#Which is an image she keeps so she can help the rebellion without being detected

[thyfggfy]

Me after creating a mental list of my favourite characters from certain medias :.... I may have a type

Female characters that constantly have to prove themselves cuz no one believes in them and there is always someone who surpasses them get behind me.

[dancingkirby]

Angst, angst, and more angst

Ficlet set in the aftermath of Sozin’s Comet.

They’d just…left her. Her shoulders were sore and her hands were numb from being immobilized by the chains.  She had long lost the strength to maintain a kneeling position, and had fallen over on her side. As the comet disappeared and the sky grew ever darker, her chills and pain returned tenfold.

At first, Azula thought that she’d cry forever, but eventually her tears dried up and her sobs faded.  Father would be back any minute, she told herself.  He would take care of Zuko for good this time, and restore her to her place at his side; at long last his consort in name as well as in practice.  She’d failed him, of course, and he’d have to punish her again, but she remained hopeful that she could still redeem herself.

He never showed up.

Why hadn’t that water peasant just killed her?! Better that than to be utterly humiliated like this.

Although she’d barely slept for the past three days, slumber remained elusive to her now.  It was odd, how time passed when one was awake all night. It seemed to stand still, yet at the same time there was never enough of it.  

She was left to her own thoughts, with neither sound nor sight to relieve the imperturbable stillness of the dark.  

You’re all alone.  Alonealonealone.

Father has no place for weaklings.

You let a mere peasant girl get the best of you.  Pathetic.

They’re just going to leave you out here until you die.

It wasn’t until there was a hint of light in the east that she finally saw two people approaching her.  She was happy to see that one of them was Dr. Huang, the court physician.  He had always been steadfastly loyal to Father, and had been one of the few palace staff that she hadn’t banished.  When he reached her, he softened the chains with firebending enough for them to slip off.  She tried to move her arms, but gasped as she felt a horrible pain in her left shoulder.

“Don’t move,” Dr. Huang cautioned her.  Then, as he checked her over, “Fever.”  This last word was said in a voice tight with anger.  For an instant, she thought that the doctor was somehow mad at her for having a fever, but then he added, “What possessed you to leave her like this?!”

“There was no way we could have known!  It wasn’t like she told us!” the other voice protested. The water peasant. Azula struggled to reach the girl who had imprisoned her, but her weak attempts were no match for Dr. Huang’s strong grip.

“Don’t move,” he cautioned Azula.  “You might injure yourself worse that way.”  Then, to the water peasant, “If this were any other circumstance, I would have ordered your arrest on the spot, and you would have likely been executed.  Consider yourself lucky that my hands are tied.”

Azula couldn’t see the face of the water peasant from this position.  But she did hear her grinding her teeth before she spat, “Fine. I’ll try to heal her shoulder. The swelling needs to go down before you can work on it anyway.”

While she was preparing to do this, Dr. Huang quickly removed two flasks from his robes and poured the contents of both into a single cup.

“Please drink this,” he said to Azula.  “The first draught will help your fever and pain, and the second will make you relax.”

It tasted disgusting, and she didn’t particularly want to relax, but it seemed she had no choice in the matter.  Seconds later, she began feeling drowsy.  A stretcher had been brought, and she recalled being lifted onto it, and nothing more.

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

Azula remained in a semi-conscious state for quite some time.  Whenever she was close to resurfacing, they made her drink that nasty brew again.  Later, the only clear image she’d have of that time was Ursa, who wouldn’t go away no matter how much Azula shouted at her.  

When she finally awakened fully, she found herself lying in a bed in the palace infirmary. Her left arm was in a sling, and her right arm was hooked to an IV, so she was essentially trapped.  A few minutes later, a nurse came to check on her, saw that she was awake, and ran to get Dr. Huang.  The doctor told her that four days had passed since the comet.

“You were treated for dehydration, exhaustion, and a dislocated shoulder,” he stated.  Even in her less-than-optimal mental state, Azula could detect the hidden meaning.  It was the truth, but not the entire truth.  That’s the story, his eyes said, and I’m sticking to it.

He continued, “Once you are medically cleared, your brother the Fire Lord has arranged for you to move into a chronic care facility so you can rest your mind and recover.”

Her brother the…what?!  Where was Father?  

“Phoenix King Ozai was deposed, and your brother was crowned just this morning,” Dr. Huang explained.  Azula felt like she’d been punched in the gut.  She jerked forward, but her momentum was halted by that stupid IV line. Even without it, though, she doubted she had the energy to even get out of bed.  She was still sick, and still in pain.  However, Dr. Huang appeared in perfect health.

“You did nothing about it?  Coward,” she hissed, her voice not as strong as she had hoped.  Apparently, the good doctor was only loyal when it suited him. She spotted Ursa standing in the corner of the room, and told her, “Get out.  This discussion does not concern you.”

“Who are you talking to?” Dr. Huang asked.

“No one,” Azula spat.

“Yes, well…” he said. “Right now, you need to focus only on resting.  Here is a note with my recommendations.”  He passed a folded piece of paper to her, and his eyes once again glimmered with the unspoken.

Once she was out of the room, she fumbled with the paper one-handed until she got it unfolded. It said:

BURN THIS AFTER READING.

