A Noa X Mae Comic~

All I want right now is to express my gratitude for such wonderful, heart-warming drawings💞 Thanks to them, I never cease to be inspired...^^

What a lovely baby💗

Someone commented on the last drawing that They wanted to see more of Nomae's baby and yk? I want to see more of Eloid too, so here he is ☺️💕😂

I like to think that when Eloid is born, it is taken for granted that he looks like Mae. Because of the blue eyes and because he looks more human.

Mae, for her part, suspects that he will become more like Noa as he grows up. And indeed. After two months, Eloid's light eyes become as green as Noa's and when he is a teenager, all the hair he didn't have as a child appears and gives him his more ape-like look.

My heart is melt right now...💗 Knowing that the fanfic I'm writing now will end with the birth of a long-awaited child is a priceless inspiration for me. Thank you 💞💞💞

If I don't see a son of Nomae, I won't be fully satisfied with the ship. So I already created my own version because I want them to have children 😭💕.

It's called Eloid. (Eloy+David)☺️

I'll officially introduce him soon in some fanfics 👀

But for now, I saw a template on Pinterest of a mother and her son and I couldn't resist drawing them as Mae and Eloid.

"Creation" Chapter 4.1. Forest sprinkled with poison

A/N: I got behind schedule because of an unexpected feeling of illness, loss of consciousness and a visit to the city hospital... The adventure was so-so. I will monitor my health more carefully so that this does not happen again. I hope the events of the chapter will justify me

Word count: 4,1K

Warnings: brief mentions of death, hints of rape, sexual oppression and abuse, use of children, themes of parenthood and breeding, mentions of blood, injuries and mutilation, swearing, animal torture (oh... it will be fine, I promise you - because I consider the last point inhumane and it is only necessary for the plot twist)

🎧 Power-Haus, Christian Reindl, Lucie Paradis — Gefion

Crystal-clear sky. White with a dash of blue and grey. Not a cloud, but the feeling of mischievous rain is hovering in the air.

You were three or four years old then, not more. You didn't pronounce letters well, were distracted by this and that.

And you keep this memory far, far away in memory, like a ward.

Sitting on your father's shoulder, you hold your mother's hand. You point your parents to the strawberry patch visible at the fork in the paths, like an experienced lookout. Your parents take heed to your babble with laughter, your father lowers you onto the short grass, flattened by the summer breeze, and your mother hints you how to pick berries from the bushes. The handbusket you hold is filled in a matter of minutes.

Happy, with your plump palms stained with berry juice, you hand the dainty to your mother — a gesture, that she praises your efforts, is full of pride. She ruffles your unruly curls. Lifting you into the air, your father places you back on his shoulders.

Parents questioning you about the recently learned words, asking you to name everything you see — you swing your legs and name every grass blade, every bug on the way home.

Scarcely the slanted, moss-covered ruins could be called home. But here you lived the brightest years of your childhood.

The door creaks as you stomp inside, hallooed out to your mother and father. They are standing behind.

The sun is hiding, but the rain doesn't drip.

Parents look at you with a love that you will never be able to forget — and will barely find anywhere else.

***

The turned-down edge of a yellowed, worn book. The letters on the pages are ghostly. The illustrations are bright.

Your foster parents always encouraged your curiosity — for your seventeenth birthday you received a book about the world structure. A book about all the phenomenas and inhabitants of a planet that has been continiously changing — there, upstairs — for many billions of years.

You kept book with carefully and cautiosly. Just like every story told by your foster mother, imbued with wisdom. Just like every instruction from your foster father, aimed at save you from scourges.

A year later, running away, you didn’t manage to take a single thing. Not a single memory.

These parents also look at you, buried under layers of metal and earth, with love. It's a different feeling — but just as eternal. And that you'll also barely some day find.

***

You wake up with a naive gust to get at least a little warmth of your mother's hands from your hair. Straighten out yourself, lying in a nest warmed by the sun — this warmth can also be settle with. Albeit with a creak, even with aching sadness.

Since your blood parents died, have passed thousands of days, filled with darkness. Since your foster parents died, have passed months, and your heart is howling.

The book was left there, in the rotten underground prison. One of the bastards dropped it on the floor of your room. In a fight where life was at stake, you still managed to take the most valuable things from your involuntary home. Only one was mattered — hide, strike a blow, and get out of the shackles to the surface. Had to sacrifice the book, in order to run without looking back. The pages and the binding were probably already trampled. While they were prowling, sniffing out your footprints.

