#statics box of stuff

[sapphic-cecaelia]

oh damn, mygo finally (finally finally FINALLY) came to the bandori gacha! I had really been hoping to have finished archive diving all the older event stories by now but I'm going so slow, literally only like five events into season 2 lol

[starheirxero]

reminder to give your Eclipses weird voices, tsams or not 💜

[famewolf]

this week at work has been utterly draining. idk what it is with ppl rn but they've been acting so out of hand. sometimes you gotta wonder ...

[dragon-subway]

Heyoo :] Just wanted to ask rq because I'm doing a thing and figured maybe I should ask first; Do you care if I print out some of your Ferry/PAFL related art to put on my corkboard? This is literally just for myself lol I like your stuff

yea sure why not, you’re good, dude

(and I’m very honoured to make it onto your cork board, thank you)

[jensownzoo]

Of all household chores, I hate dusting the most.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: alastor being a bit egotistical

↳ song: si j'étais blanche—joséphine baker

↳ notes: got any ideas for stuff i should do next? reblogs are appreciated

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It wasn’t your fault you’ve always had a messed up sleep schedule

• Even while living, nighttime had never been able to tame you. It was just your luck that the habit carried on into hell. Figures that the world wouldn’t give you a break even in death

• You weren’t exactly an insomniac, per se. It was quite the opposite in fact. Just a simple case of falling victim to spontaneous naps in the most random of places. Yet never at night

• Narcoleptic & nocturnal were the terms that your friends used to use for you. With grins, they’d compared you to an owl; always up at night wandering aimlessly. Sometimes for days on end you’d carry on doing this and that, only to curl into a ball the next day and remain that way

• The habit never was anything more than a nuisance until you’d started living at the hotel. The place was just so big, with so many places for you to lie down before the thought of your bedroom even crossed your mind

• Angel Dust was the first person to find you passed out. He had been strolling into the kitchen, looking for something to consume that wasn’t drugs for once, when he spied you hunched over the counter snoring softly

• In your hand was a wooden spoon covered in a creamy batter of some sort, a bowl beneath it with the same concoction. Almost as if you had been making something before passing out

• Briefly checking his phone, the spider confirmed that it was only two in the afternoon, and approached you with a sly smile

• You were promptly startled awake by a loud shout directly next to your ear

• “I’m sorry—“ Angel laughed wildly as you fumed, not sounding sorry at all. “—but you should have seen your face.” He clutched his stomach as he fell into another laughing fit

• “Hey! Watch it!”

• He ducked with a frown as you sent the spoon flying at his head, just barely missing the porn star’s styled hair

• Everyone quickly made their own discovery about your weird sleeping habits soon after. Each in their own embarrassing ways

• Vaggie witnessed you lying on the stairs looking positively drained one morning, and Charlie even found you face first on the bar counter while Husk wiped away at a cocktail glass

• “Too much to drink?” She asked the cat, lifting up one of your arms between her thumb and forefinger carefully, almost as if you’d wake if she pressed to hard

• Husk laughed to himself at the question, remembering how he had turned to make you a shot before coming back to the sight before him now

• “Not exactly.” He huffed

• Perhaps best example of just how bad your timing was came in the form of an impromptu staff meeting

• Alastor had called everyone— more like demanded them —into the main parlor for an announcement one day. A mere week after the kitchen incident with Angel, in fact

• With a flourish of shadowy magic and a twirl of his hands, the overlord presented some sort of home made commercial on the age old TV the place had, looking very amused with himself as he did so

• You tried to pay attention, you really did. But at one point the actors and stray blood splatters started to look like the back of your eyelids

• By the time it was over, Alastor was tapping his fingers along the top of the picture box rhythmically while everyone looked at him with awkward smiles

• But you? Well—

• “So!” Alastor cheered with a cheesy grin as he spun on his heel. The rest of the members in the room watched him awkwardly, not noticing that your head had hit the back of the couch at a rough angle. “What do you all thi— are they asleep.”

• Static bled into the demons voice at an alarming rate as you let out a half jolt at the shift in mood, falling off the couch with a yelp in your wake

• You took a moment to swipe at your face wildly before blanching at Alastor towering over you nervously

• “Uh, my bad?”

• Alastor’s smile strained itself so thin, you thought it would split his face in half

• “Glad to know I’m keeping you entertained.” He all but laughed happily. But the white knuckled grip on his microphone told you otherwise

• You recall Charlie telling you something about ignorance being one of Alastor’s least favorite things. Especially when it came to his little spectacles

• “Maybe we’ve had enough peer feedback for today—“ Vaggie cut in cautiously

• “I concur.” Came your quick agreement

• You made sure to avoid Alastor for a few days after that

[poipoipoi-2016]

Apropos of nothing

If you are the techiest person in the house (and for many of you, this is not techy at all), today is a good day to build a pihole thanks to Google's new TLDs.

For the record, this straight up stopped Dad from getting computer viruses when coupled with the Ublock browser extension, so I will volunteer my time to get you set up. We will find an evening and do a Zoom call. I am serious.

