I’m kind of freaking out, in a terrible way. I usually stay clear of things like contests and such, I feel that putting work and effort into something that could possibly be for nothing is just a big waste of time, but this is for something I love so much…
The fear of being ignored/rejected really really sucks though. It’s doing a number on my poor nerves.
I’m going to try my best, I have two ideas for pieces already and am thinking about a third. Wish me luck. ._.
Good luck. I know how it feels, doing that sort of contest… Sort of. It wasn’t art, but I put a lot of effort into it, so…
What is your sexuality? I gave up figuring out that one yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaars ago. I mean, I’ve been attracted to both genders, so I suppose I’m bisexual, or pansexual, but I’m a very picky one, it seems. So more likely bisexual with an unhealthy dose of shut-up-and-comfort-me.
I’m not reading any theories on the new troll or anything. There’s always that uproar of “Hussie is going to mess this up if he does it this way!!!” and my perfect trust in Hussie is getting sick of that shit! I’m just going to have a much better time avoiding the stuff I don’t care for.
I’m going to get the popcorn and go hide in Exalted. Care to join me?
Who is your most loved person? - Hm. Good question. I think my parents. Sure, they drive me bonkers and I want to yell and scream at them, but they are my parents and damn it, sure, they’ve screwed up sometimes, but they’ve done better than some people. But that’s platonic love.
What is the most heroic thing you’ve ever done? Jokingly, acing my final exam in high school Calculus, ensuring I got the grade point average I needed to get into the university I’m in right now. But seriously? I saved my brother’s life about two years ago because I had stayed up late that night and heard him breathing very oddly. Long story short, I screamed for my parents, there was a bit of a struggle because the brother in question was freaking out while unconscious, the paramedics got to him when his blood pressure was 50/0 and I spent the rest of the night alone, terrified of going to sleep because I didn’t want to have a seizure and have no one there to save me. He had suffered status epilepticus, and apparently if I hadn’t been awake, we would have found him dead. So I don’t consider myself a hero, just someone at the right place, right time. Little things are more powerful.
Share a secret? After my first ex turned into a passive-aggressive fuckwit after we parted ways and I dumped my second ex for a manipulative jerk, I’m fucking terrified that I have bad taste in significant others and use the excuse of college to not make a move on anyone.
And yes, that is supposed to be Melody’s voice. Imagine an Abyssal Pinkie Pie and you’ve nailed it. I’m also tempted to do a few readings of other people’s work aloud so I can keep practicing. Any recommendations?
I went to Petco earlier and there was surprisingly more people there than there usually is. I go by the fuzzy animals, and there was at least five people that walked past the rats and made a comment on how they are just snake food and how they think they’re disgusting. They don’t even comment on how the ferrets stink though. Just because they are cute…but really they smell like…like a million assholes. -__-
There is seriously something wrong with some people these days.
I knooooow and I wish you were allowed to hold them now. ; n ;
My Endings ended up drop-kicking a noble raksha and shanking two fae wolves. Better than the centuries old badasses she was fighting alongside. And then she whined when she realized she hadn’t killed the noble outright.
… I think she’s a wee bit adorabloodthirsty. Just a bit.
So, someone on the White Wolf forums decided to make a parody of Art of the Dress involving the dead and necromancy, naming it Stitching It Together (Art of the Flesh).
I took one look at it and realized I had to sing it. (Badly.)
So, here’s the lyrics, someone else needs to do it better. :D
Muscle fibers thread together Twilight’s flesh, sowing up a pattern snip by snip Making sure the tissues fold nicely, Gotta fix the femur and the hip Always gotta make sure her heart’s pacing Making sure the eyes correctly facing I’m stitching Twilight’s flesh
Nard by nard, fussing on the details Mule neckline, don’t you know weird body parts save dime Give her curly mustache to conspire Even though her schemings aren’t that dire Gotta mind those intimate details Even though her flirting always fails It’s Applejack’s new flesh
Flesh making’s easy For Pinkie Pie something mink Fluttershy something wheezy Blend tissue with swarm, “can you set all those bees free?”
