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I’m not allowed to have ibuprofen bc of my specific medical issues (I miss ibuprofen so bad). So I made this meme bc no one ever makes these funny memes with tylenol.

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毛咕咕Studio (@maogugu_studio): The Princess and the Pea

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digital watercolour piece of Raveena Aurora 🪷🧚‍♂️🫧

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short story: it keeps getting hotter and weirder.

wrote this based off a random prompt I found online. I obviously enjoy body horror, but this is the first time I've ever tried writing it.

Synopsis: Cla and Frances weren't expecting two natural disasters in one day.

CW: body horror

Mr. Clarins is staring again. His eyes are kind of bugging, in that weird blue-eyed way. Very Miley Cyrus, but if you imagined your old, grizzled neighbour holding a garden spade instead of an internationally-revered pop star on the red carpet.

Whatever. It's not like it's a crime for your neighbours to stare at your driveway. He wasn't even looking at the lawn this time. Judgemental asshole is always secretly plotting against my greenery, I'm sure of it.

I'm kicking my feet in the little kid pool Frances stole from her Thursday babysitting gig. The water's turned lukewarm, edging towards actively hot, but it's better than the blisteringly still air. The skin on my face feels like its falling off in sheaths, molting like a fucking lizard. I blow some air up to my eyelashes, just to feel something.

"Hey, Cla, could you please grab th-" — something falls onto the cement and starts rolling down towards the street — "Fuck. Never mind."

Frances and I watch the bottle of Dollar Store white wine roll to its death, hurtling at a frankly frightening speed towards the gutter across the street. A distant splash into the sewer pipe seals its fate.

I shrug. "That freak clown down there'll be happy, at least."

Frances' pout falters a bit, then turns into a giggle, which of course was my aim. She's so easy to read, bless her. She drops the rest of her snack supplies unceremoniously on the concrete next to me.

"Scooch over, bitch. This is my kiddie pool," she says, climbing directly into the water and folding her long, foal-like legs underneath her. She grabs a plastic cup and starts pouring water over her head.

I glance over at Mr. Clarins. He's never been overtly pervy before, but Frances in a tiny green bikini could sway even the best of us to the socially inappropriate. His blue eyes are practically falling out of his sockets. Seriously, I don't think I've ever seen so much of the whites of someone's eyes before. He's still looking at the same gray, non-descript spot on our driveway. The garden spade is still clenched tightly in his fist.

"Frances. Fra." I nudge her. "Girl, look."

Frances has her back turned and is actively pouring water on herself. "What? I'm busy."

I groan in frustration, before physically grabbing her and manually turning her to face the right way. "Girl. Look!"

At this point, Mr. Clarins is barely looking human. His eyes, once fairly normal Miley Cyrus baby blues, are now showing parts of the human anatomy I never thought I would witness. The hand gripping the spade is a mauve-ish white-gray, and I swear the veins are throbbing at an animalistic rate. His mouth is gaping open and swinging to the left, like part of his jaw has come unhinged.

Frances is still holding the plastic cup above her head. A silence descends over us, thick with humidity, as we watch Mr. Clarins slowly turn his head in our direction, one eyeball swinging from a meaty cord, and collapse into a melting, sizzling mass on his perfectly green lawn.

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Interested in owning one of my original gouache paintings?

Here's a little reminder that a number of my originals from my solo show at Nucleus Portland are still available on their website! 💛

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needle felted tomato by chai felt design

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i wish i would've met you at the bakery (steddie au)

“robin. robin. robinrobinrobinrobin.” steve punctuates each word with a poke to her coworker’s arm, until she’s just mindlessly jabbing at her.

“ow! steve!” robin jerks her body to the side, face pulled into a perfect florence pugh pout as she (dramatically) rubs her arm. “what?”

steve leans in conspiratorally, “a hot maybe-lesbian just walked in.”

....

steve and robin work at a bakery. eddie quickly becomes customer of the month.

title comes from the song 'the bakery' by arctic monkeys.

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letterpress postcards by Pottering Cat, Japan

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Rain on Lilypads |  LW Lau

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