#i made this post and it disappeared into a void btw

[genderfluid-and-confuzled]

I WAS ON THAT

[mcmansionhell]

namesake mcmansion

Howdy folks! Today's McMansion is very special because a) we're returning to Maryland after a long time and b) because the street this McMansion is on is the same as my name. (It was not named after me.) Hence, it is my personal McMansion, which I guess is somewhat like when people used to by the name rights to stars even though it was pretty much a scam. (Shout out btw to my patron Andros who submitted this house to be roasted live on the McMansion Hell Patreon Livestream)

As far as namesake McMansions go, this one is pretty good in the sense that it is high up there on the ol' McMansion scale. Built in 2011, this psuedo-Georgian bad boy boasts 6 bedrooms and 9.5 baths, all totaling around 12,000 square feet. It'll run you 2.5 million which, safe to say, is exponentially larger than its namesake's net worth.

Now, 2011 was an anonymous year for home design, lingering in the dead period between the 2008 black hole and 2013 when the market started to actually, finally, steadily recover. As a result a lot of houses from this time basically look like 2000s McMansions but slightly less outrageous in order to quell recession-era shame.

I'm going to be so serious here and say that the crown molding in this room is a crime against architecture, a crime against what humankind is able to accomplish with mass produced millwork, and also a general affront to common sense. I hate it so much that the more I look at it the more angry I become and that's really not healthy for me so, moving on.

Actually, aside from the fake 2010s distressed polyester rug the rest of this room is literally, basically Windows 98 themed.

I feel like the era of massive, hefty sets of coordinated furniture are over. However, we're the one's actually missing out by not wanting this stuff because we will never see furniture made with real wood instead of various shades of MDF or particleboard ever again.

This is a top 10 on the scale of "least logical kitchen I've ever seen." It's as though the designers engineered this kitchen so that whoever's cooking has to take the most steps humanly possible.

Do you ever see a window configuration so obviously made up by window companies in the 1980s that you almost have to hand it to them? You're literally letting all that warmth from the fire just disappear. But whatever I guess it's fine since we basically just LARP fire now.

Feminism win because women's spaces are prioritized in a shared area or feminism loss because this is basically the bathroom vanity version of women be shopping? (It's the latter.)

I couldn't get to all of this house because there were literally over a hundred photos in the listing but there are so many spaces in here that are basically just half-empty voids, and if not that then actually, literally unfinished. It's giving recession. Anyway, now for the best part:

Not only is this the NBA Backrooms but it's also just a nonsensical basketball court. Tile floors? No lines? Just free balling in the void?

Oh, well I bet the rear exterior is totally normal.

Not to be all sincere about it but much like yours truly who has waited until the literal last second to post this McMansion, this house really is the epitome of hubris all around. Except the house's hubris is specific to this moment in time, a time when gas was like $2/gallon. It's climate hubris. It's a testimony to just how much energy the top 1% of income earners make compared to the rest of us. I have a single window unit. This house has four air conditioning condensers. That's before we get to the monoculture, pesticide-dependent lawn or the three car garage or the asphalt driveway or the roof that'll cost almost as much as the house to replace. We really did think it would all be endless. Oops.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[lupinmoonlight]

Could you do smth like they meet again after years??? She's a professor and he too so she saw him at the first day in the great hall and after that they run into each other in the teachers' room. They were friends when they went to school and they were always attractedby each other.

Thank you and btw I love your writing:)

Lost and Found

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You and Remus Lupin had a crush on each other ever since you were students at Hogwarts but never had the courage to even speak. You spend the next 20 years living your separate lives, you as an Auror, and he, just surviving. Unable to live under the stress of your profession anymore, you retire and start teaching at Hogwarts, still hoping to fill the void Remus had left behind. In September 1993, everything changes. (3,190 words)

Warnings - Fluff, cheesy, angst, a bit of hurt/comfort, a bit of self-hatred, kissing, mention of wizarding war and lost of loved ones, my grammar (english is not my first language), not proof read.

Notes - I am almost ashamed of posting this considering I received this request over a month ago. I am so sorry anon, I have been traveling all of August. Thank you so much for your request and kind comment. I hope you like this one! (sorry if it's too cheesy I got carried away lol)

June 1978

One last glance, that's all you wanted. You pulled your hair back, looking discreetly across the Great Hall. As always, Remus was there, just a few seats away. He looked sad, just as sad as you, but it couldn't be for the same reason. The warm, golden rays of the sun reached through the windows and danced across his face, as if the sky itself was trying to comfort him. It graced his scars, making them glow a beautiful shade of gold. You were doomed. Absolutely doomed. And sad. And in love. And doomed. 

You would always sit close, steal glances, exchange the occasional smile in the library. You had become experts at unsaid conversations, your hearts screaming out words that your lips never uttered. 7 years of unspoken love, of quick glances, of butterflies in your stomach, of hoping he would sit next to you in potions, of worrying when he would disappear for a few days. You knew why, it was easy enough to figure out for anyone who paid close attention. But you didn't care. You loved him for 7 years. 7 years that were about to be ripped away from you. 

Remus felt your gaze and looked up. Your eyes met, and for a split second, time seemed to stop. You wanted to say something. I love you. But the lump in your throat held your words hostage. The weight of the impending silent goodbye threatened to shatter the fragile world you had created. 

As breakfast came to an end, you all began your journey towards Hogwarts Express. The station was alive with chatter, laughter, and tearful goodbyes. But amidst the chaos, there were two souls whose worlds had never been more silent. 

You found yourself in a compartment and gazed out the window, lost in thoughts, watching what had become your second home for 7 years slowly disappear in the distance. Every time the train jolted, you wished it would be Remus entering your compartment, as if he would be braver than you. Why didn't you go to his compartment? You were a coward that's why. Because being rejected would hurt more than saying goodbye. 

Remus sat a few compartments away, his heart pounding in his chest. Despite the presence of his three best friends, he felt alone. The knowledge that this journey might be his last with you was gnawing at his soul. 

The train finally pulled into King's Cross, and students disembarked, eagerly searching for their families. You made your way through the crowd, hoping, stupidly praying for one last moment with Remus. As you approached the barrier between the platform and the muggle world, you took a deep breath and looked back. And there he was, Remus, looking just as lost as you felt. Your eyes met across the platform, and everything went quiet, blurry. 

You crossed the barrier and found yourself on the muggle side of the platform and looked back once more, catching a fleeting glimpse of Remus, who seemed to be vanishing amidst the crowd. You felt a visceral ache. A lump formed in your throat, stubborn and solid, just as you had been during those 7 years, refusing to admit your feelings. You hated yourself. Coward, you kept telling yourself. But you loved him. Was teenage love supposed to be this painful? Because if yes, you were done with it. Never again, you thought. You wiped away the unshed tears from your eyes, put on your most determined face on, and went to your parents waiting in the crowd. You had a career to build, and Aurors were not made of lovesick teenagers. 

1981 - 1991

After graduating, the world outside Hogwarts proved to be colder and crueler than you had imagined. The First Wizarding War was a brutal, heart-wrenching time. As planned, you took the path of an Auror, but not for the same reasons you had wanted. Rather, it was in a desperate attempt to right the world's wrongs, to lose yourself, to numb yourself. It was your refuge, but it was also a painful reminder of the war's cost, a daily confrontation with terror and death. Was Remus alive? The question gnawed at you the moment you opened your eyes every morning. It consumed you. You had not seen each other in over 10 years, but the mere thought of him losing his life felt like someone was ripping you open with their bare hands, no magic. Maybe that's what drove you, in the end, to be an Auror. Stupid teenage love. 

The horrors of your profession haunted you every night. You had been dishonest with yourself. Sure, you wanted to "right the world's wrongs". But really, every time you were out on a mission, you were looking for him, the boy, now man, with sandy hair, with golden scars, with the softest voice, kindest eyes, shyest smile. But he was never there. So you gave up and did everything you could to bury every memory of him as deep as possible, unreachable, and decided to try and go teach other lovesick teenagers. At least then, you would feel at home. 

And home, you were. The old headmaster was still there, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Professor McGonagall, head of your house years ago, welcomed you back with the expression of a proud mother. In her eyes, you had made it. You had been successful. An Auror retiring to teach young witches and wizards. But you didn't feel successful, you felt broken, empty. And the only other colleague who seemed to reflect that void was Severus. You had been surprised to see him as a teacher. The man had always been isolated, grim-looking, sad. He reminded you of a dementor, and maybe that's why you enjoyed sharing a cup of tea with this old classmate in the staff room, to torture yourself and forget about your lost love. Had he really been a dementor, you don't even think you would have been affected because all that was left was nothing. Longing. Hurt. Despair. 

Yet, in your first term as a teacher, you had this stupid hope. Maybe. Maybe Remus would walk through the Great Hall. Of all four troublemakers, he was the prefect, after all. Of course he would be a teacher. You had been so obsessed with this idea that you started losing sleep months before the term started. You surveyed the staff table like a hawk, looking for him. You were going mad. Here you were, grown, accomplished, yet still obsessing over your teenage love, retracing your steps through the halls like you used to 20 years ago to catch only a glimpse of him. Except now you knew he wouldn't be there. 

September 1993

You sat at the long staff table, your eyes idly scanning the crowd of eager young faces gathered in the Great Hall. You were numb. Not even waiting for anything anymore. Just going through the motions. Professor McGonagall had just finished calling out the names of the first-year students when the staff entrance at the side of the Hall creaked open. 

You turned your head reflexively, expecting another late-arriving student or perhaps a staff member who'd lost track of time. What you did not expect was the sight that greeted you, freezing you in your seat. 

A man stepped into the Great Hall, pausing for a moment to soak in the ambiance as if he too were revisiting old memories. Older and more weathered than you remembered, his sandy hair was now tinged with grey, and his face bore scars that were definitely not there during your Hogwarts years. His robes, though neat, were faded and had seen better days. But it was his eyes- those gentle blue eyes, filled with a unique blend of sorrow and kindness- that told you everything you needed to know. 

Remus. 

Your heart was pounding so loud in your chest that you were sure the entire Hall could hear it. The moment his eyes met yours, he too froze in place, as if the mere sight of you had rooted him to the ground. A mixture of emotions swirled in his gaze- surprise, confusion, and something softer, more intimate, that you hadn't seen in anyone's eyes for a long time. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden but not unwelcome, as you shared a look so intense, it was as if no one else existed. A look that whispered of years lost, of what could have been, and- perhaps- of what still might be. Not a word was spoken, but in that moment, volumes were said, a dialogue only you could understand. 

The gravity of the moment was so strong that you barely registered Remus moving again, navigating his way through the Hall to join the staff at the table. As he sat down beside you, the familiar scent of him struck you like a freight train- parchment, coffee, and a hint of pine trees. It was intoxicating, transporting you back to a simpler time, back to late-night study sessions and furtive glances. Your cheeks flushed as you realized that the empty chair next to you would be his for the entire year. There you were, a lovesick teenager again. 

You found yourself struggling to maintain your composure as Dumbledore rose to his feet to introduce the new staff member. 

"Before we continue, I'm pleased to welcome Professor R.J Lupin, who's kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he announced, his eyes twinkling as he gestured towards Remus. 

The students erupted into applause as Remus stood up awkwardly, a sheepish smile on his face. You found yourself unable to clap, your hands trembling in your lap as you watched him. It was surreal to see him here, after all these years. 

As soon as the ceremony ended, before the feast even began, Remus got up from his seat and made his way out of the Great Hall almost immediately, without saying a word. He looked almost...flustered? Impossible, you thought. YOU were flustered. How could he be? 

For days after your wordless reunion, you and Remus moved in parallel orbits, close yet never intersecting. The tension between you was palpable; an emotional undercurrent that resonated through every stolen glance and momentary brush of your eyes. You would catch him staring at you across the Great Hall during meals, only for him to look away, flustered, when you met his gaze. He would spot you in the corridors, seemingly engrossed in conversation with Professor McGonagall, but he knew you were acutely aware of his presence. 

