#i refuse to draw shadow humans okay

[obsidian-art04]

The hyperfixation won

Some extra:

<3

[maidflowery]

𝗦𝗔𝗩𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗭𝗘! (𝟮/𝟰) 🔞NSFW🔞 𝙻𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝

Moze x Reader Limited time event: 5 September - 10 September

Decide his fate by voting in the poll below.

𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼

Use the Weed Killer sample you got from the local farmers on the vines

That’s it!

A lightbulb suddenly turned on in your head, and you fished for something inside your trusty waist bag.

During your excursion, the local farmers showed you their latest technology in getting rid of pesky weeds—WEED KILLER X! You saw it for yourself, how the chemical instantly killed those weeds! The kind farmers even gave you a sample!

You finally found what you were looking for! The purple liquid swirled inside the small bottle. You didn’t know how well it’d work against literal living vines, though.

“Alright, let’s test this out...”

You sprinkled a few drops on a nearby vine.

Ssssst...!

You were shocked at the result. The vine started erupting in smoke as the scattered sprinkles made tiny holes on it like a corrosive poison.

“It worked!”

Especially well, too!

“...!”

Even the ashen-haired guy, who refused your help, stared at the burning vine with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Okay! I’m going to get you out soon! Take this!”

Then, you swung your hand, throwing the open bottle at the captive guy. It was safe for humans, by the way.

“Wai—!”

He was about to say something, but reflexively shut his eyes and mouth.

Splash!

Cssstttt...!! Cssst...!!

You made the right choice!

Soon, the vines entangling his body slowly melted away!

“That’s the power of science for you! Those pesky vines don’t stand a chance!”

“Cough, cough!” the vine around his neck came loose, and the man gasped for breath. Then, he turned to look at you. “What have you done?!”

A pair of amethyst eyes with cyan and pink tints glowered at you.

...Not even a thanks?

“W-what? I was trying to help!” you were taken aback.

Even as you spoke, the vines were still being eaten away by the herbicide.

“Unless you strike the core, this type of monster will only keep regrowing!”

Csst...! Zzzt, zzzt, snap!

Then, you saw it for yourself.

The vine that bound his upper torso, which had almost completely melted, suddenly regrew! Another vine sprouted from its burnt tip��no, scratch that—two more vines. The same happened to the rest of corroded vines.

Soon, the vines had doubled from their original amount, meaning the man's restraints were now twice as many.

“...”

You stared at the man, unable to say a word.

“...”

He stared back at you, nursing quiet anger.

“...At least, you can now breathe easily?”

Hey, silver lining. You definitely weren’t trying to alleviate your guilt or anything.

“...Do you have more of that chemical you used earlier?”

“Uh, no.”

It was just a sample, after all.

“...”

“...”

The two of you continued staring at each other in silence, but then...

“Ah!”

Something happened to the man.

POV: Moze

Moze didn’t feel it at first.

However, before he knew it, some of the vines had crept inside his clothes. Since they were newly-regenerated, both the vines and their thorns were thinner. As they crawled on his skin, innumerable, brush-like thorns pricked him. Not enough to draw blood, but left prickly itchiness behind.

“Ugh... ah...”

With at least a few dozens or so of such vines writhing around his body, the tingling sensation was simply unbearable, his body started wriggling on its own. A vine trailed painfully slowly down his back. Another roamed around his chest, which he felt the most for some reason.

“Mmph—!”

And when it decided to coil around his right nipple, embedding its thorns all around, it took his everything not to scream. No, especially with someone else present. Otherwise, what would remain of his pride as a Shadow Guard? Ironically, he held on to the very vines that shackled him just to suppress his voice.

Soon, he felt the same sharp, stinging sensation on the left tip of his chest, and no amount of restraints could stop him from arching forward, standing on his tiptoe. As a result, some of the vines dug even deeper than before, ripping his clothes.

“A-are you okay?!”

That scream snapped him back to reality.

“...”

The girl stared worriedly at him. ...Even though she exacerbated everything. If not for that look on her face, he’d have suspected that she was behind this trap.

“Let me think of something! Maybe I can—”

“—No, don’t do anything!”

Moze interrupted amidst the numbness that pervaded his whole body.

Seeing that she was eager to “help” again plain terrified him. He only had ominous feelings about it, and perhaps that girl sensed it too.

That look again.

Her look of worry, mixed with guilt and helplessness, seemed to prick him way harder than all the thorny tendrils around his body.

Even though assuaging others should be on the bottom of his priority list right now, he found himself saying:

“...My satchel must’ve fallen around there. There should be a green potion inside. Can you fetch it for me?”

“Of course!”

The girl perked up instantly, no longer looking like a kicked puppy. She immediately searched her surroundings.

Still not fully understanding why he asked her that, Moze went quiet. As soon as she returned with the healing potion, he’d be able to break free. Until then, he only had to endure this tingling, prickling sensation—

—Snap!

As soon as he thought that, multiple vines swung toward him all at once!

You noticed a black satchel lying on the grass nearby.

“This must be it—”

“—Argh!!”

“Huh!?”

Hearing a familiar voice made you rush back. Of course, you didn’t forget the black satchel.

Upon arriving, a much more ferocious scene awaited you.

The ashen-haired man, now restrained with more vines than ever, was being whipped by other vines left and right! His clothes were also torn, so the thorny vines hit his bare flesh, leaving red stripes.

When you were too shocked to do anything, the man spotted you and screamed.

“Quick! Hand me the green—khhk!”

The last part was inaudible because a vine slid into his mouth.

“Mmgghk! Ggghk!”

The man attempted to spit it out. Try as he might, the vine only entwined his tongue even tightly, and strings of saliva trickled down his mouth. Amidst all that, he was still trying to signal you with his eyes.

R-right! The potion! The green one, right?!

You fumbled with the black satchel, finding three vials of potions inside.

But there was one problem.

They were all green.

To be fair, the one in the prism-shaped vial was yellowish green, the one in the round-shaped vial bluish green, and the one in the cylinder-shaped vial was orangish green.

“Which one is it—?!”

You waved the vials in front of him. You raised the first one: the round-shaped potion.

“Is this the one?!”

The man shook his head—wait, was he nodding?

Huh? Is that a “yes” or a “no”? Wait, the vine forced his head back...

You tried the same with the second potion, and then the third one. Same result. He was cocking his head a lot. Not that you could blame him. Still...

“WHICH IS IT—?!”

Without stopping, the vines ruthlessly whipped him. Some of the stripes even began to bleed. You couldn’t leave him like this. You needed to make a decision.

Buy me coffee ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽

[threepandas]

ANOTHER~: YANDERE!AFO

(But first! Art link! I found the edited version. The ORIGINAL is better VVV)

OKAY, SO...

As I mentioned on my LAST Yandere!Afo? The person Afo most wants to fuck? Is HIMSELF. But NOT as his own equal. God, No. He'd kill that treacherous, no doubt attempting to usurp him, snake in the grass IMMEDIATELY. He's an awful and untrustworthy WRETCH. He would know.

No, no, the man AfO MOST wants to fuck?

Is a slightly to moderately YOUNGER version of himself.

Someone WEAKER. Someone he can OVERPOWER. Watch as they struggle helplessly in his grip. He wants a GAME. To watch them LOSE. See the realization in their eyes, that they've been outmatched all along. Played. That their stubborn pride means NOTHING before him.

He loves himself. Is OBSESSED with himself. But at the same time? Wants to break that other self down and make him? Helpless, pathetic, and dirty.

Submit to him.

Refuse him.

Show him your RAGE.

And? We can argue all day, about whether he is heterosexual, homosexuality, bi or pansexual. A raging narcissist (he is). If he's Ace as FUCK. But? For the purpose of THIS post and prompt? I am commenting upon his boner for himself. His Selfcest aspect. So we're all going to go with it.

He? Wants to Fuck This Man:

This one right here. Biiiiiit older of course, as this is baby faced Teen AfO. But? Twink AfO. Early-mid-late Twenties lookin, "I think I'm an adult but am wildly unprepared to handle the manipulations of a Seasoned Adult" baby faced, arrogant lil shit. Proud and sneering. Disdainful.

THATS the one he wants to slam full force, with super strength, not just down ONTO a flat surface, but THROUGH and right into the ground until it CRATERS. Hold him down by the NECK and choke him slowly as he takes his time. Make him watch as he destroys his precious little suit, his put together appearance, do as he pleases.

See the FURY in his eyes. The hatred. The kindling, obsessive, need for REVENGE.

You have NO idea how many times he's gotten off on that fantasy. Idly kept an eye out for Time and Reality Hopping Quirks. There is, after all, only so much relief quirks and his own touch can provide, in the end. He IS but a man. Even he gets... frustrated.

But? As they say? Every human on earth supposedly has 7 doppelgangers. Especially when you don't FUCKIN DIE. It was bound to happen EVENTUALLY. The right combination of genetics and Quirks. Lightning striking once again.

Perhaps they are distantly related through his mother's unknown family. Perhaps his father's. Impossible to tell. The traits were obviously VERY recessive. But? White hair, familiar eyes. A... "copy" quirk.

The young man is LYING.

Unlike himself, the younger man requires all five fingers touching. A variation of his own. Dressed sharply, he is a vicious lawyer. One with a preference for the poor, discriminated, underclasses. Those with DANGEROUS Quirks. Useful ones.

He greets everyone with a firm, American style, handshake.

AfO is ENTRACED. How many HUNDREDS must he have by now? A net, thrown to collect indiscriminately, until something useful appears? Does he piece them together? The weaker quirks? CAN he? Like AfO? Can only take or can he give as well? But, ah, why SHOULD he?

A little demon prince, pretending to be the benevolent hero. The white knight on shining steed. Here to save the day. How GREATFUL they all are! Afo laughs and laughs. Oh, how it takes him back.

And? They never see him coming. How could they? He is a ghost of a shadow, hidden in the dark. They think they are unique! Their own special brand of predator. Unaware there is something bigger, meaner, hunting THEM.

I imagine AfO has ALOT of fun.

But! That's for part two!

[kradogsrats]

So in the final part of Chasing Shadows, we see a very interesting moment regarding Rayla's moral framework and understanding. Generally we discuss that in terms of, y'know, assassinating people, since that's the major factor of what's going on with her—she believes she is supposed to be able to kill people, and it is a failure on her part to not do so.

But in Chasing Shadows, we have something we see pretty rarely: her interacting with dark magic and the way her views on it (and humanity as a result) are shaped... and how, in some ways, they haven't changed from s1.

