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noodlenoodlenoodlenoodle · 8 months

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unfinished eldritch horror pyro fic

uhh warning for like, body horror, i guess gore??? idk its more implied than in your face i think. eldritch shit. disturbing themes maybe idk. just like. viewer discretion okay?

this is the unifinshed second draft because i wanted to like, polish what i had before i started working on what comes after the asunder tear

To say that Pyro was secretive would be stating the obvious. RED or BLU, the team didn't matter: each and every member knew. It wasn’t something spoken about in hushed tones behind locked doors. It wasn't even something unspoken, a secret held between fleeting glances across the battlefield, something they knew but never said out loud. It was loud, obvious even, but louder yet was the team’s curiosity for what lay under the suit. Was Pyro’s skin charred, burned into an unrecognizable crisp of flesh? Was their skin soft and pristine, not a scar or blemish to be found? The color of their hair, their eyes, the very question of their gender was a secret privy only to Pyro.

Pyro’s secrets stretched past those they held at a distance, wrapping around Engineer like a vice. Even he knew little to nothing about the elusive firebug, and it ate at him like a buzzard. On nights when nothing happened, nights where Engineer was left alone in his workshop, those thoughts corrupted him like a computer virus. Blueprints were quickly abandoned, sentries left unfinished, inventions left to collect dust. His thoughts, his very mind, were occupied by ideas, horrible and beautiful ideas of what Pyro kept hidden.

What were they so afraid of showing?

The air inside of Engineer’s workshop was stale, the summertime heat making it unbearable to move. Fans whirred loudly, drowning out the crickets and frogs outside the open workshop windows. It was too hot to work, too hot to move, too hot to do anything. Even the simple movement of his chest rising and falling, air entering and exiting his lungs, felt like a massive exertion of effort.

Engineer shifted, rolling onto his side, the sheets sticking to his sweat-coated skin. A low grumble left his throat, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to quiet his mind and get some much-needed sleep.

His thoughts, however, wouldn’t quiet.

Thoughts of what lay under Pyro’s mask ran circles in his head, taunting him, picking at his resolve. Engineer grunted in annoyance as the thoughts swam faster and faster, possibilities near endless, each one more unrealistic than the last.

It was almost enough to drive him mad. He knew so much about Pyro, but in the grand scheme of it all, he barely knew anything. Engineer often wondered what it would be like to put his hand on the firebug’s shoulder and ask them downright why they didn’t trust him enough to be vulnerable, to take off their mask, to be themself, but every time the words died in his throat.

Insecurity gnawed at him like a harvest mite, burrowing uncomfortably under his skin, planting seeds of doubt and worry.

Maybe he just wasn’t good enough.

Maybe he just needed to take things into his own two hands.

Engineer’s footsteps were quiet against the tile floors of the base as he crept through the winding halls. The air was quiet, as if the universe itself knew what he was about to do, and waited with baited breath to see the end. The halls seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning, but Engineer knew he would be reaching his destination soon. He knew the base better than he knew his sentries.

The smell of burnt wood and spent matches drifted to Engie in a wave, hitting him like a brick wall. He was close.

He came to a halt before a charred and paint-splattered door left slightly ajar. A hand-crafted and painted sign hung from a single nail, the edges slightly charred but otherwise in good condition. Engineer still remembered the day he had helped Pyro make and hang it up, his heart aching a little at the memory.

The metal of the doorknob was cold against Engineer’s palm, a stark contrast to the hot and stale air of the base. For a moment he hesitated, mouth set into a grimace.

Was he really going to invade Pyro’s privacy like this? Was this really something he was okay with doing, even if it might destroy their bond?

Was he really going to do this?

Yes. Yes he was.

Engie pushed the door open, flinching at the loud squeak that perforated through the air. A beat passed, with the only sound being faint snoring from down the hall. Engie pushed the door open the rest of the way, thankful the hinges were silent for once as he stepped into the dark room. Moonlight cascaded through the closed window, illuminating Pyro’s room with an eerie white glow.

Pyro’s room was just how Engineer remembered it, like a little time capsule that never seemed to weather. The pastel pink wallpaper was charred, peeling and crumbling into ash, causing the room to smell of smoke. Stuffed animals and toys were scattered messily across the floor with no rhyme or reason, various pyrokinetic tools tossed to the floor or propped up against the walls, the little pink tea party table Engie bought Pyro for Christmas one year covered in empty matchboxes. Pyro’s charred wooden bedframe was nestled in the corner, with Pyro sleeping atop the pile of blankets and pillows. They were curled around a plush unicorn nearly the size of the bed itself, something Heavy had won for Pyro at a carnival many years ago. The fur was worn and singed, stitches visible from where Medic had repaired it.

