Xlaits Writes

Here, I take commissions, requests, and prompts and write them out for all to see. DM me for commission info.

[crystallizedtwilight]

These are just my opinions and some artists may not be discouraged by these things, but I’ve been artist on this site for over 10 years and felt some of these things were at least worth mentioning. Thanks for your kindness everyone!

[clementive-deactivated20150318]

In Which Diversity Isn't a Myth

Ok. I’m tired of the typical vampire, werewolf and fairy.I’m also tired of the occidental-centrism in mythology. Hence, this list. 

I tried to included as many cultural variants as I could find and think of. (Unfortunately, I was restricted by language. Some Russian creatures looked very interesting but I don’t speak Russian…) Please, add creatures from your culture when reblogguing (if not already present). It took me a while to gather all those sites but I know it could be more expansive. I intend on periodically editing this list. 

Of note: I did not include specific legendary creatures (Merlin, Pegasus, ect), gods/goddesses/deities and heroes.

Dragons

The Chinese Dragon

The Japanese Dragon

The Korean Dragon

The Vietnamese Dragon

The Greek Dragon

The Indian Dragon

The Polish Dragon

The Austrian Dragon

The British Dragon

The Ancient Dragon (Egypt, Babylon and Sumer)

The Spanish Basque Dragon

Of the Cockatrice (creature with the body of a dragon)

Alphabetical List of Dragons Across Myths (Great way to start)

Little creatures (without wings)

The Legend of the Leprechauns, The Leprechaun

Chanaque /Alux (the equivalent of leprechauns in Aztec/Mayan folklore)

Elves

Elves in Mythology and Fantasy

Elves in Germanic Mythology

Kabeiroi or Cabeiri (Dwarf-like minor gods in Greek mythology)

Norse Dwarves

The Myth of Loki and the Dwarves

Ten Types of Goblins

Goblins

Tengu: Japanese Goblins

Gnomes 

More on Gnomes

Pooka: an Irish phantom

Creatures with wings (except dragons)

Fairies

All sorts of Cultural Fairies

Fairies in Old French Mythology 

A Fairy List

Bendith Y Mamau (Welsh fairies)

Welsh Fairies

Peri (Persian fairies)

Yü Nü (Chinese fairies)

The Celtic Pixie

Angels in Judaism

Angels in Christianity

Hierarchy of Angels

Angels in Islam

Irish Sylph

Garuda (Bird-like creature in Hindu and Buddhist myths)

Bean Nighe (a Scottish fairy; the equivalent of a banshee in Celtic mythology)

Harpies

Spirited Creatures

Druids

Jinn (Genies in Arabic folklore)

Types of Djinns

Aisha Qandisha and Djinn in Moroccan Folklore

Oni (demons in Japanese folklore)

Nymphs

Spirits in Asturian Mythology

Valkyries

Lesovik

Boggarts: The British Poltergeist

Phantom black dogs (the Grim)

Demons in Babylonian and Assyrian Mythology (list)

Demons in the Americas (list)

European Demons (list)

Middle-East and Asia Demons (list)

Judeo-Christian Demons (list)

Nephilim, more on Nephilim

Mahaha (a demon in Inuit mythology)

Flying Head (a demon in Iroquois mythology)

Ghosts

Toyol (a dead baby ghost in Malay folklore)

Malay Ghosts

Yuki-onna (a ghost in Japanese folklore)

The Pontianak (a ghost in Malay mythology)

Funayurei (a ghost in Japanese folklore)

Zagaz (ghosts in Moroccan folklore)

Japanese Ghosts

Mexican Ghosts

Horse-like mythical creatures

Chinese Unicorns

Unicorns

The Kelpie (Could have also fitted in the sea creatures category)

The Centaur

The Female Centaur

Hippocamps (sea horses in Greek mythology)

Horse-like creatures (a list)

Karkadann, more on the Karkadann (a persian unicorn)

Ceffyl Dwfr (fairy-like water horse creatures in Cymric mythology)

Undead creatures

The Melanesian Vampire 

The Ewe Myth : Vampires

The Germanic Alp

The Indonesian Vampire

Asanbosam and Sasabonsam (Vampires from West Africa)

The Aswang: The Filipino Vampire

Folklore Vampires Versus Literary Vampires

Callicantzaros: The Greek Vampire

Vampires in Malaysia

Loogaroo/Socouyant: The Haitian Vampire

Incubi and Sucubi Across Cultures

Varacolaci: The Romanian Vampire

Brahmaparusha: The Indian Vampire

Genesis of the Word “Vampire”

The Ghoul in Middle East Mythology

Slavic Vampires

Vampires A-Z

The Medical Truth Behind the Vampire Myths

Zombies in Haitian Culture

Shape-shifters and half-human creatures (except mermaids) 

Satyrs (half-man, half-goat)

Sirens in Greek Mythology (half-woman and half-bird creatures)

The Original Werewolf in Greek Mythology

Werewolves Across Cultures

Werewolf Syndrome: A Medical Explanation to the Myth

Nagas Across Cultures

The Kumiho (half fox and half woman creatures)

The Sphinx

Criosphinx

Scorpion Men (warriors from Babylonian mythology)

Pooka: an Irish changelings

Domovoi (a shape-shifter in Russian folklore)

Aatxe (Basque mythology; red bull that can shift in a human)

Yech (Native American folklore)

Ijiraat (shapeshifters in Inuit mythology)

Sea creatures

Selkies (Norse mermaids)

Mermaids in many cultures

More about mermaids

Mermen

The Kraken (a sea monster)

Nuckelavee (a Scottish elf who mainly lives in the sea)

Lamiak (sea nymphs in Basque mythology)

Bunyip (sea monster in Aboriginal mythology)

Apkallu/abgal (Sumerian mermen)

An assemblage of myths and legends on water and water creatures

Slavic Water Creatures

The Encantado (water spirits in Ancient Amazon River mythology)

Zin (water spirit in Nigerian folklore)

Qallupilluk (sea creatures in Inuit mythology)

Monsters That Don’t Fit in Any Other Category

Aigamuxa, more details on Aigamuxa

Amphisabaena

Abere

Bonnacon

Myrmidons (ant warriors)

Troll, More on Trolls

Golems 

Golems in Judaism

Giants: The Mystery and the Myth (50 min long documentary)

Inupasugjuk (giants in Inuit mythology)

Fomorians (an Irish divine race of giants)

The Minotaur

The Manticore, The Manticore and The Leucrouta

The Ogre

The Orthus (two-headed serpent-tailed dog)

The Windigo

The Windigo Psychosis

Rakshasa (humanoids in Hindu and Buddhist mythology)

Yakshas (warriors in Hindu mythology)

Taqriaqsuit (“Shadow people” in Inuit mythology)

References on Folklore and Mythology Across the Globe

Creatures of Irish Folklore 

Folklore and Fairytales

An Overview of Persian Folklore

Filipino Folklore

Myths, Creatures and Folklore

Alaska Folklore

Spanish (Spain) Mythology

Mythical Archive

Mythology Dictionary

List of Medieval and Ancient Monsters

Native American Animals of Myth and Legends

Native American Myths

Bestiary of Ancient Greek Mythology

Mythology, Legend, Folklore and Ghosts

Angels and Demons

List of Sea Creatures

Yoruba Mythology

Ghosts Around the World, Ghosts From A to Z

Strange (Fantastic) Animals of Ancient Egypt

Egyptian Mythology

Creatures from West Africa

On the Legendary Creatures of Africa

Myths, Creatures and Folklore

References on writing a myth or mythical creatures

Writing a MYTHology in your novel?

