𝖂𝒽𝖊𝓃 𝓉𝖍ℯ 𝒮𝖚𝓂𝖒ℯ𝖗 𝕯𝒾es

[ text ] [ to ??? ] : the hell does that even mean???

What a privilege it is to love you 💚🖤

"Don't know what taebo is--" All these little references and Terr-isms as he'd call them, were however lost on him. Of course she'd had a theoretical list she was working through, to catch him up so to speak, but they were far from close to finishing that. Maybe a year among the stars would find them close the gap if only a little.

"But, my moonlight, you keep up just fine as of now." Granted since they'd closed the gap in their relationship and become a little more than friends his appetite had gotten a little more ravenous. Bill had some inkling that it was a fifty-fifty pull, but--

"Always such colorful euphemisms." Were he even a little less familiar with the language he might've been confused.

"I wouldn't dream of taking you away from anyone without warning. Your mother is a sweet woman especially, for the best to avoid undue stress. Most will know what you mean if you say Earth instead of Terra, though--" She would have placed a snappy reference to some pop culture figure with two names, but his knowledge was still far from complete enough for that.

"Taebo is like... kick-y punch-y stuff, but more as an aerobic cardio kind of thing than like, you know, actually being able to punch anyone."

Lord knows Bill had tried to teach Darcy, alongside Thor's endless attempts years back, and all had ended in failure. It'd been some time since Darcy accepted that if Bill could not teach someone how to throw a punch, it simply was not an accomplishment Darcy was meant to achieve.

And, besides -- Darcy hated the idea of violence, despised how often it seemed like the only solution in this life she'd come to live. A distaste that lived side by side with her utter adoration of Bill, balanced by the understanding that in order for her to live with hands untouched by brutality, Bill often emptied the brains out of skulls belonging to other people.

Gross, but necessary. In the end, she loved him all the more for it.

"What can I say, you bring out the best in me." Tongue trapped between teeth, her smile was an attempt at appearing coy but appeared more devilish than intended. With many others, her frequent euphemisms were meant to be a shield for other things -- she hides her tender underbelly with Bill, though she knows she doesn't have to. With others, it is simply a power play.

For Bill? She's never sated.

"You should ask me to leave tomorrow. I can leave tomorrow.

Mom would understand, and she, like, loves you, so she wouldn't be too angry."

Funny, how Beth had been so critical of all of Darcy's human boyfriends (and a few girlfriends), had insisted she find a nice jewish boy (or girl) to settle down with. But the first gentile alien Darcy brings home?

Suddenly, it was as if Beth were another person entirely. There's enough friction between mother and daughter, of course, but Bill provided a much needed buffer.

Most of you know her, but here's a starter course on my oldest currently written oc,

Cis female. Heteroromantic, asexual, masochist. 30s, late 20s at youngest. Fandomless, but she's been around Ghost the most lately. Urban/Modern fantasy is easiest, but I can smoosh her into most anything with magic.

Commissioned art one, two

Everyone: thinks me and @formshaper are weird for making Darcy the reincarnation of Flint

Henry nods. Words are hard right now. The psychiatrist said he's used dissociation as a defense mechanism for years; since he was a kid covering his ears to his father's emotional abuse. It makes going through things like this easier, because he just turns himself off. He runs on autopilot. He's not supposed to do this, and yet he doesn't know how else to function.

He gets up because he has to. He catches a glimpse of the mirror and flinches as he escapes the bathroom. His apartment. He has enough wherewithal to grab a sheet of napkins and wipes his face. It comes away red, brown, and he knows he still looks a mess but he doesn't care. The air feels oppressive. There's a weight on his chest. Any second, now, there will be chains bolted across his door.

In the end, they make it to the park. Henry's quiet the whole time. It's that uneasy silence. The kind that feels like something is about to pop. Maybe it's the sharp edge of a panic attack, or maybe it's just the too-bright light of reality finding him again. Remember, you can't have anything normal. You're the Receiver of Wisdom. So, receive.

"Do you...Do um. Do you believe in ghosts?" Henry says finally, stuttering hard.

Cold creeps in, despite the late spring heat wave that had sunk it's claws into May, and Ethan licks his lips like a nervous dog with hungry chops. If his heart still beat -- if he still had a heart, he was certain Henry would be able to hear it, even more than an arms length away.

(Funny, how they've been so careful to keep a distance, pulling at an invisible leash between them, since that kiss. Ethan doesn't think he's ever noticed how close or far someone was to him before, and certainly not in the context of a friendly nature)

ㅤㅤDo you believe in ghosts?

Does Henry know? ㅤㅤHas he known this whole time?

Mid-step, Ethan stops in the middle of the path and turns fully to look at Henry, his body ram-rod straight and tense. His eyes dart over the features on the other man's face that are at once both familiar and strange, as if he might find some truth of Henry's intentions. All he sees is a hollow haunted expression, still smeared with the shadows of blood that stained against his skin in splotches.

No desperation, just a miserable acceptance.

Does Henry know? ㅤㅤMaybe, but Ethan is beginning to doubt.

Quick as a flash, he diverts his eyes back to the path, hums softly under his breath as he considers an answer. It seems clear to him that it is not the simple question people ask as they get to know eachother; there is a weight in Henry's inquisition, and Ethan...

Does not want to get the answer wrong.

"I don't know -- maybe? ㅤㅤThings happen all of the time we don't have explanations for, especially for the people in group."

A half-hearted shrug and Ethan swings around to walk backwards as they talk, still not quite meeting Henry's eyes.

Is he angry, or is that just his face?

(Por qué no los dos?)

You know when little kids stare at you? That unblinking unnerving stare that looks right through you? As if they can see something that isn’t there, and somehow still managed to look unimpressed?

That’s the vibe she was getting here.

Was there something on her face? Maybe a piece of food in her teeth?

As if snapped back to reality, Kaine blinks, his face easing from it's severe expression to something... not lighter, but less obscenely aggressive.

Surprised; though whether it's at her for her obvious reaction or at himself for being caught in his natural state of pissed off, no one can tell.

Least of all him.

"You're not what I was expecting."

And what was he expecting? -- Was he being sexist? Was this something Aracely would scold him for?