His Light

It was dark. Ijimeru took a deep breath. She felt the grit and dust from the cave-in in her mouth. “We must have caused a cave in,” she said.

She could see Otoken. His jewellery glowed a faint green, illuminating his snakebite piercings. She saw his bracelets rise up as he took out his headphones. “What?” he asked.

“You do notice we’re trapped in a cave, right?” Iljmeru asked.

Being obnoxious was safer than panicking. She took another deep breath.

“We can find a way out, Mounds,” Otoken said. “We couldn’t have trapped ourselves in here.”

Iljmeru stepped closer to Otoken, closer to the only source of light. “I don’t remember there being more than one exit,” she heard her heart pressing against her ears. “Do you remember more one than exit?”

“No,” Otoken said, raising his arm to use his bracelet to light up Iljmeru’s cleavage. “We can search for the other one if you want.”

“No,” Iljmeru said. “We might lose each other.”

“I’m glowing,” Otoken noted.

“But for how long?” Iljmeru said, pressing her hands against his chest. “It can’t be long. They are recharged by the sun, right? Well we haven’t been in the sun that long. We’ve been in this cave for much longer than we’ve been in the sun.”

“Your eyes will adjust to the darkness,” Otoken said.

“No, no they won’t,” Iljmeru said. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“Something moved,” Iljmeru said. “Maybe it was the darkness that moved.”

“Just relax,” Otoken said, rubbing her arms. “It’s going to be okay. Someone will come looking for us.”

“If we survive that long,” Iljmeru replied, beginning to hyperventilate. “Who am I kidding? They’ll be grateful to get rid of you.”

Otoken laughed, but cut his laughter off short. “Mounds,” he said, feeling her tense against him. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” she asked, frantically looking around.

“That noise,” he said, pulling her close to him, as if protecting her. “It sounded like something was scratching.”

Her eyes burrowed into the darkness, but she couldn’t hear anything. She felt Otoken’s hands drift from her back onto her ass. She looked up to see him smirk and squeeze. “Oh of course!” Iljmeru said, pushing Otaoken away from her. “I should have recognized the sound was your libido slithering across my body.”

“But aren’t you feeling better?”

“No,” she said.

And she didn’t like that he was away from her. The darkness swallowed the dim light from his jewellery. She saw him walk back towards her. Iljmeru felt his hand under her chin, tilting her head up towards his. His arm scaled around her back again, pulling her towards him. She didn’t push him away. She felt like she was melting into him.

She felt the cool metal of his piercings as he kissed her. “What about now?”

Her heart still pounded, but for a new reason. “Remind me of this the next time I make fun of your jewellery,” she said.

“I want to hear you say I’m making you feel better,” he said, smirking.

She twisted her fingers into his green and black hair, pulling his head back towards her. She kissed him, pressing her tongue between his lips. He felt her tongue brush against his, teasing it to respond. He pressed her up against the cave wall, feeling her leg press against his crotch. He pulled away from the kiss to kiss her neck. He felt her breathe into his hair.

He lifted her, grinding his crotch against hers, her breasts squishing against his chest. They kissed again, Iljmeru hands in Otoken’s hair, Otoken’s hands lifting her up by her ass.

Otoken wasn’t worried. He reasoned if they fought their way into this mess, they could easily fight their way back out. Right now he had to help Iljmeru calm down, so he tried the way that would benefit him most.

Iljmeru pulled away from the kiss as she breathed against Otoken’s ear, biting against his earlobe. Her eyes opened a narrow amount, although she couldn’t make out anything in the darkness, but she felt calm, heated, but calm. And as she stared into the shadows, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness.

She could see, and she could see where the cave collapsed. Iljmeru pushed herself away from Otoken, who kissed her chest as she pulled away to examine the wall. She said, “All right, let’s bust our way out of here."








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This commission is for the NekoMida of Gaia Online.
These characters belong to her.

My Morning Routine

Alan got up in the morning. He was the only one left in bed. Checking the clock, he turned over, hugging someone’s pillow and wrapping around it. It smelt like Satsuma – Jeff’s pillow. For some reason that man could spend a year sweating in a desert and he’d still come out smelling like Body Shop soap.

