Siren is writing and YEETing them here

@Serenity88

ive been suggested to start a writing forum thing. SO ye here we go. when I write ill just…
YEET here ye go

@Serenity88

uhhhhh ye this was like the first thing I ever wrote on NB

The trees muted the sunlight, filtering it to a green glow. Darker green shadows danced with spots of sun across the pine-needled ground. A breeze brushed through the tallest branches, shushing the two travelers who strode comfortably amongst the tall pines and wide maples.

The two travelers might have been a strange sight, had this not been their home. One was a human named Quinn Hunter. He had hair that covered his ears and forehead in its length, and toted a worn pack across his shoulders. A walking stick swung in step with him, guided by his right hand.

His companion was a Clouded Leopard bigger than most horses. His feet padded behind the human's, barely audible on the carpet of moss and pine straw. His eyes were not the usual color of clouded leopards; they were the same bright green of the sunlight through the maple leaves.

"It's nice to be back home," Said the Clouded Leopard in a deep, rough voice. "The other felines at the academy weren't great company. No respect for elder or larger cats whatsoever."

A smile touched Quinn's lips. "Aw come on Yahante, Sashi isn't so bad! You like her, right?"

Yahante huffed. "She thinks rather highly of herself. Not much one to respect elders either, that one." He flicked the tip of his tail.

"Ok, but aren't all felines like that?"

"I wasn't. I knew my place."

"Yeah, and how long ago was that?" He was just teasing Yahante now. "Before Clubs Kingdom was founded?"

"Long enough ago, it seems, for that way of raising kits has been out of style the past decade." Yahante's voice had grown gruffer as the conversation wore on; now it struck a melancholy tone.

"Hey, she was an orphan. No one raised her." He felt the need to defend his silver tabby riding feline he was training. She had been taken in by the academy as a small kit, and was now the equivalent of a teenager. It was true, she was very sassy and thought very much of her own self, but Quinn was hoping to take her on some quests with him and Yahante soon– maybe that would help bring her down a couple notches.

"I know, but she could at least–"

A flicker of movement caught Quinn's eye. In the trees to the right and in front, a figure dashed past the travelers at a speed that humans couldn't achieve in the densely packed tree trunks. He stopped, barely breathing, trying to get a better look and hear footsteps. He held out a hand to stop Yahante.

Yahante inhaled slowly, trying to scent out anything unusual. "What was it," He asked in a quiet, low voice, "How big was it?"

"Not sure," Quinn squinted hard into the trees, scanning for more motion. "It was person-sized, I think. Whatever it is, it's fast."

He thought he heard a tiny feminine giggle, an caught another glimpse of the thing. It looked like a frail, nimble girl, with dark hair. She vanished ahead, toward the town. After another tense moment of standing frozen something clicked in Quinn's head.

"Oh," he exhaled, relaxing, "It was just Mirya."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, she was probably just looking out for us and now she's gonna tell the town we're coming."

A small snort puffed from Yahante's nostrils. "No stealthy entrance? No element of surprise?" He lamented.

Another smile crept upon Quinn's face. "I guess not," he agreed. "Are they planning one some sort of party or celebration?"

"I would think so. After all, you are staying for a whole week before going on your quests."

Unease flickered though his stomach. He hadn't told Yahante about what Jasmine had told him through the mirrors yet, but now seemed like a good time before they reached the town. The news had chased away much of his pleasant dreams of home and adventure the past three days– news of a stranger with a strange companion brought with him in chains. A stranger wearing a long cloak that hid his face from sight, seeming to swallow the light as he walked. His 'companion', who looked like a prisoner to Jasmine, wearing manacles that seemed to be connected to an invisible chain the man used to haul her around. When she was seen away from the man red rings marked where the manacles sat, but the shackles themselves were nowhere to be seen. Both of the strangers looked road-worn and tough. Jasmine said the man spent most of his time at the inn, and any interaction with him showed him to be gruff and borderline rude. The girl though, she was nice and spoke softly. The man scared most of townspeople.

"Hey, before we get there, I need to tell you something."

@Serenity88

Feb 23

next scene! Completely out of order… but its one of my fave scenes ive ver written tbh

Jasmine just got bitten by the Taks plant.

She gasped, jumping with no coordination away from the edge of the path right into Quinn.

“What, what is it? Jas, you good? What happened?” He stumbled as she slammed into his side. They ended up in a heap on the left side of the road, Jasmine in Quinn’s lap.

“Damn… Plant…” her teeth ground out the words. Her skin, already pale, took on a pallor the color of spoiled milk and sweat slicked her brow.

“The… the Takses? You got bit?” Cayde was by their side now, his hands twitching.

“Quinn, what can I do.” His voice was low, more serious than Quinn had ever heard him.

