#I had issues with the paints as is already

[niki-phoria]

https://www.tumblr.com/niki-phoria/776310441091694592/hii-lovely-do-you-still-write-for-chishiya

hii, it’s me again!

If I’m not bothering you, you wrote to Chishiya "his types of kiss", do you think you could write a "his kind of demonstrating that he cares through gestures" (gn reader)? Thank you so much 🩷

그런 널 보면 i'm dyin' to hold you now / 밤은 또 어느새 날 깨우려 하는데

pairing: chishiya shuntaro x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 580

notes: wasn't sure how i wanted to write this so it isn't super romance focused (chishiya's love languages is similar but more romantic), haven't written for aib in a while so sorry if the game doesn't really make sense lol, thank you so much for the request !! i hope you like it <33, not proofread !! pls forgive any mistakes, title from bae173 - annoyed

the air feels sticky against your skin; the night breeze does little to combat against the humid summer air. beside you, aguni crosses his arms across his chest. he lets out an impatient sigh as he leans his head against a white pillar. your eyes scan around the group. your competition. 

a businessman nervously fidgets with the cuffs of his suit. beside him, two women stand side by side, clinging onto each other. they whisper softly to each other even though you’re too far away to hear any of their words.

CHISHIYA SHUNTARO nods his head along to a rhythm you can’t hear. his hood has been pulled up over his head, leaving only a few stray strands of blonde hair visible beneath the night sky. when chishiya glances upwards, his gaze meets your own. he smirks softly behind his jacket hood for a few seconds before returning to silently analyzing the other players. 

the chime of the announcement system comes as a welcome change. a familiar automated voice plays over speakers you can’t see. “game: tag.”

at first, the minutes tick by without any events. you keep your footsteps quiet as you slip through the stairwell. aguni walks with confidence but you don’t miss the way he subtly sticks closer to the shadows lining the walls. you take the opportunity to slip away, walking through the eerily empty apartment’s halls. 

chishiya is already standing near the roof when you arrive. without the jacket’s hood protecting his face, the wind blows stray strands of blonde hair across his face. he leans against the white half-wall, watching the other players wander around from above. 

“anything interesting?” you ask, stepping closer to stand beside him. the bricks feel cool against your hands. a thick layer of paint has smoothed out any texture they used to have. 

chishiya simply hums. “nothing yet.” he shifts slightly, brushing his shoulder against your own. it’s an otherwise unnoticeable gesture, but it makes your heart skip a beat nonetheless. “does aguni know you’re here?”

you shrug. as the beach grew, it became harder to keep track of each member individually. the games only added to your anonymity, making it easy to slip away from the crowd under the guise of ‘being afraid for your life.’ “does it matter?” 

he remains silent. your lives depended on your social skills just as much as your physicality. the beach had only become another challenge, demanding careful navigation and care to survive. aguni was smart enough to survive. he wasn’t vengeful like niragi or observant like ann. he wouldn’t pose any real risk. at least, not while hatter was still in charge. 

chishiya glances at you. he shuffles ever so closer, resting his hand just beside your own. the heat from his knuckles is a welcome change from the otherwise cool night air. after a few seconds his hand dips lower, fingers now tugging at the edge of your beach-issued bracelet. chishiya’s fingers run along the braided thread holding it together. 

you flinch slightly when yet another round of gunshots echo throughout the apartment. they’re much closer now; you can hear the click of another round being loaded into the chamber. chishiya reaches over, tentatively taking your hand into his own. his thumb runs along the grooves of your knuckles. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to. the gentle circles he rubs against the back of your hand say more than words ever could. don’t worry. we’ll be home soon.

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my aib masterlist <33

[teatime-tangents-and-toys]

Wydowna Spider was a deeply underutilized and awesomely spooky character design in Monster High G1, reflecting a black widow spider with jet-black skin, solid red hair, six arms, and four insect eyes above her normal ones. Wydowna had next to zero role in the animated media and no speaking appearances, but with her two dolls she is defined by comic-book fandom to a degree that rivals Ghoulia's (for Wydowna, it's her entire thing).

There is simply insufficient portrayal of the character to make any conclusions about her racial coding, but there is a fair concern that viewing her as a Black character could be offensive given that she is literally stark black...and her signature SDCC doll is uncomfortably close to racist imagery already. She just could have used another lipstick color (silver was right there). Oh, G1...

Stark-black G1 Catty Noir had similar vagueness and optical issues to Wydowna, but, perhaps surprisingly, became Black-coded in G3 with a Black voice actor and a more careful design featuring subtler lip paint, baby hairs, and microbraids. Could Wydowna have the same approach if Mattel were daring enough to bring back such an out-there doll? What's the feeling on the character that was?

[mia-can-yap-too]

Colors

Who? :- Bachira Meguru x Fem!Reader

Warnings:- Fluff, kinda OOC

♫:- Disco — Surf Curse

Truly appreciating life can mean looking around yourself, noticing the colors that are woven into every moment of your life. Colors in themselves can have a lot of meaning. Orange can mean the color of the sky when the sun sets, it can mean the leaves of trees starting to wither when autumn rolls around or even the cat you see on the way to your morning commute. Blue can mean the sea you swim with your friends in during summer, the blueberries on the muffins you like to treat yourself to or even the violas you see when you pass by the local flower shop every now and then. Life truly is a colorful experience. 

Then why is your canvas still blank?

 You have been sitting in your school's art studio for a while now, staring at your still white canvas. You've been demotivated recently, needing to paint but finding no inspiration, no will to do so. 

