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cimerran-714 · 3 years

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Hello! I hope you're doing well. The purpose of this short "composition" is to closely analyze some of the key H/Hr moments in the books (I haven't watched all the movies, so you won't find anything about the films here).

And I know it should be obvious, but I seriously don't mind the R/Hr or H/G ship. It's none of my business. So please refrain from taking anything out of context/misappropriate the things I say. I mean absolutely no offence to any Canon pairings.

Even if you don't ship them, I'm sure you can't deny that both Harry and Hermione have an incredibly close platonic relationship together. I've heard people narrate some of the "finest" H/Hr moments while explaining why they're fit to be soulmates. There's a high probability that you'd come across them when talking to a H/Hr shipper. However, there are a few scenes in the books (which, in retrospect, are really 'sweet') I haven't heard others talk about often.

In this essay, I'd like to share some of the best scenes in the Potter books, immediately followed by an underrated moment.

Let's dig in.

Best moment:

The hug in Philosopher's/Sorceror's Stone.

Ah, isn't it obvious? This is certainly one of the finest moments that kickstarts the strong dynamic between Harry and Hermione. I really like this scene. It's powerful on a number of levels.

Romione shippers tend to provide a parallel to exemplify the attraction between the remaining members of the Golden Trio (Hermione apologizing about Scabbers and sobbing onto Ron's shoulders). But in my eyes, there's certainly something different about her hugging Harry.

Firstly, we've got to consider the context. When Hermione embraced Ron, it happened on the second page of a different chapter. On the contrary, anything that occurs at the end of any chapter/book sticks in our minds for a long time.

I'm going off on a tangent here, just to make sure you get the point. This trope (though I'm not sure I can it that) happens a lot of times in the Harry Potter books.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"

This scene hits home for a lot of reasons.

Look, most of us can't help feeling sorry for Harry here. His parents are dead, which (as McGonagall claimed) is a horrible thing to have happened. We've also seen at the beginning of the book that the Dursleys hate the Potters.

It's distressing to realize that a one-year-old is about to be raised by a family who doesn't like him at all.

And the fact that the entire wizarding world is celebrating Volde... sorry, You-Know-Who's downfall, while the boy sleeps on innocently (without any knowledge of what's just happened), is even more saddening. No, he simply couldn't know what'd happened to his life, that witches and wizards all over the country are toasting him.

It's bittersweet.

Moving on:

Deciding that he'd worry about the Hogsmeade form when he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reached up to cross off another day on the chart he'd made for himself, counting down the days left until his return to Hogwarts. Then he took off his glasses and lay down; eyes open, facing his three birthday cards.

Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt just like everyone else -- glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday.

This is, yet again, another 'Aww' moment at the end of a chapter. How can you not feel sorry for Harry? Most thirteen-year-olds have already enjoyed a lot of birthdays in the past. But for him, it's something new.

He's glad that it's his birthday for the first time. If I didn't know better, JKR wants us to sympathize with Harry.

And here's a final example:

Harry spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: the little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.

"Gerremoffme!" he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Harry thought he heard a sob before it slammed.

I do feel for Ron, getting attacked by a flock of birds was certainly uncalled for. But don't you get the point? The "sob" momentarily diverts our attention towards Hermione.

"Poor Ron, that must have hurt... oh, dear, Hermione's crying."

I think you know what I'm talking about. It's the same thing that happened when Hermione embraced Harry and called him a "Great wizard."

Yes, the H/Hr hug doesn't occur at the last line or anything, but it's certainly just a page before the chapter ends.

"But Harry -- what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well -- I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar. "I might get lucky again."

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry -- you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him. "Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things -- friendship and bravery and -- oh Harry -- be careful!"

That's one reason why it's meaningful!

Also, note that Harry's just about to face the 'Big Bad' (at a moment when 'Danger lies ahead of them and safety lies behind'). No one's noticed them hugging, too.

And it wasn't in front of the Portrait Hall or anything, either.

It was deep beneath the ramifications of the castle. It was (probably) around midnight, too.

The situation (arguably, the fate of the wizarding world rests on Harry's shoulders now).

The dialogue ("You're a great wizard, you know" instead of "I'm so sorry about Scabbers")

The atmosphere (It was late at night).

The fact that they were just kids.

All of these make the hug so powerful.

Oh, and it was the first book in the series. 2- Underrated moment:

Harry (and yes, Ron too) saving Hermione from the troll.

What's interesting here is:

1- Harry was the one who immediately thought of Hermione after Dumbledore ordered the Prefects to take everyone to their dormitories (Not Ron).

2- Harry isn't smug about having just saved a stranger's life.

A stranger, moreover, who was considered "interfering".

On the other hand, Ron is a little git.

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've just thought -- Hermione."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

It's pretty obvious that, if given the choice, Ron would rather not go after the girl he'd teased in class.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped - it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Harry's saving both of their lives here (while endangering his own).

Remember that he's only eleven.

"We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.

"Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him.

Ron thinks they were doing Hermione a favour. Harry, however, is a tad more level-headed. And sensible.

Also, it's somewhat of a stretch, but I believe it proves the point that Harry's true nature is like his mother's (James Potter had boasted around after he saved Snape's life).

Yes, I know it's such a cliche, but Harry is pure at heart.

3-Best moment:

The "mythical" Hippogriff ride:

Now, I've personally never thought much of it. It's a good chapter, yes, but bringing animals into a Shipping war is just... meh.

It's the trust that Harry had in Hermione (when she pulled out the Time turner) that interests me.

Anyhow, it's a pretty common argument posed by H/Hr fans.

Quoting from Wikipedia:

In some traditions, the hippogriff is said to be the symbol of love, as its parents, the mare and griffin, are natural enemies. In other traditions, the hippogriff represents Christ's dual nature as both human and divine.

It occurred in the wee hours of the morning, so I suppose it does have a slightly "mythological" (I can't think of a better word) feel to it.

Again, I'm not sure I can call it my favourite part of the book, especially as Hermione wasn't enjoying riding on Buckbeak.

Underrated moment:

Having fun talking about Filch and Madam Pince.

Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing whether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.

For Romione shippers who believe that Harry and Hermione are "boring" together, it's a rude awakening.

No, the "arguing" doesn't mean they were actually in a disagreement. It's clear that both of them were having fun.

Enjoying their time, in fact.

It's one of the few 'Harmony' scenes in Half-blood Prince.

I do not believe that either of them was consciously aware of their feelings towards each other, either.

And if it's just a coincidence that they were enjoying talking about being in love, it's certainly a bizarre one.

4-Best moment:

Visiting Godric's Hollow together

"'The last enemy that shall be defeated is death'..." A horrible thought came to him, and with a kind of panic. "Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?"

"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means... you know... living beyond death. Living after death."

But they were not living, thought Harry. They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents' moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.

Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control. He should have brought something o give them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents' grave.

As soon as he stood up he wanted to leave: He did not think he could stand another moment there. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore's mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.

If it was intended to be a totally platonic visit, why a pose that's very romantic? Also, as someone else had mentioned in their blog, Harry rarely (if never) initiates physical contact with anyone.

There's also a kissing gate present in the Church.

It seems as if JKR has got a flair for writing co-incidences that further cement the H/Hr relationship.

Underrated moment:

Ernie Macmillion's change of heart:

This is simply beautiful, and even more so as Macmillion was aware that Harry can speak Parseltongue (an ability commonly associated with Dark Wizards).

What happens when students are mysteriously turning into stone, and you figure out that one of them was "egging on" a snake during a duelling club? A boy, moreover, who dislikes the Muggles he lives with? Someone who managed to defeat Lord Voldemort himself?

Hmm...

The logical conclusion would be that Harry's got a hand in it. Ernie believed that Harry Potter was the one Petrifying everyone, even a few weeks/months after the attacks stopped.

What takes the Hufflepuff to bring him to his senses?

The fact that Harry would never harm his Muggle-born friend.

I know it's a little thing, but it shows that the whole school (indeed, Ernie belonged to a different House) was aware of how close Harry and Hermione were together.

Note that he'd apologized immediately after a double-attack.

"Harry, harm Hermione Granger? Impossible!"

Macmillian was the one being paranoid, and told tales about Harry to Hannah Abbot.

And yet a single thing changed his mind completely.

To wind up, I'mma give you another part from the first book:

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die." "Do you mean," Harry croaked, "that was Vol-" "Harry! Harry, are you all right?" Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

What's noteworthy is that Hermione apparently doesn't care about staying close to Hagrid and protecting herself. She's so worried about what's happened to Harry that she's rushing along in front of Hagrid.

Throughout the books, you can see Harry being protective of Hermione.

The feeling's mutual ;)

#harry potter #harry x hermione #hermione granger #shipping dynamics

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miserable-pile-of-lies · 3 years

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The Sleeping Beauty of Wallachia Ch. 3 (Full)

I know it's been a lifetime since I last updated the story, but I really wanted to deliver with this chapter as it sets up the basic frame of the fanfic! I really hope you guys enjoy what I came up with, feel free to leave reviews on A03!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save Wallachia?

Skeletal appendages scraped furiously against the transmission mirror depicting the Speaker and head woman, muttering a string of curses against the two mortals. Death hovered in the dimly lit war hall, formerly the stronghold of the vampire king Dracula, standing in front of the reflective surface while his jawbone rattled in a fit of rage.

“Those damn Speakers continue to impede the progress of my fucking war,” the entity spat out savagely, swinging his gargantuan scythe in the general direction of his night troops. Night creatures nervously searched the faces of one another, conflicted by the appearance of their commander who currently donned his true form.

In the presence of their Forgemaster Hector, a naïve necromancer native to the distant country of Greece, the mystical being deceitfully modeled his appearance after that of Vlad Dracula Țepeș. Despite the steadfast loyalty the night creatures held towards their liege, Death had promised the beasts an unlimited supply of sustenance that what would ultimately lead to the extermination of humanity.

Left with free reign of the planet, the night hordes would transform Gaia into a ruinous paradise where the nighttime skies dominated daylight and the forsaken creatures would never have to return to the torturous confinements of Hell.

“The whole lot of you are absolutely useless, do I have to do everything on my own,” the grim reaper lamented, waving a hand to dissolve the magical mirror’s image, erasing the sight of the two women that would later contribute to his demise. One night creature resembling a large bat blew through its nostrils tactlessly, finding no amusement in the unprovoked castigation of the army.

Hearing the sound of the snort, Death languidly turned its effervescent build towards the large beast, staring daggers in retaliation at the ill-timed slight.

“Braying like an ass will not change my words, I was perfectly clear in my demands,” the angel of death howled out powerfully, raising the daunting crescent of his scythe above his frightening form. Making quick work of the unlucky demon, the gruff of its neck caught onto the merciless edge of the blade and the head of the devilish bat soared into the air in moments. Blood sprayed out from the decapitated monster as it unceremoniously fell on the polished floors of the chambers. Exposed arteries showered its nearby compatriots cowering in fear at the execution, all halting further movements.

“Would anyone else care to challenge my words, if so, step forward,” Death questioned calmly, effectively slinging off the blood that clung to the steel of his otherworldly weapon. Silence filled the war hall effectively, no one dared to stand in opposition against the underworld ruler.

On the verge of throwing a fit, Death stopped in his tracks at the sound of quickened footsteps in the distance, closing in on the massive war hall. Permitting a gratuitous exhale, the immortal turned his back to the night hordes who readied themselves for the newcomer, recognizing the familiar footfalls from anywhere. With the flourish of his skeletal hand the grim reaper chanted inaudibly, summoning forth his power to shapeshift into the rightful lord of the castle.

Tendinous muscles bloomed in the place of bone, quickly overtaking the shrinking mass of Death who groaned in soothing tones at the tickling sensation. Inky black hair sprouted from the scalp of his skull and fine threads of linen materialized over muted skin. Black wool breeches pooled over his long legs while a standard charcoal doublet garnished with the Țepeș family insignia appeared over the newly formed body of Vlad’s imposter. Polished leather boots clacked as Death spun around for the night creatures to observe his clever disguise, finishing the last transfigurations needed to complete the transformation.

Looking back into the transmission mirror, the surface reflected an image of the war lord indiscernible from the genuine article currently incapacitated by Death. Sharp claws adorned with a platinum wedding band traced over the mirror thoughtfully, not bothered by the sudden intrusion of Hector who appeared to be out of breath from dashing from his workshop.

Strands of starlight shook gently as the Grecian man doubled over from exhaustion, sweat gathering at his brow as his vision locked onto Dracula. Gently gripping the railing of the grand master stairway, the Forgemaster allowed himself a moment to catch his breath while his night creatures marched out of the war hall.

“Dracula, we need to replenish our forces, the number of casualties in your army continue to rise across Wallachia,” Hector announced wearily. Currently, the Forgemaster worked tirelessly around the clock to provide the soldiers that supplied Dracula’s army. Although he was honored to be chosen as the chief general in the crusade against humanity, Hector could not help but feel that he was reaching his limitations. Additionally, the necromancer pondered the whereabouts of his equal Isaac who had yet to make an appearance in the court of Dracula. Feeling a stab of disappointment at the late arrival of Isaac, Hector found his hands tied up with numerous tasks that did little to distract his thoughts that led to the other Forgemaster.

The two necromancers had been introduced to one another with the assistance of Dracula during his pursuit of knowledge upon Lisa’s request. Hector recalled being in awe, shyly eyeing the other sorcerer whose appearance was quite different than what he had expected based on Dracula’s vague description of the man. Wise beyond his years in matters of philosophy, the Ghanaian man bore the façade of a fabled ruler from a faraway land. Sharp cheekbones exquisitely found purchase against the high points of his face, sleek lines defining the entirety of his graceful form.

However, the other man was unapproachable in their initial encounters, seeking no camaraderie with Hector outside of their shared association with Dracula. Life had dealt a fair share of cruelties to Isaac; sold into slavery at a very young age, his village invaded by Teutonic Knights seeking gold on behalf of the Catholic Church. Having his own share of hardships, Hector faced abuse administered by his parents and peers throughout his lifetime.

Despite the difficulty bonding with Isaac, it became clear to the reserved man that Hector coveted their connection and respected him despite their different worldviews. Isaac slowly began to disclose tidbits of information about his past, detailing the events of his travels throughout the years. The young philosopher was often met with unwarranted violence, constantly badgered by men who had something to prove. Following suit in storytelling, Hector confided in Isaac about his current quarters on the island of Rhodes, forced into isolation by locals who feared the Forgemaster.

“They called me a demon, convinced that I was a byproduct of Satan and his wickedness,” Hector confessed quietly around the campfire. Looking across the flickering flames, his companions offered their sympathy in silence at the disheartened declaration.

Aquamarine hues reflected sorrow, recalling the daily deliverance of venomous words from his birth parents. His mother Rhea viewed her son as a curse, damning their family from the moment he left her womb. His father Cyrus cruelly forced Hector to use his abilities for his greed, completely lacking any attachment to his son. Trauma was an understatement when it came to describing the afflictions he suffered under the roof of his childhood home, every day more miserable than the previous one.