Please have patience.  There are many of us who remain loyal to the rightful ruler, and we will make arrangements for his glorious return as soon as possible.

Azula sighed as she disposed of the note as ordered.  Even he had forgotten that she was a ruler, too.

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

She was kept in the infirmary for quite some time, and underwent a seemingly endless battery of evaluations.  There were the physical therapists, who were there to torture her shoulder and make sure she could still walk.  And then there were some people who kept asking idiotic and repetitive questions, and duly writing down every single one of her replies…even if it was something like “Go fuck yourself,” which it was more often than not.

Zuzu never visited her, nor did she want him to.

Life was in limbo here, and Azula found it difficult to keep track of the days.  To the best of her knowledge, it had been about another week when the sling came off, and she was transported to her new home of hopefully short duration.  Zuko had arranged for the palanquin to be driven into the palace itself, so no one outside would catch even a glimpse of her face.  This was ostensibly for her own protection, although she knew the real reason was so her haggard appearance wouldn’t incite the general populace to rebellion.

When the palanquin reached its destination and she was helped out, she surveyed her surroundings. Mental Hospital for Highborn Ladies, the sign said.  Azula wished that they’d drop the pretenses and call it a prison like it actually was.

She tuned out the pompous man who introduced himself as Dr. Yisheng as he droned on about amenities, privileges, rules, and expectations.  There was no need to listen to any of it, since she would not be staying here for long.   She knew better than to depend on those who called themselves her allies, no matter how clever they thought they were with their little notes.  Once the staff here let their guard down, she’d be out of here.

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

The next morning, she threw up.

[kahuna-burger]

Continuing stargate/mcu fusion

Second (longer) part of my Stargate fusion.

Things ceased to be fine just after they were shown into Stark's office, before Bruce had even finished his introduction. One moment Bucky was trying to blend into the expensive wood paneling, the next his sidearm was aimed directly at their host’s head.

“Buck?” Steve drew his own weapon and tried to get between Bruce and Stark while also keeping the door in his peripheral.

“He's a Goa'uld.”

Stark didn't seem phased by either the accusation or the weapon pointed at him. “As the internet kiddies are saying these days,” he made finger guns at Bucky, “No, you.” He cocked his head in puzzlement and one hand turned to point at Bruce. “And maybe you? What's up there?”

Before the scientist could do more than blush at the reminder of his unique situation, Steve stepped in. “That’s not the issue here. Who are you, and how did you avoid the screenings after they got you back from the Trust?”

“I'm Tony Stark - you came to me, remember? And I accepted the MRI that was offered.” Before he could respond to the dodge, Stark continued, “If you’re asking why they didn't detect my roommate, we worked out how to avoid scans and hide her naquada signature years ago.”

That also explained why Rumlow hadn't felt anything when the former host accompanied the extraction team, but the implication that a major industry leader had been a Goa’uld for years wasn't making him feel any better. “There's no ‘we’ for your kind, and even if you’re claiming to be a Tok’ra, I wanna talk to the snake, so again,” Steve raised his gun in a more obvious threat, “Who are you?”

“I'm afraid Thal's more of a silent partner, so the only me here to talk to is me, Tony Stark. Try a new question.”

He was distracted from his frustration by Bucky's hand on his arm. He had a look of intense concentration which usually meant he was trying to get information from his snake. The Goa'uld assassin which called itself Winter Soldier had been suppressed but not removed by their Wakandan allies, and had a wide range of helpfulness depending on its mood. Finally, Bucky nodded curtly at Stark. “Show us your mark.”

The man obviously knew what he meant, because he stood immediately and began removing his shirt. “Without dinner first? How forward; we haven't even been formally introduced.”

“These are Sergeant James Barnes and Captain Steve Rogers,” Bruce put in helpfully. “Though I imagine you recognize them.”

Stark nodded absently. “Sleeping Beauty and the Lost Knight, stars of all my childhood fairy tales.” He gave Steve a narrow look. “I assume all the good qualities my dad couldn't stop talking about will become more apparent when I'm not under suspicion of being a false god.” He slipped the shirt off his shoulders, and Bruce took a half step forward to gaze at the iridescent mark on his chest that seemed to be a smiling theater mask.

“Thal… Thalia, the muse of comedy?” The scientist blinked a moment and Bucky lowered his weapon in seeming satisfaction. “I would have guessed Urania.”

“She's most known for comedy, but has strong interests in the sciences, too. Turns out she also loves programming.”

Steve admired Bruce's encyclopedic knowledge of seemingly every topic they might run into, but briefly wished Clint were here so he wouldn't be the only lost one. “Okay, so instead of being a metaphor, muses are snakes that partner like the Tok'ra? I really think we need to talk to it directly.”

Bucky shook his head. “The Muses aren't like the Goa'uld, or the Tok'ra, for that matter. They never take over their hosts, not even to speak. They communicate with the host mostly through feelings and images, and give inspiration for creation, which they then enjoy experiencing…” He broke off with a thunderous scowl and the odd eye movements which usually meant an internal argument with his own parasite then snapped angrily, “You absolutely are not!”

