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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years

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Can you do a Diego Hargreeves x reader, where she is part of the Sparrow Academy and has powers like Scarlet Witch? She works at a library and the library at the academy is her’s? And Diego falls for her when he sees her? Can she also be 5’1, wears glasses, and Mexican like me? Oh and she dresses like the late 30’s early 40’s.

I hope I didn’t disappoint 💖 (also I used google translate and there’s most likely a few errors here and there, I apologize!)

***

The first time Diego ever laid eyes on her, he saw orange.

No literally, orange.

It was all around her, a misty sorta orange that protruded from her hands—her fingers stretched a curled, as if physically moving the strange power—wrapping around her entire body with that signature smirk she adorned at first sight, and the one thing that he remembers the most is how bright her eyes shined with it behind those glasses of hers.

It captivated him. Intrigued him, even.

“She’s dangerous,” Five told them as soon as he discovered her powers. “We all need to keep an eye on them, but especially her. She can do things to you that’ll make you beg for death, so let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that, alright?”

She didn’t exactly look to be the type, but Diego took his word for it anyway.

Which brought him to the next thing he noticed about this strange girl from The Sparrow Academy was her clothes—the first day they met, she was wearing a blue dress that stop just above her knees, with a proper collar that just screamed 1930’s. As the days went on, he noticed that that was pretty much her entire wardrobe; the day after they arrived, she adorned a green dotted dress with ruffles at the top.

In his eyes, she matched it with equal beauty.

So he kept his eye on her like he was told to. From what he could gather, she was the quietest of the bunch, and he would hear her deescalate a situation no matter how big or small it was rather than feeding into it—something that he and his siblings could take a page from.

One day he waited until he away from his wandering eyes, not wanting to bring any unwanted attention to himself. She was in one of the biggest rooms in the mansion he once called home, which happened to be a library.

It was bigger than he remembered. Rows of giant bookshelves took up about half of it, with chairs and fairy lights in the corners, some away from the windows. It wasn’t too hot, nor too cold, it felt wholesome, and Diego wasn’t so sure he wanted to leave quite yet.

“You know it’s not cool to stalk people,” she said with her back turned.

Diego jumped, not expecting to be caught like that—when did his plans ever fall through the way he wanted?—and awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” he winced. “I just...” Just what, Diego?

She laughed, catching him off guard; it was the kind of laugh that seemed to have been bubbling over for a while and that’s when it hit him.

“You knew.”

“Hey,” she scolded lightly. “It’s not like I’ve been the one following you around like a creep. You could’ve just said hello.”

It wasn’t full of malice or disgust like he half expected, and he was surprised to find himself mirroring her smile despite himself.

“Sorry,” he said again. “You’re the only one who didn’t jump us as soon as we got here.”

She rolled her eyes, standing on the tip of her toes—she was wearing black heels with a little strap around the ankles—to grab a book off of one of the shelf.

“My siblings did not ‘jump you’. They’re just as cautious of you as you are them. Can you really blame them?”

Given that he just got caught stalking the most seemingly powerful and calmer one of the bunch, he didn’t really have much to say to that.

“I guess I see your point,” he shrugged his shoulders. “You know I don’t remember this room being as nice... or big.”

“That’s because it’s mine,” she said nonchalantly. “Reginald let me have my own library here, and I work at the one in town. Books are like my safe space, stories that I can escape into; if I start to feel overwhelmed I come here.”

He clicked his tongue. “Could never get into the whole ‘reading’ thing, really. I mean I l-like them but—” Oh god he was starting to ramble and he had no idea why; it was like his brain was starting to short circuit the moment she laid eyes on him. “What are your powers, anyway?”

“Energy manipulation, telekinesis, mind control, time manipulation—though I haven’t quite gotten the hang of it—and probably more, but I need more training with it.” She finished with a small sigh, pushing her glasses up her nose and clutching her book to her chest.

