Scarf Demon

Ask me anything   YouTuber, Artist, Female Gentleman

twitter.com/ScarfDemon:

    Arxhan Angel-9

    Out in the depths, the surface of the lake began to bubble again. James gasped and rolled to where she had torn a parting in the reeds to spy through. She stretched out blindly for the radio and stopped.

    The bubbles had started to move, snaking forward towards the shoreline leaving a foamy trail behind them. James didn’t dare move, only her eyes followed the steady progress of the bubbles as they drew nearer to the wooden jetty close to her hiding place.

    As they reached shallow water, the bubbles stopped, the water erupted…and a finely dressed gentleman walked out of the lake, with a neatly folded newspaper.

    James’ mouth dropped open, her hand hovering, frozen beside the abandoned radio.

    The gentleman was completely dry and he whistled an upbeat tune as he strode purposefully up the bank and disappeared into a shroud of bushes.

    James was frozen in place staring after the gap in the leaves. Was it her imagination or were the branches beginning to close in on themselves, concealing the hole the gentleman had made? James did not blink, did not breath, but her hand began to scramble madly to her side, trying to feel for the radio. She found it in the same pile of rushes and dragged it by the antenna to raise it to her mouth.

    She began to whisper breathlessly, still not taking her eyes off of the bushes.

    “May… May can you hear me?”

    “Yes,” came the reply, clear as day. There was a crunch of footsteps on dry grass and James craned upwards to see her friends standing over her.

    — 3 hours ago
    #Arxhan Angel  #ScarfDemon 
    Arxhan Angel- 8

    The radio crackled lightly in James’ hand and a boy’s voice piped through.
    “We saw it, James,” it said flatly.
    The radio paused.
    “It’s all we’ve seen.”
    James noted the boredom in the boy’s voice and felt a little disappointed. This was supposed to be an adventure. They were hunting magic together!

    The radio came back to life.
    “We’re going to come to you, James,” came a high, excitable girl’s voice.
    James gave a startled look and frantically raised the radio, whispering into it with urgency.
    “No, May, Michael… stay where you are! Don’t move or you’ll miss something, we’re so close!”
    There was a pause.
    “May!”
    Nothing.
    “Michael?”
    The radio had gone quiet and James gave a frustrated sigh before dropping it onto a heap of dried rushes.
    There was so much time to kill.

    The summer holidays had arrived without warning in early June when an explosive accident in the school’s chemistry labs had destroyed half of the main building.
    It had come as a relief that the incident occurred on a weekend and no one was hurt.
    It had come as a surprise that the incident occurred on a weekend and there had been no one around to cause it.James had not hesitated to tell her friends that she suspected ghouls.James’ friends had not hesitated to ignore her.
    It wasn’t one of her most unusual theories, but now she had a much longer summer holiday in front of her and she was determined to start finding proof… not only for the untimely explosion of her school but for everything around her which she believed…

    No.

    Knew…was straight out of a fairytale.

     

    — 5 days ago
    #Arxhan Angel  #ScarfDemon 
    Arxhan Angel- 7 

    It must have been a trick of the mind, the sun playing on the water again.

    The air was heavy with heat and the sound of crickets carried from where they whirred lazily in the scorched grass; all around were shades of brown and blue.

    This summer had been relentless.

    Every night was met with downpours, but the rain was un-quenching and could not soak the baked, solid earth before being dried anew in the sun each morning.

    James could already feel the pressure and tautness of the afternoon, signalling the evening’s approaching storm.

    The surface of the lake bubbled briefly and became still again. There was no wind.

    “Friday, 2:46pm. Ripples on the water. Possible sighting,” James whispered into a radio whilst writing a similar note onto a scrappy pad of paper.

