a man with tattoos

Day One Hundred and Ten

-On my way into the store, I found a motorized cart abandoned on the curb. My throne awaited me, and I am never one to pass on a stylish entrance. Not a single person noticed me, but my mood skyrocketed in preparation for my shift.

-A man clad entirely in black, arms wrapped in smoky tattoos of the Grim Reaper and other equally sordid icons, came through my lane. In a low growl, he asked me if we sold ouija boards. I replied that I did not know. He told me that he was with the Disciples of the Ram. As I handed him his receipt and change, he hissed loudly and threw his arms up, intending to strike fear into the hearts of onlookers, not intending to launch his change across the floor.

-A woman purchased six tubs of Ben & Jerry’s Peanut Butter World ice cream, clearly preparing to make my life’s dream a reality.

-I found at the top of my till a five dollar bill with the name Brandon and a phone number scrawled across ol’ Babraham’s face. Unfortunately, I had not been paying enough attention to know whether Brandon himself had attempted to slide me his number, or whether an unwilling recipient was trying to rid themselves of evidence of the encounter. Nonetheless, I copied down the number for when next a nefarious mood strikes.

-A woman in her forties cackled maniacally as she purchased a book with a flatulence soundboard, proclaiming over and over the wonders of a book about farts that actually farts at you. I have finally found her. She is the target audience my lifetime of comedy has been meant for.

-A three year-old pointed at the six year-old in the cart behind them and asked, “Baby?” The mother explained to their child that, no, that was not a baby, and she was in fact older than them. While the mother remained entirely oblivious to the reality of the situation, I did not. That child was fully aware that the girl was not a baby. Their pickup game is simply well beyond their years.

-A young girl asked me for a bandaid. I had none, so I instead offered her a strip of stickers. This seemed to do the trick, as she began counting them off and giggling in joy, giving each the smallest of kisses. A young boy pulls up in a cart behind her. The girl stands up, extends the strip of stickers, announces, “I have all the stickers! Look at them! I got all of them!” and sits back down, proud of her work. After a brief look from her mother, she peeled one off and handed it to the boy. Too emotional for words, the toddler accepted the sticker, silently committing to this contract of eternal friendship.

existential-error  asked:

so i was thinking about the ghouls and specifically their horns, but do you think ghouls would carve shit into their horns? kinda like getting tattoos?

OH MAN WHAT A FUCKING METAL IDEA I LOVE IT

ghouls could get into horn ornamentation, too, like adding gold plating or other kinds of decoration to them? but that would make appearing in public more difficult if the jewelry isn’t easy to remove because you’d have to be good enough at concealment magic that you can make the jewelry disappear with the horns lol

Fifteen (short story)

This is the uncut version of a short fiction I turned in for my science fiction class. We had to write a story that described the interaction between humans and another equally or more intelligent species (inspired by the late Octavia Butler, whose work I’d highly recommend for lovers of alien science fiction and beautiful prose). 

Hope you enjoy!


It was during her Math midterm that the Elder came for Fif. The instant that the pinstripe-suited man stepped into the classroom, eyes widened, and when he revealed the tattoo on his neck that identified him as an Elder, the air went electric. Pencils dropped as the Awares in the class looked at each other in anticipation, while the Unawares eyed the Elder in apprehension, perhaps thinking he was an important official.

Most of the time Fif felt bad for the Unawares. They clung to the Village like a veil that they didn’t know how to shed. The constructed nature of their world must have occurred to them, but their terrified minds had willfully ignored it. Non-realities were scary and implied a need for escape. What other world could the Unawares escape to? The toxic planet above the grove would be nowhere near as forgiving as the Elders.

Besides, Missions could be fun. Fif had done one before, back when she was very young and the main Mission-goer was a physically fit but recently Unaware teenage boy who had wanted company in the abandoned toxic wasteland. Fif hadn’t blamed him, and when one of the Elders—taking the form of one of her teachers, as they often did—had come to tell her about the situation, she had agreed to be the boy’s companion.

Now, she quietly watched the Elder from her seat in the back of the room until he turned from his conversation with her teacher and faced her. Every eye in the room followed his gaze and landed on her as she, despite her perfect knowledge of Mission protocol, shrunk under the attention and fiddled with her pencil under her desk.

“Fifteen,” the Elder called, beckoning to her. Fif nodded, picked up her test, and tiptoed to the front of the room. Her teacher, a bemused Unaware, took it from her and reminded her to come back from her “meeting” to finish it. Fif nodded again and then, at the Elder’s raised eyebrow, followed him out of the classroom and down a hallway dappled in afternoon sunlight. She marveled, as she often did, at how precise the Village was in its approximation of the original humans’ Earth, from the infamous setting of the so-called sun to the crisp smell of grass in the morning.

Keep reading

Left: pre-t, age 19, 122 lbs
Right: 1yr 9mos on T, 10 days post op, age 24, 155 lbs

Who knew this is what I would or COULD grow into? Who knew I would be here in 2017 at all? Healthy and pretty fucking happy. I sure as hell didn’t.

Art Nouveau inspired Feysand for @meabhd ‘s coloring contest!
(I hope you don’t mind that changed up the lines to fit the style!)

Thank you for providing us all with such beautiful artwork to color! 

edit: crap I forgot to texture it.


The Waxing Crescent Moon: A time for making plans; laying a foundation; emotions and the start of positive change. A time for spells of love and good luck ♥