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Asphyxiate

Work #2 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: holy shit?? another "official" work??? ain't no wayyyy. Anyway, time for the debrief. Debrief: Word count: 738 Warnings: gore, sensitive content, trigger warnings, horror, death. Enjoy!

Asphyxiate

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Suffocation. 

I couldn’t breathe through all the corpses piled on top of the mighty pyramid. The irony of “mighty” is strong. I swore I could see a glimpse of light at the surface, but I knew from the lack of flesh beneath my spine that I was at rock bottom. If the plague doesn’t kill me, the pressure will. 

I’m freezing, the detached limbs hovering around me like a ritual circle didn’t help the goosebumps on my skin— or my teeth chattering. I am shaking, in a jigsaw-like position. It’s silent, but too silent. 

It allows the aftermath of the sheer pressure from above to be heard. The sudden cracks of bone and the moan of flesh being ripped apart; all because of the build up from the weight of it all… it causes ringing in the ears. It’s sickening. I will be one of those cracks soon. 

There is an eerie, hollow feeling inside this pile. Everything present is here on purpose; I am liable because it was written in stone. How I wish my bones would turn into stone. There is something directly lying on top of my forehead and it’s crushing my skull. Blood is gushing towards my brain— adrenaline is kicking in as I panic from the pain. I can’t even open my eyes, and the smell has me in a chokehold. 

It’s dark, but I am starting to see red. I can’t see, yet it feels like a thousand cold, dead fingers are grasping at my thighs. Is the flesh around me rotting, or is it my knees that have started to decay? I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die. But… I can’t. I have so much waiting on me. I finally have something to live for. I have to protect and experience… and live. 

How did I end up here? This is the borderline simulation– 

I remember the murmurs in the back of my distant mind. It feels close and yet further than the sea of stiffness on top of me. The snickering, but not from the dejected faces that surround my decrepit body. Mockery? Or was it obstinate? I recall confusion and panic— the necessity of changing face.

“I am just so tired, why am I never enough? I try so hard.” 

“I understand how you’re feeling–” 

“No, don’t even try to please me. You’re a bad liar. How could you EVER understand how I’m feeling? You’re perfect, you never had to try–”

Perfection is a dirty word, especially when it neglects the backstage input.  

Memories drown my head like I’m on a boat, casted away into never-ending sea. The rocking from left to right is vomitous, churning my stomach like a horrible stew. I am probably hallucinating, it’s all just a bad dream. It shakes me— not the cold— but the thought of being just a face. A mask designed for success. Everyone wants a different version of a product; some want pink, while others prefer red. You’re bored? Just throw it away… wait, what?

The tower looks more like a pile found in a dumpsite than anything, what it looks like from the outside must be appalling. Was I thrown away? One of those mere faces? No. I said already that I’m at rock bottom, that doesn’t make sense…

Oh. 

…I’m the first face.

The realisation makes my skull cave in. I can’t do this, this can’t be the end. Not like this, never like this. Is that how the people around me died? Did they know it was their demise? Am I the only one who has the true fate of misfortune? I need help. Anyone? I need anyone. Everyone. I can’t think, is the air getting lighter? I think I can open my eyes now, it’s brighter than before. But I can’t breathe, my chest is heaving mountains at this point. Help? HELP. PLEASESOMEONEHELPME. 

Hollow in the gaps, but solid as a whole. No one can hear no one in this pile, the dead corpse consumes the noise pollution like it was their first meal from the afterlife. Half of my consciousness is slipping, while the other half mocked me. This is it. But it can’t be. I have so many regrets, I have so many things I want to do right. I need to live my life right, this can’t be happening, I need help. I NEED HELP I NEED HELP. I nee–

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Winged

Work #3 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: this is one of my biggest works. I really hope you enjoy this one. This is inspired by the Obsession poem series. Debrief: Word count: 1694 Warnings: gore, horror, death, sensitive topics.

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Winged

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'Do you see her flying?'

Is all of a brusque rhetoric opine. Even the blind could descry such a figure. 

Biblically meticulous angels are a frightening, foreign perception for the faint of heart. But a feminine adolescent human with ivory, coriaceous wings? A sight for sore eyes, a sight to behold. Uncorrupted and innocent, dove-like as a symbol of societal freedom and peace. A pleaser designed by birth to conjure movement and enthrallment for the ravenous. A perishable's dream bride, adorned with white like untouched snow on the first night of winter.

