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[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Fate

Wet clay smoothed and molds beneath her practiced hands. Each twist of her wrist, the flick of her fingers drawing form from the once immobile block. As a craftsman carefully carves out a piece of wood to unveil the work of art within, she smooths and molds. Rarely does she have an idea in mind when she starts her work, merely a deep nagging she’s unable to ignore. So, she must go and do as she is big, no matter the time or previous engagement. 

This urge woke her hours before dawn. Without much gripping, she obeyed and began to understand why she has awoken so abruptly. In her hands, she felt a figure emerging, that of a little girl. Small with bright eyes and a flowing dress. The realization pained the sculptor for a moment. Making children was always difficult. 

Yet she pressed on, moving her fingers without even thinking or considering what movements were needed. As the rising sun peeked over the horizon, a single beam of brilliant light shone on the girl’s completed face. The sculptor could almost hear her laughter. Imagining where she might be now. 

At the park, on the swingset. Grinning and laughing in a beautiful melodic tune. The little girl glanced over her shoulder crying, “Mommy, mommy! Push me higher!” 

The mother is so enamored by her beautiful daughter. The miracle child she was. All blonde hair and green eyes, her dress flowing in the wind as she soared.

The sculptor looked longingly at the small statue in her hands, holding her up towards the sunlight as she’s sure her mother did when she was born. 

The clay began to crackle beneath her fingertips, slowly at first then all at once, shattering to pieces in the sculptor’s lap. 

Waves of emotion broke over the sculptor. Seeing the little girl’s smile drop and her form fall from the swing. The breath knocked out of her as she hit the ground was her final one. Her mother rushed to her side in a panic, crying and begging for a response. The sculptor knew what would happen next, as many years of practice had taught her, they scream for help and uncontrollably sob. No matter how many times she sees their pain, she cannot build a shield to protect herself from feeling it along with them. 

The sculptor returned to her bed still sobbing quietly. Wishing someone else had the burden she bears. It used to be easier when it was only a single string of life she wove.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Cleansing

Gravity of music pulls at the tides within my body. 

We dance together, my head resting against your chest. 

My eyelids are heavy, the edges of my lips turned up in a smile. 

There’s no expectation or complication, just your warmth and mine.

I’m peaceful, resting against you and, for the first time, I can’t feel tension anywhere. 

It almost makes me want to cry, a body and mind fully free. 

On my hands and knees in the sand, my salty tears returned to the ocean. 

Baring parts of my soul long forgotten,

I scream. 

Please swallow me whole just for a moment. 

Take my burdens, all my thoughts. 

My traumas, past, darkness, scars, and tensions. 

Let me rest on you for just a moment. 

Take this weight off me so I can introduce myself, 

To me. 

Cleanse me. 

Bring all my darkness up from the depths. 

Float to the surface so I can work through it until it dissolves. 

Rise from the waters anew. 

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

There’s a Starbucks where the locals know to never give their real name.  

The baristas smile, metal stainless steel espresso machines gleaming a bit too brightly in their eyes. Everyone swears they’ve seen a change in the color of their iris’s anytime someone habitually says their name while ordering a coffee, but it’s always different. One says blue as a June sky. Another refutes, declaring it was moss green. A particularly heated discussion in hushed tones mentioned even the occasional glimmering ruby hue or a deep eggplant bordering on inky black.   

Usually, the unfortunate tourist is too enraptured in their phone to notice deep red within the ink of their name as it’s scribed on the disposable cup. The knowing glances made back and forth almost too quick to notice behind the counter. For a fascinating and spectacular moment, the coffee shop with its generic décor and neutral color pallet is electrified, brimming with chaos about to erupt. 

Not till later, maybe even years later, does the patron realize their mistake. Most never pinpoint the exact moment their lives changed. Almost as if they made a pact with a mythical creature of mischief, always ready and waiting for a moment to strike a deal. All they need is your name. 

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

A Queen’s Return

“I remember you being… prettier.” He stares down at me, brows furrowed in contempt for the woman he is betrothed to marry. I do not open my mouth, biting back the fire in my throat I wish to spit at him. In true womanly manners, I smile before bowing my head as my body automatically curtsies. 

“I apologize, my lord. She came to us like this,” the Duke detaches all blame from himself, avoiding any possible way I could meet his eyes. Not moments ago he was reassuring and comforting, however in the face of a King true colors are shown. I am not here to be beautiful, I am here to follow through on an alliance. Had either of them known what I had been through away from court, maybe their words would be kinder. I refuse to allow them to pity me, I will suffer disdain before pity. The King shrugs, grown bored with my arrival, and I am shipped off to my chambers to prepare for my first official dinner back at court. 

As I am escorted from the room, I hear all manner of talk to cancel much of celebration for this evening. It seems the King does not wish to show off his now ugly bride. He may do what he wishes, I shall have no more influence on him now than when we are married. Despite what ladies maids and lesser courtiers whisper, I am no more happy about this arrangement than he is. 

My chamber is considerable, as fit for a Queen to be. A large bed, four wooden posts with all manner of floral designs cut into them by hand, taking hours, perhaps years, supporting an elegant canopy. Around the large room are symbols of my future husband's country; crests and colors of the flag, as to constantly remind me of where I must spend the rest of my days. Bitterly, I almost refuse to sit on the bed, wishing to burn the entire room in order to redecorate it myself with all the things I wished to bring from home. However, I would most likely be ordered to enjoy the smell of burnt curtains. I am no longer of my home, there is nothing there for me now. 

