmly, the thief turned in his seat to observe his quarry grind to a stop mere feet from where he sat.

With a faint smirk gracing his lips, still riding high on adrenaline, Nate stepped from his car as the other driver mirrored his actions. The scowl on Sterling’s face was legendary. Nate could count on one hand the number of times he had seen this particular flavor of the sour man’s displeasure. See, this flavor was the most real and the most dangerous of them all.

“You going to leave without saying goodbye?” Nate poked, adjusting his suit jacket.

Sterling’s scowl deepened, darkening the harsh lines outlined on his face in the scorching sunlight. “Nate,” the man greeted his old friend with something just short of a growl. This was the most righteous of anger—the anger they only ever showed for family.

But, Nate being Nate, he had no sense of self-preservation (being immortal did that to you), and kept poking, “Honestly, Sterling. I was hoping we were done with this.”

“And what, exactly,” the Interpol agent enunciated in his ever so careful accent, “is ‘this’?”

“The lies, Jim, the lies,” the mastermind leaned back onto his stolen vehicle, easily mimicking relaxation and concealing the slight pang of hurt he hadn’t even known he had been harboring.

“I had to get my informant out,” Sterling argued, eyes narrowing slightly, “When Olivia’s mother died, she turned on Livingston— fed Interpol everything we needed.”

“Stop insulting me, Sterling,” the thief cut in, causing Sterling’s eyebrows to shoot up. “I knew she was the informant as soon as I found the source of the buzz.” Nate paused and searched his friend’s face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out she was your daughter?”

Sterling’s face was suddenly and completely blank. “You know that’s not true,” the other immortal murmured, uncharacteristically subdued.

Nate shook his head, his heart giving a twang in sympathy, “It’s true in every way that matters,” he argued just as softly.

Sterling said nothing, his face still painfully blank.

After a beat of silence, Nate sighed, “But, why? You used us, you manipulated the team. You lied to me. Again. Was it too soon to hope for honest friendship? Did last time even qualify?”

Sterling’s jaw ticked. “Would you have come to Dubai if I had told you?” he asked pointedly, trying to redirect the conversation.

“No. No, you know I would have, but that’s not what this is about, Jim.” Once again, Nate emphasized the name. This time, Sterling flinched. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

“No. I’m talking about before that,” Nate continued, “Back when we were last friends—this most recent time, when we worked together, drank together, watched each other’s backs….” Nate shut his eyes for a split second, “You had a wife and daughter, and I didn’t know. Why?”

“Because it was my fault they left,” Sterling offered, voice quiet once more, “And I knew it.”

Nate nodded in understanding. “They found out about the Game.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sharron thought it was safer they move on,” Sterling shrugged, “I didn’t argue.”

“Not even for Olivia?”

“She deserved to have a normal life, Nate. I wouldn’t take that from her.”

“What changed?” Nate asked with an honest curiosity, “Besides Livingston being dirty, that is.”

Sterling shrugged, “Sharron died; Olivia reached out.”

“And?” he pushed off the car to stand straight once more.

Sterling’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “And what?”

“We both know you’d need more than that, Greg,” Nate veiled the old barb against the MacGregor clan with a jovial tone.

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed and took a step forward, a brogue slipping into his voice as he continued, “I will’na allow you to insult ma’ clan ev’n now—”

“Easy, Jim,” Nate interrupted, “Just tell me what has you spooked.”

Sterling’s lips thinned.

Nate scowled, “I just want to help, you stubborn bastard! You have a new pre-immortal student—you can’t be looking over your shoulder and fielding challenges right now!”

“This does not concern you, Neil,” the other man growled, carefully enunciating once again.

Nate huffed angrily, “Be logical, Jim! You can’t—”

Their slowly escalating argument was effectively cut short by a car door opening and slamming shut.

Sterling whirled around, “No, get back in the car—”

“He didn’t have a choice! You can’t challenge him—he didn’t have a choice!” Olivia interjected, attempting to diffuse the situation she perceived, “It’s not safe here. I was in danger and he’s my dad. I don’t care what you people say; he’s my dad and I need him. What wouldn’t you do to save your kid?!”

“Olivia!” Sterling admonished her, likely knowing how hard that barb hit Nate, how it skewered him like a hot rod, bringing the all too recent death of Sam back to the fore-front of his awareness.

Olivia glared at her father, tears glistening in her eyes, “No! This isn’t ok, dad. You were just protecting me from Livingston and Maycher!”

“Charles Maycher?” Nate asked sharply. The man was a well-known headhunter who went after pre-Immortals, capturing, torturing, killing, and finally—sometimes after years—beheading them. The only reason he was still in the Game was because he had no honor, using guns and poison indiscriminately, and was unnaturally slippery and good at disappearing.

Olivia and Sterling’s reactions were telling; Olivia blanched, and Sterling instinctually moved closer to her.

Nate let out a colorful curse in old Irish Gaelic. “James bloody MacGregor,” he hissed, “I will not allow you to do this by yourself.”