You both longed to talk, to share the feelings that had overwhelmed you during that first eye contact, yet you were both paralyzed by a mix of fear, vulnerability, and the weight of years that had gone by. Remus, scarred by the war, lost everyone he loved most, was terribly afraid of loving again. And you, scarred by years of void, searching, numbing, were terribly afraid of being rejected. 

The tension reached its peak one fateful evening when you found yourselves alone in the staff room. You had come to fetch some papers you had left behind, while Remus had sought the space for its quiet ambiance to prepare for his next lesson. As you entered, you were met by the aroma of ancient books, polished wood, and a hint of brewing tea. Remus was standing there, looking startled but then quickly regaining his composure. 

"Ah, good evening," he stuttered, his voice tinged with the nervousness he felt. It was the first time you heard his voice in 20 years. It was deeper, but just as rich, just as soft, making you feel just as weak. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you stepped further into the room. "Good evening," you responded, your voice a half-octave higher than you intended. 

It was awkward, the air was thick with unspoken sentiments and unanswered questions. Remus cleared his throat and offered a formal, almost painfully awkward introduction. 

"You might not remember me, I'm R-" 

Might not remember him? Was he dumb? Clueless? Blind? No. He was just a man, you thought. 

"I know," you cut him off gently, trying to act as if he had not consumed 99% of your brain capacity for the last 20 years. "I do know, Remus." 

The air lightened a little at your words, as if acknowledging your shared history made it easier to breathe. Almost easier. 

"I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?" he offered, trying to navigate the awkwardness that hung in the room. 

"Yes, thank you", you agreed, grateful for a way to break the emotional deadlock. 

As Remus moved to pour the boiling water into the cups, his hands were less steady than he'd have liked. You watched him, your heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted to leap out and bridge the gap that had opened up between you over the years. He handed you the cup, your fingers brushed ever so slightly. The contact, though fleeting, sent a rush of warmth surging through you both. 

From that day on, you became inseparable- or as inseparable as two Hogwarts professors could be. You found excuses to bump into each other in the hallways, 'accidentally' coinciding your evening strolls by the lake or the Forbidden Forest's edge. You began to steal moments wherever you could- sitting together at meals when you could manage it, pausing in empty classrooms for brief, whispered conversations. 

Yet, for all your newfound closeness, you both tiptoed around the deeper emotions and unspoken confessions that hovered in the background. You would catch yourself about to say something too revealing and would quickly pivot the conversation to safer topics. Remus, too, would often find himself on the verge of saying something he feared could ruin everything but would pull back at the last moment, as though treading on dangerous ground. 

The late-night strolls became your sanctuary, where the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and your carefully guarded feelings. 

"You've changed the curriculum quite a bit," you would say, your eyes sparkling as you discussed his innovative teaching methods. 

"And you've managed to make Arithmancy popular. I've never seen so many students signing up for it," he would reply, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to decipher the mysteries hidden behind your eyes. 

You would both laugh, the tension easing for a moment, yet neither of you would take that final, daunting step to acknowledge the flame that had been rekindled and now burned almost painfully. 

It was a dance you both had perfected, a dangerous game you played. And though you circled around your feelings, it was clear to you both that this delicate balance couldn't last forever. It was as if you were students again. Desperate, lovesick, terrified teenagers. 

And you couldn't take it anymore. You wouldn't. That night, the air was particularly cold, the air crisp, and the half-moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the grounds. 

"It's been weeks, Remus. Weeks since you came back into my life," you began, your voice shaky. "We keep circling around each other like we're afraid of something." 

"Afraid?" Remus responded, trying to maintain his composure. "There's nothing to be afraid of." 

"Isn't there?" You looked up, your eyes meeting his. "Then why haven't you touched me? Why haven't we talked about what's really going on between us? Why haven't you invited me out for a coffee?" 

Remus looked away, visibly wrestling with himself. "I can't. I can't give you what you want." 

The raw pain in his voice struck you, and you felt your own eyes brimming with tears. "And what do you think I want, Remus? Is it so wrong to want to be with you? Or am I not good enough for you?" 

He took a deep breath, his voice tinged with bitterness. "You deserve someone better, someone who can be there for you in all the ways I can't."

That was it. The dam of emotions you'd been holding back for years finally burst. "Better? Do you have any idea how many nights I've lain awake wondering if you were even alive? Do you know how terrifying it is to love someone and not know if they're dead or alive, Remus?" 

Your words struck him to his core. Of course, he knew what it felt like. He had lived it for 20 years. 

Your voice had risen to almost a scream, your body shaking as you confronted him, assaulted him with your words. "All those years, I never had the courage to approach you, to tell you how I felt. We lost all that time, and now here you are, yet you've never felt so out of reach." 

Remus couldn't look at you. His gaze was fixed on the ground, and he seemed to be shrinking into himself. "You don't understand. I'm not good for you." 

"Why? Because you're a werewolf?" you snapped, the words tumbling out of you before you could stop them. 

Remus's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. 

"I've known since Hogwarts, Remus. And I never cared. Are you blind? All I've wanted for the past 20 years was to be with you, to even just see you, to-" 

Before you could say another word, Remus closed the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands gripping your waist as he pushed you against a tree. Your eyes met for a split second- a second filled with anger, surprise, confusion, but above all, an overwhelming love- and his lips crashed into yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. His hand snaked up to your neck, feeling your pulse, as if he was trying to convince himself that this was real. You pressed your body against him, the heat radiating from him was intoxicating, dizzying. 

But then the kiss slowed, its intensity giving way to a slow, loving gentleness, one that you associated with him so much. Remus's hands moved from your neck to cup your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had spilled onto your cheeks. Your hands found their way to his chest, gripping his robes like they were a lifeline, like he would vanish any second. 

Finally, you broke the kiss, a little out of breath, but remained close, your foreheads touching. "I'm sorry," Remus whispered, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry for all the years we lost, for all the pain I've caused you." 

You shook your head, your eyes searching his. "We can't get back the years we've lost, but we have now, Remus. That has to count for something." 

He looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time since the war, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility for a future- a future filled with love, warmth, and a happiness he had never thought he'd deserve. 

"Okay," he said softly, the word heavy with the weight of the promise it carried. 

"Okay," you repeated. 

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Can Qursuk, Tama and Daegred still communicate after he becomes a Lethrblaka? Btw Shrike seems cool. Second dragon to begrudgingly accept Daegred?

I think it will depend on the degree of dexterity Daegred can retain in his hands post-metamorphosis to still be able to use sign language. Other than that he might be able to write in the sand and ofc communicate via gestures and emotion-indicating vocalizations. He would still have the hardest time talking with Qursuk since they need Tama to speak for her dragon, since Daegred is incapable of telepathic communication.

As for Shrike...

Fly with me, young one. Let me show you something. Qursuk hesitantly complied and took off after the giant dragon. He no longer feared Shrike and managed to gain back some of the natural respect a dragon feels toward a larger member of its kind, but the old dragon's tone sent a wave of unease down to the tip of Qursuk's tail which now twitched constantly. The lush forests passed by below them, intersected by rivers and overgrown fields, until they eventually disappeared altogether. From so high above, it looked almost as if the land fell into a bottomless void. As the dragons began to descend, Qursuk was able to recognize more detail - the ground was not black, but all kinds of sickly shades as if all the life force was sapped from the earth itself. Dead trees were sticking from the discolored soil like thorns, with gnarled, misshapen branches the sight of which made his stomach twist when they got nearer. For they were not branches. They were the decayed, sun-dried bodies of countless Lethrblaka. Their skin had shriveled and turned pitch-black, their heads hung limp on their long skinny necks and their beaks gaped wide open in eternal silent screeches. Their toxic blood seeping into the soil, the long-dried trails of which could still be seen glistening blue-green on the wood, was the cause of the dead earth all around. There were rows and rows of trees with corpses impaled on them, going as far as the eye could see. During their travels around Alagaësia, Qursuk had seen the execution grounds near Dras-Leona where the leading members of the Helgrind cult were hanged after the Great War and their skeletons left there as a reminder of their crimes even five decades later. What he was seeing now was like a hundred of such execution grounds.

Worst of all were the Lethrblaka's eyes. Black, lidless and pupil-less, they were indistinguishable from how they looked in life. Despite his ancestral memories, Qursuk had little experience with their kind, and with limited ability to tell the subtle difference between individual Lethrblaka, every single one of these corpses seemed like his friend Daegred, dead and staring down at him from every direction. Qursuk was so taken aback by these horrible sights that he didn't notice where Shrike was leading him, not until he could feel smooth marble replace the dry soil under his paws. They were in a city, or rather a town, smaller than those in Alagaësia but rivaling the center of Aberon in style. Despite layers of dirt and grime, the walls still shone with white rock too smooth for plants to grow on. And among all this beauty, there was heavy, everpresent silence. There was only one place Qursuk knew with the same contrast of beauty and emptiness - the ruins of Doru Araeba. Qursuk already had more than enough, but Shrike apparently had one more grim surprise for him. In the middle of a wide town square stood a heap of bones. Human bones, bleached by the sun into near perfect whiteness putting the surrounding buildings to shame, and so old that some have already crumbled into fine dust that filled Qursuk's nostrils and forced him to fight the urge to sneeze. The most horrible feeling, he thought, sneezing due to dust that once used to be people. He barely noticed the familiar tooth marks on the most intact bones when Shrike spoke. This, the inner voice was laced with old indescribable pain, a deep sense of urgency and unshakeable duty. This was what we had fought against. This is the fate that we saved your homeland from. One yellow eye turned to Qursuk with an apologetic look. This is why I cannot bring myself to trust your friend.

[adambja]

Hello, sorry for the trouble. I have a question about void, I saw several posts about void, so I have questions

1. Is the void real, because some channels say that the void is supposedly us and it doesn’t have the power to manifest all our desires after we leave it?

2. I have such a desire that the man who lives with my mother, my stepfather, so to speak, would simply disappear after I made a wish in the void, so I woke up and went to my mother and asked where he was and she said like who is he? Like a revision or what? Is this real or not?

3. And change my appearance, but so that people remember me with the desired appearance, this is possible since I just enter the void and not them, how can I erase their memory, even change grades on the school website, it’s like if the teachers gave such grades

In general, I have these slightly strange questions, but what are they?

Thank you 🙏🏻

Hey my love,

I am sorry I kept you waiting 🙏🏻

1. Yes, it's real! you have to understand that it is whatever YOU WANT IT TO BE!

Like for ex.

If you want it to be real → It's real!!

If you don't want it to be real → it's not real!!

That's how your subconscious mind takes information in!

So whatever these people are saying it doesn't matter

it's always whatever YOU want to believe!!

It's all about YOU!! Your thoughts! And your feelings!!

So simply always fill your mind up with whatever you want it to be as in IT IS ALREADY A FACT!

For ex.

"the void state is already real"

2. Yes...

Look whatever you think about is possible to achieve fr but you have TO HAVE THAT SUBCONSCIOUS PROGRAMMING or THE MINDSET that helps you and allows you to do this and for revision to be instant!

• How?

Just assume you are already whatever you want to be and read this post!

3. basically you won't erase their memories cuz without even thinking about it people won't remember you with your old appearance they will remember that you always looked like that!

The same thing with the grades! Nobody will remember what it was cuz it was already changed by you! That's all!

If you need paid tapes i got you!! I know you are already using the free tapes💗!

No problem 🙏🏻

[szkicel]

The news about Tumblr allowing AI to be trained on our posts is…concerning. I’ve seen a few artists say they’re gonna leave this site, which is understandable. I personally will still stick around. It’s not like I’m much active on my blog besides posting art once a week, but I’d still like to try to make this thing work.

