Original Work - Blog Posts
The Shining Poppy - A Story I Wrote For School And Ended Up Liking
The streets are lined in colour, bright but politely asking for my attention. The sky provides a warm caress, paired with soft wind which comforts my every step. Towering shadows from those around pattern the sun’s rays but still bless me with a warmth not unlike a gentle embrace.
There are no dark shadows here, only the evidence of my company. The light emanating from my skin is proof enough of the sunshine already inside me, yearning to feel the soft touch of scarlet petals against it.
Every smile or gesture is a wave of warm red, a wave of kind electricity through my body, energizing the next step I take.
Over worn footpaths. Over softened gravel.
My steps do not falter, only taking me where I’m supposed to go. Following the ever-changing paths weaving before me, created by determination.
I continue on. Over cerulean puddles. Over unheeded grass.
Through this field of poppies.
= = = = = = = = = =
Nothing has really changed, yet it’s all different. There are still poppies in every direction. Uniform and swaying with the world. The very same world that looks at me with distain.
The poppies curl away from the sunshine barely dribbling from my lips, the light still seeping from my gift. I bring it to my chest, forcing the light through my wounds but it doesn’t hold, it falls with the red deep inside me and litters the floor with fading beams of light. The wall in front of me is gone, replaced by another poppy, petals loose but facing away from me as if in disgust.
The sun no longer holds me in its warmth but burns me like firewood.
I stand in the field, lit aflame like a wildfire, but the poppies around my feet do not catch, do not spread the flames and burning. They whisper, blowing my fire around like rope, pushing it to wrap around my limbs and seep into my skin.
Every breath or glance is a wave of hot, sharp red, a wave of harsh fire through my body.
Over cracked glass. Over shattered asphalt.
My steps falter, taking me further into the field. The path is gone, only poppies in my way.
Over pools of red, crimson not scarlet. Over burning paper and flesh and light.
Through this field of poppies.
= = = = = = = = = =
The present, a gift of language and letter, is accompanied by the tentative morning light. No less than thrown to me but still gifted with an air of importance and significance. I open it, and the room is lit by the comforting sunshine contained within. With every word I read, the room gets brighter. The sun begins its trek across the once starry sky, and I feel warmer every second.
The world is brighter today.
The sky and the grass smile at me, each step leaving my sunshine in its wake. The poppies along my journey seem to turn to greet me, even if I miss the subtle curl of their petals in aversion and the swish of their stalks in whisper. The sun watches, extending a shining hand out to reach the light I can only call my own. Like calls to like, just as the sun calls to my sunshine. And like the sun itself, I shine my light onto the world beneath me.
I run through the crowds of people, the stalks of flowers, excusing every jostle or shove when I push through. The patches of shadows sway with my movements, ruffled but unbothered, their owners standing solid.
Among the red, a wave of familiarity hits me like a firm embrace. Warm, strong, and familiar. The sunshine under my skin claws at me, dragging its warmth through my body. It presses against my tongue and teeth, pushing for release. It grows brighter with each step towards the normality in an ocean of innocuity.
The passive waves crash on a shore of neutrality, and I walk to my sandcastle of connectivity. Another scarlet red, uniform but unique.
My steps come to a halt, my sandcastle before me, and the gentle waves do not stop. The sunshine pushes harder now, threatening to tear me open, but at the slightest shimmer from the castle, I relent.
My mouth opens and sunshine pours out, shining and twinkling with each movement of my lips. It’s warm and soft and welcoming.
But rather than the soft but strong sandcastle or a blooming poppy like the crowds around me, the sunshine meets a wall. It’s harsh and grey and rough like concrete, and the light disappears when it meets.
I falter at the stillness, the sunshine going with it.
Then the wall opens, just a crack, and razor blades fly. The little remaining sunshine reflects off each pristine blade, glaring in my eyes as the blades shoot and soar past me. They slice my skin when they pass and leave crimson slashes all over my body. It’s burning, my skin and my eyes are burning, and I wish I never let the sunshine out to begin with.
