Thanks for the tag @kainablue! It was neat to hear the thought process behind Howl of the blood ^u^
Rule: List your WIPs, and how you came up with their titles!
I have three named wips atm (I guess? If you count not writing two of them currently and the third being a collection of short stories with no discernable plot)
Echo’s Tail
My oldest wip. Echo is the protagonist and the story follows her life. She’s got a cat tail, so it’s a play on that. Plus, an echo gets quieter with each reverberation so the tail end would be the quietest and Echo is mute so that works too.
A Hare’s Worth
This story follows a man who’s part hare and full of anxiety. I was originally thinking ‘Hare Hearted Man’ because his anxiety is multifaceted, his brain is wired for it but his hare traits mean his heart is constantly racing, creating a anxiety loop. But it didn’t really work for me. Instead, I thought about some of the events that transpire and the worth of a single cowardly hare in a world of wolves. The story is about the worth of a hare.
A Stranger’s Collection
A collection of short stories told by the titular character. It just kind of fell into place that each one would be titled ‘a stranger’s X’.
Sorry if this is kinda rambly and hard to follow. It’s pretty late ^u^;;
Tagging -> @thecadmiuminkwell, @inkovert, and @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword
Here’s a collection of bounce pixels I’ve done since my tablet has started dying on me ( 8-8 )
[image description: Four sets of animated pixel illustrations. The first is three humanoid characters and a rottweiler dog standing in a line (the dog is sitting). The first character is a young man with curly auburn hair, light olive skin, amber eyes, and hare ears. The second character is a young woman with fair skin, freckles, long creamy off white hair, red eyes, and white rabbit ears. The third character is a young man with pale skin, freckles, cool white hair, brown eyes, and snowshoe white rabbit ears.
The second illustration is a young woman with brown skin, curly brown hair, and brown eyes, holding a loaf of bread. The pixel switches between her smiling proudly at the bread and pouting at it when it is burnt.
The third illustration is two small cats smiling at each other near a river. The left cat is a dark tabby Siberian, the right cat is a white three legged cat with black spots.
The fourth illustration is two characters, a darkened silhouette of an adult and a young child wearing an oversized coat. The child has messy brown hair, small brown horns, a matching dragon tail with brown tufts at the end, and is wearing blue striped pyjamas. The silhouetted adult is flicking a flashlight on and off.]
I’ve been having a lot of fun trying out bounce animations and pixelling :3 The baker girl is @thecadmiuminkwell‘s character Kit. Not much has been released about her story but I already love her XD I’m pretty happy with the static effect over the stranger’s face to be honest ^u^
Tumblr doesn’t want to format these normally so I’ve reuploaded them below :v
Flash fiction Friday! Hurray :3 I’m so tired haha, so I’ll just drop this and go. Couldn’t say no to a wonderland episode ow<~* Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated 💜
FFF is organised by the wonderful @flashfictionfridayofficial
Prompt: Strange lands
Words: 1016
Characters: Storm and the Cheshire Cat
---
Everything smelled so sweet, like jam and cream. Sweet and swirling and sickening and the sooner Storm could get back to something with a semblance of reality, the better. Try as he might to fight it, frustration frosted his chest, devouring the building anxiety and growing stronger with each minute he spent lost in these weird woods. Fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he rounded, you guessed it, another tree. The leaves brushed each other like chuckling rice maracas, dappling shadows somehow darker than the surrounding inkiness to dance along with the tempo. The darkness was more than a simple absence of light. It was a presence in itself. It was as though a beast of void had settled to rest, filling the space with the hum of its breathing where there should have been silence. It was disconcerting, if he let his mind linger too long, which he endeavoured not to do. Despite the darkness, he could still see. Or rather, he understood what should have been seen. Man, this place was giving him a headache.
He paused, leaning against the rough bark of an ashen birch. It didn’t matter how much air he drew in, he couldn’t scent anything beyond its jammy tang. He just had to keep searching. He’d find Echo, get them the hell out of there, and thoroughly lecture her about wondering off. Again.
Just stay focussed.
