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I am currently not doing WBW, Blursday, or STS until I get caught up on my backlog. DMs always open!
Hey, halfway through the year ain't too bad for a proper intro, right? At the risk of sounding like a wizard, ✨ I am known by many names ✨ but you can call me Korb(le) or Poss. Always looking for new buds and I love tag and ask games — it might take me a bit to get to it, but I do get to 'em!
About my writing:
I serve up sci-fi, regional gothic, maritime horror, and urban fantasy with a heaping side of grit, gallows humor, and grey morality. Fun!
There's fanfiction in this house, though I do try to write it for folks who "don't go here".
I worldbuild way too much. Please come ramble at me about worldbuilding and I'll return the favor.
I write adult themes for adult audiences! It's not always drugs, sex, and violence, but those things are openly accepted here!
My influences are [vague hand gesture] and [noncommittal shrug]. Idk man, I write the stories I want to read.
About me:
He/him, bi, trans, autistic — dad friend? Dad friend.
Mixtapes/playlists and music are my love languages. I crochet, cross-stitch, bead, and sometimes draw when my hands are nice to me.
Graphic design is one of my passions!
I don't think I'll ever publish any of my stories, but I'd love to get into interactive fiction.
Never quite the same when they come back around, are they?
Rating: Mature
Chapter WC: 8,561
Warning(s): The usual suspects: violence, hallucinations, descriptions of corpses.
Preview below the cut.
{READ HERE ON AO3}
Jane couldn’t remember the last time she slept without dreaming — even pumped full of sedatives and pain meds after Akuze, she still saw the thresher maws, saw Elysium blend together with the acid-soaked environment for a fresh new hell N-school could never compete with. It was… nice. Merciful, even, to drift listlessly in and out of consciousness, in and out of conversations she probably wasn’t supposed to hear.
“… break these, I’ll be so cross…”
“… stable for now… overnight for observation…”
“… have time for that… things to do, doctor.”
“… to the Council, you have plenty of time… grounded until further…”
If they didn’t want her listening in, maybe they shouldn’t have been having those conversations within earshot.
Warning(s): violence, gore, unreality, alien racism, it's... a lot
Preview below the cut.
{READ HERE ON AO3}
The fight for the driver’s seat — namely, who wouldn’t have to pilot the Grizzly through a brutal snowstorm — was brief, broken not by the amused garage attendant watching the proceedings over his lunch, but by Kaiden, who wordlessly climbed into the cockpit and startled the rest of them from their heated scuffle with the Grizzly’s horn.
“You sure?” John asked, even as he nudged Tali away from the front passenger seat to take it for himself.
“Positive, Commander,” came the reply, followed by a placating smile shot Tali’s way. Neither could see the expression she made behind her foggy faceplate, but they could make a fairly educated guess from the squint of her eyes and a three-fingered attempt at a rude gesture. “Can’t be much worse than racing snowmobiles across a dubiously-frozen lake, right?”
They hadn’t made it two minutes into the storm before Kaidan’s smile fell and took the squad’s hopeful spirits with it. The Grizzly slowed from a jog to a crawl as Kaidan folded nearly in half to squint through the unrelenting blanket of white. John tried squinting out the windshield, too, in an attempt to… what, to assist? All he could see was white stretching on forever and ever, and far, far in the distance, a blur of black smoke. He sank back in his seat, helpless to do anything but watch, and wait.
In the liminal moment between two heartbeats, a shudder rumbled through Port Hanshan. Cutlery rattled on plates. Overlapping phone calls fell silent. Drinks rippled in their vessels. The fountain hiccuped.
Towering, screaming beasts and melted Marines helpfully flipped to the forefront of John’s thoughts.
The truth, though, was worse than the nightmares. John had chosen the seat with the best view through the massive glass wall — a change of scenery, he’d stated, just a change of scenery. Not to watch the swirling wind grow stronger and stronger. Not to make sure the jagged mountains didn’t grow teeth. Not to stare and stare and wait for the shuttle bearing his sister to return.
In the liminal moment between two heartbeats, even the blizzard held its breath as the mountains belched thick, black smoke into the valley below.
All at once, the world exhaled, returning to its own business without a single thought that fire didn’t belong in a blizzard.
Jane’s stomach lurched — not to be sick, no. It was the anxious flutter of freefall she’d become intimately familiar with.
Falling up, really, but falling nonetheless. Floating was too nice a word for the terrible grip playing hockey with her viscera.