= = = = = = = = = =
Before me are the fields of red, where poppies grow. I watch them climb and bloom, impossibly fast but yet slow enough to watch each unique flower spread its flushed red palms. The tops brush against my mid-calf. No higher, and no lower. A sea of uniformity, moving together in the wind.
My eye is caught by a certain poppy in the distance, daring to reach past the rest of the red sea. The shine of light emanating from the bloom draws me to it and I begin to step closer; the flowers rooted at my feet shifting to avoid me. I stop when I reach the shocking scarlet bloom, bigger and brighter than the rest. Warm light, not unlike sunshine, pours from between the petals. It feels familiar, but makes me squint my eyes in disgust, the light now uncomfortable and unwelcome.
My hands go cold as the wind turns, and I harshly yank the flower from the ground.
The stem snaps, an unclean pull, and I watch the flower in my palm.
I watch as the light drains from the petals.
I watch it, and it wilts away.
Sometimes I wonder if people even realize how cruel they can be without saying a word. The way they look at me—cold, dismissive, like I’m something to laugh at or pity. It’s not always about what they say; sometimes it’s just the way they carry themselves around me, like I’m less. I feel overlooked all the time, like I’m just floating in the background, waiting for someone to actually see me. And I hate how much I want to be seen, especially by him. I hate how I catch myself hoping for even a glance from him. It makes me feel pathetic, like I’m betraying myself just to feel worthy for a moment. These past few days, I’ve been so angry. Just simmering beneath the surface. I keep snapping in my head, getting irritated at everything. I’m starting to feel like the angry little girl I worked so hard to bury, the one who, for years, carried the weight of her father’s rage. I hate how deeply I feel things, how sensitive I am. Lately, I’ve been drowning. Not in a river, but under the weight of never feeling satisfied with life.
—A lady and Her Quill, Letters to Dead Children: Ophelia's Journal Entries
Time is like grains of sand slipping through our fingers — the one thing in life we cannot bargain with; each lost moment gone forever. Yet I alone wander its hidden paths, reclaiming what others surrender.
—A lady and her quill, The Almanac of a Lost Time Traveler.
To the little girl who faded with the dying light of October, 1922— My dearest Cecilia, It is with unbearable grief that I write to you. Each passing day, I am forced to reconcile with the weight of your absence, haunted by the silence you left behind. Although it wasn’t my hands that took your life, my heart aches with regret— because in the silence of my heart, I have convinced myself that it was my fault.
—A lady and her quill, Letters to dead children.
Chapter 1
This wan’t how I intended to re-enter the public eye, although frankly I hadn’t intended to go public at all after the operation was shut down. Sure, I had fantasized about it, but I’d never really wanted the attention to begin with, and the politics involved were always a mess. I stood in the aisle, leaning against the armrest of a middle-aged woman’s seat, breathing heavily. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, warning me about the other passengers watching me. Something warm and wet trickled off my lip and dripped onto the floor. I swiped at my nose with the back of my hand, unsurprised to see blood. I had pushed myself too far, used up more energy in two minutes than I had in the past five years. But it was flowing back to me, and it felt good.
The plane shuddered and lurched as we were towed off the landing strip and toward the gate. Pushing myself upright, I stumbled back to my seat. The eyes of the other passengers followed me, and I could see a mix of relief, confusion, and fear on their faces as I passed. The oxygen masks had deployed during the chaos, and they swung in unison, like choreographed dancers. A toddler was wailing over the hum of the airplane systems, and the lights of the airstrip flickered in through the windows as the plane jostled towards the gate.
When I reached my seat I rummaged through the seat back pocket, pulling out an ancient mp3 player, headphones, and my wallet. I stuffed them into my jeans and pulled my backpack out from under the seat in front of mine. The empty plastic water bottle in the side pouch got caught on something and flew spinning up the aisle. The cockpit door banged open, making me jump, and the pilot barreled out. His eyes met mine and he strode down the aisle, disbelief and anger staining his cheeks. He opened his mouth to scream at me, but I’d already had enough of him.