Kingsley came into the room screaming, being chased by Georgia with the mixer. Both of them jumped on the bed which contained a (now groaning) Alan. “Father, mommy wants to know if you want pancakes,” she said, shaking him. “She has new blueberries.”

“Fine,” Alan said, receiving a wink from Georgia.

“You’ve gotta get up or you’ll be late for work,” Georgia said, flipping the mixer on and off.

“Fine,” Alan repeated, crawling out of the bed.

Georgia and Kingsley waited until Alan actually got out of bed before running out of the room in a fit of giggles. In his privacy, Alan reached into his silk pyjamas to adjust himself before heading into the bathroom. He relieved himself while Jeff was in the shower. He always took too long in the shower, and there was never any hot water by the time Alan stepped in.

Jeff goosed Alan on the way out of the shower. It was the same conversation every morning. “You’re not eating breakfast in your towel,” Alan said.

“No, I am eating naked,” Jeff said.

“I really don’t think I want to lose my appetite this early in the morning,” Alan said. “Georgia’s making blueberry pancakes.”

“You love this,” Jeff said, shaking his stomach. “I’ll get dressed.”

“Good,” Alan said, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Unless you need company in the shower?”

“Get dressed,” Alan said.

Alan had a very quick and very cold shower. Once he stepped out and dried off, he put on his work uniform and headed into the kitchen where he found his family at the table. Tinkerbell, Kingsley’s giant stuffed dinosaur, had her own seat and her own pancakes. Jeff picked pieces of the pancakes off Tinkerbell’s place when Kingsley wasn’t looking. Alan took his seat at the table, and he pulled the business section out of the newspaper on the table.

Jeff read the entertainment section, Kingsley read the comics, and Georgia read the main section. Tinkerbell had the personal ads in front of her. Before Alan even got a bite in, Georgia said, “You’re going to be late.”

“You need to open your shop early,” Alan said, “so I can be late.”

“You’d never get out of bed without me,” Georgia said.

Jeff noted, “I’d get him out of bed.”

“You’d keep him in bed,” Georgia replied.

“Could I stay home from school if Father stays home from work?”

“I’m going to work,” Alan said, shovelling pancakes into his mouth.

“Then go already,” Georgia said, checking her watch. “What do you say to your first appointment when you’re late?”

“I apologize,” Alan said, kissing Kingsley on her forehead. “I’ll pick you up after school, okay?”

Kingsley nodded, making a face and wiping her forehead.

“Great pancakes,” he said, pecking Georgia on the lips. “Thanks.”

“Get out of here,” Georgia said.

“What about me?” Jeff asked.

“Don’t have time,” Alan said. “Gotta get to work.”

“You gotta get to work on me,” Jeff said.

“’Bye everyone,” Alan said, ignoring Jeff.

He received murmurs of goodbyes, and a blank stare from Tinkerbell. And then he stepped outside to run to work.








------
This is a work for myself, how exciting.
These amazing and well-developed characters belong to me.

Ripples

Allen Dale opened his locker to check his cell phone before class. They weren’t allowed to carry them in class because people would spend the class texting instead of playing attention, and he really had no desire to upset his teachers. No text could be so important to break the rules, and he could daydream without a distracting phone anyway. But he was known to toss a few texts in between classes.

He opened his phone to find a message from Will Stutely:

“/puts on skirt to play badminton”

Allen smiled. Will hated girly sports. Allen always assumed it was because it didn’t allow for him to vent his excess aggression. You couldn’t hit a birdie too hard or it’d go out of bounds. Allen replied,

“/lusts”

He hesitated before pressing send, but he ultimately pressed it. Allen and Will flirted quite often, mainly over text messaging. While Allen generally enjoyed the extra attention, it also made him uncomfortable. He wondered all through class about Will’s reply, if Will would even reply at all. Was it too forward a remark? Did other guys make jokes like this?

Did other guys think about their friends like this?

Class couldn’t suppress his growing anxiety. What would Will reply? Would Will reply? Did he cross some thin line that Will didn’t like? After class he rushed back to his locker, slamming the door open to find his cell phone. Maybe he could take it back, maybe he could send another text to make it all a joke.

Or maybe Will would be into it.

But he couldn’t think about that.

It was wrong to think about that.