Its been like this for a while now, you spending your last few days before summer break glaring at it, hoping that maybe if your stare was intense enough, a painting would appear right in front of you. You have tried almost everything you could think off; taking a stroll through the more scenic areas of your city, painting still life hoping it would light up the spark in you again, but alas, none of them worked. Lady Luck must have been ignoring you lately.

You are on the verge of tears when Miss Bachira, your arts teacher who also happens to be a renowned artist, taps you on the shoulder. Quickly, you gather yourself up before turning to her.

"Y/n," she smiles, "I would like to have a chat with you, if you do not mind." 

"Oh." You blink. "O-of course, Miss." 

She gestures for you to follow and then promptly leads you to her office. 

"Please, take a seat," her friendly tone still present. 

Have I done something? What if I've been hogging the art studio for too long? Am I gonna get in trouble? Or is it my art instead? Is THE Bachira Yu about to tell me how shit of an artist I am? That it was never gonna work out for me? That its so bad it can be deemed an abomina--

"I've noticed that you've been having trouble painting recently", she starts, calmly. 

"Oh, yes, I think I've uh.. hit an art block, probably," you answer, trying not to make your nervousness evident in your tone. 

"I see, it happens to the best of us. Though that is not entirely the reason why I wanted to talk. I've noticed that there is a lot of potential in you, and I would like to help you by guiding you through your difficulties and giving you a nudge in the right direction when needed. In other words, I would like to tutor you over summer break. Of course, you can say no if you already have plans or if you simply wish not to, I would understand," she looks at you with expectation in her eyes. 

You can't believe it. Bachira Yu, one of the most wonderful artists in Japan, wants to tutor you?! 

Your shock must be evident, as her smile turns even warmer than before.

You realize she is still expecting an answer. 

"Yes, I would love it if you tutored me, thank you so much for the opportunity, Miss Bachira!" you beam. 

Maybe, Lady Luck had other plans for you after all. 

-- 

It has been a couple of weeks since summer break started. Your tutoring sessions with Ms.Bachira have been going quite well, too. Seeing her in her element, listening to her talk about her passion as she guides you through her thought processes for her paintings have ignited a spark inside you as well. It makes your fingers itch for a paintbrush, to pick up paint from your palette and smear them onto your canvas until your emotions and thoughts are conveyed on the canvas. Yet, still, your earlier issue persists. Miss Bachira tells you to give it a little more time, to take a moment to live your life so that you may take inspiration from it. Until then, she teaches you various art tips and helps you perfect your style. 

You knock thrice before entering her studio apartment, not bothering to wait for her to answer the door as she now keeps it unlocked for you. You enter her studio, placing your bag in its designated spot. Looking around, you realize Miss Bachira isn't in front of the painting shes been working on, like she usually is.

"Miss Bachira?" you call out. "Are you there?" 

You wait ten minutes before deciding to go look for her. It's not like she would have minded, as she often asked you to go fetch things for her. 

You look in the main bedroom (after knocking, of course) and the living room before heading to the kitchen. 

Inside, you spot an open refrigerator door. Confused, you go to close it when a hand touches your shoulder. Startled, you scream, which in turn, makes the perpetuator scream as well. Turning around to get a better look, you see a boy your age with familiar golden eyes and fluffy, brown hair with yellow highlights. 

He smiles brightly at you. "You scared me, silly," he laughs. 

You eyes are still wide open from the shock. 

"You okay?" He tilts his head at you. 

"Uh, yes?" you say puzzled. "You are...?"

"Bachira Meguru. Buuut you can just call me Meguru, since you probably call my mom Bachira and it must be pretty weird to have to call two people Bachira, right? I mean, I wouldn't know but I don't think tha--" 

You cut him off, because you're sure that if you didn't, he would never shut up.

"I didn't know Miss Bachira had a son." His smile is still as bright as ever. The similarities are undeniable. 

"I get why you wouldn't, I'm usually off at Blue Lock, a football camp. You must be Y/n, the girl my mom's tutoring. She's told me a lot about you!"

You blush, flustered. "She has?"

"Yeah, totally, you're definitely her favorite student," he chuckles. "You were looking for her earlier, right? She's just gone to get some paints she ran out off, she should be back soon, though!" 

You nod, "I see, thank you for telling me, Meguru."

His smile seems to brighten even more as you call him that. "No problemo~! Hey, I was about to eat some ice cream, do you want some, too?"

"Oh, sure, I guess." 

"I only have chocolate though, its the best, my monster agrees," he says pulling out two bowls.

You furrow your brows. "Monster?"

"Yeah, my monster, its my best friend, and its telling me that you have a monster too."

"Oh? Do I need to be exorcised or something?"

"No,no, its a good monster. My monster seems to like yours. I think we're gonna be good friends." 

"Well, as long as I don't get possessed or something, sure," you smile back at him.

It was then, that Meguru realized, that he liked you too.

--

As the days pass by, you and Meguru grow closer. It started with him idly sitting in the studio, sometimes throwing a football against a wall and catching it as it bounces back as you paint with his mother. Smiling whenever you two made eye contact, making faces behind his mother's back in order to make you laugh and the occasional compliment on your art skills.

Soon it turned into you staying at the Bachiras for longer than usual. Playing video games together (you were an undefeated champion), trying not to laugh when you two drew portraits of each other (he named his masterpiece 'hyperpigmentation'), even attempting to bake cookies for his mom (you both ended up burning them). He tries to teach you soccer, and you try to teach him how to paint. You talk about your childhoods, why you chose art and he chose soccer. You listen when he tells you about his monster

He doesn't tell you how much he wants to kiss you all those times. 

