#considering that when I was thirteen twenty five was ancient

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson, catching up

Study In Scarlet part 1: 1880 I’ve been neglecting my correspondence (emails) and decided to start my Holmes reread today, with some good old fashioned deductive speculation and some context, in case anyone else is also reading along a month late. Please bear with me as I neglect to commit to either a Watsonian (these are real people who we can learn biographical data about) or a Doylist (remember this is just a book and we should just relax) point of view. If your mental image of Holmes and Watson are either Robert Downey Junior and Jude law, or Jeremy Brett and David Burke, you will probably be surprised at how young these two probably are.

Preliminary evidence: Our Friends’ ages

- Watson was wounded at the battle of Maiwand, fought July 27 1880, ill for months, plural, and the journey back to england took a month. At the very earliest he started looking for lodgings in November 1880 - He would have been at medical school for at least two, probably three years before finishing in 1878. It is unlikely, though not impossible, that he would have started his course of study significantly before reaching his twenties. For historical comparison, Dr. James Barry, also an army surgeon with a degree from a British medical school, started his course of study at the age of approximately twenty, and became an army surgeon at about 23. (Although Dr. Barry died in 1865 it’s unlikely that there would be a huge difference in how long their courses of study took.) People seem to have gone directly to medical school instead of doing other university courses first.  - While he could be older, could be slightly younger. Watson is probably around twenty five. - Holmes is still taking university courses, erratically, and although we don’t get any timeline of his studies, he’s probably not older than Stamford, who was a surgeon’s assistant when Watson worked with him at St. Bartholemew’s Hospital, and presumably still works there given how much he knows about Holmes’ use of the chemical labs. “Young” Stamford is likely a few years younger than Watson.  - Like Watson Holmes probably started his studies in his very late teens or early twenties. The age of getting a degree could and did vary during the 1800s from our current conception of who’s the right age to be in college (with people somewhat more likely to be sent off to secondary education slightly younger than seventeen or eighteen than they are now, and also plenty of instances of people starting college later than we usually expect from someone who is headed directly there after their childhood studies and before their first adult career) but the important thing here is that Holmes appears to be in charge of his own finances, and the age of majority for Victorian men was 21.  - Holmes has pretty much got to be somewhere between 20 and 25. My money is on him being 22-23 (because he does already have a reputation, as we shall see, he has completed at least a year of study during the time he was friends with Victor Trevor, and because he appears to complete, or give up, his coursework between the end of Study in Scarlet and any other case Watson witnesses) and on Watson being 24-26. - For context, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote this story at age 27 in 1886. It’s not unreasonable to assume that, despite timeline weirdness (He was born in 1859, as Holmes might have been, but he will obviously always set his writing in the past), Holmes and Watson are going to age more or less with him.  - I have only vague memories of the Baring-Gould chronology for this series but I think it agrees with me in that regard. Baring-Gould thinks Holmes is about two or three years older than I think Holmes is, though. 

Conclusion: My sympathies to Mrs. Hudson, these boys are going to be the death of a decent amount of your furniture. 

#letters from watson #hey when I imprinted on these books at 13 I did not know I was going to be a disabled recent graduate at their approximate ages #So like my especial sympathies to watson #You get shot for your country and ACD can't even check the first paragraph over to make sure he recorded the right limb #anyway let's continue on and see what I missed seventeen years ago #and how nostalgic I get for my early twenties #considering that when I was thirteen twenty five was ancient #and now both thirteen and twenty five are prime I was a dumbass ages #A Study in Scarlet

[the-fae-folk]

when you talked about the Vadelairn in your stories. not only did you say that the desert where they were was further from where Faerie borders our world than the distance between earth and the large magellanic cloud, but you said that the creatures can get too big to live on land and swim through space. How big is your version of faerie? And how does space work?

Ah yes, so you noticed my little secret there. For those who might wonder, the Large Magellanic Cloud is 158, 200 Light Years away from our humble planet. This means that light, which can travel the distance of 91.601 million miles from our sun to us in 8.3 minutes, takes 158,200 years to travel to that truly enormous distance. If we attempted to convert our distance from Light Years to Miles it would be something along the lines of nine hundred twenty-nine quadrillion nine hundred ninety-eight trillion five hundred thirty-four billion thirty-seven million six hundred forty-nine thousand nine hundred eighty miles (929,998,534,037,649,980mi).

To travel that distance at even a brisk 70 miles per hour on a straight highway would take you thirteen quadrillion two hundred eighty-five trillion seven hundred billion years (13,285,700,000,000,000yr). Helpfully, the Large Magellanic Cloud is among the closest of the galaxies near to our Milky Way. There are plenty more that are much further out. Now that's a very large distance, impossibly, unimaginably large. Far too large, as anyone who knows even a little bit about astrophysics, for a planet of the kind we are familiar with. Most notably, any solid type planet would have long since collapsed to become a gas giant, then a star, and finally a black hole long before it ever reached the size of what we're suggesting here. If that is the case, then we might try to imagine a different sort of realm. A flat plane that begins at the border between our worlds and reaches infinitely in three other directions. Such an existing spatial structure is, as far as we are aware, impossible in our universe. The logical conclusion must then be that the world of Faerie, as they call it, is not only another world... but another Universe entirely. Such a strange thought. Another Universe, different from our own. Of course that immediately brings up issues with the very word "Universe", which is defined to mean everything that exists. So instead we might call it another reality, another bubble of existence that is separated from our own and seems to operate by very different natural laws. For simplicity's sake let's simply refer to them as our world and Faerie. It would be difficult to determine exactly what Faerie is like. This is because it's very unlikely that any human who wanders into such a place is seeing it as it truly is. For all we know it could be a multi-dimensional construct that exists upon a multitude of levels of reality and across vast distances of space. That's not even considering that the Fae might be able to treat Time as a physical dimension and live here and there among that as well. Thus I think we might try to imagine Faerie as a flat world that goes on forever in three directions with an unknowably vast amount of space above it. But having it be like that would cause so many basic physical problems that pretty much everything would stop working if I want the world to even attempt consistency. However, there is a much simpler and more elegant solution. One that I actually introduced through some of the poetry and backstory of Faerie in my tale. The stories about their ancient King when he visited other worlds. "Across the sea he came alone o’er glass-like waters deep. While far below at depths unknown strange creatures lay in sleep." And then later when it mentioned his flight from the dying world. "The Faerie King, or so it's told, he fled back to the shore, where once he’d come from worlds so old to search for something more."

You see, it isn't so much that he's crossing an ordinary ocean to different continents. No, he's traveling outward to different realities, different universes if you will. The implication is that the Faerie are powerful, and collectively they're much more powerful than anything humanity can achieve. We don't know if their king collapsed only a single world or the whole universe he stole light from, but whatever he did it required immense power and knowledge that we do not possess. They came to the world we call Faerie, as the poem mentions at one point. It already existed. So I have a brand new reality whose laws of physics are entirely up to my direction, and a race of beings of incredible power. My solution was that they simply warped reality itself, rewove it. If planets like we know them existed, they were woven together, remade. And in the process the people themselves became inextricably woven together with the world they were making. So while the world itself is made up of many once separated parts, it is essentially endless, just as the night sky above them is equally infinite. Glamours and illusions of immense world-bending power allow for some continuity such as a sun rising and setting, while also allowing for journeys across the world to places with different suns and moons, or places without any day at all. One of the more interesting ideas that surfaces when we talk of creating things, whether writing or art or anything of that nature, is the idea that sometimes when the conditions are right... the creation itself seems to take up a life of its own, it grows bigger than its own creator's ability to truly understand or control. The same effect can be amplified by a thousand times in a creation involving multiple creators. So thus I imagined that in their remaking of this universe, they made something that became more than they intended, something beyond their ability to control or know fully. In their hubris they sought total control, and it seems as if all reality told them no and ripped it from their grasp.

If belief is all that it takes to bend a whole universe and reweave it into something that shouldn't work but does because you believe it to be, then that belief would be self limiting. Belief in fear and confusion, in forgetting and in weakness... those things become real with that belief. But there are also always those who wish to explore, to create, to wonder and dream. You cannot do those things without a horizon of the unknown, without something to be explored. So too does their belief in these things affect their reality. For all their power, they cannot simply exercise it at any given time, they are limited in every way by the very act of creation. They aren't really cognizant of all this in a way that matters. Many younger fae, born in the eons since the reweaving, don't understand at all, and thus have a very different idea of the power their own people once held and the nature of their own world. To be entirely honest, while some of this is and will be relevant to the story of Ardri and his friends, it's really not necessary to know the over-complicated metaphysical philosophy that I regularly ponder while worldbuilding. We look at contemporary fantasy these days and find that people have a desire to create big complicated systems of magic and power, to outline all aspects of this constructed reality. While that's fine, not all kinds of fantasy really need that, and some suffer from it. Some of the power that fairy and folktales have in their telling is sometimes that the magic ISN'T explained. That it lies beyond the understanding of the protagonist (usually a human), and seems to follow a set of rules that they don't know. Part of things is that they must learn something of those rules, must gain some ground, enough to move the story forward, but that there's always much more that simply remains unexplained, a mystery. This same rule of the unknown holds true for many styles of fantasy writing, even well into the world of novelization. But it can be a difficult art to balance the things the reader MUST know in order to make sense of the story, and what things the writer will need to know and decide but NEVER actually tell us in so many words. There is so much advice on how much to worldbuild and how much of that to reveal, but the truth is that the answer is necessarily ever-changing and it simply takes a lifetime of practice to become somewhat decent at getting it right when you tell a story. I myself find a great deal of comfort in excessive worldbuilding, and I will be glad to answer whatever questions about it that you ask, but all my story really needs you to know is that the world they live in is now is vast, wondrous, and strange, and that faeries once traveled between worlds and allowed their hubris to cause irreparable damage to some of those worlds.

#worldbuilding #writing #ardri's story #writing worlds #fae #faerie #otherworld #the large magellanic cloud #metaphysical philosophy

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP CHAPTER 10

PLEASE HEED THE CONTENT WARNINGS!!! this chapter features Evil Scientist Lady and her Fucked Up WorldView a LOT, and there are also some Major Plot Events that involve Violence. i will put a summary in the end notes if you decide at any point that this particular chapter is too much - that's super valid! i will also mention here that no main characters are going to die in this story and no one dies in this chapter either.

huge huge thanks to @flamingfawkes for beta’ing!

CW: extreme disregard for human life, mentioned human and animal cruelty, toxic workplace environment, violence (both imagined and actual, mildly graphic), gun mention, minor blood, death threats, extremely unethical character, unethical science, stalking

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!

“This is the same result we’ve gotten the last twenty times -”

“I don’t care, Steven, run it again!”

Steven sighs, punching at the keyboard to run the statistical analysis sequence again. “This is ridiculous! I’ve run this sequence so many times it feels like my eyes are going to bleed. Why can’t we just turn in the results we have and -”

“Because she’ll behead us,” James snaps, “and then she’ll destroy our reputations and our families and they’ll get no severance. I have three young children at home, Steven, I need this money.” Steven softens a little, fingers running smoothly over the keys as he combs the data again. Next to him, James has a computer screen full of frame-by-frame stills of what little data they recovered from the probe before it was destroyed; Penny across the room is surrounded by ancient texts a mile high and at least three laptops.

“Why is she so interested in this, anyway?”

“It’s beyond me. Since when do we question the whims of what we’re told to do?”

Steven squints at the screen, pushing his chair back and rubbing at his eyes. “If I have to stare at these numbers for one more second, my brain is going to explode. I feel like my eyeballs are going to melt out of my skull. I wanna scream.”

James pulls up another image, staring at the blurry image of the merman before him. Steven pushes away from his own screen and squints at James’s. The merman in the photo looks young, not much older than his kid brother, but they don’t know anything about the lifespan of these creatures. He looks confused, squinting at the camera. As James flicks through the stills, the merman transitions from confused to angry to enraged, and then he attacks.

“He’s not happy about the camera.”

“Would you be happy about someone spying on you and your family?” James says, switching to the next still.

“I wouldn’t be happy if I thought someone was doing anything we do in this lab to me or my family.” James elbows Steven, but luckily no one else seems to have heard.

“This lab isn’t the most ethical place I’ve ever worked, but it pays the bills,” James mutters. “And we’re not even in the experimentation lab. We just do data analysis. We’re removed from the situation.”

Are we? Steven wonders. He sees James reach out and touch the framed picture of his daughters, and keeps his mouth shut. He turns back to his computer, watching the little spinning color wheel of his mouse as the program calculates the same numbers again and again. The results come up identical to the previous ones, and Steven clicks “Run Program” again wordlessly.

They work in silence for a while, the three of them, broken only by James’s muttering and the occasional thud of one of Penny’s books and the clicks of keyboards and mice. If they weren’t so reliant on technology, Steven thinks, there would be an enormous corkboard spanning three of the four walls, covered in pushpins and handwriting and red string connecting images. He debates actually building one, if only to increase the levity in the room, but decides against it.

He’s seen people punished or fired or who-knows-what-else for far less, after all.

Instead, after his program tells him for the twenty-third time that his results are the same (and didn’t someone say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?), Steven scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and opens the data entry window. Maybe the problem with the results has to do with the entry of the data; did he input something wrong? It’s possible . . .

Here he goes again, he supposes. He stands up, stretches, and leans back to crack some vertebrae. “I’m gonna grab a coffee, take a short screen break, and go back to the beginning. Maybe there’s something in the input that I missed. You want anything?”

James groans, thunking his head against the desk. “I want something with enough caffeine to kill three elephants, please.” Steven nods, looking over at Penny. She shakes her head, and he heads for the shitty coffee machine a few doors down.

Several floors below, a young woman pulls her lab goggles up to rest on top of her head with her perfectly-pinned protocol-compliant bun. “The latest round of tests is completely done, ma’am. I think you’ll find the efficacy . . . striking.”

She takes the clipboard, glossy perfectly-painted nails pinching the sheets of thin paper and flicking between them. “I’m afraid I don’t do so well with the scientific side of things - Kathleen, was it? Explain this to me, would you?”

“Certainly, ma’am. As you know, the kill time for the most effective neurotoxin currently available, tetrodotoxin, varies from thirty minutes to four hours. Average time for symptoms to manifest is seventeen minutes, and from there the symptoms progress through tingling of the lips and tongue, headache, vomiting, muscle weakness, ataxia, et cetera. Death occurs as a result of respiratory or heart failure, and the poison is nearly undetectable if you do not specifically test for it.”

“The untraceability is a plus, but that is far too wide a range of times, and too slow a time even at its fastest.”

“Of course, ma’am, but as far as naturally-occurring marine poisons go - actually, as far as naturally-occurring poisons go, full stop - it is the most effective. Until now, that is.”

“Oh? What are your findings?”

“Which trials would you like to start with, ma’am?”

“The human trials, Kathleen. The only ones that matter. I hardly intend to go around killing mice and hoping that no one traces their deaths to a novel neurotoxin.” She laughs airily, and Kathleen nods along.

“Certainly, ma’am. The most recent data points indicate an average efficacy time of thirteen minutes for our compound neurotoxin, with a full range between nine and seventeen minutes passing before subject death. Subjects began to show symptoms around five minutes, give or take twenty-five seconds.”

“And those symptoms were?”

Kathleen flips through the document. “Seizures, vital organ failure, blindness, painful muscle spasms, suffocation from the inside out.”

She hums, tapping a manicured finger against the report. “Well, Kathleen, that is certainly impressive, especially for a preliminary human subject trial. These results . . . I must say, they are not nearly as disappointing as I anticipated when I came down here.”

“Ma’am?”

“How long have you worked for this company, Kathleen?”

“Almost five years, ma’am, but I’ve always been an assistant. This is my first time as lead researcher and biochemist on a project, ever since you . . . laid off the previous lead researcher.”

“Kathleen, let me be frank. These results are not what I hoped for. The efficacy time and symptom onset times are both far too long for my liking, and the range of efficacy time is too broad. By all accounts, I should consider this a failure.” Kathleen swallows, but remains poised. “However, you’ve managed to shave off a considerable amount of time from the tetrodotoxin readings. The range of symptom onset time is an acceptable breadth, and your results are far beyond anything your predecessor ever accomplished for me. This is truly impressive, all things considered.”

“Thank you, ma’am. How should I proceed?”

“I want the efficacy doubled - tripled - I want it upped by anywhere between four and five hundred percent. I want the pain increased, too. Feel free to increase your requests for test subjects, but get me the results I want. You said the original tetrodotoxin was untraceable?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Can you keep that feature intact?”

“As of right now, it is intact, ma’am. I will endeavor to keep it so in future experiments.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Welcome to your new position as head of this research division. Don’t let me down.” She holds out a slender hand, and Kathleen takes it, trying not to seem too eager.

“I won’t, ma’am.”

“How soon can you start this experiment up again?”

“The cleaners should be finished by tomorrow morning, ma’am, and I can tweak chemical formulas until then.”

“Excellent.” Her watch beeps, and she lifts it, pursing her bright lips as she examines the message she’s just received. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to attend to. Someone will drop off your master access key for Lab Three within the hour.”

She steps into the elevator and lifts her watch up to her face, swiping through the messages from her secretary. One finger reaches out to press the button for the digital analysis labs floor, and the other taps away at her watch.

When she steps off the elevator, her secretary is waiting. “Ma’am.”

“What do they have for me?”

“Unclear. They said it was something they wanted to report directly to you and you alone, but it seems to be something big.”

“Hopefully it’s a big step in the right direction, or they’ll be taking a big step out of a job.” She relishes in the way the employees she passes all unfailingly flinch and then snap to perfect attention when they hear the sharp echo of her heels against the floor. She lifts her head and walks faster, striking the tiles with her heels like a gavel, sharp and precise against a judge’s desk.

The computer labs are disorganized when she enters, but there is a string of promising-looking numbers on the main display monitor. There is a woman surrounded by books and a man pulling up photos on his computer, and there is a third man standing in front of her like a toy soldier. She focuses on that one.

“I hear you have news for me? Make it swift, and make it good.”

He swallows, hard, and her eyes idly trace the line of his throat. If he disappoints her, perhaps she will drive her heel through it, to make an example of him. That would be far too messy; perhaps his dominant hand will do.

“I have narrowed down the location of the missing net, ma’am. I believe it to have washed up somewhere around these general GPS coordinates.” He fiddles with a remote in his hand, and the image on the screen changes. It shows an aerial satellite view of a secluded strip of beach, framed by rocky cliffs with larger rocks studded out into the open water. “It should have washed up somewhere in this one-point-three-seven-mile strip of beach. The whole area is property of one Doctor Thomas Sanders.”

She snarls. “That man. He won’t let us on that beach willingly until hell freezes over.”

The other man, the one scanning through photo stills and video footage, jumps up, knocking his chair backwards. “I found something!”

She turns towards him, and his excitement freezes and sputters into something much more controlled and terrified. “Show me.” He clicks something and pulls up video footage from one of their surveillance drones, zooming in on a particular patch of ocean along the stretch of Sanders’ beach. Her eyes widen when she sees what he’d noticed - a hump of red-and-white tail arcing above the waves before a pattern of ripples streaks off towards the cliff. He pauses the footage, rewinds it, uses a laser pointer to show an opening concealed in the cliff face.

“There’s some kind of grotto in there, hidden by the cliff. It’s on Sanders’ property, he has to know it’s there. And it looks like the merman from the destroyed drone knows it’s there too. Which means -”

“That must be where he’s keeping them.” Something burns in her chest, brilliant and terrifying and all-encapsulating, like wildfire. “We’ve found them, at long last.”

“What would you have me do?” her secretary asks. “I can arrange for a recovery squad at your earliest possible convenience, ma’am.”

“Assemble the squad, but do not have them move out. They will wait for my orders. When they go, you are to go with them.” Her secretary nods, once, sharp and sure. “Dispatch a crew to Lab One and clear it out. I want it prepped for containment, vivisection, chemical tests - the works. Get at least three tanks set up and one strap-down human table.”

“A human table, ma’am?”

“Yes. We have to deal with Sanders once and for all to ensure that he does not ruin any future experiments.”

“Will we be taking him as well?”

She hums thoughtfully. “No. Pull up the file we have on his known associate?”

A few swift clicks and flicks and a photo appears on the large screen: a young man with brown-and-purple hair, sleeves rolled up, carefully lowering a perfectly viable specimen into the ocean and letting it go, like some kind of fool. “His doctoral student, ma’am. The longest one he’s ever kept - this one has been with him a few years.”

“Excellent. When you raid the lab, take him.”

“Should we kill Sanders?”

“No. Rough him up a little, but leave him alive. Taking his protégé and leaving him alone, helpless to rescue him, will be the highest form of torture for such an insufferable person. The agony will eat him alive until his dying day.”

Her secretary nods, taking the notes down dutifully. The other employees look vaguely horrified, but she pays them no mind. No sacrifice is too great to be made in the name of progress, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a weakling who will never get anywhere in life.

She refuses to be one of those weaklings.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan wakes up confused.

He’s warm, warmer than he thinks he’s ever been in his whole life. When he stirs, he moves farther than he meant to - he must not be underwater. That’s enough to send a jolt of concern through his sleep-addled brain. Why isn’t he underwater? Why was he sleeping if he was above the surface? There’s no way his dad is here, and Roman hates surfacing, where are they? Where is he? But he’s so comfortable . . .

