#Rosie Cleaver

[katscatnip]

I hope they live a long, happy life together 😁

[radioisntdead]

Ok. So…you can’t just put potential Rosie HeadCanons in my face like that and NOT expect me to start gushing girl.

Rosie with a reader who has a powerful instant regeneration ability. Just imaging they chop off a limb or some fingers and offer them up to Rosie like - “Flame grilled or Sushi?”

Being cute while she’s devouring their pinkie finger while having tea, and reader is SO nonchalant about it.

Good evening my dear! Rosie is just munchin' on the reader like a snack.

Warnings!!

Cannibalism [Fun fact, this is one of the main warnings in the fics I write, out of context this is concerning, EVEN WITH CONTEXT ITS KINDA CONCERNING??] mild gore for obvious reasons, temporary self mutilation??? The seasoning of limbs I don't know but this gets weird, as per usual this more then likely isn't proofread, I wrote headcanons and a drabble but this is somewhat short my apologies!

You and Rosie's relationship is odd to say the least, I mean y'all are in hell but still, but it's healthier then the majority of relationships down there,

I imagine you just carry around like a butcher knife so whenever Rosie is hungry you just go CHOP and hand her your hand or something,

Also if you carry around a bag I imagine you put some seasonings and sauces in for her to choose as well, because unseasoned meat is gross.

Rosie seems like the type to season her food.

The first time you popped off a limb you did with without warning and almost scared Rosie half to double death!

Give the gal a warning and tell her that you can regenerate limbs! She did enjoy munching on it afterwards though!

If you're an overlord you supply her with snacks at meetings,

She just whispers to you that she's hungry and that after the meeting you should get a meal,

And then you with zero discretion chop off a finger and offer it to her,

Carmilla Carmine wasn't pleased, neither were the other overlords [excluding Alastor, he finds it entertaining] and that's saying something since they've more then likely done horrendous things to get to their overlord status.

Rosie however is pleased with the snack, she would prefer if you didn't get blood on the table though,

Maybe in advance you go chop chop and put fingers in a Ziploc bag and hand it to her like it's baby carrots.

Less mess that way,

During tea time I imagine you do prep work in advance so you have an assortment of your fingers in different flavors, so your hand is mess free to be able to hold Rosie's hand while sipping tea,

Or maybe having a picnic, you just pop off an arm and thinly slice it and put it in a little sandwich, maybe some type of dessert? I don't know

Similar to the Alastor biting headcanons I did, Rosie bites you,

But unlike Alastor she doesn't just break skin, she takes CHUNKS OUT, I image you either have a really REALLY REALLY high pain tolerance or you can't feel pain because this has to be painful.

Also you probably need to have towels nearby because this gets messy, like it looks like a murder scene, but without the murder.

You are a snack, literally, a walking talking snack that Rosie adores with all her cannibalistic heart.

....................

You hummed as Rosie sat nearby sipping tea, it was a decent day in hell, the sky was red, sinners were screaming in the distance, and you were pulling back a meat cleaver to provide more fingers,

"Rosie darling, Should I take out the bone or leave it in this time?"

"Leave it in, it gives the fingers a nice crunch!"

Rosie said looking at you, grinning her sharp teeth shining like a razer sharp knife, eyes like a endless void of pitch black that one could get lost in, you could wander in and never escape.

You were completely and utterly in love with her,

Giving a lovely smile back you nodded before ramming down the cleaver, spattering blood across the counter, you pulled your now fingerless hand back, giving it a slight shake before a swirl of black smoke covered it and within seconds you had fingers again, you pull back the cleaver to repeat the process, after all your beloved Rosie was hungry and five fingers wasn't much!

Good evening folks! Thank you for tuning in!

I never thought I would be writing cannibal x readers but here we are, anyways I'm still working through requests! I got a Found family Rosie, an parental Alastor, an angsty Velvette and another one that I can't remember but It's in the drafts! Also Alrighty tune in time!

[big-royal-chicken]

RadioRose Week, Day 1: Routine/Gifts

In which Alastor gives Rosie a new cleaver for her "special hobby"

🥩🩸🪓

@radioroseweek

[aforerime]

The child of morning fell beyond the vast canopy, her rosy tendrils curved across the sky and she swirled her fingers through agglomeration of colors. Her lover's blue churned within her unrelenting orange and violently charred her lover in vicious siennas. She whispered her last gale in a frightening flimmer, then faded to the next world. Her loose tendrils gradually dripped off the edge of the earth, beckoning those who wish to see her next advent to nestle in their homes.

Uraume cared little if they never saw the morning child again. Their life existed for this festival: ritual appeasement to blanket the morning child in the offering's blood. Uraume, drowned in sweat from their culinary endeavor to blanket the wooden table with assorted delicacies, continued forth, spilling the blood of the deceased cow. They wielded a cleaver larger than their length, leveraging the sharp blade in between the joints that connected bone. They used their weight to make the final purchase. The blade sliced through the neck of the cow, its head toppling forward, tongue limply expelling from its mouth. Blood overflowed the table and into a long vessel, its remains to be utilized later.

Uraume's dainty form heaved the cow's horns, the blood continuously flowing over their ivory robe. They quietly grunted as they lugged the cow head towards the lake's shore. The waves lapped the ground, licking its lips for the expectant offering. Uraume rolled their eyes back and spoke in tongues. They muttered an accursed prayer to their lord. They prayed for his infernal strength to plague this city and spite the Stars that captured their souls in this unnatural, concrete prison. They twisted their body, tugging the cow head beyond their back and twirled in immense force. The cow head spun through the air, its blood splattering across their face and ruptured the lake's calm surface in ripples. A clamorous splash broke the tension of the surface and water erupted, engulfing the sacrifice, savoring its flesh before swallowing it whole.

The water quelled in approval. Uraume clapped their hands twice, bowed once, and clapped twice. A silent orison shuddered their mind. The ceremony begun.

They turned to meet the participates, the master of the service and his loyal fox companion. Blood curdled upon their cheeks, taunting them to itch the congealed mass. Instinctive urges ignored, they moved towards the enormous drum fashioned the fortnight. A slick hand encompassed the bachi sticks reinforced with deer bone. They rose the sticks in the air, cradling the final tendril that disappeared from their realm.