Jasmine’s breath was coming more and more shallowly now, her muscles loosening. Her eyes drifted off into oblivion. “Quinn… I’ll be okay…” she spoke so faintly, so weakly. Her hands locked onto his arms, her eyes focusing a little. “Don’t— don’t leave…don’t leave me…” then her entire body slackened, her head lolling back onto his shoulder.

“I won’t, Jas, I will never leave-“

“Quinn, what do I do?”

He could barely see. He swiped the tears away, and stood, holding Jasmine like a tiny child in his arms.

“Get all the medicine we have, then we get back to the cabin. It was only a mile or two back, right?”

“Is our medicine gonna be enough?” Cayde paused, elbow-deep in the medicine pack. Quinn thought he had never seen him so serious.

He turned back the way they had come. He was not going to let Jasmine die, not after this narrow enough escape, and not by some shrubbery.

“It better be.”

And he walked.

Back at the cabin

Cayde had gotten a fire stoked up in the grate, filling the cabin with warmth and the smell of smoke. Jasmine lay under a mound of covers, shivering but shining with sweat. Her coat and boots sat by the door, abandoned. Quinn sat by the bed, clutching her hand as she faded in and out of consciousness.

She sat up, a grin on her face. "Quinn!" she cried, laughing. "Why so serious? I'm fine!"

He flinched. Her voice… it sounded fake. Too full of cheer. "Jas… what's the last thing you remember?" He didn't let go of her hand.

A cloud seemed to pass over her face, darkening it and creasing her brow. "The road… The road! Quinn!" she was screaming, shouting out nonsense at the top of her lungs. "The road Quinn! The bird! If your brother could see you now, oh what would he say? Cayde, you little bitch–" her head lolled back into the pillows, muffling her continued murmurs about roads and general nonsense.

Quinn stared at her. Why had she thought of his brother? He assumed she meant Simon, since Cayde was right there and Simon had been gone for years.

"What did I do…?" Cayde's eyes were huge, confused. Next to the fire, one side of his face was lit with yellow light, the other half obscured in shadow.

"What?"

"She called me a bitch…but I haven't done anything. What does she think I did?" His eyebrows were drawn low on his face.

"I don't think she's in her right mind. You saw her! She doesn't act like that." Quinn heard a note of desperation in his voice, and realized he was trying to convince himself just as much as Cayde. "I think we can assume anything she says or does right now is the Taks poison, messing with her."

A giggle rose from the blankets. "Cayde…Quinn…Were are you?" he could barely recognize the voice as Jasmine. A crazy lady from the woods would have this voice, not her. "Come on, don't hide. I won't get you." The blankets shifted and rustled, the lump that marked her body moving around underneath. She seemed to just be burrowing in circles.

Then she burst out, gasping for breath. Hey eyes were wide, as if in terror. But they weren't their normal bright fantasy green– they were milky white. Jasmine cast her head around, seeking something she couldn't find. "Hey!" she shouted, as if into a great distance. "This isn't funny, Hunter!"

Hunter? She hadn't called Quinn by his last name in years. "Jas," He said softly, "I'm right here."

She didn't acknowledge him. "Hunter!" he flinched back at her loud tone. Her eyes still shifted around, looking. "You know I'm blind!"

"What?" Cayde stood up from his crouch by the fireplace. "Since when? You've never been blind, never even needed glasses!"

Jasmine's head whipped around, her mouth forming a snarl. "Little Hunter. I should have known." she rose out of the blankets, standing on the mattress so she towered over Cayde. She looked right at him, or at least where his voice came from. "I should have known," Her features full of disgust, she stepped gracefully off the bed. "Should have known you would steal my sight for yourself."

"What?" Cayde took a step back. "Girl, I don't know what you're–"

"Don't lie." She walked confidently toward him, although her eyes were still sightless. "I know exactly what–" She tripped over the medicine bag, sprawling face first into the floor. Quinn tried to catch her but was too far away to reach her in time. She came up, howling profanities.

"Ooookay crazy-lady-who-looks-like-Jasmine-but-is-not," Quinn held her shoulders and tried to push her back from Cayde. "I think that's enough. Back to the bed, go on."

Jasmine collapsed, her sudden lifeless weight almost making him lose his footing. She began to cry. "Quinn…" She sobbed, "Where did you go?" She looked up at him, and he almost dropped her.

The vibrant green was back in her eyes, but blood was leaking out of them like tears.

She kept weeping, turning away from him. He grabbed her arm but she shook his hand off. Her knees hit the wood floor with a thud, her sobs turning to wails of anguish. Blood pattered on the floor in little crimson droplets. Then the coughing began.

Great, hacking coughs that racked her whole body. Quinn and Cayde tried to pick her up off the cold floor, to put her back on the bed, but she flailed and screamed as if they were tearing her skin off. So they wrapped a blanket around her and tried not to let her hurt herself.

