#and both of the road greys do not look that exciting here because road greys are boring in real life as well

[chiropteracupola]

pondering up some jerseys for @baronetcoins's baseball au

[katiefrog217]

Walks with Aziraphale were always so amusing, especially when he took one of his different forms. Tonight, Crowley took note of a few different reactions:

1. Much to his bemusement, quite a few people crossed the road entirely just to avoid him (he didn't know why, he thought this particular form was very charming).

2. Those who didn't avoid them either didn't notice at all, or cooed adoringly at his companion. A few snake enthusiasts tried their best to impart advice upon him (Yes, he was aware it was a chilly night to have a python outside. Yes, he was aware that he had a few extra rolls on him, and he would appreciate it if they didn't body shame him, please and thank you).

3. He had a particularly interesting encounter with a stranger who tried his best to buy Aziraphale from him (he didn't know whether to laugh or be offended on his companion's behalf when the person subsequently dropped their price offering upon learning he was male. He turned them down, of course).

This just in: local vampire hunter tries his hardest to look cool in front of his crush.

I said soon and I guess I meant now haha.

I could help but draw Crowley and Aziraphale from @mrghostrat 's new Vampire AU (thanks for the permission btw!!) and I'll be damned if I couldn't pass up the opportunity to draw Ball Python Azi after being deeply entrenched in Ball python morphs and drawing them for the past few years.

I'm also a big sucker (har har) for any kind of vampire au, so I was incredibly excited to draw this!! I'm still not confident in my ability to draw Crowley (or jackets oof) but I tried.

On that, while I have ya'll here, a few fun facts about Ball Pythons and Morphs:

Azi looks to me to be based on a Blue Eyed Lucy (Leucistic) ball python. Leucistic is different from Albino - both lack pigment, but Leucistics only lack pigments in parts, rather than entirely like with Albinism. The fastest way to tell the difference is the eye color.

Blue Eyed Lucies have eye colors that range from Black to Blue - blue obviously being the more popular eye color.

The whiter the snake, the more sought after it is (not all Lucies are pure white, depends on the morph combo)

Unlike a majority of ball python morphs, Blue Eyed Lucies don't have a distinct gene combo that defines them. Generally, their morphs included Mocha, Mojave, Lesser, Butter, etc. The combos are generally endless. A Super Mojave (Mojave bred to Mojave) will produce a fairly grey/white snake, but their heads tend to be a very dusty grey, and isn't an ideal combo for a Lucy.

A snake that seems incredibly white when hatched may change color as it ages and become less white. This is common for all morphs, and their patterns define themselves and get stronger with age.

In breeding, males are generally less desired than females, and run at a lower price generally. This is because a single male can breed multiple females, so it's less effective to have more males in a clutch than females.

Obesity in snakes IS a real thing, and generally hard to manage if you do have an obese snake. Snakes tend to retain weight well, so exercise is really the only method to help bring their weight down (plus smaller meals). Good luck if you have an obese snake that isn't particularly inclined to be active.

Ball Pythons generally tend to have what's called a 1,000 gram wall - in which a snake that hits 1k grams stops eating and will not gain more weight. No one is 100% sure why this phenomena happens, but it's incredibly common.

Not a fact but opinion: Paradox ball Pythons are my favorite morph. If you want to see some incredibly interesting genetics, look them up.

[zacian117]

The Psycho

Flight alternative

Lando Norris Fanfic

⚠️Warnings: blood, decapitation, killing

On Thursday, October 12, 2023. A fit 24-year-old British man with curly brown hair, grey hazel eyes, and tan skin. Wearing a dark green hoodie with the number 4 in yellow, blue jeans, and black Converse shoes. A papaya and black-colored Mclaren drove smoothly through the road surrounded by the fall season forest.

He was tapping his finger on the wheel and humming to the music playing on the radio. The music was then interrupted by a call.

“Hey Lando, how’s the drive to the hotel?” A male British accent voice asked. “Hey Max, It’s going great … I’m almost at the hotel in about 5 minutes … I’ll call you back when I get there … Bye,” Lando then ended the call.

When he got there, he parked in front of the hotel. It was getting dark and windy. “Well, here we are,” he muttered to himself. He got out of the car and opened the trunk to get his backpack. Thunder started to erupt with the dark, windy sky. This sent Lando into a fright, giving him goosebumps on his skin.

He closed the trunk and put his backpack over his shoulders. He went inside the hotel, to be greeted by two customers and a worker. The two female customers were yapping about something, minding their own business. One of the female customers was a brunette, the other was a blonde.

Lando went up to the receptionist to book a room for himself. “Um, excuse me, can I book a room, Please,” Lando asked. “Well, certainly.” The male receptionist replied. He was pale like he hadn’t been outside for his lifetime. He was thin with wavy dark hair and had blue eyes. ‘This place gives me the creeps’ Lando thought to himself while looking around the lobby floor.

“Okay then, I will need your name, please.” the receptionist stated “Lando Norris,” Lando replied to the receptionist. He saw the name tag of the receptionist’s name, Larry Ravenswood. “Well, here you go Mr. Norris,” Larry then gave Lando the key to his room, room 217. Lando walked toward the stairs to get to his room.

The two lady customers looked at Lando with recognition. “Oh my god, it’s Lando Norris,” the blond girl said with excitement. “You are totally right, McLaren’s infamous Formula 1 driver,” the brunette taunted.

Both girls started to fangirl about him. Larry on the other hand didn’t show it but, his eyes showed that he was annoyed. He could tell that Lando looked tired and that he wanted to go to his room to rest.

Larry interrupted the conversation that both of the ladies were having with Lando. He cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, but I think Mr. Norris needs to go to his room because he seems a bit tired.” in a sharp motionless voice. Both women pouted and scoffed at Larry for interrupting the conversation.

“Well, then, I’ll take my leave.” Lando nodded at the ladies nervously because he did not want to speak with them again. Then he looked at Larry and thanked him.

Lando went upstairs to his room to rest for tomorrow. When he got to room 217, he opened the door and went inside, closing the door behind him, and locking it. He leaned against the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

He walks through the small hallway to see the king-sized bed. On the right side, there was a door that led to the bathroom, in front of it there was a television, and on the left corner next to the television was a table with two chairs.

He placed his backpack on the bed and took his shoes off. “I should call Max that I’m at the hotel,” He says to himself. He grabs his phone from his pocket and dials his best friend's number.

“Hello? Hey, Max how are you… I'm doing great… Yeah just got my room, but this hotel doesn’t feel right… It's like giving me the heebie-jeebies, but all in all, I'm still alive… Yea, I should get some rest… It’s 10:00 pm here… Well, then goodnight.” With that Lando ended the call between him and his best friend, Max Fewtell.

Lando opens his backpack to grab a pair of sweatpants. He went to the bathroom to change. Once out of the bathroom, he gets ready for bed. But then he hears footsteps walking by his door, through the hallway outside of his room.

Lando went to check what was going on outside of his room.

He checked the peephole, but there was nothing. He opens the door to see the hallway was empty.

He closes the door and locks it. “That was weird,” he mumbles to himself. Then he goes back to bed, turning off the lamp and pulling the bed covers over his head. He closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, deafening the sounds surrounding him.

3:00 am, Friday, October 13, 2023. Lando’s sleep was disturbed by a loud, sharp, piercing cry.

He bolted out of his bed, with his heart racing in fear. He stared at the door, taking in a few deep breaths trying to calm his heart down. He went and grabbed his shoes, put them on, and quickly rushed out the door to see where the scream came from.

He ran through the long hallway until he got to the staircase. He slowed down, seeing droplets of a strange red liquid on the stairs leading to the lobby floor.

Lando went downstairs to the lobby following the red liquid to a ballroom that was still under construction. He kept on following the trailers of red liquid until it stopped at a slightly opened white double door. He moved the door wide enough to see what was inside.

There were candles around lighting up the room, there was blood all over the floor, and there was a chair right in the center. On the bloodied floor, there were body parts in different directions on the floor covered in blood. The insides were smeared on the floor, everywhere. And on the chair, there was the decapitated head of the blonde chick he saw in the lobby with her mouth wide open, as if she were in shock, face covered in blood.

Lando’s heart raced uncontrollably, thudding in his chest so hard he could feel it echoing in his ears. His face drained of color, leaving his skin ghostly pale, while his eyes widened in shock, pupils dilating as they locked onto the horrifying sight. He was frozen in place, sweat falling on his face.

What caught his attention was muffled noises coming from the room next door. He went up to the door and creaked the door slightly open.

He saw the brunette lady on a chair tied up, her mouth covered in duct tape. Tears fell from her eyes with panic on her face. She was looking at something or someone. A figure came out of the shadows with a bloodied knife in their right hand, swiftly moving it from left to right, as if they were taunting the woman.

She started to hysterically cry. “You two wouldn’t keep your damn mouths shut!” A familiar voice that Lando recognized said. The figure went behind the brunette, placing the sharp knife near her cheek. The figure was none other than the receptionist, Larry Ravenswood.

“Look at what happened to your friend and you know what, that will also happen to you. The reason why I’m doing this is because I want to,” Larry says menacingly in a low voice. He crouched down in front of her, knife on her chin, pouting his lips, as if he were poking the woman on the chair for fun.

“Well then, bye-bye”, Larry motionless declared. Cutting the throat of the brunette girl. Muffled cries of pain cried through the tape on her mouth, later the cries died down. Blood was dripping out of the dead brunette’s throat. Her eyes were still open with no emotion in them, her face drained from its colors declaring that she died from blood loss.

Lando quietly gasped. He backed away from the door, tears forming from his eyes. He put his hand over his mouth to prevent any noise. Listening to Larry Ravenswood cutting up the brunette woman with the bloody knife.

He witnessed something horrific. He shouldn’t have seen this, he should’ve minded his own business, but he was curious. Curiosity kills the cat.

Lando to a few deep breaths, then ran back to his room quietly. Once there, he opens his door and rushes in, closing it shut and locking it. Leaning his back on the door, Lando slid down taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself done. His heart beating rapidly. Tears falling from his eyes. He got up from the floor and walked to the bed.

He took his shoes off and went under the covers. Lying down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep… he just couldn’t… It just keeps flashing in his mind… Why did he run?... Just Why?

In the Morning, Lando packed all his things in his backpack. He exited out of his room, going down the stairs to the lobby floor. On the lobby floor, he went straight to the receptionist to check in his room.

“I would like to check in my room, please,” Lando shakenly said giving the key to the female receptionist. “Okay then, Name please,” the female receptionist answered. “Lando Norris.” He responded to the receptionist. She typed on the computer to check in the room, “That would be $221, Cash or card?” the receptionist offered. “Uhm, card please,” Lando stated giving the receptionist his card to pay.

The receptionist gave Lando his card back after putting in the information to pay for the room. “Here you go, we hope you like your stay,” the female receptionist added with a sweet smile. “Thank you,” Lando uttered leaving the hotel and going to his car.