Uraume howled, calling for the shamans that accompanied the ceremony a millennium prior. They spoke their former language facilitating the bridge of two worlds and offered appeasement to the protector of their village. Uraume slammed the sticks against the drum once, roaring their ancestor's pride across the umbral land.

A deafening silence hung in the air. They observed the participants in unbated anticipation.

@bimeval @fcxrcin

[prettybluelites]

Thoughts: Fun and Games

Started this last night, accidentally deleted it, got annoyed and went to bed.

Take two.

Yes Stede, the head butt was absolutely on purpose, but not because it was you, rather because a fearsome pirate woke up from a traumatic-on-every-level experience with someone hovering over him, six inches from his face. Ed would have head butted anyone on sheer instinct.

Fascinated by Buttons choosing to check in with Ed about his gravy basket experience, and you can tell Buttons sorta understands that Ed did have a vision, even if Ed doesn't say as much. Also, Buttons has been there a few times himself? Can you get there only through massive physical injury or can you like take a vision quest?

All well and good that the unicorn can't hear without a head, but probably a bigger selling point for Izzy is that it can't talk back

The crew's at a deadlock? Really? They sounded pretty firmly in favor of banishment. Did Stede just want to make sure Izzy got to have a say?

How many takes did they have to do with the sandwich, and was "sammie" scripted or improvised? I need to know.

On a serious note, how Stede's heart must have hurt to see Ed look at him like that

How fucked up and re-traumatizing for Ed to have his lil bunny friend snatched out from under his nose mere seconds after telling it that it would always be safe with him

Did I mention how the costumes keep getting better and better? Minnie Driver looks absolutely spectacular

In Stede's place I would have been scared to death to accept Anne and Mary's dinner invitation, solely on the basis of their predatory grins, but I guess love is stronger than all that

Also stronger than Ed pelting him with backhanded comments all evening

Love the incongruity of Roach talking about reminding the other crew of their value and safety while brandishing a cleaver

Whatever either Stede or Ed was expecting from the evening, it sure wasn't this

"Actually, I was planning on killing him myself" - subtext: still might if sufficiently provoked

Stede's expression when Ed says he regretted shaving his beard - so like his expression when Ed finds him on the beach in Ep9

Taika is so good in this whole scene. The tiny, tiny change in his expression when Stede says he likes his new beard, it's like he's processing that this is happening and willing himself to remain objective. And then Stede asks about the gravy basket and it snaps him back to reality and causes him to turn abrupt/short when he says he's fine. Good stuff.

Not gonna lie, I kinda hate the scene with the pinata and the cake. I get the point, but it feels clunky to me. I do appreciate everyone struggling with the concept of a safe space, lol, and I would love to know what exactly the "fucked up sleeping arrangements" are.

Another costuming note: Lucius is wearing the hell out of those high-waisted trousers.

I personally would not have described Stede as an "artsy outsider," but from Mary's POV I kinda get it, "artsy" sounds a bit derisive, like artsy-fartsy, and outsider sounds like...well, not a pirate. If that's Ed's type, I'd love to know about past outsiders he's been involved with. Likewise, I'm fascinated by Ed calling Stede "fragile" - he's clearly not meaning it as weak, but as fine/delicate. He says it so fondly. :)

Offering relationship advice by saying that everything will be rosy for a while and then eventually, inevitably, it's all going to go to hell and you're going to be left attempting murder to "keep things fresh" is, ah, kind of upsetting. Anne's tactic is upsetting too but at least "let's make them jealous" isn't explicitly violent.

It's really important to me that Roach (along with Fang) is one of the first to try to help Izzy up, same as he was the first to approach Buttons when Karl got killed. He really is tender as hell. :)

In my previous post, I mentioned how Ed still doesn't know that Mary wasn't the whole reason Stede didn't come to the dock - and I want to know, what's going to set off Stede's PTSD? We've seen the crew grappling with theirs and Ed is a walking ball of it. Stede's kinda been skating over everyone else's damage and he hasn't really even touched his own. He says he panicked, and admits he went back to his wife, but the part where he was abducted at gunpoint and nearly murdered is a pretty key part of the narrative. Taking a wild guess that's going to come up when we meet Prince Ricky again. And it's going to lead us into the Season Finale which SHIT I do not want to think about yet.

Others have probably already connected these dots but I'm obsessed with the fact that the blanket that Ed is hiding under so strikingly resembles the Battle Jacket. It should be renamed the Ed Teach is Lovable Jacket.

I just love me some everything about this scene. I love Stede's confidence in making himself heard and I love how throughout their talk Ed comes out from under the blanket, then sits up, then turns toward Stede by degrees, and finally gives that tiny, tiny, sad smile. And the dialogue is beautiful and heartfelt and Rhys and Taika just take it to a wonderful place.

My blood runs cold on Ed and Stede's behalf when Anne and Mary bust in on them, honest to god.

Oh, Izzy. *sniffle*

Ed and Stede both so adorkable negotiating where Ed's going to spend the night

I was honestly not crazy about the whole avian transmogrification thing at first, but the more I've thought about it, the more I like it. Buttons is completely confident in his ability to pull it off and in his reason for doing it - which is, of course, love. His pointing out to Ed that love requires change/growth is just a sweet touch. Was Buttons a "good" first mate? Who knows? Was he a decent human and apparently a legit vessel of magic? I think yes.

Also, if you're going to write a character out of your story, changing them into a bird is a bang-up way to do it. No klutzy off-screen death for Buttons.

Also also, I think it's worth remembering that Zheng uses carrier birds. I predict avian espionage in the future. And no, gulls were not used as carrier birds, but we all know Djenks has been hand-wavy about bigger things.

Izzy...is himself again. Also, loving the casual acknowledgement that there's been at least one other person on the Revenge this whole time who could read :P

My week is going to be insane so I might do Episode 5 tonight and get it out of the way. Thanks for reading!

