For the record

somebody write this down. no? fine, I'll do it myself

[vol-ia]

welp

for all three people who follow me, if you’re looking for me on other platforms I’m on twitter @ ia_quillthing and I have a mastodon I keep forgetting to use @ IaVol @ mastodon.social

I’ll be trying to harvest as many of the active blogs I’m following as possible

too bad about all the inactive ones! I’ll remember you, weird ass tumblrs and abandoned poke-ask blogs

[declawedcat]

i was considering making a patreon, but im not so sure anyone would really be interested,,, like, im not even sure what kind of stuff id put as a patron reward

maybe getting to see everything i draw no matter how wip or if ill ever finish cause i actually draw way more than i post, video wips too.. maybe a discord server everyone’s welcome to but there’s a few extra channels/a role for patrons

i dunno… not to mention for larger patron rewards id wanna do better things like merch or a raffle each month for patrons for a pic or a print of their choice or something…

ive always wanted to do patreon stuff as well as like. convention things. but now that i have a full time job i just feel like i wouldn’t be able to give people their money’s worth or anything

[vol-ia]

I was gonna send an ask but the word limit was too small rip

anyway if you want some solicited opinions on starting up a patreon then here you gooooo

so, I've seen a few peeps I know start up patreons and from what I've observed, they tend to fall into two broad types, so I guess my question is what kinda patreon operation do you wanna run?

Like, is this gonna be a place where people can support your art if they want, or is patreon going to be your second job? because if you wanna go down the patreon discord, raffles, uploading all your wips, private streams etc etc route you're probably gonna feel obligated to put a lot of time into it, and if you don’t feel like you have that time to dedicate to it then you’re gonna feel bad about not providing enough value for your supporters. I’ve seen people shut down reasonably successful patreons because they felt like they weren’t doing enough to deserve the money and it’s like, dude, I just wanted to support you I don’t care if you’re having a bad artblock month or whatever

admittedly not everyone feels like this and some people expect a return on their investment so if you’re set on getting the most support possible a more active participation in your patreon and supporters is probably gonna result in bigger numbers, but, again, don’t accidentally lock yourself into doing a half dozen patreon supporter commissions a month and having it be a gigantic timesink and source of stress

I don’t know about everyone else but I’m just happy to see you do your thing, I’d happily throw a few bucks a month in a jar just to know it was a little bit of support even if I don’t get anything tangible out of it, you know?

[hoboartistry]

My gotesona, in spaaaaaace

[parfaitcocoa]

Colored sketch commission for @vol-ia. He’s working through that writer’s block pretty well. It’s only been 3 hours and he finally has a single word down!

[zambiunicorn]

geekysideburns replied to your post: I’m having a hard time no…

Have you gotten to reference layers yet because OMG.

WAT IS THAT

[geekysideburns]

Here’s what I’m trying to say in gif form. I rambled insanely.

The blue layer is set to reference.

Then you can do this.

And this.

[zambiunicorn]

Ohhhhhh that is so cool :O :O  :O

[kingsmod]

[parfaitcocoa]

So, I was originally only struggling with a near empty fridge, filled only with drinks and near, if not already spoiled food. However, I was recently slapped with a $250 bill, and I only have until March 20th to pay it.

I’m unemployed, and I’m at my wit’s end. I’ve got no possessions left I can sell off that even come close to the amount owed. I’m stressing so much that it’s made me lose sleep, and I feel sick to my stomach almost constantly. 

Please, help me. If you can’t pay, please, spread it around. Tell your friends. Tell everyone you know.

[vol-ia]

Applied Hexes

A Perfect Spell story about Chris trying to read a book during recess. Word count: 839 G: Rachel says ‘Bugger’ at one point. Does that even count as a swear word?

More Perfect Spell stories: https://vol-ia.tumblr.com/tagged/perfectspell

Keep reading

[deijiidraws]

How about some art to go with that!

[vol-ia]

look at this look at it

[vol-ia]

Applied Hexes

A Perfect Spell story about Chris trying to read a book during recess. Word count: 839 G: Rachel says ‘Bugger’ at one point. Does that even count as a swear word?

More Perfect Spell stories: https://vol-ia.tumblr.com/tagged/perfectspell

“Oh Chriiiiiiisssss…”

Rachel’s singsong voice made one of Chris’s ears twitch. He glanced up over the top of the book he was reading, raising an eyebrow at her. “Oh, uh, Hi Rachel.”

“Hi!” The smile she was wearing was entirely too wide for Chris’s liking. “Have I told you recently how much of a very good friend you are?”

Chris sighed, pulling his bookmark out from the back of the book and sliding it into place, snapping the book shut and placing it neatly in his lap.

“What do you need?” He tried to sound as put upon as possible.

“What, I can’t just say hi and give you a compliment without wanting something from you?”

Rachel’s theatrical indignation was pretty good. Chris almost believed her, for the four seconds she managed to hold her poker face.

“...The ball went up on the roof again.”

“That sounds like a problem for an adult. With a ladder.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, gesturing at the sky as though beseeching it for strength.

“But we don’t need a-! You could get it off of the roof without even standing up!”

“No I can’t, we’ve been over this. When they let me into the school they made new rules specifically to cover magic stuff. It would be disrespectful to the establishment to break those rules.”

“But it’ll take a teacher like half an hour to go get it, and then break will be over! How am I supposed to crush Spenser and James at handball with no ball?!”

“This is why I don’t play handball with you.”

“Oh stop being such a nerd and float the dang ball down for me, will ya?”

“Still no.” Chris picked his book back up, delicately picking out his previous place. “You’re such a killjoy! What is even the point of reading all these dumb books about magic if you never use it for anything?”

“There’s a time and a place, you know that.”

“The time and the place could be right now! No one has to know!” Rachel cast about, looking for anything she could use as leverage. “I-I’ll give you my sandwich!”

“You already ate it.”

“Tomorrow’s sandwich!”

“No, Rachel. It’s against the rules.”

“Oh… Bugger the rules.” Rachel huffed, stomping over and throwing herself down against the tree Chris was leaning against. “What are you even reading about that’s soooo important, anyway?”

