I don’t know whether you wanted a prompt for drawing or writing, but here it is: Demyx tries to be sneaky, while watching Zexion in the library, but he ends up knocking down an entire shelf or something only Demyx could pull off.
—
Demyx had first noticed before how beautiful Zexy was when he was reading while they were propped up on the musician’s bed. He was strumming away on Arpeggio while the other had his nose stuck in a book. It was by chance that he happened to look up and see it.
In most cases, Zexion liked how Demyx talked; he liked the way his mouth formed the words and the way his voice made them sound. As a lover of words, he did have a preference for certain pronunciations and a particular cadence to the syllables, and Demyx did have a knack for making even the most complicated of words roll off the tongue. But sometimes, Zexion just needed a little piece and quiet.
He learned early on in his relationship that the best way to made Demyx calm down and stay still was to read to him. They would sit wrapped up in each other while Zexion read a book. At first, he discovered it on a fluke. Demyx was asking questions every few seconds about what Zexion was reading, until finally he just started reading aloud. Even now, months later, it’s found a way into their evening tradition. For at least half an hour, they would sit down and Zexion would read aloud to the blonde while Demyx traced patterns into Zexion’s arm.
It took a long time, though, for the darker haired male to realize that he wasn’t just aimlessly tracing. After a while, he realized that Demyx was tracing words. It took a lot of practice to be able to pay attention to both the words on the page and deciphering the words on his arm.
Zexion almost choked when he first recognized the three word phrase.
Here you go guys! This is a cover for my new fic on AO3, entitled “Guitarra de Calaveras”. It tells the story of Coco as the guitar may have seen it, and you can find it here:
I know that in the original idea for Coco there was some talk about Héctor being a tour guide through the land of the dead. That he worked for low pay in basic customer service and hated his job.
Well, I’d like to post an alternative.
Instead of a tour guide for adults, he works with newly transitioned children, because for some reason, he would be the only guide able to calm the little ones down when they first appeared.
The other tour guides had tried their luck- but all returned with crying, terrified little ones, with too many questions and far too many tears, hiding behind volumes of law and stacks of baggage claim papers from the scary skeletons that loomed above them.
It was their lowest paid worker who crouched before a shaking eight year old boy and carefully reached out to pass a hand through black, unruly locks. “Ay, niño, it’s alright! Hey, hey, heyheyhey- it’s alright.” Bigger hands folding over little ones, pushing up a face, carefully reaching behind to the counter besides the stacks of papers stamped with the Bureau seal to pick out a few tissues. “Oye, it’s alright. Estas bien, chico.”
Héctor had always been a tall man, and so sliding down to the floor, back against the desk, his long legs disrupting the social workers moving to and fro and pointing glares in his direction, was no easy feat. Still, he pulled the child close enough to hum old, unfinished ballads and let the child experimentally toy with his skeletal fingers. He’d flex them. Watch the child’s eyes widen. Watch the child observe their own new hand do the same.
“See?” he’d always say with a gentle laugh, adjusting little cotton shirts and wiping runny noses. “Not so scary, am I!”
Héctor always got a name (Tomás) and always got an age (tengo ocho años, señor) and always made them laugh at some absurd joke while the guide from before watched slack jawed and envious.
“How about you and I go to explore la ciudad. I know a place that makes el pan dulce más maravilloso and then you and I will go find your family, ey?” The boy (or girl, whatever child it was, and there would be many, many children) clung tight to his hand and nodded fiercely and followed along, the eyes of the unsuccessful watching them retreat.
It would be jealousy that would fuel the anger of his coworkers. “Héctor the Spector,” they’d call him behind his back. “Seen to the children, but never by his own family.” And another would make a sound rife with ire in agreement and say “he’ll never cross the bridge anyway. Might as well be of some use here.”
Héctor just clenched his fists and focused on his work. Because through the jeers and barbs, he still managed to find children’s families- to relocate and rehome without much trouble.
No one ever knew why Héctor was so good with the children.
Because obviously all the best ideas come before 8am, I decided to be brave and open fanfiction.net again to look for all my old favourite fics. I have no idea if these are as good as I remember or if memories simply grow sweeter with time.
The bolded ones are my absolute favourites. Also, if you have triggers I suggest you read with caution; it’s been years and honestly I can’t remember. Some of them include stuff like noncon/dubcon, gore, character death, mentions self-harm and suicide, abuse and violence. Hello I am trash.
Anyway, fics:
The Violet Room ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: 13/? ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ: T ɢᴇɴʀᴇs: drama, romance
While working a psychology internship, Myde is given the challenge of analyzing Ienzo, a mysterious patient who spends his days writing on the walls of his hospital room. But when the story of ‘Zexion’ and ‘Demyx’ starts to sound familiar…
I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Demyx. I’m a joke, a fraud, a phony. I don’t know how it all happened; I hadn’t meant for it to. I found a notebook on the bus, I read it, I became hopelessly obsessed. It wasn’t something I’d meant to go so far.
