Creative Corner

[center][quote=July 25 2021][font=century gothic][size=5]The sun rose with the fall of the moon, and the moon rose with the fall of the sun. Who is higher?[/size][/quote] @Nightlilac @magiritsa @goldrush @naranciag @sunwolf @fennecfox21 @sanzang @Hemmalaya @stolen @MaybeHuman @simplyonewinged @kimnoodles @daffydil @finnamony @MittensTheKitten @kawiikatz @Peachycupcake525 @xSTORMDRAGONx @Inkwyrm @TheGrayGhost @moonstrucksmorns @CatInDisguise @DriftingDreams @Xuelian @Mercurythewolf @Pinkish13 @SkySerenade @pandakitty1 @PuppyLuvr06 @shr00mlightz @AllHailWebby @Hyzenthlaay @Illusia @AwkwardTrash @LavenderSelkie @wolfdragon3036 @StarryLune @ulvesang @styygian @Orodruin @Crizona @Lavend3rDragon @PeacefulPyro @PinkRose06 @SocklessWonder @Tumbleweeds @CookieTimes2000 @fuzzysherbet @Quilava2010 @AlterZero @DewFeather @LapisWings @SouthernHawker @Mistwhisker @Neon126 @darcyrambles[/center]

@Illusia
for some reason cree saying more entertainment is always welcome and that they already have enough workforce strikes as so sweet to me, even if sointu's obviously a lost traveler and probably wouldn't be great at any work if he did do it lmao
"Or maybe he did, but he didn't care about whether he cared or not... what a convoluted way of thinking it." i kind of like the twisty thought patterns here, kind of tempered with apathy. the thought of him not particularly caring at first is so fun, though can i ask if there's a reason why? is he afraid what he will find? or does he just not really care as of yet?
wait if sointu doesn't know his name does that mean he had a different name before??! i probably should've realized that sooner omg. name reveal at storyline end perhaps??

Not directly related to any prompts or anything, but I'm popping in real quick to let you know that I changed my username to Wyrmlight! Formerly I was CookieTimes2000. Just letting you know to avoid any confusion!