She’d be fine in five minutes. Chris carefully turned the page. “This, is called Applied Hexes. It’s from a little deeper in the curriculum than I’m supposed to be reading at the moment, but I wanted to-”

“Wait, hexes? As in like, not nerdy hippie spells?” Rachel leaned over his shoulder. “Does this have curses? Can you curse Ernest Poole for me and turn his hair green? No wait, hex me and give me cat claws!”

Chris leaned away, attempting to fend her off with one hand as he held onto the book with the other. “R-rachel! I’m not cursing or hexing anyone, we just went over this!”

“Yeah but why are you learning hexes if you don’t wanna hex someone!?”

Chris thought about the little bunch of flowers growing in the garden back home for a fleeting moment.

“It’s… It’s better to know, just in case I need them.”

“Just in… W-wait, so you’re saying that you would hex someone?”

“I mean… If I… Had to, I guess? Like, in an emergency.”

“So… It’s not that you won’t do magic. So if some kind of like, crazy axe murderer broke into the school, you’d be like, pow!”

Chris squinted worriedly at Rachel’s finger-gun. He suspected that she’d aimed at Ernest.

“I suppose I would have to.”

“Even though you’re not allowed to do magic at school.”

“...Yes?”

Rachel clapped her hands together, rubbing them. “I knew it. You just need a good enough reason to break the rules.”

“Oh it’s not like that!”

“But it is! You just admitted you’d hex someone if you had to, on school grounds! That is definitely against the rules!”

“There’s no provision in the rules for axe murderers!”

“Duh! And you know what that means?” Rachel leant even closer. At this point, she nearly had Chris pinned against the tree. “It means that sometimes you have to make your own rules!”

“Uhhhhh-”

Rachel looked entirely too delighted as she stared at Chris with an unusual fervor.

“You’re just like me…” She whispered.

“UHHH-”

“The rules are just here to keep us in line, Chris. But you and me, we know that sometimes, you gotta break ‘em!” She rolled up back along the tree, putting her arm around Chris’s shoulder. She put her hand up, framing the roof of the school building with it. “That’s why you’re gonna get the ball down, and that’s why I’m not gonna tell on you for reading a dangerous book about offensive spells that’s not part of your magical training yet.”

Chris blinked.

“Wait, are you blackmailing me?”

“I dunno. You gonna bend the rules and get the ball down?”

[vol-ia]

The Incident

A Perfect Spell story about Mori having to pick Chris up from school for getting into a fight! You’ve heard of mama bear, now get ready for papa kitsune.

Word count: 1598. PG: implied violence, implied animal cruelty.

Other Perfect Spell stories: https://vol-ia.tumblr.com/post/164697611963/philomela

https://vol-ia.tumblr.com/post/166005091008/write-tober-2

Mori walked up to the administration desk. Nobody seemed to notice.

In a way, it was kind of nice. After so many centuries of upheaval and effort, to have a kitsune be gently ignored in a busy office was something of a milestone. In another, much more present way, it was deeply inconvenient and needed to stop right now.

He gently cleared his throat, leaning in through the window and glancing around for the least busy looking person.

“Yes, hello! I am sorry to interrupt you but I was instructed to come and collect my son?”

***

Mori found Chris sitting in the waiting room outside the principal’s office. He looked sullen and withdrawn, and was clutching a cardboard box. He was dirty, his hands and uniform both stained, and he had dried blood on his fur around his nose.

He heard Mori come in, and looked up at him with wide, watery eyes.

Elise was much better at this sort of thing, but they’d called him, so he would have to do.

“Are you alright?”

“No.”

“Okay. I will speak to the principal and then we will go home.”

“Okay.”

Mori took a deep breath, wishing that none of this was happening. “I understand there was another boy involved?”

“It was Lewis.”

Ah. The Bennet family.

“I take it that Mrs. Bennet is currently speaking with the principal, then.”

“She wants them to expel me.”

“I expect she wants a great many things. I will be back shortly.”

Mori practiced his long trained sense of self control, forcing his tail to not swish back and forth as he straightened up. He could hear two voices on the other side of the door, now that he noticed it, one exercising a soothing, practiced calm, and the other, shrill. He took a deep breath, and stepped forward to open the door.

***

“We were all offered, assurances, that the little animal would not be dangerous!” She glanced at Mori when she spat the word, a poisonous look.

“This ‘little animal’ you are referring to would be my son, yes?” Mori interjected, trying not to growl. It made humans nervous when he growled.

“Yes! Lewis has a black eye, a sprained wrist, and bruises all over, and photos day is next week! And it’s all because your feral brat attacked him, unprovoked!”

“Mrs. Bennet,” The principal interrupted, “According to everyone involved but your son, that is clearly not the case.”

“...Are you suggesting that my precious boy is a liar?! I’ll have you fired for defending that animal, you and the whole faculty!”

“Please refrain from shouting, or using slurs. We’re all adults, madam.” The principal had interjected on his behalf, but Mori could feel his eye starting to twitch.

“I’ll say whatever I damn well like! You and this school and this whole damn town are in the pocket of this fox family and don’t think for a minute that I’ll let you get away with sweeping this incident under the rug!”

“The school has a series of rules and procedures for dealing with schoolyard violence. Unfortunately, it is a thing that comes up from time to time when you keep a thousand teenagers in the same building every day. We will be following those procedures to the letter with regards to this incident, and if you are dissatisfied with our conduct, you are of course more, than welcome to raise a complaint with the board of education.”

“Don’t think that I won’t! Lewis could have been killed! That freak out there needs to learn self control, or he should be made to be leashed and muzzled like the rabid dog he is!”

The principal’s mouth tightened. Mori understood that he and Chris were on very friendly terms. Chris had a solid rapport with most adults. Mori spoke first, saving him the hassle of trying to reason with the woman.

“Mrs… Bennet. Just to be sure, you are accusing my son of losing control and attacking your son in something like a blind, ‘feral’ rage, correct?”

“Yes!” She opened her mouth to complain more, but Mori continued.

“Did you know?” Mori clicked his fingers, causing a small flame to spark up at the tips. The woman gasped. “Kitsune are born into a knowing of fire.”

“F-... D-don’t you threaten me!”

“I am not threatening you, I am just teaching you about my species, in an attempt to clarify a miscommunication. Do you agree?” Mori motioned to the principal, who had leant back slightly in his chair.

“...Of course.”

“But-!”

