Hello and welcome to our blog!! This is a personal passion project of ours that weâve been working on and developing for the past two years.
Chrysalis is an in-progress hurt/comfort web series, with act I currently in process. It will be co-written by the both of us, and aims to update at least twice a month. All writings, meta, and art will be posted to this blog. If anything seems of interest of you, feel free to check out some of our writing below, or send us an ask. We love interacting with people.
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ohagi â any prns â @ohagany
WRITINGS.
THE GARDEN OF EDEN ââ Atlas ZieliĆski is a child soldier that has served Eden, an all-powerful governmental organization, all his life. But when he discovers that everything he thought he knew of the company was a lie, he does the only thing he can think of. He runs. [Incomplete]
EXTRAS.
BACKSTORIES ââ An assortment of pre-canon pieces. Can be read separately. Updates as we get the inspiration for it.
BONUS CONTENT ââ Moodboards, playlists, meta rambling, etc.
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I think you should write about atlas getting beat as a punishment in his training days. It probably isnât worth it using corporal punishment for all the trainees but itâs for the whump ok
i like the way you think.
little drabble that takes place while atlas was still in eden. he was about fifteen here !! ft. cato of course :)
CW âș Minor whump, corporal punishment, humiliation, multiple whumpers, living weapon whumpee, carewhumper, institutional abuse, grooming, kneeling, intimate whumper
· â ·â¶Â· â ·
âSorry.â He chokes out. âIâm sorry.âÂ
Heâs on his knees. Keeled over, nails digging into his thighs. Typically, they would tie him up. If he were anyone else, he already would be. But he knows better than to fight. Take the hit, swallow the blood. Kneeling feels good, natural. He would never dare resist it. Heâs meant to be down here. He understands. It calls, something within him, a buried, deep-rooted desire. Beneath them, bent over. He knows, with long standing clarity; itâs only right.Â
âIâm sorry,â he repeats.Â
Blood drips from his nose. Steady, persistent. His front has been spotted by it, a smattering of dark red, fresh. He can feel it drying upon his face, cracking along the curves of his lips, the dip of his chin. Itchy, stretched thin when his expression twitches and the mask slips. He blinks back the waves of emotion, swallows away the sudden urge to reach up, swipe the wet from his face, dare look them in the eyes. He doesnât. He only swallows, adams apple bobbing, lines drawn between his brows. A minute change, enough they cannot punish him for it. Head bowed, a dull pulsing through his skull, where fist met skin, he reckons with it. This beating. Blood on his clothes, pooling steadily along the traces of his hands, curving around the black ink etched against the skin. Dipping in the ridges between vein. He bit down on his tongue when the first hit came. Itâll ache later, with the bruises around his eyes. Red, blue, green, then yellow. Heâll apply concealer to them in the morning with tense fingers, pretend that none of it ever happened.Â
Punishments are only a collective of seconds, minutes, hours. A punch to the nose, fingers curled around his bicep. The rake of a whip. He can take it. There are sixty seconds in a minute. Three thousand six hundred in an hour. He can manage that. Punishments rarely will last longer. Not here, in the light, menâs eyes glaring down at him. He is in the open, blood on his face, something sore aching in his back, and yet. It is all entirely tolerable. An hour reduced to minutes. Minutes reduced to seconds. Only time. Time, before the promise of an end. Something soft. He doesnât cry, nor does he shake. He does not argue, or resist the pain. He takes it, face turnt down; ready, pliant. Itâll all be over soon, thatâs the important part. What really matters. He waits it out. Take the pain, bite your tongue. Repent for all that has been done, that he ever will doâ
Boot to cheek. His head swings to the side, an involuntary cough escaping his trembling lips. He shudders. His hair is undone, comes down in straight, dark rows along his face. Heâs suddenly fortunate for it. He doesnât want them to see it, the shock of the blow. The fear that wracks his body, barely contained, even now.Â
No, thatâs not right. He couldnât give a shit about them.Â
Itâs her he cares about.Â