(Putting the rest under the cut bc i’m kinda rambling)

I always wanted to have this „popular artist” experience on here where I can answer some asks, maybe even reply with silly doodles, talk about my characters and their lore…I sort of have this on instagram (which is why i’m most active there) but idk, tumblr format really allows for some neat collaboration with other users, and on instagram every story disappears after a day unless you save it on your profile (which i do btw, but it’s not a good system bc you can’t easily find what you’re looking for).

and of course the reason it works for me on instagram is bc i’m actually interacting with ppl over there, so i can’t complain that no one is talking to me if I don’t initiate things. But idk, it seems much harder to do here than there. Posting here feels like screaming into the void.

idk where i’m going with this but it’s just…this site continues to go downhill and it might soon become too hostile to use, and it just makes me kind of sad. It might not seem like I care that much bc I’m not that active here, but I do. It was my first social media site, I’ve made some neat memories here and I’m still hoping I can make it work.

[aetherin21]

Sudden growth spurt after 150 years seems tough

Pairing: Choso x Reincarnated!reader

Genre: fluff, angst

Chapter 1

Notes: Choso, a man of few words, reunites with reader and Yuji is still registering what just happened in Shibuya trying to cope. There is light cursing here btw. I posted before but I didn't like it so I rewrote it and this is the outcome lol

Also Megumi + Pokedex = Megudex. Go figure lol

Chapter 2: If Pokedex exists in real life everything would be easier.

November 1, 2018

1:56 AM

Somewhere in Shibuya

Flames snip and crackle, swaying in its makeshift home. Echoing in silence as it encapsulates two people in its mold, leaving the rest empty and cold. The world had burned down and left strangers on their own, processing everything that's happened and what’s to come.

Goodbyes seemed to be non-existent as people disappeared in an instant, trapping them in a box where no eyes could find them, no hands could reach them. Like mantras and prayers, only lingering regret truly comes in those clasped hands and righteous lips. It was only natural, to be swallowed by stoned statues of voids and clanging temple bells. Sinking in towards its vast embrace, drowning while breathing. Too much it may all seem, too much it has brought and too much it will continue to give to the young boy at the tender age of sixteen.

Large hands born only weeks ago drag white strings of gauzes on battered skin, wrapping wounds that would never fully heal only close as time would pass. Scars that would forever dictate a child’s future as their bones made of steel and flesh made of leather shapes a perfect vessel. A perfect soldier. Choso could only sit and watch his little brother, offering a quiet reprieve to his raging sea. It is his duty as the eldest of ten siblings. His responsibility.

As the last wound fully clothed, calloused palms ruffled the young boy’s hair. Tenderly reminding him of his new found ally, his new found family in this tragic warfare. It's only them now, he thinks but the sudden interruption of trembling tears entered his brain as the girl he saved moments ago was still out there, somewhere, all alone.

“Sorry Yuji, I am going to disappear for a bit if you don’t mind.'' Choso reluctantly said.

The boy only shrugged as he rolled his shoulders. Doors were still closed, not ready for any guests to enter his abode. “Sure, do whatever you want.”

It was still strange for the boy after all, that the enemy he fought fist to fist is now acting all chummy. Suddenly rocking his gates back and forth, taking the permanent role of older brother in his life as if he was always there. With knitted eyebrows, slowly he sorted difficult feelings and thoughts to their respective bins. Shouldn’t there be some kind of process for these kinds of things? Instructions even? Nothing really makes sense to him anymore.

Misunderstanding the expression on the boy's face, Choso couldn't help but let a small smile creep on his lips. His younger brother is cute. “Don’t miss me too much, I am gonna come back.” he reassured.

Yuji only looked at his already disappearing form, annoyed and perplexed. Miss him? He hardly even knew him.

Squelching sounds kissed the floor as his feet danced with the red sea. Choso had returned to the area where it all started. Blood and bones had marked the place, redecorating pristine public walls in beautiful catastrophe. Contrasting heaven and earth with its unique artistic sense. Hell incarnate it had become and he was one of the culprits who had opened its doors. Forgiveness? He never thought of it, never even came for that. Already accepting the consequences of his actions, there was no need for such contemplation, for such insignificance. For he is a man currently on a mission.

Retracing his steps, he investigated all the corners for signs and possibilities. There were no residuals of familiar energy surrounding the place. Only lingering curses dwelled near corpses as lights flicker on and off. It was empty. He was alone.

With furrowed brows carved on his structured face, the search in this breathing labyrinth had become too daunting. As paths after paths appear and disappear as it reconstructs itself in the rubble of the aftermath. Squares, circles, triangles and rectangles are forced to fit in each holes of the puzzle. Creating new paved roads not found in the directory. Choso only hoped whichever direction he chose was the right one. It has to be.

Finally, as if God had answered his wishes, he had reached his destination. In the lined stores close to the station, there she found her alive and well — almost. Strokes of black and blue painted all across her body as her arms sheltered whatever’s left untouched by the pigment. A living canvas she had become. A soon to be by product of a demented artist.

With raw limbs as their brushes, the ugly children of a certain patch faced bastard had chosen her as their paper. Swaying back and forth in joyous hymns, their pretty little new toy seemed to be a bit more resilient than the others. Bending to their playful whims as she screamed along with make believe rapture.

"Fun! Fun! Fun!" They all sang, twirling their bodies from left to right. Feigning assaults as they mock her in delight. Witnessing such vulgarity, red that flowed through Choso's veins had boiled over, seeping to the creases of his meat and bones. Sounds that rang through his ears now turned into mechanical silence as anger took over him.

Blessed by his cursed father, steps were haste and swift. Intercepting the abominations’ feeble moves with his own bare hands. Iron flooded the air as he killed them all instantly with parodied cruelty. No mercy.

If Choso ever meets the Frankenstein wannabe again, fist and blood would bring the second coming of the apocalypse to that fool. That, he promised.

Inhale. Exhale. Gathering himself back from his quick explosive rage, he looked at her petite form. Small, Frail and defenseless, a contrast to the vivid painting he had of her. The strong vibrant colors that used to flow hardly emanated from her. As if she suddenly became a non-curse user. Eyes continued to search for more answers but it only brought more questions instead. Brushing it all aside, there was no time for that.

“You’re safe now. I am here.” he announced.

Lifting her head from its cocoon, the sound of deep familiar tone widened her view. Enlightening her in a new found religion as her savior had come in holy glow. Crouched to her level and hands towards her, there he had granted safe reprieve.

It was him. The kind man who held her as her world shattered in complete panic. The kind man that stroked her head with tender consideration as everything slowly came apart. The same kind man who offered his life to shield her from unfathomable grotesqueries.

Bowing her head in gratitude, she prayed on his hands. All too human it felt, for a man that exudes just righteousness. As palms and fingers connect to rough ones, it had baptized and washed her clean with relief. Whimpering lips blew to the wind. It was finally over.

Choso too, had been brought to a new calling as he saw her being broken and beaten. Trudging in hell all alone, withstanding it as it consumed everything. Speaking in his own worded psalms, he could only be glad that she was still in one piece. Glad that he wasn’t all too late else he wouldn’t forgive himself so.

“Raise your head. Stop crying, no need to thank me to that extent.” he said awkwardly, not used to anyone prostrating themselves to him. Let alone the sight of a crying girl at that. "But I – I don't even know you and you already did so much for me! I am just… so thankful.“ she cried as words seemed to be lost on her bubbling throat.

Cradling her face gently in his hands, he stroked the tears away. Ignoring her sobbing words. Nearly losing himself appreciating the warmth that drips from his thumb, never had he seen such pretty tears before. This was all for him. “Then thank me later. We should leave, it's too dangerous here.”

Taking care of her is one of his priorities now. It doesn't matter if she recognizes him or not.

It wasn't difficult reuniting with Yuji. Choso's big brother instincts had dictated him which direction to go, making it effortless — or well the fact that the boy never left the campfire to begin with.

“Yo! you’re back.” Yuji greeted the robed man with a waved hand. Eyes instantly darting to the new companion of his so-called brother. Immediately Inquiring with a pointed finger. “Who’s she?”

With her own small gesture, sheepishly she introduced herself to the boy. Commencing a ceremonial exchange of titles and names, washing away the mark of a stranger between the two. Holding each other's cup, they poured to one another all too quickly. The awkward stage of small talk had easily escalated to engaging conversations as they laughed in familiarity. Yuji's quirky personality had complimented the girl's own cultured stupidity. It was truly a sight to see.

Savoring their new found friendship, Choso was left forgotten. Not that he minded it. The view in front of him was enough for him. The closed doors he tried to knock on earlier had opened even if the invitation wasn’t for him. It's still progress nonetheless. Just the sound of their endless chattering made him content in this all too fucked up situation. Although Choso could not deny that a small part of him wished Eso and Kechizu were here too, to be a part of this happy moment. To finally see in the flesh the person who had taken care of them a hundred years ago.

It was summer after all, when they all met her. Casting a towering shadow on each of their cylinders as feeble arms cradled the siblings in the space between. She walked alone, them in tow as she stared beyond the horizon. Eyes cold, unwavering, as she caressed their casing with tender vigor.

A strange sorcerer she was.

Warmly welcoming abominations to her home with no repercussions other than inadequate seals lining the four corners of her abode. Embellishing her shelves with them as her trophy. Such tacky tastes one would assume as they sat there in her company if there was one. Maybe that’s the reason why solitude seemed to be her only friend. For neither her family nor colleagues ever visits, only him and his siblings were her companions in this seemingly empty burrow.

“It must be strange for you to be here.” she once asked to the numbered flasks. Opening windows after windows, the summer wind entered the dreary room. Inviting the world for them to see and to feel. With no mouths to speak, no eyes to see and ears to hear, she continued her musings as if the children before her were sentient. It's not as if they had a choice to begin with.

"Your mother was my friend." was all she said.

Disbelief was written in Choso's face as the sound of hunger brought him back from his trip to memory lane.

Three pairs of eyes examined each other as their bodies betrayed them. The adrenaline that pumped through their veins had melted from the fire. Exhaustion had now taken over them from their stomachs as they all sat there in each other's company. It had been quite some time since all of them ate a decent meal.

With another harmonized chorus, a mix of embarrassment and shock devoured their appearances even more, most especially the pink haired boy. His self-proclaimed brother had confused him as he joined their unscheduled acapella, coordinating perfectly as if he too had a spotlight. Squinting his eyes, the lack of knowledge of a certain Megudex forced him to use his head in full capacity. Adding and subtracting information as this new type of curse sat in front of him. Do death paintings even eat?

The girl on the other hand was still clueless about Choso's constitution. Seeing it as a natural phenomenon for a strong healthy man to feel. For all of them to feel. “I guess we should go get some food? Is there a konbini we can go to?” she said, head between her palms, taming her stomach with reason.

Already pushing the gathering dust from his clothes, the hundred and fifty year old curse nodded his head in agreement. “As the strong responsible older brother, I suppose I should go. There’s a store nearby just a few blocks from here.”

Loud thunder had struck Yuji, coming back from his brief imaginary exam only to harshly protest at the idea before him. Stopping the tall man with no ready dialogues, stammering words of Fuck, No and Shit left his mouth. Maybe he can eat, he has a mouth but that doesn't mean he knows what’s edible is what he tried to conclude in his brain.

Speechless, Choso was. The screeching bold words of cursing rejection entered his heart with a piercing ache. Body had frozen as he stood in the flames of confusion. Misinterpreting his brother’s intention as teenage rebellion. He wasn’t like this earlier… Why is he acting like this now? Does he hate him? Ah — he forgot to apologize for almost killing him a while ago. Fuck, maybe that’s why.

The dejected face of the ponytailed man brought guilt on to the table. Presenting itself as a case of a man with a brother complex to the court. Carefully pushing the next slide, the boy flailed his arms animatedly as he appealed to the judge and to the invisible audience. "I, sorry I didn’t mean to be harsh. Ah! — What I mean is! You should rest too! You’ve already done enough. I should be the one to go.”