“And I told you, Neil,” the other immortal hissed right back, “This does not concern you!”

“Of course this concerns me!” Nate snapped, “I will not allow my oldest friend to be stabbed in the back by a snake!”

“And how, exactly, would you explain it to you little team?” Sterling sneered.

Nate threw his hands up, “I’ll figure out something, Jim, just let me help you.”

“You don’t train new immortals.”

“I helped train you.”

“And you were a shit teacher.”

“Then… let me help provide protection.”

“No, Neil, you aren’t up for that—we both know you’re not.”

“Bullshit.”

“You won’t leave your team, and you know it.”

“I’ve left them before.”

“They won’t let you go.”

“I’ll make them.”

“You still wouldn’t be ready.”

“To hell I wouldn’t!”

“What about Sam?!”

Olivia’s eyes had gone wide, her eyes bouncing between the two immortals like she was watching a tennis match. As a deafening silence descended between the two, she took in a deep shocked breath.

Nate’s jaw was clenched tight and he was glaring a hole in his friend’s forehead, eyes beginning to moisten. Sterling swallowed hard, and carefully collected himself before continuing.

“Can you honestly tell me, Nate,” Sterling emphasized his friend’s current identity, “that you’d be ready to fully get back into the Game so soon after Sam died?”

Nate’s voice was flat, “Fine. You win.” He took a deep breath, regaining some of his fire, “But I still won’t let you do this by yourself.”

Sterling rolled his eyes. “What, exactly, do you suggest?”

“Call Mac.”

“What? I most certainly will not!”

Nate was not surprised by Sterling’s knee-jerk reaction. “I’m not arguing with you about this, Jim. Either you call MacLeod, or I will.”

Sterling narrowed his eyes. “Which one are you talking about?” he ventured cautiously.

Nate rolled his eyes, “Duncan.”

“No.”

“Jim…”

“No.”

“Dad…” Olivia surprised them both; they had forgotten she was there. “If this Duncan can help us, shouldn’t we ask?”

Sterling looked like he had sucked a lemon.

“Look, I know you and MacLeod have had problems for centuries, but I know for a fact that he considers you a friend. He’s a great teacher, and an even better swordsman. He can watch your back.”

Sterling clamped his eyes shut, and Nate was certain he had heard what was unspoken: because I can’t.

“Fine,” he growled, echoing Nate, “You win.” He opened his eyes and glared at his old friend, “Tell the Highlander Olivia and I are headed to Paris.”

“Thank you, Jim.”

“Save it, Byrne.”

Nate wrinkled his nose at that, but let it slide. “Listen, can you do one thing for me?”

“I thought I already was,” Sterling snarked back.

Nate stepped forward and held out a folded piece of paper. Sterling quirked and eyebrow, but accepted it. “What’s this?”

“It’s a name. Give me everything you got on him. Everything.”

Something in his voice must have tipped the other immortal off, because he narrowed his eyes in concern. “What sort of mess have you gotten yourself into, Neil?”

Nate gave a wry chuckle and turned to leave, “A mess that’s a great deal less permanent than yours. Watch your head, MacGregor.”

“Always, Byrne.” Sterling promised his friend’s retreating back, “Always.”

Nate didn’t hear; his mind was already on to the next problem. He needed to go wrangle his team back home and track down a highlander’s phone number. After that, well… then he’d worry about that name.

#leverage #fanfic #highlander the series #reba's fanfic #leverage immortals

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ko2vo · 7 years ago

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THIS BLOG IS THREE YEARS OLD TODAY HOLY SHIT (edit: i started this post months ago and forgot about it, this blog was 3 years old on Sept. 7 pffffff-)

Anyway, its been a long time since i last did this, here are a bunch of OCs of mine and, below the read more, is some context for each of them. Probably gonna get long and rambly ‘cause i love them all. You dont have to read about them but please read about them i love them.

Guess the first thing to know is that these aren’t my only OCs. These are kinda the ones that I’ve had around the longest and kept coming back to. Plus, I have some for specific projects that I don’t really elaborate on cuz they exist in a game/writing/something self contained and to say anything would be to say too much, I guess?

Yeah. Overall, I guess these guys are either so developed or underdeveloped that it wouldn’t be spoiling for me to say things about their personalities/relationships! And some of the stories have changed so drastically over the years, I don’t even know what kinda canon will be canon when i get around to making it.

SO they’re categorized by their different worlds/purposes. ALSO if you want to see more pictures of a particular OC, I made their name clickable and it will bring up their tag (some.... won’t have a lot of drawings tho criesss).

CANDY HERO has been my dream comic project since I was 14 oh man. It’s a superhero story, about homeless kids that have to save the world. The reason for saving the world has changed a lot, from alien invasion to robot uprising to super virus subtly ruining everything. But the plan has always been like a grungy futuristic city setting and long term ideas where each chapter would be a self contained episode.

