At the edge of the world, oceans pour into a deep blue abyss below, plummeting off the steepest cliffs known to man.

Carved into the face of this grand cliff, is a rectangular chunk of space too uniform to be anything but artificial. Stalactites protrude from the floor and ceiling; their growth like unkempt weeds, they afford some semblance of natural-ness to this abode.

The room faces the waterfall, its cavernous mouth framing the spectacle like a TV. Bright, white water falls so constantly it appears stationary, a blinding screen in the otherwise dark cave, with only stray droplets sliding down the walls to indicate motion.

Where water crashes into a cloudy mist far below, it emanates a drumming white noise punctuated by dripping water and whispering streams that echo in the cavern.

Plip. Plop.

Water drips from teeth-like stalactites, pooling onto cool stone.
Rivulets sprawl out like veins across the floor and the walls, tinkling and serene.
A watery melody that echoes into perpetual silence.

Only deeper still, in a smaller cave carved into the far wall lies another sound, a heartbeat. But entering the room, one is only met with darkness and a shallow puddle. Its limpid surface betrays nothing but the inconceivable eternity it has remained there untouched, undisturbed.

The streams of water in the outer cavern bend to avoid this room. No stray droplet flies farther than the entrance as if respecting its privacy.

Plip. Plop.

The air tastes of salt and tears.

Me-Mow’s drawn up what she thinks would be a purr-fect room for her. ^_^

(super apologies for my terrible art skills. I’ve never been good at drawing. ^_^”)

The room is spacious and comfortable. It is filled with plush pillows scattered artfully across the floor. A large bed sits in the middle of the room with green satin sheets. It is a king-sized bed with many pillows. On the floor is a large plush green rug. A small chest of drawers sits across from the bed and is covered with many candles and incense with holders. The air smells of spices and sandalwood. Next to the bed is a nightstand with a hologram of Xanatos and his partner, Orion, smiling at the viewer on top of it. The hologram glows a faint blue.
There are lights hung in the center of the room from the ceiling that light up a soft yellow. They cast a soft glow to the room that makes it warm and inviting.
Art decorates the walls on shelves. Most of it is sleek and modern. They are made of steel. A few are made of wood and are polished to a great sheen. In the corner of the room is a stand with a fish tank filled with small tropical fish.  They are brightly colored and are calming to watch as they swim. The filter runs quietly in the background.

Full album here - I’ve just picked a few shots I liked best to post directly :D

You find yourself in a cozy room with dim lighting, shades of blue and green greeting you as your eyes scan the space. The floor is carpeted, mint green and absorbs your footsteps as you stray farther inside.

Finally, in the last corner of the room you find a tub of cute plushies, some well-loved, others new enough to still have their tags. You notice a theme: primarily frogs and alligators, but the occasional other animal has snuck its way inside the collection.

A quaint log cabin sits precariously on a hill in the woods, cobbled together by hand. Inside it is stuffed to the brim with unique curiosities. There were jars of specimens, some liquid and chemical, others of deceased organisms, organs of unknown origins, and bones that scattered the desk spaces. Some were well kept, others were leaking and dripping onto pages of books or research. The cabin was composed entirely of one room, the walls huge metal bookshelves with more reference material spilling out. In the very corner was a bed with a patchwork quilt and a chimney. Undoubtedly this is a place of a fire hazard.

Harper has lived alone, after purchasing the abandoned structure, stealing most of her research material while still employed. Only Zephyr knows the extent of her hoarding, primitive living situation, but with her own life and issues, plus Harper’s pure stubbornness, no one can relocate Harper into a more modern and safe setting.

Harper lives with her own compulsive habits, using her phone while in the city to charge and take notes for future studies, banned from obtaining more scientific interments due to her criminal record. As her mental state worsens, so does her environment. Occasionally she will dumpster dive for equipment not properly tossed, adding more to her mass of items bulging out of her property. 

The home, not too big, not too small, is composed of a soft lavender, sky blue, and leaf green color scheme. It is located close to a forest. The exterior is shaped like a dome and is covered in flowering vines, which attract fireflies in the night. It has 6 rooms: Skydancer’s room, the kitchen, two bathrooms, the bedroom, and the guest room. The yard outside has various colorful flowers and exotic trees.