Someone shifts beside him, an arm draping across his waist, and Logan forces his eyes open. He shifts his lower half, confused when two things move instead of one, and there are layers upon layers of thin, flat, soft things wrapping around him. What is happening?

Slowly, slowly, his mind clears, and he remembers the events of last night. He grew legs - he was a human, once, before he was mer - he couldn’t sleep underwater with Dad and Roman - Virgil was teaching him to walk - Virgil put “clothes” on him - Virgil was embarrassed that he didn’t have those “clothes” on him - Virgil took him out of the lab to sleep - Virgil agreed to cuddle him since his pod couldn’t -

Logan feels the strange burning in his face again as he shifts. He can’t see well in this new human form, but when things are close enough to his face they’re relatively clear. And Virgil, still sleeping, is close enough that Logan can smell him - he smells like salt water mixed with something sharp and something sweet and something else that Logan can’t quite identify but finds addicting nonetheless. Sunlight streams in and pools around Virgil’s face, illuminating the tangled mess of hair spread around him and flopping into his face, the small puddle of water leaking out from his open mouth onto the soft thing he’s resting his head on, the way his chest moves slowly with every breath. His arm is wrapped around Logan, pulling him close. Logan thinks he might explode if he focuses on this any more, so he rolls from his side to his back as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake Virgil. Virgil tightens his arm around Logan and mutters something indecipherable in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake.

Rather than focusing on his very confusing feelings for the very pretty man next to him, Logan focuses on what he can see of the room around him. He makes a list in his mind of things that he plans to ask Virgil about later today, including:

1: There are many draws attached to the small, smooth cliffs surrounding them. How do they stay there?

2: There are lots of “clothes” scattered all around the floor, and there were several on the bed, too. Is that normal for humans?

3: Last night, Virgil did something that made the room light up with trapped sunlight! How did he do that?

4: How did Virgil get ice to stay in those big frozen sheets in such a warm place to let the sunlight in?

5: How did Virgil make ice into that weird shape that he filled with water and drank last night?

6: How did Virgil get the water to come into this place?

7: Do all humans have a specific area set aside for sleeping? Logan and his pod usually just sleep wherever they can, but Virgil seems to have this soft slab set aside with all of these soft things to be comfortable and sleep in every night. Is this a Human Thing or strictly a Virgil Thing?

Logan looks out through the sheet of ice that protects Virgil’s area from the outside and gasps. He can’t see well, but there’s a glittering expanse of blue that shifts and moves and oh, is that the ocean?

He’s spent his whole life (well, his whole remembered life, anyways) in the ocean, and he’s seen some truly wondrous things. He travels around the world with his pod, he knows the ocean is big, but seeing it spread out like this is . . . awe-inspiring. Logan has never seen the ocean like this, and now that he has he doesn’t think he can ever not see it like this again. It’s like a perfect sheet of sea-glass, rippling and unbroken but dynamic in a way that he never really gets a sense of when he’s beneath it.

He knows that there are waves, of course. There are smaller swells out on the open ocean, and larger ones when the Second Goddess dips her fingers down from the Upper Ocean and swirls the storms to a thundering burst. There are waves along the shoreline, ones that he frolics in with Roman and batter him against the shoreline. There are waves created when he or his pod members surface. But watching the movement of the ocean from up here is . . .

Even with his imperfect vision, he is completely at a loss for words as he stares at the ocean.

Eventually, Virgil stirs next to him, and Logan turns away from the ocean to stare at him. Virgil is close to him, arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed against him. Logan’s eyesight is not great, but Virgil is close enough that he can pick out little details of his face. There are brown face scales scattered all over him, but they seem to cluster on his nose and his cheeks. Logan has wanted to touch them for a substantial amount of time, and he can’t stop himself from gently settling the tips of his fingers over Virgil’s cheek.

His face doesn’t feel like Logan was expecting. The scales don’t give texture to his face the way that Logan’s do; the skin is smooth and flat. There are little bumps all over, but the brown scales aren’t raised off the skin like Logan expected. He lets his fingers trail along Virgil’s face. His bone structure seems to be exceedingly similar to Logan’s, at least in regards to his head. Logan’s finger rests gently on the curve of bone under Virgil’s eye, and Virgil exhales warm breath onto his palm.

Logan wonders what it would be like to have this for longer than just his recovery period. He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to Virgil all the time, to get to run his hands over Virgil’s face and arms and chest and examine the differences between their anatomy. He wonders what it would be like to learn to walk without falling over, and he feels a sharp, unexpected twinge in his chest as he realizes that getting better at walking means no more closeness to Virgil.

His chest feels strange, like there’s a school of small fish swarming around and tickling his insides and making him feel all foamy, like the froth churned up by a windswept sea. He feels like he does when he’s underwater - free, weightless, mobile, limited by nothing except his own imagination. He feels unstoppable.

Virgil makes a sudden, sharp inhale, blinking his eyes open slowly. Logan thinks that, perhaps, he might not appreciate being studied unknowingly - he hadn’t appreciated Virgil doing it, before he understood what was happening, when all he knew was the loss of his pod aching like a scraped-out seashell. As Virgil wakes up, Logan shifts, turning his gaze to the rest of the room.

Virgil makes a sleepy grumbling noise, opening one eye. Logan chances another quick glance at him, and when his eye slides open Logan is struck by its beauty. He doesn’t get much of a chance to admire it, however, before Virgil is jolting backwards like Logan’s struck him with lightning. Logan is confused, reaching out and gently touching his shoulder. “Virgil?”

“Wassat?! Wait . . . L’gan?”

“It is me,” Logan says softly. “Are - are you upset with me?”

Virgil yawns, jaw dropping to his chest, revealing a flash of teeth and a soft pink tongue. (Logan wants to lick it. Why does Logan want to lick it? Why is Logan thinking about Virgil’s tongue licking his tongue - why is Logan thinking about Virgil - what in the Seven Oceans is happening to him.) “Wh - no, no, ‘m okay, I just - woke up, forgot I had you with me, got confused about another person in my bed.” Before Logan can start to feel bad, Virgil adds, “S’okay if it’s you, though,” and the foamy, floaty feeling is back.

“Did you sleep well?”

Virgil laughs, low and rumbling, and Logan can feel it in his fingers where he touches Virgil’s skin. “I never sleep well.” He sits up, and the fabric of his pajamas shifts to let Logan see stretches of soft, supple skin that he usually doesn’t. Logan wants to touch it. He very determinedly keeps his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Gotta admit, though, last night was . . . better than usual.”

This appears to be the point where Virgil first notices their position - pressed together, arm slung over Logan, basically cuddling the way that Logan normally would with his pod. (No tangle with his pod has ever felt this . . . electric, this charged, this important to Logan before.) His face flares a brilliant red, and he shifts like he wants to move away but -

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Logan blurts out. Virgil blinks at him a little, and maybe he was a little overly enthusiastic, but - “I sleep in a tangle with Dad and Roman all the time. I have extreme difficulty sleeping without contact with someone else. It . . . helped me greatly.”

“Oh,” Virgil says, face turning redder still, smiling shyly. “That - makes me feel better. Thanks, Lo.”

Logan smiles, and Virgil smiles too, reaching up to gently move a piece of hair away from his face. Logan thinks that, as far as deaths go, his chest exploding (which seems to be getting more and more likely every fifteen seconds he spends in Virgil’s presence, only accelerated by all this skin-on-skin contact they’re having right now) seems to be the most pleasurable.

Virgil opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was is interrupted by a Ping! noise from across the room. “What is that?” Logan asks. Virgil, sadly, untangles himself from Logan and the blankets, sliding out of bed and heading over to one of the other structures in the room (what did he call it last night? Dex?) and picking up a flat glowing rectangle.

“Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I - Thomas sent me a text, it’s a little weird.”

“What is a text?”

“It’s a kind of human messaging system, it allows us to communicate when we’re far away from each other.”

“Like a pod call?” “Kind of? I’ll explain more later, I promise, I just - I gotta go down to the lab real quick.”

“I’ll come with -”

“No!” Virgil snaps. Logan flinches, and Virgil softens, crossing the room and gently touching his shoulder. “Hey, no, Logan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just - this message, there’s something off. I think something might be wrong, and I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger. Just - wait here, okay? Wait in my room, where it’s safe. It’s probably nothing, he’s probably fine, but on the off chance that he’s not, I want you to stay hidden safely up here.”

Logan isn’t sure why this makes his face heat up slightly, but it does. “Okay. I accept your apology, and I . . . trust you.”

Virgil smiles, soft and heartwarming, and Logan is beginning to give more credence to his “chest explosion is fine, actually” theory. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him, and the foamy feeling in Logan’s chest dissipates a little. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something . . . off. If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think that he was sensing a predator approaching.

But that can’t be right, he isn’t underwater. His danger senses are likely just overreacting to his disappointment at Virgil’s absence.

. . . Right?

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas is beginning to regret letting Roman and Patton (specifically, Roman) out of the large tank before finishing his first coffee of the morning.

“I want some!” Roman complains.

“Do you even know what it is?” Thomas says. Roman pouts sulkily at him.

“. . . No,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Thomas gives him the deadpan, no-nonsense, I-am-your-direct-superior-take-the-damn-samples-Virgil stare that he has perfected over the past few years. Roman wilts a little more, and Thomas feels slightly bad.

“It’s called coffee,” he says. “It’s a hot drink that lots of people have in the morning. Some people drink it plain, and some people add things to it to change the way it tastes. It helps me wake up more and get focused to start my day, and sometimes I drink it late at night to help keep me awake.”

Roman looks less like a kicked puppy and more like Logan, eyes wide and curious. “I want some!”

Thomas, taking a sip of his own two-seconds-of-cream-five-cubes-of-sugar coffee, nearly spits it out. He looks at Roman, eyes the very sharp, very detachable, very toxic spines covering his body, and says, “No.”

Roman’s demeanor changes entirely, switching from “curious toddler” to “toddler about to throw a temper tantrum” in a heartbeat. “Why not?!”

“Because when people drink coffee without being used to it, sometimes it makes them a little crazy.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“Do I need to recount to you how many times you’ve threatened me and my assistant since we met you?” Thomas says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not giving you coffee until I know I can trust you not to stab me with your poisonous spines that cover your entire body and can be fired at people.”

Roman pouts more, dropping under the water and letting out a gratingly harmonious string of mer that Thomas is pretty sure translates to Roman bitching about the coffee situation to his dad. Based on the pattern of Patton’s response, he’s pretty sure Patton is laughing at Roman.

More sulky chalkboard-violin music, and then Roman resurfaces grumpily. “Dad agrees with you and says no consuming strange human foods.”

“Did he laugh at you?”

Roman squints suspiciously at him. “You can’t speak our language.”

“Yeah, but I know what it sounds like when a dad laughs at his kid.” Roman, continuing to pout, sinks back into the tank, presumably to sulk some more. Thomas takes another very long sip of coffee that is definitely too hot for his mouth and turns back to his desk.

Virgil should definitely be awake and in the lab at this point. The samples he’s supposed to be analyzing are sitting in their little tubes, each neatly labelled with locations and dates and times and what, specifically, Virgil is supposed to be looking for. Thomas considers going upstairs and waking up Virgil, who’s almost never been late for work in this way, but he decides against it. Virgil is upstairs with Logan, and Thomas knows that there’s something building between them. He’s not sure how advisable that something is, but he trusts Virgil to make his own decisions.

Besides, he could probably use some practice. His water sample analysis skills are pretty rusty, he’s had Virgil doing them for years. “Virgil, you owe me big time for what I’m doing for you.” He carefully shifts the samples over to his own desk, slides his earbuds in, picks up a pipette, and gets to work analyzing the bacterial and algal concentrations for any abnormalities.

Thomas accomplishes about forty-five minutes’ worth of work before Roman interrupts him by flicking water at him and soaking the back of his neck. “Hey!”

“I tried your name, but your little ear bug things were keeping you from hearing me,” Roman says smugly. Thomas, not for the first time, considers retreating to the closet and throwing beakers until he feels better.

“Can I help you?”

“Dad wants to go hunting and bring back breakfast, but we can’t leave without you.”

“Are you not going hunting?”

“I’m going to stay here and observe you,” Roman says.

Thomas blinks. “Do I . . . need observing?”

“How do I know you won’t sell us out to your little human friends the second you get a chance? If I’m here, I can stop you. Plus, what if you do something to Logan while we’re not here to protect him? No, no, I’m staying right where I am and you can’t make me leave.” His spines ripple; Thomas steps closer to a whiteboard in case he needs to duck.

“I’m not going to do that, and I don’t want you to stab me.”

“Still! I’m staying here! Also, Dad’s bigger than me, and he’s a better hunter cause he’s faster and he’s been hunting longer.

“Does he need something to help him carry all those fish?” Thomas asks. Roman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something snarky, pauses, and stops.

“I . . . usually we just eat what we catch when we catch it. We make a pile of prey and take turns guarding it while the other two hunt. Then we make a sacrifice to the Seven Mother Goddesses and eat what’s left.”

After some debate, Thomas is able to fashion a sling of sorts from some waterproof tarps and leftover anchor rope to tie around Patton’s body. “You can put the fish in this pouch and carry them back here. Will you be able to navigate your way back to the grotto?”

“He will,” Roman says. “Dad knows more about the ocean than any human possibly could.” Another discordant song from the tank, chastising, and Roman huffs. “Dad wants me to reassure you that he’ll be fine.”

Patton settles into the mobile tank easily, and Thomas gets him down to the grotto leading towards the sea. “When you come back, let out one of your pod calls and Virgil or I will come and collect you and your catch. Take as much time as you need, okay?”

Patton reaches up and gently pats Thomas’s arm with one large, damp hand, and Thomas takes that to mean an agreement. “Alright, off you go.” There’s a whoosh and a rush of water as it flows from the tank into the grotto in a clean arc, carrying Patton with it. Thomas waits for a moment, letting Patton disappear into the open ocean, before returning to the laboratory.

Roman, for the most part, ignores Thomas. He asks the occasional question, which Thomas tries to answer in a way that he’ll understand, and leans over the edge of his touch tank, eyes guarded. Every time Thomas sneaks a glance, when he thinks Roman isn’t looking, his expression is wide-eyed and wondrous, like Logan’s usually are, but the moment he realizes Thomas is watching him his entire face closes up like a clamshell.

Thomas wonders what it’ll take to get Roman to trust him, trust Virgil, trust any human. Granted, he doesn’t know Roman’s history with humans, but he and Patton are both fairly scarred, and Thomas might not know the whole story but he’d bet a not-insignificant amount of his monthly income that the giant starburst scar taking up the majority of Patton’s chest isn’t the result of a clash with a marine creature.

He works quietly, fielding the occasional question, keeping one ear on the grotto tunnel for Patton’s return. He’s not sure how long he expected Patton to be gone, but he hears movement in the grotto tunnel far sooner than he’d expected.

“Thomas, what’s -”

“Shhhh,” Thomas says. He stands up, pushing away from his desk, but before he can say anything else, there’s a flood of movement coming from the tunnel. Bodies pour into the lab, swift and strong and carrying weapons that they immediately train on Thomas and Roman.

“What is this?” Roman snaps, bristling. He sounds betrayed, like he thinks Thomas is behind this. Thomas picks up a heavy glass beaker, fully prepared to shatter it upside someone’s skull if necessary, but something heavy and hard strikes the back of his skull and he feels his knees crumple. Roman cries out, and Thomas struggles to push himself up. A hand fists itself in his hair and yanks him upright, sharply. Thomas exhales sharply through his teeth, but before he can start struggling, something cool and round rests against the back of his neck, shutting him up and shutting his brain down.

Roman is puffed up like a hedgehog, apparently fully prepared to defend Thomas despite his strong and inherent mistrust. Before he can begin to attack, Thomas hears the click-click-click of shoes on the hard stone floor. Whoever’s holding his head yanks him back again, and he is forced to watch as a woman walks into his laboratory.

(It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke - a sick, horrible, twisted joke.)

She has black heels, black tights, a black pencil skirt, a black blazer, and a blood-red blouse. Her hair is scraped back into a tight bun, pulled so taut it must hurt, and is held in place with a pitch black stick. She carries a - clipboard? tablet? Unclear - held against her chest, and there’s a sleek silver weapon in her right hand.

“The one from the video?” she asks.

“Affirmative, ma’am,” says the person holding Thomas’s head. The woman nods, lifting her weapon, and fires at Roman. Thomas tries to scream a warning, earning himself another painful yank from his captor, but the projectile lodges itself in Roman’s shoulder anyway.

It isn’t a bullet, but something that looks like a small syringe. Roman swats it out of his shoulder, swaying a little, but it doesn’t stop him from swiping at the - mercenary, they must be - who tries to grab him with his elbow spines. The woman frowns, lifts the weapon - some kind of tranquilizer gun? - and fires again.

Roman screams, inhuman and animal, and tears the newest dart from his arm, throwing himself out of his tank and clinging to the nearest mercenary. His teeth tear into the man’s shoulder, spines piercing through his camouflage clothing and flooding him with neurotoxin. The man collapses against the concrete, alive but unconscious, and Roman snarls at the next man as though daring him to approach. He sways, weakened but awake, and bares his teeth.

“Of course,” the woman says, tapping something on her tablet. “His naturally produced neurotoxin must be providing him with some level of natural resistance. Unexpected, but not a limitation.”

It takes three more tranquilizer darts before Roman finally slumps down into his tank, unconscious. The mercenaries look hesitant to approach him, but the woman reaches for her tablet and they scramble to action at once.

“No - no, stop, let him go, he’s not an animal for you to cart off to your lab -” Thomas starts. The man holding him knees him sharply in the back and he cries out, coughing.

They wrap Roman in thick leather bands, roughly shoving his spines flat and binding them against his skin so that he can’t attack them again. The woman nods, once, short and sharp, and they drag Roman away, letting his head bang mercilessly on the ground. Thomas catches a glimpse of a logo - emblazoned on the back of the jackets, on the back of the woman’s tablet, on the side of her tranquilizer gun - and commits it to memory. He’s going to need it, if he gets out of here alive.

“- your phone,” the woman says, and oh, when did she get in front of him.

“My what?”

His mouth runs dry as she places the tranquilizer gun under his chin, barrel pressing against his throat, and tips his chin up. “I said, give me your phone.”

Thomas blinks. “My - the desk. It’s on the desk.”

She sets her tablet down, picks up his phone, and shoves it in his face. “Open it.”

“I - wh -”

“Unlock your phone, Dr. Sanders. Must I repeat myself a third time?” She rolls her eyes. “Doctorates are wasted on people like you.”

Thomas numbly punches in his passcode, and she swipes through to his messages app, frowning before turning the screen towards his face to reveal a message thread with Virgil. “Is this your assistant?”

Thomas glares at her, he’s not going to give her what she wants, he’s not going to just give her Virgil but then the - gun, it must be a gun, what else would they be holding against his neck like this - pushes into him harder, and it’s probably bruising, and he can’t get himself killed here because then he definitely won’t be able to take care of Virgil and -

“Yes,” Thomas says, hating himself for giving in so easily. “What do you -”

She turns away from him, nails clicking against his phone screen as she sends a text message - to Virgil, presumably, and that makes his heart sink like a stone - before dropping it on the floor and stepping on it to shatter it. “I have a message for you.”

“A - what?”

“Did they really hit you that hard, or were you this stupid before we came here?” she says coldly, picking up the tablet again and tapping at the screen. Thomas groans as the man yanks him to his feet, shoving him onto his chair and pulling a roll of duct tape out of one of his multiple pants pockets. He tapes Thomas’s wrists and ankles to the chair, keeping his weapon trained on Thomas’s temple at all times, before pressing it roughly against his head and gripping his hair again.

The woman sets the tablet on his lab table, and the screen flickers to life, and then there’s a woman in front of a dark black backdrop, smiling at him like a cat who’s caught a canary. “Thomas Sanders. How long I’ve waited for this day.”

Thomas recognizes her. He knows he recognizes her. She used to be his classmate, before . . .

His head hurts, so badly that he can barely keep his eyes open, and the memory slips away. “You . . . why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because I am a real scientist, unlike you. You refuse to do what is necessary, what must be done for the progression of the species. The sacrifice of some worthless animals is necessary for humanity to reach its zenith. You would really hinder the entire human race for the preservation of lower life forms?”

“Wh - I -”

“You think that ‘preserving the ecosystem’ and ‘keeping animals alive’ makes you a good scientist, but it makes you weak. You are weak, Thomas Sanders, and if the world was left in the hands of people like you, the human race as we know it would die out in a few centuries. Fortunately, there are people like me, who understand what must be done.”

“Caring about other people and things - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make you weak,” Thomas says, chest heaving, and the woman just laughs.

“One of many logical fallacies to which you subscribe, Thomas. They really gave you a doctorate? Of course caring makes you weak. All emotions make you weak. They corrupt your data and make your experiments worthless. You must be ruthless. You must be willing to do whatever it takes to pursue your goals and achieve the height of success. But no.” She rolls her eyes, face hardening, twirling a pen in her fingers. “You insist on ethics and principles and letting emotions cloud your judgement, and that makes you a failure as a scientist. It makes you weak. Your attachments will be your downfall.”

Thomas’s eyes slide shut, head pounding, and the man behind him yanks at his hair so sharply that he knows some has been ripped out. He forces his eyes open in time to see a smile slide across the woman’s face like a knife, teeth gleaming white as sun-bleached bone.

