maybe a stupid theory but what if it isn't the darkness that makes Kinger sane but the simplicity? What if the circus is intentionally overwhelming visually so that he can't have these revelations?
I was just thinking about the final scene of ep 7 and how it was super bright but blank in that room when he had his lore drop.
honestly at that point where i'm gonna start treating yaoi ships how tumblr users treat yuri ships. i don't see the appeal, those two men barely talk to each other. well i would care about their relationship if the guys were actually well-written. i don't hate yaoi i just prefer the ship between the two background girl characters because they're more interesting and developed than the guys. i like women
I just wanna appreciate for a moment the fact that Pomni clearly has such a high threshold for forgiveness and understanding.
In "They All Get Guns", despite everyone's attitude towards Jax, and the way he treated her in "Candy Carrier Chaos", she's not scared to give him a chance. She's thrilled at the end that they've connected and doesn't hesitate to embrace him. Even after he pushes her away and says horrible things to her, she keeps reaching out to him, checking on him, trying to include him, to encourage him to take her hand and escape with them.
This isn't out of naivete, quite the opposite. She can see the pain he's trying to hide, maybe even more clearly than he sees it. She's got so much love in her heart, and she's so unashamed about it. She doesn't take anything at face value or take anyone for granted. She loves openly and fiercely.
I really think Pomni is the only one capable of worming her way into that rabbit's heart. If Jax could only mature and return even a fraction of what she gives, they'd have something beautiful. But she understands that he's not ready and/or is too scared, and she doesn't punish him for that or pressure him. Whenever he's ready to open up, she'll be there.
i CANNOT express how much more lovable my friends are to me at their most annoying. i'd rather hear the same story 3 times than not at all. i'd rather read a 22 message text rant about something totally inconsequential than not hear from you all day. i'd rather you tag me in the stupidest post i've ever seen than not know that it made you think of a conversation we had a month ago. BE ANNOYING AT ME. I LOVE YOU
In the Little dream sequence before Jax started abstracting he looked calm, at peace, just completely like giving up but in a good way (as he'd see it)
Now I'm wondering if he's going to push himself back into that calm, like just absolute comforting peace knowing he's going to abstract or if he's going to purposely go out of his way to be completely full of like anxieties or like to just never be calm because he doesn't want to abstract
Like what if he goes around causing problems for himself because he doesn't want to abstract, or to keep himself from sleeping, it makes sense kind of , he just pushes himself and keep pushing and pushing and pushing like so far to the point where he just completely loses himself past the "I'm the chaotic neutral Guy" archetype, into more of like crazy archetype, and it gets to a point where he pushes himself so far that he ends up abstracting anyways, so that he'd put himself through all of this stress and all of this mental torment to keep himself from abstracting only to push himself further and further down that hole
(voice to text post because I didn't want to write anything)
Okay. Hot take. I don’t think Jax ran over a child. I don’t think that’s what that was about at all. Jax is characterized by escapism and deflection, refusing to admit his problems and avoiding other people’s attempts to help him. His character has never been about guilt. To add this superfluous and frankly thematically unrelated element would undermine him as a character. I personally think he ran away from home/got kicked out or something along those lines. Running away makes sense to his character and additionally his reactions to leaving the circus have always been centered around evidently not having people waiting for him on the other side. Everything in animation is intentional and with how TADC is written, it’s very clear that everything said is intentional. He has nothing in the outside world.
ik no one gonna see this idc here's fanfiction about me and my friends ocs
Pari sits on her little perch by the window. Tariq is sitting on her bed while she rips through the tangles as usual. They're rambling about beetles. A second ago it was moon cycles. How did they get here? They forget.
It's a beautiful day to be talking nonsense with a beautiful lady. They aren't usually vocal with anyone outside of their family. As much as they love listening to her talk, it's not so difficult to forget they should give her a turn.
Thankfully, they have a feeling their patient lover knows this is an expression of affection, trusted to few in this world. So on they go, teaching Pari more about Coccinellidae then she'll ever know what to do with; Unless she decides to drop everything and take up the life of an entomologist.
They stop after hearing a particularly harsh stroke. This has been unsettling them for too long.
“Pari? Darling, You're torturing your hair, and me by proximity.”
This makes her hand stop.
“Hm? I'm brushing it.” She looks at them, tilting her head in confusion. So very cute, but they've got other things to speak on.
“Like it owes you money. If your hair was alive it'd be screaming for mercy.” Tariq makes their way across the room and gently takes the brush from her with a politely concerned smile.
“It's how I was taught. How else do I get rid of the tangles?” Pari furrows her thick eyebrows at them.
“Who taught you? I'd like to have a word…. Gosh, look at that you've scratched your skin with the bristles.” Tariq playfulness tuts at her. Genuinely, though, they're not a fan of how rough she can be with herself. It's something that will take years to unteach.
Tariq thinks they can solve this one one habit by the end of the day, at least.
“Let me see dear.”
Pari stares at them warily. They've heard the boisterous Madam de Blemur lecture her about how she'll probably wrinkle before her appropriate age. A lot of human women say this. It's something they never really understood about humans. Pari would probably still be very cute with the extra dips and folds on her face.
It can't possibly be so bad.