Engineer paused again, his grip on the doorknob tightening. Something about this felt… wrong. Not in a moral sense, but rather… foreboding. Like a dark cloud was looming over him, telling of a bad fate that would befall him.

He’d come this far, though. He couldn’t turn back anymore.

He was just following the path that had been laid out for him.

Engineer stared down at Pyro’s sleeping body, his heart sinking to his stomach. Something was wrong here. Something about the entire situation was wrong in a way that danced just out of his comprehension. Engineer wanted to turn around, to run, to forget he’d ever attempted this, but his hands seemed to move of their own accord. Engineer’s shaking hands slowly and carefully pulled the mask off of Pyro’s head, his breath catching in his throat with anticipation.

The mask fell from Engineer’s hands, making a loud thud against the floor as Engineer’s eyes widened.

Oh.

Engineer’s mind struggled to process what lay in front of him, sliding out of the thick flame-retardant red suit. Whoever it was—whatever it was—spilled out onto the floor like a liquid, writhing and groaning softly. The pitch black liquid seemed to absorb the milky white moonlight like a sponge, pulsating like boiling water as it began to expand.

Engineer’s heart pounded against his chest like a cornered jackrabbit, his knees failing him as he fell backwards and onto his back. His head and eyes ached, like he had just stared into the sun, burning his retinas beyond repair. Black spots danced in his vision, something warm and wet creeping up his legs. Engineer barely had the strength to lift his head and look at the thing that had come out of Pyro’s suit, its writhing wet body enveloping him like thick molasses. Engie wanted to scream, to thrash, to struggle, but his limbs felt numb and heavy, like he was moving through water.

Thousands of milky white eyes tore through the thing slowly wrapping around Engie, a reverberating scream piercing through the air, shattering what little fight Engie had left. He let himself fall backwards, fall cushioned by the viscous thing, his eyes fluttering shut as thousands of claws pierced his skin and began to tear away his flesh.

#atticus speaks

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august-ephemera · 2 years

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some things I want to do this fall: drink cider bake pies carve pumpkins watch hocus pocus knit hats braid hair cuddle cats eat corn wear gloves press leaves layer sweaters roast seeds forage mushrooms drive in rain bake loaded potatoes mend clothes nap in the sun keep the windows open reread frog and toad dip apples in honey light candles burrow in blankets watch the marching band go to the drive in paint rocks start nesting for the coming coldness

#fall season #autumn #cozycore #nesting #slowliving #spooky #spooky szn

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bellatrix-83 · 2 years

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Appearing quaint and humble from this angle, like a master of disguise it gives away very little, catching intrigue from those who pass by.

Nestled in remote yet dense woodland it is, regardless of the season, consistently brushed with the gentle caress of late autumn.

Oranges, gold’s, reds and auburn mingle and entwine like a song around this cottage.

Mismatching bricks create a perfect, imperfect pattern. It was built years ago, with careful attention, love and dedicated hands.

The small white front door sits almost awkwardly to the left and through the wood framed windows you can make out the shape of pottery and plants, furnishing the window sills.

Whoever lives here affectionately nurtures and watches things grow.

Inside the cottage strange and interesting items must adorn the shelves and cupboards. Well read books, much loved trinkets, mismatching crockery. An eccentric mix. The story of some bodies life.

To step inside and explore, would surely be a treat.

Let us walk up the twisted garden path, through the rambling overgrowth and take a closer look.

The door is ajar!

Slight bow of the head, a step forward and we're inside, blinking into a warm, mellow light, a contrast from the dappled and hazy sunshine left behind us.

Allowing your eyes to slowly adjust, a hallway stretches out in front, surprisingly long and narrow.

Framed pictures grace the uneven, yet skillfully plastered walls creating an eclectic mix of colours and sizes, all hung by a hand that does not care for strict organization and straight lines.

Dark wood doors lead off in each direction. A stairway curving up and around to the right can be seen ahead at the end of the hallway. The space feels out of character compared to the perspective from outside. Like Mary Poppins handbag it holds a host of surprises.

Carefully making way through the first door on the right into a generous sized room, large, soft burgundy sofas sit at natural angles, complimenting the higgledy nature of the, otherwise, tidy living room.

Trinkets bought or inherited with affection furnish the brimming bookcases. Photo frames, dried flowers, a small, stone statue of a couple entwined. To name just a few.

There are no clean lines. This house belongs to somebody who embraces quirks and comforts.

Soft lighting comes from a crackling log fire, the flames fluttering and dancing, creating a party of shadows on the wall.

If you could touch memories, they would immerse your mind in this room.