Within the wardrobe are dresses off all style and color, in the drawers shoes to match. All manner of makeup and skin care products in the vanity. It is all any courtier woman would dream of. To please my King, these things will be plastered across my face to achieve some sort of aesthetic favor, distract him from the fact that in 15 years I have indeed changed. A long, sad sigh lets up from my throat but I have no time to pity myself. My task has been planned and ingrained in my memory since I was old enough to understand my father's advisors crafty words and double meanings. I’ve been sent here for one reason and I mustn't fail. I hear a knock on the door, the page enters announcing the names of my ladies. I forget them within minutes as their expressions of joy turn to exasperation at my unpleasing looks. 

They all rush to me at once, pulling out dresses by the armful in order to compare the color with my skintone. Pale yellow makes my face look sunken in, emerald doesn’t go with my eyes, and lavender washes out my hair. Finally, a deep blue gown is pulled from the very back, causing one of them to mutter how it was left here by the last one. Last one of the King’s ladies I assume with annoyance flaring in my gut. An unmarried man is allowed any past he wishes, especially a king, women on the other hand must be chaste else our worth be destroyed. I am sure that every eye in this castle is on me, looking for some stain on my reputation to remove my chances of marrying the King. 

The blue, despite its former ownership being questionable, makes my skin, eyes, and hair glow according to the women. It’s a simple piece, which has my appreciation and does not require much fuss to put on or walk in. Next, my face and hair are tugged at, smeared with substances, and drastically changed so that when I am allowed to look in the mirror I do not recognize myself, there is no trace of me left. 

The dinner bell rings, erupting in a rush of last minute checks in every reflective surface on the way to the dining room. The dining room itself was stripped of the grandeur previously planned, set with the lowest of plates and pewter goblets. It was a non-verbal slap in the face to my honor as a guest, but I did not waver in my stoney expression, acting as if I had not noticed. Surprisingly, a server pulled my chair beside the King out for me and I was prepared to sit by myself without anyone standing in honor, when a figure shadowed by the dusk light stood at attention and saluted me as my countrymen do in the highest honor. 

Whispers were silenced as I remain standing, awestruck and speechless at this outright defiance towards the King and allegiance to me. Politely, with as little smugness I could muster showing through, I smile and return to salute. It is good to know I have a friend here at court. As I sit, the figure waits a moment before following suit, and then the food and drinks are brought out from the kitchen. Servants do not bother to stick to the shadows as they do in formal meals, there is no glass raised to toast my return or talk of joyful memories many at the table and I shared as children. Courtiers gossip about the goings on in countries they’ve never set foot in, perpetuating false rumors that ruin kingdoms overnight. I move the food in front of me about my plate, not trusting that the smallest bite will not poison me. I keep my head high, posture straight, and eyes meeting everyone at the table. It’s better to know who will meet my eyes and who will avoid it at all costs, so far the only one I can trust is the dark figure at the end of the table who raises their glass or nods their head slightly whenever they find my glance on them. 

Four courses and not a chanced bite later, the actual guests take their leave, receiving a head bow and a generous thank you from the King. He has not looked in my direction once all evening, not that I expected him to. Even with the supposed miracle work my ladies had done, I am no more than the once beautiful young child and now ugly woman. We are escorted together from the hall, sheltered by our perspective parties from one another. The ladies talk of dresses and new people visiting in the coming days to see me before I am married to the King. A wedding date has been set for the coming year, plans being drawn without consultation from me as I am to assume everything will be. 

I take my leave from the incessant jabbering just as the four voices start to sound exactly the same. As if one person is having four parts of a conversation with herself. I strip from my gown, taking pleasure in removing every pin and kohl mark from my hair and face. There is a framed picture on my bureau I catch behind me in the mirror, it wasn’t there before. Once I am myself again, I pick up the picture. It is of me as a young child, formally taken here when a photographer came to visit the castle about his invention. Even through the grain, I see that I have changed so much. Looking back into the mirror, I analyze my features in attempt to justify the hatred for me. As a young girl my hair was the color of shadowed honeycomb, but as I grew older it darkened into a brown with only a glimpse of auburn. My eyes, too, have changed from a reflection of the pure blue sea to deeply sad olive green. Even my skin which once was pale and smooth has deepened to tan with an abundance of freckles. How could I have changed so much? 

Shaking away the brewing headache from not eating, today’s events, and my most recent inquiry. I turn down all the oil lamps and pull the covers up around my body in preparation for an uneasy night's sleep. I can practically hear my father growling in my ears, pushing me to complete my task that very night. He is a regularly impatient man, which is why his advisors charged me with this duty to my country. I must gain the trust of the King, be in his every confidence and thought as his wife. Only then may I take my choice of vials hidden amongst the few belongings I was awarded to bring, picking the poison most fitted to kill the King without rising the most suspicion. 

I will kill the King.  

The coming morning I am woken by a rather rude serving woman, angrily announcing the King’s Mother had demanded an audience with me. Grumbling to myself in the few moments of peace I have before the ladies arrive to fuss over my lack of presentability. I take a seat at my vanity, brushing fingers against the features I find agreeable despite being criticized otherwise. My elegantly sharp jaw and shapely cheekbones, I trace the underside of my collarbone sighing. I had just pride in it before, how my face thinned after being so full as a child. I had not much of a choice, really, fullness in the cheeks are gained through eating healthily as a royal, and such a luxury I was never afforded. 

Natural fullness in my figure has served me well in my life and this court, seemingly the only attribute that is not looked upon with almost promise. I stand and shrug on my robe as the four women storm into my chamber unannounced in a rush of giggling gossip. 

