#But sometimes I need heart horns and heart tail and pink hair with little flowers

[meonlyred]

Lads we can't make merry and jingle our way outta this one!

[mochitheglitch]

When I’m gone

The trees of thieves den were at their full bloom. Petals had shed off the branches and slowly trickled to the ground. A bed of pinks and white coated the warm sun-soaked grass. One of these petals landed on a demon’s head. She was watering the flowers around and showing another how to pick weeds from the trees.

“You seem to be getting the hang of it dear. Next time you won’t need my assistance.” She smiled pleased with the work that they’re doing. Like a tutor she watched them practice all on their own. One by one each weed was methodically plucked away till there were none left. An extra glance was taken to make sure the premise was clean. When the deed was done she rewarded them with a pat on the back.

“Eheh… thanks.” They smile back at her.

“Oh no need to thank me sweetie. I should be thanking you for coming. Your dedication means everything to me dear.” She twisted a flower into their hair by their horn.

“In fact I didn’t think you would come, but it warms my heart every time you arrive.” The other demon looked shocked.

“Why wouldn’t I?! I care about you Vine! You’re like… one of the sweetest demons I know.” They pouted.

“I figured you’d be busy with your cafe. I know how much it means to you, and I’m here to support your dream. How is it holding up right now dear?”

“Pretty slow but it’s to be expected. At least it isn’t as crazy as it was during the Phestival. That was a nightmare!” They chuckled.

“Ah I remember that week, you had to call all of us, even Katana. Everyone looked so lovely in those uniform and you even let me do your hair. You were stunning.” Vinestaff combed a hand through their hair. She twisted the strands between her fingers and looked to them.

“May I?”

“Go ahead.” With the ok, she gets to work first combing out the knots.

“You know Slingshot, your hair is so pretty. Why don’t you do anything with it darling?”

“Well I’ve always been ok with keeping it straight. Didn’t see a need to do anything fancy. I don’t go anywhere like that.” Vinestaff shook her head at them.

“Silly you don’t need to have a reason to do your hair. Don’t you feel nice when it’s braided up?”

“I do…”

“Maybe I could teach you that too if you desire.” Slingshot perked up.

“Really?!”

“Of course dear.” She watched as Slingshot’s smile grew wider from excitement. They kicked their legs slightly. “Try not to move to much darling, I don’t want to pull your hair.”

“Right! Sorry!” They piped down a little, traces of their excitement still showed from their tail swishing. Vinestaff started to braid their hair.

“How does the arm feel?”

“Same as always dear.”

“Mm…” Slingshot sulked, the hunching from this caught Vinestaff’s attention.

“Is something the matter?”

“..I just… I wish we could do something about that. Isn’t it awful?”

“Slingshot my dear, there is no need. As bad as this may be it is quite the blessing you know?”

“How? You’re cursed for life. In fact you’re robbed of your life. How can you be ok with that?!” Slingshot’s voice cracks as anxiety starts to well in their chest. Thoughts of the “what ifs” and “if onlys” pile onto each other. Maybe if they work hard enough they could pay the finest doctor in crossroads to fix this. Maybe that medic in lost temple would know a thing or two. Maybe they can find a cure. But the wood has noticeably increased, now encompassing Vinestaff’s entire arm. Sometimes a few flowers would bloom on it, wilting away as the fall came. She’s wilting. How much time is left until there’s nothing of her. Where will it go to next. Why did it have to be her of all people. And…

“It’s ok.” A hand cups their cheek gently. The thumb strokes away at little droplets as they form and trickle down. “There is beauty in this pain. Look at the things I can do dear, one could only dream of having this. It’s a gift from the world. I pour my soul into giving back to the place I call home. My life may be shorter, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She guided Slingshot to lean on her shoulder,her arm extending behind their back to support them. “And one day my body will be gone. I’m not sure when, but that is not my concern either. In the end, I know I will always be with here. I live on in your memories.” She stared out in front of her. The sun lowered, its golden rays spilled onto the valley below. Little mammals began to scurry into their burrows as the low buzz of cicadas picked up. “When I go, I want to lay here. I want to be able to see the land that has graced me with this life. And when I’m gone, don’t forget about the weeds. Maybe you can teach Shuriken for me. Will you dear?” Slingshot nodded their head. Their breathing slowed considerably to a calm and steady pace.

“Don’t dwell on it dear. I’m still here with you now. So why don’t we cherish it while it lasts?”

[sepia-stained-sunset]

An Eden Overthrown

"I made a deal with Death, once", Hazel says, once every five minutes it feels like. She says it out loud, she says it in whispers, she says it to herself because saying it feels like believing in it.

"Did you mean, 'a deal with the Devil'?" A bemused teenage girl who'd been waiting at the check-out line had asked her.

The girl looks a little like Death. Sharp chin, impish grin.

Maybe there was a little bit of Death in every living thing. A little mark, staking her claim. But no, she wouldn't have done that, would she? Not her. Hazel had seen her eyes. Those weren't eyes that would dance with flames or show cold nothingness like pools of darkness or any of that exaggerated nonsense. That wasn't like her.

"No, I did not", Hazel sighs, "she wasn't one bit like a devil or a demon or anything. She was…seraphic"

Foxglove had gifted her a romance-themed word of the day calendar one Valentine's, a pretty one, bound in red with pink hearts all over its cover, with gold lettering in cursive. It had looked expensive when she'd first received it. Its cover was worn from use now, pages faded from being thumbed through.

Baby steps, that's what it had been. Encouragement, a way for Hazel to gain more confidence.

'Seraphic' hadn't been in that one. She'd only learnt it later, when she'd bought more for herself, more and more and more, reading them in the hours before Alvie slept and awoke and took her single-minded devotion, collecting them on a little bookshelf in the living room of their Beverly Hills home. It was a place of display, of pride. A small victory that she'd have shown off if there had been anyone in the house to show off to. Still, she refuses to let the books collect dust, dusting them routinely.

"Did she have a scythe?" The woman at the beauty salon asks her as she smears conditioners and serums into her hair, remaining unimpressed with her work until Hazel's hair smelt like orange blossoms and lavender, a whole bouquet of flowers she didn't even like.

Hydrangeas were her favourite. Blue hydrangeas. They reminded her of Fox's eyes, so vivid and electric. There had been bushes of them growing untended in New York. She'd seen a few of them in the back of their apartment building, once. Back when they'd lived with Barbie and Wanda and Thessaly and they only slept when the Sun began to rise and their biggest fights had been over a green frog mug they'd long since lost.

There had been so many hydrangeas, blossoming wild even when they were uncared for. She'd cared sometimes, watering them if she remembered. Like she was tending to her relationship with Fox when she sprinkled water, like she was reminding herself to keep caring. And she had cared. She had. Until someone had cut them down so the grass would be level.

"No scythe", Hazel answers seriously, even though she knows her hairdresser thinks she's touched in the head, thinks follow-ups are a courtesy born from pity. But she needs someone to know. Fox doesn't really pick up her calls now, and it's like she's only half there when she does. No, the math on that is wrong. Having all of Fox meant having her in person. A distracted Foxglove on the phone meant Hazel barely got a quarter of her.

She needs someone to know, someone to understand. That when they finally met Death, they didn't have to shut their eyes or wince or scream or try and fail to keep their hearts from racing. That they didn't have to be so afraid, that they could reach their hands out and she would be sure to hold them.

"No scythe, huh?" Her hairdresser asks distractedly, pulling and tugging at her hair, combing it down and teasing it up even though she'd only asked for a little trim.

"No scythe. No horns, no hooves, no tail. That's not what Death looks like"

"Huh", the hairdresser mumbles, tilting her head this way and that, examining her in the mirror, and Hazel can tell that she's lost her, that she'll forget this conversation within the hour.

"That's not what she looks like", Hazel insists softly, "she's beautiful"

"Beautiful?" The postman scoffs, turning to leave, and Hazel wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and point to her front porch where Alvie is scribbling enthusiastically on his drawing pad.

"Isn't that beautiful to you?!" She wants to scream, needs to know, "The fact that he's alive, the fact that I get all this time with him, isn't that beautiful to you? All those days, all those memories, do they mean nothing to you?"

But of course she doesn't say any of that. Of course she just watches as he walks away.

There are no hydrangeas in Beverly Hills, and all the tabloids keep talking about what hunk they think Foxglove is sleeping with, and the postman begins to smile at her with condescending sympathy, and Fox sometimes texts her instead of calling, and no one, absolutely no on at all, believes her when she says that Death can be kinder than life.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

An Angel and A Demon ~ Pyramid Head x Reader

Update 2: My laptop restarted when I was in the middle of writing this, and trust me when I say it, I am positively pissed off, and I want to end my days, that's how bad of a day this was.

And I didn't leave the house.

That says a lot about today...

Update 1: But, without further ado, I was half-way writing this story, and I received this ask, and let me tell you...

helloooo, i absolutely adored the fanfics you wrote about kazan and danny🥺 could i request one where pyramid head is just really whipped for and in love with the survivor! reader but he doesnt know how to announce it to them so he brings her random ,,gifts" in and outside the trials and protecting her bc well, im pretty sure he cant speak so he doesnt really have any other options on how to express his feelings??

I live for it.

Bless you for sending me this, it's the reason I'm still sane right now.

I love you, baby-cakes.

Update 3: I want to kill myself so bad. Just smash my head on a wall until it explodes or sth. I was so happy with how this imagine turned out, only fuck fucking tumblr to just fucking delete EVERYTHING just as I was about to put the last gif and hit POST NOW.

--------

For the 5th time writing this :

FUCKMEDADDY - but this time - FUCKMYBRAINSOUTPLEASEIWANNADIE

Thanks.

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Hell - What was that place, anyway?

Some would describe it as an infinite ocean of flames and lava, where it's eternally melting-hot, and a bunch of hooved, horned, tailed red demons torture you with acid, with their red pitch forks, or boil you alive in their cauldron for soup. Or maybe you just get tortured by Stalin, who knows?

But never would have anyone thought that 'Hell' could look so...Normal. Well, normal in a very demolished, desolate, ravished way, but still...Normal, by human standards. Albeit, the never-ending loop of madness, anguish, agony and desperation of getting killed in different gruesome ways or fleeing for their lives and feeling a myriad of emotions pumping adrenaline through their veins so badly that their anxiety-meter skyrocketed to abnormal levels.

All this darkness, this hatred, this...Everything...It changed all the survivors. They became selfish, stubborn, rude, some even went as far as to sacrifice their fellow survivors in trials, just so they could survive. It was a complete mayhem that defied all kinds of reason, normality, morality or even ethics. Everyone became devoid of any laws that used to bind them to their humane sides, and now, you weren't sure if the killers were saner than the survivors or not.

But even in this abyss where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your very eyes, there was a little star - A beautiful angel radiating brightness and warmth, someone who was somehow able to guide everyone's straying souls with her benevolence.

In reality, she was merely a survivor, not the little lantern from an angler fish's head, but she treated everyone with such an untainted kindness...It was beautiful, and yet, unrequited for most parts. Everyone was still putting their own lives above all - And who could condemn them? - Perhaps their cowardice, for the girl preferred to save her fellow survivors as much as possible, even if that oftentimes assured her place on the hook, to be a sacrificial lamb for the Entity.

On the other hand, she rarely ended up on the hook - Most killers prefer to kill her themselves, instead of letting her become pray for the horrible Entity who tortured so many of them for refusing to cooperate - The Trapper, Evan MacMillan - He knew the best, with those hooks digging into his flesh, impossible to extract. He was the first to protect this girl. It wasn't much, but if he had to, he'd rather give her a swift, painless death, than seeing her without that serene, angelic smile on her face, as the Entity feeds on the last bits of her soul's beauty, the last parts of her humanity.

The other Killers were confused at the Trapper's actions, but little by little, they began to understand why this girl was so precious and special - And this domino effect hit Rin Yamaoka next, with Y/N stopping in the middle of a chase and taking off her jacket, just as Rin was about to butcher her with her katana, and she smiled, extending it to her. 'You must be cold' she said, realising that the Spirit was merely wearing a few bandages, not even her school uniform, or her kimono.

The ghost girl was shaken up by this, and told the others at the killer camp, but they just shrugged it off - Rin was a little girl who faced close to no kindness, they weren't surprised she was so taken aback by such a feat. That is, until Adiris, in a particularly terrible day, when everyone at the camp was staying away from her, as her profane censer wasn't able to cover the stench of rotting flesh - Y/N came over, taking out a small yet elegant glass bottle with pink liquid on it, spraying some on her - And now, The Plague smelled of roses and vanilla - 'You can come to me for perfume whenever you want, I always carry some with me!' she grinned at the Babylonian High Priestess, before leaving back to the survivor's camp site, leaving the ancient God symbol to stare with her mouth agape at the girl.

These words began to spread, and it was no surprise when the killers saw Susie clinging and begging her Legion friends to spare Y/N, for she was there to hug away her worries more than once, to tell her sweet words, to play with her hair and play the guitar whatever songs she wanted to hear, to get reminded of her home - She was so home sick that she freaked out, but now she was better, thanks to Y/N - 'I know you miss home, but sometimes, home is where your best friends are, and all three of them are here!' she tried to encourage the cute pink-haired girl who could only squeal and hug her new friend.

Even Ghostface wasn't exempt from falling to her charms, and they would often take silly selfies and mess around, making fun of the old horror movie tropes and doing lots of puns and pranks - So much that she even got his trust to be told about the Danny/Jed thing, and how he began his killer profession - 'You're a very talented photographer, Danny! You deserved all that recognition you got, both as a journalist, and as a killer!'

And very soon, Y/N found herself in the crushing arms of an overprotective Anna, humming her mother's lullaby together with walking through the forest, Y/N making flower crows for all the female killers at the camp site, and little by little, she somehow managed to worm her way under everyone's skins.

Y/N was the survivor with the highest survivability percentage, and maybe the Entity sometimes got pissed off, but at least she still got killed sometimes, so who cares? Well, that was soon to change as soon as a new Killer was added to this sick game - Pyramid Head, the terror of Silent Hill, as Cheryl, the new Survivor, called him - or The Executioner, as he was known now. He was ruthless, merciless, grotesque - He had his own criteria of killing, his own moral compass, ethics, conscience and understanding of the concept of life and death. Nothing that could compare to the visions of humans, clearly - Everything was gravitating around Divine Retribution and Justice, but the from the outside, he was nothing but a killing machine.

He would kill everyone and anyone that crosses his path, without fail.

Y/N felt like her fortune ended completely the second she found herself in the new, overly cramped map, with Pyramid Head as the killer - She couldn't help but run around like a spazzic meerkat, trying to find and fix as many generators as possible, without having to get face to face with the walking hazard...

Only to run past a stuck Pyramid Head.

Slowly backtracing her steps, she saw the mountain of a man with his metal pyramid stuck in the frames a low window which he tried to walk over. He was trashing like a raged bull trying to attack a matador, but it was clear he was getting nowhere with this.

"H-Hey, u-uhm...Need some help?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, almost like a meek cat trying to test the waters, but in return, he started groaning even louder from the wrath he wanted to unleash upon the whole world. "Okay, uhm...I think I saw a can of vaseline in one of the chests around. I'll go fetch it and I'll come back for you. Don't move." she said, only to then realise how horrible that sounded, considering the situation, and it only seemed to anger the killer. "...I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm an idiot." she slapped herself pretty harshly before bolting out of there trying to find the chest.

However, Y/N cursed herself for not having perfectly memorised the whole map by heart already, since she found the vaseline can after the 3rd chest, and then, it took quite a while to find the bloody window that got the killer stuck - And by the time she got there, she was dead tired. "Okay, I'm here, I found the vaseline! Let's try to get you out of here." Y/N muttered as she put her feet on the low window pane to get to his level. "If it's not too much trouble, could you please hold onto me? I can't balance myself with both hands occupied, and I'd rather not fall." she explained as she opened the vaseline can, only to shiver as she felt two big, strong hands getting a firm grip on her hips. It was almost...Endearing, were she not too busy trying to get the killer unstuck. She kept massaging the metal edge, trying to push and pull, also praying to whatever deity that existed in her human world that she had her tetanus shot done on time - Until finally, she was able to get hear a loud screech, like a pop, and the killer got unstuck, and in the process, he stumbled backwards, while Y/N fell down on her butt.

"Ouchie..." she muttered, rubbing her back and sides to take away the pain surging through her body. "Are you okay?" she asked, almost intuitively, without realising it at first, until she heart a low grunt that brought her back to reality. "O-Oh...! You have glass shards stuck in your side! And you're bleeding too! Hold up, let me help." she hurried to his side, while the killer merely stiffened, feeling her delicate, slender fingers tracing his body, while he heaved and slouched his shoulders from the repressed wrath. "It may sting a bit, and I'm really sorry, but I promise it will be better soon." her voice was so motherly and warm, which also resonated in her actions, as she gingerly took a water bottle and imbued some tissues with it, to wipe away the blood smearing down his skin as she extracted the glass shards, and then..."This is grandma's marigold ointment. It's really good, and it smells nice." she explained as she carefully smeared a thick layer of the yellow ointment on the biggest wounds, while the little ones were covered by smiley-flower patterned plasters. They were cute, and colourful, and they never failed to make her smile. "Okay, there we go, all better! I hope you'll feel better very soon!" her voice got a tiny bit more cheerful and upbeat.

It made the Killer think about a trillion things, as he stepped in front of her, towering over her like the Empire states building next to a smiling pomeranian. What was with this girl? Why did she help a killer? And why did he feel so...Warm inside? He could sense a foreign kind of luminosity, a naivite and innocence that he only witnessed in children and animals. This woman in front of him was untainted by the darkness and evil of the world.

It didn't matter how many hardships she's been through, or how much sadness she had to endure - Her soul remained as pure as any snowdrop, as the first snow of winter, as the fleece of a baby lamb who let out its first 'meeeeh' to its mamma sheep.

He couldn't allow this human to be maimed in any way - Not by the world, not by the Entity, and certainly not by him. - Screw the Entity, Pyramind Head kills by his own rules, and now, he was blessed to be faced with a human who bore no real hatred for her peers, or for the world, despite the horrible situation she was thrown into.

He didn't understand, obviously, especially as he remembered the myriad of abominations that lurked through Silent Hill, all of them created by the torment of humans - The very torment that distorted their own reality, which resulted in him needing to solve the purpose as The Executioner - Eradicating the world of all evil.

"Th-This sword is so heavy...H-How can you carry this around like that...?! Your muscles must be so strained and sore...Y-You really need a massage, I'm sure." she stuttered as she tried to lift the much taller and heavier sword from the ground, only for the brute to simply bend and pick it up with extreme ease, putting the girl to shame with her complete lack of strength. "Hehe...You're really strong. I'm embarrassed now." she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.

Before she could leave or do anything else, Pyramid Head picked her up by the throat, careful not to hurt her or restrict her air intake - I mean, how else was he supposed to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her with his metal head or sword? - and it was pretty clear she didn't feel any malevolence from him, as she clinged on his forearm, trying to keep herself up, only to be dumped on top of the hatch, as the killer pointed towards it, so she would leave.

"O-Oh...! Thank you so much! You're really kind! I really appreciate this...I-I know it probably doesn't matter much to you, since you'll be doing this over and over again with all the survivors...But I really appreciate you for your kind gesture, and I appreciate you for being so nice with me. Thank you. Take care!" her dazzling smile lit the whole place up, but he couldn't talk, nor could he tell her how he should be the one thanking her for showing him that, despite the hundreds and thousands of years he had to roam the 'Earth' and execute the injust, miracles still existed.

As soon as she reached the survivor's camp, everyone cheered for her, asking how in the world could she have escaped the wrath of the butcher. "Oh, but he wasn't that bad. In fact, he's much more humane than I anticipated! I think he has a beautiful, blooming heart!" okay, she's lost it - the other survivors thought - but even so, she's always been a bit...Out of it, so who cares?

It took quite a while for the other three survivors to reach the camp, all bloody, in fact, like the new killer, who dragged himself with the same menace to the Killers' camp. "How the hell did you manage to survive?!" they yelled at her in utter shock, seeing that she got out of there unscratched. "Oh, you see...I found the hatch." she shrugged simply, not wanting to give away that the person who massacred those three was a soft one and he basically threw her down the hatch to her safety.

As she took a twig to roast a marshmallows, she noticed how Pyramid Head was standing much farther away from the rest of the killers - She knew that silent killers were bound to stay away from the more obnoxious one, remembering how Michael Myers almost killed Ghostface and The Legion at least a dozen times - But this time...He seemed kinda...Lonely? So Y/N took the matters into her own hands, roasted another marshmallow in another twig, and when it was done, she went to the killer's camp, calling out the lonely one's name - She has no idea why, but he actually followed her, pushing her further deep into the forest, until he was sure nobody was going to hear, see or interrupt them...

"Hey. You seemed pretty lonely out there...I thought you could use a friend. Thank you again for what you did at the trial...Here, this is a marshmallow. I don't think you've had many before...Cheryl told me of that horrible place you had to live in...So I hope this will make your day a bit better!" Y/N extended one of her hands towards him, so he could take the marshmallow - And a long, black tongue erupted from underneath the pyramid, snatching away the fluffy marshmallow and gulping it in one go.

What the hell was he turning into?

A towering man built of pure muscle, wrath and divine justice, with a pyramid representing the evil of humanity burdening his body, and a sword taller and heavier than the average human being constantly dragged in one of his hand...He now was a slave to a cute, innocent girl who was putting flower plasters on his minuscule wounds that would heal in a heartbeat regardless - He saved this girl who was now offering his these soft, squishy things that tasted overly sugarly, just like her upbeat and cheerful personality - If he could eat her, he was sure she would taste even sweeter than this - A sickish kind of sweet, that is.

She was indeed a beautiful angel in this tragic hell. But he didn't wait to snatch the second marshmallow either.

