#I liKE creepy lakes

[joethehoeee]

Stricklake Month week one: Myth/Technology

I finished it and man, I am exhausted. But here it is:

So it is just a short little animation kind of thing. It shows Barbara reading an old Book about Trolls and Changelings and finding a depicted of Walter...In a different way...

My link to the written Story for it.

It took me SO long to do all of that. Anyways, ig you wanna see a little more of creepy Troll Walt then let me know. I would enjoy writting my thoughts and process to his new form. Well anyways, closeup:

Yes I did wrote all of that on trollish...until I gave up. Translation:

Page 1: Stricklander + The winged devil

Page 3: Wings, claws, face, spikes, fangs, horns, eyes

Page 4: an evil and vile creature with claws bigger than swords and sharp tusk that rip through any skin with ease.

[luminousstardust]

matthew mercer i will never forgive you for messing with my heart and making me think for the briefest second that robbie daymond and dorian storm were coming back.

[porcelaingrrl2000]

[hanzajesthanza]

geralt is also a most real depiction of good quality fatherhood and great girldad representation because EVEN THOUGH witchers don’t even experience aging at the same rate as non-GMO humans, EVEN THOUGH it would be “biologically impossible,”

geralt having had been raising a pre-teen girl for maybe a few months to a year already “gave the impression of having aged,” his “face slashed by wrinkles.” the emotional toll on this man from raising she-devil ciri

and this is only the very beginning of the saga. BEFORE everything goes to shit. the wrinkles have set in

[rynliadon]

can you imagine if richard papen had just gone to like. ucla

[enniyart]

Relationship between Jim and Nomura after the Darklands be like

I really liked how they started interacting together after that arc and I would be very happy if series have shown us Jim and Nomura in the journey to New Jersey

Original picture from Star vs forces of evil if you need it

[dazais-crab-addiction]

Ah, help. I have no motivation to write but I want to work on one of my fics but I cant decide on which one...

Im too emotionally exhausted to write atm so its set to one week so I can pace myself lol

The first one is a multi chapter thats mostly funny with a bit of angst, the second is just me solidly trauma dumping and is super angsty (has a side of soukoku at the end), the third is ranpo and poe meeting after the several years but established relationship

[bunneechan-gaming]

someone mentioned that a white rabbit slowly passes outside the window during this part so i had to see for myself and gosh it was so creepy i get goosebumps everytime

[six-of-ravens]

I know I was joking the other day about how Talk to Me didn't scare me at all but pool filters do, but literally just now I thought about pool filters and like, other mechanical bits inside of pools for too long and had to turn the light on

[katyspersonal]

Also I had a dream that I was sort of an apprentice/underling of Djura and even had a small room of workshop on my own! I was creating some guns but I was working on a huge static one that'd work automatically even in my absence? It used both actual mechanics and Arcane stuff, like eyes of Kin used in it would automatically spot an enemy and determine what to shoot them with more or less, and besides normal bullets and big explosive bullets there were also parts of phantasms such as Call Beyond parasite to cause shooting of small projectiles, and lasers (I presume Kin eyes included were Amygdala's then..... rip)

I haven't finished working on that thing before alarm clock worked but dammit combining engine and Arcane was such a cool idea hahaha; I GOTTA use it somewhere

[pocket-size-cthulhu]

Someone found and reblogged this which reminded me it existed. Spooky short fiction be upon ye!!

Utah Valley Gothic

• The mountains are far away. The mountains are closeby. The mountains surround you like a fortress - or a cage. They are at a fixed distance from your window. Are they closer today than they were yesterday? You lower your eyes: you know not to look too long with anything besides admiration.

• "I hate the grid system," you say. "Nonsense," your friend replies, "the grid system is so sensible." "I just don't get it," you reply. "We have nothing like that out East." Your friend's pupils expand; the whites of their eyes disappear. "The grid system is so easy," they speak with 20 voices. "It's easy. So easy. The grid system is superior." This happens every time.

