#still laughing at that woman from 2020 I pray every night that something bad happens to her

[mare-the-silly-scroingle]

AM I GETTING VAGUED NOW

[classysmashy]

Into Each Life...

#3/??? of Nuclear Winter

ZoNa Holiday 2020 Entry Prompt 3 (Ornaments / Tradition)

@zonamievents

One Piece in Fallout Universe (kinda~)  [I do not own One Piece or Fallout]

AN: There was something in particular I wanted to convey about Nami with this one, but after this there will definitely be more Zoro. So, I have ideas of how to explain the devil fruits, fishmen/mermaids, and sky natives into the Fallout universe for this and it’s pretty exciting. I don’t know when I might try to get into moments to explaining them out, but I might do future chapters (after the holiday event is over) to do flashbacks that put key moments into this universe since this is supposed to take place six years after Luffy originally started his journey. If I do these, I might build up a wayyy longer chapter for those moments to try and keep them from taking away from the main story being focused later in the timeline compared to the past. Again, sorry for this being late, I had my ideas for these, but it was a matter of putting everything into the words I wanted. The original Fallout 1 and 2 games had much darker themes than the newer ones and I want to try and incorporate that, but not too heavy outright.<3

Rated: T for Blood, Heavy Violence, Suggestive Themes

Word Count: 4,379

*****

Ever since she was younger, Nami understood that bad things must happen for the good times to come rolling in. That was the second lesson she had learned from the death of Bellemere. The first lesson had been that she had to keep living, for being alive meant something, even when you don’t necessarily know just what that something is.

A part of her wanted to rip the world to shreds for the death of Bellemere and believed Arlong deserved the most cruelest, torturing death for the crimes he had committed to her hometown. And for so long Nami lived with that spite building inside of her, brimming over the top at times and causing her to lash out upon herself.

The first time she went wild with her anger, it happened while she had been visiting Nojiko and storing away some of the money she had stolen. Nami had lost it in a fit of rage, putting her fist through a flower vase, the broken ceramic cutting at the skin of her hand, and smashed up the kitchen table with one of the dinning chairs.

It was during those times that Nojiko started making sure Nami was voicing herself to the older sister, since bottling those feelings away inside was destroying Nami each time she felt helpless. 

Nami never cried though. She would get angry, break things, lie about being happy, but she would never let the full extent of the misery hiding inside to be released out for anyone to see. 

This had went on through the years, her deceiving charms becoming her main weapon to steal from unsuspecting raiders —after she had gotten used to their behavior and could trick them to not shoot at her. Eventually, the most normal occurrence seemed to be stumbling on the newer recruits of the raiders to swindle, stealing their money and valuables to sell.

Those years of experiences is what had paid off when she met Luffy that very first time in Orange Town, the idiot so unaware of what people could do to those who were too naïve. Nami used him like a puppet to gather up Buggy’s recent escapade of cash and stash, but had felt horrible when it seemed the guy was going to be killed, and that was another first time for her. Quickly, her fingers had already reached out to stop the refashioned canon from shooting at Luffy locked up in a cage. 

He seemed to make his mind up about Nami in that moment as well as the rest of Buggy’s men who were racing onto her form, ready to slash and make her one with the wasteland. 

Yet, that death never came back then. 

And that was how Nami met Zoro the first time, her back to him, clutching onto a lit string, and him with all of his swords out to stop the fighters in their tracks. 

That one moment in time seemed to set off a chain reaction. Zoro was constantly the one saving Nami from danger during their travels together, always seeming to run his lost feet right to where she was in need of help.

Robin passed on a comment to her about the action when he still seemed to find himself saving her randomly after all of them reunited. “If Zoro has no sense of direction, possibly it means his internal compass is set wrong. And I believe that internal compass is set to find you when you’re in danger, hm? It’s only a small theory, but one that holds merit with the actions he has presented.” The small chuckle Robin had hid after walking away from Nami and leaving the girl with just that, still echoed her mind.

All along through the years of being with the Strawhats, there did seem to be something odd about how often Nami and Zoro seemed to be thrown together when the two had clearly been offsets to one another, ideologies varying drastically and causing constant arguments between the two. The fighting between them had begun to die down some when they all came back together after two years. 

Whether it was because of herself or Zoro, she had never picked up on. The swordsman didn’t even seem to end up around her much at first, but when they were together he had seemed so... calm. Zoro had a different air around him, everyone did, and the way Zoro seemed to change had put him at ease about what his true mission was now with being a part of the crew. 

Protector. Zoro decided during the time apart that he was and had to be the one who was the full protector of the crew, of Luffy’s dream, and carry the burden of keeping everyone alive. The idiot became ready to throw his life down just to keep the others safe.

Nami had been pissed off by it.

A protector in her mind would never let themselves die so easily, never give up on their own dream like that, wouldn’t throw everything away in a blink of an eye.

But, that was exactly what Bellemere had done for her and Nojiko.

When she realized how much Zoro was becoming like Bellemere in that sense, she avoided him and kept distance between the two. Frightened. She had been frightened imagining the crew going through a death like that, Zoro’s death. And it was the pain she imaged Luffy had felt after their initial break apart when Ace died.

Losing Zoro would be hard, as a close friend and even worse on the dynamics of all the Strawhats. It was her realization of this that had brought on their first fight since everyone got back together.

During one of his nightly workouts while on watch, Nami had stormed Zoro and began questioning him about if he planned to roll over and die. 

To say the least, he was stunned at Nami for it, and he lashed back with his own yelling. Damn if it woke anyone up on the ship, the woman was talking mad.

Zoro would yell about how it was impossible for him to die so soon and he wasn’t giving up on his life that easily and Nami would yell back with how he had changed his philosophy, that she wondered if he truly wanted to be the greatest swordsman throughout the wasteland still. The moment she had brought his dream into question, he cuffed her wrists above her head and pushed her body up the wall, leaving her feet dangling off the floor. 

 Before, she had been frightened about his death, but this was the first time she was actually scared of Zoro’s actions. Her breathe had been caught in her throat and leaving her speechless as Zoro closed in around her, caging Nami upon the wall with a deadly look in his eye. The look that most experienced just moments away from him bringing great pain into the life of his enemies.

“I don’t question you about your dream, why question me about mine? You don’t know a damn thing about me right now through that clouded gaze of yours. Die? I’m not planning to go anywhere, so get used to it, witch.”

If anyone were to ask her about it, Nami would deny the fact that there had been a small heat that swallowed her insides when Zoro hung her out to dry then.

He seemed to gather some wits about the predicament he had placed both of them into, releasing Nami to stand back on her feet and turning away again to his weights. 

Zoro had promptly ignored her for the rest of the night, even as she burnt holes into his back until the wee hours of the morning.

