asinglewordwilldo: ([Emote] This Does *Not* Look Good...)
((Note: Takes place after his abduction here.))

So beautiful but ice runs through your veins
Slowly draining all my life away
Perfection in a shell devoid of life
Cause you leave a trail of broken dreams behind


He’s doing the best he can to hold on. It’s burning him alive from the inside out, this alien force that wants his life. It’s a fire not of earthly origin, alive with deadly intent and set on nothing less than his total submission to its will.

He pictures her face...it doesn’t help.

The words are leaving him...words he has to fight, the first thing the fire seeks out. Rob him of his weapons, take his one chance at survival. Demoralization and ineffectuality...render him impotent and focus on breaking his will. One incantation, and he could have stopped it...but for the life of him, he can’t remember...

He tries to hear her voice...it fades in the roar of flames.

There’s death in the power moving through his blood, preparing his body for the coming invasion...the ultimate sacrifice, the final rape of his spirit. It’s the devil waiting on the sidelines, ready to step in and claim everything he is. He knows the devil...recognizes its origin and its form. This is not the demon that took hold of Rory...no, this demon demands more than flesh. It can’t live without life and heart...it needs to invade his soul and make it his own before it can animate his flesh and assume his likeness.

He remembers her touch...and finally, at last...he feels something.

The flames rise high again, but this time they are of his own making. They warm the flesh and fuel the blood rather than freezing it, stilling it for the parasite inside. He commands the torch this time, pushing it forward into the invasion with a roar of fury and passion...passion and love, black rage born of pure love.

Imhotep. The name of the demon is Imhotep. That’s what he needs...to know his enemy. Know his enemy...fight his enemy.

With the last of his strength...the memory of soft hands on his body, a lover’s touch that fills him with remembered strength...Alva begins to fight.

Muse: Alva Keel
Fandom: Miracles
Words: 340
asinglewordwilldo: ([Emote] Shock)
She's sweet and innocent
too beautiful to leave alone
Draw you near to her
and crush you like she's made of stone
It's a war that we're heading for
and it starts here tonight
Wipe you clean like a memory
Put up a fight


Trouble On The Horizon )

Muse: Alva Keel
Fandom: MIRACLES
Words: 712
asinglewordwilldo: ([Emote] This Does *Not* Look Good...)
"Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed".

Fairy tales, ancient myths and legends...it’s the stuff of history, the color in what would otherwise be a dull and lifeless oral and written record of mankind’s life and times. Fables about monsters and epic heroes that are no more than fiction in the eyes of the general public...they’re entertainment for the innocent and unknowing masses.

These stories...historic myths from ancient cultures, the modern day cautionary flights of fancy known as urban legends...only those who have seen through the veil between this world and the one beneath our own know the truth behind these tales. They are neither fanciful nor fictional in nature, as a fairy tale is expected to be.

Rather, these stories are guidebooks to the world I live in...myself and those like me. The ancient tales of vampires and werewolves, the story of Pandora’s Box...even a typical campfire ghost story has its roots in the subculture of the supernatural. It’s out there, and it’s real...and it’s these supposedly fanciful stories that we at Sodalitas Quaerito collect and catalog with the utmost care.

We look for answers to questions that seemingly have none. We are the keepers of stories that are not ready to be heard...and I believe that is our most important job, because even in our circles there are myths and legends. Stories disproven, fairy tales that are said to be only that. Tracing those stories back to their origins, being certain that a certain evil does not exist to harm humanity...

That is our goal.

[private]

And if we had done our jobs better...if I had done my job better...Rory Gilmore would never have gotten hurt.

[/private]

Muse: Alva Keel
Fandom: Miracles
Words: 281
asinglewordwilldo: ([Investigating] Always Watching)
All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up. - James Baldwin

Well I certainly can’t say that I disagree. The whole purpose of art...truly *great* art, anyway...is to offer up a slice of being, a piece of the soul for public consumption. It takes a strong individual to do something that bold, and a very damaged individual to do something that frighteningly mad.

Now I am no artist, but I am a consumer of such pieces of human detritus and spiritual exhibitionism, and to those who are made of sterner stuff than I, I say ‘good show’ and wait for Lorelai to stop laughing at my vernacular. And I honestly believe that it takes time to recognize truly great art...that’s why so many of the masters have died penniless and in disgrace. It takes the death of greatness for greatness to be realized, a sad fact about our strange little society.

I was fortunate enough, however, to locate a little slice of genius during a business trip recently...a rather unique piece of work that had all the revelation and heart that lacked some of the tragedy of loss. It wasn’t bright by any means, but it gave back rather than took away. It clung to that slice of self offered up, but somehow managed to hold nothing back from the reader. Yes, it was a book...and by an odd little twist of Fate, it was penned by someone I know...at least indirectly.

I was in Wilmington, Delaware recently to investigate the occurrence of a tulpa when I made a side trip to Philadelphia in order to visit a colleague. While I was there, I happened into a local independent bookstore and picked up a copy of a book called THE SUBSECT. Very original, very well-written...entirely singular.

