Scarf Demon

Ask me anything   YouTuber, Artist, Female Gentleman

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    Hello Gentlemen and Female Gentlemen!

    So after a brief (1 year) hiatus, I’m selling hella custom art again!
    So please check out my Etsy… Any orders are massively appreciated, and you can feel happy knowing that you have directly assisted in helping me move out of my increasingly flooded and slanted apartment!

    Love and more love,

    Chloe

    — 1 week ago with 9 notes
    Arxhan Angel- 10

    May was silhouetted against the sky and James had to squint to see that she was being frowned at. Michael weaved through clumps of tall grass to where the two girls were staring at each other.
    “Literally everyone can see you,” he sighed, sidling up to May who had her hands on her hips. “Everyone,” she echoed.
    James pouted, but she had to admit that they had a point; it wasn’t easy for her to hide.
    Even deep in the grass, her short, boyish crop of red-pink hair stuck out like a sore thumb. Her narrow, almond eyes were a sharp and strange shade of turquoise, often seeming to glow in the darkness. Now against the backdrop of dull, burnt nature they could probably be seen from across the lake. She was small though, drowning in her hoodie and jeans, and that had to count for something in her tiny hiding space.
    She frantically wrestled about on the spot as she tried to climb to her feet through a tangle of dried undergrowth.
    Okay, but please tell me you saw him,” she said. May and Michael exchanged looks.
    Who…that guy?” Michael frowned.
    James dusted off her jeans and widened her eyes.
    “Oh my God, yes! I don’t believe it!”
    “What’s not to believe?” frowned May “I’d shout at my kids too if they were throwing rocks.”
    “Rocks,” confirmed James absent mindedly. She blinked. “No… wait. What?”
    “That guy shouting at his kids over there,” May gestured vaguely to a footpath further around the lake, “It was pretty intense. But kind of funny.”
    James closed her eyes and shook her head impatiently.
    “No. No no no. No. The man… the man who just…” she made a violent lifting and waving motion with her arms, “…who just
    rose out of the water!”
    James repeated the arm motions just to make sure she was being perfectly clear.
    Michael glanced around and leaned forward towards his friend, keeping his voice low.
    “A man… rose out of the water?”
    “Was it a mermaid?” May gasped.
    James let her arms fall to her sides and looked disappointed.
    You didn’t see, did you?”
    Michael shook his head and May placed what she thought was a comforting hand on top of James’ forehead.
    “We’ll catch one,” she said, “today’s just not the day.”
    James sighed and gently removed May’s hand, nodding irritably in agreement.

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

    theunwashedmass:

    scarfdemon talks Nathan Lane, Xaphod Beeblebrox and splurge-guns in today’s Movie Deal. Also there is an interrupting cat.

    — 1 week ago with 6 notes

    aresnakesreal:

    this should not be as funny as it is

    (via scarftumbls)

    — 1 week ago with 163909 notes
    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 friend standing over her.

    — 2 weeks 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.

     

    — 3 weeks 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

    — 3 weeks 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.

    — 3 weeks 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.

    — 4 weeks 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

    — 4 weeks 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.

    — 4 weeks 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

    — 4 weeks 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.

    — 4 weeks 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 month 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 month ago with 9 notes