“You won’t - get away with this,” Thomas manages. He grinds his teeth together and curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself awake. “If you leave me alive -” Thomas, stop talking, why are you reminding her that she has the option to fucking kill you “- I will not rest until I find you. I’ll - you can’t -”

“You’ll what, Thomas? If you call the police, you’ll expose those creatures you’re so intent on protecting to the world. Are you really willing to take that chance?” Before Thomas can even begin formulating a response, she steamrolls him. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you were, I’m going to take some . . . insurance, shall we say.”

“Why not just kill me?” Thomas spits. Excellent idea, Doc, poke the murderous lady with a stick like a god damn hornet’s nest, the tiny Virgil in his brain hisses. Her smile, somehow, only widens, and that’s . . . that can’t be good, can it? Smiles are supposed to be good! They’re supposed to make you happy, but all Thomas feels is creeping dread and pain, so much pain, and -

Yeah. He’s . . . pretty sure he has a concussion.

“Because if I kill you, you get to take the easy way out. Your suffering will end. But unlike you, I don’t put limits on my science. I know how to cause you the maximum amount of pain.”

Thomas eyes the toxin gun, but the on-screen woman just laughs. “Not yet, Thomas. We need something from you, first.”

“You already took Roman,” Thomas says. “What more can you possibly take from me?”

“You named it? You’re even weaker than I thought.”

“He told me his name, he’s not an it, he’s not a thing for you to play with and - and I -”

There’s a strange sinking feeling in Thomas’s chest as the woman onscreen laughs. “I knew you were emotional, Thomas, but I can’t believe this! It looks like I’ll have more hanging over your head than you thought.”

“You -”

“Say, Tommy-boy, have you heard from your precious little assistant recently?”

Thomas’s entire body flushes ice-cold and then white-hot, immediately struggling against his duct tape bindings despite the man tearing at his hair and shoving the gun into his neck and snapping at him to shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up before I do something we’re both gonna regret -

“Don’t you touch him!” Thomas snaps. “If you hurt him, I swear to God -”

“You’re not in a position to be making demands, and if you don’t calm down, I’ll paint your boring little lab bright red.” Thomas freezes, holding his entire body tensed like electricity is running through his blood.

There are footsteps on the stairs. “Doc? I got your text, what’s -”

“Virgil, run!” Thomas chokes. Virgil comes around the corner, holding his phone, staring at the screen in confusion. He looks up, eyes widening in horror as he takes in the scene.

“You know what to do,” the woman onscreen says. The other woman lifts her tranquilizer gun, and Thomas is sure that he’s screaming, his mouth is open and sound is coming out but his blood is rushing through his ears and his heart is pounding like waves against a boat in rough sea and he can’t - he can’t -

Virgil turns to run, but the tranquilizer dart hits in him the back of the neck and he collapses like a sack of bricks. The woman lowers her gun and jerks her head at the two remaining conscious, unoccupied mercenaries, who step forward and grab Virgil.

“Let him go!” Thomas screams, and his throat feels raw and his chest feels raw and his wrists are rubbed raw and his soul feels hollow and raw, like he’s been scraped out with a jagged piece of metal and only an empty shell remains. Virgil’s head lolls against his chest as they drag him down the grotto tunnel, and Thomas struggles and screams and stares after them until Virgil is out of sight.

His face is damp, and his eyes are burning, and he isn’t sure if it’s blood from his head wound or tears or some strange, morbid mixture of both.

“The greatest torture of which I can conceive,” the woman onscreen says, and it takes him a moment to realize that oh, she’s talking to me, “is to leave you alive, knowing that your precious little protégé is with me, and that there is nothing you can do about it.” She leans forward, and any trace of a smile is gone. “If you try to come after me, I will kill him. If you call the authorities, I will kill him. I already found you, Thomas. Don’t think I’m not watching. If I catch so much as a whiff of you planning something, his blood will be on your hands. Do you understand me?”

Thomas, numb and shocked, can’t even respond. “Knock him out and bring the specimens back to me,” the woman onscreen says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t even feel the tranquilizer dart hit his neck, but he welcomes the sweeping darkness.

(Summary: Evil Scientist Lady has been spying on Thomas and she finds the entrance to the grotto where our mer friends have been hiding. She sends her assistant and several armed thugs to invade the lab, they drug Roman with tranquilizers and kidnap him. Thomas gets knocked around a lot and is mocked for being an ethical scientist and caring about people by Evil Scientist Lady and she gloats at him through Evil Facetime before kidnapping Virgil in the same way they did Roman, knocking Thomas unconscious, and leaving him tied to his lab chair. During this whole scene, Patton is out in the open ocean hunting and Logan is safely hidden in Virgil's room.)

#starshinewrites #lovely dark and deep #romantic analogical #sanders sides #platonic TLAMP

[duhragonball]

Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 2-3

Chapter 2 is a flashback to the origin of Sir Integra Hellsing.   As established in Chapter 1, the Hellsing Organization is a secret anti-Halloween-monster task force.   From what I’ve been able to tell, they have a small army of guys and they all live and train in a big mansion, and the Hellsing family runs the whole show.   It’s sort of like the X-Men except they actually do cool shit and you only have to keep track of four or five characters.   

It’s implied throughout this manga that the Hellsing Family is descended from Abraham Van Helsing, the vampire hunter seen in Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula.    Shoot, I just remembered I wanted to read the novel so I’d know what this manga was referencing, but it’s too late, I’ll just have to do that later.   I’ve been meaning to read the Great Gatsby for several years, too, and I just never get around to it.   

On the other hand, Integra claimed that her family had been at this since “ancient times”, suggesting that they predate the events of the Dracula novel.  If Abraham Van Helsing was part of their line, then he may have only been carrying on a tradition instead of founding a new one.   I think the conceit of Hellsing is that it regards the Dracula novel as part of its canon.   That is, in this fictional world, the events in the novel really happened, more or less.    I don’t know if that means the novel exists in this world or not.

Whatever the case, it was Arthur Hellsing running the organization up until 1989, when he suddenly took ill.   On his deathbed, he named his daughter as his successor, and asked his brother Richard to help her run things, since Integra was like, twelve, at the time.

Instead, Richard waited three days and staged a coup, forcing Li’l Integra to hide in the ventilation ducts.   He has to act quickly, and kill her before the whole staff finds out what he’s up to, but if he can kill her, he’ll assume control and be set for life.    I’m not really sure what Richard wants out of this.    Maybe he just really wants to run the family business, or maybe he wants to shut the whole thing down and just be a wealthy nobleman without all the monsters.   Anyway, the search for Integra leads to the “underground sector”, which hasn’t been used in over twenty years, so I guess 1969 is about when it was shut down?    It houses a dark arts lab, a library, speciment room, torture chamber, dissecting room, and a dungeon.   That last one tips Richard off, because before he died, Arthur told her that she could find something that would protect her.  

But all she finds inside is a corpse, and then Richard and his goons show up shortly after.   He plans to kill her slowly to punish her for wasting his time, but when he shoots he in the arm, some of the blood splashes on the corpse, and then it comes to life.

Just like Frosty the Snowman, only horrifying.   Richard tries to kill it, which seems pretty stupid, considering how they thought it was dead a minute ago.   That goes about as well as you’d expect, and after slaughtering the goons and taking Richard’s arm, the corpse kneels before Integra and addresses her as “Master.”

Richard apparently knew nothing of this, but the corpse seems to recognize him, at least as far as a Hellsing who’s not fit to head the family.  As Integra shoots Richard dead, the corpse introduces himself as Alucard, the name her family has always called him.  

One thing I find interesting here is that I could have sworn the Hellsing Ultimate anime established that Richard had poisoned Arthur, presumably thinking he would have a clear shot at the inheritance.   But it’s never mentioned here.   Maybe this was something they added in, because honestly, it just makes too much sense.  The implication of this flashback is that there are certain secrets in the Hellsing Family that only got passed down from parent to child.    Arthur and Richard’s father must have known about Alucard, and Arthur was likely the one who sealed him up in the basement in the first place, but neither of them said a word about him to Richard.   Maybe if they had, Richard might have thought twice before trying to take over.   Like the Cheddar Priest, he thought he had it all figured out, but he didn’t know what he didn’t know.

Back in the present day, Alucard is on the shooting range with Seras, teaching her how to shoot.   Seras already knows how to fire a gun, but Al wants her to hit targets at greater distances, using The Force a vampiric “third eye.”   He demonstrates by shooting a target one kilometer away, and hitting it perfectly.   For some reason, Integra is reading the paper nearby, and reminiscing about the her first meeting with Alucard ten years ago.   For some reason, she takes umbrage with the idea that she’s not still a “little girl” like she was back then.   Seras even ribs her a bit, which ticks Integra off.   Of course, Seras wouldn’t think Integra’s a “little girl”.   Integra’s a few years older than she is.  

The main point of all of this is that it establishes why Alucard works for Integra, and what they did with Seras after Alucard turned her into a vampire.   One way or another, Seras is just drafted to fight the Vampire Wars, or whatever they call it.   I find this kind of unsatisfying, because the anime didn’t expand on it either.   Seras just wakes up in the mansion, and Integra tosses her a uniform and says “Get dressed, kid, your shift starts in twenty minutes.”

I think Seras wants to work for the Hellsing Organization, partly because she has nowhere else to go, and partly because she admires Alucard and wants to join his cause.    But it’s never established that Seras has a choice in the matter.  It’s implied that Alucard is magically bound to the Hellsing family.    Integra called him “the research” that her “father and the others were doing.”  Like, you can’t just have a vampire work for you, you have to do stuff to him to make him obey.   I don’t think they’re mind-controlling Al per se.  He seems fully aware of what his role is, and he’s totally comfortable in it.   But he’s not just doing this voluntarily, either.    Integra has some sort of power over him, and my assumption is that Seras inherited that same quality when Alucard turned her.   So now she’s bound to Integra’s orders in the same way.  

But there’s a lot of unanswered questions in this.    I would think Alucard would be expressly forbidden from making his own ghouls or vampire broods.   Yet he drank Seras’ blood without any problems.  Maybe he’s allowed to do it if he has permission?    That might be it.    But then he brings her back to Integra, and I assume she has to make the decision to either keep Seras or destroy her.   I mean, Seras is handy to have on the team, sure, but if this was a good idea, why didn’t they have Alucard do this before?   I guess the situation just never came up.  

I think a lot about what might have happened if the Cheddar Priest had turned her into a vampire.    Would she have become loyal to him?  He said she would have free will, but she’s pretty deferential to Alucard, so what’s that about?   And if she had become a vampire and turned against the Priest, would Al have allowed her to live?   He was on a mission to destroy vampires, so I would think he would have shot first and asked questions later.    Well, let’s move on.

Chapter 3 jumps ahead to August 12, so Seras has been with the team for a little over a month now.   A bunch of murders have taken place in Birmingham (England, not Alabama), and this time no one waits around to call in Hellsing, though they are still surprised to find out she’s a woman.     

This time, the culprit is on the move, and Integra deduces that they’re choosing specific households full of “devout Christians” and spacious walls to write “blasphemous anti-Christian messages.”   Since they’re moving along Route 17, Integra has a rough idea of where they’ll strike next.  

I don’t know what the point of the “blasphemous messages” or seemingly ritual killings is supposed to be, since the killers are just this young vampire couple who only seem to be interested in this for immortality and power.   Their goal seems to be to kill thirteen families, and “they’ll” see to it that they get stronger.   I don’t know if this means some other party has put them up to this, or maybe they mean “they” as in all the families they’re killing.   It’s like this is an initiation ritual or something, except we’ve already seen Seras become a vampire, and she didn’t have to do anything like this to seal the deal. 

Then again, maybe the point of this chapter is to demonstrate that vampires take a while to get all their powers.  When Alucard confronts them, he scolds them, not for their string of murders, but for their lack of conviction, and their inability to transform or fight without guns.     So maybe this couple was trying to jumpstart the process by feeding on several dozen people in a short span of time.    But Al seems to think that isn’t how it works.    I don’t fully understand his moral code, but he doesn’t seem to object to vampires on principle.   Being a vampire is fine with him, so long as you have a purpose to it.   If you’re only in it for immortality and power, with no other reason, then he doesn’t respect you.   Seras wanted to live, but not necessarily forever, and I think she wanted power, but only enough to fight against evil.   That’s what sets her apart in Alucard’s eyes. 

So he kills the boy, but the girl escapes out the window, but Alucard already had that move scouted.

I’m not sure who’s saying “No!” here.   Maybe the girl vampire running down the road.   Anyway, Alucard put Seras on the roof of the house before he went inside, just in case anyone tried to make a break for it.   So all she has to do is shoot down the runner before she’s out of range.  Except she’s 600 meters away, it’s night time, and Seras doesn’t have a scope for her gun.   But Al reminds her to use her “third eye” and it works.  

After it’s over, Seras realizes that she didn’t even feel the recoil of the gun, and she can see in the dark with no trouble at all.   She wonders what’s happening to her, but that seems like a dumb question to ask one month after turning into a vampire.    I’m guessing the first few weeks of it didn’t feel all that different to her, and she probably knew she’d get stronger and better at shooting guns, but now that it’s actually happening it feels a lot stranger than she expected it to be.   In the anime, Seras also points out that she can hear Alucard talking to her in her mind, which is also weird, but I guess she’s got plenty of other weird stuff to process now.

Back at the base, Integra considers the recent increase in vampire attacks.   They’re all jobbers, like this couple Al and Seras killed, and none of them have any particular agenda, except to kill people.    She begins to wonder if someone’s making all these vampires just to cause trouble.  Hmmm...

So, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself here, but this foreshadows Milennium quite nicely, but are we saying Milennium made vampires out of that boy and girl?   Were they behind the Cheddar Priest as well?  Also, “two” doesn’t seem like a huge increase in vampire incidents, so I guess there have been some other vampires running around between Chapters 1 and 3.   Oh well. 

#hellsing #2021hellsingliveblog #alucard #seras victoria #sir integra hellsing #peter farguson... is not invited #haha you're not in the hellsing manga farguson you suck

[unclebuns]

General History Of Dogs

There is no incongruity in the idea that in the very earliest period of man’s habitation of this world he made a friend and companion of some sort of aboriginal representative of our modern dog, and that in return for its aid in protecting him from wilder animals, and in guarding his sheep and goats, he gave it a share of his food, a corner in his dwelling, and grew to trust it and care for it. Probably the animal was originally little else than an unusually gentle jackal, or an ailing wolf driven by its companions from the wild marauding pack to seek shelter in alien surroundings. One can well conceive the possibility of the partnership beginning in the circumstance of some helpless whelps being brought home by the early hunters to be tended and reared by the women and children. Dogs introduced into the home as playthings for the children would grow to regard themselves, and be regarded, as members of the family In nearly all parts of the world traces of an indigenous dog family are found, the only exceptions being the West Indian Islands, Madagascar, the eastern islands of the Malayan Archipelago, New Zealand, and the Polynesian Islands, where there is no sign that any dog, wolf, or fox has existed as a true aboriginal animal. In the ancient Oriental lands, and generally among the early Mongolians, the dog remained savage and neglected for centuries, prowling in packs, gaunt and wolf-like, as it prowls today through the streets and under the walls of every Eastern city. No attempt was made to allure it into human companionship or to improve it into docility. It is not until we come to examine the records of the higher civilisations of Assyria and Egypt that we discover any distinct varieties of canine form. The dog was not greatly appreciated in Palestine, and in both the Old and New Testaments it is commonly spoken of with scorn and contempt as an “unclean beast.” Even the familiar reference to the Sheepdog in the Book of Job “But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock” is not without a suggestion of contempt, and it is significant that the only biblical allusion to the dog as a recognised companion of man occurs in the apocryphal Book of Tobit (v. 16), “So they went forth both, and the young man’s dog with them.” The great multitude of different breeds of the dog and the vast differences in their size, points, and general appearance are facts which make it difficult to believe that they could have had a common ancestry. One thinks of the difference between the Mastiff and the Japanese Spaniel, the Deerhound and the fashionable Pomeranian, the St. Bernard and the Miniature Black and Tan Terrier, and is perplexed in contemplating the possibility of their having descended from a common progenitor. Yet the disparity is no greater than that between the Shire horse and the Shetland pony, the Shorthorn and the Kerry cattle, or the Patagonian and the Pygmy; and all dog breeders know how easy it is to produce a variety in type and size by studied selection. In order properly to understand this question it is necessary first to consider the identity of structure in the wolf and the dog. This identity of structure may best be studied in a comparison of the osseous system, or skeletons, of the two animals, which so closely resemble each other that their transposition would not easily be detected. The spine of the dog consists of seven vertebrae in the neck, thirteen in the back, seven in the loins, three sacral vertebrae, and twenty to twenty-two in the tail. In both the dog and the wolf there are thirteen pairs of ribs, nine true and four false. Each has forty-two teeth. They both have five front and four hind toes, while outwardly the common wolf has so much the appearance of a large, bare-boned dog, that a popular description of the one would serve for the other. Nor are their habits different. The wolf’s natural voice is a loud howl, but when confined with dogs he will learn to bark. Although he is carnivorous, he will also eat vegetables, and when sickly he will nibble grass. In the chase, a pack of wolves will divide into parties, one following the trail of the quarry, the other endeavouring to intercept its retreat, exercising a considerable amount of strategy, a trait which is exhibited by many of our sporting dogs and terriers when hunting in teams. A further important point of resemblance between the Canis lupus and the Canis familiaris lies in the fact that the period of gestation in both species is sixty-three days. There are from three to nine cubs in a wolf’s litter, and these are blind for twenty-one days. They are suckled for two months, but at the end of that time they are able to eat half-digested flesh disgorged for them by their dam or even their sire. The native dogs of all regions approximate closely in size, coloration, form, and habit to the native wolf of those regions. Of this most important circumstance there are far too many instances to allow of its being looked upon as a mere coincidence. Sir John Richardson, writing in 1829, observed that “the resemblance between the North American wolves and the domestic dog of the Indians is so great that the size and strength of the wolf seems to be the only difference. It has been suggested that the one incontrovertible argument against the lupine relationship of the dog is the fact that all domestic dogs bark, while all wild Canidae express their feelings only by howls. But the difficulty here is not so great as it seems, since we know that jackals, wild dogs, and wolf pups reared by bitches readily acquire the habit. On the other hand, domestic dogs allowed to run wild forget how to bark, while there are some which have not yet learned so to express themselves. The presence or absence of the habit of barking cannot, then, be regarded as an argument in deciding the question concerning the origin of the dog. This stumbling block consequently disappears, leaving us in the position of agreeing with Darwin, whose final hypothesis was that “it is highly probable that the domestic dogs of the world have descended from two good species of wolf (C. lupus and C. latrans), and from two or three other doubtful species of wolves namely, the European, Indian, and North African forms; from at least one or two South American canine species; from several races or species of jackal; and perhaps from one or more extinct species”; and that the blood of these, in some cases mingled together, flows in the veins of our domestic breeds.

#dog behavior #dog puppies #dog #puppy #my pets

[abdalhamd]

A Brief History Of Dogs

There is no contradiction in the idea that, in the very beginning of man's habitation of this world, he made a friend and companion of some kind of aboriginal representative of our modern dog, and that, in exchange for its assistance in protecting him from wilder animals and guarding his sheep and goats, he gave it a share of his food, a corner in his dwelling, and grew to trust and care for it. Originally, the animal was most likely just a particularly mild jackal, or an injured wolf pushed to seek safety in strange environs by its comrades from the wild marauding pack. Early hunters took their young home to be cared for and reared by the women and children. Dogs introduced into the home as playthings for the children would grow to regard themselves, and be regarded, as members of the family.

There are traces of an indigenous dog family in almost every part of the world, with the exception of the West Indian Islands, Madagascar, the eastern islands of the Malayan Archipelago, New Zealand, and the Polynesian Islands, where there is no evidence of any dog, wolf, or fox having existed as a true aboriginal animal. For millennia, the dog remained savage and neglected in the ancient Oriental regions, and in general among the early Mongolians, prowling in packs, emaciated and wolf-like, as it does today through the streets and under the walls of every Eastern city. There was no attempt to entice it into the human company or improve its docility. We don't find any unique types of canine form until we look at the records of the higher civilizations of Assyria and Egypt.

The dog was despised in Palestine, and it is frequently referred to as a "unclean beast" in both the Old and New Testaments with derision and contempt. Even the well-known reference to the Sheepdog in the Book of Job, “But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock,” is tinged with contempt, and it is noteworthy that the only biblical allusion to the dog as a recognized companion of man occurs in the apocryphal Book of Tobit (v. 16), “So they went forth...”

