Hi, I’m Larka (she/her). I’m 25 and fairly new to this community, despite sitting on the sidelines for a long while, so I’m sorry if I seem shy.
I’m a Greek Mythology enthusiast, comic book (mostly DC but Marvel is cool too) enthusiast, and a warrior cats fan in denial. I typically write YA stories and have tried lots of genres including fantasy, historical fiction, sci-fi, mystery, post apocalypse, and horror (though I’m admittedly a bit of a baby when it comes to horror). I like writing a wide range of characters, personalities, and LGBT+ characters as well! I currently have a few WIPs that I’m hoping to get out there and share.
Bit of a procrastinator, as getting the motivation can be a challenge. There have been many a failed nanowrimo in my time writing. Though I’m hoping with a fun blog, I can try to stay consistent. I’ll mainly be posting about my WIPs, OCs, some aesthetic/moodboards, and maybe some snippets of my writing here and there. Plus reblogging any fun things I see or am interested in!
I’m a little nervous but I’m eager to join this community and follow some new people. Please don’t hesitate to ask me things.
I also have an Ao3: VoiceofLarka where I try desperately to write all the fanfics that fit my self indulgent thoughts.
Current WIPs:
The Hunter’s Attic: (status: plot planning) Supernatural Mystery story involving an unwilling protagonist being shoved into the business of hunting monsters on a mission to discover what killed her aunt.
Forging Olympus: (status: first draft) A Reimagining of Greek Mythology that follows the rise and fall of the Titan Kronos and his kind.
The Eighth Sin: (status: revising plot) YA Apocalypse story involving a group of high school students as they desperately try to survive again the undead.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
He was ready. That's what Bruce kept thinking to himself as he sat at the round table. He was ready, and they had to be too. After everything they'd been through. Years and years of mental preparation had brought him here. Kept him sane.
In reality there would be no right time or moment to lift the cowl and expose himself. There wouldn't be a time to pull someone aside and reveal his identity in a way that wasn't awful. So he had to rip the band-aid off. Just say it. Wait for his opening.
"Are we still sure it's not Luthor?" Barry asked, staring pointedly. "All this money being put into making rockets and a space station seems incredibly Luthor-like."
"Then why isn't his name on it?" Ollie asked. "You think we'd be seeing that giant L slapped over everything."
"Luthor probably would want to explore space," Arthur mumbled from his seat. "Never mind Earth hasn't even fully explored the ocean yet."
"Do you want Lex Luthor in the ocean?" Hal asked.
"No, I live there."
Clark huffed in his seat, looking flustered. "I told you it wasn't him. I would know if Lex was up to something."
"Are you sure?" Barry asked again, and Hal joined him in the stare down. "Last time you said he was behaving, he tried to run for president."
"No no no," Hal chimed in. "The last time he said that, Luthor tried to buy Twitter."
"How was I supposed to stop that?" Clark bristled.
"Superman couldn't," Hal said. "Clark Kent could've."
"What? No?"
"No he has a point," Ollie nodded. "Clark Kent could've done something."
"No he could not!" Clark slapped the table. "I mean he couldn't. I couldn't. Batman, help me out here."
"It's Bruce."
There. band-aid removed. He was free. Now what were they talking about again?
"Bruce?" Barry blinked. "Like Bruce Wayne?"
This was going well. "Yes?"
"Bruce Wayne is our bad guy?" Barry asked.
Wait.
"I knew it," Arthur said. "Never trust a rich man."
"Aren't you the King of Atlantis," Hal asked.
Bruce's jaw clenched. "No I-"
"Bruce Wayne is evil," Barry leaned back in his chair. "But he always seemed so nice."
"I mean he is from Gotham. Everyone's kinda evil there," Ollie shrugged, adding. "No offense, Bats."
"I-"
"What does Bruce Wayne have against space?" Clark looked offended. "Are there no orphans in space?"
"Hey..."
"As someone who frequents space, I have plenty against it," Hal said. "But jeez Spooky, that's gotta suck for you."
Bruce stared at the table, grimacing. This had taken a sharp left turn. Why did he open his mouth? He should've waited longer. He leaned forward putting his head on the table. To keep the redness from his face.
"Batman, I can literally hear your heart pounding," Clark leaned towards him. "Are you okay?"
"Of course he's not okay. He just found out he has another super villain on his hands!" Barry reached over, patting him on the shoulder. "It'll be okay. We'll help."
"Please don't help," Bruce mumbled.
It was too late. They were already making plans. Bruce groaned into the table. Maybe it was better to put the band-aid back on.