This time, though, there was no coffin of steel and glass to cage her in, just an endless expanse of darkness. That was far worse, she decided. At least in the car, she knew where she was. Where she was going. If she’d been spaced and left behind — would anyone find her? Would anyone come looking?
I'm so tired of the way suspicious meat is always human meat like for once I just want to be surprised. Let it be something else I'm so tired of it being human meat
Look I love horror I'm a big fan of it but guys. It's been overdone. At this point when I reach a point in a story where the meat starts being suspicious I roll my eyes because we all already know it's just some guy. Mystery meat could be so much more why won't we let it be more
Oh my steak is a guy? Yawn. Boring. That's every steak in horror.
Give me meat that just spawns randomly in your fridge. Meat that has no clear origin. Where is it from? We don't know. What kind of meat is it? No clue. It's mystery meat (non human (as far as we're aware of)). That's already a bit scarier if only thanks to not knowing how hygenic it is
Give me horror meat that isn't human bt has it's horror rooted in reality. Give me parasite pork that takes over your brain functions. Give me fucking prion disease at this point I'll take it. I'm so starved for mystery meat where the twist ISN'T that it's human c'mon people we can do better than this
Oh people keep disappearing but hey at least the food is really good so that's something right? Womp womp you're eating a guy. Boring. Been there done that. Give me something new
Give me a guy who works in a slaughterhouse who swears on his life he's killed the exact same cow every week for the past 6 months and every time it gets harder to pull the trigger as it looks him in the eyes like it knows him
i saw some kinda creepypasta that stuck with me for years about a guy who went over to his college friend's dorm room and the guy just took a utility knife, cut a square out of the wall, pulled out a handful of ground hamburger from the bleeding hole, and started frying it on an illegal dormroom hotplate.
the narrator was like 'uh what the fuck, is there meat behind all the walls here?' and his friend just shrugged. he didn't know. he just knew that the wall meat in his dorm was cheaper than the student cafeteria burgers and he wasn't dead yet.
so the narrator went back to his own dorm and wrote a greentext for fourchan. just sitting there staring at his dorm wall. psyching himself up to try it.
chosen one not as in the one the prophecy foretold but as in lamb to the slaughter. as in the only person both brave and foolish enough to do it. chosen one as in sculpted, molded to be the perfect sacrifice to something expertly, divinely crafted to annihilate you wholly and surely. chosen one as in taken away. chosen one as in death sentence. chosen one as in goodbye
Near a bend in a river there was a town. It wasn’t particularly large and the houses were arranged in three concentric, wooded rings. The sun had risen above the tall grass and was pouring through the streets and into windows. One of the houses, with a grey stone roof and walls covered in moss and ivy was alive with bustling activity.
Standing outside the house one could smell that the oven was baking something sweet, and that meant that it was the start of a new week. The kitchen was filled with the smell of flour, baking, and the tell-tale scent of pine. Brass pots glinted in the sunlight and water dripped from drying plates into the basin below, kicking up small drops to arc up and crash back down into the washing water.
The herbs that grew on the windowsill threw shadows across the countertop and onto the table. A pot and matching cup of tea sat in front on a plate, laden with crumbs. The soft glow of the oven warmed the back of the now unoccupied chair.
From the pantry came a small rustle as the owner of the house emerged. While small in stature he filled the room well as his whiskers twitched in sync with his nose, enjoying the scent of a peach pie as it wafted through the house. The wood mouse was proud of what he baked.
His little paws dropped a few lemons on the table and he produced a wooden chopping board and his sharpest knife. The obsidian had been chipped by Albert, the best craftsmouse he knew. Working quickly the mouse cut the lemon into thin, almost transparent slices and laid them out on the board. Next, he brought out a whisk that he had found. Some thought it was comically large but it suited his needs.
With a bit of work, he whipped some cream to soft peaks and put it in his cold room, making a note that he needed to grab another block of ice from Maurice next door. As the pie neared completion, he wiped his paws off on his apron and threw open the window with the wide windowsill. From there he grabbed a large flat cork round and prepared a place for the pie to cool. He had been lucky that Phillip had found the cork bobbing in the river - they had each gotten a thing round slice from it for home projects.
As he slipped on oven mitts and brought the pie to the windowsill, he saw the curious, mousey eyes of his neighbours and some of their friends. They knew exactly what he was making. Now it just needed to be garnished. A crown of whipped cream, a ring of lemon slices. And finally, a thin dusting of powdered sugar would let the slices he handed out earn their name Sunny Delights.
