Yo what’s up? Hudié takes the stage

Age: 22 years old.

Description: 6ft, jet black hair from which dazzling blue eyes shine under. He has emerald butterfly wings that fold out from his back, effectively allowing him to blend in with the normal human.

Personality and skills: He is seen as quite knowledgeable and able to become friends with people easily, demonstrating his skills in leadership just by being himself. He wields diamond edged daggers that allows him to effortlessly portray his agility and prowess in combat. Being part butterfly allows him to taunt enemies from above and serve as a distraction for comrades to get closer. He has enhanced reflexes and speed that gives him command of the field as he leads an elegant dance of pure killing intent. Nothing he does is done in anger, as he stays calm, cool and collected even in the depths of hell.

Backstory: Born to Musa Chan and Chiao Chan, two legendary members of the guardians guild, Hudié was orphaned after the battle of the gates in 2002. He is taken in by Chief in his early years, before joining the guardians China guild, where he was posted to Shanghai. During that time he rose through the ranks and was invited to join the international division of the guardians guild, where he later has a fated encounter with Xero. He visits his parents graves every year, on a hill beneath a cherry blossom tree.

Current story arcs: Hudiè joins the international division of the guardians guild and meets Kyubi, and shortly after, Xero whilst intervening in an attack on parliament and begins to work side by side with the latter. The two gradually start to get closer until-

Hudié begins to form a close bond with Xero as he helps him on his quest to fight the Demon king. He also has a love hate relationship with Kyubi.

Hudié is a mystery, even to me, but he is the backbone, the rock, the light for all.

Enter Xero!

Age: 20 years old.

Description: 5ft 8inches, brown hair that falls over his eyes, hiding the mismatched colours of one yellow eye and one red. He has runes carved into his skin.

Personality and skills: He is seen to be shy and of few words, however his intelligence allows him to outmaneuver his enemies and push them into a corner with his powerful magic. Being part human and part demon allows him to manipulate and create the elements to cast magic. He has enhanced abilities that allow him to achieve reflexes and physical skill unlike humans.

Backstory: Born to a human mother and the king of demons, whilst in the womb he was bonded to a lower demon Daevidens. after his runes were cut into him by his father, the demon took over and killed his mother. A few years pass and the king of demons raises his mother from the dead to birth His Sister Melody. Xero was then taken to the human realm and abandoned. during his travels he meets the chief who sees extraordinary talent in him and guides him on a path to become a guardian. Xero grows up in england for a part of his life before meeting Hudiè.

current story arcs: Xero meets Hudiè whilst intervening in an attack on parliament and begins to work side by side with him. The two gradually start to get closer until-

Xero also meets and befriends Kyubi and Hawx other members of the guardians guild. His wish is to defeat his father and rescue his little sister Melody.

My OC’s coming soon

I’ve decided to upload the bios and backstory for my OC’s to my blog so be prepared to meet the ever adorable and energised kyubi, the mysterious entity simply known as The Writer and more!

P.s sorry I haven’t posted in a while, this year has been rough going but I’m finally back in the saddle and hoping to post more😁💜

‘Reading since Dawn and writing till Dusk’ the quote of motivation.

O’Christmas Tree!

All was bright, on the merriest night,
The tree was decorated head to toe,
With presents galore down below,
No mouse was stirring, not a sound could be heard,
The dog was dreaming, chasing the birds,
The sacks lay full, the stockings hung,
From the chimney was dust, and then he sung

Ho Ho Ho! Christmas has begun!
On dasher and dancer, till the last one!
Prancer and vixen, only mince pies here I’m afraid!
The carrots are to be delayed, so don’t be dismayed!
Christmas has yet to start, but I know from the bottom of my heart,
We will finish under the cover of dark!

The mistletoe was hung with care,On every door to be fair,
The baubles shimmered and shined,
As the clock struck midnight and chimed,
Inside was candy canes, outside was empty lanes,
A silent night for those tucked in, a busy night for heroes awakenin’,
The children slept, as dawn arose,
From first light, the rooster crows

Christmas is here!
Can you hear me loud and clear!
Leap out of your beds, run down the stairs!
Presents await, from sweets to cuddly bears!
Christmas is now, don’t ask me why or how!
I know it’s untimely, but now is a time for family.

