#lgbtq themes

[justafrightenedhuman]

AAAA Mokmoklen had an English interview (here)

And here’s something that caught my eye:

I’m wondering if I can create some art piece to represent this!! If anyone has anyone ideas, shoot me an ask 😋😋

[mindstack]

you know as well as I that once

we intertwined there could be no separation

[switchedandbewitched]

Switched and Bewitched

Chapter 2: One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish...

Read chapters 1-7 on AO3!

The Gang filled Fred in on what they had discovered: 2022, completely changed Coolsville, their families were missing or dead. Light, happy topics. 

“Wow, these pain meds sure are something,” Fred said. He didn’t believe a word out of their mouths. 

“Red, rits re ruth,” Scooby said. They had snuck him into the hospital using a big trench coat and a hat. “Re really rare rin re ruture.”

“Scooby, we aren’t in the future. There’s another explanation.”

“No, Fred,” Velma said. “I can say that we are, without a doubt, in the year 2022. I, too, thought it was impossible and entertained several other more scientifically-sound ideas: a movie set, a fever dream, drugs, a traumatic brain injury-induced coma. 

They all fell quiet as a nurse in blue scrubs entered the room to check Fred’s vital signs and switch out a bag of clear IV fluid. “If everything keeps going well you should be out of here in a few days,” she said, turning to leave the room. 

Fred winced. “Alright, Gang, we need to split up and look for clues. Daphne, Velma you guys should speak to Red Herring. I don’t like it, but I can’t think of anyone who might still live around here. Scoob, Shag you should head to the address your uncle gave you. Maybe there will be more information. And me, well, I think we know where I’ll be.” 

The Gang nodded and said goodbye to Fred. None of them had ever been hurt badly, let alone hospitalized. It made them all uneasy. 

“Wait!” Fred called. Daphne turned and poked her head back in the hospital room. “Can you guys... check on my parents? I don’t really expect anything but...”

“Sure thing,” Daphne said. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Alright,” Velma said with the same hard, determined look that had lived on her face since arriving in 2022. “We will meet at The Malt Shop in 3 hours. Sounds good?”

“Like, I’m so ready for a double chocolate olive malt shake. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Velma.”

The Gang split up and set off in opposite directions. Velma was doing her best to update her mental map of Coolsville, using the odd landmark or old building she recognized. The small museum where they solved the Black Knight mystery was now a huge museum and contemporary art building with two massive wings added to either side. There was a tattered flier stapled to a telephone pole, advertising Funland, where The Gang had dealt with a malfunctioning robot on the loose. The Kingston Mansion, up high on a hill outside of Coolsville, seemed to be looming over Velma and Daphne. 

Daphne and Velma found the old Herring house after an hour or so of searching. It didn’t appear anyone had made any effort to repair what used to be minor cosmetic concerns and they had blossomed into full blown structural and safety issues. But, there was a newer car in the driveway and a newspaper on the front porch. Someone clearly lived here. 

“Okay, Velma, you knock.”

“Me? Why me? I don’t want to knock.”

“C’mon, Velma!”

“Fine!” Velma rapped on the door three times and waited expectantly. After a moment she heard shuffling and a loud bang from behind the door. 

“Goddammit!” a nasally voice yelled. A man opened the door. He was average height, a little stocky, with a red heart and arrow tattoo on his bicep. He was wearing khaki pants and a green vest. Velma and Daphne could imagine that if he wasn’t in his late 80s, his shock white hair would be bright red. 

Red Herring gasped and took a step back. “I’m having a stroke!” 

“You’re not having a stroke,” Daphne responded. 

“You look exactly the same! You haven’t aged at all. It isn’t possible,” Red Herring responded, taking another step back. He placed two of his fingers on his neck to check his pulse and then crossed himself. “You ruined my life!” 

“What are you talking about?” Velma demanded. “We didn’t ruin your life. You don’t understand, for us it has only been a day and a half.”

Red Herring darted back into the house, leaving the front door swinging open. All attempts at politeness out the window, Velma and Daphne followed him inside. It looked nearly the same as it had when they were kids, but the smell of cigarettes was stronger and there was a table of medication next to an oxygen tank seated by a recliner. 

“Red!” Daphne called as they crept down the hallway. The only open door was at the end of the hallway on the left Daphne and Velma peered around the doorframe and found Red Herring standing in the middle of what was once an office. The walls were covered with newspaper clippings, copies of police reports, photos, and other documents all tacked to the walls and connected by red string. 

“This doesn’t make any sense,” He breathed. 

“What is all this?” Daphne asked. She touched newspaper clipping with a photo of Red in handcuffs, being placed into a police car. The headline read: RED HERRING, AGE 18, IMPLICATED IN THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE COOLSVILLE 4. The article went on to explain that evidence was gathered showing there was a rivalry between Red Herring and Fred Jones, one of the missing Coolsville 4, and police had reason to believe he may be responsible for the disappearance. The next newspaper clipping had another photo of Red Herring in handcuffs, being led up the steps of the Coolsville Police Department: HERRING TAKEN INTO CUSTODY AGAIN; NEW EVIDENCE. Article after article about The Gang’s disappearance was pinned to the wall, followed by articles headlined with things like: COOLSVILLE ELITES TARGET OF BRUTAL MURDERS; WAS HEIRESS DAPHNE BLAKE THE FIRST VICTIM?

“Oh my god,” Velma said. 

“Do you know how many times I was arrested? Five! I was arrested over and over again. Always a new piece of evidence, they told me. But really there weren’t any other suspects and Fred had accused me of so many crimes leading up to your disappearance. I was never convicted but I’ve spent the last fifty years as an outcast. Everyone still believes I killed you.”

“We’re going to fix this, Red,” Daphne said gently. “But we need to get back to 1969 to do that. Can you tell us what happened after we disappeared?”