He didn’t want to see Will in a skirt anyway. He preferred him in his regular clothes, with his t-shirts that were just a hair too tight, emphasizing his muscles, but also the pudge on his stomach. He liked it because it was funny, not because it was attractive. Not that it was attractive.

Allen had a new message, a reply from Will.

“Ahaha!”

Then another.

“Hey, can we hang out after school?”

Allen replied, “Sure, meet you outside?”

He didn’t even have the chance to close the phone. Will sent a reply: “Yeah, see you then!”

Exclamation mark. Allen knew punctuation was important in text messages because hardly anyone used punctuation at all. He always made the effort to use it, though. Maybe that’s why Will made the effort too. Or maybe the exclamation mark meant something.

Allen packed up his things and headed to the exit. He found Will waiting for him, playing with his phone. Allen felt the heat rush to his cheeks. Was Will texting someone else? And was he jealous? He had no reason to be.

“Hey,” Allen said, feeling his voice crack.

Will smirked. “Hey, ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Allen said, and they began walking together. “How was badminton?”

Allen watched Will’s golden eyes as he actively described what a waste of time badminton was. Allen nodded in response, not really listening, counting Will’s freckles instead. Will’s ears pressed back against his head as he complained about his team mate bitching him out for hitting the birdie too hard. Allen tried not to laugh.

“How did you find the skirt?” Allen asked.

Will nodded, replying, “I appreciated the breeze between my legs. It gets really sweaty in that area, you know?”

Allen laughed. He felt Will’s tail brush against his legs as it wagged. He noticed Will watching him, and cut off his laugh to look away, sheepishly. Allen felt his cheeks burning, but he didn’t want it to be noticeable. Sure, he had been staring at Will the same way, but it only emphasized to Allen that he had been checking Will out. He couldn’t decide how to handle the situation.

Because he couldn’t be gay. For one, he liked breasts. They were lovely and they were probably soft and would fit into his hands quite nicely. And Will didn’t have breasts. But he had that smile and those freckles and that body.

But he couldn’t think about those things.

Because he couldn’t let his dad down. His dad had enough frustration in his life without Allen actually being what his dad teased him about. Sure, Allen was a bit fancier than most boys. He kept his blonde hair long. He liked to keep his nails clean, his room neat, but cleanliness didn’t automatically translate to homosexuality. Did it?

Usually his dad was just teasing, but sometimes when he was mad, he’d call Allen a faggot with such loathing, Allen wasn’t sure what to do with himself. It just proved his dad wouldn’t be open about it. If Allen was gay, well, he’d just be one more person his dad lost along the way.

But none of that mattered because Allen definitely liked breasts. Womanly breasts, not a muscular chest like Will’s, not a muscular chest that threatened to bulge out of his shirt. Where the hell did Will get shirts like that? Did he always buy a size smaller than he needed?

“Are you all right?”

Will’s golden eyes were on Allen again. “I’m fine,” Allen said, sharply.

It was Will’s fault he wasn’t fine.

“Do you want to talk a walk through the park?” Will asked, not hiding the concern on his face. “Or did you want to head straight home?”

“Let’s go through the park,” Allen said, pointing in that direction. He put a weak smile on his face, “I know how badly you want to piss on a tree.”

Will laughed. “I’ve been holding it in all day, actually,” he said.

They walked in silence while Allen angsted through his feelings. He didn’t want to disappoint his father. When he was younger, he always saw himself as growing into his father’s features, a reflection that he would eventually become, but it didn’t feel like that anymore.

It was almost as if Allen was his father’s reflection in a lake, but after he called him a fag that first time in anger, or maybe it was when his mom died, it was like his father tossed a stone in that lake. And their similarities were dissolving like the ripples. Even though they’d eventually look the same, there’d still be those fundamental differences, those ripples that had once changed his shape.

“Something’s bothering you and it’s really pissing me off that you’re not telling me,” Will said, his arms folded across his chest. “I didn’t want to hang out with you just to watch you mope.”

“Well then why did you want to hang out with me?”

“I don’t know,” Will said. “We’re friends, right? Friends hang out and talk and piss on trees.”

“Right,” Allen replied.

“This is where you tell me what’s bothering you, and then I tell you it’s going to be okay, and then we press our bodies together into a hug.”