He stared at her dumbly. She waited patiently with a tilt to her head, as if she were studying him.

“Wow,” he finally said, sounding a little loud to his ears but continued on with a lower voice. “I—“

“Trajectory manipulation,” she interrupted. When she realized what she did, she quickly blushed—a faint pink beneath her tan skin that he thought was pretty fucking adorable, but he wouldn’t tell her that yet—and apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off like that. Sometimes I get waaaay too ahead of myself.”

Diego chuckled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s okay.” Then he paused, a cheeky grin slowly spreading across his face that made her squint her eyes at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head with a chuckle. “It’s just that you were quick on that. Does that mean you’ve been watching me too?”

She quickly looked away, but a smile was playing on her lips. “I suppose we’re even then.”

“Yeah.”

Silence followed, a little uncomfortable for him but she seemed to not mind it at all, and when she sat down on one of the fluffy chairs—pink ruffles that contrasted to her blue dress—and gestured to another similar one next to her.

“Why don’t you sit? I’ll tell you everything you need to know, mi acosador.”

He inwardly groaned but plopped himself down on the chair nonetheless. “You’re never gonna let that down, are you?”

“Not for a while.”

***

He was in love.

He’d been in love before, of course, but he could feel it - this one was different. She was different in the ways that he craved, in the way that met his wants and needs with nothing but love and devotion and patience.

And he hadn’t even told her yet.

So today was the day he was going to do it. It was sunny, warm, and just overall beautiful out, and he wanted to tell her in the most special way possible.

He parked outside the library she worked out, trying to calm his rapid heart. He honestly didn’t know what he was so fucking nervous, because he was no doubts that she felt the same way, and they’re relationship was blossoming and growing each and every day; this was the right moment and he felt it deep inside him.

The scent of cinnamon and paper immediately hit him as soon as entered the building. There were only a few people inside, as the library was closing up early. He saw her, bright smile and gleaming eyes, helping a young man check out a book. He smiled and waited patiently by the threshold.

“Hey baby,” she grinned as soon as she was done. “I missed you.”

“Haven’t been gone that long,” he joked; he missed her, too.

“Cállate,” she scolded playfully.

“Hazme.”

She silenced his quiet snickering with a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Like that?” She raised her eyebrows and wiggled them.

“And more,” he laughed, holding her hips. “Ready to go?”

“Just let me put a few books away.”

The orange, glittery mist protruded from her fingers and wrapped around the small pile of books—they looked to be old and worn out—placing them in their respectable places, all the while she watched from afar, concentrating.

For some reason, in that exact moment, he blurted it out.

“I love you.”

She whipped her head towards him, and it was damn luck that he had said it as soon as the last book was placed, otherwise it would’ve fallen or whipped... somewhere from the shock of those three words.

“I’m sorry,” Diego shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair—the hair he decided to keep long—and assured her quickly, “I-I don’t m-mean I’m sorry—I mean I d-do but not for saying it I just—“ he sighed, taking a deep breath; she waited silently and patiently with an encouraging smile. “I wanted it to be special, you know? But just seeing you here now, I couldn’t help it mi amor.”

Instead of saying anything she crashed into him, making him tumble back. Thanks to his fast reflexes, he managed to catch himself before they both fell—not that either of them really cared, as long as they were still in each other’s arms.

She smashed her lips to his before he could take another breath in a heated and passionate kiss that made his heart pound against his chest, relishing in the taste of her as his lips moved perfectly with hers in sync.

She was also the first to pull back, keeping her forehead pressed against his. “I love you too, goofball.”

It felt like a ton of weight was lifted off his chest. He felt like the happiest and luckiest guy in the world, a feeling he hadn’t felt to this extent in a long time.

“Well,” he reached behind him where the coat hanger happened to be, grabbing her long, red coat. “Let’s continue this at home.”

