quiet mind [♧] private, artpop

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  • [fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;]this is terrible,, i'm sorry[hr]Tino's little body is very, very little in comparison to ShadowClan's territory. There are ditches and dips in the ground that someone as small as he could easily find themselves stranded in, there are vines that could trap him, and the overground roots might as well be towering walls. Still, this is where familiar smells are, where he feels like he's safer than before. They offer him food, too; as a baby, he never got enough milk, was never weaned right, and then, as he is now, he never received the correct amount of nutrition. Food, whilst gratefully appreciated, is something he struggles with. Even small amounts can prove impossible for him to digest, by this point.


    But he's recovering, slowly. Even so, it's obvious from the start that Tino.. isn't like other kids his age. He doesn't seem to pay attention to things, doesn't seem capable of understanding, and is far more nervous, flighty and dependent than is probably expected. Even now, he crawls flat on his belly, moving quickly as if that's the only way he knows how to travel, and it's somewhere out in the territory that he catches the scent of someone that sort of smells like safety. By this point, Tino is used to not being near that smell, used to being permanently cold, but the singing of potential warmth through his bones causes him to head in that direction, led solely by his nose; he's not even looking, and it's clear that he'll continue crawling until he bumps into the source of the smell.
    [hr]

  • [fancypost borderwidth=0; width: 400px; text-align: justify; line-height: 1; font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 8pt; MARGIN-TOP: -5PX;] artpop had not been present for sans' birthing. he had not come to his rescue upon hearing him shout, leaving it to sango and whoever else had been around at that time. demo, lucille - euphie, whatever his name was. they hadnt been friends back then, hardly acquaintances, with nothing but the occasional joke to keep them socializing. he hadnt known sans, nor did he want to at that time. up until what arty referred to as "the incident", they were strangers to one another. now.. well, the husky wasnt entirely sure what they were now. there wasnt a label for them. he tried not to think about it at all - he tried to forget anything that happened that morning, to save not only himself, but the mercenary as well. arty was an absolutely shitty person, when it came right down to it. he didnt care about anything [ or, at least, that was the impression he fought to give off ], and thought only of himself [ outwardly. inwardly, all of shadowclan was under his watchful eye. he loved them all more than he had ever loved himself. ]. sans deserved someone that could care for him; someone who could properly express emotion without risking panic with each longing look. someone who didnt shout at him or fight over petty little things, as he did. someone.. good. someone who could give more than that painful, receding stain of a smile he offered when upset because the advisor could find no words to comfort him. he deserved so much more than artpop could give him.


    despite that, it did not make their situation any less strenuous. his heart still hurt, shouting at him, begging for some sort of closure. "you were so close." he knew. he knew that,"he only wanted to help - why wont you let yourself be helped?". fuchsia hues lifted from the calm waters of the basin, casting out over the distant horizon with a soft sigh emanating from his maw. he was beginning to think too much. again. he had a god-awful habit of doing that. artpop grunted, then began to push himself to his paws, pinning his ears back to his head and taking a few steps away from the bank, backwards. his distrusting gaze fell to the water once again, tail curling around his hind leg, squinting as if suspicious of the he didnt like this place, why did he keep coming down here? he pursed his lips, before feeling himself bump into something, nearly stepping on the bundle of fluff that had come up behind him moments before. he stumbled, regaining his footing after a moment of shock,"oh, im so sorry, sweetie, are you alright?" the male spoke, effeminate vocals light with concern as he twisted around. tino - that was what sans had called him, right? god, he was such a cute little thing,"i didnt hurt you, did i?" probably not, but.. just in case. it wouldnt hurt to ask.

    ooc || no your writing is so good i love it


  • [fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;]ahh, thank you!! it, um. it means a lot, coming from you!


    Tino doesn't have Artpop's problem, doesn't experience moments of too-much-thought. His mind is almost always quiet, save for the quiet rushing of a waterfall that doesn't exist, following him wherever he goes, and the bright colours that flare behind his eyes whenever he catches onto a new scent. He doesn't waste time on speculation, likely because he doesn't even know what speculation is, crawling around until he finds something warm to latch onto. It's been like this forever, a constant search for something that can fight away the cold, the only thing that matters to him. Warmth, safety, security. It's all Tino's little body needs.


    ShadowClan isn't something physical to him, but it is his current world. Before he returned, his life was a series of bumps and scrapes as he crawled along, grazing on grass because it was all he could find, but now that he's within the borders, the borders mark the end of where he can go, the end of his universe. It's strange, but it's the way he rationalises it at his age. Likewise, the people aren't.. his equals. They're heat-giving gods with unique smells that draw him near or push him far away, and he's not one to give up when he finds someone that can potentially help fight the cold. Still, for a moment, when he's bumped into, Tino curls into a tiny ball, his throat rattling in a panicked squeak, lungs constricting — but the soothing voice is enough to calm his nerves, coax him out of himself, and he steels himself, moving forwards again to try and latch onto one of Artpop's paws, seeking body heat. His jaw works for a moment as he tries to process the male's words — he's able to recognise most of them, but piecing together an answer is always difficult. "Wa-aaaaarm." he mumbles, voice quiet, nervous and garbled.
    [hr]