“No,” I held up my hand to stop him and his mouth snapped closed and he stopped halfway down the aisle. He turned even redder, furious, but unable to move or speak. The co-pilot poked his head out after the pilot, and looked nervously at me. “Good. We’re all here.” I straightened up. “Attention everyone, I need everyone’s attention please.” I knew everyone was already looking at me, but I needed the extra few seconds to steady my nerves. “The feds are going to come talk to you.” I added more power to my voice, pulling my audience in. “You will tell them everything you saw. You will tell them the truth, but you may not tell anyone else. After tonight, you will only remember that there was a dangerous malfunction, and this brave pilot,” I gestured to the copilot, still standing by the cockpit door, “managed to get us all here in one piece. He’s a real hero, and you are all very grateful to him. You will forget my face, forget that I was on this flight, and forget what I did.” I zipped up my jacket and swung my backpack onto my shoulder.
The other passengers and staff looked glassy-eyed, and some of them shook their heads, as they fought my orders. I took a deep breath, pulling more power from my core. It surged through my body, like electricity, crackling over my nose and stopping the flow of blood. I stepped into the air and willed myself up and away, phasing through the ceiling of the small plane. I hovered there, in the freezing January air, breathing puffy white clouds. Swirling my power around me in a protective cocoon, I felt it shielding me from the wind and obscuring me from view. I pulled out my phone, powered it on, and dialed a familiar number.
“Smith.”
“Hey, there was an incident. Everyone’s ok, but the Department is going to want to come handle this one.”
“Erin? Erin, you need to come in. The director has questions.”
“The director wants to put me in a cage. You know I can’t come back, not after what I did.”
“Let’s talk about this.”
“I know you have to try to get me back, but please just listen. Someone came after me. Someone who knows about the project. I’m the last loose end, and someone is trying to clean me up. We both know that won’t work, but I can’t let other people get hurt in the crossfire, not again.” I glanced at the emergency crews swarming the plane, illuminated by blinding spot lights.
“Erin, listen…”
“Vegas airport. You have until midnight before they lose their memories, although I’m not sure how good of a job I did, so you might do some cursory exit interviews. Don’t bother with the phone, I’ll leave it here for you.”
“Erin, I’m so sorry about what happened. You were kids. You didn’t deserve that.”
“I know.” I knew this was a a ploy to keep me on the line, but there was real remorse behind those words, pain even. I snapped the phone closed. It was a cheap plastic flip phone that I only carried for emergencies. I let it go and it floated beside me, components disassembling themselves and dropping to the ground. I snapped the chips into several pieces, and the wind carried them off. Might as well make it a challenge for them. I pulled out my wallet, removing the driver’s license I used to buy my plane ticket and dropping it to fly away with the bits of my phone. I had liked being Sam Davis, but they would cross check the passenger list with the people who got off the plane as well as the security footage at the airport. It was time to pay a visit to Luca. I sucked in a deep breath of the cold night air, and vanished.
We support trans rights here >:)
Okay would anyone be interested in a post-apocalyptic, zombie, kinda sci-fi story?? Imagine if School Bus Graveyard and any sort of zombie movie merged together. That’s what I’m writing.
So, tell me if you would be interested in reading something like that, and I will post it on AO3 (and maybe here as well) as soon as I finish the draft!
(Edit: I am DESPERATE for ideas please help me. Give me ideas. Anything. I’ll take anything at all)
Art projects, old and new. Can you guess which is which?
If you share, please give credit where it's due. These are not easy and I put a lot of effort into creating each one.
My next project! Unfinished, but it's coming along!
More art! And a rando thing I did - I had found a lot of beads and other craft stuff, and my fam was also getting rid of craft stuff, so instead of throwing it all out, we had our own Craft Convention! Lol the horse was made from beads and a weird kinda yarn, with a horse mandala behind it for reference. Other images are some more mandalas. 😁
My next project! Unfinished, but it's coming along!
