Franciscoamore‌:

At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.

Frida Kahlo (via wnq-art)

opheliancano​:

@silaskyun​

An incubus is capable of recognizing furies. Ophelia knows this, and dislikes it heavily. So why is she hanging around one of their kind, again? The thought is slightly perplexing, and one she does not readily have an answer to. Perhaps it’s because she finds him interesting — of that she has no problem admitting. And incubuses were created to sow chaos and harm, and she hasn’t quite decided on how much of a threat he poses to the good people of the city yet, so maybe that’s it too. He visits the tea shop, she visits his knick knack store; it feels like a delicate game being played, each side sizing the other up and taking notes. Yet for all her reasons and excuses, the one she least of all wants to acknowledge is the simple fact that… well, she wanted to. And here they are now, standing in front of what appears to be a dart throwing competition, at a celebration she never would have dreamed about in her lifetime. Ophelia smiles and turns to her companion. “Well Silas, how’s your aim?” 

So he was more than just a little curious about the tea shop waitress, the incubus was allowed the right. It wasn’t just that his senses would buzz the moment Ophelia would find her way around him, holding onto much of the same interest as himself, but the intrigue of who she was and what made her tick. They shared similar qualities and maybe that was part of it. Both quiet, but much like an iceberg— the two of them held many layers of depth underneath. “Rusty,” he replied honestly, grabbing for one of the darts and shifting his body for a good aim. Years had gone by since the last time the incubus had actually attempted a game such as this, but he tried anyway and watched as his dart missed the desired target. A defeated smile emerged as he turned to look at Ophelia, wondering if she was choking back a giggle and moved to let her continue the game. “Definitely much better at being moral support than playing the game, it seems,” Silas wasn’t all that upset about it, spending much of his life being on the outskirts looking in and finding comfort in the position.

Drunk humans were always effortless. Especially late in a town with tourists around every corner, unfamiliar with their surroundings and all too trusting. And Silas was starving. After almost a week of not feeding, the cubi would have tried for just about anyone but this at least took less energy. Which, if he was being honest, didn’t have much to spare. The trek just to get to Styx felt like decades and each group of foreigners had him salivating. With a quick slip, Silas could cause one of them to stagger far away enough from their friends that they wouldn’t have noticed for blocks. That could give him plenty of time, but his feet kept hitting the pavement forward.

A small line still hung outside of the club, one of which Silas knew he would never have to wait in and couldn’t help a snicker. He gave the bouncer a gentle nod before bypassing the threshold into the booming melodies. A regular at his shop, his wife had requested a custom bookshelf not even a year back and the access had helped Silas immensely. Strokes of red and purple added an aura to the cubi that in daylight, he frankly didn’t possess. Maybe it also had something to do with the hunger and he quickly found himself perched at the bar top, scanning the crowd before requesting a cocktail. It was a simple cover, but that was all it took for most humans to think he was simply one of them.

@kasandrarosales​

kasandrarosales‌:

A wallflower. Not the first and certainly not the last of that particular personality breed. Were she more favorable towards potential prey, perhaps Kasandra might even take an opportunity to understand them on a deeper level. As it were, she felt a bit more consistent with the current monotony of her life: seduce, feed, release into the wild once more. Avoid names, avoid faces, and above all, avoid connection. Most deserved the unbearable ache of emptiness which followed them afterwards, but whether this patron also earned a hellish remainder to his mortality had yet to be determined. 

“My club seems to draw those types in like moths to a flame.” The most recent conversation with Leighton quickly surfacing within her mind. Even as she spoke, Kasandra began pouring herself a similar glass to match his and although she preferred wine above all else, mimicry of another tended to lend itself to favorability. People search for a familiar habit, any thread of affinity worth latching onto when in the midst of a natural allure. “I would have noticed you. In here, at the very least.” Bringing the glass to parted lips, she pulls it away just before speaking. “Are you waiting on someone?”

Yet the cubi knew he had flown under her radar, though his presence within the club was not frequent or long lasting when it occurred. Regardless of the perception, Silas’s main and usually only reason for coming into a place like this was his cursed hunger. There was, however, a detail of her comment that he couldn’t fully ignore. My club. Which explained why she would notice individuals, they were all her paying customers and patrons. It was still odd that she hadn’t noticed him, though this just went to show how skilled the cubi’s irish goodbye had really become. Come inside the club, find the easiest human to feed off of, leave without a trace of his existence within. Not such a bad thing in his mind.