Kings have egos. Compelled to order and empower by any means necessary. Vestal subjects have pride. Their crest adorned with white is comparable to celestial tears. Combatants have glory, taking— saving— risking lives by ineludible ordinance. And evil? All they have is revenge. 

Scarlet wounds, blood vessels ripped apart unseemly by brute force. A perfect canvas, stained and poisoned by acid rain. Tainted with colour, her dress subsumes the surrounding ichor from the broken statue. If it wasn't for the gore giving away the depiction of clay and adroitness, she would've been a Renaissance angel built to be worshipped like the holiness structure itself. The venerable church has been home to the slain of sin, the keeper of the sorrow and celebration of nuptials. Its outer walls creak and moan at the sounds of howling winds, angered at the sight inside the chambers of salvation. High ceilings may have constructed envy to those whose house is neither grand nor tall enough to withhold such metaphorical heights of a ceiling— likewise a telling of the staircase to the heavens above.

The beams are indestructible by delineation, holding the shouldering weight of the god's misfortune of reckless decision-making. Howbeit, ladders like vines on great oak trees enable worshippers to maintain the tidiness of the “humble” estate; the beams are wide enough to dance to the opera choir singing, whose dedication to the ones living in the unbothered clouds. For someone to climb up the vines to reach the tallest branches on the great oak is a possibility within a thousand coin flips, though ought to question the means behind such a purpose is certain. Revenge is a rather peculiar sin, anyone could imagine it as such. The drive behind it is sorrowful to the do-er, but judgement day does not care for the iniquitous.

Revenge creates motivation, determination is effectual. To train like a knight, one can easily carry a dead weight on their cracked shoulders up the staircase to heaven. To study with pride, one would know what people see as their true saviours— their delusional hallucinatory of an angel. How to dress, how to please. White and lacy as a wedding dress, pure and lush as a celibate. 

The victim? 

How curious, the devil pondered. Perhaps a pleaser at heart? As such:

A devoted woman to her word, a persona whose love for the weak and vulnerable is overpowering. Like spiked wine, a goblet filled with luxurious liquid gold— misleading from its appearance— a perfect femme fatale. Its insides tell its truth, how we're all the same within— an inescapable peracute. But who said to drink it? Use it for self delectation? What a poor magnificent object, she doesn't want to be mere treasure. She is the perfect vestal subject, what more could you want? Perhaps she is more fitting as a villain, always seeking more. Greedy, much?

Yes, a perfect sacrifice indeed. An impeccable example of the ambition of a “devil”'s revenge. A church can have followers, so a mere cult can be concordant. While the title of being a cult is a fragment of exaggeration, the apostles will work well in such a plan. They, the misfortunate, seek the pained for comfort… paltry sympathy can only do so much, however. But it's only just sufficient enough. Manipulation? How insulting. Ultimately, it is up to those who seek change to take heed. Hide fleetingly, pretend to associate with everyone just like in the old days. The crowd knows when to act.

Evil can kill, there is nothing else to it. Have you ever wondered how it feels to bathe in virgin blood? It's disappointing, such fuss for it is foolish. The only real kick was the twisted face of telling. That face alone is a blank, pitiful canvas turned into the definition of art itself. Oh, you could paint a thousand frescoes with such an expression. It doesn't disturn her prepossessing features, but it does make her look older. Such complicated, big emotions shouldn't even be within reach for such a young fawn. In another life, surely her underlying intelligence would serve others more than just being a lap to cry on, but in this taken existence— her sheltered mind breaks from the sudden intensity of trahison des clercs. This isn't what her story was supposed to be in her eyes. Ah, regrettable unfortunate. ‘Not favoured by fortune, was she?’, the fallen angel cruelly smirked at the thought. 

The evisceration was excessively long. The risk of blood ruining the white was too prodigious, though such fastidious concerns were needless in the end— her neck provided enough liquid genealogy, painting the front of her dress crimson. The colour of hell, of sin. The tainted heaven, the poisoned goblet. Her wings were made from dove feathers, plucked with attention to detail— a maiden in a meadow, choosing and picking the best of flowers could not compare. The bone structure of the wings was genius, specific bones were chosen from certain organisms to create a grand juxtaposition from angel to bird. Sticking each chosen feather to the structure was tedious, but a hyper-fixed maniac does not sway from such work. Inspired by the Winged Victory of Samothrace, the wings belong on her back. But her impressive bone anatomy is in the way... 