Theodore busied himself with clearing away his breakfast dishes before hanging his apron on a hook next to the door and pulling on a dark green vest and brown jacket. As he bustled into the hallway, he passed shelves that sagged beneath the memorabilia and trinkets he had bought or collected. He grabbed a wicker basket and upon opening the front door was met with the green garden and a white fence toward the path.
A few years ago, he had had the good idea to have a small table made and two benches to match. He placed the basket on the bench and opened it, producing first a heavy table cloth that he spread across the table. Next followed a cake stand and finally a few plates and forks to go along with them. A series of wooden cups followed; he had gotten some fresh black berry juice that he would serve to his visitors today.
Over the next few minutes Theodore arranged a variety of food on the table and set places for eight mice. He knew that they would bring hearty appetites and would make sure to feed them well. Ishild had brought some freshly baked bread that morning and he had kept it warm next to his fireplace. As ten minutes approached Theodore made his way to the gate and opened it. By the time he returned from the kitchen he knew his neighbours and friends would be eagerly awaiting the main attraction.
When Theodore returned the benches and one of the chairs were already filled. He placed the cake on the cake stand and produced two small glass jars from his pockets. It was always best, he believed, to serve fresh bread with jam.
“My friends,” he started as he lifted his cup for a toast, “I hope that this week will be another prosperous one.” The other mice echoed his toast and took a sip. Putting the cup down again Theodore cut the cake into eight even slices, each with a slice of lemon and a whirl of cream.
Sunlight glimmered in the lemon, casting a pattern onto the cake below. He served the pieces first to Maurice, he brought in new ice every week, but something was bothering him. Linta seemed cheerful as ever, her apron was decorated with patterns of small mushrooms around her pockets, and the basket would be filled with mushrooms by the end of the day.
Julian began devouring the cake as it settled on the table, a mouse of prestigious appetite he would be busy fixing roofs and leaks around the village. He was an adept carpenter and had helped make Theodore’s dining table. Peredur carefully divided his slice in half and wrapped one up in a cloth; he would take it up to his watch for a midday snack.
Ishild smiled at the Sunny Delight as she took it from his paws. Her paws had small flecks of flour on them; she had been awake since before sun up making bread for the day. Phillip and Albert were last and the two brothers thanked him with wide smiles before digging in.
“What has your whiskers twitching Maurice?” Maurice looked up, and brushed a stray tuft of white fur to the back.
“It’s the ice. I was waiting at the dock this morning, but nobody came. The raft must have run into trouble up river.” Theodore nodded his head and brought a cake laden fork to his mouth. The lemon drooped slightly over the edge and the brown crust had crumbled cleanly, except for a few stray crumbs that tumbled onto the plate below.
“I can go take a look for you.” It was his job after all. Maurice’s eyes lit up as he let out a small squeak.
“That would be very kind of you, but it might be a few days journey.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Theodore smiled, “Remember the journey I took for Ishild? Three days to find that bread tin. It was covered by leaves and near giant tracks.”
“That tin has worked wonders for me,” Ishild interrupted, “I’m still using it in the big oven for feasts and market days.” Her breads were very good. Most of the mice made their own on occasion but none would contend with her skill.
“I suppose I might miss market day if I go travelling,” Theodore said out loud, “But you’d save me some of your salted lye bread?” He would hate to miss out on her excellent bread.
“Of course, I was planning on making a big batch for the weekend. I heard there might be some travellers passing by then and would want to give them some good food.”
“There is a rumour about. It might be Rosalia,” The siblings cut into the conversation.
“Wasn’t she due here two weeks ago?” Albert asked.
“Unless she has a lot of goods to trade, that’d slow her down in every town she visited.”
“She might even bring some giant-made.” That last line sent a hum of excitement through the mice. While they made good things here the giants could make them faster and sometimes sturdier.
Speculation and conversation continued for a while as everyone ate. As the Sunny Delights were finished, they moved on to the bread, cutting pieces off and enjoying them with fresh jams. It took about an hour before Peredur pushed his chair back.
“Thank you for a wonderful meal. I need to get to my post to watch the approaches; and I’ll watch out for you Theo.”
The others watched Peredur go, and finished up their meal. Linta headed off next with a smile and a spring in her step, she whistled tunelessly as she headed towards the forest Ishild looked after her.
“I’m looking forward to market day. She told me that a new batch of mushrooms has nearly matured. Should I save you some? Theodore looked at Ishild and smiled.