Tail-whip lash, perhaps for fetching Hook in eye, wouldn’t they just simply die? Making sure forelock matches the crest Awaken it with magic in the flesh Even though she’s a bit thick in the flank Rainbow won’t look like a tank I’m stitching Rainbow’s flesh
Piece by piece, snip by snip Croup, dock, haunch, shoulders, hip Thread by thread, pinned and dressed Hormone change, never stress And that’s the art of the flesh!
Part 2! Bryony Rue’s only a cameo, because well… she’d make it less sexy plot. Damn it! But she is one of the genuinely not screwed up characters here, in contrast to the rest of the cast, where it’s either daddy issues, family issues, control issues, class issues, so many issues that one could put an academic journal to SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME.
Anyway! It’s hitting where I need to figure out how to pitch the sexy that’s going to happen and how to play up the complex in between the two brothers and make a nod to the possible aftermath.
Snow white curtains and large, crystalline windows to let the light in, the few motes of dusts tenacious enough to remain in such a place lending a dream-like quality to the room. It seemed a sacred place for healing, for safety. Oh, yes, the nurse’s office was always pristine in a way that Hasab Zivatar had always found comforting, even when he was panicked half out of his wits. Like now. Minutes ago, one of the younger students had burst in, a boy he had seen before multiple times in Nurse Rue’s care, almost always a rosy pink and the older Englishwoman passing him some sort of cream for him to rub into his face and arms as she clucked her tongue. Now, he was as white as a sheet with livid cheeks that rivaled the stark color of his eyes.
“Well, he isn’t in heat.”
“I beg your pardon, in what?" Fievel’s hands slammed onto the desk, his twitching nose inches from Hasab’s face and filling the young healer’s nostrils with a musk that made him frown distantly. Rodents shouldn’t be so aggressive, not to a snake. Viciously, the nurse’s assistant shook his head, trying to shake off the cruel thought that had come to his mind. No, no, the two made quite a sight, the third year tall, with the chiseled features of the English cast in pale, pale white, and himself smaller, a shadow with glittering eyes and golden scales tracing lines across his face. The older student was used to being the short one, but this was absolutely absurd, especially for someone younger like this.
“Heat, heat! When a female animal or Shambhalese goes into estrus! I don’t know about the physiological differences in between humans and my kind, let alone in between ha-” His frantic cries were muted by the albino youth’s ice-cold glare, before taking a deep breath and stating with his lips in a firm, straight line, spine rigid. As much as he hated himself for being it, he was still a scion of the Shadow Serpent Clan, and he needed to act the part, especially with someone with such timid lineage. It just wasn’t right. “Then give me something to use in reference to you and your brother, you definitely aren’t fully one or the other.”
The words were truth. Hasab had read their files, after all. The Finch-Hatton twins were a thing of mild fascination in the beast houses, brothers who were of English blood but manifesting Shambhalese traits, in their cases, a pair of soft, rodent-like ears often hidden by headbands or caps when they could get away with it. To add to the strangeness was their distance; dark-eyed Bevel, the heir, was in Dignitas, albino Fievel in Severitas, and often avoided dialogue with their peers in Humanitias. Sacred shadows, he wasn’t sure that Fievel avoided his presence because of his House, or because of his nature. It didn’t help Hasab’s own thoughts or his guilt that they smelled so wonderful, like small, furry pets that should be eaten or coddled, snuggled away in a cage.
Hasab’s dark hand quickly went up to shove the idea away and to deter the upset English youth, serpentine eyes narrowing as the third year’s hands clenched. He hadn’t expected either to be temperamental, but then, family was family, a trait Hasab knew far, far too well. People were… protective, and instinct strong. “And, you came to me.” He let his face harden, praying to an unmalicious force that Fievel wouldn’t start to cry. “I don’t have to put up with this, and you can seek out someone else to help you, Fievel.”
