#a madman’s journal entry

[indecisive-changeling]

Mr. Scarletella yap 👇 professional yapper here btw i cannot summarize

I’ve passionately thought about this multiple times b4 and saw a post abt it n reminded me to rant it here

PERSONALLY, i think the Misters in Homicipher are not freakydeaky😔 if they like you, or can fathom the idea of love and associates it with you, they’re the clueless/observer type. THEY DO NOT KNOW HUMAN’S CUSTOMS OR WAYS TO EXPRESS CARE OTHER THAN HFJDJDJDH WHAT THEY’VE BEEN DOING!! /not mad

Deffo Mr. Scarletella, he wants your name (or soul) because he thinks you offered/gifted bodies TO HIM. Something no one has ever done, he’s interested in you in a way an intrigued predator is to a naive forgiving prey. Not in an obsessive yandere way. He feels archaic, like he’s been here since FOREVER plus he’s the reason other rumors or urban legends can exist, but you’ve been unknowingly “offering” to him. He must’ve seen it akin to worshipping. (Idk, it’s like ur praying to a random forgotten statue in a middle of nowhere out of funsies and maybe respect but it’s actually an evil deity’s icon and now you’re fucked.)

Maybe the reason why he’s goes around asking for names, is that it’s something he can have, know, want. Maybe he doesn’t have one himself. Name = soul 😭

In the Scarlet Rain End,

you gave him a name— A SOUL. A different purpose, to be with you forever.

Also i have a headcanon that Mr Scarletella can pick up on human language very quickly, or already knows some. Because when you gave him a name, Scarl/Scarlet/Babygirl or any name you gave him, it’s technically innn the human language… And he repeated it back when you said his name.

I also like to think that he’s non-confrontational in a sense he cannot harm physically. Can’t do shii other than to gaslight and make em hallucinate 🤷

Maybe i’ll explain more or better in the morning i jus need it get it out ykyk

[marivoid]

Entry 25

Day 200

I think I nearly avoided death by not sticking around this guy.

While I was busy clearing out a gas station today, this guy popped out of nowhere! I swear on it! That gas station was as dead as dust and then he just shows up out of the blue! (Or brown? The sky doesn't exactly look blue really.)

He seemed decently friendly while I spoke to him. Rambling on about how he's completing these "Zedvancements" (I still haven't figured out what qualifies for one of those things) and that he needed help on this next one.

Then came the change in attitude.

"You know you could be a really useful person! It's just a second." It started off casual.

"No thank you."

"Come on man! I haven't seen anyone in what? Five, six days? My Zedvancements are boring without anyone to complete them with!" He got a bit louder around here.

"I am sorry but I really can't! I have to go speak to a man about a horse, you know? Can't dilly dally!"

That eye of his... He didn't seem all too happy when I told him no at that time.

(As I'm writing this down, I feel so stupid! He probably just wanted my head on a spike or something!)

"Who are you trying to meet with?" He had started to walk a circle around me then. Like I was prey (AND I SOMEHOW DIDN'T REALIZE. WAY TO GO PAST ME WHAT THE FUCK! WELCOME EVERYONE TO THE NUMBER ONE DUMBASS OF THE YEAR) "There can't be anyone that important that you can't stay a day or two!"

"Well, actually there is. I'm trying to find the Doctor!" And I had turned. Away. Just turned away and walked to the door like there wasn't a single damn in the world. "My arm here needs work to be done. Keeps glitching out!"

I distinctly remember just how shocked he was when I looked back at him. How that golden-yellow eye was fixed on me. How his weird pupil dilated several times over in just the span of seconds. He was getting angry and I hadn't known it at the time.

"You can't be serious! THE Doctor?? The madman?! Are you insane?"

"I am!" I had to of been stupid to keep talking to him, let alone to just crack open one of the last pop bottles that lingered on the shelves (I'm still fine as of writing this. I'm not hurting or sick because of that drink.) "He's the only one who can fix my arm. It's Watcher Tec and Admins were never trained on how to fix that kind of stuff."

"YOU'RE FROM A G.U.I.D.E?!" I swear to you his scream could have scared off a Night Stalker. "That's genuine Watcher Tec?? You have Old Metal??"

"I wouldn't call it that." I had let him see the complex steam system wiring up my arm to my stub. "It's titanium, not the stuff that the G.U.I.D.E.s were made from. And even then, good luck trying to pry that stuff off the walls. Once it's molded, it's stuck for good!"

I hadn't realized he had been staring at me like I was a fool. No, I was too busy chugging my soda. (Still really good by the way!)

"I know a couple of people that could melt it down." He had said oh so casually. (No I did not do a spit take here, shush.) "One's a few days South from here. The other, West. Find one of those guys and they'll help melt down some G.U.I.D.E. metal."

"I'll see what I can do for you. No promises though. Do you have a number or however these things work?"

Annnnd that's how I suddenly have three new contacts in my wrist thingy. (From here on out I'll just call it a Comm, since it's a Communication Device of a sorts, but not exactly like how those old phones worked back in the day.)

Person one (South) is called "The Demon" in my phone. I don't think that's a very trustworthy name, but it could be worse. The second one, however, is called "Heavy-Body Builder." What's a Heavy-Body Builder? Is it important? Dangerous?

And the third...

"Zedaph"

I'll have to make sure to contact that number as little as possible. Leave it alone unless absolutely necessary. That guy was NOT safe. But at least he showed me how to take photos on this thing. Got a reference for the journal though, so it was kind of worth almost dying.

Just got to find The Doctor.

-MLW

-G.U.I.D.E 67

[vickyvicarious]

Letters van Helsing has now read:

9 May - "I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely [...] I shall try to do what I see lady journalists do: interviewing and writing descriptions and trying to remember conversations. I am told that, with a little practice, one can remember all that goes on or that one hears said during a day. [...] I have just had a few hurried lines from Jonathan from Transylvania. He is well, and will be returning in about a week."

24 August - "I found my dear one, oh, so thin and pale and weak-looking. All the resolution has gone out of his dear eyes, and that quiet dignity which I told you was in his face has vanished. He is only a wreck of himself, and he does not remember anything that has happened to him for a long time past. [...] ...after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved about, added: 'I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything which he has done wrong himself; and you, as his wife to be, have no cause to be concerned. He has not forgotten you or what he owes to you. His fear was of great and terrible things, which no mortal can treat of.' [...] I have had a great shock, and when I try to think of what it is I feel my head spin round, and I do not know if it was all real or the dreaming of a madman. You know I have had brain fever, and that is to be mad. The secret is here, and I do not want to know it. [...] I took the book from under his pillow, and wrapped it up in white paper, and tied it with a little bit of pale blue ribbon which was round my neck, and sealed it over the knot with sealing-wax, and for my seal I used my wedding ring. Then I kissed it and showed it to my husband, and told him that I would keep it so, and then it would be an outward and visible sign for us all our lives that we trusted each other; that I would never open it unless it were for his own dear sake or for the sake of some stern duty."

17 September - "Jonathan wants looking after still. He is beginning to put some flesh on his bones again, but he was terribly weakened by the long illness; even now he sometimes starts out of his sleep in a sudden way and awakes all trembling until I can coax him back to his usual placidity."

18 September - "But it is here that the grave shock that he experienced tells upon him the most. Oh, it is too hard that a sweet, simple, noble, strong nature such as his—a nature which enabled him by our dear, good friend's aid to rise from clerk to master in a few years—should be so injured that the very essence of its strength is gone."