Prerequisities:

Before you start, this will be way way easier if your router has a magic way to:

Set static IP addresses

Set a custom DNS server

If you can't do this, I'm not saying you're stuck, but there's some non-obvious failure modes and maybe it's time to buy a better router.

Parts:

Raspberry Pi 4B. 2GB if you just want to set and forget, 8GB if you want to do more things on this than just your pihole (Coughs in a MarioKart box) -> https://www.raspberrypi.com/products/raspberry-pi-4-model-b/

Spare USB-C charger if you don't have one already. I'm a fan of https://www.amazon.com/Argon-USB-C-Power-Supply-Switch/dp/B0919CQKQ8/ myself

A microSD card at least UHS class 3 or better. 32 is fine for just a pihole, I have a 512 in some of mine that I use for more stuff. https://www.tomshardware.com/best-picks/raspberry-pi-microsd-cards

Some method of flashing the card if you don't have one (Some come with SD to micro-SD adapters, if not a USB to SD/micro-SD adapter is about $10 off Amazon)

If you really feel like going nuts, go buy yourself an Argon case and then very very carefully never ever install the software for the fan that does nothing. The value is entirely in having a big giant brick that is self-cooling. If you want to play MarioKart, I would consider this a requirement. https://www.amazon.com/Argon-Raspberry-Aluminum-Heatsink-Supports/dp/B07WP8WC3V

Setup:

Do yourself a favor and ignore all the signs telling you to go get Raspbian and instead go grab an ISO of Ubuntu 64-bit using RPi Imager. Because Raspbian cannot be upgraded across version WHY U DO THIS

Download Rpi Imager, plug the microSD card into your computer,

Other General Purpose OS -> Ubuntu -> Ubuntu 22.04 LTS

So now you have an operating system on an SD card.

Assemble the case if you bought one, plug in the SD card, power supply, ethernet cable if you have one or mouse and (mini) HDMI cable if you don't. If you bought that Argon case, you can just plug a keyboard (server OS means no mouse gang; In this house, we use the Command Line) and HDMI cable into the Pi. Turn it on.

Gaining access

The end state of this is that your pi is:

Connected to the internet by cable or wifi

You can SSH to it (Also not scary)

If you plugged in an ethernet cable, once it's done booting (1-2 minutes?), you should be able to ssh to "ubuntu@<the IP of the system>". Look it up in your router. It may make sense to give the static IP NOW to keep it stable.

If you've never used SSH before, I think the standard is Putty on Window or you can just open a terminal in Mac. (And if you know enough Linux to have a Linux computer, why are you reading this?)

If you didn't plug it in, and need to setup the wifi, there's magic incantations to attach it to the wifi and to be quite blunt, I forget what they are.

Your username is ubuntu, your password is ubuntu and then it will ask you to make a new password. If you know the meaning of the phrase "keypair-based access", it may make sense to run `ssh-copy-id` at this point in time.

Router settings (part 1)

Give your new Pi a static IP address, and reboot your pi (as simple as typing in `sudo reboot`).

Open a new SSH session to the pihole on the new address.

Installing pihole

Open up an SSH session and

curl -sSL https://install.pi-hole.net | bash

This is interactive. Answer the questions

When it's done, on your other computer, navigate to <the ip>/admin

Login with the password you just set. Router settings part 2

Give your new Pi a static IP address then point your router at that address

Set the DNS servers to the static IP

Then ensure you're blocking something. Anything.

Then do what you want to do. You'll probably need to whitelist some sites, blacklist some more, but the main thing is going to be "Adding more list of bad sites". Reddit has some lists.

And... enjoy.

/But seriously, there's some stuff to do for maintenance and things. I wasn't joking about the pair setup.

[hysteria-things]

GHOST PT 2 PLS

GHOST (part two)

read part one here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: matt feels heartbroken for you, and using the estes method helps him connect with the afterlife to learn your story.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: ANGST, swearing, crying, mentions death (strangulation), lots of dialogue

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 494

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: wanted this to have a short and sweet/sad ending🥲

it’s been about an hour or two, but matt still can’t fathom what he saw. let alone that he had sex with a ghost.

sam and colby talk to the camera, nick sandwiches between them leaving chris and matt in the back.

chris nudges his brother’s arm. “are you doing alright? you’ve been quiet.”

he puts on his best fake smile. “yeah. this hotel is just scary as fuck.”

chris laughs, nodding his head before yapping on and on about whatever.

matt tunes him out, feeling sad. despite being a literal ghost, he wanted to stay with you forever.

he misses you.

mirrors decorate the walls, the room is dark except for the lights that sam and colby set up on the floor. there’s a spirit box in the middle, and static comes from the speakers.

the five boys stand in the middle, taking turns to say stuff but having no luck. “i think you should only speak, matt.” colby explains. “they seem to really like you.”

clearing his throat, he starts speaking. “who’s in here with us right now?

some statics later, they finally get something. “y/n.”

there’s a twinkle in matt’s eye when he hears that name. “hi, y/n.” he says softly, sitting down to get comfortable next to the device. “do you feel safe with all of us in here?”