Once he got to his car, he opened the trunk, tossed his backpack in, and closed it. He then went to the front door of his car, opening the door, and getting inside. Sitting down He took a few deep breaths, calming himself down from what he just witnessed at night. He turned on the car and started to drive the morning fall-season forest.

“I really need therapy after this,” Lando mumbled to himself driving through the road surrounded by the forest

[secretwhumplair]

Arrival

1,186 words | Mirai and the serpent king (sequel to Apprehension)

Content | Slavery, fear, dehumanisation, implied future noncon

Notes | Mirai arrives at the serpent king's palace, and prepares to meet his potential new master!

Taglist | @yet-another-heathen @echo-goes-aaa @whumpinator

The palace appeared out of the greenery, all lattices and domes and carved decor, all rather too beautiful to belong to a dumb beast. Maybe the king would care about the singing, after all; Mirai felt a sting of fear and humiliation both at the thought. Soon they passed through an elegant archway, under the watchful eyes of more guards, and after that, the road was paved with slabs of some smoothly dark grey stone, grooves carved into it in elaborate patterns.

The outer parts of the palace were quite open, one arch next to another looking into rooms and corridors alike. They were brought into one such airy room, where a snake man behind a desk took note of their precence on a large scroll, looking like they were the most exciting thing to happen today, sent off what appeared to be a messenger into the deeper parts of the palace, and instructed them to wait.

There was a marble bench at the inner side of the room, opposite the windows, and the slavers took their seat. Mirai didn’t need instruction to kneel on the floor instead. The grooves still present here dug into his knees.

The slaver holding him yanked on his chain hard enough to momentarily steal his breath. »Over here, we’ve got to do something about your hair.«

Mirai obediently turned to present the back of his head, blinking back the tears from the shock of the pull; he would never be able to handle that. Immediately, he had to wonder whether the serpent king enjoyed this sort of thing. Many snakes liked to strangle their prey, didn’t they?

He bit his cheek trying to push the thought out of his head. It didn’t matter; he couldn’t change a thing about what was to come.

He always did his best to maintain his hair himself, limited as he was to his bare hands, because he knew the slavers wouldn’t be gentle when it came to doing him up for the market. He squeezed his mouth shut against the comb ripping at what tangles he hadn’t been able to get rid of, and tried to let the slaver’s swearing at him about what a nuisance he and his hair was, as if he chose to keep it as long as it was, pass over him.

It took too long for the slavers not to get bored. One of the others leaned in. »You know, they say no one leaves the snake king’s harem. ‘Cause he eats the slaves he grows tired of.«

He was kneeling on the floor that had by now become outright painful, terrified over his future whichever way it might play out, and that was what finally pushed the tears into spilling over. He heard the slavers snicker as he hugged himself, trying to get a hold on himself.

One of them slapped the back of his head. »Get a grip. The king won’t want you all puffy.«

»Get out of that,« the one doing him up said, ignoring their companion.

Mirai pulled his tunic off; if ever he had been able to afford shame, it was long gone by now, and his only worry was what his naked form might entice any observers to do to him.

»And clean yourself up while you’re at it.«

He wiped the dirt off his bare feet, knowing full well he’d have to put this same tunic back on if he failed to sell. He rubbed what travelling grime he could off himself; it was a far cry from being truly clean, but it was all he could do now. The slaver grabbed him by the back of his neck and rubbed rose water behind his ears and under his jaw.

Then he was tossed his nice, clean, white market tunic. It was shorter than the travelling one, barely reaching his mid-thigh. At least the air was warm; the slavers had already shed their overgarments in the humid heat, although they weren’t quite as exposed as he, and complained to one another, quietly, clearly still unwilling to offend the guards or even the secretary.

»And don’t say a word, you hear me?«

Mirai nodded, eyes cast down. It went without saying, really, even though most potential buyers ended up insisting on hearing his voice before buying anyway—or rather, not buying, usually.

Then they waited.

The slavers, grumpily, dug into their travelling rations when midday was gone long enough to expunge any hope they would be offered refreshments. Mirai got nothing: it wasn’t like he would lose weight quickly enough now to influence the sale. After walking all morning, he was aching for even a a little snack, but he had to be grateful to be offered water alone.

Despite his discomfort, he was grateful for every moment he didn’t have to face the reality of being offered up to the serpent king; and he was so exhausted he dozed off where he knelt despite his fear. Not enough to fully lose track of his surroundings, of course, that was not a luxury he could allow himself, but enough to quiet the ache in his knees and heart.

He started fully awake when one of a pair of guards approached them, ordering the group to follow them. It must have been hours, and he felt like his knees would burst when he got up. The floor had pressed vivid pink patterns into his skin, but it couldn’t be helped now.

His heartrate picked up as they moved through wide corridors, decorated with elaborately woven tapestries. This was it. He was going to be sold to the serpent king, a monster by all accounts, or rejected and punished, but now, between the guard’s slithering bodies so very capable of crushing him, one fear was far more real than the other. They were so big, and just imagining their king’s proportions made it hard to hold back tears.

Maybe, as a member of the harem, at least only the king would have access to him, and the existence of a harem meant he wouldn't have to satisfy him alone. But then, maybe he liked to share? Maybe he liked to reward loyal guards, like the ones that eyed him curiously as they passed through the corridors?

His head was spinning with terror and what straws of hope he could cling to when they entered the throne room.

It was big in every direction, slender columns carrying a high, domed ceiling inlaid with geometrical patterns. Across from the large double doors was a dais a few steps high, with a oval-shaped cushioned seat, its curved back intricately carved, upon which the serpent king lounged. The scales covering the loops of his body were of a deep earthy brown, and he wore nothing but golden jewellery hanging over his chest and looping around his arms, and, of course, a crown.

The look of his golden eyes felt like it would pierce right through Mirai, and he had to force his knees not to buckle in terror as they were walked up to the center of the room.

[nebbynebbu]

Shout-out to Toast, she named the humans and helped me by revising the writing!

If you like the story you can thank Lucky, Toast, Dio, Mystic and Lizard for hyping me into making it, kdjqwd.

All of the humans are in their mid 20s.

Overcast

CW: Fearplay, fear of being digested, implied digestion by the pred (doesn’t happen), brief description of blood, hard vore, cruel pred, unwilling prey.

A peaceful night fell into the town. Empty streets, the lack of sound…a perfect Saturday for the young Charlie to relax in their home. 

  That is, if their friends allowed it. 

  “Thank God those two were joking, I could not imagine b-” Interrupted by a knock at the door, Charlie left the couch and went to open it, only to be met with the two idiots in question. 

  “CHARLIE!” shouted both Dave and Mikey with genuine excitement, while simultaneously grabbing their friend out of the house and embracing them into a hug. 

  “No, you two are not getting me into any shenanigans tonight because of that rumor.” Charlie stood their ground, as if that would work. 

  Mikey decided to speak. The messy, dark hair and the hanging eyelids hinted that he wasn't fully awake–however, the enthusiasm said otherwise. “Come onnn… it will be fun though! Dave even found the doorknob! We wouldn't come get you if it wasn't real,” he said, doing jazz hands to emphasize the magical feeling of the object with a gleam in his copper eyes. 

  Charlie looked at Dave with a raised eyebrow. The pale man replied with a simple nod. Despite being the smallest, Dave was built and had quite the muscular figure. “I can't go against Mikey, just look at him! How can you say no to his face?” Dave gave them the doorknob and picked up a backpack from the ground that contained some snacks and three flashlights. 

  You know. All they need.

  Charlie rolled their eyes with a sigh, accepting defeat. “Fine, fine, let's get this over with. If I recall correctly, we need to position it in the air and gesture as if we were opening an invisible door...” 

  As Charlie made the motion, a wooden door appeared almost instantly. Opening by itself, it pulled the trio of humans inside, closing once they went through and vanishing without a trace.

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

  There was a small door in the wall, slightly above a cabinet. It gave a faint glow and spat the humans on the ground, but they couldn't identify where they were. 

  Holding a flashlight in his hands, Mikey turned it on and pointed around, but even with the lighting, he couldn’t make anything out in this place. “That’s one weird road. It doesn’t seem to end, and it’s made of... marble?” The last statement made it curiouser and curiouser for them. 

  “A doorknob as a key, a never-ending path, this pitch black darkness! What’s with this pla-” Dave shouted, but stopped himself as he noticed Mikey looking up. Mikey wasn’t moving. “Are we… being watched?”

  Suddenly, a burst of light took over the place. Could it be the sun? No, it was…

  …a lightbulb. 

  The mysterious place was like the kitchen of a regular house. Its size was crushing in comparison to the humans, who were not much taller than a nearby salt shaker. It had a maroon touch to match its wooden floor and table. The black marble cabinet served as the "road" for the humans' arrival. 

  Who lived here? Mikey was confused. Then, the sight of their spectator had his body refusing to make a sound, frozen firmly in place. 

  His spiked fur had earthly tones that faded into grey. Hair covered his eyes, leaving an unnerving grin as their only guide to the creature's emotions. His strong physique was accompanied by scars that covered his entire body. Some resembled shooting stars–how curious. 

  He was a wolf. Something about the scars cutting through the wolf's fur reminded Charlie of a forest in the winter after a massacre–something soft and grey cut through by something harsh and bloody.

  “Um, a trio…?” the wolf spoke, the voice coming out in a low growl. “This night just got interesting.” Their eyes were locked with the humans, but the wolf didn't move an inch. He only stood there, patiently waiting for their reaction.

  “We…we need to go, now.” The trembling voice belonged to Charlie. They grabbed both of their friends' hands, going back and forth and looking in every direction in hopes of seeing the door. All three of them were shaking now.

  Charlie had hoped for a moment to breathe, but the wolf was already in front of them.

  “Going so soon? It isn't polite for visitors to come in without asking. Since I'm in a good mood, I suppose an exception can be made for you little morsels.” 

  The deep, guttural aspect didn't make any of them feel secure. If anything, it was worse. 

  The wolf grasped all three of the humans in one of his hands unceremoniously. He picked up a plate with the other and placed it on the table, dropping the humans on top of it. He sat in the chair and used his arms to rest his chin. “How about a game? No one can refuse a good game.”

  “Charlie… I don't think we should trust our host so blindly. If you didn't notice yet by his size and how he acts, we will get crushed,” Dave whispered, shoving his hands into his jacket in an attempt to stop the shaking. 

  “I-I know, but we don't have a choice here. The door is gone and so is the ‘key’ we had,” Charlie replied. They knew the Wolf wouldn’t make the “game” fair–but what choice did they have?

  “What kind of game…?” Mikey asked innocently, with a certain curiosity in his tone. His eyes refused to look at the wolf.