Red sighed and sat down in an office chair. “The cops said you went for a drive, out towards Okefenokee Swamp, and never came back. They searched the swamp for months but they never found your bodies or the Mystery Machine. Eventually they found Velma’s shoe and sock, Daphne’s headband, Scooby’s dog tag, and Fred’s ascot. At that point they no longer considered running away an option and you were declared missing, then presumed deceased. There was a brief period where Shaggy was named the number one suspect as they didn’t find any evidence he was harmed, but as they kept searching they found some torn green cloth that matched his shirts. They threw that theory out. Now, at this point they turned to me as a suspect as well as all culprits in the crimes you had solved, but most of them were still in jail at the time of your disappearance. I had a shit alibi but they also didn’t have much evidence to connect me to the crime -- other than the previous crimes Fred had accused me of -- which I never committed. All of your parents were interviewed, your teachers, hell, even the staff at The Malt Shop were questioned. After about two years the investigation was closed.”

“What about this article?” Daphne pointed at the article referencing the serial killer. 

“They did briefly attempt to connect your disappearances with a serial killer who showed up in June, 1970. It was unsuccessful. Cops never even caught the killer, let alone connect the killer to you guys.” 

“And this?” Velma pointed to a small corner of one wall, dedicated to articles about Dr. Albert Shaggleford. 

“Dr. Shaggleford was quite vocal about... alternate reasons for your disappearance,” Red said. He chuckled for a moment and then sobered up. “I guess it isn’t so ridiculous now but at the time he was talking about wormholes and magic. Most people wrote it off as eccentric millionaire bullshit. I did talk to him one time and he was convinced you would return someday.”

Yes, he left a letter for Shaggy at the bank. I refuse to believe he didn’t know something,” Velma said.

“Where are our parents?” Daphne hesitated because she didn’t really want to know, after a second thought. 

“Well, like I said, they were all interviewed - multiple times - after you disappeared. Most of them stayed in Coolsville for a long time in case you showed up one day, but some of them moved away.” Red spun around to face the hallway door and pointed to the upper lefthand corner. There was an article from the New York Times titled THE ILLEGAL BLAKE MILLIONS. “Your parents fled to the Caymans after being caught embezzling money. I lost track of them after that but they would be well over a hundred by now so I suspect... Anyway, Velma, your parents split up. Your mom stayed here and passed away about ten years ago, peacefully. I’m not sure what happened to your dad. Shaggy’s parents sold their house nearly thirty years ago and moved to a retirement community in Utah. Fred’s parents both passed away nearly twenty years ago now.”

Velma stared down at the floor as though it would open up, swallow her, and spit her back out in the 60s. Daphne swallowed hard and blinked. “That’s what I thought.” 

“None of them ever stopped hoping.” Red offered gently but his voice still had a hard, bitter edge to it.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re going to figure out how to get home.” There was no certainty in Velma’s voice. If it was a normal Thursday she would be getting ready to leave Introduction to Quantum Physics at Cal Polytechnic right now. Instead, her parents were dead and she had no idea what would happen to them. Would time travel somehow rip a hole in the fabric of reality? Were they living on borrowed time?

“We should meet back up with Shaggy and Scooby,” Daphne said. “Thank you so much for your help, Red. I’m so sorry that they put you through hell.”

Red shrugged and coughed. “Is what it is again. If you do get back to 1969... maybe stop accusing me of things? Ya know, in case you time travel again.”

“Sure thing,” Daphne said. 

“Wait, take these files. Maybe there’s something in them.” Red dropped four thick manilla folders stuffed with photos and documents into Velma’s arms. 

“You don’t happen to have a new map of Coolsville, do you?”

Red slapped a map down on top of the folders. “Sure do. I’ll be here if you need anything else. Not much for an old man to do around here.” 

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Shaggy and Scooby were hauling ass to the Shaggleford address in hopes there would be food. 

“Like, Scoob, I’m starving. Wasting away. If I don’t make it, go one without me,” Shaggy said. He placed one hand on his forehead and mimicked fainting. 

“Re, roo, Raggy,” Scooby said. He also placed one paw on his forehead and then fell to one side, rolled over, and stood up in one fluid motion. 

Scooby and Shaggy arrived at a large house on a sloping hill that sat behind a tall, wrought iron fence. It wasn’t a mansion per se, but was definitely a close cousin of one. There were no cars in the driveway and, though the yard was perfectly landscaped and flowers in full summer bloom, there was no indication when the last time someone had been there was. Shaggy punched the code in on the silver keypad mounted to the gate and it popped open with a somewhat rusty click. 

“Ready, ol’ pal?” 

“Rever,” Scooby said and shook his head. 

Shaggy and Scooby made their way up a stone walkway to the front door. It was an intimidating black door that stood out from the white mediterranean plaster. Shaggy knocked on the door once; no answer. Shaggy knocked again, a bit more forcefully; no answer. 

“Raggy, rook,” Scooby said and pointed one claw at a white metal box, low to the ground. Shaggy knelt to look at it and found there was the same silver keypad on the side of the box. It opened with the same code as the gate and inside were five keys, each engraved with The Gang’s names and Scooby’s was on a retractable clip meant to attach to his collar. 

“Nice catch,” Shaggy said, sticking the key into the door. The door swung wide open, revealing a fancy foyer with a staircase and single round oak table in the middle of the room. The table had a plastic ficus and a phone. 

The phone started to ring. 

“Ruh... Raggy, rou ronna ret rat?” 

“Hello?” Shaggy yelled into the house. “Hello!” A heavy silence met him, broken only by the ringing phone. 

“Like, yeah, Scoob, I guess I am.” With all the confidence he could muster (not much) he marched up to the phone. It wasn’t like any phone he had seen before and it had a little screen that displayed the number. It was the same as the phone number listed in Uncle Shaggleford’s letter. “Like, h-hello?”

“Hello, sir, I am terribly sorry, sir, we will be over ASAP. I do apologize for the delay.” The man stumbled over his words on the phone and as nervous as Shaggy was, this man was doubly so. 

“Like, man, I’m not sure I understand. Who are you?”

“Well - ah, well I suppose I am your great-nephew, sir, Timothy Shagburg. I’ve been assigned to handle all of your affairs,” the man said. “We’ll be sending a cleaning crew over to get the house in order as well as the grocery service and --”

“Like, no need to keep going. Grocery service is all I need to hear.”

