#open nonbinary skeleton

[bravenewolympus--hq]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔, 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔. 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆: 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒑𝒆, 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒐, 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒚𝒉𝒚𝒎𝒏𝒊𝒂, 𝒆𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒆, 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐, 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒂, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒂.

suggested faces. can be provided by request.

suggested occupations. content creators / social media influencers of varying niches; tattoo artist; musicians of varying degrees, perhaps through social media, working locally or famous; brand consult; historical tour guide specializing in athens history; digital archivist; music therapist; sound designer; stage crew; theatre performer or instructor; comedy performer or instructor; script consultant; musician for an orchestra; choreographer or dance instructor; dance therapist; physical therapist; sports therapist; relationship coach; choral or orchestra conductor; novelist; blogger; composer.

𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏. 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝝂𝒆.

ʙʀᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʟʏᴍᴘᴜꜱ : ᴀ 21+ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ɢʀᴇᴇᴋ ᴍʏᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢʏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏʀᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ. athens, new york: an island city, all trees and marble, glass and steel and highrises set against an ocean skyline. bustling and loud, crowded, but not without a bizarre sense that it must have sprung up overnight, somehow, when surely it must have always been here, no? on a clear night, you might even be able to see the lights of its more famous cousin, new york city, across the water…if you squint hard enough. it may not get as much attention as the shiny apple across the hudson, but those not so blinded by the lights must certainly have been coming here for years. is there something in the water here, too? no one leaves, not in any meaningful way anyway. feels like it has a special way of pulling you back in, if you try. they, that is anyone who was anyone or paid even an iota of attention to the evening news,, called him the minotaur. the media does love a catchy nom de guerre, doesn’t it? sells newspapers like hotcakes in the morning. ambrosia, whether it’s the latest designer drug trend or the latest pestilence sweeping the streets of athens, just depends on how tightly you clutch your pearls on sundays. must infuriate the police, don’t it? that without fail, by the time they arrive to any crime scene at all, all that’s left is the heap of little cream-coloured business cards, the red lines of a labyrinthine logo more taunting than they are helpful. between an epidemic of pearlescent powder, neatly parceled out in small plastic baggies, a tide of crimson bull graffiti, casinos and bordellos and the nightlife (oh my!), it’s no small wonder they call this an atlantic sin city. it’s a vice eat dog world, ain’t it? and anyone who calls athens home is just living in it. powerless, with no memory of their past lives, what's a god gotta do to survive?

[clownfishie]

color stories - purple/red, green/white

→ @/chuckamug on venmo or cashapp, tips appreciated & doodle comms open (check pinned!)

[red-revival]

Random CaDi: crown princess Anomallow of Verant is transmasculine and nonbinary. They're not out to anyone but their best friend and closest ally Radriar, who is played by one of my players. Anomallow has only ever given one command using their authority as a royal: an order for Radriar to survive at any cost

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Can I request something for yandere merman Kakyoin? :>

My idea is he not actually a merman but a sea witch with octopus body, just like Ursula in My little mermaid. He use his potion to turn into a merman to attract his darling because he know their darling will be afraid of his real form. He want to capture darling to be his mate forever.

Well that's my idea, feel free to be creative with the plot :D thank you so much

Never thought our boy who looks like Ariel was Ursula the whole time... now that I think about it Hierophant Green works perfectly with this. Kakyoin is a mimic octopus which allows him to change his skin and body to look like other things, which combined with magic you really don't stand a chance. This is from Kakyoin's perspective mostly. Reader is gender neutral but more feminine presenting because who doesn't love a pretty enby. I also do masc and andro too but why not mix it up. If you want a particular gender don't be afraid to ask!

Merrow=Nonbinary mermaid

Reel You In

You were perfect...

Bright (e/c) eyes, wide smile on your plush lips, shiny (h/c) hair

A true gem, a real pearl if you will

His treasure

His pretty little merrow

How did he mean you in all your divinity?

Kakyoin was taking stock of his ingredients, after all his magic still required special herbs and items of the deep. His green and white striped tentacles filtered through the vials and drawers. He was low on whale fat and Leviathan scales. Kakyoin sighed it would take him ages to find these rare ingredients. Leviathans aren't usually fond of getting rid of their scales. He'll have to scour the specialty market for these ingredients. The unfortunate thing is it only opens when the ocean is darkest. He gathered his cloak off the large mer skeleton it was hanging off of. He put on his cloak and swam into the darkness.

The market was full of sketchy characters per usual, nobody good came to the Night Market unless they were desperate. It was swarming with thieves, witches, and the usual assortment of outcasts and criminals' merfolk told stories of to make their fry behave. Of course, he was one of them so there was no room to complain. He was browsing the stalls when a heavy force knocked into him. His amethyst eyes filled with annoyance, someone was already trying to rob him, and he just got here. He snatched his satchel back and glared at the offender who apologized?

"I'm so sorry sir, I wasn't watching where I was swimming. Did you lose anything from your bag?" Intriguing. Looking at the figure in front on him he could tell they didn't belong. (h/l) (h/c) styled with a pretty white ribbon (if bald or hijab its tied around your neck). Wide (e/c) orbs full of innocence he'd not seen in a while (your innocent compared to him bro). You were very attractive in his eyes as it's not often to see someone be so decent in his line of work.

"Sir? Sir? Oh no did I hit you too hard?!" The merrow's worried voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Oh, no I'm fine no harm has been done. Mx. ..." You laughed which was a genuine laugh, not one full of malice, just pure joy. Kakyoin wishes he could capture that laugh and put it in a jar. "(Y/N) my name is (Y/N)." Oh, they were so trusting, the naive little thing. "Kakyoin, but you may call me Noriyaki." (Y/N) grinned at this and swished their shiny tail back and forth. "Okay Noriyaki it's so very nice to meet you! Oh no I need to go before the market closes! See you, Nori!" The cheerful merrow swam off leaving Kakyoin paralyzed in awe. Suddenly, finding those materials didn't seem so interesting.

Kakyoin hadn't slept well in a while, thoughts of a special little merrow kept him awake. Your beautiful face invaded his dreams, your laugh haunted his every waking moment, your coquettish smile taunted him so. Oh, you had no idea how much you drove him crazy! He had been neglecting his work to watch you from his seer glass. You were even more irresistible in your day-to-day life.

You were coming back from shopping eagerly talking to yourself about the new tops you bought when you bumped into a cecaelia. You were rather clumsy, weren't you? Now you would apologize profusely and offer this merfolk your aid. What shocked Kakyoin was when you froze at the sight of the person before you and swam away in a panic. How unusual of sweet little you. What could cause such a reaction? He hadn't seen you act so rashly even with the most intimidating fish folk but this ceacaelia made you swim away with fear he has never seen before. Does it mean?

No

NO.

You were afraid of cecaelia.

You were afraid of him.

Kakyoin's fantasy of finding you again and courting you was ruined, all because you were afraid of cecaelia. He was spiraling fast. He smashed bottles and flipped his cauldron over in a fit of rage. He never hated having tentacles in his life but now he wanted to rip them all off. His blue blood leaking from his hands reminding him of his physical imperfection. If only he was born a merman like you... then I idea struck him.

Maybe reaching you wasn't impossible.

Pain, throbbing pain was all Kakyoin felt. His tentacles felt like they were ripped clean off, but it was worth it for the emerald and silver fish tail he had now. Kakyoin was stumbling around like a guppy trying to get used to their fins for the first time. It was taking some practice, but he was getting used to it. Soon he'd be perfect. Perfect for you. Once he's reeled you in, he'd show the real him, but by then

You can't escape

Kakyoin was positively giddy with all the feelings of love he felt for you. All he needed to do was find his beloved but make it seem like a coincidence. After all, you were naive but a bit skittish. All the more reason to keep you safe from dangerous creatures of the ocean and take a delicate approach to get to you. After observing you for so long he knew where you liked to go and when. By now you would be gathering human trinkets at the abandoned ship you frequently explored. He couldn't care less about humans and their dirty little tools, but you loved them so and he loved you. He received a particularly shiny trinket from a recent customer (victim), a shining bejeweled brooch. Something irresistible for a little merrow such as yourself. Kakyoin could practically see the big sparkling eyes you would make at such a priceless treasure.

Kakyoin swam over to a lopsided piece of wood to hide behind and think of how to approach you organically. Muttering to himself plan after plan unaware of the curious merrow eyeing the distressed merman. Kakyoin felt a tentative tap on the shoulder. He flushed as he made eye contact with his darling, who smiled so brightly at him. They were so beautiful when they smiled so sweetly at him. "Did you need help-oh you're that guy from the market um... Norisaki?" You remembered him... sort of. What a wonderful thing!

"Noriyaki, I'm surprised you remembered me." Kakyoin chuckled to himself. You smiled at him before blushing slightly. "It's kind of hard not to since our meeting was so embarrassing." You were the type to allow embarrassing moments to dwell in your head long after they occurred. It was quite cute. "It's quite alright neither of us were truly harmed. Are you usually so hard on yourself?" Your flushed face grew even more red with the last sentence. "Um...I hold my silence?" Kakyoin laughed at your meek response.

"That's quite alright... you know between you and me I happen to come to this sunken ship for human treasures." At the words "human treasures" your eyes lit up like bioluminescent phytoplankton at the thought of finding a kindred spirit. "I didn't know other merfolk liked human things, most of my friends call their things garbage." You looked down sadly as you finished your sentence, tracing the water rotted wooden beam in your hand. Kakyoin placed a hand of yours and stared at you with his mesmerizing purple eyes. "Some people don't understand something's value if it isn't immediately obvious." Kakyoin pulls out the glimmering brooch that shone in the filtered light of the ocean, bringing out the (e/c) of your eyes.

"It's absolutely beautiful." You marveled at the brilliant emeralds and rubies that made up the serpent pendent. In all your trips here, you had never found something so opulent before. Only thing close was a rusty spoon. Kakyoin noticed your eagerness with a tender smile. "You can have it if you want." You looked curiously at the merman seeing if he was being serious. "I'm not going to bite you; you can take it." Kakyoin smiled as the merrow hesitantly took the brooch from his outstretched hand. Yes, everything was going to plan, he imbued that brooch with magic so he could track where you go. Like the serpent in mythology, Kakyoin was not to be trusted.

"Thank you so much Nori!"

"You're welcome, my darling."

His plan was working smoothly as you were practically eating anything he told you straight from his palm. You were so sweet and trusting, it made his heart melt from fervent worship. He adored you more than anyone ever could, that alone should make him worthy of you. However, his fish disguise wore off after 48 hours and he'd be put through hell again to bring back the illusion. It wasn't the slightest bit healthy to keep this act up, but it would be all worth it in the end. When he had you safely in his arms.

His precious little mate

He'd find a way for you to have children, through magic or adoption. That way when you accept him you would be fully bound to each other. Forever. A blue flush covers his faces as he giggles to himself, oh you two would have so many wonderful years together! Just you and him and no one else.

Of course, there were a few road bumps Kakyoin needed to face first.

Your friends were skeptical of his intentions towards you as he looked familiar to a certain sea witch who was known for taking advantage of the poor souls who came to him out of sheer desperation. He couldn't let them continue to poison your mind with their deceitful words (where's the lie tho?). His amethyst eyes glinted with sadistic glee as one by one your friends were placed under his thumb as they came to him for help for problems he caused.

Poor darling, you had no idea why all your friends suddenly disappeared without a trace. The towns people became suspicious of you, thinking you were the reason all these merfolk disappeared. You were ripe with insecurity for Kakyoin to harvest. You fit perfectly in his arms as you sobbed about how life seemed to dole out more that your fair share of problems. "Kakyoin I don't know what I've done to deserve this, do you think my friends hate me?"

Hate you? No one could be capable of hating you, and the wretches who do will be swiftly dealt with. "They aren't worth your tears; good friends wouldn't disappear without telling you. Besides I'm here with you, aren't I?" You gave him that adorable grin that he loved so much. "You're right I have you."

Kakyoin was positively giddy as he swam around his lair, cleaning as best as he could. He convinced you to seek out the guidance of the Emerald Sea Witch, and you took it like the naive, trusting little thing you were. He couldn't wait to show you his real form and seal your souls together via contract. Humming a hypnotic tune to himself and swaying his tentacles sensually, he heard a sweet little frightened voice call out. "Hello, I'm looking for the Emerald Sea Witch."

Kakyoin swam to the darkest corner of his shadowy lair and grinned to himself. His hard work was paying off. Now to reel you in. "You've come to the right place little merrow." He purred sweetly to you. You looked confused as you heard the familiar voice, why did the witch sound like your friend. "My friend told me you might know about the recent disappearances of the merfolk."