However, the grey backpack with one strap, in which you had raked the remains of the past, also remained somewhere not far from their lair. You held it to clouding tightly — until fell off the bridge.

Rolling tumble, smearing in mud, you prayed — if only they wouldn't find what belonged to you. If only they wouldn't plundered it, wouldn't messed it.

If only backpack remained lying somewhere in the grass.

You'll have found it, you'll have be able to... If it hadn't been mortally dangerous to go back there.

The guilt that you were unable to retain even one complete memory of your former life rises in your throat. Everything is lost there. Your daily, worn-out clothes. Your comb with bent teeth. Your locket turned into a bracelet. Notebook. Prayer book. Drawings of how you remember your blood parents. Photo album of how you remember your foster parents. Old camera with several empty rolls, that could have been used to capture something important... You had to try to catch at least something... But what is lost cannot be returned.

You look at the rising sun.

Providing your face to the rays crumbling across the hut.

Tears don't flow, eyes don't sting. And lungs don't cramp in desolate spasm. Maybe, this is what means reconcile.

During the time you spent in the clan, summer had almost blossomed from the spring buds. The daylight hours had increased, the working hours — too. It was strange to realize this. You had asked only to wait out the cold night, without hoping for anything more. Now you've lived here for the rest of the cold spring.

The shades of the seasons, while you were freezing among cruelty and heresy, did not change at all. Spring remained elegant and tender, like a wreath woven from wild flowers. Summer remained playful, like many-colored pebbles glittering on the lake bottom.

Raising your head to the sky, admiring its palette — and look around, searching for differences from the past. Except for your broken growing up, everything is the same. Like in distant childhood memories. Can't even believe it.

Everything is exactly the same. Even the feeling warmth of mother's hands.

The warmth of a mother's touch, carreeing through the roofs of the huts and through the space under open sky.

Through the past, the present, and, definitely, through the future.

A touch that came before civilizations and wars. A touch that cannot disappear as long as families exist. Unforgettable, unshakable. Repeated in a multitude of meanings and forms... Once upon a time, these were the hands of your own mother, who silently told you all the basics for a child's mind necessary.

Now these are the hands of a female chimpanzee lulling her cub.

Yes, the same one who hurried to move away from you, saving the most important she has - her children. Now Kantis and her husband (it's incredible, but in fact, apes unions, bonded with rituals, and not with spots of seals, are mostly stronger and durable than humans), who perceived you with hostility, are much more favorable. As you managed to find out by chance, the age of people and apes is calculated nearly the same - which means that Kantis was a not much older than you. But at first, with grumpiness, she let you under her wing. Like an unfledged chick.

You admit, that this is how it is.

The shells cracked on you just as they did on those eaglets you watched with awe among the sticks, rods and softly carpeted perches. Even if those shells were not visible, you were afraid to climb out of the egg.

You needed help, from start to finish, to feel like you weren't out of place. The decision was made unspoken. When both Kantis's little cubs, Nober and Febri, who can only slither and babble, took their first clumsy steps towards you... More and more often you visit them, for a short time or for many talkative hours, to remember the feeling of family, unbreakable kinship.

***

The cuts healed, leaving almost no scars. As Dar had said, you no longer dragged your feet, but ran like a little deer. Together with the apes children, having memorized all the ringing names. Especially the names of the five mischief-makers who attacked you with curiosity and naivety. Insightful as adult Kaidy, modest Lum and her little brother Lup, thoughtful Elan, and, of course, brave hooligan Paco. Answering their pouring like rivulets questions, you found real joy. Forgetting about the bothering wounds, you played unknown games with them — and taught them the games you knew. It was an honest, pure exchange.

The apes children were no different from the human children — and you were both a strict adult and a noisy child with them at the same time.

Uncorked yourself from the iron jar just recently and re-learning the outlines of everything familiar, you responded to many things with the same childish delight as the five apes cubs. They didn't draw out dark secrets out of you — they only asked for exciting stories and catch-ups. It was easier for you to find with them a common language.

Watching the incessant, peaceful flow of weeks, you yourself sometimes questioned them with genuine curiosity.

This seemed to you that, what would make you happier.

As much it possible while hidden from everyone mourning.

In the dungeon, too, in your free time from back-breaking work, you did not miss a single chance to mess around with the children. Here you eagerly awaited the moment when you could bring at least some slightly advantage. But this moment never doesn't coming.

Everyone was busy, but the Elders were in no hurry to assign any businesses to you. Even though you yourself asked for responsibilities. Even though the crumbs of kindness that you kept within yourself and joyfully gave to the cubs, softened the initial sharp edges. Still, even though you received shelter here — mistrust outweighed virtue.

