☄⛈⭐⛈☄ ＨＹＡＣＩＮＴＨＥ ☄⛈⭐⛈☄
name; hyacinthe
gender; female
pronouns; she/her
orientation; pansexual
playlist; link
hyacinthe is no pacifist, not by any means. she's not afraid to get her hands dirty, not afraid to fight, not afraid to be violent--she's not afraid of much of anything this world or any other has to offer. she's seen it all already--she has nothing to fear. she knows her limits and she knows how to push them without breaking. she knows when to be cautious and careful, and when to be stubborn and stand her ground.
hyacinthe, as a a born skeptic and a nihilist, rarely believes in sentimentality and friendship and making lasting, healthy relationships. often times, she sticks to herself in her feeble shack, with her potions and the marsh creatures and the good old smell of the swamp. she's never been anywhere else, never met anyone else, and she doesnt want to either. she's fine with how things are, and she hates change. always has.
hyacinthe is very direct, and blunt, and brutally honest to the point it borders rude at times. she'll tell you what, when, where, why, and how you screwed up in every single way you could have, and she'll show no mercy when she does. she's quick to judge, surprisingly, and she has a pretty serious attitude problem. she's the type to "do first, think later" and doesnt usually care about others. she's extremely apathetic, and emotionless to the point many wonder if she even has any, or if she even has a heart in her chest.
hyacinthe is very hostile and angry despite her appearance, and it is wise to not let the demeanor she has fool you--she's not a bit friendly in any way, and she'll give you a good whack upside the head if you dally too long on her property. she's not one to sugarcoat anything, and she wont hesitate to tell you she doesnt like you nor does she want you around.
hyacinthe is also not one to be cooperative in the slightest. she'll tear partners and enemies apart alike, and she doesnt discriminate when it comes to who'll be the next target of an outburst of pent up aggression and emotions. she doesnt have it in her to care, and she's too lazy to bother changing her ways.
she always was the trouble child in her youth. sometimes called "demon," or "the devil's daughter," or "spawn of satan," she was never well liked amongst her peers. they teased her for her talents, her strengths, teased her for things they didnt understand, teased her even just for "not being girly enough." she frequently yelled back at them, scolded them, pulled their hair and screamed in their faces how terrible they were and she would see to it they'd hate the day she got strong enough to take revenge.
her family was no better. her sister and brothers called her terrible, horrible things, made her mad, made her furious, and while she never raised a hand or a voice in their direction, she definitely wished their untimely demise more than a few times. her father did nothing, and her mother was powerless to stop anything happening in a house that didnt listen to her. her siblings did the same to her mother, calling her awful things, saying awful things, doing awful things, and that was when hyacinthe would get so angry she snapped. more than a few times, she was put in time out for "unjustly hurting someone," as if the names and things they said never happened, never were spoken, never were uttered even under their breaths.
her father told her she was a weird kid, that she wouldnt amount to anything if she stayed like this--a bitter, resentful little demon girl, not the daughter he had ever wanted--and that only made her turn from his "light" even further than she had. she grew even more reclusive, never shared even the most mundane things with her family, never talked about herself or her days or her nights spent awake wondering when she'd be able to get out of that place and why she couldnt sleep like the other kids, why she was just so.. freaky. why she was such a freaky freaking freak.
when she did finally escape that place, she never thought about them again, except for the fleeting thoughts of her mother. she can genuinely say she probably comes closet to "worrying" as she can when it comes to her mother. she worries semi-regularly of her well-being, of where she is now, if she's safe or not, of many, many things. if there's anyone she'd like to see happy and safe in the world, it would without a doubt her mother.
dislikes: bright colors, neon colors, "soft aesthetic," barbie pink, cities, other people, big houses, unnecessarily big lawn ornaments, roads, having her naps disturbed, foreigners, travelers, hikers, her father and siblings, highly saturated colors, loud noises, pop and most other kinds of music, cheap knockoffs of original brands, false advertisements, kittens, puppies, technology, pointless arguments, having to raise her voice, poorly made imitations of real things, flashy things, neon signs, bright lights, desserts that are too sweet, holidays, huge festivals (festivals in general really), yelling, loud music, slamming doors
hobbies: hyacinthe dabbles in the strange, and most of her interests lie in the various arts and aspects of it. she mainly focuses on translating old texts and potion-making, but she enjoys many other things, rest assured.