Steve wondered if the snake was really being annoying enough to throw Bucky out of his professionalism, but decided that is was probably more of a signal that he believed Stark to be harmless, and went with it. “What's it doing now, Buck?”

His best friend turned to him with a long-suffering look that wouldn't have been out of place on their middle school teacher's face. “Winter wants to be known as the Muse of Combat.”

Stark fumbled the last of his shirt buttons in his helpless laughter, and Bruce even smiled. “Well, with the way you describe his behaviour in the field,” the quiet scientist began.

“It’s not a Muse, it's a damn backseat driver!”

Finished redressing, Stark approached Bucky, raising his hand slightly. “May I?”

Though he had relaxed out of combat mode, Steve still watched with concern as his friend made Parasite Face again then nodded. Stark touched Bucky's face gently, moving well into his personal space, and in spite of his usual aversion to touch, he returned the gesture and tilted his head down slightly so they were almost sharing breaths. Stark's eyes were shimmering in the first true sign of possession he had shown, and Bucky's were closed tightly.

After a few minutes while Bruce stared in fascination and Steve started to feel distinctly uncomfortable, both men stepped apart simultaneously, taking deep breaths as if they had forgotten the need for oxygen until separating. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Um, sure.” Seeing Steve's concerned look, Bucky gave a reassuring smile. “The snakes were talking, uh, directly. Like how they can recognize each other, even in new hosts? I guess when they are close enough it can get pretty detailed.”

“That's amazing,” Bruce breathed. “That pheromone based communication could be considered an actual conversation? You'll need to write up a full brief on it later.”

"Actually, it's not- well, actually we should probably get back on the original track rather than a further digression.” Stark settled back behind his desk and took a deep breath. “I cannot be a part of Stargate Command, or consult on any projects to combat the Goa'uld.”

Steve straightened and felt his anger rising. He should have known it was too good to be true. “So your snake plays by different rules but is still loyal to the System Lords? You realize that they are at war with us? That’s treason.”

“Cool your tits of patriotism, Rogers.” The man was infuriatingly calm. “Muses are neutral in the wars between the System Lords, with the Tok'ra or Asgard, rebellions against Goa'uld, and even the intra-planetary wars of humans. Thalia is a contemporary of Apophis and Anubis and spawned with that principle in place from a Muse even older; you are not going to be the one to sway her.”

Bruce had been doing his usual conflict avoidance, but spoke up suddenly. “You became her host when you were a hostage in Afghanistan. That's why you divested your weapons division into its own company back then.”

“I agreed to do it when we bonded.” He shrugged slightly. “The weapons contracts were holdovers from Howard's time, and a feeling of responsibility to the troops, but I had been focusing my efforts more in other areas even before Thalia came along. The new company is doing fine, though we had to do some fancy footwork on contracts for me to take all the patents I held personally with me.”

Steve was about to respond when Bucky touched his arm gently. “Don't go there, Captain.” His face was pinched like it had been continually before he and ‘Winter’ came to a rough truce. “From the history I'm getting, the Tok'ra and possibly some of our other allies would take serious offense if we tried to strongarm a Muse. And he didn't say he couldn't consult with the Program at all.”

“Oh!” A huge smile spread across Bruce's face. “I'd love to have you take a look at the dialing computer! I think some of your work on learning programs could really translate well to the decision trees we're working with.”

“Now that does sound interesting. Why don't we talk NDAs and security concerns, and we can work out a rough consulting schedule. Oh yeah, and I almost forgot.” He turned back to the two soldiers who were starting to ease back out of conversation range. “Don't think you're keeping that gorgeous piece of tech hidden under your jacket, Sergeant! I took my shirt off, fair's fair.”

Bucky let out a deep sigh and started unbuttoning his jacket while Steve tried to keep a straight face if not a supportive one. “God damn geek catnip…”

[zoirohs]

file under: headcanons only @pruehalliwell and i care about (unless you're also interested in lorelai gilmore and phryne fisher being friends)

this got... kind of way too long. oops lmao (wish i had this energy to study tbh)

aunt prudence doesn’t know lorelai gilmore that well, but the young woman’s always a delight whenever they chat. she’s a hard worker (if the success of the inn & diner she and her husband own is anything to go by), intelligent, funny and would do anything for her daughter and husband (and it seems the feeling is mutual). sadly lorelai always seems miserable in the presence of her parents, and looks like she’s 5 seconds from losing her mind at every jab she endures. bless the poor woman’s ability to keep a fake smile on her face all the time

thats not to say lorelai’s totally guileless, although after years of a model behavior, a wonderful teenage daughter and a successful business she shares with her husband would absolve her of the mistake of getting pregnant at 16 and not marrying the father (some would say marrying a commoner instead, years later, was an act of rebellion against her parents - lorelai merely says she got married to who she wanted to, when she wanted to).

