#Aus goes brrr

[melodythebunny]

in celebration of new chapter

Behold fanart

Sunshine lollipops and rainbows au - @luckykaix

[redthemarten]

So, uhhh, @lordincognito your angel/devil costume idea has been on my mind so much that it has turned into an AU and has been haunting me all week. LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE

[kandidandi]

hey btw

[hheisa]

.... I did this drawing because of a Kikuo song: "Red Ridinghood's Wolf"

I thought it fit Nightmare pretty well so I made this drawing hdhsjd 👉👈

........... This took me the whole day I'm dead

[raynecloud06]

Vague idea I have for a Project SEKAI AU; Mizuki Akiyama and Tsukasa Tenma as infamous phantom thieves, who are often used as the subjects of renowned painter Ena Shinonome's work.

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober Day 12 - Starvation

title: eve or the serpent?

fandom: hermitcraft smp

cw: starvation

~

“Please.”

Cleo growls at him—at Joe, they trusted him, they can't believe that they could ever have trusted him—

“It's safe, I promise.”

“No, it's not,” Cleo snaps, even as her stomach stabs through with lancing pain.

An apple. An apple is all that Joe holds out to her, and Cleo doesn't know if he's the serpent or if he's Eve but they know that to partake would be the end.

“Cleo.”

They had given him their name. That's how much they had trusted him.

They were so terribly, terribly stupid.

Joe was different, she'd thought. They were friends. They were inseparable, as nervous as it made everyone in town.

The artist’s daughter and the púka. What a foolish pairing.

Cleo still remembers when they met—as she strayed a little too close to the forest during recess, kicking a rounded pebble along in the grass, only seven years old and already well-versed in avoiding the fair folk. She carried a cold iron ring, a protective charm in the necklace that was commonplace for children, a salt packet in her pocket and enough knowledge to recognize and keep away from any fairy circles.

This fairy wasn't what she'd expected, though.

He was a little boy, with goat horns and dirty clothes, tears pouring down his face as he tried fruitlessly to pull his leg free of an iron trap clamped around his ankle.

He was bleeding, blood trickling down between his toes, and he blinked up at her with big, golden eyes and she knew that she wouldn't leave him, fae though he clearly was.

“You can call me Scully,” she had said, because of course she had been taught to never give her real name.

The little boy couldn't have been older than six, and Cleo's chest puffed up as the oldest and therefore the one in charge, and she set the fairy free.

You aren't supposed to do favors for the fae, but Cleo didn't know that.

When the boy showed up a week later as she played at the park and helped her spin the merry-go-round, she just thought she'd made a new friend.

He became Joey when he turned up one day with tall ears and a thick tail (they had read an an alphabet animals book the day before, and he had been enraptured with the kangaroo), and she had laughed and told him he was too small to be a real kangaroo, but maybe he could be a joey. She carried him around in a makeshift sling like a mama with a pouch, both of them giggling the whole time.

Everyone in town avoided them. Cleo's father was angry at first, then scared, then resigned. It makes her want to smile, remembering the fear in his eyes slowly fade to tired acceptance the first time Joey had come to dinner, when she was around eleven, and they had caused far too much chaos together without a word of communication between them.

For the most part, it was just Joey and Scully, together against the world. Cleo didn’t mind that she didn’t have any other friends. She had Joey, and Joey he stayed until Cleo was fifteen and Joey was too young of a name (he was a teenager too, hair long and face scrawny and floppy dog ears hanging down to his cheeks) so he became Joe.

“Don't tell him your name,” her father had said, again and again and again, once he gave up on trying to argue with her. “I won't stop you from having a púka as a friend, but never give him your name, all right?”

Cleo should have listened to him. She should have taken that one piece of advice, even if she ignored all the rest.

It was her eighteenth birthday when she told him her name.

They had thought, at that time, that they might be in love with Joe. They hadn't felt so close to anyone ever, so they gave him their name in case something was truly there.

Joe had gone still, his golden eyes blinking owlishly at her (an apt description, his mouth beak-like, his ears pointed and feathery). “Scully—you shouldn't—”

“I don't care,” Cleo had said brusquely. “I'm Cleo. Freely—”

Joe cut her off with a hand to her mouth, head swiveling around to make sure they were alone.

“Don't say that,” he had implored. “Never say that. Freely given can be accepted by anyone, Scully.”

“But there's no cost. You don't owe me anything.”

Joe had just let his hands fall to their shoulders, concern writ in every line of his face. She had always been able to read his emotions so well, no matter what face he wore.

She had loved him, but not like that. She had loved him as her closest friend, her Joe, who had always been there.

Even now, he's here, at their side, at the end.

The traitor that he is.

He had carried them, taking the form of a horse as he so often did, through fields and over streams and into the forest, and Cleo had known the way and had laughed and enjoyed the wind on their face until everything went dark.

They awoke in a labyrinth.

A maze of twisted trees, Joe nowhere to be seen.

She wandered for days. She had so trusted Joe that she had neglected to pay any mind to wherever he took her, and that had clearly been her downfall.

She walked, and walked, and walked, until she was faint with hunger and thirst, until she had collapsed and could barely even crawl.

Days, she thought. It felt like months, but it was probably just days.