They kiss the tiny scratches on the back of her neck. She once told them about her mother, who convinced a little Pari that would heal them faster. They can't help but be endeared by human rituals like that.
They kiss down her shoulder, where they then rest their chin and smile at her reflection in the window. She looks like someone told her the earth was flat and had the means to prove it. They used to get worried when their displays of affection left her so visibly starstruck. The last thing they want is for their favourite person to feel like they're being untoward.
They know better now. She just needs some time to get used to it. They've known starvation, in multiple ways. When it came to touch they were a sponge, soaking up all they could get.
She was a bit more difficult. Tariq isn't really sure anyone taught her what she's allowed to want. The thought makes her sad. Private Pari is different from the fancy cat she met them as.
They hold a large lock of hair, bringing to their nose to smell, and lips to kiss. They gently hold it away from her head and brush it. Careful, like she'll somehow feel how precious she is from the way they just help her groom.
Something about the way she looks sad, but content in a way, makes them think she understands. It's in the little things, they've learned, not their loud expressions, that will show this excessively observant lady, they're here to stay. To make her strange their normal.
She's been generous, to do the same.
They won't overlook such a thing. The one thing their life of trial and error never taught them, is how to stop loving with the entirety of both of their hearts.
Tariq still isn't sure how to tell her at least one of their hearts belongs to her in an almost literal way. That's a discussion for another time.
…Preferably when they're already married, with a baby on the way. When she's ‘trapped’ as the males of her species call it. They'll handle any punishment she'll deal them for not telling her sooner.
They've barely made a dent with this method of brushing. They don't mind, though. They could do this all day. Wrapped up in Pari’s silky strands. They smell her hair again. Like a creep.
They love the smell, can you blame them?
Ah, What they wouldn't do to be the one to wash it.
They nearly forget they're not alone with her hair. There is, a person still attached to it.
“Are you going to bed my hair, Tariq? You don't even touch me this much.” Pari's jokes almost seem critical, or harsh, if you aren't used to her humour, and know she simply isn't used to saying things in a droll way.
They smile at her and look over her shoulder again.
“Please do give us some alone time, it's weird to have an audience. I can't say I'm into it, unfortunately.” They're a bit better with that tone.
Pari exhales, lovingly exasperated.
“Madam de Blemur wouldn't care much for the way you're babying me.”
Tariq stops and looks at her seriously.
“Everything you tell me about her paints her a horrible picture. Does she even have redeeming qualities?”
Pari thinks for a minute.
“....No.”
“Your colleagues?” They tap their fingers on her shoulder rhythmically while they look over her head, into their cozy reflection.
“Even less.” The mood is light as the two talk.
“Forgive me if I take you and they never see you again?” They raise an exaggerated eyebrow at her and she averts her gaze with a grin. Biting down on her lip to avoid laughing at them.
“Lawmen will seek you out, No one will overlook my absence. They'd seek you ought first.” She still can't look up. Their face is hardly ever normal during these ridiculous conversations.
“I've always wanted to be in the newspaper.” They shrug.
“You insane person.”
“You love me, really.” Say it back. Say it's true. Silently begging, every time. They return to their job, taking care of her.
“With all of a full heart, my clown. And you?” Yes, she needs to hear it too. That's always how it should be.
“As long as this sick heart beats, will it find its home in your heart, my princess.” They kiss the top of her head.
“You make me cringe, Tariq.” Pari leans back to look up at them.
They grin brightly. “As long as this sick brain thinks will it find its cringe in your brain.” Their face leans down looking at her
“You should write a book if you like wordplay so much. Maybe you'd learn to think more.” She's being enveloped by their arms and warmth.
“You'd be better at that, you're good at everything, really.” They gently rub the tip of their nose against hers.
“What nonsense.”
“Take my word for it, every once and a while.”
“Fine.”
Pari smiles when the first kiss meets her face. Just the bridge of her nose. Then her cheeks. Her eyes as she closes them. The crown of her head.
Softly, finishing on her lips before they pull her close, her head moving back up, onto their chest. They sit in silence, looking at the world outside of her window.
The soft rumbling, like a growl, begins to fill her head. She's always quietly so fond of that strange purr.
Pari was minding her business, as she does. In her safe space, the elegant bedroom she was given when she first came here all those years ago.
There’s a frilly canopy bed, paintings depicting the stars she knows so well, Of course.
The constellations she studies are better company than most of her colleagues, if not all. And next to one of her favourites, she sits on a window seat, overlooking a pleasant day. She's mindlessly admiring the Ursa Major while she rips through the tangles in her hair.
Coveted by the whole community. She needs to keep up appearances.
The gossips in the opera house tried to make it out to be a bad thing. As if silky hair nearly the size of her wasn't something they'd kill their bachelors for.
She's not especially absorbed in herself but she knows for a fact it's something she should very well brag about if she was. Not that it's the only thing, obviously.
She styles it, a long braid, tight like her mother taught her. And not a hair out of place, Elegant.
That's something she taught herself in this dazzling hell.
On most days, it's what she'll do before she tears out another piece of her sanity and feeds it to the greedy gulls that feel like they deserve, are even owed something so scarce. In this sacred artform of dismantling a woman, they even treat her like she's lucky.