“That would be wonderful of you,” they placed their dishes next to the sink, “and thank you for coming. I’m not sure what I’ll make next week; it’ll depend on my garden.”
“I’ll ask Maurice to come and water your plants, and Linta will gladly help picking what is ripe.” They smiled at each other; he enjoyed having good friends and neighbours.
“Thank you,” Theodore walked her to the door and together they collected the others and walked to the gate. Hugging they said their goodbyes and made promises to meet again when Theodore returned.
Now it was time to prepare for the journey ahead. He grabbed an old leather bag, with a sturdy base and sides. From his wardrobe he took a few changes of clothes and an extra pair of sturdy boots. Raiding the pantry he packed bread, fruit, and clean water. On top of that he grabbed his sleeping bag and strapped it to the bottom. A coil of rope and some pitons were hung on the sides. He also took a faded duster and floppy hat from the cloak stand. He walked into his living room and put out the fire he had had burning that still kept some bread rolls warm. Those he stuffed into his pockets. Above the fireplace in a black leather tube hung his sword. Long and thin with a leather loop through the hole beneath the cross-guard, it had served him well on previous expeditions when he needed to cut copes in a hurry.
Grabbing a gnarled walking stick from the umbrella stand he closed the door behind him and made his way down the path, locking the gate and heading toward the river. He would need to see both banks of the river to be able to spot the raft. He wound his way along the worn paths of the village, the stacked stone walls keeping the dust of the road from the well-tended, productive gardens of the town.
As he passed through the outer ring of the town he looked up at the tallest tulip. The yellow petals stood out starkly against the sky and from within he could see Peredur waving a blue cloth at him, a signal for greeting or saying farewell to a traveller. Theodore lifted his hat and waved back. It would take him a short while to reach the river.
He wound his way through the grassy fields. Some boulders had been moved, no doubt the work of giants, and the usual paths were littered with fallen grasses. Giants this close to the town were bad news, but as long as they left them alone everything should be fine.
The wind picked up and blew some grasses and flower petals across the trail he walked. He caught a particularly pretty flower petal and rolled it up; if he managed to get it home and treat it properly it would make a lovely placemat. It was a vibrant blue with a black splodge radiating from the veins. As he carried on, he smiled, finding a treasure this early on was a good sign, and this journey would be worthwhile.
And indeed, it was, Theodore soon found himself by the riverbank, tall walls of reed abutted a leisurely floating river. Large stones broke surface here and there and in a cove just across the river a large rock was the site of a few mice having lunch, their boat tied to a jutting piece of rock, a red sail and hull painted with strange giant markings marked them as Downriver traders. They were a good source of delicious cinnamon, a spice he spent considerable time and effort acquiring.
Their distinctive red zupan and feathered caps made them easy to spot as they toasted with cups of dark coffee. They must be returning home as their boat sat high in the water. That meant that he’d not be able to enlist their help and waiting for a boat wasn’t an option. He would walk along the river, enjoying how the sunlight danced over the ripples and the wind bent the strong reed stalks.
The walk along the riverside was pleasant. He sped along at a good pace, clamouring over stones and under branches and other debris. The riverbank had collected branches, and the occasional giant item. He found a large metal cone that was partially buried by sand. It was intricately made, with a long central strip of gilded iron that resembled the head and mane of a horse that ran to the top of the cone. Some horsehair also trailed off the other end. He could have Albert make a rope or similar from it. The silver metal glinted in the sun and, despite a large dent in its side, Theodore could see himself in its reflection. He would love to dig it up and take it home but, he thought with a smile to himself, he had nowhere to keep it.
A shadow passed above him, and he darted into one of the entrances to the metal cone. Birds of prey circled occasionally looking for prey and he had no intention of being mistaken for a lunch time snack. The inside of the cone was padded with leather. This was the helmet of a giant. That meant that two long metal sheets extended further underground that would protect the sides of a giant’s face.
As he marvelled at the inside of the helmet, he heard something approach from outside, the flapping of wings pushed air into the helmet and he steadied himself. The bird had landed, and he didn’t know what kind it was. The two holes he could see out of were, after a moment, filled with dark feathers.
----
This story was spawned by the beginning originally written here and I am posting the first part of the first adventure as a celebration of me returning to writing and wanting to share a little warmth with the world.
I sincerely hope you enjoy. I will be posting this elsewhere when the mood strikes and am honoured to have been given some of your time.