The flame on Mori’s fingertips flared, causing the woman to gasp and fall silent. After a moment, Mori continued.

“Often, my kind cast our first spell of fire before we can see properly. Long before we can talk. We learn the language of fire first, and see our own light before we ever see the light of the sun. For many of my kind, fire comes easier than speech, easier than thought. Maybe too easily.”

Mori juggled the flame from fingertip to fingertip, playing with it as he had so often in his youth.

“It is, perhaps, a failing of my species that we tend to solve so many of our problems with fire. But, you probably understand, when it’s what you know best… Well, they say here, that when all that you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail, yes?”

The flame grew, engulfing Mori’s hand. It was cool against his fur, although he knew the heat it was projecting would be singeing the eyebrows of the woman sitting next to him.

“And you mean to suggest that my son lacks self control? If he was truly the wild beast that you delight in suggesting he is, well…”

Mori snuffed the flame out.

“Your son would be dead.”

There was complete silence in the room. Mori clapped his hands together, popping the bubble, making an effort to force some cheer into his voice.

“It is fortunate for us all that you are as wrong as you are unpleasant to talk to. Now, if there’s nothing else, I understand that my son is to be sent home early today?”

***

“Omae wa hontou ni taido ga warui na…” Mori muttered to himself as he pulled the door shut behind him. Some people, honestly.

Not so long ago, dealing with belligerent people had much less civil and a lot more straightforward. Clearly, the present was better than the past and its violence, but sometimes, Mori found himself wistfully reminiscing about the good old days, back in the 1600’s when he’d been young and strong and nobody in their right mind dared to talk back at him about whatever inane garbage was polluting their minds.

Sometimes, the weight of centuries was very heavy indeed.

Still, there were reasons to remain here, in the present. Mori crouched down, touching Chris gently on the shoulder, startling him out of whatever trance he had been in.

“Ready to go?”

“I… Will they let me back?”

“Based off of the accounts of everyone involved, it has been determined that you will not be expelled. You and Lewis both will be punished for getting into a fight, although if it’s any consolation, he has been suspended for a week and you have only been suspended for the rest of today and tomorrow.”

Chris whined, cringing down in his chair, clearly more focused on the suspension than the leniency. Mori could barely stand to see his son so upset. There would be plenty of time for holding him later, once he was home and away from this place.

“D-do you think the witches’ association will want me still if I’ve got a record?”

“That is what y-?” Mori stopped himself. “...From what I’ve gleaned, they consider multiple childhood misdemeanors to be a requirement for entry.”

“Oh.” Chris looked back down at the box he was cradling. Right. The box.

“This… This would be the bird that was mentioned, yes?”

“Yeah. They were gonna just… Throw it out, like it was trash. It was alive, this morning.”

He sounded so small and fragile as he said it.

“We can give it rites and lay it to rest in the garden. I’m sure that will appease the bird’s soul.”

Mori heard a tiny sound. There was a small wet spot on the box.

“If I’d… If I’d done something sooner, t-then maybe it might still be alive.” Chris’s voice cracked, raw with sadness. “Why can’t I fix it? I-I messed up and I wanna fix it.”

“There’s no spell that will heal death, son.” The words sounded a lot calmer than Mori felt.

Remaining calm and being strong for him was important, now. He could feel it. Mori considered his next words as best he could, mindful of the potential negative repercussions.

“...As a… A witch. You will sometimes be called upon to act, that we might not lose something we can never get back. Magic can be dangerous, yes, but also powerful, and as caretakers of that power, we must be responsible. Do not act in haste, but also... Do not be afraid to act.”

Mori gently took the box from Chris. Inside, the weight of the bird shifted slightly. It was surprisingly heavy.

“I won’t let it happen again.”

Mori could have wept. He was so young, and tender, and caring. Too young for such anguish. Instead, he smiled.

“Come on, let us get you home and cleaned up. Your mother will mur- ...Uh, yell, at me, if she comes home and finds you scruffy like this.”

[deijiidraws]

a couple Temmie pals in A1 and B1 please?

(they’re actually really nice i promise)

Full Size

[deijiidraws]

I’m finally opening commissions!

WHAT I DO

Original Characters (Anthro/Human)

Animals/Feral

Fanart

WHAT I WON’T DO

NSFW (currently - will be available in the future)

Fetish (same as NSFW - with restrictions TBA)

Mecha

Dragons (anthro dragons are OKAY)

Gore (this one I can be flexible with)

Feel free to ask if you’re unsure.

TERMS

To keep this organized, please e-mail me at [email protected] to place orders. But I’m available to answer questions or help with pricing here.

I’m taking these in batches of 3. If all three slots are full, I’ll open new slots once they clear.

turnaround: allow 2 weeks for most commissions. If it will take longer, I will let you know when you place the order. I have a full time job and other responsibilities which may get in the way. I am unable to accommodate rush orders at this time.

More samples:

2 characters, full color, +20% background

1 character, full color, +30% background

1 character, full color, +20% background (semi-nsfw)

1 character (thigh up), full color, default background

[vol-ia]

I just have to ask, that write-tober 4, was that inspired by a Halloween commission done by an artist named SentyEspeon on Twitter? Because it's just startlingly similar

actually yes! I am shameless and I steal ideas am openly inspired by things easily!

[sentypurr]

A commission for @ia_quillthing on Twitter! It’s his two boys; Raz & Dawn, taking a selfie after their concert! Aren’t they just the cutest??

[vol-ia]

I died

p.s. some of the adventures of these boys have been previously detailed if you care to learn more, plus I guess I’m obligated to keep writing about them now

https://vol-ia.tumblr.com/post/166004984378/write-tober-1

https://vol-ia.tumblr.com/post/127062923608/verum-stories-a-dramatic-reading (warning: ancient also a little nsfw??)

[vol-ia]

Write-tober 4

What’s the point of doing an October thing if you don’t do something spooky?  Dolls are decades out of vogue, but if you’re reading this then odds are, you probably own at least one plushie. When did you see it last?

2377 words, PG: Horror elements, Transformation, Spooky Scary.

“Once upon a time, everyone loved dolls.”

You try not to hyperventilate, leaning against the bedroom door. Outside, somewhere in the darkness, it was moving around. Was it brushing up against the door? Or looking for another way in? It was difficult to hear anything over the sound of your own panicked breathing, and the disconcerting, high pitched voice coming from behind the door.