Mistrust settled in Vikima's blind, transparent pupils. She not drive you away. She called all people grief-sending spirits. The teen-chimps, who adore her stories of the past, told you of the fresh grieving that lay in her wrinkles. She had lost three sons and a husband. Fault for that — human and the disfavor of fate.

Without daring to express it, you shared her sadness. And, as if seeing what was happening in your soul, the Elders replaced their disguised, justified anger on mercy.

Once you've adjusted and healed your wounds, assured Dar, you'll be able to do work that you can handle.

You were flattered.

You were guessed, that Dar means taking care of the children. Just as like you dreamed.

And then, maybe you'll join the healing. Elders know about this your skill. The opportunity to mention it already presented itself, when one of the cubs got a splinter and you helped to take it out, without a single childish tear. But it's better not to rush events.

***

So far, under the constant, mentoring supervision, you have learned to live as is commonly in the clan. And surprisingly, you have done well.

The traditions of the apes, maybe, been foreign to you — but their culture and beliefs were certainly not about vandalism and widespread wrecking. They revered Mother-Nature and all her bountiful gifts, lived in harmony with her powers. In contrast to the settlement where you could never exist. There was no respect for anything that existed. The teachings of that place hummed: tear out, hack away. Destroy.

Resounding in a bass voice heartless choir. Consisting of hundreds of pests, tormenting you in nightmares, and only occasionally interspersed with pictures of an unblemished childhood... Here this raging choir died down, giving you brief moments of peace.

Finding yourself in the womb of forest, among strangers who were being vilified by gossips, you seemed to breathe for the first time in many, many strained years.

Let in not air, but entire grassy expanses inside yourself, your consciousness.

You couldn't know in advance, that what evil tongues were telling might turn out to be true.

You couldn't know nothing, until you convinced it personally.

This, of course, would require many more seasons. But despite their wariness, the apess welcomed you with cordiality. And when you were about to leave, gathering your meager belongings — Noa suggested, that you stay until you found a better place. And you, and he knew, that such a place simply didn't exist — and from anywhere you would be like a patch on a cloth that did not need to be patched. This was an offer not to huddle as a guest, but to settle down forever. With this wording between the lines you agreed. Here you were not subjected to any violence, not even an indirect hint of violence. Here you were granted, to some extent, freedom of thought, speech and action. In the settlement, leniency was granted only to slaves, living commodity as a reward, when the slave owners achieved whatever cruel aim.

There were not many aims and needs for which girls, young women and women were needed there. Only two. Small, painstaking labor and childbearing. If your escape failed — you'll would have suffer, like pretty, until one of these men who had no right to be called men disgraced you in the most painful way. The rapes would have continue until your womb bore a child. If it were a girl — she would be left in your arms, waiting for her to become a resource. If it were a boy — he would be removed to a compartment located just below the surface as soon as you finished feeding him with breast milk. It is difficult to determine which fate is worse. A doll for plaything or a mannequin for huntmastering?..

Children were born rarely, but there they meant nothing. Children were just instruments.

Attachment to children was conditional. Parental love was frowned.

A crime against all the precepts that has bequeathed God... Aimless childbearing and equally aimless labor. If from the chosen victim could be obtained neither of these  — or if the result did not satisfy the tormentors — victim was thrown into the garbage. Exhausted and used. It was a hellish cycle. It was written in blood and flesh law...

Regarding life as burden, you had never before considered, whether you would ever want to have your own children. Here you thought about it in the silence of the night, ringing among the animals calling.

There was no point in looking around too intently. In every hut, in addition to the nest that served as a bed, there was something reminiscent of a cradle for newborns. Your hut was no exception. This uncurtained cradle distracted you from your work, all your thoughts circled around the cradle... You know, there are more such seeds-prisons scattered underground, made of an alloy of cold metals and glass. These seeds will not germinate through decades or through centuries. You are doomed to loneliness, cutting yourself off from imprisonment — and from human men.

Maybe, it's for the better?.. What life could live children who were born not for unconditional love, but for the preservation of a morally fallen race? Hardly a happy one.

This aim was disgusting to you, but understandable. The desire of the bastards, who got what they deserved, to possess you was at least explainable.

You were already a working unit, serged and darned for days. And you would have become a good mother, even if you had no chances to give your children a childhood with a clear sky above their heads. Now you are deprived of the chance for motherhood...