“you.”

“you?” sam repeats. “like… she’s safe with you?” he points to matt.

“i guess so.” he nods. “what happened to you at this hotel?”

“strangled.”

there’s some commentary getting thrown around the room with each question, but matt is focused on hearing only your voice.

“can you tell me who did that to you?” he says, keeping his tone content.

“brother.”

he can’t help but feel sorry for you. you were so young and had so much to live for, but now you’re known as one of the ninety ghosts that roam this hotel.

nose sniffling, his eyes start to water. he catches on and wipes the tears away. “are you free in this hotel?”

“no.”

before he can ask another question, another word picks up. “out.”

“whoa.” sam says. “it’s never done that—”

“peace.”

colby snaps his fingers repeatedly. “she’s doing rapid fire right now.”

after the boys become silent, and he continues with a shaky inhale. “you feel stuck in here; is that what you’re saying.”

“yes.”

without being able to catch it this time, a tear trickles down his cheek. “i’m sorry, y/n.”

“are you crying?” nick asks, everybody else staring down at him.

“don’t cry.”

he ignores the others, but he doesn’t ignore you. he chuckles instead, wiping the waterworks.

“i’m fine.”

“take a break, man.” colby says, tapping him on the shoulder to help him off the ground.

with that, they contact different spirits after you. matt has to come to terms that he’ll never be able to see you again. he wants you to find your peace. he hopes you will be free.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms

[mxbo]

Can you make some stamps and user boxes with engie? <:)

o f c o u r s e

TF2 Engie Stamps + Userboxes [REQUEST]

STAMPS

It was fun going on Tenor and seeing how most of the gifs when searching “TF2 Engineer” were um… not suited to be turned into stamps, insert Tick Tock by Joji (I had to make most of the gifs myself in the end from the Meet the Engineer, Meet the Medic and Expiration Date). Also had fun making the last gif ajshgs.

I normally find static/png stamps a bit boring but that one panel of that one tf2 comic deserved its own stamp I'm sorry

USERBOXES

Haha it's funny because I'm the one engi-nearing their limit (JK I LOVE REQUESTS I LOVE FULFILLING THEM I LOVE TF2 A NORMAL AMOUNT I COULD NEVER GET SICK OF MAKING STAMPS AND USERBOXES AND OTHER STUFF)… but it's 4am I should go to sleep lol.

✦ I made these. ✦ F2U. ✦ Credit is not necessary but highly appreciated!! ✦ Same with showing me if you use them, it would make me super happy, but you also don't have to :] ✦ Requests always open!! Blink blink blink, blinkity blink blink blink

EDIT: Fixed a typo on one of the userboxes. Note to myself: Writing stuff at 4 am is NOT a good idea, specially for someone who's native language is not English

[t00thpasteface]

all of your post are making me want to watch M.A.S.H.... and I do really like stuff involving the korean/vietnam war.... do i do it?

it really is great if you already have experience with other art/fiction created during and after the vietnam war. Apocalypse Now comes to mind, but that really undersells how much of a total fluke MASH was for its time. i mean, it started airing while the vietnam war was STILL HAPPENING, and they HAD to keep it about korea just so they could get on the air, AND this was less than five years after the Hays code ended. it was the 70s, but it was also the 70s, you know?

you NEED to go into this show acknowledging that it was produced in a very very particular window of time; as much as we tend to think of pop media as existing in this anachronistic homogeneity wherein which things remain static for decades, that is not the case, and MASH is very very clearly a product of its time, as everything unavoidably is. general consensus is that the show really "grew the beard" around season 4/5 (the last 2 episodes of s4 are some of my favorite episodes of the whole show) but it's never perfect, and you shouldn't expect it to be. and this too has a metanarrative merit to it. we are all capable of evil (or just saying things in poor taste) even when our intentions are good, etc...

on the other hand, sometimes that's an incredibly impressive thing. watching MASH with a solid lens of its contemporary audience and culture will reveal all sorts of little shocks and rebellions that would seem tame or even regressive to a later audience such as us. if you have a cool parent or older friend/relative to watch this with who was alive at the time of the vietnam war and remembers seeing the dead bodies on the news every night, watch this with them. alternatively, check out commentary online by people in that age range, as well as writer/actor/director commentary if that's your bag (sometimes alan alda was all 3). enjoying antiwar fiction like MASH with that cultural context is like using one of those little decoder lenses on a cereal box or whatever. i said to another asker: "by 70s tv censorship standards, this show was basically on-screen gay sex and flag burning."

it's fucking uncanny when something in MASH strikes you and you can see how little has broadly changed in global politics since. and yes that's a tragedy. but i think there's a corollary to it:

[seat-safety-switch]

I think that our civilization doesn't give enough credit to things that are stackable. If you're anything like me, and the court has taken specific actions to ensure that my particular contagion cannot spread, then you currently possess stuff thrown all over hither and yon. That's French for "on the fucking floor."