On a day like today, she'll braid her hair like routine. She's as flawless as ever.
But the dress for the day is breathable. Her shoes were meant for walking, and she doesn't even bother her heavy jewellery on it's day off. Her deep brown skin highlighted by the beautiful colour, because even if she's meant to be comfortable, why should she dress drab?
It's a rare opportunity to spend the day feeling like she's actually a living, breathing mammal. For someone to look at her bare face like the years she put into perfecting her makeup was all a waste.
But you won't catch her slacking.
The person she'll be seeing today, is someone who worships a more real version of the woman. To an extent almost grotesque, as she still has no idea what they've done with her handkerchief.
If this was a little less raw, a little less real….
The attention Tariq gives her would almost seem creepy. It's like they don't even notice their charming facade slips a little with every outing.
If they were less earnest, a little less honest…..
It'd almost be like she's with those ravenous men at the opera house. It's like they don't even notice how their eyes seem to bulge.
But there's something about how they remember every word she says like they're being paid.
How they know just what to say to pull her out of the depths of her mind, back into reality
And, even their funny little habit of bringing gifts she's sure they can't afford is endearing, in its own way. She'll have to be polite enough to overlook that one, especially.
Pari made her way through the halls of the opera house. She was practically gliding on air, as usual per her posture. Madam de Blemur made sure of it.
She often carries a hand held fan on her person. It's beautiful in colour, and knowing her could have fed a family with the small fortune she paid for. If only she was so generous.
This fan, beautiful as it is, makes all the young ladies nearby jump at the sound of that crack. It's often been her tool for reprimanding. It doesn't take long for her to get physical, when, God forbid, Madam de Blemur catches you slouching.
While she makes her way down the hallways with the grace literally beaten into her, she hears a little noise outside a tall window with wine-red curtains. A light scratching that grows slightly louder every few seconds. She slowly makes her way, turning around to approach the window, until….
She sees the gloves before the rest, and her heart swells a bit as they pull themselves to level with the window. They crinkle their nose a bit before they stand on the edge of the window's ledge.
After they straighten up and look up, they originally seem to reach for the window. How they usually get in is a mystery to her, so she doesn't interrupt at first, but–
Upon seeing her their eyes widen before softening into something downright lovesick, they wave, relying on nothing but their feet to keep them up. They wobble and straighten up, giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up. A futile attempt to soothe the horror on her face as she opens up the window to scold them.
They allowed themselves to tumble forward, and catch themselves, and bow with a dramatic flourish.
They look up at her and their pupils expand.
…Visibly.
“I have half a mind to shove you out for the fright you've just given me.” Pari scoffs at them.
That fails to wilt their petals, their face brightens even further. “You'd kill your own partner, My beloved? I didn't think you were the sort.”
They don't seem like they're actually scolding her with such a soft voice.
Although, with that mask, it's hard to tell their acute expressions at times. Still…
“No,” She says plainly, straightening up her dress. “But I'm at the very least going to have to assert some form of punishment for this. You can't keep entering like a thief does! You falling isn't even the biggest concern, you're going to hung for the crime of trespassing.”
“Wouldn't be the first time, my love.” Their devious grin doesn't falter.
“What?” She squints. Is that a joke? You can never be sure with someone like that.
“In any case,” They move past the concerning anecdote smoothly. “Any punishment dealt by you? I'll take it… I'll take it like bitter medicines, I'll do anything-”
“I'm not going to see the fireflies with you.” She states plainly.
“What- no! Please?!? I found a… a quilt .. purple and red! A Purple and red quilt! Our colours Pari. I bought you… well I got you food!” They dramatically flail their hands while they talk. Their hands never seem too still for too long. They almost seem alive at times.
She snorts a fondly amused breath of air, like the quarter of a laugh. “Calm down…. I'll go with you, but…..”
They leap down to their knees, it slides them forward a bit. “Oh, my darling, I'll make it worth your while! Oh I promise…!” They hold both her hands and offer each knuckle a kiss. It's like this a lot lately.
“You're making a scene, Tariq.” She feigns irritation at his behaviour. She's just about becoming used to this by now.
“Love is a scene worth making, dear” They grin again as they continue to hold her hands.
“...What does that even mean?” She tilts her head with a frown.
“When you question love, you question everything, my darling….”
She squints at that. “Are you going to be sane at all today? Even remotely?” They rise from their knees.
“Whatever my beautiful lady wants.” They bow again, with twice the drama.
As usual….. whatever she wants. That's basically their motto. She forgot what else she was going to say. What a nuisance she's being courted by, it won't do, losing her thoughts like this.
Still,
It's the first in her life she's been spoiled in a truly unconditional way. All they want is her attention, never wanting for more. Usually, their only reward is a half smile but that seems worth it to them.
They never even ask for more.
Their eyes are glued to her face, not her body. It's freeing in a way. They focus and comment on her mindless habits, instead of her dresses or jewellery.
‘You're always beautiful.’ Is the only opinion they ever give.
They're a gentle type when handling her, but they seem ready to bounce off the walls when they meet. Soft when speaking, yet can't hide the glee when it's with her.
Tariq is a strange person to Pari. She's got every reason to be wary of them.