The great multitude of different breeds of the dog and the vast differences in their size, points, and general appearance are facts which make it difficult to believe that they could have had a common ancestry. One thinks of the difference between the Mastiff and the Japanese Spaniel, the Deerhound and the fashionable Pomeranian, the St. Bernard and the Miniature Black and Tan Terrier, and is perplexed in contemplating the possibility of their having descended from a common progenitor. Yet the disparity is no greater than that between the Shire horse and the Shetland pony, the Shorthorn and the Kerry cattle, or the Patagonian and the Pygmy; and all dog breeders know how easy it is to produce a variety in type and size by studied selection. In order properly to understand this question it is necessary first to consider the identity of structure in the wolf and the dog. This identity of structure may best be studied in a comparison of the osseous system, or skeletons, of the two animals, which so closely resemble each other that their transposition would not easily be detected. The spine of the dog consists of seven vertebrae in the neck, thirteen in the back, seven in the loins, three sacral vertebrae, and twenty to twenty-two in the tail. In both the dog and the wolf there are thirteen pairs of ribs, nine true and four false. Each has forty-two teeth. They both have five front and four hind toes, while outwardly the common wolf has so much the appearance of a large, bare-boned dog, that a popular description of the one would serve for the other. Nor are their habits different. The wolf’s natural voice is a loud howl, but when confined with dogs he will learn to bark. Although he is carnivorous, he will also eat vegetables, and when sickly he will nibble grass. In the chase, a pack of wolves will divide into parties, one following the trail of the quarry, the other endeavouring to intercept its retreat, exercising a considerable amount of strategy, a trait which is exhibited by many of our sporting dogs and terriers when hunting in teams. A further important point of resemblance between the Canis lupus and the Canis familiaris lies in the fact that the period of gestation in both species is sixty-three days. There are from three to nine cubs in a wolf’s litter, and these are blind for twenty-one days. They are suckled for two months, but at the end of that time they are able to eat half-digested flesh disgorged for them by their dam or even their sire. The native dogs of all regions approximate closely in size, coloration, form, and habit to the native wolf of those regions. Of this most important circumstance there are far too many instances to allow of its being looked upon as a mere coincidence. Sir John Richardson, writing in 1829, observed that “the resemblance between the North American wolves and the domestic dog of the Indians is so great that the size and strength of the wolf seems to be the only difference. It has been suggested that the one incontrovertible argument against the lupine relationship of the dog is the fact that all domestic dogs bark, while all wild Canidae express their feelings only by howls. But the difficulty here is not so great as it seems, since we know that jackals, wild dogs, and wolf pups reared by bitches readily acquire the habit. On the other hand, domestic dogs allowed to run wild forget how to bark, while there are some which have not yet learned so to express themselves. The presence or absence of the habit of barking cannot, then, be regarded as an argument in deciding the question concerning the origin of the dog. This stumbling block consequently disappears, leaving us in the position of agreeing with Darwin, whose final hypothesis was that “it is highly probable that the domestic dogs of the world have descended from two good species of wolf (C. lupus and C. latrans), and from two or three other doubtful species of wolves namely, the European, Indian, and North African forms; from at least one or two South American canine species; from several races or

species of jackal; and perhaps from one or more extinct species”; and that the blood of these, in some cases mingled together, flows in the veins of our domestic breeds.

#dogsofinstagram #puppy #instadog #dogstagram #dogs #love #pet #doglover #cute #dogoftheday #puppies #instagood #pets #puppylove #petstagram #animal #ilovemydog #animals #doglovers #bulldog #latepost #kekinian #jualan #jualanku #tas #onlinesheopindonesia #jualbajumurah #trustedolshop #olshopjkt #tasbatam

[stories4sprogs]

Counting to Sixty

This one time at school, I had a lesson about time. The lesson wasn’t taught by the teacher I normally had, instead we had our regular supply teacher Mrs Phillis. I remember thinking how funny it was that Mrs Phillis was teaching us a lesson on time because the woman was so ancient and wrinkly that I considered it a strong possibility that she may have been around when time was invented. Anyway, we were in our classroom and there was old Mrs Phillis standing in front of the whiteboard with her white, curly hair and her long black dress. She looked a bit like a barrister wearing a powdered wig.

Mrs Phillis pursed her thin lips until they resembled a dog’s bottom and croaked to the class. “Today, year three, we’re going to be learning about time. And to start the lesson off, we’re going to be doing a little experiment.” 

Oooh, an experiment! Great stuff, I thought. I love doing experiments. I wondered to myself what kind of experiments we’d be doing with time. Maybe, I thought, we’d be seeing the effects of time on an orange to see how long it would take until it goes all green and furry and dripping in nasty liquid and stinking. No, Mrs Phillis wasn’t like that. Mrs Phillis was a dull old prune, there was no way she was going to let an orange fester under her hooked nose. Plus, it would take way too long for an orange to mould, way longer than just one lesson and I wasn’t sure how many more lessons Mrs Phillis had left, to be totally honest. 

“I need you all to listen to me very carefully.” Mrs Phillis wheezed “To help us learn lengths of time, I’d like you all to close your eyes and raise your hand when you think a minute has passed.” I knew how long a minute was. A minute has sixty seconds in it, I knew that already, so I thought that if I could count to sixty I would reach a minute exactly. “If any of you manage to put your hand up the second a minute has passed, I’ll give you this.” Mrs Phillis rasped, producing from her black leather handbag a shiny, golden wrapped chocolate bar. The packaging was undeniable, it was A Caramel Crunch. There was a collective gasp from each and every one of my classmates. Oh, how I loved a Caramel Crunch. I was going to win that Caramel Crunch. I could taste that delicious caramel wafer, covered with a thick layer of chocolate and that gooey, fudgey centre. Hnng! I’m going to have that Caramel Crunch.

“Now, if you haven’t already, close your eyes.” Squawked Mrs Phillis “I’m going to count to three, now. When I reach number three, I’ll start the timer. Just put your hand in the air when you think a minute has passed.”

I closed my eyelids tight. Okay, time to go through the plan, I thought. There are sixty seconds in a minute, so all I need to do is count to sixty. But how long is a second?

“One.” the ancient woman called.

How long is a second? I asked myself. How am I meant to know if I’m counting at the right speed? What if I go too fast, put my hand up early? “Two.” the semi-mummified teacher coughed.

I’ve got it, I thought. I know how long a second is! My dad counts each number out loud and says “Mississippi” after each one when we play hide and seek because he says that “One mississippi is the same length of time as one second.” I’m a genius! I’m going to have that Caramel Crunch.

“Three.” said elderly Mrs Phillis.

Mrs Phillis pressed a button on a stopwatch and I started counting in my mind, immediately. One Mississippi, Two Mississippi, Three Mississippi. The class was deadly silent. Four Mississippi, Five Mississippi, Six Mississippi. Every single one of us, intensely concentrating. Seven Mississippi, Eight Mississippi, Nine Mississippi. No matter how hard they concentrate, I thought, none of them can possibly guess when a minute has passed. Thirteen Mississippi, Fourteen Mississippi, Fifteen Mississippi. I’ve got this, I thought, that Caramel Crunch is in the bag. Nineteen Mississippi, Twenty Mississippi, Twenty-One Mississippi. It was clear my cleverness was going to outmatch everyone, who would have thought to count in Mississippi’s? Twenty-Eight Mississippi, Twenty-Nine Mississippi, Thirty Mississippi. I mustn’t get distracted, stay focused. Thirty-Seven Mississippi, Thirty-Eight Mississippi, Thirty-Nine Mississippi. By now, I'd started to scrunch my face up and I could feel my cheeks burning slightly red from concentrating so hard. Forty-Six Mississippi, Forty-Seven Mississippi, Forty-Eight Mississippi. I suddenly realised I’d stopped breathing, from counting so hard. A quick breath can’t hurt. Fifty-Five Mississippi, Fifty-Six Mississippi, Fifty-Seven Mississippi. Nearly there! I’ve done it! I’m about to cross the finish line. Fifty-Eight Mississippi, Fifty-Nine Mississippi, Sixty Mississippi! My arm shot up into the air at lightspeed and as soon as my fingers touched the sky Mrs Phillis cawed

“Time’s up! Keep your eyes closed and lower your hands.”

I lowered my hand. The class remained silent in hesitation. I knew I’d won, I knew I’d put my hand up just as a minute passed. Why else would haggard Mrs Phillis tell us time was up right after I raised my hand? “Only one of you managed to put your hand up at the correct time.” Crowed Mrs Phillis. “And I had to wait two and a half minutes for the last person to raise their hand!” Two and a half minutes, I thought, who on earth had been sitting there with their hand by their side for two and a half minutes?! What an idiot, what a loser one of my bumbling classmates had been. I hoped it was Bradley, I loathed Bradley. Wouldn’t it be hilarious to ridicule Bradley for his catastrophic failure. How did he get it so wrong? If I put mine up when a minute had passed and Mrs Phillis called time only a second after, how could Bradley have still been a minute and thirty seconds later?

Oh, no.

“You might want to pay extra attention this lesson.” Mrs Phillis smiled at me “I’ve had anyone take quite that long to guess when a minute had passed.” “It can’t be!” I said, “I counted to sixty Mississippis! There’s sixty seconds in a minute, miss, and I counted to sixty Mississipis, miss! There must be a problem with your stopwatch, miss!”

“Counting to Sixty is harder than you might think.” Mrs Phillis Replied “But the person who correctly guessed when a minute passed and the winner of my Caramel Crunch is…”

The Class took in a sharp breath. “Bradley!”

#Children #stories #story #childrensbook #childrenstories #childrensauthor #Author #writer #writers on tumblr #poet #poem #prose #Stories4Sprogs

[adrenaline-roulette]

I am flesh and I am bone

Pairing: Ahkmenrah x Read (female) Word count: 7.5k + Warnings: None for this chapter!

Chapter One: Do you walk in the valley of kings

- Hi everyone! I would like to welcome you all to my first Ahky fic! For those who know me, I normally write for Queen and BohRhap cast, now with added 6 Underground! However This idea came to me out of no where a few weeks ago. I’ve been sitting on it for a while now, and after posting to see if anyone would be interested in reading what I had, I decided that I may as well share it! There will either be 2 or 3 chapters, depending on how things go! Huge shout out to @polarcrystall​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @ryeosomnia​ @thenewnightguard​ @stfuchaase​ for letting me know that you wanted to read this! I hope it lives up to expectations! -

Exactly two weeks ago, you had brought home a permission slip for a class field trip your science and history teacher had organised, you had waved the form around in front of your mothers face, dancing around the kitchen as you begged her to sign it. 

“Please Mom, you have to let me go! It’s the Museum of Natural History! Uncle Larry is always talking about how amazing the museum is!” You plead, eyes shining up at your grinning mother. Although you were still so young, everyone knew exactly where your interests lay, you had a gift for knowing everything there was to know about historical events. At only six, you could recite the exact date and time the Titanic both set sail, and ultimately sunk, and at seven you could name every British monarch in consecutive order. Those were considered your hobby histories though, as your parents had once said. Your one true historical love was that of Ancient Egypt. Perhaps it was due to the stunningly rich colours that were used to decorate the Pharaoh’s sarcophagus’, or maybe it was the sheer amounts of sparkling gold, you were young after all, and just like a bird, you were often attracted to shiny objects. No matter the reason, for close to two years of your life, you had learnt everything your little mind could fill itself with in relation to Ancient Egypt. Every book your tiny hands found in the library on the subject, you would check out for the week, if one of the librarians were to look through your borrowing history, they would find nothing but history books that were typically checked out by college students, and not by under ten year old’s.

As your Mom read through the form, she smiled wearily, before turning to face the kitchen counter, smoothing the paper over the flat surface. “Okay Y/N, of course you can go. But remember sweetheart, there are other exhibits to look at, and not just Ahkmenrah’s tomb.”

You nod your head obediently, though her words go in one ear, then out the other. Your uncle Larry had been the nightguard at the Museum of Natural History for close to three years now, and whenever you saw him, he would tell you stories of how amazing it was to work with all of those historical figures. You always loved it when he told you stories of the young Pharaoh, of course to the rest of your family, these were just that, stories, though to you they all sounded real, and to Larry, they were.

<<ooo>>

The night before your field trip you were beyond excited, finding yourself barely able to sleep, far too thrilled with the knowledge of where you would be the very next morning. Every ten minutes you would leap out of bed, turn on your bedside lamp, and start reading through one of your history books again, this one all about life of Ancient Egyptian slaves. Each time you would switch your light on, one of your parents would walk past your room, spot the small stream of light beneath the closed door, then storm in, taking the book from you before turning the light out once more. This happened all of thirteen times, until your father had warned that if you didn’t go to sleep, he wouldn’t let you go to the Museum. Soon enough, you found yourself slowly drifting off, and your parents found themselves no longer needing to stop you from reading.

When you woke the next morning, you got yourself dressed in record speed, throwing on your freshly washed uniform. The navy blue polo shirt was free from stains once again, though your Mom knew that it wouldn’t stay that way for long, and your pleated gray skirt had been crisply ironed. All that was left were your black school shoes, though you knew better than to put those on in the house, so instead you opted for skidding around the wooden floors in your white socks. As you sat on the sofa, eating a bowl of cereal and watching morning cartoons, your Dad bumbled out into the kitchen, yawning and stretching loudly. “Good morning sweetie.” He smiled, looking at you from over the back of the sofa. “You’re up very early!”

You turn around to look at him as he set about making breakfast for himself and your Mom. “I thought if I got ready early then you could take me to school earlier!”

“I can’t do that Y/N, no one will be at school this early. You’ll have to wait.” He smiled, watching as you slumped down on the sofa, sighing dramatically. With a chuckle, he finished making breakfast, leaving you to watch cartoons and grumble.

<<ooo>>

“Alright class, this is Mister Wright, he will be showing us around the museum today. Can we all say Good morning Mister Wright?”  Your teacher, Miss Clarke called, gesturing to the tall, thin man who stood before your class of thirty. He wore wire framed classes, and a tweed jacket, from the eyes down he looked like your stereotypical scholar, however on top his head sat a flaming red mohawk, which added nearly an entire foot to his overall height.

“Good morning Mister Wright.” Chorused your class, smiling at the tall, funky looking man. He looked rather unsure of himself, it was likely that he wasn’t used to leading a tour group full of children. Gazing around the foyer where you stood you grinned to yourself, the spinning globe atop the main desk shone brightly in the large room, while the massive T-Rex skeleton served as a sneak peek for what you were all going to see further in the museum.

“Psst, Y/N, come on!” You friend Hailey giggled beside you, snapping you out of your trance. You just wanted to take as much in as possible, who knew when you would next be able to visit the museum? Quickly, the two of you ran to catch up with your class, who had moved on to taking a closer look at the T-Rex, Mister Wright going into detail about the life style, size, and speed of the dinosaur.

You listen intently the whole tour, finding your way to the front of your class, so to be as close to the exhibits as possible. Most of your class found the tour interesting, whilst some found it to be boring, how they found it boring you had no idea, you simply couldn’t fathom it! Here you were, standing amongst history! Nothing about this experience was boring in your opinion! “And here we conclude today’s tour, with Theodore, or Teddy Roosevelt, who served as our twenty-sixth president, and of course his horse Little Texas.”

Outrage flooded your senses, you knew who Teddy Roosevelt was, but that wasn’t what had you so worked up. “What do you mean this is the end?” You burst out, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

Mister Wright looks down at you in surprise, clearly not having expected any protests in today’s tour. “Miss Y/L/N! Where are your manners?” Miss Clarke admonishes, walking over to you with a stern look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude!” You sniff, your lower lip trembling as you try to fight off tears. “It’s just, do we not get to look at the Ancient Egyptian exhibits?” You mumble, staring down at your feet, not daring to look your teacher or the tour guide in the eye. For two weeks, all you had wanted to do was look through the Egyptian exhibitions, and here you were, being told that the tour was over without ever stepping foot near them?!

Your teacher and the tour guide pass a look between each other, no words are spoken, though an unspoken conversation takes place none the less. “It’s alright Y/N, I understand.” Miss Clarke smiles, causing you to look up at her. “We have plenty of time to look around ourselves now. Everyone, please find a buddy, and always stay together. We will meet back here in two hours, at two o’clock!”

Not needing to be told twice, your class quickly begins to pair off, giggling schoolgirls racing off in different directions of the Museum. A group of five of you remains stood in front of the model President. Yourself, Hailey, Claire, Amber and Belinda, all looking between each other with broad grins. The five of you all got along like peas in a pod, often spending weekends at each other’s homes, playing dress ups out in the garden. So of course, when faced with the option of either trying to break off into small groups, or sticking all together, you chose the latter.

The five of you ran off back the way you came, taking turns through different corridors and into rooms which had been missed entirely on the tour. “Hey Y/N, does your uncle move these little guys around when he’s at work?” Amber grins, beckoning you over to where she was stood, looking into the miniature Roman Empire diorama.

“I don’t think he would do that… Why?” You shrug, peering over the edge of the diorama, your eyes falling on what Amber was clearly talking about. In the mini Colosseum, up on one of the balconies, there stood a tiny Roman soldier, hands reaching out and planted firmly against the back of a blonde cowboy, who was clearly from the Wild West diorama next door. The cowboy was stood precariously on the ledge of the window, and it was obvious to anyone who saw, that the Roman was attempting to push the intruder off the building. “Uncle Larry wouldn’t have done! He loves history as much as I do!” You blanch, eyeing the odd scene one final time.

Shaking your head, you move on further through the museum, leaving your friends behind as you grow nearer a section of the museum which seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Looking down the long corridor, it was dimly lit, and oddly sparse, and unlike every other area you had visited so far, this hall seemed to not see many visitors, or at least not at the moment. As you walked further into the hall, you failed to notice the yellow caution tape which had fallen down from across the archway, making your way down the corridor, the smell of wet paint assaulted your nose as you grew closer to the end of the corridor, a large gate pulled across the floor to ceiling entrance, with only a small crack of an opening. Unaware to you, your friends hadn’t realised where you had gone, figuring as it was nearing the end of your free roam time, they assumed you must’ve left to return to your teacher. The four of them packing up their things, and leaving the miniatures exhibit, and in the process leaving you behind too.

As you grew nearer the massive room, a gasp escaped your lips realising what you had discovered, hidden away at the back of the museum. Just behind the gate stood two, twenty-foot Anubis statues one on the left and the other the right side of the room. You had read about Anubis, the jackal deity of the afterlife, a shrine to Anubis was placed in the tombs of Pharaoh’s to keep guard over them as they passed into the next world. In all your reading though, coming face to face with these enormous statues, nothing could have prepared you for the sheer height of them.

  Crouching down, you crawl through the small gap in the gate, squeezing your tiny body through, until you were inside the tomb. Back at the other end of the corridor, a security guard takes note of the fallen caution tape, picking it up and reattaching it to the archway. The Tomb of Ahkmenrah was in the process of being renovated, and it wouldn’t do anyone any good to go down there at the moment. Of course you knew nothing about this, though even if you did, it likely wouldn’t have stopped you from entering either way.

<<ooo>>

Miss Clarke looked over the huddle of children before her, taking a head count to ensure all students were present and accounted for. As she moved her eyes from one end of the group to the other, a student who had been at the very front moved her way to the end. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, however this little girl stood with her back to Miss Clarke, and from the back she was sporting the exact same back pack as yours, it of course didn’t help that the two of you also had the same hair colour. To Miss Clarke, she had thirty students just as she had started with, if she had recounted her students however, she would quickly notice she was missing one. Though with the knowledge that the coach was waiting for them out the front of the museum, she thought better than to count a second time, and ushered the students outside.

<<ooo>>

Gazing around the tomb, you easily lost track of time, had you been there for five minutes or five hours? You really had no idea, but seeing as no one had come to find you yet, you assumed there was still time left to look around. After taking in every detail of the Anubis statues, you moved further inside to look over the ornate lid of the sarcophagus which sat front and centre of the tomb. Delicate navy blue lines mixed in with deep burgundy’s, before making way for vibrant turquois, all intermingled with the rich gold that covered the entire coffin. Hieroglyphs were carved down the body, from what you had read, they were designed to allow the Pharaoh safe passage into the afterlife, prayers were also commonly inscribed too.

You found yourself hypnotised by the craftsmanship of the sarcophagus, and paid no attention to the sound of the gate being dragged back across the tomb, closing it off from the entrance entirely. Slowly, you moved away to look around more, you wanted to see as much as possible, and commit it all to memory, just on the off chance that you wouldn’t be able to come back again for a while. On the wall behind the Pharaoh was a shining slab of gold, the tablet of Ahkmenrah. Your uncle Larry had told you that the tablet was magic, though when you had asked him what it did, he shook his head with a smile, promising to show you one day.

Carefully, you moved around, being sure to not touch anything, ‘Look with your eyes Y/N’, you recall your Mom telling you when she took you to an art gallery once. So you did just that, drinking in everything with your eyes. A small yawn escaped your lips, and you suddenly realise that perhaps it was time to leave the exhibit, and join your class. Stepping carefully, you stop in front of the gate, you heart beating rapidly in your chest. Where there had been a child sized gap on your way in, the gate was somehow now closed, and try as you might, you could not get it to budge. You were trapped! “Help me!” You shriek as loudly as your lungs would allow. “Somebody please help me!” Your screams mix with tears as you cry, fright settling into your bones. You paused your cries for a few moments, waiting with a bated breath on the off chance you heard someone coming your way to rescue you. No such luck, you had no other choice but to continue calling out, praying that someone was still in the museum, or perhaps that Uncle Larry would be starting work soon, then he could rescue you!

Your voice grows hoarse and your throat hurts, and you find yourself unable to call out any longer. Slumping down to the ground, you curl your knees up to your chest and rest your forehead against them, wrapping your arms around yourself to bring some comfort back to the situation. Someone would notice you missing soon, if they hadn’t already. Your parents would be expecting to see you at home when they arrived back from work tonight, of course they would look for you, and they would find you soon too. With your head buried down, you didn’t see the bright light sweep across Ahkmenrah’s tablet, a bright white shine glossing across every line in the golden tablet. You did however, feel it, a breeze seemingly coming from nowhere rushing all around you, picking your hair up before dumping it back down over your back and shoulders. For a few seconds, it was as if everything in the museum was holding its breath, before sighing deeply, allowing all the stress that had been built up, to be let go of.

