#these remind me of the very hungry caterpillar

[sunflower-chai]

@lmanburgseulogy

today's bug thing is this button caterpillar hat!

[enderlovez]

can you write another kindergarten teacher!reader x spencer where he comes in as like a special guest to read to her students🥹 and then he stays to eat lunch with her

Story Time

Spencer Reid x Kindergarten Teacher Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: Spencer comes and reads to your students for storytime.

Content Warning: Maybe some spelling errors, but otherwise nothing. I actually love writing kindergarten teacher reader x Spencer!!! It makes me feel all warm and happy inside

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The buzz of the classroom feels electric today, like a thousand tiny bees flitting through the air. Your students can hardly stay in their seats, their excitement nearly bubbling over as you explain that you'll be having a very special guest joining you for storytime today.

Of course, they don't know who it is yet. That's the surprise.

"Miss Y/N, is it a prince?" asks Lily, her shiny brown eyes wide and hopeful.

"Or a pirate?" chimes in Jacob, swinging around an imaginary sword.

You smile and shake your head. "Not quite. But he is one of my favorite people, and I think you're all going to love him, too."

As if on cue, there's a light knock on the rainbow-painted door. Your stomach flips as you walk over to open it.

Standing there, with his ever-disheveled hair and a stack of children's books in his arms, is Spencer.

He's wearing one of his signature mismatched outfits that always sort of remind you of something an old man would wear—a brown cardigan over a cream colored shirt—and the way his eyes light up when he sees you makes your cheeks flush a little.

"Hi," he says softly, like you're the only two people in the room.

"Hi," you whisper back, before stepping aside to let him in.

The kids immediately erupt into whispers and giggles. Spencer shifts awkwardly under their gaze, but he smiles warmly as I introduce him.

"Everyone, this is Doctor Reid. He's a very smart friend of mine who knows a lot about books, so I thought he'd be the perfect person to read to us today!"

Spencer waves shyly. "Hi, everyone. You can call me Spencer if you want."

Lily raises her hand without hesitation. "Are you Miss Y/N's boyfriend? Are you married? Do you have any babies?"

Spencer's eyes widen, and you feel your face go hot—really, this is something you should have anticipated.

"Lily!" you laugh nervously, twiddling your thumbs. "That's not a question for storytime."

She shrugs, unapologetic. Spencer, bless him, just clears his throat as adjusts his grip on the books.

"I bought a few options," he says, holding them up like they're treasure. "We have The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Where the Wild Things Are, and The Day the Crayons Quit. Any favorites."

The room fills with an enthusiastic chorus of opinions, but Spencer handles it like a pro, tallying votes on the whiteboard until we have a winner: Where the Wild Things Are.

He settles into the big reading chair at the front of the room, his long legs awkwardly folded up beneath him, and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

The kids gather on the carpet, leaning forward with rapt attention as he begins.

Spencer's voice is soft, each word carrying a rhythm that draws the kids—and you, despite the fact that you've already read this book countless times—into the story, though that might just be because you enjoy listening to his voice so much.

By the time he closes the book and sets it aside, the room erupts into cheers. "That was so cool!" Jacob shouts, jumping to his feet.

"Can you read another one?" Lily pleads, clasping her hands together and mustering up the best puppy eyes she can—she doesn't have to try very hard.

Five year olds. So easy to please.

Spencer glances at you, and you nod. "One more," you say. "Then it's lunchtime."

This time, he picks The Day the Crayons Quit, and the kids laugh hysterically at the sassy letters from the crayons.

Spencer even gets a short round of applause when he finished reading and closes the picture book, his cheeks pink as he smiles and thanks them.

"Okay, everyone," you announce, clapping your hands together. "Time to wash up for lunch!"

The kids scramble to line up at the sink, still chatting quietly with one another—partly about the stories, but mostly about how awesome Spencer is.

He stands by the reading chair, watching them with a mix of amusement and awe.

"You're a hit," you tease, stepping beside him.

"I think they like me more than you," he replies, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't get cocky," you say, nudging him gently.

As the kids settle at their tables with their lunches, you lead Spencer to your desk in the corner, where you've set up a couple of chairs. "So you're staying, right?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"If you'll have me," he says, pulling out the chair across from yours.

Your desk is decorated with little figurines and gadgets, ranging from tiny animal toys blue-tacked down to the lid of a container, to a photo frame filled with pressed flowers, to a small collected of little painted rocks. It reminds Spencer a lot of Garcia's office. Colorful.

You hand him the sandwich you made for him earlier, and his eyebrows lift in surprise. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," you say, ducking your head. "But I wanted to."

You eat quietly for a moment, the sound of the kids' laughter and chatter enough to fill the space around the both of you.

Spencer watches them with a small smile, and you can't help but admire the way he fits so seamlessly into your little world. Most people would get overwhelmed, being in a room with so many little children—and it just so happens that your boyfriend isn't one of those people.

How did you get so lucky?

"They're great," he says after a while.

"They are," you agree. "A handful, but great all the same."

He looks at you then, his gaze soft and searching. "I can see why you love this so much. And I can see why they love you so much."

Your breath catches, but before you can respond with something sappy that'll more than likely make you cry, Jacob bounds over to your desk.

"Miss Y/N, can Mister Spencer come back tomorrow?"

Spencer chuckles, glancing at me like he's looking for permission.

"We'll see," you say, ruffling Jacob's hair. "If he's not too busy saving the world, maybe he can visit again."

"Promise?" Jacob asks, directing the question at Spencer.

Spencer holds up his pinky, and Jacob eagerly hooks his own tiny pinky finger around it. "Promise," Spencer says.

As Jacob runs back to his table, Spencer leans toward you, his voice low and almost a little uncertain.

"When can we have one of our own?"

[thesiltverses]

The horror of Eric Carle

Becoming a dad has really been a reminder of all the half-forgotten books that got me interested in horror: the ones that I will definitely share with my kid (The Minpins) and the ones that I probably won't (Not Now, Bernard)

And then there's Eric Carle, and now it's all coming flooding back - the very first time in my life that I experienced terror. Seriously, what the fuck is this?

Carle's most famous book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, is in its own way uneasy and strange (the caterpillar's voracious and growing hunger is presented ambiguously both as an unavoidable and natural process of change and something greedy and grotesque; the caterpillar appears to devour its own place-of-birth and then feels good about it) but it flies under the radar by being very unCarle-like. The caterpillar is largely tiny and cute, we get plenty of colourful close-ups of tasty-looking food, and there are only two pages and a cover which feature Carle's favourite preoccupation: giant animals with irregular, scissor-cut eyes staring unhappily at the reader as they threaten to grow larger than the page itself.

I genuinely remember feeling deeply unnerved by Carle's first major piece of illustration work, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, written with Bill Martin Jr., but only now do I understand why. Holy shit, I have so many questions.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? I see a red bird looking at me.

Why is the rhyme-scheme so frantic and breathless, like it's being chanted out during an escalating ritual somewhere deep in the forests? Why are the animals - textured via collage as if half-carved from wood themselves - staring directly at us, the audience, before then revealing that they're actually looking behind us at something else which is staring back at them in turn? Why do so many of the animals look so fearful and haunted as they acknowledge the vast web of visibility which exists between them?

Why does the 'white dog' page - perhaps the only-genuinely-friendly-looking animal - briefly plunge us into night-time, creating the impression that these creatures are somehow watching each other across spans of time and space, when Carle is fully capable of just drawing an outline around the dog?

Why is the teacher's neck extending like a xenomorph's tongue as she glares with narrowed eyes down at the children (what horrible act have they caught her doing?) Why is the cover of follow-up Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear clearly depicting a Tuunbaq stalking the reader?