In Skydancer’s abode, every single piece of furniture has a cute plushie somewhere on or around it. The sky blue walls have cloud patterns on them. Set against the far end of the room is a huge bookshelf containing all sorts of colorful books, sorted by theme. The shelf consists mostly of mystery novels, but at least one book of each genre is located somewhere on the shelf. Atop the shelf is a green butterfly plush.

A bed rests against the west side of the room. The bed has a lavender blanket with leaf patterns on it, and a leaf green pillow. A red bird plush with yellow wings and a yellow bird plush with red wings rest on each side of the pillow. Situated above the head of the bed is a small painting of a red cardinal, framed in silver. The indigo nightstand next to the bed has a book and a small teddy bear on it.

In the center of the room is a polished glass table with a plush alligator holding a box of cards in the middle of it. The alligator dons a wizard hat.

The east side of the room has a chair and a wooden table with a computer on it. A little rubber duck and a pony plush sit in front of the monitor. Above the computer is a large painting of Saturn, framed in wood.
An orange rug is spread over the pink and yellow tiled floor. The rug has a red rose symbol on it.

Lightglobes on the ceiling emit a warm yellow light over the inviting room.

I’ve been working on this for so long that I legitimately hate it now. I’ve never tried doing isometric art before but holy crap is it a lot harder than it looks

- His room is a bit utilitarian because he tends to trend that way. He doesn’t settle into spaces quickly, and even though his room on the ship has become kind of a home over his time aboard it, he’s aware that his contract could be terminated at any point and he needs to be ready to pack up and leave.
- He has a passion for keeping small specimens and microhabitats from some of the planets he’s visited. In reality, he’s probably got enough of them stacked in there that it looks a little cluttered, but I didn’t wanna draw more shapes wah
- He keeps a picture of his team from the academy over his bed, aww. :) they probably don’t think about him at all now, other than occasionally wishing their walking encyclopedia was still around
- dude keeps a propaganda-style poster of the military space academy he graduated from on his wall; even uses his academy-issued bedding. it’s like how someone who went to harvard will never let you forget it.
- there’s probably a better way to store media in space universe than books, but pppbbbbt
- nerd literally lives on a spaceship and has a poster of space on his wall; someone needs to punch this guy
- don’t touch the centipede, it’s probably incredibly venomous and will eat your fingernails (but only the fingernails and other keratin-based bits… chomp chomp)
- the flower is highly hallucinogenic, but only if you eat its roots. it’s VERY illegal in a lot of sectors, but he has the proper permit to keep one (1) plant. just because he’s running with some unlawfuls doesn’t mean he needs to forego all civility, right?

There was nothing special about the studio Gabriel danced at. Sunlight would streak in through the tall windows, bathing the wooden floor in a golden glow. The sun was assisted by a collection of hanging lights above, but no one had ever bothered to find out how much of the light is natural and how much is artificial. Two walls were floor to ceiling mirrors, allowing for the whole dance studio to be seen from any angle. The last wall was facebrick, with a rather unimpressive barre bolted to it. Music was always playing, and even though Gabriel could never remember the names of the songs, he could always remember the dances that accompanied them.

But to him, it was home. Gabriel remembered catching sight of himself in the mirrors when he first entered the room. After almost twenty years of dance, his build and posture were perfect. He could never resist dancing a step or two, even when he hadn’t warmed up yet. The sound of his shoes hitting the floor matched the music perfectly. Keeping time is instinctive, a skill drilled into him for as long as he could remember. He was rarely first; for as dedicated as he was, the girls trying to learn pointe were even more so. They’d rib him for being a showoff, and he’d snark back before starting his warmup. As the other dancers trickled in, the studio would come alive. Everyone would line up at the unimpressive barre and begin their movements, usually being critiqued for some poor form or another. Then the music would change and the hours of rehearsal would pass in a flash.

