Seeking Creativity

The ramblings and musings of a mind littered with the thoughts, emotions, and actions of a hundred make believe people.

[fyeslydiamartin]

you tell me to quiet down cause my opinions make me less beautiful, but i was not made with a fire in my belly so i could be put out. i was not made with a lightness on my tongue so i could be easy to swallow. i was made heavy. half blade and half silk. difficult to forget and not easy for the mind to follow. ― Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey

[stydixa]

Ultimate Get to Know Me ≡ [8/∞] Female Characters → Lydia Martin ↳ “I will not fall prey to society’s desire to turn girls into emotionally insecure neurotics who pull up their dresses at the first flattering remark.”

[seeking-creativity]

We're all mad here.

[modernoxygen]

[wordsnquotes]

I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there’s nothing but light when I see you.

Shinji Moon, The Anatomy of Being (via wordsnquotes)

[ The shit that can make a pregnant woman almost cry. Seriously, what is this life? ]

[seeking-creativity]

She never squinted or otherwise showed signs of strain in the dark room, sealed tightly so that no light entered from the corridor, no sound permeated the otherwise maddening silence. All she heard was her own breathing - slow, even, calm - and perhaps the occasional shift of bare flesh against cold, hard alloy. She was naked, not so much as a sheet to cover the pale, slender frame of the girl, the state of her body evidence of the cool temperature of the room. The silence, the darkness she was accustomed to, and even the equipment upon which she lay was not so unfamiliar a thing. How often had she laid upon a bed of metal, waiting for their next session? In these four months since her activation, since her 'birth,' she had undergone innumerable sessions. Or, in fact, one-hundred and seventeen, to be exact.

Not all of them involved a scalpel. But today . . . today, she knew, would just be one of those days.

One might expect that a person would fight and struggle at the beginning and, as time passed, grow accustomed, become apathetic. In Mirai's case, as time progressed, she grew more resistant, more apt to fight. Such was the cause for her restraints, inch and a half thick shackles of the same alloy as the examination table. Even with her immense strength, it was a difficult, nearly impossible feat to break the bonds that held her in place, clamped tightly over thin, delicate wrists and ankles. The first sound she heard was the door sliding open with a pressurized hiss, four figures in scrubs and masks stepping inside. At first, they didn't near her, instead looking over machines and equipment, readouts and data.

She watched them, large violet eyes unblinking, an ever-present, natural glimmer even at such times as these. As one of the men approached, she recognized by the slant of his eyes and the shape of his face that it was Dr. Yamazuko. Father. He touched the top of her head, as if he wanted to stroke her hair but could never quite bring himself to do so, looking down on her. One might have expected remorse or sorrow, but there was only resolve in his eyes and the visible lines of his face. He wouldn't be swayed from his goals for any reason and, seeing this in him, her own gaze darkened slightly though eyes never narrowed.

Suddenly, Mirai jerked upward hard, wrists straining against the shackles pinning her in place, the muscles in her arms and legs tensing, belying the strength contained within her small frame. The metal groaned but held strong, her torso lifting from the table. She didn't scream, the sound more of a gutteral growl, and it was clear that she wanted to do bodily harm. Struggling, body writhing in deliberate action, eyes took on a bright glittering glow. All at once, machines went wild, screeching protest as the images flickered and distorted, the same fierce growl echoing over the entire station as she accessed the communication systems.

``I will not be touched!`` It was a command broadcast over the entire station, civilians and assigned personnel, alike, stopping to glance up and around. Some were confused, but many shrank back a bit. They'd heard stories of the Jovian construct, seen her on occasion out on the promenade, but this was the first that most anyone aside from the technicians and doctors working closest with her heard her speak. It wasn't a good first impression.

The command gave them all pause, the four figures no longer struggling with her. Just as she once more lurched upward, straining roughly, Dr. Yamazuko's voice cut through the sterile air of the room. ``Eta-Su Unit Zero-One, Autistic Mode, Authorization 6-3-J-2-M-9-4-3.``

Her eyes suddenly seemed vacant. Her body did not fall limp, but rather she simply relaxed back onto the table, unblinking eyes upturned to the white wash ceiling overhead as she lay unmoving, seemingly unaware. The older gentleman looked to the others, then to the guards who'd taken a stance near the doorway, shaking his head. ``She's not going anywhere.``

``Sir.`` One of the other doctors spoke up, a woman, rather tall and thick-hipped, hair in a tight braid down the center of her back. ``Maybe it would be best if we sedated her, as well.`` Hazel eyes focused on the Asian doctor, awaiting an answer, even as one of the other attending physicians prepared a syringe. He seemed to be considering heavily, mulling it over as he looked down at the doll-like bio-android, so pale, so fragile.

``No. She's in Autistic Mode. She cannot do anything without my command.`` The others were uneasy but nodded, dismissing the guards before they cleaned the area where they would be making the incision.

Soon enough, the monomolecular edge of the sterile scalpel pressed to pristine flesh, and as pressure was applied, it was carefully, evenly pulled downward from just under where her clavicles met to just below her ribcage. As they finished the first incision, talking amongst themselves, passing tools back and forth, it seemed they had relaxed, at least as much as anyone performing surgery could relax.

``We'll be opening her chest to stop her heart.  It is important that we understand her ability to function under extreme conditions, which includes a loss of heartbeat. If it's possible that she can continue.``

The taller, curvy woman who spoke received three nods, then held her hand out for the bone saw.  It was clear she was taking the lead, checking the blade and mechanics of the tool even though it had been checked thrice before by attendants. Then, as her thumb slid over the switch, it roared to life with a deep, piercing whine, the thin disc blade spinning menacingly.