"Even so, aren't you badly injured?" The girl retorted to his statement. Standing up from her seat, she objected to the judiciary and presented her own testimony. “Sit still and rest more. You look like a mummy with those bandages! I am not even sure if you can even move with those. I’ll go with Choso if you’re that worried.” Powerful is the evidence of worry, backing her up too well as hands lay on her hips.

A tiny sound could only escape Yuji’s lips as he tried to string more coherent excuses to convince the court. “How about you!? You’re wounded too!” but instead all it met was a loud bang of the gavel. The meeting has now adjourned. "It's better to rest here than to strain yourself. You're still a kid after all." the final say, left the boy stunned. Choso on the other hand, heart recovered and all only agreed throughout.

Hanging his head low in defeat, he conceded with a badly drawn pout. "I'll hold the fort then. Have a safe trip…" Waving to their fading silhouettes goodbye.

Now alone, the boy let out a deep breath as dread had finally broken his façade. Her words had dug too deep, hitting on his buried casket repeatedly. Forcing out the living corpse from its refuge where it wasn’t supposed to be. Just like Choso, he hardly even knew her and yet she was right. It hurt.

"Fuck." Is all he said.

[cottoncandycloudsfluff]

I posted 41 times in 2021

29 posts created (71%)

12 posts reblogged (29%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.4 posts.

I added 66 tags in 2021

#undertaleau - 14 posts

#undertale - 11 posts

#utmv - 10 posts

#art - 6 posts

#wiggleverse - 5 posts

#digital art - 4 posts

#nightmare sans - 4 posts

#errorsans - 4 posts

#dream sans - 4 posts

#reblog - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 68 characters

#almost all of the people in the discord server agrees im the uwu one

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Drem

Procreate vs Ibispaint

Both made in the same ipad mini 1, with my fingers-

I am probably just inexperienced in Procreate, (which btw, cannot be updated anymore so I'm stuck in Procreate 2015, I think-)

12 notes • Posted 2021-10-20 04:36:35 GMT

#4

After!Dreamtale

Basically Aftertale but Dreamtale.

(I tried a new artstyle and coloring style for these bois :D) Info about After!Dreamtale: -Nightmare eating the apples corrupted their world, not Nightmare. Therefore everything was reduced to a void of black, except a patch of grass where the tree, but with no magic anymore, sat.

-Dream blamed himself for everything as he was the only one who remained, and then basically just drowned in an ocean of guilt.

-Dream cut the tree down out of anger after his world disappeared.

-Accidentally/Intentionally, a syringe of DT rolled from another world to After!Dreamtale.

-With no chance of hope left, Dream injected himself with DT, to have determination as some humans did back in the village.

-DT was not that compatible with Dream's magic it melted part of Dream's skeleton body.

-Dream managed to save his world by resetting, but at the cost of him losing his magic, and slowly dying.

-Nightmare remembers the reset, Nightmare was fine being dead and wanted Dream to be selfish for once.

-Now Dream is slowly dying, and they can't unbalance the apples, the villagers still wanted Dream's help, they could do nothing anymore but accept their fate.

18 notes • Posted 2021-11-05 00:35:29 GMT

#3

•Karen!Sanses AU but its also Fgod-

(Honestly, this is just pure chaos-)

"You injured me! I want to speak to your manager!" A Sans copy dramatically flopped to the ground, touching his fibula.

"I will sue you for telling false information! I only barely scratched you! I want to talk to YOUR manager!" Error flipped his nonexisting hair.

"I am his manager!" Ink came in with his giant paintbrush. "I will sue you for hurting this person!"

"You don't have any proof! You aren't a real manager! I will SUE yOu!" Error panickly looked at Ink.

Shocked gasps were heard.

"I am a real manager!" Ink presented a (fake) ID.

Error gasped. "That is fake! You're not fit for a manager!" Error stomped.

Too late. More angry Karen Sanses emerged and began to attack Karen Error with complaints.

"Unfair! Unfair!" Error stomped his feet.

He went to his antivoid.

"Unfair! Everything is unfair!" Error stomped his feet in humiliation.

"You better destroy or I'll sue you for destruction of private property!" One of the voices shouted.

"That doesn't make sense at all! I hate this job! I want to speak to your manager!" Error yelled back.

Karen Nightmare came in, gasping.

"Your place is so messy and you are injured! I want to speak to your manager!" Nightmare shouted.

20 notes • Posted 2021-11-21 05:03:04 GMT

#2

Inky black tears dyed the white snow as sobbing was heard.

Ink lost his best friend.

The one thing that is irreplaceable.

He couldn’t save them in time.

“Ink, come on. It’s just a brush.” Dream dragged Ink, annoyed at how dramatic Ink was.

They were all tired from the fight, they need to go back to their base.

But the truth was, Broomie wasn’t just a brush.

---

Ink was bored and lonely. All he could do is wait in his little void, that he now named' Doodlesphere’ and wait for the creators.

Sure, he could travel using paint, but he has no normal paint anymore and he wouldn’t spend his vials on useless stuff.

“Ink! We know you’re bored so we made something for you!” A voice spoke up.

“You did!? Thank you! What is it?” Ink spoke up in curiosity.

“Ta-daaa!” Another voice spoke.

It was a brush. A 5 feet tall brush to be exact.

“Coool! What does it do?” Ink smiled, the creators just gave him a gift!

“For once, it has unlimited paint supply! Now you can travel anywhere you like!”

“Ooh!” Ink spoke as he tested the brush to draw a tree in the ground.

To his surprise, it came to life! Now there’s a whole tree on his doodlesphere-

“Yeaah- It can also bring stuff to life! It’s a one-of-a-kind type of brush, so be careful with it!”

“Thank you so so much!” Ink thanked the creators as he hugged his new brush, he decided to name it, Broomie.

---

A few months had passed and Ink was never lonely anymore. He had Broomie by his side always.

“Broomie! I brought pizza!” Ink announced as his brush just sat there in the corner, not doing anything, like what normal objects do.

But Ink likes to pretend otherwise.

“And no! I am not sharing this with you!” Ink spoke hugging the pizza box.

“..” Silence was heard as Ink waited for a response. Nothing as usual.

“Finee! Since you asked for it, I’ll give you some!” Ink giggled.

---

Back to the present time, Ink desperately tried to glue Broomie back together.

But no matter he tried, Broomie is broken, and cannot be fixed.

He lost his bestfriend and he’s not going to get them back.

30 notes • Posted 2021-10-19 11:35:11 GMT

#1

I loved the fic so much and decided to join! This is my first time joining these kind of stuff so I don't really expect to win- (I have a weird relationship with my watermarks, so I just decided to put in my wattpad username xD) OSD by: @calcium-cat

173 notes • Posted 2021-10-24 03:49:34 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[sanstropfremir]

Thank you for answering my Kai ask <3 that was a very interesting read! (btw you're so eloquent in the way you write, I really admire that. Maybe it's cuz I write scientific papers all the time, so when it comes to art and music I'm not knowledgeable at all)

You're right, when I wrote the ask it was before the teasers for the Peaches comeback dropped. But tbh even back then I didn't exactly think that Kai and Rain are similar dancers. I saw someone say that in a video, but I'm not knowledgeable enough to point out how they're similar or not, so I wanted to ask you. Like you said, Rain has more of a hiphop style and Kai does have the ballet background (in very simplified terms)

I feel like the words "fill a void that Rain left" came off a bit ignorant, which definetly was not my intention. Rain released music in the (very successful) project group with Lee Hyori and Yoo Jaesuk, then the songs with Chungha and JYP. What I wanted to say is that Rain is way past the "active kpop idol" stage. He doesn't have to churn out comebacks all the time and instead can focus on what he wants to do, whether it's TV shows/kdramas/music or his personal life and taking a break.

aww thank you for thinking i'm eloquent even though some of that post was a stretch at best. it just comes from many years of writing analytical essays for university and it really is just a different skillset than writing scientific papers, of which i would be horrible at.

i wouldn't necessarily say that it was you being ignorant because i didn't get that from the ask, because i have also heard people express that type of sentiment before, just not also attaching kai to it. and i'm glad that you asked me about it because this is the exact reason my inbox is open! also it made me think about something i hadn't before, which is also good. but that's definitely a common phrase that people use in relation to idols leaving for enlistment and/or becoming less active, i see it a LOT on twitter in relation to taemin and i think it's just a bad phrase in general, because it forces comparisions between artists that aren't necessary and also it almost erases that artist's catalogue. like taemin didn't leave a void in kpop because he didn't disappear off the face of the planet and take his entire discography with him; it's all still there and still influential on the industry. and it's the same with rain. but yes there is absolutely a difference between how active rain is as an idol and how active a younger idol like kai is. although kai has been comparably less active than rain because he hasn't promoted on a music show in a year because exo's still on hiatus lmao. now that there are more idols aging with the industry it's now become obvious that there's a couple different phases of what being an 'active' idol means, even if the predominant population are the ones that are churning out comebacks 3+ times a year. personally i want them all to be able to take time off or be choosy with their projects like rain is, but rookies (and even established idols) don't have the same flexibility and most importantly, security, sadly.

[emsartwork]

Sorry if you’ve already answered this but J was wondering if you could talk more the girls childhood/growing up? Love what you’re doing btw, absolutely adore how you’ve basically recreated the Winx world! 💗

Thank you!!! and sure thing! long post ahead

BLOOM: she never really had any problems family wise, Vanessa and Mike told her she was adopted at like…. Age 7 or so (in a positive affirming way obvi) and even if any kids teased her about it she never doubted her parent’s love for her. Even with Daphne’s spell helping her blend in with earth life, Bloom still had a nagging sense she didn’t “fit”, and got lost in fantasy books and art whenever possible. Growing up she deals with some body image issues that probably stem from the whole wrong fit feeling. Bloom grew up an artistic and quiet kid, Mitzi and Selina were her best friends from childhood, and because they both had really strong personalities, Bloom often repressed her own feelings in order to play peace maker. Up until high school, where Mitzi, who was always the leader, slowly started to turn into a bully in order to gain the approval/fear of her peers, targeting Selina specifically. Bloom was more of a follower at the time and just didn’t want to loose her friends so she didn’t stand up to Mitzi but tried to treat Selina as if nothing had changed, which was not cool with Selina and she not-so-subtly started to reject Bloom as a friend. Bloom, for her part, did get her shit together and stand up to Mitzi, loosing her only other friend right before her senior year of highschool (she was still technically friends with Andy but they had also just broken up and everything was awkward lmao). Bloom regrets not standing up to Mitzi sooner, and wants to rekindle her friendship with Selina (and Mitzi if she’s willing to tone down the bitchiness).  

STELLA: So Stella’s childhood is a little more complicated. Stella is the first SoLuna heir in Solarian history, and a very loud minority protested her very existence. Stella also had to stay close to the Second Sun of Solaria as a child, so she had a very solitary and confined early childhood in a wing of the Solarian castle. When she did figure out how to sneak out she was only 10 or so, and spent most of the time just wandering around the capital city. She didn’t have any problems in the city, but an off duty guard recognized her and took her back to the palace. Stella was then sent to an elite boarding school under a false name (Sasha), she formed close friends with Nova and Varanda, but the trio was the target of the rest of the school’s bullies (for various reasons). Junior high was peak nerd Stella, but she “princess Diary-ed” herself when starting high school and started placing all of her value in her appearance and status as a sex object. Her parents’ marriage was also starting to crumble and Stella felt like she had lost their love. Because Stella craves validation and affection, this lead to a couple bad relationships because the only way she could get people to “love her” in her brain was through physical intimacy, even if it didn’t really fill the void she felt. Nova and Varanda were her rocks during this period and Stella was able to learn to love herself first with their help. Stella was insanely nervous to leave her friends and go to Alfea, and tried to force friendships with other people originally, (this mostly lead to people thinking she was annoying and getting multiple censures from Griselda), and her first genuine connection on Magix was with “Prince Sky” (Brandon). Nova and Varanda were VERY worried when Stella first told them about “Prince Sky”(Brandon) and how fast they had gotten into a relationship and they may have stalked/threatened him on a visit to Stella but they eventually came around and started to like him. Stella being expelled was only kind of an accident, Varanda texted Stella in the middle of a Chemancy class her application to Alfea for the next year had been accepted and Stella got SUPER excited and blew up the classroom. She probably could have stayed in school but her response to Fraragona and Griselda’s “now what do you have to say for yourself young lady” was *giddy laughter* and “ i only wish the explosion had been big enough to send me forward to next year!!!!!” and griselda was like “either she goes or I go” and Stella was like “ya gurl i gone” of course her time back on Solaria didn’t go exactly as planned as her parents were just fighting every time they tried to do something together making her people pleasing/self blaming tendencies worse. 