“It was a good time, for us. Dolls were in every house, played with by every child. They were prized possessions, best friends, trusted confidants, playmates.”

It was speaking like a child, but whatever it was, it wasn’t human. You glance down at your left arm in disbelief as the chilling realization begins to set in that you can’t move it, at all.

“My kind? We love dolls. They’re so comfortable, and you could stay in one and have an adventure and play so many games without ever having to move at all!”

Still leaning against the door, you pick up your left arm at the wrist with your other hand. It’s limp, floppy, and feels nothing like flesh. In the gloomy darkness of the bedroom, you can make out what looks like cotton stuffing poking out of half torn seams down its side. Down your side. Your arm, somehow changed, and yet still attached to you. Now, it looked all the world like…

Well, like the arm of a stuffed toy.

“But, one day, it all kinda… Stopped. Everyone decided dolls were creepy! Can you imagine? We all got put in drawers and forgotten about, or thrown away, or stuffed into glass cases and put on display!”

There was scrabbling at the foot of the door again. You quickly pull your feet away from it, just in case. It had been so fast. You were just up to grab a glass of water, and spotted it out of the corner of your eye as it leapt towards you. You had fended it off with one arm while you scrambled back for the bedroom in a blind panic, sending it flying, but it must have… Bitten you? Or something?

“Sitting around collecting dust is just… SO boring. It makes me all steamed up, just thinking about it. But, you know, you humans are predictable creatures. Take something that used to be popular and tweak it just a little and suddenly, everything old is new again.”

Some kind of monster, or demon. How had it gotten inside the house? How were you going to get away from it? The only way out of the bedroom was over the balcony, and you weren’t sure you could make it over the railing without seriously injuring yourself with only one working arm.

“And tonight, this particular spooky night, all of us have come out to play with you! What did you call this body again? A plushie? It sure is cute! I love this little fox body!”

A plushie? A fox? You had a Zorua plushie in the living room on the bookshelf, it was one of your favourite Pokemon. Your eyes were adjusting to the gloom, now. Your arm, the one the monster had gotten, it had a distinctive red patch at the end, just like the plushie in the living room. It was where your hand used to be. Your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you turn your deadened limb over, revealing what might have been, in other circumstances, a cute little sewn on pattern of a paw-pad.

“I’m sure you’ll love it just as much as me.”

Scratch. Scratch scratch. It was pawing at the door.

“Come on, let me in! Don’t you love your plushies? Don’t you wanna hug them?”

Your remaining hand was shaking as you held it against your chest, still leaning with your back to the door. It had said tonight, as though there was a time limit, and possessed or not, the plushie wouldn’t be able to get in if you kept your weight on the door. All you have to do is hold it together until sunrise.

You hope.

“Heh heh heh.”

“G-go away!” It sounds weak, you’re hoarse, and thirsty. You were already thirsty, and now the fear was just making it worse.

“I’m not going anywhere! I’m gonna wait riiiight here until you open this door like a good boy.”

“No! S-stop talking to me! I’m not opening this door!”

“Aren’t you though? You were in such a hurry to get away from me, you scrambled back into your room so quick. But, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Your mind races. Windows? Other doors? The balcony? There were no vents. A hole in the wall? The voice, it sounded so sure of itself, like it knew something you didn’t. But it was out there and you were in here, maybe it was just trying to make you panic.

Yeah, you’re totally safe in here, so long as you keep the door shut. Maybe there was a weapon you could find in the wardrobe, or something to prop the door shut. You cast your mind around your memories of the room, trying to think what might be…

You realise, cold terror raising the hackles on the back of your neck, that you have a Vulpix plushie in your bedroom. It’s on the bedside table.

No.

It wasn’t on the bedside table. Not anymore.

Your attempt to scream for help comes out as an airless squeak. Something darts at you from the shadows under your bed. You flinch, kicking out at it in a panic. You connect solidly with whatever it is, with enough force to send it flying, surely. You look around the room frantically, trying to figure out where it went.

“Got you!”

The voice causes you to tense up with shock. You can barely stand to slowly look down in the direction it came from.

It’s on your leg. The Vulpix plushie.

You’re too terrified to move. Your leg is numb, you realise. The plushie is looking at you, and then it looks down to watch as your foot seems to just, pull back into your leg, leaving behind a smooth black limb with a red ‘foot’ at the end. The Vulpix looks back up at you, moving fast enough that you can’t even see it in motion in the gloom.

It reminds you of the glimpse you got of the other one. A familiar soft toy with some kind of otherworldly glow in its glassy eyes, its seams somehow stretched and leaking stuffing. It almost seemed gleeful.

With all your strength, you wrench yourself out of your terrified paralysis, supporting your weight with your other leg and fumbling for the door handle, wildly flinging your leg around to try and shake it off as you pull at the door. You lose your footing as the door opens, and the world tilts around you as you fall, landing heavily on your chest, knocking all the wind out of yourself.

You shut your eyes for a moment, groaning and wincing at the pain and the sheer crushing weight of fear, threatening to cause you to lock up again. No, have to try and escape. You try to push with your other leg, but it’s gone numb too, replaced with something that bends when you kick at the door frame, soft.

“You know, it’s pretty fun to watch him squirm.”

“Right? You sure spooked him good!”

The voices are coming from either side of the doorway. Groaning, you use your arm, the only limb left that was still normal, and pushed yourself up and onto your side, leaning back against the door and frantically looking around, trying to spot either of them.

The vulpix is sitting a little way away from your now useless feet, its head tilted as it watches you. Still struggling to breathe from the impact, you slowly turn your head to look the other way.

It’s sitting in the gloom, right beside you. Twisted, wrong. Watching. The Zorua giggles cheekily at you, the leaking fluff that was hanging out of its rent seams jiggling as it does so.

“Such a good boy, doing what you’re told. Aren’t you fun?”

There’s not enough air in your lungs for you to reply. You can’t look away.

It gets up and daintily prowls towards you. You try to smack it away and it easily ducks under your swipe, tapping your arm and causing it to fall against the door, lifeless. You try not to whimper as the soft fuzz creeps its way up your limb.