He couldn't hold back his chuckle, he had to restrain himself from holding you in his tentacles and peppering you with kisses. You were just too precious. "You'll have to be more specific darling; merfolk are always going missing." You back into the merskeleton where he hangs his cloaks, causing you to squeak with fright. He should have put that away. You were trembling with fear, yet you balled your shaky fists with resolve. Turning to the direction Kakyoin was lounging you spoke shakily. "The merfolk who went missing were my friends, I would like to know if they are alive." The last part made your voice crack with sadness. Seeing you waste your tears on such scum made his cheeks color with rage.

Patience

Kakyoin steadied himself and spoke once more.

"I'll make a deal with you little merrow, I'll find your friends and even let you see them..." Your eyes lit up with glee before turning a bit skeptical. "What do you want in return?" Kakyoin smiled widely in the dark, just a little bit more and you'll be in his tentacles. "I want you to give me rare treasure." The treasure he was referring to was you, but he knew that you would foolishly think the pendant would suffice.

"Deal."

"Excellent, just sign here." Kakyoin snapped his fingers and a golden contract appeared in front of you. If you were smarter, you would notice the fine print entailing that the treasure in question, was your soul bound to his for eternity. You took the quill without hesitation and signed your name on the dotted line.

He did it!

You were his!

"Now where are my friends?" Kakyoin rolled a single vial to you, inside were the trapped souls of your friends crying for you to help them. You gasped in terror and attempted to flee. Two tentacles wrapped around your waist and pulled you towards him. "Not so fast my dear you haven't finished your end of the deal; I want my rare treasure."

You sobbed in terror at the appendages you hated your entire life, octopus were your kind's natural predator. "Take it, just let me go." You grabbed the broach out of your worn satchel and threw it in the witch's direction. "I thought you'd be smarter than that (Y/N)." It clicked as to who was the sea witch. "No." You wanted to curl up into a ball as Kakyoin laughed at the misery in your voice. "Now (Y/N) is that anyway to speak to an old friend."

Kakyoin stepped into the glowing light the cauldron produced making you cry out in fear, anger, and betrayal. "You're not my friend, you lied to me!" You pulled further a the grasp of the tentacles attempting to escape the red head, but he pulled you closer and nuzzled his face into your neck. "I know that I have been a bit dishonest with my method of courting you, but I promise to be more honest in the future." "People will come looking for me and you'll be sorry then!" Kakyoin looked you in your frightened (e/c) eyes and frowned. He then plucked the white ribbon from your hair and sent a magical current towards the town.

"No one will look for you if they think your dead my treasure." Kakyoin cooed gently. "Now then lets finish this courting process, I want us to officially become mates." This statement caused more sobbing from your end as a silver collar appeared around your neck.

"Why?" Was all you could muster. Kakyoin swayed hypnotically with you in his arms. "How couldn't I when you reeled me in."

Sorry if the ending sucked I just wanted to make room for new requests and start working more on my reincarnated sins posts and a cult village story with my own yandere ocs. I hope you enjoyed

[monkeymanproductions]

Waiting For October - Casting Call!

Hello, voice actor types! Just a reminder that our casting call for Waiting For October is still open through June 8th! Audition for any of our monsters below where you feel you would fit - and please note that we work specifically to provide opportunities to marginalized voices!

CHARLENE (Lake Monster, middle-aged female voice, she/her pronouns)

ALAN-A-DALE (Skeleton, adult voice - British accent, decent singing voice, gay, he/him pronouns)

HODAG (Large Shaggy Monster, adult voice, nonbinary, he/they pronouns)

BERGEN (Troll, middle-aged or older voice - Scandinavian accent preferred, nonbinary, she/they pronouns)

AUNCLE LANTERN (Scarecrow Golem, ageless voice, agender, xe/xir pronouns)

FREDERICK (Cat, any voice, they/them pronouns)

CAMBERT (Lake Monster, younger male voice, he/him pronouns)

BAT GIRL (Night Monster, teenage trans female voice, ace/aro, she/her pronouns)

KARIM (Werebear, SWANA/MENA actor, trans actor, any voice, any pronouns)

WEREWOLVES (Werewolves, trans actors, young adult voices, any pronouns)

And more!

[vitaeplaysda]

Finally a complete set with all my planned Rooks! It's just a first take, depending on the CC and the game and how I will feel in the next months they will change for sure. Also the clothing is all random. Purple because... it's Rook. Time to go back to Elgar'dad, commissions and other artworks. I will talk about them under the cut!

◆ Nadir "Lil'Rook" Lavellan

Elf ◆ Transmasc nonbinary ◆ he/they Antivan Crows ◆ Orb/Knife Mage (Spellblade)

My little baby, my firstborn, the first Rook I designed. Used to work as a lil kid in Skyhold's kitchen, until he met the demon Enfenim in that abandoned library hidden there, befriending him (it's another OCs of mines, check my pinned!)

Long story short he gets adopted by my Lavellan after his magic manifested, in the kitchens. Near boiling oil. The left side of his face and shoulder is covered in burn scars. Still he grows up to be a great but VERY unlucky mage, to the point he considers himself bad news and slowly starts to embrace this side of him in a selfdeprecating way. After yet another incident, he leaves her mother and their community, deciding he wants to make just one single good thing for her: finding Solas. Hiding his identity he ends up joining the crows, finding out he's quite good as an assassin. Relationship wise I brutally ship him with Elgar'nan, but more specifically he's in a weird... double triangle romboid (?) relationship with also Sulenan and Bellara??? (aka Sulenan also has a relationship with all of them but Bellara and Elgar'nan don't deal with each other.... unless the game will state otherwise >:D) He's hella young, in his early twenties, but usually fakes his age and tries to pass as someone older. He's also the shortest elf you'll ever meet.

◆ Saara(?) "Rook"

Qunari ◆ female ◆ she/her Veil Jumpers ◆ Bow Rogue (Arcane Archer)

She's meant to be the real Rook, you know, the one who Varric recruits. Qunari who was taken in by a (very open minded) Dalish clan. I'm still unsure if she was born in the Qun or not, in any case she embraced the elven culture as her own. She can be considered diplomatic and understanding, a good bean. The idea behind her is linked to the Qunari having metallic like skin... I wanted to make a golden one since they're usually grey in games. I'm not sure about the name Saara just because I remembered now Sera has a very similar sound. We shall see if I'm going to change it.

◆ Sulenan

Elf ◆ Male ◆ he/him Shadow dragons ◆ Two handed Warrior (Slayer)

I idealized him as a... mortal form Elgar'nan would use to mingle and learn the hell has happened while he was gone but he became a whole unique character. A Liberati of dalish origin, he's one of the angriest characters I have, hating humans for what they've done to his people and their rotten society, hating the chantry for its comforting lies, hating the elvhen gods because... well apparently they're evil now. In the end he's just very lost and heartbroken, desiring only for things to get better. Alas he's also practical and knows you gotta make your hands dirty if you wanna achieve anything. Headcanon wants Elgar'nan can control him through Vallaslin, I also fantasized about Sulenan sharing the same blood of his god. He feels comforted by Bellara's presence tho, his "Official" relationship it's going to be with her. For the headcanon chaotic one check LilRook above 👀

◆ Anarca

Qunari ◆ Agender nonbinary ◆ they/them in game but any pronoun works Mourn Watch ◆ Staff Mage (Deathcaller)

It's just... chaotic. Take the Dnd core rules and turn them into a person. They're unpredictable, at times taking a kind choice, while another time they will act in scary ways. It isn't like they don't like rules and push against them, for Anarca rules simply aren't part of their world. Beside their peculiar behavior, Anarca loves to experiment but mostly they want to have *fun*. You want to see the skeletons dance? You'll have that. Look wise people are always scared as they're extremely tall, most of their face half covered by hair with just their horns poking out.

◆ Veronica

Elf-blooded Human ◆ Female ◆ she/her Grey Wardens ◆ Shield Warrior (Champion)

Melancholic gal whom had to join the wardens in order to survive not so different from the Hero of Ferelden and also the token human (?) of this group. While she has a rooted sense of duty which made her a good warden, she still misses and fantasizes about the kind of life she would have gone through if she stayed among nobles, instead she had and still has to fight monsters and to come into terms with her Calling being closer than not. The idea was to have her romance Emmrich, letting her coming to term with the concept of death through him.

◆ Raibeart

Dwarf ◆ Male ◆ he/they Lords of Fortune ◆ Daggers Rogue (Sabouter)

The cheerful and funny guy of the group but also the most clueless one. Honestly he doesn't know why he joined the Veilguard... he probably doesn't even know he's part of the Veilguard. Still, he isn't one to ask complex questions to himself or others, somehow he's able to work with whatever is at hand, navigating through every situation, hopefully bringing a smile on people's face in the meanwhile. He's goofy but still charismatic and enthusiastic, a disney princess in the body of a burly pirate drawf.

[defectivevillain]

forgone faith

pairing: Monsignor/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

summary: It’s too late to go back now. You might as well continue pushing forward. “Some part of you, however small, lays its eyes on me and finds belonging and understanding.” The chess game has been neglected since you first accused the Monsignor of being threatened by you, and you can’t attribute that to mere coincidence. “Your desires are much like mine,” you elaborate, your heart hammering in your chest. “I see the way you look at other men, the way you look at me. You don’t practice what you preach… and you are no saint,” You finish.

You're a patient at Briarcliff Manor, and your simple chess matches with the Monsignor quickly escalate into something more.

notes: The reader was born a woman, but is under the trans/nonbinary umbrella. Their identity isn’t explicitly stated, so feel free to imagine however you’d like. (I usually write the reader from my perspective as a transmasc person, if that’s helpful to know.) Otherwise, no pronouns or physical descriptors are used; race is kept ambiguous.

word count: 3.9k | ao3 version

warnings: period-typical transphobia (not the focus of this fic in the slightest), the questioning/scrutiny of religion (mostly just American Catholicism), conversations about gender identity (grounded in the time period and its prejudiced beliefs, unfortunately), canon-typical violence, electroshock therapy, torture, loss of consciousness, canonical Nazi character

“You have the devil in you.”

You look up from the chess game. In a different time, with different people, that kind of remark would have sent your heart racing. You would’ve been terrified at the thought of your identity being thrust into the open so easily, despite your seemingly endless attempts to keep the skeletons in your dusty closet. Now, as you sit in the Briarcliff Manor Sanitarium across from a priest, the remark only makes you huff a laugh. 

You’re not sure how these chess games started, in all honesty. As the director of the Sanitarium, Monsignor Timothy Howard presides over the entire building. You hadn’t spoken to him much, save for one fateful day when you found yourself cleaning the kitchen. The priest had walked in with a slight pull to his lips, before requesting your company in a game of chess. You—desiring something else to do—agreed within moments. From there, one chess game turned into two, which turned into three, which turned into games once or twice a week. 

You’re abruptly thrown back to reality as the priest successfully takes one of your pieces. It takes you a few moments to remember what he just said—You have the devil in you—and several more moments to respond. 

“And how about you?” you remember to ask, moving your chess piece before leveling the Monsignor with an intent look. You’re glad this conversation is occurring behind closed doors. While your first games had occurred in the kitchens, they soon migrated to the priest’s office. “I’ve seen you observing me, watching me.”

The man is entirely silent. His brows are furrowed and he’s staring at the board in concentration, but you know he isn’t thinking about chess. He’s contemplating what you’ve just said and, admittedly, you’re surprised. You had fully expected him to deny the accusation immediately. Sensing that he will remain silent for a while longer, you continue talking. “Do you think I haven’t noticed? The preferential treatment? I haven’t had a beating in weeks, and I definitely deserve it—according to Sister Jude, at least.”

The Monsignor stiffens. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he replies lightly, finally making his move. 

You decide to be straightforward. You don’t have much to lose, after all (no one at Briarcliff does). “Does your god care about people like me?” you hum. You don’t need to elaborate any further for him to understand what you’re alluding to. After all, your identity is the reason you’re locked behind these walls. You were born a woman. You are not one. It should be quite simple, but to everyone else, it is not. 

“God accepts all of His children into heaven,” the Monsignor says in a practiced recitation. You wonder how many people have been fed that lie. From what you’ve seen and experienced, American Catholicism has traditionally repelled queerness in any form.

“Even the broken ones?” you ask, watching as his eyebrows furrow for a fraction of a second. You don’t think yourself to be broken—you’re simply borrowing the words from accusations that have been hurled at you over the years. “The deluded ones?” you raise your eyebrows and look at him expectantly. 

“Even them,” the Monsignor says, suddenly breaking eye contact to look down at his pieces. You don’t think you’re imagining how he dodged your gaze, or the raspy quality his voice adopted.

“Even me,” you supplement. A fleeting smile crosses your face. You clasp your hands. “How I wish that were true.” 

