SweetCyanide

LOVE IS A REBELLIOUS BIRD. ________________________________________________________________ Before he moves to pluck the wilted flowers from their very core, there is something amiss. Something taps his shoulder; a stranger nowhere to be found as he shoots a glance, listening to a sweet laugh that happily intruded his ears. Childlike. Bodiless. It'd lasted more than a moment. He dances his eyes around the training grounds bathing in sunlight and finds nothing, no one. How strange, he thinks to himself, having not noticed his caged heart had begun to flutter like butterfly's wings. The voice crawls under his skin like a poisonous seed watered by his blood—but, still, he cares more about his duties than a mere delusion. His ears were only deceiving him, after all. What is a servant child doing, running around the grounds at this hour? It couldn't have possibly been anyone else. Surely, he was hearing things. Surely, he'd gone mad. Try all he can to ignore it, but the stem unfurling itself before him has already bloomed a flower. "You've been looking at those flowers for quite some time." It had sounded exactly like her that day. The confusion choked him. He looks up. Shirin is here. She's there, in front of him. She's not here, he lulls himself so lovingly. He knows, oh he knows, but what's to stop the lava of his blood melting through his fingers? She laughs ever so sweetly, and his hand is ready to strike. He will not be dragged back to that hell— “Hello, Pluto,” Whatever form of malice had been forged into that moment, it was discarded. Pluto will abandon it, and leave it begging for more. Surely, he was seeing things. The seneschal smiled, "Hello, Shirin." his blood having retreated back into his hand; sheepish. "What brings you here?" How stupid, he hisses at himself, that he is able to put on such an act. His silvery gaze rests upon the wooden box beside Shirin, and he responds so carelessly. "Ah." “You—haven’t seen the Oathsworn invited to Hildebrand around here, have you?” "The Oathsworn," Pluto mutters. "not at—" “Right over here,” says the mighty Oathsworn—speak of the devil—walking towards them with a grit he'd thought familiar like Iyalon, but with a fierce valor that spoke of his towering impression. He was so tall in fact, that the handsome seneschal had to physically look up to maintain some eye contact. “A friend of yours?” Sadly, he appeared harmlessly cute under the shadow of this famed knight, even more so as he beamed up at him. "Greetings," He bows, looks up at him with eyes that know too much, one eye too dull and too brittle to match with his graceful features. But he smiled. "welcome to Ravenel Manor. I see you and Shirin have already met!" The man offered a slick hand, so he kindly accepted; a handshake so cold and so fragile you can feel it through his glove. “Walter Crowley, but please, call me Crowley.” Ah, he is the one Iyalon loves to talk about. "A pleasure, Sir Crowley." Then he smiled again. "My name is Pluto, but please, call me Pluto." Next, he points out; "Your flowers are dead." Pluto laughs. How disgustingly endearing. "I'm afraid they are, sir."