Close your eyes, envisaging toast over the open fire on chilly evenings. Family games of Cludo and Monopoly. Cosy Saturday nights in front of the television and delicious Sunday roast dinners followed by steaming mugs of tea. Hot cocoa on frosty evenings. Stories, chat, warmth and love. This building appears to hold dear and magical memories.

Wandering off down the hallway, just before the stairs, is the kitchen. Pots and pans hang from low beams and an agar resides proudly in the corner, just over there.

A large basket of freshly picked vegetables sits upon the side and an array of oils and seasonings cover the worktops. Whoever lives in this house must love to cook.

Stepping across old quarry tiles, we walk to the window.

A rockery nestles in the corner of a delightfully eclectic garden. There must have been small children peeking into that rockery once upon a time. Hands on their knees, they would whisper to each other, painting pictures in their heads of what the frogs and toads were doing, in their dark little burrows. Did Mummy frog wear a pinny as she baked apple pie for her brood of children?

You can envisage days in the sunshine skipping through the playful spray of the hose as Dad turns watering the garden into a game. Squeals of laughter and delight as ice-cream is offered by Mum, as a tasty treat.

The essence of this house so far flows with love, family and precious memories. The warmth is addictive and infectious. What a fabulous place to grow up in.

Let us make our way up the stairs, at the end of this hallway and explore the rooms above.

The staircase bends up and around to the right where another long corridor greets us. It is as long as the hall way downstairs but in contrast the light is dull and eerie.

Chills run down the spine, penetrating the bones. The atmosphere is still and silent. The warmth of the fire seems a million miles away and every part of me wants to race back down the stairs and into the comfort of the beamed kitchen.

But something makes me stay, paralysed and unable to move.

Why did I climb that staircase?

Sorrow and sadness spread in waves over me, like an unwanted tide.

I don’t want to close my eyes because I know the memories in this part of the house will haunt my dreams and hurt my heart.

Looking around, ripped plaster and cracks in the walls appear to be bleeding in the shadowy darkness.

The walls are weeping.

How can one house hold two such different lifetimes?

Each door is shut tightly. No inviting light seeps through the cracks.

I shake my head and swallow. I don’t want to open the doors and explore.

Not again.

Wild tears begin to burn my skin, as though terror itself crawls down my face.

This house, with all of its initial warmth and love, is tainted by ghosts of the past.

As I turn and look back down the stairs I realize that the poison from this first floor is leaking down the banister. The paint is chipping, the wood rotting and with anguish I realize it is spreading to the rooms below. Like a virus that cannot be contained.

You can leave if you wish. Run down the stairs, out of the door and don’t look back.

I am afraid that is impossible for me.

You see, this house that we have explored together is more familiar to me than you first realized.

It is a building that I cannot escape from and these rooms, these rooms upstairs are where I reside much of the time. I’ve lived here since the day I was born, but it doesn’t exist in the material word.

The door was open because I let you inside.

No physical key exists, purely because this house happens to be in my head.

It hasn’t always been this way.

But mental health is a cruel and unforgiving visitor. .

The foundations began to crumble in my late teens and despite my best efforts I found it increasingly hard to and maintain my beautiful, precious home.

Weeds and darkness seeped in and through the walls upstairs.

Pain clung to the rafters and cloaked what was once laughter, with tears.

Foundations that had stabilized and supported my happiness, health and contentment began to buckle under the weight and pressure of depression, anxiety, PTSD, panic disorder, social anxiety… The list goes on.

Damp spread like a blanket of deep sadness and pain. There are times when I have contemplated demolishing my stupid fucking house, and that’s the raw and naked truth.

Living in it every day can be hell and I often roam the rooms crying and screaming, lost in a void of terror.

But I know that I can conquer this.

I know that My House, my Mental Health can be repaired, restored and healed.

It just takes time.

#living with ptsd #mental problems #mental illness #panic #mentalheathawareness #ptsd #panic disorder

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atreegrowsinnorthnywrites · 4 months

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Part 3 of 3

Part one is here, and part two is here. Let me know what y'all think!

The woods were eerie in November. The nearly leafless trees twisting and leering over the overgrown trail. The unsettling quiet of all the birds that had flown south and the animals burrowing for the oncoming winter. The squish of the not quite frozen mud beneath their feet.

Eerie, but familiar.

Dad’s deer stand was still in the largest oak just off the south trail that led away from the cabin. They passed the bog they used to launch clay pigeons over, likely still littered with the blaze orange ceramic pieces. The fairy garden mom had built alongside a hilly embankment was still there; the little figurines poking through the plethora of weeds that ensnared them. Off the north trail would be a steady stream where Roman had once taught Talia to catch frogs, and on the west side, the thick forest opened up to a field scattered with pine trees they would pick from for a Christmas tree every year. Every year until mom died.