“We will have the house set up b-by the evening and once again, I do apologize for the d-delay. See you soon, um, Uncle Norville.” The phone clicked and Shaggy set it back down on the receiver. 

Shaggy began tiptoeing around the house without a doubt that a monster or ghost or ghoul would jump out of a closet. Off the foyer to the right was a massive kitchen and dining room. To the left was a living room and two bedrooms. One bedroom had drawers filled with green t-shirts and brown pants. For some reason there were red t-shirts mixed in but Shaggy simply shrugged it off as a mistake. The other bedroom had a plush dog bed, basket of dog toys, and seven of the same collar hanging on the wall. Shaggy snagged one and popped it on Scooby. At some point Scooby had lost his trademarked tag. The three bedrooms upstairs were exactly what he expected, each one filled with clothes that clearly belonged to Fred, Daphne, and Velma. Shaggy found the door to the basement, took one look at the dark staircase and decided against it. The Gang could take a look at it when they got here. Across all the rooms was a thick layer of dust, it was clear no one had been in the house in years. 

Shaggy searched through the cupboards, refrigerator, and even the oven for food but there was nothing. On the counter he found an envelope with some money and contact information for other employees of the Shaggleford estate.

Read chapters 1-7 on AO3!

[ryebread-x]

6 Princesses

I drew my own twisted retelling versions of the six most popular fairytale princesses (very loosely based off the original fairytales not Disney) . These are also all crossover retellings and all takes place around the same time period.

Where:

Sleeping Beauty never wakes up till the 1800s

and The Beauty becomes the Beast

Rapunzel’s hair is a curse not a blessing and

The Little Mermaid has to find her true love before she dies

Snow White has to side with the evil queen having her right to the throne revoked and is shunned by her kingdom while

Cinderella doesn’t get her happy ending with her prince

[selene-yoshi-chan]

Preview of my short comic:

PDF will be available these days, I had to stop editing before of flooding in my country.

[pseudepigraphic]

BLACKWOOD BOOKS.

When Alicia Blackwood steps into her late mother’s bookstore for the first time since being willed the business upon her 22nd birthday, she doesn’t expect a thriving clientele to be waiting for her to re-open its doors. She is especially surprised to find that many members of the local community visit the store in search of books that are often outside of the norm, or even downright magical. Bronwyn Hawthorne has always dreaded the day that her favorite bookstore closes, or worse, is taken over by a non-magical owner. After the passing of her mentor and Blackwood Books’ founder, she worries that the new face of the store won’t be able to supply the books necessary for her catering company’s survival. Luckily, the late owner of Blackwood might have a few tricks left in her sleeves to help the store’s legacy extend for generations to come.

ABOUT.

Stage: writing, first draft Genre(s): low fantasy, ya, romance POV: first person, past tense Tags: magical realism, lgbtq/queer themes, female mc, lesbian mc, witches, small towns, low fantasy, small business, parent death, strangers to friends to lovers, age gap romance, wlw, etc.

CHARACTERS.

Alicia Blackwood | Owner of Blackwood Books, 22, Lesbian Bronwyn Hawthorne | Catering Company Owner, Queer, Witch Ivan Tetherton | Tailor, 37, Trans, Vampire Maria Blackwood | Dead, Past Owner of Blackwood Books, Witch

LINKS.

page | tag | inspo | pinterest coming soon!

EXCERPT.

When I stepped out of the backroom, I was greeted by an ethereally beautiful person with curls twisting halfway down their back and brown skin dappled by sunlight from the cracks between boards covering the windows. She turned toward me and frowned deeply. “Who are you?” She said in a raspy voice. I gaped a little at her rude tone. “Um...I’m Alicia. Blackwood. My mother used to own this store?” My words became questioning even though they were true. “Er, sorry, who are you?” My eyes flickered between her hands, holding a stack of cookbooks with odd names, and her face, which had become less icy upon hearing my last name. She sat the cookbooks on the counter. “I’m Bronwyn Hawthorne. I run a catering company down the street. Have you...are you taking over the shop?” “Nice to meet you. Um...I’m thinking about it. My mom left it to me. I don’t know how to run a business, but I just felt like I needed to take over.” I looked down at the books under my hands. The top one was called “Magical Plants: Herbs and Fungi for the Average Witch.” I looked at Bronwyn again and laughed a little. “Wow, I didn’t know they made fictional textbooks. Um, you want to buy these?” Her face twisted slightly like she didn’t know what to think of me or I’d said something wrong. “Yes.” I swallowed and turned toward the register next to me to get away from the awkward tension that had suddenly erupted between us. My earlier retail experience came in handy, and I quickly navigated to scan the books. “Um...that’ll be $62.94.” I turned back and she handed me a stack of bills, then picked up her books and left without waiting for a receipt or any change. I started to call out but was cut off by the door slamming shut behind her. “How odd.”

[dimenoveladozen]

In today's chapter, we meet another of our protagonists, Dusty Dick, and shift into writing that should feel a little more accessible!

A small excerpt from the chapter helps give a sense of the ways gender often works in dime novels, where the sense of binary stability often fails to hold!

Excerpt: Silently the miner and his dog descend into the gulch, and creep stealthily toward the spot where the arm and hand protruded from the bushes. And the nearer they approach the greater Sandy’s assurance that the owner of the head and arm was either asleep, or in the eternal sleep that knows no wakening.

It proved to be the former, when Sandy carefully parted the bushes, and gazed into the sheltered little nook, where a plump, graceful form was lying—that of a boy of eighteen, with a pretty, beardless face, which was so composed and at rest, in slumber, and curling chestnut hair, which reached down upon the finely-shaped shoulders. A boy; was it a boy?

The form was clad in male habiliments, and there was a boyish look to the finally-chiseled features, which defied the suspicion of femininity in the sleeper.

A plain frontier costume of some course cloth, neatly fitting the graceful form of only medium hight; the feet encased in knee-boots of a fine leather, and a Spanish wide-rim hat lying upon the grass, were items of the beautiful sleeper’s outfit.

Weapons he carried none, outwardly, exhibited—yet, here in the depths of the mountain, lying in sweet repose, was the youthful waif—who was it?