But the unbearable pain in his right knee is a stark reminder. Gabriel cannot escape to the dance studio anymore. What was once a beautiful escape, a place where he could express himself, is now a mockery.
Instead, his escape comes in the form of small white tablets. He’s long forgotten how many he’s supposed to take, instead taking as many as he needs to escape. They numb the pain in his knee, sure, but that’s long stopped being the purpose of them. Instead, they offer him momentary bliss, where he doesn’t have to think about what he’s lost. Where he can sleep without dreaming. Where he doesn’t have to remember that he’s a ballet dancer with a shredded knee who lost his opportunity to dance.

_{Only take your meds as prescribed, kids.}

Nerrrrrrd lmao

When deciding on a name for her new business, Caroline had thought long and hard.  She thought about making a pun about magic - though she worried the Witches’ Council wouldn’t find that very funny.  She thought of clever, memorable names and phrases.  She even wondered whether she should be a cafe or a bakery.  Finally, she decided to keep it simple: Caroline’s Bakery.  Baking was her passion.  It was an enormous part of who she was as a person.  She wanted her business to be about her baking first and making money second.  The bakery would be her second home - her vacation home, she liked to joke.  And she wanted everything about her new venture to follow suit.  She wanted people to say they were just ‘heading to Caroline’s.’

For the interior, she tried to keep it simple, but homey.  The floors are a warm hardwood and the walls are a soft pink, with chair rails and molding along the top in the same warm wood as the floors.  The shop itself is rather small.  The front features two large bay windows on either side of the door, with seating built into both.  Two other tables line the walls, leading incoming guests straight towards the counter at the back.  The counter is an antique bar, a huge, clunky abomination that Caroline fell in love with at first sight.  It barely fit the space, but Caroline was determined to make it work.  Atop the bar sits the pastry case, where customers can look and make their selections.  The register is at the other end, with a stool for Caroline - or Tyler, because Caroline rarely gives herself a moment to rest - to sit during their downtime.  A small island adjacent to the counter offers customers creamer, sugar, napkins, and a place to set dirty dishes.

Behind the bar is Tyler’s station - a small but lovingly maintained espresso machine and a tray with various add-ons.  There is also a standard coffee pot, for those who prefer something simple, and a hot water dispenser for teas.  Beside that is a fridge for the various milks Tyler uses, as well as bottled water and other beverages a customer might want. 

On the right side of the store, there is a tucked-away stairwell that leads to a loft.  Upstairs are four more tables, as well as a couch where customers can sit and look out the window down at the street.  The lighting in the loft is dimmer, and more intimate, and is occasionally rented out for private parties.  Caroline, however, can see up into the loft from the counter, and ensures there’s no funny business.  The entire storefront is sparsely decorated.  Occasionally, Caroline will pick up flowers to put on tables, though patrons who come to study or work generally don’t appreciate them taking up space.  Generally, Caroline expresses herself with a hand-written menu in whatever colors are speaking to her on a particular day. 

Beside the stairs is a door that leads to a bathroom, and behind the counter is the door into the kitchen.  There wait a huge metal table where Caroline does most of her prep work, shelves for storing ingredients and equipment, a large three-compartment sink, and two industrial ovens for her baking.  A walk-in freezer holds ingredients on one side and finished products either waiting for pick-up or waiting to be set out.

It used to be called the village of Pendle, but Alastor never knew of it then. He first heard whispers of it long after its destruction—a drowsy little settlement at the edge of the woods, a place of wholly unremarkable farmers and homemakers—and how one day it was found razed to the ground, as if by a natural disaster that no one on the outside had noticed. He heard every soul within had vanished. No bodies had been left.

When he found the place, there were indeed plenty of signs of the settlement that was. Buildings reduced to scattered timber; crops still growing, undeterred by whatever calamity had visited; the odd lonely possession, like a cracked leather slipper or a one-eyed doll. A small church was the only structure still intact, stoic and upright even as the trees had begun to creep forth and take back the village.

At the center of everything, gaping like a wet black mouth, was the well.

He could feel the thing that lived inside it.

Alastor never learned precisely what manner of creature it was, or what it had done to the village, but he took care of it. And once it was gone and he surfaced from the aftermath of the… process… he found the sense of unease that had pervaded the area had vanished. It was almost lovely.

