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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 6 months

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Inktober Day 15: Dagger

Many, many years ago, when we were both very small, I used to read my sister stories before bed. And not picture books, because that would be normal. No, I used to read her (and our brother when he was interested), stories from The Tales of Beedle the Bard. My favourite, by far, was always “The Fountain of Fair Fortune” because I like happy endings. Her favourites, however, were always the sad ones. Every time I read to her, I’d be holding back tears as I recounted “The Tale of Three Brothers,” or mild disgust as I told her the story of “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart.” Now, years later, when I saw the sketch she’d done for day 15, I was immediately transported back to those moments.

For those who’ve never heard the story, “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart” is about a warlock so worried about love making him weak that he literally rips his heart out of his chest and locks it in a casket. When he overhears people judging him for not being married, he decides to find a wife, and when he shows her what he’s done, she is so shocked that she demands he puts his heart back. The story ends with him killing both himself and the maiden after his heart rejects her love. This was one of my sister’s favourite bedtime stories. She was maybe 8 at the time.

This story is meant to teach children about the dangers of locking away feelings. I do wonder though, what would have happened if the warlock hadn’t carved the maiden’s heart out of her chest. What if she, seeing the dagger, had stabbed his heart first, before he was able to put it back in his chest. Would it have darkened her own heart? Or would she have simply killed a monster and moved on with her life? What would be the lesson then?

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Ramblings by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 6 months

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Inktober Day 14: Castle

“I’m sorry, did you just say that they locked themselves in a castle? With a fire breathing dragon?”

The elderly advisor sighed. He had been showing the Prince portraits of fair maidens for well over three hours, and he was starting to lose patience. Admittedly, it was far simpler now then when he’d done the same for the Prince’s father, the current king. The process had been digitized. It had been a nightmare when they had still used physical paintings. The advisor still remembered having to hoist up massive oil paintings for his Majesty to view, only to have them rejected -- sometimes before he even finished placing them upon the easel.

“As I have advised His Royal Highness, it was unnecessary to even consider this option. This royal has completely given up their title, and now refers to themselves only as ‘Mal’. It would be a most unsuitable match indeed.” The advisor flipped to the next slide and began again.

“Her Royal Highness Princess Eliza of the Waterlands is five foot --”

“Wait, go back."

“To Duchess Meredith of the Eastern Wisterian Empire?” The advisor asked hopefully?

“Who? No, to the one you just showed me, Mal or whatever.”

“Sire, with all due respect, I really don’t see what good can come of this. Without a royal title, they make an unsuitable match, and as I indicated, they do not seem to have any interest in marriage.”

The Prince, clearly, had not heard a word of the advisor’s wisdom, and instead met the old man with a hard stare. Reluctantly, the advisor flipped back to the picture of Mal, who was standing sassily in front of a stained glass window. Not only was the titleless royal in both a corset and riding trousers, but they were posing much too wantonly for the elder’s liking.

“They look rather pretty in that corset, don’t you think?” The Prince asked dreamily.

“Phillip, as your advisor, I must advise against this, truly if you’d like to start from the beginning, I am certain that there is some princess --” Prince Phillip held up his hand.

“There is no need to waste either of our time any longer. I choose this one. They do not need a title, for once we are married I will provide them with one. Perhaps we can even summer at their castle, since they seem so fond of it.” Phillip motioned for one of the guards to bring him his armour.

“Now, old man, tell me where I can find this castle.”

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 13: Rise

The exam prep had killed her. Dylan knew he had pushed Christina hard, but as she lay completely still on his living room floor, he was wondering if he had maybe gone too. He rolled himself off the couch and cradled her head in his arms.

“Christinaaaaa,” he wailed, cupping her face. “This is all my fault. I should have never suggested we start the next unit.”

“Tell…my roommates…to wash…the towels” she groaned, before tilting her head to the side and sighing. Dylan let the tears come. He watched as Christina’s spirit left her body, and joined the great big party in the sky.