What seems remarkable and bizarre is that Carle, a talented artist, deliberately chooses to draw animals for infant readers which are neither cute nor charming but which consistently embody the internet joke about hares - feral wilderness prophets who've glimpsed the truth of the universe and gone mad - and has made a stunningly successful career out of doing so.

Carle's beasts know something terrible that they do not fully understand, and which they are incapable of sharing with us.

I'll avoid the crass temptation to draw serious biographical inferences here (Carle believed he had PTSD from an adolescence spent in Nazi Germany, and his works were inspired by his childhood walks with his father, who returned home psychologically shattered by his own experiences as a Soviet prisoner-of-war) and just say that there is something wonderful, awful and innocent in the fact that perhaps the most popular baby-book artist of all time, when asked to draw a goldfish, would respond with what is clearly a monstrous open-mouthed leviathan rising up from black depths to devour us all.

Look at this horrible fucking thing. It rocks.

[in-another-april]

summary/prompt + genre - There’s something so endearing about how captivated Spencer gets when he reads. | fluff

warnings - none

wc - 358

notes - i'm back!! i'm trying to get into writing regularly again, feel free to send a number from the prompt list (or any request/idea) for me to write!

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Spencer’s curled up on the couch next to you, having just started reading the new book he picked up on your library date yesterday. Though, you were too busy admiring how adorably thrilled he was when he found it to fully take in exactly what it was about. The book in his hands is almost comically thick, but he’s flipping through it like it’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar, something that never fails to both shock and impress you no matter how many times you see it.

You’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone, casting a glance up at him every-so often. He normally teasingly calls you out on it as soon as he feels your eyes on him (to which you remind him he’s being hypocritical since you catch him staring at you just as often.) But you’re not surprised you’ve gotten away with the staring this long; he always becomes too enthralled in his books to notice anything else. He shifts positions, tilting both the book and his head down, causing a portion of hair to fall in front of his face, and now you’re surprised.

Spencer can’t stand the feeling of his hair brushing against his face, typically stopping everything to pull it away while grumbling empty threats of shaving it all off. Seeing him not make a single move to put the strands back in their place is almost as jarring as seeing him wearing matching socks would be, and you can’t help but intervene.

You drop your phone on the cushion next to you, scooting towards him. You gently tuck the hair behind his ear, looking at him with what you’re sure are the most lovesick heart-eyes the world has ever seen until he looks up at you in response, his gaze undoubtedly stealing that title. He presses a kiss to your wrist as your hand retracts from his face and you smile giddily before letting him go back to his book, resting your head against his shoulder and picking up your phone again, enjoying the comfortable silence and each other’s presence.

[joannaliangart]

A LIST OF THINGS I CAN’T REMEMBER (2024) 6.5 x 6.4 in 23 page case bound book and handmade pastepaper. Papercut art and poetry

The “list” includes things of the mundane, humorous, and heavy. At its core, this book asks what exactly is worth trying to hold onto in your memory. Whether because of its trivial or traumatizing nature, is it ever better to forget?

---

not sure if this is called papercut art? I'd been referring to it as 'paper art' in my mind but googling that leads to a lot of like, folded/oragami stuff too

final project for my praxis class in 3rd year! Got a good reception towards it during crit which was lovely C:

god this project took fucking FOREVER, I'm glad I did it because it turned out almost exactly how I pictured it but my goodness gracious AUGH it was a lil rough. I'd be working on this thing literally ALL day from morning till Very Late into the night for SEVERAL days straight to meet deadline it was kinda crazy. My floor was covered in a fuck ton of pastepaper I'd made and my finger was getting callused from holding the x-acto knife so frequently orz 23 pages of papercut images AND papercut words?? whhooweee

Watching a full playthrough of in stars in time is what kept me company during those long long days and nights haha, tis a very potent memory I have now (which now that the whole project-making ordeal is over is a p fun memory lol; isat is v v good)

some thoughts about this piece I jotted down in preparation for crit day:

A list of things I can’t remember my intention was to gather a list of mundane unimportant things as well as more like sad or poetically troubling things to disrupt it throughout. At the end it says “if I want to remember these things” because that is also something that I don’t remember, and it’s kind of the crux of the whole piece as this book at its core is about what kind of things are worth trying to hold into in your memory. 

That last page had black text because it’s the hardest to remember or think about, and as such it’s meant to be hard to read/make out clearly. 

The wavy black on the spine area is supposed to be like an encroaching darkness of forgetting lol

used pastepaper to make paper art trying to take advantage of the textures and colours I can make with pastepaper

+crit day installation! There were no white plinths left just this bright pink one?? But I was like. Actually that might fit the vibe lol and I think it did C: made the whole piece pop

For the assignment requirements we had to choose something from one of the special collections we visited, and I chose Janet Kellett's beautiful Qualicum Blue. And was also sooo grateful that googling it brought me to a whole website of theirs that had info on its creation. It's what got me into the rabbit hole of pastepaper and hoo boy! making it was a wholleee process haha; here's the slides I made for when we had to present our material research:

I did a WHOLE bunch of experiments; I really wanted to know what I could and could not do with pastepaper and I'm glad I pushed the material so much in the amount of time we had to complete this part of the project. My prof was surprised at how many experiments I did haha

+fun fact: I asked my prof if they could recommend me a place to source black paper for my book, and they sent me to what looked like such a weird sketchy on the edge of town looking place lmao But it was all good they were like a mass producer of paper or smth and they had a lil storefront? in their warehouse selling what I assume were leftover batches in smaller quantities; that was p fun and! Now I know where I can find paper

Also I got some remarks that the papercut art reminded people of The Very Hungry Caterpillar C:

[lace-coffin]

Thank u for the ask!! Unfortunately I lost the actual ask like a dumbass but managed to get a pic beforehand so I hope u see this! As a regressor and asa stan I'm v excited about this!

Asa Emory x Little! transmasc!Reader

Requests are closed (for now!)

- Asa is still strict as a caregiver but a lot softer than he would usually be, he won't raise his voice at you for misbehaving but will give you a stern talking to

- if you cry easily he'll let you cry into his shirt after your telling off, patting your back and telling you that you're forgiven, "you can't help but make mistakes, you're only a baby"

-takes playing way to seriously, he's running your play kitchen with an iron fist Imao, pretend to steal from the till if u feel like being chased with a plastic spatula whilst u giggle

-will absolutely pick out outfits for you if you want him to, expect to be in a lot of bug themed shirts and fun coloured dungarees. He'll help you get dressed in the mornings. "Arms up for me cricket, good job!"

-keeps track of how long you've been binding and will remind you to take breaks

-likes to call you cricket, bug, kid, brat, baby

-likes to be called daddy, papa, dada, doesn't mind mommy or mama if that's what you're comfortable with but he might become a little flustered

- Asa is happy to let you spend time with the bugs when regressed providing you’re supervised, he knows you’re always gentle with them but he worries you may be a little less coordinated/heavy handed in this state

-will help with T shots, he's basically always doing various 'medical procedures' so giving a shot is nothing. You'll get a cute plaster afterwards!

-his voice is deep and nice for bed time stories, providing you don't mind him complaining about how unrealistic the very hungry caterpillar is

- will put you in air jail if you refuse to listen or are throwing a tantrum, you’re getting slung over his shoulder and walked away from the problem

-an expert at calming you by now, bouncing you whilst shushing you quietly in his arms until you settle

-forever finding paci's in weird places

-happy to help with nappies if that's something u use, finds the ones with little dinosaurs on them adorable

-Asa has a nursery set up away from your usual room for times like these, not that you ever end up sleeping in it often, you've usually migrated to his bed with your stuffed animal an hour after he's put you down

[thunderc1an]

your recent style reminds me of The Very Hungry Caterpillar!