Translate: mi acosador - My stalker

Cállate - Shut up

Hazme - Make me

Tags: @justlovetoreadfics, @lil-baby27, @mando-vibes, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch, @im-the-music-whore, @certifiedhunter, @softpedropascal, @domino-oh-damn, @okaydacre, @lemongrove, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd, @elusive-ivory, @dizzydazed, @dadzawas-eyebags, @parody-the-emi, @evalynanne, @purplewaterbird, @vikingqueen28, @tedpicklez, @blunt-cake-yes, @agoldin, @lustriix, @readsalot73, @kateb013, @eupphoriaaa, @imalovernotahater, @everything-lost-and-unsaid, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale, @fangirlfree, @mrsparknuts, @amarvelousmandalorian, @ironheart-hanako, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997, @adikaofmandalore, @cahooter, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell, @acrylics-and-sunshine, @sunkissed-winter

#sometimes i really suck at endings #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #request #the umbrella academy

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eleiszon-blog · 6 years

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The Monster Mash

Because it’s a mash of monsters. Get it? Shut up.

OKAY, so I previously covered Jeffries' ordeal here but skipped over the details of 'one of their meetings'. That's what this entry is about here. Let's get right into it then. First off, a quick rundown of the function of the spirits:

MIKE and BOB: Head honchos. BOB was MIKE’s familiar but is getting some dangerous ideas. The Little Man, though separate from MIKE, represents him in most cases. MIKE himself is never seen outside of his host, Philip Gerard.

The Chalfonts: Messengers and couriers. They deliver information or warnings (as when they spoke of Harold’s suicide and sought to alert Laura about Leland’s possession) and also handle delivery of the ring, hence their presence in Fat Trout Trailer Park right until Teresa Banks’ death.

The Woodsmen/Electrician: Spirits whose primary charge is to operate the conduits between realms. Wood, electricity and such. These are related to but different from those entities in The Return. We’ll get to that. The Electrician is the same as a Woodsman, the title only unique because he works with electricity instead of wood.

The Dutchman/Jumping Man: A direct extension and servitor of JUDY, somewhat analogous to the Little Man for MIKE. We’ll talk more about him soon too. Regarding the double name, given his place in “the Dutchman’s”, I have adopted this name in place of the old one. It seems more definitive of his role.

All caught up? Cool. Now to the meeting:

We begin with a shot of the #6 pole, representing as it does a base, material space -- as of a place where the inhabitants are driven by harvest and consumption. “They sat quietly for hours.” -- They obviously did NOT sit quietly, and it wasn’t “for hours”. My conclusion has always been that wherever Jeffries went was an in-between place, not Earth but not strictly the 'other’ place either. Wherever he is, he gets the distorted time of those realms (similar to Coop spending hours for his few minutes in the Lodge back in season two) but has an incomplete sensory perception - he cannot hear the inhabitants of that space.

Before we continue, I’m going to detour for a moment to clarify a few observations. Here is a wide shot of the meeting and its attendees.

The smoking box resembles the smoking facade of the Convenience Store in Part 15. This is another tie between the Dutchman and JUDY, albeit a mere visual-symbolic one.

The garmonbozia feast. BOB’s portion is larger than the Little Man’s. MIKE may (or may not) be stronger than BOB but BOB is the greatest power presently in this room, outranking the Little Man and commanding the larger share. This holds some small relevance later as the Little Man demonstrates some semblance of fear in handling BOB himself.

A bucket, perhaps containing garmonbozia, sits at Pierre's feet. Mrs. Chalfont sits not on the couch but on the arm of it. Both of these suggest that, contrary to what their apparent ages might suggest, Pierre is the stronger of these spirits. This is supported as well in the series by her refusal to touch the creamed corn while Pierre hordes the lot. By all evidence, she functions as his familiar.