“We will always remember you, Christina,” he said solemnly. He slowly lowered her back down onto the carpeted floor that definitely hadn’t been vacuumed in months. He closed his eyes in silent morning. Then he stood, stretching and cracking his back.

“Alright, I have risen like a phoenix and I’m ready to keep going,” Christina said as she stood. “Let’s keep going.”

“Nah man, we need to take a break before you croak again. Do you want Doritos?”

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by the weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 12: Spicy (Art Only)

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 12: Spicy

When I saw this prompt I was like, oh it's me. I love nothing more than a good book and a pumpkin spice latte. But I do *hate* writing about myself in any capacity, so I'm so lucky that my best friend let me steal her laptop and work on her HTTYD fan-fic while she worked on this for me. The following is her words, very lightly edited by me.

//

You take a sip from your pumpkin spice latte and blush violently as the next series of words appear on the page.

Your heart pounds. You think to yourself: Oh dear God, in public? But you knew this was coming.

The Book is particularly mischievous when you’re around other people. The dialogue it creates becomes increasingly suggestive and sometimes explicitly spicy, much to your enjoyment and utter humiliation. It knows you somehow. It creates scenarios particularly tailored to your preferences and interests — sometimes things you didn’t even know you would be excited by until reading them on the page.

Sometimes the Book talks directly to you. Those passages are particularly odd. It often feels like receiving a love letter or particularly steamy text from a partner. But other times you can only wonder how on earth the Book is not only able to write spontaneously, but able to write about you so specifically. You’d spend hours typing passages from the book into search engines, only to come up with nothing but failed searches or distantly similar writing. At some point, you had to admit: the Book was writing to you — creating stories for your eyes alone. Part of you finds it terrifying…but the terror only lasts for so long, at least until your curiosity overpowers your fear, as it often does. Whatever unsettling feelings make you want to burn the book or throw it away or tear out its pages always abate, and it’s only a matter of time before you open the Book again, eager to see what it has in store for you this time.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by @violet-moongem and editing by the weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 11: Wander

Along some forest path he goes

Though where he wanders, no one knows

But those who’ve seen him do declare

That he is real, of that they swear

I too have seen him, long ago

When autumn chills brought early snow

Late one night, I was walking fast

I saw him wander by some grass

But none believed me, so I went

Back into that forest, with intent

To observe the creature I’d seen

I went right back to where I’d been

But, not seeing him I went home

And made a plan always roam

The place where I had seen him first

To take a pic’ or face the worst

Early one morning, jogging slow

I saw him sleeping by some snow

Again I told the village folk

Who thought I was some kind of joke

So now I tell you my tall tale

I hope it’s not to no avail

I have seen him and do declare

That he is real, of that I swear

Along some forest path he goes

Though where he wanders, no one knows

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 10: Fortune

Any skepticism that Noah had walking into the fortune-teller’s shop had long since been forgotten. Nestled between a dim-sum restaurant and a 24-hour pharmacy, the shop made itself known on King Street by the neon sign of a crystal ball in the window. Noah had been on the phone with Ben when the flashing purple light caught his eye, and he’d wandered into the shop despite Ben’s many protests.

“Come on Ben, we both know it’s fake, but maybe she’ll be able to read my body language and tell me what to do with my life.” Noah could hear Ben sighing.

“Fine, whatever, but DO NOT give some crazy lady more than 50 bucks to tell you that you’ve hit rock bottom. I’m telling you that for free.”

“Fine.” Noah said, but he didn’t hang up the phone. Instead he cradled it against his ear as he asked the middle-aged woman behind the counter what sort of fortune he could get for under $20. The woman looked him up and down.

“I can give you a one card tarot reading for $25 cash,” she bargained.

Noah nodded and handed over the money as Ben told him that he had already paid too much.

“Come,” the woman said. “Sit at the table and I will tell you what you need to know.”