At first you think nothing of the strange sensation, making it out to be your imagination, though that all changes rapidly, when you hear what sounds to be concrete grinding against itself, before you feel the room tremble, a loud rumbling moving throughout the tomb.  Slowly you lift your head up, tears still streaming down your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy from your sobbing. Craning your neck, you look up and up, until you come face to face with one of the Anubis statues, though something had changed, whereas before both statues had been looking dead ahead, they now had their heads faced directly at you. You’re too scared to breathe, afraid of what may happen if you do, before you have the chance to take action, both statues take a step towards you lifting their spears. A blood curdling scream erupts from your lungs, as you leap to your feet, flinging yourself towards the back of the tomb, throwing yourself behind the sarcophagus, the ceiling was lower there you had noticed earlier, and you hoped it was low enough for the statues to not be able to reach you. You curl up into yourself once again, your back pressed against the golden coffin, your entire body trembling with both fear and sobs.

A similar sound as before echoes from behind you, though it sounds far smoother and more practiced, perhaps it was the statues again? You’re too scared to look, curling in further against yourself, trying in vain to make yourself invisible. Behind you, the lid of the sarcophagus slowly glides off, a figure sitting upright and looking around his tomb.

<<ooo>>

His guards were on edge, why was that? Had something occurred as he was waking up? Ahkemnrah slowly moved his arms out in front of him, his shoulder blades popping once, before the discomfort alleviated itself. Turning to his left, he looked at the two statues, calling out to them in his native tongue. “Put away your weapons, there is no danger here!”

  The two statues did as told, though they remained positioned directly before him, rather than returning to their rightful place at the entrance of his tomb. Ahk shook his head softly, brunette curls swaying slightly against his forehead, there was an oddsound emanating from his tomb, one he was rather unfamiliar with. With great care, he lifted himself out and onto the floor, his bare feet permanently calloused, even in reanimation. The smell of chemicals assaulted he newly regained senses, he could not wait until his wing of the museum had been restored, at least then the smell of fresh paint would no longer cling to everything in his tomb. Crystal blue eyes gaze around the tomb, as his ears listen out for the odd sound he had awoken to, it seemed to have ceased, at least for the time being, perhaps it was something to do with the work that the builders had been doing in the area lately? Ahk moves over to collect his peschent from its display pedestal, fitting it to his head once again, he may no longer be in Egypt but he was still Pharaoh here at the museum.

There it was again, that noise! Ahk pivots on his heel, looking back at his empty sarcophagus, he knew for a fact that there was nothing in there that could be making any sound, however, there was a small gap between it and the wall. Surely there was nothing there that could be making such a noise? Despite his unsureness, he makes his way around the end of the sarcophagus, gazing down the side against the wall. There, curled up in on herself was a small child, trembling and crying softly. His heart ached for the child, all alone and frightened, how had she gotten in here? Larry had told him there would be no visitors this way for a few weeks, with the entrance blocked off… He pushes his questions to the back of his mind, instead, he crouches down, smiling gently across at the girl, leaving a decent amount of distance between them, to avoid startling her further. “You are safe young one, no harm shall come to you now. What has happened?”

Your head flies up, turning to look directly at the man who had spoken, coming face to face with someone you had only ever seen artist impressions of in your books. Surely this was impossible, you couldn’t possibly be talking to Ahkmenrah? “I – I was here with school… The gate, I crawled through it to look around, but someone closed it! I can’t get out.”

Ahk nods softly, standing up slowly from his crouched position, extending his hand to you. He watches you carefully, a look of fear and adoration flickering across your eyes as you seem to contemplate whether you should take his hand or not. Gently, you reach up, your small hand clasping around his larger warm one. With ease, he pulls you to your feet, your clothes covered in dust from where you had been resting on the ground. “I am Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King, what is your name young one?”

Your words catch in your throat as you listen to the man before you introduce himself, he truly was the Pharaoh you had read about all of these years, the fourth Pharaoh of Egypt was holding your hand, waiting for your reply. Stuttering with nerves, you bow your head. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m ah…. I’m a student at Rose Hill elementary.”

“Ah, you are a scholar then Y/N?” Ahk asks softly, leading you out from your hiding place, and out into the main entrance of his tomb.

You shake your head wildly, the tears slowly drying from your cheeks, with no more threatening to spill either. “No, I mean not yet. I’m only seven.” Ahkmenrah stops suddenly, and you worry you had said something wrong, though you realise quickly that that is not the case. In a language you have never heard before, his voice echoes up to the Anubis statues, who continued to watch you intently. “Open the gate immediately, I must find Larry so he may return the young one to her family.”

The statues bow before their King, the ground shaking as they march over to the gate, arriving in only four paces, where it had taken you far longer. The metal gate shrieks in protest as the Anubis’ peel it away from its hinges, a loud snap echoing around the tomb and hall when the metal is yanked free from the wall. The statues take a step backwards, one holding the gate at its side, as if it would attempt to replace it on its hinges. Ahk moves forwards, his cape billowing behind him as he moves at a fast pace, his mind racing, trying to think of where Larry would be this early in his shift. What Ahk failed to realise, was that he was perhaps walking too quickly, his long legs carrying him down the corridor with ease, it wasn’t however, until he looked back to ensure that you were following, that he recognised the quick jog you had adopted in order to keep up. “My apologies Y/N, I did not mean to cause you to rush. Please, forgive me.”

You catch up quickly, though you’re glad to no longer be running, walking a much more pleasant mode of transport in your opinion. “It’s alright, I have little legs, it happens.” You shrug lightly, following once again as Ahkmenrah leads, this time at a slower meandering walk. You couldn’t help but find it unusual, surely a Pharaoh would never normally apologise to someone beneath him, even if you were a child. And dead or no, Ahkmenrah was still a Pharaoh…

As you reach the end of the long, paint filled corridor, you come across caution tape which had certainly not been there when you had entered earlier in the day. “I do not mean to pass judgment young one, but did you not notice this? It seems to be a rather vibrant colour, surely it would be difficult to miss.”

“It wasn’t there when I came down here! If it had been, then I wouldn’t have entered! I’m not stupid you know.” You may be young, but you weren’t dumb, you knew what caution tape meant, and you would never normally do something so reckless.

Ahk can’t help but grin, turning away from you before you can see his expression, for someone so young, you sure were quick with your words. He found it rather refreshing, to have someone speak so candidly with him, not caring that he was King. In his time, when he ruled, no one would dare accuse him of thinking they were stupid. Yet here was this child, a meagre girl of seven, who had no issue with calling him out. “Of course you are not stupid, I am glad you were unharmed in your expedition down here however.” Ahk offered in a gentle tone, moving through the museum.

Your eyes grow wide as you enter the miniature diorama room you had looked through with your friends earlier, people shouting could be heard from inside each diorama, along with a train puffing along its track. “They – They’re alive?” You gasp, head swimming with what you had always considered to be impossible.

Ahk looks back at you once again, his head tilted to the side gently, he was unused to people being surprised by the exhibits coming to life at dusk. Larry was of course aware of the late-night happenings of the Museum, as were his son Nick, and the docent Rebecca, who despite having finished her latest piece on Sacajawea often found her way back to the museum to spend her evening’s with Larry. You however had never experienced this before, and your shock was understandable. “Yes young one, from dusk till dawn with the magic of my Tablet, everything in this museum comes alive. Despite most being made of wax, they all behave just as they would if they were the real thing.”

Something that would likely to have had you killed for back in Ahkmenrah’s time, you interrupt his explanation, instead opting to race over to the ancient Roman diorama. “My friends and I were looking at this one today. Up on the Colosseum there was a Roman Soldier trying to push a cowboy off. My friend thought someone had set it up as a joke. But, they did that themselves?” You gasp out, looking over the diorama where the Roman soldiers were busy, seemingly forming an attack plan.

“Yes, I imagine that would have been Jedediah and Octavius. Mostly the two are able to put aside their differences and are close friends, however I believe there had been a misunderstanding between the two last night, it must not have been resolved before dawn rose.” Ahk explains, watching you carefully as you peer down into the diorama, your eyes shining like stars in amazement. He had not expected you to take to this as well as you were, from what Larry had told him, he had spent days attempting to wrap his head around the situation. Yet here you were, drinking it all in. “Come along Y/N, we must get you home. It is late, and I am positive your family will be frightened for your welfare.”

<<ooo>>

As you round yet another corner, you are stopped by none other than President Roosevelt and his steed. Ahkmenrah stands in front of you, obscuring you partially from him. “Good evening Ahk, I hope all is well? Who have we here, surely she isn’t a new exhibit?” Teddy grins, waving at you softly.

Ahkmenrah steps to the side, allowing you to be seen fully by the President now. “This is Y/L Y/L/N, she was separated from her school group today, and found her way into my tomb, we are on our way to get her home.”

“Miss Y/L/N, it is a pleasure to meet you I’m Theodore Roosevelt, though most call me Teddy. It is wonderful to make your acquaintance.” Teddy smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Little Texas whinnies , stamping one leg impatiently. “I had best continue on my patrol. Have a wonderful evening both of you, I hope we will see you again Miss Y/L/N.” He tips his hat, before riding off, the clop of horse shoes could be heard for quite some time after wards, the tiled floor doing nothing to muffle the sound.

After one final corridor, you find yourself back in the foyer of the museum, where your day had started. It felt so long ago now, but it really was only a few hours ago that you had arrived. The platform where the T-Rex had stood in the morning was now vacant, despite all you had seen during your walk with Ahkmenrah, you hadn’t expected even the dinosaur skeleton to come alive! You wondered where it could’ve run off to? “No, I haven’t seen her. I’m looking don’t worry, I promise if I see any sign of her I’ll call you immediately.”  A familiar voice says from the reception desk, his back is facing you, but you would recognise him anywhere.

Just as he hangs up the phone, your voice calls from across the foyer. “Uncle Larry!” You shout, sprinting away from the Pharaoh, and living him in the dust. Larry does a 180° on the spot, his eyes blown wide as he sees you racing toward him, followed closely by a surprised looking Ahk.

“Y/N? My God, everyone’s worried sick about you!” Larry exclaims, bending down to his knees and wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You throw your arms around his neck, grinning from ear to ear, releasing a sigh you hadn’t known you were holding. Despite how kind Ahkmenrah had been to you, along with all those you had met throughout the museum, there was a wave of relief that washed over you as you found someone you knew. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get lost, I’m sorry!” You whisper against his shoulder, feeling a shadow cast over the two of you now that Ahkmenrah had arrived.

Larry looks up, smiling at the Pharaoh. “How did you find her Ahk?”

“It seems as if the caution tape leading to my wing of the museum had fallen down.  Y/N found the gate to my tomb slightly opened and entered. I would dare say while she was in there, one of the end of day guards came around to ensure everything was in its rightful place, and in doing so they closed the gate to my tomb, locking her in there with me until I awoke.” Ahk looked down at you, your check resting against Larry’s shoulder, the crease between your eyebrows disappearing as you once again felt safe. “How do you know Y/N, Larry?”

Larry carefully stands, picking you up and placing you on the black leather desk chair, where you quickly make yourself comfortable. “She’s my niece.” He smiles fondly, to which Ahk nods. “Thank you for keeping her safe. I knew she’d find her way to your exhibit one way or another, she’s rather obsessed with Ancient Egypt.” Larry chuckles, lowering his voice so only Ahk could hear him.

“That would certainly explain all of the questions she asked me. Though she found questions to ask the others also.”

“Oh God, the others! She’ll need therapy after tonight! She’s too young to have to understand all of this!” Larry gasps, a coughing fit taking him over as he sucks in too much air.

Ahk places his hand on the night guards’ shoulder, comforting him until he can once again breathe properly. “I do not think that will be necessary. Y/N did not seem to be afraid at all, perhaps from the Anubis in my tomb there was some slight fear, but aside from that, she got along rather well with everyone, and they all seemed quite fond of her too.”

Larry lifts his eyebrows in surprise, turning to look back at you over his shoulder. You were sitting cross legged on the large chair, your hand gripping the desk in front of you, and using it to propel yourself around in circles. “Really? That’s – Well that’s rather surprising…. Are you sure, maybe she’s in shock? This is a lot to take in.”

“I do not know for sure Larry, though I do know that she promised at least twelve different people that she would be back soon.” Ahk smiles, watching as you spin yourself too fast, the chair finally coming to a stop as your face grows pale. Slowly you take your hand away from the desk, deciding to take a break from spinning.

“Thank you Ahk, I’ll talk to her after all of this is over, see if she’s as okay as she seems to be. Would you mind just keeping an eye on her for a little bit longer? I need to call her parents back, let them know that we’ve found her.” Ahk smiles as he makes his way back to you, lifting himself up onto the desk beside you, as you spin in your chair to face him, your entire face lighting up with joy as you look at him.

  As Larry calls your parents, reassuring them that you’re safe, you pick up your conversation with the Pharaoh once more. “Can I ask how old you are?” You grin, causing him the chuckle. He had grown fond of you over his short time with you, the inquisitive mind of a child had often intrigued him, and he found himself answering questions he would never usually.

“At the time of my passing, I was nineteen. Though if you count my age by the years I have experienced, then I am a few thousand years old.” He offers, allowing you to take your pick of which age you would rather associate him with.

You squint your eyes, counting on your fingers for a few moments, before beaming up at him. “So that means in twelve years, I’ll be the same age as you!”

Ahk can’t help but laugh, noticing Larry send you both a curious glance as he continues to speak with your family. “Technically you are correct. There will come a day where we are both nineteen.”

<<ooo>>

It didn’t take long before your Mom and Dad had arrived at the museum, Larry ushering you outside when he saw their car pull up out the front on the street. You waved goodbye to those who had gathered in the foyer to meet you, before turning to grin at Ahk. “Thank you Ahkmenrah.” It was plain and simple, but it was enough to cause the Pharaoh to grin widely at you. Larry followed you outside, opening the back door of the car for you, where you were instantly met with your parents gushing over how happy they were to see you, and that you were safe.

Moving away from the car as it drove off, Larry made his way back into the museum, locking the door behind him once again. Teddy rides up beside him, peering down at the exhausted expression on the night guards face. “Lawrence my friend, what’s that matter? Miss Y/L/N is on her way home now, surely that is good news?”

Larry nods his head yes, before it turns into a shake of no. “I think it’s going to be very hard to keep her away from here from now on.”

<<ooo>>

Just as Larry had predicted, it had been near impossible to keep you away from the Museum of Natural History. Since your first night there, all you could think about was returning, day in and day out you begged your parents to let you go back, though after the way your last trip there had gone, they were concerned about allowing you to return. This however didn’t stop you from pleading with them, coming up with every reason you could think of as to why you should be allowed to go back. Although you spoke about your time in the museum at night, you always said that it was just you, looking around at all of the exhibits, until you had found Uncle Larry. No one would believe you if you told them the truth about the museum, and you worried that if you did say something about what truly happened that night, that your parents would forbid you from returning there, and perhaps from speaking with Uncle Larry, he was after all, the one who always encouraged your love of history and fantastical stories at family gatherings.

After months of begging, pleading and bargaining your parents finally relented, allowing you to spend the weekend with Uncle Larry, under the pretext that you would be visiting the Museum during the day with Rebecca, and not while Larry was at work in the evenings. That of course, was not the case, not that your parent’s ever need know.

 It soon became tradition, that you would spend one weekend a month with Larry and Rebecca, sometimes with Nicky too, depending if it was Larry’s week on or off with him. And for two nights each month, you would spend dusk to dawn with the museum exhibits, learning as much as was humanly possible from them, swapping stories, though yours were never as interesting as theirs, at least in your opinion.

However there was always one exhibit you spent the most time with, you’re not sure when it had started, but at some stage during one of your weekends there, you had found yourself waiting patiently inside Ahkmenrah’s tomb, drumming your fingers against your thighs as you sat cross legged in the middle of the room, just waiting for dusk to fall, and for the tablet to work its magic. The thrill of magic filling the air and the breeze flowing around you, as the soft glow of light worked its tendrils into the fabric of every being in the museum, was incredible, and something you found utterly amazing.  From that day on, that was where you would always be found in the minutes before dusk, you would then spend plenty of time speaking with the Pharaoh, mostly about his life, as you learned what you could about Ancient Egypt. After a while, you moved on to others, never playing favourites with who you spent your time with, it was someone different each visit. When Larry and Teddy would come around, giving the call that there was one hour left until dawn, you would return to Ahkmenrah, and spend that final hour together, this time however, it was him asking the questions.

Ahk would never admit this aloud, but he found joy in waking up each night to you eagerly awaiting him, you grinning face being the first he saw on the days you were visiting. There was something comforting in having a familiar face to greet him when he woke, each morning he returned to nothing, there was no afterlife for him, at least not one he could recall. Each morning, as he fell asleep, there were no dreams to be had, no memories, there was nothing but an endless void for him to float through, desperately awaiting the night so he could awake. Each night felt like an eternity, though on the days where he knew he would wake to see you, the void seemed just that bit shorter. He found it difficult to track how many months had passed of your visits, each time he spoke with you he had an enjoyable time. You asked in depth questions, even sometimes things that surprised him! He often forgot how young you were when you spoke, the amount of thought you put into each and every question, not just posed to him, but to others as well, they were all well researched, and it was clear for anyone to see, that you cared about what you were doing. Which made you seem far older than you were. Ahk also took pleasure in asking about your life, hearing about your time at school, your family, hobbies, and the fun things your friend got up to, he loved hearing it all! Knowing that you were living a full life, while doing what you loved made him exceptionally happy.

He had no need to keep track of time as the living do, though he noticed the passage of time in other ways, in watching Nicky and you grow up before his very eyes, and in watching Larry and Rebecca’s relationship change. It was obvious that time was getting away from him, as it almost felt as if when Larry had announced his engagement to Rebecca that only a week had passed before he was showing everyone photographs from the wedding. Ahk knew that you only visited two days per month, though with no other guests coming into the museum on the nights between, they all began to bleed together, into one long night. Which is why it came as such a shock when he awoke one night, to find yourself, Larry, Rebecca, Nicky, Teddy Sacajawea, Octavius, Jed, and a few Huns all gathered in his tomb.

“Sorry for the intrusion my boy, but Y/N suggested we do this here so that you would be involved. And also so we could keep it away from Rexy.” Teddy grinned, as Ahk climbed out of the Sarcophagus, padding over to the small congregation, the two Anubis statues keeping a close eye on everyone, ready to pounce if they felt there was any threat to their king.

“Happy birthday Y/N!” Your family called, the three of them wrapping you tightly in a hug. “Double digits, that’s exciting!”

Ahk frowned for a moment, taking in the scene before him, had he known it was your birthday? He could not recall you ever telling him when it was, and he was positive he would remember such important information. He watched as Nicky darted off to the side of the room, collecting a white box and carrying it over to you. Lifting the lid, his eyes darted between the cake and the grin on your lips. He was having a difficult time wrapping his head around what had been said, double digits Larry had said. That would mean you were ten years old today? Surely it had not been three years since he had met you. He felt as if he had found you locked in this very room only a few months ago, and not years. Though looking at you now, it was clear as day that you were older, there was no use trying to deny it. As napkins filled with cake were passed around, you walked over to him, a grin still pasted across your lips. “Happy birthday young one.” He smiled, causing you to laugh softly. He was unsure of how much longer he would be able to call you that, if things were still as they had been when he was alive, there came a point where one no longer liked to be referred to as young. Though you would always be young compared to him, he understood that to others, you were aging correctly, and that he himself was the anomaly here.

“Thank you Ahkmenrah, sorry for bringing everyone in here. Despite what teddy says, it wasn’t actually my idea.” Ahk cuts you off with a quirk of his eyebrow. “He asked where I was headed when he awoke, and I said that I was coming here. He took that as an invitation for everyone to join.”

Ahk can’t help but laugh, his eyes sparkling as they lock with yours. “You, and the others are always more than welcome in here Y/N. And please, you may call me Ahk, we have known each other long enough now for you to use my, how do you call it, nickname”

You nod your head yes, taking a bite of your slice of cake, savouring the flavour as the icing melted on your tongue. “Alright, Ahk it is then.”

So there we have it, chapter one of two or three! Fingers crossed you all liked this, I would love to hear what you think! And if you would like to be tagged in the future chapter(s) let me know! Also, the title of the story, and all chapters are from the song Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney, I would recommend checking it out here!

And on the off chance you’re at all interested in my other writings, here is my MASTERLIST

#Ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah fanfiction #rami malek fanfiction #Night at the museum fic #rami malek/ ahkmenrah #sweet #caring #lost child #snippets of life #teddy roosevelt #sacagawea #octavius #jedediah #Larry #Nicky #Rebecca #losing track of time #birthday #night at the museum #History buff #Uncle Larry

[thegleeacademy]

What do I need to know if I want to apply?

The in character rundown:

By your character’s thirteenth birthday, they’ll wake up with either an S or a D behind their ear. This is their mark and it determines whether they are a Dominant or submissive. I chose thirteen to allow parents the opportunity to educate their children in whatever way they choose for five years. Then from eighteen to twenty-one, unless otherwise controlled by their family, everyone has a few years to explore on their own before they’re put into an academy and told how to think. This allows for a diverse range of origin stories. 

This is an M/s world, so all Dominants are Masters and submissives are slaves. Subs have no say in what their lives look like. 

The traditional and most common alignment is somewhere on the scale of pro M/s. Not everyone is a monster Dom/me and not everyone uses the ability to do things against submissive’s will, but all Dominants are privileged because of this system and benefit from it. This causes blind spots in even the most liberal people sometimes. 