Cayde brought a cup of water over. "Jasmine, you ought to drink some," He lifted it to her lips but she bit the lip of the cup, throwing it across the room with a sharp flick of her jaw. Her head had been nestled on Quinn's chest, so she head butted him in the mouth. He tasted blood.

Thus it went, for hours. Jasmine would be a crying mess one instant, a cackling madwoman the next. She developed a fever and refused any food, water or medicine. She got up once and tried to force to door open but Quinn had made sure it was locked. She screamed and wailed, pounding with her fists and scratching with her nails until Quinn and Cayde managed to drag her back to the bed.

Throughout the day, she cried more blood tears and had another bout of coughing, this time speckling the quilts on the bed with thick, dark blood. She threw up on Cayde then passed out in the vomit that made it to the floor. While Cayde cleaned up himself in the stream outside, Quinn leaned Jasmine's back up against the bed and wiped the sick off her face.

She came too, glancing around until she saw him. "Wha…Quinn…?" Her voice rasped in her throat questioningly. "Where… where am I?"

"Hey, hey Jas," He set the damp cloth he was using to mop her face down in the bowl of water and supported her shoulders. "We're in the cabin. You remember?"

"Wh…" she couldn't form the words, but her eyes asked a dozen questions.

"It's okay." he softly brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "I'm here, you're safe. It's gonna be okay."

She nodded, but kept staring at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

"What is it?"

"You're.." the words again escaped her grasp. So she settled for reaching up and touching his cheek with light fingers. "Quinn."

A tiny laugh slipped out. "Yup. That's me." his hand drifted up to cover hers.

Jasmine's lips twitched, perhaps into a semblance of a smile. Water gathered in the corners of her eyes. She seemed closest to normal since being bitten.

Quinn stared into her bright green eyes. His favorite eyes. "Hey," He reached his free hand to swipe away the tear that trickled from the corner of her eye. "What is it? Talk to me Jas, what's wrong?"

A shaky breath inflated her chest. She blinked, pushing more tears out onto her cheeks. "I'm… not okay." She barely breathed the words, but they drove little knives into his heart.

"I know, I know." Now his vision was blurring. "But you will be, you hear me? I will make you better, you will get better." He willed the words to be true, for them to not be a lie.

A smile, a real one, curved her mouth as she looked away, chuckling breathily.

"What?" Quinn felt himself smiling too, despite how heavy his heart felt.

Jasmine looked at him, looked into his eyes and whispered, "You're real cute, you know that?"

His face was hot. It was really hot in the cabin. "Why do you say that?"

She tapped him on the nose, and he realized how close they were sitting. He'd never felt shy or awkward much around her but now he thought his skin was surely crawling with ants made of ice. "You're just cute. At least," she blinked slowly, as if falling asleep. "I think so."

"Okay, but why?"

"Deal with it," she slurred drunkenly. Her head wobbled, her coordination failing, her face tilting towards his.

He stared into her eyes. They were so close, he could feel her breath on his face. So close he could see all the tiny designs in her beautiful, perfect eyes and every speck of dried blood from her tears on her cheeks. His hand cupped her chin, keeping her steady.

Footsteps on the little porch. The door sliding open. The feet stopping in their tracks. "Quinn!"

They jerked away from each other as if electrocuted. Quinn adopted a neutral expression automatically, as if he hadn't been caught with his face two inches away from Jasmine's. "Yeah?"

With a squeak, Jasmine promptly fainted, her head bouncing off the mattress and falling to the floor, but Quinn managed to get hold of her head and shoulders before she could hit.

"Look what you did!" He whisper-yelled at Cayde.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Help me get her up here," He swiftly changed the subject.

With Cayde's help he lifted Jasmine up and nestled her back in the blankets. She didn't wake, so Quinn was hopeful she would stay asleep this time and wake up back to herself.

                                                                            ⚔️

@Serenity88

Feb 23

this is from my story Tuneless/Anarchy (still like both of those names), the one and only piece ive written for it

Florence opened the door to her bedroom, setting her backpack down on the floor next to it without looking. She hadn't taken off her shoes on the porch, because she really didn't want anyone to steal them; her favorite black platform boots with glittery laces. They gave her an extra inch and a half of height so if a tall person took them without reason she would have to kill them. That might make her parents a little upset.

Now those boots thumped softly on the dark blue carpet of her bedroom floor. They stopped at the bed, and suddenly lifted off into the air as she flopped dramatically onto her quilted bedspread with a groan.

I want noodles.

With another groan she slid, liquid-like, back down to the floor, bumping her knees. She rocked onto her heels and rose to her feet in one fluid motion. She slipped out the door, barely opening it wide enough to get by. Her boots thumped louder on the wood floors in the hall, and they thudded loudly on the way down the stairs. Her mother was leaning her backside against the counter in the kitchen, sipping what appeared to be coffee but Florence was sure it was probably spiked with nasty-smelling alcohol.