  “Oh, it's something simple, no need for those ones overflowing with rules. Each of you have five minutes to decide who is the first, second and last one to…” The Wolf gave a chuckle, the grin revealing some of his teeth. “...become my meal, of course. But I'm feeling kind-hearted tonight, so you may choose the order, my little morsels~” He took an hourglass from his pocket and flipped it upside-down, the falling sand announcing the start of the “game.” 

  “We, we, we- we can find a way around this! It's a game, he's just playing with us!” Mikey said. His friends could almost hear a quiet "…right?" coming out at the end of the sentence. His body was shaking. 

  “Mikey, everything is going to be just fine, ok? I’ll think of a plan with Charlie…” Dave knew they didn't have a chance, but he would grasp at the tiniest glimpse of hope he could find. “...I’ll give myself first, indulge him enough for you two to hide, find a solution, anything, okay? I know I can hold him off for a while, but I need you to promise that you’ll take Mikey and think of something.” Dave affirmed.

  The arguing took a while, but due to the little time they had it seemed like hours had passed and so they stopped, except... Mikey was quiet.

  The sight made them freeze in terror. 

  Mikey’s arm was halfway in the wolf’s maw. He was breathing heavily, desperately looking for something to hold onto. He grasped the pearly whites which would soon seal his fate…which was a mistake. 

  “Stop…stop-” The sound came from Charlie. They raised a hand in the wolf’s direction, trying to reach their friend's hand, until…a crimson fluid fell on Dave's shoulder, descending from the wolf’s jaws. Their eyes followed the trail till they met the source–an arm with light brown skin that stopped moving. 

  Charlie briefly saw the hourglass. It was hazy, but they quickly saw the state of the sand–empty. The humans had forgotten about the time.

  Dave fell onto the ground, his face covered in what remained of his friend. Something stirred within him, ancient as time itself, stronger than joy, far deeper than anger…fear. 

  A cacophony swelled in his head. Glk. Dave couldn't focus on anything but the sound as the wolf swallowed. Glrk. 

  Mikey was gone. Only the two humans remained. 

  “However, as much as I adore this taste, it wasn't worth the mess for such a delicacy. Besides, what value does a dull morsel hold? What a shame.” He licked the deep red that stained his fur–after all, he had manners–but soon he turned to the trembling forms on his plate. “The strongest one is the easiest to break, how peculiar~” He was grinning. 

  Dave looked up. His empty eyes gave up as tears rose to the surface". “I-I was going first–you should have taken me, that wasn't the plan, can’t you take me instead?! T-that's, that's–THAT'S NOT HOW IT WAS-” 

  The words barely came out of his lips before he was interrupted by the wolf, who leaned closer to the plate. “Tsk, tsk. Oh, my dear visitors, five minutes each. If I were to make an exception, I would simply take it as an invitation to play with the rules. Perhaps I could eat you sooner?” The wolf flipped the hourglass once again and gave them a grin, the same one they had been met with earlier.

  “NO-N-no…we will play, he only needs time. Dave…” 

  Dave was silent. 

  “…Dave. D-” 

  When he finally spoke, Charlie saw that Dave’s rainy, soulless eyes were still facing the wolf. “W-we are already going to suffocate in your stomach! Mikey got hurt! ...monster...you’re a monster.” As soon as he finished, almost immediately, a hand grabbed him. It was different from when he had Mikey in his grasp–it clenched him, hard. 

  The wolf gave another chuckle, accompanied by a sarcastic tone. “Your little friend got so desperate for things to be over that he got a simple bruise. I didn’t do anything~” His grip got tighter. “My food might not show its fear, but the smell is so intoxicating, the heartbeat gets louder...and since you look so brave now, tell me, little morsel, are monsters born…or made?” 

  He grabbed Charlie and left the table, making his way to the couch. He laid down, putting Charling on top of his stomach and resuming the play with Dave. Charlie was quiet. All they could do was watch–they felt powerless over the wolf, hugging their legs and waiting for all of this to end. 

  The wolf picked Dave up by the collar of his shirt and parted his lips, dangling the frightened human over his longing maw. He dropped him, only to close his teeth with a snap.

  Dave sighed. His body was shaking but he felt...relieved.

Dave didn’t fight or thrash around as one would expect. His eyes were closed, trying to think of it like a bad dream. Soon, he would wake up safe and sound in his home. Just as he grabbed this glimpse of hope, the wolf pinned him on the hard palate with his tongue, slowly drifting his meal to its end. 

  The corridor of the wolf’s throat moved on its own, almost as if it was another being. With a single, deep gulp, Dave was hugged by the pulsing walls, choking on the feeling of serving as food for another being. He passed out. 

  “Not much of a fighter, huh. Not that a broken toy has a purpose, anyway.” 

  One human remained.

  Grrgle. The wolf turned his vision to Charlie, who flinched upon hearing the wolf’s stomach.

  A river flowed from Charlie’s eyes. They tried to wipe it away, but it didn’t stop. It finally hit them. 

  They’re gone. 

  “C-can you... promise it won’t hurt? That they didn’t suffer?” 

  The wolf slowly turned his head to face the human. They could feel him exhaling a heavy, humid air. The feeling of the unknown made Charlie uneasy. They were shaking. 

  Erov gave them a toothy grin. “Boo~” 

  …all of the humans were gone.

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

  A peaceful night fell into the town. Empty streets, the lack of sound…a perfect Saturday, except...that already happened. Charlie woke up in their home–they fell asleep on the couch. It was late. “Just a bad dream...thank-” 

  They couldn’t help but notice their friends sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Mikey had a scar in his arm. “Did he always have that scar...?” Charlie mumbled. Mikey did fall sometimes, but never to the point of getting hurt. 

  Charlie thought about it for a while, but as soon as they looked at the bedside table, they found a doorknob on top of a letter. Charlie’s heart skipped a beat. 

  It wasn’t a dream.

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

A huge wolf rested on his bed, the cold weather of a cloudy day presenting him with a small light indicating the dawn. His chest expanded and contracted as he breathed, a rhythm almost therapeutic with the tranquility of the environment. He was in a protective pose, as if one of his arms served as a shield for the tiny being sleeping in his presence–much smaller than the wolf, but who found comfort in the overwhelming figure.

  He woke up, slightly breaking his position in hopes of not waking the little being as he rose from his bed. He pulled his hair back, holding it in a bun. The wolf opened his eyes–black as the night itself, with a blueish-silver glow to their irises. He was awake.

  Despite his serious expression, his countenance was calm. Erov had lost the playfulness he displayed when messing with his food. He looked at the fragile form sleeping on his bed again–it was shaking.

  He sighed and laid down again, putting his head closer to the form. “Shhh…I’m here…” He was worried, but the form turned in their sleep and hugged the wolf’s snout. “Rrrrrr…” Erov gave a low growl–though it felt almost like a purr. He had things to do this morning, but he could wait. They needed him–they were someone important who cared about him.

  In that moment, just for a second, the world stopped and felt warm.

[the-east-art]

Fantail Pigeons and Mourning Doves Part 2

There’s a small family at the gas station today. A little girl grabs one of the slingshots they have on sale but that never really gets bought and tests how far back she can draw it. Her older sister is trying to decide between chocolate covered pretzels and a SlimJim. The mom looks at the drink options. The dad is still in the bathroom. 

Mel taps the counter three times with his right hand. Then he taps it three times with the left hand, to stay balanced. Does the same with his his feet, toes tapping against the garbage can kept under there. His head keeps sliding over to the window, and he keeps having to yank it back to face forward. Mel is supposed to be paying attention when there are people in the store, make sure they don’t steal stuff. 

He faces forward, and looks without really looking. In his mind, Mel floods to the store. Pouring in through the door, maybe there’s a hole in the roof too. He tries to imagine what he would do in that scenario. The highest point in the store are the shelves, but he doesn’t know how steady they are. When it floods, does the water just rise, or does it come with a current? Mel frowns to himself, troubled that he doesn’t know. It makes the scenario more difficult to imagine, the projection of the flood onto the room disappears. 

The sisters have started a heated conversation about the snack choices, and the dad emerged from bathroom at some point. He doesn’t seem interested in perusing the aisels, and goes immediately for the soda machine. The family could be from anywhere. People from the neighboring town just starting on a trip, or someone from states away in the middle of one. They could be going anywhere. 

Mel considers going anywhere. 

Astrophel used to whisper to him, awash in the blues and greys that came when your only light source was the moon, about their dream to see the Northern Lights. They had pulled out an encyclpedia from the library, and read the short entry over and over again. They sounded fake to Mel, and the complicated words the book used to describe them made it hard for even Mel’s mind to conjure up an image of what they looked like. But Astrophel knew, or convinced themselves, that they knew what they were. What Astrophel talked about them it was like there was an old friend that they were excited to meet. Like if Astrophel could just get the money, and supplies, and a car, and make it all the way to Alaska, the North Lights would touch the ground itself just to say ‘hi’ to Astrophel. 

The younger sister is staring at him. Mel gives a little wave, and she takes shelter behind her older sister. They’re both young - 5 and maybe 10. But the older sister knows she’s the ‘big kid’ between the two of them, and carries herself like she knows it. Tries to make herself project the image on an adult just by a clenched chin and a straight spine. She’s copying her dad’s body language, the same way that Mel does. Except she’s trying to appear mature, while Mel would settle for just appearing human.

oOo

Mel gets off shift at 3 in the morning. The gas station is open 24 hours, so Fatima came in to replace him. He doesn’t really know his coworkers, because by nature of the station they seldom do anything more than pass one another - one tired and one mentally preparing for a long 8+ hours. Mel prefers that - if he ever has to pack up and leave one night he likes knowing he’s leaving a small footprint here. No one will really need to look for him, or worry about it, or heavens forbid miss him. 

A gas station at 3 am is a liminal space. One of his customers had called it a Twilight Zone, which he liked the sound of. It was a time when few people were awake, but the station still saw business. Half asleep road trippers or men on some kind of a mission. Talking felt somehow more wrong at that time, and equally somehow more free. No one was really expected to be a regular, well adjusted person at 3 am. At 3am, customers will tell you, without prompting, every state capital they can remember just for the sake of conversation and to fill the air. Mel likes 3am, and sometimes in the safety of the dark deer will cross through the lot, just passing through like any other customer. In the liminality of the Twilight Zone, the difference between the deer and people and cars seems neglibie.

There are two cars parked, and one at the pumps. The two parked cars are his and Fatima’s. The one at the pump is a handymans’ van - boxy and practical in the place of being pretty. There is a figure outside of the van, closing the little door to the fuel chamber and turning to approach the store. Two birds off to the side take turns picking at a piece of a bagel, each attempting to carry it away but only getting a few inches before it crumbles to much and falls from there beak. Mel is distracted by the display for a moment, entranced by the way that the lights of the gas stations roof cast the pigeons in harsh shadows. It makes the fight seem dramatic. 