“I should have taken your advice on the boots.” Will lifted a sneaker caked in thick, clay mud.

Talia laughed, glancing down at her equally dirty ankle boots. Selene had wisely traded her heels for tall brand-name rubber boots before they had embarked. Her and Charlotte walked a few yards in front of them, hand-in-hand. A giggle passed between and Talia’s heart tugged. “I missed so much this last year,” she murmured.

Will wordlessly took her hand.

“Let’s go this way!” Charlotte’s voice sang through the woods as they approached a fork. Talia’s stomach lurched as she saw her pull Selene’s hand to the right.

Her pace quickened and she dropped Will’s hand to catch up to them. “Char, let’s go the other way. I can’t remember how that trail gets back to the cabin.”

“I remember,” Selene offered and Talia shot her a glare.

“No, Auntie Tee. This way!” Charlotte insisted. She stomped off to the right where a wooden bridge had been built over a low lying stream that fed into the pond. “There’s a tree house over here.”

Talia froze. “What do you mean?”

Selene turned on her heel. “What do you mean? You know the old fort is down this way.”

“I-” Talia shook her head. It couldn’t be. There was no way. “When did you see the fort, Char?”

Charlotte paused on the wooden bridge, looking back to them. “This summer with my daddy. We came out here to play.”

“This summer?” Talia repeated.

“Should we start keeping a log when we visit the land now that it’s yours?” Selene drawled. Talia did not even have the heart to argue. It couldn’t be. Charlotte must remember wrong. She must have come out here years before. “You’re being weird,” her sister added.

“I didn’t think the fort was there anymore,” Talia managed to reply.

“Well let’s go see, shall we?” Selene moved to follow Charlotte.

Talia hesitated and Will stepped around her. “Can’t hurt to see if it’s there, right?”

She put one foot in front of the other. Over the logs of the wooden bridge and then into the sea of cattails that followed it. She could swear the wind stilled as they trudged through the wet, recently trodden down path. Too recently.

A squeal sounded from the front of the line. “The tree house!” Charlotte cried from the front of the line. Talia’s heart was racing. She pushed forward, nearly running into Will when she saw what her niece had referred to in the distance.

The massive wood fort started at ground level with a primitive play-house structure and then, by way of planks and ladders, climbed up to a set of tree houses with a drawbridge between them. It was an incredible play fort; built by her grandparents and rebuilt by her parents. A fort that Talia had once ensured was gone forever.

But here it was, entirely intact.

Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Charlotte bounded into the ground floor structure through the swinging wood door with peeling red paint. “Careful Char,” Selene called to her. “There might be critters or rotten wood.”

Talia numbly approached, Will beside her. He nudged her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “It…it shouldn’t be here.”

“It is a little shocking how well it held up,” Selene agreed. Talia tore her eyes away from the treehouses to find they stood next to her sister. “You would think wood rot would have set in.”

“It was all destroyed,” Talia murmured.

Selene raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

It had been in pieces. The drawbridge snapped. The walls of the playhouse were caved in. The rotting floors of the treehouses had collapsed. The ladder had been broken. The rope swing cut. Talia watched as Charlotte dashed out of the ground structure and to the closest ladder. “Charlotte. Don’t.”

“Here, kiddo,” Will said easily, walking to her. “Let me check that before you climb it.”

Charlotte exhaled a whiney moan, but abandoned her attempt to climb. She meandered away to see what else she could play with on the ground. The uneasy feeling continued to creep up Talia’s spine, enveloping her like a blanket, tightening around her throat.

Will stepped onto the first rung of the ladder, and then the second. Selene sauntered to the red door of the playhouse, testing its rusty hinges. Talia saw Charlotte’s blonde hair disappear behind the large oak that held the second section of the tree house.

“Char?” she called, her voice unsteady.

“She’s fine, Tee. Relax. You used to play out here alone all the time.”

Exactly.

Talia fought her instinct to turn and run, pushing through the knee length grass that surrounded the fort to get a better view of her niece. She stepped around the painted playhouse, and caught sight of the thick brown rope swing that hung from the largest branch of the oak tree. A laugh escaped her niece as she climbed on to the lowest knot of the rope and kicked off to sail through the air. Talia’s heart pounded in her chest.

“Char…” The rope swung like a pendulum. “Get off of there…” Another laugh bellowed from Charlotte as she swung into view and then out of sight again.

The laughing stopped.

The rope swung back into Talia’s view.

Empty.

“CHARLOTTE!” Talia sprinted the last stretch of distance to the oak. The rope was still swinging and her niece was nowhere in sight. Bile rose in her throat.

“What?!” Selene exclaimed, the noise of her boots swishing through the grass behind Talia. “What? Where is she?”

A memory hit Talia with the force of a train.