He has also read Lucy's diary, the first entry of which (24 August) contains these lines: "I must imitate Mina, and keep writing things down. [...] Last night I seemed to be dreaming again just as I was at Whitby."

So, the impression he will have of the facts, upon writing his letter to Mina today, goes something like this:

Mina's then-fiance went to Transylvania and was supposed to return by around 16 May.

Instead, Mina found him terribly ill in a hospital in Budapest on 24 August, about three months later. He had been raving about great and terrible things, but could no longer recall them.

He had written a record of these things.

No one knows what is inside his record, but Mina has possession of it.

He is still fragile/slowly recovering.

Mina was with Lucy on Whitby, where Lucy was likely first attacked.

Mina kept a thorough record of those days.

So his goal in asking to speak to Mina is likely to try and get access to her journal from Whitby, and Jonathan's journal as well if he can manage it (less directly linked but suspicious). Not knowing that she has already read Jonathan's journal, it probably feels like a huge ask (since she sealed it up with great deliberacy) and he probably expects her to have no knowledge of the significance of anything she remembers from Whitby either. No wonder he is so polite and apologetic in his letter.

[rwac96]

G-Clone Project: Neo Godzilla

SUBJECT # 3: Godzillasaurus evolved/Neo Godzilla

(image by Matt Frank)

HEIGHT: 65 Meters

LENGTH: 110 Meters

MASS: 30,0000 Metric Tons

From the personal journal of Philippe Roaché:

"Since the emergence of the first damned atomic lizard, our world had entered an Age of Monsters. Gojira, or as the West named him 'Godzilla', is a natural disaster, a force of nature. Also, his DNA is practically madman candy. G-Cells, Godzilla's DNA, is a rare and dangerous commodity. The fools didn't learn a damn thing from Biolante, nor the 'Zilla' creature I helped the Americans kill in '98. I have regretfully aged to the point where I can't prevent the fools from bringing more of these damned things into the world."

-This entry was discovered a few years after his passing

I swore to never repeat Shirigami's unfortunate attempt to memorialize his daughter in the form of Biolante or the French's meddling that led to Zilla. But, as a dog for the government, which lives in fear of the King of The Monsters, even though this Godzilla (III) isn't as hostile as his late father. But, I have sworn to protect my country and serve the UNGCC under oath. We took precautions after the disaster of 2016, 'Shin' had an incredible evolutionary trait but, the creature was too docile for my superiors' liking, and the destruction left in its wake made it difficult to retrieve the frozen body. To prevent incidents such as 'Shin' but not having our subjects underperform as 'Zilla', we were precise in mixing the G-Cells in the bioengineering process, resulting in Subject # 3: Neo.

Since Godzilla is considered the most powerful animal on Earth, the 1954 monster laid waste to Tokyo, the Lagos Island saurian that terrorized Japan became potent to the point of reaching meltdown, the third and current Godzilla having decimated the 'Gigan Invasion' and the 'Titanus Gojira', the ancestor to the Godzillas, being a wildcard, it was logical to learn our mistakes from Zilla and Shin, giving the subject the best of two. Given Zilla's agility and speed, remembering Shin's durability and potent Atomic Breath, I am in awe and fear of the beast we have created. The incidents with Zilla and Shin have already placed us under G-Force's eyes, the more observant of Monarch, and Yaguchi's people still investigating the origins of 'Shin' from our Maki's notes. If we aren't put in prison, I genuinely fear our creation would most likely kill us. If Neo or any of the Gojiran were to be aware of one another, I shudder to think of the gruesome conflict.

-Doctor [REDACTED] Takeya

[transexualgerard]

some good old fashion writing for writers that never write.

16/11/24

lost entries live in the depth of download trenches in undiscovered parts of the deep blue arrow sea, or perhaps rotted on magnetic tape in defunct university storage server. so i guess i need a remote submarine or a half life crowbar? or is this just more reason to bash plastic and channel the divine to rewrite the ramblings of a wannabe madman whose words really aren't that mad, just uninspired.

starting journals for maladaptive daydreamers with no friends to start noise rock bands with so you pretend this is part of the craft and not a cry for help you will never actually put in the energy to get.

maybe having illusions of grandeur isn't the only way to create something so ambitiously crazy yet still oh so very fucking real enough for people to only give a slight fuck and then scroll pass it to a video of a cat licking another cat with fifteen and half million views.

the streets are where its at but only so many boots can come in contact with concrete until the little frayed wires in my heart start buzzing and all you get is a few dead leaves, free dog-licked water and a serve vitamin deficient for effort.

passing perceptive checks on the fourth floor of glass towers to reveal hidden rooms full of ideas and creatures that require only five eighths of attention. so i read the words from words from my yiayias little church book. pacts with angels and demons made during education that hooked you up with a side entrance key to an abandon warehouse with preloaded reverbs. poetry as performance art to add to the ephemeral magic on your resume. but tinkbell chose another girl and for unrelated reasons her parents own sports drink brand.

oh to be on those white walls.

a blog penned by a failing lyricist who call themselves a post-post-post modern poet because they are just too scared to train their voice. i need to be more articulate and grand but maybe i should start with learning the different between an adjective and an adverb. 

even when god tells you to memorize every single line to hannah montana episodes, it doesn’t mean your insanity will be written into history books as genius.

[mako-designated-driver]

Codex Entry #85: On Skyhold

A page from an enchanter's journal, scorched to near-illegibility. The style is an old Fereldan dialect, circa mid to late Divine Age:

Experiments in ambient lingerings, first staging:

The question isn't "is it special?" The question is "how special?" We found relics, but there are always relics. Elves ranged far before their empire was crushed, but rarely did they return where they did not build. This place, they visited again and again. I see it in the fragments—clays from different nations, not just craftsmen. Styles from different centuries, not just clans. And yet no record of a ruin. The structures here are all Fereldan, with stone ferried up by a typical madman. Whatever was here, whatever natural spire, it was flattened for a floor. But I know the common shapes, and I will erect them as was custom. And we shall see what the elves wished to see.

The note below is in a different, uneducated hand:

I finish this for Master Ganot. His workings brought lightning. Much lightning. The rods are pools of metal now, and all his workings burned. Master was also struck. I write for him his last words because his fingers are ash and he did not live the night.

"The Veil is old here."

Excerpt added after leaving Skyhold and returning...

Skyhold has not just been claimed time and again, but sacked as well. We've managed to uncover some remnants, including a scratching under a pillar that mentions the name given by your witch. Old but still long after the place had been built over. But the author knew something of its first purpose, or at least, something of a legend.

Var'landivalis him sa'bellanaris san elgar

Melanada him sa'miras fena'taldin (word missing)

Nadasalin telrevas ne suli telsethenera

Tarasyl'an te'las vehn'ir abelath'vir (word missing)

Even with assistance from your elf, we managed only a partial translation. Elven is often a game of intents, not direct mapping of phonetic meaning. That means it's a mess.

Our belief transformed into everything. (assertation/problem? uncertain)

All time is transformed into the final/first death (uncertain),

Inevitable/threatened victory and horrible/promised freedom in the untorn veils, (uncertain)

Where the sky is held up/back, where the people give/gain love that is an apology/promise from/to....(missing subject, uncertain)

Mostly complete, as fragments go. The rhythm is strange, not like others I've recorded. Perhaps less a poem than a statement? The elven language does tend to meander.

—Notes from the archivist

Excerpt added after completing the main quest Here Lies the Abyss...

Possible references to Skyhold in the readings of the great library of Val Royeaux.