Allen laughed. “See, this is what’s bothering me,” he said, trying to sound serious. “You make me want to be more than friends with you.”

“Really?” Will asked.

Allen tried to read Will’s expression. He didn’t look disgusted, curious maybe. But Will’s face generally looked inquisitive. He ended up looking at the hair on Will’s arms while he nodded. Allen saw Will’s arm move as Will placed his hand on Allen’s shoulder.

“I’m really rather fond of you,” Will said, “in that way.”

“It doesn’t make you sick?” Allen asked. “It doesn’t gross you out?”

Allen felt Will’s arms go around his waist, his hands resting on his back. Allen felt Will’s head tuck beside his, nuzzling his neck. He felt his weight and chest against his own.

“Not at all,” Will replied. “It’s the complete opposite.”

Breathing in Will’s hair, Allen wrapped his arms around him. “I’m worried about my father,” Allen said. “He can’t lose someone else.”

“He’s not losing you,” Will said.

“He’ll try to once he finds out.”

“Then we won’t tell him,” Will replied. “I don’t need anything public.”

Allen pulled away, but he felt Will’s hand stay on his back. “You really want to try this?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “Of course.”

Allen pressed his hands on Will’s chest, gripping the shirt to pull him closer. Smiling, Allen said, “Really?”

And when Will returned his smile, Allen felt like his father’s opinion really didn’t matter, especially if he didn’t get the chance to voice it. Allen felt Will’s nose brush up against his. Allen realized he was living up to all his father’s expectations, the good ones and the bad ones. Maybe his father called him queer enough that he eventually became it, or half-it anyway. He definitely still liked breasts.

Will’s lips brushed against his. “What are you thinking about?”

“Breasts,” Allen replied, pulling away to laugh.

Chuckling, Will pulled Allen back against him. “You know, I think this, I think we’re going to work really well together.”

And Allen felt the heat in his cheeks as Will pressed his lips against his.








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This commission is for the barefoot friar of Gaia Online.
These glorious characters belong to her.

Echinacea Tea

Bellus stretched out on his bed, his teal silk pyjamas contrasting against his white sheets. It was too hot. Everything felt too hot. And he felt like he was sweating all over, with his shirt and pants clinging to his fair skin. He unbuttoned his shirt. His hair clung to his horns. His nose was bright red, and the skin was peeling. He did not feel beautiful today.

But Valerius still found Bellus hopelessly good-looking. Valerius took a seat on Bellus’ bed, running a finger along his chest. “What can I do to help?” Valerius asked.

“You can get me some tea,” Bellus said. “Echinacea, please.”

“What else can I do?” Valerius asked, wrapping the drawstrings from Bellus’ pyjama pants around his fingers.

Bellus rolled his eyes. “I do not feel sexy,” Bellus said. “Please, the tea.”

“But you look sexy,” Valerius’ eyes lingered purple and red eyes drifted across Bellus’ body before lingering on his face, “all sweaty and helpless like this.”

“My body is excreting mucus and sweat at a rapid rate,” Bellus said. “I assure you, you do not want to rub your body against mine.”

Valerius sighed, but kept his smile. “So you want tea,” Valerius said, “as usual.”

“Yes,” Bellus said. “Echinacea.”

“You’re sure you don’t want ‘Read My Lips?’ A little chocolate and red candy lips should help more,” Valerius said. “But I can provide the lips part.”

Valerius leaned over and tried to kiss Bellus, and Bellus turned his head so Valerius ended up kissing into his teal hair. And with that, Valerius darted into the kitchen to get some tea.

Bellus turned back over onto his back. He debated taking off his shirt completely, but he didn’t know how Valerius would act. His head was too cloudy to make any difficult decisions, like whether or not he should wear a shirt. He knew he wanted to nuzzle his face into Valerius’ pink and black hair, but he knew the side effects would be, well, gross.

Plus Valerius would get sick, and Bellus couldn’t imagine how Valerius would work if he was sick. And Valerius without work, well Bellus didn’t want to think about it.

Valerius came back in with a teapot and two mugs. He knocked the novel, “Uzumaki,” off of Bellus’ nightstand to set down the dishware. Bellus sat up. Black spots tainted his few, his head felt light. He suppressed his breakfast. He watched as Valerius poured the tea into a mug, feeling the steam unclog his nostrils.