• There's a Sodalicious on the corner by your house that wasn't there yesterday. Across the road there's a Swig that's been there since the foundations of time. You're walking to school; a Chip and a Crumbl pop up in your way. Behind them, an Insomnia, a Fizz and Penguin Brothers clamor for your attention. You can't go around them. The only way through is in a sugar coma. "Chip or Crumbl?" you ask your friend, a wide, sugary grin on your face. "Swig or Sodalicious?"

• A girl wearing a miniskirt crosses the crosswalk. All the eyes of all the drivers are on her. All the eyes of all the cars are on her. All the eyes of all the buildings are on her. All the eyes of all the entities in the upper stories of the old buildings along University are on her. All the eyes in the whole world are on her at once. She reaches the sidewalk, the light turns green, the cars start moving. The world snaps back to normal. The eyes in the buildings are still on her.

• "We're on the north side of the building," your friend texts you helpfully. You look around - which way is north? Suddenly there are mountains in every direction, looming above you, blocking out the sky. Which way is north? you wonder. "This way," each peak replies at once. North is just a myth. You walk inside and wander around until you find your friends.

• A long, straight street stretches out in front of you. It's lined with pristine, quaint little houses with mowed lawns and pots of flowers out front. There's no sign that anyone lives there. You walk to the next block and look down the way. A long, straight street stretches out in front of you. It's lined with pristine, quaint little houses with mowed lawns and pots of flowers out front. There's no sign that anyone lives there. You walk to the next block and look down the way. It's lined with pristine, quaint little houses with mowed lawns and pots of flowers out front...

* You wander down Center street. Permanence has no meaning here; it's no use searching for a particular shop or restaurant; it will show itself to you when it's ready. There's always something new to see, most of which you'll never see again. You wonder about that little book shop you used to love. You haven't seen it in 50 years. 10 minutes later, it appears on your right. But the bakery and taqueria you used to love will never appear again.

• You pass a church building. You pass a church building. You pass an obviously historical church building. You pass another church building, identical to the first two. You pass a temple. You pass a church building. You look back and you've only come five steps from your apartment.

• You go up into the mountains with your friends for a hike in the peace and quiet. The trail is crowded. You hike on and the trail only gets more crowded. The trail is packed with people as tight as sardines; it's at a standstill. "Isn't this relaxing?" your friends ask. "Being out here by ourselves in nature like this."

• Center street is closed. Center street is backed up. Center street traffic is not moving. It's a concert, or a farmer's market, or a cultural festival. Why do I even take center street? It's always like this, you think. You'll take Center street next time too. You'll take Center street every time.

• University is closed for construction. 500 N is closed for construction. 500 W is closed for construction. 700 N is closed for construction. Bulldog is closed for construction. You wonder where people with cars are even driving. You're glad, for once, that you're biking. How long have you been sitting in traffic behind the wheel in this car? It's taken you six hours to go two blocks.

• Everyone you know would rather die than hike the Y. Everyone you know flatly refuses to hike the Y. Everyone you know has hiked the Y. Everyone you know hated hiking the Y. Everyone you know hikes the Y every weekend of the summer. Everyone you know hikes the Y for Homecoming. Everyone you know is always hiking the Y. "It's just not worth it," they say. "It's so steep and the payoff isn't even that great."

• The locals squint at the mountaintops. "It's a dry year," they say. You know it's their farmer ancestors speaking through them. "We really need the moisture." They squint at the mountains. "Snow already? that's a good sign. We really need the moisture." It's June. Is the snow early or late? "It's been a dry year," they say. Every year is a dry year.

• The morning is fresh. Your car is covered in sludge an inch thick. "It must have rained last night," you say to no one in particular. This used to disturb you. "It will clear up," the locals would say. "It's always like this at first." It's like this every time.

• "This valley used to be underwater," you're told. "Now all that's left is the Utah and Salt Lakes." You stand on the shoreline trail and look out across the valley. You can see your house. Maybe it would be better if it was all still underwater. Suddenly the feeling of drowning you've had for the last five years makes sense. You're living at the bottom of a pleistocene paleolake. That has to be the reason - right?