She stands at the edge of the room, away from the mess. The men have blood â his blood â on their boots, their pants, rubbed against their knuckles. Itâs on the floor, a ring of red that encircles him in his spot, knelt down, shameful. She doesnât dare touch it. Watching, separate, glorious. She has her arms crossed over her chest, eyes trained onto him and him alone. There is something pristine about her, even now, in all her fury. Oh, sheâs livid. He knows it. Feels it, felt it, the moment she dared allow him within her presence. She is rarely so angry with him. He must have done something heinous to upset her in such a way. He canât be sure. The details have begun to escape him. Catoâs eyes on him, nothing else is relevant. Beaten down, vulnerable, as she watches on. And she does not attempt to stop any of it.Â
He guesses he should feel betrayed. Hurt. She promised him no pain, she promised him protection. But he knows he deserves it, in one way or another. He always does. Itâs humiliating, more than anything, that they called her down here. Watching, the disappointment written along his swollen skin. He wishes she would cast her gaze away. He wishes she would leave altogether. To fail her⊠why, there is no comparison on all of earth. Her disappointment washes over him, the prickling of pins against his cheek. Disgust, bared against his soul. He shivers on the pure weight of it. He wishes to shed his skin, to bend further, press the tip of his forehead to the bloody, cold floor. He wishes to atone for all it is he has done to anger her. Plead with her for forgiveness. Sitting in it, allowing it to fester. Lead in his blood, poison in his sore mouth. Thatâs what really fucks with him.Â
âIâm sorry,â he repeats, quiet.Â
Peeking through the fringe, quick, catching glimpses at twisted expressions, the second shot of the backside of a boot. A metallic taste in his mouth, neck pulled taut, head knocked backwards. He gasps, fists clenched. Controls his movement enough to not knock flat, but not enough that they lose the satisfaction of the flinch, the instinctual snap. Itâs all about the performance. Give them something to revel in. Breathing, uneven, to regain any sensation that isnât the harsh cut of pain.Â
âStand up.â What he doesnât expect is for her to step forwards, speak through the silence. An interruption, cutting through the satisfied humming of the handler, the soft, pained gasps that come from out of his chest. Its far too early. The act hasnât been played out, the apologies slipping past his teeth. The sorryâs repeating, persistent, until they become unintelligible and meaningless. His form slipping, slipping, slipping, pushed just to the edge. She presses a hand to the curve of the handlerâs shoulder, moves him out of the spotlight. Her heels click, resounding, against the harsh concrete. Something satisfying within it. Her fury is the low roll of the tide, the ebb and flow of the waves. He can feel it, dimmer. More controlled. Thereâs a predictability to being in front of her, kneeling, bleeding. Just waiting for her own graciousness. Heâs come to expect it.Â
He clambers to his feet, swaying a second by the sudden motion. Steadying, just as quickly. Heâs grown taller than her by now. Just barely a few inches, but enough that when he looks into her eyes, he no longer has to look up. He hasnât lost any of the reverence, despite. Just being within her company is enough to send a chill through his spine. She is God. Heâd do anything for her. Really, he would.Â
She grips him by the jaw, forces him to meet her gaze. Thereâs blood streaking down his cheek, still, and he suddenly feels terrified by her touch. He wishes not to taint her, stain her by the reminders of his own disobedience. Thereâs something evil about it. But she doesnât seem to mind, holding him in place, unrelenting. âYouâve disappointed me.â She speaks, clear. âDo you understand why?â
He goes to nod, remembers she has him in her grip. He opts for a quiet âyes, maâam,â instead. The notion is kind of ridiculous in itself. He rarely calls her maâam. Cato, yes, but never maâam. Their relationship has never been so stuffy or formal. He knows, still, its what she expects. He reads it along her features, anticipates the hit if he fails to perform. She holds him carefully, but not gentle. This is not over yet. And he is to know it, too.Â
âI expect better from you,â she says. Her eyes are dark, piercing. He finds them magnetizing, on better days. A wonderful contrast, silver tech against her own flesh. Something beautiful. So close, he cannot help but feel like she is peering into his soul, reading the thoughts inside his mind. He cannot hide anything from her.Â
The grip on his face tightens. That flare of anger is back, alight in her eyes. He flinches, instinctively. Bites himself for it. Never resist.Â
âWhat do you say?â She grits out.Â
âIâm sorrââÂ
Heâs slapped. It all happens so quickly that he doesnât expect it. The nails embedding themselves into the soft of his cheek lessen, touched ripped from his skin with a startling severity; the force of the hit replacing it, a second wave of pain. He almost thinks it came from her. Almost. If not for the fact that sheâs never slapped him before, and never will. That, and the fact she steps away, the indistinguishable face of the handler moving in, a replacement, features sharpening. The grin of a beast, a flash of teeth. Bright red tinging his vision, something sharp along his tongue. A breath being knocked loose.Â
