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purgatoryandme · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I can't seem to find the post you made with all the books references in Illuminate Me and the reason behind it? Is it deleted?

I know that there is an incomplete one floating around in my reply tag, and it should be in the Illuminate Me tag, but tumblr’s search features are so bad that I went back to the original word doc of the complete list, so prepare for that particular storm lol. Quoted/Referenced Reading List (In Order of Appearance) Shakespeare: Macbeth I opened on a Macbeth quote (‘When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lighting, or in rain’) because I wanted to start with something immediately relatable. Most readers were introduced to more ‘dramatic’ plays through Macbeth. Beyond that, they were introduced to the concept of pathetic fallacy, which I think plays nicely with Tony as a character (a man who is CONSTANTLY imparting emotion onto inanimate objects…and then actually giving them their own emotions) and with one of the core problems in IM, which is deciding the emotions of others for them. I was hoping to get the ‘feel’ of that without having to lean too far into the actual concept.

Bonus: I picked this quote in particular because of the importance of threes in Tony’s life (his core group of friends, iterations of the reactor, number of times reborn, his bot children VS his AI children, the number of lovers or almost lovers he has in the fic, etc). Milton: Paradise Lost ‘What is dark within me, illuminate!’ is a modernization of the original Milton quote ‘what is dark within me, illumine’ for readability. I actually feel a bit bad about changing this considering how many people think this is the original quote now. This wound up being a central (and title) quote somewhat by accident. I’m fond of it because of how much I liked a different one that I had originally wanted for Tony’s thoughts of the reactor: ‘yet from those flames, no light, but rather darkness visible’. I had originally wanted to start off on a sadder note, one that showed how much Tony hated losing his humanity, and so the flames of Hell and their physics-bending concept seemed thematically appropriate. I had always intended to eventually invert the imagery – instead of Extremis being (to Tony) flames capable of extinguishing light, the reactor would become a water-like blue light that couldn’t be choked or recreated by any of the shadows that pursued Tony in his life. I picked Milton SPECIFICALLY for the imagery of light and shadows.

But, man, listen. Darkness visible is a great concept, but it’s also tired. It has, as you’ve noted, been discussed to death. So as I was reading ‘Milton’s darkness visible and Aeneid 7’ to refamiliarize myself with some of the broader themes attached to that particular piece of imagery, I wound up thinking about how to invert the darkness itself instead of the overall concept. The flames of Hell extinguish light instead of having to exist away from it. It is a bad that cannot be penetrated by good.

Instead of chasing away shadows, which would be implied by shining a light ON them, the request Tony makes here is to actually invert the darkness - to have it illuminate in and of itself. It’s becoming something better instead of being removed or forgotten. On the flip side of that, the darkness within isn’t growing as light weakens, but rather under its own force. Two forces equal in nature and origin in a person. It’s a different take on lighting than the one most critics hammer home. Long ramble is long, but this was the basis for using that quote. It grew from there to have many different meanings, however the core has always remained. All in all I’m pleased with it.

EM Forster: A Room with a View Very forgiving even in its satirical takes on human nature. A lot of passages are very therapy-quotable in their urging to accept the inevitability of causing some harm in life. It plays on a lot of the same concepts with light being obvious metaphor for good and evil that Paradise Lost does, but softens them into more realistic shades of human existence. Isaac Asimov: Foundation Continuing on with themes of rigid morality vs the flexibility and romanticism of humanity, we have Asimov, master of machines and the three rules of robotics! There are lots of quotable epigrams in this beast. The quote pulled from this has two readings depending on what you assume of the man who has said it. If you see him as manipulative, there’s an insidious underpinning of killing off your own morals. If you see him as a kind man, then you could read it as foregoing morals in place of empathy. Tony’s therapist loves a very specific brand of double speak that lets Tony work through the conversation purely through interpretation. Tolstoy: Anna Karenina Tolstoy’s prose is lengthy...so so lengthy, but Anna Karenina is worth the read as long as you relate to at least one of its major characters. Frankly, I think you can choose to read a single character’s plot arc and leave it at that. It’s mostly a novel that is interesting, not because of its plot, but because of its study of relationship dynamics. Tolstoy was really invested in picking apart the idea of what makes a ‘family’ and, beyond that, what makes a class. It’s refreshing to see so much of the critique occurring within the lived experience of the characters instead of through a narrator or outside punishing moral forces. Baudelaire: Windows and Benediction I cannot recommend enough reading multiple translations of Baudelaire poems (fleursdumal.org has a wonderful array available). Benediction is a personal favourite. I love me some malevolence wrapped up in religion. Dante: The Divine Comedy There’s a lot of bleak humor in Dante if you look for it. Several interpretations insist of making each piece excessively grim dark, but faithful translations tend to have a hint of humor in them. It works well for engraving War Machine’s spine - a benediction and a mockery of human limitations. I try to pick quotes that not only fit the scene, but would still fit into the context of the grander themes from whence they came...unless I hate the author. Tennyson: The Lady of Shallot “I am sick of shadows” vs “I am half-sick of shadows”. Tony’s expressing more frustration here with being alone and his passive involvement in that loneliness. Another quote I feel vaguely bad about changing, haha. The Lady of Shallot is a very nice classical piece that I’m sad isn’t taught in schools alongside Hamlet. There are some nice Ophelia parallels here. I wanted a feminine influence on Tony’s loneliness and one that is somewhat youthful despite his age. Yeats: Vacillation I fucking hate Yeats as a person. That said, the man can write. The man can REALLY write. His pieces are almost always layered to the point of absurdity and he’s perfect to swiping quotes with multiple meanings. Definitely Tony’s kind of author. Goethe: Faust Speaks for itself and in the author’s notes on its reference. Dostoyevsky: The Brothers Karamasov IMO a book that deserves all the acclaim of Anna Karenina and then some. Very VERY Russian in its ethical debates of, as always, religious morality vs free will. Also dips into familial struggles and patricide, because it wouldn’t be a Russian classic if it didn’t contain some deeply buried bitter resentment towards paternalism. I’m going off-script here, but this is a fucking excellent book. I don’t really have words for how much I enjoy how Dostoyevsky explores the concepts that he does. Shakespeare: Julius Ceasar Shakespeare: Twelfth Night Twelfth Night deserves more credit for its development and maintenance of an enigma. Twelfth Night has charisma in spades both because of and in spite of the exceedingly petty actions of some of its characters. It is also a refreshingly simple take on love for the sake of it. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland Stephen King: Lisey’s Story I consider Lisey’s Story to be the best of King’s work. The man has his obvious writing ticks and his even more obvious issues as an author. Lisey’s Story contains many of them, but navigates them far better than any of his other work. The monster here is all in the mind and is too vast to truly see or understand. It’s perfectly representative of a creeping sense of inescapable horror. It was fun to flip it on its head with a reference here – Tony isn’t terrified of dying, but he is terrified of his inescapable enjoyment of Bucky’s company. Maria’s family saying is inspired by Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass Armitage: The Death of King Arthur A genuinely fantastic classic tale of heroism, filled with all the drama, tragedy, and sacrifice that you’d expect with strongly feminine undertones. I’m a sucker for this kind of thing. TS Eliot: The Wasteland Excellent piece of poetry with many layered meanings and dual interpretations. I can’t really articulate my thoughts on The Wasteland, but I reference an essay at the end of this list that does that for me. Oedipus Rex Rupert Brooke: Safety Not directly quoted but obscurely referenced through Bucky and Tony’s war conversations + Bucky’s conversation about, you got it, being ‘safe’ with his therapist. His poetry is about WWI and is, largely, idealistic. Safety is…not quite an exception to that. His other poetry contains a certain sense of honour and duty, whereas safety, maintaining a seemingly light tone, has nothing of the sort. It is safety in the soul – something untouchable by the horrors of war or death. It treats that as a ‘house’, which leant itself to the article Tony send Bucky. Armine Wodehouse: Before Ginchy Not directly quoted but obscurely referenced through Bucky and Tony’s war conversations + Bucky’s conversations with his therapist. This is also WWI poetry, though far darker than Brooke’s work. It discusses the parts of the heart and soul soldiers lose. It is an extremely good piece AND references Dante’s Inferno. I had to work it in somewhere even if I didn’t want to directly quote it. Meyer and Brysac: Tournament of Shadows Referenced several times over in discussion of war, the great game, and British military history. Beautifully self-aware account of Britain’s insistence on rewriting history after the fact and the tiny hilariously embarrassing moving pieces that shaped what is often considered the heyday of espionage. Murakami: Kafka on the Shore I love Murakami’s response to questions about understanding the novel as a whole. There are no solutions, only riddles presented, and through their interaction the possibility of a solution takes place. It’s a great lens through which to view the book and individual passages taken out of it. Reminds me of The Wasteland having to be read in totality before you can begin picking it apart, after which each individual piece can be read of its own. Kafka on the Shore, with its musings on the uncertainty of fate and redemption, was the perfect book to outline Tony’s horrifying realization, which he is desperately suppressing, that he might be coming to accept Bucky’s feelings. This quote in particular, while I would’ve used it anyway, is also a great callback to the first chapter and its storms. Chapter 29 is a turning point. Beyond it there are some intentional quote contrasts that are probably more easter eggs than they are anything else. Yeats: A Dialogue of Self and Soul Great contrast with Vacillation. Some parts of self and soul are used in that poem and thematically they are connected and contrasted - self and heart vs self and soul. The symbolism and imagery in Vacillation is really on point and layered, but Self and Soul is peak Yeats for its reversal of the typical ‘the soul is pure and bluntly honest and the body is tainted and bad’ in Christian works. Also Self and Soul’s broader context is scrumptious considering the debate poems history of relying on divine forgiveness and lack thereof instead of on forgiveness of the self.