LADY WITH THE SNOW WHITE HAIR.. ______________________________________________________________________________ “But maybe we could grab drinks sometime?” For someone so tantalizingly seductive it was almost illegal, she was, and she is, incredibly dense. Her hand flinched. It wasn't that much of a reaction, but she saw the sweat forming on his brow from the corner of her eye. Why so serious? It's not like I'm gonna eat you alive, boy. "Hmm," Let's see; he was adorable, definitely way, way younger than she was, and he looked so pale she could mistake him for a ghost. Ah what the hell, she doesn't really have a reason to say no. All her friends were pretty uncomfortable around her anyway, judging by how her colleagues still profusely remember a—lot. And by god, do they remember a lot. That was like, ten years ago. Ten. High-school. So what if she pushed that dick-weed jock into the manhole? Ferdinand didn't care. Sure, he really hated the guy. Everyone hated that guy; but when are they gonna get over it? A snip came right above his ear, thinly slicing off the hair. "Sure, hon. How bout' we share numbers and I'll hit you up when I'm free?" She spun the scissors into her apron pocket and started blow-drying his hair, running fingers through his scalp. "I'm more of a wine kinda gal. Cliche', right?" Cliche, sure, but she just didn't want to admit she was a lightweight. A minute later of fussing over the hair and whipping out a super cool wax gel, "Perfect!" it was finally done. Roxy gave his reflection a big smile. She's outdone herself yet again. Like a shot through the heart, it'd slowly become more and more alarming the longer she stood there, the longer she'd stare at him a little too deep in his mirror's reflection, that Calvin looked ridiculously familiar—it almost felt uncanny. Like seeing a more boyish, somehow incredibly softer, way more younger, version of your one night— Oh. Failing to stop herself from laughing and successfully getting looks from all around, she ruffled his shiny blonde locks now that they've been conditioned and styled in a way she assumed that Mr. Calvin Church wouldn't mind. "You like it? I tried to do what ya asked; but with a little bit more oomph, y'know?" She squeezed his shoulders. Shot the mirror a another red piercing look. "Now that you're dolled up and ready to get all the ladies to jump on your high-horse like there's no tomorrow," Roxanne leaned closer to Calvin and gave him a devious grin, whispered in a husky voice. "gimme a tip for ripping me off'a my alone time and lying to my boy-pal." Cash slipped into her fingers rather easily. The devious grin on her face softened back into a playful smile. She pecked him on the head and joyfully, skipping away waving—and yelling 'bye-bye, Callie!' in a rather sing-song tease. How did she know? Calvin would never find out. The lady with the snow-white hair had her secrets, and she wasn't telling any. She dropped the apron on a hanger near the EMPLOYEES ONLY door and vanished once more. New buddy? Acquired. Barber skills? Goddamn perfect. Extra cash? I'm gonna— Get back to business. She shut the door behind her and ripped off her pants, falling onto the couch and shoving her entire arm into the folds just to yank out a little phone. Then started the magic. The bottom of her silvery-white locks moved upwards as if they'd began to defy gravity, twirling and curling, slithering and falling into place like obedient snakes that knew how to ball themselves up into a seamlessly perfect bun on her seamlessly perfect mop of hair. Strands of her slithering hair crawled onto the scratched glasses that laid there on the carpet; alien-like in all of it's movements as it placed and fixed the optics onto her face. Roxanne had felt absolutely natural. Like her hair was a third arm she used to scratch her ass. "Let's see," Her thumb navigated through the digital screen, switching on the TV and finding, who could've thought; Palgard General Hospital. Steve stood from where he curled up and stared alarmingly at the other, more bigger digital screen. His phone number had stayed written on her wrist. She was starting to think if she gave off the wrong impression.

cracks knuckles sadly some of my character's names aren't that very special though (they sound pretty cool) THE CORSPE TWINS; Sunhild Scarborough: Did some digging around and it turns out her name either means "battle of the sun" or "sun battle maiden". Candelaria Scarborough: Candelaria is from the spanish word for candle, candela. It also given in honour of a church festival in Mexico, which commemorates the presentation of Christ in the temple and the purification of the Virgin Mary. Ironically, her name is more angelic than demonic WEIRDO FAMILY; Roxanne Robicheaux: Inspired by the musical Chicago. Also, it's a hot name. Ramsey Robicheaux: Urban dictionary says Ramsey is slang for knife. Hmmmmm??? Ares 'Shezmu': Ares is the greek god of war, meanwhile Shezmu is a ancient egyptian deity who was considered very vindictive and bloodthirsty, apparently called the lord of blood, great slaughterer of the gods and he who dismembers bodies. Tommy Hudson: Her name was inspired by a character who had the same name in the game The Last of Us, and, apparently Tommy means 'twin'. Pluto: Named after the roman god of the underworld, Pluto is cognate with the Greek word 'Ploutos' (wealth, cf. plutocracy), alluding to his golden blood (aka a money-making machine) Raine Rhodlyn: Back then when she was a different type of witch, Raine literally meant rain, and Rhodlyn meant the valley of the frogs. THE GUCCI GANG; Lotor Loyola: Lotor is neo-latin for 'washing', it's also a binomial name for the raccoon; procyon lotor. Loyola is the last name of a spanish saint. Harlem: It's a black ghetto in NY. Jazz hands 'Mugo' AKA Viamiti Dasyatis: The nickname Mugo comes from yet another character from a videogame; Blade & Soul, named after an admiral who founded a large organized group of pirates. Viamiti, according to the internet, is Tahitian for vai "water" and miti "sea, salt". Dasyatis is a genus of stingray. Keratos Bovem: An upcoming character whose sheet I've yet to finish! Keratos is from kerato-, a combining form that relates to keratin or horny tissue and the cornea. Bovem literally means bull in latin. BONUS: im supposed to be studying

