#Rabbit Canal

[sernhuh]

Ok can I rq talk about the details in this drawing(s) I just want to it's one I really put love into

1) The color coding & the siblings:

Juno is red, Sasha is blue, Mick is green AND Benzaiten is orange, Annie is purple. Ben and Annie are secondary colors of their sibling's primary colors.

2) the hairpins:

Annie has 2 in her hair Sasha and Juno has one each. Maybe she gave one to them, maybe she gave both to sasha and she gave one to Juno. It's said in day that wouldn't die that all they found from Annie was a hairclip :/

3) The speech bubbles Mick has are a ref to the monsters he talks about in the day that wouldn't die: the eyeless children and alligators

4) not really a detail but I wanted to show their situation through their clothes. It is stated multiple times that the kids in old town grew up in poverty. Annie's clothes are bit big on her they're hand me downs from Sasha probably. Only slight exception to this is Benten, I drew him in his dance clothes and he'd take perfect care of them I think.

5) Benzaiten is standing in third position in ballet also

Oldtown trio, age 13

+

dead siblins squad also

[jackoshadows]

Firstly, why is it that Sansa can only be praised by comparing her to Arya? Secondly, in what world is Arya physically strong and more than Sansa?!

The masculinization of Arya Stark by tradfems in fandom has become so commonplace that I suppose many of them imagine this is how Arya and Sansa are in the books:

In case folks don't know this: ARYA IS TWO YEARS YOUNGER THAN SANSA! She's the younger sibling!

Anyone who has read a Jon POV chapter should know that Arya is a skinny, little girl. Jon specifically makes a small, lightweight, thin sword for Arya to handle.

And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. - Jon, AGoT

Arya has been on the run for two years, hunted by Lannister men, a slave put to hard physical work and starved for food.

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. - Arya, ACoK

Often as not, she went to bed hungry rather than risk the stares. - Arya, AGoT

"Lommy's hungry," Hot Pie whined, "and I am too." "We're all hungry," said Arya. - Arya, ACoK

Arya watched them die and did nothing. What good did it do you to be brave? One of the women picked for questioning had tried to be brave, but she had died screaming like all the rest. There were no brave people on that march, only scared and hungry ones. - Ary, ACoK

I knew we should never have left the woods, she thought. They'd been so hungry, though, and the garden had been too much a temptation. - Arya, ASoS

"An inn?" The thought of hot food made Arya's belly rumble, but she didn't trust this Tom. - Arya, ASoS

Rabbits ran faster than cats, but they couldn't climb trees half so well. She whacked it with her stick and grabbed it by its ears, and Yoren stewed it with some mushrooms and wild onions. Arya was given a whole leg, since it was her rabbit. She shared it with Gendry. - Arya, ASoS

The biggest toms would seldom win, she noticed; oft as not, the prize went to some smaller, quicker animal, thin and mean and hungry. Like me, she told herself. - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

We have the contrast of Arya having to trade some carrots and cabbages they picked from an overgrown garden to get some food and the innkeeper complaining about the lack of lemons to the sumptuous 64 dish feast in the Vale with a 12 feet tall lemon cake made especially for Sansa.

Anguy shuffled his feet. "We were thinking we might eat it, Sharna. With lemons. If you had some." "Lemons. And where would we get lemons? Does this look like Dorne to you, you freckled fool? Why don't you hop out back to the lemon trees and pick us a bushel, and some nice olives and pomegranates too." She shook a finger at him. "Now, I suppose I could cook it with Lem's cloak, if you like, but not till it's hung for a few days. You'll eat rabbit, or you won't eat. Roast rabbit on a spit would be quickest, if you've got a hunger. Or might be you'd like it stewed, with ale and onions." Arya could almost taste the rabbit. "We have no coin, but we brought some carrots and cabbages we could trade you." - Arya, ASoS

Sixty-four dishes were served, in honor of the sixty-four competitors who had come so far to contest for silver wings before their lord. From the rivers and the lakes came pike and trout and salmon, from the seas crabs and cod and herring. Ducks there were, and capons, peacocks in their plumage and swans in almond milk. Suckling pigs were served up crackling with apples in their mouths, and three huge aurochs were roasted whole above firepits in the castle yard, since they were too big to get through the kitchen doors. Loaves of hot bread filled the trestle tables in Lord Nestor’s hall, and massive wheels of cheese were brought up from the vaults. The butter was fresh-churned, and there were leeks and carrots, roasted onions, beets, turnips, parsnips. And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar. For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out. Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites. The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more. - Alayne, TWoW

Arya was already a little, skinny girl smaller than Sansa when they left Winterfell. She has been worked to the bone, sleeping rough and gone hungry. Again, by what logic is this Arya supposed to be physically strong and more than Sansa?!

There is this idea that's often pushed where Sansa is some dainty, fragile princess while Arya is this strong executioner henchwoman and it's just so tiresome and toxic.

Arya is also not Brienne! They are two different characters. If you want physically strong warrior types to compare to Sansa, there is already Brienne. Arya is the smaller, younger sister. In canon and logically, it's the taller, bigger, elder sister with access to good, rich food who would be physically stronger.

The Stark looking Starks tend to be slender and quicker compared to the bigger, stronger Tully looking Starks.

He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. - Bran, AGoT

The biggest toms would seldom win, she noticed; oft as not, the prize went to some smaller, quicker animal, thin and mean and hungry. Like me, she told herself. - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

"Can't you guess?" Jon teased. "Your very favorite thing." Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together: "Needle!" - Jon, AGoT

Arya was always quick and clever, but in the end she's just a little girl, and Roose Bolton is not the sort who would be careless with a prize of such great worth. - Jon, ADwD

This is one of the reasons for why Jon Snow is so protective of Arya Stark - he certainly doesn't see her as some physically strong warrior type, despite gifting her with a sword. He's scared for her because he knows that despite how clever she is, Ramsay can kill, rape and torture her - she's 'just a little girl'.

Arya deserves to be protected, same as Sansa. She is not there to be anyone's henchwoman, she does not have super strength and she is certainly not physically stronger than Sansa.

[softsoule]

The Wolf and The Rabbit P3.

Warning: This is my first story I'm not a writer never wrote or published anything before but I thought I would make this story so please don't criticize me too much. I hope you all enjoy that do read this!

*Warning: Smut

*Pairing: Cha Hyun-Su x Reader Part One Part Two

Your lips are numb from the rough kissing, and your tongue dances in his mouth, desperately fighting for dominance. You bite his lip, and it sends him into a frenzy.

He growls and lifts you up, his hands planted on your ass. His lips attack yours as he walks to the empty patient room. He roughly throws you on the nearest bed, and a wave of pain overcomes you.

His dick twitches at the sight of your discomfort; he craves to see it again. His blue eyes darken with passion, and his pants stiffen with lust.

You whine out in pain, and that's enough to send him over the edge. He rips off your clothes, leaving you in your tattered underwear. Before you can protest, he crashes his lips into yours, his hand now reaching dangerously close to your sweet spot. Tightly gripping your soaking wet baby pink panties, he destroys the piece of cloth.

You call out his name desperate from the teasing; he chuckles and gives you what you want. His hand leaves a slow, soft circle on your clitoral area while his mouth sucks and nibbles on your neck.

You moan out his name over and over as you grind against his hand. Almost reaching your peak, he pulls away. You whimper at the absence of his hand, but quickly it is replaced by his warm, wet mouth.

The pleasure of his tongue sends shivers through your body, and your toes curl as you cry out. He chuckles against your core at your reaction. He inserts a finger into your canal softly massaging your walls.

You pull and tug on his hair as he deliciously eats your box as if it were his last meal. He gently sucks and tugs on your clit while gently adding another finger.

You feel your clitoris pulsate, and your muscles tighten as if they were about to burst. "You better not" he warns.

His warning falls on deaf ears as his sweet licks hit your spot and you feel your body begin to release.

Almost instantly, Cha Hyun-Su lands a hard smack on your thigh, causing you to cry out. "Did I tell you to cum?" he growls.

His eyes darken, and his face is furious. He gave you a order and you disobeyed it. How bold of you; but every rule you break you must pay for it. He must teach you to obey him. He menacingly grins at the thought of it.

His eerie smile sends a shiver down your spine. "I-I'm S-orry" you stammer over your words, still breathless from your climax.

Your apology means nothing to him, and you know it. He'll be sure to spend the rest of the night teaching you what happens to disobedient girls.

"Let me show you what happens when you don't follow my orders little rabbit." he smirks.

[mercury101]

Atlantis Renaissance by Judy Sims (2011)

Description: Over 11,000 years ago, there existed an island nation located in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean that was populated by a noble and powerful race. The people of this land possessed great wealth thanks to the natural resources found throughout their island.

This was the island of Atlantis.

...

This legend inspired my creation of a Sims version, which I call Atlantis Renaissance. This rebirth is strictly my humble interpretation of the island, although I tried to build the world according to Plato's description and the different artist renderings. This legendary world has been modified due to game limitations and to meet the needs of a Sims population. Sculpting the land rings and water canals was a very unique challenge, as well as building the lots and roads in a circular fashion. There are dirt roads and sidewalks, which are fully functional. The island was designed for game play of an ancient era, but it can easily convert to a modern tourist island or whatever your imagination comes up with. It has been thoroughly Sims tested.

Size: Large (2048)

Total Lots: 117

Requirements: All EPs and patches (until May 2011). The free world, Riverview, is needed for the farm objects to show up.

Custom Content Used: Free CC-1 Greek window railing and 1 Greek arch by Dgandy and Carzarupt's rabbit hole rugs. (You can download the free Jynx rabbit hole rugs from MTS as an alternate.) One EA store item (Poseidon's Fury) is needed for it to show up in the Aquarium.

Original Post (Wayback Machine)

DL: SFS / Mega

[srutis]

An actual 2 sentence horror:

I stood at the canal with my £180,000 Marwood Makes Boat I won.

It's a 56ft narrowboat and I can't sail?

Who are these ads for who's wants that, the dock fees alone? In this economy? Come on now 😩

[strangelittlestories]

Let me tell you about the Truthspeaker.

It is well known that most fae are tricksters. They are creatures who do not lie per se, but who make truth light as chaos or heavy as a contract.

They distract you with the truth and while you are looking at it, they steal the ground from beneath your feet, the name from the craw of your soul, and the

They are like shitty close-up magicians, but the coin they produce from behind your ear is everything you ever valued. And the rabbit they vanish into their hat is reality itself.

They leave you untethered, unmoored, floating free in the summerlands while the path home unravels like a knot of handkerchiefs.

It is well known that fae do this. However, you should realise that 'it is well known' is also a clever illusion.

For while you *should* fear the fair folk, they are multi-faceted and manifold. There are some among them that you may still wish to seek out - for while they will *wreck you* quite thoroughly, sometimes a person must shipwreck themselves to reach their destination.

So let me tell you about the Truthspeaker.

I first heard rumours of them when on my quest year. It's become something of a tradition among aspiring urban esotericists to take a year out to gain practical magical experience. Druids venture into the fragmented urban wilds beneath their city. Mages seek out spells and traditions in rare local dialects and folklores. Seers get very high and follow whatever visions they may have to their inevitable horrible conclusions.

Meanwhile, I started out seeking a simple remedy for mild dimensional bifurcation. One of the alchemists I spoke to mentioned they sometimes sourced ingredients from the fae - in particular, they had a connect for ice cold truths that they thought may help me.

Sadly, I was hot on the trail of the Reality-phage by that point. And that whole situation … escalated.

When I emerged from that densely-woven five-year headfuck with a master's degree in Divine Linguistics and a fully fractured sense of self, I went panning for gold through my memories … and I recalled the Truthspeaker.

The path to faerie is an easy one to find, but a hard one to walk. Especially if you want anything that resembles yourself to emerge on the other side.

I had little enough of my self left, so I took precautions.

I conjured a worm out of earth and lichen. I took one of my memories - one I could not afford to lose - and I fed it to the imaginary creature. It was fat and wriggling, as if ready to burst with dreams.

I wrote my own personal rune on the worm's skin in white marker. The worm wrote *its* rune on me in slime.

I took it to a dried up canal behind a main road. I walked onto the footbridge that crossed it. I speared the worm on a hook, tried it to a silver thread and I dangled it from a fishing pole.

From the canal bed beneath, hungry mouths began to warp out of the concrete. I snagged the biggest and reeled it in. Arms aching with the effort, finally it breached the guardrail with a squeal of metal. Its grey teeth gnashed towards me.

I dived in.

After a small unknowable bubble of time, in which the concrete hydra and I argued over semantics, we finally reached an accord.

I rode in its mouth into the Summerlands.

Apologies, I was supposed to be telling you about the Truthspeaker.

Reaching them was complex, even with my fearsome new ride. (Honestly, riding in that thing's maw made me feel I was in that book about the sandworms, but a bit more 'Vore.)

I won't repeat the trials I had to go through, the spirits I had to beg, bribe or bludgeon ... if you ever seek them yourself, you will need to pay your own way.

But eventually I reached their grove.

It was a strange place. It had a mushroom arch, like many fae groves, but if you looked close you could see spots of rust growing on the caps of them. I peered closer and saw: there was an iron frame beneath the fungi.

I've heard it said that fungus make death into the stuff of life. Even given some faeries' affinity for mushrooms, I think it takes a very special fae to take that which is inimical to you and make of it your sustenance. (And to be quite so cottagecore about it.)

I passed beneath the arch and felt my magical protections torn away by long intangible fingers clawed in ferrous decay.

Inside, the grove sat beneath ... what is the opposite of a 'verdant' canopy? A dying canopy? A putrefying canopy?

No, it was canopy of tomorrows. A vast and dense web of mycelial strands that ate dank darkness and shunned the sun. The interlaced fungal strings shone with strands of copper and arced with electricity.

At the centre of this dwelling with something akin to a cottage, but vast and ballooning with bulbous growths. Cosy and grand. Homely but haunting.

From within its cavernous doorway emerged the Truthspeaker.

My eyes were drawn first to the crown that burst from beneath the skin of their head. Filigreed wires wove in and out of their temples, burning where they met flesh. From that burning emerged green shoots and flowering fungus in all the colours of autumn killings.

They were dressed in stars and pale cotton. Their eyes were caverns. Their lips were lined with morning frost, which crunched softly as they spoke.

"You have travelled a long road." their sweet, soft voice was echoed deeply by the creatures that squirmed in the earth around their feet.

"I have, honoured one." My voice shook.

"There is no honour here, child."

"Nonetheless, I come to honour you."

"You come to ask of me."

Inside myself, I felt my heart shrivel and rot away and a new heart build itself again from the mess.

"From where I stand, to ask favour is to show my throat. This is honour."

"You are a sophist." they snorted and a cloud of spores filled the air, glittering.

"That is the source of my power, honoured one." The spores settled on my robe and began to form a sparkling crystal city.

"You bear the blessing of the Once God."

"I, uh..." I found myself reaching for my phone to take a scrying selfie and resisted. "I had honestly forgotten it was there."

"As had the blessing. Such is the way of things with the God That Was But Was Not."

"There is much I have lost."

"You are not special in this regard."

"Are there ... any ways in which I *am* special?"

"I don't especially care to name them if there are."

"I..." I licked my lips and they tasted of earthy spices. "I would ask you to tell me one true thing, Truthspeaker."

"I have already told you several."

"I can offer fair exchange. I can serve you. I had knowledge and skill once, I am sure I can find them again."

"No. You never shall."

I blanched.

"Never?"

"They are mulch. New talents will grow. Or you will die. Such is the way of things." they looked me up and down with their hollow, everything eyes, "Tell me what truth you would have. I will find something to do with you after."

My mouth was dry. My lungs filled with thick honey-like dreck. My skin shone translucent. The crystal city on my robe spread and grew, went through two cataclysms, rebuilt itself, then began to spread across my back.

I forget the truth I had planned to ask for.

Instead I said:

"Do you like me?"

"I do not know yet." The Truthspeaker said. "But I am willing to find out."

That is how I met the Truthspeaker. Our first meeting, but not our last. But that is all the detail I will give you for now. If you want more then you will have to seek me out and ask me or win it from me or remind me of it.

But what was it that I wanted to tell you about the Truthspeaker? What did I learn? What might you learn from them?

Surely, I have already told you that?

No, I will say one thing more:

Sometimes the truth does not set you free. Sometimes it anchors you.

Because sometimes you don't need a trickster fae to untie you from reality. Sometimes you are already doing a perfectly adequate job of that yourself.

And when that happens, a truth you can rely on is like cold iron for the soul.

---

Enjoy my stories? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi with a one-off or recurring donation https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[nyxandshion]

NINE YEARS OF NYX

I thought I was going to bring home a white & cream colored mama who had given birth to a litter of kits. Nyx was not the rabbit in the photo.

When I got her spayed, I was told she would've died giving birth because her vaginal canal was too narrow.

I was supposed to help her trust humans by fostering her, but I fell in love in the process.

She went from fearful to fierce, attacking other fosters and Shion. Nyx established her territory and rules supreme in my heart as well.

I gave her frozen banana, blueberries, and kale. Shockingly, she went for the kale first!

But then the banana started thawing and Nyx dove right in! (Sound up for good noms!)

[Video description: Nyx, a black and tan rabbit, eating from a plate of fruit and veggies. She's eating banana. /End]

Ilu forever queen 👑

[little-cereal-draws]

Hi! I saw a post where you mentioned intersex Jesus being a part of medieval European alchemy and I'd love to learn more about that. Could you elaborate or maybe provide links to some articles? I know some saint mystics talked about Jesus being our Mother, and the holy wound in His side was often likened to a birth canal, especially in medieval times. Is it connected to that in any way?

I'd love to elaborate! (This is going to be a long post so buckle up lol)

I will be using the word "hermaphrodite" instead of "intersex" because that is the word that primary sources from medieval Europe and contemporary medieval scholars use when talking about this subject

The best scholarly article I've found is "The Jesus Hermaphrodite: Science and Sex Difference in Premodern Europe" by Leah DeVun. It talks about how the image of the hermaphrodite was used in a metaphorical way by alchemists to show the combining/transforming of two different metals. They believed that certain metals/elements were gendered, so combining male and female "traits" would make something of a completely new sex; similar to the way they perceived hermaphrodites as both but also neither sex.

The article then goes on to talk about two medieval texts: Aurora consurgens and the Book of the Holy Trinity. Aurora consurgens is an alchemic text and has the image below in it. The hermaphrodite is holding a rabbit and bat, both of which were thought to be hermaphroditic species where both males and females gave birth, to emphasize their dual sexuality as well as the conflicting male and female attributes of alchemy.

The Book of the Holy Trinity transitioned from the traditional alchemic hermaphrodite, like seen above, into the religious sphere by arguing that Jesus and Mary were two sides of the same coin. The author of the text says, "one can never see the mother of God without also seeing that God eternally hides and intermingles [his mother] within him. God was and is eternally his own mother and his own father, human and divine, his divinity and his humanity intermingled within. And he depends on that which he wishes to be hidden most of all within himself, the divine and the human, the feminine and the masculine." This makes Jesus/Mary a hermaphrodite.

As a bit of a fun side note to your ask, the author of the Book of the Holy Trinity gives a few more supporting points to his argument and then turns to say that as Christ contains Mary, He also contains the Antichrist which the Book illustrates like this:

The idea of the hermaphrodite Christ really took off after that and boosted the cult of Saint Wilgefortis, saint of monsters. Images of the hermaphrodite Wilgefortis were often indistinguishable from images of Christ because they were both depicted on a cross but where they both have beards, Wilgefortis only has one shoe on: a playful medieval illusion to female sex organs. Images of Saint Wilgefortis below (some images from the 1800s, some from the 1400s). You can read more about Wilegfortis in Bearded Woman, Female Christ: Gendered Transformations in the Legends and Cult of Saint Wilgefortis by Lewis Wallace.

About a hundred years later, “The Lamentation around the remains of Christ,” below, was made depicting Jesus with breasts and feminine curves. Not much is known about it and Christ's hermaphroditic traits weren't even discovered until it was restored in the 21st century. Because of how recent this discovery is, not much scholarly work has been published on it, but I did find this: "The androgyny of Christ" by H. Valdes‑Socin. It is now at the Museum of Notre-Dame à la Rose Hospital in Lessines, Belgium.

And you're absolutely right about Christ's stab wound being like a birth canal! I think the article Mysticism and queer readings of Christ’s Side Wound in the Prayer Book of Bonne of Luxembourg by  Dr. Maeve K. Doyle does a good job of explaining it. Dr. Doyle says, "The image of the side wound, ... grants feminine bodily attributes to Christ, destabilizing assumptions about his gender. In mystical images and texts, Christ’s capacity to transcend the gender binary, like his capacity to transcend the binary of life and death, underscores his divinity." Dr. Doyle then goes on to talk about how images of the stab wound looking like a birth canal would also be comforting to medieval women, trans people, and homosexuals on both sides. Now I'm not Christian but I think it's really amazing that such a simple image can elicited so much comfort and joy in so many groups of people who were not able to fully be themselves in the era they lived in. It was a reminder that even Christ was like them, their feelings were valid (to an extent), and that Jesus loved them anyway. Medieval Jesus stab wounds below for people interested.

----

Just for fun here are some more cool things!

A medieval wooden architectural relief with a person with a beard, phallus, and breasts

Potta di Modena Metope/The Hermaphrodite (left) and detail from the Southern Archivolt (right) of the Modena Cathedral Modena, Italy, c. 1099-1319, Marble reliefs

The Potta di Modena Metope (left) is damaged because people in the 1500s thought it was too sexual/offensive so they vandalized it

More journal articles:

Bearded Women in Early Modern England by Mark Albert Johnston

The Third Sex: The Idea of the Hermaphrodite in Twelfth-Century Europe by Cary J. Nederman

Transvestites in the Middle Ages by Vern L. Bullough

[fidenciocryptidcreechur]

Idle musings about Wonderland Beastfolk

Thought: do beastfolk with long fluffy ears have to worry about fur/hair clogging their ear canals? Or having to worry about grease/oils in their ear and ear fur? I was checking my dog for burs and ticks (it's tick and chigger season which means you gotta check your animals every so often just in case) and like the thing is that a lot of dogs and other animals with long fluffy ears, especially floppy ears, tend to get ear hair problems, ear infections and oily ears (there's always a normal amount of oil in most mammal ears that's just there to keep things protected and keep from drying out). And so now I'm wondering if beastfolk in Wonderland have to keep up with that. Like in addition to making sure to clean up their face and watching out for both too much oil vs not enough moisturizer they also have to make sure their long fluffy ears aren't too damp (or risk ear infection), haven't been wiped down (so there's no accumulation of body oils to prevent infection and also minimize unhelpful* odor), and that ear hair for those with long fluffy ears is maintained (decrease risk of infection from bacteria within the matt, reduced risk of matting and helpful for hearing). Like??? I'm just thinking how there's absolutely specific woes for certain types of beastfolk. Like long tails and fluffy tails totally get fur pinched constantly or increased risk of it getting caught or slammed on something especially since people already regularly stub their own toes or fingers in doorways or on the sides of stuff so like there's no way beastfolk with long tails haven't had painful accidents involving doorways, the sides of drawers or while sitting on the ground at a crowded assembly.

So yeah

I bet there's some specific inconveniences that beastfolks with long fluffy ears got. Also those with long tails and lots of fluff. I just know fur gets pinched by virtue of it being long. Long hair people know the woes of this type of thing. For ears, a q-tip or cotton ball can suffice for a couple inches of human ear but like what about someone with proportional rabbit ears or beagle ears? You're gonna need a big wipe at the very least cause that's a lot to cover plus there's lil grooves and stuff. I bet it's a pain especially if they're beauty conscious and have those 12 step routines for the face alone. Depending on ear acreage are there longer routines for ear care?? To make sure they don't get a matted wad of ear fur, to make sure it's properly dried off after a shower, to keep all that ear skin healthy (like seriously have you seen how much ear acreage is on a beagle or rabbit? Imagine that proportional amount on a person?) and just everything else. Also i bet showers for beastfolk with long or wide upright ears is essentially a daily waterboarding session for their ear canals? Like you ever submerged your head and got water in your ears? That funky feeling? Imagine that but shower blast straight into the canal and the ears are huge. I feel like most quickly learn to flatten their ears down to prevent this or use a shower camp though i have no doubt it's a common occurrence to groggily shuffle into the shower to get ready and then turn on the shower all bleary eyed only to get like a cup of water doused straight down your ears and quickly have to shake it all out and remember to keep your ears down. Rude ass awakening courtesy of your shower waterboarding your ear canals. Like ??? I bet there's some specific ass woes for these guys in wonderland

*the caveat for why i specified *unhelpful* odor and it's just cause idk if beastfolk have like scenting needs and some smells are part of body language but i DO know that even amongst animals, and humans, some scents are more so indicative of illness or hygiene and they will usually avoid that individual (the ones that don't are usually ones that are concerned about whatever is going on) and this is cause some scents broadcasts that they have something that might spread OR something is wrong in general (there's a reason some animals can be trained to smell diseases or other health problems and it's both cause of the smell of infection itself and the body's reaction to illnesses). Basically the unhelpful odor here is that instead of like a possible healthy beastfolk scenting thing, their ears are just broadcasting yeast infection cause they didn't wash their ears properly.

[weirdsatellites]

Manifest #94578 from Zuma (UNCLASSIFIED) 1. Lifeless Canal of Books 2. Moat of Swiss Ashes 3. Rabbit Lab

[caffiend-queen]

Do NOT Say 'Always After My Lucky Charms,' Or I Will Stab You

Welcome to another addition to the Holidays in Hel series! Where Loki and Mina attempt to save the Avengers from yet another catastrophic holiday fuckup.

I've been cleaning up and adding bits to my Holidays in Hel series because really, it's my favorite. I hope you enjoy, and thank you as always for reading!

Chapter One: An Unmitigated Disaster Awaits

In which Loki and Mina once again find themselves in the middle of a colossal Avengers holiday fuckup. And who knew the Fey Folk were such assholes?

If there was blame to be assigned for the night that destroyed any charm and mystery left in St. Patrick’s Day, it should really go to The Paddy O’Hoolihan’s, an Irish folk band with a painfully cheesy name. But their music- it was frenzied and delightful, which was why Mina, Wanda, Jane, Pepper, Darcy, and even Natasha were swirling madly in some sort of a jig between each other like a flutter of butterflies, colorful spring dresses flaring out in a pleasing way that exposed a toned thigh or two. They were so fascinating to watch that the rest of the Avengers agreed right then that a Night Out On The Town would be necessary in the hopes of seeing more of this.

“A flutter of butterflies?” Tony blustered. “That can’t be right.”

Loki was seated elegantly on a comfortable chair in the middle of Central Park while most of the other male Avengers were seated in the grass, soaking the seat of their jeans. “A flutter,” he confirmed, watching closely as Mina sent him a saucy little wink. “Known also as a kaleidoscope or a swarm.”

“Swarm isn’t the right word,” mused Steve, still brushing at the green streaks on his pressed chinos. “That sounds like bugs. The girls are definitely butterflies.”

“Butterflies are bugs,” grunted Bucky, eyes closed and soaking in the weak spring sunlight.

“You romantic bastard,” chortled Sam, who was watching Thor capering with the women and getting the dance steps wrong. “I’m gonna go save those ladies from his bigass feet.” 

“That slick son of a bitch,” Tony observed morosely, watching Sam gracefully sweep Pepper under one arm and Natasha with the other.

It was a rare day, a blissful day where nothing was exploding, no one was invading anyone else’s borders, no one was getting kidnapped, and even HYDRA appeared to be taking a long afternoon nap. The Avengers were all lazing in Central Park on an almost unnaturally warm day for March 17th and enjoying a holiday where they were, for once, not urgently needed. Anywhere.

“To St. Patrick’s Day!” toasted Bucky, raising his bottle of Guinness to clink with Steve’s. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”

Tony pulled another bottle from the specialty vibranium cooler that floated next to him, its propulsion jets hissing softly. “Watch the parade from Stark Tower, say a prayer at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and hit The Dead Rabbit Grocery & Grog. The Dropkick Murphy’s are headlining.”

Loki sniffed, still watching keenly as Mina took the hands of an elderly gentleman so wizened and stooped that he could legally be classified as a leprechaun. “My lady and I will be spending the evening safely at the Tower. I do not understand this keen desire for holiday-based mayhem and disaster, but I assure you we shall not participate.”

“Brother!” Thor’s voice was unfortunately right next to Loki’s ear, and God or no, the roar from the oaf seared through his ear canal and scrambled his ganglia. “You must bring the Lady Mina, she will be terribly disappointed! Darcy has been telling her of the majesty of the Celtic celebrations here. She must pay homage to her ancestors.”

Loki frowned. Mina had Irish blood? He would rather crush his own skull with Thor’s hammer than admit that his brother knew something about his Mina that he did not, so he settled for a haughty sniff. “Why must I be the sole sentinel during every holiday on this benighted excuse for a realm to remind you all that it will always, always invariably result in death and destruction? That there will be some unnatural force that will target the Avengers and endanger all those we love? Why must I be the-”

“Hey, did you hear that?” Tony interrupted happily, “Loki looooves Mina!”

And then the tiresome chorus rose from this pack of imbeciles. Loki rolled his eyes, wondering if he sent a hailstorm of toads down upon this crowd if it would immediately be traced back to him. But then his Mina returned and sat down in his lap. Kissing him on the tip of his aquiline nose, she sighed, “And Mina loves Loki, so all of you hush.”

“Darling, are you indeed of Irish descent?”

Mina looked up from the 3D chemical strain she was modeling for one of Jane’s experiments. “Yes, and Scottish. How did this come up?”

Loki sniffed haughtily. “My oaf of a brother attempted to claim that I must indulge you in a night of drunken excess with the rest of the team as some sort of homage to your heritage. Is this night one that must be dedicated to your ancestors? Is it a sacred rite?”

Giving a very unladylike snort, Mina said, “Nothing sacred about gulping down too much green beer and singing Irish folk songs. But…” Loki groaned internally. His sweet girl had a look of longing as she continued. “But it’s always such a fun night! I get to dance and sing, and the saying is that ‘On St. Patrick’s Day, everyone is Irish.’” She smiled up at him sweetly. “Even you, Loki.”

Lip curled, he snarled, “Do not assign me a heritage from this insignificant rock!” Traditionally, this sort of elegant sneer would quail Mina, but this time, she gave him a sneer of her own. 

“Oh, you do not disrespect my people, Loki!” She quailed slightly before seeing his curled lip stretch into a smile. 

“My, my. Look at my fierce little banshee! I would not think of it.” Mina gave him the sort of shameless, hopeful grin that crumbled the God of Lies and Mischief’s will more often than he’d care to admit. 

Sliding her hands over his broad shoulders, admiring the hard muscle beneath, she asked, “Does that mean you might be willing to join the group tonight at the Dead Rabbit?”

His elegant head pulled back from hers, “What a truly bizarre name. Does the proprietor wish to drive people away from his tavern?”

Mina cackled a bit. “We Irish are tough. We like it rough and difficult.” She instantly realized her mistake as Loki’s pupils flared.

“Really…” he purred, his deep tone more like a rumble against her spine. “You like it, ‘rough,’ do you, darling?”

It was a desperate scramble to get away from her God’s ruthless grasp, but Mina found herself pulling on her old plaid kilt and cream Irish fisherman’s sweater after a promise to show Loki later the bit of “rough” that a good girl from the Emerald Isle could handle. “My lovely Mina,” he approved, stepping behind her in the dressing room mirror to straighten his cuffs. She’d just pulled on some warm black tights and her knee-high riding boots. “You have a very delectable ‘upper-crust schoolgirl’ sort of look here. I find myself quite interested in knowing what good Irish schoolgirls wear under their kilts.”

“Well, I imagine a big, strong man like you can find out for yourself,” Mina answered primly, then leaped over the bench with a yelp when Loki made a sudden move at her. Chuckling, he straightened his tie and strolled sedately after her.

It was, of course, vile. Loki sighed in a long-suffering way as he surveyed the crowded bar, one hand securely on Mina’s back. “The sun barely set and here are your countrymen, already intoxicated,” he said, leaning in close so she could hear him over the drunken chorus of “Whiskey You’re the Devil.”

“Oh, look!” Mina shouted back, “There they are! In the Snug.”

“I beg your pardon?” Loki raised a brow.

“The Snug,” Mina was the one carving a path through the partygoers, heading for their friends. “There’s one in every proper Irish bar.  It’s the room right off of the bar where the ladies used to go to have a pint or a sherry and not have to worry about being considered loose. Now the bars just rent them out as a VIP space.”

In his usual fashion, Tony had not only bought out the Snug, which had an excellent view of the rest of the pub, but he also had the management re-create the magnificent, shining walnut bar that ran nearly the length of the main room into a private version for the Avengers. When they drew closer, they found Thor in a handstand with one end of a tube in his mouth and the other in a cask of aged whiskey. 

Sam, Clint, Darcy, and the usually shy Bucky were circling the spectacle, shouting “Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!” Thor finished the cask and flipped upright with a flourish, raising his huge arms and roaring in triumph.

“What are you wearing?” Loki frowned, all the men were sporting hideous green plaid patterned neckties, and the more drunken amongst them - namely Clint and Tony - had little green bowler hats perched atop their messy hair.

“It was Tony’s idea, where’s your tie?” asked Bruce, who looked distinctly put out that he’d been forced to wear this itchy novelty neckwear while Loki looked as smooth and perfectly put together as always in an onyx Tom Ford suit.

Loki sniffed, “Ideally, at the bottom of the Hudson River.”

Tony stumbled up behind Loki and Mina, sunglasses askew as he looped an arm around each of them. “Your brother knows how to party, Severus Snape! Let’s tap another cask for you!”

“It is a crime to treat a good whiskey so,” admonished Loki, “and Thor must consume twenty or so of those casks for him to find something even approaching intoxication.” Nonetheless, he found himself relaxing and even amused as his Mina dragged Natasha up on to the bar for a round of Irish Ceili dancing, the Russian gracefully moving along as if she’d performed Irish jigs all her life.

“Man, is there anything Natasha can’t do perfectly?” groused Darcy, watching the footwork until it made her dizzy.

Bucky put his arm around her. “She can’t make that cute little noise you make when I…” She dissolved into a round of giggles and Loki rolled his eyes, looking around the pub. There was a thicket of drunk college students, singing along off-key with the Dropkick Murphys, who’d moved on to “Rose Tattoo.” The main bar was claimed by the regulars, who held court and toasted something new at least every sixty seconds, based on the cheers and clinking of glasses. Small islands of tourists floated through the crowd, gripping a beer mug in one hand and a souvenir Dead Rabbit t-shirt in the other. Irish flags were draped in every corner and the light glowed off the massive selection of alcohol behind the bar, bathing everything in a pleasingly golden glow. And… Loki raised one elegant brow. There was a small group of… small people?

“Little people,” Steve said, leaning in. “The correct phrase is little people.”

“Descendants of a visit long past from a group of lustful and irresponsible Nidavellir,” mused Loki, “the dwarves always eager to spread their seed.”

Steve looked alarmed, “I don’t think you want to be floating that theory, Loki. Especially not here, and not tonight.”

Before the God of Mischief could further discuss Nidavellir sex tourism, he heard a loud “Hellooo, Monty!” from his sweet girl, still tip-tapping away atop the bar.

One of the men broke away from the group and waved eagerly. “Éire go Brách, Mina!” 

Leaping rather gracefully from the bar, she took his small hand, greeting him warmly. “Éire go Brách, Monty! I’m so glad you came.”

The gentlemen had a face like a withered crabapple, all wrinkles and slightly sunken, but when he glanced at Loki, there was a spark of… something in his eye. One trickster always knew another, and he recognized the elderly gentleman she’d favored with a dance that afternoon at the park. “Well, when you promised me another dance, my dear, how could I not?” Monty turned to Loki and bent his head in a courtly gesture, “If your date for the evening has no objection, of course.”

Oddly, Loki did have an objection. The gleam in the small man’s eye was growing brighter, and his own emerald ones narrowed. “And what brings you to New York, Monty? Your accent has all the slurs and ellipses of a Dubliner, born and bred.”

Mina’s new friend threw back his head and laughed grandly, “Ach, you’ve caught me. I am, indeed. But I find that here in America, the Irish celebrate this day with greater enthusiasm.”

Just then the Dropkick Murphys launched into “The Boys are Back” and Mina squealed. “Monty! This is my song, let’s go!” And with a final smirk at Loki, her diminutive beau allowed her to pull him into the crowd. 

He stared after them disapprovingly. The Dead Rabbit was even louder - if possible - than it had been when they arrived and the discordant screech of electric guitar and the accompaniment of the Uilleann pipes rose over the crowd.

The boys are back

The boys are back

The boys are back

And they're looking for trouble

Standing on the highway, ???

I'm missing my home, and it's killing me

Down the ramp past the jail, I'm feeling alright

Bought roses for my ladies from a corner delight

It's time to get ready for that song and dance

Let's go my friends, it's time to take a chance

We're back in town, we're gonna get it done

We got nowhere to hide, we got nowhere to run

It's been a long time coming,

It's been a long time coming,

The boys are back

The boys are back

The boys are back

And they're looking for trouble

And in the blink of an eye, Mina and her questionable dance partner were swallowed up into the crowd. “Did he not seem unnatural to you?” Loki asked Tony, who was leaning heavily on his shoulder and wrinkling the perfect cut of his jacket.

Tony stumbled back, “Woah, Lokes, prejudiced much? What’s next, snide comments about the little people always being after your Lucky Charms?” He said the last in a deplorably bad Irish accent, and Loki’s brow furrowed. Tony (partially sober) was just barely endurable. Completely intoxicated Tony was a punishment that could make the strongest Asgardian choose Odin’s dungeons over Stark Tower.

Bucky gently elbowed Tony into a seat, where his head tipped back and a gentle snore rose from his slack mouth. “Ignore him, Loki. What’s the problem?”

“Most pressing,” he said, “is that my dear Mina seems to have disappeared into this drunken throng with a most untrustworthy creature.”

“Takes one to know one,” Bucky agreed, but he refused to take offense, still searching the crowd. Looking around, he frowned. “And where’s Darcy and Jane? And Pepper? And Natasha?” By now the others were closing in. Thor shouldered his way into the knot of drunken, flailing New Yorkers and Clint hopped up on the table.

Pale hands shooting out, Loki sent a silver stream of energy that coiled and ripped around the pub, curling and snaking along, but there was no sign of the women. “By the NORNIR!” he shouted. “Why? Why must it always be the holidays? You Avengers are a curse, I swear it!”

“Huh?” Tony woke up, standing and rubbing his face. “What?”

Loki turned on him. “You will never heed my warning, will you? All our women- they are gone. Gone!”

“Aw, damn,” sighed Steve, "AGAIN?"

Chapter Two is up tomorrow. You know, the one with all the smut.

I'm starting over with a vague memory of who might like my Loki and Avengers tales. If you would like on or off this list, please let me know! Thank you. Mwah!

@what-is-your-plan-today

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@the-soulofdevil

@americasass81

@mdemontespan1667

@sultry-rachael

@myoxisbroken

@gigglingtiggerv2

@notpedeka

@narnianarcher

@sylviefromneptune

@winterslove1917

@kimanne723

@hawkeyes-queen

@grymrayven

@stevihj

@lizette50

@jevans2

@wolfsmom1

@devikafernando

@wegingerangelica

@nildespirandum

@alexakeyloveloki

@thebatshitcrazyfangirl

@thehumming6ird

@archy3001

@iheartsebastianstan

@tomstinkerbell

@wolfpawn

@rayofdawnworld

@thecutestlittlebunbunfairy

@dangertoozmanykids101

@alexakeyloveloki

@nuggsmum

@boredbrooder

@fairlightswiftly

@inkededucatednnerdy

@nonsensicalobsessions

@viv-annelore

@eleniblue

[simming-girl]

Hello Neighbor: WTRB Fanfiction Story (Part 2)

It's been a month that Enzo broke his arm, and his little sister hit her head. But now, they're fortunately fine. Delroy is very busy, but Nicky was calling his friends, him, and also his sister, to say something special.

Enzo: Someone is calling- Oh, it's Nicky and a groupchat. Maybe I should answer them. *presses the call* Hello?

Nicky: Hey, Enzo! Have you heard about Talking Tom and Friends?

Enzo: Yes! What do you want to tell me about our favourite show?

Nicky: I want to tell you that my favourite characters are Ben and Hank, who's yours?

Enzo: Mine is Tom, because he wore a red t-shirt with a "thumbs up" hand on it. It sounds great!

Maritza: Mine is Angela, the one who loves fashion.

Enzo: Yeah, yeah, I know.

Nicky: Trinity? You here?

Trinity: Sure! I'm here, my favourite characters are Angela and Becca. I watched an episode to see them and it was cool!

Enzo: You choose Angela too, Trinity? I choose Tom. I love you!

Nicky: Finch and Ivan? Are you two here?

Ivan: Yes, sir! I choose Hank and Ginger, they're the most favourite characters of mine.

Finch: Mine are Ginger, Angela, and Hank.

Nicky: OK, who's gonna tell the characters biography?

Enzo: Me!

Nicky: Tell me your favourite character's biography.

Enzo: Talking Tom was born on August 18. He is a gray tabby cat with green eyes and he's in love with his beloved girlfriend, Talking Angela. He's 20 years old (in Talking Friends) and has a cool, cool attitude.

Maritza: Yeah, Tom's a teenager cat yet who loves his goddamn girlfriend.

Enzo: SHUT UP! I'm not done yet! And, stop pissing me off!!

Nicky: Enzo, let your sister tell her favourite character's biography too!

Enzo: Fine.

Maritza: Talking Angela was born on February 2, 1995. She's an 18-year-old white cat with sky blue eyes and a furry tail, and adores fashion, singing, and more. Angela loves Tom and hangs out with him, or maybe her friends.

Enzo: I saw you seeing and liking her posts on her Insta!

Maritza: Yeah, yeah, you caught me.

Nicky: Alright, who's gonna tell me the character's bio?

Ivan: Me, I would tell a story for you.

Nicky: Ok, tell me.

Ivan: Talking Hank was born on February 29 (it comes every four years). His age isn't confirmed, but he is a little younger than Tom. He is a white-blue spotted dog with brown eyes and REALLY loves to eat everything! And Talking Ginger was born on April 8. He is a golden tabby kitten with sky blue eyes and he's a nephew of Tom.

Nicky: Oh, how goofy and cute he is *laughs*. Anyways, Trinity, would you like to tell me your favourite character's biography?

Trinity: Sure, Becca Sparkles (also known as Talking Becca) was born on March 20. She generally appears as a slim dark-gray and white rabbit with green eyes with large eyelashes, a small spherical tail between the top of her legs, a pink nose, long ears with pink canals and white fluff at the bottom and a tuft of hair with purple hair streak highlights and long ears.

Nicky: Nice one! Alright, I will tell about my favourite character's biography. I will tell about Ben. Talking Ben was born on September 5. He appears as an overweight fawn 22 year old (43 in Talking Friends) dog, specifically a Canis fabulatus, with brown eyes, a large snout with a black (sometimes brown) nose, two large floppy ears, a small stub for a tail, two small legs with three toes, and four fingers on each hand.

Finch: That's really cool!

Enzo: Nice!! As me and you are best friends, Tom and Ben are also best friends! You choose Ben and Hank, I choose Tom-

Maritza: Generally you and Tom are gay because of your favourite character-

Enzo: I'M GONNA KILL YOU.... WOULD YOU JUST SHUT THE HECK UP!?!? *attacks Maritza*

Once Enzo attacked his sister, he accidentally pulled her earrings to tornup her lobular ears (lobe), causing her to scream in pain and cry.

Trinity: Woah, what is just happening here?

Nicky: I don't know..

Enzo: Maritza told me that me and Tom are gay! I really hate it!

Maritza: I WAS JUST KIDDING, YOU DORK! *cries and takes her anger slamming the door*

Enzo: Oh, have I done something bad? My goodness..

Ivan: Let's forget about that! Hank and Ginger are the cutest!

Trinity-Finch: Yep.

2 hours later...

Enzo realized his sister went to their bedroom. He opened the door, and saw Maritza laying and crying on her bed, sitting in next to her.

Enzo: Hey, Maritza. Is everything okay?

Maritza: No... You just torned up my ears and you made me really hurt! I put the alcohol on my ears..

Enzo: I'm sorry, I promise I won't do that again.

Maritza: Get out, you've really hurt me. And if you're really sorry, then you understand you will seriously apologize to me!

Enzo: But, I can explain! I accidentally torned up your ears because, I didn't want to. You said that me and my favourite hero Tom are gay, but you also didn't want to.

Maritza: I just said it for fun, it was nothing personal, nor for real.

Enzo: Come on, calm down, sis.

1 night later...

Trinity: *knocks door* Knock knock!

Enzo: Who's there?

Trinity: It's me, Trinity!

Enzo: *opens door* Aww, come in! *feels in love* Just tell me, how are you?

Trinity: I'm good, thanks. I'll sit on the sofa. *sees Maritza* Oh hi Mari- What just happened with your ears?

Maritza: Hi, Trinity. My ears just got torned up by my big brother who just attacked me and pull my earrings hardly.

Enzo: But, it's just an accident, I wouldn't do that..

Trinity: It's ok. Bad things can happen, well, we'll watch TV together!

Maritza-Enzo: Okay, let's watch!!

When it's been 2 hours, Maritza, Enzo and Trinity were watching TV. Trinity loved it, but she went to her home.

Enzo: Goodbye, Trinity, I'm happy to see you, see you soon.

Trinity: See you soon too, Enzo. * hugs him and closes door*

Enzo: *yawns* I think I'll go to sleep.

Maritza: Same...

Enzo: I'm sorry, Maritza. I didn't mean to hurt your ears, but don't say this thing again, promise?

Maritza: I promise.

The Esposito siblings went to sleep.

[thisiscatherinesworld]

A snippet from my book

PROLOGUE

The planes of reality bubbled up through the rotting fingers of the Beldam, whose pitiful excuse of mimicked flesh melted off of Her blackened bones and down into the treeline. Time itself began to boil. It seeped into fur and feathers and scales.

The forest's creatures quivered. They felt something— deep, primordial.

The rabbits screamed. The wolves howled.

Blood boiled. Veins erupted in silent sacrifice, each vessel bursting with a hiss. Steam rose, twisting into the air, whispering from the Beyond.

Animals withered in pain as their hearts gave out.

The forest rumbled in fear. It knew. Knew doom was inching closer.

The Beldam’s cracked nails, caked with specks of Earth and crusted over with dried blood, clawed at

the molten planes. The forest started to spark, as if electricity was shot through the bark. The branches flooded with a light that shone black as poison seeped into the leaves of the willow, oak, and pine. 

A nest of twigs and grass fell from the canopy, and a robin cried out in despair. Its eggs were lost among the chaos underfoot.

The ground did not shake in terror. It just gave in, collasping in a manner that alluded to an unseen battle.

This was not the first time the Beldam fought with the order Her Enternal Father, The Bloom That Was constructed. She loved to break the binds that were there to protect the Nauture and the Men and the Beasts and the Cosmos. There was a slow, labored moan from the Garden of Eidhen. Long and sluggish, like everything in the eternal wood. Something was stirring, as if it was a rodent trapped in a box. It pitter-pattered around underneath the rock, not in celebration, but in the slow, laboring movement of all that crawled and blotted there.

The ground ripped like taut hide. Not suddenly. Not apocalyptically. Simply on and on and on and on, like a ticking of a clock doomed to tick tick tick tock for the remainder of Time.

At first, the smell—rot, foul honey turned to taste, graveyard stench foul enough to retch on. Then the roots pulled up, slimy and dark, dragging stone and ash along behind them like carrion they could not shake off.

The orphanage bled as it ascended from Hell. Blood slicked the walls; mortar oozed like sap—thick, slow, dark. Bricks sagged beneath coats of moss and centuries of soot. Iron railings curled upward and out of the Earth like twisted ribs, skeletal and broken. The gate hung next, rust-eaten and collapsed inward, its barbs catching the light like fresh wounds.

Every window was shut—until they weren’t. Stained glass eyes flew open in unison, casting saints in colored light. Their mouths were sewn shut, expressions carved from old grief, their faces lit not by sun, but by something more ancient—older than flame, colder than ash.

And the others—if they could still be called that—rose from the mud like grave-born statues. Wings splintered, faces worn down to blank stone. Moss grew where eyes once were. One gripped a rusted key. Another held a blade dulled by centuries.

They didn’t speak. Not as sentries. Not as souls. Only as witnesses. Silent, their gaze drifted after the dust swirling in the air—measuring the shape of something coming.

And heat, heat that didn't feel right. A demonic warmth, simmering from underground.

Last stood the bell tower, twisted and slanted, reaching for the heavens. The bell never rang. But the air rang anyway.

St. Agana Children’s Home was born.

The Beldam reached her spider-like fingernails deep into the ear canals, and from the earwax crafted some men and women out of it. Their clothes were made from the leaves She hastily ripped off the oak, pine, and willow, and skinned the foxes and bears to construct shoes.

To fill their empty insides, She poured Her spiders down into their guts, and gave them some of Her eyes. Then, put her webs into their skull. 

The Beldam’s work was then done. She chucked her  Spiderlings into St. Agana Children’s Home, where they would work to fill the bottomless pit of her stomach.

She cackled, grinning down at Her monstrosities. Their purpose is simple—harvest the purest souls of the Universe for their ‘Our Lady’— and they would fullfil it throughout the centuries.  

The Beldam would not cease until her bottomless stomach was filled and cemented down.

She would not cease, even if it meant splintering the planes of reality.

Tearing a hole in the fabric of the Universe.

Undoing the bindings of Time.

Unleashing every sin onto the Earth.

Driving the cosmos into anarchy.

Opening the bunker with them chained down inside it.

She would not cease, even if it meant destroying everything and nothing that was forever and never, forever.

[qibsichan]

OC art! This is Qibs!

She’s a Holland lop bunny who can’t hear or speak. She forgives herself for her disability.

Her inspiration was from actual lops - many truly are hearing-impaired because rabbit ears are not designed to flop in that position. The canals in the ears can decay over time. Qibs’ ears were so large and heavy that she lost her hearing.

She is Australian and speaks using Auslan, or Australian Sign Language. Her name is pronounced “Kibs”.

[vanillabox]

Buneary (Psychic)

Lopunny (Psychic/Fighting)

Regional variants of Buneary and Lopunny based on the moon rabbit and magical girls (mainly Sailor Moon). I also wanted to design a regional variant of Mega Lopunny but my pen stopped working ;--;

Once I get a new pen I will finish the design.

Also since my fakemon region would be based on México you could see these designs as a reference to Canal 5 and Azteca 7, two mexican TV channels that have been streaming a lot of anime since the 70s and are one of the main reasons why old anime like Dragon Ball and Sailor Moon are so famous in this country.

[shit-people-probably-didnt-say]

Any soft Wesper kid HC or prompts? I’ve always imagined Wespers kid as struggling to read just like Wylan and not fully understanding it. They just know that “Da reads everything for Dad” and growing up in a much healthier environment than Wylan they dont grow up with the same low self esteem issues and instead the idea that love is someone willing to read to you. They hope that in the future they find someone like that for themselves. IDK I’m a sucker for breaking they cycle lol

Aw Id love to share some soft Wesper Kid HCs!

Apologies for the delay in answering Ive had this in my drafts so I can build on it

- Wesper kid is an early riser and often wakes before his Dads, so the only sensible thing to do is bring his favourite book or toy and climb into their bed with them. They often spend the entire morning on off days just lounging in bed

- Swimming lessons! Being so close to canals and the harbour (and that swimming once saved his Pa’s life) having the Wesper Kid know how to swim and be confident in water is extremely important to them

- Ive always imagined if the Wesper kid had a cognitive disability it would be colourblindness or ADHD. Where his Da is the hyperactive sort he is the inattentive type and can struggle to sit for lessons without his mind wondering. So to help him they adjust his school day. They give him more frequent breaks in class and bigger gaps in-between lessons with lots of outside play, and they find tutors who teach in a very practical way to keep him engaged

- Wesper kids favourite animals are rabbits, little bit of Aditi coming to him. Jesper also sings Zemeni lullabies and reads him all his favourite stories from his childhood. Wesper kid becomes their ‘little rabbit’ and Grandma Aditi is well known in their home

- Ive love the idea that theres no shame or secret regarding Wylan not reading. Kids accept the world as it’s presented to them so he wouldnt think anything unusual of it. When it comes time to do homework or bedtime stories theres no hush-hush that only Da can read to him. But Wylan of course memorises bedtime stories and is Wesper kids go to for math/science homework

- Wesper kid has his Da’s energy and his Pa’s musical interest…which results in him wanting to learn the drums. Jesper is overjoyed, Wylan is of course delighted and supportive but makes a mental note to get ear plugs as a kid learning percussion can be quite overstimulating for autistic people

- As much as Wylan is dead set on gentle parenting that doesn’t mean it’s easy. When you’re brought up with harsh treatment and are used to that being ‘normal’, it takes daily conscious effort to break that cycle. He never ever lays a harsh hand or word on their son, but he does have to take time outs occasionally to gather himself on rough days. Its retraining mental instinct but he would do it a million times over for his son to feel safe and loved

- Wesper kid is asthmatic/anaemic like his Pa. Id love a fic of the first time the kid becomes really unwell with the flu or lung fever and Wylan & Jesper are just losing their minds. Luckily Nana Marya is there to help calm new parent worries and pass along some tips on soothing a poorly child

I may continue to add to this, but this is what I have at the moment 💕