Laughter rang from the trees around them, and they covered their ears. This was what she��d always been warned away from as a child—a fairy circle, sometimes a dance, sometimes a maze, always a disappearance.

There was no way back home. There was no way of telling how long it had been out there, if anyone they loved even was still alive.

All she knew was that it had been long enough for her to die, and now—if Joe wouldn’t stop pressing this apple into her face—she will.

She doesn’t want to eat it.

“Please, Cleo,” Joe begs, and they register vaguely that Joe never uses their real name. She had given it, but he never used it.

Not until he was trying to make her do something that would change her forever.

“I . . . I don’t want it,” they say, lacing their voice with every ounce of venom they possess. “You . . . you. . . .”

“I know,” Joe says, and Cleo thinks he might be crying for some reason. There’s a shift, and then their head is in his lap, and Cleo can’t help from melting into him as his fingers gently comb through her hair.

She was nine the first time she practiced braiding on Joe, and he had made it extra long just for her to practice.

He learned how to braid, as well, and she gave up on braiding her own hair and just let him do it whenever the fancy struck him.

His hands are more familiar in their hair than their long-gone mother’s. Isn’t it cruel, to find comfort in his touch now?

“I’m sorry, Cleo, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry it took me so long. But you need to eat something, we need to get you out of here.”

“But—but—”

She turns away as he presses the apple closer. Her stomach jerks with piercing pain again; her breath is stolen from her lungs.

“I know,” Joe says again, his voice soft. “I know. But you have to. I’m sorry, but you have to. Then we can find our way out, okay?”

If they eat that apple, they might never die. They might be bound to Joe forever.

Is that worse than starving to death?

Cleo looks at the apple out of the corner of their eye, glaring at it. “I don’t . . . I don’t like . . . Red Delicious.”

The apple changes in front of them, Joe just twists his hand a little and it’s green, a little bit of condensation dripping down it in the most appetizing way.

“Granny Smith, your favorite,” Joe murmurs, his free hand still caressing their hair. “We can leave afterwards, I promise. But you have to eat.”

Cleo closes her eyes.

A tear slips out.

Then they take a bite.

[xandyprojects]

Pre-Lovebug! Violet but something is off...

" M A K E I T S T O P . . . P L E A S E "

Warning! Horror under the 2nd image:

[aoflameandco]

Bonizumo Week 2024

Day 7. Free day

Leisure time of royal couple ♥️

[tiredandanxiouschaos]

I saw that reblog of my previous hallucinating medicine student House AU talking about Wilson's younger brother being a metaphor for House's want for irl Wilson to look for him and YES. I also thought about some other subconscious parts of House's hallucination and I thought that things like Wilson's and House's arguments is fantasy mixed with irl memories of their irl arguments that lead to the end of their irl friendship, but House's mind right away makes happy (or at least happier then irl) endings to them. Also, I think that all those self-reflections or in general odd behaviour for someone cold like House is just his irl thoughts/emotions/personality traits slipping in and his leg hurting more or less is a metaphor for his irl mental pain being better or worse the certain day. He also gets ideas while Wilson says something, because irl Wilson was his muse when it comes to piano playing (which irl House used to do when he still lived in his family house) and main motivation to study. And Kutner's $uic1de is a real memory that wasn't suppoused to slip in, but it did.

[devilsrecreation]

Thinking about Bar Owner!Kenge in that Zootopia AU

Thinking about how he falls madly in love with and marries his former rival (aka my oc, Maji)

Thinking about them eventually having a kid named Kibaya and Kenge loving the kid the moment he hatches from his egg

Thinking about how he’s worried that he might end up becoming like his abusive parents only for him to be the exact opposite

I mean, he’s not perfect nor is he the most affectionate parent and he still yells a lot, but he still loves his family very much

Like he still has a temper and anger issues but the most damage he’s done is punch a wall or break a vase or smth. He’d never lay a claw on his wife and kid

Thinking about just how much Kenge and Maji love each other and how she actually makes him happy

Thinking about Kenge and Kibaya’s wholesome (in a way) father-son bond that consists of noogies, head pats, playful wrestling, and late night heart-to-hearts except neither of them mentions the last part cuz they’re like that

Fun hc about Kibaya, actually: In this au, it turns out he’s really good at mixing drinks when he gets older. He’d also go on to become a professional boxer/MMA fighter cuz he was always good at throwing punches. Yeah, Kenge’s so proud

He may have grown up in an abusive household but he broke the damn cycle like good for him

[zerothisnero]

Nothing but a bunch of animals

[feliner]

woe, noodle upon ye

This was drawn in Magma! (Formerly Aggie), Wanted to test my limits :)

[doctorwhozzat]

Hello? Ana, is the Doctor there? Is he alright?

I think there's something off going on..

–Chris

Ana: Yeah...the tardis is trying to tell me something...but I cant understand her! I don't see either of my friends around... :/

[obsidian-art04]

Oops! Caught you!

[art-question-mark]

MERRY CHRISTMAS

[phoenixdoesartstuff]

I don’t know why, but since AM is supposed to be this super intelligent super computer, I wanna hear him just ramble about something.

Honestly yeah I'd him to just infodump for hours.