[laurasanchez36]

The Ghost of Butcher Man My NEW MSA X Legend Quest Enemy OC

Full Name: The Ghost of Butcher Man, Chad (in the past)

First Name:

Las Name:

Nicknames:

Gender: Male

Profile Pic

Age: 5 (his past/child from), 37 (his adult from, later his ghost from; deceased)

Blood Type:

Occupation:

Actual or Past Occupation:

Favourite Shows/Games: ___/___/___

(___,___,___)

Favourite Food:

Instrument:

Favourite Animal:

Family Members Relatives:

Other Family Members Relatives:

Species: Human, later Ghost

Friends:

Enemies:

Alignment: Good (in the past), Bad/Evil

Likes: Being kind, friendly and helpful (in the past) Being a butcher, sings Ring around the rosies song (if he saids and stops sing like "We'll fall... Fear!"), Being strong like his father, being helpful for his mother, Everybody stucks in his big house,

Dislikes: Not being a butcher, his big sisters are treating him like a little child, Everybody are escaping from him and his spooky big house

Hobby:

Goals:

Weapons: Cleaver and Butcher's Hook Grabber

Powers and Abilities:

Skills and Abilities:

Fears/Phobias:

Skin Colour: ___ (his past from), Electric Blue (his ghost from)

Eyes Colour: Sky blue (his past from), Light Blue (his ghost from)

Hair Colour: ___ (his past from), Light Sky blue (his ghost from)

Clothes: ___ (his past from), Butcher Clothes and Vest (his ghost from)

Shoes: ___ (his past from), Boots (his ghost from)

Accessories: ___ (his past from), Apron and Gloves (his ghost from)

Nationality:

Sexuality:

Hair Styles: ___ (his past from), Pushed Back Long (his ghost from)

Mustache Style: Hungarian Mustache

Beard Styles: N/A

@sfcabanasstarcgs and @mysteryideasgroup

This one sounds like Philip (from The Owl House/his child from) and Butcher (from Hello Neighbor: Welcome to the Raven Brooks and Secret Neighbor)

[hellsirenqueen-moved]

{I'm thinking, until we get official face claims for the other Sin Lords, I might just use otem / gaming characters for them. They'll be temporary, of course. I'll post some ideas for who should look like what in a bit.

I know I have a few replies I owe both here and on Rosie. I do, however, want to make a new mood board for a ship I have with my bestie I write with on both Twitter and Discord.

I think I'm cleaver and funny cause I am making a board for Lilith and Grimsley from Pokemon. Since my friend has Grimsley as a vampire, I'm calling it the Castlevania Ship. It's too perfect! I couldn't let the perfect opportunity pass by! But yee..I'll be responding to things shortly. I need to make this beautiful mood board first.~

[yourbelovedincel]

“Dressed like a good boy you’re so cleaver. In your rosy colored glasses, tongue sweet like molasses”

[nyaluvey]

The Chicken - part I

There’s a murderous monster on the loose in Cambridge. Amidst the chaos, a lone girl notices something after coming face to face with the deadly beast.

Part II  |  Part III

Bloodied beak, large tail feathers of various colours that are easily as tall as a nine-year-old, bulging, feral eyes and a long neck that stretches its height to what is comparable to a small house - it was a puzzle to me why the monster before me was dubbed ‘The Chicken’ instead of something like ‘The Ostrich’. One could argue that those rabid eyes, almost red with bloodlust, are more similar to that of the small (and rather horrible) beasts known to keep moving even after decapitation. If you looked deeper into that savagery though, you might be able to see what I saw - unyielding rage, or rather despair…perhaps hopelessness would be a better word? Either way, it was something more human than what I would expect from the murderous monster that has already killed more than 20 people in Cambridge within the last month.

…and this is where I start regretting my choice of taking another look at The Chicken instead of running away like everyone else.

The beast towered over me, its enormous beak ready to fall on me anytime now, I could almost see myself adding a new patch of red onto the random splatters of dried blood that adorned its wings.

If not for my superb survival instincts, that is.

Before I knew it I managed to jump onto the back of the monster and was strangling its long neck from behind with all the strength in my body. It started screeching in the most ear-wrenching way possible - for one moment, I actually felt like I was having the upper hand. Yet just as I was revelling in my gymnastic skills that finally proved useful for once, the monster beneath me started glowing in an unnatural manner, transforming into a human right in front of me - it was a scene that came straight out of a magical girl anime.

I fell bottom-first onto the ground now that my large ride was lost. Looking up immediately to anticipate another deadly attack, I was instead faced with one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.

The Chicken has turned into a girl(?) with translucent skin and straight ebony hair that fell perfectly on her shoulders. Her eyes were an equally dark shade, contrary to the pure white sundress that she had on. If not for the sunlight hitting her at the most perfect, and might I just say, heavenly angle, she could easily be mistaken as a ghost. But I could see that same insanity reflecting in her eyes even in this form - not even the mesmerising rosiness revealed by the sun’s kiss on her cheeks could distract from the fact that she had a bloody cleaver in her hand.

One, two, three. Every step she takes in my way gave me more goosebumps than the last. Something about her human form felt even more dangerous than The Chicken. So I got up. I knew I had to run.

What happened next was a huge blur. I remember narrowly escaping her several times in exchange for a few slashes on my arms. Luckily for me, the game of tag was happening in my own college. Manoeuvring to the nearest hiding place would have been much harder if it wasn’t on my home turf.

Slamming the door behind me, I couldn’t help but slump onto it from fatigue. I was breathless and drowning in adrenaline, the only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat - until loud bangs on the door started reverberating through my body.

She’s here.

It took everything in me to prevent the door from bolting open just from her strong blows. I’ll have to run again, I thought to myself, but where? I took a quick scan of the room I was in. The only other viable exit would be the large window facing Third Court.

She might catch up right away though…no, the office next door always has its windows opened, so if I move quickly enough…

Taking a leap of faith, I bounced onto the tall window at the same time as the next bang and proceeded to push the windowsill up for an opening. Yet, to my horror, no matter how much strength I put into it, the window didn’t budge. That’s when I realised.

It was locked.

Sensing the murderous presence closing in from behind me, I knew I no longer had enough time to make my escape, so I decided to use my last resort: talk-no-jutsu.

“Why are you targeting me?” It took me every bit of courage I had to squeeze the words out of me. Now sitting on the floor, I was shaking with anticipation of imminent death as I watched her lift her cleaver up in preparation for the final blow. It must have been a pathetic sight to watch - a university student trying to hold back tears because of something other than academic work. “There are so many people in this college that you could kill, why do you have to kill me?” Letting out a final cry, I shut my eyes in fear. But the killing blow didn’t fall.

It was when she started laughing that I finally reopened my eyes. In any other situation, I would have loved to behold that ethereal sound almost like a rain of glitter, but I couldn’t feel much other than confusion at that moment.

