I was ‘volunteered’ to be the face painter for kindergarten-ish aged kids by my grand niece 😆 (‘oh, she’s gonna do it.’ Her mom.. ‘have you asked her? ...no, you can do it’ ) ... and I had a fantastic time. Highlight- the two middle schooler boys dragged along by their mom (the little sister was in the playgroup) - one who wanted a devil face with horns, fangs, and a scar; and his older brother who wasn’t gonna join, till I offered the gene simmons makeup from KISS. 🤘🏼
Both Night child and Night mare are available in my shop! https://anaisfae.art/shop ✨
Also, I'm selling some old originals for cheap on patreon https://www.patreon.com/posts/lost-sword-sale-30654459 (post is public) and there are FOXES 🦊
"Church isn't what it used to be," she rasped into my ear.
I ignored her milky eyes, rags and overall decomposition.
The dead always liked to get right in your ear. At least she didn't smell.
Still, it'd be nice to tourist without extra commentary.
I flicked through some photos on my phone.
"She's pretty," the spirit commented, "Your girlfriend?"
I nodded slightly.
"Good thing the church isn't what it used to be, you lucky duck."
Tootfic, Alcohol mention, 1/2
"Cats can't see the Strands."
They had been drinking a little too much, & thus they were debating the theories of Strand magic - the way every being was connected, the way you could use those connections to change the world - in increasingly outlandish ways.
“Why not? Come on, a cat is made of connections.”
“A cat is half arrogance and half fur.”
“That’s just because you don’t know cats. Come on. A cat Strand-Worker—”
Tootfic Caturday 2/2
“How do you twist Strands to get more sunlight? Or more tuna?”
“Sunlight’s hard… warmth, light are pretty easy.Tuna’s just making a can open up….”
They fell silent, both of them staring at their host’s cat.
The rotund ginger was chasing strings — attacking them, tangling them up with each other, biting them.
Except that they weren’t strings.
They were the Strands between the two of them and their host.
“Ahem. Geese? Yeah, Geese. Geese can’t see Strands.”
'Can I get you anything?' he asked. 'A cup of tea?'
'No, thank you.'
Reid found himself sipping gingerly at a cup of tea a few minutes later. He thought: I just won't finish it. That's all.
But the conversation was good and when he next looked down, the cup was dry and scattered with black.
He sighed dramatically.
'Is something wrong?'
'No,' he said, setting aside his cup and its heart-shaped residue. 'Are you, um, doing anything later?'
Ginger 'lost' her humans when she was still a young cat - her humans had been quite old when they had found and lovingly raised her.
Her humans could still pet and talk to her, but couldn't give her treats or feed her anymore.
Thankfully she was left to a person who could.
...But rarely did, and would kick her for 'being in the way'.
So Ginger's former humans gave them a stern haunting to and they were much nicer after that.
The Snip is a terribly exciting moment in a young fairy's life.
Most will have damaged their delicate wings through misadventure by the time they're teens so are exempt from the ceremony.
The ceremony is not mandatory; some fairies go their whole lives with the wings they started with.
Others are ready to see what they're meant to be. One snip - will their wings grow back twice as brilliant or will they grow gills and become river pixies?
I desperately wanted an apple.
It was said I was foolish for my love of apples, being a princess and all.
But that was it! THAT was my curse!
It had been intended as a blessing, but I just couldn't get enough.
My horse was named Seed and my hound was named Blossom; all that I owned had an apple theme to it, even if I had to stitch one on myself.
I could settle for a pear in a pinch but I'd otherwise feel poorly without an apple a day.
He stared at his gloved hands.
'What just happened? Fox?'
The fox winked at him. 'You have inherited your powers, of course. You are Prince Rose, the Champion of Love and Hope. And you are going to save the world.'
'I ... me? There must be some mistake.' Already, the thought of giving all this up made his heart ache.
'No. You ARE Prince Rose. Only you could have triggered the bracelet.' It yawned and flicked its tail at him. 'Now -- let's go find the others.'
His eyes flew to the fox. 'Holy shit --' Before he could fully register his shock, the wind picked up.
A storm of glowing rose petals flew toward him and spun around him, an ever-tightening whirlpool of pink light. Electricity hummed through him, tingling and warm.
When the flower petals fell away and the glow faded, he looked down at himself. His clothes had changed; he wore a pink old-timey soldier's uniform with white ruffles and golden lapels.
The fox's fur shimmered in the streetlights -- not copper, but gold. Its disconcertingly blue eyes were fixed on his face. Its tail swept aside, revealing a bracelet of golden stars and heart gemstones.
'Where did you get this?' he asked. He should go home but there was something about the bracelet ...
He picked it up and clasped it around his wrist. It fit perfectly, strangely warm against his skin.
He held it up to catch the light.
'Finally!' The fox sighed.
This one looked like a miserable daydream, if anything.
"Maybe if we used a prod?" Hob mused from another corner.
"No! Remember what happened last time! No, just tell them some stories and feed them some green. They'll be back on their feet in no time."
I patted the elephant's trunk and hunkered down, ready to tell it a story.
"Does the planet work for you?" Anke called from the other side of the under-carriage. "I don't have anything new here."
"Nothing but Sad Elephants over here...." I considered the elephants in question. One of them was upside down, trunk lolling to the side. The other one was looking listless, its color all wrong. The planetary elephants were supposed to be vivid - the specific hues varied, but they had to be /imagination colors/.
(gripe/vent) anti-neurodiversity, ableism, eugenics
somehow, people like cynthia kim get presented as "high functioning".
cynthia kim stopped blogging because she was losing speaking ability, and it was affecting her ability to write. so if people are gonna play this functioning labels shenanigans, maybe a) don't, but also b) at least represent people's actual lived experiences, which are far more complex than what the DSM encapsulates, for *ALL* autistics, regardless of how much support we need.
as we keep saying: all of us, or none of us.
Achieving zen thru grumpiness
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