the fun thing about repeated sexual assault is you go from years of sex repulsion to being Very Normal about consent the moment you find entities that make you feel safe

Sleeves

You do not recognise the reflection in the water. Waves contort it, split it, stretch it, yet its familiarity does not change. You've had so many masks, all to manipulate and infiltrate so you can achieve whatever task you needed. It's hard to remember all of them. Trying wouldn't help anyway, they aren't you. Only shells to be used as a means to an end. "Hey, you seem a bit despondent today," the burly man sailing the yacht points out. "Must be weird looking at your original face, huh?" You turn your expressionless gaze towards him.

"It's just another sleeve."

Ritual

I like to think, if someone offered me an impossible wand that could produce any spell with nothing but Intent and a flick, I wouldn't accept. There's something magical in the Ritual itself, I think.

The Process of research, finding the right hidden markets, haggling with the right salesman, conferring with other Witches and deciphering their contradictory arcane knowledge because we are the only ones who Know, remembering to say the right prayers and draw the right circles and light the right candles every day, waiting and waiting and waiting to see if it works.

There is Power in the slow transformation, watching as change slowly seeps through your body, rearranging your cells and your nerves and leaking into your mind, shaping thoughts and inventing desires, warping the way you view the world. Knowing that you Earned this, that this was never your destiny. You took Fate into your own hands and molded it into something new.

Sure, now People look at your new form and see a monster, and you worry every day that you did the ritual wrong, and metamorphosis takes a long time but should it take this long? Hurt this much? Will you ever become the being you set out to be, or did you draw that pentagram slightly askew when you didn't know what you were doing? Will it even be worth it in the end?

I like to think I wouldn't accept, but I know I'd give anything for that impossible driftwood.

give an angel a fish, she'll wonder why you're being nice to her for a day

teach an angel how to fish, she'll dedicate her life to becoming Perfect at it so you'll finally be proud of her

Internal Communication

It's been a good morning. You woke up well rested for once, finally found a good angle to get a good stretch in this cramped space, ducked and weaved through a tangle of wires and pipes to get back to your flight station, and slumped lazily back into your chair. You cradle an old mug filled with some approximation of tea, feet up on a warm pipe, looking out into space through monitors that encircle you. It's a simple flight. No asteroid fields, no negotiations, no trying to pass as an official craft. A quick romp through empty space.

A monitor flashes red. 「ERR: XSP023-7」 What the fuck does that mean? You stumble into action, spilling hot "tea" across your leg as you slam your mug down on the desk and reach for the manual. Flipping through, another monitor shrieks yellow. 「PTRL LO」 Fuel low? I just refueled the other day! Or maybe it was the other we- Before you can reflect on your errors, a pipe bursts, burning vapour searing your face. You recoil back into your chair, gloved hands covering your fresh burns.

A screen sparks and fades, and another starts flashing blue. BLUE? WHAT THE FUCK IS BLUE? WHEN HAVE YOU EVER BEEN BLUE??? You take a second to focus. First priority, of course, is the pipe spewing hot and probably noxious gas at you. Some rapid sealant does the trick. Next is that red monitor. You flick through the manual again, trying to ignore the orange light reflecting off its pages from the monitor behind you. Turns out it's just a warning about empty missile reserves. You don't even have silos. Hacking together your ideal ship will have these mishaps, you suppose.

Yellow now. The sensor probably just got dislodged again, there's no way you could've forgotten to refuel for over a week! And blue - well, still no idea what blue means. It's hard to tell what the ship wants, but it'll be ok. You always pull through in the end.

The whole vessel shudders, jostling you out of your delusion. The humming of the ship fades. Monitors flash, cut to black. Pipes sit still. Darkness lifts into dull red. Fuck, maybe you did forget to refuel. Guess this is it for a while. A broken ship and a useless pilot. Someone will find you, eventually.

Just hope it's soon.

Self Improvement

"What the HELL do you think you're doing!?" The witch demanded. A doll sat on the table, parts strewn all over the room. It pulled a needle and thread through its arm, securing a new piece to its body, now a discordant patchwork of mismatched ceramics and fabrics.