Thankfully, Fievel’s eyes did not well up with damning tears. Instead, his face crumbled into a frown, his lips curled just enough to show a little too pointed canine as he whispered softly. “He’s my brother.”
“Which is why I haven’t asked you to leave yet.” Hasab sighed, resting his cheek on his palm. “The Hippocratic Oath does exist in Shambhala. The closest thing I can think of is an alchemical substance that could work,” dawn pink eyes lit up like the sun with hope, “but there’s a tiny problem.”
Fievel wasn’t sure if Bevel had gotten worse or better as he slipped back in that evening. Nothing had changed, not even the clues that would tell him that the ever-dutiful son dragged himself out of bed to work on homework. No one brought a meal in either, another confirmation that Bevel was trying to hide things.
“I talked to the nurse’s assistant, and he suggested something.” Fievel spoke, fishing the small envelope from his pocket. “But it’s not going to be pretty, and I know you won’t let a servant do it.” His brother’s head lifted from the pillow, blinking again, brow folded in a questioning furrow as Fievel removed a small pellet from the parchment, the prickle of heat on the back of his neck and face enough to make Bevel’s expression tighten with concern. “I’m fine, I’m fine, Bevel, it’s just a suppository.”
“…Huh?” Bevel lifted himself onto one arm, still blinking at his brother, specifically at the pellet in his white fingers. At least he was properly clothed. Fievel preferred to sleep in a lot fewer clothes, taking advantage of the luxury of
Fievel let out a breath, holding up the medicine to his eye level as he forced up the audacity to explain. “The nurse’s assistant said that the best thing for you was to give you medicine in a locale where you would absorb it much more quickly and thoroughly, and that the best place for that was rectally.”
He was sure Bevel was going to balk. Arguments were rare in between them, even as children, but they had happened. True, the albino youth admitted, he and his brother both seemed to have an almost sixth sense for understanding the person who had come into the world beside him, but he was not at all sure what his brother was thinking at the moment, especially with things that involved body parts that were held as crude. Instead of a single word of protest, instead of a mute effort of strength to show his rejection, shakingly, Bevel sat himself up.
Fievel’s hand was cool for once. It was the first thing Bevel had noticed, drowning in fever as he was, and it had pierced the haze enough to hear his brother’s gentle words. It was miserable enough that he was too tired to get out of bed, but… it was pleasant in its own way, listening to Fievel talking with an authoritative air like father’s or Professor Glau’s, saying something about medicine that could work. Even as ill as he felt, the hope made him try. Anything to feel better in a more expedient manner.
He could hear his twin’s startled squeak, reaching for him to help him sit up, pale hands holding him steady, supporting his weight as Fievel said something more.
"Bevel, don’t overexert yourself, you’re-"
"I know." Bevel felt disgusted with himself at the nasal, congested tone of his own voice, covering his mouth to cough before repeating himself with better results. "Just come here and do whatever you have to."
But fuck if I know what her sacrifices will be. What’s a girl who grew up groomed to be the village elder, seduced by a DB into joining the Tepet Legions, and then Exalting when she decided to attempt two impossible shots at the same time to save her commander and her unit to do?
It’s a thing I left unconscious for a while and for some reason, roaming plot bunnies bit me. Credit goes to Path for the Rapture Academy setting, and to the NPC namedropped here because Military History sounded like a good class for Fievel to dash into class for. I’ll unleash the bombardment of questions when I get to the point where I stopped.
"Cyrano, where’s my brother?"