Rayla spares Marcos because she—against her training—sees him as a person, and a person who hasn't done her any harm. Later, she sees the inside of Viren's dark magic workshop and is horrified by the shelves of ingredients, and declares that there is "nothing in humans worth sparing." So early on, she's essentially equating humanity and dark magic, and then has this cognitive dissonance where she swings back and forth between seeing humans as sympathetic or as monstrous. When she does settle on sympathetic, it's to the point that she offers to go with Callum to confront her entire squad (immediately after Runaan refused to listen to her) and potentially fight for Harrow's life. Even though, sure, the egg is still alive... but Harrow did still kill Avizandum.

Basically, Rayla has this ongoing conflict between her own nuanced moral compass and a very black-and-white framework she has been trained to use, and really struggles to land anywhere other than an extreme. In Chasing Shadows, we see her have the same experience she had early on with Marcos, but with Tressal, a dark mage.

Now, Rayla's overall experience with dark magic is mostly Claudia using it to attack her and what she has been taught regarding its history and poaching of Xadian inhabitants for materials, so we can't respect a particularly nuanced view... but it's very interesting that what gives her pause in this situation is this:

“Blood coral,” spat the dark mage, tide frothing over his mouth. “For—” “For dark magic,” Rayla said. “For many things, elf!” he snarled, defiant. “To warm a cold hearth. To draw plague from poisoned water. To heal the sick and bleeding—”

She hesitates, deliberately comparing him to Viren and literally trying to see Viren in him to condemn him, but then:

But what if it was true? A plague, an illness, a wound—

She apparently literally didn't know that dark magic can be used for purposes that she would consider noble? And then, similar to her rapid oscillating early in s1, she's immediately discarding that thought when Tressal defends himself. (It's unclear whether the coral growth would have hurt Rayla, appearing to have been primarily a defensive spell to armor himself and potentially disarm her.) He then escapes with the coral, which Rayla considers a failure comparable to her failure to kill Marcos:

Rayla looked at the driftwood floor. “Because I messed up. He got away with the rest.” Redfeather sighed. “You hesitated. Like in the Bone Pit.” It stung. She was right, of course. Rayla caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a glass bottle and scowled at herself: the face glowering back at her was not the face of an assassin, and it never would be.

So... she was supposed to, what, kill him? Even though he's not the target she thought she was hunting? Then return to Redfeather with the coral, which she has openly admitted she'll probably just sell to another dark mage? Okay, then... there's some pretty wild moral gymnastics going on, there.

Like, is she justified in feeling tricked by Tressal? Sure. I'd be pissed, if I were her. But I don't think he was lying. Whatever he is personally planning to use the blood coral for, what he listed are almost definitely legitimate uses for it—but it definitely feels implied that Rayla assumes it was all a trick that she was naive to fall for, in that she'd... apparently prefer to bring this coral that could surely only ever be used for evil purposes back to Redfeather and the black market, rather than let it go with this kid who rattled off a list of uses that made her genuinely pause in concern that she was taking something from someone who desperately needed it to save lives, and then defended himself without harming her.

So basically what's going on here is that, even though Rayla is now on team cool-with-humans (and was before it was... cool), she's still heavily affected by the toxic morality framework she was at the beginning of s1, in ways beyond just always feeling shitty about herself when she shouldn't.

[fishymom-art]

TELL US EVERYTHING ABOUT UR OCS!! id love to hear!!

OKAY OKAY SO I ALSO DID SOME SKETCHES EHEHHEHE

Rose Seed (aka my beloved Dark Fae) is one of the first OCs I created (circa 2011/12/13, something like that). He was my pony oc, of course, because this is where I started hahahah. He was always the gayest looking out of all of my characters, despite being straight. I changed that of course, now he's fruitier than a garden full of apples. He's a poor unfortunate soul who has to entertain the rich folk from different realms when they visit The End Realm for some political shit to do with Raff. He's a boy toy and a twink, but he's also very very talented, especially in singing. It was always his passion. Dark Faes are the outcasts of the Fae race, so he pretends to be a Love Fae, the most respectable kind who usually hang around rich people.

I must admit, I created Tim (the butler) just so that Rose can have a Husk to his Angel Dust hahaha. He's from the Human Realm, but it is not to be compared with our world. Magic and stuff still exists there but it's prohibited and anyone who's spotted using magic of any sort is exiles. Which leads us to Tim, who was extremely rich and famous and owned a casino. Money wasn't enough, so he gambled souls. He cheated all the time, of course, never lost, and if he was close to losing, he would trick his opponents to give up. An egotistical asshole is what he is, but he can also be a sweetheart.

I care a lot about Eru because they used to be a parent. They only became a parent when they got to the End Realm. They were violent, which is why they were exiled from their church. But they changed for their son. They lost him to Raff's servants - Shadows - and made it their mission to avenge. When they meet Milo, Raff's son who's the same age as Eru's son was, when he died, they soften up. Which was the first mistake they've made. Milo isn't a normal child. He's kept isolated from the world, no one knows he exists, no one knows what he is and what he's capable of. (also i forgot to draw Eru's wings here, apologies ahhahaha)

The best arc is probably Amelie and Raff. Amelie was exiled from the Occult Realm for being weak, but she can be fucking feral if she wants to and it gained her power and respect in the End Realm. But when Raff arrived, he beat her and took her down, taking her place as the highest overlord and she becomes a mere maid, who hides her immense powers. Rose and Tim, who also work alongside her, really REALLY want her to use her powers but she refuses. She'll snap at some point, of course. Everyone does.

YEAH ANYWAY I DIDN'T DRAW ANYTHING FOR POLEN BUT

She's amazing. I promise. She's THE woman ever, caring about everyone. Strong, yet selfless, which is her biggest weakness that makes her lose one very important battle... But for now she wants to avenge Rose, who was her best friend despite being an outcast of the Fae society. Of course, they fell apart when Rose joined Raff, but she still cares for him and wants him to be free again. She also wishes that the old overlord - a powerful yet caring succubus - took his place again, but oohhhh she disappeared and no one knows where she iiiisssss [pointing at Amelie]. Yeah, Polen is clueless that it's her.

YEAH ANYWAY WHAT DO YOU THINK ALIGEUHLAIUEHGLA I HAVE MORE

YOU CAN ALSO ASK THE CHARACTERS SOMETHING, I'D LOVE TO DRAW SOME ANSWERS!!!!

[achilleasfury]

from the WIP ask game: 3zun mythical creatures sound FASCINATING please talk more

okay so!!

Currently im very undecided about what specific creature they are, because i keep moving it around lol

But tbe first idea is; Jiggy is half a fox spirit, half human. My notes on rhat are "BIG MAMA MENG is the fox spirit, a-yao is the precious treasure" i think im gonna stick with fox spirit, bc yes, but also?

NMJ was supposed to be like a bull-hybrid or something, but Im making him a minotaur/msht like that now bc I Can. (Shout out to NPC Bluud the minotaur from my dnd campaign who pushed me into fixation on minotaurs and centaurs. Love the guy.) Also i think i really want to give him the labyrinth symbolism. Like the haunted saber flesh cave thing from [nie-centric movie] but specifially for Him.

LXC is a dragon. I love dragons. I have zero (0) notes on him except "DRAGON, MATE MATE MATE" and half a note on egg-children. Love them.

The fic starts with a Xiyao meet cute with vaguely reversed dynamics? A-Yao is getting chased and caught by hunters and Xichen eats them :) what is one supposed to do, when a pretty, hurt fox is near your cave?

>>

It felt like his spine would snap any second. It was bent and twisted in impossible directions. His joints were pulled apart and squished together again, like he was just a tiny stress toy, for someone so much larger than him.

His innards were sloshing around, being made to fit all positions he was forced in.

Voices were screaming at each other, yelling commands, or maybe encouragement. He couldn’t tell anymore, for his ears had long since given up on functioning, trying to shield him from the cruelness of the hunter's words.

A high pitched sound came from somewhere above him.

He tried to get his eyes to open, to figure out which threat would come for him now. His eyelids fluttered, but refused to open correctly, for dried blood was gluing them together.

The sound stopped.

No more screeching.

The hands on his body pulled away and he could feel his body trying to snap together again.

A presence still lingered above him.

It seemed to bask him in shadow and cold, in silence and fear.

Something sharp tapped on his back, somehow caressing his body carefully.

“Are you alright?”

<<

(Again, just a draft And god i hate the word sloshing but i also refuse to look up synonyms out of spite.)

now that i think about it, Hydra!LXC is a fascinating concept. Or Hydra!JGY. He fits a hydra nicely maybe. Or hydra!wrh. Ohh, that'd be funky.

-

After LXC saves MY they spend Yunping-like time tgt in the cave :) cave buddies. They discover the joys of companionship and homoerotic woundtending. Technically also homoerotic companionship but i typed out the word cock once and had to close the tab, so.

i do really wanna get into the nesting instincts of both dragons and *handwave* fox-ish creatures because boy do i love a good nesting.

>>

Meng Yao watched with half lidded eyes as Lan Xichen moved around. The dragon was collecting softer material and piling it atop the bed.

It ranged from blankets, over robes to simply linen sheets, that were softened from being washed a lot.

He carefully made his own way across the room, running his fingertips over the blankets, then the pillows, already at the headrest of the bed. He could feel his own instincts lurk under his skin, begging to be let out. Begging to be let loose, free to arrange, mix and match the fabrics, make his own nest, a safe spot for what was to come.

Slowly, Meng Yao lowered himself onto the mattress, immediately drawing his legs closer to his core, when he was seated.

Lan Xichen shot him a short glance, his gaze softening, impossibly full of affection, before turning away again, just to press a robe - light blue, with fine embroidery - into Meng Yao’s hand.

When the fox spirit regarded the robe further without doing anything with it, the dragon made a slightly unhappy noise. Immediately after he looked like a deer in the flashlights, frozen, surprised with himself.

“My apologies, A-Yao.”, he muttered, gaze falling to the floor in embarrassment. “I simply meant- will you maybe -”, he closed his eyes and took a breath, unsure of his own desires and ability to express them. “Would you wear the robe? I think you’d look splendid in them.”

An almost mean little smile flashed over Meng Yao’s lips, but he nodded and began unceremoniously to strip himself and exchange robes.

“If that is what the almighty Zewu-Jun wishes, who am I to decline?”

