#unpossession, an original character written by mais.
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@unpossession
#unpossession, an original character written by mais.
information. / pinterest / memes. / promo.
Clover takes a moment to curse out the guy who shoulder-checked Willow. He glances backward, looking vaguely confused and annoyed, and picks up the pace, successfully avoiding further confrontation.
“Asshole,” Clover huffs, rolling her eyes. Then, back to the matter at hand: “Anyway, that sounds really cool. I dig the drama of it all. I can’t wait to see what you end up doing with it.”
She keeps walking, going a bit slower now so as to avoid another traffic accident. Some artisan-made bongs in a smoke shop catch her eye; she steers Willow through the doorway. Intricate glassware lines the walls, as well as hookahs and other paraphernalia. Fancy lighters, imported cigs, vapes, herbs. T-shirts, incense, candles, and other gift shop fare fill out the shelves. Some of the glassware is just knick-knacks and sculpture, with little cards beside them containing blurbs about the local artists who made them.
Willow has to work herself up to be sharp. Capable of it, sure, but right now in this moment of surprise she can do little but stare wide-eyed behind her and then wander into the shop with Clover, wondering if her shoulders are too broad to be in a shop full of such delicate things.
“Thanks. I don’t really — I find it a little difficult to talk about what I’m writing with people, so it’s nice that you… Yeah, anyways…”
Inside the shop, Willow picks up a ghost-shaped bong and examines it. Salem’s birthday is coming up; it might be a good little gift. She decides to hold on to it while she decides, taking a peek at the other art pieces and sculptures.
“If you see any cats… Like little cat figurines… Let me know. I collect ‘em. And deer. Little ones.”
Okay, now Roxy knows: don’t try to involve Willow in important matters like this. She’ll only enable him. I won’t force you to do anything. God fucking damn it. And now they’re just gazing at each other in absurd, weighty silence, like both of them are high again or something.
Whatever. She ignores them and chats with a live representative on the facility’s webpage. They’re willing to work with her on this, but the accommodations for couples are limited and require heavy supervision. No shared rooms and therapy sessions must be done separately, except on Tuesdays, when a couple’s counselor is onsite. Schedules will be arranged so that free time is shared time.
“They’ll allow it,” Roxy says. She doesn’t find it necessary to share the details. “Zero will be there regardless. If you’re in, Willow, I have to know now to reserve your room.”
“I’m not going.” Z sounds like a little kid again.
“Yes, you are. Should I get Angelo on the phone?”
Zero goes quiet.
As much as Roxy's judgement is hurtful, Willow understands it. Roxy doesn't know that Willow has had to learn a softer approach to her desires. It's not like she's some master manipulator or anything -- but she doesn't get what she wants by demanding it. She asks, politely, and hopes. Before that, she makes herself undeniable.
For now, though, she's silent.
Willow is interested to see how this ultimatum will pan out. She's a fan of Angelo's work - that was one of the first things she ever told Zero when they met - and his influence over Zero, even by mere mention of his name, intrigues. Her eyes sharpen somewhat, watching Roxy for signs of a bluff.
These things have such a flair for the dramatic. There really was no need to put his poor associate through that; the line cook is a blissfully simple man who generally minds his business and makes Hyuntae good money. Now things may get complicated between them. Why not just ask Jun for his number, or even Heather?
But his vague annoyance at demonic flair cannot outdo fascination. Rarely does Willow offer him anything—he’s still trying to determine how to safely wrangle her into the lab—and these are very promising samples. He examines them immediately, working tirelessly for several days to unravel whatever riddles the blood has to offer. Then, when he’s good and ready, a message:
𝙹𝚊𝚛 𝙰: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚌. 𝙹𝚊𝚛 𝙱: 𝚃𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝙹𝚊𝚛 𝙲 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎. 𝙰𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚊𝚕. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞.
𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙹𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎-𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚛 "𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜" 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙸 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕; 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚃𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚑 𝙺𝚊𝚑𝚕𝚒𝚕 - 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢 - 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚑'𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 - 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑, 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚗 𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚒. 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕.
𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎.
She doesn't mean to be unkind. Willow just needed to frighten him enough to make sure he'd do as she asked --- and she was a little hungry.
When she gets Hyuntae's text, she's sprawled out on the bed. Trying to black-out the heat off summer in her underwear with a bowl of ice resting at the small of her back. It's not really working. She's glad for the distraction when her phone lights up.
It makes sense, she thinks. She used to faint in the shower.
His following messages take a little longer to process. Willow didn't know about Tallah, though she understands why something like that would have been kept quiet. She's not sure she would have reacted well to this information any other time. Somebody got out. And now she gets forever on terms that wont mar her soul over time. Willow lets out a little sigh.
There's no point addressing it. At least for now, the very idea of a cure for her seems not only completely out of the question but -- not even really an option for her anyway. She's already been to Hell.
[ txt to: hyuntae namkung. ] your associate wont see me again. sorry and you're welcome. what is it that you've learned from my current sample?
Can he tell that she doesn't feed well, what medications she takes, which drugs she uses? Willow's curious as to how much of herself she just gave away.
SIMPLE ACTS OF ROMANTICISM
again feel free to switch around sender and receiver in these after pasting!
1) sender takes receiver’s hands because receiver is cold, rubbing and blowing warmth into them.
2) sender washes receiver’s hair while they take a shower together.
3) sender brings receiver a potted plant rather than a bouquet so it will last longer.
4) sender brings receiver a bouquet of flowers (feel free to specify what kind)
5) our muses are walking somewhere together and sender casually takes receiver’s hand, bringing it up to kiss the back before simply holding it the rest of the way.
6) receiver is getting dressed and, unprompted, sender helps them zip up, attach a necklace, tie a tie, etc.
7) sender shows up at receiver’s door with homemade food to comfort them or because they aren’t feeling well.
8) sender remembered something receiver mentioned they liked and brings it or something related to it as a gift.
9) sender randomly gives something to receiver that reminded sender of them (feel free to specify)
10) our muses are talking and sender wordlessly reaches over to fix receiver’s hair without breaking concentration.
11) receiver has had a hard day and comes home to sender drawing up a bath and preparing their favorite comforting beverage.
12) receiver has had some task they needed to get done around their home and they find sender doing it for them unprompted.
13) sender wordlessly picks something out of the fabric of receiver’s clothing and then smooths it over while they’re having a conversation.
14) sender soothingly runs their fingers through receiver’s hair while they talk or are in a group setting.
15) sender brushes receiver’s hair out and fixes it for them.
16) sender places their hand on receiver’s thigh while they’re talking or in a group setting.
17) sender offers their arm for receiver to take while they walk.
18) sender slips their arm through receiver’s while they walk.
19) sender places their coat around receiver after realizing they’re cold.
20) it begins to rain or snow while our muses are walking somewhere and sender simply picks up receiver to carry them the rest of the way.
swamp gospel is a verse novel styled as a collection of posthumously published journals, essays, and poems. underpinning the feverish narration of personal decay is a bizarre and contradictory religious dogma—informed by sufi and carmelite philosophy, and populated by figures from norse and kemetic polytheist traditions. the final contribution is an apparently authentic police report filed with the monroe county sheriff's office regarding a body discovered in highly unusual condition along a tributary to the conecuh river.
failure to distinguish the unnamed, deceased narrator from the attributed author, delilah ölvaldursson, has caused some confusion. neither delilah nor the parish office have responded to requests for clarification.
OBSESSION dir. Curry Barker
Sebastian would like to believe so—that he knows Ileana best, better than any other soul, living or damned. Their familial bonds are tied tight, after all. But then there is the shadow. A stain and a strain on their relationship, impossible to ignore now with the distance wedged between them.
He executes the thought. Buries it.