The table in question was squat and round and pushed into the back corner of the shop. It was covered with a quilted red tablecloth and scattered with slowly melting candles. Noah briefly wondered if the candles were fake, or if the shopkeep just let them burn out every day and brought out new ones the next morning. At the centre of the table was a crystal ball that the fortune-teller carelessly elbowed away as she shuffled the tarot cards on the table. Noah sat opposite to her, and put Ben on speaker.

“Now, I can show you your past, your present, or your future, but I know that it’s the answer to your future that you seek.” The fortune-teller said. Noah threatened to mute Ben when he began to grumble.

“Yes, please.”

She fanned the cards on the table in front of Noah.

“Hover your hands over the cards. Feel their individual energy, and pick just one. It will tell you what you need to know.”

Noah did as he was told, hovering his hand over cards for several minutes before landing on one.

“This one,” he said.

The fortune-teller flipped over the card and hummed. “The tower, upright. Well, isn’t that interesting.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means that you are about to face a time of great upheaval. You must quickly prepare yourself for a sudden change. An awakening is coming.”

Noah flushed as Ben snorted. He ordered himself to breathe, and to feign confusion. Deep down, he knew what this awakening was. One could say that he had, in fact, already been awoken. Not that he would ever tell anyone that. Especially not Ben. Not after his friend-slash-roommate had caught him staring at him while watching the latest episode of the newest Star Wars show last night. Noah looked down at that card, wishing it were anything else. He didn’t know how long he was lost in thought before Ben’s voice broke through the noise.

“Noah? Noah? Are you still there?” Ben asked, sounding worried.

“I’ll call you back,” Noah said, and he hung up in a daze.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

PS. I know that this is so so so late but it is still midterm season, so what's a girl to do.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 9: Bounce

Trevor King never believed in superstition; as the VP of a Fortune 500 company, he didn’t have time for such foolish things. But on this Friday the 13th, he was, admittedly, having a very bad day. Not only had his assistant gotten his mocha order wrong, but he was going to miss his acquisition meeting with Rynard Tech - a mistake which could cost his company millions. When an unfortunate incident leads to his head getting stuck in a jack-o-lantern, Trevor believes he has truly hit rock bottom. That is, of course, until he gets hit in the head with an acorn and ends up spending the night in the E.R. with a sexy, yet off-limits, stranger.

Jesse Briggs knew that going outside on Friday the 13th would be a bad idea. He should’ve stuck to his gut and called in sick, even if it meant losing his position as an executive assistant at Rynard Tech. After being practically mowed down by some pumpkin-headed freak, Jesse is ready to call it quits. But when that pumpkin-headed weirdo turns out to be New York’s most eligible bachelor, Jessie hopes that his luck might just be turning around. That is, if he can ever apologise for hitting him in the head with an acorn.

When an awkward encounter turns into an 8 hour E.R. trip, Jesse and Trevor realize that there may be more than an initial spark between them. In this author’s Halloween themed debut, Trevor and Jesse embark on a journey of true love and superstition as they learn to Bounce Back.

A/N: If I were to ever write anything, it would definitely be a Friday the 13th, Halloween themed meet cute.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 8: Toad

Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a prince. This prince ruled his kingdom with terror, and was known to be very cruel to his subjects. One night, the prince was awoken from his slumber by a banging at the castle gates. An old man had come looking for shelter from a raging storm. In return for the prince’s hospitality, the old man vowed to serve the prince as his mage. The prince, being as cruel as he was, slammed the door in the old man’s face and went back to sleep.

When he woke the next morning, something felt different. Indeed, the prince was resting solely on his pillow, yet he knew he was far too large to fit his whole body on it. Worried, the prince looked down at his hands, but where the limbs had once been, he instead saw 6 little legs. The old mage had turned the prince into a bee. Frightened, the prince flew to his royal advisors to ask what could be done to turn back into a prince, but the royal advisors just swatted him away. He was a bee after all. So the prince set out to find a mage within the animal kingdom, so that he could be turned back into a prince. After weeks of searching the place forest, the prince found a learned mouse who promised him a solution, if, when he turned back into a human prince, he would rid the forest of all the owls. For the owls hunted her mice brethren when darkness fell. In desperation, the prince agreed, and the mouse took him into her home, in the hollow trunk of a tree.