Susan was in her late thirties, with blonde hair that was starting to look weathered from living in a house with Florence. She had big grey sweatpants on, the drawstring cinched loosely around her hips. Her long hair spilled over in front of her soft pajama shirt. It was only four in the afternoon, but she had already dressed for being lazy after a long day of being a morning news anchor. She hadn't washed her makeup off though, which contrasted with the laid-back look of her outfit.

She looked up from her phone as Florence stepped into the kitchen. "Florence…" she sighed. "Boots. Off. They can hear you in Australia."

Florence rolled her eyes as subtly as she could. "No, the Australians are deaf from your snoring. Is there any noodles left?"

"Are there any noodles left. Take them off before I do it for you."

"So we have noodles?" Florence knew she was pushing buttons, but she wanted her noodles and didn't care if the Australians heard her clumping around. It was her own house, and they were in Australia.

She checked the cabinet above the microwave; there was one packet of ramen sitting next to a box of macaroni elbows. "Aha, my precious." she murmured to herself.

"Was that back talking?" uh-oh, she had her nearing-mad-mom voice on.

"No, I'm glad to see there is ramen." She took a bowl from the dishwasher. It had a dry noodle stuck to the inside. "Ugh, did the dishwasher not get run last night?"

Upon hearing no reply, she stuck the dirty bowl back in the dishwasher and pulled a clean one from the cabinet. Adding water to the bowl took forever, though she only needed like half a cup. "Why do we have no water pressure?" She asked. Her voice sounded whiny even to her own ears.

He mother glanced up from her phone's bright blue screen. Without really looking, she made a noncommittal noise and looked back down.

Florence rolled her eyes again. The microwave hummed loudly; the two vases sitting on top it, currently empty of flowers, rattled and clinked against each other. It beeped rapidly to signal the end of two minutes. She stirred the noodles aggressively, barely keeping the water from sloshing over the sides of the porcelain bowl. Another two minutes later and she was carrying the bowl up to her room, a potholder protecting her fingers from the scorching bottom.

Just as she reached the first stair, her mother said, "Take the boots off Florence. I mean it." But her voice sounded more tired and weary than angry.

"Sure," Florence gave in. Not much point in persisting, and walking in her boots inside was going to make her carpet dirty. "As soon as I can set the bowl down in my room."

Once the bowl of ramen was set safely on her desk, she removed her boots. The laces took a while to loosen all the way down, but she didn't mind. It left more time for the noodles to cool from lava to merely boiling.

Her purple backpack, covered in black sharpie doodles, was aggressively shaken over the bed to disgorge it's contents. A notebook, a drawing book, a bulging pencil bag, a half-empty bottle of Snapple, lots of candy and snack bar wrappers, and a sheaf of homework landed on the blanket in a jumbled heap. The books – one for school, the other for arting – were stacked neatly near the pillows. Florence put the pencil bag on top of them. All the wrappers and other trash were swept into the small trash bin that lived under the desk, next to her stack of canvases leaning against the wall. The homework she didn't bother to uncrumple, just tossing it to her desk. Some of the papers fluttered away, down to the floor, like injured butterflies. The Snapple was dumped into her water bottle with the partially melted ice and small splash of water.

With butterflies on the brain, she threw her bag into the closet and opened the drawing book. Taking a colored pencil from the pencil bag, she sketched out a butterfly; it had heavily stylized wings, with intricate mandala patterns and long flowing tails. Opting out of a background, she began the line art.

Time both slowed and sped by, leaving Florence with her mandala wings and curling antennae. The steam from the bowl of noodles on her desk slowly drifted off, leaving less and less heat behind. But before it could become lukewarm and gross, she pulled herself out of the comfortable position leaning back on her pillows and moved her operation to the desk, where she could enjoy her ramen and continue drawing.

As the butterfly's details sharpened and resolved from little blurry sketch lines into clear defining strokes from a pen, Florence's mind wandered. What if I went and tried to sell my art at school? She'd be arrested for sure by the Guardians. Then Mom would go to prison and I would go to juvie, and we would both never see each other again… She ate a forkful of noodles. They were almost too cold for her liking.

The butterfly was looking quite stunning on its page, graceful and elegant. I think you need some color. But pencils or watercolor? Both. She picked out some Prismacolors and gave the wings' segments stained-glass color– pastels and transparent hues throughout the color spectrum. Glittery shimmers followed the trailing tails of the wing-tips.

Now the ramen was too cold for her liking. Ughghghgh. She set the periwinkle pencil down and arched her back, several vertebrates popping. She lifted the bowl off the paint-smeared desk and slipped out of her room.

Down in the kitchen, Susan was no longer leaning on the counter watching her phone, but was instead in the adjacent living room watching some show with lots of girlish screams and car-tire squealing.

