#ink searches for new pronouns

[aromantisk-fagforening]

I want new pronouns, watch me get new pronouns, I'm gonna go look for pronouns now

[emelinstriker]

Wukong ♡ Part Of The Family

I'm not dead whoop- Just lost motivation and also didn't really have time. I don't know if I'm now fully back, but here have this one-shot... And a Mink (Ink MK) X Reader is in the making as I'm publishing this one-shot. c:

And Wukong's got a thing for MK's mom in this one...

ⓘ Reader is USING SHE/HER PRONOUNS

 ♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"Alright, I'll be heading home now."

"Make sure not to forget your backpack this time."

"Oh c'mon, I told you I was in a hurry yesterday, Pigsy! Anyway, see you tomorrow."

And with that, you put on your backpack and made your way over to the front door of the noodle shop. You were casually walking outside, humming a tune that's been stuck in your head the entire day... Until you noticed a little boy standing there, nude and covered in dirt, just staring at the noodle shop's bright light in awe. Confused and concerned, you glanced around the area in search for any possible parent looking for their runaway child. But there was no one even walking around the street. It was almost closing time for many people, after all.

When the boy still didn't move, you decided to take action. Slowly approaching the boy, you kneeled down to be more at his height. "Hey there, sweetie. How did you end up here like this? Are you lost? What's your name?" He looked at you, then back at the shop. Yet, he did not talk. Scratching your head in thought, you decided to approach the situation differently. "So, uh... Are you hungry? I'm sure I can let Pigsy take a bit off my paycheck for some noodles. I don't think he would turn down cooking for a kid in need."

Again, he just looked at you, then back at the shop. You sighed. This would be a fun problem to solve past closing hours. Extending your hand out towards the boy, you stood up. "C'mon, sweetie. Let me at least get you inside. I'd rather have you sit inside in the warmth than standing outside in the cold and dark once the sun is gone. I'm sure we can help find your parents."

This time, the boy looked at you, then at your hand. He hesitantly placed his tiny, kinda dirtied hand in yours and you began to slowly lead him inside the noodle shop's light.

Your boss was kind and helped you clean him up and gave him spare clothes, which looked a bit too big on the boy, then cooked up a meal for him. Sadly, you were unable to figure out what happened to him or where his parents were. You even looked outside the shop in the dark occasionally, trying to hear or see anyone who was looking for their child. But nothing came of it. Eventually, you found out the child's name and... It was really long. And since neither you or Pigsy could be bothered with saying it, you decided to nickname him MK. Your choice of the nickname was actually inspired by the legendary Monkey King, how he also had a really long name that got shortened for convenience as well.

A couple of days passed and there still was no parent looking for their child, nor was there any missing person report regarding a young boy with his descriptions...

You were basically taking care of MK during day and night, taking him home with you. At one point you suggested placing him in an orphanage, but MK only started to sob and cry, hugging your leg, not wanting to leave you. And being unable to say no, you accepted your fate. Hell, you even went the extra mile and became his legally adoptive parent with the paperwork you filled out, with Pigsy as uncle-figure of course.

As time went on, so did the years of development for your son. He moved out of your house and moved into the apartment Pigsy owned right above his shop, making him have a much easier time going to work. Meanwhile, you decided to travel through other towns all around the country, sending many little souvenir gifts and postcards over to Megapolis for MK to see, as well as keeping in touch with him through texts. And just a few years later, you heard news about various demons attacking your Megapolis, and how a boy called the Monkie Kid saved the city multiple times. Concerned, you started to travel back to the city, trying to get back as soon as you could to make sure your son and your former boss were alright.

To be honest, you arrived at a probably horrible time.

Looking at the city's skyline in the distance, you had to rub you eyes in confusion. Were you seeing this right? The city was partially covered in what seemed like giant ice shards... Did climate change really hit this area this bad the past years? It wasn't like it covered everything, but there certainly seemed to be a lot of icy remains. Shaking your head to regain focus, you proceeded with your self-proclaimed mission of checking on your son and your former boss. Cautiously making your way through Megapolis... the city seemed rather ruined. People were seemingly trying to get rid of any remaining ice as well as just generally trying to recover from whatever occurred. You were more confused if anything. What happened? Was this the aftermath of an attack of a demon you heard and read about in the news?

You then found your way back to Pigsy's Noodles. The noodle shop didn't seem to have changed at all. Upon entering, you immediately recognized some familiar and some unfamiliar faces. But the three you were most happy about to see were MK, Tang and Pigsy. You grinned, staying quiet as you leaned against the wall next to the entrance.

"MK! Order up!" Pigsy yelled out with a smile... It was certainly strange to see him smiling, but you weren't going to complain. Nice to know he was happier than when you left.

"On it, boss!" MK exclaimed as he swiftly grabbed the ordered bag. Though, as he turned to leave, his eyes spotted you... He froze, almost tripping over himself as he nearly let the noodle order fall in absolute shock. The boy simply looked at you with wide eyes... Before he started to tear up and seemingly hugged you at lightspeed. "MOM! YOU'RE BACK! I MISSED YOU! IT'S BEEN SO LONG!"

You chuckled as you tightly hugged him back, slightly tearing up yourself. "I'm home, sweetie..."

Of course, due to MK still having to go on his delivery route, he didn't have time to catch up with you just yet. However, you asked if you could join him on his delivery to catch up while he drove around. And of course, he happily agreed. Though, it was interesting to see where he went for those deliveries... The way he so casually delivered those noodles to so many demons with you... However, he was inhumanly fast at it. You were actually intrigued... What happened to your son while you were gone? Why was he suddenly so fast? Sure, he was a pretty hyperactive kid at least since you and Tang told him about the legend of the Monkey King, but this speed was new to you.

However, it wasn't until the last delivery where you were really questioning things. He had to deliver to Sun Wukong, the legendary Monkey King. At first you were under the assumption that he was supposed to place the delivery as an offering at his temple... You did not expect your precious baby boy to crash into a rock solid wall, apparently revealing the Monkey King's home on the other side, and creating a hole in the wall from excitement... Yeah, you definitely were missing out on major context here for sure. And if that wasn't enough, the legendary Monkey King himself was actually standing behind said wall and casually greeted your son as if it were just another day... Was this real? Didn't Sun Wukong supposedly vanish since he sealed the Demon Bull King? Was this a fake? You were actually internally freaking out at the sight of the legend himself from the stories. Though, you tried to keep calm and not squeal like a fangirl. He looked too real to be a human in a costume...

"Hey, bud!" Monkey King greeted MK before noticing you. He blinked at you in confusion. "Oh- Who's your friend?"

But before you could introduce yourself, MK hugged you excitedly from the side. "Monkey King, this is my mom! Mom, meet Monkey King!"

You awkwardly wave with a nervous, not sure if you were even allowed to be here. "Uh... h-hey."

"My mom and Mr.Tang are the reason I became a fan of your stories in the first place! She's a huge fan of you too!" MK said excitedly, which made you blush in embarrassment as you pursed your lips, mentally wanting to shut your son up from talking about you and your interests.

Monkey King couldn't help but snort at the dynamic you and your son have. He didn't even need his powers to notice the clear embarrassment and awkwardness you felt at your son's words. "Well, I'm glad to be able to meet the mother of my successor." The ginger-furred simian held out his hand for you to shake. You smiled awkwardly and hesitantly shook his hand, internally screaming that you were literally shaking hands with the Sun Wukong...

But then his words hit you and you looked at him and MK in confusion. "Wait a minute... Successor? Of the Monkey King?" You gave MK a slight glare. "He didn't tell me anything about that..." Your son laughed sheepishly, to which the Monkey King grinned smugly at him.

"Whaaat? You didn't tell your mom about how you can wield my staff and powers? And how you did a bunch of hero stuff?" Monkey King teased the poor boy. MK really just wanted to disappear right about now in fear of your silent rage.

"MK, I'm not mad that you didn't tell me... Well, I kind of am. But I'm mainly just worried about you and your safety, sweetie." You stated as you kissed MK's forehead. The way you handled MK seemed to very slightly stir something deep inside the Monkey King... He didn't know what it was, but it made him feel a little funny. It was a rather pleasant feeling... Just the way you talked with MK and treated the boy who was somewhat of a son to him.. Wait.

Actually- Nevermind, he realized something.

MK whined a bit, "Mooom, but I'm grown up already! I can handle some bad guys, even the big ones!"

"And I'm supposed to believe it how? Sure I've seen you running extremely quickly, but I haven't seen you use any actual powers- Besides you breaking the wall-" You paused. Then you turned towards the Monkey King and bowed a little. "I'm terribly sorry that my son broke your wall! How much would it cost to fix it? I-I'm sure I can cover the cost somehow-"

"Psh, it's fine, don't worry about it, Miss (Y/N). No need to pay for it. We tend to destroy walls surprisingly often during training. I can just easily fix it later myself if necessary", Monkey King cut you off. He then got an idea of how to prove it all. He placed his hands on his hips and grinned. "Well, speaking of training... How about your son and I show you what he can do already? We haven't been training in a while anyway, so it could be a nice refresher after everything that happened with the Lady Bone Deeeuuuuhhhh... Forget that part, actually."

You give both a confused and somewhat suspicious look. Now it was Monkey King's turn to laugh nervously. "Aahahaaaanyway- Let's show her what you've learned so far, bud!" He then grabbed you and MK and lead you outside to the cliffside of his home, where him and MK would usually chill and train at. And to give credit where credit is due, it did seem like MK learned quite a bit from his mentor. He even performed some of Monkey King's 72 transformations to show off his skills. Of course you were proud and happy for your son, but you were still a little worried about him having to face actual threats as the legend's successor.

That's when Monkey King started to act... strange, as MK would put it. He wanted to spar with the young boy, which was fine... But unlike their usual sparring sessions, this time his mentor was shirtless. MK immediately knew something was up because he has never seen him spar shirtless since there was no need. Monkey King never even break a single sweat during training. Nor did he ever overheat...

Meanwhile, you couldn't help but eye the ginger-furred monkey's physique. Despite being on the rather lean side, he did have refined muscles on him which were clearly visible due to the bright sunlight. Monkey King noticed your staring and only seemed to move more in a calculated way as he dodges MK's attacks. It was if he was showing off his body more, which made you faintly blush while he grinned... You thought he was grinning because of how easily he dodged MK's attacks with his staff.

However, Monkey King seemed so distracted and was holding back by showing off his body that he did not manage to block one attack from MK. The attack knocked the monkey to the ground due to him losing his balance in surprise. MK laughs victoriously at his mentor's defeat since the task was to land a hit. "Ha! I did it!"

Monkey King blushed a bit in embarrassment as he watched you hold back your laughter. He sheepishly smiled at his successor before using his tail to help himself off the ground. "Yeah, you sure did bud. Congrats."