...with the scapulae removed, the wings fitted with such grace and ease. Death has blessed her with paleness, such colour is the reminiscence of a statue. But her wasted life must be highlighted, must be remembered. Just like all those Renaissance angel paintings, after all— that is the only perception of angels that people will embrace. 

It is always about beauty and selflessness, never should one ought to become a fallen one.

Tough to touch, the rope that scratched up skin with small amounts of friction has proven to be practical. A satirical necklace for her elegant neck— tied down to halt the escape of her soul to the sky above. Wings may have been granted, but freedom of flying is not an option. But one as kind and saving as her needs a taster of such, the vines are no competition of strength with her figure in the devil's grasp. The perception of the stairway to heaven is certainly a sight of lush imagination, except the beams are thrilling as a ballroom for the bride-to-be and the avenger. Humming, content with glee; evil looks down to the church below, to where the mighty cross stands at the front of the sect.

Their creation is more impressive, without the use of a single nail. Prideful, the striking idea of overshadowing the lord himself is great. Tying the knot where evil saw fit, the weeping angel longed for the higher stakes before being pushed down, down to her fate. For a second, the wings may have tried to lift the dead and fly up— but the crushing weight of sorrow brought both down with a crack of bone. Her neck crooked, leaning to the left with no resting place for her head, she floats in front of her lord. Her feet swayed slightly, still savouring the dance from before as blood dripped from her blue-hue toes. Such pale eyes never saw the light of the sun again without the stained church glass praying through. 

***

The morning prayers, on time as usual for another hour of adored hope from the public. The doors opened, creaking and moaning its warning. The crowd is loud, chatting and laughing with optimistic cravings for their future. A future that she will never see. The crowd silences, and the cessation of movement brings shock and dread to the hearts of his lord's worshippers. She hangs in front of their eyes from afar, suppressed into death. It was when her guts came with a sickening "splat" onto the ground beneath her feet from her tedious exoneration that broke the silence. It was heaven's gift to them, the insides that paint the truth of the world… which they did not accept. There was then shrieking– some are praying, some have become sick– while the followers, the actors— they chanted at the sacrifice, sang with glee. 

All was in chaos until he, the evil, the devil himself— slid down from the oak ladder. One of his sinful hands still grasped at the ladder as his heels clicked onto the cool, stone-tiled floor. Some of his leeching zealots pointed at him, eager to know his final motive. 

Why such a plan? Why such a sacrifice? 

Sick revenge for mortals that need to be taught a lesson. 

Would they finally get it? Would they finally understand the suffering? 

No. 

They never do. They never pay attention until it’s too late. 

Gritting his teeth while his jaw clenches at the strike of realisation, he turns away from the selfish sinners. Has all his cruelty to her been all for nothing? His free, bloody hand carries a singular candle— which he tosses at the corpse. She lights up in flames, her laced dress burning into black ash as it climbs up her strained body. He looks in awe at his doing, the followers are shaken to their core. The thrown candle had crashed onto a parallel wall from directly hitting the “effigy”, miraculously causing arson, thus setting fire to the church itself. All his cruelty to her will not be all for nothing. The church doors slam shut behind the crowd, beckoning them in. As the house of holiness burns up to hell’s temperatures— he, who has been staring at her the whole time, finally questions the followers and himself:

'Do you see her flying?'

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Understatement, draft two

Perfection meets Perfectionist #2 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: Here is the second version of Understatement! (if you remember). So in this version, we have Etta (mc) and Quinn, the story plot essentially is surrounded by these two lovely folk. This is obviously taken out of context, so let me know if you like the snippet!

Understatement, the butterflies

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Quinn smiled bitter-sweetly, eyes glowed with much sorrow.

“I really like butterflies, you know? So beautiful, so free… but not free from the ticking time of death’s wing plucking embrace.” 

Etta looked up to the sky, with much dolour in her cracked irises. 

It was more of a rather nice night. 