It was fun to give this poem a double meaning in IM as both hugely ominous and ultimately pointing to the later forgiveness Tony receives from himself through the divine (if the soul stone can be called that) in the heavens (space!). There’s also another fun twist to ‘who can distinguish darkness from the soul’ in its contrast with ‘what is dark within me, illuminate’. To take that a step further, Vacillation was the beginning of the path of forgiveness for Bucky (understanding Tony’s heart…somewhat literally as he slowly gets closer and closer to the reactor itself), while Self and Soul is a final step (re: Bucky being presented the final hurdle of Tony deciding to move forward alone). Hermann Hesse: Siddhartha Hesse is wonderfully blunt at times. I gotta admit I love German takes on spiritual self-discovery because they always seem to tend towards much more straightforward answers than other countries. Hesse’s relationship with Buddhism in literature vs his lived experience is also really intriguing. Anyway, Siddhartha, in its humanizing of Gods, is wonderful contrast to the consistent imagery of the untouchable and unknowable forces of good and evil in previously quoted works. It has stopped bringing humanity to the divine and has started placing the divine within humanity. Emily Wilson’s translation of the Odyssey One of the ultimate poetic epics. Now that we are nearing the end, I’m going overtime with making the grander themes of this whole piece hit home. A lot of IM was built on a foundation of poetic epics, of heroism, and a bit of Greek tragedy. The Odyssey embodies all of those things beautifully. It also suited Thor too well to pass up. Yeats: An Irish Airman Forsees His Death Ah, Yeats. Very blatant foreshadowing here that is keeping with the foreshadowing from Self and Soul. Fate has, up till this point, been a bit of a question. It has been ‘when will it come to me’ and ‘how will I avoid or overcome it’. Now fate is a set point. It is knowable and present. ‘I know I shall meet my fate, somewhere among the clouds above’. This goes for the true onset of Infinity War and for Tony’s feelings towards Bucky – when he had no one, he allowed Bucky in after essentially promising himself he wouldn’t. If that’s not an accidental admittance of love, nothing is. Henley: Invictus Absolutely fantastic poem. Continuing with the heavy fate themes coming into this climax. Now that Tony knows his fate, truly knows it, he is choosing to take it on directly. Agamemnon (Anne Carson’s Traslation if you prefer a more modern language approach, Lattimore is you prefer a classic) Agamemnon is forgotten all too often in the world of poetic epics and it’s a damn shame. I cannot say enough good things about it. I always wanted to use lines from Agamemnon in a Tony fic because the Cassandra parallels were too perfect to resist. The chorus in this play was also a perfect narrative device for interacting with something of a hive mind. Yeats: The Wanderings of Oisin Another poetic epic. Nice contrast with The Odyssey, The Death of King Arthur, and Agamemnon. Here the dialogue is between an aged hero and a saint looking into the hero’s past. It has the kind of reflective and aged mood necessary for this stage of the story, but is actually a poem I sortof hate. The line ‘And a softness came from the starlight, and filled me full to the bone’ is absolutely gorgeous, though. Some final inspiration pieces:

The Penelopiad

The Iliad

House of Leaves (for surrealism in the final chapters)

Dante at Verona (used in an author’s note as an intentional jab at the dull uninspired nature of the this particular take on Dante. Repurposed quote, essentially)

a broke machine just blowin’ steam by themikeymonster (great character study of Bucky)

Frank Kermode’s essay “Eliot and the Shudder” (inspiration behind Tony’s entire interaction with literature)

#long post #reply #illuminate me #literature references

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fallout4holmes · 5 years ago

Text

Journal 59

The preparations took weeks, but regiment by regiment the Brotherhood of Steel began the march home. Preston, Danse, and Valentine returned home long before, while I stayed in Cambridge to coordinate supply runs and as a gesture of goodwill. Paladin Brandis took it upon himself to act as a sort of liaison between me and the more stubborn soldiers. Proctor Teagan was just glad to have a willing source of supplies who wasn’t going to charge him an arm and a leg. I tried not to interact much with anyone else.

Preston and Danse came back to Cambridge on the final day of the Brotherhood’s departure. They claimed it was to escort me home. I believe that to be true, but more significantly I think Danse wanted to say goodbye.

We stood down the street from the police station, watching the final preparations. A Scribe hurried over to us, “General Holmes?”

“Scribe Haylen,” I greeted.

“When you see Deacon again, could you tell him I said thank you for helping me out? He distracted the Proctors when I was almost caught for jamming the communications array.”

“When you what?” Danse exclaimed. It was fortunate we were a distance away from the rest of the Brotherhood.

Haylen was offended, “It seemed like the only way to prevent the war was to stop the orders from coming through! How was I supposed to know no orders would be coming?"

Danse was astounded, “Why would you do something so foolish? If you’d been caught, your career would have been over, if not your life!”

Haylen stood tall and firmly stated, “Former commanding officer of mine always taught that I should stand by my principles, no matter what, sir.”

Danse was silent a solid two seconds as Preston and I tried not to smile. “Hmph. Well, he’s an idiot…” he softened with a small laugh, “a grateful and damn proud one.”

Haylen smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” Preston quietly suggested.

“Thank you, Colonel, but no. I need to go home.” She took Danse’s hand, “I'm glad to have known you, sir.”

“I feel the same.” He let go, “Take care of yourself, Haylen.”

“I will,” she said, and hurried off.

We watched in silence as the last vertibird took flight back toward the Capital Wasteland, the last caravan of soldiers marching south. The Brotherhood of Steel had left the Commonwealth.

Danse removed his helmet. “It’s strange, seeing them leave. I’m not as upset as I thought I would be.”

“You’ve a life to look forward to here,” I smiled. “A brave new world, all over again.”

Preston grinned, “Time to get back to work.”

After the Brotherhood's departure, the Railroad was free to spread out from the Boathouse as a less clandestine organization and more of a community service for synths. There are still plenty of people in the Commonwealth who are afraid of synths and react with anger upon their discovery, but without the Institute and without the Brotherhood to literally hunt them down, the Railroad has less and less reason to relocate them, and more and more reason to help educate the populace.

Liam Binet decided to move into the remains of Covenant, and turn the now overgrown and rundown settlement into a Minutemen Research Center. He was disturbed by the human remains littering the ground outside of town, and paled when I told him of the town's former purpose. Tinker Tom rigged an explosion to safely collapse the tunnel to the Compound; Liam wanted no part of that legacy of horror. Institute refugees were welcomed, along with any settler willing to apply themselves and learn what the scientists could teach. I insisted upon complete transparency, and Sturges and Curie both will make regular trips to see what progress is being made.

Isabel Cruz has thus far proven good to her word, working with Ada to design robots to defend settlements and assist with Minutemen patrols. As for the Minutemen themselves, Colonel Garvey plans on making regular trips to the Castle, though his office will remain in Sanctuary. Lieutenant Colonel Danse will also continue to oversee the training of the new recruits in Sanctuary. The current system in place works, and has even become a rite of passage for the new generation of recruits. The Minutemen grow stronger every day, and I can think of no two better people to guide them.

Two weeks after the Brotherhood of Steel left the Commonwealth, Valentine and I brought Shaun, Codsworth, and of course Dogmeat, on a trip to Sanctuary. Hancock and Cait escorted Piper and Nat at the same time, making quite the merry crowd on the trip north. We arrived at Sanctuary to see even MacCready and Duncan had been invited, and Deacon was there as well. Curie was bustling about the town, overseeing soldiers and townspeople alike as they decorated and prepared food.

I must admit, I was a bit nervous. Danse and Preston had asked me to perform the greatest honor I could imagine as their General, and more importantly, as their friend. I even dusted off my official uniform for the occasion. Valentine joked I should feel right at home, “seeing as how you’ve got experience impersonating a priest.” Oddly, it didn’t put me at ease.

Well, it was nearing time for the event, and neither groom was anywhere to be seen. Valentine went to check on Danse, while Sturges went to find Preston.

.......................

“Hey, Danse? You ok…” Nick trailed off into a quiet chuckle at the sight of Danse scowling at his reflection, a tie hanging twisted and undone around his neck. “Here, lemme do that.” Danse sighed and allowed Nick to help. “Never learned how to tie one of these things, did you?”

“Why would I?” Danse demanded, exasperated. “Neither of my uniforms required them.”

“Good point. Didn't want to wear your uniform?”

Danse looked down over his grey suit and blue vest, the same colors of his armor. “In a way, this is a different sort of uniform. I don't anticipate wearing this again.” Nick finished and stepped back. Danse looked in the mirror… and sighed, “Why am I doing this?”

Nick’s brow rose, “Thought this was your idea?”

“It was. I thought… clearly, I was malfunctioning on some level.”

“Hm. Can't say I've ever had a malfunction that made me propose to the fella I loved when I didn't want to.” Danse crossed his arms with rolled eyes, and then set to straightening his already straight jacket. Nick smiled, “Don't tell me you're nervous?”

“No. This is just,” he glanced at the window, “more than I thought.”

“You mean the party waiting? Hell, first marriage Sanctuary's seen, can't blame folks for wanting to celebrate.”

“I don't, but it's… uncomfortable. Valentine, why haven't you and Holmes married?”

Nick blinked. “You know, I think it just never occurred to us? Been living together, and Shaun became like a son to me so fast… guess I slipped into being married without stopping to think about it.” Nick paused a moment, “You wanna elope?”

Danse was confused, “What?”

“Skip all this, run out of town with your man down to Diamond City, have the reverend say a few quick words, honeymoon anywhere you want?”

Danse grinned, “Abandon my duties?”

That brought a warm chuckle. “Not even for love, huh?”

“Not for what is supposed to be a symbol of devotion and affection,” Danse clarified. “I know Preston would agree.”

“Suit yourself,” Nick shrugged. “Why'd you wanna do the symbol of devotion and affection anyway?”

Danse was quiet a long moment, looking off to the side but not really seeing what was in front of him. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm not very good at telling him… it felt like something I should do.”

“He knows you love him, Danse. You've told him that much, at least?”

Danse chuckled, “Yes. But a wedding felt like a promise, with all the weight the ritual places on it. Something I can hold in memory, a…” he grasped for a fitting description, and when he found it he looked at Nick like he’d discovered something amazing. “It’s an initiation. Of sorts,” he faltered, sighing, “That sounds idiotic.”

“Nope,” Nick said.

“Really?”

Nick nodded with a smile, “Really. You ready?”

Danse took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”

Sturges hurried to find Preston. Danse was using their house, so Preston was in Sturges’s place. Why the hell the two people getting married couldn’t be in the same room he didn’t know, but Curie had been insistent that this was some sort of old tradition, and the two lovebirds had actually liked the idea. “Hey boss, you ready… oh c'mon, you ain't even dressed?!”

Preston stared at him, confused, “What do you mean?”

“Danse is in a suit.”

Preston looked at his uniform, “… shit. A suit? Fuck.”

“You didn't even look in the box, did you?”

“What box?!”

“The box with your name on it? Compliments of Anne Hargraves?”

Preston rushed to the box on the dresser Sturges was pointing to, opened it, and said, “…oh.”

Sturges rolled his eyes, “Man sees a custom made suit and he says ‘oh.’ Hustle, boss, the bride's waiting.”

“Don't let Danse hear you call him the bride.”

“Don't think he's gonna care, now hurry up. What the hell have you been doing in here?”

“Thinking. Pacing. Mostly thinking. Is he really waiting?”

Sturges glanced out the window, “He just stepped outside, folks are talking, you're not that late.”

“Late to my own wedding. Holy shit I'm having a wedding.”

Sturges smirked, “Sure are, boss. Kinda surprised Danse suggested it.”

“So was I. But it seemed important and… and yeah, I wanna spend the rest of my life with him. I love him.”

“This what you were thinking about when you should have been getting dressed?”

Preston laughed a little, sheepish, “Yeah. Still can't believe… any of it. That this is how my life is turning out.”

He looked in the mirror. The blue suit fit perfect, the grey vest reminding him of the Minutemen flag. He straightened the tie, it had been ages since he’d worn one, and Sturges put a hand on Preston’s shoulder.