Still, Mirai appeared unmoving, violet eyes unfocused, staring eerily at the ceiling. Her body was soft and pliable, a sheen of Iodine and blood coating the once-flawless flesh, but she seemed oblivious. The blade pressed to her sternum, sickeningly muffled slightly as it dug in. Lashes fluttered, the faintest hint of movement that appeared as though it could easily have been the breeze washing over her face - except that there was little air movement in the room. The doctors were entirely focused on their tasks, unaware of the subtle twitch of her lower lip. It neither curled up nor down, merely twitched as if in muscle spasm, gone as quickly as it appeared.

Just as the blade of the bone saw began to move down her sternum, her arm jerked hard. The shackles groaned their protest, straining to hold her in place. Immediately, the saw was withdrawn and turned off, all four doctors stepping back, and it was only for the masks on their faces that their slack expressions of shock and horror remained unseen. Eyes once blank and lifeless were suddenly wild, dark and reflective of a passionate rage. Machines screeched in concert, beeping harshly as the lights flickered a few times and then everything went dark, black as pitch.

Gasps and then shouts for guards nearly drowned out the creaking of metal, followed shortly by two soft clunks, and again shortly thereafter by another two. Fists pounded at the thick doors to the room, tempered glass beat futily for only a few seconds, and then as the machines went silent, so did everything else. What seemed an eternity, but in reality was only 33 seconds, passed before, in the eerie silence of the suddenly tight room, an audible crack reverberated, followed by a deep, piercing whine.

Panicked, unable to see anything, Dr. Yamazuko finally spoke. ``Mirai. Mirai, enough.`` The strain in his tone was clear, uncertain how close she would be to him by then, although the distinct whirr of the bone saw sounded as if it were across the room, however slowly approaching. There was another soft thud, forgotten quickly for an ear-splitting scream. The sounds of struggle were evident, but no one dared to reach into the darkness in attempt at stopping it, afraid of what wrath it might bring down on them.

``Eta-Su Unit Zero-One, Autistic Mode, Authorization 6-3-J-2-M-9-4-3.`` This time, the sound did not cease, the screams frantic, terror-laden, accented by the cracking of what could only be bone. Minutes passed.

Finally, silence lay heavy in the room, a thick, smothering blanket that could not be kicked aside. Lights flickered to life all across the medical wing, and the scene they illuminated was gruesome. Mirai stood beside the examination table, misshapen shackles broken where her ankles and wrists had been, and the curvy female doctor lay motionless. Blood splattered the floor and ran in rivulets from her flesh, dripping obscenely off the sides of the table, her chest cracked wide open, heart no longer beating.

The petite female was still naked, her own blood drying on her skin, fresher blotches not her own also marring the pale flesh. The rage seethed below the surface, but she seemed otherwise serene now, looking at all of them, her chest still horribly disfigured. Although the bleeding had stopped, her chest was still cut open from the hollow of her throat to the base of her ribcage, sternum exposed with deep gouges at its center, her nanites already working to repair the damage. Where once there had been a caged animal, lashing out seemingly without thought, now there stood a conscious, intelligent being, sizing each of them up.

``I won't sleep. I'm not tired. You can't make me.`` Her voice was soft, deceivingly gentle, but the weight of those last words hung heavy in the air between them, and innocence never touched her expression as she looked upon her Father primarily. Delicate fingers replaced the bloodied bone saw to the metallic tray, never a step taken toward or away from them. Finally, after several minutes, her attention appeared to shift away from them and down to her ruined chest, fingers gingerly touching the incision. There was the briefest flicker of pain in her expression, gone as soon as it appeared, and then violet eyes once more upturned to the group. Her hair, a pale silver-blue, was stained with blood and matted in places, giving her an altogether frightening appearance.

``Mirai.`` The three remaining doctors didn't dare look at the woman on the table, instead keeping their gazes locked on the bio-android. ``You have to stop this.``  The words themselves were weak, and he knew it. What could he do that would convince her?  How could he say she wasn't meant for this when she was?  Some small part of him was proud of her.

[seeking-creativity]

A Strange Encounter

Vick: He wasn't quite sure why he was stuck in this situation. Call it some kind of mad luck, or bad circumstance. He felt cursed from time to time, and this was an easy reason for that feeling to stay with him. When he emerged from the ground, he felt his head ringing, temporarily deaf from the impact of the explosion. As dazed and confused as he was, one clear sight was visible to him: that angelic, fiery-eyed face of Lilu. She was saying something, something about him being okay, or was she just yelling at him to get the hell out of there? He couldn't quite tell. He blinked, heart racing quickly like a speeding racecar, chest heaving intensely. He felt like he wanted to drop dead then and there from the sheer stressful intensity of it all. The beast, or boy, he didn't know which was which, huffed and puffed angrily. Before long his ears popped back open and suddenly the world was alive with noise, screaming pedestrians and mad echoes of destruction. The beast's eyes were animalistic, blood drunk with the desire to murder. He blinked, reaching over to touch Lilu's arms, pointing to that door, managing to muster up enough strength to speak in that exhausted voice. "G-get out, GET OUT! GO! JUST FUCKING GO, NOW!" That was when he felt that heavy odd-colored mutated hand slam into him as the young metahuman sent him flying back into the nearest table. the metahuman looked at her, paranoid, afraid, tense with only Lilu in his sights. 