He moved to continue on, but a furred flash under foot had him careening backwards, almost tripping over himself in his efforts not to crush the thing. It was something like a mouse. If it had been mixed with a mushroom. The fungal creature flared its neck frills at the insult of its near maiming, darting off again before he could react.
“Strange. This place, it’s so… strange.”
“We usually prefur curious,” A voice purred into his ear, “curiouser and curiouser, as the saying goes.”
Storm bolted back, pivoting on his heel to face the stranger. Ears pinned back, fists raised, he was ready for immediate counterattack. His shoulders dropped, confusion slacking the tension. He’d almost punched a cat in its grinning face. It hadn’t been there a minute ago. He’d have noticed.
“Aww, you didn’t even scream. How disappointing.” He lolled onto his back, staring at Storm with big amber eyes. If he’d wanted to look disappointed, it wasn’t a convincing display.
It wasn’t often Storm was dumbstruck. The words tumbled out of his mouth, the only sentence his brain could produce.
“I don’t talk to animals.”
The cat pouted, dripping lazily off the branch, suspending himself instead in the air. “Maybe they don’t talk to you. I wouldn’t blame them. You are terribly rude.” He hissed a laugh, putting his paw to his grin like a cutesy text icon. “I’ll furgive you if you make an exception for me~.”
Not bothering to wait for an answer, he floated closer, wrapping himself around Storm’s shoulders. What kind of cat smells like smoke and spices?
“I’m curious, you see. Curious about what you’re doing wandering around our quaint little world. They call it a wonderland you know. And yet, here you are looking all ruffled. Hmmm, are you purrhaps struggling with those demons that like to take up residence in human heads? Alices have a habit of finding themselves here. You’ve got a lot too, I can tell. Nasty little creatures.”
Storm shoed him off. “What, no. I’m just looking for my sister.”
The cat didn’t seem to care, floating wherever he saw fit. “Not a rabbit? Shame. I could tell you were he is.”
“No. My sister, Echo.”
“Echo, echo, echo.” The cat vanished and reappeared further away three times, one for each repetition. He reappeared, a puff of stirred smoke, back on his branch.
“Well, there are three echoes for you. Wasn’t that an easy quest.” His tail curled with mirth as Storm’s jaw clenched. Why was he wasting his time with this stupid cat?
Because it was the only lead he had. He took a deep breath, biting back the frustration.
“My sister. Have you seen her? She’s seven, about this tall, black hair, mute, has a toy sheep.”
The cat’s grin widened, “Oh yes, the lovely little kitten who came through. Such a sweet thing, nothing like you. You’re so sour.” If he noticed Storm’s glare, he didn’t react. “I sent her along her merry way.”
Storm perked up. “Where did you send her?” He didn’t know whether to be furious that the cat wasted so much time or relieved that he might finally get a trail.
“To the Hatter of course. He and the March Hare are having a tea party. It’ll be a splendid little affair. Oh, but don’t worry Big Brother, they’re quite mad so she’ll be perfectly safe. They will have a marvellous time, I’m sure. Then along to the unicorn and the lion. Such silly creatures, those two. You would probably like them. I couldn’t recommend them, but I did purromise an introduction and what is a cat without his word?”
The cat blathered on; Storm’s fur bristled. “What do you mean they’re mad?”
“They’ve lost their heads, naturally. It makes for an excellent baker but a terrible conversationalist, I’m afraid.”
Storm fought to keep his cool. Ice crackled up his wrists and through his feathers. Through gritted teeth, he managed to ask, “Can you tell me where they are.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly do that!”
His teeth creaked under the pressure. “Why not?”
“I simply can’t direct you! You’re terribly mad. I wouldn’t want to be around you for so long. Sour is one thing, but I’ve never been partial to spiciness.” He sighed, still grinning.
“Please tell me.”
“Okay, here’s what we will do, I think you’ll like this, I’m going to go and then, when you’re more palatable, I’ll come back. A very joyous reunion, I’m sure. Then I will no longer be unable to tell you what you want to know. Cheerio Big Brother!”
