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fandomlovingfreak · 4 years ago

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When The War Ends (One Shot)

Fred Weasley/Reader

Word Count: 1619

Prompt: Written while listening to When The World Ends by Portugal. The Man.

Summary: Moments in the months leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts. Fred was her light when darkness seemed to suffocate her.

Warnings: Major Character Death

Masterlist Link I AO3 Link

Enjoy

His fingers brush against mine as we lay in the summer's final hours. Soon the warmth of the darkest summer I've ever experienced will fade into crisp fall, which will fade into frigid winter-- The cycle never-ending. Yet, the impending war has dampened the summer's usual brightness substantially for all. Despite the overall tone of fear, this man lying in the yellowing grasses next to me has kept our little bubble in the world reasonably sunny.

Fred somehow always knows how to make the most frightening days a little rosier by making a joke or handpicking me flowers from his mother's garden. Even a simple kiss applied to my cheek, forehead, or lips from Fred raises my energy.

After his brother, Harry, and Hermione had left, the fear had spiked in all of us. This war had well been on its way for years, but with the three of them off hunting for the only way we knew how to defeat the Dark Lord... It was blatantly apparent that we were in the middle of something that we couldn't escape. No matter how many jokes Fred told, we were in a reality that was far from ideal.

Luckily, I could pretend with him. We could be okay, happy even in these small moments pretending to be an average couple in ordinary times. No threat of pain, death, or doom casting a long shadow on our supposed futures. It is easier to pretend, especially when his fingers brush against mine like this as he looks over to me, a goofy grin on his handsome face. The world seems brighter when he wore that smile.

"When the war ends," he promises. A future once the fighting subsides. He lights a flame of hope in my heart that will see the war's end. That we'll get to grow old together out of this shadow.

***

The world seems to grow darker with every passing day. The colors that used to stain the world in magic seem to fade with each death, kidnapping, or rumor we hear about Harry, Ron, and Hermione's whereabouts. I plead with the universe every morning and night that they'll come back alive. That we all will. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of them out there alone.

I take to sleeping in his small bed with him at night. No one questions us when I sneak into his room from Ginny's one week. I suppose they, like myself, are afraid of the future. What does it matter if we hold each other at night? There's a war happening outside these walls; we deserve to feel loved for the time we have now. No one's promised tomorrow.

The darkness seems to gulp us up at night. Fred's arms and the steady rise and fall of his chest ground me, keeping me from floating into misery. I'm protected in his arms. No one and nothing can or will take me away, and the darkness won't swallow me. Fred is my source of light when I feel lost in this endless stretch of days.

I snuggle up closer to his chest, drifting into a dreamless sleep, knowing that I am anchored by him.

***

"I'm scared," I whisper as we reach the tunnel that would lead us towards Hogwarts.

"Don't be," Fred's cold fingers brush against my cheek, "You're safe with me." He leans down to kiss my lips, pulling back to look me in the eyes. "You're always safe with me."

***

I feel uneasy as the fighting dies down for the time being as we wait for what happens next. I'd been separated from Fred during a duel with a Death Eater that had resulted in a large part of a corridor falling between us. The collapse had given me minor cuts and bruises, and I had been somewhat cut off from the rest of the fighting.

I wander into the corridor leading to the Great Hall, noticing quite a few people have congregated there. Orange hair clusters together in one corner of the room. I can't make out Fred from this distance. I walk forwards, fear creeping up my spine with each step as I plead silently that Fred's sitting down behind his family, and that's why I can't pick him out of the group.

I hear Molly's sobs before I see anything. Icey coldness drowns my body from the inside as I see a limp foot between Molly and George's bodies as they kneel.

My mouth is dry as I open and shut it stupidly. I can't form words, nor can I move. I'm frozen ten feet from the grieving family like a damn statue.

Arthur's the first to notice my presence behind them. In an instant, I know what's happened. I can tell from just that look that I can plead with the universe all I want, but she will not be granting me this. Arthur moves towards me in what feels like slow motion. I feel like I'm free-falling before Arthur's arms catch me, keeping me from being swallowed into the stone floor. The world shatters as a strangled sob escapes my lips.

"I've got you." Arthur's voice seems far away as I melt into my despair, slipping into the darkness that Fred had rescued me from for the past year.

I hardly notice when Arthur lets George pull me into his embrace. I'm numb, only aware of my own despair and the feeling of George's sobs as they wrack his body.

"I need to see him," I whisper against his chest.

Suddenly I'm there, kneeling in front of the body. Seeing him stings in a new way. Sitting in front of his still body was concrete proof that this was reality, but it could have just been a nightmare from ten feet away.

I squeeze my eyes tight, tears spilling down my cheeks. I open them again, reaching with a shaky hand towards his frozen face.

"Freddie--" I choke on another sob as I move away a strand of stray hair from his forehead. My fingers trace down his cheek as more tears spill. I claw at his shirt, covering his torso with my own. I let my numbness fade, the pain lacing every fiber of my being as I cry out for him. Beg him to come back to me.

My heart is laid out in front of my body on the hard stone floor, never to beat again.

***

Harry lies dead in Hagrid's arms. I feel my stomach drop.

No. No, it can't be true... this can't--all this death can't be for nothing. Harry was--Fred is dead.

Chaos breaks out as Neville breaks free from Voldemort's Body-bind curse. I try to dart forwards, but George is quicker, catching me before I can put myself in harm's way. "What are you doing? You're going to get yourself killed." He drags me behind a stone column, shielding us from the fighting.

***

"I don't care anymore!" I try to free myself from Fred's brother's grip, "I want to be with him. I don't care if I die--"

"You're not dying today." he turns me around to face him. His hands are firm on my arms. My face is covered in tears and blood, probably snot as well. I don't care. "that's not what he would've wanted."

"Please, George," I sob, "please. I can't--"

He shakes me gently, "I am not losing my brother and you all in one day."

***

I rest my head against George's shoulder. It's all over. The fighting, the death--It's over. Peace caresses the crumbled walls of Hogwarts as we sit in its wreckage, bodies bruised, and hearts sore.

"Are you injured?" George's voice is tired. I feel the same.

Shaking my head no, I find my own voice, "My body will heal." But my heart--my heart is another story. It's been mangled by loss.

***

The summer's breeze brushes against my exposed skin. It happily dances across the green grasses trying to persuade me to dance with it. Instead, I kneel down in front of the tombstone, brushing my fingers against the engraved letters of his name. My throat feels tight as my vision grows significantly blurry with tears. I close my eyes, biting my lip to keep the sob from bubbling up my throat.

Opening my eyes, I drop my hand down to the fresh grass. It's grown so much in the last months, covering the once exposed dirt in new life. "Hi, Freddie..." I slowly lower my body down to the ground. The solid earth embraces me as I talk with him.

I tell him about the things he's missed, the way things are slowly but surely becoming beautiful in our world again. How George and I have gotten part of the shop back in order. I tell him I think of him every day and that I wear his sweaters to bed every night. I tell him he'll never be forgotten as long as I'm alive. I'll continue to come back to his grave every week until my legs won't allow it. I promise him someday I'll see him again. That we'll be together finally. Wait for me, Freddie...Promise you'll wait for me.

But most of all, I assure him that I will try to be happy specifically for him. But he has to be patient with me. I know someday it'll be easier. Just give me time. Someday my sorrow will lessen, and I will be able to laugh and smile alongside the people I love again. I'll delight in laughter so much it'll make up for the joy he should be blessing our lives with.

The wind's warmth caresses my cheek, and I know Fred is listening.

I've got soulful days to counter evil ways Will we need it? Will we need it? When the war ends, yeah We'll wonder what it was about And when we grow old, yeah

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applejongho · 4 years ago

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a vampire's guide to blood dealing | bang chan

genre: humor, supernatural, adventure, dumbassery

pairing: vampire!chan and female vampire!reader named Mei (platonic)

description: Newly turned vampire Chan and old vampire Mei form a friendship through their shared hunger for blood, but can’t help but get into wildly bloody situations as their friendship blooms.

word count: 5.9k

warnings: mentions of blood, vampires, swearing, (a small amount of) violence

author's note: SURPRISE, I'M YOUR SECRET SANTA @meiiyue!! Did you guess me correctly when you had a hunch as to what my identity was at the beginning of the month? ;) You've made my month of December so much fun and I can't wait to start talking with you not behind my chanon pseudonym >:) anyways, chan and mei being dumbasses together, I had a HELLA fun time writing this and I hope you smile when reading <333

masterlist here!

SHE HAD KNOWN when the tea on his desk, next to the scattered medical papers and signatures that bound people to donating blood, was just a bit too red for any normal tea.

There was also the fact that the tea smelled like blood, but then again, everything smelled like blood at a blood drive. Being a vampire, Mei had to pinch herself every few minutes so she didn’t salivate all over the floor and reveal her bloodthirsty identity. She had no idea how the biology major that was running this drive, and also clearly a vampire by his red tea - Christopher “Chan” Bang - was holding himself together. Perhaps the tea was what kept him tethered to reality. But a vampire running a blood drive - that was the act of a being who had lost his mind.

Mei sat in Chan’s desk chair in his office - a white, cramped, doctor’s office that smelled like hand sanitizer - waiting for Chan to realize she was there. She had her feet propped up onto the table, black boots obscuring what seemed to look like calculus homework or chicken scratch. She couldn’t tell. So he studied here as well. Mei couldn’t help but laugh as she looked around his office: paintings of instruments that looked like they came straight out of a museum adorned the walls, a printer sat in the corner that looked like it would fall apart if it was asked to print one more paper, and a coffee pot with stains that would likely never come off. This was most certainly the living space of a tired and stressed college student - he had hidden his vampirism well. She doubted he even used the coffee pot anymore, Mei herself couldn’t bring herself to swallow anything except for blood.

She wondered how she hadn’t noticed the other vampire sooner. But now that she had found him, she was determined to befriend him and possibly help him; he couldn’t have been a vampire for too long. Mei shuffled her feet so they sat over some chemistry homework instead. She hoped she looked intimidating because it would have been embarrassing for a two-hundred-year-old vampire to not strike some sort of visceral and primal emotion into a baby vampire.

Like on cue, Chan entered the office with such frantic movements that she swore he would trip on himself. He had tousled black hair and a white lab coat snug on his shoulders that looked a little too perfect to be a real lab coat, like one a small kindergartener would wear on career day. He also carried a clipboard, and seemed to notice his franticness before he noticed Mei because he made eye contact with her but was much too delayed in his reaction to say anything until at least a few seconds later.

“Hello?” He said after a few seconds, staring at her. He looked like he was going to pass out with her feet on the table, or maybe he was just startled that someone was so confidently intruding on his space. Mei kicked her feet back onto the ground.

“Hello,” Mei said in greeting, then gestured to Chan’s cup of tea on his desk. “May I ask what kind of tea this is? It has such a wonderful taste. I couldn’t help but have a taste.”

He looked like he was going to pass out. “It’s a really, um, exotic flavor,” Chan said, placing his clipboard down on his desk. Mei glanced at it. It looked like a medical form. “You wouldn’t like it. Or, no, I’m really surprised you like it.” His voice had a clear accent - British? Mei was slightly surprised he wasn’t asking why she was in his office. He was probably too worried over the tea.

“Oh, it was bloody delicious, whatever it was,” Mei said. Chan looked like Mei had just found his illegal drug stash. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing. I’m a vampire. And I’m going to be terrified if you’re not also a vampire because it would be weird if you were a human drinking blood.”

Mei hadn’t realized Chan was on edge until his shoulders shrunk down a few inches and he gave a small smile. He was refreshing to see at ease - Mei was far too used to people being scared of her. “You are?” He asked in that hopeful fledgling tone that made her heart clench.

She nodded. “For two hundred years. I’m assuming it’s hardly been a month for you.”

She could tell he tried not to be phased by her age. It was routine for humans and young vampires to not be able to comprehend her age. “Three weeks, actually,” he laughed nervously. “I signed up to run this a few days before I got turned. I would have never accepted had I known...”

He trailed off, but Mei understood. “Baby vampires are usually more thirsty than adult vampires, and even I felt a little unhinged walking by all of the vials. I can’t imagine how you feel.”

Almost on cue, Chan reached for his tea cup and took a long, quenching drink. Mei watched him drink. He let out a breath after he finished, and his hair flopped in front of his eyes. “It’s painful,” he said simply. He let out a nervous laugh and scratched his head. “I was going to come in here for a break from the smell. But you’re here.” He stared at her for a moment, and Mei could see the gears turning in his brain. “Can you help me?”

It was such a vague question, but Mei nodded with certainty. Can you help me be a vampire? Can you help me not kill everyone in this blood drive, because I seriously might? “Let’s first give you a mask to wear. Like one of those disposable doctor masks?”