she thinks lorelai and phryne would get along quite well, though dreads to imagine what kind of stunts they’d be able to pull together. they meet at a luncheon phryne attended because she failed to give aunt p a covincing excuse for her absence. and since murder follows phryne fisher everywhere, she overhears lorelai mentioning there was a robbery turned murder at a bar near her establishment but the copper responsible seemed to be determined to dismiss it as a simple robbery gone wrong and lorelai is sure there’s something fishy going on (cue lorelai spinning some wild theory as how and why that happened, which got phryne's attention instantly)

of course phryne manages to get jack officially to take over the case (and needless to say, herself). and now with lorelai as a bonus! fun times, except for poor detective robinson who has to keep track of two fired up civilian women who should definitely not get their asses involved with police work

lorelai might not have the passion for detective work (and she already has a job that she’s very much fond of), but she likes swaping ideas with phryne, and the theories they come up with are so preposterous jack isn’t sure if they’re actually being serious or just passing time (and he can’t even tune them out because they do, eventually, come up with very interesting insights)

jack would die before admitting it, but he does appreciate lorelai’s help after all (and phryne’s but that goes without saying). she knows her area well and the people love her, so when she throws in her charms, they always manage to get some valuable information. and needless to say, phryne is totally enthralled with her. kinda makes dot a bit jealous and scared of being replaced, but dot is an angel so the jealousy lasts for about 3 minutes after they get to know each other 

very clear image in my head that i can 100% see happening and would die if it did: phryne, jack and lorelai discussing some gruesome case while having lunch and the danes’ diner; luke walks past overhearing some lively details and grumbles about how that’s a respectable place and people are EATING, can they please at least keep it down. and he cannot believe the kind of ideas that float around his wife’s head (”i’m scared you’re gonna attempt one of them when you’re angry with me”; “oh honey... they are great and effective murders but they’re very messy and you know how i am about housework - i wouldn’t try them on you”)

jack draws the line at lorelai following them to crime scenes, stakeouts etc. firmly. he still worried about phryne despite her being able to hold her own, plus having another civilian might keep him out of a job. he thanks heavens lorelai understands, though he’s sure its mostly because of her own family. (he knows she does go along with phryne and dot to investigate phryne’s own cases that don’t overlap with his though those aren’t dangerous... much)

phryne teaches lorelai how to SHOOT... (”always good to know ways to defend yourself. and you should always carry a dagger in your garter too, you never know when you’ll need it! we can never trust a man’s going to show up in a dangerous situation, or that he will help us”). lorelai holding phryne’s pistol though [paris hilton voice] thats hot

as i mentioned in that other post: they’d shop for trousers together. cue jack and luke drooling over their hot modern women

ok im done skdfdjkhdk for now?

[marjaystuff]

Elise Cooper’s Interview of Hilary Davidson

One Small Sacrifice by Hilary Davidson is a procedural mystery that will keep readers guessing until the very last chapter. Each thread of the detailed plot unveils one surprising revelation after another. With the compelling characters this story contrasts how good people can go astray with horrible people that have no conscience.  

The early chapters set the pace for the rest of the book with war photographer Alex Traynor apparently getting away with murdering his good friend Cori Stanton. At least that’s what New York Police Detective Sheryn Sterling believes. Alex suffers from PTSD due to his harrowing work in war zones around the world. Unable to remember what happened the night Cori fell from a rooftop, it is believed he pushed her to her death. Yet, because of a lack of evidence, he was released.  

When Alex’s fiancée, Dr. Emily Teare, a talented and beloved local doctor, suddenly goes missing, Sheryn suspects Alex of misdeeds. Initially she was out to prove Traynor murdered again, but as the investigation into Emily’s disappearance deepens, Sheryn and her new partner find themselves going back over the previous case as well. It’s possible that there’s a darker story, and that Alex isn’t the only one with secrets.  Slowly she discards her tunnel vision and personal bias and starts relooking at the evidence that includes opioid addiction and illegal prescriptions.

It is also a love story between the two main characters Alex and Emily and how much they will sacrifice for each other. Alex, a photographer who made a name for himself taking pictures in war torn countries such as Iraq and Syria, witnessed multiple horrors.  While photographing the harrowing scenes, Alex was kidnapped in Syria. During the rescue operation by his army friend Maclean, Alex was shot in his leg. Taken to a medical center for treatment of his injuries he met Emily, a neurosurgeon who volunteers with Doctors Without Borders.  She removes the bullet from his leg, and their relationship builds from there into a romance that leads to their engagement.

What makes this a good thriller are the ingredients that Davidson puts into this story:

twists, turns, and surprises that make the novel really suspenseful. The story is so well crafted that it is difficult to know who is the guilty party. Is there a connection between the death of Stanton and the disappearance of Teare? Davidson drops details throughout the narrative that keeps the reader off balance, unsure, and on the edge of their seat.

Elise Cooper:  How did you get the idea for the story?

Hilary Davidson:  I first had an image of the characters in my mind, especially one character in particular that the was impacted by PTSD. I thought of books I loved with an unreliable narrator.  Because I experienced PTSD I was intrigued to find an interesting way to approach it with an unreliable narrator.  

EC: Can you discuss your experience?

HD:  My first job, more than twenty years ago, straight out of college, had workplace violence.  A man tried to murder everyone in the office at the Veterans Government Department in Toronto.  There were people who were not getting enough help that included this one man in particular.  He was homeless with a mental illness that was not properly treated.  This person was very angry at their counselor and made death threats for months.  One day he came and started a massive fire that destroyed three floors of the office building.  It was a horrifying scene.  

EC:  Did you get PTSD?