“You do not need to wish for it,” the Monsignor remarks, clasping his hands in a mimicry (unconscious or conscious, you’re not quite sure) of your own posture. “You need only… believe it.” His statement is punctuated by the move he makes with his rook. 

“Even when you don’t?” you ask, moving your bishop in response. 

“I believe you are misguided,” the Monsignor says. Irritation prickles along your skin. You don’t care what a man like him thinks of you. And yet… the accusation still hurts. 

“And I believe that you are threatened by me,” you blurt out, before you can contemplate the consequences of speaking so freely. Perhaps a small part of you is feeling vindictive. 

“Threatened?” he Monsignor laughs in evident amusement. It’s not hard to notice that his laugh sounds strained. He wouldn’t be so vehemently opposed to this turn in conversation unless he had something to hide. And you know all about hiding—you were forced to hide who you were for nearly your entire life, just to survive. It’s frighteningly easy to peel back the layers of the Monsignor’s disguise and dig your fingers into the essence of his being. 

It’s too late to go back now. You might as well continue pushing forward. “Some part of you, however small, lays its eyes on me and finds belonging and understanding.” The chess game has been neglected since you first accused him of being threatened by you, and you can’t attribute that to mere coincidence. 

“Your desires are much like mine,” you elaborate, your heart hammering in your chest. “I see the way you look at other men, the way you look at me. You don’t practice what you preach… and you are no saint,” you finish. 

Suddenly, the Monsignor slams his hands on the table. The chessboard rattles and some of the pieces tip over, terminating your game. You hardly have the time to regret what you’ve done before you’re being yanked up by the collar of your shirt and shoved into the wall. 

There’s a dangerous look in the Monsignor’s eyes. You’ve hit a nerve, it seems. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again,” the priest hisses, his calm mask slipping right off. There’s a hint of a snarl on his lips. His fist is tightened around your collar, turning his knuckles white with exertion. “Or I will ensure that you never see the light of day.”

You remain silent, your objections unspoken. You could never do that to me, because you know, deep down, that what I’m saying rings true, you recite in your mind. The Monsignor’s grip tightens and his fingers claw at your shirt, to the point that you have to stand up taller to avoid losing your breath. 

“Do you understand?” he hisses, his breath hitting your neck. 

“I understand,” you say, if only to placate him. You’ve said all that you wanted to say, and that is more than enough. You can already tell that the priest is ruminating on your conversation, picking it apart within the darkest corners of his mind. That’s the best you can hope for. 

The Monsignor’s grip finally leaves your collar and you cough at the stress placed on your throat. Your vision momentarily blurring, you can’t see the emotions running across his face: rage, irritation, fear, regret. “Leave,” he demands. 

You turn on your heel and leave without hesitation.

In hindsight, you should’ve prioritized self-preservation over trying to prove a point to the Monsignor. Although, in the time immediately following your conversation, you do not see any repercussions. You go to meals, sit in the common room, and return to your cell. Everything is normal, unchanged. 

Then you mouth off to Sister Jude, and you’re roughly dragged into her office. You had gotten too confident, you think to yourself as you’re punished. Sister Jude’s arm winds back again and again. At some point, your vision spirals and you lose consciousness. It’s a small mercy. 

When you wake up, you find yourself in solitary. You sit in the unassuming cell, bruises forming along your skin from Sister Jude’s harsh punishment. When you’re finally released, you make your way back to your cell mechanically. Where you had felt fury and determination before, you only feel empty. You’re starting to slip off the deep end, you think. 

Unsurprisingly, your chess games are no more. You catch glimpses of the Monsignor around the building, but you don’t speak to him. Sometimes, you get a prickling feeling—as if there are eyes on your back. But when you turn around, you don’t find anyone there. 

It’s rather easy to fade behind the walls of the Sanitarium. That is what the building is designed for, essentially. There is no color, no life inside these walls. The medications you’re given certainly don’t help in that regard, either. You soon find yourself trapped in a never-ending cycle of acting out, being punished, getting thrown in solitary, and returning to your cell. Indeed, you’re finding yourself in Sister Jude’s office more often than not these days. And you don’t enjoy the pain—not necessarily. But it does make you feel alive—more alive than you’ve felt in a long time. Regrettably, it doesn’t take the nun very long to catch on.  

“We may have to resort to… other forms of rehabilitation,” Sister Jude murmurs, hovering in front of her assorted canes before turning to you. There’s nothing in her eyes—no glimmer of emotion for you to latch onto. “You’re dismissed.” You can’t summon the courage to question her about just what is happening or why she’s dismissing you, so you leave with trepidation curdling in your chest. Sister Jude is many things, but merciful is not one of them. Your punishment hasn’t come yet. 

You’re reminded of Sister Jude’s merciless nature when you’re tugged off your mattress in the middle of the night by two staff members, carelessly manhandled through the halls until you’re shoved on a cot and tied down with leather restraints. You try to fight back, but you’re outnumbered. You strain against your bonds, but they don’t budge—instead burning into your skin and leaving irritated marks. 

Dr. Arthur Arden strolls in, and any hope you had for escape swiftly dies in your chest. Evidently, your dread and disgust show on your face, because the doctor smiles menacingly. He moves to stand at the side of the bed, and your heart drops to your stomach as you see the machinery and begin to connect the dots. You’re going to undergo electroshock therapy. Your movements grow more frantic as you try to kick out, pull your restraints off, do anything other than lie helplessly on the bed. Something is shoved in your mouth, inhibiting your ability to speak, and a headpiece is forced on your forehead. You stare up at the ceiling, a tear falling down your face as you try to come to terms with what’s about to happen. In all your time at Briarcliff, you’ve never had to undergo this particular treatment. You’ve seen the impact it can have on patients—turning the most headstrong and individualistic people into shivering wrecks. 

You try one last time to rip yourself free, but the restraints don’t budge. Dr. Arden looms over you and you feel your hands shaking in horrid anticipation. Sister Jude is standing on the other side of the bed, looking entirely unaffected by the prospect of causing you irreparable damage. Arden says something to Sister Jude—something you can’t quite make out—and he twists the knob of one of the machines. Immediately you feel as if your body is connected with raw electricity, as pain surges up your limbs, through your skin and into your very core. 

You have a somewhat high pain tolerance. You survived Sister Jude’s cruel punishments. But this? This is too much. You hear someone screaming—loud, raw, broken. It takes you a moment to realize the screams are crawling up your throat and spilling from your own lips. Flickers of life pass before your eyes. 

“Even the broken ones?” a shadowed form asks. 

The Monsignor stares at you, his form blurring and his eyes melting into tears that fall from his empty eye sockets. “Even them.” 

There’s a hand on your forearm, holding you down as you practically levitate with how hard you’re shaking and trembling. The pain is blinding, creating patterns that float before your eyes and run down your skin. Arden’s blurred figure hovers over you, disappearing for a moment before returning to look down at you. The pressure is like nothing you have ever felt before, and there isn’t a part of your body that doesn’t hurt. 

You’re shivering now, your teeth chattering around the mouthpiece. Another tear slips down your face. You’re struck with one awful realization: you’re going to die. You’re going to rot in Briarcliff—your body dumped somewhere to decay and disintegrate. Another desperate scream falls from your lips, but you know it’s far too late to do anything. Sister Jude and Arden show no sign of stopping. Your vision is swirling before you, shadows creeping from the corners of your eyes and oozing down the walls.

Idly, you hear raised voices. You can’t see much of anything, and you can’t make out the conversations that are occurring over the horrible static and high-pitched ringing echoing in your ears. Your eyes are blurring with unshed tears. You blink to clear your vision, only to find a dark shadow on your left. It looks like an angel, its eyes gleaming as it stares down at you. It has some sort of mass behind it—feathered wings, you realize. It regards you with a sad smile, slowly rounding the bed to stand at your side. Your teeth are aching, your head feels as if it’s about to burst, and your chest has never felt so tight. Your heart is racing in your ears, and you feel your fingers clenching against your will. Just as you try to reach out to the figure next to you, there’s a harsh bang and the demon—angel?—disappears. The last thing you see before you’re blissfully brought into unconsciousness is a new blurry silhouette hovering over you, a concerned expression on their face. 

You float in and out of consciousness, inhabiting an eerie middle ground between wakefulness and slumber. Pain is a constant companion, forcing you down into what you can only assume is a mattress. Your skin feels too tight; your eyes feel as if they’re going to pop out of your head; and your temple feels as if someone has been consistently hammering at it. You can’t even move and, amidst your best efforts, your eyes refuse to open. 

There are brief traces of what you can assume to be happening around you. A stinging pain tingles and burrows into your forearm. Sometimes, you can catch hints of voices speaking over you. Occasionally, there is the steady pressure of a hand on your wrist. 

When you finally wake, your mouth is so dry that you nearly choke on your own breath. The nurse standing at your side is quick to hand you a cup of water, which you gulp down eagerly. You cough and make several attempts to clear your throat, only for nothing to come out. The nurse informs you that you’ve been unconscious for several days following the electroshock therapy. You nod, having expected as much. The ward is entirely empty, save for you and the nurse standing across from you. You take a look at the table next to your bed, huffing an amused breath as your eyes catch on the small figurine on the side table. Upon closer examination, it appears to be… the Virgin Mary? The thought fills you with inexplicable amusement. Although, above all, the figurine provokes your curiosity: who brought it here? 

As if sensing your thoughts, the nurse answers your question. “The Monsignor has been visiting rather frequently,” she states. Her tone is clinical, but her expression betrays a little of her confusion. Evidently, she’s wondering why he has made multiple visits. 

On the one hand, you’re not surprised—you’re sure the Monsignor visits any patients in the ward to pray for them. On the other hand, you’re certain that you would’ve lost that privilege after your quarrel weeks ago. The idea that the Monsignor has gone out of his way to visit you multiple times… You don’t know what to make of that.

Your recovery is slow going and dreadfully boring. When you’re finally moved out of the ward, you don’t return to your cell—to your surprise. Instead, you’re given a room on a different floor—one with an actual bed and a window. 

And if you had special privileges before, you’re not even sure what you have now. It’s like you have some sort of… diplomatic immunity. Where the guards were harsh and rough with you before, they now hesitate to even touch you. You don’t have to do any chores, you don’t have to take any pills aside from the ones the nurse gives you to take away the pain. You spend nearly all of your time in your new room.

You’re still slipping away. 

The Monsignor visits as you’re growing restless with boredom. He knocks once, twice on the door. After a few moments, you give him permission to enter. The priest opens the door with tremendous speed, his eyes immediately finding you and latching onto you with feverish intensity. He grabs a chair from the table in the corner of the room and sets it near your bedside, before taking a seat. 

For several moments, there is nothing but silence. The Monsignor seems to be contemplating his next words, as he stares down at his clasped hands with a blank expression. When he finally looks up at you, you’re surprised to see a remorseful expression on his face. “I am sorry,” he murmurs. “I only wish I could have arrived earlier, before the damage was done.” His fingers move along the beads of his rosary in an unconscious gesture.

Realization crashes down on you, as you realize that the Monsignor must’ve been the person looking down at you as you lost consciousness. He must’ve been the cause for the raised voices you were hearing as you underwent the procedure. 

Admittedly, you don’t know what to say. Your eyes are suddenly incredibly dry and you reach up to rub at them, taking a bit longer than normal to complete the action. Monsignor’s eyes track your hands even as you place them in your lap. 

“Let me see,” the priest says. You bring your hands up to show him. Indeed, they’re fidgeting and trembling. You’ve long given up on trying to get them to stop, recognizing the ailment as a side effect to the torture you went through. He brings his hands under yours and clasps them with incredible gentleness. 

The Monsignor’s eyes look glassy and his lips are pressed in a thin line, as if he’s troubled. His hands slip from yours as a frown overtakes his face. “You must excuse me,” he says, averting his gaze and fleeing the room. You blink at him in confusion. It’s not like him to simply… end a conversation like that. You watch his retreating back, taking note of how tight his shoulders are drawn and the way his fists are clenched at his sides. He looks strangely rattled. 

You’re left to contemplate his sudden departure in solitude. As you think back to the look on the Monsignor’s face, you rationalize that his concern was of a professional nature. He doesn’t care about you—he just cares about the implications of a patient being harmed under his leadership. You shake your head. That excuse sounds flimsy, even to you. 

In light of his unexplained exit, you don’t expect to see the Monsignor for several days. When he walks into your room at approximately the same time the next day, you can’t quite conceal your surprise. If he senses your confusion, he ignores it—instead deigning to sit at the table in the corner of the room. 

“Care to join me?” the Monsignor asks, motioning to the chess set he brought with him. You nod and get up from your bed, walking over to take a seat across from him. For a while, there’s nothing but a tense silence. Once it is broken, you find that the conversation is easy and quiet. There is still that lingering tension settling in the air—especially when you consider the accusations you hurled at him—but it doesn’t hamper the mood considerably. 