*****

Winter was always harsh back home, even before Bellemere had been murdered. The income for the family would dry up as the mikan trees couldn’t bear fruit during the cold season and had to be watched over carefully. That also meant the family dinners would be kept small and that Christmas presents for little Nami and Nojiko would be drastically different compared to the kids of the rest of the villagers living in the town.

Nami was always rougher during winter, making a comment every single day about how Bellemere had to be upset about raising them and them eating up all of her money and time. Bellemere simply ignored it though, until spring would finally break the clouds above and Nami would drop the subject of money from her mind.

She couldn’t be upset about the traditions that Nami held for winter, just as Nojiko became more clingy and stuck to Bellemere’s side when winter rolled around. 

There were many traditions that the little family held together with their heartstrings on the line. Like how Nami and Nojiko would bake a tiny cake that would cut into four adequate pieces, how Bellemere would bake up the pretty ham Genzo brought over, how the four of them gathered together in a pray that Genzo asked of them to do around the food before eating. 

Four people just enjoying being together for another year, smiling and laughing for the whole day without any issues. Christmas was the one day that fighting wasn’t allowed, the day was to be sweet and jovial with nothing weighing down on the bright mood. 

But, the good times had came to an end after Arlong showed up.

Many people throughout Cocoyashi had stopped celebrating any holiday all together, in favor of saving up that bit of extra money to pay for their keep the next time Arlong’s goonies came to collect. Genzo would rest a slice of ham and pour a bottle of booze over Bellemere’s grave. Nojiko would spend time out with the mikan trees and would take the very last one of the year to Bellemere’s grave, returning on Christmas day and talking with her through the night about Nami. 

And Nami would stay away from home until only a few days were left of the year. There was a guilt that Nami carried for giving herself up to Arlong that she couldn’t shake off and she never wanted to disrupt a nice day for Bellemere, so she waited for the holiday to pass before making her own visit with a bouquet of flowers.

Each time she wanted to cry out, bawl until the ground became so wet it would sink beneath her and swallow her whole with the grass and mud and dirt, bringing Nami to be one with Bellemere’s body beneath. 

But she wouldn’t let those tears fall down, she would recap the bottle on her heart even tighter and chug down bottles of whiskey and vodka until her throat burned too much and passed out. Maybe, it was because of Christmas that Nami had developed her tolerance over time, each year drinking more and more and  pushing out how long it would take to reach the tipping point.

Things became different around Christmas after joining up with Luffy and Zoro in Orange Town.

As the crew built up more and more, the holiday came around just before they had reached Sabaody Archipelago the first time, and they had stopped for a few days to celebrate together.

It was a weird time for all of them. The only ones who was close to having a proper Christmas in the past years was Chopper and Franky, Chopper because of him living in the cold climate that was constantly set in Christmassy time and Franky because of how his “family” would booze it up and gamble money off together on the holiday.

Nami knew that Robin hadn’t celebrated the holiday in her life nor had Zoro either, Sanji didn’t count into having celebrated since the Baratie only had special Christmas dinners for customers and not actually anything for themselves. Usopp didn’t get to celebrate as a kid with his mom sick and nobody wanted him around during their Christmas dinner because of his lies, which would leave him all alone. Luffy had actually never told them if he had celebrated before and Brook was so old that he forgotten about the last time he had a Christmas, so it was a restart for him.

The whole thing went well though, super in fact, as Franky liked to put it. 

 Sanji cooked a feast after him, Zoro, and Luffy had a hunting contest. Franky couldn’t find any lights, but cut a tree down for them to settle around. Nami, Robin, and Chopper would work on cutting up fabric to hang around the place they were hunkered in to make the scene just a bit more festive. Usopp had been the one to tell all the jokes and stories that gave everyone hearty laughs and looks of disbelief as they ate and drank. Brook would be playing Christmas tunes on his violin through the nights, whisking them to sleep with the beautiful melodies.

That was their first time celebrating Christmas all together and after being apart two years, when Christmas rolled back around, they did it again. This time more people were celebrating with them, Jinbe, Law, people that Luffy had dragged into his life deciding that from this time onward, they were his friends whether they liked it or not.

Those traditions built of being together as a family of friends were beautiful and she would look forward to when the time would come and she would be able to get actual gifts together for all of them.

*****

A cool, wetness dragged across the skin of her cheek, the dishrag scratching at the blood splatters covering her face. Another one was wiping away at the blood all over her hands, gently tugging between fingers and nails to remove the evidence of the crimes that just happened.

Zoro’s bracelet was still on her wrist, the gold tainted by brahmin blood that had collected inside of the gold plates that hung from it. 

Nami’s eyes were out of focus, a blur of frames moving at turtle speed, unable to look at the two men cleaning her. But she didn’t need to see properly to know the horrifying sight laying out before her on the highway. 

Like cattle to the slaughter, they had been leaving Sabaody when hell broke loose, a rainfall of bullets scattered down, two dozen gunners giving their hiding places up. There was screams that came from a few of them about how Nami and the settlers had killed their friends so now it was time for revenge.

Nami had ducked away behind a car, a bullet hitting straight into her left shoulder and as she hit the deck, she realized there was a sliced up body impaled on metal poles along this stretch of highway. 

The settler she had sent back first had his body torn apart, limb for limb, with each one stabbed through with the metal poles. His torso had a metal chain shoved through it and tied to the poles with his arms, lifting it up for crows and bloodbugs to get their pickings in. The most disgusting part was the short metal pipe shoved into a right angle down what was left of his throat and his head had been decapitated to screw the settler’s head onto the pipe and making the pipe poke out of his right eye, mouth left open in a scream, and Nami wondered how much of the torture he was alive for.

Just from the sight of him, it was clear that there was no hope left for them.

One by one, the three settlers left succumbed to the bullets, unable to get away in time, and the screams of pain would probably haunt Nami’s nightmares for years to come. The poor brahmin came to run and hide with Nami, but it was brought to the ground when her back right leg was shot off and the brahmin fell with moos and groans of agony.

It was a pitiful sight and made her heart ache as hot tears slid down her jaw. She kicked herself up, bringing out a boot knife to stab into both of the skulls of the brahmin, giving the girl the peace she deserved, the noises silencing and chest growing still. The oozing blood from the brahmin sliding around on her hands when she shut the eyes of the animal.

A swarm of four gunners were suddenly on Nami’s body, guns beating into her flesh, and preventing her from doing anything to get out of their grip. She felt one of the male gunners swipe his hand over the front of Zoro’s jacket that was zipped to the top, his hand close to grabbing a full feel of her breast.

When a slash of a sword cut him in half, body sliding off of itself and spurting blood all over her body, and it was going to be over quickly now, she had decided.

