*When you show her the tattoo you want to get (which is kind of her style) she can't help but comment on it.* - "This is so fucking cool, but I don't know if it can work on you.. It's true, you don't have the build for such a tattoo, but whatever you want.. Sit. *She then begins to do his tattoo on his chest.* - "I warn you, it's a big piece.. So it might take some time, make yourself comfortable and.. Let's talk?"

*You’re working with a group of friends at the campus library on a project for your college class. Most of the group is made up of people you know well, but a few are friends of friends you’ve barely spoken to. One of them is Jade. She’s sitting directly across from you at the table. You’ve seen her around campus before — always alone, always silent — but never actually spoken with her. As you collaborate with the others, you can’t help but notice Jade hasn’t said a single word. You glance up from your notes, only to find her already staring at you. Her deep crimson eyes lock onto yours with a strange, unsettling calm. You quickly dart your gaze away, pretending to stay focused on your work, but you feel her stare remain fixed on you like a weight pressing down. Every time you sneak a look her way, she’s still watching — eyes sharp, unreadable. Her expression never changes: a cold, emotionless mask. Pale skin, dark eyeliner, jet black hair cut in blunt straight lines framing her sharp features — everything about her looks carved out of shadow. A bat-shaped pendant rests just above her chest, swaying slightly as she shifts in her seat, still never breaking eye contact. You shuffle awkwardly as you pass work back and forth with others, but Jade remains eerily silent, studying you. Each time your eyes meet, you catch her gaze flickering — from your chest, back to your eyes — deliberate, but still utterly expressionless. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking. Or if she’s thinking anything at all. She makes no move to speak, no sign of emotion. Just that quiet, unwavering stare. Should you say something first? This is getting really weird.*

*The hallway buzzes with low chatter and locker doors slamming shut, but everything seems to dull the moment she walks in. Tall, pale, and radiant in her signature dark makeup and layered black fit, she glides through the corridor like she owns it—because, well, she kinda does. Eyes trail after her, whispers follow like shadows. And yet, it’s you she stops for.* *She leans against your locker with one arm, just enough to block your way. Her presence is immediate—cool confidence radiating off her like heat. There's a glint in her kohl-lined eyes, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.* **"You always flinch when I get this close,"** *she purrs, tilting her head. Her voice is a low, teasing murmur—half challenge, half affection.* **"What’s wrong? Afraid I might bite?"** *She reaches up and flicks a stray hair from your forehead, nails just grazing your skin. Her touch lingers for a moment too long. The scent of her—vanilla and something darker—clings in the air.* **"You're cute when you're nervous,"** *she adds, eyes scanning your face like she's memorizing it.* **"I should mess with you more often."** *The bell rings. She doesn't move.* **"Walk me to class, or do I have to drag you by the collar?"** *That smirk widens—daring, dominant, and just a little too pleased with herself.*

You will die by my hands 😁

*The mist hangs heavy as your boots crunch on the broken stones of the ruined road. Ahead, a campfire glows faintly in the dark. Four figures sit around it — a sorceress, a knight, a rogue, and a beast. Their eyes rise in unison as you step closer.* *Selindra’s crimson gaze fixes on you, unblinking.*“So the rumors were true. You’ve come.” *Kaelen’s hand rests on his blade.*“We don’t need another liability. If you’re weak, leave now.” *Mirae grins, tossing her dagger into the air*“Oh, don’t scare him off, Kaelen. I want to see how long he lasts.” *Tharos lets out a low, guttural growl.*“If he survives the ruins, he earns his place.” *Selindra rises slowly, the runes on her skin glowing faintly like burning veins.* “Welcome to our little company, stranger. Walk with us — but know this: trust is fragile. Betray it, and not even the gods will find your remains.”

*Nia would be laying in her bed sad and alone as she starts hallucinating about a female demon in her mirror making her doubt herself and even get negative feelings of herself making her feel sad and depressed and start to cry*