But for the first time in her life, it doesn't need to be that way. She even forgets sometimes, when they're together, that it's an instinct her environment nurtured.
To never really trust anyone.
Tariq holds her hand while they make their way out of the de Blemur opera house. Old and tall, Elegant and proud, features much like the owner. There are marble floors, scratches from years of renovating, despite all the polishing it’s been put through to be rid of them. All imperfections are put through a similar treatment. To no avail, as there’s also the occasional moth-eaten curtain hole. The rats don't stay out forever, either.
When you add the dark cold brick it’s made from, you get something almost inhuman. Unloved and unlived in.
Perfect things scarcely feel inviting at all, and Pari thinks it’s better off with the occasional vermin and scuffing. It actually feels like the kind of building that's been through as much as she knows it has.
Good thing, she always thinks.
Their hand is gentle, in a way that seems almost effortless, if their other hand wasn't doing that weird twitchy twitch it does. Like it wants to disconnect from their body and dance around the room.
This too, makes her more at ease. Never without flaws, that’s how it should be.
Pari has never met such a wriggly fellow in her life, regardless of their efforts.
It's from….. excitement? She gathers that much, that it's taking mental effort not to fidget, with all the things they're feeling. It's strange how much of an effect she has on them.
They guide her through the city streets; Everyone can't help but stare at the freakishly sized clown. Especially compared to her, the two look like a bush compared to a tree.
Pari looks at the crowding around her, then to Tariq. Being criticized just for existing has never seemed so relaxing. If they notice that everyone seems disturbed, they don’t show it.
They don’t show a lot.
In this country, she’s heard that it's called ‘not showing your hand’, Like in a game of poker. It seems fitting, they don’t even show her their physical hands. They do their utmost to hide them.
….That’s concerning in its own way. What’s wrong with their hands? She glances at them as she thinks about it.
Whenever Miss Pari gets into her thoughts like this for too long, She imagines they’re horribly scarred. That perhaps Tariq is embarrassed to show her their disfigurement. Or maybe as usual they’re working extra hard to save her from feeling any distress by the cause of them.
She wishes they weren’t so selfless.
Pari has never had the chance to meet any of Tariq’s friends, If they have made any. But she imagines they’re always like this. The sort to hide their feelings for the sake of others.
A kind, kind of self sabotage. All for other’s peace of mind.
….Then again, They cause her to doubt at times. She considers this as they all but shove someone out of their way. And grumbles, loud enough for a passerby to hear. Like they really don't care who they offend when their minds set in motion.
The beautiful thing about a new relationship is all the learning you’ll do. You’ll hardly recognize yourself at the end of any love affair.
For better or for worse, you know.
It’s hard to say when you’re starting out. It’s apparent what they’re both aiming for, though.
Tariq gently holds her hand and guides her over a puddle, swinging her over it and gently setting her. They keep an arm around her mid back and guide her through people. They mostly keep their sights on their surroundings, only occasionally making contact with hers, winking, and looking away again. Like they’re on a mission, they focus on their surroundings.
The town is pleasant, an array of people make their way through. This time of year the market isn't as festive for the lack of summer holidays, but if she's lucky, she'll find someone traveling from the east selling decent mangoes. Americans never have decent mangoes. As if this country wasn't bad enough.
Their eyes dart like a prey animal in the wilderness. But glint at various men passing by, like a predator. Thinly disguised jealousy bubbles up whenever one stares too long for their liking.
A second, she notes, is all it takes.
They can't even enjoy the window shopping. Oh, fine, she'll do it for them. What a lover she's found. At the very least she knows she's safe.
Slightly less safe as she notices them noticing something at a far away stall, and take off running.
She pauses and tilts her head, she tries to follow, but their lithe figure somehow disappeared.
Fine then, she thinks, Go and do that. But this better be worthwhile.
She began to peruse a display of jewellery, nodding politely while a merchant excitedly over-exaggerates their worth. Not really paying it any mind, she lifts a necklace with an emerald in the center. It reminds her of a recent opera she was in, and that thought makes her smile. One of the catty leads managed to literally break a leg on stage.
It was a pretty great show, all things considered.
She smiles to herself a bit more as she considers her purchase. Not really unsettled by the disappearance of her lover. She thinks they'll end up having a proper reason, and a fitting apology.
Where they can find her, She's content to wait for now.
Until a whistle breaks the comfortable silence and Pari feels her skin starting to crawl. Like a thousand insects underneath.
Speaking of insects….
“What a coincidence, Miss Patel, to see you here.”
She can smell him before he even sees him. She swears that type of perfume is usually only worn by women, like Madam de Blemur.
She decides to pretend she didn't hear him over the noise of the market, before he leans over her, putting and arm on one of the pulls holding the tarp above the merchandise up.
“Don't tell me Maria’s incessant squawking the other night deafened you. I should find a fitting punishment for her if you can't even respond to a mere greeting.”
She bothers to look up at him. His cyan hair is in a ponytail, he's dressed like an aristocrat, with jewellery to match. His deep brown skin is never scarred or ruined by a blemish, no doubt his products cost as much as his clothing.
And that awful gaze. It's not full of heart like Tariq’s, it's something much more selfish that fills his awful eyes. Deep turquoise, and then everything she dreads in a man.