Though, nice was an understatement. 

Polychromatic, astral. 

The clouds were a spread of butter on toast. 

The sunset was the jam– maybe even marmalade. 

Salted caramel can’t compare to the sea’s mist. 

For you to show leniency on my heartstrings? 

The world will deteriorate, your devotion is interdiction.  

There isn’t much room for such an ambition to ruin my depiction. 

Your perspicacity scares me, 

Torment me next, hence my jonah complex?

Eradicated, irretrievable.

Yet, what is there not to regret?

I lost you, my beautiful love.    

Your hand is so much bigger than mine. 

Pleading to discard the truth, 

Everyone's hands seem to be more commodious than mine. 

My world fits perfectly in my cupped hands. 

I always hope to the heavens that the water wouldn’t seep through the cracks.

Is it obvious that I was holding my breath the whole time?

That night was beautiful. 

Beautiful is definitely an understatement. 

It reminded of you– a wistful memory meant to be kissed good night. 

Was I meant to kiss you? 

Attentive jealousy, trounce dolour.

My hands are tied, with the most winsome ribbon, crafted from fallen angels to trap my small cage of a mind.

“Once I step in, I have to continue until the day I dwindle, the flower can wither from its sorrows,” Etta thought.

But your hands are so much bigger than mine, I always can’t help but wonder how steady you can hold my world.

Would you hold my world? 

Would you drop it when I let my sirens out to the poor sailors who only want to go home?

If I have found all of its species, 

And put it all in one book; 

I would still be left empty, without your butterfly wings. 

I should’ve admired and not touched, 

I should’ve been devoted and not lost.

Etta’s burning heart soured as Quinn’s butterfly wings touched their aching strings,

Once more.

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" It is lovers like us that shine in the darkness. We see light and colour, like a canvas of the brightest of skies. But when it comes to ourselves, our beauty within shines from the silence, the chaos, and the void. Because we fill it with our beauty, our love. " - saturnfairycat

"👏just 👏because 👏you're 👏traumatised 👏doesn't 👏mean 👏you 👏can 👏go 👏around 👏and 👏traumatise 👏 others 👏" - saturnfairycat

Muffins, chapter one

Perfection meets Perfectionist #4 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: continuing the chapter lessgooooooooo!! You know what is a funny fact about this? The reference to the queen dying was actually written before she passed away... #riplizzy Enjoy!

Chapter One, continued

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"And here I thought that wretched alarm clock was my worst enemy…" Etta thought as they fiddled with the clutch, peeking up the hill. Every man and their dog was up and about, Etta felt like an ant in the heavy packed line of traffic.

"Well, if you got up half an hour ago, you wouldn't be in this situation."

Etta rolled their eyes. "I can hear you smirk from here, February."

They heard her giggle, which softened their annoyed expression a bit. "They had your favourite muffin at the bakery today."

Etta almost slammed their foot onto the wrong pedal in shock, mouth agape and stared down at their phone. "What? "

The other end of the phone went silent for a second, Etta found it strange-- but then they realised she was trying her best to hold in laughter. "I was lonely, you know~ sitting by myself in the corner of the bakery. What is a girl to do in a store that sells rhubarb and thyme custard muffins?"

Etta's heart raced, they moved their jaw from side to side. "A nerdy girl like you would be trying to read every single book available in that store, you know, since it's a bakery AND a book store."

February tutted with pity from Etta's sulky tone. "You obviously don't know this nerdy girl then, because I practically have done that. So I got bored, the two remaining muffins on the top shelf did sound fantastic at that moment~"

The betrayal was too much, Etta groaned into the steering wheel.

"Revenge, darling, it's called revenge."

Etta mockingly worded February as the traffic started to ease up at their mercy. "The boss isn't going to like my excuse this time, maybe I should try and find my resume," Etta joked as they traced their skirt's pattern.

February paused for a moment, this time Etta knew it was serious. "You know… the boss and I are worried about you."

Etta furrowed their brows as they pulled into the right carpark. "Why, because I've been late twice?" It came off as snappy, which Etta didn't attend.

"Well… it's not just that, darling. You haven't been talking to anyone for weeks now. We didn't know you were behind on your project until last Tuesday."