<<

(I do feel like i have to add that both exerpts were written like. In september LMAO its been a bit, whoops)

I was originally planning for them to just. Have a neat little fluff thing going on, where egg-nant jgy meets nmj and they bond somehow and *handwaving* wuuh 3zun, but now its more of a. Xiyao finds NMJ in the Labyrinth/Castle thing and either they play curse breaker (which actually would be a fun thing to get into, if one goes into the direction of "dragon blood solves/cures everything" or they get trapped there for a long time all tgt, and its like. Forced proximity but because they all have like. Specific things which i forgot cause its 8pm and my bedtime (/hj i need atleast 10 hours otherwise i hit a downphase agter 3 to 6 hours of being awake LMAO).

they get eggs. Rusong. Children. I need Xichen (who did NOT give birth to the eggs, rip him) to be likem. Snake-style coiled aroind them all the time. But not in snake-egg version, im goinf with hardshell eggs bc snake eggs are so cool and fascinating but im not having them "need to be up and not too close so they dont stick tgt and also dont flip bc otherwise the babies die"- thing going on. Snakes <3 so interesting and cool. Hensheng should be a snake that 'imprints' on MY and gets into hissy fights wirh lxc. They deserve it.

[iggydabirdkid]

So this was supposed to be a short thing. And it turned into the seconds longest thing I've written 😅 Don't @ me with when this is set because I got no clue. Sometime after the end of Retribution at least, with Annie being more open despite the situation. Enjoy!

My Ao3

Title: Anniversary

Word Count: 6258

-----

You’ve been awake for longer than a human body is supposed to go without sleep. You’re not quite sure why. No that’s a lie. You don’t like to sleep, or more accurately, you dread the dreams that sleep brings. The nightmares that wrap you up so tight, dig their claws into your soul and slip in through the scars left in your marbled skin.  

You suppose you have slept, in a way. Your body has at least. Jumping into to other people’s minds is the only way to sooth the aches and pains of your own form but recently things have felt… off. You’re not sure why, but it’s such a gut feeling that even in bodies so different from your own your mind refuses to switch to match. Leaving your brain to run into overtime. Clocking hours that would normally be spent furthering your plans and instead leaving you feeling drained and jittery. Because your mind is the most important part of you. It is you. It’s all that you are.

You’re not even running on fumes. At this point you’re a tank that’s been empty for a concerning amount of time, struggling to keep on moving as it splutters and coughs.

You know it’s dangerous. Even for someone like you so used to restless nights. There must be something else that keeps sleep at bay. Something your addled mind can’t remember. A shadowed blur out the corner of your vision has your head snapping to the side. You stare wide-eyed and unblinking at the empty kitchen space where you swear… You struggle to your feet, abandoning the comfort of your couch in favour of checking your cabinets, draws, nothing out of place. Nothing amiss. You rub your hands over your face as you sigh and the temptation of sleep tugs at your weary limbs.

The high-pitched screeching of something cuts through your thoughts and you jump. Your heart stutters in your chest and it takes you far longer than you’d like to recognize the shrill ring of your mobile. Even longer to remember that it’s snug in your pocket. You fumble for the device, feeling like its buzzing may time out and you answer the call before checking to see who it is.

“Hello?” you mumble, voice quiet as you lean your hip against your kitchen counter.

“Hey Annie. Sorry, did I wake you?” Julia. Of course. You hope the huff you make sounds more like a laugh than it feels to your ears.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” you reply, “What’s up? Something the matter?” you ask.

“Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?” you can picture the grin on the other end, yet something in her tone sounds different than it would do if she were simply teasing you.

“No. But you normally call me for a reason.”

“Maybe it’s just to hear your voice?”

“Ha ha Julia.”

The silence that stretches afterwards turns awkward when neither of you speaks. You’re struggling enough as it is staying upright, forcing coherent sentences through your lips as your mind buzzes. You don’t know what her excuse is.

“Annie?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Why do you ask?” You frown as your gaze wanders over the expensive furniture of your open plan living space.

“Because of what day it is?” her voice sounds strained, though that may just be your imagination.

“What day it is?” you parrot back, unable to form a better answer.

“You don’t… Do you not…” You sigh.

“Haven’t been super good at keeping track of things the last few… well… most of my life really,” you chuckle then. Self-deprecation is always your go to.

“Nooo, really?”

“Smartass.” Her turn to laugh now, the sound is brief and light and ends far too soon to be anything other than an expected reaction.

“Do you really not know the day, or are you just pretending?” she sounds skeptical and you don’t blame her.

“Jules, I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning. Or if I even ate breakfast at all.” You didn’t. You can feel your stomach knawing away at your insides yet you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“It’s the anniversary of… of Heartbreak.”

Oh.

You feel your breath stopper in your throat and the space before you seems to stretch out into an eternity, becoming narrow and cramped as you feel sweat bead on your forehead and roll down your back. The air seems too warm and there’s a buzzing in your ears and an aching in your legs and you can’t focus-

“-nie? Annie? Are you still there?”

It takes you a while to reply and you feel like it took just as long for Julia’s words to reach you.

“Still here.” Your voice is hoarse and your vision swims.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Just…” you trail off as you struggle to find the right words, any words, “Did you really just call to remind me of a day I’d rather not think about?” You’d erase the entire nightmare from your mind if you could. Scour the ridges of your brain till they bled but where would that leave you then? Who would you be without your trauma binding the pieces of you together?

“I normally spend this day inside, alone. But I thought, maybe you wanted to come over?”

“Come over.” You repeat. You don’t want her to see you like you are now. You know you can’t look good. But what else could you say that wouldn’t make her even more worried than she must already be. If you were in better shape you could probably think of an excuse, a way to wriggle free of this impending encounter. But you’re not, so you can’t, so instead you let out a long sigh as you tilt your head back and stare at the ceiling, lights flickering above not quite there. You close your eyes, “Sure. Sure.” She must hear it in your voice. Your reluctance.

“You don’t have to.”

“I said I’m coming alright.” You will your words to sound harsh but you can’t muster the energy, “I’ll be there when I can.”

“Alright,” her voice is soft and your heart aches, “Be safe.”

You hang up, let your arms drop to your sides and stare into space with your brain thinking of nothing. This is a bad idea. You feel like you’re floating, tethered by a single thread as you stare down at yourself from above. Aware of your body while the world around you feels false and fickle. You can almost hear Doctor Finch’s voice in your mind, and then you do hear her and you snap back as your head shoots up just in time to see a shimmer of a form fading fast from your eye. Your hand clenches tight around your phone and you push off from the counter.

You really do need to sleep. But now you have plans. And cancelling them will only lead to Julia snooping. And that above all, is what you don’t need right now.

+++++

It takes all the willpower you have to keep your legs moving and your eyes open and the whispers at bay. It’s not safe for you to be out but if you can make it to Julia’s you’ll be safe. She can keep you safe. Her static will help if anything. And if not? Well then maybe just having another presence by your side will be enough.

Your hands are deep in your pockets, your fingers curled into fists gouging crescent shaped grooves into your palms as your feet move you forwards with no thought. You think you’re drawing blood but the sharp piercing pain helps ground you just enough for your vision to clear and you realize you’re outside Julia’s apartment. You have no idea how you managed to get here in one piece, let alone how long it took you. You stand on the sidewalk and you know there must be bleed over. You know you have to be projecting as no one gets close to you. Skirting around your bubble and crossing the street before drawing near and normally you would put that up to you just being you. With your dead-eyed stare and general leave me alone expression but when you turn your head to watch those around you, you find them staring back.

All of them. Staring. With eyes the same shade of green.

Dead eyes.

Her eyes.

“Annie?”

The voice startles you enough that you stumble, almost tripping over a crack in the pavement before you regain your footing. Julia stands before you with an open face plastered with concern. Its not an expression she wears much around you anymore. You had been doing better. Had being the key word.

“Are you okay?” she asks with a slight tilt of her head. She’s been growing her hair out and it spills around her shoulders, framing her face with waves of chestnut brown streaked with shoots of grey. A smile finds its way onto your face and through the haze that is your vision you see her frown deepen as she takes a step towards you. The late day sun illuminates her form and her warm brown eyes are flecked with the subtlest hints of gold…

“Annie?” she’s right in front of you now and one hand reaches for your face. You let her, too tired to protest and she cups your jaw and you lean into her touch, “Are you okay?” she repeats. Firmer this time but no less soft.

“Just tired,” you mumble as you close your eyes.

“You sure?” her free hand finds one of yours and you lace your fingers together.

“Mhm.” You open your eyes and your vision blurs again and she smiles at you sadly as she drops her hand.

“Come on.” She motions towards the door with a jut of her head and her static is already working wonders. Blanketing your mind in comforting white noise and when she goes to pull your hands apart your grip hers harder, too hard if her wince is anything to go by and you wonder what she sees when she looks back at you. Trying to keep it together and if you didn’t have her hand in a death grip it would be shaking. She opens her mouth to speak but then closes it without saying a word, grips your hand tighter, and leads you inside.

The doorman gives you a quick nod and you spy a flash of green in his otherwise hazel eyes. You squeeze your own shut and allow Julia to lead the way but when your foot hits the bottom of a step, your eyes fly open.

You always take the stairs so of course she would think nothing of taking them now. But she wasn’t with you, didn’t see what you saw with her mind protected as it is so she doesn’t know. You take a few steps back, pulling your hand free as you fight to keep your fraying composure.

“Annie?” She approaches slowly with her arms out showing her intent and you shake your head, clamping your mouth shut as you plant your feet firmly on the ground. She stops and backs off, lips pursed and brows drawn and your arms are ramrod straight at your side as you gaze at the stairwell. Its shape twists and melts in front of you, “How can I help?” She steps into your line of sight and you blink out of the trance you had been falling into. You move your head to look for the elevator that you know is here somewhere- ah. There.

“Can we take the elevator?”

“Yeah of course.”

You know she’s worried about you. You’re worried about you. Pressed up to her side as you are, you’re thankful that she stays quiet during the short ride to her floor.

/////

You step into her apartment and as she closes and locks the door behind you with a short beep you finally feel as if you can breathe. The second floor isn’t as far above the world as your apartment, but any distance between you and the minds of those consumed in the rat race of everyday life is a blessing. You breathe in deep through your nose, hold the breath for a few beats, and finally exhale long and hard through your mouth. The sound is audible in the quiet space and as you turn you realize that Julia is stood by the entrance, watching you with folded arms and a small smile.

“Hey,” she speaks as she pushes off from where she’d been leaning back against the door. You meet her halfway, linking your arms around her middle as you bury your face in the crook of her neck. You inhale her scent as she hugs you tightly, humming a tune you don’t recognize as she rocks you side to side. It’s nice. In this moment. Quiet and calming, comfortable. Safe. The whispers don’t seem so sinister here and the pull of sleep is dangerously strong. Your eyes flutter close and you feel yourself relax entirely. That is until strong hands grab your shoulders and squeeze, “Annie? Hey!”