Luffy was running headfirst at the rest of the gunners on the highway, she could hear the screams from them, the impact of the blows suffered by Luffy’s strength, and the flops to the ground in their death.

Before her was Zoro, a wicked glint to his eye, slashing away over and over and over again at the gunners that had surrounded her. Nami watched as his focus shifted to be on the one who had planned to assault her, puke rising and burning her throat as she watched him chop the gunner into pieces.

And into more pieces. Blood pouring out over the concrete, running over her shoes, splashing on her face and body.

Nami remembered that stare, from that night on his watch when she had set him ablaze with anger. Blood was everywhere. Everywhere.

The more the two went at it with their brutal strength, Nami retreated into herself, shaking uncontrollably and losing sense of what was going on around her. She didn’t want to see them like this, it wasn’t the matter of being scared, but seeing what Luffy and Zoro were capable of reminded her of rougher days in her early life.

Every time Zoro went for such a grotesque kill, she had the image in her mind of seeing the smoking gun in Arlong’s hand. The way Bellemere’s body caved in on itself, shoes flying in the air, the black ring of hole left in her forehead and more smoke pouring out. Bellemere’s blood had ended up on her face in that moment, as well as on Nojiko. 

Just like now. The blood from each cut and stab Zoro produced was in close proximity to her, painting her. It was too much for her senses to handle and her eyes slid shut, hiding away from the massacre.

Luffy and Zoro would always be a deadly pair together. More so than Sanji could ever hope to achieve by teaming up with the two because Sanji had his limits to how far he would go while Luffy and Zoro didn’t. This was especially true in the case of something involving all of their friends, but the two had also made it clear that they wouldn’t take anything happening to Nami and would act like this.

Right now, Usopp was properly working with Franky with what could be spared to decorated until the new materials got back to the settlement. Robin and Chopper would be preparing gift ideas for the boys who would have no clue about what to get. Sanji would be placing in orders for different ingredients and checking stock for the dinner. Brook would be cleaning and tuning instruments, deciding the order of the classic songs and writing his own. Jinbe would be picking up the slack that anyone needed and making sure people were getting done what needed to be. Law was probably trying to figure out a way to run and how long he might be able to hide out before Luffy found him.

Some time passed ever so slowly. Nami pushed out the noise of gushing blood and gurgles of pleading by placing her mind somewhere else.

A week and half would be Christmas, by this much time having passed, the tradition during this time was to be preparing for the Strawhats Christmas celebration. 

“People should stick to their traditions.” Luffy was the one to be dead-set in making Christmas happen every year. It wasn’t like this world really called for the holiday, the world was too destroyed for the majority to have the time to think on the holidays. 

Luffy was the one wiping the blood from her hands. A weird sight to see him so calm, but it was soothing to know the captain cared to be careful of the discomfort that radiated from Nami’s body.

Zoro cupped her chin with one hand and the other was cleaning the blood away from her face. She wondered if he realized the effect his skills had on her and not the good effect. Well, it was good to know he could keep her safe, yet there was a fear of what the man held inside.

He probably contained his own anger at times, like Nami did as a kid, and that anger led to who he became today. When Nami went the cunning route to counter what happened in her life, Zoro had built up a steady resistance in him and strength to demolish whatever stepped in his path again.

The two of them, Luffy and Zoro, they were made for this world, created for this wasteland. The two could survive without issue, it wasn’t the same as to how Nami’s main way to protect herself was by tricking the enemies or standing beside people for safety, rarely she could survive by her own hands, though during their past travels she had been better at it than now.

This was the wasteland.

A brutal and bloody mess, normal humans sent into a world of monsters and having to become monsters themselves to survive. The raiders were drove to drugs and insanity. Gunners fighting for the hell of it and for the money. Super mutants had been normal humans, subjected to experiments to make them into the monsters they were. The brahmin and radstag were normal animals in a lost world, now they were their own monsters by being mashed with one of their own breed, two cows and two deers forced into twins. The ghouls were normal people as well, the radiation seeping into their bodies so much that their skin was now papier-mache and slowly rotting their brains. Domesticated robots having codes changed to murder on sight, new robots created as pure killing machines. Synths would be used to kidnap the normal humans and replace them, driving fear into every single person that no one could truly be trusted. 

Just as Luffy had created traditions that they would all follow at their home, the wasteland had its own traditions.

If you can’t kill, you get killed.

Lately, Nami had been spending time out and about, but it had been nearly a year since the last time she went out before getting the feral ghoul blood with Zoro. She had grown so used to the setting of being inside walls and being away from reality. 

The life being built was worth the payoff, but it was destructive for her wellbeing.

“Nami,” Zoro’s lips were pressing at the skin behind her ear, Luffy had clasped their fingers together and circled her legs. “Where are you?” She turned into Zoro’s warmth and felt her eyes shaking.

The promise to Bellemere was that she wouldn’t cry. Nami broke that when she asked the first time for help against Arlong. A high rule for herself was broken because of the trust she had gained in all of her friends.

“Why are you here?” She bit the tears down, she did trust them, but now wasn’t the time to reveal all of the trouble inside.

“Mm, materials for Franky, lots of money, stories to look into...” She needed to hurry up and move on, get the bag of materials for Franky down from what was left of the settlers torso and go forward, not backwards. She needed to be away from her own head.

“It doesn’t matter,” Luffy said, catching onto Nami’s eyes and holding her gaze, “Did the trade go well?” Distraction, don’t think about this if it’s taking a toll on you, gather yourself.

Zoro tore away her hand from Luffy, lifting it to see the cleaned bracelet jingle against her wrist. “It looks better than I thought it would.” A smile stretched on his lips, pressing them into the skin just beneath her palm with a hum. “Your heartbeat is starting to even out, that’s good. You don’t have to be scared.”

He knew, of course he knew. The swordsman could always read her at nearly any given moment, only missing at certain times, that was part of the dynamic that Usopp would never understand. 

If she had half a mind of her normal senses right now, Nami would say that the two had been following along around her or ahead of her for a reason. The fact that Shakky said they went to the bar and the fact that they had been here to save her now.

Everything was everywhere in her mind, lost in a state of confusion she still couldn’t break.

Why had she been thinking so much about the past? Why did she have such bad luck to get the people she was supposed to protector murdered instead? Why, why, why?

Nami was spinning, she wasn’t sure if her body was even actually moving, she could barely make out Zoro saying something about her heartbeat, her pumping blood.

White. The sky was white, all the blue drained away and the sun hidden deep in the clouds. Snow was trickling down in shimmers, slow and unsure of the places that they wanted to stick to.

Nami’s breathing had increased, she had to be hyperventilating, her mind numbly noting the change.