More art! And a rando thing I did - I had found a lot of beads and other craft stuff, and my fam was also getting rid of craft stuff, so instead of throwing it all out, we had our own Craft Convention! Lol the horse was made from beads and a weird kinda yarn, with a horse mandala behind it for reference. Other images are some more mandalas. 😁
Hello! I'm a new artist, trying to share my creations with the world. I've spent the last year developing my artsy skills and being terrified of haters 😅 but I'm finally branching out and learning to overcome my fears. I hope 🤞 those who see my art enjoy it as much as I did when I made it. 🥰
I made more
Enjoy.
Space: It's Quiet... Too Quiet
Fandom: N/A
AU?: N/A
Extra: This one is being written with connections to my own characters and their plot line(s).
Tag: @badthingshappenbingo
Lunafullia: The Revenge Of The Ringmaster
The circus grounds of Jejivan. A lively and warm atmosphere all year round, the acts and staff having as much fun as their fans and supporters! Cheers and awes would leave the glow of the tent's entrance around 6 o'clock every night for around 4 hours, 6 hours if it was a special night. Located a few miles south of the capital's centre, it stood to be the biggest source of enjoyment from residents and tourists alike. Hell, even the royals would attend frequently. Who'd expect high ranked members of society to attend events in a red and white tent that seemed to destroy all aspects of basic physics?
Jejivan's Circus. That was its name. Simple yet memorable. The main tent stood at a scarily tall 75ft, the other smaller tents standing at 55ft. Of course, that meant the space inside was just as scarily large, the centre masts stationed over 80ft apart, with a width of over 100 to add - and that's just the main tent. Why would a tent have to be so big? Well, the ringmaster and circus owner wasn't the smallest man - or naga - on Lunafullia's surface. He had to fit somehow!
Speaking of, shall we delve into the ringmaster?
A naga of the largest variety, measuring in at around 90ft long, was the ringmaster. His name was Ryoko Occidendum, and he'd been running this circus for over 150 years. He was the father of the acts, figuratively speaking at least. He made every night unique, with help from his brother on the occasion. As we mention him, Reign Occidendum is the creative manager of the circus, and also the stand in ringmaster if Ryoko couldn't partake. How would that work? Well, Ryoko and Reign are twins, identical twins.
But enough about that! This circus ran for hundreds of years, originally being called Occidendum's Circus, for it was a family thing. Popular, thriving, safe; all things for the circus that was true.
Until it was not.
No birds sang, no sounds at all. Not even the weight of his tail made a sound as he slithered over the abandoned grounds. Or, at least he didn't hear it.
He didn't know. And yet he was the one blamed. He didn't know there was a monstrosity beneath the circus. Several heads, maybe 30 of them? He couldn't quite recall. Each head had black holes for eyes, with teeth like the spikes on a flail. He didn't know.
The tent still stood. But the pain he felt, staring at the shreds of his life, was far too much. The white and red vibrance had been replaced by yellowed and tattered violence, the stench of damp fabric assaulting his senses. The fabric was torn to no end, the centre masts having trenches from where its destroyer had tried to claw its way out of its confines. Old stalls, from which attendees would've gotten their merch and snacks, now rotted and collapsed.
The air stood still. The sickening smells didn't waft away. No sound broke the silence.
It was still there.
Somewhere.
Despite the pain in his chest, he pulled back the ribbons of the tent's entrance, half debating to coil and cry. He didn't stop, advancing into the place he once stood. He stared at the main stage, the memories already surfacing.
"Welcome ladies and gents and everyone present! The circus opens its curtains to you!"
He'd said that. As he had every night. The distinguished hat he always wore, his tailcoat a charming blue, like the early hours of the morning sky. He had his tail, the reds and greens of his scales reflecting the fire light that illuminated their stages, coiled beneath him, his cane raised in a dramatic introduction.
They'd gotten two hours into their set for the night when the first grumble had been heard.