"Ah...! You liked it, didn't you? Well...Next time, I promise I'll give you more!" she grinned at him the same way a princess would to her chivalrous knight who saved her. The since he couldn't talk, silence took over them - It wasn't an uncomfortable one, per se, but it made it feel as if the conversation was over. "W-Well...I'll guess I'll see you around! Take care and I hope to see you again soon!" she waved cutely, trying to turn around back to her camp, only to feel a rough hand on her shoulder, turning her around and urging her to stop and wait for him and he went deep into the forest, leaving her alone and undefended by the potential malevolent forces of the forest.

When he returned, however, he stepped right in front of her, creating the perfect shade as he towered over her - Then he kneeled in front of her, so he would reach her eye sight, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a beautiful pink flower - As pink as the blush that started creeping on her face - He wanted to see her luminous face better, to highlight her dazzling smile and her glimmering eyes as the warm, silver light of the mother moon caressed her face.

Y/N felt her heart picking up the pace - It was beating so much faster than ever before - But this time, it wasn't out of fear or anything negative...It was something good. Something she never felt in her life, especially with her human acquaintances from back home. None was as chivalrous and gentle with her as this butcher of tormented souls - The bringer of justice, the merciless Executioner who was supposed to end the life of every living being that would cross his path.

It was insane how every Yin finds its Yang, even if that comes in the form of a little lamb of a small, frail girl, and a huge abomination of a brute man who knows nothing but death, bloodshed and carnage. It was truly crazy how opposites attract, and here she was, holding the killers large hands and gingerly putting them on her face, leaning into his touch - She felt safer now than ever in her life - Now, in the arms of an ancient killer.

An Angel and A Demon brought together in a perfect union.

As she leaned down, she touched the metal of the pyramid where she anticipated his forehead would be with her own forehead, and closing her eyes, she finally felt herself calming down. There was no need for words, actions spoke louder than anything, and she appreciated it...She appreciated him.

"Thank you." she whispered to him, knowing that yes, even though nobody else would hear it anyway, it was much more intimate than anything she ever experienced.

She was hooked.

Hope you liked my completely shameless pun, I couldn't stop it, especially after the pain I went through trying to write this...3 freaking times.

Yay.

[afandommultiverse]

Enemies - Zora Ideale

word count - 2.5k

request - Z3ll0us

warnings - uhh none really, language probably, just some fluff

a/n - ya'll, my bad, I'm not dead just not creative, I somehow came up with this in the matter of like 5 months, and it's still shit I'm sorry guys, but I hope you all enjoy! Btw I'm going to be trying my best to come back!💕

~~~

It seemed no matter where he went, no matter what job it was if they were there, there was no chance for him. How many bounties had he lost? How many relics had they stolen right from under him for contracts? Zora was sick of it and made it a rule to himself that he would drop everything and turn the other way when he saw them, but what was even the point? Because no matter where he went, they were always there.

Even now, a member of the Black Bulls, he was having a hard time holding back from releasing magic spells. He wanted them gone, at least that is what he thought. Why else would he get this burning feeling looking at them to speak to Magna like they have been friends for years? But, of course, Zora could never tell them. However, he wanted them to talk to him like that, not like he was just some scum on the bottom of their shoes, but it is not like all he has done has exactly helped his relationship with them, which brought him to his current predicament.

"With who?" Zora could not believe his luck. Of course, he was going to be with them. What else would the fates do but trick and play with him? His suffering must be amusing. Yami puffed on his cigarette as he handed Zora a pack of mission information.

"You are with Y/n. Now go find them and get on; I forgot about that one under some stacks of papers, due dates in 3 days." Yami kicked Zora out of his office and left him there to stare at the door as he thought about how fucked the next four days would be for him.

~~~

It was a cave expedition. Some wild animals had been going in there and coming out with big mana. It was beginning to make it dangerous for the surrounding villages who hunted wild game to put dinner on the table. But, thank the gods, Yami had cleaned off his desk; if not, who knows what kind of trouble the guild would have been in the next few days.

Walking to their room, Zora had heavy feet, which seemed only to get more weighted and weighted as he got closer to their door. Then he heard their laugh vibrating through the walls and ringing out to the hall where he could listen, halting his step and his heartbeat. Zora swallowed a knot before bringing his hand up to the door and knocking heavily. He heard their steps before the door opened, and they stared at him, sitting into their hip and glaring.

"What?" They seethed, narrowing their eyes as if looking for a trick. He sighed and handed them the folder, not even bothering to mess with them right now; they will prove him wrong later anyways.

"Be ready in thirty minutes." And then he walked away.

Y/n P.O.V

I watched Zora skulk away, a different air around him, almost defeated. I frowned before closing the door and turning back to the guest.

"Who was that?" A friend of mine from hell, a tiny demoness who specialized in brews and potions. Aliza was her name, and she was a stout little thing with filled-out curves and gorgeous maroon skin that glowed. Her nails were sharp and black, seeming to glitter in the light as she lifted her cup, which was much more prominent in her little red hands. Red swirly horns curled around her ears before pointing up in effortless black points that seemed to drip back down her horns like minor oil spills. Most enticing were her pink eyes, slit-like a cat and equally as sharp.

"Zora, a team member." I settled back down in my seat in front of her and sipped my tea. Her tail swished around her curiously as she stared at me pointedly. Since she was so short, she had to stand on the table to see eye to eye; she looked adorable under the flowers in the vase sitting at the center of the table.

"Just a team member?" Her pink eyes seemed to glint in knowing, knowing what? I did not know. I eyed her suspiciously as I finished up my meal.

"Yeah. Just a team member who, by the way, gets on my nerves sometimes and is a huge asshole." I took the final sip from my tea and gathered the dishes before throwing them through a portal to hell. Aliza looked unimpressed as she watched me close the said portal. "What?"

"You cannot keep expecting Helltower to keep doing your dishes." I grinned, dusting off my hands and moving to change.

"Of course I can! He loves me! Plus, I always repay him with little trinkets from the middle world." I mused, throwing on my guild cape and walking out of the room, Aliza following me. Her heels clicked on the stone hall as she followed me, surprisingly keeping up for being so small.

"Where are you going?" She continued to drink her tea, which she had reheated with a small flame in her hand.

"Some mission, talk shit later, okay?" She laughed before slipping through a small red vortex in front of her effortlessly, and I continued to meet Zora.

It has been silent ever since we started walking, stale moods rising from both of us. Yami had mentioned that the mission would be within walking distance. What he had failed to mention was that he thought thirty-five miles was within walking distance, which brought us here, stumbling on the only trail that would lead us to the village in need. Wind around us blew softly, whistling through the trees and making the leaves above our heads shutter and shake. Orange and yellow leaves were falling overhead to frame our little journey. Now and then, deer or a rabbit would hop across a few feet ahead of us, some even stopping to stare at us with their beady eyes before walking off.

As silent as it was between us, the forest made up plenty of sounds, birds chirping tiny tunes to each other from the high treetops. We had even heard the roars of hogs fighting by a pond over a mate. We stopped to watch them for a second but continued a little after. Eventually, Zora let out an irritated sigh and walked over to a tall, thick tree, probably hundreds of old- and kicked it so hard, the roots ripped out from the ground, well, mostly. Before any dirt or rocks could hit us, Zora quickly set up a magic circle and reflected it all. I watched in astonishment and confusion. What the hell was he doing? Then, as dozens of birds flew away from the scene, scared of such commotion, he spoke.

"Cut this for me, dear?" I scoffed at the nickname, trying to ignore the sweet pound of my heart that followed after his raspy voice wrapped around that word in an unreasonable amount of attractiveness. Then I thought of a particular pair of pink cat eyes glinting at me. So I shuffled forward, opting instead of asking questions to pull an ax out of a small portal. "I always forget your weapons are double the size of Cap'n Yami." He muttered off to the side, watching as I walked up to the top of the tree and measured up the ax to swing. As I swung down on the trunk, cutting it just as it began to branch out, I heard a low whistle, and secondly, his footsteps walking along the tree trunk back to me.

"Clean shot, doll." He grinned down at me, then looked back at the severed trunks. "We'll take the long one for the rest of the ride, whaddya say?" He asked, reaching down to pull me up. What the hell is going on? As I gripped his hand, I was almost in a trance, confused and running through millions of thoughts. Setting my body on auto-pilot as I tried to figure out why the hell he was so lovely. Which, in the end, was a bad idea, or maybe a good one.

My foot slipped, and just when I thought I was going to eat shit, a specific pair of hands gripped me, pulling me up fast. We fell back, landing against the wood hard; well, Zora did at least.

"Fuck." He groaned, rubbing his head before looking up at me, his mischievous eyes and smile gone, there laid concern. "Are you okay?" He moved me off of him gently, surprisingly not making any inappropriate comments on our position.

"You saved me," I spoke, still flabbergasted with what happened and the events leading up to it.

"Yeah, it didn't look like it was gonna be a soft fall, sweetheart." He stood up, convinced that I was all right, and gave me a hand again, this time watching me intensely as if I would misstep again. After I was up, he walked away, going to the head of the tree to fill it with mana. Slowly, the trunk began to rise, higher and higher, until we were above the surrounding trees. Green leaves blocking the view of the forest floor we once stood on, and a soft sunset began in front of us. The trunk began to move forward, slowly speeding up before staying steady. The wind whipped my hair around, along with a few of my things, making me hold on to them tightly after tying up what I could of my hair. I walked up to Zora again, coming to sit beside him. The trunk was thick enough for us to sit side by side, but it was a tight fit nonetheless. So as I settled beside him, he moved slightly for me, but our legs stayed glued to each other.

"If you could just do this the entire time, why didn't you just leave me back there?" I laughed it off, so used to him being a pain in the ass, and it is not like it would not be the first time he screwed me over in some way. Our relationship was not one of the niceties or cordial words. So often, you would find us fighting or screaming to see the other because of something they did, which eventually leads to a fight. Zora did not look at me for a bit, but when he did, I wished he had never turned his head. His eyes were sullen, sad, and overthinking, foggy with millions of thoughts that looked to be running through his head. The evident frown that towed down his face bothered me, so used to the shit-eating grin he pranked me or others, or when after putting someone in their place.

"I guess I can be really mean sometimes, huh?" I did not know his voice could be so soft. Honestly, I was surprised I heard him at all, but I did and could not stop thinking about it. I did not feel it necessary to talk after that, instead finally shutting my trap and moving on to watch the sunset. Colors blurred and blended across the sky, framing the mountains and trees rising to kiss the sky. It was quite the sight with bright pinks, oranges, and even some purple painted across the blue sky. When we reached the village, the sun was long gone, replaced by the moon, just as bright and beautiful with specks of stars across the sky. At some point, I remember getting bored and searching for the different zodiacs and patterns defined by the stars. As soon as I had found my sign, the tree trunk began to descend.

The trees we once flew over surrounded us and shut us off from the sky once again as we settled on the forest floor. The tiny little path we had been following earlier continued beside us, looking as it had when we left it hours ago. Up ahead, I could see the village glowing lively. Its name is written proudly on a wooden sign almost overcome at the bottom in ivy. However, before we got there, I opened my big mouth again.

"I don't blame you for being so mean; I mean, I would be mean too if my guild partner beat me at everything." That is not how it was supposed to come out, I mean, I was genuinely trying to be nice, but I did not filter the words that left my mouth before. Zora's head turned to me, eyes gaunt and eerie, his brilliant smile no longer on display.

"You wanna run that by me again, Doll?" The venom that surrounded the once cheery nickname made my stomach drop. I felt backed against a corner with miles surrounding me to run off. Quickly I tried to explain what I meant.

"Wait, Zora, that's not what I meant- not how I-"

"No, I think I got it doll, you just think you're that much better than me, huh? So what, you got to some quests before me, stolen relics under my nose, and joined my guild, passing me up in less than four months. I don't care, Honey, 'cause ain't nobody better than me- 'cause ain't no one like me! I don't care how much mana you have, how many spells you cast, how skilled you are, or how fucking perfect you are! None of that is gonna change no matter how gorgeous you are!" Zora's eyes widen, and he clenched his mouth shut, turning away with a growl and turning to walk off toward the village ahead of us.

"You think I'm perfect?" I called out, watching him stop and turn back to look at me. Zora's face was blank as he spoke.

"Are you telling me that out of ALL that, that is the only thing that stuck?" He scoffed, and his eyes narrowed slightly, sharp jaws sent in a deep frown. I walked up to him and stopped a step ahead of him. I held out my hand slowly, making sure I held eye contact with him.

"Truce?" Zora looked at my hand, astonished, which slowly melted away and revealed mixed relief and annoyance. Then, finally, he moved to grip my hand and shake it firmly.

"Truce. Whoa-" I yanked Zora forward, pulling him close, catching his surprised blue eyes before closing my own and going in for a kiss. Fortunately, Zora fell into it almost too easily, slipping his arms around me tight and returning the kiss with a bottled fever. However, after a few seconds, he pushed back, letting me go.

"W-What was that for?" I stared at him, lips still buzzing slightly from the contact.

"I don't know; it felt like the right thing to do. I think you're perfect, handsome too."

[makoodlesarchive]

when i was young i fell into a river

pairing: kirishima x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: none, really! a bit of angst, a bit of fluff i guess?

notes: hello, it's me, back again with some writing! it's been a long time and i'm very sorry about that, but i've finally gotten around to writing and posting my spirited away au! i'm v stressed with college so this turned out more vent-y than i had originally intended, but hopefully it's enjoyable anyway! thank you all for being so patient with me, i am endlessly grateful for you

The dream is the same as always, comforting in its familiarity.

A salt-scented breeze cools your sweat-soaked brow as you pause behind one of the sliding screen doors, the rice paper windows doing nothing to block out the chatter of the other workers. The bubbling noise of the bathhouse is constant, and the quiet little moments you steal away for yourself in the middle of the working day is the only solitude you’ve gotten since you came here. The work is physically back-breaking, but you know that you’re working towards a goal. It’s just a shame that you can’t remember exactly what that goal is.

One of the other girls calls your name, and you sigh as your unofficial break comes to an end. You slip back into the room, ignoring the way the frog spirits snicker and hold their noses as you pass. They like to complain a lot about your human stench, but it doesn’t stop them from threatening to eat you every time you make a mistake. Fear, you’ve found, is an uncomfortably successful motivator.

The days bleed into one another, full of scrubbing dark wooden floors and the rich earthy scents of the herbal mixes they use in the baths. The spirits that frequent the bathhouse, that once inspired so much awe and fear in your heart, become so commonplace that you hardly spare them a glance anymore. From the cackling masked spirits that always travel in threes to the grinning cat spirits to the sombre, unspeaking river spirits, you only go as far as to offer them a polite bow before scurrying out of their way. They never spare you any attention, anyway -- most of the time, the spirits’ eyes seem to look right through you.

All but one, that is.

He looks to be a boy around your age, but appearances can be deceiving around here. His red eyes are often dull and blank, but even so they have a certain ageless quality about them that no human twelve-year-old could ever possess. His scarlet hair sticks up in gravity-defying spikes, and his skin is as smooth and clear as running water. His face is often stuck in a carefully cultivated blank expression; the only thing about him that doesn’t seem intimidatingly otherworldly are the deep purple shadows under his eyes.

He helped you once, when you first came here. The rare act of kindness had stuck in your head, made even more remarkable in the face of the following weeks and months of harsh work and cruel co-workers. You wonder if he remembers; he doesn’t often look at you, but sometimes when he does you swear you can see a flicker of something in his eyes.

Two of the girls start yelling at each other, arguing heatedly over the way the work is being divided. A foreman appears to break up the fight, but then they both start shouting at him instead. You take the moment of distraction to relax, wincing at the pull of your tired muscles in the back of your neck. All the other girls working at the bath house are older and bigger than you, which means you need to work twice as hard to keep up with them and prove that you’re worth keeping around.

In the brief moment of rest, your eyes are drawn slowly to the corridor, where guests and workers alike bustle past as they travel to the treatment rooms and bathtubs deeper into the bathhouse. As if you’ve conjured him just by thinking about him, the boy stands in the doorway.

You straighten up on instinct, suddenly self-conscious of your sweat-soaked body and dishevelled uniform. He’s not even looking your way, preoccupied with the two girls who are still yelling at the frog foreman. Slowly though, his eyes began to travel the room, and you take a deep breath and hold it as his dull ruby gaze lands on you like a physical weight. You crack a nervous smile, feeling the muscles in your cheeks that have gone unused for weeks ache at the strain, and raise a hand to give him a tiny wave.

For just a moment, that blankness in his face seems to quiver and fall away. He smiles back.

You jolt awake, breathing heavily and coated in a light sheen of sweat. You’ve had the same dream, or some variation of it, regularly ever since you were twelve years old and while it’s become familiar to you, you still find yourself feeling vaguely panicked when you wake up after it, as though you’ve forgotten something very important.

Once your heartbeat has calmed down a little, you pull yourself out of bed and trudge into the kitchen to make yourself some tea. The weak, milky light of dawn filters in through the windows, lighting your apartment up just enough so that you don’t have to turn on a light to make your way around. You take your tea out to the balcony and sit, gazing out at the purplish early morning sky.

Most of the time when you wake up from those dreams you feel blessedly lucky to be living alone with no one to question or bother you, but sometimes you can’t help but be overcome by overwhelming loneliness. The dreams are silly and most of the time they don’t even make any sense, but in the aftermath of them you’re always left with a vague sense of unfulfillment, though you can’t put your finger exactly on what it is you’re missing. You always end up exactly like this; sitting outside on your balcony in the early morning light, drinking tea alone and desperately wishing for something more.

You sigh, and go back inside.

The dream is the same, but different.

The garden is in full bloom, greenery overlaid with bursts of beautiful bright colours. Camellias, rhododendrons, and oleanders wave and shiver gently in the warm breeze, and apple blossoms hang heavily from a nearby tree. The flowering garden is enormous and maze-like, and you have yet to see it in any state other than fully flourishing.

It’s a beautiful place, especially after the hot, cramped working quarters of the bathhouse. You inhale the sweetly fragranced air and feel the knot of tension in your spine unfurl; it feels like the first time that you’ve been able to breathe all week, but that’s not the only reason that you’ve found yourself outside.

At the bottom of the garden, the grass drops off into a sheer drop. The cliff face overlooks a seemingly endless ocean, and you perch a safe distance from the drop before leaning back in the grass. The sky is an almost surreally deep blue and you watch as enormous fluffy clouds float by, looking as though they’ve been painted on a jewel-blue canvas.

It’s not the first time you’ve had this dream, and you know what you’ll see if you keep patiently watching.

It doesn’t take long — it never does. You time your lunch breaks precisely, all so you get to see this sight.

The clear blue sky makes it so much easier to spot the shiny white scales, flashing jewel-bright in the sunlight. The dragon writhes in the sky, streaking through the air like a great serpent caught in the wind. Even from this distance, you can see the knife-like teeth, the great sharp claws that gleam like pyrite, and the twisting horns that erupt from his head like daggers made from calcified bone. He looks deadly, a living weapon that swims through the air like a salmon in open water, but the sight of him makes something settle in your stomach.

You wonder what it would feel like to fall through the air with nothing but the wind to break your fall. You imagine it must feel like freedom.

The dragon flutters through the air, buoyed by the gentle sea breeze. If you didn’t know better, you might almost think that he was showing off — his movements are hypnotic, dreamlike, more like a dance than anything. His scales glow pearlescent in the midday sun, otherworldly and earthly all at once.

You could happily stay and watch him skim through the sky forever, but already the bell is being rung to call all workers back into the bathhouse. You heave a sigh so deep it feels as though your chest is about to crack with the force of it, before hauling yourself to your feet.

Your break is over, and now it’s back to work.

Sometimes you find it difficult to tell when you’re dreaming and when you’re awake. It feels as though everything is always happening all at once, in the present tense, forever. You don’t get to rest when you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, because the dreams just keep coming and coming. Sometimes you don’t feel like your life is real when you’re awake.

Riding on the train has always been therapeutic, especially at this time of the early morning. The sun rising lazily over the horizon sends milky threads of purple and pink across the cloudy sky, and you cradle your chin in your hand as you gaze out across the moving landscape. You love these little trips, feeling more at home in the creaky, overfull train carriage than you do in your own bedroom sometimes, though you can’t quite work out where that particular feeling comes from.

You know sometimes that stories end with “And then I woke up — it was only a dream”, but in your experience the story simply doesn’t end. You cannot fully wake up without the tail-ends of your dreams clinging to you for the rest of the day, and you never fully sleep. You just dream, dream, dream.

Sighing, you lean your head back against the seat that you’re slumped in. The train carriage is too full, and you were lucky to get a seat in the first place — from your vantage point, you watch as people sway in tandem with the motion of the train. It’s almost hypnotic, how they undulate back and forth with every turn, brushing against each other only to be pulled apart again by the lurching train.

Through the sea of bodies, you catch a man’s eye. It breaks the monotony of the morning commute and your own spiralling thoughts, and your spine straightens unconsciously. He quirks an eyebrow briefly, slightly, in such a way that no one would be able to safely accuse him of having done it.

You look away, startled for no good reason. Do you know him? He feels familiar in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on. The train rattles on, and it takes several long minutes before you work up the nerve to glance the man’s way again. He’s still watching you, but you’re ready for it this time. His attention isn’t such a shock, and you allow your eyes to wander over his face properly.

You must know him, you think. Your eyes track over his features as though they’re winding over a well-worn path, admiring the curve of his nose and the fullness of his lips and the arch of his eyebrows over his intense, watchful eyes.

He smiles at you, and it feels as though you’re sharing a secret from across the crowded train carriage. You smile back — it’s just a small tug of the corners of your mouth, but it’s the most you’ve smiled in months. Longer, maybe.

In the middle of the carriage a woman laughs at something her friend has said and sways backward, blocking your view of the stranger. It feels like a loss.

The train trundles onwards, and the carriage gradually empties out. You watch people step off the train with friends, with their heads ducked low, lost in thought, arguing over the phone, distracted with their book bags. By the time it comes to your stop, the man is gone.

You try not to feel disappointed as you step off the train — it’s silly, after all. You don’t know the man, and whatever you thought you felt as you looked at each other was surely all in your own head. Your head has been awfully full, recently.