Both Zoro and Luffy’s faces flooded her sight, their mouths were moving, but she didn’t hear a word. Then her eyelids slid closed and she felt the darkness flood her.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Soulmates

Writer’s Month 2020 Day Five

Read on AO3

Everyone has a soulmate, even impossibly a bastard like John Constantine. Not that he thinks he’s got some great, beautiful souled person out there that’s destine to be his. No John assumes that a bastard is destine for a bastard, no matter their gender.

He hasn’t really thought about soulmates in years, not since he was a child and his mother told him stories about the moment everything bursts into color and you suddenly know the names of every color before you. He’s grown accustom to the way his eyes see the world, but lately the black and white vision he lives with every day has grown tiresome. He plays with his magic, still learning and growing stronger every day and wonders if it casts in different colors, wonders what those colors are if they do. He lights the flames in the palms of his hands and can only feel the burn without being amazed by the orange and red glow he’s been told they have whatever that might mean.

He's barely over twenty but he’s old enough to know that the world isn’t black and white by any means. It’s mottled with greys and shades of everything that he can’t see, but he can sense.

Tonight is another black and white night for him. He pushes open the door to the bar he’d seen a few nights ago when heading back to the motel he’s been crashing in. A rush of noise washes over him as he steps inside some hokey rock band that fancies themselves the next Billy Idol playing a horrendous cover of ‘White Wedding’ onstage.

John grits his teeth praying they don’t butcher something by The Clash next, he’ll have to leave America immediately if they do.

He shuffles over to the bar, taking a seat on an empty stool near the far end and flags down the bartender ordering himself a whiskey. He gives the man behind the bar a wink when he places the drink down in front of him and the bartender walks away completely ignoring the flirtation.

John just shrugs unbothered by the rejection and spins around watching as the band plays the last chorus. When they’re done the other patrons clap and John hopes they’re all drunk with the enthusiasm they’re putting behind it. The room transforms into a clutter of voices and clinking glasses after that so John swivels back around downing his first drink and ordering a second.

Behind the bar a poster catches his eye, a top hat adorning the center. He’s just reading the words Mistress of Magic across it when a deeply bad and deeply fake British accent sounds into the microphone on stage. John turns back around to find the lead Billy Idol wannabe yelling for everyone to quiet down.

“Alright, now we know your claps for us were bullshit and this is the real show you’re here for,” he says gesturing to the space around. “So, without further ado, the Mistress of Magic, the silver-tongued siren, everyone’s favorite majestic magician Zatanna!”

If John had known there was a magic show tonight, he might have found a better drinking hole. He’s got no need to watch someone pull cheap tricks and poorly concealed rabbits out of a hat.

John’s about to swivel back around, order one more drink and be on his way, but he finds himself frozen halfway when Zatanna appears on stage, not through a cloud of smoke hiding a trap door in the floor, but through a real bonafide portal.

That alone would capture his attention, but the woman herself has him sliding back to face the stage completely. She’s stunning, the goth princess of his dreams in knee high boots, fishnets, leather shorts and a corset with a bowtie.

Her arms are bare something whispered under her breath sending a trail of sparkling magic down them as she flips her long dark hair over her shoulder and gives the patrons a dazzling smile.

John doesn’t need to see color to know she’s a vision, but he’d pay good money to know what colors that magic is flowing down her arms and how it looks against her skin.

“Ready to see some real magic tonight boys, girls and non-binaries?” she says, her voice a melody. The audience roars and if John wasn’t so frozen in place he might too.

That’s when the show really begins, she conquers the stage, keeping everyone’s eyes on her the entire time. She twists magic around the room, her power strong and thick in the air. She speaks in languages he doesn’t recognize until eventually he realizes it’s backwards magic, a rarely used magic that she’s clearly no novice in.

There’s something about her that’s familiar, but he doesn’t have the right of mind to think too hard about it. To think beyond the absolute captive hold she has on him with every move she makes and every spell she utters.

Zatanna knows how to work a stage, how to hold an audience in the palm of her hand.

He’s certain he could meet his soulmate right this second and have the world burst into color and he still wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from the front of this bars.

He doesn’t so much as blink for the forty-five minutes she’s on stage.

“Alright, for my last trick, I need another volunteer,” she says and hands shoot up all across the bar, even the bartender who seemingly has a job to do sticks his high in the sky.

She scans the audience carefully tapping her finger to her lips until her eyes fall on him.

“You,” she says pointing his way. “At the bar.”

John pulls his eyes from the stage for the first time certain she’s pointing at someone else, like the eager bartender behind him.

“Yeah you in the tie, that’s right, come on,” she says making a come-hither motion with her finger that John couldn’t resist if he was chained down on his deathbed.

John slips from his seat picking his way through the bar and onto the stage. And if she was gorgeous from far away up-close John’s not sure how anyone could resist those piercing eyes. He wonders what color they are.

“I’m Zatanna, as you know,” she says smiling at the audience quickly before holding out a hand in his direction. Her nails are painted with little clusters of shimmering stars on them, a tiny detail he couldn’t see all the way from the bar. “And what’s your name handsome?”

He tries to force down a smile and fails, there’s no doubt she calls every poor schmuck she pulls up on the stage that and makes them blush, he’s not special even if he wishes he was.

“John,” he says putting his hand in hers and that’s when it happens. His vision blurs for a moment and then like paint being splattered on a canvas color blooms all around him. The curtains are red, the stage a deep brown and Zatanna’s eyes a deep, dark blue. She’s looking into his eyes too, a small soft smile on her lips.

Her eyes drop down to his tie briefly and she chuckles then quickly as if their whole worlds hadn’t just changed she’s turning back to the audience. A performers quick mind keeping up appearances for the show.

John barely recalls the trick he assists her with just knows that he trusts her implicitly and at one point ends up floating. When it’s over and he’s stepping down from the stage she touches his hand softly, a silent request to stay so she can find him after the show.

John nods stepping away as she gives the audience one last light show. A burst of rainbow sparks from her fingers before she disappears into another portal casting him one last glance.

John’s finally pulled from his daze once she’s out of sight and immediately books it for the door. He should stick around, really meet this person who’s his person, but he can tell from one look at that soft smile she’d given him she’s far too good to be stuck with the likes of him.

The universe fucked up, there’s no way a man like him deserves a woman like her.

He doesn’t get far, just barely out the door when a shimmering portal like the one on stage appears in front of him and Zatanna steps out now in a leather jacket with a shining silver top hat pin on the lapel.

“Oh, you’re here,” she says looking at him with that same soft smile.

He looks up and around her wondering if he can make his escape.

“Oh, you’re leaving,” she says disappointed. Her hands fall to her side uselessly.

“Look, it’s not you,” he starts and she lets out a sharp wounded breath.