“Have you seen the size of his wardrobe? It’s as large as a lady’s,” one of them laughs heartily, her yellow hair is curled in waves down her back and set in graceful beadwork. I suppose that as I am to live here the rest of my known days, I should at least learn to separate one girl from the next. 

“Compensating for much smaller things I have no doubt,” this one has red hair, it curls naturally in untamable spirals only to the edge of her shoulder blades. The others giggle in agreement, only perpetuating what is implied. 

“Well you would know, Diana, or was it another noble that kept you from the lady’s chamber until this morning?” The third smirks over her shoulder at the fourth, presumably Diana. Both have raven hair, so straight it seems unnatural, and pinned with combs that are identical except in color. Sharing the same rounded jaw and soft brown eyes, I assume sisterhood. Diana gives no reply but a rude look to let the giggles die down. Finally, all four acknowledge my presence.

“Morning, your grace,” They say together, half curtsying. The urge to demand respect strikes my chest, but I must earn favor not grudges. I force a smile which appears real after all the practice I’ve had. 

“Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept well.” Looks of confusion and caution cross their faces as I had not spoken a word to anyone yesterday and scarcely met their eyes. Collectively, they nod in response muttering affirmatives. “Shall I start pulling my own dresses?” At that, it is a rush away from my eyes and to the wardrobe which is freshly stocked with gowns in shades of blue, violet, green less rich than the emerald I tried yesterday. Easily, I am dressed and even the process of my makeup is less extreme than it was for dinner. 

Soon I am being escorted to my future mother-in-law’s private balcony. She is also presented in less grandeur than last night’s dinner. Her brown hair matches that of her son, despite being grown out to be voluminous and lovely adorned in a Queen’s fashion. The morning sunlight glows the slightest gold within her dark chocolate hair. She looks up as soon as I enter the balcony, it is set with only two plates from the simplest of a Queen’s dining ware, much more respect than I received with dinner. “Good morning, my child. Please sit and have breakfast with me.” 

I smile softly with a deep bow and take the seat opposite her, smoothing out my skirt before speaking, “Thank you for having me, your Majesty. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.” 

“Oh, dear, if it is alright with you I’d prefer to skip all this formality and get to the point.” Her tone is light, but I am cautious as to what point she wishes to discuss. I am prepared to defend the alliance both she and I are sworn to. I nod in agreement, secretly happy to not constantly worry about every syllable I let escape my mouth. “Good, now as clearly made by the disgrace of a dinner, my son is not happy with this match. While I knew fully that you would change naturally over the years, my immature son expected the fair haired, doe-eyed, girl he enjoyed playing with as a child. Despite whatever the King may believe, we both know there is no way out of your marriage.” 

She pauses as servants bring out a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage. There was a bowl of sliced melons was placed on the table along with the filling of our goblets with white wine. I take a small sip and find it pleasantly refreshing, only momentarily hesitating with the thought of poison. The Queen nods her head knowingly, “We eat from the same pot, you have nothing to fear within my charge.”  

“Thank you, your Majesty, I am glad we are of equal mind on this matter.” 

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Moonstones

She waded into the water, white gown sinking into translucence and clinging to her form. The water ebbed and flowed up to her waist, far as she needed. The moonlight illuminated gooseflesh on her arms, raised up in a circle above her head with fingertips barley touching. Ends of long auburn hair flowed around her as she paused, steadying her feet on the moss-covered rocks beneath her.

The moon was full, appearing to rise from the water in front of her in welcome. She waited patiently, arms still and cold along with her body below the waterline as she had been taught. As the minutes past, her legs and torso adjusted to the waters unrelenting cold, unconscious of her slight shivering. It wasn’t until an hour went by that she shifted her focus to relaxing her body as it had grown stiff and pained in the chill. She would know when the time was right, as they always told her.

A school of fish surrounded her legs, picking at the flesh in search of food. The sensation wasn’t painful, just distracting as she attempted to twitch them off as one would a fly. It would be difficult to maintain concentration like this. For a moment, she lowered her head to gaze down at the fish, curious as to where they came from. She was told nothing had lived in these waters for centuries. Then through the reflection of the water, she saw it. Quickly, whipping her head up in hope she had not missed it.

There would not be another chance in her lifetime. Or any of their lifetimes. She thought of the young girls being trained as she was for this sole moment and stared wide-eyed, the beginnings of tears pricking behind her eyes. The moon, once stable and unimpressive as far as lunar aspects go, rose a few feet above the watery horizon and began dripping. At first, she couldn’t comprehend it, all the lessons she has been taught disappeared from memory until ripples from the droplets tangled around her waist. Refusing to hesitate any longer, she dived, arms folding inward over her head and leading the way towards whatever magic had fallen towards her.

The typically murky water beneath basked in the pale blue dream light, allowing her to see clearly as she swam. More droplets sunk to the depths, creating almost wave like ripples below the surface. Faster and faster she went, holding her breath for longer than anyone she had ever known. Had her mind been able to focus elsewhere, she might have figured that such a gift was a reason she had been given the honor this night. Or simply that of convenience as she just completed her training at the time it became known. The school of fish which had been a potentially fatal distraction trailed behind, urging her forward as if they could communicate.

Suddenly, she couldn’t tell where to go, forward or back. The ripples stopped. Where was the moon positioned from where she was? She’d lost it in pursuit. Rising to the surface, she looked about, searching in panic and refusal to believe what she already knew to be true. A dark moon bid her farewell upon the far horizon, sinking below and leaving her in darkness.