You don't tell him how much your'e starting to like him.

It was when you two were playing Uno, he asked you out. 

"Hey, Y/n," he says as he picks up a card. 

You hum in response. 

"Theres a new Attack on Titan movie out, wanna go watch it with me? I'll buy tickets for us both!"

You blink, surprised. "Huh? You wanna go with...me? Are you sure you don't wanna use that ticket on someone else?" 

"Of course I wanna go with you, silly! Its fun when you're around!"

You're blushing, no one has ever said that to you before. "Really? Its quite fun where you are around too, Meguru. Sure, I'll go!" 

"Its a date, then!" 

You both are too consumed by your own heated faces to notice the other's.

--

You both meet up an hour earlier than the starting time of the movie. He holds your hand as he drags you two to a nearby photo-booth. 

He doesn't tell you about how he was panicking to his mother about how to style his hair (she convinced him to do it as he usually does) , whether to wear his overalls or yellow shirt instead (he chooses the shirt) and which pair of shoes to wear (he ends up wearing his usual pair).

You don't tell him how you were pacing in your room, worried if it was only you who were considering this as a date and whether or not this was casual for him. You don't tell him that you used your expensive perfume and spent hours on Pinterest for outfit inspirations. 

He pulls you into the photo-booth after you both grab props from the stall outside. The first picture startles you both, neither being ready for it. Next one is of both of you in cat ears. Then come the mustaches, corny peace signs and heart glasses. When the last picture comes around, you gain a sudden burst of confidence and face Meguru to kiss his cheek. 

His face turned red. "Where did that come from?" he asks, nervously.

"I-I'm so sorry, I should have aske--" you start, ashamed. 

"No,no! Don't be sorry, its okay! I liked it, actually," he interrupts you.

In return, he kisses your cheek as well, even though there is no picture for it. 

You take the pictures, a soft smile on your face as you examine them. 

Meguru doesn't tell you how beautiful he find you then.

You don't tell him how you'll cherish these photos forever. 

-- 

After the movie, you both find yourselves walking side by side, holding a popsicle each. Your free hands brush each other every now and then as you both recount your favorite moments. 

"I really liked today," you say, seemingly out of nowhere. 

"I did too!" His signature grin is on his face. "We should go out together more! Maybe we should go to the arcade next time, I'll win you all the plushies! Or maybe to the park, I could teach you how to play football! Or maybe we could have a picnic! Actually--!"

"Calm down," you laugh. "We'll do all of those one at a time, okay?" 

He intertwines your finger together. He knows it might ruin your relationship, but he needs to do it now, or else he'll never find the chance again. 

It doesn't take long for you notice him looking at you. 

"Yeah?"

"Y/n." His face is more serious now. 

You listen intently. You notice his golden hues shining. You want to tell him.

"I really like you."

A faint blush sits on your face. "I really like you too, Meguru."

"No, not as friends, as something more." He hesitates, trying to find the words. He knew from the start. When you didn't judge him for his monster, when you didn't make fun him when he couldn't stop talking, when you didn't run away when he wanted to hang out. He knew when he constantly wanted your attention on him, wanted you around all the time, wanted you. 

"I don't know how to do this but I want you to know," he looks away as he rubs his neck. "I've liked you for a while now. I want to hold you, kiss you and hang out with you everyday. You make life fun, you make me feel seen, make me feel like I'm worth hanging out with. I know there are other people, people who are normal, who don't have monsters, who aren't weird like me. And it would make sense if you don't feel the same, cuz you can do so much better but--"

"Meguru, don't say that," your tone is stern and you hold his eyes in a glare. "Don't ridicule yourself for being who yourself. You are kinder, funnier and better than most people in every way. I like you too, dummy. I thought the way I was blushing so much was an obvious hint, actually." 

You both laugh. This time when he wants to kiss you, he does. 

-- 

This time when you hold your paintbrush, you actually paint. Because now you know how colorful life can be from experience. Yellow is Meguru's hair when you run your fingers through it, the duck plushie he won for you at the arcade and his shirt that you mended for him. Red is your cheeks, the red velvet cake he likes to eat and the strawberries from the picnic. Golden are his irises, his laugh, the way he makes you feel. Blue is the color of the violas he bought you. Brown is the chocolate ice cream you sneak out to eat together. 

This time when you finish your painting, it becomes the best one yet. He knows that too. 

[mango-dot-yum]

I know I’ve been posting a lot of hate recently… but I’m working on a doll of Pearl so I’ve been looking at a bunch of her costumes, so I need to talk about my least favorites😭😭 to balance it out, I’ll also talk about costumes for Pearl I like.

Disclaimer: these are all just MY opinion. If you like these costumes I’m happy that you do. I just don’t.

First off, I hate this ugly Las Vegas/Tour costume. I already posted a rant about all the coaches’ costumes a while ago, but I’m going to restate some of it here. My main issue is definitely the removal of the front panel of the skirt. When I think of Pearl, I think of her spinning and removing the front panel makes the spinning a lot less cooler looking. The part covering her bust being removed makes the neck thing look a lot more random and out of place and honestly, bad. She also just looks weird with no leggings, and I don’t like the blonde hair. The design feels too mature(there’s definitely a better word, I just can’t think of it rn) for Pearl. Pearl is either portrayed as innocent and really naive who is well intentioned in the end, or she’s a sucky person with no regard for others and just pretends to be nice, and this design doesn’t fit either. This costume is genuinely so ugly that I’m only putting one example photo of it.