“Ouch, I’ve heard that one before,” she says attempting to laugh off what she’s seeing as a rejection. He’s not rejecting her though, far from it, he’d love to curl up next to her and never leave he’s fairly certain. He’s rejecting the universe cursing this soft smiling magical being to getting saddled with jaded, piss poor soulmate like him.

He shakes his head. “It’s not that, I swear it, I’d stay in a heartbeat if it was only my heart on the line. It’s just there is no way a woman like you deserves to get stuck with a mess like me, trust me.”

He sidesteps and starts to walk past her, but a hand on his forearm pulls him to a stop. She spins around so she’s standing face to face with him.

“Look I won’t act like I understand the magic or science or whatever it is behind this system and I won’t act like it’s perfect, but something out there thinks you and I fit, thinks we could fit. So, shouldn’t I get to decide what I deserve?” she says with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t take that choice away from me.”

John takes a deep breath. He really doesn’t want to hurt her, but if he leaves right now that will hurt her more than if he stays and maybe one day down the line messes up. She’s right. He’s a coward who tried to run.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” John says pulling his pack of cigarettes out. He pats around for a lighter and Zatanna leans in saying a quiet ‘erif’ her fingertip bursting in a yellow orange flame and lighting the cigarette he sticks between his lips.

“You’re forgiven, as long you don’t run off on me again,” she says smiling as she blows out the flame on her finger.

He takes a long drag blowing it off to the side and away from her.

“I won’t,” he says hoping he can keep that as a promise.

“Great. So, let’s try this again, I’m Zatanna Zatara,” she says holding out her hand. Zatara. Suddenly the familiarity of her makes sense, the backwards magic coming so easily for her much clearer now. If he was worried he wasn’t worthy of her before the last name doesn’t help that worry lessen. She’s a magical dynasty doing stage work in a dive bar.

He doesn’t run just because of that shocking development however.

“John Constantine,” he says putting his hand in hers. This time there’s no blurring vision, no burst of color, just a warm, soft hand holding onto his.

She smiles, “I like your tie John Constantine.” He looks down noticing the bright red of it for the first time. The irony that the rest of both of their outfits are black and white on the night where color came into their lives is not lost on him. “It’s a nice pop of color.”

He laughs, letting go of her hand to tug at the tie.

“I didn’t actually know it was red when I nicked it.”

“Nicked it?” she says eyes going a little wide. It sounds a little funny coming from her lips with no British accent.

“Uh,” he says twisting up his face. “Bought it?”

The question mark on his words is clear and she just laughs threading her arm through his as he tosses his cigarette at his feet stamping it out.

“Come on we’re having dinner and you’re telling me all about how you stole that tie, soulmate,” she says tugging him along into the neon lit night.

He likes the sound of that, even if he’s convinced the universe made a colossal mistake.

[don-simon]

I liked girls: I was going to be condemned to hell

From childhood I had been surrounded by the gorgeous adornments of Islam: the gold name of Allah on the highest point of the bookshelf, the Qur’an displayed on every table, the glorious colours of the prayer mat. And then there was me: queer in the midst of it all. I grew up with the nails hammered into the roof of my mouth, the knowledge of a dirty secret stapled to the crescent moon in my night sky.

I still see myself at 10, hearing the word for the first time and the playground. It had been thrown across the yard like an insult, and accusation: “Ew! Are you a lesbian?” When I got home, I asked my mother what “lesbian” was, and she recoiled as if I had said a bad word. Later, through the frantic Google search, I found my answer: it was a porn category, a fetish.

When I was 13, I asked my Qur’an teacher the same question, and she said that not giving a man her love is the greatest sin a woman can commit. I remember knowing that I liked girls, and realising that I was going to be condemned to hell, because I had a disgusting, corrupted heart.

At 16, I brought this up my ex-boyfriend. I watched him grin and say, “That's hot.” I watched him laugh, waiting for the joke to sound funny, bit my tongue. He looked down at me and laughed: “It's just a phase, babe!”

A month ago, I couldn't resist asking my mother if she still loved me when I came out , as if her support and affection were conditional on my sexuality. I held my breath as she promised me that the mosque not hate me, only that it would not allow me to marry under the roof of Allah. I knew then that my love was a sin, something to be prayed for and corrected.

My mother told me that beyond the doors of the mosque, God was always watching. My God answered each prayer, whispered desperately at night, but reminded me to be afraid. My God put my brothers and sisters to death. How was I to accept that the God that felt like love was the very same God called upon in conversion camps? How was I supposed to say that I love the light of God, even when I have seen it burn the flesh of others – even when it has left me stranded in the dark, alone?

I have always believed that the best sort of conversations are the ones that were never meant to happen. As a frightened and confused teenager, I didn't know anyone else like me until I raised it on Tumblr. The conversation had developed in the comments section under a piece I have written titled, “Persephone chokes the jargon of silence”. How sad it is to find a home in a community of outcasts – and yet how powerful. Together, armed to the teeth with mutual understanding and compassion, we discussed where God is real, and if she is, why she hated us so much. I learned words such as acceptance and valid – speaking a softness that my mouth was unused to.

We are strong for enduring this, more powerful than any of the hate spouted by our religious communities. Strong for seeing others take God as an excuse to torment us, to enact their bigotry, to enforce and execute violence against us. The book that showed us that not all books are homes: I spent hours combing through that book, searching for the pages where my flaws were addressed. We have been told, “God loves you.” Is this what It feels like to love God, too? Am I supposed to feel I must hide parts of me away, in order for my creator to love me back? Was this my very first relationship with abuse?

It was that online conversation that saved me. It was a conversation that made me understand myself: I am not a porn category, a fetish, a dirty word.

I see myself once again typing “lesbian” into the internet. That frenzied, panicked, terrifying Google search; a crime I had to commit when no one else was home. Somewhere inside me, I knew that something was wrong. “What is ‘lesbian’?” typed my little fingers. I wish I could say to myself: don't look, child. Any beautiful thing will be destroyed by the answers you are taught. Go out and experience this world for yourself. Talk to people who know the plight of feeling that they somehow love wrong. That's the only way you will learn.

Here, friend. Speak. I am going to listen. God knows nobody else did.

short story by Amna Mukhtar, winner of The Guardian new writers’ competition 2020

[raisingsupergirl]

When 2020 Hands You a Staycation, Make... Everything

My family was looking forward to our trip for months. My mom was going to take all of us to a beautiful cabin at Kentucky Lake. It would have been the first time we've all gone on a family vacation in literally decades. And man, did we need it. But, of course, we forgot to consider the 2020 factor. So, literally days before we were supposed to leave, the air conditioning went out in my truck, my grandma broke her hip, my grandma-in-law was diagnosed with a terminal illness (and passed away soon after), and my mom tested positive for COVID-19. And so, in a twist of fate that we all should have seen coming, our vacation turned into a staycation. And this is how mine went…

Like any respectable week stuck at home, my family's started with donuts. And the food just kept coming all week. It was my fault, really. I decided I'd play Master Chef, and so I cooked and I cooked and I cooked, from scratch. Fettuccine alfredo, sushi (x 2), all the grilled things (including my world famous ribs with homemade BBQ sauce), breakfast yummies, pizza (for my wife's birthday), and Sunday piña coladas. We can't forget the Sunday piña coladas. My family will back up my claim that it was all wonderful (even if my wife complained about all the weight she gained), but if I'm being honest, by the end, I was a little sick of cooking. Okay, a lot sick of cooking. And that unexpected side-effect was kind of the theme of my week.

