I don’t do ‘Cold Readings’ anymore. I don’t tell fortunes. I don’t read tea leaves.
And I do not do contact ‘the other side’.
Look, don’t judge me alright? It was an easy gig. I mean, the first time I did it, it was a joke. I did it just to impress a girl. You’ve been there right? It was something I’d read about online and I thought I’d give it a go.
If one hypothetically wanted to read your Eldritch Abomination Garfield fic, how would one go about finding it as directly searching for 'garfield' hypothetically does not include the fic?
“They bought it?” Lyman asked as Jon hung up the phone.
“I got the contract,” Jon confirmed, dazed. “I’m — I’m syndicated.”
“You did it, man!” Lyman said, clapping him on the back. Odie barked.
“They’re already thinking about merchandising deals,” Jon continued, staring into space.
“I told you things were going to turn around for you,” Lyman said with a nod. Odie continued barking, making it clear that he was not just trying to be supportive. “Hey, look, I’ve gotta take the dog for a walk. If the alarm goes off while I’m gone, can you take dinner out of the oven?”
“Yeah,” Jon said, with no real conception of what he was agreeing to. He still had not yet finished processing that phone call, the idea that he was going to be paid, consistently, that he was a working cartoonist, that his comics would be in papers. Merchandising deals. Merchandising.
It was not until he heard the door that Jon realized he was alone in the apartment.
Just him, and Garfield.
From the corner, it growled.
Jon’s heart spasmed; he hadn’t realized it was in the same room. “H—hey,” he said. It would have been a dumb thing to say if it was a normal cat. It was a dumber thing to say under the circumstances. Its eyes glowed red in the shadows. “How are you?” he asked, then winced as the cat growled again. “Heard the good news?” he asked weakly.
MY END OF THE CONTRACT HAS BEEN FULFILLED
It rumbled through his brain like an earthquake, words without words. He covered his ears even though it wouldn’t help. “Yeah, thanks for—”
I WILL FEED
Jon’s heart spasmed again, overwhelmed with the sense of a hunger not his own. “Right, about that—”
YOU WILL FEED ME it said, words written in blood, thick and hot.
“—yes, I got that, I’m just not really sure what I’m supposed to—”
MEAT and the word throbbed, tore.
“Would chicken be okay?”
UNACCEPTABLE it said in broken bone and jellied marrow.
“I don’t want to stereotype you by assuming you want to eat my roommate—”
YES GIVE ME HIS HEART it said, pulsing, torn flesh.
The glowing eyes moved from the shadows, grew larger, taller. Hellfire, if fire could cast dark instead of light, orange and red, fire and blood. The indistinct shape that might have been a cat became an indistinct shape that might have been a man, large, always large. Jon shrank back as it stretched to fill the room, tried not to look directly at it. Hot breath and sharp teeth against his skin, even though it couldn’t have been, because he was still wearing his jacket.
There was a chiming sound.
WHAT WAS THAT
“Uh.” Jon swallowed, hard. “Dinner?”
“Yes,” Jon said, “but I don’t know if you can eat people food…”
Garfield sat in the middle of the floor, wide as it was tall. Its gaze was baleful.
“Right. You can eat whatever you want.” Slowly Jon inched around the cat to head toward the kitchen. “I don’t really know what it is, though. It might be… vegan.”
Garfield hissed, the sound of pain, and Jon fled toward the oven.
I SMELL MEAT
Jon stopped himself from telling the cat get off the counter. “I think it’s a casserole,” he said, removing the dish to set it on the stove. He gingerly removed the lid, his hands safely wrapped in oven mitts. “Oh. It’s lasagna.”
GIVE IT TO ME
“It has to cool,” Jon said. Garfield hissed again, and the sound turned Jon’s blood to fiberglass. He backed away, and the cat leapt bodily and entirely into the baked pasta. It did not seem bothered by the fact that the pasta sauce was still bubbling, and Jon tried not to look at the void of its mouth. A black hole rimmed with fangs, an absence of all light, drawing in all that it touched to disappear within.
WHAT IS THIS it asked, and a hellfire paw batted at a stretchy piece of mozzarella.
The cat-shaped thing nodded, still sitting in the dish of lasagna.
WE DO NOT HAVE THIS
“You don’t have cheese in hell?”
It nodded again.
“I guess that’s what makes it hell.” If Garfield appreciated this observation, it did not show it. It cracked open its maw again, more lasagna disappearing, and Jon looked away. “That lasagna was supposed to feed us for a week,” he sighed. “How much longer do I need to do this?” he asked.
UNTIL YOU ARE SATISFIED
“Until I’m satisfied?”
YOU MUST FEED ME TO SATISFY YOUR HUNGER
Realization dawned. “Wait, but — I thought this was a one-time thing.”
IT WAS NOT
“If you leave, I get fired?”
“So I might still be able to make it on my own.”
DO YOU BELIEVE YOUR SKILL IS ENOUGH TO BRING YOU ALL THAT YOU DESIRE
Jon thought of the portfolio sitting in his room, and sagged. “… no.”