FLORA: ahhh my baby So Flora does remember her father, not a lot and she feel guilty she doesn’t remember more, but she was only 7 when he died. Alyssa remarried when Flora was 13, and eventually she adjusted to having a younger sister who she loves very much now. Due to Rhodos’s nature preservation needing a lot of room for study Flora and Miele grew up pretty far away from any town and didn’t have a lot of friends. This is primarily why Flora and Miele are so close despite their age difference, and why Flora took her role as protector so intensely; she was the only one there (I mean besides the parents obviously). Flora did well in school though she was quiet and reserved, which made making friends even harder than living in the middle of nowhere. She figured out the best way to make people like her was to give them what they wanted, and this snowballed into Flora becoming kind of doormat not comfortable with voicing her true feelings and faking a lot what people expected from her. Flora has a lot of repressed…… everything (Bloom mostly just has a lot of repressed anger she’s good with other emotions lmao) she has trouble identifying what she’s feeling and for the most part is content to leave her feelings buried as long as the surface remains calm. The Winx do help her start to access her feeling more, and encourage her whenever she does voice an opinion. Helia is a perfect match for her in the sense that his quiet nature leaves Flora to express herself without trying to mold herself into whatever she thinks he wants (of course on the flip side this also means Flora and Helia have issues with communication and repression but that’s another topic). 

AISHA: hoo boy another complicated one. Aisha was raised in a strict environment, this mostly stems from her parents and their more…. anxious natures, but royalty on Andros is not as free as some of the other planets. Aisha’s world consisted of lessons and adults and rules and she had very little control over her own life. Aisha met Anne in a rare moment of freedom in the tidal gardens where Anne’s father worked. Anne was biding her time waiting for her dad to get off work so they could grab some dinner and was dancing. Aisha just watched her for a while before Anne noticed her and asked her if she wanted to play. The two formed a fast friendship, and Aisha finally started to feel like she had some sort of influence in her own life as she snuck out of lessons to play with Anne every evening she could(obviously their favorite thing to do was dance lol) Unfortunately Anne and her father disappeared one night. Aisha lost her only friend, the only social outlet she had, her one source of freedom, and couldn’t even figure out what had happened. Feeling so out of control lead to a pretty bad anxiety disorder for most of her teens, primarily triggered by the dark or being trapped in some way. She also has issues trusting others and letting people help her. Aisha started to act out, trying to exert any kind of control and relieve some of her anxiety. Her risk taking behavior got pretty bad, but she had started to tone it down after she met and bonded with Piff(royal business trip to Magix she skipped out on). Of course when the pixies went missing she wasn’t going to let her friendship vanish again and tracked them down with a not so healthy single minded determination.

TECNA: born to higher class parents, Tecna had greatness thrust upon her from an early age. She received extra training and education basically from birth, which she was fine with for the most part. Tecna grew up being able to handle academic pressure very well and met all of her teacher’s and parent’s expectations.  She and Riven had a brief collision as preteens in a school before Riven got expelled. Tecna’s one issue was that of her emotional intelligence, Zenith doesn’t really place an emphasis on that, so she was able to advance through high school very predictably until she attended a non-Zenith based workshop for magic. She found herself socially ostracized and very very confused. Of course Tecna had never met a subject she couldn’t master and emotions wouldn’t be an exception right??? Wrong. Zenith’s information about the brain and the chemicals produced was of no help, her teachers and parents didn’t understand why Tecna suddenly had this new interest in such an illogical subject, and worst of all, Tecna realized she didn’t understand her own brain chemicals. Tecna had a mini existential crisis, realized she had no idea what she even wanted to do with her life or why it mattered and applied to the Alfea Fairy program because “FAIRY MAGIC EMOTION MAGIC HELP” also it would offer her strong emotional experiences(transformations basically require it), the opportunity to work closely in groups, and personally obverse her dorm-mates emotional states. She got way more than she bargained for but doesn’t regret it a bit.

MUSA: my angst child T-T so basically, the first half of her childhood is p good, her parents work really hard and don’t always have enough money but the family unit is pretty stable. At around 12, Musa’s mom gets sick. Nobody is too worried at first, but she never seems to get better and she takes a big turn for the worse when Musa is about 16, Matlin is finally diagnosed with Core Failure Syndrome. CFS is similar to Core Fatigue, but while Core Fatigue can be remedied fairly easily with rest and magic, CFS is virtually incurable unless it’s caught really early. The causes are still unknown, and the symptoms (fatigue, nausea, cognition issues, and muscle weakness) can be prolonged but mild until it’s too late. In the later stages (extreme fatigue, numbness in the extremities, chest pain, joint pain, memory/focus issues, inability to keep food down)  all you can do is try to make the afflicted comfortable. Ho-boe is understandably distraught, and tries to freelance write for music but goes into a pretty bad depressive state. Musa has a few odd jobs here and there, and thats mostly what’s keeping them afloat among heavy medical debt. Musa latches on to her mother for emotional support as Ho-boe is super dissociated. When Matlin does pass as Musa turns 18, Ho-boe finally breaks, and violently destroys every last reminder of Matlin because he can’t deal with the pain. Musa, who has suddenly had her one emotional anchor cut off, is super freaked out and scared by this and it really damages their relationship going forward. Musa becomes incredibly anxious, and can’t really process her mother's death because her father won’t talk about it with her and is still shut off emotionally. Moving to Magix only worsened it as Musa rebelled and went after music with a desperate passion. Applying to Alfea was a way for Musa to get out of the house, and she and her father weren’t on speaking terms when she did leave for the college. Musa had planned on learning more magic to further her career as a musician, special effects infusing magic into a song rubbing shoulders with rich and well connected people who could possibly get her connected to the big shots in music….. The winx situations had her change some of her long term plans a little, but her connection with the group + her separation anxiety and fierce loyalty didn’t really leave any other choice lol 

[seaside-rusty]

im trying to get the hang of coloring, so i figured id color in some sketches that i made a while back and never properly finished. i based all the hair i drew(the style not the colors) from a game called cocoppa play btw. im still working on how shading(and basic human anatomy) works, but i think im getting there.  also, ive been painting my door and im REALLY proud of it so far, so ill post it when its done uwu.

p.s sorry for disappearing into the void i forgot i made this tumblr

[wicked-game-black-butler]

Sorry it's taken me a while to speak up, but if you still have spaces, I have a question and a request. My question is this; what's your favourite arc of Black Butler, and why? For my request, I would like to ask for Undertaker x Reader (female) please. As for headcannons, here we go; 1) First meeting 2) Admitting feelings 3) First time having sex 4) Favourite things to do during sex 5) Finding out S/O is sick 6) Ways he gets S/O 'in the mood' ;)

@jasminewitch-blog  No worries, there’s no need to apologize.  Thank you for your interest and for following me.  I hope you enjoy the headcanons for everyone’s favorite mortician.

As for your question, the real answer is that I love almost all of the arcs of Kuroshitsuji because each arc had something about it that really sparked my interest, or had development for a character that I wanted to know more about or wanted to see grow, or made me consider deeper questions about humanity and life in general.  That being said, it was difficult to choose, but ultimately I think I’d have to choose The Green Witch arc.  I enjoyed it for multiple reasons, but the top reasons were: all of the servants were present and were able to showcase their abilities and strengths, rather than mainly being a comedy piece (which I am fine with, btw, but I like the contrasting duality between how they’re usually depicted and when they show why they deserve to be Phantomhive servants); Sebastian’s true nature and abilities were brought to the forefront again in spectacular fashion (whether it’s confusion at his tears or when he begins to act on his right to O!Ciel’s soul when it appears he’s retracting on his revenge or when he burns down the lab and we get to see his reveling in being able to flex his demonic powers-I’d be lying if I said that the last one doesn’t make me a little weak in the knees); and that with the addition of Sieglinde to the story, we finally have a female character who is O!Ciel’s equal in both intellect and determination and I really like their dynamic and I’m always for strong female characters in stories, no matter their age.

 Now as for your request, you’ll find it underneath the “Keep Reading” line.  I wanted to be safe and hide it somewhat since some of them are NSFW. (That is, if it shows up this time.  I triple checked that I had added it to the Vincent request, but it disappeared into the void when I posted it...oh well)

Undertaker/Fem!Reader

The circumstances under which you met Undertaker were not ideal.  You had been born into poverty on the East End and it was by some cruel miracle that you had survived until adulthood.  Your days were riddled with anxiety over basic necessities- where your next meal would come from or how you were going to keep warm in the winter.  It was difficult given there were three mouths to keep fed in your household.  So you did what you could to help provide for your parents and yourself, scraping by on thin soups and coin you earned from performing odd jobs here and there for those of the self made middle class who weren’t pretentious enough to let your background overshadow your skills with a needle.  It had been a bittersweet relief when the fever took your parents.  You had loved them, of course, but you couldn’t ignore the inherent practical advantage to having two less bellies to fill, two less aged ones to care for.  However, that relief was short lived when the realization struck you...you now had no home, no protection, and no food.  If you didn’t act quickly, you would be dead within a week or worse.  That was how you had stumbled upon the Undertaker’s shoppe.  You had been searching about for any odd job you could perform, any seamstress who might take pity on your plight and take you on for a day or two in exchange for a warm meal and a corner in their back storage room where you could rest your weary bones, when you heard the pleasant sound of humming coming from down the alley.  Curious, you slipped in between the two buildings and followed the humming to where the back door to the Undertaker’s shoppe, which was propped open to let in the warm summer breeze.  You cautiously glanced around the corner of the to see the back of a tall, robe clad man as he stood by a table where he appeared to be tending to someone’s body.  You were about to continue on your way when, as the man stepped out of the room, having been called by the sound of a bell that had chimed from somewhere inside the building, you spotted a heavily jeweled necklace.  Your eyes grew wide as the sun glinted off the precious jewelry.  That would get you enough money to eat for a week and provide a dry, warm bed for you to sleep in.  So, without a second thought, you rushed into the room, snatching the necklace and fleeing down the alleyway before the man could return.  This went on for two months.  Every couple of weeks, you would stop by the Undertaker’s shoppe and swipe something of value from the room.  They were corpses, anyway.  Why did they need such embellishments?  All it took was one time.  One time when you were too confident, too desperate to refuse the large ruby broach that sat on the table, almost begging for you to take it.  As your fingers wrapped around the cold stone, a firm hand gripped your shoulder, and that was it...you had been caught.  You begged the man not to take you to the police, that you were sorry but that you had no other choice.  Before you could stop yourself, your life story came rushing from your lips until, with cheeks wet with tears, you finished your explanation.  It was after a few minutes of consideration that the man told you he had a proposition for you.  Your stomach sank, fearing the worst, when he explained that his work kept him far busier than he would have liked, given he had a special venture he had recently taken on, and could use the help of someone who had needlework skills.  So, he offered his silence and a room in the living area above his shop, in exchange for your skills and your complete silence regarding anything you saw whilst working for him.  Not having many alternatives, you hesitantly accepted, silently wondering how you could have gotten yourself into such a mess.  With that, he led you upstairs to a small room that was to serve as your quarters, excusing himself to retrieve some sheets and blankets for the currently bare bed.  As he made to leave, you called out to him, giving him a heartfelt thanks before asking him what his name was.  At your question, a knowing smile spread his lips, answering you could simply call him Undertaker.