When Mel looks away he realizes that he lost track of time. The man from the car is already 3 quarters of the way to the store, the door of which Mel is still blocking with his immobile form. It’s embarrassing, but Mel quietly reminds himself that it is 3am. 

He is surprised, as the man gets closer and Mel shuffles off to the side, that he recognizes the figure. The man wears a different hat and the exhaustion that comes from being awake at this time transforms his features, but Mel recognizes the body language he uses to cross the space. 

The man squints at Mel, presumably to also confirm their shared history, and his face moves into a new shape - the crinkles and half-moon shaped eyes of a smile. Mel feels exposed without the protection of the counter and his nametag. A warrior cast outside the ramparts, the small oval plastic of his nametag like a great shield he has eschewed.

“Hey, nice to see you again.” The man changes his trajectory to land him right in front of Mel, now just to the right of the doors. Mel feels a fear at the turn of events, and something else too. A feeling he can’t name. The man stares at Mel and purses his lips. Hums briefly, and then snaps his fingers. “Melchior!” He says Mels’ name triumphantly and looks at him with some kind of an emotion. Mel scans his face - the eyebrows are raised and lips quirked upwards, and the man is leaving a gap in the conversation. He must be waiting for confirmation. Mel bobs his head up and down. 

“Yes.” and then adds “I’m surprised you remember. I’ve come to realize it isn’t a common name.” The man’s spine straightens with the admission, like he has won some kind of a prize instead of just given words from the mouth of a stranger. 

“It got stuck in my head all day - I went home and I was like ‘Melchior, Melchior, where have I heard that name before?’. So I looked it up and it’s the name of one of the wiseman! I don’t really care about their names, but that one song - We Three Kings - there’s a version of it that I really like that includes the names. The third verse of the song usually gets cut but that version has it.” 

“I don’t know that song.” The mans’ eyebrows raise. “But I do know I was named after one of the wisemen that visited the Savior in Bethlehem.” Mel confirmed. The man smiled. 

“Your parents liked the story but not the songs I guess.” 

“I guess.” A pause in the conversation. Mels’ eyes flicked across the lot. Two cars parked. One car at the pumps. Two men standing out in the mid-August air. “You’re a bird.” The words cause the mans face to shift in some way, but the corner of his mouth is still up so he probably isn’t angry. 

“I’m a what?” 

“You’re a bird. I can’t remember which one though.” Mel tilted his head back and looked up. Without thinking Mel put his hands side by side and hooked the thumbs together. Moving his hands, Mel flapped the ‘wings’ on the bird. “You told me your name last time and I can’t remember what it was. I remember thinking of a bird's wings, though.”

“Oh!” The earlier expression reappeared on the mans’ face, and Mel was relieved because it was a familiar look he had seen on the man before, often enough Mel was starting to categorize it. Happy or at least congenial. “You know I’ve never thought about it that way, but yeah, I am a bird.” The man looked at Mel’s hands, still absentmindedly flapping, and copied the gesture. “People call me Wren.” He clarified. “They aren’t the prettiest birdies out there but they’re great for insect control in gardens.” The man gave a wink, adjusted his ballcap, and entered the gas station.

Mel drove home that night, staring out the window, murmuring ‘Wren Wren Wren’ under his breath until he was sure it would stick. 

oOo

Mel adjusted the cuffs on his jacket. It was too big for him, leaving him practically swimming in the materials. It was the only jacket he had, and wearing it filled him with equal parts dread and warmth. The rust red wasn’t really his color, but it was a well-worn and loved piece of clothing, making is comfortable. The oversized nature of it made him feel safe. Yesterday a customer had mentioned that he was shivering - the high A/C of the gas station had sunk into his bones without him realizing. This was the only jacket that Mel owned, hidden under his bed in hopes that he would forget, like the the jacket would cease to exist. Hidden under his bed because there it was safe, because he couldn’t bring himself to toss it. 

It came in handy now. And Mel liked the long sleeves.

Three cars parked. Two at pumps. 

There was one solo customer, standing off to the side talking on her phone as she sized up novelty pencils, and a small gaggle of children taking turns using the two bathrooms and oogling the candies as their guardian stood outside, feeding gas into their minivan. Mel looked at the lot and the store interior again. That meant that one of the parked cars was unaccounted for. He felt the inner sleeve fabric between his thumb and forefingers. The children wouldn’t be able to get anything until their guardian entered the store, and the woman on the phone didn’t look like she was going to be done in the next few minutes. It felt safe for Mel to turn his attention out the window to analyze the scene again. 

Mel looked back outside. His car of course wasn’t the one missing its’ owner - black and bent out of shape, sitting alone off to the side. That meant he was looking for the owner of either the small and sleek beetle green car - mud caked wheels and dust covered exterior - or the compact but boxy white car. Mel didn’t like white cars - the desert sun reflected the light too well, they hurt his eyes to look at too much. Like snow back at the Seminary grounds. 

A shift of movement caught Mels’ eye, causing him to look down and hone in on the missing customer. He was sat on the bench outside the store, which happened to be right outside the window that Mel spent most of his shift looking out of. Almost literally right under his nose. He wasn’t used to focusing on something outside the store but simultaneously so close to him. 

From his vantage point Mel could appreciate the figures’ broad shoulders, nearly blocking out the item he was surveying - a map of the nearby region. Mels’ gas station was a waypoint into the canyon, and beyond that into the hot desert. The map the man held was covered in sticky notes, the writing on them too small for Mel to make out, even with his behind the shoulder vantage point, and even if he made himself get closer he could already tell that the words were scrawled in a chicken scratch that would be impossible for him to decipher. 

Mels’ attention was pulled away as the childrens guardian finished tending to his car - cleaning the windows of bug guts and dust - and moved to enter the store. By the time he did Mel had already pulled his attention back to the store interior. Of course, the large man went straight to the bathrooms first. It was rare, but not entirely unusual, for a family to come without at least a pair of guardians with them. Perhaps this was a father-child trip? Several customers had come in with small children, proudly boasting to being in the midst of such an adventure. Mel had never experienced something like that, but they were spoken of by enough people that it must be a common kind of outing. Complete nuclear families still dominated the families that stopped, but maybe that had more to do with the cliche that fathers did not like to stop for help. Mentally Mel placed the idea to the side, somethign that would require further observation to determine. 

The woman finished her phone call and came to the counter. She was getting some kind of an organic lemonade, green detritus reminiscent of algae sitting in a thick layer on the bottom, the label filled with health boosting promises. She paired it with three different selections of chocolate bars. The tableau painted a unique picture, and Mel run up the items while sizing up the woman. She appeared to be thin, although not toned in the way that people who work on their muscles are. Mel wondered if she would actually drink this lemonade, and if it tasted like it had been made with pond water. When she looked at him at the end of the transaction, Mel gave her his polite and rehearsed smile, the way he had practiced in the mirror after Uncle Boaz had pointed out that he never did. 

The guardian of the children emerged from the bathroom and proceeded to shepherd them all out of the store, ignoring the chorus of pleas for treats. Mel watched as they were corralled out the doors towards the large van. The commotion of children garnered the attention of the man with the map, who turned his head to look at the proceedings with a small smile. In profile now, Mel recognized Wren. His ballcap - another new one - had made it impossible to identify him from behind, but now that Mel could see his crooked nose  and brown eyes, there was no mistaking the man. 

As if the movement of children had broken a spell, Wren adjusted the map and folded it up. He rose from the bench and stretched his hands up towards the sky. Wren took off his ballcap for a moment scratching at his shortcut hair and revealing a receding hairline - the man had to be around Mels’ age, so not old, but from watching his brothers Mel had quickly learned that a receding hairline was not exclusive to age - his brother Hiram had started balding when he was just 19.

The tangent flew through Mels’ head the way most thoughts did - coming in, reminding him of what was now gone, and then excusing itself once the blow had been dealt. 

Wren gave another stretch and replaced the cap on his head. He glanced over at the window, eyes taking a moment to look past the glass to the interior. Mel knew the exact moment that Wren saw him, the broad smile stretching across Wrens’ face. He gave a wave and then proceeded to walk to the beetle green car. Already there were two new cars at the pumps - pumps 2 and 6. Mel stared out the window, eyes trained on the green car until it left the gas stations miniature world, and turned to the desert. 

oOo

The drive to and from work was long, but Mel liked it. An hour of driving either way. More if he happened across traffic. Driving was a similar state to standing at the register at work. In an ideal world, Mel would probably be in the passenger seat. Then he could turn all his attention to the passing landscape, place himself out there running along the road, or maybe create some kind of a beast hopping from electrical to electrical pole. A better vantage point to observe the paralaxing effect of the scenery.

But driving was good too, especially on the roads that stretched long and lonely away from civilization, coming to rest in camaraderie at the station for a moment before continuing their way down south through the state. Roads with no trafficlights and no intersections. They curved gently, skirting along the edges of the mountains that rose like monoliths - older than any human could conceptualize, and yet still called ‘young’ on the grand scale. On those roads Mel was able to break himself in half. One half of him paying attention to the road, to the cars that rushed past his rigid loyalty to the speed limit, to semi-trucks that he could overtake. The other half of him could meander, drifting along to the rumble of the car, thinking about birds and what weather the clouds told him to expect and life cycles of jellyfish.

Mel used to do this all the time at the Seminary. Idle hands were the hands of devils and demons, and play was their work, a mantra beaten into him. Back then, if he wasn’t sitting in on a lesson or assisting in the translating of texts, Mel was usually put to some kind of manual labor. Cleaning the House of the Holy, tending to the fields, feeding the farm animals. Menial repetitive stuff, like driving on long desert roads, where Mel could detach himself from his body. Mel used to imagine grabbing his consciousness in his hands and hurling it up into space, far away from from his physical form, bent over doing chores. 

He had told this to Zeph once, and Zeph had just given him a look. Mel didn’t know what the look meant, had somehow been even worse at reading facial expressions back then. It didn’t make Mel stop, but he didn’t share the experience with any of his other siblings. 

[maddyb-rapps]

Three

The farmers son

master list

Ivy

“Ivy honey, you can’t tell anyone.” Lori pleads as she stared at me with wide panicked eyes.

“Why would I tell anyone, it’s not any of my business….do you know what you’re going to do.” The stay at the farm is suppose to be short termed. A baby on the road……. Let’s just say as much as I appreciate what this group has done for me I won’t be sticking around with a living dinner bell.

“I-I don’t know.” I can tell how conflicted she is just by the look on her face.

“Guys—“ Glenn finally speaks up. As we look towards him we realize he’s signaling Rick’s arrival.

“Hey, honey.” He kisses Lori on the cheek and she gives a tight lipped smile in return.

When Rick is about to speak Lori suddenly turns to me. “Ivy, didn’t you need something.”

“Oh yeah….um so I w-was wondering if um I could have like a sleepover- if you can call it that- with Beth- but um I didn’t know if I had to ask and if so w-who because you know—“ I ramble on before I’m cut off.