HD:  Yes.  I became very scared and weeks later I got these disturbing feelings. I remember the beginning of the incident but do not remember how I got out of the office.  I actually received an award from the government for helping other people out.  There is this lost time in which I do not recall what exactly happened.  I had this weird fragmental memory and unforgettable feelings.  I incorporated this in the book with my main character Alex.  He is a war photographer who saw terrible things on the battlefields.  Now that he is back home and safe in New York he has feelings popping out but also has blackouts.

EC:  It seems Detective Sheryn Sterling had tunnel vision regarding Alex’s guilt?

HD: This was my intention in the beginning.  Sheryn fell into the mindset to have the facts fit into her conception. She had it while on the hunt and when she had the suspect in her sight. I put in this book quote by Alex’s lawyer to show just that: “She’d going to shoehorn every shred of evidence to fit her theory and incriminate you.” I think that police work is sometimes like a scientist where they have a theory and go in that direction.   But I hope the readers saw she had a flexible enough mind where she could take in new information and reset her thinking.  Some have told me that they recognized that Sheryn grew and changed.  She broadens her perspective.  

EC:  How would you describe Sheryn?

HD:  Compassionate, honorable, flexible, brave, dedicated, and relentless.  She is molded by her family’s tradition of military service.  She is a tremendous advocate for the victims and is determined in the pursuit of justice.  

EC:  How would you describe Emily?

HD:  A big hearted person with a strong sense of responsibility towards others. Emily is an incredibly virtuous person who is not perfect.  She carries a sliver of darkness with shades of grey. She tries to do good in the world.  

EC:  How would you describe Alex?

HD: He is the dark mirror of Emily.  A good person who wants to make a difference in the world.  For instance, he went into war photography because he wanted the world to know the true story of what goes on in a conflict.  He feels deeply but cannot articulate it into words but has his images, a witness of sorts.  

EC: It appears you made a reference to the Jewish holiday, Yom Kippur-who will live and who will die?

HD:  You must be referring to the quote by Maclean who died while serving his country: “Not your turn today. It’s not about good or bad but if your number comes up.” I met a lot of people who have served in the military or on the police force.  They have a certain way of looking at the world.  As a writer, things come to mind in a sub-conscious sort of way.  Since my husband is Jewish I am familiar with that service. Writers who go out into the world will pick things up that will stay with them.  They come out at the strangest times.

EC:  One theme of the book is sacrifice?

HD:  Yes, the sacrifices people make for others.  I put in the beginning of the book a quote from an Easter poem written in 1916.  The idea is that too much had been sacrificed during the Irish Rebellion including too much blood shed.  It made me think when is a sacrifice too much.  In the book, there is also a darker sacrifice. An example in this story is how Alex sacrificed for his friend Will.  He feels such an obligation since Will’s mother took him in as a teenager.  She told him that Will now has a brother.  He feels it is his duty to protect Will even though the relationship is twisted.

EC:  Can you give a heads up about your next book?

HD:  It will be book two in the series with both detectives coming back, although a whole new case.  A female entrepreneur is being blackmailed.  At the beginning of the book she meets with that person.  The rest of the book delves into the fallout of it.  The title is Don’t Look Down and is out in early 2020.  

THANK YOU!!

[baburaja97-blog]

New Post has been published on Vin Zite

New Post has been published on https://vinzite.com/world-from-the-4th-dimension/

World From the 4th Dimension

The report read: “Bashar al Assad, president of Syria a malefic conqueror with his pal Putin, of Russia is as if they are in cohesion with some madman from the 4th Dimension, who are pals in world conquest, lest the leader called Mordieu, whose plans for the world conquest was to start in Syria, and will make Genghis Khan and his Mongol horde look like armatures.” Said professor Evens, professor at Los Wanaka University, in Huancayo Peru, for ‘World New Reports’ (February 20th, 2016.)

From World News Reports, March, 20th, 2016, by Professor Chick Evens (Bacterium Biologist), “Should you move about in Syria you will see 350,000-less inhabitants, these shapes of humans: men, women, and children and the elderly were not long ago alive now corpses of Bashar al-Assad’s regime. Because he has refused the UN’s resolution 2254, for peace talks, he is directly responsible for all those lives, to include 11.5 million misplaced Arabs, no longer available to live in their homes, short of water, electric, and food, while he bathes in comfort with is buddy in crime, Putin from Russia, who now has a military base in Syria. Also, 4.5 million Arabs have cut across Europe, and live in Turkey, on its shores and inland, and al-Assad and Putin’s Russia are hitting air strikes on hospitals what is next? Is there no meaning to life within their souls? And some of the Greek islands are full of refugees. Some twelve nations are involved, to include America, France, England, Turkey, Russia, the Saudis, the Syrian Rebels, Iran, Lebanon’s Hezbollah, Qatar, the Islamic State, al-Nusra Front, both terrorist groups, all involved in the war. All in battle gear, as the Russians bomb indiscriminately, and once captured tortured, without consideration, such as waterboarding, outlawed by the international laws of humanity. And now we got a faction from some world leader from outer space involved, out of some plane of the 4th Demission, he is called Malik Tawus, but his official name is Mordieu; al-Assad has reached across the border and made contact with the fourth plane, a new reservoir of forces that will allow him to overrun Syria, and the world with Russia, if not stopped. And you’d think our president Obama would be in hysteria over this, yet he is like a human who is helpless in life’s grip; quietly, slowly, inexorably he watches these pointless murderers continue and continue, as he sleeps unburdened.”