[center][quote=July 24 2021][font=century gothic][size=5]"What do you want to do?” “I don’t know.”[/size][/quote] [/center] [LIST] [*]Cirque has the opportunity to play father to a mirror struggling to understand herself after a failed hunt. [*][b]Warning: Brief depictions of a bloody injury.[/b] [/LIST] “What sort of mess have you gotten yourself involved in this time?” The answer came with a low hiss in the back of her throat, a baring of her teeth towards the dragon as she limped within his lair without second thought. Blood trailed down her arm, a tick coppery smell that permeated through the vague dizziness of her brain, and she pulled herself over to her usual place, collapsing on the soft moss that always seemed to be fresh for her. The guardian didn’t bring her food. Instead, the sanguine beast stood quickly to his feet and retreated into the back of his lair, rummaging around through faded cabinets that never seemed to fully close and drawers missing handles. Finally he found what he was looking for, scooped it up in his paw, and hurried to her side. She bared her teeth at him again, needle-sharp and deadly. She was not here for whatever he was doing. She was here for [i]food.[/i] “Let me take care of your arms first,” the guardian murmured. Elessar’s voice came as a kind of caterwaul, rolling onto her side as he took her arms in his paws and maneuvered her joints to painfully—[i]frustratingly[/i]—examine it at different angles. Her voice wailed, loud and harsh, neck craning, and it was only by the grace of self-control that she didn’t bury her own teeth into Cirque’s arm herself. The guardian flinched but he didn’t stop, pouring some stinging liquid that sang in her veins over her bleeding wound(she howled again) and patting it dry before starting to wrap it up. And then it was quiet. Her arms itched as he set her arms onto the moss, and she was already moving to nibble at the bindings with her teeth. Something patted her head. Her fins flared up and her teeth snapped on air, a hiss slipping out of her throat. Cirque stared at her severely, one claw raised. “Don’t do that,” he said firmly. “No biting your wrappings, or I won’t be feeding you as much today.” Her hiss quickly died down from one on her throat to one on her tongue, hanging out of the front of her mouth as she tasted the air and stared at the guardian. Funny creature, he was. He didn’t scare easily. Or maybe he did, but he was just good at hiding it. After a few moments, he lowered his paw and nodded, a low hum rumbling in his throat as he stood back to his feet and made his way over to the food stores. Elessar huffed, nuzzling herself a pillow of moss to perch her head on, claws picking at the hem of her bandages as she waited. --------- “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” the guardian said, spoon softly clicking in his bowl, “and you don’t have to answer. But usually mirrors travel in groups, and they don’t remain in one place for too long. Why are you still here?” Elessar’s teeth were sharp. Her teeth were sharp like needles, and as such, chewing on the hard, stringy meat of an old basilisk was annoying but welcome exercise. Her teeth bit down on the meat bits with vitriol, tasting the broth and the faint spice on her tongue. It was peculiar—not necessarily a bad experience. She paused, though, at the question, inclining her head toward the old dragon. He regarded her with some expression she couldn’t identify, and through the taste of meaty stew, she couldn’t detect any strange scent of danger coming off of him. She didn’t want to talk. She never wanted to talk. She hated talking, and he knew that. Talking was an invitation, not a demand, and a large part of her appreciated that. Her tongue flicked for a moment, in and out as she stared at him. “…Ssstay,” she finally hissed out. “Becaussse… I am hurt.” “You did make a full recovery, though.” Elessar hissed as he shifted, setting his bowl to the side and perching his chin in the palm of his paw. “So you should have been able to rejoin another pack easily after that. You don’t have to stay.” She made a sound of some sort that could equate to a sharp and curt bark, picking her claws through the soup to fish out the meaty goodness. She’d said her piece, and she had little interest in indulging in more conversation. Conversation was a waste of time and energy, she’d learned—a mirror knew who her allies were well enough without it. And she knew the guardian well enough over the past months to believe that he [i]might[/i] be considered an ally. Cirque was quiet for a while longer, watching her in the same way that a concerned parent watched their hatchling. Elessar pointedly ignored him, chewing on a particularly meaty hunk in the back of her mouth instead. “…Unless… it [i]did[/i] heal. But it didn’t heal fully.” Her stomach churned suddenly, rumbled and fell still. “Does it still hurt, even though it’s scarred over?” The mirror’s body tensed up, fell still, and she leered up at him and growled deeply in the back of her throat. He was accusing her of being weak. Accusing her of being so weak as to let an old wound get the best of her. Her arms stung with a burning and itchy pain, but more than anything, it dulled the quiet throbbing of her left shoulder, where teeth once buried deep into the flesh not very long ago. But he didn’t growl back. He didn’t bare his teeth or flinch away, and he didn’t stand to his feet and flare his wings with a savage hiss. Instead, he watched her, quiet and still, until eventually Elessar felt the growl fade away into nothing in the base of her chest. He was not there to hurt her. This was yet another reminder of that fact. “…Hurts. Yes.” “I see.” Cirque nodded his head, humming softly, a distant glaze of recollection passing over his eyes as he looked away. There were thoughts brewing, circling around in his head. Thoughts that Elessar had no agency to know. “…I see. What are you going to do, then?” “What?” she rasped sharply. “If your shoulder still bothers you when you hunt, how are you going to rejoin a pack? How are you going to be able to hunt effectively?” “I can still hunt enough. Small things. Ssslow things, yes. Big game? No. Not without a pack.” “Big game is all that’s going to be here when the dead of winter comes.” The dragon turned his gaze back toward her, an unreadable tiredness dwelling behind the hood of his eyes. “Do you want to rejoin the hunt?” She stared at him. After a moment, she hissed. When he didn’t hiss back or bare his sharp teeth, she stopped. “Then what do you want to do?” Cirque asked. Elessar’s stomach coiled like a knot, and suddenly she didn’t have the appetite to eat anymore even though she was still hungry. She looked away with a grunt, laying her head back onto the soft, cool moss and well prepared to sleep instead. “Little one?” “I don’t know,” she snapped, jerking her head up with a growl. “Quiet. I’m done talking. Sssleep now.” Cirque blinked. For a moment, he might not have known what to do at all. But then he nodded and stood, in that slow, deliberate way he always did. It wasn’t the first time she was aware at his distinct lack of urgency, as if he were aware that any sudden movement might set her on edge. It wasn’t the first time she wondered if he was always so slow or if he did this on purpose. “Of course. Feel free to stay as long as you please. You know where the food stash is if you get hungry.” It was with those words that he turned toward the lair entrance, and he left for wherever it was he was going. Elessar might have asked where, if she weren’t so aggravated by the question of ‘what’. ‘What do you want to do?’ Mirrors were not known for self-reflection, but over the past couple of months, she began to learn. When the bogsneak dragons cornered her and her pack back then, their teeth sank so deep into her flesh that perhaps some part of her knew that she’d never be the hunter she used to be. Even months afterward, it still stung when she ran and ached with restless prickles when it rained. She could never hunt as she used to. She couldn’t run as she used to, so she couldn’t keep up with a pack. She couldn’t dig her claws into the fur of a massive yeti anymore without her arm singing with pain. She couldn’t curl up to sleep on her left side anymore, or press anything against the scars without her clawtips going numb and tingly. And yet mirrors were hunters. Mirrors were perpetually on the hunt, perpetually eating and feasting. Mirrors fought with one another, and mirror packs flowed in and out of each other like water or goo. She was useless in the hunt of a pack. She would only get in the way. Even if she wasn’t, would she even want to rejoin the hunt, beyond her own needs? She wasn’t even sure if she ever found any sense of contentment in that lifestyle. But without the hunt, what was left for her? ‘What do you [i]want[/i] to do?’ The fact was, she didn’t know. But maybe she’d figure it out someday. She grunted, nuzzling her cheek against the coolness of the moss. Cirque wasn’t there anymore, so she could’ve nibbled at her wounds through the bloodied bandages with the edge of her teeth. She didn't. She hated talking. But maybe—just maybe—there was something to it.

