#i spelt prayer wrong | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsyagurlchip · 5 days

Text

٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭ ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰Video Game Lover💜٠ ˚ ※ ๋࣭ ᯓ⚝ ⋆ .˚✰

✰⋆⁺warnings: cussing(!) (Y/N) is used (😱)(!) mentions of injury and bone (!)

✰⋆⁺Im actually really loving this plot that I'm coming up with. I hope the world around Player (that's what I'm calling reader) is making sense. Since I haven't written for this fic for a long time, I'm gonna try to finish this as i go thru the summer, and hope to finish it around august or september! Enjoyyyy!!!

✰⋆⁺ Chapter 2: What to Do...What to Do!?

(Chapter 1) | (Chapter 3 Coming soon!)

WELCOME BACK! GAME START? (ok, back here...)

YES NO (here we go again)

{ tip:the shadows are sentient, its best to not ager them } (you spelt anger wrong lmao)

{ shut up! I'm trying to help you >:(( } (who even are you???)

{ It's me! } (who-!?)

GAME LOADING

...

That interaction was odd. you wondered who that could've been.

or better yet,

what the hell happened after you finished reading that semi-biography gnome obituary? And why didn't Nigel have enough paper???

what were you thinking about? your memory is fuzzy. oh well.

Now the area in looked vastly different than the previous one, which disoriented you a bit.

Looking around, you saw that the world still had a pastel palette. Except this time, instead if a forest, it looked more like a field.

The inconsistent style between the character design and the background pissed you off, as you were still pixels.

But, instead of worrying about that, you drive your attention to your surroundings once more.

The grass looked super stiff, and despite the sensation of wind showing on your sprite, nothing actually moved along with it.

Oddly enough, the creator didn't add any flowers, which honestly surprised you. Instead, there were soft and plump succulents (???) and small bunnies and insect-critter thingies crawling around.

Who the hell designed and produced this game?

while your headache was growing bigger, you decided to press that white check mark above your head once more.

(Update!!✨ New Page Unlocked✨!)

1.Stats

Lives: 1

Death Count: 0

Health: 25/30

Attack 2/20

4.Objectives (✨new✨)

FIND GNOME HUT ◻

EAT SPARKLE BERRIES ◻

TEST YOUR POWERS ◻

The first thing that you noticed was the lack of health you had. Didn't you have full health? Then, looking towards the new page, you figured out why.

Honestly, you were lucky because it seemed that only hunger could personally damage you. Damn thirst.

Back in Donnie's lab, Mikey, Leo and Raph sat in silence.

"So Leo-"

"Guys look!, the screen!" Leo interrupted, shallowly 'saving' himself. On the computer, it showed a round world with a pixelated character right in the middle.

It was you! But not?

The outfit you wore was something that the real you would never wear. Being broke and all. *cough* snacks *cough*

"(Y/N)'s a royal!! My prayers have been answered!!" Mikey sighs comically, despite not intending for them to be sucked into a video game for his wishes to come true, "I'll take what I can get."

"I knew it! It was Mikey's fault!" Leo said, jabbing a finger at the little man. "He and his 'DoCter FeEliNgS' cursed Donnie to never find love, man I hope Jaquelin's okay, AND TOOK ONE OF OUR HUMAN FRIENDS! prayers for homegirl. " Mikey rolled his eyes.

"Dude, you tripped the girl and she ended up in a hospital because Donnie was buildin' her a gift instead of your dumbass 'uNicORn RocKeT'" Mikey then gestured to his leg. as Leo crossed his arms and looked away. "Her bone was sticking out of her knee!"

"I've already told you, !" Leo yelled, "Jaquelin just so happened to walk in front of my leg! And the building just so happened to come to an edge- which was totally not caused by my lack of perception!" Leo huffed and stomped out of the room.

"So that was....o-okay-" Raph blinked froggily. Focusing back on the screen, he watched as you adjusted the crown on your head, curiously looking around. Raph found it cute how your sprite blinks with wide eyes.

"Back to my favorite couple!" Mikey said, looking towards where Raph was. The music in this is annoying as hell, they both agreed.

On screen, they watched as you tried to figure the world out, cheering you on as they watched you grab a log to cross the rushing river. Despite being mouthless in the world, you still had a range of emotions on your face that both turtles enjoyed.

Now, you pressed on into the woods, your sprite skipping along in happiness. And suddenly stopped. A question mark appeared on your forehead before an exclamation mark popped up soon after. an idea?

Raph raised an eyebrow, before watching you reach your arm up to the white check mark above your head. Almost instantly, a page of black opened up. Purple lettering began to quickly type out across the page, a long with a note a the bottom.

Mikey was already sitting down in Donnie's gaming chair with a bag of popcorn, snuggling into the blanket as a voice actor began reading out the letter.

F in the chat for Nigel, he deserved better.

It was like a movie! A terribly illustrated, yet fully interesting, predictably flash backing, movie! Mikey wasn't gonna let this new form of entertainment go to waste.

He instead typed in the keyboard shortcut for screen recording, and sat back and watched.

Raph sighed and plopped himself down onto the floor, tired of standing anyway.

In a flash, the screen suddenly turned black, startling the boys as they leaned forward. Immediately they relaxed, seeing that it was simply a loading screen.

"[give player tips (?)]" The screen blinked, waiting for the "viewers" to make their choice.

YES NO

Mikey chose the right answer- god forbid (Y/N) takes this for granted.

Tip: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

"Hey Raph! Can I borrow your phone real quick?" Mikey asked.

Raph, already knowing what to do, pulled up the wheel of names, and inserted each number twenty times, before spinning and landing on the number 2.

"Number 2!! Raph was rootin' for 4 tho-" He said, shaking his head solemnly.

Mikey, chuckling a bit, chose the number on the screen. There was a tingling sensation in his head, which he'll just get medication for later! This was way too fun.

In a flash, Mikey was dissipating into the computer screen.

"OH SHI-" *pop!*

Raph sat there, stunned, just as Leo walked back in the room with April.

April, being the badass she is, noticed something wrong.

"Where's Mikey?"

i hope this is making you guys laugh. i literally i haven't touched this in weeks. I think im gonna stick to 2nd person, because i find that my silly shit is easier to reference and the narrating is funnier. I really wanted to make this longer but I just had to cut it off there or it would seem wayyyy to run-on for me.

Anything you guys wanna reference? some memes?

Also, do you guys recommend anything for the stats page? i feel like i shouldn't list all of that out (i may tire myself out as well as you guys) so i want to find a way to make that easier.

wait nvm- that lowkey gave me an idea. i think it'll help you guys visualize better as well too-

(๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و tags: @kittykittyanon @radicallxser @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl

@ziipzeepzop-eez @spongejuice @nuncscioquidsitamor-13 @cyb3r-st4r

if you would like to be added, check my blog. if you would like to be added, check my blog. SEE? I SAID IT TWICE!!

#yagurlchip❤️#VGL💜#donnie x reader #rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #prayers for Jaquelin #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #TMNT #sorry guys but-#y/n was used😔#yagurl writes

27 notes · View notes

chaos-and-ink · 2 months

Text

It's honestly crazy to me how I seemed to have had OCD for like... a couple years and then it just went away somehow? Like I'd never claim I have OCD but if I were evaluated when I was 10 years old I would 100% fit the literal diagnostic criteria.

I had a frequent severe obsessions that I was going to go to hell if I didn't pray every single hour at xx:x5. I'd wake up in the night just to make sure I could get my hourly prayer in in case I died in my sleep and would then somehow go to hell??? I was so terrified that I would set alarms on my watch every hour to get my prayer in because I had this irrational uncontrollable obsession that if I died and hadn't prayed in the last hour I would be going to hell. Like that is an obsession and compulsion I'm like 99% sure. And this happened for years.

I also had this obbession that if my daily count of prayers equaled an odd number I would be killed. So anytime I did pray I had to pray twice so it would be an even number still. Which meant I was praying a fucking lot lmfao.

Then I had a huge fear that my prayers didn't count unless they were said aloud and that meant that once every day I'd have to say it aloud. But only one per day because that was enough to 'save' me.

Like a lot of kids I had this huge fear of stepping on sidewalk cracks. But it wasn't because I thought I would break someone's back. It's because I was convinced a car would hit me if I stepped on the cracks so I always always always avoided them and if I ever did step on a track I became an anxious wreck.

I also had this obsession that if I chewed my food unevenly on the sides of my mouth that I would choke when I tried to swallow. So I had to count how many chews I had on each side of my mouth to make sure it was safe to swallow. Which meant I was a really really slow eater.

I had a SEVERE obsession about death and that I would die in my sleep or have a seizure or a stroke and the only way to prevent this was to keep the doors open. So when I used the bathroom or took a bath or went to bed or did anything I would always keep the door cracked open.

I was terrified of walking an uneven number of steps on each leg. I thought something horribly bad would happen if I stepped too many times with my left leg so I was always trying to keep track and make sure I never took too many steps with my left leg. To the point sometimes I would purposefully walk with just my right leg to 'make up for any miscounts'.

There was also this huge fear that I left a light on and that my house was going to burn down which meant I needed to constantly check and recheck lamps and lights all the time.

I had this irrational fear that if I wore my watch on my left wrist for too long something hugely terrible would happen like my dog would die so I would constantly switch the wrist I wore my watch. Even though I'm right handed and my watch belongs on my left wrist so I can manoeurver it better.

Oh and also I had a fear of certain numbers. Like a terrifying fear of numbers and I always thought I'd throw up if I used them. Whenever I put things in the microwave it had to be an odd number but not a multiple of 5. it could be an even number ONLY if the numbers were the same like 22 seconds or 33 seconds, etc. I always thought I'd like die if I put them in wrong.

And the last one I can think of is that I had this intense fear that if I spelt certain words the wrong way I would summon a fucking demon. I honestly don't understand how that even works but in my head, logic doesn't exist. so 'color' turned to 'colour' 'behavior' to 'behaviour' 'favorite' to 'favourite' and so on. I don't type like this because I still hold this fear I just literally have it engrained as muscle memory so I can't stop. So if you ever wonder why my american ass is typing like a brit it's because when I was 8 I thought i'd summon a demon lmfao.

I also cross my 7's and Z's but that's because I thought I'd get struck by lightening if I don't. I don't fear that anymore but I still write like that just because I've been doing it for soooo long it's hard to stop now.

So yeah. I would never claim I have OCD but like... as a kid I really do feel like it was very prominent. And it completely wrecked my life. I barely made any friends, I was always anxious, I wasted sooo much time fulfilling all my compulsions and what not. Like I'm pretty convinced a psychologist would've diagnosed me with OCD.

The weirdest part is that it seems to have disappeared???? Like I literally don't understand what happened but I don't have those obsessions and compulsions anymore as far as I'm aware. I really don't get what changed because that whole ordeal plagued me for like 8 years and then just randomly disappeared. I didn't do anything to change it, I don't think.

Sometimes I fear maybe it's still there and just matured and manifests differently now that I'm older and I don't even realize it because I have so many mental problems what's another. Like maybe it never left..

#idk why i rambled so much about that but like yeah #just things on my mind #i really don't understand how it just left #chaos #vent post #anxiety #actually anxious #ocd #obsessive compulsive disorder #mentally suffering

6 notes · View notes

sukoonkekhat · 1 year

Text

mere hijr-e-sukoon,

today you came to me in a dream only to leave again and i couldn't stop crying about how long it takes me to draw your face in memory with my eyes closed. i think of us and the number of hours we've had and how those hours have been wasted in turning our pain to art; a pity party i invited all our friends to, but really it is the artist's vanity. meri jaan, i am writing to you to tell you poets are a tragedy. i am.

if falling in love was a relief camp we'd be the quickest to abandon it. that's what we do; run into the face of danger because facing you is harder than dying. if you've ever dreamt of me, listen to me apologise, my chaand, for i made you a god, and my faith stirred when you left.

i am no devout, only wronged.

losing people is offering a prayer of habit. you start pouring chai in extra cups because you've always been a family of five. you become the clothes you've grown out of. you start seeing your home as a 4x4 square shaped box lying amongst ancient junk. you start saying "i just forgot" more often because in your head, you always remember. you'll have to.

it is may now, i find strands of your hair on my bedside, disappearing with each day. two months of grieving makes you changed. i have changed but i am not proud of it, meri jaan. you start carrying a heaviness people don't tell you about, a weightless heaviness that pushes down on you and you hear your own heartbeat and then another and another and heartbeats of all those you've lost to living.

I'm afraid my poems are only beautiful to look at but all the words I write have only ever spelt out tragedy; collateral damage that comes from being loved so much and not having enough time to give it all back.

in the number of days we've had, I've seen you leave a hundred times and this one time that you haven't come back, i am writing to tell you i didn't deserve it.

you cannot take life out of a poet when they choose to give it away. they're not trustworthy. i am not.

in another universe where we have more time together ,

punint.

4 notes · View notes

dumbbinch-energy · 5 years

Text

hi just realised that im a fire sign despite being afraid of fire and heat ok thanks for listening to my ted talk

#monica talks about things #my life is a contradiction #why am i the way i am #i remember in year 5 i never lit the match during prayer time bc i was terrified of the flame #and i cant cook bc heat and im scared of being burnt #but im a saggittarius which is a fire sign #am confusion america explain #astrology #i realised i spelt sagittarius wrong #i am also illiterate #sagittarius

1 note · View note

hockeywhhores · 3 years

Text

arrangements- q. hughes

Quinn Hughes x f!Reader

warnings~ smut, alcohol, male receiving, vaginal sex twice, swearing

summary~ You and Quinn had an arrangement, put in one night everything fell apart.

genre~ smut, friends with benefits to lovers

word count~ 2.7k

masterlist

This is NSFW please do not read if it makes you uncomfortable.

Jake Virtian was your best friend growing up, and that is how you ended up best friends with the whole Canucks roster, especially Quinn Hughes. Quinn and you just clicked. Within days of meeting you, he was smitten. You grabbed his attention, and would not let it go.

One night you both got way to drunk, and things ended up with you two together in Quinn’s bedroom. After that incident, you both agreed to be friends with benefits. You enjoyed the sex, and he enjoyed having you around. Even if this wasn’t how he had planned to get you, it would have to work for now. Quinn had even invited you to come back to Orlando with him, during the offseason. You had said no, not wanting to intrude on his family time, but he insisted. You both left it maybe. The offseason is coming in two weeks, so he gave you time to think about it.

Wanting to forget about college, and getting a job, you asked the guys if they wanted to go out. Quinn always said yes, and then most of the other guys agreed to a night out. You picked the bar, and everyone agreed to meet there. Before you had finished getting ready, Quinn had called you.

“Hey!” you said as you put your phone on speaker, so you could finish with your hair.

“Hey y/n! I was wondering if you wanted me to pick you up tonight?” Quinn asked, sounding unsure of himself.

“Sure! that would be great! You don’t even know how many Ubers i’ve called this week!” You exaggerated.

“Perfect pick you up in twenty minutes.” He ended the call quickly after you both said your ‘goodbyes’ and you went back to curling your hair. finishing with minutes to spare you did a little bit of pregaming with some random alcohol you found in your apartment. When you heard a knock on your door, you were surprised to say the least. Quinn usually just texted you when he was here. You shrugged it off, and answered the door. There was Quinn a little early, and standing in your doorway. He was holding a bottle of vodka, and when he saw you he held it up higher for you to see.

“I brought you something to pregame with,” He explained, “I was going to pregame with you, but I realized that I stupidly told you I would drive.” He finished with a little smile, and you couldn’t help a laugh a little at how forgetful he was.

“Oh, I already drink some tequila, but I will be perfectly happy taking that beautiful bottle of vodka off your hands.” You were playing with him, but weren’t surprised when he handed you the bottle. You set it on the kitchen table, and left for his car.

The car ride was perfectly fine, with you and Quinn never missing a beat while you talked. You told him all about how you were needing to start internering, but your school work load was so big, that you didn’t know when you were going to be able to level time in between them. He told you about how he was stressed out with hockey, and just wanted to go home for the offseason, and take a small break from hockey. Quinn’s left hand never left your upper thigh, and your hand never left from its place; resting on top of his. Nothing ever felt awkward between the two of you. You swear if anyone asked you, you would say you had gotten closer to Quinn than you were with Jake, and that was really saying something.

When you pulled up to the club, you jumped out of the car. You couldn’t wait to see all the guys before they left for their last away game stretch. They were going to be all the way in Montreal playing the Candians. You were sad to see them go, but you knew that that was their jobs. Shaking everything off, you entered the club with Quinn by your side. Everyone that was already there greeted you right as you set through the doors. You waved to everyone, but went to the bar before you went to sit down with them. You didn’t know that Quinn had followed you, until after you finished ordering your drink and was planning on opening a tab, but then you felt his arm lightly touch the back of your upper arm and saw him slide his card to the bartender.

“You can put all her drinks on my tab.” Quinn told the guy. the guy nodded and started to get to work with making your drink.

“Quinn! You didn't have to do that!” You protested. Quinn just looked at you as if he was bored, and not wanting to engage in this debate. Quinn bought you a lot of things, he always put up the argument, that he was a hockey player, and he wanted to help you while you go through college. You just wanted to prove that you could pay for yourself, but telling him this was like beating a dead horse. The bartender gave you your drink, and Quinn a beer, you knew he was just going to nurse it all night. you and Quinn walked over to the table of hockey players and their wifes/girlfriends. You were happy just sitting at the table in between Quinn and Brock, but when one of your favorite dance songs came on; you just had to get on the dance floor.

“Oh my god, I love this song! Someone come dance with!” You exclaimed as you jumped out of your seat. You looked back and noticed no one had followed you.

“Ok losers…” you frowned at them, “Quinn please come dance with me!” you gave him your best puppy dog eyes, and lightly tugged on his arm. He huffed but came with you to the dance floor.

“Thank you!” You smiled brightly at him as you started swaying your hips to the beat. Quinn awkwardly dances with you. He did not know where to put his hands, or even how to move his body. You giggled at him, and grabbed his hands and placed them on your hips. Then you gently hand him rock side to side with you. He was still stiff and looked like he was doing something wrong.

You smiled in reassurance, “You are doing great, Romeo” you whispered into his ear.

“I’m sorry, but you know I hate dancing.” Quinn huffed back into your ear. “But did I tell you how good you look tonight.” You did look good in your short black dress, and perfectly styled makeup and hair.

“Oh stop.” You were blushing, “But to answer your question, no you did not.” the blush was still there but you tried to hide it with a confident-ish smirk.

“My bad then. What kind of gentleman am I? Can’t even remember to tell the prettiest girl I have ever seen, how beautiful she looks.” He was messing with you, but that didn’t stop your blush from growing.

“Want to go back to your car?” you asked after a couple songs have ended. You were surprised when Quinn didn’t leave after the song you originally wanted to dance to was over.

“You have your things?” He quested you, looking deep into your eyes.

“Yes, why?” you looked back into his eyes. He knew you saw the hungriness he had for you in his eyes, and he even saw the same in your eyes.

“Because when I’m finished with you, you are not going to be able to come back in here.” he spelt out for you.

“Oh, well do you think if anyone would notice if we just left?” now it's your turn to question him.

“Not if we're careful.” Quinn quiered. Looking back at the table you noticed some have already left, and the ones that were still there were all wrapped up in their own conversations.

“I think we are in the clear.” you testified. Quinn took your hand and you both rushed out of the club and to his black car. He quickly got into the driver's seat, while you got into the passenger’s seat. Without telling you where he was driving to, he started the car and left the parking lot. You ended up in a dark street that was far enough away from everything. Quickly both of you unbuckled your seat belts, and you were strpped your dress off, and took off your shoes. Quinn climbed into the backseat, and you went after him.

“Everything off, baby girl.” he reminded you.

“I just thought you would like to do the honors.” you joked, and before you knew it your bra was in his lap.

“consider me honored,” Quinn joked back. You quickly got to work unbuttoning his pants, and pulled them down to his knees. Before going any further with undressing him you gave his growing erection a soft, little kiss. Quinn let out a strong huff of air.

“Don’t play with me.” he warned. You responded by pulling down his boxers, and grabbing his now fully-erect penis with your small hands. Pumping it up and down, while you sucked on the tip. He was a sighing mess, you knew you weren’t giving him fully what he wanted. Quinn applied some pressure down on the top of your head, in a warning type of way. You pushed him into your mouth as far as you could take him, pumping everything you couldn’t fit. As you looked up into his eyes, you saw that he was already looking at you with hooded eyes. With one hand you messaged his balls, while your other hand was pumping the bit you couldn’t fit into your mouth. He had made a makeshift ponytail with his hand, trying to see as much of you as he could. You continued like this for a couple of minutes, until you felt sticky ropes of cum cover your mouth. You set back up, and whipped your lips, while staring at him in the eyes.

Quinn kissed you deeply, and pasionalty. You knew he could taste himself on your mouth, but he didn’t care. He accidentally ripped your underwear, while trying to get it off of you as fast as he could. No one cared. Both of you know if you asked from him to buy you new ones, you would get several new pairs in return. The car was getting steamy, but you didn;t care. Climbing on top of Quinn, you sat down on top of his already reerected dick. He slid in easily, with how wet you were. His shirt buttons there undid proved the perfect amount of room for you hand to feel his chest up, and down. Quinn helped guide your hips, helping set a pace you were both happy with. Everything was overriding your brain, and you only seemed to know his name; chanting it as if it was a prayer. All that you could hear was his panting, your moans, and skin slapping skin. When you felt his pace slow, and his thrust get sloppy, you knew he was close. you were too. You matched your hips to his, and came with him. You didn’t get off of him, until you stopped feeling aftershocks from your orgasm. Quinn happily let you stay connected with him. Both of your faces were plastered with dumb- looking smiles.

Needing his help you got off of him, and used your ripped pantys to clean yourself up a bit. Sitting back next to him in his backseat, made you feel happy. You don’t know if it was the orgasm or you genuinely liked him, but you felt like you were on cloud nine. Quinn buttoned up his pants, and helped you get your dress on, before he helped you get back into the front seat, so he could take you home.

When you were safely in you apartment you asked him something you never had before, “Do you want to stay?” your eyes looked tired, but your body felt too wired to sleep.

“Sure, If you want me too.” Quinn tried to seem as nonchalant as he could. He did not need you knowing about how he has always wanted you to ask him this.

“There is a pair of your sweat pants in the top drawer. I am going to clean myself up.” you said as you walked to your bathroom. Quinn made his way to your bedroom, and looked into your draw. There was a pair of his gray sweatpants that he had lent to you, after your pants had ripped. He knew he had been in your bedroom before, but whenever he had there were more pressing matters to deal with. So while you were in the bathroom he took the time to look around your room. Your bed was in the far corner, and there were pictures of you and the team. One picture was of you and Quinn when he had scored, in overtime, after a tough game. The other pictures were of you and Jake, or your family.

When you came back from the bathroom you found Quinn already changed into his sweatpants, and was laying in your bed. He playfully whistled when you started changing, and you just sent him a playful glare. He held up the blanket as you climbed into your bed, and you noticed he decided to go without a shirt.

“Wow aren’t I one lucky girl.” you teased him as you ran your hand up and down his bare chest.

��You know I like to think of myself as one lucky guy. I mean I have the cutest girl feeling me up right now!” Quinn laughed into your ear and then kissed your cheek. You don’t why but all of this just felt right. Having him here in your bed, felt like it was always supposed to happen. You talked about everything under the sun as you cuddled. his hand was rubbing, soft, light-feathered circles on your back. You felt so loved. No one has ever made you feel the way Quinn does.

“Quinn?” you whispered into the darkness.

“Yes darling?” he answered back.

“I love you.” you professed. You felt his breathing and hand falter. At that moment you were sure that you stopped breathing as well. The world even felt as if it had stopped spinning.

“I love you too.” Quinn whispered as if you would break if he talked louder than that.

“I have since I met you.” He confessed as he looked down at you. You could barely see him in the dark, but you shot yourself up to give him a kiss. The kiss was passionate, not the passionate like when you were just fucking around, but passionate in the way that told you how much he loved you.

You reached down and pulled his sweatpants down, he wasn’t wearing any boxers. Quinn pushed your shorts, along with your panties, to the ground. You managed to get everything off your legs. Before pushing you down onto the bed, you discarded your shirt. When you both were completely nude Quinn took charge. With him holding your arms on top of your head, he ground his hips into yours. Then when he felt you were wet enough he slipped his hard, throbbing dick into you. Quinn took his time, pushing in and out of you. You were a moaning mess. Nothing was fast about this. It was all slow and loving. Hidden emotions were coming out. Hidden emotions of love and pining. Quinn and you come together.

After Quinn got out of bed he came back with a damp rag, and gently cleaned you up. Crawling back into bed with you he never let go of your hands. You both slept with a new sense of purpose. And when you woke up the next morning you told him how much you would love to go back to Orlando and stay with him and his family. You fell in love with Quinn Hughes and wasn’t going to let him go anytime soon.

finished.

#hockey fic #nhl fic #Quinn Hughes fic #Quinn Hughes imagine #Quinn Hughes x reader #Quinn hughes #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #my writing #jake virtanen #brock boeser #Quinn Hughes fluff #Quinn Hughes smut #Quinn Hughes angst

420 notes · View notes

gstqaobc · 3 years

Text

💜💜💜HI FROM PG💜💜💜

Hello there everybody! I thought I would send a message or a post and just let you all know that I miss you and I miss being a very active part of Skippy‘s blog!!

I had my second vaccination the Astrazeneca on Tuesday and had my doctor assessment yesterday and my arm is getting better it’s still is not 100% so I am taking it low and slow and using the dictation software. I know so many of you have left messages such kind words of love and support and I really really really appreciate them! And I want to say a special message to💜🙏🏻💜 CHERUB, 💜🙏🏻💜you know that you are in my prayers every single day. Jesus is with you he will never leave you or for sake you no matter what happens. I will be back probably in another week I think with if my arm continues as it is progressing.

Now I have a few things I wanna say about what’s happening here first I wanna say the visit to Scotland was a rousing success and as usual our Catherine slayed Fashion wise and interpersonal skills wise! I saw someone write a comment that they didn’t like her in the brown and the khaki but I had commented a couple of weeks ago when she wore that beautiful camel coloured coat that I wish she would wear browns and taupes more often so I was just elated to see her wear those long wide leg pants that were hemmed exactly as they should be not dragging on the ground! I just think that this couple can do no wrong and they both very well for the future! Now I am not biased by my affection for the Cambridge is at all ha ha Ha! By the way I received my Hold Still book this week and I also received from Royal Mail Her Majesty’s at 95th birthday stamp first day cover and coin which was reasonably price I think £20? Anyhow the book is very substantial and because of my left arm being the way it is I have yet to be able to look at it because it’s quite heavy and it is a huge book, but I am looking forward to the day when I can hold it and I can enjoy looking at the pictures! Again I say Catherine kudos to you on your fabulous projects! Catherine I also wonder if you’re stealing my word wowza because when you met with Mila for tea, you said wowza as she showed her dress twirling. I’m wondering are you borrowing from PG?? Aka me?? 😂😂😂🤣🤣Catherine you are most welcome to share the word while that I think we are the only two people on the planet that still say it ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!

OK now onto our Harry. Heads together in the UK and many other mental health organizations around the world are doing fabulous work. CBT or cognitive behavioural therapy, cognitive restructuring, EDMR, Hipnosis, that’s spelt wrong but hey I’m dictating hypnosis is spelled HYPNO either we go anyhow those are all legitimate therapies done when they’re done by trained professionals! One thing that has always driven me crazy about Oprah and Dr. Phil who is her who is her surrogate, is they do mumbo-jumbo therapy on tv and have people share their just horrific interpersonal stories with an audience and a television audience! It just it just sickens me to make people so vulnerable for attention and ratings and money and advertising! When I saw Harry doing the tapping and whatever I just felt whether he was doing it for real or whether he’s towing the line as I believe it is just so wrong to show somebody at their most vulnerable!! It just sickens me.

However let’s let us ask ourselves why is this happening now? When ‘her’, l will continue to use the descriptor ‘her’ was doing all the talking a.k.a. lying because every time her lips move we know she’s lying and now she’s been silent. But for the last well since about the time that the Duke of Edinburgh passed away Harry allegedly has flown back to the to the United States where apparently he’s lived for two years one article said which surprises me but anyways what what’s truth and in articles. And he has been everywhere good morning America that all these Apple things with Oprah and celebrities and doing this and that and the other all for mental health!

You know sometimes it’s too much of a good thing. There’s a lot of excellent organizations in Canada there’s a CMH a Canadian mental health Association all over the world. But this constant stream of video and him in our face that’s not normal and the things he saying or lies and their provable lies that they’re not difficult at all. This is NOT NORMAL! IT IS A DELIBERATE OVERSATURATION FILLED WITH SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES IN THE VIDEOS, TRUST ME, SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES IN ADVERTISING IS REAL. TAKE A MAGNIFYING GLASS TO A FASHION MAGAZINE AND LOOK CLOSELY. YOU WILL BE AMAZED WHAT IS EMBEDDED IN THEM. JUST LIKE THE DISNEY VIDEOS THAT WERE SHOWN TO HAVE ADULT DRAWINGS.

In knowing Harry’s dedication to his Queen, his grandmother and his grandfather why on earth would he pick the first few days after the funeral to dig in like this and go so public? Why? We really must ask ourselves why? I will tell you why he is continuing to expose evil! There are all kinds of organizations that I’m not gonna name any “churches” some start with the letter S which many celebrities are members of Tom C is one. These organizations manipulate people and just like the NIXVM did in Canada. These backers are evil people and they’re willing to use people for anything in anyway at any purpose. The last picture I saw of Harry it was a video but I didn’t watch the video he looks so pale and so gaunt and so unwell that even though I believe he is doing the right thing and exposing all this and eventually hopefully eventually this will wrap up with him being free and everyone brought to justice let’s hope and pray, this is taking a terrible toll on him an absolute terrible toll. I have to again harken back to London scoop, everything has come to pass that she foretold way back several years ago when she came upon this information about this plot. I did a post one post last week where I propose the thought that the plot to integrate the British royal family began in the 1990s with princess Diana and I still believe that. I don’t know all the reasons or who the people would be but things things are just smelling very funny very very funny and I don’t mean funny as in laughter I mean funny as an off off off off!!!

So I say let us continue to pray for our Queen her family pray for the Cambridges, that they all stay safe and healthy the whole family to especially pray for Harry, whether do you think he’s doing his duty or you think he’s fallen under her trap and has become some whimpering child, pray for him all the more then because he needs it. If you really believe that he is he is doing this on his own free will because he’s mesmerized by her or he is woke and has become part of the woke world my goodness he needs more prayer than ever! To be released from these bondages!!

OK kids that’s my more than my two cents worth! As you all know it’s never one word thing with me I am very elaborative! I miss you all miss you and you all know who you are! Take care sending you all my love and prayers, PG!! I beg you all please don’t forget about me because I shall return I shall return!

To my dear Skippy, thank you for always being there. Thank you for relay messages. Most especially thank you for this safe space, your friendship and your prayers.

To my MM Anon/ Kensington Anon, thank you so much for your kind messages of love and support I have really appreciated it. I just feel like I’ve let everybody down by not being able to do the stories about the Cambridges. But I shall return soon hopefully in a week I’ll see how my arm is but it’s getting better hopefully in a week. I hope this finds you well, I hope you read this I don’t know if you ever checked my blog but if you do you will see this here.

💜🙂🙏🏻✝️💟PG💟✝️🙂🙏🏻💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

#@skippyv20 @sandiedog

40 notes · View notes

ganda4ever · 4 years

Text

The Story He Wanted

She is now living on her own and she doesn’t need a man to get what she wants. As helpful as her dad, brothers, and friends would be; Analía Reneé Delgado de La Cruz was determined to build her door sign herself. After being recently hired as parental educator and case manager for teenage parents, Anie wanted to create a way for her families to know if it was okay to drop in and visit her; while they were in the building for other courses with a cute door sign she made herself. “You are strong. You are powerful. You are capable of making the impossible; your possibilities,” Anie repeats to herself as she sits in her Toyota Corolla in the late August heat of Los Angeles. These 3 simple, but most meaningful, sentences are what her grand-dad and abuelo have for her for the last 21 years of her life.

As soon as she walks into Home Depot, Anie could feel her anxiety wash over her by all of the overwhelming sounds and insights in front of her. For years, her behavior therapist have always encouraged her to go out into the world and overcome her sensory issues; but today should not have been the day she thought she could handle it. Anie swallows forcefully and marches over to the wood section to ask an employee what types of materials she should buy.

“It’s okay. Thanks for trying to help. Have a good day” Anie sights to herself as she repeats the same generic sentences to the 9th employee that said, “uhh...sorry I don’t really know. You could try asking so and so” as they point lazily toward another general white guy with an orange apron on. She puts her hand on her temples to soothe the anxiety and headache coming on. “You are strong. You are powerful. You are capable of making the impossible; your possibilities'' Anie repeats once again to herself. She looks around to see if she can find another employee, but this guy with short, slightly frizzy hair starts walking up to her.

Anie tries to walk away as fast as possible but the young hottie catches her and says, “Hey, do you need help?” as his brown eyes catch the dim lighting in aisle 9 of this Home Depot.

“Yea, I could use some help. Do you work here?” Anie says with the breath she didn’t realize she was holding in.

“Haha!!” he booms out of his mouth a little louder than the average person. “No, I don’t; but they really should look into hiring me. May quit my day job for it” he says a little quieter and flashes you a full grin showcasing his pearly white teeth.

Anie smiles at this kind and good looking stranger and says, “You know what they say, ‘don’t quit your day job,’” she says trying to be funny, and failing miserably at. “Well if you aren’t busy, I really could use some help. I have no clue what I’m doing,” she says, feeling as desperate as they came. “I’m Analía by the way” as she extends her hand to shake his.

“Grayson, but you can call me Gray,” he says as he meets her hand.

She shows him the picture and explains her vision, so they are able to work together. For 3 hours, they go up and down every aisle in the store picking out woods and screws. Every once in a while Anie catches herself staring at Grayson, no Gray, a little longer than she probably should. When she isn’t staring at him or trying to pick the right screw and hinge color, Anie is answering one of the many questions Gray has asked her. She tells him about her new job, starting graduate school in a week, and little details about herself. Normally, Anie would never respond in that fashion; especially after what happened with her ex. Anie always told herself, “no one cares. just smile, nod, and look pretty. that’s what you do.” But Gray has made her feel welcomed and safe. Every question he asks makes what she says the most important thing in the world. She tells herself , “he is just being nice. Maybe looking for a quick hook-up in the parking lot.”

By the time Anie is able to convince herself Gray may just be a nice guy, they find themselves in the paint aisle. “Okay, if you go with this brand in any color; it shouldn’t fade or chip for a long time. That way you won’t need to come to this scary place for some time” Grayson says as he points to the BEHR selection on the swatch display.

“Okay, perfect. Thank you so much for all of your help. Is there any way I could prepaid you? Seriously, I was ready to completely give up.”

Grayson shakes his head no and says, “Nothing, really. Just knowing you got everything you need and that’s right; is all the payment I need. Also if you need a power drill you can rent one at customer services. It’s pretty cheap and probably a better option for a one time project.”

“That’s great! Thanks again for all of your help.” Anie smiles at Gray, hoping it will show him she is interested in him; as he flashes a little grin to her. To not make it awkward Anie says, “well, I’m sure you came here for a reason and I think I could be here for hours; so thanks again. Have a nice day.”

“Oh, yea. Yea. Of course, no problem. Have a good day and good luck with work and school,” he says with a little wave and a wink. And with that Anie watched him walk away. She frowns with the disappointment that she couldn’t get the courage to ask this beautiful man out.

The Gods or her brain must have known Analie has been in this overwhelming situation for far too long and needs to get home; because she picked the 2 paint colors she needed in record time for someone that took 5 days just to pick a mattress. She grabs her paint for the employee after they mixed it and places it in the cart. As she is pushing her heavier load up to the front, she can’t tell where a line starts and where one ends. Analie puts herself into what she thought was an okay spot until she hears, “Sweetheart. You may be able to push pass all of the ugly girls in high school, but here you always go behind the men.”

Analie starts to turn around when she realizes the man was talking to her; but then she hears in a harsher , but still very deep and sexy tone, a voice that memorized her all day says, “Dude. Calm the fuck down. She’s with me. Babe! Analie, I am over here. Did you get the paint we needed?” As Anie finishes her turn around she feels a strong, but still gentle, hand pulling her over to the check-out line to her left.

“Oh. I am so sorry. Guess I didn’t see you sir. I’m so sorry again.” She turns to Gray and says, “Yea, I did. Only took 10 minutes after all.” She smiles at Gray as to say, “Thank you for saving me from the dick over there.”

“Yea. Well ‘dude’, just keep your bitch in line and she won’t have any problems.” Anie can visibly see how upset Grayson is getting the more and more this man tries to speak and how he thinks it’s funny to verbally disrespect a woman in public. Anie thinks about her dad and brothers and tries to get in between this guy and Grayson to prevent a fight from breaking out; except Grayson just smiles and tells the guy, “Why don’t you just get in front of us and I’ll pay for your materials? Since being in line any longer is such a big deal for you.”

The dick of a man, just stares at Grayson like he is seeing a ghost. When Grayson pushes you and your cart back to allow the man to get over, the man practically runs over. After the man is finished checking out and Grayson finishes paying. He starts to put your materials on the belt and mixes your things together.

“Oh, no. You have done plenty for me. Seriously, I need to pay for our things.” Anie says as she tries to get passed Grayson to the card reader, but he bets her to it by sticking his credit card into the chip reader. He smiles as to tell her, “It’s okay. Please let me do this.” After the cashier puts all of Anie’s things back into her cart and Grayson grabs his bags, they start to walk out to their cars. Anie tried to think of a moment to thank Grayson for all of his help, but the silence feels so much better. As they reach the point where Anie needs to go one way and Gray takes the other, they both start trying to speak. Secretly both of them were hoping the other would give a sign of wanting to continue their day together, but it never happened. When they both start speaking at the same time, neither one understands the other. Grayson motions to Anie that she can talk first. She blushes and says, “I forgot about renting the drill. I’ll just go back in after loading my car. But thank you so much again for literally saving me.” She smiles at him, hoping he will get what she is putting off.

“No problem whatsoever. But what if I can get your number, we can build it at my place. This way you know it will be done right and I have all of the tools needed.” Grayson is pulling out his phone so fast, Anie doesn’t can’t even remember where she put her phone.

“I mean I would love that, because you can tell I struggle in the whole building aspect of life. But seriously only if you have some time, it can wait a minute before I really need it,” Anie says the whole time she is typing in her number and checking to make sure she spelt and wrote everything completely right; because it would be her luck to give him the wrong number by accident.

Grayson looks at her and sees the way her blue eyes shimmer in the L.A. pink and purple sunset behind them. “Actually, I was just going to grab some dinner and then head home. My brother’s girlfriend is over, so I would be all alone for the rest of the night. Why don’t we load up your car, and you follow me over to my favorite restaurant and afterwards we build.” Anie had no idea what to say, she just nodded her head. Saying a prayer thanking God something finally worked out okay for her.

“Yeah. That sounds really fun and a good way to spend our time. I mean building my sign, cause you know that has been my priority today,” Anie wants to run and hide by her cringy comment, but Grayson just laughs and agrees with her. Together they load up Anie’s car with everything she just bought and drives over to Grayson’s car. Before Grayson pulls out, Anie knows tonight is only going to end one of two ways: the biggest regret and mistake of her 21 years of life or she may have just found her eternal soulmate. Considering her previous relationship, Anie is really hoping for the latter to happen tonight. She could use a good gentleman in her life; and the possibility of this god of a man as her husband, doesn’t sound too bad.

#grayson dolan #dolan twins #ganda4ever

7 notes · View notes

mystifyingorbit · 4 years

Text

Nox

note: Special thanks to @chuuattckmyhrt for convincing me to make a Harry Potter AU

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Chaewon thought, sitting down, her wand too far away from her reach, arms around an unconscious Heejin, trying futilely to protect her friend from the two Death Eaters in front of her. She’s supposed to spend her life with her love, Heejin with hers, but here they are at death’s door, with nothing they were able to do. She sighs, sending one last prayer to her former love and her closest friends. “Are you going to kill me now?” She asks the two Death Eaters, who are in surprisingly no hurry to kill her.

One of the death eaters in front of her laughs, Chaewon immediately snapping her eyes to look at her, recognizing the voice instantly. “Yes, though I’d like an explanation first…. Why?”

Chaewon understood immediately what she was asking, and couldn’t help but sigh. “I was scared… As silly of an excuse as that is, I was scared Hyejoo.” She laughs, wheezing from the pain in her lungs from a stray Reducto. “Now looking back, you probably won’t believe it, but that was the thing I regretted the most in my short life.”

Hyejoo takes off her mask and stares at her, her face unreadable as she raises her wand at her.

Chaewon closes her eyes, flashing back to times when things were so much simpler and so much better.

------

Chaewon and Hyejoo were best friends, inseparable, sisters in all but blood.

As they grew up, they spent so much time together. Cuddling, watching movies together, playing around and just having a fun childhood together. Sometimes Hyunjin and Yerim, Hyejoo’s sisters, joined them. More often, however, it was just the two of them, enjoying their time with each other. Even as children, they understood that the other was special to them and wanted to keep them close.

Before long, Chaewon received her Hogwarts letter, and it was time for her to leave Hyejoo. Hyejoo cried a bit, especially since her sister Hyunjin is also leaving as well, but Chaewon reassured her that they’ll write home and will be back before she knows it, and that next year Hyejoo will get to join them at Hogwarts.

Chaewon kept her promise, of course, she sent back a letter, telling her that she was sorted into Hufflepuff and that she made a lot of new friends. Hyejoo can’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy that Chaewon was making other friends, but she was still Hyejoo’s best friend, so everything was fine.

----

Hyejoo was wrong, things were definitely not fine.

When they arrived at the train station, Hyejoo and Yerim expected Hyunjin and Chaewon to stick together. However, after a series of hugs, Chaewon explained that she has to join another carriage. When Hyejoo and Yerim asked Hyunjin why, she explained that the houses are quite segregated and that Slytherin can be quite isolated.

To no one in their friend group’s surprise, Hyejoo was sorted into Slytherin and Yerim into Hufflepuff, yet Hyejoo wishes she was with Chaewon in Hufflepuff.

As the year went, Hyejoo barely saw Chaewon, accounting for their differing year groups and the rift between Slytherin and most of the other houses. When she does see Chaewon, Chaewon does still sneak in a smile for her, and they still chat, especially when Chaewon is escorting around Yerim. Nowadays, Hyejoo sees Chaewon more with her Hufflepuff friends, though she also seems to be friends with a lot of others, notably with Heejin and Haseul from Gryffindor.

Hyejoo has also befriended some of those in Slytherin, though she doesn’t feel as close to them as others. (Not like her and her sisters, nor with Chaewon). She has friends outside of Slytherin, but it’s far and few between. The only people she’s really close to outside of her house are two Ravenclaws by the names of Sooyoung and Kahei, who are good friends with Jinsoul, one of the nicest seniors in Slytherin and probably the closest person to Hyejoo outside of her family.

---

As the years went by, they started hanging out a bit in Hogwarts. Ever since Heejin decided to visit Chaewon on a holiday on their fourth summer, where she and Hyunjin became smitten with each other, the friend groups almost merged a bit, and even if they weren’t that obviously close to each other at Hogwarts, all of them enjoys spending their holidays together, which is quite an interesting sight, especially when a few more people got involved. Jiwoo and Jungeun, two of Haseul and Heejins Gryffindor friends, joined in first. They got off to a rocky start but immediately hit it off with the rest of the crew. Finally, it was completed with Yeojin, Haseul’s bratty younger sister who weaselled their way into their hearts.

With many of the others starting to date, Chaewon and Hyejoo started to become closer and closer, especially when they’re often left alone together. It was like when they were young again, just the two of them. Except, this time, they’re very much older then they were, and very much more in love. While the two aren’t girlfriends, nor have they ever kissed, they knew the other was special to them and that they wanted each other close.

One day, that all changed. Death Eaters were on the rise again and Slytherin became even more estranged. The friend group, sort of fractured, when an argument between them erupted on the morality and the actions of the wizarding world, as well as the death eaters. At first, while heated, the arguments didn’t cause any rift. Soon other factors were brought into it, and Chaewon could only watch as a rift settled in their friend group. Chaewon couldn’t choose them, she can’t. She knows their views are not even dark, just greyer, but to the eyes of those in her house and in Gryffindor, anything not fully opposing that cause is dark. She’s afraid to be branded, sees how Yerim is affected by those around and cries in silence at how she’s unable to help. (Little did she know, so did the others. Kahei cries that she can’t protect her younger friends, Yves and Heejin having to break up with their girlfriends, and how Haseul is sad that she can’t even openly defend Yerim, who has warmed up to Yeojin.)

All of them were scared, and in their fear, the four suffered. Yerim used to be cheerful, the bright sun of the group, but that sun is all but burnt out. The three in Slytherin however, turned bitter, angry at their friends for abandoning them. Were their friendships really that meaningless? Hyejoo thinks of Chaewon especially, her close friend and love of her life and how she no longer associates or even acknowledges her in a positive light. She cries, missing her, but if she’s not accepted in the light, all she can do is fall into darkness.

As Chaewon is graduating, she arranges a meet up with Hyejoo one last time. As she was about to apologize, Hyejoo just turned her fierce glare at her, daring her to say anything, as if anything could mend the rift between them. Chaewon understood, nodding her head, walking away. Neither saw the tears in each other’s eyes, having chosen their paths, away from each other. Meanwhile, Heejin cried, her left cheek still stinging from a slap she well deserved, as she walked away from Hyunjin one last time. None of the four got much sleep that night.

It was a year after her graduation when Yerim approached her in her new shop. Chaewon held her close as she cried, explaining that her family has turned dark, and while she agrees with some of their beliefs, she doesn’t agree that this was the right way to achieve it.

They were sitting in a cafe, one of Kahei’s own creations. 9 of them, a reunion, incomplete one at that. Yerim was the last to arrive, and when the older members of the group saw her, they immediately pulled her into a hug. Haseul was the first to raise an apology, at how she couldn’t protect her or her sisters, and from there, the tears just spelt, guilt weighing in on all of them. While they didn’t agree with some of the choices, it wasn’t worth losing their friends, siblings, loves of their lives over it.

As they were getting up to live, a teary smile between them all and a promise to keep in touch, and to see if they could rekindle at least some of their friendships, Diagon Alley came under attack. They were separated, with Chaewon and Heejin fighting off multiple death eaters, before a stray reducto knocked a piece of debris onto Heejin, knocking her out. As Chaewon was distracted by her, an expelliarmus knocked her want out of her hand, before she was knocked down, pulling her arms around Heejin to protect her unconscious friend.

Here they are now, Hyejoo and Hyunjin (having pulled off her own mask) standing in front of her, with their wands pointed at her on the ground. “I’m sorry…”

Hyunjin laughs bitterly, “Sorry doesn’t mean much anymore. You weren’t there for us, none of you were.”

Chaewon can only close her eyes, accepting her fate. “Very well. If you wish to kill me, I can’t stop you. I deserve it anyway.”

With her eyes closed, she can’t see their reactions, though she assumes they're as stoic as ever.

“However, I have one request. I know I probably deserve this, but I’d still like for you to consider it Hyejoo.”

When there is no sound and she has not died yet, Chaewon takes it as a sign to continue. She opens her eyes and beckons Hyejoo and Hyunjin closer.

The two do so, Hyejoo still pointing her wand at Chaewon. (Chaewon can’t see it, but Hyejoo is having an internal fight. Chaewon has done many things wrong, but she’s always been an amazing part of her life.)

Chaewon passes the unconscious Heejin to Hyunjin, nodding her head. Nothing needs to be said there, even if they were enemies, she still trusts them to respect Heejin's life. Even if she were to die, they wouldn't kill her off in her sleep.

Chaewon slowly grabs Hyejoo’s wand arm and points it at her heart, tears flowing from her eyes. She speaks softly, “I’d like my final memories to be with you, if that’s okay Hyejoo. If I were to die, I’d like to have kissed you just this once. Can I have this, please?”

Hyejoo nods, eyes still unreadable. Chaewon takes her hand off Hyejoo’s, wand still pointing at her heart and pulls Hyejoo in with both hands, savouring the taste of her lips for the first, and possibly last time. Chaewon closes her eyes…

---

Kahei arrived at her cafe, the first time she’s been here since the war. As she prepares to open the Cafe, she notices a small moving picture on her counter. 12 girls, four different houses. Three turned to darkness, two others having never contacted her. She sighed, before a cough sounded behind her. No one else was supposed to be here, yet here they are, 6 girls all willing to help her clean out the cafe. Haseul goes up to hug her and notices the picture. They look at each other and nod. They need to move on, for them.

A few hours later, as the girls close up the cafe, and Yeojin goes up to the second floor, the other girls hear a scream. As they rush up, they notice Yeojin hugging a girl with blonde hair and a smile on her face, standing next to four others.

They still had issues to work through, problems to solve. Yet as Chaewon looks at Hyejoo smiling next to her, hand in hand, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#olivia hye #go won #loona #hogwarts au #Loona Imagines

19 notes · View notes

imhereforthetryus · 5 years

Text

Love is Hate and there no other way

(Anti Harringroves pls do not intereact with thid fanfiction your welcome to talk about anything else but this fic yes dont worry about the title i just do dEeP 💩 )

Tags: @thelonious-jagger-smitten @i-am-church-the-cat it glitching and so u might have to use the link

Tw: for abuse and panic attacks i apologize deeply i dont know how to do the read more thing im so sorry

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911385

I be like we self projecting 👋🤦🏼‍♀️😂 noises

(Why get therapy when u can get bad coping methods 😎)

Words:7,932

Billy's eyes were blue kind of like his mother's blue but not really sure he had the paleness blue of his mothers but her eyes were just different he took a lot after his mother, the same not same eyes and bright blonde curls that seemed to grow a foot a month.

He figured that why Neil hated him so much Neil and his mom relationship was weird, in a way not just the whole abuse thing but that Billy could never really tell who was the victim and who was the aggressor.

Sure sometimes it was obvious when Neil was towering over his mother as she stood on the floor tired and hurt but then there were times when both were yelling at each other and trading insults, or his mom eyes pale and blue filled with rage would hit a plate against Neil, clawing at him and screaming truth be told at first it was amusing but he found himself laughing less and more just watching the scene unfold.

“My little Isla...Don’t cry everything is fine...let me tell you an old story of mine...about the necklace” then she would start weaving tales endlessly he would laugh and she would smile she was always a great storyteller she always wanted to be an actor it was kind of ironic how she was acting all the time … acting like everything fine “Is my bunny happy” he would not and hug her and everything would be fine but it wasn’t and maybe it would never be.

Like how if he had just been able to keep his mouth shut about the new boy at school. Who played with Billy the only child to not shun him, and who drew him a picture and how cute he looked and how he was going to marry him one day his dad anger wouldn’t have increased tenfold forever. His mom wouldn’t have left angry at Neil unacceptable of him but then if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have had his mother there to kiss his bruise stinging from Neil fist and the tears from the word faggot he didnt know what it meant but he knew it wasnt good, but she was there she was awalys there to tell him there was “nothing wrong with loving a boy that love is just loving and wherever and whoever you find it with loves you back and that the only thing that matters Isla”

He missed being a child but was he ever a child he was grown up before he knew it. He forced himself to stop thinking about everything focus on something else,...your eyes he had just noticed that his eyes well they were always blue but their not really blue if that made sense they sort of changed blues but to his drunk mind taking dangerous trips fueled by chugged countless cheap beers at Tommy H. Party it didn’t matter.

If he was drunk or sober one thing that stayed the same was he fucking hated this day...hated how his mother had left him and how she loved him she awalys used to say how much she loved him while hugging him gently like it would make Neils slaps , his red cheeks and tears disappear, as if her overwhelming love bundled with hugs and kisses would make up for it, but all it did was make Billy confused if she could love him so easily why couldnt his dad and then she came back.

Like as if she couldn't bother leaving him alone without the emotional damage of coming back she had only done it a few days at a time after years of hiding away with the words or letters getting fewer but then she had ghosted him a year later but he still remembered that day.

He remembered being thirteen his favourite toy bunny the one his mother had when she was a child and the one he spelt with to protect him from the monsters under the bed when she couldn’t sleep with him that beautiful bunny disposed and ripped to shreds it white fur blood-splattered and it head gone all because “he was too old for them” sitting on the floor of his bedroom just praying every night for his mom to come back and take him with her, and trying to lock himself in and saying his prayer faster as if to make her appear right there and then...and she did eventually on the eve of his fourteenth birthday there she was in the flesh, sneaking through the tiny window and grabbing Billy.

She shushed his protest and laughed at him but she was happy so he was happy and very confused But isn't that the life of a child, to be one without power or choice, always going with the change in the wind and praying for a safe harbor? .Wasn't that always his life going with the wind and following the “adults” he was sure they never grew up his mom was still a believer in hope even in despair while that was surely a good thing for her. it wasn't for Billy nothing was ever good for him. He was a ping pong to his parents, a useless fix it child.

They demanded him to pick a side many times even when there was no fight to be won it was a never-ending war to win his love they bad-mouthed each other constantly but he just stood there trying not to intervene in their war of hate, but he had too sometimes when he didn't want to or else he would be the target they desired to know who he loved more, but in truth there is no such distinction. They asked and should the “right” answer not arrive there is anger, swift and brutal in the form of his mom shunning him and his dad hitting him.

So even when his mom came it wasn't for him but just to win another point to piss off Neil, but he was used to the bribes. it wasn't too bad though he could get used to the perks he decided he would make the best of it as his mom carried him on her slim shoulders, he would admire the stars from above to him she stood like a giant.

Or maybe that the way he envisioned her he couldn't help exaggerate her tiny height even when he was boarding on it. he held on close afraid she disappear again just to let him calm his nerves she let him touch her hair curly, long and blonde a shining clone of his and play with her necklace. She had told him the story about how her grandmother had made the necklace from the last of their metal as a birthday gift many times usually with Neil letting a murmur of disapproval fall from his lips but this time it felt different maybe even magical. As they were walking along the boardwalk his socks light against the board, as his mom flowered him with Ice-cream galore. It was his favorite Strawberry and five scoops high he smiled happily letting the dark light shine across his face and the pools of ice cream melt onto his clothes.

They had come across an abandoned climbing place, an adventure playground of sorts, it was dark and quiet but his mom said it was okay and encouraged him to climb the fence.

She had done it too her heels landing against the sand she had laughed so he did, running up against the wooden structure which reeked of paint but she was giddy like a child taking him everywhere. At some point they ran onto the cold wet damp grass in the rain barefoot, her colorful dresses always finding a way to light up in the darkest nights, the light green still stood out even amongst the grass and as they laid there. His mom rubbing his hair and pointing at all the stars and telling him about it like a well of infinite knowledge.

“You see William that star right there” he had nodded hesitantly she rarely called him William, only when she wanted his attention, she usually called him Isla or Bunny and while he protested those pet names as long as he had been living she had just laughed and just pulled him closer he never thought he miss those names so fucking much. before you get the wrong idea she wasn’t dead but it was like that she was a ghost now refusing to acknowledge Billy but this time there were no secret trips to wherever, maybe Billy just outgrew them or his mom outgrew him he wasn't sure which possibility was worse.

As his bruised muscles cracking with pain,up against his hard mattress nothing like a beating and shitty necessities not like Neil gave a damn to his comfort after all, he give him a semi comfortable bed because “cost” but Billy knew that was bullshit.

Neil would do anything to see Billy suffer it was practically his favourite hobby when he wasn’t gutting the insides of fish but it was practically the same Neil would rail in the fish with bait or in Billy cases kind words and flashy gifts. Then he would wait a bit till the fish took the bait like Billy would let his guard down a tiny bit.Then go in for the kill using his fishing pole and fist to kill the fish slowly and painfully like he would to Billy and he knew for a fact that not only were these mattress so stiff and hard. They cost way more for whatever reason rich people like hard mattresses. but it could be worse his dad could have not given him a room at all yeah it could be worse it was something Billy always thought about him finally getting away from Neil not by his own choice but by cps he tried it before but Neil was so charming and Billy wasn’t ten and a half anymore, his mom wasn't there to challenge Neil and to protect him.

He couldn't risk a visit now so it would never happen not by any fault of his own at least he knew Neil could predict most of his movements.

He heard the horror stories he wasn’t going to subject himself to any more shit and while his dad was shit he was still legally required to provide for him otherwise how else would he use that line in his next argument, to justify his parenting methods and to complain about how hard it was raising a useless piece of shit like Billy and to think of it his father sure loved to complain about useless shit.

But he couldn’t complain he never could without a slap against his cheeks or his dad's famous speech scientifically designed to make anyone who hears it feel like shit which Billy already was, but hey the speech is such a great deal for shitty dads everywhere who wouldn’t love to mentally toture their child when their fist became too bruised to hit them.

And in all honesty Billy loathed that speech more than he loathed himself, more than he loathed his dads fist, more than he loathed girls how he hated to fuck them and go out with them and even more than he loathed Harrington.

Stupidly perfect Harrington who made Billy heart skip and leap, who made Billy blush at an insult who made Billy nervous and not just out of fear, he made Billy scared way too scared.

He could not be with Harrington even if he wasn't straight which he couldn't be because almost all the gays in California used Farrah Fawcett Hairspray it how they found each other.

Not like Billy ever went as far like that even then he was too much of a coward, his pale blue eyes glanced at the alarm finally calm for once because this was his favourite part of the day, when he could just lay in bed and glanced up at the ugly peach ceiling letting his thoughts flowed like a river stream quiet yet loud.

He pulled the wool cover closer shivering in his empty room another form of sadstic toture if Neil wasn’t beating the shit out of him he was fucking up Billys air and heat supply. He never knew when he would be hot or cold plus it was just another way for Neil to keep him on his fucking toes.

Like he didnt do that every single fucking day, with Neil mood deciding if Billy could only get away with a slap and a walk outside in the snow and how he hated the cold, he wasnt used to it . Ofcourse, he was a California Baby he could stand hot weather but not cold especially when he only had one blanket to protect himself. Because everything belonged to Neil if he pissed Neil off too much his belongings would be gone because they were never his , Neil spiteful face popped up and he imagined another cruel smile as he “grounded” Billy.

“You need to learn a lesson about Respect and Responsibility” he saw his dad, felt him “punishing” Billy, he felt his tears and struggled to get out of this hellish nightmare, his breath heavy, breathe breathe don't be such a pussy his panic attack was stopped by a knock on his door he opened the door angrily.

“What the fuck do you want M-..” his father stared at him stone cold and hard like he awalys was calculating watching Billy squirm.

“Is this how you talk to your sister” he grabbed Billy chin and squeezed it tight.

“No sir” Billy tried to make himself shorter, trying to disappear into the wall but it never worked, no matter how he wished it did but his father was in a good mood suprisngly so he let Billy off with a slap and a spilt lip, and Billy could thank him right then and there for not beating the shit out of him for being so rude and disrespectful, but the stare of disappointment and the glare was more painful than the backhand.

Billy forced himself to go downstairs dreading every step to eat with his “family” as far as Billy was conserend his mom was his only family but all his stubbornness did was put Neil in a bad mood.

“You’re Mother is gone Billy suck it up” he would say chewing his steak and despite Billy hating eating breakfast with Susan and Neil , being under his dad microscope was irritating and annoying but he knew if he didn't eat all his food, thank Susan, and be quiet and not exist then there wouldn’t be any food to digest, because Neil had done it before It was either eat everything Susan made no matter how much it taste like horseshit or not eat at all or even worse eat the way Neil wanted him too and while Billy personally thought both options were cruel and unusual toture and neither qualified as the best option but he still needed food to survive so he ate it all.

Every last spoonful in fear for Neil trailing eyes on him, his back arching aganist the chair, eating softly and trying not to throw up watching Max shoveling burned eggs and bacon into her mouth, his mom food was way better.

He glared at Susan subtly as he thanked her how he wanted to go off on her but he wasn't in the mood to skip school today and be bruised. so instead he took his anger out on Max he yelled at her to get up, which resulted in her eating her scrambled eggs slower then finally getting up and taking forever to get ready, grabbed Max by the elbow when she wasn't moving fast enough. he hated running into Neil in the morning who was less of a morning person than Billy and he grabbed her hard enough to bruise but not enough to get shit from Neil.

He ignored her screaming at him to the point where she was being a cocky little shit, and had the nerve to put her disgusting mud covered red shoes on his dashboard, with a little grin that stupid brat and when he told her to knock it off she flipped him off. so he drove like a manic letting his hands off the steering and speeding up just to see the fear in her eyes and dropped her off to the stares of the middle schoolers.

He drove back even faster it was the only way plus he couldn't miss getting ready for his favorite class of the day aka Bothering Steve for 40 minutes, he stood against his Camero letting cigarette smoke fill the air, then he went inside shoving a couple of kids who dared to look at Billy in anyway no one was that stupid to do it on purpose but still he had to install fear or he would be scared.

He wasn't always mean he used to be kind but kindness never got him anything but a broken heart and fag screamed at his face by older boys, a shove to the ground and the laughter of his classmates it never gave him anything but humiliation.

So He hid behind a charming carefree smile and reinvented himself, learning to keep his feelings inside to stop thinking about boys that way. The hurt lodged in that sweet heart like a slow acting poison and before long he became a “problem child,” destined for a life behind bars. He hated his “parents,” hated the system, hated the government and the whole damn world he had to or he would hate himself.

The hate It burst forth in his speech, his actions, his attitude. He got close to people just to hurt them, power at last. Nothing pleased him more than to walk away from a new lover ripping their valentines while they whimpered and ran, To shove a kid down and make him cry to spit the word fag in the kids fave.. To Billy people were “bad, dangerous, and they deserved what they got." Because he deserved what he had gotten.

Steve loathed first period, not only because it's English Class but Billy who made it his personal goal to harass Steve anytime he could which meant every class they shared together. Because Billy obviously didn't think his crude and sexual teasing,his fists and trips down the hallway was enough time to toture Harrington and fortunately for Steve.

There were only four classes but that meant Billy had to make an impression so Steve sighed as Billy came in late what a surprise , came up to him, knocking his books down against the floor, Mrs.Ava looked like she was going to say something but the look Billy gave her shut her up Steve reisted a snort great everyone was intimidated by Billy.

As the minutes of the lesson passed, the ceaseless buzzing of the classroom grew quieter watching them it was no secret that Billy and Steve weren’t pals but a look of shock always seemed to come on their face watching their interactions a quiet glance from Billy made the chatter started up again and they pretended to be talking about something else and looked away.

“Hey Prettyboy” Billy licked his lips at him, slamming into the seat next to Steve, Billy smiled at him.

Steve rolled his eyes trailing the pencil in between his fingers, he was way too tired to deal with Billy “Don't you have someone else to bother” .

Billy pouted giving him a small smirk he even makes puppy eyes look evil Steve sighed.

“But you’re my favourite Stevie” Steve kicked Billy from under the table.

“Fuck off” Billy just laughed and reisted the urge to whimper why was he being so weak it was just a little cut there Billy felt himself ponder looking at Steve who was trying very hard not to look at Billy and to focus on the lesson which Billy should be doing to, but Steve and his perfect lips and how much Billy wanted to kiss them, his soft hair i wonder what it would feel like oh how he wanted to kiss Steve, shove him against a wall, fuck him and punch him all at the same time why do you have to be so damn amazing Harrington.

“Ouch you really hurt my feelings Harrington..I think i just shed a tear” Billy smiled oh how he loved first period plus steve was so cute when he was annoyed FAG his mind screamed he reisted the urge to punch himself, Steve gave Billy a small smirk.

“Bullshit you dont have feelings” Billy chuckled slowly unbutoing his top not like it was open anyways but cmon if he didnt give the cows here a show people might think he a fag which he is , he winked to Steve.

“You’re right about that Pretty Boy” Steve glared and turned towards the window suddenly interested in the blue sky and clouds that dotted the sky. The bell rang finally freedom Steve thought he was one comment away from shoving his pencil up Billy ass.

why does he have to be such an asshole even worse a cute one and yeah it was pretty cliche of him to have a crush on his bully. but like can you blame him Billy was hot and straight his mind screamed at him it was too risky plus he didnt think he could handle Billy disgust more than his fists but Billy was so hot and an asshole but hes a hot one.

Steve groaned in frustration stupid horny brain but this felt weird and different he didnt like boys right i mean, and if he was gay which he wasn’t wasnt he liked nancy for a long time goodness sake then couldn’t he atleast have a crush on a boy who isnt an asshole, but what was he, after all if you weren’t straight then you were gay but he liked both he couldn’t possibly be gay and straight at the same time, there had to be a word and Steve had to investigate it for his sake so on he went after Mrs. Ava class to the library.

Steve ducked from Nancy and Jonathan he felt bad about missing lunch but if they even knew where he was going they would ask questions he wasn't ready to answer yet when he saw them leave he sprinted towards his car driving to the town library which was well not im Hawkins but the next town over he couldn’t bare to see anyone he knew. He opened the doors to the library entering he was hit with a cloud of dust, and started to look around.

Row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, colour coded with dots, fiction section arranged in alphabetical order, young adults section, comfortable chairs, tables for quiet study, muffled stillness.

He took a breath walking up to the resident sub librarian Mrs. Mervil the hawk who stood about 5’4 her lip always tight and pressed as if she was simply always waiting for disappointment as if she never bothered to smile, her eyebrows and eyes were thin and like her whole self her clothes reflected that always dread and uncolorful, so professional and tight. It made Steve parents outfits look casual and who despite Steve best try hated him for whatever reason, maybe it was the blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes those combinations always seemed to despise Steve or just everyone but mostly Steve.

He gave her a false smile “Hi Mrs.Mervil” she turned towards him. her eyes cold and bored she took off her silver rimmed glasses for a young woman she sure acted old she put down whatever book she was reading he examined it, she slammed it before he could see the title but it was a space book for sure.

“What is it Steven” he sighed and gave her a smile he hoped his face wasn't giving away anything.

“Mr.Harrington if you’re just going to stand there and go dont waste my time” he bit his lip and shoved his hands deeper in his cardigan. He couldn’t do this she already hated him she could tell everyone, or even worse whatever worse was. But he needed to know this more than he needed to breathe, he could wait but he wasn't willing to wait.

“I need to find a book...to tell me about my sexuality” at that her face and demeanor softened a bit like she was remancissing she gave him a small smile and lead him towards the shelf her heels dragging along the whole way.

“Alright come along Steven I don't have all day” he sighed in relief and walked up with her, he tried to make conversation as she rustled through the books.

#harringrove #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove #harringrove fanfic #steve harrington

3 notes · View notes

theladyoflove · 5 years

Note

Helli. I was wondering how one keeps a devotion journal. I'm new to devoting myself to a goddess and just wondered how u did it. I cant have an altar either

I pretty much just made a main page with a passage where I told Aphrodite this journal was specifically for her, I put a prayer and drew some things which reminded me of her! I took the post down because I realised I spelt her name wrong and the shame was real lol but I’ll be redoing it!

You just write down prayers/hymns you like, write about your day and the things you learnt about your goddess. Any signs of them you saw. Write about how much you love and appreciate them! Just put anything that makes you think of them!

The pain of not having an altar is real trust me x.x I sometimes think I’m not good enough to worship Aphrodite but she’s with me! It’s not what you do it’s the energy you put into it that makes your worship! Let the love for your goddess show in your journal! ♥

Good luck in your worship! ♥

#aphrodite #aphrodite devotee #devotion #journaling #tips

8 notes · View notes

meltingalphabet · 6 years

Text

What’s So Scary About Halloween? Age 13

At age 13, I played with a Ouija board.

By then, all memories of my childhood Halloweens had been buried deep within my mind. Puberty hit me like a ton of bricks and I went from being a perfect little angel who always said please and thank you to a wannabe bad girl. The fairies had taken my eye only five years previously and yet, at that age, 8 seemed a lifetime ago. Whenever people asked about my glass eye, I’d tell them the truth. I’d tell them what I thought was the truth. What the doctor with the deep warm voice filled with knowledge told me.

“I slept walked into the woods one night as a kid and scratched my cornea on a twig or something. It got really infected so they had to remove it.”

“That is sick!” Carolyn said, her eye only an inch from mine as she examined it. She sat back down onto the rubber surface of the trampoline, her face lit up with morbid curiosity.

We had met only a few week previously during orientation at Williams Cove Middle School but we had an instant connection. I had thought she could be my best friend. I guess, on some level, I thought she already was.

Jackie sat beside us, shaking her head. “That’s fucked up, man.” She said, sucking on a cigarette before passing it to me. Carolyn reached into the back pocket of her black bondage pants and pulled out the rest of the pack that she had stolen from her dad.

The three of us were a pack of misfits. While my preteen rebellion involved listening to the Dead Kennedys and trying to convince my mom to buy me a leather jacket, Carolyn went a different route. By Halloween of eighth grade, Carolyn’s goth phase was at its peak: white foundation, corsets, ripped fishnets, and jet black hair. She even began to make everyone refer to her as Lilith. And like her family and other friends, I indulged her. Decked out in latex gloves, I spent a Saturday afternoon helping her dye her natural auburn curls. Her mother was pissed with us, but that was part of the fun. I went with her when she got her tongue pierced and ended up getting my nose done as well. Despite my more punk inclinations, it was fun discovering Black Sabbath and Marilyn Manson with her.

Jackie on the other hand was way cooler than either of us. She didn’t dress up to piss her parents off and she didn’t spout delusional preachings of preteen rebellion. Her life focus was to become an artist and that was who she was, through and through. She didn’t waste time at the mall or Hot Topic. She wore loose ripped jeans and baggy sweaters she mostly got from Goodwill, and her long blonde hair was always tied back into a loose messy bun. She smoked cigarettes with us and shoot the shit, but most of her free time was spent in the art wing of the high school working on projects. Everyone knew fancy art colleges from all over the country were already looking at her, keeping tabs on her artistic genius.

Carolyn - at the time, Lilith - and I were desperate for her attention. We shared an unspoken disbelief and excitement that someone so cool, so adult, would want to spend time with us.

“You guys should come over tonight for a Halloween sleepover! We’ll play games and watch movies! I’ll order pizza and we can steal some of my dad’s vodka!” Carolyn said, her face bright with excitement.

A small pit at the bottom of my stomach made me pause.

“I dunno, Lilith.” I said, “it’s a school night.”

“Ah, come on! It’ll be so fun! And it won’t kill you to stay out one night!”

The pit, now more of a voice or feeling, tried to pull me away from the warmth of acceptance and validation. Don’t do it. The feeling said, tendrils of fear slowly crawling up my sides like snakes.

Jackie giggled and I looked at her. She was smiling at Carolyn, that huge, warm smile of hers where the corner of her mouth rose just a little higher than the other one. Her blue eyes crinkled with the gesture.

“That sounds awesome, I’m down.” She looked at me as she tilted her head to the right and away. It was a look she gave me sometimes. Mostly when asking a question but sometimes just when she was looking at me. Like she was examining me but was too close, like she had to adjust her head so she could focus better. “You sure you don’t want to?” She asked, the crinkles in her eyes fading slightly.

The pit in my stomach fell away into oblivion, immediately forgotten, and I smiled at her. “Fuck it, I’m in.”

That night, the three of us sat on the floor of Carolyn’s room. My head was thick with vodka and cigarettes and my skin buzzed. I was browsing through Carolyn’s DVD collection, trying to find something to watch, when she stopped me, clapping her hands in excitement at a sudden epiphany.

“Oh my God, you know what we should do?” She asked. I looked to Jackie who was watching Carolyn with a small smile on her lips. Without waiting for a response, Carolyn jumped up from the floor and walked to her bookcase. “We should perform a seance!” She turned back to us, presenting a cheap mass-produced Ouija set.

I rolled my eyes and Jackie snorted in laughter.

“I’m serious!” Carolyn said. “We should do at least something scary! It is Halloween afterall.”

I looked at the clock. “Only for another twenty minutes.”

“Even more reason to do it now!” Carolyn fell to the floor, taking the lid off the box.

“Have you ever done this before?” Jackie asked hesitantly.

“Not really.” Carolyn admitted. “I mean, I tried to once but I was alone. I think it only works if you have a coven.”

I raised an eyebrow to Jackie who shrugged.

Carolyn placed the planchette onto the cardboard game as she sat back, her legs crossed in front of her. She sat there, back straight, and waited. After a few seconds of nothing, she cleared her throat, throwing us both pointed looks.

“Fine.” I sighed as I placed my fingertips on one edge of the plastic triangle. “But never call us a coven again.”

Jackie’s fingers joined ours, her hand brushing softly against mine. My heart beat sped up with excitement. We looked to Carolyn who smiled maliciously at us as she closed her eyes and began to speak. Her voice was unnecessarily deep, like she was trying to impersonate Boris Karloff.

“Oh spirits, we call upon you tonight on All Hallow’s Eve. Come to us. Speak your truths through us and share your knowledge.” Carolyn began to sway slightly, her shoulders rocking back and forth. Jackie sighed beside me and I bite my tongue to stifle a giggle. Carolyn didn’t notice.

Slowly, the planchette began to move under our fingers. Jackie jumped before snickering quietly as she looked at me to roll her eyes at her own reaction. Carolyn, her eyes still closed, pushed the planchette forward. It hovered over the letter H before sliding to the letter I, where it stayed.

“Really, Carolyn?” I asked in frustration. “Hi?”

Carolyn’s eyes popped open. “It’s Lilith!” She scolded, her brow tight with anger. “And I didn’t do that! It was the spirit of the house! I had my eyes closed.” She added, pointing to herself as if that alibi was airtight.

“Alright,” I sighed, “Hi, Mr. Ghost.” Despite the sarcasm, Carolyn closed her eyes again and continued.

“I can sense the spirit. It is not a man, but a woman. She wishes to speak more. Please, tell us your story oh great spirit!”

Subtle vibrations began to rise from the plastic beneath my fingertips, as if the planchette was pulsing. I opened my mouth in confusion and looked to Jackie, who was watching the planchette wide eyed. I looked back at Carolyn, trying to figure out how should was doing it.

The planchette moved again, hovering this time over D. Carolyn’s eyes were still closed, so I took it upon myself to read the letter out loud. It moved to the E and this time Jackie joined me. Together, we chanted the letters into the air.

A-T-H.

“Death.” Jackie finished.

“Appropriate.” I said.

Carolyn began to sway again, this time humming loudly as if she was meditating. She spoke again, her voice booming forward into the now chilled air of the room. “Oh great spirit, we implore you. Tell us how you died!?!” Her words sounded scripted. Forced, as if she were reading Shakespeare on a stage.

The planchette moved and Jackie and I read the letters aloud.

K-I-L-L

“Who killed you?” Carolyn cried.

T-A-Y-L-O-R

“What the fuck!?” Jackie yelled, her hands flying from the planchette as she shot back away from the Ouija board.

“Carolyn, stop it!” I scolded as I sat up and crossed my arms. “That’s so not funny!”

Carolyn didn’t acknowledge us, her eyes remaining shut as a continuous moan spilled forth from her lips. The planchette moved again.

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

“Stop it!” I cried.

But the planchette didn’t stop. It kept moving furiously over the same letters. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Carolyn opened her mouth wide and began to chant along with the words spelt on the board.

“Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor.” Her voice grew louder and louder. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!” She was screaming now. I crawled away from her, towards Jackie who reached out and pulled me towards her. I clung to her tightly, silent prayers forming incoherently in my mind. Her parents would hear her. They’d come find us. They’d be here at any moment. They’d save us. They’d save me. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!” Jackie and I held each other as Carolyn continued to chant.

“Fucking stop it!” Jackie screamed as she lunged out of my grasp towards Carolyn. She landed on her, pinning her quickly to the ground. Jackie shook her by the shoulders as the other girl kept screaming.

“Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!”

“Jackie!” I yelled, my voice strained with fear. She whipped around to face me, her hands and knees still pinning the screaming, squirming form of my best friend. My arm shook as I pointed towards the Ouija board.

The planchette hadn’t stopped.

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

Jackie turned back to Carolyn. “Stop it! Stop Carolyn! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

The noise of the planchette scraping across cardboard filled my ears. It was too loud, as if it were right beside my head. My body buzzed as I watched the blur. Each movement echoed in my mind and the buzzing grew and grew. Like molecules in boiling water my skin buzzed so fast that heat began to spread across it. I started screaming, tears flowing down my cheeks in pain and fear.

There was a snap and Jackie screamed. Her body flew back across the room, smacking against the bookcase with a painful thud. I looked at Carolyn who had sat up and was now staring at me, her wide eyes glowing blood red, her pupils no longer visible. She bared her teeth at me and seethed. Her chest rising and falling as her breath cut in and out with a sharp hissing noise. Drool formed at the corners of her mouth and flew forward with each sharp exhale. Her gaze held a hatred that I had never seen before.

She continued to chant. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!”

Before I could react, she lunged forward. Her hands wrapped around my throat and she squeezed. I flailed my arms, punching and slapping her, desperately trying to get her off of me. I tried to kick but she was straddling me, her weight on my thighs. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breath. I thrust my arm at her face and scratched her. My nails dug deep into her flesh as I scratched again and again. Red lines formed across her cheeks, her blood making the skin slippery beneath my fingertips, but her grip around my neck held fast.

My body screamed for air. My lungs throbbed and my mouth gaped as instinct tried to save me. Flashes of a tub full of water shot through my mind with an electric sting. Things in the water bobbed and spun around me as I tried to escape. A sweet juice crackled on the tip of my tongue and I tried to scream but instead came back to the present. Blood was rushing to my head, which felt unnaturally heavy.

Carolyn’s face fell to mine, a red eye filling my vision. Warm spit hit my skin as she breathed ragged breaths above me, the warmth of her breath smelling like blood, death, and decay.

And then, she screamed. Her terrible chants replaced with a pained screamed that hit my face with heated anger. I inhaled sharply as her grasp loosened. She began to slide away, that red eye blissfully leaving my vision.

White flashed behind her as the planchette flew from the board, hitting the far wall with a loud plastic crack. I swallowed air desperately, my lungs expanding painfully with each breath. Carolyn fell forward onto the carpet like a rag doll, revealing Jackie standing behind her holding a thick black candlestick. The dried purple wax was still visible from where the candle had recently been.

Jackie fell to the ground beside our unconscious friend and wept.

The three of us stood in the living room as Jackie and I waited for our parents to pick us up. Carolyn held a towel to the back of her head, the fabric now damp and stained with blood. Her parents were in the other room putting on their boots and jackets, preparing to take Carolyn to the hospital. The bleeding had stopped but she needed to get checked out. The 9-1-1 receiver had warned that she may have a concussion.

“I remember everything turning red and all I felt was hatred. It was like in a dream. I felt the emotions so real, so tangible. But they weren’t really mine. It was like…..” She hesitated. “It was like I was possessed.”

Jackie, face wet with tears, shook her head violently. “Fuck you.” She spat, her voice quaking.

“I’m so sorry.” Carolyn said as she reached out towards her, but Jackie flinched away from her touch.

Jackie wasn’t at school the next few days. We didn’t see her for another week and when she did finally come back, she avoided Carolyn and I, outright ignoring us if we tried to talk to her.

Of course, everyone asked us what happened. Parents, doctors, friends, the guidance counselor. But none of us could answer. We couldn’t explain why I had bruises around my neck or what had happened to Carolyn’s head. The truth was too fantastical and we were too traumatized to think of something more believable to say. They continued to ask for weeks and months later but, to my knowledge, the three of us never told anyone what we experienced that Halloween night.

I immediately cleaned up my act. I started focusing more on school and less on a social life. I haven’t smoked a cigarette since and didn’t drink another drop of alcohol till college. Instead of going to parties, I began enjoying the quiet and comfort of church. And I never spent the night at a friend’s house again.

While my parents were, and still are, indifferent to religion, that night made me believe. I believed in the supernatural. Believed in good versus evil, heaven and hell. In the power of prayer and magic. But I gave all the credit of what happened to the Ouija board. To the devil.

Carolyn and I never hung out again after that night. I became too busy with school and church and she became too busy with drugs and parties. We drifted apart pretty quickly. Church helped make me feel safe again and through it I was able to recover from my past trauma and move on. In high school, I found a healthy balance between teenage fun and respect for the forces of our world that I didn’t understand. I was able to make new friends and to even start dating, all while under the protection of Christianity. The protection of God and Jesus Christ.

When my high school boyfriend wanted to watch scary movies, I didn’t want to. Not because I thought it contradicted my religious lifestyle. I knew I could still be a good Christian and watch horror movies. Just like I could still be a good Christian and date. Life, as my pastor always said, was about balancing. Be good and keep God in the forefront of your mind and you will be kept safe.

I didn’t want to watch scary movies because of that little pit in my stomach. Those little tendrils of fear that climb up my skin. That little voice that warns me.

Don’t do it.

But movies can’t hurt you. Not like demons can.

At age 16, I watched Child’s Play. And just like the other years, Halloween used fear and mischief to attack me. Like a trickster god, it used its powers to warp and twist reality for the pure pleasure of torturing me. That was the night it all started to make sense. The night all the pieces fell into place. With sickening horror, I realized that Halloween hated me. That Halloween wanted to make me suffer, and still does. This one night a year, this holiday, has created unseen laws of order. Laws it put in place when I was only a child. Laws that it used as reason to punish me when I unknowingly broke them. It took sixteen years, but I finally learned to respect those laws.

Unfortunately, my story doesn’t end there. By college, I thought I understood the rules. I thought I knew the laws instilled upon me. And in a moment of desperation, I thought I knew how to play the system.

But I was very, very wrong.

#nosleep #horror #halloween #shortstory #shorthorrorstory

2 notes · View notes

queen0fkingss · 6 years

Text

Forever Missing Him (Cali/Kesan Character Death Reaction Thing)

One day, we’ll reveal the truth;

That one will die before he gets there…

You supposed that one day this would happen. She hoped it wouldn’t, but it was inevitable really. Raising four children by yourself(with some help from your newfound extended family) and letting your children see other families was bound to provoke some questions. Thaea had been old enough to remember – you didn’t know if that was better or worse – but Alistar and the twins, Yvonne and Ke were too young; the former had only vague recollections, if anything, and the latter two hadn’t even been born yet. You knew it was coming and you knew it would hurt; you just weren’t prepared for just who was going to ask the question.

“What was he like? Father?”

You had been talking with your sister-in-law, Bena, over a cup of tea, and those words coming Thaea, cutting into your conversation like a hot knife through butter were enough to nearly make you drop your cup. You only just save it, but even so, it landed on the table harshly.

“It’s just that… Ali and the twins keep asking, and I’ve told them what I can, but I can’t really remember all that much… They want to know where he went…”

There was a tightness in your chest, even as your other children pop in upon being mentioned. Bena thankfully recognised your predicament as you shut your eyes tightly, and stood up.

“How about we go find your cousins, and we’ll all go outside for a bit…”

Your next words are shaky, weak. You don’t who is more surprised by them; you or Bena.

“It’s… it’s fine. They deserve to know.” You let out a slow breath, opened your eyes slowly.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” The female Sangheili tilted her head slightly in concern.

“Shiooah.” You switched effortlessly to Sangheili. Then, knowing Thaea could understand still, you continued in a more advanced dialect, as you knew your eldest was only fluent in Basic. “I cannot keep on lying to them. It hurts and it probably won’t ever stop, but they deserve to know their parentage. I owe Kesan that, and your father for changing the law within the clan in the first place. Besides… I’ve kept this pain too myself far too long, and the longer this goes on, the worse it will get… and my children will only resent me for it.”

Bena let out a gentle sigh, replying back in kind. “Only if you are sure.”

“I am.” You nodded, before turning back to your children, a sea of emerald, jade and seafoam orbs watching you expectedly. “Digamma?”

Wordlessly, your AI projected a miniature hologram of what Kesan had looked like in life, complete with scars, prosthetic leg and civilian garb. It was enough to bring tears to your eyes; eyes that seldom ever cried.

“Kesan ‘Dradom. That was your father’s name.” You force yourself to say, your throat dry. You swallowed, fought back stubbornly against your emotions. “He was one of the best warriors I knew. Brave, dedicated, loyal. But he was also kind, protective…”

We’re setting fire to out insides for fun…

Collecting pictures from the flood that wrecked our home;

It was a flood that wrecked this home…

You’re both running across a battlefield. You thought you had more time before the enemy came barrelling in, but you’d been wrong. You had all been so, so wrong. It wasn’t often you were in a force that was so unprepared, but here you were. And as your forces fell in droves, it became more and more apparent that one or even both of you might not make it out alive from this.

You didn’t do crying. It had been years. But the thought of not getting out of this made you want to. You try and turn it into anger instead as your shotgun roars, blasting through anything unfortunate enough to be in your path. Next to you, your husband is firing his Carbine as fast as he dares to without causing it to overheat, covering your back as you seek out cover. Your shotgun runs out of ammo just as Kesan has to reload, and you slam your weapon on your back as fast as you can in order to draw out your Magnum sidearm.

Not fast enough.

“Get down!”

You notice the sniper’s aiming scope too late. You are pushed down, there is a flash of thin purple light and your husband falls down next to you, a small but noticeable hole punched right through his armour, straight through his chest. To your horror, there is a corresponding hole in his back.

“NO!” The scream tears from your lips before you can stop yourself.

You fire in anger with your sidearm at the spot the sniper had been until your weapon clicks empty and you throw it aside in tears and frustration. You pick up Kesan’s weapon next – the only weapon between the two of you that has any ammo left – but the bastard sniper is long gone.

“Kesan! Kesan, stay with me!” You pull yourself across to him, putting one of his arms across your shoulders. “Get up! We can’t stay out here!”

You half haul him up; he half stands of his own accord. Normally, you couldn’t budge him, but your desperation, anger, sadness all at once lend you strength you didn’t even know you possessed. Your fire off shots with your husband’s Carbine only if necessary; your only priority is cover and trying to treat Kesan. You eventually find a crevice and settle him in it, getting to work straight away. You only have one vial of biofoam left, and it was probably meant only for human use, but… what other choice was there?

You refused to let your husband die out here just because you had to switch weapons and were momentarily distracted. Not now you had just started to make a life for yourselves, no, no, no.

Well I’ve lost it all; I’m just a silhouette…

I’m a lifeless face that you’ll soon forget…

You inject the biofoam into Kesan’s wound, hoping for the best at this point. Digamma’s relaying numbers, vitals and calculations at you. You refuse to pay attention. You want that hope, even if it is false, not statistics that almost certainly spelt doom.

“Stay with me.” You urge, holding your husband in your arms as you wait for the biofoam to hopefully work its magic. No, no. It would work…

“Dallas…” He let out weakly.

“Save your strength, monerasha.” You press your helmet to his. “We’ll make it, I’ll have Digamma radio for help…”

“Dallas, please…” He fumbles around your helmet, eventually finding the release switch, and you allow him to remove your helmet with a hiss of air. He does the same soon after with his own and the purplish blood dribbling between two of his mandibles confirms your worst fears. “Please… stop.”

You let out a choked cry; even though the battlefield is roaring with noise all around you, you don’t want to risk giving your position away. The last thing you want to do is stop.

“No…” You sob, the realisation dawning on you. “You… y-you can’t…”

My eyes are damp from the words you left;

Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest…

He presses his forehead to yours. Kisses you slow. His blood tastes like tar on your lips, but you can’t bear to pull away.

“I’m lucky to have known you.” He says between desperate kisses and breaths. “To have a family with you and watch it grow…even if it was unconventionally…”

“Kesan… Shh.” You press a finger to his mandibles to silence him. “If this is…” You shook your head. “I want you to know… it wasn’t all unconventional.”

“What?” His eyes are starting to glaze over; he is fading. No, not yet, not yet… “What do you..?”

You take one of his hands and place it to your abdomen. His eyes go wide in a split second of clarity.

“I’m… pregnant. Twins.” You confirm, bittersweet, tears in your eyes. You wouldn’t let them fall, not yet.

“The procedure.. we never…”

“A miracle. Our miracle.” You press your head into his again. “Please… don’t go.”

“Never.” Kesan promises. “I will always be with you… within them. I… love you.”

“Eil keeoh kel Sanghelios.” You return back the sentiment in Sangheili. “Ei monerasha riok.”

His hand slips from your abdomen. A final breath leaves him. You shake him, attempt CPR on him, anything, but it is hopeless. You press your body into his lifeless chest. It is only now do you allow your choked cries from before to burst free as you sobs wrack your entire body and your tears soak into your husband’s armour.

“Cheennsay rehmah-oh, cheennsay nnteh-hahdeh.” Digamma spoke the traditional Sangheili burial prayer on your behalf, materialising next to you, completely grey with sadness. “Keeoh neechuh.”

And if you’re in love, then you are the lucky one,

‘Cause most of us are bitter over someone…

“He saved me so many times.” You concluded your story quietly, your tears well and truly falling. “That time was no exception, but… it was his last. He was always so selfless. Ready to put his life on the line for those he cared about the most. Even though he is gone… I will always love him for it.”

There was silence for a moment, before the older of the twins and Kesan’s namesake piped up quietly.

“Papa was a hero.”

The statement earned him a nod from you as you struggled to find your voice. “Y-Yes. He was. I… wanted to tell you for so long…”

“It’s okay, mom.” Thaea interrupted you suddenly with a hug. As she had grown up, she rarely gave hugs, so the act in itself was enough to stun you into silence.

Alistar and the twins soon followed suit, which earned you a soft awww from Bena. After they all pulled away, Yvonne spoke up next.

“What happened after that?”

Setting fire to our insides for fun;

To distract our hearts from ever missing them…

You blanked out for a moment, your mind still heavy with memories. It was Bena who answered on your behalf.

“I think that’s enough stories for now. Why don’t you go play outside and perhaps we can continue this another day, alright?”

Reluctantly, your children left. Thaea was the only one who lingered for a moment, but even she eventually left. Only after they had gone, did you slump back in your chair.

“Are you alright, Dallas? I know that was a censored version of the story, but that… still can’t have been easy…”

“I’ll be fine, Bena.” You wave a dismissive hand. “I won’t let him be forgotten. He was right… he does live in them… in me.”

“Yes.” She agreed, sipping the last of her tea, before she gave you a slight smile. “But… if it is not too much to ask… what did happen after?”

But I’m forever missing him;

And you caused it…

You eventually put your helmet on and pulled yourself from cover, setting a tracker on your husband’s body. It hurt to leave him here like this, but you couldn’t give him a proper burial right now. That would have to come later.

You took his sword and Carbine. If you did nothing else today, you were going to find that son-of-a-bitch-sniper and take your revenge. You would try and live for Kesan’s and your children’s sake, but if you died and still got the bastard that killed your husband, well. You could live with that… for as long as it took to succumb to your wounds. In which case, you’d crawl back to Kesan’s body to die in his arms.

But enough of that.

The battle seemed to be moving on now, the noise dying down. You were still determined to find that sniper. It surprised you how little time it took. This time, you were more than ready for him, dodging his shot as he fired and returning one with Kesan’s ‘borrowed’ Carbine. To your surprise – long range had never been your strong suit – you score a dorect hit, knocking the Sangheili sniper from his perch. You track his fall easily, and make your way to he’d landed, swapping the Carbone in favour for dual energy swords – yours and your husband’s.

The Sangheili was on the ground where you had predicted he would be. You stand tall over him, swords primed to strike.

And you caused it…

“This is for my husband, nishum.” You spat inside your helmet angrily, tears blurring your vision a little as you struck him one, twice. You prolong the inevitable for a moment, before you twist both blades, and the Sangheili soon expires.

And you caused it!

You shook your head, memories thick. “Another time.”

Bena nodded in understanding. “Another time.”

You gazed out the window, where you children were playing in the courtyard with their cousins. If you looked hard enough, you could almost see your husband - your lover, their father, the brave and kind Kesan ‘Dradom – playing with them. You smiled.

“Eil keeoh kel Sanghelios.” You recalled softly from your memories. “Keeoh neechuh.”

Shadows Lights settle on the place that you left never left;

Our minds are troubled no longer troubled by the emptiness…

And I’m still breathing, and I’m the lucky one.

And you caused it…

#I'm not crying #you're crying #tbh though I can totally imagine Kesan's spirit watching over them #I like to think if this did happen #one of the kids would see him watching over them as a ghost since children are more sensitive to that kind of stuff #submission

1 note · View note

dunmerofskyrim · 7 years

Text

I wake late. What is there to wake me? No light to reach me here where I shelter and sleep. I’m walled in, half-buried, and that too feels like home. Like my hammock in my parents’ warren, off the creak and chime of the Grey Quarter Rigs. But here there’s no city-sounds to wake me either. It’s hunger that does it, thirst, a full bladder…

My eyes come open. Here again. Darkness, three-days-familiar. The scent of old colours, seed-oils, solving-spirits. I shake off the tangle of my bedding and the air outside them is cold. Rub my hands together to warm them but into my joints a brittle chill has found its way. I call a magelight to move by.

Dust beginning to dance as it rises from the mess of bags and sacks, curtains, coat, and rags where I’ve heaped myself to sleep. Here again. The faded colours of what was once a ceiling painted such a lurid blue that the sky creeps into my dreams these days, and I fall then fly then fall, then wake. Here. It was a shop once, I think. The frontroom of some low trader off an alleyway: a dealer in paints and pigments, dyes and mediums.

I make my bed behind the counter, facing the doorway. Shutters on the outside, slatted in chip-lacquered wood. On the inside, my side, a grate of painted metal on a swinging frame. It doesn’t lock – someone has made away with the mechanism – but I swing it to as I sleep even so: its hinges scream with rust as it moves. On the counter itself are mortars, crucibles, scales and pyramidal brass weights. Old stains of magenta, cyan, turmeric yellow stain the grout between the marless grey tiles on its worktop.

The ruins round here are all this way. Vats stained crimson, yellow, black in rooms hung heavy with the scent of crushed minerals. Warehouses, workshops, retailers; hoarders, makers, and sellers of colour. Dyer’s End, says the one legible sign I’ve seen. Spelt out in chips of blue ceramic on a ground of tan tile-shards; a mosaic pressed into each face of a squat skinny obelisk still standing at an intersection between alleys. Characters down its face. Dyer’s End.

Back to the wall, I rise. Hang with my hands to the countertop and heave onto my feet. I slept full-clothed. No sense even in offing my boots. The whole world now is filthy.

My belly cramps with hunger. Blurred shapes like the scales of fish swim silver in front of my eyes. I blink til they leave off but the sharp acid feeling in my stomach remains. The sense that my body is eating itself with every passing day. The least I can give it’s water and the fluid illusion of fullness that it brings. I know where to find that. Ought to count myself lucky but can’t.

I sling my bags. Carry all I own with me, always, and sleep with my luggage around me. This huer’s shop isn’t home, only shelter. What if I find somewhere better? Richer pickings; warmer, safer walls? So I go, a shambling shape of strapping and cloth, a dead mer’s singed and carpetlike coat.

The grate screams as I open it. The shutters spread out onto dim Winter sunlight and the narrow street beyond is hoary with last night’s frost. Weeds dried up from the cold crowd between the cobbles. Every year I suppose they grow and die here, grow and die.

Above the shopfront of my shelter is an awning of stretched leather. It sags down with a liquid weight: dew and melted rime. I ready my waterskin and reach up right-handed to tug at one corner til it becomes a kind of spout. The wound in my side is stiff and tight as I raise my other hand as far as I dare, mouth of the waterskin to the trickle of falling water.

“We don’t talk a lot now.”

Even statements, even-toned, Tammunei could turn into questions. Lines of questioning, not perhaps promising they’d ever say more about it, but starting you off yourself: asks chasing answers round the dark of your head. Simra knew that well enough from when they used to talk.

“Hmmh.” His close-mouthed murmur left his nostrils as mist.

A damp chill morning, and he squat by the ashes of last night’s fire. New place, fire built the same way, and ending in the same cold cinders. Trees dripped dew from bare branches, growing up sparse on the edges of the camp.

Neither forest nor copse, this. Only a wide-ranging statuary of lone trees, fighting what Simra could only reckon was piss-poor soil, fighting each other for rain and sun and whatever else a tree’s roots asked from the ground beneath it. Standing and stillness aboveground, but below those roots searched desperate, pale and hungry. Maybe they didn’t know each other; didn’t see the war they were all fighting over the same thing, but they fought it all the same. Everything gained, taken from someone. Everything won is lost. Simra thought of Old Ebonheart. Had thought of little else these past days.

“Sometimes silence can be something shared,” Tammunei said, asking Simra’s eyes and attention back to them. A shape sitting in the failing grass of these shallow hills. Clothed in the colours of the sea, patterned in the shifting shapes and colours of water. That was the coat Simra had cut from a dead Vereansu for them, the tassels of its hem gone daggy already with dry grass, damp, sitting straight down on any old ground. “Sometimes it’s something worked on by people. Like a blanket whose warmth you both wear. It becomes part of your comfort.”

“And what you’re saying’s this isn’t that? Make you uncomfortable, do I?”

Simra’s eyes flicked up quick as flinching to check Tammunei’s face. See the damage. He’d spoken sharper than he’d meant to. It was hard of late to have much patience with people and less still was left for himself. He caught a shifting something cross Tammunei’s face. Confusion in the way their brow, the corners of their eyes, of a sudden showed their age. Whatever that age was. Another time Simra might have asked. It’d do for a change of topic.

“No?” Tammunei said, slow. “I mean, I don’t mind you. But you’re so filled with words usually. Questions. Why is it? Is something wrong?”

“You know what it is.”

“No.” Tammunei shook their head. A shudder of wet red hair. “If something’s wrong I’d like to help. Can I?”

“You know what it is. Starts with ‘En’ and ends in ‘Or’.”

Tammunei’s frown opened into something so patient as to be frustrating. Their old and listening quiet. Noor was away, tending to whatever deeds and duties carried her away from camp whenever they stopped. Put enough ritual round all that you do, Simra thought, and no-one’ll suspect, when you slip away, that it’s only to piss. Deeds and duties and prayers to the dead; she’s made that what she’s made of.

“I feel…chaperoned.” Simra rose to his full height. His knees griped a moment and then did as told. Turning half away from Tammunei, he began to work the fingers of his right hand, putting feeling back into them, and flex. “Dunno why. Fuck… Maybe cos she’s kin to you. Just…can’t make myself say what I mean. Like everything needs to be something I’m fine having overheard.”

In a way it was the truth. Or a truth at any rate. Only thing that belied what Simra said was that it buried the obvious answer. That it was hard to say on what morning, or else in the depths of what night, but the Grey had found him again. A sickness in all its symptoms, like the winter fever or throat-caul Noor had warned him of, but in how it came – and always came back – it still felt so much more like a curse. Years went by, friends and family came and went, and lovers even, and it was amazing the sheer number of things he found easier to say than this: that sometimes he got sad, and stay sad for a time. Stupid to even think of it now. Everyone does, don’t they? It’s only your weakness, Simra. If that’s your curse, you bear it.

“I understand,” Tammunei said after a pause. An impish curl at the corners of their mouth. “Me too. But d’you know, I don’t know why? When I was small—”

“In the Morayat?”

“—Yes, when I was small in the Morayat, and before too. Back then, she was always the least…something. Rigid. I could say more around her than any of my mothers. She was my sister. She let me ask things, stupid things, because she knew that’s how you really get wise.”

“But?”

“I was afraid of my mothers’ disapproval, disappointment. But with Noor I was scared of…Noor, I think. I don’t know. She gave me less cause. She never raised a hand to me. But in everything but how she was to me, I knew she… I mean, she hated things. The life we lived. The state we’d come into. Blacklight and the Redoran. Skyrim and the Nords. Everything that wasn’t us…”

“Amazed she tolerates me at all.”

Tammunei shrugged. “She owes you.”

“Reckon she hates that too. It does that. Debt.”

“I don’t know.”

“Hm…” Simra glanced to his bags. To the track they’d beat the night before, from the road to where they’d camped. “Tammunei?”

“Yes?”

“This was talking, right?”

“For me. More than I’m used to. But you said almost nothing. If you’re still full of words but not saying any of them, is that why you’re writing so much? To get them out?”

“You make it sound like…something. Lancing an ulcer. Draining a boil.” A clipped rustle of laughter, sounding short then gone.

“Is it not like that? You never seem to enjoy it.”

“Hm. Maybe. But doing it’s better than not.”

Writing so much, they’d said. Strange to have it put that way when it felt so far from true. He was writing, but badly, til it felt like no writing at all. No relief in it. Only stumbling and stumbling, and hoping you were stumbling forward, not just wasting ink and paper.

A poet is a paradox, some poet once said. What poet, Simra couldn’t recall. But a poet is a paradox. Wise in the ways of language, of words, the poet knows enough to know that words are never enough. The only thing the poet knows more about than words is the failure of words. The aphorism, when Simra read it, had made it sound like a good thing…

I was a good climber once. Blight it, a week ago I was a good climber. But here and now I’m hindered. The pain’s gone down to a murmur. Good. Only goes back to hurting as bad as it did sometimes. Only when the nights turn vicious-cold, or when I move my left arm just so. But I keep thinking of my side tearing open, starting up again. The reach and pull of climbing — if anything’d stretch the scab to breaking, it’s that.

Old Ebonheart’s a city made for climbers now. There are streets you can’t leave except upwards, crawling skywards. There are places you can’t go except by chancing yourself down. And that’s familiar to me. Before I ever knew open country, roads or fields, hills or plains, I knew this. The landscape of my childhood, and most of my life thereafter.

In the Grey Quarter things are simple and narrow if you’re grounded. Two choices then. Back and up’s your first. The muddy hillclimb into Northslope, in the shade of holding-cells and crowcages, guard-barracks for the Uptown Watch. A journey into the city’s uptown to the sound of baying dogs; to the creep of white-edged human eyes on your skin as you pass, if they let you pass at all. Or else you press forward, down, through the constant slough and swampen floor of the Grey Quarter’s lowest point. Gulleybottom, skyless, sun-starving. Where no rain falls but flows all the same, to the throwing-and-forgetting pit all Windhelm holds in common. Where beggars sleep on planks and boards, like rafts above the muck, in the shade of the city’s weight as it towers above them; not just Dunmer now but Nords as well, veterans, maimed too thorough to be heroes, and so ignored. Where savage markets spring up and disappear like mushrooms, here one day and gone the next, selling anything you could want if only you have the coin and know on what day to search for it. Sludge and drowning mud in Winter, and biting flies that live out the cold months by hiding in the folds of your clothes. Churning choking dust in Summer. Gulleybottom, then through and into the Morayat…

But if you’ve cunning hands and clever feet. If you’re brave or young or stupid enough – or wise enough to know those three are all the same thing when you boil them down – to risk a fall. If this, if that, if you’re able and willing to climb and crawl, then your options open wide. The Grey Quarter becomes a maze of possibilities. The Rigs and the hot roofs of Crucible. The crawlspaces and crevices of the Combs as they thread through the gully sides. The Warrens dug beneath the Quarter’s lowest reaches.

And Old Ebonheart’s the same. I’m beginning to learn that through how much it pricks at me to be grounded in a place like this. Mapless, and changed so much from whatever maps might once have been, the streets here make no sense. A labyrinth. When I walk, I walk slow and write every turn in my journal so as not to lose my way. Tall buildings, tall ruins, toppled towers; I’ve got no sense of the wood for I’m too blinded by the trees.

Until I start climbing.

Blight my side and how it hurts and blight my starving belly. I need vantage, perspective, to see what’s to be seen.

I rope my bags together and tie the rope’s end to my belt. I stand at street-level, among the weeds and grasses that overgrow this city, and look up. Who’s to say what the building was before. Now I only see that vines, thick-stemmed and woody, cover one face of its first three storeys and then come balconies, staggered on their way up to its high overhang of roof. And up there is the city as the city sees itself. Up there is the morning light and the sky and the breeze off the sea. A chance of not starving.

I begin to climb. Focus on my hands, the placing of my feet, and not the warning stretch of my side. To better forget the wound, I focus on memories I’d rather ignore. Climbing when I was still Katharas, days after we left Omayni. It came after the triumph of my ascent; defeat in going down. I remember how my hand slipped just so and my foot scrabbled to make up the difference. A rock that gave way or my foot that gave way, not gripping quite right, and I fell. A slow fall, hurting myself to hold on, scrabble, slow my descent. Like a crowd jeers a prisoner to the pillory, to the crowcage, the rocks and crags clawed at me as I passed. And then I was on the ground. And then I was in Tammunei’s arms. And then I was cleaned, skin showed to them and seen at its red and white worst. But I felt their voice all round me, like a warmth laid over my shame as they sang me whole again.

The overhang is the hardest part. A leap of faith. I pry my spearhead dagger, picklike and pointdown, into the tiles til it finds a place it will stick. Don’t think of how I’m blunting it at the time. Then I haul, crab over, lie panting on the blue-black shaley surface of the roof. Untied from my belt now, I take the rope in my hands, lean on my back, and pull my baggage up after.

What I see from the roof is the ocean again, but lit in antique gold. Wincing, clutching my side as it decides whether to start bleeding again, what I see is rooftops on rooftops on caved in rooftops, and a city-that-is overlaying the city-that-was. At street-level, death and dust, but up here is almost the Rigs of my childhood. Structures and spars and scaffolds span between some of the rooftops. Shacks lean against the shattered sides of towers. New brickwork mortared together from old brickwork grows as lichen does on the trunks of long-dead trees.

And writ all across the distance, in Dyer’s End and beyond, I see rising smoke against the grey-sunned sky. Cookfires, forgefires, kilns. Fire for warmth in Winter, when fire alone fosters life.

7 notes · View notes