(Interlude: Syria once a rebellion, in 2012, now a conflict, 2016, prior to 2012, in 2011, it was simply protests that erupted across Syria. The progress is remarkable, in that bombing started in 2013, causing thousands of casualties. Then in 2015, Russia’s intervention within the conflict, takes place. Now in this year of 2016, ‘the Year of the Monkey’ the picture in Syria gets bleaker; with their governments new strategy: ‘starve or surrender’… leaving 350,000-people removed from humanitarian aid.)

Said the newspaper interviewer, Miss Hoffmann, “Professor Evens, how do we stop it?”

“Miss,” said the professor, “if I told you one man started the First World War, responsible for eight-million deaths, and one man could have stopped it, and Genghis Khans’ march throughout Europe could have been stopped by one man, who was responsible for the death of twenty-five-million lives, and that al-Assad, president of Syria, is but one man in the same category, is but one man indifferent to death, and human sorrow could, if he wished to, stop the Syrian war, that has killed 300,000 inhabitants, with his reckless sweep of bombardments and bombings and his military forces, among so many offering their inconsistencies to which I am sure al-Assad loves to garnish his teeth at the Americans trying to help, and the French and Turks, and the Syrian Rebels who are the official resistance concerning his regime, if you had the power and means to stop it, would you?”

Replied Miss Hoffmann, “What can one woman do, naught!”

“Miss Hoffmann,” said the professor, “how wrong you are. We are headed into World War III, now what can you do? Go to the unthinkable!”

It struck some light for Miss Hoffmann. Several hundred thoughts filled her cerebellum, villainous thoughts. She lit a cigarette, puffed heavy on it. She thought, felt, she was being interviewed, rather than her doing the interview. Then after a long pause, the professor added, “Let us say it could not be accomplished unless that one person say, woman, say you, had acted in time?”

“Certainly,” she concluded meekly, “like the CIA used to do to runaway regimes in the days of the Iron Curtain, in the name of National Security, so I suppose in the name of World Peace, assassinate whomever needs to be assassinated to stop this senseless killing, needs to be killed. It is better one or two die, than one or two million, isn’t that what you want to hear, professor?”

“Perhaps! Is your imagination equal to what I am about to explain?”

She gave no answer.

“We see Putin and al-Assad, are the two main factors that can stop this war, and another source: a monster conqueror in the background, stirring the pot, Malik Tawus. And if he is not stopped he will make a monkey out of all of us earthlings, he’s been watching earth a long while a destroyer at his fancy: Mordieu.

Commented Miss Hoffmann, “You’re the sanest and most practical professor here at the university, so I’ve heard, but what you’re inferring sounds radically insane.”

(Miss Hoffmann had been delight when she received the phone call from the rector that the professor wanted to be interviewed by her, and now what he really wanted was for her to be an accessory to assignations, like Pope Pius XII’s secret support for the attempted overthrow of Nazi dictator Adolf Hitler; or perchance, the mechanic to the assignations!)

She was waiting emphatically at his explanation with haste, as for her the subject had been charged…

She could tell now the professor was in earnest. The professor smiled at Miss Hoffmann, and at her bewilderment. Said, “You are the perfect warrior,” adding, “unless you do it, this madman that has went on for half a decade killing at will, his own countrymen, like Stalin, it soon will be a genocide, not so unlike the Jews holocaust, in WWII; no one left in Syria, and there will be no next generation. The Middle East is a vortex, a reservoir of power, and power hungry men, more so today than in the old days of the Iron Curtain, or those days, prior to; but today it is the future starting spot for Armageddon. As we all have now witnessed devastating slaughter, war crimes. You are the only axis to peace, to put the earth back on its axis.”

“When must this take place?” asked Miss Gloria Hoffmann. Knowing good and well, the president of Syria was unwilling to adjust, and was simply a criminal at large.

“Immediately,” said the professor, “God forbid we let another day pass and allow the likes of another Hitler to kill eighty-million more inhabitants of earth… ”

…

And so the professor’s plan was implemented, with the help of the CIA, and information from NSA, and with Israel’s backup military flights, from Tel Aviv, to Syria, and Miss Hoffmann’s newspaper editor’s support.

Consequently she went to the interview with three gifts, unknowing who would be there for sure but hoping al-Assad, would not have one of his staff to replace him, and Putin was there, and to the glory of the Professor, so was Mordieu, whom he despised the most. Miss Hoffman was allowed in a private room to assort her notes out, and left alone, as the three political figures prepped for the international discussion, live on television, concerning the war.