As with many things with your relationship with Undertaker, the confession of his feelings was sudden and fairly unexpected.  It had only taken a few short weeks for you to realize that you felt something for him and six months to know that those feelings were true.  He was odd, both as an employer and a person.  You would often catch him mumbling things about balances of chemicals and temperature and the like before disappearing to the cellar for hours on end-a cellar you were forbidden from entering.  He would often answer your questions with cryptic sayings, which would leave you more boggled than when you had first asked the question.  And he seemed to enjoy his work...a little too much, given that he dealt with death every day.  But you soon accepted his quirks as part of his eccentric personality and found yourself comfortably settling into life with him.  In all your time with him, he had never done or said anything untoward, never asked for you to repay him with sexual favors, something you had continued to fear would occur even a month into your employment.  In fact, he had never so much as touched you and, though you found the desire for him to do so growing with every day you continued your lives together, you appreciated his respect of your person.  Undertaker had not given much indication as to his feelings towards you, both romantic or platonic. Just a phrase here or there that would rekindle the spark of hope within you that maybe, just maybe there might be a whisper of a chance he would return your feelings.  However, almost a year into your employment, not a word of true confirmation had been spoken and that hope eventually died.  As despondent you had been at the realization, you took comfort in the fact you had a roof over your head, a warm bed, a full belly, and protection from a man who didn’t take advantage of your situation.  That was infinitely better than the alternatives of starvation or having to sell your body you were faced with but a year ago.  So to say you were caught off guard when Undertaker finally confessed his feelings for you was quite the understatement, especially given the circumstances under which it happened.  A customer had come in, demanding to speak to Undertaker directly.  He seemed to be one of the more unsavory clients from the Underworld who would occasionally visit, either for information or either needing to use his trade.  Undertaker had been working in the cellar all afternoon, so when the client continued to insist on speaking to him immediately, you found yourself at the top of the cellar stairs, calling down for him.  After several tries, he gave no acknowledgement of having heard you and, despite your better judgement, you began descending the dark staircase.  With each step the air became thicker, laden with chemicals to the point that by the time you had reached the halfway point, you had to cover your nose and mouth to stop your coughing.  That was when he cornered you against the wall, his voice low and threatening as he asked why you were there.  You stammered as you explained the situation, to which he sighed and ordered you back upstairs.  Shaken by his behavior, you sprinted back upstairs to the shoppe, quickly mumbling to the client that Undertaker would be with him presently before hiding yourself in the mortuary for the rest of the time the shoppe was open.  After your work was finished, you did all you could to avoid him until you had safely, and uncommonly early, retired to your room for the night.  Awhile later, a knock came to your door, Undertaker’s weary voice requesting that you let him in.  Not wanting to anger him further, you obeyed his wishes, cautiously coming to sit beside him on your bed.  After a minute or two of tense silence, he apologized for his actions and explained that the reason why he had forbade you from entering the cellar was because of the special work-dangerous work he was doing down there.  He looked down, thumb rubbing over one of the mourning lockets that was always on his person, as he continued saying he reacted so strongly earlier because you reminded him of someone he used to be close with, someone he had loved.  He pressed on, silver locks still covering his face, as he confessed that he had, in fact, come to love you as well and he never wanted to see you harmed by the dangerous things held within the cellar.

Even after having confessed his feelings for you, things did not progress quickly between the two of you, at least not physically.  Undertaker would touch you now, oh god, how he loved to touch you.  Every moment the two of you worked together, his hand would be somewhere on your person-your hand, your arm, your shoulder, your back.  He seemed to take comfort in finally allowing himself to ground his being in your presence.  On occasion, you would even kiss.  But his actions never moved beyond the realm of loving tenderness...and you had reached your limit.  However, you had resolved to extend him the same courtesy he had shown towards your person and never forced the issue.  But, you realized as you stared up at your bedroom ceiling, chest heaving as your body relaxed in the wake of your climax, you didn’t know how much longer you could last without his hands being the ones to work you over the edge.  It was after the accident that things changed.  You had been unintentionally careless with a bottle of embalming chemicals and it broke, slicing and burning your hands in the process.  Lady Dalles said that, thankfully, the damage would not be permanent, but it would take some time to fully heal and regain the function of your hands.  So, to spare you from having to overtax your hands, Undertaker began assisting you with daily tasks, including dressing.  A few weeks after the accident, he had joined you as he would in the evenings to help you out of your day things and into your nightwear.  In those weeks, your daily dressing and undressing began to become increasingly tense, each day he would take a little longer, his touch lingering on your skin a few breaths more, and you found yourself wishing you could see his damn eyes so you could know what he was thinking.  One of those nights, your ritual continued as always. Except there was something in the stiffness of his stance, the faltering of his warm breath which fanned over the back of your neck and shoulders, the intense focus he seemed to be giving your reflection as your breasts swelled within the confines of your corset with every breath you took that told you that tonight would be different.  A gasp escaped your lips as his fingers ghosted across your shoulders and trailed up the sensitive skin of your neck.  Your heart thrummed with eager expectation as you watched his reflection as he leaned against you, his hands coming to grip your hips as he lowered his lips to the curve of your neck, whispering against your skin that he was sorry, but he couldn’t resist any longer before placing a searing kiss on your flesh.  Things quickly escalated, ending in the tangle of your sweat slick bodies lying together in mutual post coital bliss, the floor of your room littered with garments long forgotten.  It was a night of many firsts for you, but the part you came to treasure the most was the first view you had ever gotten of his enchanting, phosphoric eyes.

Undertaker’s love of physical touch is, if anything, amplified when you have sex.  He cannot get enough of the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers, his lips and he is vocal in reminding you of that.  That being the case, one of his favorite things to do for foreplay is for you to restrain his hands in some way, depriving him of being able to touch you while you in turn explore his body with the same care and attention he would show yours.  You work him up into a dizzying state of anticipation and longing until he can no longer bear it, easily escaping or breaking his bonds, no matter their construct, before eagerly grabbing hold of you, driving you wild with the same skill you had executed on him.  He appreciates your vocal nature as well, having an undiscovered praise kink.  There’s nothing that will make him come faster than your moans of pleasure as you’re in the throes of your orgasm, screaming his name, praises of how good he makes you feel falling from your lips like a mantra.

You find Undertaker’s ineptitude when it comes to knowing what to do with you when you’re sick as endearing as it is frustrating.  When you asked him about it one time, he shrugged his shoulders and explained he hadn’t worried about such things in some time and, given he now worked exclusively with the dead, he had lost whatever knowledge he had gained about treating the infirmities of the living.  So, whenever you become ill, you have to be direct in communicating what you need.  However, once he has instruction, he is more than willing to provide you with what you asked.  His tries, but his bedside manner just isn’t the best.

Undertaker isn’t often in the mood for sex, which he explained has nothing to do with his desire for you, but rather his body’s condition doesn’t allow for frequent sex.  At first you hadn’t believed such an odd explanation, fearing he had found something about you that displeased him, but just hadn’t worked up the courage to tell you about it.  However, there was once when you had managed to fuck two days in a row and after the second time, he had quickly fallen asleep and remained in a slumbering state...for three days straight.  You had begun to worry, frequently coming up to check and make sure he was still breathing.  Fortunately, the third day he awoke, rather disoriented and ravenously hungry.  It had taken the rest of that day to nurture him back into his normal self and it was then that you realized he had, in fact, been telling you the truth.  So when he is in the mood, he likes to draw it out as much as possible.  The whole day will be spent with him touching and kissing places that he knows will work you up, whispering the things he’d love to do to you if you weren’t working, but never proceeding beyond teasing until you’ve closed the shoppe for the day.  If he’s feeling particularly adventurous, he will disappear underneath your skirts while you’re still working in the shoppe and will tease you with his tongue until you almost climax, but will stop just before you do, giving your cheek a quick kiss before whispering in your ear that good things come to those who wait.

I hope you enjoyed those headcanons.  My apologies for some of them being pretty lengthy, but I wanted to give some context to some of them and I got a little carried away, lol.  But thank you again for your support and for following me.  I appreciate it so much!

Also, if anyone else is interested in a “100 followers celebration” ask, feel free to send one over.  There are still three available. For guidelines, check out the post I made about the celebration or you can reach out to me directly. 

*Note: Credit goes to Kumaqi for the incredible Undertaker cosplay that I used in the creation of the moodboard. (https://twitter.com/kumaqiii/status/925669701266563072)

[slurpingsoba]

Hollow

I decided to write a Shiggy x Spinner story because of the latest manga chapters. I kind of like the pairing, so maybe I’ll write more for them in the future?

Btw, I also posted this to my ao3. tumblr always messes up the formatting when I post things so it’s probably easier to read there.

-

This hollowness was inescapable.

But it wasn’t something that I wanted to escape.

The hollowness was my best, and only friend. It comforted me when I felt down, wiped my tears when I felt sad, embraced me when I felt lonely, and calmed me when I felt angry. Like a looming shadow, it followed me wherever I went, clinging to me like an invisible companion.

I loved my hollowness and it loved me.

I told it my fears, and it reassured me that nothing could hurt me as long as it was by my side. I told it my sins, and it promised to keep my crimes from preventing my salvation, my plummet into the deep end, feeding the fires of hell with my own evil, challenging the devil for its domain. I told it all my deepest, darkest secrets, and it swallowed every one of my words, letting it sink into its abyss. And then it swallowed me.

I forgot what it was like to feel emotion for a while. And for a while, the feeling of nothing was everything. My numbness was a comfort, a familiar safehouse to hide in when things were too much to handle. I could crawl into myself and use my hollowness as a sanctuary, enveloped by emptiness. I knew my hollowness would protect me when others failed to, I knew it would defend me when I could no longer defend myself, and I knew it would still linger long after the death of me. My hollowness was greater than myself; a powerful lack of feeling that in turn enhanced my feeling of no feeling until I didn’t know if I were feeling or not.

What would I be if not for my hollowness? My friend was apart of me now; I could not exist without it, I did not want to exist without it. One day, when my body decays and I’m nothing more than a broken vessel of anger and misery, my hollowness will live on. It is intangible, unbreakable, unlike me. It has no bounds and is immortal, unlike me. I wish it were me. Do I exist for my hollowness, or does it exist for me?

I looked towards my allies scattered within the room we were in. Maybe I existed for them, I thought. Not as individuals, but as an idea. The notion that my hollowness and I could take over the world, destroy it even, with their help. I could use them however I pleased. For the most part, they believed in me wholeheartedly. They were the bullets in my gun; simple projectiles I could utilize against my enemies. Maybe I existed for them? Yeah, right. Maybe they existed for me.

Sensei always told me that everything was for my sake. Therefore, my allies were here for my sake. The world was mine to tarnish for my sake.

If he were still with me today, I’d like to thank Sensei for giving me the best gift I’ve ever received. My hollowness, my edge, my friend. My void that encompasses me completely, to the point that it sickens me and makes me nauseous. My black hole that gives me strength through the pain.

My hollowness is a cage that sets me free.

“Shigaraki.” I heard a voice call from behind me. I turned around and noticed Spinner walking towards me.

Once he was closer to me, he began speaking again.

“Is everything you said… true?”

“Yes, Spinner, why would I lie about something like my past?” I reasoned, trying not to show irritation in my voice.

Spinner questioning me almost made me want to retract my statement from earlier. I was vulnerable in front of him, a person who cared less about me and more about what I represented. I’m not Stain; I don’t need a messed up moral code to justify my tirade against hero society.