She has failed them.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

I would love a black smith artificer who makes a Ring of Transition for one of the party members. Or an adaptable wheelchair for the disabled in their community. And it just breaks up the story. Like the characters really getting to know each other and the townsfolk. And maybe they had to fight others to be awarded the honor of being the protectors. Or maybe it’s a really big city and there are different sections, that don’t correspond to any specific class but to jobs like a city normally is, and they send a representative from their own place to be part of the party. So it’s possible the party have never met before or are even siblings potentially or enemies and they have to work together when needed.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

My adhd brain just conceptualized a homebrew witch dnd class... but like it’s closer to a real world witch who probably has adhd. Spells are subtle and more long term rather than active like normal classes. Kind of a mixture of wizard in terms of learning and studying, Druid with the focus on the natural world, sorcerer with the image powers but that varies person to person. Once in a blue moon, they’ll get an amazing temporary wisdom modifier that helps them in their chosen divination/area of specialization. But they have to roll for whether they believe it or think they’re just going crazy. And as the levels get higher, they start having more and believing it more.  Talking to spirits and deities can be a part of their path. Okay different paths, but they can intersect. So you can be a primarily nature witch but also specialize in the ocean/water and also the moon. Or a lunar witch who focuses on divination, the cosmos, hidden mysteries and deities.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Zodiac: an Ode to Cancer

There’s an ebb and flow, as with all water signs

Cancer is a lake,

Calm unless struck

Self-sufficient but symbiotic with others around them

A calming and emotional presence, in the best way

Unknown depths to their love of friends and family

Hurt them or their loves, and face the abyss of drowning

Cat tails and lily pads flow in the wind, protecting their shores and surface

Homey and wonderful

Soft and kind

With softness, comes deep impact

Painful to see their retreat into their shell

But damn, can they snap when attacked

Hold your Cancer’s close

If chocolate chip cookies were a person

If an ancient Greek column were a person

Accept all the bear hugs

They’re wonderful and you’ll miss them so desperately much

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Banshee Girl in Forks

She used to live in Virginia, but at the age of 10, the fae blood inside her was awoken with her bleed.

Her veins in her body turned a white silver. She woke up screaming, thinking she was on fire but in too much pain to move. She was asleep for almost a week straight.

In that time, her mother and grandmother began packing up their small mountainside home. When she woke up, almost her entire room was packed and she didn’t know why.

Communication was always free and easy, sometimes even unspoken in their household. So she waited for a sign, any explanation of what had changed so suddenly and drastically.

Sitting beside her bed, they told the story of their ancestors. Centuries ago her bloodline was part of the fae people. They were a particular kind of fae with a specific job and purpose. As humans began to rise and the church demonized anything that was considered unknown, the fae united with humans creating changlings of sorts.

The fae bloodline was strong and lasting, continuing on in some people even in present day to perform the duties of their ancestors as the universe needed. This particular family line hadn’t had such an awakening in at least four generations, they’d thought it had died out. Until her.

Through the next ten years or so, she could expect drastic changes, some of which no one could prepare for. And sometimes it’s not safe to be around others when those changes happen. In small towns in the southern Bible Belt, people talk and try suspicious very quickly. It’s better for them to make up their own stories than to stay and add fuel to the fire.

So to protect her, they were going somewhere they don’t question supernatural things. Somewhere people like them can help in plain sight and no one is the wiser. A place like forks, Washington.

The grandmother had to stay. She’d lived in that house over sixty years and wouldn’t part with it to be sold to someone else. It was a heart wrenching goodbye. The girl who’d never spent a day without her grandmother and mother together now had to leave.

It wasn’t until she looked down at her hands from holding her crying face did she notice the marks. They almost looked like scars, white lines along her hands and forearms where blue or green veins would normally be.

When she gazed at herself in the mirror for the first time, she finally saw the intricate pattern of knots and swirls along her spine, venturing out like a tree covered in snow. It was beautiful and mysterious, but needed to be hidden always.

Forks became her home from then on and essentially she was a normal kid. She learned about the local flora and fauna, helping her mother in the kitchen with new recipes and mixtures. She went to school and made distant friends with people who sort of thought she was a bit weird but not too much. It was quirky at that point.

She started seeing, feeling, and hearing dead people wherever she went. They’d find her, seemingly drawn in by her silvery scars and ask for help. The first one she saw, she thought it was a customer from the herbal shop her mom ran who came looking for something special at their home.

She called to her mom but her mom couldn’t see him. He spoke in a broken voice like there was static in the way of his words, but she knew he needed help. Her instincts took over before her mind could catch up. She opened the veil for him to enter the afterlife and he moved on peacefully.

Her mother stood in quiet awe of her daughter’s ability and didn’t question it except to ask if she was alright. Being barely 12, she nodded and went back to harvesting the lemon balm. And that became her life.

High school rolled around without much fuss. She’d earned a slightly quirky but cool reputation. A writer for the school newspaper and occasional replacement photographer. The cloudy, rainy, and cold weather kept her arms almost always covered.

The day the Cullens started school, she almost choked on a laugh. Their auras and even appearances were so not human, she considered they might’ve been more direct fae ancestors. I mean Alice could certainly play that card.

They all became a sort of oddity for her. A mystery she was quietly determined to crack. She’d never spoken to them or anything, but kept a weary eye out. Something about them set her on edge.

It took two years before she finally figured it out and wanted to flip a table because it seemed so obvious. Six months after that, she sort of guess on each of their abilities.

Edward randomly smiling or looking angry or bored, glancing his head automatically to hear something that wasn’t there.

Alice had the aura of a seer once she got past all the dead stuff. And Jasper, empath recognizes empath.