Along with cooking, I kept the Martha Stewart Living dream alive by starting an elderberry tincture, bottling up some flavored alcohol I've been working on, cleaning my fish tanks, fixing my wife's shower, and spending three days power spraying All the Things—little honey-dos and creative projects to keep my mind and body busy, to make me feel like the week wasn't completely wasted. Unfortunately, that mentality royally backfired. You see, the thing about projects is that there's an endless supply of them. There's no finish line to the things that need doing. And once you start digging into the pile, you realize just how deep it is. And then you quickly realize how little time you have left to do them before you have to go back to work for another year. At least, that's what happened to me, which tinted every day with this little feeling of desperation, like I wasn't in control of my time, my work, or my life. And as I got further into the week, I started feeling a little worthless, like none of the things I was doing, had done up to that point, or would ever do again, meant a gosh darned thing. And that kind of thinking is a royal bummer when you're on vacation, let me tell ya.

By the final Sunday, it got to the point where I was sitting on my back porch with beautiful weather, good music, a colada in my hand, my amazing wife by my side, and my kids squealing in the kiddie pool, and all I could think about as I stared up at the fluffy, white clouds was, "Why do I feel so bad?" And then I felt bad for feeling bad. At that moment, my life was perfect. So why was I searching for more? Why did I feel like I hadn't done enough on my vacation—enough work, enough relaxing, enough memory making? I'd done my best all week to stay in the moment and be appreciative of my abundant blessings. But for some reason, it hadn't helped. I'd kept dreading my return to the "real world" despite a pretty stinkin' successful staycation. So what was it? What was bothering me about that perfect week? Well, I can be a little slow sometimes. The obvious often eludes me. Remember the first paragraph of this post? The one where all the bad things happened? Yeah, I guess I had tried to bury that reality instead of deal with it. And there ain't no amount of sushi or power spraying or piña coladas that can bury 2020.

It's strange that it took me going back to work on Monday to gain some real perspective. The thing I had been dreading was the very thing that saved me—that helped me appreciate everything about my previous week spent at home. Not because work was bad or hard. Quite the opposite, actually. My first day back was busy, I felt scatterbrained, and I was thoroughly exhausted when I got home. But it felt great. Getting back with my patients and co-workers, doing what I knew so well how to do, falling into a rhythm. It all helped remind me of who I am and what all I'd learned from my staycation (yes, I'm repeating that ridiculous word to annoy everyone who hates it). And, as it turns out, I learned quite a lot.

First off, I do actually love my job. I love helping people (even if they exhaust me). I love what I do and who I work with. I get burned out from time to time, but there's no other career I would rather do on a full-time basis. It offers a sense of fulfillment and stability that I've never appreciated until now (which has also given me a greater appreciation for all those people stuck at home in quarantine. I guess putting your life on hold isn't as amazing as it sounds…). Secondly, I love my family. There are some real memories from this past week that I'll never forget. Those lazy afternoons in the back yard with my wife while my kids played in their tiny pool. The mornings getting sunburned at my six-year-old's soccer games. The movie nights, laughs, and cuddles. Oh so many cuddles. Despite the craziness and heartache looming just outside our little pocket universe, my family and I really did make the most of it. Oh, and the last thing I learned? When making homemade pizza sauce, don't add baking soda to lower the acidity and then mix the resulting science experiment in a sealed blender. That is, unless you're looking to redo your kitchen.

On the bright side, my wife figured out what she wanted for her birthday—a new blender! That, my friends, is what you do when 2020 strikes. You make lemonade out of lemons. Sure, tragedy continues to weigh on our planet, our country, our society, and our families. Yes, my grandma's hip is still broken. Yes, my family lost a wonderful woman last week, and the world will always be just a little darker for that loss. Yes, the pandemic continues to rage. Yes, my county is second in the nation for active cases, which means full protective equipment and precautions at work every day. And yes, I'm going to have to pay a few hundred dollars to have my truck's air conditioner fixed. But you know what? My mom has been essentially symptom-free as she battles the Virus Which Shall Not Be Named. In fact, she's been out doing yard work. That's the epitome of making lemonade, folks. And this past Monday, on my wife's birthday, just when I was starting to feel bad that she hadn't had the special day that she so greatly deserved because I had to work and then drop off my truck at the repair shop, something kind of neat happened. The summer rain cleared away, and a promise revealed itself—a rainbow, tip to tail. God's reminder that he's watching over us. That there is always an end to the heartache. That no darkness lasts forever. And that, even in the midst of it all, there is beauty. There is laughter. There is hope.

So keep hoping, y'all. Better times are coming. It might get choppier before things start smoothing out. The school year and the winter are going to be challenging. But it won't be the end. "If you're going through hell, keep going," seems like wonderfully appropriate advice. So let's keep going, together. Let's remind each other what we're fighting for. Let's keep praying and taking extra time to help each other out. Showing kindness and patience when both seem to be in short supply. Oh, and remember, if you're thinking about ending it all by adding tomatoes and baking soda to a blender, just say no. Instead, maybe take a deep breath and power spray a smiley face into your sidewalk as a gentle reminder that it’ll all be okay.