As you step off the train you grapple with your bag, side-stepping a businessman who is busy shouting down the phone at some unfortunate coworker. You’re distracted, which is the only reasonable explanation for how long it takes you to realise that the man from the train is standing in front of you.

“Oh.” You blurt, startled. You had already begun to resign yourself to never seeing him again, so you can’t help but feel distinctly caught off guard at the sight of him standing before you. “Hi.”

“Hello.” The man says. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you have no idea what he’s waiting for — as it is, you get completely distracted by his eyes. You hadn’t noticed on the train, but now that he’s up close you see that they’re a truly unusual deep burgundy. He tilts his head when you remain silent, and bites his lip. Now that you’re really looking, you notice how sharp his teeth are. “You’ve barely changed at all.”

You blink at him. “Er…” You trail off nervously. You don’t recognise him, but you feel like you know him. Clearly, he thinks that he knows you.

“It’s fitting, isn’t it? Meeting again on a train?” He smiles, and it’s an impossibly knowing expression. You don’t think you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a look that intimate in your life, though you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Someone collides hard with your shoulder and you stagger for balance. You only look away from the man for a mere second, but it’s enough; when you look again, he’s gone.

You take to walking. There’s a wooded area behind the town, and you enjoy traipsing idly through the trees. Ancient roots erupt out of the dirt and fan over the ground like hairs, and the moss that covers the trunks of the trees is such a deep green that it almost seems like paint pigment. It’s soothing, being surrounded by nature like this. It reminds you of childhood — the simplicity of being able to jump over tree roots under a canopy of pale green leaves, of being able to leave all your thoughts and stress at the boundary of the forest.

It’s where you come after waking sweat-soaked and disoriented from a dream that clings to you like a burr, where you walk among the ferns and the needle-leaved weeds until you manage to shake the last vestiges of memory from your mind. You need it, especially in the mornings where you wake up with the acrid scent of herbal cleanser stinging in your nose or the bite of hard calluses on your palms from non-existent rough cloths. On mornings like that, you walk and walk until you no longer feel as though you’re more alive in your dreams than you are in reality.

Deep in the forest is a great red facade, painted a flaking, faded red. You wander by it frequently, admiring the overgrown greenery that crawls up the walls like reaching fingers, the mossy stone guardian that stands sentinel amongst the cracked flagstones that lead into the tunnelled entrance. You’ve asked around in the town, curious about what exactly this building was for, but most of the locals either don’t know what building you’re talking about or admit that they’re not sure. One man told you that the facade was built for a theme park in the 90s that had ended up going bust in the recession, and that the building only looked old.

You remain unconvinced on that front. The building has the kind of presence that only very old things have; it feels like it’s watching you.

For the most part, your walks in the forest are peaceful. Recently though, you’ve found yourself plagued by an insistent, irritating sense of deja vu. You don’t know where it’s coming from, and it hits you at the strangest of times — when you’re making tea, or in the bath, or cleaning your apartment, or on the train, or admiring the sky on a cloudless day.

The man from the train is the boy in your dreams. It takes you weeks to come to that realisation. You just wake up in the middle of the night on a random Tuesday, with wide eyes and clammy skin and his name slipping from the forefront of your mind.

It shouldn’t be possible, but once it dawns on you, you’re certain of it.

Even stranger is that once you realise it, it feels as though you see him everywhere. You see flashes of red hair when you’re walking down the street, when you’re grocery shopping, when you’re walking home late at night. It’s only ever the barest glance out of the corner of your eye, just overt enough for you to know it’s him, but subtle enough for you to question yourself immediately after.

One night, you travel to a local city to meet some old school friends. At night, the city seems to pulse. The music from seedy clubs spills out into the neon-lit streets, muffled shouted arguments echoes from alleyways and apartments alike, and the streets are peppered with people either scurrying or stumbling home, with very little variation. Though the perpetually overcast sky hides any trace of the moon or stars, the streetlamps reflect in the ever-present stagnant puddles littering the street, lighting them up in varying shades of sickly yellow.

At night, the city seems alive. Chronically ill and struggling to breathe, maybe, but clinging to life all the same.

The way the neon lights flicker in the gloomy darkness, just barely illuminating the shadows of people hurrying through the streets to get in out of the rain, reminds you of something you can’t quite remember. It sits in the back of your mind like a sour taste, but no matter how much you reach for the memory it remains just out of reach.

You spend most of the night staring out of the steamed up window of the pub, entranced by the sight of the night streets and frustrated by the memories that seem to dangle just out of reach. You know that it doesn’t make for good company, and you feel guilty for that. Your friends don’t seem overly surprised at your detachment. You’ve been drifting away for years, and though tonight was supposed to be all about reconnecting it seems clear that it’s not going to work.

When you eventually stand up to leave, with forced smiles and awkward goodbyes, you can’t help but feel melancholy settle over you like a second skin. As you slip out of the pub and onto the dark streets, the thought crosses your mind that you’re not used to being alone like this. It’s a silly thought, really; you’ve been alone for years. But sometimes, in those liminal moments between waking and sleeping, you swear you can hear the gentle drowsy breaths of dozens of people sleeping all around you, as though you’re surrounded on all sides. On those nights you wake up hot and claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but never feeling lonely.

It is probably your own fault, you reflect as you drift down the sidewalk like a ghost. It’s difficult to make an effort to know people when you feel as though you don’t know yourself. You don’t know how to bridge the distance between yourself and other people. You think sometimes that you’re missing chunks of yourself.

You pass an open shopfront that’s serving street food, and glance briefly in at the kitchen. The cook is illuminated only dimly in the smoky room, standing out as a shadow figure more than anything, and for a split second you could swear that he has six arms. You look away quickly and carry on walking — you don’t want to look again only to be proven wrong. You want to preserve that little second of magic strangeness for as long as you can.

The puddles on the street seem like they’re glowing with the light reflected from the neon streetlamps, and you weave your way carefully around them to avoid getting your feet wet. The night has a strange quality about it, almost as though it’s holding its breath.

Considering the combination of your pensive mood and the expectant air of the evening, you don’t feel surprised at all when you look up from the wet cobblestones to find the man standing only a few feet ahead of you.

He smiles like he’s nervous, his gaze tracking carefully over your face. In his hands, he’s holding flowers. Camellias, you think. It’s the first time since you first saw him on the train that hasn’t been a fleeting glance out of the corner of your eye— he’s here in front of you and he’s real and solid and sturdy. He seems more substantial than the streets around you, than your friends back at the pub had been.

“Do you remember me?” He asks, voice soft as though he’s afraid of the answer.

“Remember you?” You croak. It feels as though the words are catching inside your throat. “No. But I’ve seen you every night in my dreams for years.”

If that’s the answer he’s expecting, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps looking at you, your face, your body. You wonder exactly it is that he’s seeing. “These are for you.” He says eventually, holding out the flowers. “I didn’t- I wanted to bring you something, when I saw you again. And I know that you always liked the garden.”

He’s talking as if the places that you’ve dreamed about are real. It doesn’t come as the earth-shattering surprise you might have expected — rather, it feels like a key turning in an old lock. A click, and then a sense of yes, that’s right.

You take the flowers, and clutch them to your chest. They’re a fleshy pink, with a vibrant yellow centre. The petals are as soft as velvet. Holding them feels like holding a safety blanket. “Thank you.” It’s the only thing that you can manage to say right now. Your thoughts are too full, and nothing else makes it out of your mouth.

It’s rather startling, the feelings that bubble up in your chest. It feels like something has just been unlocked, as though you had stored away all this emotion somewhere deep in your ribcage and then forgotten about it only for it to resurface at this precise moment, for this precise person.

“Eijirou.” You croak. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

His whole face brightens, and his eyes sparkle. “Yes. That’s me. You do remember!”

They’re not quite memories, you don’t think. They come in dreamlike flashes — the garden, an ocean, train tracks, the feral snarling of a dragon with sharp teeth, hard work and hot food, friends.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Kirishima is saying, his face open and earnest. “But I told you that I’d come and find you again, remember?”

You do remember, sort of. A flash of a warm hand holding yours, pushing you forward over a boundary between one world and another, and a goodbye whispered behind you that sounds like a promise.

“You saved me.”

Kirishima laughs, though his eyes look a little shiny. “It was the other way around, actually. I would have stayed trapped in that bathhouse forever, if it weren’t for you.”

“The bathhouse.” You murmur, wide-eyed. It was real, real, real.

“Things are different now.” He edges closer to you. He’s large and imposing and taller than you, but he’s hunched slightly in an attempt to make himself unthreatening. “That’s why it took so long for me to come for you. Things were changing. Me and Katsuki run the bathhouse now.”

Katsuki. In your mind's eye you see a boy with wild blond hair and a dangerous look in his eyes, a boy who gives you extra rice when he can manage and takes over parts of your chores when you get so tired that you’re fit to pass out.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait.” He says quietly, and the tide of emotion that you had just barely been holding at bay comes crashing over you. Before the first tear has welled over the edge of your eyelids, Kirishima has stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. The flowers are crushed between your chests as you cry.

“I didn’t even know what I was waiting for.” You cry into his silk suikan.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m not going to leave again.”

You don’t release your grip on him. You’re not willing to take the chance.

After a moment, Kirishima speaks again. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go?” You echo, finally pulling away. “Go where?”

“Home.” He says, and he means the bathhouse. He means the spirit world.

“You want me to work for you?”

“I want you to help us run it.” He corrects. The distinction is important for both of you — though the memories are distant, you both know what it feels like to have your names and voices erased so cleanly that it makes you wonder if you ever existed fully at all.

“I don’t know anything about running a bathhouse. Especially not one for spirits.” You say, but Kirishima just laughs.

“You were always a hard worker. You’ll learn as you go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

You want to say yes. The word beats in your head like a drum, and you can’t think of a good reason to say no. The bathhouse. Home. The chance to feel real and awake at the same time.

“Okay.” You say on a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. “Stay with me, this time.”

When Kirishima’s face lights up in a smile, it’s the first time that you think you can accurately describe someone as incandescently happy. “Good luck getting rid of me again.”

You laugh, feeling nearly delirious with relief and joy. It’s real. He’s real. He’s come back for you, and now you’re going back with him. You think you should probably feel nervous or hesitant, but this brief encounter has felt more solid and right than the rest of the night spent with distant school-friends made uncomfortable by your silences.

“So, how do we get there?” You ask, but Kirishima just grins at you like you should already know the answer.

The train station is tucked away down an alley just off a busy main shopping district.

“It’s easy to miss if you don’t know exactly where you're going.” Kirishima tells you with a sharp smile, and it’s easy to believe. The red brick building that housed the train station is unmarked, and the trains couldn’t be seen from the main street. The alley itself is home to many curious sights -- paper lanterns bob overhead (though they don’t seem to be suspended by anything in particular), a yellowed flyer from the 1950s advertising Marlboro cigarettes drifts along on what seems to be a breeze despite the noticeable lack of wind, and three magpies sit on a wall wearing little golden timepieces on chains around their necks and caw in time with the ticking.

“Ready to go home?” Kirishima asks quietly. In his hand, two train tickets flutter in a non-existent breeze.

A family of mice scamper past your feet, pulling a miniature suitcase between them. A tall, thin woman wearing a blank white mask assists them onto the train.

You laugh at the whimsy of it all — it feels as though you’ve stepped into a fairytale, into a dream, into your childhood. “Yes,” You grin, “I’m ready.”

Kirishima beams back at you, and holds out a hand to help you onto the train. Finding a seat was easy — despite all the passengers you had seen boarding, the carriage was oddly empty. As soon as you’re seated, you sigh. It feels as though you’re sinking into an old overstuffed armchair, comfortable and familiar. When the whistle blows and the train starts moving, you turn eagerly to watch as the train begins to pick up speed. Within moments, you find that you can barely recognise the landscape blurring past the window — It seems that you’re zooming passed a beautiful sea-view, despite the fact that the city the train station was located in was conspicuously land-locked. You sigh happily and lean against your seat.

You still don’t remember everything about your experience in the spirit world all those years ago, but you think you remember hearing someone telling you “Once you meet someone you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return."

You make eye contact with Eijirou, who smiles back at you so fondly that it nearly hurts to look at. He’s changed so much from the boy in your dreams, in your memories. His eyes are no longer glassy and distant — now they’re shiny and expressive and so bright. His hair is longer too; still spiked and wild, but longer and curling softly over the curve of his neck and shoulders. He’s the boy your remember from all those years ago, but he’s also a man now. Grown, like you have, but smiling at you gently just like you’re ten years old again.

Through the window behind his head, the sunrise begins to bathe the water in delicate pinks and yellows. You’ll wait for as long as you need to for the memories to return, but even if they don’t that’s alright. You can just make new ones.

[the-fandom-at-the-moment-blog]

Some Molly/Kingsley x Caduceus hcs cause I can:

They havent really talked about what theres between them, but they feel comfortable that way

Whatever is between them sparked very naturally

Their relationship is pretty open. Caduceus recognizes that Molly has needs, and Molly always reminds him that it goes both ways

Their concept of love is very different. While Caduceus isnt interested on romance he finds it endearing and interesting when Molly initiates romantic acts. Molly on the other hands loves with his whole heart and more and he will show it in any ways he can

The Clay family loves Molly. He brings a much different energy when he comes back from his travels and he is full of stories. He also helps around as much as he can

Hooved team™. They both got hooves. While Caduceus are more lithe and scrawny,Mollys are stocky and full

Caduceus made Molly a special sun hat to accomodate for his horns so he could help him with gardening

Caduceus also taught Molly to sew clothes as a way to help him figure out who he is now

They love taking naps under trees when the weather is right

They also love going stargazing at night

And going to walks through the forest

Caduceus let Molly give him another ear piercing

In return,Molly had a small symbol of the Wildmother in one of his horns

Molly always brings back gifts from his travels. Shells,foods,flowers,jewelry...live creatures. The Clays now have a pet crab

The Clays now have stools around the house for the new little purple companion

Caduceus once helped Molly commune with the Wildmother. It was and experience

Molly has complicated feelings about the graves,having crawled out of one. Caduceus gives him very strange but comforting wisdom about it

The Nein spent years without knowing this two had something between them. Even Essek and Caleb were more obvious

Molly stole got Caduceus a pirate hat

Caduceus knitted a tail-mitten for Molly because he refuses to accept the cold weather affects him (Jester didnt wear one so he refuses to do it)

Molly convinces Caduceus to accompany him on his journeys sometimes with the excuse that the Wildmother is also at sea

Caduceus havent told him yet that he is banned from Darktow

Molly insists that they go to Darktow

Molly lives to brush Caduceus hair and fluff

Caduceus taught Molly that the pigmentation in his hair and body is mostly due to lichen. Since them Molly has a small patch of pink in his hair. It is,in fact,spreading. No one in the crew wants to tell him

When Kingsley comes back from his travels,Caduceus likes to show him new stuff he has found on the woods. From places to cool flowers

I think that they would have some kind of ceremony. Not necessarily a wedding but some kind of celebration. There are so many flowers and stolen things that Molly has gotten. The most likely celebrate it at the Blooming Grove. Molly wears the old Molly-coat with some fancy jewelry.

I dont think they would have kids. Maybe Molly has an apprentice in the way Vandran did along the way but thats about it

Caduceus does have to talk Molly down from "choppin off a pinkie so you can turn it into tea and i can taste it" a couple of time

Caduceus,if destiny serves right, does get to bury Molly after he dies. He tastes bittersweet in the most pleasant way with a very faint irony taste. He makes a note of telling him on the afterlife

[lunarimpact]

There is no greater tragedy among the Masters of Chaldea than the loss of one another, and leaving another behind. But sometimes, in that glimmering moment between existence and non-existence, one can find something like hope.

Sayo stepped carefully into the muck and mire of the lotus pool, wading through the frigid waters, the large heavy lily pads parting around her as though she were some celestial maiden returning to her humble beginnings. And maybe it was true, for she had just been another of Aryavarta's lost children; India's displaced daughter. The bulbous white and pink ombré lilies on their tall stalks swayed around her, bending to greet her as she moved. Her black combat boots were sucked into the mire, already filled with chilled water, turning her skin to ice. Still, she forced herself forward.

Gritting her teeth, the previous secondary Master of Chaldea began to claw at the sacred lilies, their immense petals showering her in pale yellow-white and vivid pink. She pulled herself forward, gripping their sturdy stalks, pushing past the expansive mossy green leaves. There was no way she was going to let herself be stopped by this obstacle, she'd come too far.

Let the waters drag her under if they could, pull her down until Bhumidevi had no choice but to open up for her, swallow her the way she had Sita. Let the waters try, because Sayo wasn't going to give up, not when she'd already made it this far.

She squinted beneath the sunlight, looking for a familiar figure. Looking for the one she had traveled so far to find. The very God whose presence had dragged her back from the bottomless darkness which she had fallen into. The gentle reprieve of everlasting death.

She could just barely make out the shape of him, his broad back, the length of his frost-white hair, and his impossibly sharp horns which seemed to glow. His hair was so much longer than she had ever seen it back in that false India, and she had to wonder if it was just as white.

The splashing of water began to grow louder with each step she took. The many water-bound flowers parted around her as if acquiescing to her unspoken request that they move out of her way. It was almost enough to make her start charging faster, just as his outline began to become more solid. She could make out the gold markings on his skin, the long tail which burst forth from his lower back. The way he floated just above the lotuses, toes scarcely touching the still waters.

But she didn't charge ahead, and she didn't try to run. Not with the water clinging to her pleated skirt, her dark button-up. Not with the water soaking through her clothing, chilling her dusky skin. She moved with all the determination she could muster, no longer letting the mud suck her down. She no longer let herself even think about the possibility that it could pull her under.

She had already made it too far. Had come too close to finally greeting the newborn God.

He was such a lonesome thing, all by himself without some other to balance him. No one to measure himself to. It was pitiful, really, but it hadn't stopped him from deciding what was evil and needed to be pruned from the many cycles, the many yugas, and what might remain. What God wouldn't be lonely with such a dismal fate? He didn't even have a name of his own; no one worshiped him with love in their hearts. Just fear.

That sucked, Sayo wanted to say, and she would have if she wasn't clenching her jaw so tight. If she hadn't brought a damp hand to her forehead, pushing away damp red locks, her hair the color of a sunset. Her fingers were so chilly against the skin of her forehead, and if she'd been truly alive, she would have assumed she'd be bound for hypothermia. Rem would have surely laughed her ass off. How do you get hypothermia in the middle of India?

The thought almost made her want to stop, to laugh, or maybe even cry. She could clearly remember the look of panic which had crossed her friend's features when she had pushed her servant away to accept the oncoming blow of God's weapon. She knew exactly what it could do, that it was the sword that would cause the annihilation of the world as Mahadeva saw it. So maybe it was a blind move, and maybe it had been stupid, but she didn't regret it.

No matter what, she would never regret it.

She focused, instead, on the present, and ignored, for now, the past which had brought her here.

It felt like a miracle when the water's weight no longer dragged at her being, and soon enough she could no longer feel it. It was as though she had crossed a line. The illusion began to break down, the cold damp which had settled into her bones began to fade away, ushering in an all too familiar emptiness. It was inevitable, yes, but that didn't mean she had to like it. But it did mean that she needed to move faster. To book it or she would lose her chance to finally confront this young-ancient God. To tell him exactly what she needed to say before it was too late and this started all over again.

Sayo had endured so much pain, so much suffering. Betrayal after betrayal. Cutting down friends and allies. Losing loved ones. Fighting in an endless samsara since December 31st forever ago.

She wasn't going to let him go this time, and she wasn't going to wake up on December 31st of whatever the hell year it was. She wasn't going to cling onto the vague memories of a thousand versions of herself, some who became so lovesick for the sun that they could only seek out self-destruction as a means to an end, some who even managed to emerge as some great Beast, divine blood spilling from their heart like halahala.

The God floated before her, still as a stone, detached from this world he had crafted. This dreamy landscape of someplace that possibly could have brought him some semblance of peace if he could feel that at all. He was just like she remembered, a near statuesque vision of a God with a shadow of Arjuna reflecting upon his features. His skin was like smoky quartz, inhuman in its gray hue. Without stopping, she reached for him, grabbing at his hand so he couldn't just slip away.

So that she wouldn't slip away.

"I found you at last," she said, grinning up at him like a fool as she linked their fingers together. Her sopping wet black gloves pressed into the soft white gloves encasing his hand, his long slender fingers. He peered down at her with those inhuman eyes, mercurial gray with flecks of what she presumed was lavender. There was such a stillness in his face, a lack of emotion to greet her. Was he surprised? Was he amused? Disgusted even? His stony visage gave her no answer. But it didn't bother her all that much. She hadn't expected much from him, not even a quirk of a brow.

"Listen, Mahadev, I'm only going to say this once." She squeezed his hand as hard as she could, "There's no good and no evil in this world that you can't perceive. My heart isn't pure, and we both fucking know that, but I'm already a goner in your shitty little world, so take me with you this time. I can’t leave Rem alone, and you can’t leave that kid alone either, right? So why not?"

[love-and-monsters]

Emery the Incubus

Hope you’re all in the mood for a short, but sweet piece about two musicians. Also, my finals are coming up in the next two weeks, so I’m going to take a break from writing until it’s all over. I just need a little bit of extra time for school.

M Incubus X GN Reader, 2,793 words

You sat onstage. Your fingers trembled as they worked over the strings, your bow drawing out the notes in long, mournful chords. The song was not complicated, but it was your own, and that bit of nerves makes everything more difficult. When your fingers shake, it is hard to keep them on the right strings. The hand holding the bow was slightly numb and you hoped that you weren’t going to drop it onstage.

The song came to a crescendo, then down to a close. You took a deep breath, stood, and dipped your head in a bow.

Applause filtered up from the audience. You straightened back up, hoping that no one could see your knees shaking from a distance. You couldn’t make out anyone’s faces in the audience, couldn’t tell if they were politely disinterested or genuinely enthusiastic. With another deep breath, you straightened and walked offstage.

Your professor was waiting in the wings and he nodded at you as you moved backstage. “All right. Persimmon, you’re up. Head to the front of the stage. Can we get one of the stagehands to clear everything off?”

