I know you guys aren’t typically here for my furry stuff but I’m just SO HAPPY. I got to see Ghost for the first time since Pre-Imperatour!! And I brought by fursuit head and got asked to be in a skit by GTV?! Thanks to my cousin stalling outside the door on the GTV pic
A good friend of mine made the head for me based off my art! He goes by Fursuits_by_Buppa on IG (I didn’t have room for the tail here, sadly)
Who wants to read a sneak peek of a Copia/OFC fanfic I’m working on?
12 years ago, the Seventh Seal was broken, pouring forth the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, covering the land with Famine, War, and Death brought about by Pestilence. As the new plague rages with no cure in sight, Astra Collins has a chance encounter with the living embodiment of Pestilence, riding a pale white horse. It changes the World forever.
Excerpt from chapter one:
Astra didn’t like to dwell on dreams too much. Dreams didn’t keep you fed. Dreams didn’t keep you safe.
No. Only a confirmed cure for this Plague would ever compare to the endless dreams of weary survivors.
Astra tossed the last bit of detritus from the flatbed into the burning bit below. Once it landed in the heap, simultaneously she leaned her chin onto the end of pole, while lazily slapping her gloved palm on the side of the truck, a signal to the driver he was clear to return to the depot for sanitization.
The rusty sounds of the truck faded into the distance as she stared into the flames, watching them lick the air and leap about like dancers. It was beautifully morbid, to watch those unlucky souls be cleansed and then float away to whatever heaven or hell lay before them.
Once the embers died down, she would shovel some powdered disinfectant onto whatever remained (though knowing that fire was 100% effective against the disease). But as the old saying goes, better to be safe than sorry, in case a variant of the Plague lay dormant on a scrap of fabric or broken fingernail.
The smoke swirled around her creating whirls and eddies in the air. She liked to daydream it was the trapped souls of the dead, enjoying one last dance macabre in the world of the living. It was peaceful. Serene. Intimate.
Astra looked forward to the communal dinner in a few hours. It was Taco Tuesday, and even though they were a sad imitation, the daily menus helped you feel a sense of normalcy and comfort. Fresh, organic locally grown food would be a novelty in overpriced hipster restaurants back in the Old Days. But here, it was… survival. Nowadays, opening a fresh bag of greasy cheese and onion crisps would make even the healthiest eater swoon with delight.
But as the glowing embers slowly faded into grey, an ominous… sensation, began to creep into the very edges of Astras awareness.
It took a few moments to orient her senses to this intrusion, to become aware of a distant, rhythmic yet vaguely familiar pounding. Getting closer. Then a few more moments to notice the accompanying vibration coming up from the packed earth below her thin boots. A deep tha-thunk, tha-thunk. Getting closer. The faintest jingle of metal against metal, creaking of leather, and the breathy exhalation and inhalation of a large animal.
Unaccustomed to any deviations from the dull routine, Astra surveyed the hazy landscape, curious to find the source of the noise. Seeing nothing of any immediate danger or surprise, she set the handle of her pitchfork onto the ground. Her helmet had a clear plexi front, but it lacked a clear line of sight in her peripherals, so she slowly turned her body trying to pinpoint which direction it was coming. As she turned almost completely to her left, she soon found the source. The sight of it making the fine hairs bristleon the back of her neck. Because the familiar grey smog was slowly being taken over by an eerie, thick, unnatural white fog.
And as the source of the sound began to emerge from that nearly solid wall of fog, her skin broke out in goosebumps, her heart thundered in her throat, she gasped inwardly in terror. Because emerging from that eerie fog, was the largest, most majestic white horse she had ever seen. No. No it wasn’t the horse that shocked her senseless.
It was the ominous figure of the man astride the giant beast.
Garbed in tattered, but well-tailored military style set, made of fine black cloth and leather, adorned with gold embroidery of strange sigils. The fringed epaulets broadened his shoulders, and accentuated the coattails of his jacket, and his leather under-vest richly adorned in gold embroidery framed the curve his waist, frills and cuffs peeking out from the neck and sleeves.
Frayed and well-worn black trousers hugged his ample thighs. A patched and repaired teal blue silk lined cape draped from the back of one shoulder, billowing behind him like waves in the ocean. His clothing was held together with tarnished brass tipped laces and clasps, but still exuded a stately and opulent air.
He was tall and lean with corded muscles, with an air of vitality and jaded confidence. His hair brushed back away from his forehead was salt and peppered like a man in his 40s or 50s.
But it wasn’t the appearance of the horse, or the curious style of his clothes, or anything else, that made Astrid’s heart lurch in fear. It was the sudden realization that the mans appearance was wholly… unnatural.
Though shockingly handsome in structure, his skin was painted a stark white with jet black angular contours, giving his face the clown-like appearance of a deathly, morbid skull.