quirks: grinding her teeth when angry/frustrated, pacing, fiddling with her feathers, patting down her tail twice before meeting the spirits, readjusting her necklace frequently, playing with the beads, stamping her foot when nervous/mad
aspirations/dreams/goals: hyacinthe has no hopes and dreams. she has no goals in life. she has no aspirations. all she wants is to live her life in quiet, and not be bothered by anyone. she doesnt want to socialize and she wishes others wouldnt try to interact with her beyond necessary interactions.
strengths: hyacinthe is strongest when she's directly facing a threat, and has knowledge of them predating the incident. she likes information, she likes to get information, and she likes to use it on her opponents accordingly, most often to hit them where it really hurts to complete a goal or mission.
weaknesses: hyacinthe has a weak point in that she rarely gives up, and she's so stubborn she actually used to get herself in trouble for it. she also has a short temper, and is known to have bouts of anger from time to time. she prefers living along, too, and doesnt like to cooperate with others.
hyacinthe's expertise lies in the art of reading tea leaves and signs and the like, and interpreting for those who ask, or seek answers from what otherworldly entities have given them. however, she doesnt do these things for free, and she is known to be quite the snake when it comes to exchanges and payment for her services. she'll rob you blind of all your money to get the most bang for her buck for her work, and she wont hesitate to lie and manipulate if she truly needs the funds.
hyacinthe is also heavily knowledgeable about communication with the deceased, and will usually performs ceremonies for those who ask her to, for a price of course. she is particularly adept at channeling angry, bitter spirits, but she has little to no trouble whatsoever with other types even so. hyacinthe enjoys sometimes just summoning someone to talk to, even if no one but she herself can see her guest. besides, who's watching?
hyacinthe is of the mindset of pushing boundaries and breaking expectations. she resists efforts by fellow practitioners to control her free spirit and warn her to be more careful. her methods work for her, and that is all that matters in her opinion. execution is only a quarter of the journey, after all.
hyacinthe also dabbles in reading ancient texts and deciphering and translating the languages of older practitioners of all sorts. she frequently finds that they end up being useful to her, teaching her new things and methods and recipes she can try, and becoming a part of her continuously growing book collection.
hyacinthe is a very powerful practitioner for being as young as she is, and she takes great pride in that fact, showing off at special events or at certain occasions and showing the world her natural born affinity for all things magical. she's quite proud of it, and doesnt discount any of her hard work or feats because she's unconventional or old to the others. she's always been a bit on the odd side, and she wouldnt have it any other way.
the peaceful, dream-like time would not last. they moved away, and then again, and again and again and again every so often. bitter and resentful, hyacinthe refused to get along with anyone just like they did to her. she hated everyone and gave them none of their time. she started getting into fights more and more as time progressed, and argued with everyone.
there had been a brief time when she was young where hyacinthe had ran away from home, and stayed with one of her relatives down the street. it only lasted two days, but she felt like she fit in there than she ever had with her "real" family. still, she knew she had to go back, but even so, she swore not to take anymore of the name-calling from her siblings.
hyacinthe ran away again long after the first time, again staying with relatives, and didnt come back for a week. the scolding, she felt, was worth the time away from a family that didnt care about each other. the yelling and screaming and poisonous lack of compassion had even infected her, and no one, she felt, was safe in that cursed family. they had all been infected by anger and sadness and many other things, and there was no way to cure the toxic poison in their veins.
when hyacinthe finally left, she didnt dare think about going back. she moved on, moved on with her life, with herself, and only cared about her own well-being. she didnt talk to anyone, didnt interact with anyone, didnt even go outside much. she still rarely goes outside, but so far, she's gotten a little better about it after she realized she needed some form of income and a way to persuade others into buying her services.
hyacinthe originally had believed in nothing, but soon found her "calling", one might say, after being introduced to it by some locals who, like she, preferred to live in seclusion.
hyacinthe practiced for weeks and months to get to the skill level she is at now, and she's still learning. she made it a goal to learn at least one thing new every day, and she hasnt failed that goal since its creation. the day she stops learning is the days she dies, she always says. despite her younger self's lack of interest in learning, as she grew up, she found it to be something that allowed her to forget and take her mind off things that stressed or upset her.
marionette – hyacinthe's mother. she was hyacinthe's favorite person growing up, and she looked up to her mother a lot. she did as much as she could to provide for the family, and hyacinthe admired her for it. her mother was strong, was brave, was everything anyone could ever hope to be, and hyacinthe only wishes she could've brought her mother with her instead of leaving her in that horrid household.
sylvester – hyacinthe's older brother and one of her least favorite out of all of her siblings. he was the one to side with her father the most, and teased her often. he picked on her insecurities the most of anyone, and she's held a grudge against him since day one. she doesnt have any room for him in her life, and she honestly hopes she never has to see him again.
rosanne – hyacinthe's older sister and the second oldest in the family. her and hyacinthe never really got along, and often were the ones to fight the most, at least physically. they avoided each other like the plague, and whenever they are in the same room, they're either bickering or adamantly pretending the other doesnt exist. hyacinthe doesnt usually dignify her sister with a response, unless she's asking for one in the form of a sharp retort at her own insecurities.
xenon – hyacinthe's youngest sister and the most confusing of all her siblings. sometimes, she and hyacinthe got along pretty nicely sometimes, but other times, they hated each other's guts. hyacinthe came to a point where she observed they fought more than they got along, so she stopped trying to be friendly and let things run their course. they dont talk anymore (they never really did in a meaningful way, anyway), and if they did, hyacinthe is not sure what she would even say to her sister.
writing;
remember who you are wrote:you hate them. and you hate yourself.
but mostly them.
their words, their terrible, terrible words, echo in your head even if you dont want them to and you try to force yourself to ignore them, your mind does what it wants. it will not listen to you.
and you just get so angry. you get so angry, and you just want to. you want to do something that makes them feel as bad as you do.
so here you are, on the roof, while it's raining, trying to pretend you're not cold so you can keep being angry. because you are angry. but sometimes you feel like people dont think you are and assume you've forgiven them and that you're soft just because you're not always visibly angry.
you're so absorbed in your thoughts, so angry and absorbed in yourself and thoughts of breaking something, like smashing your window and climbing through it to your room on the third floor, right below the attic, that you dont even notice someone is behind you until you feel something tap your shoulder.
you nearly fall off, and for a second, you think this is going to be the dumbest way to die ever, they'll take about it for years, but whoever the other person is grabs you before you can, and those thoughts recede.
you're half-tempted to say something mean, but you dont, you instead refrain and keep your mouth shut like the good little girl you're supposed to be.
"something on your mind, love?" a soft voice whispers, and you feel the flood of warmth as they take a seat next to you. it's your mother. that makes you feel a little better, and a little less angry.
"no." you lie, easily, right through your teeth. she knows you're lying. you know she knows. you do it anyway.
"you know you can tell me anything, dear. i wouldnt judge you, or tell anyone, i promise." she says, still in that soft, soft voice, and you want to scream because she's so nice to you even when you sometimes get a little angry at her and she doesnt even complain when your siblings or your father say the nastiest things about her.
you dont understand, and it makes you mad because you want to understand, you dont want to be stupid. but now is not the time for that.
"i know. im just mad." like usual, you dont say. you keep staring at the pavement below. it's faded now, and no one in the city has bothered to replace it in a long time. it's disappointing, but you cant say you've seen it in much better condition. you've always remembered it looking old and ready to get potholes like pimples.
"how come?"
"the usual reason. no reason. i dont know. im just mad." you reply back, flatly, barely restraining your irritation for this conversation.
the silence that follows is deafening, makes your ears start ringing to fill the static, and you get more mad because you hate static.
"you know i love you right?" she finally says, and you feel bad because you dont want her to think like that, because you love her a lot, probably more than anyone else, definitely more than anyone else, but you're bad at showing it. you guess you can see why she'd think that then.
"i know mom. i love you too."
you hope she knows that. you really, really do.
dance to a different tune wrote:lights. bright lights. lots of lights. your legs hurt and your head's pounding and you think if you keep doing..whatever it is you're doing, your whole body is going to pass out on you.
that doesnt mean anything to you though. through sheer force of will, you make yourself keep dancing.
your mom twirls you around to the tune of her favorite song, a soft song that's soft like her voice, and then she's laughing when you nearly slip on your feet but you quickly catch yourself and then twirl her around as best you can because you're smaller than her.
when you're sitting on the couch watching whatever's on tv that afternoon and you're eating a slice of pre-birthday cake and she's sipping daintily on a can of cola, she says your birthday's tomorrow and she's gonna take you and some of your Actual friends somewhere. it'll be a secret, just between the bunch of you, she says.
you've never been so excited in your life.
nothing means anything, and everything means nothing wrote:the smell of fresh popcorn, straight out of the microwave, and the sizzle of butter, echoes in your ears.
you're at your aunt's house. your grandma is here too, as is your uncle and grandpa. they're all from your mom's side, so of course, they like you. you're a lot like your mother, they like to say.
they let you come over sometimes, when things get too much, but right now you're here because you ran away and there was nowhere else you could think of going on such short notice at the time, except down the highway, but you'd probably get picked up by an actual freak or get run over if you did that. you could've also hidden out on the roof, but then your father would make you come down, and you just want to be away from him, from all them right now.
the news is on. it's boring, and you dont care, like, at all, but you still listen, because you literally have nothing else to do and you're really cold right now actually, and it helps to distract you and take your mind off some of the bad thoughts going through your head at this current moment in time.
your granny comes in with a tray of soup and a tiny bowl of popcorn and a mug of hot cocoa and you thank her quietly, voice a little raspy, because before you ran away from home you'd had one of the worst screaming matches ever with your dad.
you're still angry at him, but you focus that anger on angrily shoveling soup and popcorn into your mouth instead while you watch the news.
your aunt and grandpa sit on either side of you, your uncle takes one of the big, velvety rocking chairs, and your granny is in the kitchen baking something, if the sweet smell coming from the kitchen is any indicator.
you feel more at home here than you ever have at your "real" home, but you wish your mom was here to enjoy the comfort and safety and peaceful silence that you feel when you come over here too.
we'll see who gets the last laugh wrote:you're not sorry. not at all.
they deserved it. they called you freak again. they called you weird. they had it coming. no one else thinks so, but you know they did. you've neglected to give them your attention since forever, and now you havent, and suddenly you are the worst person to ever exist on this hell planet.
you find it laughable, and hypocritical, since they never did anything to that heathen, and chances are they still wont.
it makes you unbelievably angry, but you do nothing. you've learned when and where to release your frustrations, out of sight and out of other's minds. you know that place is not here. not now.
we're all terrible people in the end wrote:you hate being so weak. you hate that you're crying, that you're so terrible and awful and a burden to your family and a plague on society. you hate yourself. you hate your family. you hate being dumb and stupid and horrible to everyone and anyone. you hate being so angry and mean all the time and in the rare times you're not you're either numb or sad.
you clench your fists at your sides like it'll help, but it doesnt, just like nothing else helps, and you barely resist the urge to scream at the sky and tell whatever divine power might be out there to literally choke on their own spit and die so you can live a better life, a life without some higher being telling you how to live your life, if those weirdos down the street with their weird religious preachings are right about your life being dictated by a god.
well, if your's is, you hope the person making your life this terrible feels like crap for it, because you sure feel like crap.
you also hope your siblings feel terrible, because this is also their fault. if they werent so annoying, then maybe you wouldnt be so inclined to want to punch them all the time. maybe you would care more.
but they dont. so you arent, and you dont.
it's only fair.
it's not breaking and entering if i live here wrote:you smash the window to your room open, because it's locked, probably on purpose by one of your terrible siblings who hate you, and you make a note to consider breaking sylvester's favorite video game and flushing rosanne's favorite hairbrush down the toilet tomorrow.
you stumble inside, soaking wet because you forgot your rain coat, or any kind of secondary protection really, and your mom hears you, you guess, because she comes in not five minutes later with a kitchen knife in her hand looking ready to stab and run to call the police.
when she sees you, she seems relieved, but then her face takes a stern, worried turn and you just know you're gonna get scolded something fierce when it's not three am in the morning and she's coherent enough to not ramble into long, droning sentences about how you worried her and your father and the whole house was scared to death (which you know is a lie, but she probably says it to make you feel better).
"you...." she starts, but she instantly deflates, depositing the knife on the dresser next to your door and stepping inside to gather you up in her arms, even if you're soaked like you just went through a car wash on max and you're gonna get her dress all dirty and nasty because ew, gross, rain water that you've been drenched in for like, the past hour you spent wandering around town and then came home in.
"you scared me so bad missy, dont you ever do that again. you promise?" she says softly, in that soft voice you know and like the most because it beats yelling and it's your mother, not your dad or your siblings or the mean weirdos at school who draw pentagrams all over their school binders and notebooks.
"i promise mom."
ghost stories in the graveyard wrote:you went to the graveyard today. the spirits sort of talked to you. you can only hear whispers right now, and it's hard to make out what they say, but you think they're proud of you for trying, and that's something.
you like them; the spirits. they tell you nice things and there's this dog who likes to play fetch with his ghost tennis ball and he has a collie friend who's really pretty and soft, and there's this cute little lady in a sundress that's basically your second mother in most regards. her husband, you guess, is kind of like your honorary dad.
not like that's hard. your's sucks and while you'd never say it aloud or to his face, you dont like him a lot, and you'd kill to have literally almost anyone else. even a ghost.
now that you think about it, ghost parents seem cool. maybe you can jut live in the graveyard from now on.
...nah.