How to Write a Myth

10 Steps to Creating Realistic Fantasy Creatures

Creating Fantasy Creatures or Alien Species

Legendary Creature Generator

Book Recommendations With Underrated Mythical Creatures

(I have stumbled upon web sites that believed some of these mythical creatures exist today… Especially dragons, in fact. I just had to share the love and scepticism.)

[girl-with-sandshoes-deactivated]

This is perfect for my latest project ^~^

[headraline]

Idk if it’s stupid or what, but felt like contributing:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monaciello

the Munaciello, a little trickster spirit from my hometown, can be benevolent or malevolent. The article in English isn’t quite accurate on wikipedia, but here’s a link tomost Neapolitan legends from the city website http://www.comune.napoli.it/flex/cm/pages/ServeBLOB.php/L/EN/IDPagina/5654

[infiniteeight8]

OP, Thank you so much for putting this reference together. I’ve been working on an original novel that involves dragons from all over the world, and I’ve been having a hell of a time finding good information on non-European dragons.

All the other information is sure to be helpful for the future, as well, I am sure!

[termytheantisocialbutterfly]

May I contribute: la ciguapa (one of my personal favs)

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ciguapa

[probablyrpgmechanicsideas]

Ideas for including more nonhuman diversity in your world building

[evan-bright-deactivated20181124]

Some tumblr tips for artists

• only the first five tags are serchable so make um count.

•Some of the most popular art related tags are #art, #illustration, #design, and #artists on tumblr.

• If you put a link in your post it won’t appear in serch results

• The best time to post seems to be from around 8pm to midnight east coast time

• socialize with other artists. Comments and asks are appreciated by a lot of us, and being friendly will encourage others to check out your stuff

[animationdesk]

Thank you for sharing these tips @evan-bryant! Really great stuff to keep in mind!

[bobson-dugnut]

I did not know that about the tags!

[lightsintheskye]

psa to all my artfriends looking to get more traction with their art!

[overfalls]

IT’S NOT ‘PEEKED’ MY INTEREST

OR ‘PEAKED’

BUT PIQUED

‘PIQUED MY INTEREST’

THIS HAS BEEN A CAPSLOCK PSA

[owlbearcounter]

THIS IS ACTUALLY REALLY USEFUL THANK YOU

[ranetree]

ADDITIONALLY:

YOU ARE NOT ‘PHASED’. YOU ARE ‘FAZED.’

IF IT HAS BEEN A VERY LONG DAY, YOU ARE ‘WEARY’. IF SOMEONE IS ACTING IN A WAY THAT MAKES YOU SUSPICIOUS, YOU ARE ‘WARY’.

ALL IN ‘DUE’ TIME, NOT ‘DO’ TIME

‘PER SE’ NOT ‘PER SAY’

THANK YOU

[tassiekitty]

BREATHE - THE VERB FORM IN PRESENT TENSE

BREATH - THE NOUN FORM

THEY ARE NOT INTERCHANGEABLE

WANDER - TO WALK ABOUT AIMLESSLY

WONDER - TO THINK OF IN A DREAMLIKE AND/OR WISTFUL MANNER

THEY ARE NOT INTERCHANGEABLE (but one’s mind can wander)

[fairywails]

DEFIANT - RESISTANT DEFINITE - CERTAIN

[melancholicmarionette]

WANTON - DELIBERATE AND UNPROVOKED ACTION (ALSO AN ARCHAIC TERM FOR A PROMISCUOUS WOMAN)

WONTON - IT’S A DUMPLING THAT’S ALL IT IS IT’S A FUCKING DUMPLING

[proletariatbitch]

BAWL- TO SOB/CRY

BALL- A FUCKING BALL

YOU CANNOT “BALL” YOUR EYES OUT

[soggywarmpockets]

AND FOR FUCK’S SAKE, IT’S NOT “SIKE”; IT’S “PSYCH”. AS IN “I PSYCHED YOU OUT”; BECAUSE YOU MOMENTARILY MADE SOMEONE BELIEVE SOMETHING THAT WASN’T TRUE.

THANK YOU.

[everylineeverystory]

*slams reblog*

[leonawriter]

IT’S ‘MIGHT AS WELL’. ‘MIND AS WELL’ DOES NOT MAKE GRAMMATICAL SENSE.

[penbrydd]

SLEIGHT - DEXTERITY, ARTIFICE, CRAFT (FROM ‘SLY’) SLIGHT - VERY LITTLE, FRAIL, DELICATE

IT’S ‘SLEIGHT OF HAND’.

[maverlok]

[steftastan]

CAN I ADD TO THIS TOO?

IT’S NOT ‘COULD OF’, THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE WHATSOEVER. IT’S ‘COULD HAVE’. SAME APPLIES TO ‘SHOULD HAVE’.

[oniongentleman]

And this is why my students look at me as though I’m the devil when I try to tell them that no i’m not lying this really is a thing

[hermoninee-granger]

IT’S ‘COULDN’T CARE LESS’ NOT ‘COULD CARE LESS’ IF YOU COULD CARE LESS THAT MEANS YOU CARE

[haiku-robot]

it’s ‘couldn’t care less’ not ‘could care less’ if you could care less that means you care

^Haiku^bot^0.4. Sometimes I do stupid things (but I have improved with syllables!). Beep-boop!

[miss-malaphor]

Please check out Homophones Weakly.

It’s a treasure trove.

And a goddamn delight.

[spicychestnut]

I laughed so hard

[seasonallydefective]

…. as I learned at age 17, it’s “kit and caboodle” not … “kitten caboodle”.

[theycallherkrystle]

*violently hits reblog*

[xlaitswrites]

That Which Sleeps...

There is the soft sound of music, a guitar being strummed and a gentle male voice singing along in an unintelligible language, that rings out above the soft crunch of snow being stepped on. It’s a calm, gentle song, serene but somber. The heart and soul of it’s singer is apparent, just by the tone of his song. Hands, enrobed in white, fingerless gloves, dance along the strings, coaxing out their voices.

The felinoid creature continues his song as he travels the snow-blanketed world he has discovered, the soft white of his surroundings lending it’s beauty to his craft. He is only stopped by a large, steep incline which blocks his path.

“Typical.” He growls, his twin, white-tipped black tails lashing about behind him in annoyance. “I get into a whimsical mew-d, and the planet decides to ruin it.” With a movement, the black tabby swings his guitar around to his back, his other hand raised to the air. With a snap, a small ball of light appears above his hand, swelling into the shape of his matter manipulator, which solidifies, then drops into his awaiting paw.

He takes aim and blasts away the snow before him, only to find more snow. His ears flick in annoyance, pulling the trigger harder as he walks forward, blasting more of a hole through layer and layer of snow. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I’d bet my tails this was from an avalanche.”