    Deep in this tangle of reeds laid the evidence of a long campaign. Snacks and wrappers were strewn about, a roll up bed had been left in a not-rolled-up state and a circle of neatly placed rocks surrounded their new owner.
    James had read about it in a book.
    Circles kept the bad spirits away.

    image

    — 1 week ago with 4 notes
    Arxhan Angel- Part 6

    He could not drive fast enough and thoughts of home spurred him on. He reflected on how good it would be to sleep in his own bed and how quickly he’d be able to forget about London and the star and the men in suits once he safely had slippers on.
    As brick and buildings faded once again into hedges and barns- good feelings sprung anew in Mr Trobmill.

    These feelings lasted exactly as long as it took for Mr Trobmill to pull into his own drive.
    His farm was still there. His shed was still there.
    His house wasn’t.
    Instead he was now the not-so-proud owner of an enormous smoking crater.

    Metallic debris and small pockets of flame surrounded the hole.

    Mr Trobmill’s mouth was agape and his hands shook as he stumbled clumsily, aghast, from his car. His legs trembled and the few shaky steps he took felt to him as though he were knee height in a swamp.

    “What…” he croaked.

    It was the most he able to say before a firm hand landed on his shoulder. Mr Trobmill was pivoted on the spot and found himself face to face with a man he did not know.
    A man with pointed ears and pale blue skin.
    A man wearing gloves that glowed.

    A man in a silver suit.
    The man raised his gloved hand and placed it steadily on Mr Trobmill’s forehead.
    “You may experience some déjà vu…”

    Then there was nothing but a sharp blue light.

                                                           *

    James sat up violently and stared out across the lake.

    It had only lasted a second but the glare of blue light had felt immediately like more than a memory. But as usual, it subsided as though it had never existed and James was left feeling rather foolish, sitting in the baking mud beside the water.

    — 1 week ago with 2 notes
    #Arxhan Angel  #ScarfDemon 
    5.

    He noticed the difference immediately and it was more jarring than the noise had been.

    It was eerily quiet.

    People milled about their usual way, getting on with things without gabbling or rushing excitably or making a lot of fuss. Everybody, like him, was now opting to keep their heads down and just not get in the way. He shuffled through the calmness of the shoppers, each with a similar blankness about them. He would have let it disturb him, but it was none of his business.

    He quickly forgot that anything had seemed out of place and simply felt relaxed and happy again that the high street was relatively normal.

    He plodded along the cobbles past people and shops, tucked cosily inside his jacket, with hands deep in his pockets letting his mind wander to happier places like his hearth or his chair or his bed. It wasn’t a much further drive north from the town to get to his little farmhouse out in the fields.

    All thoughts of suits and stars and worry were a distant haze in the back of his mind by the time he reached his car, still happily sat outside the pizzeria. He even still had time on the meter.

    He unlocked the car and yanked the door open and gave one last fleeting glance up the street.
    A little girl with red hair stood crying on the corner.
    She looked frightened, lost even.
    She couldn’t have been much older than four, yet she was completely alone.
    Mr Trobmill furrowed his brow.
    Her shoes were missing; the night gown she wore was caked in mud and dust.
    Her hair was singed.

    Mr Trobmill made a move towards her, but the sight of two approaching men made him freeze into place.

    They were dressed in silver suits and carried briefcases.
    They marched towards the little girl, who had not seen them, and Mr Trobmill decided he did not want to know about it anymore and ducked inside his car.
    He shook the image away and refused to look back or check his mirrors until he had safely pulled away from the kerb and was putting a good deal of distance between himself and the city centre.

    — 1 week ago with 2 notes
    rachelgoldfish asked: Well just to let you know, I'd buy it!


    Answer:

    Gosh! Thank you, you’re too kind! :D
    xxxxx

    — 1 week ago with 1 note
    4.


    He sat for his entire meal facing the window, out into the high street whilst Gordon repeated the same patter to every customer who came through the café.

    It was dingy but comforting inside; the kind of half-lit safety that came only from being in a warm, old building with wooden beams and squashy chairs and lamps with tinted glass.

    It was a world away from his so called holiday, but it was thankfully the one he recognised and a world he had lived happily all his life. It was normal and he knew it by heart.