YEAH! I mentioned in the tags of my post a day or two ago that the style was heavily based on Eric Carle, the guy who wrote The Very Hungry Caterpillar

[moyazaika]

KUINA. MOTHER? IS THAT MOTHER?? Everyone else out here lookin busted af meanwhile queenie is standing there PLUCKED not a hair out of place. She graduated from the university of cuntology with a degree in servitude of motherology and minored in face card banking. I'm sorry she was letting y’all HAVE IT.

Good to have you back! Hope you are coping with the impending doom of summer, where the sun has no mercy and the shade is scarce. Recently I've discovered this fun little movie called Martin from 1977, it's a vampire movie from George A. Romero (the dude behind the og zombie movie, Night of the Living Dead) and it's super fun! I say a vampire movie, but is our boy really a vampire? It's something I like to think about just a lil 🤔 delusional characters r my thing.

OH MY GODNESS YOU UNDERSTANDDDD 1000000% there are people out there who truly believe that the best, most pure way to keep someone with them is to take all of them. Cannibalism is such an intense device in storytelling, especially as a metaphor and I LOVE IT SO MUCH. That kind of obsessive “love” is scary, not just because of the actions a person may take, but the feelings they harbor. People who are so far gone that the only world they live in is the one only they know and experience? What do you mean you think eating someone is the only way to keep them with you??? What version of The Very Hungry Caterpillar were you reading??? This entire topic reminds me of how love and consumption go hand in hand. If someone wants to go as far as to eat someone they love, do they love them? Or do they want to consume them, own them, possess every fiber of their being and become one with them so they can feel complete again? Does possessing a beating heart mean the same as possessing one torn from the chest of a loved one?

also. What does it taste like? I'm just curious. I've heard human meat tastes like chicken.

The other trope I’ve been sent tumbling back into is the classic cult story, maybe it's because I just rewatched Hereditary? I think that demons, or entities of incompressible power, are scary because they can't be emotionally swayed. There's physically nothing you can do or say to persuade an entity that has existed for far longer than you could ever hope to, so you have to shut up and take whatever kind of pain they decide to grace your senses with. How do you change a god's mind? What do you mean I can't mansplain my way out of this one? Y'all why don't valak want me 😔 can't malewife or manwhore our way outta this one fellas 😢

maybe I should stick to human men. - 🕺🕺🕺

just dug this up too cus im going thru asks tonight (i took a 5 hour nap and sleep evades me now. help it’s 3am)

she’s fucking gorgeous serving looks the entire time and i love how that,, didn’t take away from her character complexities. yes she was hot. she also had a complex backstory and emotions which were woven into her character as a woman and fighter. Love how they handled her!!!!!!

i love the way you measure time or describe seasons. it’s so oddly endearing <3

“what version of the very hungry caterpillar were you reading” dawg these bitches were eating the book not reading it 😭😭😭

did yk interestingly there’s a disease where your own proteins go ‘rogue’ (prions) when you consume human meat? i think it’s called kiru/kuru?? they eat the brains of deceased people as a funeral rite (not sure if that’s rooted in respect or love) but it’s crazy to think that this is like. Something Humans Do. yk?

i’ve heard the same!! (fbi agent please don’t hurt me) but speaking of cannibalism i feel like u would love the hannibal tv show. (symbolism is INSANE in this one. also they’re hot as fucj oh yeahh) or yellowjackets. i haven’t finished either but i’ve been told they’re VERY promising from the few eps i saw before life was like Damn Bitch get back on the grind 🤬🤬🤬🤬

I LOVE HEREDITARY the sinking feeling when it dawns on you that they’re all insane. they’re all fucking insane and they believe in their insanity to such an extent convincing them otherwise is a waste of your time. both the God and their followers—nothing you can say to weasel out of this one.

i love a good cult story i have something in my wip but it’s more of a long term project i wanna make a series of (again, once i graduate 😥😥) but oooooh boy Many Thoughts Thunk. the abuse of power… misplaced trust… the feeling of something being just. not normal. even tho it should be. even though everyone around you says it is. the paranoia. YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😊😊❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[childr3ns-book-bracket]

Round 2 Poll 5

The Hungry Caterpillar(The Very Hungry Caterpillar) VS Artemis Fowl(Artemis Fowl)

Reminder to be nice, anyone who bullies me or others will be blocked immediately

[asktheplethaura]

If Only , If Only - Unicorn Wars Fanfiction

(((Chapter Ten))

((There's a part of me that's appealingly sweet, I'm sure you'd agree if you got to know me...))

((Also, I came to the conclusion by re-watching a couple scenes in the movie that after one of the polar-bear brothers ventures into the forest-the other brother goes chasing after him. During this scene, the chasing brother addresses his sibling as 'cuddly-wuddly'. So I am just going to dub this as their nickname for each other. Whereas the other brother would say the same thing but with the words reversed))

~

It was at this time that Azulin came to the realization that yet something else had also gone awry... if his memory wasn't mistaken him- the slugs were found before Sargente flipped out on Padre. At least 15 minutes before it happened, actually. The blue-bears memory was failing him. Everything was crashing in on itself... and making him confused. 

This was no good, especially if he wanted to keep the same shit from happening. This caused him to become frantic and a little wild eyed. 

He was starting to pull on his ears- digging one of his claws into one of them- but he felt someone tapping on his shoulder and he looked over to the source. 

It was Hielo, the slightly more spunky brother between the Polar Bears siblings. Nieve stood behind him, smiling a little bit as he tilted his head at Azulin- mostly in concerned confusion. This caused Azulin to calm down a bit, taking a deep breath as he let his ears go. He brought his paws down to his chest and took in a deep breath, before clearing his throat.

"You look pale." Coco noted from where he was standing. 

"I just... wasn't having a good train of thought. It happens a lot, I just needed to get my mind off of it..." Azulin walked by and continued ahead of Sargente- who didn't bother objecting due to knowing how hard-headed Azulin was.

Azulin was pacing the camp by time time they all slowed down, reminding himself to be careful and constantly keep his eyes out for those wretched slugs. He started to pull on the hem of his uniform shirt, getting sweatier from his pacing and constant deep breaths made in an attempt to calm himself down. 

About two hours later, Pandi walked over to Azulin, before calling him at Sargente's request. "Azulin- you really should take a moment to-" 

Azulin's head snapped in Pandi's direction, causing the fellow bear to step back in apprehension, before pulling up his arms to make a gesture of surrender. This calmed the blue bear down before as he raked his clawed paw through the hair on the top of his head.

"Take a breath..." Pandi hesitantly finished before walking back to the fire. 

Azulin nodded and finally started to calm him nerves, before he heard Hielo start talking from the fire-place. 

"Aww, look at these cute little things! They look like caterpillars!!" Hielo was excited to say the least, the young polar bear nearly sounded like a child finding a toy of interest at a shop window. Admiration and interest. All things that lead to trouble this very night last time. 

It started innocently enough. They had found these damned slugs and at first- they started playing with them. Petting them and tickling them- then... they started to smell good. The same kind of 'good' that someone felt when they were craving their favorite food when they were hungry. Then, the teeth started to sink in, and rainbows stained their jawlines while playing with their perception. Chasing colors and smelling sounds for as long as the effect was in place. 

One could argue that it felt like magic... others could argue it was like going on a roller-coaster.

The only thing that did remain the same in almost all scenarios was the fact that when you are tripped up on ANYTHING you are not in your own right mind. There are interjecting substances that always effect it. 

Nieve hopped over to his brother taking the slug from him. "They are so cute! They wiggle around so much. Their faces look so silly!" The other polar bear twin started to wiggle around, imitating the antennae and legs of the caterpillar in his siblings hands. 

'No. Nonononono nonono-' 

Azulin was running over there faster than he had ever run during any other dire situation. He didn't give a warning, all he did was grab the thing from the polar bear comrades before throwing it into the fire. Both of them exclaiming in surprise right after, he was panting watching the slug let out a shrill hiss as it was burned alive.