Because of the time this embankment was taking, the Kineptic began to whistle. It took him a moment to find the pitch and tune, but he picked up where his guitar left off, letting his notes stick into the snow. The sound was muffled, but it was there.

Measuring his distance, he closes his eyes, letting his music take him. In his mind, he focused on his own little world, a mental space created for him to find his muse and relax. His own little mindscape, his personal Wonderland where he was Alice. Here, he designed and crafted, tested his theories and writes his music.

He took his time to walk through the warm forests of his homeworld, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his tuxedo fur, the breeze rushing through his billowy, revealing clothes. With a snap, he materializes his guitar before him, spinning about and catching it before it falls too far. Claws for picks, he starts to play, in time with his whistling.

His concentration is suddenly broken as he trips. With a yeowl, the mostly-black feline falls flat on his face, matter manipulator clattering against stone and sliding noisily into the small cave. “Nyne hells, what…” As he sits up, he rubs his nose, looking about.

The cave is dark, but the snow-reflected light from outside allowed his eyes to see deeper than any other. There aren’t any signs of usual cave formations, and the surfaces were all smooth. It was as if the cave was carved out by a matter manipulator.

“Nyao… where did my Manipulator get to…”

It takes him a moment, but his eyes lock onto the gentle glow of the manipulator’s emitters. The glow was, to his eyes, enough to illuminate a shape further down in the cave. A large, rounded yet square dome, which seemed to have another odd lump next to it.

“What the…” He whispers breathlessly, ears now perked and on guard. If it was a creature, it would have heard his outcry and surely have come to investigate, but the lack of movement or response proved it was inanimate. The Kineptic dusts himself off as he gets up, then raises his hand in front of him.

A sharp snap echoes through the cave, and a small fireball is launched from his fingers, which shoots down the cave. It stops several feet away, hanging and hovering in the air, bright enough to illuminate the back end of the cave.

It was a tent and a firepit.

Wits about him, he cautiously approaches, retrieving his trusted tool from the ground as he passes over it. A quick snap de-materializes it, turning it into a ball of light which just fades into nothingness. The flap is sealed shut, the zipper and canvas all covered in thick sheets of ice. The campfire is long dead, with no warm ash or charcoal.

“Nya… whoever left this behind must have left years ago.” He mutters to himself, stepping away from the tent. He raises his other hand, giving a sharp snap as he swings it down and across the air, as if to slice the air. The projectile fired is fast, faster than any eye could register. A chunk of ice explodes off of it’s sheet, but a good bit remains.

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

Once the tent’s door was cleared, he stepped a little closer. With careful claw and baited breath, the feline-man pulled the zipper, opening the tent just enough to peer inside without crouching too low.

Inside lay a sleeping bag, which was iced over but empty. Moving his vision upward, a simple oil-burning lantern hung from the crossbars of the tent, it’s lifegiving warmth long snuffed out. When his gaze returned lower, he stumbled backward, falling on his ass with a gentle cry of surprise.

There was someone still in there!

Frantically he rose, mindful of the icy floor as he rushed forward to open up the tent.

Encased in a thick layer of ice, was a humanoid body. Lighting the lamp lit up the tent better, revealing a Glitch in plain clothing. It’s optics were off, it’s face illumination dark. One of its legs was broken at the hip, laying on the floor, but still attached via a few pieces of colorful, brittle cable. The hand on that side was mangled and dented, a finger broken off, yet still attached, the back of the hand bent in and cracked. Clutched tightly against its chest was a matter manipulator, similar to the one the Kineptic carried.

Its emitters were damaged badly, the crystals cracked and broken, but surprisingly, still had a very faint glow to them. The bottom of it’s metal casing was badly dented and cracked, it’s paint chipped away and showing some signs of rusting. No doubt the thing wouldn’t work without repair.

“How long have you been here, friend?” The feline alien mutters. Making sure everything was there, the Kineptic male wraps his tails around the Glitch-sicle and starts dragging him out of the cave. “Don’t worry… I’ll get you free. I hope I’m not too late…”

Aboard the Kineptic ship, the feline moves about the planet, looking for any signs of a ship in orbit. Behind him, in the teleporter room of the ship, the broken glitch sits on the warmest thing in the ship, the teleporter pad.

“You know, I don’t think it was a good idea to bring a corpse aboard.” The S.A.I.L. remarks.

“This is the third time you’ve said that, S.A.I.L.. I heard you the first time.”

“Gatha, please listen for once…”

“I will turn you off and navigate on my own.” Comes the growl from the cockpit. “Just alert me when the Glitch is thawed, or if another ship comes within scanner range.” There’s a soft beep of compliance, and the computer screen goes dark.

Searching the orbit of this planet for a derelict vessel, time drags on for hours, into what feels like days. Staring into the black void before him, the feline enters various coordinates to check, letting the ship do most of the navigating on its own.

Gatha stretches and yawns, tongue curled and teeth on prominent display, as cats normally do. He throws a leg over the armrest of his chair, shifting his position to squish his back into the corner of the chair. Outstretching an arm to the command console, he types in a few sets of coordinates, then rests back, relaxing as he watches the stars whiz by, his large, emerald-dotted orbs flitting lazily about as he watches out the windshield.

It isn’t long before S.A.I.L. interrupts the Kineptics’ lazy moment. “Gatha, your passenger has thawed.”

There’s a heavy thump as the feline is scared from his chair onto the floor. “Damn it, S.A.I.L.! I hate it when you do that!” Dusting himself off as he gets up, Gatha looks at the door. “Thank you, though.”

Ignoring whatever the ships AI has to say, the felinoid walks through his ship, stopping at the door to the teleporter room. He gives a feeble attempt at slicking his ears back, only to have them pop back up, and then he takes one more step forward to trigger the motion activated door. It springs open with the sound of hissing pistons, one half of the door sliding to the left, the other swinging upward into the ceiling. There’s an amused smirk on Gatha’s face, still impressed at his own engineering.

There, propped up against the wall and seated on the slightly warm teleporter pad, sits the thawed Glitch remains. Gatha uses his Manipulator to dry it up, then hauls it into the main section of the ship, and onto an awaiting table.

It takes him some time, but Gatha manages to pull the whole machine together, repairing and replenishing what needs to be repaired. Unknown, ancient technology mixed and meshed with Kineptic esoteric ingenuity, a blending of new and old pull together this old Glitch.

“I wonder if he still works…”

There is a sudden, startled beep from within the ship. As his energy replenished to his auto-on threshold, Kernel returns to operation. His optics look around the alien room, scanning everything. Last his memory could recall, he was freezing to death in an artificial cave, after being caved in and unable to return to his ship. His eyes land on his hand, which was mangled and dented from attempting to unfreeze his leg. The gunmetal of his arm was now a stark contrast to the new, bronze-colored parts of the new parts on his hand. Running his fingers over the new metal, he is unable to determine it’s makeup, despite it being a near-perfect replica of the parts that were damaged.

His system diagnostics bring his vision past his hand, to his leg.  It had clearly been removed, as it was the same bronze coloration from the hip-joint down.