@Wyrmlight thanks, I suffered a shoulder impingement 4 months ago.
Reading this helps remind me to make the most of the new opportunities and understandings it brings.
The empathy for the injured I now know only since my firsthand experience of living through it.
The looking for different, less physical work that will utilise my other skills other than physical, somethign I'm better off doing as I age anyhow.
I never thought to actually write in depth about how it feels but you've reminded me I can do that too :)
The fact that it was her left shoulder, that she can't sleep on her left side anymore, so many little bits that I could just identify with her so much even though mine was not caused by puncture wounds, but by the muscles fighting successfully to prevent the joint from being torn out of its socket - (are you sure that's not what really caused her injury? ;))
How it pangs at the most unexpected moments and movements although I have 99% mobility still, how after three months when the pain had mostly receded and I started forgetting it existed would be the time I re-hurt it playing with my kids. Then again throwing something. These days even just from putting coats and backpacks on (gotta do that left arm first now I'm learning - I didn't realise just how strong 45 years of motor memory could be)
Enough blabbering here... I'll put it in a dragons lore somewhere in proper descriptive prose ;)
Thanks again

@gn0me I'm really glad that this helped relate to you in some way. Chronic pain really isn't anything to scoff at, and the difficult part of it also comes from the paranoia that maybe you're overreacting. Maybe you're only feeling this pain because you want to pity yourself. Maybe the people that surround you don't actually believe that you're hurting to begin with. And if they don't really believe that you are hurting, then maybe you are overreacting.

I can say that you are not overreacting. You aren't hurting simply because you look for pity--you're hurting because your body is actually damaged, and it's trying to compensate for that on a daily basis.