“I already thought of that, it doesn’t work,” Chan groaned, but Mei shook her head at him.

“Do you have gum?” She asked. “Peppermint flavored?” He wordlessly gestured to the main drawer in the desk, confusion etched onto his face.

Mei pulled out the gum. “I know you don’t want to eat it, and you don’t need to.” She unwrapped a piece, but threw out the gum, holding out the wrapper for him. “Stick this into your mask. I don’t think it will mask the scent completely, but it will certainly be a distraction.” She raised her eyebrows at him and urged him to take the wrapper. He took it, looking at her with wariness stretched across his face.

“Really?” He asked, pulling a blue mask out of his lab coat. He grinned and slipped the mask on, sticking the wrapper in it.

“Absolutely,” Mei said, not absolute at all. She had thought of this out of the blue. He seemed to relax at her certainty.

“Thank you,” he said. Even with a mask on, Mei could tell he was smiling. It was a smile of gratitude, a smile of being seen. “It’s... it’s so relieving that there’s another vampire on campus. It’s nice to know you’re here. Even if you broke into my office and ominously waited for me in my office chair.”

“That’s what I’m here for, I suppose,” Mei laughed. “I would say that I’d help you with the blood drawing, but I’m a music major. I certainly don’t have any license to perform anything related to human health.”

“Can you help me pack up the vials after the blood drive is over?” Chan asked quickly. “It’s just me and two more people, and they’re assigned to clean up. I’d trust you to, you know, not tamper with them.” Mei noticed he avoided saying the word blood. He must have been fighting his thirst harder than what he was letting on.

“Yes, and take another sip of your tea,” Mei recommended. He did so, rather rushed. He wiped his mouth and pushed his mask back on when he was done and gave a cooky grin that she could see through his eyes.

"I have to get back to... the blood tests, but I suppose you can stay here." He stood, silent for a moment. "Feel free to do my chemistry homework if you're bored."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Mei said sweetly, causing Chan to give a snarky eye roll. Then, he exited the room to continue with the blood drive.

Nearly six months later and with another semester gone by, Chan and Mei had formed an unlikely, yet close friendship. Mei preferred to say they were blood-bound because between Mei's music theory classes and Chan's cellular biology homework, the two of them had no academic similarities. They had first hung out together in the library of the university, both always carrying opaque flasks of blood that felt like an inside joke between the two of them. They had upgraded to spending a few weekends together, and now they were practically inseparable. Chan knew all of Mei’s quirks, like how she had to practice guitar in the mornings and piano at night, or how she had to always be in the same practice room to get anything done. Mei knew Chan’s sense of humor, which was essentially knowing his entire personality - quick puns that could slip by as casual comments, or teasing that was prolonged and never-ending. He had gone an entire month speaking in a British accent when Mei had mistakenly called him British. There were certain phrases he had taken upon himself to abuse profusely.

“Bloody hell, I’m Australian!” He had told her, giving a teasing grin. “Aren’t you old enough to have traveled to other countries to know their certain accents?”

“I’ve been all over Europe,” Mei had corrected. “Mostly Spain, Portugal, and France, and not so much Britain. There are so many different dialects of English in Britain that I had just assumed that your accent was from there, so shut up.”

Chan had taken a sip of his blood tea and had given the evil look of a taunting younger brother. “Then I suppose your mind isn’t as sharp as you thought it was. It makes sense, considering you’ve been un-alive for more than two centuries.”

“I’m going to stake you,” Mei had said sweetly.

Another fond memory was when they had gone to a museum so Mei could narrate what actually had happened in history as they walked through exhibits. What they discovered instead was a love letter Mei had written to a female lover when she was a young vampire that had an entire exhibit to itself. And, as historians usually were, they had erased the gay undertones of the note. Chan had to stifle giggles as he read an excerpt from the exhibit’s description that very proudly declared the note full of heterosexuality, while Mei had to hold back on murdering every employee in the museum. Mysteriously, that was the last time they had ever gone to that museum.

Yet none of these experiences or moments could top the underground blood ring.

Mei and Chan, during the semester, stole small amounts of blood from the monthly blood drive a few biological science majors held, enough to keep them satisfied for at least until the next blood drive. But now the spring semester was ending, and unlike winter break, summer break was much longer and hotter. Neither of them loved going outside because, as vampires, too much time in the sun would make them thirstier and sometimes blister.

“So what should we do?” Chan asked, sitting with his legs crossed on Mei’s couch in her apartment. “You’ve been a vampire much longer than I’ve been one. What have you done in the summer?”

“Back when I got my last degree, cameras were really terrible and too weak to see me,” Mei said, squinting while reading something on her computer. Mei had gotten a creative writing degree back in the 80s in Spain, and a history degree in the 60s. She liked to point out frequently that she would have gotten many more degrees, but sexism prevented her for a long time. “Which had made it much easier to steal blood or drink from a sleeping person, regardless of the season. But cameras are much better nowadays, and while they still wouldn’t be able to see either of us that well, they would see things being moved around and possibly changes in shadow. And we don’t want that. Also, with you being a new vampire that’s not an expert at stealthily drinking blood from someone, we can’t just have you slinking around peoples’ houses at night.” She sighed and shut her computer, then gave Chan a look that made his spine dance.

“I have a few ideas, but none of them are that ethical or easy,” she said, grimacing. “Do you have any?”

Chan pursed his lips. “I could try hosting another blood drive?” Chan suggested, then discarded the thought. “Or we could go to the hospital I intern at and steal blood from there.” He said that calmly, normally, and Mei was a little shocked at how nonchalant he had become regarding blood acquisition. He used to cringe when Mei gave crazy stories of how she had taken blood from people.

“Hospitals should keep their blood, though,” Mei said, ignoring Chan’s surprised expression. “It’s one thing to take a few blood vials from healthy college students. It’s another to withhold a hospital’s stock that could potentially save someone’s life.” Chan wanted to mention that the blood collected from the university’s drives eventually made it to the hospital, but he didn’t want to create an ethical debate. They were already unethical as it was, being undead beings that drank blood.

“Okay,” he said, sighing. “So what are your ideas? Because those are mine.”

Mei gave a little smile, and Chan got nervous. “Mei, what are you thinking?”

“I was thinking of an illegal blood ring,” Mei said casually, then folded her arms over her chest and frowned at him when Chan gave an expression that was equivalent to her saying she had murdered someone. “I know your track record is perfect, but as a desperate vampire, I don’t know what else to tell you. Would you rather starve?” Chan opened his mouth to speak, but Mei held up a hand. “Hear me out.”

A million thoughts were running through his head, but Chan did as she said. She was right, he did have a perfect track record because it was imperative for someone that wanted to go into medicine that it was spotless. A blood ring was the perfect addition to his record if he wanted to throw away his degree and any chance of employment.

“There are more blood rings than you’d think, and a lot of them aren’t nearly as scary or dangerous as you might think,” Mei started. “Think of doctors that are fed up with blood donation regulations because certain people, such as gay people, can’t donate blood. Think of psychopaths that want to sell tainted or drugged blood to scrape a profit. Think of people without ID that need blood but can’t get it through lawful means. These are the types of people we’d encounter, and considering that we’re both strong and smart vampires, being friendly with them, stealing blood, and then jetting wouldn’t be hard. We’d only have to do it once,” she said as Chan’s expression darkened with doubt. “I don’t love the idea either, but I think it’s doable. Allow me to ask around, and I should be able to find a place for us to go and get our blood within a week.”

“And what about next summer?” Chan asked. “And the summer after?”

“By then, you’ll hopefully know how to take blood from humans in their sleep,” Mei said evenly. “I should have taught you earlier, but I didn’t. Please, Chan,” she said and gave a look. “Just go with me. I promise things will be fine. And if it doesn’t, we can just change our names and go to university somewhere else.”

“You’re insane,” Chan groaned. There was nothing smart about this plan. Chan could name several things that could go wrong off of the top of his head: the blood they could get would be so drugged that both of them would kill someone in their insanity, they could get caught or ratted out and lose their place in the university, or they could simply get killed by the blood dealers. But Chan begrudgingly agreed with Mei because it was the only plan they had. And blood, as delicious as it was, was slippery to deal with. This was simply one shady deed in a life that would last an eternity. He was too young to understand the small weight of this blood ring that would carry on his immortal life. He had to trust Mei.

“And besides,” Mei said, climbing off of her bed to grab a bag of blood from her fridge, “you can think of it as a heroic job. Maybe we can rat out the blood dealers to the cops, steal their blood, but then tell the police they destroyed it all in a hairy crossfire. You’re not the bad guy, Chan, nor a vigilante. You’re just a vampire that needs his needs met.”

So a little more than a week later, Chan found himself in the passenger seat of Mei’s Toyota, Mei driving like she was on her way to the grocery store to pick up some eggs. “Mei, I don’t know if we should do this,” Chan said, shifting nervously in his seat and rubbing his hands together.

Mei turned smoothly to a dirt road. The highway they had been on before had been smooth, so the new bumpy terrain made the two of them bounce around in the car. It just made Chan even more nervous - this was territory that wasn’t crossed often. “Chan,” Mei said in the same way a mother would soothe a child, “we’ll be fine. Like I said before, I wouldn’t be able to do this alone. You’re here for backup. I told the dealer you have a black belt and can make shit fly if things don’t go as planned.”

“I don’t have a black belt,” Chan felt he had to point out.

“And they don’t need to know that,” Mei said calmly. She turned again. Somehow this road was even bumpier. Chan felt like he was going to throw up. “You’re here for looks and intimidation. And if things do go awry, you look strong enough to do damage.”

Chan groaned. It was night out, and Mei turned off her headlights. It wasn’t a problem because both of them could see fine during the night; it was so no one else could see them. “Just relax,” she continued, which made Chan even less relaxed. “Think of the blood.”

Thinking of blood did make him feel better, much to his relief. He sat dazed while Mei navigated through the dirt path, thinking of the result rather than the work he had to do to get there.

Mei parked the car in between some trees and the two of them got out. Mei adjusted her hoodie and sunglasses, which made Chan pull out his sunglasses as well. He felt like a fake criminal putting them on. They only did this in movies. “This way,” Mei said, her voice amplified because of the silence that hovered around them. Trees were everywhere and Chan had no idea how Mei had managed to maneuver the car into the forest. He hoped a quick escape wasn’t going to be needed.

Mei trudged through the forest, Chan following. She led him to an old shack that looked like it was one breeze away from toppling onto itself. Chan had to duck to not hit his head on the door frame. The inside smelled exactly how a dilapidated and abandoned shack should smell like - grimy, slimy, and dusty. Then, of course, there was the smell of blood. He knew Mei could smell it too by how she stood straighter, or perhaps that was to seem more intimidating, because Chan had just noticed a few more figures already in the shack.

“I presume you’re Em and Bert,” said a cool, feminine voice across from them. The blood dealer.

“Bert?” Chan growled, quiet enough so that only Mei could hear, but she only smiled.

“That’s us,” Mei said, her voice devoid of the humor and carefreeness it usually held.

Even in the shadows, Chan could see the other woman give a smile. Despite the hood and mask she wore, the blood dealer wasn’t too incredibly intimidating. Chan thought she was sitting at first, but she was just short. A small lock of curly and blonde hair stuck out from her hood, giving the illusion that she was a small child. He almost snickered, but he was nervous himself.

Then he paid attention to her bodyguards. Three bodyguards were surrounding her, all tall, dark, and intimidating. The one to her right looked like he had muscles that could clock him into next week, while the one to her left had eyes of steel that he could feel scanning him. The one in the middle, right behind her, had the veiniest hands he had ever seen. He imagined them choking Mei or himself and he shuddered. Like the girl, they all had hoods and masks to conceal their identity.

“And do you have the money?” The girl said, a lilt to her voice. Mei nodded and pulled out enough money in cash to pay for an entire semester of school. Chan was amazed at his self-control to not do a backflip in the middle of the shack. Where had she gotten so much? He decided he’d have to ask later, or never.

The girl’s expression didn’t change at the sight of the money. “Put it on the table,” she said, then waved a hand to a three-legged table that sat in the middle of the room. Mei placed the wad of cash onto the table, then swiftly stepped away from it like the table was going to suddenly grab her hand if she didn’t move fast enough.

Chan was hit with a pang of anxiety. Why hadn’t Mei asked to see the blood first? The bodyguard to the girl’s left pocketed the money. They could be murdered right there, and Chan still had to study for his anatomy final. He glanced over to Mei, who appeared to be unfazed. He gave her a look that he hoped she interpreted as, “do you still have an ounce of sense rattling in that brain?”