âSâsoââ
Again, harder. He sucks in a breath, foot sliding as he tries to regain his balance. Straightening, eyes dry, muscles tensed. Back straight, hands folded out in front of him. Perfect form. Understanding comes to him, slower than it usually would. Heâs dizzy, almost swaying on his feet. The blood leaking from the side of his temple has left him unsteadied. His certainty is far away, distant. Something else has begun to take its place.Â
âSorry,â he repeats, automatic, breath hitching.Â
The hit comes, and heâs ready. He holds still, keeps his head facing straight. She snaps at him anyway. âSpeak.âÂ
âIâm sorry.â Voice calm, even. Apologies flow out of him easily. He can give them readily, more than anything else. He could apologize to her until his voice went out. Even then, heâd find some way to make up for it.Â
The handler slaps him again. His cheek has begun to throb. Reddened, he wouldnât be surprised if the handprint has been marked across his face, like something disgraceful. Ugly.Â
âIâm sorry.â He speaks, again. âIâm sorââ Smack. âIâm sorry.â Smack. âIâm sorry.â Smack. âIâm sorry. Iâm sorry.â Smack. âIâm really sorry. Iâm sorry. Iâm so, so, soââ
Smack.Â
Itâs as his voice cracks, that she puts her hand up. He wants to flinch at just the sight of it, suddenly afraid, doubtful, that she will hurt him too. That the promises will be broken, as his promises were, when he landed himself here. When he disobeyed every other thousandth time, earned himself the crack of a whip along the length of his bare back, or a steeltoed boot to the ribs. Anything, really. All that he owes her, and all he has done to fail. He thinks sheâll truly let him feel it, an ounce of her fury. But she doesnât. She speaks again, quieter. Dulled out. âStop. Go.âÂ
Itâs all said so quickly he thinks itâs meant for him, the sudden dismissal. He figures sheâs become so angry with him, disappointment burning so deeply, she cannot stand him within her range of sight for one second longer. But it is not he who moves, it is the handler, with hard fists and cruel eyes, that steps back. Faithfully obedient, dog on a leash. Just as he is. Footsteps receding, moving with the same fast pace in which they came. The doors shutter closed, a distant booming, silence following.Â
They are left alone. Quiet.Â
âAtlas,â she says, softer this time. Cato breaks the charade. Master and student. Son and⊠well, heâs not quite sure, is he? Sheâs an enigma. Whatever she is, and whatever he has been molded into. Fuzzy, now. With the spots of his vision, the distant rush of blood in his ears. Something unreal about it all. But none of it matters, really. Because then she is stepping closer, cupping his cheek, her lips pursed, and he forgets all that had to do with it. Her touch is gentle this time, just as heâs come to expect. Thumb brushing against the raised skin there, smoothing away the blood. It stings, still, the good kind of pain. The one he likes from her. Wiping at his reddened skin, surveying him with that soft-eyed stare, her head cocked to the side. Thereâs always been something private about it, special. No one has ever looked at him in such a way.Â
As if heâs something magnificent.Â
âDoes it hurt?â She asks. Itâs more of a whisper than anything else, like she does not mean to be heard. But he knows better, at least he thinks he does. He never truly can be sure the true meaning of her words, of any her actions. Itâs all so confusing, grappling with her distant emotions, her secret desires. He wonders, silent, if this is a trick. Did it hurt? Was it supposed to?Â
âYes,â he chokes on the word.Â
Her expression darkens, approving. Releasing him, she nods to herself. âHm.âÂ
the events of her childhood are kind of vague to me so iâll try to answer to the best of my abilities. she grew up in a relatively impoverished area. this is pretty common, but especially for around where she lived. her life was kind of bland and uninspiring. she was home schooled up until high school. her parents were alive & well but very strict and emotionally absent. for most of her life it was herself, and her older brother, the favoured son. i imagine around when she was twelve, maybe even thirteen, that her youngest sister was born. she had a lot of involvement with taking care of her and even more-so when their father died around the time she was eighteen. she took night classes out of high school as well as juggled dead end jobs to help support the family. overall iâd say it wasnât the best environment but not the absolute worst!!! i imagine she was raised close to washington and stayed there as an adult. not far off from where she eventually takes atlas.