(The Professor explained, to Miss Hoffman, prior to her departure about Mordieu, being the representative of a world beyond ours, in a cross-section of the 4th Dimension, a plane unknown to earth scientists, until most recently. As he had explained to Miss Hoffmann, about Mordieu, his image, and his biological makeup, as to keep him out of any bright light, that he had a different organic make up, that normal light does not bother him, but bright light does, he avoids it, like a form of bacterium, that he had a very ancient mechanism.” How the professor knew all this puzzled her. Yet he had gone on to explain even more: “As the camera lens focuses light on his image, he is a monstrous cyanobacteria, a form of life shaped into human form. He has a way of detecting where bright light will be, and directs his moves accordingly, that is why his skin looks under certain light, a bluish-green. At one time his inhabitants were a form of planet algae, like bacteria frozen in ice, ice bugs in its natural form, and at even an earlier date microscope bacteria, what one may call a single-celled slime of a bug, but a billion years of evolution-who’s to say, allowed him to become whatever he has become, and perhaps some help from demonic forces, or renegade angelic beings, doing experiments, thus came the Cyanobacteria-giants, or giant bugs undercover, all packed into fiberglass, gel skin, that looks human.)

“You may enter,” said an agent, to Miss Hoffmann, into the fireside conference room, with several cameras in place for the interview, and security guards all about. And the interview went smooth as planned, and Miss Hoffmann gave all three a Persian rug, of great value, saying it was a gift from the newspaper editor of her gazette, knowing this area of the world, such as Iran, Afghanistan, Turkey, made the highest quality of handmade rugs, they were not large, rather five feet by three, and tightly knit. And all took them in hand with smiles and thank you (s), and thereafter she was escorted to her plane back to Israel. The newspaper headlines, read the next day, all three were found dead of some sort of poison, they couldn’t imagine from what, but everyone of course knew. And that Resolution 2254, of the United Nations, for peace in Syria was firmly in place, and the killings had stopped.

[hopefulphantomwonderland-blog]

New Post has been published on Pagedesignweb

New Post has been published on http://pagedesignweb.com/world-from-the-4th-dimension/

World From the 4th Dimension

The report read: “Bashar al Assad, president of Syria a malefic conqueror with his pal Putin, of Russia is as if they are in cohesion with some madman from the 4th Dimension, who are pals in world conquest, lest the leader called Mordieu, whose plans for the world conquest was to start in Syria, and will make Genghis Khan and his Mongol horde look like armatures.” Said professor Evens, professor at Los Wanaka University, in Huancayo Peru, for ‘World New Reports’ (February 20th, 2016.)

From World News Reports, March, 20th, 2016, by Professor Chick Evens (Bacterium Biologist), “Should you move about in Syria you will see 350,000-less inhabitants, these shapes of humans: men, women, and children and the elderly were not long ago alive now corpses of Bashar al-Assad’s regime. Because he has refused the UN’s resolution 2254, for peace talks, he is directly responsible for all those lives, to include 11.5 million misplaced Arabs, no longer available to live in their homes, short of water, electric, and food, while he bathes in comfort with is buddy in crime, Putin from Russia, who now has a military base in Syria. Also, 4.5 million Arabs have cut across Europe, and live in Turkey, on its shores and inland, and al-Assad and Putin’s Russia are hitting air strikes on hospitals what is next? Is there no meaning to life within their souls? And some of the Greek islands are full of refugees. Some twelve nations are involved, to include America, France, England, Turkey, Russia, the Saudis, the Syrian Rebels, Iran, Lebanon’s Hezbollah, Qatar, the Islamic State, al-Nusra Front, both terrorist groups, all involved in the war. All in battle gear, as the Russians bomb indiscriminately, and once captured tortured, without consideration, such as waterboarding, outlawed by the international laws of humanity. And now we got a faction from some world leader from outer space involved, out of some plane of the 4th Demission, he is called Malik Tawus, but his official name is Mordieu; al-Assad has reached across the border and made contact with the fourth plane, a new reservoir of forces that will allow him to overrun Syria, and the world with Russia, if not stopped. And you’d think our president Obama would be in hysteria over this, yet he is like a human who is helpless in life’s grip; quietly, slowly, inexorably he watches these pointless murderers continue and continue, as he sleeps unburdened.”

(Interlude: Syria once a rebellion, in 2012, now a conflict, 2016, prior to 2012, in 2011, it was simply protests that erupted across Syria. The progress is remarkable, in that bombing started in 2013, causing thousands of casualties. Then in 2015, Russia’s intervention within the conflict, takes place. Now in this year of 2016, ‘the Year of the Monkey’ the picture in Syria gets bleaker; with their governments new strategy: ‘starve or surrender’… leaving 350,000-people removed from humanitarian aid.)

Said the newspaper interviewer, Miss Hoffmann, “Professor Evens, how do we stop it?”

“Miss,” said the professor, “if I told you one man started the First World War, responsible for eight-million deaths, and one man could have stopped it, and Genghis Khans’ march throughout Europe could have been stopped by one man, who was responsible for the death of twenty-five-million lives, and that al-Assad, president of Syria, is but one man in the same category, is but one man indifferent to death, and human sorrow could, if he wished to, stop the Syrian war, that has killed 300,000 inhabitants, with his reckless sweep of bombardments and bombings and his military forces, among so many offering their inconsistencies to which I am sure al-Assad loves to garnish his teeth at the Americans trying to help, and the French and Turks, and the Syrian Rebels who are the official resistance concerning his regime, if you had the power and means to stop it, would you?”

