#stream stories

[askarkham]

CALLING OUT THE STREAM TEAM

UM?!!!

EVERYONE FAILED TO MEN T. I O N THAT STORY YOU LINKED IN CHAT THAT THE LETTERS //FUDGIN //JUMP OUT ?!! AT YOU?!! IM CRYING I WAS LIKE DID I CROSS ANOTHER DIMENSION THROUGH MY TAB ?!!!

I haven’t even started reading and I’m already done with our book club I hate you guys 😭😭😂😂

[maxkirin]

🐣 live now 🐣

Today's stream is all about LORE! I'm sharing some of my earliest memories and stories. Come for the childhood anecdotes, stay for the banter!

(( There'll also be a Q&A afterwards~ ))

See you there~ 👶🍼 youtube.com/mistrekirin

[springfallendeer]

Stream stories

#1

 From their place atop their perch, they studied their subject of interest from afar. Long, thick tuffs of hair. Dark and white, and designed to provide the utmost warmth. Lengthy, twisted tail, which seemed to brush across the back with every excited step that they might take. The large paws which supported their frame, coaxed in a small but easily noted fluff, were somehow kept clean without issue. Even whilst the creature would bounce about atop sand and earth, tearing into the terrain with every energetic movement. Pointed ears, which seemed to have no starting point, would perk ever so slightly come the slightest noise.

 How many hours would they spend each day, simply watching this large, bulky beast as they played? Each morn like clockwork, they would creep through the open door, only to take their place atop the balcony. This, their private perch, would provide them the ideal view of all which they longed to be. The fluff covered body, always appearing to be larger than it likely was - always appearing to house such warmth. Such wild beauty present come every motion of their enormous frame. Just when had they come to envy their body in such a way? When had they reached the point of jealousy which made them detest the frame in which they were born?

 Such a lovely, overgrown husky that beast was. A large and wild beast, so delicately carved from the ways of evolution. Perfectly designed to live a life, surrounded by little more than white. They, who would never known the agony of an icy chill. They, who’s tail held more beauty than any piece of art that any man could ever create. How they longed to be such a creature. How they longed to be large. To have a body coated with such thick, warm fur. A tail which would not entice weird looks from any stranger who might creep into their home. Such was the fate of he, a lowly Sphynx.

 A poor excuse of a cat, which would likely never know the loving embrace of the young children which so frequently roamed the hallways of his home. They longed to know that feeling. To be the object of such innocent, and childish appreciation. They thought the husky a lucky being. Not just for their hair, or for the tail which was so genuine to that of a canine breed idea. No, they thought the husky lucky to be so admired. They were a common breed, which many people so seemed to adore. Such were the cruel ways of fate. To leave he, a proud member of the feline bloodline, without a coax in which he could rely on for a genuine outer beauty.

 Truly, their admiration had become a jealousy. Such was not to be changed, however. This was yet another harsh fact in which they were painfully aware of...

#2

 Small, timid hands had long since wrapped around the nimble fingers of their female guardian. Entangled in a loving manner, so as to assure a firm grip. One which would prevent the young, anxious boy from meeting the ground should he accidentally stumble. Gentle but firm, as the grip of a mother should be at times such as this, the female went on to lead her adoptive brood into a slow motion. So new to this act was the boy, that the woman opted to simply allow them to get into the swing of things. She allowed them to experiment with how they moved, knowing that every being could be easily influenced by the music that they were exposed to.

 This, a soft, and comforting song - which neither of them could name - had long since triggered a sense of calm that would prevent any spikes of fear. She knew the need for such music. To lull the child into a content state, so as to prevent them from paying any sort of attention to their surroundings. This, a place in which they had experienced many traumas, was likely not the ideal place for them to initiate such a form of bonding. This might be the only situation in which she might dare to say that she held some resentment towards her father, even if only on a subconscious level. She so loved him dearly.

 He, and the small boy, whom she was proud to refer to as her son. It was their negative relationship which she despised, really. Not so much that she could feel any form of hatred towards her paternal figure. Just their behavior, which she was unlikely to change. They had existed far longer than she, but in terms of things, she could not allow such blatant cruelty. Not when it was being directed towards a child, which she had developed such a firm attachment to. Perhaps, this simple dance was her attempt at quelling the anxiety that the blonde always seemed to feel while in this place.

 She so longed to mend those mental wounds, so as to allow he and her father to attain a more healthy relationship. This was likely a foolish desire, considering all that had been done. Her father so seemed to hate the boy, and was clearly ill at ease when it came to her affection towards them. This was also something entirely foolish, going from her perspective. She might not have been to keen on her personal emotions - such was a fact that had been pointed out by many. However, she had also long since learned that there was no point in denying them. There was no removing a sense of love - only a means of drowning the sensation out in an endless abyss of sorrow.