Your hands continue to shake when you go to make a move, but the Monsignor steadies your hand and ensures you don’t knock over any other pieces. He doesn’t bring up your conversation all that time ago, yet it clings to the air around you like a vice.  Surprisingly, the two of you mostly talk about inane things. You find it strangely refreshing—you can’t remember the last time you were treated like a person in Briarcliff. 

When he leaves for the day after a successful few chess games, you think you may finally be getting better. You lie in bed that night for a bit longer than normal, unable to chase thoughts of the Monsignor away from your waking mind. When you finally do fall asleep, he follows you to your dreams. 

Any trace of hope you had quickly fades as you wake the next morning; you’re immediately greeted with a ringing sound in your ears and a pounding headache. When you get out of bed, you find that the world is spinning beneath you. One moment, you’re standing up; the next, you’re lying on your side on the ground. You’re shivering and shaking with phantom bursts of electricity. Your teeth are chattering and clacking; your hands are trembling uncontrollably. It’s been weeks since the procedure, yet its aftereffects are still persistent. 

Your collision with the ground must be loud, because within moments, the Monsignor is walking into the room. He looks worriedly around the space, his eyes settling on you and his expression falling to something far too close to worry as he sees you on the floor. The priest kneels down at your side and helps you up to a sitting position. You think he’s saying something to you, but it’s too hard to make out amidst the tunneling in your ears and the jackhammering sensation ripping at your temple.

The expression on the Monsignor’s face is so open and honest. Confused and in pain, you can’t help but reach out to him. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and try to breathe. To your surprise, Timothy doesn’t push you away. Instead, he embraces you back—with a reassuringly strong grip, as if he’s afraid to let you go. You lean into his shoulder, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you hug him. Your body is still wracked with tremors. If he notices that his shoulder is growing damp with your tears, he doesn’t comment on it. 

When he finally does speak, it’s with a frightening amount of sincerity. “Tell me what I can do,” the man implores you, briefly leaning back and bringing his hands up to cradle your cheeks. His eyes are gleaming with unapologetic affection—a sentiment you still refuse to believe you’re provoking in him. “Anything. I’ll do it.” 

“Just…” you break off, lost for words. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been treated with such kindness. Briarcliff has molded you into someone who only knows cruelty. Now that you’re being shown compassion, you don’t know what to do with it.  “...Sit with me.” You eventually request. The Monsignor leans closer and holds you tighter. 

In the coming days, Timothy will enlist the help of a doctor with vast experience treating patients with similar side effects from electroshock therapy. In the coming days, Timothy will grow more and more hesitant to leave your side. Your chess games will morph into matches, and you will soon be unable to deny that the Monsignor truly cares for you. 

In the meantime, you’re content to sit on the floor, safely shielded from the world’s harms in his embrace.

endnotes: this was fun to write. and yes, this was born out of my religious trauma. i will not be fielding criticisms, concerns, or questions about that at this time. LOLLL

peep the shachath reference, mwahahhahaha. also, it/its pronouns for shachath, 'cause i said so!!!!

obligatory fic playlist

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

[masked-artist-xp]

MEET THE ARTIST!

I am a minor.

Art requests are currently closed.

Asks are open!

I am open to answer just about anything.

My birthday is oct 23rd.

In a relationship fr fr

I am a maine coon and husky therian

My pronouns are he/they/it/meow/kitty/neos

Refer to me by Ash/Vix/Masked !!!

My persona's name is Fang. (But there is also my creator sona and Corruption who are seprate sonas)

My fursona's name is Ace

I have ADHD, hypermobility, and a few more mental issues ^^

I am a bisexual demiboy(but it's totally chill to call me transmasc or nonbinary)

If you do submit an art rq I may put it off for a bit-a while cuz I tend to be working on a bunch of things at once.

There's gonna be probably a lot of cussing on this blog- so- don't follow if you don't like cussing- QvQ

I am a scemo kid >:P

We don't say slurs on this blog!

You can absolutely tag me in posts with Horror Sans cuz I absolutely love him <3 (/p) cuz Horror is my comfort characterrrr

I'd love music recommendations if you have any!!! (just not country music or slow songs- not my pace lolz)

I do tend to post a few of my outfitzzz(especially if I feel like they're popping off that day)

If you submit an art rq, plz specify who a character is by/where it's from that way so I can draw the proper character, also make sure that I can get a good ref of whatever I'm drawing if it's not my own oc lmao

If you're not welcome on my blog, I will very clearly let you know.

Majority of my necessary information is in my bio!

DNI IF:

You are homophobic/transphobic/racist/a pedophile/a predator/a proshipper/a TERF/a zoophile/anti-furry/anti-therian/abelist

Art request information!(if I open them again)

I WILL DRAW:

-characters, skeletons, suggestive stuff, animals (even if it looks funky), furries, doodles, gore, ships(if they're acceptable), ect.

I WILL NOT DRAW:

-NSFW, overly complex poses or scenes, bare feet(cuz ew no), backgrounds, sanscest or papcest(sorry y'all), anything homophobic/transphobic/sexist/racist, or against religions, or anything that stands with absolutely profane acts(rape, sexual assault, abuse, pedophilia, incest, ect.)

RULES FOR ART REQUESTS!!!

Don't send more than 1 at once, don't ask for a request if requests are closed, don't pester me to do a request, don't send the same request more than once, don't request me to draw anything that is in the "will not draw" section.

Feel free to talk to me! Askz and Dmz are open for a reason! (I promise I'm not that scary)

Join the discord!

[neillesart]

Hello and welcome to my blog! 💀✨🕺 I'm a 30 year old Nonbinary artist that draws a lot of UTMV skeletons, and occasionally other fandoms that I'm enjoying the media of. It's also pretty much exclusively OC, Y/N, and Selfship central here. ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ

I go by either Neilles, Neil, or Misc, all work for me. :3 My pronouns are it/its. Check out my Carrd for links to other sites I can be found on, and if you wanna take a looksee at my art it is tagged as #NeillesArt.

My ask box is open for both UTMV and HSR suggestions! :3

⚠ Important Notes ⚠ - Please be 18+ when interacting or following, minors please DNI. You will be blocked. - I do not consent to my art or writing to be used to train AI or AI data/model sets. - Additionally I do not consent to my art being reposted anywhere at all. - This is a BLM and LGBTQIA+ safe blog. Exclusionists of any sort fuck off.

My main/reblog blog is @miscneilleaneous. That's about it. Ciao! :3

Made you keep reading >:3c

Send me anon doodles if you want.

[lemonlilactea]

Grier Ingellvar

Mourn Watcher

Elf

Mage

Nonbinary they/them

26 or 27 probably

Magical lightning shaped facial scarring from a spell gone wrong, right eye partially blind

Long black curls, ghostly pale (haha Mourn watcher pale), left eye light green/blue and right eye dark black under the visible blindness (spell result)

Found by undead as a baby, raised in Nevarra, joined mourn watch after learning they were a mage. Connected to the undead because of being found. Magic doesn't exactly feel like its part of them, but doesnt feel disconnected, either. More learned than anything. Was a bad magic student, mostly just learned via practice and not books.

Can't swim. Kind of sarcastic, cheerful in a snarky way, but can be threatening when needed. Not scared of dying, but scared of losing people. Would never admit this openly.

Tends to visit Varric after almost every mission for advice or simply to check in.

Good friends with Emmrich, Lace is their best friend, nearly. Saved Treviso.

Loves animals, loves collecting their skeletons just to display (and maybe for chores, shut up). Romanced Lucanis. Davrin died to end Ghilan'nain.

Saved Solas, he and Lavellan went into the Fade. Despite everything he did, they know the Inquisitor believed in redemption. Davrin believed people could be good, so they give Solas that chance.

After the end, they just want to stay locked in their room for weeks, to grieve and process. Lucanis is the one to break the gloom cloud now, bringing food and tea and affection. Rook already had a good rapport with Spite, and that too grows in strength as the host and demon both make a goal to keep Rook safe as long as they'd allow it (they'll allow it forever). Spite says they smell like earth, like wilted flowers and the scent after rain.

They like to hold his hand and trace runes from memory from the Necropolis (No magic in them, Just a pattern) and often will drag him to nap when they're both (all) particularly tired. During the events of Veilguard, Rook is a stable pillar for the team, they have to be. But after the fact, they wake with nightmares more often than Lucanis. Sometimes screams, sometimes just quiet sobs, but nobody alive other than him would see them that vulnerable.

They would live in Treviso sometimes, but Grier finds the villa overwhelming, and Lucanis gets nervous at how many open, risky areas there are. Surprisingly they find themselves in the lighthouse often. They visit the Necropolis at times, dates to the gardens to match the dates to the Treviso cafe. They usually wait for Lucanis to initiate anything physical, aside from the simplest affections like hand holding or a kiss on the cheek. Even so, he tends to want them to take the lead, since they have at least a little more experience, and they tend to be more dominant in sexual scenarios (some exceptions).

They have a nervous habit of chewing the inside of their cheek, and Lucanis often stops them by just brushing a gentle hand over their skin. They sometimes will take his hand and count the bones, anatomy well memorized by both of them. Simple and soft reminders between them, telling each other they are cared for, they are loved, their regrets do not need to hold them anymore.

Rook and Lucanis both still tend to wear a mask of professionals, people who know what they're doing and know they must do it. Around friends, they relax more, but never quite so fully as with simply each other. Rook and Lace often go plant shopping together, leaving Lucanis to either join or go meet Emmrich, or another friend. The team has dispersed some after the world is saved, but they're friends, damn near family. Something both Grier and Lucanis didn't know they needed until they almost lost it.

They tend to be able to manage Spite well, even if Lucanis sometimes struggles. They don't baby the demon but they also don't allow foolishness. Not only can they magically and physically restrain Spite (if he’s puppeting the body at least), they can usually talk him down from whatever tantrum arose.

It takes them a long time to come to terms with Varric’s death, even after leaving the prison. That level of mental scrambling, magic and trauma, that does something to a person. They still see flashes of him, not like before, just brief shadows of his face. For a necromancer, they’re haunted for the first time in their life, in a way they can’t change.

They’ve never feared their own death, but they forgot to fear it for others.

TAROT CARDS FOR GRIER:

The Wheel of Fortune, The Hermit, The High Priestess

[spookyage07]

🪼 welcome 2 my home,, 🪼

My name is SpookyJim, but you can call me Jim!! 💙

they/them . 13 -> 07 oty transage (bodily 18+). part of the @daysieandco daylight savings sys !!

DNI: if im in ur dni :p

BYF: I am pro-endo, proship, pro-radqueer, pro-transid (duh), pro-para, xs-neutral, neu-c, anti cringe culture, anti harassment, pro-mspec monos, pro-kff, and others.

I also am of the belief that headmates are their own beings, and do not need to share any identity with the body. I also believe that minors in system are not physical minors and that all syskids should be asked what they conform to in regards to consent and stuff like that. Aka, syskids can consent if they want to and they should not be pressured to conform to age expectations :3

Please interact: any and all transage beings, syskids, agere littles, cool caregivers (i am not looking for one tho!), therians, clikkies, weird kids /pos !!

🪼 about me !! :3 🪼

My name is Jim, but people call me SpookyJim a lot.

I am 13 in alter age, but 7yo in transage, and our body is 18.

We are collectively dating @twenty-one-flightlessbirds !! It is a poly relationship!

My fave color is blue, and I wear red eyeshadow everyday. I am a very anxious person, and will ask for reassurance a lot. I like skeletons and pacifiers and the sky and jellyfish.

I am nonbinary (AMAB in headspace, if that matters), I use they/them pronouns so please only call me by those. I am androsexual (gay, but I prefer not to refer to myself as that for the implication on my gender), and demisexual. I am a puppycat (dog features and cat behaviors) therian!!

Some of my transids are: transintersex, transrobotic, transdoll, transpuppy, transcat, trisjapanese, transgender, transcringe, permakid, permaregressor, etc!!

Dms and asks are open btw!

Theres one more thing I'd like to say,

OUR BRAINS ARE SICK BUT THATS OKAY!! :3 /ref /lyr

[bravenewolympus--hq]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒆, 𝒈𝒐𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝝂𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆. 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆: 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔, 𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔, 𝒉𝒆𝒅𝒚𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒐𝒔, 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒔, 𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔, 𝒉𝒚𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒆𝒖𝒔, 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒉𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒔.

suggested faces. can be provided by request.

suggested occupations. matchmaker; relationship coach; lifestyle coach; counselor; marriage therapist; sex therapist; pr specialist; hr specialist; fashion designer; fashion or beauty infleuncer; poet or writer; songwriter or composer; political strategist or campaign manager; artist; tattoo artist; cosmetic surgeon; historian; musician; performer; choreographer or dance instructor; novelist; blogger; composer; videographer.

𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏.

ʙʀᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴏʟʏᴍᴘᴜꜱ : ᴀ 21+ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ɢʀᴇᴇᴋ ᴍʏᴛʜᴏʟᴏɢʏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏʀᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ. athens, new york: an island city, all trees and marble, glass and steel and highrises set against an ocean skyline. bustling and loud, crowded, but not without a bizarre sense that it must have sprung up overnight, somehow, when surely it must have always been here, no? on a clear night, you might even be able to see the lights of its more famous cousin, new york city, across the water…if you squint hard enough. it may not get as much attention as the shiny apple across the hudson, but those not so blinded by the lights must certainly have been coming here for years. is there something in the water here, too? no one leaves, not in any meaningful way anyway. feels like it has a special way of pulling you back in, if you try. they, that is anyone who was anyone or paid even an iota of attention to the evening news,, called him the minotaur. the media does love a catchy nom de guerre, doesn’t it? sells newspapers like hotcakes in the morning. ambrosia, whether it’s the latest designer drug trend or the latest pestilence sweeping the streets of athens, just depends on how tightly you clutch your pearls on sundays. must infuriate the police, don’t it? that without fail, by the time they arrive to any crime scene at all, all that’s left is the heap of little cream-coloured business cards, the red lines of a labyrinthine logo more taunting than they are helpful. between an epidemic of pearlescent powder, neatly parceled out in small plastic baggies, a tide of crimson bull graffiti, casinos and bordellos and the nightlife (oh my!), it’s no small wonder they call this an atlantic sin city. it’s a vice eat dog world, ain’t it? and anyone who calls athens home is just living in it. powerless, with no memory of their past lives, what's a god gotta do to survive?

[onlyplatonicirl]

i have so many error hcs because he is the silliest billiest guy to ever exist

this is more so just a hc i have about like every glitched skeledude and that is they function a lot similar to like computers/robots if you get what i mean? like they are very strict about their logic and any deviation can cause them to break down, i.e. crash and reboot

since they can peer into the code they can also use it to their advantage, whip out a command terminal and ask it all the questions youve ever wanted too such as why is my ex wifeboy such an annoying bitch?

error is a glitch he lives outside the code, code is often translated in binary, if he lives outside that he is then nonbinary, although i like to think he throws the idea of gender completely out the window, agender error real and true

he can speak both english, spanish and french, spanish because he felt he needed to watch his novellas in the og language (subs not dubs) to properly understand them, and french because he was paranoid ink was insulting him to his fave whenever he spoke in french in front of him

my guy has no senses, his eyesight, more like eyeshite, taste? nope, bro eats tin cans for breakfast, hearing? also poor, try having a million people screaming in your head day in day out, common sense? certainly not

he does however have a heightened tactile sense, all errors/glitches do, in a meta sense i suppose you could say his hurtbox is slightly too big because he'll flinch and pull away if you get a bit too close to him

on that note, autism, all skeletons originate from sans and that man is autistic

he will burn anything containing he doesnt like so if you wanna get him some nice clothes for his birthday, which he does not at all recall the day it was (he choose 4/04 because it was funny), you better make sure it isnt crush velvet or sherpa

he gets very easily overstumulated because hes spent years in the antivoid which is a blank white void that is always silent and nothing ever changes, i swear to god cq this man is so autistic was this intentional??

needs glasses, refuses to wear them

cant really feel temperature differences, he'll rock his stylish socks and sandals in -10°C (im sorry im british)

a lot of his old memories from his life before he became a glitch are gone, or are incredibly fuzzy, it also doesnt help that he's lived for so long since that there are plenty of more memories he can pull from, so for error a lot of things are new to him, the first time ink showed him a bath bro was flabbergasted, stayed in there for 6 hours didnt even care the water was cold

he had a cat but yknow the anitvoid is uhhh a big open, endlessly infinite void of white nothingness so he kinda lost it, he cried for 7 weeks straight and still does everytime hes reminded

error starts with negative friendship points with everyone, doesnt matter if youve done nothing untoward him, he hates your guts

as much as he hates to admit it, hes picked up a lot of inks traits, and he tries desperately to do the opposite of everything ink does because god no he cant be like him hes annoying and weird and silly and kinda funny and cute?

i like error 😐👍

ALL OF THESE ARE SO REAL AND TRUE AND A LOT OF THESE ALIGN WITH MY OWN HEADCANONS!!!!

BUT THE CAT ONE...... OUGH...... AUGH........... THATS SO SAD................ waAAAAAAAAAA

[science-lings]

okay I’ve been inspired, time to list all my versions of botw/totk/aoc link lets go

Wild (He/They): Nonbinary, LU Wild adjacent, generally who I write whenever I write for LU, kind of his own thing bc I feel as though I tend to stray when it comes to lu characterization to fit my own wants. Has the most trouble with memories and their past, has the least control over his emotions. Things like sorrow and anger hit really hard for them and they have more trouble regulating it. Still silly and GNC though, just not as confident about their gender presentation yet.  

Sage (They/She): Genderfluid, HSFR botw/totk Link, really leaning into the whole death/rebirth/reincarnation thing with this one, accidentally picks up a spooky vibe because they have a skeleton horse and a big comfort cloak and is extremely good at making potions. This whole vibe what I’m leaning into for Another Second Chance, even though in that one the botw Link is still called Wild lol. 

Guardian (He/Him): Too anxious to think about gender rn but is a aroace queen. HSFR AoC Link, half sheikah and it is important to his story. His life is kinda dictated by his dedication to the throne by being descended from a long line of royal knights and sheikah who have vowed to serve the blood of the goddess. Also he’s betrothed to his Zelda and on his way to becoming King/Prince Consort.  

Aryll (She/Her): Cis woman (but with complicated gender feelings as she was discouraged from being feminine for a long time and has trouble feeling valued while enjoying typically feminine things, you know the vibe) My Fem!Wild/ Link AU, is the most likely to commit regicide. Had an easier time recovering memories during botw bc of her large amount of shared moments with Zelda. 

Linkle (She/Her): Trans woman Link au, has a bit of an egg cracking moment when she was getting into gerudo town, don’t have much for this one, it might be where I put all my Link being close to the Gerudo hcs. Like, after sealing the calamity, she and Zelda go to live in Gerudo Town instead of Hateno and they’re real close buddies with Riju and Linkle goes to the nearby great fairy to get her gender magically transed. idk i love the gerudo and think they deserve better. (also her name could be changed i kinda made this one on a whim...) 

Spirit Sage (They/Them): Fem leaning enby, totk role swap au where Link gets sent back with the spirit stone instead of Zelda, they lost their arm but the stone lets them summon a ghost version that they have to learn how to control (a feature also seen with HSFR Sage), trained under Mineru and tries to assasinate Ganondorf a few times. 

Time Sage (They/He): Masc leaning enby, pre-calamity was a trans man but then their gender got pickled for a century and their ideas on gender changed a little. They lose their arm but don’t get a replacement. The secret stone they had with them amplifies their time manipulation abilities (bullet time/ sitting by the fire, that kind of thing) They have to learn to fight just as will with their left side and not wield any sort of shield. The story is closer to the canon version than the Sage of Spirit version of the au. 

Gladiator (He/Him): trans man, ssbu Link, pulled from his quest pretty soon after botw. Older brother/babysitter to Young Link (MM) and Toon Link (WW), Eyes have been opened to the multiverse and he’s kinda just vibing with being kind of immortal and meeting the strangest people. ssb lore is wacky so he’s at least allies with all of the other characters, including ganondorf at in the end. Has the least amount of fashion sense and cooking ability but at least he has little brothers and is buds with Kirby. 

[nonhumanresources]

Late Night Snack

A while back I drew a dragonair who lives inside of a slushie machine. I loved the idea and eventually ended up with Ryuukah, a slime dragonair made entirely out of some kind of sugary candy sludge. Here's their backstory, alongside their friend Bailey!

This one is a personal favorite of mine. I think I did a good job getting down personalities and making them properly serious while still keeping the topic the absolute opposite of that. I had been doing mostly story-related TF at the time and I decided to indulge in some utterly ridiculous and excessively detailed transformation scenes because I am normal about certain topics. So, fair warning that it's dumb, but that's where I thrive, so it also happens to be some of my better writing.

Summary: Two urban explorers find out the hard way why you should not break into an abandoned Sinclair and drink strange glowing liquids.

What to expect: TF and TG (female to nonbinary). Lots of slime, goofy conversations between deeply unserious friends, and a little bit of crime.

Length: 7.9k words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rika leaned against the gas pump, lips parted in a grimace, chewing on a toothpick. Her expression spoke of hard times. The creases in her face were deep canyons across its desert expanse, a simulacrum of the dusty ground she called home, cast in the harsh orange light of sunset. Her blonde hair was streaked with grime and pulled back against the nape of her neck. She spun the handle of the pump around a finger, flicked open the lid of her Chevy’s tank, and jabbed in it. 

The artistic illusion was only somewhat ruined by the pump nozzle dropping straight to the asphalt with a loud crack and the fact that the only thing that came out was dust and several spiders rather than gasoline. Not to mention that ‘sunset’ was just street lamps out by the road. Bailey raised an eyebrow at her, arms folded and foot tapping. 

“Done with playtime?” she asked. 

Rika gestured at the nozzle. “Clearly you weren’t imagining hard enough.” 

“I thought we were here to trespass.” 

“I’m here because my family has fallen on hard times during the Dust Bowl, and with my husband dead, I’m the only one supporting them. I’m filling the tank with the last of my money. I’ll have to pawn my mother’s ring to afford tonight’s dinner.” The orange light of fluorescent bulbs reflected off of Rika’s hand as she held it up, showing off a simple yet elegant diamond ring on one hand (that was really just a small band of polished stone). 

“Funny, I could have sworn that you were a scrappy young woman making her way in the big city for the first time, coated in grime from a hard day’s work on the farm and ready to protest.” Bailey waved her hands about, gesturing at, presumably, all the new-fangled high rises being put up by the day. What a strange time to live in, she seemed to say.

Rika smacked her forehead. “So THAT’S why!” 

“Why what?” 

Rika pushed off of the gas pump, the old plastic labels stuck to it crumbling beneath her touch, faded Sinclair green smearing on her trashy hoodie. “Why the pump fell, obviously. 30s Chevys have the tank inlet in a COMPLETELY different position than 50s models,” she explained, brushing past Bailey. “Hey, I thought we were here to vandalize stuff. What are you doing standing around?” 

There's your sneak peek! Rest of the story under the cut. If you prefer to read it on Google Docs, you can do that right here. As always comments, questions, and thoughts are always welcome! If people want it maybe I'll go add some author's commentary to the doc. Thanks for reading!

“Debating whether a crowbar or a Snickers would shut you up faster,” she replied, aiming an open-handed whack at Rika’s head. She ducked it, barely, and grabbed Bailey’s arm, pulling her towards the skeleton of the 6-Ten convenience store attached to the old gas station. Her friend let herself get pulled along, laughing. 

Gods above, Rika missed this. It had been AGES since they’d found a good dive. It was like no one went out of business these days, which was frankly just unfair. What were all the enterprising urban explorers supposed to do without abandoned places? She was positively wasting away. Fortunately, Bailey’s eagle eyes had saved the day once again, and within a few hours they were scouting out the abandoned Sinclair. It wasn’t really that old—two, three decades at most—but it appeared almost untouched, which was a rare commodity. This was just the thing they needed to get back into gear.

Rika and Bailey walked around to the back of the defunct convenience store, out of the dim orange light and into the darkness. They stepped up to an old employees only door, boarded up and spray painted over with dozens of tags. As one, they each pulled a crowbar out of their backpacks and swung it in front of the other, swapping them over to the other person. It was a ritual they’d come up with as kids and never quite dropped, despite all the other myriad handshakes and secret codes that had since fallen to the wayside. 

They worked in tandem, prying at the rusted nails until they snapped. Rika caught the first board when it popped off the door and set it on the ground carefully. Her clothes were quickly covered with splinters, but that was the reason for the old hoodie and torn jeans. Better to toss it in the garbage somewhere than go home looking like a cactus and have to pick all the splinters out later. She removed a particularly nasty chunk of wood from the crook of her elbow and stood back up, digging her crowbar into the next piece of wood, letting Bailey catch the next one. A few of the planks splintered into bits as soon as it made contact. How have these not disintegrated by now? Rika wondered, stacking the pieces into a neat pile. She laid each one down slowly, making sure to be as quiet as possible. You never knew who would be out and about at this hour. Of course, the sounds of nails tearing out of wood were already quite loud, but there was no need to make even more noise. 

Bailey popped the last plank off into Rika’s waiting arms. She set down her crowbar and tried the door. It was locked, of course, and she bent down to inspect the handle. 