In retrospect, not a good idea.. because it was only starting to smell... really... really good.

"Hey, what gives, man!" Achuchones yelled out over the other exclaims of the other bears in the group. The polar bears were both hugging each other- one comforting the other. Nieve was more upset that the slug had died in such a cruel way with no second thought. Achuchones got face to face with Azulin- jabbing his finger into the others chest. "Just because you are pretending to be better, doesn't mean you get to steal something from someone and be a dick by burning it alive!!"

Azulin didn't even bother explaining himself, he just backed away from the fire, and watched it continue to burn with a frozen, periled expression. 

Nearly half of the other bears in the entire group started to also berate Azulin, only wanting to defend the two youngest bears from the unjust treatment. 

The only ones not involved were Padre, Gordi and Coco.

Gordi went to go and stop them, but Coco put his hand on the pink bears shoulder, before stepping forward

"Shouldn't we let him explain himself first?" he somewhat yelled over all of the obnoxious voices and profanities being thrown around the group.

All of them stopped, before resigning to the idea with their own forms of disapproval. 

Sargente only shook his head, before letting out a gruff sigh with a tapping of his foot on the flattened grass right on the edge of the forest path 

"Very well. We should all eat, Azulin can explain in the morning when everyone has calmed down." 

Pandi looked around the the nearby wood-line, noting the fact that there were multitudes of other slugs around on the trees. "I know it's bad timing- but the slug that was slapped into the fire does smell pretty good... maybe we can cook some of them up? I am dying to try one..."

All of the red flags were going up in Azulin's had as all of the other bears started to somewhat agree with each other. 

Eventually, he shook his head, and shouted out over all of their conversations.

"FOR FUCKS SAKE! DON'T!! DON'T TOUCH THOSE THINGS!!"

((To Be Continued))

[jaewrotethis]

16- Trusting Dust...

Her P.O.V.

I wake on the floor, unable to recall going to bed last night. A mess of blankets supporting and covering me, the sun well in the sky, lighting my room. I have no sense of what time it could be, though it feels late as I remember that’s the first time I’ve slept since I woke in that canvas tent. A soft caterpillar crawls on the blanket beside me. I fling it away with the blanket piece while exploring my dirty mouth with my dirtier tongue, becoming more awake. I regret not washing out my mouth in the wash room when I had the chance. I sit up in the fluff and mess, trying hard to remember last night.

I recall winning the duel against the enormous blonde boy, Chris. I remember K coming to me in front of the fire and trying to get me to dance. It blurs after that. I can see imagines in my head of the hot fire, the dirt under my socks, boys leaping and dancing around me, the stars in the sky behind the smoke of the fire. I can remember how free it felt to dance with them, how much I didn’t care about a single thing. My raw throat reminds me of all the laughing I did, so much laughing.

I stand up, trying to remember more and more, my hand coming to my forehead, moving to sit on the bed. I remember the feeling as the music took over. The dancing, the laughing. Oh, the laughing. I had fun last night. Actual fun. I look up to the mirror across from the bed and realize that I am smiling. The memory of letting go, pouring out all problems for the fire to eat and burn away is making me smirk in a way that unsettles me. And yet, I want to do it again. Dance and forget everything at the fire.

My eyes drift downwards from my reflection to what sits atop the dresser. I blink, my head tilts and the smile nearly explodes over my face.

Is...is that...clothes?

Slowly, I stand and make my way to the dresser, pulling at the soft cloth. I touch them gently before picking anything up. I haven’t had real clothes since I was fourteen. All I’ve had for so long was the odd papery cloth used for the white sets of clothes given to us every month. Many different sets. I earned a few different colors of the sets but they were always the odd plastic cloth and I had said goodbye to real cloth long ago.

So excitement spreads as I strip off the paper clothes that were a curse of a label. I yank off my undergarments and pick out the new version of under garments I’ve been gifted; very small and very thin, silk-woven pair of shorts and the exact same very small tank top that stopped coverage at my top rib bones.

Wearing my new black underwear I stand before the pile of new clothes and mirror. Gazing at the soft fabric on my skin through the reflective glass, I like it. I like it a lot, I smile and my fingers take apart the rest of the pile, in a hungry anticipation of what I could look like now. A style, a statement of my personality or my new environment, anything other than looking like the fucking escaped patient that I’ve been.

In the pile of my new belongings I find a pair of deep brown cargo pants, dark enough to look black, decorated with pockets and loops, cavities and strings to adjust different areas. I discover a real tank top, one that actually covers my stomach, and plain shirt that’s been sewn together with jungle cord and green and brown fabrics or leathers. I find a leather vest, though it isn’t a type of skin of any animal that I may know. Under the thick vest, a black long-sleeved shirt, a fine silk though really long, as if to be crunched up over my wrists, holding a very light and thin corset inside its skin. At the bottom of the pile, just on top of a thick pair of black hunting boots, sits a cloak. A proud, warm garment that lifts with a satisfying weight. Inside the boots I pull out two cuffs to protect my forearms. Inmost of the right boot, scrunched into the toes, there is a rolled up hat.

One by one I put on my new belongings. The certain combination of, tank top, long sleeve, perfectly-fitted cargo pants. I had begun to question how any of it would fight just right until the fabrics touched my skin, evolving and shaping to a perfect fit at each curve, tension, and movement. Rolling my sleeves up passed my elbows I get to work and spend time figuring out how to pin my hair back. My hair washed and voluminous gets twisted, pulled, braided and brushed back into a thick and loose pony tail of a braid. And when it’s all out of my face and stuck together as one, messy, confusing, uncoordinated thing, I look in the mirror. I look good in the dark, tight clothes. I smile, another genuine smile. I look normal. I look in charge. I feel great. Great enough to kick my white clothes under the bed, never wishing to see them again.

Left on the dresser I have yet to try on are the arm cuffs and big black boots. I pull on the right cuff, struggling to tighten the laces to my fitting. I tie it sloppily and do the same to the left. I fish out a drawer from the bedding mess on the floor and put it back where it belongs into the dresser for my new clothes, that I did not put on, to live in.

The sun edging towards the middle of the sky I finally take a seat on the bed to feel grateful to discard my disgusting, crusty (once) white socks. I unlace the black boots and fit my feet into them, getting startled when they shift to fit my feet perfectly, comfortably. The magic impressing me all over again. I tie them tight and stand, testing them out. I hop and run to the wall to see how I like them. They are perfect.

I know accepting his clothes is a sign of submission. I know abandoning my old clothes makes a statement. I know putting that drawer back in the dresser for my other new clothes makes a decision. And I know he will know now, that I do not wish to leave back to London so soon. It couldn’t matter. Having the power he has is what matters, getting revenge and taking every last thing from his obnoxious hands is what matters. Killing the demon boy, that is what is important. Accepting his clothes and trying to blend in is all I have of a plan to get what I want. To show him he can trust me, to show cooperation and learn all I can.

I tied my hair back with determination this day, I fitted my shirt with a decision this morning, that I will be playing the long game to one day take all the delicious power I can.

I still don’t know if I truly want to go back to London after finding out what this place really is. I don’t know how I could. Pan offered to show me how to get off the island if I wished to yesterday, but I stayed another night. The offer is gone now. Deep in my bones, a ghost of panic pricks at the thought of not wanting to leave, I should want to leave. But it’s so easy to admit that never feeling that powerful magic again is simply hectic. I desire it too much to care about returning to the normal world.

I look over to the door, wondering if it’ll let me pass. I walk to it, jumping through, then smiling when I land in the hallway, on the other side. I celebrate for just one moment when I groan out, exhaling and drooping low. The endless hallways still have me trapped.

Shit.

Use the magic.

“Fuck!” I jump, hitting the wall when the twin appears next to me.

I glare at her, putting a hand to my heart from the scare. She breathes a laugh at me and repeats herself.