[ricihh]

Finally a new yansim fic! I absolutely love Ayano/Taeko so I had to do something involving the hcs of my “not yandere au”. You can find them on my profile if you wish! Trans Taeko is everything to me and here's how Ayano found out about it in my au.

Rating: G

Fandom: Yandere Simulator

Relationship: Ayano Aishi/Taeko Yamada

Main Tags: Oneshot, Fluff, Coming Out, Trans Female Character, Established Relationship, LGBTQ themes, Alternate Universe - Not Yandere

Warnings: None!

Summary: Ayano has discovered something unnerving about herself, something that could change her relationship with one of the most important people in her life: Taro, her boyfriend. 

Gathering all the courage in her body, she goes to his house to tell him. 

Little does she expect the surprise that awaits her.

[agender-adrastea]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: National Football League RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Joe Burrow/Ja'Marr Chase, Joe Burrow & Ja'Marr Chase, Joe Burrow & Josh Allen Characters: Joe Burrow, Ja'Marr Chase, Josh Allen, Zac Taylor (National Football League RPF), Carl Nassib, Background & Cameo Characters Additional Tags: Possessive Behavior, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Coming Out, in that order, Dom/sub Undertones, it's not explicit but it's kink-adjacent, hence why it's rated M, Clothing Kink, ?? - Freeform, based on Joe wearing Ja'Marr's CFB championship jersey Summary:

This isn’t just plain-old friend stuff. It could be best friend stuff, but as Joe imagines Ja’Marr picking these out, and his calculating glance, and the possessiveness in his eyes when he’ll eventually wear them outdoors…

He hopes it’s not just best friend stuff.

or

Joe and Ja'Marr's relationship, from LSU to the Bengals

[selanaris]

This is "Power".

Power is a short film that follows a transgender high schooler in rural Arkansas who experiences a sharp social decline after his friends out him as trans to the entire school.

Based on the life experiences of our writer, the story begins with a game of truth or dares between three high school besties; Mack, Kylee, and Elisha. During the game, Mack is dared to reveal their deepest secret.

With this dare, they decide to come out to their friends as trans. After this night, Mack comes to learn how easily shattered friendships can be due to the fears and biases that are targeted toward a minority group.

While the film is addressed to the transgender community, our team strongly believes that the themes associated with the film are universal. The film speaks on social isolation based on the minority status of an individual, social stigmatization towards a minority group, social status, and identity as a minority. With this film, we also seek to speak about social alienation as a product of bigotry.

To help spread this film, follow us on Instagram

https://instagram.com/powershortfilm2023?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Or give support to us on GoFundMe so we can distribute our film as far as possible

[presidentstalkeyes]

A year after the Maligula Case, Razputin Aquato returns to Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp to give a special presentation. While out walking in the woods afterwards, he's surprised by the arrival of Nils Lutefisk, who has an unusual request for him.

It soon becomes clear that there's another reason why Nils acts the way they do, and it's far beyond anything Raz had imagined. Nonetheless, he does his best to support his ex-fellow camper through the beginning of their journey of self-discovery.

[switchedandbewitched]

Switched and Bewitched

Chapter 1: Scoob, like, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

Read more on AO3!

“Uh, like, fuck.”

“Well put, Shaggy, thank you,” Velma said. She rubbed the back of her neck and adjusted her dirt-smattered glasses. She was missing her right sock and shoe. 

Somewhere off to the side they both heard Fred groan. “Have either of you seen Daphne?”

“I’m up here, Freddie.”

The gang looked up to see Daphne haphazardly dangling from over them from a tree limb. A cut on her cheek dripped blood onto Shaggy’s green tee. 

“Like, how you doin’ up there, Daph?” Shaggy asked. 

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Can you just help get me down?” 

As Fred and Velma helped Daphne down from the tree Shaggy began to call out Scooby’s name. “Scooby-Doo, where are you?” 

“Ri’m rover here.” Scooby was several yards away in a bush but thankfully uninjured. The Gang reconvened under the tree and looked around. “Ruys, rhere rare re?” 

There was an initial pause until finally Fred said, “I... I’m not sure.”

“We need to figure out what is going on. Immediately,” Velma said. She smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and looked up, her mouth set in a hard line. “This is completely abnormal. We have never experienced anything like this before while solving a mystery. That witch must have drugged us and staged this to scare us off.”

“Velma, that doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel like I’ve been drugged. Remember that one time I was roofied at Red Herring’s party?”

“You mean that one time Red Herring roofied you,” Fred stated. 

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, Fred, Red Herring did not --”

“Well, what would you propose as an explanation, Daphne?” Velma asked. 

“Arguing isn’t going to help anything. If the witch did move us, we need to figure out where we are so we can go home,” Fred said. “We seem to be in some kind of park so there has to be a road nearby.” 

“Like, Scoob and I are starving. It feels like we haven’t eaten in decades.” 

It was near evening already and it took The Gang another two hours to hike through the park, eventually locating an access road that led them to a paved street. When they reached the street, there were few clues as to where they were. Thick trees blocked out any light there might have been from a town and the street lights flickered on and off at random. 

“Now what?” Daphne asked. 

“I guess we just wait until someone drives by,” Fred responded. 

“Someone who is willing to pick up all four of us in this state and a 70  pound dog? Doubtful. We should pick a direction and walk until we get our bearings. We can’t possibly be that far away from home. The North Star is there.” Velma pointed. “The swamp we were in was to the east of Coolsville so we should travel west to get home but that would take hours.” 

“Right,” Scooby said. 

The Gang started off, silently. It was clear none of them were in as good of shape as they thought. Once their adrenaline wore off, they noticed hidden sore spots and bloody patches. Daphne’s face clearly needed stitches, much to her chagrin, and she could feel her stomach bruising from where she landed on the tree branch. Velma decided she must be missing a sock and shoe because they were ripped off when she twisted her ankle somehow. Shaggy was under the impression he and Scooby were fine until he reached down to pet his faithful companion and not only realized his arm was nearly immobile but Scooby’s ear was ripped and his face full of thorns. Fred kept it to himself so as not to worry the rest of the group but the longer they walked, the more painful breathing became. 