A costume I do like is the Broadway costume for Pearl. This is probably the most iconic/well-known costume for Pearl since it- and barely unchanged versions of it- were used until 2018. It’s metallic and sleek which goes well with Pearl being the brand-new girl. The “OBSERVATION” panel and the “PM” on the skirt makes it feel a lot more like someone dressing up as a train instead of just someone dressing up, and I like the more square shoulder things instead of the more rounded ones used originally. There’s definitely a reason this costume went unchanged for so long.

Another Pearl costume I don’t like is probably one unsurprising- Bochum 2018. The costume itself is practically the exact same as it was before the 2018 changes, save for the “OBSERVATION” being changed to “FIRST CLASS” and the obvious color change. I do not like the all white costume because it makes a lot of the details blend together and makes the costume too same-y. Other costumes had variation with different types of pinks, silvers, and whites, but this only has the white. It also has a slick, straight ponytail, which is not what o think of when I think of Pearl. It reminds me of how Hatsune Miku has gotten smaller and smaller pigtails throughout the years. To me, Pearl’s hair has always been one of the staples of her character, and this was such a dramatic change. This costume just feels so much more conservative and sophisticated in a way that doesn’t feel like Pearl. Pearl has always been frilly and girlish- and while I understand why they might want to change that- it’s also so deeply engrained in her character that removing it almost makes her another character.

Lastly, a costume I do like. The original London production is beautiful, and it’s a shame that elements from it were never brought to other versions of this character. The costume has quite a bit of black in it- something that other productions never really saw. Pearl has a puffball skirt and the only pink that’s used in the main part of the costume is the belt she has on. I also like the wig and how it’s multicolored with black, pink, and white, something that also solely remained with the London production. The voluminous hair is something that stayed with Pearl for many years, but I wouldn’t say any wig looks fluffy like this one. I really do wish the black stayed with the costume.

At the beginning I mentioned making a doll of Pearl, so if anyone wants updates/progress of that as I go, please let me know :D I’m in the planning stage right now but have the fabric, paint, clay, and all the other materials that I’ll need. And if anyone wants my opinions on Starlight Express characters, costumes, or anything, send me an ask about it! I like sharing my opinions about it, even if most people don’t care

[rosedere]

Sea dew and the Benevolent Sea Witch

Sea God! Azul Ashengrotto x Shrine maiden (Afab) Reader

Summary: Every spring the benevolent Sea Witch of the Coral sea requires a young maiden to be married to as a deal for centuries to protect the small alcove hidden from the rest of the world; most women are courted and picked using a similar method to the Sea witch by recieving a Brooch from their bethrotled. Shocked when a intricate and beautiful Brooch finds itself to you the mystery deepens when said brooch is the chosen one from the one and only legendary Sea witch of the Coral sea.

Gen TW: Yandere Content, Dubious consent, Misogyny, Kidnapping, Stalking, Violence, Hypnosis.

Previous Chapter: Prologue: Tears of a Single Maiden

You are here: Chapter 1: The Shrine above the Sea witch

Next chapter: The Brooch

-

Several years Later

Sitting idly under the large oak tree that seems out of place on the island, a peaceful place to rest from the background noise that was on the upper temple grounds.

Smiling at the recollection of the story behind it, the unique feature it was gifted to the temple from a foreign land to bring peace. It stood tall and full of color like something out of a painting.

Some of the shrine maidens thought it was terribly ugly compared to the fan-thin branched trees reminiscent of coral branches that were native to the island.

But they just couldn't understand the beauty of something foreign, blinded by their teachings was what you tried to tell yourself.

“High priestess (Name) what are you doing under that tree?” 

You didn't turn from the cliffside view you had from your lunchtime sitting spot, a bit annoyed you sighed, the young acolyte had been one of the newer ones appointed to the temple of coral.

“Lunch” you shrugged.

“Oh don't tell me you're upset about High Priest Azul being here?” The young girl said approaching you from your left, the pale lilac and heavy cloak covering the peach mermaid tail dress was all you saw in your peripherals.

“Really what gave you that impression? I'm glad the random stranger got assigned this temple to be the mouthpiece of the sea witch” you tch'd to yourself kicking the apple core under your foot, tumbling its way down towards the arcs mouth below several lonesome miles down.

“High priestess he truly is a nice man, you just need to give him a chance—”

“There's something wrong with that man and I'm going to prove it before the bride selection if I have to” 

You glanced at the large glowing arc below a tall suspended bridge connected to the rope bridges attached to the other land masses of clay and dark sediments.

A few lonesome bubbles surfaced popping and sparkling around the mythical landscape of fables. And then dark obsidian was cast over the technicolor bubbles, a foreshadowing.

“Oh? Is there an issue I'd be troubled to not lend a helping hand if need be”

High priestess.

This time you had to turn; he already caused you enough trouble and it was only the first day.

Your spine tingled at the sight of his strange opalescent eyes, His robe half revealing the strange dark indigo tattoos over his chest spidering out like an octopus to his exposed arms, his pale chest only half covered by the toga-like sash over his torso.

The silver hair fell over his face framing it bringing attention to the golden-rimmed glasses he wore. On the edge of his playful smirk was dotted with a small beauty mark on the corner of his chin.

Something about him you hated.

“Good afternoon, Azul” the young maiden bowed with her dress billowing slightly.

He only slightly acknowledged her, his deep sea blue eyes focused intently on you.

“It isn't polite of one of the believers of the Sea God to Gossip about others on sacred ground” he picked up his glasses slightly.