The voice is loud and irritating and you feel yourself scowl almost out of reflex as you jerk upright and blink rapidly before finding the floor beneath your feet again. Her hands are gripping you vice-like, concern drawing her features tight and suddenly her touch feels caustic so you pull away abruptly, tearing free of her hands, “Don’t shout at me,” you snap, resisting the urge to sneer as you turn and take a seat on the couch.

“Annie what’s wrong?” she comes to stand in front of you and you lean back into the cushions as you look up at her, “Please, just tell me what’s wrong so I can help.”

“I told you,” you start, “I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit. This isn’t just regular fatigue, I should know.” She would know. Shit. You can’t even come up with a convincing argument. Your brain is just a mass of fog and constant noise.

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Well?”

“At all.”

“For how long Annie?”

You just grimace and attempt a shrug but your shoulders barely move, “I was busy. Keeping myself busy, I think. To avoid thinking about…” you trail off and your gaze slips from her face as you stare at your reflection in the dark of her tv screen. It’s probably just your rotten mind, but you swear your eyes are emitting a subtle glow. When your words don’t return to you Julia lowers herself to the couch.

“It’s alright,” she hushes, “You don’t have to continue.” You sigh and lean against her completely, resting your head upon the solidness of a broad shoulder as you close your eyes.

“I’m so tired Jules.” She strokes your hair and you feel her shift, leaning forwards before an arm wraps around your shoulders.

You hear a click as a sound fills the apartment and when you open your eyes you see the scenes of an old movie playing upon the tv.

“It’ll be some background noise,” Julia tells you before she starts to move again. Lifting one leg up and trying to squeeze it behind your back, you shuffle forwards as she stretches the limb across the length of the couch, “Here,” she says and you turn your head to fix her with a wry smile, “Not like that!” She laughs and wraps her arms around you, drawing you into her as she leans backwards into the couch. You rest your cheek against her sternum and turn onto your side as you listen to the steady thumping of her heart. You watch as she lifts her other leg onto the couch to keep you from rolling off and now you are confined within her limbs, kept safe by the presence of her body, “Sleep Annie,” she whispers as she trails her fingers feather-light down your back, “I’ll be right here.”

And that’s enough.

You don’t fight it when your eyes start to close and the tendrils of sleep ensnare your mind and drag you down into the dark.

+++++

In the depths of sleep you find yourself somewhere familiar. You used to come here often with them both. The diner, the dumpster of which Julia found you in the first time you ever set your eyes on her. The first place you ever sat down to eat as a group. The place you’re sitting in right now.

The scene seems far more solid than it ever has, due to your fatigue perhaps? You have a sense, a terrible feeling however that that isn’t it. That it’s because Julia just had to remind you of what today was. But you think your mind knew all along. Somewhere deep down, buried amongst the memories of your daily routine. You don’t have a calendar for a reason but it seems that the incident has been imprinted onto your soul and are you really surprised at that?

A bell chimes out signaling that someone else has entered the establishment and you frown as you turn in your seat, only to see the door swing shut with no one in sight. Still, you keep on staring until the world past the windows starts to morph into a view that has fear spiking through your chest. You spin back around and almost fall out of the booth in surprise as an all too familiarly freckled face stares back at you with a wide and toothy grin.

“Anathema?”

“Miss me?” she grins. You close your eyes and rub your hands over your face. You don’t need this. Not now. Not today. Not with other memories oh so close to the surface.

“You know I do,” you confess in a moment of weakness and when you look back at her the smile has fallen to be replaced by an expression of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she says and you laugh.

“You’re sorry?” you reply, the absurdity of it all shaping your mouth into a grin, “I should be the one apologizing to you!” The brief moment of mania passes as you breathe out, “It’s my fault you’re dead after all.”

“Don’t say that Annie. Please don’t say that.” She sounds like she’s pleading and you can’t look at her, “It’s no one’s fault but that things’.” You watch her hands sizzle as she clenches them into fists and you lean away, an unease making its home in your stomach.

“I held you back because I was getting a migraine. A fucking migraine!” you spit out in anger and she tilts her head, smile going sad as her orange curls bounce around her cherub face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” you shout and your voice echoes through the diner, the world seeming to shake along with your unjust anger. She flinches, jerking her hands back across the table and onto her lap as her eyes flit away from you. You wince, your face pulling into a grimace as you reach for her across the wooden surface, “I just…” you trail off, “I don’t know what this is.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, still not facing you.

“This place, this situation, these strange meetings cooked up by a mind on the brink.”

“Maybe it’s your guilty conscience?” your frown as she meets your gaze head on, something dangerous sparking behind those green eyes.

“I… Maybe. Shit.” You bury your hands into your hair as you drop your head, “I wish I had done something more,” you mumble at the table, “I wish I had stopped you. I wish we had never gone inside that fucking building.” Your fingers are like a vice on the back of your skull, “You were my best friend.” Your voice cracks as your face warms, “And now the only time I see you is in my dreams when my brain and body are so fucked that I struggle to wake up at all.”

“I know. I know.” Her voice sounds garbled and you sniff, blinking back tears, “And I am sorry Annie. I’m sorry you had to see that.” Her words sound strained and as you hear the tell-tale sound of her acid eating away at the table you think you were wrong to assume it was emotion that had taken control of her voice, “I never wanted you to see that.”

DON’T LOOK

The voice screams in the back of your head but you are powerless in this mindscape, your hands dropping to the table with a muted thud, hardly heard over you struggling to breathe. Your head moves slowly, so slowly, to look up at your friend and a shock of fear so potent you feel your heart stop, floods through your veins.

Acid eating away at her hands. The smell of rot and iron heavy in the air.

Not again. Please.

She’s raising her hands towards her face and your brain is screaming at you to do something.

Do something.

DO SOMETHING!!!

You lunge forwards and take a hold of her wrists like you wish you had all those years ago.

“Themmy stop! Please!” You’re pleading, crying. You can feel tears roll down your cheeks and you watch as the image of your hands shimmers like a mirage from skin and scars, to gloves of turquoise and grey, “Please stop.”

“I can’t.” Moving still, even though you are tugging with all your strength, “You can’t help me.”

“Why?!” you croak. Keep pulling. Keep holding. Even though the scent of death envelops you like a blanket in winter.

“Because you didn’t save me then.” Her arms slip from your grasp like you weren’t even holding on. Because you weren’t. You hadn’t. She’s right, “I never wanted you to see me die.” You watch in horror, frozen on the spot just like you had been and the world around you begins to split at the seams, visions of a dark hallway peeking through the cracks.

You’re helpless. Useless. And all you can do is watch as she grasps her face with her hands.

You’ve had years of new memories, good and bad, to try block out the sound of acid chewing away at flesh.

You should never have bothered.

She doesn’t even scream as her eyes pop and her skin sloughs off her skull, the bone shiny and white and not at all like it had been. But all you can focus on is the rancid smell of burning meat and the fact that she is still seated and her mouth is still moving, still trying to talk despite her tongue now sitting on the table before you.

And you can hear her.

Even though your mind is screaming at you to wake up.

Her words sound like dry grass and ash beneath boots.

“I never wanted to die.”

/////

You wake with an abruptness you didn’t think possible.

A desperate cry of her name flies from your mouth as you clamber to your feet, reaching for a figure no longer present. Your heart thunders an unsteady rhythm in your chest and you’re sweating enough that you hair sticks to your forehead and you clothes lay plastered against your skin. Your feet are rooted to the ground and your vision flickers in time with you roiling stomach.

A voice speaks up behind you and you can’t make out the words but you can’t turn, won’t turn. Don’t look. There’s a shimmer to the air and a heat at your back and you heave in desperate breaths to inflate your struggling lungs but it’s no use.

The room shifts and slides, changing right in front and all around before solidifying as a scene that causes a wheeze of a whimper to leave you. The apartment shrinks into focus, the carpet a dirty brown beneath your feet but this can’t be real. You know this can’t be real. You know. You know. (Do you?) But you’re panicking. You know the signs. Trembling body, shaking hands, head full of noise and unable to focus.

You need to move but there’s a window in the way.

The glass cracks, spiderweb lines spreading from a focal point created by something you can’t see.

You can see your reflection however.

And it doesn’t belong to you.

Snaking cables and inky darkness and something moving, sliding its way through the black and if you look down you can see the crack in the pavement four floors below. The smell of rot and antiseptic is overpowering and there’s a hand on your back, just between your shoulders blades and you fall forwards into nothing-

.

.

.

Your hands are buried in the shag rug of Julia’s living room, fingers curled and gripping it like a lifeline as you empty your stomach of its contents all over the designer pattern. Not much comes up, you don’t think you’ve eaten for at least a day but still the bile burns your throat and lips and stains the throw a lovely shade of yellow. There’s a figure besides you and a hand in the middle of your back and you have to remind yourself of where you are to keep from flinching away at the contact. You manage. Barely.

You dry heave and retch until there’s nothing left for you to do but sit back on your haunches as you wipe the back of your hand across your mouth and stare at the puddle soaking into the fibers. The shape at your side vanishes only to return a few moments later, warm hands handing you a cool glass which you take gratefully between your shaking ones. You close your eyes briefly as you swallow back any remnants before you bring the glass to your lips to wash the rest away. You drain the water in one go, alternating between gasps of breath and swallowing down air as the glass is pried from your fingers. You close your eyes again and the world stops spinning long enough for you to feel Julia slip a hand into one of your own.

“S’rry about the rug,” you choke on the stretched laugh that forces itself up your throat. She doesn’t take the bait.

“You’re not well Annie.”

“Tell me something I don’t know…” you grumble, “It looks worse then it is.” When you look to the side she stares back with an eyebrow raised so high it almost disappears into her hairline, “Physically I’m fine. I just haven’t slept in 3 days and, well, that’s about the time when hallucinations tend to start.”

“Jesus Annie. Maybe you should move your appointment with Doctor Finch forwards?”

Your fingers twitch, “… Maybe,” you concede, “But I’m more after an immediate solution, unless you want me to paint your furniture some more?” you smirk and she huffs, a flicker of a smile brightening her features just a touch.

“I think I still have some sleeping pills lying around somewhere.”