Suddenly, your phone rang, capturing the attention of both of them. Looking at your phone, you noticed it was Pigsy calling. You sighed as you turned towards the other two. "I'll be right back, I got a call." You said before going a bit further away from them so you could be able to peacefully listen to what Pigsy wanted to talk to you about.

Meanwhile, MK just had to make sure of something. He raised an eyebrow at his mentor, grinning smugly. "Soooo... My mom...~?"

Monkey King blushed as he looked away, laughing nervously as he scratched his cheek. "Ahahaha! W-What are you talking about, kid? W-What about you mom ahaha-"

"You like her, don't you?" MK asks smugly. "You never take any clothes off during our sparring sessions, not even the smallest piece. Even when someone else is around... You even held back on your dodges to flex! This is the first time I see you trying to impress someone!"

If the ginger-furred simian had been drinking something, he would've either spat it out or choked on it as he tried to nervously laugh it off. "O-Of course not! Wha- W-What makes you say that? That doesn't prove anything! I just... felt like sparring like this today, okay? There's a first time for everything after all!" He tried to justify his actions. MK on the other hand just hummed, still grinning smugly. For anyone else trying to hook up with his mom, he would feel disgusted by it. However, the idea of the Sun Wukong, his mentor, legally becoming his father would be amazing. So, what else is there to do than for him to tease his probably and hopefully future dad? "...I don't like how you're looking at me right now." Wukong commented as MK simply continued to grin at him.

"Just admit it."

"...Admit what, bud?"

"That you like my mom."

"Oh- Ahahaha- Psh, I don't like her. I-I mean I like her, you know? She's nice, she's caring... But, I don't like-like her, y-you know? I-I, uh, just-" The ginger simian stammered nervously.

"Mhm. Sure..." MK's grin didn't fade.

After some awkward staring, Monkey King sighed in defeat. "...Okay fine, maybe... Just maybe I do like her just a tiny smidge more than I should for just meeting her today..."

MK chuckles as he leans against his staff. "So like, do you want me to play matchmaker and set you two up? I could get Mei and Sandy involved too in helping you get her to like you back."

The ginger-furred simian blinks at him in both surprise, confusion and embarrassment. He thought his successor would either just drop the topic or continue teasing him behind your back. Maybe he somewhat expected him to even resent him in a way for liking his mother... He just didn't expect him to willingly want to be a supportive matchmaker.

Monkey King nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Um... How about without them- I just... don't want this to be a big thing since I just met her...?" That came out as more of a question than a statement. The young Monkie Kid happily looked at his mentor, seeing his answer as a clear-cut confirmation of the Great Sage Equal To Heaven asking him for help.

It didn't take long for a plan to be formed.

From then on, just to have both of you to get to know each other better, MK asked you continuously to come with him to Flower Fruit Mountain everytime him and Monkey King were training... And your son was an annoyingly persistent bean, so you usually were dragged away and over to the Monkey King's lair. Then, after every training session, his mentor would talk to you.

It started off simple, actually. You would usually ask about MK's progress as well as about what kind of trouble he's already gotten himself into while you were gone. Apparently the day you returned, MK and his friends had just defeated some ancient bone demon spirit and Megapolis was still recovering.

But then your topics became a lot more personal with each new conversation. While your conversations once were just about things regarding your son being the successor of the Monkey King, over the course of the next weeks, Monkey King would talk to you more about personal preferences. Soon, most of your conversations became rather personal between you two. And oddly enough, MK never once bothered you two. Which made you a little suspicious because MK would usually pester you about what you were talking about with someone else.

You actually became quite good friends with your son's mentor. And after some more time, Sun Wukong, the legendary Monkey King, the Great Sage Equal To Heaven, asked you out for dinner on Flower Fruit Mountain. You, a mere mortal human, of course were stunned. But also excited to basically go on a date with Sun Wukong himself. Though, it didn't take long for you to figure out that MK was helping out his mentor in hooking you up with him... Just the fact that he was not so secretly asking Wukong about his type right in front of you, to which the Monkey King was responding in a way that was describing you, was evidence enough. It was cute and amusing to see the legendary Monkey King so awkward and flustered that he needed the help of his successor though.

But, your first date was great. You could've sworn MK and Wukong's monkeys were helping him behind the scenes, but they never directly interfered or showed up. Either way, your second date was definitely something Wukong himself set up without MK's or the other monkey's influence, which you appreciated a lot.

However, your monkey boyfriend became a lot more bold in your relationship over time. He turned from awkward and nervous to the horny equivalent of his lip bite meme pictures... Beware of his bad pick-up lines and other advances, because those were the only things that really made MK regret helping him...

"Hey there, beautiful. Are you a peach? Because I want to get a taste of you-"

"Oh my god, Wukong."

"Whaaaat? I just love and a-peach-iate you, babe-"

> Masterlist <

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[starrydixon]

Despair

*Requested from this ask :)

Era: 6-Year Time Jump Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Word Count: 4.1k Warnings: language, mentions of grief, cheating, descriptions of anxiety, self-doubt, Daryl being an asshole, angst

Summary: When his brother’s disappearance becomes too much to bear, Daryl isolates himself in the woods, away from his community and from you. When the opportunity presents itself to see Daryl again after three years, you learn what he had been up to.

A/N: I found this request challenging (in a good way), since I personally can’t imagine Daryl cheating on his S/O. I didn’t want him to be sneaky about it, so I have him being upfront and fessing up to what he had done. I hope you enjoy reading, especially the anon that requested!! ❤️💗

Rick Grimes was one of, if not the, best man you had ever had the privilege of knowing. It wasn’t an easy job, being a leader for a group of people who had turned into a found family, but he did the best he could. Every decision he made, he did it with the thought of keeping his family safe. Back at the prison, after his family had taken down the Governor and began to open their doors for other survivors, he had found you barely surviving in the woods when he was checking on his many snares in hopes of catching a few rabbits. After asking you a few questions, he offered you shelter with protective fences and a community to survive with. From that day on, Rick and the rest of his group had become like family to you too. 

With a new beginning at the prison, you were able to meet the person you would later find out was the love of your life, your person, and your other half: Daryl Dixon. After months of awkward greetings and one sentence conversations, Daryl and you started to become friends, which then started the years of being stuck in the friend zone. You had realized early on that you were developing feelings that exceeded the levels of friendship with the archer, but were too scared to act on it. You valued the connection the two of you had, and the thought of ruining it scared you so much that you would rather remain friends than act on the feelings you weren’t even sure he shared. However, the night after the saviors were finally taken down, and your community could finally find peace again, you and Daryl had found yourselves looking up at the sparkling stars that covered the ink colored sky with love confessions stumbling out of your mouths. 

Rick had given you everything the day he had let you into the prison, so when he sacrificed himself on that nearly completed bridge in order to keep his family and the community he had built safe, you were devastated to say the least…and so was Daryl.

As much as you wanted him to stay at your shared townhouse so you could both grieve together, you didn’t want to get in the way of his own grieving process. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to you. If moving out in the woods alone, and searching high and low for Rick was his way of dealing with the sheriff’s disappearance, then so be it. 

At first, you would visit Daryl every other week and stay with him for a few days, helping him look for any evidence that belonged to the former sheriff, proving that he had survived the explosion. You tried to stay ignorant to Daryl’s lackluster attitude whenever you stayed with him, but soon it became too unbearable to completely ignore. So, you decided to visit him every 30 days with a pack full of new supplies at a designated spot that would change depending on which section of the vast woodlands Daryl was searching through at the time. 

The archer would leave a folded up piece of paper with the coordinates of the new drop off location written on it in one of the hidden tin messenger boxes that lined the main road that passed through all four of the communities. Although it began to become a bit tedious, you didn’t mind so much. All it meant was that you were able to see Daryl again, even if only for ten minutes. 

That system had only lasted for less than a year, since Daryl had decided to unexpectedly go radio silent on you. It happened when you were supposed to meet up with him again. When you went to retrieve the note from the tin box, you had discovered that it was empty. At first you thought Daryl was still in the same area he had been 30 days prior, and went to the large boulder you had met him at before in hopes that he was waiting for you there. Unfortunately, he wasn’t. Then, you thought he was just late; that he lost count of the days. After a week of relentlessly checking the tin box for a note from the archer, your mind began to spiral with the fear that something bad had happened to him. 

Since you didn’t know where he was, you paid a visit to the Kingdom in hopes that Carol would have an idea of what was going on. To your devastation, you learned that he kept in regular contact with Carol; letting her know where he was and which gridlock of the woods he would be venturing through next. It was clear that, for reasons you didn’t know and probably wouldn’t be able to even fathom if you did know, Daryl didn’t want you in his life anymore. 

So, with a broken heart and an uncertainty of where yours and Daryl’s relationship now stood, you let him be. You hoped that within time, he would reach out to you again after having time to process whatever pain he was undoubtedly going through. The pieces of your broken heart seemed to shatter into even smaller pieces every time Carol sent you a letter informing you how Daryl was. Although you were relieved that he was ok and alive, your hope of him coming back to you seemed to become dimmer with each letter that was given to you.

After almost three years of leaving the porch light on every night, and keeping fresh and clean folded clothes on the decorative armchair (that Daryl found to be an eyesore) that sat by the window of your bedroom, you had received a letter from Carol that informed you of what Daryl’s latest location was. 

You didn’t know if Carol was telling you this out of the goodness of her heart (or out of pity if you were being honest with yourself), or if Daryl had asked her to do it for him. Nonetheless, you weren’t going to miss the chance of seeing the man that you still loved again. Plus, you had a lot of questions for the archer that you felt you deserved to have answered, and a lot of things you wanted to say.

Packing up a bag of supplies for you and for Daryl (since you still had the habit engraved in your brain), you dressed one of the horses in riding gear and journeyed to the area Carol had mapped out for you. 

It didn’t take you long to arrive, maybe half a day or so. Once you had dismounted your horse and wrapped its reins around a sturdy tree branch in a clearing of the woods, you emerged from the shrubbery within the forest to face a riverbank. You figured this was the same river that flowed underneath the bridge Rick had blown up. 

With your mouth having suddenly gone dry, you were unable to move when your eyes found the sight of a pair of familiar angel wings. Even without seeing the signature vest that constantly sported his body, you would’ve been able to identify Daryl; having memorized the way his long and unruly stands of dark hair looked from the back of his head, to the shape of his distinctive broad shoulders and frame. 

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you stepped over the multiple traps Daryl had hidden beneath the layer of fallen orange and brown leaves that covered the forest floor. Clenching your hands into fists to prevent them from shaking, you tentatively approached the riverbank that Daryl was sitting at. When your boot stepped on a small twig that sent a surprisingly loud snapping sound through the still air, your wide eyes watched as Daryl’s head turned to the side in order to look over his shoulder. 

“You came.” When he spoke, his usually gravelly voice came out even more horse due to disuse. You weren’t sure if you were more surprised at hearing his voice after so many years, or by the fact that he didn’t seem surprised at your presence. 