“Think it’s too rusted out for a pick?” she mused, pulling a penlight from her pocket and shining it into the small lock. 

“Only one way to find out,” Rika said, reaching into her backpack once more. This time she pulled out a small plastic case. Inside was a set of lockpicks of various sizes and shapes. She grabbed two with clearly worn handles and snapped it shut, kneeling in front of the door and getting to work. Lockpicking wasn’t too hard, once you knew the theory; a set of pins kept the chamber from rotating, and your job was to get those pins to stick in their proper places. A torsion wrench kept them steady while a pick pushed them up and down, looking for that signature click. Simple in theory, less so in practice. Bailey waited with her back against the wall, keeping her eyes peeled for figures in the dark. 

This was what it was all about. A set of eyes watching the road, another focused on a lock. The constant threat of discovery sending a delicious chill down your spine. Deft hands working their magic. How had they gone so long without this? Rika relished it. They’d used to go urbexing all the time, a few years back. Sewers, tunnels, abandoned lots, construction sites, you name it, they’d searched it. Most weren’t strictly illegal, though cops tended to ignore that detail. Rika had learned to be careful, and despite the year or two without a jaunt in the dark, she hadn’t lost that skill. 

She didn’t really know why they’d stopped. It had been a few months before either one realized just how long it had been without an outing. There were only so many old houses one could break into before the magic wore off somewhat. Maybe that was it—too many trips all at once, and they’d just gotten tired. 

“You know, I think about how we got here sometimes,” she commented, glancing up at Bailey. Her friend raised an eyebrow at her. 

“The road?” she said dryly. 

“Not physically here,” Rika went on. “You know. Here. Doing this.” 

“If you wanted to second guess breaking and entering—”

“Stealing the Queen’s diamonds.” 

Bailey groaned. Rika grinned as her wrench suddenly twisted, the lock choking out specks of rust as it spun. 

“You first, Miss Bond!” she declared, pushing herself up to her feet. 

“I’ll leave a tiara for you to grab,” Bailey said, rolling her eyes. “You’re lucky I put up with your imagination, Lady Spy. Otherwise I’d leave you to the Royal Guard.” She tried to elbow Rika as she pulled the door open, the rusty hinges protesting. 

“I’d just come back for the sequel,” Rika declared, deftly avoiding the blow once more. Bailey shook her head and flicked on a much larger flashlight, slipping into the convenience store. Rika stowed her tools and grabbed her own, following.

The inside of the 6 Ten Quick Stop was, predictably, dilapidated. They’d entered into an employee lounge. Several hard-backed chairs and tables were scattered across the floor haphazardly, a few lockers sitting against one wall alongside a desk. Rika and Bailey quickly sifted through the few drawers built into it, searching for keys in case there were other locked doors, but the desk was cleaned out save for some paper clips and old balls of lint. A thankfully open door opposite to the exit led to a short hallway. There were bathrooms set across from the lounge, with the rest of the building down to the right. After opening a few lockers and finding nothing of note, they moved out into the hallway and into the convenience store itself. 

Shelves of assorted junk food, auto supplies, and random knick-knacks ran through the store’s center, with broken fridges and freezers along one side. The back wall held outdated soda fountains and coffee dispensers. Lights and panels hung from the ceiling like guts dangling from the chest of an enormous beast. Rika and Bailey stepped out of the hallway, avoiding the debris that covered the floor. It was a mix of animal droppings, trash, and glass shards, something seen in most places like this.

“Look at this stuff,” Rika commented, walking down an aisle. “This place really is old. I haven’t seen some of this candy since I was a kid.” Many of the plastic packages were still hanging up on hooks, though many had been knocked down by time and rats. She picked up a packet of Yogos, which had long since melted into a solid lump at the bottom of the bag. 

Bailey snorted from an aisle over. “I think putting this many bubble letters on anything should be a crime.” 

Rika laughed, replacing the Yogos and moving on. Many of the brands she recognized, still robed in their turn of the modern century garb, jarring fonts set against faded neon colors. Most of it was candy and junk food, of course. This place was a sugary time capsule. She gave the shelves of automobile oil a wide berth—the plastic cans had long since developed holes, leaving a noxious stain on the floor. The freezers had suffered a similar fate, calcified stalactites hanging from the bottom of the doors. 

Despite being nearly untouched, there were still signs of life. Some of the glass fronts on the fridges were shattered, especially those that used to hold alcohol. Those bottles were either gone or scattered across the floor. Bailey moved up behind the counter and reported that the cash register was broken and empty, most of the drawers ransacked. It was all typical miscreant behavior; the only abnormal detail was the lack of destruction. It seemed only a few people had set foot in here during the entirety of its abandonment. One or two windows had rings of glass on the tile below them, boards covering the holes left behind. Had no one else bothered to try and get in save those initial few? This wasn’t a busy place; maybe there just weren’t enough people around to care. 

Rika stopped her scan of the store, brows furrowed. She turned her light back on the ground. There, a trail of wrappers brushed to the sides led out of her aisle, towards the back of the small building. It wouldn't have caught her attention, save for one fact: each and every one was blue. 

She followed it, stepping carefully around a puddle of what looked like old cheese dip. Had one of the previous explorers had a fondness for a particular flavor profile? Why bother opening up this much old junk food? It couldn’t have all been edible, unless this was an especially old trail. The wrappers piled up against a counter on the back wall, and she raised her light up, looking for an explanation. There was even more plastic covering the counter, all surrounding an ancient slushie machine. A slushie machine that glowed. 

Rika nearly dropped her light in shock. She strode forwards, plastic crinkling underfoot. The glow was faint enough that their bright flashlights had masked it, and she had to aim her light away to properly see it. How did the thing still have power? Surely nothing in here had worked in years. But… no, the glow wasn’t coming from the usual lights hidden behind the plastic casing, it was coming from inside the tank itself. The slushie machine wasn’t anything special: rollers stained from years of use and subsequent disuse, plastic grimy, the paint flaking away. For some reason, though, it seemed to contain a pool of… something. It looked like some sort of mush, deep blue in color. It oozed out the nozzle, staining the tray beneath it. It was this strange ooze that was glowing, not the machine itself. The light was a soft blue, glimmering like some sort of strange bioluminescence. 

The sludge wasn’t perfectly smooth—it was full of bumps and ripples. Was that the fate of all the candy wrappers she’d seen? It was like someone had melted just about every piece of blue candy in the convenience store together inside the machine and tried to use it as a mixer. The result was a sort of lumpy mass of oozing sugar paste that was an incredibly vibrant blue. It was like an experiment gone wrong. Regardless of its strange, messed up origins, she still didn’t understand the glowing. Plus, it didn’t have a speck of mold on it, something that should have consumed this mess long ago. 

“Hey Bailey, come look at this,” Rika called. Setting her flashlight down on the counter so it could illuminate both the machine and the surrounding area, she fished around in the storage cupboard underneath it, pulling out a package of paper cups. Prying the lid off the slushie machine, she reached in and scooped up a bit of the sludge. Instead of a hard surface, it had a consistency like extra thick syrup, and she easily managed to gather a bit of goop in the cup. 

“What is that?” Bailey asked with disgust as she walked up to Rika. “You cooking up mad science back here?” 

“No clue,” Rika responded. “It was here already. Wanna try some?” She proffered the cup to Bailey. 

“Are you joking?” she spat. “Leave that stuff alone, it’ll probably kill you.” 

Rika grinned. She’d seen the wrappers of just about everything that had gone into the slushie machine—all of it was proudly nontoxic and full of preservatives. All of it that she knew of, at least; it could very well be full of rat poison. It could have even been a poor attempt at sugared moonshine, for all she knew. She somehow doubted it, though. Anyone who bothered to open up that much candy was clearly looking to eat something strange. “Come on,” she prodded. “It’s the Fountain of Youth! You could be young forever, free to break into buildings for the rest of time!” 

“If that’s the Fountain of Youth, I choose growing old.” Bailey crossed her arms. “C’mon, you did your food handlers permit. We both know that stuff has been out for way too long to be safe.”

Rika shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m living forever.”

Then, she tossed the cup back and downed the glowing sludge. 

She knew it was a bad idea. Clearly the stuff was long since bad, if it was somehow giving off light. However, with the emotional high of getting back out into the dust and debris of a new expedition, she was already feeling a little reckless, and so she couldn’t resist her absolute favorite pastime: messing with Bailey. 

The scream Rika got from her made it all worth it. 

The sludge itself was an intense, sugary slap to the face. She coughed, surprised. She’d braced herself for something rancid and rotting, but the sheer force of artificial sugar was nearly as bad. It was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted in a way that wasn’t necessarily pleasant. She coughed, spitting it back into the cup, but it clung to her teeth and tongue. She had to swallow a few clinging strands. 

Bailey was swinging her flashlight, yelling. “I can’t BELIEVE you’d be such an IDIOT! Do you even KNOW—” she ranted, grabbing a plastic water bottle out of her pack and tossing it at Rika viciously. Rika was only half listening. She fumbled the catch and the bottle smacked into her shoulder, bouncing across the ground. She snatched it up and twisted the top off, dumping water into her mouth and swishing it around. The cup had been dropped to the floor, abandoned. She spat water and slime onto the old tile, laughing. That only seemed to make Bailey more furious. 

“I am NOT paying for your stomach pump this time. Got it?” She fumed, accusing finger jabbed in Rika’s direction. 

“Fine, fine, I get it!” Rika relented, raising her hands in defeat. “Hospital bill is on me, if I even need one. Besides, you should have seen the look on your face, dude. That’s worth any bill.” 

Bailey actually growled at her. “Only you, Rika. Only you.” She folded her arms, the simmering rage cooling off somewhat. Throwing something at Rika had probably helped, even if it was ostensibly to assist her. “You’ve got garbage smeared all over your mouth. Wipe that shit off before it eats through your grin, god only knows how bad it is for your teeth.” 

Rika swiped her hoodie sleeve across her mouth, making sure to avoid the splinters in it. Bailey was right; she’d rubbed off a big glob of the stuff, making her sleeve glow blue. Her mouth was tingling slightly—probably the sugar giving her a whole spate of cavities. The sensation made her nose itch. She ran her tongue along her teeth, trying to dislodge any other bits of the weird glop, but something about her tongue felt off. It was like it had never properly felt her teeth before, and she shivered, pressing it against them to try and force the feeling away. 

“Not much else here,” Bailey sighed. “I’m ready to beat it when you are.” 

Rika nodded absently. She opened her mouth to say something, but the itch in her nose stopped her. She sniffed, rubbing it, but the sensation refused to eb. It built up more and more, the mint-like tingling in her mouth making it worse. She scrunched up her face, knowing where the feeling was heading. Indeed, it built to a crescendo in her sinuses, and she hunched forwards with a powerful ACHOO! The sneeze was dizzying in its intensity, feeling almost as if she’d launch her nose straight off her face. No time to cover it with an elbow; both hands flew to catch it, but they slapped against  something round and flat instead of the familiar, irregular curves of her face. It still felt like her nose and mouth, but they were swollen, misshapen. When she tried to pull them back, they seemed suctioned in place on her face, disconnecting with a small sucking noise. They were coated in the blue goop, clearly visible in the light of her flashlight, and strands of it stretched between them and her face.

“If this is another prank, I swear…” Bailey snarled, seeing the sludge in her hands, but the sight of Rika’s face made her peter off. Rika pretended to be an actor, with all her made up stories, but she hardly ever used actual props. Whatever had happened, it was enough to stop Bailey in her tracks, hand unconsciously reaching up to feel at her own face in shock. 

Looking around, Rika tried to find any sort of reflective surface. Her head swung heavily, its very momentum somehow altered with extra weight. Her eyes landed on the dark windows on the opposite side of the store—the  light of the flashlight left them impossible to see through, useful only as mirrors in the dark. Even in their layers of grime, she could tell that something was very, very wrong. 

Rika had a bright blue snout. 

It was quite large, taking up most of her face where her mouth and nose had previously been. The snout was squarish and rounded at the edges, slitted nostrils set on the front. The snout was slightly parted in shock. Its wide and blunt shape was most definitely reptilian. It reminded her of a ball python—a friend kept one as a pet, and she’d held it a few times. She tentatively wiped a finger across it, leaving a small divot where it disturbed the soft surface. She could feel the finger as it passed across the surface, sinking into it. It wasn’t only bright in color—it actually glowed, like the sludge in the slushie machine. 

“Wha…?” she tried to say. Before she could pronounce the ‘t,’ her tongue unfurled from the snout like a ribbon, drooping a few inches below her besnouted chin. It too was enveloped in a cerulean glow, and the end was now forked, like that of a snake. In her distant reflection, she could barely make it out. Bailey stumbled back, away from Rika, falling against one of the shelves of junk food. 