At 21, it is required by law that all people be sent to a BDSM academy (like TGA) to get their education and prepare them for society. The earliest anyone can graduate is 25, but more often people stay until closer to 30. Submissives cannot graduate without a claim. Dominants can. If a submissive is still unclaimed on their 30th birthday, they get sent to auction at the slave markets. Also, when it comes to claims being broken, the ONLY PEOPLE that can end a claim are people like the Headmaster and the Dominant that put in for the claim.  There are no exceptions because this is the law. 

From the moment a claim begins, the submissive becomes owned property and reflects on the Dominant. Dominants can also take on more than one sub in a claim, but it’s up to what they’re capable of because it has to be approved by the HM. Many Dominants that see subs as slaves will only get in romantic relationships with other Dominants and their subs are house slaves. It is not uncommon in the outside world for two Dominants to be married, with a house full of shared slaves. Submissives cannot marry legally, they can only be claimed.

Because this is an M/s universe and sex is very open and the power dynamics are based on whether you have a D or an S behind your ear, there is not a whole lot of transphobia, homophobia, sexism, racism, or any of those other nasty things. Instead, the nastiness in this world comes solely from the M/s politics. There are a few exceptions, there are always people with contrary opinions, but the mainstream society isn’t bothered about people being trans, gay, or women. It’s being a slave that puts you at the bottom of the barrel, it’s being a slave that people have preconceived negative ideas about. 

The out of character rundown: 

This is a MASTER/SLAVE roleplay and the theme of the roleplay means that you can’t ask to totally avoid non consensual activity, especially if you play a submissive. Anyone at Dalton and any of the staff members may order or punish any submissive character that they choose and they may do it in any way that they desire-- submissives do not have the right to consent. I will make a note on your app if you don’t want to write these scenes out, that is perfectly acceptable and not at all strange. None of us have actually written out any kind of non consensual scene-- all punishments have been written as headcanons so far. But that content is part of the plot, so keep that in mind. 

We’re a very relaxed environment ooc here, despite the ic tension that I’ve been dropping in with group plot drops. I only have five rules about activity, including a rule on bubble roleplaying, and they are listed in the ooc discord and on an anon answer from yesterday. The activity rule is a week and I’m not always looking at it, but if it becomes a consistent thing, you could lose your spot here. I also ask that you reply to the first starter from every new roleplayer added into this roleplay to welcome them with the eagerness to write with them that they deserve. We keep activity rolling in an incredibly inclusive way because bubble rping is against the rules- I ask that you do your best to continue and initiate conversations and paras with all characters. Of course, you can always ask for your roll back if you end up on the unfollow list for not meeting the very relaxed activity rules. 

I have all of the plot info on this blog here, but the masterlist/bio/boarding info/info about current events are all archived from the first iteration of TGA because it ran for so long, I’m too sentimental to get rid of it. I will answer anons here, but all acceptances, follow links, current event info, plot drops, and masterlist information can be found on @tgastaff. I also play the Headmaster and the tutor from that blog, so you can expect in character announcements and BDSM information over there too. 

This is an open fandom roleplay now that also accepts OCs that are both based on a fandom (we have a lot of Glee OCs) or completely original from start to finish. The original TGA was a triplet roleplay, I would like to keep the idea that it was normal for people to have about three children. It makes it so that they have more than one opportunity to have the “perfect child” that they dream about while also helping keep the ancient aesthetic I have going on. When it comes to having children, think royal families trying to continue their bloodline and take over the world. Not everyone is a triplet though, and you might want to reach out first if you want to create an OC attached to an already taken character. 

You can ask to join our ooc discord server before you apply, if you want to be able to plot through some things with the people here first. 

You can’t just ask for a claim. *In the right circumstance*, I might consider accepting an already claimed pair but I don’t really do that sort of thing here because claims are very highly regulated. When two characters that are shipping here request a claim, there is an actual process of things that the Headmaster does before he will either accept or deny it. And he can take away a claim at any time. He can also demote Dominants to the status of submissive as a temporary punishment if he doesn’t think a Dom/me is owning their role properly. 

#glee rp #glee twin rp #glee smut rp #mature rp #dark rp #answered #Anonymous

[sacharch]

New legislation and source book

  ROLE

  Determination of authentic works of the New Testament

The first half of the Christian Bible is a Jewish book dating back to a long time before Christ, as Christians believe it to be written by inspiration from God. He never doubted the authenticity of this book. It took a long time for the list of compositions of biblical answers to be determined.

The early Christians had two grounds of faith. The first premise was the written Jewish scripture and the second premise, the evidence and teaching of the disciples of Jesus. This education was not initially available in writing. Because Jesus ordered his disciples not to script their teaching, but to preach it. How and when this oral education was written is not very clear. Many attempted to present a biography of Jesus (Deuteronomy 1, 1), but the church considered the four chapters of Jesus' biography to be authentic in the second century AD. Their origin is the primary teaching of the disciples of Jesus, but each book has its own specific purpose and the author's personal impression on it is also clear. Based on the ancient tradition, their authors are considered to be Matthew, Markus, Lucus and Yohan respectively. Concerning the creation of Saint MarKus, it is unanimously believed that it is first of all, written probably around 65 AD. Some scholars consider the creation of the books of Saint Matthew and Saint Lucas as early as 70 CE and some scholars around 80 CE. It is possible that Sant Yohan's work has been written around 95 AD.

The letters of Saint Paul are mentioned in many early Christian writings of the second century. On the basis of this, it can be concluded that a collection of these letters must have been in vogue in the first century AD, ie only a short time after their creation. The composition of these letters is unanimously considered from 51 AD to 67 AD. Christian literature of the late second century mentions the authenticity of apostles. This book was considered to be the latter part of the gospel of Saint Lucas. The creation time of both is the same.

            By the beginning of the third century AD, the following writings had been accepted as part of the Christian scripture: four biographies of Christ, apostles, thirteen letters of the saint Paul, and the first letter of the saint John. Some other compositions were not widely accepted, yet widely believed to be authentic. They are the letters to the Hebrews, the second letter to Saint Peter, the letter of Saint Jacob and the letter of Saint Eudus. In the West, the epistle to the Hebrews and in the East the Book of Lent was not accepted as part of the Scriptures for a long time, but in the fourth century all the works of the present New Testament were accepted as authentic lists.

In another epistle to the Corinthians (3, 14), the saint Paul called the Jewish scripture an "ancient law". On the basis of this, the first half of the Jewish Bible, ie, the Christian Bible and its latter began to be known as the Old and New Testament respectively.

                                  Introduction to the creations of the New Testament

          Before the translation of each composition in the presented book, the syllabus of its content is presented. Here a brief introduction of all its compositions and their authors is being given.

1. Four gospels

         The basic language of the latter part of the Christian Bible is Greek. Its first four texts are called the Gospels (ie the good news or the Gospel), because they contain the good news of the salvation of mankind announced by Jesus. The four describe the biography of Jesus and his teachings and his original subject is also one. That is, Jesus of Nazareth is the promised Messiah of the Jewish Scriptures.

        The Gospel of Saint Matthew is placed first in the latter part of the Bible, as it was especially devoted to the early church. Saint Matthew was inspired. He is named Levi in ​​the Gospels of Markus and Lucas. This gospel has been written for Jewish readers and its purpose is to prove that everything that is said about Christ in the Jewish Scriptures is fulfilled in Jesus. In addition to the Gospel of Saint Markus, the author had more written material, which in some way was also with Saint Lucas; Because there is a literal analogy at many places in the Gospels of Saint Matthew and Saint Lucas. The structure of Saint Matthew's Gospel is very much according to Saint Markus, but the first two chapters give details of Jesus' birth and migration to Egypt. In addition, Saint Matthew has given special emphasis on the teaching of Jesus and compiled it in five relatively detailed speeches. Chapters 5–6; 10; 13; 18 and 24-251 |

        The Gospel of Saint Markus is the most concise and the oldest. Mark was a resident of Jerusalem. The Christian community of Jerusalem often gathered in their mother's house (Acts 12, 12). He was probably initiated by Saint Paes, because Saint Petrus calls him his son (First letter of Saint Petrus: 5, 13). According to an ancient tradition, he lived with Saint Peter and the main basis of his creation is the doctrine of Saint Peter. The main purpose of Saint Markus's gospel is to present Jesus Christ as the almighty son of God. He emphasizes less on Jesus' teachings, more on his miracles. The outline of his work is as follows - Initially, the people of Galilee greet Jesus with enthusiasm, but he soon becomes indifferent; Because she does not understand Jesus' spiritual messiahship. Seeing this, Jesus travels outside of Galilea and trains his disciples. He then enters Jerusalem as the Messiah, is crucified and resurrected after dying as a result of growing opposition from Jewish leaders.

         Saint Lucas was a Gentile. According to an ancient tradition, he was a resident of Antioch and has described the establishment of a Christian congregation in this city (Acts 11: 19-26 1. He was a physician. (Epistle to the Colossians: 4, 14)) and became a Christian. After the saints were his companions in Paul's second and third preaching trips (Acts 15, 36-2038). He traveled with the saint Paul to Rome and accompanied them there during his imprisonment (Acts 27) , 1–28, 31). Another point of the New Testament suggests that he was still with them at the time of Saint Paul's second imprisonment in Rome (AD 67). (Second Epistle to Timothy: 4, 11). While writing the biography of Jesus, Lucas had the Gospel of Saint Markus and some written material available to Matthew as well. In addition to this he had collected much more, as he himself says at the beginning of his creation. Their aim is: to present a systematic description of the biography of Jesus Christ to the Su-Jewish Christians, so that they "know that the teaching we have received is true" (Luke 1, 4). Let's leave things Which cannot be easily understood by non-Jews or is of little importance to them. Saint Lucas knows that Jesus is the most talked about Christ in the Jewish Scriptures, but he emphasizes that Jesus has come to pave the way for salvation for all mankind. They specifically portray Jesus' kindness to sinners and his sympathy with the poor. The structure of his creation is such that the message of liberation comes from heaven. (Chapters 1, 2; These also describe Jesus' childhood); Yohan Baptista announces his arrival (Chapter 3); Jesus preaches it first in Galilea (chapters 4, 9) and later in the rest of Palestine, moving to Jerusalem (chapters 10, 19, most of which is the content of Saint Lucas), and ultimately the work of salvation ends in Jerusalem ( Chapter 19, 24).

         Saint Yohan  was the son of Zebedee and Salomi and brother of Saint Jacob. They were apostles and beloved disciples of Jesus. He probably left Palestine in 69–70 AD and came to the city of Ephesus in Asia Minor. It is very likely that he died in 98-99 AD. The basics of other gospels are also found in his gospel; Such as the evidence of Yohan Baptista, the miracles and discourses in Christ, his suffering and resurrection; But Saint Yohan understands that his readers are familiar with other gospels. This is the reason why they often leave the material given in them and narrate new events. During his time, misconceptions about the tank Jesus began to prevail. Therefore, the purpose of Saint John is to prove that Jesus is the son of God. He is the second person of the Trinity God: "The Word took up the body and dwelt among us" (1, 14) He is a human being and also a God; He has atoned for the sins of humans and has given them new life. Keeping this objective in view, he describes relatively few incidents, but tries to clarify their deeper meaning. After describing the miracles of the loaves, they present Jesus' speech about the 'Bread of Heaven'. Before giving vision to Jesus, he says: "I am the light of the world" and before reviving Lazarus: "I am the resurrection and the life" (11, 25). Another feature of this gospel is that the place of most of the events mentioned in it is Judea and Jerusalem.

2. Inspired

      In the fifth book, Apostle-Charit of the new legislation, the early spread of Christianity is presented. After the establishment of Christian buds in Jerusalem and Palestine in the first half, there is a description of the conversion of non-Jews and the first preaching of the Saint Paul. At the end of it, a description of the First Christian General Assembly of Jerusalem is given. The purpose of the General Assembly was to resolve the problems that arose as a result of non-Jews becoming Christians. The main protagonist of this first half is Sant Petrus.

    In the latter, the author only charred the saintly Paul and presented him as the chief evangelist in the Roman Empire. The reader can see the brief topic-information of the inspired book on page 183 of this book. S na rnima

3. Letter

        Saint Paul, after the Lord Jesus Christ, is the most important personality of the New Testament. Paul used to persecute Christians first, but after the sight of Jesus near Damascus, he became a follower of Christianity at the age of twenty-five, and among Jews and non-Jews, Damascus, Antioch, Price Asia Minor, Macedonia, Greece, Rome And after the first imprisonment of Rome, he also successfully propagated Christianity in Spain. History testifies that Christianity soon gained an important place in the Roman Empire. The credit for this should mainly be given to Saint Paul. According to an ancient tradition, Saint Paul died at the age of fifty-five, at the end of the second imprisonment of Rome.

      Paul's letters reveal that the motive of his tireless hard work was the exclusive devotion to the Lord Jesus Christ. He says: "For me there is life — Christ, and death — the full realization of them. But if I live, I can work hard, so I don't understand what to choose. I am drawn to both sides. I So I want to walk and live with Christ - it is certainly best; but it is more beneficial for you to be present in my body "(Epistle to Philippians: 1, 22-24). The third feature of Paul's personality, apart from devotion and sermons, is his fundamental concern about Christianity. He has been influencing the Christian devotees for centuries. It is not an exaggeration to say that the creations of Saint John and Saint Paul are the foundation of Christian theology.

        The composition of Saint Paul's letters is as follows. First of all, in the year 51 AD, there are two letters to the Thessalonians, which were written in Corinth. In the period between five and six years later, two letters were written to the Corinthians and letters to the Philippians, Galatians and Romans. It is quite possible that he had written letters to the Colossians, the Ephs, and Philemon during the first imprisonment of Rome. The three remaining epistles in his name are known among the experts, though all Christians consider him to be an authentic part of the New Testament. It is possible that the first letter to Timayi and the letter to Titus were written after the first imprisonment of Saint Paul in Rome, and the second letter to Timothy should be the time of the second imprisonment in Rome. Still, other scholars on the basis of style believe that the role of the clerk in the composition of these three letters is more important and he has added parts from his side.

         The creation of a letter to the Hebrews probably led to the death of Saint Paul. The epilogue bears resemblance to the style of Saint Paul, but the remaining portions are written by another person based on the thoughts of Saint Paul.

           Saint Jacob's letter is certainly ancient, but its author is unknown. The letter has been in existence since ancient times in the name of Saint Jacob, president of the Jerusalem church, at the time of Jesus and at the time of the first Christian General Assembly. It is more probable that it was composed around the year 80, based on the discourses of Saint Jacob.

         Saint Petrus died in AD 64 (67) AD. He wrote his first letter to the Jews aided by Silvanus a few years before his death (5, 12) (1, 1) scattered in Asia Minor. The second letter that is prevalent in his name was probably composed in the third decade of the second century AD, and it first started to prevail in the congregation of Alexandria. In it, as part of the scripture, the saint is the charade of Paul's letters. 3, 15–16) and parts of it are based on the letter of Saint Eudus. According to Eusebius (4th century AD), Saint Markus preached Christianity in Alexandria. Saint Markus was an associate of Saint Petrus (De. Introduction to Saint Markus above). Hence, the teaching of Saint Peter in Alexandria must have been practiced in the traditional form and from this the author made his letter known as Saint Peter.

        The author of the first letter of Saint John calls himself an eyewitness of Jesus' life (De 1, 1-8; 4, 14), so the ancient tradition considers him to be integral to the unanimously inspired Saint John. There is no consensus regarding the second and third letters, yet it is quite possible that their author is the same inspired saint. The composition of these three letters is believed to be before 90 CE.

        The letter of Saint Eudus was probably composed in the year 85 AD. Its author is unknown, although this letter was prevalent since ancient times in the name of Jesus, the saint of Eudus. :

        4. The author of the book of light is the author of the book of light, he calls himself a Yohan and a prophet, but nowhere does he claim to be an apostle John. In the second century AD, most of the churches considered its author to be integral to the saint Yohan, the author of the fourth gospel. Nevertheless, from the very beginning some churches rejected this integrality and to this day Christian experts differ in its relationship. Some experts are of the opinion that the epistle-text is not written by the inspired saint Yohan, but by the apostle-resident disciples. Some other experts elaborate on this, saying that the Gospel of Saint John was also composed in this way. Whatever it is, it is unanimously accepted that Prakashana - the creation of the book is the last decade of the first century AD. The futuristic visuals of the book of light are to be seen as a systematic description of the end of the world. The purpose of its various symbolic scenes is the presentation of the defeat of the forces of evil at the end of the world, the justice of the world and the glorification of Christ and his church.

#DailyBibleDiscoursesDailyNewLifeDailyGoodLuck

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Broken Glass Diamonds

Word count: 2943

Warnings: Minor Character Death, Blood, Google Translate Spanish

Description: Roman dreamt of becoming a hero for his entire life. Given a chance to fulfil his dream he joins one of the many hero organizations in an attempt to prove himself.

AO3

Roman remembered the first time he saw a super in action vividly even after all these years. He was five back then. Five and naive, with thousand dreams and wishes for his future. Astronaut, cowboy, actor, detective and, of course, like probably every kid his age, superhero.

But the first super he saw wasn't a hero. It was a villain.

The Dragon Witch, people would later call her. Whispering the name in fear that even just mentioning her aloud would summon her.

Roman remembered that they had been at a mall on that day. Mamá had bought them ice cream. For him Chocolate, for Remus Banana and as always they had let the other have a little bit of their own because Mamá liked it when they got along and the combination of both Chocolate and Banana was great.

He remembered almost running into a woman with a floral print dress and stuttering out a 'sorry' and then the glass ceiling collapsed. Shards of glass rained down. People screamed. The flowers on the woman's dress were shredded. New, red ones grew on the bright fabric and she fell to the floor.

Roman looked up.

A giant dragon landed in the food court. It had brown scales and yellow fire puffed from its nostrils.

Remus grabbed him and pulled him back behind a corner and they both peeked out from behind it. Remus didn't let go of his hand. Neither did Roman.

Mamá had told them to stick together if anything happened. To protect each other.

"Un dragón", Remus whispered and Roman couldn't tell if he was excited or scared. "Un dragón verdadero."

The dragon began to shrink and shift until all that was left was a woman with scales on her arms and face and wings standing in the middle of the broken glass.

A few people had fallen. A lot more were hiding just like the twins were.

The Dragon Witch said something. She spoke loudly but Roman couldn't understand her. She was speaking English and using too many words he didn't recognize so that even the few familiar ones sounded foreign in the mass of unknown gibberish.

"Donde esta mamá?" Roman asked. Mamá always told them what the words they couldn't understand meant but now Roman couldn't see her anywhere.

"No lo se," Remus shrugged.

A young man grabbed a roasting spit and ran at the woman with a shout. Her wing hit him before he even reached her. He was thrown through the air and crashed into the wall just next to the twins' hiding spot.

Looking back Roman was pretty sure that at that point he had been in shock.

The young man didn't get up from his position slumped against the wall. Something red tickled over the dark skin of his temple and from his lips.

Police sirens cut through the air suddenly, making Roman jump.

But before the policemen could make it into the building the woman had already turned into a big red dragon and as she flew up towards the hole in the roof thousands of coins and jewellery flew towards her like metal to a magnet and stuck to her body until she was fully cooper and gold. In a twisted way, it was beautiful.

Paramedics checked over the people and at some point, a blanket found its way over the twins' shoulders. They sat on the steps in front of the mall, still holding onto each other, neither having spoken a word since the Dragon Witch had disappeared.

"Donde esta mamá?" Remus asked quietly after a while. His voice shaking.

Roman looked around. There were many people on the steps, most of them crying a few looking for others. Then he spotted a familiar head of black hair pulled up in a bun.

"Mamá!" he called and tried to stand up but his legs gave out underneath him and he plopped back down.

She turned at his voice, spotted them and came running towards them.

"Roman! Remus! Estas herido?" she hugged them close, pulled back and frantically looked them over. "Oh, mis hijos."

"Nosotros estamos bien!" Roman told her and burried his face in her shirt.

For a long time, the three of them just sat there, holding on to each other. Roman wasn't sure when he and Remus had started to cry.

It wasn't a day he liked to think off. It haunted him. To this day, despite being an adult now, he felt anxious in malls and under glass roofs.

Over the years people became less afraid of the Dragon Witch. A hero showed up, calling herself Lauda and fought against the Dragon Witch time and time again. By the time Roman was ten, there were no casualties mentioned on the news anymore and his dream to become a hero himself was cemented even further. When he was thirteen his friends began to talk about how the hero and the villain should hook up and he told them that they were being stupid. A hero and a villain couldn't fall in love.

"Have you watched the news lately? They are sooo gay for each other!" Lauren laughed at him.

He hadn't been watching the news. At least not the fights. Seeing the Dragon Witch still stirred up too many bad memories. Mamá had sent him and Remus to a therapist a few times after the incident but hadn't been able to afford it for long. As soon as Remus and him went to school she had to make the choice between proper meals or therapy and she choose the food.

When the twins were fourteen they presented with abilities. Remus made the rat in the kitchen cabinet obey his every will and Roman burned bright and hot without ever burning himself. Mamá was proud of them, helped them figure out their abilities as well as she could without having one herself and whispered in that she had always known that they were extraordinary.