“Thanks for check first it’s responsible of you. I don’t think there’s any problem with that- as long as it’s fine with Hershel.” Lori says with a smile as she leans into her husband’s side but I can see that look behind her eyes. The look that really pisses me off. The same look of pity.

“Yeah ok so I’m just- I’m just gonna go now.” I then practically speed walk back to the house.

Beth was practically bouncing off the walls when I told her they were fine with our “sleepover”. Jax was a little less excited when he found out most of our night was going to consist of binge watching Grey’s Anatomy.

“I mean it’s not awful a guess- but is this all we’re going to do.” He says forcing a pained face.

“Well that’s what we are gonna do and if don’t like it you can walk your happy butt out of my room.” Beth snaps yanking her pillow from under his head.

“No, no I’m good. Just thought we’d do something- i don’t more.”

“Out.” She doesn’t even look at him as she points to her door.

“Bro chill.” He yanks the pillow back before plopping back to his spot beside me.

I open my eyes to a menu screen playing on Beth’s tv. We watched about six episodes before Beth fell asleep and two more before I fell asleep. Jaxson, for someone who didn’t want to watch the show, was glued to the tv when I finally closed my eyes.

They’re both asleep beside me. Beth was curled up to the right and Jax was sprawled out to my left. I won’t be able to get off the bed without waking him up. And I really, really have to pee.

As a begin to climb over him he, as I thought, rose up startled bang his head against mine.

“Ow.” I groan out holding my head in my hands.

“I’m so- so sorry.” He whispers in panic grabbing my hands to pull them away from my face so he could see.

“It’s ok, I’m fine.”I whisper back

“What were you doing anyway.”

“You sleep like a crazy person and I really have to pee.”

“Oh.” He lets out a laugh.

“Yeah, oh.” I laugh with him.

“Come with me, I’m going to get snack.” He gets off the bed pulling me up with the hands he never let go of.

“Sure, but I have to pee first, like seriously.”

He turns his head to the side. “You always talk about pee this much.”

“Shut up.” I laugh as I close the bathroom in his face.

After I was done I open the door to Jax still in the same spot. “So……what kinda snacks you got.”

“Uh-“ he thinks for a moment, “I think there’s some chips in the kitchen. I’ll go get them. Go in my room so we don’t wake anyone up.”

I walk into his room and it what you would expect. There’s a full bed in the corner, a dresser right in front of the bed, posters of marvel movies, and a few other random things a teenage boy would have. I take it upon myself to sit on his bed.

He walks back in with a bag of chips and some Oreos. “I found the good stuff.” He says with a goofy grin.

I gasp, “Hurry and get your ass over here.” Once he gets close to his bed I snag the chips and rip them open.

“Hey! Save some for me. Um do you wanna watch something I have some dvds too.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Sure, what do ya got.”

His face lights up as he rushes to his tv. “Lots of Marvel, DC, some comedy-“

I cut him off with an excited gasp. “IS THAT GROWN UPS.”

“Yeah.” He laughs

“We have to watch it, please.” I beg.

“Yeah what ever you want.” He gives that same goofy grin as he turns on the movie and flopping beside me. Like really close beside me.

No one’s pov

The two teens were unaware that the boys father had been up to stressed about the new people on his farm had heard them laughing and talking most the night. Once he heard silence he went and cracked open the door to see a fragile blonde girl asleep with her head resting on his son’s shoulder. He sighed before closing the door and turning in for the night.

A/N

I hate school. I hate math. I hate Spanish. I want to be a stay at home mom with little brats.

,Maddy <

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

Hey hi hello, Charlotte!!

I’ve been on a bit of a Noah Kahan kick lately so I was wondering if I could make another request to feed into it!! Could you possibly do Gentileschi for the album Stick Season (We’ll All Be Here Forever)? Very much looking forward to whatever you come up with!! 🫶🏻☺️

(Also here is me adding that I’m sending you my love and support always and that I hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself, dear. Mwah mwah mwah, all of the warmest hugs to you 💛)

visit the art gallery

my dearest loveliest Meda!!

thank you so much for this fantastic request and for your super sweet message!! 🥰🥰 oh and also a huge thank you for your super kind tags on my joan/boygenius post - I loved reading them! ☺️☺️

my sibling introduced me to Noah Kahan and omg I am obsessed so I'm totally with you on this and I'm super excited to pick out some paintings for it! also do you have a favorite song from the album?? mine's "call your mom" but we don't need to unpack that rn 😅😅

sending you my love and support right back! I hope the school year's off to a good start for you since it sounded like you've got some classes that you're excited about - that always helps 💕💕

for your request, that album is deeply associated with autumn for me (also I know it's your favorite season 🥰) so all the paintings I chose are very autumnal. in general, there's this kind of beautiful sadness on the album that I visualize as wide grey skies and empty landscapes that you watch out the car window as you drive through the mountains when everything is dying. there's beauty but there's also loneliness and sadness, but the kind you almost enjoy - the kind you sit in for a while. idk if that makes any sense at all, but that's the general vibe I tried to go for when I picked out these pieces. also, in my descriptions of each image, I added a little commentary on what song/lyric it reminds me of ☺️

these are the paintings I would choose for the album Stick Season (We'll All Be Here Forever) by Noah Kahan (with images and more info under the cut!)

Avenue of Poplars in Autumn by Vincent Van Gogh

Autumn, Varberg by Nils Kreuger

Autumn Landscape by Charles Ethan Porter

Autumn in the Catskills by Jervis McEntee

The Times of Day: The Morning by Caspar David Friedrich

The Trout Pool by Worthington Whittredge

Avenue of Poplars in Autumn by Vincent Van Gogh (1884)

"passed alger brook road / I'm over the bridge / a minute from home / but I feel so far from it"

this piece for me especially captures that kind of loneliness that I tend to feel in late autumn that Stick Season captures so beautifully. I absolutely adore fall, but by late autumn there always comes a time where I feel like I'm floating. the leaves have all fallen but it hasn't yet snowed. the sky is always grey and the air is cold enough to nip, but not yet strong enough to bite. there's this sense of both mourning something lost and anticipating something to come. idk if this makes any sense at all but that's what this piece brings to mind for me. of course, I loved that this figure is crossing a bridge - perfect for the "over the bridge" line - but I feel like this painting also captures the feeling of being a minute from home, but feeling so far away. we can see a house in the background of the piece, but it appears flat and distant, with the vertical lines of the trees seeming to push it back even further from both the figure and the viewer. also the light in this work is such a quintessentially autumn light that I can just feel it. like, I know exactly what it would feel like if I were to step into that scene. again, idk if that makes sense, but those are my unhinged ramblings on this piece lol 😅

Autumn, Varberg by Nils Kreuger (1888)

"forgive my northern attitude / I was raised out in the cold"

I like this one because it has the same atmosphere of the We'll All Be Here Forever edition cover. there's a dusting of snow and frost, but not enough to make it feel like a "winter wonderland." we still see all the drab, damp browns of the foliage beneath, kind of breaking that stereotypical image of the "ideal" winter scene. I guess I feel like the album kind of does that too - demystifies certain things and experiences. also, this is exactly the kind of image I picture when listening to "Northern Attitude," which I why I chose these lyrics for it. as someone who was raised and has lived in a more northern climate for most of my life, I find this song super relatable, and the scene depicted in this painting is totally something I could see while out taking my dog for a walk in November

Autumn Landscape by Charles Ethan Porter (ca. 1890-1891)

"I saw the end / it looked just like the middle"

this one I picked for the vastness of the spaces. that sweeping light grey sky and the field fading off into the distance are exactly the kinds of scenes that this album brings to mind. this is also a scene that I feel I've seen from a car window about a thousand times. I'm often traveling in late November (going to and from school for the holidays) so this image feels familiar and yet distant in the sense that I've seen it so many times, and yet never truly known it. I've seen it from a car on the highway, but never really stepped out into it. that's also why I picked this lyric for it - there's this sense of sameness and yet change that just resonates so much with both this album and just the general vibes of late autumn

Autumn in the Catskills by Jervis McEntee (1873)

"the birds will still sing / your folks will still fight / the boards will still creak / the leaves will still die"

okay I'm so sorry I feel like all of these descriptions are just me weirdly rambling about late autumn 😅. but this one I picked to be a little more on the happier side, even if Stick Season is kind of a soul-destroying (affectionate) album. I do absolutely adore autumn foliage and there is something so calming about this scene for me. additionally, I adore the song "You're Gonna Go Far" and I love the sentiment that's kind of like "I know you left but I'm so happy for you and I'll always be here for you." this is a very placid, still scene that feels like a calming breath. I paired it with these lyrics for that exact reason - they are a reassurance that everything will still be as you left it, that you can come back and sit in this autumnal forest and just rest and breathe.

The Times of Day: The Morning by Caspar David Friedrich (ca. 1821-1822)

"it's just me and the curve of the valley"

I also love "The View Between Villages" - there are so many emotions in that song, but I guess I always ultimately take away a feeling of coming home to yourself. there might be all these complications and messy feelings, but there's also a deep sense of comfort that weaves its way into your bones and pulls you back to wherever it is you need to be. so for another more positive one, I chose this image with mist rising from the water and blanketing the pines as the crest of the mountains rises behind them. it seemed perfect for this lyric, as it sort of literally depicts the curve of a valley, but to me it also feels welcoming. the sun is rising and turning the sky pale pink and yellow as you wind your way through the valley, the mist beginning to lift to show you the way back home.

The Trout Pool by Worthington Whittredge (1870)

"we'll be waiting for you, love / and we'll all be here forever"

this image gives me similar feelings as Autumn in the Catskills, and thus I paired it with lyrics from the same song. this scene just feels so warm and welcoming, with the light dappled on the soft moss and calm water. even more so than Autumn in the Catskills, this to me feels like a place I could walk right into. I can hear the leaf litter crunch beneath my feet, smell the pine on the crisp air, hear the chirping of birds and skittering of squirrels, feel the warmth in the patches of sunlight and a welcome chill in the shadows. it's a moment you want to stay in, linger with. that's why I wanted to close out with this one. this place - whether exists in real life or just in your mind - is there for you, waiting forever. autumn for me is a season that lets me step back into myself, and one of the themes I pulled from Stick Season is a sense of homecoming - whatever that means for you. the seasons will spin on and you may wander far, but this place, these memories and feelings and experiences, are here for you always. the wind picks up, rustling the branches above you. a few leaves break free from their branches, spinning lazily to the ground below. you think you hear something on the breeze - a voice, a whisper, a song: "we ain't angry at you, love / we'll be waiting for you, love / and we'll all be here forever"

I hope that wasn't too ramble-y and/or based too much on my personal experiences/interpretations 😅 I really love this album so this was such a fun request and I had a fantastic time looking for all these fun autumnal paintings!