He didn’t need her to answer, however, because the girl motioned her hand. The buff bodyguard to her right bent down and picked up a box - Chan’s heart sank - a small box. His vampire senses started screaming because now the scent of blood had a visual paired with it, but there wasn't even that much. At most, this box of full blood vials would last Mei and Chan a month, which was less time than the two of them had for summer. The bodyguard placed it onto the same table where Mei had placed her money. This time, Chan took the case of blood. It was heavier than he had suspected, but it was still so little.

“You promised more,” Mei said evenly, echoing Chan’s worries. “I brought the money you wanted. Where’s the rest?”

“This is all we have left,” the girl said smoothly, and Chan had read enough crime novels to know that was a twisted truth. Likely, someone else had outsold them. And based on the amount of money Mei had given, that was an accomplished feat.

But even so, Chan could smell more blood somewhere, much like a human could smell both cookies and brownies being baked in a kitchen. Was it the blood from the girl and her guards? He didn’t think so, because that wasn’t the case when he was surrounded by fellow university students.

He didn’t have to look at her to know that Mei had smelled as much. Mei’s mouth twitched. “I see more right there,” she said, pointing vaguely towards the girl. The bodyguards stiffened.

“We have no more,” the girl repeated, her tone stricter than any of her bodyguards’ body language. Her eyes narrowed, and Chan caught the hue of them - blue. “Perhaps if you had offered more money, or if you were a bit more reputable, I would have-”

The girl was unable to finish her sentence, because Mei had darted forward, faster than any human could have ever moved. Before Chan realized what she was doing, Mei already had a hold on a second box, identical to the one he was holding. It must have been hiding somewhere, and for whatever reason Mei had managed to see it.

Chaos ensued. The girl screamed, Chan screamed too, and Mei had delivered a blow to the muscular bodyguard, sending him to the floor. He realized that he was supposed to act the part of the strong sidekick, but Chan’s rationality and legs had a different idea. He was not fit to fight. While Mei sized up another bodyguard, Chan took off running. He ran out of the shack, blood vials rattling violently in his hands. He realized too late that under no circumstances could he drop the box of blood - it would defeat the purpose of Mei’s inception.

To his chagrin, he realized one of the bodyguards, the one with veiny hands, had taken off running behind him, and Chan deliriously wondered if he was good at playing piano as he dove into the dark forest around the shack.

“Stop!” The bodyguard yelled as if Chan would obey. He ran further into the forest, grateful it was nighttime. He could see easily, and based on how the bodyguard faltered around the frequent trees, he didn’t have the same advantage. Chan slowed his running when he saw how far behind the bodyguard was and crouched by a particularly large tree, cradling the vials of blood like they were a newborn baby.

He heard the bodyguard come closer, but Chan had faith that he was hidden and quiet enough to not be noticed. “Shit!” The bodyguard swore when he must have been about ten feet away. Chan remained perfectly still, crouched low, not breathing. He was dimly aware of the spiraling and sharp pain coming from his toes because of the way he was sitting, and he decided to ignore it. Then, without warning, Chan lost his balance and toppled onto the forest floor, the vials crashing into each other and creating a cacophony of noise. It was Chan’s turn to swear.

The bodyguard was upon him within seconds. Chan had barely gathered himself and the blood, and was still struggling miserably on the forest ground, pain exploding from his toes. “Are you insane?” The bodyguard growled, his voice rough. Chan squirmed away from the bodyguard and barely missed the bodyguard’s lunge towards him. He couldn’t tell if he was trying to reach for his neck or the blood.

“Yeah,” Chan answered him, tripping into a standing position, but the guard was too close for him to make a run for it. The adrenaline racing through his system had adrenaline, and briefly he wondered how Mei was doing. Could she hold off two bodyguards and that girl on her own? He wasn’t doing well even with one. His knees began to shake, and for a moment he wished he had never become a vampire - he wouldn’t have ever been in this situation. He wouldn’t have been moments from death or capture.

“You must be truly desperate if you’re willing to steal from people like us,” the bodyguard snarled. “What were you gonna do with it all, resell it? Give it to authorities to rat us out?” He backed Chan into a tree. “Or fucking drink it?”

Chan’s eyes widened, and a lightbulb glowed in his mind with a ridiculous idea. For the past few months, Chan had adjusted to being a vampire, but he couldn’t help but often felt alienated even with Mei being a new addition in his life. He avoided drinking blood in front of a human and even broke out into a sweat when it was in a concealed and opaque container in fear of their terrified reaction. Now, Chan took this opportunity to turn the tables in his favor. He just hoped he wasn’t the greatest fool for doing it.

“It tastes like cranberry juice,” Chan said in a voice that was much too cheery for how unhinged he felt internally. Then, without warning, he uncorked one of the vials of blood and chugged it. He let it slosh around in his mouth as a red sea, he gurgled it, he let it run over his mouth and onto his chin, and he prayed to some god, a god that likely had damned him already, that this plan had an ounce of sense. At least the blood tasted good.

“What the fuck?” The bodyguard choked, which was precisely the reaction Chan had hoped for. Chan kicked out and slammed his leg into the bodyguard, causing him to sputter in surprise before falling to the ground. His head connected with a tree and the sound was sweetly sickening. Chan stood, staring at the man lying unconscious on the floor, staring at his hands, staring at the blood. He must have stood there for a few minutes in stunned silence, before being interrupted by screams and shouts coming from the old shack.

“Seungmin!” A masculine voice shouted, and Chan assumed the voice was referring to the knocked out man lying on the forest floor in front of him. Unfortunate for both of them. A few more screams, and then, “-in the building!”

He heard a crack, and the most horrible, loud sound of splitting wood, metal chafing, and tile cracking overcame all silence in the forest. Chan cringed as he ran back towards the shack, fearful of Mei’s safety.

He emerged from the forest, only to have Mei dart in front of him to seize his wrist. Her hair, done in a ponytail under her hood, had become exposed and frazzled, but otherwise she seemed fine. She was carrying the second box, that special box, under her arm, and Chan wanted to cry with relief. They were both okay, they had done what they had come to do. “Car!” She huffed, then took off running, still gripping Chan. He felt like a rag doll being yanked by his five-year-old owner as Mei dragged him towards their escape.

He threw himself into the car, Mei already driving before his butt hit the seat. He placed his box of blood at his feet and felt out-of-body as Mei drove like a demon out of hell out of the forest and onto the gravel road. Chan had never felt so happy to feel the motion sickness that came from the rough terrain. He glanced over to Mei, who had ripped off her sunglasses. She looked like she had just slain a dragon and was glowing with adrenaline. Chan was filled with the happiness of knowing her. How could he ever have gotten so lucky? He broke into a grin, then began crying with laughter.

“We did it!” He cried, and Mei joined in with him after a few moments. He could hear the tension, fear, and anticipation leave her body as she laughed - a joyful, boisterous, and relieving laugh that seemed to be perfectly in rhythm with the car bouncing on the gravel road.

“We did, didn’t we?” She choked out after her laughter subsided. “But God, Chan, you look like you were shot in the mouth. What happened?”

Chan suddenly remembered his silly vampire distraction, and he burst into laughter all over again. “I scared the daylights out of the bodyguard that chased me by chugging some of the blood,” he giggled. His head was going to fly off of his head in the next few seconds. “It was all I could think of to distract him.”

“Oh my God, Chan,” Mei laughed. “That’s brilliant.” Mei turned, and the car gave a few jolts as it tore into another dirt road. “I destroyed the shack. It was sort of an accident, but it was only a matter of time.”

“And how’d that happen?”

Mei chuckled. "Throwing a bodyguard enough times against a wall causes a lot of strain on the house. I think I crushed everyone in the shack. Oh!" Chan's mouth dropped open as Mei reached into the center pocket on her hoodie and pulled out the wad of cash that she had used to pay for the blood. “There’s this.” She threw it into his lap, and Chan jumped as it touched him.

"Mei!" Chan gasped, unsure whether to laugh or be terrified. "We literally stole from them, and now we cut them short of-"

"Yeah, and they cut us short too," Mei shrugged, having an ethical compass of a seesaw. "Their leader, the little girl, promised me a second box. I was essentially paying for two boxes and she only gave me one. It's only fair. Well, at least for us." Mei stared off into the distance as she drove. "And I bet you smelled the blood of the second box, too. Perhaps she thought she could undercut us. Either way, I hope all four of them are screwed either financially or physically. Honestly, I might have killed the ones in the shack. But now I can pay for my next semester and not die of thirst over the summer."

She said all of this causally, and Chan didn’t feel like lecturing her. He had sins too, lying unconscious in the forest. Chan also decided not to ask where Mei had gotten her money. He didn't want to, because he knew she didn't have it before this. "I mean, they're blood dealers," he said instead. "I don't think they care about laws or rules. But still..."

"Still nothing, Chan," Mei laughed. "We did it. Can't we celebrate?"

"Ah, two vampire college students stealing blood from a shady group of people that we might have killed. Congratulations to us," Chan said in a mocking voice, but smiled. "We certainly did it. Let's never do it again."

"You can say that again," Mei agreed. Her mouth quirked upward, and she barely suppressed a giggle. "Honestly, I thought we were screwed the entire time," Mei said carefully. "I thought they'd have backup in the forest or around the shack. Me reaching for that second box - that was pure stupidity."

"But we got our blood," Chan said with a note of finality.

"We got our blood," Mei echoed. Against all odds, they had pulled off a plan only a college student could conjure. "If we can do this, finals will be easy."

"Are you sure about that?"

Chan and Mei bickered back and forth over if finals or stealing illegal blood from shady vandals was harder (finals won) until Mei got onto the highway. Homebound and their goal accomplished, the two vampires laughed all the way home. In the sky, the moon's white rays glowed on them, the foil of the sun that they had grown to love as creatures of the night.

#skznta2020 #stray kids #stray kids fic #skz #bang chan #vampires #vampire au #platonic #x female reader #college au #staysource #cb97net #my writing #stray kids oneshot #bang chan oneshot #stayheavennet

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lia-jones · 4 years ago

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Growing Together - Chapter Nineteen - Hamsa

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains a suicide letter, mentions violence, drug abuse, and rape. I tried to keep it light, but if you are easily triggered by such subjects, avoid the parts in italic.

Let no sadness come to their hearts

Let no trouble come to their arms

Let no conflict come to their eyes

Let their souls be filled with the blessing of joy and peace.

Hamsa Prayer (adapted by the author)

Victor sat in his study, staring at the three folders on his desk.

The covers were bare and unidentified so any potentially prying eyes wouldn’t guess their importance, but Victor had gone through them so many times that he could name all three without even opening them, knowing them just by the dents and folds on the cardboard cover. Needless to say, he could just as well set them on fire, he knew their contents by heart.

The first folder on the left contained intelligence regarding his long-time adversary, Lucien Xu. It contained detailed information cataloging his whereabouts and activities before and after the Blackout. Lucien Xu, AKA Ares, like all evolvers, had lost his powers and been given no choice but to live the life of a mere human, appearing to have abandoned the ambitions he had as an important member of Black Swan’s council.

Victor never knew exactly what had happened to Black Swan, as his memories of that time were hazy at best. He was able to recall some pivotal moments, like him being the one that caused the Blackout, or rescuing Mia from the Queen, but not much else. However, from what he did remember, he knew that he had been involved in some violent physical altercations. Consequently, it was easy to assume that a head injury or something similar was making it hard for him to retrieve all the data and connect the dots.

He had looked everywhere for the other members of BS, but only found a few, also leading normal lives far away. The rest of them were mysteriously gone, probably in hiding. Unfortunately, there was no new information that could help him piece together what had really happened. But most importantly, there was no logical answer as to why Lucien had decided to show his face presently or why he had taken such an interest in his wife.

It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that revenge was all Lucien was after, and Andrea was an easy target, given the role she played in Victor’s life. But Lucien wasn’t a careless fool; he wouldn’t risk his life because of a vendetta, especially now that he didn’t have his Evol to protect him. There had to be something else that Victor didn’t know, or worse, something he couldn’t remember. It was imperative that he discovered what it was. Maybe he would have to play some trump cards he would rather keep up his sleeve, but his wife’s safety was at stake. For her, he would stop at nothing.

The second folder’s cover was badly mistreated, due to the many times Victor had gripped it in anger. It concerned a man he hated with all his heart: Daniel, Andrea’s abusive ex-boyfriend. Besides some information about the shady operations the spineless piece of scum conducted---embezzlement and a few indiscretions of a sexual nature---the pages described extensively and thoroughly the progress of his current case in court, including the accusation and defense strategies and the evidence both sides possessed to corroborate it.

Daniel’s legal team had tried to extradite him to Portugal, knowing the bureaucracy that the country’s judicial system entailed would delay the reading of a sentence for years, providing him with plenty of time to either try to retaliate again or simply take all the money he had stolen and disappear. Naturally, Victor would never allow for either to happen, so after a few phone calls and the intervention of the CEO’s own legal team, Daniel’s request for extradition was denied. All that he had to do now was to ensure Daniel would get the heavy sentence he deserved. He would make sure the man who threatened his wife would spend the rest of his life behind bars, where he couldn’t hurt Andrea or anyone else, for that matter.

