My name ain't Erika.

Hi hello! Yes, I’m still alive!

Lots has happened, I’m sure I’ve said that a lot. However, my life is 1000% more stable than it was when I left this blog, so I’ve decided to make a comeback, ha. Admittedly, it has been a while since I’ve listened to wtnv, but I miss my boys a lot. I’d count this as grandiose self care tbh. 

I am very excited to be back, though! Please let me know if you want to thread! I’ll most likely be putting some things up here and there. I may not be as active as I used to be, but I do want some semblance of activity to resume here. I miss it a lot. 

“Been… Been here th’ whole time.” Marcus squeaked, clearing his throat and keeping his wings pulled in tightly. He winced as his brethren (oh, how he hated that word) whispered in his head, shaking the words from his head as they seemed to ricochet to the ground. 

“Jus’ that nobody c’n see me…or whatever…”

“A-Ah.” 

Right. Even billionaires like Marcus Vansten were not immune to the angelic law. How long had Marcus been wandering? Cecil wondered. He still looked like…. him. Not the tall creatures named Erika who seemed absorbed in things far beyond human comprehension. He still seemed to be very much the same, with a few feathery additions to his stature. 

“Well, uhm, Marcus…. I–” He took a deep breath. “I can see you.” 

“They didn’t forget.” Cecil said, then amended, “Or, I didn’t forget.” 

“Besides, you made quite a memorable stage exit.” He tried for a smile that faded quicker than it appeared. 

“I’m sorry, that was crass. Would you like to… go somewhere?” 

Tap. Tap. 

Taptaptap…….. tap. 

“Dammit!” Cecil swore and bent to gather another handful of pebbles. “… can’t believe I’m doing this….” 

He pitched another handful of small stones at the window above his head, wincing as most of them missed and clattered against the siding. The teen felt exposed standing there in the early morning light, his jacket hanging off his shoulders and backpack plopped at his feet. If a groundskeeper or someone caught him here he was dead meat for trespassing on the Vansten estate.

“C’mon… wake up already…” 

Cecil lobbed another pebble at the Vantsen’s window and did a silent cheer when it struck the pane. 

“I was ah……. well, you see…. I was hoping, since, you know, you have a car and I don’t - I mean Abby has the car but I don’t have a license just a permit and she’s at college so–” 

The short sentence Cecil had so carefully rehearsed in front of the mirror while getting ready was nowhere to be found, leaving his mouth to motor at rapid speed. Flustered, he tried to draw breath and make a last ditch effort to salvage the whole situation. 

He could relax now. Marcus had agreed and that was the biggest hurdle he had to face. Cecil adjusted his jacket, drawing it a little tighter around himself. 

He whirled around as Marcus exited the front door, glasses slightly lopsided. 

“Uh, th-thanks.” 

@gilded-billionaire

“Some say he steers a spectral ship, that’s ghostly gray and grand..” 

The singing floated over the misty air with a startling quality, achocolate voice clinging to the ears of passerby. Tightening another knot on the rope Cecil moved down the line, his voice rising and falling as steady as the waves.

Having taken a spell, he was now waiting for a ship like many other sailors; however, there were whispers about him that made some captains leery - that he was no mortal sailor, but a siren or half-siren, bold enough to walk amongst humans. He ignored the whispers as always and continued his work. A ship would be there eventually. 

Beware that one, said the dockhands. That’s no ordinary ship, they whispered as they pointed at the damaged sides, the splintering wood singed by cannon blast. The murmurs stopped as the gangplank came down, and a smartly dressed man stepped down to the dock, immediately beginning to question those around him.

His voice echoed across the choppy water as he continued to sing, not breaking rhythm even as his fellow sailors streamed around him, many hurrying to the town and it’s many bars and taverns while a few sturdy souls headed the opposite direction towards this newcomer and his tattered, gilded vessel. 

Only when all the knots were tied, checked, and rechecked did Cecil step away from his post and turn back to where he last saw the well-dressed man. There was a cluster of sailors there now, no more than five or eight talking amongst themselves. Cecil ignored them. He walked towards the man with an easy, rolling step, still humming his melodies.

Cecil quirked his head to the side, mouth curving in the barest hint of a smile. 

Once I’m finished with my homework today, I will be back on in full force. <3 Thanks for being patient y’all, my school schedule has been a bitch and a half for the last two months. 

What makes you the most emotional about your muse?

What made you decide to write this muse?

If you could change one event in your muse’s life (in their main or canon verse), what would you change?

If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?

If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?

If you had to take one positive thing away from your muse, what would you take away?

If you could “borrow” one aspect of your muse and apply it to yourself or your own life, what would you borrow?

Do you genuinely want your muse to be happy? What do you think would make them most happy in life?

Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?

What do you love about your muse?

What do you hate about your muse?

What about your muse amuses you?

What about your muse makes you sad?

How would you describe your muse to someone about to meet them, in person, for the first time?

Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

In what ways are you better than your muse? In what ways are they better than you?

Why do you think you connect to your muse?

What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not?

If you had to judge your muse and sentence them to a “fair” fate, what would your judgement be? Would you punish them? Reward them? How?