Soda is one of the main characters and the only person that has superpowers. However, his super powers are candy-based and wicked unstable. He could intend to create crystal rock candy to make a barrier of some kind but accidentally whip up a cotton candy tornado. His superhero origin story has changed a lot, but I usually stick to the idea that he swallowed some nuclear experimental bubblegum and it unexpectedly manifested inside him in a way that gave him these capabilities.

Why would he eat questionable chewing gum?? Well, he’s pretty young when he does so most likely he didn’t realize gum wasn’t for eating at that point. He’s also homeless and isn’t picky about what he eats. He probably ends up on the street when he’s around 7 or 8 and his story takes place when he’s 14 or 15. So, somewhere between there is when he acquires his powers.

His personality is basically relentless positivity and optimism. Always looks on the bright side and can be counted on as a morale booster. Super loyal and supportive of his friends. Believes in ideals and hopes to make the world a better place, believes the world can be changed for the better. It’s very difficult to upset him. However, his outlook often jars when he has to deal with an emotionally sensitive situation. His general response is “everything will be okay and I believe in you and support you” and, for a lot of people, it doesn’t work like that and it just makes them more upset, especially living among the homeless. Even though he can relate to suffering, his way of dealing things has always been to repress or move on since it couldn’t be helped and that’s usually what he subconsciously advocates.Depending on the person, it can be reassuring or it can feel like a rehearsed script.

All in all, he has a lot of issues he’s left unresolved and ignores in favour of smiling and focusing on the positive and he doesn’t really understand why people will fixate on the negative. So he’s not really good at handling any kinda negative emotions. ALSO his trusting nature makes him a victim in gullibility too. Even with someone that’s been a complete dick to him twenty times over, he’ll always give the benefit of a doubt and allow them second, third, fourth chances.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT SODA - His real name is Felix but he’s only ever gone by Soda. Rafter was the one that gave him the nickname cuz he’s bubbly and too sweet. - When he’s actually sad and can’t force himself to be happy, he isolates himself. - He’s always wanted to be a super hero! His earliest memory is running around with goggles on and a blanket tied around his shoulders like a cape, playing pretend. - He has an evil doppelganger named Seltzer; they look exactly alike, except Seltzer’s eyes are orange instead of blue. - He smells like a carnival’s trash can.

Rafter is Soda’s best friend. Both of them have been on the street for a similar amount of time, but Rafter’s circumstances for getting there are a lot more harsh. Soda ends up there almost by choice, but Rafter is forced onto the streets. He’s really mature as a result and pretty cautious. Generally, he prefers to be a lone wolf but Soda persisted in helping him cuz they were both kids and logically he understood that it was safer to have someone around. Most of the time, he appreciates Soda for his overabundant friendliness but it also makes him super nervous because jeezuz Soda, don’t talk to that shady dude behind the dumpster what if he harvests your kidneys or something plz exercise some self preservation.

Rafter is relatively quiet, thoughtful, and skeptical. He doesn’t trust people very easily and he tends to keep his circle of friends small. But when he does trust someone, he’s very dependable. Even though he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s got a keen eye for details and analysis. If he were older, he’d probably be a detective. More defensive than offensive, and a strategist.

He ends up in contention with Soda sometimes, because of Soda’s instinct to jump into things indiscriminately (where Rafter likes to plan and evaluate) and also because of his inability to deal with emotions. Rafter is pretty stable emotionally, but when he does feel upset he goes to Noyal or TOI for support rather than Soda. Rafter needs to work through his feelings with someone else and understand why he reacts the way he did in order to feel better.

Overall, Rafter is very level headed. He thinks realistically and practically. But his caution borders on paranoia sometimes and prevents him from making many meaningful connections for fear of being hurt. And, when in contrast with Soda’s positive outlooks, he worries that he comes off as less realistic and more negative and jaded by comparison. It’s a thought that eats away at him sometimes.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT RAFTER - He plays piano and its the best way for him to relax. - Rafter isn’t his real name but no one knows it. - His dream career is to be a psychologist and help kids like him when he gets older, in order to help them avoid being homeless. - Dogs make him nervous. Especially big dogs. - Even though he lives on the street, he’s very careful to stay as clean and hygienic as he can. Can’t stand feeling grimy or dirty.

TOI is an illegal android. She was a young boy as a human who was dying and her father was a scientist that transferred her consciousness to a robot. There is a law that states that any person under the age of consent cannot have their consciousness transferred because androids are not subject to the same laws as humans. It is completely legal for an adult to choose to become an android but there are really fucked up, blurred moral lines with the production of androids. Even if they have a living consciousness and not an AI installed, the only real law they’re required to follow is to be registered and have an owner.

Short of that, anything that happens to androids is damage against the owner, not the android. Because android parts are replaceable and, even if a consciousness is human or a highly developed AI, they are subject to selective memory wipes and can be transferred to other vessels. So androids are kind of resented by some people, able to forget their traumas with the push of a button and recover from damage that would be irreparable for something organic. There have been a lot of attempts at acquiring self ownership and more protection for robots in general, but overall it comes down to “if you can choose to forget, why are you remembering.” It’s a system that kind of works, but only for robots that have owners and owners who care about their well being (which logically they should, because an android costs about as much as a new car would and, if they are spending that much and the consciousness is someone they know, the assumption is that it’s an act of love).