• As the morning fog clears up, the mountains look close - a lot closer than they should be. You don't look too long; you don't mourn the neighborhoods they swallowed overnight. They knew what they were risking when they settled on the foothills. "Besides, it's just the tree streets," you say with a grim laugh. You'll say nothing when people from the Tree Streets re-emerge later that week with no memory of being swallowed. You lower your eyes. You don't want your neighborhood to be next.

(living in Provo is kinda creepy)

[caniethenondogsartblog]

Made a whole little doodle sticker sheet and then realized I drew it on the wrong side of the sticker paper, here’s the highlights

[porcelaingrrl2000]

[orcelito]

Ok I kind of am glad to have given this Isobu arc a chance. I'm not entirely sold on the Guren and Yuukimaru stuff, but I'm getting to see a lot more of the minor characters I don't usually see. INCLUDING so many female characters!!!!! Started off with Hinata, then Sakura, and now Ino, Shizune, AND Tenten are all here!!! Five female characters active in one arc!!! Practically unheard of for Naruto!!!! Plus Guren makes 6 I guess, though I don't really like how they're like "here's a Ruthless Woman who thinks of nothing except becoming one with Orochimaru!!!! ...except now here's a child, and after just a few days her Motherly Instincts are thawing her heart!!!!!! She's not so ruthless after all!!!!" Like I mean it's sweet, but also it sucks that they're doing this with one of the few female villains. Like why are most of the women reduced to mothers and girlfriends??? In the end, basically all of them get this fate. Or they die. Come on can't we have a woman that just sucks??? Smh.

[girlscience]

the adrenaline rush after talking to someone who gives you severe anxiety but the conversation went super well and was super helpful: unparalleled

[rafey-baby]

hidden

outlaw!rafe holding pogue!reader hostage in her own house after banging his fist on her door in the middle of a stormy night, demanding to be let in with a gun in hand and wild waves in the sea of his eyes…

18+ mdni!

c/w: outlaw!rafe being mean and manipulative, mentions of murder, violence & other dark themes, he’s also weirdly soft in the end?

wc: 2k

he's been stuck in my head for a while so hope u enjoy xx

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There’s still sleep dust lingering in her lashes when she hesitantly cracks open the oak door at 3 am— revealing a tall, scary man with scarlet stains on his big hands, white button up saturated in maroon and a scowl painted over his unsettling countenance.  

She stands there like a deer in headlights, unmoving as he stares down at her with arctic eyes as chilling as the frigid waters surrounding an iceberg.  

At first, she thinks she’s still asleep, tired brain conjuring up some creepy murderer scenario where she’s the idiot who does everything the audience in the movie theater is screaming at her not to.

But as she properly blinks her sleepy eyes open, she comes to the realization that this is not a horror film and this intimidating stranger (with oddly appealing features) who’s definitely just killed someone is very much real.  

She’s about to open her mouth and she’s not sure whether she was going to scream for help or simply stare at him with her mouth hung open in shock but she doesn’t get the chance to find out before he’s pasting a massive palm over her mouth.  

“Don’t make a sound,” his low mutter makes a shiver run down her spine. 

And she doesn’t, instead she just blinks, too out of it to even move a muscle; the reek of the dried blood on his hand hitting her nose, making her face scrunch up. And she doesn’t know why she’s not putting up any sort of a fight, blaming it on the fact that half of her brain is still swimming in the lake of her dreamland; soaking up the glittering sunbeams that never dull and dipping its toes in the grass that consists of misty nebula and twinkling stars. 

And he’s just so mean, ordering her around with a gun to her head, manhandling her around to his liking, grumbling about needing to stay at her house for a bit since he needs a hiding place from the cops after dumping a body somewhere in the ocean and getting caught. Apparently, his temper really just got the best of him at times.  

“I didn’t even mean to kill the guy, alright. He just kept pissing me off on purpose and I was provoked, what was I supposed to do?” He offers as an explanation that seems to do very little to soothe her overstrung heart that’s thudding in her ribcage. It’s loud enough for him to hear; almost as if she’s a terrified rabbit and he’s a big bad wolf, hunting down his prey.  

“I’m taking a shower now, and you’re not gonna move an inch, you understand? Cause if you do, I’m gonna have to hurt you, and I really don’t wanna do that, okay?” 