Bellus grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. “You have never been hotter than you are now,” Valerius said, with a smirk.

“That’s because I have a fever,” Bellus said, lifting the mug to his lips.

Valerius smiled. “That’s not it.”

Bellus’ laugh broke into a heavy cough, and Valerius grabbed Bellus’ mug to keep him from spilling it.

Nodding, Bellus took the mug back. “Thanks,” Bellus replied, hiding his smile in his mug. “And thanks for the tea.”








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This commission is for the glorious Extracted Desires of Gaia Online.
The characters belong to her and whoever else she made them with.

Tear out

Naevius couldn’t breathe. It was as if he was drowning. He could feel the oxygen in his lungs dying out and being replaced by something else. He tried to see, but there was only darkness. He tried stretching out his arms, but he couldn’t move.

His blonde hair clung to his face. He was sweaty, or under water. Was he drowning?

He needed to get out of wherever he was. And however put him there, was going to pay dearly for their insolence. He struggled with his arms and clawed when he felt whatever was constraining him.

In his desperation he felt his nails tear through. It was warm, thick, and moist. He pressed his head through the hole and felt his head become coated in a sticky substance with a tinny taste.

Blood.

It was as if his heart stopped beating.

He was covered in blood. His sight was tinted with red.

Naevius wiped his face with his hand to clear his vision. And he found himself staring at the face of Ezekiel. Blood spilled out of his eyes like tears. Shuddering, Naevius pulled himself out of Ezekiel, but found a shooting pain through his stomach.

Naevius had the same wound as Ezekiel, as if he had clawed his way out of himself. The pain continued as if he was still trapped inside, tearing at the skin to escape.

He clutched his stomach and groaned, trying not to look at Ezekiel. He felt a weight on his back, as if someone sat there. He had a hard time standing straight and proper. He hunched over, trying to stop the pain and the blood.

He knew he and Ezekiel were connected somehow. Whatever Ezekiel pain felt, he felt too. And sometimes he loathed Ezekiel, especially when Ezekiel forced himself onto him. But Naevius didn’t want to see him hurt either, and not just because he didn’t want himself to be hurt. He had grown attached to his servant, to the fact that Ezekiel was the only one who got things done, and to the rough sex that made their mutual pain interesting and complex. He didn’t want to see Ezekiel with his stomach torn open. It couldn’t be real.

Naevius felt a heavy hand on his chest. It was Ezekiel’s hand, pulling him closer. Naevius struggled, he didn’t want to get closer. He wanted to get far away from Ezekiel’s death, his own death, but Ezekiel was pulling him, forever closer.

Their lips touched, Ezekiel’s tongue pushing between Naevius’ lips. But Naevius felt something else. A new pain, sharper, somewhere lower, in his kidney.

Naevius tried to pull away, but Ezekiel kept him close.

He saw a knife in Ezekiel’s bloody hand. The bastard had stabbed him.

Naevius struggled more, desperate to fight out of all the pressure on him. The weight on his back, Ezekiel’s hand on his chest, the pain in his stomach, in his side. He felt like he was drowning again, back inside of Ezekiel.

He continued fighting, clawing and twisting his way out. Squeezing his eyes shut to block out the pain and the sight of Ezekiel’s demise. Their mutual demise.

Everything became whiter and thinner. Something was enveloping him. A new skin, Ezekiel’s skin. He had to get out. He tore through the skin like fabric.

But it was fabric.

He was in bed, sweaty, and frustrated.

And he had torn apart the sheets.








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This commission is for the tae m a i of Gaia Online.
These amazing characters belong to her.

Renewed Contract

He was bound. Something kept him tightly constrained on the ground. No wait, he was against a wall. The weight on his chest was too much, he could barely breathe.

But they were all around him. Expired contracts. Souls ripe to be plucked from their bodies.

And Vuris was nowhere to be found. Something told Valerius that he had to take these souls. He had to do it now or else something would go wrong, he’d never get another chance for these souls. But there were too many of them and he was restrained.

No, nothing could restrain him.

Valerius wiggled and pushed his way out of his binding. He felt a wave of cool air caress him, but he couldn’t figure out where the air was coming from.