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this is long overdue. weâve both been thinking about this for a few months but hereâs an actual in-depth post explaining appearances and mutations. wren and atlas initially looked more humanoid but weâve leaned into the âalienâ thing that is supposed to be fairly prominent. just focusing on primary characters here (atlas, wren, alastair, jeremiah, ira) but others will be explained later :)
anomaly / metamorph. metamorph is a name these creatures have been dubbed, officially, within edenâs records, though most who are aware of their existence know them as âanomaliesâ. their origins have not yet been determined by scientists and it is unknown when they came into existence. more info on this will be revealed later. their population is small in comparison to that of humans but their numbers grow steadily. as their existence is kept secret by the world governments, most anomalies are taken by eden when they develop their mutations and/or special abilities before they reach adulthood. though certain other organizations also keep close watch on anomaly appearances and remove them from human society as well. thereâs a large market on the import & export of them.
ATLAS ZIELINSKI
type // aura-based.
mutations // sharp upper canines, resembling fangs. large, round eyes, that are similar to something like an owlâs. violet irises as well as violet veins. brown markings around the eyes. pointed ears.
x the mutations manifested at birth.
talked about atlasâs mutations a while ago and have drawn him a few times like this!! basic description would be to say atlasâs eyes look similar to an owlâs. i donât know fully how to describe the vision i have in my head.. his eyes to me are mainly very uncanny valley. itâs off-putting to look at. specifically i think he has very large pupils and they kind of focus and defocus like a camera lens. also his eyes are glow in the dark. his pupils appear red at night.
his ears are sharp and very pointy though i donât think they would fully look âelvishâ at this point; in the sense that i think theyâre very noticeable but not as large. iâm very inconsistent about this when i draw them but i imagine they were much larger when he was younger and he kind of âgrew into themâ in a sense.
his right ear has been cut and reshaped to look very blunt and almost human-like in appearance but immediately from looking at him you can tell its scarred. itâs kind of mutilated and the cut was very jagged and lopsided. while at eden he wore a kind of silver covering on it to give the allusion of symmetry.
WREN CHUA
type // illusionist
mutations // silver antennae. large, round eyes; resembling a bug. a formation of âgillsâ directly behind their ears. raised skin, in swirling patterns, along arms and legs.
x the mutations manifested both at birth and throughout puberty.
x hides mutations behind illusions. these illusions are passive and subconsciously done to blend in with humans but can come undone if theyâre not careful.
wren has gone through their biggest changes recently!! their mutations are meant to resemble bugs the most. their antennae, which are silver & white protrude from their forehead. they glow when their powers are in use and are flexible and move frequently. i imagine they tense up when theyâre scared or excited !! theyâre very expressive. similar to a mantis antennae though a bit more alien-like in appearance. they started developing these when they were probably 10-11 but i imagine if you felt around on their head before that there was a very miniscule bump before they came in.
and their gills, which i canât really describe as anything other than gills but wouldnât classify as an aquatic type. thereâs these slits behind their ears that kind of expand out and have a furry texture to it, like a mothâs antennae. but fanning directly out of their skin if that makes sense. i think these feelers there could also look similar to a maybugâs. kind of these spindly fuzzy antennae-looking texture. these also serve as an air filter than cleanses polluted air as they breathe. and these gills can act as a conductor to heighten their senses, namely hearing and smell.