She nods her head, unable to form any coherent sentences. 

He takes note of the way her inhale gets caught in her throat when he steps closer to her, inquiring whether she lives alone or not, to which she just nods her head again.  

“Dumb girl”, he tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “When someone’s knocking on your door in the middle of the night you don’t fucking open, alright?”  

She’s making it entirely too easy for him.  

The second he’s in her bathroom, she forces her exhausted brain to think; quickly coming up with a rickety plan as she listens to the water streaming down from behind the door. She waits for a moment, making sure the coast is clear before she bolts towards her bedroom, trembling fingers grabbing her phone from her nightstand and trying to dial 911.  

However, her shaky hands don’t help her one bit when they drop the phone; the clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoing in the quietness of the room.  

She can’t breathe, her brain short-circuits as she bends down, reaching for the wretched device that has somehow tumbled under her bed. However, when she finally catches it in an unsteady grip, she hears the shower turn off; an eerie stillness following. In her state of panic, she fruitlessly tries to turn it back on and call for help but it’s proving to be harder than she thought when her lungs decide to stop working, her respiration shallow and her heartbeat ringing in her ears.  

“Boo,” a low whisper right behind her makes her blood run cold; a shiver traveling down her spine as she slightly jumps, a faint gasp leaving her.  

“Why did you just do that, huh? Told you, didn’t wanna fucking hurt you and then you go and pull this shit,” a strong hand is gripping her by her throat as he turns her around to face him.  

“I’m sorry, I...I don’t—” she’s paralyzed, unable to move.  

“You don’t what, huh?” He stares into her horror-stricken eyes with an almost bored look, seemingly entirely indifferent to her torment.  

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” her voice is nearly inaudible, making a grim chuckle bubble out of his chest.  

“Can’t breathe? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before, yeah?” He scoffs, cruel words mocking her.  

“You’re so fucking stupid, want me to kill you, is that what you want?” He grits out as he squeezes at her neck, making her feel dizzy; gasping for air.  

“No! No, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Won’t— won’t do it again, promise, I’ll do anything—” she manages to force out as he’s nearly crushing her windpipe in his unrelenting grip.  

“Anything, huh? That’s real tempting and all but what I need you to do is not pull stupid shit like this, you understand?”  

“I won’t, I promise. You can...stay here for as long as you want and I’ll help, okay?” she thinks she’s gonna pass out soon, stars peppering behind her fluttering lids and her weakened limbs starting to feel heavy. His coarse panting fills her eardrums as he seems to contemplate her offer for a moment.  

“If you even think about running to the cops tonight, I’m gonna fucking find you, you understand?” 

She’s frantically nodding her head and at last, his hold begins to loosen around her trachea, allowing for her greedy lungs to finally suck in air as she takes a step back, trying to even out her respiration.  

He doesn’t say anything, silently observing her as she clears her throat, swallowing a few times as she tries to pacify her racing heart and calm the thoughts running around her head; trying to reassure herself that she’s still alive and she will stay that way if she just doesn’t rile him up anymore.  

He notices how her rounded eyes look up at him as he stands before her, smelling like her honey-scented body wash and orange blossom shampoo, nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, leaving very little to her imagination as the room grows quiet.  

“What’s— um…what’s your name?” Her voice is creaky when she tries a different approach once she feels the flat floorboards under her wobbly feet again, a nervous hesitation overlaying her precarious question.  

“Don’t worry about it,” he simply dismisses her, but a small pout molds her mouth as she stares at him and he lets out a discontented sigh, rolling his eyes.  

“Rafe,” he finally responds, not bothering to ask for hers, seemingly not caring enough for it. She tells him, nonetheless and he laughs at her priorities. A literal criminal has broken into her home and she cares about fucking introductions.  

“So…have you— have you killed anyone else?” She doesn’t know why she’s trying to make small talk with him but she supposes if she gets him to talk about something, choking her to death won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.  

“You seriously wanna know?” He raises his brows. 

She thinks about it for a moment and then settles on shaking her head, followed by a harsh chuckle rumbling out from his sturdy chest.  