The microwave sounded loud and droning as it re-warmed the room-temperature broth. When the vases on top continued to clink even after Florence readjusted them a few times she had to control an outburst of sudden anger. It caught her off guard; they were just vases, there was no reason to be so mad. She managed to not destroy anything nearby except a hangnail on her pinky, until the microwave beeped the end of one minute. Still using the potholder to carry it, she took the bowl back upstairs.

The butterfly, which had looked so beautiful and well-drawn just a minute before, now looked sloppy and clumsily created. The colors clashed, the lines were shaky, and the glittery trails that had seemed so magical just looked like scribbles of color behind a butterfly drawn by a kindergartner.

Florence hated it. She hated how it looked, how that piece of paper felt, how long it had taken her– so long her delicious ramen had to be reheated.

She stood frozen in front of her desk, staring down at her project. She hadn't even set the bowl down. Now she set it down, slowly, felling struck with revulsion at the drawing.

Then she ripped the page out. She yanked it from the threads that bound it to the spine and crumpled it, then unfolded it and slapped it on the desk. She snatched a paint marker from her pencil bag– a black one. The paint marker spewed ink over the paper like blood from a slit throat. It spread, soaking into the page, dribbling into the creases and folds to blot away the once majestic butterfly from history. She viciously scribbled across it, her teeth bared at the disgrace she had wrought.

In a very short time, the butterfly, which had indeed been graceful and full of magic before, was obliterated.

                                                                       🎨\🦋/🎶

@Serenity88

Feb 23

ohhhh boy this one is good too. some of you may recognize Einar from my Cryptids Chat…well this is what happened right before his introduction.

The dining hall was a whole different place.

The tables and benches had been shoved to the walls to make seats and to clear the middle of the room. On the ceiling, the chandelier that usually flashed colors to cue classes starting was now casting bright neon and blacklight all over the vast space. Four small disco balls hung, one in each corner. Fairy lights outlined the edges of the walls. In the corner farthest from the door, a couple of nerdy looking kids had set up two huge speakers, and they appeared to be choosing a song from a laptop glowing on a table next to the speakers.

Leen looked unimpressed by the skating rink-style party, but Einar looked just as surprised as Juniper felt.

"Do they do this every year?" She asked Leen.

"Yeah," she sounded bored. "Sometimes they give it a theme. My sister said for her first year they pulled out roller skates and let everyone have a skating rink instead of a dining hall."

Einar stared at the speakers across the floor. "Those things must be super loud," He murmured, as if to himself. "Look at the size of them! They must be taller than Leen…" Einar glanced sideways at her. "but that's not hard to do."

She gave him a death glare. "Hardy-Har-har, Peanut Gallery."

Some other kids were walking around. A few were at the buffet line checking out the sweets; two were at the nerdy table.

"Hey!" Juniper had a thought. " Think we can request songs?"

Leen nodded. "There's always loud music, and always crummy music cause kids can make requests. I'd bet you a funnel cake that's what those punks over there are doing."

Juniper stared at her friend. "You good?" She asked gently. "You seem mad."

Einar snorted. "Mad? Only always."

"Shut up nerd." Leen was definitely upset about something. She scowled at everything, and didn't examine the food table too closely, which was what really got Juniper's attention. The girl had the biggest appetite of anyone she knew.

"All right then." Juniper decided to let her grouch. "Come on nerd, lets pick a song."

"Would you stop calling me nerd!" But Einar followed her to the table anyway. "I'm not even wearing glasses today," He grumbled.

At the table, a pair of preppy girls and an emo-looking girl were arguing over whether they should ask for Over My Head or Wildest Dreams.

"Hey," Einar greeted the nerds. One had black hair and glasses resting on his beaky nose, and had a Ride the Lighting t-shirt. The other was chubby, with hot-pink dyed hair and lots of piercings. Her eyeliner had huge wings that seemed like overkill to Juniper, who never wore makeup.

"Oh, hiya," The chubby girl answered. "Got a song to request?"

"If that's allowed," Juniper confirmed, "then yeah. We were just checking."

"We can take requests," The Ride the Lightning guy said, "But we won't start the music for another–" He checked his watch "–ten or fifteen minutes. After that, all the kids will be clamoring for their song to be played."

"That's cool," Einar assured him. "You got Crazy Train?"

"Crazy Train? Aw hell yeah!" Dude DJ gave him a high-five. "I'll play that one first."

Einar slapped his palm enthusiastically. "Yah mon, you're cool."

Dude DJ looked to Juniper. "Got a song you want?" He asked through a grin.

She thought for a moment. "Scars to Your Beautiful?" She suggested.

Pink Hair nodded, agreeing with that choice. "That'll be the second to play," Dude DJ told her.

