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Odd Idd: Book 2: Silas' thoughts on JaimeSilas looked over at the girl tuning her guitar as if her kid wasn't missing and her best friend wasn't who she thought. He walked over to her and put a hand on hers, meaning only to comfort her. She gave him a dark look, he removed his hand and she went back to tuning the guitar.
"Hey, Jaime," he asked, "I've been meaning to ask, why doesn't Idd turn human?"
"What do you mean?" Jaime asked him, her attention now off the guitar.
"No-mores, being once human, often have the ability to appear human when they want," Silas said, "Took me a few encounters with them to learn that. that's actually where most of your legends of shape-shifters come fr-"
Jaime gripped his tie suddenly and pulled him close. He was expecting her to hit him across the face or break his glasses, instead she kissed him.
His eyes, or really the lack there of, went wide. He sat there for a moment and the she let go of him, even going as far as pushing him back gently. He still stood there, slack jawe
Odd Idd: Book 2: Em and IddThe beast looked as to be nothing more than a lower grade Devourer. Why this beast, of all beasts, was giving Reynald any trouble Em would never know. Hell, he acted as a child, to the point of even watching cartoons.
Closing her eyes she gave a quick incantation to summon him. She'd been working closly with him after the death of her only friend. She'd had him working double agent beside Silas too, and as a bonus the fool almost trusted the creature.
Em, however, knew better than to trust it. She may have learned to cast and conjur it, but it was still of hell. Being from hell ment that it had more power than she would even give it credit for. That was probably because of how lazy the thing was though.
A puff of black smoke and the stentch sulfur summoned the beast. The small imp barely had enough wieght to make a dent in her leather jacket. She could hear his tounge clicking impaiently as he waited to be addressed.
"Hello, Gash," she said, not looking at the small demon.
Idd: Book 2: Angels aren't so niceThe two were akward as hell and gave Silas the feeling that they didn't like him much. Barb kept throwing him a look when she thought he wasn't paying attention that only a Demon could mirror. The other, however, had his own reason for hating Silas.
"So what's with the hair?" Ed asked.
"Ed!" Barb shouted, "Be nice! We have company, even if his hair is a little goofy."
"What is with everyone making fun of my hair?" Silas finally snapped, "And you Edward, you should know exactly who I am."
The girls stopped. Jaime had a strange look on her face that said clearly she had no idea what he was talking about. It took Silas only a moment before he realized his mistake.
But the cat was out of the bag.
"What's he mean you should know, Ed?" Barb asked. If her silky-smooth voice and thick accent wasn't enough to melt his heart Jaime's hard look sure did.
Ed was sweating, "I've no idea what he's talking about."
Silas gave a little chuckle, "You're right Ed, it's my mistake. Or perhaps it is fate I
Pokemon: The Missingno CountryThe shop had an automatic door that would swing shut if I didn't move fast. I made my way down the isles. Its hard to pocket candy, much less what I'm after, with the counter facing down the whole isle.
The young man behind the counter pays me no mind. He's busy helping some kid probably out on his own for the first time. I wish I'd had that opportunity. Instead, now I'm twenty and penny-less.
There they are.
Bright and beautiful. I turn one over in my hands, a small red and white orb with a simple catch system. Simple, I almost laugh at the thought. There is more technology and science in this thing than I will ever begin to understand. There was so many of them, too, surely the shop keep wouldn't miss more than one.
No, I reminded myself, I only need one.
Grabbing one I quickly stuff it in my pocket and move to the food isle. If I'm going to pull this off I'll need food. This I do have money for; it is only 100 for these instead of 200.
I head up to the counter, sweat pouring down my
Emerald and Catch Up"You look like hell," the young woman sitting in his chair said. She didn't even bother looking up from the paper in her hands.
Emerald Down was five foot eleven with dark skin and raven black hair. She had picked this spot, as she always did while she was around Reynald, to annoy. The old man hated people in his chair.
She could feel him glaring down at her from the back of his chair, "Get out."
"What's the matter boss," She laughed, "Don't like me here? To ashamed of your former apprentice." She still got out of the chair but didn't leave the room. Instead she stood just out of the reach of his cane and waited for him to sit comfortably.
"What are you doing here Em?" he asked flatly, taking a seat in the large leather chair.
"Can't a girl visit her old teacher?" She asked feigning a hurt face.