“You knew I was coming?” You asked with a slight quiver of unknown emotion in your voice. You were now standing a few feet away from the archer, behind his line of vision. 

“Was hoping’ you’d come by…didn’t know for sure.” Daryl drawled heavily while shrugging his shoulders loosely.

Nodding your head in response, despite knowing Daryl wouldn’t be able to see you, you shifted uneasily on your feet. You didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you were here. After years of longing and wishing for this moment to happen, you hadn’t imagined it being this difficult. 

You felt as if there was a reason as to why Daryl was suddenly seeking you out, whether that be good or bad. As much as you hoped for it being good, the gut-wrenching feeling you’ve had  since receiving Carol’s letter was becoming even harder to ignore now that you were within Daryl’s presence. 

Shaking your head in an attempt to rid at least a layer of anxiety from out of your body, you shifted the pack full of supplies on your shoulder. “I–uh–brought you some stuff…I didn’t know what you still had from whenever Carol last saw you.”

That seemed to have gotten Daryl’s attention. Turning around to face you, you felt all the air leave your lungs and get stuck in a lump in your throat when your eyes met his for the first time in what seemed like forever. Despite looking more tired than he usually did, having a few more prominent worry lines on his face, and a seemingly fresh scar that covered his left eye, he looked like the same Daryl you had once known. For a moment, you had the urge to reach out and gently caress the new scar he had with the pad of your thumb, ask him what had happened, and tend to it with the small first-aid kit you had packed. But then the reality of your strained relationship hit you again, and you resisted performing that once common gesture. 

From his spot on the ground, Daryl seemed to be taking in your presence as well; judging by his stalled silence and the way his eyes flitted over your face and down your body. Swallowing hard, you averted your gaze from him when the tension was becoming a little bit too much to bear. 

“Ya didn’t have to do that.” Daryl drawled after a few heavy moments of silence had passed between the two of you. If your perception was correct, it seemed like he sounded a bit…guilty?

Shrugging your shoulders dismissively, you brought your gaze towards the sight of the rippling river. “I know…it’s just instinct at this point.”

With the way yours and Daryl’s dynamic worked, there were never awkward silences or moments of uncomfortable uncertainty of what to do with yourself when in each other's presences; you’ve always been able to find comfort within the silence you two would share. 

However, the heaviness and tension that sat between the two of you now, that had never been there before, caused the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up in a mixture of alarm and dread. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” Daryl’s voice broke you out of your troubled thoughts. 

Gnawing on your bottom lip anxiously, you shuffled closer to the riverbank until the toes of your dirtied combat boots touched the edge of where the water met the dirt. “I’m just confused about why I’m here…why now?”

Slowly, as if you were waiting for an inevitable blow to hit you squarely in the face, you turned your head to reface Daryl. He had a deep furrow in his eyebrows while the worry line between them was the deepest you had ever seen it. His teeth tugged anxiously at some dry skin on his bottom lip while his hands fidgeted uneasily on the tops of his perched knees. His blue eyes, which seemed to have lost whatever light he previously had left, couldn’t meet yours. You could see the gears moving in the archer’s head as he silently pondered over his next choice of words.

That alone had the nerves in your stomach flaring up and making it feel like your gut was being painfully twisted with sharp talons, or that you were being repeatedly sucker-punched in the stomach by a boxing glove. Placing a hand on your sensitive abdomen, you tried not to let yourself give into the sudden weakness of your knees.

“You wanna sit down? I got a lot I gotta say…to you.” Daryl admitted solemnly before swallowing hard.

“No…I’m alright.” Your response was immediate, and you would have been slightly embarrassed if you didn’t feel like you were minutes away from entering fight or flight. Daryl fell quiet again as he turned his gaze back towards the rippling water in front of him. Unable to bear the deafening silence and thick tension that was starting to feel like it was suffocating you, you attempted to coax Daryl to say whatever it was that was on his mind. “Whatever it is, just say it…I can’t take this silence anymore.”

It was barely noticeable, but after years of being close to Daryl and getting to know him inside and out, you didn’t miss the way he winced at the unusual sharpness in your tone. With a barely audible sigh, Daryl let out a grunt as he rose to his feet. Not bothering to brush off the dirt and leaves that stuck to his pants, he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his distressed black jeans. 

“Somethin’ happened out here…maybe a couple months ago,” Daryl began as his downcast gaze remained solely focused on the riverbed. “I stumbled upon her cabin by accident a couple years ago, just after–after I stopped talkin’ to ya.”

Her.

Her. 

For a moment, that was the only word ricocheting in your brain as your ears buzzed due to the sudden adrenaline rush that began to course through your veins. The nerve flare in your stomach became painfully more prominent, and the thought of taking flight started to sound even more appealing the longer the tantalizing pause stretched for. 

“For a while, we got to talkin’…’bout nothin’ really, but somethin’ about talkin’ to someone new felt good,”

Please stop talking.

Don’t break whatever’s left of my heart.

“I don’t know how or why it happened–never saw her like that…but I–“ Daryl seemed to suddenly choke on his words as his head ducked even lower in shame.

You knew what was coming next; you had seen it coming miles away despite the fact of actively trying to ignore it. Tears that you refused to let drop pooled in your eyes as your tingling sinuses suddenly felt as if they were swelling. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as the center of your chest caved in due to the heavy anxiety that began to settle there. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.” There was no gravel in his voice now. Instead, Daryl’s voice was soft and shaky. If your senses weren’t going into overload right now, you might’ve even thought he sounded like a completely different person. 

“Say. It.” You bit out with venom in your mouth. Your fists were clenched tightly by your sides in an attempt to conceal your increasing anger. Not being able to face the archer, you could see him turn to you for a quick second from your peripheral vision. 

“I–,” Choking on his words again, Daryl took in a shaky breath in an attempt to get the shameful sentence out of the confines of his throat. “I slept with her.”

When the admission reached your ears, you sucked in a sharp breath as your hands rose to rest on each side of your head. Your fingers slipped through the strands of your hair, the tips digging into your skull. Without your consent, the overflowed salty liquid that had built up in your eyes began to drop onto your cheeks and stream downwards towards your mouth. Your chattering teeth bit into your bottom lip as your eyes darted erratically across the expanse of water that was in front of you. It was like you were trying to look for something; answers, in the rapids, but you knew you would only find those in Daryl. Letting out a shaky exhale, you paced up and down the riverbank in an attempt to ease the unbearable anxiety and anguish that was now aching your body. 

Daryl’s mouth opened to say something, but he quickly shut it when whatever words he thought he could sputter out died on his tongue. What could he have to say that you would want to hear right now anyway?  All Daryl could do was watch you from afar as you reeled from his confession, and wait for you to speak first–if you even wanted to speak, that is.  

You thought you had a lot of questions for Daryl before showing up to his camp, but now, as you tried so hard not hyperventilate and let heartache consume every cell that made up your body, you had about a hundred more questions ricocheting so fast in your brain you could hardly keep track of them all.

What was her name?

What does she look like?

What does she have that I don’t?

How many times did it happen?

Does he love her?

Despite having all of these troubling questions, there was only one that you could barely manage to choke out. “Why?”

Your voice was quiet and horse due to the stain of suppressing the emotions and sobs of heartache that were building up within your chest. So quiet in fact, that Daryl’s enhanced hearing thanks to the years he has spent hunting, had almost missed it. But he heard you; and didn’t have an answer that you deserved. 

“I don’t know.” The archer whispered in shame as a bitter cold breeze gusted over him, which felt more like a slap in the face than anything else. Maybe Daryl had also lost Mother Nature’s respect, and this was her way of dishonoring him. 

Still unable to look at Daryl, you shook your head in anger, unsatisfied with the answer he had given you. “Bullshit. Try again.” 

Although there was a brokenness in your wavering voice, there was also a strong sense of demand and venom, which caused Daryl to wince again due to how unnatural it sounded coming from you. Running a stressed hand down his scruffy face, Daryl’s eyes darted over the dirt ground as he dug deep within himself in order to give you the answer you deserved.

He knew nothing he would say would excuse what he had done, and he wasn’t looking for forgiveness or compassion from you. Daryl just knew that you deserved to know what he had done. If there was any chance of salvaging your relationship, he wanted to be transparent and honest. He couldn’t carry on knowing he was selfishly keeping that knowledge away from you.

“Before, when you’d come to visit me…it was too hard. I felt like I’d just–just breakdown and have to deal with Rick not bein’ here anymore. I didn’t wanna face it, and I still can’t…so I put distance between us.” Biting down on his quivering lower lip, Daryl blinked away the stinging sensation in his eyes. 

“So, what? Did your sudden abandonment mean that it was okay to fuck another woman!? You didn’t exactly give me a breakup note, or anything for that matter, before you left!” You exclaimed while throwing your hands up in the air to further express your anger. This sudden surge of rage gave you the courage to face the archer.

“No! That ain’t it!” Daryl shouted defensively as his once ducked head rose and his eyes darted over to you. Squeezing his eyes shut once he saw you recoil due to his sudden raised voice, Daryl let out a heavy exhale as he tried to compose himself of the anger he was in no position of feeling. 

“Then why!?” Your voice now sounded desperate as your bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. Fresh tears filled with frustration and sadness pooled in your eyes again, making the image of Daryl blurry.

“It just happened! We were–we were stuck in her cabin because of a heavy storm outside, and–she was just there…I guess I just didn’t wanna be alone anymore,” Shaking his head in shame, Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the tears from falling from the corners of his eyes. “I thought I’d blown it with you, and that too much time had passed.” 

It felt like an invisible force had knocked the wind out of you when Daryl’s choppy admission reached your ears. You’d asked for it, demanded it really, but it didn’t mean that would lessen the blow. Despite being outside in the middle of a forest, you felt as if walls that weren’t viewable from the naked eye were suddenly closing in on you. A quiet whimper escaped from your throat as you sucked in a sharp breath, you lungs suddenly in need for more oxygen. 

“I never gave up on us! Even when you weren’t giving me anything to hold on to, I still held out hope!” You shouted in anger, your voice becoming raw and strained. Fresh tears escaped from your eyes and splattered onto the dirt ground beneath you. Daryl stayed quiet, listening, and letting you speak. “For three years, I kept a light on for you at night, and kept clean clothes set out for you on that stupid armchair you hate! If you had given me the chance, I would’ve been able to tell you it was never too late!” 

By the end of your sentence, your anger had morphed into sorrow. At the sight of your pained expression hearing how worn your voice sounded, sharp pains stabbed through the center of his chest. For a second, he thought he was having a heart attack; but Daryl knew it was just from the guilt of having caused you to feel so much anguish. 

“Rick’s disappearance fucked me up too, but not enough to cheat on you.” 

