#just know that his eye is suppose to shine when he edgelords into the shadows

[mjni]

Okay so his pose is a little bit fucked but I love him regardless

Here’s the lil animation I did for my banner :>

[im-a-fockn-moron]

Ok y'all new little thing that I will die by for Macavity

Ok so like this is just me tryna mix that bway revival design and the '98 movie design, but like just listen

So what if, ya know, before Mac went edgy af and stuff, he sorta had a "cleaner" look much more like the bway revival, with the tiny start of a mane round his shoulders.

(Ignore that phone shadow pls vjgjflc)

Like, here he is, young and innocent, not an edgelord, looks like a normal fockn cat in the Jellicle universe. Ya know, just, a precious boi.

But then when he starts going crazy and shite he has this much "dirtier" look to him, more like the bway revival one but with a little more onto it ya know, not having his mane fully grown but ya know its starting to show up a lot more round his shoulders there

Like "ono things ain't right here" and he's prolly left the Jellicles at this point and its probably around here wish he starts fockn around with them as being an actual threat cause, ya know, Mac b like that.

Then we have Edgelord McGee Macavity over here, got his mask, looks like crap, no more shine in his eyes, everything you need for the casual insane OC everyone makes

Ignire the fact I screwed up the mane its supposed to be fluffier than that, I just can't do angles for shite.

Anyway, here he is. Edgy af, with more "wildness" to his design that would be shown better had I not drawn this as only a bust from the side angle. But like, this is probably like when he takes away Old Deut in our favorite little watch of the Jellicle Ball as he has the full on Edgy Deviantart OC qualities, so he's at peak bad guy performance.

I tried to have it make sense so dont mind how some things seem a bit disconnected I drew this like 8 minutes ago. And havent done it before so y e a h

Also that swirl ain't never leaving its too good to have.

So like, I aint drawing him any other way not cause I this idea too much s o o o o o enjoy it I guess lol

[lolli-pop-kiki]

love story (incomplete)

One day, a sickeningly hot summer day, I decided to kill myself. I’ve always enjoyed the sight of blood, so it was easy to decide what method to utilize. However, I couldn’t actually watch the blade slice over my wrist. Ironically, I was squeamish watching my own veins wiggle around. But once the deed was done, all I had to worry about was watching the life slither out of me in solitude.

I had felt a jolt of fear on the initial cut, a twinge of guilt. But once you realize there’s no turning back, negative feelings eventually dissolve into a numb and bitter acceptance, perhaps an intense relief. I feel as though I felt all of those things at once. I started to drift off as I sat on the floor. My small window was above me, and the sky was pink and orange with the setting sun. It was all quite peaceful.

As the darkness slowly crept out from the corners, I finally saw him. Him? I’m actually not quite sure. Gender seems irrelevant regarding this particular person.

It was Death, crafted from the writhing shadows into a tall, looming form. His presence was not frightening. It was just there.

Have I mentioned that this is a love story? That is probably important.

He stood tall like a man, and although I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was looking at me, and only me. He appeared to be wearing a black cloak, not unlike the Halloween costume. But this one was long and animated, changing shape with the moving shadows, so very ethereal. He didn’t hold a scythe, to that I was rather disappointed. But now that I think on it more scrupulously, such a thing seems too barbaric and unfitting. He did, however, have two large wings, which were only faintly visible when the light hit them, almost like twitching glass. Even though my vision faded in and out as if I were floating in water, I still found the pulsating feathers to be quite beautiful.

As I felt myself emptying, Death’s figure glided closer. He kneeled in front of me, and I was able to see his face. At first, I thought I was eye-to-eye with a skull in silhouette. Then transparent skin and tendons shimmered on top of the bone like fish scales. His features were that of a plain, meek young man, maybe a bit older than I. But I’m sure he could change that if he wanted. Maybe he becomes a child when delivering a kid.

The closer he got, the colder I became, the sensation crawling upwards from my toes and fingers to my legs and arms. In a timeless moment, his face was inches away from my own; I could see his eyes perfectly.

He had no irises or whites to speak of. Beneath his eyelids were orbs of shining black. Truly, they were fascinating. The longer I looked into them, the number my body felt. I almost felt awkward. But I suppose Death didn’t have to worry about modesty. His eyes showed cognition, knowledge, awareness. Yet no sparkle. His lips, a pale tint with just a hint of blue, parted as they slowly glided closer to mine.

“Hi.” I spoke suddenly, causing him to stop moving. He blinked a few times.

Was that a hint of surprise? I didn’t think Death was that swayable. It amused me as much as it could in my weakened state. But then, barely moving his lips, he whispered, “Hello…”

Not shockingly, his voice carried an otherworldly, tangible quality to it. It was low, yet soft. Almost comforting, yet a few voices mixed into one, which also gave it an eerie quality. Either way, I didn’t think he would actually answer me.

“Were you going to kiss me?”