Was working on a Justice League fanfic where they're all knights and I seemed to have turned Hal into a very petty, very extra man. I think it's what he deserves.
Was working on a Justice League fanfic where they're all knights and I seemed to have turned Hal into a very petty, very extra man. I think it's what he deserves.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Haven't been very productive, but even the ridiculous stuff is progress. So here is my Werewolf Pack from "The Hunter's Attic" I made using Artbreeder!
Left To Right:
Paisley, Sheryl, Theo
Hunter, Velvel, Brett
Xander, Opal, Bianca
"I remember my first one," Sarah mumbled, flipping his jacket over to check her seams. "He was this old man, all bent over and shrunken. One of our neighbors, across the street, you know where those brick houses are? My father found him outside our fence. He, um, he couldn't get at us. But he tried."
Justin watched as she worked. It was hard to really talk to Sarah. There was always something about her that felt unapproachable, despite her seeming so friendly. It was like anything you said to her had to be vetted by someone else. You always had to watch your tone and mind your words. Like talking to a princess. Justin couldn't manage more than a hum and some half-hearted gesture for her to continue.
"He just kept coming at us. Even though the gate was locked. It was like," she frowned. "Well you know what they're like. They don't stop, they don't care what happens to them. You can't even scare them off."
"Well," Justin started but Sarah wasn't finished.
"And the worst of it was that, they still looked like a person. Maybe a little troubled, but still a person."
"What, um," Justin watched as she tied off her thread. "What did you do?"
Sarah made a sound, a closed mouthed laugh, like he was about to be scolded. "We didn't do anything. One of our neighbors ran over, and my father made me go inside. I don't know how they got rid of him exactly. I just know they did, and I don't think I care how."
Sarah Powers, otherwise known as "Sad Eyes Sarah," is a gentle, older girl who's family works and lives in the large church close to town, with her father Daniel as it's Pastor. She's rather meek, which lets the adults around her take advantage of her aversion to confrontation. Sarah is often used as a babysitter for all children under the age of ten. She is also a seamstress and cook. All skills picked up to please those around her. Really, she is a sweet girl, but she always seems in over her own head, unable to ask for help. One only wonders what it will take for her stand up and say "no" for once.
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can there be more fun fantasy books for adults? emphasis on fun?
it’s great there are so many stories for young readers about kids and teenagers having adventures and saving the world. I love that! but the desire for magic and wonder doesn’t go away as you age, and I’m tired of this pretense that fantasy geared towards adults has to be dark and gritty and edgy. adults want to escape too! we also want heartwarming stories about magical worlds and grand quests, where characters we relate to save the world and learn important lessons along the way! we want stories that fill us with wonder and hope, stories with happy endings, fantastical worlds that contain more joy and goodness than suffering and cruelty. we still want those stories! give us lighthearted fantasy for adult readers, gosh fuck it
A continuation(?) of this other royaltycore piece I wrote. Once again inspired by @inky-duchess
It's nearing evening as we walk together across the garden. The gentle chirp of insects and sway of trees gives it all a less lonely feeling, though with Sebastian it's hardly ever lonely. I take his arm as he leads me up a step, teasing me gently for my heels that wobble with uncertainty as I make my way up to join him.
"Not all of us can be shy of seven feet," I tell him, feeling the heat reach my ears.
"Of course not," he says with a shy smile. "But you cannot be so easily bothered by every jab at your height. It's not my fault you're more rodent than lady."
I give him a prodding between the ribs, and he hisses in reply. "Any lady would have your head for such a comment."
"Would you?"
"No," I frown. "But I have half a mind to."
"My apologies."
I hear the drag of my skirt against the stone path, and Sebastian's comment makes me grimace. The other ladies always seem to glide like fog across the ground in their walking gowns, while I crawl like a common garden snail. Posture, Lyle always tells me. Graceful posture.
I must make quite the face, as Sebastian slows his stride to look at me. "Something troubles you, my lady?"
"Oh no," I wave him off. "Only thinking."
"Fine night for that," he says softly. "I wonder what the nights will be like in Opsana."
My pace slows at the thought. His trip to the principalities will be soon, where both land and sea will part us. How many more nights will I have with him? How many more walks? How many more jokes at my height?
"I'm sure they're warmer," I say softly, picturing the map in my mind. So far south to the territory shaped like a bird's head. "You will write to me, yes?"
"Certainly," Sebastian says. "So long as you write back."
"And you won't get yourself into trouble?" I ask, a little more firmly.
"I'm the king's bastard, what more trouble am I worth?"
"Bash," I warn him.
"Yes, of course," he pats my hand. "I certainly won't go looking for trouble."