“You know what, I should tell you,” she chanted, her low voice soothing and threatening at the same time, “you’ve been quite good fun after all.” She proceeded to pull out a few photos from her pocket - pictures of her with a particular man.

A man that I was much too familiar with.

“Your father really loved you - he loved you sooo much that he paid me to kill his only daughter,” A massive smirk was now plastered across her face, “Isn’t it great? Being so unwanted that-“

“Ah, ok. Fair,”

Her eyes widened at my response, though it only took a second for her to go back to laughing like a maniac.

“You know what? You really are quite fun. I’ll promote you from the 32nd person I kill to the 93rd,”

“Wait, what?”

“I said I’ll promote you to the 93rd person I-“

“You’re gonna kill 61 more people??”

“I have to get to 100 in total actually, so it’s… uhh…” she started fiddling with her fingers in an attempt to count the number of remaining victims she had to find.

“69 more including me?”

“Yes! Great mental maths. But anyway, I gotta go get more victims now. I look forward to more entertainment the next time we meet,”

The mesmerising smile and sudden praise made me forget for a second that this girl was a mass murderer. And by the time I realise, she’s already left - in search of more victims apparently.

I swear she had some sort of hypnotising powers on top of some rather strange transfiguration abilities.

[hornstusksandmagic]

Exalted Secret Santa 2022

Avery of Clan Rit'Mount: Twilight Caste

Born to a Barbarian father and an outside mother they never met, Avery traveled west to Nexus. They were searching for a cure of a sleeping illness that had overcome their Clan. It was during a hunt for an ingredient for a charm to ward away Air Spirits that Avery exalted.

My Art HERE and HERE

As a Barbarian of the East, Avery has had the dealings with the Fae. The most notable was as a child when they were lore away and had to be rescued. As a result Avery now has fox ears and a fox tail. Something their Mamaw believes is a sign of their resourcefulness.

Avery is smart and resilient, with compassion and Valor being their highest and temperance being their lowest.Skill wise, Avery is a crafter, with air being their heart. Painting primarily with weaving and seamstress work.

Prior to being exiled from their Clan, Avery was training to be a lore keeper, so the occult is a predominate study. After meeting a sorceress they admire, Avery is also working towards becoming a Spell Caster themselves.

Despite Avery's lack of strength, they are resilient. Integrity is their highest non Twilight ability. They can and will endure, especially if it is for the people they care for.

Appearance: Avery is short. 5 foot at best. They have fox orange hair that matched their ears and tail, and pale ginger skin and freckles. They are fat, curvy, and dress usually in practical clothing that is often very different from those that surround them in the west. While feminine isn't something they shy from, dresses and skirts, preferring pants.

Anima Banner: The world around Avery becomes like a paint with their tail being a brush, dragging behind them paint of orange and purples. Rosy Maple Moths, fly about them leaving their own trail of pink and yellow glitter. Avery steps act like paint splashes sending up the colors of whatever they stand on. An Aurora of orange, pink, and purples flies above them, as if painted in the sky.

Body Type References: X X X X

Pinterest

Sugar Raccoon The Familiar

Like Avery, Sugar was abandoned by her mother when she was just a Kit. Rescued by a 10 year old Avery, nurtured and cared for, Sugar has known no other life than Avery.

When Avery exalted, it could be said Sugar did too. Now linked to her most best friend sugar can finally communicate with Avery like she always wanted.

Sugar has two loves. Food and Avery. As she travels down the path with her Solar friend she too grows. Becoming smarter, more cleaver, and a unknown to her, she will become an essence wilder.

Sugar has also met the touch of the Fae. When she was found, she was a Barbie pink color with purple stripes and mask. Avery made a little back pack for her that she primarily fills with snacks. she is a bit larger than an average raccoon and when you start to add up her age, definitely older.

My Personal goal, as I am quite new to Exalted, but I know that as Avery grows so does Sugar and I want Sugar to be a Spirit one day.

[katscatnip]

It's okay to break down and cry sometimes...

[umbralrosa]

Even Scarecrow has no interest in getting close enough to directly inject Sakuyoru, so a blast of gas jettisoning from inside his sleeve would have to do!

@iambecomefear

玫:

A hiss leaves rosy lips, and she swiftly moves an arm in a slash -- making the long sleeve of her kimono waft only some of the fumes from her vicinity. She’s backing away from the gas and holding her breath, but it only does so much when this specific woman breathes through her skin. Every pore pulling in oxygen at greater capacity, to try and siphon whatever this chemical was from the precious air she needs.

Unfortunately, all toxins she has been privy to were not artificial. Her body a powerhouse that can persevere from the most dangerous of toxins and poisons ranging from cell-degradation, gastrointestinal malfunction, mental instability, and cardiovascular shenanigans. This was with flora and fauna, but never manmade. Mustard gas was the only manmade thing she has been made aware of, and self-experimented for adaptability purposes. Mustard gas, she can handle. This? Was different.

It came very quickly -- the effects. Sakuyoru, ever the scientist despite her situation, was going through the entire checklist of symptoms based solely on what just transpired. The moment she tried to piece together the possible contents to replicate hallucinogenic toxins is where her mental started to collapse. Starting with her skin, which felt very tingly and numb from excessive absorption. It made her lungs obsolete, and her movements only slightly sluggish. The gas had all but gone, so it would be a moment before her skin was within functioning order to pull raw oxygen again. Part one of the danger about to transpire.

What lingered on, was how absolutely unstable she became in such a short span. Second of the symptoms was sound, ramping up at a gradual pace in tandem with smell and taste. Her eyes were immediately shut, lids squeezed harshly to a close because she knows what she will see if she does.

Somehow she ends up in the hallway of the facility, and her hands clasped like claws to her snowy head -- turning red-violet from her blood spilling between black nails digging through the skin. She knows closing her ears up physically did nothing, but it was an automatic response to the sensation of hearing. Even if nothing was there. In this case, the sound of one nurse’s voice became warbled. Morphing into something grating and snarky, and when she looks up when she shouldn’t have -- it is her only sibling.

The clipboard in the woman’s hand only glimmered on the metal, and Sakuyoru took it for a knife. Which, because she loathed her sibling, and assumed herself to be threatened -- she went straight into the fatality of this gas’s impact on such a mentally fragile creature... That clipboard, being nothing more than hard plastic and metal, was yanked away and bashed into that nurse’s head. Pinning her torso underneath the seated position Sakuyoru took while she screamed for help. From anyone. Alerting both other patients and nurses alike.