The Woodsmen here all have a noticeable trait: Incredibly fake beards. David Lynch is a very attentive fellow. If he needed heavy-bearded cast, he’d have gotten them. The falseness, I conclude, is intentional: These are spirits whose human souls are yet intact...But not much. They are on the very cusp of becoming Woodsmen proper, dark agents of the negative power that is JUDY.

He speaks of ‘chrome’ but I don’t believe it’s so literal. BOB finds himself reflected in a mirror as Leland peers into the surface. The takeaway here is that there are methods that can reveal these spirits on Earth. Mirrors are one such method. Chrome may in fact be another but we do not see this. A line in the script, which did not endure to reach the film, states “Our world. With chrome.” While the canonicity of non-final script material is questionable, this meshes interestingly with the present line. Our world---Chrome. The Black Lodge is full of shadow selves (which, you’ll recall from my post about Dale's season two Lodge ordeal, are the figures he encountered there) and doppelgangers while the Dutchman’s resembles actual physical establishments in the human world. Their world--chrome--reflects our image.

The Dutchman, pictured, screeches throughout the proceedings. Take note of his characteristics: His face is Pierre’s mask. His suit, the Little Man’s color. His skin (except his face), dark like the Electrician. Especially note his wooden implement. In Part 15, a Woodsman utilizes a wooden rod to call down a second Woodsman from what appears to be a ‘higher’ space in the store. I believe the tool here serves a similar function: It interfaces the dimensions. The Dutchman is an amalgamation of the Lodge entities because he is an extension of JUDY itself, and they are JUDY’s ‘children’. The tool there is a perpetual link to the void-realm JUDY actively inhabits -- it is literally JUDY’s link to the Convenience Store, and the Dutchman cannot exist here without that link. (Also, to further the direct-avatar-of-JUDY angle, the Dutchman is viewed extensively in a fish-eye perspective connotative of ‘otherness’ even in this already ‘other’ space.)

Speaking of JUDY, we need to discuss the monkey. The monkey appears twice in the series. The first time, the monkey appears behind Pierre's mask which is in this case symbolic of the Dutchman's face. The second time, it appears as the Little Man is consuming his garmonbozia and whispers "JUDY." There are two associations to be made here: Their consumption of garmonbozia feeds JUDY. And the Dutchman - limited to little but jumping and screeching, his very being merely a twisted, cobbled expression of the Lodge's creatures - is essentially the Black Lodge equivalent of a monkey. If JUDY wound a tiny hand-cranked music box, the Dutchman would dance and collect coins. The Little Man is at least capable of his own will, though he often chooses to serve MIKE. The Dutchman has no such capability. His will is bound and chained. His screeches are an outlet for an existence tormented by its very nature.

“Electricity...” - The prime conduit of the spirits. They travel through it, interface with it. As I’ve shown in the image, they’re also seen to interface through pigment (as they work through Laura’s painting) and fire (the Chalfont trailer leaves the Earth scorched, as does the travel of Jeffries’ tulpa). Not shown in the image though is their working through wood. As noted in the prior section, wood can serve as an interfacing tool as well but it can too be a travel conduit: I believe that this is how Margaret’s log operates, her husband trapped wandering to-and-fro from Lodge to log. Her cryptic advices are from the Lodge itself, through him. Wood is also operated as a conduit by Josie though, in her case, it is more akin to a prison cell as she is simply locked up in the fixtures of the Great Northern. Pete sees her once. Moving on...

This is straightforward. People often try to associate ‘pure air’ with Buenos Aires by translation but seriously...They literally descend from ‘pure air’. They’re spirits. ‘Up and down’, between the worlds...It’s their mode of existence.

This line is in the script and I presume was filmed because this shot is available online. I consider the absence of this bit from the film one of the series’ mistakes. It perfectly clarifies the nature of these entities and the Little Man’s just-prior lines. Whatever else that they are, they are non-physical. Even their forms here are illusion. They have only willed themselves into quasi-physical state by manipulation of atoms. Their true states, their actual forms, I do not think we ever see. And regarding MIKE, we never even see one of these quasi-forms but only the human host. While the Chalfonts use these quasi-forms on Earth - presumably a choice which also enables them to manipulate wider environments, as they change up entire trailers and such thanks to not having their powers bottled into humans - MIKE and BOB favor human hosts.