Knowing her they’ll be strong ones. They should knock you out deep enough that not even the nightmares will be able to dig their greasy fingers into you. You nod and let her help you to your feet. The tv is off now, the remote discarded on the floor and you almost step on it as you flop down onto the couch. She leaves you again, footsteps soft as she heads into depths of her apartment and you hunch forwards with a groan, placing your elbows on your knees as you bury your face in your hands. How mortifying. You’re thankful that the smell of bile is almost imperceptible though you still swallow back your nausea as you hear the tap in the kitchen run briefly before Julia returns.

“Here.”

The couch dips besides you and you sit up, one hand reaching for the refilled glass while the other turns palm up, allowing her to deposit the pills into your waiting grasp. You swallow both at the same time, flushing them away with water before placing the half-empty glass back on the table in front of you.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Silence falls but as you look to her face to find her features shifting and mouth twisting you know there’s something on her mind.

“I can’t help unless you say something. Can’t read your mind remember?” you chuckle.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You go rigid and snap your gaze away as you clench you hands in your lap. Julia laughs quietly, “What a stupid question. Of course you don’t.” You smirk and your hands unfurl as you straighten out the fabric of your pants, “Can I ask you a question at least?” she asks.

“Might not answer it, but sure.”

“Do you dream about her often?” The question is soft, hesitant. And yet you still tense up, the scent of death reasserting itself over anything else. You blow out a breath, push those thoughts, that smell (those sounds) from your mind as you try pull your shields a little tighter, “Annie?” a hand on your own and you can’t look at her.

“Yeah I do.”

“I’m sorry.” That makes you laugh.

“That’s what she always says.” The smile on your face is as fake as your sobriety and you lean back into the couch as you close your eyes. Julia nestles against your side, knees touching and your mind begins to drift along the waves of static noise afforded by her proximity. You can feel yourself relax, thoughts fleeing your mind and after a long while you speak again, “I watched her die Julia.” And you know that no amount of talking will ever help you get over it.

“And I watched you die,” her words are hollow but she squeezes your hand.

She knows what its like, the feelings, the grief of it all. But the difference is that for her you came back. Sure you came back wrong, broken and hurting but you’re still alive aren’t you? Her heartache will still be there, you know, for the person you used to be. For the person you’re trying so hard to return to. But you’ll never truly get to hear Themmy’s laugh again, to hear her make another joke or to plot another shenanigan. Your sorrow is a part of you as much as the orange that stains your skin and for that reason you know it will never leave.

You don’t realize you’re starting to drift off until a stray touch to your cheek has your eyes opening when you never knew you had closed them.

“Come on.” Julia’s voice is soothing as she takes your hand and helps you stand, helps you stumble down the hall and through the doorway to her bedroom. You would protest but you’re falling asleep on your feet and her bed is softer anyways. You sit on the edge of the covers as she bends to take your shoes off and you take the opportunity to run your hands through her hair.

“M’ glad you’re deciding to grow it out,” you slur, words heavy in your mouth as she slips one runner off and places it to the side, “Should let me braid it sometime.” Your other foot is free and you wiggle your toes as she chuckles.

“You’d really do that?” she speaks as you remove your hands from her mane, shuffle up further onto the bed and slip under the covers.

“Yeah. I always loved to braid your hair. It’s so soft and smooth.” You smile lazily up at her as you rest your head on a pillow that must be stuffed with clouds for how soft it is. She stands at the bed side and your happiness turns dour as you look into her eyes, framed by grey above and wrinkles in the corners. You distantly wonder if you’ll get old enough to look the same. You reach up and cup her face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs over her dimpled cheeks as she smiles down at your frown, “When did you get so old…” you mumble, a hitch to your voice and she squeezes her hands over yours.

“That’s just life unfortunately.” She smiles with that crooked tilt of her lips you love so much and you pull her down towards your face to trap her in a kiss. A ruse she seems happy to be tricked by if the sigh she lets out is any indication.

She pulls away when your hands fall slack against her face and she places your arm back upon the sheets. She looks worried as she turns to leave the room and through half-lidded eyes you watch her pause in the doorway, look back over her shoulder and flash you a thin smile.

“Te amo cariño. Duermas bien,” she whispers, dimming the lights to a soft glow before she steps out, leaving the door slightly ajar as she disappears from your sight. The call of sleep washes over you like waves lapping against the shore and you can barely keep your eyes open. Until you realize you don’t need to. And you allow yourself to be washed out to sea.

+++++

You awaken slowly, eyes opening to the smell of food wafting in through the cracked door and accompanied by the sound of singing coming from somewhere in the apartment. You yawn as you sit up, stretching your arms above your head before rubbing the last traces of sleep from your eyes as you pull back the covers. You swing your legs out of the bed and onto the carpeted ground and you bend to touch your toes before straightening back up with a sigh and a smile. You feel more rested than you have in a very long time and your shields no longer feel brittle and non-existent. You’ll have to grab the name of those pills.

You pad towards the door opening it slowly and turning the light off as you step out into a brightly lit hallway. The singing continues and you realize there’s no music playing to sing along to as you turn a corner to see Julia standing at the stove. You don’t want to break this moment and so you quietly take a seat and rest your arms upon the benchtop laid with condiments as you watch her cook. Layers of dark waves spill down her back and you remember what you said last night, sighing as you soak up the heaven-like ambience that you seem to have landed yourself in.

“Morning! Pancakes?”

You startle, rattling the stool as she turns around. You didn’t realize she had heard you.

“Uh yeah. Yes please,” you smile and she slides the flat disc onto a plate before placing it down in front of you, “How long did I sleep for?” you ask as you drown the breakfast in thick syrup before cutting a large chunk off and shoving it into your mouth.

“Almost 15 hours,” comes the reply as she turns her back to you and returns to cooking.

“Damn. Well, I needed it.”

“You certainly did,” she chuckles. You wipe the syrup from your chin and turn in your seat, leaning the stool backwards as you peer into the living room to see that the space beneath the coffee table is bare. You grimace.

“I’ll buy you a new rug.”

“Annie you don’t have to!” she laughs as she turns once more with her own cake plated up and comes to next to you.

“C’mon Jules. You’re telling me you wouldn’t love to have something I’ve bought you displayed in your apartment?” you raise a brow.

“You got me,” she snickers as she starts to devour her breakfast. You finish yours quickly, getting to your feet once done and heading to the bathroom, “Where are you going?” Julia asks with faint amusement in her voice.

“Just wait!” you throw the reply over your shoulder as you enter the tiled room, grab a hair tie from where it rests near the edge of the sink (no wonder she keeps losing them), and return to the kitchen. She’s still eating, still watching you as you sit back down and motion for her to turn around.

She does without question after taking the last bite of her food and you reach for her hair, running your fingers through it to rid of any tangles before taking the length between your fingers and separating it into three. You hear her hum in content, sitting as still as she seems to be able to as you fold and twist and ignore the streaks of grey you uncover with your work. It’s nostalgic, reminding you of happier times and you find that the smile comes to your face with ease. Sooner than you’d like you’re finished and you loop the band at the end of the braid to keep your job from unravelling.

“There. Done.” You scoot back and watch as she reaches behind her, running her fingers along the bumps with such care that your heart thuds against your ribcage.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

She turns around on her stool and grins at you with shining eyes, “How do I look?”

You’re treated to a vision of her from her younger days. The same eyes and same smile but with skin unblemished, free of scars and wrinkles and missing all the signs of age that (although you’d never admit it) you’ve grown to love.

Your words get caught in your throat.

“Beautiful,” you reply as you smile back, “You look beautiful.”

[parcy-anda-but-with-actual-posts]

Phew, okay - so pending shadows and highlights, and colors are likely to be tweaked at least a little (except for the baby in the middle; heckin' PERFECT!), but this is the first new ground broken in a while for my Fakemon project (with redesigns of old concepts being the art-production focus up until now). @v@;

Part of the excitement of revamping an old project is embracing new possibilities... and with that creative liberty, things have entirely spiraled out of control and now the region is based on a mashup of concepts (including but not limited to Post-Apocalyptic Cottagecore) rather than any real-world location.

In addition, the player is the only human in the setting — and to avoid drawing unwanted attention — can disguise themselves as a 'mon! These are your 3 options, which each align with a given "deity" (read: Mythical/Lesser-Legendary) you choose.

Rambles under the cut if you're as interested in the concept/process as I am!

Aside from signature accent colors and modified/added features of your chosen savior and one personal apparel-item, these are based on mutated variants of canon single-stage Pokémon. While these are super-derivative, I had fun with the concepts!

Each base is changed in type which the new designs reflect. Kecleon took on a Bug-Psychic typing; Indeedee became an Ice-Fairy type; and Heracross became an Electric-Ghost type.

Heracross changed the most of the 3, shrinking considerably and "hollowing out" to an extent, with the flakier texture of its altered carapace allowing for friction/contact-electrification to help generate current. Heracross was also the most-thought-out in terms of a Pokemon mutating to survive in a post-fallout setting; the others were just designed around reinforcing the themes/motifs of the deities I associated them with. ^^;

That said, the deities each have a theme that is reflected in the 'mon-avatar you can adopt through them. Let's go over each, respective to their avatar above, from left to right:

~ Celebi is coded as "The Illuminator", which is why a Psychic type is attributed to you as a mutant-Kecleon, and is the ideal choice if your priority in the "game" is exploration, discovery and mystery/problem-solving. ~ Suicune is coded as "The Protector/Rescuer", and I chose Fairy because out of the supernatural-leaning types, it felt most thematically appropriate. Despite mutant-Indeedee's primary ice-typing, the path associated with Suicune is about the gentle, cozy vibes, warmth and compassion, rewarding those who want to find comfort in rebuilding. ~ Victini is coded as "The Champion", and Ghost-typing was assigned via process of elimination, as I knew I wanted a "mystical" secondary typing for each (though that did make the conceptualization extra fun - deciding that mutant-Heracross attained this 'ghastly' subtype out of sheer tenacity, refusing to 'properly' die. XD). Even though the Heracross species is a tiny shell of its former self, it has lived to fight another day with newfound power, so it follows that this is the primary option if you prefer combat in gameplay!

I'm kind of invested in the hypothetical story now... as even though you assume a Pokémon form (at least while you're awake), you can still befriend a "starter" Pokémon out of 3 options (this is decided when you pick where in the "region" you want to start the game, with your options being the Cottage Zone, the Meadow Zone and the Twilight Zone); this First Friend will likely eventually find out that you're NOT a Pokémon, and that's when things will get interesting — because there's a reason you're hiding the fact that you're human, and there's a reason there are no other humans around...

[shinkei-shinto]

hi little vent

I'm tired of being ghosted. I'm tired of being lied to. I am so, so so tired of the endling showing and god, but does it hurt.