“I’m not doubting you.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but I held back my tongue. You’re not doubting me?, I wanted to say, like you did at the hideout?, but I knew that I shouldn’t agitate him again. He might actually punch me in the face this time.

“Then what exactly are you trying to say?” I asked.

“Is it true… that you also feel empty?”

I blinked and stared at him. I was wondering if he even paid attention to my speech when a word in Spinner’s sentence intrigued me. “Also”.

He’s hinting at the fact that he related to me, isn’t he?

“I do.”

“So you understand how it feels.” Spinner replied.

“Feels to…?” I prodded Spinner to continue.

He sighed. “Don’t make try to explain this.”

“I’m not making you do anything, but you’re the one who initiated this conversation.”

“Goddammit Shigaraki, why are you like this?”

Spinner closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke.

“How it feels to be trapped in your own numbness. To desire change, but not know how to achieve it…

To feel upset, but in a lackadaisical way, like nothing matters to you but everything does.” Spinner’s face scrunched up, as if it were painful to talk. Still, he prevailed.

“To feel weighed down by your absence of substance. How it feels to be hollow.”

“Wow Spinner, I didn’t know you were a poet.”

“Don’t joke about this! I’m being serious!” Spinner exclaimed, his posture becoming more rigid.

“I know you are, and I sympathize with you.”

“Then how do you keep going? How do you learn to live with this,” Spinner paused mid-sentence, gesturing to himself, “emptiness?”

“You learn to enjoy its presence, I guess.” I said nonchalantly.

“You guess?”

“I know.”

Deeming my answer to be acceptable enough for him, I attempted to turn around and walk away from Spinner, but I felt his hand grab onto my shoulder and keep me in place.

He was mere inches from me now, his eyes looking straight into mine.

“So you’re not looking to change the world?” He said.

“Huh?” I replied, confused. This didn’t correlate with the topic of emptiness.

“Do you want to change the world or not?” Spinner repeated, his voice even and firm.

“Oh I’ll change the world alright,” I grinned, “I’ll make it all disappear.”

“So you don’t care about reform.”

“Destruction is my version of reform.” With three fingers, I removed Spinner’s hand from my shoulder.

“But what if it’s not mine?”

Spinner backed away a bit, giving me space.

“You said you would take your allies’ wishes into consideration when making your plans. What if my wishes conflict with yours?”

“We’ll have to compromise then.” Or not, I thought, not like your wishes matter as much as mine.

“What if I said I wanted to save the world, what would you do?”

“This is a hypothetical situation so—“  

“What would you do?!?” Spinner interrupted me.

It was obvious that he was trying to evoke some selfish remark out of me.

“Why would you want to save this shithole of a world anyway, Spinner? It hates you, and it hates me, so wouldn’t we both be better off without it?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dabi move from where he was in the room. He walked to the nearest door, exiting. That bastard always seemed to leave when there was any sort of tension between us league members. It’s like he doesn’t want to be involved.

“Not everything in this world is shitty, Shigaraki! That’s what I don’t understand about you!” Spinner pointed at me, stepping forward, “how can we feel the same yet be so different?”

I gave Spinner a moment to calm down before I began speaking. He dropped his finger, but he persisted in defiantly keeping eye contact with me, waiting for my reply.

“I view my hollowness as a virtue. You see it as a vice.”

I walked towards Spinner, not breaking eye contact with him.

“You feel restricted by it, but I feel liberated by it.

It is the air I breathe, the water I drink, the earth I step on. Hollowness is intertwined in every fiber of my being.

But hollowness is not apart of you.”

I moved closer to Spinner’s ear to whisper to him.

“That’s the difference between you and me. But I don’t think you’ll ever understand.”

I continued walking past Spinner, having nothing else left to say.

I was tired of making excuses for my actions, needing some sort of will to legitimize my villainy.

Why wasn’t my hollowness a good enough conviction?

[themirthfulroadrunners]

The Hazards of Travel

           Nearly every travel adventure is bound to have days totally forgettable: nothin’ went right, everything went left. We rose early, too early to wait for the hotel breakfast. And this followed a hard travel day where we felt like we needed to cover at least a million miles. As everyone knows, you don’t get off the freeway unless you can actually see the restaurant (or gas station); it might be miles and miles away. Also, you don’t get off if the station, or restaurant, is on the left. You then have to stop at the off-ramp end, cross left over the freeway, get to the place, and then drive all the way back over the freeway only to again turn left to re-enter the freeway (usually). Your car only has so many left turns in it.

           So, we got to an Arby’s and had to get back into the car because there was no inside service (it looked like there was). By then more cars got into the drive-up ahead of us. Then when we neared the caller box, I studied the menu, not being a frequent patron of Arby’s (almost never). At the order speaker/microphone, which was a simple two foot tall post, I saw a great big sign that told me to order ahead – so I did, pulled ahead to order at the menu billboard thing. After pulling up 6-8 feet, I realized (too late) that they meant to order on-line. WHO DOES THAT? IT’S FAST FOOD! Now the car behind me has filled the void I left behind (the world hates a vacuum). So, we (I) drive out of line, over two curbs, and out of Arby’s lot, hungrier than before we got there, especially because Debbie had already told me that she wanted the cheddar and beef. I’m really mad at me now, and tryin’ my best to take it out on the world, but to exclude Debbie from … Anyway, we eventually spot (Did I mention that this was all on the LEFT?) a Wendy’s. Great! I know what to order there. Nope. After turning left to get into their lot, we discover that it is under construction, or renovation, or something. No square burgers for me, Nope! No Siree! So we went to the motel and ate the paper towels that we’d brought from home.

           But back to the forgettable day that began with us leaving the motel too early to get their Covid19 delight. With about an hour of the spare two hours we had before the time we were due at our house-sit gig used up in bumper-to-bumper, stop-and-go traffic caused by both road construction and a wreck, we set the GPS for the National Cemetery at Arlington, Virginia where we found closed gates and half the United States military alive and well guarding and preventing us from entry. They gave us coordinates, routing us back through Kentucky and Tennessee to an entry guarded by all the off-duty airport PSA employees. I didn’t have to take my shoes off, but they all now know that I am an innie, not an outie. Not wanting to trade half my pension for a golf cart train ride for a two-hundred-yard walk to see JFK’s eternal flame that looked like God was tryin’ to blow out, we do what we do best … walk. Our spare hour disappeared before we learned whether God got the job done, or not. Oh, and you can’t simply reverse your route. You must walk around the world in order to follow footprint decals. It was like a maze without the cornfield.

           We arrived at the house sit with our fake smiles and took the tour, learning all we needed to know about this and that and how easy their TV controller worked. That is the subject of another day; just understand this – I don’t care how well it works for you. IT WON’T WORK LIKE THAT FOR ANYONE ELSE! EVER! You’ll find your remote in the backyard water feature that you’re so proud of. So we drive off to investigate this part of America, first to learn, after turning left into it, that this trail and beach is for locals ONLY. The officer was so very sorry. Yes, he was. An hour down the road is a state park that want $5, plus 2 more for out-of-staters to look at some white bluffs that the famous if-you-don’t-work, you-don’t-eat Captain John Smith noted in 1608. Nope. Closed. The vantage point (2 miles down a trail) washed out in 1892 (maybe) and hasn’t yet been fixed. Our source said nothing about a trail, that we would be happy to hike, but not in 110֯ heat late in the afternoon. Or that we wouldn’t even see the cliffs even if we were to hike.

Okay, the homeowners are gone, we can go buy groceries (Debby won’t let me eat all their food) and unload all our stuff. Yay, a Walmart, not that we like Walmart, but we at least know where things are. How long since you’ve been in a Walmart that was not a supercenter? No food. And this was after having to drive to where we could make a U-turn (which is way worse than a left turn) to get to the place. Did I mention that it was in the late afternoon when everybody within a day’s drive goes to Walmart?

           Seeing gas at a reasonable (relatively) price, and I finally get the pump to take one of my cards (all work fine in Arkansas, but not so much elsewhere). Yup, you guessed it, the posted price was for gas with a car wash. I figured that out with the use of a pair of 50x binoculars.

           Ahah! A Safeway. They have food! But only if you have one of those platinum-plated gold cards and the bill goes to your neighbor, or somebody else, somewhere. You know those little, single-serving pies that Walmart sells for 50¢? Safeway wants $9,000.00. Each. And guess how old they are. The cherries are raisins and the sauce is red paint on the dried-out crust. On the way back to the car I was sure that a cop would throw me to the ground and break my arm, or cuff me and then slug me in the jaw, all with his knee on my neck just for what I thought of the local grocery stores.

           But we made it. Yay!

           But the homeowner didn’t tell us that the bed was made up with flannel sheets for this thousand-degree night. And they didn’t have any real sheets for this bed.

           They’ll find their flannel sheets in the backyard water feature when they get home.

           Here are some road pictures, as well as some taken in Annapolis where you don’t want to go on Naval Academy graduation day, which you have no way of knowing until too late. Oh, and BTW, don’t accidentally drive onto the base (which is invitingly easy to do). Now the Navy as well as the entire Department of defense knows my shoe size and my blood pressure numbers.

           Beep, America Bless God, beep.

Home of Charles Carroll, signer of the Declaration of Independence

Queen Anne architecture, 1700′s

Home of another signer of the Declaration of Independence

Next up for us .....

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 4 Part 2

Oof, I just finished this in time for my Sunday deadline. Er! Probably a bit more first-drafty than usual. Welcome to my extra-unfiltered brain-drippings, I guess?

Just a ton of weird body horror in this one. Why did I turn Crowley into a ball of black ectoplasm? Who knows, man.

btw the horse is a girl now. I’ve edited the last part to reflect this.

Onwards! On the quest for Hellfire to stick poor Crowley’s gem back together.

Link to next part at the end.

(last part)

(chrono)

Chapter 4, cont.

The route was ordinary, until it wasn’t.

On a damp country road indistinguishable from the mile of damp country road they’d already passed, Aziraphale nudged the horse towards a point where reality was slightly thinner than it should have been.

It was like a smoke hood snuffing out a candle. The wan sun vanished as though it had never existed. The soggy fields disappeared behind a curtain of fog.

Crowley bubbled to himself. He was slumped on the horse’s neck in a heap of misshapen armour. The horse, using horse logic, reacted to this by speeding up to get away from him, so they were now bouncing down the path at a nervous trot, jingling like a cutlery drawer.

Aziraphale leaned forward. “How are you holding up?”

“Ggggggggn.”

Crowley gave a long hiss, like steam escaping. Black tar oozed down the back of his neck. Patches of what looked like scales had broken out all over his face, like a teenage skin complaint. His right cheek was still swollen from the horse’s kick, and his broken gem was dull under the swirling fog. His eyes were unfocused. For a time, they had grown closer to passably human; now they were as snakelike as they ever had been.

Aziraphale contemplated him, his poison-yellow eyes and the creeping scales that covered his face. The thought occurred to him that demons had forms that were. Well. On the bestial side. Covered in bats or flies. Sometimes mould, if they couldn’t manage anything better. Crowley was the only one he knew of who looked, until now, mostly human. Mostly.

He thought about Crowley, straining with the effort of staying in one piece. Perhaps he had no energy to spare towards the little maintenance miracles he normally did without thinking about it. Like ensuring his hair was always perfect. Or that his clothes always hung just so. Or…

Or holding back some of the more obvious evidence of his nature. Aziraphale considered that what he was seeing now - the scales, the eyes - was what Crowley was meant to look like. How he looked in Hell, after the fall.

He said he disliked shape-shifting. But he still did it.

Aziraphale let this line of thought play out. Then he folded it away, for good. If Crowley wanted to look more human, that was nobody’s business.

The horse was far less generous. Her eyes rolled in a way that suggested everyone should brace themselves for an abrupt relocation. Aziraphale suspected the poor thing might have reached her limit, no matter how much serenity he projected at her.

A hiss came from within Crowley’s armour.

“Ssss… zsss… Aziraphale.”