Etta slammed their car door, instantly regretting the decision when the sound echoed through the empty carpark. 'I don't need the airbags to go off so my car can get written off, right now-- thanks me.'

"It wasn't intentional, I just don't like people-- you out of all people would understand that pet peeve of mine, February. And besides, this is a large project that I'm not even in charge of-"

February sighed while Etta pushed the elevator button with their carpet burned elbow. "But I- we just don't understand, you were excited for this project. You wanted to be involved with this project, then one day you turned up to work looking as if the queen died!"

Etta kicked at the wall, silent and weak as a drowning fish. February took the silence as a hint. "I'm sorry Mx Sallow, I am just concerned for your wellbeing at this time."

Etta heard a delayed echo, it's not coming from the phone-- they immediately straightened their back and tightened their tie. "Good morning, Sallow." Etta heard this twice, and reluctantly scrunched up their nose to prepare themself.

"Or should I say, good afternoon?" The elevator chanted its arrival as the shiny silver doors creaked open.

Etta softened their face into their customer service smile. "Good afternoon, Señor Gabriel."

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To be continued...

Knight in sheep's clothing

Archive #20 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: this is sequel to the post from yesterday! hope you enjoy like @v-for-venus did :)

Knight in sheep's clothing

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Night of the ball, the one day that has been long awaited for by me as a child. The warm lights showering down upon those who are dancing and laughing. Groups of smartly dressed couples and nobles laughing and talking while holding glasses of champagne. Gowns of all colour-- velvet material that feels like silk when touched. Curls and pearls, bow ties and shoulder pads.

So why, in Lord’s name, am I dreading this evening?

Perhaps, it’s because I have been shooting down the idea of meeting princes there. Princes- not prince. The meeting obviously didn’t go well, I managed to convince that the lowly, egotistical, greedy man wasn’t good enough for the daughter of the Northern kingdom. Of course, in the back of my throbbing mind-- a perfect man came up as a suggestion instead. They are absolutely no man, though.

They are my prince, my perfect angel. My knight in shining armour.

But alas, who am I kidding? I could never inform my parents that I’ve fallen in love with someone that wasn’t even a nobleman. Which is why, the ball’s date was moved forward with more urgency. I must admit, I was excited to have been able to pick out my gown. Pink with diamond stars climbing their way up to the waistline, puffy with lace and silk-- ribbons tightening the package, to be sent off as a pretty present to a prince that I will never love. This present doesn’t belong to anyone’s hand, but I am willing to be unwrapped by a certain curly-haired swordsperson.

I should probably get dressed. If it was up to my maids, they would have been fussing over me-- but I’ve sent them on a wild goose chase. “But alas, I cannot even begin to change! How could I, if I can’t be in the very presence of my family’s heirloom? It’s plated with emeralds and sapphire, gold and white gold that can shine through any evil-- my mother said I should wear it to the ball! But it’s not here! You must fetch it, otherwise I will not even look at my gown or shoes.”

The panic on their face is still lingering in the back of my mind, making me smile away the frown. Demanding orders in such a commanding manner, queen material-- am I wrong? But if I have to marry in order to rule my own kingdom, then the royal blood is not for me. Even if my future spouse may be in the crowd at the ball, face covered with a mask, hidden from my judgmental eyes. I will not tolerate anyone that isn’t my true love.

Where would they be now, right this moment? Would they be on patrol? Would they be on their steed, ready to gallop into the night if I had asked?

…It seems that I have made up my mind. Ignoring my gown, I rip myself out of the “princess” dress I was currently in. Knocking over the tower of useless gifts, I swing open my closet door to ponder on what dress is best fit. I ought to impress her, they would be in shock if I were to ask them to leave with me with no such plan. Perhaps…

I’m taking too long.

I grab at the dress that has been calling out to me, while it might not be the best in terms of decency. It would be enough to distract my knight over the more obvious of things. Perhaps, it might be best to change undergarments as well, to further match the motive I am trying to get across. Annoyed by the fact that only the princes got the dress code of wearing a mask, the literal princess did not get such a dress code that matched the theme. Who planned this ball, anyway?

I need to cover my identity… My eyes tinkle at the moonlight, shining down at the rough fabric of a cloak. The cloak-- ivy green with the visual of the dark forestry from my window, had lace stitched onto the hooded area. The handwork, of course-- by my very own lover. This is perfect.