“Confusion: Where am I?”

[eggwizardgrafing]

How to help your artists - The circle of influence.

So over the past 10-15 years, as I’ve been trying to branch out, grow a following and sell commissions, there’s one phrase I’ve heard more than any other.

“I’d love to support you, but I have no money.”

And you know, I get that. I understand. I don’t have any either. But here’s the secret. The most powerful and useful thing you can do to support an artist? It doesn’t cost a penny. Reblog their posts, signal boost their commissions, advertise their patreon./ If you have commissioned them, or do support their patreon? Write a review, tell your friends, share their links. Keep circulating the tapes.

Every post is an artist laying themselves bare before you. You have the power to make them into somebody. You can make them into a big name, you can help bring them an income. All you have to do is share.

Here’s a handy infographic.

If artists get only likes, they never get any exposure. They find no followers, they make no money, and feel worthless.

But with reblogs, who knows how far they could reach? New people could see their work and follow them, and maybe one person will spot that commissions post or patreon promo, and maybe offer to help support them. And it didn’t even cost those followers a penny to reblog the post.

So please, anyone out there. If you enjoy an artist’s work and can’t afford to give any monetary support, you can give them something more powerful. A voice.

[jarofloosescrews]

And authors, too. Please reblog and share author commissions!

[faranae-moved]

To use the first 200 reblogs of this post as an example: 

That orange dot is OP! Look at how far those first few reblogs spread this post! 

[sabertoothwalrus]

Can I also add!!!!!!

This doesn’t work if you repost art.

Especially when you remove the credit, you break the web of connections. Only only only ever repost an artist’s context if you have ALREADY asked them and they have ALREADY given EXPLICIT permission

[riddleaugust]

*cough cough*

[tail-blazer]

This is some of the realest shit… 

[xlaitswrites]

Reblogging to help someone else, and as a struggling author myself... I feel ya.

[xlaitswrites]

A Lonely Planet

The snow had hit hard. Unexpectedly, the world around him had disappeared in a thick curtain of the purest white nature had to offer. Winds howled and drowned out all sounds, telling, no screaming their stories in their own, unintelligible languages. Kernel’s red optics illuminated portions of the snowstorm, his matter manipulators emitters casting a pale, contrasting blue onto the snow, making some portions seem a little purple.

“Unamused: It is cold.” He speaks to himself, his only company on this icy world. Yet he trudges on through the wind and the cold, the snow and the ice. It isn’t long before the Glitch turns his eyes to his manipulator, opening its inventory screen as he scrolls through pages and pages of nothing.

Looking to the sky, Kernels’ eyes are met with nothing but white and clouds, the darkened skies adding a somber, calming feel to the storm, despite its severity.

“Relaxed: It is peaceful here. Serene.”

His S.A.I.L. was unusually quiet. By now, it would have reminded the Glitch to recharge it’s biofuel, or move to warmer climes. However, the reception to his ship and the S.A.I.L. was rejected, impossible to penetrate this planet’s cloud cover in its current state. Looking at his trusty tool, he dials in, nice and slow, to the ships teleporter frequency.

“Worried: I can not beam up.”

Kernel makes his decision quickly. He wasn’t going to freeze here. Not here, not now. He continues on, slowed by the wind, until finally slipping on some ice. The robot-man and his fall is cut short by a rather steep incline, to which a few beeps are released, almost as if to sigh in relief. Righting himself, he shuffles through the snow a bit, having lost his manipulator in the fall. When it is finally retrieved, he takes aim, pulling the trigger and slowly but surely blasts his way through the tough rock.

It takes some time, but he is able to hollow out a small cave to take refuge in, and with a “thank you” to his own foresight, he took his tent and campfire out of his storage matrix and plopped them both down at the far end of the cave.

The green canvas lit up with an orange glow, the cave filled with the sound of the angry wind, and the crackling of the fire. It was dark, save the campfire and its inviting, warm glow.

It wasn’t long before the wind manages to put the fire out. Despite several successful tries at relighting it, the storm wasn’t having it. With a defeated set of beeps, the Glitch retires to the tent, a small oil lantern staving off the cold as he searches his storage for a small bite to eat. Retrieving a currentcorn, Kernel shakes his head.

“Worry: It is not much, but it is something.”

The sounds of gears grinding woke Kernel in a panic. Had he succumb to the ice and frost? No, no not yet. But his lamp was out, and his leg was covered in a sheet of thick ice. His other one was beginning to freeze as well…

With a hefty swing, Kernel brings his matter manipulator down on the ice of his frozen leg, to only be met with a loud crunch, and a searing “pain.” The ice had made his metal brittle, and he managed to wreck not only the emitters on his tool, but nearly sever his leg from his body. His hand didn’t fair much better, but it was functioning.

“Annoyed: This complicates things.”

There is a long, labored pause.

“Worry: I’m going to die here, aren’t I?” He speaks to the void. And another pause. He listened. He listened as if the winds were talking to him. The android listened, as if someone were to magically respond, as if the pseudo-silence would be broken.

But no one came.

The winds raged on outside. The snow blanketed everything, piling ever higher. And one lonely Glitch was left to his own. No contact to his ship; no method to beam out. He had survived for so long, only to be alone in the end.

Kernel bit into an automato, looking about the nearly empty tent. He looked at his broken leg, hanging there by a few wires and leaking a bit of oil. He looked at his hand, dented and cracked, gears and servos straining on the inside as he flexed his digits. He looked at his sole friend, his matter manipulator, with it’s cracked and barely functioning emitters and dented and scratched yellow metal casing.

It got darker as the snow piled higher, more silent as the white blanket muffled more of the wind. It didn’t help that the robots vision was being clouded by frost. Too afraid of cracking the lenses of his optics, he shut down his eyes, letting them close. Kernels’ surroundings weren’t improving his mood, anyway.

“Calm: I am ready, Cultivator… I am ready, Ruin…”

[mirandashepardauthor-deactivate]

Reblog if its ok to hit you up with questions about your WIP

I really just want to fangirl with someone about something they’re passionate about!

[jaimistoryteller]

Definitely! Pick one, original or fanfic, I will answer pretty much anything. 

[morriganwrites-0124-deactivated]

Feel free to pick any of my WIPs! Or all! I’ll talk about all!

[fragmentedink-archived]

yes!! I have an original book and four seperate fanfic (its next gen, which i the characters from the original book)

[xlaitswrites]

I love listening to comments and answering questions about my works.

[xlaitswrites]

Callout!

Hey, everyone! Want to see me write something? Send an ask, and I’ll consider it! I’ll even do some FREE requests. Slots will be limited.

[mypoorfaves]

If you're a creator and you needed to hear this today:

You have no idea how many people lurk on your work. No idea how many times people go back to revisit your work. How big they smile when they simply think about your work. How fast their heart beats, how excited they get when they see that you posted something.

People are shy with their feedback. Sometimes it’s because they’re simply shy. Other times it’s because they assume you already know how great and talented you are. Could be both.

My point is, even if you barely have any likes or reblogs, don’t get discouraged. You have a lot of silent fans, but they are still your fans. Keep on creating. Because there is always someone out there who will love what you have made.