No, no time to think about the breezes, Valerius. Time to work.

But the clients, the soon-to-be-former clients, they hadn’t noticed Valerius had freed himself. All their backs were to him. He could barely make out their features but he knew, he knew he had to tear out their souls. They belonged to him.

He started with the first one. He felt everything rise into him, and after he pulled out the soul, everything spilled over.

His determination in his work. His anger. His hate. His hunger.

He had to get the rest of the souls.

He had to dismantle the bodies.

Valerius methodically and mercilessly tore apart the remaining contracts. There was no other soul to take, no other bodies to pull apart.

He felt his chest pounded. He felt sweaty and hot and something tightening around his feet.

The corpses, they were moving.

Long, elegant fingers grasped at his ankles.

There had to be forty hands, and they felt warm as if there was still life in them.

But that’s not what made his sweat run cold. He recognized the hands.

He looked away to see the floating severed head of Bellus. His teal hair hanging loosely into the air, his expression bored.

Valerius looked away, but there was another head. Bellus, again, with that playful smirk Valerius adored. Bellus’ eyes locked tightly onto Valerius, and he could feel Bellus’ hands crawling up his legs.

It was as if one of the hands grasped his heart.

He had killed Bellus, countless times. How had he not noticed?

He breathed quickly, but nothing moved into his lungs.

He would never hurt Bellus. Valerius promised himself he would never hurt those he loved, Vuris had made sure of that.

He felt a tight pain in his chest. He couldn’t move. He could only stare at the severed head of Bellus, apathetic to its own fate.

Valerius squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, he stared at his bedroom ceiling, his comforter coiled around his feet.

And he wondered how long it would be until his dream was a terrifying reality.






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This commission is for the glorious Extracted Desires of Gaia Online.
The characters belong to her and whoever else she made them with.

MEGAMALL

True Name: Betty Driver
Alias: Megamall
Age: 18
Hair: Blonde, tied into a ponytail, red elastic band.
Eyes: Brown
Build: Runner’s build, because she runs a lot. She’s got intense calf muscles.
Uniform: She wears a red “SALE” shirt (either red with white font or white with red font, she rotates) to give her credibility as a mall employee. She wears black uniform pants. Sometimes she’ll wear glasses that “change her face.” She desperately wants to tie in a cape.
Personality: She’s bubbly and excitable. When she talks about the evils of capitalism she sounds like a teenage girl talking about makeup. She’s pushy, but it’s in a friendly way. You don’t really realize she’s pushy until after she’s left. She makes vague literary references, mainly to Dante’s Divine Comedy and any other form of Nekyia, but her bubbly disposition generally undermines her credibility.

Back story:
As a child, she got lost in the Eaton’s Centre and has been forever against malls, one-stop shopping, and other inane, deadening routine-based forms of capitalism. She aggressively hates mass consumerism, commercialism, and capitalism. She doesn’t have any alternatives in mind, and she’s not sure what the difference between Marxism and Communism is. She dropped out of University because they wanted too much money, which meant the University institution obviously supported the evils of capitalism.

Evil-doings:
She gives people wrong directions inside of the Eaton’s Centre, making them trapped inside the mall forever (i.e. another ten minutes). Her long-term goal is to open a store to direct people to that traps them inside. She hopes to make a device that will brainwash them to not want to obsessively shop and maybe be better people. She also considered making them an army, but she’s not sure what she wants to do with an army.





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This commission is for tuna yo of Gaia Online.
This is a character for her brilliant project, Left on the Cutting Room Floor.

The Painting

Silvyr added a bit of oil to his paints to lighten the colour. He closed his eyes to try to remember.

He was painting their mother’s garden, from memory. He worried he had the flower’s colours wrong, but Seraphim may have forgotten as well. Silvyr’s amethyst eyes scanned the picture, checking for inconsistencies with his memory.

Silvyr remembered that the roses were red when Seraphim left. He didn’t want to make them red this time. Even though they were together now, he hated any thoughts of Seraphim leaving. He didn’t want a different body laying beside him at night. He only wanted Seraphim, and their best time together for companion was before he left.

In their mother’s garden.