You want to squirm, to look away, to call for help. You can’t stop staring as it climbs its way up onto your lap.

“Heh heh. So cute when they’re transfixed with terror, aren’t they?”

The Vulpix’s grin got wider. “Make him squirm a little.”

The Zorua laughed again, covering its mouth with a paw, seemly delighted at the suggestion. You struggle to speak.

“D-Don’t…”

“Shhh.” The Zorua’s eyes shine as it nuzzles at your belly in a grim parody of an affectionate animal. “Just relax! Keep your eyes on me.”

The Zorua seemed to be growing. The numbness was creeping up your arms and legs, and out from where it was sitting on your lap. The door was pushing past you, getting bigger as well. The whole house seemed to be getting larger. You want to whimper, or close your eyes, as the numbness creeps up your neck and something pushes out into the bottom half of your vision, as your nose changes into a small, plushie like snout, as you finish shrinking down to the same size as your tormentor, but you can’t look away. You can’t move at all, not even your eyes. The numbness fades, replaced with a surreal serenity as the realization sets in that you’ve become totally immobile. It’s oddly calming.

Or maybe that’s just the lack of a rapidly beating heart.

The Zorua grabs you by one limb and pulls you onto all fours, off of the door, your new plush tail springing to attention as you rock forward perilously on your two front feet, unable to so much as flinch as your body manages to avoid tipping over by the slightest of margins, wobbling back onto all fours and settling into complete stillness.

“Done! Isn’t he a cute little toy?”

“He sure is! He sure knew how to whimper and squirm, too.” The Vulpix padded closer, inspecting you critically.

“I knew you’d enjoy it. I told you!”

The Vulpix giggled, quietly. “You did! I wonder what he’s thinking, right now?”

The Zorua leaned in and playfully bapped you on the nose, causing your whole body to rock back and forth. If you had guts anymore, you’d probably feel quite nauseous. “He’s probably thinking about how no one else knows he’s in there! About how, come tomorrow morning, no one will even notice him down here while everyone looks for him.”

Well, you hadn’t been thinking about it until they had mentioned it. If you still had lungs, you’d definitely be hyperventilating.

The Zorua’s eyes glinted. “Humans are terrible, you know. They leave their plushies just sitting around doing nothing, all day every day!” It leant closer, whispering right into your sewn on ear. You could feel a slight tickle at the gentle contact of plush nose onto your own soft fabric. “I could put you away and leave you to gather dust, you know.”

“Forever.”

It giggled again, leaning back and grinning at you as though it could hear your desperate inner pleading and panic.

“Oh, but I can!”

It could?

“Yes! What would be the point of turning you into one of us if that was where the game ended? We came to play, after all.”

The vulpix chimed in. “Yeah! It’s not so bad, being a plushie, provided you’re willing to play.”

Play? How were you supposed to play when you couldn’t even blink?

“It’s easy! You can move around all you want, and talk, and when the sun comes up, you’ll wake up in your bed like it was all a dream. I promise!” The Zorua sat back on its haunches and crossed its chest with a paw. “All you gotta do is… Help us find more people to play with.”

You weren’t quite sure what the Zorua meant.

“Duh! Come on, fluff for brains. Surely you know someone else who has plushies as well. Just tell us who, and we’ll all go over to their house together, and play some more.”

Well… You did know one person, off of the top of your head. You looked down, trying to decide if it was really worth leading this sadistic little monster to them. They WERE your friend, after all.

Wait, looked down? You start, nearly falling over at the shock of suddenly having regained your motor control. The unfamiliar bulk of a Zorua’s tail cause you to nearly fall over again, and your smooth, nigh featureless paw-stubs aren’t much use for trying to stabilise yourself. The two other plushies laugh at you as you try to pick yourself up off of your rear, and laugh harder as you realise that you have a tag coming out of one of the seams of your hind legs.

“H-hey…” The squeaky voice comes out of your mouth, or what passes for it currently. You rub at your chest and neck with a paw, probing at the soft, sewn pillow that must have been your Zorua mane, unable to detect a voice box or throat. “Y-you’re not gonna… Hurt my friend, are you?”

Both of the other plushies stopped dead.

“Hmm.”

“Would you classify this as hurt?”

“We never hurt anybody.”

“Just spook them a little, is all.”

“Yeah.”

You attempt to scowl. It doesn’t work. Your facial expression is stitched on. “You uh, you DID trip me.”

“Oh! Well, you were trying to get away.”

“Can’t have that.”

“Nope. Besides, you’re better now right?”

You supposed you were. It’s not like you had any flesh left to be bruised.

“You see? You can trust us.”

“Yeah! Plus, if you play with us, you never know…”

The Zorua leaned in closer again, its glassy eyes shining in the gloom.

“You might even enjoy the hunt.”

[vol-ia]

Write-tober 3

I sure did write this! Maybe skip this one if you’re uncomfortable with the idea of a boy being aggressively measured by another boy.

1532 words, MA 15+: suggestive themes.

Eve winced at the sound of tearing fabric, gritting his teeth and opening one eye to look down and survey the damage.

Dangit. His shirt was ripped along the outside seam, where it had caught on the handle of the kitchen drawer. He could see his own tan fur through the opening, and it was definitely ruined.

It was a first run band shirt from back before the band changed their logo, occupying the frustrating space of being nearly worthless and yet impossible to replace, and it was one of Eve’s favourite articles of clothing.

Naturally, it would have to be rescued, and Eve happened to know just the person for the job.

Hoo boy. Finn was going to be so insufferably pleased to see him.

***

Ribbons was located in a pretty nice part of the shopping district, just far enough from the main street that you were unlikely to stumble upon it unless you knew it was there. From the street it was just an unassuming door with some stairs visible through the glass, with a hanging wooden sign done up to look like a white ribbon with pink and blue highlights, with the word “Ribbons” spelled out in a tasteful font, and an even more tasteful “Tailor” in smaller font underneath.

The air inside was slightly crisp, perhaps a touch more air-conditioned than Eve would have preferred. Soft music, some kind of inoffensive piano, echoed down the stairwell. Eve clutched the small plastic bag with his shirt inside, along with a few other things that were over-worn, and took a steadying breath. The trick was to be firm and assertive, he did it all the time at work.