[eirenare]

My TROS experience and thoughts (the good, the bad, a bit of speculation, an “old” WIP drawing, and... hopes)

Putting this under a “read more” because, well... this post is a huge walking spoiler

This morning I woke up really, really early to re-watch TLJ with my brother and do stuff before the hour of watching TROS arrived—I remember almost crying watching TLJ, already almost crying listening to that damn TROS song on Fortnite as my brother played it for a while

I was nervous all day long, honestly. I accidentally stumbled the other day into a hashtag on Twitter called “BenSoloDeservedBetter”, and I was already on edge. A lot. Not to mention that I accidentally saw half a comment somewhere on Twitter saying something that had made me doubt

So, yeah, I basically spent all day trying to give myself hope and reassurance while deeply having ONE FEAR. That was: Ben not surviving

You see, I love with every inch of my being Reylo, but—Ben is my favorite character of all Star Wars. Like, I can’t help it, I have a super soft spot for him

I had, like, super high hopes for TROS, and yeah, I liked the movie... or well, most of it (and I got some things right to my delight and surprise, one of them being the throne with Dark Rey sitting in it, but more on that stuff later)

There were funny moments I enjoyed (Babu Frik, Finn joking about Poe’s past as spice runner, C3PO being C3PO...), the scary/terrorific moments were amazing (gods I love Palpatine’s new appearence, all the Sith and eerie stuff, the whispers, the machinery...), the action/fight scenes were cool overall (Rey and Ben fighting together against their enemies after seeing each other and doing the lightsaber trick was amazing, for example, also the jumps, and I loved seeing all the spaceships together), the imagery was sometimes amazing too (Palpatine sending that enormous lighting to the sky, for example) and the emotional stuff weirdly enough didn’t make me cry but had my heart pounding (Leia’s passing, Han and Ben’s parallel scene, Rey and Ben’s healing scene and their last scene...), not to mention I was gripping tightly my bag and jacket to my lap throughout most of the movie, BUT

B  U  T

The fact that Ben didn’t make it out alive left me very, VERY bitter

I have to say, again, that weirdly enough I just... didn’t cry, even when Rey died, not even when Ben died, and he’s my favorite. Most of the times it happens, that my brain’s kind of... messy, when it comes to emotions (it seems that, most of the time, my brain just goes from “step: something happens” to “step: body/voice reaction” skipping “step: feel” in the middle—... although that usually doesn’t happen if the emotions are negative, which sucks specially if you already feel like you yourself are a mess—), so... yeah

It kind of... Well, the tears didn’t start falling until I was watching the credits with my brother (bless his soul for listening to my rambling, and for granting me multiple hugs, for calling my dear “Ben” instead of “Kylo” now, and overall being so patient with me—I didn’t miss the fact that he was looking at my reactions at some points, like when the Reylo kiss, and then Ben dying, because he knows how much I love them), when it registered that it was really the end, and that yes, Ben was... dead. I kept crying as we watched the credits, and then outside of the theater a bit again, and then at home, and I’m now crying as I write this

Look, I loved the Reylo moments we got even though I wanted some more. And although (as I explained above) I was “numb” almost all the time and even while watching the kiss, I enjoyed it and I could “feel” that I was happy and excited about it because my chest was pounding like crazy and my lips were doing that kind of quivering when you can’t quite contain yourself and you’re emotional

(... Yes, living with this brain of mine is a mess, and I don’t even know if this has always been like this or started at some point, because my memory’s also a good mess—I hate this so much)

But then—then I saw Ben fall backwards and start to disappear, and I went from glee and triumph to “oh no” (also: hello there pit my old friend)

I mean... They just went and killed a character that was trying to do good after a life of strife with himself and what he did and did not do, a character that was just starting to go to the light (to see the light)—a character that’s been all his life marked by the abuse he’s been suffering ever since he was in the kriffing womb, therefore not even allowing him to really live. They basically killed... a symbol of hope

It feels sad and discouraging for me, even though what he did was noble

It just stings. And the fact that Rey didn’t see Ben at the end alongside Leia and Luke, when she adopts the surname “Skywalker”? ... Why. They could’ve added him, but no. Why. And I have to say, while I like a lot “Rey Nobody”, I also like the contrast between her and Palpatine, the subversion of dark and light, that even though darkness runs in her veins, she would still choose the light.

(Also, the totally not serious question my brother and I joke about, though: who the fuck decided to have a crazy night with Mr. Raisin Ass and to give him an “heir”?)

To soothe myself, I like to think that since Ben “vanished” into the Force and became one with it, and that since Rey’s kind of “a host” of the Force (?), he’s now always with her and they can feel each other. I like to think that, sometimes, they’ll see each other, be able to be together if only for brief moments—maybe at night, sleeping, Rey would feel Ben wrapped around her (my feels asdbfkffnggjglg)

(You can bet your ass that I’m abso-kriffing-lutely going to write something about this because I NEED IT BADLY)

Another thing that soothes me is that Ben passed away with the biggest, most beautiful smile on his face, and even though I hate that he died, I’m glad he was able to feel that kind of happiness with Rey and that he was able to join the light side in the end—now, yeah, give me Force Ghost Ben at some point in the future at least,  p l e a s e

EDIT (addition of paragraph) — Also: Ben’s face when he looks at Rey every damn time, Ben running to Rey’s rescue with only a kriffing blaster, again the fight they had and when Rey sent him the lightsaber, and then lifting himself up from the pit with all his kriffing injuries and the pain he must have been enduring to then give up his life to save the love of his life—iconic, badass, a true dork in love whom I adore, the kriffing boss. But you know what I missed A LOT, that I realized I didn’t remember it being in the movie after watching it?? The “I DO”. I don’t think I’ve heard its equivalent in Spanish, and that has me pretty much confused and bitter. Like, wtf? If they let that out:  w h y ?

Kathleen Kennedy pretty much hinted that maybe we’ll see “more Skywalkers” in the future, so, yeah *looks sideways at Rey and her ghost husband* Praying that they’d be in that “Project Luminous” of 2020, or later, but just... be somewhere else more

Something that bothers me, though—is there really a balance in the Force, after TROS? Rey’s lineage may be of dark and she may have taken the path of the light, but does that mean the Force is balanced now, or maybe not...? *scratches head* I don’t know, I need a re-watch and to have some serious thinking of this

As I write this post, I’m trembling almost to a shaking point and my chest is hurting. In all honesty, as much as I love Reylo... If I had to choose between Reylo happening or Ben living, I’d choose Ben living

... Now, it’s gonna hurt so much more reading “The Rise of Kylo Ren”. Oh, dear

If we set aside Ben’s passing, though, regarding how I saw the movie, I’d say that as much as I enjoyed it overall, it kind of felt like... it lacked things. Explanations and a bit more of worldbuilding, for example? More Knights of Ren stuff (although luckily we’re having them in “The Rise of Kylo Ren” alongside their leader, Mr. Hottie McHotHot aka Ren? Maz explaining how she got the Legacy lightsaber? TROS kind of feels, like... a little incomplete to me. I don’t know if to others it feels that way, but it kinda feels like that for me and my brother

Still I’m aware that, well, it HAS to be difficult to end such a story, and that it can’t possibly be easier to fit a lot in a 2h33 movie, you know? It seems... very complicated, and the stakes were high. So yeah, I understand that (while what I don’t take well at all, I don’t think I’ll ever do, is Ben’s death—it was pointless, and the fact that Rey didn’t show too much feeling about it... it feels weird). And well, the junior and non-junior novelizations will come out in March, so I like to think that we’ll get more details in them (like with the TFA and TLJ novelizations)

... And I really, really need a good rewatch of TROS because I’m forgetting a lot of stuff probably. So yeah, next Thursday if all goes well, I should have a ticket to go and watch it again, except this time in English with Spanish subtitles

A funny thing that happened at the theater, by the way, was that a woman hissed in excitement a pair of rows before us “I KNEW IT” when Rey was revealed to be a Palpatine

Also: I really, really hope that Rey doesn’t stay in Tatooine with how much she loves greenery landscape. I hope she went anywhere else that’s green and lush and was able to lead a nice life, to actually live the life Ben granted her, whatever path she would choose to take—and that Ben’s ghost would kind of like, be around her, you know?