Well, I did not know what I expected.

If they were on patrol, of course other knights would be, too. You idiot! I’m cornered, I managed to circle back to the one place I did not want to go. The ball was being held in the glass houses, mainly the largest glass house. Its purpose is solely for dancing and parties, so the glass house was designed for much so. Everyone would be able to see me if I were to approach too close, but here I am-- being surrounded by knights as my back is pressed against the entrance of the ball.

“Halt! Now that you are cornered, reveal yourself!”

I swallowed hard, gritting my teeth as I was unable to see the faces of my knights as the hood did well in hiding my dignity.

“My my, I don’t think that’s how you ask a lady to show her skin now, is it?”

Smirking, I only wish to see their stunned faces. But what now, your royal majesty? You don’t need to see far to know that their footsteps are coming closer, probably pointing their spears and swords at you with much caution. What now?!

“What is the meaning of this?”

A different voice? Much mellow, yet strong in tone? I find my balance in my legs once more just before the doors open to the gates of my hell. I am greeted by someone standing next to me, though who? I can only imagine.

“My Sire, this foreign woman was seen on the grounds of her majesty the princess! We were only concerned for her safety as she might pose a threat.”

I take a step away from the stranger, only afraid of what they might do or say. He must be a prince or noble, with his confrontation, he just took a massive step forward in the game of winning the princess. I must leave before this falls deeper into chaos.

“Is that so? Well, then I must escort this lady off the grounds. I’m sure someone such as her would be too fragile to do any harm to the princess.”

Angered by his words, I didn’t stop myself in time and shot back.

“Instead of being all high and mighty, my good ol’ gentleman, how about worrying your own game? Don’t you have her highness to win over?”

He takes a step towards me, breaking the distance that I tried to create. He leans down and holds out his gloved hand.

“Oh don’t worry. I’ve already won over the princess.”

Wait a tick, this voice-

“Please step away from the threat, my good sire. Let us handle this.”

“Enough!” I saw the opening as soon as the stranger entered the situation, and as soon as the knights let their guard down I ran for my life. Heels clicking at the stoned pathway, I hear the racket of metal behind me as I looked up to the starry sky. I laughed as I was catching out of breath, I am so close to the gate, so close to freedom. They would know where to find me, there is only really one place I can go-- the big oak tree, where we had our first kiss.

They will find me there.

But what I did not expect was one of the knights going as far as aiming an arrow. It struck the end of my dress, causing me to fall and brace for impact. I close my eyes in defeat. This is it, I’ve failed. How could I be so foolish, is it so foolish to want to love and rule freely?

I reopen my eyes in shock. The feeling of silk on my hands, the feeling of warmth cupped my face, the feeling of a sword next to my shoulder. Someone had caught me when I fell. And I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“So it was you, you sly knight.”

You chuckled, heart beating like wildfire crackling on dry log against my ear.

“I wanted to impress you by playing as a noble, but apparently you rather played the rebel role.”

I clutched my fist into your sleeve, the smell of your cologne filled my head with love clouds and milkweed.

“Save me, oh knight~ oh my noble, they out to catch me for I am a rebel.”

You lift your sword slightly, while still embracing me.

“Right away, my princess.”

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SLEEPING EARTH

The year is 2142. A black triangle-shaped spacecraft entered the solar system at the speed of light. The passengers of the spaceship are a group of purple-eyed creatures. Their skin color is pale white. Their body is kind of round. They identify themselves as the Kaafs. Their residence is in the Sombrero Galaxy. From there 118 years ago, the Kaafs went out on a space journey in search of other creatures. They roamed the Andromeda and Triangulum Galaxy. They even went to the Capricornus constellation. The Kaafs met many different creatures there and befriended them. Now their last destination is the Milkyway Galaxy. They have learned from their new friends that there is a planet called Earth in a place called the solar system. There lives creatures known as humans. To see them, the Kaafs are currently hurtling towards Earth from the edge of the solar system. Within 16 hours, they passed the Sun, Mercury, Venus and came to earth. After landing the spaceship, the Kaafs came out to greet the humans. But what on earth! Every single human is sleeping! The Kaafs called a million times, but the humans did not wake up. They have fallen into a deep sleep and cannot be awakened. When the Kaafs almost returned feeling quite disappointed, they noticed that humans had written in pages or recorded by taking pictures and videos of their history. Rummaging through those the Kaafs learned that human beings were compassionate, kind, innovative, creative, artistic and curious. There existed between them love, laughter and beautiful emotions. But with the passage of time, conflict, terrorism, greed, selfishness, discrimination and hatred increased between them. And these brought about the downfall of humankind. They are now sleeping forever, and this is their punishment.  