    The food was good, the tea was hot and it gradually warmed his mind from the chill of the unfamiliar sights on his otherwise familiar high street. It was a shame he had to return home on a day when something exciting had happened. Excitement wasn’t for him. It made people behave in a way they didn’t usually and it made him feel uneasy.

    Now more than ever. In the grips of the news of a star or some other oddity, his nice quaint, quiet little city had turned on its head. He watched through the window silently, sipping his tea, chewing his roll.

    The food was good.

    The view was not.

    The world outside was unsettling him. The crying girl had gone, but the man selling newspapers was now being approached by two silver suited men.

    They were gesturing calmly to his stock, but no sound from the street could make it through the walls. He seemed to be quite upset by what they were saying. One of the suited men set down his briefcase and retrieved a pair of gloves from it.
    Mr Trobmill sat up and narrowed his eyes. There was a flurry of activity through the window as by passers swarmed up and down the street, obscuring the view.

    But once they were gone, so were the silver suits.

    The man selling the newspapers was no longer selling newspapers.

    Instead he slouched absent-mindedly against a shop front.
    There was something very dark about his expression, as though he had forgotten his purpose, or as though he’d just realised he never knew it to begin with.
    Mr Trobmill quickly drank the rest of his tea and decided he should go home now.
    He abruptly thanked Gordon for the food and wished him a good day, before pulling his jacket up around his ears and heading back out into the street.

    — 1 week ago with 1 note
    #Arxhan Angel  #ScarfDemon 
    rachelgoldfish asked: Hello! Your writing is beautiful :) Can I ask where the idea came from? And are you planning on doing something more with the story or only publishing it online?


    Answer:

    Yay! Thank you!
    All the pieces I’m posting are just daily installments of an entire novel that I’ve written. And re-written.
    And am now re-writing again.
    So yes… I’m doing much much more with the story!
    I’m gradually posting it onto my Tumblr for people to enjoy in manageable chunks … but if it’s well received I’ll look into wider publishing :D
    I’ve had the idea since I was 15.
    Only  danieljlayton  and thecasualfrequency know the whole story ;)
    xxxx

    — 1 week ago with 6 notes
    3.

    There was a little café at the top of the high street, near the clock tower where he could get a cheap but well-made lunch, away from the bustle of the shoppers. He knew the owner- a man almost as persistently indifferent and withdrawn as Mr Trobmill was.

    Not much further now.
    Two men in silvery suits, carrying briefcases, approached a gang of teenagers who were loitering around a bench.
    “Evangelists…” Trobmill muttered.
    More crowds of people reading the newspaper, more gossip more noise. Mr Trobmill kept his head down as the teenagers, now behind him, were quietly escorted away. A man distributing papers shouted the latest headlines cheerily, but there was never any real news in this part of the country, so Mr Trobmill tuned it out. He tuned it all out in his quest for a decent lunch.
    The headlines, the suits, the busy mums with their push chairs, a dog barking, the red haired girl who was crying in the street… head down, don’t get in the way.

    He paused.
    The girl’s mother would be along shortly, probably caught up in some idle chat with any of the shopkeepers who were all far too cheery these days.

    The door of the café knocked a bell as it opened, and the elderly man behind the counter looked up to see Mr Trobmill shuffling inside.
    “Allo Alistair,” he mumbled gruffly.
    Mr Trobmill nodded curtly, closing the door behind him and scudded his feet on the welcome mat a few times before sloping towards the till.

    “Gordon,” he acknowledged briefly, and the shopkeeper returned the nod.

    Mr Trobmill peered upwards at the chalkboard over the shopkeeper’s head and mused over his options in peace.

    “Funny news about that star then,” said Gordon.

    Mr Trobmill gave a start and shifted his gaze.
    “Not heard much about no star,” he replied shortly hoping to put an end to it.
    “Not heard none? The whole town’s mad with it! Last night, shooting star- right across the sky! People reckon it musta’ landed somewhere it came that close.”
    Mr Trobmill shrugged politely.