 She had learned that, simply by examining the behavior of her uncle. That, and by studying the manner in which her parents would behave while around each other. Love was a beautiful thing. One which should never be snuffed out. Thus, she was proud to say that she loved Samuel. The dear, gentle little boy whom had so many unique qualities. Their dance eventually began to slow as the music neared an ending point. She allowed the boy to pull her down by her arms, so as to ensure that he was able to reach when he moved onto his toes in either to give her a soft kiss on the cheek. This was an innocent act, one only portrayed between a mother and her son.

 Offering a rare, and genuine smile, she wrapped her arms around the small boy as the music finally stopped. Pulling him to her chest as she stood completely, the female urged a new song to start up as he curled up in her grasp. Somehow using her hair as a blanket, the boy allowed his eyes to close as the sky began to darken. He felt safe enough to rest, so long as she was with him. Her presence was more than enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Her gentle rocking only proved to coax him into slumber earlier than he might’ve anticipated, not that either of them minded this. This was the closest that she might get to cradling him as though he were an infant.

 Content to watch over him for the night, she eventually took to sitting on her knees so as to provide better support for his small frame. She would act as his bed, if only until he awoke and was forced to leave the safety of her embrace. This was something that, pained her, in an odd way. The maternal instinct in which she had developed was stronger than one might anticipate. Even so, she had long since accepted it. Such were natural emotions. Such, were the ways of a mother.

#3

 Slipping into the soft material of the rarely worn outfit, the male offered a slight hum as he felt it settle around his frame. The velvety, crimson cloth had been a not-so-secret pleasure of his for years now, although only those who lived alongside him had come to know of its existence. Should any visitors stop by, they might wind up asking a series of fairly reasonable questions, which would be answered with not-so-anticipated responses. The truth of his rarely indulged passion was simply born from the desire to be comfortable while cooking. He was a being that was sensitive to temperature.

 When it was to cold, he would become stiff, and rigid. Such was why his hunting habits would grow more lax, come the colder seasons. He was not designed to function out in the cold. In vice versa, it was astonishingly easy for him to overheat. In the winter, it was easy for him to stay comfortable simply by staying indoors, and having the ovens on frequently. In the summer? Such was, more difficult. He wasn’t one to cool his home. There were others living there, who might easily be put in a state of sniffness at a temperature that he might find more enjoyable. So, the clothing he would wear would act as his means of ensuring a reasonable internal temperature.

 So, whenever he felt the urge to cook on days that were fairly heated, he would seek out this particular outfit for the sake of keeping his body from increasing in temperature. Once dressed, he allowed himself a few moments to appeal to his vanity while he examined himself. Honestly, if he were to grow out his hair a bit, then odds were he would suit the part of a teenage woman. Well, a flat chested one, at least. The red skirt and tank top which he wore were more suited to that of a female figure, not that he minded the way that they looked on him. They were soft, and comfortable, and allowed various areas on his body to breathe.

 Content with his appearance, the male slipped off the metal coated gloves which he so frequently wore. He was prone to removing them every now and again, specifically when he cooked or bathed. Leaving them atop his pillow, knowing that none would disturb them, he made his way out of his room so that he could get to work in the kitchen. He really was a housewife at heart, when it came to certain aspects of his personality. That was the human side of him. The feral, animalistic side of him what often what spurred more violent behavior. He had never been a fighter, when he was still a pure bodied man.

 Only after death did he become a beast. His curse reminded him somewhat of the gargoyles. By day, they weren’t exactly dangerous. By night? They became active, somewhat savage killers. That was more or less how he behaved. When he was home, where all surroundings were familiar and safe, he was docile. Once out on the hunt, something would snap inside of him. He would become hostile, violent, and malicious. He would find a sick pleasure in mentally tormenting his victims. One which had acted as a means of leaving him with a temporary feeling of nausea come his time of calm.

 Baking had somehow become his means of escaping the internal conflict in which he often felt. He wasn’t one who enjoyed having his hands touched, not after having spent so many years keeping them confined in metal-clad gloves. Yet, the sticky feel of the dough as it wrapped around his skin somehow provided a means of comfort. Somehow, it would calm the savage instinct that had snaked its way so deep into his body. Snaked, being a literal reference. Somewhere along the lines the reptilian genetics began to gradually overpower his human genes. Odds were that he was slowly turning into whatever Jack, and their offspring, were.

 He had seen it in his eyes at times. Some nights, after a shower, he could have sworn that his skin had changed. At times like this, he could not care in the slightest about these hidden fears. They were his hidden demons. Something which he found himself incapable of avoiding at times when he wasn’t partaking in a purely human task. Cooking was something that only beings of human intelligence would participate in. Using flame. Burying his fingers in the dough in a repetitive motion, he carefully mixed the various ingredients so as to assure an ideal consistency. Peanut butter cookies were his personal favorite.

 The smell was something he adored, and the flavor tended to remind him of another time. The past was something he dearly missed, but would be unwilling to return to, should he be given the opportunity. Simple things would act as his means of reliving childhood moments. Violent things acted as his means of keeping the truth that he lived by, alive. So, today, he would enjoy his old time treats. Tonight, he would indulge in another act. One which would remind him of other aspects of his old self.