“Glad you stuck with us, Preston.”

Preston smiled, “So am I.”

Sturges grinned, “C'mon lover boy, let's get you out there. Rest of your life is waiting.”

.......................

I’ve seen multiple weddings, some of which I was even invited to, and this one surpassed them all by far. The unbridled joy on their faces after the wedding kiss was a sight to behold. They didn’t leave each other’s side the entire evening. Preston even taught Danse to dance, a simple slow sway to a song on the radio, but dance just the same. Stories were told, multiple people produced packs of cards, the wine flowed freely, as well as some stronger substances courtesy of Mayor Hancock, but he also kept stock of who had had enough. The night was growing late when Preston suddenly interrupted Danse recounting a battle to a handful of recruits to kiss him, deeply. Danse’s expression completely changed, the recruits giggled maniacally, and set to ensure the newlyweds would leave the party immediately and unhindered.

“About time,” Valentine said to me as Danse and Preston hurried home. As I laughed, he put his arm around my shoulders, “Why haven’t we ever done this?”

“I am perfectly content to support my friends, but I can’t imagine being the focus of such an event.”

“We could always elope.”

I smiled, “Do you have a sudden desire to get married, Nick?”

He chuckled, “Not particularly, Sherlock. Just a question we never asked, is all.”

“I see. In that case, Nick Valentine, do you promise to have me as your partner, to love, comfort, and honor, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live?”

He smiled, small, and his eyes seemed to glow a little brighter. “I do.”

It is strange the emotion that so simple a phrase can elicit. “So do I.”

We left the party, made sure our son was sound asleep in bed, and followed the example of the newlyweds.

I am not so naive as to think the future will be easy. The Minutemen have made great progress, but there are still plenty of cold and bitter hearts and minds in the Commonwealth. Yet no matter what challenges we may face, no matter how strong the winds of conflict and war, as long as there are people who value compassion and justice before all else then a cleaner, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. We'll make sure of it.

#fallout 4 #fan fiction #danse #preston #nick valentine #danse/preston #brotherhood of steel #the minutemen #sherlock holmes #crossover

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metalforhands · 6 years ago

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Companion - Lucille Garcia

tagged by: @andremarshallwhite! they tagged whoever wanted to do this... which meant me! i wanted to do this! also i really want to travel with andre now,, the second that companion mod drops hmu ;o

tagging: @marvilus73, @mars-colony, @scorpio-skies, @lothrilzul, @mcsquidder, @justaname02, @sil-ly-boy, @wastelandwandererstuff, @nukenai and whoever else wants to do this! you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to ;v; i added a few sections that you might want to get rid of though. adjust it to your liking!

PRE-QUEST (IN THE BOS)

NAME: Knight Garcia

FOUND on the Prydwen. Possible companion following the quest Show no Mercy.

WEARS a set of T-60 Power Armor with BOS Knight Paint. Wears no helmet, but has one in her inventory if the player wants to equip it. Orange BOS uniform worn underneath, and is only seen out of Power Armor on specific occasions.

COMPANION PERK: Hawk’s Eye - 10% increase in VATS accuracy, +1 to PER

WEAPON OF CHOICE: slightly modded Laser Rifle (long range), Combat Knife (Melee)

IDLE DIALOGUE:

“Hm... the Commonwealth is so different from the Capital Wasteland. I like it.”

“It’s nice having someone watch your back, huh?”

“Keep an eye out for any technical documents. Proctor Quinlan will want them.”

“You know, it isn’t easy out here. Gotta take it one day at a time.”

IF THE SOLE SURVIVOR’S RADIO IS ON: “[quietly humming to whatever song is playing]...”

I THINK WE SHOULD TRAVEL TOGETHER:

“I’m all ready to go. Lead the way, [rank].”

“Got it.”

“Alright, sounds good to me. Let’s go.”

USE MELEE:

“Really? Is there a reason why you want me to use… never mind.”

“Permission to speak freely? This is a terrible idea.”

“[muttered under breath] My funeral, I guess.”

USE RANGED:

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Let’s do this.”

“Time to burn some ozone.”

OPEN INVENTORY:

“What do you need, [rank]?”

“I can help you carry that.”

IF OVERENCUMBERED:

“I... should probably mention that you’re going over the recommended carrying capacity.”

“You’re going even slower than me… hell, and I’m in Power Armor.”

“Give me some of that, okay?”

STAY CLOSE:

“Tight formation. Got it.”

“It’ll be hard to lose me in this armor.”

“Understood.”

KEEP DISTANCE:

“Good idea. I’ll watch your back.”

“Just don’t get into any trouble. Won’t be able to get to you right away.”

“Understood.”

STEALTH:

“I’m wearing Power Armor. Do you really think… never mind.”

“Just don’t get mad if someone hears me.”

“Not really how we do it in the Brotherhood, but I’ll try.”

BACKUP:

“Oh, okay.”

“Understood.”

“Got it.”

BE PASSIVE:

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you.”

“Like how you think, [rank].”

"Never really liked how we’re expected to shoot first, ask questions later. But you, you’re different.”

BE AGGRESSIVE:

“Understood.”

“If you’re certain.”

“We could probably go about this another way.”

USE STIMPACK:

“I needed that. Thank you.”

“Ugh… thanks, [rank].”

“Shit... thanks.”

WAIT HERE:

"Holding position.”

“Be quick. I don’t like being out here in the open.”

FOLLOW ME:

“Understood.”

“After you.”

“Safety in numbers.”

DISMISSED:

“Only if you’re sure. I’ll see you around.”

“Be careful out there, [rank].”

“You stocked up on vertibird grenades? If not, I’ll lend you one.”

SEND THEM HOME (FOLLOWER BASE):

“Got it. See you back on the Prydwen.”

"Alright. Needed to work on a few repairs, anyway. See you around.”

“Good timing. My eye’s starting to act up again. Guess I’ll have to check in with Cade.”

ENEMIES (LONG RANGE - OR COMPLIMENTS ON PLAYER CHARACTER’S CONFIRMED KILL USING A SNIPER RIFLE ON LONG RANGED TARGET)

“We’ve got company!”

“Safeties off!”

“Time to rock n’ roll.”

“Teach you how the Brotherhood does it!”

“Nice shot, [rank]!”

“[laughs] Damn! Right on target!”

“Like music to my ears.”

ENEMIES (CLOSE RANGE)

“Shit! Safeties off!”

“[grunt] Get off!”

"Had it comin’!”

LOSE AS COMPANION PERMANENTLY:

- Lowered affinity from too many dislikes/hates: chem addictions, murder, stealing, lying, aggressive solutions, agreeing to work with Bobbi No-Nose, siding with Bobbi No-Nose, refusing to help Billy, selling Billy into slavery, siding with the scavengers over Ironsides, allowing Elder Maxson to kill Paladin Danse during Blind Betrayal, etc...

- Becoming enemies with the Brotherhood of Steel while she’s still affiliated with them.

- The Sole Survivor, not Elder Maxson, killing Paladin Danse during Blind Betrayal.

- Not evacuating the Institute.

PERSONAL QUEST - A Change in Tides

This quest will only trigger if the Sole Survivor didn’t kill Paladin Danse during Blind Betrayal. If he was spared, or if Elder Maxson killed him, this quest will pop up alongside Tactical Thinking.

Max affinity with Knight Garcia cannot be reached before completing this quest. This also blocks off her final affinity conversation. Her final affinity conversation will change depending on the outcome of this quest.

Following Blind Betrayal, Knight Garcia will question her place in the Brotherhood. Her unease with their aggressive methods is mentioned during previous affinity conversations.

After seeing what happened to Paladin Danse, a selfless soldier she knew and greatly respected, she doesn’t know what to do. Does she abandon the Brotherhood? Or does she stay?

The Sole Survivor can help her decide. If Danse was spared, there will be no speech checks required to convince Knight Garcia to stay or leave. She trusts the Sole Survivor’s opinion, and takes their advice. However, if Elder Maxson killed Paladin Danse, the Sole Survivor will have to pass a difficult speech check to get her to stay. They won’t have to pass a speech check to get her to leave.

POST-QUEST (NOT IN THE BOS)

NAME: Lucille Garcia

FOUND at the Dugout Inn in Diamond City.

WEARS a Bomber Jacket with the BOS uniform. It’s assumed that you’ll put her in another outfit, much like you do with Curie.

COMPANION PERK: Hawk’s Eye - 15% increase in VATS accuracy, +2 to PER (Improved perk if the Sole Survivor convinces her to leave the BOS)

WEAPON OF CHOICE: slightly modded Laser Rifle (long range), Combat Knife (Melee)

IDLE DIALOGUE:

“I’m starting to like it here in the Commonwealth. Feels like home.”

“It’s nice having someone watch your back, huh?”

“Did you know Kells once caught me using my rifle as an air guitar? Had to scrape rust off the Prydwen for a week. Totally worth it.”

“You know, it isn’t easy out here. Gotta take it one day at a time.”

“I finally have some time to practice my piano. Vadim said he’ll pay me to play at his bar, so... like, I really have to brush up on my skills.”

IF THE SOLE SURVIVOR’S RADIO IS ON: “[singing along with whatever song is playing]...”

I THINK WE SHOULD TRAVEL TOGETHER:

“I was getting a bit antsy. Let’s go.”

“Got it.”

“Time to rock n’ roll.”

USE MELEE:

“Really? Is there a reason why you want me to use… never mind.”

“Damn, if only there was a weapon that shot lasers. At long range. Away from the enemy... oh, wait.”

“My funeral, I guess.”

USE RANGED:

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Alright, about time.”

“Time to burn some ozone.”

OPEN INVENTORY:

“You need anything?”

“I can help you carry something.”

IF OVERENCUMBERED:

“Uh... you should probably drop some of that.”

“I mean, if you’re trying to break a record for carrying the most crap, then yeah... keep it up. I believe in you.”

“Give me some of that, okay?”

STAY CLOSE:

“Tight formation. Like the good old days.”

“[laughs] You trying to tell me something?”

“You got it.”

KEEP DISTANCE:

“Good idea. I’ll watch your back.”

“Just be safe, okay? Won’t be able to get to you right away.”

“Understood.”

STEALTH:

“I’m still really bad at this kinda thing, you know.”

“Just don’t get mad if someone hears me.”

“I mean... I’ll try.”

BACKUP:

“Oh, okay.”

“Understood.”

“Got it.”

BE PASSIVE:

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you.”

“Like how you think.”

BE AGGRESSIVE:

“If you’re sure.”

“We could probably go about this another way.”

USE STIMPACK:

“I needed that. Thank you.”

“[sharp inhale] Thanks.”

“Shit... thanks.”

WAIT HERE:

"[light heartedly] Just don’t forget about me.”

“Be quick. I don’t like being out here in the open.”

“Alright. You know where to find me.”

FOLLOW ME:

“Got it.”

“After you.”

“Safety in numbers.”

DISMISSED:

“Only if you’re sure. I’ll see you around.”

