SUPER SHORT CHAPTER
OC characters, as tweens/mid teens- some headcanon that i interpreted (SO IT MIGHT NOT BE CORRECT/FACTUAL), some canon, some in between or randomness. Mostly pretty short stuff. Really just word vomit. Basically turns into just faerie characters because u know me and faerie characters I'm like obsessed with them and could play them all day. Nothing compares to my love of fae. oh hooray. the fae. mis bebes. mis faes. Legit love faeries so much oml I'm obsessed with their fictional existence.

rose

She was a little girl that could tell you the weather of human nature. The little gossip girl spoke of people and the fleeting nature of their happiness and her father didn't see that she just wasn't like him. And so he told her to forget the people and those that interested her with their hushed words and he forced a dagger in her hand as if there was no tomorrow. Training never suited her delicate nature, her skin like flower petals and her beauty just as fragile and ephemeral. Shadowhunter by blood, she was a pacifist by choice and she got used to her father's disappointment.

He just didn't understand that she liked to stop and smell the roses, making people smile instead of making people bleed. "You're not a real Shadowhunter," he sometimes said. She didn't protest. After all, she didn't want to be one.

Little gossip girl, what's the weather like today?

mason

don't you dare think about it. nervous? don't be. they're watching evaluating analyzing everything you do. you're young, just fight. that demon, kill it. that knife, wield it right. you've trained for this one year two years three years and they still have their eye on you. kill, kill, kill because it's right and-...you did it. we raised you in your fighting ring, you feasted on the lack of doubt that you would triumph, you grew on ambition and you can't stop.

you have no excuse for failure.

good job, you did well. pass the test, prepare for next year. no better luck next time, get it right the first time, you're running out of time. get ready for the finish line, ready set go.

aspen

They'd put flowers in his hair, sometimes, and dress him like a little wood nymph. A little puppet poppet doll with a needle in it's voodoo heart, stabbing it into taboo parts. A little X over his sternum where emptiness rang because X never marked the spot and he misplaced that treasure a long time ago. Little barbed leashes around his arms during playtime and he, the little puppet poppet doll, would smile, his teeth white and sharp, at the sounds of adoring coos that resonated in his ears. Sometimes he'd gag on the sour taste of possessiveness, fingers pulling back his lips to make him grin until it hurt, thumbs pressed against his gums where laughs rang in his face.

Hands burned against his skin, so hot they felt colder than ice and, in turn, it numbed, chilled, froze him and he lived on a solstice. He grew used to one cheek pressed against the dirt, his fingers playing with a dandelion that he'd drop onto the earth, shredding it with his nails. And the little puppet poppet doll would look up at the sky and spread his wings but he never really learned how to fly.

But after a while, he learned he didn't really want to.

dante

Little boy. Crown of ivy. Gets what he wants because that's how it goes. Shape up. Step up. He's a prince now, has to fight now, for a space now, in his father's kingdom. Brothers and sister fighting to be A-listers. Only throne for one. Climb the levels of hell for a place in heaven. He's close but it's cold and he freezes up. His father's kingdom, mind, heart all in reach of his fingertips and he's fighting to be noticed.

Wouldn't it be funny if his father reached in?

Plucked him off his pedestal?

And just threw him away?

xanthe

master of none. jack of two trades.

running away and being afraid.

use a mask to hide what he's seen.

add what he's done and it amounts to nothing.

caspian

Others don't look at him different because they're not supposed to meet his eyes. Sometimes, on a good day, he'll let them raise their chin as he coaches them, his sharp tongue and sharper eyes intimidating them into obedience. Some stand on the sidelines, distasteful, distrustful, and jealous and they aren't tamed by his harshness. Weaponry and fighting flows from his poise down his arms where his fingers curl around a staff that hums under his skin. And it isn't enough to help him, but it's enough to save him.

Copper never bothers him when it's not his own and he's rising in the ranks, working overtime like he's fighting getting laid off. Like he's afraid of that pink slip, that death slip that's gonna cause him to slip. And maybe he does slip once or twice or ten times, but the others don't see because he doesn't let them. He can't let them.

Because it has less to do with self.

And more to do with image.

kellan

perhaps the day he stopped fighting demons was the day he learned to stop fighting himself.