Hector recalled reaching his breaking point when his mother and father heartlessly set aflame Cassius, an undead canine that he revived in the picturesque meadows of Corfu. Infuriated by Hector and his strange proclivities of bringing dead animals into their living quarters, Rhea ripped off a long branch from a nearby olive tree.

“If only I could have foreseen the depravity of your character; why did God gift me with an evil seed,” Rhea cursed ruthlessly while beating a sobbing Hector, leaving irritated welts across his vulnerable back and arms. Curling into a fetal position to avoid the worst of his mother’s fury, Hector begged his mother to stop, but she refused to relent her punishment.

In retaliation, Hector ignited the residence under the cover of darkness, miming the brutality of his parents in an episode of calculated rage. Horrid screams shattered the silence of the night, smoke carrying the scent of burning flesh that could be smelled for miles. Neighbors cautiously gathered around the family home in horror, hurling a plethora of wicked expletives directed to the young boy. Hector retreated into the night wordlessly, never returning to the island of Corfu.

“Your story furthers my point, humanity is an infestation that ravages anything it comes into contact with,” Isaac asserted casually, wrapping his artisan hands around a ceramic mug containing water infused with citrus tones. Mahogany eyes squinted in displeasure at the shortcomings of mankind; a species that Isaac deemed unnecessary given their lack of purity and selfishness.

Propping an alabaster hand against his temple, Dracula wordlessly looked to both men who appeared to be at a standstill in the discussion.

“Peculiar would not even begin to express the paradoxical nature of this discussion, wouldn’t the two of you agree,” Dracula suggested whimsically while rising from the dewy grassland. Both humans exchanged a perplexed look with one another before allowing their supernatural companion to continue his train of thought.

“Despite the misfortunes that you both have endured, neither of you have purposefully gone out of your way to hurt others,” the vampire explained with a faint smile, looking to the two magically imbued mortals. Hector allowed a small smile of his own to surface in agreeance while Isaac quietly mulled over the words in deep contemplation.

Not long after their travels together, Isaac followed Dracula’s recommendation of perusing the world for further insight on humanity and what it had to offer. Traveling through the city of Tunis to return to his abode in the Western Sahara Desert, Isaac encountered a man who simply went by the name of Captain. Commanding a crew of forty-four men, the Captain invited Isaac to explore the world with him, seeing curiosity twinkling in those umber hues. Prior to the present war, both Hector and Isaac communicated through the distance mirrors gifted to them by Dracula. The vampire was quite insistent about the two staying in touch, emphasizing the importance of their friendship.

Hector listened in wonder at the tales that Isaac narrated, completely enthralled by the whirlwind of journeys that Isaac experienced across the globe. Various knick-knacks were presented under the ever-watchful eye of Hector, souvenirs gifted by companions made along the way during his world expedition. Contentment radiated off Isaac in a terrific arrangement throughout their conversations over the next couple of months, feeling closer than ever before to the other Forgemaster. Despite the Ghanaian man being worlds away from Hector’s humble abode in Rhodes, the Grecian man truly felt that he could call himself Isaac’s friend.

“I have never felt more at peace Hector,” Isaac conceded amicably as the sound of relaxing waves sloshed in the backdrop of his lodgings, retiring to his personal cabin for the night. The other Forgemaster curled his body against the worn mat in his small man-made hut, propping a hand under his chiseled chin. Daydreaming about a life of exciting escapades, preferably at the side of Isaac or Dracula, Hector allowed his imagination to run wild. However, Hector lacked the confidence to travel on his own at the mercy of other humans, knowing that his naivety could easily be exploited.

“What you have accomplished is an astounding feat, I’m happy for you,” Hector professed honestly while gently scratching behind the ear of his curious pet Cezar, the small pup wagging its stubby tail at the attention of his master. Tucking away a lingering lock that swayed in his vision, the Corfu native was thrilled that Isaac had achieved inner peace in his ventures to distant lands. Prattling on into the night as they often did, the two men would communicate almost daily until calamity struck Wallachia.

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False rumors quickly spread across Wallachia regarding Lisa Țepeș, all unfounded accounts of the human doctor being a malevolent witch who used black magic to heal the residents of Târgoviște. Local priests and clergymen of the Catholic Church demanded that the woman burn at the stake for her crimes, claiming that Lisa denounced the teachings of the church through her unorthodox methods. Leading the public lynching of the innocent physician, the Bishop stormed the cottage and burned the structure without remorse, gleefully watching the home crumble in on itself amongst the flames.

Not long after the unexpected invasion, Dracula was alarmed by a disturbance in the cosmos after departing from the market town of Târgșor. The small town was roughly three miles out from the small dwelling that he shared with his wife from time to time following the birth of their son Adrian. The scholar had just returned to Wallachia after a year of traveling, departing from the port city of Braila just days ago. Wasting no time, the voivode glided through the bleak skies of a Wallachian winter, perturbed by the prickling unease that struck him out of nowhere. From the darkened clouds above, the nosferatu noticed fumes shrouding the small refuge of their home, seeing two figures situated in what remained of the cottage.

Crimson red engulfed the sclerae of Vlad’s eyes, his wrathful aura alerting one of the two creatures standing. Ivory frost coated platinum blond loose waves that resembled that of his wife Lisa, golden eyes widening in apprehension as the youth registered the presence of his father. An old woman crouched remorsefully by the young man with a hand full of withered cowslips picked from the nearby flora, laying them down in front of the incinerated remnants of the home.

“Words cannot express how indebted I am to your mother, the church has truly gone too far,” the elderly human muttered repentantly, clasping her worn hands together in a silent prayer. Jet black locks viciously swirled around the pale visage of the vampire, treading through the snowy sleet that did little to impede his powerful steps. Finally stopping before the pair, hellfire danced in his blazing irises that refused to burn out.

“Where is your mother and why were you not by her side,” Vlad snarled out quietly while dropping his traveling sack onto the blanketing snow, glowering at the dhampir without any inhibitions. A wave of tremendous guilt washed over Alucard at the blunt criticism of his father, unable to loosen the knot in his throat. Dark fitted leather gloves squeaked in protest, looking to the longsword he held in his hand for guidance. The weapon was a keepsake given to him by his mother in his teen years, a family heirloom passed through the ages.

“Mother asked me to travel to the city of Pitești to purchase medicinal herbs from the local market for her patients, I was only gone for two days,” the young man weakly explained. Raising a gloved hand to his temple in silent resignation, his eyes shut worriedly at the unknown fate of his mother, hauled away to the town square of Târgoviște to be burned for all to see.

Bloodied tears mirrored those that ran translucent in a state of clear distress. Despite the two butting heads from time to time, Vlad and Adrian loved Lisa more than anything else in the world so it was no question what they needed to do now. Casting a downward glance at the woman who knelt in the frosty snow, Vlad looked to the human thankful that at least one soul refused to participate in the cruel spectacle. Slowly rising to her feet with creaking bones, Alucard lent a hand to help Mrs. Djuvara rise from the snowfall, alleviating the strain of her getting up from the ground to the best of his abilities.

“The Bishop left about thirty minutes ago sir, rambling like a mad man after seeing the contents of the cottage,” the gray-haired crone commentated apologetically, gently thanking Alucard for his assistance. Giving her full attention to Vlad, almond-shaped eyes lowered in thought before she deemed it appropriate to continue.

“The Catholic Church wishes for Lisa to burn at the stake, those clergymen should be ashamed,” Mrs. Djuvara angrily expressed, crossing her arms at a complete loss.

If those bastards wish to burn my wife, blood shall be spilled all over these lands the immortal scholar promised menacingly while Alucard looked to his father with unadulterated determination. Somewhere in his delicate heart Alucard knew that his mother would be saved and that she would not want either of the men to spiral into violence on her behalf.

“There is no time to waste, we need to leave now Father if we hope to stop them,” Alucard suggested gently, sheathing his longsword into the scabbard that was fastened to his hip. Silently nodding in agreeance, Vlad directed one last glance to Mrs. Djuvara who watched the two men with concern.

“Thank you for your kindness, this act of generosity will not be forgotten,” Vlad expressed with a slight nod in her general direction. Turning on his heel, Vlad charged back into the frigid heavens once more. Following in suit, Alucard gave a polite bow in a show of gratitude before he took to the gloomy skies after his father.

“I truly hope she is alright,” the kind woman spoke in hushed tones, rubbing her aged palms together to regain some warmth before heading down the slushy path with careful steps. Tucked away in the grim forest nearby, a shadowy figure briskly swore, praying that the two supernatural beings would fail to reach the physician in time.

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Not a soul in Wallachia knows what occurred following these events, only aware that Lisa never reached the town square as the Bishop had intended. The Catholic Church decided not to pursue the matter any further after several months passed, deciding that God would be pleased by their work regardless of her unknown whereabouts. Many speculations were made by those residing in Târgoviște relishing a year of peace following the abduction of Lisa Țepeș, theorizing that she used her craftiness to escape the reach of the church. Completely unaware of the violence that would pervade the cursed province, Wallachians returned to their daily routines and forgot all about Lisa of Lupu.

Shortly after the presumed tragedy, Hector received a distress signal from his distance mirror roughly six months ago, contacted by Dracula to conduct a global population cull. Briefly explaining what led to the maniacal request, the vampiric king pleaded that Hector travel to Romania to assist in his war against mankind. At a loss for words, Hector hesitantly asked Dracula to give him more time to consider the harrowing proposal.

Feeling guilt streaming through his conscience, the necromancer attempted to contact Isaac for additional guidance in what path he should walk. However, the other Forgemaster failed to answer the line of communication that both were accustomed to. Left to his own devices and feeling indebted to Dracula for his kindness in those previous months together, Hector agreed to act as a general in the vampire’s army. At the acceptance of the request, Dracula summoned forward his transmission mirror, allowing Hector to safely arrive to Wallachia without a moment to waste.

Upon his arrival, Hector noticed several oddities while exploring the expansive fortress. For one, Dracula failed to mention that Hector and Isaac would be the only generals acting in his army. While the Grecian man understood that Dracula detested the vampires in his inner court, the sorcerer could not understand the set of tactics that his master presented. No vampires had been spotted in the months he spent in the estate. Marbled hallways remained vacant apart from the night creatures that passed through on occasion, leaving Hector with so many questions that would remain unanswered.

Moreover, the late appearance of Isaac bothered Hector to no end, knowing that the missing Forgemaster prided himself on being punctual. When the young wizard prodded Dracula about the man in question, the lord of the castle insisted that he could not get ahold of Isaac.

“I have tried to speak to Isaac on several occasions, yet I cannot seem to reach him,” Dracula permitted after weeks of leading Hector on about the whereabouts of the Ghanaian man.

Hearing the admission aloud troubled the tanned islander despite the war lord attempting to put his mind at ease.

“Who could possibly harm Isaac, he will be fine,” the undead tyrant exclaimed irritably with the wave of his hand, silencing the anxious man altogether. Shortly after his biting remark, Dracula issued an apology to the dismayed general, explaining that he meant no harm. During his tenure at the castle, Hector took notice of the constant mood swings that afflicted Dracula, his temperament setting off at the slightest inconvenience.

Night creatures controlled by the childlike fellow were disposed of in cruel moments dealt by the voivode, often victims of senseless brutality. Seeing their battered remains evoked memories from the childhood that Hector desperately tried to escape, feeling ill when coming across his slaughtered beasts. In those moments, Dracula knew exactly what to say, explaining that his episodic cruelty stemmed from his immeasurable sorrow. Despite it being clear that his lord was still in mourning, the sorcerer could not help, but feel that many details leading to the tragedy were abstract in nature.

Only once did Hector attempt to question Vlad about the demise of his wife, hoping that he could comfort his friend. Unsurprisingly, Dracula vehemently lashed out at Hector when inquiring about Lisa, clarifying that his grief was too painful to blatantly express.

“Her passing is like an open wound that was left to fester Hector, vulnerably exposed to the brutal elements,” the sovereign spat out venomously. Approaching the portrait of Lisa that sat in his over cluttered study, Dracula tenderly caressed the oil painting with a hollowed expression.

Feeling a strange mix of empathy and apprehension, Hector simply observed the unsettling scene, concluding that he could not offer the consolation that his liege would never be able to claim.

The two quickly began to draft plans, offering their own introspections about which cities would best serve as ground zero in the war. Setting the tone of the attacks was of the utmost importance to Dracula, deeming that the first strike against Wallachia would determine the success of future battles. After careful consideration, the warlord determined that the first skirmish had to be personal in nature so that Wallachians took his actions seriously. Maneuvering a pasty hand against a yellowed map of Romania, a finger landed on the foundation of his misery, allowing an insidious smirk to sprout in place.

Târgoviște would be the first target of Dracula’s unbridled fury in avenging Lisa, staking claim on the capitol in one fell swoop. Many attempted to escape the city in the initial wave of attacks but quickly fell victim to the onslaught of the night hordes. Those surviving escaped through elaborate labyrinths lying underneath the city, fleeing north to the region of Transylvania. News quickly spread regarding the ambush on Târgoviște, survivors warning anyone in proximity to desert Wallachia at once.

Not long after, Hector began to expand the numbers in Dracula’s army with the excess of corpses from successful frays around Wallachia. His materials for forging varied in appearance, leaving the necromancer to question his own moral compass at times. Some of remains relatively intact appeared to be as young as a five-year-old, robbed of a meaningful life all too soon. Others seemed elderly to the point of having issues with mobility, their joints stiffened from a lifetime of working day in and day out.

Shaking away these intrusive thoughts, Hector continued to perform his duties to the best of his abilities, successfully overtaking many cities with his revived hellhounds. Things were running according to plan until the unexpected appearance of Speakers in Greşit; the mages assisting the common people from the attacks of night creatures. Since then, different caravans had travelled throughout the province in hopes of defending the innocent civilians falling prey to the unexpected raids commanded by Dracula.

Projecting the falsehood of contemplation under the focused gaze of the young man, the doppelganger summoned away the enchanted mirror. Pacing to the throne that sat at the heart of the war hall, the faux Dracula slowly sat down while interlacing his corpse like fingers together.

“What do you suggest that we do Hector,” Dracula requested patiently, looking to the Forgemaster currently descending the steps with a weighted gaze. Drawing himself to the side of his master, Hector failed to ignore the fallen night creature slain in the war hall, its fresh blood still perfuming the stagnant air. Sparing a brief glance at the sight of the corpse, the magician allowed a downcast expression to cloud his handsome features, pity flooding his body.

“The night creatures need guidance on the battlefield; however, we do not have the means to be everywhere at once Master Dracula,” Hector expressed bluntly.

Conceding with a small bob, the commander of the army allowed his high-ranking officer to pursue his thread of reasoning.

“Why not utilize your vampiric subjects in this war, they could easily best anyone that challenged your authority,” the magical user hesitantly recommended after a beat of silence. Thrumming his lengthy fingers along the arms of the dark oak throne, an extended sigh was released at the suggestion. Craning his neck to make eye contact with the standing Forgemaster, Dracula allowed an unrefined snort to escape his mountainous frame, startling Hector with the action.