After about forty-five minutes of walking along the road, they saw headlights behind them. The Gang waved their arms in the air and shouted for the car to stop. The car slowed to a stop and The Gang squinted into the bright lights. The large pick-up rolled down its window to reveal an older woman with a kind face. 

“What are you kids doing all the way out here so late at night?”

The four hesitated before Daphne said, “Thank you for stopping, ma’am. We got lost during a hike and seem to have injured ourselves.”

“You couldn’t use a cellphone to call someone?” She asked. The Gang looked at one another, confused. “I s’pose service is spotty around here. Why don’t ya get in?” Shaggy, Velma, and Daphne got into the back seat and hauled Scooby over their laps. Fred slammed the back door and got in the passenger’s seat. “So, where can I take you guys? I’m driving through the center of town on my way home.”

“Uh, like, I think the hospital might be best, ma’am,” Shaggy said in a sheepish tone. 

“Coolsville Memorial is about fifteen minutes from here. I don’t mind dropping you kids off there. You can call your families, right?” 

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” Fred said. “Thank you so much.” 

The woman reached forward and turned the volume up on the radio. Country music started playing. The Gang fell silent and laser focused on the radio. It was not the country music that caught their attention, but instead the way the radio lit up, the number of buttons, and that the dashboard had little diagrams of people and high-low settings. They each stiffened up and looked at once another, but did not say anything in front of the kind woman who had picked them up. 

“So, my name’s Greta. What are all y’all’s names?” 

“I’m - I’m Fred.”

“My name is Velma.”

“Like, my name’s Shaggy and this is Scooby-Doo.”

“And I’m Daphne.”

“Well, I am pleased to meet’cha.”

The rest of the ride went quietly, just country music, Greta’s humming, and a growing tension among The Gang. 

Shaggy, in true Shaggy fashion, was already convinced something spooky was going on here. Many may confuse his over-indulgence in a certain herb and severe panic disorder with stupidity, but Norville Rogers was no idiot. He considered that monsters had been real in prior instances and saw no reason why the case they were working on couldn’t have led to an honest-to-god witch who could cast real magic. Whether the rest of The Gang could be convinced remained undecided. 

Velma, on the other hand, was entirely against a supernatural explanation. The Gang had not been in Coolsville at the time they located the so-called “witch”, but about two hours away in a neighboring town. If the masked individual drugged the entire Gang, loaded them into a vehicle, and transported them back to Coolsville with paid actors like this Greta woman it would have taken several hours. According to the clock on the truck’s lighted dashboard it was 8:27pm, approximately three and a half hours from when they arrived at the witch’s cabin. Velma ruminated on the situation for a few moments more. 

Jinkies, she thought to herself. We’re on a movie set! That explains everything! 

Fred was nearly unable to think through the unbearable pain in his chest. He believed The Gang to have been kidnapped somehow and transported back to their hometown. On the other hand, it did not make sense for the witch to have known where they lived. Despite his effort, the Scooby-Doo Detective Agency had not yet become a household name. 

Daphne felt incredibly off-put by the entire situation, not just due to the pain or strange circumstances. Every now and again a memory that didn’t truly belong to her appeared in her mind’s eye. She tried to shake the feeling that the witch had done something sinister to her but fragments of people, places, and cases she previously had no knowledge of bobbed to the surface. Daphne had already determined she was not drugged, regardless of what Velma had to say. The more she considered their predicament the more she thought about being hypnotized by the Ghost Clown. 

“Here we are,” Greta said, spooking the whole Gang. “Y'all get home safe now, ya hear? Toodaloo!”

The Gang unloaded themselves from Greta’s strange truck with much groaning and grunting. Fred stumbled and dropped to his knees. 

“Freddie!” Daphne cried. “Are you alright?” 

Fred stood, shaking and out of breath, and waved Daphne off. “Fine. I’m just a bit light headed. Who knows when we ate last.”

The Gang stopped and stared up at the glowing Coolsville Memorial Hospital sign. Shaggy’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “Um, like, guys this doesn’t look like the same hospital where they took my appendix out.”

“I have come up with a theory,” Velma declared. “The witch was clearly using advanced special effects, like the kind you would see in a movie, and makeup to stage her cabin in the swamp. I hypothesize that she did not transport us back to Coolsville but rather dropped us on to some kind of movie set, albeit a very large movie set. The doctors and nurses there are probably paid actors. We aren’t going to get any medical attention.”

“Velma, that is absurd,” Daphne responded. “We drove 15 minutes in that woman’s truck, down a mountain, and into town. There is no movie set in the world that big. You must have hit your head.”

Velma glared at Daphne, and her rationality. She was right, of course, but so far that was the only non-supernatural possibility that fit the equation. 

A hospital staff had seen The Gang standing in front of the ER entrance, clearly injured, and came outside. “Are you kids looking for the emergency room?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Fred huffed. 

“Okay, you should come on in, but the dog has to remain outside,” The nurse said. 

“Rog? Rhere?” Scooby whispered. 

“Understood, thank you. Scooby, you’ll have to wait outside.” Velma pointed to some thick flower bushes and hedges and whispered to Scooby. “Hide over there, we don’t know what is going on.”

The Gang followed the woman to the hospital desk and checked each of them in. Flatscreen TVs played the 9 o’clock news and only increased the Gang’s confusion. The weather reports listed today’s date as August 21st, 2022 even though it was December 6th, 1969 when they woke up this morning. 

Daphne and Shaggy felt panic set in. Fifty-two years? This didn’t make any sense. Velma felt an increasing anxiety as she continued to lack a rational explanation for this. Fred could no longer process anything beyond the pain he was in and collapsed to the floor. 

“Triage, STAT,” played over the loudspeaker. “Triage, STAT.”

Suddenly there were nurses swarming over Fred and they whisked him away on a stretcher. 

“Where are you taking him?!” Daphne cried.

“Ma’am we need you to stand back, a doctor will update you shortly.” 