The shop itself was small but neat, racks of clothing near the front, a raised platform with an assortment of mirrors up against a dividing wall, and beyond that, hidden by a curtain, was presumably some kind of work-space. Past the dividing wall, Eve could see out the tops of three vertical windows out onto the main street.

“Could it be? Am I graced with his presence?”

“Consider yourself graced.”

There was movement behind the dividing wall, and then the curtain was swept aside, a tall and lithe Sylveon ducking under the fabric and out into open view, one of his ribbons gently letting the curtain back down behind him.

“Eve!” His smile was blindingly bright.

“Heya Finn, long time no- whoa!” Eve exclaimed, taken aback as the larger fox nearly lifted him off of his feet in a tight hug. “Aw come on, it hasn’t been that long!”

“Far too long!” Finn beamed down at Eve with his piercingly blue eyes. “Feels like it’s been years.”

“Well, it hasn’t! I’ve just been, you know, busy. Work.” Eve grinned, gently trying to pry Finn off of him and failing. One of his ribbons had wound its way around his back and was holding him close, showcasing their unusual strength for such delicate looking appendages, and another was attempting to relieve him of the bag he was holding.

“Yes! Work. Your time is quite precious, so I shan't waste a moment of it.” Finn glanced at the ribbon as it stole the bag and lifted it up for him to inspect. “You’re still wearing this?”

“Y-yeah. It’s a collectable.”

“It’s off the rack!” Another ribbon plucked the shirt from the pile and held it up. “And at least two sizes too large.”

“It’s comfortable!” Eve was beginning to feel a little indignant, and not just because of the judgement of his choice of baggy clothing for around the house. Finn seemed to have forgotten about the fact that he had pinned Eve up against him. He squirmed a little, trying to peel the ribbon off of his chest. “Can I, um-”

“Oh! Sorry.” Finn chuckled, the picture of forgetful innocence. The ribbon lifted itself away, and he stepped backward, although not too far. “They have a mind of their own, sometimes. Can I offer you some tea while I have a closer look at these?”

***

Eve cupped the mug in both hands for warmth, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Hmmm. Well, I can sew this and the seam won’t be too noticeable… All of these are really worn out though. You should let me draw you up an entire new w-”

“No, thank you.” Finn always tried to up-sell. He seemed to think that if every piece of clothing you owned wasn’t tailored, you were doing it wrong. “I just want it fixed.”

Finn pouted. “Fine. At the very least, can I take in the extra fabric? It’ll be more comfortable if it fits properly, I promise.”

Eve sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I guess…” He did tend to prefer loose, what with his voluminous mane and tail. Still, Finn’s white shirt was so closely fitted that it would have been impossible to tell where it ended and his short white fur started if he didn’t have the sleeves rolled up on his arms, and he always seemed perfectly comfortable.

Finn brightened up considerably. “Great!” He deftly plucked the mug out of Eve’s hands and placed it on the counter, his ribbons snaking out of nowhere and wrapping around both of Eve’s wrists. “Come on then! I’ll only be a minute.” He turned and made his way to the raised platform, his ribbons unceremoniously dragging Eve along behind him by the wrists.

“H-hey! D-didn’t you say it was just two sizes?” Eve stumbled, trying to pry the ribbons off as he was manhandled.

Finn rolled his eyes as he half guided, half lifted Eve onto the platform. “Pfft. That’s just a rough estimation! I don’t do estimates, I do precision.” The way he brandished the tape measure he had produced, it sounded like a threat.

The time for protesting was clearly over. Eve bit down on a squeak as his arm was lifted out of the way by a ribbon, the Eevee trying not to flinch as one end of the tape was held against his armpit and Finn’s other hand traced down his side to the waist. Finn glanced from the tape measure to the pen and notepad that had also been pulled from wherever he kept his tools, his ribbons taking notes as he leant closer, passing the tape around Eve’s waist and drawing it tight, eliciting a small gasp from Eve.

He clicked his tongue. “Tsk. Too many takeout nights, I think. Not that I mind, it’s cute on you.”

Okay, now Eve was blushing. Whatever weak protest he was trying to muster when the tape was shifted, squeezing down on his chest as Finn pulled it maybe a little tighter than was necessary. Eve went to tug at it, but the soft ribbon that had pulled his arm up hand never gotten around to letting go, and it gently fended him off.

“Take a deep breath for me, there’s a good boy.”

Eve hated that his breath caught in his throat, even as he did what he was told.

“Mmm, good. Now, don’t squirm too much this time.” The tape was pulled away, Finn cracking it like a miniature whip and stepping up onto the platform as well, looming over Eve with his implacable, predatory grin and his icy blue eyes. He bought both hands up and pulled the tape around the back of Eve’s neck, curling it around his throat tight enough that Eve swallowed reflexively, feeling it brush against his adam’s apple.

“Good.”

Finn held eye contact for just a moment, smiling at whatever he was imagining as he looked down at Eve, one finger holding the tape measure to the Eevee’s throat and the other holding the length of it a short way off, not unlike a leash.

And then, he stepped back down, pulling the tape away. The dull scratching noise of his ribbons taking notes receded as he walked back to the counter, putting his tools down and picking Eve’s mug back up.

“Alright, that’s all I need. Thanks for playing along!”

“Y-yeah. I, uh, n-no problem.”

Eve accepted the mug from Finn as he stepped down, trying not to shake too much. His mouth was dry, so he took a sip, grateful for the excuse to not look Finn in the eyes.

“I should be able to get everything done before close, unless there’s a rush at 4. You busy this evening?”

“No, I’m uh, I’m off today.”

“Perfect. You can stay here if you want, although watching me sew is unlikely to be very exciting.”

“Oh! I was going to, uh…” Go outside and take a few dozen deep, calming breaths, and maybe dunk my head in some cold water. “G-go catch a movie or something. I hadn’t decided.”

“That sounds like fun! If you were willing to wait, we could both go see something together after I’m done with work. It has been a while, after all.”

This seemed like a dangerous proposition.

“Uh, sure. Least I could do, for doing me a favor on such short notice.”

***

Later that day, Eve looked up if tailors needed to measure the collar at the throat. The general consensus online was: Nope.

[vol-ia]

Write-tober 2

You might notice that I’m already 4 days behind schedule! Well, not every idea arrives in a timely fashion.