Rising from his cushioned seat, the imposter scrutinized the undead conjurer with a wary eye, bending down to gander at the Mediterranean male. Suppressing the urge to back away at the sudden invasion of his personal boundaries, Hector furrowed his brow but remained in place, refusing to yield to the intimidation tactic. Nevertheless, his heart thrashed madly inside the cavity of his chest, unsure of how Dracula would respond to the open defiance of his commanding general.

Surprisingly, the ghoulish sovereign beckoned the sorcerer to follow his footsteps up the stairway, leaving Hector stupefied. After Hector took a moment to gather his bearings, his stride shadowed his master who walked ahead in silence.

On the upper level of the castle, the crackle of lightning could be heard within the glass lanterns decorating the top of massive pillars. The Forgemaster trailed behind the imposing figure of Dracula by several steps, pondering the undisclosed destination that his master had in mind. Peculiar rooms embellished with the strange mechanisms of the castle passed in the background, colossal cogs spinning in tandem to power the lifelike structure. Illuminated by the blue radiance from the electrically powered lamps, both men began to slow their extended steps before coming to a complete stop at the appearance of an unexplored threshold previously unknown to Hector.

Darkness swept away any previous amusement from the face of the vampire, retrieving a skeletal key shrouded in a venomous miasma, visible to even the unsuspecting eye of Hector. Sweat beaded across tanned skin that shivered at what lied ahead, a wave of unexpected nausea overriding his otherwise well disposition. Am I being punished for what I previously suggested Hector questioned shakily, fearing that his unfiltered callousness stirred the rage of his liege.

“Hector, you must promise me that you will never tell anyone about this particular room,” Dracula cooed softly, brushing a frigid hand against the quivering form of his subject. Unbeknownst to the Grecian man, Hector faced no danger behind the doorway that Dracula wished to show him.

Nodding reluctantly at the inquiry, Hector directed a skittish glance to his master wordlessly. Wasting no more time, the entryway of the room was swung open by an otherworldly force, revealing an otherwise chaste setting.

Gossamer curtains carelessly blew back and forward, blinding sunlight filtering through the boarded windows of the secret lodging. Surprise struck the features of the Forgemaster, seeing a mysterious man in the center of the room, lying in a lavish canopy bed. The lord of the castle hesitantly entered the room with a grimace, trudging towards the rest station with heavy footfalls. Tilting his head downwards, Dracula once again gestured for Hector to follow his lead, inviting the magician to stand by him with the repeated curl of his ghoulish finger.

Promptly accepting the invitation, the Corfu native briskly paced his steps to stand by his commander, following the line of attention given to the ethereal man sleeping in the comfort of the bed. The expanse of porcelain skin revealed the lean form of the fellow, marred by an unsightly scar that splayed across his Adonis-like chest. Flaxen loose curls attractively framed the resting warrior, unfurling around the man in a breathtaking impression that resembled the mythical tresses of the Greek god Apollo. The celestial being only wore leather-bound trousers that effectively displayed his powerful yet lithe frame, equal parts refined and daunting in aura.

Clearing his throat at the awkward stretch of silence, a pale hand splayed across the bare chest of the dhampir, partially covering the only imperfection that could be found on the man.

“My son attempted to thwart my plans in avenging my wife,” Dracula carefully disclosed. Slithering the hand upward, his icy hand cupped the sculptured cheekbone belonging to the youth in bed.

Looking between the parent and child, it was clear to Hector who the unconscious beauty resembled, favoring the late woman that he often saw in the disorderly study of his sovereign. Only around the eyes and brows could he see the influence of his master, both father and son showcasing striking features that conveyed their noble heritage. Despite the discovery of Adrian seizing his interest, the Forgemaster was befuddled by the late introduction of the halfling prince.

“Before his betrayal, I tried to call on the assistance of the closest generals within my court, demanding that they come at once after what the humans had done to my beloved wife,” the vampire king hissed while drawing back his claws from his sole heir.

Pausing for the sake of building momentum in the elaborate lie, the false Dracula closed his crimson eyes, soundlessly relishing in the misplaced trust of the naive sorcerer.

“A vampire by the name of Orlok struck down Adrian with a cursed blade despite my prompt warnings, leaving him in this weakened state,” the voivode admitted with a bite, leaving a disquieted Hector to piece together what occurred.

Starlight strands shook at this revelation, finally coming to terms with the reluctance that his master exhibited at the mention of vampires being at the forefront of his war. Loyal subordinates of Dracula mortally wounded his offspring, proving themselves to be as depraved as human beings.

“I came to a realization following the near death of my successor; neither vampires nor humans deserve to walk these lands,” the executioner confessed boldly. According to the violent account of the crown ruler, Dracula dispatched every vampire in his path following the assault of his cherished son.

Bonds of blood and love fueled his animosity towards his own species, concluding that vampires were incapable of viewing mortal creatures as purposeful creatures.

“Please forgive me for my suggestion, it was an unreasonable request,” Hector confessed sorrowfully. Brushing off the verbal sputtering of his general, the doppelganger felt a ripple of fatigue begin to hammer away at the effectiveness of the spell disguising his legitimate form.

I will have to dismiss him at once Death deliberated apprehensively, detecting that the veil of the glamour was slipping rapidly from his persistent usage of the spell as of late. Allowing a rare genial smile to surface, Dracula summoned his tactical officer away, promising that he would find a proper solution to lessen the workload of the Forgemaster.

“Words alone cannot describe my gratitude Master Dracula, I will not fail you,” Hector promised with a bright smile, feeling a surge of passion spark at the unguarded constitution of his friend.

Once the jovial magician departed from the alcove, a deep scowl set on the face of the imposter wearing the skin of Dracula, sickened by the fictitious bond between him and the accursed man-child. Death lifted the enchantment camouflaging the angel of death, gliding over to the unmoved form of Alucard. Flesh melted away in a horrifying reveal, making way for the signature semblance of the spectre.

“Do you hear me Alucard,” the grim reaper griped, clearly miffed by the tireless charade that he put on day in and day out to accomplish his current objective. Procuring an agreeable spot in a gothic high back chair that sat close by, the entity permitted a superfluous exhale to leave his lungless structure. Gazing at the sleeping prince, a sharpened appendage attempted to pierce the heart of the unconscious youth. Simultaneously, a visible force field crackled at the threat of danger for the son of Dracula, Death forcibly removed by the triggered spell. Allocated by the true ruler of the castle, the spell allowed Alucard to remain unharmed by the malicious entity, protected by the paternal love of his father.

Groaning at the effectiveness of the hex, a feral snarl erupted from the underworld king. Stomping back to close in on the cursed male, the skeletal face of Death unceremoniously crowded in the proximity of the defenseless dhampir. Small breaths escaped from the gorgeous warrior compelled to sleep against his will, unable to voice his displeasure against the depraved creature.

“That cock wart Dracula will pay for making a mockery out of me, I will find away to break this spell and I will take what rightfully is mine,” Death assured brusquely, gripping the hollowed cheeks of his captive. Releasing the delicate face of the supernatural fighter, the grim reaper vanished from the chambers, slicing through the frigid air of the room with his trustworthy scythe.

Creating an ingress that led to the Infinite Corridor, Death saw a copious number of settings distorting the foundation of time and space, different eras and locations all residing within the unusual dimension.

“In order to assure my victory, I must douse out any semblance of hope for humanity,” the supernatural being concluded grimly. Selecting a seemingly arbitrary setting, Death pursued the target he had sought out for months: the absent Forgemaster Isaac.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Harsh pants dispensed at the suffocating dryness of the barren lands; a wearied figure found difficulty with properly trekking through the golden sand that seemed infinite. Bringing the waxed batik fabric of his bell-shaped sleeve to his drenched brow, Isaac squinted in exhaustion at the compression of heat, seeing waves distort his unreliable vision. Leering at the nothingness that extended for miles, the Ghanaian man paused in his journey. Looking back at the night creatures created from the remains of desert bandits, maroon eyes warily searched the blazing heavens to see if the deadly entity hid amongst his troops.

Dropping to his knees abruptly, the Forgemaster felt his stamina begin to plummet at an unprecedented rate. For several months the necromancer avoided the grim reaper with the assistance of his distance mirror, indebted to Dracula for his selflessness during a critical time in Wallachia. Frowning in discontentment at the unpleasant memory, the sorcerer felt responsible for failing the traveling scholar in his time of need.

Approximately a year ago, Isaac received a distressed message from his highly esteemed friend Dracula, foreboding the current events that he now endured. While the communication from the man of letters was not an aberration in his daily rituals, the Forgemaster noticed an immediate difference in the usually collected countenance of the vampire king.

Shooting pains stirred within the frontal lobe of his head at the recollection, immediately bringing Isaac back to the tumultuous present. Night creatures gathered around their master, concerned by the abnormal behavior of the dark skinned enchanter. One night creature by the name of Fly Eyes stood at the forefront of the troops, chittering away commands to instruct the lesser beings within their ranks to search for nourishment at once.

Attempting to placate the dehydrated magician, Flyseyes knelt by the side of the Ghanaian man, gently prying open the attractive curve of plump lips with his razor-sharp talons.

Carefully bringing his hands to his side, Flyseyes retrieved a leather waterskin from the satchel belonging to his liege. Despite his nightmarish appearance, the night creature retained a good deal of his humanity, constantly conversing with Isaac about a great deal of worldly matters. In his previous life, the anthropomorphic fly acted as a Greek philosopher who died in the ancient city of Athens, remembering inconsequential details from his past. Delicious morsels for discussions by the fire, the creature inspired new trains of thought for Isaac with his wisdom and vice versa.

“You really should drink Isaac, do you wish to expire,” the night creature prattled with a hint of admonition, the water-filled receptacle promptly placed in front of the revenant summoner. Allowing a small exhale to leave his crumbled form, the Forgemaster gladly accepted the offering given by his wise servant, taking extensive gulps to savor the lukewarm water.

Pulling back to intake an influx of fresh air, Isaac straightened his toned frame, unable to articulate his hopelessness. Wide vermillion eyes stared adamantly, refusing to yield in their conquest of retrieving their master, the wise man seeming so lost for the first time since the two met.

“Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here,” the night creature mentioned offhandedly, raising a barbed nail to pick at the human flesh stuck between his visceral fangs.

Down casted burgundy eyes closed at the ancient Athenian proverb, shaken by his own bewilderment, instead offering an Islamic adage to combat his own troubled psyche.

“Life is not guaranteed at all, but death is absolutely guaranteed upon all, yet we still prepare for life more than death,” the necromancer countered, passing the waterskin to the puzzled night creature.

Although the demonic entity politely accepted the leather canteen, Flyseyes no longer required the fundamental resources needed for human survival. Placing the waterskin by his side in the shifting silt, the jarring beast stood up, seeing the dispatched creatures returning to their malnourished master bearing gifts. Not too far off, a small caravan trailed in the overshadow of the flying critters, a small collection of several men and women on camelback.

Slowly, Isaac retrieved his forging dagger from the rough cotton sash tied to his strong core, prepared to add the travelers to his ranks if need be. Shockingly, the men appeared to be completely calm, not bothered by the presence of the Forgemaster or his beasties. Cool steel began to heat up in his clammy palms, hooded eyes sinking close from the burnout administered by the unexpected travels leading him to the accursed desert.

This is the end I suppose, my only regret is dying in this hellish heat Isaac mused casually, falling onto the fiery golden sea. Vision blackening at the edges, the last sight captured by Isaac was the dismounting of the leader, an unusual ambiance filling the air at his arrival.

#Castlevania #castlevania fanfiction #gretacard #greta danesti #sypha belnades #death #hector #isaac #isaac laforeze #forgehusbands #lisa tepes #vlad dracula tepes #draculisa #I hope you guys are fed well with this chapter #because my fingers have died from typing and revising all of this a million times #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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witchbitchheadedtoaditch · 3 years

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Shadow Work Prompts Part 2

Hello my loves! I'm going to add some more shadow work prompts (primarily because... Kaye needs to do shadow work and maybe this will convince them to do it. (It won't. We all know it won't. But we can hope....))

I'm gonna put these below the cut just so people don't have to scroll through this long as fuck list on their dash if they don't want to see them lol

Some of these are really, really heavy, and do touch on things like sexual assault, abuse, death, etc., so this is the trigger warning for you.

A lot of these are also focused on women and AFAB folks because I'm trying to reconcile with my femininity and whatnot.

Anne Carson Quotes

You remember too much, my mother said to me recently. Why hold onto all that? And I said, Where can I put it down?

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. ... Eros: the boundary of flesh and self between you and me.

Desire is no light thing.

It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.

Reality is a sound, you have to tune in to it not just keep yelling.

All mortals owe a debt to death.

...sex is a substitute, like money or language.

...your story begins the moment Eros enters you. That incursion is the biggest risk of your life. How you handle it is an index of the quality, wisdom, and decorum of the things inside you.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.

Philosophers say man forms himself in dialogue.

There is no person without a world.

If there is anything dearer than being alive, it's dark to me.

We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing... life.

The underworld's a blank and all the rest just fantasy.

Caught between the tongue and the taste.

What is mortality after all but divine doubt flashing over us? For an instant God suspends assent and poof! we disappear.

Girls are cruelest to themselves.

What really connects words and things?

Blessed be they whose lives do not taste of evil

Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is to watch the year repeat its days.

Consider incompleteness as a verb.

You can get used to anything, my mother was in the habit of saying.

I am talking about evil. It blooms. It eats. It grins.

I don't want to be a person. I want to be unbearable.

Beauty makes me hopeless.

The dead... are victims of love, many of them.

To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.

You read a hundred military manuals you won't find the word kill they trick you into killing.

I went mad, a god hurt me, I fell.

Those nights lying alone are not discontinuous with this cold hectic dawn. It is who I am.

Love does not make me gentle or kind.

Your grief is as great as your splendor was: some god is weighing the one out equal to the other.

You can never know enough, never work enough, ... never leave the mind quickly enough.

Language is what eases the pain of living with other people, language is what makes the wounds come open again.

Where does unbelief begin?

Everything that is me is with me.

A wound gives off its own light...

I began to think I was someone thirsting for God.

You are a person in love with the impossible.

When we are denied a story, a light goes off.

Some conversations are not what they're about.

I lack myself.

Who knows what will happen if I'm alone with my grief.

I... forbid that you should ever lose your screams.

You are not a god. You are not that enlarged self. Indeed, you are not even a whole self, as you now see. Your new knowledge of possibilities is also a knowledge of what is lacking in the actual.

There is a loneliness that fills the plain.

The women of mythology regularly lose their form in monstrosity.

We live by waters breaking out of the heart.

Time as hunger. Time passing and gazing. Time as perseverance. Mountain time. Time as paper folded to look like a mountain. Time compared to the wild fantastic silence of stars.

What are we made of but hunger and rage?

When I look at you, even for a moment, no speaking is left in me.