“I was.”

“That’s rather nice.”

“Is it?”

“It’s nice to think that you’re the last thing that I’m going to see before I see nothing.”

That statement seemed to puzzle him for a moment.

“Do you know…what I am?” he asked slowly, the skin on his face shimmering, disappearing for a brief instant until nothing but a skull was staring me in the face, a delicate scare tactic, if I had to guess. But it didn’t work. I felt my heart flutter. I was lightheaded.

“Yes.”

There was a pause. He simply looked at me, eyes shining slightly. I was looking back at him, until I began to feel a bit awkward, bashful. Although my blood supply was currently limited, I felt a blush on my cheeks, as if I were face-to-face with an actual human. Embarrassing. He blinked, very slowly. I noticed that the red numbers on my digital clock hadn’t changed at all since he got there.

“Why do you speak to me?” he asked

“Am I…not supposed to? I figured I don’t really have anything to lose.”

That seemed to amuse him for a second.

“What I meant was, why do you speak to me in that way?”

I didn’t really answer him. I just lifted my mouth into a small smile.

Weakly, I lifted my shredded arm, nearly senseless from the lackluster tendons.

My fingers were so small and pale, even compared to his whitened, spindly ones, as I used them to lightly stroke his cheek. Even though it was fairly translucent, I felt chilled skin, yet soft and somewhat malleable. It felt peculiar, like the combination was off.

I was surprised he didn’t move. I wondered how far he was going to let me take it. Shouldn’t I have been dead and gone by now? My wrist was shaky, my hand wobbly, but I managed to delicately slide the tips of my fingers gently across his lips. It was like touching the surface of a smooth, slick ice cube. I think I felt him twitch.

I was rather amazed, but then I asked, “Wait…Isn’t it supposed to end once you kiss me? I’m…I’m touching your lips.”

I suddenly felt a little embarrassed as my thumb brushed his bottom lip slowly back and forth, like a lover or a pet. My thumb was starting to sting from the cold.

His head dipped slightly down, more into my hand, as if it were a comfort to him, though his expression remained stoic.

“For it to be done, I must kiss you on the mouth.”

I blinked a few times.

“Why is that?”

His eyes swiveled for just a moment, obviously trying to manifest a simplified answer for me.

“It provides…easier access…to your spirit.”

That actually sounded quite terrifying, especially being heard through that throaty mix of voices. My hand slowly lowered, and I looked into his eyes. They were so incredibly dark; they reminded me of cloudy hematite. Quite suddenly, there was a loud tapping at the window above my head. Apparently I should have shut the blinds, as there was a panicked onlooker staring at me with shining eyes, mouth moving rapidly with her cellphone pressed against her ear. I guess an ambulance would be coming. She resembled my mother. I felt another twinge of guilt.

“It appears…that I may leave after all…” I heard Death’s voice speak softly as his form gradually glided away from me.

“No…N-no, don’t…” I pleaded in a whisper, as all the pain in my body came creeping back the farther his form moved away from me.

I think I saw the tiniest of smiles curl up on his face.

“Many thanks…for the kind welcome…peculiar one.” He clutched a few strands of my hair in his hand, letting them slide off of his palm as he silently faded away.

All of the pain crashed into me. I shrieked as loud as I could, fainting soon afterward. At least I wasn’t dead? But now I knew that I had another dilemma.

I truly, deeply, greatly…wanted to see him again.

I won’t go into the details of what transpired immediately after the first incident. Isn’t it obvious? I was committed. Only for about two weeks. How many times has that been portrayed in media? Plenty. Crudely, but plenty. I know I will get the veritable question asked of me, although answering it causes a bad taste in my mouth.

Why did you want to kill yourself?

The simple answer is this:

I had trouble accepting myself. I dislike myself. I saw no improvement. That feeling of inadequacy was so intense and overpowering that it selfishly drowned out any worry about hurting others with my intentions. I simply told myself that they would be better off. My memory, like any other faceless figure’s, would fade within a matter of years, a blink in comparison to the life of Earth. It wouldn’t matter.

But.

This is a love story.

I participated in group therapy, gained the necessary camaraderie, learned coping skills. Blah, blah, blah. I actually considered it a small vacation. I suppose I would have to return to work soon.

I decided against returning to my old job at the bakery. My mother had called them when I was away and made up something. An illness, no doubt. I didn’t really want to discuss it. I didn’t want to discuss it with anyone. I felt ashamed at that point, completely. Humiliated. When I was in high school, cutting and being an edgelord made you royalty in some circles. Attention was all that seemed to matter. We were idiots. Being suicidal is not a quirk. It’s not beautiful. It’s a problem. That should go without saying, right? Thinking about my mother’s unforgettable face on that day still makes me choke up, even just a bit. It sounds incredibly cliché, but when you’re in a situation like that, you really do know which people matter in your life. You find the ones that stick around and the ones that don’t.