She and Einar thanked the nerds and looked around for Leen. She was filling up a paper plate at the buffet table; lots of meat and chocolate, it looked like. Weirdo, who eats meat and chocolate on the same plate? Leen, apparently.

"Oi!" Einar called to her. "Bone apple teeth, ey? That's some collection of fine cuisine you got there."

She gave a Look of Death. "SHut, nerd."

He tossed his hands up in the air. "Lady, I'm not even- wait is that a karaoke thing?"

Across the room from the door, in the opposite corner from the big speakers, was a small stage set up from about ten or fifteen tables of the non-folding variety pushed together to make a platform. The outer edge was made up of picnic tables, so there was a step up onto the stage. Or seating, if you were okay with being in kicking range of a jamming out metal fan. Standing in the center of the makeshift stage was a microphone stand, a wire trailing down and back to a large sound bar. Another kid whose face was lit blue by a computer screen typed furiously. Juniper wondered if he was doing something related to karaoke or just messing around online. Maybe he was texting someone.

" 'Scuse me, fella," Einar called conversationally, "This wouldn't happen to be a setup for karaokeing, would it?"

"Aye, that it is." for some reason the other guy had silently agreed to talk like they were in the 1800's or something. "Why, you got a song to sing? A melody to… melodize?"

"Perhaps…" Einar said mysteriously. "Or perhaps my friends here like to vocalize in harmony."

"That so?" he peered over his laptop, the blue of the screen casting shadows across his face, lighting his features so it was difficult to tell exactly how they were actually shaped. A hoodie with the hood pulled up added to the effect, like some sort of grim karaoke master.

Einar nodded. "At what time this evening does the karaoke begin?"

The grim karaoke master checked the time inn his laptop. "A fair stretch of time after the other music starts, so other singers will be–" He seems to check himself, like he almost said something that would be kinda funny, kinda not. "–um, loosened up from sugar consumption."

Leen bit into a chocolate bar with a loud crunch. It seemed a rather pointed gesture.

                                                                       🍫

Later, about two hours after the official start of the party thing…

Some of Einar's guy friends took him off to find something they wanted to do. Juniper didn't mind; Leen was only getting surlier and surlier, and didn't need to aim all of that at their only other good friend. However, she did spot him in a corner with two other guys, drinking from a flask. Oh no… was Einar drinking drinking, or was that just something a friend had brought that definitely wasn't alcoholic?

"Be right back," she told Leen.

She looked up from her bowl of ramen. "Mm, where you going?"

"Gonna find our nerd before he gets in trouble." The fear and nerves clearly had shown through her voice, because Leen stood.

"What's he doing?" Her voice had lost its deadness and picked up a quiet charged energy. "Where is he?"

"Hey, you don't need to come," Juniper stood in her way so she wouldn't see Einar and lose her head. "All this… whatever it is with you tonight, we don't need that. So eat your noodles and chill!" She realized her voice sounded pretty harsh, but Leen could be stubborn as all-get-out.

"Okay, but–" Her protests were drowned by a voice from the loudspeakers.

"Oi-oi-oi, guess what kids?!" The voice was that of the Dude DJ who had played Einar's song and it was loud. "Its time… for karaoke!!" A loud noise answered him from the kids, varying from 'yay' sounds to 'aw come on' sounds. About half the population of the room moved to clamor for the karaoke master to acknowledge them, while the other half stood at a distance to watch. The first one to get admitted on stage was a wiry little boy with dark hair who spoke a little funny. He requested a Michael Jackson song and did all the dance moves that accompanied it.

Meanwhile Juniper was shoving her way through the masses of people toward the corner she had last seen {name} in. She used her elbows and shoulders to push them out of the way, earning several exclamations of surprise, anger, and many 'hey watch it!'s. By the time she reached the spot, the thin kid had finished his Michael Jackson song and the karaoke master was searching for another singer/dancer. But she barely noticed this because the corner was empty of {name} and his two friends.

"Yup, come on up Ozzie Osbourne! Are you gonna do Crazy Train for us?" The voice of the Karaoke master reached her ears. what? Ozzy Osbourne…? Crazy Train… Einar! Her head whipped around. Suer enough, climbing the bench-steps to the stage, was the dark-haired figure of her wayward nerd. He wobbled on his feet and nearly tripped over the edge of the stage. Oh NO! He definitely didn't look sober.

Einar giggled when the karaoke master asked him what song he wanted. He gave him a sideways look that suggested he noticed how tipsy he was acting and wasn't sure what to do.

"What about Everglow? Starset? Aye? Yeah, do that one." He giggled again.

Juniper wasn't sure what to do any more than the karaoke master. She could let him go through with this, and let him make a fool of himself so hopefully he would learn something from it; or she could jump up there and stop him. If she tried to stop him, both of them could be made fools, or he could think some drunken thing like he was being arrested and try to escape, then fall off the stage and crack his head open on the hard wood floors. But not stopping him might end with him actually being in trouble for drinking or whatever it was he was doing and she didn't want him in trouble… or did she? He could just get humiliated.