“It's not gossip if I intended for who I was talking about it to hear” you sighed.

“I'm positively wounded the most alluring High priestess has such a disdain for me” 

You don't know what about your statement inviting him to sit under the oak tree with you, feeling him sit on your long sash sprawled over the thick roots you sat on top of spilling over to the left of you.

The young maiden only coyly followed to stand next to the both of you.

“I just find it strange you want to have the shrine maidens and priestess to be offered to the Sea God as brides” You eyed his dark violet Robe hanging dangerously low off his pale chest.

“The whole idea of our coven is supposed to be—”

“Well, I wasn't aware you were the Sea God now (Name)” his lips upturned at the sides of his mouth as he gazed at the side of this face he could see lazily.

“Being a high priestess for seven years must have gone to your head in all that time” 

You ignored the chuckle he let out as his snarky tone rang out next to you.

“My point stands especially how you ignore my question” 

You sharply eyed his mischievous figure sitting against the tree.

“Why are you truly here” 

He only sat silently, as if waiting for something more from you. Expectant.

A soft inhale from your lips before you tried to get up, a harsh tug pulling you back again in a silly display, your light purple and white scalloped sash was underneath Azul’s leg near you.

”I'm here to ensure the Sea god’s will is honored” 

He merely smiled, the maniacal glint in his hues, something inky and spidery clouded his opalescent eyes. 

“he wants his Bride back, and if that means he has to change a few rules to get his way then so be it” 

You stiffened, but you didn't bother to argue.

Grabbing your sash with a hard pull you heard the threads rip as it shredded underneath him leaving the few pearls at the end of the sash that hung with shipwrecked golds remaining with him.

”Goodbye, Azul I need to return before I get scolded for neglecting the lower temple once more”

His eyes followed along with the curious gaze of the younger maiden as you went down the coastline path leading to a small bride down to the sacred grounds below, a few bubbles floating around you glowing as you made the long tedious descent to the most neglected temple on the island.

It wasn't until halfway that you reached the overgrown vines that laid in your way towards the halfway mark.

Taking a slight break you paused to look at the large glowing landmass that was in front of you. The arc that led to the kingdom of the Sea god, Mers, and all sorts of different creatures was rumored to be in the dark spot that was a disruption between the teal calming waters around it. A deep section of the ocean, no one could ever find any bodies of fishermen and people who were brave enough to try to jump into the deep sea green hole that was practically bottomless.

“Oh (Name) you seem quite flushed” 

You heard her footsteps creeping silently from where you were trying to reach, “and your sash is torn”

Looking down to see the meek needle-like smile of the other annoyance to you, her short teal and dark hair sitting above her shoulders, her strange pale yellow iris gazing at you and your torn sash on your uniform.

”Seems the Rumors about you might have been true” She smiled.

“To let him take a piece of your sash, how romantic”

Crossing your arms you only scrunched your top thin brow in annoyance at the young maiden.

“I’ll replace it once I finish my duties” 

You began to descend once more hoping she’d move away from you once you reached the few steps down.

But just as her close friend was, she just smiled carefree letting you get close to her tall figure standing on the stony rocky step below.

”you realize this change would be beneficiary to you as well yes?” She said, her eyes still never leaving you.

”oh so now it’s me that’s the villain of this temple because I think it’s cruel to subject these young women to that silly tradition?” You spat with venom.

“I just think you aren't properly informed” 

You stopped a step above her, still blocking your only way to the safety of the temple.

”think about it in terms of yourself”

”what do you—“

She put her hand in front of you to silence you, a flutter of her lashes as she smiled down at you. 

“Having shrine maidens be allowed to participate in being chosen and having relationships means the heat of the past will be overlooked” 

You narrowed your eyes, folding your arms over your chest near the folded part of your robe's chest piece.

”Don't you want to be accepted as a true High priestess of the Temple without being reminded of your past affair”

”It wasn't an affair, Nothing happened” you gritted your teeth.

”No matter, don't you care about being respected?” her eyes went to gaze up at the cliffs where the Oak tree was behind you watching the conversation go on.

”Besides, the High Priest is rather fond of you”

”Look I don't want to talk about this, whatever happens is going to happen anyway” You finally forced your way past the girl almost tilting on the last rocky step of the path before reaching the sandy beach below.

”Who knows, maybe this is my sign to leave this island again”

You felt your bamboo flat sandals touch the sun-baked sand at the temple's entrance inviting you with the circling bubbles welcoming your return.

She once more followed in pursuit, her shorter dress casting a shadow over your long one following behind you like a white bride's dress.

“Oh again with that threat?” She teased, “You can't leave this island”

You stopped.

She just stayed standing still her hands behind her back with a smile.

Huffing, you only shrugged.

”If there’s a will there’s a way Jade”

She laughed, this time a little longer and creakier than her usual laugh that graced her prim mouth.

“I didn't realize you were crazy, what are you going to become a mermaid and swim away?” Her sleeve found its way to the side of her face billowing slightly.

You groaned but continued to see the abandoned straw broom you had left for yourself yesterday sitting against the mahogany entrance into the actual sacred statue of the great Sea god in its glory.

Maybe seeming busy would keep Jade away you silently thought.

It did need a bit of cleaning due to the occasional sand hitting the varnished floor planks in front of the large stepping boulders anyhow.

”if you’d like I don't mind sweeping the floors today”

For some reason you decided to look back at her grinning pearly white teeth glinting at you from the shadows cast over the arc.

You sighed.