Slowly, you made your way all the way backstage, into the little room for performers, and sat down. Your knees refused to stop shaking.

There was only one other person in the backstage room. He did not help your nervousness. He was an incubus- you thought. You were pretty sure. Technically, he could be a tiefling. Both had large, curling horns, thin, often spine-tipped, tails, and larger-than-average canine teeth. Teiflings, though, often had red, blue, or purple skin, while the man in the room with you had deep tan skin. It didn’t mean he couldn’t be a tiefling, though- sometimes they had human-colored skin. What made you suspect that he was an incubus, though, was exactly how pretty he was.

There was something strong and sharp in his features, with an elegant profile and a perpetually thoughtful, half-lidded expression on his face. He was muscular and strong-looking, with long legs and his shiny, black hair was slightly curly and always tied off with a ribbon. It wasn’t just you that thought so. You had seen at last half the students in any class you had with him alternating between staring and desperately trying to look like they weren’t staring. An incubus couldn’t attract people who weren’t attracted to his gender, but anyone who was attracted to men, regardless of whether or not he was strictly their taste, would find themselves drawn to him.

Given exactly how much everyone seemed to fall over him seconds after meeting, you thought that incubus was a good guess for his species.

He fiddled with his bow, plucking a few strings on the violin he held under his chin. His musical skills were fine, if a little bit middling, but he also didn’t need great skill. He was only aiming for a minor in music, his major being taken up by biology.

“How did it go?” You jumped, slightly startled. He rarely spoke, even in class, and his voice tended to be rather quiet.

“It went fine,” you said and felt pleased that you hadn’t tripped over your own tongue. “Are you up next?”

He plucked a few more strings before retuning. “In two.” It was the single longest conversation you’d ever had with him, which wasn’t hard considering that the only competition was an exchange of apologies after you’d run into each other. He drew his bow across the strings, producing a low chord.

“You’re sharp.” The words came from your mouth before you even thought about them. It was practically a reflex. He looked at you. His eyes were a startling shade of purple, and the shock of realizing that prevented a hasty apology for your intrusion.

He stared at you for a moment, then looked back at his violin and twisted a peg. He drew his bow over the strings again, and looked at you in askance.

“Yeah, that’s better,” you said.

“How did you know that?” he asked.

“I have perfect pitch. And a cello and a violin aren’t that different.”

“Ah,” he said. He sank down into a chair and rested his violin on his lap. “I should have guessed.” He rested his hands over his violin, fiddling with his fingers. “I heard your performance.”

You nodded. “And?”

“It was good,” he said. “It was… beautiful.” He picked up his violin, examined it for a moment, placed it back in his lap. “You wrote it?”

“Two of the pieces are my own. The other three are just classical pieces I thought fit the theme.”

“They were all very good,” he said. You shrugged.

“I missed a note in my second piece.” You had also failed to crescendo the preferred amount in one of your own songs and the other had a bit of complicated playing at the end that you hadn’t been entirely been happy with, but hadn’t had the time to keep going over.

“Only one note?” He barked out an anxious laugh. “I’ll be lucky if I miss less than half of them.”

“I’ve heard you play before. You aren’t bad.” There were occasional class performances, and he’d managed to be perfectly adequate every time. He’d never managed anything overly tricky, but he’d also never bombed any pieces.

Persimmon left the stage. The incubus watched her as she passed and as the next performer took the stage. He played with his violin bow, tapping it lightly against his leg.

“I wish I was as good as you are,” he said. You glanced at him. He was staring at the ground, a tight smile on his face. “Then maybe I wouldn’t be so nervous to go onstage.”

“I still get stage fright. I thought I was going to drop my bow when I played tonight,” you told him. He looked faintly surprised.

“Really? But your playing is so beautiful…” He trailed off.

“It never feels good enough. And no matter how many times I practice, I could still miss a note or forget a section. And if I miss one note, I am much more likely to miss more. I am always nervous before I go onstage.”

His expression shifted. “You’d never know. You always look so calm.”

“Practice,” you said. “If it helps, you could probably get away with a charming enough smile. Looks are half the battle when you’re onstage.”

He laughed softly, though he still looked anxious. “Maybe. But I don’t think a nice smile is going to help the audience overlook it if I forget half the song.”

“Emery.” Your professor leaned through the doorway. “You’re on in two minutes.”

“Oh.” He stood up, tail twisting and flicking nervously around his legs. “I’ll... see you.”

He stepped through the doorway. After a moment of considering, you stood up and followed him.

There was a secluded spot in the wings where you could watch the stage. Already, a small group of people had gathered to look. You couldn’t quite see the stage from behind them, but you could hear everything. You closed your eyes and focused on the playing.

The first song was low and mournful, some kind of slow, sad song you didn’t recognize. It was technically well done, but you could almost hear the nervousness in his playing. The beat was just slightly too fast and you could tell his hands were shaking a little on the strings.

The next song was jauntier, more of a dancing tune. He seemed to be less nervous and the crowd took up a rousing clap along with the beat. One or two notes were slightly sour, but they were hard to pick up under the obvious joy of the crowd.

The third and final piece was back to the slower, more solemn theme of the original. It swelled and crested like a wave and made something stir in your chest. There were a few missed notes again, but the emotion of the piece got through. He’d obviously spent time practicing, and his heart was in the music. You decided he’d had no reason to be so nervous. It wasn’t the best playing, but it was certainly good.

Thunderous applause sounded as he exited the stage. You moved back into the back room and started putting your cello away.

Emery entered the room and promptly collapsed into a chair.

“There’s a flower in your hair,” you told him. He reached up distractedly and plucked it free.

“Someone threw a bouquet out of the audience,” he said, twirling the pink flower in his hair. “They’re cleaning the stage off.”

“It sounds like you have an admirer,” you said. He snorted.

“I have many admirers,” he said. Then he winced. “That sounds conceited. I don’t mean to be-”

“Because you’re an incubus,” you said, taking a chance and hoping you were getting his species right.

“Mm,” he said. “I have a myriad of people who would love to be around me because of what I am.” He sounded thoroughly bitter.

“There are worse things,” you said. Emery pulled a face, then sighed.

“I know. I must sound like a whiner.” He leaned back. “It’s gotten me quite far, you know. Or… it did?” He tilted his head, looking thoughtful. “I was an actor, briefly. And a model.”

“In anything I would know?” you asked. He snorted.

“Only if you watch a lot of commercials. Or read fashion magazines for children. I only did it until late high school, but I stopped when I decided to go to college.” He shrugged. “I’m glad I did it, though, if only because it lessened my need to take out student loans.”

“You didn’t like it?” you speculated.

“I was pretty neutral on it, actually. It wasn’t fun, but the money was good. There’s a big demand for incubi in modeling, even if I’m only three-quarters-”

“Really?” you said. He smiled toothily.

“Full incubi and succubi can turn it off,” he said. “Or, at the very least, target it. Shapeshift. I can’t.” He shrugged. “I just have an aura of… attraction. And, of course, the horns and the tail.”

“And the eyes,” you said. He looked at you, startled, then laughed.

“Those aren’t natural, actually. It was a spell they used on me in my modeling days. It went a little wrong- they set the duration for four years, rather than four hours.”

Your mouth opened. “How junior was the spellcaster?”

“It wasn’t her specialty. She was just there to supply makeup and contacts, but she asked me if I would prefer a more magical solution. I’m afraid I can have an allergic reaction to the colored ones, so I agreed. After about four hours, she realized her mistake, went over the spell again. She wasn’t competent enough to undo it, and I’ll admit I like it this way.” He slipped his violin into its case and buckled it closed. “Might even ask for a redo when it’s worn off.”

“I think it suits you,” you said. He nodded.

“I thought about changing my appearance recently,” he said. “But it doesn’t work.”

“You can’t change it?”

“Oh, I can. But my intention was to… dampen my aura? Stop the attraction, I suppose. It gets frustrating. People always look at me, always try to win my attention, I suppose. I can’t ever be… unnoticed.”

“Is that why you gave up acting?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Well, that and the fact that I wasn’t terribly good at it. Why do you think I never moved beyond commercials?” You laughed and he continued, bolstered. “I don’t particularly want to be famous. I considered music, but you had a point, earlier. Onstage, people do care about the music, but also about the looks. Doing this professionally would just be another way to get eyes on me. Or praise I don’t deserve.” He frowned at the ground. “My applause was just as loud as yours.”

“That’s a strange thing to be upset about,” you said.

“Because they were clapping for me, not my playing. If they had been, your applause should have drowned out mine several times over.”

“Thank you,” you said, “but I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“It’s true. Your playing is impeccable.”

“We’ve already been over the fact that it was not,” you said.

“I’ve heard you play several times before. Maybe there was a wrong note, but it was wonderfully soulful.” He laughed. “I am convinced that when I hear you play, I can hear your heart.”

There was silence in the room, except for the distant sounds of the concert still going on. He ducked his head. “I’m sorry. I’m usually not that poetic. Um. This is embarrassing.”

“Actually, I think it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me about my playing,” you said. He looked relieved.

“I… am not that good at playing,” he said. “And I certainly can’t write anything.”

“Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.” He smiled, looking quite pleased. There was a glimmer of something in his eyes, but it was gone when his lids flickered closed for a moment.

“If you aren’t aiming to be a musician, then what does interest you?” you asked.

“I want to work with animals,” he said. “They’re not affected, you see. I have to work to earn their favor.” He smiled. “It took me three months to earn Baphomet’s affection. Oh, that’s my cat. Grouchy old thing.”

“You have a cat?” you said. “Don’t you live in the dorms?”

There was a moment of shame, the a spark of mischief entered his eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell. Please?”

“I promise I won’t,” you said, “as long as you promise to let me see him.”

His brows rose. “Are you trying to get me to take you back to my room?”

It was your turn to dissolve into stammering. He waved his hand to dismiss your worries. “I’m teasing. I’m sure Baphomet would be pleased to meet you. After a fashion, anyway.” He looked at you a moment, seemed to be gathering his courage for something. “Would you mind- and you certainly don’t have to if you don’t want to- but I was wondering…”

His courage failed. His tail flicked rapidly and he seemed to be struggling to speak. “I can’t answer until you’ve actually asked something,” you reminded him. That got a tight smile and he tried to speak again.

“Your music. I was wondering if I could hear some more of it?” He worried his lip and you wondered how his sharp teeth didn’t break the skin. “I know it might be personal, but I… It was beautiful and I’d like to hear it again.”

“I think I can arrange that,” you said. “But not all my pieces are as polished as those, so you might not be as pleased by them.”

“I’m sure I’ll be pleased with whatever you want to play,” he said. He shifted his legs, tail stilling with obvious effort. “And would you be willing to help me learn how to play better?”

“There are better people to teach you,” you said. He sighed and gave you a look under his lashes.

“Maybe I would prefer to spend time with you,” he said. You opened your mouth.

“Are you-” The words were stuttering. “You’re asking me out?”

“I’m trying to,” he said. “I haven’t been clear enough, have I? I’m not used to being the one doing the asking, I’m afraid. It’s a bit of a novelty, actually.” He gave a sort of half-shrug. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve had an attraction for a while now, actually. From, uh. The first time I heard you play, actually.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “But I’m usually very cautious about asking people out. I know that some people thing incubi just use people for sex. And others… aren’t shy about doing it the other way around. So, I was waiting to make sure that you liked me back. For me, not for anything else. But you corrected me earlier. And you haven’t fallen over yourself with me either. So.” He coughed. “All this is a very long way of saying that I would like to go out with you. And I’m hoping you feel the same?”

He was just as handsome as before. But the only part of him you really noticed were his unnatural eyes. They were bright with affection.

[softsweetsuffering]

OC LIST (New)

Trey:

Has an ability to mimic or amplify abilities/powers of others, as well as telekinesis

Was previously part of a group of people who also had abilities, however after mistreatment and other issues within the group, he left.

He's got a good wealth behind him.

Extremely gentle

Handsome ;)

Loves photography

Has lavender hair

Respects all

'Secretly' Plays violin

Lowkey a sugardaddy

Hamrish Benat:

Has four eyes!

Pink and blonde hair

He loves parkour (as in climbing buildings and leaping around in gyms)

Has PTSD (There are two AUS of which I default as to how he obtained it)

Ready to deck a bitch

Trained nurse

Loves teddy bears and fuzzy pink socks.

Also goes by Hami/Hayden

Andy peters:

Strong, kind.

The quiet Big Type, doesn't always talk, but his heart is in good places.

Wishes he could do more

Buff + Tall

Wears a pair of dogtags.

Has red streaks in his hair for the fun of it

Is extremely brotherly to Adrian

is friends with Hami

Adrian Géarán:

Nervous Malnutritioned anxiety filled tired mess

Has emotionally linked fire abilities (does not like having them)

likes to make little robots!

Easily bullied

Missing an arm

Struggles with normal life

Blames himself for Andys death

Looks unintentionally vaguely like Fry from Futurama

Chris:

Leader of a summer camp for kiddos

Huge fan of the outdoors

Loves to garden

Red head with freckles

Healthy!

Good build, a little on the below-average male height

Likes to hike

Loves kids

Strong but pacifistic

Great smile

Surprisingly a little shy around other adults

Bisexual

Himbo energy

Douglas Connelly:

Just a regular chubby guy

His chub is only important because this man gives some of the best hugs, he's like a marshmallow

He is outwardly confident about his size, even if it sometimes worries him internally

He loves music, loves to groove in the kitchen while making snacks

Always open for roommates and new friends (one of his roommates is a hot bartender called Donovan)

A bit awkward but he tries his best.

Tucker:

Badass

Bunny hybrid (ears :3)

White hair

Likes to wear denim jackets

Fast runner

Has had experience working in the force

Izekiel Iris:

Bruised and abused in a facility

Was turned from human into A being of made of Paint (Useful? no. Fun? yes. Rainbow blood anyone?)

Loves painting

Wallflower

Easily anxious

Loves to draw on his own arms

Matthew Libelle:

Aka Matty Very delayed development wise as well as Autistic

Very much a texture lad, soft blankets are his thing.

Doesn't like loud sounds ( who does honestly).

Tries his hardest to function normally but it's hard.

Watermelon colours are his fav. Green hoodie is his fav.

Has watermelon pink hair.

Gale:

Eldritch bab

Was cursed by a group of guys who were messing with magics they didn't understand

Did in fact murder said group of guys and is traumatised by the idea he has become a monster

hears voices

Has Tendrils that have burst out of his back

Has the ability to move from this realm to the Eldritch planes and back. (is terrified of said planes)

Doesn't have a home

Black curly hair- frizzy- shimmers like Slick oil

Shy type kinda, tall Pale. cold.

Kinda wishes he could just go back to normal.

Would really like to eat some fresh warm bread.

Rowan maverick

Was abandoned as a teen

Also known as Rogue/Red.

Lost some of their tongues making them mute

Trained Assassin.

Previously part of a cult

Addict to painkillers (Caused by the mental issues from the cult and the loss of tongue.)

Bad with Physical affection

Could use a friend

Jace

Cop/Ex Cop.

Laid off after an incident

Has a pubby called Otis

Likes the occasional beer

Dad energy

Issac Merewen

Was previously a Teacher - grade 11/12s

Kidnapped and kept Drugged the hell up.

Was given the new name: Jess/Jack. AKA The Jester

Now has Amnesia problems .(Anomic aphasia)

Was stored Cramped in box.

Needs glasses. (Long sighted. Cant see Infront of him for shit without glasses. He specifically likes round ones :3)

Natrually Blonde

He was very inspired by the Chitty Chitty bang bang scene, “Doll on a music box”.

- He naturally has two different coloured eyes :D

-He likes podcast n occasionally audiobooks. Its good for learning/remembering words, and way easier than straining his eyes. Although it is upsetting occasionally when he can remember more of a book/podcast he’s into more than real words or real-life things.

Tyrone Li

Incubus.

Wise, Patient, caring.

Brown tattoos wind up his hips and torso, curling around his chest around his heart, and around his back, flaring at his neck.

Glasses.

Loves plants and flora

Sex lost meaning when he was younger. He wants true intimacy again but he wants to find the right person..

Glamors hide the following features:

Tail, brown that gradients into Green, Leaf like tip.

Horns, curled. (green tipped :0)

Glamors break usually after a certain period of time regardless of feeding, however, during bad situations/fight the body may unglamour to reserve the last of its energy.

Caspian:

Basically immortal but can die (Reincarnations)

Not a pacifist, but not instantly into violence

He was blessed by the Heart of the Ocean (Shes wonderful <3)

Can control water, can do minor healing with water

Can make water bubble/ boil when angry

Glowy veins when powers are active

He has had many many lives

Soft..caring..Doesnt remember alot of his past..

Doesn't know how many times hes died

Doesn't have alot of family or friends

Goes on many adventures

Elio Solren.

Nickname: Sunshine

Good lad.

Is a shapeshifter Dealt with being told he was happy and always upbeat. People leaving or ignoring him whenever he wasn't started building this sense of need to be happy all the time for others.

Lots of struggles with self image. Being perfect. Appeasing everyone. Poor self body love/self body image.

Is scared about The hate from humans about shifters. The jealousy and fear about them being able to hide behind other faces.

Smiles to hide the pain

Punk/hipster vibes

Intricate golden tattoos

Doesn't open up easily

Doesn't like to admit to being in pain

Kotori

AKA Corey

Owl lad!

Bright yellow piercing eyes. But is totally blind. (Face scars)

Loves music.

Plays the uke.. hums..sings sometimes.

Big wings- like barn owl.

Likes to perch in trees

Jeremey Caulfield

Winter baby

Was left bleeding in the snow at some point

Father Lovely old man (John)

Mother died (Ellie)

Birthday December 23h

Blue eyes

Black hair

Russel

Box boy

Glasses

Red hair

Real sweetheart

Really needs more dev ; ;

Jules

Loves tofu n chicken

Touchstarved

Stubborn af

Kicks ass!

Has Sass

Wears binders/sports bras for Lotsa running n such

Black hair big messy pigtails

Dark brown eyes.

Has a navy bear sleeps with it ‘doesn't care’ about it but does

Gymnast/kickboxing. Bandages around hands

Loved swinging bars since being a kiddo

Trampolines!!

Participates in Underground fight ring to make easy money

Sleeps on just a mattress

Has a laptop for study work but she's slowly giving up on bothering.

(She's not one originally but Werewolf Jules is one of my fav things)

Miles

Part mole, part orphan

Lives underground

Very light-sensitive

Is colourblind

Absolute nerd

loves tinkering with things

is scared of humans

very foggy memories of his parents.

Leilah/ Lei

Can make/control shadows.

Owns a Magic skull(Speaks to it)

Lives in the woods

Wears a skull to spook off people from her woods

Has Tattoos that are shadow/absorb shadows

Kinda bad at maintaining friendships

Emotionally Distant

Wears a cloak.

Bao Ketsuyki

Blood magic bab

Short

East Asian.

Pink/red medium length hair

Big pretty red flower scar from blood magic use on her shoulder/ back.

Little bit foolish, little bit reckless.

Has almost died a few times from her magic use.

Oran Audun

Pale

Punk

Irish

Plays Guitar

Writes in journal, occasionally song lyrics, occasionally little messy ink drawings.

Easy to aggravate (On edge) however is trying to learn how to meditate and be calmer

Covered head to toe in scars but still tries to find confidence in himself. He doesn't find it unattractive, but he feels like others have no need to witness his scars.

loves wearing leather/fabric wrist bracelets

Unwelcome hands have used his body as a research object

Very very against physical contact, needs to break into it.

Ray

Social worker works mainly with kids.

Has a Shy guy tattoo.

His family consists of a Good ma, younger sister, and super baby brother

Dad died but dad was good.

Dirty blonde hair, kinda messy

Short, 5’

Socks the pupper is his helpful lil buddy (hes so round and white and fluffy)

Super dad vibes.

Owen

a hockey player n gymnast.

His mother died when he was about 9.

has an older brother who is a bit of a big jock type

quite protective and caring of his two much younger siblings.

ended up in a nasty scuffle though at some point during his more competitive years in Hockey

This leads to following his passion for Gym

Pole vault, the rings, trampoline.

Still plays hockey among mates or strangers on the weekends in the cold months tho

Ends up taking a position as a gym teacher for kids after taking a childhood course since he was so good at it.

actually a really sweet guy

Soft but likes his sport and jokes.

He can hold his own somewhat more than he appears.

has blue tips/stripes in his blonde hair.

He often wears varsity jackets or baseball tees. As well as a couple other sport wear shirts. (A. Good few are from his bro ofc. Free merch)

He's short but he's got a fairly decent build on him.

He's got a surprisingly good tackle if you aren't careful. And a good grip strength.

Nohea

but everyone calls him Noah.

Works at a Boba tea cafe..

likes to surf.

has an Epic board.

Back and shoulders all littered with lines and tic tac toe-like scars.

he's the type to brush off any questions and change topic while smiling. But not super bubbly. Just. Go lucky.

has a few friends who like to hang out at the cafe

Was in a surfing accident that involved a lot of rocks.

Ila

4’8 Soft. Short.

Ready to protect.

Loves to bake!!!

Smells like a vanilla cupcake most of the time

Isn't afraid to fight although isn't trained

likes Yoga ( and yoga pants)

Needs glasses but doesn't wear them (tsk tsk, unless tryign to read recipes)

Dyes hair silver/white

Jake

Homeless

Snake hybrid can transform his lower half from human legs to tail

Also has fangs, and therefore venom

He's got a lot of sass

Can be a bit of an asshole but soft around the right people

Isn't used to kindness

doesn't cry easily

Steals food

Mac Hiato

Also known as Caf

5’6

Very Grumpy.

Very often has bags under his eyes.

Hoodie is life

Insomnia has serious trouble sleeping.

Has nightmares of strangulation

Occasionally sufferers sleep paralysis

Scared of dark- night lights

Owns a mouse called Bean

Does freelancing webdesgisn/coding as job.

Sits like a gay.

Lives on coffee

Minorly Lactose intolerant

Has One bad eye

Neema

Egyptian

Mechanic

Her dad's a mechanic and used to bring her to work all the time

dead mum: which affected her ability to emote.