What follows are the names of the powers that may have held a fortress in the region. Unfortunately, time and records are such that for many, the name is all that is known, and some of those are merely as reference in other works. Your fortress is a vagabond, but years will do that to stone well made.

- The Tan Empire: Passing mention of an unseen trading partner occupying "where Hold the Sky" in the Rivaini Ballad of Kin'tam of Nol, thought fictional, date uncertain.

- Father of Rast: "...and that Fereldan built upon the Sky..." Mentioned as a possible destination of the spirit of the dead bann, a Fereldan lullaby dated to the Exalted Age.

- Lady Bander of She: Fereldan Highwayman banished in 4:83 Black, thought to use "a place in the clouds" as refuge.

- Spire: Orlesian tavern song mentioning "skyholde" by name as a fanciful utopia, but also claiming nugs with wings and a dragon that blows bubbles.

- Ti O'rn Vi: Possible etching of major Skyhold features, but no context available. Unknown language; the tile has never been translated. Pre-Glory?

- Tevinter carving: A broken relief that matches the outline of the main gate, but all possible scholarship suggests a structure outside Minrathous pre-Divine. Possible shared inspiration, but it is not known in what direction.

Study continues. We will apprise you of any other references of worth.

—From the office of Lord Ghippin, archivist of the University of Orlais, Val Royeaux

Excerpt added after completing the main quest Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts...

Inquisitor,

Your archivists have asked me how I came to know the name and location of Skyhold. To the latter, I may speak easily: when one walks in the Fade, any fortress that has seen enough battle shines as a beacon for spirits drawn to death and struggle, even after centuries of disuse.

As to the former, I myself cannot say for certain. The whispers of old memories carry a thousand such names upon their breath, and it is possible that this name belonged to some other keep in some other land. Still, it seems an auspicious name, for there is one peculiarity of language that your scholars seem to have missed. When the words reached my dreaming mind, Skyhold was not simply a fortress near the sky, nor was it some simplistic allusion to holding up the sky. Skyhold—Tarasyl'an te'las—was "the place where the sky was held back." Given your efforts against the Breach and our battle against a madman who seeks to assault the Black City in the Fade, I can only hope that the Inquisition's new stronghold lives up to its name.

Solas

[saintlygames]

I’ll Make It Up To You

June 13, 1885

In the interest of being as spontaneous as he could, Thaniel spent the entirety of the evening flipping coins and tossing dice as he ran up and down the streets of London. Heads for left, tails for right, and he assigned the six faces of the die each assigned to a certain decision that he made on the spot. He was being very thorough, but it was exhausting. It was all he could do not to appear as a complete madman as he made sudden pauses and turns as he walked and resorted to shaking around the coin and dice in the pocket of his waistcoat instead of throwing them in the air.

Thaniel felt skittish making choices this way, and could only imagine how Mori felt about all this. Like being throttled, he supposed, but Thaniel opted to just apologize for confusing him later. This was completely necessary—it was the only way to give Mori a proper surprise for his birthday.

His pockets jangled cheerfully as he went ducking into shops at random to find—what exactly. This was the hard part; finding Mori something that would be a lovely gift while Thaniel hadn't the faintest idea of what to get him anyway. What the hell would a baron want for anyways?

Thaniel set his jaw and twisted the die in his fingers without looking. When he opened his palm the face showed five. Five letters, he decided on a whim. He sifted through batches of words until he sprung at an idea. Yes; music. Sheet music. Of course, he thought of that one first.

'That's good,' he murmured to himself. Last year at the Foreign Office ball Griszt performed his new piano piece, and Mori had forgotten all of it after Thaniel had forgotten to buy him the music. Sometimes Thaniel still thought about it and it launched him back into a fit of guilt.

All of it was guilt back then. After getting over his suspicions about Mori following him, he would remember his translation of Mori's entry in his sad journal of dead memories. His best memory of his birthday having been celebrated with Thaniel that year, over a swan cake which he'd insisted was a duck and too many glasses of red wine which Mori complained about yet drank anyways. They were supposed to be sitting in the garden on a warm night. Thaniel squandered all that and even forgot that it was his birthday. He'd be damned if he didn't show him a better celebration this year.

the rest of the birthday fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38821041/chapters/97073400

[slaughterlocked]

i know things have been really tough lately, but i want to work things out. / hi have random angst from jules bc listen !!!!!!!!

HE HAS TO LAUGH. OH, JULES, FOREVER THE OPTIMIST. It's not a nice sound he greets her with, but the harsh short scoff of a man who feels he's lost the world he had ( forgetting, of course, that he's still got her, and them, and that life goes on ). " Don't you always, " he says, cynicism layered too deep in his voice to be anything other than sarcastic, " honestly, Juliet. There's nothing to work out. "

Nothing that he's willing to share with her, anyway. Nothing that she'd understand. Because it's eleven in the morning and he's four whiskies deep into his research, his own scrawling handwriting blurring before his eyes. Scribblings of a madman, maybe. Rambling notes about death and resurrection, hastily - copied passages from library books about reincarnation across differing religions and beliefs. Torn up journal entries. William's office is a disaster zone, not in the eccentric, absent - minded way it had once been; sweeping one broad hand across his work to hide it from his wife, a tired smile dripping of derision painted bone - deep into his face.

She thinks he's mourning. They both are, in their own separate ways. But she doesn't understand ! -- LIFE WILL NOT GO ON UNTIL HE MAKES IT. Until their child is back with them and he's proved to her ( to everyone ) that he can fix this by himself. Put their family back together again.

When he stands, he sways; caught off guard by his own intoxication. Still, William plants one hand solidly on his workbench, heaves himself upright to meet her eyes. Her presence is drained, but warm. But his own soul is brighter than ever, brilliant and burning, and he doesn't think he has much room in him right now to appreciate her comforting existence.

" If you want to stop arguing, then so do I. " He says flatly, but emphatically. Voice comes out wrong, a little too drawling and defensive. Shouldn't be drinking - even when he chastises himself, he gets more worked up. Using his free hand to gesture around him, he declares: " But if you're going t' ask me to stop working, you're wasting my time. " 'My time' had once been 'our time'. It's lonely with a broken home. He knows it doesn't show in his voice, how much he misses her deep down. Or at least, how much he misses missing her. He doesn't have much time for pointless grief, these days.

[chen-chen-chen-again-chen]

Six Sentence Sunday & Countdown to EGF (Week 1!)

Hello hi hola!! Thank you for the early morning tags, @thewholelemon and @artsyunderstudy! I have six-ish sentences from Chapter 3 of my EGF fic, which I shared with my lovely EGF collaborator @shemakesmeforget (thank you for making me feel good about my writing 😆😆😆):

When Baz comes out into the kitchen, Simon Snow is still trotting around mostly naked except for Baz’s boxer briefs. He has freckles and moles everywhere, and the collar around his neck and the steaming mug of tea in his hands make him look oddly domestic; Baz is sure he’s seen a porn that started this way. 

“Here,” Simon says, thrusting the mug at Baz. “Wasn’t sure if you took milk or sugar.” 

“Usually milk,” Baz says, opening the fridge, “but - ah, yes, I’m out. I was going to do the weekly shop, but then kidnapping, imprisonment, et cetera.”

“Extremely et cetera,” Simon says solemnly. 

Writing blather, a bonus pic, and tags behind the cut! 

Here’s a brief description of my writing process thus far: 

Write 22 000 words in basically a fever dream / fugue state (around the same time that I wrote “A cake with your name on it”)  

Let it sit, because I knew it needed massive edits 

Sign up for EGF in early Jan with all the arrogance and naivete of youth, because “hey! I already have a draft!” 