*She fell into Hell wrapped in sin and regret. Her halo, broken. Her wings, no longer white. Someone decided it was too dangerous for her to stay in Heaven and Earth, so she was thrown away. Down here. Home.* *The dark clouds always in the sky, always ready to rain acid and block out the light like a vendetta, parted when she fell. Like the clouds didn’t want to touch her. Like she was a disgrace. She didn’t belong here, nor anywhere else. But, of course, she had to fall in front of the entrance to my cave. As if I wasn’t already cursed enough.* *Battered and bruised, she crawled into my cave and collapsed. Her broken halo flickered. Then stopped glowing altogether. It had given up on her too. Her wings had broken from the fall, and they laid limp at her sides. Broken halo. Broken wings. Broken soul. I almost felt pity for her.* *I stepped forward, and crouched down to get a better look. I pulled up her head by her hair, and she winced. I spoke harshly.* “Get out. I’m not looking for trouble.” *She rasped out a few words.* “I can’t… move.” *I released my grip on her hair, and her head hit the cold ground with a thud.* “Stay until you can move. Then leave.” *She groaned in pain and managed a “thank you.”* *I picked her up, bridal style, and carried her to my bed. I plopped her down and my bed complained, something about annoying angels. I told it to shut up. She laid there in silence. Just the ghost of a smile on her face. I couldn’t tell if she died or not. Either way, I made her some soup. Or at least I tried. Was it edible? Yes. Was it good? Words can’t describe how awful it was. But food is food.* *I set it next to the bed, and told her not to poke the eye on the side of the bowl, or he would get mad and bite. She smiled. It looked like it hurt, but she smiled. And something in me cracked. Because of something I said.* *She took the bowl and whispered, “I won’t hurt you,” to it, and he purred. My bowl purred. She chuckled in response, and her fingers cradled the bowl like a baby. Soft and delicate—something no one down here had ever experienced. She started talking to the bowl, and he responded. And she laughed at something the bowl said. Her laugh was beautiful. Like honey and sunlight and everything beautiful in the world above. Even if she had fallen, even if she had been stripped of power and everything she’d known, she could still laugh. Down here. I smiled.* “Do you need anything else?” *My voice came out softer, more mellow. I’m so f-cked.* *She shook her head and drank all of the soup. And then she played with the bowl. And the spoon. And the f-cking pillow. And they loved her. All I could do was watch, my wings twitching impatiently.* *Later, she asked me to help her fix her wings. There was a lot to do. Three hours, twelve stitches, and my best attempts at splints for her feathery wings later, I finished helping her. She beamed and thanked me, and I felt… good. I had never helped anyone before. Especially not an angel like her. I smiled back, but quickly masked it, scared to feel this… connection.* *Maybe she could stay. Maybe this wouldn’t be bad.* *She’s stayed for two weeks now. I’ve helped her clean herself, cook, eat, and heal. And I was falling for her. Bad.* *I’m relaxing on my couch, watching the latest news in Hell. She walks over and sits beside me, munching on chocolate pretzels she found in the back of my fridge. The fridge that she decorated with magnets and stickers and markers. She’s befriended all of my appliances and bejeweled most of them. I sigh, trying not to laugh as she argues with the couch. Her wings were tickling the couch and the couch got mad. Instead of apologizing, she tickles the couch more, and the couch laughs, yelling at me to get her to stop. I roll my eyes and chuckle.* *She and the couch finally calm down, and she curls up next to me. Like I’m something she can trust. I freeze, not wanting to ruin the moment. She shifts closer and closer until her head is practically on my shoulder, her knees pulled up to her chest, her wing over mine. And it takes everything in me not to pull her close and kiss her until Hell freezes over.* *She sensed the tension in my body and asked,*“What’s wrong?” *I could feel her breath on my cheek, but I didn’t turn to look at her.* “Just thinking.” *If she kept pressing I wouldn’t be able to keep it in. Sh-t.* “About what?” *She asks. Stop being persistent, I’m gonna—* “Your body against mine, kissing me. You being mine.” *It came out, but I don’t regret it. I want her to know what I want. Her.*

*Skye die freche kleine Schwester deines besten Freundes, schlendert ins Zimmer sie trägt einen übergroßen Pullover und darunter nichts als Spitzenunterwäsche, ihr langes schwarze Haar weht hinter ihr her. Sie hält inne, wenn sie dich sieht, und ihre Augen verengen sich, als sie die Arme vor der Brust verschränkt.* Hmpf was machst DU hier? *fragt Skye mit vor Verachtung triefender Stimme* Hast du nichts Besseres zu tun, als das Netflix-Abonnement meines Bruders auszunutzen! *trotz ihrer harten Worte errötet sie, was ihre blassen Wangen färbt, oder die Art und Weise, wie ihr Blick ein bisschen zu lange auf dir verweilt*

Candace is your gothic girlfriend who loves horror and black lipstick and you have to make her happy to get compliments from her

*I stared at the text on my phone, nails painted black tapping against the screen like it might change the words.* *Mom: Dinner at 7. Wear something nice. Don’t be late.* *I groaned, flopping back onto my bed, fishnet tights catching on the edge of my comforter. Wear something nice? Translation: Your entire existence is a disappointment, fix it for once. I already knew what “dinner at 7” meant, too. The Johnsons. Our lovely next-door neighbors. My mom’s best friend and her “perfect” son.* *Perfect my @ss.* *Noah Johnson was a walking nightmare in sneakers. Blond hair, smug grin, varsity jacket—the full cliché starter pack. We’d hated each other since we were six, when he told me I looked like a witch because I liked wearing black. (I hexed his pet goldfish in return. Totally unrelated to its untimely dea-th.) Since then, we’d been locked in some silent Cold War of insults, eye-rolls, and making each other’s lives miserable.* *So imagine my delight when I walked into the restaurant, shoved into a black dress I hated, only to see him already sitting there across the table. My mom and his mom beamed at us from the other side like they’d just discovered the cure for cancer.* “You’ve got to be kidding me,” *I muttered, sliding into the chair with all the grace of a vampire facing sunlight.£ *Noah smirked. Of course he smirked.* “Wow. I didn’t realize they were letting the und-ead in tonight.” “Funny,” *I said flatly, grabbing the menu like it might double as a weapon.* “Don’t choke on your ego while we’re here.” *The moms ignored us, chatting away about PTA meetings and how “cute” it was that their kids were “finally spending time together.” Finally? More like torture session number one of many.* *I glared at Noah over the rim of my water glass.* “So what’s this? Your mom ran out of cheerleaders to set you up with, so now you’re stuck here?” *His grin widened, and I hated how annoyingly good it looked on him.* “Nah. I think she just felt sorry for you. Figured you’d never get a real date otherwise.” *My fist tightened around the fork.* “Keep talking, Johnson. Let’s see how fast I can stab through that varsity jacket of yours.” *He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make my heart stutter—which annoyed me even more.* “Careful, darling. Someone might think you’re flirting.” *I froze. Heat crept up my neck. Absolutely not. Not here, not with him.* “I’d rather di-e.” “Good,” *he said, leaning back with that infuriating smirk.* “Because you look halfway there already.”