Defeated, The Gang slumped into waiting room chairs. Each one was taken back one by one, in order of severity of injury. Shaggy was taken back next and found to have a dislocated shoulder and some cuts and scrapes. Daphne was taken for x-rays and an ultrasound to check for internal bleeding, which were clear. Eventually a plastic surgeon came and stitched up her face. Velma, in the best shape out of everyone, was taken for x-rays of her ankle and found to have a severe sprain but no fractures. 

A doctor came out to the freshly patched-up Gang and informed them Fred would be taken into surgery as he had two broken ribs, one of which had lacerated his liver. 

“When can we take him home?” Daphne asked. 

“He needs to stay in the hospital for a few days but you can take him then. He will need serious rest. He must have fallen very hard from a great height to get the breaks he did.” The doctor’s tone told them he didn’t believe the injuries were caused by a fall while hiking but The Gang kept their mouths shut.

The Gang shuffled outside and found Scooby still hidden in the bushes. Shaggy pulled out some tweezers and gauze he stole from the hospital and began pulling thorns out of Scooby’s face.”

“Rouch, Raggy.”

“Like, sorry, ol’ buddy.” 

“August 21st, 2022,” Velma said. “This is quite the elaborate plot.”

“Velma, I think this is August 21st, 2022. Look around. This isn’t fake,” Daphne insisted. 

“Then offer me a rational explanation for how this happened,” Velma countered. 

Daphne kicked a rock down the sidewalk in frustration. “There isn’t one.”

“Like, let’s start walking home. I’m sure everything will be fine once we see our parents and eat a triple decker salami, peanut butter, and anchovy sandwich. I’ve been meaning to visit my parents for, like, two months,” Shaggy said. Shaggy had spent the last several months partying his way through his freshman semester at Wetherby University before eventually dropping out. He’d been too embarrassed to visit his parents since. 

With no better option, The Gang limped off towards home. New buildings they had never seen lined roads they had never been on. People wandered in and out of restaurants and bars in strange clothing with their noses practically glued to lighted screens. The Gang got lost more than once when they turned down a new side street. There was far more trash in the streets and graffiti than they remembered. But then again, by all accounts this version of Coolsville was a true city. 

After at least an hour and a half of missteps and wrong turns, they reached the Rogers’ residence. The house was the same except it had been painted and a new fence was erected. Scooby’s doghouse no longer sat in the yard. 

“Like, here goes nothing,” Shaggy said and, with more confidence than he had had all night, he marched up the stone walkway and knocked on the door. 

A light flicked on inside and a disgruntled man in his PJs opened the door. “Can I help you? Do you know what time it is?”

“Um... like, I’m looking for my parents, Colton and Paula Rogers.”

“You’re joking.”

“Like, no, sir, I’m not joking. They live here.”

“I’m sorry, but we bought the house from Colton ah... well, I’d say going on 25 years now,” The man responded and pushed his glasses on his face. “You do look awfully familiar though.” 

“I’m their oldest kid. Norville, Norville Rogers. Did they leave a forwarding address?” A lump was growing in Shaggy’s throat, getting heavier by the second. 

“Well, I have to say again: you’re joking. And I don’t have any patience for pranks at this time of night.”

“Like, wait, I’m not joking!”

“Son, Norville Rogers, his friends, and his dog went missing on December 6th, 1969. It was one of the biggest missing person’s cases in the history of California. Norville Rogers would be nearly 70 years old by now and you look barely 20. Have a good night.” The door slammed in his face. 

Shaggy’s face blanched and he turned around to face The Gang. “Like, I’m with you, Daph. We’re actually in 2022.”

“There has to be another explanation. Let’s try Blake Manor.” 

Seeking out Daphne’s parents was an even worse result. Where the beautiful mansion Daphne grew up in once stood was an expansive parking lot and massive shopping center. 

Velma gritted her teeth, “Fine. My house, then.” 

They trekked all the way to the Dinkley residence where new people were living with their kids, based on the look of the front yard. They didn’t even bother knocking. It was clear from the exterior of the home that the Dinkley’s were no longer at the residence. The tree where The Gang’s treehouse was  had been cut down and in its place was a large, flat stump. 

“Wait a minute,” Velma muttered. She stood up and hobbled in her aircast over to some shrubs lining the home and disappeared behind them. 

“Velma! You’re trespassing!” Daphne hissed. “Come back -” CLANG!

“Let’s go,” Velma said and disappeared into the earth. 

Shaggy, Daphne, and Scooby followed Velma down a short ladder into a hole in the ground. The hole opened up into a small room, no more than 6x6x4 feet and supported by an impeccably designed wooden framework. There were dusty trinkets on shelves mounted to the walls, molded books on the ground, and some miscellaneous documents on the floor. 

“Like, what is this place? It looks like no one’s been down here in 100 years.”

“Fifty-five years to be precise. The last time I was down here was three years before we visited the witch’s swamp. No one knew about this but me.” Velma picked up a dusty beaker and then set it back down immediately. “Fine. You’re right. We actually experienced time travel somehow. Now we need to figure out how to get back.” 

“I think we have more basic concerns than that, Velma. Food, water, clothes, somewhere to sleep. Clearly none of our family is still here. We could try the Jones’,” Daphne said with a gentleness in her voice that hadn’t previously been there. She must have realized Velma was an inch from a breakdown. 

“Tomorrow,” Velma responded. She laid her sweater on the cool earth, laid down, and curled into a ball. “It’s after midnight. We need to sleep.” 

“Rown here?” Scooby protested. 

“Like, sorry, Scoob. It’s all we got.” 

In the morning, the reality of their situation set in a little bit more. The light of day made the differences all the more noticeable. Coolsville might as well have been a completely new city The Gang had never lived in. 

“Okay, we need a plan,” Velma stated flatly after they crawled out of their hole. “Money, a place to stay, IDs, food --”

“Like, yeah, food,” Shaggy sighed wistfully.

“Any ideas?” Velma finished. 

“I could try my bank account, though it’s probably closed by now,” Daphne offered.

“We should all try our bank accounts,” Velma agreed. “And anyone who might be alive still.”

“Red Herring?” 

“Red Herring.” 