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
It is day 20 of Camp Shrimpmo and I am severely behind! But that's okay because I started a new job (yippie!) and finally started to get my life together after having surgery so I get a pass! Anyways, have another passage from AASOAF 3 as a treat 😌 This time, its a little technical but the shrimps liked what I was putting down so I hope you do too :3
WC: 401
CW: none
“Steady as she goes!” [REDACTED] called out. “Bring her around, aye! Good! Douse the sails! Easy! Easy!”
“Man tha mailsail, gents!” Aegis called from down below.
We whistled to one another as the leeches and buntlines on the mainsail came loose. The gaff lowered. Men all about quickly gathered the reefing lines, flag halyard, and gaff topsail as it all came down.
“Ease ‘way the halyards!”
“Weigh the small bower!”
The halyards, throat and peak, eased until the gaff made even with the boom. On the bow, port-side, was the knock-knock-knocking of the anchor chain rattling from its home and into the sea. Starboard side and some distance away, the Mirage weighed her second bower and was now bobbing safely just outside the shoal’s perimeter. I spotted Fay standing at the bow, lowering her hands. I supposed the stories were true then. She could sail that ship without a crew. But judging by how spent she looked, the endeavor was not an easy one.
“Easy! Easy! Weigh the second bower!”
The rattling returned and additional commands were called out until the Lyre was finally moored a safe distance from the shoals.
“Sea furl, gentlemen! We’ll not be here for long!” [REDACTED] called out.
We did as asked, and once the job was done, I descended and found Mariel on the main deck below. At her flank were her reliable shadows: [REDACTED]. The latter was equipped with a cane to combat his insistence at being let out of the infirmary to wander the ship. He was still not well enough to work, but his mood seemed to be improved now that he was up and about.
“Is that frightening?” She asked.
I chuckled. “Been ye impressed?”
“Well, yes, it seems like it takes a great deal of skill.”
“Then, aye, it been a right frightful thin’.” I said with a wink.
She giggled, passing tiny complaints from her lips as I planted kisses on the side of her head and took her into my arms. I whispered things to her, things that I knew would light that pink stripe across her nose and make her squirm. They had the intended effect, but before I could say more, someone cleared their throat and her bashfulness ceased, exchanged for embarrassment instead. I frowned, shooting her shadows a look, then turned my attention back on her, comporting myself for the sake of her nerves.
Its still Friday here so this counts! Thanks to @mysticstarlightduck for tagging me here!
Rules: From your Story/WIP, share a snippet of your characters kissing. It can be any kiss, from familial pecks on the cheek, platonic kisses, forehead kisses, to full-blown makeouts
This one is going to be kind of spicy because, well, because! Under a cut in case you don't want to read it 💙
Tagging (gently): @tabswrites @noblebs @captain-kraken @commander-krios @sarahlizziewrites and anyone else who wants to play!
Her blush brightened and she quickly left me, gathering the bandages in such a frenzy that I couldn’t tell which of us was more looking forward to her return. I begrudgingly returned to the bath as she’d asked and waited for her. It was torture, not even the promise of her arrival took the edge off. That burrowing sensation of bubbles finding their way to the surface of the water from underneath my shed was just too much to bear! As if I were sitting there, a decaying body waiting for a burial the likes of Mariel’s people, instead of the righteous fire we lizardfolk engulfed ourselves in to reach Kava’s kingdom!
I gripped the edge of the bath angrily when the tent flapped open and she came back inside. The shy look on her face before she turned around and tied the tent flaps together arrested me, as if she’d commanded me not to rise, let alone move until she said otherwise. I swallowed as I watched her approach, my heart leaping in my chest and other places as she drew ever nearer.
Gods, she was everything.
The diffused light patterned the softest shadows on her lovely face, placing their ungrateful kisses on her freckles, those tender lips, that charming nose, and those collarbones of hers. So perfect were those two ridges framed by the square neckline of her dress… How many times had I known those features beneath my lips and fingers? So many and yet not enough. Never enough. I could spend the rest of my nights, days, every waking moment, knowing them as I knew my own and it would still not be enough. To know her, to love her, was to love the stars dotting the night sky, for they and she were one in the same—peerless and more than any of us mortals deserved to set eyes on.
She kneeled beside the tub and leaned on its edge, then softly whispered. “Tell me what to do.”
“Been a dangerous thin’ to say.”
“I— I don’t care.”
I shifted in the bath and rested a curled finger beneath her chin, coaxing her just that much closer. “Been that so…?”