"And what a spectacular performance from our very own pirate captain! Never ceasing to amaze his crew~! Up next-"
He'd been introducing their fire dance act. He remembered it so clearly. He was cut short by a grumble, growl of sorts. He had regained his composure before attempting to introduce the act again, until a loud snarl had ripped through the grounds. He had been scared out of his skin, the first head making its horrific presence known. He had immediately called the night off, shouting and screaming for everyone to get out.
He slithered around the debris, his hood flaring slightly. He was paranoid. Rightly so, though. He didn't know what that creature had been. All he knew was that it had appeared, and ate its way through over 200 supporters of the circus, and hadn't been seen since the grounds were abandoned.
15 years ago to the day.
15 years ago, screams of fear and horror had filled the circus. Reports channeled over the city and beyond. He had been blamed for hiding it. He had insisted he'd not known it was there, and that he had no idea what it was. Survivors backed him up, informing investigators that he had been just as scared as the rest of them.
Now, 15 years on, the area was dead. Silent. Nothing. He had no reason to be there, but there he was.
Clutching his modified masamune with a white-knuckled grip, Jejivan's Circus' former ringmaster relaxed himself, glaring at the place the beast had come from all those years ago. It had destroyed his life.
He felt eyes on him, and his hood flared further. He locked his attention on the darkness ahead.
His life had been destroyed that night: his career, his family's past, his brother, his family at the circus. That beast had killed those he loved, had killed his life and reason for living.
Ryoko had come to repay the favour... Only this time, as the Lord of Jejivan, the Noble Naga of Death.
He would avenge his murdered friends and family.
The memories would be put to an end.
And he'd not be nice about it...
Original Work: A Criminal For Justice
Info: MM, Crime, Current Rating is YA. Do not quote me on the Ranks etc, I have gone off of what little research I managed to get
Inspired By: THIRDS by Charlie Cochet
Chapter One: Cops And Tracks
Glaring blazes of light reflected off the grey bonnets of various cars, all with the typical blue lights spinning in alternate direction under their cases. Smoke billowed from the steam engine on the tracks, brought to a stop with a barricade - and the broken engine.
"This is the second train this week, and we're on Monday!" a young officer complained, his uniform baring the simple 4 digit number. A lower rank to the man he was complaining too - a constable at most, whining like a child being took home from a park. A huff poured from the older cop, wanting to get this over an done with.
"It happens, get over it and stop whining!" replied the higher ranked officer, his name badge showing him to be Julian Wayne. His rank was identified with the small crown and angled, intricate square design beneath, sat on his shoulder. A DCS, being done with a DC already. Julian waved the lower rank away, making his way to the smoking steam engine.
He felt sorry for whatever engineer would deal with the damage and how much something like that would cost. The cursing and shouting of the convicted caught his attention, the small trio of criminals fighting against the cuffs and officers that pushed them to the vans. Tedious, absolutely tedious.
"You okay, superintendent?" the questioning tone of his friend and colleague caused Julian's attention to change. He looked down at the detective in question, and smiled.
"Chief Superintendent, but yes, I'm good" Julian folded his arms, staring back at the broken locomotive.
"You feeling sorry for another engineer?" the detective hit the issue on the nail. Not exactly anything knew, it was good old Finn Walker after all. Finn had been a friend of Julian's for years, before either had graduated University in fact.
"Nothing gets past you, does it?" a chuckled response came, a smirk and playful side eye given to the lower ranked male. Finn just shrugged with a smug look.
"What can I say, I'm awesome" he grinned, doing the worse flick of his short, brown hair ever. He laughed at the expression of despair on his friend's face, "Chillax, Jules, whoever deals with it will be fine, 'kay?"
Although the three criminals were caught, Julian knew there was more to this than met the eye. The previous duo they'd caught were wearing the same fire-shaped logo that these goons were, which said this was a group. Hopefully, the interrogators would get something out of these three.
--------------------------------------
"Well, our favourite nerd's shown up, what can I get ya?"
The inside of GRAND Coffee House was a low murmur with very few customers. Ignis always appeared at the same time, 1 and a half hours after open.
"I'm sure you ought to know by now, Daniel" Ignis replied with a smile. He held his card in his left hand, his right occupied with a bag.