”Okay, what horrible task do you need me to do?” You leaned against the broom, “might as well do it now to keep you away from me the rest of the day”

Her grin felt like it couldn’t get any higher she hummed, gesturing with her left hand in a “come here” wave, taking off past the small sanctuary.

Carefully treading in her tall shadow looking at the ornate teal heart tattoo on the back of her neck as she approached the edge of the uneven water from the low waters leaving a few feet of sandy gravel gap from where the small beach was.

A terrifying stomach-flipping drop if you couldn’t see past the horizon and stepped off the silky soft bank into the inky waters below.

She carefully stepped down expertly navigating the water's edge with her short dress not flying up in the breeze, a difficulty you were having as you hadn’t done such work of navigating the high cliffs of the island of the coral sea in a long time.

After almost slipping on a step drop you made it to the water's edge where Jade was now standing, still like a statue the only movement was her reflection in the water.

The deep ocean below you both.

”(Name) I seem to have dropped my Sage and Lavender satchel for the tea ceremony there”

She pointed to a satchel indeed floating in the water bobbing up and down a few inches away from the both of you at the edge of the water.

”I need you to get it for me before the High priest finds out I was gathering Mushrooms instead of my duty”

She stepped back, you leaned closer to get a better look at the satchel.

”is it necessary? Why can't you get another one prepared before sundown”

You were trying to roll up your long flowing sleeves, gathering them to not get too wet.

The water grew darker looking, another tall wiggling shadow towering over your own, swallowing the teal water and spitting out a dark hunter green in the shallows.

”Oh.”

Step.

”It’s”

Step.

”Very”

“Important”

You didn't even have the time to turn, her hands in the motion of a shove, shoving you into the lukewarm water, your robeexpanding around your whole body as you seemed to be pulled down, deep into the turquoise waters.

Trying helplessly to swim up against the large purple and giant bubbles rising was a task you were struggling to do, thebubbles instead of rising seemed to be trying to sink with you back into the depths below, with no sand to kick off of in sight a literal bottomless ocean.

Your eyes blurred and mosaic as you looked at the aqua water around; lungs burning the horrible reminder you had to survive.

The sensation of growing pressure made your head  feel it was going to explode, air, you needed to swim and struggle up to the bright rays above.

Kicking your sandals and trying to use your legs you felt like all it would do was keep you from sinking but not helping you gain buoyancy to float up.

This might be it.

You closed your eyes, this was a painful way to die.

The pressure from holding your breath was giving way, if you could cry this would be when your final pathetic action left. Just as you felt your lips part to accept the imminent fate you were more in confusion it wasn't a gallon of salty water to greet your mouth.

Someone's lips, soft and latching over your fearful trembling ones, air from their breaths filling your lungs.

You thought maybe this was a near-death hallucination, a hope of what you would want to happen when your life would be taken and snuffed in the wick of life.

Though your eyes were closed you could tell you were rising with whatever or whoever was guiding you to the surface, their body wrapped around yours as you felt them kicking against the suction of the undertow in the water.

You couldn’t stay conscious however as you felt your head breach the surface, a flash of white and a static-like noise was all you remembered.

…

”(Name)”

You remember being shaken, the back of your head hitting a soft surface.

Opening your mouth no words came out, but the feeling of the stranger's lips still imprinted on them, your savior.

Slowly, your eyes opened.

And High Priest Azul was kneeling over you in a dark purple room unfamiliar to you, his chest fully revealing his tattoo.

The mark of the Sea Witch.

[stxrfclls]

the  former  high  lord  of  the  dawn  court  was  not  a  man  that  carden  found  himself  around  often.  rumors,  whispers,  assumptions  and  gossip  surrounded  the  man  –  it  painted  enough  of  a  picture  that  kept  carden  far  away.  by  the  time  he'd  befriended  saint  the  high  lord  seemed  to  be  at  his  worst,  which  is  why  carden  never  questioned  why  there  was  so  little  mourning  when  it  came  to  his  passing.  the  man  was  not  loved  by  many  –  if  any  –  and  saint  already  did  a  better  job  in  his  shoes  than  anyone  could  ask  for.  and  now  carden  was  along  for  the  ride,  in  a  position  many  might  not  think  the  half  peregryn  capable  of.  saint  had  a  penchant  for  seeing  bits  of  the  fae  he  hid  away,  and  rather  than  run  he  decided  to  make  the  other  his  best  friend.  "  but  can't  assume  without  asking.  "  he  says  with  a  gentle  shrug.  he  doesn't  keep  pushing  much,  it  didn't  help  with  saint,  the  stubborn  lord  had  to  figure  things  out  on  his  own.  "  you  tend  to  bring  that  out  in  people.  "  he  says  with  a  shit  eating  smirk.