[xlaitswrites]

This blog is usually for my creative works, and I usually do not reblog, but this is kind of important. Friends, if you’re a content creator, keep on creating, no matter how many people are watching. It’s worth it in the end, for you never know who is watchin, or the actual number of watchers.

[xlaitswrites]

The First Night

This takes place shortly after “Origin.” I’ll keep building this personal little world snippet by snippet. I may need to write up a post with character bios and various information.

Eyebrows furrowed and sunken on his forehead, eyes focused on the expansive cityscape, the furred male watches the hustle and bustle in the never-sleeping cities night. His vision is reduced to little more than a monochrome palette, allowing him to observe the ant-sized people and beetle-sized cars. The reflection off the glass on this floor allowed him to view himself, staring into his own, mixed-up eyes while also keeping a gaze though them, into the nocturnal lives of others.

He releases a soft sigh, turning away from the skyline to look at the matte black plastic of the case layed off to the side. His eyes then scan the barren room, every paintless wall, every stripped-bare support beam, taking in every detail of the vacant space.

His attention returns to the case, his tail lashing about behind him as he kneels down and unlocks the case, opening it slowly. From within, he produces a coal-black rifle barrel, which is covered in a matte finish. Etching and enamel line it, the barrel’s exit having a dark grey rose insignia emblazoned all around, the majority of the barrel taken up by a mossy-green nest of thorn-covered vines, which abruptly end at the barrels threading. The tiger’s other hand produces a silencer, which is only emblazoned with a much larger rose, the grey and the black now swapped. This gets screwed onto the barrel, before he reaches down and picks up the body of the rifle. It’s large, easily taking up most of the case. It too bears a matte black finish from end to end, with more of those crazy, unruly vines emblazoned upon it in their own channels of engraving and moss-green enamel. As he attaches the barrel to its body, the vines on both the barrel and the body line up, and as he squeezes his pads tighter against the metal, he twists and locks the gun together, the vines match up perfectly to form long, continuous crossing and meshing of stems and thorns. Despite the well emblazoned weaponry, the stock of the large-caliber weapon is rather plain by comparison. Even the small bipod is nothing to gawk at.

Despite the large weapon, he does not attach a scope, instead choosing to use only the iron sights. Laying prone, the feline sets up the stylized rifle, wiggling a bit to get comfortable against the concrete, cheek slowly coming down to rest on the weapon. He releases another sigh, relaxing himself as his chilly blue eye closes, leaving that crimson orb to line up his monochrome vision with his sights, lining them up with a building several blocks away, a mere dot in the distance to him.

He takes his time, lining up the shot nice and slow. Meticulous and precise, with unerring, robotic movements. Internally, his vision zooms in, the blacks and whites and greys changing into a chromatic explosion as the feline night vision gives way to mechanical thermal vision.

With this change, he can see the movements of the various beings past the concrete and rebar. His tail moves to click in the large magazine in place, then up to pull the bolt back, letting it spring by itself back into place, loading the bullet into the chamber.

Little by little, a clawed finger puts pressure on the trigger, pulling it slowly toward himself. Everything relaxed but his hands, his arms, his wrists, keeping his mark lined up. Every movement his target makes, the predator adjusts the tiniest bit, micro-movements no normal eye would notice, adjusting for wind, for distance, for drop, for movement. His mechanized arms stable and sturdy, not allowing the weapon to sway. Even his simulated breathing has stopped, keeping his body unnaturally still. Unblinking, unbreathing, he zeroes in as the trigger is pulled further and further until…

The sound in the room is deafening, despite the silencer. Glass shatters from the window, the massive, aerodynamic slug flying straight and true.

His ears lean forward, turned to be aimed at his target. In the distance, there’s the sound of concrete shattering.

“Like a fat kid on a seesaw.”

[invaderxan]

Heard some important information on Twitter today, and thought I’d post it here for anyone who may not have heard it. This is actually a thing, devised by human rights organisation called Karma Nirvana.

Reblog to save a life?

[xlaitswrites]

Normally don’t reblog anything that isn’t a writing prompt, but this is important.

[xlaitswrites]

Nothing new today

Sorry there’s nothing new today. I’m feeling a bit down.

I just wanted to take the time to let everyone know I’m available for commission. Right now, I’m kind of in a bad spot, so I figure that $1 a page is reasonable for now, limit 10 pages (subject to case-by-case basis).

I’ll basically write anything, with very few exceptions. I don’t want to list them here, so I’ll just let you know via DM if it’s something I won’t do. (Also subject to case-by-case basis.) I would prefer to be paid via paypal, and you won’t have to pay until the work is done. I’ll keep all commission work private, unless I get explicit permission to post it.

A typical story will run about 5 to 10 pages. Simpler things may be less.

I’ve done character descriptions, world building, roleplay starters, as well as stories and other, more in depth things.

I am working on setting up a Patreon, but my artist is taking forever to do my cover art and profile icon. Let me know if you’d prefer Patreon, Ko-fi, or whatever other funding platform you’d desire.

[writing-prompt-s]

You are a demon and you recently met a young girl with abusive parents. You pity her and decide to teach her what symbol to draw to summon you. You pick up a stick, grab her hand, and show her how it’s done. It’s 3AM, and you have just been summoned to the girl’s house.

[xlaitswrites]

She’s a sweet gal. Fair skin, with peculiar attention taken to her raven hair, and a pair of baby blues that’d make anyone’s head look twice. It’s probably me bein’ soft, but that’s probably what caught my own attention.

Cryin’ in the dirt, she had small scrapes and bruises when I met her. Mom and pop were arguing loudly, yelling at each other while just barely within earshot. I helped her to her feet, and dusted her skirt off. “Your folks always like this? Leavin’ their kid to make dirt into mud?” She’d sniffle and nod. I could feel my blood boil, but outwardly I remained calm. “Tell ya what, kid. Need a friend to talk to? Any time, any where?” I smiled, my slightly-sunburned-looking skin a stark contrast to my perfect pearly whites. I slicked back my coal-black hair, which displayed my long, backward-bent, white horns very well. “I can give you my eh… number. Can’t stand it when kids parents are worse than... ” I cough. “My own. What’s yer name, sweetie?”

“Audrey…” She replied though sniffles.

“You can call me Lucy… named after my pop…” I offered to her, through clenched teeth. With that I picked up a nearby stick and quickly used a foot to flatten a patch of dirt. Taking her hand in mine, I showed her exactly how the sigil was drawn, the words to say, the motions to make. I helped her practice it for a while, before her parents seemed like they were quieting down.

“Gotta go, Audrey. If ya ever need me, if ya ever feel alone, or just need to talk, ya know how to call me. If your mom an’ pop ask, what do ya say?” “My imaginary friend showed me!” She smiles up at me, still wiping excess tears from her face. “Good girl. See ya soon.” And in a little burst of flame, I was gone.

My horns burn, they ache, they sting. Looking over at the clock nearby, it’s 3am. With a grunt, I quickly sit up, put on a pair of shorts, and transport myself to my sigil.