I am wishing you the best always always always 💕💕💕💕

so much love to you, along with warm hugs and yummy cookies,

charlotte 🥰🥰

[ewan-mo]

Out to a clinic.

Sunday 24th September 

We woke to a grey morning that looked as though it might turn into rain, which, sure enough, it did. I started out with a top and trousers, added a cardi, then added a rather warm fleece. At one stage I thought maybe I should have worn my tights.

Our driver appeared promptly at 8.15 am, pretty much as the rain was starting. It quickly became quite heavy, and the dirt track down to the main road took some negotiating. We were on our way to Namakwa Clinic run by Mukono Hospital, one of our mental health teams that is really flying. We then spent a wee while waiting for the team, who had an equally challenging drive to the health centre and church at Namakwa.

How to succeed at a Sunday morning mental health clinic without really trying? Look for where the people are – they are at church of course. So the clinic is held at a time when they can both come to church and keep their appointment. 

The clinic with the road in the foreground.

Lamet, Emmanuel and newly qualified PCO Eseza are three clinical officers for whom I have the greatest affection and admiration. I sat in on the clinic run by Emmanuel and Eseza, while Ewan and Lamet got together over spreadsheets in the back of the vehicle. 

In keeping with the teaching session we held last week, many of the patients have epilepsy. Straightforward enough if you do the minimum (check number of seizures, adjust the meds, say goodbye) but so much more interesting and useful if you get to know the patient a little better and find out about their lives. And check on the relative who has come with them, perhaps? 

Many of the children who came have intellectual disability as well as seizures, and some have genetic syndromes. The teaching delivered last week by our friends from Cheshire & Wirral was spot on! One of the Namakwa children needed referral to specialist paediatrics; the relevant specialist also works at the big mental hospital. Emmanuel was confident the child would be properly assessed. I know we have long waiting lists in the NHS now, but sometimes there aren’t even the specialists available in this country.

A few of the epilepsy patients have mental illness as well. Very few neurologists here, and very limited access to investigations. In the UK we have sizeable neurology departments to look after this group of patients. Here, a significant proportion of the population have epilepsy and many have no access to treatment at all. 

Emmanuel smiled broadly to see one young lady. Last time he saw her she was very excitable, talkative, irritable: now she is calm and contented. Sometimes the medicine is just the thing!  

We had one new patient. You might have almost ‘recognised’ her – she was unkempt but had on a few strings of small beads and bracelets, and a dress that had clearly been almost a party frock but was now grubby and torn. She was carrying in bags what Emmanuel described as her ‘treasures’ – such an appropriate word for the things people might carry around with them.  She said her father had told her to come because she was hearing voices, then later told us her parents were dead. The father she referred to turned out to be the village headman, who was, thankfully, keeping an eye on her. 

Waiting to be seen.

One attractive young woman was wearing a very pretty dress, like many of the women. Not sure whether they had dressed up for church or clinic, but either would be characteristic. This lass had had an illness like schizophrenia from early on in her life. She grew into a teenage beauty and got pregnant, almost certainly unintentionally. It’s a common outcome when girls aren’t in education, and there were many such pregnancies during Covid, when no children were in school.

Our young lady told the clinic staff about the baby, then disappeared for 2 months. This was the next review: no pregnancy. We don’t know what really happened. I was so impressed today by how our clinical officers were serenely dealing not only mental illness epilepsy and paediatrics, but also assorted medical and surgical conditions, including obs and gynae. 

Several of the patients told me how grateful they were for the clinic and the medicines that made their lives to be more normal including this lady and her son.

On the veranda I found this small charcoal stove with a pan on top and a bag of charcoal behind.  It is a widely used fuel in towns but not very ecologically friendly.

After an intense but very interesting morning’s work, we took our colleagues out to lunch. On the whole, Ugandans really enjoy their food. It may be something to do with the lack of food security – if you are a subsistence farmer growing your family’s food and the rains fail, there is nothing to eat. Perhaps it’s not surprising that our young people packed away very substantial platefuls! 

a good plateful.

[ronangallagherphi]

that sweater.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were Heather - heather, conan grey

Ian said he was going to be fine, he said it so often even he believed the lie. 

He is not angry with anyone for what happened, because he knew it was going to come, and his brain doesn’t have the capacity to feel angry when all he can do right now is stare out a window covered in bars and listen to the droning of a television in the corner because he has to be in a hospital.

The same shows play over and over, he hears them in his sleep. He wants to say he would rather listen to something else, but no one is going to listen to him. No one notices the redhead in the corner in the faded blue sweater, tugging at loose threads and trying not to cry. Then again, he can just shut off his feelings because nothing really matters anymore. He is going to be left alone to die, and no one is going to care. 

He said he was going to be fine and then he wasn’t, there was no other option except admission to the hospital. Eighteen years old, and he is on the same road as his mother. He doesn’t want to really live this way, but it isn’t as though he has much choice at the moment. He is watched all of the time, the whole point is stop things like that from happening here. 

“Ian Gallagher?” his name called by a nurse, probably more pills or someone else to ask him too many fucking questions. He doesn’t speak, just looks over to the general direction of his name being called. He is waved over. He approaches apprehensively, folding his hands into the sleeves of the sweater. “You have visitors, please follow me and I will take you to see them.”

He goes, because what else is there to do? Take more lithium, listen to the same shows, be asked invasive questions about his childhood, and just stare at the wall. These are the exciting activities he is provided, but he is willing to play his hand at something new. 

The fluorescent lights and the stale hospital smell. The way he just feels like he will never get out of these four walls. He despises it so much, wishing he could just disappear into nothing. The way everyone looks at him with pity. The doctors say he will be just fine if he listens and takes his meds. The nurses telling him to take these pills. All of it, the same day in and day out. 

Ian just goes through the motions, following the nurse to the visiting area. The sweater is keeping him safe, just the feeling of it against his skin already makes him feel less anxious. 

The room feels small, seeing the other people just talking and being normal. He is led to a table. He sees them both, and he wants to smile. He wants to be happy. Just anything but the lack of emotion which has become his default. Seeing Fiona here with Mickey feels strange, but Ian doesn’t have the words to convey the type of strange. 

Ian sits, still fidgeting with the sweater and not really speaking. Fiona is talking, smiling too much and words rapidly falling from her lips. None of them register, because all Ian can see is Mickey. Those blue eyes and the way he looks guarded, and Ian wants to know what he is hiding. He wants to know what is going on, why they are here. “It’s really good to see you, Ian. Missed you,” Mickey tells him, and he feels his heart skip a beat. He actually feels something.

Fiona is still talking. But Ian and Mickey are just staring at each other, trying to say a million things at once. Thinking about the last time they were together. All of the tension and the love between them. Just the way they are drawn to each other no matter what. Ian often thinks of magnets, or like a trainwreck… it just happens and you cannot stop it. But at the same time, he can’t love someone so much the way he does Mick, and think of it as a trainwreck. It is the best and worst thing that ever happened to him, and sometimes he doesn’t know the proper way to frame it in his mind. 

“I missed you, too,” Ian replies, putting his hands on the table wanting to reach out to hold Mickey’s. But he holds back, waiting. Ian doesn’t know how to keep doing this to himself, why would anyone want to love him when he is so irrevocably broken?

“Doing good?”

Ian doesn’t know what this means anymore. Has he even had good in his life? His father hates him. His mother left. His brain is fucking broken. How can good even exist when all this bad shit keeps happening? The only good in his life is the love he has for Mickey, and it did not save him. It did not save anything. It just made life more messy and complicated. Ian doesn’t even think he should be allowed to have good anymore. 

“Are you doing good?” he asks instead, turning the question around. He wants to know. He wants to know if his love is enough. If just by existing, this means enough to Mickey that everything else does not really matter. He thought his life was going to go one way. Instead, he has been given so much shit to deal with, he doesn’t even understand how the universe could find anymore ways to fuck him over. But Mickey, the most beautiful person in the world, is here and this alone makes him believe in goodness just a little bit. 

Mickey nods. “Yeah, I am doing good. But it will be better when you’re home, Gallagher.”

“Yeah, when I come home.” He chuckles drily, pulling at a loose string on the sweater to distract himself.

The words hang between them. All of those unsaid things just there. The fact that Mickey married a woman. Just the way Ian hated feeling like he was second best. All of it really fucked with him, but he knows he loves Mickey more than anything. He would do whatever he had to in order to keep him close. But he still worries all of this sickness, all the broken pieces of him, will be too much to deal with. Because being gay on the South Side isn’t hard enough, add in having a mental illness and Ian doesn’t understand why the fuck anyone would want to put up with that. He just wants to go back to when it was easier. Before when they were just kids in love and not two fucked up people who can’t help being in love.

“Hey, Ian,” Mickey slides his hand over, gives him a quick squeeze. “You better stop saying stupid shit before I punch you, yeah? You’re going to fucking come home to me because there ain’t another option. Got it?”

Ian grabs his hands, holding tightly. “The only option?”

Mickey just nods, because he wants it to be true. He wants to take Ian away from all of this bullshit. He wants to tell Fiona they need to bring him home. All of this fucking shit happening, and he doesn’t like dealing with the emotions. He hates it even more because he still goes home and there is no Ian. But then seeing Ian in his sweater just makes him feel strange, like this overwhelming sense of happiness. Even if it’s a little small, Ian wears it like it's the most important thing in the world. Like his Ian is still in there and will come back to him soon. 

“Yeah, because that is my fucking sweater and I want it back,” he says with a smile, his eyes crinkling the corners the way Ian loves. The most beautiful blue eyes he has ever seen.

“I’ll be home soon,” Ian promises.

“You better.” Mickey holds onto Ian, keeping him here. Maybe someone still does care. 

[bearsinpotatosacks]

In a world where you start seeing colour upon seeing your soulmate, and stop when they die, Carole's beach day gets ruined by the worst realisation.

Words: 1687

@caveiratimida I wrote it

Hopping out of the car, she pushed her sunglasses on her head as she ran around to get Bradley out of his car seat. He'd been talking all the way here about the sandcastle he was going to build and all the ice cream they were going to eat. 

Even though they'd already had two beach days while visiting Goose, he was still just as excited about this one, despite it being just a cheap day out idea to keep him occupied when she had no other ideas. Bradley must be a beach baby. It was unfortunate they didn't live near a beach otherwise they'd probably visit constantly, although that might be why he loved them so much. 

"Momma!" Bradley shouted as she opened the door.

"Bradley!"

"We're here, we're at the beach!"

"We are, baby,"

As she unbuckled him, trying to avoid his kicking legs, she heard him start up a chant. His cute cries of 'We're at the beach' continued as she lifted him onto the grey tarmac of the parking space. 

She reached over for her bag, a stripey pink and beige canvas bag with two rolled up towels in. There were also a few bottles of factor fifty sun cream, some snacks and drinks, a hat and jacket for Bradley, because she knew he'd get cold after going in the sea, and a book and her walkman for herself. 