Reread the draft in mid-Jan and feel like throwing up (Jan. 15 journal entry: “I just re-read my EGF fic and it seems like such a fucking disaster. What the actual hell”) 

Attempt ambitious rewrites. Fail. Lose momentum. Journal about it a lot. Draw a bunch of mind maps. Get lost in the black hole of Tumblr. Cry in the car. Eat kettle chips and binge-watch the K-drama Doctors  

Reread/re-watch some classic things that I should keep in a box/bookmarks folder called Break Glass in Case of Artistic Emergency (The Artist’s Way; Liz Gilbert’s TED talk on daemons; Kiki’s Delivery Service) 

Do some useful loosening up exercises (rewriting and responding to the Basic Principles in The Artist’s Way; writing a paean to the Muses; making a checklist of how to create a good writing context for myself)

Re-read the draft. Think, “Huh, it’s actually not as bad as I thought. Rewriting isn’t working, so I think I just have to work with what I have.” Realise that the draft hasn't changed in quality, just my mindset.

Think fondly of my old mentor McKenna (playwright, poet, Irish madman), who would always say, “These things that you think I'm teaching you? You know them already. I’m just reminding you, is all.”  

I share this not just because I crave validation (I mean, I’m an artist and a human, of course I crave validation) but because I think everyone who reads this probably resonates with at least one part of it. 

And it’s useful for me to have this as a record to come back to say, “Oh yeah, this happened to me before, this will probably happen again, here is evidence that I climbed out of this well before, and here are some really concrete things that I did to climb out of the well. This is all part of the process, even the stretches that suck and feel like you’re off-roading in the dark.” 

If you made it through this exercise in navel-gazing, please enjoy this picture, because I have apparently branched out from making fake t-shirts and entered the realm of making fake mugs for my fic, as part of my Creative Process: 

I have to run off soon (to pick up fresh cinnamon buns) so I am just going to do a bunch of hello tags off the top of my head in a completely random fashion: @erotic-grope-fest, @captain-aralias, @fatalfangirl, @cutestkilla, @technetiumai, @tectonicduck, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @raenestee, @dohrnaira, @larkral (look, I came out to play!!!), @facewithoutheart, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @whogaveyoupermission, @martsonmars, @aristocratic-otter. Happy Sunday to you all!

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing: Simon Petrikov/Thunder Prince (oc)

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: @whumptober day three prompt 'journal', brief suicidal thoughts

I met a strange man today. He doesn't look human, but I don't either anymore. More and more, I'm not even sure if I will remain human for much longer. But if I am not human, what will I be? The witches and wizards I've studied always seemed human after a certain point, but was that true or was that just christianization efforts and the changing of times? Will I become like the Norse gods of old, something inhuman that later scholars may morph into a human skin?

The strange man calls himself Lightning and I'm not sure if that is his true name or a joke about his appearance, as he looks like he has been struck by lightning multiple times. There are no lichtenberg scars that I can see poking out from his shirt or the jeans he wears, but his light hair poofs with frizz even in the braid he contains it in and when he shook my hand I felt a strong jolt of electricity that surprised me. It reminded me of storm watching from when I was younger. It smells like ozone around him. I do not think he is human. I wonder if he is one of those Norse gods, or perhaps a god from another region, if any of them truly exist. His ears are pierced, and he wears lightning bolts in the holes.

— — — —

I caught my appearance in a broken shop window today. I've been avoiding them, so it's been some time since I've seen what I look like, but I look older than I did the last time. If anyone saw us together, they would assume I am his father, despite us being the same age. He assures me we're about the same age, though he looks two decades my junior. The way he talks sometimes is the main reason I believe him. Though he wouldn't gain anything from lying. Unless he thinks I would be more inclined to trust someone more my age.

I'm not sure if that would actually change if I would trust a person. Do I trust anyone? Do I trust everyone? I think I trust Lightning. I feel like I do.

I feel like I'm supposed to.

— — — —

I had to wear it again today. The time between putting it on and taking it off is blank for longer than before. Lightning was still there when I returned from the Ice King. He didn't seem frightened. He didn't even seem shocked.

I think the crown likes him. That worries me, though what worries me more is that it doesn't make me want to leave him behind. Just who is my strange companion?

— — — —

The monsters are getting worse, and with them the need to wear the crown. I wonder if the earth will ever be free of these creatures. I do not hope to still be me if that time ever comes. Is it bad if sometimes I think letting the monsters get me would be better than falling completely into my madness? I think either option would only end with eternal darkness and my own death.

My companion does not look strong enough to fend off the monsters by himself. I stay.

— — — —

Dear diary, I think I'm being followed by a hot prince. He has hair like lightning, even if he wears it in a braid. A few times I’ve actually caught arcs or light coming off it! They’re why I noticed him behind me. His eyes are very bright. If he’s following me, does that mean he likes me? I hope it does. He’s kinda hunky for a twig. Plus, he seems nice. He smiled at me. :)

— — — —

I do not remember making the last entry. I am suddenly reminded of Robert Lewis Stevenson's Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I hope my Hyde is less inclined to violence than the Dr's was.

I hope my story ends better than theirs did, if it even has an ending. My researched showed that the crown gave some form of immortality. But it is surely an imperfect immortality. If it wasn't, I am sure I would not have found the crown. Or if I had, it would've been on the head of a madman.

The way my Hyde describes our companion makes me certain he is not human. I do not know why he travels with me. I won't force him to stop. Maybe I shouldn't, but I appreciate the company. I think I need it more now than ever. I hope the crown really does like him, and it does not drive him away like it did Betty.

— — — —

Dear diary, my stalker is still there. Now I’m sure he likes me! It makes me happy, though I’m not entirely sure why. Is this love? He told me his name is Lightning, and his eyes sparked when he did.

— — — —

Damn my Hyde! He is supposed to stay with the crown, but now his madness encroaches even my waking moments, for the moments wearing the crown felt like sleep and the moments without I felt awake, but now the crown's memories feel like the impressions of a dream. It feels like I am drowning. The water presses on my lungs even now.

— — — —

My days are getting shorter. Even now, as I look over at my companion, his hair is no longer the almost white I’d grown used to, but a light blue that looks much closer to what the Ice King must have seen when he called it lightning. I am now sure that Lightning is not a pun, but simply a statement of what he is. I am not sure if it is his true name. Maybe he just likes the name humans have given him. Maybe it was a warning. I am sure he is not human. If he is a god, I wonder why he’s taken human form and decided to follow me. I do not ask. I don’t want to make him stop.

If he finds out I know, will he stop? Was introducing himself as Lightning a joke for himself, or the notes of a desire for me to find the truth?

— — — —

Dear diary, my ice likes him. :) I don’t think it’s more powerful near him, but it jumps to attention when he’s close. It made a flower for him without me even thinking about it. He smiled when I gave it to him, and my chest felt warm. I didn’t know my chest could feel warm. It was nice.

— — — —

Dear diary, sometimes my vision goes weird when I look at my stalker. He has earrings, but they don’t always look like earrings. I can’t tell if they’re metal or magic. Sometimes they look silver. And sometimes they glow white. I think he has magic like I do. I didn’t know there was anyone else like me. I wonder if he is also trapped in madness?

— — — —

Lightning, if you ever read this, please find Marcy and tell her that I am sorry. I am certain that you could do it.

Thank you for staying with me.