The mouse nibbled on a yellow flower, and waited.

“Well,” demanded the prince, after long minutes of silence. “What must I do to turn back into myself.”

“Shhh,” the mouse warned. “We all must wait for the visions to come. Even a prince.”

So the prince fell silent once more, and waited. After many hours of silence, the mouse’s eyes shot open, and she spoke to the prince, as if in a trance.

“What you will need, young prince, is to be humbled for your cruelty. Great danger lies ahead. You must find a toad, and convince it to kiss you, and only then will you become human again.”

The prince did not wait for the learned mouse to come out of her trance, he buzzed away in search of a toad, so that he could get this whole business over with.

It turned out to be surprisingly difficult to find a toad willing to listen long enough to explain his predicament. They mainly just wanted to eat him. The prince escaped several times from greedy toads who couldn’t be bothered to wait and hear his story. The prince was starting to get deterred. He had surely talked to every toad in the palace grounds by now, and not a single one had agreed to kiss him. Not even when he promised them riches or a new pond.

The prince had flown to a nearby branch to think. Perhaps there was another pond he could try somewhere, although he couldn’t imagine where that could be. He had never been outside the palace walls before. Just then, the prince heard what he could only describe as a rattling scream. It was the sound of a toad. Indeed, when he looked down, he saw a toad emerging from the water. He was sure that he had never seen this creature before, because he could not forget how large it was - at least twice the size of any other toad, with eyes as big as saucers. Cautiously, the prince flew down to where the toad had come to rest on the grass.

The prince landed on the toad’s tongue, careful to continue moving his little bee legs, lest he become stuck. He was unsure if this action had gotten the toad’s attention, but he had not immediately tried to pull his tongue - and the prince with it - back into his mouth, so the prince took this as a good sign. After a moment’s hesitation, the prince sighed.

“Hear me out…” He began.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 7: Drip (Art Only)

Art by @cool_beans_jw on insta.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 7

// Murder, Stabbing, Fight

This one is a song fic (which I don't know, admittedly, if those are still a thing people do) and the song is Clean by Taylor Swift off her 1989 album. I took it in a bit of a horror direction though, so be warned.

It was months and months of back and forth

When I first matched with Alex on that dating app, I didn’t think anything of it. Sure, we talked every so often, but he wasn’t someone I was actively pursuing. Not that I was actively pursuing anyone at the moment, that’s the point. Since I started that new job a couple months ago, my dating life has all ground to a halt. Most of the guys I’ve matched with eventually get fed up and ghost me, but not Alex. For whatever reason he seemed content with just talking. Every few weeks he’d ask me to go out with him, and every time I had an excuse. I was busy, I was travelling for work, I was sick. None of that stopped him from asking again a week or two later. I guess that’s how I ended up going out with him, he just wore me down until I had run out of excuses. So here I was, walking with him in the streets of New York City. He had taken us to a swanky place in Soho and had insisted on paying the bill, even though I ordered lobster. It was overall a nice date, but I had no plans on seeing him again. Despite being a good conversationalist he just seemed . . . boring. I’m not sure what it was, I just wasn’t dazzled. He had insisted on walking me to the subway though, so that was something. I was chatting as we walked, and not paying attention. When I took a breather and looked up, I realized I had no idea where we were. It was close to midnight, and we were in an alleyway somewhere. I turned to Alex, who was looking equally confused.

“I think we took a wrong turn somewhere, do you want me to map our way back?” I asked, reaching for my phone in my pocket.

“No, no, I got it,” he said, patting down his pockets. “Sorry I was following you, I’m not down here a lot.”

I looked down at my phone’s mapping app. “Oh,” I sighed in relief. “It looks like we’re only 5 minutes away, so it’s no big deal, if we just take a left --”

You're still all over me

I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence. Alex had slammed me up against the side of a building. I could see the reflection of a knife in my peripheral. Wasn’t this just great? Alex, for his past at least, was very apologetic.