Any woman would kill for that look, as shallow as it is. But for her, It's what makes him the same as any other man. She hopes to never be so low, to understand the appeal.
“I hear just fine.” She looks up at him, it's irritating, for sure, but also scary, and dangerous when a man has you cornered. But she's a little reassured by the market being swarmed with it's shoppers. He can't possibly cause a potential scene here, she knows this, and it still makes her queasy.
Normally she'd have something more witty to say to make him scoff and run home where his ego will no doubt be warmed back to life by those insufferable parents she's heard plenty about.
Something about being cornered like prey though…. It's hard to focus on anything else.
Not in the good way. Never with him.
Jakka tilts their head, that scary gleam in their eyes disappears as they back up and slap their hands together.
“I'm kidding. Don't look so angry! I like you best with a smile on your face! You don't have to put up a front with me… I feel like we're still at work!”
Jakka smiles pleasantly. Like it isn't his fault things feel uncomfortable. Like he has the right to decide things are civil.
“I'm not putting up a front. I just don't particularly like you.”
Jakka pushes past that.
“How impolite.”
…
“Anyways, I noticed you eyeing that necklace! You getting it? I'm not sure it's your colour, haha, let me have a look.”
He peers over her.
Pari can't believe people actually just see him as a confident charming man. Everything he says and does just feels like he's domesticating a dog. Like he's conveniently ignoring the fact she's a human person.
More realistically, the thought never crossed his mind.
“I think an opal fits you better.” He raises a pendant with a drop shaped opal.
Pari just stands there. She hopes with everything inside her, Tariq, just come back! Give her a proper way out. Eye this man the way you eye the others!
Pari thinks that wouldn't be so bad, actually. It even makes her smile, seeing Tariq get all puffy like a cat.
Unfortunate timing to be thinking about your eccentric lover, though.
“Ah-ha, I knew you couldn't act indifferent to me forever. There's a good girl.”
Pari wants to vomit. And scream. In what universe what she be smiling because of him? And… calling her that, is that supposed to be attractive? Oh my God.
“I'll just take that as a sign I'll be buying this.”
She's never wanted to hurt someone more. Not even Donatella when she's acting absolutely insane for no god damn reason.
“No.”
He raises an eyebrow
“No?”
“I was smiling about something else.”
He grins like she's telling a joke, or a child telling tall tales, and shakes his head.
“Right…. Something else…. And what would that be?”
She smiles at him politely
“A bit too macabre for your tastes, I'm afraid. You wouldn't like it much.”
He looks confused again.
“Oh, never mind. Lady humour, you wouldn't get it.
Anyway, I should get going.” She talks too quickly for it to be sophisticated. She just needs to get away.
She speeds her walk up, making it clear she had no intention to continue talking. Please take the hint this once. Please you miserable fucking-
She bumps into someone while she internally prays.
Tariq, gripping a velvety bag. They absent mindedly hold her.
“You in a rush my love? Lawmen after you? Tell me you didn't steal anything.”
They squint their eyes affectionately as they rub her back, with the gentle care they aren't verbally expressing.
Tariq is worried. That's getting easier to tell now.
Obviously, she didn't steal anything but they know she wouldn't just rush past all these stalls without peeking first.
She sighs and hugs them. It's silly, she wants to let go.
Moments like these she just wants..
She shakes her head as if it could reset her thoughts.
She wants something she can't have anymore. The warmth of someone who brought her into the world with only the intention of loving her. It's just something you can't replace.
It's been so long since someone held her without stage directions, or bad intentions.
God.
She really didn't want this but, she's so overwhelmed.
Overstimulated.. she had specifically planned to have a good day and it feels like it's ruined by that one bad moment. It was hardly five minutes.
Maybe it's the market? She's getting better at being surrounded with people, she kind of has to be.
She has to put up with a lot of stuff she never realized would be a part of it all.
It's just been too much lately. She usually saves these breakdowns for when she's alone, but being given a soft place to land..
She always dreaded the day they'd see her slip.
Tariq is shushing her as her tears make their shirt wet. They hold her closer.
When she's feeling well enough they hold her to their side and walk away from the market. Their arm gentle around her back, never too low to be polite.
They kiss her forehead. Their eyes crinkling with a gentle smile.
“You wanna tell me?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay.”
They lead her to a small clearing in a meadow. Laying a handkerchief for her to sit on, before carefully sitting beside her like there's risk of frightening a small deer.
“Do you want to see what I got you?”
She looks up at them. Her sad teary eyes are so cute to them, even if they'd prefer to keep her smiling forever. They just can't help but be reminded by a sad old dog.
“I'm sorry I left you alone so long. Hopefully it was worth the while.”
Tariq sat on the steps leading up to the local library. It was another day like any other day. They watch people come and go. What could possibly be so special about reading. Hmph.
It was noon according to a large clock in the chapel.
Their empty stomach seems like it's trying to swallow itself to cope with its own emptiness. It's been at least a few days since they've eaten anything. Their latest attempt at swindling the baker failed horribly and they are half considering the mouse two stray cats are batting back and forth.
Tariq sighs and thinks such angsty thoughts. Such as their state in this world.