"Don't fancy a change then?" Daniel chuckled, knowing the response that would follow. He glanced back from the machine, a look of feigned pain on Ignis' face.
"How could you swear at me like that? I thought you loved me" Ignis tilted his head away with a dramatic look of betrayal.
Regulars knew of the two, Ignis and Daniel Knight. They had the same curly blonde hair, although Ignis' was longer and a little darker than Daniel's. Same eyes, same face (If you took Daniel's tattoo away that it), same height - it was clear to anyone with eyes that these two were twins. It was also just as obvious that Daniel was extremely protective of his older twin.
Ignis sat by the counter as he always did, keeping his brother updated with all his life. He spoke of his trains, his models, the books he read, he even spoke of things that Daniel's boyfriend mentioned every now and then. It was early Monday morning, so university students were coming in for the coffees to combat their hangovers and/or late nights. Daniel knew there was people who didn't graduate from Ignis' year, he also knew a lot of them didn't know how to keep their mouths shut.
At a young age of 24, Ignis had a degree in criminal psychology and was a part time rail engineer. His ability to take in information had him being forced to do other people's work, do group projects alone and have late nights that led him to be the insomniac he was. He rarely fought back, which included the beatings he'd get if he denied the demands his classmates would order. There was one group in particular, which on a Monday, they would end up at GRAND Coffee House. They hadn't shown yet, which was a good sign for both the twins.
"So, any interests for a career?" Daniel asked, getting a shrug in response.
"I'm a part time rail engineer with a criminal psychology degree, what do you think?" Ignis replied. Daniel stared at his twin with a smirk, and then decided to point something out.
"I heard they're taking on new recruits on the police force" Daniel suggested subtly. Ignis rolled his eyes, having been a prison guard for a little while at 19.
Time ticked on. Ignis bid his brother a farewell, walking out into the streets of Lincoln. He had no intention of doing anything, he now had to change his usual routine afterall, he'd graduated meaning he had no routine at that time. He wandered around aimlessly until he was called by his boss. A train needed repairing? Good, it gave Ignis something to do, and so he made his way to the location.
--------------------------------------
Cops cars caught Ignis off guard, surprised to see so many surrounding the train. Smoke billowed from the engine, not steam, which instantly caught Ignis' attention. Ignoring the officials, Ignis climbed up into the locomotive with his tools. He checked the interior with precision that would make a professional darts player jealous.
He saw the remains of what appeared to be a hand-made bomb, one with a low explosion. Not surprising, it was an engine that had been blown.
"Sir? Are you the engineer?"
Ignis stumbled back in surprise, falling onto his ass. He looked at the owner of the voice, and gulped upon seeing the rank. "Yes... Superintendent sir!" Ignis panicked as he spoke, and the police officer laughed.
"Don't worry about formalities, kid. We ought to be apologising for the train" he spoke up, climbing into the said vehicle, helping Ignis to his feet.
"... Alright," Ignis was unsure as to why he was apologising for the damage to the train.
Whoever the cop was, he helped Ignis repair the engine as quick as possible. He made conversation with him too, trying to keep Ignis' nerves at bay.
"Thank you... Uh-"
"Julian. Julian Wayne."
Ignis' eyes widened in surprise, realising who this man was.
"Well, thank you, Julian" he nodded to the cop, a little embarrassed he'd fallen over earlier in front of someone so respected.
"It's fine. You said your name's Ignis, right?" Julian asked with a calming smile. Ignis nodded, and looked at Julian with a little caution. That was until Julian handed him a card with his details on, "You're a chill kid, I like ya" he smiled, ruffling Ignis' head.
That was the start of something much worse than either ever expected.
The Blizzard: Chapter 9
[Author's Note: We found the animatronics, and spoiler alert! These animatronics are not Sylvia's. They're part of a nightmare. Chapter 10 will be the last chapter of the book (I think), so stay tuned!]
(P.S: It's also an extremely short chapter. Bear with me, please.)
Demetria opened up the basement, annoyed by the scritch-scratching sounds coming from the room. She's been up all night!