ALASTAIR CADWALADER
type // [redacted]
mutations // elongated fingers. translucent skin. darker blood, glows. feather growth around wrists. [redacted].
x the mutations manifested at birth and in early childhood.
alastair's skin is not entirely unordinary looking but it is faintly translucent. movement under the skin is more noticeable as well as his veins which are colored by a significantly darker shade of blood. this lucent effect is made stronger by direct moonlight. also enhanced by the moonlight is his faint glow. in dark or still places, alastair has a faint, blurred glow around him. it is not colored but rather enhanced by the natural colors around him. this is barely noticeable unless he is directly under the night sky. alastair's fingers are also longer than expected from the average human. long enough that it is noticeable and slightly uncanny but not incredibly abnormally so.
he has small clusters of feather growth along the interiors of his wrists. sometimes they grow slightly onto the heel of his palm as well. he has also found sparse, stray feathers in other places on his body. alastair plucks all feathers he finds regularly.
JEREMIAH CADWALADER
type // elemental.
mutations // extra bones.
x the mutation manifested at birth.
jeremiah has developed no visible abnormalities. his only mutation is a small system of bones and joints in his shoulder. where his shoulder connects to his back, rather than a broad, flat scapula, like a person would normally have, he has an extended system of bones in his back, connecting to a smaller, bird-like scapula. below his clavicle, taking the space of where a normal scapula would be, is a working set of joints and bones built like that of a bird's wing. because of this, his range of motion is broadly more flexible. he also has an extended reach with these extra parts. this mutation does not prevent any kind of muscle growth in that area.
disclaimer: his bones are not the size and density of a bird's, they are regular people-sized bones, proportionate to the rest of him.
IRA MAWAR
type // elemental
mutations // a metallic growth within their body. takes on a more alien form when their powers are in effect.
x the mutations developed mostly around childhood and later puberty.
ira is fairly humanoid, and especially was when they were younger. most of their mutations developed around the age of 13-15 and levelled out beyond that. they have a metallic coating to parts of their skin, specifically their nails and fingers, which they were born with. their eyelashes are silver, and of a thicker texture, kind of like snowflakes have formed along them. places around their cheeks and eyes has begun to turn metallic as well, and they have metallic shards sticking from their eyebrows and the bridge of their nose. the best way i can describe this is looking similar to body modifications, but actually being a part of the make-up of their face, kind of like a bone. i imagine their bones themselves are much much harder to break and they would have to be significantly weakened to inflict easy damage on them in that sense. she also cries a more metallic substance!! related, i think her blood would be red, just much much darker.
when actually activating her powers she can tap into what i can simply describe as a âfinal formâ. she looks more alien here, and i think the bone structure of her skull would be subtly more prominent if this makes sense. when in this state her skin takes on a purely silver form, and she is left indestructible. she cannot be cut nor can she bleed, though i believe things like her eyesight would be more easily distorted and blurry.
â other characters will be added as theyâre introduced :]
hiii. this is mainly in relation to arc i but especially the first half (as up to ambrus, which is what i consider to be the transition point, was written entirely in 2023). a lot of things have become outdated as result. this is by way of having an ever-changing project !! anyways.
â first thing i felt was worth mentioning was designs. more detailed post coming later but very slowly weâve been committing more & more to the ânon-humanâ concept. lol. shouldâve talked about this more in depth from the very start but itâs better late than never. i feel like emphasizing the alien thing more and more as its so absent!!!! aaaaa. ohagi and i will make an more descriptive post on atlas and wrenâs actual appearances as theyâre the two redesigns weâve been working on the most lately. probably coming next, maybe even later today. donât know & not making any promises. important thing to note here is that wren frequently uses illusions throughout early arc i when atlas & them are more integrated with regular society and not on the run. they have human disguises, basically. this will be more relevant later.
â another note about appearances. atlas and ira are significantly less alt now. i made their designs firstly before consideration of their environment and it just makes the worldbuilding and immersion suffer in consequence. atlas doesnât have dyed hair anymore!! his hair is much neater and tidier and just much much longer. it has a kind of wavy texture and a purple hue to it. ira has messed around with it before so i imagine heâd have a few layers to it but itâs mostly unnoticeable. in eden, he wears it in a long braid and its kept out of his face. i imagine he still has tattoos as thatâs just something part of the culture in eden but i think theyâre more specific to eden than himself. the ones that are designed by himself are definitely more easy to hide. ira has a few piercings but atlas does not. iraâs hair has always been cut very military style. buzzed. it hasnât changed since she first arrived at eden.