Lilu: Lilu was yelling his name, dragging herself up and over to him, pulling him up to try to get them out. "Come on!" Her gaze turned to the metahuman, more beast than man, and her eyes went black. It was for no other purpose than to intimidate, and even as Vick tried to push her out, telling her to leave, she nudged him back. ``GO!`` The metal in the building was creaking eerily, groaning, and nothing was safe. Nails popped, the metal of tables and chairs dragging them closer to her. She was measuring her material, trying to keep distance between herself and the beast. She knew she should go, but she was trying to focus in the chaos, one person swiping past her so that her right side jerked some. Grunting, she didn't break eye contact with the metahuman. ``You want to leave right the fuck now.`` Hopefully he was human enough to understand.

Vick: The beast had no qualms about causing any more damage. He was already on a roll, full of testosterone gone over the edge. He saw something in Lilu, her movements and the energy growing around her. It almost scared him and made him take slow, careful steps backwards, retracting. He groaned and glared at her, snarling. He lowered himself to both knees, almost crawling closer to her as he continued to growl at her defensively. He could have slashed her but something was stopping him, a subconscious 'clutch' in the back of his mind. Half of him was there while the other half was stuck in a dark place, dumbed down and emotionally numb. He scratched at the ground below and lowered himself further. Shaken up, ears ringing from the noise of damage as well as the heightened volume of Lilu's raging voice, Vick just stood there in disbelief at what was happening. He should have left but he couldn't. He could die, he could risk his life. But yet, he still stayed. "Urggh..." uttered the metahuman, slowly beginning to shrink into size, reverting back to his 'human' form. Scared and erratic, he collapsed to both knees vomiting all over the floor profusely.

Lilu: Some part of her was grateful that she didn't need to attack him, that he seemed to be retreating, cowing merely at her presence. She said nothing else, merely watched him, waited, not even affording a glance to Vick in the meantime. It wasn't until he'd reverted to human form that she stepped back, hoping to avoid the vomit, and turned to Vick. ``Okay... we should go now.`` Yeah, sure, now that the shit was no longer hitting the fan. ``I.. don't know what to do with him. So, let's get out of here.`` She didn't feel bad for the guy, mostly because he'd just terrorized a bar full of people. Grabbing his arm, eyes still black as pitch, she started pulling him toward the door in a wide arc, avoiding the metahuman.

Vick: His awe and total concentration of disbelief was hard to even imagine. You couldn't put yourself into Vick's shoes, the kind of nightmarish things going on in his mind on a daily basis was enough to push one over the edge. His paranoia seemed so small compared to the total shock he felt at that moment. Blinking, almost too stunned to respond, he finally registered what was happening. Yes, someone was naked. On the floor. And Lilu was talking to him. That's right, dumbass, she's talking to you. NOW MOVE! He blinked again, his head moving downward with a slow nod. He didn't say anything. No tongue movements even. His lips did a wiggle, and it may have been his attempt at speech but nothing verbalized. His feet almost slipped and he almost tripped at the rate he charged out of the door with her. He glanced over his shoulder to the weakened, bloody, naked and traumatized boy-monster. What kind of meta was he to be able to pull that off? And how long before he'd do it again. Fuck hm, he thought. His problem, right? Right? He could already hear the sirens echoing in the far distance three blocks down. They were that loud. This was too public, too frantic. "Lilu, what'd you do? What the fuck did you do to him?! Shit, nevermind just---damn it" He hurried to his ride, slipping into the driver's seat and starting up the engine. He hoped she got in fast enough because he was close to taking off. Once she was inside he sped off like a wanted criminal, hands shaking the tighter he held onto the wheel. "Okay, okay, okay..."

Lilu: She moved with him out of the bar and down the street toward his car, paying little attention to his speechlessness. She really hadn't done anything, and that was the crazy part. Her eyes finally returned to a pale green, hair going dark brown, and she climbed into the car with him. ``What the fuck are you talking about? I didn't do anything! I didn't touch him or attack him, just.. waited him out!`` Staring at him, she was almost offended by the suggestion. ``Damn.. so, run back and tell Cole I fucked up again.`` [d]

Vick: "Why would I do that? I mean he's definitely not gonna wanna hear it. What makes you think for ONE second that he'll hesitate to snap my head off as much as he would yours, hmm!?!?" His words were defensive sure, but his usual 'bite' was lacking. He was nervous, scared, shaken up, emotions he rarely had the capacity to deal with. He stopped the car abruptly staring at her, looking her over up and down with a quirked brow. "Whether you realize it or not you're a walking god damn weapon, and that...THING? If you hadn't scared him, err, IT...we would be kaput right now. Thanks for helping me out but remember what you can do and try to keep it down a notch, okay? I'm not...used to fucking metas, no offense. But it's almost as if someone just took a piece of reality and tossed it out of the window. And just stop freaking the fuck out..." His voice lowered quietly as he stared off into the opposite direction looking out of the window. "...I'm not gonna tell him anything, okay? As far as he's concerned we just had too many drinks and too much fun." His eyes slowly rolled on over to her, stern, cold, harsh. "Understand?" He started up his engine again, this time heading off to take Lilu ‘home,’ wherever home was to her.