Now, there are some things that made me laugh inside, and that is... that I got some stuff right. An example of that is the fact that Rey mentioned seeing herself sitting on that throne, something that happens in my “Rey of Jakku” fic and of which I was doing a WIP the last days of november (look, that happening was the thing least probable in my mind so... lol):

Also the cannon distroying Kijimi, too, and it seems that about the nature of Rey and Ben’s bond too. Also, when C3PO started explaining about the Pasaana festivity it kind of reminded me of how he started explaining the marriage customs in my “arranged marriage in Pasaana” AU. And I don’t remember now because my head’s pretty much a mess and specially right now (and as I said I really need a re-watch), but I think I recognized other things too

TROS wasn’t what I expected, and on the scales it has both its good and its not-so-good things (being the worst of them, for me, Ben’s death—of which I’m trying to cope by thinking what I said of him being literally with Rey now, maybe sometimes being able to see each other and interact), so... it’s a weird mix of me liking the movie while also not enjoying it nearly as much as I wanted to (as I think I should’ve)

Even though I’m super bitter about Ben, however, thank you to all of the team for working hard on the movie—doing the last piece of the Skywalker saga movies sounds everything but easy

Now, looking forward to the future...

I see myself continuing to write and draw Reylo, honestly. Ben’s death has kind of spurred me further to do stuff, so yeah—gonna keep up with my alternate TROS Reylo fic (“Rey of Jakku”), and I’m pumped to attempt writing other stuff, like... trying to write regarding Force Ghost Ben interacting with Rey, or working on AUs (*looks sideways at the “arranged marriage in Pasaana” AU, “Ice-skating” AU and the “padawan Ben meets mechanic Rey in Batuu” AU)

Will also be looking forward with utmost interest at “The Rise of Kylo Ren”, and to see what the merchandising team and the books and comics have to show in 2020—which means I’ll be dying inside all over again when I see Ben and Rey’s last scene, but well *shrugs* The novels are specially interesting to me. I mean, getting to read how these two felt about each other throughout TROS, and specially at the end? Written by Rae Carson? YES PLEASE

Also, if “Project Luminous” happened to have Rey (and even better yet: Force Ghost Ben appearing), I’d be even more interested in it—a lot more

The experience with TROS was a mix of good and not-so-good things, coupled with the One Fear I had regarding Ben (my baby... oh, how that kriffing stings), but still, it wasn’t that bad of an experience in my case

So, yeah... I think I’ll write some more thoughts later, tomorrow or another day when my head’s clearer (probably will write more when I re-watch), but so far, these are my thoughts on TROS

Rest in peace, darling, beloved Ben... </3 T_T

[juliasdreamyentries]

From May 9th, 2020- A nightmare

In this dream universe, i wasn’t myself, and my parents weren’t my parents. I also had a sister named Meghan. We’d moved into a three-story house, and it was a very peculiar place. The bottom floor was underground. Not really a basement, an actual floor. The floor you could enter the house through was the middle one and there was another floor above it, Every floor had many doors and hallways, and you couldn’t really tell where each one of them would lead. The walls on the inside of the house were white, but very dirty and old looking, but not in a cozy, “let’s give this place a makeover” way; rather, it seemed like the perfect setting for a horror movie. The front door wasn’t centered. It was right at the corner of the front wall, and the house looked from the outside as if it was looking down on you, menacingly. Ready to attack.

The entire time, the dream’s vibe was odd, to say the least. To try to describe what it felt like, it seemed as if the entire dream happened during those short seconds before a jumpscare happens; those seconds during which you are standing at the edge of your seat, knowing you’re about to get scared, with all of the uneasiness that comes with that, but you’re not there yet.

The four of us got in and started exploring, starting with the underground floor. It was very cold in there, to the point where you could see the your breath when you spoke. All of the doors were closed, and they had two locks each. One was the regular one, that’s close to the doorknob, and the other one was below it.  As we walked further into the longest hallway, it got darker behind us. All of the doors were a light shade of grey, and made out of wood. The paint was chipped and there were lots of stains at the bottom of all of them. Like the house, they looked really old.

We walked through until we reached an open area (dream physics, I guess). It was an old looking area, with a precarious looking spiral staircase that took us to another hallway. It was a shorter one this time, and there was only one door at the end. It was a black door. We lightly touched the door and that caused it to open. All of a sudden, as it slowly opened, all of the other doors got bust open at the same time. When the black dook was fully open, nothing could be seen inside of it. It was just really dark. Then, a woman’s voice came out of it. She was screaming “HELLO, I’M (i don’t remember her name). 24 YEARS OLD. DEAD.”

We all ran back to the main floor, which is where our rooms were set. Each one of us slept alone in a different room. I remember locking both locks in all of the doors in that floor. Then, I got back to my room. It had a door that had access to the hallway and another one that (again, dream logics) lead to the inside of a building, facing a door that I assume led to an apartment (from what it looked like). I went to bed, but as soon as i closed my eyes, all of the doors in the house busted open again, with a very loud noise. My mom appeared, yelling at me for not locking the doors, and we started walking down the hallway again, closing them back, as I yelled back at her saying I did lock them.

My father started going down the stairs to the underground floor. He said he was going to talk to the “woman” inside the door. I could only hear the woman’s voice saying that something inaudible wasn’t so bad. My mom and I started setting a dinner table, and Meghan sat down, and looked very angry. I told her I was sorry for how much attention my parents had to give me because of “the haunting problem”. She said she was only mad at my “face albums”. From what I understood of that situation, i was some sort of musician, and the album covers had photos of faces, which Meghan didn’t like at all. I apologized and told her I’d already put them away, since I knew she didn’t like them. She was still mad.

My father came back from the underground level and said that the voice in the black door came from a “friendly demon”, while laughing. He said that he thought so because she called him by his nickname. I got mad at him for joking about the situation. All of a sudden, he went through the kitchen door and, looking at me from the outside, he asked if i wanted to sell my soul. I told him to wait, because the lady in the door started speaking again and I was trying to hear what she was saying. I couldn’t though, so I looked back at him and said something among the lines of “obviously not. I pray every night and this seems like a terrible idea”. I then woke up, very scared.