“Wait!” But he was already gone. Damn. What was Storm going to do now?
—
Tag List
@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, and @goblin-writer
Jay met the weekend’s conclusion with the relief of a drowning man’s first gulp of air. They wouldn’t have told you that if you’d asked. They didn’t quite realise it themselves. The creeping discomfort subtle enough to only be noticed once it was gone, but potent enough to strangle. Their mother followed as they shuffled out the door, one hand resting casually in their jean pocket, the other on the backpack slung loosely on their back and over-stuffed with recent art assignments. Jay preferred to travel light but, for the sake of Daniel’s curiosity, they made an exception.
“And you’re sure you’ve got everything?” Their mother asked, not quite fussing, as she closed the door behind herself.
Jay jostled the backpack, “Yeah. If I don’t, I’ll learn to live without it for a while.” It was a joke, of sorts, but flavoured more like a forced script. The mood was mutual, Jay’s mother returning a smile that was closer to a grimace. They lingered in the threshold of the house that Jay had grown up in. Both playing through imaginary conversations but neither voicing them.
It was as pleasant a farewell as Jay could have hoped for, until their mother tilted her head half a degree. Jay faltered, their easy smile straining towards neutrality. Not this again.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” She started, “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Resisting the urge to sigh was much more difficult than it had any place being. “I want to be an artist Mum. It’s all I’ve wanted since I was old enough to hold a pencil.”
Their mother put on her concerned look, touching Jay gently on the shoulder as though that might draw them back to her. “I know you’ve always liked your little pictures, but what about your future?”
Jay’s jaw clenched. Still, they managed an even tone. “What about my future?”
She sighed, changing approaches. “You’re so smart sweetheart. I’d hate to see you waste your potential on a dead-end career when you could do so much more.”
This was decidedly not the conversation Jay wanted to finish their visit with. What were they even supposed to say to that? How could they explain themselves if their mother didn’t see the value in their work?
“I want to be an artist,” they repeated, it was the only place they could think to start. “That won’t happen overnight but if I work hard enough, it’s just as possible as any other career. I have the skills, I just need the experience.” When had their hands started to shake?
Another sigh, her hand transferring from Jay to her jaw. Somehow, Jay felt smaller. “I want you to be happy, you know that, but don’t you think it’s a waste? After your father and I worked so hard to get you a good education? Do you really want to throw our efforts away?” She looked at Jay wit those concerned eyes of hers and Jay wanted to cower. “You could transfer your credits. Move to the accounting lines. With your smarts, you’d be the royal treasurer in no time!”
Guilt clawed their guts, but they stood their ground. “I’d be miserable, Mum. I can’t exist in a life without art.”
“Oh, you could still do your drawings! You can just do them in your spare time. In fact, if you got a castle position, the pay’s good so you could retire early and do your drawings then.”
Jay searched her face, hoping to find some evidence that they were being heard at all. All they found were their mother’s dreams of pride and glory.
“I’m not changing my mind or program.”
She clicked her tongue. “What happened to you? You used to be such a good daughter. Now you’re out running wild with the rest of the degenerates. Do you enjoy hurting us?” Any warmth was replaced with an icy, but still concerned tone.
She may wall have slapped Jay. For a moment, they could only stare, teeth clenched on their lip to keep the tears at bay. Then it clicked. A wave of calm. Their mother didn’t love them. She didn’t even know who Jay was. She never even tried to find out. Sterile rage ignited.
Their teeth ground together so hard they could barely get the words out. “I think it’s time I go.”
Too swallowed up by her concerned pity party to see Jay’s hurt, she waved them off. “Fine, fine, go play house at that college. We can talk again when you’ve grown up a little.”
Jay turned to leave. They paused. Rage burned through them. Enough was enough. Turning on their heel, they stared their mother in the eye.
“The person you’re thinking of,” they hissed, “she doesn’t exist! She never did. I invented her. She was a mask I made to make you happy! Have a funeral, mourn for her for all I care. Cremate me on the burnt bridges you’ve left in your wake but f*cking see me. I’m not some doll for you to dress and display and live vicariously through! I am Jay. I am an artist. And I deserve to be happy!”