“So, uh— what is it that you do? Like besides…killing people and stuff?” She tries once more.  

“Look, the less you know, the better, alright?” He simply states, making her let out a soft sigh in defeat.  

All of a sudden, a vigorous thunder crackles behind her windows, an ablaze lightning illuminating her dimly lit bedroom soon after.  

She flinches at the sound and the sinister way it momentarily lights up his face.  

“You scared of a little storm?” He feigns concern as he peers down at her.  

“N— no,” she lies, forcing her face to stay neutral, hesitant about him finding out her weaknesses.  

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, yeah?” The mocking grin on his face causes a shudder to travel through her as she swallows, wishing this was all just a nightmare she could wake up from.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

After that little incident, he thinks that she’s just as sweet as sugar, offering to make him tea and asking if he wants a blanket or an extra pillow so he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the couch.  

He can tell that she’s merely doing it because she’s terrified of him, which she should be. Nonetheless, he thinks it feels nice to be pampered, doted on; to have a pretty girl following his orders like a trained puppy. Makes him figure he's gonna enjoy his stay just fine.  

The following morning though, he’s woken up by her shaky figure standing next to his own tired form, pointing his gun at him.  

His softened bones feel mellow from the sleep and he lets out a sigh, rubbing at his sleepy eyes and shifts to sit on the couch cushions; teasingly lifting his hands up in surrender. 

“Puppy’s got a gun, huh? Trying to be all tough now, are we?” There’s a lazy smile on his face.  

“I— I want you to…leave,” she says, voice rickety and words unsure.  

And he’s trying to take her serious, he really is, but it’s proving to be a little difficult since she resembles a scared little kitten more than someone who knows what they’re doing.  

“You want me to leave? Maybe you should work on your pitch, I’m not very convinced, you know?” The exasperating smirk plastered on his face makes her brows crease.  

“Rafe, this is not a joke,” a scowl shades her face and he thinks she looks rather adorable.  

“Come on, Puppy. You’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” His voice is even; she hesitates. 

“Well, it can’t be that…complicated?” It’s more of a question than a statement and he really can’t keep the chuckle from bubbling out of his throat. Her frown deepens.  

“Why don’t you give it to me, yeah? You don’t want death on your conscience. Would break you, you’re too soft for that shit.”  

“You don’t— know me.” 

“I know you enough,” he says, finally standing on his feet. He takes a slow step towards her and she squeezes the gun tighter in her trembling fingers.  

“If I give it to you, you’re gonna— you’re gonna…kill me. I don’t wanna die,” her words are hysterical, rushed.  

“Now who said anything about killing you? Look, if you give me the gun right now, I’m not gonna do anything. I give you my word, alright?” He’s towering over her, solid chest nearly grazing the barrel.  

“I don’t trust you,” her voice is a whisper.  

“I know, Pup. But I also know that you’re not gonna use that,” his steady hands are a contrast to her own precarious ones when he grabs for the firearm, slipping it from her weak fingers with ease.  

“There we go, no need to be so fucking theatrical, yeah?” He lowers his head in order to lock his eyes with her frenzied ones.  

“See? Not hurting you, am I?”  

She manages out a hum of agreement and then her waterline is brimming with water, salty droplets trickling down her cheeks as she chokes out a sob. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”  

“Hey, hey it’s all good. Mistakes happen, yeah?” He says and then his strong arms are wrapping around her trembling form because he’s not a complete monster and for some reason that makes her weep harder.  

Her crocodile tears wet his shirt but he doesn’t seem to mind, big paw rubbing against her back. And it’s almost…comforting, she thinks as he starts to sway her from side to side, like he’s trying to calm down a crying child.  

“There you go, just let it all out and maybe you can chill out a bit, yeah? You Pogues can be so fucking dramatic sometimes,” he pats at her back, rolling his eyes as she takes in shaky inhale after shaky inhale until she’s feeling slightly more placid.  

“Shit, if I’d known you were such a crybaby I would’ve picked another house,” he grumbles, pulling away from her weakened form, pushing her back to stumble on her feet; setting the gun back on the coffee table with a clank.