His wife knew nothing about his interference in Daniel’s trial, and it was critical that she remained ignorant of his actions. Despite understanding firsthand the gravity of the situation, she would never condone Victor using his influence to their own benefit, disregarding someone else’s rights, even if they were the ones of the man that had taken so much from her. Although Victor could understand the sentiment and usually despised such acts of nepotism, in this particular case he felt he was being quite benevolent: for someone who had hurt the woman he loved above any other, and had the audacity of trying to hurt her yet again, Daniel was lucky to see his life spared.

The third file was the most recent one, and the one that worried Victor the most at the moment. It was a background check on Pamela Cole, Owen’s biological grandmother. Victor had to admit, the woman was smart, she had played her cards right. Anyone who had ever read a magazine article about Andrea could see she was highly praised for not only her insightful mind, but also her kind heart, which made her a formidable woman, and also an easy target. Obviously, when the old woman humbly entered Andrea’s office telling stories of regret and hopes of forgiveness and reconnection, his wife’s heart softened. Victor, however, knew better.

It was obvious this woman wasn't concerned about her grandson, or else she would’ve looked for him sooner. Victor also didn’t believe her story of trying to turn her life around, he knew first hand that rarely ever happens. A mother who allows her own child to get molested by strangers isn’t the kind that changes or sees error’s in her ways. And judging by her clean criminal sheet, it wasn’t like she had acted out of suffering or despair. She had been careful; she didn’t want to get caught. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to tug at Victor’s heartstrings for his money. As soon as she got her hands on Owen, she would manipulate him, surreptitiously extorting money from Victor through his son. And that he would not allow.

No matter what Andrea said, that woman would never see Owen. Should she try to obtain visiting rights judicially, he was prepared. Even if her records were clean and he had no way to prove she was a bad influence on his child, he had one thing he could use. He opened Pamela’s folder, retrieving from it an old envelope. This piece of paper contained Owen’s inheritance, the very last proof of his mother’s love, her suicide note. This was his only weapon against that woman, where the girl clearly stated she didn’t want her mother to raise Owen. Victor couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he unfolded the old notepad sheet, stained with tears. What he read there was cruel and hurtful, but it was also a testimony of Owen’s mother’s love for her son.

My name is Rebecca Cole, and I’m 21 years old. The little boy that you’ll find next to me is my son, Owen. He’ll probably be scared. He loves chocolate milk, so give him some, maybe he’ll calm down a bit.

I never amounted to much, although I did try. My life is full of bad choices and evil people, except for the one that helped me conceive this little boy. I don’t want to name him, he doesn’t even know Owen exists, and that’s for the better. He’s in medical school now, he must be able to move on with his life without paying the price for my poor life decisions.

As you may have already noticed, I don’t have much to leave to my child. In fact, I own nothing that you see. Everything belongs to Stan, he’s buried in the back. I’m sorry, I had to do it. I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else.

There is no will, and no inheritance, just a story. A story that will maybe help you understand why I did what I did, why I left a sweet child behind. His heritage is ugly and troubled. But it is my story, and I want him to understand that I didn’t leave him. When I do what I’m planning to do, I have his best interest in my heart. Mommy loves you, Owen. That will never change. I promise I will always take care of you, even from Heaven, if it will have me.

I was born in the back of a rusty Honda my mom bought to escape her own mother. You see, my grandparents were religious and ashamed that their daughter was pregnant out of wedlock. They forced her to give me away, so she ran away with 20 dollars in her pocket, a duffel bag full of clothes, and the old car she bought with her meager life savings. After she heard my first cry she cut my umbilical cord with a pocket knife, wrapped me in an old sweater, and drove away in the rusty and bloody Honda.

At first, she did her very best to raise me. She worked as a waitress and would take odd jobs here and there to support us. But one day, I must have been around five, she ran into a friend from high school. That’s when she started resenting me. I lost my mother the day that old highschool friend told her she was married, living in a beautiful suburban house and with a baby on the way. All my mother couldn’t have. She wanted more, and I was the thing stopping her from having it.

I could tell you about the beatings, but I don’t want Owen to read about them. I could tell you that I was kicked around the house like a football and treated like I was some monster she had a hard time facing, let alone loving. I could tell you about the men that often shared her bed, only to hours later share mine, after she fell asleep. My mother would turn a blind eye to it, telling me that life was full of men that wanted things for free, and it would be better for me to just get used to it. So I did.

Funny how people sometimes talk about self-respect and dignity with their mouths full. A social worker once told me that I didn’t have to endure violence, but she doesn’t know my life. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be so love-starved that dignity and self-respect are merely ideas compared to the physical pain lack of love brings. I’ve seen men risk their lives with their families, comfortable lives, not because they need to satisfy a lusty hunger, but because they need to fill the holes in their chests.

As a teenager, boys didn’t interest me, as I already had men I didn’t want in my bed. But there was one that stole my heart: the only one that actually showed kindness towards me, Owen’s father. See, when you are love-starved and someone actually gives you love, even in a very limited way, you feel like you can conquer the world. I know he probably didn’t love me as much as I loved him, but he was nice to me. He took care of me and iced my bruises when things were a little rougher at home, and stayed with me by the bridge smoking joints when I was hiding from my mother or one of her boyfriends. And because of that, I gave my body and soul to that red-haired boy. I let him touch me like those other men would touch me, and though I could see he wasn’t as experienced, he was more loving. I got pregnant at 17.

The bad thing about heritage is that it’s like a story that tends to repeat itself over generations. I didn’t escape my mother’s house, but I was kicked out the day I turned 18, my belly large and round as a full moon. I did not have my son in a rusty Honda, but I did have him on the kitchen floor of the diner I worked at, also as a waitress. The cook cut my son’s umbilical cord with his kitchen knife. The owner helped me find a shelter until I could get back on my feet and gave me a small raise to help me raise my baby. In six months, I was able to rent a one-bedroom old crooked house in the suburbs. The owner sometimes would give me diapers and cash for some special favors. I did them all gladly. All I ever did was for my son. We lived happily for a year, sleeping in a queen-sized bed, watching cartoons during my free time. Owen was incredibly smart and learned to talk real soon. His hair grew to have little red curls, just like his father, and he was my true companion. I don’t know if he understood all the things I told him, but he always listened to me.

My bad choice was Stan. I was love-starved. I had only met one man who had ever been kind to me, and it was a boy with hopes and dreams of becoming a doctor. The burden of raising a child was too big for me to bear, and I needed someone to lean on. When Stan came with flowers and a promise of a happy life, although I didn’t love him, I took it. Owen needed a father, and I needed a husband. I didn’t want to become my mother. Her bed had seen more passengers than the city bus.

But Stan had no love to give. Stan was no different than all the other men that came to touch me at night. He only had demands and violence, and a bad taste for drugs. Whatever he had to give me, I took, I needed to numb the pain. I needed the high to stop caring, to stop feeling. But the high also made me stop caring for my son as he deserved. He deserves only the best.

When my son gets old enough to understand, tell him I’m sorry for not caring, tell him I’m sorry I left him alone with Stan so many times. I didn’t know, or didn’t want to believe, and it was only when I saw the bruises in this little body that I fully understood what was happening. That is my biggest regret. That I didn’t see it fast enough.

I could see the red flags rising, my heritage catching up with me, and this time I had to do something about it. I waited until Stan fell asleep and injected him with enough heroin to drop a horse. I know what will happen to me, I know soon enough I’ll be in jail, maybe for a lifetime. And I can’t burden my son with that. And to be honest, I’d rather have a quick death than a slow painful life.

I know Owen can survive my death. He is a beautiful and smart child, he will find someone who loves him. This is my gift to him. A ticket out of here.

This is why I do this. Because I want to end this shitty heritage. Look for no kin, the only one left is my mother, and I don’t want her raising him. This must end with me. With me gone, he gets another chance to be someone else. A bad one or a good one, I have no idea. But surely a different one. Whether he is a doctor like his father, or a waiter like his mother, I hope at least he is not love-starved. If one day he asks why I died, tell him it was because I loved him more than my own life. He should feel loved at all times. Please love him like he deserves.

With all the gratitude in my heart,

Becca

Victor folded the letter, putting it back in the envelope. He didn’t know Becca, but he knew despair. And he knew what it was like to love like that. So deeply that life was meaningless if it wasn't devoted to the loved one’s happiness.

The knock on the door made Victor shift his focus to reality, quickly taking the three folders and putting them in his drawer. A second later, he heard a familiar, loving voice.

“Are you done with work? I’m going to get Owen in bed.”

Without a word, Victor got up from his chair and walked to his wife, taking her in his arms, planting a kiss on her hair.

“Everything ok?” She watched him carefully. “You look tense.”

“And you look tired.” He playfully turned her in his arms so she would face the door, pushing her to leave. “Come on. We need to put our son and then you in bed.”

His whole world fit perfectly in Owen’s bed: the boy in the middle, Victor and Andrea laying beside him. Despite being able to read perfectly at the age of 5, Owen began to appreciate the comfort of a bedtime story and would ask for one whenever possible. Andrea would convince Victor to read it because she loved how he would use different voices for different characters. And although he was extremely embarrassed at first, as soon as he saw the excited look in his son’s eyes and heard his wife’s amused giggles, he fully embraced his part, using the deepest voice to depict a big scary monster or a higher pitch to illustrate a naive princess.

As he reached the final pages of the book, Victor put aside the voices as usual, using his softest tone to lull his son to sleep. That particular night, his technique worked way too well: as he closed the book and gazed at his slumbering son, he found his wife curled against the little boy, eyes also closed, breathing slowly and deeply. He took the time to watch them, sleeping soundly, unaware of the evil in this world.

He would do anything to keep this bliss. His bliss. He would keep them safe, their smiles bright and happy, without the shadows of this world. No matter what it took.

#victor mlqc #victor mldd #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #mldd fanfic #love and producer #growingtogether #Growing Pains - Series #victor x oc

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years ago

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The Evil Queen x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Friends in the public eye and lovers on our own

Notes:

I love herrrr

Plot: You are totally, absolutely in love with Queen Grimhilde. It’s of course, difficult to be in a same-sex relationship in the 1500’s, but she loves you too and makes it work.