Works part time at the garage

Dad likes to bring gifts on their small catch-ups that happen every once in a while.

Sheeee. Suffers a bit of resting bitch face.

she's kinda stunted emotionally because she was raised by her dad, who, isn't great with emotions himself being a man's man and all.

She's very much a tomboy gal. Doesn't exactly get dressed up. because she finds it tiresome and not "her".

Also if she did/does have friends the nickname Nemo 100% crops up because it's sadly alll too fitting but also kinda sweet.

She's actually really into cars and mechanics. Which is one of the few good reasons her dad and her are close.

She's hard to get to know, very quiet. And if you're someone who dominates the conversation she won't speak up much, but you'll be surprised to how much she's listened.

Just because she looks tired and done doesn't actually mean she feels that way.

Samson (Lemonade boi)

His name is Samson, but he prefers Sun/Sunny. (Other more affectionate nicknames include Lemondrop and Sunflower.)

He really likes going out to markets and stuff like that, little stalls or knick knack shops to find the odd kinda items.

He also really likes wandering big forests. (Hes got some o that fae energy) He collects various cool stones/rocks/plants from some of them. He also has some small vials from waterfalls and ponds he’s encountered)

He wants to practice magic to become a witch! He loves the candles and rocks and other cool things that come with the craft. (He inherited things from his father)

He really likes loose fitting shirts too, like flowy things, ones with sleeves that drape past your fingers, or has extra fabric on the bottom that dangle down past hips. (Sometimes they come from the ladies section just because they’re softer and have more variety. Others from op shops and other niche little stores.)

He bought a cologne from a witch that looks cursed but the only curse is that it makes the one who puts it on smell like citrus..so not much of curse. (The bottle looks fuckin neato tho)

He looves fizzy drinks. Doesn’t mind his alcohol either, however it takes a surprising amount to get him on his ass despite looking like a serious lightweight.

He’s pretty average in build, bit of muscle in his arms, some fat on his thighs. Slight pouch of a tum (cause no ones flat and thats unrealistic :<)

He’s about 5′4. So not tall, but not the shortest of the short.

He kinda likes to backpack about. Not staying in places long if they get boring. Which means he is kinda jack of all trades when it comes to work, offering to fix things for pay, lots of casual work doing various things.(One of his favorites was helping a little old lady run a paint shop.)

He occasionally snorts when he laughs and tries not to.

He has his ears pierced, and he has a little yellow gemed stud in his nose.

The ring around his neck he found in the middle of a patch of mushrooms.

He has a couple other tattoos. One of them is of bubbles up his wrist :3 He also has some stars on his ankle, and a sunflower on one of his fingers on his left hand.

He’s not super in to gardening but he does have his lemon tree. He also wants to grow some mandarins

His eyes look silver in a lot of lights, but occasionally there’s some strange hints of yellow, and other times blue.

He has freckles!!!! that look alot like bubbles ;)

He has a twin brother called Fraser.

Scrunches his nose

Hides his laughter behind his hand

[broughtflowers]

love

challenge my writing. send me a word, and i will write a drabble about that topic—but without ever using the word you said.

there are no flowers in the badlands. nothing bright and colorful, no grass or meadows to lay out in and stargaze. everything here has a purpose. she has a purpose. her hands were never made to be gentle - she cleaves things in two the same way others find ease in healing. strength has always come easy to her, far more easily than gentleness. 

zuala does not need her to be gentle. zuala does not need her to be anything but herself, whatever that might be. not useful, or strong, or orphanmaker. 

the only thing they need to be is a secret. 

( zuala is warm like the edge of a sunset, when the orange fades into pink and bathes the world in gold. yasha spends days and hours in private alongside her, laughter buried in the crook of her neck, fingers soft in her hair, on her arms, on her face.

with zuala she does not need to be gentle, but she is. with her it comes naturally, as naturally as the swing of a blade or the heft of weight over her shoulders. pushing strands of hair behind her eyes to better see the laughter in her eyes, the way the corners crinkle when she smiles. leaning into each other after a hard day. 

they spend time together when they can, in secret and away from the rest of them. there’s never enough of it. time slips away as fast as they can get it. it’s as exhausting as it is exhilarating. 

she wants more, always. wants more quiet moments than they can get. wants to spend nights with her instead of alone or with the person that’s been chosen for her. wants more kisses that aren’t stolen. 

for awhile it seems they might be invincible. 

( a wedding just before dusk that’s just the two of them, a thing unto itself. sweet and sad and knowing, but not afraid. ) 

they’re only secret until they’re not. 

( she keeps the flowers in her pockets until they wilt and wither, until he gives her the book and shows her how to press them inbetween the pages so that they seem to never die. ) 

mollymauk is -- well, he’s mollymauk. 

he is bright and ostentatious and everything she’s not, but it feels like they know each other. it feels like they match. 

her soul is quiet around him in a way it hasn’t been since zuala, like her heart is at peace, not at war. like the past few months of blank void don’t matter, because he spends hours at her back, hands braiding flowers into her hair with a calming swiftness, curls around her for warmth in the tent they’ve recently starting sharing with horns pressing into her shoulder and tail wrapped around her ankle. 

she is not a person who shows off or makes friends easily; she is withdrawn and silent, putting together the tent or taking it down or following molly around as his own personal bodyguard, but he does not let her fade into the background - always pulling her in for a joke or an arm around her waist or coming to her defense. 

he is hers. not in the same way zuala was ( is ) but entirely her own. 

( many months later, she will tell them - because he was mollymauk. this is the best and only way to describe who they were, when they existed in a space together. ) 

there is a terrible and empty space where he once was, and some part of her feels like she’s still waiting to wake up from the iron shepherds and see him, and that she might be that way for the rest of her life. 

maybe they are the last thing molly gave to her: this strange little group of people who will not let her leave without a fight, even when she thinks they might be better off without her. 

they are: speaking celestial in late night conversations with caleb, an understanding that can only come from shared pain; painted murals by jester, wh ohugs her only minutes after she is freed from obann’s control; stealing nott’s flask and not giving it back because that’s what family does; caduceus with tea that warms her and sleepovers where they talk until one of them falls asleep, and sometimes after; learning about faith from fjord while he learns it himself; and beau: who fights and takes the damage with her and calls her beautiful in a sudden way that is more than flirting, and more about yasha herself. 

if they’re the last thing molly gave to her, she’s going to protect her. 

they’re family. 

they’re the mighty nein. 

[smallgayblanket]

New/revised/whatever- List of stuff

Egos (Marks/Jacks) that I have written for or at least actually have thought about HCS/other universes for:  (Just some brief rambles about them, please don't hesitate to ask about them :3)

  -Anti,   Two takes really, I like him soft, like him mean, hes just fun to write, plenty of different ways to spin why he acts out, what he is and all that. My current fav way to portray him is a missing piece of Seans soul, which means hes unstable as a ‘person’ (cough, not really a human but not, not human either.)  And how he has static filled blue eyes but usually hides them with the scary emerald green...

-Jameson,  I will always stand by this kinda universe i created with a friend aages ao that Shawn took away Jamesons voice when being puppeteered by an awful ink creature that shares his body.  Giving Jameson a lovely fear of knives, some scars, and some very damaged vocals..

-Crank, Oh my fucking boi, a near dead human spliced with a bunch of robot parts..human skin tangled with wires and a heart incased in metal..hes a right mess, a voice in his head that makes him feel all sorts of bad.. He tries his best..he cries oil,  I hardly get to write  him but I love him.

-Blank, another big fav oi, black hollow eyes..a tendency to faint... My Hc involves him having been in an accident that almost killed him, leaving him with a very rare heart condition. He also has an aura which..kinda ties into him having a few abilities and stuff. 

-Nes.. He started off as my own kinda Ethan ego, basically Ethan who was mistreated and really lost his marbles..hes great for the real twisted messed up kinda stuff, so dependant on others, a minor murderer, and has been eyed off by a certain ice cream driver for quite some time...

-Were eth,  Okay granted this was literally just kinda an idea that..Eth became a were wolf boi, fangs, tail, ears. Hes just a fun lil pupper

-Eden. Succubus Ethan basically, but well, he again kinda turned into his own thing separate from Ethan. He's got a tail and wings, and hes a lovely lithe thing. He doesnt dare do things without consent, just gets a bit touchy-feely when hes gone without any energy for too long. Very wide stunning saphire eyes. 

- Jackie  Oh my lad..Buff, trans, adorable, sweet. I always love tinkering around with how/what powers he has tbh..and like- I’ve always had the hc that his eyes are lilac?? or gold. Depending on things.. and he works either at a comic book store, a gym, or at the counter of a gas station. Gives the best hugs. Also I love AUS where hes a phoniex because of uhm?? Big fucking red wings??? YES.

-Hen, Getting his accent right is tough but other than that I love writing about the tired doctor living off coffee and ignoring himself in favor of others. 

-Chase The fucking best dad, sunshine lad. Running a vlogging channel and doing his best while combatting depression..I hc him to have chronic fatigue so he has to push himself extra hard. but He does well in trying to get better and look after himself and only slips up like any other helpless human. Very fun to write. 

- Robbie.   Sof.t zombie lad. Drown in a sweater. Stutters and is v quiet. Slow with speech. Struggles to see sometimes. Loves soft textures.Loves attention. Overall soft fucking lad.

-KOTS, To mean known as Simon. Actually v smart, big brain, very scattered n shy and nervous and squirrelish. Loves books n plants, loves nature. Red is his best colour. Warm sweaters and nuzzling and cuddling up. I always get torn between him being a hybrid of human/squirrel or just a lovely soft guy. 

-Yan ! My fem nb/trans gal! They’ll kick ass with their katana, have the hots for Bim, and looove Japanese culture and stuff. Very adorable. Loves pink. 10/10 love to write. 

-Technically I do have a muse for Mark, or..idea? I’m thinking about shoving it into my own oc/thing..but basically he got tortured n abused by Authy so hes not quite like the real life markimoo..just a nervous mess whose dealing with his traumas..

-Bing, Skater lad, yellow/orange eyes, sunflower vibes. Tries his best, clumsy as fuck, great for a laugh when hes not cowering under google. 

-Edward iplier,  Gah my doctor lad.. I have a hc that he Lost arm. In fire..or by dark n wilf.  He has heterochromia too!! One cho ceye one blue one. He is a fucking nerd (Minor adhd lets be honest) He fucking loves space and science and space/science related lights. He has a bat plus with spacey wings. He likes reading, likes being clean and is quite a quiet indulger in food which has left him with a big of a softer figure. Super gentle nature..nothing like the arrogant portrayal we got in some videos. 

-Angus   I love this man!!! Part Aussie, part irish, a whole lot of gruff old dad with a soft spot for nice people and animals, has his own big place, next to a large ass forest. Loads of scars. Loves boots and cameo coloured clothing. A lovely guy when you get past the rough edges. 

Aand onto all my ocs as of writing this (cause you name well know I be writing new ones like..all the time.) 

--------------------

OC’S (My original characters!)

-Jessy, Cowboy-   Choker with gold bell. Lil ears/horns. Spots. Shy but sweet. Hands and feet different colour to rest of skin. Kinda  fur ish feeling rather then just straight-up skin.  Pear shaped figure. Shy lad. Likes to take lots of naps, anxious easily but a big people pleaser too. 

-Ailan and Keros. Moth n butterfly boi.  (Literally just made up with a friend, just a random soft pair of lads tbh nothing too fleshed or spesh)

- Louie - Followed by a dark being/creature/spirit... Yet to determine what else about him, but hes got brown hair, pointed ears and looks lovely in green.

-Quinton  A Hybrid of Demon and Angel otherwise called a Guardian. Quirky, Pan as shit, great dress sense. Extremely calm. Can see auras. Lovely black feathered wings. Bright blue hair.  Kind smile. Works at a little coffee shop in his spare time.

-Ori  Very pure angel boy, previously owned and not very well treated by a god, came crashing down to earth with no memories but his wings intact. Some help him. 

-Lumi  Ghost boy! Died years ago under awful circumstances..now lingers around on earth, sometimes meeting humans who happen to be able to feel or see his presence, he has the ability to make himself solid for short periods of time. 

- Lucio Witchy..dragon soul something or other- Deaf.Paralyzed? In the arms??They might use alot of energy trying to hover around instead of having to use a chair..(I mean how many witches do you see with chairs??).. Although they could not have use of their arms instead, like..paralyzed from the shoulder down- they still have them but theyre effectively useless and easily sore.. (which might make magic really hard, cause theyd have to master it again without their hand gestures.)

- Eztli, Bit of a prick. Basically got cursed to have really weird blood that replished and rejuvinated too fast/too much by a witch he angered. So he turned the curse into a good thing and basically goes out offering himself as a human blood bag for vamps willing to pay in info, items, cash or uh..other services..  

- Gallio Photographer, has hypocalcemia. Haven't really done much else with him tbh.

-Aomi Warlock/witch in training. Downright awful at it. Young and lives in a nice lil cottage outside of the village he was abandoned in.

- Lucas A moonstone gem perma-fusion, he kinda has SPD/DID but he doesn't, cause..hes two gems that became one but not fully. Leaving him to be a bit of a mess and not as strong as other moonstones. 

- Kiyan. A little assistant android!! Created to assist, he can make portals!, He works at a post office. Hes under surveillance by the company that made him and isnt yet aware of many human customs/emotions.. 

- Alex  A very confused, overly optimist Alien who doesn’t know what they are. Come from the planet Eutychia, 4'3. They fucking glow. You know  Kilowatt from space chimps? think that. But hair n freckles and more human and just as  bubbly and energetic. 

-Locus  Mer/Fish boi!  Transparent fins, glowy patches, plays harp + loves music.

-Lir  A Tiny Octopus/Human hybrid lad. Makes little burble and trill noises. Quite harmless. Needs a home. 

Benji (Strawberry shortcake boi- Cursed tape /bandages. Demi half god.? One eye. Uses notes. To communicate but also sign. Really. Good sweets maker)

 Small bois (A collection of tinys because G/T is fucking great okay?)

- Tobias. Literally Made of hair gel. cleary, adorable, aaand Eats soap..amoung other non food items he probably should not ingest but does..

- Hinto  Guy made of foam slime. Very chill n laid back.

- Glowstick bubs. (Alo/aloke -  Green and blue  +  Siro - Yellow n pink.  + Mavi (Vi) Red and silver. + Roxy (Ro) - Orange and  purple )  They’re a cross between glowsticks and lava lamps and its epic- asides the fact they have like.half a brain cell each. Lots of sleeping n lazign around.

- Theo  A tiny ink creature.  A clever little lad, who likes to drawn and write n paint in ink and leave cheeky little black splotches everywhere. A very good writer companion tho. 

- JellyBubs! A collection of tiny sentient jelly babies, hungry lads will raid your cupboards. 

-Miel A tiny little bee boy! Loves flowers <3 

Apocolyse Squad:

The planet Keres,  Left uninhabitable after the invasion that ruined the air and killed almost the entire race.

Sameal o’Ceirin (Being of smoke- partly blind.)

Mallory Thomas (Part cat. Vet, partner to Sam who ends up dying in the canon of their story)

Hamrish Benat  (Hayden. 4 eyes, soft tongue. PTSD. extra tiny heart in wrist. Quite fem/soft. Likes soap cutting vids and stuffed toys/teddies.)

Joshua who cares (An asshole. Staight up. He dies. Fuck him. He sucks ass.)

Andy peters (Strong, kind. Kinda like Tyler shied. Big, tol, but actually pretty soft.)

Adrian  Géarán  (Tail, fire abilities, likes to make little robots. Very weak n has a couple of disabilities that leave him tired n such, which aint great for his esteem or his team when the apoc hits.)

--

Wyatt ???? ?????????????????

Pace- Nerdy. Finds a cat. Observer for the aliens. Is immune to black goop. 

Four - buff. Scary. Deadly. 

Apocolypse Squad Part 2  Small lads who dont derese to be in danger: 

  -Apep, Naga boi  Legs mutate into a cool tail. Hisses, fangs. Adorable loves the sun. bout 20 years old. 

Chris. Camp leader! Biig dad type, redhead, buff, likes gardening and camping, very outdoorsy. Little awkward but great.

Small child Talise- nickname tails? ..   Blind and slightly traumatized by the car crash that killed his mother and ended up with glass in his eyes, very sensitive to noise n textures.     Ends up mutating tails.  6 v young n smol  blocks n colourin

Shirin Parvis. Crystal boi .. trained solider/ royalty.  Tried to warn people before the apoc hit and failed. Now tries to protect the small group of surviors he stumpbles across. 

 Zephaniah, mutation turns him into a  Chameleon basically, just.. a human one. He  Prefers Zeph. Big gamey Nerd-  gets a pet gecko.  16. Quiet. Loves Lazar skirmish and lazers. 

Moyachi, Cactus boi!! Plant bab. Loves water and has clear/lime green tinted aloe/herbal helpful blood. Spikes up at defense from bad people 18/ 19   likes drawing. Pretty grumpy and needs a break.

Colin, nicknames: Coco,  Lady bug lad, who is baby trans  mutation resulted in a weird Red/Orange skin condition basically.  Can predict weather v accurately.       Ballet/dance, 14   Likes cooking. 

Hotaru , Firefly bby  - Glowy bub with antenna,  possibly mutates wings.. Sassy and tired. Turns nocturnal as the apoc progressed. Also becomes Colins first love <3

Zeno  A Siren of sorts.  DC/ hip hopper/   Lost his arm in apoc.  He loooves music alot. Very purple aesthetic and checkerboards.

Liren Pichi, deaf peaches n cream aesthetic boi- Nickname Pichi.  He is alone during the apoc, sneaks aboard and ship and goes missing..

Neighbours AU:

They all live on the homeworld, Ermioni.

Lesbabs:

Blake Aglaia  A human with a gift of being able to put emotions into glass balls.. Red head, quite fem, but gay, sweet, but not mousy. 

Lynx ?? An alien and human, the alien somewhat resides inside its host but they coexist. Sometimes goes feral.  Alien half likes to go by Perse  (Percy)  They have cool looking saliva- viens that run down their arms that are pretty cool- sharper nails/claws. Tendrils. Large ol mouth. Lots of pointy ass teef. Lynx likes to train,go to gym, and kick ass. Big ass butch energy.

Demon fam:

Hyacinth  A six-armed demon with serious parent energy. Big gardener, his body grows flowers depending on his moods/strength of emotions. Purple neck length hair. Great at comfort and cooking. 

Rhys  A Demon with a great curiosity about humans has a sibling, Feri.  Rhys is a big nerd, but very hard to get to know. Not great with emotions, comes across a tad distant and cold without always meaning too. Loves candles and lots of autumn aesthetic. 

Anthos, AKa Ant. Rhys and Hy’s accidentally created/summoned a toddler.. and hes fucking adorable. 

Vato - V   Hy has another bub later on who's more purpley blue with red curled horns and 4 arms.. No tail.. 4 eyes. V cute and inquisitive. Less noisy and wreckless than Ant. 

Roommates:

Douglas Connelly  A regular chubby human bean! Learning to become a chef. He loves food, loves cooking and also loves dancing. Hes a big guy, big cudddler, but a little shy and akward at times. 

Donovan Amores  Real fricking cool and smokin hot Bartender with a love for dogs. Dougs roommate. Has glowing fuckin orbs- donates his heart to a fucking god is smooth as fuck, background heavily Spanish, moved when young.

Haris Alaksim Real name (lost in translation, Huitzilopochtli God of sun and war) ) - A god whom Dono is very close with and donates his heart two one every 3 years during the day of the highest sun. He is a god / Mouros.    Donovan refers to him as “Dios gentil”  or “ Viejo colibrí sabio”   (“El viejo colibrí sabio es un dios gentil” (The old wise hummingbird is a gentle god.)

Donovans Family

Rem (Looks after magical creatures- Cane is from Haris)

Oscar  (Not sure what trinket or power but He’s just a casual store worker w/ good arms. Surprisingly good with knives- perhaps has one from Haris?)

Nicole  (His only sister Makes clothes..possibly got some ability to do with seasons..?  Perhaps earrings or a bracelet from Haris)

Javi  (Makes jam, cute boy, wears cloaks. Maybe has a cute little jar necklace or magic jar??)

Luca (Trans bookkeeper- Talks to Haris most often and likes to ask questions..Has precious books...Possibly a special pen..) 

Forest bois!!

Cypress The soul of the forest - Mentor of Rem. Very calm, very wise. Kinda like master oogway type. 

Unicorn boi, Hes rare, missing a chunk of his horn. Dont hurt him. He doesnt even have a name.

Fyn. Mushroom boy. Protects a gate. Lost his twin during a human-caused fire. Very mad about it. 

Fie. Bat boy. Loves fruit. 

Moh. Fairy/incubus hybrid.  

Tucker. Bunny boi, Best friends with Ainsley. Got some like, punk vibes about him, piercings n such. Not as soft as one would expect but still nice at heart.

Ainsley. Fawn boi, clums, shy, round glasses,  Looks smart but doesn't always know stuff. Very unsure of self. 

Experiment AU: 

Izekiel Iris A being of Paint. Hes made of paint. He has trauma from being experimented on. Slightly depressed. Loves art, loved creating. also regresses to try to deal with said PTSD.  Hard to get to know at first. 

Matty  (Matthew Libelle)   An experiment, part human, part lizard, part dragon. Much smol.  Hes fucking baby and i adore him alot please do ask anything and everything about him. 

Cult bois:

-Nero Aakil   (Means Genius/Orange blossom)   Orange bub  - Leader. Smart. Telepathic link with all cult members.  V corrupted…  (Parents were rich and ignorant)

-Mao Cerise   Pink - Ditzy, Looks after their ‘little bird’ (aka Jey) 

-Jey Michael Cherubim   Fallen angel -  Corrupted..desaturating and weak.. Was summoned by the cult and captured as a trophy. 