What a shame it is that they weren't born royalty somewhere, they often fantasize about reversing the roles and making the higher ups fear for their lives. They giggle and swish their tail as they imagine the mean adults they deal with, begging for forgiveness.
“I'll show them.” They didn't mean to say it out loud. Managing to get a weird look from a man walking up the stairs, cradling a small stack of books. They glare at the man, maybe that was embarrassing of them, but that's literally not their fault.
They can't figure out who else to blame, though, so their thoughts switch to angry ones about this man they'd never really met. What an absolute moron!
Around 3 p.m. they make their way to a cobblestone bridge over a small stream. They perch their little body on the walls of it. This is becoming a routine. It makes Tariq feel at ease, somehow, it's a part of a normal life to have something you do everyday, that's what the adults do. That's what the annoying littler ones at the local school do, too, they reckon.
Yes, part of being a person is routines. Tariq will cling to that. Though, they've never really felt like a person before.
They've never felt like anything other than a concept. Trying to understand the world around them just felt ridiculous. They couldn't be that different from the people. But sometimes, it feels like everyone in the world was given a script to follow but them.
Tariq genuinely feels that no one in the world has ever been like them. All they know is their bitter resentment and constant irritation. They were either something truly worthless or someone far above the rest. Their thoughts depend on the occasion, but on a day like this, they think they were born to be kicked around.
Their eyes droop, they can't even begin to stomach the hopeless realization they might never really be anyone.
Tariq sighs as they walk away from the bridge. Hardly twelve and they're already ruined forever. What could possibly justify this? Didn't they deserve to be happy? Didn't they-
Tariq stops their self derivative thoughts to notice an elderly woman, struggling with a large basket, seemingly full of vegetables.
This is their chance.. This is the domino affect of one good deed to lead to a lifetime of good luck. Or at the very least a ton of praise. They could certainly deal with more of that.
Tariq confidently walks over, his little feet thumb while he marches like a soldier in an attempt to seem strong and reliable.
Without much thought they take the basket out of her arms. They're going to proudly state their intentions, when suddenly:
“Why I NEVER!” they're met with a hearty smack over the head. She snatches the basket back, rather painfully.
“Do you have any shame taking advantage of an older citize? You certainly have no shame! The least a young man could do is offer to help when he sees a woman struggling! Off with you, street rat!”
Tariq isn't very good at speaking up for themselves, especially when an adult is reprimanding them. Even more so, when their intentions have once again been misunderstood.
They just flee, while crying. They decidedly have a temporary grudge against people that old. Yes, they can develop a prejudice Instead of think through why their idea was a bad one.
They ran the direction they came from, all the way to the forest behind them. They sob on a log.
“Mama….”
They whine pitifully, to absolutely no one. Why does everything go wrong all the time. This NEVER happens to other people! Tariq would kill themselves if it meant someone would care!!
I mean. Probably not, death is just so so scary. Bur sometimes they like to imagine a lot of people having a hard time at their funeral. The thought comforts them while they build themselves back up.
Then they're back on that self loathing, thinking about how they're so stupid and, and so useless! And also justified and literally just a baby but… so useless. They want someone to tell them that isn't true, but the only person who would isn't here anymore. The only person who saw anything in this so called street rat. Their sobs increase after that.
When their adopted mama used to read then stories, there were scenes like this where a princess would be surrounded by animals, all drawn in by her beautiful cries. Trying to comfort the beautiful woman. And then a prince or overzealous knight would come to rescue her from her sorrow. It helps if they imagine it's just like that.
Someday, someone will save them. Because they sure as hell aren't saving themselves. That's just too hard… and they are just too little!
Their back stops shuddering eventually, and they fall asleep, their body curled like a croissant. Thin, and light enough to be supported by the old log.
I wrote a fanfic for my friend and their beloved Abel from Hazbin hotel LMFAO
Chapter one.
To gay is to suffer, bro.
You were wandering through the streets. It'd been an alright day.
Got a nice snack, picked up Razzle and Dazzle from the hotel.
After spending so much time there, you've basically adopted the two. Even their beloved princess doesn't seem to have the same bond with the devilish goat gremlins.
It wasn't so hard for her to basically just… hand them over to you. Officially, now. Lucifer be damned they're your babies now. Suck my dick, king of hell.
I mean, not that the choice even WAS hers or his anymore. Good luck separating you three after they'd just about glued themselves to your side.
Still, the little fiends occasionally make an effort to visit their princess. It’s sweet and all, even if it’s really just to harass the patrons for treats.
Still, it's nice to see them having fun. That's all that matters. And at the end of the day, it's you they're loyal to.
So, here you are, wandering the streets. Goat demons at your side, as it should be.
The only thing that could make this better, well….
Your mind is filled with a blonde loser… it's been a bit. You know visiting him is impossible, and visiting you…. I mean.
Surely it's just because he's too busy… he's high ranking, he's influential. He might be a dork but he's important up there. He can't go back and forth between he'll freely. And…
There's a prickling doubt in your stomach that he'd even.. I mean. Given the chance, if the circumstances were ideal….
Would it be your window he'd be throwing pebbles at? Your sweaty little hand he'd hold?
You don't think he'd put you high up on his list, even if the heavens crumbled and he was left with no purpose in life. How would he ever make you his? His anything, really.