Kelly Cherry Quotes

I didn't find my story; it found me.

There is blood everywhere and I am lost in it. I breathe blood, not air.

The story of [their] great-grandfather [or any ancestor]... was [their] own story, too.

Ashe Vernon Quotes

Don't you dare, for one minute, believe that my kindness makes me anything but insurmountable.

Understand that I am not your next victim in a laundry list of broken girls.

I will eat you alive before I let you make a meal of me.

What they don't tell you about standing up for what you believe in is that your feet will bruise and your legs will ache.

I'd like to take a moment to submit a formal apology to my soft parts because they kept me warm when I was trying to freeze to death, and I hated them for it.

I let myself be afraid.

When you learn you are only as good as your beauty routine, you forget how to define yourself by anything else.

I will know how to be vulnerable with you, but I won't know how to not regret it.

I know how to put my body inside someone else's but not how to make it beautiful.

I love better at a distance.

I am as much lion as I am lion tamer.

I got good at inflicting pain the same way I got good at soothing it.

Quit picking old wounds and going tor walks in the aches and pains you already made it through--you call it healing, but it sounds like a good way to take a haunting home with you.

I am a cathedral of almost-lovers

Louise Gluck Quotes

We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

I thought that pain meant I was not loved. It meant I loved.

The soul is silent. If it speaks at all it speaks in dreams.

Intense love always leads to mourning.

You will never let go, you will never be satiated.

It will feed you, it will ravish you, it will not keep you alive.

Why love what you will lose? There is nothing else to love.

I speak because I am shattered.

I don't need your praise to survive.

Whatever returns from oblivion returns to find a voice.

Nakedness in women is always a pose. I was not transfigured. I would never be free.

The unsaid, for me, exerts great power.

I am tired of human... I want to live on the sun

Death cannot harm me more than you have harmed me, my beloved life.

There are places like this... you enter as a young girl... you never return.

Writing is a kind of revenge against circumstance, too: bad luck, loss, pain. If you make something out of it, then you've no longer been bested by these events.

The riddle was: why couldn't we live in the mind. The answer was: the barrier of the earth intervened.

It is true that there is not enough beauty in the world. It is also true that I am not competent to restore it. Neither is there candor, and here I may be of some use.

You're not a creature in body. You exist as the stars exist, participating in their stillness, their immensity.

And then, suddenly, something is over.

You must be taught to love me. Human beings must be taught to love silence and darkness.

Sappho Quotes

Someone will remember us/I say/even in another time.

Their heart grew cold. They let their wings down.

What cannot be said will be wept.

What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful

Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.

Love shook my heart like the wind on the mountain rushing over the oak trees

Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.

I know not what to do, my mind is divided.

The female creature is a letter.

No holy place existed without us then

She who loves roses must be patient and not cry when she is pierced by thorns.

Because I prayed this word: I want.

If you had a desire for good or beautiful things and your tongue were not concocting some evil to say, shame would not hold down your eyes but rather you would speak about what is just.

Wealth without virtue is no harmless neighbor.

I am weary of all your words and soft, strange ways.

Paisley Rekdal Quotes

Does it offend you to watch me working in it, touching my hands to the greening tips or tearing the yellow stalks back, so wild the living and dead both snap off in my hands?

I can wait longer than sadness.

It is such a small thing to be proud of.

Should I, too, not be loved?

We are even now still so young

I loved him. I loved forgiving him.

Yasmin Belkhyr Quotes

Contrary to wound, I still know nothing of defeat.

Contrary to ache, I still know nothing of guilt.

I help: a good daughter.

Someone always ends up holding something mangled.

It wasn't enough to feel... he had to see, to know.

Adrienne Rich Quotes

There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.

Lying is done with words, and also with silence

Responsibility to yourself means refusing to let others do your thinking, talking, and naming for you; it means learning to respect and use your own brains and instincts; hence, grappling with hard work.

When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.

My heart is moved by all I cannot save: so much has been destroyed

If you are trying to transform a brutalized society into one where people can live in dignity and hope, you begin with the empowering of the most powerless. You build from the ground up.

Until we know the assumptions in which we are drenched, we cannot know ourselves.

The truth of our bodies and our minds has been mystified to us.

It will take all your heart, it will take all your breath. It will be short, it will not be simple.

You look at me like an emergency.

The unconscious wants truth. It ceases to speak to those who want something else more than truth.

In a world where language and naming are power, silence is oppression, is violence.

There is no 'the truth', 'a truth'--truth is not one thing, or even a system. It is an increasing complexity. The pattern of the carpet is a surface. When we look closely, or when we become weavers, we learn of the tiny multiple threads unseen in the overall pattern, the knots on the underside of the carpet.

The moment of change is the only poem

There is nothing revolutionary whatsoever about the control of women's bodies by men. The woman's body is the terrain on which the patriarchy is erected.

The scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

Not biology, but ignorance of ourselves, has been the key to our powerlessness

What kind of beast would turn its life into words?

Truthfulness, honor, is not something which springs ablaze of itself; it has been created between people.

You touched me in places so deep I wanted to ignore you

Silence can be a plan rigorously executed, the blueprint to a life, it is a presence, it has a history, a form. Do not confuse it with any kind of absence.

Most women have not even been able to touch this anger, except to drive it inward like a rusted nail.

We have lived with violence for so long.

This is my body, take it and destroy it

We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings. And the fear of our deepest cravings keeps them suspect, keeps us docile and loyal and obedient, and leads us to settle for... many facets of our own oppression.

Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories, false namings of real events.

A language is a map of our failures.

The more I live the more I think two people together is a miracle.

Poetry is, among other things, a criticism of language.

How do you make it, all the way from here to morning?

An honorable human relationship--that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word "love"--is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.

You grieve in loneliness, and if I understand you fuck in loneliness.

We write from the marrow of our bones.

The liar has many friends, and leads an existence of great loneliness

We must use what we have to invent what we desire.

William Styron Quotes

We're all in this game together.

In depression this faith in deliverance, in ultimate restoration, is absent. The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come-not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute.

It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul

We each devise our means of escape from the intolerable.

Reading--the best state yet to keep absolute loneliness at bay.

Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.

Let your love flow out on all living things.

Loss in all of its manifestations is the touchstone of depression--in the progress of the disease and, most likely, in its origin.

Kai Cheng Thom Quotes

I wanted to protect you, but I'm starting to think that the best thing you can do for people is teach them how to protect themselves. Every girl needs to be at least a little dangerous.

A sanctuary is a place where the door only locks from the inside.

Sometimes to be somebody else, you have to be nobody first.

You will be able to stop hurting people when you stop hurting yourself.

When you're a child trapped in a situation of physical or psychological depravation, you learn shame as an efficient, elegant mechanism of survival: shame simultaneously shields you from the reality that danger is out of your control (since the problem is not that you're unloved and deprived; it's that you're Bad) and prevents you from doing or saying anything challenging that might provoke a threat.

It's good for you to cry sometimes. Even if there isn't a reason.

When you live in a community of queers, anarchists, & activists, crisis is the baseline and stability an outlier.

You are mine like nothing has ever been before.

Safety is, I believe, an inherently classed, raced, and gendered experience that frequently runs the risk of being used for regressive ends--ironically, for restricting the freedoms of the vulnerable, those who are never really safe. Often, we see the call for safety actually reinforce the power of oppressive institutions, like the police and the prison system, in our lives. When we choose safety over liberation, our movements fail.

When they looked at me and my sister, even their love was hungry.

Some people will cling on to anything that makes them feel even a little bit free.

Forget, if you can, all the promises you've ever made and the lies that you've told.

Once you start hurting people, you can't stop

I feel tired. I don't want to be myself anymore.

Sometimes it's important to be alive.

Sometimes, there is nothing you can do but surrender.

You are always disappearing in the hope of being seen. You are always shrinking to fit into someone else's arms. You are collapsing ever inward, a galaxy to become smaller.

Gregory Orr Quotes

If we're not supposed to dance, why all this music?

Even hell is holy.

I was born with a knife in one hand and a wound in the other.

Maybe she loved me, maybe not--who knows? Not even the gods can see into a human heart--it's that dark.

Writing often reveals us to ourselves, lets us name what's important to us and what has been silent or silenced inside us.

And to live only once--what if that's not enough?

Maybe it was always simple: loss surrounds us. Who would deny it? We ourselves are loss, are lost.

I want to study the book of the world: every vanishing page.

The dead sing us songs I'm learning to answer.

#shadow work #shadowwork #prompts #shadow work prompts #witchblr

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oneisallallisone · 3 years

Text

All I Know, All I Know Greedling x Reader fic Chapter 4

In a land ruled by alchemy, there are some who would call you a sorcerer. You intend to understand what this means. Along your journey you end up getting mixed up with two strange brothers, a military conspiracy, a potentially world-ending event, and the avarice of something more than human.

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

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All I Know, All I Know

Chapter 4: Drained

tw: descriptions of violence and blood

It was almost like a dance; Ed darting in to slash at Number 48 with his automail blade then pivoting away, allowing you to take aim and send bolt after violet bolt at the suit of armor. The amount of exertion was unlike anything you had ever felt. Sweat trickled down your brow, your limbs shook from the effort. You never seemed able to catch your breath.

This will drain you, a tiny voice said in the back of your head. A louder voice in the back of your head snapped at yourself to shut up. You couldn’t allow yourself to stop your barrage here. Not when Ed was starting to bleed so badly.

A few moments ago you saw him stumble backwards after blocking Slicer’s sword. The alchemist’s eyes widened and he rolled his right shoulder—his automail shoulder—a few times. Number 48 had advanced on him again, so you took it as your cue to intervene. Two arcs of purple energy hit the knight in both his knees, knocking him off his feet for a few moments. But it was enough time for Ed to regroup and decidedly shift back into a defensive stance.

That was the exact moment from which the fight started to get worse.

Ed’s attacks became sloppy. Your shaking limbs caused more of your attacks to miss. Number 48 had landed a fair amount of hits on the alchemist and now Ed was losing blood fast. There were particularly concerning wounds on his upper left arm and the side of his head.

“Ed!” you called, “I really think we should—”

“End this fast, I know!”

Despite his injuries, Ed seemed determined to fight on.

“If we die here I’m gonna kick your ass in hell!” you screamed.

Ed’s only response was a grimace as he parried another swing from Slicer’s blade. He back flipped out of the way and you moved in to take a shot. But your hands were shaking, your whole arm was shaking, and instead of sending the purple blast of vitality into Number 48 it soared wide and impacted the ceiling above you. A chunk of cement fell free and landed inches from Ed.

“Hey!” the alchemist called. “Watch it! You’re supposed to be attacking him, not me!”

“I’ve never exerted this much of my power before!” you yelled back. “My body can’t keep up with controlling what I demand from it!”

“How courteous of you to admit your exhaustion, child,” Number 48 droned. “The swift end I’ll deliver you shall be a mercy.”

The guard charged you. Sword poised to stab right through your chest. Your feet shifted back a few steps as if to run, but you felt your arms raising themselves up to produce your shield again. If you were going to die, it might as well be standing your ground.

The impact never came. Ed dashed over to put himself between you and Slicer, grunting under the strain of blocking the guard’s sword with his automail. But within moments the alchemist’s strength failed.

Number 48 knocked both you and Ed aside with a great, sweeping kick. The two of you tumbled across the ground and crashed against each other in a tangle of limbs. When your momentum stopped, you were flat on your stomach, looking up at your looming death approaching. Ed was on his knees next to you.

Slicer approached slow, savoring his victory.

You looked up at Ed. The blood streamed down the side of his face and you could see the clear pain in his eyes. But there still existed an unrelenting determination behind them. He turned his gaze back up at Slicer. Then you watched his eyes flicker to the threshold of the empty hallway across the room. The one behind the guard’s back.

“Now, Al!” Ed yelled.

Number 48 did not know the hallway was empty. When he turned to face the supposed new combatant, Ed leapt from his knees and knocked Slicer’s head from his body with one clean strike. The metal helmet clanged to the floor, and Ed stood catching his breath.

“That was dirty!” Number 48 yelled.

“There’s no such thing as dirty in a fight!” Ed shot back.

You hauled yourself to your feet and walked over to where Ed was currently holding Number 48’s helmet by the hair. “There’s something I need to ask you about.”

“The Philosopher's Stone?” the guard asked, his words almost laced with boredom.

“Yes. Tell me everything you know about it.”

“Sorry. Can’t.”

“Oh come on,” Ed argued. “It’s only fair. I’ve beaten you at your own game, afterall.”

“That’s where you are wrong. I’m not beaten yet.”

You heard the shifting metal only after it was far too late. A quick, piercing sensation ripped through your skin. You looked down to see the tip of a sword jutting out from your lower abdomen, close to the right side of your body.

Your eyes locked with Ed’s before you fell to your knees.

“I forgot to mention something about the mass murderer Slicer,” Number 48’s head said.

A new voice spoke from the armored body that was moving once again. “His crimes were committed by a pair of brothers.”

Ed screamed and charged at the second brother.

You collapsed forward onto your hands. This is bad this is bad this is bad—

A red pool formed below you. Your arms were screaming for you to let them give out, just let yourself lie down, close your eyes. For a moment you thought you might. But then Ed cried out in pain again.

You’d already won against one of these guard dogs. It’d be a shame if that was all for nothing.

Your right hand found the bleeding in your lower abdomen. The warm fluid leaked fast and seeped through your fingers in a matter of seconds; pressure from your hand alone wasn’t going to be enough to stop the bleeding. Taking your hand away from the wound, you ripped one of the sleeves off your shirt and rolled the fabric into a plug that matched the width of the gash. Steeling yourself for the pain, you stuffed it underneath your skin.

Returning your hand to the wound and applying pressure whilst the fabric of your shirt was soaking up some of the blood yielded slightly better results than pressure from your hand alone. Slightly.

Shifting your gaze back to the wider room, you saw Ed slumped against a pillar. He was also holding his side tightly, a look of pain and exhaustion in his eyes. But the body of armor that had once been moving was on the ground in pieces. Low voices filled the air, and you stumbled your way over to the injured alchemist.

“Aren’t you going to kill us?” Number 48’s head asked as you leaned on the pillar next to Ed.

“No,” the fullmetal alchemist stated firmly. “I will not take the life of another human. And I know that my brother is a human being, so that means you guys are human too. I will not kill you.”

The head laughed. “My brother and I have been lying, cheating, stealing, and killing for as long as we can remember. And now that we have these forms, we’re being treated more like humans than we ever have. For that, boy, I’ll give you a parting gift. I’ll tell you everything. The Stone—”

Razor sharp darkness leapt from the shadows across the room. Two obsidian spearheads punctured Number 48’s head, ripping through his blood-seal and killing him in a heartbeat. Ed gasped beside you, and you felt your heart rate quicken from a new sense of fear, or the toll your injuries were taking, or both.

“My, that was a close call,” a feminine voice said.