“What the hell is happening to your face?” she yelled. Rika could only shake her head in response; she couldn’t actually figure out how to get her tongue back into her mouth in order to talk. It just… wiggled, instead of doing what she told it. The whole snout felt strange to operate. It was like operating a long pair of tongs. She worked her face, snout twisting, hissing on accident as she managed to pull her tongue back inside and clamp her jaws shut. Her tongue and her snout. It wasn’t some strange thing that had attached itself to her face—her face had taken on an entirely new shape, now. 

That same tingling she’d felt in her mouth began to spread. She could feel her throat and stomach as if they’d been outlined in an x-ray, the strange sensation covering them like she’d swallowed menthol. It burned across her hands where they were slathered in blue slime.

Uh oh. 

Rika doubled over, holding her stomach, eyes watering. She tried to wipe the goop off, but no matter how hard she tried, it just seemed to smear across her clothes and leave them with a blue layer. She hissed again, still flexing her snout, trying to get it to do what she wanted. Bailey hovered nearby, face pale. She was finally able to squeeze out a few words through the snout. 

“Just… go get some paper towels!” Rika gasped, tongue flopping out again unbidden. Bailey nodded and darted towards the hallway and the bathrooms beyond. There probably wouldn’t be anything useful; Rika didn’t really care at the moment. Her stomach felt like a cold bonfire had been lit inside of it, icy flames licking the sides, sending chills through her body. It didn’t necessarily hurt, but it was nonetheless incapacitating. 

Rika lowered herself to the floor, back against the wrapper-covered counter. The icy feeling had her whole body shivering, now, her snout locked into a grimace. Her fingers and toes clenched, both responding sluggishly. She tried to ignore the changes to her face, but the blue lump in the center of her vision made that impossible. 

Some detached part of her mind pondered the situation. It revised her earlier assumption: perhaps eating glowing gunk she scraped out of a defunct machine in an abandoned gas station convenience store hadn’t been worth the prank. 

Something felt off with her shoes. They were sturdy tennis shoes, well worn and comfortable. Rika pushed at the heel of one with the toes of her other foot, trying to slide it off, but she’d tied them tight—important for quietly sneaking about. You wanted shoes that wouldn’t slip from your feet like flip-flops. Unfortunately for her, that made them nigh impossible to shove off when you were wracked with goo-induced shakes. The discomfort quickly became pressure and pain, as if her sneakers were shrinking around her feet, compressing them from all sides. She winced, pressing them against the floor, trying to lessen the squeezing pain in any way she could. It built and built, nearly enough to make her cry out. Either her shoe had suddenly become five sizes too small, or—

Riiiiiiip-POP! A sudden sound brought blissful relief on one side. The top of her left sneaker was torn completely from the sole in an impressively loud display. She expected a regular, if squashed, foot to emerge, clad in her white and red socks. Instead, as the sole ripped free and bent out of the way, four round, blue toes emerged so fast that they ripped straight through her sock, its sorry remains stretched between them to maintain a tenuous grip. The rest of an enormous glowing paw followed after, nearly twice as wide as the shoes that had managed to contain it. The sole had to be almost as large as her whole face, bodying the remains of the shoe as it escaped its confines. It slapped wetly against the floor, pressed onto cool tiles. The toes were larger, sturdier, and her heel was stretched backwards, still hidden in the shredded shoe. It was clearly animalistic, built for movement. As it pressed against the ground, she could feel a thick pad swell up on the ball of her foot against the tiles, squishier than the bulk of the paw. 

All that happened in one shocking instant. Rika yelped, kicking her other leg in shock, and an almost identical shoe-demolition ruined her other sneaker and released a second, equally gigantic paw. She could feel every crack and divot in the floor beneath them as she pushed herself backwards, as if to escape her own feet. Her legs felt strange. With her heel so far from the actual paw itself, they clearly didn’t fit the general structure. 

Definitely not worth it, that ridiculously calm voice in her head said wryly. 

The poor woman wasn’t given time to dwell on her utterly ruined shoes or the paws that had brought about said ruination. Another pain sprang up, this time in her lower spine. It made sitting nearly unbearable. She rolled over, hands detaching from around her stomach so that she could hold herself up on her elbows and knees. Her tailbone ached. She clasped her hands together and pressed her forehead against them, panting, her odd tongue slipping in and out, her snout nose nearly against the floor. A part of her noted that her hands were now rounder and larger—paws. Again. That must have happened while she was distracted by her shoes exploding. 

She feared what this new pain might bring more than she felt the pain itself. If the last source of discomfort had utterly altered the anatomy of everything below the knee, what might happen with this one? Her paws pushed against the floor as her thighs and calves began to ache, similar to the start of a charlie horse. She lifted herself up off her knees, trying to straighten her spine, standing on the toes of her new paws. The angle was awkward with their shape, but she couldn’t bear to lower her rear again and put more pressure on her aching spine. 

From her upside down position, between drips of goop from her snout, Rika could see her legs. Her torn jeans had been loose before; now, they were like tights, stretched against the skin. Instead of that skin, though, blue slime pressed through the threadbare holes on her knees. They were especially tight right at the top, her hips visibly straining against the fabric, outlined in near perfect detail from what she could see. That was made all the worse by a strange pressure centered on her tailbone, where the pain was most acute. Unfortunately, unlike tights, jeans were not meant to stretch like this, and she was feeling that to the utmost degree. Her mind was in a haze, sweat (or was that more goo?) dripping off her forehead from the sheer strain, that icy tingling filling her body, paws digging against the floor as she tried to focus through it all. Through the maze of jeans and paws, eyes squinting nearly shut, she saw incredible, normal, terrified Bailey rush back out of the bathroom, holding a roll of crumbling paper towels. 

She was just in time to watch as Rika’s jeans were torn to shreds. It started at the top, where the seams gave way, wide gooey hips erupting outwards with an enormous tearing. The utter explosion of the seat of her pants triggered a chain reaction that tore each and every thread down the sides of her jeans, her thighs and calves bursting through the denim with their sudden girth, muscles clenched. She was overcome with dizzying relief, legs shaking slightly from a combination of exertion, the slimy material, and their bulked up size. The indents of the seams were visible for a few moments before fading into their gooey surfaces. The ruined fabric was left in piles on the floor, her legs now bare save for clinging threads and torn up shoes. The entire skeletal structure of her legs seemed to have shifted in the sudden explosion of freedom; her knees were a little lower, joints more pronounced, matching the strange position of her ankles. As a whole they looked much more dynamic, all angles rather than straight up and down, and she was standing up on her toes, rather than resting on her heels. Even when not in a position like she was holding, she doubted she’d be able to lower her heels down all the way to the ground.

Rika nearly passed out as her spine seemed to shoot straight out of her back, whipping outwards. Her vision swam, but she was able to watch as a tail nearly as thick as her head slammed to the ground. More importantly, she could feel every inch of it extending from beyond her back, sliding across the floor, entirely new nerve impulses hitting her brain like a truck. The pain had been this incredible mass being kept back by her pants and undergarments. Beyond it, Bailey’s moonlike pale face was now flushed a bright red. 

Oh, Rika thought deliriously. My ass is out, isn’t it. Sorry, Bailey.

She groaned, wanting to collapse but holding the position for fear of actually passing out on the floor. Her brain was short circuiting under a barrage of sensory information that it was entirely unequipped to handle. The sheer weight of the thing attached to her rear end made her tip backwards, butt smacking onto the ground. Watching the floor rotate out from above her perspective to underneath made her sick. 

Rika grabbed the shelf next to her. Her hand… paw… thing squelched as she gripped it. Pushing herself to her feet took enormous effort, operating their strange new shape, her cloudy mind wondering what she was even doing. Why not just lay down? It would feel so nice….

Yet, she stood. Grasping the metal with both hands, Rika stood. Her legs shook. The feeling of her larger thighs pressed against each other was yet another foreign sensation that she’d have to adjust to. Her hair hung around her in wet globs, covered in ooze, though this was somewhat darker than the rest. It was a stonelike gray, making her hair seem more like a mass than individual strands. She twisted, spotting Bailey through the gaps in her mussed up hair, who was edging closer warily, holding the paper towels out in front of her like a ward. Her shoes made sucking sounds with each step through the sludge coating the floor, centered around Rika herself. She tried to show off one of her lopsided smiles, but it looked more like a grimace. 

“Th… thanks.” She panted out the words, her voice odd in her own ears, deeper and more sinuous with the consonants. She couldn’t imagine how she must seem to Bailey. A monster, something insidious replacing her longtime friend. To add a final touch to the unsettling image, Rika’s hoodie drooped, slime appearing through the threads. The hoodie, along with the shirt underneath, literally slipped through her torso, dropping to the puddle of ooze below. Her stone ring plinked off her fingers and against the metal shelving she held. Her chest was flat and white, a contrast to the blue that coated the rest of her body, like the underbelly of a shark. “Uh. Oops.” 

Pushing past the obvious fear, Bailey actually proffered the paper towels. They were nothing, of course; Rika herself was changed from head to toe. A roll of paper towels disintegrating under the weight of their own age would do nothing but make a mess even in regular circumstances. Here, it was almost like a peace offering, a symbol instead of a tool. Rika did her best to stand upright and walk forward to accept the roll, useless though it was. 

She couldn’t even make it a single proper step. The coils of tail caught her paw as she tried to move, and she stumbled, arms flailing wildly. Bailey didn’t have a chance to run as the mass of slime careened into her, sending them both to the floor. Bailey only narrowly avoided cracking her head against the tiles, instead falling on top of a length of Rika’s enormous tail with a loud SPLAT. Rika felt the impact, but it didn’t hurt—there was strange pressure, but everything was so strange already that it wasn’t out of place. She fell directly on top of her friend with another loud slap, getting goo everywhere as the two impacted each other. 

She panted, snout barely an inch above Bailey’s nose. Her forked tongue sprang out and flicked the tip of her nose. Her friend looked more than strained—she was on the verge of manic, and Rika couldn’t blame her one bit. She had a beast atop her, breathing in her face, taking in her scent. Possibly sizing her up as some sort of prey. 

“Help…” Bailey squeaked. 

That was all the push Rika needed to break through her haze. She responded immediately, untangling her arms and pushing herself up. Her hair hung around the two of them, separating them from the outside world. The blonde was now totally smothered by the sooty gray, the distant light of her flashlight making it glow around the edges, where it was somewhat translucent. 

“Hey, I’m still here, see?” she said, voice strained and awkward. “Still Ryuukah.” 

She froze. Bailey, despite the terror, looked confused. “I… sure hope you mean still Rika.” 

“That’s… that’s what I said. Still Ryuukah.” She gritted her snout, working it. “Ryuukah. Ryuukah. No, reee-yoooou-kaa. No! Stupid snout, work with me here!” Even slowly pronouncing it, dragging out each syllable with careful precision, she couldn’t seem to get the sounds right. Every time she started, whatever she was trying to say slipped from her head like water through a sieve, replaced instead with that strange new name. Her tongue stuck out of her muzzle in concentration, sliding across Bailey’s cheek without her noticing. She felt like her brain was repeating like a scratched record. 

She knew it was wrong. That wasn’t her name. Her name was… gods. she breathed out through her nostrils, concentrating. You couldn’t just forget your own name. It was right there, right on the tips of her tongue. She just… had to… grab it….

Ryuukah. 

“Goddamnit!” 

Well, at least that particular word still worked. 

“Lick me again and I’m strangling you!” Bailey’s angry voice brought her back to her senses. Much as she wanted to continue struggling with her mind, there were more pressing things to deal with. Or maybe it just frightened her so much that she was determined to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t a fruitless endeavor.

“Sorry for having a crisis,” she shot back automatically. 

“Have it somewhere that isn’t laying on top of me!” Bailey demanded, her hands pushing at Ryuukah’s shoulders. They sunk almost half an inch into them, but didn’t pass through, and she was lifted upwards and away from Bailey’s face. Ryuukah sat back the rest of the way, and with some focus, she actually managed to pull all the goo with her. She wasn’t sure how she managed it—she was mostly just trying to think of it being off of Bailey, instead of smothering her. She grabbed her friend’s extended hands, pulling her upright as well, scooting backwards so that they were sitting a foot or so apart. 

The pair stayed there for a while, both breathing heavily. Neither one seemed to want to speak. The puddle of blue slime pulled back from Bailey as if repelled, leaving a clean spot on the floor around her. She rubbed her hands together, fear and relief mixing on her face. 

Finally, Bailey spoke. “It’s like… you know that feeling when you’ve rubbed lotion into your skin, and there’s barely any residue, but you can still feel it?” Ryuukah nodded, and she continued, holding up her hands. “It’s like that. Totally dry, but… softer? More oily? I can’t really tell.” 

The comment was unimportant, tangential. The feel of the goo leaving one's skin didn’t matter.  Yet, it felt easier to talk about that than anything else. Ryuukah grinned, the expression strange on her muzzle. “What, I turn into a monster and all I’m good for is lotion?” 

Bailey snorted. “That and making a mess.” 

“Oh, how sorrowful am I!” Ryuukah said with mock despair. “A strange slime creature, locked away in the dark basement, used only to harvest the most rejuvenating of lotions! Forever cursed to do nothing but produce overpriced health goods!” 

Bailey laughed and shoved at a coil of tail sitting near her right foot. “Yeah, right. You’d just seep through the door, Miss Creature.” 

“I don’t even know if I am a Miss anymore,” she remarked, gesturing at her flat chest. “Now I’m just a…” A sudden tickle overcame her nostrils once more. “Ah… aaa-CHOO!” Ryuukah erupted into another sneeze. As it hit, her ears, until then covered by her hair, whooshed outwards. They looked like wings, pure white against the gray hair. The weird wing-things wiggled as she tried to talk again.

“I—” 

Achoo! This one came out throaty, and she coughed and hacked as a massive sapphire as big as her fist emerged out the front of her throat with a sucking pop, resting atop her collarbone. She grabbed it, feeling it squish. Was it made out of gelatin? Regardless, it seemed attached there, unmoving. 

“I was trying to say that I—”

Achoo! Once more, a sneeze wracked her body. Her chest made a gooey whump as it sprung back outwards. It made one solid shape, as if she was wearing a shirt over a large chest, but she most certainly had a chest once more.

“God, nevermind, forget I said anything!” 

Bailey actually burst out laughing. Ryuukah laughed along with her, hands falling back to her lap. The sound was good. Normal. Something they both desperately needed. Even as it faded, leaving only the light burble of slime, the tension faded with it, and Ryuukah knew that it was time to stop skirting the issue.

Bailey sighed. “Idiot.” 

“I know.” 

“The biggest fool I have ever met.” 

“Bailey, I can’t even say my own name.” Ryuukah clenched her hands. That wasn’t quite true; her name had just been fundamentally altered in her own mind, which was both more upsetting and more confusing. “Trust me. I know.” 

Bailey sighed. “Okay, well, you deserve it. You don’t get a free pass just because you turned into a goo monster. You’re clearly some sort of snake, but I don’t really…” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, are you a Dragonair?” 

“Like the pokemon?” Ryuukah said incredulously. “No. No way. I have legs, that thing is a snake. How did you even make that connection?” 

“Explain the bling, then,” Bailey said, grabbing the end of her tail and holding it up, clearly showing off two enormous sapphires that matched the one on her throat. Ryuukah shuddered at the touch, but it wasn’t bad, just odd. The sapphires matched the one at her throat, though they were much larger. 

“Okay, fine! I don’t care about that right now.” She squinted and managed to wriggle her tail out of Bailey’s hands, partially pulling out of their grip and partially oozing through it. That was coming to her more naturally now. “Can we please focus on how I’m getting back to my apartment like this?” 

“You are not getting slime all over my car,” Bailey declared immediately. 

“I can’t walk!” Ryuukah retorted. “It’s like eight miles through the city, I’ll get the cops called on me ten times over by the time I’m halfway there!” 

“Then stick yourself in a Big Gulp or something! You made yourself into a mess, now you clean yourself up!” Bailey folded her arms, looking set.

Ryuukah clicked her tongue testily and looked around the store. She’d need a plus size body bag or something just to fit all her stupid tail and ass into if she wanted a solid container, and then it would be FAR too heavy for Bailey to carry. There wasn’t anything around that would help. Even if there WERE containers big enough for her to sit inside, they’d probably be long since useless for carrying liquids. Liquids. That’s what she was, now. No longer human—she was something else, something fluid. She wasn’t kidding when she said that she didn’t think she was female, even with the chest thing. When she looked inwards, trying to identify herself, what she felt she was, all she got was a taste of artificial blue raspberry flavoring in her mouth. 

Great. Not only had she turned into goop, she’d have to totally reevaluate her gender. And personal body image, she added, once again reminded of the sight of her pants getting demolished. That was a lot to take in about oneself. Bailey had gotten the full sight of it, too. 

Her eyes lighted on the slushie machine, sitting next to where she’d left her glowing flashlight. Something in her gut twinged. A connection, a sense deep inside. 

There.

She could feel what would happen already, and she didn’t like it, but that was her only choice.

__________

“Gods, you’re heavy,” Bailey wheezed. She crab-walked out into the cool night air, through the employees-only door that she’d shoved open with a large plank of wood. The slushie machine was clutched in her arms, power cord dragging along the ground. It was full to the lid with swirling ooze, blue white and gray twisting about inside. 

“Don’t call me fat when I’m basically just soup,” Ryuukah complained. Her voice came from the vibrating mass of goo that swished in the machine’s tank. She’d somehow managed to fit her entire body inside of it, despite the clear impossibility of size. The experience of slowly melting, body merging into itself, losing definition, had been utterly terrifying. She’d started with her paws, and those had easily vanished into the layer of slime still contained in the tank. Her legs had followed quickly, but her hips got stuck on the lid, and she needed to work herself back and forth to shove her ass down in. The huge, bulky tail attached to it didn’t help matters. Bailey had pointedly looked away during that part, but Ryuukah hadn’t missed the red tinge on her cheeks. At least the slime had covered up whatever had used to be between her legs; it was all a single smooth expanse now. The last dregs of hope she’d held, clinging onto her abandoned humanity, had shriveled up and died the moment her head had sunk beneath the surface. She still had some senses, but they were more focused on touch and vibration, and her brain didn’t know how to interpret them. She wasn’t blind—she was in a constant, dizzying confusion, which was far worse. 

“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with being fat,” Bailey grunted. She hooked a finger on the passenger’s side door of her car, yanking it. “Second of all—urf—you’re a fatass like this, so shut up.” 

“Yeah, you would say that, wouldn’t you? I saw you staring!” Ryuukah accused. She managed to reform one of her eyes and an impression of a snout, glaring out at Bailey, whose cheeks were turning pink again. She slammed the lid on the slushie machine and swirled the whole thing, dunking the eye back into the mess of sludge while she buckled it into place. 

“Bring that up ever again and you’re going in the storm drain,” she hissed. “I am NOT letting you think that was hot. I was horrified.” 

“Wasn’t me that thought it was hot!” Ryuukah’s voice called. Bailey’s response was to slam the car door. She cackled, the sound coming out like bubbles popping on a boiling surface of slop. Bailey had never shown any signs of deviance like that before, especially not towards other… okay, not other women, but other feminine beings. This was a fascinating new development, and one Ryuukah fully intended to continue investigating. Her penchant for mischief was far from gone, now; in fact, it almost felt stronger. She was cracking jokes easily, and her mind felt looser, more relaxed, despite the stress of the night. It was like a constant, background sugar rush, but it only seemed to be getting stronger. Maybe the new body was having an effect on her personality. One couldn’t be made out of pure sugar and have one’s gender be blue raspberry and not have one’s personality change, she figured. Maybe she’d have to swap pronouns….

Bailey returned a short time later after one last check through the convenience store, opening up the opposite door. Ryuukah could feel it unlock and swing outwards. She tossed a sopping wet bundle of clothes and two backpacks into the back and climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“I’m not a thief,” she informed the bucket of slime on the chair beside her. “You’re the one stealing that machine.”

“And I’m a giant bird.”

“I am an accessory to crime. This is your idea.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryuukah said, her oozing voice communicating dismissal. “Have fun explaining that one to the cops. ‘My sexy goo friend made me do it, officer! I couldn’t resist their charm!’” 

Their charm, Ryuukah thought. Yeah. Yeah, that feels good.

Bailey groaned, twisting the key in the ignition and smacking the side of the tank to get Ryuukah to be quiet. The car sped off into the night, headlights on low. The night had been chaotic, and Rika had been left behind in the hubbub, leaving as someone new. Perhaps that could be a good thing. Behind, the Sinclair gas station and its attached 6 Ten sat silently. It was lit only by the light of a distant, orange street lamp, mimicking the coming color of dawn. 

Bonus note for anyone who has read this far: Ryuukah's gender is canonically artificial blue raspberry flavoring. Also, if they go through the tap on the slushie machine it shifts them from anthro to a regular Dragonair. Also also they are a very hot dragon and I don't think Bailey stands a chance, the poor girl.

[emeritus-fuckers]

Howdy hey I'm interested in trying the match-up event. I always enjoy reading the things y'all've written.

Apologies in advance if this is a mess. 1. Identity: I am nonbinary, use they/them and she/her pronouns. I'm bisexual and a bit on the demisexual side.

2. Who I like: I'm cool with either the papas or ghouls

3. What I look like: I'm 5'8" and chubby. I'm pretty strong and got some muscle so I'm built perfect for giving big hugs and cuddles (though it'll take a bit of convincing to get me cuddly). At the moment my hair is dyed bright red but it changes colors often. Both my eyes have sectoral heterochromia and are green with a bright blue chunk. I usually wear all black graphic tees, skinny jeans, boots, and fun colored socks that often show because i never find pants that are long enough in my size lol.

4. My personality: I am introverted but enjoy being around others even if it wears me out. I'm good with kids (I'm a human jungle gym at this point) and people tend to tell me their secrets and find it easy to be open/themselves around me. I'd say i'm pretty smart but I will do stupid things just because i'm curious. Folks i'm comfortable around will never hear the end of my current interests and I'm a complete goofball (I've been banned from being funny at the table because i've caused too many people to choke laughing oops). It takes a while to actually get to know me deeply because I keep things close to my chest and dont open up easily. I've got a lot of anxiety and some baggage that I keep hidden but I'm working on I swear. I can get really competitive over trivial things and can turn anything into a game. I sometimes go MIA when im distracted with whatever the hell i'm into at that time but when I reappear there's always something new to share. (I can tell you everything you never wanted to know about pipe organs!)

5. Interests: I've got the adhd so my interests bounce around a lot. I like making things and I mess around with a lot with different crafts. I do a lot of fiber arts stuff and I've also recently been whittling bears (I have a few around somewhere). I love music both listening and playing it. I play 8 instruments (violin, viola, cello, mandolin, ukulele, trumpet, trombone, and french horn) but I'm best with the violin because i've been playing it for around 17 years. I'm also teaching myself accordion and guitar. I play video games sometimes and I especially enjoy getting 100% completion. In general I love learning anything and everything and am a "jack of many trades but master of none"

6.Trivia: My favorite movie is fantasia 2000 and recently I completed my goal of performing every music piece in an orchestra (The Pines of Rome and the Firebird Suite are my favs). I collect knickknacks and random things I find and use them to decorate my spaces and I have a skeleton with a mustache in a wizard costume in the back seat of my car and its name is Todd. I also keep googly eyes in my bag just in case

This post is part of the 1000 followers match up event. Entries for the event are now closed.

Your match is...Swiss

You and Swiss quickly became friends, he's so excited by things and so enthusiastic that you got swept up in it all. He's charming and really sweet to you, so you started to fall for him. One day you were sitting outside, Swiss taking a large drag of his vape before he looks at you and grins. "I love ya, you know that right gorgeous one?" You blush and blurt out that you feel the same way. Swiss responds by biting your shoulder just under the collar of your t-shirt. "There now it's offical" he says so excited he's practically jumping up and down "you're my mate!"

Swiss adores your eyes, he thinks they are the most awesome thing ever, and so beautiful. He tells you this a lot.

Swiss adores how much of a goofball you are, he is too, and you spend a lot of time together both laughing so hard you end up tearing up.

If your anxeity is getting bad he will cuddle and do anythig he can to help. If things get too much and you seem sad he'll hold you. He will cuddle you as long as you need. Then he'll try and take your mind off things, anything to get you to laugh a little and smile. Swiss is chaos personified but one thing is constant for him, he loves you and is devoted to you.

Swiss can keep up with your changing interestests. Infact he loves it! This Ghoul enjoys chaos and jumping around from thing to thing, that keeps him occupied. Whatever you get into he'll throw himself into it completely with you.

He is fascinated by all the things you collect. He loves how varied they are and the skeleton with a moutache is his favourite. He was very excited when you whittled him a bear. You handed it to him and he just looked at it like 'woow this is awesome'. he keeps it in his room, pride of place.

He's more than happy to help you learn guitar, he gets so excited his tail starts swishing around. He passes you his guitar and sits behind you legs either side of you showing you a cord and then letting you practice. He'll kiss your neck or softly bite your shoulder every now and then. He'll rest his chin on your shoulder and watches. He smiles at how fast you are learning, his smile is gorgeous enough to make your heart melt for him, to forget completely what you were playing and you just smile back. Often this leads to you getting so distracted the guitar gets forgotten as he presses his lips to yours.

~

Written by Nyx