[seeking-creativity]

Lilu Maddox

[ Full Name ]  El’ienne Lumai Rien [ Alias ]  Lilu Maddox [ Date of Birth ]  May 12 [ Age ]  Twenty-six [ Hair ]  Naturally Blonde (often changes) [ Eyes ]  Naturally Pale Haze, Dark Ringed (often changes)

[ Father ]  Aaron Rien [ Mother ]  Karina Rien [ Siblings ]  N/A

[ Birthplace ]  Solara [ Current Residence ]  Earth [ Species ]  Metahuman [ Gifts ]  Chromatic Manipulation - The ability to alter color attributes of one’s own person, namely skin, hair, and eye color; Magnetic Manipulation - The ability to affect and alter the magnetic fields of one’s surroundings.

Lilu is different, though not everyone knows it. For that matter, where she comes from, it’s best to keep your differences to yourself save for among a certain type of people. It’s for this reason that her family has no idea what she is. For as long as she can remember, she has lived two lives - one as El’ienne, the quiet, kind daughter of a political figurehead, and one as Lilu, the reserved but equally as sharp-tongued scrapyard dog.

Her parents believe that she is off world, studying abroad. If only they knew the truth of her nomadic nature, of what drives her. She has no interest in being Daddy’s perfect little girl, or Mother’s someday escape. No, her talents and her desires have lead her elsewhere. The people may be less than savory, and the work often less than legal, but she’s free.

That makes all the difference in the ‘verse.

[seeking-creativity]

No matter that she no longer hunted, that she'd turned her back on the Shadow World, Rhiannon still enjoyed the night. The relative darkness, which was broken and scattered by man made light, held so many secrets and possibilities. Nevermind that it also harbored danger and secrets.

Alert, dark eyes were always moving, sliding over the cityscape in a wide arc. She was aware of the passing cars, the occasional passerby, and even noted the drifting trash that always littered the roadways to some degree. A plastic bag from a nearby Chinese restaurant caught the wind and rode it past her, tumbling until it clung to the base of a lamp post with a quiet crinkle. The smiley face was distorted, Rhia's lip twitching in fleeting amusement.

A scream cut through the background noise like a hot knife through butter, shaking her from momentary reverie. Many people ran away from such noises, or at the least ignored them, but it wasn't in her to do so. Instead, she broke into a run down the sidewalk, making essentially no sound even as she pounded the pavement, eyes darting into every alley she passed. About two blocks down, she heard another sound, this one different. A screech, high-pitched and ugly.

Rhiannon knew it was inhuman, and she crossed the street at a run, spying the flash of something, as if it cast a pale light. Soon enough, the young woman realized just what it was, and what it belonged to. She'd seemingly missed the action, but she could see the blonde woman laying motionless on the dirty ground.

Her gaze slid to the male, with no idea who he was, but she was certain of what he was. Dark green-brown eyes shifted down his Marked arm, right to the seraph blade. There would be no doubt that she could see him.

Everything in her screamed for her to get the Hell out of there.

Yet she remained at the mouth of the dingy alleyway for seconds longer until, rather than running away, she ran toward him, past him and to the woman. Her bag was pushed back as she knelt, checking for a pulse. It was weak, fading as quickly as the blood flowed from her wounds, and she wasn't sure anything they did would make a difference, but she called back to him anyway. ``We need to get her to a healer.``

So much for pleasantries.

[seeking-creativity]

A Death Wish

The shutter clicked and then, slowly, she lowered the camera to take a real live look at what she'd captured. The scene had already changed, the branches swaying in the breeze, buds falling away to come to rest on the bed of grass below. The sun was setting so that the sky faded into shades of deep blue, violet, pink and orange, the moon already breaking through. Perfection.

Photography relaxed her as little else could these days, and it had oddly opened her eyes to beauty she hadn't seen before. In photographs, even imperfections could be beautiful. Releasing the camera until the weight settled at her bosom, tethered around her neck by a thick ribbon of fabric, she fought the losing battle of taming wild strawberry blonde curls against the breeze. As the sun sank beneath the horizon, she glanced in the direction of the path she’d wandered from, her car parked quite a distance away, and she really wasn’t ready to head back. It was too nice out, clear and quiet. She even considered shifting and going for a run, but it was nice just to enjoy the sights for a while longer.

Although Corinne was distracted by the scenery and her own thoughts, sensitive hearing picked up the soft crack of twigs under foot, idly registering it. There were animals around but the sound was specific. Pausing, the blonde turned slowly so that pale green eyes could regard her surroundings in the relative darkness, seeking out a larger animal, perhaps. It was a wooded area not far from the park, so she would not have expected much in the way of big game, at least so far as mountain lions and the like went, there was always that possibility. Wariness set her on edge, however, and she inched closer to the purse she’d abandoned at the base of a nearby oak tree.

She moved slowly, deliberately, bending at the waist to pick up her purse. Already, she felt better in knowing that there were weapons at her disposal, but even before she got her hand in the bag, something smashed into her from behind. Her body was thrust forward into the tree, and she grunted as she was slammed against the solid surface. Rough bark scraped mercilessly at her flesh, large hands gripping her from behind. ``FUCK!`` Skin broke open and blood welled to the surface as she tried to twist herself, but she was pinned. Her flesh felt tight, nails elongating, eyes going black in an instant. Growling, she reached back to claw at whomever was behind her, but then cried out as talons dug into her neck, and before she could move again, her form wavered.