When the laughing she perceived died down, it was the hushed words of many. When dilated violets raise, she sees villagers. Pitchforks, torches, cleavers, angry eyes... Years ago those same people who tied her down and disfigured her body in the amputation of limbs... The memory in general combined with the nearing medical personnel bearing syringes full of sedatives -- she rumbled a low and menacing growl. Humans aren’t supposed to sound like crocodiles and alligators. It made them pause momentarily -- giving her an opening to attack.

It was a bloodbath, to say the least. Once the mess she made in the hallway was evident on majority of the corridor -- even the ceiling -- people started to panic. She wouldn’t let them get away with what they did.

A cacophony of screams echoed across all wings. Metals doors housing the unwell and the test subjects of one particular doctor were ripped from the hinges. People are not supposed to just... Grip the metal doors and pull them off in a single go. Let alone use said doors to bludgeon others...

It was quiet in the halls and lobby, with the exception of one woman soaked and damp with assorted shades of red. Some parts of her clung with coagulated blood, some with flesh or bone. Her fangs left bare, clenched tight and grinding down on the other flatter teeth. Those were used too...

The sensation of feeling, the kind only electromagnetics and pulses gave, were used to find those who hid. Unfortunately, hiding meant you got the worst of it -- she saw men with guns waiting to ambush her in their place, and their screams of mercy replaced with roars of fight while tossed furniture and clanging metals for gunshots.

She stalked the hallways, snapping her teeth at whatever the shadows were doing. Her claws, bloody and caked with gore, raked into the wallpaper and wood paneling. All four digits cleaving wherever the shadows seemed most suspicious -- which may as well been all of them. At one point, the police who had been informed outside shut out the power, and made it all dark... Leaving the light from the windows to do one hell of a job making her mind play games with the darkness that swallowed her there.

She was seven. Walking the halls of her childhood home, at night -- that awful midnight... The door to the doctor’s office was slowly opened, which entirely contradicted the brutal behavior she displayed earlier. This time, her brows were furrowed in a way that resembled unquestionable uncertainty, confusion, and fear. If at all you walked into this mess and saw her face, she was like a child taking brave steps toward the worst possible outcome.

Once the door opened, she swears, he stood there. Red eyes glowing and overpowering the light from the shut window. The darkness in that room blacker than the blackest black, and all moving in a warped manner. What light hit the floor, it had morphed into the blurry image of her mother -- or was that herself?

It didn’t matter. Because she screamed. 

The rosy maw that opened let forth the force of what can be assessed for a flash bang, but was greater than that. A sonic boom. A pitch so high it was just barely perceived -- it made the animals outside uncomfortable and flee. The cars and their alarms blaring and making law enforcement confused and stressed in tandem with raw headaches and blood gushing from the eardrums of the misfortunate. Windows shattered, and that room specifically had cracks run all along the foundation.

Hours later, when new law enforcement arrived on the scene with SWAT teams and multiple ambulances, they assessed the situation... And the damages. All patients and employees at the facility were murdered, and their identities unknown from the extent of the brutality afflicted. The building as a whole was rendered unsalvageable, and set for demolition. They never found the root cause, nor the head doctor.

Wherever that doctor went, he’ll have to look for another facility to open, and god save him if she finds so much as a smell of him.

[big-royal-chicken]

RadioRose Week, Day 3: Jokes/Horror

It's dinner time and you're the guest of honor. Lucky you!

(Rosie putting that cleaver Al gave her to good use.)

@radioroseweek

Bonus: Matching icons for you and the cannibestie

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (41) || atz

“Chin Hae, can you pass me the salt?”

“Coming right up!” You call over the rattle of the pans, grabbing the wooden bottle from the shelf and tossing it over your shoulder without a second glance. Seonghwa catches it easily without turning around, the two of you already so attuned with each other’s actions in the kitchen that you might as well be telepathic.

“Thanks!” He tells you and you nod, knowing that even though he can’t see it, he’ll somehow sense it anyway. The fragrance of steak and chicken marinated with spices and wild onions grilling over a charcoal fire wafts into the air and you breathe in appreciatively.

You’re almost salivating at the very thought of eating it already, the tantalizing smell lingering on in your mouth.

“Your cooking is amazing, you know that, Seonghwa-oppa?”

The cook smiles shyly, shaking his head as he prepares the stir fried vegetables in the pan, seasoning them lightly with salt. Not too much, Seonghwa always tells you, because salt has a strong taste and he wants people to appreciate the original flavour of the food. Enhance, not replace, as he likes to say.

“I did grow up intending to be a chef and cook lots of delicious food for customers.” He says wistfully, and for a moment you’re brought back to that beach on Nassau, watching Seonghwa as he chose to stay with the Treasure. Then his smile broadens gently as he puts the vegetables on a plate, hand stilling in the air for a moment. “But it’s more fulfilling to cook for people I love.”

You can’t help but beam back at him. Seonghwa is truly too sweet for this pirate life, you think as you chop up the chives finely to use as garnishing. He looks at your work proudly.

“You’ve really improved by leaps and bounds.” Seonghwa praises you, one hand ruffling your hair like a proud older brother. You laugh as he moves to the charcoal oven to take out the pieces of grilled meat, shaking your head in amusement.

“You’re not lying out of the kindness of your heart like the last time, are you?” You jibe teasingly, referring back to the time San had described your cooking to be akin to “fish innards”. Seonghwa assumes a perfectly innocent face faster than you can blink, piling slabs of perfectly grilled meat high on a tray.

“I didn’t lie. You did improve greatly… with plenty more room for improvement.”

You throw the pepper grinder at him playfully, but he catches it without blinking an eye and seasons the grilled meat to perfection. Now the food is finally done.

As if on cue, your stomach growls loudly and the door creaks opens to reveal Yunho, his head peeking in between the crack.

“Hey, hyung, is dinner ready?” He smiles that beagle like grin, hopping up and down excitedly on each foot as he sniffs the air hungrily. You swear that you had thought cooking was an easy job at first, but cooking for so many hungry men on board a pirate ship put fighting a battle to shame.

Seonghwa shakes his head good naturedly as he passes Yunho the platter of meat. “It would have been done a lot faster if you had offered to help, Yunho-ah.”

The lookout shrugs, but there’s a mischievous grin on his face that spells trouble. “I’ve got to leave you some job to do, otherwise you’d be useless on this ship, hyung.”