ANYWAYS I could ramble about the messed up robot-human relations of this world all day, but essentially TOI is illegal for many reasons. For one, she was about nine when her consciousness was extracted. Though her mind does continue to age, it’s still morally grey because the public assumption is that all robots are considered consenting adults, even when they have a body that appears younger. It’s a means of avoiding fucked up shit that developers know would happen anyways by at least making it fucked up shit that only happens to adults??? If that makes sense??? im avoiding specific words, cuz its too dark for how PG i want the story to be and its not something i would really explore in canon, its just something i think about when considering TOI’s choices.

She’s also very illegal because, when she turned 15 her father died and her father was her ‘technical’ owner. She wasn’t registered but she had some protection with him around as his ‘scientific property’ but with him gone, no one faces any consequences for damaging her. It leaves her in a very vulnerable position should anyone find out she’s an android and unregistered. And she can’t advocate for robot rights because without an owner, she can just get wiped and no one could do anything about it.

Personality wise, TOI is very snarky. She likes to sass and tease and outsmart people. In canon, she’s about 32 years old, so she also takes a sadistic pleasure in making adults think they’ve been outwitted by a child. She is highly intelligent but operates under the radar because of her situation, usually relying on her human connections (Noyal) in order to save money or sign important documents.

In Candy Hero, she currently isn’t planned to appear for a handful of chapters. Soda and Rafter have a few adventures themselves, then they meet her when she is visiting Noyal. She trusts them as Noyal’s friends and sticks around, their antics amusing her. Plus, since they all look around the same age, TOI feels more secure moving around in public with them.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT TOI - TOI doesn’t need to eat or sleep as a robot, but she does need to recharge every other week depending on her exertion, and she needs regular maintenance. - She was a trans girl even before her consciousness was put into her robot body but socially closeted, except to her father and Noyal. - She loves cats and her favourite clothing items are cat themed. - Whenever she’s able to, she attends art galleries and musical events. - SHES GONE THROUGH THE MOST DESIGN CHANGES like, she used to be a super sexualized animu lady with big boobs and no pants (i want to fight 15 yr old me when i think about it honestly) then she was skinny dude with a gas mask and hood, then lost the mask but became purely a program, then a virus trapped inside a phone Soda had, and now she’s where she is and I’m happiest with her newest design

Noyal is a quiet guy that lives on a boat. He doesn’t say much but he’s empathetic toward Soda and Rafter as street kids. I haven’t really thought about how they meet but my guess is that Soda and Rafter are jumping around different places for food and shelter during the winter and Noyal notices them since he jumps around to the different places for his work. He doesn’t approach them though, it’s Soda that approaches him offering to help him with something (much to Rafter’s horror cuz holy shit Noyal is scary looking) and they all eventually begin to talk. Well, Noyal mostly listens but he talks more with them than he does almost anyone else (TOI being the exception).

Eventually, he offers them a place to stay for the worst nights. They can’t stay with him all the time cuz his boat’s pretty cramped as it is and Noyal likes his solitude. He can’t handle the idea of being a father figure to Soda and Rafter so he makes sure they understand that he views them as friends, not as children he needs to be responsible for. Even though Rafter was nervous about him at first, it turns out that he and Noyal have very compatible personalities and the equal ground he offers in defining that “I’m not an authority over you just because I’ve lived longer” ironically makes Rafter really look up to and respect him.

I’ve not really thought out Noyal’s history to the same extent I’ve thought out TOI’s. He’s always been quiet, somewhat mysterious, but willing to help a friend in need. I imagine he’s been helped through a lot of things when he was young and that’s what makes him willing to extend altruism and sanctuary when he encounters someone that needs help. However, unlike Soda, he doesn’t go out of his way or beyond what he’s comfortable with. If he wants to help and is capable of doing so, he will.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT NOYAL - He owns a dog; an elderly and blind Schnauzer affectionately called Old Russ, who sleeps on his bed with him. - I’ve always imagined him with a Newfoundlander accent. - He’s actually a year younger than TOI and she’ll never let him forget it. - He has a twin sister that he doesn’t like to talk about; she sends him a care package every few months. - He works at a million different jobs. One of the running gags I’ve established in my writing is that he’s just everywhere; Soda and Rafter go to a circus, he’s running the ticket booth; they go to a theatre, he’s a janitor; they head to the mall, he’s working security. HE IS A BUSY MAN. - Covered in scars not because he gets into fights but because he loves animals, regularly works at places with big animals, and would willingly get mangled by a bear if it meant he was able to help it.

PURE FLUFF isn’t the name of anything but I just have no other designation for these two OCs (I used to call their story Day by Day but I’ve abandoned that name). I made them with the intent of doing a really fluffy gay webcomic and I still want to! But it probably won’t be a linear storyline like i originally intended, more like random snippets of their time together. I also specifically wanted to focus not on falling in love, but staying in love. Like, usually the plot and conflict of romance ends with people becoming a couple. Yet, there are so many fun and ridiculous issues that pop up while being a couple??? LIKE COME ON??