He had to force the words out. Aziraphale leaned closer to catch them.

“You ssshould. Discorporate me.”

Aziraphale felt a cold swoop in his stomach.

“Don’t say that. Whatever for?”

“Horse. ‘Sss about to bolt.”

Aziraphale gripped the horse’s sides with his legs as they all almost jolted out of the saddle.

“Not at all,” he lied. “She’ll quiet down, eventually. She’s used to riding into danger for God and glory.”

“Don’t kid yourssself. If I’m in my gem, the damn thing ssstops freaking out. Jussst do it.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Stop it, Crowley. It’s not going to happen. What if you can’t reform?”

Crowley made a noise that could have been a sigh.

“Either the Hellfire heals me or it doesn’t.”

Aziraphale thought about it. Drawing his sword and… dispatching Crowley, for the first time since Eden. The first time ever on purpose.

He had suggested it earlier. But that was before Crowley lost form, and speech. Back when he thought they could solve this problem by popping Crowley’s gem in the post.

If this was the last -

If this was the last time they -

He couldn’t do it.

No, he refused to do it. He’d find another way. If Crowley wanted to argue, too bad.

“Angel, did you -”

“I heard you,” Aziraphale snapped. “The answer’s no. And I’m steering, so you’ll have to like it or lump it.”

Crowley undulated sulkily. “Gnnnggg.”

“Same to you. Now. Are we there yet?”

Crowley peered off into the fog. He took a deep sniff. Tendrils of mist curled into his nostrils.

He raised a dripping, gelatinous arm and shakily pointed left.

Aziraphale nudged the horse. They jingled on.

Aziraphale could swear the ground was flat, but it felt like they were somehow sloping down, down into the murk. Fog pressed in like shadows, dissolving the world. He could only guess the swooping sense of vertigo he felt was not in his imagination.

Then, from up ahead, came a deep, red glow. A sinister, hateful glow. A glow that wanted to envelop everything before it, then snuff it out.

The fog billowed as though stirred by wind. It rose, pulled back like a curtain, and revealed with a flourish the sweeping landscape before them.

A colourless sweep of grass led to the shore of a lake. The lake was small, but the waters were endlessly black. None of the fog, swirling at head-height, trickled down to brush the surface. The air above the water was dead. Aziraphale suspected if he tried to breathe it, he would find himself unable to.

In the centre of the lake was a tiny island, and on the island was a cave with a glowing red mouth. It was as red as Hell in a storybook.

On the shore sat a rickety wooden boat. It was big enough for two, if one was feeling generous. Someone had tossed an oar onto the seat.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. All the scene was missing was a few skulls and a flock of bats to really set the mood. Call it snobbery - and Lord knew Heaven wasn’t any better, what with the robes and the head-pounding light and the choirs of angels that knew no dynamic markings beyond fortissimo - but he found this kind of thing embarrassing.

He dismounted and helped Crowley down after him. The horse perked up as soon as she was rid of them. Aziraphale gave her an absent-minded stroke, and put the route back to the castle in her head. She gave the snake a dirty parting look, and trotted away with a flick of her tail.

There was nothing to do but get on with it. Aziraphale guided Crowley to the boat. Crowley walked like an empty suit of armour, its inhabitant long-deceased, now puppeted by something that didn’t quite get how people were supposed to move. From time to time, he flickered, and his entire body turned off. It happened too quickly each time for Aziraphale to feel the sting of panic until Crowley had already reappeared. A quiet roar of static emanated from him, intermittently, like a faulty connection.

They reached the boat. Aziraphale poured Crowley into the bottom, like black tar. He glooped like a cauldron and spilled between the pieces of his armour. He looked like a quagmire with the drowned remains of a knight floating in it.

Aziraphale settled across from him, dubiously, onto the half-rotted seat. He picked up the oar and pushed off.

The boat glided out in total silence onto the lake. There was no sensation that they were floating upon anything. They drifted, perfectly level, as if on casters. Aziraphale had no intention of putting his hand in the water to check what was there. Maybe they were sailing across sheer void, and if he looked down, the spell would break and they would plummet forever into empty darkness.

It might be dangerous to use a miracle to get to the island faster. This place was steeped in demonic essence. It would be like putting opposing magnetic fields together. Or possibly it would just cause an explosion.

He rowed. His oar passed through whatever was beneath them with no resistance. The boat glided forward at an even pace.

The island loomed. Crowley was a lumpy puddle at the bottom of the boat. More of him spilled over the top of his armour, submerging it like an oil slick. The snake’s smooth dark head swam on the surface, the only part of him that kept its form.

Then, like a sauce thickening, he suddenly expanded, bursting the bounds of his armour. Aziraphale jerked backwards, pulling his feet up onto the seat. There was suddenly twice as much of Crowley as before. Appendages that could be presumed to be arms and legs erupted from him like wet, black roots. He had outgrown the boat before Aziraphale could react. Crowley tried to pull in his spiralling limbs, and accidentally punched a hole in the side.

Black water rushed in. It was nothing like water at all.

A forsaken feeling washed over Aziraphale. It was as though his essence, the part of him that rang in tune to Heaven, had gone cold. The water moaned, and his heart wrenched out of his chest.

Crowley hissed like a kettle and scrambled away as though the water was scalding hot. His limbs gored more holes as he went, and the boat began to list. The terrible cold rose from the bottom and crept through Aziraphale’s body, numbing and burning as it went. He gripped the oar with frozen hands and rowed faster. The island, which had seemed in reach minutes ago, was now a distant speck. They weren’t going to make it. They were going to break apart and fall away into the endless dark.

Clammy hands brushed Aziraphale’s ankles. He gave one of them a smack with the oar. When he looked back up, the island was right there, spilling its angry red glow from the cave onto the grey sand of the shore.

The boat broke in half as they reached it. Aziraphale didn’t look down. He grabbed Crowley and leapt off. For an instant, he was treading water that wasn’t water. The cold of it stopped his brain and heart. Then his feet were churning up wet sand, and he staggered up a pale, dirty beach, the last tendrils of the waves sighing as they unstuck and let him go.

Aziraphale kept moving, although he couldn’t feel his body. He could only feel Crowley’s hand, clutched in his, oozing and damp and not hand-shaped at all, but warm, the only warm thing in the world.

When they were a safe distance from the water, he bent over, put his hands on his knees and gasped for a minute. Crowley sunk into a puddle beside him. It was hard to read his body language, but Aziraphale guessed he was also collecting himself.

They only took a few moments. Crowley’s hand wasn’t a hand any more, and they needed to find what they came here for quickly.

Aziraphale turned and faced the cave. The mouth of it glowed like an oven. He felt the hellish heat radiating out, waiting for him to step into its radius.

He mustered a smile for Crowley. “At least we’ll dry out.”

Crowley made a motion that Aziraphale interpreted as a grim nod.

There was nothing more to say. Aziraphale walked, and Crowley oozed, towards the cave. They stepped into the circle of searing light. It was hot, but it didn’t burn. It was more like the close, miserable heat of a sweaty little room crammed with people who know they can never leave. They went further, past the threshold, all the way inside.

The cave swallowed them up. They kept walking.

---

(next part)

[kitcatisms]

Okay, but that anon wasn't Eren?? It was me, fam. And you know that wasn't the post that I was talking about because you deleted the post I was referring to, so you're just aiming to start shit. Eren hasn't done a damn thing except break up with Tyson and now you two are dragging his name through the mud. Tyson was the one who was god awful to Eren, so Eren left, and now he's the villain? You don't know the full story, dude. You don't know what other people have actually witnessed.

Admittedly I contemplated not answering at all & merely letting this disappear into the void of deletion.But then I figured that it would be better to point some things out, since a lot of this is easily dismantled. I am, of course, fully aware you will take all of this how you please(& to each their own, truly) but I should be allowed to lay out how it is for me. If we’re all about being fair & whatnot. It may get long but I suppose that’s well enough.

1) The anon wasn’t Eren, but you. 

       A fair response to you, perhaps, but how was I to know that? The entire point of anonymity is to have no face, to be unknown. Until you both confirmed otherwise, I was only aware of Eren knowing details on any of it. I mean sure, he probably told friends, but I’m not going to sit here & assume you’re all petty enough to come look at my blog. Thus, behold my response to it being him. 

2) Fam. Dude. Etc. 

         These are terms of endearment/friendship, both of which are not shared between us. Let’s not use them, yes? I feel this isn’t a lot to ask. 

3) The post.

         Contrary to your beliefs, no, I don’t know. Because your response was clearly indicating THIS ONE (which, again, has nothing to do with Eren). However, I’ll take your side into consideration & respond in turn with a question; how am I starting shit? 

         Have I sought Eren, you, or anyone else out to send hate, messages, etc? No. I am not running around, stalking your blog(s), to “keep an eye out,” as you are so clearly doing. I’ve made maybe ONE post about it, & it was, btw, deleted before I even got your anonymous message. So if it was that single post, why did you wait to comment on it? It had been up since I think Sunday. Plenty of time to “call me out.” 

         However, despite all of this, may I point out one small detail? I don’t have enough followers to start shit. This is my private, get-away-from-the-world, personal; it was only linked to close friends. One of which was Eren (which brings us back to point #1, & why I would assume it was him). & out of those close friends, only TWO followed. I have a total of SIX followers. If you don’t believe me here, a screencap!

           Obviously I’m not going to show usernames & the like, that would be wrong, but there you have it! Six people. & while I do understand asking you to believe that only two are friends is hard, it’s all I’ve got to offer. But I think this truly depletes the entire argument. Since “starting shit,” would mean, you know, having people to spread the word. Very few - if any for that matter - of my personal posts have likes or reblogs. 

           So, as you can see, I fail to see how any of this is starting shit :/. 

4) Dragging ‘em through the mud.

           I, yet again, point to the lack of anything holding that up. I’m not doing any of this & am quite annoyed you are implying I am. I certainly haven’t popped up on your blog anonymously to point out how wrong you are :). In fact, if I am allowed to point this out; you doing so is giving him the bad name, not me. Because I’m not trying to make it into a bigger mess by defending Tyson’s “side.”

           There is a very large difference between actively seeking people out to spread bad word, & posting how I feel on my PRIVATE blog. 

5) Don’t know everything.

           Entirely true ol’ chap! I do not know everything. But neither do you. & I’m honestly not going to tell a stranger the details. Because for all I know, you could hate both of them & just be here to get the juicy details.

        Any & all frustration at Eren,on my end, has so little to do with their fallout. In fact, I was the one that told Tyson NOT to try & get Eren to speak with him again because Eren has EVERY RIGHT TO MOVE ON. If what happened, happened, then I’m not going to defend it. & me reflecting on how I FEEL, is in, no way, a reflection of their situation. 

6) “ I'll be happy to explain everything that happened if you even bother to know.”

           First of all, it’s not your place to tell me. If Tyson or Eren wanted me to know the details, they had ample chances to say it. It’s their beef, not mine. 

           & before that is taken as me trying to be naive & not wishing to believe anything bad happened; I’m not an idiot. I know the gist. &, again, I was the one to tell Tyson, after he calmed, that what had been done was not okay. & that Eren had good reason for going if what he proclaimed was true. End of story. 

7) My final words on the matter. 

           If you all truly, TRULY, want this to stop, then leave us alone. Stop trying to get people to pick one or the other. & for the love of all that is good in this world, stop stalking people. Anonymous messages are cowardly & really don’t make you look like a caring friend that’s just trying to help. They make you look like the one wanting to start shit & I would really hope, considering we’re strangers, you aren’t. Because, despite all of this bs going on, I am sure you are a lovely person that doesn’t deserve that kind of rep. 

           Don’t give yourself that rep. You deserve better. 

I hope this made everything clear. I obviously can’t control or even begin to assume how this will be taken but by confronting it & answering honestly, I’m praying it’s enough to be left alone. I hope you & Eren both move forward & feel better in the coming days.