VII. On his way to Nairne's, he'd realized a little too late that Shirin had not told him where he was. Also, Esme had grabbed ahold of him and refused to let go. Though incredibly affectionate, Pluto had become accustomed to her vibrant presence—despite the intrusion between his fingers that locked their hands together in a friendly gesture. The knights look to him in jealousy. When they are envious, he does nothing but force a smile, and sometimes, even laugh; it's really nothing more than that. Envy is useless when they know that he knows he's particularly close with certain Hildebrand siblings. "Pluto, play the piano for me; won't you?" Esme bats her lashes, useless once more when he can no longer be swayed. "Pretty please? Just one song and you shall be on your way!" "I'm afraid I have to tend to Lord Nai—" She grabbed his hand and pulled him as hard as she could. "You can tend to Nairne later! One song won't be too long! Please? Pleeease?" It had taken longer than usual for him to run away from Esme. "My lord," Heaved Pluto, having arrived at Nairne's doorway. His laboratory still caused him unease; from the preserved animals to the papers strewn about the floor, cabinets, and workspaces that all seemed to align perfectly as a chaotic mess. The seneschal still wondered how Shirin felt about it, if she ever trampled on—"My lord?" Nairne was not here. Strange. Pluto had thought of any other possible area he may be able to find his Lord, and, there. There he is. Nairne was about to begin on the piano, and Esme was there, sharing the seat with her brother. Odd. "Ah, there you are," Nairne muses. "will you fetch me a book from the manor's library? I believe it was on the top shelf, the one Aspen forgot to give to me," "That book. Of course. I presume this is for your research, my lord?" Pluto turned to leave, his voice a sing-song tone as left. "There are books about romance. I have a novel at the ready if you desire." Esme bursted into a fit of harmless laughter; forcing herself to cease her foolishness once her brother shot her a glare. Nairne scoffed. "I dont have time for girls, Pluto; and the example Iyalon is setting when it comes to my sister is a sad, sad thing I should never like to go through!"

VI. He remembered that when the Izora siblings had first arrived, somber and reluctant to walk in the halls of Ravenel Manor—even more so reluctant to the idea of serving the Hildebrand family, they've been wary of approaching specifically Pluto; having only heard of him through the servant's whispers and the town's rumors. Now, Iyalon wouldn't as much as hesitate as to drive a sword in his direction. It was nothing but a friendly gesture, nonetheless. Pluto blocked the attack, an elegant movement as he studied, observed, and moved to block again. Iyalon had assumed a offensive position when he'd driven himself too close to his opponent; punished by a sudden change of Pluto deciding to lunge forward. Iyalon grinned when he did. Except when he blocked a feint—allowing Pluto's blade to rest kindly on his neck. The two boys smiled wider at each other now, having not noticed they've been breathing heavily under the heat of the sun after exchanging blows one round after another, dancing the graceful arts of war in a lighthearted laugh. The sword slipped past his fingers and crashed against the training grounds within the boundary of the Ravenel Manor. "I made it even," Pluto managed to squeeze out, hands on his knees and his silvery hair reduced into a mess. "Ha. Out of breath already?" Replied Iyalon, out of breath. "I can—keep going, you know," "Oh, I wouldn't dare, to—keep going," He fanned his shirt. "after all, you've yet to save your energy for later, Sir-Future-Lord-Protector. Perhaps you should focus more on impressing Lady—" The young man was silenced when Iyalon had tripped him. "Varda." The knight laughed threateningly, moving to kick him while he laid there on the ground. Back pressed against the floor and eyes squinting against the rays of heat, he assumed the silhouette under the sun was Iyalon's righteous judgement, but then came a voice, a gentle voice; pleasantly feminine and bashful, too soft to be Iyalon's. "Pluto," He'd nearly had a heart attack. The young seneschal glanced at Shirin and thus began the attack on his heart. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to stand up. He noticed it made Shirin giggle. He was under the assumption that she thought the way his clothes were disheveled and his hair had looked a little chaotic was the reason why she was trying very hard to suppress a laugh. It didn't stop him from looking handsome, though. "Lord Nai requests your presence." A sense of dread pokes at his stomach. "He is?" Another laugh. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble. Just tidy up before you go, okay?" After she went to quickly hug her brother, Shirin squeezed Pluto's hand and left. It was a shame he was incapable of blushing.