IF ROMANCED: “Alright... just stay safe out there, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

SEND THEM HOME (FOLLOWER BASE):

“Got it. I’ll tell Vadim you say hi... or not. Up to you. You know how he is.”

"Right. You know where to find me. Don’t get yourself killed out there, okay?”

ENEMIES (LONG RANGE - OR COMPLIMENTS ON PLAYER CHARACTER’S CONFIRMED KILL USING A SNIPER RIFLE ON LONG RANGED TARGET)

“We’ve got company!”

“Safeties off!”

“Time to rock n’ roll.”

“Shame it had to come to that.”

“Nice shot!”

“[laughs] Damn! Right on target!”

“Like music to my ears.”

ENEMIES (CLOSE RANGE)

“Shit! Safeties off!”

“[grunt] Get off!”

"Had it comin’!”

LOSE AS COMPANION PERMANENTLY:

- Blowing up the Prydwen.

- Not evacuating the Institute.

ROMANCEABLE:

Yes, but only if she’s out of the Brotherhood.

ROMANCE LINES:

“You do something different with your hair today? It suits you. Well, I mean, any hair style suits you, but it looks extra nice today.”

“You know, after Nathan died, I was convinced I’d never have something like this again. I’m so glad I was wrong.”

“Whenever I look at you, I can’t help but wonder how I got so lucky.”

“I know I don’t say this a lot, but... thank you. Thank you for everything. I never thought I’d be this happy.”

“I really need to draw up a map... of your eyes. I keep getting lost in them. [laughs loudly] What? Too cheesy?”

“[quietly singing ‘Heart and Soul’ to herself] Heart and soul, I fell in love with you, heart and soul...”

LOVERS EMBRACE LINES:

“Hmm, mornin’...”

“Mmm… what time’d you get up?”

“You look so cute with your hair all messed up like that.”

“It’s so early. Can’t we stay in a bit longer...”

“Just admiring the view.”

AGGRESSION: aggressive/not aggressive/very aggressive/frenzied

CONFIDENCE: cowardly/cautious/average/brave/foolhardy

ASSISTANCE: helps nobody/helps allies/helps friends and allies

#fo4 #sole survivor #lucille garcia #tag meme #long post #this also fits well for april fools day! yay!!

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ststevanofdecani · 4 years ago

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The Kursk-Root Icon will be at St. Stevan Church on Saturday May 8, 2021. Divine Liturgy starting at 10:00 am. Everyone is invited and welcome to join us and receive the blessing of the Most Holy Theotokos. The Kursk-Root Icon is one the most ancient icons of the Russian Orthodox Church. In the 13th century, during the dreadful period of Tatar invasion of Russia, most of the devastated province of Kursk was emptied of people and its principal city, Kursk, became a wastelande. The residents of the nearby town of Rylsk often traveled to the site of Kursk to hunt wild beasts. One of the hunters, a pious man, going along the bank of the river Tuskora, 27 kilometres from the ruined city of Kursk, noticed an icon lying face down on the ground next to the root of a tree. The hunter picked it up and discovered that it was an icon of the Theotocos of the Sign. The Icon’s first miracle occurred, for as soon as the hunter had picked up the sacred image, a large spring of pure water gushed forth with great force. This took place on the feast of the Birth of Our Most Holy Lady of the Theotokos and Ever-Virgin Mary, September 8, 1295. The water became known for its miraculous healing power. With the help of friends, the hunter built a small wooden chapel and placed the newly manifested image of the Mother of God therein. Prince Vasily Shemyaka ordered that the Icon be brought to the town of Rylsk, which was done in a solemn manner. The people of the town went out to meet the Icon. But the prince, due to his lack of faith and piety, refused to attend the festivities, and for this reason was punished with blindness. The prince, acknowledging his wrong doing, ran out to meet the Icon. He publicly confessed his sin, and immediately received healing. Moved by this miracle, he built a church in the town of Rylsk in honour of the Nativity of the All-Holy Theotokos. The Icon was enshrined in this church, on September 8, this being the day of its manifestation. This date became the Icon’s annual feast day. The Icon, however, vanished in a miraculous manner, returning to the place of its original appearance. The residents of Rylsk continuously brought it back, but each time the holy Icon returned to the little deserted chapel in the woods. Innumerable pilgrims streamed to venerate the place of the Icon’s miraculous appearance, where a priest named Father Bogolyub, whose name means “lover of God”, struggled in asceticism at the humble wooden chapel. In the year 1383, the province of Kursk was subject to a new Tatar invasion. Finding the chapel in the woods where the priest was praying, they tried to set fire to it, but it refused to burn. The mean-spirited Tatars laid hold of the holy Icon and cut it in two. They threw one part into nearby bushes, while the other half they threw into the forest. The chapel then caught on fire and the priest was carried off as a prisoner. One day, as he was passing the time by singing prayers to the Mother of God, some representatives of the Tsar of Moscow who were passing by heard this chanting and arranged to ransom the priest from captivity. The priest returned to the former site of the chapel. There, to his great joy, he found the pieces of the miraculous Icon that the Taters had thrown away. A new chapel was then built on the original site of the Icon’s appearance and there it remained for about 200 years. The city of Kursk was revived in the year 1597 by command of Tsar Theodore Ivanovich of Moscow. This pious Tsar heard of the Icon’s miracles and expressed his desire to see it. The Icon was brought to Moscow with great solemnity, and was met by a great multitude. Tsatitsa Irene Theodorovna adorned the holy Icon with a precious riza (a metal covering). At the Tsar’s command, the Icon was placed in a special gold frame depicting the Lord and the Old Testament Prophets holding scrolls in their hands with prophecies concerning Christ and His Mother. The Icon was later returned and, with the close cooperation of the Tsar and many donations, a monastery was founded on the site of the chapel. This monastery was

called the Kursk-Root Hermitage, which is called in Russian Kursko-Korennaya Pustyn – “Korennaya” being a form of the Russian word for “root”. There were two main churches in it: one was dedicated to the Nativity of the Mother of God and the other to the Life-giving Spring, built over the original spring that had miraculously appeared where the Icon was first found. Due to the dangers of Tatar invasions, the Icon was transferred for safety from the Kursk-Root Hermitage to the city of Kursk. In 1603 Lzedimitriy I, who proclaimed himself to be the tsar, took the Icon to his camp in Putivl, and later – to Moscow, where it stayed at his palace till 1615. That time the miracle-working Icon was returned to Kursk. And in 1618 it was placed in the cathedral of the Znamensky Monastery, “Znamensky” meaning “of the Sign”, built in the city of Kursk. It was the time of Polish invasion, and the citizens of Kursk then made a vow that, if they were delivered from the enemy, they would construct a monastery in honour of the All-holy Theotokos. Soon thereafter , the Kursk-Root Hermitage was rebuilt and the Icon was carried in procession from the Kursk Monastery in the city to the hermitage and Back. Therefore, every year on Friday of the ninth week after Pascha (Easter), the Icon of the Sign is solemnly brought – 27 kilometers along - in procession from the Kursk Cathedral of Sign to the place of its original manifestation at the Kursk-Root Hermitage, where it remains until September 12. And so it was till the year of 1919 when the miracle-working Icon of the Theotokos left Russia. The Healing of the Saint Seraphim of Sarov Saint Seraphim (Prokhorus Moshnin) was born in the city of Kursk in 1759 of pious and well-to-do parents. In 1762 his father Isidore Moshnin was engaged in erecting a cathedral in honour of Our Lady of Kazan and saint Sergius of Radonezh. He had died, and the construction was finished by his mother Agathia, devoted to the Church even more than her husband. At the age of 9 Prokhorus became seriously ill, so that it was thought that he would not recover. Just at that critical time, in his sleep he had a vision of the Most Holy Mother of God Who promised to visit him and heal his sickness. When the wonderworking Kursk-Root Icon of Our Lady of Sign was carried in procession through Kursk, the procession went through the Moshnin’s yard. The pious Agathia took her sick child in her arms and carried him out to the Mother of God. The boy kissed the Icon and, soon after, he completely recovered. The Kursk-Root Icon Helps Orthodox Warriors Many pages of history are associated with the Kursk-Root Icon. Cossacks (an elite corps of horsemen mainly from Southern Russia) were blessed by it in 1676. By special decree copies of the miraculous Icon accompanied armies to the front; in 1812 people and chief of the Army duke M. Kutuzov prayed before such a copy during Napoleon’s invasion of Russia. During the Great Patriotic War (World War II) the Icon traveled with the Russian Army to the fronts and Russian soldiers felt the protective veil Our Lady of the Sign. Anarchists Attempt to Destroy the Icon In March of 1898, a group of anarchists (terrorists /revolutionists), wanting to undermine the people’s faith in the Icon’s wonderworking power, decided to destroy it. They placed a time bomb in the Cathedral of the Sign in the city of Kursk, and at 2 o’clock in the morning there was a devastating explosion that shook the monastery walls. The frightened monks ran immediately to the cathedral, where they saw horrible devastation. The force of the blast had shattered the gilded canopy above the Icon. The heavy marble base, built of several massive steps, had been jolted out of position and had split into several pieces. A huge metal candlestick that had stood before the Icon had been blown to the opposite side of the cathedral. A cast iron door near the Icon had been torn from the hinges and thrown outside where it had smashed against a wall and caused a deep crack. All the windows in the cathedral, including those in the dome above, were