Two figures emerged from the threshold of the hallway; one of them wore a black off-the-shoulder dress, and the other was in an equally dark crop top and skort. The one in the dress had long, wavy black hair, pale skin, and eyes like wine. The other one had equally pale skin, black hair that hung in strands around their body, and eyes of the dullest, darkest purple.

“Number 48, you should know better than to talk about things that don’t concern you,” the girl in the black dress continued. She retracted the spearheads that had pierced Number 48’s helmet, and, only when the sharp points settled, you realized with horror that she wasn’t carrying a weapon at all. The extendable and retractable blades were her fingertips. You wondered briefly if your loss of blood was causing you to hallucinate.

But Ed’s gaze was just as fixed on these newcomers too. It had to be real. The one standing just slightly behind the girl grinned smugly and caught Ed’s eyes. “Well, well, would you look at that, what’s the fullmetal pipsqueak doing here?”

Ed didn’t even shout back at being called a pipsqueak.

“Such a troublesome boy,” the girl with the pointed fingernails sighed. “How did you find out about this place? And oh, who is this?” Her eyes landed on you. “Well this certainly throws a wrench in things.”

“(y/n), run,” Ed whispered to you.

You snapped your head towards him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Go!” he hissed. “Your powers were as good as drained by the end of the last fight. If these guys are looking for trouble…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence. Dark spots were starting to dance at the edge of your vision now. But there’s no way you could walk out of here without Ed.

As the girl shattered Number 48’s helmet in half, strangled cries erupted from the rest of the armor. “Brother? Brother! No! Brother!”

The one in the crop top sauntered over and picked up Number 48’s sword. They drove it through the blood-seal drawn on the neck of the armor again and again and again. “Quit your blubbering, you idiot!” they scolded the dying brother. “You were trying to kill one of our most important sacrifices! You could have messed up the entire plan! What would we have done then? Huh?”

But the armored brother could not respond, as his twitching had ceased.

“Go get Al,” Ed whispered to you in an urgent voice. “Please, (y/n). I’ll be fine. Just hurry.”

As the two figures in black stepped closer, you saw that on each of them was a tattoo: A red dragon eating its own tail. The girl with the wavy hair and wine colored eyes still had her gaze set on you. “We don’t need this other one. Only the fullmetal boy is required. Would you make it quick, Envy?”

The one carrying the sword grinned and turned to face you. “Why, I’d be happy to, Lust.”

Envy, as they were called, stepped over and pulled you close to them, holding the tip of the blade to your throat. You swore you caught a glimpse of your fearful face reflected in their dark pupils. The grin on Envy’s lips twisted wider.

“(y/n)!” Ed shouted.

You focused on your energy. If there was even a scrap of your power left over, you had to claw it out now or this would be it. You dug down, down down, and felt an inkling of something trying to flicker to the surface.

When it erupted, it sent Envy flying across the room.

The girl, Lust, looked back in shock as Envy hit the wall. Their back slammed hard into the concrete, and they were just barely able to catch themself on their hands before crumpling completely. “You brat!” their voice ripped through the air.

“Go! (y/n), go!” Ed was practically pleading at this point.

You aimed another blast at the ceiling between Ed and Lust, hoping that the falling cement would slow her and her companion down. With the roof on the far side of the room beginning to crumble, you limped back into the hallway you came in from.

Al was staring back and forth between officers Ross and Brosh, and the other armored individual that called himself Barry. He had been surprised to learn that Barry was like him, a hollow suit of armor with a soul bonded to it, but this commonality hadn’t stopped Barry from trying to kill him. The arrival of Ross and Brosh was the only thing that gave Barry pause.

In the relent of Barry’s attacks, Al turned his attention back towards the Fifth Laboratory just in time to hear a faint voice call out from the other side of the boarded-up front entrance.

“Al,” your voice carried weakly. “Al, are you there?”

The young armored boy startled and he rushed over to the boards. “(y/n)? Is that you?”

“Yes. I can’t get through. Please…”

With the wavering of your voice and the Central guard already having been killed by Barry, Al wasted no time creating a hole in the wall with his alchemy. Once there was an opening, you collapsed through it and fell onto the lawn. Blood seeped into the soft grass below you.

“(y/n)?” Al said cautiously.

“Ed…” you whispered. “In trouble. Go.” You attempted to stand as you pointed to the opening behind you.

Al helped you up as gently as a suit of armor could, and then turned back to the officers. “Lietenant Ross, please look after her.”

The woman stepped closer to Al, keeping her gun trained on Barry but nodding at Al’s request.

“Of cou—”

She was cut off by an explosion from the laboratory. Fractures ran up the sides of the building, large pieces broke off and crumpled to the ground. Al pulled you away as the windows burst, and Ross shouted for Brosh to take cover.

“No…” you mumbled as Al shielded you. “No no no no no, this wasn’t…I didn’t… ” You couldn’t help but replay over and over the last thing you did before leaving Ed alone with those people: blasting the ceiling so a few pieces of it would collapse, just a few pieces to act as a shield for him. You’d never intended for this. And now Ed was—

Being carried out by Envy?

Past Al’s torso, through your ever-darkening vision, you saw them emerge from a hole in the wall. Envy had Ed slung over one of their shoulders and practically dropped him at Al’s feet. “Here you are! I brought a little present for you.”

“Brother!” Al cried, crouching down to inspect him while still keeping you supported.

“He’s not dead, but he has lost a lot of blood so I suggest you get him to a hospital as soon as you can.” Envy smiled. “Oh, and maybe start keeping a better eye on him too? He is a precious resource, afterall.”

Maria rushed over and pulled Ed into her arms. “Who exactly are you?”

Envy ignored her. Instead they grinned down at you. “And you…well, I’ll see you around.”

The last thing you saw before passing out in Al’s arms was Envy’s twisted smile.

#ahaaa #and I will sprinkle in a bit of tension between envy and the reader just for fun #fullemtal alchemist #fmab #fma brotherhood #fma #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #greedling x reader #fma fic #greedling #fmab fic #edward elric #alphonse elric #ling yao #envy #lust #blood tw #violence tw

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magpiemorality · 4 years

Note

Perhaps “I don’t mean to sound paranoid but I’m pretty sure you’re a serial killer.” With analogical? Perhaps like..... them trying to piece the puzzle of the other together but they’re missing a few pieces and so they get a way off picture of why the other acts the way they do.

The dialogue prompt isn’t included entirely as you sent it I’m afraid, I had to edit it to fit where I wanted it to go, but it’s still there in spirit!

AO3

***

They met at a cafe, in a lovely cliche. It was speed dating night, a charity event hosted by some dating app to gain more users and pr, both only there for the loosest of reasons. Logan; because he had a bet to win and he hated losing bets. Virgil; because he’d been at the cafe when they were setting up and had been too anxious to say anything when one of the assistants placed a placard on the table in front of him denoting his as Table 4.

It was an unlikely enough circumstance, but what is life but a journey between each unlikely situation we end up in, floundering to call our directions a path or a choice, rather than just a headlong dash through time and space, impacted by the flounderings of billions of other humans doing the exact same thing?

At least, that was how Virgil put it in a blurt of words when Logan commented on the chances of their having met. Logan, sat opposite him at Table 4, raised an eyebrow behind his glasses and blinked exactly once.

“While that was... very philosophical, and a little distressing, I was remarking more on the scientific probability of the affair. But I suppose, we have fairly opposing ways of seeing things.”

“Is that bad?” Virgil asked with a wince, chewing on his lip. Logan just shrugged, picking up the laminated list of suggested conversation starters.

“It is neither good nor bad, it was simply an observation. Do you tend to read hidden meaning and see, ah, the worst case scenario in everything another person says?”

“You could say that. I’m a bad... people-er.”

“There is no such word.”

Another wince. “Shit, sorry.”

“No, it was not meant- never mind.” The questions came up higher, taking Logan’s full focus for a moment. “I fail to see what useful information could be gleaned from these questions,” he sighed. “Why should your star sign interest me? Or your opinion on pineapple pizza?”

“Oh, well. We could ask other questions?” Virgil suggested, surprised by his own ability to even talk after the embarrassing start. “Like, what’s something you want to achieve in life?”

“Space travel. Next question,” Logan replied immediately, looking immediately enthused by the prospect of easy questions.

“Well,” Virgil hesitated, glancing around the too-loud, too-crowded room. “I think maybe you could explain that? Or I could answer, but I don’t really have life goals, other than, survive? Maybe just get through it, make a bit of money, get a cat... Or a roommate-”

“You live alone?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty quiet but I like it that way. Moved out real quick when I graduated high school.”

Logan’s head tilted in curiosity. “Are you not close with your family?”

“Um, not really. They’re great, I guess, but they’re step family mostly and they’re very loud people. We do the odd holiday and call but not regularly.”

“Fascinating. And they don’t impose themselves on you when you fail to contact them in a while?”

Virgil squinted. “Uh, no? They’re not the worst at boundaries, to give them credit. They’d like, maybe call the police if I’d not been in touch in a month or two, you know, that’s it.”

Across the table, Logan sat forwards, clasping his hands together. “And with no roommate home, you do not feel unsafe?”

“N-no? Look, I don’t mean to sound paranoid but you’re not a serial killer right? Those are serial killer questions...” Virgil asked, shrinking back in his seat. “Like, don’t kill me? I’m totally boring, I’d be a boring murder victim I swear. But uh, they’d miss me! Totally!”

Logan broke into the first smile Virgil had seen on him, shaking his head with a softly barked laugh. “Oh, gosh. I knew I was bad at this but I suppose I underestimated my own inability to... how did you put it? ‘People’.”

Virgil just stared at him, until he sighed and held a hand out. “Definitely not a serial killer. Just from a very different family to yours. I live with four roommates, and my family call me almost every day, or text. My brothers have been known to break into the apartment if they haven’t heard from me quickly enough. It was a problem with my last living situation, I’ll admit.”

“Oh. So you’re, really not a serial killer?”

“Absolutely not. The closest I got was a frog dissection in high school biology. I managed a leg and then fainted. Turned me off bodies for good, I’m studying astrophysics nowadays.”

“Huh.” Well that explained it at least. Virgil took the offered hand, giving a shy smile back. “Okay, well, that’s good to get out of the way. Um, so tell me more about space then?”

“Where to start! So space travel, when I say that I mean in the proper, sustainable, commercial way-”

Masterlist | Buymeacoffee

#writepie #analogical #pre-analogical #ts virgil #ts logan #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides fic #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic

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grailfinders · 4 years

Text

Fate and Phantasms #110.1: Hassan of the Hundred Personas #1: Asako

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’ll begin our exhaustive look into the various lives of the Hundred Personas, and how best to represent them in D&D 5e. If we hurry we should be able to squeeze 3 Hassans in each week, meaning we’ll be done in time for Halloween!

We’re just messing with you- we’ll get all 100 Hassans into a 20 level build if it kills us.

Check out the Hundred Personas’ build breakdown below the cut, or their character sheet over here!

Next up: You have chosen...wisely.

Race and Background

The body that housed the Hundred Personas in life was almost certainly human, but we’re not limited by spritework like FGO is- that means we can account for all 100 personalities taking the reigns instead of just having one main character talking. To make this a bit easier, you’re going to be a Changeling. This gives you +1 Dexterity and +2 Charisma, as well as Changeling Instincts. This would normally give you two skills we’re getting anyway, but thanks to Tasha’s we can swap it out for Any two skills. As one hundred people, you have some leeway in what skills you pick, but I’d suggest focusing on intelligence and wisdom based ones- you’ll be good enough at the other skills to make up for it.

Of course the big selling point of the Changeling is its ability to Change Appearance. As an action, you can change your appearance and voice, as well as gender, race, height, and weight (as long as you stay the same size). You can’t turn into creatures you haven’t seen, and you can’t add or remove limbs (sorry if you were hoping for centaur Hassans). You stay in this new form until you change appearance again or die. Sure, in FGO all the Hassans are human, but why would that be the case in D&D? Toss some extra races in there for flavor, why not?

Similarly, you could probably pick any background you want, but for the sake of consistency we’ll get Acolyte again to match Cursed Arm. This gives you Insight and Religion proficiencies.

Ability Scores

We’re using point buy again, but for the exact opposite reason most people normally do- we’re not minmaxing, we’re maxminning for optimal coverage. When your specialty is Literally Everything, you can’t afford a negative modifier. Make Strength, Dexterity, and Charisma 13, and Constitution, Intelligence, and Wisdom 12. You’re not the strongest servants out there, but you are the most well-rounded.

Class Levels

1. Rogue 1: Technically there’s better classes for you to start than rogue, but they get a lot of skills, and skills are your bag. You get proficiency in Dexterity and Intelligence saving throws, as well as four rogue skills. Again, any skill are technically fine, but I highly recommend at least picking up Stealth and Deception. You’re all assassins, and if you can keep the fact that all 100 Hassans share a body a secret you’ll be a lot more intimidating.

To make your skill domination even more complete, first level rogues get Expertise, doubling the proficiency bonus of two skills. Again, I highly recommend Stealth and Deception for this. You can also make a Sneak Attack against creatures you have advantage over or are otherwise occupied as long as you’re using a finesse weapon, adding 1d6 damage to the attack.

You also get Thieves’ Cant, and unlike every other rogue we’ve made you can actually use it, since you’ve got 99 accomplices built in with you. Communication’s important in any relationship, especially when you can’t leave.

2. Fighter 1: You probably have some idea where we’re going with this. For now, you get a fighting style. Gozul the Strong isn’t that delicate, so grab Unarmed Fighting to get him some solid damage. It’s not synergistic, but these kinds of disagreements are inevitable in group projects.

The good news is while one of you is out fighting, the rest of you can spend your bonus action on a Second Wind for a bit of healing once per short rest.

3. Fighter 2: Another benefit to being multiple people is ganging up on idiots who think they’re in a one on one fight. Thanks to Action Surge, you can take two actions in a single turn once per short rest. That’s almost like being two people, right?

4. Fighter 3: I can see that wasn’t enough for you. I get it, you’re a discerning customer. That’s fine though; feast your eyes on the Echo Knight! This subclass lets you Manifest Echo as a bonus action, creating a copy of yourself that you can attack through. I’d argue that as a changeling any one of your forms could still count as a copy of you, but that’s a fight you’ll have to wage with your DM. You can also Unleash Incarnation a number of times per long rest equal to your Constitution Modifier, adding an extra attack from your echo when you take the attack action. ...Don’t expect to use that too often.

Echos have an AC of 14 plus your proficiency bonus and 1 hit point, making them slightly harder to kill than you were in Zero. They use your saves, and you can swap places with them as a bonus action plus 15′ of movement.

5. Rogue 2: We got the obligatory subclass out of the way, so now we can focus back on your main class. Your fighter levels just gave you a great reason to use your bonus action, but your new Cunning Action gives you even more flexibility, letting you dash, disengage, or hide as a bonus action.