Turning back to him, he shone a sunlight smile at him, his eyes closed as he bounced in place. She picked him up and placed him on her hip, holding him with the arm not holding the bag. 

"Got your bucket and spade?" She asked.

"Yeah!" He swung it around, hitting her stomach a few times. "I'm gonna build the biggest sandcastle ever!"

"Ever?"

"Ever!"

"That sounds like quite a feat," she said. "We better get started."

The beach was only across the street. Luckily they'd arrived just in time to get a space, and looking at the beach, before it clogged up with people. 

Approaching the road, she checked both ways before she crossed. Flashy red trucks with people hanging out the side drove past. Palm trees with swaying green leaves lined the top of the beach. Reddish-brown tiles led to the sand, flecks of it sitting in the cracks, she bet it would burn to walk across there barefoot. 

As they reached the beach, she began to scan for a free space. She didn't want to sit too near to the ocean where you could sink into the sand if you weren't careful. But too near the steps was also a bad choice, far too many people walking behind you, and that wasn't even taking into account how easily Bradley could run into the road from there. No, the middle would be perfect.

She spotted the perfect space a few paces away and set Bradley down so he could run ahead. He kicked some sand onto her toes, making them rub against her wicker sandmes as she followed him. 

There was so much he had to learn about the world, it excited her as well as making her nervous. He was starting school this September and would start to learn about how and why the world worked the way it did. 

She'd looked at the curriculum for the one her and Nick had picked but still had some questions. Because, sure, they told you the subjects but never told you how they'd be taught specifically. She hoped they'd changed things when she was in school. Everything was black and white when she was a kid, literally and figuratively. 

She'd only started seeing colour seven years ago, when she met Nicky in that bar after only being in Annapolis a few weeks. She'd always joked her bright fashion sense was due to her not actually being able to see the colours she was wearing. But apparently that didn't stop others from being coordinated, so she just admitted that she loved bright things, and her Nicky was the brightest thing out there. 

But she did wonder how much correcting of the school's curriculum she'd have to do in terms of soulmates. Her school had made everything seem so basic. You met your soulmate and everything would go from black and white to colour. You'd marry and have kids and love happily ever after, until either you or your soulmate died, and the other would go back to seeing everything monochrome. And her school had made it even more basic by reminding them that only girls had boy soulmates and vice versa.

All of this was blown out of the water by the time high school rolled around, with people rushing around trying desperately to see if their soulmate was one of the hundreds of students in their school. Dramatic break ups filled the halls as people realised that their partners weren't their soulmates. Others bargaining with themselves insisting that sometimes colour would come slowly, when in fact, for most, it didn't. 

School didn't teach a lot. Apart from the obvious, boys could have boy soulmates, girls could have girl soulmates. They also didn't tell you that there were such things as platonic soulmates and having more than one, something she'd found out about Goose and Mav upon meeting them. 

Nick had actually admitted to her that he could already see some colour when he'd seen her. Apparently he'd first seen blues and yellows when Mav had pulled over to help him fix his car only a week prior to them meeting her. She’d filled in the picture with reds and greens as soon as he'd walked in the bar. And for her, the entire world seemed to turn real. 

School would also deny that there were people without soulmates, when there were. There were people who were born seeing colour and some who saw it gradually throughout life with the realisation that they were their own soulmate.

Bradley didn't care about most of that, yet. He had questions, sure, about what different colours felt like, and she'd answer every time with patience. But mostly he couldn’t care less.

"Momma, come on!"

Broken from her thoughts, she hurried on. She set the bag down and took out the towels, flicking them out onto the sand. Bradley had set up nearby and was already scooping sand into the castle shaped bucket. It was lucky she'd put suncream on both of them before they left. 

She considered her book as she lay down on the towel but decided not. For now she just wanted to relax and take in the scene.

Replacing her sunglasses on her eyes, she looked around at the beach. To her right, she saw a couple rubbing suncream on each other. One had tattoos all over his back and red raw skin, the other was picture perfect, could've been a model. Further along, someone was having a barbecue, the scent lingered on the air and made her stomach grumble.

To her left was another family, larger and louder. One of the parents was playing frisbee with two of the kids. The other parent was sleeping on a deck chair, book strewn across her chest, two more children chased the tide as it went in and out. 

She scrunched her toes in the yellow-white sand and sighed, this was perfect. The crystal blue ocean lay out endless and deep ahead of her. Sunlight sparkled like broken glass on its surface as boats far off bounced on the waves and surfers swooped around, chasing the perfect one that never came. 

The blue continued on into the sky as it became paler and paler as it rose. A plane left trails in the sky, far too big to be a jet but it still made her question where Goose was. Maybe he was in a lesson, maybe in the gym or perhaps in the air. If he was in the air, was he high enough to see her and Bradley as tiny, indistinguishable dots in the sand?

Bradley's bright red swimsuit stood out against the red. He was crouched over his sand castle, now three towers wide, as he made indents for doors and windows. Occasionally he'd reach around for a shell or maybe a stick, he always decorated them highly, and always insisted that she take a polaroid of it when he was done. Not that he had to convince her, she was always one for taking photos to capture the memories.

She softened her focus again as she lay back on the towel. The sand under the towel was surprisingly compact. Heat from the sun warmed her skin just right, by the end of this holiday she'd have a wonderful tan to brag about at work. Maybe she could have a little nap, Bradley was well behaved enough that she could nod off and still be there half an hour later. 

Yes, maybe a little nap, then get an ice cream, then come back to read her book. At some point she'd paddle in the ocean, perhaps go for a little swim.

Then everything dimmed in colour, just as she went to close her eyes. In fact, it didn't just dim, everything had turned monochrome and her heart skipped a beat.

Ripping off her sunglasses again she glanced around at the beach. The aquamarine ocean was just a multitude of grey. Yellow sand almost white. Bradley's swimming costume a rich dark grey and his skin a lighter shade. 

She tried to hold back a sob as his focus went away from his sandcastle. Her eyes were locked on the sky as she tried to force herself to see the limitless gradient of blues but instead saw only more and more grey.

And she knew this could only mean one thing. One thing she always feared, something she'd almost had to accept was likely to happen with a husband in the navy. 

Nick, her loving husband, her goofy Goose, her soulmate, was dead. And sitting in the washy world of grey, she felt her heart break until part of her wished she'd gone with him. 

I posted this idea like 4 hours ago and liked it enough that I wrote it in full. I don't like soulmate AUs as an aroace because they hinge on someone being with someone and perfect for someone. And I know people say platonic soulmates but sometimes I don't want anyone so I put that idea in here to satiate myself. Hope you liked this!

[tasteslikenostalgiaa]

Would you like to be my friend? - Wonwoo fanfic Part 1

Genre: Fantasy

Warning: Nothing yet (tell me if you see one)

_____________________________________________________________

It was pretty crazy, the dream I had. I could be so sure that my soul was close to dying and the spirits were flying right above my head. It was so vivid, like I was just there- on the dark green road, filled with ferns and really beautiful lush green trees. Excited ran through my veins as soon as I felt that eerie vibe. The sky was clear before but it suddenly turned to grey. So beautiful that it looked, like dominos clouds fell into the ashet of breathtaking grey hue. And in a similar manner, the trees turned into dark green. It reminded me of a monster, but a velvety monster. As if, this whole scenary is going to eat me up right now.

I didn't realise I was frozen to one place when I felt my legs moving. It wasn't me who controlled them anymore. It felt like a spirit had the control over everything in my body and this world, except my face. Whoever controlled me, walked me in a slow pace, giving me enough time to paint the the world around me in my brain in a way I'd never forget. It was all monotonous velvet green, but did you think it'd bore me out? No, it was the most hypnotic, most lustrous and most enchanting thing I'd ever seen. Who knew dreams could be so pretty?

I got up from my bed and looked out of my window. I was staying with my dad for a week, as a vacation after a really tiring semester in school. And the best thing about it was that I could be on the mountains! They soothe your heart and make you feel so beautiful. They are so beautiful, so enchanting, just like my dream.

I got up to go to the small kitchen to make myself something to eat and drink. I couldn't push away the dream I had, how could a dream be so realistic? I still remember walking down the road, my legs took me into the woods, it was like entering a magical world. Everything was shining, little tingles of magic oozing out of every plant, every tree. It was enchanting. I was so busy looking at the wild yet suspiciously disciplined magic around me that I didn't notice the man standing infront of me.

"Hello, welcome to the woods.", a voice said.

I almost got startled and I dont know if it was because of his sudden appearance or his sudden beauty. "Hi", I replied cautiously.

"How are you? I mean, I doubt you'd be happy that you're stuck here with your legs under a spirit's control and a forest which doesn't stop glowing." He said, full of silent confidence and outward shyness. His black glasses sitting on his nose and his hair perfectly tamed, looking so regal, so angelic and so human all at the same time.

I replied, "Uh, technically, I am not sad, I don't know how to think about it. What to think of it."

"I see, but you may get sad once the spirit in your legs starts triggering your worst memories or start making up scenarios which, no matter how much you like the Green, you can't like or run away from. Unless, I help."

"How can you help me? Why would you help me? Why should I trust you? Who are you?"

"I'm Wonwoo. I'm not your imagination. You can call me your saviour but technically, we both will be saving each other. I've been stuck here for 3 months now, the leg spirit ran away and initially I was just as intrigued by these magical velvet woods as you were." He replied calmly.

Wonwoo, pretty name.

"I'm y/n. Why didn't you run away from here? How do you... How did we even come here?" I asked, a mild sense of panic and a small rush of excitement running through my mind.

"I have no idea but here, hold my hand. Let me guide you. You can't trust the leg spirit. It might take you away to the hills on the other side and push you through the valley, landing in the river. The other person I met here was, unfortunately, given the same fate. I tried to run upto him, save him but my leg spirit didn't want that." Wonwoo replied, his voice was so velvety. As if he's an incarnation of the magic running through the forest.

I took his hand and I can't describe it but magic literally ran up through my arm. His hand was warm. He was enchanting. But no, he could be danger. I didn't realise I didn't ask why we should be holding hands, I was just looking at our joined hands with an expression of skepticism which would have ticked him into telling me about it. "Ahh, me and the other guy, I held his hand while holding him up after he fell down in front of me, and then we realised that we could move according to our wishes, so the leg spirit doesn't like human contact. It runs away from it."

"Oh thats fascinating." It was. Fascinating. Scary. I don't know what's happening, it probably is a dream.

(to be continued....)

______________________________________________________________

Hello everyone! I'm writing this for @jeonncafe I hope you'll like this Rainbow and there's more to come. This is my first time writing for @caratwritersclub and its events and i was so excited. I'm so happy I got to talk to amazing carats, Rainbow and my secret santa ❤️.