shattered. Amid the general devastation, the holy Icon remained in one piece and even the glass within the frame remained whole. Thinking to destroy the Icon, the anarchists had, on the contrary, become the cause of its greater glorification. The Communist Revolution and the Theft of the Icon During the Bolshevik (Communist) revolution, the Icon was stolen from the Cathedral of the Sign on April 12, 1918. A search was made for the Icon, but it was not found. The holy object was discovered under the following circumstances. Not far from the monastery lived a poor girl and her mother, who for three days had nothing to eat. At that time, Kursk was controlled by the Bolshevik regime. On May 3, the girl, a seamstress, went to the marketplace in search of bread. On her way home she passed by a wall that, according to tradition, had been dug by Saint Theodosius of the Kiev Gaves. There, on the edge of the well, she saw a package wrapped in the sack. When she opened the package she found the sacred Icon, which apparently had been left there by those who had stolen it. At the end of October 1919, when the White Russian Army was evacuating the city of Kursk, the Icon was transferred to Novorossiisk. From there it left Russia on the Saint Nicholas steamship in the protection of Bishop Theophan of Kursk on March 1, 1920, and was transported to the city of Thessalonica, Greece. On April 2, Bishop Theophan took the Icon to the town of Pec, the ancient capital of Serbia. And in September 1920, it was again returned to the Crimea. On October 29, 1920, a year after leaving the city of Kursk, the holy image again left its native land during the evacuation of the White Army and those Russian people who refused to submit to the Soviet regime. The Kursk-Root Icon became the Hodigitria or Directress of the refugees. After arriving again in the kingdom of Serbs, Croatians and Slovenes (later named Yugoslavia), with the blessing of Patriarch Dimitry of Serbia, the holy Icon remained with the Bishop Theophan in the Serbian monastery. From the end if 1927, the Icon was to be found in the Russian church of the Holy Trinity in the city of Belgrade. In Eastern Europe with Russian Refuges During World War II, the Communists began invading countries in Western Europe (Poland, Romania and Bulgaria) and also succeeded in capturing Yugoslavia. The Icon, which was the faithful companion of those Russian People who had not accepted the Communist power, was removed from Belgrade on September 8, 1944, together with those who were once again fleeting from godless regime. It was first taken to Vienna, where it remained for several months. During this time, the city often underwent aerial bombing, and the Icon, as in Belgrade, worked many miracles during those difficult times. From ruined Vienna, the Icon was brought to the quiet city of Carlsbad in Germany, to which the Synod of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church Abroad had been evacuated. With the approach of the Bolsheviks, it was again transferred, this time to Munich, in the spring of 1945. The holy Icon proved to be unending consolation to many thousands of people experiencing all the trials and tribulations of the latter years of the Second World War. From Munich, the Icon was taken to Switzerland, France, Belgium, England, Austria, and many cities and camps in Germany. The Icon Arrives in New York In 1951 the Icon was transferred to America, where it gad its permanent residence, first in the New Kursk Hermitage in Mahopac, 40 miles from New York City, and since 1959 - in the Synod’s Cathedral Church of the Mother of God of Sign in New York City (75, East 93rd St.), the residence of the First Hierarch of the Russian orthodox Church Abroad. The Kursk-Root Icon Today Today the Icon visits Orthodox parishes all over the world and its fame is international. It is known for countless miracles, healings, and for assistance in misfortunes. It is significant that Saint John of Shanghai and San Francisco (+1966), who was glorified as a saint in 1994, reposed before this very Icon. For seven centuries,

faithful Orthodox Christians have prayed before the miraculous Kursk-Root Icon of the Mother of God and have received help according to their faith. Most Holy Theotokos save us!

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echoeternally · 8 years ago

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Fresh Air (Fanfic)

Hello again, followers and readers! I have another Pokemon one-shot that I’d like to post up. This one is about Quagsire, and how he was inspired to become a knight for the Iceberg Empire.

It offers a little characterization to Empoleon and Abomasnow, and focuses on Quagsire as a Wooper. And, like the others, it’s quasi-canon, with more the idea than the actual word-for-word context being canon.

It’s not too long, and will be posted below the cut, so click “Keep Reading” to enjoy a new one-shot!

Shrouded within a frozen palace in the northern regions, an emperor penguin sat on his throne and heavily sighed. He stared at the ceiling high above him, and muttered to himself. Gazing at the banners on the sides of the walls, he straightened up as the door creaked open. A large, tree-like yeti wandered down the throne room, one arm stuck rubbing behind his head, as he approached the emperor.

“Report, General.” The penguin’s gaze narrowed.

“…Emperor Empoleon—”

“Report, General Abomasnow,” repeated the penguin.

“As you wish.” Abomasnow sighed. “Two knights went missing today, on the search for the past four that we lost over a week ago. This puts your royal army ranks down to…five knights, as of now.”

Empoleon squeezed his eyes shut, and held a tightened grip on his throne.

“…The rest, General.”

“Sire, what’s the point—?”

“My point, Abomasnow,” thundered Empoleon, “is that I have continued the long held tradition of losing soldiers not to war, but to a vast white wasteland. And until I have a day that you come in here and report that we’ve lost no soldiers out there, I will continue to torment myself to the news of every lost soul that will never return, and drown in the guilt for doing so.”

“Why, sir?” Abomasnow shook his head. “What do we need from the Frozen Fields? Surely we could find alternatives to the crops and minerals found out there.”

“Our most critical resources from there are the medicinal herbs,” reminded Empoleon. “Without them, our people would suffer from the backlash of this horrid weather.”

“Perhaps relocation is in order for those that cannot withstand it?” Abomasnow frowned at Empoleon’s dark glare. “Very well, that’s a fair counterpoint, sire. However, we have not been able to procure a Revival Herb in years.”

“Can we still craft Heal Powder?”

“Of course, sir. We have enough for Energy Powder, at least.”

“Then every effort is worth it.”

“For that bitter trash?”

“For people to live.”

“Honestly, I do believe my solution is the better of ours,” grumbled Abomasnow. “But, that is not my place to argue.”

“Would you need me to detail the other reasons that we need our resources from there?”

“No need.” Abomasnow folded his heavy arms and raised an eyebrow at his emperor. “Sire…is another reason we send troops out there…is it based on those legends as well?”

“Of?”

“You know, those…those myths.” Abomasnow shifted his weight around, as he locked eyes with Empoleon. “Like that fairy tale about the blue rose of the damned lovers, the one about the time jumper, those blasted blades—”

“As I recall, the legend for that one states the location is closest to the Mountain Monarchy,” recalled Empoleon. “…Or are they sticking with that new name of Mountains Queendom, still? I can never—”

“Sire, you’re off point.”

“Ah, yes.” Empoleon shook his head. “At any rate, discovering any kind of artifacts or truths to those stories would be a greatly gained bonus, but no, they are not the primary objective as to why we are out there.”

“Good.” Abomasnow tugged on loose fur from his head. “Your grandfather—”

“Was obsessed with them, and they claimed that my father would follow in his footsteps,” recited Empoleon. “To which, however, he never did.”

“Well—”

“He never did,” harshly repeated Empoleon.

“Right, of course not.” Abomasnow lowered his head and bowed. “Do you require anything else, milord?”

“No, Abomasnow. That will be all.”

Nodding, the yeti general pivoted and made his way back across the throne room. He stopped about half way and turned back.

“What did you forget, General?” Empoleon’s question rang out before Abomasnow moved another step toward him.

“Actually, we do have a new recruit,” revealed Abomasnow. “He comes from the southern lands, the marshes.”

“From where?” Empoleon shook his head. “Why in the gods’ names would he come all of the way out here?”

“Haven’t a clue, milord.” Abomasnow shrugged. “He passed each of my tests, however, and he more than fulfills the requirements at becoming a knight. On top of that, he’s a strong swimmer as well, something that you told me I needed to collect more of, yes?”

“Correct, but…” Empoleon shook his head. “Here, as in outside now?”

“Yes, sire.” Abomasnow tugged at the fur nearest his mouth. “Shall I bring him in, or have him come back later, or not at all, or—”

“Send him in,” decided Empoleon. “Just him, you need to continue training the other soldiers. If I finish with him in time, I’ll send him over to you.”

“Very well, sire. Thank you, sire.”

Bowing again, Abomasnow turned back around and made his way from the throne room. The doors closed and Empoleon sat alone for a moment, rubbing his beak before standing from his throne.

The doors at the far end opened again, as a giant salamander ambled through them. He wore a small smile, and tired eyes, as he made his way into the throne room.

“Your name?”

“Quagsire, milord,” introduced the salamander.

“Tell me, why the smile?”

“This is a nice empire, and better than my old home,” divulged Quagsire. “I’ve also been told that it’s better to smile to leave a good impression.”

“Not something that you should freely admit to, but yes.” Empoleon narrowed his eyes as he studied the approaching salamander. “You do realize this would be your new home, and not the Grass Fields Kingdom, correct?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Why would you not become a knight at the castle down there?”

“Coming up here was better for me.” Quagsire slowed to a halt as he reached the base of the throne’s plateau. “It’s quieter out here.”

“Quiet isn’t always better,” countered Empoleon. “Has General Abomasnow explained our weakened forces?”

“They die out in the Frozen Fields.”

“He explained enough, then.” Empoleon folded his wings together. “And this…doesn’t dissuade you?”

“Nope.” Quagsire shrugged. “I’m a knight and soldier. If my life isn’t at risk, my job isn’t required.”

“That’s…certainly one way to put it, yes.” Empoleon blinked and released his wings. “You’ll need to explain this more to me.”

“What would you like to know?”

Empoleon’s deep blue eyes fixated on Quagsire’s soft dark eyes, as he tapped a wing against his beak.

Further south of the Grass Fields Kingdom, a small Wooper groaned as a clatter woke him from his rest. He sighed and stood from his grassy cushion by the river, and blinked at the sky. A burning sun overhead caused the little blue axolotl to squint, and he strolled to take a dip in the water.

“Oh…”

Wooper grumbled as he slipped into the warm river, much too warm for his tastes. He sulked as he sank down in the water, almost able to stand in his shallow spot.

“Hey, check this out!”

Shutting his eyes, the Wooper waited until a splash erupted from nearby, covering his face with droplets. He slowly opened them as a small blue crocodile with red spines on his head burst out from the water beside him.

“Wasn’t that so cool guys?!”

“Ha, not bad,” complimented a dark blue frog with orange cheeks. “But you should try something more flashy, like this!”

Back flipping, the frog flailed in the air as he crashed into the water, with his splash hitting Wooper once again. He popped out and wrestled with the crocodile, as the two laughed and shoved one another back and forth in the water. Wooper drifted further down the river, but was promptly smacked as the crocodile flew into him.

“Ha, I win again, Totodile!”

“Sorry about that,” apologized the crocodile to Wooper.

“It’s fine,” mumbled Wooper.

“Ha, it’s just a little Wooper, Totodile, don’t worry about it!” The frog bounced forward and splashed at Wooper’s face. “These things crash into logs and debris all over the water, all the time!”

“Uh, that’s not—”

“Croagunk, are you and Totodile done wrestling in this sludge?”

A ball of blue vines pushed past the tall grass, and walked to the river’s edge. Only eyes were visible from a dark patch in the vines.

“We practically just got in here, Tangela,” snapped Croagunk.

“Ugh, so?” She rolled her eyes and whipped some of her vines out. “How long do you even need in there? What, do you want to be like that Wooper, and just vanish into the water forever?”

“Ew, we’re not that bad,” defended Croagunk. “Right, Totodile?”

“Well, I don’t think that Wooper—”

“See, he agrees.” Croagunk splashed water at Tangela, who shrieked and jumped back. “Ha, what, afraid of getting wet?”

“If I hadn’t just had a nice mud bath, certainly, but I’m already cleaned proper,” argued Tangela. “So, if you two don’t mind, keep your filthy water in that swamp!”

“Actually, a swamp has more forest and trees around it,” corrected Wooper.

“Exactly who are you to tell me that I’m wrong?!” Tangela huffed and slapped her extended vines against grass blades, flinging some at Wooper. “You’re just a dopey little salamander!”

“Wow, look at you getting so bothered by him,” teased Croagunk.

“He’s so weird, why are you even near one?”

“He was just in here.”

“All the more reason for you two to get out!” She moaned and backed from the water, before Croagunk could splash her again. “Don’t! I’m serious!”

“Ah, you’re no fun. Come on, Totodile.”