6. Rogue 3: We have one subclass, what’s the harm of another? As a Phantom rogue, your Dissociative Identity Disorder comes to the forefront. You hear Whispers in your Head, giving you one skill or tool proficiency that can be changed at the end of a short rest, giving you incredible flexibility. You can also use Wails from the Grave, which I couldn’t think of a good renaming for, to deal half your sneak attack dice in necrotic damage to another creature after using your sneak attack on someone. Imagine this as another you popping out to make the most of the opportunity. You can use this a number of times per long rest equal to your proficiency bonus.

You also get Steady Aim, exchanging your movement for advantage on your next attack. This uses your bonus action, but it basically gives you free advantage with your Echo. Remember, it only shuts down your movement. You’ve got 99 other bodies ready to go.

Also, your sneak attack reaches 2d6.

7. Bard 1: I don’t really have a flavor justification for this one. I guess you could get philosophical and point out how the self is just a story we tell ourselves to make sense of what we do, but that’s reaching.

Anyway, you get proficiency in any one skill, Bardic Inspiration, some d6 you can pass to allies as a bonus action to give them a bonus on attacks, checks, and saves, and Spells that are cast with Charisma.

Grab Minor Illusion for another way to make a copy of yourself, Message to keep things quiet on missions, Comprehend Languages because let’s be honest at least one of you probably has heard of Duolingo by now, Feather Fall and Longstrider to keep up with Cursed Arm, and Healing Word. Medicine is a skill in this game, so you’ve got to have a bit of healing.

8. Fighter 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to round up your Strength, and put the other point into Dexterity for later.

9. Bard 2: Second level bards get one of the three reasons we came here: Jack of All Trades. This feature adds half your proficiency to nonproficient skill checks, so the few things you’re not good at, you’re still good at. You also get a Song of Rest, adding 1d6 to healing done at short rests while you’re in the party. Not... totally in character, but it was free. Your friends can also add your Magical Inspiration to their healing and damaging spells now.

Speaking of spells- it doesn’t matter what you get this level, we’re swapping it out next level anyway.

10. Bard 3: Your last subclass is Lore Bard for three more skill proficiencies as well as Cutting Words, letting you spend a use of inspiration as a reaction to reduce an incoming attack by 1d6, possibly making it miss you. You also get another round of Expertise for two skills of your choice.

Your last spells are Enhance Ability to make your skills even more powerful, giving the target advantage on one kind of skill check for the duration. If your DM allows UA, you can also grab Mirror Image to make three copies of yourself that will take damage for you.

11. Fighter 5: Fifth level fighters get an Extra Attack with each attack action. There’s two of you fighting- two attacks should be the minimum.

12. Fighter 6: Use this ASI to become a Skill Expert. This feat rounds out your Dexterity, and gives you one skill proficiency and expertise with one skill.

13. Fighter 7: Our last stop in the fighter class gives you an Echo Avatar, letting you see and hear through your echo for up to 10 minutes. While this is effective, your echo has a range of 1000 feet. The Hundred Hassans made for an effective spy network in Fate Zero, and now they do in D&D as well.

14. Rogue 4: Use your next ASI to gain some more Strength so you and Gozul can tag-team enemies effectively.

15. Rogue 5: At fifth level your sneak attack grows to 3d6, and you can make an Uncanny Dodge as a reaction to halve the damage of a single incoming attack.

16. Rogue 6: You gain Expertise in two more skills, pick whichever are the most effective by this point.

17. Rogue 7: Your sneak attack is now 4d6, and you get a big bonus to your echo’s (and your) survivability thanks to your Evasion. When you make a dexterity saving throw to avoid damage, failures deal half damage and successes deal no damage at all.

18. Rogue 8: Use this ASI to bump up your Constitution for more health and another unleashed incarnation per long rest.

19. Rogue 9: Ninth level phantoms can make Tokens of the Departed as a reaction when a creature dies near you. While holding one of these trinkets, you have advantage on death and constitution saves, and you can destroy a soul trinket to gain one of two effects- either a free use of Wails from the Grave, or you can ask the spirit trapped within a question. I really don’t have a good way to flavor the latter option though-maybe a temporary form of introjection, but that’s really stretching. You should probably just use it to stab people more.

20. Rogue 10: Your capstone level is another ASI. Bump up your Dexterity for a higher AC and better knife skills.

Pros:

You have one of the strongest skill checks so far- if you pick your proficiencies the way I did in the character sheet, you’ll only have one skill with a modifier below a +5, and with Enhance Ability and planning, you’ll have advantage on any important checks. You can also use your phantom proficiency to pick up niche skills that other builds wouldn’t bother to have. Laugh all you want, but the one time you need chef’s tools proficiencies, you’ll be ready.

You are great at being a spy. You have an amazing stealth score, and can use your Echo Avatar to sneak into places and teleport a thousand feet at a time. You can also squeeze info out of the dead, and could probably disguise yourself as any random occupation you could think of.

Rogues and Echo Knights mix together very well. Your echos have a lot more survivability than regular fighters, and they help you get off your sneak attacks much easier, and the extra attacks don’t hurt either. You also get plenty of HP from your fighter levels, and can mix that together with a rogue’s evasion techniques. (Also, your echo has good AC, so your cutting words can be very effective to keep it around)

Cons:

We’re one level short of Reliable Talent, which is a must-have for a skill focused build. I would almost recommend getting rid of the last fighter level to grab it.

Your spells are pretty useful, but you don’t have many spell slots, so you’ll have to be careful.

The game’s got way too many tools for one swappable proficiency to cover them all, so even with your best attempts, sometimes you’ll just be bad at something. The horror.

#Fate Grand Order #D&D 5e #Hassan of the Hundred Personas #fgo #Fate and Phantasms

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mitadmissions · 3 years

Text

Stir Fry Udon!!

This summer I’m living in Boston with my wonderful friends Penny ′24, Margaret ′23, and Gloria ′21 (you may or may not recognize us as the admin behind @big_dijkstra_energy, a webcomic of math/cs pickup lines)! This is the first time I’ve had to be completely responsible for my sustenance — last semester I lived in East Campus, normally a cook-for-yourself dorm, but being on a meal plan was mandatory due to the pandemic. Let’s just say dining hall food… isn’t exactly what MIT is known for (although I appreciate the dining hall staff dearly, and their warmth/enthusiasm always brightens my day).

I really missed food from back home, especially stir fry noodles. My grandma and my mom had made them for me throughout my childhood, and during quarantine I finally picked up the recipe myself. Now when it’s my turn to cook (my housemates and I usually rotate between who cooks for the household), stir fry noodles have become my to-go.

Living with my friends revealed that certain cooking habits I thought were completely normal were perhaps less than normal. For example, Penny and Gloria found it absolutely sacrilegious that I’d plop a block of frozen udon directly on the pan without boiling it first. Um it works so why use an extra pot that’ll have to be washed later? On the other hand, Margaret would run cup noodles under the sink to “wash off the seasoning.” Apparently her hometown (Qingdao, China) cuisine is characteristically free of salt — notable dishes include boiled seafood without any seasoning (she claims the freshness of the seafood is all the flavor you need) and… water. Qingdao is known for its Laoshan Spring water, which holds great cultural and historical significance. If you’re curious about what else we’ve been up to, we’ve been documenting our sometimes cursed, sometimes questionably Masterchef-worthy culinary endeavors on @bd_eats_.

My housemates have had to deal with my stir fry udon, so now the Internet does too. Here’s how I usually make it. A total tangent on the incoming impreciseness/utter lack of measurements — Chinese cuisine generally eyeballs everything. I actually wrote about this in one of my MIT application essays: “We don’t measure out ‘a tablespoon’ of salt or ‘a cup’ of water — we add ‘a splash’ of vinegar or for my egg tart recipe, ‘enough’ milk. As I revise this recipe almost weekly, how much is ‘enough’ is always changing. The world is not clear cut, so neither are our recipes.” A more practical and less pseudo-philosophical explanation offered by my mom is that people just add however much seasoning/ingredients suited for their or their guests’ palates. Since that varies from person to person, you just don’t bother to keep a precise measurement.

Ingredients (serves 2 people if this is the only thing you’ll eat, serves 4 if your housemates also decide to boil two entire heads of broccoli for dinner):

2 packs of frozen udon (I also like to stir fry yakisoba and flat egg noodles)

2 handfuls of frozen shrimp

2 handfuls of mushrooms

2 handfuls of baby bok choy

Pinch of salt

Dash of soy sauce

Dash of oyster sauce

Instructions

Thaw and devein the shrimp. Personally I like keeping the tail on and occasionally also the head (adds flavor and crunch!) but they can be taken off.

Wash the baby bok choy & mushroom. Chop the mushroom.

Add oil + pinch of salt + scallions to your favorite cooking pan. Stir fry shrimp until they turn pink. Take the shrimp out and put them in a separate plate so that they don’t overcook. Cooking the shrimp/general protein first is something my mom taught me: the savory shrimp fat leaches into the oil, which will coat and give everything else a subtle shrimpy flavor.

Add frozen udon directly to the pan. Pour a splash of (preferably) hot water to the udon to help it cook. Ok Penny I swear this is completely totally definitely fine, and the udon will cook all the way through. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to boil the noodles first if you reaaally insist.

When the udon has loosened up (i.e no longer look like a brick), add the veggies. Add a dash of soy sauce and oyster sauce and stir it through evenly. Once the veggies look cooked (I defined this as noticeably shriveled), add the shrimp back to the pan. Give everything a few stirs and you’re done!

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

Text

Freddie’s 40th birthday; Freddie Mercury x reader

*Author’s note*

In honor of the legend’s 74th birthday, as apart of my Rock Angel series, I have written up this little filler chapter centered around Freddie’s birthday. It’s unbelievable that had he lived today, we would’ve been celebrating his 74th bday. But as it is said in the Sandlot ‘Heroes get remembered, but legends never die’. Happy birthday Freddie Mercury, wherever you are, know that you are loved and are continued to be loved by generations of people that are just getting to know you or people that have followed/known you when you were alive.

Enjoy my lovelies and until the next update :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@platawnic

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@klausidiot

@onebigfangirlworld

@naturalswifty89

@starswin

@dj-lowkey

@isabella-bby

@bohemiansweede

@5sos-wdw

@labessieisallama

____________________________________________________________

*Sept. 7th, 1986*

I was looking myself over in the mirror seeing how my cowgirl hat looked. It wasn’t anything fancy just a simple leather khaki hat that belonged to mum who gave it to me just for this party. I brushed the ends of my hair before Jack came in wearing his Indiana Jones hat.

“Look at you my little cowgirl.”

“Now don’t you dare say something naughty or else you’re going to get it.” Jack faked a gasp.

“How dare you suggest I’d say such a thing.”

“Please Jack. You may look all sweet and innocent but even you can go Freddie Mercury dirty. Or worse Deacy leveled of rottenness.”

“Never did I think he could think such thoughts.”

“You do realize that his first song Misfire was all about pre-ejaculation right?”

“Okay subject change please!” I shoved him and said.

“You started it.”

“Nu-uh!”

“Oh shut it you. Now remind me again why you didn’t want to wear a cowboy hat?”

“You know what those hats do to me. Plus….” He stroked the rim of his Indie hat, “this makes me look cooler.” His brow quirked as he smirked in the mirror trying to be sexy (which he was but I’ll never admit that out loud).

“But then we could’ve been a matching set at the party. Fred would’ve been all gushed up about it.”

“You know this day is about him right?”

“Correction two days ago was all about him. This is his birthday party. Thankfully it won’t be as crazy as last years. Yeesh. I still don’t remember how Roger and I ended up in that closet together.”

“Let alone with your shirt over his face.”

“Oh god yeah that—most awkward thing ever. But I think I recall saying something like ‘it’s too hot in this hellhole for me!’ Or some random thing like that. At least that’s what Deacy said he heard. God we had sooo much tequila that night. Never again.” He chuckled and wrapped his arm around me and pecked my cheek.

“Yeah cause I wouldn’t want to think that my wife was screwing around with her father figure.”

“EWW! Now that is something I know that not even drunk me would do. Why put that image into my brain oh god JACK!!!” he laughed as I began hitting his arm.

“Ow! Okay! Okay I’m sorry!”

“You better be. Now what time is it?”

“6:40.”

“Shit we better get going!” I grabbed his hand and we took off out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

In the living room our sitter Derek aka ‘Dancing man’ Anderson, who was also one of my roadies on tour, was already feeding our daughter.

“Okay Derek, we’re heading out. Again thank you soo much for volunteering to babysit for me. Normally I wouldn’t ask you to do this much…….”

“Relax (Y/n). I’ve had 3 kids so I know how this works. Thankfully I was in the neighborhood. Plus I get the chance to see the kid before the rest of the roadies do.” I shook my head at him.

Derek had been one of my first roadies ever since I became the Rock Angel. He was about the same age as Roger was and if I’m being honest, he’s kinda like Roger in a way. In fact if I remember correctly it was Roger’s roadie Crystal that recommended Derek to me. He’s great with electronics and lighting and he’s basically the ringleader since he’s the only one of my original team that has stuck with me for the past five years.

“Okay so her bottles are in the fridge and I’ve laid out instructions on how to warm them up. Her bedtime is in two hours, and her favorite story is ‘Oh the places you’ll go’. And ohh I know I’m forgetting something.”

“Angel, relax. I’ve got this. Jack gave me the full rundown about an hour ago while you were deciding on your hat. Give my birthday regards to Fred.”

“We will. Thanks again Derek.” Jack said as the two of them shook hands with each other.

“No prob, you two kids have fun. And don’t worry mini Angel will be safe and sound.”

“Alright, bye baby girl. Mummy loves you.” I leaned down and pecked my daughter’s cheek repeatedly then Jack came down and kissed the top of her head which was starting to sprout my hair color and told her.

“Daddy loves you too sweetheart.” Jack and I picked up our gifts for Freddie and we walked out the door and headed to the car.

To my surprise Jack actually offered to drive to Freddie’s place at Garden Lodge. I looked at him surprised and switched seats with him and I must admit I’m surprised that he’s managed to get driving in England down.

“Wow Jack I must say, you’ve really adapted to our way of driving, haven’t yah?”

“Well seeing you guys drive all the time kinda helped me out a bit more. Plus those old driving lessons from Deacy also helped as well.”

“So I got to ask. American style of driving or UK style of driving.”

“Oh American hands down. I still fear that I’m gonna ram into someone driving on this side of the road.”

“Guess we both feel that way. When your cousin Jensen gave me my first car driving lessons, I was terrified beyond belief. Not only was it something totally different, but also just driving on the side of the road that I’ve never driven on. But you’re doing good baby. I’m proud of you.” I gave him a peck on the cheek and he said.

“Hey now, no need to get frisky. I’m the one behind the wheel here.”

“You are just full of snappy comebacks today aren’t yah?” he grinned at me and continued to drive on.

After a while we finally arrived at Freddie’s place just ten minutes past 7. Jack parked the car just a few yards away from the entrance of Garden Lodge and the two of us walked hand in hand towards the entrance. I pressed the buzzer at the gate and that’s when Jim’s voice came on the intercom and he said.

‘Hello?’

“Hey Jim it’s Jack and (Y/n). We made it.”