For a heartbeat, their mother had no words. Only a heartbeat. “How dare you?! How Dare you speak to me like that? I’ve done everything for you.”
“No! No, you haven’t! You’re a wire mother parading as a cloth mother! While you congratulate yourself that your children are fed, they are starving. We are starving Mum! You have no idea who Daniel or I really are.”
Jay stood, panting, heart racing, waiting for their mother to react.
“Leave.” There was hated in her eyes. “Leave and don’t bother crawling back. You’re not my daughter.”
Jay turned, and left. Tears dribbled down their chin. They didn’t bother wiping them away. Penance for freedom.
That was the last time Jay ever saw their family. They aren’t sure how they feel about that.
---
Tag List
@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, and @goblin-writer
Hello hello flash fiction Friday again! I was going to skip another week because I’m Exhausted but I got inspired to do another scene of my angsty boi lamenting XD
I hope you enjoy watching the snow with Storm and Scarlette! Feedback is appreciated ^u^
Big thanks to @cawolters for organising FFF and to @inexorableblob, for hosting!
Prompt: Golden Rings
Words: 950
Character(s): Storm, Scarlette, and Echo.
----------
Sitting on cold stone steps and sipping hot chocolate while watching flecks of snow drift from a grey sky with a pleasant companion, Storm could almost pretend he didn’t notice the ever-present sensation of being watched. The mercy of Scarlette’s higher rank meant fewer shadows, but never none.
“Does it hurt?”
Storm felt Scarlette side-eying him over her steaming tea. He didn’t return the gesture, preferring to keep his eyes trained on his sister playing in the enclosed court yard. There was no where for her to disappear to but he could never be too careful.
“No, not really.” His fingers traced the plastic wrapped loosely around his throat. “It just kind of itches.” It was strange to talk. Not quite a pain, but a pressure tugging at each movement. It had stung initially, but that was to be expected with tattoos. Or at least, he assumed as much.
Scarlette hummed sympathetically, absently tracing the shimmer of her own gold circle around her wrist. “It does itch for a few days but it should stop after that. Although, do take care not to scratch. If it gets infected, it’s a terrible mess to deal with.” She paused, sipping the drink. “I might have some aloe if you want it. It’s typically good for soothing skin irritations.”
Storm shook his head lightly, “Thanks, but no. I’ll just deal with it. There’s no point pretending it isn’t there.” His voice had an edge he didn’t intend. One that he regretted as Scarlette’s face twitched with worry. It was hard to explain, more so to say out loud, but he wanted to feel it. In some sick way, the discomfort was reassuring.
“Storm,” She lingered his name, setting down her cup while she searched for the right wording, “you do understand what you agreed to, don’t you? That this is permanent?”
He flicked his eyes to her, not answering. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t an idiot. Of course he knew. He knew the costs when he agreed. When his stomach dropped at the toothy smile that crept unabashedly across White’s face, leaving him hollow. He knew and agreed anyway. It was the only way. He wanted to be angry at Scarlette for even insinuating he’d made the decision lightly, but when he searched her dusty green eyes, there was no malice - only concern for the teen she’d grown to care about. She didn’t press him for an answer.
Silence stretched between them. Somewhere between uncomfortable and understanding. In a way, it felt like some kind of mutual tragedy had occurred. As though they were at a wake for the unnameable thing Storm had given away. He let his mind settle on the ring etched under his skin. Hexed to shimmer and shift, the gold itself was a coveted ink. The hypocrisy of the church marking its members with something charmed by the very magic they ostracise was not lost on him. In another situation, the tattoo would be pretty. In another situation, he’d have had a choice. Instead, he was stuck with a permanent halo as a sign of his loyalty. He wondered if they knew how quickly he’d turn on them. How their self-righteous holier than though act burned his vicious temper to action, held back purely by his sister’s safety. Probably. Another tug as he licked his dry lips. White had chosen the location, not him. It was always White’s decision. Storm wasn’t nearly naïve enough to believe it was a mark of belonging, nor optimistic enough to believe the placement was in good will. It was exactly what it looked like – a mark of ownership tethering him dangerously to someone else’s ideals.