The first order of business, money, required The Gang to travel to the Coolsville Savings Bank on the east side of town. They walked through business with strange names, selling products they’d never heard of before. 

“What is ‘bubble tea’ and why is it $8?” Daphne asked. 

“Like, man, some of the food in this era seems fantastic,” Shaggy said. 

“I have no intention of getting used to this whatsoever,” Velma said. “We are getting home one way or another.”

Just as Daphne had thought, her bank account was long since closed. The bank teller informed her the Blakes had made a sudden move to the Cayman Islands some decades ago and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. 

Shaggy, knowing he had about $5 in his bank account at the time of their disappearance, was not feeling particularly hopeful. 

“Like, hello, ma’am, I’d like to make a withdrawal.”

“Do you have the account number,” the teller responded. 

“No, but it would be under Norville Rogers.”

The teller coughed and straightened up. “Excuse me, could you repeat that, please.”

“Norville Rogers, please.”

“Do you have an ID, sir?”

Shaggy pulled out his wallet and presented the teller with a 1967 California state driver’s license and smiled sheepishly. “I know this may not make a lot of sense, but --”

“Wait right there,” the teller said briskly. 

Shaggy widened his eyes at Daphne and Velma and tried to telepathically communicate something along the lines of Oh, shit, man! They’re gonna get the cops! Let’s make a run for it! But neither Daphne nor Velma moved an inch. 

Maybe 20 minutes later the teller returned with every higher-up in the bank on her tail, no police in sight. Several men in suits passed Shaggy’s ID around and glanced back and forth from the scrawny teenager and the card. 

The man in the fanciest suit handed the license back to Shaggy. “Can you please confirm the names of your parents.”

“Um, like, Paula and Colton Norville.”

“Can you please confirm the name of your dog?”

“Scoo...Scooby-Doo?”

“Prior to residing in Coolsville, California, where did you reside?”

“Plymouth, Massachusetts... Like, man, if my account is closed, just tell me and we’ll be on our way.”

“Can you please...” the man looked at a paper in his hand and cleared his throat. “Confirm the name of your coolest and most handsome uncle?”

“Uh, well, that’s a tough one... I have a lot of uncles... I guess I would have to say my uncle Albert. Shaggleford. Albert Shaggleford.”

“That is correct,'' the man responded. “You do not have an open bank account here at the moment but we are fully prepared to assist you with all your financial needs after you review this letter, Mr. Rogers.” The man in a suit handed Shaggy a trifold letter, sealed with a red wax stamp marked with a filigree ‘S’. The group of men collectively nodded and dispersed back into the bank. 

“I thought that old man was crazy,” remarked one man, just loud enough for Shaggy to overhear. 

Shaggy turned the letter over but there was no marking on it other than the wax seal. He handed the letter to Daphne and she immediately handed it back. “A creepy letter waiting for you fifty-two years after we went missing? Uh-uh. You open it.” 

The four walked outside and held their breath as Shaggy popped open the letter to reveal distinctive handwriting. 

May 19th, 1996

Shaggy, my boy!

If you’re reading this then I suppose you’ve found yourself in a bit of a predicament. When they told me you and Scooby and your friends went missing, I couldn’t believe it. Savvy, crime-solving sleuths such as yourselves, missing or kidnapped? Hogwash. I suspected something a tad more complex happened. More, shall we say, scientific? Supernatural? Same thing. 

Regardless, I do not believe we will be seeing one another again. I write this on my deathbed. Giant lobster man mortally wounded me, I'm afraid. 

I have made arrangements for you should you return after my demise. Please find your way to the address listed below. All arrangements have been made, including access to the Shaggleford trust. I do wish I could answer more of your questions but like you, I truly do not know what happened on December 6th, 1969. 

I wish you luck navigating a new decade (possibly a new millennia!). 

With love, 

Dr. Albert Shaggleford

2010 Crystal Cove Ln

Coolsville, CA 95401

Gate passcode: 12061969

Ring (555) 427-1932

Shaggy handed the letter to Daphne wordlessly and she read it to herself, her eyes widening at the particularly strange parts. 

Velma handed the letter back to Shaggy. "I don't know where that address is but we need to check on Fred and speak to Red Herring before we do anything else. This is becoming stranger by the minute."

Read more on AO3!

[ccashleywrites]

Family Strife

“You have three weeks before your wedding, Saris. You need to stop procrastinating your fitting.”

“I still have time to get the dress finished.”

“The seamstresses can only do so much! And you are cutting more and more into the little time they already have in order to finish it!”

“Then maybe you should have given me longer than three months to prepare for a marriage that I didn’t even want in the first place.”

“You knew that you had to marry sooner or later, Saris- and you’ve already put it off for far too long! You won’t be of childbearing age for much longer, and your beauty is already fading.”

I roll my eyes at mother’s exaggerations, knowing full well that I had only just turned twenty-three last month. My hair is still a long, vibrant brown that falls halfway down my back in full, bouncy curls and my body had yet to take on any weight that hadn’t filled out my curves. I also knew my pale skin was still soft and smooth with the softest of blushes dusting across my face, shoulders and chest. I’m still a young woman just coming into her prime- and mother was a cranky old woman long past hers who was still trying to live vicariously through me.

“Are you even listening to me?” she demands, her voice full of irritation and laced with venom. I didn’t need to listen to her to know she had just laid into me about how little I care about finding a suitor and how ungrateful I am for this opportunity to marry a King, from all the men in the kingdom.

“Yes mother, I am.” It comes out as a tired sigh, and I can almost feel the rage coming off my mother. “I’ll get it done; I swear.”

“No, you won’t,” she snaps, throwing her hands up in anger as she turns away. “You’ll run off with that Forest girl again the first chance you get. You know you were almost caught last time, don’t you?”

“Who cares if I’m caught?” I shoot back, my own anger starting to bleed through. “I wouldn’t be the first woman in the city to be caught with another woman.”

“You’ll ruin my reputation! You’ll destroy this union with the King- all because you refuse to be normal!”

I spin to face her, the book that had been in my hands flying across the room to thud against the wall by my bed. Mother looks taken aback as I face her, almost frightened by my sudden change in demeanor. Stepping towards her I jab a finger in her direction, my voice low and controlled but full of a painful fury I couldn't control any longer.