As if it had been his intention all along, he made his home in the church. It had proved its resistance to evil. The double doors opened to a quintessential nave, lined with wooden pews and fronted by the pulpit. There was a magnificent monster of an organ, slumped and defunct. When he pressed a key, the pipes were silent.

A second floor. Vestry and other storage; a tiny kitchen and some sleeping cells. He chose the one with the least dubious-looking bed.

He learned to fix things that needed fixing, and to maintain what was already there. He borrowed what he could from the poor doomed villagers, and got the rest of what he needed from the nearest town. He was careful to keep his constructions from becoming too elaborate, because things around him tended to meet destruction on a regular basis.

Shelter, food, and water. That was all he needed. But he also came to love the solitude, filled with greenery and birdsong and—when he was lucky—no one’s company but his own. The well was just a well, the ruins were a story long over, and this was his home.

It’s not much, but it’s home. My shop is smaller than most, but it’s kept neat and cozy, able to fit two larger vessels with enough room left to work before things get cramped. The ceilings are vast, soaring above my head in order to fit the tallest masts inside with ease. The floors are earthen, packed solid from years of movement. Sawdust sometimes scatters it, but usually, they are kept clean and free of obstacles and tripping hazards, especially where paths have been trodden through to form faint aisles. The wooden walls are insulated and house tools, shelves of buckets and tins of loose screws or nails, and the odd cup of coffee or plate of food. A central air system allows airflow year round, but I prefer to throw open every window and door in the spring and summer. When working on a wooden ship, it works better to keep the dust down.

And, of course, it wouldn’t be a home without a place to lay my head. My sleeping quarters take up one corner of the entire building, big enough to house my bed, a couple of dressers, and a functioning kitchen taking up one wall. Along that wall is a sink, oven with a stove top, and a small countertop with cabinets above and below. A dish rack is tucked under the cabinets, but most of my pots and pans found homes among my tools in the shop. Through a door at one end of my room, a small full bathroom houses my toothbrush and other toiletries. Any paperwork is done at a desk I shoved into a separate corner of the shop. And when everything is in place, it is my favorite space.

The water is cool and clear. It stands in sharp contrast to the day’s sweltering heat, with the air a haze of bugs and misery. Elwyn’s hooves sink into the sand beneath the surface. It’s unstable footing: frightening but thrilling as well. For a while, they stand at the edge and stare out across the lake. The shackles that bound them have left sweltering marks, and the bitter bite of water makes the wounds ache in a way that is indescribably good.

They find that they must walk slowly; rocks, shells, and pinecones dot the bottom, and the debris digs unpleasantly against their raw skin. Flakes of dried blood vanish into the water, and their legs become white once more. As they move forward, the water creeps towards their underbelly and begins to feel too cold. They shudder as a breeze ripples the lake, and their flank bounces in anticipation, but they forge ahead. After taking a few deep breaths, Elwyn sinks in and paddles out beyond the shadows of the trees that line the shore. Their hooves brush the uneven bottom with each frantic stroke, assuring them that they can stand again at any moment. They cannot remember having swum before, but the movements feel natural, and they begin to build confidence even as the floor drops away.

Suddenly, the water is warm. It glows golden all around them, and each movement sends out iridescent ripples. Light sparkles across the lake in all directions, blinding Elwyn to anything except the radiance. They tread water. Their chest heaves with each breath. This is the most they’ve moved in… forever. They can feel a sense of exhaustion creeping in, but they refuse to go back to the shore. It is as if the water and light have become one. It is peaceful and serene, and it makes Elwyn yearn.

They take another gasping breath, close their eyes, and sink. The water embraces them. When they open their eyes, they can see where the water becomes dark beneath the canopy at the shoreline, but in the other direction there is infinite, joyous color: yellows and teals and the lightest of blues. Their hooves press against the ground, but here there is nothing but blissful sand. The lake is silent except for a distant buzz. Elwyn’s heart seems to beat in time, and their eardrums throb. Their chest begins to burn, and they push away. The surface is eons above them, but there is no sense of panic or dread. Steady movements bring them back to the air, and then they have clambered onto the lake. They stand atop the waves, and they are healed.