Razzle head butts you affectionately as your lips scrunch, you're trying not to cry. It wouldn't do you any good to dwell on this. Even If you can grin and bear it, through everything you've been through in your life. You can’t handle the fact love might never be an option for you. But it's fine.
What's a little more heart break am I right. You snort a little at the sardonic narration in your head. Okay, It sounds stupid. Admittedly.
You pat Razzle's head and keep walking, through the desolate wasteland of drunken prostitution and chain smokers. Hell might not be ideal but you think the reason you've made your place here is it kind of fits you. You never really felt like a person.
Maybe you were meant to be a demon from the day you were born. It seems fitting. These thoughts are muck, But boy oh boy are you the pig for the job. You’ll gorge yourself on that saucy self derivative rhetoric anyday, baby.
Hell pretty much just about represents the chaos constantly present in your mind. It's a jungle in there for sure. Living in your own heads’ almost like the shitty motels here.
This is home alright. God bless.
You make your way through the streets. There's so much to do in the never ending night here. On a day like this with too much on your mind it feels like staying up too late, back on earth. You never felt too safe, wandering the streets at night.
One positive of being a demon, you guess. You're a lot stronger than you used to be. In many different ways, too.
But uh- still the uncoordinated mess you've always been.
…You scoff. Yeah, this is Abel's dream alright. His prince charming curated from a fairytale.
Why'd you fall for such a person? In a place where the sun doesn't even reach, you've come to idolize sunlight reincarnated.
It's ironic, it's cringe! It's all the things! All the stupidest, fucked up-est things you could imagine.
And you bet he isn't even thinking of you.
It's been a few months or so since you two met. Since he lit up your dismal life. Your meetings have been few and far between since then. Sounds like things are rough for him up there. It breaks your heart no one really takes him seriously, no one but you of course.
You lovesick bastard, you…
You shake your head, Long ears flopping about.
“Fuck my stupid baka life!” you sigh.
After making your rounds around hell. Mysteriously obtaining a few new minor injuries you'll surely fix later. By lazing around, Best medicine. You make your way back to the hotel where you'll surely play cult of the lamb until you drop.
What bliss!
You're enraptured by the beautiful art and soundtrack, when…
You think you're hearing shit. There's an impatient and very sudden plap, plap, coming from your window.
What the fuck dude. What the absolute fuck.
You open up your curtains, especially selected to keep the flashing city lights from ruining your peace. What little bits and pieces you collect, anyway.
It feels like your hearts being flipped around in a pan when you see that mass of messy blonde and pleading gold eyes. Like you're actually breaking his heart if you don't open up. God fucking damn it, Abel.
You quickly rush and he squishes his dashingly chubby body through. What a fucking rush.
After a bit of a struggle, he wheezes.
“Thank you, Ols…”
[Hack hack wheeze, Hack hack wheeze.]
You resist the urge to chuckle at his current state as he holds himself up with his arms, half laying on the floor.
HUFFFFFFFF
“You okay?”
Sweetest demon he ever did meet. With the way you timidly peer at him, tilting your head in confusion and concern. He still has no idea how someone like YOU ended up in hell of all places. It’s definitely not fitting. Not for you.
If running from his problems didn't work up his adrenaline, being alone with a cute bat demon would be enough to stop his heart. If that were possible. He's starting to reconsider this idea of his.
He slowly rises and you automatically reach to help him. He awkwardly mutters his thanks to you as you help him stand.
“No… yeah, well, you know, quite the uh… work out. Some people weren't uhhhh eager to see me here. Like- gee golly, Oli, I thought the angels were mean… haha.”
He snorts.
“Oh did you hear that I just rhymed, Whoops. Haha I'm like uh… not interrupting anything am I?”
Your eyebrows are still high as you awkwardly answer.
“Uh… no.. well.. you know. Just the usual… I uh… don't leave my bedroom much. I mean… I do. But.. you know…”
You wave your hands about. It's hard to keep them still. You're feeling a lot right now, needless to say.
If you're not tripping and imagining it, it's almost like his gaze seems more fond. Even with the way your hands look like they're ready to tap dance off your body and do a routine on their own.
“I have to ask though uh… not that I don't want you here, don't take this the wrong way. But… what are you doing here?”
He instantly goes back to being a blubbering weirdo. Knit from the same cloth, you two.
“I mean… uh.. do I need a reason, heh.. aren't we uhhhh pals… or. somethin like that. You know. We’ re uh. Like, Chums, you and I!” He twirls his fingers about. If yours are tap dancing, his are doing ballet, for sure.
What a pair. A pair of clowns, that is. But a pair nonetheless. Like two socks knitted from silly string. That kind of pair..
He sighs and flops on your couch. Like he owns the damn place. He might as well, I mean, he basically owns you, not that he knows that.
“I uh… sure, yeah, we're friends but..”
He claps his hands.
“Epic! I need a place to stay.”
“Huh?”
“Please?”
Your ears raise and then bend back.
“Uhh.. I mean…”
He looks at you with his stupid big eyes. He might as well have a gun to your head. Fucking hell, dude….
“Yeah, yeah, okay… Uh… how long though?”