Most of this is simply because things like to be on the floor. Gravity pulls them there. Who am I to fight the whims of the universe, right? Another reason this happens is that many desirable things in life are not easy to stack.

If you look at your shelves right now, you will notice that there is tons of unused vertical space above many of your favourite objects. You could fit more stuff in those shelves, easy, if only you could pile them safely on top of each other. Sure, we've all done a precarious wedge-and-hope from time to time, but it always results in something expensive or irreplaceable taking a penguin slide to the floor anyway.

Society has designed a lot of little moulded-plastic "organizers" which are meant to help with this. The idea is that you will buy into their system, which is meant to all interoperate with each other, and then all of your things will go neatly into the boxes that you have purchased, which themselves are stacked neatly on the shelves. Your parole officer will be impressed. Don't be fooled by this fool's gold of a dream. None of your shit fits in those bins, and even if it did, you won't be able to agree on an organizational scheme.

So, is there a solution to this problem? Yes: it's called velcro. All you need to do is glue a bunch of velcro strips to the top and bottom of your favourite things, and then you can just stick them together. Nothing will fall out, because it's all held in place by the space-age miracle of the hook-and-loop fastener.

Sure, it makes an ungodly noise when you remove them from the stack, and the 3M Corporation will soon be trying to put poison into my morning coffee over having misused their trademark, but it's the only way to go. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go figure out why all my computers keep dying from static electricity.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 12

Hey guys! Sorry it's been a bit since the last post! I ended up with a bad case of strept throat and I'm just now feeling up to do my stuff. Anyway. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings! None I don't think? Some drinking. Mihawk gets a little dark. A little gaslighty. It's all for your own good tho! Next part? It's finally Smut time!

I forgot to say! The song that they dance to HERE

Begin Again is HERE

Masterlist

Breakfast is already done by the time Dracule finally decides that he is done, not hiding per se, but procrastinating. You greet him with a blinding smile, and his thoughts flash back to the portrait of a younger you. He shoves the image away and brings you in for a quick kiss before he sidesteps you and an excited Hank for the stove. He plies his plate and joins you at the table. 

“I brought you another gift, dear one,” Dracule begins and you roll your eyes at him. He huffs and sips his tea before continuing, “Don’t pout. I think you’ll enjoy this one.” 

“I enjoy all of your gifts, Mihawk,” You point out gently and toss Hank a piece of grilled fish, “But I’ll need to start getting rid of some stuff if you keep bringing me such nice things.” 

Dracule casts his eyes around your humble home. While there wasn’t anything wrong with the things you have drug up from the shore from shipwrecks, It was far less than what you deserved. Especially since he knew about your past.

“Not everything is meant to be kept forever, Darling,” Dracule says right back, and you sigh but nod. The older man does have a point. Out with the old and in with the new, and all that. You catch the smug twist of his lips at your concession and roll your eyes. He was such a priss. 

“Finish your breakfast, and then I’ll bring it in,” Mihawk orders gently after a moment and stands to place a kiss on your brow. He leaves with a lingering look your way that has your cheeks pinking up. 

Down at his ship, Mihawk hefts two large crates with ease and carries them back up the beach and to the cottage. One is filled with a variety of fruit and vegetables that you did not have, and Dracule hoped that the more exotic ones would take to the soil of your island. The other crate held the real gift to you, one that he was far more excited to share. 

The dishes have been cleared by the time he makes it back to your home. Mihawk leaves the crate of seeds and sprouts outside for you to investigate later. Hank is lounging in the sun, and Mihawk rolls his eyes at the big lug as he trudges back inside. You have made them fresh cups of tea, and Dracule gladly takes his with a quiet thanks after setting the crate aside. 

“You'll need a clear space for this one, Darling.” Mihawk points out, and you escape to the living room to clear off part of one of your many bookshelves that line the walls. He follows after you and sets the crate on the floor, then kneels to flip open the lid of the box. You peer inside, brow furrowing at whatever was inside. 

“This is a gramophone. It's an older model, so you'll have to crank it here for it to power itself.” Dracule lifts the record player and sets it on the spot you've cleared for him. He dusts it off and then dives back down to retrieve a large metal horn that he attaches to the back of the box. While he is screwing the horn in, you crouch and look through the crate, carefully pulling out several very thin square objects with art on the front. 

“What are these for?” You ask and hand them over to Mihawk when he reaches for them. He opens the square and pulls out a shiny black disk that he sits in the middle of the gramophone. You watch in growing fascination as the vinyl begins to spin and jump out of your skin when noise blurts out from the horn. 

The static mellows out, and soon your cottage is filled with the delicate notes of classic music and the sound of a man and a woman singing in beautiful harmony. It's in a language that you don't know, but it isn't any less beautiful. You step closer to the machine, awe on your face. You've never heard something so beautiful before, and you close your eyes to better lose yourself in the changing notes. 