‘The owls are not what they seem.’ --- One of the ways they engage in “intercourse between the two worlds” is through animals as the Electrician notes here. Owls are a favorite of BOB and perhaps others.

Pain and sorrow. The sustenance of the Black Lodge. Notably, as the Little Man refers to this, BOB is seen looking…Discontent. I have no doubt that he associates a deep disdain with that substance: Namely, that most of his harvest gets claimed by MIKE.

At this point, one of the Woodsmen performs a gesture. This held little apparent meaning until The Return, where the Fireman raises his hand similarly...And indeed, as BOB begins his outburst at the meeting, the Little Man acts similarly. The Fireman’s gesture proceeds the materialization of a device. The other two have no apparent effect but one which may be extrapolated. I believe this gesture is another interfacing mechanism but where the Dutchman’s tool opens doors between realms, this gesture accesses energies. For the Fireman, it taps into creative energies - present in the sea outside his fortress - to provide the device. For the Woodsman, I believe it is but a demonstration tied to the Electrician’s statement. ‘Animal life’, being lesser and simpler than human, may be utilized without actively being on Earth by merely latching upon their life energy. For the Little Man, I believe it is merely a fearful gesture. BOB’s outburst puts a look of some slight shock upon his face. I think he’s threatening BOB in a sense. He himself is weaker, of course...But MIKE is not, and I believe the Little Man by virtue of being “the arm” can borrow his master’s power if necessary.

Formica was originally produced as a substitute for mica (a substitute ‘for mica’--Formica) which was used as electrical insulation. That’s the key: Formica is electrical insulation. Green...The color of the table, but more importantly the color of the ring. The ring is electrical insulation. It prevents electrical current from flowing through something. How do the Black Lodge spirits move? Through electricity. So, say, if a girl wore the ring, ‘electricity’ would be barred from her. A spirit would be incapable of inhabiting her.

As BOB begins to grow aggravated, the electronics in the room malfunction and the Dutchman screeches. BOB’s fury is a powerful thing. Of note here is that this machine reappears in The Return. There, it appears to alert the Dutchman to Mr. C’s arrival. Here, it appears to pacify the creature as, once the device is handled, the Dutchman goes from an aggressive stance to merely howling at the sky. The spirits are ‘electricity’. The machine may serve as a modulator, being the only way the others are able to commune directly with the Dutchman on account of his being essentially just a dumb puppet for JUDY.

Here, BOB is just setting a challenge. The Little Man thinks he can rein BOB in, bar him from doing as he wills. He angrily denies it. He has a will and it shall be done. Momentum. As he throws the figurative gauntlet, the Little Man is seen performing the hand gesture mentioned earlier.

Much is debated of these three words. Are they past tense? Are they a command? Are they a warning? I think they’re an observation. The tense doesn’t work for that, you’ll notice, but time is a funny thing in this place. Pierre is saying that BOB felled a victim---only BOB hasn’t done it yet. But he will, and so he basically already did. Time is a funny thing in this place.

In response to Pierre, the Little Man’s expression becomes one of...Surprise? Disappointment? Resignation? In any case, he has little choice. BOB must be brought to heel. He plays his move: The ring. It will insulate its wearer. It will demand its share of garmonbozia. BOB will steal nothing anymore.

They ‘share’ a laugh of opposing expression. The Little Man thinks he’s won the game. BOB derides the very notion that he could lose. Neither concedes anything in this moment.

The meeting concluded at a stalemate, though each believes it a victory, the Little Man chants and BOB casts a portal of fire to exit the convenience store.