An interesting flaw in her fae genes seemed to be a complete immunity to their powers but also a fun dodge pattern so they wouldn’t notice anything was missing anyway.

She was feeling pretty proud of herself at figuring it all out. A bit smug and important before someone’s spirit came and smacked her to reality, hard.

Her grandmother. She could tell she didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want her own granddaughter to have to use her gifts this way or find out. Had there been a moment delay, her mother would’ve been able to excuse her from school so she could grieve and work in peace.

But there her grandmother was, in the middle of the cafeteria and the banshee had to work quickly and quietly to help move her on onto the afterlife. On autopilot, she opened the veil but her grandmother wouldn’t leave.

She kept trying to say things. Broken words filled with static but expressing so much emotion it was overwhelming. Calmly, banshee picked up her stuff and went outside into the pouring rain, not minding the weird looks some people gave her.

And she sobbed. Ugly, loud, chest heaving sobs half from her and her mother and grandmother. All their emotions colliding in her small 16 year old heart. It was the only day she’d ever hated her gifts and wished they’d never existed.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

I dreamed this in Oct. 2018 and it still haunts me

It was like a movie with flashbacks playing over and over. There was an older woman and me, I would inhabit her body occasionally.

The future was extremely strict. No new technologies making life easier and a band on old ones. We watched old recordings of VHS tapes on small TVs with static. Laptops weren’t allowed. I lived in the place I worked, small apartment restaurant type thing. The same people sat in the same booths, ordering food, or sleeping. Choosing their spot on the wall to watch favorite classics. I was a waitress who served them until it was time to return to my own booth, my own spot on the wall.

I kept my backpack hidden. I had a laptop, a projector, and other things not allowed. I made sure all my files were the same VHS recordings everyone else watched, filled with static, and no one was the wiser.

The reason everything was so strict and close together was because the government was scared. There was a virus, they didn’t have a name for it. No one in the general population knew it existed. The government knew and the people affected by it knew but no one else. This virus was deadly to all who had it. But before it killed, it would take over the mind of its victim, making them act normal and not like they were sick at all. Slowly, it would try to infect others around it by showing them the worst memories of their life over and over. 

The old woman, her worst memories were seeing her baby girl die in a car accident, it was slow motion and vivid, I could barley watch. And having to kill her husband because he had the virus. She strangled him to death on the couch so he couldn't infect her. While he kept going back and forth between dying and the virus trying to convince her that he was still him. Begging her not to, crying, talking about having... oh I remember now.

So I caught up to her time to where I was her but wasn't at the same time. It was when she actually had to strangle him. And the virus replayed those horrible things and he talked about having another baby. We stopped. A ghostly young boy appeared behind us talking about how easier it is to give up, how cold we were. Then I became her completely. I was laid down on top of his dead body. We were on a couch and I was horizontal where he was vertical (on the couch the right way) I felt the thick navy blanket I have being placed on my body and wrapped around my shoulders while I stared down into the separation between the cushions and the couch backboard. It was about the size of my head. And I knew what was coming. I could feel the aftermath already where the thing would shove itself down my throat and I wouldn't know what could happen after. But a small part of my mind said I don't have to. This isn't me, I can leave now, and I woke up.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Intense southern goddess voice talking about the humidity and the Florida sun and glistening sweat as women shine.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Banshee friend helps Bella through dark days

Edward leaving crushed her, mind body and soul. When Sam pulled her out of the woods muttering and crying that he was gone. I almost went to kill him myself. I didn’t care where he was, he was an absolute asshole for doing this to her.

I couldn’t sleep those first few weeks because I couldn’t feel that she was alive.

The first three months were agony to watch her suffer. If I could have carried her through it, telling her it was going to be okay, I would have. Her night terrors and screams hurt my throat even though I know she couldn’t feel the pain.

Living next door to her was a constant battle between wanting to sneak into her room and knowing what I’d find wasn’t her. Wasn’t Bella. She was a shell, a hallowed frame with nothing inside.

I came over and brought food to Charlie under the pretense of a good neighbor. He would barley talk and I knew better than to ask.

When a flickering ember of her life finally came back, I wanted to run to her. To hug and hold her, so happy to know she was starting to be alright. But there was still so much more she needed to heal.

I stayed with her as often as I could. Even when she didn’t acknowledge I was there. I’d sit at the lunch table with her, no need for conversation. I saw she was only responding to direct questions. Not healed enough yet to be human.

Her waking up was a blessing and a curse. There was more pain, the dryness of her faint embers igniting was a hopeful sign but hard to breathe through.

I followed her and Angela to the movies. I should have just gone to her, tagged along to the trip like a normal person. But silent curiosity got the better of me. I imagined it was easier for her to believe I was just one of her normal human friends. Rather than someone who could clearly see how exactly she was hurting and what she was feeling.

Her hallucinations weren’t necessarily all in her head. They were more like psychic echos, pieces of the real Edward peaking through her shield while also being encased in them. I could see them to an extent and feel what they did to her. I never dreamed she’d use them as a lifeline and devote herself to extreme sports to witness them.

Stubborn and hurt as she was, I knew she would’ve found any reason to see her visions again. I suggested some fun times. My motorcycle wasn’t necessarily top notch in the speed department but a ride on the back got her high enough the first few times.

I taught her how to ride it next and that lasted a while before the feeling wore off again. Eventually, we were able to just sit and talk like normal people. I remember the first time I heard her laugh again so clearly, I’ll never forget it.

We were sitting on my living room floor messing with a map and haphazardly talking about the best roads to ride on the bike with. Her eyes were still only a light purple underneath as opposed to the bruise colored they were just weeks ago. I was doing most of the talking, like normal.