— — — —

Dear diary,

Lightning Prince <3 Lightning Prince <3 Lightning Prince <3

— — — —

Dear diary, he saved me today. I didn’t notice the creatures until it was too late, but he did. He used his magic to kill them with lightning. It was loud and bright, and he was beautiful in the midst of that light, his hair glowing with the electricity. I think I might be in love.

— — — —

Dear diary, I haven’t seen any creatures lately. I think they might be all gone, so I’m making a kingdom for us! It’ll be our own little ice kingdom, our own slice of earth. Maybe I’ll even find us some penguins to rule over. And polar bears. Though I’m not sure if there are any of either around where we are. Or if they’re even still alive.

Lightning will love the kingdom, I’m sure. :) The unbroken snow on the ground is already pretty. It sparkles like his eyes sometimes do.

— — — —

 Dear diary, the handsome prince has run away. I don't know why, but I caught him reading you so I think it must be something in your pages. If whatever you said caused him to run, I don't think I want your memories. They must be pretty scary. I'm burying you now. Good bye, diary.

Love, Ice King

[madame-ellunas-moonlit-readings]

May 9 - Castles In The Air

Re Dracula/Dracula Daily

This one was short and sweet. If the others are like this I'll be caught up in no time.

This chapter was a pleasant surprise. Not only do we get to hear from Jonathon's dear Mina (Murray), but we also get introduced to another character, Miss Lucy Westenra. There's also been a change of format from a journal entry to a personal letter.

I'm curious as to who Lucy is to Mina. The letter is very sweet, they seem very close. Their names show they're not sisters. Childhood friends perhaps?

Seems we'll also be learning more about Miss Mina herself and her relationship with Jonathon from her perspective, with whom she seems to be just as sweet to as he is to her. It's adorable. In order to better help him with his work, while she's busy with her own work as an assistant schoolmistress (teacher) she's also practising shorthand and learning to use a stenograph, a shorthand typewriter.

I like how they're both writing their letters to each other in shorthand while practising. It feels domestic. I think Mina agrees considering how quick she is to add "When we are married". I wonder if they're engaged? Her idea of continuing this practise with her journal is interesting. It seems we'll be getting that format back soon.

I wonder how similar hers will be to his? While Mina's comparing it to Jonathon's stenograph, she's also comparing it to what she sees other women do, mentioning interviews, conversations and descriptions. Think she'll be interviewing anyone? That there'll be interesting conversations for her to remember?

Apparently Jonathon is due back in about a week (the 16th then, give or take), best of luck to him. Wonder how he got that letter out? Dracula has kept him well isolated. Did the madman take it to the postie himself? She mentioned there were a few hurried lines in his letter. Poor thing must be up to his ears in stress. We've seen how profusely he writes naturally. It's sweet seeing Mina thinking of travelling with him to strange nations. If only she knew.

I'm guessing this tall, handsome, curly haired man is a reoccurring character. Wonder who he'll be. Love Mina taking the time to tease Lucy over him.

[smellslikehome]

Redgie’s perspective:

It was the beginning of the semester and I had finally woken up from one of my fits. While my teeth were still sore and my body felt heavy, at least I was able to get up. I had a few classes with Professor Brandon. He was my favorite English Literature Teacher. This semester, he was teaching a post-graduate writing course. It was going to be his first time teaching the course and asked me to take it to see how it is. I love writing, or at least I’d really like to. So I signed up. Besides, learning more about how he teaches would really help for when I shadow underneath him next semester. So I went to class on the first day and he took roll. A lot of the people I had seen before, most of us in the English Graduate College. All of us trying to be professors or teachers or full blown authors. However, there was one person that was completely out of the ordinary. He was scrawny and tiny, I would’ve mistaken him for a high schooler. “Nathaniel Hicks?” Asked Professor Brandon.

“Present,” he said flatly. 

“I’m sorry I don’t believe I’ve had you in a class before. Are you a new transfer?” Asked the Professor.

“Nope, it’s my junior year.”

“Are you aware this is a graduate class?”

“Yup”

“Are you an English Major?”

“Nope.”

“May I ask why you’re taking this class then? It’s just not a lot of underclassman sign up for post graduate classes.”

“Meh, it seemed easy.”

Something about him made me chuckle. He was just short and mean. Something about him also rubbed me the wrong way though. I’d never heard of someone taking a post graduate class just for fun. I could tell he didn’t really respect the class. He’d fall asleep in class whenever he felt like it. But when he was awake, he’d write in his notebook like a madman, looking around the class at everyone. One time, my eyes accidently met his and I felt a cold shiver run down my spine, like he looked right into my head. It was scary. I often glanced back at him, especially when the professor would call on him for being asleep. Yet somehow he’d still get the answer right.

One day, early in the semester, right at the end of class, he got a call. He stormed out the room as though he was on a mission. The professor rolled his eyes and told me, “I do not like that kid.” 

“He seems mean,” I added, jokingly. I looked back towards his desk and noticed something still on top of it.I went toward it and saw a leather bound journal. I took it home with me, making sure too feed my cat, Ketchup before I went into my room. Curious, I opened it up to see what he writes about during class. At first it was normal, notes on class, things he had to do. But then, things got weird. There were entries for everyone in our class. They went into detail about mannerisms and what he thought about everyone. I looked around and I found the entry he wrote on me. 

Redgel::: aka Redgie

Approximately 6’8” 360 lbs. 

Shaggy and unkept. Obviously he’s very familiar with the professor. Even amongst the other graduate students he’s close with Brandon. Yet he’s still respectful and calls him Professor. He’s always careful, yet still sometimes clumsy. Like he doesn’t always remember how big his body is. No sense of hand eye coordination. There are inconsistencies about him. He’s clumsy, yet in most ways, he’s almost too careful. There’s also this peculiar mark on his cheek. Is it a birthmark? Is it something else? There’s something about him…. Or maybe I just find him cute. ….He IS cute admittingly but there are other matters at hand. 

He thinks I’m cute! I felt myself blushing a bit when I read that last part, happy that the mean guy thinks I’m cute. Then my heart stopped. He knows about me. Well he doesn’t know about me but he knows I’m not normal. Not…completely normal. I have to give his notebook back to him tomorrow. 

[200-word-rpgs]

Collected entries for 2024-11-26:

BUGKNIGHT: A Solo TTRPG/Prototype Metroidvania (By Someone Who Just Played Their First One Ever) (Guess Which One) by @corvidcorgi

Genre Savvy by @parasign

Heroes From A Hat. by @treefrogsoup

I'M NOT LEARNING TO PLAY MAGICAL GATHERING by @txttletale

I'm too tired to write a proper RPG by @pomrania

I Understood the Assignment, a collaborative-yet-adversarial narrative RPG for two or three players by @dreamerinsilico

Letters from Bath - A solo journalling game. by @evegoldenwoods

The Littlest RPG by @copperspont-games

The Machine War, and the people by @josie-like-the-girls-name

No Man's Land by @just-another-madman

Offerings to a Kinder World by @renaissancewoodsman

Robots and Mechanics by @ukrainian-groove-metal

Role Playing Scissors by @esoteric-merit

Rote 1st Edition by @sabrinahawthorne

Six Weeks on a Wild Planet by @specialagentartemis

Snarky Servants by @teensywars

Spade and Speranza by @drmaicol

Very Specific Thresholds by @bendandsnap-cummerbund

You are on the moon. You have a job to do. That job requires the other Guy, so it would really fuck things up if you killed them with a rock. by @moon-of-curses

Previous summaries: 2024-11-01, 2024-11-02, 2024-11-03, 2024-11-04, 2024-11-05, 2024-11-06, 2024-11-07, 2024-11-08, 2024-11-09/10, 2024-11-11/12, 2024-11-13, 2024-11-14, 2024-11-15, 2024-11-16/17, 2024-11-18, 2024-11-19, 2024-11-20/21, 2024-11-22/23, 2024-11-24, 2024-11-25

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[vinceleemiller]

On The Run But Not Alone | 1 Samuel 21

Are you lonely, like David, a "man on the run"?