-Jaden Hirav  Looks after a garden of plants both harmless and some not for master. Previously Neros old pet..His  The family was alright but he was moreso raised by like his mum and bro. He was kidnapped from his garden and never seen again. The cult ritual to initiate him into the group failed and he was spliced with plants making him near useless to the cult.

-Rowan maverick - Now known as  Rogue- Red. Lost their tongue. Does Not follow orders to the T but gets their job done.   Has another voice/god/soul looking out for them… Very assassin ready, very perceptive. Wants to get out the cult but knows theyre too far in.. Cool glowy words in the air because they don't have their tongue. Possibly only lives of medication and vitamin pills..possible OD? Possible addiction. They struggle alot with it. 

P - Pax -  God who watches over Rowan. Was killed by the Master but their spirt lives on.

Cato.   Purple - Another smart one.. Possible Wiccan?  Sadist. Mean. Tall.  Scary. Abuse. Twisted. Loves being in the cult. Eventually wants to host Masters soul.. 

Gin Short for Ginger but the real name is Xanthe.  Blind. Also another assassin like Rogue but more obedient.  Doesn't talk often out of fear. 

Benjamin Brandy  (Benji. B) is Gins friend, Gin is trying not to get him involved in the cult but was too late as B had previously already been cursed and dealt with mythical beings..

 Silver bub. Demir. A demon summoned by the cult to complete the collection. Wants out, very stressed.  

Adopted AU: (This is like a mess of some of the boys but younger and in a different timeline to their universes smushed together intoa kinda cute school/adoption au idea.)

Matthew is smol autistic, malnourished and heavily abused both mentally and physically, leading to selective mutism and being a small fragile easily tired bab.  He loves hanging in the library once he gets used to going to some schooling. Gets tutored by Chris? Goes to camp and helps around n has fun..

Jaden, loves the school garden, and likes science class. His family is alright, However he ends up mostly raised by his sister? Or brother? 

Iz is the lil art bab, also in foster care of a big family, not so much abused but semi neglected. Quiet.

Nero is the gifted nerdy child..Parents ignorant. They love history and fictional books and reading and learning.

Benji is the slightly older kid whos possibly maybe a little behind or delayed or..something, they help out with other kids as a buddy? They like to do cooking classes.

DA AU

So this Au was like..the Septic tank births all the egos.

Angus first- He has..some kinda strength I imagine/..

Then Anti, Hen, Jackie. Marv. 

Chase -  He kills himself because of Glitch- also falls in the tank a second time and ends up with odd powers. 

Glitch Starts off as very bad and misunderstood. Turns out they were just highly unstable and required medical treatment.  Their real name is Arius and they cant stomach solid foods all the time. Mostly a liquid diet. They have glitchy fits/static seizures. Very unpleasant. Can enter tech, and its not so great, can get trapped. Can absorb certain amounts of electricity because of this they Got hit by  ightning once and has epic lighting scars!! Up arms..some on neck. All over his chest and back. 

Septic clone AU

Sean giving up bits of soul to make clones ends up in coma

Experiments and torture and odd shit with the egos ensues??

Minecraft AU??  

Yeah i had weird ideas for a cute minecraft gang of minecrafters who had accidents involving getting merged/recded with other creatures traits ect. 

Vail.  -Vex / Human

Snow golom hybrid? Or Blaze?

Slimey boi

Kitsune

Panda lad.

Pokebabs au

Mainly for Matty, Iz and Blank.. were they have pokemon forms and when bonded with a human long enough can evolved into human forms?? 

Horned AU  (With Troiseh/Glitch-in-the-static)

Shiro  -Prince lad  (This is their lad :3)

Junji - Battery..whump/slave/lost prince 

Isao Asuka -  Shiros Royal Guard 

Alien AU

Hami if he were..alien instead of being a human in an apoc basically. 

Angel AU stuff: 

Good omens inspired boi

Leo Halvar   Part..humany..demon..Cambion are according to google "In late European mythology and literature, a cambion is the offspring of an incubus, succubus, or another demon with a human, or of an incubus and succubus"

Ryan  Hot archangel guy: One wing, demon hunter thing.. Good kinda reforming from a less nice lifestyle previously. 

Mute angel possibly demon idk- -   Latif? Emmet? Evan? 

Long fringe shy boy-  Cael / Lox

[muthaz-rapapa]

StarPre: Zodiac Forms

Now that I’ve got the good quality official art, c’mon, did anyone seriously think I would not ramble about the zodiac forms in another long post? :P lol

Crap, I should be studying my Japanese since I’m traveling to Tokyo next week (GONNA GO VISIT THE PRECURE STORE, WOOOOT~!) but I want to get this post out first cuz I know I won’t have time or internet access to do it later.

So let’s do this!

Taurus form – BRAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDSSSSSSSSSS

8D

This one I like best out of Star’s two forms (but Pisces is awesome too!) for that reason but I also love how they changed her short tutu-style skirt into an asymmetric, flowing one. And that cow pattern is to die for~! <3

The butterfly earrings and horns are a very nice touch as well! *chef’s kiss*

Pisces form – I can’t explain why or how Hikaru pulls off the mermaid look so well…but she just does, okay?

Maybe it’s the twintails.

Anyways, super cute! Adding a touch of blue and deep magenta to the overall light pink theme really makes her look more tropical.

Then there are the sea accessories and ugh! Sometimes when I look at this, I’m reminded of Mermaid Melody except the way Star is designed here looks a lot more fun.

Before I get into this, I just want to say that we can now celebrate Lala’s bubble shorts blooming into space dresses! Aaaaaahhh~ <D

Leo form – Y’know when I saw Lala go “RAWR!” in the movie trailer, I was like “This is it, if this is the last thing I see, I’ll be happy I lived”, hahaha!

Lion imagery is just so cool, y’know? (as Gelato can testify)

The wild hair, the crown.

Yeap. This pretty much confirms it. Lala is Space Queen. ;D

Cancer form – I’m simultaneously gushing over her crab hair, how much I love this shade of yellow green and giggling mad that she resembles a jellyfish more than a crustacean. xDD

*sigh* Really, I think Lala’s forms turned out the best. They faithfully captured the aesthetics of the Star Princesses while retaining Milky’s original design and without making it overly gaudy, too.

Lala, you are perfect! <3

Libra form – Normally, I would say that’s too crazy for even crazy magical girl hair but then I remember Felice’s Alexandrite form and how extra that was in all its Mother Nature floral glory…

…and I just shut my trap.

Still, it seems like Libra form had the least effort put into it.

I mean, yea, they moved some colors around (more like seeped the orange into the ombre of Soleil’s hair) and extended the reaches of her dress but it’s practically the same thing save for Libra’s hairdo…which looks more like a wig she put on that anything.

That’s just it. The dual cornucopia there catches your attention right away on how…fake it looks that it’s as if the rest don’t matter as much. Which is sad cuz the Libra Star Princess is perhaps one of the best Star Princesses based on what little personality we did get from each of them. And I just wanted to see something more creative for her form, that’s all. :(

Maybe it’ll look better in motion? We’ll just have to see if that happens in the movie. As of right now, this still picture isn’t really helping my impression of it.

Scorpio form – Much better. Absolutely adore the slimmer cut and my, does Elena look downright gorgeous with a ponytail! <D

I’m always reading about how “full of passion” Scorpios are and while I don’t let those descriptions get in the way of appreciating their characters, have to admit that “passion” was the first word that came to my mind when I saw Soleil in this form.

She literally looks like a goddess of sunsets. Beautiful.

Capricorn form – Still not sure if I’m the type of person who favors something just because I so happen to share a quality or trait with that one certain aspect of a character…

And I freely admit that the Capricorn form is not the best of bunch (though it’s definitely not the worst)…

…but it looks unarguably lovely regardless and I love it with all my heart because me is a Capricorn, after all~ <3

The tiny hearts themselves may be a bit much but it’s part of Capricorn Star Princess’s design so honestly, I have zero problem with it. They’re adorable~

Then I kinda squealed because Selene traded her umbrella/lamp shade skirt for a fancy bed canopy! LOL xDD

But most of all, it’s simply wonderful to see Madoka with wavy hair (AGAIN WITH THE HAIR!). Ooooo, gotta love that transition from light purple to fuchsia! X3

Like I said before, they made the Cures’ respective color schemes and the Star Princesses’ color schemes quite compatible. But that’s a given since they’re within close range of each other anyway.

Sagittarius form – Ok, I may have said Lala’s forms looked the best but I believe the Sagittarius form alone can blow everyone else’s out of the sky.

I mean, look at her! Isn’t she friggin’ STUNNING?!

The long side pony tail (*SCREAMS*), the mature vibe the long gown gives off and most of all, MADOKA HOLDING AN ACTUAL BOW AND ARROW AND LOOKING LIKE A WARRIOR MAIDEN DESCENDING FROM THE HEAVENS TO PURGE THE EVIL FROM THIS WRETCH WORLD!!

HAAAAAA……I dunno why I get so emotional over form changes, I just do.

Alright, first things first. This is not the place for me to spill my grievances about Cosmos in general so rest assured, I won’t do that. But I am allowed to say one thing.

Toei. I don’t understand your incomplete logic.

Cure Cosmos is a rainbow Cure. You either give her all twelve differently colored forms or you give her none at all.

Seriously, it makes no sense that she gets four zodiac forms, leaving the other girls with only two when we could have had:

1) the original starters with three zodiac forms each

2) Cosmos with either twelve (because SHE’S THE CURE OF EFFIN’ RAINBOWS!!) or one exceptionally glorified rainbow super form (with seven cat tails because RAINBOWS!!)

This is less about midseason Cure privilege (which Cosmos has heaps of) or the fact that they won’t be able to fit so many forms in an hour long special (it’s movie budget so piss off!) and more about not doing your math right to get the best, maximum output! xP

*sigh* Ok, petty raging done (for now). Moving along…

Aries form – As some of you may know, I’m not a fan of Cosmos’ rainbow skirt but I find I can easily overlook that (along with the cat ears, the flat top hat décor, the weird braids and the dorito clips) to appreciate the full picture.

And the Aries form may just be my most favorite out of Cosmos’ forms. Since Aries is the ram constellation, the white wool trim looks appropriate, especially against the crimson of her outfit. Frankly, I think Cosmos looks better in this red design than her normal blue-rainbow Cure form.

Then there’s the poofy (kyaa~!) hair that just acts so well as a backdrop to the ram horns.

Mm, yes, definitely my favorite. *nod nod*

Gemini form – Again, where the fuck were you when Met Gala was happening this year?!

Like, this would not only fit right in with the camp theme but could’ve won best dressed that night!

The only thing I’d consider getting rid of is the rainbow but then it’d probably look less campy so maybe not.

Anyways, I was the least fond of this form when I first saw it but the more I look at it, the more I’m learning to like it…??

The red cape (and cherry earrings) provides a sharp contrast to all the green going on, too.

Virgo form – Azure blue complements light pink and white in a very angelic sort of way. Pretty~

Cosmos’ hair also looks delightfully charming when it’s curled and has a flower decoration in it.

…That’s all I have to say, really.

Oh no, wait.

It’s extremely odd to me that Cosmos gets two zodiac forms that correspond to other Cures’ birthday signs and she doesn’t even get the form of her own birthday sign.

Hikaru’s is Aries and Elena’s is Virgo. Look who got those forms.

Yuni’s sign is Libra. That form went to Soleil instead.

…WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?! >:/

Aquarius form – Is it just me or do the rainbow pleats actually work here?

We’re dealing with water and the droplet beads attached to the ends really reminds me of the rain so that’s probably why.

Cosmos’ hair also looks mega good in waves, too.

And the stars~! Exquisite!