Croagunk pushed from the water, and turned to wait for Totodile. The little crocodile frowned, as he glanced back to Wooper, before following the frog from the water. Both shook the water from their bodies, as Tangela tried to block droplets from hitting her. She failed to hear a tiny bud stroll up behind her.

“Hi Tangy!”

Shrieking again, Tangela’s vines slapped the small bud into the river. Crashing in, she wailed and squirmed in the river, and Wooper tried to swim to the flower bud.

“Geez, Tangela, you drowned her!”

“She snuck up on me!”

Totodile hurried back to the water’s edge, but a vine wrapped around him, dragging him back. Another wrapped around Croagunk and squeezed him tight as well.

“Quick, we’re getting out of here!”

Dragging her companions off, Tangela disappeared into the tall grass with them. Wooper yelped as the bud splashed water in his face, forcing him back.

She squealed as a long and thin pink tongue wrapped around her body. It lifted her from the water and helped her back onto the grass by the river.

Standing in the shallows again, Wooper watched as the bud was set down next to a blue and tan toad. The tongue retreated from the bud and slipped back into the toad’s mouth.

“Are you ok, little one?”

“Y-yes.” The bud sniffled and whimpered.

“Hey now, no need to cry.” The toad nuzzled the small bud. “Why don’t we get you home to your parents, ok?” Sniffling again, the bud nodded to him. “Good. What’s your name?”

“B-Budew.”

“Budew, such a pretty name. I’m Palpitoad.” He smiled to her, and waited as she smiled back up to him. “There we go, that’s better. And who is that there, in the water?”

Blinking, Wooper shook his head. Budew twirled around and stared at him for a moment. She swayed around, but spun back to Palpitoad.

“No idea!”

“Hm? He’s not your friend?”

“Nope!”

“Huh.” Palpitoad stepped forward to Wooper, who slumped down in the shallow water. “Did you knock her in?”

“It wasn’t him!” The bud bounced around. “It was those bullies, Tangy and her mean friends!”

“Tangy?” Palpitoad faced Budew again.

“Yeah, she has vines!”

“…A…Tangela?”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“Ah, that makes sense.” He turned back and smiled to Wooper. “Well, that means you tried to save her, huh?” Mouth open, Wooper quickly nodded. “Good effort, at least. Though, you’re pretty young too, so make sure you’re careful as well.”

With a nod to Wooper, Palpitoad returned his attention to Budew. She bounced and swayed, almost waving to Wooper, as the two turned away.

“Take me to where you live, and I’ll help you find your parents, ok?”

“Ok!”

Together, the pair vanished behind the tall grass as well. Wooper heavily sighed, and climbed from the river. Yawning, he crawled back to his grassy cushion, with the grass blades scattered about.

Shaking his head, Wooper pushed clumps of mud together instead, and patted it with his tail. Creating a small nest for himself, he curled into it to sleep once again.

More yelling, however, woke him up again, and Wooper’s strained dark eyes snapped open as two ducks now quacked and splashed around in the water together. Groaning softly, Wooper retreated from the river and shoved through the tall grass.

Working through the tall plants around him, Wooper pushed around and shuffled to a clearing filled with small berry trees. He wandered close to a short pink one, and plucked a tiny red berry with a yellow base. Eating it quickly, Wooper plucked the remaining berry, and the tree swayed as he ate the last berry it offered.

He worked his way to the next pink colored tree, as his belly growled again, and drooled as he came close to a round, blue berry sitting in it. A vine slapped him back and forced him away.

“Stupid Wooper! That’s my Oran Berry!”

Shaking his head, Wooper blinked and stared at Tangela, as she tugged three Oran Berries from the tree. Croagunk and Totodile waddled up beside her.

“There’s enough here for all of us,” complained Wooper. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Ugh! Are you seriously talking back to me?!” Tangela scoffed. “You’re just a common Wooper, nothing beneath me! My family comes from a noble house!”

“One that’s ranked far beneath the royal family.”

“Shut up, Croagunk!” She cracked a vine at him. “You’re lucky to even be anywhere near me either!”

“Yeesh, relax, princess.” Croagunk rolled his eyes. “Anyway, just knock the pest out of here.”

“He’s right, though,” argued Totodile. “We have more than enough berry trees to eat from here.”

“Totodile, don’t side with common peasants,” snapped Tangela. “That’s certainly beneath your station too.”

“That’s besides the point, though.”

“Hey, it’s a pest in the princess’s way,” chimed in Croagunk. “You want to tell her no?”

“She’s not even a princess—”

“Compared to everyone here, I might as well be!”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Nobody asked you!” Tangela fumed and whipped at Wooper again, who yelped and jumped back. “Now, either you get out of here, or we’ll be forced to take action!”

“Tangela—”

“You two had better help me,” she snapped to her companions, “especially if you want to eat any berries too!”

“Yeah, yeah, you got it, princess,” mocked Croagunk, facing Wooper. “I’ll take care of him.”

Croagunk puffed out his cheeks, as Wooper backed away, shuddering. Tangela cracked her vines again, and laughed as Wooper leapt away from another whip.

“This will be easy!”

“That will be enough.”

From the shuddering grass near the clearning, Palpitoad emerged. He hurried over to Wooper’s side.

“And who are you supposed to be?”

“Just a very concerned toad.” He narrowed his eyes against the trio. “Do we have a problem here?”

“Just eradicating a minor pest,” quipped Tangela.

“Right, so, problem then.” Palpitoad rolled his eyes. “Very well, let’s get on with it.”

“H-huh?”

“You’re battling with him, right?” Palpitoad nodded. “Battle him, you’re battling me too.”

“B-but…you’re so much older…”

“So your point is…?”

“That it’s not fair!”

“There are three of you.”

“But you’re older and probably at a higher level!” Tangela stomped the ground. “Why are you defending him, anyway? He’s just a common Wooper!”

“Because I would defend anyone that gets picked on from the likes of you,” spat Palpitoad. “Now, you three against us, let’s have at it.”

“Not a chance.” Totodile shook his head. “They’re the ones picking on Wooper. I’m going home after today, and I’d rather not get into any more trouble.”

“More trouble?” Palpitoad stepped forward. “You were the ones that knocked Budew into the river after all.”

“Nah, just her.” Croagunk pointed at Tangela, who smacked him with a vine. “Hey, I’m on your side!”

“Then act like it!” She pivoted to Totodile. “And what do you think you’re even doing?! Don’t walk away!”

“Keep your berries, Tangela. If you want to battle for them, go ahead.” Totodile shook his head. “I’m going home tomorrow, and I’m not getting into a fight.”

Hurrying away, Totodile disappeared from the area. Croagunk shook his head and returned his attention to Palpitoad and Wooper, as poison oozed from his hands. Tangela shivered and loosened her vine whips.

“F-fine! L-let’s battle them!”

“But I can’t attack well yet,” murmured Wooper.

“Don’t worry,” assured Palpitoad. “I know what I’m doing. We’re not that far from the river.”

“Get them!”

Running forward, Tangela and Croagunk rushed at the pair. Vibrating his body, Palpitoad stomped the earth, and growled out. Waves of muddy river water burst from past the plants and grass, rushing forward at the pair.

“W-what?!”

“Look out!”

Tangela shrieked as the waves slammed against her and Croagunk, pushing them back and away from the area. Palpitoad smirked and nodded, turning back to Wooper.

“They’re not much older than you, so it wasn’t tough for me,” soothed Palpitoad. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

Wooper blinked as the water dissipated from the clearing, and watched as Palpitoad turned away and began to leave.

“Um…thank you, for helping.”

Stopping, Palpitoad turned back and smiled to Wooper. “No problem, kid!” He nodded to the small salamander. “You know, maybe some day, you can defend this place yourself.”

“Me?” Wooper shook his head. “I don’t like it here.”

“No? Hmm.” Palpitoad shook his head. “Then, maybe you’ll be able to stick up for others elsewhere one day. I think you’d do well at it.”

“I just want somewhere quiet,” mumbled Wooper.

“Well, the best way to find peace is to help make it.” Palpitoad nodded. “I think you understand that better now. After all, there are more like Budew out there. Citizens need someone strong that they can depend on.” He smirked. “Maybe you’re not there yet, but I believe you could be, one day.” Wooper slowly nodded back to Palpitoad. “Great! One day, I hope that others will look up to you! Until then, I need to get going myself. Take care!”

Taking off, Palpitoad kicked a loose Oran Berry to Wooper. He bid farewell again and left, as the Wooper picked up and ate the berry. He quietly sat in the clearing, and yawned softly, before wandering off once more.

Empoleon sat back on his throne and tapped on it, as Quagsire yawned.

“So, you were inspired to help others when you were younger,” he mused aloud.

“And go somewhere quieter,” reminded Quagsire. “It’s like I can breathe again.”

“Hm, yes. Well…I suppose, if you would rather be here than Grass Fields, then you’re welcome to stay.”

“It’s nicer here,” praised Quagsire. “The water is cooler, and the people seem nicer, few as they are.”

“Yes, I like to think so myself.” Empoleon nodded. “At any rate, we do have healthy ties with Grass Fields, so if ever you wish to return, I’m certain I could have it arranged.”

“No, sire. Here will be fine.”

“Very well.” Empoleon stood and lifted a wing forth. “Then, welcome to the Iceberg Empire, Quagsire. And, in time, you may become a valiant knight to our roster.”

“Thank you, sire.” Another yawn interrupted him before he finished. “I hope to serve your Empire well.”

“Hopefully. Has General Abomasnow told you where to meet him?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Very good. Go to meet him and the others.” Empoleon nodded. “And again, welcome.”

“I shall. Thank you.”

For the first time, Quagsire’s smile broadened. He bowed, waved to Emperor Empoleon, and exited the throne room, off to meet the general for training. Empoleon pondered quietly as the new knight disappeared behind his doors, with a soft gust flowing in, and sat back against his throne.

Perhaps, maybe, this one might last.

A small origin story for Quagsire, yay!

I’m not sure if it’s been mentioned anywhere yet, but Quagsire is the knight that’s been in Empoleon’s ranks the longest, based on the current roster in my fanfic, Melting Gelid Roses.

He’s a gentle character, so I wanted to give him more of an origin that fits him, one that encourages him to help others based on not his immediate decision, but by what he was influenced by. Palpitoad is one that inspired him to eventually decide on knighthood.

There was also some fun to be had with Empoleon and Abomasnow, and by fun, I mean feels. After all, nothing’s more “fun” than leading a kingdom of dying soldiers and citizens, ohoho! ...Well, at least the current roster has been doing well, lately.

A few extra characters that were possibly one-offs, possibly not. Depends on how it’s interpreted. Maybe that will be explained again in the distant future.

For now, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Still working on my other fanfics, but it’s nice to get content out there too.

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collecting-stories · 8 years ago

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In the Mud in France - Arthur Shelby

Request: Peaky Blinders: I have an idea for a Peaky Blinders imagine. During the war, you were a nurse that had a close bond with Arthur, to the point to were he would fake some sort of illness or something like that just so he could see you and during some attack or something like that you got hurt and die in his arms, prompting the reason why he did everything like fighting and drinking and such. From: anonymous.