Mihawk watches you, eyes softening as he takes you in. You sway side to side, your long hair dancing around your waist, completely entranced in the classical tune. He steps behind you, hands settling on your waist as he gently leads you away from the bookshelf and to the middle of the living room. He sways with you, keeping to the slow beat of the song. 

One of Dracule's hands finds your own, and he twines your fingers together with a hum, bringing it up and around to wrap around his neck. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, “This is one of my favorite pieces. It's a recount of a young man and his affection for his first love.” 

You shiver when he speaks, his tone sinful and dripping with intent. You wonder if he is trying to tell you something in his usual, difficult, roundabout way. Did he love you? You were pretty sure that you loved him. 

Mihawk holds you close, and as you close your eyes, it is him you hear, humming quietly in your ear. You cock your head up and bring his head down, kissing him as best you can in the odd angle. He twists you around not a second later, untangling his hand from yours so that Dracule can slip it into your hair and hold you just the way he wants as he kisses you senseless. The song comes to an end just as he is pulling you away, leaving you staring up at Mihawk like he was your everything. 

Dracule gently untangled his hand from your hair to smooth his knuckles across your cheek, then shifted down to rub his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Would you like to listen to more?” Mihawk asks softly and breaks whatever tension that had built around the two of you. 

You nod, an eager smile breaking across your lips, “Yes, please. I didn't understand what they said, but it was beautiful.” 

“Not many would, Latin is a dead language to many,” Dracule informs you helpfully and then crouches to investigate the rest of the records inside the crate, “I made sure to bring you a variety of genres.” 

You thank his kindness with a kiss on his cheek and giggle when the stoic man looks inordinately proud of himself. He flicks your forehead when you go in for another, “You've made your point.” 

You pout at him briefly before you become distracted by the records again. You choose one at random and hand it to Mihawk, and then rise so that you can watch how he changes the disks. 

For the next two days, the two of you went through the music that Dracule had brought for you. While you enjoyed the classical music that the warlord favored, you found that the more upbeat jazz genre was more your style. Dracule would smile to himself whenever he caught you humming one of your favorites and pat himself on the back for doing such a good job on his gift. 

On the third day, the weather turned for the worse, casting your usual tropical and nice weather under dark clouds and raging winds. Rain pelted the island while you and Mihawk took shelter inside, Hank lay in front of the fireplace, drying his wet fur from his run inside. You sat curled up in the corner of the couch, a small glass of wine held in your hand. Mihawk had assured you that just a small bit would not hurt and would help to warm you up. 

Dracule sat in the armchair across from you, feet kicked up as he sipped from his own glass and paged through one of your waterlogged books. Vera Keys crooned in the back, a song about starting all over to begin again. You hum along to the sad song, frowning a bit at the words.

 Could you ever do that? Let go of your life here? Begin again somewhere else? The thought sent fear shooting down your spine, a voice echoing in the back of your mind that you could never leave this island. 

Dracule glances over to see you frowning and can tell that you have delved into your thoughts. He wonders how much of your past that you recall, but he doesn't dare ask, would hate himself for bringing you any unnecessary pain. There was no need for you to know right now, not when it kept you safe. 

“Something wrong, Angel?” Dracule rumbles and sets his book away to focus on you. He stands and steps over Hank to sit beside you on the couch. 

Your lips screw up even more, and you debate on telling Dracule your thoughts. You'd already spilled enough on him the other morning about your dreams. 

“I just…wish that I could leave sometimes,” you admit quietly and sit your glass aside. Your hands pick at themselves, a nervous habit over the years, “But everything I think about it, there is this voice telling me how I shouldn't. How it isn't safe.” 

Dracule is silent beside you. Panic had shot through him for half a second when you mentioned wanting to leave. He could understand why. You've been trapped here all your life, but the thought of Big Mom somehow finding out about you? That was unacceptable. You needed to be kept safe, and Dracule would be the one to take up that role. 

“While I understand your desire to leave, to explore the world,” Mihawk begins softly and draws you close to him, manhandling you a little so that you sit on his lap, legs on either side of his own, “I would listen to that voice. The world is vast, and there are people out there that would destroy everything that makes you, you.” 

You find yourself nodding along. Dracule sounds so serious, and you wish he would tell you what had wronged him in the world for him to feel this way. For him to want you to stay here. 

“What kind of people?” You ask, and Dracule frowns harshly, looming far more frightening than you have seen him since the first time he stepped foot on your island. You aren't sure if his answer brings you comfort or not. 

“People like me, Darling. Pirates who take what they want when they want. I'm where I am for a reason, and I want to keep you away from anyone else who might wish you harm.” 

@writingmysanity @kenkenmaaa @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz

[druid-for-hire]

Another comic made for our school's annual comic anthology Static Fish, usually available for purchase at MoCCAFest NYC, for the Spring 2024 edition. (This was a bit of a toughie, because I made it in two weeks while traveling through Europe.) It's about fitting in, past selves and separate selves, and loving and being loved by those who you don't fit in with.