The Kaafs departed from Earth. They went towards their home and started thinking, "We have seen so many strange creatures during our journey in space, but we have not found any creatures stranger than humans!" 

APATHY

The middle part that

My mom's so sure

Makes me look aged.

The girl my age

Who has over 2k followers

When I don't even engage.

The minor social interactions

That haven't left any space

For the happy ones in my brains.

The opinions about

How numb I am

People just have to shout.

The things others are doing

That make me feel like

I'm not even persuing.

This is to let you know

That I do care

But I don't care enough.

EEEK!!! My oc in a skirt! I *might* be doing a little fan art of Velvet/Veneer, im not sure wich one yet.

I love writing because sometimes its like this

And then other times... 😅

(◡‿◡✿)

(ʘ‿ʘ✿) “what you say ‘bout me”

(ʘ‿ʘ)ノ✿ “hold my flower”

In about a month from now (basically, once I move out for college) I’m probably gonna open up commissions in case anyone’s interested. I’ve been unemployed since December due to a lot of personal reasons and I hope I can start making money sometime soon! Especially doing something I actually enjoy.

Gonna practice getting better at shading and drawing clothing and backgrounds while I’m at it lolz

I wasn't anyone's second choice

I was the remaining one.

-extracts from poems I never wrote.

I fall for u every season

And I wonder what's the reason

I'm head over heels for u

Eventhough love was never my region

The flavor of love on my tongue isn't nice

But everyone says its a price

If I could give one advice

It would be to never fall twice

For its far away from paradise

Just a little something I came up with while reading my scriptures today.

thanks for @saspas-corner for being my personal adviser in designing it 🧡☝🏼

Random Turtle HC: Raph & Anxiety

*clears throat and approaches microphone before hitting whiteboard with a ruler* A-HEM! Behold my theories peasants!

As we see expresses in the VERY 1st episode of ROTTMNT, the turtles can recognize each others signature scents and can smell fear.

Raph especially is shown briefly through the brothers dialogue to be the most aware and self conscious about said scent to the point of becoming defensive about it.

This leads me to believe that due to both natural biological olfactory senses and increased abilities due to mutation, the turtle brothers (with an advanced ability tipping to Raph due to his size and sensitivity) can actually smell the hormone cortisol.

WebMD defines cortisol as, “Your body’s main stress hormone. It works with certain parts of your brain to control your mood, motivation, and fear.”

Simply put, the turtle boys can literally smell fear.

Now I know you’re asking yourself, “Okaaaaaay cool fun fact I guess, what does that have to do anything with me?”

*takes a step back and adjust glasses with a smirk*

My dear dear fellow tumblr, allow me to share the wonders of mixing fact, madness and media all in one! *sounds of maniacal cackling can be heard*

(I wrote this with the intent to be platonic but it could be romantic if you squint long enough)

•So we've established Raph can smell fear right?

•As a protective big brother who is quite literally in fact “BIG” he knows a thing or two about getting scared

• Especially when it comes to looking out for people he cares about

•Hes been fighting baddies for his family since he was a tot! From keeping away scary dreams at night, from crushed ancient metal zombies to terrifying alien virus monsters, there ain't much he hasn't seen

•So when you join the ranks of the Mad Dogz, you immediately also get a built in prtoector

•Raphs been looking out for the little guys his whole life, what's one more?

•Not to mention you're kinda cute, so he doesn't mind sticking around a little bit closer

•But you're different than most folks, Raph notices. I mean besides the fact that you WILLING want to be friends with 4 mutant turtles of all things.

•No besides your abnormal incredible bravery in looking beyond the status quo to reach out the hand of friendship to these reckless reptiles, Raph noticed that you just kind of…smelled

•Not in a bad way or anything just…you always seemed to have a lingering scent of fear on you

•And Raph would know. Hed recognize that scent anywhere. It's a scent that ghosts every hour of every day for him. Nighttime and being alone especially.

•Raph hates being scared. He's the biggest and the oldest. He's supposed to look after his peeps! And he can't do that if he's frozen with fear all the time!

•So what does he do? Raph faces the problem head on like he always do.

•You get scared a lot. That's understandable, but Raph decides to make it his business that you don't need to be scared when he's around.

•Raph’ll protect ya

•Be prepared to have this turtle subtly (orrer not to much so because although he's a ninja he ain't exactly tactful or subtle) watching you every time you and the gang get all together

•Its not hard. You've always caught his attention for some reason or another. So looking at you is something he does without even realizing it.

•He’s looking for triggers, anything that gets that heart rate of yours spiking and that scent start to waft.

•Fidgeting hands, bouncing knees, shutting down and slinking into your hoodie, nervous chewing, pulling or playing with your hair and pacing, he's got eyes on it all.

•Once a trigger has been spotted, Raph immediately tries to locate the source

•Too many people? Suddenly you find a 6ft something giant turtle behind you, letting you know with his massive presence alone that he got your back. Literally.

•He kinda likes this position because he can see everyone that comes close enough to interact with you and everybody can see him.

•All he's got to do is narrow his eyes a little a give em a flash of that all too familiar snaggle tooth of his if he thinks someone's being mean and he gets his unspoken threat across just fine

•Not to mention you're also close enough to grab if someone he doesn't deem fit for your attention gets a little too close for his liking. But he doesn't say that part out loud.

•Scared of talking? You suddenly feel the cool tip of his massive scaely alligator tail (anatomically correct alligator tail be darned, I'm going with the fandoms HCs for this one) gently wrapping around your ankle as a physical reminder that he's right there here to support you

•Overwhelmed and the world feels like it's closing in on you? Raphs massive size is a natural battering ram that allows him to pass through thick crowds with easy. He's not afraid to help heard you into a quiet little corner away from it all

•Years of practice with Donnie allows him the experience to ask you if you're good with touch.

•If yes, you know you're going to be instantly wrapped into his arms, pulled flushed up against the worn keratin of his plastron. Raph’s always been more of “hands-on experience” kinda of guy anyway.

•Raph gives good hugs. They're firm and tight, padded with the security of arms who have been holding the weight of the world for years.

•He will rest his chin on top of your head, gently guiding your head with the motion ever so slightly so you're somehow perfectly nestled right against his heart.

•It's a loud heart, especially when you're up so close. It's actually his strongest muscle and one he's most proud of. He cares about you, so he reckons he’ll allow you the privilege of getting close to it. In more ways than one.

•Raph doesn't talk much during these special security hugs. He's never really been much good with words anyways. Raph knows sometimes the noise can be too much, but he also knows that the silence can be defeaning. So being a turtle comes with some built in perks that make up a happy medium.

•Hes got a special churr saved for special situations just like this one. It's one of the lowest and deepest ones he's capable of making. More akin to a muted growl more than anything the way it vibrates his chest as you're pressed up against it. You can feel it more than hear it and it just takes a handful of minutes listening to this bad boy before Raph can sense your fear stink slowly dissipating and your natural sweet scent can return.

•Raph can smell fear, and there's something incredibly humbling for this Atlas of a turtle to have the sweet experience of watching that scent drift away whenever he gets the privilege of being close to you like this.

•”You don't need to be scared no more, Sweet Pea. Raph’s got ya. I'm gonna be right here until you're ready to face the world again. Until then, let me just hold ya.”

Dedicated to the one and only @anobodyinabog. Sorry this took so long,but I hope your day gets better Shortcake. Please know you're always looked out for and loved ok? 🧡❤️

James: if I swallowed a magnet…

Regulus: uh oh

James: hypothetically could i use a different magnet to remove said magnet?

Regulus: THE FUCK JAMES?!?

*at the potter’s for halloween*

Mia: do you boys want apple cider?

James: yes please mum!

Sirius: what is apple cider??

James: It’s basically apple juice on steroids

Sirius: thanks mate!

Remus: THE FUCK?!?!

Sirius: I’ve seen your cat, it’s black and white and has green eyes.

James: STOP RACIALLY PROFILING MY CAT!