Also, it’s a super pure and wholesome story overall so the issues aren’t anything really terrible (at least, between Evan and Love). Usually its like “i dont care how in the zone you are, you havent slept in over 72 hours and im forcing you to sleep” and “dude i know you wouldn’t cheat on me but your hot tutor is making me wicked jealous and possessive and i need attention plz” and “oh nooooo looks like they accidentally put pineapple on both sides of the pizza, guess you’re gonna have to eat pineapple too.” Y’know. Small issues.

Evan is the epitome of lethargy. He’s tired 24/7 and monotone in his speech patterns. Emotions are difficult for him. He experiences them but numbly and has trouble dealing with other’s displays of emotions, particularly in the extreme. He doesn’t really understand people with strong passions or hatreds but he tries to be supportive in his own way. And he really does try but when people don’t know him, they assume his muted reactions are out of disinterest. He can’t force himself to react the way people want so he struggles in a lot of social situations. A lot of the time, he ends up overwhelmed and exhausted if he spends too much time with a crowd.

He doesn’t have the best relationship with his parents and moved out the moment he turned 18 but he has younger siblings that love and adore him so he tries to keep in touch with them at least. Evan is in post secondary and is majoring in computer science and programming. Again, not exactly because it’s his passion but he understands it and it’s an independent activity that he can work on. He also is minoring in ancient history because he enjoys the mythology and guesswork of studying ancient civilizations.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT EVAN - He is probably trans. Honestly, for a lot of my characters, I tend to keep things flexible unless it’s important to their story or I’m being self indulgent so most of them are like ‘maby they are maby they aren’t it doesnt matter’ if i dont say anything. I mention it for Evan cuz its been something I’ve considered as the reason his relationships with his parents being tense. - He is about 23-24, which is two years older than Love. They met in high school because Evan had to take a lower level art class to complete his diploma. Often, people think he is younger than Love because of his baby face and being so much shorter. The assumption tends to annoy him. - Evan is colourblind! Protanopia, or red-green colourblindness. - He has a history of self harm that only Love knows about and he’s since found healthier coping mechanisms. - His favourite thing is spending a lazy afternoon at home, reading a book while Love draws beside him

Love is an artist and an asshole. He likes to tease and press buttons, but generally doesn’t overstep boundaries (and feels terrible when he accidentally does). He is a positive person, looks on the bright side but he has a lot of feelings and not all of them are happy. He’s sensitive, gets disheartened at the slightest off tone. Conversely, he’s extremely easy to please too, the slightest praise sending him buzzing. His mood jumps around a lot depending on where he is, but Evan tends to keep him balanced because he understands and appreciates Evan’s tranquillity.

As an artist, Love focuses on painting and sketching. He loves to use a lot of colour and tends to lean toward impressionism and abstraction in his work. He likes deep thinking but he tends to lean toward making work that’s pretty and aesthetically pleasing to look at (which he gets shit for as an art student). However, a lot of the worst of his habits are associated with painting. He’ll go for days without sleep and eating if he’s in a good painting mood, usually much to Evan’s concern. In high school before dating Evan, he experimented with some hallucinogenics for the sake of artistic venture. He also used to smoke somewhat heavily. Evan helped him ease away from those habits, just as he helped Evan ease away from his.

Also, Love is absolutely enamoured with Evan. Evan loves him back of course, he wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t feel anything, but Love is way more deeply attached. He hovers and will do his best to accommodate Evan, he worries about Evan and tends to talk about him as a common subject in conversation, and he’s happiest when spending his time with Evan. Evan is a lot more independent in the sense that he doesn’t fixate on Love like Love does him, but Love is still the most important person in his life. Love doesn’t really try to tone down his affection either, he’d probably yell in a public space “GOD MY BOYFRIEND IS WONDERFUL??? IM SO LUCKY???” and get kicked out. But it’d so be worth it. He loves making Evan embarrassed.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT LOVE - His name, Love Jaakola, is pronounced Low-vay Yak-oh-law. His father was Swedish and his mother is Chinese (she’s the only one he’s still in contact with). He is an only child. - His hair is naturally dark brown but he regularly dyes it blonde. The ‘streak’ in his hair is actually dried acrylic paint from pushing his hair out his face, the only way he’s able to get rid of it is to cut it off (but it comes back cuz he’s in the habit of running his paint coated hand through his hair at this point). - Love is Evan’s first date person, but Love has dated about 4 people before Evan. Two were girls, one was a boy, and one was nonbinary. However, most of those relationships only lasted a few months, he has been with Evan for about 4-5 years (they’ve known each other about 6-7 yrs). - Ironically, he’s a bit of a technophobe. Evan keeps telling him he should post his artwork online or that he should network with people more to expand his art career, but Love’s like ‘maby.... one day... not today.......’ - His favourite thing is to draw/paint on Evan’s skin. Nothing really planned or meant to impress, just lazing around in their underwear and doodling thoughtlessly.