[first-man-adams-blog]

7, 12, 14, 15, and 16 for self insert lore! 😁

Thank you for asking, Donny! 💖

(Most of these were answered for Shrek-verse Meg here, so to not just keep saying ‘go here’ or just including the ones not answered…I’ll do something different and answer for both Meg from MegaDeath (the other name for my Meg x Death (Puss in Boots 2) ship.) and…

The The Fallen Star version of her (who is shipped with an AU Aaravos from The Dragon Prince, who is the protagonist and a dragon not an elf in it) and the old TDP one too if possible.)

Corre Corre Pequina Roja (Shrek self-insert) answers:

7. would any other characters (besides your f/o) have a crush on your self insert?

In Corre Corre Pequina Roja (Puss in Boots Meg’s story) some of the nameless bar patrons, and briefly Charming…while he’s working at the Poison Apple, himself as a performer during its transition from villain hangout to what it becomes in Shrek 4... But it’s also purely for his ego. He wants a princess, not a barmaid. Muerte wouldn’t sit back and watch either if he saw trouble brewing.

But the other important characters in the story, no. The heroes are all in relationships by the time she meets them, and a certain pie factory owner is laser-focused on magic and magic artifacts. Unless he knew this random barmaid that tagged along with the talking animals was in contact with Death himself (who could count as being magical) he wouldn’t give her the time of day.

14. what hobbies does your self insert have?

While she draws, she also bakes. She worked in a bakery briefly during the part of the story she keeps getting fired when people die while she’s working. Before that, though, as a little girl she helped her mother bake, especially for her grandparents when they were alive.

She doesn’t bake as much now, but when stressed and needing something to occupy herself she will give in and do so. Baked goods aren’t Muerte’s favorite thing, but sometimes she can get him to sample some…sometimes.

16. freebie! name a fact about your self insert you want everyone to know.

Meg…is unusual even in the world she’s from. She finds what others see as creepy or scary to be fascinating and exciting. When it comes to animals, that is. She likes to watch spiders go about their business and stop to let snakes pass on the road.

Once, Muerte was telling her about a creature others are terrified of which makes even the fearless Puss in Boots uncomfortable…and she just looked at him with intrigue, asking him to give more details, a description, anything. At the time he was surprised and wondered if he messed her up when she was a kid…but now it’s another thing he likes about her that he doesn’t see in many other mortals.

* * *

The Dragon Prince and The Fallen Star answers:

7. would any other characters (besides your f/o) have a crush on your self insert?

(TDP) No, not really…but I did play with the idea of her and Corvus (a character in the show), an expert Tracker in the court of Katolis (a kingdom in the show) whom she befriends over time. There were some sparks, but it didn’t go anywhere because Megavos was end game and the stronger connection. (Plus it was probably one of the few times Aaravos got jealous in that project…)

(TFS) Not likely… Their other companions on the journey are kids and a married man, and anyone else they meet is more focused on The Fallen Star, him being the main character. Meg was just seen as one of the humans traveling with him, and sometimes being mistaken for being a Dark Mage because of her black and grey wardrobe.

12. how would the fandom view your character?

Aaravos is a very popular character last I heard (even after season 4…? I don’t go in his tag anymore, so I don’t know…) and I don’t think many would like Meg if she were canon. Maybe some would like the relationship with him how I used to write it when I followed the show, but I don’t know how many.

TFS…I’d hope hypothetical fans of that comic will like her. But chances are still up there she’ll be called a Mary-Sue or something.

15. how does your self insert play a role in the plot of the story? do they help directly defeat the villain, support the heroes, etc.?

(TFS)

She’s Aaravos’s first friend in centuries, having let him come into her home and rest after finding him weakened and possibly injured in the woods earlier that night. She then travels with him after he is forced to run from his pursuers again, and influences his decision to allow their other companions to join when they come across them later.

So she supports the hero, basically. She helps him both by being a friend and by doing various things during the story.

16. freebie! name a fact about your self insert you want everyone to know.

In TFS, Meg doesn’t have many skills that are useful to the group at first. She feels she’s just there because she has no where to go home to and she wants to stick with Aaravos since he wants her around too. It isn’t for a while that she figures out what she brings to the group that the others don’t already.

ask game: self insert lore

[jenaeswriting]

I remove my fly screen to smoke out the window.

I remove my fly screen to smoke out the window. An airplane twinkles in the navy sky. I look down to a big open road of bitumen, like a soviet dictator above the masses. A grey cocktail seeping from my fingertips. Lester young on Spotify. I write so I can talk to a friend. I know a whole cigarette will make my head spin. I am worried how much my hands shake. Everything is a front. So much play pretend in Mackay. If anyone questions the smell, I will say I am burning incense. A dark cat slinks across the driveway. Trees like the one from the story book where the man with the moustache sits under the plum tree. I was left high and dry from girls I am trying to make my friends. I was desperate enough to accept a call from someone who was my friend years ago. I didn’t like speaking to her. I have a housemate outside my door doing dishes. I know he is alone too, and I keep trying to connect with him and show him I care but he doesn’t respond. I don’t like to talk to him because it is too closely a reflection of myself. I have liked meeting new people in Mackay because there is an excitement in being someone new. Someone bold. I come to the conversation with a novelty. With him, we are both alone. We both know it. What else is there to talk about really. Sunsets are wide here. With all the quiet I can do things I never have time for, like yoga before work. But the distraction is life. So much time on my hands like excess butter on a knife. But it is too much, and I could make myself so small. No real reason to have meals, no one to look after me. No one to watch the cracks in my eyes. My housemate has closed his door now too. I don’t write for an audience; I write for a friend. Same observations. In a loop. I looked into ways to leave, and I wish I hadn’t. I came to Mackay to escape but what if it’s a prison. I can’t go home for Christmas. I feel suffocated now when before I felt bold and big. I ran alongside the sugarcane and watched flocks of birds coast above the powerlines. I’ve given myself a nicotine headache, but I don’t want to stop typing because I am scared of the quiet. The quiet of the keys, the quiet of the night, the quiet between trumpet and piano on the track “almost like being in love” by Lester young and Oscar Peterson trio. This is the box I spoke about not opening. Now spilling out, pools like dark wine.

[717-film-blog]

pitch treatment!

placeholder title: Suz & Lolly in: Saturday Night Close Encounters

I am also not sure how I want it to end, @ class please help

Logline: Two girls run over an alien on their way to the city for a girls night out and decide to give him the best night of his life

A tiny solo spaceship whirls out of the sky, crash landing in a tree in a dense forest on the side of a dirt road. A little grey alien tumbles out onto the forest floor. He picks himself up, disoriented, before looking around. He steps out onto the dirt road to get a better view of his surroundings. At the same time, two girls are barreling down the dirt road, music blasting out of their old station wagon. They are arguing over how late they want to stay out. Suz wants to know why Lolly cares so much, she doesn’t have to work tomorrow anyway and it’s been, like, a week since they’ve last been out. Lolly wants to be back before the sun is up because it takes her all week to get her sleep schedule back on track. Suz groans, it’ll be fine, Lolly worries too much and tonight’s going to be the best night ever. The little grey alien appears suddenly in their headlights and both girls scream, hitting him hard and swerving off the road onto the grass opposite the forest. There is a dark purple splatter on their windshield. The car stops and they still scream, Lolly is covering her eyes and Suz is looking around frantically. She cranks the driver's window down and sticks her head out. Lolly is still screaming. She asks if they hit a person, is it dead, what do they do. Suz is staring down the road at the little alien crumpled and twitching in the dirt in a puddle of his own goo. She runs out.

Lolly follows. They approach the alien, looking down at him in silence for a few moments before Lolly asks if they have to take the body. Suz makes a questioning sound. Lolly says that in Ohio if you hit a deer and kill it you are responsible for it’s body, you have to take it with you, or call somebody to come get it. Suz cuts her off and asks where the hell she heard that, they aren’t even in Ohio, and why does she care. Also, they definitely didn’t hit a deer. The alien twitches. Lolly screams again, then tells Suz that they can’t just leave him here. What if somebody else hits him? Suz groans again, saying that she is not letting this ruin their night out. He can stay in the car and they can take him somewhere in the morning. She picks the alien up by his legs and starts to drag him to the car. Lolly catches up, grabbing his arms and lifting him up off the ground. They throw him in the back seat of their station wagon and Lolly shakes the goo off of her hands. Suz plops back down into the drivers seat, turning on the windshield wipers that do nothing but smear the dark purple splatter across the glass. Lolly slides in passenger again and they pull out of the grass back onto the road. The music turns back on as they speed up.

The alien in the back seat sits up, groaning, holding his head. Lolly inhales to scream again and Suz reaches across the car and slaps a hand over her mouth before she can. Suz abruptly asks the alien what his name is, letting go of Lolly. Lolly leans to look into the back seat with wide eyes. The alien stammers in English, and before he can fully answer, Suz takes the glamorous sunglasses off her face and pushes them onto his, telling him that tonight, he’s coming with them. The glasses slide down and the alien holds them up, staring at both girls. Lolly squeals in excitement.

The girls arrive at their first club and they’ve made it to the front of the line outside. Suz is arguing with the bouncer that the alien left his ID at home and of course he’s old enough to get in, Lolly is holding his hand behind them. A fight breaks out to the bouncer’s left and he is pulled away to break up the conflict. Suz sees her chance and grabs the alien’s hand, pulling both him and Lolly into the club.

A montage of shenanigans begins, they are disposable camera selfies of the girls and the alien, mostly. He’s playing a drinking game on stage at a drag show, he’s vomiting on the dance floor, he’s meeting girls in a bathroom, he’s at a foam party, he’s riding a mechanical bull. There’s a break in the montage. They’re sitting on a curb at a 7/11 loudly drinking slushies before it begins again. The little alien is in a tight group picture with a bunch of Tom-of-Finland looking characters, he’s dancing on a table, Suz is running down the sidewalk with him thrown over her shoulder, he’s ordering a hot dog at a street stand, he’s passed out, drooling in the back seat of the car in a fast food drive-thru.

The sun coming up, the girls pull up to where they ran him over earlier that night. There is still splatter over the front of the car. He climbs out, covered in glitter and feathers and lipstick and still wearing the sunglasses Suz gave him. He closes the door, waving and smiling, and as Suz peels away, Lolly yells out the passenger window to call her later. They giggle off down the road, the same song from earlier blaring from the old speakers. The alien stumbles back toward the trees where his ship crash landed and there are two more aliens similar in appearance to him that gasp when they see him. He makes his way over and one of them exclaims that they’d been looking for him, and asks if he’d encountered any humans. The little alien grabs onto the other’s shoulder and bends down, vomiting pink slime all over his feet. The two rescue aliens watch him in horror before we cut to the credits.

-reagan

[theveryworstthing]

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class.  I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got  natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace.  I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.  

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway.  This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.