Warnings: Unadulterated fluff. Hopefully feel good-ness. Some sexual references.

~~~

“Hey Hilde, I’m going on my walk now.” I decide, getting up from her thrown and look around for her as I stretch out my arms and my back. We have been sitting in this room all morning, the most strenuous thing I’ve done today is when my lady helped me get on my corset- and don’t me wrong, that’s always a struggle but only because I have a strong, emotional aversion to the thing; Not because it was legitimate physical exercise.

“Have a good walk.” Is the only response I get, and while its lacking in emotion other than focus or… really, any interest at all in what I told her because she’s busy, it does indicate the direction she’s in and that’s good enough for me. I slip around some book towers, manuscript piles and the trash plate to find her at her finance desk -she has different desks, for different responsibilities. It helps her stay more organised and in the right mind for different tasks, - leaned over her work as far as she dares without looking in any way un-eloquent. So, not very far. But if you’ve watched her work as many times as I have, you can tell the difference between this level of bent and her usual straightness, as if she had a spine-length candlestick tied to the chair and her neck. My heart does a little lunge, realising she’s stressed.

“What are you working on?” I ask, quietly. Pulling up a stool beside her and sitting down on it, my skirts unfolding all around it as I crane my neck to peer at the paper under her quill.

“Writing a letter of apology to Lord Marcus.”

“You did something to him?” She must notice the lacing of utter horror in my voice because she makes a gentle, guttural sound from the back of his throat and glances up for a short moment to reassure me that this was not her fault. Or at least not because of her evil tendencies.

“No. But I did miss out on sending him a letter reupping our deal for his grain on the 15th of the month like I always do. I doubt that he’ll notice; I have my suspicion that he’s accepting offers for his grain from the Southern Isles also, anyway.” I don’t know how she writes and talks at the same time, but her focus is my gain, so I won’t waste too much time thinking about it.

Slowly, as I watch her, my grin widens into a smile. “It’s about your sense of dignity, then.” I crane my neck to look at what she’s writing, but get lost in the beautiful, perfect swirls of her handwriting. I’ve seen her scribbles when she isn’t writing for other people eyes, and it looks like chicken scrawl, but when she’s writing a letter she’s so carful and I doubt that anyone else in the world could make 26 different letters in an innumerable amount of different sequences look so beautiful.

Hilde rolls her eyes and straightens up again as she finishes writing the letter. “Precisely.” She prides herself on her sense of dignity, even though its not as morally coded as others can be, and that’s one of the things I love about her. She has a set of rules that she feels all the way to her core, and she never breaks them. Taking a momentary break from her work, she sets her hands in her lap and turns her head to analyse me. “Weren’t you going on a walk?”

“Well-Uh,” Not letting her catch me off guard for long because I know she enjoys it too much, I flash her another grin. “Being in this spot next to you, my love, has freshly become a far preferable use of my existence.” I say the ‘my love’ part quietly enough that I avoid backlash from her- if the any guard or servant heard, who knows what might happen. She’s the queen, yes, and she has no qualms with killing a person or two but word of the Queen sharing her bed with a lady would travel fast and there’s simply not enough poison in her arsenal to take down a whole kingdom.

“How inconsequential your existence must be, then.” Hilde says it lazily, through a tired deep breath as her shoulders rise delicately and shift back into place. She doesn’t expect a serious answer, but oh, she is going to get one.

“I assure you, I consider my actions of vast importance, love.” Rolling her eyes is her response to that, and I sigh- But perk up, at the sight of her lonely looking hand. “Can I hold your hand?”

“You may,” She sighs, like its such a hassle that I would ever want to just hold her hand. Not a hugely affectionate lady, our Queen. My queen.

Oh, she’s such a grinch. And a witch, obviously. And I’m a bit of a dreamer, but I did not dream the tiny flinch of a smile that passes across her lips momentarily when I bring one of her hands to my lap, holding it in both of mine.

I love this, when I get to touch her. It reminds me that we’re more then just good friends, like any other pair of girls. We belong to each other like my husband and I did, before he died. And in a way that her and the King, never did. It makes a genuine, gleeful smile come to my face- one I couldn’t have stopped if I wanted to. And why would anyone, ever, want to?

“Hey,”

“Yes?”

“Come walk with me,” I plead. She doesn’t open her mouth to refuse right away, she just looks at me in a perturbed way because she knows I have arguments and will always hear me out at least. “It’s a beautiful day,” I begin, fighting to ignore the way she tilts her tilt her head and increases her expression. “You’re beautiful,” When in doubt, always tell her that. Because 1, its absolutely true and no one knows it better then she does. And 2, it will always better her mood. An amused look gleams in her half-hooded eyes, and a slight grin takes her mouth. “And, uh, I love you?”

She laughs. “Those are your reasons?”

“Yes.” I squeak, knowing that they were pathetic.

“You would be beheaded in court.”

“Good thing I’m a law-abiding citizen then, unlike,” Here, I just widen my eyes and incline my head towards her. There are a number of things we can’t say out loud, or above a whisper but we’re far better off then plenty of other couples- and I count us as such.

Her eyes flash, on purpose and she use the pointer finger on the hand I’m not holding in my own, in my lap, noticeably close to an interesting area and pokes delicately on my throat, smirking dangerously as she traces down to the collar of my dress at the base of my neck. “Careful love, the way you’re going you’ll get your walk with me. But I assure you, you wont like it.”

I know very well what Hilde’s punishments are like for being cheeky, and I beg to differ. Grinning mischievously myself, I take her lack of closing up and going back to her work as a yes to my invitation and get up from my stool, guiding her to her feet as well. “Lets go!”

“Mm, I suppose business with Portugal can wait… “ Her voice is monotone, but her face reveals her amusement and happiness to leave work for a little bit.

“Absolutely!”

At the door before we leave the throne room, she puts a hand on the door to prevent me opening it and leans across the short space between us to press a lingering kiss to my lips. When she pulls over, a whine inadvertently escapes me and makes her smirk even wider then before, opening the door so we meet her guards on the other side.

“My friend and I are going on a walk; We’ll be fine on our own.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

#The Evil Queen x Reader #Fem Reader #The Evil Queen #The Evil Queen x Reader Oneshot #Queen Grimhilde

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littlewhitemice-blog · 4 years ago

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The Voyage of the Thursday Princess

Up to three hundred years ago Europe was a happening place. Culture. Literature. Knowledge. Soaring cathedrals. Kingdoms bristling with warriors and weapons. But then something happened. Like a candle being snuffed out. The llamapox hit, along with polio, chagas fever, and the mould. Within a few years 98% of the population had died. The forests reclaimed the farms, the villages, even the cities. Skeletons were left scattered over the earth.

About the same time dozens of new foodstuffs appeared. Hot peppers. Chocolate. Corn. Potatoes. And potent medicines, rumoured to have come from Atlantis. Coincidence? Who could tell? Everyone was dead, and civilization had evaporated.

Africa wasn't hit as hard. It expanded to fill the vacuum. Within two hundred years all of Europe was split into colonies of Morocco, Ethiopia, and the Bantu Nation. Wales was now a wholly owned property of the Western European Trading Association. A company archaeologist who had been digging in Portugal found documents which suggested that Atlantis was real, it had been the source of hot peppers, and it had also been the source of the mould. The records of Atlantis were sketchy and fantasmic. Something about golden cities, living lights, and visions. Which brings us to the present day: I, David, a lowly Welsh slave, shoveling coal aboard an iron trading ship of the WETA flying the Bantu flag, setting off across the Atlantic to rediscover Atlantis.

Atlantis was a mythical evil we'd been taught since childhood. The laws against venturing West were still rigorously enforced. We set sail from Oko aboard the Thursday Princess with little fanfare. The cover story was that we were headed to Ireland. But where we should have hugged the coast of Africa and turned north, we took down the sails, fired up the boilers, and we continued due west. The iron ships had evolved naturally from the making and the defense from cannons. My iron boiler was a recent novelty from my own country. Messy, temperamental, often fatally explosive. But, combined with a screw, with the power to cross unheard of distances quickly. Our ship doctor had another forbidden preparation: a stash of malaria mosquitoes, tsetse flies, guinea worms, plague rats, smallpox blankets, and all the other nasties the company had been able to gather covertly on short notice.

The Atlantic knocked us about with its usual violence, but we plowed straight through it. What we didn't know, exactly, was how far Atlantis WAS. We knew the earth was round. About 25,000 miles in circumference. And we could account for about 10,000 miles of that. We had enough coal to drive us three months at 10 knots. If we were lucky, we could get there and back no trouble. Unlucky, we could just get there. Our crew was heavy on skilled slaves; our cargo heavy on war supplies and cannons.

To our great surprise, we made land after only three weeks. How could we be this close without there already being active trade routes? We hoisted sails and turned off the boilers. The land was low, sandy, with palm trees. To the south the land stretched east, so we'd actually sailed further than we needed to. We sent a landing party in, but they found no inhabitants. Campfires, paths, yes. Inhabitants, no. No wildlife larger than a squirrel, either. On the beach there was a pole with a board with squares of squiggles, and a cartoon of a campfire with a blue slash through it. The landing party planted the Bantu flag, claiming Atlantis in the name of the WEPA. The doctor let loose some of his nasties. They gathered some of the local plants. Then returned to the ship in hopes of finding a town. We followed the land southeast.

At dusk we saw more signs of habitation. Some huts, docks, boats and rafts. But no people. Suddenly, a thin glowing beam came from the shore, twisting slightly in the wind. It cut through our mast, which fell burning to the deck. People covered head to toe in white suits appeared from hiding, mounted rafts, and started paddling towards us. Our captain, a big black bald headed fellow, was yelling to the crew to fire the cannons. As soon as the gunports opened though, the beam appeared again, along with cries and awful noises from the cannon crew. It smelled like steak. A cannon let loose aimlessly, punching a hole in the dock. They closed the gunports, but the beam cut through the iron siding like paper. There was an explosion belowdecks. The captain issued new orders: retreat! We found, though, that our ship had been anchored. Crewmen started dropping like flies. I felt a prick, saw a dart sticking out of my arm, then everything went dark.

When I came to, I was tied up in a stone cell with a thick wooden door on iron hinges. A black-haired swarthy fellow with a wide mouth was squatting on a stool next to me, dressed in a white tunic and skirt with a rope around his waist. "You're being held as an accomplice to attempted murder," he said, in passable Bantu. "I expect it to be as an accomplice to actual murder shortly. You are NOT going back home, ever. Or at least until we've conquered you Aztecs. Now, do you have any questions? We've got all the time in the world."

I asked what Aztecs were. He said it was a general term for senselessly violent, but backwards, people.

After talking awhile they untied me and let me go. I was in a city like none I'd ever seen. Streets of yellow brick. Main thoroughfares with steps right in the middle of them. Houses crafted from living trees. Occasionally, a giant sloth, bigger than a house, that they'd bred for hauling. And their fruit! Their food! Indescribably good, and varied. And some food made you happy, or relaxed, or energetic, or sweaty, or have strange dreams. Whatever you wanted.

Pretty soon I had a smiling girl, Akna, hanging on my elbow, too. They even gave me apprentices to learn how to build and operate boilers. Good ones, too. Apparently, gears and engines had never occurred to them! Even though they had wheels and complicated manual devices. They'd always used manual power. I was able to give them a bunch of metal making tips too, since boilers are finicky that way. They'd never taken ships seriously either. Or carts. Or pulleys.

They had apparently tamed lightning, for that death ray we'd seen (it was lightning and metal shavings), and to make machines that could reason and remember, and to talk at great distances. Just the other day one of my apprentices brought in a lightning-driven engine they'd just put together. They were simultaneously proud, and apologetic they hadn't done it ages ago. This lightning craft is beyond me.

And they'd tamed life. They'd been expecting the doctor's nasties and could actually cure most of them. But what is more, they were able to breed new things almost at will. They were going on about cells and atoms, with pictures drawn by lightning, but so far I haven't followed. When the Portuguese first visited Atlantis, the visitors had seen fungus on rags that had been bred to glow bright enough to read for hours when the rag was soaked in sugar water. That was three hundred years ago. It would be child's play for them now.

It's been several years, and true to their word, they never let me go back. I don't know what happened to the rest of the crew. But why WOULD I go back? Back there, I was a cog in their machine. Here, they tell me to tell them stories and eat their roasted sloth. And I've got my Akna.

#bantu #sloth #ship #alternative #history #inca #welsh #atlantis #short story

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southeastasianists · 5 years ago

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Everybody loves a ghost story. Really, everybody. All cultures have some variety of ghost story, by that name or another. But some are more pervasive and deeply ingrained than others. It isn’t really possible to identify the most ghost-heavy culture on the planet—there’s no clear metric for how one would judge such a thing. But few ghost cultures are as powerful and varied as the ones found in Malaysia. The modern English and North American conceptions of ghosts—from the ones under bed sheets to Victorian-garbed, translucent shades to the poltergeist that makes things go bump in the night—feel downright embarrassing in their limits when compared to the great world of Malay hantu.

Hantu is the general term for all ghosts, spirits, and otherworldly beings in Malaysia and among the Malay people of maritime Southeast Asia and its diaspora. There are hundreds, probably thousands, of them, ranging from natural spirits (representations of individual rivers, trees, and lakes) to vampire-type ghosts to leprechaun-like tricksters. Some are good, some are bad, some are to be avoided, and some are like partners to the living. And they coexist with wide range of religions observed by the very diverse people of Malaysia.

With a strategic location straddling the South China Sea, the land of the Malays has been a fluid and multinational place for thousands of years. Malaysia, known by that name or not, has been a vital trading post for huge empires: China, India, the Arabs, the Netherlands, Portugal, England. The indigenous people of Malaysia, called the Orang Asal, practice what the state (and researchers) tend to classify as a type of animism, with various natural objects held as sacred.

And all of those empires left their religions—and their more spiritualist aspects—behind, too. Today Islam is the most-practiced faith in country, but there are substantial numbers of Christians, Hindus, Buddhists, and others. (There were Jews for a long time, too; today, not so much. And ethnic Malays enjoy advantages that starkly stratify society there.) Malay ghost culture is, therefore, a hybrid of spirits, spooks, and haunters from around the globe.

“It certainly has a very big place in the culture,” says Cheryl Nicholas, an ethnographer at Penn State Berks who was born and raised in Malaysia and who has made Malay ghost culture a central part of her research. “Whether or not that continues in the more modern era, I don't know. I still feel the presence whenever I go back.” These ghost stories that imbue the culture of Malaysia seek, as many supernatural or religious stories do, to explain the mysteries of life and help lead a person to a more successful, longer, or more profitable one. Ghosts or spirits vary throughout the country and the culture, but there are some particularly popular individual types or broader categories

One of the most popular types is a sort of vampire-ghost. The pontianak is one that emerges upon the death of a woman during pregnancy or childbirth. She has the shape, usually, of a demonic woman capable of flight, who targets the blood of young children. (Alternatively, the pontianak may prey on men; these stories vary by region and teller.)

There are, in fact, a wide variety of ghosts floating around the concepts of birth and young children. There’s the hantu tetek, a ghost with pendulous breasts who likes to kidnap children just to play with them for awhile. She is used to explain why sometimes a child is found, unharmed, in a weird place, like deep in a bush or up a tree.

My favorite is the toyol, which is usually described as looking like a naked baby, though sometimes as more of a gremlin-baby. The toyol is very different from Western ghosts in a specific way: You can buy one.

Typically one purchases a toyol from a bomoh, or medium. It wouldn’t quite be described as a purchase, since you’d be paying the bomoh for connecting you with a toyol and the spirit itself would be free. Toyol are childlike: mischievous, a little clumsy, a little needy, easily distracted. But they are known as excellent thieves. You can have your toyol go out and steal for you, though Nicholas says it’s sometimes believed that a toyol will only steal up to the dollar amount you paid for it.

“The people in the village use that to explain petty theft,” she says. It also explains why you might see some shiny toys or marbles in front of rural Malaysian houses: countermeasures to distract a thieving toyol and give it something to play with. Nicholas says the best place to find a toyol isn’t in Malaysia, but rather near Mecca, Saudia Arabia. Muslim pilgrims have to discard all the bad influences in their lives for the Hajj, and though toyols aren’t exactly evil, they’re not what one would consider a force for good. In any case, you’ll find toyols near Mecca in the same way you’ll find stained Ikea furniture on move-out day at a college dorm.

The idea of owning a ghost of your own splits particularly hard with the Western conception of spirits as either barely aware of the modern world, or preoccupied with scaring people, or in search of eternal rest. Some Malay ghosts are more like partners to living humans, working side by side as protection—or to do one’s dirty work. Take the hantu polong, a sort of attack ghost used to inflict harm. It must be fed with blood from one’s fingers.

Nicholas’s work cataloging the wonders of Malay ghost culture has turned up dozens of species. There are some that cause specific health issues: The hantu buta causes blindness, hantu cika causes colic, hantu kembung is behind stomach aches. Some are more innocuous: Hantu apu is a party ghost, and so is hantu jamuan, though if it is not invited, it will wreck the festivities. Note to self: Remember to invite the hantu jamuan.

Another interesting aspect of many of these ghosts is the interaction, acknowledgement, or maintenance they require. Hantu lembong is a spirit of swollen growths on trees. Nicholas related a story she had been told about a man who had to formally apologize to this ghost after peeing on one of its trees while on a hike in the forest. If you disturb the soil, you might want to make an offering to hantu jembalang, a spirit of the earth. There are gigantic ghosts who get bigger the closer you get to them, ghosts with the head of a dog, ghosts that break traps to set animals free, ghosts of the moon and the sun and the sea. There are powerful elemental ghosts who should under no circumstances be messed with, and ghosts who throw stones at people for kicks.

“Ghosts are always a plausible explanation for Malaysians,” says Nicholas. A prominent urban bomoh even made international news following the disappearance of Malaysia Airlines Flight 370. He eventually claimed the plane was being hidden somewhere in Southeast Asia by the orang bunian, sort of like invisible supernatural elves.

The robust ghost culture only occasionally runs afoul of modern globalist culture of the industrialized nation. “There is a very distinctive negotiation between the public and the private” regarding ghosts in Malaysia, says Nicholas. When she traveled around the country seeking ghost stories, many people would repeatedly explain, and demand that she understand, that they are good Muslims before acknowledging and revealing all their great ghost stories. But ghosts are simply too entrenched in Malay culture to go away. There are tremendously popular ghost movies released all the time. A Malaysian rapper recently offered a reward for the name of the bomoh responsible for a curse put on him. Bomohs are sometimes used to find missing people.

In Malaysia, it seems, you’re never too far from a ghost. It’s not inherently good or bad, it’s just in the air.

#Southeast Asia #Malaysia #Culture #Traditions

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luckylq58-blog · 4 years ago

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portuguesecreatureslegendsgalore · 5 years ago

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Coca

Oh, would you look at that! It’s the Potuguese and Galician equivalent of the Headless Knight!

I’m honestly thankful that nobody told me about this cautionary tale when I was a child, because otherwise, this would have beaten Maria Gancha (already talked about in this blog) by several miles.

So, who is Coca?

In the north, during the celebration of Corpus Cristi in Monção, one of the traditions involve Coca, who is presented as a hollow dragon but in other tales, she is a boggy-man type figure of a headless woman (with maybe a gourd to act as a head).

I'm not sure if I can explain what her name means, but if I wasn't clear, you are perfectly free to ask!

The word ''Coca'', among other things, refers to the expression ''ficar à coca'', which is when someone crouches down in wait, like a predator. Which is what she does on the rooftops. In there she looks out for new victims, which are disobedient children. When they get especially rebellious, the Coca ''fica à coca'' on their rooftops, waiting for a moment when all the family is distracted with something else to strike. She can also hide in those dark corners of the house, where light never seems to reach, not matter how many lights people have on. When the time comes, Coca catches the child, takes them far away and then eats them alive.

Now doesn't the image of a headless woman on your rooftop waiting to kidnap you, make you lose some sleep?

Of course, this is her more ''traditional'' facet but she has several others.

When she is present in Corpus Cristi it is when she is the farthest from her usual representation. The citizens call her by her name, but it's essentially a recreation of Saint George's slaying of the dragon, where she is the dragon.

It's a big event in the region and Coca is one of the most important parts. Her dragon form decorated with two golden earrings looks a bit goofy in my opinion (especially since she is so heavy there are two people behind her pushing forward, to help the person inside coordinating the operation) but she still makes a worthy opponent to the knight that has to fight her.

What

Oh, yes, one of the main events of the celebration is when they get the almost-animatronic type dragon to fight a knight mounted on a horse. If the knight is able to tear her earings and magic tongue, the tournament is won. If she manages to scare away the knight and his horse, knocking them on the ground, she wins.

They say that if Coca loses, the year will be productive and crops will have abundant results. If she wins the fight, hunger will reign in Portugal.

She also wears a different face around some parts of the north of the country during Corpo de Deus...

Corpo de Deus is, for those who don't know, a celebration that takes place the Sunday after Pentecostes. It's the day where Catholics celebrate the day the Holy Spirit descended upon the apostles, the Virgin Mary and other followers of Christ, which in turn is celebrated fifty days after Easter.

People take a gourd (but can also be a pumpkin or even an old pan), makes some holes mimicking a mouth, nose and a pair of eyes and then put a candle inside. After it was done, it was left at night in a particularly dark corner of the house to act as a guard (and scare the living bajesus out of people). As you can see, she has an association with gourds.

That sounds suspiciously like Jack-o-Lanterns...

Traditions like these, that have more than a thousand years of history, don't exist in a vacuum. They spread, and some pieces are forgotten while others are added until we have no idea anymore where it started and in what manner it was practiced. Even the oldest traditions you can imagine are likely part of long-forgotten ones that nobody knows of, anymore.

So here you have Coca. Dragon, dweller of the dark, protector of evils and eater of children.

Boy, this was a mess. The word alone just brings so many complications to the table. When I first saw this word, I thought of two things right away and none of them were a dragon.

You can also see one of the fights between dragon Coca during Corpus Cristi on youtube!

Sources: ''Las cabezas cortadas en la Península Ibérica'' by Guadalupe Monteagudo

Lusitana Magazine vol. IV, 1896

‘‘Seres Mágicos em Portugal’‘ by Vanessa Fidalgo

‘‘Bestiário Tradicional Português’‘ by Nuno Valente

#creatures #Portuguese Creatures and Legends Galore!#portuguese folklore #folklore #folclore #folclore português #Portuguese legends #legends #lendas #mitos #mitologia #mythology #myths #coca #dragon #dragão #headless #sem cabeça

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meanwhileinthebroomcloset · 5 years ago

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Mhm... This post was meant to be much shorter, honestly. Not to mention it got super personal, which was not my intention. It actually made me a bit teary-eyed and I’m usually an emotional constipated dumbass.

Am I ready for the potential backlash this is going to cause? Eh, probably not. Am I going to engage in the discourse this can cause? Ah, you wished. I have more to waste my energy on. I didn’t write this post to argument with anyone, anyway.

Gonna risk it, still.

-----------------------------------------

Isn’t it kind of ironic that it was witchcraft that made me fully return to Catholicism?

I mean, I kind of never left, hence the ‘’fully’’ in that sentence. But now I really know who I am. Although I don’t think Catholicism is the most accurate label (Christo-pagan, perhaps?) it’s the one I grew up with, and the one that comes more naturally to me.

Studying the beginning of it all, the commentaries of Pagans and Jewish writers at the time are just so fascinating and honestly beautiful.

Then everybody started chasing and killing each order, and it sure wasn’t fascinating anymore.... ‘’Stop being murderous revenge-driven assholes’’ I angrily mutter into my book, while frying my brains for High Middle Ages exams.

And then it split into Catholicism and Arianism (not that Arianism! The no-holy-trinity-on-my-watch one), and that was a totally different can of worms. Then Rome got pissy and the Orthodox Church officially became a thing that existed.

Man, why is religion so messy?

Faith is such a strange thing. So much power, so much potential for good and evil and everything in between. I started losing mine some years ago.

Contrary to some horror stories you may hear, especially from people who are now no longer Christian, I was raised in a pretty open environment.

‘’Don’t be mean, have faith, give second chances... Here are the commandments. They’re perfectly acceptable, see?’’

‘’Yes, there are different religions, but you should always respect them and the people that believe in them. Remember, Jesus was Jewish. Here’s some historical context... ‘’

‘’What the hell kid, nobody here is going to hell. Also, you’re five, there are no children in hell. No, the cops also won’t... Lord give me patience... Are you sorry? Did you apologize? Are you going to try to not repeat it? Great! Then it’s all fine and dandy!’’

‘‘Man, we are definitely all going to hell... At least since we’re all gonna be there, we could form a basketball team. The devil can be the referee. He will be an awful one, but hey, we’re in hell’‘

‘’I know the bible says the earth was created in seven days, but when that story was written, people didn’t know dinosaurs were a thing. Science is cool, and we are not in the middle ages. ‘’

‘’Blind faith is dangerous, kid.’’

‘’Thinking thoughts and acting upon them are two very different things.’’

‘’Yes, the second mom in that Solomon story was willing to see another kid die for the sake of an argument... sometimes people are that bad.’’

‘’God is perfect. People aren’t. That’s the world we live in and it’s okay.’’

‘’There are people who do terrible things in name of religion or say they’re doing it because the bible says so. Don’t believe them. There’s no excuse for murder and abuse.’’

‘’Yeah, Portugal is very enthusiastic when it comes to Catholicism... ’’

Pretty good summary of religion in my childhood.

Still, I found my faith waning. I didn’t really know why and I’m still a bit iffy talking about that.

‘’What did witchcraft do, then?’’

Well for once, it reinforced my ideas on how faith worked, and how strangely powerful it can be. Being skeptical is healthy but completely closing yourself off because something isn’t completely clear is too radical and you're just doing the equivalent of closing your eyes to the less brighter lights.

My god, I can hear the hardcore atheists coming...

Can I remind you there are more things in life that will not provide the proof you want, but that won’t mean they aren’t there? Relationships. Relationships are too complicated to have straight answers, a lot of the times. People hide their feelings, they fake them, express them and react to them differently. There are so many things we don’t understand or know about yet, like space and organisms that live on this Earth.

Sometimes what you need is a different approach to see they exist! It’s one of the things I learned with witchcraft.

There was also the religion itself. As I worked on my magic, I started seeing magic around me again. Not just with gods I had never considered and the one I was leaving behind, but with the faith I had always known.