The two descend together into the Waiting Room. It is this point which ‘Jeffries’ refers to later with ‘I followed.’ as he tracks them back here prior to being caught. And thus this is the point where Jeffries’ recollection ends and, his purpose done, he is pulled back through space to Buenos Aires.

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libramoon2 · 7 years

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eve of Hekate

Stars’ Crossing * * Crossed roads, slowly swaying entrance beads from day to night. Slip in between to become for that instant of eternity dancing gypsy calling to Moon, to storytelling stars. Embrace that mystery, train tracking adventure. Breathe forgotten fields, lush or shriveled, dependent on water and feed. Let go of all but one brave hand solidly grasped to the doorway. Let go; let fingers fall reaching. * * * * Second Star to the Right * * Traveling beyond Persephone’s garden on the etheric threshold ‘tween mortality and death. Taking an oblique path at the crossroads onto an accessway along the axis of bliss. It’s not a road on which the dramas fade. It’s not about a numbing block to pain. Drama unfolds — my chemistry responds exquisitely. Touch is just touch; sensation translates information. All the appointed tasks, routine errands of the everyday, little pauses along the bliss path, allow me to breathe the scent of endless possibilities, as path and consciousness expand blissfully aware. * * * * Liminal Spaces * * Twilight, the wee hours, the dark of the moon, liminal spaces, places where magic dwells, crossroads, crises, cusps. * There is static on the radio. A song my voice was singing, rhythm of sound takes flight to surround me, a comforter of down to ease my soul. * I’ve been trying to define a taste, a sense of bittersweet and salt. I’ve been trying to find a trace a footprint in the desert, a sight, a scent, a memory. I’ve been trying to discern a trace of me, a piece to fit the puzzle, my contribution to the grand design. Seeking in shadows, the space between myth and matter, those places words cannot define. On those insubstantial plains of myst and awe, the stuff of dreams, threshold of wonder, creation is spawned. * * * * Crossing the Threshold * * At the crossroads at midnight My lady did swear That she must be alone To face up to her demons * “Please understand that I must be aware of just who I am and where I’ve come from.” * I sat by the bridge as she set forth her tools, her sorcerer lore, her alchemic runes So she’d know who to honor, to break and to blame What she’d been made for, her journey, her truth. * At the crossroads, past midnight, just before dawn My lady thrice nodded and stamped out her flames. She beckoned I join her out on the meadow to kiss and rejoice and reveal our true names. * * * * Cross Purpose * * At hours’ crossroads, Reason drowns in rage, scathe, irradiated rain, treasonous air. Weary of care, of punishing, bottomless anger, of sobbing men robbed of their right to give birth. Wrested from Mama’s warmth, from the cave, to play brave. And it’s ladies’ choice as you squirm in fool’s corner. Such a chore — kissing at this and that for a chance to score the shame, the blame from stuck-out tongues, the bloody laughter. “I could bite off that little thing — make you squat to pee.” Wired to fight, at any cost, because, of course, the Cross proclaims “We’re right. They are inherently wrong.” “Those below must be taught to obey our superior tools, to be broken, that we may ride.” Against our better fate, sad race divides along strict lines, by difference nature devised to spawn us strong. * * * * Alchemy * * Simple acceptance. The dancer with the dance entering pre-dawn mystery. Quiet interval, enchanting music. Undulating reverie. Alone in Hekate’s garden, breathing in memory of jasmine and spice. Weary roads traveled crossroad to crossroad; the journey continues. Weary days have found sustenance in secreted hovels, dimestore romance. Convoluted talk, empty gestures, soul-less ritual take up the stitches of time. Some brave midnight, if I learn my lessons well, I will eat the fruits of Hekate’s garden, dancing in piquant reverie, leaving my tears and anguish along the windswept trail. Ebullient music dances me as the Goddess kisses my tearstains into gold. Degree of my natal Hekate — a liminal year for the dweller on the threshold. The search is for clarity, expanding borders, introducing elasticity as integral character. To see, to feel, to