It grew, limbs stretching, claws turning to fingers and then claws again. It sat on the counter like a solid mirage, licking red from its hands.
YOU WILL HAVE RICHES BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS it said in truffle oil and fur and gold. SO LONG AS I AM FED YOU WILL NEVER KNOW HUNGER
Syndication and merchandising deals and maybe someday a cartoon on television. His signature in every newspaper in every house in the country. In the world, even. He raked his fingers through his curls and tried not to look at its claws.
“I guess I’m stuck with you, then,” Jon said.
It didn’t slide off the counter the way a man would, shifted off like drifting smoke or licking flames, stood and was no shorter. Tall and broad and solid, a weight to its presence as it moved closer. Jon shrank back again as it loomed, and this show of submission seemed to please it. Hot breath and sharp teeth against his skin again, and he shivered.
i totally forgot that Pidge's birth name is Katie so during my rewatch of season 1 today, Shiro called her Katie and i immediately thought of you. my brain was like YOOOOOO and i just thought i'd share this with you, have a good day
Apple’s weird shading almost works for this one if the lighting wasn’t all over the place. But those cold, emotionless eyes and ears that look like they forgot to draw them in until a second pass… 2/5 Unintentionally Scary.
A cheeky, mischievious boy. What’s he up to? Wolf things, probably. 4/5 Love that mischief.
Microsoft’s style really works in this ones favour. Consistent triangularness. A pointy lad in all the right places. 5/5 Full Points
An adorable little puppy! Doesn’t look much like a wolf though. Ears too pointy. And is that hair? 2/5 Possible fursuit head.
Hey so this is a cat? 0/5 Cat.
Something feels missing here. I can see what they were going for, but did somebody take a bite out of this one? 2/5 Fix him.
A realistic friend and boy. Not much to say here. Sure is a wolf I guess. Can’t complain. 4/5 No imagination required.
Lopsided as ever. Hey buddy, the camera is over here. What’s with the red eyes? Go full spooky or not at all. 1/5 Might be a werewolf.
*Points at Miniature Schnauzer* look at my wolfdog. 0/5 No.
This wolf hasn’t slept in three years. Look at the bags under his eyes. His muzzle looks like it’s drooping down.
I’ve never seen a sadder emoji in my life. 3/5 Somebody save this poor pup.
Have you guys ever seen The Brave Little Toaster? You know the air conditioner? Yeah that’s him. Toaster/10
Interesting approach, yet somehow has only created the lumpiest awoo of all. 2/5 $300 Fine
Genre: Angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au
Pairing: Reader x Hoseok
Summary: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.
often imagine Sehun being the Flirt Master who can get any girl…
Pairing: Sehun x Reader
Word count: 5543 words
sex, Public sex, Dirty-Dirty talk, Voyeurism
assumptions of perfectly competitive models – One. Economies of scale are…
small relative… to the size of the… market. Two. Output… is homogenous. Three.
Information… is… soft- and… fluffy. Four. I want to marry you… sweet, cuddly
turtle-bunny-cushion. Something hits the elbow you’re leaning your head upon
and you shoot up, slightly panicking. Shit.
You had fallen asleep. It was only for a minute; you defend yourself in your
mind. Nobody saw you, right?
You lift your hands to rub your eyes but stop yourself in
the nick of time. You have almost forgotten that you are wearing black eyeliner
and mascara. Thank God you remembered
just in time – It would have been a catastrophe if you didn’t.
You look around, pinching your eyes a few times instead and examining
the endless array of tables that is populated with college students and their college
books, notebooks, markers and pencils. During the exam periods, it’s difficult
to find a spot left empty. Outside the College library, there’s typically a
line of students waiting to claim a seat, even at this unholy hour of nine pm.
Summary: In which Killian confesses to David and Emma. Spoilers for 6x12.
Notes: I had a lot of feelings about the end of 6x12. Title from The Quality of Mercy by William Shakespeare. Much love and gratitude to my instrumental wife @ripplestitchskein for reading this through for me.
The worst of it, Killian thinks, is that for a moment, he doesn’t recall the man’s face.
He was nothing but a liability, standing between his crew and enough riches to carry him from one day to the next, bleeding out a living until he could sink his hook into the crocodile’s neck. And he doesn’t recognize David’s father at first, because he’d been merely one in the stream, one of the nameless voices that whispers to him late at night, or early in the morning, growing louder and louder, until he’s forced out of bed – and out of the endearingly tight circle of Emma’s arms – to wander along the line where the town meets the sea.
Only now, this one has a name, and the longer and harder he peers down at the drawing, the more familiar he seems. Not only from a hazy memory, but from the set of his brow, the swell of his cheeks, features he sees in the man he now calls his friend, and in the woman he longs to call his wife. And here, in the midnight shadows of the home he shares with her, he holds tight to the incriminating pages, a wisp of the darkness still stirring in his heart suggesting he surrender them to the sea.