After a gentle head shake, his charcoal hues locked into her own and gave a smile, “No.” Not as if Silas really needed to lie about that fact. He was with no one and no one would be coming up to him stating otherwise, “Just needed to get out. I run a shop on my own and while the silence is nice for a while, social interaction — I’ve heard — is essential for humans.” A chuckle and another sip before he attempted to turn the attention towards herself, “I couldn’t help but notice you say this was your club, how long have you owned it?”

Because the world is so full of death and horror, I try again and again to console my heart and pick the flowers that grow in the midst of hell.

Hermann Hesse, Narcissus and Goldmund (via wordsnquotes)

This didn’t exist when I was a kid. I didn’t get to see Glenn. I didn’t get to see a fully formed Asian-American person on my television, where you could say, “That dude just belongs here.” Kids, growing up now, can see this show and see a face that they recognize. And go, “Oh my god. That’s my face too.

kieratandanu‌:

      “Hand wrapped? What a service.” Kiera smiled as she leaned over the boxes, considering her choice for a moment. Her aunt was an affectionate woman though, and so she quickly made her decision and pointed towards the box with the words on them. “I think I’ll take that one. I think she’ll love it.” She also liked reusing boxes such as this one, so Kiera was happy with her choice as she leaned against the counter. “Do you hand wrap everything you sell?”, she asked curiously, always interested in how other people handled their shops, whether they involved food or not.

“Yes, especially when I know it's a gift,” he replied as his hands fiddled with paper and bubble wrap. The sound made it a bit hard for the cubi’s softer voice to talk over, but managed to get the message across regardless. It was nice to get questioned on his work, even for something as simple as hand wrapping. It meant that someone was interested in more than what they wanted, curious about the workings of others. “You see what I do daily, how about yourself?” charcoal hues were still fixed on the task at hand, but was always interested in how his customer’s lived and their day to day life.

lenavidalis​:

Though she only knew Silas for a brief amount of time in a customer-business owner type relationship, the witch was immediately drawn to him upon their first meeting and as time progressed, she found herself more and more attached. Something about him was endearing, and admittedly he was one of the most gentle people she knew. At his placations, the witch smiled sympathetically and nodded a little, content to drop the subject at his insistence despite her worry. “Okay, well… um, if you need anything, you can always call me, okay? I can bring you food or something if you don’t want to go out or you want some quiet company,” she offered.

“Anyway… um, I’ve got these. I tried not to bring too much because I didn’t know how much space you had available and I wasn’t sure how fast these would sell,” she explained as she turned the metal crane in her hand. The flat surfaces were unnaturally perfect, which was a hallmark of her ability as a metal manipulator. Where other metalworkers needed to polish their work, Lena could simply will it into existence, in a manner of speaking. It required years of practice, of course, but now metal bent to her will so easily that she hardly required thought to do more simplistic things. “I don’t have like… business cards or anything. Do I need those?” she asked.

That was one of the things he treasured about Lena, among the slew of other qualities about her that he held dear, she had a way of displaying unwavering compassion towards all things. A way of finding the light in all and giving even when she didn’t have to. “I’ll keep that in mind next time,” a warmth flooding his cheeks and holding onto his usual gentle grin, “Would beat the usual delivery services. A man can only eat so many takeaway gyros before he actually becomes one.” Though the incubus couldn’t exactly admit that after sleeping for twelve hours straight for five days in a row, what he starved for wasn’t anything that he wanted her to provide. Silas tried to snack on strangers, people that he didn’t know in his day to day life and could sever his empathy towards. But the quiet companionship would be more than delightful.

“No, not unless you would like to gain clients looking for commissions,” he stated, welcoming the change in topics and getting right back down to business, “If you are looking more to sell because you are inspired— I would say just leaving a trademark etching on your work is more than enough information for those who purchase them.” Simple advice, it wasn’t his place to tell someone how they should make their money or operate their trade. He could provide the platform for spreading the word about local artists that sought it out, maybe suggest things here and there, but anything more felt overbearing, “I think we have plenty of space for all you brought and I have plenty of items in the store that you can use as props to display them. Showcase them in an interesting way.”

up&up // coldplay

Yesterday’s fleamarket adventure