On another note, again she always comes as a strange package because if cats in general hate water, then pairing Cosmos up with Aquarius is the biggest mismatch of them all, them both having a blue theme be damned. xD;

~~~~~

*SIGH* Finished!

…Or not. One last thing. There’s always one last thing.

It’s just a real shame that these forms are exclusive to the movie. I mean, I know we all have our opinions on whether or not Form Changes are actually useful in the tv series (I don’t care, I just like looking at them and that’s reason enough for me)…

But the stock footage was severely underwhelming for StarPre so having these in the show may have done some good to alleviate that feeling.

Also, the Zodiac forms have a much closer relation to the space motif than the Twinkle forms do. Seriously, the most noticeable things about the Twinkle forms are the tiaras and it’s weird because we already have the Star Princesses. So WHY do we need to put tiaras on the Cures? They’re not aiming to become princesses themselves, they’re channeling the powers of the stars (aka the Zodiac princesses!) so they should take on appearance respective of the star signs!

Again, I really don’t understand Toei logic.

……AND ONE MORE THING! OMGODD

Is there anyone out there who tried to draw what the first four Cures would look like in the forms that went to Cosmos? And if there is, may I see them? Please, pretty pretty please please please?!?!?

[minniendaedae]

Choices

My take on the prompt from writing-central: 

Words: 2301

Warning: Main character death, Possibly triggering topics like sorta suicide/murder, death, and more. 

AN: I do not condone any of the things this topic touches on, I am not promoting it or glorifying it in any way. I am sorry if this offends you, but I do have a warning and read at your own risk. 

Guardian angels and demons. Everyone had them. They appeared when there were dire situations, the few times in you life where you had to make a decision that would alter your entire life. They appear to offer you a choice. The moral way, and the selfish way. The light path, the dark path.

But they were decisions that decided your future. And yours alone. Many end up choosing the way of the devil, as the selfish way seemed better, safer.

But there was one special little boy who met his angel and demon three times. It took three decisions who made him who he was, what he was remembered by, but that’s not what made him special. No, what made him special, was that his angel and his demon didn’t always offer him the choices they were supposed to. And that changed everything.

“Who are you?” The young boy’s round cheeks were bright red, body turned, as if almost shy, but his eyes betrayed him. The child was so very curious.

This was the first time anything like this had happened to Jimin. Two figures had burst into existence in front of him, as the rest of the world froze, almost as if somebody had pressed a pause button.

A white circlet of silver light and braided flowers drifted above one of the figure’s head. The man also had a wide, boxy beam and mischievous, dark eyes to match. His skin was practically glowing as white, feathered wings peaked over his shoulders, draping onto the floor.

But it was the man next to him that drew Jimin’s curiosity. He had pale, pale skin, as if he had never seen the sun before and dark, harsh eyes. But it was the curved, ebony horns that curved above his head that made Jimin pause. Pause and stare.

“I’m Taehyung, your angel.”

“I’m Namjoon. Your...your devil.”

There was something heavy in Namjoon’s voice, almost burdened. Taehyung turned to Namjoon with a smirk.

“Don’t sound so dejected Joonie, we don’t get to choose our jobs.” The demon simply shook his head, a wry smile taking over his face. But Jimin felt a twinge somewhere in his chest, staring at the two. Neither of them seem to fit exactly, both as if not in the right bodies.

“That still doesn’t explain who you are, why you’re here.”

The pair glanced at each other again.

“We’re here to offer you a choice.”

“A choice?”

“You were about to make one just now weren’t you?”

Jimin stared at both of them unsurely. Had he been about to make a decision? All he was going to do was ask the other kids to play with him.

“I suppose I was just going to ask them to play with me.”

Taehyung gave him a sly smirk.

“However, you couldn’t have known that they would reject you, so now you have your choices.”

“Continue forwards and ask them to play,” Namjoon offered.

“Or turn away,” Taehyung said softly, “Before you can get hurt, as our predictions say you’ll proceed to punch them and get kicked out of school.”

“Why would I get hurt? It’s their choice if they wanna play with me or not. I wouldn’t do anything...”

“Yeah you would’ve.”

“Okay, maybe I really wanted to play with them.”

“You’re a smart kid, aren’t you?” Namjoon muttered, shaking his head. “Make up your mind.”

“I just want to play with them,” Jimin muttered.

“Ah, but you’ll find Jimin...that not everybody’s as nice as you are,” Taehyung tutted.

“Sometimes they’re out to hurt you, ad you just have to accept that,” Namjoon agreed.

“Are you a demon or an angel?” Taehyung snapped, turning on Namjoon. Namjoon shrank back, almost nervously.

“Sorry.”

Taehyung sighed before shaking his head.

“Come on Joonie, let’s go.”

“Did Jimin make up his mind yet?” Namjoon asked softly, turning to look at the young boy.

“Does it matter? We gave him his options, it’s up to him now,” Taehyung snapped, eyes darkening. “That’s not our job.”

He disappeared with a flash.

Namjoon hesitated again, before he too disappeared with a shock of light.

Jimin stared at where they had been, and a split second before time resumed, he made his decision.

“Hey, I’m Jimin. Can I play with you?”

The harsh rejections left Jimin reeling. He even felt the urge to punch them, as Taehyung had said. But it was okay, because a little girl skipped up to him, pig-tails swinging, and he found that he was no longer angry.

“Hi! My name is Y/N. You wanna play with me?”

Jimin studied her, before flushing pink and beaming.

“Yeah! But why did you just ask me now? Why didn’t you before I asked them?”

Your grin filled your entire face, and Jimin blushed again.

“Because they’re mean, and I know what it feels like afterwards. So I thought you’d like some niceness!”

“Niceness isn’t a word,” Jimin informed her, nodding seriously as he turned towards the swing sets.

You just smiled.

“I know.”

“Come on!” You groaned, chasing after Jimin.

“I swear you got so much fatter this summer, can’t even keep now,” Jimin teased, his eyes alight with mirth. You scowled, feet pattering in a desperate attempt to keep up with your best friend.

“How dare you start high school off by calling me fat,” you grumbled, glaring at the back of his head. 

“Come on I’m going to be late for soccer,” Jimin complained, picking up the pace even more. 

“I’ll wait for you on the bleachers,” you called out, and Jimin gave you a thumbs up behind his back. You shook your head, long hair swinging as you climbed onto the bleachers and pulled out your phone.

There was no harm in surfing Instagram while you waited.

Jimin walked towards the rest of the soccer players, everyone warming up as they waited for Yoongi and Hoseok to start practice. His heart was full, as it always was when you were around.

You didn’t know that Jimin had been in love with you for years now. How he had pined after you, but refused to ruin your friendship. So you remained oblivious to his feelings, and he silently mourned.

He peered backwards, your hair drifting over your face. He smiled to himself, satisfied with the image.

But Jimin hadn’t expected time to freeze as he reached his teammates, hadn’t expected Namjoon and Taehyung to show up again. Especially after not seeing them for years.

“Hello my boy, they wouldn’t let us come see you for any of the not so important choices,” Taehyung grinned broadly, immediately smirking.

Namjoon was more hesitant, hovering at the edge of the soccer team.

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “So you guys weren’t just a figment of my imagination.”

“What pfft, no!” Taehyung laughed, shaking his head.

“We’ve been watching over you your entire life,” Namjoon offered quietly. He looked different, eyes emptier and darker. Purple marks glowed beneath his eyes, the pale skin contrasting. He looked...tired.

“Yes and finally we get to help you make a choice again!” Taehyung laughed gleefully, grinning.

Jimin narrowed his eyes at Taehyung, “Why do you seem more devilish than the demon?”

Namjoon let out a laugh, a smile actually spreading across his lips.

“These boys up here are about to offer you an invitation to a party. But just you, not Y/N.” Namjoon turned serious again, stuffing his palms into his pockets as he explained.

“Mmmhmm,” Taehyung smiled, “And my offer is to go, because even though Y/N isn’t allowed to go, you need to have friends that isn’t Y/N, especially guys. And come on these guys are good. Why wouldn’t you want to go to a party with them?”

Jimin’s mouth thinned as Taehyung slung an arm around him comfortably and ruffled his hair.

“Man I’ve been dying to do that! We’ve seen you grow up but I never got to do that,” Taehyung pouted. Jimin gave him a disgruntled look, his hand coming up to slap at Taehyung. He gripped the bottom of the shirt, already knowing what Namjoon was going to offer.

“Okay, and you?” Jimin sighed, turning to demon.

Namjoon sighed, shaking his head. “My offer is to not go. Reject them, who knows what the consequence will be. They could shun you and make life hard for you as a freshman. Or they could take it calmly and act like they hadn’t asked. But your loyalty to Y/N...you should keep it. Or at least, it’s my offer.”

Jimin nodded heavily, as if he had already known. He ran a hand over Taehyung’s right wing, considering, pondering. 

“Last time I chose Namjoon’s path,” Jimin muttered softly before turning to the figures.

Namjoon’s head dropped, his chin tucking into his chest as he disappeared in a flash of light.

Taehyung gave Jimin a small, cocky smile.

“This time I’ll go with Taehyung.”

“Good choice.” Then Taehyung disappeared as well. Jimin was temporarily blinded, the flash of light happening right before time resumed.

Right away Jungkook, one of the other star players sauntered up to Jimin.

“Hey Jimin, wanna join us for a party tonight? But don’t bring anybody else...especially not Y/N.”

“Why not?”

“It’s um...I don’t think she’d want to be there,” Jungkook laughed, snapping his fingers. “It’s not a place for something like her.”

Jimin hesitated. Was he really going to do this?

“Okay.”

You continued scrolling through your phone, unaware of what had just happened. Unaware of everything that would come crashing down.

The wind howled, raging and tearing at Jimin’s clothes. The tops of the trees covered the ground below, and the wind shrieked.

The cliff was slowly crumbling, the sheer face taking a beating as the wind attacked it, ripping away pebbles and loose stones.

It was no surprise to him when Namjoon and Taehyung appeared.

“I swear kid, you want to kill me,” Taehyung yelled over the screaming wind, tucking his wings in tight as he swayed. Namjoon huddled down, picking his way towards Jimin.

Namjoon looked much worse for wear now. Thin, even paler if that was possible. Dark smudges almost black colored. His eyes were bleak and colorless, the horns on his head dull and no longer visible. His hair was unkempt and long enough to hide most of his horns.

His clothes were ragged and crease-filled. Jimin wasn’t sure what was going on, but Namjoon looked worse for wear every time. Almost as if it drained him to be a demon. As if he had to try extremely hard to just do his job.

“So, you know why we’re here,” Taehyung said, approaching Jimin as he gripped the edges of his wings. 

Namjoon followed closely, practically stumbling over his own feet, even though the wind didn’t seem to bother him. 

“I do,” Jimin whispered softly.

“My offer, don’t jump. You’ll tear other people apart. Especially Y/N. I know...I know things fell apart after that party. But it’s not the end. You can fix this,” Taehyung said.

“That’s what they all say,” Jimin laughed bitterly. “I should be mad at you. You’re my guardian angel. Shouldn’t you be the perfect one?”

Namjoon had a sorrowful look on his face. 

“Ah, so you should go with me. Do you need me to sell it more?”

Namjoon loosed a breath. “My offer is to jump. Just get it over with. Please.”

But there was something pleading in Namjoon’s eyes, as if he was trying to say something. 

Jimin didn’t hesitate. “I choose Taehyung.”

Taehyung’s face was full of surprise. “What?”

“I choose you.”

Namjoon sighed, the air seeming to leave him in one fell swoop. His shoulders drooped and he looked like a big weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

He smiled at Jimin once, a genuine one this time. The only honest one he ever gave, and disappeared.

The pair stood in silence for a few seconds. Then Jimin turned to Taehyung. 

“I’m stuck with you for the rest of time.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped in shock.

“How did you...how did you know that the last choice determines who stays?”

Jimin shrugged. “I didn’t. But Namjoon hyung...he seemed tired. Homesick. He looked like he wanted to let go. And he wasn’t trying to convince me to pick him this time. The last two, he put effort into it. This time? No. He just seemed done. You guys always disappear first if I don’t choose you. I thought it’d might help.”

“You know he’s dead right? That’s why the angels and the demons never get along. Only one gets to live on through the shared human.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jimin said softly, looking out into the distance. Where you were.

“But I know he’s at peace now, and that he hated his job as a demon. I think he’s happier now. Where is home for a devil, Taehyung?”

Taehyung laughed, the sound choked and sad. 

“Heaven Jimin. They’re just fallen angels. Just angels who are a little lost.”

“Do you think Namjoon got to go home?”

Taehyung paused, almost unsure. 

“I think so, yes.”

They sat in silence for longer, the cooing wind wrapping around them.

“Where’s my home Taehyung?” Jimin asked softly. The angel paused, flaring his wings out for a second before pulling them back in.

“I think you know Jimin. I think you need to go home too,” Taehyung suggested.

Jimin nodded, still staring at the skyline. The wind was quieter now. It was still whipping at their hair, echoing in their ears...but quieter. Subdued.

“Okay, let’s go home.”

Without another word, Jimin started back towards his car. Back towards you.

[maultheshy]

Part 25

Almeta smiled seeing Savage hug Maul, it was adorable, really. “You’re very welcome. There isn’t much room in here I’m afraid, my ship is really only meant for myself and Triton but we can make it work till we get Maul’s working.” She said, putting their things on her bed and looking around. They really had a lot of parts, she carefully moved boxes around till there was enough space for her to get to the bathroom, all while Triton was having a go at Maul, the two of them traded scathing remarks, as Maul looked over the crates and boxes, he thought it looked like he had all the parts he needed to fix his ship he thought. Savage just shrugged helplessly at the whole situation. He was just worried about Almeta, he did see her as a mother of sorts, she was his creator after all. Once done Almeta whistled. “Come on Triton, leave the boys alone, I need to shower!” She told the Droid who rolled his eyes at her, he hovered past the two Zabraks, hitting both with the tip of his tail as he passed. “Have fun Maul?” He joked, just loud enough for the brothers to hear him, when he took notice of Almeta’s neck, littered with hickeys of all sizes Making Maul blush fiercely. The Droid laughed and grabbed a sheer, red dress and a crown of red and black flowers, closing the bathroom door as he followed Almeta closely. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Savage was looking at Almeta’s neck too, the pink bite marks and hickeys around her gills were a telltale sign of less than chaste play. Maul looked like he wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole, his face was a deep shade of red, tinged with pink and his eyes were shadowed as he looked miserably embarassed. Savage looked at Maul, really studied him. “You look well Brother… I missed you…” the big male said softly, looking down at Maul, with tenderness in his big golden eyes. Maul looked up at him and smiled, reaching out to touch Savage’s left arm. “Show me?” He asked very gently, and Savage complied, taking his robe off, and standing with just his trousers and shoes, his heavily muscled frame on display for the smaller male. Maul studied the intricate curves and sweeping lines of his Brother’s tattoos and trailed his eyes along his body, to the arm that had been severed at the bicep, now a cybernetic arm, cold, emotionless metal. Maul reached out to touch it, his eyes full of emotion, as he looked up and met Savage’s gaze. “I wish… I had been stronger…. And braver… I didn’t give you a chance… When you… “maul shrugged not wanting to bring it up again now, they both knew what he was referring to. Savage reached down and lifted Maul’s chin gently to face him. “I will never not feel that way, but I will respect that you do not feel the same.” He said, trying to keep a steady voice. Maul felt his hearts break, he honestly didn’t know what he felt or wanted, he felt something for him, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Almeta was humming softly as she washed her hair, Triton sat in the corner of the refresher, coiled up happily. “You see it don’t you? The way the big one looks at him.” Almeta looked at Triton over her shoulder and nodded, “Yes. He loves him.” Triton’s red eyes peered up at her. “And do you?” Almeta turned to face Triton, tilting her head under the water. “I think I do.” “Could you love the other?” Triton’s glowing tendril rubbed her leg as she hummed in thought. “Savage … I think I could. He seems kind, has the same darkness around him as Maul…” she let her sentence fade off as she thought about, she’s seen it before, in her people. Taking more then one lover wasn’t unheard of, especially not for their women, but how would they feel. “We’ll talk about it later, not yet. Whatever this may be still young.” Triton nodded in understanding as she turned the water off and stepped out. Drying off she looked to her clothes then turn to Triton. “You picked those colors are purpose, didn’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at his smug smirk. “Why did I give you actual skin? I hate those stupid smirks.” She crumpled as she dressed in the sheer red and black dress, brushing her her hair she left it down, she didn’t bother putting the crown of flowers on as she walked out, Triton following her. She stopped in her tracks and blushed dark, the two were hugging, “thank you Savage” Maul whispered, as the two saw him hugging the half naked man. She took in Savage’s half naked from, he had tattoos, too. Oh she loved their tattoos. Triton made a noise similar to a throat clearing, “should we go back in or …?” Almeta blushed harder and looked away from the two as they turned to them. “Hush Triton!” She chastised him. “Are we ready to venture back to your ship Maul?” She asked quietly, trying to avoid staring at either of them for too long. Maul was lost in his emotions and thoughts and didn’t even see or sense Almeta and Triton come out of the bathroom. He was just lost in his memories as his Brother held him, he had forgotten or tried to forget how close they were to each other, how it felt to be protected by someone else like this. He knew Savage would give anything to protect Maul. Maul and Savage heard the throat clearing noise and they turned and Savage didn’t seem to care but Maul oh pool Maul, he looked like a deer caught in headlights of an oncoming starship. He blushed so deeply and pushed away from his brother gently, Savage looked down at him and his reaction and laughed softly. “Oh Brother you are so full of surprises!” He chuckled. Savage grabbed his robe and tried to put it back on but the damage done by the horns made it mostly useless anyway. “May we visit the clothier before departing M'Lady? I require additional garments.” The big male said rather sheepishly. Maul was still just standing with his arms crossed trying to not feel so embarrassed at the way they had been found, *Why am I so flustered? Why is it so embarrassing?* he asked himself completely confused. “After that yes I…I would like us to go to my ship to begin the repairs.” He stammered, Savage looking down at him with endearment, Maul could be so … Adorable sometimes. Maul had begun to feel strange stirrings in the back of his mind, flashes of aggression, and primal thoughts… He shook his head trying to clear his mind. Almeta nodded at Savage. “Of course! If I give you my credit chip, could you pick something up for me? I need a few things for Triton that I forgot but … I fear I’ve been on this planet too long.” She told them, walking over to the pilot’s chair and sitting down. “As we were walking back to the ship I saw one of them eyeing me far to closely.” She whispered as Triton sat in her lap, curling close to her chest. “What do you need for me?” He asked, only a little worried. She smiled down at the aquatic Droid, kissing the top of his head. “Just parts for system upgrades. Calm down, I would never wipe your memory. No matter how annoying you may get.” She laughed softly as Triton sighed in relief, he knew she wouldn’t but still … she’d seen and heard of it being done often enough. “Would that be okay?” She looked back up at Savage, a small blush still dusting her cheeks, as she spoke. “And take Maul with you. He’ll know the parts I need.” She told Triton, who made an ‘ah’ sound as he realized what she was doing. Giving the brothers some alone time, she knew there was something Savage had to say to Maul and it didn’t seem it would get said around her. “Oh! And Maul grab something you would want me to cook for tomorrow. Let’s not forget it’s your birthday!” She giggled and held her credit chip out to the boys. Savage seemed to brighten at the mention of getting to get proper clothing, he had been wearing these tattered remains of the robe his Brother had given him for years, but now he had the real thing and didn’t need them anymore. Maul’s eyes darkened with the mention that she was fearful of being taken by some lowlife looking to make a few credits. Savage noticed this and placed a reassuring hand on Maul’s shoulder. Maul looked up at him blinking, a dusting of pink on his cheeks. Maul looked towards Almeta and triton and nodded, “It would be my pleasure, just give me a list of what you need and it shall be done.” His gaze drifted to Almeta and saw her looking at Savage, and then at him, her face a rosy red. He was so confused. Savage looked at Almeta and silently mouthed “thank you” to her. He turned to his Brother at the mention of his Birthday. “How old will you be turning little Brother?” He asked with surprise, he remembered the year he had tried to make a cake and it had ended in disaster. Maul sighed. “I will be turning 25 dear Brother.” He grabbed savage by the arm and began to pull him out the cargo bay door and out to the streets. Savage just followed suit, and grinned slightly at the contact. Maul stopped along the way and ordered the parts required for the droid, lol the while he kept having these strange flashes, and sometimes he felt out of breath, and had to stop. “Are you well Brother?” Savage asked in concern, his large eyes worried. “I will… Be fine, It’s nothing.” He waved a hand dismissively as they entered the clothing store. Maul pointed at black shirts and told him to pick out some clothes, and probably loincloths. Savage took them all to the dressing room and tried them on, stepping out he spoke to Maul who had been turned around the other way. Maul whipped around and… Saw his Brother in a black muscle shirt, with red and black board shorts underneath, displaying part of his muscular thighs as the material ended just above the knee, he stood there barefoot his toe claws scratching at the floor nervously. Maul’s throat had gone dry. After the boys had left Triton turned to Almeta, “Why not let Maul pay?” Triton asked as Almeta moved them to her bed. “Because I have enough and he doesn’t need to pay for my things.” She told him, setting him on the pillow as she pulled her book out from under the bed. Triton watched her closely, and he tilted his head. “Almeta …” Almeta hummed letting him know she was listening to him. “When we return to his ship, what happens then?” Almeta turned to look at him, smiling softly. “Why do you ask?” His head swayed from side to side, almost like a shrug, “No reason just … I don’t want you to be alone again.” She caressed the side his face, leaning closer to him. “I have you, I’m not alone.” He nuzzled into her hand, eyes closed. “You know what I mean. He makes you happy in a way that I cannot. Don’t let him just … leave.” She sighed softly, a small, sad smile on her lips. “I don’t want Maul, or even Savage to just leave but … what they do is their choice. I do hope we will get to stay together though.” She kissed the top of his head. “Read to me?” Almeta laughed softly at his question and nodded, opening her book up again and started to read to Triton. Savage could feel Maul’s eyes on him and it made him feel… Nervous? That was a new one, he chuckled inwardly. “Does it suit me Brother?” He asked softly, amused at Maul’s expression, he did not often see Savage or even himself out of combat clothes often. Savage was just so muscular, and powerful. But incredibly gentle. He noticed that Savage had picked the red and black variant of the trunks he now wore, and blushed softly at the choice. They looked like a matched set now. Maul felt those stirrings again and shook his head, his thoughts clearing. “They look good on you Brother.” Maul managed, Savage nodded and they gathered many other types of shirts and shorts and casual shoes for themselves, Maul didn’t have anything of Savages on the ship anymore save for one thing. He had kept the off cut from Savage’s horn that was halved when he lost his arm. He had always intended to inlay it into the hilt of his lightsaber someday… In memory. But now… They paid for the clothes and the clerk was checking them out, “You make a cute pair.” The young male behind the counter winked at them, and Maul and savage paled, and blushed and then laughed. “I…. We… Um…” Maul gave up and left in a daze. The two of them stopped at a food stall and Maul chose some sweets and some large steaks, one for each of them, and some fruits and snacks. They took the bag from the smiling shop keeper and walked together. Savage followed him, and they walked about the town pausing in an open sort of park. Savage stopped them short a hand on his little Brothers arm . “Maul I need to talk to you seriously.” Maul halted as well and looked up at the big man curiously. “Maul… I need you to know how I feel, and to tell you what will happen to you tomorrow, because I can tell… It’s starting already.” Maul froze and stared at him, apprehension in his golden eyes, how could he possibly know about the snippets of emotion and flashes of whatever that was? The random aggression? Savage took a deep breath, “Maul … I know we don’t talk about this but… As you know I love you with all my heart, in a way that Brother’s shouldn’t…” He closed his eyes feeling such shame, and was surprised to feel Maul’s hand on his, snapping his eyes open to search Maul’s face, his golden eyes full of hope. “I know Savage… ” He gave his hand a squeeze, not saying anything but listening. Savage swallowed heavily and continued. “You are about to go into Rut… The Zabrakian mating frenzy is taking hold of you… You won’t be able to control your body and will become aggressive… And feel the desire to mate… It will consume your very being if you do not do so, but that fragile woman… You would severely damage her.” He swallowed, before standing to leave with Maul, “If you wish it… Come to me for help.” He squeezed his eyes shut a moment and then walked away towards the ship, Maul stood there staring dumbly a shocked expression on his face… Did his Brother just…? Maul snapped out of his thoughts and dashed after the receding form of his Brother and they walked until they reached the ship, knocking on the hull and entering with the supplies, Savage in his new clothes. @mauldeservedbetter @maulieber

[lashofer]

Damselfly

April

The black vinyl smells like Windex and rubbing alcohol. Through the thin sterile paper, my hollow stomach is cold. The doctor sets down his clipboard and retrieves a pair of latex gloves from a nearby cupboard. They’re not a trendy black like at the shop, but white, turned peach with the skin underneath. Snap. Powder in the air.

He sits down on a stool and hovers over my back. I haven’t eaten in two days. Ever since Alex, I haven’t been able keep much down. Ten months ago – that’s when I met him. Almost six months since I’ve had this thing etched on my back.

“Quite the work you've got, here,” the doctor says. I knew his name when he introduced himself, but it’s gone now.

“Can you get rid of it?” I ask.

“Black pigment is the easiest to remove. In four to six sessions, it should be gone; this looks like amateur work.”

Alex wasn’t an amateur. He was rushed. Distracted.

This clinic isn’t anything like Alex’s shop. There aren’t any sugar skulls and pin-ups, graffiti art or display cases full of gauges and tapers for stretching. It’s more sterile, cold. White, blue and fluorescent.

It’s not soon enough. If it wouldn’t leave behind a terrible scar, I would have cut it out of my skin months ago.

The doctor presses an ice pack over my side and readies the laser like a paintbrush. He glides it over the dips between my ribs. It blinks in sporadic jolts. Every blink is a hot rubber band against my skin. Every blink fades the black into moldy green.

My father was an artist. An insect taxidermist before the osteoporosis became debilitating. He arranged butterflies in patterns on white backgrounds, shiny blue and green beetles in pinwheels, and framed them as gifts. He worked at the town hall’s insect gallery. As a kid, I used to go out with him into uncultivated fields, searching for Tumbling Flower Beetles and Snakeflies. We’d store them in Tupperware and mason jars until we got home, and then would throw them in the freezer to avoid damaging their fragile bodies. Sometimes we fumigated them using sawdust soaked in ethanol. Nail polish remover worked in a pinch.

I visited the gallery a couple of months ago. Gazed at the Melissa Blue butterflies suspended with thin wire, Carpenter Ants pinned down through their thoraxes into white foam. I tried to remember which ones I collected with Dad, but all I could see were the pins. Drawers and drawers of display cases, clear glass meant for gazing. Flower Flies and Milkweed Bugs. Paper wasps, dragonflies and Arctic Skippers. Wings spread out and stabbed.

I resist the urge to rub my wrists in concentric circles. They feel tight, squeezed, held down. The bruises are still there, even if my wrists are healed.