I do art for a living. I have never lied to a client to cover my ass bc I forgot or ADHD'd something or memory problems or overwhelmed. Apologize and make it right.

tried to commission someone else. caught them in a lie. asked for the truth in the future or a refund.

got the refund.

they would rather refund me than tell me the truth in future interactions.

woke up today. okay. too early. did some social media scroll.

and again and again and again seeing some fucking post talking about how the thing that is me is wrong. or bad. or not actually that oppressed. or whatever. I try to flick faster when I realize what I'm reading so I don't remember examples.

I do remember that it happened four times. just in clearing Tumblr today.

again and again.

one of my clients chose to "request" more work. when they were told that they should pay me by others. when they were made extremely aware that I intended to charge for further work (as if, live on stream, designing an entire new look for a character and drawing an entire fully colored piece with background elements, for a paltry fucking ~60 dollars, wasn't fucking enough)

and when I made a nice public post about how this service they were demanding would cost money bc I'm not a machine I'm a fucking person and I deserve that?

"oh nope can't afford it maybe next time"

can't even fucking respect me. can't even fucking treat me like I'm worth anything.

again and again and again. just. completely worthless to the entire social circles I reside in, right now.

and on the other side of the country

and in my partner/owner/love's house

I hear them call me 'pet' to someone who I thought had been preventing that from being used freely in their house

I see them later tell me that's okay now

later, more

I get to be the thing that I am and people like me for it. not just tolerate. not slide their eyes over it uncomfortably and refuse to engage.

not treating me like a machine that makes things for them, not treating me like a thing that doesn't even deserve the barest minimum of respect - not fucking being lied to -

hard to want to get up and go to work when I know how I'll be treated. hard to get up and pull the hoodie of humanity over my head, cast my face in shadow, so none of them have to see it.

12 days until maybe, a break.

[carbo-ships]

Etere: Chapter I

Oh, gosh, no, I'm doing this. Okay. This is, yeah, it's Aether, like I said I wouldn't do, even a little bit. Yes it says Chapter I, yes there's more, don't look at me.

Content warning for canon-typical misuse of Catholicism. I am not Catholic. This is all wrong. I've made it so much worse. I'm sorry. There's also like, some really, really poorly translated Italian. I also do not speak Italian. This is a mess. Look upon my shame with caution.

The story of Job had been the inspiration — take one of the Lord's best and test them. There was precedent for a devout human to stand his ground against the forces of evil. But an angel resisting the temptation of demons? That would be interesting.

It need not be a particularly high-ranking angel. In fact, it was better it wasn't. Any angel would do. Hell, however, would not be a suitable location. The Principalities refused to let one of their own set foot in such a place. Earth was the only solution. But Earth was a very big place.

They supposed they should consider which demon, or demons, might be suitable challengers. It ought to be ones familiar with Earth — waiting for the demons to get accustomed to the terrain would only needlessly draw out the experiment. The problem was that most demons who physically inhabited the world of the living weren't particularly organized. Most recklessly haunted old buildings or wreaked havoc through possessions, and were regularly overcome by mere humans. Although far from average, it became clear that the only demons built for the task were those serving under Papa Emeritus IV. Those seven ghouls were the only ones reliable enough to be trusted with such an assignment. Each side liked their odds. The church was contacted, details were discussed, and an agreement was made.

The topic of which angel should be tested resurfaced. It shouldn't be a man — they'd done that last time. Besides, the archangels were eager to try again after the Eve incident. It was the 21st century, after all, and women ought to have another go at it. For simplicity, she should be an angel who had also spent a considerable amount of time on Earth. This, again, significantly narrowed down the subject pool. After much consideration, an angel named Ardis was selected. She was, by all accounts, perfectly average.

Ardis was summoned to the ghouls' cathedral three days before the two-month experiment was to start. Her higher-ups had accompanied her to ensure the location and their opponents were acceptable. Papa Emeritus IV, who quickly insisted upon just being called “Papa”, and the seven ghouls who worked in the church were in attendance. Ardis had never seen such spirits before. They were dressed in all black and each sported a silver, horned mask with small cut-outs for the eyes and mouth. She tried not to stare at their long tails, but her eyes kept flickering to them as Papa and her superiors discussed the details. She did her best to focus on their faces for the sake of being polite and discovered she would likely have trouble telling them apart. She could differentiate between the two women easily enough – one was slimmer and taller than the other. But as for the five men? Three of them looked identical. Heaven help her. Thankfully, one of them had the courtesy to be much taller than everyone else, and another was clearly rather muscular, even through all the layers of black fabric. She could feel herself staring. His eyes were hidden behind the shadows cast by his mask, so she couldn’t tell if she’d been caught admiring his broad shoulders. It was best not to test her luck and focus her gaze solely on the strange man in the face paint for the time being.

It soon seemed that both sides were in agreement. Two months of temptation. The angels won if Ardis remained devout to her faith. The demons won if anything else happened. Tiebreaker of the ages. No pressure.

On the decided date, Ardis stood before the outer wall of the… monastery? Cathedral? She realized she wasn’t sure what they called this building. She was alone, carrying only a small suitcase full of her few belongings. Steeling her nerves, she knocked on the large door. She fidgeted with her hair while she waited. A moment later, the door opened to reveal the broad-shouldered ghoul she’d met a few days prior. “Ardis, was it?” he asked. She realized this was the first time she’d heard him speak. His voice was deeper than she expected, and she couldn’t quite place his accent.

“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding slightly.

The cut-out on his mask was just big enough to reveal a tiny smirk. “Welcome. Right this way.” He opened the door further and ushered her inside. She thanked him and stepped into the familiar garden. The grounds surrounding her new home were admittedly beautiful. Although the statues peppered throughout the large garden were a bit grotesque and unsettling, the space was very well maintained. She admired her surroundings as she followed him towards the building. There was a thick evergreen forest just beyond the opposite stone wall. Perhaps it was just an effect of the soon-to-be-setting sun, but something about that dense wood made her uneasy. Aether must have caught her gaze lingering past the wall and interrupted her thoughts with, “I would stay out of that forest if I were you. There is nothing for you in there. And do try to stay within the grounds after nightfall.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. Some questions were better left unanswered. She was perfectly happy not knowing what lurked in the dark. She turned her attention to the building before her. It too was made of stone and featured many colorful stained-glass windows. She couldn’t quite make out the designs from the angle she was at, and made a mental note to examine them later as the ghoul pushed open the front door.

The man in the face paint—Papa, she remembered—was chatting with the remaining ghouls in the foyer when she entered the building. Lanterns lined the marble walls, casting shimmering lights up to the tall, arched ceilings. She felt a shiver run up her spine when her guide shut the door shut behind her, the sound of it echoing through the hall. This was it. Her two months had officially begun.

Papa stopped and turned around to greet them. “Allora, there she is. Ardis, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Ardis said with a polite nod as the group all gathered around. The ghoul she’d been following joined his peers.

“Wonderful, wonderful, yes, welcome,” Papa said, clapping his gloved hands together. He was dressed in his papal gown this time—it was Sunday, after all. The ghouls were whispering amongst themselves. Some seemed curious, while others clearly already had mischievous thoughts running through their heads. A few tails twitched excitedly. “I am glad you have made it here safely. You are just in time for the liturgy. As I am sure you can imagine, we are very excited to have you, little one.”

Ardis was very quickly starting to feel like prey, but did her best to put on a brave face. She’d never had a negative interaction with them during their brief encounters, but they were on opposite sides of an eternal battle. They all knew why she was there, but only her hosts knew what was in store for her.

"Our angel will be staying with, ehm, what did we decide... Ah, yes, Aether should be a fine match, sì?" The strange pope indicated toward the group of ghouls and the man who let her in flashed a playful toothy grin. She’d never noticed his fangs before and paled slightly. "Yes, you will bunk with Aether during your time with us.”

She simply nodded, trying to hide her surprise that she'd be sharing a room with one of the ghouls — and one of the male ones, at that. Although she supposed he seemed like one of the calmest of the bunch, so it certainly could have been worse. Some of the shorter ghouls seemed particularly rambunctious in a way that made her rather nervous.

“Oh, I suppose introductions are in order, yes?” Papa turned the floor over to the masked ghouls so each could introduce themself. First, there was Aether, whom Ardis had just met. Then was a man named Sodo, who seemed to be the shortest of the men. That was the one who made her a bit nervous for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Next was a ghoul named Rain, whom she was certain she would mix up with Sodo constantly. Mountain, conveniently, was clearly the tallest of the bunch. That one was easy. Swiss seemed equally as rambunctious as Sodo, but wasn’t quite as petite. Then Cirrus was the taller of the two women, and Cumulus was the shorter of the pair. Goodness, this was going to be tricky, especially between Sodo, Rain, and Swiss.

“It’s nice to meet you all. I apologize if it takes me a while to get your names right,” Ardis said timidly.

“Oh, it’s alright, dear,” Cirrus—was that Cirrus? Yes, definitely Cirrus—said with a warm laugh. “We know it can be hard with the masks.”

Ardis gave her a grateful smile. She knew they were likely just trying to lower her defences by making her feel comfortable, but… Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

"Mass will begin soon,” Papa continued, “then it is time for dinner, and then the rest of the evening is yours to spend how you wish. We can give you a proper tour in the morning. Aether, take her bag to your room for her, will you? We will meet you in the sanctuary.”

Next: Chapter II

[sleepdeprivedstoat]

"What?!" you scream at the demon in front of you.

"I'm sorry, but it says here you're assigned to Marie, age 5." The demon was wearing a blue shirt and tie, with small wings and smaller horns. He looked terrified- as he should.

You clench your fists, turning away. You're a monster- giant, torn wings and horns that twisted. These were the signs of a great demon, and now this?!

"There must be some mistake," you say finally.

"I'm sorry, but all the paperwork confirms!" the nervous filing demon said.

Growling to yourself, you exit the room, slamming the wooden door behind you. "Stupid 5 year old," you mutter on your way out.

The next week feels like an eternity. Marie summons you for every little thing- grabbing her drink from the kitchen, checking for monsters in her closet, and playing hide-and-seek. (Your wings always give you away) She calls you Dee-Dee, since she is too young to pronounce your real name.

"It's torture!" you shout whenever you get a free moment away.

Usually, a person will give up their demon when they feel their job is done. Marie, however, refuses to believe she is done with her Dee-Dee, however hard you may try.

Years go by, which feels like a century to you, and Marie gets into middle school. She still calls you Dee-Dee, but she calls you for more purposeful things now, or at least, that's what she calls them. She's asked you to look at her drawings, (They're actually quite good, though you refuse to admit it) look over her homework, and look for someone to be her friend. You've been quite helpful, and she always thanks you for what you do.