In the Mud in France - Arthur Shelby

-21 August 1914-

There was always a tent set up. A small white tent that consisted of one surgeon, two nurses, and as many supplies as they could move through France with them. They were in Alsace, all the frontier. Far away from the front lines of battle. The surgeon worked as quickly as he could, sewing up men that could be saved as more came through the curtains of the tent.

"We've got one with shrapnel in his chest!" Two men carried another into the tent.

"Dying men go out back." Came the reply of the reply of the doctor.

"I'm not fucking dying!" The solider shouted. His comrades nearly lost their footing when his body shook.

"Out back!" The doctor repeated, his concentration was held by a man bleeding all over a makeshift stretcher.

The two men did as they were told, carrying their fellow solider outside. The back of the tent looked like a wasteland. Bodies of men dead or dying, those unable to be saved, lay in the grass. They placed him down away from the others.

"I'm not dying!" He shouted again, struggling to lift his upper body off the ground.

"Stop, stop, you'll exacerbate the wound!" You said, coming out to see the solider struggling. You worked in the small tent with the surgeon and the other nurse. You dropped to the grass beside him and placed your hands on his shoulders. You pushed him down to the grass. "Just lie back."

"I'm not dying." He repeated, quieter this time.

"I didn't say you were." You answered, "will one of you fetch me supplies from the tent?"

The youngest of his two army men went into the tent. The other bid him farewell and headed for the field again.

"What's your name sir?" You asked.

"Arthur." The younger boy came back with supplies. You instructed him to sit behind Arthur and hold his shoulders.

"Arthur, I'm going to take this piece of shrapnel out of your chest and then I'm going to clean the wound." You explained, "tell me about yourself, you're from England?"

"Aye, Birmingham." He responded.

"I've never been, do you like it?" You continued to work on the wound, attempting to distract him with questions about himself as you worked to clean the wound. He would have significant scarring on his chest but you had seen worse.

"Yeah, live there with me family."

"Are you married?" You asked.

"Ah shit!" He cursed as the Dakin's Solution entered his wound. "Ah...no, no I'm not married. Not even got a girl. Fuck!"

"I'm sorry Arthur," you apologized.

"It's not your fault I don't have a girl." He laughed.

"I meant about the pain."

He ground his teeth as you began to cleanse the wound again. He would have to be transported to a base hospital for further surgery. The doctor here could not fix a shrapnel wound of this size here in the trenches. As you dressed his wound you explained that he would require further surgery. A truck that had been coming by every few hours would be here soon. He would go in the truck with other soldiers who needed extra care.

"Do you go with us?" He asked.

"No, I'm not a base nurse. I stay in the field." You answered. "I'll stay with you until the truck comes. Tell me more about your family?"

Arthur began to relay stories of his brothers and sister in Birmingham. Two of his brothers, he said, were in France with him. You kept a warm cloth on him to keep any wound fever at bay.

-6 September 1914-

The hospital was felt like it had fallen into chaos. Arthur was still recovering from his chest wound and would have usually been sleeping but the overwhelming excitement of the hospital that day was keeping him awake. People rushed in and out of the room his bed was in. He was one of fifty beds and he watched them unfold extra cots in every available space. The German's had struck and there had been devastation.

Grown men laid in beds around him, wailing from injuries. One man had a wound in his face, a tube coming out of his cheek to help him breathe. Another had a whole chunk of his thigh missing. The hospital was more terrifying than the battlefield.

It wasn't until midnight that things in the hospital began to slow down. As night crept into the earliest hours of the morning the wards began to grow quiet. Arthur slept sporadically, there was no schedule to keep when he was simply lying in bed each day. With his eyes still closed he sat up in bed. The side of his mattress had dipped from a weight that wasn't him. Half expecting to see some bedmate wanting to share a story about a lover he was surprised to see you sitting there smiling at him.

"Sorry to wake you," you apologised. You reached your hand out and took his.

"It's alright, I was hardly asleep. What are you doing here."

"There was a a call to nurses, whoever could be spared was called to the base hospital. I wasn't needed at my post so I came here." You supplied, "I've been up most of the day but I wanted to check in on you and your chest wound."

"Healing well, the doctor came round this morning and said I should be back in the fields by October." Arthur replied. "How long will you be here?"

"As long as I'm needed." You answered honestly. You went where the battles left the most casualties.

"You should get some sleep." Arthur noticed the yawn that escaped you.

"I will, I just wanted to come see you first."

"I'm flattered." He grinned.

You came back the next morning to redress his wounds. You had taken his half of the room just so that you could see him. As his healing progressed his need for care lessened. Often it would be well into the night before you would stop at Arthur’s bedside so you could have more time to sit with him. When the hospital began to fill again after a particularly difficult battle your time with Arthur was limited. Sometimes days would pass before you could see him.

In the middle of redressing a face wound one of the other nurses on your shift called your name, weaving through beds in an attempt to find you.

“Over here,” You called.

She appeared beside you, beginning to help finish the dressing. “There’s a man in the second ward looking for you. An Arthur Shelby. Says he’s injured and needs you to look at it.”

“Did you check him already?” You asked.

“He insisted that you check, said you know know the wound best.” She replied. “If you ask me I think he just wants some attention from you.”

“I didn't ask you.”

You left the other nurse to finish rounds for you. Upstairs in the second ward Arthur was relaxing in bed, appearing no less comfortable than when you'd left him last night. You took a seat on the side of his bed. Arthur reached his hand out and patted your knee.

“You look tired,” he said.

“I am,” you laughed. You were sure you'd been awake for more than 24 hours at this point. There were so many soldiers come in and out of the hospital and there didn't seem to be enough care to accommodate them all. “Now, what was it you needed looking at?”

“Oh,” Arthur grinned, “I think I hurt my ankle yesterday on the walk around the ward.”

“I went with you on the walk, you seemed fine.” You replied.

The two of you had taken a walk around the hospital yesterday to give Arthur some exercise. It wasn't safe for the soldiers to leave the hospital building so there was no walking outside allowed. You walked Arthur all the way down to the first floor and pointed out the nurses corridor and the kitchens. He told you more about Birmingham and his youngest brother who was still home with his aunt. Despite being in the army together, he told you, he had not seen his other brothers since August 5th when their trains arrived in France.

You had told him about becoming a nurse. Your father was a surgeon and when the war in France broke out he had travelled to help the French army hospitals set up. When the king decided that the rest of England should join the war you enlisted your services as a nurse, wanting to follow in your father’s footsteps.

"Have you seen him since you got here?" Arthur had asked you.

“No, the hospital site he was working at was on the border, it was seized three months back. Right now…they’re saying it's possible he's a prisoner of war.” You explained.

When you'd finally returned to your room on the first floor the head nurse had admonished you for spending so much time with Arthur. She told you that you needed to keep your head clear and stay focused. These soldiers needed nurses that weren't busy throwing themselves at the first man they saw.

Today you tried to distance yourself from Arthur. You hadn't stopped in early before your shift to say hello and you had planned on not setting foot in the second ward at all. But you had found yourself at his bedside anyhow.

You set about your work, rolling up the blankets to inspect Arthur’s foot. Usually you would try to prolong the time you spent with him. Simple dressings that should've taken half an hour took a whole hour. Today you didn't stretch out the time you spent there.

“Have I done something I didn't know of?” Arthur asked, noticing your off mood.

“I was reprimanded last night. Spending too much time with you it seems.” You replied honestly. “Also, your foot is fine.”

“I know. You didn't stop in to see me this morning and I wanted to make sure you weren't mad at me.” Arthur answered.

“Mad about what?” You tried to think back over your walk with him yesterday.

“Anything at all,” Arthur said.

“I have to get back to my shift Arthur.”

“I’ll see you tonight?” He asked.

By mid-October Arthur had been cleared by the doctors to return to the battlefield. He would ship out soon and you didn't want to miss any time with him. After your shift ended you went to Arthur. He was sitting all the way up in bed and had his uniform folded on the bed before him. When you came over to the bed he pulled you to sit down beside him.

"When do you leave?” You asked. You picked up his jacket and held it in your lap.

“First thing in the morning I get on the truck, I’ll rejoin my post.” He answered.

When you had seen him again in the hospital it had felt unreal. Most of the men you treated in the field were just strangers that you never interacted with again. Some of them survived and went on to continue fighting, others died. Still they were all just soldiers, one blending into the next. The only thing that varied were the wounds. But Arthur had been different. From the first moment when you had abandoned what you were doing to attempt to prolong his life. Now he would leave and there was a great chance you wouldn't see him again.

"Here,” Arthur reached onto his bedside table and handed you a small piece of paper. “In case you find yourself in Birmingham.”

You put the paper into your pocket. Arthur kissed your cheek gently. He had the same fears as you, he wanted to see you again after the war but he wasn't sure he ever would. He could go back to the front lines only to die. Maybe there would be other soldiers, ones who had promising jobs waiting for them when the war was over. Maybe you would meet a surgeon and move somewhere like London.

Because you didn't know what to say yourself you kissed him instead. You knew it wasn't proper to kiss him first. If you had been home, if there wasn't an unpredictable war going on around you, then you wouldn't have kissed him. But you didn't want to lose the opportunity.

Arthur kissed you back. There wasn't much further than kissing that could be done in a room with so many other people. You were aware that you were crying as he pulled away. He kissed your forehead in reassurance.

“We’ll see each other again.”

-25 September 1915-

Almost a year had passed. You were back in the field, transferred to a medical tent in Champagne. You had been here since the first attack in March. Being on the field was vastly different than being in the hospital. The wounds were the same but the urgency was greater in the field. Everything had to be done immediately, there was no time to waste on getting to know someone.

“We’ve got a shot to the face!” One of the soldiers transporting men back and forth shouted through the tent. A man was rushed in and laid out on a stretcher. One of the surgeons in the tent went over, pushing away the soldiers that had carried their comrade in.

You glanced over to see what help was needed and nearly lost your footing. Standing by the entrance of the tent with the other runner was Arthur Shelby. His jacket and pants were covered with blood stains, some of it presumably from the man who was shot in the face.

“Arthur.”

There was commotion inside the tent. People rushing in and out, trying to assist as many men as possible. Now wasn't the best time to become distracted. The head nurse at the hospital was right when she told you that nurses needed to remained focused. You almost always were. Except right at this moment because for the first time in a year Arthur was standing in the same area as you.

He looked up at the sound of his name being called and smiled when he saw you. Before he could make his way through the chaos of the tent to you a siren nearby went off. Someone outside the tent screamed “air strike!”. They continued to repeat those words, over and over. Then it hit.

If Arthur were to describe it later on he doesn't think he would be able to. His fellow solider pulled him out of the tent just as a bomb was dropped on the other side. They missed the blast but it obliterated the tent. People inside were thrown through the air. Arthur remembers, as the smoke cleared, an arm had landed by his head.