The darkness was absolute. Not even a pinpoint of light pierced, and it felt almost as if the very air was alive. She even swore she could hear whispers. Nails still buried in her flesh, she could smell the metallic tang, could feel the trickle of fresh blood seeping downward, staining her shirt. ``Get the fuck off of me!`` The shift crept up quickly, her body trembling, pain sweeping through her as her skin began to fall away in pieces, the distinct scent of death and decay filling the air.

``Such language fer such a lovely girl. Ye really should watch yer mouth, Lass.`` The voice was a hushed baritone, laden with a thick Irish accent. It came from the darkness, from nowhere in particular. She couldn't pinpoint the origin, even with her incredible hearing. She did, however, hear the shift of material and the creek of wood, and black eyes narrowed against the darkness. The creature holding her snarled and tightened his grip, tearing a soft growl of pain from her.

``Always fighting. Ye think I haven' seen ye, Ms. Pierce? Ye think I don' know who yeh are? Bitch. One of those filthy dogs. I've use fer ye, though, Lass. An' that's why yeh're alive an' here in me home. Show some respect an' cage that fucking beast. Ye smell of death, an' it's atrocious. Ye stink.`` The words were nearly spat, his disdain evident. ``Pharryl. Bring her to me; I've a few things to ask of 'er.``

Corinne didn't care if he hated her or what she was. Although she couldn't see him, the voice alone was enough to suggest who he was, and she snarled, struggling against the hold on her, uncaring now of the nails rending her flesh. ``Fuck you!`` Tearing away from the Pareili, she dropped her purse to the floor, moved into the darkness and felt her body begin to contort, maggots dropping, flesh falling away again. Pharryl grabbed for her, deliberately raking his own talons down her back, the already decaying flesh giving way easily. Blood and maggots spilled to the floor, the stench of death intensifying. It was the sharp reprimand that made him draw back.

``Enough! Ye little bitch. I wish ye were unable to shift. I also wish for ye to be unable to shimmer from this room.`` He wanted her in human form, much more easily controlled, and he knew that he had it, the moment she whimpered and the stench of death slowly faded from the heavy, stale air. ``Good. Now... clearly ye can see the predicament yeh're in, aye?``

She wouldn't acknowledge what she knew to be true. Somehow this son of a bitch knew what she was, but she wasn't sure just how much he knew about it. A hundred possible reasons raced through her mind, but she had no time to focus on any particular one. Obviously, he knew that she was a Wish Fae, and the why was much less important than what she was going to do now. Standing upright, her clothing was disheveled and torn in places. Her skin burned from the gouges, her back wet and sticky with blood. ``I can't help you. When your son finds out you're still alive, he'll make sure not even a memory of you remains. He'll destroy you, you sick son of a bitch!`` Although the shift didn't come like it would normally, the rage was still there, as intense as ever. It burned behind her eyes. She lurched forward at him, or where she thought he was, and was met with the force of another body driving her sideways, dragging her off of her feet and slamming her into a wall. She was crushed against it, knocking the breath from her lungs. It wasn't him; it was one of his servants. Cori could tell by the fetid breath and the feel of claws rending the flesh of her arms.

``Careful, Lass... Lest I do to yeh what I did to yer little friend. I'd give jes' about anything to get inside of 'er again. I'd be lying if I said hearing her scream and beg me to stop wasn' a turn on. Do ye think ye could scream like that, Lass?`` Laced in his baritone was a sickening joy, so clear that she could hear the smile. ``But I've things to do. So, I'm going to make this all very simple.`` Again, there was the rasp of material brushing together, but she never felt him near her, though his voice drew closer. ``Release her. She has nowhere to run, and she knows that coming after me will only get 'er hurt. Isn' that right, Little Bitch?``

With a wordless snarl of disapproval, large hands released her, and she moved away from both the tall, hard body and the disembodied voice. She tried to shimmer, to no avail and no particular surprise. Staring into darkness, unable to see either of them, Cori mulled over her options before speaking. ``Let me go and I'll pretend I never heard you say those words.``

``I wish you would get on your knees, slut.`` He waited a moment before speaking again. ``I can see how one would need to be very careful what they say around ye. Aye, this is quite amusing to an old man. But I can play wit' ye later.`` Another pause, and the voice seemed closer, almost intimately so. ``I wish that Reese would come to me, and that she would sing for me anything I ask of her. And I wish that my grandson were mine to raise.``

His voice was a gruff caress against her ear, and in moments, she was slowly, reluctantly kneeling where she'd once stood. As her hands touched the floor, she could feel the strap of her purse to her right side, reaching out slowly into the darkness for it. Dragging it back a centimeter at a time so that it made as little sound as possible, her eyes were on the darkness, although she could still see nothing. The voice drew closer still, almost maddening in that it felt as though it were within her own mind. Maybe it was. Maybe she was hallucinating or dreaming. A nightmare. She prayed it was a nightmare, but it was too real. Every smell, every sound, the thick feel of the air – it was all just too real. When, at last, he got to the purpose for her capture, she froze. He'd made two wishes, both of which were legitimate; she would have to grant them. How, knowing the kind of man he was and what he was capable of, could she hand over either Reese OR Sloane to him? Knowing that there was more to Reese than most people realized, and that he was after something with her, she knew no good could come of granting that wish, and worse, she knew what was waiting for both if they were forced to his side. It was enough to choke her, bile rising in her throat, and she shook as she knelt there in the darkness.