I sigh, the relief obvious. He jumps at the opportunity. A cat with a tired mouse.
"If trouble should strike first however, I cannot say what would happen. Or what form it would take. Perhaps if trouble has red hair. I always liked-ouch."
I remove my elbow from his ribs. "You really should practice speaking properly. How will anyone take you seriously?"
He frowns at me. "I can speak properly."
"Well certainly not around me, you don't."
"You're the only one who doesn't mind a little cheek here and there."
That brings a smile to my face, though a part of me thinks his brazenness around me should be dissuaded. We walk for a while in comforting silence, and I watch the leaves skip across the path with the breeze. The air is cooling quickly, and Sebastian eyes me. Those curious, concerned eyes.
"If it's too cold here, we can return."
I shake my head. "I like the fall air. It's inviting."
"If you say so," Sebastian shrugs, a quick jerk of his shoulders. "I won't miss it."
What will he miss, I wonder. When he's so far away, doing the bidding of his father and brother. Speaking a language not his own, breathing sea air not his own. Will the sun tan his skin more than it is already? Or will it streak his sunset hair with rays of gold? Will he stop smelling of pine and blackberry? I close my eyes, trying to shy away from my own mind, though it is unsuccessful.
A droplet hits my nose, and with a sighing breeze, the sky releases her rain. Sebastian starts, pulling me quickly behind him, but something in me stops. He tugs on my hand as he moves on ahead. His eyes are curious, concerned.
"What is it?"
"Must we go inside?" I ask. "It's only water."
He stares at me. "My lady, your gown."
"Only fabric," I tell him, already feeling a growing dampness around me. "I've never minded the rain. Let's not retreat just yet." He owes me so much more time.
He studies me, and I watch those curious, concerned eyes. He's thinking of a reply. I can see it plainly. He wants some sort of excuse, but he has none. Finally, he lets go of my hand and gestures for me to take the lead. I step back, looking up at the moving dark clouds overhead. In the twilight, they almost blend with the sky; a murky painting bleeding slowly across the canvas, but moving all the same. The rain is refreshing on my face. It carries the smell of the sea, or at least my mind imagines it to. I turn on the toe of my shoes like a dancer, and if I hadn't been so weighed in crimson layers, I would leap across the yard, spinning and twirling like the fair-folk in the meadows. Putting a show on for him. Instead, Sebastian watches my strange and silly waddle across the yard, my little spins, dragging my gown behind me.
He says nothing, but makes no attempt to stop me. Simply watches as I raise my arms to let the water race down into my sleeves. He lets me enjoy myself, a silent observer. Though as the rain begins to pour with more force, he steps forward to take my hand. I spin into him, and he receives me. Rain runs down his face, flattens his sunset hair. I notice the whiskers returning to his chin. Will he have a beard the next time I see him? When he returns and I am wed, and we have been apart so long we have no knowledge of each other. The though hurts me. I cannot turn my gaze away from his chin. His lips.
"What is it?" he catches my attention and I'm forced to stare into his eyes. Those curious, concerned eyes.
"I don't want you to go," I say softly.
He is silent for a moment. But it's only for a moment. He takes my face in his gentle hands, the calluses of his fingers rub against my cheeks.
"I have to," he tells me, as if he's never explained before. "The nation-"
"Oh damn the nation," I say suddenly. "What has our nation ever done for men like you?"
He stares at me. He's thinking of a reply. I can see through him.
"It allowed me to meet you," he says simply. "A vicious weasel in red taffeta."
I huff, veiling a laugh. "I've always felt more of a stoat."
"Is there such a difference?" his face is so close. If I could only be taller. If I could only reach him. "I must go. There is no other option. All we can do is enjoy the time we have left."
"How will there be anything to enjoy?"
He frowns, his fingers brush my hair behind my ear. "We will find something. I'll do anything you ask of me, my lady. Whatever would make you happy."
Whatever would make me happy, when the one thing that would give me joy is unobtainable. He must leave, and I must not see him for years and years. I fear I'll forget his face. That he'll forget mine.
"You'll do anything?" I ask him, as the sky growls above us.
"Anything."
"Lean."
He does as I command, and finally, my lips can meet his. I pray I do not forget his face, but I can never forget this.
"I can't leave, I'm being herded," Sasha said, staring at the dog at his feet. "If I try to leave this square she gets very angry."
"Dude," Damian's tone was a warning. Just the sound of it made Justin stand at attention.