1233 words, PG. Shares continuity with http://philome.la/twitakare/the-perfect-spell

Potion making. An essential part of any witch’s skill-set. Chris furrowed his brow, reading the passage again, his fox ears poking past the top of the oversized book.

It was one of the basic potions, a ‘simple tincture’ in the book’s words. Supposedly for alleviating stress, helping to soothe a poor night’s sleep, to protect against supernatural charms and hexes, and purported to bring good luck. The list of supposed uses continued down the page, including some eyebrow raises like ‘can banish ghosts’ and ‘heals minor wounds’. Despite all of these claims, Chris couldn’t figure out which or what blend of ingredients was the part that was actually magical.

Peppermint has several uses in traditional medicine, but that was mostly just menthol, chemically. Ginger is supposed to address nausea. Honey, at least, is antimicrobial. The caffeine from the black tea has several positive health benefits, not to mention the antioxidants. Lemon was full of… Vitamin C? Chamomile is purported to solve all sorts of problem, from eczema to insomnia.

Steep in hot water for 3 minutes, remove ingredients with strainer, serve hot. No rituals, no incantations, no stirring six times anticlockwise with an obsidian spoon. Where was the magic?

What was so special about this particular blend of herbal tea?

This was hardly the first time Chris had been confused by something written in one of the witch textbooks, to be sure. But for such a basic potion, he felt like he was missing something incredibly obvious to not see the point.

Still, a good witch never gave up. Maybe some experimentation would reveal the secret of the potion. Chris would just have to wait for the right moment.

***

“Ah-Choo!” The teacher sniffed, groaning. “Ugh! Sorry, class, I’m feeling a little under the weather today.” He tried to rally, glancing back down at his notes to find his place and sneezed again, violently enough that shook the textbook and several pieces of paper with notes fell out. “Oh! F- ...Dear.”

Clearly, he was tired. Normally Mr. Williams did a much better job of hiding it when he nearly cursed in front of a room full of minors. This was Chris’s chance.

The teacher looked up from gathering his notes, and Chris tried not to take offense at the long suffering expression he put on when he saw Chris’s raised hand.

“Yes, Chris?”

“Well, um, Sir…”

The entire class was looking at him now, and Chris stopped to consider the sudden but inevitable pressure of being noticed. Still, the spirit of experimentation demanded he persist.

“I, I was just thinking… I recently came across a recipe for a potion to cure the flu.”

That got Mr. Williams attention, alright. He raised his eyebrow and the tone of his voice. “Oh! You know, the school has a pretty strict arrangement with your parents and that cove- erm, department of witchcraft, regarding use of magic on school grounds…”

“Yes, but it clearly stipulates an exception should a responsible adult call for it! And, you know, you look like you could really do with a pick me up.”

The teacher pursed his lips, clearly caught in-between a healthy superstition towards witchcraft, not wanting to put up with being in trouble for allowing magic to happen on the school’s grounds, a small amount of annoyance that Chris had derailed his class, and a fervent desire to be magically rid of whatever ungodly gunk was currently occupying his sinuses.

And then, he sneezed again, exploding his half gathered notes once more. Chris allowed himself a tiny smirk.

***

The teacher pulled the door closed behind him, turning to face Chris in the dim office.

“Now, we can’t be gone too long or it’s gonna get Lord of the Flies out th- ...When did you change?”

Chris had already donned his witches outfit, having to make do with the minor creases in the fabric of the dress despite his fastidious folding. He kept his eyes on the tiny portable butane gas burner and small camping pot, rapidly adding the ingredients for the potion as the water inside heated. “I’ve had some practice, sir.”

“G-getting changed in my office?”

“Getting changed in general, sir. The office is just a means to an end.”

The teacher cleared his throat, wincing. “Hem hem. Well. I mean, is it really necessary to do that to brew a, um… potion?”

“Wouldn’t be witchcraft without it, sir.” Chris swirled the little pot, eyes twinkling in the gloom as it steamed. He produced a small tea strainer and skimmed it along the top, putting whatever it was he had collected from the pot into a small waste bag. He lifted the pot off of the flame, turning the heat off and swirling it a few times, and then gently poured a measure of it into the empty mug on the teacher’s desk.

In the faint light of the office, it had a purple tinge to it, and steamed gently.

“Hmm.” The teacher had the look of a man reconsidering every life choice he had ever made.

“Go on then, while it’s hot. Um. Sir.” The book had suggested the phrase ‘and be quick about it, dear’ but Chris suspected that would be both unnecessary and inappropriate, in the circumstances.

The teacher looked dubious, but then he cleared his throat again. Besides, the smell of whatever was in the mixture had permeated the room, and it wasn’t exactly… Unpleasant. He hesitantly approached the desk, picking up the mug and squinting at the liquid inside critically.

“This recipe for this potion. It’s um…” He cast around for a word to use instead of ‘safe’. “...Legal?”

“Perfectly. Approved by the department of witchcraft and all. Although I hear you can offend the spell if you hesitate too long.”

The teacher shot Chris a look, decided that he was above being called a chicken by a 10 year old boy, witch and fox or not, sniffed the concoction once more, and then took a hearty swig of it. He very nearly spat it back up, but managed to control himself.

“Were you not expecting it to be hot, sir?” Chris tilted his head, curiously.

“No no, I, ahem, Y-you see…” The teacher cleared his throat again, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve and straightening up. “...Hmm. Ahem! ...Chris, what was in that?”

“Oh, you know… Actually, it’s probably better if you don’t know.”

“It’s just… It’s all tingly and warm, and my, my throat…!”

“Your throat, sir?”

The teacher smiled warmly at Chris. “Well, I see the costume isn’t just for show, now, isn’t it? Perhaps I’ll make use of your services again, next time I’m feeling a little weighed down by work!”

***

“Mum?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Are you… SURE that humans can’t do magic?”

“I’m pretty sure, honey. Why do you ask?”

“Well, something magical happened, but I didn’t do it. Unless purple food dye is magic, now.”

“I doubt we could buy it at the grocery store if it was.”

“Hmm. But, I gave someone a potion with no magic in it, and they said it made them feel better.”

“Oh? Well, maybe they just felt better knowing that my little witch-fox was looking after them!”