Her thoughts turned inward, to the people who mattered to her. Things had been incredibly rough lately, and she knew there were a lot of people who hated her. Though she didn't fully understand why, she was tired of trying to change anyone's minds. She wasn't perfect – far from it – but she would do anything to protect the people she loved. Anything. Sometimes they didn't want it, sometimes maybe they didn't even need it, but there seemed to be only one clear choice for her now.

And life was all about choices. As was death.

Growling, Corinne dug her hand into her purse and withdrew the dagger she always carried, sheathed in a leather casing. It was drawn free and she sneered. ``Fuck you, you worthless piece of shit. You will NEVER have them. See you in Hell.`` She didn't have a lot of time for planning, the blade lifted to her chest. She had to be sure she succeeded in this one thing, if nothing else, but as long fingers wrapped around her wrist, she cried out in alarm.

The grip was like iron on her arm, unforgiving, and she knew she would lose sensation in her fingers, lose the strength to grip the blade, before long. It became a struggle for control, and while she couldn't rise from her knees, she pushed forward, driving herself into the body that had come close enough to her. As it was sent back, she continued forward, deliberately forcing herself down with him until a sharp gasp tore from her. The blade she'd held to her chest made purchase, driven through the bone cage, through muscle and sinew and right into her heart. She felt a sharp pain and then just a dull, aching awareness, the warmth of her own vitae draining quickly from the wound. The demon rolled her aside, off of him, with a guttural growl.

``Hounds come back. Do you really think I'm that stupid?`` He hadn't seen it coming, but there was still hope that he would have his way, at least so far as he knew. Killing herself didn't seem to make sense. It would only delay the inevitable.

Even as blood trickled from her mouth and she lay there, her chest tight, her skin paling, she smiled. ``You... you don't know as much about me as you seem to think, huh? Fuck you. I told you – You'll never have them.`` The darkness felt heavier, weighing her down so that she felt as if she were being drug under, torn from consciousness, from the world she knew. Her thoughts scattered to memories, to faces. A smile, a laugh, a touch. Where she was going, she would have none of that, now. No matter the reason, no matter the life she lead, she was still Hell's creation, and that was exactly where she would end up.

It didn't take long to bleed out, only minutes passing before she was gone, pale green eyes staring vacant into the abyss. The life drained from her, all that remained was a shell, clothing torn and disheveled. Her shirt was stained heavily in the thick, sticky fluid that had once sustained her, and the area around the stab wound was already partially decayed. Blood pooled around her, still warm, but she was ever unaware.

The thick darkness was silent in the aftermath, Pharryl not even daring to move until that baritone voice rang out again. ``Remove her. Leave her wherever you found her, and then clean this place up. I have a feeling our little Wish Fae just caused me quite the set back.`` He had a little research to do before he made his next move.

[thewritersarchive]

This is an ultimate masterlist of many resources that could be helpful for writers. I apologize in advance for any not working links. Check out the ultimate writing resource masterlist here (x) and my “novel” tag here (x).

✑ PLANNING

Outlining & Organizing

For the Architects: The Planning Process

Rough Drafts

How do you plan a novel?

Plot Development: Climax, Resolution, and Your Main Character

Plotting and Planing

I Have An Idea for a Novel! Now What?

Choosing the Best Outline Method

How to Write a Novel: The Snowflake Method

Effectively Outlining Your Plot

Conflict and Character within Story Structure

Outlining Your Plot

Ideas, Plots & Using the Premise Sheets

✑ INSPIRATION

Finding story ideas

Choosing ideas and endings

When a plot isn’t strong enough to make a whole story

Writing a story that’s doomed to suck

How to Finish What You Start: A Five-Step Plan for Writers

Finishing Your Novel

Finish Your Novel

How to Finish Your Novel when You Want to Quit

How To Push Past The Bullshit And Write That Goddamn Novel: A Very Simple No-Fuckery Writing Plan

✑ PLOT

In General

25 Turns, Pivots and Twists to Complicate Your Story

The ABCs (and Ds and Es) of Plot Development

Originality Is Overrated

How to Create a Plot Outline in Eight Easy Steps

Finding Plot: Idea Nets

The Story Goal: Your Key to Creating a Solid Plot Structure

Make your reader root for your main character

Creating Conflict and Sustaining Suspense

Tips for Creating a Compelling Plot

The Thirty-six (plus one) Dramatic Situations

Adding Subplots to a Novel

Weaving Subplots into a Novel

7 Ways to Add Subplots to Your Novel

Crafting a Successful Romance Subplot

How to Improve your Writing: Subplots and Subtext

Understanding the Role of Subplots

How to Use Subtext in your Writing

The Secret Life of Subtext

How to Use Subtext

Beginning

Creating a Process: Getting Your Ideas onto Paper (And into a Story)

Why First Chapters?

Starting with a Bang

In the Beginning

The Beginning of your Novel that isn’t the Beginning of your Novel

A Beginning from the Middle

Starting with a Bang

First Chapters: What To Include @ The Beginning Writer

23 Clichés to Avoid When Beginning Your Story

Start Writing Now

Done Planning. What Now?