merge and undulate through; to discover, uncover, swim in the glory of original grace, ecstatic beauty. To see, to feel, to breathe in all exquisite luxury of prescience; to hold, transmit as cellular energy. To paint upon translucent canvas subliminal etchings, private symbols generously revealed. Sagacity gifted, re-gifted, planted in potent fertility of visions, of cantations. The tinsel of starlight; the subtle scent of conflagrated pain; the feather touch of eternity. I fall into velvet voice, enchanting form. Move with the rhythm; caressed within word and worlds’ mysteries. Eve of Hecate As we approach the 13th of August celebration of the Dark Moon Goddess under shining Moonlight, Faery Queen or fabled harlot stirs potent night blooms, expelling myths of what we cannot bear, cannot overcome Feel in the electric falling starlight Spells of renewal, of power to look back upon our falterings, to find the seed now grown yet changing still and ever, able, willing, co-creating in the illuminated shadow invoking the peace of dissolving twilight of midnight's hopeful resurrection of the hinting flame that lightens before the dawn take peace into each breath, each incantation from the strength to align impeccably with your deepest truth The transition to the transformation of death is a different kind of birth. Hecate would understand, the Goddess of birth and death and the spaces between, thresholds, doorways, crossroads, limbo. Goddess Hecate, I understand that I am in your realm for this duration, for this direction in which you are moving my consciousness. Bless me, Goddess. Give me your strength of purpose and will, serenity within the maelstrom. The future is one moment at a time. The time is always now. Who I am to become will amaze me, I’m sure. Hekate Is My Cellar Door I am in awe I am prostrate in acceptance of such power as you bestow to me by incultation of your love Dynamism resounds in every fiber I breathe you in without resistance My exhalation is the stuff of bliss Tell your sisters to breathe with me. I have been working with an inner image of Hecate, the underworld, ancient, self-empowered goddess of birth/death/life. As I am understanding, her lesson is about becoming one's true self, unafraid of social appropriation because not in need of permission to totally embrace one's own magick. To begin to find this inner core (unless, I suppose, one is lucky enough to have never lost it), one needs to go through, truly feel and accept, all the pain and miseries of one's life, to learn that these are not what life is about, not punishments, though sometimes warnings, but just an interpretation of what is. A very long time ago, on a cold and windy winter night, a friend told me: open up to the cold and feel it, don't resist -- it is really warm. On those nights when I remember and try it, it really is. Hekate's Child Child of Hekate, sweetness and light? Where is the mark of your entombment? Buried prematurely, to strive for growth in dark enclosure striving for a breath of the pompously negligent Sun, of the blushing Moon of the squabbling sons and daughters, of daylight's pleasures. Striving, tenderly twisting around corners aching for an unknown touch. "Tell me, sir, then, how's it going now?" Looking up narrowly from a tepid meal, all at once remembering playfellows on the schoolyard running, out of breath, filled with pride a jolly good game. Always someone begging my attention, but it wasn't really me, just a story to steam off or a butt to joke on. All the silly give and take; only time is taken and that in big hungry chunks of no tomorrows. One long day now the part all groggy waking from fevered napping. It wasn't supposed to be a tomb nestled in Transylvanian bloodlines. It was meant to be a child's cot, freshly laundered cotton lace. But the rats got in, once the cats had been slaughtered. Slowly wakening I strive again to find my footing. Learning to walk was never as easy as forgetting to fly. Caught up in my Hecate role, I feel the power of my soul. Rain and wind and ice and snow I feel you all from here below, and revel in elemental energy. I am the wind, the seas, the fire I am all will and all desire. It is me you love, and me you hate — I am the master of your fate. Yet I am hidden from all sight, beyond the reach or need of light. I have found my peace, my place, my voice. Take heed, O’ mortal, create your choice. Create it every day.

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