“What? How? No.” I cross my arms and walk away from her not wanting to comply to anything she tells me.

You need to realize I’m on your side.

“You think I would trust you?” I stop walking and face her. “After the things you’ve done in the past,”

It’s been years, you can’t keep living back there, she thumbs behind her shoulder.

I shake my head, “Understand, I don’t need you,” I spit through my teeth. “Not anymore,” I walk away from her again

You’re gonna be stuck in here again. She sings behind me

“We’re,” I correct her.

Here, I’ll do it.

My head buzzes with the dizziness I know now is magic. The hallway dissolves in front of me. I stare at the enormous front room of the tree house, it’s nearly empty.

“How did you do that?” I look at her, astonished.

“Jane!”

The call of my name came from down below where my head snaps to see K, waving his hand at me. My insides feel warm at the sight of him, comfort and no more loneliness lurking inside. I head down the stairs immediately where he meets me halfway.

“Look who’s fitting in,” he says about my outfit. “But, not these,” he laughs, tugging at the strings of my cuffs.

I let him pull my arm into his hands and retie my strings saying, “Thanks,”

I look behind me for the girl in my head, as he reties my cuffs, she’s disappeared for now.

“Well?” he says.

“Huh,” I look back to him my mouth open.

“I said we’re going through the Lurid,”

I blink at him.

“Do you wanna come?”

“The what?”

“The forest. Around us,” he finishes lacing my cuffs.

We begin walking down the stairs together. I hold my hands in front of my thighs, anxiety creeping up my spine like a spider.

“Why?”

A short air chuckle leaves his throat, “Why not?”

“It’s dangerous, it’s got...monsters, or creatures in it,”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” he opens the door for me to walk outside, “It’ll be fun,”

I stare at him and he just smiles, guiding me through the tall roots and to the line of the forest. I can already hear the monster-like animals. A group of boys wait at the tree line, I recognize Slightly and W. I see a subtle yellow aura each of them are giving off, creating the lightest cloud around them. I stop walking and K notices, stopping as well.

“What?” he asks.

“Do you see that?” I point at the boys. He looks at them, “See what?”

I look at him again, then back at the yellow charge, “You don’t see that-that, yellow...ness?”

In response he laughs twice with a closed mouth, “Come on, they’re waiting on us,”

A look of puzzled on my face, I follow him. We start for the forest and the spider crawls higher, growing heavier, stepping louder and dripping an icy poison down my body until it reaches my tingly numbing fingertips. The forest is dark, almost pitch back. The only light coming from tiny cracks in the thick canopy. The loud animals thump around loudly, infesting, claiming the territory as their own, though I think the Lost Boys digress. The boys carry weapons of their own making, me feel vulnerable without one. Although, to my luck, someone stops us all. We turn around to see who called but I feel like the boys already knew.

“Come watch this,” Pan shouts, then disappears.

I hadn’t seen or heard the scene that was happening while we walked across the clearing. I follow K to and through the crowd until finding a spot in it, and a view of what’s going on. Once I do, my excitement of new clothes and friend is gone.

It’s the little boy, the tiny little T, on his knees, hands bound. Pan stands before him, feet parted, hands behind his back like a military stance. My heart stops beating for the little boy, every instinct tells me to run to him, to untie him, to shove Pan away and run with the little boy, run far, and run fast. But K must’ve seen me tense up to run at him because he traps my wrist in his fingers and shakes his head at me when I glare at him.

“Boys,” Pan begins his scene.

I yank my wrist from K’s grasp, planting myself still.

“Surely, you know by now,” he looks right at my eyes, where I can’t handle the striking green and I look down, “that rules are set for reason,” Pan’s stern voice echoes through the crowd, “and what happens when a disloyal breaks a rule? Hm?” he doesn’t give anyone a chance to answer, “well, an example must be made,” he looks down at poor little T who won’t even look up. I step forward, wanting to run to him but K steps when I do, and I know he will not let me intervene.

“Oh, but don’t hear it from me, I suppose I’m just strict.” that sick smirk plays on his mouth, “let us hear it from the guilty!” Pan shouts out, looking at T again. He’d circled him while he spoke and now stands behind him, kicking T’s boot.

T snaps his head up, and gets to his feet, “I spoke of sacredness...outside of ritual,” he admits.

I shake my head slightly, this is madness. This is ridiculous. This can’t be real.

Despite my shaking head, Pan nods his, circling T again and walking around him to stand in front of him, still facing the lot of us, “There you have it, boys...guilty!” then Pan whips around to face T, dispersing a bright red magic from his hand and lashing it out.

I watch the red magic leave Pan’s fingers. I feel a sense of warm heat just as the red is summoned and shaped in his fingers milliseconds before he throws it. I’m too focused on this closer feeling of magic, I don’t see the boy fall down. I’ve never been this close to it. I can almost feel how Pan does it, how he asks for magic and it obeys. I want to try.

When the magic retrieves back into Pan’s hand my sense come back to me. I burst from the crowd into the scene we watch.

“Pan! Stop it!” I yell at him as his hand winds back for another blow.

He does no such thing and summons more red magic in his palm.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” I reach him and yank his hand back, the hand he held the red pain in.

I’m even closer than I’ve ever been to magic and the red glow screams at me. I can feel how angry it is, how much is wants to hit someone. Pan shoves me off the second I yank him and I no longer feel the magic,

“This is your doing!” he shouts at my face.

I shrink away from his loud shout. Confused and afraid. Enough so that I don’t pull away from the hand coming behind me and tugging me back into the crowd. I look to see who retrieved me, staying quiet. Of course, it’s my baby sitter, K. K seems so used to what Pan is doing. I look around at the faces of other boys. They all seem used it. No one’s objecting or even flinching every time the magic rips into the little boys flesh. Questions raise more questions.

What does he mean ‘my doing’?

Why did he say that?

How could I have done this?

How can he claim to save these boys from their terrible lives, just to bring them here to kill them over a rule?

As disturbing as the scene is to my stomach I can’t stop watching Pan use the magic. Every time Pan’s magic strikes the boy his aura glows a bright red then fades to a sickening green that makes my stomach churn. I can’t comprehend how wrong this is, how much I despise Pan for hurting a little boy, how much I want to take that magic and let Pan have a real taste of his own cruel nightmare. My heart wants to break for the child being whipped and slashed, though a part of me tells me he is no normal child.

What rule did he break? Am I next?

Pan strikes into T twice more before halting and kneeling down to him. He puts his hand on T’s little shoulder and T looks up at him, his face twisted with pain though no sound of it ever came from him. He is so strong for being so little. Pan whispers something incoherent to the rest of us, only for T to hear and T nods, looking down. Pan stands again facing the rest of us.

“Wish your brother luck to finding his way back home. Should he make it back here alive by sunset, he is forgiven, pardoned, and never to be reminded of his crime again.” Pan tells us all.

The crowd simultaneously nods around me, adding to my shock and then Pan wipes his hand in the air over T’s little head. T disappears completely, my eyes only widening more. I stare at the bloody spot he left in the dirt. I feel Pan’s eyes right on me but all I can think about is the magic I was so close to. My eyes go to K who is speaking lowly to another boy. K has a tint of blue in his chest. I watch the blue morphing around his chest growing smaller and smaller. K takes a deep breath and the blue is dissolved.

The colors are emotions.

I look at Pan, a bright yellow aura, burning red in the outer parts. I watch the colors move around him like light waves, and follow him in every movement he makes. I look to his face and meet his eyes. I feel a pull on my arm and turn to see K trying to get my attention.

I hang from his grip, completely distracted, “What?”

“You ok?” He asks.

I’m focused on his yellow glow now, a bright source in his core, and as I look around, I see they all have it. K’s moves in slower waves, and his seems to have layers on top of layers of different shades of light.

“Jane,” he says again.

“What?” I say irritated of hearing my name, not even looking at his face.