“Yes…”
She closed the space between us and pressed her lips to mine. I groaned and trailed my knuckles down her supple neck. A soft sound escaped her. If I could but devour her whole…
Did anyone tag me for this one? No. Am I just looking for an excuse to avoid editing? YES.
Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc)
Eiph'ck (aka Tlagasca Enton Hartim of Miranx)
Art by https://twitter.com/Azraels_Art
Quick Facts
Height: 6'7" (when reared)
Age: 30s
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Sexuality: Gay
Pros
Observant, takes notes of your favorite things and doesn't forget them.
Very silly, if you can get it out of him, of course lol.
Enjoys dancing, especially spontaneously!
Quite romantic and cuddly when he feels safe.
He's a big fan of holding hands 🥺
Doesn't like to talk so much because his own voice sounds really loud to him, therefore whatever he does say out loud, especially words of endearment, are HUGE. (bro is probably seconds away from imploding by the time he says anything lol)
Cons
Might try to eat you. (He has a thing for humans and not in the nice way lol)
Terribly wounded. He legitimately believes he's unlovable and feels very guilty about receiving affection even though he likes it.
Has a hard time admitting things to himself and will suffer needlessly because of it.
Loses his memory quite often and depends on those around him to fill in the gaps.
Duty driven. He takes his convictions pretty seriously and can severe about it at times.
Proud, especially of his homeland and his god. (Won't tolerate insults of either thing even though he believes the former is seriously flawed)
Smash or Pass?
Smash
Pass
Other
Voting ended onJul 20, 2024
Tagging (gently): @outpost51 @teamdilf @void-botanist @captain-kraken @sparatus and anyone else who wants to play!
(also anyone tagged doesn't have to do it if you're uncomfortable offering up your OCs for something like this 💙)
I figured I would do Kit because I know you like him a lot!
So actually the very original idea for Untitled 3 was inspired by a completely mediocre anime that will remain nameless because I can't stress enough how totally mid it is. And even watching the audacity of the anime team trying to do a last-minute "no homo" in the final two episodes and completely failing to even stick the landing does not make up for watching the rest of it. In general I can say that what came from here was the idea of two idiot teenage boys (one of whom is a prince) from different worlds who argue constantly, and then it turns out that one of them is actually from that world originally and they have a deeper connection than random chance.
Of course in mine, it's Kit's family who's from that world, not Kit himself.
Otherwise I took a lot of inspiration from various mythology, the idea of them being geas bound due to a blood oath, for instance.
For Kit's personality I mostly just started with what kind of behavior would be the most annoying to Anrikas, and what kind of person Kit would have to be in order to say those things. And of course, what sort of upbringing would lead to that kind of behavior. His personality did evolve a lot throughout the course of writing the first draft though. I can't believe that in my original plans he was the more emotionally stable one, it just doesn't make sense that somebody who acts like him would fill that particular role.
But there is a sneaky Easter egg here.
Actually, Kit's design and partially his family's situation/history was inspired by Illsaide and his mother from Vampire Game, one of my all time favorite manga that nobody else has ever heard of. The whole plot arc about Illsaide, the Sea King, and the Sea King's daughter has lived in my head rent free since 2006 or something, and when I realized I was going to end up writing something similar I couldn't help it hahaha
Anyway, that's the reason that Kit and all of the other seafolk have red hair. Additionally, his design and even some of his behaviors were also modeled on Yuujin from the same manga who I was and still am obsessed with.
Here's an example of him being annoying, I don't have many pics on hand but I DO have this one.
Otherwise when coming up with his race I took a lot of inspiration from myths about sirens and selkies, and also a little bit of unicorn lore from some certain books, for some reason? Not sure how that worked its way in there but it did. There's a teensy bit of inspiration from stuff like Song of the Wanderer and The Last Unicorn. And also legends about the Seelie court and other folklore about being spirited away.
That's basically it though, the rest of it all came about just from writing.
Tagging: @unclear-contributions @outpost51 @magefaery @memento-morri-writes @bloodlessheirbyjacques and anyone else :)
Library of Congress - historical posters and photos
NASA - you guessed it
Creative Commons - all kinds of stuff, homie
Even Adobe has some free images
There are so many ways to make moodboards, bookcovers, and icons without plagiarizing! As artists, authors, and other creatives, we need to be especially careful not to use someone else’s work and pass it off as our own.
Please add on if you know any more resources for free images <3