"It shall happen. She has been frequenting New York more often." Not always to see him. Sometimes she does not even alert him to the fact of her presence in his city. He has his ways of knowing, though. She taught him well. Letting his gaze return to Willow's face, he sees her looking away. "Perhaps one day I might convince you to stay for more than a handful of days."
For now, they have the weekend. And Whole Foods waiting up ahead.
“Perhaps,” Willow says, but it is an empty word. New York does nothing but drain her. Maybe it’s the fact it reminds her of home that brings her down, or the fact that it isn’t quite home that causes her to doubt it. The sea of people never stops moving, she feels steeped in loneliness and suffocated by the endless company - California has a certain magic to it that keeps her far better occupied. She’ll never happily stay in Sebastian’s city for too long.
Willow smiles, picks up a basket and then passes it to him. A gentleman after all, yes? She’ll use him to her advantage, plucking various vegetables from their places on the shelves and admiring them - Willow picks the ones that look just underripe and places them in Sebastian’s care as they wander through the isles.
“I love cooking. When I can be bothered.”
being turned on by proficiency makes going to concerts really embarrassing. yes you got up in front of me and sang a beautiful song for 2 hours and now i want you to hit. I’m no better than a songbird
Art by Shirley Jackson
i DISLOCATED my KNEE and now i cant do my retail job so. you’ll be seeing more of me while i’m in recovery
"oh my GODDDUUHH!" giddy doesn't expect the fire extinguisher to be as unwieldy as it is, pressure in the nozzle giving the thing a mind of its own, "OH MY FUCKEN GODDDDUHH!"
She screams! She is covered in sodium bicarbonate. “The fire is THERE! Aim THERE, Giddy!!!!”
Language falls short. Love is such a small, trite word. Cheap. Chintzy. Teddy bears and Hallmark cards, red roses and wedding dresses, a quaint human pastime. To call their centuries together love feels laughable and alienating; it misses the mark.
But Valentina cannot describe this to the younger ones—least of all Willow, who seems to measure everything by human language and emotion, at least as she currently understands them. As the children age, they will come to see the intricacies of this existence, the way certain concepts—certain words—fail, lose their meaning and merit.
But for the purposes of this conversation, love, she supposes, is the closest word they have. She laughs, nods, shrugs.
“Yes. We love each other very much.”
How else is a writer supposed to measure? If Willow needs to digest her experiences through prose to feel that they're real, then words are the only way. Anything that falls out of the brackets of her ability to describe them becomes an insurmountable obstacle to her mind and heart. Colossal feelings that crush and overwhelm and overtake.
She's sure 'love' misses the mark for Valentina, as it does for her in some instances -- but she appreciates that Valentina will work with the term, for arguments sake.
"...How do you not get lost in it?"
@unpossession said, "i'm a truly dangerous person, i am."
"fer fuck - okay?!?! can you dangerously toss me the fuckin fire extinguisher, will?"
This is what she gets for trying to make pancakes half cut. Willow does as he asks, but she’s still muttering: “Like. I can’t be trusted with anything…”
OBSESSION (2026) dir. Curry Barker
"Oh, hell yeah."
Flynn grins, scooting out of the bed behind her but not needing to be in as big of a rush to get into the bathroom. He follows her into the dark room, at ease with his nakedness, propping his shoulder against the wall so he can see her.
"That would be nice." Flynn smiles. "Or I could meet you out somewhere, we could have a little lunch date if you'd like?"
They don't always have to be holed up here if they don't want to be, right?
“Ummmm,” Willow chews on it for a few seconds. Pretends like she has to think on it. “Of course! I’d love to do that. Sounds really cute.”
Even if regular human food fails to satisfy her physically, she still enjoys it. Willow turns off the water and steps out, to wrap herself in a large towel and pick out an outfit. Her house is tidy one second, and a mess the next - a whirlwind of shirts and skirts are strewn all around her room as she decides on which one to wear.
“There’s a vegetarian place in town I’ve been wanting to check out. It’s called Green’s.”