He frowned at her. The last time she had seen him, she had tried to kill him. Even though she forgave him now she really couldn't blame him for what he did. Still, he did kidnap her and when sh
ConversationsShe had stabbed him, killed him, she knew she had. And yet here he was straightening his glasses and tie. There was something strange about him. Something that terrified her.She backed away, there was something about him that unsettled her and it was more than just fear. It was excitment, excitement of the unknown, the unthinkable, and the all powerfull. The thrill of thinking that somehow, someway there was more to the world than she had come to believe.
She had gone back to putting limits on the world and he tore them down for her.
Then she gagged at the thought, Oh god, how sappy was that?
"You ok?" he asked, moving towards her like he actually cared.
"No," she held a hand up to him, "No, no. Hell no. You keep your goffy looking hair away from me."
"Goofy?" He said as if the thought caught him off gaurd and looked up at his hair. Most of it was slicked back, and sure his bangs shot outward ony to come back down infront of his face, but goofy? "Who the hell are you calling goofy bald
July 15, 1897
"No! No, no, no! The note is 'F', not 'A'! Preform the song correctly the first time and don't disappoint me any further."
"Start back at the top. For every mistake you make you will repeat the song that many times over until you can finish the song without making a single error."
Abiding his mother's orders, Cyril continued to play his beloved violin. Although he loved playing the violin, he didn't particularly care for his mother's harsh words and punishments. Cyril didn't want to disappoint her, so he continued to play.
"Cyril! The note on the measure is 'F'! How much mired do you wish to anger me!?" His mother scowled and spoke with disdain.
"I'm s-sorry.. I'm trying, I really am! See?" Cyril tried to play the song again, but was interrupted by his enraged mother.
"No, you don't 'try' to play correctly. You will play correctly. You're a noble. You shouldn't be such a disappointment. Nobleman are supposed to set an example amongst the common p
MonsterSince you were a child
you have been checking your wardrobes and under your beds for monsters
But what you don't know that there already is a monster in your life
Always following you
Always with you
Until you die
I guess you don't know what I'm talking about right now
We humans forget that there's a monster inside all of us
Locked in a cage in your head
For the right moment for you to snap and break open the cage for it so it can take control
That monster is our insanity
A raging beast that is inside of us all
But one day cage will break
And the beast will be released for it to rampage
Creepypasta: Pretty Little ThingsCreepypasta: Pretty Little Things
Isn’t it funny how the things that tickle our imaginations as children seem terrifying in perspective when we grow, and vice versa? Even time itself, which seems naught but a blessing to a child, appears increasingly ravaging and crippling to an adult through its bastard offspring, “age”. Eventually it is so akin to the grim specter of Death itself that it turns our bones to ash and, except in extraordinary cases, erases all memory we ever lived. But I am above such things. I have lived for all times and for all ages, and all because of Theresa.
Theresa is a doll of the porcelain variety, although that is like saying that the revolver which was used to assassinate Archduke Ferdinand and kicked off World War I was .32 in calibre. What I’m trying to say is that just thinking of Theresa as a doll is to miss the underlying subtext of what she represents. To illustrate my point, I found Theresa in my bathtub when I was filling it wit
in flesh and bloodHe finds her unassumingly. She's just standing there, cheeks ruddy, bundled in a forest green jacket lined with fake—he thinks—fur. He finds her, hands in pockets, feet atop the grass. The light that floods the panes of her face casts dark shadows beneath her eyes and along her jaw and he thinks for a moment that she might be kind of beautiful.
"Why are you standing before the Eiffel Tower and looking so sad?"
Her head snaps. He counts, one, two, three, seconds, and then she turns her face upward toward the monument in front of the two. They are alone. She doesn't say anything and then she's saying something and he has to turn his attention from the angles of her face to her brown, brown, brown eyes.
"Do you think it's lonely?" Of course not, he thinks. Of course not.
But all he can utter is no as he stares up at it. When she asks him why he sputters and turns to face her again, and sh
Creepypasta: Bloody MaryCreepypasta: Bloody Mary
The Bloody Mary ritual is probably the most popular method of summoning a spirit among casual ghost hunters. No one really believes in it, and when someone does see something odd after the incantation is performed it is attributed to the sensory deprivation of being in a darkened room. But maybe if I explain the origins of the story you will be a bit more receptive to the truth.