“This road is really good if you want to go fast, like 100 miles an hour fast. There are no cliffside or blind curves and surprisingly no cops,” I pointed to another winding highway, “This one will definitely get your thrills in, but you can’t go over 70 without the goal of jumping a cliff. Screaming weeeeee all the way down.”

I don’t know exactly what made her laugh, but my heart stopped when I heard it. It wasn’t her full laugh, but it was more than I’d heard in months. By the look on her face, it was more than she’d heard from herself too. If I didn’t have such good emotional control, bordering on ridiculous control, I would’ve cried right there in front of her.

A short pause was all I afforded myself, acting like it wasn’t such a huge thing. I made a comment about how I liked her laugh offhand. Then we, mostly me, went back to talking.

Talking about Edward or the Cullens made her feel like falling apart all over again. But I found subtle ways to try and heal her mind and heart.

When Laurent came down for the visit that almost killed her, I had to catch myself from running to help. Even from miles away, I could feel her fear and despair of being in that clearing.

There wouldn’t have been anything I could have done to save her. I’m still essentially a human with some fae gifts. No super strength or ability to take down a vampire. But damn I would have tried had the wolves not showed up.

It was some short time after that I let it slip about my not-so-human origins. Jacob Black wanted back in her life after he’d changed and it was important she knew exactly what type of world she lived in, surrounded by mythical creatures and at least one of them who loved her. Obviously I couldn’t tell her that part. I never even brought it up.

We were pacing the forest since it was hard for her to be still nowadays. As much as I tried to veer away from the path she walked that day with Edward, it was like her body had a mind of its own. I rambled on about the trees before coming upon this one particular one who was dying. I’d been searching for a segway the entire day.

I pressed my hand into the trunk that still looked alive, “This tree will be dead by next year.”

Not one to perk up at some of the weird things that come out of my mouth, Bella just nods and mutters an agreement. I thought for a moment that I’ll literally have to spell it out for her when I see a giant wolf track right next to me. Wonderful. “Wow, that’s a big paw print. What kind of wolves are they breeding up here?”

At that, her head snapped up finally. She came over to where I was and saw it instantly in the wet earth, “it’s probably a bear or something. Grizzlies can get pretty big.”  

“Or you have a particular loyal pack protecting you.” We were right beyond her yard after all. She attempted to stammer away and excuse before I cut in again, not being able to take it anymore. “I know werewolves are a thing and so are vampires.”

I hadn’t realized I turned away from her when I said it until I was facing the dying tree again. I was afraid of her reaction if she’d think I’d betrayed her after all this time. “What are you talking about?” I sighed, hanging my head with closed eyes.

“Those aren’t the only types of legends that exist in the real world. There are other creatures and types of people. It just so happens Forks is a good a place as any for them... us... to settle down.”

“Us?” I couldn’t even look. Her emotions were going haywire trying to figure it out, process the words I was saying in a way that made sense. Probably wondering if I was a vamp sent to kill her, that particular fear cut deep.

“I’m not dangerous or hurt people. I don’t turn into an animal or anything. I’m a banshee and we see and feel death. I can see and feel the emotions of people around me and feel when someone is going to die.”

The silence was gut wrenching but I knew she had to process and it would take time. “How?” I think she asked it on a whim, the first thing that popped in her head.

“My ancestors were fae. Like fairies only a lot weirder. Eventually they came to be with humans and through a few centuries of evolution, here I am. Seeing death everywhere I go.”

“Huh.” I couldn’t tell if that was an intrigued or scared response so I peeked over to see her last in thought. Better than running for the hills I guess. “I can’t have normal human friends to save my life.”

After a moment shocked me back, we both laughed and I can tell you, I’ve never felt more free. I couldn’t tell her everything like the spirits in town or the lost souls or some of the more unsavory things. But whenever a newly dead soul came to be moved on, I told her the process as I did it. Opening the veil and leading them to the other side.

She was interested what lied beyond the veil and I told her what I’ve seen of other people’s afterlives how there are infinite possibilities depending on what you believe. I could’ve sworn she was about to say that she didn’t believe in anything after death but bit her tongue. Eventually it became easier to tell what she was thinking based on her emotions, or when I was feeling lazy, almost everything was written in her face.

After Jake wormed his way into letting her in on the secret, he became more of a permanent fixture in her life. Not that he was a bad person, he was far more loyal and slightly more understanding than the boy who said he loved her previously. But still young and volatile and unpredictable.

Meeting Jake for the first time was not what I expected or intended for that matter. Bella got the ridiculous idea of cliff diving and had the stubbornness to go alone, picking the absolute worst timing.

I was in the reservation before I knew what was happening to me, drawn there by imminent death. My soul worked on autopilot, moving my body and I guess making sure I got there in one piece even though I still can’t remember a single road sign or turn in this place I’d never been.

I arrived just after they said the prognosis wasn’t good. Regardless of how much I knew it wasn’t the cause, I felt guilty for being there. Like Harry’s death would be my fault because I could feel it before it happened. I kept my camouflage well, that way no one disturbed me or even noticed I was there when I snuck into his room.

The light was already fading from his body as his soul was ready to leave. I must have been there only in spirit because even the medical staff didn’t shoo me out of the room when he coded the first time. They paid me no mind as I held his hand. I told him everything was going to be alright, that he was safe now.

He was stubborn and wouldn’t go until he had everyone around him. His whole family, most of his friends, and others gathered around to wish him goodbye. The second time I took his hand, his soul went with me. I told him he was going somewhere wonderful and led him towards the light. It took me a while after he was gone to remember where my body was. Outside in the parking lot.

