[lysander]

I DOUBLE POSTED SORRY !!! MY FORM IS LATER

[scottermite]

username: tinytin
name:
gender:
happy place:
res :)

[f1owercrown]

x

________________________________


x

“What do you love about this city?”
It was the question Cole could not properly prepare for, but his words and his heart just spilled out.

Cole loved the tall buildings that reached the heavens. The nth floor of these skyscrapers accessed
the vast, breathtaking view of the city from above, as if one were a bird flying through the tops like
jungle treetops. Cole felt like he could fly.

Cole loved the monorail system, the airport, and the bridges that accented to the city. It gave a sense
of a bustling, busy city. Many would say there were one too many people, but that’s what made him
feel alive, as if he were living in the moment. Cole felt like he was important.

Cole loved the parks and the smaller buildings around the city. They each had a story: parks were built
for serenity, where people whose schedules made their lives pace too fast could slow down; libraries
were chock full of imagination, where adventures took place in one seating; coffee shops smelled of
nostalgia and the sense of comfort, where friendships and romance began. Cole felt like there was
so much to life.

An architect by nature, Cole loved gazing at the city from afar, like a painter taking a step back and
looking at the bigger picture. All these little things melted into one beautiful, picturesque view, and
Cole favourite place to overlook the city was northwards on a hill beyond the surrounding lake.


username; f1owercrown
name; Cole
gender; M

song;
Designer Skyline
by Owl City

extra;
Why is there a marking
of a skull on your tail?

design format; x


main prompt; [247/250]
extra; [150/150]


x



_____________________

[necropoliis]

username:
name:
gender:
happy place:

Mark!

[䏠xote]

username: iceypopCS
name: diane
gender: female

happy place:

diane wakes up long before the sun.

she'll drag her aching body out of bed, and curse under her breath at the stiffness in her hip as she struggles with her clothes. she'll hobble down the hall, and slip on the scuffed industrial books kept by the door. she'll step outside into the frigid morning air, and care for her animals, going slowly.

eventually, the movement will ease the pain of her aging joints, and by the time the sun peeks above the pines, she'll have finished her morning tasks and be heading back to the house. she'll go inside, but only to fix herself a cup of strong, black coffee. when it's finished, she'll go back out and sink back into the rocking chair on the porch--her favorite place in the world. she'll relax, sipping her joe and watching the sun climb into the sky, far beyond the reach of the forested hills of the horizon.

as the chickens meander through the yard, searching for more of the seeds, she'll rock her chair slowly. her loneliness will ebb, if only a fraction, and the ache of her body will be a vague memory. she’ll forget the things that she regrets, and her problems will become distant in that sacred place.

finally, when her mug is empty, she'll peel herself away from her chair, and she'll shuffle back inside to start her day.

she'll return to her safe haven again tomorrow, just like she always has.

extra:

diane rocked slowly, her eyes closed, letting the light of the early morning sun wash over her. it warmed her, seeped into her aging body and loosened the coils of stiffness in her joints, and she breathed a heavy sigh.

there was nothing she enjoyed more than this.

as she took another sip from the mug in her paws, the door creaked open. ghost stepped outside, squinting at the sun as it glinted on the black band around his ankle, the little red light on its surface blinking. after a moment, he moved wordlessly over to the chair next to her, sitting down and placing the mug in his lap. one hand hung over the side of the chair, and, as ghost sat quiet beside her, diane's free paw found his own.

he didn't shy away. he held her back, closing his eyes, squeezing her paw affectionately.

this was fine.

[christina.]

res with walk in the woods

[artemis,]

dropping

[yinsum]

┌─────────────┐

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ＲＵＮＮＩＮ'...........ＤＯＷＮ
────────────────────
...username: sekiuchi
...name: jun
...gender: male
...etc: 400/400 words
...etc: [ 250 + 150 extra ]

────────────────────
ＴＯ ＴＨＥ ＲＩＰＴＩＤＥ！
│
│
│
│
│
└─────────────┘

have you ever been to the cliffs by the sea?

where, you ask? it’s not far, per se— if you could walk on the invisible bridge of air, it’s a mere hundred paces from the seaside township of mhora. if you climb onto the thatched roof of your house, face the ocean, and turn three-quarters to your left, you can see the towering grey-blue cliffs that hang over the churning aquamarine water, masked by the burn-white of the forest that went up in flames a half-century ago.

people tell stories about the cliffs by the sea. legends scrawled with an attractive hand in books with a shroud of dust as thick as the book itself. books where the writing has faded out, books where the pages are wrinkled with water stains, books where the pages are torn and those other books where the writing is blotted out by an angry hand.

legend has it that the cliffs by the sea were once smooth, planes of yale blue, cliffs that scintillate when struck by the rays of the sun. then, a dragon with claws sharp as diamond and skin that rippled like the seabed on a sunny day came, holding onto the rock face as the ocean tried to pull it back. every fifteen centuries it comes back to try to escape the ocean again, and that day the waters will be clear and the blue will leave the rock until it’s nothing but stone grey.

jun thinks today is one of those days that come every fifteen hundred years. clouds hang low and heavy, wreathing the cliff in a halo of fog, but he can see the waves that batter the stone is almost a steel blue. click. takes his eye away from the viewfinder and he thinks he glimpses the legend’s dragon— but he’s not fast enough to catch it. a blink and it’s gone.

he almost can’t see out of his glasses, lenses thick with condensation. click, click. his bangs clump up with humidity in the air, in the clouds as he licks the backs of the photos and presses them into his notebook. the lined pages are pliant, almost wet but not wet, and the ink bleeds when he brings his camera up to take another photo of the heaving waters.

perhaps one day if you visit the cliffs— perhaps you’ll see him.

.....jun, and his camera.

[appiesauce]

res !

[fruitvale]

username: coolwhipp
name: agnes
gender: male
happy place: res with the local library !