V. On the day he is to walk in the fields, Pluto is attacked by crows. His eye has lost color and he refuses to see through it. Pieces of glass-like skin were pecked off and punched through; spewing rivers of molten gold that oozed through the bandages wrapped tightly on the surface of his perfectly exposed flesh. He struggles to stay still under Aspen's care, even more so perplexed as she and Jasper partake in a one-sided quarrel. Scoldings and gushes of fury brimming with vitriol, laughter and cruel comments that failed to cease it's satirical humor—it'd all been numbed deaf by the ceaseless pulses of pain singing in fortissimo. Because as bizarre as it may seem, he is undoubtedly human, and it'd been obvious by now that he, like everyone, knows pain. At first, it had taken years upon years for the current Hildebrands to have become used to his peculiar traits; it was common knowledge to know that magic is not common here. And, Pluto, of all people, had properties unique to him that clearly ruled him an outsider. The young boy sobs in broken whimpers, not even willing to move a finger now that it'd been reduced to nothing but a weak spine surrounded by specks of glass skin and swirling pools of gold. It happens then that Jasper thrusts upon an exciting idea. "If I may suggest, I believe that the title; The Golden Crow, is certainly suitable for our young Pluto." He smirked. It'd been no different from the rest of his charismatic charms he often gave to girls. "Don't you agree?" Aspen stood from her chair. It was forceful enough to have it crash against the floor. "Well I believe that's enough, brother! Just because he isn't like the rest of us, it doesn't give you the privilege to treat him like this!" "Like what?" "Like—like you would an outcast or an animal lesser than an ant! Ugh!" Aspen reached and gestured threateningly to choke the life out of her brother. It caused him to step back, a sly curl tugging at the corners of his lips as if he baited a rabbit into a trap. "You grimy little—" "Ha!" He assumed the stance of running away. From the look of things, Pluto had feared that the royal teenagers would escalate into a chaotic scene. "What gives you the assumption that I've treated him like such, dear sister o' mine?" "I—um," "I've done nothing but propose a title for him, have I not?" "I—I believe," "You believe me that much of a fool, dear—stupid—brother o'—" "I believe," Pluto struggled to make his voice sound gentle and without strain. He glanced at the young siblings with a nervous shut eye that proceeded to drool gold. "I believe it's a nice name."

i love how palgard general hospital is on the verge of blowing the hell up and there's just these quick cuts of some jolly-fine dudes at a salon