Seonghwa sputters in outrage and draws his meat cleaver, but Yunho ducks out into the galley stairway before the knife can find his head, the blade sinking into the wooden door instead.

“Come back here, you coward!” Seonghwa shrieks, but Yunho’s laughter only echoes down the hallway after him.

You raise a hand to your mouth to stifle your giggles, picking up the plate of vegetables and tugging lightly on his arm. “Come on, Seonghwa-oppa. Let’s go before all your steak is eaten.”

At the very horrifying thought, Seonghwa starts in fright and throws off his apron, before flying up the stairs so fast you would’ve thought the kitchen was on fire. Shaking your head in amusement, you climb the stairs after him at a more sedately pace, balancing the plate carefully in your hands.

The night air is cool upon your face as you step onto the main deck, a steady breeze tugging at your hair. You set the plate of vegetables on the deck and the crew all move forward to take their servings, thanking you one by one with smiles.

Your heart warms in your chest. You just want to stay this way forever.

“Woah, there’s chicken! And beef!” Wooyoung’s voice is right next to your ear as he glances over your shoulder at the menu for the night, clearly excited. You smile at his childlike excitement.

“You should eat before Seonghwa-oppa takes all the beef, Wooyoung-oppa.”

At your words, you see Wooyoung’s cheeks colour a little even in the dim light of the torches, making his face look rosy. He puffs out his cheeks at you.

“I know you’re just doing it to tease me, Chin Hae.” He tries to sound stern, but then an uncontrollable grin breaks through his pout. “But don’t stop doing it.”

You quirk your eyebrows playfully at him as you brush your hair out of your eyes. The wind really is very strong today. Wooyoung’s bright green eyes dart over to your hand immediately and his lips pull into a brief frown.

You’re about to ask him why the sudden change in expression when he reaches into your belt and pulls out the silver hairpin he’d given you so long ago that day in Tortuga.

“Wooyoung-oppa, what are you-” You begin to say, but then he moves behind you, gentle fingers gathering errant strands and brushing through your hair softly.

“Don’t move.” His warm voice whispers past your ear as he concentrates on twisting your hair together into some elaborate braid, tugging lightly before sliding the hairpin in to keep the knot in place. Satisfied with his work, he steps back, tucking one last strand behind your ear gently, fingers lingering there for a moment before pulling away.

You raise a hand to touch the hairdo in surprise. It’s actually very well done, a beautiful braid wrapping around itself to form a simple updo. You glance at Wooyoung in surprise, who’s smiling proudly at his creation.

“How are you so good at this, oppa?” You remark, stunned by his skill, but then you see his face fall minutely, a shadow flickering across his eyes. His smile turns a little sad, a little lost as his hands fall to his sides, the sound of the chains clanging strangely loud in your ears.

“Maybe I’ll tell you another time.” He shakes his head, but before your can press him further, there’s the strum of a guitar chord ringing through the night air. You glance behind you in surprise to see Jongho sitting there with an acoustic guitar on his lap, strumming a few random chords to warm up his fingers.

Wooyoung’s eyes light up immediately.

“Oh, they’re about to start a song!” He cheers, taking you by the arm and pulling you forward. You stumble after him as Yunho takes his place in the centre of the circle that the crew has formed, all shouting song requests to the younger battlemaster.

“They’re the battlemaster music team.” Yeosang whispers in your ear as he joins you and Wooyoung at the front, watching Yunho go around listening to the crew’s requests intently. You frown, but before you can say anything else, Jongho’s strumming suddenly picks up a lively tune.

“I can make your hands clap~”

Everyone on the ship claps in time to the beat and to your surprise, the crew all start chanting one name.

“Go Captain! Go Captain! Go Captain!”

Glancing about you, you barely spot your captain’s horrified face next to yours before Wooyoung grabs him by the arm and shoves him into the middle of the circle, the crew breaking out in a round of applause. Your captain looks around frantically with a chicken skewer hanging out of his mouth.

“Now come on guys, let’s not do this-” He begins, but then everyone starts whistling and singing along, and your captain in the end, with a defeated smile on his face, does some strange dance that looks as if he’s running on the spot, before he finishes off with an attempt at a handstand.

“You’re so cool, captain!” San screams and Hongjoong throws the skewer stick at him.

It doesn’t matter how silly he looks, because all his crew absolutely adores him and breaks out in cheers. With an embarrassed smile you’ve never seen on your captain, he hops out of the circle and pushes Mingi in instead.

You’ve never seen the silent quartermaster so energetic, because the second he steps into the circle he’s singing along and gesturing for everyone to follow him as he claps.

“I can make your hands clap!” And he can indeed, because everyone does imitate him, cheering and clapping along.

Yunho comes in with a some strange dance that involves hopping from one foot to the other while saluting, but it’s when Seonghwa is pushed into the centre of the circle, ready to dance his heart out, the music abruptly stops.

Seonghwa gives the biggest baby pout you’ve seen, and that’s almost enough to send you into fits of hysterical laughter.

There’s an awkward silence as everyone turns to stare at Jongho.

The maknae looks up from his guitar in surprise. “Ahh… sorry, I just thought one string was off key.”

But there’s a little quirk to the side of his mouth that you don’t quite believe.

The song switches up again and everyone’s back to dancing once more, Wooyoung jumping into the circle completely of his own volition, doing some “sexy” stretching that you’re laughing too hard over, shaking your head in amusement.

The night ends with Seonghwa breaking out a barrel of rum, announcing that he felt that the atmosphere was lively and they needed something to help the crew sleep.

He clearly doesn’t know his crew mates well enough.

San is doing the same ridiculous dance from before, except this time he actually managed to find two star anise herbs from the galley and put them on his chest. It fits your dream from before almost too accurately and you’re not sure if that’s a good thing.

Mingi is bawling his eyes out in a corner of the ship with a tankard of rum in hand, screaming to the skies and demanding that Hongjoong should be blessed with a better life. You smile in amusement and turn around to search for Yunho and Wooyoung, and there they are again, screaming drunken insults at each other from their respective masts.

From here you can faintly hear the same nicknames ‘Poo Young’ and ‘Yun Hoe’ drifting over the wind and an amused smile tugs at your mouth. Just as you’re considering going over to break up their argument, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

Surprised, you turn around to see Yeosang standing there, holding out a tankard to you with a smile on his face.