He got off the ground as soon as he could, sustaining only minor injuries, and began frantically screaming your name. You were closer to the bomb. He doesn't see your whole body, part of your leg was crushed under metal fragments. He finds you half under the tent and he crawls over to you. Shelby’s don't cry and he tries his hardest not to break that rule. He lays your head on his lap, your body lifeless.

You were supposed to find him in Birmingham. You were supposed to survive the war. The tent wasn't anywhere near the front lines. The official count comes decades later, 160,000 died that day. But you weren't supposed to. He brushes your hair from your face and kisses your forehead the way he did in the hospital. There is no response.

“Arthur, we’ve got to move.” His comrade, the one who saved his life, pulls on his arm.

He’s stuck like a statue in place. All he wants to do is die. They've been fighting for so long and he feels tired. He knows there is more fighting to do and no hope of a future when he returns from the war. But his comrade won't have it. He takes Arthur under the arms and drags him away as another bomb falls meters away from the tent.

This one got away from me. It’s much longer than I intended.

#peaky blinders imagine #arthur shelby imagine #collecting stories imagine

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afrorojo · 7 years ago

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The Blue Bed

Blue Bed Aitken Galleries British Period Rooms

Mary’s Burning Heart. I Zipporah Jephthah’s Daughter yield her confessions and present to you Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque.

https://dancingpalmtrees.com/2014/08/03/memoirs-of-a-cubist-odalisque/

Cupid’s Broken Arrow Mandala of the Wishful Flâneuse

Filled with millions of flaws, faults and Failures. Mismatched flavors like sardines and sugar. A Goddess in Training. A Fierce Sirocco Haboob Harmattan Simoon of Swirling Tornadoes. Mother Earth has lost her Skeins. She is no longer threaded together with care. For her Arboreal stakes, ropes and roots have been ripped from Earths bosom.

Harmattan courses through my weather beaten soul. From a burning bush fire in the Harmattan ~~ Changlings are birthed.

Cleansing. Purifying. Grace.

I wrapped my cloak even more closely tighter around my head hopelessly shielding face against powerful tint razor sand sharp dust particles which still manage to find a way through any slight opening of fabric. I must decided whether to keep moving or take shelter for the night. For the protection and safety of my menagerie of camels, goats, mules and donkeys laden with merchandise fit for Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe & Apothecary, I carry the hopes, dreams and visions of cities past present and future. I Be the cure and prevention of untimely death.

I battled my way forth towards the dimly lit designated rest stop for weary travelers. There I stash my merchandise aside me in the post stamp tent whilst my animals are boarded, sheltered and given rations to sleep shelter through the roaring night skies. I too arrange my bedding with the carpets, quilts, tapestries, rugs and blankets before extinguishing lanterns and candles Good Night. Dreaming of Ghosts sailing the sand.

I Zipporah Jephthah daughter bid you sweet nightly visions of an imperfect past and unknown future.

Each night sky twinkling stars become a beacon to millions of distant galaxies each demanding that my secret wishes be spoken. Where will I find my Justice or shall I return to the red rich clay from whence I came?

Still in the dawn of a new day in a misty foggy night She remains an Ogre. A misshapen princess wrapped in precious silks, damasks,laces, crinolines, royal robes sewn with golden stitches, glittering silvery threads, bedecked in precious gems and jewels. Clothing that titillated the mind and soul. The Fitting Glory of Majesty on an unfitting freakish frame. Luxury frocks, tunics and garments.

Pomp. Ceremony. No Core nor Substance. Clothing that conveys complete superficiality. Fitting for Kangaroo Courts For who is real as opposed to Who is Mere Invention?

It was a long way from the brothel and the Town and the Villagers who betrayed me..

Sophie’s Origins

My Name is Zipporah Sophia. I am from the once favored Kingdom Clan of Jephthah whose bad choices and decisions cursed my clan throughout the region. Curses which rained down on and were absorbed by me while I was being formed within my mother’s womb rendering me a dismember Odalisque.

Odalisque in Grisaille Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres (French, Montauban 1780–1867 Paris) and Workshop

I came to this Bordello from a rural backwater village that held onto the 19th Century in custom, culture and values long after its demise, after a disastrous arranged marriage. From my birth I was considered “Damaged goods”. My twin Niaema predicted to be a great beauty became my inadvertent protector and guardian.

Upon first seeing me after I was born my father was ready to throw me to hyenas and rabid dogs that fed on discarded garbage in the town dump. My mother, grandmother and aunts stayed his hand. So ashamed of me was him I called father that he kept me within the compound as much as possible and I was only allowed outside on infrequent shopping excursions with my female relatives for food, house supplies and to buy enough fabric to make clothing which would covered the misshaped hump that dominated my form. Niaema quickly became his pride and joy. Many was the time that Niaema intervened to prevent yet another rage fueled beating that became my lot in life. However a few weeks before Niaema’s 12th birthday Niaema turned to mother one late evening pitch black night said I Go to Sleep now Mama and promptly passed away. Father’s wrath and rage seemed to know no end as he cursed the gods and the universe for taking away his sweet favorite leaving him with rejected misfit myself.

Around the ages of 15 and 16 when most young women were making suitable marriages I had no suitors. Every young man in the village knew of my deformity though I rarely made an appearance in town. Bad news travels fast. My family was fairly well off and we lived quite comfortably so I had a somewhat considerably dowry, yet I still had no takers. No man wanted to love me.

Eventually as I approached my 25th birthday having resigned myself to being an Old Maid my father finally found a match in a far flung outpost where no man knew my embarrassing truth. Negotiations began. A Wedding date was set and I was delivered to my betrothed. The Festivities nearly two days and my future husband was eager to retire to our luxurious tent to consummate our union.

But there was no consummation because once my betrothed removed my clothes, he screamed in disgust that he had been saddled with a hunchback for a wife. He refused to do his husbandly duties and angrily return me to my father’s tent. My father ashamed and now disgraced in not one but two villages sent me packing out from our tribal home into what I perceived as an unknown and dangerous wasteland. So great was his fury and so hurried his dismissal that I hurriedly left with only the clothes on my twisted back and what few personal possessions I could carry, rushing to escape his stormy anger.

Good Fortune did smile on me as I traversed pock marked, poorly lit, rubble strewn road leading away from the only home I had ever known. Angels in the form of my mother, aunts and sisters had extinguished my father’s fiery rage through liberal applications of wine spiked with sleeping potions. They then saddled horses from his stables and intercepted my wilderness journey. We hugged, cried, and mourned the passing of me, Jephthah’s daughter cast out like Hagar from those she loved traveling who knows where.

They had also bargained with the disgruntled groom and his family to win back half my dowry which gifted me along with one strong but sway back donkey, an animal who mirrored my disability and fortitude. I a prodigal daughter who had committed no sin in my youth and innocence only to be rescued by the House of Sin…………………………………

Gumby Lovers

“I Know that I’m not much to look at but I used to be the Crown Prince of Manhood, the Courtier of Cum among Royal Lovers.”

This laughable boast came on an exultation of foul and fetid breath akin to human waste lying in the bottom of a sewer emitting from this wizened and emaciated corpse like figure with a red bulging knobby doorknob on the end of a shriveled pecker. How it managed to stand at attention was a miracle from the saints or gods of nonstop porn. His face was a veritable road-map of lines, wrinkles, valleys, pitted scars with a bird beak blue veined appendage masquerading as a nose jutting forth from sunken cheeks. Above the beak nose were two rheumy eyes topped by beetle brows which looked more like two warring caterpillars wrangling for domination of an egg shaped skull sprouting tufts of errant hairs growing from the beak nose, elongated ears and the various moles on his scrofulous person.

Then it began. I closed my eyes and did my best to disengage all my senses as this old bag of bones began his pitiful assault upon my body. I tried to drown out the sound of the Click-Clacking of false teeth in rhythm with hurried asthmatic prods that gradually became more pathetic and feebler though he put his hairy back best with his pecker pushing. Thankfully he was done in under four minutes. The way he panted and gasped for air I thought he was having a heart attack and about to cum and go at the same time!

Four minutes of torture and hell. Because I have Scoliosis I had to deal with the runts of the litter. Yup I get all the Gumbys and Pokeys. Though we are fed, housed, clothed and housed like Renaissance Odalisques there is still a pecking order of beauty. My face, my sun-kissed umber skin, my small perfectly round breasts and long curly wavy chestnut locks got me a reprieve from just being another filthy dirty street urchin but this curvature of the spine has relegated me to servicing the worst of the many Geezer patrons who pass through these palatial doors.

The soldiers, sailors, traveling merchants or other Spew head Jimmy’s as many of the Ladies were want to call them rarely came my way unless they too suffered from a disfigurement of the mind and/or body which they saw reflected in me. As is said Like attracts like so Freaks of Nature recognize one of their fellows. It was a rare and delicious opportunity to bed any head bangers who set you into spasms of delight Orgasms so intense that your eyes rolled up back into your head while head set a rhythm with the bed’s back board.

Missy Elliott – Get ur freak on

Sam and Dave – Hold on I’m Coming

Stepping from the filthy foul smelling streets men were ushered into exotic elaborately decorated quarters decorated with expensive Persian rugs, medieval tapestries, silk draperies hung upon windowless walls, tables adorned with Tiffany lamps. A subtle scent of incense permeated the airways. The decorations seemed incongruous yet harmonized together in an irregular yet pleasing manner. Palatial taste a bit ostentatious like a Renaissance bordello. The furnishings were highly articulated and faceted Baroque/Rococo objects, many with deep gouges and gashes suggesting transparency and interior penetration. This room and much of the house as well as the street urchins who passed through seemed to us an Orientalist fantasy. At the far end of the living room hung a painting of a Minotaur coupling with a Centauride.

I saved my favorite costume for my only true Lover. For him. The Bringer of Pleasurably pain.

It was a beautiful blood red silk satin with lace trimming with velvet calf length skirts. However as joyful as I was when I donned the frock what pleased me even more were the Bordello Shoes—Red Velveteen Victorian button-up Boots with a two inch heel. My long thick wild curly Chestnut hair was caught up in a chignon I captured the Bohemian spirits of long gone Flappers. She be the Flâneuse of Golden Gilded Age.

Rag’n’Bone Man – Bitter End (Mahogany Session)

Zipporah Jephthah’s Daughter Mary's Burning Heart. I Zipporah Jephthah's Daughter yield her confessions and present to you Memoirs of a Cubist Odalisque.

#Changlings #Cupid&039;s Broken Arrow Mandala of the Wishful Flâneuse #Flapper #Flappers #Flâneuse #Frocks #garments #Haboob #Harmattan #Kangaroo courts #Missy Elliott - Get ur freak on #Orientalist #Rag&039;n&039;Bone Man - Bitter End (Mahogany Session)#Sam and Dave - Hold on I&039;m coming #Simoon #Sirocco #Tunics

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