The blinking stops, and so does the pain. “Alright,” the doctor says. The tattoo is faded, but still there. I can still see the angry word, with its rough edges and incomplete blocks. He puts a bandage over the wound, and I bring my t-shirt back down over my stomach.

I walk up to the receptionist and pay. Two hundred dollars. Sixteen hours outfitting mannequins, cleaning out change rooms and cashing out.

I zip up my hoodie and walk into the 7-Eleven next door. I don’t have any Ativan with me, and I’ve heard that smoking helps. Maybe the shaking will stop. I walk up to the counter and buy a plastic Bic lighter and a pack of strawberry-flavoured cigars that Montana used to smoke in our high school smoke pit.

Outside, I fumble with the lighter’s metal wheel, careful to not pull in too much smoke. It goes straight to my head, and my stomach flips. The smoke burns in my nostrils, and I push it out like a fidgeting dragon. It’s still cold outside, and my kneecaps rattle.

My phone buzzes.

“Sam?” The text is from a number not listed in my contacts. It doesn’t matter; I’ve memorized it anyway. I thought he would have given up by now.

Last June

I stood outside of K-Town Liquor, sweating in my sneakers. It was warm, and I felt stupid holding the multicolored horse piñata we had just bought from the dollar store.

Montana was inside, flirting with the guy doing retail. I could see her through the window, foot cocked behind her as she leaned on the counter. She tossed her blonde hair to the side. Three bottles of tequila and a pile of miniatures were on the counter – little bottles of Jäger, Triple Sec and Baileys. Maybe for the piñata, I thought. Montana didn’t tell me what it was for. She just told me to hold it until the party.

Montana had just gotten back from visiting her sister in Vancouver. She stole her sister’s driver’s license off her desk. Spent an entire afternoon alongside her and her husband, looking behind couch cushions and air vents in the floor. Montana said that a workable fake I.D. was worth an afternoon of labour.

We were both sixteen when she moved out last year. Her dad was ex-military. Once he found out that she was sneaking her boyfriend, Chris, into her room every night, she had to choose whether to move out or move to Calgary with her aunt. She convinced a landlord that she was eighteen – that was easy, almost everyone else assumed she was – and she got a job at Earl’s wearing black minis.

I met her on the first day of honours math. She wasn’t good at it, but she wanted to impress Chris. I let her copy down all my answers during quizzes – she wouldn’t have ever talked to me otherwise. I was shy, fifty pounds overweight, and couldn’t hold a conversation. Being the Bug-Man’s daughter didn’t help. But she needed a math tutor to pass, so I started to come over on weeknights. She got a kick out of getting me to identify the species of spiders that were in her apartment. Thought it was cool that I could pick them up with my bare hands to take them outside.

I squinted through the window. She gave the cashier a wad of twenties, took the change and stuffed it into her mini-shorts, and carried the white bag outside, bottles clanging.

She smiled and held up the bag.

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

Her smile widened. “I know.”

A black pickup pulled up in front of the store, Chris in the passenger seat. Montana ran over to his side and yanked the door open. Kissed him on the mouth.

I stood on the sidewalk, held onto the piñata, and since I was staring anyway, waved to the guy driving.

Chris had his tongue in Montana’s ear. The driver barked something to them, and they got in the backseat. He rolled his window down.

“If you’re not too grossed out to sit in the passenger seat, it’s free now.”

“Thanks.” I sat down and shoved the horse between my feet. The driver had dark wavy hair that came to the nape of his neck, and was wearing a grey collared shirt rolled up his forearms. He had a sleeve of traditional tattoos. Sparrows, bannered hearts and nautical stars. Pin-ups.

He put the truck in reverse and turned onto the highway. Turned on the radio to drown out the smacking sounds from the backseat. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Sam.”

“She’s my math tutor,” Montana yelled. I heard a seal break from behind me. The smell of tequila wafted forward.

“I prefer Sam,” I said.

He laughed. It was warm. Comforting. “That has a nicer ring to it.”

“Who’re you?” I asked. Felt my cheeks go hot.

“I’m Alex. Chris’ older brother.” He pulled up the turning signal.

I nodded and fiddled with the vent on the dashboard.

He followed my gesture. “I like your bracelet.”

Surprised, I took my hand away from the vent. It was hemp, interwoven with beads, feathers, and a jackalope charm. “Thanks. It was my mom’s. She used to have a shop downtown.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

“It had lots of artisanal stuff. Jewelry, paintings from local artists. Wolves with hooves, geese with Pomeranian tails, that kind of thing.”

My dad was a weird mixture between an artist and a scientist. Maybe that’s why she liked him.

“Was it on Leon?”

I looked up sharply. He had dark eyes; his pupils were almost the same colour as his irises. “Did you know it?” I asked. “It was called Gilligan’s.”

“Like the island, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember it. The walls were painted with fish and bubbles.”

“Yeah, she had a thing for the ocean.”

He looked at my bracelet again. “And jackalopes.”

I smiled. “Right, jackalopes.”

“My shop is right next to it,” he continued, eyes back on the road. “It’s a sushi place now.”

I went down Leon sometimes, even though Dad didn’t like it. There were a lot of shopping carts, sleeping mats, and panhandlers. But I felt closer to her, even if the sign wasn’t there anymore. There was still a shadow of a large capital “G” underneath the logo of a maki roll. I ate there, sometimes. Pretended that she was still there, wearing a full-length skirt and hair extensions. She would take my hand and tell me about Kelowna’s emerging artistic talent. Show me which pieces weren’t for profit. Try to convince me to work the register while she beaded glass onto hemp string.

Then I’d finish my veggie tempura, pay, and leave. Remember the clumps of hair on the bathroom sink, the lingering smell of bile.

“Your shop. It just says ‘Tattoo’ above the door, right?” I asked. It was nondescript. Black lettering stencilled straight onto the stucco.

“Yeah. Hey!” he yelled at the Jeep in front of us. Jammed his fist onto the horn.

I pressed into the back of the seat.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he continued. “I thought about calling it ‘No Ragrets,’ but it felt too cliché.”

“You could always add a subtitle.”

He laughed.

Montana stuck her head through the partition. “I forgot to show you.” She shoved her wrist in front of my face. It was inflamed, but a new tattoo was there. A tiny pink heart, outlined in black. “Isn’t it cute? Alex did it for me yesterday. It only took like ten minutes.”

“Cute,” I echoed, not knowing what else to say. I imagined it stretched, wrinkled and old.

Alex looked at me again. “If you ever want to get any work done, I’ll give you a great discount.”

I looked at his tattooed arm again. Felt like a child.

Montana’s apartment was terracotta and brick, with seventies wood panelling. She had a lumpy brown couch and a TV with only half of its screen working. An old Friends rerun was on, but only half of Chandler’s face was showing. Uncomfortable with the number of people who had shown up already in her small apartment, I went to the kitchen on the pretense of getting some water.

“Sam,” Montana called through the bar window. “Can you start the margaritas?” She was filling the piñata with Lindor chocolate truffles and the booze miniatures.

“Sure,” I said. I had no idea what was in a margarita, except that they were pink, and sometimes green. I plugged in the blender.

Alex came in behind me as I inspected the bottle of margarita mix. “Need any help?”

“Uh, sure.” I wasn’t sure why he would want to. There were prettier, shorter, drunker girls in the next room.

He went to the freezer and brought out a bag of ice. I hadn’t noticed before, but his fists were lacerated and bruised.

“What happened to your –”

Through the bar window, Montana screamed, “I forgot! We have nothing to whack this thing with!”

“Don’t worry,” Alex said, and left to get a baseball bat from the trunk of his car.

May

I’m at the gallery again, looking at a half-moulted damselfly that Dad and I caught seven years ago. It was clutched to a cattail stalk, and just starting to uncurl its abdomen from its old exoskeleton. Now it’s brown and shrivelled, but when it first emerged, the new form was green as a plant shoot.

My ribs ache from my last tattoo-removal session. There’s still a faint outline of a “W,” but the doctor said that my white blood cells will do the rest. They’ll carry the smaller ink particles to my liver.

“Sam?”

I look up from the display case. It’s Marianne, one of the gallery’s curators. She and Dad dated for a while – she used to come over for Sunday brunch and late-night Scrabble. I fiddle with my bracelet’s charm.

“God, I didn’t even recognize you.” Her face is wrinkled now, curly brown hair streaked with grey. She looks concerned, excited.

“Oh,” I laugh. “Pilates.” I leave out the hours I’ve spent leaning over porcelain.

“That would do it!” she exclaims. Her hair bounces, and her horn-rimmed glasses slide down her nose. “Which studio do you go to?”

I laugh again. “It was really nice to see you, Marianne, but I’ve got to get going.” I squeeze her arm. “I’ll come by sometime soon. Maybe we can do coffee.” The words are involuntary. I have no intention of following through; I’ve already bought my plane ticket, and my bags are almost packed. I found a decent apartment in downtown Vancouver, and there’s a coffee shop nearby that has agreed to do an interview whenever I arrive.

“Sure, honey. Tell your dad that the gallery isn’t the same without him.”

I straighten the strap of my purse over my shoulder and walk out the big glass doors. Dodge the hornets’ nest and the suspended black and yellow insects. The old angry words.

Last July

Alex was tattooing a wasp on someone when I first visited him at the shop. He hovered over the man’s neck, pushing the tattoo machine back and forth in short lines. His dark wavy hair hovered over the work. He wiped ink and blood away once every few strokes. His black gloves looked painted on.

The walls were covered in holographic images, spray-painted canvases and penciled portraits. I turned around to go back outside the moment I heard the buzz of tattoo machines. Montana needed help studying trig more than I needed to talk to a guy I had a crush on.

The receptionist called me before I made it to the doors. “Do you have an appointment?”

Alex looked up. Wiped his hair away from his forehead with a tattooed forearm. “Oh hey, Sam! Give me a minute – I’m almost done.” Push, push, wipe.

The receptionist gave me an anxious look.

I browsed the different display cases filled with metal bars and colourful plastic tapers, spiral wooden earrings and navel barbells. I pictured my unpierced earlobes stretched and droopy, pinned to the foam underneath the glass.

“Hey.” Alex was next to me, eyes on the Hello Kitty-stamped barbell I was looking at. He smelled like metallic ink and cologne. “What are you doing here?” His dark eyes were playful.

“I’m not really sure,” I admitted.

He laughed. “That was my last client.” He looked me up and down. “Hungry?”

“Sure.”

He opened the door for me and grabbed my hand.

Last September

Alex’s apartment was white. Sterile, purposeful, full of angles and sharp edges. His charcoal sketches were hung on the walls in neat rows behind identical black frames and museum-grade glass. Three inches apart on each side. He had a leather couch, hardwood floors, chrome appliances, and a large television. A queen-sized bed, bedside table, shaded lamp, and dresser in the other room.

I had been there for two weeks, and hadn’t been home in four. Dad was frustrated that he couldn’t be out in the field; he could hardly get out of bed and make it to the gallery with his bones grinding. Stacks of used clothing, mounting paper, embalming fluid and medication towered over him from every side. Half-empty bottles of bourbon and calcium. He hardly noticed when I left or came back anymore, and the food in the fridge was rotten. I was sick for three days after I ate a ham and cheese sandwich. I lost five pounds and figured I was onto something.

I stayed with Montana for the first two weeks until I couldn’t handle the loud sex or the smell of old vomit and beer anymore. She gave up trying to graduate on time, and she and Chris wanted the place to themselves.

I came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my head, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. The leftover water droplets on my face were cold in the air conditioning. Alex liked the chill.

He was on the couch, sketching a pinup with long wavy hair and face painted to look like a sugar skull. She was wearing a tight corset with Frangipani flowers decorating her hips and hair.

“She’s pretty.”

He smirked. “I’ve been inspired lately.”

“Cute, but she looks nothing like me.” Add another forty pounds and a face of freckles. Then we could start comparing.

He put the sketchbook down. Grabbed me around my hips and lowered me onto the couch. The towel came undone, damp strands of hair unravelling onto the leather.

“Does too.” His chest was reassuring against mine. His fingers entwined through my hair. He bit my lower lip, pulled away and let go. “Staying home?”

I was already going to be late for English. Wasn’t planning on going for History. “I was thinking that I might go see my dad.” I doubted he had eaten anything all day; I could stop at McDonalds.

He sat up and looked at me. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?” His eyebrows were creased.

“Of course I do.”

“No, you don’t. You just said you want to leave.”

I sat up, brushed the damp strands out of my face. “Why are you getting so upset?”

“I thought you only needed me.”

“I –I do. But he needs me. He's all alone in that crowded townhouse, surrounded by dead insects and broken picture frames.”

“There must be something you need that I'm not giving you. Tell me what you want, Sam. I can't read your mind.”

I didn’t know what to say. Alex still had that pained look on his face. I didn't want to abandon him.

June

The gallery isn’t the same without him. Marianne’s voice rings in my head to the tune of the bus’s high-pitched whine. The skyscrapers of downtown Vancouver flicker past in muted colours, metal and glass. I haven’t seen anyone since I moved. Didn’t even speak to Alex before I left. Freed from isolation, I have new skin, lasered and thin. Moulted.

A small, strange green insect steps across the window in front of my vision. At first, it seems like an apparition. It’s too bright. No native vegetation would be able to disguise it.

I reach for my phone and dial.

“Hello?”

“Dad, it’s Sam.”

“Sam?” he asks. “Where are you?” He sounds slurred, but not incoherent.

“I’m on the bus. I’m looking at a really weird insect. It kind of looks like a stink bug, with a shielded body. But it’s green. Bright green, like an apple. And it has pink petal designs around its abdomen. And small. Almost like a ladybug.”

“Hmm.”

“Dad?”

“Mm?”

“Do you know what it is?”

“It sounds like a nymph. Maybe a southern green stink bug. But that can’t be right.”

“Southern as in South American?”

“Mm. I don’t know what it’s doing way out there.”

I pause. “Me either.”

“Come home, Sam.”

The stink bug continues to walk across the glass. A middle-aged man spots it, and his thumb starts to move toward the glass.

“Stop!” I yell, and reach in my bag for my leftover Tupperware container. It still smells like thousand island dressing. I nearly feel the lettuce coming up again. I wipe it out with the bottom of my blouse.

The man looks at me like I’m out of my mind. I don’t care. I tap the insect into the container, close the lid, and place it at the bottom of my bag. I hope it will be okay until I get home.

I lift the phone back up to my ear, but nobody is there.

The bus stops, kneels, and a woman with a stroller gets on. It’s Montana, blonde hair dyed greasy brown. She’s in a faded pull-over hoodie, face covered in acne. I didn’t even know she lived here. Maybe she moved out here to be with her sister.

“Transfer, please.” Her baby shrieks.

Before she notices me, I collect my bag and stand up. She probably wouldn’t recognize me, but I don’t want to take the chance. I blend into the crowd by the door, and get off the bus.

I’m on Robson. Tall buildings filled with boutiques and cafes are on either side of the street. The sun is bright, and reflects off the windows like mirrors. I decide to catch the next bus at a stop a few blocks down. I wish I wasn’t wearing heels.

As I pass a Starbucks, a woman in jeans and a white leather jacket approaches. Her large sunglasses make her look like a praying mantis.

“Hi there,” she says through a tight, bleached smile. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

I hesitate a second too long.

“Have you ever considered modelling?”

I can’t help but laugh. “No.”

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” She rifles through her bag.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Here. Take my card.” She hands it to me, simple text on a white background: Margot Sheffield. Prima Model Management.

“Call me if you’re interested.” Margot walks away, stilettos clicking on the pavement.

Last October

Alex had been in bed for fifteen hours. He and Chris were at the shop last night tattooing drunken messages on each other. Chris dropped him off this morning and shoved him onto the bed. Showed me a new rabbit tattoo on the sole of Alex’s foot. It was warbled, with broken lines and incomplete shading.

I shook my head. “At least nobody will see it.”

“It was for practice,” he said, adjusting his baseball cap. “If I get good enough, he said I’ve got a job.”

“That’s great.” I’d never known him to have a steady job. Nor did he have artistic promise.

“Yeah. Well, see ya.” He gave me a sour, stubbly kiss on the cheek and left.

I spent the day watching TLC and going through one of Alex’s sketchbooks. A row on the bookshelf was full of them, identical with black covers.

Bored, I got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with cold tap water. Drank half, filled it again, and walked into the bedroom. Alex grunted. I put the glass on the bedside table and snuggled up behind him. Breathed in his hair and tucked my nose behind his earlobe. His shirt was damp despite the chill.

“Alex,” I whispered.

Nothing.

“Alex. Wake up.”

“Mm.” He grunted and rolled over.

I left the bedroom and went to the kitchen again. Grabbed a leftover box of pizza from the fridge and ate three cold slices at the kitchen table. Still empty, I went to the cupboard and grabbed a box of double-stuffed Oreos. Went back to the kitchen table and ate two rows. Peeled each one apart, grated the icing away with my teeth, and crunched through the rest.

I went into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. Adjusted my top and pinched my sides. I lifted the toilet seat and kneeled. I didn’t even need to use my fingers anymore.

Something in the garbage can caught my attention. A dark-coloured cotton ball, and underneath, the black numbers of a syringe.

Last November

Alex was sketching on the couch again. I slipped out of my heels and manoeuvered behind him, wedging myself between him and the black leather. I put my arms around his neck and peered over his shoulder to get a better view.

He stiffened and shrugged me off, taking the charcoal sketch to a different cushion. The white paper was indented with harsh, black lines.

He didn’t look up. “It took you a while to get back.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. “I was at my dad’s.”

His fingers were black, and the charcoal crumbled under the force of his strokes.

“Look, Alex. I don’t need to justify seeing my dad. If I didn’t go over there once in a while, he would survive on potato chips and booze.” I was frustrated. Feeling bold.

He looked up, eyes blazing. They were dilated. A layer of sweat covered his skin. “I don’t think you went over there today.”

The accusation took me off guard. “But I was.”

His eyes glazed over, and stared too hard at a spot on the couch.

I leaned over to look into his face. “Are you okay?”

“Why would you lie to me? Don’t you care about me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you think I don’t know where you go? I’ve seen the way you look at other guys, wearing your new slutty clothes.”

“Excuse me?” I had to buy new clothes; the old ones were too big for me now.

“I think I feel more alone now than I ever did.”

I should have left right then, but I thought I could talk him down.

“I’m here with you,” I insisted. “I don’t want anybody else.”

He whipped around, and I felt his hand slam into my jaw.

Face first on the opposite end of the couch, I was too stunned to say anything.

“I thought you were different,” he was saying. “You’re the same.”

He had been explosive before, but never violent. I had never felt like I was in danger.

I stood up and started for the door.

He jumped in front of it. “They should know how much of a whore you are.”

“Who? What are you talking about?” I wiped one of my cheeks. My hand came away black with mascara.

He grabbed my wrist. Dragged me into the bedroom. I tried to grab onto the doorframe. Slipped. “They should know,” he repeated, voice broken. Over and over again. He threw me on the bed and ruffled through a nearby duffel bag. Came out with a pot of ink and his tattoo machine.

He forced my face into a pillow. I couldn’t breathe. I screamed and thrashed, tried to get a hold of the bed frame, but he was strong. Heavy.

I was dizzy. The cotton pillowcase was wet and salty. My lungs screamed for oxygen. Blackness was closing in on my vision. I tried to pry his hands away. And then nothing.

*

When I woke up, my ribs felt like they had been ripped into by a dull box cutter. The back of my head ached like I had been hit again. Maybe I had been. The tangy smell of him was all over the bed sheets. The shower was running, and the tattoo machine was still plugged in, thrown to the floor.

I felt my breath coming in short gasps, and put a hand over my mouth to stop. I needed to get out without him noticing.

My shirt was on the floor in a heap, torn at the neckline. I slipped it on, winced as I stretched. My pants were still on.

I tiptoed past the bathroom. The steam underneath the bathroom door met my bare feet. I grabbed my heels and purse in one hand, and glided the door latch open with the other. Pulled on the knob. The door creaked, and the shower curtain skirted open.

“Sam?”

I ran down the hallway, gasping before I was out of breath. Took the staircase, the concrete cold on my pounding feet.

I reached the bus stop just as the bus pulled in. Dropped some coins in the slot and sat in a seat next to the window. Curled into a ball and buried my face in my hands.

Fifteen minutes later, I looked up and pulled on the yellow cord. Got out at the next stop.

I was in front of Dad’s townhouse. The grass was un-mowed, and metal legs of the pink flamingo lawn ornaments were bent, their beaks hidden in the foliage. His rundown SUV was parked in the driveway.

As I walked in, I smelled booze and something rotten. I heard the Gilligan’s Island theme song in the next room, Dad humming along. Picture frames filled with mounted butterflies and moths were crooked on the walls, piled with weeks of dust. An insect graveyard. Piles of boxes were everywhere. Broken lamps, books and clothing.

My wrist throbbed where Alex had dragged me.

I snuck past the room and went upstairs to my old bathroom. My shirt was stuck to the wound, plasma and blood staining the yellow fabric brown. In the mirror, bruises on my jaw and neck were forming, pink circular splotches. There were ten of them, but I could only see the thumbs.

I took my clothes off, wincing as the fabric separated from my skin. The word was encrusted with blood and unwiped ink.

After showering, I padded down the carpeted hallway to my bedroom. My bed was covered in newly acquired thrift store items. I found a set of pajamas, locked the door, cleared a space to lie down, and slept for two days.

*

Dad didn’t know I was there. I stepped out for groceries once I woke up, using a twenty I found on my dresser. Milk, eggs, cereal, antibacterial liquid soap, gauze and medical tape. I’d seen Alex do aftercare on new tattoos before. It wouldn’t be hard to replicate. I made sure to wear a long sleeved shirt and a scarf.

Dad walked into the kitchen, confused at the smell of fried eggs and buttered toast. “Morning,” he said. It was four in the afternoon.

“Hi. I cleared out the fridge. Half of it was expired.”

“Oh. Thanks, kiddo.” His blue eyes crinkled through his round spectacles.

“And I figured out why it smells weird in here. When was the last time you took out the trash?”

“I thought I just did it.” He laughed. “Your mother used to do it, you know.”

“Yeah.”

We sat at the kitchen table in silence. Crunched toast and scraped metal on porcelain.

I knew that I should do this more often. Make meals, dump out booze. But I couldn’t stay here for long, nor did I want to. His E.I. would only cover so much, and the thought of being in the same town as Alex was stifling.

August

Prima Modelling Management is in an office that looks over Robson square. I stand against a cold, white wall, shoulder to shoulder with twenty other bikini-clad models. We’re all about the same age, eighteen, nineteen. Two scouts pace in front of us, pointing now and again. They jot notes on a clipboard like scientists.

“Uh,” Margot, the scout who gave me her card, gestures to me. “Samantha Cowen?”

I straighten and nod.

“Turn for me?”

I turn to the side.

Margot looks to the other scout. “Isn’t she editorial?”

He agrees. “Very distinctive. Kate Moss, almost.”

I feel the other girls stiffen beside me.

“Not quite as waifish, though.”

“I’m sure she can work on that. Can’t you, Samantha?”

November

I’m at Dad’s, sweeping rat feces into a dustbin.

“How you doin’ in there, Sam?” Marianne calls from outside.

“Fine,” I answer, but it’s muffled through my mask.

We’ve been hauling boxes and bags out of the house for two days. Dad is outside on a lawn chair, Marianne beside him, sorting through bins and trying to figure out what is most valuable to him. He can’t keep it all, but he wants to. He keeps finding Mom’s old stuff. Clothes, photos, old medication. Marianne is on edge, but doesn’t say anything. She keeps sorting, every few minutes taking off her mitts and wiping her hands with Wet Ones. There’s no snow yet, but everyone is in parkas.

I pour the contents of the dustbin into a full garbage bag. Haul it over my shoulder and set it by the entrance. The kitchen is cleared out, and no longer smells like rotten food. That’s good, because my weak stomach has already been put to the limit today. Above the table, my green stink bug nymph hangs in a tiny picture frame. It only lasted a couple of weeks before I had to mail it. I thought it would make Dad happy, but it’s hard to look at.

My throat constricts, and I make a beeline for the door. Zip up my sweater and tear off my mask. I grab the garbage bag and throw it all into the dump truck. Stare over the side until my stomach settles.

Dad and Marianne wave me over.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad says.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you all day!” chimes Marianne, glad for the distraction. “I was looking through Vogue this morning, and guess what I found?”

“Oh,” I say. Try to muster up some laughter. “Did you see it?”

“You bet I did!” She leans over and retrieves the magazine. Kate Winslet is on the cover. “Go to twenty-four.”

I take the magazine and flip to the page. It’s a Givenchy ad, three models posed with their mouths parted and delicate hands splayed. I’m the one on the left, head back and body turned to the side. I’m in a white dress, backless with slits going up my bare ribs.

“Now this,” Dad says, “is a good scarf. I have to have this.”

“No you don’t, Ron. We already have a box of them over there.”

“Where’s my drink?” He stands up and hobbles back inside.

“This is one for the scrapbook,” Marianne says, pointing to the magazine.

Or maybe it’ll be one for the wall, next to the stinkbug nymph and damselflies. I’m tired. Tired of being someone’s voodoo doll, stuck with needles and pins. I wish I could break the glass and free all the insects in the hall. That they’d flutter out, tap away on their hairy legs and skinny feet.

There’s a chunk of broken concrete at my feet. I pick it up. It’s heavy. The edges leave chalk smears on my hands.

I hold on to it, grab the magazine, and follow Dad into the kitchen. Take his keys from the kitchen table. Dad’s SUV is reversed into the driveway. I’m in the driver’s seat before anyone notices. The magazine and chunk of concrete are on the passenger seat.

The engine rumbles as I turn the key. I’ve never been behind the wheel, but it can’t be that hard. I rev the engine. Try both pedals. Nothing happens. I look over to the shifter handle. It’s resting in the “P” position.

“Where’re you going?” Marianne calls.

“Stupid.” I ram it back into drive and press a pedal at random. My chest hits the steering wheel, and the horn blares.

I try the other one, and the car takes off out of the driveway and onto the street. I know the rules of the road, sort of. I stop and look both ways. Try not to speed.

My heart pounds, and adrenaline pulses in my ears. The jackalope charm on my bracelet twinkles in the sun. If she were still here, she’d be in the passenger seat.

Dad and Marianne are waving from the driveway. They didn’t make it very far trying to stop me.

I take the back roads, get accustomed to the sensitivity of the pedals. Look over my shoulder every few minutes for cops.

Downtown, I stop the car in the middle of Leon. I’m next to the sushi place, can still see mom’s faded “G.” All the shops on the street are closed, lights out.

There’s a permanent marker in the back seat. One of the thick, wedge-tipped ones. “24,” I squeak on the magazine’s cover. Try to think of a simple phrase to go with it, but put the cap back on. There aren’t enough words.

I wish I had some kind of scandalous note with allegations, offensive photos of some kind. All I have is the magazine. Proof that I’m here, almost thriving. Maybe he’ll relive it, even for a moment, like I have been for the last twelve months.

After ruffling through the glove box, I find one of Mom’s old hair elastics. I curl the magazine around the chunk of concrete and fit the elastic around both.

I get out of the car and hear a cacophony of beeps and horns. I slam the door shut and plant my feet like I’m in middle school track, wielding a discus. With all my weight behind me, I fling the package through Alex’s shop window. The glass shatters, and the concrete block skids over the hardwood floor, bringing November air in with it.

A pedestrian screams, and I hear a siren in the distance. I wipe the leftover chalk on my jeans and get in the car.