When Roman turned fifteen he started carrying out newspapers and picking up every job he could cramp into his schedule or that Remus hadn't gotten to first. He lost most of his friends during that time. Both of them did even if Remus hadn't had many friends, to begin with.

"We never hang out anymore!"

"Come on! Come to Henry's party with us! It'll be awesome!"

"You don't do anything besides working and studying!"

Roman always wanted to tell them that that wasn't true. He did have hobbies. He was part of the drama club. He wrote stories and poetry and even sew if you could consider patching up ripped clothes a hobby. He never did though and on Christmas Eve he realized that it was just the three of them again. Him, Remus and Mamá.

But he'd be a hero one day and then things would be different. They'd move into a nice house without mould in the kitchen that never got cold in winter because as bright as he could burn the house could burn too and he knew that that would mean their death, and they'd have a big meal for holidays and he and Remus wouldn't have to put their money together to buy Mamá a nice gift. He'd save peoples lives and they would love him for it.

So he curled up under his blanket, tried not to shiver as snow fell outside and held onto that dream.

Remus move out as soon as they graduated. He only let them know that he had gotten a scholarship somewhere but wouldn't tell either of them where and what for. He let Roman help him pack his bag, hugged him, gave Mamá a kiss on the cheek and then he took the next train to somewhere.

Roman applied himself to the nearest T.L.I.H. program.

"You really want to try out for being a hero?" Mamá had asked and looked so damn tired like she hadn't slept in years.

"Yes, and I will make it", he told her.

Mamá had sighed tiredly but smiled.

"It's supposed to be extremely hard", she just said as if he didn't know.

"I will make it."

When two weeks later a letter came telling him that he had been accepted to the program he couldn't believe it.

200 spots, over 35000 applicants and he had gotten in.

Of the 200 people 10 would become heros at most.

And Roman would be damned if he let this chance slip through his fingers.

He didn't have the money for a gym membership but he and Remus had found ways to work out anyway over the years. After the third fight you begin to learn how to fight.

The T.L.I.H. program started in October and for months Roman did everything in his power to prepare himself.

On October 4th, standing in front of the address they had sent him - a tiny hotel that didn't seem like the right place o train future heroes at all but maybe that was the point - he had nothing but a bag of worn clothes, a crumpled twenty, an old burner phone, an old notebook with a pen and his mothers blessing. His knees felt weak and he couldn't tell whether the nausea was because of nerves or because he hadn't eaten since yesterday.

If this didn't work out he'd have no back-up plan. The chances of being accepted to the program twice were lower than being struck by lightning three times, three years in a row on the same day while wearing the same clothes.

Failure wasn't an option.

Mamá was counting on him.

Roman pushed open the hotel door and made a face when it squeaked loud enough to ring in his ears.

The lobby was grey, lit by two neon lights. One was broken. At the counter, a teen sat, a few years younger than Roman and looked up from re-doing his eyeliner, obviously bored out of his mind. The kid looked like a stereotypical emo. Lauren would have been jealous of that eyeshadow.

"I'm here for the T.L.I.H. program", Roman told him confidently.

"Figured that much", the kid - Julian DiCaprio, according to his nametag - mumbled and his voice sounded slightly too feminine. "Name?"

"Roman. Roman Rodriguez."

Julian tipped around on the ancient computer keyboard, nodded to himself and stood up to get a key off the wall behind him.

"Follow me", he ordered and sauntered towards the elevator like he owned the place.

"I think I can find the room on my own," Roman tried but Julian acted like he couldn't hear him and pressed the 4 a couple of times until the button finally lit up.

"What's your shoe size?" he asked instead catching Roman off guard.

"My- My what?"

"Shoe size. What is it?"

The elevator arrived and slip halfway open. Julian slipped through the gap and Roman followed him.

"I don't know? 18, maybe?"

"Shirt size?"

"Wha- Why do you want to know that?" Roman sputtered. He had the sneaking suspicion the kid was going to make fun of him. He knew that his shirt was too big, damn it.

Julian looked him dead in the eye.

"Do you know how many people get in here just because they're rich?  They are pretty good but they never would have reached that level without money. About 90% of the candidates are rich kids according to Mama. Do you know what they will do with you if you show up looking like this? They will tear you apart like chickens."

Roman was quiet for a moment.

"Chickens aren't threatening," he then said. "They only eat seeds and worms."

"Wrong. They eat anything. Once saw a few chicken tear apart a steak in under a minute. They are mini dinosaurs, those feathery beasts."

Roman frowned and looked down at his stained and torn jeans.

"Few years ago a guy showed up looking like that," Julian continued. "He was good. Could control gravity. Heart in the right spot. They drove him to attempt suicide within half a year. Mama doesn't want that to happen again so she makes sure that people like you get something presentable. If you don't know your sizes we'll just have to measure."

A tiny smile spread over Julian's black lips at the last few words.

"Do you like measuring out?" Roman asked.

"With guys," Julian said and the elevator finally came to a stop. "Most of you are ripped as fuck and I'm gay as hell."

Roman hummed in acknowlegement.

"How did you know I wouldn't beat you up for that?" he asked following Julian down the hallway.

Julian looked back for a moment, eyes wandering down and then up again.

"I have awesome gaydar. Besides, I doubt Mama would've let you in if you did that."

"Who is your mother?" Roman asked. She must be an important person to be able to make all those decisions.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather boy?"

Roman raised an eyebrow as Julius unlocked one of the many doors.

"Really? Quoting Vines?"

Julius shrugged and let Roman into the hotel room.

It was just as shabby as the rest of the hotel but warmer than his room at home and there were no bugs so he could deal with it.

"Here's your key. I'll just go and get the measuring tape," Julius told him and disappeared again.

Roman watched him go. When he entered the elevator again Roman went to unpack his stuff, as little as it was and called Mamá to tell her that he had made it safely. She always got anxious when it came to anyone using the subway and he didn't want her to drive herself crazy.

Julius came back a little later, made Roman write down whatever he measured, took the paper and studied it for a moment before doing that thing again that Roman was pretty sure was Julius' way of checking him out.

"You like floral prints?" he then asked.

Roman shrugged. "I've never worn anything like that."

Julius nodded in acknowledgement.

"I'll get you a few things to try. You can just pick out what you like then. Oh, and before I forget, dinner is at eight on the second floor. There are signs, so you should be able to find it just fine."

Roman glanced at the clock over the door. He still had over an hour. Taking a seat on the bed he pulled out his notebook and began to write. For almost half an hour he wrote and rewrote, completely sunken into the story, before someone knocked again.

He opened the door to Julius and another young man who looked a bit older than Roman. Roman found himself staring at the left half of his face that was a lot darker than the other. Both were carrying two bags each.

Julius pushed past Roman and set the bags down on the bed, his companion doing the same before checking his phone and cursing.

"Fucking hell, I'm gonna be late," he sent a glare over to Julius. "This is the last time I help you with this stuff!"

Then he hurried down the hallway.

"Sorry about my brother. He's trying to start a company or something and really stressed lately," Julius told Roman. "Anyway. You can try on this stuff if you want to, the things you don't want you can just bring down to the counter. If I'm not there just put it under the key wall, okay?"

He didn't wait for an answer and closed the door behind himself forcefully.

For a moment Roman just stood there, stunned, before he slowly moved over to the bed.

He picked out the first shirt and pants he found and pulled them on. A black shirt with red flowers and dark jeans. It fit perfectly. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and realized with a start just how different he looked wearing it. He looked like a damn model or something, with his muscles faintly visible and the rolled-up sleeves. The fabric was soft against his skin.

He looked handsome.

Roman looked through the other bags, looked through all these nice clothes and wondered just how much money Julius had spent on this stuff. He couldn't find a price tag anywhere but guessed that it must've been at least 200$.

So, he brought it back down to the counter.

Julius was painting his nails as he came down and raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong with them?" he asked.

"I can't take this."

Julius' eyebrow crept higher.

"Why not?"

"This stuff is worth a fortune! I could never pay you back for this!"

"You're not supposed to," Julius said calmly and checked if the paint on his pinky was dry. "Look, just take it. It's a gift. No one ever teach you that you're not supposed to give gifts back? Now go back up. Dinner's soon. And don't you dare leave the clothes here."

Roman wanted to argue but Julius sent him a glare and he gave up.

"Fine, I'll take it."

Part of Roman had expected the dining room to be full of others like him but when he came down a few minutes before eight the only other people were a punk couple and an old lady.

A young woman distributed potato soup with sausage at a small counter. Compared to the rest of the hotel it was completely clean here.

Roman ate, watched the punks flirt for a bit ("I'd dismantle the government for you.") and went back up to his room, where he soon fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #dragon witch #my writing #background deceit #background virgil #you can rip spanish roman from my cold dead hands #all the world will bow down series

[writinginrosecoloredglasses]

Dance of the Crowns: Season 1 - Episode 1: Dragon Wings & Lion Manes

TW for: Mentions of arranged marriage and death caused by sickness.

Tags: @desi-pluto​​, @leave-her-a-tome​​, @emdrabbles​​, @beyondthebracken​​

ON DRAGONSTORM

The episode/first chapter starts off with the King of the southern hemisphere of Altoterra, Erik Dragonorage, and his children, twenty-six-year-old Lyra, eighteen-year-old Leonardo, seventeen-year-old Caitlin and thirteen-year-old Hugo on horseback, riding down to the edge of hill above Dragonstorm Beach. Considering on every first sunset of the seasons, the first day of each one (summertime in canon), the rulers of Springfallen, Dragonstorm’s village and Terros, which are Erik, Tyrell and Cateline respectively, he’s going to gather with them on the shore to watch it rise, with four of his children in attendance. (For those wondering, he splits them into groups when taking them to watch. Lyra, Leo, Caitlin and Hugo go in the summer and winter; while Nolan, Diana, Antonio and Ruby go in the spring and fall.)

Once they reach there, Tyrell and Cateline make their way up to the top of the hill, and take a seat with their older brothers, nieces and nephews. They’re all silent for a moment, drinking water, taking a breath and/or squinting to see the horizon and check if the sunrise has begun yet or not. Nothing much happens, but it builds up to the next part -

As for that topic, Cateline mentions the warm spring finally coming to an end, and how the past six months’ weather’s had an effect on parts of the continent. Her brothers ask her why, and she’s got a mouthful to tell them: The High North, the kingdom/city of Orore’s Guard, has had a vast drop in population (over 1330) over the winter and spring, and there’s no specified reasons by any of the northern doctors, throughout all five of the Northern Kingdoms (Wintergardens, Iron Rock, Orore’s Guard, Garde Roux and Umbelle). She then suggests and alliance between the King and Queen of Orore’s Guard, Fred and Harmonia Brannon with Erik and Celeste, as F&H’s younger daughter (Madilyn) is close in age to Nolan (she’s 21 and he’s 22). They discuss this for several minutes, with Cateline being the one who progresses it most.

This conversation is put to a stop temporarily, as the sun is about to rise and they’ve never missed a single time watching it for 20+ years.

Once they’re getting ready to leave, Erik tells his sister he’ll definitely bring it up to Celeste once they go back to the castle. She nods, tells him he’s thinking right (part of what makes her character so great; her sass!), and goes back down to her boat and heads for the islands.

Estimated scene length: Around five minutes. And if the episode is planned out to be around 51 minutes in my head, that leaves us with 46 more to fill in with scenes.

IN LANCAAROS

Victor Alagstoyne meets with Dragahri’s advisor Max, as the two of them and the rest of their people are the only ones subtracting Victor and his sister (Sylvia) who they knew they can trust on the islands.

He (Victor) mentions how their family has been in exile for almost 30 years, while his father has been dead for 21, calculating to around the same time that Sylvia was born and the Wintergardens/Arthur vs. Wolfebroken/Alagstoyne war ended and the Arthurs won. (This will be an arc of the first season/book, but not that major until episode 15-ish.)

Sylvia knows the consequences, duties, situations and trials that would come with signing a deal with Dragahri and his people, and has consented to everything. (She’s 21, which by law of all the locations, is an adult.) She knows her brother is capable of taking care of and leading for the both of them, so it’s 100% truthful to say she trusts him.

On that note - Sylvia has proposed the idea of Dragahri being her suitor several times in the past and would gladly consent to it, so it isn’t a bad thing at all if Victor and Max went with that in the end.

As you all may have guessed, they do agree to that, and Sylvia is called from her tent to hear news and say what she wants.

When she’s told she’s to be suited to Dragahri, she’s silent for a moment, until her brother shakes her out of her thoughts. She responds with nothing more than a forced smile, it dropping into a frustrated and thinking frown when the two of them walk away.

However, nothing to worry about; she isn’t alone as she has her close friend and assistant Rosalia with her. She realizes Sylvia isn’t acting like herself and, being a concerned best friend, she goes to her and asks her what’s wrong, which leads to a long conversation between the two of them.

Sylvia confesses to not being afraid; not of being with someone she doesn’t know well enough yet (but knows he won’t hurt her, at least), but of how her brother’s been acting lately. (He’s been pushing her aside and ignoring her, but brushes all suspects away considering he ‘knows what’s best’ for her.

Rosalia tells her to not stress and that’ll all work out in the end, and they leave the tent and go to where Victor is with their guards and Sylvia gets ready to meet her suitor. But still, she can’t stop getting the fear of her brother, the person she used to trust most turning on her out of her head.

Estimated scene length: At the very least, just a bit over sixteen minutes. 16+5 equals 21, and out of 51 minutes of this episode, a half hour left to go.

IN SPRINGFALLEN

Erik, Lyra, Leo, Caitlin and Hugo return to the castle, just in time to have breakfast with Celeste and the other children (Nolan, Diana, Antonio and Ruby). Breakfast is filled with the triplets joking around with each other (Caitlin, Antonio and Ruby are, btw), Diana and Leo gossiping about rumors they’ve heard about other Southern kingdoms and such (Springfallen is in the southern part of the continent, btw), Nolan and Lyra occasionally having small arguments and Hugo trying to join Leo and Diana, while Erik and Celeste usually talk to each other about fresh pieces of news and duties for the day they have to get to. (Considering there’s five exact kingdoms in the south, Springfallen became the ruling one twenty-five years before the events, when Lyra was around one.)

After breakfast, the kids are all ushered out and told to leave, so Erik can mention his sister’s suggestion to Celeste in private. This leads to a long bout of consideration and thinking, as yet with Nolan not being 25 yet (18 is legal adult age, 25 is the age for royal blood to travel alone), he’d have to have either one of his parents or Lyra (aged 26) accompany him, as the northern grounds would be a better location to have everything happen, yet with Springfallen and other parts of the south not having anything major while Orore’s Guard does and how it could spread to the other five major kingdoms. Plus, they could figure out what’s been killing people while in the north, as Erik is incredibly intelligent in the medical field.

This scene comes to a cut, leaving us some time for each of the Dragon kids to get their own introductory scenes.

Lyra comes first. She’s shown to be sitting on a tree stump outside at the back of the castle, reading a book from the royal library. She’s having a conversation with her best friend and lady’s maid (well, to her and her three sisters, that is) Tsukiko, who seems to be quite enthusiastic about the secret Lyra’s parents are hiding. Considering she’s quite the optimistic and almost always positive-thinking, she believes it’ll be something good. Lyra, however, is both excited and nervous, stuck in the in-between of her opinion on her parents’ current discussion that she’ll find out about after they’re done and come to a decision.

Next up, is a two-for-one; between Nolan and Diana. They’re out in the royal rose garden, and she’s picking flowers to put in her room (as she’s the most feminine out of the four Dragonorage sisters). She mentions that while they both dreamed of being rulers as kids, the likeliness of such happening is impossible, due to Lyra being the oldest child of the Dragonorage family and it being her birthright because of so. Nolan storms off at this, and leaves Diana alone by herself in the garden.

Diana ends up going to Lyra in her room, and vents to her about how he’s treated her like this for a long time (ever since she was 11 and he was 12). Lyra advises her to ignore it, and next time it happens, tell their parents.

Third scene of the kids: Leonardo and the triplets (Leo is 18, they’ve just turned 17). They’re spending time together in the library, just the four of them together. He mentions the possibility of it having to do with the population drop/mysterious death causes in the north, and while Antonio and Ruby generally disagree and think otherwise, Caitlin sees his point and quickly agrees. This leads to a conversation about the old history of the north’s kingdoms/locations and how there were lots of suspicions about them, which leads to more about the rulers and such, telling of some ancient lore. This also leads to more mention and backstory of the Red Rebellion and what happened during the five years it lasted. However, the cause never gets mentioned in this conversation, but they do know that the royal house their mother was born to was greatly involved (Garde Roux/the house of Victoire. Celeste was the princess of there, second child and grew up in the north). Caitlin speaks about her knowledge on fashion of the northern people (she’s a bit of a stereotypical princess in that regard), Antonio about horseback riding, and Ruby about knights, combat and swordfighting.

This scene ends with Leo letting Hugo into the library, and he joins their conversation. He then mentions his history lesson with their teacher about learning of all the wars, castle building etc., and all of the history of the continent, and how a majority of the toys he owns are replicas of important locations. So, in general, this gives a brief introduction to them and some of their interests: Leo being a history buff/interested in learning, Caitlin being interested in fashion, Antonio being fascinated with horses and riding, Ruby being a fanatic of knighthood, and Hugo being into toys and such, even as a teenager.

The scenes of the entire Dragonorage family end with the second of the three major lady’s maids, Anna (her, Tsukiko and Jayne are the ‘holy trinity’) running around to get all eight of the Dragonorage kids, and that their parents finally are ready to see them.

And finally, Erik and Celeste have came to the agreement that Madilyn Brannon and Nolan will be put into an arranged marriage, and that Erik and Nolan will be traveling to the north and gather all of their children to tell them the news. But: Only three of the other kids are allowed to go to Orore’s Guard with their dad and brother if they want to.

Estimated scene length: Nineteen minutes, and 19+21 gives us 40 minutes (just over considering no scene in this isn’t over or under a second). Leaving eleven or less.

IN ORORE’S GUARD - TIME SKIP TO THE NEXT DAY AT SUNSET

We’re introduced to the Princess of Orore’s Guard that’s to be with Nolan; twenty-one-year-old Madilyn, who was mentioned by Cateline earlier. (She has an older sister, 24-year-old Maisy.) It begins with her alone in her room in one of the towers of the castle, sewing up her torn inside/outside dress (for the garden/within the castle. I’m bad at describing that stuff lol). She’s awaiting news on her possible marriage to whom her home has dubbed the Dragon Prince, of which her sister will deliver.

She’s deep inside her feelings, asking herself five things: 1; if this is what she wants, 2; if she’s ready or not, 3; if this is a good thing or a bad thing for her and her home, 4; if it’s right for her to be scared and 5; of course if the answer is yes or no.

She thinks of there being a plus: Her being with someone like him, of a high status and the son of the ruler of a part/hemisphere of the continent (Springfallen rules the five kingdoms in the South, while Wintergardens rules the five in the North. All kingdoms of each hemisphere rule, but Springfallen and Wintergardens are the top), would automatically make her a queen. Usually, the crowning age would be 27, meaning Lyra would inherit once she turned that age the next year, but considering he’s 22, he wouldn’t get it.

Maisy is 24, closer to the age of earning the throne and ruling their part of the hemisphere. But, considering she’s not assigned to be with anyone while Madilyn is, she’d become the Queen of the Den (as that’s what Orore’s Guard is called, symbolic of their house crest being a lion).

Why wouldn’t Nolan rule if he married her? His parents are still the rulers legally, so that option is off the table. However, marrying Madilyn would make him the King of the Den.

Keep in mind, this is all being told by her inner monologue, so a TV version would have the voiceover of the actress who’d play her running in the background while the book would have her thoughts in italics like ‘this’.

To wrap up this part, it ends in her finishing her patching up of the dress and putting it on a hanger in her closet, and eventually being called down for dinner.

At dinner, Harmonia announces to her husband and daughters that she’s received a letter from the advisor of the Queen of Garde Roux, Celeste’s older sister Circe.

Why did she receive the letter from Circe? Garde Roux is located right below Orore’s Guard, and there’s a fair eight miles between each kingdom’s individual gates. Meaning, there wasn’t much of a distance, just enough for Circe to send one of Garde Roux’s messengers to deliver the letter.

Back on topic - Harmonia announces that the arranged marriage deal was a go with Erik and Celeste, and that the Dragonorages are to arrive in three days stat. (Keep in mind, the Orore’s Guard part takes place a day after Springfallen/Lancaaros/Dragonstorm’s scenes, so they’d be in the North four days after the beginning of the episode/story.)

Madilyn nods, and finds herself not being nervous or scared about anything. She’s rather relieved, and happily obliges/agrees to the deal once more to confirm everything is well on her side, and both of her parents look quite pleased.

This ends in her and Maisy having a brief talk as they walk down the dinner hall and up the stairs, where she asks if she’s that okay with giving herself away to someone she doesn’t even know. Madilyn assures her that it’ll all be fine, and yet with how charmed the people who’ve heard of him (but haven’t met him face-to-face) seem to be with him/how much they like him, she’ll be okay in the end.

And finally, both sisters go to their individual rooms and to go bed, thus ending the Orore’s Guard scenes.

Estimated scene length: Eight minutes. This leaves us with, in addition to the previous 40, 48 aka four dozen, with just three left.

BACK IN SPRINGFALLEN - THREE DAYS AFTER SPRINGFALLEN 1/DRAGONSTORM

Erik has chosen three other children to go with him to Orore’s Guard: Diana, Ruby and Caitlin.