@Ataraxy ❤️

LADY WITH THE SNOW WHITE HAIR.. ______________________________________________________________________________ Moving back here was definitely a nostalgia trip. It wasn't a surprise that most of her old friends were either dead, missing, drug addicts, or poor souls who had their life turned upside down by the now heavily corrupted government and their ridiculous officials. When she met her friends who still had their heads attached, they were confused between the lines of; Hey! It's you! Or, fuck it's you. Like Ferdinand. Ferdinand was very distressed. Because last she remembered, her reputation here wasn't exactly good.. or bad. It was more like seeing that one kid who kept winning straight golds in the middle school sports tournaments, and the same kid who had a very concerning history surrounding the welfare of the other kids that made their parents tell them to stay away from them. As in stay away from that kid cause they'll stab you with a Hello-Puppy mechanical pencil. In middle school, her relatives had her forcibly move to Hell's Gate without her consent, so she slit her wrist and locked herself in the bathroom til' they started turning into a goddamn mess. Good times. Potentially life-threatening suicide prank aside, it was honestly a miracle that Palgard still had these crappy romance dramas; specifically so she can laugh and insult the show while being a lazy slob all damn day. Which was, well, what she was doing right now. Being a lazy slob on the sofa/bed with her hair tied in a messy bun and Chiito's powder piling up on her black croptop. "We can't be together, Rebecca! This relationship can't go on—you're an elf! And I'm.. a vampire!" "Gasp! Edwin, my love.. that's not true at all. Because, there's something I need to tell you—!" She glanced at her phone and scrolled through a few messages. "I'm.. preg—" "We interrupt this program with breaking news." Her eyes squinted at the sudden flash of text. "Palgard General continues to roll out casualties after another as Palgard's Finest desperately try to take control of this chaotic situation. Jerry, how's it going up there?" The footage panned to a young reporter in a heli. "Well, Mike, there seems to be no end between the King Spiders and the Silver Serpents! You can see that right there the explosions still continue to blah, blah, blah—" Boo—ooring. Click. The channel switched to a kid's cartoon with a cat and mouse. As she stuffed some more chips into her mouth, her phone lit up with a new text. She rolled over on her side, hugging a large shark plushie. Also, Ferdinand was yelling for her downstairs. NEW MESSAGE FROM ▆̢̛̤̝̬͇̖̘̋̍͐̂͒͡▆̡̩͓̣̝͚͔͊̐̾̉̿̃̑͂̃̚͟͟ͅ▆̢̬̲͔̤̐̒̑̽͝:̛̯͚͚͍͖͈̍̃̓͝͝ ▆▆▆: download the file b4 i erase the chat [doc.insert] xoxoxoxo: hayyy ;) like hows my bby doin <3 ▆▆▆: ffs just download the thing xoxoxoxo: i alreaky did lol xoxoxoxo: *already ▆▆▆: k not gonna ask why you need this shit xoxoxoxo: rlly?? sounds like u wanna kno xoxoxoxo is typing.. ▆▆▆: if someone breaks into my place preaching some villainy bullshit i am going to be super pissed ▆▆▆: outta here THIS CONVERSATION CAN NO LONGER BE FOUND. She pouted, dropping the phone. "Man, the kid's a real—" "CICERO!" Her door slammed open with a force of a thousand-pound viking. "ARGH—" Cicero fell off the sofa and cracked her rear. "WHAT THE SHIT, FERDIE? And—can't you just call me Roxy? God—" Ferdinand was a hunky-looking punk filled with tattoos and piercings topped with a slick-back ginger hairdo. Roxanne thought the freckles on his face made him look less serious. "I've been fuckin' calling you for the last 30 seconds, you deaf-ass cunt!" Also, he had a potty mouth. "You got a client downstairs, so get." "I—what? I thought I asked Neil for a day off!" Ferdinand shrugged, watching Roxy groggily push herself up from the chip-stained carpet. "I dunno. Some tall-ass kid came in and started lookin' for you. Think he said he was, eh.. Kal? Cal?" Roxanne groaned in a long reply, feeling for pants in her tiny living space filled with clothes, pillows, plushies, and Steve. Steve was a shiba inu breed of dog or whatever they call it. "Specifically me?" She pushed Steve away from the large window and got the pants from under him. "Ughh, why does it have to be me? Can't it be you? Or Michelle?" . . . No reply. Probably because Ferdinand left the door wide open and stormed his way downstairs. Son of a—she jumped over the sofa on her fours then fixed her hair into a slightly less messier bun. Afterwards, she grabbed her shoes and vanished out of thin air. It was like she materialized beside the dorm entrance and shut the door behind her. Few seconds later of walking around and trying to spot a young man, Roxy was kindly gestured toward the right direction. And by gesture, it was Ferdinand cupping her face with one hand and making her look to the left. Ah. He was waiting patiently like a good tall boy. Though relatively small, the salon was cozy. And unlike most shops in Palgard, it was squeaky clean. "Hey!" She skidded towards him, like a puppy. "Cal, right? Can I call you Callie? My name's Roxanne—but obviously that's too long—so you can call me Roxy." Her apron was tied ontop her croptop, hiding her naked stomach and decorating her in shiny tools galore. A black cart a distance away was pulled beside them using her foot, rummaging through the items and running bandaged fingers through her snow-white locks. Roxy pressed her hands against the soft-leather salon chair, staring red eyes into the mirror and it's reflection. She smiled then, not a single trace of makeup to be seen on her dewy complexion. Well, except the lipstick. It was pretty glossy. "Well, aren't you handsome? Look at you!" She pinched Calvin's cheeks with childish glee, as if she were her older sister. "You adorable little devil. I just wanna eat you up!" Roxy mused, ignoring whatever personal space he so desires. Then all of a sudden, as if to threaten the lighthearted mood, she pulled out a pair of dangerously long scissors. And a spray bottle, of course. "So how may I be of service, sweetheart?" Snip—snip.