The affection when someone says ‘’Our Lady’’ when talking about the Virgin Mary, my family calling upon Saint Barbara when thunder comes, children screeching excitedly because the Compasso has arrived to give us the news that Jesus has come to life again in Easter, the marble cemeteries, the comforting prayers, the masses I couldn’t ear because the local church’s echo is terrible, those boring long-ass weddings (oh my god, how many blessings do two people need?!), the loving dedication I see in every saint carved, my church's priest’s good humor... I never owned a rosary, but I always like the ones my aunts and grandparents keep.

I found Christian and Catholic witches on this site and I finally got to my conclusion. It’s really there. I just needed a different approach to it!

These things made me believe again, but also in new things.

‘‘But you can’t do that! You can’t combine magic and christianity’‘

Oh, watch me. And also watch the centuries of cunning women and witches in European history and those still alive today. The women that make ‘’mezinhas’’ and other types of favors in Portugal sure as hell are doing witchcraft, but you can bet your ass they don’t think they’re any less Catholic than anyone else. They don’t care about your opinions and I will hopefully do the same.

Relationships with deities are personal, and my relationship with God, Jesus and all of them is no different in that regard. I am a witch, I am human, I am catholic. I’m a follower, not a fucking mindless sheep.

You know what? I always compared God to Aslan. The lion wasn’t always there for Narnia, he wanted his people to solve their problems on their own. Get their independence, as a good parent does. They both don’t come up all mighty, that’s a posture reserved for evil and people who need a good slap in the face. They come to your level. God may come through one of the less eldritch abomination looking angels, though...

‘‘Well, if you have god, you shouldn’t need anything more. He's everthing. Why are you also a witch?’‘

Excuse me, do I look like a goddamned saint to you?! What part of human did you not understand?

And before you bitterly start quoting the Old Testament, let me remind you that it’s Old for a reason. Christ came to this earth to give us new rules since he technically saved us and things became different. That’s why Jewish people follow the Old Testament, for them, the messiah hasn’t arrived yet. Not to mention that to them that testament is not Old, it’s just the Torah.

You can keep quoting the bible to me all you want. But in my short twenty years of life, I was thankfully able to learn a few things. One of them is that the world isn’t black and white. Yes, I know this sounds obvious but there are some really dumb people out there. Also, this is the hellscape that we call tumblr.

Anyway, as I have mentioned several times before, I’m a never-ending knowledge seeker I found the world beneath my feet is not pure myth and I want to explore it. Look at me go.

I keep a critical mind with everything. Faith and religion are not an exception. I’m not overly skeptic about faith itself, but I am of its writings, interpretations, translations and etc... I study history, it’s a skill you naturally develop.

And there’s quite a few plot-holes, characterization differences and much more. It was written by humans that couldn’t do a cohesive collaboration even if their lives depended on it. Godphones sometimes don’t get a good reception. There’s a ton of cultural context to unpack. I hear people saying all the time that taking the bible’s words literally is one of the most stupid things you can do.

And when I say people, I mean priests, clergy, theology students, etc... I didn’t hear this from my drug dealer in the street corner..

...... I don’t have a drug dealer.....

Anyway...

There are many problems with the catholic church. There are many problems with a ton of catholic and christians out there. I will never deny that. Shit needs to get fixed and maybe even chucked into the trash.

But I still believe in God, I still believe in the saints but I also still believe there are more gods and spirits out there. And those things are separate.

I have no interest in converting you. I’m just yelling into the void.

If you are one of those that no longer is a christian, or catholic because some dipshits banged self-hate onto your head, I’m really sorry. I hope you heal well and get the help you need in your new faith or lack of it. Banging the ten commandments back onto their heads repetiedly and tell them to actually read the damn book is optional, though.

In the end, if you are (or are trying) to be good, you deserve respect and freedom to worship whoever or whatever you want. You don’t need to be perfect, you can just strive to be the best you can be in your situation.

--------------------------------------------

And now back to our schedueled programing.

#well #that was a thing #rant #christian witch #catholic witch

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

Text

The puppet is now the puppeteer.

I'm a fairly new to the whole posting on Reddit thing and have just made this alternative account to share my story. Sorry for any weird formatting, obligatory first-time-poster-long-time-lurker warning.

Also, a TL;DR at the bottom since this is gonna be a long one.

The Context:

When I was four, my mother had just gotten with her new boyfriend. We'll call him B for Bastard. He seemed nice on the surface, he was an illegal immigrant that worked for a factory and lived in a ghetto apartment. But, just under his exterior was a cruel, evil monster that I knew was going to harm my mother and I in some way or another.

Soon after meeting B, my mother and him bought a house under my grandfather's name since they both had poor credit and wanted me in a good school system. We move in fast and get a little dog just before Christmas; we looked like a modern Hallmark family with the kid and the dog and the happy couple.

That is, until B's vibe changed.

He started to look at me in ways that made me uncomfortable. I wanted to tell my mom, but she was a firm believer in the "innocent until proven guilty" idea and I thought she wouldn't believe me. He started exposing himself around me, encouraged me to join him, even touched me in ways I couldn't understand and hated. I was 6.

When I was 8, we began learning what sexual abuse was in households, and I put the pieces together quickly. I still thought that my mother wouldn't believe me, though, and I grew numb to the habitual abuse.

When I was 9, mom got pregnant with my sister. I was nervous and cried every night knowing that she wouldn't be safe from this horrible, gnarly bastard that my mother called her boyfriend.

B refused to pick up extra hours at work when money got tight, so my mom picked up a second job whilst pregnant and he stayed home to watch me. Things only got worse. Then, the physical abuse and extreme mental stress on my mother started around the fourth month. We lost my sister on Christmas Eve, 2009, to a placenta abruption brought on by stress.

I'll never forget the sight of my mother in her dark hospital room. Sitting in her rocking chair. Empty. Lost. Numb.

B turned to me to let his frustrations out, both sexually and physically.

Mom was blissfully unaware as her daughter went into a downward spiral at the age of 11 and developed a phobia of boys even looking at her the wrong way. I made friends with all the weird kids at school, cut my hair, dressed in all black, started picking fights, got bullied for never speaking to anyone outside my tiny circle, and resented her and her precious B. She loved him despite all the abuse, or more so she was scared to leave him for fear of what he might do to her. If only she knew half the shit he did to her daughter.

In 2012, Mom became pregnant again. On October 22, 2012, my brother was born. From the videos I'd been introduced to by B, I knew my brother wasn't going to be safe, either. He swung both ways.

I became fiercely protective of my mother and brother. At the age of 12, I carried around heavy objects and hid them in my room in case he ever tried anything. Sadly, I was a 100 lbs. girl with the upper body strength of a toddler, and he was a fully grown "man" that could easily hurtle me across the states. He also had a zero tolerance policy with my brother for the sole fact that he was a boy.

My brother was born premature and would need the extra help to catch up. This didn't stop his father from beating him when he cried, yelling at him when he played with his toys, reprimanded him for using his left hand more than his right.

He was only 2.

And don't even get me started on when my brother played with the dog.

The dog, J, was starting to come to old age. She was crotchety and didn't like having her hair, ears, or tail pulled. Brother did this on accident one time, and this led to him getting the beating of a lifetime that left him almost mentally retarded, had it persisted. Ironic, too, because B didn't even like the dog. At this point, he was just looking for excuses to control and beat us whenever he could.

Behind the scenes, he also manipulated and threatened my mother. He had control of the bank accounts, health insurance, social security info, all sorts of papers that he could do with what he pleased. Mom, Brother, and I were puppets on strings in this sick household.

Then there was that sunny summer day.

They had gotten into a fight over who even remembers now, and I hear my door slam and lock. "I'm taking this kid with me back to Portugal, and you can't do anything about it, you stupid bitch." Oh, no. Not on my watch. In hysterics, I called the police and alerted them that my mom's now-husband was trying to kidnap my brother, said he was going to bring him back to Portugal and that we would never see him again. They came in an instant, and I jumped out the window to meet with them. My mother, grandmother, and brother had already been pulled from the house. Mom was still in hysterics, clutching her baby. I told the cops my side of things, despite my mother pleading for me to shut up and that everything was fine. Things clearly weren't fine, but when the police took B's testimony, he simply pleaded that he was just trying to take Brandon for a walk.

B was left off with a warning.

I couldn't take it anymore.

This is where the fun begins.

When I was 14, I had a breakdown in front of my mom and told her everything. And I mean, everything. She called him and told him what he told me. He came home immediately, and I could see the fire in her eyes. Sadly, he had more control over him than I thought, for she took his side by brute force and I was silenced. However, now I had the upper hand. I had used my voice to speak, and I could use it again. He became more complacent with me, but not towards my mother and brother. Nonetheless, I used this to my advantage.

With age, I learned how to channel the silver tongue that my birth dad had gifted me with. I told my mother as subtly as possible to watch her husband, for he could molest Brother the same way he did to me. Or even better, he could forget about his family entirely and run off with another woman. Anything went with B. She slowly fell under my word, and the traps laid themselves out without me even having to lift a finger.

When I was 17, B began a new habit of going to the gym.

In his work clothes.

I'm sure you could already see where this was going.

Mother swore to me that after my senior year she would be divorcing this bastardly, sorry excuse for a man. However, I influenced her to keep her eyes open and her peripheral vision even more open. This is how she found the odd charges on her bank statements to numerous bars and hotels for hundreds of dollars. She noticed one singular pattern in the paper bank statements that were sent to us every month (usually B would rip them up right in front of her and told her not to look at them, but this time she got her hands on a duplicate that had been sent to us on request). A hotel near where B worked, along with a bar that was located close to the hotel. He was too full of himself to take her to a hotel, even saying that he wouldn't want to waste a single week of his life in a cramped hotel room with his fat bitch of a wife.

Using the hotel's name, my mother looked it up and began her detective work. She called them one day whilst at work.

"Hi, is this (XXX) Hotel?"

-"Yes, how can I help you?"

"I just wanted to confirm my reservation, it's under '(B)'."

-"One moment, please! ... Alright, yes, you have reservations for the deluxe suite for June XX to June XXX. Anything else I can help you with?"

"Nothing at all, thank you!"

She was seething with pure, unadulterated rage. Turns out he was cheating on her with a husband and wife that he worked with.

She left work early to get me and Brother from our grandparents' house, and she told me everything in hushed tones so that Brother couldn't hear. I told her that I'd told her so, and that she did the right thing. That day, we packed up our shit and said good-bye to the haunted house that we'd lived in for so long. The perfectly manicured lawn and driveway, the white picket fence, and the beautiful shrubs were going to be a huge hit on the housing market.

He tried to hunt us down that day, but we hid out at a church that was far from the town that we had just resided in for 13 years of our lives. That summer, we lived with grandma and grandpa. That was the happiest and most free we'd all ever felt. Too bad J wasn't there to see it all, since we had been forced to put her down due to a severe heart murmur, but trucking her ashes around was enough for me.

That same year in October, we moved into a new house in the boondocks of my mother's old town and made it our own. B was left homeless, drinking himself to death because he had lost everything--his family, his wealth that poured in from my mother's significantly greater paycheck, the house, the luxury cars, the picture-perfect family that he kept on tight strings for far too long. He now resides with his second mistress, since none of his family or "friends" wanted to take his dog ass in. He lives in constant fear, too, because he knows what I did and he knows what he did. He knows that I can get him deported any day of the week, so he treads on egg shells and is as compliant with me as possible. I wish I could say the same with my mother, but I'm not afraid. I know where he lives, and since I've gotten back in contact with my father (he had been locked up for those 13 years due to evading child support and drug dealing), I've learned how to be the one with the leash. No more cowering in fear, thinking that one night he could go on a rampage and kill all of us. No more long nights of staying awake to make sure he didn't go into Brother's room to have his way with him. No more calling the police, manipulating, begging, and pleading with my mother to do the right thing. I have him on a short leash, and any day now I can turn out the real dogs on him: my own pent-up rage, and ICE.

Don't get me wrong, I actually quite hate my mother for more recent things she's been doing, however I'll give credit where it's due. I'm so proud of her for taking action after 13 years of being imprisoned by the man she was forced to call her husband.

TL;DR: Mom's ex husband controls myself, my mom, and my little brother for years. I gain some control, use it to convince my mom to look into his actions. She soon after leaves and divorces him, and she and I end up running his life back into the mud where it should've remained.

(source) story by (/u/CollegeAnon2022)

#prorevenge #by /u/CollegeAnon2022 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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another-mexico-oc · 5 years ago

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HETALIA AND COUNTRYHUMANS: Pros and Cons

Hi! Before I start PLEASE DON´T MAKE A “WHICH ONE IS THE BEST” WAR, I personally enjoy both fandoms, and both have their good things, as well as their bad things. Also, this is not a “Who did it first” thing, because let´s be honest, national personifications are not a contemporary idea, they have been for several years, there we have Uncle Sam (U.S.A), Marianne (France), John Bull (U.K.), etc.