With your final statement hanging heavily in the air, you swallowed the lump in your throat and let the heavy pack that was still sitting uncomfortably on your shoulder fall to the ground. Slowly, you began to back away towards the shrubbery you had previously emerged from. If you had it your way, you’d be running back to your horse, but your weak knees and wobbly legs could only move at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“Y/N?” Daryl’s nerves suddenly shot up when he noticed your figure shrinking away. He didn’t know what else there was to talk about or talk through; the archer knew you needed time, but it still pained him to see you go.

“I–I need to go–need time.” You could barely form words, or even a sentence that sounded grammarly correct, but that was all you were able to sputter out before hopping over the hidden line of protective traps and disappearing through the forest shrubbery.

With weakening limps and spinning vision, you clumsily retrieved the reigns that had been tied to a branch and mounted your horse. Not wasting another minute, you commanded the stallion to take off with a dig of your heels and raced out of the woods. As the wind blew your hair in every which way, the sobs you had previously forced yourself to conceal were now wracking your body.

Unbeknownst to you, Daryl had, while keeping his distance, followed after you. With teeth biting into his bottom lip so hard he was drawing blood, the archer watched helplessly as your shaking figure got farther and farther away, and the sobs that filled the air became more quiet due to the distance that was growing between you and him. 

You felt foolish for holding onto your relationship with Daryl for so long, even when he was giving you every sign that said to let go. Before arriving at his camp, you had high expectations that were filled with a sense of yearning and hope of being able to get to where the two of you had once stood. Now, as you left with salty tears streaming down your face and a pain you’d never had to feel before stabbing at your chest, you were filled with a heavy sense of despair and betrayal. 

It felt like the pain you were feeling would never go away, which made you unsure if you’d ever be able to handle seeing Daryl again, or if you even wanted to see him again.

-

-

Part 2

[leifygreeens]

Elliott Scrap 🦀

Elliott being a smitten man, as usual. Fem!Farmer, she/her pronouns. No other warnings necessary. I'll find a place for this scene eventually.

Elliott’s boots thunk softly against the stone bridge leading into town, his route illuminated by warm yellow light. He looks up at the rusty lamp posts, his breath puffing out into clouds of vapor in front of his face. It’s two days into Spring already, but frost still clings to the emerald green grass framing the cobblestone path, and Elliott tucks his nose low into the collar of his jacket.

The windows of the saloon burn a fiery orange, and Elliott picks up his pace. After hours of staring at ink on half-empty pages, and with no solace found in the sounds of waves kissing the shore outside of his home, he needs a distraction.

Tied to a post outside of the saloon is a horse, its ears flicking back and forth as it grazes on the overgrown grass breaking through the cement. Its coat is dusty brown, with a dark brown mane, and a very new looking saddle strapped to its back. 

The horse picks its head up, sensing his presence. Its ears flick again, and if Elliott knew anything about horses, he might say it looks curious. He doesn’t though, so he walks past without a second glance, and up the steps.

He pushes the door open. It’s not a slow night by any means, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the cheery jingling of the bell above the door as Elliott pushes inside. The warmth from the fireplace hits him square in the face, and he relishes the way it melts the chill settled into his bones. Gus looks up to greet him, and Elliott knows it’s more out of habit than anything else. Just standard, to welcome a guest.

Elliott looks around, expecting to see Leah at their usual table next to the jukebox, but surprisingly, she’s nowhere to be seen. He frowns, resigning himself to a night of drinking alone, when something catches his attention.

The farmer stands alone at the bar, loosening the strap of her shoulder guard. 

The last time he saw her was at his shack on the beach, two weeks ago. He’d poured his heart out into a heap on the floor of his shack, and she carefully placed every piece back into his palms. She’d been wearing overalls and brown work gloves, with steel-toed boots and the straw hat she won the spring prior for achieving first place in the egg hunt. She’d looked like a proper farmer, and a little like an angel.

But here, in the flickering firelight of Stardrop Saloon, she looks like she’s stepped out of an adventure novel. Dressed like a heroine whose only goal is to slay foul beasts and protect those weaker than herself, there’s a small array of leather holsters criss-crossing over her torso, cuts and bruises on her arms, and fresh white bandages wrapped around her knuckles. There’s a large black stain on the front of her shirt, and he wonders what the hell she’d done to get it.

She looks up, and their eyes meet.

Recognition passes over her face, and then she smiles.

He makes a beeline for the bar, the restless buzz in his chest getting louder with every step, like a swarm of cicadas in the summer.

“Hello, Farmer,” Elliot says, the buzz starting to make his ears ring. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Elliott. I was hoping I’d see you tonight,” she says softly, a smile spreading across her lips. Elliott blinks, and thoughts he’d never dare entertain flicker like firelight over the inside of his eyelids. She’s so pretty. Why is she so pretty? “I thought about stopping by your cabin, but I figured I should check here first, just in case.”

Elliott feels lightheaded. “You were looking for me?”

She hums, nodding as she turns away to search through her bag. “Last time I dropped by, you looked like you were running out of ink.”

“Ah. I was planning to purchase a refill from Pierre in the morning.” Elliott winces. He’d put it off for too long, and his plans to write well into the night were dashed when his fountain pen ran out of ink in the middle of a chapter.

“No need. I collected some for you.” She turns around, a glass inkwell standing proudly in the center of her palm. “I hope this is enough, but if it isn’t I can bring more later.”

Elliott’s lips part on a breath as he plucks the bottle out of her hand. The glass is heavy, sturdy between his fingers and sapphire blue. He whistles softly, a reverent sound. “It’s lovely. Where did you get it? The ones at Pierre’s don’t look like this.”

“Oh, no, I made it.”

Elliott jerks his head so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. “You made this? All of it?”

“Well, not really. I harvested the ink from squids, but I had leftover corks from my wine bottles, and the bottle is made out of glass shards I collected from the beach.” She chuckles, tapping her fingertip against the glass. “Who knew smelting furnaces were great for glassmaking?”

[punkedsolar]

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂ Who the heck are you?

I am @steampunktoy on my personal blog, and @punkedsolar on my public 🖌art🖌 blog. I don't mind what pronouns you use for me, and I am old old. I am almost certainly older than most users here by multiple decades. I'm an Australian artist and writer who works as a UX designer. I used to rock climb. I run a semi-permaculture setup with a bunch of garden beds. I make cheese. I try to care for family members. I am very tired and chronically in pain with permanent spinal damage. All that usual stuff. Always happy to take questions.  ❤️

.・。.・゜✭��.・✫・゜・。.  .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

🎨Art Info🎨 I work in a wide range of mediums, everything from traditional pencil to pen and ink, digital, and more. I occassionally work in 3D with plastics, as well as hot glass, and resins. I've used etching acids, photography, and other materials, and am looking at taking up forgework. I do not, and will never use, generative AI. Feel free to share things anywhere by reblogging on Tumblr, and if you take stuff off the site, please credit me.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.  .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

🐦‍⬛ What about that World Building? 🐦‍⬛ Tags to search for: #New Petra

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.  .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

🖼️Commission Info 🖼️ I draw fantasy beasties, animals, plants, fungi and insects. If you want someone to draw your dragon, anthro, weird bug or plant person, I am your TumblrCringeEngine. I have simple flat rates for one figure:

$30 US: Black and white full body with no background. $50 US: Digital colour full body with no background.

At these (very cheap) prices, there are no approvals for sketches - you can use the images however you want, though I will post them for my own records too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.  .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.†｡.･◆

📩Can we contact you?📩

Hell yes.  Drop a note in my Ask Box about anything.

[infraaa]

Hi ^_^ LITERALLY JUST ANYTHING LOTUS DRAGON I DONT CARE WHAT IT IS IM GONNA START VIOLENTLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH, thank uuu 😋

『you just gave me a looooot of power…. normally I would go back and ask for the reader’s pronouns but,,, ill let it slide just once 🤭』

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐇𝐎𝐍-𝐉𝐈

lotus dragonxgn!reader (non descriptive— pronouns not set)

baker’s notes // this is actually inspired off of the ruined temple in Japan by the same name. You can find an article about Shihon-ji here if you wanna keep reading about it. This was fun to do, thank you loves!

Who knew what perfection amongst ruins could clash the way they do?

You, a simple historian, have been everywhere. From the heat of the hot sands, to the coolness of the cacao kingdom, all in search of historical remnants worthy of study. You would walk the ends of earthbread to find something truly remarkable, and every time you did you would gain a giddy feeling in your chest You we’re sitting with some of the locals of a new location you were visiting one day, sharing a cup of finely brewed tea. Elders sat at the table with you, recounting an old fable that they were taught as children. You listened intently to their words, wanting to grasp this opportunity to see a landmark that struck history in these gorgeous lands.

The Lotus Paradise was a cooler land akin to a fine zen like marsh, filled with lily pads adorning the most beautiful flowers, croaking frogs and the cleanest of lake water. The air was cool and crisp, smelling slightly of freshly bloomed wildflowers and a perfume lingered in the air… something fresh, yet not very recognizable, not even to a local.

Being told of a distant prefecture some ways away from the legendary Lotus Palace, you were told of a temple that was the resting place of revered poets. You gasped in excitement, and prepared immediately to set out to locate this said temple. In kind, the elders you were acquainted with gave you a boat to sail on through the waters of these lands so you wouldn’t tarnish your already crisp crust. And off you went, with the boat in kind you gave them fair for their generosity, and they waved you off on your expedition across the Lotus Paradise.

A tape recorder in hand, and a backpack at your feet on this meek, yet strong boat, you calmly floated through the clean clear water, looking around at all the lush plant life and trees that coated the evergreen ground. Even for a lake it wasn’t humid, it was just right as a breeze gathered in your hair, making you smile and take in the scenery. Not so far off you saw a few signs amongst some of the trees to your east. This drew your curiosity, and through the croaking frogs you were able to find a small yet withered dock, setting your boat to rest there. You took your compass out of your pocket and took to walking, the thick grass reaching your ankles, slightly coated with dew from days prior. Following the signs with Japanese print, eroded away and chipped by the rainy days of centuries passing by, you came across the temple… except the temple was… destroyed.

All that remained of a once great temple was two columns of wood, connecting a third at the top, and a wooden sign at the bottom. The rest of the wood and other supplies used to make this temple were nowhere in sight. This was the temple they were talking about? You crouched to get a better look at the sign. It used to be well polished as it sat there on the ground amongst loose twigs and leaves. The wood was chipped, you could see the patches of polish still trying to cling onto the wood as though it was loyal to it ever since they met during creation. The kanji, 藤原清輔家集、albeit withered, still clung to the wood in faded black ink, engraved for all eternity. The same kanji was found on a stone tablet leaning against a nearby tree.

Suddenly, amongst the light breeze you heard the soft sounds of the strumming strings of a mandolin. You looked over your shoulder to see a large flat rock by some trees, and positioned on the rock was a beautiful cookie, strumming their mandolin with steady darkened teal fingers, clean nails gracing the strings with each pluck and caress. They smiled softly, enjoying the sense of peace. Pearly white sleeves hung loose on their arms, as sea blue hair decorated their lily adorned head. They suddenly looked to you, stopping their movements. With a gentle smile they blinked towards you. It was the Lotus Dragon themselves, motioning for you to come greet them.