"It's still torture," you argued at the office whenever someone would ask.

The days were getting shorter for you, and before either of you know it she's in high school. her first day is a bit... odd.

You had been summoned early in the morning, as you always were on the first days of school, and you helped her get ready. You faded into the shadows so no one would see you, but you stuck close to Marie all day.

Near the end, two strong-looking boys walked up to the young girl. They rolled up their sleeves, and started shouting at Marie.

"Move! Can't you see we're walkin' here?!" The bigger one asks.

"But I-" Marie tries to protest. but the other cuts her off.

"B-B-But I-I-I-" He says, pouting his lip.

You feel your brow furrow and a low growl escape your mouth. Your sight grew red as the boys laughed at the poor girl. Tears escaped her eyes and she crumpled to the ground.

That's it, you think, sliding out of the shadows. You unfurl your wings, revealing the full size (though they were less torn, as Marie had tried to repair them.) and your twisted horns. Despite your business suit, the boys still look terrified.

"Get. Away. From. Her." You say, your deep, rough voice echoing around the halls. The words were cold and piercing.

The boys ran away tripping over themselves as they left. You rush over to Marie. "Are you okay?" you ask lightly, helping her to her feet.

"Y-Yes..." She says, wiping tears from her eyes.

You hand her her bag and smile, stepping back to give her space.

"Thank you Dimitri," she says, walking away. You clap your hand to your mouth. That was the first time she ever called you by your real name.

"It's... It's torture..."

Marie never gives you up, and after all these years, you don't mind it. She summons you less and less as she progressed with her human life, and you start to miss her more and more. But you were still there at her graduation, her first date, her wedding, when her children were born...

You relish these moments, the moments of Marie's life. You keep her close for all of it, even though she's more and more busy. You find things to do at the office, though it gets harder and harder.

The last time she summons you... you'll never forget. She called you, and you dropped the bag you were carrying. She was in bed, an IV beside her, the beeps seemed to get slower each second.

"M-Marie... no..." you say quietly.

"I'm sorry Dimitri... I tried to call you sooner..." Marie apologizes, her wrinkled face smiling.

Tears run down your face as you step closer, grabbing her hand. You don't know what to say. Your heart ached with every beep, every beep that got slower.

She squeezes your hand as the beeping stops, whispering her last words.

"Thank you, Dee-Dee.”

People still joke about it, the demon who got the 5-year-old, and whenever they talk about it they ask you if it was torture.

You shake your head every time, memories rushing back.

"No, it was amazing."

Due to a paperwork filing error you, a terrifying demonic creature, are now trapped in contract with a small little girl. She is constantly summoning you to play tag, check for monsters in the closet, look at her drawings… It’s truly torture.

[aishangotome]

Chapter 6-1 During Extreme Danger, One Must Consider Change (瓜極思變)

Chapter 5 Rumors

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.

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Once again, I've spent the night without sleep.

The morning light seeps in through the carved windows, creeping slowly and stiffly across the floor tiles, like the last gasps of a dying tree.

In the past, when I read ancient writings like "The world is cold, human feelings cruel, the rain sends twilight and flowers fall easily," I only felt an empty sadness. Now, I truly understand the meaning behind those words.

Fei Liang: Princess, you haven't slept for days and you refuse to eat. Your body won't be able to handle this.

Fei Liang comes to my side, her eyes red, carefully coaxing me.

Fei Liang: Please, just for Fei Liang, go get some sleep, okay?

Princess: Bow.

Fei Liang: ... What?

I prop myself up on the bed, ignoring Fei Liang's surprised expression, and repeat myself.

Princess: My bow. Bring it.

Fei Liang purses her lips and quickly fetches the bow and arrows hanging on the wall. I grip it in my hands, feeling a flicker of strength return.

Since returning to Shengning, I've barely used this bow. This place is different from the mountains. Its dangers aren't visible to the eye. Weapons, no matter how sharp, are no match for the schemes of the human heart.

I draw the bow, the arrow nocked, aiming at the closed door in front of me.

Princess: Fei Liang, where do you think this arrow will land?

Fei Liang looks at me in dismay, her face blank.

Princess: I've practiced martial arts and studied since I was young. I thought galloping across the battlefield and conquering the world would be exhilarating.

Princess: But after reading so many books, what good is it to be able to hit a target from a hundred paces? One person's strength is ultimately too small.

Princess: In this imperial city, true power has always been the kind that kills without drawing blood.

Fei Liang: The Second Prince will be fine.

Fei Liang tries to comfort me, but I know even she doesn't believe her own words.

Outside, there's a commotion. The sound of footsteps, accompanied by the clanging of metal, approaches aggressively, reaching my door in an instant.

The door is forcefully pushed open from the outside. A man with short white hair, carrying his usual arrogance and disdain, appears in my sights.

Fei Liang: G-General!

Fei Liang instinctively shielded me, fearing Han You might harm me, but a guard rudely pulled her aside.

Han You: Greetings, Princess. May you enjoy eternal happiness and good health.

Han You lifted his chin slightly, looking at me from the shadows as if sizing up his prey. Even the scar on his left eye seemed oppressive.

I didn't move, and neither did he.

In the silent standoff, I released my fingers, and the arrow pierced the door frame behind Han You.

Han You raised an eyebrow, a sneer spreading across his face.

Han You: The princess is as bold as ever. But in the past, you had the means to resist me. What about now?

Han You: Without your protective wings, how high can you fly? Besides...

Han You: Don't forget, it's lonely at the top.

I tried to straighten my back, not wanting to show weakness in front of him. But the more I did this, the more satisfied Han You seemed.

Princess: You brought the poison into the palace. You bribed the Imperial Physician Sun.

Princess: You and Consort Han conspired to kill my father.

Han You raised an eyebrow, neither admitting nor denying it.

Princess: Even if you wanted my brother to ascend the throne, there was no need to go this far. Why... why did you...

I clenched my fists, glaring at him. Han You just scoffed indifferently.

Han You: It doesn't matter anymore. After all... everything is settled.

Han You: The princess has already lost a loved one. Surely you wouldn't want such a tragedy to happen again?

Princess: ... What do you mean?

Han You: In a few days, I have a grand gift for the princess.

Princess: What are you planning?

Han You: Knowing beforehand would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?

He turned to leave, then looked back at me.

Han You: Do you regret returning to Shengning now, Princess?

Han You didn't wait for my answer and left directly. I don't know how long passed before Fei Liang came to support me, and I realized I was trembling.

Fei Liang: Princess...

Princess: Should I have never come back? If I hadn't, wouldn't...

Fei Liang: None of this has anything to do with you, Princess!

Does it really have nothing to do with me? I'm not sure. In fact, I'm unsure about everything now.

After that night, everything I thought I knew about people and things was overturned. The truths I held dear were shattered.

But I know I can't fall apart yet. For my mother, for my second brother, and to uncover the truth about my father's death.

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Chapter 6-2

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[gcldfanged]

whyfor have I followed thee~?: I admit, as a fellow 30+ queer transmasc human, seeing such in a fellow writer AND their muse somehow acts immediately as a draw. There is a fellow vulnerability that frequently lends to the greatest and most heartbreaking and mending creativity I've ever been priviledged to be involved in. Jae-hyo's history itself was also a draw. From his traumatic entrapment beneath his abusers, to his freedom clawed and kept primally against his scars with enough pressure to make the soul bleed-- he as a character that enthralled me from the very first. I admittedly also jumped for joy at finding another person unafraid to explore the darker aspects of fiction. For me, there is catharsis in writing the blacker shades of angst and being in control of the outcome- in putting my own creations through hell- one of my own ocs has history of being enslaved, and... you were just an amazing blog to behold.

Whyfore doth mine steps continue to dog thine shadow~?: one of the first things to catch my attention in original characters tends to be depth. do they breathe? are the variety of actions sensible to THEM as a person and not just an empty reaction to what is going on? do they MATCH the event? and sure, some of that comes from the variety of prose folx can use and one's writing style. but i regularly read your rp posts and literally visualise whatever is unfolding out. I'm regularly engaged with Jae-hyo's internal exposition, invested in the glances and glints of his past through such. Sometimes when it's a full look and the name and pronouns change, I mentally go 'it's okay darlin', it's not forever!!' XDDDD

You allow me to be educated as well. Which I am infinitely grateful for. Your ooc is also a delight (even when life shits on your flapjacks x.x), and your humour has more than once made me laugh aloud. I wanna write with you so bad, and I hope life begins to treat you better soon~.

Hey friend, I'm making food/thinking over my reply, but I really want to give you a heartfelt thank you- It really means a lot to me that you feel something from my work and enjoy the kinds of themes I explore with Jae… I often worry that people will look at the darker content and think I'm a try-hard or that Jae is a Misery Stu made to entertain an author boner for the 'over the top' and 'melodramatic', as if these very events don't happen in REAL LIFE and affect 'regular' people too ('regular' people, like ME, for example).

It really seems like critical thinking is dead these days. I remember reading a very excellent gay romance/fantasy novel that happened to examine slavery and sexual slavery in it's society and the overwhelming amount of negative reviews it had on GoodReads was shocking- All because it dared to even have slavery as a topic in the book, without examining the context in which it affects and is seen by the characters themselves. Literally, all the reviews were the same, basically saying "this book is garbage because it has slavery in it, ew" kind of vapid and mindless refusal to engage. Which, granted, they have the right to not engage, but oh my god???

It just honestly makes me mad- Am I supposed to be impressed other people choose to be ignorant and have a superiority complex about only enjoying characters they see as morally good or if they're not morally good, have the capacity for redemption? Or they're only good simply because they are 'relatable', like people need to step outside the narrow scope of their own experiences, I am begging-

Similarly, I have been stalking your blogs and I know things have been pretty rough on the both of us outside of roleplaying, so I'm always more than happy and willing to chat whenever we have the free time and spoons. Your portrayals and characterizations have been feeding me well despite absences and hiatuses between the both of us.

Thanks again for the kind words and time taken to express them, it's definitely helping me be less anxious about the idea of publishing my original works...

[skaldish]

Shadow-Work Pick-a-Pile

Before you are three images. Each represents a two-card tarot draw that addresses something about the Shadow—the parts of the self we hide from ourselves.

Choose one or multiple images that speaks to you, if any. Then click the "Keep Reading" link to see your fortune.