It wasn’t until I returned home and had Rory in stitches when I presented her with a copy that I realized why the author’s name was so familiar to me. Jess Mariano is actually *Rory’s* Jess...boy she dated in high school. She, obviously, already had a copy of the book, and seemed rather pleased that I enjoyed it so much. Given what I know now, it certainly explains a lot about the book after all I’ve heard Rory tell of him. He’s unquestionably talented, and from the way Rory speaks of him? Definitely worthy of my interest as her future stepfather.

She’s a big girl, I know...but she’s a special girl. And one day, she’ll be *my* girl. And I want to make sure this lad’s worthy of the light I saw him put in Rory Gilmore’s eyes.

Muse: Alva Keel
Fandom: MIRACLES
Words: 433
asinglewordwilldo: (That Certain Smile)
“...speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Alva felt his breath catch...just for an instant, as he listened to the deafening silence of the small crowd gathered around the gazebo in the heart of Star’s Hollow.

The minister smiled. “Then, by the power vested in me by the state of Connecticut, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Alva grinned, watching as Rick moved forward and lifted Evelyn’s veil...then deftly pulled her close, dipped her, and kissed her soundly for the whole town to see. Off to the side, Alex rolled his eyes, covering his face with the ring pillow he’d been carrying.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please congratulate Mr. and Mrs. Rick O’Connell on the renewal of their vows!” the minister announced, eliciting a roar of applause and whistling from the people of Star’s Hollow.

From his place at Rick’s side, serving as best man, Alva applauded the couple enthusiastically. He thought it was rather fitting that the displaced archaeologists renew their vows in the present as a way to celebrate their wedding anniversary...a new start in a new time, as it were.

Gazing across the way, he watched Lorelai cheer the happy couple, standing at her own place as matron of honor. She was due in just a few weeks, but she was still a vision that made his heart ache and his stomach clench with a love and desire he’d never known in his lifetime. In just about a year, his life had grown, blossomed, and been turned inside out in ways he never thought possible...ways he never dreamed he could ever want.

But here it was...this woman carrying his child. This woman he was going to marry.

And as they stood at another couple’s renewal of their marriage vows, Alva had found himself silently reciting those vows along with Rick as he watched Lorelai. Already, he was making his promises...he was ready for this. And that notion scared him a little. How had he never known this about himself, that he could want such a simple life so badly?

Maybe it was the blending of worlds...a wife and a child as well as the pursuit of truth. He didn’t have to give one up to gain the other...not when he found the combination that just *fit.*

And as Rick and Evelyn walked back down the aisle, arm in arm, Alva imagined himself in Rick’s shoes, and Lorelai in Evie’s.

It was going to be a long few weeks to wait until the baby was born...and Alva couldn’t wait to marry the girl of his dreams.

Muse: Alva Keel
Fandom: Miracles
Words: 442
asinglewordwilldo: (Lorelai digs the black silk PJ's)
And all the roads that lead to you were winding
And all the lights that light the way are blinding
There are many things that I would like to say to you
I don't know how


“Keep it simple.”

Alva snorted softly, still staring at the notepad in front of him. “Bugger you. This is one occasion where I won’t get away with simple. No man can.”

Luke sighed in aggravation, a state that seemed to be a permanent one for him. “Look, Keel, I’m telling you right now: if you two are writing your vows, Lorelai will joke, jibe, and strike right through hers. She won’t know what to say, so she’ll just say what she feels. If you try to dress it up, you’re just going to make her feel guilty.”

“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing,” a sultry female voice interjected as Miss Patty stepped up to the counter with a dazzling smile at Alva, “but are you writing your own vows for the wedding?”

Alva glanced up finally, smiling at Miss Patty in return as he took her hand and kissed it gallantly. “Indeed you did, dearest Patricia.”

Patty preened at Alva’s attentions...just as she did when she got pretty much any special attention. “Such a charmer...ooh, you’re lucky Lorelai snatched you up first, or I’d be tempted to risk another marriage myself.”

Alva chuckled as he released her hand. “Thank you...you truly flatter me.”

Patty chuckled again, then shook herself a bit. “Look at you, distracting me...I overheard you two talking and I have to agree with Luke, honey. If you and Lorelai are writing your own vows, just...write what you’d say. Just listening to you talk in that *accent* is pure poetry, Alva, and if you just tell her what’s in your heart? She’ll be absolutely touched.”

“Who’d have thought we’d agree on something...me and Taylor’s second in command?” Luke deadpanned, earning him a humored look from Patty.

Alva could only smile at the both of them, then look down at his otherwise blank notepad. To write what he felt...the easiest, and the hardest thing he’d ever done. Everything about his relationship with Lorelai had been a study in contradictions...difficult and inevitable, sweet and painful, peaceful and tempestuous at turns. What they had was so complicated...but so blissfully simple at the same time.

And with that in mind, Alva took a sip of the tea Luke had just brought him, slipped his pen from his jacket pocket, and began to write.

Muse: Alva Keel
Fandom: Miracles
Words: 391
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