    “Just a tea and a cheese roll, Gordon thanks.”
    Gordon turned and began to busy himself with a kettle but it did not stop him from carrying on.
    “Been some funny folk about today, government I reckon. Maybe a satellite fell down. Maybe it’s Russians.”
    “Milk, no sugar thank you, Gordon.”
    “I know, I remember. Fancy that though, something landing here and they can’t even find it.”

    Gordon placed a cup and bread roll on the counter, which Mr Trobmill paid for and took to a nearby table without another word.

    — 1 week ago with 3 notes
    #Arxhan Angel  #ScarfDemon 
    2.

    It was approximately Tuesday when Alistair Trobmill’s car appeared on a small country lane in the North of England. It puttered and spat happily, winding around fields and the odd copse of trees as the sun strained through the clouds.

    Mr Trobmill was happy too. Happy to be returning to his quainter, quieter city after a little holiday down South. There was nothing like the busy chaos of London to make a man miss home. His doctor had recommended some time away from his farm. A gentleman of Mr Trobmill’s age and back problems should enjoy a relaxing holiday or two. Perhaps visit his sister.
    What Mr Trobmill would never come to terms with however, was why his sister had decided to live in the heart of the busiest, and in his opinion, most stressful city in the world.

    The traffic did not stop there for an old man and his cane.

    But the drive back was pleasant enough.

    His stomach complained. It was nearly midday.
    “Suppose I could stop in town for a bite…” Trobmill muttered to the inside of his car.
    Soon hedges and fields turned to pavements and buildings.
    Even here in the suburbs, drawing closer to the centre, it was quieter than most towns. The roads were narrow and the houses were squashed together in neat rows by the dozen.
    Simple brick. And shops now. A grocers, a butchers a hair salon or two, all crowded together around far too many chip shops.
    Every other building quickly became a pub or a barbers.
    He passed the high street where flashier stores and larger crowds beckoned. Where taller buildings towered and a symphony of busy noises could be heard.

    Mr Trobmill swerved into an empty parking space outside a pizzeria and duly paid some coins into the meter.
    The high street was busier than he usually saw it. The crowds were more excitable and everyone seemed thrilled to be talking to one another. He walked carefully up the cobbled street, nervously eyeing a particularly high pitched group of women who were each holding an open newspaper and gossiping rapidly amongst themselves. He ignored them.
    He also elected to ignore the businessmen dressed all in silver.

    — 1 week ago with 1 note
    #Arxhan Angel  #ScarfDemon 
    An error page I done made for the folk at Hiive.

    An error page I done made for the folk at Hiive.

    (Source: wearehiive)

    — 1 week ago with 9 notes
    And so it begins…

    Night time.

    A streak of brilliant white light momentarily lit up the inky sky over Earth as it shot across the night. A ball of ghostly fire that trailed wisps of smoke and dust.

    Out in a field, it was completely silent.  A black sky stretched across the vast countryside, littered only by an arc of soundless stars.

     In the darkness, the universe held its breath.

    The still night was interrupted only long enough for a whisper of wind to sweep over the grassy plains, rippling outwards until it disappeared into the distance.

    Silence again.

    A faint rumbling.

    The sky split open and suddenly it was day time, the fields that spread in every direction were awash in light and colour. A screech and a roar and the stars vanished behind blue flames as an enormous, creaking mass hurtled towards the ground.

    To those who lived in the nearby city, it had sounded like nothing more than a dull thud. Perhaps something falling over in another room…

    The light vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
    Silence again.
    Darkness.
    Plumes of smoke rose from the horizon, silhouetted by the stars.
    The universe let out a breath.

    “They’re safe”. 

    — 1 week ago with 14 notes
    #Arxhan Angel  #ScarfDemon 
    sunvapor asked: What the fucks happening in Ferguson?


    Answer:

    clehmentine:

    Alright, i’m gonna sit down and basically explain the situation in this ask so everyone of my followers knows why i’m so pissed.