ID under the cut.

[Image ID: A seven-page digitally illustrated comic, titled "Beneath You Now Is Every Other You," by the artist "druid-for-hire." It begins with a snake, in a large black void, staring up at two giant golden eyes that show a window to an outside world. The snake notices the sound of sniffling and sobbing coming from far behind. Worried, it turns away from the eyes, slithering backwards into the darkness as the eyes close, moving past a line of shed skins that slowly become smaller and smaller. The snake finds a very small shed skin, who is alive, and sobbing.

"Hey, bud, you okay?" The snake asks. The shed wails even louder. "Okay, okay, I hear you," says the snake. "What's wrong?"

"You know what's wrong!" the shed shouts back. The snake says, "It would help me a lot if you could think it in words."

The shed throws itself on the floor in a tantrum, then is quiet. Then it says, "They called us too intense. When we were playing on the Wii."

The next page shows the shed talking alongside a drawing of a figure smiling in the foreground, in golden lighting, which fades into darkness over three faceless figures. They are all vague and impressionistic. The shed continues: "I mean, come on, it's a competitive game, right? And it was just our brother, our sister, and her fiance. I mean, I guess… you and I were just trying to have fun. We were having fun. We don't get to talk to them a lot." The snake says, "... We were kind of loud. And..."

The shed interrupts. "I know, I know I know I knowww, we're stupid and have no volume control and we don't get anything anybody's saying, and life is a nightmare of social cues and humiliating faux pas and we're not fucking unique, but… … This wasn't a problem with our friends. Or anybody at college. They were all like us. We spoke the same language, we had the same understanding. We didn't have to try to fit in, there wasn't a box, we were suave and confident and making friends was easy. Now we're back home, and…"

"And it's not the same," the snake says.

There is an illustration of the happy figure from before, half in golden light with cheerful people at their arm. The other half is in darkness. She is smiling in the light, but has no face in the dark. The shed continues speaking. "They don't get it. We're back in normal-people-land and we have to fit in. We forgot about the box. We came back and smashed the box because we forgot about it. And now everyone's mad because we broke their box."

"... I don't want to be weird," says the shed. "Yes you do," says the snake. "You do," says the shed. "No, so do you," says the snake. The shed says, "FINE. I want to be weird. But I want to be cool weird. And I think we are cool weird! But weird still isn't normal. And it's going to make our normal people siblings uncomfortable no matter what we do."

The shed puts its head down, despondent. There is a feeling of vastness and silence; the emptiness around them feels looming. "It just feels bad," it says. "Hiding from them."

The snake is silent for a moment. Then it moves forward, and coils around the shed. "We'll get the hang of it one of these days. You know they're willing to say this stuff because they love you, and they want you to know how to behave around people who don't understand and who don't love you. Better with them than with an employer, huh?"

"I guess," says the shed. The snake nudges it and says, "Hey." After a pause, the snake presses its nose to the shed's. "I love you."

The shed closes its eyes. Over an illustration of the figure in golden light, whose eyes are closed, it says, "I love you too." end id.]

[famewolf]

after I finished every story mission in ESO I thought to myself 'I think I'm going to replay Skyrim and use my old game guide and do every single quest in Skyrim'. and then Baldur's Gate 3 came out

[scaly-freaks]

inmate 13453

okay don't get excited, i just felt like writing a bit of a drabble to feel out the atmosphere of a potential start to this au (clicking the tag will give up the other stuff i've posted for it btw)

btw check out the playlist and the pinterest board made by @theageofsilver and @allicentsallure bc they're fab

cw: kidnapping

Soft seventeen.

Bambi eyes, bambi legs.

There’s a certain edge to the way people describe the age she’s at. Not quite eighteen, not quite legal, tangible as cherry juice on greedy fingers. She isn’t sixteen, sweet and tender. It’s a soft first step into adulthood, skirting the border, the in between, the unknowable horrors that lie ahead.

She fucking hates being seventeen.

It’s a shit number first of all. Odd numbers make her want to spew. They feel like nails on a chalkboard, polyester static on leg hair. She can’t even dance, so whatever ABBA are singing about doesn’t apply.

Amara sticks out her tongue and tastes the air as the breeze blows west. She swears she can get a sense of the world when she does.

Her stepfather mocks her for it. That blue-eyed, blonde maniac with the ugly Buick Electra he treats like a brand-name Italian from the southern coasts of Europe. He used to treat her mother the same. Until he began to tell Amara you look just like her when she was young. He leaves his porn tabs open on his computer, as if he wants her to know. ‘Teen’, ‘Latina’, ‘Stepfather’, ‘Rough’, ‘Face-fucking’, ‘Breeding.’

She doesn’t have a drop of Hispanic blood in her.

She really wants to tell her mother, but there is a chance her mother will look right through her instead. She’s been doing that a lot more nowadays. They can’t afford her meds anymore. She just sits on the porch and watches and waits. For what, is anyone's guess.