Replied Miss Hoffmann, “What can one woman do, naught!”

“Miss Hoffmann,” said the professor, “how wrong you are. We are headed into World War III, now what can you do? Go to the unthinkable!”

It struck some light for Miss Hoffmann. Several hundred thoughts filled her cerebellum, villainous thoughts. She lit a cigarette, puffed heavy on it. She thought, felt, she was being interviewed, rather than her doing the interview. Then after a long pause, the professor added, “Let us say it could not be accomplished unless that one person say, woman, say you, had acted in time?”

“Certainly,” she concluded meekly, “like the CIA used to do to runaway regimes in the days of the Iron Curtain, in the name of National Security, so I suppose in the name of World Peace, assassinate whomever needs to be assassinated to stop this senseless killing, needs to be killed. It is better one or two die, than one or two million, isn’t that what you want to hear, professor?”

“Perhaps! Is your imagination equal to what I am about to explain?”

She gave no answer.

“We see Putin and al-Assad, are the two main factors that can stop this war, and another source: a monster conqueror in the background, stirring the pot, Malik Tawus. And if he is not stopped he will make a monkey out of all of us earthlings, he’s been watching earth a long while a destroyer at his fancy: Mordieu.

Commented Miss Hoffmann, “You’re the sanest and most practical professor here at the university, so I’ve heard, but what you’re inferring sounds radically insane.”

(Miss Hoffmann had been delight when she received the phone call from the rector that the professor wanted to be interviewed by her, and now what he really wanted was for her to be an accessory to assignations, like Pope Pius XII’s secret support for the attempted overthrow of Nazi dictator Adolf Hitler; or perchance, the mechanic to the assignations!)

She was waiting emphatically at his explanation with haste, as for her the subject had been charged…

She could tell now the professor was in earnest. The professor smiled at Miss Hoffmann, and at her bewilderment. Said, “You are the perfect warrior,” adding, “unless you do it, this madman that has went on for half a decade killing at will, his own countrymen, like Stalin, it soon will be a genocide, not so unlike the Jews holocaust, in WWII; no one left in Syria, and there will be no next generation. The Middle East is a vortex, a reservoir of power, and power hungry men, more so today than in the old days of the Iron Curtain, or those days, prior to; but today it is the future starting spot for Armageddon. As we all have now witnessed devastating slaughter, war crimes. You are the only axis to peace, to put the earth back on its axis.”

“When must this take place?” asked Miss Gloria Hoffmann. Knowing good and well, the president of Syria was unwilling to adjust, and was simply a criminal at large.

“Immediately,” said the professor, “God forbid we let another day pass and allow the likes of another Hitler to kill eighty-million more inhabitants of earth… ”

…

And so the professor’s plan was implemented, with the help of the CIA, and information from NSA, and with Israel’s backup military flights, from Tel Aviv, to Syria, and Miss Hoffmann’s newspaper editor’s support.

Consequently she went to the interview with three gifts, unknowing who would be there for sure but hoping al-Assad, would not have one of his staff to replace him, and Putin was there, and to the glory of the Professor, so was Mordieu, whom he despised the most. Miss Hoffman was allowed in a private room to assort her notes out, and left alone, as the three political figures prepped for the international discussion, live on television, concerning the war.

(The Professor explained, to Miss Hoffman, prior to her departure about Mordieu, being the representative of a world beyond ours, in a cross-section of the 4th Dimension, a plane unknown to earth scientists, until most recently. As he had explained to Miss Hoffmann, about Mordieu, his image, and his biological makeup, as to keep him out of any bright light, that he had a different organic make up, that normal light does not bother him, but bright light does, he avoids it, like a form of bacterium, that he had a very ancient mechanism.” How the professor knew all this puzzled her. Yet he had gone on to explain even more: “As the camera lens focuses light on his image, he is a monstrous cyanobacteria, a form of life shaped into human form. He has a way of detecting where bright light will be, and directs his moves accordingly, that is why his skin looks under certain light, a bluish-green. At one time his inhabitants were a form of planet algae, like bacteria frozen in ice, ice bugs in its natural form, and at even an earlier date microscope bacteria, what one may call a single-celled slime of a bug, but a billion years of evolution-who’s to say, allowed him to become whatever he has become, and perhaps some help from demonic forces, or renegade angelic beings, doing experiments, thus came the Cyanobacteria-giants, or giant bugs undercover, all packed into fiberglass, gel skin, that looks human.)

“You may enter,” said an agent, to Miss Hoffmann, into the fireside conference room, with several cameras in place for the interview, and security guards all about. And the interview went smooth as planned, and Miss Hoffmann gave all three a Persian rug, of great value, saying it was a gift from the newspaper editor of her gazette, knowing this area of the world, such as Iran, Afghanistan, Turkey, made the highest quality of handmade rugs, they were not large, rather five feet by three, and tightly knit. And all took them in hand with smiles and thank you (s), and thereafter she was escorted to her plane back to Israel. The newspaper headlines, read the next day, all three were found dead of some sort of poison, they couldn’t imagine from what, but everyone of course knew. And that Resolution 2254, of the United Nations, for peace in Syria was firmly in place, and the killings had stopped.