#Lesser pastel ghost

[screamingforyears]

IN A MINUTE: // A NEW MUSIC ROUNDUP….

“INTERSTITIAL ENMITY” is the lead single from @aberrationdeath’s forthcoming debut album titled ‘Refracture’ (3/22 @sentientruin) & it finds the Minneapolis-based quartet of JH (Aberrations), DH (Emanations), AW (Lacerations) & EC (Abominations) spreading their “Light-devouring abyssal death metal (featuring members of Void Rot, Suffering Hour & Nothingness)” vibe across 7 sprawled out mins of blackened DeathMetal.

“PASTEL PRISON” is the second single/lead track from @doodseskader’s forthcoming sophomore LP titled ‘Year Two’ (3/8) & it finds the Belgian duo of vocalist/bassist Tim De Gieter & vocalist/drummer Sigfried Burrough embracing their sensually soft side while dealing w/ an isolation that spawns a “longing & desire for companionship” across 4+ mins of grungily blown-out & caustically quiet DoomerNoize.

@lessercare are fucking back w/ “STREETWEAR,” a sampled taste from their forthcoming LP titled ‘Heel Turn’ (3/22) & it finds the EPTX-based duo of composer/lyricist/vocalist/guitarist Andres Chavez & drummer/percussionist/vocalist Zane Pacillas (w/ a special shoutout to bassist/guitarist Angel Yglecias) bringing those glammy gloomer goods across a surging 3:43 clip of six-string ringing, low-end pushing & passionately cooed PostPunk.

“SPLICE” is the lead single/track from @m00npuss’ forthcoming LP titled ‘Death Is Coming’ (5/3 @tgic_recs) & it finds the Denver based trio of vocalist/bassist Crissy Cuellar, guitarist Ethan A Hahn & drummer Cory Hager stutteringly agitating their way across 3 mins of murkily morose & start/stopping NoiseRock.

////

[sixquarksinatrenchcoat]

Athena caught in the act mid-drinkies she can't hide from me!!! Also bonus Potato up top looking judgmental of my life choices as usual

[teleos]

Aglaia, pastel lesser het orange ghost ball python

[ace-does-stuff]

It's fungal not floral

Summary: There's a lesser known counterpart of Hanahaki, a fungal disease, it festers in your lungs just like the sister disease Hanahaki does, but instead it comes up due to some form of hatred- the only way to save yourself is to let go.

But, George has a hard time doing that when it's someone he holds very close to heart.

Warnings: Crying, toxic friendships, graphic depiction of disease, body horror, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: banger idea and spike in emotional viscosity is because of @sobredunia who splayed her heart out on the table for me while I was writing this and all of a sudden shit got real, I really hope this fic did the idea justice, also my writing style changed since I last wrote for them so I think it'll be a quaint 4K word punch to the gut, also snf cause I am a total slut for red/blue pairings, and not as important but this fic a second of two things, one being giving George plant motifs (done over here the first time) and the second time someone has eaten eggs in one of my fics, and it's George, again, what the fuck.

George heaved a heavy sigh as he ran the flat edge of a butter knife along his tongue where fungal spores threatened to gather, making the color more pastel than it already was. One hand kept his mouth held open, the other held onto the butter knife tightly. He knew exactly why this was happening to him- he hated someone, he just didn't know who. He had already eliminated those who he knew it couldn't be from his list of people who he was close to.

He had scratched out Wilbur, Sapnap, Dream, hell, even Quackity, but he's begun leaning towards Quackity being the one whose causing this mess of his respiratory system. He couldn't possibly hate any of them, could he? No, no he couldn't, they've stuck with him for this long what good would it do him to push them away (even if for his own health).

George wants to keep dwelling but he feels a constriction in his chest, he drops the scraping knife and wheezes out a couple coughs. Bright, neon, green spores come pouring from betwixt his lips and leave his mouth dry on the way out. His throat feels raw and dry, like someone took chalk dust and slathered a steak in it, he knows it's wet underneath the dry casing. Breathing feels different now with the consistent fungal casing on his trachea but he won't cut them off because they're his friends.

His hands grip porcelain tightly, he loves them all so much, why? Why does he have to release one of them? Cut ties with them, he might as well just isolate himself, ghost all of them see if that gets rid of it. Tears are welling up in his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to just drop all of them like that, it'd be cruel. He's choking on his own breath as he sobs, his tears hit the sink and slide down the curved ivory, glistening in the LED light. His body quakes, he doesn't want to let go, he doesn't care if one or two of them are bad for him, he doesn't want to let go.

They've done so much for him!

How could he just pick and choose until he stumbles across the one that's causing this?

He can't.

He'll just suffer instead.

He'll suffer and stay quiet about it because his friends care to much they'd make a big deal out of it.

---

George doesn't stream today, he was supposed to do another shock stream for some god awful reason except with some weird damage loop around so they'd have to protect each other.

Instead George can barely bring himself to get out of bed; his sheets all have spores layered on top of them, a green tone or that of mildew. He wakes up his jaw agape and he can feel the mycelium that's dug into his tongue and between his gums. His hands feel heavy with the mushrooms that had formed over his fingers and the sheets- he yanks them up and the growth shreds easily. He would yawn, but all he can bring himself to do is blink as he looks around his partially sunlit room. His mouth is dry and chalky, even more so than usual. His case has gotten worse over the last couple weeks, he's stopped leaving his apartment entirely, ordering groceries and wiring over the money.

He swings his legs over the edge of his bed, when his feet touch the hardwood ground it feels carpeted with the amount of spores and developing mycelia. He simply looks blearily around his room til his eyes land on his alarm clock, it's almost ten, his stream with Sapnap was supposed to start ten minutes ago. He grabs his phone as he stands up and stumbles to the kitchen, he cringes at the sight of concerned texts from Sapnap. He can't fess up to what's really wrong and he doesn't want to lie either, he leans against the counter as he hesitates to open them up.

George feels his hand shake as he places his phone face down the counter.

(it hurts him to ignore them just as much as it hurts them to be ignored)

The last space that isn't absolutely covered in spores because even if he's in his deathbed he has some decency. He doesn't even know what he wants to eat, he just knows that salt helps kill mushrooms. He grabs a bowl he's used three times in a row with nothing more than a rinse in between and grabs salt from the cupboard. He pours a sizable amount into the bowl, it tastes like shit no matter how he waters it down but it makes the casing in his throat die down. He opens his fridge, it's seemingly bare, a carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, lettuce, and little bits of leftovers that have no doubt gone bad. He doesn't want to fill his fridge with food he won't eat, it's hard to down much of anything that's a solid given his current state.

He pulls out the eggs and milk, he places them down beside the bowl and flicks on the burner, a pan already waiting as he prepares the eggs. With the amount of salt in the bowl it's sludgy even with two eggs and a bit of milk, he whisks it haphazardly- his mind is elsewhere and he doesn't know how to fix it. All he can think about is how this isn't helping, about how he isn't letting go, about how he isn't really fixing his disease. He knows logically just distancing himself isn't actually letting go and cutting ties, but at least they might take him back if he only distances himself until this over.

His phone buzzes loudly against the counter and he cringes a bit, he flips it over to find another concerned text from Sapnap. In a burst of foolishness he flicks it open and starts to type out a response faster than he can stop himself- but at least he catches his actions before he can send it. He deletes the entire message before he can read what he wrote and he really should respond but he doesn't. Instead he checks to see if anyone else messaged, he finds worried texts from Karl, Wilbur, Quackity, his parents, and a couple others.

But not Dream.

Dream hasn't texted him in forever despite how much George tried to reach out, tried to make arrangements; he'd move mountains to get an ounce of attention from him. The constriction in his chest grows tighter and he hacks up chunks of coral mushroom, they're bright pink and he swears red droplets are on them. He tastes iron in his mouth but he ignores it as he shuts off his phone again and focuses on the eggs. It's fine that Dreams ignoring him, it's fine that he won't respond, it's fine that he isn't getting what he needs- he won't tell that to Dream though. No one needs to know what's tearing him up inside to the point of spores taking residence in his lungs if he can't figure it out himself.

(he knows exactly what it is but he won't let himself realize)

George bitterly swallows down the heavily over seasoned meal, it burns what little of his taste buds still work at this point in time. He's been on this diet for a month now, just to kill the mushrooms, they take most of it anyways. He's sure his body is fine even though he's destroyed all his mirrors to never look at his sickly form again. He hears his phone buzz again, he doesn't look at it.

And again.

He ignores it.

And again.

He forces down the last of his breakfast and grabs his phone, he doesn't open it, he doesn't want to see what plea for a sign he's still alive he's getting from Sapnap. He left him on read that's good enough, that shows he's still breathing doesn't it? His phone keeps vibrating in his hand and he can't tell if it's from messages or his own hand shaking.

He ends up on the couch, it's coated in spores of a mildew hue and a neon tone, they match the black leather terribly. A puff of spores burst up when George drops down on the couch and he simply hates this sensation. He knows it won't go away until he let's go, but he doesn't want to, he'd sooner die than give up one of his friends no matter the cause. He leans his back along the arm rest, the ground around that side of the couch is thick with mycelia and forming mushrooms. Poor Sapnap, he must be so worried about George, poor everyone, all of them keep sending texts, asking him if he's okay- and he's just not responding. He's hurting them and in the process he's hurting himself as well to extents he can barely comprehend, someone has to get hurt and this time it'll be everyone.

Tears rise to his eyes and throat aches as bursts of spores go off in his lungs, he hack and coughs until he's practically choking on the cloud of damp spores. They float down the floor, spattered with the crimson of his blood and glowing with a new genus prospering inside of his chest. His form is slumped over the armrest of the couch, his rib cage resting on the tainted fabric with his arms hanging over the edge. His body is so sore, his mind is so tired, he just wants to sob and not have webbed mycelia crawl ever closer to his lips.

But he can't let go of whose causing this, he doesn't want to, he isn't ready.

(he knows this is killing him but why should he let himself live like this)

His phone keeps buzzing, but he's in too much a haze to even bother checking just to confirm it's Sapnap. He's sure it's just some pleading question as to what's going on and he's not answering the questions he's being asked. He grips his phone to toss it to the other end of the couch before trying to get into a comfy position where he'll be able to hack a lung out easily.

---

3 messages unread

Sapnap: please just tell me whats going on George was it something i did? is this on me, if it is i can try and make it right

im coming to England just to find out myself George

---

More time passes and somehow this is the third time this month George has ordered a box of salt, kosher, Himalayan, black, table- he's tried every kind and none of it helps him anymore. Now he uses it to scrub his dishes and wash his clothing and the sheets because if it won't kill the spores in his lungs then maybe it'll at least help him lie to himself about his state. Maybe if his clothing isn't covered in fungus he won't feel so dirty, maybe if he slept in clean sheets he'd feel better about himself.

He lays in bed, the sheets are clean and he relishes in the fact, he's achieved it with god awful amounts of salt in his washing machine (the poor thing must be in agony). He knows that he's absolutely terminal by now, he feels faint consistently and his everything aches no matter what he does to make it stop. He sees his reflection in the black of his phone screen and he wants to vomit with how zombified he looks.