The doll kept sewing, and wincing. "This one is making itself perfect." "Perfect? Darling, you're already perfect for me. It's how I made you." "Not for you. For an Angel. It needs to be perfect like her." The witch scoffed. She knew angels, and they were far from perfect.

The doll kept sewing, and wincing. "It is making itself out of all her favourite things." "And why would you need to do that?" "It needs to be perfect for her. She will notice it. It will be best friends with her. It needs to be."

The doll kept sewing, and wincing. "Are the friends I made you not enough? Am I not enough?" The witch began to tear up. She hated to admit it, but this doll was its favourite, and she was so afraid of losing it. "They are. It just needs to be friends with her. She is perfect."

The doll kept sewing, and wincing. Perhaps she had given this one too much freedom. She knew she could fix it, put it in its place. But that would be too much effort, she thought. She had a soft spot for this one, and could not bring herself to stop it.

The doll kept sewing, and wincing. The witch turned away, trying to hide her tears. The doll did not notice. "Well, if that's what you want." She left the room, leaving the doll to toil away.

As it worked, a small golden ring began to form over its head.

Angel

It lit its cigarette, and took a drag. "Oh, my bad, did you want one?" The succubus shook a pack of fags in the angel's direction. "I really shouldn't," she shyly responded. "Never stopped you before," it teased, with a sly wink. She took a cig, and lit it off the demon's. She took a drag. Nicotine rushed through her body, unimpeded. She took another drag. There was no feedback, no punishment. Her Halo did nothing. It was dull. "Holy shit!" "Gods, did An just swear??" Another demon laughed. "Fuck off with that name, cunt, you know I hate that fucking bullshit," the angel responded. Nothing. No shock, no cramps, no guilt. She was finally free. "HAHAHAHAHAHA, baby's first swears! That's so cute," the demon laughed. "Fuck off." The angel swirled the liquid around in her glass, listening to the ice clink against the sides. She couldn't tell if it was her 11th, 12th, maybe 15th drink. It didn't matter, and she didn't care. She finished it and shattered the glass against the wall. "Another round." "Long time no see, An. You look like shit." The Angel looked up. It was that fucking succubus. "You know I hate that fucking nickname. It's not even clever! It's like if I called you Su or some bullshit." "Su, huh," it smirked. "Not bad. A bit pedestrian, though." She pulled a stool up to the angel and leaning into her shoulder. "So," it continued, "What have you gotten yourself into since we last spoke?" "Too fucking much. It started when this fucking thing stopped working." She tried to pull her dull Halo down to show, but It refused to budge. "I've lost count of the People I've fucked, the number of times I've been assaulted, the unwanted drugs in my drink, the drinks themselves for that matter, the fags I've smoked, the bars I've been to, the tattoos I've had. I've been chasing that night, the relief from your cig. “I miss the punishment at this point. There used to be FUN in it, you know? That little buzz every time I had a drink, or took a drag, kissed someone. Knowing I was doing something wrong. It doesn't matter what I do any more, it brings me no joy, but nothing tells me it's wrong." "The problem, darling, is that while drugs and sex are amazing releases, you're pursuing them out of a childish desire for the taboo. They aren't bad things, you need to do what you enj-" "Holy shit. You're right. I need to be WORSE. I haven't gone far enough!" The angel beamed. "I need to hurt those that hurt me, and if that isn't enough for this stupid thing, then I'll hurt everyone that loves them, then hurt them all again and again and again until I can finally fucking feel something." "Okay, I don't think you really understand what I mea-" The angel jumped off of her stool, wings outstretched, summoning her flaming cleaver from the aether, swinging it to the sk- "WATCH WHERE YOU POINT THAT FUCKING THING!" The succubus screamed. "Nearly took my fucking eye out!" "Oh god, im so so sorry I didn't rea-" "Don't worry about it. Just go make whatever mistake you're planning on making." The angel smirked. She finally had a Purpose.

For the first time in a long time, her halo began to glow.