You slowly walked to the gentle dragon and bowed in respect. “Your Grace,” you whispered amongst the trees. The leaves could make anything echo outward with a small gust of wind. You had to be careful. To be seen in such a place with such a cookie— no, with the ruler of the Lotus Paradise… that would mean tragedy for your morale. “Might I ask what brings you here?” The dragon’s sea blue reptilian pupils fixed on you in a bid of focus, curiosity lingering on their perfect features. “I was drawn here because of a historical artifact. I wanted to check it out for my records.” They nodded, and with a gentle huff they slithered off of their rock, moving towards the abandoned temple with earnest. “This temple here?” The dragon attempted to confirm, which allowed you to answer with a quiet nod of your head. You followed the dragon with a curious twinge in your step. They smiled and looked to you, looking over their clean shoulder. Sweeping shiny hair from their face, they held their kimono sleeve with a steady hand. “Indulge in me for a moment.” You nodded, wondering what the dragon was about to reveal.

“A long time ago, when dragons ruled these lands with iron wings,” the dragon started slithering towards one of the columns of the temple, “there was a family that lived here in these forests. The Kukonomi clan, as they were referred to, was known to be one of the most prestigious artistic clans of their time, and they would often gather and drink tea, soft floral wines, and recite poetry here. Here, where this wooden plaque sits, lies one of the poets, named Kukonomi no Hitomaro, and was revered within this focal point as a veneration, that being this temple, as a god of poetry. Unfortunately,” they took a moment to catch a breath, sliding over to the other column and taking it with sharp nails, being ever so careful of the eroded marks, “in the middle of the Dark Flour War, an army of the north took refuge here and often fought off Southern forces. However this resting spot was never it’s true location. This temple was relocated here out of respect to the Kukonomi clan, and these grounds were taken into the care of many other poets along it’s time, and was later abandoned at the start of the Peace Era, after the war.” You looked to the dragon with amazement as they told this tale, recording it secretly on your tape recorder for further documentation. Your arm tensed behind your back, causing them to smile upon noticing this bodily function.

“What do you think, little one?” Lotus asked, slithering over to you with curiosity. Really what they were trying to do was get a hold of your tape recorder without making it obvious. You giggled nervously, yet excitedly at the actions of the dragon and put your free hand to your cheek. “What a wonderful story, great dragon. You surely are packed with knowledge.” They chuckled and swept you from your feet, making you yelp with surprise, dropping your tape recorder on the ground beneath the two of you. Putting you down, they picked up your tape recorder with a graceful bow. The looked at the small device in their hand as they once again chuckled lowly under their breath. They pressed a little red button at the top, stopping the tape recorder from taking in any more audio into its tapes. You suddenly felt your face rush red with fresh jam as your hand shot up in nervousness, “I’m sorry, great dragon, I didn’t mean to-“ “Now now, calm down little one.” You stopped, and looked to the dragon with wide eyes. “If this helps you understand the Lotus Paradise’s lush history, then I will permit this.” You smiled thankfully as they handed you back your tape recorder, and in taking it you bowed deeply at their mercy. “Thank you, oh great dragon, for sparing me.” They laughed at you, and waved a hand. “You’re too delightful, rise, little cookie.”

They soon sent you off after spending time with them, sitting with them on their chosen rock amongst lush trees and patchy yet somehow evergreen grass. They strummed their mandolin, humming softly in your company, sometimes adding words to their melodies. And when the time came, the sun setting on the fresh horizon, they send you back on your boat, back to the main village closer to the Lotus Palace, with the elders and the other common folk, before muttering to themselves,

“And furthermore, little one… you can call me Lotus.”

[mackmontgomery]

Full Name: Mack Montgomery.

Nicknames: Mack Attack, Mackyew.

Pronouns and Gender: He/Him, cis man.

Age + Birthday: 27 + November 28th.

Birth place: Albany, New York.

How long have they been in town?: 5 years.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Housing: Ocean Crest Apartments.

Occupation: Tattoo Artist @ Crescent Moon Tattoo.

Family: Trevor Montgomery (Brother), Macaulay Montgomery (Sister). // @aurorabayaesthetic

QUICK OVERVIEW.

Firstborn of the Montgomery trio, Mack’s parents had high expectations for Mack – all of which he seemed to make a personal goal to fall just short of. At two years old, his younger brother Trevor arrived, who from the very beginning was more adept at pleasing their parents. If Mack was eternal chaos, Trevor was eternal chill. Their sister Macaulay fell somewhere in the middle.

Where he faltered academically he excelled in other areas, namely art and music. Ever since Mack could steadily hold a pencil, he’s been sketching. It took years for him to actually consider himself good, but once he did he knew that as far as a future career was concerned, his would have to centre on that or he would have no chance of holding it down. That hypothesis was proved by the string of minimum wage jobs he had as a teenager that he was unable to keep for longer than six months. 

His first tattoo was a stick and poke he gave himself at 14 and ever since then it’s been a spiral of adding designs to his body that range from intrinsic pieces of body art to downright absurd additions that he only got because some form of alcohol was involved. 

It was also around this age that he picked up bass more seriously, rather than just a passing amusement. Once his high school friends decided to join a band, he threw his all into trying to be good enough to play along with them. It fast became an equally good outlet for his abundance of energy.

When he turned 18, his parents made it clear that if he wanted to continue staying under their roof he would be expected to go to college – something he had no intention of doing. He couch surfed for a year or so before eventually moving into a shared place with friends. As much as he adored New York, by twenty he was restless and wanted to seek out new scenery and a new coast. He eventually landed in Aurora Bay just shy of twenty-one where he once again found himself having to figure out a living situation.

It during his couch surfing days during his initial move to Aurora Bay that he was able to convince the owner Crescent Moon Tattoo to take him on as an apprentice after becoming a frequent flyer at the place, which became the first job he excelled at. After two years he became a fully fledged tattoo artist at 23 and there’s no one around who’s happier to have to go to work. 

PERSONALITY.

+ generous, warm, open-minded

- lazy, extreme, gullible

BONUS ROUND.

bisexual king.

6'5, has been mistaken for an actual sasquatch and became a local reddit urban legend.

is pretty much covered in tattoos from the neck down, (similar placements to pete davidson’s actual tattoos but the designs are different) has very rarely been able to think of a fun tattoo idea that he doesn’t end up getting. 

refuses to tattoo his face or his neck, adamantly says thats his own prerogative but in reality it’s because he knows his mother would hate it more than she already hates the ones he has. 

doesn’t have a driver’s license, thinks it’s redundant (because he drives anyway rip, he just hates the dmv!!!)

pretty much always in search of inspiration for tattoo ideas for himself, it’s almost compulsive. 

has tagged a few buildings around town 🤫

adament that cardi b’s ‘park that big mack truck right in this little garage’ lyric is about him after inking her.

has never actually met cardi b.

oui’d enthusiast, is pretty much always good for green if you’re looking.

will try any drug once (unless it’s injected)

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

older brother of @macaulaymontgomery

buddy bud of @thegillyxliang

one half of a whole dumbass with @rhyswilson

formerly in a band with @callme-harris / @rinaxcicero (not in game but still canon) / @gcldrushed

past / sometimes current hook up of @lorelailewis

ex-boyfriend of @cricketcampbell

close friend of @aidenxstevens

fan of @vanessagable / submergence

friend of @kyleexanthony

friend of @wesxevans

acquaintance of @maura-cortes

co-worker of @nirawuu

close friend of / she's his personal hairdresser @fxckaubreycarson

super fan of @bradley-banner

art friends / will always rock with @cassidyxcooke

employee of @aeris-flores

looks up to @annthcmpscn

childhood friend of @shilohsharma

fwb of @helenasoarcs

friend of / redeemer of his fuckass hair colour / court jester of @chelsabel

SPECIFIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

tattoo / piercing clients: if your muse has any/wants any in the future, mack’s your mans.

people he’s let tattoo him: yes he is that ridiculous, even if it turns out to be the ugliest design of all time, if it’s done with good intentions chances are that he’s going to like it.

childhood friends: new yawk baby!

GENERIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

connections wise he’s pretty much an open book right now, but some baseline ideas that can be springboarded off are:

friendly.

co-workers / former co-workers from his teen job hopper days / ride or dies / childhood friends / pseudo-siblings / friends / drunk friends / new friends / people who let him couch surf as a teen / people he’s encountered through his job somehow.

romantic

flirtationship / friends with benefits / one time hook ups / tinder matches / unrequited crush (can be either way) / exes from high school / exes from his twenties / exes on good terms.

antagonistic.

enemies / former (best) friends / former friends / exes on bad terms / frenemies / rivals / negative influence. 

[blessedcvrsed]

❀ *◦ jeon jeongguk. cis man. he/him. homosexual homoromantic. ⇝ hey, isn’t that choi seokmin? i think that the twenty-five year old from seoul, south korea works as a tattoo artist at lightning griffin tattoos and snake handler at carnival of time, but outside of that people describe them as late night conversations on smoking decks, the constant blast of music that drowns out suffocating silence, arms decorated in old and new ink, shattered picture frames covered in dust. i hear they are haunted & withdrawn, but they are also known to be steadfast & heartfelt. consider giving them a visit at their home in the marionette and get to know why they’re called the dysfunction junction. 

stats / pinterest

TW: death, murder, kidnapping, abuse, mental illness

BASICS

full name: choi seok-min (formerly hae ji-hun)

age: 25 years old

date of birth: august 29, 1999

hometown: seoul, south korea

gender: cis man

pronouns: he/him

sexuality: homosexual

occupation: tattoo artist at lightning griffin tattoos, snake handler at carnival of time

spoken languages: korean, english

parents: hae min-ji (mother), hae seung-ho (father)

sibling(s): hae mireu

BACKGROUND

(born as hae ji-hun) with his mother dying in childbirth, father completely out of the picture, and no next of kin, one could say that he was born with tragedy in his blood. he ended up being placed in foster care for the first two and a half years of his life, until joining his adoptive family — a young couple living in seoul, when he was three. they had another son older by a few years, and the two were quick to become best friends.

his family moved to maine when seokmin was seven, though they did travel back to korea every so often. his childhood, as far as he can recall, was normal. happy. he excelled in school, developed a passion in art (and got in trouble a few times for painting on his walls), and lived about as regular a childhood as loving parents could hope. with any child, came dreams, and seokmin always vocalized how he wanted to be a famous artist, or "be friends with the cool animals at the zoo"; he was an imaginative kid of little worries and high hopes.

though, things could only be good for so long. on the night of his fifteenth birthday, his life would change forever. while his brother was away for the start of a university semester, an intruder broke into the family's home and would take the lives of both of his parents, and while seokmin tried to hide, the attempt was futile. for the next several years of his life, he would be captive to this murderer, taken away to a state he didn't know the name of. even after leads, the authorities never did end up finding the man or solving the case, which spread like wildfire across the world.

after living this way and sustaining abuse for a long period of time, seokmin conducted a successful escape after knocking him out in an altercation, running until he physically couldn't anymore. traumatized, a shell of his former self, and completely disconnected from any selfdom, the twenty year old wasn't sure what to do or where to go — he didn't know who he was.

it definitely took some time for him to get back on his feet. (*another wanted connection) distrustful of every person he saw, seokmin was lost and alone, until they found him, as battered, bruised and terrified as he was. they took him in, giving him a safe place to stay, no judgement or questions asked, and would come to be an extremely trusted friend.

a new identity was made. for his own safety, he rid himself of his birth name hae jihun, and created a new one — choi seokmin. it also cut ties with the case, not wanting it to follow him, not wanting to be known as him. he'd much rather stay hidden on a new slate rather than having to relive any of it, or recount his trauma just for the presses to badger him.

now as for his big brother, seokmin spent a lot of time searching for him. social medias and search engines would always come up with no results, rendering him completely unreachable. the only information he could get was from the articles surrounding the murders and his own disappearance, nothing more. a part of him felt guilty, and he still wonders to this day if maybe he had went to the authorities, he'd have his brother back by now, but it terrified him too much.

ending up far, far away from maine, a small town in alaska served as his shelter. as of now, he's been there for about two years, and works at the tattoo parlor and carnival (as a snake handler!!). though his past haunts him, fear still plaguing him, seokmin has slowly been rebuilding himself in anchorage.

HEADCANONS

seokmin has a very loved doberman named maeum (yes, the same breed as bam, i had to), who goes with him literally everywhere. if you stop into lightning griffin, chances are you'll get to see maeum ! he's a very happy and well-trained dog, and he makes him feel safe. originally, he wasn't trained to be a service dog, but all the qualities, traits (and general behaviour) suited it greatly, and now he's very efficient at his job. their bond is strong, and seokmin loves him so much.

biiiig tattoo and piercing guy. he's always trying out new piercings, or leaving the studio with a fresh piece of ink, so on. if you're wanting one of either but are hesitant, he will 100% hype you up.

he has been diagnosed with ptsd, panic disorder and depression, and is on medication for them.

he's an extremely private person — if you've been to his apartment, you're lucky and he trusts you, as he's reasonably hesitant to let people inside of his home.

despite his dark past and quiet, slightly, standoffish demeanour, seokmin tries to put on a brave face and be kind. he's not an asshole by any means, he's a complete sweetheart (and even goofs off with the right people), but it's probably clear to just about anyone that he's been through a lot.

when he's in public or otherwise out of the confines of his apartment, he pretty much always has on a black face mask, it helps his anxiety a lot.

someone needs to take this man clothing shopping for some COLOUR. his wardrobe only consists of black clothes and combat boots (i get it i really do).

NOTE

seokmin is a revamped version of one of my first muses and i'm very excited to play/develop him here with all of you !! i'll come back to this post and link things like his stats, pinterest, connections/wanted plots and the like when they're ready. come plot with us !!

[brassdivinity]

ABOUT AYLIN || And then I turned away into the shade.

CHARACTER BASICS

NAME: Aylin Feray Bardakci

AGE: Twenty-Seven

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her

FACE CLAIM: Aslihan Malbora

EYE COLOR: Brown

HAIR COLOR: Dark Brown, typically dyed bright blue 

HEIGHT: 5′4″

DATE OF BIRTH: October 2nd, 1977

ZODIAC SIGN: Libra

LEVEL OF EDUCATION: High School Diploma

OCCUPATION: Tattoo Artist

CHARACTER HISTORY (TW: DRUG ADDICTION, CHILD ABANDONMENT)

One look at Aylin, and many believe that she’s taken on a vibrant protest against the world. The inked flowers on her skin is only a result of pain made permanent, and her bright hair a call for a squinted glance in the eyes of others. Yet, Aylin’s never fought the wrongs in the world. She’s accepted defeat, and laid in the bed it’s set out for her. Tattoos, blue hair, jewelry beyond a dangle on her ear is no more than taking the canvas given to her by the earth and making it a tribute for its wonders. Precious metals, the blueprint to florals, and the brightest colors fallen in awe from the nature around turned into a halo is not a fight against the world but harmony. 

Aylin, however, does have her protests but they sit in the pit of her stomach where she’s let them weigh her down like stones. It keeps her from running too fast into the face of impulse, and weary of a deep end. Her parents moved to New York when she was just fifteen years old, coming into her sophomore year of school right into the middle of the school year. 

Specializing in glass making, Aylin was the one creation they had yet to crack. Their sons were broken in the trouble they had in the failure of their work. Her brothers became destructive, and in hopes of keeping her safe from their whirlwind, they took opportunity to run and went. For a couple of years, they flourished but they accepted her brothers back into their lives when they came searching with an apology at hand. It didn’t take long for them to bring what Aylin’s parents tried to escape from. Their ran through their funds, using their family’s money to support their addictions. Her parents did what they could to keep her safe, even if their menagerie was broken and all they had to keep was Aylin. She was expected to do well in school, to create a second chance for them and herself, to find freedom but all she ever found was solitude. They overworked themselves and rarely came home when she was awake to see them, and her brothers lived most of their stay out on the porch where their mother kicked them out for the haze of drugs that was so thick it filled the house in distain. 

On the cusp of seventeen, promises withered. They failed to bloom and instead turned frail and so thin that Aylin’s small prayer blew them to dust. The trouble her brothers caused had robbed their family of everything, and love became a justification she grew weary of. Forced to go back to Turkey, her parents moved back and forth before eventually trying to leave Aylin behind to not exhaust her. Many believed she was free, but she was still in their glass cage. It didn’t take long for it to break, though. The fragility wasn’t a secret, and child services stepped in to relocate her until she was eighteen. 

Everyone seemed to move along without her. Her brothers were able to clean up their act, get married, and finally have a clear path. Her parents were relieved of raising one more child, of threading expectation for her when they were poor examples, and thrived. Aylin, however, was left alone. They tried to step back into her life more than once, with her brothers attempting to either bring her home or take custody but it all failed. 

Once she graduated at eighteen, Aylin no longer listened to their pleas. She pursued a trail they tried to warn her off of, but Aylin learned to not look for any kind road or fair sky where she walked. It would come with trouble. All she had to do was be aware of it, and take risk for herself when there was nothing left.

There was a way to find where she belonged despite going back to an aimless home— she found devotion in the unknown, looking into every corner her parents told her to avoid. She became what they feared for their sons and branded her a deviant and degenerate while all she'd done was devote herself entirely to the art that had brought her comfort for so many years in their absence.

PRESENT DAY

Aylin pursued a career in tattooing and has been able to live her life with minimal halt from her own worry. Specializing in single needle to create every detail of her favorite nature based designs, she’s created a name for herself even if she hushes it. Her tattooing allowed her opportunity to create larger than life pieces on individuals that created stepping stools for her move forward in her career and a place at a local shop instead of solely out of her apartment.

Her struggle now isn't finding her place, but taking ownership of who she is now that her family has completely written her off. She strays from losing control in the endeavors her brothers gave into, drugs and alcohol, but she's used poor judgement to make terrible decisions all on her own. If they want to believe she's a mess, she'll prove that she is and she can clean it up on her own.

HEADCANONS

She has bright blue hair, a characteristic that’s defined her since she was eighteen. She has a variety of tattoos and they are all nature based with florals. Her back tattoo is a mountain range piece that is tailored to every push and pull of her own muscles for each peak. They are all black and white, with the exception of white lilies scattered throughout different designs and a small red poppy in the center of her chest. 

Aylin, despite her appearance, is rather reserved and takes time to trust people. She tries to act on impulse like those closest to her but it takes her some time.  

WANTED CONNECTIONS

People she’s known since moving to the city at fifteen

People her brothers wronged during their time on the city

Any fellow foster kids, or even children of those who fostered her 

Classmates

Clients as a tattoo artist

Enemies, even if its by proxy

Exes and short lived flings

[mackmontgomerys]

FULL NAME: Mack Montgomery.

FACECLAIM: Pete Davidson.

GENDER: Cis man.

PRONOUNS: He/Him.

AGE + BIRTHDAY: 27 + November 28th.

LENGTH OF TIME IN FAIRFORD: 14 years.

HOUSING: Mountainside.

OCCUPATION: Tattoo Artist / Piercer at Ink City / Bassist for Asteroid Cows.

QUICK OVERVIEW.

Firstborn of the Montgomery boys, Mack’s parents had high expectations for Mack – all of which he seemed to make a personal goal to fall just short of. At two years old, his younger brother Trevor arrived, who from the very beginning was more adept at pleasing their parents. If Mack was eternal chaos, Trevor was eternal chill. 

Where he faltered academically he excelled in other areas, namely art and music. Ever since Mack could steadily hold a pencil, he’s been sketching. It took years for him to actually consider himself good, but once he did he knew that as far as a future career was concerned, his would have to centre on that or he would have no chance of holding it down. That hypothesis was proved by the string of minimum wage jobs he had as a teenager that he was unable to keep for longer than six months. 

His first tattoo was a stick and poke he gave himself at 14, a year after his parents had uprooted their boys from Albany, New York to Fairford and ever since then it’s been a spiral of adding designs to his body that range from intrinsic pieces of body art to downright absurd additions that he only got because some form of alcohol was involved. 

It was also around this age that he picked up bass more seriously, rather than just a passing amusement. Once his high school friends decided to join a band, he threw his all into trying to be good enough to play along with them. It fast became an equally good outlet for his abundance of energy.

When he turned 18, his parents made it clear that if he wanted to continue staying under their roof he would be expected to go to college – something he had no intention of doing. He couch surfed for a year or so before eventually moving into a shared place in Downtown and then settling in his own cabin in Mountainside at twenty-four. Despite how loud he can be almost all the time, he likes the quiet of that surrounding.

It during his couch surfing days that he was able to convince the owner of a now shuttered tattoo shop called Squid Ink to take him on as an apprentice after becoming a frequent flyer at the place, which became the first job he excelled at. After two years he became a fully fledged tattoo artist at 21 and even though he's changed shops in his career, there’s no one around who’s happier to have to go to work. 

PERSONALITY.

+ generous, warm, open-minded

- lazy, extreme, gullible

BONUS ROUND.

bisexual king.

6'5, and is literally the (rumoured) mountainside sasquatch.

is pretty much covered in tattoos from the neck down, (similar placements to pete davidson's actual tattoos but the designs are different) has very rarely been able to think of a fun tattoo idea that he doesn’t end up getting. 

refuses to tattoo his face or his neck, adamantly says thats his own prerogative but in reality it’s because he knows his mother would hate it more than she already hates the ones he has. 

doesn’t have a driver’s license, thinks it’s redundant (because he drives anyway rip, he just hates the dmv!!!)

pretty much always in search of inspiration for tattoo ideas for himself, it’s almost compulsive. 

has tagged a few buildings around town 🤫

adament that cardi b’s ‘park that big mack truck right in this little garage’ lyric is about him after inking her.

has never actually met cardi b.

oui’d enthusiast, is pretty much always good for green if you’re looking.

will try any drug once (unless it's injected)

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

@fionaosman: frequent fwb, can't quite figure it out cause they can't stay on topic long enough.

@brendannichols: mountainside menaces. 👯‍♂️

@thaddcarter: bandmate / best bud / pseudo brother.

@gemchap: work bestie / impulse control.

@tallulahcarter: hs ex / current homie.

@sasika-lg: recent ex gf.

SPECIFIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

tattoo / piercing clients: if your muse has any/wants any in the future, mack’s your mans.

people he’s let tattoo him: yes he is that ridiculous, even if it turns out to be the ugliest design of all time, if it’s done with good intentions chances are that he’s going to like it.

childhood friends: new yawk baby!

GENERIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

connections wise he’s pretty much an open book right now, but some baseline ideas that can be springboarded off are:

friendly.

co-workers / former co-workers from his teen job hopper days / ride or dies / childhood friends / pseudo-siblings / friends / drunk friends / new friends / people who let him couch surf as a teen / people he’s encountered through his job somehow.

romantic

flirtationship / friends with benefits / one time hook ups / tinder matches / unrequited crush (can be either way) / exes from high school / exes from his twenties / exes on good terms.

antagonistic.

enemies / former (best) friends / former friends / exes on bad terms / frenemies / rivals / negative influence. 

[aromantisk-fagforening]

Pronouns

I just added these pronouns to my profile, I figured I'd make a post too. English, French and Norwegian neopronouns and other pronouns I like going by. I've included examples and rating. I'll probably find more and change my mind at some points, but here's an update.

English

they/them/their/theirs/themself

They wears their headphones constantly. That smile of theirs can make anyone's day. They tries to find themself in the lyrics of every song. Asking about music is a good way to get to know them

6/10

he/him/his/his/himself

He wears his headphones constantly. That smile of his can make anyone's day. He tries to find himself in the lyrics of every song. Asking about music is a good way to get to know him

5/10

xy/gala/xys/galaxelf

Xy wears xys headphones constantly. That smile of gala can make anyone's day. Xy tries to find galaxelf in the lyrics of every song. Asking about music is a good way to get to know gala

7/10.

lee/lem/lis/lems/lemself

Lee wears lis headphones constantly. That smile of lems can make anyone's day. Lee tries to find lemself in the lyrics of every song. Asking about music is a good way to get to know lem.

also, mixed pronoun set fav:

xy/gala/lis/theirs/himself

Xy wears lis headphones constantly. That smile of theirs can make anyone's day. Xy tries to find himself in the lyrics of every song. Asking about music is a good way to get to know gala.

Mixed example:

Have you met lem? He is a big Los Campesinos! fan. I'm a close friend of xys. They have all the best song reccomendations, really, ask gala for some!

Norwegian:

aks/galk/glaks

Aks liker galks nye sko. Alle beundrer galk.

6/10

han/ham/hans

Han liker hans nye sko. Alle beundrer ham.

7/10

hen/hen/hens

Hen liker hens nye sko. Alle beundrer hen.

5/10

blæ/blæn/blæs

Blæ like blæs nye sko. Alle beundrer blæn.

6/10

also, mixed pronoun set fav:

hen/(ham/blæn)/(blæs/glaks)

Hen liker blæs nye sko. Alle beundrer blæn for glaks stil. Alt hen har klær ham.

9/10

mixed example:

Kjenner du aks? Det er hans bøker vi låner. Jeg setter seriøst pris på galk. Hen vil egentlig bare at alle skal lese favorittbøkene glaks. Jeg vil spandere en Dr. Pepper på blæn for å vise at jeg setter pris på ham.

French

il/lui

Il parle un petit peu français. Lui?

8/10

[petitelepus]

Hello could I get a normal twst matchup? I’m a bisexual, she/her pronouns. I headcanon myself in Ignihyde. For personality I’m creative, introverted, and individualistic. Though I’m introverted, around my friends I can be quite talkative, humorous and outgoing. However I definitely treasure my alone time the most. My interests are digital art focused and I’m in art school. I love my practice and everything from interaction design/coding to 3D Modeling to video/film to video game design to digital illustration. I do sometimes work in traditional mediums like graphite and ink. As for hobbies escaping to new worlds while reading books/comics, watching movies, and playing rpg video games. My favorite genres are fantasy and sci-fi. I also love working out. Likes: coffee, chai tea, dark chocolate, rock/blues/jazz/indie music, cafe art shows, arcades, comic book stores, roller blading to classic rock, quality alone time. Dislikes: people i am unfamiliar with and have to make small talk with, the biting cold, rain, non fiction, staying too close to reality and not being allowed to daydream/roam freely in my thoughts, too much physical touch, overly crowded areas. Thanks!

I match you with Malleus Draconia!

Normally, you and Malleus would never meet. If you are not hiding in your room then you are with your friends or alone somewhere. Malleus on the other hand can't go anywhere without Sebek or Silver following him and even if he leaves without them, his reputation makes him unapproachable.

It's funny how you and Malleus both are introverts but unlike you, he didn't choose it. You are in the school's huge library, searching for a book about fairies and you find it, but it's just out of your reach?

Suddenly a hand shoots from behind you and grabs the book before offering it to you. You turn to see Malleus and he is towering over you as he looks at you.

You might feel like taking and running, but then he gently asks, "...Are you interested in fairies?"

You nod and he gave you a small smile as he offers the book to you but he also offers to tell you things that can't be found in books. You know his reputation, but he doesn't appear as cold as people think he is so you give him a chance.

It was the best chance you ever gave.

When the two of you befriend each other you both open up to each other. He loves listening to you talk about your interests, even about things he doesn't understand such as movies, games, and sci-fi.

He would curiously ask you to explain to him more about them and then smile at the happy look on your face as you start talking. The fairy is in awe of the art you can create with a little help from technology.

It almost makes him sad that he is so bad with technology, but you offer to teach him and he is so proud of his crude drawing that you print it for him and he hangs it in his room. When asked about it, he tells that his beloved taught him to draw.

When Malleus realizes that his feelings for you aren't purely platonic, he asks Lilia for help and the old fairy told him to go for it and confess if he truly felt that way. Life is too short to wonder when you can act.

So he prepared a romantic evening for you and asks you to be his with a bouquet of black roses. You say yes and he is so happy. Sebek and Silver accept you because you make Malleus happy and Lilia congratulates you but warns you that there are consequences if you break Malleus' heart.

Malleus understands that you need your alone time to recover but it doesn't mean he doesn't miss you. You're his other half.

Sometimes you will hear a knock on your room's door and but when you go to open the door there is no one except a basket filled with things you love, like coffee, chocolate, and tea. All very expensive brands.

When you finally ask Malleus to join you on your alone time he is nervous that you can't recover from him being there with you, but you smile and tell him that you love him enough to be able to rest with him in the same room.

Nothing makes him happier than spending time with his beloved. He also swears to always keep you warm, never let you get wet and never to upset you. You are his Princess and he treats you as one.

[unravellingsilencehq]

“Oh, Merlin, tell me, does THE GOSSIP get what she deserves?” She is NEUTRAL & OPEN to finding out.“

— she walks through the world as ;

name → rita skeeter pronouns → she/her identification → cis-female year of birth → september 1955 - september 1956 face claim → chloe bridges blood status → half-blood sexual orientation → bisexual occupation → columnist for society and scandals at the daily prophet future information → court reporter during the death eater trials, renown published author of multiple biographies including albus dumbledore, newt scamander, severus snape and harry potter

— she is best described as ;

The scent of INK & FRESH PARCHMENT spritzed with FRENCH PERFUME. She’s as DELICATE as the FEATHER of a QUILL and as SHARP as the nib at the end. Her words CUT, SHARP and QUICK, leaving your REPUTATION in RIBBONS with just a flick of her ELEGANT WRIST.

— her story starts with ;

tw: death

One of the most famous names in wizarding press, Rita Skeeter is the sharpest tongue in London no one wants to be cut by, although she can be a brilliant friend to you… for the right price. Rita came from good stock, with a father who was head of Public Information Services for the Ministry and a mother who was a top stylist for Witch Weekly. She was raised in a privileged household, watching from the bannister as her parents hosted beautiful parties in their obscenely tall townhouse. From an early age Rita longed for a life just like theirs, filled with beauty, travel, notoriety and respect. It fuelled her from the minute she woke up to the moment she rested her head. With her father constantly at work or away on business trips, and her mother consumed by her small social circle of gossips, Rita’s childhood soon became lonely. She spent most days by herself, exploring her parents personal library of articles and pouring over The Daily Prophet each day as it arrived, and her mother’s Witch Weekly on Sundays. Rita knew what her calling in life was. She was to be a journalist. The most famous journalist in the wizarding world of her generation. 

Rita learned that if she hovered in the shadows while her parents chatted away, she’d learn about many secrets and rumours, a technique she would perfect whilst away at school. By the time Rita had received her letter to Hogwarts she had already read biographies or articles of most of the professors and had researched as much as she could about the school, in order to ensure where she stood with faculty. She saw Hogwarts as an opportunity to finally practise her journalism skills on stories that slipped from the mouths of the students. Rita was sorted into Ravenclaw instantly, without hesitation, she began to sort through her fellow Ravenclaw students, unafraid of hurting feelings or causing disgruntlement as she searched for friends she deemed tasteful. EMMA SQUIGGLE [rival/former best friend/colleague] and ADRIAN CAVERLY [best friend/colleague] quickly became her closest friends, whilst DAISY HOOKUM [close friend/colleague], GILDEROY LOCKHART [colleauge/close friend] and XENOPHILLIUS LOVEGOOD [friend] quickly became good friends she enjoyed chatting news stories with. In her fourth year, Rita began The Hogwarts Gazette, under the careful gaze of Professor McGonagall, hiring herself as the newspaper's editor. 

The paper published a variety of articles focusing on school political issues, sports coverage, a gossip column and a fashion section. With a knack for finding things out and a clever way of spinning a tale, Rita ran the gossip column and had developed quite the habit of uncovering other’s dirty laundry and leaving it to dry for everyone to see. This, of course, did not sit well with everyone and Rita gained a negative reputation amongst her fellow students as someone to be wary of. The boys in her year group, HARRISON BAGNOLD [acquaintance/person of interest], KALEB JOHNSON [acquaintance], ELEZAR SMITH [acquaintance/person of interest], MICHAEL THOMAS [acquaintance] and CRISTIANO PARKINSON [acquaintance] were not her biggest fans, whilst younger students PETER PETTIGREW [person of interest], JAMES POTTER [person of interest], REMUS LUPIN [person of interest] and SIRIUS BLACK [person of interest] also found her constant prying into their personal lives just as invasive. Other people saw the light and wanted her on side.

Rita found she enjoyed the power of being feared and appeased by the likes of ANDRESSA PARKINSON [friend], ISOLDE CROUCH [friend], LUCILLE JONES [friend], FLORENCE JONES [friend] and BERTHA JORKINS [close friend]. By her seventh year, she was able to transform into a beetle and with this, was able to listen into many more conversations. She also learned that with a seductive smile and a wink here and there she could get anyone to tell her just about anything. Thanks to her continuous summer internships at Witch Weekly, through her mother’s connections and a good word here and there from her father, Rita eventually landed a job at The Daily Prophet as an intern. Peeking through her father’s files and transforming herself into a beatle to access events, meant that she began to get one scoop after the other. It was a lot of hard work, long hours and the lack of a social life but eventually Rita was awarded her own column and Rita Skeeter’s Scandal Sheets was born. At just twenty-five she was something of a prodigy, a major celebrity everyone loved and feared. 

Having similar interests, most of Rita’s friends at the paper also established themselves at The Daily Prophet, becoming fantastic journalists and photographers in their own right. But not everyone was happy about her success. Emma had been like a sister to Rita, her best friend- she trusted her with everything. With an absent family at home, Emma was her family, which made their falling out all the more harder. As Rita rose to fame, she watched as Emma tried to wriggle out of her shadow, Rita had never thought of Emma as in her shadow- though she could see why others would think so. The conversations became more brief, she noticed as her expression soured and then at a party that was held in celebration of her new column, Rita watched as Emma kissed the man she’d been seeing, AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD [former romantic liaison] and disappeared out the door. Rita would never let anyone know how much it hurt her. She cried in private, winged her eyeliner and wore a brave face for work. It stung harder when Emma and Augustus made things official, but she’d never let it show. Rita had her column and her fame and not even Emma could take that from her. 

The disappearances and the eventual murders of BOOKER BAGNOLD [person of interest] and AMELIA BONES [person of interest] were more than just tabloid gossip. Rita was desperate to figure out who was behind the murders. The werewolf angle didn’t fit, so under the guise of her column, Rita attended exclusive events trying to find out information. A face in the crowd that had changed after the death of Booker. Harrison Bagnold and his girlfriend ROSALINE DAVIS [person of interest] had a knack for being around everyone who went missing, though it could just be coincidence. Alongside her photographer BENEDICT MISSLETHORPE [colleague], Rita has been following him to various events, including the most recent wedding of her former adversary GENEVIEVE AVERY-WILKES [adversary/person of interest]. Rita didn’t expect Genevieve’s husband to drop down dead at the wedding and divert her focus, although Rita is exploring the story on the killer bride, Rita has not yet exhausted the idea Harrison is in some way connected to what’s happened, and she is determined to get to the bottom of it before anyone else. Especially Emma.

— she is a LEVEL 6 WITCH & readied for war ;

[whispersofwords]

Out of Character.

Name/Alias: Amy

Timezone: PST

Age: 28

Pronouns: She/her

Activity Level: 7/10

Anything else?: kisskiss

In Character.

Character Name: Sybella

Skeleton Name: The Greedy

Birthdate/Age: Unknown

Character Gender and Pronouns: She/her

Species: Demon

Bloodline, Pack, Coven, or Affiliation: Familiar (Black Cat)

Occupation: Rowan’s hype man/Dancer at Flirt

Face-claim: Savannah Lee Smith

Trigger Warnings: abduction, blood, explicit language, sex, violence, murder

History.

Sybella was at the river Euphrates when she first heard of her brothers disappearance, the darkness had always been waiting inside of her but the missing case of Alastor was a spark that gave flame to a desperate search. They had grown up in the great city of Babylon, lived in a civilization that had it all and yet Sybella always hungered for more, the hanging gardens brought her serenity and yet there was a wanting within her for when rich tourists would visit, she would con them easily out of their coin. Sybella began to worship a goddess that did not align with the idea of Ulthar but the Goddess would later grow into her name after Sybella had left the Earth, Babalon was one of her many names and it was at her altar that Sybella worshipped.

In her brothers absence, she gave way to the madness that had always existed. She danced wildly in the streets, fell in and out of beds and gained the reputation of a whore of Babylon. Sybella only saw what she could inherit, it did not matter to her anyone else who might carry the consequence of her sin. She would seduce virgins into her bedchambers and where she was meant to press a kiss, she would instead press a knife to their throat and lay them down on the ritual table instead of in a soft bed. She’d spill the blood of the pure and within such a dark depravity, she would use the spilt blood to scry for her lost brother. Anything to bring him home, the answer kept coming back as an unknown realm ‘the Otherworld.’ She didn’t know what it meant but it didn’t stop her search, only increased it with more heartless mania, she seduced more and more innocents off the Babylonian streets in hopes of answers as to what the Otherworld was and where its doorways were located.

She justified her evil rituals by the society they lived in, a women wasn’t worth anything in marriage once she had lost her virginity and would be discarded anyways. This was her way of triumphing and defying the society, truly she was just greedy for her own happiness and those that held a place in her obsidian heart. One day the answer in Scarlett came back differently, Alastor was in the Inferno. It was the day she was dragged to the cross for crucifixion for her crimes, Babalon couldn’t be found and she was turned over to a new patron by the name of Mammon. The nails were hammered into her hands and feet and she did not scream for mercy. She knew where she’d be going she had a stronger chance of finding her brother. 

Sybella’s soul changed within the Inferno, instead of bright lights and the twinkle that her dress made when she moved, she was greeted by sulfur and the screams of the damned. Peace would never come for her again but there were moments of reprieve, lesser demons that she could have attempted to use as a step to climb out of hell instead became companions. Even as heavy cloud sunk over Sybella, she never lost the ability to dream for something bigger -- refusing to relent from the idea that she would one day escape and find her brother. A spark that refused to go out even in the depths of hell.

The days blurred together in one hellish torment from the next but she was being called away, leaving many in the pit to rot. She wouldn’t waste another second as she entered the mortal realm trapped in a summoning circle to a Witch who had just begun his story. She saw him for what he was with his curls, beat up sneakers and ink that covered every inch of his skin -- all it took was one look and she knew that she wouldn’t rest until they had it all. She’d conquer all the pleasures that this realm had to offer and she’d bring him with her into the golden light of luxury, it’s what they deserve.

Personality.

Ambitious, self-determined, resilient

Stubborn, self-seeking, ruthless

Extras.

kisskiss

[philadelphia-hq]

“Fuck off.”

CLAYTON BAKER

Age: 35 Gender and pronouns: Male, He/Him Occupation: Owner of Deadly Inks Neighborhood: Fishtown

BIOGRAPHY

Clayton Baker was dealt a bad hand from the day he was born. For the first four years of his life was lived in ignorant bliss until the bubble was popped the day his brother was born. It was not hard to catch onto the fact his parents were completely devoting themselves to him and leaving him in the dark. As the young Baker male got older, the harder the realization hit that he was now marked as the black sheep and tossed aside like yesterday’s news. It began a rebel within him causing the male to act out to get under his parents’ skin and make them notice him since their reputation was something they cherished. After a few nights of getting a little too drunk at a party and the small scolding he would get for it, the male wondered how worth it was to keep trying to get his parents’ attention so after the age of sixteen, Clayton stopped trying so hard to get their focus off his little brother and onto him. Even though his brother was the obvious favorite child, it was never something he held against him in fact he knew when he started to get older that the grip their parents had on him was only going to get tighter and he was going to need someone to have him back when it all blew up.

A four-year difference was all the two Baker children had between them and as soon as his brother was twelve and he was sixteen, Clayton pulled his act together and started doing better in school. He stopped getting a little too drunk at parties and even started to hang out with the right crowd. He decided that he was going to live his life the way he wanted and forget whatever his parents needed to put him on the same level as his little brother. Two more years of high school and the male dedicated himself to enjoying the last of it because he knew the second the diploma touched his hand. It was goodbye Savannah, Georgia and hello Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. From the time he could pick up a pencil, Clayton knew his path was going to be formed around the feeling he got whenever he sketched. So, the male kept his promise to himself and the second he walked across the stage and was handed the piece of paper that gave him his freedom. He gave his little brother his phone number, packed his bag and left everything behind for the small town.

At the early age of eighteen and in a town, he knew nothing about, Clayton searched to find a place he would fit into. For the first two years in New York, the male found a job at one of the local bars and bartended. Being behind the bar felt natural for him, the way he was able to talk to anyone and everyone who walked in. The women who would come and flirt with him after having a few too many. It was a huge relief lifted off him, not being under the pressure of being a Baker and for the first time in his life he was grateful for his parents swaying all their attention onto his sister because he was able to live his life the way he wanted. From fling to fling, place to place, job to job, it was a routine Clayton settled into until he was twenty-three when he stumbled into a tattoo parlor with a couple of friends - Spilled Ink. It was a sign, the second his foot crossed the threshold something changed inside of him and he knew in that moment what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. So, while they were all getting tattoos, Clayton chatted with the man who was putting on the ink and asked what it took to head down the path of becoming a tattoo artist.

Twenty-three with a tattoo license under his belt and the excitement laid out in front of him. It was easy to fall in love with his job, finding his passion was like finding a light at the end of a dark tunnel something he did not even realize he had been living until the moment he held the needle in his hand and drew out his first tattoo on someone’s skin. Being able to bring to life people’s visions was something Clayton began to search for in every single tattoo he did, wanting to create something unique and original all in one. A few years later around the age of twenty-six was when his life changed in another way when he met a blonde-haired woman who came crashing into world at full speed. One night, the woman came into the tattoo shop and it was as if she filled the missing piece of the puzzle inside of his world. Even after he had finished her tattoo, the two of them talked and he even walked her home that night. All the male knew was this was a night that changed his life and all he had to hope was that it was for the better.

It only took a few weeks before Clayton impulsively bought an engagement ring, yet the male never even attempted to take the step to that level. Three years into the relationship, the two of them were living together and things were perfect. His job at the tattoo shop was just as amazing, the owner had decided he wanted to retire and move to Hawaii. He wanted to give to the parlor to someone who was going to take care of it and have the passion to keep the place standing. The person his owner had picked for that job was Clayton and the male was over the moon that things were going in his favor. The day he signed the business lease, he quickly made his way back to the apartment he shared with his girlfriend, finally having the nerve to pull the ring that had been burning a hole in his pocket for the last few weeks and make her an honest woman. Although, thing changed instantly when he came home to find her in bed with another man and not just any man but his best friend. After that, Clayton buried himself in his job, taking over the tattoo parlor and avoiding any sort of relationship.

CLAYTON BAKER has the face claim of CASEY DEIDRICK and is played by ALYSSA 2.