Mycelium creeps outward from his lips like lichtenberg fractals and his skin, now disturbingly thin, bulges where thick roots of mycelia wrap around his veins and shoot down his spine. His eyes look hollow and when he opens his mouth it's all white, the thick casing of spores crack when he moves his tongue- he's shocked he can salivate at this point. When he looks at his hands he sees them in a glaze of mildew hues, neon green, and red from all the times he's raised his hands to cover his mouth when he coughs. His hair no longer retains it's dark hue, it's lightened up with the fungus sapping his nutrients and the spores latching onto individual strands, causing it to clump.

He looks like a monster.

He's glad no one has seen him in months, they'd all run screaming if they saw the hideous creature he's become.

He doesn't want to move anymore, he has no excuse to just stay in bed aside from the fact he's literally dying. No fungus tries to hold him down and his sheets are thin and light, he just sees no reason in getting up even though he's hungry. He should eat, he really should, he knows the food in his fridge is rotting and the door dasher must be getting concerned with the fact he only buys salt, bleach, and Tylenol these days (even if he was buying healthy the mushrooms on his apartment door are also a red flag).

His phone buzzes and he picks it up, a message from Sapnap, he's tempted to just ignore it but when he sees the preview he's just confused. Why the fuck would Sapnap need to know if he's changed his lock since last time he visited? He gives a quick two letter response before turning off his phone, silence washes over his dark room. The lights are off and the blinds are down but light still filters in between the cracks, despite that the luminescent mushrooms that have taken residence inside of him glow under the skin and on the hardwood floor.

And then he hears his apartment door open.

Panic briefly washes over him, but then he hears Sapnaps voice calling out a meek 'hello?' and he can rest easy again. How stupid, panicking over someone breaking into his apartment, it'd obviously be Sapnap just visiti-

Wait.

Why is Sapnap at Georges door?

Last time George checked they did not live anywhere remotely close by.

Just to investigate George limps out of bed, on the way to the door he grabs a Tylenol and downs it dry. He knows it won't start working for a couple minutes, but if Sapnap really is at the damn door and he isn't just hallucinating he'd rather have it kick in than not have it. He pushes open his bedroom door, vines of mycelia trail down the white paint that's peeling away as spores integrate themselves into wood. He walks- he stumbles, gripping onto the nearest wall for support as he makes his way to where his couch rests. He finds a concerned Sapnap looking very, very confused and almost sick with worry as he stares at the mycelium littered across Georges apartment.

"Sapnap what the fuck are you doing here?" George choked out, his mouth didn't want to properly form all the words and his voice felt higher than before with how little he used it, it was quiet. Sapnap still perked up at his voice and turned to face his sickly friend.

He rushed over to capture George in a rib crushing hug and despite the fact he was shorter he still managed to lift the Brit with a worrying ease, "fuck, you're okay, you're alive- I was so scared George," Sapnap only barely managed to choke out the words, the chill rooted deeply into George seeped into him but he didn't care. He was hesitant to release his grasp on his frail friend, "I thought you were dead."

George gives him a questioning look, "and you hopped on a plane to Britain just to make sure? Are you fucking insane?" His question comes off a little bit roughly but if anything he's touched by the sentiment, still worried about what would happen if he was dead and Sapnap was stranded here.

Sapnap gives a bit of a laugh, "they say love makes you do crazy things don't they? Or is that not a saying in Britain," Sapnaps hands rest on Georges wrists and what little untainted blood remains in the Brits body goes to his face. He looks pale as a ghost and the slightest blush on his face looks like blood on a wedding dress with how much it stands out.

The warmth Sapnap gives off is addicting and George slips his wrists from the grip before interlocking fingers instead, it anchors him into reality, this must be how ghosts feel, "everyone's heard that saying," he sounds so sure of himself, he steps a bit closer to Sapnap before leaning into him. He feels dead, he feels so dead now that he has someone healthy and alive to compare himself to, it's like he's wasting away, "I'm sorry."

Sapnap gives George a perplexed look as he leads them over to the couch, the leather is torn in some spots (it wasn't last week), "what for? I'm sure you had your reasons, maybe you thought it would help the Saprophytis in it's onset, I'm just glad I got here before it could kill you," he gives a hum of as he guides George to just rest. He ends up on top of Sapnap to some extent, ankles resting on the armrest, Sapnap places his chin on the top of Georges head as his partner nuzzles into him, "so, care to cough it up?"

"I think I'll try to avoid hacking up mycena and coral mushrooms if I have a word in it Snapnap," George said with a forced chuckle, a puff of spores filter past cracked lips at the singular laugh.

The spores aren't much more than a red mist these days, at least it wets his painfully dry lips. The red settles onto his terribly stained shirt and it blends with the preexisting blotches of spores and blood. He finds himself coughing, he brings up his hands to his mouth and his entire body shakes as he draws his knees to his chest- he slumps a bit lower on Sapnaps torso. When he pulls back his hands they're dripping with crimson and red chunks of coral mushrooms, he feels disgusted in himself. No one should have to see that, especially not the only one to haul so much ass to check if his friend was okay.

George stared at his hands in horror for a brief moment, Sapnap only looked intrigued and mildly worried, "fuck I'm sorry," he mumbled out as he wiped his hands on his pants, they were covered in bloody hand prints from the cuff to the waist- he heaved a sigh but couldn't help a smile when Sapnap wrapped an arm around his midsection.

"You can't help the symptoms," Sapnap stated with a shrug, he rested his hand atop Georges, "now, I'm begging you, cuss out whoever you hate so much that it's done this to you," George gives him a hesitant look, "please."

George glances to the side, "you won't get mad at me?"

"Of course not, I wouldn't get mad at you for evading death, George that's stupid," Sapnap said, he gently ran his thumb in circles across the top of Georges hand, he could feel the mycelia under skin and the almost scale like make up of the spores on Georges fingers- it was different, but it was still George.

"It's Dream, I just, he won't respond to my messages, he won't reach out, he hasn't talked to me in months but he streams, so I watch, see if there's a hint as to why he's been giving me the silent treatment, but there isn't," George explained, his breaths were short with how crowded his lungs were. He had to pause to hack up chunks of coral mushroom, stringy bits of mycena came out along with it. They looked like guts in his hands, coated in a sludgy blood, he tossed them to the floor, "he just wouldn't give me attention no matter how much I was begging for it."

Sapnap nodded a bit, he gave a hum of understanding, "and you hate him for that?"

George nodded fiercely, "I guess so, I can't think of anyone else who could be the cause this," he hacked and coughed again, the blood dripped from his forever stained crimson hands as chunks of fungus tore up the casing in his mouth and throat- he could feel them again despite the sting. He threw the mushrooms to the floor before wiping down his bloody hands, he noticed the drops of red on his friends hoodie, "sorry."

"Don't worry, shit happens," Sapnap said, his casualness shocked George, but it was the least he could do despite the fact he was fearing for his partners life given how much blood he's hacking up and how malnourished he feels, "is there anything else on your mind?"

George paused, "I don't think so, I just wish he'd pay more attention to me sometimes."

"What? Am I not enough? I spontaneously paid for a flight to fucking Britain just to check in on you and that's not enough," Sapnaps voice is playful even as he takes Georges bloody hands in his own.

George rolled his eyes a bit as he let his knees drop from his chest, he pushed himself a little bit higher up Sapnaps torso, "yeah, definitely not, you didn't even smuggle me some pop over the borders," he sounds playful as he speaks even though his voice is cracked and raw due to lack of usage over the last few month.

Sapnap brought a hand to Georges chin, tilting up his head a bit, "I love you dude, you know that right? You know I'd jump through some insane hoops just to make sure you're feeling good?" George nodded a bit, only to be taken aback at an unprompted and chaste kiss.

There's an awkward silence.

"Shit I shouldn't've done that, jumped the gun on my end," Sapnap said, grasping for excuses and apologies as a distinctive red rose to his face, "tasted kinda bloody anyways."

George simply stares at Sapnap, the words registering, "the first time you kiss me and all you can think of is how bloody it tasted? What a romantic," a lilt of laughter rests on his voice and he shies away from Sapnaps form just a bit.

"What else am I supposed to do!? Compliment you on your dry lips, say that your veins are looking absolutely magnificent? Throw me a bone George," Sapnap said dramatically, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as though offended at such a thought, he's caught off guard when George pushes him into the sofa slowly, "well someones taking things fast, you seem like the kind of guy who'd want a candle lit dinner before we get down to fucking, have I misjudged you George? My dear partner in crime how badly have I made assumptions about you?"

Georges face heats up, "I was gonna kiss you again, but now that you mention it, yeah, I do want a candlelit dinner before we kiss," he's smirking a little bit.

"What about premarital hand holding?" Sapnap asked, he looked smug as he spoke despite the fact he was pinned under another person, albeit a person whose weaker than a wet kitten.

George gasped in faux shock, "how scandalous! I'm shocked you could even say such a thing," his exclamation dissolves into laughter as he goes on with the bit, he leans down and kisses Sapnap again; this time he can actually relish in the reaction such a simple motion garners.

He splays himself atop Sapnap, back pressed to his torso, he can feel his partners heartbeat reverberate in his frail body. He let's himself slide into the crack between Sapnaps side the backrest of the couch, he rests a good portion of himself on top of Sapnap. He's, to put simply, smitten with his friend at the moment- he can't really blame himself for it either. Kissing the guy who decided to fly on over to Britain on a whim, just snuggling on the couch, a dream come true.

Georges phone buzzes, it's probably just Karl. He sits up a little bit before pulling it out of pocket only to find it's Dream, yikes. Maybe if he sent the message two hours earlier he would justify it with a response, but he just fessed up to hating the guy. He places his phone on the coffee table, a hit of coughing catches him off guard and keels over Sapnap to choke out whatever's in his trachea. He finds himself coughing for a solid fifteen seconds, he convulses like a cat choking on a hair ball until a chunk of fungus the size of a meatball dislodges itself. He feels gross, but he also feels like he can breath again with the saprophyte in his lungs disappearing bit by bit.

He leans back to look at Sapnap who is simply staring, "so am I still hot or did that just wave a massive red flag in your face?" He wipe the blood from his lips with the back of his hand and for a second Sapnap is stunned (the likeness to a vampire in those actions is blood chilling in the best way possible).

Sapnap stifles a laugh at the words, "George do I even need to justify that question with an answer?"

George gives a hum of amusement before resting against Sapnap again, he's smirking, "good point, I'll always be hot as fuck, even when I look and feel like shit," he can't help the way he arches into the warm touch resting on his spine.

"I think cute would be a better word to describe you, but go on," Sapnap said playfully, George gave an offended gasp, "who texted you?"

George shrugged, "someone that fucked up big time if he wants my attention now," he finds himself flustered when the hand on his back pulls him down and into a hug.

"That means you won't die right?" Sapnap asked quietly, practically whispered into his taller friends ear.

"Obviously, I couldn't just die on you after only two kisses anyways," George said, his tone was cocky.

His confidence simply melted away when Sapnap placed a kiss to his cheek with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face- he really was turning this entire day into a warm embrace.

[obeythedemons]

Mammon Masterlist

Obey Me! Masterlist

Obey Me Masterlist By Character

Headcanons

MC is summoned to Devildom wearing a pride shirt

Young MC is Half Moth Demon - Platonic

MC summons them

MC uses a pet name for them

MC sees their ex

MC likes the brother back, but is worried they’ll disappoint them

Spotify Playlists + Barbatos

MC being bullies for being close to them

They receive a love letter from MC

MC has no survival instinct and talks to demons, wanders off, and asks all the questions

Pastel Goth FTM MC

MC is trying to become a demon to stay in Devildom

Blind MTF MC

MC has a low self-esteem

Parent MC

Short MC

Arguments He’s Started To Watch The World Burn

They react to Lucifer falling

MC is Ruri-Chan’s VA

Autistic!MC

They React to Mammon Crying

They find out MC can read their chats

MC’s Heart Does Something Weird

How he builds IKEA furniture

MC is summoned to Devildom in laboratory PPE

MC is Injured

MC’s Attacked By Another Demon

What Crocs He Would Wear

MC Has An Allergic Reaction + Solomon

MC has a headache

Dad Jokes

FTM MC

Idol!MC

MC’s D.D.D. gets a virus and sends flirty messages

Their Favorite Place in Tokyo

MC is in a gang

Supernatural MC

His Office

The Moment He Knew He Loved MC (minus Luke)

Tea Headcanons

When his heart first skipped a beat (minus Luke)

What He Tries To Hide (Minus Luke)

What Kid’s Movie Scares Him The Most

When the others know he loves them (minus Luke)

Gestures of Physical Affection (minus Luke)

What The Lesser Demons Say About Him

MC’s summoned to devildom with a plush of him (minus Luke)

When He Needs To Confess (minus Luke)

MC Has Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome

Their Mask

Pokemon AU

MC’s Sick

They Take MC to the Doctor

They Play Video Games (Roblox)

They Catch MC Singing Once Upon A Dream

How they show affection/react to MC showing affection (minus Luke)

How he takes notes

MC gets tired when they’re out (minus Luke)

MC Slips on Ice

MC Receives Their First Binder

Their New Year’s Resolution

MC Pulls Their Hair Back

How He Proposes (minus Luke)

He learns MC’s his soulmate (minus Luke)

MC’s heart races when they see him (minus Luke)

Hanakotoba - His Flower

MC’s standing in the rain

He has a nightmare about MC (minus Luke)

MC hugs him for the first time

He Dances with MC (minus Luke)

Someone Else Confesses

Diavolo Plays Matchmaker (minus Luke)

He learns he’s MC’s first kiss

They comfort MC after a horror movie - Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Diavolo, Solomon

What They Daydream About (minus Luke)

He Asks MC To Become Immortal (minus Luke)

MC’s Cold (minus Luke)

He Sees MC In Wedding Wear (minus Luke)

MC Puts His Cold Hands On Him (Minus Luke)

Someone Sends Him A Nude By Mistake (Minus Luke) - 18+

Cheering Him Up (Minus Luke)

How He Plays The Sims

What Videos MC Posts of Him

Who Gives the Best Massages

MC’s Immortality is Wrong (Minus Luke)

His Favorite Form of Transportation

What He’s Insecure About (Minus Luke)

Oneshots/Drabbles

Motivation

Shipping Wars

Bandages

I’m Just Crazy for You

MC’s Type

Morosexual

A Promise

Spotify Song Challenge

1. Space Ghost Coast to Coast - Glass Animals - Mammon

2. Are You Ready? - Mammon (Obey Me!) - Mammon

5. Somebody to Love - Queen - Mammon

6. Kamikazee - Missio - Mammon

7. Arcadia - Lucifer (Obey Me!) - Mammon

8. Celestial Ray - Miura Ayme - Mammon

9. Riptide - Grandson - Mammon

10. A Good Song Never Dies - Saint Motel - Mammon

20. 時候 - Sue - Mammon

24. Hysteria - Muse - Mammon

69.  Mahishasura Mardini (Droplex Remix) - Shanti People - Mammon

Winter Themed Drabbles

6. Gift Exchange - Mammon

24. Red Cheeks and Noses - Mammon

25. First Snow - Mammon

26. Secrets - Mammon

27. Alone for the Holidays - Mammon

28. Warming Up - Mammon

30. Miracles - Mammon

Spring Themed Drabbles

13. Flower Bouquets - Mammon

18. Bug Catching - Mammon

Alphabet Drabbles

J - Jewel - Mammon

M - Monstrous - Mammon

Date Night

Horseback Riding - Mammon

Valentine’s Day 2022

Mammon Valentine’s Day Card

Before MC: What They Think About Valentine’s Day

What He Gets MC For Valentine’s Day

His Ideal Valentine’s Day Date - Headcanons

How Fast He Falls In Love, How Fast He Admits It - Headcanons

What Valentine’s Day Gift He Wants - Headcanons

After MC: What He Thinks About Valentine’s Day - Headcanons

Miscellaneous 

Mood Board

[westmoor]

voices from within (a post-halloween special)

(other parts can be found here)

Following the success of his latest novel, Jaskier accompanies Geralt to fulfill a contract. He only hopes to get some sounds on tape, film some furniture moving, get his name out there and maybe catch the start of a new story - but some houses are haunted by more than just the ghosts of former residents.

---

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice barely rang above a breath. “Oh, it’s gorgeous.” For a moment he stood staring up at the building that was to shelter him for the next twenty-four hours, until the slamming of the driver’s side door snapped him out of it and he turned. “Geralt-”

Geralt only hummed his assent. It was impressive, stately even: When Jaskier had referred to it as a castle, it wasn’t far from the truth. 

Wide and squared and two storeys tall, brick painted a light creamy beige offset by dark brown, a dozen arched lattice windows gleamed in the afternoon light. Had he believed houses had personality he might’ve said this one looked friendly, inviting.

“What do you think?” Blue eyes twinkled at him, clearly pleased. “Do you like it? Think it will meet our expectations?”

He didn’t. He was decidedly less excited than his counterpart by what awaited them, and truth be told he would’ve preferred not to be there at all - or rather, preferred for Jaskier not to be there. It was a rule of his, one he’d reinforced after they had gotten together. He did not allow humans near his line of work.

But the novelist, after the success of the initial story featuring a Witcher, had been the one contacted about the job and had even brokered the contract, holding it over Geralt’s head until they had reached a compromise. He would be given free reign to do what he needed for the night, gather whichever so-called supernatural evidence and material he required, as long as he followed direction and kept a safe distance when told to. He had until dawn.

Still, Geralt couldn’t help the sneaking feeling of foreboding lurking at the back of his mind.

So no, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way it loomed behind the lean figure of his partner, deceptively calm, crouched like a beast lying in wait.

Geralt was saved from the attempt to voice his concerns - as brash as his boyfriend could be, he was remarkably perceptive - by a second car pulling in behind theirs.

No outside involvement had been another one of Geralt’s demands, triggering a tirade of protests from Jaskier, who in turn had argued that he couldn’t possibly cover the necessary ground on his own. Not within such a short time frame.

Unable to move his witcher, that particular settlement had eventually been perched on a technicality: No outsiders would join their so-called expedition.

How Jaskier had been able to get hold of Lambert and Eskel, much less convinced them both to join in, Geralt would never know.

Sneaky bastard.

Watching his brothers emerge from the car and approach them, however, he felt the restless beast in his chest subdued. Jaskier drew trouble like a spoonful of sugar drew wasps, but surely even he couldn’t manage to put himself in too much danger, not with three pairs of seasoned witcher eyes at his back.  

Rounding the silver hood of the vehicle, Eskel nodded at Geralt and extended a hand in friendly greeting to Jaskier. The two of them had only briefly met but hit it off immediately, which wasn’t too surprising - anyone with the sense not to balk at his scars would find the older wolf to be good company. 

Still waters run deep though, and his brothers knew better than anyone what it would take for a stranger to work through the layers of Eskel’s polite facade and earn real trust. Luckily for all of them, Jaskier’s openness and frank speech - verbose but earnest - had battered at it in much the same way as he’d broken down Geralt’s own walls.

Lambert, on the other hand - 

“Thought you said this place had ghosts, or whatever.” His hands were buried as deep in his pockets as they would go. “Are we going to go find some, or just stand out here until we join them? I’m freezing my tits off.”

Lambert was an acquired taste.

Jaskier didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest, and eagerly grasped the incentive to get moving. Within moments he had ushered them all up the double stone steps with an authority that probably wasn’t appropriate for a young man to direct at three monster-hunting mutants twice his size, but seemed entirely natural to him. 

Geralt thanked his lucky stars that neither brother commented on the quickening of his heartbeat.

---

If the exterior was impressive, the interior was overwhelming.

Heavy oak doors swung open on well-oiled hinges and they were led through to a lounging area, masterfully decorated to reflect the wealth and status of its original owners, walls practically dripping with frames illustrating its rich history. Past cushioned chairs, rococo sofas and tables on spindly legs, a grand staircase twisted up to the second floor, banister continuing along an interior balcony wrapping around the entrance from above. Beyond, rows of pearly white doors and pastel hallways would carry them into the heart of the manor.

Crossing the threshold felt like stepping through time. Despite the electric lights and vague distant hum of heating units, each piece in sight was as close to original as could be hoped for, selected and maintained with utmost care. 

But there was something else, too. Not so much a smell as a breath, an unmistakable lingering of things long lost.

Neither witcher voiced it, though they all clearly noticed - eyes skimming walls and nostrils flaring momentarily before they discerned what couldn’t be pinned down.

Jaskier slipped seamlessly into the role of the enthusiastic guide, throwing tidbits and details left and right while introducing the trio to the building’s past and present characters. His brothers exchanged glances at the shift in demeanour, but Geralt remained unfazed. He knew the writer hadn’t stumbled into his profession by chance, but lived and breathed for such occasions. Be it in speech or in prose, he was a born narrator.

What followed was a thorough tour of every notable room, nook, and cranny, all with a performative flair and tinged with what Jaskier referred to as reported phenomenons. Geralt hung back. He had already heard the broad strokes of it, but listened nonetheless, the added structure and dulcet tone of his lover’s voice crafting it into a proper story. 

The other two were paying the attention of hearing it for the first time, and his mind revived the question of how they’d been convinced to join in the first place. He might end up having to ask.

Though Jaskier was an entertaining host - and only got them lost twice - an hour had come and gone by the time they completed their loop and found themselves back at the top of the staircase.

“Now, gentlemen!” Clapping his hands, their guide halted in front of one of the large white doors. One, Geralt noted, they hadn’t opened yet. “If you would so kindly help bring in the equipment and start setting up for the night…” His lips quirked in that mischievous way at least one of them had come to know all too well. “I’ve saved the best for last.”

A lesser man would have succumbed to Lambert’s baiting comments and Geralt’s glare, but Jaskier’s penchant for dramatics could weather any storm. 

Only once the car had been emptied of gear and devices, wires stretched and screens installed, and after he’d procured a sturdy meal for his companions through a particularly scared-looking pizza delivery person, were they allowed back near the second floor landing.

“I want to look everything over one more time before we start recording, and maybe move another cam down to the first floor. The maid’s quarter is said to be particularly reliable, lots of people claim to have heard voices - lullabies even - between 3 and 4am.”

It was Eskel, who so far had been the most amenable of the group and asked only the most practical questions, that finally raised the issue that had crawled steadily closer to the surface as they worked. “This seems like a pretty big contract for a few disembodied voices.”

“Ah.” Jaskier’s grin grew wide. “But we’ve only scratched the surface so far. “

“In here,” he tapped the great door behind him, “lies the heart of this little castle, the grand salon, where the original owners would entertain guests. Basically the entire staff claims to have heard sounds coming from here. Music, clinking glass, the clamour of voices, as if there’s a party taking place, dragging well into the night. But when they open the door and look inside…” He snapped his fingers. “Nothing! Dark and abandoned, quiet as a grave.”

“If the claims are true, this is where it all began. There was an accident, you see, a real tragedy, one that cost the master of the house - a mister Lamm - and all six of his sons their lives. His widow, Dora, unable to let go and half mad with grief, prayed day and night to be reunited with her husband and to see her family again. But when religion failed her, as it’s wont to do, she cast her net wider, and gathered every prominent mystic and occultist of her time to aid her quest.”

Geralt stepped closer, the crux of their stay finally about to be revealed to his brothers, who were following the recounting with rapt attention.

“And she succeeded in bringing them back. Not to life, perhaps, but the halls were filled with children’s laughter and the sounds of running footsteps once again. Dora is said to have sat up nightly, listening, speaking to them until dawn. Only, it wasn’t the only thing they brought along.”

Eskel nodded, an idea of which road the story was about to go down, but waited for the man to continue.

“Now, I don’t know that I believe everything -” 

Lambert snorted, earning a sharp elbow to the side.

“- but according to mediums and other visitors who’ve stayed here over the years, the house is open somehow. Like a friction point worn thin. Supposedly whatever leaks through serves as a sort of battery for the rest - the knocking, the voices, the singing - but it’s not just that, either.”

Jaskier’s voice lowered a note as he dropped the theatrical edge, turning serious. “Previous employees say it… changes people. Makes them ill, triggers things. Makes them say and do things and behave in ways they otherwise wouldn’t. Most don’t stay very long. Others won’t leave, even after their employment is terminated.”

“The current owner wants it shut, whatever it is,” Geralt interjected. 

If Jaskier was annoyed at having his flow broken, it didn’t show, and he smoothly picked back up. “And that’s why we’re here! By morning, thanks to Geralt’s ministrations, this place should be as devoid of any spiritual activity as any regular old heap of rocks, and I want to catch it before it goes.”

Silence fell over the group.

“That’s it?” Lambert looked at Jaskier, brows raised. Then at Geralt, and back at Jaskier, who nodded affirmatively. He shrugged. “Okay. Fun.”

Geralt released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, and Jaskier leaned up to the door. 

“Well then, friends, if you’re ready!” He flicked the lock, before stepping back and turning to Geralt, features seeped in expectation. 

“Darling, would you do the honours?”

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 16 - Leon with Flowers

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ - here is the latest update

@crikeygatormate, @alisakagi​ - apologies for the late update

Leon with Flowers

…

…

["We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl Year after year."

- Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd]

…

…

Leon arrives outside the Wild Area Pokemon Nursery and pushes open the door. It jingles with a light tune upon his arrival and he sees a lone nursery worker behind the counter. It's Raihan's girlfriend and her Goomy and Dreepy huddle together on one of the sofas, watching TV whilst she works, juggling several large canisters of baby pokemon food and moomoo milk in hands.

“Hi Leon,” she greets him politely as soon she spots him, despite the hectic atmosphere. Her voice is very soft on the ears.

“Hi,” he replies, and Goomy and Dreepy gurgle and chirp at him happily; Goomy uses one of its horn to press down on a random button on the remote control beside them, changing the channel from a drama to a cartoon show.

Throwing a quick glance to the clock on the wall, she says, “You’re early.”

“Ah, yeah, I managed to get everything done…I can come back if you’re not ready.”

“Not at all, give me a minute.”

“Sure.”

“Please have a seat,” she gestures to an empty couch and so he plops himself down.

Raihan’s girlfriend finishes filling up the shelves on the wall with the bottles and the milk before she ducks behind the counter and he hears more glass containers rattling within and she stacks two or three more on the shelf before she says, “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

"Okay."

Leon casually glances around the small waiting room until he casts a glimpse at her; Raihan’s girlfriend is a pokemon breeder and she’s the complete opposite of the dragon tamer: calm, quiet and certainly not flamboyant in any manner. Apparently she’s good at handling him and there are rumours flying around that he is madly in love with her. Despite her meek outward appearance, looks can be deceiving because Raihan’s girlfriend is also an EV trainer with an arsenal of high-levelled, competitive pokemon.

And he’s asked her for help.

She dries her hand on a Bellossom tea towel and finally heads to the gate, opening it. “Thanks for waiting! Well, come on in. Sorry about the mess.”

“No problem,” Leon gets up from his seat - looks like she trusts Goomy and Dreepy to be left on their own - and he closes the gate behind him, follows her inside the interior and often unseen part of the nursery.

She leads him towards the baby pokemon room; it's covered with pastel yellow wallpaper dotted with little stars and moons and there are plenty of baby mobiles hanging from the ceiling, soft play toys, alphabet play cubes and various squeaky toys and Leon is greeted with the sight of Cleffas, Pichus, Smoochums, Magbys and Bonslys running rampant around the available space and generally causing mischief. She runs inside at once, pulling at a Mime Jr that’s about to leap off a high shelf before she separates two Munchlaxes who are squabbling over a bowl of berries.

“So sorry,” she exclaims as Leon glances around, unsure where to really look due to the chaos, “I swear they can be very well-behaved. So…what do you think?”

Leon chuckles and folds his arms. “Of course, but…” as the babies bawl and drool and roll around the playmats, he puts a hand under his chin to ponder, “...Something’s not quite right. I’m not saying she won’t like a baby pokemon but…it’s not really her.”

Her shoulders droop. “Oh, r-really? Well…maybe not a baby pokemon then?” Copying his action, an Igglybuff taps at her calf as she rubs at her chin. She glances down and it points to a bottle it cannot reach on the table. She picks it up and hands it to it and Igglybuff rolls away, and she says, “What about an abandoned pokemon?”

Leon raises a brow. “There are abandoned pokemon here?”

She nods sadly; a Riolu tugs on her leg next, wanting to be held, “Unfortunately, yes, the number of pokemon dropped off at the nursery and subsequently being abandoned has risen," she says glumly as she picks the fighting pokemon up and pats him on the head.

“Where are they? Can you show me?”

“Of course,” she puts down Riolu, goading him to play with the others and all the baby pokemon look at her expectantly, “You guys be on your best behaviour, okay?”

There’s a response of chirping, squeaking, high-pitched trilling and a few nods of the head. She looks at them worriedly but has no choice but to leave the room for now. Regardless, the baby pokemon don’t seem to be intent on wreaking too much havoc.

She leads Leon out of the nursing room and further along the corridor, stopping at a random door and opening it; she holds the door open for him and his eyes grow wide when he sees a dozen or so pokemon littered around the room, resting in baskets or perches. However, there is something terribly gloomy about this room and he realises the dullness is emanating from the Pokemon within.

An Eevee in the corner is tightly curled up against the wall but looks up when they enter and its large eyes meets Leon’s. Its ears are flat against its head and its fur is dull and matted. It's clutching a squidgy berry toy to itself.

It’s….miserable.

Raihan’s girlfriend sighs under her breath, “We initially put them together with the other pokemon, but they seem to be doing better with other abandoned pokemon so…my boss put them altogether in one room. Some pokemon have actually broken out and run away…these are the ones that are still waiting for their owner.”

Leon glances around, inspecting the remaining pokemon; a Corvisquire with rough-looking feathers sits on the perch with its head under its wing. A Skwovet hides underneath its thick tail, its wet eyes looking up at the duo. A Minccino is crying in another corner; she runs to it immediately and scoops it up in her arms.

“…This isn’t new, but the numbers are growing rapidly,” she replies as she holds the small pokemon tightly to her chest. It responds to her embrace, closing its eyes.

“What’s wrong with Eevee?”

“We diagnosed it with a permanent leg injury. It can no longer battle.”

Leon bites down on his lip; the sight of abandoned or injured pokemon makes his heart clench with grief. “Arceus, I want to take them all.”

“You can’t. Not yet. They’ve actually not passed the period yet,” Raihan’s girlfriend replies, “My boss set a month, at least. If their owners don’t return, the pokemon are officially under our care."

Leon emits a sigh under his breath until he spots a small and malnourished fox pokemon sitting quietly by the window, staring outside at the scenery. It hasn’t seemed to have noticed their presences and he observes it for a fraction longer than usual before he takes a step forward. Once he's at its side, it turns round and a single, glassy brown eye blinks at him whilst the other appears to be missing. Furthermore, it only has one tail.

Leon moves to crouch on one knee before the small creature and it regards him silently before throwing its gaze to the window once more, though it wags its small tail.

“Oh! Vulpix…” Raihan’s girlfriend murmurs, “….Poor thing, she's been here more than a month and her owner never came back. She's absolutely lovely, she would be a great choice if it suits your friend."

“I’ll take her,” Leon says, without a moment of hesitation, “Will that be alright?”

She nods with a wide smile. “Of course! I'll get the paperwork ready."

"Paperwork?" he realises he's beginning to dislike that word.

"Yes, it's mostly for our records, then you can pick her up in three days minimum."

"Thanks, I'm looking forward to it!" he exclaims, and she grins in response, picking Vulpix up and off the ground.

"Thank you, Leon!! Isn't this wonderful? You're going to have a new home soon," she coos, lifting one of her paws and wiggling it gently. He can't help but grin.

Raihan's girlfriend hands him the Pokemon and slips her into his arms; their gazes meet and Vulpix blinks her single eye, wags her tail gently, then reaches over and licks his cheek.

She's perfect.

...

Although you’re not quite sure how you managed to get a wink of sleep for the remainder of that night considering what had happened between you and Leon in the garden, you wake up in time for further checkups and the doctors inform you that you will be discharged by end of the day. It's good news, though you will need to make routine visits to get your dressings replaced for a further week or so.

And when you check Rotom, you have received several messages.

Graves will come to pick you up before you are formally discharged and instructs you to get packing. He also briefly tells you his findings about Edward Rose: he was not a satanist but he did not have a good reputation amongst the Rose family. Being one of the lesser known 'Rose', he was remembered for his descent into madness and there is no record on how he obtained or why he chose to use human blood, skin and hair for his painting.

Fifteen paintings are alleged to exist and he was about to complete one more, but this final piece was apparently incomplete and subsequently went missing following his death. The existence of these paintings are bordering mythical. No-one has seen them before and there is no evidence. Just rumours.

But they do exist, and you tell Graves you had found the final painting in the basement of Rose's art gallery, but Graves remarks that there was no such thing when they searched it.

Therefore you realise Rose has already taken it and with that in mind, your fist curls until your knuckles turn white. Realising anything to do with Rose sets you off into an irrevocable rage, you move on and try to think of other things.

Magnolia and Sonia will visit you.

And so will Leon.

You hold your breath as you nervously swipe his message open, letting your eyes roam over the screen. Your mood lifts in a split second and your heart beat speeds up. He asks how you are doing and that he has returned to his duties but he will do his best to visit you before you leave hospital. On this occasion, there is one emoji included but the remainder of the message remains rather professional and straight-forward. You reread it a few more times before a smile worms its way over your face and your heart flutters.

However, you're able to subdue this profound giddiness and your response is a very neutral sounding 'okay' and you hope that's a satisfactory enough answer.

Thus your day begins and it starts off with Sonia and Magnolia visiting as promised; they’ve bagged the first slot and somehow your poster that says 'One Visitor at a Time' no longer applies as they've also brought little Yamper, Cutie and Poltea with them and once they enter the room, you are pounced on as everyone is simply dying to embrace you. Overjoyed to see them, you hug for a lot longer than usual, before Magnolia tells you off again for the danger you had put yourself in but you tell her you will no longer be working on cases and that you will be taking a break.

Pleased with your decision, Magnolia nods to herself.

"I had a dream," you murmur as Cutie and Poltea move to sit on your shoulders, "when you came to pick me up from the psych ward."

Magnolia and Sonia watch you quietly.

"...And I'm really grateful," you add, your fist clinching over the sparse, thin duvet, "for everything. For taking me in, for looking after me. Thank you."

Sonia reacts with a cheerful smile and throws her arms around you again, holding you as tightly as possible and you do the same, whilst Magnolia nods briefly as she balances her cane with both hands.

“That was such a long time ago," Sonia replies, "Don't think about it; it was a bad chapter of your life."

You can only nod.

"How are you feeling anyway?" she adds, when she finally lets go of you.

"I'm okay," you say, and you show her your arm, "...could be better, I guess."

"Hmm... at least the doctors say it's gonna heal. And I heard Leon stayed with you most of the night."

"Yeah, he saved my life."

Sonia giggles whilst Magnolia tells her to keep her voice down, thoroughly reminding her that they're in a hospital. You chuckle as Sonia pouts in response.

They’ve brought you breakfast and lunch in case the hospital food is not sufficient (and it is) and unfortunately they cannot stay for long; their visiting time is over. You and Sonia exchange a long hug and soon, they depart; though you long to tell Sonia what has happened, you feel it’s not particularly the right moment.

In your empty room, Gengar appears from your shadow and though you're aware he dislikes emerging during the day, you're glad he's here and he is happy to see that you are well too; floating over to your side, you and Gengar proceed to share an embrace. You sprawl your arms around his rotund body and back and rest your cheek over the top of his spiky head whilst stubby arms cling to your sides.

"Aww, I missed you too,” you say, and Gengar looks at you with a concerned expression, "I'm fine."

Gengar lets go of you, then puts his hands on his hips and waggles them for a bit and you're wondering what he's trying to say until he glances around the room for a while before he spots an old magazine left on one of the counters. He grabs it, returns to your side and after flipping through some pages, points to you again and then to a random page.

And Leon is on this random page. It's some kind of advert, where he is sitting on a throne with a crown atop his head.

It can only mean one thing.

"Did you see us??" you ask nervously.

Gengar nods and grins mischievously, before he uses a hand to sweep his imaginary hair back and catwalks down your room with a hand on one hip. You didn't realise Gengar had this much sass.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you huff, as his feet leave the floor so he can float up into the air to chuckle. Pointing to you and then to Leon's picture on the magazine, he then clasps both hands together and bats his eyelashes and performs a full three hundred and sixty degree circle in the air.

You roll your eyes in response.

"Harhar, yes, very funny," you reply, but you're smiling.

Gengar returns to rest and you realise you’re missing your other pokemon so you search your room briefly but to no avail; you can’t find the ragdoll anywhere so you leave your room only to see Mimikyu seated outside on one of the empty chairs with her head drooped, crying.

Alarmed, you head over to the pokemon at once, crouching in front of her and big, fat tears drip from the two glowing dots where her eyes should be, staining the dull fabric of its disguise.

“Mimi? What’s wrong???" you exclaim, "Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

“Mi…mi….” she squeaks as she shakes her head, weeping, “Me show you.”

“Okay,” you reply, and as you lower your good arm, she takes a few tiny steps forwards, hops over your elbow and climbs up to sit on your shoulder.

"Mi...are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Mi...it's okay," she replies, and she uses a shadowy tendril to pat you on top of the head.

"What do you want to show me?"

"This way, mi mi."

She stops crying as she leads you away from your room and out of your ward in its entirety, guiding you to the direction of the paediatric ward and though you’re not sure if you’re allowed inside, Mimikyu asks you to stop at a certain corridor and as you glance at the nearby nurse's station, the nurses don't seem bothered with your presence at all.

“Mi…look,” Mimikyu says, pointing at the wall.

It is covered in crayon drawings of many pokemon that stretches all the way deep into the children’s play area and into the visitor’s hall which you cannot enter. There's even a crayon drawing of a purple pokemon that says 'eKaNs is SnAkE sPeLlEd bAcKwArDs'.

“Me saw,” she adds as you inspect the wall carefully, “No Mimikyu. Other Pokemon, yes. Pikachu…lots of Pikachu. No Mimikyu. Mi….me hatePikachu…” Mimikyu growls before her eyes gleam furiously with murderous intent under her disguise and a dark, wispy miasma begins to escape from her body. Her shadowy tendril twists into a tight claw in response to her anger, shaking with rage, “Me kill Pikachu…”

You try to reassure her but she shakes her head, trembling fiercely with hatred. Underneath the rag, the sounds of teeth grinding can be heard along with a bizarre clicking noise.

"Hey Mimi?"

"What is it, mi?"

"Why do you not want to look like Pikachu?"

Mimikyu blinks at you in shock before her eyes narrow, the glowing dots burning brightly, "....Mi...me wear the skin of the enemy....?" she growls, and this time her voice positively turns low and demonic, "Me think not..."

As Mimikyu hisses and seethes, you place a finger to your chin as you contemplate how different your Mimikyu is compared to others. Considering Mimikyu is upset that there are no pictures of any Mimikyu here, an idea hatches in your mind and you carefully comb through the ward until you pass a room full of screaming children who jump in their beds and throw pokemon dolls around in the air.

A little girl sitting on her own at a play table is busy doodling princess castles on pieces of A4 paper (and unfortunately, onto the table) captures your attention and you head over.

"Hi."

She looks up at you, blinking her big blue eyes. Then she proceeds to stick a green crayon up her nose. Lovely.

"Can I borrow these?" you ask, gesturing to a pack.

She nods, then grabs a brown crayon and sticks that one up her remaining, empty nostril.

Luckily for you, you don't need those colours so you grab several clean crayons and untarnished paper off the play table closest to you and leave the ward and return to your own; you close the door shut and climb over the bed.

“Mi…what are you doing?” Mimikyu asks, baffled, as you spread the paper over the table and lay the crayons out.

“I’ll draw you,” you utter and Mimikyu looks at you with shock.

“You…draw mi?”

“Yep.”

Mimikyu blinks at you blankly before she lets out a high-pitched squeak of glee that makes your eardrums rattle and a lurid snap rips through the room and you throw your glance to the window where a small crack has appeared in one corner. As Mimikyu continues squeaking, albeit at a lower pitch, tears of joy stain the fabric of her disguise once again and two shadowy tendrils proceed to slither out from her mouth and ensnare your head. It's a rather bizarre and cold, clammy sensation as Mimikyu hugs you.

Whilst you smile at her reassuringly, the door to your room opens and you look up to see Jace and two others you didn’t expect to see: Tanner and Cole.

“Duckie!” Jace exclaims with relief and he dives for you but Mimikyu hisses at him, her ragdoll features contorting horrifically and he comes to a skidding halt, letting out a rather high-pitched shriek in progress. "W-what is that?"

“Mimi, this is Jace," you say as you flick a casual glance to the pokemon, "Jace is good.”

“…Jace good?” she says.

“Yeah.”

“Mi…okay.”

"Jace, this is Mimikyu. She prefers being a ragdoll disguise than a Pikachu one."

"Oh, I see."

“That thing can talk,” Tanner says with wide eyes as Mimikyu slowly releases you and slides down to occupy an empty space on your bed, her tendrils slither back inside her mouth which closes up, the stitches returning to their proper place and Jace is free to approach and embrace you with no issues.

“Yeah, she can talk,” you reply, and Tanner and Cole stare at the ragdoll, bewildered. Regardless, you’re more occupied with Jace.

“Are you okay?” you ask as you let go of each other.

He nods wildly, rubbing at his eyes and nose which is very wet. “I’m fine! Are you okay?!!!”

“Yep.”

As you pat Jace reassuringly on the back, the Ghostbunkers glance at each other awkwardly as they stand in the room and everyone looks at each other and it’s as though everyone is thinking the same thing.

“I had to bring these guys,” Jace moans aloud as he jabs a thumb to their direction, “They wanted to tag along.”

Tanner steps forwards. “Yeah. Um, I know you probably don't wanna see us. Me, in particular, which I can totally understand....but we wanted to apologise. We’re really sorry. I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He looks badly battered and sickly in his fraying chalky-white hospital gown. The possession must have taken its toll on him.

“Me too,” says Cole. Unlike his best friend, Cole is in better shape.

“Can you forgive us?” Tanner asks morosely, and he gulps as though he's terrified of your response but you nod and he emits a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks. Oh god, I can't really explain it but I was still conscious when…” he gestures to your poor, bandaged arm, “I’m really sorry. Like so, so sorry. Hell, I don't think sorry's good enough so I brought Runerigus. I think he should stay with you. He's actually really nice... a totally chill guy. Cole, bring him here.”

“Yeah, sure," Cole searches in his pockets and pulls out the capsule which Tanner scoops up; he takes a minute step and leaves it for you on your table then returns to stand sheepishly before you with Cole at his side.

“We’re sorry,” Tanner says again, hanging his head low, “I’m not gonna let this slide, you know. Rose is a double-crossing, no-good Raticate bastard.”

You and Jace nod in agreement.

“I made him richer,” you murmur, “I can’t believe it.”

Cole and Jace appear confused and toss their gazes to you.

"His ancestor Edward Rose was a painter," you explain, "and he died before he could complete a painting, which was the one we found in the basement. It was a map, and it led to a treasure. I asked Chief Inspector Graves to investigate the art gallery but he says they didn't find any painting so obviously Rose has taken it and now there's no evidence of its existence. By now I'm pretty sure Chairman Rose has used it to find the hidden treasure, sold it or hid it away."

"Damn it, he's a clever bastard, I'll give him that," Tanner grunts out, "Cole, what about our video? We recorded it, right?"

"....I hate to say it but the video footage doesn't work. The moment we went into the basement, the recording went fuzzy."

"Yeah, that was probably Edward Rose's doing," you reply, “Rose will make sure it’s as though it never existed so we can’t persecute him or claim compensation.”

“Well, we’re not going to let him get away with it. I’m still going to press charges. Two can play at this game, ya know? I’ll let you know what happens, okay? It’s not fair on us. He used us. We’ve all been played and what happened last night was…crazy, it was so crazy, man.”

“Yeah, it was crazy,” Cole echoes, nodding.

And Tanner shrugs helplessly, lifting a hand and pinching the middle of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I have no words, man. I mean I don’t really wanna Ghostbunk anymore,” he admits, “Cole doesn’t want to either.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna Ghostbunk,” Cole says, nodding again.

Although it is of no particular interest to you, you discover Cole is different on his own; once he is paired with Tanner, he seems devoid of personality and reliant on the more confident and boisterous Tanner.

“Anyway. We’ll let you know how we get on,” Tanner finishes.

“Sure. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Good luck to you too. Here, uh…this is our number, if you ever need our help.”

“I doubt it,” Jace whispers, only for you to hear, but you elbow him and smile politely at Tanner.

“Thank you.”

Without anything else to say, Tanner and Cole apologise once again...for almost everything - for making fun of you, for mauling your arm etcetera; you accept their heartfelt apology and they leave your room silently.

"Wow, they were so sorry." Jace says and you nod. "Damn, I should've recorded it."

“Jace-"

"I'm kidding!"

"Well...I’m sorry too,” you mutter.

“Huh? What...? No, no, what are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong, chuck.”

“It was too dangerous. I should’ve known. You got hurt because of me.”

“Oh c'mon, look at me. I’m fine!!! I'll always be fine,” he says, before he plops his hand atop your head and ruffles your hair; you muster a weak smile as he punches you in the elbow and shoulders playfully, “So...Leon saved you…?”

“Yeah. I’ve told him to stay away from me.”

Jace crosses his arms and nods to himself. “Good, he’s partially responsible for this.”

“I didn’t have to take the case; it was my decision.”

“Yeah, but if you didn’t, you would’ve made Leon look bad.”

You sigh gently. “It’s not like that at all, Jace. Look, it’s happened and no-one’s to blame. Magnolia and Graves don’t want me to work on these cases anymore and I'm going to listen to them. I’m going to go on a break. Well, there's still Spiritomb to catch but from now on, I'm just going to take it easy.”

Jace seems surprised with your resolution. “…I see."

“So, let's not dwell on this anymore. What’re you going to do now?”

“Oh, uh, I've been told I can go home," Jace utters, rubbing the back of his head, "and my friend from Sinnoh is actually coming to visit Galar, he's gonna be a guest judge for the Beauty Pageant, he's got some kind of exhibition match, he wants to try and see a Galarian Zapdos. Oh, and he's also here to inspect the Energy Plant."

"He sounds like a really busy guy."

"He is! Did I mention that he's a gym leader too? And he’s gonna stay at my place so I gotta clean up my flat and-"

You wait for Jace to finish only to see that he is staring limply into space before he whips his head to you and you stare at him in confusion. "What’s wrong?”

“By Jove, I’ve got it!” he exclaims loudly, his jaw hanging open, “Duckie, now that you're not gonna take on any cases, I take it you're pretty much free for the next couple of days???”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you a call, alright?”

“…Uh, sure.”

“Right, I gotta go. Will you be okay on your own? Anyone picking you up?”

“Yeah. Graves.”

Jace hesitates, then says, "Arceus help you."

"Thanks," you reply, with an all-knowing nod.

After exchanging goodbyes, Jace dashes off and you’re on your own again; glancing at Runerigus’ capsule, you will deal with him at another time. Apparently he's a chill guy.

You’ve still to finish your drawing of Mimikyu and she’s been sitting quietly and very patiently beside you on the bed, occupying herself by playing with some loose threads of your blanket so you resume your sketch of her before colouring it with the crayons and once you’re done, you lift the paper high in the air with a grin and show Mimikyu who looks up and she hops onto your shoulder again to peer at your drawing, pleased with your efforts.

“Mi mi,” she croons, “Me look good.”

You giggle as she squeaks with delight. “Come on, let’s go hang this up,” you say with a grin, and Mimikyu nods.

Leaving your room for the second time, you make your way to the children’s ward and find the same room where you had asked to borrow the paper and crayons, and with the box in hands, you swiftly return the items where the little girl from before is now sticking crayons into her ears and a nurse is trying to stop her.

Returning to the main corridor, you locate the wall with the drawings and scour for an empty spot and once you’ve pinpointed an empty space, you use some blu-tack from another portrait, splitting some of it up, and use it for your own drawing. You proceed to stick Mimikyu’s picture on the wall, pressing hard on the corners to ensure it’s sticking well and Mimikyu nods with happiness and claps using two tendrils.

“Thank you, mi mi,” she says, nodding vigorously with gratitude.

“You’re very welcome, but it would be nice if I could see what’s under your disguise and draw the real you.”

Mimikyu blinks at you, then shakes her head vigorously, “...If you see mi, me will kill you and me....me don’t want that. Me actually like you.”

You stare at your Pokemon in surprise then giggle lightly.

It’s time to return to your ward but Mimikyu tears off several of the children's drawings of Pikachu along the way, prompting you to run and escape the ward as quickly as you can and before you're spotted although you're certain there might be CCTV around. It's too late to reprimand her anyway and as you pass the communal area where you see the door that leads to the yard, you remember last night’s events where Leon had tried to kiss you and your cheeks flare up.

You had almost kissed if Oleana didn’t interrupt.

“I wonder what Leon is doing...” you forlornly utter under your breath before you could help yourself.

You miss him, and you hope he's doing well and you’re brought out of your reverie when you hear someone ‘pssst psst psst’-ing at your direction and glancing over, an old man in a robe seated at a chess table by the window is beckoning you over. You look left and right, then point to yourself.

He nods. “Do you know how to play chess?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh lovely. Would you like to play against me? None of these bozos can.”

Graves won’t be coming for another three hours.

“Sure,” you say, with nothing to lose and tonnes of time to spare.

Thus you head over and sit down on the drab-looking chair, staring at the worn pieces before you pick them up one by one and begin fixing them into their appropriate positions on the board. The old man helps, setting up his own pieces on his side.

The old man looks familiar and he too seems to recognize you. He says, “Aren’t you Leon’s girlfriend?”

“Uh, no, we're not...we're not together.”

"Yet," he says.

You cringe.

“I remember you were together though,” he adds.

"Yeah, I was visiting him when he was in hospital.”

“And now it’s your turn.”

You nod as he snorts with laughter; he asks you what happened but you tell him it’s a long story, to which he tells you he has all the time in the world, so you recount the tale of Rose and the haunted art gallery as the game begins.

“Uh-huh, I see, then what happened?” he asks; he moves his pawn to forward to which you counter.

You tell him about Runerigus, Tanner, Cole, the possession. Everything.

“What other cases have you worked on?” he asks. You're surprised he's listening and not questioning your sanity as most do.

You tell him about the ghost of South Miloch as your game progresses and you're taking the lead and soon, your story has caught the attention of a passing old lady using a walking frame.

“Did you just say the ghost of South Miloch?” she says with a slight, nasally pitch to her voice, and she turns to you and the old man questioningly before she adds, “I saw it with me own eyes!”

“Sally, this young lady solved the case and broke the curse,” the old man says, and the woman subjects you to an incredulous look.

“Oooh, did you, sweetheart?” and old Sally hobbles to the closest seat nearest to your chess table and plops herself down. “Molly, come here! This is the girl who solved the Miloch case! I told you I wasn’t seeing things! I told you I saw a ghost!”

She’s addressing another elderly woman who’s seated near the telly on a plushy couch with today’s newspapers propped up in her withered hands. Upon being called, Molly looks away from her paper behind her spectacles and glances over; Sally excitedly beckons her over to join with a little wave and a toothy grin and she sighs and gets up slowly, then shuffles over and joins her on the couch.

Glancing at the OAPs, it seems you have gathered an audience who are interested in listening and learning about all your exploits.

“Well? Go on then, dear, tell us more,” Sally says with a gummy smile, and you blink wide-eyed at them.

“Oh, um…well, it was to do with a will and a massive family inheritance..."

And so you share with them the details about the case, from the very beginning of the investigation, through to the middle and to the very end though you do omit names for privacy; the chess game seems to have become forgotten and before you know it, you’ve attracted a small crowd so you move to one of the sofas near the television which grants you a full view of the entire communal area so your small group can listen and gather around you properly. They nestle themselves on the couches, listening keenly as you eagerly recount your tales of hidden treasures, lost loves and spooky phantoms.

Suddenly, a nurse enters the room and calls your name loudly.

Pausing in mid-sentence, you glance over and see Graves standing beside her. He takes one look at you, then at the elderly patients who have gathered around you and raises a brow.

“We’re going now,” he barks.

Time had flown by so quickly.

“Okay,” you rise and leave your seat and your crowd of elderly patients begin to whine but they’re quickly dispersed by the nurses. You tell them your online blog contains more details though you’re aware that they probably don’t really know how to work the internet and they should ask their tech-savvy grandchildren.

Checking the clock on the wall, it's then you realise Leon hadn’t come to visit you after all.

...

Leon has been trying to visit you but is always prevented to do so at the very last minute. He's had a photoshoot that's taken up his entire morning and afternoon, then once he's finished and he thinks he has time to go to the hospital, if it isn’t a fan asking for a photo and autograph, it’s Rose asking him to head over to a route to help sort something out before he's directed to a city or another route for something else.

He’s keen to visit you and checking the clock on his phone, he sees the hours trickle one by one yet the moment he thinks he has a minute to spare, he is lulled into a false sense of security as something else crops up and he’s forcibly whisked away.

You got him a gift last time and so he is set in his mind to get you a gift too; he’s already got Vulpix but she isn't available to be collected yet so he's keen to get you something else.

Aware that you’re going to be discharged soon, if not now, he quickly finishes up his task and uses this opportunity to venture to the hospital before he's missed. He sends you a quick message to let you know that he is coming.

On his way, he enters a gift shop on the outskirts filled with quaint décor and with Charizard, he commences some casual browsing where he eventually settles to purchase a bouquet of multicoloured flowers which he is quite certain you will like. The florist has reassured him on this, too.

Without further ado, Leon heads to the hospital.

And as you’re packing your bag in your room, Graves knocks on the door, enters and asks, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you say, as you sling the bag over your shoulder and you make sure you have Runerigus and Mimikyu’s capsule whilst Gengar lingers in your shadow.

You try one more time to message Leon but your reception suddenly decides to go kaput and you have been unable to get through to him or receive messages for the past hour or so.

Graves waits outside as you spare one more glance to your now-empty room, at the pristine bed, the empty table and chair. The blinds are pulled up and the sun’s setting, casting a beautiful orangey glow within and your face falls when you check the clock again and throw your glance to the door as though you’re expecting a certain purple-haired someone to come rushing in, panting and looking adorably sweaty and breathless whilst unnecessarily and continuously apologising for being late and you will smile and tell him it’s fine and –

“Alright then, let’s go.” Graves says, swinging a set of car keys with one finger.

"Did you talk to Rose?"

"I did. I'll fill you in later. Let's grab something to eat first.”

"Okay."

You leave the room with Graves carrying your bag for you and promptly head down the corridor, arriving at the lift. Graves presses the button, whistling. He spots a nurse who smiles at him and he clears his throat.

“Good evening, ma’am.”

“Hello, Chief Inspector Graves. Is this your daughter?”

“Uh….sort of.”

The nurse passes sweeping looks between you and the much older Graves, and he appears to have also realised his mistake; whilst you roll your eyes, Graves splutters out an explanation but the nurse leaves with no further follow up.

“When’s this stupid lift coming,” Graves ends up complaining loudly. “Hurry up, damnit.”

There are two lifts but it seems they are exceptionally slow.

Downstairs and Leon with flowers anxiously waits for the lift to arrive, hoping he’s not too late.

People are actively staring and he will wave and smile but they appear to respect his privacy and so he's mostly left alone though the massive bouquet in his hands causes some brows to raise. Charizard helps preen him, licking his claws and tidying his hair, pinching loose strands together and flattening them over the sides of his head. Leon grins at his pokemon and Charizard attempts to give him a thumbs up.

The lift arrives and he steps in; the lift begins to ascend.

Upstairs and the lift doors open and Graves mutters, “Finally, took it long enough,” he grumbles and grunts but lets you enter first and then hops in himself, pressing the button for the basement where the carpark is.

And as the doors begin to close, you hear the sound of the lift opposite yours opening with a loud ‘ping’ and as you look up, the doors of your lift slide to a close, but through the tiny one inch gap, you think you see a familiar shade of purple -

-  and Leon steps out, just as the doors to the lift opposite his has closed and begins descending.

He rushes towards the direction of your room with flowers in hand but the door is open and the bed is neatly made and the room is empty.