‘Ahh the Kline couple, come right on in.’ the gate let out a buzz and Jack opened the door and tipped his hat just like Indiana Jones as he did his best Harrison Ford impression.

“My lady.”

“Why thank you Dr. Jones.” I said in my best Southern accent before walking right on in and he followed behind me.

We walked across the front garden and I couldn’t help but admire the flowers that grew down the runway towards the house. We walked up the steps and Jack knocked on the door and soon answering the door wearing a pink boa with an angel halo on top of his head was the Queen himself, Freddie Mercury.

“Well about fucking time you two got here. I was beginning to think you both skipped out on me.”

“Please Fred. If we wanted to, you’d never let us hear the end of it.” I teased him. He chuckled and smiled that wide smile of his before extending his arms out and the two of us hugged and kissed each other.

“And Jack. Handsome and dashing as ever.” Freddie praised.

“Thanks Fred.” Jack blushed.

“And a couple’s costume at that. I swear I think you two will upstage me. And I’m supposed to be the birthday boy here.”

“Oh well Fred actually we’re not doing a couple’s costume. At least not anymore we aren’t.”

“Oh well then Jack what kind of hat is this supposed to be?” Fred said as he stroked the rim of Jack’s Indiana Jones hat.

“Wow and I thought you would’ve at least seen at least one of the films. This is an Dr. Indiana Jones hat.”

“A doctor you say, well what the fuck kind of doctor wears that kind of hat?”

“He’s also an archeologist that goes on adventures Fred.” I explained to him. Freddie ahhed in understandment.

“Okay now I see. Well besides all that, come on in my darlings the party’s just beginning.” Fred opened the front door wider and allowed Jack and I to enter inside.

And amazingly while there were a lot of people there, it wasn’t as full crazed as his birthday party last year. It was mellow, quieter, people making small talk amongst friends. It was a nice change for once (especially after the after party for the Magic tour).

The party went on and as Fred and I stood side by side of each other looking out at the other party guests I turned to him and said.

“You know I’m really surprised Fred. You really mellowed out.”

“Well darling the older you get, the less of a party animal you become. Even the champ must lose at one point.”

“All these metaphors and old saying you’ve been saying throughout this past year, I swear Fred you should be a philosopher.”

“As great as some of their sayings are, they’d be boring to meet in real life. And dear I refuse to be boring.” He playfully dipped my hat forward covering my eyes. I groaned and playfully shoved him as I readjusted my hat.

That’s when I noticed a band on his right ring finger.

I took his hand and held it and looked up at him and asked him intrigued.

“And just what is this Fred?”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know.” Fred teased me.

“C’mon Fred. You know as well as I that this ring isn’t like any of the old concert rings you used to wear ten years ago. So out with it.” Fred looked around before clasping my hand with his and he dragged me off upstairs where we would have some privacy.

We made it to his master suite and there I saw Delilah and Goliath both sunning themselves on the bed.

“It’s from Jim.” Freddie spoke softly as he stared down at th ring lovingly. “He gave it to my just before everyone got here. A sorta—one year anniversary present. I would wear it on my left hand if I could but—you know how people are these days when it comes to relationships. Especially with mine.”

I walked up to him and cupped his face between my hands. He and I stared at each other and I said to him.

“I’m happy for you Fred. Truly I am. And hell if it were up to me, I’d have you and Jim married tonight if you both wanted to.”

“I know you would darling.” He very gingerly pinched my cheek.

“And……people can be bastards. They think that sexual relationships have to be in a straight fashion. Even Johanna and Graham thought that way. Any trace of homosexuality, they’d treat them as if they were scum of the scum. They’d even tried to brainwash me into believing it as well. But thankfully I have more common sense than them or anyone else that thinks that way. Love is Love. As long as two people are happy and in love with each other, so long as they are of legal age, then it doesn’t matter.” I said as I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“A lioness with a heart of gold. Your parents would be proud of you darling.” He said as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Who knows maybe one day the world can change and have people of the same sex get married. And when that day comes, I’ll be right there at your side as your Maid of honor.” Freddie softly smiled and said.

“I’ll let you plan the whole thing out if you want.”

“Good cause you know I’ve got some suggestions.”

“You did learn from the best.”

“Also I’m gonna tell you what you once told me when Jack and I first became a couple. If he breaks your heart, or makes you cry like that last bastard of a man you had, I’ll pop him off his arse till he’s in a coma.”

We both softly laughed and pecked each other’s cheeks before embracing each other tightly. “Never change my darling Rock Angel.”

“Never Freddie. So long as you never change either.”

“With you by my side, I doubt I ever will.” We both softly laughed.

“C’mon. I’m betting everyone’s wondering where the birthday boy is at.” We took each other’s hands once more and walked out of his master suite and headed back downstairs.

Everyone gathered in the back garden as Jim, Terry and Phoebe pulled out the cake (which was sculpted into the shape of an orange, black and white patterned cat standing on a podium with its paw up in the air).

Once the sparkling candles were lit, we all sang Happy birthday to Freddie. Freddie stood by his cake smiling and gushing about till the end of the song before finally blowing out his candles.

“I better not expect a girl wearing a cat costume to pop out and ruin this cake!” we all laughed and that’s when Jim came up to him and delicately cut the bottom part of the cake. As Jack and I sat together I couldn’t take my eyes off of Freddie.

He was just radiating this pure energy as he chatted away with Phoebe, Jim and his other friends that he knew outside of Queen. He truly was a ray of sunshine who made everyone laugh and smile, and I am so glad that he got out of Prenter’s grasp when he did cause this this was the Freddie I knew and loved.

“He seems happier with Jim.” Jack said to me as he ate a piece of his cake.

“He does. He finally found himself a little niche in life. And I’m happy for him.”

“So they’re really together, aren’t they?” Jack asked me. Of course there wasn’t any hatred or disgust as my husband spoke those words, he genuinely wanted to know whether or not Freddie and Jim were seriously an item or not.

“They are. And I can see that it’s real love between those two. I hope they stay together for a long, long time. They’re good for each other.”

“I’ll admit it, even though I’ve never really seen a gay romance for myself. I think they really do love each other.”

“It’s just like us. Like Deacy and Ronnie, like any other straight marriage or relationship. It doesn’t matter the gender of the person so long as two people love each other and care about one another. Love is Love.”

“I can get behind that.” Jack said as he nuzzled his face into my neck making me giggle softly.

It was about an hour after sunset when the party finally came to a close. Everyone bid their goodbyes to Freddie and when I had invited Fred and Jim to come and have tea tomorrow, that’s when I found out that they would actually be leaving for Japan tomorrow afternoon.

“Oh wow Japan. You two going on your honeymoon?” I playfully nudged Fred.

“It’s not so much a honeymoon dear. Just a way for Jim and I to get to know each other a little more without all the press and cameras stalking us.”

“Understood. Those blood-sucking leeches.”

“Tell me about it.” He grumbled.

“Well I hope you both have a safe trip and enjoy yourselves.”

“We will darling. And I’ll be sure to pick something up for the mini-angel’s birthday in a couple months. As well as a souvenir gift.”

“You know she’s still a baby right?”

“So what? Just because she’s a baby doesn’t mean I have to stop spoiling her.” I rolled my eyes and embraced Freddie and he hugged me back.

“You’re gonna drive me to early grey hair Mercury.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous darling.” He said in a posh tone. “As I’ve always said you’re gonna be an ageless beauty. It’s me and the other guys that’ll age like milk.” I slapped his arm then we kissed each other goodbye then Jack and I took our leave.

When we arrived back home, we came in to see Derek sitting on the couch watching the news.

“How was the party?” he asked us.

“Mellow but fun. How was our girl?” Jack said.

“Barely gave me any trouble, unlike my own daughter when she was that age. The only fuss she made was when I had to change her nappie before bed.”

“She’s done that with us too. Mum hopes she’ll grow out of it soon.” I said as I walked up to him.

‘Growing cases of the AIDS and HIV virus continues to climb. So far in England alone more than 1000 confirmed deaths have occurred due to the virus…..’ I shut the TV off and muttered angrily.

“I hate the news. They never have anything positive to say. All it is is just death, gang bangs, cults, economy crashes, war, or this new virus that’s been coming up.”

“Don’t let it affect you too much Angel, you don’t need to have all that negativity floating in your head. Well I best be off.”

“Thanks again Derek, I’ll send you your payment in the morning.” I told him.

“No need. This one’s on the house. Have a good night Angel, Jack.”

“Night Derek. Drive safely.” Jack told him as Derek grabbed his coat and keys then left the house.

Jack and I changed out of our party clothes and got into our pajamas and cuddled close together.

“G’night Jack.” I yawned.

“G’night my love. Sweet dreams.” Jack whispered. He kissed my forehead as the two of us fell asleep cuddled under the sheets.

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the-goofball · 4 years

Text

Raffi Musiker...

...and how she became Picard’s First Officer.

Excerpt from ‘The Last Best Hope’ by Una McCormack

[...]On-screen, the woman said, "My name is Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker, and I'm an intelligence specialist at Romulan Affairs. As you're aware, we've been tracking some odd communications from Romulan space in recent weeks - odd even by Romulan standards."

Listening to Musiker, Picard found himself taking a liking to her. She had a faintly disreputable air, a plesant change from the smooth operatives that Starfleet Intelligence usually fielded. Her frankness was refreshing, as was the fact that she was clearly not daunted by the grandeur of her audience. Most of all, she was on top of her briefing. A question came about the reliability of their sources, which was dispatched with confidence and ease. Then another question came about the range of the blast from the supernova, and here she stopped and took a moment to collect herself.

"What I want to say is, that these calculations are a worst-case scenario. This implies that effects in climate change are already being felt. Sometime in 2387. I'll show you that first. Because it might make the best-case scenario less damn frightening."

Picard leaned over to Clancy. "What was her name again?" "Raffi Musiker," said Clancy. "Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker."[...]

Hours later Picard talks to Beverly Crusher via com:

[...]"Can I offer you some free advice?" she said.

"Of course, Beverly. Of course."

"Put someone right next to you who isn't scared of you."

"Scared--?"

"You're quite... now, let me get this right. Not intimidating... not severe... huh. That's it. You can be quite certain of yourself. And that can stop people from telling you things that you need to know."

"Certain of myself?"

That half-smile again. "Don't get me wrong! With good reason. Most of the time. But you're only human like the rest of us. You make mistakes. And you need someone there who's able to tell you when that's happening."[...]

[…]Lieutenant Commander Raffi Musiker, when asked to wait for a senior officer, did not generally sit patiently in a chair, and she saw no reason to do so for a legend either. She stood outside the admiral’s office, bouncing up and down ever so slightly on her heels, ready for action.[…]

[…]Raffi mentally ran through her presentation one more time. The instruction to see the admiral had been brief, courteous, and not particularly informative as to the purpose of the meeting. She knew, from superiors and colleagues, the impact of her presentation and so she assumed she was here to give a direct one to the man himself and answer any questions he might have. Then back to her desk at Romulan Affairs. Only now she would have met a legend. Gabe, her son, was dying to hear about him. Mom’s job was mostly that thing that meant she didn’t always make his soccer matches, but every so often she managed to deliver something incredibly cool, like this.[…]

(And because I couldn’t decide what to leave out, there’s a bit more under the cut.)

[…]The admiral closed the screen, rose from his chair, and came to greet her. The legend, come to life. She had the edge on him when it came to height, but he moved with a commanding grace. “Commander,” he said, “thank you for making the time to see me today.” His voice was measured, cadenced; the kind of voice, she suspected, that you could not help but listen to, and then do exactly what was requested.

“Happy to supply whatever you need, sir.” She looked around the room for an audience that wasn’t there. Didn’t he have a senior staff in place yet? “Are we meeting here?”

He gestured to two comfortable seats in the corner of the room, where teapot and cups stood waiting on a low table. “Take a seat. Tea?”

“Sure, thanks.” Raffi sat, uneasy in the easy chair, putting padds on the floor beside her, and then leaning forward, palms on her knees. He took the chair opposite, smiled disarmingly, and poured tea. “I assumed I was giving a presentation this morning, sir.” She sipped her tea. What the hell was this stuff? It tasted of goddamned perfume. Was it too late to ask for coffee?

“I’ve watched your presentation half a dozen times now,” he said. “It’s insightful, informative, and precise. I was very impressed.”

Hey Gabe, wait till you hear what the Great Man said about Mom. “Thank you, sir.”

“Could you tell me, please, from your perspective as an expert on Romulan affairs, what you believe our chief difficulty will be in Starfleet’s dealings with them?”

He didn’t waste time, did he? Raffi took a breath. “Opposition, sir,” she said. “Believe it or not, they are not happy that Starfleet is devoting so much time, energy, and resources to helping them. They are hating all this. They hate that we know they’re in trouble, and they hate accepting help. They won’t want to lose face.”

“I understand. What else?”

“And even if they’re united on this, they’ll be divided among themselves about what to do with us. Some will want to accept our help for a while. Some will try to make it impossible for us to function. Others might try to get rid of us—”

“By force?”

“By subterfuge, more likely. Secretly, so that half of them won’t know whether it’s a sanctioned operation or not. The saying in our office goes that Romulans don’t tell their left hand what their right hand is doing.”

The admiral nodded. Yes, he recognized that.

“That makes them inconsistent and unpredictable,” Raffi said. “Not to mention damn annoying. They’ll say one thing and do another, and they won’t even know themselves what their real policy is toward us. Expect the unexpected, sir.”

“I see. Would it help at all, Commander, if I approached Ambassador Spock and had him petition the Senate to instruct cooperation with this mission?”

“Excuse me, sir? How would that help?”

He looked surprised. “The ambassador surely commands considerable respect—”

Raffi laughed out loud. “Spock? They think he’s a nutcase!”

His eyes opened wide. Shit, she thought, me and my big mouth. She had a vision of herself, explaining to Gabe: No, the admiral hated me, and that’s why I’m being court-martialed… Hold on. Was he… smiling? “Sorry, sir,” she said quickly. “No, I wouldn’t advise that. Ambassador Spock’s mission to Romulus may look very laudable to us, but from the Romulan perspective he and his supporters are outliers. Reunification of Romulus and Vulcan? Hey, when I was a kid, I wanted a unicorn. With wings. I didn’t get one. I didn’t even get a damn pony—”

“A personal mission of peace, the ambassador calls it.”

“Well, the Romulans consider it very personal. Almost…” She scraped around for a word that wouldn’t offend. “Um. Idiosyncratic?”

“In other words, they think he’s a crank.” He was most definitely smiling. “Carry on talking so frankly to me, Commander,” he said, “and we shall get along very well. Very well indeed.”

The door buzzer sounded. He called out, “Come.” Kaul came in.

“Apologies for the interruption, sir, but you asked me to let you know immediately when the ship was ready for you.”

“Ah, yes, thank you, Kaul! Yes, I’ll be on my way shortly.” He turned back to Raffi. “The Starship Verity has been assigned to lead the first fleet out to Romulan space. A nice name, don’t you think?”

