God is my oath

[sideblog for Ella Williams. OOC knowledge only]

[omercyme]

My memories scatter from me like fish in a pond, while I try piece together the broken shards.

[omercyme]

Is it strange that I’m… a little disappointed, to no longer be a dragon?

Despite the overwhelming chaos of it all, there was something almost light about that existence. Just… more animal. I was clutching Elliot and his silver chains so tightly, but everything else? I could let go.

Light.

[omercyme]

I feel so blind, not being able to see everyone’s souls. The city is so much grayer without them.

[omercyme]

[omercyme]

Oh my god the scales they keep spreading my wings have come back all wrong and my hands oh my god they’re turning into ffucking claws my god please god what’s happening please

[omercyme]

I can’t feel my wings.

Have I fallen?

[omercyme]

I can’t see. I can’t — people’s souls, I can’t see anymore, I

[omercyme]

Oh…

She’s a demon.

[omercyme]

My parents never told me much about what happened to Char. They’d said there was a fire, and Char had moved away, and little four year old me simply never understood why she never came to say goodbye.

21 years later, and I find Char again :)) It’s a miracle. Thank you, God.

[omercyme]

[omercyme]

I’m… confused. Conflicted. I don’t know how to feel.

Because I’m angry and hurt, and feeling stupid for feeling angry and hurt, and betrayed because he’s my friend, but also not because he wasn’t then and

It wasn’t me

But it also was me

And I feel everything

[omercyme]

I remember.

Oh god, I remember.

Davey took a look into my mind, and he recognized us- Olly- and…

We’re stumbling through the night, liquid fire coursing through our veins. Me and two others. My boys. Olly stumbles off into an alley — he needs a piss. I sling my arm round Eddy’s shoulder, and pass him the bottle as we belt out wobbling tunes. The night isn’t over yet.

We’re two songs in, when it suddenly occurs to us this is taking too long. “OI OLLY,” Eddy yells. “YOU TAKING A SHIT?” I cackle hysterically, uncontrollably. He’s funny. We wander down the alley, kicking empty bottles out of the way.

We see a dark figure, crouched over a body on the ground.

“Olly?”

The figure launches itself at me.

It’s Davey. It was Davey that killed Olly, not Eddy. Davey did this.

[dawnsfragrance]

[omercyme]

Kota knew me. Past me — Freddy. That was my past self’s name. I finally know his name.

And Kota knew Eddy, and Olly, and even Jamie. He knew the whole gang. He was our friend, in those short few months he lived in London. The things he’s telling me are unlocking such an outpouring of lovely little memories, and now when I’m looking at Kota I just remember that first meeting.

We’re standing in the cold rain of a grey autumn day. Me, Eddy, Olly. (Jamie didn’t come with us — he said he wasn’t gonna get rained on for some stupid shoot, and no amount of relentless name calling could change his mind. Pussy.)

We’re loitering outside the set, hoping for a glimpse of the magic, when we spot a lone figure. A boy our age — leaning against the barricade, hair a sopping mess. Eyes fixed firmly on the set and alight with adoration.

“Big fan, mate?” I ask, following his gaze and squinting.

The boy looks up, startled. “Yeah,” he replies with a little laugh. American. “Yeah, uh, my girlfriend’s working in there.”

Eddy’s busy tryna light a smoke, and Olly’s attempting to shield him from the drizzle like some dancing fucking bird. Somehow, they manage to light it, and after a burning inhale each, Eddy offers it up to the American. “Smoke?”

The American shrugs, and smiles. “Sure, why not. Thanks.”

[feral-ballad]

Deema K. Shehabi, ed. by Nathalie Handal, from The Poetry of Arab Women: A Contemporary Anthology; “The Cemetry at Petit Saconnex”

[Text ID: "wrinkled with longing."]

[omercyme]

Again with the scary stories about love. Love sounds so wonderful, and yet awful things happen when the supernatural dabble in it.

I keep going back and forth on whether or not love would be a good idea, but. I suppose only God knows what I’m fated for this lifetime.

[omercyme]

Mat knew my parents.

Or, well, their dad was involved in business with them.

I’d met Mat. Several times, as a child. The memories are fuzzy — and they’d seemed like such an adult to me —

And the angels Mat’s dad worked with, who gifted them with their abilities… those were my parents.

My parents had kept me at arms length from this for so long — for good reason, I’d assumed — and I never pried. And yet here we are.

(And it’s funny how Matt ((Champion, with a double T, but yes, another Matt)) and I were just talking about fate.)

God truly works in His mysterious ways.