>> can you pick me up?

>> its dark

>> pls

>> sorry ik its inconvienant

'Step-Daddy' always replies quickly when it’s her. He has a heart next to her name on his phone. She never agreed to that.

>> it’s spelled inconvenient

“Suck my dick,” Amara tells the screen and switches her phone off before he can message again.

She can walk.

The route back runs dangerously close to the edge of the forest. All kinds rot away in there, but she doesn’t like to think of them by name. They’ll become real if she does. She wishes her mother had found a man who lived in the wetlands, and not here at the cursed border between life and the realm beyond. Marshes are easier to understand. Forests are cursed.

Still, life is horribly simple here. Her high school is placid and filled with the dull-eyed children of dull-eyed adults. The gas station where she works didn’t bother to interview her. She walked in and the guy behind the counter stared at her breasts until he remembered she had a face. Her breasts aced the interview for her.

Can I work here? Just until I graduate.

Sure, grab a nametag.

Four months later, and she doesn’t mind it anymore. Her brain shuts off. Her customers are a ragtag mixture of suspicious, ferret-eyed locals and the occasionally buoyant hiker from out of state. If she doesn’t look like she belongs, she’s pretty, and that usually gives people like her a pass. At least until the sleazy comments become ethnically charged. But even then, Amara has a way of making her eyes go ‘dopey’ and just smiling like she’s too slow to understand. Displaying discomfort is what eggs them on (kind of a nasty realisation she opened her eyes to one day).

An engine growls some way down the road.

Old Chevy pickup, faded gold.

She recognises it from the parking lot at the station near the end of her shift.

A guy stepped out, young, early twenties, with a shock of hair that looked white until she realised it was just really, really blonde. She remembers thinking it was odd. The range of blondes in town runs from deep and dirty to the artificial bleach rattled out of holographic boxes of dye. No one has hair like his. She’d have noticed.

His eyebrows were a little darker, and his lashes were darker still. He had a funny way of walking, and he looked at her like she had the head of a fish and the body of a human being. Amara did her best dopey eyes. She asked him if he’d had a good day, pointed out the offers they had on pork rinds. He didn’t say a word. His skin had smears of black grease, glistening with sweat and bronzed by the sun.

Deep blue eyes.

Horribly deep.

Not the kind you’d want to swim in. She likes a softer blue, blue like chlorine, reminiscent of the safety of swimming pools. His were anything but.

She picks up her speed, and for some reason, puts her phone to her ear as if mid-conversation. Nothing about him said he was dangerous at the time. At least not from the way he’d barely said a word or looked down at her body. He was just there, and then he was gone.

And now here he is again.

The Chevy hits the horn. He is creeping closer. Amara turns and waves at him to go on. She doesn’t want a ride. Why isn’t he rolling down the window to offer one though?

It slows to a crawl. Her throat closes up. She has a feeling speeding up will give him what he wants. He’s obviously trying to be a prick. But if she goes back to talk to him, that would be exponentially worse. She switches her phone back on and sees her stepfather’s message telling her to get back home herself after she didn’t reply to tell him her location.

She quickly shoots him a message, and prays he’ll respond.

He doesn’t.

Fuck it.

She walks faster. The Chevy matches the increase. Sweat blooms on the back of her neck.

Every woman has that oh fuck moment. That I’m going to be on the evening news moment. The please god if he catches me let him kill me before he gets to raping me moment.

None of that goes through her head. She keeps thinking of her mother’s cooking. Her mother hasn’t cooked in a year and a half, not since her mind began to slip. But Amara can taste the spices on her tongue, the way the rice was perfectly simmered, the cinnamon in the back of her throat, the smell that clung to the walls, the heat of it.

I wanna come home, Momma.

Her mother’s face gathers into shape in her head, built with sand particles and saltwater. When the Chevy roars, she starts running. Her mother vanishes.

The lights of the truck blink across the tarmac. It’s a signal. But it isn’t for her.

She looks over her shoulder, and she can’t see him.

Run me over. Leave me like carrion on the road. Let the maggots eat me. Don’t cut me up first.

He slows when she starts to tire out. Picks up when she tries again. No other car has graced this road since she first turned onto it. A sign points her to the right, ushering her deeper into the backwoods. The town is to the left.

He figures out where she’s going when she suddenly makes a dash for the bend in the road.

There’s no time to dodge the pickup when it goes for her this time. The wheels skid as he yanks it at an angle and blocks her way. The door flies open and misses her by an inch. His arm grabs for her. She dodges, animal fear and rust on her tongue. He still doesn’t say a word.

A heavy fist connects with the small of her back and she drops like a stone.

The pain is electric. Air turns her lungs into taut balloons, but she can’t make a sound. She twists around and the bruise forming over her spine grates. Adrenaline quickly numbs it as she lashes out with her arms and legs. Kicking, punching, scratching, biting. Her teeth hit home. A mouthful of tattooed flesh, car oil and sweat. Still no sound from him.

She never sees the fist coming, just like last time.

A blow to the head and lights out, nancy.

[scoutswritingcorner]

The Monster In The Bayou

Alastor x GN!Reader

HORROR

Being a photographer is hard work, especially when all the animal life has suddenly disappeared and something keeps following you around.

A/N: I got full permission from them to write about this! Anyways- I made Alastor into more of a creature. It’s either I make him a silly goofy guy or an unlovable monster that will rip you apart in seconds. This is in between those two. 

TW: DARK FIC. KINDA? Mentions of bodies, gore, blood, Spooky stuff. He talks through Radios because I said so, EMETOPHOBIA, mentions of throwing up.

You heaved the bag onto your shoulder as you stood up to your full height, a boat tied to the dock of the New Orleans bayou. A friendly local had helped you get it set up for your trip down towards the old house that sat abandoned for years to come. “Be careful down there now. Heard some nasty things about that old place. People go missing and don’t turn up until days later. Some people say it’s because of the gators down there but I believe it’s something unnatural.” The older gentleman said helping you into the boat and handing you the last box of supplies you needed.

You nodded, “Of course, I’ll keep an eye out. Thank you so much, sir.” You smiled at him and untied the rope from the dock, allowing him to nudge your boat away as you started it. He waved at you before heading back to wherever he was going, you turned your focus onto the waters in front of you and sat back carefully. It was quiet but not out of the ordinary, the normal cicadas were loud and obnoxious but what could you do? You were used to it by now, coming all the way out to New Orleans twice a year. 

You steered the boat in the direction you needed to go as you kept a careful watch on your bags. You hoped that the blood didn’t start leaking through the amount of bags you wrapped around the butchered body. It would be a shame if a couple of the alligators caught the scent of the blood before you could get to your destination. Especially after all of the hard work you went through to make sure this was right for your dearest friend.

It was starting to become night time when you arrived at the old decrepit house, a small flickering light from a candle sat in one of the windows..a signal. Great, he was already around and by the sounds of the empty forest, he wasn’t too happy. You carefully tied the boat to the dock before putting your bags over onto the dock, you had to be quick and efficient about your next moves. Swiftly, you brought your bags in and turned on the lone radio that sat on the table as you opened the larger bag you brought along, carefully tearing the layers of bags open with your knife ignoring how the radio sprung to life with loud static. “...late..far too late.” it had blurted it out.

“I know, I had a..mishap..” You replied watching as the candle flame flickered and a large shadow with deer horns appeared on the wall, its smile unnaturally wide as it watched you. “Someone got in the way?” The voice from the radio asked and you nodded, watching as the shadow seemingly moved closer and peered down into the bag. The wicked smile that it wore grew longer as it nodded to you as the candle’s flame blew out and the house went dark as a feeling of dread crawled its way up your spine. Heavy footsteps echoed around the dark house before the sound of someone pulling the dining chair out caught your attention, he was actually here? He wasn’t gonna stick with his usual thing of staying in the dark forest and stalking your movements. The candles lit back up easily, the once dark house was gone.

You slowly looked over your shoulder at the looming figure dressed in a red suit sitting at the table. His smile was everlasting as his piercing eyes stared at you. “I’m not quite skilled as you seem to be in getting rid of problems but I do hope I didn’t butcher the body too much.” You replied watching as he tilted his head, his inky black shadow looming over you as you stood up. “Such a messy thing you are..but I guess that’s why they leave you to take those silly pictures of yours rather than for you to be a killer.”  The voice on the radio called out, his mouth unmoving. 

You gasped and placed your hand on your chest like what he said had hurt your feelings yet..it was true. They pay you a lot of money to get these pictures and you are used to the weird ways to get pictures of these special places. “I guess you're right..Don’t let that get to your fucked up head, you still owe me my part of the deal.” You hummed watching as the man rolled his bright red eyes at that, “yes yes..you will get that soon.” His voice groaned from the radio. The demon in front of you stood up to his tall height and leaned over you easily to look at the goods in the bag, a loud radio hum breaking through the silent ambience around. “Messy but not butchered. You’ll need to be more efficient next time or..you call on me. I’d eat them whole.” He laughed out his shoulders moving up as the cane which had let out a loud laughing track with him. You huffed and turned away from him to grab your other bags.

“Enjoy your dinner, I’ll be setting up my things.” You said walking off into one of the rooms, as bones crunched and skin ripped from bone in the room you had left.  You felt your lunch rise up in your throat before you swallowed it back down, the sound made you stick to your stomach, you can’t remember if you threw up while cutting up the body..granted you couldn’t remember much either. 

You looked around utterly confused, unaware of the danger that was standing in the doorway, watching your every move..The price to pay to get good pictures are usually hefty ones.

A/n: I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY! Kinda left it on the cliff hanger but it's been sitting with me for a while and I'm leaving it up to interpretation to figure out what happens to you <3.