carden  tilts  his  head,  listening  to  saint  and  understanding  that  his  friend's  mind  was  such  an  interesting  place.  was  he  saying  what  he  believed  or  what  he  wished  to  believe  ?  "  you  don't  really  have  the  choice  never  to  marry  though,  do  you  ?  the  people  want  to  see  a  high  union,  and  children  to  consider  heirs.  "  he  supposed  there  were  lords  in  the  past  who  didn't  wed,  ladies  who  had  alternative  arrangements,  lieges  that  did  as  they  pleased,  but  the  dawn  people  were  very  traditional.  they  wouldn't  care  how  a  union  occurred,  but  they  would  wish  to  see  the  high  lord  with  a  wedded  partner  and  children  of  some  type.  "  you  act  as  if  you're  horrible  to  be  around.  "  he  teases,  and  even  if  carden  was  often  the  quickest  to  make  fun  of  saint,  he  did  need  to  note  that  the  other  wasn't  that  bad.  though  he  did  agree  –  not  just  any  fae  would  understand  just  what  marrying  into  a  high  family  was  like,  what  becoming  the  wedded  partner  of  a  high  ruler  entailed.  arguably  he  hoped  a  former  princess  did,  but  the  human  realm  was  not  the  fae  realm.  without  knowing  the  girl  himself,  carden  was  torn  between  what  saint  believed  and  what  might  be  true.  he  bites  back  a  smirk,  seeing  the  green  shades  in  saint's  tones.  "  i  suppose  he  is  an  easy  target.  "  hedges  the  emissary.  a  shrug  to  the  latter  statement  from  his  friend.  "  nobody  would  know  how  to  act  then.  "  he  thinks  of  celeste  in  particular,  but  that  wasn't  the  topic  at  hand  now.  he's  more  focused  on  saint's  issues  now,  and  not  giving  the  high  lord  something  to  use  as  a  distraction.  "  she  does,  and  we're  all  lucky  for  it.  "  carden  was  incredibly  close  to  his  mother,  and  saint  would  be  well  aware  of  how  that  relationship  was.  they  were  both  lucky  that  she  didn't  send  him  to  his  father  –  but  she  loved  him  too  much  to  do  that.  once  again  the  man  shrugs,  "  i'm  glad  they  accepted  her,  most  don't  wish  to  befriend  a  former  human.  "  if  they  even  knew,  that  was.  carden  supposed  that  could  be  another  secret  in  this  mess.  "  you  should  ask,  preferably  when  i'm  near  to  see  the  answer.  "  teases  he.

saint  could  not  bring  himself  to  regret  his  actions,  not  when  his  siblings's  lives  were  on  the  line.  given  the  way  their  father  was  on  the  verge  of  pawning  off  his  sisters,  he  knew  he'd  never  forgive  himself  if  he  allowed  any  harm  befell  his  sisters.  the  court  wouldn't  miss  the  late  high  lord  of  dawn,  not  all,  anyway.  even  if  those  closest  to  his  father  had  mourned  their  late  high  ruler  but  there  was  no  point  in  dwelling  over  the  aftermath.  what  was  done  was  done.  he  had  made  his  peace  with  what  he'd  done,  and  if  it  meant  his  siblings  could  live  freely,  than  it  was  worth  every  moment  of  it.  his  only  regret  was  pulling  lux  into  his  mess  of  a  life,  that  all  that  he'd  done,  if  it  ever  caught  up  to  him,  she  would  be  in  the  line  of  fire.  here,  perhaps  lied  his  greatest  sins,  of  dragging  another  with  him,  the  very  woman  who  owned  his  heart.  "we  do,  and  some  of  us  also  know  it's  not  always  in  the  best  interest  of  the  person  we're  wishing  to  confine  to  our  side."  he  recalled  the  flames  she  tossed  in  his  direction,  "it  was  well  deserved."  knowing  that  his  best  friend  wouldn't  disagree  saint  had  deserved  it.

saint  met  his  best's  friend  gaze.  "that's  just  it.  i  don't  have  the  mind  set  of  who  is  best  for  dawn.  for  myself,  it's  not  the  matter  of  who  is  worthy  of  being  the  high  lady  of  dawn.  i  didn't  intend  to  marry  at  all,  simply  that  it  was  not  fair  to  whomever  marries  me,  they  are  dealt  with  what  comes  with  marriage  with  a  high  lord."  he  couldn't  properly  explain  this  to  his  friend,  not  all  of  his  demons  the  one  secret  that  prevented  him  from  ever  dreaming,  or  entertaining  the  thought  of  sharing  a  life  with  someone.  "particularly,  with  what  comes  with  sharing  a  life  with  me."  he  knew  the  words  did  not  make  any  sense,  however,  carden  whilst  not  knowing  the  truth,  would  catch  on  that  something  was  off  with  his  high  lord.  it  was  not  entirely  the  weight  of  the  court  that  left  him  trouble,  more  than  keeping  someone  by  his  side  with  deceit.  the  knowledge  that  he'd  never  be  able  to  share  certain  parts  of  himself  with  his  partner.  lux  was  more  than  worthy,  and  then  some,  she  had  an  inner  strength  that  most  would  not  recognize  nor  appreciate,  but  either  way  he  would  have  her  under  further  deceit.  his  involvement  with  her  had  began  as  such,  and  it  never  quite  changed.  saint  wasn't  worthy  of  her.  "he's  well-known  skirt  chaser.  she  has  every  right  to  flirt  with  whomever,  but  of  all,  she  picks  him?"  lord  luka  was  still  far  ahead  of  saint,  he  hadn't  deceived  another  and  uprooted  their  life.  "it  should  make  more  appearances  then."  carden  himself  was  a  paradox.  still,  his  emissary's  words  do  have  the  high  lord  consider,  especially  when  he  speaks  of  his  life,  knowing  well  carden  had  been  well  off  being  raised  by  his  mother.  "you've  made  your  point.  furthermore,  your  mother  was  wise  and  she  loves  you."  he  murmured,  his  gaze  perhaps  a  touch  softer  as  he  thought  of  his  best  friends  own  life,  and  parents.  relief  that  his  mother  didn't  abandon  him  to  a  father  who  had  no  interest  in  his  son  or  take  any  sort  of  responsibility  for  his  own  children.  "i  have  seen  here  there,  among  her  own,  she  seems  to  fit  in  well  with  them.  she  deserves  that  inclusion."  she  had  looked  content,  but  even  he  couldn't  not  be  certain  she  was  truly  happy  there.  "i  do  not  know  if  she  prefers  it  there."