    Michael Brown, a 17 - 18 year old african american boy was unlawfully shot (8-10 times supposedly) by police in St Louis, Missouri on saturday, august 9th, 2014. He was unarmed, and had done nothing to attract suspicion other than the fact that he was black. His body was left in the street for 4 hours. (EDIT: i’ve discovered that the Brown family wishes for any and all photos of Michael lying in the streets to be removed. please respect this and do so)

    There are several claims from witnesses (see: Dorian Johnson’s account and video [HIGHLY RECOMMEND READING UP ON HIS ACCOUNT, ITS VERY SPECIFIC] — Brown’s friend who experienced the situation first hand, La’Toya Cash and Phillip Walker— Ferguson residents nearby the incident),  that fall together in generally close claims. However, the only one who’s claim seems out of place is the police officer’s who shot Brown. Who, by the way, is put off on paid administrative leave AND who’s name remained under anonymity for his safety (However, attorney Benjamin Crump is looking for a way to force release his name). He claims that Brown began to wrestle the officer for his gun and tried attacking him after he told Brown and his friend Dorian Johnson (22) to “get the f*ck on the sidewalk”.

    According to Johnson, after a minor confrontation on the officer’s part where he grabbed Brown by the neck and then by the shirt, the officer pulled his gun on Brown and shot him at point blank range on the right side of his body. Brown and Johnson were able to get away briefly and started running. However, Brown was shot in the back, supposedly disabling him from getting very far. He turned around with his arms in the air and said “I don’t have a gun, stop shooting!” By this point, Brown and the officer were face to face as the cop shot him several times in the face and chest until he was finally dead. Johnson ran to his apartment and by the sound of his account, seemingly had some sort of panic attack. Later he emerged from his home to see Brown still laying in the streets. People were gathered with their cellphones, screaming at the police.

    According to msnbc, the police refuse to interview Johnson at all, despite his amazing courage to come forward. They didn’t wanna hear it. They only listened to the cop’s account of it all and were vague with the media on what they thought happened. They’ve also refused to commit to a timeline in releasing autopsy results and other investigation information.

    Numerous rumors are sweeping around such as Brown stealing candy from a QuickTrip, the store he emerged from calling the cops on him, Brown reaching for a gun, Brown attacking the cop first, ect. But these have all been debunked. (I know a lot of these have been debunked, but im having a hard time finding sources. if anyone could help out and link some legit ones id be SO grateful)

    The event in and of itself was terrible, but now it has escalated beyond belief. Around 100 or more people, mostly black, went to the police station to protest peacefully. Things quickly turned bad as martial law got involved and authorities were bringing in K9s, tanks, heavy artillery, ect. The heavy police presence only made things worse as riots began to break out and looting and vandalism started. [ x ] [ x ] [ x ]

    Now, as of very recently, the media has been banned from Ferguson. There is also a No-Fly zone above Ferguson for the reason of “ TO PROVIDE A SAFE ENVIRONMENT FOR LAW ENFORCEMENT ACTIVITIES ” as said on the Federal Aviation Commission’s website. Cop cars are lined up on the borders to prevent people from entering/leaving. Media outlets are being threatened with arrest. It completely violates our amendments and everything.

    It’s becoming increasingly scary and difficult to find out whats going on over there. I’m afraid this is all the information I have, though. If anybody else knows anything about the situation, please feel free to add on or correct any mistakes i’ve made as i’m no expert on writing these things.

    And as a personal favor, i’d really appreciate anyone to give this a reblog in order to spread the word. I think it’s a shame that this is going on in our own country yet so few people know about it. Help me make this topic huge and get this as much attention as possible.

    Extremely useful account detailing the events of Ferguson.
    Read it and understand how horrific it is.
    This still happens.
    Is still happening.

    — 2 weeks ago with 261176 notes

    goldenfishradicals:

    Prayers to all of the people in that town. This is bullshit anyone is treated like this. It is fucking 2014 get ur shit together.

    "We all bleed red but whos blood is in the streets?"

    Not okay.
    Not fucking okay.
    Stay strong people of Ferguson.
    Unless you are the police. In which case, back the fuck off.

    (via jimofthejam)

    — 2 weeks ago with 67498 notes