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay, I can’t help it,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

I snorted and kneed him in the groin, before reaching back and elbowing him in the nose.

Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore

Blood splattered over the light pink dress I was wearing. Alex staggered backwards and I pushed myself off the wall. He lunged at me with his knife, but I dodged it, climbing the ladder of the fire escape. Taking the rungs two at a time I finally made it to the first landing, only to see that he was still behind me. I backed myself into the railing as he lumbered over to me.

Hung my head as I lost the war

I felt the chill of the metal through my dress. At least one of us will die looking hot, I thought. My breath began to quicken in anticipation of what was coming next.

And the sky turned black like a perfect storm

When Alex was less than 2 paces from me, the glow of the near-by street light flickered and went out leaving the alleyway in complete darkness. Actually, all the street lights within a 5 block radius went out, but Alex had no way of knowing that. Surrounded by darkness, I could feel his hesitation, and his pause was all I needed. I took two steps towards him, grabbed the knife from his hand, and stabbed him straight through the stomach, all while he was too stunned to speak. I watched as he reached for his gut in confusion.

“What? What just happened?”

I didn’t bother answering him. Instead I just kicked him, bringing him to his knees. I could hear his breathing start to become laboured. Neither one of us called the police or an ambulance.

Rain came pouring down

I took my time coming down from the fire escape, listening to Alex’s breathing. When I heard it stop, I didn’t know what to do. I began pacing back and forth under the fire escape. I felt something tap my face. I looked around, but it wasn’t raining. Slowly, I reached up and wiped my face. My forefinger was stained red. I looked up at Alex, just as another drop hit me in the forehead. I closed my eyes.

When I was drowning, that's when I could finally breathe

It was very methodical. As the blood began to pool around the knife, the blood fell faster, covering me. I took deep breath after deep breath as my heart rate slowed. I felt calm.

And by morning

I don’t know how long I stood there, under Alex’s dead body. But when I saw the first rays of sun on the horizon, I knew I had to go.

Gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean

I showered when I got home, cleaning the blood off my body and hair. I went to work, and deleted that dating app on the train.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 6: Golden

Diana was having the time of her life. Standing in front of her opponent, she paused for a moment to assess the situation. She could see that he had been weakened by her previous attack. One more good hit to his ribs was likely to bring him to his knees. Her sword lay abandoned on the side of the training hall. She didn’t need it, not for him. Besides, she was enjoying hand-to-hand combat. It was more intimate. Plus, anything could happen in battle, and it was always best to be prepared. She lunged forward, purposely aiming for his left side, but he saw through her bluff and dodged left as soon as she veered right. So she changed strategies, unclasping her golden lasso from where it sat on her hip. If he was going to insist on being slippery, she was just going to tie him down. After all, it didn’t matter how she got him to the ground, so long as she managed to keep him therefore more than 5 seconds. Seeing what she was doing, her opponent scowled.

“Diana, don’t,” he warned, but she just smirked.

Bruce was having a bad time. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. But Diana kept hitting the massive bruise he’d received the night before while out on patrol, and he was starting to feel it through the ibuprofen he’d taken earlier. He was planning on being evasive for another few minutes before beginning his counter attack, which included some blunt batarags and instant-drying expanding foam. When he saw Diana reach for her lasso, he had to let out a warning. If she tied him up and asked him anything, he would never hear the end of it. Not from John, not from Clark, and especially not from Diana. Wally, mercifully, was absent while he dealt with Captain Cold in Star City. But as he started strategizing to move up his attack plan, he noticed that the smirk on Diana’s face had turned into a genuine smile. She was really enjoying herself, and he found himself weighing if embarrassment from the League was worth the giddiness Diana would feel when she beat him. He quickly shook the thought from his head, Dick had been right last night on patrol, he was slipping. He used his grapple gun to lift himself to the rafters, just to buy some time. He needed to think. But in his hesitation Diana had floated up to him, as ethereal as an angel, and tossed her lasso towards him. Bruce jumped to avoid it, but he moved a millisecond too late, and got caught around the middle. Diana yanked him back, causing him to lose his footing and fall from the rafters. This is how Bruce found himself hovering a foot from the ground, held up only by Diana Prince and her lasso of truth.

Bruce could feel the bite of the rope as it dug into his ribs and heard Clark and John snickering below him. Bruce was focused on something else entirely: Diana’s smile, which had somehow grown even bigger. And suddenly, Bruce couldn’t bring himself to care about anything else.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 5: Map

My favourite part of Disney’s 2002 animated feature Treasure Planet is its main song, aptly titled “Jim’s Theme”. It is, however, one of my sister’s favourite Disney movies (although according to people who have a living memory of the early 2000s, I too used to watch this movie on repeat). When I thought about writing this prompt, I felt incredibly stuck. I remember very little of the plot of Treasure Planet, and I had no ideas for crafting a narrative on Jim’s holographic puzzle map. So to get in the mindspace, I put “Jim’s Theme” on repeat. At time of writing I am on my sixth listen to the song, and after hearing the lyrics repeated 6 times, I started thinking about how to conceptualize a map. In Treasure Island, the map is Jim’s call to action, it is what gets him going on the adventure of the film. It is, more than anything, a plot device. But that’s boring, so I thought, what else could it be? What’s a better argument? What if the map is a metaphor for Jim’s character. Someone that neither his mother nor Dr. Delbert Doppler could unlock or understand. “Jim’s Theme” encapsulates this mentality through its opening lyrics “I am a question to the world / Not an answer to be heard” and later, “you don't know me.” In this essay I will…

Maybe this is something that every film critic since the movie came out has spoken about, but I thought it was a really interesting comparison. If the physical map is Jim, how does that affect his reading of his journey? Is there a reading of his character as overcoming objectification (in the sense that he is seen as a helpful tool to accomplish work (much like B.E.N.))? Could one argue that he is meant only to be understood by the youth, similar to his ability to figure out the map that had puzzled Dr. Doppler.

Ps. It took me approximately 11 loops of this song to finish this little blurb.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister, who is in midterms, and begs your indulgence as she hasn’t slept in like 3 days.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 4: Dodge

TW: Bullying

If you would have told 8-year-old Jeannie that learning to dodge snowballs would lead to her future career, she would’ve laughed in their faces. Although, she probably would have believed that she was destined to work with Santa, so there was that. Jeannie had been the Queen of dodgeball by the time she was 10. Not this ever helped her fit in at school. The other kids always found something to tease her about. But it had all worked out in the end, she supposed.

Jeannie, now Betty Blade, walked around the ring, waving as the audience erupted in applause. Giving her best bow, she joined hands with her partner, Danny Dagger, before twirling away. Silence fell under the big top as Danny reached for his knives, showing them to the audience. She heard the ring of metal as Danny struck two knives together.

That was the cue, it was showtime.

Betty Blade began to dance, a modest show of acrobatics and ballet. All around her knives whipped past. She felt the breeze as they passed her, and heard them sink into the wooden wall behind her. Then she heard the roar of the crowd. Good. The audience needed to be entertained.

Danny walked Betty back to the centre of the ring, showing her off one more time while two circus hands rolled in their final act - the spinning wheel of death. Jeannie hated Danny. He always grabbed her too tight with his sweaty hands. When they practiced he always complained when Jeannie showed up in sweats instead of full costume. But Jeannie put up with him because he was the best at what he did, and their circus demanded the best.

As Danny strapped Betty’s ankles and wrists to the contraption, Betty frowned. She put on a worried façade and asked the audience for their support. She wanted the audience to believe that she was the one being held captive, restrained and the ankles and wrists -- spun upside down with knives being hurled at her. But she, and a select few of the other circus performers, knew the truth. The audience was the one being held-up. Captivated by her act, the clowns, dressed in plain clothes, picked every single pocket under the tent.

Jeannie had joined the circus at 18, as soon as she finished high school. She had performed for over a year before Jefferson -- the strong man of the group -- had let her in on their little scheme. Danny had been brought on a year ago, for his ability to remotely steal credit card information. Since Danny joined their small team, they had stolen and transferred over $1,250,000 to an off-shores account in the Cayman Islands. Their goal was to hit $5,000,000 and disappear.

Jeannie heard a scream before she felt the first knife hit the wheel. She wasn’t worried, she knew that Danny wouldn’t hit her. As she spun ‘round, all she thought about was what she’d do with a million dollars. She’d have to disappear, she knew, but before then, she planned to make a final visit to her hometown. Just to see what the kids who used to tease her were doing now. Maybe she’d see how well they could dodge.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 3: Path

TW: Implied Death

They wandered down the path

That day

Golden leaves surrounding them.

The way

They looked at each other

Was not

How friends ought

To look at one another.

But they were outcasts

On their own

Full of secret wisdom, though

Not yet grown.

They discovered the path

A long time ago

While trying to hide

From their many foes

And the hatred of others

And the sticks

And the stones.

They walk to the clearing

Following old tracks

Over two unmarked graves

They lie on their backs.

And the talk and they laugh

For some time until

They float up towards the heavens,

When you see them disappear.

So you quietly come out

From your hide-away spot

And lay down the flowers

That you brought.

You whisper kind words

To the now-empty clearing

You tell them your story

In the hopes they are listening.

You talk of your lover

Of their kindness and strength

And you sit in the silence

And you go to great lengths

To let the ghosts know

That you haven’t forgotten

The two boys who went missing

So long ago.

The story of theirs

Is not often shared,

But the rumour of love

You now know to be true

Is one that you know

You’ll always relate to.

As night draws near

You walk back down the path

And from the clearing you left

You hear a laugh.

And you know it’s the lovers

From the unmarked graves

Realizing they’re remembered,

Calling you brave.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister (while crying, because she hates sad things).

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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Inktober Day 2: Spiders

She didn’t remember waking up. She didn’t remember where she was, or how she got there. She just blinked until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She couldn’t move. Slowly, and with great effort, she turned her head ever so slightly to the right.

And she was gone.

She didn’t remember waking up. She didn’t remember where she was, or how she got there. She just blinked until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She could only move her head and her neck. She looked around wildly, scared. Where was she? Why couldn’t she move? She tried to sit up.

And she was gone again.

She didn’t remember waking up. She didn’t remember where she was, or how she got there. She just blinked until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Her head hurt, as if she had smashed it against something. Had she smashed it against something? She couldn’t remember. She tried to reach for her forehead, to see if there was a bump, but she couldn’t move. Frustrated, she focused on wiggling her fingers, working slowly until the feeling began to return.

And then she felt it.

Whispers on her skin like a thousand paint brushes moving across her forearms and hands. She worked harder, slowly finding the strength to move her hand from where it rested at her side to above her face.

It was covered in spiders. They wove in and out of her fingers, stitching up wounds with their silk. She should have panicked. She had always been terrified of spiders. Yet, she was calm, even as hundreds of the tiny creatures crawled across her body.

It was then she remembered. Who she was, how she got there. She remembered going to her final sleep, the feeling of the hands that had squeezed the life out of her. She remembered the feeling of the dirt piling around her, as everything faded to black.

She looked back and her hand, covered in webs that had been delicately woven between her fingers. The spiders had claimed her their own. She had died, and they had claimed her. And now, she would claim her revenge.

All art by @cool_beans_jw on insta. Writing by her weird sister.

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the-crowbar-was-my-kryptonite · 7 months

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This is Seven. He’s just some dead guy brought back to life who lacks serious social skills. But he's really trying to make genuine human connections. Would you be his friend? Drawn by @cool_beans_jw.

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