BAD SEEDS oh god. this is... my sin comic. Sort of. Last year around this time, I was fucking ITCHING to make a webcomic. It’s been something I’ve wanted to do for a long time and like, in the time frame of Aug-Nov, my urge to make gore art goes through the roof (like, most people dont get how gross i am cuz i only draw it around this time, i tend to quietly absorb other’s gore during the rest of the year). So the plans for this comic came around. Psychological horror, gore, plants and flowers, bones, I threw a lot of self indulgent shit into this comic.

Bad Seeds is about two terrible high school kids that cause one another to do awful things by encouraging each other’s violent impulses (i say “kids”, they’re both 17 and would experience their 18th birthdays in canon, i literally just wanted a high school setting cuz bullies weeeeps). I did a lot of sketched out comics in my small travel sketchbook of really climactic, messed up scenes, then I tried to do an actual story line so I could do a comic. I made the first 14 ish pages and they’re still floating around but.... wow i hate the beginning. And need to rewrite it. Cuz I still like a lot of the scenes I made for the middle of the story and the messed up dynamics please me but, unfortunately, the main characters need to meet somehow.

Daniel is a nervous, paranoid boy. He’s very jumpy and always feels like he’s going to be yelled at for doing something wrong. He feels like an outcast and kind of makes himself out to be one by thinking that way. Doesn’t go out of his way to make friends, isn’t interested by sports or clubs, and his grades in school are average or below average. However, people that do know him would say he was polite, quiet, and accommodating. Even though he looks awkward, they’d insist he was just shy and warms up to you.

In reality, he behaves that way because he’s almost been conditioned and guilted into being selfless by his dad (his only family). He takes up extra shifts at work if someone asks him, he’ll lend someone he doesn’t know money if they ask, and he will help with cleaning/organizing after school if he’s asked. He doesn’t volunteer and generally doesn’t want to do a lot of things he agrees to but he just can’t say no unless it clashes with other things he’s agreed to do (usually, his job).

Other than that though, a lot of his internalized guilt stems from his fascination with the morbid and a fear of people finding out. In my old draft of Bad Seeds, he became fascinated after being exposed to guro on the internet, but I want the time setting to be late 90s-early 2000s, so I’m compiling a lot of texts and paintings that would feed that interest and be more time appropriate. I’m also trying to figure out if that would make him more interested in art history and specific classical literature but honestly, I don’t think it would; he’d probably fixate only on the most gruesome things and skim over all else haaah.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT DANIEL - He is a masochist. Whenever he gets injured, it tends to take three times as long to heal as it should because he picks and scratches and makes things worse. He also self harms on his upper arms for this reason, to watch it bleed and heal (though, I’m certain a warped idea of atonement for his guilt also plays into the action). - Before meeting Poet, he’d been watching him from a far for two years. Not exactly stalking, he doesn’t go out of his way, but they’re in the same small town school; he stares at him from across the cafeteria at lunch and glances at him when they have classes together and listens extra hard when he hears people talk about Poet. - He works at a small cafe that doesn’t get a lot of traffic. - He sleepwalks and has really vivid dreams. Sometimes he self-induces insomnia to avoid them but that tends to have bad side effects. - He really enjoys his hair being played with/petted/pulled.

Poet is seemingly perfect. He’s one of the top students, with exceptional grades in all of his classes. He’s the president of the student council and he’s well liked by most of the student body because he’s humble and, though hard working and busy, he tries to treat everyone kindly and make good impressions. The only thing he could be considered average in is sports, but he stays active by gardening and hiking. He takes to positions of leadership well, he’s good at improvising, and speaks eloquently. All of his hard work is contributing to his career goal of becoming a medical doctor or surgeon.

However, he has the same morbid fascinations as Daniel. Though, while Daniel is exposed to creative sources like fiction and paintings depicting violence or gore, Poet is more grounded in reality. He uses medical textbooks and pays a lot of attention to real life surgery photos. There was a point where, with the mental excuse that he would need to be comfortable with the grotesque, that he would look for dead things in order to do mock autopsies. He’s killed animals before but always with his version of a justification; to end something’s suffering or in self defence. He rarely kills animals because of this need for a proper explanation. In the old draft of Bad Seeds, his and Daniel’s meeting is him trying to explain that he killed a wild dog that had backed him into an alley and struggling to come up with a reason for why Daniel found him elbow deep in its guts.

HE’S SUCH A BAD DUDE HONESTLY i hate him. Especially with Daniel, after they acknowledge one another’s fucked up impulses, Poet becomes really attached to Daniel but in a messed up abusive and jealous way. He begins to manipulate and gaslight Daniel, whose already isolated, to become even more isolated and only trust Poet and lets himself get talked into a lot by Poet. Well, they talk each other into things. Poet, at the beginning of their relationship, is still extremely preoccupied with appearances and knows what they’re doing is wrong as tempting as it is to have a willing participant and gives Daniel a lot of chances to say no to things. But the more Daniel says yes, the more of a power trip Poet goes on and god, they just make each other so much worse over time and it’s awful and unhealthy and i hate that I’m absolutely into this kinda psychological shit (ONLY FICTIONALLY THO i hate that i need to specify that; if this happened in real life, id fucking call the cops in a heartbeat).