“Drink with me?”

You’ve never really drunk any alcohol before, but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. Taking the tankard in hand, you look into it and are surprised to see a fruity juice inside instead of alcohol.

Seeing the confused look on your face, Yeosang explains. “I know you’ve never tried alcohol before, so I made a fruit juice earlier from apples and oranges and added just a little rum to it so you won’t get a hangover tomorrow.”

Your heart warms at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Yeosang-oppa.”

The two of you huddle together against the cold at the port side of the ship, the wood of the bulwarks shielding you from the biting winds. You lift the tankard to your lips hesitantly and take a sip, to your pleasant surprise, it tastes just like a well blended fruit juice, with just a tiny nip of alcohol to take the edge off the cold.

Yeosang has some hidden kitchen skills you’ve never known about.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence until Yeosang finally breaks it.

“So, I heard that you gave up on your memories.”

You start a little in surprise, turning to look at the navigator. You’d never told anyone on board about what the sea witch had said, merely telling them that you’d die if you regained your memories, not wanting to tell them exactly how tempted you had been to do it anyway. Fortunately, no one had asked too much about it, but that Yeosang is finally confronting it, you feel like you should give him the truth.

“I really wanted to accept it, you know?” You murmur softly as you take another sip, watching the rest of the crew fool around the deck, laughing and singing drunken songs. It’s cold, so you curl a little closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. One of his arms comes up to encircle you, pulling you to him.

“I know.” He answers, and you know he does. Since the time the two of you had brushed death together, Yeosang can simply understand what you’re feeling like no one else, sensing the thoughts that pass your mind. You pause for a moment to sort out your thoughts.

“I thought I’d feel sad after I left the island, you know?” You whisper softly to him. You’re starting to feel a little drowsy, a warm heaviness settling over you like a thick blanket. “But I don’t regret it in the least. Not even a little.”

You can feel Yeosang’s smile more than you see it.

“I’m glad.” He says, and you know that he genuinely is. That’s the kind of man Yeosang is, pure, kind hearted, a gentle soul in every sense of the word. Your eyes close and you settle against him, basking in his warmth, feeling the buzz of alcohol in your limbs.

Yeosang hums a light tune and you feel yourself drifting off into sleep, eyes fluttering shut.

“Sometimes I get the feeling she's watching over me and other times I feel like I should go… and through it all, the rise and fall, the bodies in the streets, and when you're gone we want you all to know…”

Apparently Yeosang also has some singing skills you’ve never known about either.

Yeosang’s voice is deep and soothing, washing over your ears. You’re clinging onto his words as you slip into your dreams, hoping one day you can see Jongho and he sing together.

You brought back into consciousness by a gentle rocking motion and the feeling of warm arms around you, something hard digging into your back. The person carrying you shifts a little, adjusting himself so that you’re nestled more comfortably in his arms.

“Did I wake you up?” His voice is soft in your ears and you merely curl deeper into him, burying your face into his chest, still in that sleepy stupor. He chuckles a little as he continues moving forward, raising a leg to unlatch a door expertly with his foot.

The door to the sickbay, you realise drowsily, as the person carrying you ducks inside, careful not to knock your head on the doorframe. His boots thump softly on the floorboards, an oddly familiar jingling sound in your ears.

It’s only when he sets you down on your bed do you realise who it is.

“Wooyoung-oppa?” You ask, a little too tipsy and drowsy to think properly. A hand reaches down to your hair and he slides the hairpin out of your hairdo, placing the accessory on the bedside table.

Wooyoung smiles fondly at you for a moment, even though you can’t see it, one hand running through your hair to free it from its braid. “No, it’s the dream fairy. Go back to sleep, Chin Hae.” With one last glance over his shoulder, he stands up and turns to leave, but then something stops him.

“Don’t go.” You mumble, one hand reaching up to catch his wrist. He freezes under your touch, squeezing his eyes tight against the memories that flood his mind of scarlet lipstick, painted nails dragging down his back leaving bright red marks on his skin. Scars upon scars upon scars, bruises and kisses over the same places on his body until there is no more space for more-

No. He forces those thoughts from his mind, willing the fear built into his body to understand. You’re different. You wouldn’t hurt him… you won’t hurt him. That’s why he lets you take his hand every time you reach for it with a smile, praying that you build new, brighter memories over the dark rooms and suffocating perfume that linger in his mind, hoping that one day, he might be free.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turns to glance at your sleeping form with a pained smile. Then he bends down, dropping a brief, chaste kiss to your forehead, before tugging the covers over you.

“It’s dangerous to say those kind of things to a man, you know.” He chides you gently, even though you’re already lost in your dreams, eyes shut, chest rising evenly with each breath. He still tells you this, even though he knows full well you’re not afraid of him in the least bit.

In fact, the one in danger of being hurt is probably him.

What are you doing to me, Chin Hae?

Wooyoung sighs in exasperation at his thoughts, shaking his head, but his thoughts turn to something darker. If even battle hardened Mingi had feared that part of him, if even Seonghwa and San couldn’t handle him, what more you? If he ever let you see the other side of him, if he scared you away… what would he do then?

“I can’t.” He whispers to himself. The words are like a weight in his chest, but they’re the truth.

He can’t ever let you see that part of him.

He sucks in a deep breath, bowing his head for a moment as he collects himself. He’s got to fight it, no matter what happens. He needs to only show you the happy, joyful Wooyoung, the Wooyoung that gave you the pin with an earnest smile, the Wooyoung that kept you safe in Nassau. He can’t let you see it. He can’t scare you away. He can’t hurt you, or he’d never forgive himself.

“I need to keep her safe.”

[pinkpiggy93]

Lucid dreams chapter 8: in to the woods.

You can look for all the chapter and updates of this comic series with the tag #lostinluciddreams

Also, from here there will be interactive chapters, meaning you can help Rosie and Raven decide what to do next, since my dreams are just pieces of a story =))))

So apparently Raven has cat vision. What is that flowing from the tree? Why does it glow? Why do ppl say it’s haunted? I need answers. I don’t want to just stand there with a cleaver on my shoulder 😂 it makes me feel kinda useless. What should I do?