It took me what felt like hours to control the sobs grasping from my throat and even longer to realize what I felt was drowning. Bella drowning after cliff diving right before a storm. I’ll owe Sam and Jake eons for saving her even though I knew they didn’t do it for me.

As I drove to her house, I felt for her energy to know she was alright. Knowing she was with Jake made me feel marginally better. At least his werewolves strength could protect her if needed. She already felt sick with worry and guilt so no need for me to give her anymore.

We pulled up at the house at the same time. The same moment we recognized the car. I knew the presence of a Cullen and immediately went to her side of the car, holding the door before Jake could think to drive away without dragging me along the gravel

He was tense and angry and, above all, concerned. “It’s Alice.” Was all I had to say before Bella was practically running to the door, leaving Jake and I to meet officially. We’d heard enough about each other. Me from Bella and him from what seemed a mixture of places.

“You were at the hospital with Harry.” I nodded. “You didn’t kill him did you?” I shook my head, the vibrating in his shoulder decreased ever so slightly, the tension in his knuckles never ebbing. He kept watching the door, weighing his options. If it was worth breaking the treaty. For her. I would’ve.

I put my hand on his arm, almost pulling back from the heat. I knew to expect it but somehow it still surprised me. “I can go inside and make sure she’s alright and find out what Alice wants or stay out here and tell you what she feels.”

He blinked a couple times, not exactly sure what I meant. “I’m a Banshee. Which is how I know you need to be assured she’s alright, ideally in a way that doesn’t involve you hulking out. So I can either stay here with you and tell you that she’s feeling incredibly relieved and happy to see Alice or go inside and get the full story then report back out here. Your choice.”

“I think I’ll go look for myself thanks.” Typical dude bro. I rolled my eyes and easily kept pace with him even when clearly he tried to beat me to the door.

Alices energy was always different than the others and I never could tell if she had a blind spot for me too with her visions or if I just seemed another insignificant human to her.

When I walked through the door, with Jake shortly behind, Alices eyes went cold and threatening. Bella got in between us and assured Alice we were safe. Introductions were made and things were civil for Alice and I. Alice and Jake were like hot oil and water, sputtering and tense.

Bella explained the wolves and my being a banshee really quickly, trying to get it over with so she could hear about why Alice was actually there. Upon hearing what I was, Alice looked at me a bit harder, trying to get a read on me and my future. She clicked her tongue in some sort of verdict and explained about seeing Bella jump and the stupidity.

Things happened pretty quickly after that. Alice got the call from Rosalie and how Edward knew something happened to Bella. I tried to stop Jake from answering the phone but the moron did it anyway. The tension in his posture and tone told me all I needed to know as I ripped the phone from his hand. He barley had time to say ‘funeral’ before I said his name.

“She’s okay. She’s alive. Bella is safe. Reasonably.” I couldn’t hear breathing or feel anything but I willed him to hear me. “Harry died. Bella is okay.” The line went dead.

I could fear Bella breaking all over again and I didn’t hold myself back from holding her as she almost fell to the ground.

At least he knew she wasn’t dead. Gods know what he would do if he thought so. I prayed with everything in and around me that he could know I was telling the truth.

I left her with Alice for the night, pulling Jake behind me practically by the scruff. They needed time alone. She explained Victoria and the wolves protecting her. I didn’t pay attention to if she bothered explaining me. I was afraid of what she’d say.

One thing we all did learn from Alice was that they were planning on coming back. All of them. I wish I’d burned their house down.

Edwards return felt more dramatic than it was. And all the drama was second hand to me. All I focused on was how to help Bella. How to help her see this wasn’t healthy. She was stubborn and independent and amazing. She deserved so much more.

I arrived at their house around ten minutes before he arrived. The Cullens were surprised, especially Alice. It was a first for her. I guess she couldn’t see me after all. Good to know.

I waited outside until I was invited in, civilized and cordial. They all gathered in the living room, in the middle of dusting off the home they’d emptied out of. “I want to talk about you all returning to Bella’s life.”

Carlisle nodded, speaking up for his family. “It is only Bella’s decision whether she accepts us back.”

“I’m aware. Personally, I have no problem with any of you. I’m not sure what you’ve ever heard about Banshees but I’m not here as a representative of my kind. I’m here as someone who... loves Bella very much. All I ask is an audience with Edward before he sees her. To give him some information and ask questions about his return.”

They let me sit on the couch for what felt like years before he walked in the door. He was ragged and haggard. I tried not to have some sick satisfaction with that. But it was a fraction of what Bella suffered.

“She’ll kill me when she finds out I’m here.” Edward nodded, confused and concerned that he can’t read my mind. “I’m a Banshee. We have some shielding ability to keep our thoughts private. Can we talk?”

He only nodded again. “Good. Do you think you could handle some pain right now? A glimpse into the last six months. What happened after you left?”

His voice was so strained and ragged, “I deserve it.”

“I don’t necessarily disagree but right now I don’t think it’s the best time...” I played everything over in my head of what I think would happen. His only relief would be Bella and her him. It was inevitable they’d be back together and she’ll want to forget any of this ever happened while he went on always feeling guilty.

“You left her to keep her safe. Believing a life without you would be best. You were wrong.”

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Genre: Horror

She looked down into the puddle and see the scars on her face and blood dripping down from her eyes. No one seemed to notice.

The festival was so dark.

The scream ripped from her throat moments previous made her gasp for breath.

She was changing. Into what? No idea.

She was pale, her eyes blood red.