Mary was a waif of a 16 year-old girl who lived in the countryside of Scotland during the Wars of Scottish Independence which occurred in the tail end of the 1200s. Mary saw none of the war however, and for that matter barely ever saw the world outside her family’s shamble of a dwelling except when she was allowed to. You see, her parents were obsessively worried for Mary’s safety. She was their only child, and because they loved her more than life itself, they forbade her from living a normal life so as to keep her protected. They just never wanted to lose her. Ironically,
Ritual of Death Sometime in the 90’s, a group of children were reportedly attacked outside their school building. The school was nearly vacant, and the kids were only there for an after-school club. They told police that they were held prisoner inside while a creature prowled around outside. One boy and a girl tried to make a run for it, and insisted that they were attacked by a creature with many faces.
The boy told them that the creature bragged about having 1000 faces, and offered to show them every one of the faces it had. They both refused to look as the creature’s head began to change. The boy reported that they stood there, facing the direction opposite the creature with their eyes closed, for the longest time until the creature had finished. It then whispered a few words to the boy before disappearing.
The boy only remembers one thing from the words the creature had said, and he called it the “Ritual of Death”. Po
What Comes Out of the Shadows I was always afraid of the basement.
My parents chalked it up to what they called “post-moving paranoia” or something like that. I could only remember that the basement of the new house we moved to filled me with a chilling, dark feeling. I never knew why it bothered me so much.
Even my parents never really went down there. The previous owners had left a ton of stuff down there, and if it had been any other house I’d have been down there searching for anything interesting. I couldn’t go into the basement here though. Not in this house. The basement seemed like its own territory, and you didn’t want to trespass on its territory.
The house itself was nice. My room was small and there was a dent in the wall, but it was nice. My parents had a room that connected to a bathroom, and the kitchen was near their room while the living room was closer to mine. It was a small, cozy house, but
Can You Keep a Secret?: Zalgo's ProtegeCan you keep a secret? Can you keep a secret? Can you keep a secret? Can you keep a secret?
"H-h-h-h-hello, loves. C-c-c-c-care to hear a story?" The young boy spoke nervously, his accent easily recognizable as British. "C-c-c-can you keep a s-s-s-secret? W-w-well, alright then."
Before a captive, literally tied to their seats, audience, a young man stood on a stage, dressed all fancy in white. He wore a perfect old English tux, with shirt tails and all. His hair a short and ruffled ginger, freckles on his cheeks, pale skin, his eyes covered by a strange white blindfold. It had strange symbols on it, written in blood. No one really knew what they meant, but one looked like an upside down capital 'A' with a few lines going down across the bottom. The next looked like half star upside down with the two ends at top coming down in two lines past the bottom point, and the last one was a swirl like a pinwheel that was X-ed out.
Strange carnival-like music played in the background as he smirk
Pain, knifes, and birds T-Toby X Reader M/F
Key: (Y/N)= your name, (L/N)= last name (F/O)= Favorite outfit (G/B)= Girl or boy
WARNING! Suicidal content, After life Content, Drug Abuse, Alcohol abuse, Self Harm, and Suicidal attempts You have been warned!
I don't want any BS about it... This is my First X Reader so RAWR! XD Enjoy!
Sirens, so faint, but I knew, They where here for me, My name's (Y/N) I'm (Age) Years old, And i'm currently sitting on top of a 20 story building. A bottle of pills, a knife, and a bottle of Jin Next to me and my feet just hanging off the edge of the building. I left a note by the door when I left the house at 2 am this morning, She was the one who called the cops, My mother.
Anyway, I've never been very good at talking to people, or being around them for that matter, I was always picked on. I turned to my so called friends for help, but they left me, My only true friend Died a few years back, Toby Rodgers, And to be honest I loved him... But he went crazy and killed hi
There is someone hereThere is someone here.
I can see her in the corner of my eye, hiding in the darkness. Her mouth is slack, her face is white. Her hair is long and clinging to her face hiding it in the shadows. I'm not sure I should turn me head, in fear I may upset her. She is staring at me with hollow eyes that seem to have sunken in long, long ago.
I can smell her, the stentch of death, dirt, and decay clings to her. Its a foul smell but I dare not say anything. If her body smells this bad I can only fear her breath is worse, she's no teeth, or very little to speak of.
As she move's there she gives a small moan as if every limping step is painfull. Do I turn my head to watch her? Or do I let her slip behind me, out of sight.
Its to late now, the decision made for me with her dissapearance. I can't see her, but I still feel as if she watches me. My spine tingles and itches as if-
Dear God, is that her finger nail? Its long and sharp and feels strange against my cheek filling my nostroles with a smell
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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