I reach out to touch the waves. They swivel around and reach out to my touch.

“Intense, I know. Are you alright?”

I look back at Pan who’s still looking at me only now he’s smiling. He licks the back of his teeth turning his shoulders and walking away. My attention goes back to K.

“Hey,” he says more stressed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” even to myself I sound distracted. Yet, again I return my gaze towards Pan’s direction, searching in the crowd of boys now departing. “Go on without me, I’m-” I spot Pan, “busy.” I walk away ignoring my name being called.

Pan looks back at me giving me a look to follow him. I do so, very aware of all the other boys’ eyes on me. I begin to think they all hate me now after what Pan shouted for everyone to hear. The win last night suddenly seems so far away, as if I never impressed them at all. Pan and I walk away from the scattering boys and into the woods. I can’t help but notice the woods gone quiet yet again.

“What rule did he break?” I shout at him, pretending that the very real fear of what he can do with just a thought isn’t clasping around my throat with every word that comes out of it.

He keeps walking, “Are you going to ask that every time someone gets punished?”

“I think I’d like to be safe in the case I break a rule unknowingly,”

He keeps walking. “What do you mean I did that?” I call out, trying to catch up.

He stops and faces me, wanting a good distance from him I halt, “What’s Talent?” he asks.

“What?”

“What. Is. Talent?”

I cross my arms, “You tell me,”

“What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything,”

His eyes glare, “Prove it,”

“How?”

His magic sends him right in front of me now in the quickest transport, the air between us nearly nonexistent and I step back from the startle but he grabs my hand, squishing my fingers together in his palm. I pull away at his touch, instantly, but he holds tight.

“What are you doing?” I grunt, trying to pull away.

“Show me you don’t know,”

Then his hand feels warm. I look at his hand over mine, more colors. Different colors, the magic kind. A warm orange coming from his hand, absorbing into mine. It’s the warm magic I craved, only it didn’t belong to me. It didn’t feel comforting and mine. It was listening to him, it was to his benefit. I clasp my free hand down on his fingers that grip me and pry them away, yanking my hand from his grasp, hard. The orange retrieving back to his palm. I look him in the eyes, angry.

“Do you want me to cooperate?”

“Please,”

“Then, do not use magic on me. Anymore.”

“Perhaps, you’d like to use it yourself,”

I pause, thrown off by his response. The second voice begins shouting at me to take the chance to begin the plan of letting him teach me so we can grow close.

He wants to teach you! This is your opportunity!

But, I remain unsure, especially after seeing what he does as punishment for being crossed.

“Agree to never and I’ll consider it,” I say.

“You want to?” he says, raising an eyebrow, challenging me to admit it.

“I-I don’t-”

“If you admit it, it can only benefit you, Miss Jane. I’ve said before, you could just be an asset to our home here,”

I take one more step closer, the plan becoming more realistic but I’m still unsure, “You want me to stay here and learn magic, don’t you?” As I say it, the wonder to find out why he wants me to admit it so badly pushes me to fight for what I want to know.

“I believe everyone should,”

“You want me to,” I say firmer, entirely sick of not having control of any conversation with him.

“Yes,”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve told you, you posses great power, be a shame to let it go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

I exhale so irritated at how calm and collected he is.

His smile never seems to leave his face, “I can tell you’re having difficulties believing you have such power, though I can’t see why, you defeated Chris last night.”

He makes me stammer my words with the memory, “I blacked out,”

“You made your way through the halls of Hideout this morning on your own,”

“How did you know-,”

“Tell me have you seen colors? In all of us? Have you felt the warmth of used magic?”

I ignore his query, with no intent at all of answering since what he just said is my only advantage, I could never let him know.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and if I did I’d think you’re insane,”

“Alright, so you’d like to go home then,” he calls out my bullshit, “I can arrange that right now,”

“You’re offering to show me how to get off the island again?” again I’m dizzy with confusion at his roller coaster of angles to speak to me, I can’t seem to pin point what he will ever say next.

“If that’s what you want,”

“Since when is what I want priority?” I spit, desperate to stay undercover in any way.

“Stay then, learn to use our magic and be an addition to our society,”

I stutter on my words, thinking about going home, thinking about what he said to me and how quickly he changes his intentions that I might never know how to undermine him. There is nothing for me back home except starting a new life. I could thrive in a new life, but haunted with the knowledge that I never got revenge for what he did to me and never got to use the magic that called me so persistently. Although, staying here would be a hit to my ego as the boy who caused all of it is the only thing protecting me from whatever monsters are on this island. Undecided, I glare at him, hoping he would show me how to leave but not force me out just yet, not until I’ve gotten what I’m staying for.

“Do not use magic on me,”

“Use it yourself,”

Learn what our power is, learn how to kill him! All of this could be ours!

I flinch at the loud voice of my excited twin, but I listen to her and look around when she says I could have all of this around me. Ever lastingly so, the idea of him falling in love with me is too stupid to agree with or even comprehend.

“I-I, need to think about it,”

“What is there to think about? To be one of us is to be in paradise. Protected. Celebrated.”

“You think I’d want you as my teammate? You’ve killed and tortured two of your own since I’ve been here,”

“You misunderstand, Jane, I am no one’s teammate, I’m the leader here, and we have rules for a reason, we cannot thrive if we are not on the same page, besides” he steps closer to me, “you caused that,”

I breathe out, “How.”

He remains quiet as if speaking anymore of the subject would give me some type of information that he isn’t sure I have, and clearly doesn’t want me having. The silence lasts until I know he will not be telling me.

“What rule did he break?” I ask, hoping it answers both questions.

“He spoke of Talent,” he brushes passed me walking back the way we came.

He leaves me standing there in my thoughts of why such a thing could result to what it did. I bite my lip perhaps accepting that speaking of whatever Talent is, is dangerous. Though he doesn’t leave me there for long when the silence of the rabid monsters disappears as they grow louder, pulling my eyes from the dirt at my boots and to the woods around me. I don’t waste time scanning the jungle, I turn around and hurry behind him, confused and afraid. I rush up to him, feeling as if the faster I run, the louder they grow and the quicker my fright builds. The crescendo wakens my nerves and I can’t stop the rush of emotion that shoots from my fingers when I reach out to him.

“Wait,” comes from my mouth as reach for him.

The emotion comes from my fingers as an iridescent force, slapping him in the back. He doesn’t even stumble he just stops. I stop as well, afraid of what I’ve just done. He turns to face me. My eyes wide, I wait for his reaction. He suddenly smiles.

“Well, what do you know, she can use it after all,”

“I-I,” I can’t think of how to explain what I just did.

I simply stare at my fingers in complete fear of how easily I had absolutely no control of that iridescent power. I stutter at how quickly it happened and I before I could think to stop it, it was too late. He seems to watch me as I stare at my fingers, full of fear, until he exhales then walks towards me. I step back, unable to look away from my fingers. I did it. I had the magic, so suddenly, so strong, then so quickly gone.

“You can learn to wield it,” he says in that soft voice, the one that got me to follow him out of the big room yesterday.

I look up at him, actual fear of having no control of the magic making me believe him.

“I can show you,” he tells me.

The second voice begins shouting in excitement, This is your chance!

I finch but he went to grab my hand so he thought it was from the contact. I open my mouth to speak but I don’t know what to tell him. I want the power, it calls me so loudly. I crave the strength and the control. The fear only makes me want control even more. But I don’t trust him. And yet, still, the magic calls so loudly, the fear feels so cold that I almost don’t care that I don’t trust him. I just want the magic to listen to me to badly.

“Come on, where’s that sense of adventure?” he demonstrates that he will respect my space by backing up with a hand out for me to take if I want it.

Still I stare.

“What do ya say?” he lightens.

“I, I’m afraid,” I whisper with honestly. I’m overwhelmed.