An animatronic flew after Demetria, just barely missing her nice dress. "Oh, fluuuff." Demetria hissed. "If this is one of Aunt Sylvia's, I'm giving her a piece of my mind!" An icicle flew out to cover the animatronic in a deadly array of spiked icicles on the floor. A hand touched Demetria's shoulder. "HOLY -"
CRACK!
The animatronic behind the woman cracked straight down the middle of its head, where Demetria had karate-chopped it. She didn't waste any time in running out of the house and locking, encasing the mansion in ice in a panic. She ran towards the forest, the icy trail behind her frosting everything in reach.
A blizzard has begun.
The Blizzard: Chapter 8
(Author's Note: A mention of a near-death experience and an endangering experiment. Also, this chapter happens almost a year after the Incident.)
"MANGO DRAGONFRUIT MOCHISOLAR OF THE MERCATS, COME HERE, YOUNG LADY!" Hikari shouted, causing Demetria to flinch. The one day Demetria was supposed to be visiting the nightmare-ridden Mercat (that was Kiui) was interrupted by the yells and hisses of the cat side of the Mochisolar family.
Mango came into the living room and stopped when she saw Demetria. Mango waved nervously. "...Hi?"
"Alright, what did you do to get called out like that?" Demetria asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.
Mango hesitated, a look of trauma crossing her face, before she raised her hands to sign, 'No need to worry, it was just a small donation.'
"Mangoo, you can't lie to me. I saw the look on your face, and you only use sign language if you did something really bad or if something traumatizing is happening." Demetria grabbed a cup of hot chocolate and sipped on it, watching her cousin closely.
Mango looked nervous, steeling herself before signing, 'I got strapped into an experiment and nearly died twice because it drained my life force and I forced myself unconscious!'
"MANGO!" Demetria gasped. Yeah, she's joining in on the punishment party on that one, because what Mango did was dangerous and incredibly reckless.
'I was TIRED!'
"Just go to Aunt Hikari - NOW." Demetria pointed to the security office, where her aunt was. She didn't want to deal with this.
'Fine, fine.' Mango grumped over to the security room.
Demetria sighed, sipping her hot chocolate and headed to the kitchen. "One of these days, the girls are gonna give me a headache." A yellow-and-grey dart flew past Demetria, almost making her trip. "Kiui!"
"Sorry not sorry!" Kiui meowed back.
"Hey, Kiui? Can you call Ashley?" Hikari called. Demetria's eyes widened as she realized this is becoming a family issue. She's gotta go before Demetria gets wrapped up in it.
"OkayIgottagobye!" Demetria rushed, heading back to her residence.
The Blizzard: Chapter 7
(Author's Note: All warnings are mentioned in Chapter 6. That's all.)
"Hey, sis?" Poketiggy called. "Grandma sent us another chapter!"
"Then read it!" Charlotte called back.
"Alright..."
December 5
"Holy Soulless, this is a huge snowstorm to get through." Scylla muttered, climbing over heaps of snow and ice that used to be buildings, animals, even PEOPLE. After climbing over another body, Scylla said, "Wooow, going through this makes me feel like I'm in the apocalypse again, and that's not a good feeling."
Eventually, Scylla reached the castle, which was the heart of the storm. Literally.
Staring down the sparkling, ice-covered castle, Scylla sighed. "This generation s going to give me a headache one of these days." She muttered, using her frostbitten hands to shove the door open.
An ear turned at Dasher and Glimmer's call for staff from upstairs. Assuming that is where Demetria could be, Scylla teleported in front of the two rulers.
The pyrokinetic instinctively wrapped her arms around Demetria protectively, picking her up and leaving, but not before she heard:
"Hey! That's our -"
"Let them go."
"But -"
"We'll find them again. She'll be a powerful asset to our army."
Scylla teleported home.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"-Scylla? Hey, Scylla?" Kiui bugged.
"Yes, small one?" Scylla asked, despite knowing the answer.
"What was it like out there?" Kiui asked.