Autumnal fog

This post is from a collection of short stories that revolve around a protagonist and slowly become connected by unforseen events.

It was cold when I left the house early this morning. The sun had yet to peek it’s weary head out and the darkness lingered like an unwanted guest. Shutting the door behind me I came face to face with the thick blanket of fog that prevented me from seeing any further than the end of my driveway. A clear representation, I thought, of my clouded mind, which had stared at blank sheets of paper since the early throes of last night. So I had decided that a walk was needed to stimulate oneself and to end my procrastination before I turned stale.

The fog was a chilling embrace of wet drizzle and miserable grey. Despite that, I quite enjoyed the delicate sprays of icy dew that caressed my exposed arms and face. I began my walk. I had chosen the nearby hill to escape to, and left early so as to bathe in the light of the sun as it broke on the horizons.

Walking down the quiet and empty streets, like that of a haunted town, I had a ridiculous pleasure of imagining to myself, courtesy of the sudden appearances of buildings. Is this what babies experienced with such joy when born, the sudden appearance of a face looming over you out from the white canvas? A chuckle parted my lips at the incredulous idea. The laugh echoed dully down the foggy road.

Suddenly, from ahead, I began to see the departure of houses and the introduction of plant life, brown and crisp in the autumn winds. The shrivelling leaves were laden with droplets of water and the grass was gleaming in the waxy light of the moisture they were shrouded in. The flowers had withered, the petals dried and cracked, and the tree’s leaves had begun to fall at even the lightest touch of the breeze’s gentle hands.

A shimmering haze of yellow began to shine from out of the fog. Like a pair of eyes it cut through the fog getting brighter and bigger with every passing second. Along with it was the steady roar of an engine. I had seen the lights and heard the car before my eyes had been able to set upon it. The vehicle raced out from the fog and down the road I had come from. The car soon became engulfed by the fog again, swallowed effortlessly whole.

Not long after the car had passed me by, I drifted off the path and began making my way through the wilting greenery. All that was left was the ascent to the top of the hill shrouded in fog. It was here that I noticed the weather had grown warmer, the fog receding further from me, relinquishing me from its chilly embrace. All was still and silent, apart from the soft crunch of the grass beneath my weary feet. It was as if the fog was a wall of dense clouds capable of blocking sound from reaching my ears. A circle of seclusion, all invited but none given directions to join me in its hazy touch.

Ascending up the hill, my feet occasionally slipping on the slippery grass beneath, I could begin to hear the voice of nature emerging from the depths of the fog. Birds chirping, leaves rustling raggedly in the withering trees, a general hum of mother nature shaking off her cotton blanket and stretching her luscious locks. I could even hear the rhythmic tune of a woodpecker drilling it’s home for the winter. One beat, two beats, then a rapid flurry before returning to one beat. One, two, flurry, one, two, flurry. It echoed out across the awakening hill as the ground began to level and I arrived atop it’s domed peak.

The sun had just begun to break the crest of the horizon. It’s amber glow full of warmth and vitality. I stood bathed in its ray of light, eyes closed, heat seeping into every part of open skin. The fog had cleared, and so too had the clouds in my mind. I stood silently, gazing upon the world below before returning the way I had come, my mind now filled with words ready to be placed upon paper. A sudden image of Yuki flashed through, of a cold dark room, a room of ice, and blood.

The Candle 🕯️

The amber glow illuminated upon the darkened walls. The light flickered and danced on its black tapestry of night as the heat slowly liquidised it’s pristine body. The flames of scented lavender melted it’s once snow white exterior into a waxy moon waning yellow. with every passing second the glow of life cried tears that splashed against its smooth round body, before hardening in small ugly lumps that disturbed the symmetrical beauty it once prided itself upon.
The luminescence that once waltzed across the pitch black canvases, began to dim as the embers began to withdraw into the depths of its once cylindrical soul. Now it withdrew into the waxy cream prison that surrounded it. The aroma of lavender wafted through the dimmed room, swirling round the prison.