An unseasonably warm fall afternoon. Playing pirates alone as she bounded across the drawbridge from one treehouse to the other. The rope swing would make the perfect plank over the sea. She had reached for it from the lofted treehouse and swung with glee. Once. Twice.

Talia trembled as the rope swing slowed its methodic swaying. She heard Will approaching now as Selene continued to pepper her with questions. Time was running out.

“What the fuck?” Selene spun around wildly. “Where did she go? She was right here!”

“I’ll look down the hill,” Will offered, jogging down the small mound the rope swing was positioned over.

Talia reached for the rope numbly, clambering onto the knot Charlotte had been seated on moments before. She could not leave her alone. Not like how she was left.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Selene exclaimed. But Talia ignored her. She kicked her feet off and swung.

“Talia!”

The rope swung once. She closed her eyes.

“Help us look-”

Twice.

“Tal-”

And then she was falling. Selene’s words swallowed up in the rush of wind sailing past her ears. The breath was stolen from her lungs and her eyes watered. The falling sensation slowed just before she collided with the ground.

Talia rolled to her side with a groan, blinking her eyes open.

She laid on a floor of vibrant green moss. Sunlight filtered down through a canopy of spindly, leafy trees above her, and it was…warm. Her back had taken most of the landing and it protested as she pulled herself to sitting. Birds sang, and a flash of light and translucent wings whistled past.

“Charlotte,” she whispered, wonder replaced with panic. She scrambled to stand. “CHARLOTTE!”

The occupants of the forest answered. A bird cawed, another warm-colored, winged insect zoomed past. Her nine year old niece was nowhere in sight. And neither was Will or Selene.

Talia circled the spot she stood, a flood of memories breaking through the dam she had sealed nearly a decade before. As if being here had been the key to remembering all along. How far could she have gotten? Which direction would she have walked? She could not go back without her niece. Her siblings hated her enough.

But she had little time to strategize, to assess which way to start searching, when a scream sounded just behind her. Talia whipped around to find blonde haired Selene on the ground, pushed up on her elbows, her eyes wide.

“Selene?” she said tentatively. How the hell had her sister come through. It had never worked. Not when Talia had gone back time and time again.

Her sister startled at the sight of Talia, at the forest around them, scrambling backwards to stand. “What…the…f-”

A third body appeared in mid-air. Like a rip in the fabric of the forest had been opened with a knife and then sealed back shut again. Talia caught a glimpse of a dark green pine, so at odds with the trees around them, before the rip resealed, and Will struck the ground between them.

“Holy hell,” he grunted. Will rubbed at his shoulder that had struck a mossy rock as he sat up. Talia knelt to extend a hand towards him. He gave her a strange, lingering look before he accepted her hand.

“Explain,” Selene hissed through gritted teeth. She marched towards Talia, a finger extended.

“How did you…?” Talia looked between her sister and boyfriend, her mouth parting open.

“We followed you,” Selene shot back. “You were there one minute on that rope swing and then I saw you just freaking…disappear? Into some weird…what even…what is this!?”

Will’s hand retreated from her grasp once he was upright and his eyes asked the same question as Selene. Talia licked her lips. Her gaze roved around the forest again. They were in a small clearing between the thicket of trees. A stack of smooth river rocks, balancing precariously - unnaturally - sat just off to their left. She remembered. The rocks marked the way back, or in their case, the way in.

“Talia, I swear to God-”

“We’re in Emendrin.”

Selene froze.

“We’re in…what?” Will said, his dark eyebrows furrowing. He looked ready to commit her to an asylum.

“Talia,” Selene whispered. “Do not joke about that.”

“Look around, Selene.” She waved an exaggerated hand. The old trees seemed to glitter and whisper with her gesture, a warm wind passing them. One of the winged insects lingered in front of Will’s face and he stepped back but from its ethereal yellow hue. “This is not the land.”

“What is Emme-drone?” Will repeated. “Where is your niece?”

Selene’s breaths were coming faster and Talia felt equally nauseous.

“Mom’s fairy tales,” Selene murmured. “That she told as kids…”

Will frowned.

“They’re not made up, Sel,” she replied. “It’s all here. I’ve been here. And now Charlotte is somewhere…in Emendrin.”

“When you got lost as a kid…” Talia nodded before her sister could finish. Selene looked on the verge of a panic attack. Her face had gone stark white. She reached for her, but Selene stumbled backwards in alarm.

A horn blew in the distance. All three of them turned to the noise.

“What was that?” Will whispered, stepping towards Talia.

She went to answer him with her best guess and then hands wrapped around her mouth and her vision went black.

