#aercangel

𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚂 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴 : 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽

                   ❝   𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 ?  ❞    shadow stood there, outside the gas station, staring at mara while , a few feet away , a sulking leprechaun smoked cheap tobacco. he wasn’t sure about the security measures that were being taken in order to keep all of them from blowing up into smithereens , but in the last few weeks , shadow had been through far more terrifying experiences. he glanced over his shoulder. mad sweeney seemed to be readying himself to take a piss. shadow was quick to look away, cringing ever so slightly. this redhead’s presence was far more pleasant than his current travel partner’s. there was something about her that both soothed and alarmed him . like a beautiful sunset that could only be witnessed from the edge of a high cliff. her eyes sunk into his skin like hooks, trying to rip through the surface and see what hid beneath ... and that thought, oddly, 𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽'𝚃 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙳𝙾𝚆 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙱𝙸𝚃 𝚄𝙽𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙴.

 ❝   ━━━━ i remember this song from when i was a kid.  ❞    a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as the ex-con made a very shy ( and very weak ) attempt at singing.  ❝   heaven, heaven is a place, a place where nothing ever happens ? i think it went something like that .  ❞   shadow gave up halfway when realising mara hadn’t tried to stop him or sung a long. it was strange to think that the place where everyone wanted to go was nothing but a big quiet waiting room. shadow moon had done enough waiting for a lifetime. waiting in hospitals for his mother to die, waiting in jail cells for the world to forgive him ... how long had mara been waiting ? how many years had she been trapped in the horrible limbo of EXPECTATION ? shadow shrugged, realising it had gotten horribly quiet between the two of them.

*  SEND  A  SUBJECT  &  I’LL  WRITE  A  META  ABOUT  IT .

there  were  things  he  would  change  himself  in  a  beat.   one,   two,  done  —  gone.   but  there  wasn’t  ever  much  thought  put  on  the  things  that  he  WOULDN’T  CHANGE.    appearance ?   maybe.   looking  in  the  mirror  at  the  scrawny,   grown  up  version  of  a  little  boy.   small  man…    not  very  masculine.   he  never  felt  LIKE  A  MAN,   although  he  certainly  was  one.   he  liked  his  hair,   and  he  liked  his  facial  hair.   he  liked  the  shabby  sense  of  style  that  no  girlfriend  could  ever  improve  upon…   no  matter  how  many  pressed  shirts  they  bought  him  for  birthdays  and  christmas.   but  what,   if  anything,  would  he  never  sacrifice  or  change ?

a  man  like  him,   with  as  little  self  esteem  as  he  had,   had  to  DIG  DEEP.   of  all  the  things  he  would  like  to  change,   the  one  thing  he  wouldn’t  was  parts  of  his  mind  that  were  reliable.   sometimes  he  was  too  cautious,   stubborn,  and  insanely  fearful.   a  worrisome,  shriveling  thing  in  the  corner  of  a  dark  room  —  picking  at  cuticles  and  the  dry  skin  of  his  lips  until  he  was  bleeding  and  raw.   it  was  a  miracle  he  never  found  TEARING  OUT  HIS  HAIR  as  satisfying  as  peeling  skin  back  from  the  edges  of  his  nails.   but  there  was  a  part  of  himself  that  he  liked.   one  he  found  rebellious  and  brave.   one  crazy  enough  to  survive  brutal,  frigid  winters  in  the  middle  of  nowhere.   a  survivalist  at  heart.   survival  for  him  was  more  than  a  hobby,   it  was  a  practice.   sure,    he  had  a  home  here  in  the  woods.   he  had  a  reliable  car.   food,  water,  flame.   he  could  live  comfortably  and  he  DID  live  comfortably.   but  he  remembers  trekking  through  six  feet  of  snow  with  a  forty  pound  backpack  and  a  rifle  on  his  back.   he  was  just  a  KID  then  but   never  once  did  he  wish  to  turn  back.   nor  did  he  complain  to  uncle  about  the  cold.  or  the  heavy  weight  and  the  sting  of  air  on  his  eyes.   he  was  prepared,    HE  WAS  ALWAYS  PREPARED.   he  was  adventurous,   in  his  own  way.    an  explorer,   just  a  very  introverted  one.    and  when  things  got  bad  he  had  to  remind  himself  of  those  personal  accomplishments.  awards  of  bravery  in  the  sands,   plaques  written  in  his  name  for  excellence  in  journalistic  passion.  even  if  he  didn’t  have  the  proof  of  excellence,   he  would  feel  excellent.  he  wouldn’t  change  those  parts  of  his  mind  that  were  RELIABLE.   he  only  hopes  they  stay  as  such.

❝  why wouldn’t you be ?  ❞  she is owed her pride,     every ounce of confidence,    all her self - assurance,    even in the company of like strength,    even in the company of a creature owed her own SELF - DEFINED HOLINESS   —–   DEVIL MEET ANGEL,    & at the crossroads,   take up each other’s hands.     ❝    you curiosity is welcome,   i assure you.   ❞     the tsaritsa takes up her glass & savors the burn of wine with a smile,    gesturing for her guest to do the same.    HOSPITABLE AS SHE IS,    the red she displays is not euphrasy alone   ---   something deadly,   something aphotic lurks in the curl of her tresses where shadows reside,    in the void of blackness that her irises can never quell.      ❝  though i cannot assure you that your curiosity will be SATED.   ❞

              ❛  i  don’t  really  ---   go  out  much.   unless  it’s  up  the  canyon  somewhere.   nature,   y’know. ❜   he’s  trying  to  get  out  of  the  SMALL  TALK  TRAP  he  often  walks  around  in.   circles  of  how  things  are,   how  are  you ?   how’s  the  whoever - whatever,   how’s  the  weather.    and  so  he  admits  his  own  flaws,  blatant  and  cool,   as  though  they  no  longer  bother.   like   he’s  accepted  who  he  is,   at  least  to  her  face.      ❛  even  if  i  did  go  out,   with  other  people,  i’d  probably  bore  them  to  an  early  grave. ❜   his  laugh  is  off - kilter,  nervous,  but  the  smile  that  rests  afterward  is  sweet.