When Demyx goes to college, he wants to learn and get his degree. He doesn’t want to have a roommate who refuses to speak, a drifter who decides to live in his room, or fall in love. Too bad what Demyx wants is not what Demyx gets.
Axel is a powerful vampire slayer who’s captured Zexion, a vampire, as his pet. What Axel doesn’t bargain on is Demyx, his former student, developing a strong attraction to Zexion…
*I’m pretty sure this one has almost every trigger warning mentioned above.
After a slightly traumatising encounter, Demyx fears his gaydar to be broken. So he comes up with a new way of identifying gay people. By selling perfume.
Demyx is all about graduating without ever stepping foot inside the band room, but that’s out the window faster than you can say “HUT” when he sees that gray-haired drummer. It may be social suicide, but it’s also the boy of his dreams.
Razorblade Shine ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: 18/18 ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ: M ɢᴇɴʀᴇs: romance, hurt/comfort
After Zexion’s brother dies, Demyx is what little consolation he has left.
*self-harm tw
Dear Diary ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: 1/1 ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ: T ɢᴇɴʀᴇs: friendship, romance
I started my blog in sophomore year of high school. During the three years that I actively wrote, only one person ever commented on my posts. I fell in love with this formless, anonymous individual. I’m such a fool.
Keys and Kissing ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: 22/22 ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ: M ɢᴇɴʀᴇs: mystery, romance
Demyx is your average rookie detective, hoping to make a difference, but what happens when a new murderer emerges and Twilight Town’s only hope lies within the hands of a convicted killer?
Somewhere in the distance, a train blew its whistle. He made the puppets dance. When you’re dying, hope is all that’s left.
Pants ‘R’ Us ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: 1/1 ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ: T ɢᴇɴʀᴇs: humor, romance
Demyx, an up-and-coming rock star, has tons of adoring fans. But he doesn’t seem to care about his personal safety, so his best friends Axel and Roxas decide to put a stop to Demyx’s carefree attitude towards his fans. By hiring a…stalker?
Zexion is bored at work one day when his most regular customer comes in looking for a coffin…for a fish! Will he be able to comfort Demyx after the loss?
Prince Zexion must travel to a lost water temple in order to end the worse drought the kingdom has ever seen. Along the way, he learns a lot about the minstrel who is his guide, but more about himself.
In which Zexion represses a lot and Demyx is vaguely suggestive. And then there is much in the way of cliched stupidity.
One Day More ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: 5/5 ʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ: T ɢᴇɴʀᴇs: drama, romance
In a school where secretaries are whores, principals try to molest students, excited blonds are incapable of coming out of the closet, and the counselor is kissing the choir teacher… who knew the fall musical would be a success?
*that summary… leaves a lot to be desired. idk like i said i haven’t read these in years.
The Org has taken over the Islands and the only way for Axel, Roxas, Sora and Riku to take them down is by making Demyx befriend #6. Demyx isn’t too jolly about being the key…
Darkness is only the absence of light. For Zexion, Number Six in the Organization, there is no light until he meets the eccentric music store owner, Demyx. But is Demyx the key to unraveling the Organization’s control over the Islands? And can the agents of the Lustitia keep him safe long enough for him to save Zexion?
*heavy breathing because i had no idea there was a new version bYE
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from
exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more
exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time
it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed
in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed,
creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with
all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are
tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the
utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled
walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever
known has lived in such an, ah, dated,
home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if
they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all.
Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen,
going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge
cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip
beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys
and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash
of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top,
as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger.
It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into
this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of
the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish
towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her
neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess
being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and
a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but
there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets
her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless)
grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year!
You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear!
Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a
heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite
figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem
to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I
don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t
mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or
maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a
few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a
bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear,
because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded
in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only
because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and
shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear
and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record
books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues,
while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or
how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have
gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic
that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans
would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into
the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why
it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully,
so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine
with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman
returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you
since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love
wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the
corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have
had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some
cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a
generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It
smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated
with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t
seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that
smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two
small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the
rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some
difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank
you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners
regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so
deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity
for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright,
dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood
without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s
ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love
that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You
never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I
just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime.
I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her
rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t
believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind
that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as
well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only
finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning
circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the
library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the
winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket
over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders
and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s
clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.
Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.
Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that.
With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.
Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.
Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.”
The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground.
He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case.
Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson.
The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
I think now that we’re in 2017 we can stop villainizing the witch from Hänsel and Gretel. Some kids ate her house. She gets to eat them. It was a fair deal.
counterpoint: Hänsel and Gretel were led out into the woods to starve at the urging of their mother, so both parents don’t have to ration any more food for them during hard times. Hänsel and Gretel were underfed and desperate, and when life gives you a gingerbread house in that state, you eat the windowsill and the front stoop and every gumdrop you can find.
conclusion: if the witch prompted the children to explain themselves she’d realize it was ultimately parents’ neglect that led them to this point.
solution: eat the parents. everyone wins!
Not the solution I was expecting, but honestly, yeah, it makes sense.
Stop talking and start doing: My Fallout Shelter for my Tumblr blog 