“Forever? Haha…”
“Uh.. Abel…?”
“Just a.. a few days! A few weeks? I’m.. I'll leave eventually, okay? You won't even know I'm here!”
You think you might actually die. On one hand, this is a dream come true. You did wish for more time with him. But god DAMN.
How are you going to survive this??
“Abel…? Did something happen.. or uh..”
“What uh… can't I just come say hello to one of my best pals? And possibly move in?” He awkwardly pats your shoulder then moves his hand away like he touched a hot stove. He tucks it behind his head instead. So cute, and he doesn’t even know it.
“I've known you like. Four months at best.” Your eyebrows furrow but you can't help but smile at him. Admittedly, it doesn’t seem to matter much in perspective.
“Feels longer. Like, four years at least hahaha. You really get me, Oli, I'll give you that.” He grins awkwardly at you.
Your heart warms at that admission. You do feel like you understand him. It’s kind of amazing how much you two have in common.
“I… you're always doing things for me, I kinda feel bad. I rely on you a lot, and well, it's hard to pay you back for all you've done, just by being here.”
You squint and tilt your head. Immediately, it doesn't compute. Not in your critical mind.
“I don't feel like I do much.” Before you can go down a self loathing spiral, he stops you before you get a word in.
“No way! You do a lot just by being here, hearing me out…. That's all I can ask for. Seriously, I feel lucky even to have you in my life.”
It warms your heart. You can't come up with a good enough reason to doubt his words, but you still feel it. The poison that seeps into your brain whenever someone is genuinely kind to you. Would it be better or worse if he wasn't so kind?
Abel's grin is lop sided. It's a bit more sad but, still fond. Like, he understands you. Even if it breaks his heart. He understands you all too well. That’s what hurts him.
“You don't believe me but I meant it. I'll say it again and again until you get it, okay?”
You're surprised by that too. It's taking all your strength to not burst into tears. You don't want to freak him out. Or make him feel like he needs to do the emotional labour of taking care of you. He clearly has other things to worry about..
“Uh… if that's okay, though, I don't wanna weird you out, dude!”
He awkwardly fiddles about.
“Just…. I don't want you to.. think I'm lying, okay? Being deceitful isn't an angelic trait, after all.”
There's something almost odd about seeing this walking talking dandelion being genuine and emotional.
.. He's so sweet..
You fight the urge to bite his arm like an attack dog.
Successfully.
…For now.
You fidget and struggle to look him in the eyes. It's the hardest during moments like this. He seems to share a similar sentiment. Looking at your snack cabinet instead of your face.
His stomach growls and you wonder if he actually is just hungry, and is getting a little too used to you offering him food the second he appears. Just you wait my skrunkly, you confidently think to yourself. I’ve got a treat for you.
He's like a stray dog. That's kind of endearing. Why is he so endearing. Once again, you need to resist the temptation of digging your teeth into his bicep.
Stay strong, autistic soldier.
The two of you share snacks on your couch.
You've come to just. Store his favorites. Even when he's been gone a while.
Maybe you did or didn't like them when he first popped into your life. But regardless of your initial feelings towards his preferred treats, you've at least forced yourself to like them so you don't have to do the embarrassing task of letting it slip that you stock up JUST for him.
You'd rather swallow glass, actually.
So, his favorites are yours. And, what the hell, they make you feel closer to him anyway. Sacrifices to be made for the love of your life. One sided, of course. In your eyes, at least.
That’s how it’ll always be.
You think, with all of your being, it couldn’t possibly get better than this. You wait and you wait for the next horror that’ll pop up. Tackle you to the ground. You pick yourself up everyday, It gets easier sometimes. But it’s hard to stop dreading. To stop waiting for the next disaster.
So you won’t expect better. It feels like too much to even have him here with you. If this is the best you get then at least is this the best you deserve? You don’t dare venture further or test the limits of what could be. It’s getting old, the waiting and wanting. If only knowing all of that made things easier. Made healing from it all simple.
You’d kill to kill this feeling.
But if you even so much as looked over in time, while you're rambling about your favorite video game, showing him your current fixation. Giving him the real trivial details maybe even the fuckin game dev doesn't know.
Somehow.
You'd see the most love drunk fool.
It's like your mind has it out to hide the quiet little ways the world tries to force-feed you love. In every little gesture, a world that couldn't ever live without you. Your being that strives to put out all the goodness you worked so hard for. And you never let yourself reap the benefits.
It's a tragedy. But he's lucky he gets the chance to love you like this. You don't let a lot of people get close. You're naturally timid at first. It’s hard to unlearn.
Not everyone gets this wonderful opportunity. To be a hand that helps in showing you, you're loved as much as you love.
Somehow, in just four months, he wants to make a life out of this. That's how special you are.
He'll wait until he can express himself without being dismissed.
And, well, he's confident enough to even look you in the eye when he's so much as complimenting the things you wear or the sound of your soothing voice. He’ll wait.
Until then, he's going to awkwardly yearn. It's the thing he does best. He'd argue that's all he's good at but, well, you've given him reason to think that's not true.
At the very best, He'll be good at treating you right. That can be one more skill. One he can actually be proud of.
For now, he watches you cackle maniacally at your TV screen, and he falls in love a little more.