"I'm serious," Sasha kept his eyes on her. "Watch okay? I'm in the square. The square is safe, and when I walk out-"
Sasha jumped backwards from his spot, and the dog shot up from her spot, barking and rushing behind him. Her jaws clamped onto Sasha's pant leg and tugged, pulling him back into the the chalk square. Again he tried to walk off, but the dog wasn't having it, circling and jumping at him to get back in the spot. Any movement had the dog's attention. It would be almost scary, if the dog wasn't so little.
"She thinks I'm a sheep," Sasha laughed, bending down to scratch at her ears. "You think it's because I'm wearing white?"
"No," Damian said. "I think she recognizes an idiot that needs handling."
Sasha Rooney is another one of Justin's friends. The 16 year old is a bit of a wild...eccentric type. He's not the brightest of the group, but incredibly fast. Useful for when you have to outrun the things trying to eat you. He tends to get himself into trouble, requiring Justin and Damian to bail him out. His morbid curiosity will be the death of him, they're sure. You can only get away with sneaking out so many times before it finally comes to bite you.
Sasha lives with his grandparents. Sometimes Justin asks him about his real parents, but Sasha changes the story about them each time. Wherever they are, their real fate can't be good. Though Sasha seems to believe they'll come back for him someday. Here's hoping...
Damian was still perched in the driver's seat, illuminated occasionally by the flash of clouds. He was hunched over the taped up steering wheel, and in the dark Justin thought he looked like a gargoyle. It didn't look like he'd moved in hours.
"Thunderstorm," Damian glanced up at him in the mirror. "Looks far away though."
Justin sat up, climbing his way up into the passenger seat. "Are we still stuck?" Damian gave him a look, that made Justin rethink his question. "Are we getting unstuck anytime soon?"
"They said they'd bring the other truck here. Unless you want to walk."
"No," Justin rubbed at his face. "You could've woken me up. You don't have to keep watch alone."
"It's fine. You looked like you needed it."
"Thanks, mom," Justin flinched as Damian reached over and smacked him in the chest with an audible thump.
Damian Lamar is Justin's best friend, and the person he turns to when he needs a commanding voice. Damian was part of the football team with Justin before the world crumbled, and as a big, square shouldered guy, he has a domineering presence. People are much more likely to listen to him, which makes Justin a little envious.
Damian is pretty reliable and responsible, though he can be a little overbearing when it comes to the safety of the group. It's probably better to follow his rules instead of trying to argue with him.
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"We'll be adults soon enough," Justin huffed as the heavy bag shifted forward and backwards, unsure of how to settle on his shoulder. "All that means is trading these chores for harder, more dangerous chores."
Damian frowned, watching the guards changing shifts. They could hear their big booted footsteps over the metal barrier from here, "Yeah, standing on the wall all day is a death sentence."
"Okay, mostly dangerous chores."
"No," Damian's tone was like scalding water. "I mean look at them. That's serious stuff. Maybe they'll get sunburnt."
"Okay, alright," Justin kicked at him. "I misspoke. Jeez."
Justin Saley is one of the four primary narrators. He has recently turned 17. Gentlehearted and maybe a little naïve to the way the world has truly changed, Justin believes the world is going to go back to normal soon. He has to believe that, otherwise life is only going to get more daunting and miserable.
He is often put in charge of chores, being seen as the most responsible of the older teens. This comes with a lot of weight as it's a little hard to get people to do what you ask, when you don't have that commanding of a presence. Justin relies heavily on more assertive friends to kick the other kids into gear. The older he gets, the more he needs to find his voice. It's easier said than done.
"We'll be adults soon enough," Justin huffed as the heavy bag shifted forward and backwards, unsure of how to settle on his shoulder. "All that means is trading these chores for harder, more dangerous chores."
Damian frowned, watching the guards changing shifts. They could hear their big booted footsteps over the metal barrier from here, "Yeah, standing on the wall all day is a death sentence."
"Okay, mostly dangerous chores."
"No," Damian's tone was like scalding water. "I mean look at them. That's serious stuff. Maybe they'll get sunburnt."
"Okay, alright," Justin kicked at him. "I misspoke. Jeez."
Justin Saley is one of the four primary narrators. He has recently turned 17. Gentlehearted and maybe a little naïve to the way the world has truly changed, Justin believes the world is going to go back to normal soon. He has to believe that, otherwise life is only going to get more daunting and miserable.
He is often put in charge of chores, being seen as the most responsible of the older teens. This comes with a lot of weight as it's a little hard to get people to do what you ask, when you don't have that commanding of a presence. Justin relies heavily on more assertive friends to kick the other kids into gear. The older he gets, the more he needs to find his voice. It's easier said than done.