But, given the theoretical possibility of helping in the apes manger, would you be so useful? Several generations of females manage this perfectly well without you. Your help is as great, as a grain in a sack. Not to mention that here you are useless as a vessel for conceiving and bearing offspring. Everything in you is breaking under the weight of questions and breaking through, for the first time in months, selfishness. If you stay here, you will inevitably end up an old maid. No matter how you look at it, are you needed here for any aim?..

But, otherwise, why would Noa teach the stubbornly silent you everything he himself knew?.. Obviously, he made your stay in the clan easier. He shared with you the tricks, necessary for survival — as he himself let it slip, the second time luck will not save you.

Indeed, it was not luck that saved you, but he, Noa. One of the apes. One of those, whom people admitted as evil incarnate. One of those, who did not drive you away, when all the people around were deaf to your despair. So, you were convinced only that the slander is a lie. Because you see in apes much more humanity, than in the hateful dungeon, teeming with unhappy people and inhuman cruelty.

And, living side by side with apes, you want to strengthened in this conviction.

You would like to thank Noa even, perhaps, more — only thanks to his contradictory act you see, what this whole world can be. Only this act of his already roots your withered, eaten away by fear, like parasite, hope. But the oath, that rumbles in your head, prevents you from saying just one word. The fact, that he is not a human, does not cancel your prejudice. You will not utter a single word, intended for a man. Even if his thoughts are pure.

It feels wrong to use gestures for explaining — but your tongue feels like it’s falling into your stomach, when you try to even imagine a conversation with Noa. And your lips feel like a needle is piercing them, pulling tiny stitches of a nonexistent thread.

At your silent request, Noa tells you what these strange, small wooden blocks are that have caught your attention. It's sort of ward. You can find them in every hut, as you noticed when you looked in on Soona. Trinket with a mystical meaning. And everyone in the clan makes these blocks for themselves single-handedly.

Tiny blocks laid in a row in your hut were made by Noa.

Without knowing why, you get in earnest angry when you find it out — and you ask Noa to take them to his own home and teach you this skill. So that there in your room will be nothing foreign.

If you said it out loud, would sound absurd.

But even from the crumpled gestures, your hands nervously twitched.

It was further proof of Noa's good intentions towards you, which you couldn't be angry about. But you couldn't pacify the vague indignation. How and the crudely expressed movements of fingers.

To your sincere surprise, Noa once again does exactly as you asked. By sunset, not a single wooden trinket remains in your hut. The next dawn, Noa begins teaching you how to handle wood.

If you dared to ask for such a stupid little thing there, among the boors seething with anger and bile — on your face would already be turning blue hematomas.

Here you shake off the sawdust, use one of the gestures you learned over the spring to ask Noa if you’re doing well — and twirl in your hands a crooked short peg.

A snarky laugh is heard. Jeru and Nigig, who's else, damn...

They are no better than what is happening in the place you fled from. They have been trying so hard to ridicule you, to vomit more vileness at you since the day Noa brought you into the clan. No matter what they say, you remain silent. Not because Noa insisted on such tactics, although you did listen to his advice then. You just do not consider Nigig a representative of the female kind. You could have answered her a hundred fold more painfully, but there is no need.

Jeru keeps Nigig around not as his woman, but as his empty-barking henchman. He treats her like a mutt. She behaves accordingly, indulging in his unreasonable attacks.

Listening to their dry conversation one day, you are perplexed. They have nothing to talk about, if not to insult. They are united only by malice. For a brief moment, you wonder — why do they live under the same roof, if their union is based on the desire to verbally mock someone, and not on the desire to while away the evenings together, to raise offspring together?..

Such abscesses are present on the body of any society, you suppose. Without them, good treatment wouldn't be appreciated.

Spending even a sound on them both — squandering. You put the unfinished trinket aside, folding your arms across your boobs. You close yourself off from the male's gaze rummaging your body, and don't understand, how his companion allows it. You involuntarily step behind Noa's shoulder, he growling, bristling fur and losing his patience. You look through their grimacing foreheads.

"In a long time haven't seen... such muck" Jeru laughs, grinning. And you can hear from his intonation, that he's not talking about your unskillful work, but about you.

"Don't amuse me... What else is capable of this... bedding?" Nigig looks at you dismissively, stretching out the last word into syllables.

"I'll pretend that you... didn't yipedd nothing. Now get lost" Noa replies, shielding you with his back. The indignation in his voice makes you stupefied.

Wooden block fall to the ground, when Jeru tries to grab your wrist.