Welcome to the Daily Devo. I am Vince Miller.

Remember, tomorrow, we will air a new episode of The Vince Miller Show entitled "Beliefs That Hold You Back." If you have Video Access on our website, this episode is already available; if not, wait until tomorrow. Be in prayer for this Show. We have invested a lot of time and money into this effort, and we hope this will reach out in a new way so others will be able to hear the Gospel.

This week, here in the Daily Devo, we are in 1 Samuel 21. I've titled this chapter "Man On The Run."

David will be on the run for a long time, approximately 12-15 years. In the last chapter, he ran to Naioth in Ramah to Samuel and then back to the rocks in Gibeah. In this chapter, he will run to Nob (the location of the Tabernacle) and then to Gath (the home of Goliath). There will be many more locations, 16 in all, that we will list in the coming chapters (i.e., the Cave of Adullam, the king of Moab at Mizpeh, "the stronghold" maybe Masada, the forest of Hereth, Keilah, the wilderness of Ziph, the wilderness of Maon, strongholds of Engedi, "the stronghold" maybe Masada again, the wilderness of Paran, and the finally back to Achish, the king of Gath.)

So, I will not give you a key verse for this chapter this week. (If I did, I would pick 1 Samuel 21:4.)

Instead, I will share a private excerpt from David's journal during this emotional time, which reveals a lot about what is going on in his mind.

But first, I want you to imagine how lonely David felt in these moments. He has been separated from his family and will never speak to his biological father ever again. His father-in-law (King Saul) wants to kill him and has given a charge to the Israelite army to hunt him down. His wife (Michal) and best friend (Jonathan) cannot communicate with him. He cannot take refuge in Samuel in the Naioth at Ramah. David is a fugitive, a man on the run. At the end of this chapter, David hides in Gath, which is in Philistia, the enemy of Israel, and acts like a madman here to preserve his life from King Saul. There could be no more lonely moment for David.

However, during this chapter, David made two journal entries, Psalms 34 and 56. And I want to read a portion of Psalm 34 for you today so you can see what David is thinking.

The title of this Psalm in your Bible might say:

"Of David, when he changed his behavior before Abimelech, so that he drove him out, and he went away."

The name "Abimelech" is a title like "President" or "King," and the man this refers to is named Achish, or "Abimelech Achish" who is the focus of 1 Samuel 21:10-15. Here is what he writes.

I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble hear and be glad. Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together! — Psalm 34:1-3

The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous and his ears toward their cry. The face of the Lord is against those who do evil, to cut off the memory of them from the earth. When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all. He keeps all his bones; not one of them is broken. Affliction will slay the wicked, and those who hate the righteous will be condemned. The Lord redeems the life of his servants; none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned. — Psalm 34:15-22

Even though David is alone and a man on the run, he knows he is never alone. And some of you need to hear this today. If God is with you, you are never alone. David preached, journaled, wrote, and sang this truth to his heart, mind, and soul. He put his hand to paper, his lip to song, his heart to prayer in those lonely moments in the enemy land, pretending to be a madman to stay alive as God's anointed, and God was with him.

In lonely moments, never forget that with God, you are never alone. Preach this truth to your soul. Sing about it. Read about it. Write about it. Believe it. God is a deliverer. He is near, not far.

And don't forget that during these years, God slowly built an army of hundreds of men around David who followed him from the Struggling Fugitive Years to the Soldiering Fighting Years.

#NeverAlone, #FaithInTheWilderness, #GodWithUs

Ask This:

When have you felt most alone, and how did you remind yourself of God's presence during that time?

Like David, how can you preach truth to your soul in moments of fear or loneliness? What practical steps can you take today?

Do This:

Preach to your soul, "I am not alone, God is with me."

Pray This:

Lord, in my moments of loneliness, help me to remember that You are always with me, even when I feel abandoned. Give me the strength to trust in Your presence and to find refuge in Your unfailing love. Amen.

Play This:

I Am Not Alone.

Check out this episode!

[daystar-by-jacqui-natla]

7. MOVIE NIGHT

ONCE THE REST OF THE FAMILY CAME BACK, we immediately told them everything. The living room, usually a place of warmth and casual conversation, now felt like a war room. The gravity of our discoveries was palpable, and every word seemed to add weight to the tension in the room.

The surprising return of Leah had barely settled when Ethan, Ingram and I started recounting our discoveries. We gathered in the library, the room heavy with the weight of what we had uncovered. The missing persons posters and my mother's hurried journal entries were spread out before us, a stark contrast to the usual tranquility of the mansion.

The atmosphere was thick with unease as everyone crowded around the table, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. Leah stood beside me, her brow furrowed as she took in the scattered pages and old posters. The usual fire in her eyes was tempered by a sense of seriousness that matched the mood in the room.

Gabriel was the first to break the silence, his deep voice calm but edged with the tension that gripped us all. "So, Evelyn knew something was wrong. And Joham... we know that name, don't we? He's Nahuel's father.”

I nodded, the memories of that tense meeting with the Volturi rushing back. "Yes, Joham was trying to create his own army of hybrids, experimenting with human and vampire genetics. Nahuel was one of his... creations."

"Come to think of it, flower," Ingram spoke up. "Your mother's journal did say that the doctor has a profound insight with genetics and hybridisation."

"Are you saying they're the same person?" Joseph, his older brother, suggested.

Ingram leaned forward, his expression thoughtful as he processed Joseph's suggestion. "It's possible," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "If Joham has been around as long as we suspect, he could have easily assumed different identities over the years. A doctor with expertise in genetics and hybridization fits his profile perfectly."

Ethan, who had been quiet until now, crossed his arms and spoke with a measured tone. "That would explain why your mother was so secretive in her notes, why she was so desperate to hide what she had discovered. If Joham and this doctor are the same person, she must have realized the danger she was in."

They did had a point. Thinking about my human life back in Forks, the Cullens had managed to blend in with people so maybe Joham — if they were the same — did the same. Except for a darker, twisted purpose.

I spotted Helena's face scrunching as if she was figuring it out. Her face twisted in concentration as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The flicker of recognition in her eyes sent a chill down my spine. She took a deep breath, her voice steady but laced with the weight of what she was about to share.

"The Imperial College Massacre," she began, her gaze distant as if she was pulling the memories from the depths of her mind. "It happened in the late 1980s. A story so gruesome that even the Volturi didn't immediately connect it to our world. It was written off as the work of a madman—human insanity at its worst."

We all leaned in, the tension in the room thickening as she continued.

"It was a night like any other, or so it seemed. The college was renowned for its advancements in genetic research. They were on the brink of something groundbreaking—something that, in the wrong hands, could change the world. But no one ever found out what it was. The labs were raided, the researchers... butchered."

I felt a shiver run through me as Helena spoke, her voice hauntingly calm as she recounted the details. "There were no survivors, no witnesses. Just blood, chaos, and bodies—most of them so mangled that identifying them was nearly impossible. But what was most disturbing was that there were no signs of struggle. It was as if the attackers knew exactly what they were doing, like they had done it a thousand times before."

Leah, who had been standing quietly beside me, spoke up, her voice hard. "Helena, you're saying that it's a vampire attack?"