A light touch interrupted his thoughts. His face must’ve betrayed his emotions.
“You can cover it up. There’s nothing to say you can’t… I did. When I first got mine, I mean. I was, I guess you could say worried, about how people would react. It’s not exactly a secret what it represents.” She laughed dryly. “It’s more a message for Anthony than the rest of the world. He’s usually sated with that.” There was an uncomfortable stiffness in the way she brushed her long red hair back out of her face. Storm couldn’t help but wonder if whether her loyalties were as tenuous as his own. Maybe she was just cognisant of the eyes on their backs. Who could say?
He smiled, small but genuine. “Thanks. It’s … complicated. I’ll figure it out.”
She gave his shoulder a light squeeze before letting her hand fall away, reclaiming her cooled drink and turning back to the scene in front of them. Echo had managed to mound together enough snow to make herself a squat little snowman companion. An unusual reprieve into childish fun, she was making the most of the snowy afternoon. An unwelcomed twinge of something bitter rose in Storm’s throat. But, when Echo turned back, cold flushed face brightened with a big grin, waving at her favourite person in the world, as quickly as it had come, the feeling died down. A little of the empty faded as Storm waved back. The tattoo was permanent. He was never getting rid of it. He childhood was gone. He was never getting it back. He had lost so much. But, at the end of the day, he still had his sister. The stars themselves could not stop him from giving her at least a little of what was taken from him.
He hated the golden rings binding him to his enemy for everything they represented. He hated White for everything he was. But he could live with it. They were just tools to keep his sister innocent.
———-
@inkovert, @snobbysnekboi, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, and @goblin-writer
[image description: a digital sketch of a young girl, roughly teenage, sitting on a block looking up to the sky. She has black cat ears and a matching tail. She’s wearing a hoodie over a black and white tutu, stockings, and converse like shoes. Her hoodie is pink, as are her shoes. She has one leg dangling, one pulled up in front of her, and is leaning back on her hands. The colours are matte warm black, grey, pink, purple, blue, and light blue.]
I feel like I haven’t uploaded art in a little while, so have a warm up that I ended up liking ^u^
Just for funzies, here’s a disturbing little drabble that’s been floating around in my head lately.
Trigger warnings: descriptions of injury, implied abduction, it’s kinda messed up
Words: 943
---
I found an angel lost and hopeless in one of the countless forgotten corners of the city. It trembled so. I wondered if the rain would not dissolve it to nothing. The poor little thing could save not even itself. I took it home, promises, promises, sweet on my tongue. It put its hand in mine, so tiny, so frail, its bones filigree porcelain. Heavy wings, a burden too big for its body, they caught the wind with every step, pulling it back, back, away from me. I gave it a meal and sent it to bed. I was gentle, so very gentle, when I clipped those wings, too big for its frame. As an angel, it was useless. It did not need them. They were wasted on it. I could do so much more. I would be so much more. One long night, two doses of hard liquor, three mirrors in the bathroom, four feet of thread, and a needle sharp as grief. Stitch by stitch, I crowned myself in its feathers.
A red morning came, an ache in my skin. They were heavier than I expected. It felt good. I was finally pure. I would do more than the little angel ever could. Bandages wrapped around and around, breathing was sacrificed to dam the scarlet from the feathers. They twitched with my giddy heart. I paraded those wings, so proud, so good. Day after day, I made the world better. People began to see me for the person I was. They loved me. They loved that I was good, that the wings were not wasted.
The poor little wretch, the angel without its wings, I kept it safe in my house. Safe in its new home. I left a music box playing for it. Quiet pauses punctuated by raspy sobs, rattling through the walls. I considered wringing its neck. Putting it out of its misery. Instead, I took pity on it. It wanted to leave, I could tell, but there was no where in the world for a useless angel. I was gentle and I was kind. I let it stay with me.