[rendoa-blog]

Aphra! (IMV!Dust)

First time drawing one of Icarus's little guys!

Up first, Aphra having a breakdown!

And it's painted!

(Og Dusttale by ask-dusttale, even if this is majorly fanonized lol)

[airoarts]

luxray :3 redraw of a redraw. 2024/2019/2014 in order.

id in alt and below cut

[ID 1: digital painting of the Pokemon Luxray. It is lion-like, standing proudly on a high cliff with its mouth open and emitting electricity. Its tail and yellow markings are glowing. In the background is a dramatic scene of a stormy Sinnoh region, with lightning striking the tallest peak, Mt. Coronet. Wetlands and a pine forest are also visible. The image is dramatically lit to emphasize the lightning as well as the glows on Luxray.

ID 2: An older painting depicting the same scene. Luxray is roaring, with no lightning coming out of its mouth. The background is less complex with the lightning striking nonspecific mountains.

ID 3: An even older painting depicting the same scene. Luxray's anatomy is wonky and it is not roaring. The background is less complex than the previous image with no specific target for the lightning.

End IDs]

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Does anyone else automatically size themselves up with people their age and look for ways that you’re inferior to them? Just me? Ok….

[cosmetichorror]

Being autistic is fun because on one hand if you so much as mention The Legend of Zelda you won't be able to shut up, as in once I was at an archery range with my friend and his family, saw a kid with a Zelda shirt and complimented it. The kid and I were joking about if I'm a real fan and he (jokingly) asked me to name every enemy, and about ten minutes later my friend and his dad practically had to force me to stop talking because I was still going about enemies and occasionally devolving into a small mini rant that is also Zelda themed. But also despite being more than happy to talk about keese and the non canon Zelda games, my most recent mini obsession is two specific old oil paintings, that being Saturn Devouring His Son, and Ivan The Terrible and His Son. You cannot mention these paintings to me because I won't shut up. I had my mom buy me a shirt with the Ivan The Terrible Painting on it. Saturn Devouring His Son is my phone lock screen. I started teaching myself oil painting so I could do artwork similar to them both. Also I have redrawn Ivan The Terrible and his son four separate times in the last six/seven months as Link and Zelda from BOTW. Same drawing, only difference being that I'm getting better and more detailed at it each time

[irregularjohnnywiggins]

Really funny how More Fun Comics #73 introduced two of DC's most popular superheroes, both of whom had wildly different Golden Age origins than any other origin since, and yet both origins are on completely different axis of 'would be cool if they were an Elseworld story someday'.

To whit, Aquaman's Golden Age origin sees his father as an undersea explorer who discovers the ruin of Atlantis, and uses their advanced technology to grant his infant son the ability to breathe underwater and communicate with sea-life. I'd be really interested in a modern take on this idea - I did see a fanart a few years back that reimagined Golden Age Aquaman as a tech hero, old-school divers suit and all, and hell it would even be cool to have an Aquaman story not focused on Atlantis, but instead on Aquaman as Protector of the Seas.

On the other hand, Golden Age Oliver Queen is a white guy who has... ahem, ""gathered"" a huge collection of Native American* artifacts and cultural relics, which he keeps for himself and used to train himself in archery and the like, before all of the artifacts are destroyed when criminals burn his house down. Oliver seeks out a secret, long-lost Native American* city and runs into Roy Harper when his plane crashes. Roy has been on the island the city is buried under for years, with his only companion being Quoag, his Native American* ""manservant"" who talks like every racist Asian caricature from the Golden Age because I guess the writers were too used to writing WWII propaganda to be creative in their racism. Anyway, thieves show up, Quoag dies and is immediately forgotten, they force in some really painful references to Green Arrow and Speedy (like, if you thought the reasoning for Speedy's name in Arrow being 'Oliver's sister does drugs' was painfully forced...) and eventually Oliver and Roy find the Native American* city, which is made out of solid gold because... reasons. Rather than tell anyone about it, Oliver and Roy decide to dismantle the city, sell it brick by brick, and use the money to become wealthy, and also fund their superhero exploits because apparently they decided that was a good idea.

If DC ever brings back Golden Age Oliver Queen under any circumstances and the story doesn't end with Modern Ollie and Roy teaming up to shank him and redistribute his wealth, I'm going to kill someone.

*I say 'Native American' knowing that it's incredibly broad, but the comic doesn't offer a specific group. It also... doesn't call them Native Americans, which I'm pretty sure you can guess.

[eachuisge-cc]

I have finally fixed the satyr dicks properly and, I believe, solved the penis glitch mystery. apparently you have to clone Exactly the WW body part you are making, or something goes screwy. so far, as long as I've done that, nothing has broken. which means I can finally do more sizes and the fem frame version of this thing.

[mrfoox]

.... OK I really hope I can keep this dude ♥

[aemiron-main]

watching the coal development moratorium get lifted in alberta & knowing that all of the water from the rockies to all of southern alberta is going to be completely fucked & toxic/filled with selenium (and we’ve already got issues with that & how it’s affecting the fish and bighorn populations) from coal-mining runoff & it’s going to cause absolute ecological disaster in this area and disaster for people re: safe water access & there’s ZERO new coal mining safety regulations in place (the only regulations are from 45 years ago and theyre barely anything/might as well not exist at all) and it’s just. A nightmare situation. The conservatives really are hellbent on fucking everything and everyone in this province over

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon