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joshslater · 4 years

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I would normally be able to roughly keep track of time by how thirsty I was. Master didn't usually tie me up, but there had been many scenes planned by others that had kept me in different kinds of bondage for many hours. This was different on a whole new level. The penis gag kept leaking small amounts of something not quite water. It was the same viscosity, but it tasted more like cum. Perhaps diluted cum, but that wouldn't taste as much as this did, I would guess. It would slowly drip from the end of the rubber dick, back in the mouth where you could easily accidentally inhale it instead. And since you are gagged you can only cough out the liquid through your nose. You quickly learn you can suck it and get a full shot at once, and then nothing for like a few minutes until it starts to trickle again. Makes it bearable, but keeps you awake. I'm getting off-topic I guess. I'm exhausted. I would think that's understandable as this has been by far my longest session, days possibly. I have no way to tell.

This isn't the first time they've changed something or moved my position, but this is the first time they are letting me walk. What a sight that must have been. I could feel them remove the restraints and the other things, one by one. All except the gag, the hood, and the chastity cage. God, that cage has probably been worse than any of the other stuff they did. I have no idea what nasty stuff they smeared on my dick, but I would happily fuck a tube of bengay instead any time. After they smeared the dick in whatever that was they slipped on the tight cage, the kind the also go up the urethra. I've been caged before many times, but pretty soon it just sits there, keeping you horny and impotent. But this shit, it acted as viagra gel, constantly keeping my dick struggling to break free. I can feel it's still trying. But I'm rambling again I guess.

It's the mental version of what pathetic spasms I do when they help me up to walk once the bondages were off. There are at least two of them I can feel, one on each side helping me up, and supporting my steps forward. I feel my mobility is getting back, though we are slowly going somewhere. I can't see where though, for the black sock or whatever covering my head. We are indoors, but it is a bit chilly. That might just be me being naked and suddenly have a blood flow. The floor feels like concrete, I think. Hard and cold.

We walk pretty far, only turning once, and the sound I hear sounds like echoes of a corridor. We turn right and walk into a new room. I can hear more people here, though no one is speaking. After a few turns my guides stop me and something is rolled towards me from behind. I can hear them fiddle with something, then they grab me again, and one of them tells me to sit down slowly. They still hold me, guiding me to whatever I'm supposed to sit on. I suddenly feel a blunt point going up between my ass cheeks. Another butt plug or similar. I slowly lower myself onto it. It is well lubed, and I have had far bigger things up my ass just in the last hour, so I manage to impale myself easily and sit myself down on the modified office chair. It might not be a very thick plug, but it goes deep. Hands grab booth my ankles and pull them backward on either side of the central pole below the seat and I can feel them being secured in some sort of padded, stiff shackles mounted below the seat. Finally I hear a wheel on the side of the chair being turned quickly. I feel the butt plug slowly expanding in my ass, forcing me to sit more and more upright. Certainly more than what I would have liked with the legs folded back the way they are. Then they leave.

I'm more or less naked, secured to a chair, but my arms are free for the first time in I don't know how long. I had cuffs on while master took me to this place. I'm fighting the urge to stretch my arms. I don't know what this is, but if it is a test, I want to succeed. I suppose I could remove my face sock in one quick motion, but that would definitely be a fail. I don't think I want to touch my dick. As painful as it is right now, I don't think it will be any better if I mess with it. Nothing will improve, and then someone will see it and punish me. Who are the other people in this room? I can hear breathing. Are they spectators, or are they secured to furniture like me?

This is worse. When you are tied up you are helpless. You can test the strength of your bondage, but they have so far been rated far above what I can muster in strength. But here you are just sitting almost free, with no idea what to do with your arms. Just waiting, listening, and sucking rubber dick. How is it still feeding liquid by the way? I try to lean back, to see if there is a backrest to the chair, but the buttplug makes it impossible to lean that far back. I know it isn't possible, but it feels like the plug is reaching all the way up to my lungs. Or is it possible?

There's a distant sound getting closer. Several steps getting closer and closer. Once they get into the room, somewhere to my right, I hear them walk to a spot just next to me. Then the same rolling sounds, and the same voice telling the person next to me to sit down slowly. I guess the other people in this room are in the same situation as I am.

They complete the same procedure as was done to me, best I can determine from the sounds. Then they leave, and it's all calm and silent again. You would think I would be used to that by now, after having master tell me to sit somewhere and wait, only to be gone for hours. He doesn't allow me to watch TV or read books, so all I have is to think about what has happened recently, what I'm feeling right now, and on the rare occasion what was long ago. That's on purpose of course, so my thoughts center on master, myself and nothing else, but I can't help thinking like something has been taken from me. Thoughts I might have had.

Footsteps again, lots of them. How long was it since they left us? I tried to keep count of how many times I suck the gag dry, but gave up when I came to about eighty for the third time. I think it was the third time. They don't talk. Their steps all sound the same. It must be at least four of them.

I'm completely unprepared when someone behind me pulls the sock off my head and the light of the room burns my eyes. I haven't seen any light since master put a gym bag over my head, however many days ago. The entire wall on the left is windows. This is a run-down classroom, almost stripped bare. The green blackboard is still on the wall in front of me, and on the small elevation where once a teacher's desk stood a man is standing. There is a desk in front of me, out of reach, with some papers and a pen neatly placed on top of it. There's a line of desks. I look to my sides and see five other naked men locked to modified office chairs. All have a gag secured around their head, with a transparent plastic tube attached to the gag in one end, and a drip bag hanging on an IV stand next to them. This isn't just a weekend at one of master's friend's home.

The man in front of us simply stands still, observing us. Handsome, muscular, short hair, black boots, blue jeans, and white T-shirt. Once bored with our puzzled looks he starts to speak to us.

"Congratulations. Your master has decided to improve you to better serve him. I don't know your master, or what he has done to you before, but I'm pretty sure this next part of your life is going to be your toughest so far. I'm not going to tell you how long this training program is. I'm not going to tell you what you will learn and unlearn. I'm not going to tell you what alterations will be made to your body. But I am telling you that your master knows the answer to these questions, and have handed over you and a sizeable amount of money to implement these changes."

He makes a sweeping gesture in our direction.

"These are your classmates. You will never learn their names, should they still have any." He made a crooked smile. "Though I guess you will be very familiar with what each and every one of them smells and tastes like. While the majority of the program here is the same for all of you, there are some customizations that are unique to you, as per your master's wishes. Parts of the program have already started. No doubt you have reflected on the uncomfortable feeling in your dick and balls. As you know all too well the point of a chastity device is not only to control when you get hard, but also to create an ever-present low hum of horniness, so you are always ready to please. A side effect, though some see it as a bonus, is the ever-shrinking dick size after prolonged wearing."

I wasn't sure what the rules were, but one of my hands sought its way down to touch my cage. I got a wave of dull ache in response. The man's eyes shifted to me, but he showed no change in expression and continued to talk uninterrupted.

"The process you have all started will rapidly accelerate this, both in terms of horniness and dick shrinkage. When you leave here you'll have not much more than a circumcised dick head rubbing against your panties, leaking precum, and keeping you horny. You won't need a dick cage. You'll be unable to play with your dick anyway without a vibrator."

Suddenly someone behind me pushes the chair forward, stopping just behind the small desk. Everyone else has been moved forward as well.

"In front of you is a contract waiving any rights and objections you might have to this education and to any modifications done to you. Nothing done so far is irreversible, but once you graduate we will have done our utmost to make it impossible for you to go back to a normal life. We're talking permanent physiological changes. You think it is water you're sipping on?"

He made a pause, letting it all sink in. I love my master, and this past year with him has been lovely, but is it all I want out of life. What does he mean by physiological changes? Can you actually develop a dependency for sucking dick? Is that what he means?

There is a spray of mist coming out of the man to my right. Sounds like he tried to not swallow any more of the liquid after what he just heard. He makes horrible noises while he recovers. No one moves an inch towards him to help him.

"Read the contract if you want. Put your initials on every page. Sign the last page."

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sheblah · 5 years

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Oh my god i lov ur art so much!! Ur so good at drawing ppl!!!i lov how u draw DT so much i could cry!! Would it be possible to show ur art process?

Oh my gosh thank you!! No one has ever asked for my process before. It got pretty long due to all the photos, so check out my art-process-slash-tutorial under the cut!

1. So the first step is, of course, figuring out what I want to draw. This is often the hardest step… but not for the last few months cause I always wanna draw DT lol.

2. Sketch the shapes and the “skeleton.”

I pull out my trusty mechanical pencil and make a loose outline of the figure.You’re not really supposed to use mechanical because they makes dark lines and the pressure is hard to control. Teachers will tell you to use a hard graphite pencil for light, easily erasable lines. If you’re using this process as an example for some reason, do as I say not as I do lol.

I like to start with an oval for the head and work my way down. You’re not supposed to do that either. Teachers tell you to start with the “line of action” cause it helps make the pose cohesive and improves composition. I’ll do that when I’m going for a non-static pose, Teach, get off my back.

2. Flesh out the figure.

Here’s where I make the lines. They’re called contours but they’re the lines of the drawing. That’s all. DT might be tricky for some artists because they’re very androgynous. I give ‘em some hip, shapely leggy, no boobs, wide shoulders and a snatched waist waiT I FORGOT THE FUCKING TAIL HOLD ON I GOTTAJ UST HOLDO N A MINUTE WAI

3. Add detail.

This is where I work on the facial features and things like jewelry and clothing design. I count it as a separate step because I have to lean in reeeeeal close to get the little details right, and it usually takes a lot of erasing before I’m satisfied.

4. Ink it.

Once my pencil drawing is sufficiently finished (and sometimes earlier shh), I start inking it with a felt tip pen. Some people use this thing called VaRyInG LiNe WiDtH or whatEVER but it’s easier to I like a nice thin line all throughout the drawing so the details don’t get lost. I use a .1 or .05 tip pen. For tiny details, I like to use a .005 if I have one! But I don’t have one :’(

If you’re the artist’s girlfriend, you have a step at this stage!

4.b. Watch your future wife slave over the drawing for three days without adding the tail and SAY NOTHING.

5. Erase the pencil.

KEY: the pen must be dry. Felt tips are supposed to dry fast, but don’t be fooled. Give it at least a full minute. Trust me. Then CAREFULLY run a big eraser over the whole drawing to get rid of the pencil sketch underneath. Hold the edge of your paper in place and go slow, because the eraser WILL catch on the paper and it WILL fold your beautiful line drawing in half.

6. Clean up the lines.

An optional step. If I make some lines I’m not satisfied with, all is not lost. I use my handy white gel pen to clean them up. I simply draw the new line, and go over the old one with the gel pen.

Note that this doesn’t really work if you want the new line to be on the inside of the shape. Markers don’t like to go over gel pen so good. I’ve tried. Also doesn’t work if you’re planning to add a background for the same reason.

Et voila! You can hardly even see where the old line was.

7. Whip out the Bucket of Assorted Alcohol Markers™ and do the flat colors.

Everything I’ve put on this blog so far has been colored with alcohol markers. They’re long-lasting, they’re smooth, they’re printer-perfect, they’re outrageously expensive, they’re sometimes available at wish.com for a fraction of the store price, they’re great. When you do the flat colors, you want to put down the lightest colors in the drawing first. You can’t layer light colors on top of dark. They won’t show up and the light marker will absorb the dark color. Basically, do the highlight colors first. They might look bad together. That’s OK. These aren’t the final colors of the drawing.

If you don’t have your own BoAAM™, no problem. Simply borrow your sister’s in exchange for a stint with your Nintendo Switch.

The next step is to add the shadows. If you’re like me, and you’re just getting back into art after neglecting it for a few years, don’t try to do something complicated like back-lighting or a sheer scarf on top of a dark material. That’s really the worst decision you can make.

8. Add shadows that indicate back-lighting, and keep in mind the sheer scarf on top of the dark dress will need all new colors for every layer of shadow you choose to add.

A whole book could be written on how to color shadows, so I’ll try to keep it brief. If the light source is warm colored (like sunlight or your average lightbulb), the shadows should be cooler. If the light source is cool (like, I don’t know, the neon sign at your favorite club), the shadows should be warmer. Here I have light green and hot pink for the highlights; I used blue-green and purple for the shadows, respectively.

You might wonder why I color the entire shape with the lighter color if only a little bit of it shows through. There is some layering effect with markers. The purple I used on the dress was really QUITE purple - but when put on top of the hot pink, it looks more like a dark pink! Essentially, layering colors makes the end result more cohesive.

And hey don’t forget the tai– fuck.

9. Add some more shadows, and

10. Add the finishing details, because I forgot to take a picture in between these two steps oops.

If you’re going for intense lighting, you’ll want high contrast. That means using a very light highlight and/or a very dark shadow. So, I added two (2) more layers of shadow. It’s most noticeable on the dress - you can see the hot pink at the edges, then the pinkish-purple, then the dark purple, then the DARKER purple that accentuates the waves in the fabric of the dress.

Now to finish off my drawings I whip out the white gel pen again. This is SO useful. It can go on top of (dry) marker or pen or whatever and it’s small and precise. Here I used it to add shinies on the eyes, shinies on the jewelry, highlights on the hair, and sparkles on the dress. It makes things POP. I seriously cannot recommend a white gel pen enough if you do traditional art.

11. Ah fuck I forgot the tail.

DRAW the fucking tail and TRY to remember which of your 24,124 colors you used on the rest of the skin damn it was it hydrangea blue or phthalo blue

12. Scan it. Or, if you’re like me and are stuck in a hotel while your home repairs are taking pace, take a picture with your phone. Mind the angle - make sure your camera/phone is parallel to the paper or it’ll get distorted.

13. Digital editing. Play with the exposure and contrast and whatnot in your phone’s photo editing software until you’re satisfied with the result.

15. UPLOAD. DONE. CELEBRATE.

#ask #double trouble #she ra #spop #art #my art #tutorial #she-ra #long post

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teamdoubleoh · 4 years

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What fits in Men’s Pockets

Or five times Q had exactly what they needed

Q-branch always has in stock what an agent may need - Q is not so different.

wordcount: 3477

Q branch had been all but deserted when James returned from Bangkok that night, leaving him and Q alone at Q’s desk. Bond had just returned lost some equipment and Q had made him sign some document, confirming the loss. Apparently that lost gun had been one gun too many.

"Do you have a pen?" He asked, looking the desk over. There was Q's laptop, the desk lamp, the mug of earl grey that had been cooling for ages now and the papers themselves, but nothing else. Without looking up Q pulled a single pencil from his pocket. "There you go."

"Dear Quartermaster, you astound me! Who would have thought you even knew what a pen is. One could think you had gone full digital by now."

"Please Bond, leave the banter for times when I'm haven't been working for two days straight. Everyone knows that you don't have to fix what isn't broken. Pencils are an essential, I will admit."

"What are you doing here anyways. Everyone else is at home with their families."

"...I wonder why. Usually we have a skeleton crew over night...."

"Q. It’s Christmas."

"Huh. Merry Christmas Bond."

“Merry Christmas. You know what could be your gift to me?”

“You’re not getting the Aston.”

"Thats not what I meant. I have a first name, you could use it sometime. If you stop calling my Bond, I'll take you out for dinner."

“Was that supposed to be a compelling argument?”

***

Bond Eve and Q were on a mission.

It sounded like the start of a terrible joke, but was really just a rather annoying affair.

Bond was supposed to seduce someone who knew something, and he had, spectacular so. Now the woman was head over heels for him.

"I told her I wanted to break up but she woudn't listen!"

"Honestly, I was wondering why that as never happened before."

"Not helping Moneypenny."

"Just act like you’re cheating on her. That should do a great deal." murmured Q from behind his laptop. He was working on something and only here in the first place because they had needed a tech expert at the location. Eve was only here to his protection.

"Great input Q, how do I convince a woman I have know for two days that I'm cheating on her? We aren't even in a relationship!"

"... You know you could just kiss Eve in front of her of her or wear a shirt with a lipsticks stain. That should work beautifully."

"Well, I'm not kissing you." Eve stated, voice laced with disgust.

"What, too old for you?" Bond lifted an eyebrow.

"Too male." retorted Eve.

"You know what Moneypenny? That explains so much--."

"You should be trying to find a lipstick right now 007."

"Oh right yes. Eve, may I borrow your spare lipstick? I seem to have lost mine."

"Why would I carry spare lipsticks around James."

"I don't know. Why shouldn't you."

Q looked up from his laptop. "What seems to be the problem?"

"James thinks all women carry around lipsticks all the time."

"Well. Dont you?" Q asked adjusting his glasses with his spare hand.

"Of course not. Assuming that I do that is mysogynistic Q."

"Why would that be mysogenistic? Don't people carry around stuff like that all the time? You know lipsticks, breath mints, that sort of thing?"

Eve rolled her eyes. "Do you happen to have a breath mint for me then?"

Q hesitated. "...No."

"There you go."

"But I do have a peppermint gum. And a lipstick, if you still need it." He fumbled around his parka and pulled out a small black and gold container. A lipstick, Eve realised. James eyed him with interest.

"Now I want to know why you have a lipstick. Because thats a good one. Mac isn't exactly cheap and that colour isn't for everyone."

Q sighed and handed the Lipstick to him. "Bond, please refrain from commenting my appearance. I know I look young for my age, you've told me before."

"Only when you stop calling me Bond. I have a first name you know."

"I know. I read your file, remember?"

Eve sighed and pinched thuebridge of her nose. “Fellas, if you'd be so kind. We need to ruin James’ shirt before his girlfriend finds him."

***

Q was pissed. His brother had come back from the dead.

Bond hadn't even know the Quartermaster had family, let alone a brother who knew how to fake his death and had to use his knowledge.

Yet here they were, at 2am I a dingy back alley in inner London.

The street sign read Bakerstreet and the brass lettering on the front for of the building they were about to break into informed pedestrians that this was number 221B.

Bond wasn't ignorant. They had been in Q branch, when a notification had popped up on one of the monitors. Q had grabbed his parka and James’ arm and off they were. On they way the Quartermaster had explained.

His brother had come back from the dead, had neglected to inform Q of his continued existence - something he apparently should have done ages ago - and now Bond was standing next to a furiously calm Quartermaster in the back alley of a house Q apparently knew well enough. There was only one way this night could develop.

The Quartermaster was currently looking up at the darkened windows of the first floor, obviously trying to decide between two, as his eyes flickered back and forth between them. "Alright. Bond, give me a hand will you?" he gestured up at the fire escape that was tugged away to the left side, ladder secured at the corner of the small iron balcony.

"If I'm helping ou break into your dead brothers flat you should at least start calling me James first."

"James, a hand please."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You need to lift me up so I can reach the ladder." Q pushed his glasses up his nose. If he was lucky the darkness would hide his blush. "Before you say anything, I am aware you could jump high enough to reach the ladder. Sadly that would be extremely noisy, so if you'd be so kind--"

James folded his hands together and Q put his left foot in them. "On the count of three I'm going to push myself up and you're going to throw me as hard as you can. I'll let the ladder down from above."

James nodded in confirmation. If breaking and entering was what it took to get Q to stop calling him Bond he would take it. He started to count. "One... two... three." he hoisted Q up, effectively pushing Q to the height of the balcony, where he grabbed onto the steel bars of the railing.

Q pulled himself up and climbed over it, making almost no noise. Slowly he walked to the far end of the fire escape and carefully let the latter down, until it was within James’ reach.

Thirty seconds later everything was back in place again, with the slight difference that Q and James were now standing in front of a small, milk glass window with a white painted wooden Frame. There was no lock.

Q eyes the frame for a second.

"How exactly did you plan to get in? I would lend you my lock picks but if there is no lock that doesn't exactly help." asked James, voice low.

"Don’t be silly James. I have my own lockpicks."

"Why didn't we go in trough the front door then."

"That’s tasteless. Everyone knows doors are or people with no imagination." He bent down and untied his shoelaces, slipped his shoes off and then handed them to Bond. "Hold this."

"Q what-"

Q shushed him and proceeded to pull a small crowbar from one of his parkas’ many pockets.

"Why-- " James sighed. "Nevermind."

Q smiled sweetly and patted him on the shoulder. "Now, that’s the right attitude."

Within two minutes of careful and almost-silent meddling the old frame gave in and Q and James were standing in a small bathroom.

The tiles were white, the walls olive green and there were two toothbrushes sitting in a glass on the sink next to a small container containing some kind of hair product. Next to ancient looking bathtub that doubled as a shower there was a bootle of shower gel and shampoo. It was sparse.

Q stepped towards the door, which was only halfway shut.

James followed him, careful to make no noise, as he was still wearing his shoes. They made their way to the kitchen and living room.

Q took his shoes back and sat them down near what appeared to be the front door of the small flat. Then he gestured towards the couch. James took the hint and sat down while Q made his way to another door, which was shut completely. He knocked.

James rolled his eyes and slumped into the couch. After a few seconds there was the dry rustle of fresh sheets being pushed back, then steps. The door opened and a tall man appeared in the doorway.

Standing there, in the doorframe of a bedroom at 2 am, they looked eerily similar. Q held out his hand and the other shook it.

"Sherlock."

"Q. What a joy to see you well. What is your SIS agent doing on my couch?"

***

Everyone was ecstatic. They had just completed an important mission and It was Friday night. Where else could they have ended up but a pub.

The entirety of Q-branch as well as the double-ohs, Eve and Tanner had cramped into the closest establishment, celebrating the success of the day.

Q and Eve had taken over an entire table at the very back of the pub. After half an hour Tanner had sat down too and a few minutes later even Bond had joined their small circle.

Q and Eve were arguing about someone while Bill and James were trying to understand what was going on.

"Q wants to introduce me to someone, even though he knows I'm not interested in dating right now."

Bond frowned. "Didn't you say just yesterday you were forever in love with the scary one, what’s her name --"

Q sighed. " Morgana Pendragon, Duchess of Sussex, drama queen extraordinaire. Yes. But hear me out --"

"I don’t want to date."

"Unless its the duchess, yes. But please give her a chance? I'll give you her number and you guys can text, I bet you'd love her."

"Q, unless you have Morgana Pendragon’s phone number hidden away in that ridiculous parka of yours, I won't text anyone tonight, alright?"

"...uhm." Q looked uncomfortable.

Eve stared at him. "You’re kidding."

Bill raised his eyebrows gaze flickering between the two. "Wait, what’s going on."

"Q. Please tell me you didn't hack the Buckingham palace’s wifi and stole the phone number of the King’s daughter." Eve asked, suddenly very tense. Bond couldn't tell wether it was from nervousness or excitement.

Q didn't say anything.

Bill tapped his shoulder. "Q, you didn't do that right?"

"I didn't. Why would I do that?"

Eve shrugged, a bit disappointed. "I know you've done worse things for less."

"No I mean, why would I hack the wifi."

James laughed. "Moneypenny, how much exactly has he had to drink? Because I don’t think we should be explaining tech to the quartermaster of MI6."

Eve eyed Q suspiciously. "Not that much. Q are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. But why would I hack the palace’s wifi?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "According to Eve that’s how you would get Morgana Pendragon’s number." "

I don't need to hack the wifi for that! Has all this time working with me taught you nothing? --- I have Morgana's number on my mobile. She gave it to me ages ago.”

The others stared at him in disbelief.

“Why are you looking at me like that! I have lots of numbers -- Bill, first person that comes to mind, who is it.”

Tanner, looking not at all convinced, if a little intrigued, thought for a second before blurting out. “The Prime minister.”

Q rolled his eyes. Then he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and began scrolling trough the contacts. After a few seconds he turned his phone around to show it to the others. The display showed the name ‘A. Holmes’ and below it a Londoner number.

Eve sucked in a shaky breath. Bill and James turned towards her, clearly confused. Just because the name matched didn’t mean that it was actually the number of the Prime minister of England. She exhaled slowly. “Thats his number. It’s in M’s contact list.”

“Told you so.” Q huffed.

Bond seemed exited. “What about normal people! Do you know a John Hamish Watson? He saved my life in Afghanistan, few years back.”

Q scrolled trough his contacts until he found the right one, then showed it to James. “To be honest, I didn’t know his name was Hamish.”

“You know him Personally?”

”Why else would I have his number? He’s married to my brother.”

Eve took a large gulp of her drink. Bill just muttered something about a small world before emptying his beer.

James was smiling like a child on Christmas. “What else do you carry around! Do you have a knife? A screwdriver? Ohhh -- a flamethrower! Please tell me you carry around a flamethrower.”

Q looked pained but pulled out a metal cylinder. “We developed it some time ago. Can reach up to 500°C, depending on handling the reach is approximately 4 to 6 meter. Happy?”

James nodded vigorously stood, walked around the table and lifted a fumbling Q up from his chair.

“Wha--”

James smirked, carrying Q towards the door. Everyone who wasn’t entirely drunk by now stared at them in confusion. “We’re going to test out that flamethrower. Now.”

“But why do you have to carry me!”

“Because you’re the adult supervision, and because I want to.”

***

Q was in the field. He didn't like it one bit.

Contrary to what every double-oh seemed to believe he was trained as an agent, which at the time had been a simple issue of security. He was important and powerful. He had to be able to defend himself.

Now he was sneaking behind Bond trough the special security sector of the biggest gene-manipulation company on the planet. Unofficially. Officially it was the third biggest seed producer on the market.

Q was slowly getting tired of the whole sneaking thing. Due to a week of planning, mostly filled with programming and some hacking he was now able to remote control the cameras in the building via his phone.

He had originally wanted to bring his laptop but together with the special equipment but there had been no space left in his bag what so ever.

He pressed a sequence of keys on his phone screen and the cameras in the next hallway over went dark. He gave Bond the signal for go and they went in, enabling the cameras behind them as they went.

Q searched the signs on the doors for the right one. If his calculations were correct it would be in the optimal position, laying almost at the centre of the building right below the high risk laboratories. Finally he spotted the right door and pointed, so Bond knew where they were heading. Q walked up to the door - non descriptive, generic, off-white - and opened to it and stepped inside.

The automated lights went on.

Bond, who was directly behind him stared. "Q are you sure --"

They were in the loos.

"Yes I'm sure. now help me." Q had sat down his messenger bag and was fumbling with the zipper of his black, MI6 issued tactical gear.

"My, my Quartermaster, how am I supposed to say no to that?"

Q flushed. "Not with my clothes 007, with the sink! We're going to steal it!"

"First of alI, am so coming back to that first thing later. Secondly: What?"

"The sink on the far left. Deinstall it."

"I don't have any plumbing gear, Q. I have a Walther and a com. And the com is pretty worthless when you're not on the other side."

Q’s complexion grew even darker at the flattery. "I have plumbing gear." He had finally managed to take of his jacket. He laid it out on the floor and opened a zipper at the top inner lining.

Inside there were two wrenches - apparently exactly the two sizes they needed - as well some other gear couldn't have named to save his life. They were all neatly held in place by rubber bands. Q only grabbed the jacket by the sleeves and dragged it to the very end of the room.

Q got to work, James assisting where he could, and within seven minutes the sink was laying on the floor. "What now? I'm assuming were not just here to steal this beautiful sink."

"Well we can't just leave it, can we?"

“We can't just take it either. They’ll notice it’s gone by tomorrow morning. Which is in three hours."

Q rolled his eyes and scoffed. He picked up his bag and opened the latch. There was sink inside. It looked exactly like the one they had just deinstalled. “It’s explosive.” Q said matter-of-factly, as though that would explain anything.

James nodded offhandedly. “You know what? I’m not even surprised.”

“Good. We have 2.75 hours left before the first shift arrives, so if you’d be so kind?”

“Of course.” James sighed.

***

James was sitting in Q branch. This was not unusual. He often hung around during off time to spend time with the minions, or so he claimed.

In reality he just shadowed Q.

It was an average Thursday night in one of the top secret services on the planet and James was tired.

Not hallucinatory tired though. He was pretty sure the blue police box had actually just appeared out of thin air.

He shrugged. This as Q branch. Q had everything under control.

"Q. A blue box just appeared out of nowhere. Should I be worried or get the kettle going?"

Q, who had just stowed away some paperwork in his desks drawers, appeared in the doorway. "Neither. He’s just here to pick something up."

"Of course love."

Q blushed and walked up the box instead. He knocked twice and waited. James stood and walked over.

"Q, love, please tell me there isn't someone inside the box."

Q rolled his eyes. "Only if you stop calling me love"

"Only if you agree to go get dinner with me."

The door opened. An old man with a shock of white hair stepped out. Behind him was a girl who appeared to be in her early twenties.

"Doctor please tell me we're not-"

"We're not."

"Then where-"

"MI6."

Her eyes went wide but she only uttered a quiet ‘Alright’ and closed the blue door behind her.

The white haired man who had just appeared out of a box which had appeared out of thin air extended his hand towards Q.

Q took it. "Nice to see you again." He said conversationally. "Bond. Meet the Doctor. Doctor, meet Bond."

The doctor nodded at James.

James nodded at the doctor.

The doctor scoffed. "I thought you Englisch were supposed to be polite." His accent was thick and clearly Scottish.

James smiled thinly. It was his I-am-amused-but-i-don’t-show-it smile. "I'm Scottish." He let some of his accent shine through.

Q turned to the girl. She wore a leather jacket and jeans and her coily hair was braided down the back of her head. "I'm Bill. I’m just tagging along."

James put his head to one side. "Nice to meet you Bill. I'm Bond. James Bond."

Q Rolled his eyes.

"And this--" James continued, "--is the lovely Q. He won't go on a date with me, although he clearly want to, so I call him love until he agrees." Bill nodded and turned to the doctor. "Why are we here again?"

"Do I need an excuse to visit some friend and-" he looked Bond over, "-friends of friends?"

"Yes. We were in the middle of something, remember? The puddle? My trapped girlfriend?"

The Doctor rubbed the palms of his hands together. "Ah yesss. Q if you could?”

Q handed him a small pen-like device. Except it wasn't a pen.

"Thanks. You'll get it back in one minute. Well one minute for you. We'll be off!" He turned around and strutted back into the box.

Bill followed him.

The doors closed and the box disappeared.

"Love, that was the single most weirdest thing that has ever happened to me and I'm a literal spy."

Q sighed. "I'll explain over dinner."

#007 fest 2020 #team00 #005.Vi

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embarrassingsmartphonegame · 4 years

Text

La La Lost You - Mona x MC (Ellie Wheeler)

Summary: Based on the song La La Lost You by NIKI. Mona receives a letter from Ellie while in prison, and against her better judgment she writes back.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1,038

All my love,

Ellie

It took a lot to shock Mona. She remembered vividly her own calm and aloof demeanor when she was told she would help kidnap someone, and her dry, sardonic remark when she threw herself on the wrong end of a bullet for a girl. It was always a girl who landed her in all the wrong places...but it was surprisingly this particular girl that briefly brought her out of it for the twenty minutes it took her to read the piece of paper resting in her hands. Short, simple phrases in eggplant purple glided across the clear white page; to Mona’s shame she knew who wrote it from the neat penmanship even before she saw the signature.

Elena “Ellie” Wheeler...Ellie freaking Wheeler somehow found out which prison she was being held in. Ellie freaking Wheeler sent her a letter while in prison. The girl Mona embarrassingly took a bullet for sent her a letter telling her about how she was settling into her new life at Langston, how interesting her intro to sociology class was (Mona couldn’t help but snort at that), how she was considering pre-law, and how much she loved and missed Mona. The latter sent butterflies in her stomach, even through the slowly healing scar of surgical repair. It was more than she deserved.

Mona’s hands gripped the paper tightly, her urge to rip it apart juxtaposed with her desire to hold on. Ellie was never good at being told what to do, and Mona both hated and loved that about her. Ellie’s face running through her mind, Mona went against her better judgment, picking up a pen and notepad.

Dear Ellie,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I thought I told you to forget me, but you were never good at being told what to do. New York City is awful; way too many people and the rent is fucking stupid. Can you even drive your car where you are? Are you someone who now takes the subway? Nerd.

But I’m glad you’re living your life as the goody two-shoes you were meant to be. Pre-law, huh? Actually fitting for someone who single-handedly took down a few dirty cops. You’re a smart girl, Ellie, I know you’ll do great things. Greater things than missing and loving a fuck up like me.

Hope New York holds you...hope it holds you like I do.

Now scram,

Mona

Ellie chuckled at the letter; it was just so...Mona. And she loved it. In comparison to her initial letter, this letter was written messily and on a cheap legal pad with a ballpoint black pen. And yet she held it as if it was the most precious diamond in the world. Mona always saw right through her. It was all true; the rent prices were awful and her souped up sedan that her father really shouldn’t have given back to her was usually in its parking spot...that she also had to pay for. Each word was bliss to her as she read it in the soft glow of her lamp in her dorm room, knowing that “now scram” in this case was Mona for “I love you.” Ellie shook her head in amusement; she really wasn’t good at being told what to do. She took out another piece of pristine paper and an electric blue pen.

And on and on their letters went. Every month Mona would get a letter in the same pristine white printer paper but with a different colored gel pen, sometimes sparkly and sometimes metallic.

I swear, Ellie, you just like having an excuse to keep buying all these colorful pens! Also the metallic purple is my favorite.

And in return Ellie would get a longer and longer letter as Mona opened up to her.

I get, I really do. Thanks for telling me about your mom; I know how hard that can be. I still miss mine everyday.

It was constant, and they would often talk about the past (cautiously) and often talk about the future. Days turned to months and months turned to years. Ellie was working towards law school acceptance (You argue too damn well for them not to accept you.), while Mona read and studied everyday while in prison, eventually getting her GED (Now who’s the nerd?).

Langston have a law program?

Yeah there’s a good law program here, but I’m looking at other places. Might even go back to the city of angels.

Aww you might come back to LA? You sure you don’t just miss me?

Maybe I just miss the warm weather! My toes are turning blue here!

A few months into her senior year of college Ellie didn’t get a letter, and she had her last and bravest letter to Mona unanswered. After waiting two months for a response, she sat on the floor alone in her dorm and struggled to fight back tears; maybe her demons really did lie in that damned smile. She couldn’t believe it...maybe it was time to let go.

I love you. What do you say about giving us another try once you get out?

Mona let the wind coming in from the open driver’s side window whip through her long, black hair. Yet again she felt indebted to a Kaneko, who held her beloved car and maintained it during the years she was in prison. But to her surprise, he let her go with no demand for repayment. Mona knew not to question it. She took what little belongings she had, along with a large stack of what was basically the entire rainbow, and headed east.

Eventually Mona arrived. It was strange for her to be back, but she was a woman on a mission. Years of exchanging letters with Ellie and Ellie had pretty much told her enough of her routine to know how to reach her. At precisely 5:30pm, the girl in question got off the L-train and turned the usual corner, only to be met with an unusual site. Her eyes landed on a familiar purple Yottsume Halberdier; and she met the dark, welcoming gaze of the driver.

I love you too. I say yes, Ellie.

=================================================

A/N: I’m back! As always, thank you for reading and all comments are always welcome 💜

Permanent tag list: @furiouscloddonutpeanut @inlovewithrebels @nighthunterkatherine

#ride or die #mona x mc #ride or die: a bad boy romance #rod mona #choices #choices: stories you play #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #choices fanfiction #mona rod #phoebe writes choices

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midnightsilver · 5 years

Text

Early Seasons Dean - Alcohol Markers on sketch paper

My process is under the cut 😊

- Yesterday’s experiments with alcohol markers went quite well (the samulet) so today I decided to try a more complicated picture 😄 so I chose a Dean pic 🙌🏼😄

I started with a sketch (as always) and I tried to block out the areas I wanted to shade differently so that I could use the sketch as a guide.

Next I got a new bit of sketch paper and used a fineliner to trace the barest outline (for my picture I didn’t want any harsh lines.)

But before I started colouring, I chose the skin tones I wanted to use and searched them in order so I would be able to blend them easily and remember which order to use them in.

Once I had the tones I started with the lightest colours and layered the ink, blending as I went

Once I was fairly happy with the skin tones I added details like the eyes and hair. I also added a background colour so that the picture wasn’t so stark

Second to last I added the fine details like freckles and eyelashes 😄

(I waited for the ink to dry before doing the details so that I could check I was happy with all the blending before I put the fine work on top. And this is the first time I have drawn freckles - it was so hard to try and keep them random but still aesthetically pleasing! 😂)

And to finish I used a little bit of white acrylic paint to add highlights (because I still don’t have white gel pens - but I have ordered some! Just waiting on the post 😄)

And that’s everything - I hope you enjoyed seeing how I made him - but I’m still learning so excuse me if I did anything wrong 😊. But I’m happy with how he turned out and I’m definitely having a lot more fun using my markers than the first time I’m tried! 😄 I might need to look at how to do hair with them, but I will leave that adventure for another time 😋😁👍🏻

#supernatural #spn fanart #MidnightSilver #Dean Winchester #alcohol markers #traditional art #art chat #my process #early seasons dean #green eyes #freckles

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mysticsparklewings · 4 years

Photo

On The Edge

It feels like it's been quite some time since I sat down and got to work on a more involved mixed-media project. And in plenty of ways it has, but I have been working on other artsy projects behind the scenes, which I should be posting sometime soon, I hope. Anyway, this artwork had to be moved to the top of my priority list and also my upload schedule (some of those other projects are already finished, just back-logged) because this is my entry into the Arteza Awards hosted by, shocker, Arteza, and the deadline to enter was the 24th. I actually started working on this piece a week or two early, but me being me, I procrastinated and only just barely got it posted to Instagram with the appropriate tags (per the contest rules) with about 20 minutes to spare. Then again, maybe that's a good thing because I've been known in the past to pull some of my better work out of thin air at the last minute. If that proves the case this time, it would certainly be to my advantage. Anyway. There was no set theme for the contest. The main rules were that you had to use Arteza supplies and they needed to be visible in the image posted to Instagram. I understand why, but I normally don't photograph my art with the supplies because I can usually get more accurate colors and proportions with a scan, and you can pretty much always see the details way better on a scan. But considering the prizes on offer, I wasn't about to let that stop me. I figured I'd just post the supply image first, then add the scan so you could swipe to see it. That way I could have my nice scanned version and still follow the rules. (Also, since they specify Instagram is the main platform for the contest, I'm assuming it doesn't matter if I don't post the supply picture everywhere else. If it does...whoops :P ) For reasons I don't think I should get into here, I knew I needed to go for something kind of high-impact when you first glance at it. But it also needed to not be too involved, lest I be working on it well after the entry window closed and my efforts become somewhat less valuable. I'm not exactly sure how, but this led me around to a concept I've had floating around in my head for a while: A girl (because I am one and know I can draw them better) standing on a mountain top, that looks as if she's one step from free-falling. Originally, I dreamed up this idea hoping to make it into an acrylic painting, but (aside from that fact that I didn't get around to executing the idea until now) I do not own Arteza'a acrylic paints (though I have wanted them for quite some time--It just hasn't happened yet) and also acrylics are not my strongest suit, so now did not seem like the time for an impulse-purchase that could compromise the integrity of my work and therefore my chances in the contest. Although for the day I do get my hands on their acrylics, I now have a solid idea to use to test them out. ;) The Arteza supplies I do have at my disposal are their tube watercolors, woodless watercolor pencils, and 72 expert colored pencils. Which as I learned the last time entered a contest hosted by Arteza, is a fairly limited variety as to what I can actually do. The watercolors by far as the most versatile and my personal favorite of the three though, so they're what I used the most of here. Also, somewhere between deciding to run with my standing-on-the-edge idea and actually doing it, I also decided to add-in the wings in this constellation style I've used somewhere infrequently but am very fond of. As a result, the whole concept has a very similar feel to me as this artwork that I found here on dA years ago and fell so in love with that it spent a good few months as my desktop wallpaper. Obviously, the two images are very different, but to me the idea of the wings is similar: Their structural integrity to fly is questionable, as the wings in the original image appear to be made of glass. Maybe it matters, maybe not. Same thing here: Maybe the wings are really there and just look like a constellation, or maybe this girl just stood in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Is the girl even there? Is she real? Can she die? Does it matter if she falls? Would she choose to fly at all, whether the wings work or not? It's sort of a Schrodinger's Cat situation, and something about that is really intriguing to me. Anyway. I started out with a digital sketch this time, mostly to iron out the kinks with...well, everything. I knew getting the right pose would be difficult, and I actually had a pretty different one of her looking out over the edge, maybe clutching her chest or something, originally, but I just couldn't get it to work the way I wanted to and I really struggled to find references for it, so I went with the pose you see here, that I found references for by accident while looking for the other one. I have to admit, seeing the final product I think this pose might actually have been the better choice anyway. The mountain/cliff/whatever I was also having a hard time finding references for, at least for exactly what I wanted, so in the end I had to mostly wing it. I think it turned out okay, though. The wings were probably the most challenging part to plan because I wanted something between traditional butterfly/fairy wings and something that stretches out farther like bird or bat wings. I toyed with the lines for a long time until I got something I was happy with, and then I actually went in and did the constellation lines for both sides by hand instead of doing one side and making a flipped copy, because I wanted to make sure I kept the overall shape of the wing on the (our)right (her left), as after all the warping I did to get the original lines, I wasn't sure I could replicate the process again. I also drew 2 or 3 versions of a simple dress over the figure before giving up because I wasn't happy with how any of them were turning out and decided that I would instead preserve her modesty with magically misty cloud-things. Although, it's kind of a shame because that ended up mostly hiding the one piece of hair clinging over her left (our right) shoulder. :P But once the digital sketch was done so I had some idea of what I was doing, it was time to move on to the traditional, actual artwork. I cut a piece of my 100% cotton paper down to size (nice paper because I didn't want to be held back in that regard--go big or go home, as they say) and then held it up to me screen to trace my cliff lines into place, and some vague markers for the figure and her wings. My idea from the very beginning was to make the galaxy largely with watercolor in such a way that it gives the wings color and focus, without having to actually color all the individual segments. This means lighter colors towards the main area of the wings, and getting darker as I moved out/away from them. Now, because it has been a while since I was painting with watercolors regularly, I did set aside a smaller piece of the same paper and busted out a practice baby galaxy before diving into the final. I learned very quickly I was going to have to be extremely careful with my placement of this orangey color and black, less either of them ends up mixing with colors they weren't supposed to and leaving me with a big muddy mess. (The practice piece did survive though and I'll be posting it some other time.) Before I could get to the fun part [the galaxy] though, I painted the mountain with a mixture of black and blue, which actually went a lot smoother than I thought it would. It took several light layers of blending out the paint built up slowly, but ultimately I'm pretty happy with how the color for it turned out...Even if it's still kind of up for debate how much it looks like a "mountain" or "cliff-edge" or not. With that out of the way, I cut some paper to act as a mask for that section and then spent far too long going back and forth, putting down layers of color and blending them out, dabbing color on and waiting for it to dry, rinse, repeat, trying to get the Galaxy portion just right. I was actually having a fair amount of trouble getting the right color balance, and as sometimes happens with these things, I was pretty worried about how it was looking before I went to bed that night. (I had procrastinated just long enough that I had 2 nights to do this is; the bulk of the painting took place on night 2) But the next day, once it was fully dry, it didn't look so bad. It did need just a few more touches before I went in and added the splatter/stars, though. So I broke out the colored pencils, which I really should have done sooner because they were much easier to blend out and had a bit more covering power over the watercolor than...more watercolor because watercolor is often transparent and there it can be hard to cover with it. Admittedly, I still had more worries about the "naked" galaxy, but then I went to splatter town with the white, added a few pointed stars, and as it usually does, that really brought everything together and made it look a lot better. Never underestimate the power of a good splatter-fest! ;) I must say though, I underestimated the combination of the white watercolor and white colored pencil together when I moved on to the figure and wings. I was trying very hard to not use my white gel pen (because the rules for the contest didn't say if it was okay to use non-Arteza supplies in conjunction with Arteza supplies or not) and so I was sort of bending over backward to find another way with my limited resources. (Although I assumed using a lightbox to see the lines underneath the paint, as is a normal practice for me, wouldn't really matter because it's not like you can really tell from the final product anyway.) Still, even though a mixture of paint lifting, the white colored pencil, and the white watercolor were better than I expected, I still ended up having to punch the lines up a bit digitally to get them to pop the way I wanted them to. But oh well, at least it made a nice glowing effect and mostly worked for the cloud-mist covering. :P Overall though, I do really like how it turned out. If it weren't a little on the small side I might actually consider using it as my new wallpaper/banner art everywhere. Maybe that's a conversion project of some kind for another day? Point being, I'm pleased. I probably won't place in the contest because I'm just too small of a fish in this pond, but I made some pretty art and it was mostly fun, so no harm done. :) Actually, if this could maybe be the excuse my brain needs to get back into posting regularly, that would actually be really great. I miss it, despite what my most recent journal entry and my spotty activity levels might lead one to believe. If it is, I hope you guys don't mind seeing some crafty things thrown into the mix! :D ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings

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daybreak-academy-fanfic · 4 years

Text

Daybreak Academy: Chapter 08

Thoughts Of You

Summary: In which the study group girls make goodie bags for the guys, and Anora considers making one for Ephemer. Word Count: 1,450 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

“Are we really doing the bags a whole week early this year?” Nin impatiently asked Pyra as the three of them looked at the school store's seasonal things. Anora felt awkward just standing there as the other girls looked over the shelves.

“Do you want a repeat of last year?” Pyra questioned, picking up a small stuffed bear from the shelf. She looked it over a bit before putting it back again. “We were so caught up in trying to figure out what the boys wanted, that we almost forgot to made the goodie bags at all.”

Nin gave a small grunt of disagreement. “I thought that's why we weren't going to do them. It's not like the boys never give back on White Day, so why bother?”

“It's the gesture that counts, Nin.” Pyra argued. “Besides, I meant to gift Mog a new pair of socks last Christmas but forgot. And since Valentines is closer than Easter...”

Nin and Anora looked at each other.

“Socks?” Nin repeated with a neat raise of her eyebrow.

“Have you ever noticed that Mog always wears the same pair of socks?”

“Why would I?”

“Well, he does, and it makes me feel bad for him. So I decided to gift him a new pair of socks- at least it would give him some variety.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that Mog doesn't want to wear any other socks?”

“Who would only want to wear one pair of socks?”

“I can think of a few people...”

Pyra gave Nin a confused side glance before quickly shaking her head. “We're getting off track.” she told them. “I think we have everything to make the bags now. We should meet back up on Friday. How does after the school day look for you two?”

“I'm fine with that.” Nin agreed with a shrug.

Anora gave a firm nod to show that she was available as well.

“Great!” Pyra smiled at them. “Now, would you ladies like to get some ice cream? All this buying for the guys is making me feel left out.”

Nin and Anora gave each other the same look before turning back to Pyra with a grin. Nin spoke for the both of them as she said, “Of course we would!”

Pyra's smile grew wider. “Then let's go!” she declared. Without being told twice, the three of them started to head out the door.

As the three of them left the school store, a sudden clatter caused Anora to jump. She quickly looked in the direction the noise came from to try to figure out what happened. Imagine her surprise when she saw Ephemer, profusely apologizing to a girl with carrot-red hair, as he tried to pick up whatever the girl had dropped.

Her first instinct was to go and help, but she was stopped just as quickly by Pyra calling for her. Anora still hesitated for a moment. Knowing she was going to regret it later, Anora went to catch up with her girl friends, telling herself that Ephemer didn't need help on whatever he was doing. But it was rather weird when she thought about it. What was he doing in the school store?

. . .

Anora did not think that she had her friends had purchased that much stuff for the goodie bags. But now that everything was spread out on the cafeteria table, she was starting to have doubts. At least three bags of candy had been piled into on corner, another pile had an assortment of little toys, then another spot where the tissue paper had been ungracefully taken out of its package and waiting to be used as filler.

“Where did I put Affie's hair gel?”

“It's over here. Can you pass me some more candy? Mog's sweet tooth is worse than a child's.”

“That's because he still is.”

The two girls went into a small giggle as Anora only offered a light smile. She wasn't going to admit that she was jealous that Pyra and Nin knew the boys so well, but there was a small sting in her chest regardless. She didn't even know why she could have been surprised by this- their group had been together for four years, at the least, considering Mog was in the fourth year classes. In the deepest part of her heart, Anora knew that in time she would know everyone that well.

It was still a reminder that she was different than them.

They had probably all enrolled when they had the chance, she just showed up. No one signed her up, no one asked for her permission to be signed up. One of them must have been part of some legacy family that allowed them to get in. What did Anora do to get in? She didn't even know this school existed a month ago, and yet, here she was.

“You want the extra stuff, Anora?” Pyra asked, snapping the girl out of her thoughts. “Not sure how big you are on sweets, but the boys definitely don't deserve all of it.”

Anora looked up at her friends and gave them a rather bewildered look.

“Don't worry,” Nin smiled. “We'll take what we want before you haul off with most of it. We each chipped in to buy the stuff, so we're all going to chip in to get rid of it.”

Again, Anora looked at them as if they had gained a second head. Eventually she started to nod her head in agreement.

“Great!” Pyra smiled. “Well put everything in a separate bag for you- I should not have gotten that 10 pack of gift bags...”

“Told you.” Nin replied with a smirk. “But you insisted that we'd need them for storage or something.”

“Well, we kinda are.” came the gentle laugh. “Besides, this way, we also have a bag of stuff that we want.”

“True” Nin easily agreed before the girls decided to divide the goodies up.

In all said and done, there was still a lot of leftovers to chose from. Anora had ended up with four bags (two of which contained only candy) that she could only set on her desk. She sat down on her bed and tilted her head at the bags. She could easily go through half a bag on her own, and some she could try to give to that mysterious person that knew about her secret place. But what would she do with the rest?

'I should make a bag for Ephemer.'

Anora blinked. Where did that come from? She could list the times she and Ephemer were ever in the same room on one hand; and that included the one incident from last week. And yet… it wasn't a bad idea either…

Making a decision, Anora pulled out one of the spare bags, one of the pens sticking out of her backpack, and started to doodle. It was the same shapes she had drawn before on the concrete slab- this time she made sure to put a bit more effort into the drawings. Never before did she think that the stupid looking hearts, stars, and king's crown she doodled could look pretty decent if she put the effort into it.

Giving some time for the pen ink to dry, Anora sifted through the leftover tissue paper. She chose a purple and blue tissue paper to cover the bottom of the bag, then filled a good portion with candy. Anora looked in the bag with the leftover toys and carefully picked out the least embarrassing looking toys in the bunch. She finished off the goodie bag with a mixture of white, blue, and purple tissue paper to hide the contents proper.

Looking at the newly filled goodie bag, Anora felt a sense of pride in accomplishment. She then reached for a label to write his name. But she froze. When she and the others did the tags for Affie and Mog, they only written their names down. For some reason, Anora wanted to write a message as well- the only problem was that she didn't know what to say. What could she say to someone she barely knows? Anora bit her lip as she haphazardly looked around her room for some sort of inspiration.

Her eyes eventually fell to a binder Ava had given her during orientation. On it was the school's logo, and under the logo was the school's motto. She blinked at the words for a moment before reaching for her pen. What the words meant in the grand scheme of things was unknown to her, but they seemed just as fitting as any other random phrase.

'May your heart be your guiding key.'

#daybreak academy #chapter 8 #kingdom hearts fanfiction #Anora #Nin #Pyra #Valentines 2020 #Season 1

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sailorfate · 5 years

Text

Beware of the Nemphians (Horror Story)

My sister Justice is an animal science major and her 2 best friends were assisting her with her research on animal behavior. When they went to Olympic National Park to investigate why the animals around the area are migrating away from the park so quickly, they soon find the answer. This is all the information I was able to acquire from her journal.

“Hm. Do I want to wear my hair in a low pony, 2 buns, 2 buns at the top with the rest out, 1 bun, or maybe-“

“Oh my God, Justice. If you don’t decide already. You’re not even going anywhere today. Don’t you have to decide what you’re going to do your research on by tomorrow anyway?” Shayla rudely said as she laid on my bed scrolling through Instagram.

As I wet my hair with my spray bottle, applied gel to the front and brushed my hair into a low pony, I turned around from my mirror to face Shay and responded with, “Actually, I plan on taking selfies.”

Now that I think about it, I do need to get started on this research. It’s not really mandatory, but it sure would look good on my resume. Shay and Damion (my other best friend), wanted to tag along to gain experience, too.

“Okay, you’re right. I do need to think about where to go for this research. Now, I was thinking about going to Death Valley to see how the different wild life there interact with one another.”

“Well, for one, we live in D.C., and that’s too far, and secondly, it’s where Charles Manson was arrested. NO MA’AM. I don’t need none of those evil energies around me. NEXT.” Shay dramatically said as she made a shooing away gesture with both hands.

“Um, maybe I heard it wrong, but I thought he died.”

“He did. But I don’t want his spirit following me back to my dorm. NO MA’AM.”

“Oh, here you go with this supernatural bull. Please, not today, Shay. No more conspiracy theories, okay?” I responded getting a bit annoyed. I hate when people start talking like they have top secret information on things they never seen first hand. I love Shay to death, but sometimes I wonder what she do on her free time.

“Okay. Okay. Geez. No more. I promise. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Shay responded in a teasing tone.

“I’m not scared, you nincompoop. Why would I be scared of something that doesn’t exist? Anyway, I think I’m going to research why so many animals are migrating away so quickly from Olympic National Park. Some researchers say they’ve never seen anything like it.”

Shay stoop up and started pacing. She didn’t say a thing. I normally expect some insane response from her, but I’m honestly shoc-

Before I could finish my thought, the spirit of delusional inevitably possessed Shay’s tongue and she blurted out, “Ugh! Sorry! I can’t hold it any longer. Now I heard that-“

Oh dear God. I knew it was coming.

“Uh uh! Stop right there!” I said stopping her mid sentence.

“But-“

“Nope! Keep it in the forums! You don’t have to come, you know.”

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m leaving your gullible ass alone. Plus, I can tidy up my journalism skills.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? Damion was coming to be the camera man. You know, to “tidy up” his videography skills.” Dammit, self. Stop smiling like a school girl.

Shay started to smile like the Grinch and said, “Oooooh you sneaky little devil.”

“Yeah, I think it’s time for you to go. See you later, girl.” I said as I gently pushed her back toward the door.

“What did I sa-“

Before she could finish the question, I slammed the door in her face.

“You damn scaredy cat! He’s not going to wait forever you know!!” she yelled outside my door.

“Yeah. Yeah. Tell it to the “boogeyman” under your bed. See you tomorrow, big mouth”. I yelled back as I walked toward my cluttered desk. God, my life is a mess. When did I get this messy? Guess I’ll straighten up a bit.

After I organized the clutter, I texted Damion to tell him about the plan.

It was finally October 12th, 2018. I decided to blow dry my hair and just wear it in a pony so it won’t get in the way. I put on a basic olive green top, a blue jean jacket and jeans that’s the same color, and an old pair of white tennis shoes. After I packed my brown satchel with a small magnifying glass, a tape recorder, binoculars, pens and pencils, a travel sized water bottle, and a notebook, I went to the Starbucks around the corner to meet with Shay and Damion.

“Damn, how did y’all get here that fast?! AND y’all ordered without me?” I said in a slightly higher pitched tone.

Shay looked at me up and down and then looked back at her phone and responded with, “Look here, black NANCY DREW....you were supposed to be here 35 minutes ago.”

“Well, let’s not get technical.” I wittingly said.

After looking at their outfits, I seen that Shay had on her Howard Uni sweat shirt, blue jeans, and red vans. Damion had on a Howard Uni burgundy snap back, his black Howard Uni tee, a burgundy bomber jacket, black jeans, old pair of white Nike’s, and his Canon Vixia camera around his neck that I got him for Christmas last year. It’s not my fault I’m the only one with fashion sense in this group that don’t just wear school merch.

“Are y’all done yet? Cus I’m tryna get my detective on. I’m kind of excited!” Damion said while getting up to stretch.

Shay and I just shook our heads and headed toward the door.

“What? Y’all know I don’t have a life outside of football.” He said as he followed us. “And anime.” He quietly continued, as if people were listening.

After we hopped in my 2016 Jeep Wrangler, we were on our way to Olympic National Park.

We finally arrived and as soon as we got out of the car, we immediately smelled something that wasn’t quite right. It was the scent of death. That’s the only way I could put it. The smell of rotten flesh. I scoped the area with my binoculars to get an idea as to what can explain this god awful smell. Not an animal in sight. Only thing visible were the few stars and the full moon that illuminated the sky, and the branches of the 100ft maple tree. As I looked a little further, I noticed a black, tarry like substance that I haven’t seen before. Everything in me told me to turn back, but the science side of me told me to investigate.

As I started walking toward the track that the substance left behind, I heard Shay yell, “Justice, have you lost your damn mind?!”

I turned around and responded with, “What are you talking about!? I came here to see what’s been happening with these animals and this substance just might give me a clue.”

“Justice, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Shay. I mean, you don’t know if it’s airborne or what.” Damion said with a worried look on his face.

I shifted my gaze back and forth to Damion and Shay and told them, “Look, you guys. I understand if you don’t want to help, but I’m going. So, give me the camera and the extra notebook.”

As I began walking their direction to collect the items, Shay sighed and said, “No. No. We’ll help.”

“Oui? Shay, when did you start speaking French, because I’m sure you didn’t just say “we”. You know, the word that means more than one person is involved.”

“Damion!” Shay said as she hit him on his arm.

“What? I was just playing. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. But I’ll go. Just for 10 minutes, and I’m dragging both of y’all out.”

“You guys really don’t have to. I’ll go and be quic-“

“Girl, shut the hell up before I change my mind!” Shay exclaimed as she started walking ahead.

“Yeah, what she said”. Damion said as he began walking toward me. “And Shay. I need to tell you something after we get back. It’s been on my mind for a while.” He continued as he walked ahead of me.

Tell me something? What does that mean? Could it be that-. No, Justice. Get a hold of yourself. Worry about that later. Now, you need to focus on the agenda at hand.

“Damn! Can y’all slow asses move any slower?! COME ON!” Shay impatiently yelled out.

When Damion and I got to her, the three of us continued down the trail. “Damion, are you recording?” I asked as I turned around to kneel down to get a closer look at the substance.

“Yeah. I got you. Is your head getting bigger, or is it just the camera adding 15 pounds?” Damion said while he bust into laughter.

“This is not the time for jokes. What the hell is this?” I said in disgust as I poked it with my pencil. It was the black, tarry substance again. It’s not uncommon to find weird kind of colors in a place like this, but the texture of it is what got me perplexed. I pulled out my magnifying glass and noticed that it was something moving inside. Like tiny particles that I shouldn’t be able to detect with the naked eye. I’ve never seen anything like it. What the hell is going on?

“Shay, can you write this down? I’m a bit busy at the moment.” Silence. Pure silence. She normally would say something snarky, but it was just...silence. I rose up from my kneeled position and turned around. “Shay?!” I yelled as I noticed that she wasn’t there. Damion turned around and started yelling her name too. “Did you even see her walk anywhere?!” I asked as I began to panic. “No. No, I didn’t hear a thing!”

As we both continued to shout her name, I reached into my bag for my binoculars.

“I’m getting worried, Justice. It isn’t like her to wander off at a place like this alone.” Damion said as he paced back and forth. “I know! I know! I’m going to see if I can see her with these!” I frantically responded. As I was scoping the area, all I seen was the regular terrain. Trees, moss, and more trees. Then I looked up a bit further to my right in the direction where the full moon was, and saw something up in the tree. I immediately fell to my knees.

“Justice! What’s wrong? What happened?!” What did you see?!” I know Damion was talking, but it was as if the world around me simultaneously stopped at the same time, and the only thing I could see was my best friend, Shay, getting her head decapitated and her skin being ripped clean off her body by a demon-alien like creature. It looked kind of like that thing from Jeepers Creepers, but uglier without wings. About 7 feet tall. Its gnarled fingers were at least 20 inches and they were all the same size. The finger nails were razor sharp, narrow and were about 10 inches. The only thing I could hear was my accelerated heartbeat that sounded like it would combust any minute.

I tried to put the binoculars down, but I couldnt move a muscle. I used every fiber of my being to make any sort of movement. Couldn’t even move my tongue to speak. My breathing is getting shallower by the minute. It’s as if that thing is controlling me somehow. Or maybe it’s my body’s natural response to danger. There was another demon like alien behind the one that just mutilated my best friend. I’m not sure how I just thought that so nonchalantly. Is this what they call ‘shock’? The second creature spotted me and smiled while putting its finger against its lips in a shushing gesture. It then mouthed some words and touched its throat with the other hand. Within a blink of an eye, they both disappeared into some type of portal with Shay’s remains. In that moment I was able to get up on my feet.

“JUSTICE!! JUSTICE! JUSTICE!!” Damion shouted as I rose to my feet. “I’ve been shouting your name and shaking you for the past 3 or so minutes!!”

3 minutes. It’s been 3 minutes.

As I turned around to face him, I emotionlessly said, “She’s dead. It killed her. She’s gone.” When I started to walk pass him, I heard him say, “What Justice?! I can’t hear you! Why are you mouthing words?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Mouthing words? What is he talking about? I turned around and yelled at him, “SHE’S DEAD. SHE’S GONE. THE CREATURE KILLED HER! I KNOW IT SOUNDS CRAZY, BUT WE HAVE TO GO!!”

“Justice, what are you saying?!?! Stop playing around, and use your voice! We still have to find Shay!” Damion responded with seriousness in his voice.

Use my voice? Wait. That thing! I-I-It did something to my voice somehow! I know it did. God, I sound like one of the crazies off the internet, but I know what I saw! I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not cra-

“Justice!” Damion exclaimed, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I immediately pulled out my notebook and wrote “She’s dead!! Shay!! This thing skinned her! And took her head!” I know it was damn near un-readable with the way I was shaking as I was writing, but I had to try. I showed it to Damion and he responded in confusion with, “What the hell are you talking about?! Why are you saying these things? How do you know she’s dead?”

As I was about to write my response, Damion eyes nearly bulged out his sockets, and he pushed me out the way as he seen the creature appear out of nowhere behind me. The 7 foot beast smiled from ear to ear and flashed its razor sharp teeth. It was at least a hundred. No. Hundreds. The thing then began to break out into a malicious laugh. It’s as if that abomination wanted that to happen. Within a blink of an eye, it took Damion into the portal.

“DAMION!!!!!!!!!!!! DAMIOOOOON!!!!!! YOU UGLY BASTARD. BRING HIM BACK!!!!!! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!!!!!!!!!!” As I yelled his name like a raging banshee over and over, I seen a portal open about 10 ft from me, and one of the creatures came out with Damion.

“Damion! You’re aliv-“

“JUSTICE RUN! RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN, AND DONT TURN BACK NO MATTER WHAT!!!!” Damion screamed as he coughed up blood.

“BUT-“

“JUST GO!”

As I reluctantly turned my back and began running, I heard Damion yell at the top of his lungs, “JUSTICE, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I LOVE YO-

My body wanted to run, but my heart told me to stop when I heard those words, and when I did, the only sound I was able to hear was my best friend, the man that I always loved, head fall onto the ground and the sound of his skin being ripped off.

I assume the sound of my voice fully came back when the 2 creatures went into the portal with Damion’s remains because the screams that I let out were so ear-piercing, that the few animals who were still in the area somewhere hiding started to run from fear. The only thing I was able to say was, “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault” in a trance like state. I said that until I tired myself and the last thing I remember is me passing out.

That was the last thing my sister, Justice, wrote in her journal. Her unconscious body was found by a couple of joggers who were passing by and they immediately took her to the hospital. For the past day, she would randomly wake up and yell, “THEY KILLED THEM. THEY’RE GONE. THE CREATURES. THE ALIENS!” After being interrogated by police, they determined that she needed mental evaluation the more she talked about creatures, aliens, portals, and decapitated, skinless bodies. They searched the area, but wasn’t able to even find a trace of blood.

During my sister’s week stay at the mental hospital, she begged me to read the journal the last day I saw her. I knew she was working on something because every time I came to visit her, it was as if her fingers were moving at lightning speed. That’s all she would do. Write. I always told her to stop making up things like this if she ever wanted to get out of this hospital. But for some reason, on the last day I saw her, I decided to take the journal.

Later on that day, out of curiosity, I read a few pages and ended up reading the whole thing. I didn’t know what to think of it. It was all lies, right? The next day, I checked my mailbox and saw an envelope with no name on it. As soon as I read it, something in me told me to drive as fast as I can to the hospital.

When I arrived, one of the nurses told me they went to check on her, and they found her hanging lifeless like she’s been dead for days, even though they just seen her 30 minutes ago. The stench alone was enough to wake a mummy. The nurse told me she clutched the crucifix around her neck, and walked a little further in to grab the paper on the floor that was near the bed. It read:

“They’ll take your love

They’ll cause you pain

They’ll make sure that you’ll never sleep again

You’ll go insane

You’ll lose your mind

The ‘what if’s’ will keep you up at night

It doesn’t matter if youre not alone

They will still catch you and no one will know

No one will believe you

No one will care

All they will do is lock you up in here

You don’t know when you’ll be next

Or when a friend will end up dead

You just won’t know until.

But all you really need to know

Is that they’re real “

I let out a blood curdling scream and was escorted out from scaring the patients. I looked back at the mysterious letter that I received in my mailbox that read:

“This is all I know: They’re an ancient demon-alien hybrid that come from a planet 50 light years away called Nemphus. They’re a species known as Nemphians. It’s a certain ritual they have to do every 100 years to please their god, Zeranus. The ritual requires a full moon, blood from a hell hound being smeared around the area (the black substance), a group of 3, the head and skin of 2 human victims, and the battered, damaged soul of the other person (witness) in the group who were close to the victims. The witness always end up killing theirself due to the psychological torment and the isolation they endure from people not believing them. Once the witness kill their self, the Nemphian who killed the ones they loved, takes their soul, which rapidly age their corpse.

Having everything in the right place at the right time is tricky, so they keep track of full moons and look out for a group of 3 by themselves in an area outside. Preferably with a lot of trees. They track potential human victims through a form of mini portals called ‘The Looker’ that’s invisible to the naked eye.

Nemphian abilities: They can open portals from one place to another, ranging in size. Super strength. Can do certain spells and summonings. Can manipulate sound. “

The letter also had ancient copies of text and cases of missing people that goes back every 100 years. I then connected the dots and immediately knew what my sister meant. The journal. The poem. Now this mysterious letter. So, my sister was telling the truth. What is going on? All of this can’t be a coincidence. I think I’m actually starting to believe this stuff. If only I knew who sent the letter.

#mine #horror #horror story #halloween #scary #scary story #scary stories #fiction #reddit

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laurenrayart · 6 years

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Do you have any tips for making watercolour paint portraits?

oh!! i haven’t done a lot of them but this is what i usually do.

i use kuretake watercolors (36 set) and some good round brushes (about sizes 5, 8, and 10). the portraits i’ve posted on here have been in a sketchbook that i think is only meant to handle really light watercolor but i abuse it anyway (i think it’s the canson 180 artbook?). i recommend watercolor boards tho! i like the crescent cold press boards!!

i lightly sketch the portrait (here’s what the chris painting i did looked like before i painted)

and then i mix up the base skintone and a blush color. i’ll really water down the skintone (make sure you mix up a lot of paint. even if you think its too much it probably isn’t, if you run out of paint then you have to remix and risk everything drying too fast) then i go over the entirety of his face (i go over the eyes and beard too) and then when it’s still wet, i dab in the blush on his noses and cheeks and ears! it’s tricky but try to use enough water so it dries evenly and there’s no blooming (there’s a lot of blooming in chris’ shirt in the painting i did jsdhskdh but try to avoid it in the face) and so the blush color blends nicely.

then i wait for it to dry (you can also use a hair dryer to speed it up), make sure the painting is room temp when you lay your hand on it because if it’s cold it’s still wet and it will bleed!!

then from there i continue to just layer the heck out of it haha, i don’t really have a method for that. it’s a lot of trial and error (my first portraits i did last year in class were ROUGH, it’s hard to get the hang of the right balance of water and paint and work fast enough). at the end i added highlights with my white gel pen, and sorta smudged it with my fingers (you could probably also use gouache or acrylic for this but i didn’t have any on hand).

aaa i hope this helped and made sense!! if you have any other questions lemme know :^)

#long post #i don't feel like i truly know enough about watercolor to answer this BUT i hope i helped!!#Anonymous

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mianaac-blog · 6 years

Text

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nautiscarader · 6 years

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Nautiscarader’s Wendip Week 2018 Day 4 - Date Night

Sorry for the late submission, but my health is deteriorating in this weather...

Dipper decides to let the bygones be bygones, agreeing to a not-date with Wendy.

Wendip, Mabifica, 3.7k, T

(Ao3) (FF) (masterpost)

- Okay, Mabel, I'm not going to lie, I'm kinda scared...

Dipper Pines took a deep breath, hoping this simple technique would calm him down. He stared at his scrawny reflection in the elongated mirror in their room, watching his sister browsing through myriad of hair products, brushes and other cosmetics. He called her again, and she responded with waving her leg, as the rest of her body disappeared in the huge chest that served as her "beauty closet" she claimed was portable.

Only when her brother said her name for a third time, Mabel Pines emerged fully, like a genie from a lamp, her sweater dotted with dozens of hair-rollers stuck to it. Like a dog trying to dry itself, she shook her whole body, forcing some of the accessories to fall to the ground, and free of her restraints, she waddled to Dipper.

- Relax, bro, you just meet with a girl! - That's the whole point! - he exclaimed, watching as Mabel yanked his hat from his head and dumped a whole scoop of her gel underneath it. - Mabel has everything under control...

Contrary to what she just said, she begun messing with Dipper's chestnut hair, spreading the sticky substance all over it, trying (and from the feel of it, losing) her battle to make his hairdo a bit more normal.

- Mabel, do you really know what are you doing? - I know what I know, and I don't know what I don't know, keep it still, Dipstick! - she argued back, pushing not just his hair, but the whole head, and finally his whole body to the ground.

Having no chance of winning with his sister, Dipper just gave up, and watched in the mirror as new, brown monstrosities rose from his head the longer Mabel felt "creative". A whole five minutes passed, before she stood up, and proudly announced that her work was done. Dipper had to admit, that even though the general look of his did not change, the small touches Mabel did made him look a bit... better. At least until he put on the hat again, and everything disappeared under the hit and blue material.

- Mabel, I still don't think if it's gonna work. After all, it's Wendy.

To that, even Mabel initially couldn't find an answer, leaving Dipper once again gaping at the teenage figure in the mirror. True, he was older, a bit less miserable looking when he was thirteen, and the once-enormous vertical mirror was now almost his height, but still, he was about to spend evening with one person his heart still fluttered for.

He thought he should feel excited beyond belief, able to jump to high heavens and back, and while Wendy's nonchalant "Yeah, sure" answer to his yesterday's proposition made him exactly that, only when she disappeared from the view, Dipper understood what kind of burden he was now carrying. Less than twenty-four hours ago the thought of going out with Wendy Corduroy was just a fleeting dream, a theoretical concept, never fulfilled by Dipper-kind, but now, it was more than real.

And fortunately, in the time Dipper had to go through all of his thoughts again, Mabel found a suitable reply to her brother's conundrum.

- Well, technically, brother, it's not a date, is it? You guys just gonna... hang out. - he raised her brow. - Yeah! - Dipper continued - And that's what a date is- - Only if these two people have a thing for each other. - Mabel ended her brother's thought. - And, while you, obviously do... - Mabel ignored Dipper's attempt at contradicting that fact. - She, let's face it, just want to see what's been going with you when we were gone!

Mabel sighed, and grabbed Dipper's arms, staring into her brother's eyes.

- Listen, I know things were complicated between you two. And I'd lie if I said Wendy would forget about it. But that's one very important aspect of meeting with her: you have to move forward to let the past go. - Let... it ... go... - Dipper repeated, almost in trance. - Yes, exactly, Dipper! You are just friends, nothing romantic going on between you two. Honestly, you have no idea how embarrassing is for a girl to meet with a guy she either used to date, or she knows he had a thing for her, and then see the guy trying to hit on her again. So her asking you to meet with her is a huge improvement!

She paused for a moment, shying away, which gave Dipper a chance to suddenly pull her into a deep hug and respond.

- Thanks, Mabel. I knew you'd be the one person to help me with all that mushy stuff. - he smiled - And thanks for believing I can pull it off- - ...and this is exactly why we're going to control you the whole time, so you don't mess things up! - Mabel suddenly shouted, while something tight tied around Dipper's neck.

At once, having difficulty with breathing, Dipper pushed Mabel away, trying to get the thing stuck to his neck, and only when he saw himself in a mirror, he understood what Mabel has put on him. The red-white-and-blue material was too familiar for Dipper not to recognise Ford's old Mind-Controlling Tie, which from the looks of it Mabel has re-shaped into a form of a bow-tie.

Taking one deep breath after another, Dipper looked back and forth at his reflection and at Mabel, beaming with satisfaction.

- See, brother? I told you I have everything under control... - she waved the second tie around her finger, as if to tease him.

Predictably, Dipper launched himself at his sister, but the moment Mabel saw him move, she put the matching tie on her neck. Afraid that Dipper might grab it, she raised her hands in defence, and when she did that, she found that Dipper did the same. His eyes opened wide, when he noticed the core of her bowtie blinked, guessing his did it as well, since he definitely did not want to stop and put his hands up in the air.

A sly smile crept onto Mabel's face when she realised her idea worked, and before he could - or rather could not - protest, Dipper was doing a victory dance, as if he himself became a mirror to his sister's bidding.

- It worked! - they both said in unison, though only one meant it.

Mabel reached to her bowtie and disabled it, giving Dipper one last warning look not to try anything silly. Reluctantly, Dipper had to oblige.

- Mabel, was that really the only option? - he cried out - Do you really think I can't handle one d... One meeting with a girl? - Honestly, yeah. - Mabel replied coldly - And besides, who was pouting that he's not "smawt enough fow aww that mushy stuff" a moment ago? - Mabel mocked him. - That was before I knew you were going to control my mind and body! And... - Dipper paused for a moment - When did you get these bowties? - I sewed them myself! - she blew a raspberry in response. - And did you re-soldier all the circuits as well? - Dipper asked, flipping the piece of clothing to its other side, revealing copper-green electronic board, blinking with lights. - Yes, I did, actually. - she proclaimed - Grunkle Ford taught me. He said that all girls should know that stuff, and I agree! I've been using so much glue for my stickers, and all the time I could have just zap them!

She moved two of her fingers together, mimicking the act of soldiering, together with an exaggerated sound effect.

- Okay, but you're not gonna control me all the time. - Dipper tried talking some sense into her - Only when I'm, you know... - ... you're gonna be yourself? - In trouble! That's what I meant. - Dipper snapped.

Mabel sighed again, and rose her arm with two fingers into the air.

- Okay, Dipper, I promise, we won't mess with your awkwardness too much. - Thanks. I mean, I really don't want Wendy to think I'm some sort of a creep who- Wait, what do you mean "we"? - Candy and Grenda, of course! - Mabel answered - Come on, Dipper, we couldn't miss *that* opportunity!

Once again, he grabbed Dipper's shoulders, though this time, to prevent him from taking her bow-tie from her.

- I can promise you, brother, you're gonna have a nice, completely non-romantic evening with Wendy, and once you guys go home without holding hands, you're going to be just friends. That's what you want, right?

It was Dipper's time to look away from Mabel's piercing gaze. He took a moment, and with a sharp, cold pain in his guts, he answered her.

- Yeah. That's for the better.

A few minutes later, the twins ran out of the Shack, only to be met not by two, but three figures. Candy and Grenda were joined by Pacifica Northwest, who turned on the spot, hearing Mabel's voice. Her eyes grew wide when she realised, a moment too late, that the pink blur of Mabel rushed into her open arms a bit faster than humans usually do.

- Really guys? There's three of you? - Dipper sighed, as he watched Mabel greet with her three friends. - The more the merrier, bro! And besides, we couldn't leave Paz alone. - Actually, what is it you guys plan doing...? - the Northwest heiress asked, moving her eyes from Mabel to Dipper and their already bizarre choice of neck-wear. - Dipper and Wendy go on a not-date. - Candy explained - Because he wants to let the bygones be bygones. - Yeah, and if he doesn't, then Mabel will just steer him away! - Grenda added, smashing her fists together. - Yup, that is something only you could come up with. - Pacifica spoke, giving her friend a warm smile. - Sounds like it's gonna be fun. - Okay, Dip, you go first, and we will follow behind you, just so that Wendy won't see us! - Mabel gave Dipper one last pat on the back, like a farmer trying to guide a cow into a pen.

At least that's how Dipper felt the entire way. It was already getting dark, and even though the team behind him moved surprisingly silent, given who it consisted of, he still had the ominous feeling of being watched during a deeply private situation.

It didn't make it easier the fact that his bowtie was tied just a bit too tight so the entire way to the diner Dipper fought with it, perhaps just not to give Mabel the satisfaction of being her puppet.

- Come on, the stupid thing... - Hey, man.

A warm, low voice of Wendy immediately forced Dipper to stop fiddling with his bowtie. Wendy Corduroy rose almost from the ground in front of him, and stared curiously at the thing Dipper was toying with.

- You look sharp. - she smiled, giving his arm a playful nudge. - Uh, thanks. - he replied, but immediately regained his senses - Uh, I mean, these are just, uh, random stuff I put on. You know, cos it's not like it's a special occasion or anything. - Sure - Wendy chuckled - Come on, you gotta tell me what you've been up to.

She grabbed his hand and was about to drag him down the street, but she soon realised she's been holding empty air, as Dipper stood on the pavement as if he was paralysed.

- Uh, no, Wendy, I had a bit of cold last week - he said slowly - So no holding hands. A-choo. A-choo. - O...kay. - Wendy said, measuring Dipper's petrified figure from head to toe.

The last words of his sounded fake already, but by doing precisely no movements with his arms and speaking them with no inflection in his voice, it almost looked like he has been hypnotised or beaten by zombie.

- Dude, have you been brainwashed by aliens or something? - No! - Dipper suddenly screamed and dashed forward, as if a force has been holding him up for the last few minutes. - It's just, uh, the cold!

Wendy raised her brow again, sent him a soft smile and continued walking down the road, this time with her arms crossed.

- So, did high school change you that much? - she asked - I don't remember you joking so much before. - Uh, maybe? - Dipper scratched his head - Anyway, do we go to the Greasy's Diner? - Oh, no, there's a new place! - Wendy cheered - Lee told me about it, he works there part-time as a cleaner.

The "new place" turned out to be a rather small-looking bar with just a few sitting places inside. It had, however, more than a few tables outside, put around a square-ish yard. With only two other tables occupied, Dipper and Wendy grabbed their drinks and chose the first one they spotted.

- Okay, dude, first of all, how come you got so tall? Do they feed you in a cafeteria with steroids? - she asked, leaning towards him. - Me? Tall? Nah, Mabel's almost as tall as me. - Dipper answered, nervously taking a huge gulp of soda - W-why do you even ask? - Nah, I just still remember you when you first arrived here. - she brushed it off.

The two quickly started talking about their schools; Wendy was more than helpful giving Dipper tips about surviving his last year at high school, and Dipper eagerly swapped stories about his classmates, much to Wendy's amusement. Every once in a while, he had to control himself in order not to divert the discussion into more risque territory. As soon as Wendy mentioned her friend dating, he faked another sneeze, this time himself, blaming the weather, and that has fortunately made Wendy remember about some huge downpours that brought some trouble to her father.

And as minutes went by, Dipper Pines felt more than confident that he would be able to survive his not-date like he planned.

- Be right back, gonna go to the toilet. And to have a refill!

Wendy stood up and went towards the exit, leaving Dipper in possibly even more perplexed state. He did everything in his might not to stare at her seductive, hourglass figure, and instead, he directed his eyes towards the opposite end of the fenced square.

When his eyes met Mabel's, however, his whole body froze, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself whispering a message to himself.

- Hi, broseph - Mabel's words escaped his mouth - We had to break in from the backside! We can't really hear you guys that much, but we're gonna intervene if we think you act too much like the dork in love. Over and out!

Dipper almost lost grip on his can of soda when Mabel released him from under her control, just when Wendy appeared again in the doorway. Instinctively, she followed Dipper's eyes, but couldn't find what he was staring at, his body twisted in a slightly unnatural pose.

- Do I want to know what you've been up to...? - Stretching! - Dipper responded, doing the exact thing he talked about - You know, you shouldn't skip the leg day and all of that. - Never though you would get book from your noses to keep fit - she slurped her drink - Er, nose from your books, I meant.

They both chuckled.

- Yeah, I'm still trying my best to get best grades. And how goes the college hunt? - Uh, could be better - she groaned - But that can wait a few more weeks. What do you want to talk about? - Er... I want to...

Once again, to Wendy's surprise, Dipper's body stiffened, his arms lay flat on the table, and he recited next few sentences as if he was reading from a prompter situated somewhere behind her back.

- I want to talk about nerdy stuff. Comic books. Old sci-fi shows. You know, the things most girls don't like.

This was a bit too much for Wendy, who leaned on the table and poked Dipper in the forehead.

- Okay, Dipper, what is going on? Why would you say girls wouldn't like it? - she spread her arms in confusion.

In the bush just a few feet away from the two, Mabel exchanged silent victorious nods wit the other three girls.

- Great! She got a bit mad! - Candy exclaimed. - Uh, Mabel, should we really mess up his da... uh, meeting with Wendy? - Pacifica asked - I mean, I know a bit or two about being controlled and... - Shush! - Mabel put her hand on her friend's face, silencing her.

To her utmost surprise, Wendy was not arguing with the motionless Dipper, but laughing jovially at the petrified form of Dipper.

- Dude, that is the best impression of those zombies I've ever seen! - she laughed, pointing to his face, now twisting in a grimace of disbelief, the same as the one on Mabel's face.

She leaned again, and twirled the straw in her drink.

- Yeah, that was the last movie we watched together, last Summer, wasn't it...? - Yes! - Dipper exclaimed, feeling Mabel's control tightening again. - Yes, impression. That's... that's what I've been doing.

Knowing his sister was just around the corner, he took the risk, leaned forward as well, and not noticing Wendy's eyes that suddenly got bigger, he whispered.

- Wendy, listen, I have something to tell you...

But Dipper's plan of informing Wendy about his sister were interrupted by a short, but loud screech somewhere above his head, followed by a quick, upbeat music from the speakers mounted under the roof of the diner.

- Oh, right, Lee told me they play music in the evening. Wanna dance?

And once again, Dipper was dragged behind her, as he suddenly understood what the paved square space was for. The other two couples joined them on the dancefloor, while the fast-paced pop hit of this Summer filled the air around them, undoubtedly annoying any neighbours.

Meanwhile, in the bushes, Mabel was panicking.

- They are dancing! What if Dipper asks her to dance again? - she grabbed her head - I promised Dipper I'll make this not-date as perfect as possible! And why does this thing doesn't work?

Mabel pushed the centre of her bowite furiously, but it seemed that something was interfering with the transmission.

- Maybe they just gonna play this one song, and they'll be done? - Candy hypothesised. - Hmm... maybe... - Mabel pondered - The only worse thing that a dance would be...

Suddenly, the screeching sound interrupted them again, the fast song faded, and slow, mellow tunes reached the girls' ears instead. They all exchanged knowing looks, whispering the dreadful words "Slow dance".

Forgetting about their strategic position, Mabel peeked from the bush, only to see Dipper, being his nervous self, awkwardly trying to lead Wendy during this song.

- Okay, not everything is lost. Move aside, guys.

Spreading her arms aside, Mabel broke a few branches to give herself just enough space for her feet to move. She took a deep breath, and with hope in her heart pressed the button on the bow-tie, this time hearing the connection beep.

- Listen, Wendy, I couldn't say it before, but... - Dipper stammered, feeling Wendy's body pressed against his. Dancing with her in the vaguely modern, random way was one thing, but leading her in a definitely romantic song, practically made for making-out was a completely different affair. - What's that, Dipper?

And for the third time this evening, Wendy felt Dipper's body getting rigid, this time with even more painful consequences when his foot landed on hers.

- Auch, Dipper! - th.... the... bowtie... - he managed to stutter, before he felt his tongue getting tied into a knot.

Now, at least he was in motion, instead of standing still, though the restrained, almost mechanical moves of his sister, trying in her might to emulate a style of someone who only vaguely heard about dancing made everything more complicated.

- Bowtie? - Wendy asked - Oh, you tied it too tightly, didn't you?

And then, when Wendy's fingers slipped past the electronics, the unthinkable happened. The connection with Mabel's bow-tie was lost, her own device short-circuited, and Dipper regained control of his arms, a sudden twitch in his muscles closing them around Wendy's waist, much to her surprise.

- Dipper?! - Wendy gasped, mesmerised by the sudden closeness of her friend, already mentally ready to fall into his arms by the time of the next chorus.

Meanwhile, Mabel was getting out of her mind.

- Guys, we need to do something! - But what? - Pacifica asked - It looks to me they are doing alright - she snickered. - Paz, don't you get it? - she grabbed her shoulder - I don't want Dipper to be heartbroken again! I don't want to give him false impression that Wendy likes him like "that"! - Yeah, but here's a crazy idea: what if she does? - Pacifica asked.

And to their surprise, a fifth voice answered that question.

- Yeah, she does like him. And what the heck are you guys doing here?

Four pairs of eyes turned to the other end of their makeshift-command centre, only to see its leafy wall has been breached by none other Wendy's best friend, Tambry.

- 'Sup. - she nodded her head, flicking her purple hair. - And again, what are you guys up to? - We... we're trying to make Dipper's not-date with Wendy go according to plan! - Grenda exclaimed. - So that nothing romantic happens at all - Candy added. - But I think we might not have calculated everything. - And what do you do in these bushes? - Mabel stepped forward and asked Tambry.

It took the older girl a bit more time to process the answers and give hers back. When she did so, her voice cracked a bit.

- I... I've been helping Wendy score a date with Dipper, cos she asked me to help her...

As the realisation hit them, Tambry's and Mabel's eyes became equally wide and the two spoke in unison.

- We did everything wrong!

#wendip #wendipweek #wendip week #wendy x dipper #dipperxwendy #gravity falls #dipper pines #wendy corduroy #date night

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iamsaha · 6 years

Text

Waltz

Jean opened her left eye first and then her right. She always woke up like that. Picked it up from her Mom. Both their bodies liked to wake up as slowly as possible. With both eyes open, she was now able to see across her room to the calendar on her door. She wasn’t so foolish as to forget her own birthday, but she still had it circled in red pen with a cake doodled in the middle.

It was 8:00 A.M. That meant Jean had been 12 for 8 hours already. She jumped out of her bed like she had springs on her rear and went through her morning routine as quickly as possible. Once her hair was done - she went with a ponytail today - and teeth had been brushed, Jean ran down the stairs. Her socks nearly made her slip on the wood but she kept her balance. What kind of dancer would she be if her body didn’t listen to her orders?

“Happy Birthday, lovely!” Her Dad hugged her. He had the stomach of a rich man, making it always nice to hug him. Like belly flopping onto a gel-filled beanbag and sinking into its kindness.

“Thanks, Dad.” Jean smiled, her chin resting on his chest as she looked up at him. “Where’s Mama?”

“In the kitchen making your birthday pancakes.” He let go of her and kissed the top of her head. “I will see you two tonight for dinner. Bye, Lucille!” He called over his shoulder to his wife as he walked to the front door.

Jean waved him off before going to the kitchen and sitting at the table. “Good morning, Mama.”

“Good morning, lovely.” Lucille set the plate of pancakes in front of Jean. The one on the top of the stack had been given a whip cream face. If she had been paying attention, Jean would have seen that the face was actually a skull. “Happy Birthday!”

“Thank you.” Jean spoke around the pancake, syrup, and whip cream. A laudable feat considering how small her mouth was.

“Slowly!” Lucille shook her head and laughed. “You’ve got plenty of time. No need to inhale your food.”

“I’ve waited for five years for this day.” Jean started on her second pancake. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“You’re that excited to be 12?” Lucille attempted to look curious but her eyes twinkled knowingly.

“No!” Jean, being only 12, fell for the bait. “Your promise!”

“What promise?”

“You said I could meet your dance teacher on my twelfth birthday.” Jean deflated. “Did you forget?”

“No, lovely. I didn’t forget.” Seeing her daughter’s voice go quiet made her regret the teasing. So sensitive. Just like her Dad. “I was just playing with you.”

“Good.” Jean finished the third pancake and put the plate in the sink. “Let’s go!”

“Go?” Lucille remained in her seat. “You’re meeting him. Not me.”

“But how am I supposed to get there? I can’t drive.” Jean said. Then she brightened. “Are you letting me drive myself?”

“Of course not. You’re walking.”

“He lives in the neighborhood?”

“Not exactly.” Lucille rested her head on her hand. She looked sad. Like she was thinking of an old friend. “Do you trust me?”

“Yep.”

Lucille knew that Jean wasn’t nearly old enough to truly understand trust. Still felt nice. “Then I need you to walk three blocks east, three blocks north, then three blocks west.”

It took Jean a minute to run through what that entailed. “Can’t I just walk three blocks north from here?”

“Nope.” Lucille laughed. “Trust me.”

“Okay...” Jean shrugged.

This is why you had to be twelve to first meet Lucille’s dance teacher. Old enough to safely make the walk on their own. Young enough to blindly trust their parents. Lucille undid the necklace she was wearing and motioned for Jean to stand in front of her. “This is your birthday gift.”

“But this is yours.” Jean didn’t look like she would willingly return the necklace if her Mom wanted her to. She was raised right though. She would give it back if asked.

“Not anymore.” Lucille sighed. The gold necklace itself wasn’t important. It was the pendant dangling from it that meant anything. Shaped to look like a coffin and set with small emeralds, it was a morbid gift to give a twelve year old. Lucille didn’t care and neither did Jean. “After you go three blocks east, three blocks north, and then three blocks west you’ll see an iron gate. Walk through it.”

Jean put the necklace on and flinched. Was that laughter she had heard? It sounded so happy.

“You’ll be scared after you walk through.” Lucille continued, pretending she didn’t notice Jean jump. She had done the same thing when her Dad had given her the necklace. “You don’t need to be. Past those gates is the safest place in the world.” Lucille held a pinky out. “Nothing bad can happen to you there.”

“Okay, Mama.” Jean wrapped her pinky around Lucille’s.

Lucille kissed her daughter’s finger before letting go. “See you in the evening, lovely.”

Jean hugged her and left the house. You wouldn’t find any butterflies in her stomach but you may find a hundred bumblebees buzzing around. With flying insects in her belly, Jean marched steadily east. In the morning she had felt like skipping. Her Mom was an amazing dancer, even appearing on TV shows and teaching famous people. After taking her first dance class at age seven, she had asked her Mom if she could meet the person who taught her. Lucille had smiled and said, “Of course, lovely. I promised him that he’d get to meet you.”

Jean marched north. As if she was actually walking up to the arctic circle, a wind flew past her that chilled her down to her bones. It didn’t seem to care that she was wearing a thick sweater. After the wind finished tugging on her ponytail and drying her lips, it moved on to bother someone else. The chill didn’t leave her bones. It remained, making her uncomfortable along with the bumblebees. You would think the bees would be bothered by the cold and leave but that wasn’t the case right now.

Jean marched west. With each passing step the sun grew closer and closer to the horizon. It was the morning. The sun shouldn’t be doing that. Jean didn’t notice, being too preoccupied with the discomfort of her stomach and the anticipation of meeting her Mom’s teacher. When the sun was split in half by the horizon and the sky looked like a purple campfire, Jean stopped in front of an iron gate. It looked like any gate you would find guarding someone’s backyard. This one, however, was guarding a cemetery. Why in the world was the dance teacher at a cemetery? Was he visiting a dead relative? She very nearly turned back. If she did, she would miss the chance to meet her Mom’s dance teacher and become just as good as her. She would also return to the safety of her home and not be surrounded by dead people.

Plus, all this was very weird. Jean was positive there had never been a cemetery here before.

Being young enough to believe in the supernatural, Jean turned the cold, rusted handle and walked into the cemetery. She had never been to one before but she had seen them in movies. The trees were always dead, the grass was always wilting, and the gravestones were always chipped and forgotten. This one looked exactly like that. There were even crows flapping around. A few of them cawed at her and then returned to their crow business; whatever that meant.

Remembering her Mom’s promise that she would be safe, Jean walked farther into the twilight cemetery. Brown leaves crunched underneath her sneakers and long caterpillars crawled over them. Fortunately for all parties involved, Jean didn’t see them. As she walked, more of the crows began to pay attention to her. Their calls sounded less like cawing and more like loud whispers. They were greeting her with ‘Hello’s ‘Hi’s and ‘Welcome’s. After hearing enough, Jean was finally persuaded into returning their greetings. They seemed nice. She raised a small, shy hand and waved. “Hello.” She wondered who had taught these crows to talk. Maybe it wasn’t just parrots that could do that.

The cemetery went completely quiet. Even the air seemed to forget to blow in her ears. The crows stopped greeting her, the leaves stopped crunching, and the distant bells that had been ringing stopped. Jean hadn’t noticed them until they abandoned her. Bumblebees returning to her stomach, Jean looked around with wide eyes. Was she not supposed to talk to the crows? She looked back at them. “Sorry!”

Behind a large tombstone, the leaves began spiraling. They should have been rustling but they remained dead silent like the rest of the cemetery. Faster and faster they got, rising until they towered over the tombstone. When Jean couldn’t see through them to the other side, the leaves began to turn pure black.

The bumblebees turned into actual fear and Jean stumbled back, tripping over herself and landing with a soft grunt. The leaves she landed on still didn’t make a noise. It was like being in the library but the quiet was oppressive not comforting. Tears in her eyes, and Mom’s promise forgotten, Jean crawled backward. It would be smarter to get up and run normally but this is a twelve year old girl trapped in a clearly haunted cemetery. Grown men would behave exactly the same. Possibly even more stupidly.

“Sorry.” Jean cried when she backed into a grave, head bumping into the stone. “I’ll leave. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” A jovial voice came out from the tornado of leaves. “Why in the world would I hurt you, lovely?”

Jean wanted to scream. She really did. But instead she was about as loud as her surroundings. Standing behind the tombstone was a tall skeleton. The black leaves draped over its shoulders like a cloak, hood settling on its white head. Three spikes jutted out the top like a crown. Jean had a feeling that the spikes were part of the skeleton’s skull.

“Hello.” The skeleton stepped out from behind the tombstone, showing off just how tall it was. It gave off the impression of being a lanky individual and it wasn’t because it only had bones. “I am the Bone King. Who are you?”

Jean found her voice. She used it to scream.

“Oh dear.” The skeleton cocked its head to the right. “I understand that I’m quite scary looking but I promise I mean you no harm.”

“Wh-what?” Jean stammered. “A-re you?”

“I told you. I’m the Bone King.” The skeleton was beginning to sound amused.

“Bone King.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “And your name is?”

“Jean Louise Nica.” She blurted out. Kids. Teach them all you want about stranger danger and they’re still going to give their full names out to the first supernatural being they see.

“Hello there, Scout!”

“That’s not my name.”

“I know that, lovely.” The Bone King laughed. It sounded just like the one she had heard when she put on the necklace. “I was referencing a book... Never mind.” He shrugged. “May I step closer or will that scare you more?”

Jean remembered that her Mom said that she would be safe here. “You can come closer.”

“Wonderful!” The Bone King sounded genuinely pleased. He strolled over, long arms swinging lazily. “Let me introduce myself as a gentleman should.” Standing a few feet in front of her, the Bone King bowed deeply while looking her right in the eye. His left arm stretched straight outwards, and his right hand slightly curled while held near where his belly would have been. “Welcome, Jean Louise Nica. I am the Bone King.” He straightened. “You can call me Clark. Everyone does.”

“You can call me Jean.” She got to her feet and curtsied, stretching the sides of her sweater out like a dress.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, lovely.” Clark was smiling. She was sure of it. “Who sent you to me... Hold on. I think I can guess.” He stepped closer and leaned in. Jean surprised herself by not screaming and running away. “Hmm... stringy brunette hair. Green eyes with yellow flecks. Small, sharp nose above a small mouth. Ah!” Clark straightened. “You’re Lucille’s daughter! She kept her promise!” Clark clapped. It sounded like two bundles of chopsticks hitting each other. “How wonderful! You’re as pretty as she was when I first met her. And both of you are twice as pretty as her Father.”

“Are... Are you Mama’s dance teacher?”

“Of course!” Clark said. “What else did you think I was? A King?”

Jean laughed. To Clark, it sounded like the bells that were once again ringing in the distance. “You’re silly.”

“Thank you.” Clark smiled. “Did Lucille say that I would teach you how to dance?”

“Yes.” Jean nodded. “Can you? Please?”

“Why should I teach you?”

“My Mama dances really, really well. She’s famous.”

The dark pits of Clark’s eye sockets stared down at her. “Do you want to be famous?”

An adult would have noticed the underlying warning. “I want to dance.”

“Good!” Clark seemed satisfied. “I would love to teach you. But you have to promise me something.”

“What?” Jean asked eagerly.

“You must give me your first born child.”

Jean gasped. Is that why her Mom sent her here? Or did she have an older sibling that she didn’t know about?

“I was just playing with you.” Clark laughed, remembering Lucille making the same face. All his students did. Apparently being a skeleton made people believe you when you said things like that. “The promise is something else.”

Jean sighed with relief. “Mama always does that.”

“She learned more from me than just dancing.” Clark said. “And you will too.”

“What’s the promise?”

“After I have finished teaching you, you must find me a new student.” Clark said. “When you do, give them your necklace and give them the same instructions that your Mama gave you.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“What happens if I can’t find someone for you to teach?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Clark shrugged. “I cannot punish you for not keeping your promise. Nor would I want to.”

“You’re a really nice person, Clark.” Jean smiled. “I promise. I’ll find someone.”

“Lucille said the same thing. As did her Father.” Clark said. “Seems as though I can trust your family.”

“Yep! We’re all really nice like you are.” Jean nodded confidently. Humility isn’t something you learn until later in life. “Grandpa died. But does Mama visit you?”

Clark’s shoulders sagged. “No she does not.”

“Aw why?” Jean frowned. “Aren’t you friends anymore?”

“Of course we are. My students will always be my treasured friends.” Clark’s metaphorical heart swelled with pride. His students were all such lovely people. “But after they turn twenty years old, they may no longer visit my cemetery.”

“Why?” Jean’s frown deepened. She was beginning to really like Clark. She didn’t want to leave him in eight years.

“That’s how it is, Jean.” Clark sighed. “How it has always been.”

“Whoever made the rules is really mean.”

“That He is.” Clark chuckled. “Enough talk about saying goodbye. We haven’t even had a proper hello and there’s only one way to do that.”

“How?”

“How? Where do you think you are?” Clark held out a hand. “Dancing, of course.”

Jean grinned and took his hand. It was warm and, to her astonishment, gentle. The tombstones all moved to form a large circle around them and the leaves flew away to reveal a polished wood floor. The crows took their places on the trees that were now draped with small, white lanterns. From their open beaks, music filled the air. It wasn’t like anything Jean had ever heard before. It sounded happy and sad all at the same time. It made her want to hug Clark tightly but also run around the cemetery chasing him.

It made her want to dance.

With Clark’s hand on her waist, Jean twirled around and around the dance floor. Clark did not have to say a word of instruction. He would move one way and Jean would know how to complement it with a movement of her own. Their feet seemed to float with how soft their steps were. As they danced, leaves swirled around Jean and replaced her sweater and pants with a maroon ball gown. Her sneakers became white heels and long white gloves covered her hands and arms. Even her hair was braided instead of remaining in a ponytail.

In his dark eye sockets Jean couldn’t see anything. As expected. She could, however, feel a deep kindness and joy. Having her in his arms and dancing with her seemed like the greatest gift he could be given. Years of loneliness had finally been banished by the ever-so-wonderful Jean Louise Nica. Another friend for him to treasure in his arms for eight years, then in his heart for eternity.

“Aaaand....We are done.” Clark dipped Jean as low as possible and then helped her stand normally.

“Awww that’s it?” Jean pouted. Already her beautiful new clothes were fading back into leaves and leaving her with her original, boring outfit. “We just started.”

“Just started?” Clark’s right eye socket stretched up like he was lifting an eyebrow. “We have been dancing for three hours.”

“What?!” Jean spun around to look outside. It still looked like twilight. “No it hasn’t. It looks the same outside!”

“It always looks like that in my realm.” Clark said. “It is time for you to return to your Mama.”

“Can I come again?”

“Are my bones the shiniest in the land?”

“Yep.”

“Then you may return.” Clark nodded exactly one time. A deal had been made. “You may return every day for the next eight years if that is what you wish. And each day we will dance a different dance.”

Jean didn’t want to go. If she left, that meant tomorrow would come. And the day after. And so on until she was twenty years old and could no longer visit Clark. She had only known him for three hours but Jean loved him deeply. Only as a child could. “I’m not going.” She pouted and latched onto him. It should have been bumpy and uncomfortable but instead it felt like hugging her Dad.

“Jean,” Clark hugged her, patting her head softly. “You must. Your parents will want you to return, right?”

“No.”

“Jean.”

“Okay.” Jean sniffled.

Her tear filled eyes nearly made Clark cry. Instead, his shoulders slumped. “See you tomorrow.”

“You promise you’ll be here?”

“Of course.” Clark patted her head again.

“Okay.” Jean wiped her face. “Bye, Clark.”

“Bye, lovely.”

Jean hugged him one more time before walking as slowly as she could out of the cemetery. Clark watched her until she stepped through the gate. Then with a bittersweet sigh, he faded into the leaves. Tomorrow couldn’t possibly come quickly enough.

If you are under twenty years old and you find a gold necklace with an emerald studded coffin for a pendant, you are in luck. Walk three blocks east, three blocks north, then three blocks west. Step through the iron gate and say hello to the crows. The Bone King will arrive and you will be taught how to dance. And in the process you will make a dear friend.

Go on. Clark is waiting for you.

-Lux

#halloween #skeleton #spookybutnotreally #shortstory #boneking

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id-rather-be-an-outsider · 3 years

Text

Sacrificial Lamb

summary: Oasis O’Flann’s killer origin story.

word count: 6242

a/n: Oasis was originally supposed to be an AU version of myself, but the more I wrote and developed the character, the more I realized she was becoming something distinct and had completely parted from the “version of me that has varying details.” When I finally divorced her from the AU idea, she really took on a life of her own, and I am proud of the stories taking place around her. Enjoy! Feat. Detective Daddy David Tapp 🥰

masterlist

Jesus strung up on the cross. Shoulders out of his sockets, blood dripping from his crown of thorns. One man taunting him. Save us! If you’re so powerful, do it! Another man telling the first one off. We are thieves, he is an innocent man. Symbolism. Sacrifice. Solemnity. A lot of shit. I slam the book cover shut. I don’t read my Bible very often, and I read it even less whenever my mom calls, nagging on me, because it’s what ‘good Christians’ do. Yea, all those good Christians. Who rape kids. Convince sick people to get off their meds because they “Just need to have more faith,” and six months later the people wind up dead, from some fatal disease or suicide. Tell poor people that “God will provide,” so they’ll give their last penny while that pastor goes around whipping million-dollar cars. Love those “Good Christians.”

No matter, I may not be a Christian, but I still have faith in the impact my work will have. I tell myself this as I finally drag myself off the sofa. No falling back asleep.

Shower, dress, hair gels, brows, mascara, highlighter, gloss, Jordans. Folders and textbooks and my planner in my backpack. Two pencils, two pens, and two highlighters. Always have at least two in case one gets lost, broken, or dries up unexpectedly. Laptop in backpack. Pepper spray to protect from the crackheads, AirPods to avoid conversations with strangers, jacket, keys. Lock the door and start my 30-minute walk to school with “Jesus is the One (I Got Depression)” blasting in my ears.

It’s the first day of Spring Quarter, and I’m aiming for my Masters’. I have to be early, 15 minutes to be exact. Five minutes to find the classroom, five minutes to get situated, and five minutes to get started before the Professor is there. Take notes on the syllabus. Take notes on the handouts. Put due dates in my planner for everything. Get any textbooks I couldn’t nab ahead of time. Do the homework. Do any homework I have available so I can get ahead. Write down the Professor’s contact information. Introduce myself with a smile, eye contact (or look at their nose if the eye contact is too much) and a firm handshake. Withstand the extremely anxiety-inducing ice breakers. Rinse and repeat for the other three classes.

Except for one class – when the instructor introduces himself. He looks like white Jesus, not the middle eastern Jewish guy that actually was on the cross, according to a centuries-old stack of paper. Still, there’s an uncanny resemblance, and it’s oddly unsettling. He talks calm and quiet, possibly for effect, possibly because there’s only ten students. Nobody else seems bothered by the echoes of his voice reverberating down their spines, so I pretend not to be.

“Miss O’Flann,” he says, “You are getting your Masters in sociology, correct?” The entire class looks at me, waiting for the obvious answer. I snap to as I realize I hadn’t been focused on what he’d been doing, more so on the environment around me. I look at his hands and see him shuffling papers, eyes ever-so-patiently urging me to speak.

“Yes,” I say, my throat dry.

“Fantastic. Here’s your list of studies to choose from.” He smiles gently, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. I wonder if anyone else notices that tiny detail as I take the paper from him. I glance over my options as he moves on to the next student and spot one that looks interesting – Juvenile Jardin. The description reads, “Rural farmland where high school students are sent for a fresh start after being released from juvenile detention.” It would be a perfect case study for me – I can picture it already, so I start sketching up an outline for my paper. I can’t settle on a title, so I’ll wait until I get there. Maybe I’ll be inspired.

When I arrive at the farm it’s raining, but a group of students are outside waiting with supervisors. I look out at the field and see a scarecrow, bucket hat drooping down from being soaked. Poor guy, he looks so very lonely out there. Granted, he’s an inanimate object – or rather, a collection of them. I step out of the Lyft, thank my driver, and greet everyone. The students readily take my bags, and two of the students attach themselves to me. They look like nerds, but I mean that in the best way because I am also a nerd, and proud of it. We start up a nice banter, and I’m genuinely excited. Off in the distance, however, I see a group of students looking at us and snickering. I recognize their posture. The not-so-friendly neighborhood ‘cool kids,’ aka the people who peak in high school and spend the rest of their lives trying to maintain that popularity.