Fievel Finch-Hatton tried his best not to loom over the second year before him, and he was pretty sure he was failing. Indeed, most of the students, all dressed in brown for their House, were quietly stepping back, away from the petite, dark-skinned boy he was addressing. Then again, one of the third years, one in Severitas, had just marched into the room, and it had to be him, of all people, bone white skin and hair, pink eyes in a near-eternal squint, and built similar to a brick wall. The only thing that possibly made him less intimidating was the crimson headband he wore, seeming to keep his hair from going everywhere. Sometimes, he wondered about pulling the damn thing off in public again, not have his ears squished and hidden for the sake of propriety, but…
"From what I heard," the Industria student blinked clear, blue eyes at Fievel, the only clue to him having any European blood within that godawful-absurd mixture of whatever Istanbul had within its walls, "He’s well… ill." Sacre Cyrano adjusted his glasses, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. This sort of reaction, the boy barely batting an eyelash, was the very reason Fievel sought him out when he got worried. That and he sucked up to his brother’s house so much that the gossip practically leaked from his very human ears. "I’m surprised you aren’t stuck in bed yourself.”
There, Fievel had to frown, both at the information of his brother being ill, and concern he heard in that accented voice. It was nice, he had to admit, someone being worried about him, but that wasn’t important. “Haven’t you heard? I’m stupid enough I can’t catch a cold.”
"Don’t say that." Sacre’s voice was pleading. "It makes me sick when you’re so hard on yourself." Fievel shrugged, patting Sacre on his head in thanks before turning away, leaving in the same strict, militant fashion that was drilled into his head. The sharp sound of his shoes on the floors helped him gauge the force he was putting into his feet and make him pick up the pace.
He wasn’t afraid of being late, not like Bevel always was. If anything, he enjoyed the sort of punishment teachers threatened there. He only preferred to be on time because of his brother’s wishes and his own frailties. Fievel was used to dashing across the courtyard, racing against the sun to get back into the safety of shadows, but that was because he knew exactly where to go to take shortcuts and run, run right into his next class, the current teacher, Professor Amilar, giving him something of a glare as the second son of the Finch-Hattons slid into a chair with a huge grin, yanking his concealing headband back into place, making sure his soft, rodent-like ears were still hidden by the accessory and pale white hair.
Once class was over, he made his rounds to his brother’s classes, making sure to get his work like a good sibling should. Mental work was good for health, their father claimed, and it would keep Bevel from going crazy with concern. Someone had to make sure his affairs were straight while he was out of commission, and that’s exactly what Fievel enjoyed doing.
There was definitely a contrast in between their rooms, but unlike most, Fievel decided as he opened the door, it was subtle. Fievel’s own room in Severitas was cluttered, a place where he could hide away and study if needed, and not nearly as spartan as his brother’s was. Was being the crucial word, with it reflecting its resident’s hag-ridden status. Granted, compared to Fievel’s room, it was still pristine, his desk having a few books open, his vest on the floor, but for Bevel…
"This place is a mess." Fievel sighed, sinking down to his knees next to where he could see his brother’s ears amidst the blankets.
"Eefph." The small sound agreed with Fievel, Bevel’s ears flicking to and fro as he lifted his head slightly. For a long moment, the two stared at each other, Bevel’s dark eyes squinting groggily before drooping back into the pillow, a shiver visibly chasing down his whole body as Fievel reached out to touch his brother’s feverish forehead. It was burning, but not damp. His ears were still flicking, trying to fan away more heat, and his breath was… not quite labored, but it was harsh. Congested. Probably a lot of phlegm.
"Apollo Bevel Finch-Hatton, why haven’t you gone to the nurse?"
The full name worked its magic just long enough for Bevel to give his brother a nasty look that said it all. ‘And let anyone see a future Earl like this?’ Fievel could even hear his own full name in the silent reproach before Bevel dropped his head back onto his pillow.
"Fine then." The Severitas student stood up, crossing his arms. "I’ll go to Byrony myself and talk to her. Maybe she’ll give me some medicine, but don’t blame me if she comes in here and drags you to the office in your smalls."
As Fievel left, he didn’t know what worried him more, the fact he heard nothing of a response to that threat, or the possibility that the school nurse would do exactly that.