Helena nodded slowly, her eyes darkening with the weight of the truth. "Yes, Leah. It wasn't just a random act of violence. It was deliberate. Methodical. Whoever—or whatever—was responsible had a clear objective: to obliterate any trace of the research being conducted at that college. And they succeeded."

"But how does that linked to Joham and my mother?" I asked.

Helena's gaze fixed on me with a mixture of resolve and sorrow. "I believe your mother... now, it's just a thought—."

"And that's some thought," Joseph said.

"What?" I pressed on.

"Well, I think your mother might have known about the existence of vampires..."

The room felt colder as the weight of Helena's suggestion settled over us. The idea that my mother might have known about vampires seemed impossible at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. My father's resentment, Dina's hatred—they had always seemed too intense, too irrational, unless they were hiding something much deeper.

Leah's eyes were sharp as she looked at me, sensing the turmoil in my thoughts. "Violet," she began, her voice gentler than usual, "you don't have to figure this out alone. We're all in this together."

I nodded, but my mind was still racing. My mother's research, the secrets she kept, the danger she faced—had she been trying to protect me from this world? Or had she been trying to understand it, maybe even find a way to fight back?

Ethan, sensing the need to break the tension, finally spoke up. "We've gone through a lot today, and it's clear we have more questions than answers. Maybe it's time to take a step back for tonight."

Joseph, always the one to lighten the mood, grinned. "And what better way to unwind than with a classic horror movie? I believe it's your turn to choose, Gabriel."

Gabriel, who had been silently brooding, looked up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "How about we watch Frankenstein? The 1931 version."

There were murmurs of agreement around the room, and I couldn't help but notice the irony. A movie about a man playing God, creating life only for it to spiral out of control—how fitting for everything we had just discussed. Ingram confessed that he had never seen this movie before. Or any movies for that matter. His confession caught everyone off guard, and for a moment, the heavy tension in the room lightened.

"You've never seen a movie?" Rhona asked, incredulous.

Ingram shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "What can I say? I was turned in the 1600s. Movies weren't exactly a thing back then, and I never really got into them after."

Helena's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well, you're in for a treat. Frankenstein is a classic."

We all filed into the living room, the dim light and the weight of our earlier conversation creating an oddly intimate atmosphere. Despite the gravity of what we had just discussed, there was something comforting about being together like this, united in our shared history and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

As we settled in, Ingram seemed uncharacteristically nervous, almost like a child about to experience something new for the first time. I caught his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, my touch grounding him as he found a spot on the large sectional sofa. The room, usually a place of serene quiet, was now filled with the soft hum of anticipation.

Gabriel took the remote and started the movie. The familiar Universal logo appeared on the screen, followed by the eerie, melodic strains of the opening score. For a moment, everything else fell away, and we were just a group of friends and family, enjoying a movie night together.

The black-and-white images flickered across the screen, pulling us into the world of Dr. Frankenstein and his ill-fated creation. As the story unfolded, the parallels between the film's narrative and our own situation were impossible to ignore. The themes of playing God, of creation and destruction, resonated deeply with everything we had uncovered about Joham and his twisted experiments.

I glanced over at Leah, who was seated next to Ethan. She was watching the movie with an intensity that mirrored her usual fierce determination, but there was something else there too—an understanding that went beyond the surface of the story. She knew what it was like to be misunderstood, to be seen as something monstrous, just as the creature in the film was.

Ingram, on the other hand, was completely captivated. His eyes were wide with wonder as he took in every detail, from the stormy skies to the crackling lightning that brought the monster to life. He leaned in closer, his body language showing just how engrossed he was in this new experience. I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm, resting my head on his shoulder as we watched together.

As the movie reached its climax, with Frankenstein's monster finally lashing out in anguish and confusion, I saw Ingram flinch. It was subtle, but it was there—an almost imperceptible reaction to the monster's pain, and perhaps, a recognition of his own. Though Ingram had always been one of the more lighthearted among us, there was a depth to his understanding of the world that often went unspoken.

When the movie ended, the room was quiet for a moment, everyone processing what they had just watched. The final scene, with the burning windmill and the townspeople's frantic attempts to destroy the creature, left a lingering sense of melancholy in the air.

"That was... intense," Ingram finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, thoughtful. "I didn't expect to feel so much for the monster."

"It's because he wasn't really the monster," Leah replied quietly, her gaze still on the darkened screen. "He was just trying to exist in a world that didn't want him."

Ethan reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Exactly. And in a way, we've all been there, haven't we? Trying to find our place in a world that sees us as something we're not."

Gabriel nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "That's what makes the story so powerful. It's a reflection of the dangers of misunderstanding, of fearing what we don't understand."

Helena leaned into Gabriel, her voice soft as she added, "And the consequences of playing with forces we can't control. It's a reminder that we have to be careful, not just with the world around us, but with ourselves."

Joseph, ever the pragmatist, sighed. "It's also a reminder that we need to figure out what Joham's next move is. We can't afford to let him continue his experiments unchecked. If he really is the doctor your mother was investigating, Violet, then we're dealing with something far more dangerous than we initially thought."

The gravity of his words settled over us once again, but there was a renewed sense of determination as well. We had faced danger before, and we would face it again—together.

As the night wore on, the family and Leah slowly began to disperse, each couple retreating with the weight of the day's revelations still heavy on their minds. Ingram, however, lingered behind, still deep in thought.

I stayed with him, sensing that he needed a moment to process everything. "You okay?" I asked gently.

Ingram nodded slowly, his eyes still on the now-blank screen. "Yeah, I just... I guess I never really thought about how similar our lives are to that story. How easily we could be misunderstood, or how close we come to becoming monsters ourselves."

I wrapped my arms around him, resting my head against his chest. "We're not monsters, Ingram. We're just trying to find our way, just like everyone else."

He held me close, finding comfort in my words and my presence. "I know. But it's still something to think about. Especially with everything that's happening now."

"We'll figure it out," I assured him. "Together."

Ingram smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Yeah, together."

His kiss was soft and reassuring, a silent promise that no matter what lay ahead, we would face it side by side. The weight of our discoveries lingered in the room, but in that moment, the comfort of his embrace made it bearable. We stood there in the dim light, letting the silence settle around us, each lost in our thoughts but connected by a shared resolve.

After a while, Ingram pulled back slightly, his gaze searching mine. "I know we've got a lot to figure out, but I'm glad we're doing it together, Violet. I can't imagine going through this without you."

I smiled, touched by his words. "I feel the same way. Whatever comes next, we'll face it head-on. We've come this far, and we're stronger because of it."

Ingram nodded, his expression softening. "You're right. We just need to keep moving forward, one step at a time."

As we left the living room, the echoes of the movie still lingered in my mind, mingling with the more pressing thoughts of Joham and my mother. The parallels between Frankenstein's creation and our own lives were too striking to ignore, but unlike the doomed monster, we had each other—and that made all the difference.

But as we walked, I felt an arm on my waist as it pulled me back and I found myself in a dark corner with Ingram looking down at me; a little smirk appeared on his bearded face.

"You know, the next sunrise is hours away," Ingram whispered but I could hear him clearly.

His voice was low, rough with intent, sending a shiver down my spine. The gravity of the day's events still weighed on me, but in that moment, with Ingram so close, a different kind of tension sparked between us.