For a moment she thought that 12 hours ago, she would not have through this possible.

But the memories of her ancestors burning at the stake call,

“Sarah. Come to the pond.”

She wished her mother had been more original with her name.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

You think if a genetics lab created new dna like for an embryo and someone took some of it and put it in polyjuice potion, they’d turn into what the new person could look like? They didn’t really. Discuss age when it came to who you turned into. Essentially just the person at the age of the dna. But if it was complete dna of an adult, just in a dish. Would the magic know to not turn the person into a clump of cells or could it have interesting medicinal purposes for those who want to alter their own dna slightly? Polyjuice over surgery for trans people for instance?

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

City Protector Campaign Idea pt 2 

I love the idea of a Cleric from one of the churches in what is typically considered one of the ‘physically strong’ sects being their representative sort of as a surprise to all of them. And the Cleric uses their abilities and worshipping of maybe Athena as the goddess of battle strategy to give and take life from their opponents until they all fight each other and fall after not seeing them as a threat.

A druid from the Botanical Gardens sect whose armor is as they’re immune from poison and they have the ability to infect or not infect people around who touch them. They’re in touch with the entire root system in the city and their trial for that sect is having the most connection with the earth and essentially they are chosen by the earth.

The child of Knox who is much more adept at imbuing magic in to items, so they’re an artificer but also multiclassed as something else. They have a hundred unfinished projects but what won was a unique metalworking that looked almost elven in design and delicacy but was spelled to be stronger than adamantine. And while no one disagrees they should have won, they’re sort of worried about this idea of children of Protectors being legacies and chosen for that rather than ability. So the kid has to prove themselves that much more and sometimes thinks they’re all alone.

A scribe from the sort of inner/political sect being seen as this meek girl who can write your life away and sing as a Bard and that charm and intelligence wins her spot, but she’s also a fighter or barbarian who uses her physical strength in fight more than anything. She connects with the Cleric a lot but still follows more of an Ares vibe rather than strategy so they don’t agree on everything. Then maybe later she discovers she’s also a sorcerer. Eh maybe.

A Book of Secrets sect full of rogues and they just kinda appear with their pick. A very closed practice order, no one knows what goes on inside their sect because they’re sort of the underbelly of the entire city and maybe even consider themselves the real protectors of the city. So they just send up this one kid who they don’t really want. And while they’re trained as a rogue, maybe they’re also a Warlock after being forced to sign a pact with a fiend then that can lead to the other story of how to break a pact.

The classic Wizard and Proper Magic sect where it’s similar to The Magicians final chess game and they find their Quentin who does the black hole thing and wipes out the whole board. But he’s Quentin, awkward and non social and wants to be the main character.

[theres-someone-to-write-about-it]

Campaign Idea

There’s a city and it’s a hub for trouble. While not necessarily a capital city or one with a particularly bad tourist problem which would invite interest from other cities with authority, the city is decently sized and has many boroughs dedicated to various jobs necessary for the towns survival.

The city also happens to be built on a hellmouth or a fissure between the dark bowels of hell and this world. Concerning? A little bit. But for the most part, people are able to go on with their normal lives with the occasion earthquake or aggressive tidal season. On rare occasion a group of trouble makers come into the city spouting their cult prophecy about how their evil god will rise up from the fissure and consume everything and only those who worship him will survive, yada yada yada.

Over fifteen hundred years, the city has kept standing and most townsfolk are resigned to the little ‘end of the world signs.’ However, no matter how much the townspeople and even the town leaders explain, people still keep coming and attempt to wreak havoc in the name of whatever will rise to swallow them all, there was one night where the town was overrun. A cult by the name of the Black Thorn snuck into the city at night and slaughtered anyone they could find in their beds, bringing their bleeding bodies to the fissure as an offering to the god that never came.

People woke up to see the bodies hundreds of their neighbors, loved ones, beloved officials, and children all piled and being thrown into the fissure by the cult, followed by its members. It was an incredibly dark day.

People demanded justice, revenge, accountability for their dead and a promise from their leaders that this would never happen again. The elected officials, who had also lost people, signed a plan to form a group known as the Protectors with representatives from each sect of the city to band together and learn about potential threats to the city and, when necessary, fight them before another tragedy could occur again.

At the start of the campaign, the second generation of Protectors are seeking to retire. After leading long lives serving the community, they are strong and honored and are ready to go home. A Protector is a lifetime appointment but they may choose to leave anytime, the first generation suffered heavy losses so there were a few rounds of them before the ones who remained alive decided to step down together and live their remaining lives in peace.

The second generation were slightly more stable in terms of all of them stayed alive, accept for one who left earlier in their career. Their replacement still served more years and decided to stay on in the interim between the next generation to help them through the transition.

His name is Knox and they’re from the blacksmith area of town, having honed his craft in all types of metals, jewelry, and even had a slight knack for imbuing magic into items. He essentially minored in artificing but never had the time or patience to make something more of it.

The process of choosing new Protectors goes on for weeks, even months in some places. Each sect has their own method of trial suited to find the strongest and most capable of them.

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Cause I would love a black smith artificer who makes a Ring of Transition for one of the party members. Or an adaptable wheelchair for the disabled in their community. And it just breaks up the story. Like the characters really getting to know each other and the townsfolk. And maybe they had to fight others to be awarded the honor of being the protectors. Or maybe it’s a really big city and there are different sections, that don’t correspond to any specific class but to jobs like a city normally is, and they send a representative from their own place to be part of the party. So it’s possible the party have never met before or are even siblings potentially or enemies and they have to work together when needed.