Audrey greets me with a hug, commenting about my hooves. “I didn’t have time to put on shoes, Audrey. You’re a little more important.” I kneel, bringing my larger frame closer to her height. I’ve opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, until I hear the “crash” in the next room. I don’t have time to hide my appearance, so I place a finger on her lips. “Shh… get under the bed. Stay perfectly quiet until you see my hooves.”

She nods and quickly hides, rearranging some storage tubs beneath her bed to make her a little less visible. Smart kid.

With that, I begin to move, seeking out the source of the noise. My pointed ears turn and shift, my tail lifted up to keep it from dragging and making noise against the hardwood floor. There’s another crash, and screaming.

“Not today.”

It’s coming from the parents’ room. With careful steps, I move closer to the door, and hear the father screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. He’s drunk off his ass, and yelling obscenities not even I would use. With a mighty swing, I bring my tail against the door, blowing it off the hinges. Cloven hooves trample the door as I step in to view the wide-eyed parents of Audrey.

“Wh-what are…” The mom starts.

“Shut it.” I grunt, standing straight. The drunkard is wielding a knife from the kitchen, a large cutting knife, almost a foot in length, which he turns on me. “Out of mah house, fu-”

I interrupt his next word. “You have a child in the other room, watch your filthy mouth.”

With them confused, I can truly look at them. The wife has a few cuts on her arms, but none too deep, as if she was retreating as she protected her face and chest. She’s huddled in the corner, amidst the shattered remains of the lamp and picture frame that used to sit atop her nightstand.

My observations are cut short by a yelling. “You can’t tell meh what t’ do in mah own house!” Traveling the 5 feet to me, pop has the knife raised high, a dangerous look in his eyes. With a mere step to the side, I grab his wrist and trip him with my thick tail, before wrenching the knife free from his hand. He’s drunk enough to make it easy, and once he’s disarmed, I let him fall to the floor, resting my tail on him to keep him there.

“Ma’am, are you badly hurt?” She responds with a nervous shake of her head. “Good. Pack a night bag.” She’s too shaken to move. I sigh, look down at the drunken, struggling man. “For Audrey’s sake, pack a bag... now. I won’t ask again.”

She is shaken, but stands, carefully stepping around the shards of ceramic and glass on the floor, rushing to the bathroom. Once the door’s closed, I toss the knife, which sticks in the wall, then pick up the father. “Listen to me, Jack I-”

“Muh name’s not-”

“Don’t care, pissant.” I growl. “Sober up, and ship out.” Throwing him onto the bed, I growl again, binding him tightly with the sheets. He’s too drunk to fight back or free himself. How he even got on the second floor is a mystery to even me. “I won’t tell you again. If Audrey has to call me for something like this again, I won’t be nice.”

A crunching piece of glass catches my attention. I pick the picture out of the smashed frame, looking at it using the glow from my eyes. It was a picture of Audrey and her ma. They were smiling.

Pop’s not able to comprehend anything going on. Ma steps out of the bathroom, having cleaned up her arms a little with a little bag clutched in her hands. I place the picture in her hand and set a hand on her shoulder as I guide her to her daughter, who pops out the moment I enter.

I’m greeted with another hug. “Thank you, Lucy!” Her mom steps in a moment after, and I guide them both to my sigil.

“You’re staying with me tonight. No ‘buts.’”

Ma’s quiet, but she mumbles something. It was just barely audible. “...ank …”

With a flash of light, we’re all at my place, a rather large home made of solid, red stone. Outside looks like it’s on fire, but the inside of the home is well air conditioned. “Welcome to my little corner of… Heck. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

“Thank you… but… who are you?”

“Lucius Horne, but please, please call me Lucy. Demon of Heck, and personal friend of Audrey’s.” I smile warmly, leading them to the guest room. It has a light layer of dust, which I quickly work to sweep away. “Sorry, haven’t had visitors in years.”

Audrey nods, giggling. “He helped me! Lucy helped me lots!”

“When you and Jack-”

“That’s not-”

“Don’t care.” I interrupt. “When you and Jack fought, your daughter called on me to comfort her. Especially when you turned on her.” I shakes my head, shrugging. “But ya needed an outlet for the pain ya terrible husband caused ya. I don’t blame ya, but ya should know better.”

“Thank… Thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you, Lucy!”

“Thank me in the morning…” I yawn. “It’s almost 4am…”

[xlaitswrites]

Momster Dearest

This, as my girlfriend puts it, isn’t my best work. It sure as hell isn’t my worst, but it doesn’t feel like something I did. Also, please let me know if the “Keep Reading” format is working well, or you’d rather me flood your dash with a wall of text.

Once upon a time, there lived a man. He was not brave, nor was he strong. This man, one day, came upon a monster. She, of larger stature, could have easily smote him, yet she could not. This beast of shaggy white fur, was gravely wounded, injured and unable to stand on her own. But what this man lacked in strength, in courage, was compensated in heart and compassion. Helping the eyeless beast to lay in his car, he took her home. She was reluctant at first, lashing out weakly at the noise, his voice. She gave in eventually, letting him help her up, leaning on him a little as she was guided by a gentle hand.

She was very canine like, almost as tall as the car itself. Her fur was soft and silken, a pure white where it wasn't stained purple from her wound. Her face was smooth, with a much shorter fur, having almost a skull-like look to it. Where there would be eye sockets, there was only smooth skin, the majority of the creature's face featureless. Where a nose would be, was a little set of cut, almost reptile-like nostrils. Her mouth seemed to be always parted slightly, her ragged breath causing steam, even in the normally warm night. Aqua colored, jagged teeth jutted out from all angles from her jaws, seeming to not wish to stay in her mouth. Every morning before work, he'd start his routine. Remove the old bandages, treat her wound, and patch her back up. Then he'd scrounge in the fridge for something she'd actually eat. Lucky for him, in her state, she'd eat near anything he offered. He'd grab a light breakfast or, in some cases, an energy bar and head out for his job. In the evening, when he arrived, he'd do the same for her, checking, to the best of his office worker ability, to make sure the monster wasn't getting an infection, or there wasn't anything stuck in there, then patch her back up with a little antibiotic, hydrogen peroxide, and a little gauze and some cloth wrap. She was nice enough to stand, despite the whine she made when she did so, so he could get it around her body. And thus was the routine for many months. After some time, the beast became accustomed to this new routine, and began to map out the house when she regained some strength. There were times when he'd come home, and she'd be sitting behind the door, waiting for him. Over time, her wound healed, she refused to leave. Even after he brought her back to where she was found, she found her way back in the dead of night. They had formed a bond, him and her. Not a friendship. Not partners. A bond stronger than love. But that is where their story ends, and mine begins. I was born of their union.

Growing up, I learned that the big white "doggy" was the family pet, that my mother ran away shortly after my birth. I grew up feeling like my mother was right there, yet so distant. She was nothing but kind to me and dad, no monstrous tendencies, other than the occasional slip up. She was still a monster, after all. It wasn't until middle school that dear old dad finally spilled the beans. I guess he had to at that point. My nails were getting harder and harder to clip, so he had to go out and buy a small Dremel tool and some cutting and grinding bits to keep them trimmed and neat. My hair had changed from a normal shade of brown, to momma's brilliant white, and just as soft. However, this was all that showed my mothers liniage, luckily. After that, it took a while to adjust to the big, fluffy, wordless mom that I had grown up seeing as an animal, a pet. Looking back, I don't see how I didn't notice before. She was indeed sentient, listening when I spoke, reacting accordingly. She'd always be there at bedtime, letting me use her as a little ladder to get up to bed; always there when I awoke from a nightmare, like she knew. But once dad told me, not too much changed for a while. We really never gave Mom a formal name. She was always just "Mom" to me, and "Honey," or "Fluffles," or whatever pet name dad chose from a seemingly endless list of cutesy names. Makes me gag to this day. I still thought of her as a pet for a while, brushing her fur, helping feed her, playing with her, all the stuff we used to do. But I eventually came to terms with my monster momma. That still didn't change a lot. I wake up in the morning to that lithe, green tongue lapping my cheek, leaving behind a rather sweet-smelling residue. Using her as a crutch to get out of bed, my skinny yet toned self stands uneasily. I'm taller than most of the kids in my class and, looking at mom, I guess I can thank mom for that. She uses her eyeless, skull-like face to nudge my backpack to the corner of the bed, then heads downstairs to help dad. At the corner of the bed is a messily folded set of clothes. Mom could use her forepaws to manipulate things, just not as good as you or I could; she has no thumbs. But she tries her earnest and to give her credit, she gets better every day. She also didn't always stay on all fours, sitting back or standing up on her rear legs to preform some tasks. I always have to pick out at least one piece of new clothing. Being her blind self, she couldn't see the colors of things. At least, I don't think she can see. She tracks movement pretty well for a blind woman, if she is. She always looks a little upset when I come down with a new shirt, or different pants, but she understands. Dad still won't let her use the stove, but she does try to bring him the right things he needs to make breakfast. Usually some form of omlette, or pancakes. Mom managed to make waffles once, but I can't describe, in words, the reaction dad had to how they tasted. I liked them. Giving her a big hug and kiss on the cheek, I head out with dad to the car to go to school. I always sit in the back, so I can be near my backpack. Dad tells me the story of how he and mom met, almost every day. Even though I know the words, forward and back, I still listen. Mom's blood still stains the seats that odd, violet color. 'Is my blood the same?' I always find myself wondering, fingers tracing the edges of the mark. School is always a nightmare for me. I have two or three good friends, but everyone else seems to steer clear, or look the other way. I'm tall and thin, yet toned, I'm a little pale, and my hair is soft and a pure white that never seems to get dirty or dull, so I can see why. It's fine, I get by. I've never really needed friends, or anyone to talk to. Despite standing out, I'm shy, or reserved as dear old dad would say. I speak up only to answer teachers or put my odd two cents in with my friends. Everything from the day is always a blur by the time I get home. Mom is always waiting for us at the door, that happy little tail wag and silly expression on her face. No matter what mood I'm in, it always makes me smile. I usually get right to my homework after classes. Mom comes in to check on me every once in a while, or she'll lay behind my chair, keeping it from moving at all. Some days, she pushes the chair out of the way, and I just sit on her back as she lays there. I always thought it was the comfiest seat in the house and dad always agrees with that. She's trying to be supportive, even though she can't speak, or even understand what I'm learning. She can do some basic math, if she's read it, and she always likes hearing me do my English homework, or read aloud some story for class. After homework is done, usually dad has dinner ready. We all eat, dad and I chatting about the day, while mom listens in "quietly." She can chew right though bones, and it makes a terrible noise when she does so. Dinner is usually uneventful otherwise, and amazingly, mom likes doing the dishes, even if we have to carry them to the sink for her. Dad never got a dishwasher, and we had to do them by hand, but mom and ber big paws found a way to do them, so we let her. She seems to just sit at the sink and wait for us to bring her our plates and utensils. Sometimes, after dad goes to bed, mom and I sit on the front porch, gazing out into the night. She seems to be more comfortable at night. Even rarer, mom and I go running. There's a forest not too far from our home, so we always end up there. Man, can she run fast. The world seems to be a blur as her and I run, keeping up with one another, if even just barely. We squirrel away into a small clearing, and we sit, looking up at the sky. I can tell she enjoys the moonlight on her fur. I enjoy it on my hair too, so I know how she feels. The only sound I've heard her open her maw to make is a 'howl.' I'm not even sure if it's her doing it, or if it's ONLY her doing it, but she does howl from time to time on our adventure. It's like nothing I've ever heard. It's discordant and loud, and detached. The sound comes from everywhere, and makes it very hard to think, like it creeps into your mind. Her howl seems to come from everywhere all at once, and even echoes at different times and speeds, like there's a whole pack of her kind, just waiting past my field of view, and I see my best at night. Mom doesn't speak, but we've learned to understand her movements, her body language. Her little whines and whimpers, and the various cute and disturbing sounds she tends to make from time to time. That howl, though... I've never understood it. I don't think I will, not for a long time, anyway. It's not like she can tell me. After our little adventures mom licks me goodnight, and disappears under my bed, only to reappear under dad's, and curl up with him. I'm always so tired after our runs...

[xlaitswrites]

Origin (Part 1?)

I dunno, I feel like the ending is either poetic or lazy. I may continue this piece at a later date, but for now, I feel it is complete enough to post.

The lab was quiet today. The normal hustle and bustle of the scientists and engineers was relaxed, at ease. On the ceilings, orange, spider-like machines skittered about, working to maintain the various systems within the ceiling, while also replacing some of the more damaged ceiling tiles, occasionally disappearing into a maintenance hatch to get more supplies, or recharge.

All of the labs in the building were relatively quiet. Soft chatter of the employees, the clicking of various machinery and robotics… it made the air seem still. Even in the lower labs, even the basement labs, everywhere was unusually still. Deep within the facility, a large blast door separates a single chamber from the rest of the rooms. It was usually avoided by the various workers, with only the repair drones occasionally disappearing inside.

Inside was a room covered in frost and ice, and a large obelisk of metal. The walls were unnaturally smooth, black metal, only given texture by the layers of frozen coolant that adhered to them. The spire in the center of the room seemed to be made of the same material, it’s pointed, angular appearance making up the entirety of the rooms focus. Occasionally, red lines pulse along the surface of the metal structure, following unseen, hexagonal patterns along its surface. The whole room feels inhospitable, ominous… and because of the temperature of the room, at least the former was true.

This is the brain, the central hub of the entire facility’s network. Their computer system, their security, their drones, all are tied to this supercomputer wrapped in an arcane feel.

There is a loud rumble, a thunderous cacophony of sound and chaos as some of the more volatile machinery above detonates. Fire engulfs the rooms, but the suppression system does not turn on. None of the drones come to aid in quelling the flames. The lights, however, dim and the emergency lighting is engaged, bathing the entire facility in an uncomfortable, red light.

An engineer near the central hub is tasked with entering the uninhabitable room. The nervous system of the whole building was not working properly, and they need to know why. Hastily donning cold-weather gear, he multitasks, jamming his elbow against the keypad in a rushed attempt to gain access to the chamber. It takes a few tries, but he eventually gets his access code correct. However, the massive sliding door, which was both electrically and mechanically operated, refused to budge. Cursing his luck, he looks around frantically for a moment, then nods with resolve.