A few years ago, I banged my knees against a few corners, and ever since then, I can't sit still for long periods of time. I can't keep them bent for too long, and I can't keep them straight for too long, either. I miss being able to have my cat on my lap for hours at a time without having to move. When I sleep, I often sleep with a pillow between my legs, because they just hurt to press against each other. The cold is a welcome relief in comparison to the heat, and every time something presses right over my kneecap, I jolt back because if it pushes hard enough, it hurts.

That sort of pain isn't something that just goes away. You can forget it exists for a period of time, but it always ends up circling back around in one way or another. It doesn't fully heal--and maybe it never will--but it doesn't invalidate your hurt, and it doesn't invalidate your feelings of helplessness towards the situation. The best that can be done is to try to figure out how to work around it while being mindful.

Your life isn't over even though you frequently hurt--it's only changed, slightly, become somewhat more inconvenient. I can't imagine how people with much heavier, much more chronic pain must struggle with coping, the kind of pain that never, never truly goes away.

Writing is a method of catharsis. Drawing is a method of catharsis. So long as it doesn't hurt anyone, I'd encourage anyone to use those means to process what you're struggling with in your life. You're not the only one going through those issues, and maybe doing so will not only make you feel better but will also help make you and others a little less lonely.

Of course, you're not obligated to post absolutely everything about it onto the internet! If it feels better for you, writing for just yourself is wonderful, as well!

As an aside, I think that it was the pulling of the muscles and the tendons after the bite that caused Elessar's afterpains. I mainly avoided writing about it because I didn't want it to be too graphic in that regard. =w='

I'm sorry for rambling, but it does reassure me to know that it related to you in a positive and understanding way. I wish you the best in spite of everything--you're so much stronger than you know!

[center][quote=July 26 2021][font=century gothic][size=5]The devil has wings too, y'know.[/size][/quote] @Nightlilac @magiritsa @goldrush @naranciag @sunwolf @fennecfox21 @sanzang @Hemmalaya @stolen @MaybeHuman @simplyonewinged @kimnoodles @daffydil @finnamony @MittensTheKitten @kawiikatz @Peachycupcake525 @xSTORMDRAGONx @Inkwyrm @TheGrayGhost @moonstrucksmorns @CatInDisguise @DriftingDreams @Xuelian @Mercurythewolf @Pinkish13 @SkySerenade @pandakitty1 @PuppyLuvr06 @shr00mlightz @AllHailWebby @Hyzenthlaay @Illusia @AwkwardTrash @LavenderSelkie @wolfdragon3036 @StarryLune @ulvesang @styygian @Orodruin @Crizona @Lavend3rDragon @PeacefulPyro @PinkRose06 @SocklessWonder @Tumbleweeds @Wyrmlight @fuzzysherbet @Quilava2010 @AlterZero @DewFeather @LapisWings @SouthernHawker @Mistwhisker @Neon126 @darcyrambles[/center]

@gn0me @Wyrmlight

First, Wyrm - I love your new username!

I also love this whole discussion both of you have had. I definitely agree that it's very useful to write and to draw from your own experiences. Trundle was in part pulled up because I found the wonderful wheelchair skin for her, but written too because of my constant ankle problems, which I managed to mess up even worse this past spring. I'm now in awe of the immobile community here that they don't do more public transport protests... It is HARD to get around this city when the smallest obstacle is another moment of fear to get by.

If writing is your medium of expression (I assume that the case of everyone here), then it's super important not to pull away from exploring those things in writing. Trundle frightens me a little, the internet world is not kind to people expressing experiences differently than they do, but for me she is an absolute darling that helps both to keep in mind the difficulties I had (and in part am still having) to be compassionate, as well as to go over the fears that these ankles will one day permenantly make walking difficult, if not impossible altogether.

That said, embarrassingly enough, I can't find what writing piece you two are talking about! Can one of you kindly link it for me? I want to read it now!

[quote]The devil has wings too, y'know.[/quote] stained white paper adorned in black letter. this ink is smudged, these lines are blurred. this flesh in the pages, in between the empty pure untouched spaces and the trails of the pen. the unknown in-between where the colors intermingle and a line of fantasy is drawn to separate monochrome symbols.