I looked up at him, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes, a welcome reprieve from the heavy conversations we'd had earlier. "And what are you suggesting we do with all that time?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ingram's smirk widened, his hand slipping from my waist to tangle in my hair. "I think we can find something to occupy ourselves," he murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed against my ear. His breath was warm, sending a wave of heat through me that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Before I could respond, his lips were on mine, the kiss deep and consuming, pulling me under like the dark waters of a still lake. The rest of the world faded away, the only thing that mattered was the feel of him, solid and real against me, the anchor I needed after a day spent grappling with impossible truths.

I melted into him, letting go of everything else—my mother's secrets, Joham's twisted experiments, even the eerie resonance of the movie we had just watched. Ingram's hands were firm on my waist, grounding me in the present, in the warmth and intensity of our shared moment.

But just as we were getting lost in each other, a sudden movement caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I barely had time to register it before I heard a faint, familiar exclaim.

"Ah, no!" Alana cried out. "It's bad enough that I saw you two in my vision: changing room and all that!"

Ingram and I sprang apart at the sound of her Scottish accent. The dim hallway we had slipped into suddenly felt much less private. I turned to see Alana standing a few feet away, her hands on her hips, an expression of mock exasperation on her face.

Ingram only chuckled, though there was a hint of embarrassment in his eyes. "Didn't mean to invade your visions, Alana," he said, his tone teasing. "But if you're going to spy on people with that clairvoyance of yours, you might see a few things you'd rather not."

Alana rolled her eyes dramatically, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Spy? It's not like I have a choice, you know. Sometimes these things just pop into my head." She shook her head, her expression softening as she looked between the two of us. "But seriously, a swimming pool changing room? You guys couldn't find anywhere more... I don't know, traditional?"

I felt a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. "It wasn't exactly planned," I said, trying to sound casual. "It just sort of happened."

"Clearly," Alana replied, crossing her arms. "But next time, maybe give a girl some warning? Or at least try to keep it to less public places where visions might catch you off guard."

Ingram smirked and threw an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "Noted, Alana. We'll try to be more... discreet."

"Thank you," Alana said, her voice laced with mock seriousness. Then, with a playful wink, she added, "Just remember, I see everything."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her long hair swaying as she disappeared down the hallway. I watched her go, though now more from the sudden burst of laughter that threatened to spill out than from the kiss.

Once she was out of earshot, I finally let the laughter escape, and Ingram joined in, his deep chuckle resonating in the quiet hallway.

"Well," I said. "That was... unexpected."

Ingram grinned, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my forehead. "It's all part of the fun, flower. Keeps things interesting."

I shook my head, still smiling as I wrapped my arms around his waist, savouring the warmth of his embrace. "I guess it does. But maybe we should take Alana's advice and be a bit more cautious next time."

"Agreed," Ingram said, his voice softening. "But for now, let's just enjoy the moment."

I nodded, resting my head against his chest as we stood there, the world outside forgotten for just a little while longer. In the quiet of the mansion, with the distant sounds of the others settling in for the night, there was a sense of peace between us, a calm that was all too rare given the chaos that surrounded our lives.

And though the mysteries of my mother's past and the dangers posed by Joham still loomed large in my mind, in that moment, with Ingram holding me close, I felt like we could face anything. Together.

[speechlesslili]

I flush darkly as I go over the pages, taking photos with my comm forever and ever.

Deciding to change my tactic of how I want to tell Anakin, I scramble for a red pen on his bedside table and immediately move to go back through his journal.

I draw little hearts over my favorite entries, <3 writing replies and notes in the spaces around or between his words. I’m sorry this mission was hard for you, please let me know in the future. I’ll use the recipe book Beru gave me to make you something of your Mama’s next time.

For his drawings I put exclamation points !!! and comments over how good I think they are. Love this pose- you’re so amazing.

And… for that one page… I draw my own little arrows with my replies to each section.

Eyes: my puppy eyes? How about we talk about your soulful eyes. That scream depths of emotion I know I’ll never understand, but I can try to. That turn dark with rage and light with laughter.

Mouth: I can confirm a kiss from you is unlike anything anyone else will ever feel. They won’t get the privilege. Maybe instead of my lips you’ll let me use my tongue on every part of you. You deserve that gentleness. But… perhaps… my teeth if not.

Hair: call me Goldilocks anytime you want, now that I know what you think. In other news I tried to think of compliments for you and your hair but I think it boils down to fuck you for having better hair than me, you asshole of a man.

Ears: I’ll kill you if you whisper to me when I’m asleep rather than when I’m drunk off your cock awake. :p

Cheeks: can confirm I blush like a madman. Cant wait to see the ways I can make you blush.

Throat: only one way to find out baby boy. ;)

At the end of the book, I write one final passage to him,

I hope the boy from Tatooine knows he’s had the girl from the streets of Coruscant since they met. You may call me Angel, but you’re my savior in every way. I love how you make me feel better when I’m sad, how you nurse me when I’m sick, how you let me win sparring sessions, how you like to braid my hair, how you let me read to you and end up falling asleep with those cute sleepy hums when you try to convince me you’re awake, how you’re so perfect to me.

I love when you make me feel safe. When you let yourself loose when someone you love gets hurt. When you’re having a bad day and you feel like a cold ocean in the Force. When you punch someone too hard and for longer than when you needed because you have to get it out. When you are dark. I love you when you are dark. It never scares me.

I am sorry it’s taken this long for me to say anything, but I’ve loved you since we were kids. I was just too scared of rejection and losing you entirely. Fuck the code, you’re my everything.

I hope you forgive me for leaving in the night, I figured you’d want a moment to read all this privately. ;)

I leave the book in my spot on the bed before kissing him one more time and then leaving the room.

In the morning, since I found it too hard to sleep, I head out to do some early morning training. I try not to think about his wake up too hard.

Anakin slowly wakes up in the morning with a deep groan, his conscious presence becoming known to everyone who has a bond with him.

He pauses when he sees his journal in a space it absolutely was not in last night. Because you were there. Did-

“Oh no,” he murmurs, grabbing his journal. Did you read it?!

He opens the book and frantically flips through the pages, immediately going back when he sees red pen all over. “What the…”

It takes him only a moment to process that’s your handwriting, and he loosens a nervous breath, leaning against the headboard as he goes through each note. You’re going to be so mad when you see his drawings. So fucking mad. Dammit!

He enjoys the endearing notes while he can, then slowly, nervously turns to… those drawings… straightening at all the notes you left.

“I can confirm a kiss from you- she kissed me?” He whispers, brows furrowing as he rubs his fingers along his bottom lip, reading further. “… my tongue on every- oh my… teeth- gods, Lili,” he breathes.

He manages a soft laugh when you get mad at him over his hair, that laugh instantly dying out and replacing itself with a quiet, stunned noise as he sees those four words scratched out. “Drunk on your cock,” he whispers, groaning quietly. “Oh my gods…” what else is there to say when his whole body is aflame with lust even stronger than what he felt before???

Deciding he needs a break after those notes, he gets up and walks a few laps around his room, having to adjust his stride while he waits for his boner to leave. Holy hell, this woman…

He pauses in the middle of his room as he flicks to the last page, slowly reading and processing every word you wrote. Tears burn his eyes and he lowers himself onto the foot of his bed, clutching the journal to his chest as he allows himself to cry for a few minutes.

You love him?

You love him. You see him. You accept him- and every part of him, not just the ones that benefit you orrr that seem easier to accept. You love… him. All of him. After so long of thinking he would never have a shot with you, you do something like this, and suddenly everything seems like it’s going to be okay. He hasn’t felt this light in at least a year.

When he’s finally calmed down enough, he blinks remaining tears from his eyes and studies your writing as he nudges you in the bond.

Where- where are you?