#writing community #writeblr #creative writing #fantasy #contemporary fantasy #ya fantasy #writing ideas #fantasy fiction #through the wardrobe sort of #except through the rope swing #I HAVE IDEAS

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inkmagics · 5 months

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The crickets and frogs sung farewell of the cesting sun over the black and jaggard horizon, a maw made of mountains swallowing the golden rays of the day. With that, the evening brought a chill that sapped at weak warmth the sun had brought earlier. Soon the twilight would be quieter, a muted cold from which the world would burrow itself away from. Hwei pulled at the coarse wool hung over slant shoulders, forcing out an exhale to see if his breath was visible. But no, not quite yet. It had been so long since they stepped away from their temple, let alone their quaint island. From everyone he knew, that he cared for, had walked the same halls and run up the same oceanswept hills as he. A breath catches in his throat when the inn fire crackles, tensing as the fresh wounds and visuals snap to the firefront of his mind with it. But there are no screams, no creaking beams collapsing under their own weight. Not anymore.

Hwei turns their attention back to the canvas they was struggling with. It was the first they were attempting after.... after they had left their isolated little world. The black structural swipes were peeling away, revealing the bright light blossoming from underneath their rigid structure. Eaten up at the centre of the work, where the light became so overwhelming it seemed that it should be projecting light onto the audience. Dazzling petals unfurling with potential and freedom as they destroyed all matter of things that stood in their way; walls, history, isolation, teachers, fellow students, himself... It was a relief, like taking in a gulp of chill evening air, to create so freely. But Hwei had to take a step back when the dark paints had begun to pool and drag the entire work down, and the light did not want to be contained to merely the canvas; every additional stroke bounding off into the air, but they all lacked confidence in their flights. There was no joy with their freedom.

He needed to rest before he became overwhelmed, leaning over the woven woodwork of the balcony and letting the breeze sweep through his dark hair. More than anything else, he wants to return home on Koyehn, to the people that need him, to rebuild and recover together. But answers to the questions eating away at his heart would be found elsewhere, just like the news of something horrible in another coastal village had made its way to this one on the lips of concerned wanderers. The damage had been devastating, and so elaborate in it's execution. The artist had heard the grizzly retellings that made his skin crawl as much as it gave him new ideas; slivers of flesh flourishing to reveal horrific work to internal parts. Their creator, so mysterious, so perplexing. Hwei needed to speak to again, but was terrified of the very idea.

They turn to the unfinished canvas, realising that it was fear, holding the flights of the strokes back. Slipping from the railing, a hand reaches for the brush left to idly sit by, although its paint was still wet. With a broad stroke away from the rest of the work, the paint becomes illuminated by the very air it flew through, catching the last glimmer of the sun before it was swalled by darkness. And it flew. Up into the night sky where the stars aleady donned the dark vastness, as the artist's paint imitated a shooting star. It makes their heart squeezed with terrror scream out with exhiliration.

And that same part of Hwei wanted answers, wanted inspiration.

#🖌 ic #long post /#gore /

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hedoughnism · 6 months

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Inspired by the old list I made awhile back ( and just reblogged and edited a bit) this time from the other direction! Animals in Europe but not the US! Some important factors to keep in mind for why this list is shorter

European animals not found in america

- hedgehogs

- true badgers ( American badgers completely unrelated)

- jackals

- old world warblers ( not related to new world warblers)

-True buntings

- chamois

- ibex

- dormice

- desmans

-mole rats

- hamsters

- Jirds,

( old world rats and mice ( not related to new world ones)) ( spiny mice ,harvest mice, wood mouse, etc)

-jerboas

- onagers

- bustards

- old world cuckoos ( ours don’t do the brood parasitism thing they are famous for!)

- sand grouse

- hoopoes

- beeeaters

- native honeybees

- ( formerly) lions

- ( formerly ) dholes

- ( formerly ) buttonquail

-Native old world quail ( unrelated to new world quail)

-native partriges

- rollers

- old world vultures ( unrelated to new world vultures)

- pratincoles

-wild felis cats ( eurasian wildcat and jungle cat)

- old world flycatchers ( unrelated to new world flycatchers) ( includes nightingales)

- wrynecks

- chats

- wallcreepers

- european rabbits ( other rabbit species like our cottontails and pygmy 4 aren’t social! And most of them only live in burrows when they have babies)

- burbot

- Coughs

- Olms

- midwife toads/ painted frogs

- fire bellied toads

-Jackdaws

- native carp

- Agamas

- Native chameleons

- wall lizards

- wild boar

- red deer

-roe deer

-native fallow deer

-Typical or Helicidae snails ( the group that contains pretty much all the large land snail species in temperate climates)

And a bunch of other of course;)

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raethereptile · 1 year

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And here we have it folks! The 139 competitors for the Tumblr Sexyman: Animal Edition title!

