[Bovidae]

The simplest way to explain them? Deersserts are deer with a twist! While the specifics vary from deer to deer, they all have a few things in common. Deersserts have muscle, skin, fur and bone, but they are described as tasting like sweets. Their scent lingers so much that hides carry a fragrant scent even after death. Instead of fluffy tails, they have a pouf of whipped cream or ice cream [depending on the deer!] with some manner of fruit on top.

sooo this deerssert is for the people who, like me, had a less-than-stellar valentine's day, or for you people who still had a good v-day but like angsty sad characters anyways. this one is black licorice/black cherry flavored (in all honesty i don't know how this would taste since i just came up with that based on the colors lol)
now for the contest part: i'd like you to write a story about how this deer became so bitter! extras are fine as well as long as you have everything asked for on the form.
if you hate the braids, you can change the hairstyle! i'm not really going to restrict how you change it too much as long as it's the same color and has the same bangs.

Code: Select all

[b]Username[/b]
[b]Deer's name[/b]
[b]Gender[/b]
[b]Brief personality[/b]
[b]Story[/b]

OWNED BY MULTIPLEDINOSAURS

[Novi]

reserved with the name Obsidian x3

[cacticollie]

Username mehingan
Deer's name Wednesday
Gender
Brief personality
Story
i love all of your deer omf i can't help myself
awkward outline before formatting hahaha
songs ; x x [url]x[/url]

[epimetheus]

reserve with the name maybelline - magigirl, she/her
making a website form - will be revealed closer to/on the end date

[Rivkah]

x
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username :: Rivkah
deer's name :: Hecate
gender :: female, but with
both masculine and feminine
representations of herself.

brief personality :: Hecate fancies herself to be a dark, mysterious, and independent young lady, who has little need for love and couldn't care less if anyone showed any interest or not. This exterior obscures the naive child that she will always be. Her bitterness is not created due to her own heartbreak, but from the sorrow of the only person who had truly ever meant the world to her: her mother. Because of the incident, she refused to touch "love" with a fifty foot pole, and regards happy couples to be weak and masochistic, enjoying the pain and drama that comes from romance. She lives under the false assumption that love is poison, but the little girl who used to believe so freely in it is still deeper within her, hoping someone might come along.

story :: Every child finds love to be a pure thing, precious, better than anything else in the world. They find it first in their parents, watching the pecks between them and being on the receiving end of some of them. Crawling into their bed late at night with nightmares, only for them to selflessly bring them close, wrap secure arms around them, and kiss them goodnight.

I, as every child, worshiped my parents. My mother especially; she was pretty, intelligent, and I found myself wanting to be like her when I grew up. I would put on her evening dresses sometimes, swamped in satin and her sugary scent. I would slip my tiny toes into oversized heels and clomp around like a disoriented dinosaur, heaving one foot after the other before she would catch me, sweep me up, and laugh, playfully scolding me. Sometimes I would filch her jewelry and put it on in front of the mirror, same with her makeup. And as always, she would laugh and scold upon catching me, only to get her lipstick and show me how to correctly apply it, pretending I was a princess the entire time. She was my world.

She and my father had a rather flexible Valentine's tradition. He would pick me up from school and take me to the store to help me choose the bouquet we thought my mother would like best, always opting for something other than simple roses, because my mother was not a simple woman. We could grab a box of chocolates and stick one of my hand-drawn cards inside, with a heartfelt note from him. We would come home and greet her, and then I would either be handed over to my favorite babysitter so they could have an relaxing evening out in town, or we would have a family dinner-and-a-movie setup. They would take my tiny sleeping body upstairs once I passed out toward the end if this were the case, and they would enjoy a glass of wine and dessert before bed. It was always perfect, extraordinary, and I didn't mind if they spent the evening without me, because they were in love and my babysitter spoiled me.

When I was ten years old on Valentine's Day, I ran from the front doors with my homemade card in hand, only to be greeted with the most foreign of sights. My little Mary Janes skidded on pavement as I braked abruptly, ruby eyes trying to process the change. My father's convertible was gone, replaced with my mother's minivan, and instead of my father leaning leisurely upon the hood, my mother was sitting in the driver's seat, mascara smeared and hair disheveled. There were bags under her eyes that hadn't been there when she dropped me off at the front steps of the elementary school that morning. I willed my leaded legs to move, shuffling nervously over to the car and climbing into the front seat with some difficulty. "Honey, you're not thirteen, back seat," my mom said softly, the tears in her voice obvious. I didn't argue like I usually did, teasing her about getting to ride in the front seat of my father's car. I just obeyed, dumping my bag on the floor and clutching the card nervously.

The drive home was long and filled with a tension so thick it suffocated me. My twin braids, usually swinging and buoyant, laid flat and morose against my flat chest. Mother braided them in the morning as I ate breakfast, and my dad would tell us a story before going off to work. Whenever he tried to braid them, he'd miss a plait or tangle my hair, and my mother would swat him away laughing so she could repair the damage. I tugged at them nervously as she led me from the car to our house as if walking to a funeral.

I don't know what I expected. My dad was sitting on the couch, looking weary and skittish, and when my mother slammed the door shut behind me, both of us jumped. Mom's lower lip trembled, and I noticed that the kitchen was full of things, half-cooked food and ingredients abandoned. Some of the flour had tossed onto the floor, and there were broken dishes in the corners, obviously having been thrown. Had mother been attacked? But she didn't have a scratch on her. If anything... my father looked far more battered.