He was painting the picture because tomorrow was another anniversary of his leaving. Silyvr wouldn’t exactly call Seraphim sentimental, and even Silvyr would rather celebrate the time when they reunited, but it just felt right this time.

He highlighted the flowers on the bench. The bench Silvyr and Seraphim would sit on together, talking about the clouds and what they looked like. The clouds looked great in the picture, he wouldn’t have to touch them. He even had one that looked a bit like a whale, which is what he said one looked like once, but Seraphim argued with him about it.

What had Seraphim thought the cloud looked like?

He hesitated, trying to remember. It was on the edge of his mind, but it must have been too far out for him to remember. The present was what mattered. He finished by adding extra touches yellow to the grass, to layer it better into the picture.

Silvyr pressed away the memories of Seraphim leaving again. He remembered clinging to his mother, crying, but no one could replace Seraphim’s place.

He took a step back to look at the painting in extra light. He closed his eyes and remembered the smells in the garden. He remembered what Seraphim smelt like now versus then. He remembered the changes in Seraphim’s hands, the darkness behind his eyes.

Frowning, Silvyr left the room with the painting. Maybe a painting wasn’t appropriate. Maybe the past only held them back, but the past also tied them together. They were twined together like the flowers in their mother’s garden.

Silvyr knew he’d give Seraphim the painting, but he’d give it to him tomorrow. Today, he’d find Seraphim and talk to them like it was every other day.

Today was for the present.





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This commission is for Silvyen of Gaia Online.
The original characters in this commission belong to their owners.

The Necklace

Tika had seen the latest bounty on the TV screen at the bar, but it was her shift. She couldn’t exactly drop sure-thing money (plus tips) for measly maybe bounty money. Mujan, who was busy chatting up the customers, seemed oblivious to the latest bounty reports. Tika made her way to the end of the bar where Mujan had planted herself. “Did you see that?” Tika asked.

“See what?”

“There’s a new beast bounty,” Tika said, cleaning a glass.

Mujan rose a blonde brow. Oh, Tika wanted her to get off her ass. “All right, I’ll check it out,” she said, getting out of the stool and stretching. “What am I going for?”

“40 coon hearts,” Tika said.

Mujan hated coons. In the early days, when the cities were swallowing the forests, scientists predicted that raccoons would be extinct in a few years. But those little buggers adapted and used their tiny little hands to manipulate, scratch, and consume. And now, when the forests fought back, the raccoons were easily four times the size and five times as aggressive.

Mujan couldn’t remember the last time she saw a coon that wasn’t hissing at her. They were nasty and they were hard to take down. But Mujan would do it.

“I’ll do it,” Mujan said, determined.

Tika rolled her eyes, but smiled at Mujan as she left. Tika knew Mujan would likely end up at the bar halfway across the street when she hit twenty hearts, and then maybe they’d finish the last twenty together in the morning.

Mujan, however, had another plan.

She was going to do something nice for Tika. It’d be a surprise, of course. They were in that stage of their relationships where they were so comfortable with each other that they didn’t worry about surprises and sudden gifts anymore. But Mujan would give her one.

She kept more than the hearts. Mujan carved off their sharp little claws, the easiest part of the coon to sell. She didn’t head to the bar when she had finished the bounty, she headed to back to the place she shared with Tika.

With the loose fur from the coons and a knife with a fine tip, she weaved together the claws into an intricate necklace that would sprawl out across Tika’s chest like a web. When she tilted the necklace, the silver threads of fur shone. Mujan took a moment to admire the necklace

Truth was, Mujan knew exactly where she’d be without Tika. They grew up together, and they parted ways, but they were drawn back towards each other. Tika kept Mujan moving, and in their environment, Mujan really had to keep moving to survive.

Without Tika, Mujan would still be sitting at the bar, missing bounty reports. She’d be drinking instead of working. She’d follow the fate of the cities around them, fading and unable to thrive.

But Tika reminded her of the resourcefulness of the coon, to keep moving, to use what they had around them, to find a way to survive.

Mujan wasn’t sure how to say all of that to Tika, but she hoped the necklace would signify some of it.

Or that the necklace would show, at the very least, that Mujan loved her.




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This commission is for Ugliest Weenie of Gaia Online. The wonderful original characters in this commission belong to her, obviously.