It began with an itch, then a smell, then a burn. Stitches seeped rot, weeping pungent tears into the feathers, into my shirt. My head swam with fever, limbs trembling at every exertion. I lost control of those wings, control but not feeling. They clung to my back, pulling at the decaying skin, hanging limp and heavy. Useless again. The love dripped away with the sweat. No matter what I did, they avoided me. I made the world better but they were selfish.
I did what I could to save those wings. I pulled them, stitch by stitch from my back once more. Layers of skin and fat and rot slopped down my spine. Raw muscles quivered as the air teased anew. Knife slippery with oil, hunks of ruined meat fell from those wings. I gave them back to the wretched little angel. Though I was kind and I was gentle, there was not much left to return. Fever burnt my insides. I knelt beside the sorry creature. I thought I might die. My heart quivered, bile burning the back of my tongue. The angel moaned, skin soaked in blood. I felt sorry for my hopeless angel. I thought it would die.
--
Echo jolted, consciousness reaching her body before her mind. Her arms were heavy, shaking. Her whole body was shaking. Though it didn’t want to listen, she forced herself to sit up on the bed. Her wings trembled, unable to fold against her skin. Lightning flashed a blinding white into the room. Her scars stung faintly. She wondered if it was the low rumble of thunder overhead that woke her up, any memories of dreams already gone. Her heart raced and she was seized by an overwhelming urge to cry. These nights made no sense.
For a moment, she sat on her bed listening to the rain pelt the window as she tried to calm her shuddering lungs. When she could convince herself that she had enough control over her limbs that she wouldn’t fall the instant she stood, Echo hopped up, ambling the short distance to her brother. He was sleeping soundly. Reluctance niggled at her, she didn’t really want to wake him. A loud crack of thunder was all she needed. One hand clutching her shirt, she tugged his sleeve with the other. His eyes snapped open in an instant, fur bristling. She tugs his sleeve again. Ears lowered and eyes misting, she was a pathetic sight. She just wanted a hug.
Without an immediate threat in sight, Storm relaxed again.
“What’s wrong?” He licked his lips, mouth dry from sleep. “Did the storm wake you?”
Echo didn’t know. She nodded anyway.
Storm made a sympathetic noise, broken with a yawn. His ears tilted with concern as he thumbed the tear trail of her cheeks. Had she been crying?
“Alright. Do you want to sleep with me?”
He didn’t bother waiting for an answer, pulling the thin sheet up for her to crawl into bed with him. Echo tucked herself into his chest, her scarred back pressing into his scarred front. He wasn’t very warm and her wings were squished between them, but she didn’t mind. It felt safe. He pet her head while she settled, whispering quiet comforting words until the shakes went away. Finally ready to sleep again, he looped his arm over her, pulling her close. As her breathing evened into a gentle rhythm, he kissed the top of her head goodnight and closed his eyes. He would keep her safe.
-----
Tag list
@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, and @goblin-writer
To be honest, I’m much happier with the first part than the second. It didn’t start out as a dream but I thought it hit a lot of Echo’s issues so it kinda fit. It’s probably a good thing she thinks she doesn’t dream.
If your OC was a character in the His Dark Materials Universe what would their daemon be?
Thanks for the tag @kainablue! I wonder how well Sabbeha and Storm would get along :oc
I actually got the dark materials trilogy for christmas and am excited to get into it! From what I’ve seen so far, the daemons seem to be foils for the characters rather than direct representatives so that’s the angle I went with. (Souls are kinda complicated in the Yonderverse)
People with Elemental abilities have additional wild souls to withstand the power of their element, so Storm and Echo both have separate animal representatives.
Echo’s Daemon would be a tiger. He is proud and aggressive, he makes her nervous.
Storm’s is a white wolf. Though she shares his ideals, he’s too distant too hear her.
Marcos’ is a hare. He’s clever but frets. It’s a constant struggle not to let the anxiety take over.
Xaviers’ is a fox. They’re too smart for their own good, constantly getting into mischief but their heart of gold makes them forgivable.
Tagging -> @inkovert, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @goblin-writer, and @inkjackets