We all lose someone we love in life. But it’s how we remember them that is most important. Some keep belongings, or photos that hold blissful memories of those we cherished. Some plant trees or order benches, so they have a haven to reminisce the good old days. Many mark the day, by celebrating their loved ones lives, and by coming together as friends, family or colleagues.

Grief is different. For each and every person. For some, it creates a stream of endless tears and sadness. For others a pit of despair and pain that threatens to engulf them. In that time, family, friends, co-workers, even strangers are the light in the dark that gives us the strength to carry on. They tell us ‘It’s a hole that will never be filled, so fill it with the memories, the tears, the laughter. Fill it with love’.

Departure. Sounds like a goodbye. A departure is a ‘we’ll meet again’. A departure is a fork in the road, a road that joins back up later down the line. It’s a don’t be sad, think of the good times we had. After all, the people we love never truly leave us. They stayed etched in our hearts, ingrained in our memories and the places we visited. They are our will and strength to keep going, to make them proud…

…until the day of our Departure.

Yuki II

I don’t recall how long I stood there beneath the falling snow, gazing at the elegant lady before me. In fact, I don’t recall ever leaving. It had felt like a dream, so vivid, so real, yet impossible. Which brings me to my conclusion, I must go again tonight. I had been unable to concentrate since last night, the vision of those cold Azure eyes emblazoned upon my irises.

The sky was adorned with the glittering stars, and the moon hung low and luminous over me as I walked towards the park. There was a crisp scent coming from the freshly laden snow which had continued to fall until just short of midnight. Now the ground was a white canvas of snow, which softly crunched beneath my footsteps. The air was frigid to the point I had decided to don gloves before leaving the house, and the oxygen I enhaled was sharp and icy.

Despite the snow blanketing surrounding environment, spring had begun to make it’s presence known. The pink petals of the cherry blossoms had started to appear amongst the branches of the leafless trees that lined the dim streets. Another sign of the returning spring was the rythmic sound of drumming, a woodpecker, hard at work marking it’s territory even in the depths of the night. I looked to my watch and began to quicken my pace. She had appeared just after midnight before but this time I was behind schedule. I turned the corner, my heart full of desire and fear. Would she be there? Or was I turning senile, worked to the bone and losing sleep on these fruitless strolls?

She was there, her Azure eyes shining out from the shadows of the park as cold and uninviting as the last time. Her white hair seemed to glow even more than the luminescent snow beneath her bare feet. She seemed more solid compared to last time, where I feared even the most delicate of touches would have caused her to crumble to dust. Now her dress was made of thick voluminous white velvet and, for the first time, I noticed her hands were pale and smooth.

Struggling to maintain my composure and my senses, I looked either way down the vacant street before I crossed over to her. Closer to her. The air turned colder as I got near, almost as if the freezing atmosphere exuded from her. I was enthralled once more, the houses behind me disappearing from my mind, the darkening park winking out from existence. All that was, was her, as she began to raise her hands. I dared not breath as her silky smooth hands caressed my face. Her touch was cold and spine tingling. It was as if she was examining me, curious as to what the creature before her was. I had not realised that she had moved closer to me, although I vaguely recalled a scent of pine wood before she brought her lips to mine, and the world went white.


It was a cold night in march when I first met her. I had been restless most of the evening, stuck at my desk staring at a blank page, when I decided I would go for a walk. Having donned a snug enough jacket, I ventured out into the cold air.

The sky was a twinkling landscape of stars, signalling the first clear night I had witnessed in a while. My breath was a shroud of frost as I exhaled, the frozen air particles seemingly dancing upwards to greet the stars as I walked beneath the dim lights that illuminated the quiet roads. In the distance I could hear the faint chime as the town hall clock struck midnight. The witching hour. The hour where I dream beyond my wildest imagination of mystical creatures, of vampires and vegan werewolves, a time when the impossible and illogical becomes reality.

The fresh icy air had done me well, the headache I had had all but evaporated. By this point I had reached the local park, it’s normally vivid green grass submerged in darkness, uninviting. Even the sky seemed to replicate the gloomy atmosphere, for the dazzling stars had winked out of existence, replaced with the swirly grey of snow laden clouds.