Next chapter

Previous chapter

[dyke-bars-never-last]

Louise Fishman

(January 14, 1939 – July 26, 2021)

In the postwar era, when the popular role model Rosie the Riveter was refashioned into June Cleaver, Fishman was a basketball player intent on becoming an artist. The liberating physicality of the gesture eventually drew Fishman toward painting. Not to mention the powerful impact of her mother and aunt, both were professionally active women artists.

“Reinvent myself ”

When I was meeting with my women’s group, circa 1969— I decided never to paint again, unless it came out of my own experience. I began to learn stitching, knotting, working with liquid rubber and many other materials I found in the surplus store ... I cut my large grid paintings into strips and began to weave them together.

By approaching painting as a kind of quilt-making, Fishman gendered her materials, politicizing the given or “neutral” aspects of painting. The Victory Garden of the Amazon Queen (1972), landed her in the 1973 Whitney Museum Biennial.

I was thrilled to be included, but suffered severely because of the difficulty of being singled out, separating me from my mother and my aunt and the other members of my painters’ group who were not included. 

The “Angry” series

From 1973, Fishman scrawled the righteous feelings of her female lovers, friends and comrades-in-arms across each painting, breaking yet another modernist taboo—the one against treating text as image.

I made a decision to make an angry painting for my then partner, and then for each of my women friends, and finally for women who had inspired me, that I loved, (Institute of Contemporary Art Philadelphia founder Ti-Grace Atkinson, the dancer Yvonne Rainer) etc.

Both a structure & a disintegrative force

Although Fishman had come out in the late 1950s, it wasn’t until the early ’70s that she found her community in a group of lesbian writers and academics. Envious of their journalistic skills, she used the idea of writing to generate a new body of work.

She took up meditation, and Buddhist art became an important influence on her work. Chinese calligraphy, in particular, conflated gesture with writing.

“Remembrance & Renewal”

In 1988, Fishman was deeply moved by her visit to the Pond of Ashes, a memorial built on the site of the Birkenau crematorium, and she collected a handful of silt while there. The ashes were mixed into oil paint, a theatrical act that rendered Jewish identity materially present yet still largely invisible.

I am a Jew and will always identify as one. I try to follow the Judaism described by Abraham Heschel: compassion and love for all creatures, despite how difficult I sometimes find that task to be.  That is, of course, an utter simplification of Heschel’s teachings.  I try to be present when there is suffering.

The Grid

Fishman’s studio in upstate New York was destroyed in a fire in 1990, so she relocated to New Mexico. She began spending time with Agnes Martin in her studio, and the close contact with Martin’s drawings rekindled her interest in the grid. Fishman saw that the grid could be employed as a form of meditation rather than simply a compositional device.

Despite (or, perhaps, because of) the trauma of the fire, the mournful, anxious introspection that marked the “Remembrance and Renewal” paintings was replaced by a new confidence and depth of feeling.

Letting go of her nagging mistrust of beauty, Fishman uses a roller to help create a roughly gridded black ground punctuated by window-like patches of color.

“Black Paintings” & interlocking calligraphic marks

Since 1996, her paintings, suspended between states of becoming & decay, emergence & dissolution, evoke ruins built upon ruins, the feeling that the artist is excavating, searching for what has been hidden as well as properly burying that which has been neglected or forgotten by others.

Shades of blue

Fishman recalled that the blue hues of her paintings made in the early 2010s were variously alluded to a 2011 visit to Venice -- the ocean surrounding the Italian city, Titian paintings, and the eyes of Ingrid Nyeboe, whom she married the year after.

I’ve known Ingrid for a very long time, because I knew writer and critic Jill Johnston, her spouse of 30 years. But one of the things I never noticed until Jill died and I went to various memorials and events that Ingrid had organized was that Ingrid’s eyes are this Danish blue. I was really struck by that. I mean you do look in your lover’s eyes, right? I’m in my early 70s, and I do think about my mortality: how much time do I have left to paint, what am I going to look at, what do I want to do with my time to make it rich and continue to make it rich? So all of those things take on a poignancy that I think, as a young person, I may not have had—I may have noticed her blue eyes, but I don’t think I would have integrated it the way I have.

Fishman’s usual ratio of cardinal elements has been reversed—little clods of earthy pigment get caught up in a centrifuge of light, water & atmosphere.

I see a theatricality in the new paintings, which comes from a number of things, for example, the grandness of opera... but I felt there was a spirituality and humanness, a humane-ness, a compassion, a connection with paint that was about compassion.

I was working on about three or four paintings and I was getting very upset because there was this odd theatricality about them and there was also, this quality of everything moving up and out, explosively. And I was very critical of it because I tend to be very formal. One day I just happened to look across at this one painting, which is now called “Assunta” and I thought, what is this? Next to it there was a postcard of Titian’s “Assumption.” And I looked and I thought, for Christ’s sake, it's all about Venice, it’s all about this drama in these paintings. And it’s about the sky. So it all came to me and it was a tremendous relief.

Being a painter, making paintings, continues to evolve.

One thing I will not do is make paintings that don’t teach me something. I often destroy something—not destroy it and throw it away, but scrape it down or repaint it or something, unless it really does something that’s like, “Oh!” and teaches me something.

Every time I go somewhere, I notice something visual, and it ends up ultimately in the work. Esther Newton, a former lover of mine, and an esteemed cultural anthropologist, wrote a paper on consciousness-raising in which she compared it to religious conversion theory.

“‘Always Wild At Heart’ – an Interview with Louise Fishman.” Yeast – Art of Sharing. Die Plattform Zum Thema Teilen Und Teilhabe., http://www.yeast-art-of-sharing.de/kunst/always-wild-at-heart-an-interview-with-louise-fishman/. Accessed 8 Dec. 2021.

Butler, Sharon L. “LOUISE FISHMAN with Sharon Butler – The Brooklyn Rail.” The Brooklyn Rail, https://brooklynrail.org, 4 Oct. 2012, https://brooklynrail.org/2012/10/art/louise-fishman-with-sharon-butler.

Greenberger, Alex. “Louise Fishman Dead: Abstract Painter Dies at 82 – ARTnews.Com.” ARTnews.Com, ARTnews.com, 26 July 2021, https://www.artnews.com/art-news/news/louise-fishman-painter-dead-1234599995/.

Moyer, Carrie. “A Restless Spirit – ARTnews.Com.” ARTnews.Com, ARTnews.com, 2 Oct. 2012, https://www.artnews.com/art-in-america/features/a-restless-spirit-62951/.