Continuing Your Long-Format Story

How to Start a Novel 

100 best first lines from novels

The First Sentence of a Book Report

How To Write A Killer First Sentence To Open Your Book

How to Write the First Sentence of a Book

The Most Important Sentence: How to Write a Killer Opening

Hook Your Reader from the First Sentence: How to Write Great Beginnings

Foreshadowing

Foreshadowing and the Red Hering

Narrative Elements: Foreshadowing

Foreshadowing and Suspense

Foreshadowing Key Details

Writing Fiction: Foreshadowing

The Literary Device of Foreshadowing

All About Foreshadowing in Fiction

Foreshadowing

Flashbacks and Foreshadowing

Foreshadowing — How and Why to Use It In Your Writing

Setting

Four Ways to Bring Settings to Life

Write a Setting for a Book

Writing Dynamic Settings

How To Make Your Setting a Character

Guide for Setting

5 Tips for Writing Better Settings

Building a Novel’s Setting

Ending

A Novel Ending

How to End Your Novel

How to End Your Novel 2

How to End a Novel With a Punch

How to End a Novel

How to Finish a Novel

How to Write The Ending of Your Novel

Keys to Great Endings

3 Things That End A Story Well

Ending a Novel: Five Things to Avoid

Endings that Ruin Your Novel

Closing Time: The Ending

✑ CHARACTER

Names

Behind the Name

Surname Meanings and Origins

Surname Meanings and Origins - A Free Dictionary of Surnames

Common US Surnames & Their Meanings

Last Name Meanings & Origins

Name Generators

Name Playground

Different Types of Characters

Ways To Describe a Personality

Character Traits Meme

Types of Characters

Types of Characters in Fiction

Seven Common Character Types

Six Types of Courageous Characters

Creating Fictional Characters (Masterlist)

Building Fictional Characters

Fiction Writer’s Character Chart

Character Building Workshop

Tips for Characterization

Fiction Writer’s Character Chart

Advantages, Disadvantages and Skills 

Males

Strong Male Characters

The History and Nature of Man Friendships

Friendship for Guys (No Tears!)

‘I Love You, Man’ and the rules of male friendship

Male Friendship

Understanding Male Friendship

Straight male friendship, now with more cuddling

Character Development

P.O.V. And Background

Writing a Character: Questionnaire

10 Days of Character Building

Getting to Know Your Characters

Character Development Exercises

✑ STYLE

Chapters

How Many Chapters is the Right Amount of Chapters?

The Arbitrary Nature of the Chapter

How Long is a Chapter?

How Long Should Novel Chapters Be?

Chapter & Novel Lengths 

Section vs. Scene Breaks

Dialogue 

The Passion of Dialogue

25 Things You Should Know About Dialogue

Dialogue Writing Tips

Punctuation Dialogue

How to Write Believable Dialogue

Writing Dialogue: The Music of Speech

Writing Scenes with Many Characters

It’s Not What They Say …

Top 10 Tips for Writing Dialogue

Speaking of Dialogue

Dialogue Tips

Interrupted Dialogue

Two Tips for Interrupted Dialogue

Show, Don’t Tell (Description)

“Tell” Makes a Great Placeholder

The Literary Merit of the Grilled Cheese Sandwich

Bad Creative Writing Advice

The Ultimate Guide to Writing Better Than You Normally Do

DailyWritingTips: Show, Don’t Tell

GrammarGirl: Show, Don’t Tell

Writing Style: What Is It?

Detail Enhances Your Fiction

Using Sensory Details

Description in Fiction

Using Concrete Detail

Depth Through Perception

Showing Emotions & Feelings

Character Description

Describing Your Characters (by inkfish7 on DeviantArt)

Help with Character Development

Creating Characters that Jump Off the Page

Omitting Character Description

Introducing Your Character(s): DON’T

Character Crafting

Writer’s Relief Blog: “Character Development In Stories And Novels”

Article: How Do You Think Up Your Characters?

5 Character Points You May Be Ignoring

List of colors, hair types and hairstyles

List of words to use in a character’s description 

200 words to describe hair

How to describe hair

Words used to describe the state of people’s hair

How to describe your haircut

Hair color sharts

Four Ways to Reveal Backstory

Words Used to Describe Clothes

Flashbacks

Using Flashbacks in Writing

Flashbacks by All Write

Using Flashback in Fiction

Fatal Backstory

Flashbacks as opening gambit

Don’t Begin at the Beginning

Flashbacks in Books

TVTropes: Flashback

Objects in the Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear: Flashback Techniques in Fiction

3 Tips for Writing Successful Flashbacks

The 5 Rules of Writing Effective Flashbacks

How to Handle Flashbacks In Writing

Flashbacks and Foreshadowing

Reddit Forum: Is a flashback in the first chapter a good idea?

Forum Discussing Flackbacks

P.O.V

You, Me, and XE - Points of View

What’s Your Point of View?

Establishing the Right Point of View: How to Avoid “Stepping Out of Character”

How to Start Writing in the Third Person

The Opposite Gender P.O.V.

LANGUAGE

 How To Say Said

200 Words Instead of Said

Words to Use Instead of Said

A List of Words to Use Instead of Said

Alternatives to “Walk”

60 Synonyms for “Walk”

✑ USEFUL WEBSITES/LINKS

Grammar Monster

Google Scholar

GodChecker

Tip Of My Tounge

Speech Tags

Pixar Story Rules

Written? Kitten!

TED Talks

DarkCopy

Family Echo

Some Words About Word Count

How Long Should My Novel Be?

The Universal Mary Sue Litmus Test

Writer’s “Cheat Sheets”

Last but not least, the most helpful tool for any writer out there is Google!

[overfierce]

You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.

Benjamin Mee, We Bought a Zoo (via overfierce)

[untamedunwanted]

She was the kind of girl that they named storms and stars after, the kind of girl that was born in a hurricane.