He exhales then steps to me, “Here,”

He pulls a well-sized knife in a cover from the inside of his waistband at his right hip. It is black, with a loop on the end of the cover to fit through a belt. It’s got a deep purple gem on the edge of the handle, and the blade is a prime black when I pull it from its cover. Its leather cover, detailed with a royalty looking design. I look up at him, questioning if it’s a gift or if he’s showing me the weapon he’s going to use to kill me with.

“It’s for the Lurid,” he gestures to the forest around us, “Never walk through it without a weapon,”

“Why would I ever walk through it?”

“Because you’re going to let me show you something,”

“Show me what?”

He steps backwards, gesturing for me to follow. Then he takes another step, and another, trying to coax me into following him. Slowly, I do. Until he’s walking forward and I’m stepping quickly over the forest floor right behind him.

“Where are we going?” I ask him, his hideout tree staying put as we pass by it into more woods that, once again, fall silent of monsters.

“I told you I could show you how to use your magic, properly,” he keeps walking, “how to grow it,”

“And?”

“And since I know you have a dare to fulfill, I think you’d be wise to let me.”

“What are talking about?” “The treasure hunt, of course,”

I am astonished at how quickly everything went casual. A boy was just tortured after all, and here we are speaking of games. The magic I summoned seemed to move time forward and the scene Pan said I caused already seems so long ago. I can only care about how he says he will show me more magic, since that is the only reason I’m still here after all.

“So, we’re going somewhere where you can show me how to...use it?” I ask.

“You realize what you signed up for, don’t you?” he asks me.

I continue to stumble over logs and sticks, rocks and leaves, twisting my ankle twice while he swiftly navigates, almost stealthily prancing, through the forest, “Um, the Treasure Hunt,” I suggest.

He laughs.

“What, what is it?”

“That’s so interesting to me, how you can agree to something without having a clue of what it is,” he laughs again, “could get you killed one day,”

“Do you think not giving me information is going to make me want to listen to you?” I grow sick of his game.

He laughs another time, “In a game of Treasure Hunt, we board the Pirates’ captain’s ship. It’s a stealth mission, whoever gets the captains most prized possession, wins.”

“Wins what?��

“Guess you’ll have to win and find out,”

“You said, um, Pirates? As in, Pirates?”

“Grown ups. Old codfish with nothing left of their souls except to play a loosing game. We call them Ducks, for sitting on the water all day,”

My cheeks rise to laugh at the stupid name, but I stop them, “And we’re...stealing from them?”

“Playing Treasure Hunt,” he stops walking.

I catch up to him to see a cliff. Down below, far below, is a meadow with soft, tall grass for miles. Trees line the meadow, hiding it from everything else.

“Alright, go on,” he tells me.

I look at him, then back at the meadow below the blue sky.

He nods his head at the ground below.

“You want me to climb down there?” I ask looking at the steep cliff.

He breathes his laugh through his nose and shakes his head, “Jump,”

My eyes widen, “What?”

He pulls a small pouch from the side of his belt. The ties tied tightly.

“This is Pixie Dust,” he opens it and lets me look inside.

The glowing green and tinted blue dust inside screams at me the second my eyes land on it. The dust looks like liquid, changing color, shifting from a deep blue to a silk purple then a bright green. It looks alive. I can feel it pulsating with powerful life. I can hear it begging me to come closer. I have to stop myself from snatching at it and running with it as fast as I can.

“It’ll take you flying,” he says to me.

I look at his eyes, the entirety of my situation changing completely, “You’re going to show me how to fly?”

He grins wickedly, “Why not?”

“I-I’m supposed to, to jump?”

“If you trust it,”

“Trust. Trust what, the dust?”

“Yep,”

My eyes look to the cliff without moving my head then back at his eyes. “This is how you kill me,”

I see him hold in a really hard laugh, “This is how the Lost Boys fly, and if you want to come on that Treasure Hunt, you’re going to need to learn how to use it,”

“Alright,” I try not to sound incredibly eager to just look at the dust one more time.

“Go on, then,” he points to the cliff. “Jump, I know you’re no stranger to jumping,” his mean eyes flicker at the sentence, trying to provoke me.

“I didn’t-” I stop him again, exhaling harshly, dropping it.

I look at the cliff, then turn to it. I walk in front of him stepping towards the cliff, unprepared to jump off. The reality of actually jumping into the air from a 60 foot drop settles in very fast and the dust in the bag doesn’t seem so powerful anymore.

“What are you waiting for?”

I look back at him, “This is, I mean, this is crazy,”

“Isn’t that what you were in your old world?”

Hot anger gets sparked in my chest, “What did you say?”

“Is the dust not shouting at you?” he says at me, rushing close.

I’m taken off guard, anger turning to confusion and the violent shift making me emotional. My eyebrows knot as I think of how he could know that, how I could not know that he knew. I feel so in the unknown, lost and determined to search. I don’t know how to speak to him, he just knows more than me about everything. I don’t know what angle to take. I shut down completely.

“It’s ok to listen to it,” he brings it closer to me.

“And what if it’s not meant for people like me,”

“People like you aren’t here,”

I look at him, wanting to believe he means it nicely,

“Just jump,”

He is absolutely crazy. He wants me to take a literal leap of faith and just trust that I won’t die. No evidence, no experience, no for sure outcome, just do it. He has so much control over how I feel it only adds to the distrust, but in some sort of strange way it gives me me some sick reason to listen to him. As if obeying him will make this lost and alone feeling go away, and I could come out of this with the gift of flight. The gift I craved for such a long time. But still, as I look at the cliff, I cannot bring myself to step off of it.

“I’ve seen gravity work,”

“You want to come on the Treasure Hunt or not?” he asks me.

“You mean steal from adults?”

“If, you can’t trust me when I tell you you won’t fall, then trust the magic,” he steps to me, throwing the glowing green sparkles over my head, “Trust the dust,” he says.

And the moment all those little tiny specks of magic fly though the air above me, anything seemed possible. The dust touches my skin and all my thoughts become rational, encouraging, meaningful, trustworthy. I feel so comforted, so strong.

“Trust the dust,” I repeat so easily to myself.

The dust feels warm where it lands. The powerful magic feeling incredible, I smile. This is what I want, I want power. I feel ready to prove myself on that Treasure Hunt, I need this practice. All fear dissolves when the dust touches my skin. My mind is made up.

Trust it.

Trust the dust.

I see his smile curving as I sink into the high of the power. He steps aside, waiting for me to jump. He is too happy to see me ready. I don’t trust him. He wanted this, but I feel so strong from the dust that I don’t care. I know as long as I can gain this power, I can best him one day, I can kill him one day. I take a step back from the cliff, ready to run and jump.

“Think of something that makes you happy, that’s the only way it’ll work,”

I exhale, listening to him.

I think of what Tris must have thought when she opened the box door to find I wasn’t in there anymore. To let the door hang open and see an empty bed, an empty room. No explanation of where I went, just...gone. I feel real joy knowing she has no explanation and never will. I smile, then I sort of laugh.

“Trust it.” he says backing up so I can have room. “And if you fail, I’ll catch you,”

I roll my eyes to him, irritation threatening to take over the happy feeling.

“Done it before, haven’t I?” he throws the past at me again.

I exhale through my nose, holding onto the happy thought. I run forward, breathing to stay relaxed. Kicking the dirt up behind me, I watch the cliffs edge come closer until it’s behind me and I’ve leaped into the air, completely believing that the magic dust will have my back. I fall from the cliff, heading towards the ground, though no fear enters my heart. Instead, excitement floods my veins. And then my feet find air. I look to the sky choosing a destination to be in, an airy spot I’d like to reach and just like that, I defy gravity.

[neuralauren]

so cute, reminds me of the very hungry caterpillar

The last three of my postcard designs!