That knocked Scylla off guard. She...wasn't expecting that. Considering her options... Yeah, she might as well come clean.
"It was...devastating." Scylla starts. "It was like the apocalypse all over again." She hugs herself tightly. "To think that I saw all those frozen -"
Kiui said, "You don't have to talk about it. I was curious. That was all."
"No." Scylla insisted. "I have to." Inhale. Exhale. "There was a lot of snow, I'll admit that. But... I smelled blood and decay as well. There was the palace; it was covered in ice as well, it was in the heart of the blizzard. The buildings and such that made up the capital city were heavily covered in snow and ice. Demetria... I'd never look at her the same way ever again."
Kiui stood there, processing as she looked at the comatose form of Demetria. From her expression, Kiui would never look at her big cousin the same way again, either.
"When do you think Demetria will wake up?" Kiui whispered.
"HOPEFULLY when Sylvia comes over, because she's going to be over for ten days." Mango said, stepping into view.
"MANGO!" Kiui shrieked. Scylla didn't have the heart to tell the Mercat to lower her voice.
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When Demetria woke up, she was faced with Sylvia - in a lab coat. That means Dr. Sylveon is in the house. Ugh, feelings.
Demetria groaned and slowly got up, pain flashing across her body. And then a kitten with banana-yellow scales and kiwi-green eyes stared at Demetria, the cat's grey, fluffy fur on end as its tail swiftly moved back and forth nervously.
"Kiui?" Demetria croaked. "What happened?" The cat literally lunged towards the Froster, transforming back into the form of Kiui as she shouted:
"DEMETRIA! YOU'RE OKAY!! I THOUGHT WE LOST YOU!"
Demetria hugged the the sobbing girl tightly, while giving her aunt a quizzical look.
Sylvia sighed. "You froze the kingdom. Congratulations, you're a Froster now."
"And that's bad because...?" Demetria inquired.
Mango stepped into the room. "First of all, you COMPLETELY missed the part where Aunt Sylvia said that you froze the kingdom."
"I'm sorry, I DID WHAT?!"
"Second, you created a blizzard."
"WHAT?!"
"MANGO!"
"Third," Mango winked at Sylvia. "You nearly killed your friend and the crown princess."
"HOLY -"
"MANGO DRAGONFRUIT MOCHISOLAR!!" Sylvia barked.
Mango let out a fake sigh. "You never let me have my fun." She sarcastically said.
Demetria looked like she was processing everything. "Wow, I did some very bad things."
"Well, we're telling everyone we meet about how you froze an entire castle." Kiui said mischievously, sniffling quietly. Demetria groaned.
"Please don't."
"You traumatized Scylla too." Mango said.
"I WASN'T TRAUMATIZED!" Scylla shouted from the other room. "THERE'S A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TRAUMATIZED AND TERRIFIED!"
Mango rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, well Merlina said that she's grounding you for the next month for the stunt you pulled."
"Figures." Demetria muttered. Kiui let out a throaty chuckle.
"Can I burn it this time?" Elsa the Dragon asked. Charlotte handed her the paper.
"Nothing's worth it." Sissy the Dog mumbled sadly.
"Aaaaand this is why I'm not giving you anymore stories." Creator drawled out.
"Rude." Conrad grumbled.
Open for commissions!
Heyo! I've really been wanting to get started with commissions for a while now! Wether it's your OC, a character you like from a serie, whichever or whatever! I'll draw for ya!
For more information please visit the link for prices, specifications, etc. 😊 And if you want to see more work I also post there, here, and on my twitter account @_Caidentity_
http://aminoapps.com/p/yflts6
Aayy more Valentine!
I love my boi Val, so I made him more human outfits! Gosh drawing him is such fun! 😊
I made a human version of Verin! He uses this form to lure men in before going Incubus~ therefore he's more slender, shorter than his incubuz form, a little more feminine, but still with a nice body to lure in the big daddy types. his human name is Valentine!
He a cute gay boio, but also a trap to the male population~
tag the OC who is a little sister