[Disclaimer: Please remember this is just a game and this reading is completely impersonal. I'll also discourage anyone from playing who's not in a calm and oriented state of mind, or otherwise not in the mood for introspection.]

Pile I

ACE OF WANDS (Reversed)

SIX OF PENTACLES

You can't reach the mountaintop by ignoring the foothills.

Human beings are forces of creativity and inspiration. But at times it can feel like the universe conspires against our pursuits. Right now we want so badly to actualize our ideas, but for some reason it's just not happening.

Pile 1 reminds us that the universe won't hand us results simply because we really, really want them. Every pursuit, no matter how passionate we are for them, has a process. If we ignore this process, try to skip it, or try to take shortcuts, we'll only find ourselves stuck and directionless. This is not the universe "punishing" us, but the natural outcome of cutting corners.

We need to accept there's dirty work involved with every pursuit; beginner things, boring things, ugly things, unglamorous things, difficult things, tedious things, delayed things, and things that are simply not gratifying. But the moment we do is the moment we can start producing real results.

Take some time to contend with this, and a path will open up to you.

Pile II

DEATH (Reversed)

KNIGHT OF CUPS

Change cannot be stalled with illusions.

Pile 2 is about resisting change. Specifically, it's about making up reasons to keep something the same, whether the nature of that "something" is physical, mental, social, or spiritual.

But now it's time to question the merit of these reasons. To what degree do these justifications hold truth? The mind is a powerful tool, but it can tell us many lies: That we've lost before we've even begun, that something that was true in the past is still true in the present, that something is impossible because it's never been accomplished, etc.

It's normal for us to resist change, and it's okay to fear it for no specific reason. But change is an inevitable part of life, and we need to go through changes to grow as people. If we chronically refuse change by crafting arguments against it, we risk walling ourselves up in a narrative of our own design.

Change doesn't need to sudden, nor do we have to abandon all discernment when confronted with it. But Pile 2 reminds us that there's a difference between "exercising caution" and "finding reasons to stay put."

Work on collaborating with the principle of change as opposed to ignoring it. When the unknown becomes known, it becomes a lot less terrifying.

Pile III

ACE OF PENTACLES (Reversed)

SIX OF SWORDS (Reversed)

A golden cage is still a cage.

Pile 3 suggests you've tried to make a difficult situation "work" for you for some time now because you depend it for security. However, it's time to accept the truth about your predicament: You're spending too much energy on something that just isn't serving you, and it's simply not worth it anymore.

We can convince ourselves to stay in lousy situations for one reason or another: We keep a toxic partner because we think we won't find love otherwise, we fake a persona for fear of displeasing people, we stay in an hostile work environment out of concern we won't get hired elsewhere, we tolerate a dysfunctional living situation because we don't know where else to go, etc.

But sacrificing your agency for security is just trading one kind of security for another. No one can truly feel safe and sound by doing this. Additionally, no healthy situation would ask you to make such an egregious trade.

Finding security elsewhere may seem like an impossible task, but Pile 3 would like to remind you that you always have a choice. It may be a difficult choice, and acting upon the choice may bring a period of instability with it, but no storm, no matter how great, lasts forever. Calm waters and blue skies await you outside of the golden cage.

Take a moment to contemplate what is no longer serving you.

---

[All images made with Wombo Dream AI]

[princesscolumbia]

Okay, I unironically love this, but it's been nagging at me since yesterday; where the hell did Gideon get a cradle beast in Canaan House? My "could write a short story but nooooo, gotta do 4.5k words of worldbuilding" mind has been whirring away at this to somehow make it canon compliant and I've come up with this:

So John "I never met a molehill I couldn't make into a mountain" Gaius is chilling with Alecto on the corpse of her previous self as the whole damn planet kinda just sits there dead, not even able to properly process all the corpses 'cause even the fucking bacteria are dead ('cause Jod is a greedy motherfucker) and they come across this dead cat. And Alecto has the knowledge of what this is from a, "I spawned this life" perspective what a cat is, but has no real concept of what a cat means to humans, and Jod, well-intentioned-road-worker-busy-working-on-that-highway-to-hell that he is, tries to explain what cats mean to human and realizes that this is a good chance to try experimenting with bringing something back to life and boom, one resurrected cat.

And naturally, he never bothers to name the cat, jawing on at his captive and only audience of one (1) anthropomorphized planet about how the person who owns the cat must choose a name that matches the personality and the cat is Alecto's now and fuck if she has the first foggy clue what to do with a cat, so the cat goes un-named.

Alecto, angry barbie doll that she is, doesn't realize that John screwed up monumentally when the cat doesn't eat, doesn't use anything resembling a litter box, and doesn't die because it's John's first real attempt it's an overpowered little shit and just kinda starts shadowing the only two living people left.

John promptly forgets about keeping an eye on the cat, and Alecto just lets the cat wander around, doing nothing to give it any attention and not even thinking of giving it any other aspect of "things living creatures need" because she's Earth and she just makes and consumes life, she doesn't manage it.

So 10,000 years later this cat is still kicking around, and along comes The Ninth for the new Lyctor trials and Griddle decides to absolutely fucking NOT be anywhere near Harrow if she can help it and winds up inadvertently stealing the cat's favorite napping spot for the last millennium and the cat, now being the Platonic Ideal of Cat, promptly does a "fuck you" and just lays on Gideon while she's asleep, and Gideon, Goth Jock Lesbian Himbo that she is, falls in love with this little night creature with disturbingly(affectionate) familiar behavior patterns.

The cat, experiencing actual human affection for the first time in 10k years, practically glues herself to Gideon's side. Harrow is, at first, absolutely, 100% against this little creature, but just like every cat-hating-dad on the Internet "secretly" falls in love and would kill everyone in the Empire and herself if anything bad happened to ickle Marrow and her beans.

Jod never sees Marrow 'cause she knows when to hide from Johny Abomination And The Lyctor 7 6 5 4 3, having learned to avoid being spotted during the first Lyctor Trials and having 10,000 years to perfect the craft, then when the Edenites airlift the non-Lyctor survivors out of there, they have acquired one (1) cradle beast that refuses to leave Gideon's body.

We don't actually see the cat again until Nona the Ninth. By this time little Marrow has bonded with Camilla/Palemedese (somehow knowing who's in charge of Cam's body at any given time and behaving differently for each) and the necromancer/cavalier don't really seem to notice that the cat doesn't need nearly as much Life™️ things as an animal normally would because they don't have the consistency of presence to notice. Nona somehow just knows that Marrow is a cat, but since she's got an innate understanding of cradle beasts she doesn't cotton to Marrow being at all unusual until after The Angel discovers Nona's drawing of a different cradle beast, and of course by then it's basically a running firefight/stealth-op/violent-revolution, and it isn't until Paul...instantiates and their memory merges that they finally start putting two and two together to get 48.

Marrow's just happy to finally be able to sit in Gideon/Kyriona's lap again, even if it's, at best, room temperature.

okie so griddlehark prompt: them adopting a little black cat?🥺 i love your art btw !!

sillies 🥺

[rainbowchewynuggets]

Hellboy & The Gatekeeper (pt 5)

(This section contains important spoilers for the plot of the Hellboy comics.)

G: This is my burden. I’ll handle it alone. You should go back before it’s too late.

Hellboy and the Gateekeeper are officially somewhere else now. They pass into dappled shadow as they enter a forest of coral that forms a sort of tunnel. Purple fires burn in the distance, winking through gaps in the freeform lattice.

H: No dice. I’ve got a job to do, too.

G: You’re a Gatekeeper?

H: Special investigator. I protect people from paranormal stuff. Like, uh…

G: *dejected* Like me?

H: No, no. Not like you.

Hellboy grasps at what to say. He draws a blank.

Figures from his past seize the opportunity to possess his mind. Rasputin, the mad monk who tried to use him to begin the apocalypse with his stone hand. His demon father, Azzael, who created him as a tool of such destruction and power. Hecate, the witch goddess with a body made of snakes who tried to force him to fulfill his destiny after he refused it.

Rasputin: Bring the end.

Azzael and Hecate: Bring us the end.

Flashes of frogs, hooks, tentacles, serpents, blood, and fire.

The figures press in behind Hellboy. He walks without acknowledging them, but the long curved red horns and flaming crown on his head betray the grave reality of their words. Their speech bubbles crowd his head oppressively.

Rasputin, Azzael, and Hecate: Your destiny is coming. You will bring the end of man. The end of order. The return of the dragon.

The seven enormous squirming spiked octopic beasts they’re talking about break through their crystal cages, far off in space. They reach downward, pressing down on Hellboy from above.

Other creatures and humans stare from the void, those who have wanted to take the Right Hand of Doom or the crown of Armageddon for themselves, or have attempted to wrest control over their futures from him in other ways. Among them is Malcolm Frost, who was present at Hellboy’s arrival on Earth as a child. He was so convinced of the evil of the little boy’s presence that he spent the rest of his life trying to have him killed. The man whispers in motionless terror from one corner.

Frost: Destroyer.

Hellboy refocuses on the present, his horns cut and crown out of sight, walking next to this kid in the cold dark passage.

H: Chaos. I protect them from chaos.

G: Oh.

The coral starts forming a more implausibly natural structure: a temple. Dense formations have been shaved down into pillars, long skinny support rods that crisscross the chambered ceilings, and decorative willowy carvings. (Imagine something halfway between the Kandariaya Mahadeva temple and a Greek acropolis, made of stone mesh and full of holes.) Its corridors stretch as far as the eye can see, with purple-white hazy light filling the distance of every direction.

Hellboy looks out a window.

Far below, an intricate city of clay, stone, and coral lies in a great valley in the dark. Robed people of the same race as the Keeper and Advisor go about their business with their own farms and trades, though uneasily. They seem aware of the trouble brewing in the temple on the hill. A spirit or two float their way up from wherever their bodies passed away in the vast city.

Hellboy and the Keeper pass under an archway with the gate symbol carved into it (the same one on the Keeper and Advisor’s necks) and into a small junction of pathways.

G: We’re here.

H: Okay, which way do we–

The rumbling begins again. Dust rains down from above. From a nearby passage, a horde of possessed robed people appear–none quite as large as the Advisor, but more intimidating in number. The Gate carvings on their necks are stretched and distorted. They all start shouting aggressively at the Keeper as the rumbling subsides.

Horde: Bastard! Traitor! Kill them!

Hellboy: Come on. Lay off, already!

The horde rushes forward. Hellboy reels his stone hand back in readiness.

The Keeper instantly climbs one of the porous walls and doesn’t stop until they’re near to the ceiling. They press themself on a shallow ledge as the fight below ignites.

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