[mymindwonthush]

Module 9 Assignment: Photographer’s Eye

Food. Food is my comfort. Food makes me forget Food brings happiness to my eyes the way someone were looking at the love of their life. Food can trigger emotions, holds memories, and can actually activate your brains reward system.

Nostalgia. Food has always helped my depressive episodes. One of my biggest comfort foods are tostones. Every chance I get to make tostones I do. The crunchy firm texture hitting my tongue brings me right back to me sitting in my abuela's house in Puerto Rico helping her in the kitchen smash the plantains down and fry them, my abuelo outside smoking a cigar, my little primos laughter fading in and out as they ran all over the "yard". The joy and carefree life I once lived.

Love. Food is my love language. If I am sad, please do not ask what can you do to fix. Simply doordash me some food and send me on my happy way. Tacos especially just connects with my dopamine system a little to well, one could say it causes the happy dance while eating. The tender al pastor meat with a sprinkle of the sour lime and the tangy cilantro and onions can turn any bad day to a good one.

Connection. Pizza is my escape. It connects me to both sides of my family. My mothers side being from Chicago and having the deep dish real sausage and peppers authentic marinara sauce. My grandfather on my moms side owned a pizzeria and you'd think I wouldve gotten tired of it. But now I crave more than ever. My fathers side is from NY the thin flaky authentic NY slice can never go wrong. The buttery crunchy crust is no match to me. Just call me the hungry hungry caterpillar.

Satisfaction. There is nothing like ordering chinese to your home, playing your favorite movie, and grabbing your blankey. The way this picture is calling my name on a friday night I can guarantee I have found my friday night plans. The sweetness of the sauce mixing with the golden juicy chicken is simply chefs kiss, so simple yet so satisfying. It brings me back to every winter when all I want to do is turn off all the lights, put on some pjs and cuddle with the loml. I yearn for this everyday.

The final course. What once was a delightful creamy very well put together cheesecake (pink for breast cancer awareness) is now just a memory of deliciousness. It reminds me of the casino as thats where it was ordered. But it also reminds me of creativity. How a simple cheesecake turned into a beautifully decorated inspired rose. Here is where I get a bit sad, as I know like everything else, this too has to come to an end.. I cannot go without dessert. Some call it big back while others call it.. The final course.

[anxious-alyssia]

...

yk that children book about the very hungry caterpillar?

who ate 3 blueberries and 4 strawberries and 5 melons or whatever?

that's what this reminded me of

caterpillar miku

[k00299539]

Animation Brief 01 - Week 1 - Research

Above: Moomin

After being formally introduced to the animation course and forced coerced to listen to Radiohead, it was time to crack on with the "World Building" brief itself. The first step in plan was a group trip to the Limerick City Library...

...I didn't go.

To be honest I'm still just a wreck of a person and insomnia has been kicking my ass. There are things I can do while sleep deprived but engage in social situations is just not one of them. I felt like I was starting to panic so I just called it a day and went home.

I didn't stop working however, and like any bad maths student I may not follow the correct process to get a given answer, but right or wrong; I'm still getting to that answer. So basically I made my best attempt at following step one of our brief's outline, just alone and tired.

Above: More Moomin art to lighten the mood...

So step one of the brief, and the whole reason we were supposed to go to the library was for research. Our tutor Yvonne Sweeney outlined this for us. The idea was to look through the children's section in particular and find an aesthetic or the inspiration for an aesthetic to emulate for our upcoming work.

Personally I love the aesthetic of children's media like picture books, so this suited me fine. There's something so raw about illustrations made with the idea of engaging little kid brains. I find a lot of the most memorable children's artists had something idiosyncratic about their style, something imperfect or unusual is more captivating than the opposite. You have to keep looking to satisfy the brain's desire for understanding; "what is it about this that makes it look off-kilter"?

So with all that in mind I went looking at children's books for research. There's a lot laying around my house, not just from my own childhood but my siblings as well. It's pretty fascinating to look back and try to examine why the media we consumed back then had the hold on us it did.

Above: The sin of Gluttony...

When thinking about books I read as a kid for some reason my mind goes immediately to the insatiable insect above. That cover is burned into my subconscious... Although until researching it for this project, I wouldn't have remembered how uncanny the catterpillar's face looks. It's cute in it's own way but also not unlike something you might see in a horror. I'm kinda reminded of the "redeads" from Ocarina of Time.

Above: I don't trust this guy's smile...

If I had to describe the art of Eric Carle in one word it'd probably be texture. Through the use of collage, his work takes on a very three dimensional, tactile quality. This was used to great effect in the Hungry Caterpillar book, with the titular character memorably biting holes out of the books pages.

Above: The flag of California I think

Beyond just what it evokes, on a technical level a lot of Eric Carle's stylistic traits line up well with the medium of animation. An animated scene is assembled, layered from foreground to background. In a simple shot moving these layers at different speeds can create the illusion of depth. This technique employs the parralax effect, having close objects appear to move faster than those further away. Similarly Carle's collage inspired aesthetic is all about layering, and the optical illusion of disparate parts making up a cohesive whole.

Above: The Dumping Ground

Another artist I wanted to highlight is Nick Sharratt, children's author and illustrator best known for providing the artwork for Jacqueline Wilson's Tracy Beaker books. I actually hadn't heard of Sharratt 'til now, despite having known his art forever. Sharratt employs a simple style with uniform line thickness and flat, vibrant colours. There's a loose, playful kind of energy to his work that I feel really speaks to children.

I was impressed to learn how dedicated Sharratt is to kid's media and education. He's been an ambassador for children's charity Theirworld for years, campaigning for children's right to a fair and equal education, regardless of gender, race or circumstance.

Above: (◕‿◕✿)

I don't actually know much about Yotsuba&! It's a long running Japanese manga series by Kiyohiko Azuma ostensibly aimed at children. It depicts the everyday adventures of a young girl named Yotsuba as she learns about the world around her, guided by her adoptive father, their neighbors, and their friends. I know a lot of people use it as a resource when learning Japanese because of simple, easy-to-understand nature and limited use of difficult vocabulary and grammar.

The art, like a lot of manga and comics in general, is more character than background focused. That said the covers have a lovely watercolour aesthetic with surprisingly muted colours for a children's series. I appreciate Azuma's emphasis on light and time-of-day in his illustrations. He recreates the world in the warm, optimistic light you'd expect from a child's perspective.

All that said, I'm pretty sure it's a series co-opted by 4chan type incels for whatever reason, so I'm somewhat uncertain about lumping it in here with genuine kids media.

Above: A more trustworthy smile

The last artist I'd like to mention is Tove Jansson, best known for her children's novel series Moomin, of which I've already posted some artwork above. Moomin is another one of those series I had no real contact with as a child. I stumbled across Jansson's work online, often seeing animated clips and illustration's of these bizarre yet deeply charismatic characters.

In some ways her artwork isn't the most suitable for this project, as her illustrations are dominated by the character with the background being there only to frame them. It's exactly because of this though, that I find her backgrounds so appealing. They represent a kind of warped space, where reality contorts itself around her characters.

Above: Less Moomin

Jansson was also prolific, producing many paintings and illustrations outside her domain of children's books. What I find fascinating about her work is that you can see the same elements appear whether she was working in service of children, adults or no one in particular. That in itself may be getting at what made her such a powerful children's artist, she created art in her own single minded vision, unperturbed about what others might think. I feel that philosophy is at the heart of creating authentic children's media.

[childr3ns-book-bracket]

Round 1 Poll 9

Jack and Annie(The Magic Tree House) VS The Hungry Caterpillar(The Very Hungry Caterpillar)

Reminder to be nice, anyone who bullies me or anyone else will be blocked immediately.

Also, despite what the picture implies, this is not a tournament about who would win in a fight. This is a tournament for Tumbler's favorite, so choose whoever you like more!