“Sure…?”

“ ‘A true principle, especially one of fundamental significance.’ ” He looked pleased. “I believe that remembering such things will be crucial to the success of our undertaking. Above all, we are on a mission to protect, preserve, and save lives.”

Raffi nodded, faintly. This meeting was not going in the slightest how she had anticipated. No presentation. He said he’d already watched it half a dozen times. He clearly didn’t want it in person. For some reason they were now discussing eternal verities. She was a simple intelligence officer, maybe turned a mite suspicious by having to think like a Romulan twenty-four hours a day. She wasn’t any kind of philosopher. Why was she here?

“Lieutenant Kaul,” added Picard conversationally, “was on staff here before even I was. Seconded from Admiral Bordson’s office. Their loss has been my gain. She’ll be vital to operations here on Earth.”

There it was again, that extraneous information, as if giving her a picture of the setup here.

“Sir,” said Raffi, “may I ask you something?”

“By all means,” said the Great Man. “You must always feel you can speak freely to me.”

She’d never had any superior officer say that to her. Sometimes quite the contrary.

“This isn’t a briefing, is it?” said Raffi. “This is an interview.”

“That’s correct, Commander. My apologies if I kept my cards close to my chest, but I wanted to see how you answered my questions face-to-face.” He sipped some of his revolting tea. “You’ve answered them most satisfactorily.”

“Which means…?”

“Which means I’d like you as my XO.”

She put down her cup with a rattle. Tea spilled. “Shit!”

His mouth twitched. “I sincerely hope not. Most certainly we have some difficult times ahead. More difficult than either of us can imagine.”

She turned and looked out through the transparent aluminum partition into the busy office. All those people, dashing about, putting the nuts and bolts of this mission together, building this operation from data, information, decisions, actions. Sure, it was easy to take the piss out of the padd pushers, but nothing could happen without them. Working out what was needed, where it could be found, how to get it all to the right place at the right time. She had no idea how to do this… She took a breath. How do you say “no” to a legend?

“Sir,” she said, “I’m not an administrator.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, this is a flattering offer, sir, I hope you understand that. Truly flattering. But an operation like this?” She gestured to the room beyond. “I’m not cut out for this kind of work. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

She saw understanding dawn in his eyes. “Ah, there has been a misunderstanding. I have a very able administrator arriving to head up the office here on Earth, Commander Crystal Gbowee. She’s on her way from Starbase 192 as we speak. She’s worked with the UFPHCR coordinating numerous missions— she was on Bajor for a while after the Occupation, and on Cardassia Prime during the reconstruction effort there. Once she arrives, I shall move over to the fleet. This mission must get underway, and soon.” He glanced out across the busy room. “No, the appointment here is filled, I’m afraid. I’m sorry if that’s a disappointment.”

His eyes were quietly twinkling with suppressed mirth. No, of course he didn’t want her here. She’d be no damn good here, would she?

“Then—”

He leaned forward in his seat, held her eye, very serious now. “I’m asking you to come aboard my ship, Commander. Be my first officer on the Verity. But I’m asking more than that, and I think you know it. I have left my crew behind on the Enterprise. I must replace them, and if I am to succeed, I need an excellent XO. And what I require above all from my XOs is honesty. I shall need you always to tell me the truth. What do you say? Is that something you believe that you could do?”

Shit, she thought, and managed not to say it out loud this time. No, this was not what she’d been expecting when she’d walked into this room.

“It’s a big decision,” he was saying. “There may be all manner of ties keeping you here on Earth…”

Gabe had a soccer match next week. She’d missed the last one putting together that damn presentation. “When does the ship leave?”

“Six days.”

So she could make Gabe’s match. But there would be the next match, or the match after, the long months away, the individual seconds and moments of simply being present that were tiny for her, but that constituted the whole of Gabe’s life, his childhood.

“I…” Damn, she wanted this post. She could do this job. She was made to do this job. She’d known the second she walked into this room that she wanted to work with this man in some way. But she’d never imagined she would be offered this. Right hand to a legend. Right in the middle of the greatest operation that Starfleet would ever mount.

He was smiling at her. “Would you like to see the ship, Commander? The Verity? You’d be spending a lot of time there, after all. You can make your decision after that.”

“Yes,” she said, already knowing what her decision would be. “I’d love to see the ship.”

#raffi musiker #jean luc picard #star trek picard #last best hope spoilers #the last best hope

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mantrabay · 4 years

Text

Saturday an overarching day that's both conduit and shelter for souls in transition.

Thoughts of the more disturbing kind and their covert operations intrude even in our leisure time.

Little did I know what lay ahead.

All these scenarios flashed across my mind as the wheels of my car screeched to a halt.

Shafts of radiant sunlight revealed an embroidered placard.

A cryptic but apocryphal question -

Going somewhere?

Light green brush strokes and entwined leaves garnished the borders of this plaque.

A hitchhiker appeared with the most expressive eyes.

Like shining windows openly admitting the rush of a golden dawn.

A rippling nuanced voice spoke.

“Hello, I'm Lelia. Life is a series of stops

and strange encounters.

A journey of some kind.”

Thought-provoking stuff!

She extended her supple skin right hand.

“Hop in.

I'm Joshua King. Going anywhere in particular?"

I enquired archly after the ritual handshake.

"Besides going somewhere or nowhere in particular.”

I continued.

"In one sense I'm not sure. But there is this place we should all go to.

You'll know what I mean later.”

Lelia mysteriously.

"Not to worry.

Travel is therapy for me."

What made me, Joshua King , say that?

The mind can be overpopulated with figments.

Frustrated figments waiting for that freedom dash.

Some have the seeds of alternative visions.

A svelte lady wearing an azure blue padded jacket and sea blue denims glided gracefully into my car.

Hatha yoga asana entry.

My pinstripe attire seemed conventional.

It was at odds with this philosophical journey man.

"Love the aroma ....air freshener.

Orchard in a vehicle tantalising nostrils.

Symbol of attempted purge."

Her voice dropped a few keys to a lower register.

Redolent of metaphysics classes I had to abandon.

I was naive enough to believe that attending these courses would fix my “issues.”

They were more than just momentary bugs.

They couldn't be spray canned away.

I was, however, adept at avoiding their resolution.

Draft dodger or fugitive adept.

My “issues” were other "selves.”

I called them timid, anxious, fidgety,scrupulous withdrawn.

“What’s more I chat to them.

Under my breath. These chats I call the "whispers.”

Will Lelia notice?

Will she spot them?"

My twin brother Jonah, a twin in every sense could point out my tendency to flee.

We spot each other’s flaws with aplomb.

The twinning of tortured psyches.

Banter between mirror images of real selves!

Jonah was an integral part of these "whispers" too!

All these thoughts were doing hula hoops in my head as Lelia made herself comfortable.

In the process peculiarities surfaced which seemed more than the usual passing quirks.

"I'm Lelia, again. Don't forget. You probably won't.

This place I alluded to is but a distance from here.

Distance is a gulf whose magnitude is shaped by it's smoothness of passage.

Or the fate that awaits one at journey’s end.

My destination is another world altogether."

A lady who could structure her sentences with the adroitness of a cryptic crossword clue setter.

Tapping me on the shoulder at the most obscure angle she extended her hand again.

Her fingers and thumb spatially arranged with the tutored

stillness of a TM Guru.

Was that repetition a neurotic oddity or a symptom of a deeper malaise?

I nodded to the said hand gesture.

We both brushed this bizarre incident off as it had no instant moment.

It seemed as if I was talking to someone quite out of the ordinary.

The spot on asides and the strict avoidance of that verbal litter referred to as small talk suggested as much.

Pauses. They did surface periodically.

The silence was then punctuated by a sudden remark.

"All those conifers. Look at how they reach out to the sky.”

This was just the start of one of Lelia’s poetic observations.

“They seem so close yet isolated.

There is something almost within their grasp.

Almost.”

Lelia nonplussed.

“See the adjoining fields. The green is but a cover. They are as neighbours in a high rise flat.

One could say they are both connected and disconnected at the same time.

As for those dips in the valleys? Well, they could signify some sort of rise and fall."

Lelia resting her case momentarily.

“A resurrection. After the fall.

Oh the Lazarus within us all."

Joshua deadpanned.

“I'm a bit of a writer and maths researcher.”

I proffered.

"Recluses some say.

Oh, I didn't mean you

Necessarily.”

Ouch, said my shattered Id.

Lelia, archer of the scar inflicting verbal.

Bow and arrow baroness of stinging broadsides.

This offshoot to our conversation was infused with a wry allusion.

Insight on a whim. Fleeting.

We both laughed at the incongruity of a conversation that had become very elliptical in form.

Tangents cropped up as impetus to the other person's willingness to reveal themselves.

Lelia didn't exactly volunteer her vocation but left clues.

“You didn't say what you did?

Student ...essayist ...author."

Me sounding Lelia out.

“Oh no children….dashing right across the road in front of us.

Squealing with delight. Whoops of innocent joy? They are sticking out their tongues now!”

Hair-raising moment I hadn't anticipated.

I spied Lelia sticking her tongue out at those reckless varmints.

She stopped the minute I noticed.

“Children …….sometimes you have to act like a kid when dealing with kids."

Straight and to the point from this hitchhiker.

She now resumed the thread of an earlier topic.

“Work ….you asked about work.

I sort of work and play with the mind.

Play act too.”

A retort of sudoku like complexity.

As I digested lelia’s response it dawned on me how much like people my "selves”were.

Even when driving I "dialogued” those various aspects.

“You've an interesting face. The face is like a map, I say.

Heard you mutter about your "selves."

Leslie being cheeky..

Silence as challenge started to creep in.

Russian roulette within the rules.

“Watch your driving, there." Lelia in a more down to earth tone.

Her different voices now somersaulting..

“Very quite aren't we, Josh?"

Josh mark you!

Sounding me out like an interrogator trying to crack a stubborn suspect.

Without a word of warning Lelia raised her voice and got into a tantrum.

“What's the matter ….lost something ?”

Joshua said anxiously.

A curious search resembling a scrum ensued.

Then more silence..

I craned my neck and spotted an uncanny regression.

Lelia talking to herself in a child like manner and then changing tack..

“Don't worry. Found what I was looking for.”

Another void.

A tense lull. A little lockjaw appears when the juice runs out of discourse.

I squinted in the mirror once more.

This time Lelia was talking to her palm..

Staring vacantly at it she kept repeating the name Linda.

Lelia continued oblivious to what I saw or might be thinking.

She hummed this strange lullaby..

Suddenly my "selves" surfaced in an uncontrollable flurry.

I tried to suppress them but failed abysmally.

The "whispers and selves" started to have a life of their own.

This car is getting a bit crowded.

It's being converted into a train with fantasy passengers on board.

The sort one hears late at night hurtling through the countryside with dim lights flickering.

Both inside and outside this vehicle a tumult of events was taking place.

Out of the blue the rain poured heavily.

“The gods or the elements must be cross or something.” Lelia opined.

“Let’s get introduced to my playmate in a palm.

Linda, these are Joshua’s true other selves.”

Lelia chuckling.

A comic situation arose where I changed my voice for each of my "selves" by way of introduction.

My great powers of concentration helped while driving.

"Pleased to meet you, Linda.”

Lelia altered her voice when teasing all my "selves."

She had some experience as a ventriloquist.

But Lelia was having this hypnotic effect too.

I was being manipulated.

One by one my highly personalised complexes were being extracted and subject to a rigorous grilling.

This was some hitchhiker.

Was this car journey now becoming a high rent farce or a mock therapy session from an amateur shrink?

The rain continued to lash and my other "selves" felt like the last sting of a dying wasp.

A certain lightness ensued.

Almost as if my “aspects” were floating away.

For the first time my "other selves“ didn't seem to have this grip on me.

But deep down I knew I wanted to keep a little of them.

Although they were a burden they did have their positive aspects.

“Jonah … he still bugs doesn't he.

He’s almost like one of those "other selves!"

The "whispers" I heard earlier … I've a very delicate ear.

Those under the breath "whispers" gave the game away.

The names and complex relations between them."

Lelia now probing very deeply.

The wind howled and the rain splashed across the bonnet like seafront waves.

There was a warped synchronicity..

As my complexes receded so did the thunderous weather.

They were working in tandem.

“Wash it all away. Come on, come on

See me waving my wand.”

Lelia chanted.

The Exorcist film had nothing on this.

Before his very eyes Joshua's "reticence" and the other "selves" were disappearing virtually.

Against the backdrop of all this inner and outer ferment Lelia kept looking out the window.

Was that this home she mentioned earlier getting closer as Joshua was

"going home” to himself?

“Windows are amazing.

They show us the world but sometimes screen us from it.”

Lelia wiping

fog from the car window.

“Trees and branches swaying. Clouds darkening.

Thickening ominously.

Exodus of pedestrians seeking answers.”

Her voice penetrating Joshua.

“Am I being cleansed of what they call inner demons?"

Joshua panic stricken.

"This other worldly person has me spellbound.

There's a chessboard in this moving vehicle.

A total stranger has me in her palm.” .

Lelia assumed various postures.

As Joshua was the driver she didn't want to send him to sleep.

Lelia's voice was either a hypnotist's drone or excited sports commentator.

Joshua could never forget this encounter.

“Don't forget Jonah too. Joshua wherever he might be.”

Her sinister tone rising.

“The name on your credit card.

I found it earlier when searching for my script.

Joshua Jonah king.”

Joshua confessed he was an only child.

“Am I a prisoner?.

Must button my lip.

I'm being freed and incarcerated by this person, the likes of whom I've never met before.”

Joshua felt this final therapeutic process coursing through him.

Very little was left of his "selves", “whispers.”

Joshua drove through a stoically preserved area whose haunting nature was blurred by this encounter.

“Terrible to have all these half worlds revealed with such clinical accuracy.”

Joshua to himself.

Lelia's voice gradually lost its domineering tone.

At this point by accident or design the tense atmosphere eased.

“You are probably wondering where this is all going to end.

Maybe I have whispers, Jonah's and selves to face too.”

A casual Lelia random comment.

On this occasion a composite of adult confidence and infantile charm.

“Oh here we are, this place.

She stated.

Joshua had undergone a sea change catharsis due to the “selves” and “whispers” being evacuated.

“Should I thank this lady or what? I’ll never be the same again but is that for the right reason?

Jonah my make-believe twin. Don't really need him do I?��

Joshua pondered.

“Back to earth my dear.

This is where we shake hands and part.”

Lelia again.

“Better change the name on that credit card.

Keeping stuff like that from credit card companies could land you in trouble.’

A cackle from Lelia this time.

“See that building. That's what I meant early on.

It's called Another World School of Acting.”

Lelia alighted and pointed to this centre.

"Acting is therapy. That's their motto.

Therapy in every sense!

But you don't want to take every word I say literally do you?

Forgot to mention they are auditioning for a play.

It's called “Inside The Split Mind." She said.

"Wonder will I get the part?”

As she leant over to shake hands her eyes had a certain lost look about them.

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