"Mommy, what's going on?" I murmured softly, tugging at her dress, almost too afraid to ask. My father turned his head away grimly, bracing himself. My mother's entire figure struggled not to burst into tears, trembling violently, and she mumbled, "Daddy... Daddy is going to leave us." "Darling, don't be so blunt with her -" my father started, and then my mother snapped harshly, "Don't. Don't you even dare. She's not stupid, and I'm not talking about this with you anymore. We came to the agreement, you're leaving." My mouth fell agape, and I looked at them both in shock.

"Daddy... he... well..." My mother explained, before jerking her head away, tears rolling down her face as she struggled to keep her face from breaking. "H-He found someone else, honey..."

Confusion was fervent in my mind. I had seen the dramas on television that my mother would watch while cooking; the soap operas where two people that loved each other would break apart because the one had been seeing another lover behind their partner's back. My mother had assured it me it was all fiction, and that things like that rarely happened in real life, that it was just to make the audience worry about the couple and add to the plot of the show. I didn't see how such a thing could happen with my own parents, and certainly not on Valentine's Day.

"Darling, I didn't mean to -"
"To what? To hurt us? The very second you made the decision to go off with that blonde witch, you hurt us. You shattered my trust, you hurt our child. I don't want to raise her with someone so unfaithful and dishonest that I had to find out, not from you, but from our next door neighbor."

The words were jagged, and not only did they pierce him deeply, they pushed so deep into my mind I almost broke down entirely. My father reached out as if to comfort me, but the combination of my expression of horror and my mother's of venom made him snatch it back as if worried it would fall off his wrist. He grabbed a large travel suitcase from the end of the couch and walked past us, head down. "I-I'm staying at the hotel, like you wanted. I'll be back in a week to collect anything else I need immediately." As he headed out the door, I was assaulted by the sound of my mother's sobs. Once she had dried her tears, she sniffled and told me, "Mommy's gonna make us sandwiches, okay? I know you love those, Hecate."

That evening, we had eaten in a morbid sort of silence, and then my mother had cleaned glass and china from the kitchen floor so I wouldn't be hurt, sweeping flour and other spilled ingredients up and putting everything away. She had afterwords given me ice cream and as we spooned it into our mouths, sitting on the porch, she had explained to me what divorce was and that she and I would be living on our own now, away from my father, because she didn't trust him around me. I hadn't gotten any sleep that night, and I had ended up crawling into what had once been my parents' bed to comfort my sobbing mother.

That Valentine's Day had taught me something very important; even those you find most important or angelic in your life will betray you, and love is an illusion. It is so easily broken, and it is so easily lost, and those still within its prison are left in pain and misery as their betrayal walks away just fine. I spent the next eight years alone with my mother, watching her struggle through the bills, get a nine-to-five job, and fervently avoid any hint of romance that any man threw her way.
Gone were the impressive dresses, in were the business skirts, and while we were still happy together, there was a chasm, not between us, but around us. We stood on pinpoint, surrounded by infinite drops and with nowhere to go. It was a vicious cycle, and we held hands through it all, despite how scarred both our bodies and souls were.

Love is nothing. Love has lost all meaning in my mind. It's a cruel joke, and I'm not going to believe in it ever again.
Not like my mother once did.

[indebted]

Awkward mark because this bab=gorgeous

[crashkeys]

ⓤⓢⓔⓡⓝⓐⓜⓔ
Nui Harime

ⓓⓔⓔⓡ'ⓢ ⓝⓐⓜⓔ
Celeste

ⓖⓔⓝⓓⓔⓡ
Female

ⓑⓡⓘⓔⓕⓟⓔⓡⓢⓞⓝⓐⓛⓘⓣⓨ
NOTES

Good lair

Dark

Stand-offish

Observant



ⓢⓣⓞⓡⓨ

ⓗⓞⓑⓑⓘⓔⓢ

>>♚ Into the supernatural

>>♚ Loves fairy tales

>>♚ Loves to sew

>>♚ Has an interest in Hairdressing

>>♚ Has a knack for acting

>>♚ Cat freak

[Queen Vivane]

Giving up, no time to do anything

[TinyEldritch]

Username
Minneu
Deer's name
Catastropic
Gender
Female
Brief personality
Outside:
Irritable I Mean I Smart I Sharp-tongued I Defensive I Weird I Creepy I Sarcastic
Inside:
Sweet I Rejected I Curious I Upset I Kind I Funny I Bouncy I Adventurous
Story

W . I . P

[Sullivan Maurus]

: Username :
Amxen no.XV

: Deer's Name :
Noxumbra
Combination of the Latin words Nox and Umbra, which both mean darkness.
Prefers to go by Nox.

: Gender :
Agender
No pronoun preference. Female pronouns used in the story.

: Brief Personality :
Cold|Kind|Bright|Loving|Dreamer
I may seem cold and unemotional. However, I am very kind and loving. You just have to get on my good side, and stay on it. I am very bright when it comes to problems, and I can solve them in a flash. I am a big dreamer, so I tend to dream of the future and the past rather than live my life now.

: Keep The Hair Or Change It :
I might change it to a single braid with a bird skull or silver broken heart holding it in, rather than a bow.

: Story :
I knew a doctor once. He was ever so kind. However, he never showed at the park that evening.

Nox often watched others play outside, or just going for a stroll. She was not aloud to venture outside without an adult. However, her elder, which is a good family friend called Lea, is often not home. Nox's parents died years ago from a mysterious illness. That very same illness is back again. Lea is assisting a young doctor with his house visits. No one currently knows the doctor's name, nor do they know the name of his companion, a young raven. Nox sees other doctors come in and out of various houses. She knows them all by name. She waits to see her favorite doctor and her elder. Finally, she sees them emerge from a house down the road. The doctor had bite marks on his leg. Not bad enough to leave a scar or make walking difficult. Still, they seemed painful. Before Nox knew it, she heard them knocking at the door.
WIP