“I guess so... Hey, so, do you want some nice tea? I found a really great recipe.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely! Make sure to make some for your father as well.”

“Okay!”

[vol-ia]

Write-tober 1

Some of us are artists, some of us are not and just make do.

1266 words, MA15+: swearing, nudity.

Dawn hit the spacebar, pausing the mix. Something was wrong, somewhere, but he couldn’t even identify the problem, let alone think of a solution. And his eyes hurt.

The espeon rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, keenly aware that it was probably only going to make them hurt more. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking at the clock in the corner of the monitor.

5 30. AM, not PM. Ugh.

At least everyone else in the apartment block was quiet, this time of morning. Dawn stood up out of his chair, gripping the desk as the rush from having sat down for too long tried to put him back into it, and then took out his phone as he wandered unsteadily towards the kitchen, looking to slake his long ignored thirst.

He skimmed the notifications as he sipped the water, mindful of having too much too quick on an empty stomach. A few spam emails, an actual email about the project he was working on, wondering if it was done yet. Some instant messages from a program he hadn’t actually opened in a week. Some text messages he didn’t feel like reading.

A calendar notification. 10 am, meet with Raz at the cafe to discuss setlist.

Crap.

***

“You… look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Dawn took the paper coffee cup out of Raz’s hands, taking a deep breath of the rich aroma as he shuffled his way into the cushioned seat on the far side of the table, his tail curling lightly in his own lap as he fought the urge to lie down on the soft surface.

Raz took the slightly less comfortable plastic seat on the other side of the table, the jolteon leaning forward onto the cheap, unstable table, gently testing his weight on it and keeping an eye on his cappuccino as he rested his head on one of his palms.

“So… Late night?”

Dawn took a deep, strength gathering breath. “Last minute rush job. Some moron who thinks he’s gonna be the next Metallica but only if his album is mixed before the 12th.”

Raz glanced down at the table, clicking the button on his phone to check the screen, and the date.

“Oooh. Yikes.”

“Right? He’s paying out the ass for it, though.”

Raz clenched his jaw, frowning a little. Dawn didn’t need to be psychic to know he was thinking about how money wasn’t worth the stress and the sleep deprivation, and that Dawn needed to learn how to say no.

“I needed the money.” Dawn lied.

“Uh huh.” Raz continued to frown, thinking about how what Dawn was really looking for was a distraction and if you’re gonna be evasive about it and read my mind instead of talking to me can we at least think about the show next week which you ARE going to sleep before, right?

Dawn shook himself, blinking and trying to wake himself up. “Ugh. Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“You’re exhausted.” Raz rolled his eyes. “You should have just cancelled and gone to bed.”

“I didn’t wanna cancel just because I forgot about our meeting.”

“You only forgot because you spend all day trying to not think about things!”

“My thinking is just fine.”

The unspoken implication that it was somehow everyone else that was the problem hung in the air between them. Raz sighed, taking a sip from his coffee, and Dawn took a second to do the same.

Long black, more bitter than savoury, slightly too hot. The espeon knew he’d be jittery and have broken sleep because of it. He took another sip anyway.

“So… Did you get a chance to look over the list?” Raz asked, his tone of voice much lighter.

“Yeah, kinda. My wires are a little crossed because of the all nighter, but it all seemed fine. Three encore songs seems a little optimistic, though.”

“You gotta leave space in your life for good luck. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“Is it me. Am I the secret weapon.” Dawn asked flatly.

“Yes.”

Dawn rolled his eyes, which hurt. “Ugh.”

“They’re good songs! You might not believe it, but singing and playing is the easy part.”

“It’s really not. But whatever, if you’re happy and the audience is happy, I’m happy.”

“Well I’m glad you’re happy.” Raz smiled. No bad mood ever seemed to stick to him for long. “But I did actually want your input, as well. I was wondering about going from Beat Blasting Butt Puncher straight into The Power.”

“Why do you never use the real names for the songs?”

“Mostly to annoy you.”

The worst part was, Dawn could tell it was true.

***

“...Because if I don’t, you’ll just go right back to mixing this jerkoff’s album again.”

Dawn turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open. Raz followed him in, in high ‘I insist’ mode and showing no signs of stopping.

“For your information, I was going to have a shower and go straight to bed, and I’m not actually incapable of taking care of myself, I just lost track of time.”

“Of course. And when was the last time you ate solid food?”

Dawn was too tired to bluff. “Seven… PM?”

Raz gave him a look. “I’ll microwave you something while you shower.”

“Gee, thanks dad, I really appreciate you looking out for me.” Dawn’s sarcastic reply had no bite to it. It was actually kind of nice to have someone else in the apartment for once.

Dawn could vaguely feel the shape of Raz’s mind out there, moving around the kitchen while Dawn pulled his shirt over his ears, the large appendages popping out of the fabric and flicking back up straight, along with most of his disturbed fur. He finished disrobing, not bothering to smooth down the unruly lilac fluff, instead opting to step into the shower, standing out of the way and turning the hot water on, waiting until the stream started to steam before mixing in just a touch of cold and stepping into the water.

The tension went out of him, washed away by the water and the heat. Eyes closed, Dawn focused on the sound and sensation of the movement through his fur, across his face, down his back and chest. The smell of clean, hot water filled his senses.

There were a dozen, two dozen minds maybe, all close enough to feel. Raz was closest, and the most familiar. He had decided to microwave a tin of soup he’d found in the cupboard, and was making toast to go with it, humming to himself. The song was one of Dawn’s, a composition he’d finished and then retrofitted with lyrics, with Raz’s help. In Raz’s mind, Dawn was the one singing it.

That Dawn was different. That Dawn wasn’t wearing his hoodie, he was wearing a tight shirt that exposed the midriff. He swaggered on the stage, the star of the show, unashamed and delighted to be in the spotlight. Raz was watching in the crowd, reveling in the show, and it never occurred to Dawn just how shamefully flirty the lyrics were until he was singing them, watching Raz in the crowd and giving him an elaborate, theatrical wink as he hit the extended high note, and Dawn realised, to his horror, at the exact same moment as Raz, that he was still in the shower, actually singing.

He snapped his mouth shut, and the note echoed in the confined space.

Oh god, he could SMELL how smugly delighted Raz was.

No more all nighters, Dawn decided.