Storms and Stars | Nikita Gill (via untamedunwanted)

[seeking-creativity]

Samuel Patrick Montague

Nickname // Sam Age // Appears to be around 27 Species // Hellhound (Cerberus - Turned, not Born) Shifted Forms // Hound (larger than a dog or wolf), Hybrid (large half human/half hound), Cerberus (very large three-headed hound, bigger even than a horse - Earned in his most recent trip to Hell) Physical Attributes (Human) // Tall, well built with a lean, muscled body (but not ripped); Because his body was crafted by the Hell Gods, he bears no scars; Bears a single marking on the back of his shoulderblade, a crest indicating his status as a Cerberus Elements // Fire (Master); Shadow (Master); Metal (Moderate); Death (Basic) Abilities // Partial shift; Telepathic linking - to anyone, but strongest with those he's somehow bonded to; Opening Hell gates Languages Spoken // English; Demonic; High (Ancient) Demonic; Elven Hellhounds are undead creatures spawned directly from Hell, often used as Guardians of the gates. Their flesh is rotted in places with patchy fur, often with maggots crawling through open, fetid wounds. The Cerberus form is less decayed, however still having some festering wounds. It is much darker, it's flesh more like burning shadow with a distinct sulfuric smell. Eyes // Icy Steel Blue-Gray Hair // Dirty Blonde Height // 6'5" Weight // 198 lbs. Demeanor // Slow to trust; Cold; Aggressive; Easily angered - While once warm and relatively open, a great deal of time in Hell, in addition to bad history with family, has left him with shadows on his already stained soul Enjoys // Reading; Beer; Sex; Food; Music; Going for long drives; Swimming at night Dislikes // Talking too much; Vodka; Disloyalty Most hounds are quick to anger. It is not unusual for control to be a struggle for quite some time. Sam spent most of his time in Hell in his shifted form - some of which as a Cerberus to guard the gates for the Hell Gods. For this reason, he has regressed slightly in his ability to control his shifting and can, if provoked, black out. ----- Still young when he first died, he fought in the pits and, rather than his soul suffering eternal torment, he was turned into a Hellhound. After crawling from the depths, returning to the surface, he was killed once more in another family war, and this time, he remained for much longer. It was during this time that the Gods altered him yet again, this time into a Cerberus. As such, he became the primary Guardian of the Damned, guarding the gates through which souls pass into Hell. He was, in essence, the lap dog of the Gods until such time as he finally broke away, clawing his way to the surface once more. What he returned to, however, was a cold reception. His family turned their back, his pack link broken so that he was alone. The world Sam left behind no longer welcomes him, and so he has been cast out on his own. 

[micdotcom]

[seeking-creativity]

[ Seriously, why don’t more people listen to Bill Nye? ]

[seeking-creativity]

Faithe Lorelei Kincaid

Born March 17th Yeah, I'm a St. Patty's baby. God knows my mother was drunk when she had me. Five Feet, Three Inches One Hundred and Twenty Pounds Mostly tits, au naturale. Platinum Blonde Blue Eyes (Sometimes Change) Standard Ear Piercings (2 in each lobe, 1 in left cartilage) Too many fucking tattoos to list. Lycanthrope Wolf Breed, Blonde Coat Mated to Joseph Kincaid Fuck with him, and I will eat you. Mother to Bayou, Fiona, Wren, and Tristan Fuck with them, and I’ll make you suffer before I eat you.

Loves Hot Dogs & Twizzlers Hates Chocolate

-----

Her mother died during childbirth, which - in later years - Faithe decided was just fine by her. She was a worthless whore who had no particular interest in having a child, anyway. So much the better that it was Faithe, herself, who was the death of the woman. Her father was a more complicated matter. He tried, if one could call it that. He took Faithe in, raised her, taught her how to work on cars, and though there was no great love lost between them, she respected him for being there.

It was her interest in cars that ultimately got her killed that first time around. She made a name for herself jacking cars illegally, taking them apart and rebuilding them for her own purposes. Falling in with the wrong crowd never tends to end well, and Faithe was no exception. A bullet to the chest and another to the abdomen left her bleeding out on the sidewalk just five blocks from home.

Hell is real.

She burned there, and she fought there. In the pits, she must have pleased someone, because they took her tortured soul and bound it to the beast, making her a Hellborn Hound, a guardian of the Hell Gates. It seemed an eternity before she clawed her way free of the depths, but when she finally re-emerged in the land of the living, she was welcomed by a pack of Hellhounds. Faithe learned to control her shift, even made friends, but her tether to the pack was tenuous at best. She eventually parted ways (not on the best of terms with her Alpha, for that matter), and she sought a way to sever the bond to the beast. It took months of searching, and more effort than she might like to think back on, but she managed to reclaim her humanity. Whatever was left of it.

Just when you think you’ve escaped the past, it comes back to bite you. Literally.

Joseph Kincaid was a ghost from her past, but perhaps one of the few she would welcome. He traipsed back into her life, and the normalcy she fought for was shattered in an instant. No longer entwined with a woman she once called a friend, he sought her out, he changed her, and she welcomed it. She welcomed the change, the shift, and - to her own surprise - she welcomed the family that came with him. The in-laws, the children, and beyond. 

She’s his bitch, but God help the fool who points it out.

[defying-mercy]

Darkness encroached, threatening to crush him. He felt detached, as if he were outside of himself, struggling to awaken from a nightmare. It was the heat that brought him back to full awareness, and he felt as if his flesh were burning, so much so that he cried out and stumbled back. To no avail,...