Without a second thought, Noa knocks him down. You scream and stand rooted to the spot, and Nigig's trail went cold. Who would doubted it.

The second time Noa fights is because of you, damn him. You take a step back, toward the wood chips and shavings. You beg to stop, as splashes of someone's blood are drif apart. Sound of crushing bone. Noa stands up, shaking himself. He's unharmed, save for the blood trickling from his nose. Beating he gave Jeru, on the other hand, was more than serious. Tucked tail, that's what he lacks.

Your impressions of what happened are controversial. There is no one here except you, Noa, and the future wooden amulets. He clearly didn't get into a fight to maintain status, his or yours.

Noa protects you selflessly. With arguments and fists. In every way. From that night, appearing as a saving shadow, and to this day. Even if this aim is not voiced — now it is understandable to you. But why?..

It takes a few moments to indecisiveness, but you hesitate, for what feels, like a whole summer. You walk up to Noa, quickly wiping the blood off his face with the back of your hand. And run so fast, that you can't catch your breath, when you get back to your house. Those are still not the words you want to say. But at least it's something.

***

You dream of a backpack. Nothing but a backpack and the area where you dropped it.

A steep hill right behind the lake, surrounded by thin-armed trees. Cobblestones, small pebbles. Tenacious bushes. A bridge...

***

In a dream the realize, that you went back for your backpack and lost it again very close to the place where Noa found you, gives you unprecedented strength.

You'll find. You'll be able.

You run at your two legs, as if on a galloping horse. Along the way you fall into the dried on sun mud, suffocate in a column of rising dust. You see a stone bridge in sight. You run faster, hoping to meet the almost lost memories...

Hear a squeak, from which your heart is ruptures.

Like sick infants cry. Only more shriller. As if death was breathing down neck again, pacing somewhere nearby...

Beneath a low-growing gooseberry bush, rendingly screaming a rabbit. Its hind leg caught in the jaws of a trap. Noa towers over it, aimed a spear.

"Hey, owl!" you yelling at the top of your throat. Louder than the poor rabbit. Louder than the birds flying in all directions. Louder than a weapon falling with a crash.

Hands down, Noa looks straight at you, turning around. You're holding a sharpened spear. You're learning fast. And you're filled with dissapointment.

"Yes, Noa, I'm talking to you! It was you, who spoke of owls and rabbits. So you were feint? Well, I'm glad, that I saw your deception with my own eyes"

Forest sprinkled with poison of your words.

These weren't supposed to be the first words you spoke to Noa. Not at all. You rehearsed them in your head, wandering through the swirls of ornate phrases — waiting until you were ready to speak them without fear. Now you're waiting to see if Noa will pick up his spear and if you strike a blow again.

Leaning down towards the incessantly squeaking lump, you open the trap with incredible effort. When Noa tries to help, you don't let him near and hiss.

"Or you move away, or I'll stick your hand there!" you say in a weak, loud whisper as he reaches for the rabbit you pick up. "You wanted to kill him..."

"I wanted to kill whoever... set the trap. Look. Too big for... a rabbit" Noa says confused. You hide the wounded animal in your hands, seeing yourself as if in a reflection. "Someone is hunting echo"

Yes, bunnies, I'm a little (a little too (as always, actually)) late - but here's a fragment of the cover for the upcoming chapter of "Creation" 🍃🌱🌿💕💘 I got so tired in the process, that later you'll definitely get a short story about how it was done =;•3

⏰🌱 an important detail to warm up the interest: the upcoming chapter of "Creation" will be divided into two equal parts - because events are gaining momentum, and I want to write it out carefully 😚

Modest gifts from loved ones

💕🕯️🩷 🩷📔💕

(They know, how much I adore such cute little things...)

(A doubly symbolic holiday for me, by the way - because on this day of the calendar three years ago my tiny bunny was born^^)

🎉 🎂🤏🥰💓🐰

REBLOG IF YOU ARE PART OF THE PLANET OF THE APES FANDOM

(Think we need a new headcount.)

❗ Bunnies, it's unfortunate, but I can't write in a hurry...

And I also really want to spend New Year's Eve with my family. The chapter will be written next year. I promise that I will try my best to live up to your expectations.

And yes, here is that ai fragment of y/n and lil bunny that I mentioned earlier - so that at least y'all have something from me as a gift and compensation 🫶🩷

The way he thuds his fists here! I need more angry Noa 😍

Please! 🥺🤭

Don't worry, bunnies, I'm still alive - I'm just too absorbed in the writing routine =:•3