â relating to eden, atlasâs overall freedom is left vague. amending that here! overall he was monitored very closely despite having a softer control over his actions + lesser punishments than ira. when wren meets him in arc i, he has been relieved of most of his regular duties due to gearing up for evaluations, where he was meant to meet with the other higher-ups of eden. he wasnât going on missions and had a looser schedule, though i think some of the others in his rank had much stricter regulations. he was allowed out in the halls without a handler watching over him at all times etc. he had more control over his own training hours but had to be making insane hours pretty much every day. there was a lot of studying on his own time and again, training. both of which he neglects badly. (related, iâve been outlining a fic which will go more into his punishments in general. severe physical punishment was very rare for him at this stafe. he gets off from cato very easily for this reason & at the start of chrysalis it has been nearly 3 years since he was last whipped.)
â ages have also fluctuated vastly but i think weâve finally settled on them. when introduced, atlas is 16, wren is 14, alastair is turning 17, and jeremiah is turning 21. related to the timeline, atlas and wren meet in mid-september. when they meet alastair, itâs just about november.
getting characters into world-endingly intense codependent queerplatonic relationships is literally what life is all about. it is literally what we were put here on this earth to do
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kind of metaposting here but iâll allow myself today. iâve been in a very very talkative mood lately and the Big Reveal has finally happened. iâve been waiting months for that.
the actual politics inside the universe here actually havenât been too prevalent and aren't really for the entirety of the first act. surprisingly. the plot is by nature more focused on the world within eden and godâs chosen that the actual complications between humans vs anomalies isnât spoken to. atlas and wren are both pretty deeply immersed within this side of their world so by nature itâs not something that comes up a lot. i keep wanting to make a joke post about this but wren is a commie and atlas is surprisingly not very politically attached lol?? but he was a fascist. is he still a fascist. everyone discuss.
anyway despite wren being a rebel the politics attached to their actions arenât as relevant currently. this is of course due to them 1) being extremely naive & underprepared for the actual weight that is attached to their actions and 2) atlasâs involvement in their cause. their initial goal was to infiltrate eden and immediately begin leaking information to other informants with an overall higher audience + better connections than they had but with the sudden target on their back this kind of becomes delayed. their new plan is to stack up as much info and take down as many eden bastards as they can before leaking it all #yolo. back to my initial point. atlas has had a very isolated experience and isnât attuned to the political structure of their society outside of eden. he has been basically hand-fed an idea of how the world exists and works and just. believes this. heâs really really sheltered and it doesnât help that his experiences beyond eden were also very very isolated and cruel
segue !! anomalies are not widely known/understood. best way i can classify them is alien (descended from aliens) but i donât really want to go too deeply into that. there is a lot of media intervention to hide the existence of anomalies and keep them out of the publicâs eye. a lot of this is of course in relation to eden. human vs anomaly politics are a huge driving force for many characters main motivations and of course what led to the existence of both eden and the congregation of the chosen. i think jeremiah is the character with the most in depth understanding of this currently but his own perspective is also the most skewed. anomalies have essentially been forced into underground spaces/hiding for hundreds of years (their population was sparse and isnât as massive compared to overall human populations) and trafficking is very very common. anomalies specifically are a large source of profit for the government and keeping them hidden from the publicâs eye benefits them very much.
out of the main cast atlas and jeremiah are most reactionary in relation to these politics. ironic considering the own roles they played in both eden & the congregation of the chosen !! i mentioned this in an earlier post but atlas doesnât like humans/isnât fond of the idea of them. he grew up inside eden as apart of a project that was relatively metamorph-focused. the only humans he interacted with on a day-to-day basis were his handlers (who he associates with hurt) and cato (who he associates with comfort). i alluded to this mostly in dreamstate and revelations but he is the direct cause of the religious fear that is tied to anomalies. jeremiah on the other hand has grown up completely isolated from humans. their church resides just past the human town, close enough for him to have an understanding of what they were but far enough for him to never meet one face-to-face. the churchâs politics here will be more expanded on later but i felt it worth noting that atlas has been most involved with human affairs (minus wren of course) and his fear is most connected to his own experiences vs jeremiah who has grown up in an environment that both actively revealed the realities of being an anomaly in their society as well as used an us vs them mentality to groom him.