So, without further more, let´s go with the analysis:

HETALIA:

Pros:

Being the work of a single author, the characters have an established design and personality.

The author, Himaruya Hidekaz, could have gone down a conventional path while writing the story of the manga, particulary during World War events, depicting some characters as the villains, and therefore, the others as the heroes who have to defeat them. But fortunately, he didn´t. Unlike some war movies and other media, where they try to portray some countries as the good guys who had to defeat the evil enemies, Hetalia is written as if it was only the rivalry of two groups, which give me the next point...

In Hetalia, no character tries to be portrayed as if it was the best or the worst country. Himaruya designs his characters based on both, good and bad stereotypes of the country. Everyone has their good qualities, as well as their own flaws. Personally, it´s hard to choose a favorite character, everyone is likeable and no one feels like a Mary Sue.

The country characters have no power over their bosses (presidents, kings, prime ministers, etc.). This is a way for Himaruya to justify some terrible events that occurred during History. The countries have to follow orders, or are influenced by the boss they have at the moment. Although sometimes it is show that countries can share opinions and discuss with their bosses. If they have something on their minds or want to do something, they have to consult it with their boss first, to get their approval. And sometimes they are even UNAWARE of their bosses choices!

Cons:

Even if Himaruya tries his best to give every character a likeable personality based on the country stereotypes... he has also made some mistakes and inaccuracies. This caused hard consequences, like the government of Korea banning the anime and the manga, all because of the country representation, not to mention the rivalry between Korea and Japan. Also, some countries personality doesn´t seem to be accurate. For example, many people agree that, though Finland and Sweden characters are likeable, the author have switched their personalities.

You can find some historic inaccuracies in the manga and the anime, so don´t try to rely totally on Hetalia to pass your next history exam. For example, I heard many polish people complain about one episode, which takes place during Polish–Lithuanian–Teutonic War. The Poland character was depicted as weak, who gives up quickly and depends on Lithuania to win the battle.

Giving all this information, Hetalia is not for everyone. Not all people are big fans of humor involving stereotypes or terrible events like war. Yeah, war is awful, but I think Hetalia partially mocks how useless war is. And there always will be the person who will say: “No! Not everyone in my country is like that! This does not represent me!” I´m mexican, and even if I don´t drink tequila or say common mexican phrases like “Wey, que pedo!” I can still laugh of my own country stereotypes (of course, those I don´t consider racist or denigrating). Talking about Mexico...

The lack of Latin and African countries, as well female characters. Yes, at first the Hetalia focus were the Axis and the Allies, the main countries who got involved in WW2, but then Himaruya started to introduce other nations, even the micronations! And yet we don´t have enough latinos or africans. In part I can understand why. For what friends who have visited Japan have told me, and for what I have seen on the internet, japanese people are still very unfamiliar with the latin culture. It´s a little sad, because, for example, my country has a very interesting story with other countries. And about the female characters, yes, we have Nyotalia, which is practically an AU where the characters are gender-bent, having the majority of them being girls, but in the normal Hetalia universe, we have more men than women. Himaruya had shared sketches of Portugal, Korea and Poland, who originally were going to be girls, but apparently he changed his mind and decided they were going to be guys. I don´t know how he chooses a character gender, but I think he should not be afraid adding more female characters, seeing some of the already existing are pretty badass.

COUNTRYHUMANS:

Pros:

Apparently Countryhumans is free from copyright, so anyone can have their own depiction of their country, and can establish their own personalities and design...

(Which is not very complicated, because the countryhumans designs consist in the country flag as their skin color, they usually don´t have hair and their eyes are completely white, so you just have to add the clothing).

The countries you don´t find in Hetalia can be found here! I love to see Mexico and all Latin America in this fandom, their personalities and their interactions between them and other countries.

The fandom from all the world can share more accurate historic events, as they have more knowledge of the history of their countries and what actually happen in those places.

Therefore, the personalities of the countries can be a little more accurate.

Countryhumans can be depicted as both, women or men.

In conclusion, as you are free of copyright, if you are not happy with the representation of your country, you can design your own depiction and we all are content, right?

Cons:

What can be a pro can also be a con. As Countryhumans has no what we can consider canon characters of all the OCs, we cannot decide which of the designs will be the most accurate or the most representative, as everyone has their own favorite depiction. And yes, there can be a lot of Mary Sues in the fandom. (There Mary Sues in the Hetalia fandom too, but those are created by the fans, not by Himaruya)

Oh no, here I come with the controversial issues... Remember what I said in Hetalia, that Himaruya tries to not to classify the countries as heroes or villains? Well, the Countryhumans has this problem... sometimes. For example, I have read fanfictions, and watched fanarts, in which Mexico is depicted as the poor victim of the evil U.S.A. who wants to control everyone, and also the mean Spain who slaved him for years. I am not saying U.S.A or Spain have never done something wrong, but as a Mexican I can tell that Mexico has also made mistakes in the past, and it´s not the poor victim some authors describe.

Also, in Countryhumans, the way the authors justify the horrible events of the past, is separating the present country from their former one, and then we have: Nazi Germany and Soviet Rusia, who are completely different people from the Germany and Rusia of today. That´s not the problem, actually is a good way to justify the history of the country. The problem is how authors can represent this two polemic figures...

Therefore, Countryhumans is not for everyone either. There are still people who are very sensitive with the Nazism or the Soviet Union era, and watching this two depicted as “cute” or “cool”... can be creepy. Like I said before, in Hetalia at least they try to avoid political and social themes (the american dub and the dark Hetalia is another theme, the last one was created by the fandom itself), so Germany is never referred as a nazi, nor Russia is ever called Soviet, and both had to follow orders of their leaders orders, even if they didn´t want to, and the countries don´t have to represent the boss ideology.

In conclusion, both have good and bad qualities. Yes, both can have a toxic fandom, but they also have people who are interested in history and like to see how these countries can forget the past and live in harmony together.

Hetalia satirizes history and mocks war and stereotypes, while the fandom and Countryhumans do the same, but also can explore the things Hetalia doesn´t, like other countries, dark history or other themes.

In both cases, we can tell the World History is very complex, that is hard to be 100% accurate when you try to explain it with anthropomorphized countries. However, is more enjoyable to learn about other countries, their history and the culture through Hetalia and Countryhumans than a textbook. Even when you have watched both of these, reading a textbook is no longer boring. So, if you are an Hetalia fan or a Countryhuman fan, or both, enjoy your fandom and try to avoid the toxic part :)

#hetalia #Axis Powers Hetalia #APH #countryhumans #analysis #not war #peace #i love both

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100hearteyes · 5 years ago

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Hey there! Maybe you didn't get my ask or maybe you didn't want to answer it (which would be totally okay btw), but nevertheless here it is again! I'm doing Interrail in Portugal in August: Lisboa-Porto-Coimbra-Evora. Do you have any tips for me? Do's, don'ts? Thanks so much! Love from Vienna🤗 PS: if you don't want to answer it's totally fine, I just thought I would give it another try:)

Hi! I definitely didn’t get your ask the first time, I’m glad you gave it another try. So first of all: YES an Interrail in Portugal 🎉 and you’re coming to Porto ❤️

First Do is meeting me in Porto haha (only if you would feel comfortable ofc).

More seriously though, a big Do is trying ALL the pastries: Pastel de Nata (I actually like them better than the more popular Pastel de Belém), Bola de Berlim, Jesuítas, Cavacas, Croissants (the Porto ones, which there are two varieties of and you gotta try both), Limonetes, Pão de Deus, Castanhas de Ovo, Cristas de Galo, Broa de Mel, etc etc etc. The best place for pastries is the Confeitaria Porto Rico in Porto - try some almendrados. They’re to die for. And the BREAD. I’ve been to Central Europe several times and I’m sorry to say this, but y’all can’t make proper bread. So that’s another thing on the list.

Two big DON’T’s: high heels and crossing the street outside of crosswalks or with red lights. We Portuguese have developed a special talent for crossing the street when and where we shouldn’t. Don’t try to do the same, it’ll go wrong.

The high heels thing is because a LOT of our sidewalks are very irregular. Also, don’t expect us to speak Spanish (really, some people get really annoyed).

As for DO’s: always say “bom dia” if it’s morning, “boa tarde” if it’s afternoon, or “boa noite” if it’s night when you approach someone. Or, you know, “hello”. Say please and thank you - and excuse me. We value that. Always check if there are services tickets like at the supermarket, the bakery, the pharmacy, and such. Oh and do pay attention to graffitis (there’s BEAUTIFUL art) and expect to EAT - and have dinner late, because no Portuguese person has dinner before 7 pm.

Our summer has been quite shy so I wouldn’t expect high temperatures, but in Portugal you never know. It’s usually definitely warmer in the south though.

Anyway, city by city:

Lisboa

DO’s

Visit the central places, like Praça do Rossio, Praça do Comércio, Avenida da Liberdade, Palácio de Belém. Lisbon is like half pretty and half ugly af, and the (very, very) pretty part is basically only the famous part. Fonte Luminosa, which is a bit off the centre, is definitely worth seeing, too. That area is pretty as well, I guess. Avoid the 28 streetcar during rush hour - there’s a lot of pickpockets there. Actually, stay alert: there are a lot of pickpockets in Lisbon, in general. If you’re not claustrophobic or something of the sort, then try the underground caves, like Galeria Subterrânea do Loreto and Reservatório da Patriarcal. Go to the Park of Necessidades. Also, Villa Bertha is considered the pretties street in Lisbon. The Oceanário is pretty cool too, though I prefer the Vasco da Gama Aquarium, which is beautiful both inside and out and has a GIANT SQUID.

DON’T’s

Again, avoid the 28 streetcar (and streetcars in general) during rush hour. Avoid the more touristy Fado houses - go for the small, inconspicuous ones instead. The music show is free and the food is cheaper and better. Avoid this shit like the plague - it can give you cooties. Look at this if you want to either laugh or feel second-hand embarrassment - it’s basically a giant toilet 😂

Porto

DO’s

Everything? The historical part (Baixa), the seaside (Foz, where you might even stumble into Iker Casillas), the riverside (Ribeira), the Boavista Avenue, the City Park, Serralves, Palácio de Cristal, this beauty, the museum attached to that beauty, the Port wine caves. You can also literally just cross the bridge to Gaia and get up to Jardim do Morro, which has beautiful sights (striking view to Porto). Visit the churches in Baixa, they’re all beautiful inside. Try a francesinha (it’s mandatory! “O Afonso” might be a good restaurant, Anthony Bourdain himself visited it and it’s not too packed and touristy). You can find the best pastries in Porto, too. Do you know what this is? McDonald’s. Yep. Visit the Café Imperial. Obviously, you HAVE to eat fish - I recommend this restaurant in Matosinhos, which is also glued to Porto (imagine a sandwich: Gaia and Matosinhos are the bread and Porto is the ham). Go to Cervejaria Gazela, it has great beer and great cachorrinhos da Batalha. In Avenida da Boavista, go to A Casa da Boavista - it’s gorgeous and the food is good too. Take the many staircases that connect Ribeira to Baixa and take the chance to visit the Sé. Cool fact: the Harry Potter setting/universe was inspired by Porto. JK Rowling lived here for some years and you can really see the similarities. Oh and the urban art is Porto is something else.

DON’T’s

Nightlife in Porto is in Baixa, don’t go anywhere else, it’s not worth it. Don’t eat in Foz - every place there is overpriced because it’s basically where the rich people live (still a GREAT place to visit though). Don’t go to the City Park at night. Don’t expect the metro to work past 1 am (the yellow/D line works 24h on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays though). Again, no high heels. Bring comfortable shoes. Don’t try to speak Spanish - go for English. Do NOT compliment Lisbon. Lisbon sucks. Lisbon stinks. Lisbon is evil. Lisbon is the embodiment of The System™ and our corrupt politicians. Porto represents the fight against The System™ and against a central power that stays afloat on the shoulders of those who actually work. Complimenting Lisbon to a Portuense is like saying that blarke is the best and only real ship to a Clexa fan. Got it?

Coimbra

In Coimbra, I’d say visit the academic area (the University of Coimbra was the first in the country), the botanical gardens, and Portugal dos Pequenitos. And of course, Quinta das Lágrimas, home to the most epically romantic (and quite violent) story in the history of Portugal, dating back to the 14th century.

(basically, Prince Pedro, heir to the throne, loved Inês, who was a handmaiden to the princess he was about to marry; they “dated” at the Fonte dos Amores; but the romance triggered a huge political drama, so the King ordered Inês’s death; she was killed while Pedro was away on a hunting trip - they killed her next to the Fonte das Lágrimas, where legend says her bloody tears as she died stained the water (fun fact: the red stains remain and are unique to that fountain); shortly thereafter, the King died and Pedro was crowned King of Portugal; still enraged over his lover’s death and now able to exact revenge, Pedro killed his Inês’s murderers - TW actually ripped their hearts out; not quite satisfied, he ordered Inês unearthed and dressed like royalty, and crowned her his queen - and then forced everyone in the court, who had once belittled Inês, to kiss her hand; then he “built” the (beautiful) Alcobaça Monastery, where their mortal remnants still lie today - their tombs face each other so that, according to the legend, they can wake up in the afterlife looking into each other’s eyes).

Évora

Visit the Megalíticos and the Roman ruins. Go to Diana’s Garden and the Loios Church. Visit the Art Café and, if you’re feeling like having some regional cuisine, try the 5 Amêndoas restaurant, it’s a nice mix of traditional and modern. Also, remember: Évora is in Alentejo, which means it’s REALLY hot during the day (upwards of 30º C) and pretty cold at night (below 15º C).

#ask #itsthatgirlagain18

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