The start of Everglow began to thrum from the speakers. Leen appeared by Juniper's side. "What is he doing?!" She yelled. "He is always too chicken to sing in front of people. Why now? What's wrong with him? Is this what you meant by trouble?"

Juniper was busy watching Einar and didn't respond. He swayed unsteadily until the first verse, then he leaned all his weight on the mic stand. "You come in… Waves… Til you're all I know. Then you fade a…way"

A hush settled over the assembled kids. His singing voice–which Juniper and Leen, his best friends, had never heard– was amazing. It swooped and danced through the air, painting out the colors of the song so the crowd could almost see it. Einar clearly got lost in the song– he swayed on his feet, his eyes closed, one hand gesturing and floating with the melody. "Everglow…! You'll never know the beauty I see when you open your shadows. Everglow…! They'll never know the worlds that I see in the darkness you don't show…"

His eyes opened, locking onto Leen and Juniper. One of his eyelids blinked down; Juniper couldn't tell if it was a wink or muscle spasm.

As the song continued, the drunken unsteadiness seemed to drain out of him. He stood straighter, but still relaxed. His eyes closed again, swaying side to side with the music, one hand floating up and down with pitch like a conductor's directions. The voice that came out of Einar didn't match his regular voice; it flowed around, painting a picture with color and emotion that Juniper could feel resonating within her bones.

The overhead fairy lights dimmed and brightened as the melody swelled and dropped. The shadows on all walls flickered and danced. Behind Einar, his shadow lengthened and seemed to grow wings, spreading out, flexing. Great, feathery wings that reached almost wall-to-wall and that began to look less like a trick of the light and more of a real shadow, cast from a wingless person.

@Serenity88

Feb 23

@Serenity88

May 01

soooo um yea I just kinda scribbled this out I could totally do some editing and correcting but Id be lying if I said I cared a whole lot at the moment. Amelya, from House of Cards (my biggest WIP) just saw her older brother get the dead and she goes berserk YAYYY
TRIGGER WARNINGS!! GORE, VIOLENCE, SWEARING, SOMEBODY DIES…ye

Thaddeus's eyes widened. In slow motion, Amelya watched as the red stain washed over him, stealing away the life that had been there, leaving only coldness in its place. His form hit the ground, so limp and soft. The foliage leaned toward him, taking her bother in their caress.

Her eyes, burning of tears and too many feelings to name, turned to the man standing in the space Thaddeus had fallen from. Amelya saw him, but didn't see a man; there was only a killer, a twisted monster who sought to take her home from her.

Everything was slowed to the point of being fast-forwarded. She crossed her wrists, pulling her daggers out from her flesh. Dimly, she heard Quinn calling her name, calling her brothers name. Too late, Hunter…he cant hear you now. A twisted semblance of a smile, contorted to a savage snarl with the storm boiling in her chest, split her bloodied lips.

"Whoopsies. That was my brother." The nameless storm in her chest burned up to her head… just heat and clouds of shadow struck through with lightning ready to kill. Her usual dark humor was a whole new shade of dark. "Bad move, buddy." The grin widened, releasing a rising cackle that showed her why insane people were sometimes referred to as mad.

She had raced forward without thought, now she was behind the killer as he sprinted away. Everything burning her from the inside out was merely fuel, pushing her on, faster and faster… she was in reach now, one good leap and she could tackle him – but he planted his feet, shouldering her back. he whirled, that knife flashing at her ribs, the lifeblood from it's last kill still glistening on the narrow blade. Amelya dove at his wrist, clamping her teeth through his sleeve, bursting veins and tearing tendons as sweet copper flooded her mouth.

the killer's screams barely reached her ears.

A blow from the side knocked the flesh from her mouth, blood spraying from both the wrist and her soaked tongue. with a Feral scream she rolled out of the way, a sharp kick sending her flying off balance. Amelya whirled to her feet, ducking another punch and quarterback-tackling him to the cold ground. Shrieking uncontrollably, she rained strikes on his face as fast and hard as her adrenaline and grief-fueled muscles would allow – very, very fast and hard. The man squirmed and thrashed, his attempts to dislodge her entirely futile in the face of her fury.

Amelya took one of her daggers and plunged it between his ribs, right below his heart. She felt his ribcage contract as he screamed into the unforgiving air. That cruel grimace still frozen on her bloody face, she screamed with him; a scream of fury and hate and laughter at how helpless he was now.

She twisted the knife in the space, driving the ribs apart. More sticky red flowed onto her skin, a hot bath of vengeance; she loved the feeling.