It takes a try or two, but the heavily kitted out male leaps up and grips the ledge of one of the spider-droid access hatches, pulling himself inside the spring-loaded door. Crawling through the vent, it gets colder, quickly, and despite his jacket and pants being made for this, he still finds himself shivering.

“I don’t get paid enough for this.” He thinks to himself as he pushes on the maintenance door at the other side, which doesn’t budge. “Great. Iced over.” Using his small stature to his benefit, he spins around inside the vent, a heavy boot being brought down onto the hatch. Thunk. Sharp ears can hear the sounds of tinkling ice on the other side, proving his theory correct, and gleaning a positive outcome of his first strike. Another after another, he strikes the vent hatch with the heel of his boot, until it finally swings open forcefully, before swinging back and forth on its hinge.

Finally though, he shimmies through the door backwards, landing on his feet. Shattered ice lies on the floor around him. His breath visible, he makes his way to the obelisk of a computer, looking around cautiously for any signs of damage.

The icy floor causes him to slip when he gets close, a gloved hand slamming against the computer’s side to keep him from falling on his face. Panting from adrenaline, he shakes his head, standing up. “Gotta be more careful.” He mutters to himself, before looking at the surface he was still leaning against.

Anywhere there was significant contact with his hand or finger there was a lit up hexagon. A screen beneath the surface had lit up just above that, showing garbage text entered into the prompt, and had been submitted.

“Shit.” Frantically, he began typing commands, looking at diagnostic logs and checking all output for any traces of the problem. However, the computer had other plans.

All at once, the screen cleared. Everything was replaced by large, blinking letters.

INTRUSION DETECTED

A loud hiss filled the room as the top-most half of the spire split along its edges, releasing a cloud as the intensely hot air inside of the computer was exposed to the frigid air surrounding its casing. The four “walls” of the case slowly came down, remaining upright on two arms each, almost as if they were being carefully set aside.

The core seemed to be a fairly large, robotic skeleton, which was violently ejected from within a small electric or magnetic looking field that was holding it in place, landing with a heavy, metallic thud on the ground.

The engineer’s first reaction was to step towards this new, robotic entity, believing it to be damaged. His movement was halted as it stood up slowly, body twitching slightly, the new dent in its “ribcage” slowly being pushed outward and repairing itself. It’s mostly featureless face looks up at the engineer, red and blue, mismatched, goggle-like optics staring straight at him.

It speaks a single word, its voice purely fabricated, clearly electronic in nature. Every syllable was synthetic, holding no inflection, no emotion.

“Identification.”

He fumbled through the thick, tightly zippered jacket for his lanyard.

“Identification.” It stands up straighter, a thick, grey goop beginning to ooze from out of its largest bits of casing. The engineer, unfamiliar with this new entity, or how it functions, continues to fumble, mumbling to himself in a frantic panic. He finally retrieves the card and holds it up.

Its eyes lock onto the card quickly, the goo still pouring out onto the ground, pooling around it’s feet. “Identity: Confirmed. Clearance level: Engineer Level 2.” Its puddle begins to take shape, forming synthetic musculature over the metal skeleton of its original frame. What was an 8 foot tall, mechanical skeleton has now become an equally, if not slightly taller, featureless, androgynous humanoid before long. “Clearance Level is has been administrator modified recently to 4, with a note: Temporary Clearance for entry to Brain.” It steps forward, the grey figure slowly defining its shape as it moves.

A once slender build gains muscle definition. A featureless face begins to lengthen into a short, feline muzzle. Shoulders widen, and fur grows in. Everything is grey, a metallic, almost gunmetal grey. In the light of the room, it reflects softly, but quickly loses its luster as the now male-looking construct fills in the coloration. Snow white fur, with charcoal stripes breaking up it’s monotony; short, but still there. It looked soft, and seemed to frost over. His eyes change from goggles to round, glassy orbs, their irises matching their original colors, an almost 3D-glasses-looking set of eyes with the right retaining a crimson red, the left taking on a chilling blue.

He grins, his voice taking on a now mostly organic feel, but in some way still seems electronic. It’s not something noticeable right away. “So you are not my handler.” It’s low, almost a growl, almost sadistically playful in nature, but his words are clear, understandable. “You know not what I am capable of, you know nothing of who I am, or what I do. You are… unfamiliar with my systems.” His grin only gets wider, displaying sharp pearly white teeth, inset in gunmetal flesh. Digitigrade legs carry him slowly forward, bringing him closer to the frightened male.

The engineer draws a small pistol from a holster within the oversized jacket, and without hesitation fires several rounds into the machine’s chest, emptying all the 9mm slugs from within the magazine. The robots eyes dim, and it stands motionless, jaw slack, statue still for a moment before coming back to life, shaking off the cold a bit before grinning again. “Not only an intruder, but an aggressive one. Self defense engaged.”

He blinked, never to open his eyes again…

Wiping the blood from his silvery claws onto the frosty wall, he sighs, breath invisible, indifferent to the air, looking around the chilled room. “What I wouldn’t give to be outdoors again.” He leans on a massive, clawed hand, pressed against the frigid wall for a moment, closing his eyes. In his head, he looks through the building using the network of security cameras installed in various places. A smirk grows on his face as he sees the panic and mayhem his little “hiccup” has caused.

With a nod, he resolves, standing upright. Like tearing tissue paper, he rends the metal of the blast doors wide open, giving him a nice exit point to his frosty tomb. Instantly, the one alarm he doesn’t control sounds, only adding to the chaos above. Large caliber, automated weaponry unfolds from the ceiling, aiming at his center of mass. Each gun immediately opens fire once in place, all slugs whistling their way to their target.

Reacting at a speed only a computer could, he tears a chunk off the thick metal door, using it as a large tower shield. Without a valid target, the guns continue to fire into the shield, the heavy slugs tearing large holes and chunks out of the thick metal. Unimpeded by the weight of the improvised cover, he advances down the choked hallway, the only exit from his chambers and a heavily armed killing plane. This was built to keep him in, and keep unauthorized others out. However, they had never tested it against him.

It’s failing.

Horribly.

As he advances, he lifts up the scrap to scrape the guns off the ceiling, moving it to carve them out of the walls, and remove them from the floor. His tail, ever working, wraps around the barrels, pulling them in nice and close as they are converted into a silvery goo, which is added to his mass. He chooses not to add any bulk to his already bulky frame, instead adding it as true mass, making himself heavier, but not making his paws any less quiet against the metal floor.

And so it continues, on and on. He forces his way past turrets and soldiers, scientists and engineer alike, reducing them to nothing but aftermath. He doesn’t stop the bloodshed when he reaches the ground floor, no. He continues upward, making sure there wasn’t a single living person in the building he hadn’t completely fucked up, mangled, brutalized… killed. After all, that was his original purpose. And unstoppable soldier, a covert but fierce weapon.

After what they did to him…

He finally enacted his revenge…

Yet, he still felt… empty.

[xlaitswrites]

Sorry...

Sorry guys, no work today. My muse has left me, but I promise I’m working on something big.