“Who’re those people?” I ask one of the students, whose name is Khalil.

He responds, “Oh, I jokingly call them the Pharisees. They always try and act like they’re the bosses here because they’ve been here the longest, but the truth is their parents won’t let them come home. A lot of returning students aren’t even bad anymore, we just come back because we like it here, like myself. They’re a little intimidating but they’re just edgy teens, really. Tommy is their leader, then the other guy with the deformed ear is Jerricho. The girls are Luciana and Eileen. Twins, if you can’t tell. You should just stay away from them, though.”

“Ah, I see,” I say, “Thanks for the exposition there, bud.” His face momentarily looks downcast, so I try to save it. “I’m glad you told me, and I’m glad you elaborated. I appreciate having another person besides myself who sees the value of a thorough explanation.” The expression fades quickly, so I hope against hope it made sense to him. Poor goober. I am also a goober, but I’ve trained myself to be a little more cynical since I was his age. Nothing that a little childhood trauma couldn’t help me with. So, I get it.

As the weeks go by, I find myself not feeling quite as at home as I thought I would. Maybe it’s the city slicker in me or maybe it’s the memories of my mom using her Child Labor Origin Story™ to smite me when I picked doing homework over doing household chores, but I feel a tad of anxiety. That’s a lie, more than a tad. So much more. I just keep researching and observing. I don’t really start trusting my gut until I notice that kids are going missing. That they had been, for a while. I didn’t even realize it until I hit the testimonial stage of my research and realized I hadn’t seen Khalil. I mention it to the supervisors, but they write it off as students falling back into their old ways. They say it’s not uncommon for some of the students to run away, but their flippancy strikes me as unprofessional. Where’s the follow-up? The parental notifications, contacting authorities?

After a couple times of mentioning it with no adequate response, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I contact DSHS and make them aware of the situation. When they look up the establishment in their directory and find that Juvenile Jardin’s license expired, I start panicking. They tell me they’re opening an investigation. They also link me to a detective by the name of David Tapp, telling me that their number was too well-known to not be recognized, and I was lucky I hadn’t been caught already. I don’t ask what they mean by that. Tapp’s private number would look normal, like I was calling a friend or a beau. I start calling him regularly, telling him everything I know in hushed tones.

We build a repertoire over our weeks of contact. He’s only a few years older than me, and the false cover of him being my boyfriend usually doesn’t feel real. Usually. But sometimes it does, like when he sends me good morning and goodnight texts as a security measure in case anyone’s hacking my phone to throw them off the trail (and to make sure I’m still alive), and when we talk to each other about our day for a half hour before we get the clear that no one’s tapped the line.

One day, I glimpse Tommy wiping blood off his pocketknife, and maybe it’s the fact that the farm doesn’t participate in animal agriculture that frightens me, but I hide myself when I see his head twitch. That night, I tell Tapp about it. “David, I- I know him and his gang are linked to it. I’ve been having this strange gut feeling for a while, but if that doesn’t confirm it then I don’t have a fucking bachelor’s degree. More than linked to it, they’re carrying it out. And blood? There’s no way they’re just kidnapping them.”

“Yea, it’s not looking too hot. But we can’t get a warrant yet. The courts over here are being assholes and won’t grant one because it doesn’t look ‘bad enough’ to them. All I know is I want you out of there. But leaving in a rush is sure to get you followed and more than just you killed at this point. I’m just being honest. The best thing you can do is what you’ve been doing.” He sighs, the telltale sign of him feeling stumped.

“David.”

“Yea?”

“I’ve been having these dreams. Really weird, overly Jesus-y dreams. That doesn’t make sense, but you’ve picked my brain enough to get what I mean.”

“They won’t happen. You’ll be with me soon. I promise.” His voice sounds earnest, so I trust it.

A couple days later, I use an outhouse and smell a stench worse than explosive diarrhea reacting to the summer heat of climate change. After I’m done, I do something that nobody except preschoolers do – and throw up my lunch. Khalil’s head is bobbing up and down in the bottom of it, partially decayed, but I recognize it all the same. I freak out. No, no, no, I can’t stay here, I need to run, NOW. I slam the toilet lid shut, grab my phone and dial David’s number. I sprint back to the guest house and am greeted with his voicemail message. Fuck! I’m on the porch when I hear my name being called.

Suddenly I’m face to face with the tallest of the troublemakers - Tommy. “Oh, uh, hello, how can I help you?” I ask. His face remains stoic until it cracks into a tiny smile. I step back and push the door slightly closed, and he takes one step forward. I notice a deep scarlet of blood in his pocket and make out a sharp bulge. His pocket knife. Upon realization, I rush to slam the door closed but he kicks it open, now smiling deliriously, a crazy cackle to match it. I make to run towards the kitchen, but he catches my arm and yanks me back before I get far, covering my mouth to stifle the scream that attempts to escape my lips.

“You really thought you could show up here and leave in one piece? I know you’ve noticed the dwindling numbers. I tapped the landline; I know you’ve been making reports to the police. You’re not going to cause a mess and get away without paying the price.” He pushes me up against the wall and crushes his body against mine. I feel the knife against my stomach, then something else. “It’s your time to pay up,” he whispers.

I don’t want to say what happens next.

What feels like eternities later, I feel my limp, lifeless body being reclothed – in something much rougher than the fuzzy pajamas once serving as a weak line of defense against outside forces seeking a way in. I feel something sharp and prickly jammed into the wrists, collar. It scratches everything and I can feel the skin being peeled back. I’m pulled into a sitting position as barn boots are shoved onto my feet, my face covered in something else rough. It sounds stupid of me to say, but they kindly let my curls be free. They smash a hat onto my head, and I realize they’ve cut eyeholes in whatever mask they gave to me. How thoughtful of them. For the two seconds my arms are free, I take advantage of my limited sight and reach towards Tommy but can barely touch his belt loops before someone punches me in the face. As my head reels back from the impact, I clench my fist around the pocketknife and hide it in the pockets of what I now recognize to be overalls. I just barely make out one of them asking why I’m still fighting and smile to myself, glad they can no longer see my emotions, or the blood pouring out of my nose. Everything is hazy. I’m pushed over again and can’t break my fall, so my face is smashed into the mud. If not for the mask, I would’ve had a mouthful of dirt. I can’t see what they’re doing anymore, but I can feel my wrists and ankles being pulled tight by something. I’m not sure why. Until-

“AHHHH!!!!!!” I scream, as I’m hoisted up off the ground. Both of my shoulders are dislocated. I choke on my spit and try to calm my breathing, tears streaming. I can feel my lungs being squeezed by the unnatural position.

I hear a cacophony of laughter from the peanut gallery.

“She sounds so pathetic!” One of the girls squeals.

“Maybe we should make her scream some more,” a boy suggests.

Tommy quiets them. “No, she’ll die quicker. I think this suits her fine, considering the crucifix hanging over the mantle of the guest house.”

There’s a chorus of agreement among them and their voices grow distant.

So they’ve crucified me. How lovely is that. How pointless were my efforts to get that pocketknife, now safely nestled into a pocket I will never be able to reach? Useless. I should’ve saved myself the bloody nose. Pondering over it now doesn’t make a difference, I suppose. I’m still hanging on a cross. Like Jesus. I almost wish they’d stabbed me in the side. A quicker death would mean fewer hot tears. Ironically, it would’ve made me more like Jesus. I wonder if a poor sinner like me could ever get closer to God than I am right now. As I think of all this, my body sags and I sink into a deep sleep under the silver light of the moon, turning the plants in the field beautiful hues of blue, purple and white.

I wake to a sharp sting on my eyelid. “Ow!” I cry quietly, “Leave me alone, please…” I feel the rising sun’s warm rays heating up my clothes. Soon I’ll be sweating buckets. Suddenly, I realize I’m probably going to die of dehydration rather than the crucifixion. Looks like I’ll have a quicker death after all. I feel the sting again. “Ow! Stop it!” I croak, then notice the sharp talons digging into where my shoulder is supposed to be. No wonder I didn’t notice it before – I was already in so much pain in that area anyway. A crow? I try and shake my body, feel a flap of wings and hear a caw. Yup, definitely a crow. Kind of a stupid one. “Hey, buddy, my eyes aren’t – eugh!” I groan as it takes another peck. And another. And another. And another. You get where I’m going with this.

In probably no time at all, but what feels like an agonizing forever to me, my eyes are now nothing but pits of blood. How can I see it? I can’t. But I can feel the steady drip-drip-drip of the blood vessels spewing out that sticky red substance all down my face. The blood would’ve been mixed with tears, but… turns out you can’t cry without eyeballs. One positive is at least the blood’s almost dried. Another positive is between losing so much blood from Tommy’s activities and losing two fucking eyes and being short of breath because my lungs are restricted from being up on the cross, I feel lightheaded, and the pain is mostly numbed. If the crow was cawing while it continued to peck, I wouldn’t know, because all I’ve been doing is screaming and sobbing and cursing, begging the bird to stop, until all I could do was whimper. That’s around the time everything numbed up. Stupid fucking bird. Stupid fucking kids. Their leaving eyeholes made it worse.

I hear a distant caw and brace myself for more torture, but the crow sitting on my shoulder lifts off – and I hear squabbling in the air above me. After some time, one goes away, and a crow touches down on the opposite shoulder. The pain flairs up again but I can’t even use my voice anymore. I prepare myself for the next round, and I’m surprised when I feel the crow rub its’ neck against me. Different crow, then. I imagine the feathers to be soft, but I can’t tell – I can’t feel them through the fabric, so I’m just feeling the rough spun material tear at my skin. The sentiment is appreciated all the same. I would’ve cried if I could, but… tear ducts… but that doesn’t stop me from sobbing out a thank-you. I feel the crow’s beak pulling at the material, and I wish it knew that it couldn’t pull it off me. Then I hear a slight rip, and I can feel the warmth of sunshine pouring in onto my lips. The crow takes off and I feel the sting in my shoulder again. Part of me is relieved the pain is gone, but part of me wishes the crow would’ve stayed. It’s the kindest soul I’ve encountered since Tommy pushed his way into the guest house. I don’t feel disappointed for long, though – I hear the flap of wings and brace myself for the crow’s return. I feel cold drops of liquid on my shoulder, then feel the crow nudging my parched lips. I open them just slightly, and feel water pouring into my mouth. I gulp it down instantly, thanking God for this blessed bird. I try not to think about how dirty the water must be. Water’s water, at this point. How ironic that I’m thanking God when I hardly even believe in him.

The crow goes back and forth for the next while, giving me as much water as I’ll drink. Then, it flies down to the ground, and starts pulling and pecking at the ropes. If I get out of this place alive, I’m taking that crow home as a pet. Honey would love her. Him? They. I’m gonna name the crow Sunshine. Amidst my fantasizing, the ropes drop and I scream again – scaring the crow, but it comes back. I didn’t realize my feet were supporting so much of my weight, and whatever amount of pain I felt at first pales in comparison to the current pain in my shoulders from being jerked even further out of their sockets. The crow – no, Sunshine, pecks and pulls at the rope tied around one of my wrists, and this time I brace myself for the jerk, and bite down on my tongue to stifle my scream as all my weight is now supported by a flimsy wrist bending in not-quite the right way. I taste copper. Didn’t realize I bit down so hard. After what feels like forever, Sunshine finally gets the last rope undone and my body slams down to the ground, and I don’t even try to break my fall. When I land, I hear – and feel – a loud pop in my shoulder combined with a split-second of pain, then relief paired with soreness. I must’ve landed so hard it popped my shoulder back into place. I’m grateful to have one arm, at least. I’m so tired from the pain that I just lay there and let the warm sun lull me back to sleep, Sunshine laying on my chest.

When I come to, I no longer feel the sun beating down on me. I hear Sunshine crooning, pleased that I am awake. “Good evening, Sunshine,” I say, “What a pleasure your company is.” The sweet crow nudges my good arm, and I let them direct my hand where they want. I feel petals, something leafy. Based on the size, I assume they’re sunflowers. Yes, I remember seeing a field of them nearby when I first travelled here. Their stems would perfectly fill the gaping holes where my eyes used to be, and their size would probably cover up most of the blood that stained through the mask. I can’t do anything with only one usable arm, though.

“Sunshine,” I announce, “I remember seeing a wooden picnic table near here when they first strung me up. Can you lead me to the picnic table?” They caw, and I can hear their feet clicking on the tiny pebbles mixed in the dirt as they hop up and down. I clamber to my feet and slowly follow her caws, good arm outstretched, occasionally tripping but regaining my footing, until my hip bumps into the table. I climb on the attached bench, then on the table. A fall fixed my first shoulder. Maybe it’ll work a second time if I jump. Worse comes to worst, it’ll just hurt more, but my bloodstream is probably infected with something terrible by now anyways, so it’s not like I’ll be living long to feel that extra pain. I take the leap of faith and feel the second painful pop along with the air in my lungs leaving my body, but the most I do is grunt because I’m so winded. I now have two usable arms and a guide. And a pocketknife. “Sunshine, can you bring me those sunflowers again?” Sunshine chirps and flies away, then returns, dropping the flowers in my lap. I cut the stems short, making sure no leaves are left, and slide the flowers in place. I also now have a makeshift pair of eyes. Hopefully anybody who comes across me thinks I’m wearing a cool costume. “Okay, let’s get out of here. I need help and I don’t want to come across… them anymore.” Sunshine flaps her wings and soon I’m following them, slow but steady. As I gain a little more confidence, I get quicker. I hear the crunch of gravel under my feet and get excited – I’m lucky that the bird who saved me is so smart – they’re leading me towards the road. Maybe I can hitchhike, I wonder if anyone will let Sunshine come with us since they seem to be so docile.

I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. I hear shrill laughter coming from my left and whip around to face them. Their footsteps stop. Tommy’s voice rings out: “What the? How did you get down?”

I’m scared. If they could see under my mask right now, they’d know. I’m weak, I’m probably sick, I don’t stand much of a chance. I should run away. But I’m blind. Without my sight, I won’t get anywhere. So much for all those years of cross country running. But I also can tell they’re a little freaked out by me. Probably my appearance, probably my being here instead of being dead. Maybe I can play to that and scare them off. With that in mind, I channel my inner horror enthusiast and transform into the new me. I tilt my head. “What do you mean? Nothing can hold me forever. I have lots of friends…” I lift my arm and Sunshine flies down to perch on it. “See?” I take a step toward them. I hear them all take a step back. I laugh.

“Hey, you stay back!” One of the girls says. I take another step forward. “I mean it!”

Tommy says, “Uh, guys, I’m missing my knife.” He sounds a little panicked.

I giggle, producing the knife from my overall pocket. “Oh, you mean this?” Another step.

A boy says, “There’s weapons in the barn! Run!” They take off, and I follow in their footsteps, Sunshine close behind. I almost trip up a couple times, but I keep my feet under me. Inevitably, they beat me to the barn, and slam the door shut. My knife and Sunshine’s beak beat on the door, and I hear them lock it from the inside. I take the chain hanging on the outside handles and lock it so they only have the high window to exit through. I know they don’t know about it.

“Sunshine?” I order. “Help me get in and kill them.” Sunshine caws in response and leads me to the ladder under the high window. I climb up it and drop down onto the overhead ledge. I hear their frightened whispers, and scream in my scariest voice, “Time to muck out the stables! They’re filled with huge pieces of shit!” I hear them screaming and blindly scrambling for the axes, shovels and pitchforks, one person tugging on the barn door to try and open it. I creep along on the upper level, hoping they won’t hear the creaks my weight’s making on the floorboards. I launch myself at the one by the barn door, landing on them with a thud, sinking the pocketknife into their neck on our way to the ground. I cover their mouth with my hand so they make no noise.

The other teens stop. One of the girls says, “Jerricho? Are you okay?”

I run in her direction, and hear the other girl shout, “Hey! Tommy, stop pushing!” Before she starts shrieking. I hear Sunshine’s caws and know they’re helping me. I jump on top of the first girl, stabby-stab-stabbing until her screams stop. I can’t hear anything. Sunshine must have gouged out the other girl’s eyes. I know she had a fear of crows, so she probably panicked and froze. We love easy targets around here. That is, easier targets than ourselves-

Tommy’s fist collides with my jaw and I’m sent spiraling backwards, knife slipping from my hand as I cover my face. I can feel that one of the sunflowers fell out from my mask. I hit the ground, hard, and think to myself that if I get out of this alive I’m gonna have a nasty bruise on my tailbone. I don’t know where he is, but I scoot back as far as I can, glad the terror can’t be seen on my face beneath the mask. My back hits a wall, and I hear Tommy gasp. “W-wha-? Y-your eyes!”

I’m sure I’m going to die, but I again take the thin lead I have and run with it. Fear seems to be pretty powerful against meddling teens. “Oh, yes, they’re gone now, nothing but pits of rotting flesh. I think the sunflowers made them rather pretty, didn’t they? Though I suppose you probably liked my eyes better when they were fluttering closed while you sucked the life out of me, now didn’t you?” He launches himself at me, punching me yet again. And again. And again. I try to make my screams of pain sound like screams of laughter, but I don’t know if it’s working. It probably isn’t. Then-

“Ah!!!” Tommy screams and runs away, followed by a flap of wings. “My eyes!” His screams fade in my mind and I gather myself. I feel around for the knife frantically, so frantically that when I find it, I fumble with it, and quicker than I realize, the knife’s sent through the palm of my hand. I scream into my elbow and quickly rip it out, feeling just a hint of relief, but not much. I get to my feet quick as I can and follow Tommy’s stomping and shouting to a corner. He’s whimpering, mewling like a dying cat. Pathetic. He only lost an eye. Or two. I don’t know, I can’t see to confirm anything myself unless if I feel it. Either way, he’s going to lose what he hasn’t already. “What… are you?” He asks, the terror clear in his tone of voice.

