#bcdviibcs

[mutedmyths-blog]

@bcdviibcs

It was a disappointment that her favorite roller rink had shut down but business was fading. Thankfully there was more than one around. Once the sun had fell Yasmine headed toward the new skating rink she took an interest in.

Being new made it a bit awkward but of course Yasmine wasn’t shy to get talking. Especially when a stranger had rolled up next to her and began skating with her.

“Hey,” Yasmine said with a wide smile across her face. “I’m new here! Names Yasmine, but sometimes I get called Juju. Do you come here a lot?” The woman questioned

[heartonanoose]

@bcdviibcs liked for a thing.

“Scuse me! Sorry!” Aluzka quickly apologized to those she was running past down the sidewalk.  Trying to make sure she had everything she needed, while trying to run, was not a good idea. At least, not for her. While she was digging through her purse, she bumped into someone and the contents of her bag went flying. “Sorry!!!” She shouted before a gasp escaped her. Just as she turned back to her things, she watched her phone slip through a grate and into the storm drain. 

Frozen for a split second, she hardly thought over her next actions. Getting down on her hands and knees, she pulled up her sleeve and started to slip her hand through the grate. She had done it before and was successful. However that was when she was younger and slightly smaller. Her arm stopped and she almost dared to try to reach further but she knew she couldn’t. It was then she felt her heart sink into her stomach. Her arm was now stuck and it took all of her not to panic and scream. 

“Bloody ‘ell....” Her words came out in a growl and under her breath. A voice sounded a few feet away from her, asking if she was alright. Right then she prayed with everything in her to somehow become invisible. Or maybe shrink to the point she couldn’t be seen. Embarrassed and somewhat sad eyes looked up the other. “Oh ‘m just fine.” An outright lie and possibly a bit sarcastic, she made a point to try and give a thumbs up with the hand that was stuck. Her free hand came up to push some of her hair back, giving her a chance to look around and see other people walking past and snickering. Wonderful, she was going to be known as the girl stuck in the drain! Frowning, she looked back to the other who was standing there, waiting on her to asl for help or something no doubt. God she felt like an idiot. 

“Can I ‘elp you?” It was asked a bit rudely but for how absolutely idiotic she felt, she also felt the need to be defensive. Head lowered as she let her hair fall back into her face. Hoping to hide herself as she tried to free her arm. 

[friedcloudponygoop-blog]

[omensfound]

@bcdviibcs (for Blake)

          ✾ If he sees her, it’s only for a moment, kneeling over the fallen child one minute & gone the next. All the same, the child has stopped crying as suddenly as it had begun, its screams of anguish a fading echo within the vaulted ceilings & stone walls of the museum. & what remained: a lost child found, an injury soothed. An energy lingering, watching with bated breath. Whoever had been there had vanished after meeting his gaze, leaving the child to its worried mother, fast approaching through the crowd. No one there, just a child, now being ushered away.

❝ You can see me. ❞ Comes the voice in his right ear, gentle & quiet. & there, at his side, a statue was hewn of granite, sightless eyes seemingly fixed on him, mouth pursued as if it had just spoken. & maybe it had. With a hand pressed to its breast, the cold statue stood over the hallway like a sentinel, like a mother watching her children at play; there was something warm, reassuring, about it, like it had once been alive, a real, loving person.

❝ You can see me. ❞ This time the words come from in front of him, where a woman now stood, an echo of the statue at his right, but somehow more... cold. ❝ You saw the child, didn’t you? Poor thing. ❞ Her words are close & far away at the same time, almost echoing through the hall, though no one else seems to notice her. ❝ He was alone, hurt. He needed comfort. ❞      

[omensfound]

@bcdviibcs (for Blake)

          ⏚ ❝ Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Get out of my fucking head. ❞ This was typical, except when it became overwhelming. Head down, palm pressed into his ear, hair in his face, Casey wanted to be anywhere else, anyone else, than where, & who, he was right then. The voices wouldn’t leave him alone, parading through his consciousness like a herd of elephants, uncaring for what they trampled on their tirade. Everything. It hurt to think, to blink, to breathe, & it took everything within himself not to run headlong into traffic.

Instead, he runs into someone, still muttering under his breath, now almost on the verge of begging his curse to stop, to leave him alone, to let him live one moment alone. ❝ I’m sorry, I’m sorry. My head is-- ❞ Killing me. When he looks up, meeting the other man’s gaze, something in his head stops dead, as if possessed, a deer in the headlights. Recognition, maybe.

Or maybe something else. ❝ What do you want? ❞ His voice changes, his very countenance changes, & he fixes the other with a dark look. Then, shaking his head suddenly, he’s Casey again. Just Casey. Just himself. & the silence, refreshing. ❝ I’m sorry. ❞ He offers, meekly, withdrawing, eyes wide. ❝ I didn’t mean anything... ❞ Back to himself, kicked dog.

[omensfound]

@bcdviibcs (for Tray)

          ☣ The woman’s phone was ringing, with a sound that was not her usual tone. It rang with some persistence, stopping & then beginning again with almost renewed energy. Until, finally it stopped altogether, only to be replaced by the noise of a call picking up, a voice rising out of a static background, feminine sounding, urgent.

❝ You like conspiracies, don’t you? Lucky me, then, that I have one for you. If you’re interested in learning more, I’ve sent you coordinates for a meeting place, tonight. If you attempt to get any sort of legal individuals involved, I won’t be there. & trust me, I will know. ❞

---

Nexx leaned into the doorway, hood up & arms crossed. She watched the street carefully, eyes scanning almost robotically over passerby & the cars that moved down the road. This would be her third attempt at contact, & she hoped that, as people said, the third time was the charm. Maybe this woman would be her out, finally, she’d have someone on her side.

❝ So, you decided to show up. ❞

[omensfound]

@bcdviibcs (for Kalvin)

          ▽ ❝ The water speaks to you. ❞ Endre rarely spoke; maybe it was because of his accent, as viscous & smooth as water, or maybe it was because he didn’t have much to say in the languages of man, but whatever it was even his wife seldom heard his voice. But there was something about this man, something that pulled at him like the moon pulled at the waves, drawing him in. It was the water, he knew. It ran in this man’s veins like it ran in his own, & the proximity to such familiar power was too alluring to ignore.

He wasn’t a spirit though, that much the Nokken could tell, nor was he of the same type as his wife. All he could sense was the water in him, but that was enough to make him curious, & push him to speak, to acknowledge the other. ❝ Or is it the water speaks through you? ❞

[wvtchy-a]

"How did you get that?" (from Kalvin, for whomever)

answering @bcdviibcs

            † * ⋆✕⋆ *†   ||

                                     fighting made him feel alive. it calmed whatever hungry monster lurked beneath his skin, made it hum with content. maybe it was a way to feel something again, something besides isolation. when he retires home, body pulsing with bruises and cuts, it’s comforting. he doesn’t bother to take any painkillers, that would only subdue everything he’s feeling.

                but tonight he has a black eye, and it hurts like shit. he’s walking the streets, wearing it proudly like a diamond necklace. the pain is almost overwhelming. it radiates from his eye socket, loops around his skull, shoots down his neck. he can feel a headache coming on, a dull throb. he thinks, fuck it, i’m getting a drink.

         the bar he chooses is alright, a little quiet for his liking, but it’ll do. he slides into the bar stool and taps his bloody knuckles on the counter lightly, pondering what he’ll order. he’s about to ask for a whiskey when the bartender asks how he got that bruise. derrick flashes his usual charming smile. “someone made me mad. can i get a whiskey?”