But yea, if he and Daniel never met, they’d both be way better off in the long run honestly haha.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT POET - Probably goes without saying, but he is a sadist. Like, he likes to think he is clinically scientific about everything he does, but when he gets the chance to act out fantasies with Daniel, he starts paying a lot of attention to expression and reaction when he does things. - I mentioned he enjoys gardening but he really likes gardening! He does all the gardening and maintenance of his parent’s home during the warm months, and keeps a lot of plants inside too. - I usually draw him with black hair, but at some point he dies his hair silver/white. - He has a fluffy medium sized dog named Styx, not sure about the breed. Probably a mutt but lots of collie. - Poet existed before Bad Seeds, as a character in Love and Evan’s story! He was still kind of awful but more harmless. He wound up having a crush on Evan while tutoring him in English, but Evan wasn’t interested and also is dating Love. Love had a small crush on Poet cuz he’s lowkey poly and super into intellect/glasses/charisma, which he talked over with Evan. Evan accepts it as part of him but personally wouldn’t be comfortable dating him if he were dating others, so Love compromises because hot damn he loves Evan. ANYWAYS Poet is still awful because, even after Evan says no, he pines and obsesses and tries to monopolize his time as a “””friend”””” (thankfully tho, Evan is not susceptible to his bullshit - which sadly makes Poet like him that much more criesssss)

Ray is a bit of an enigma. He’s technically in his senior year with both Daniel and Poet, but he’s actually two years older and is only back at the school to complete his high school diploma. But no one really remembers him as attending their school? Despite this though, he settles into the school atmosphere well. Even though he’s 19, he’s generally mistaken for younger. He has classes he does well in and classes he skips, but his passion is for music. He’s a skilled, adaptable guitarist who gets called into a few bars and clubs when a band is short and was practically adopted by the school band the moment they found out his skill level. Thing is, he’s also very lazy and wants to avoid things that feel like work, usually causing them to send the drummer to kidnap him in order to get him to attend practice.

He gives off an air of being laid back and aloof, but he’s rather observant. Ray is probably the closest thing to a friend that Daniel has, because Ray noticed he was a bit of a black sheep and decided to keep him company. At first, out of concern that he was being bullied, but after some time it was a little more personal because he realized that Daniel had a crush on another boy (since this story is set in a small town during late 90s early 2000s, repression and institutionalized homophobia are a concern but not really the focus). Personal because he is actually gay and trans and he becomes a little protective over Daniel, having figured this out. Though, his protectiveness doesn’t stop him from teasing Daniel (about having a crush, not about being gay of course).

Ray is also a little eccentric. He refuses to sit in seats properly, he wanders around the streets at like 3am and during rainstorms, and always packs a lunch but never eats it, usually giving it away to Daniel or some first year. He comes off pretty confident and he’s decent at improvising but overall he has no shame and no idea what he’s doing.

SOME EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT RAY - He has an ex who I haven’t developed but he’s also important, he’s a coworker of Daniel’s. Ray’s ex is actually a decent and understanding dude, but Ray broke up with him because he wanted to get rid of things that reminded him about being “Rachel” (his deadname). - He shares a basement apartment with like, five other lgbt people, but he doesn’t spend much time there and has a tendency to fall asleep where ever. - He’s an orphan. Dad died when he was young, and his mom was a police officer who died in the line of duty during the time he had disappeared. He has an older sister who’s moved a fair distance away. - Daniel thinks of him as a weird mom. Ray considers himself something of a big brother, since he can be a bit of an asshole. - Ray is driven by spite. His hair at the beginning of Bad Seeds is the fluffy mullet he has, influenced by other guitarists cuz he’s a nerd, but when he meets his ex again and his ex tells him his hair looks cute, he gets an undercut immediately after.

STAINED is a project I used to be passionate about but honestly, it’s kind of abandoned. It had something to do with tattoos and corrupt hierarchical systems and someone unknowingly supporting the status quo before learning how fucked up and inhumane it is and trying to change the way the world works. I think I was reading a lot of dystopian things that influenced my ideas. Some of the characters from this project will probably be redesigned and put somewhere else but this project itself is kinda dead to me.

ALSO, ITS GONNA BE JARRING HOW SHORT THINGS GET FROM HERE ON like, the rest of these characters are not as developed/ I don’t care about them enough anymore to try to adapt their personalities elsewhere criessss

Marz was what I considered one of the most complex characters at one point. Bare bones, he goes from being sheltered but curious to really vindictive and dark following his best friend/lover being martyred. At the moment though, he’s very much a blank slate and, even though he was the main character, a lot of the initiative and plot was driven by his lover. I... literally have very little to say about Marz anymore IM SORRY MARZ, I LOVED YOU ONCE MABY ILL LOVE YOU AGAIN.

Stone is a happy dude. He was in the same universe as Marz, working on the outskirts of the city palace town, dealing black market potions and magic in a shop he inherited from Iris (who is dead in that universe - probably another reason i don’t like Marz’s story anymore). In his current canon, he still works at a shop dealing in occult things, but alongside Iris. Prior to their meeting, Stone was a very proper, uptight man, overly concerned with etiquette and very polite. However, he was also really tired of denying what he enjoys (he is bisexual and more feminine than his posh family find acceptable). One day, he decides to explore the grimier parts of the city and ends up cornered in an alley cuz pretty boy doesn’t think ahead that walking around looking clean and expensive in a sketchy part of town will get him into trouble.

Thankfully though, he’s saved by Iris and, to repay her, he works at her shop. Stone is a quick learner and finds his niche in the dark arts that Iris teaches him. He’s happiest when he can sneak over and help and, eventually, stops going home. He and Iris are in a relationship but they’re not exactly monogamous; Iris loves him but also knows that he’s bi and has been sheltered his entire life. She wants him to be able to explore his interests and not feel restricted by his attachment to her, especially since she’s had so much more time to love and be loved. So essentially, an open relationship.

Stone is laboured with a lot of learned prejudice and a concept of tradition that Iris helps him identify, understand, and either overcome or work on in the means of becoming less toxic. He finds Iris fascinating and loves to learn from her, both about the occult and about himself (because most of the time, he feels like she knows him more than he does himself).

EXTRA RANDOM FACTS ABOUT STONE - After a few years of working with and knowing Iris, Stone accidentally blinds himself trying to make a difficult potion. This is the version of him I draw the most. Before the accident, his eye colour was hazel. - Eventually, he and Iris get married. - Following the accident, he’s immortal. Nowadays, I focus on him during his days with Iris, but in the past I focused on his life after her death as he becomes slightly deranged. She grows quite old and dies of natural causes and he tends to pretend that she didn’t, keeping her skeleton around and lovingly talking about his wife with his customers.

Iris is a very ambitious woman. She doesn’t have much of a history at this moment, but she runs her own business, fends for herself, and has developed some very powerful connections. People that know about her but don’t know her personally tend to call her a witch and a sorceress and sometimes she plays it up to scare kids away from the dangerous area that she’s located. She’s intelligent and very down to earth, growing an indoor garden with plenty of plants that have magical properties.

She can be brash and spontaneous sometimes though. She’s had some close calls with death by picking the wrong fights and mixing the wrong ingredients while experimenting. She mellows out a bit when she has Stone to focus on, but she can disappear for weeks on end with only a last minute notice for him to take care of the shop while she runs her errand. There are a couple of times that she lets him tag along but he’s really not in his element with fast action and near death stunts so he stops asking and just wishes for her safety.

MISC is OCs that I’ve always had but have never really settled into their own world. I honestly have tons like this oh man. But these three are ones that show up a lot.

Cinnamon and Chowder are two gay gals I started drawing way back. They’re both alien pop stars who came to earth and no one knows they’re actually aliens. Cinnamon is much shyer than Chowder, self conscious of her height and general... everything, but Chowder is super supportive and smitten and protective. Cinnamon is an alien from a planet where her entire species “identifies” as male; its a toxic, hyper masculine planet and, when she met Chowder, her entire world kind of expanded and she decided to escape with her somewhere that they wouldn’t be found. They found earth and made their place in the fashion and music industry.

I drew a comic for class once, where Cinnamon tells Chowder that she feels ugly, but like, she knows she doesn’t look ugly, but she feels the anxiety like an itch and can’t get over it. And Chowder’s like “Oh! Like a Kiwi right? See, they’re all fuzzy and brown and probably feel ugly? But look at how nice and bright and lovely they are inside!” and then they eat a kiwi together PFFF yea that’s the extent of how much development I’ve put into them.

Liko is my baby. He is a chinchilla hybrid human and was created purely for self indulgent things. His personality for the most part is mischievous and absolutely hates clothing. For how much I draw him, he is embarrassingly underdeveloped as a character. I began to think of him as a splicing experiment that escapes from a lab somewhere but not super deeply... Honestly, his purpose is art trades, requests, and commissions. He’s the only oc I usually ask for art of because I like his design haaah

AND YEA THOSE ARE MY BELOVED OCS i honestly love you if you read through all this or even a little, please talk to me about your own ocs !!! I’m more than happy to do OC art trades and bounce world talks anytime !!

#korvo draws #oc #EVERYONE #i... wrote so much omfg you dont have to read if you dont want BUT ID APPRECIATE IT criesss #skip Bad Seeds if you arent about gore and psychological horror but maaan #i forgot how much i loved my ocs #PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT MY OCS and about your own ocs because fuck #i love ocs and i dont have any friends that consistently do oc shit aaaaaaaaaa

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