With a final desperate flail, the assassin kicked her off his torso, sending her flying back into the stunted trees lining the road. Her head smacked into a more sturdy trunk, the branches tangling mercilessly in her hair. The killer stood, pressing a hand to the gaping gash in his side. He staggered, falling to one knee with a muffled cry. The next instant he had whipped a small knife and it was flying toward her chest. With a scream, she wrenched herself free from the grasping branches that clung to her hair and clothes, falling to all fours in the dewy undergrowth. An impact blossomed pain in her side. She was on her shoulder now, looking up through bloody lashes at the face that leered down at her.

"Fuck off," she groaned. "I don't have time to get killed by a backstabbing coward such as yourself."

He laughed, sound so pleasant she wanted to surgically remove it with rusty spurs and no anesthesia. "Oh? A coward?" He crouched, his mud-green eyes burning into hers. "The only coward here is the little girl who ran from her father, from her life of prestige and glory in the Hearts capital." The snarl carved into his mouth matched the one on Amelya's.

She flinched away. "I'll have you know that I was pushed away, told to get lost." Now she leaned closer, hoping he could smell the blood on her breath. "Now fuck off like a regular old coward before I kick your ass again." To the assassin it hopefully appeared that she was clutching at her stomach, but her crossing her wrists again, preparing for another fight. But he just laughed some more.

"Riiiiight, you will kick my ass. But," He stood, rolling his neck. "I dont see you on your feet and ready, little girl. So I think I'll finish my job here; what kind of professional assassin would I be if I left a target alive, hmm?"

@Serenity88

May 28

this one is from several weeks ago, but I added a little to the end and decided to post it here. its not very good, but hey what the hell why not.
um there is some pain in the end, but not much. idk if thats a trigger or what but now you're warned

Her head felt like cotton soaked in dirty water. But…

The thought wouldn't form. They wouldn't get in line, she couldn't control them, couldn't figure out why. After several more minutes, seconds, hours, she opened her eyes.

The ceiling was flat, tiled, and light gray in color. A can light in each corner provided the light– a harsh light, dialed down to about 40% brightness.

But how did she know what 40% brightness looked like? How did she know that the lights were actually harsh and sharp when not dimmed?

A feeling, like resignation or dread or deja vu or all three came over her. The feeling said, 'no, not again…not again…' Again? She had no reason to feel like this had happened before. It hadn't. Nothing had happened.

Now her head felt like a gaping, aching void barely contained by her skull. Where was all the thoughts? No, the memories?

Where are you?

the void in her head didn't answer, only throbbed with her heartbeat.

She groaned, lungs feeling sore. Tried to clutch at her head, but her arms didn't respond as they should have.

Her head had some limited mobility; she could lift her chin a little, and tuck it to her chest. It moved stiffly, as if rusted, when she tried to turn it sideways, but complied.

She was in a small room, perfectly square. Two doors stood at either side of the room; one had a small rectangular window at eye height, the other had no window. the bed was lined up on a wall, the headboard on the same wall as the windowless door. At the foot of the bed rested a wooden chest, the lid only just visible from her prone position on the bed. Across the room, a cart with a small TV or monitor sat next to a full length mirror parallel with her head; her reflection stared back at her from the shiny surface.

She had dark skin; not black like African, more like hispanic. Wide-set green-blue eyes set over broad cheeks and a plump, scowling mouth. Her eyebrows lowered, then lifted as if in surprise. She didn't feel any of it, could barely move her eyes. She stared at the face in the mirror. It must have been her own face, but it didnt look familiar. she couldn't place the features in her memory, the were completely new to her…or were they? The dread in the pit of her stomach writhed at the sight of the mirror, telling her that something was wrong.

If she had no knowledge, how did she know how the mirror worked? Why didn't she think it was a stranger looking at her, how did she know it was her own face in that pane of glass, gazing back into her own eyes with mounting horror?

Her breath came in gasps, chest heaving. Stop that. Panic wont get you anywhere. Automatically, she slowed her breaths down to controlled five-second intervals of inhaling and exhaling. Where had that habit come from? It was second nature, but why?

As her breathing calmed down, the questions kept swirling. But when the answer felt close, it flinched away, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. No, not metallic… chemical.

The lights in the ceiling flashed brighter than they should be able to, blinding her, cutting into her skull. Why were the lights so bright? Why did they hurt so much? In an instant, it went from painfully luminous to excruciatingly searing sound. She clenched her jaw, trying to contain it, but a scream ripped her throat. Her spine thrashed, as if trying to escape the agony tearing at her skin, but she was barely aware of it.

@Serenity88

Dec 18

RIGHT so I actually haven't written anything in a long freakin time but I went back and was reading some of the stuff iv have written and I found this lil gem and I was like 'DAMN that aint half bad!'
so here ya go; its set in a world I dont have much of here on NB, but Einar is one of my current favorite characters of mine
enjoy! its a lot 😅