And then I saw her. It was as if she had materialised from the shadows of the park. Her pale skin luminated the area around her, and her pure white hair fell long and thick behind her. But her eyes, I will never forget her eyes. Sparkling like that of an Azure blue sea but as cold an uninviting as the park behind her. I was enthralled by her beauty, for in that moment she did not feel human, nor alien; she felt magical. Her clothing was made of a thin velvet and matched the colour of her hair, from top to bottom, and she was barefoot. I stood and stared from the sidewalk, the two of us seemingly unaffected by the laws of time and space when-

The first snow began to fall.

Night Crawlers

18+ only! may not be able to viewed by those under this age.

Have you ever had that feeling? The feeling of being followed down a dark alley, the feeling of invisible hands caressing your skin. The feeling of curses whispered in your ear or the receding silence as you walk below a lamp post? This is a sign of the Night Crawlers, creatures of the night who feed on flesh and delight in nothing short of paralysing fear.

Picture it. You have left the glow of the bustling town as the bell strikes midnight. Only the cold autumn wind surrounds you as you head to your home on the outskirts. Suddenly, you feel it, like plunging into an icy lake, a presence. You stop, looking around you in trepidation, only to be greeted by the creeping darkness and the sound of creaking branches. You continue to walk, slightly quicker now, eager to be home in the warmth and safe. Behind you the darkness surges forward, pursuing you. Then you come across the inviting glow of a lamp post, one of few dotted along the dark path home. With the light comes a sense of relief. The sensation of eyes watching, staring at you from the dark has ceased. Composing yourself, you venture out from the halo of light and continue onwards.

The hairs on your arms rise, but you put it down to the cold wind that rustles through the old oak trees. A shiver runs down your spine as the feeling of being watched returns. You imagine being leapt upon from the darkness, of a blade plunging into your heart, blood spurting out as a serial killer cuts you into tiny snippets of flesh. You spot the warm glow of another lamp post and start to run towards its safety. Behind you the darkness growls in fury, reaching its finger like tendrils across your body, hissing curses into your ears as you rush to the light. In your haste you trip and fall to your knees beneath the flickering gleam of the lamp. You clamber to your feet and look around in sheer terror. You are rooted to that spot, looking out into darkness. Darkness, not Night Crawlers.

Remember what I said? The feeling of being followed down a dark alley? Keeping you safe. The feeling of invisible hands caressing your skin? Trying to stop you from falling headlong into danger. The feeling of curses whispered in your ear? Warnings to stop, to turn around and run. The receding silence as you walk below a lamp post? This is a sign. I Never said they came from the darkness. Nor did I say they feared the light. The silence around a light is a warning of the Night Crawlers territory. A flickering light means it is watching and waiting, for its next meal.

As you stare out into the darkness, the Night Crawlers creep out of the light and hover silently above you. Even beneath the light, their facial and bodily features are obscured, and no shadow appears to alert you to the impending death that awaits. The only body feature accounted for is a thin spiked tail, that slowly slithers down to your head. The light flickers out. You scream in darkness as the tail wraps around you, impaling your body and snuffing the strength from you. The scream is cut off as the tip of the tail plunges down your throat. Then a slimy ooze begins to secrete from beneath the scales of the tail. On contact with your clothes, they begin to fizz and spit as they dissolve. Meanwhile you can feel the slime sliding down your throat burning your flesh as it eats you away from the inside. Unknown to you, the tip of the tail of a night Crawler is a mouth. The bodily secretion is used to liquify your flesh to make eating you simpler. While that is happening, the tail continues to tighten around your limp body, causing your bones to splinter and shatter. Its not known when you died in this process, but the next day the news reported that the husk of a female had been found beneath a lamp post, impaled all over, blood drained, bones reduced to dust. The outer layer of your flesh is all that’s left, nothing more than a shedded skin.

The Night crawlers are long gone, never far from cities or bustling towns, but always waiting, luring, their next meal into the light. Next time, someone might listen, might accept the creeping darkness over the assumed safety of the lamp posts… but whoever said they just lived outside?

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