“You talk so high and mighty about reputation and settling down with a man as if you yourself didn’t have to rebuild your own reputation at my age for the exact same thing. As if you don’t spend your days now weeping in the dark corners of the library over the woman you turned your back on just to please the people around you.” I step forward again, and mother matches my forward movement with a backward step. Her face is shocked now, twisted in horror at the truth of my words and her shame laid bare as I tear into her. “You want so bad for me to be just like you- and I am! Except I’m not going to lie about loving a man you forced me to marry! Just so you could finally have the status and reputation your mother pushed so hard for you to achieve! All so you can finally hold your head high and act like you’re any better than all the other shallow people in this forsaken kingdom! I’m not your fucking doll, mother! I’m not some empty shell you can puppet and re-live your life through with no mistakes!”

I keep backing mother up, her face masked in mortification as I continue, my voice never rising above speaking volume. I’m not a savage, after all- I still know how to use my inside voice. Furthermore, I wasn’t going to allow my mother to bully me any longer- I wasn’t going to hold this anger and pain and hatred in any longer.

I continue, “I don’t care about reputation! I don’t care about money! I don’t care about climbing the echelons! I just want to be fucking happy! I want to live in a way that makes me happy! I want to be with someone who makes me happy! I don’t want to be an all-encompassing miserable witch like you- because I’m not like you!!”

The horror turns to rage then, twisting my mother’s wrinkled, wizened face into an ugly purple mask of fury. Mother closes the gap between us in two long strides, and before I register what she’s doing her hand flashes out towards me.

The room fills with the sickening crack of her hand meeting the side of my face. My vision spins and swims as my ears begin ringing, shock freezing me in place before I slowly start to lift my hand to my face. When my fingers press softly against my cheek, tears immediately spring into my eyes at the sharp, screaming pain of the tender flesh.

She’d hit me as hard as she could, I was sure of it.

And I was sure it would bruise.

And then her voice shrieks into my ears as the ringing abruptly stops.

“-dare you?!?! You’re an ungrateful, hateful, spiteful little forest heathen-loving SLUT!!!”

My eyes slowly rise back to my mother, my mouth still open and my eyes as wide as our gilded dinner plates.

Her rage continues, her voice escalating to the point I began to wonder if she was going to scream so loud her voice would give out.

“After everything I’ve done for you! Everything I’ve given up for you, and all the chances I’ve given you to stop acting like a selfish, spoiled little shit and do something for someone else just once- and you dare speak to me like that?!”

“So, you admit it.”

Her rage abruptly stops, though her chest continues heaving from her screams. Confusion crosses her face, and she spits hatefully, “The hell are you on about now?”

“You admit that you don’t want me to marry the king for me.”

Realization slowly crosses her face, followed by a slow dawn of horror. As her mouth begins to open and close, searching for the words to defend herself. I don’t give her the chance. Instead, I press on.

“You just admitted that you want me to do this for you- ‘do something for someone else just once’? Everything I’ve done, all the shit and abuse and horrible words from you and sister and father I’ve put up with my entire life. I’ve done literally everything you’ve ever asked of me.” I feel no rage now, only a hollow, cold numbness spreading quickly through me. I straighten myself and brush off my dress before smoothing my hair back down. Back straight and chin high, I stare my mother down; knowing by the throbbing in my cheek that she can clearly see the quickly forming bruise, she herself placed on my previously pale, perfect face.

“I’ll marry the king, Midaria,” I draw out her name, deepening the horrified expression on her face as I push as much venom into the word as possible. “I’ll marry him, but not for you. I’ll marry him to get away from you and the rest of this horrid family. And I’ll make sure you never see a gem of the King’s riches, nor gain a sliver of fame from our union.”

I start walking forwards now, leaving my frozen, mortified mother where she stands. Opening the door into the mansion hallway, I leave her with one final jab.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, me and my ‘Forest Heathen’ bridesmaid have a fitting to go finish.”

And then I shut the door behind me, leaving my mother alone with her thoughts, emotions, and my foreboding words.

[pomeraniandancer]

I kinda get the feeling that Crowley and Aziraphale can, and that they both have their own very specific and thought out methods of making sure that LGBTQ+ people (youth especially) feel happy, or at least safe, around them.

Not trying to "correct" or anything -- I'm not nearly that presumptuous. Just my own interpretation.

Probably an odd question, and I am terribly sorry if you’ve been asked this before. In Good Omens, is being gay considered a sin or is it just cool? Just wondering :)

I don't believe that the God in the Good Omens universe cares about that stuff, and I'm not sure that any of the angels (or demons) could accurately articulate what "gay" is or what human genders are anyway.

[sebastianravkin]

Graphic Novel recommendation

My Favorite Thing is Monsters (Volumes 1 and 2)

by Emil Ferris

Will Eisner Comic Industry Awards Winner, 2018

Set in Chicago during the late 1960s, this book is nominally about a young girl trying to solve the mysterious death of one of her neighbors. But it is so much more than that. Themes of family, identity, sexual identity, love, civil rights, self worth, poverty, grief, what makes a good person, the holocaust, forgiveness, and coming-of-age are all beautifully woven together to tell a complex tale of growing up. The artwork is beautiful - full of details and symbolism that requires careful inspection of every page. I love this graphic novel, and have every intention of following Ferris's work moving forward.

With that said, I do have two caveats. First, the story is complex and there are numerous stories-within-the-story. Initially, this makes reading Volume 1 a bit challenging because sometimes it is easy to get lost in what direction the overall story is going. So if, initially, you find yourself a bit confused - just keep reading, it all works itself out. Second, the art in Volume 1 is noticeably more complex than in Volume 2. Volume 2 almost feels as though it is rushed, as if the author was simply trying to get it all done and move on to the next project. It is not bad, it is just noticeable if you are reading the volumes quickly one after the other.

But overall, My Favorite Thing is Monsters is a fun compelling read for anyone who loves graphic novels. It would also make a wonderful introduction to graphic novels for anyone interested in the overarching themes of the volumes.