“I’m what you made me into, Tommy. I’m Sunflower… The Scarecrow.” I smile through my mask, and though I don’t think he can see it, I’m sure he can feel it in his gut. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m on top of him, wildly stabbing and screaming, and crying. You ruined my life, you ruined me, you took everything from me, why did you ruin me, why… The absence of tears makes it even more angering.

Eventually I feel Sunshine perch on my shoulder, rubbing their head against mine. I throw the knife away from me, realizing what I’ve done. There’s no going back. There’s no coming back. I’ll be expelled from university, I won’t be able to go to a new one to finish out my masters, my family will never look at me the same, I’ll go to jail – I’ve killed four people. Oh God, what about David??? Terrible, vile people, but people all the same. What is it that people say? That only God can judge? Then humanity must be the jury. And life is the executioner. But today, I singlehandedly became all three – well, with a little help from a feathered friend. Who gave me that right?

My thoughts are interrupted by a boom of thunder. I hear sirens in the distance. So, they come to save me now, after I’ve already become a murderer? I might as well help them out a little.

We pull up in the cruiser, and I can’t help but notice how empty the farm is. Still, it looks eerily beautiful. I look out to the field, freshly wet by a light downpour, and see a cross burning. No… it must have held a scarecrow. Makes sense that it would have burnt up, seeing as it would’ve been filled with straw. Bad omen, sure, but I’m not here to find omens. I’m here to find four killers and at least one girl alive and well, and I want to add this case to my collection. I may be a rookie, but there hasn’t been one that I haven’t cracked…yet. Still, as I close the cruiser door, I imagine a scarecrow walking off. It sends shivers down my spine. I’ve been watching too many horror movies lately. Sure, they’re corny and inaccurate, but they’re my guilty pleasure. Oasis would never let me hear the end of it if she knew. I hear my name called by a colleague.

“Tapp! You might want to see this.”

When I see what he’s focused on, I take a step back. A girl with dark brown curls is wearing a mask made of burlap topped with a bucket hat, blood drawn in a lopsided smile and sunflowers where her eyes should be, thinly veiling the scabs and gooey blood behind it. On her body, a flannel shirt buttoned wrong under a pair of overalls. There’s tiny bloodspots near the crotch area. I try not to focus on that. Straw is sticking out everywhere, her hands are gloved, but one of them is dripping blood, and she has barn boots on. She’s rocking back and forth, back and forth on top of the barn door, which has been opened, occasionally laughing maniacally, occasionally letting out a strained sob. Lots of mumbling. A crow sits next to her. Even with whatever getup she has, I know it’s Oasis, but I have to be professional and follow protocol.

I clear my throat. “Excuse me, ma’am? Are you alright?”

She looks down, but not quite at me. “No, oh-no, oh-no, where did my eyes go? In the stomach of a crow.” Well, I can at least conclude that’s she’s either crazy, had her eyes eaten by a bird… or both. I’m betting on at least one of those things.

“I understand.” I don’t. “Ma’am, we need to take you into custody. Get you some help, ask you some questions, and then we can take you home. Would you happen to be Oasis O’Flann? Or do you know who I speak of? We came here looking for her and some others.” Maybe we came here looking for her body instead. I should’ve answered the phone instead of sitting in that stupid fucking meeting.

“I am the Oasis that you seek, but I am not her now, so to speak. Oasis was crucified by these four. But I needn’t three days to open my door.” She motions down at the entrance, then goes back to rocking and talking to herself. Definitely crazy. Maybe traumatized.

“Somebody get her down. We need to set a perimeter for this whole farm. Start looking for bodies and suspects. Twenty-six juveniles at the least, four juvenile suspects. Three other adults. I also want you all to look for evidence, take photos, and see if we can’t get an ID on this woman. I’m pretty sure she’s my contact. Everybody stay back while I look in the barn. If anyone breaks protocol or policy they will be fired. I don’t care who you are.” The rest of the team splits up as I walk through the doors, and I immediately smell the stench of blood. Blood that’s starting to attract flies. Then I get to the back of the barn and see why.

Four bodies, all with their eyes gauged out. Two with red pits by their crotches. On the dirt floor, a message has been drawn out with a stick: “They raped me and tortured me, strung me up and left me for dead – but Sunshine wouldn’t let me become their twenty-seventh head.” Suddenly, I hear a faint buzzing coming from one of the male bodies. I almost hurl right then and there – did she put an object inside of him? – then sigh in relief when I realize it’s under his body instead. Rhythmic.

“Hey! Get in here!” I call to the rookie standing outside.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t get her to come down, she just – keeps singing! Something about ‘Jesus is the one,’ I-”

“Listen to this.” I grab the phone out from under the body and see it’s on iTunes. I turn the volume up, and out blast some lyrics– ‘Bitch you better praise God, or I’mma shoot and that’s on God, I ain’t playin’ ‘bout my Lord and savior, I’m on my job, if you ain’t a Christian I’mma stab you in the face, if it ain’t ‘bout Jesus I’mma hit you with this K….’

The beat slows, and I turn it down for a minute. I pass it off to the rookie, tell him to figure out if it’s hers, and walk outside. I need to talk to her. I also need some air. “Oasis!-“ She’s gone? I look around but see her nowhere. She couldn’t have just disappeared out of thin air! Especially as the fog of the night is clearing, later than usual, yes, but it shouldn’t obscure my vision that much. Even the crow left. Probably took off.

Late that night, I’m scouring her Bible for answers. NIV, if that matters. Oasis made so many references to Jesus, I thought there might be something there. Every now and then I come across a passage that’s highlighted and numbered. Talking about the beating down of Christ. How they clothed him in false robes with a crown of thorns solely to mock him as “King of the Jews”. How they stuck nails through his hands, crucifying him, how three days later he rose from the grave, an angel sat atop the stone that was in front of his tomb. Verse by verse, I slowly put together what’s happened to her. I blame myself. I should’ve listened to her about the dreams, I should’ve come there myself. It’s all my fault. No wonder she went insane. Lastly, in a different color, Acts 1:9-11:

“9 After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight.

10 They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. 11 “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.”

At first, I’m confused, then it clicks - I flip back through the other verses. All her other selections were first highlighted in pink, then yellow to create an orange. Oasis was keeping track of when they come to fruition. Crazy, I know, but I’ve seen crazier during my short career. If that’s true, then it would make sense why only the last one is different. Prophecies or no, I can’t close this case without her.

Looks like my next mission is to track down my Oasis – but I suspect the process will be far from the namesake.

featured song - Jesus is the One (I Got Depression) by Zack Fox and Kenny Beats

#outsider writes #dbd #dead by daylight #dbd moodboard #yellow #dbd the scarecrow #dbd david tapp #detective david tapp

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mysticsparklewings · 4 years

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Sparkle By the Sea

Pardon me as I just barely squeeze a MerMay piece of art in. I'll be honest with you guys, I've been pretty lacking in artistic motivation since NaPoWriMo ended. Although if you've noticed my lack of uploads, you probably could've already guessed that. This isn't abnormal for the aftermath of a month-long challenge for me, especially with a brand-new video game calling my name at every moment of the day, but even so I feel like this particular motivation drought was a bit different. Part of it definitely had to do with the changes to DeviantArt that I'm sure I don't need to remind everyone of, but that's been more of me dreading seeing what the state of the community is than anything else. (However, I have noticed I'm not a fan of the new tag system over the old category one, as confusing as the category system could be sometimes.) Rather, I think this lake of motivation has more to do with the fact that being largely absent from all social media during NaPo reminded me...well, that I hate social media. This is really a bigger discussion for a journal or something, but suffice to say it did not feel good to realize just how many literal hours I had previously been spending trying to desperately to scrape up just a little bit of support on other social media platforms (namely Twitter), versus the more natural growth I see here on dA that also feels a lot more genuine and less forced/obligatory. I can't really explain it, but that reminder/realization really helped my brain slip back into a place where I felt like creating again. And with that, I'll transition into talking about the art and save the social media talk for, as I said, a journal or something later on. Naturally, I've been seeing a lot of mermaid art this month and every year I feel the urge to get in on the fun, though I know better than to try actually doing the MerMay Challenge (especially not this year after having just done NaPo), so I usually either do a one-off drawing or if I'm too busy with other projects I just skip it. But I was starting to feel that need to make art in my brain again and I've had a specific set of stickers from the dollar store sitting in my stash for quite a while now that more or less sealed the deal for me. How do these stickers fit into the mix? Well, I originally fell in love with/picked them up because they are mermaid-themed and absolutely adorable--See for yourself! And I thought they would make for nice decals in a book project since they're wall stickers and therefore repositionable with minimal adhesive-yuck. And at first, I thought maybe I'd end up making them into said hypothetical book project in time for MerMay...except that felt a little cheap in combination with my lack of uploads. Did I really want to come back with a book project featuring mermaids I didn't even draw? And for MerMay of all things? So I sat on the idea and left the stickers out where I could see them, and eventually I sat down and took a closer look at them. The art style, upon further inspection, actually didn't look like it would be too far outside my usual art-making realms...Most of the coloring looks a lot like watercolor, except for the skin which I thought was flat and smooth like alcohol marker and the glitter accents which from my perspective pretty much had to be digital, but could potentially be replicated with glittery/metallic supplies... And that was the moment the idea hatched. I decided I'd try drawing a mermaid myself in the same style. This would work for MerMay, have something to do with the stickers, and based on my plans would work well for me as a mixed-media project, which as I'm sure I've said before is where I think my artistic talent shines best. I thought the scariest part was going to be replicating the looser and less strict line style, and to a point it was, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. I find it's usually kind of tricky to explain this, but really what this part of the process boils down to for me (if I'm replicating an existing style and not using my own), is really just studying the original artwork(s) and looking for patterns, then trying to stick to those patterns. For example, the style here features fairly large & rounded faces, and the hands are more like hand-shaped mittens (which was great news by the way because hands are always a pain in the butt for me), so I did my best to emulate those features. As per usual, I did start with a sketch, but I tried to keep it looser than usual, and then when I did the inking I started with my 0.2 Micron, again trying to keep things loose and no be too fussy if I could help it. Then I went back with a brush tip liner from Prismacolor to get more natural variation in the lines and to force myself to not have quite so much control over the line weight. I was also very careful with my choice of liners because I knew pretty much everything except the skin was going to see a lot of watercolors, which meant the lines had to be waterproof. And of course, I went with watercolor paper (my nice 100% cotton stuff this time) to make sure I didn't have any issues with blending or layering. Now, at this stage, I didn't know what I was going to do for the background, though I was leaning towards the idea of making one separately and placing the mermaid on top afterward, as sort of a nod to the original mermaids being stickers. But I wasn't totally sure yet. What I was sure of was how scared I was to just dive into coloring. The sketching and inking and gone so well I was thinking I was in for a rude awakening at any moment. So, just in case, I scanned my uncolored lines as a fall-back if I royally screwed up. With my paranoid mind set at ease (for the most part), I could begin with color application. I started with the skin since it was the easiest; Just one good layer of alcohol marker, leaving a little white space here and there like the artwork I was emulating. Although 1. The marker color turned out a bit darker than I was expecting and later blended too well with her tail, so I had to lighten it in Photoshop, and 2. because watercolor paper really soaks up the ink, I ended up with less white space than I thought I would. But beyond that, this step went off without a hitch. So then came the second-scariest part: The watercolor. I used a mixture of my Master's Touch watercolors and Mermaid Markers (yes, that was a very conscious supply choice ) and tried to take my time and be mindful of the color balance I was looking for. I'd decided ahead of time that I wanted to try and stick with a soft-ish palette like the original art, but I still wanted my choices to be different. Since yellow/gold is featured in the original but not used for a tail color, that's what I went with, and I opted for the blue-y-purple hair since a soft blue and purple are also prominent in the original and based on color-theory would be a nice contrast to the gold-orange tail. Though I did also try to get some pink in both the tail and the hair for a bit of unity and calling back to the pink in the original art. The trickiest part with the coloring was actually the tiny lips and blush spots. I ended up using a fluorescent pink for that turned out as more of a red originally and had to be touched-up via Photoshop because of that and also because of the lightening I did to the skin. It's more that it was a bit of a challenge to get the shapes of these much smaller areas right and in the correct place, since I had to use very minimal pencil markings, lest I end up with nasty graphite marks mixed into the paint. Getting the hair to be dark enough without being extreme compared to the rest of the drawing was also a great test of patience, but it ultimately worked out, I think. I also had a hard time deciding what color the piece of coral in her hair should be, which is why it ended up as this vague dusky-orange color. And I got more pink on the sand dollar next to it than I intended, but neither of those things is a huge deal. While I waited for all that to dry though, I had to decide how I was going to go about tackling all that extreme sparkle the original art had. I could have just added it in digitally and not even attempted it traditionally, but everything else had gone so smoothly that I decided to push my luck this time. Originally, I started with just glittery gel pens, but I found pretty quickly that they were sinking back into the colors underneath them too much and thus just weren't doing what I wanted. I wanted high-impact sparkle. After some brief consideration, I turned to the metallic watercolor sets I have made by Art Philosophy, which are very high-impact metallic and pretty opaque, which would work well over my failed gel pen and would work wonders for the areas where I wanted that high-impact over an opposing color. (I.E. Where I wanted the blue sparkle over a very orange-yellow area, which would normally make brown mud if the color on top wasn't opaque.) The funny part about that is that I originally used a different shade of purple and gold for those areas of sparkle that I ended up completely covering with different shades (the purple needed to be lighter and the gold needed to be darker/more gold and less yellow). And her eye shadow cover saw all three colors before I settled; The purple just seemed wrong, and the gold blended too well with her skin. I thought the blue wouldn't work so close to her blue hair, but it actually ended up looking the best out of the three. Although, I do have to make a full disclosure that the high-impact sparkle you see here is in fact where I went in and re-did it digitally once I scanned the artwork in. Unfortunately, glitter and metallic supplies just don't scan very well and usually end up looking too dark, dull, or flat by comparison. The metallic paints work just fine in person since you can move the art and see how they reflect the light, but it just doesn't work in a still image that's been captured by having a bright light uniformly shined over it. Still, re-tooling the sparkle digitally ended up being an interesting challenge, especially since it's been a fairly long time since I was messing with digital textures like this. Also worth noting is that I had to re-paint some of the metallic areas because they weirdly lifted off onto the plastic cover I used to protect the art when I pressed it onto the background to make the glue stick. I'm not sure if it's because those were the extra-layered areas and they hadn't fully dried all the way down to the paper, or if that particularly plastic just picks up this metallic paint really easily or what. And speaking of that background... Like I said earlier, I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do for a background for a while, but after reviewing my mermaid-centric Pinterest board I decided a simple rock seat and something to vaguely suggest the ocean/water without getting too detailed would suffice just fine. Based on that, I felt like using gouache would work nicely (and I just really felt like using the gouache since I don't find a lot of opportunities to use it) and that a color scheme that flipped her hair and tail colors would be best for the effect I wanted. I've found I really like the Strathmore 400 series mixed media paper for gouache because of how smooth it is, so I cut a piece down to size and got busy. For the most part, I just kind of went in with the colors doing whatever felt right, and trying to use some gouache I'd already mixed from past projects (since gouache can be reactivated and I've found this kind, in particular, seems to reactivate really nicely) either on their own or to mix the colors I felt like I needed. And I also tried to do a lot of blending straight on the paper to get more variations in color and make things a bit more lively. Oddly enough, this ended up being a good example of gouache's covering power because I accidentally started applying the colors upside down--using more greens and blues on top and more pinky-purple on the bottom--and not only had to flip the paper around but also had to do a fair amount of covering the colors I'd already put down with colors you don't really want to mix with them because they don't make very pretty results. But it worked out just fine, so yay! I also added some clouds for a little extra ambiance, which I think looks quite nice. Believe it or not, the most difficult thing about the background was the rocks. I spent far longer than I care to admit (or bothered to document, for that matter) trying and in many ways failing to mix the proper shades of gray I wanted, and the end result didn't turn out quite as clean and graphic as I had hoped, but by the time I put the mermaid on top, you really can't tell because you can only see a fraction of what's actually there. And I mean, the end result isn't terrible, it's just not quite what I was picturing in my mind's eye is all. Personally, I know it's kind of an odd choice, but I really like how there's no defining line between the water and the sky, and yet you still get a clear idea that they're separate and the rocks aren't just floating in space. I'm not sure how, but I think I'd like to work with this kind of ambiguity more often. It's like a step between abstract and more structured art. Anyway. With the background done, the next step was to attach the mermaid, which I felt like doing in a more 3D and less flat manner, so I chopped up a cardboard box that previously held a chocolate bunny I had on hand and glued some pieces together to boost the mermaid up a bit. This where those deep shadows between her and the background are coming from. Here I feel the need to insert a comment about how difficult it was to get my tacky glue to dispense the glue for me, though there's a chance this is because I need to poke the opening in the tip to be a bit wider. (You have to poke it open yourself and I always felt like I never did get it open quite enough...unless you like strenuous hand exercises...) Of course, once all the above was done then I had to scan the art in, which I was admittedly a bit nervous about after the incident with the plastic cover peeling off the metallic paint (though fortunately, the scanner glass didn't have the same effect), and then all that was left wad the digital retouches. Overall, I'm really happy with how this turned out. It doesn't blend in as well as I originally wanted it to with the original art, but in the end, that doesn't really bother me. It's just a nice piece of art on its own that is also unique from what I normally do...except it's still got a lot of similar elements to how I normally make art. It feels a lot like the days when all I made was fanart. The key difference here is that I know myself better as an artist now and thus can use that knowledge to my advantage. I can't promise this a return to regular posting for me, though I do hope it's a gateway to me posting more frequently at least, but I can say I do intend on getting back to working on art more often and therefore being more present online again. At the very least, I can happily tell you guys that I have a couple of new art supplies en route to me that I've been wanting for a while and am excited to share with you once they arrive. If nothing else, we at least have that to look forward to! ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#mermay

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