Confused, he returns to the nurse’s desk and asks for your whereabouts.

“Oh, she just got in that lift,” the nurse says, pointing to the aforementioned elevator, “Literally one minute ago. You just missed her.”

For the first time in Leon’s life, he was devastated.

...

[i-m-snek]

Here is a list of ball python morphs with issues

Spider, Wobble Woma, Wobble Hidden Gene Woma, Wobble Champagne, Wobble Super Sable, Wobble Powerball, Wobble Sable x Spider, Difficult to hatch, severe wobble Champagne x Hidden Gene Woma, Severe wobble Champagne x Spider, Lethal Pearl, Normally Lethal Super Champagne, Lethal Super Spider, Lethal Desert(not to be confused with desert ghost), Female fertility issues Caramel Albino, Kinking and female sub-fertility Super Cinnamon/Super Black Pastel, Duckbill & rare kinking Super Lesser Platinum/Super Butter(not applied to super mojaves or lesser/mojaves), Bug eyes Lesser Platinum x Piedbald, Small Eyes Morphs that for some reason people confuse for morphs with issues, but DONT actually have issues. (I.E. the morphs listed below are often said to have issues by newer keepers because they are easily confused with problem morphs. They do not have any issues) Pinstripe (Gets confused with spider) Bamboo (Gets confused with woma/spider etc) Enchi (Gets confused with woma or spider) Lesser/mojave BEL (Gets confused with super lessers) Hypo (any strain) (Gets confused with caramel albino?) Super stripe (Not even sure what this one gets confused with honestly) G-stripe (Same with this, no idea)

[aj-allen97]

The Real Ghostbusters: When Halloween Was Forever ( I Wish) (Then I can wear all my Her Universe and Hot Topic Dressess without having to worry about standing out to much)

- Ok I love the theme song and the little dancing ghost

- Ahh New York and is its hodge podge buildings. It’s even more amazing when your seeing the buildings live

- Why did...why did the door just randomly fall off the hinges??? They weren’t near the doors when ghost busting...

- So according to the suit designs...Egon and Ray don’t wear shirts underneath there suits

- Oh Look They forgot to color Egons hair... though he is rocking the white hair look

- Oh look they Winston rocking a pastel green suit and rocking it...

- That’s a Goblin! That is a Goblin right??? According to Jim Henson’s labyrinth that little fellow is a goblin! 😆😆😆

- The headless horseman lesser known cousin???

- that’s a fancy fireplace in the firehouse/ghostbusters HQ

- Janine...Really????

- Peter....Really????

- The...The lamp...is bolted down...??? Why???

- That was Goosebumps inspired diner...fight me on it

- Oh look Egon forgot to die his hair blond again

- What a flashlight

- I knew having the whole Power Grid being plugged in like a charger was a bad idea

- A Ballon ghost...a Mummy..wait would a mummy be considered a ghost????

I love how colorful the ghost are

-Oh look the purple suit is back!

- Pink ghost turn grey from being tossed!

- Wow Egon needs to sign up for the olympics

[hopes-peaks-lesser-known]

Promo Time!

Hello there, my name is Akihisa Hidemasa and I’m the Ultimate bartender. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Hello my name is Cata..........oh, right. Cataleya Osaka and I’m the Ultimate Antique Collector.

Yo, howsit goin’? Names Daizo Gentaro. I’m the Ultimate Tattoo Artist, but I ain’t just some animal, so don’t be all shy! I won’t bite cha’ or anythin’

Heelloo!! My name is Hisayo Hara! I’m called the Ultimate Horseback Rider, but there’s soooooooo much more to me than that! I promise!

Good afternoon, my name is Shinobu Yori and I’m The Ultimate Retro Enthusiast.

H-hello um, I’m Shiroi Yuuri a-and I’m the Ultimate Paranormal Investigator a-and I guess technically Ghost Hunter as well.

Hello,Hello! I’m Sumie Wakako and I’m the one and only Ultimate Pastel Enthusiast! We’re the students that call our selves Hopes Peak’s Lesser Known. We’re here to answer all of your questions. I know there’s a few of us so with that being said, please name the student you’d like to interact with. Well, with that out of the way, how about a promo? @ask-theshadowcyborg @ask-the-ultimate-poet @ask-doctor-gyoko @asktheultimatebladeswoman @ask-the-dark-overlord @ask-artsyetsu-and-thecameraman @ask-the-ultimate-heir @ask-the-ultimatecosplayer @asktheultimates @asktheultimatefailmaster @ask-the-ultimate-psychoanalyst @ask-the-ultimate-photographer @ask-the-ultimate-princess

[jaysterg5]

Future Quest #8

Writer - Jeff Parker

Art - Ariel Olivetti

Cover - Evan “Doc” Shaner

Even as Birdman and Mightor fight off Omnikron in the desert, it slips back into a Vortex and transports itself to Los Angeles.  But with Space Ghost injured, the Impossibles don’t seem to have enough experience to handle the creature. Could there be more help available from within the vortex itself?

Now this story is really taking off! Most of the characters are now involved somewhere in the storyline and everyone is contributing. The stakes are feeling really high and the tension is building.  Now that a lot of the character background have been established this series is moving into high gear! Parker has kind of held the most famous characters (Space Ghost, the Herculoids) in the background to give the lesser known characters room to establish themselves and get a foothold on the story.  I think that was a good move, but it’s time to bring in the big guns!

Ariel Olivetti’s art was quite a surprise this issue!  It’s very different from artists in the previous issues, but that doesn’t make it a bad thing.  The realistic style works here as well, and the colors are more pastel.  I think the art is gorgeous, but doesn’t have that animation feel previously seen here.  But that’s not really a complaint from me!

A high-octane issue that kicks the story into overdrive!

[wishingforatypewriter]

4,7,14,36,37,38,39,40 for Maria plss..🙏🙏🙏

Maria Aldini

4. Who is someone they’ve hurt?

Maria lowkey hurt Isabella (and Akane to a lesser extent) when she decided she didn’t want to be friends with them anymore. For Bella, it kind of felt like she chose Yuna (who she had literally just met) over her flesh and blood. 

She also kind of ghosted Isshiki Kesuke after she met Raiden. 

7. Any family scandals? Does your character know about them?

There definitely are some Aldini family scandals, and Maria is pretty much left in the dark with all of them.

Isabella actually knew about Megumi’s past with Yukihira Souma wayyyy  before Maria did. (Ikumi let it slip when lil Bella was freaking out about Akane and her famous godparents) 

She also just doesn’t get how mean Nonna Aldini can be because she’s never seen that side of her. 

14. What is something that never fails to make them excited?

Watching figure skating on TV. There’s something about the artistry of it that’s always amazed her. 

36. Are there any holidays or celebrations they dislike?

She’s not the biggest fan of Halloween. Scary stuff isn’t her style, and mass-produced candy does nothing for her. 

37. Are there any holidays or celebrations that they go all in for?

Maria goes all out for Christmas. She makes sure to hang personalized stockings for everyone at the Polar Star and decorates the tree. 

38. How would you describe their decorating sense?

Florals and more florals! And also pastels! 

39. Would they rather have a picnic in the woods or a picnic on the beach?

On the beach in Tuscany, with homemade sweets and sparkling water. This would probably be her ideal kind of date. 

40. Blanket fort or tree house?

Blanket fort! Takumi and Megumi made a lot of these for her when she was little, and the idea of it still brings about a sense of nostalgia for her. 

[teleos]

Added some demineralized water to Aglaia’s humid hide this morning. Also unhappy with me about that.

[whirlybirbs]

Loki (fake marriage) + seeing his frost giant form for the first time?

Loki is an infuriatingly complex man.

Back on Asgard, before the Tesseract and the Aether, the black-haired Prince was avoided like the plague by members of the royal staff within the palace. No longer a young, mischievous gap-toothed boy, Loki earned a reputation among the kingdom quickly. Blessed with a powerful hold on magic, the man preferred books rather than weapons and his mother rather than his father – he was different. Not a warrior, but a thinker. It was dangerous. He was, in every single way, an introverted mischief maker with a sharp tongue and a horrid temper. 

Loki is enthused with the idea of being seen as terrifying, it seems. Being a villain, you think, gives him the distance he yearns for from the rest of the world – it gives him power and it makes him feel as the greater, not the equal. For a man who’s been treated as the lesser all this life, it is a gift.

And then you happen.

Sakaar happens.

You’re patient despite his icy temper and his cutting words. You ignore his moodiness and you don’t flinch when he nears you. You’re not scared of him – not like those girls back on Asgard who his mother tried to convince him to court.

At first, he considered maybe you were too stupid to know when to be afraid. He had, after all, brought ruin and conflict to your world. He was a monster – just as though the legends of jötunns tell. 

And then he realizes it’s out of kindness. 

He can’t remember the last time anyone showed him kindness.

He smiles more.

And he falls in love with you.

It’s slow –  like the growing smolder of a fanned fire. You play the role of wife so well, he can hardly treat as you anything beside his equal. You smile at him like you’re in love, and Loki starts to wish for it at night during whispered prayers to his mother. Somewhere in Vahalla, Frigga is smiling down on you. You’re a gift from her, he thinks.

Loki, in all honesty, is scared to show you his true self. Not the charismatic romantic, no, you knew that side of him. You knew nothing about the son of Laufey – the cold and terrifying monster that lay just beneath an illusion of Asgardian royalty. 

“I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

His voice rouses you mid-chew and you blink up at the dark-haired God over the dinner the servants had brought you mere minutes ago. You swallows, knotting your brows. Worry stirs in your stomach.

“What is it?” you ask, eyes scanning Loki’s face. The lie-smith opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Your face falls. “You’re married already, aren’t you –”

“What?” Loki blinks, nose scrunching in distaste, “No, I’m not married –”

You seem to deflate with relief. Loki would have laughed had his chest not felt like Mjolnir was resting atop it. 

“Then what haven’t you been completely honest about?”

He stands, disregarding his dinner and folding his hands behind his back. He then begins to pace. Your eyes follow him with every step.

“I… I have never found myself in a position where I have grown to trust someone as much as yourself. You have gained my affections in a way I had never seen possible,” he offers. It’s slow. You smile at him and it spurs him to continue, “And because of this, I must apologize for behavior at times. I can be rude and crass… and yet you still sleep beside me at night.”

“In all fairness, there is only one bed and I am not sleeping on the floor.”

Loki laughs, quick and breathy as he drops his head and sighs. 

“But, I am… not who you think I am.”

You give him a look as you stand, abandoning your plate. “I am well aware of that much, Loki. You’re an infuriatingly complex man, and just when I think I have you pegged, you sock another wrench into my calculations.”

Your hand finds his wrist. The leather is cool to the touch. His eyes widen a bit.

“I think I might be about to do exactly what you just said.”

“Go on, Loki.”

“You remember the story I told you of Jotunheim?”

“That’s… the ice planet?” your eyes fleet about as you rack your brain, “Jötunns were the frost giants, yes? With blue skin and red eyes? That book you procured had wonderful illustrations –”  

And suddenly, the pale face of the God is gone and his skin has an icy hue. Those green eyes you’d become so accustomed to faded away to fiery red orbs. Markings of a foreign kind swirled about his skin and you couldn’t help but yank your hand away. He looks just like the illustrations from the book on Asgardian history Loki had given you. You regret pulling away nearly instantly.

The hurt is visible on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I should have not shown you –”

Loki, trying to quell the growing rage in his chest, turns and knots his fingers in fists. Curse Odin. Curse Frigga. Curse them all. He was a monster. They should have just let him die on Jotunheim as a baby.

“Loki.”

Your voice is so warm it snuffs the anger in his chest out almost immediately.

You weave around him, eyes wide with a different type of admiration – one he hasn’t seen on you before (is this love?) – as your hands reach to ghost along his now pastel cobalt cheek bones. Your fingers feel like freshly smelted metal against his skin. He loves it.

“You look like sapphires,” you breathe, “I never thought blue was your color, and yet here I am. You’re – Why do you hide it? Why keep this beautiful secret locked away?”

“I am a monster.”

“Loki, no.”

Your eyes are so full of affection he wants to cry. He drops his gaze to the floor only for you to pull it back to your own gaze again. Your fingers curl along his jaw.

“It hurts me when you say that, you know. I don’t think you’re a monster. Not before, not now. You cannot be so cruel to yourself, Loki.”

He’s silent. You speak again, your voice stern.

“You’re not a monster. You’re my husband, remember?”

He wishes ��� prays – that someday that will become reality. Not just a Sakaarian fever dream brewed out of need for survival.

He kisses you then, apprehensive and sweet – like he’s a teenager again, fearless and in love – and his lips feel cold against your own. You’d attributed his always cold hands to poor circulation, but now? Now it all made sense. The kiss is every bit of good in him. Thanos and the Tesseract and Odin’s death – none of that weighs on him in this moment. When he pulls away, his hands are tight on your hips and his lips are swollen. His pale skin has returned.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

Loki is an infuriatingly complex man frost giant.

[nobodyenjoysanything]

The names of God

Penelope was in a foul mood. Her thunder was in danger of being stolen, for it was a mere three days until her debut and society was currently gossiping about things other than her. The Bahiyah Tiger had been spotted on the shores of the Gulf, triggering wild speculation amongst the community of gentleman cryptozoologists, and the famous mathematician and mystic, Flammarion, had presented a new approximation for one of the twelve names of God.

She adjusted her bonnet to a more architectural angle and practiced winking coquettishly at herself in the mirror. Her eyeshadow was a gauche shade of Verdigris, and her eyeliner a pastel pink – she was not unattractive, but the current fashion was “Roman-esque” so the garish was in vogue, together with bronze masks, ram’s horns for drinking from, and wearing, together with white togas, orgies of food and implied (but not much actual) debauchery.

Her yellow beak was pasted with a kind of dayglo yellow lipstick, and her wings styled with a product that made them look distressed, while rendering flight impossible, but she could not have flown anyway. The Archibalds were known for a stylish congenital deformity that made their wings very dainty, but too weak to fly. Lord Archibald did not, himself, have it, but both his daughters had inherited it from him, and Penelope was known for rakish and daring ways to display her aesthetically pleasing, but useless appendages. On her dressing table was a magazine with a photo of her modelling one of her wing-looks – a desultory pose draped across a white horse; her limbs trussed in a kind of steel-studded leather basket-weave.

Flammarion had been a suitor of hers, but had always “wanted more”, which meant scribbling arcane symbols on hotel napkins and pretending this was as good as being young and beautiful, for he was a little more advanced in years. He was vain in the extreme about his intelligence, but not his appearance, and, while he privately held that mathematical beauty transcended all things, he felt in competition with the geometric beauty of her swannish neck, and the plumpness of her thighs. Her downy hindquarters had a large following on the catwalks of Paris and the sidewalks of Chicago, and she had modelled for a selection of rarefied boutique labels.

The feathers around Flammarion’s scrawny neck looked generally distressed in an interesting way, forming a sort of beard, and his glasses sat halfway down his beak, so he never ever looked through them. Penelope thought him deliciously affected and adorably helpless, until his affectation came into conflict with hers, which, given both their sultry personas, was inevitable. Then she let him know who was boss, and he became a darting minnow in the tide of her fury. She was a spiteful hurricane when crossed, and more than once had delivered crushing blows to his self-esteem, compounded by his private conviction that, if he really were so clever, he would have figured out a way to defeat her.

Notwithstanding his failure to best Penelope in open combat, Flammarion was a brilliant mathematician, and he had spent his entire career working on the theory of the names of God. Having first established by direct proof that there must be more than 11 and less than 42 billion of them, he had gradually converged on the proof that had made his name in mathematical, literary and mystical circles, that there must be exactly 12 of them, no more and no less.

As he toured universities, pavilions and theatres expounding his methodology, which was turning into its own esoteric branch of mathematics, Flammarion was keen to explain to his students that this did not, by any means, mean there was a God or gods or that it was a particular God or kind of god, merely that, if there was a God, they must have 12, unknowable, names, and that the nature of their unknowability was thus:

It was known that each of the names was an expression in a language, and the language was complete and grammatical. It was also understood that each name went on forever, without ever repeating itself exactly, and yet words within the name might be repeated.

The probability of finding a particular expression or word within the name was known to be uniform for whichever word you picked and whether you started from the beginning or the end or worked your way out from the middle, and a name could not be represented by the result of any equation, but could be expressed as a number - though if one picked any known number, however big or small, it was not possible to ascertain whether the number of the name was bigger or smaller than the number or a number describing one of the names of God.

To know a number or the numbers was impossible; neither was it possible, if say you knew one of the numbers, to know which of the numbers it was or whether it was the same as every other number, but it was known that if the numbers were not all the same, then they were all different and no one number contained any of the others.

More importantly than any of this, Flammarion had discovered that, suggesting there were such a number or numbers, it was possible to be in their presence, and you might be in the presence of one without knowing it, and thus be in the presence of God.

Realising that this could happen all the time and you would never know it, Flammarion had decided to synthesize approximations to a number by approximating extremely large transcendentals and ignoring them. It was this work that had gained him most notoriety, as people began to have religious experiences in the vicinity of his nearly-numbers and there was an active debate about whether these were true experiences of a benevolent deity, or malicious manifestations of some kind of demiurge.

People worried that so nearly manifesting God or gods, combined with ignoring lesser numbers to produce something that was almost but not quite a real number, would end up pissing somebody off, whether it was God or the numbers, and that creating nearly gods might usurp the real God, if there were only enough of them.

And then there was the business of this bloody tiger! Everywhere the nearly-natural gods were invoked, the god-synthesis seemed to resonate with the world of other nearly-appreciable things. Ghosts and spiritual manifestations were common, as were beasts from the fringes of science, and the Bahiyah creature was suddenly there, swooping imperceptibly from the heights in that way it must do but nobody has ever seen.

[leonthesemiprofessional-blog]

Leave Wes Anderson out of your woke conversations

With a smorgasbord of (very well-crafted) politically-rich films in the mainstream right now it can be easy to assume that every “masterpiece” that comes across our screens was made to appease our socially curious minds.

With the weighty addition of the #metoo movement, you could argue that it’s the duty of the filmmaker to give us a set of strong morals we can berate everyone we meet with. Because of this expectation, movies are under an unforgiving lens right now and Wes Anderson’s latest piece, Isle of Dogs, is no exception.

In his ninth feature and his second stop-motion film, Isle of Dogs follows an alpha pack of dogs try and survive a Japanese doggy dystopia, purpose-built for them by an oppressive Kobayashi regime. Their goals are recalibrated slightly from survival to rescue when a young boy, Atari, comes to their home, Trash Island, to look for his lost dog. The team lead by their new master undergoes a Great Escape-style caper.

Pretty standard Wes Anderson film right? The critics would agree so too. Only a lot of people are unhappy, even furious, with how the director has handled Japanese culture.

There are no two ways about it, this film is heavily appropriated. It cements very old, westernised ideas about Japan: playing heavily on the mispronunciation of words, Samurai ideas and culture bookending the film, skirmishes and explosions in atomic bomb-style mushroom clouds, sushi, the Yakuza are the bad guys… the list goes on.

Behind the camera, there were many native Japanese hands involved, as Kunichi Nomura namely helped develop the story and voiced Mayor Kobayashi, the authoritarian ruler of the make-believe Megasaki City. In the hands of a lesser filmmaker, this cultural tourism could have turned out to be actual racism. Critics and people like myself would argue Anderson should have known better, even if the seeds were sown for this film in 2007, well before this ‘woke epidemic’.

The insensitivity to race issues is even made worse with - one of my favourite problems - white saviour complex, with added sprinkles of misogyny. Although our hero this time is Tracy Walker (voiced by Greta Gerwig) a young exchange student from America, who just happens to be in the area to help overthrow an oppressive regime, our diversion from the unexpected is steered right back onto the heteronormative track with Tracy winding up with a crush on our male protagonist, Atari (yes like the console by the way). In case that wasn’t enough to embed into children the idea that women can’t do anything without a man by their side, the relationships between the doggos of the film follow a similar formula.

On top of this, the ensemble cast comes together to form a kind of whitewashing avengers, who have, interestingly, all been criticised for starring in films that are insensitive to aspects of East and South Asian culture. Tilda Swinton in Doctor Strange, Scarlett Johansson in Ghost in a Shell and Lost in Translation with Bill Murray, and Fisher Stevens in Short Circuit.

To simplify things, let’s umbrella all the problems with this film and concluded that Anderson made Isle of Dogs for a white, working to middle class, straight audience, who probably haven’t been to Japan or know much about it outside of what they learned from school or popular culture - viewing the film with a “white gaze”. A rather outlandish -some would argue accurate- claim to make against a director who has done nothing the audience, now more socially conscious, deem too unjust, right? To only talk about Isle of Dogs this way is not fair on Wes Anderson.

“This is his love letter to Japan though” you might say. “How will we understand different cultures if we don’t even get to show them on screen and talk about them? Besides it’s not even real, none of Anderson’s films really adhere to reality”, “P.C. gone mad” blah blah. Wes even said the story “could happen anywhere” and he and his team (Japanese natives included) made it because of “a shared love of Japanese cinema.” Herein lies the problem: Anderson’s use of the white gaze has gone unchecked for a long time. As a white filmmaker, he has benefited from structural racism and current gender dynamics well before Isle of Dogs.

From Moonrise Kingdom to Bottle Rocket to the marvellous Grand Budapest Hotel, we follow the same white characters play out the same heist-like escapades, playing off of trends and stereotypes the white gaze has seen and consolidated time and time again. Under all the pretty pastels and fully utilised thirds, there are a lot of people (filmmakers like Anderson and audiences in general) patting themselves on the back for believing they have interpreted and appreciated a culture - say Japanese culture - extensively and not in bad taste. We’ve known for a while that a lot of Hollywood films only highlight how the majority of Westerners view the world around them. Some people are only now coming to realise this is not always the right thing to do, and even fewer are willing to elicit change. I fear Anderson falls into the latter category.

The fact that Anderson can now pretty much hand-select a cast for a film means he has access to the best Hollywood has to offer, who tend to be stars we adore for their humanity as well as their ability. I wholeheartedly believe no one in the making of this film is racist or meant wrong by anything they did but it can’t be ignored that with the release of Isle of Dogs, it’s become clear that Anderson doesn’t want to use his position to incite any meaningful social development in the film industry. He doesn’t have to or have to want to, however, it is disappointing to know that someone we consider so effective at storytelling is choosing to tune out the calls for change. We’ll have to look for our innovative films elsewhere.

As Reni Eddo-Lodge might put it: Wes Anderson is one white person you shouldn’t talk to about race or anything else woke for that matter.