hi my names cyanide and i like y'all

Speechless. What was there to say? Blood was imbued with color. The annihilation of innocent life was towering before her as a grandiose display of artistic expression. The beauty of it all ate at her conscience the longer she stared deeply into the corpse painted so lovingly, prepared so delicately—that the more she thought of how this thing was prepared—the more it caused her to gag at the realization that brought her fingers cold and her knees so weak they refused to help her stand. Raine didn't refuse to acknowledge that this was a human. She knew—she just knew. You can't just imitate the human body so intimately that the flies come flocking toward it no matter how much of them you drive away. Was this what the people here believe to be beautiful? But all of them are perplexed, some are vomiting from the sight, and the whispers and gossip still deafen the noises of the insects that fed on it. This wasn't normal. No way in hell was this normal. The scent of blood and paint pulls the bile from her throat. It was horridly intoxicating; the way the two mixed together seemed all too perfect to get either drunk on it or have you throw up your guts the moment you take a whiff of it. She reels away from the scene, rushes to get away from that carcass painted on a canvas. It's not safe to stay in Casper when there's a sick artist—a sick killer running around these lovely shops and endearing bakeries. Her hand is affixed to her mouth, fighting back the vomit crawling into her teeth as she hugs her robe; yearning for safety, begging for company. But she knows she'll be alone until the night comes. Who did this? And—why? Why do they have the talent to transform a boy into a disemboweled piece of sick art? Why is it that in her eyes that, she too, believed that it was disgustingly beautiful? One thing is for certain; she won't be lonely anytime soon.

LOVE IS A REBELLIOUS BIRD. ________________________________________________________________ It'd been weeks since he first set foot in the halls of Ravenel Manor to serve again. He believed this gesture of his was laughable, but that amusement was silenced with a scolding. Unlike the Izora family, Pluto was not bound to a life of service. He was bound by duty, bound by loyalty, but he was not bound by blood. He knows this all too well. He knows how much Shirin has become envious of his time of freedom while she continued to serve. When he first arrived, she couldn't even bring herself to look at him. It stirred a sense of discomposure in him, discomforted by the possibility of perhaps, ruining a past relationship because of the unavoidable feeling of envy. It was annoying. Irritating. Unpleasant. It shouldn't matter to him, so why? He wasn't even the slightest distraught when Strom was deemed dead, so why was something as little, as miniscule as this ripping him apart? Gloved hands gripped tightly on the broom's handle. He hadn't noticed that he was standing there, not cleaning, but fussing over something so irrelevant that it caused him to pause and look down at the ground with a twitching eye. This was only temporary. An act of reluctant kindness to wipe the dust away from an iron palace and a royal family. If he decides to leave, then he's nothing but the same old foolish crow who escaped his cage longing for freedom years ago. If ever it happens that he decides to stay—then he'll stay in that cage with clipped wings. For now, he's decided to finish up and move on to watering the flowers. He pats down his stained apron and failed to wipe off the ash smeared across his ceramic cheek. He'd rather clean and clean some more before he goes off any longer—but it was a miracle that he hadn't lingered over the failed assassination attempt of the Hildebrands and the state of the Lady Hildebrand. He remembers that when they'd first arrived, bleeding, wounded, and sobbing until Aspen couldn't cry anymore tears, Pluto was so distressed that he'd watch over the siblings for days until they would tell him that it was alright to leave. The seneschal winced. The day was bright and the sun wasn't as close as scorching the knights to death. After placing down the broom, he picked up the watering can and made his way to the flowers decorated at the corners of the training grounds. His movements made noises you would expect from a walking statue. Pluto frowned. The flowers are already dead.

candie scarborough: i think gaia's cool also candie scarborough: