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#long prose
vomitingwords · 7 months
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"Sometimes, I hope people can always say what they truly feel. And be genuine about it. No restrictions. No holding back. No keeping all the most important parts.
But then I remembered that I myself couldn't even do that. So why would I expect other people to be like that?
I realized that sometimes we have to choose what we only have to say from the words that we truly want to say. Every word doesn't have to be said out loud; rather, let our actions show what we truly mean. Because not everyone has the time to listen to what we're about to say, and that's totally okay. We human beings don't have all the time in the world to understand everything that's happening around us. We're all busy trying to save ourselves and live life the way we want to.
So it's fine if you can't compose yourself to say everything you want to. But remember that there are so many ways to reach those people who are important to you. And I hope you'll be surrounded by the right people who will lend an ear to hear the stories that you've been holding onto."
I wish I was braver // ma.c.a
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simply-eno · 3 months
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Superstition: A Short Story
Chapter 7: A Family of  War Remnants  
William stared out the window. His breathing was slow and calm. The dagger that the young ancestor of his dear wife sat on the table. His mind wasn’t racing as much as it probably should have, but of course, he had grown accustomed to the anticipation of battle and bloodshed. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and when he opened them again, he felt the blood surge beneath his skin. The calm working family man that he had become, vanished. 
He walked over to the bedroom where he and his wife shared many years of love making and sleepless nights with the babies crying, and opened the large oak and cedar trunk at the end of the bed. Inside was a pair of old leather boots, a dark green jacket, and a Colt M1909 revolver. He sighed as he pulled out the boots and slipped them on over his holey socks. He donned the jacket with a hard grimace. It was a little snug over his aged belly, but it still fit nicely around the arms and shoulders. The trousers that had been issued to him many moons ago had deteriorated, so the rough blue jeans would have to suffice. In the mirror, his stubbled chin looked out of place, so he grabbed his straight razor and his lather. 
The blade scraped against the short hairs, and he nicked his chin once or twice; he had grown used to Branch or June shaving his face for him when they would dare a trip to town. He chuckled to himself as he dabbed at the blood. 
“I suppose that’ll have to do,” he said to himself, still looking at the reflection. He could see the glimmer of a young soldier still in the old frame that he bore. 
William walked back to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee. He prayed to the coffee in his mug, a prayer that may have been a bit blasphemous, but he prayed nonetheless to the dark liquid. The man stared at the door, anticipation still somewhat pittered in his chest, but he pushed the feeling of his heart aside. William blinked, his eyes dry from his long stare, and he realized that his coffee had long since gone cold. He blinked again and looked to the fireplace, all that remained was smoldering embers. He didn’t realize how much time had passed while he stared at the door, waiting for some beastly monster to knock. 
Bang, bang, bang. The sound nearly made the man jump out of his own skin. He shook his head, blinked and sighed. He walked to the door and opened it a crack, the shadowy being in the morning sun chuckled. 
“William? Is that you?” The man said, his voice sounded familiar but William hesitated opening the door any further. 
“Yes, what can I do for you?” 
“Well, I was in town and I saw the kids running a muck and thought you ought to know what trouble they have been causing.” 
William finally opened the door to see the young pastor standing in the sunshine. He breathed a breath of relief, and felt a pinch of guilt from his earlier whispered prayer. 
“What trouble could they have caused that would warrant such a visit?” William stepped through the door, putting his mug of cold coffee down onto the arm of his rocking chair, and slumping down into it. 
“They’ve been running around town complaining of a monster killing your livestock. Something beyond wolves and bears and cougars, mind you.” The young man leaned against the post of the porch. “Any thoughts on what they might be talking about?” 
“I sent the kids to town while I took care of a cougar. They don’t need to be here for it, and there ain’t nothing more to it.” William’s voice sounded more harsh than it needed to be. He should have known better to tell the children to keep their mouths shut, but he had hoped they had been smarter than that. Their family was already condemned for their beliefs and their lifestyle, but the town for the most part had kept their opinions to themselves. Whispers sometimes made their way back to William, but he never paid them much attention. The older man eyed the younger man, something seemed ever so off about the man, but he could barely remember the last time he had seen the man. 
His skin seemed loose, like it didn’t quite fit under the chin, and it was pale, paler than what an active young man should be. And then it hit William, like a brick to the side of the head: this was not the young pastor of the church down the road. 
The lips pulled up into an unnatural grin, showing a row of sharp, yellowed teeth. The soft, kind brown eyes of the, presumably late, pastor darkened and sunk into the sockets of the morphing face. Its skin stretched and pulled away from the bone as the features became pointed and sharp, and William’s heart dropped as the arms of the monstrosity elongated and began to reach for him. 
He pushed his legs back and tumbled out of the chair, he tried to scramble to his feet as the creature let out a blood curdling scream, lunging for the down man. William crawled towards the door, kicking the rocking chair into the chest of the monster. He heard a loud thud as the wooden chair shattered against the body. He managed to pull himself into the house and slam the door behind him. His aching hand fumbled with the door latch while he pushed his full weight into the door. A loud bang came from behind him, and something much stronger than him pushed back against the door. 
A laugh erupted from the lacking lips of the creature, and then the familiar voice of the pastor shouted, “It’s no use, William! We are coming for you, and we are coming for Branch!” 
William crawled to the table and grabbed the obsidian blade that Branch’s ancestor left for him. He clutched it tight to his chest and prayed once again,  only this time, to the God whom he felt had left him to die. 
His breath quickened as he listened, there was no sound coming from outside. No sound coming from inside. He looked around, panicked, his heart pounding in his head, and his left shoulder throbbing. The knife felt warm in his hand as his eyes darted from the door to the windows, anything moving, anything that wanted to cause him and his family harm. 
His breathing slowed and he pulled himself to his feet. William crouched as he moved from the kitchen to the back bedroom. He couldn’t trust anyone now, not until he was sure he could kill that thing that had imitated the young pastor. He closed the bedroom door and slumped against the edge of the bed, away from the window and towards the door; he sighed heavily as exhaustion set into his old bones. He rubbed his shoulder, a dislocation, by his guess. He wasn’t sure if he could set it back in place by himself. He wished his darling wife was there at that moment, to sooth his aches and woes. 
He crawled to the back window of the small cabin home, and carefully stuck his head up to peer into the empty pastures. He saw no movement, no flapping wings of the woodland birds, no crunching steps of the deer, and certainly no shuffle of his cattle or horses. He held his breath as the scent of death wafted through the single pane. The creature that impersonated the young pastor rounded the corner, its shell that it wore peeled off in sloughing clumps. 
William ducked his head back down, and held the knife close to his chest. He couldn’t break through the window, he didn’t have the body for it with his shoulder messed up, but if he could figure out a way to the barn, he could have the upper hand. With the loft in the barn he could have a higher ground, and the element of surprise. He got to his feet and shuttered at the pain in his shoulder, but he persevered against the ache. If the army had taught him anything, it was that pain was a state of mind. And if war had taught him more, it was that there is no giving up until the enemy is dead in your hands. 
Branch stepped in front of Ahanu and into the burning embers that remained in the pit, bringing her back to the realm of light and dark, the physical realm that was their home. Her hair now tangled, and the ash across her face was smeared, but her eyes held the light of determination. She knew what to do, but there were going to be consequences, deadly, and irreversible. 
“Branch, breathe. You haven’t taken a breath of the world, and your lungs may yet collapse,” Ahanu rested a hand on the wing of her shoulder, and she shuttered. The air felt alive in her lungs, and the color of the world felt natural to her eyes once more. The green of the grass was as vibrant as the sun that was rising. 
She looked at Ahanu and smiled, timidly, and sighed. By now, her ancestor had already given the blade to her husband, and she feared that the evil had already paid him a visit, but she tried to steady herself nonetheless. 
“We must brace ourselves for battle,” she said, the weight of her words lingered on the morning dew. 
“What would you like to consult?” Ahanu asked, reaching down to the embers. 
“No,” Branch stopped him half way down, “we must fight blind, we cannot be persuaded by fate.” 
Branch stepped away from Ahanu and looked to the western sky, its fading light chilled her to the core. War had been her blood, but she never expected to see such a gruesome battle in her lifetime. She beat upon her breastplate and hummed the cry of her own father. The sound resonated within her chest, and she felt a strange sense of calm and hate in her heart. She knew that without the help of her ancestors, they would be without hope, but she feared that even they, in all their power, would not appear when needed. 
“If we are not asking the questions, then you must know the answers,” Ahanu sighed. He certainly knew what Branch knew in her heart, but making her face the reality would be the trial of the century. 
The air grew cold as the vision faded. The heavily pined forest was dark and damp, and I laid upon the mess of needles with my hair matted to my face with sweat. Each breath was labored, and I couldn’t see past the shadows. I was away from the tents, alone in the woods without hope, lost. 
“You see, voiceless child,” the voice to the right spoke with malice. “Your family is doomed, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 
“That’s not true!” I screamed into the dark, scrambling to my feet. “William and Branch fought! They had to have, otherwise, you wouldn’t still be chasing a voice.” Each word echoed off the bark of the trees. “They fought, and so will I.” The confidence dissipated in the mist as each of the monsters showed their faces from behind the trees. 
“You? Fight us?” The second voice asked incredulously.
“With what? Your fists?” The most familiar of the voices mocked, so sweet and vicious in its contempt. 
The third creature lifted its hand to silence the other two. Its fingers stretched out against the dark of night, reaching for me. 
“The weapon that your dear, brave great grandfather used was destroyed. It pierced the heart of another creature more vile than we, but in his attempt to rid his family of this curse, he shattered his only hope.” The third creature's voice changed, no longer venomous, but rather soothing, almost as cooing as the dove’s. 
I backed away slowly from the three beasts, my hands reached behind me as I felt for anything that would serve to protect me. I stumbled upon an ungrounded root, and fell hard to the soil. Tears welled in my eyes, and burned hot down my cheeks, but my hands felt some hope beneath them; the warm soil held heavy stone. I gripped it hard, white knuckled and panting as I calculated my next steps. The closest was the right, the seeming leader was furthest and centered. Without a prayer to gods, I couldn’t reach it with all my strength. 
“The beast that your great grandfather slayed was truly evil, but we? We offer peace to those who know none,” the center creature hissed, attempting to sound as soothing as the one to the left. 
“I know peace,” I growled through gritted teeth, and chucked the stone to the right creature. It thudded against the hollow’s face, crumbling the remainder of its jaw. It let out a haunting scream that filled the silence of the night, like a screech owl mixed with a coyote. 
I turned and ran into the forest, deeper and deeper into the entangled branches and roots. After what felt like ages of running, I tripped and hurdled downhill to the river at the bottom of the ravine, I heard no sound of being followed behind me. I fell onto the riverbank, and coughed up the wind that was knocked from my now broken ribs. I laid there, splayed out to the world, and felt more alive than I had ever felt before.
The sky turned from the black of the night into the light pastels of dawn, and I groaned in protest at the chirping of the morning birds. If what the monster said was true, then I and my family had no hope of ridding ourselves of this curse. But, if they were lying, then the weapon that my great grandfather used was somewhere safe. 
I laid there on the rocky shore of the riverbank and searched every memory of family heirlooms and mementos. Nothing resembled the blade that the creatures had shown me in the vision. My grandfather had never mentioned it, nor my great uncle, and Mother Branch had died years before I was born. My own mother’s story didn’t seem to offer too many hints of the weapon’s existence now. 
The sun was now rising over the peak, and the pain had subsided enough for me to roll over. I crawled to the top of the hill where I had fallen, the cold mud caked my hands and knees, but it covered the cuts that I had acquired from the steep tumble. As I made my way back to the campsite with the rest of my family, I pondered the damage I may have afflicted on the one creature. Surely, it wasn’t enough to kill it, that would be too easy, but that scream, that terrible, horrible scream. It was definitely injured. 
I stumbled back into the campsite, and the family looked at me as if I were a phantom. My mother ran over to me, bumbling like a hen. 
“What happened? Are you okay?” She asked as she tried to pick me up. Her frail frame staggered under her attempt. “Where have you been?”
The man that my mother loved came over and scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the fireside. 
“Mom, what happened to Father William?” I asked feebly before the pain overwhelmed my body, and I passed out from exhaustion. 
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ivynightshade · 16 days
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘we were put on this earth desperate, hungry and willing.’
[text id: in a sharp set of knives, i looked for a hand to hold. / i could not stop myself from needing to belong somewhere, even if that somewhere was a burial ground.]
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lucidloving · 7 months
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Michael Cunningham, "The Hours" // Anne Sexton, "The Touch" // Charles M. Schulz, Peanuts and Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me—The Smiths // F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night // Kelsey Landsgaard, A Soft Wrongness // J. D. McClatchy, "THE DIALOGUE OF DESIRE AND GUILT" // Marina Tsvetaeva, from notes // Yves Olade, Belovéd
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and-corn · 3 days
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petricorah · 1 month
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scenes i loved from Real Enough to Get Me Through by @marriedzukka <333 [ids in alt]
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moonstoast · 2 years
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—longing for love
what i could never confess without some bravado by emily palermo // nickie zimov // homosexuality by frank o’hara // normal people (2020) // the unabridged journal by sylvia plath // holly warburton
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fatimaamerbilal · 8 months
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fatima aamer bilal, from days where my whole world is my bed.
[text id: september arrives like a twisted knife, and i always welcome it with open arms.]
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maybe-itsforthebest · 2 months
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- j (x)
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gale-force-storm · 1 month
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He refuses to fall for the first person to show him kindness. He may be feeling sorry for himself, but that's a bridge too far.
Even if they are beautiful. And kind to everyone, not just him. And brave. And clever. And strong. And they love animals, and reading. And they have a wry sense of humour that he adores.
He won't. He can't. Besides all else, this is decidedly not the time. A bomb in his chest and a worm in his head and a weight on his shoulders and a shame in his stomach and a shattered heart he's still trying to gather the pieces of. Desperately clinging to the cloak of his past, wrapping himself in his former confidence, pretending it hasn't been worn threadbare with time in isolation and eaten ragged by the moths of doubt and fear and past mistakes.
He fell from grace so far so fast, but he cannot beg affection off the first hand to offer him help up, even if it is the first time he's touched another person in months. Even if that hand did send a sudden warmth through him and feel so right in his own he could almost cry from it.
...This is getting out of hand.
He can just be friendly with them, surely. How does one make friends, again? Shared interests? He mostly just has the one, so he'll share what he can. They pick it up quickly, and the warm magic that surrounds them is a balm on his soul. Right up until they imagine kissing him, and his heart skips a beat. It can't be. It can't be. They can't want him back. It's not possible. And how, after it all, after everything, is he meant to resist the overwhelming temptation of being wanted?
They don't let up, either. Lingering glances. Warm smiles. All but propositioning him at the tiefling party. If there is a single positive thing to be said about his year of orb-imposed abstinence, it's that the willpower he had to build up and the practice denying himself were the only things that enabled him to decline their advances.
Well, that and the risk of blowing up the both of them, along with everyone else in or near the camp.
The warm smiles and lingering gazes and casual touches still continue, though.
This is fine. He's fine. He can't remember the last time he felt like this, someone cared for him like this, and he can't do a damn thing about it, but he's fine. Everything is fine. As fine as it can be, anyways, given everything else about the situation.
He supposes he should probably be more upset about Mystra's orders. At this point, though, it's hard to feel like it's anything besides a way out. A relief that he can be good for something. One more miserable experience, and then he's done with it, and all their problems are solved. There are worse things.
Except.
They're so angry about it. Everyone is, but them especially. Arguing with both him and Elminster the entire time, insisting there's another option. That they'll find or make one. Whatever they have to do to keep him around.
Gods help him, but he does want to stay with them. Stay for them.
He sleeps that night, and awakens with a jolt, a groan, and a realization. He's glad that prestidigitation exists to clean himself up without leaving his tent and risking the others' notice. His body had, apparently, caught up with certain implications before his brain. Though from what snippets of his dream he remembers, maybe it was only his waking mind that had been lagging behind.
He wants them, and he can finally have them. Can give them as much of himself as he's able, in the time he has left.
He had refused, at first, the idea of falling for the first person to show him kindness. And he hasn't. He's fallen for someone who is so much more that that. And he will not, cannot, die without letting them know. If he has to leave them, and he fears he will, then he will not leave them feeling unappreciated, or uncherished, or unloved. Not when he can finally embrace the full depth and breadth of what he feels for them. Has felt for them for what can't have been more than a tenday or two, but feels like a lifetime and a moment all at once.
He will not leave without showing them the full scope of his admiration and appreciation and sheer joy at their presence. The full scope of how impossibly deeply he already loves them. Not while he has any say in it.
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thesunisatangerine · 5 months
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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part ten
alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader
warnings: none (im pretty sure)
(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]
word count: 5.8k
The melodic chirping of birds in time with the gentle beat of Alexia’s heart roused you, your back delightfully warm, and for what seemed to be a long time you felt well-rested–felt as if the leaded weight that made its home in your bones finally melted away because, truly, you’d forgotten the lightness of being one felt upon waking from a night’s sleep or, even more so, the lightness one felt when waking in the sheltering arms of a lover. So you sighed, content and at peace, as you breathed Alexia in when you nestled further into the safety of her neck where faint wintergreen and her delicate, earthly scent lived, familiar and evermore comforting. 
When you finally drew your eyes open, the world came to focus and revealed, in its center, Alexia already awake, her head propped on her arm with her honey eyes, just like molten gold in the resplendent glow of the morning sun, lidded as she gazed at you with a lazy smile, soft and relaxed but it ignited you with a gentle flame all the same, whose radiance only intensified upon meeting your eyes. 
“Good morning.” Alexia greeted you and it struck you just how much you missed the sound of her voice in the morning, low and soft with just the right amount of rasp that never failed to incite the desire to kiss her right then.
“Good morning.” You replied in the same tone, cheeks warming to a gentle simmer in the face of your lover’s tender demeanour. She brushed the back of her fingers on your cheek while a silence filled the space between your eyes, intimate, as you soaked each other in. But when you could no longer sustain the weight from her gaze–when you chest had filled twice over that it felt in danger of bursting from the sheer joy of being looked upon by such earnest affection–you whispered, “you’re staring.”
Alexia tucked your hair behind your ear before she countered in a voice so tender your heart ached.
“And you’re beautiful.”
No words could translate the gravity of what you felt in that moment, so you spoke the only language that could ever come close to conveying it: you cupped her jaw and caught her lips between yours, seared the missed ‘good morning’s’ and the lost ‘hello, how are you’s’ into the kiss, the pace languid but sweet, savouring the way her lips parted in this silent conversation–relishing the way Alexia tasted like summer on your tongue.
Alexia tugged you closer, and closer still but still not close enough, with a gentle pressure from her hand against the small of your back, the other now over the nape of your neck.
But the conversation was cut short, too short, when a small gasp reached your ear, electrifying you in an unpleasant way your eyes flung wide open, darting immediately to the direction of the sound to find Elisa standing at the last step of the stairs, her hair ruffled from sleep, her loose shirt creased and draped slightly to the side, mouth wide open in disbelief as she gawked at the sight of the two of you.
And what a sight the two of you must have been. 
In your haste to extricate yourself from Alexia, you ended up flopping down against the tiled floor, the carpet doing little to cushion your fall, but you recovered quickly and now you stood there not quite knowing what to do with your arms or what to even say. Alexia, on the other hand, remained half on her back and half sitting up, her weight against an elbow, the other arm frozen outstretched towards you, a clear attempt to save you from when you fell down. If the situation had been different, you probably would’ve laughed especially at Alexia’s expression: her face contorted in part mortification and part worry, brows upturned, eyes agape, and lips partially opened–if only you weren’t too flustered yourself to do so. 
Alexia got her bearing faster than you, though–damn her and her athletic condition–because she, too, now stood from the couch (and did so with a lot more grace than you did). She cleared her throat, fumbled with her hands as it looked like she tried to stick her hands in her jacket pockets before it dawned on her that it remained still on the coffee table, so she resorted in putting them in her jean pockets instead. 
“Good morning, Elisa. How are you?” Alexia said in English and her voice wavered at the end, the question infused with a guilty inflection. 
With bated breath, you waited for your daughter’s reaction as trepidation filled you, which only worsened when Elisa’s eyes darted at you, then to Alexia, then back to you again. Numerous scenarios fleeted through your mind and out of all the images your mind conjured, what happened next was not one them: you didn’t expect the way with which Elisa’s surprise morphed into smug delight, her once opened mouth now curved into a coy smile, not dissimilar to a cat’s, that only served to accentuate the mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“Are you guys dating?” Each word deliberately drawled out as Elisa posed them, punctuated by a teasing cadence that set your ears and cheeks aflame. The question, thankfully, brought you back to yourself because only you could save you and Alexia from this situation. 
“Okay, I think I need to have a conversation with you so up you go, young lady, back to your room for now.” You said as you approached Elisa who you guided towards the stairs with a gentle hand on her back but not before you placed a good morning kiss on the crown of her head. Elisa whined, but she heeded your words nonetheless, although she did sneak a wave and a cheeky thumbs up to Alexia on the way up, leaving you with an amused smile on your lips at her antics as you thought fondly, shaking your head, ‘Oh my god, this child.’ 
When Elisa was finally out of sight and you heard her bedroom door shut, you let out the breath you were holding. That really could have been a disaster, and when you looked over your shoulder, you found the same thought written in Alexia’s face. You dragged your feet back to where Alexia stood who, as soon as you got close enough, was quick to pull you back into her gentle arms. With your cheek pressed against her collarbone, her arms loose around your waist, and her chin resting on your head, you were grounded back to the moment, your muscles relaxing as apprehension began to leave you. 
“That was mortifying.”
Alexia let out an airy laugh, the remnant of her nervousness still apparent. “I know. At least we didn’t do it last night.”
“Alexia,” you groaned as your cheeks burnt anew, “please, don’t–I don’t even want to imagine that right now.”
Melodic laughter filled your ears again before it tapered off which, once again, left you two blanketed in the subtle refrain of the waking world and the warmth of the sunlight that streamed through the window. You didn’t know which of you moved first but in the next moment, you found the both of you swaying to a gentle rhythm as you held each other. 
“So, what now?” Alexia asked, breaking the silence.
“I… I don’t know.” You answered truthfully. Sure, the both of you agreed to take everything slow, but where to even start? When intimacy and familiarity were already there, strong and incessant in their pull, how could torn lovers begin to mend the fragments–to keep everything tentative and slow? Where should the lines be drawn, the boundaries set, when a profound desire that transcended physical affection already made its home in your heart, a yearning that constantly craved for not only Alexia’s company but also her thoughts? Because with Alexia, you wanted–and would always–want more.
“I think, for now, I need to talk to Elisa about this–about us.” Sighing, you continued, “what do I even tell her?”
“Well, she seems to approve.” At that, the both of you chuckled, then Alexia spoke again, serious but her tone remained light when she did. “Tell her whatever you’re comfortable with. Slow, remember? No labels for now, it’s just you and me.”
She placed a kiss against your ear and you hummed, nuzzling her neck in gratitude.
Another pause. 
“I think I should go.” 
Hard as you tried, you couldn’t hide your disappointment at what Alexia just said even though it was probably the best thing to do right now. There were much you needed to talk to Elisa about alone: her nightmares and her therapy, and now this. The only thing that eased your heart was the fact that Alexia seemed as reluctant to go, too, with the way her hold on you tightened and you responded to her touch by falling further into her, clutching the fabric of her shirt in an attempt to let her know you’d rather she stayed.
“I know. Me, too,” Alexia sighed seeming to understand what you were feeling as she kissed your temple. “How about this? If you and Elisa are feeling up for it, I could take you some place tomorrow? I did tell you before that I’d show you around.”
At the reminder, the memory fleeted through your mind and a sense of melancholy filled you but you swallowed it down before it could take root. Then you hummed in agreement, “I’ll ask Elisa about it. What’s on for you today?”
“Apart from waiting until tomorrow comes?” Alexia joked which made you giggle. “I’ll probably visit La Masia, check with Josep for next week’s schedule, then head home or visit Mamá and the family.”  
“That sounds fun.” You said as you began to kiss her, knowing that your time together for the day would end any second now. As you punctuated each word with a kiss, you continued, “alright, I should let you go now, then.”
The rumble from Alexia’s chuckle radiated beneath your palm on her chest as she whined, “you’re making it really difficult to leave.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop now,” you giggled and just as you began to pull away, Alexia cradled the nape of your neck and sealed your lips together again for a deeper kiss. Then she pulled away but not before dragging down your lower lip with her thumb as she untwined herself from you and gave you a look that made you burn all over.
“Call me later?”
You nodded.
Alexia grabbed her leather jacket, gave you a smile and one last peck on your cheek, before she strode out of the door. 
The feeling of loss that arrived upon her departure did not go unnoticed by you but before it could settle in your heart, you made your way to Elisa’s bedroom. As soon as you entered though, Elisa shot you a question without any preamble, practically buzzing in her excitement. 
“Mom, why didn’t you tell me you’re dating Alexia?” 
Your cheeks burnt at Elisa’s bluntness.
“Before we get to that, ladybug, I need to talk with you about something first.” You said as you set yourself down next to her on the bed. Elisa regarded you with a look that said she already knew what you were going to talk with her about. You wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m worried about your nightmares and your therapy. Do you think we need to switch to a different therapist?”
Elisa gnawed on her lower lip before she spoke in a soft voice. “I like my current one. She’s cool and she makes it easy for me to talk about what happened. But I can take more sessions if you want me to.”
“Do you think you need more sessions?” You looked at Elisa pointedly, emphasising the fact that the choice was hers to make. “All I want is what’s best for you and your wellbeing, Elisa. I’m not trying to make you do anything, especially if you know yourself you don’t need them, but I also can’t just stand by and watch so I’m just here to tell you that there are options. If you need more sessions, we can do it. If you want to change therapists, we’ll both find you a new one. As long as it’s going to help you get through this, we can do it.” 
“I’m not sure… Can I–” You caught her eye again and you raised your brows at her chosen word, and you watched as Elisa nodded, understanding what you meant, before she began again, “I will talk to my therapist about it and see if I do.” 
You beamed at her, proud as you squeezed her shoulder again. She smiled back.
“So, what do you think is causing this spike in nightmares?” 
“I… I don’t know. I think I’m just nervous? Also, maybe too excited?” Then Elisa added with a small laugh, “or both? I don’t really know.”
“About what, ladybug?”
“Going back to the Academy.”
At this information, you couldn’t help but frown, confused. “Is something happening in the Academy?”
Concern must have been too apparent in your tone because Elisa quickly looked at you and said as she waved her hands in reassurance, “it’s nothing bad, Mom, don’t worry! It’s just, Coach told us there are scouts coming some time around the end of the year and I’m… I really want to play for Barça, Mom.”
You understood her apprehension but her answer didn’t tell you why her shoulders looked like they’d taken on an invisible weight again with the way her spine curved inwards, almost dejected. 
“That’s a really big opportunity, ladybug, so I understand that pressure is there for you to perform your best. Is it the pressure that’s making you think about what happened?”
Elisa shrugged, quirking her lips to the side in an unsure manner. A moment later though, she nodded and admitted in a small voice. “I just don’t want to let them down. I don’t want to let you down.”
“Elisa,” you took her hand in yours.  “Never, never. If your parents were here, they would tell you how proud they are of how far you’ve come already. You’re so strong, ladybug, and you don’t even know how much. And if you happen to fall down, we’ll be here to support you until you’re ready to stand back up again. Just know that whatever happens, you will always be enough. Always, Elisa. ”
Elisa leant her head against your shoulder then she turned her head and gazed at you with wide eyes. “You really think I can make it?” 
“I believe in you, ladybug. Do you?” You pinched her arm playfully which earned you a giggle from her. When she looked back up at you and you saw the determined gleam in her eye, the worry in you was put to rest. 
“Yes.” 
At that, you couldn’t help the warmth that surged through you and you hugged her. “There you go. I’m so proud of you, ladybug.” 
After a moment of silence, Elisa asked in a teasing tone, “so… Alexia, huh, Mom?” 
Your cheeks warmed. “What about her?” 
“Are you together?”
“It’s… complicated right now, ladybug. We’re working on it.”
“Was that why you always looked sad whenever we talked about her? Before now?” You raised your brows in surprise. You’d always tried your hardest to school your features whenever Alexia was brought up because you didn’t want Elisa to worry but you didn’t think that you were that transparent. 
“Did I really?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how to explain it but whenever you tried to smile, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.”
“Oh.” Pause. “I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
Elisa shook her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Mom. And it’s different now. Now you look happy.”
“I am.” You admitted with a small smile. “How… how do you feel about us, though?”
“I’m happy that you’re happy, Mom. It’s going to take awhile to get used to the Alexia Putellas being around but I’ll be fine. And as long as she treats you well, I’m alright.”
Your chest expanded at her words. “Thank you, ladybug, that… that means a lot.”
Elisa hugged you then and you hugged her back. 
“Speaking of, Alexia offered to take us around the city tomorrow. What do you say?”
At that, Elisa practically jumped up, unable to control her excitement and you laughed. 
True to her words, Alexia pulled up in her car the next day a couple of hours before noon. Alexia looked comfy in her white sneakers, ankle length socks, shorts, an oversized t-shirt, and a baseball cap, and upon opening the door for her, she took you in her arms and kissed you. Her eagerness amused you and you laughed against her lips but you tangled your fingers in her hair to deepen the kiss anyway. 
“I missed you.” Alexia spoke between kisses.
“It’s only been a day,” you smiled into the kiss, charmed. “And I missed you, too.”
Time slipped you as you lost yourself in Alexia’s arms and lips, and you didn’t know how long the both of you were there by the open door, but it was apparently long enough that Elisa needed to interrupt you two. A terse cough made you pull away and, turning to look at Elisa who was standing just beneath the archway that lead to the living room, offered your daughter an apologetic smile. Elisa only stood there with her arms crossed, clearly unimpressed with the way her brows were creased. 
“Hola, Elisa.” Alexia said with a shy wave which drew your attention back to her and you bit your lip at the state of her face. You reached out to wipe away the faint smudge of your lipstick on the corner of her lips and, upon realising what you’d done, Alexia quirked her brows up as she smiled at you, sheepish. 
“Hi, Alexia.” A pause. “Wait, should I be calling you Aunt Alexia now?” 
Alexia opened her mouth then closed it, seeming to be completely disarmed by the question. And when she looked at you with plea in her wide eyes asking you silently how she should answer it, you knew just how much the question definitely caught her off guard.
“Uh, if you want to.” Her words lilted with so much uncertainty it sounded more like a question than a statement. 
Then Elisa grinned at the both of you, practically beaming. “I’m just messing with you, Alexia.” 
She then continued to skip between you two, bounding through the door and down the porch stairs, and you held your laughter in as Alexia looked after her with a bewildered gaze, mouth agape. Once Elisa got to where Alexia’s car was parked, she started to wave the two of you over. 
“She’s… she’s very funny.” Alexia laughed nervously, eyes still fixed at Elisa. Then she whispered conspiratorially, pointing to Elisa for good measure. “Are you sure she’s the same kid I met at the Olympics?”
“Yes.” You chuckled as you locked the door and began descending down the stairs. “She’s only like this when she feels comfortable around people. So, do you know what that means?”
Alexia shook her head.
You smiled at her, cupping her cheek before you pressed a light kiss on the other. “It means she likes you.” 
At that, Alexia smiled back at you with lightness in her eyes before she grabbed your hand, intertwined her fingers with yours, and kissed the back of it. And the gesture warmed you more than Barcelona’s summer sun ever could.
Then, once the three of you were in Alexia’s car, you asked, “so, what do you have planned for us today?”
Alexia adjusted her rearview mirror to look at Elisa at the back seat, smiling. “First of, who’s hungry?”
After a delicious–and a quite scenic–brunch at a restaurant located by one of Barcelona’s waterfronts, the three of you took a short walk down a nearby landing connected to the port. By this time, the sun had already reached its peak, and with the vacant sky and the high tide, the view was one someone would expect to have come out of a film; the blue tinge of both the heavens and the sea was so vivid that you knew your camera would have trouble capturing the essence of it. Image after image, you captured your surroundings and as the three of you walked on, rolls of film were exposed to the light of Elisa and Alexia, and these images, you knew, you would cherish forever. 
At one point during the walk, Alexia asked you to teach her how to work your camera, and so you did. With Elisa between you looking over at the sea, you guided Alexia’s fingers over the camera and taught her how to hold it properly, before you told her about the rest. As soon as she got it, she slung your camera around her neck and immediately started taking photos of you and Elisa. You laughed when she held the camera at arm’s length in an attempt to take a selfie of the three of you, adjusting it as best as she could to get the right angle before she set the timer. You told her as all of you returned to her car that you’d send her the fruit of her labour the moment you developed the negatives. 
About half an hour later after hitting the road again, the three of you ended up at the second stop for the day: Camp Nou’s Barça store–much to Elisa’s delight. When Alexia parked the car at a less crowded spot and began to take her seatbelt off, you fixed Alexia with a reluctant gaze, speaking in Spanish so Elisa wouldn’t understand.
“Is it really wise for you to just march in the store? You’re the Alexia Putellas, after all, there’s no way no one would notice.” 
In response, Alexia held a finger up to indicate you should wait and shifted so she could grab the hoodie that was hanging over the back of her seat. She put it on, zipped it up and pulled the hood down over her cap, then she put on a face mask and her sunglasses, her light brown hair spilling out to frame her face.
“Voila!” Alexia waved her open hands. “What do you think?” 
You looked her up and down. All of her tattoos were covered but even with her attire and her face concealed, you could still recognise her–maybe you could chalk that up to you intimate familiarity with Alexia’s being but still. So you said as you schooled your features, your voice monotonous. “Wow. You really look like a whole new person.”  
Alexia threw her head back, laughing. Then, “we’ll treat it as an experiment and see if they will.”
“That’s very modest of you,” you countered, tone still dry. 
“Thank you,” she retorted in a saccharine tone while she flipped her hair over her shoulder, and that, in turn, made you laugh. 
So then it was decided that you and Elisa would also wear face masks as all of you went on ahead in your quest to infiltrate–as per Alexia’s words–the store. Much to your surprise, Alexia’s disguise worked although she did draw some unwarranted glances, ranging from suspicion to pure amusement, due to the nature of her getup. And to your chagrin, once the three of you got back to the car with your bags of merch, Alexia smirked at you, smugness all too evident in the curve of her lips. 
After that, Alexia took all of you for a drive up a mountainside with the windows rolled down that let the fresh, summer breeze rush inside. With the wind in her hair, she began to sing along with you and Elisa to the music playing on the radio, nodding her head to the beat of the music. At the end of the ascent, Alexia parked the car at your third stop, which turned out to be the Tibidabo Amusement Park.
You knew this place was pretty high up, but the moment you stepped out of the car, even from the parking lot, the view hit you: it was incredible. The city of Barcelona stretched out far into the distance, expansive and seemingly never-ending, and you could just see the strip of blue that bordered the ports, and the colours of the city’s structures were made ever-vibrant by the radiance of the sun. The view pulled you towards the edge of the parking lot, where you put the viewfinder to your eye to capture it.
“The view is stunning, isn’t it?” Came Alexia’s voice from beside you.
“Yeah…” you said, breathless, dragging you eyes from the cityscape to Alexia and as you did the remainder of your breath was completely taken away, cheeks warming when you found Alexia gazing at you, her smile as tender as her eyes, while her loose brown hair fluttered to the breeze which added to the softness of her demeanour. The urge to kiss her then became too much so before you fall into temptation, you closed the distance and simply rested your head against her strong shoulder, an arm around Elisa’s shoulder when she stepped into the space beside you.
Soon, you began a short trek upwards to get to the entrance, and if the view from the parking lot took your breath away, it was nothing compared to what you found at the top: from the regal immensity of the structure of the Temple of the Sacred Heart of Jesus that greeted you, to the Torre de las Aguas de Dos Ríos that stood proud just behind the Temple, to the perspective that overlooked the other side of Barcelona. After another round of picture-taking, the three of you finally entered the park.
The day went by as the three of you amused yourselves with the park's attractions. And since you'd all forgone wearing masks, Alexia was, as expected, recognised by people and was stopped more than a handful of times for photos and signatures during different points of your excursion. And you watched with Elisa on the sidelines, appreciating the way Alexia interacted with her supporters, and smiled at her with encouragement and reassurance whenever she looked at you two with an apologetic gleam in her eyes.
By the time the three of you left the park, the sun had begun to set.
It was another drive around the mountain side that lead you to the last stop for the day: Mirador d’Horta. Alexia parked the car in such a way that the trunk faced the cliffside before she urged the two of you to step out and you gasped. 
You’d seen some magnificent scenes today, but this one was definitely your favorite.
There you stood, taking in the way the lights of the city burned like embers embedded in the earth. There was something about witnessing the city at night that never failed to make you feel connected, elevated, when you see the million tangible proofs of existence: under each light was a person, a family—lovers—all in their own worlds at their corner of this world you shared with them. And in your corner, in the opened trunk of Alexia’s car, was your world right beside you, and there was nowhere else you’d rather be. The three of you sat there in silence, Elisa in the middle of you and Alexia gazing over the city lights.
It wasn’t long until the day finally took its toll on Elisa, and she ended up settling her head on your lap and dozing off into slumber. You smiled down at her, brushing back her hair behind her ear as you watched her breathe deeply, feeling relieved when you noticed the peaceful smile on her lips.
“So her battery does run out. Sometimes, I forget just how much energy kids have.” The pure awe in Alexia’s voice made you let out a quiet laugh.
“It has its way of catching you off guard.” You shook your head fondly before you met Alexia’s eyes and teased, “I can’t believe she tired you out; aren’t you supposed to be the athletic one?”
“Hey! I’m only human; thank you very much. And what’s a thirty-year-old compared to a twelve-year-old?" Alexia raised an eyebrow in challenge.
“Touché. Ah, to feel young and full of energy again.”
Alexia cringed before she laughed out. “Please, stop. You’re making me feel old.”
“I’m making us feel old.”
The both of you chuckled, then took a momentary pause. You turned to Alexia and asked, "Did you run your parents ragged as a kid?”
The inner corners of her brows lifted—it was subtle, but you were familiar enough with the intricacies of her demeanour that you caught it—exposing more of her eyes, which looked pensive in the dim light, her lips pressed in a melancholic line before she smiled, wistful.
“Oh, yeah, but I’d like to think I wasn’t a menace. It’s just—you know, when you get so focused on something that you forget the time?"
You nodded. She continued.
“When I was much younger, there were times I was so intent on winning that I’d forget about dinner. So, one of them would look for me around the streets or the square. But after I got into Sabadell, my energy finally found the right outlet, and most days I’d gone home tired. Papá–” Alexia bit her lip, her eyes glazing over for a moment as she receded somewhere—a tender memory—then she shook her head. You watched the way her throat moved as she swallowed before she continued, voice raspy and quiet, “He, uh, he’d always exclaim, ‘She’s finally tamed!’ whenever I’d slump down on the couch after a practice. It was ridiculous, but it never failed to cheer me up.”
You grabbed her hand and squeezed it, expressing silent gratitude for the memory she imparted, as you smiled at the image of young Alexia with red cheeks in a sweat-soaked shirt, hair matted to her face, being chased and dragged back home to have dinner.
“No, I can’t imagine you being a menace. Mischievous, yes, and probably hot-headed, but never a menace.”
She laughed, winking at you. “Yeah, hot-headed is probably what people who knew me then would say about me. And I can’t imagine you being a menace, either.”
You raised your brow at her, smiling slyly. “Are you sure about that?”
Alexia opened her mouth as if to reassert her claim, but you saw the way her confidence wavered as she regarded you. Then she closed her mouth, now looking more unsure.
“Wait, are you being serious right now?”
You allowed her confusion to linger for another moment before you finally broke your character. “No, I wasn’t a menace, but you really should’ve seen the look on your face.”
Alexia squinted at you and muttered just loud enough for you to hear, her tone dry. “Are you sure about that?”
“Hey!” You yelled quietly, giving her shoulder a playful nudge but being careful not to accidentally jostle Elisa awake before you took her hand again. You intertwined your fingers together and pressed a kiss on the back of her hand, meeting her eyes. Then you took a moment to soak her in.
“Thank you, Alexia, for today. You don’t know how much this means to Elisa... how it means to me.”
Alexia squeezed your hand, smiling softly.
“I’m glad you both enjoyed it.” Alexia squeezed your hand as she regarded Elisa with a soft eye. Then a sincere smile lingered on her lips as she caught your gaze and said, “I think I needed something like today more than I realised. It feels good to be spending time with you again.”
Warmth bloomed in your chest, clearly understanding what Alexia meant.
“I know the feeling,” you whispered. And I missed you, too.”
With her other hand, Alexia reached out over the space between you and brushed her thumb over your cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear as she smiled at you with her eyes and her lips. With the city lights behind her, the soft glow of the car light bathing her features in its golden glow, and the summer breeze playing with the soft strands of her hair, Alexia looked so tenderly human, the embodiment of warmth and all that the word entailed, gentle and, oh, so soft.
The two of you sat in silence, just soaking each other in, until a ping from Alexia’s phone interrupted the moment. Alexia looked down, read it, and then locked the screen with a sigh. When she met your eyes, hers were apologetic. You smiled in understanding.
“Time to go?”
“Yes.” Alexia sighed as she stood up and tucked her phone back into her pocket. “It was Josep. He reminded me I have a full day tomorrow.”
You nodded. You gently roused Elisa, watched her drag her feet to the back seat, and nearly chuckled when she fell right back to sleep after putting her seatbelt on and closing the door. You turned to Alexia, and as soon as she closed the trunk, you cradled her jaws in your hands and pulled her down for a kiss. Immediately, Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you closer to her.
“I wanted to do that all day.” You whispered against her lips.
Alexia gasped when you nipped at her lower lip before she buried her fingers in your hair, deepening the kiss. “You have no idea.”
On the way back to Derek's house, Alexia kept one hand on your thigh. And with the radio playing softly as the car passed under a tunnel with lights overhead, it felt like you were in a movie.
After Elisa had gone back inside the house after thanking Alexia for the day and bidding her farewell for the night, you kissed Alexia’s cheek in gratitude. Then her lips.
With her forehead resting against yours, she whispered, “I’ll see you Tuesday?”
“Yeah.” You brushed your nose against hers before you kissed her again. You began to pull away. “Have fun tomorrow.”
“I will. I–” Alexia’s cheeks flushed before she smiled. “Bye, for now.”
Later, when you were in bed about to go to sleep, you received a message from Alexia. She sent you a link to a tweet containing a photoset that contained pictures of the three of you but mostly pictures of a hooded Alexia taken from a distance by the photos’ grainy quality, captioned, 'Alexia, what are you doing????’ followed by a string of laughing emojis.
At that, you couldn’t help but laugh. Her disguise was ridiculous in person, but captured like this, you thought it was a work of pure comedy. 
You messaged her back, 'I guess you do have reason to be modest after all.’
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The loneliness of God
Kristin Chang / Hanif Abdurraqib, “When We Were 13, Jeff’s Father Left The Needle Down On A Journey Record Before Leaving The House One Morning And Never Coming Back” / Dogma (1999) / @scioscribe / Amatullah Bourdon, “God and a Believer Take a Smoke Break”
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simply-eno · 1 year
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Superstition: A Short Story
Chapter 1. We Are Not Superstitious. 
My mother wouldn’t have said that we were a superstitious family. Her dark brown hair hung in rich ringlets of curls, framing her green eyes and soft feminine features as we would wander the mountains looking for mushrooms and antlers to sell at the markets. We spent many seasons in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, foraging for the delicacies that nature could provide. 
“We aren’t superstitious, we are cautious; ever aware of the world around us,” her voice would call out from the tall pines. The hush of her footsteps over the needles and the deep rot of the fallen trees echoed in my ears, no matter how far apart we were from each other. My older brother scoffed, and scrambled over the obstacles of the forest. Even behind the trees, I knew that my mother shot him a dark glare, before returning her eyes to the tree branch littered ground before her, scanning for any sign of proverbial gold.
My older sister, brother and I would quiet our laughter, and my younger brother would trail behind us trying to understand the joke. Looking at the four of us, one would hardly believe that we were related. My sister is the spitting image of our mother, tall and beautiful in her youthfulness, with the same ringlet curls and green eyes that peered fondly at the world. My older brother’s thin and muscular frame hid his strength, and his black, short cropped hair was a mock of uncertain genetics. My younger brother was small for his age of 6 years, with soft waves of dishwater blonde hair pooling around his plump baby face and bright blue eyes. I was tall, pale, with platinum blonde hair that fell flatly against my back. My deep blue eyes often appeared gray in the moonlight, and I was less boisterous than my siblings.
“Momma, it is getting late, if we’re being so cautious,” my sister piped in, her voice edging on snarky rather than smart. My brother and I again stifled our laughter. We knew better than to stay too far from the campsite when the glowing rays of the sun started to dim behind the tall mountain peaks. Whether our mother feared the natural beasts of the woods, or the unnatural, we didn’t question her when it was time to head back. 
“Yes, it is about time we turned back,” she said softly, looking at our measly haul of mushrooms. Each of us carried less than a few pounds. She sighed, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to sell for profit at the markets, but then she smiled. It was more than enough to feed the family for a few days, months even, if we were able to dehydrate them. 
We laughed and mocked the bird calls as we made our way back to the camp. The man my mother loved now, was tending the fire. His large hands snapping twigs with ease were covered in dirt and blood, and beside him were three fair sized river trout, gutted and filleted. My mother stared at the fish that the man had prepared, sitting on large flat shale river rocks, and then turned her gaze to the horizon. The sun was setting more quickly in the waning days of summer, and my mother had always warned us to not eat fish after nightfall. She hurried over to the man’s side, and started blowing upon the fire as he piled the twigs on. Before long, the fire was roaring, and the fish was set atop the flames to cook, and we ate promptly in the fading light. Never arguing with our mother’s wishes to eat the fish before the sun fully set behind the peaks. 
We sat together in the dusk, each of us resting our feet near the fire and reclining in our busted camp chairs. Our mother and her man drank piss beer and mumbled about the findings of the day, when finally, they hushed and stared at the fire. 
“Ma, tell us a story?” My younger brother whispered. His bright eyes drooped with sleep and wonder as he watched the burning embers dance around in the chilly air. “One of fairies, or dragons.” He was much too young to hear the stories that our mother usually told around the campfire, but she always managed to spin a tale just for him. 
She smiled softly as she told some fantasy about a princess locked in a castle, asleep for a thousand years, and how she was awoken by love’s true kiss. She skipped the gory details of how the prince killed the dragon, but told of his victory nonetheless. As she finished the story with a happy ending, she scooped up the small sleeping boy in her arms and carried him to the tent. She returned a few moments later, carrying a beer and a blanket for each of us. A series of popped tabs filled the air before my older siblings and I sipped eagerly at the foul tasting alcohol. It was rare that we were allowed to drink with our mother, as none of us were of legal age, but on the nights that we were given the opportunity, were also the nights of our mother’s other, darker tales. 
We wrapped ourselves into our blankets with our treasured adult beverages, and with bated breaths waited for our mother to take her seat and begin her story of the unknown. 
The man my mother loved stoked the flames until they reached high into the moonlight and added heavy planks of wood to feed the burning beast. The glowing yellow light played shadows across the faces of the man and my mother. She settled into her seat and popped the tab to her own beer, and took a long drag before casting her eyes upon her waiting children. The yellow and red flickered in her green eyes, almost devilishly, gravely before she spoke. 
“Have you been told of your grandfather’s father’s story, and the gruesome end that he met?” She leaned forward as she talked, her face suddenly solemn. 
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ivynightshade · 1 month
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’.
[text id: i am too little, and too much, and never enough.]
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feral-ballad · 7 months
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Michiko Aoyama, tr. by Alison Watts, from What You Are Looking for is in the Library
[Text ID: “It’s sort of embarrassing to say this, but it was like the air around her glowed. When I saw her, I couldn’t help calling out.”]
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royalarchivist · 2 months
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I say this in the kindest way possible, but I think this style of prose is more appropriate for a personal account rather than an update account. I have no idea who's being talked about half the time. 🥲
[ Tumblr meme via @mikaikaika ]
#QSMP#Philza#Edited#Phil#Let me know if this needs an additional tag#I don't think this necessitates a discourse or neg tag or whatever because I'm being silly but I'm happy to add one if folks need it#I won't post this one on Twitter I don't think because I genuinely don't want to hurt anyone's feelings#but. I feel very strongly about this. It's not helpful#I say this as a fan and as a professional writer (who also worked in the Marketing and Communications field for far too long)#The prose is nice! It's very whimsical and they're having fun! But I don't think it's appropriate for an updates account#I recently turned off notifications for QsmpEN and I'm considering muting them because half the updates just aren't helpful to me#I want to be able to speed read through the update thread I don't want to spend an additional 30 seconds trying to decipher who's who#I don't like posting complaints so I tried to make it a funny complaint#because I do think feedback is good! And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way#but at the same time: these update writers ARE volunteers#(As a side note -- I personally think anyone running a large social media account should be paid)#(I did that for a few years and it was hell. I can't imagine doing that and NOT getting paid for it)#But anyways#They're all volunteers so I don't actually wanna go all pitchforks and torches on them (which I wouldn't do anyways even if they WERE paid)#I'm just venting my frustrations in what is (hopefully) a funny way#but you're welcome to disagree! That's ok too#Portfolio
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