Quater finalists will be broken down into species (or more specific) competitors, but honestly I couldn't deal with that at this stage

Until then!

The first vote will be coming up very soon!

:keep reading:

Box jellyfish

Butterfly rays

Glass frogs

Quoll

Coral snakes

Planigale

Emu

Octocoral

Hog nose snakes

Chimaera

Kakapo

Shovel nose frogs

Narrow-mouthed frogs

Mock vipers

Bandicoots

Wombats

Hydra

Leaping frogs

Lobster

Eagle rays

Burrowing snakes

Kiwi

Koala

Boas

Saddleback toads

Pythons

Night snakes

Pipe snakes

Sea snakes

Marsupial shrew

Short-legged toads

Wallabies

Taipan

Possums

Blind snakes

True jellyfish

Tukeit Hill frogs

Dogfish

Sawsharks

Brown snakes

Panrays

Penguins

Mulgara

True Crabs

Isopods

Mantella

Tree frogs

Ningaui

Bullheaded sharks

Krait snakes

Kangaroos

Dunnart

Slug snakes

Rain frogs

Marsupial moles

Shield-tailed snakes

Seychelles frogs

Dancing frogs

Flightless teals and steamerducks

Octopus

Angel sharks

Potoroos

Mamba

Crayfish

True frogs

Carpet sharks

Whipsnakes

Bilbies

Cobra

Vipers

Poison dart frogs

Forked-tongue frogs

Krill et al.

Skates

Vampire squid

Prawns

Dibbler

Night frogs

Squid

Stalked jellyfish

Nautilus and Allonatilus

Parasite cnidaria

Tropical frogs

Marsupial frogs

Wart snake

False antechinus

Ostrich

Hexacoral

Bush frogs

Burrowing toads

Comb jellies

Centipede eater snakes

Odd-scaled snakes

Cassowary

Flightless cormorant

Guitarfishes

True Shrimp

Rat-kangaroos

Numbat

Phascogale

Parsley frogs

Horned tree frogs

Parasitic crustations

False shrimp

Painted frogs

Mackerel sharks

Flaxen crabs

Spadefoot toads

Antechinus

Australian ground frogs

Kaluta

True toads

Electric rays

Fire belly toads

Barnacles

Screeching frogs

Tailed frogs

Anemones

Tasmanian devil

Opossums

Darwin’s frogs

Rhea

Adders

Toungless clawed frogs

Primitive frogs

Grebes

Dasyure

Moss frogs

Flightless rails and family

Sawfishes

Cuttlefish

Thornbacks

Kultarr

Ground sharks

Stingrays

Kowari

Frilled cow sharks

Sunbeam snakes

Sand snakes

#tumblr sexyman: animal edition #tumblr sexyman poll #tumblr sexyman #animal sexyman #poll #polls #animals

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sky-limits · 1 year

Text

[twwm] nursery log

Losing myself was an uncomfortable process. ‘Uncomfortable?’ You may ask. ‘You were nothing but a log?’ Well. Do you not think that the door lovingly carved and oiled and painted does not feel? Do you think the simple box holding the rings given and exchanged between lovers does not glow with joy to give them what they have sought? Of course I felt; in the muted knowledge of the seeds and animals within me - in the way those separate from the outside feel.

I lost myself in many different ways. I lost myself in the overstimulation of the world after I had been transformed, in the aching, desperate pleas I must’ve given off through my microflora. I rippled the water in a way I could not have known, and caused her to come to me.

I have bathed in the moon’s light and her gifts, but I have forgotten how her cold touch feels. The moonbeams of her hands combing through the grain of my body felt like cool, refreshing rapids, and they soothed me - what there was of me gravitated towards her, aching for soothing and comfort I felt in the hands of the moonlight.

I lost myself to her.

I lost what I had of myself of her - the base emotions of knowledge of a world I could not yet have was promised in the kind gaze of the moon, like a lover who could never touch me. I wanted her to hold me in her arms, glowing and bright with light not her own, light reflected back from an inferior sun. The light of the lantern of the one who turned me reminded me of the pregnant glow of the moon, and I reached for it.

Still lost. Still alone.

The moon has no warmth of her own, only cold and clammy flesh like one who has left us; like the remembrance of a life well lived. I wanted her so badly, to touch to hold to feel - I wanted to be like a life well lived, to have lived. I wanted to be something instead of nothing, and so I whispered to the moon every night I saw her marred face, begging and pleading with her to give me more than what I was, than what I had always been.

This was foolish; as am I. The moon cannot love, and if she could, she would not love me. I am a tired old soul who has seen too much life without ever living one of my own, and I knew that this clouded goddess of the night sky could never love me.

But I fell for her, and keened and cried when the stars took her from me - shattered and fragmented like the holes in my body. This was the loss of myself, what I had, the belief that I could be taken into the arms of someone like her, and cared for. I thought she would love me, and knew it so falsely, so deeply within every worm-burrow that I tricked myself into a love that never existed.

I let her false light wash over me, a cleansing light of love unknown, and wanted to purr with happiness. I was in love with the idea of being what I was not; in love with the idea of the ability to love, so much so that I lost what little I had.

Do you love the moon too, like I did? Is she your deep heart, buried in murky underwater burrows, where the frog spawn twitches and the fish sleep and dream seaweed flavored dreams? Is she the aching in your gut like she is mine, a muscular hurt whenever you move, so you are forced to still yourself to survive?

The night I lost the love I never had was the night I was transformed. The moon had hidden herself from me, cloaked herself in the clouds and the starlight, like lace and beads covering her form. She was beautiful to me in every way, and I did not understand why she refused to come out and see me this night.

When I finally saw the light of the one I thought was her, I clung to it, grappled for it against the inanimate form that I was trapped in - I hoped the moon had come down from her sky.

You don’t know how lonely space is, or how the stars grieve. They speak to each other in low, hushed tones, and not to the moon, because she is not worthy of them. I gave her a home in my heart, and I thought she was coming to fill it, to live in the invented love of my mind.

Instead, after I had touched her light for the very first - and last - time, I found myself looking at bright purple eyes, a curious face, and twitching whiskers.

This was not the moon.

#wynn origin prompts #esk #twwm #those who went missing #esks #sky's words

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minehog · 2 years

Note

Sage and aloe vera

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

this is assuming i have any tune with my emotions in any way, but also writings have made me cry more than any of the others combined (ive only cried to music once and it was everywhere at the end of time at 4am on a study binge after realising what the song was About). to all the writers out there myself included yall are the real ones

aloe vera ⇢ what’s something (mundane) you really want to experience in life?

SUPER mundane? probably wood carving. rn i just dont have the space

however a debateably mundane but hyper specific dream ive always had is to go back to the Outback and just return to the dust. i miss the sky there. its so blue and clear and the dirt is red and the grass is dark yellow-green and the trees are all natives. and there's only the sound of your own footsteps. i think i would go and see the desert frogs come up during the rains. sit on a stump next to a swag soaking wet listening to these hundreds of tiny little creatures burrow out of the dirt and flirt with each other

#i cant see well enough to actually spot the frogs i dont think #food for thought #ask game #i also want to motorcycle in tassie at 5am butthats more of an adventure i think #the only thing that could spoil the frogs is if random ppl were there. friends i would take maybe but not the first timeeven tho its #dangerous to be alone outback

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funkyfrogoftheday · 3 years

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today’s funky frog of the day is: neobatrachus pictus! commonly known as the painted burrowing frog, they are native to western victoria, eastern south australia, and southern new south wales. they are one of the six species of frog that inhabit kangaroo island. they are rotund, medium-size frogs that reach around 2 inches, and they have gray or yellow skin with brown, olive, or green patches. they are usually found dwelling in waterholes, dams, or pools in woody and grassy areas. after heavy rain, males will make trilling sounds while floating in the water, but they spend most of their time underground. when threatened, they will sometimes inflate their bodies to appear larger and more threatening. their diet most likely consists of a variety of small invertebrates, and their lifespan is unknown.

#frog #frogs #neobatrachus pictus #painted burrowing frog #funky frog of the day

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bjekkergauken · 3 years

Photo

Trying out gouache, painted some small frog portraits

Left to right, top to bottom:

European tree frog, mexican burrowing frog, strawberry poison dart frog, red-eyed leaf frog, african bullfrog, blue poison dart frog, rain frog, ornate burrowing frog, polkadot treefrog, amazonian poison dart frog, Fleischmann’s glass frog, amazon horned frog, crucifix frog, ruby poison dart frog, Pebas stubfoot toad, tomato frog

#frog #grogs #toad #amphibian #portraits #gouache #painting #poison dart frog #tree frog #burrowing frog #leaf frog #bullfrog #rain frog #glass frog #horned frog

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wisteria-lodge · 2 years

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SHC Character Sorting

3% @justbecauseyoubelievesomething

9-1-1 @cactusspatz

AKATSUKI NO YONA @writingonesdreams

ANASTASIA @alix-in-july

ARCANE @sporadiclyanenthusiast

BARBIE FRANCHISE @missbrunettebarbie, @the-phoenix-heart, @starry-sky-stuff, @laufire

BARE: A POP OPERA @repetitionsings

BLACK SAILS @laufire

BOKU NO HIRO AKADEMIA @the-phoenix-heart

Hawk & Dabi