Caitlin was chosen for her interest in their fashion and want to travel (think of her as Belle in that regard), Diana for wanting to travel and see more of the world, and Ruby considering lots of hype around swordfighting and knights goes on around there, and the fact that many of the knights she looks up to were from there.

Lyra, Leo, Antonio and Hugo are staying behind in Springfallen, and Celeste will assume both roles of the King and Queen while her husband is away.

The guards/Erik’s men come up to them with news that Harmonia and Fred have given them a gift; and Erik immediately asks to see what they’ve delivered.

It’s nothing other than a pack of wolves: Four grey, two white, one black, one tan, and one brown.

Each one of the kids takes one wolf, leaving one left.

Celeste and Erik both decide to give it to her son from another relationship, who lives in the North as leader of a group of warriors who protects the North, twenty-nine-year-old Jonathan. (He’ll be introduced not much later on, and will have an interesting storyline and important role to play. His father won’t be revealed until later on, however.)

The episode ends at this, and finally, Erik, Nolan and the three chosen children leave for Orore’s Guard with the Spring Knights to accompany them on the way there.

Estimated scene length: Two and a half minutes, leaving us with thirty seconds left. Leaving us with just enough time to roll credits and conclude the episode/chapters that begin the tale.

(PSA: All the probable/possible loose ends will be tied with within the next five episodes. So for now, it’s to leave suspense, and readers can take time to speculate and wonder why/create theories and conspiracies.)

Thank you to whoever took the time to read this! Feedback is much welcomed/appreciated!

#tv writing #dotc #dance of the crowns #rose.txt #worldbuilding #storytelling #fantasy #high fantasy #magic #royalty #long post #house dragonorage #house brannon #house victoire #wip wednesday #these episode formats will be my entries for that #sneak peeks are beginning next week. i'll be doing three wip wednesday posts beginning next week btw #one being the episodes #two being sneak peeks #and three being for my other story; g.l.i.t.z #house alagstoyne #too much to tag here #so that's it

[shinymoonbird]

https://www.davidgodman.org/bhagavans-deposition-on-arunachala/

Bhagavan’s Deposition on Arunachala - II

In one of his answers Bhagavan stated that verses in the Skanda and Siva Puranas supported his assertion that Arunachala was a manifestation of God in the form of a mountain. After the hearing was over, Bhagavan selected some verses from these two works and passed them on to the court to supplement and support his evidence. Bhagavan entitled this collection of verses Sri Arunachala Linga Pramanya Vakyani, which means, ‘Sentences giving authoritative proof that Sri Arunachala is a lingam.’ The verses he selected are given below.

From the SKANDA MAHAPURANA,

Maheswara Kanda, Part Three,

Arunachala Mahatmyam, First Half:

CHAPTER ONE

Sanaka said [to Brahma]:

9

O Treasure of Grace! O Foremost of Devas! On earth there are Siva lingams which are divine, which are installed by human beings and siddhas, and which are composed of the [five] elements.

10

Tell me, which lingam in the landmass that contains India is immaculate, divine, of undefilable glory, self-originated and effulgent?

Brahma replied:

22

Hear how in ancient days the wonderful and effulgent Siva, who is full of motiveless grace, manifested with the name of Arunadri [one of the names of Arunachala].

23

Narayana and I were born from Him who transcends the universe.

24

Once we two, who were self-born, began to argue with other.

25, 31

Seeing the dreadful enthusiasm with which we were fighting with each other, Iswara, who is the embodiment of grace, …rose as a column of fire between us.

Brahma said:

50

He [Lord Siva] assumed the nature of a motionless lingam in the form of Arunachala.

51

This indeed is the effulgent lingam, the sole cause of the universe, which is visible on earth and which is renowned as Arunadri.

CHAPTER TWO

Brahma and Vishnu prayed [to Lord Siva]:

31

Withdrawing Your effulgence, abide as a motionless lingam named Arunachala in order to bestow grace upon the world.

Brahma said:

50

He [Lord Siva] assumed the nature of a motionless lingam in the form of Arunachala.

51

This indeed is the effulgent lingam, the sole cause of the universe, which is visible on earth and which is renowned as Arunadri.

CHAPTER FOUR

Iswara said:

37

I truly abide here on earth in the form of an effulgence named Arunachala [in order to bestow] the attainment [of liberation].

38

Since It [this hill] removes the cruel accumulation of sins from all the worlds, and since bondage becomes non-existent when ones sees It, It is [named] Arunachala.

40

In ancient days, when a fight arose between Brahma and Vishnu, who were both born from a part of Me, I manifested myself in the form of an effulgence in order to remove their delusion.

43

At their further request I, who was in the form of effulgence, became the motionless lingam named Arunadri.

CHAPTER FIVE

Devi said to Gautama:

24

Siva told me: ‘I abide [on earth] with the name Arunachala,’ and said that I should hear the glory of Arunachala from your lips.

Gautama said:

42, 43

In ancient days Brahma and Vishnu, who had come into existence from a part of the effulgence of Siva, but who had become egotistical, fought with a desire to conquer each other.

43, 44

In order to subdue the pride of these two, who were fighting in this manner, Sadasiva, who is worthy to be meditated on by yogis, assumed the form of a column of fire without beginning, middle or end, and stood between them, illuminating the ten directions.

47

At their further request, Devesa [Siva, the Lord of the devas] assumed the form of a motionless lingam [now] renowned as Arunadri. Tranquil He shines.

CHAPTER SIX

Iswara said:

21

I abide on earth as the form of Arunachala.

22

That effulgent form alone is called Arunachala.

23

This fiery effulgent form, unmanifest and of the nature of limitless glory, cooled down in order to protect the world.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The devas said:

9

O Bhagavan! O Arunadrisa [Arunachala]! You who do good to the whole world! Although You are of the form of fire, You shine in the world, having become tranquil.

Gautama said:

5

Having been prayed to by the devas, Sriman Arunadrisa gradually cooled down and became perfectly tranquil as Arunachala in order to protect the world.

CHAPTER EIGHT

20

You [Lord Siva] are seen on earth as the famous Sonadri [another name of Arunachala].

17

Nowhere else on earth have I seen even one lingam in the form of a hill.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Brahma said:

42

This is Sadasiva Himself in the form of Arunachala, which is seen even as the supreme effulgence, the cause of creation, sustenance and dissolution.

44

This effulgent lingam is worshipped by all the devas. Because of this, the earth is considered to possess more dharma [than any other world].

From the Second Half of the SKANDA MAHAPURANA:

CHAPTER FOUR

Nandikeswara said:

12

There God, Sambhu, the one who does what is good for the world, has Himself assumed the form of a hill and abides with the name Arunachala.

14

This hill, which is Parameswara Himself, is considered by maharishis to be superior to Sumeru, Kailasa and Mandara.

58

Neither Meru nor Kailasa nor Mandara are equal to Arunadri; they are abodes [of Lord Siva] filled with huge rocks, whereas this [Arunachala] is Girisa [the Lord of the Hill, one of the names of Siva] Himself.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Siva said:

27

For the welfare [of the world], may My effulgent form, which is motionless and eternal, abide here forever with the name Arunadri.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Gautama said:

21

This Arunadri is the hill of fire itself in a concealed form.

From the SIVA MAHAPURANA,

Vidyeswara Samhita:

CHAPTER NINE

Iswara said:

21

Since this lingam rose up as a hill of fire, it shall be renowned as Arunachala.

41, 42

Since this formless column, which reveals My nature as Brahman, possesses the characteristics of a lingam, It shall be My lingam.

☀ ☀ ☀

Since the Skanda Mahapurana and the Siva Mahapurana are two of the eighteen principal Puranas, these verses should have been enough to convince the court that Bhagavan’s assertions about the sanctity of Arunachala were backed up by an authoritative scriptural source. Unfortunately, the issue at stake was not the sanctity of the mountain but the ownership of it.

Property disputes in India tend to be protracted affairs, and this one was no exception. The final judgement was handed down in July 1940, more than six years after the original notification. The two parties seemed to have reached a settlement out of court, the terms of which were incorporated in the court’s decision. The Devasthanam reluctantly accepted that the Government was the sole owner of the hill. In return the Government granted the Devasthanam the right to maintain and repair all the religious property on Arunachala and to enjoy all the income from the sale of the grass that grew there. The Devasthanam was also given the right to collect dead wood from the hill and to graze its cattle there. The Government reserved for itself the right to authorise the construction of any new buildings on the hill.

The path to Skandashram from Ramanasramam. This is how it looked in the decades prior to reforestation activities in the 1990s.

☀ ☀ ☀

In the fifty years that have passed since this judgment took effect, Tiruvannamalai has grown enormously. The town now has a population of over 100,000, all living at the foot of the hill, with many more living in outlying villages. As the population increased, nearly all the local forests were felled to meet the ever-increasing demand for timber and firewood. Arunachala was not spared. Nearly all the old trees on the hill were cut long ago, and sporadic reforestation projects in the last few years have failed to repair more than a fraction of the damage. The temple, although constrained by a lack of finances, has attempted to fulfil its obligation to the properties on the hill that it has been appointed to maintain. The other party, the Government, was, until the 1980s, quite successful in preventing new settlements from springing up on the hill and spoiling its sanctity. Unfortunately, neither party has been able to prevent or slow down the progressive environmental degradation of Arunachala’s slopes, nor have they been able to stop the annual fires, started by the local grass-cutters, which consume most of the mountain, destroying large tracts of vegetation and wildlife. The forests of Bhagavan’s youth have long since gone. With the local population still rapidly expanding, it will need a minor miracle to bring them back.

(First published in The Mountain Path, 1990, pp. 14-20)

☀ ☀ ☀

Postscript, February 2015

As you can see from the date, this was written almost twenty-five years ago. The ‘minor miracle’ referred to in the last line did in fact happen. Arunachala now probably has more forest cover than at any time since the 19th century. The local forest department has clamped down on illegal grazing and wood-cutting, and also planted many trees on parts of the hill. An NGO, founded by an English devotee, Govinda, has reforested much of the southern side of the hill. This NGO has also made firebreaks all over the hill to prevent the spread of summer fires, and it has a huge body of volunteers who go up the hill to beat out any fires that break out during the summer months. The wildlife is slowly returning. Some of the trees that are flourishing on the upper slopes of the hill have actually sprouted from ancient roots that stayed alive during the century when fires, wood-cutters and grazers were destroying everything above ground level. If this welcome trend continues, in a few years’ time there will be a mature native forest covering almost all of the hill.

~ David Godman

☀

#Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi #Bhagavan’s Deposition on Arunachala #Arunachala #Iswara swarupa #God in the form of a lingam #linga swarupa #Arunachala Linga #The Holy Beacon #Karthigai Deepam Festival #festival of lights #pillar of light #jyothi #jyoty #Skanda Mahapurana #Siva Mahapurana

[taeheyhey]

Close to Normal

Chapter 18 - What Are We Doing Now?

Taehyung x Reader - Fluff/Angst - 3.8k words

A/N - Helloooo! Here is chapter 18, I hope you all enjoy it a lot! If you have time or the inclination, please leave me a like or a comment or a wee reblog, it really helps motivate me to keep on writing and to try to create better things. BTW If you have sent me a request, rest assured I'm getting through them!

Thank you for being so lovely to me and for reading my story...it means the world! ♥

One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven ~ Twelve ~ Thirteen ~ Fourteen ~ Fifteen ~ Sixteen ~ Seventeen ~ Eighteen ~ Nineteen ~ Twenty ~ Twenty-One ~ Twenty-Two

It had taken some time and an awful lot of effort, but for the most part life had returned more or less to normal. There were still times, particularly when you weren’t working at the bar or otherwise occupied, where thoughts of Taehyung would take up residence in your mind and stubbornly stay there for an hour or two, sometimes longer. On more than a few of these occasions you had felt the very powerful urge to crack open your ancient laptop and indulge in a quick image search, just to remind yourself that, yes: that inhumanly beautiful, kind and talented man had brightened the mundanity of your life for the briefest of moments.

You had decided early on it would be advisable to persist in resisting these urges to the best of your ability, mostly for your own emotional well-being. There was no way you could trivialise the significance of the time you had spent together, but to dwell on the loss of it was ultimately unconstructive and damaging, and you decided you had spent far too much of your life allowing the actions of others to dictate your own. You would always treasure those few days with Taehyung, but you told yourself that you could – and would – move on from it.

Not only did you tell yourself, you also told Ronnie, loudly and often. There would probably have been more chance of him believing you if he hadn’t decided to check in on you on one of your nights off. He had found you most of the way through a bottle of wine and a large Toblerone, the room in darkness but for the glow from the laptop, headphones in and completely engrossed and teary-eyed over a compilation video of Taehyung with animals, gesturing despairingly in silence at the video. You had woken the following morning with a hangover and a half-melted chocolate triangle stuck to your neck and committed to a YouTube and all round Taehyung internet search ban for the sake of your sanity.

Still the hours turned in to days and then in to weeks as they have a tendency to do and before you knew it, it had been three months since that fateful night at the hotel in the city. You had spent a large potion of your days searching for an extra job to help Ronnie pay for the upkeep of the bar. He refused to let you work for him for room and board and insisted on paying you a wage, even though dwindling patron numbers and rapidly increasing rent meant he could scarcely afford it.

“I know you don’t like talking about it with me Ronnie, but how long can we realistically keep this place open if we keep having nights like last night?” you called to him behind the bar.

He was rearranging the bottles of liquor and spirits for want of something to do. He would normally be re-stocking the fridges but given that only two bottles had been removed from them, it wouldn’t have occupied him for very long.

You were counting out the money from the previous day, not that it took a great deal of time to do so. Over the space of five hours, four people had walked through the door of Ronnie’s. One was Peter, two made up an elderly couple who came in once a week to nurse one drink each over a two hour period, and the last had been a gentleman who had gotten lost on the way to the city centre and needed to use the bathroom. You had at least managed to talk him in to buying a coke.

“What’s all this 'we' talk? It’s not your problem to worry about.” He retorted, shifting his eyes indecisively back and forth between an unopened bottle of beer and the large mug of black coffee you had placed in front of him some minutes earlier.

You observed him through his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, and to your immense relief he turned to face you with the mug in his hand, before walking around the bar to sit down and join you. “What do you mean 'not my problem'? If Hannah comes back and finds out I’ve not been looking after you, she’ll nag both of us to the brink of insanity.”

He grumbled in acknowledgement. “She always was like her mother,” he smiled sadly and sighed, taking a large gulp of his drink to cover up the waver in his voice.

You reached over the table and placed your hand on his forearm and squoze in what you hoped was a reassuring manner. Hannah had been gone for over half a year now, and he was obviously missing her, and you used the ensuing silence to consider how best to respond to Ronnie’s sudden melancholy.

You had learned not to push it when it came to his vulnerable moments, you simply had to take your cues from him and wait to see if he elaborated, if he did not the most constructive option was to move the conversation on to something else. Usually food.

“Should I go down to the cafe and get us some lunch?” You proposed after waiting a sufficient amount of time for him to continue the conversation should he wish to do so.

As if by magic his face brightened, and even if it was solely for you benefit you were relieved, knowing that he would be embarrassed later on if he continued to wallow in front of you. He reached in to his pocket to retrieve his wallet, and you placed a stilling hand on his shoulder.

“Please just let me do this at least? Peter gave me a twenty last night.” You announced, pulling the note from the back pocket of your jeans and holding it aloft like a precious relic.

“Jesus, what’s that all about?” Ronnie pondered aloud, shuffling off his chair and making for the sink with his now empty mug, picking up yours on the way.

Peter had been a fixture in the bar almost all day, every day since you had begun working at Ronnie’s, always wearing the same brown overcoat and thin-lipped grimace beneath his unkempt beard, and he rarely tipped, only at Christmas and on the rare occasions he had won at the horses. “Who knows? Maybe he’s secretly loaded?”

“Well it would make sense, it’s hard not to make a success of yourself with that level of charisma,” Ronnie quipped in response.

You smiled wryly and pulled on your hoodie, pulling open the front door as Peter barrelled in with impeccable timing. As the door closed behind you and your stepped out in to the drizzling rain, you heard Ronnie bellow an overly enthusiastic greeting at Peter for comic effect.

You pulled your hood over your untidy hair and shoved your hands in to your pockets as you faced in to the wind on your way to the cafe. You could remember running down this path away from Taehyung playfully and feeling as though you didn’t have a care in the world. You imagined how different a figure you cut now, shoulders hunched over against the weather, eyes downcast as you allowed the grief to consume you just for this walk; just while you were alone.

In much the same way as Ronnie’s rapid switch from his gloomy countenance earlier was largely for your benefit, your own emotional recovery was feigned in large part to reduce how often you would find him watching you with ill-concealed concern plastered across his face. Your despondency was abruptly overpowered by guilt as you wondered how much of Ronnie’s own sadness at missing his daughter he had successfully hidden from you as you wallowed in the wake of Taehyung’s departure.

Before you could think on it for much longer you had arrived at the cafe. You placed your fingers around the door handle and took a deep breath in. You hadn’t been in here since that morning with Taehyung, and you felt that familiar clenching in your heart and the hot sting behind your eyes. Again, you allowed yourself to feel it only for a few moments before exhaling and pushing down on the handle.

There were no more than three tables occupied in the cafe, the breakfast rush long since ended, and those that were seated paid little attention to you as you entered the room, save for the couple by the front door who grumbled simultaneously as a sliver of the outside was allowed in with your arrival.

Over by the counter you could see Jess talking intimately with a young man wearing a woollen hat pulled down over his ears, and she giggled coquettishly as he stretched over the bar and planted a peck on her cheek. She looked so happy. That is until she raised her eyes at the sound of the door being blown shut again and found you smiling warmly at her. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped loose, the beginning of your name falling from her open mouth.

You frowned, perturbed by her reaction to your presence, until the man in the hat turned to the entrance to follow the line of Jess' gaze. Mark.

You could feel your eyebrows make a mad dash towards your hairline as you took in their shocked expressions, almost comical in their similarity. After a beat you allowed your face to relax as you strolled over to them, trying not to be unsettled by the dual frozen stare you were being subjected to.

You could understand why they were freaked out, but you were honestly more interested in getting back to Ronnie equipped with lunch.

“Hi,” you offered in greeting to both of them, although it left your mouth as a question.

“I’m, um...just going to...” Mark awkwardly shuffled around you and headed for the restrooms, almost pushing open the ladies door in his fluster.

You were left face to face with Jess, whose eyes were still the size of saucers and whose mouth was opening and closing uselessly like a fish. “Y/N I...” she finally mumbled.

“Jess, calm down. What do you think is happening right now?” You had absolutely no issue with her, you never had, and you certainly were not going to allow something as inconsequential as your ex-boyfriend dating her make that somehow be otherwise.

She still looked edgy and incredibly apologetic, her eyebrows knitted together in a picture of remorse. “Did someone tell you about us? Is that why you’re here?”

You sighed heavily. “Honestly Jess, I just want a sandwich. No offence, but I genuinely couldn’t care less that Mark’s out there again.” You ran your finger down the menu as you spoke, your focus on the task at hand. You raised your eyes to meet hers earnestly for a moment. “Is he good to you?”

She eyed you warily as though it was a trick question. “Yes,” she eventually answered, her posture relaxing visibly. “Oh,” she said suddenly, her face lighting up with realisation and relief. “You were with that really good-looking guy right? Of course. Jesus,” you could see her eyes glaze over and you knew she was trying to visualise him. “How’s that going?” Her tone was jovial now and she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively the way she had when you had sat opposite Taehyung a quarter of a year ago.

You gave a tight-lipped smile in response and returned your gaze to the menu so she couldn’t see the tears begin to gather at the memory. “It’s not,” you answered quietly.

“Oh,” came her reply, and she reached over the counter cautiously before awkwardly patting the top of your hand that was resting there.

Mark chose this moment to resume his position opposite Jess on the customer side of the counter, with a slight angle adjustment to ensure he left a wide area to allow for your presence as though you might physically lash out at any moment. Jess shifted her eyes back and forth between the two of you and the entire situation suddenly struck you as totally ridiculous, breaking you from your sombre reminiscence and causing an amused snort to burst forth from you, making Mark jump almost a foot in the air such was the anxiety you seemed to have instilled in him.

The tension broken between you and Jess at least, she joined you in your laughter much to Mark's chagrin, his expression only causing you both to laugh harder. “What are you having then?” She managed after taking some deep breaths.

“Two large BLTs please, hold the lettuce and tomato on one.”

She smiled and nodded, turning to face the grill and seeing to your order, leaving you and your ex-boyfriend to stand side-by-side in uncomfortable silence, from his perspective at least.

Just as Jess began to wrap the two sandwiches in paper, Mark turned to you. “How have you been?”

The words were strained, forced, and you knew he must feel embarrassed about the last time you had seen him.

“Good,” you answered noncommittally. “You?”

“Well you know...” he muttered while you fantasised about nails scraping down a chalkboard as a preferable alternative to this conversation. “Are you still seeing –”

“We really don’t need to do this, Mark,” you cut him off, gratefully accepting the two wrapped parcels as Jess handed them over to you. She took the twenty from your grasp in turn and pushed seemingly random buttons in the register to open it. You leant close to your ex so you couldn’t be heard by anyone else. “Don’t fuck this up with her, okay?” you advised sincerely before taking your change and offering them both a genuine parting smile, pulling the front door open once more to incur the passive-aggressive wrath of the chilly couple by the entrance.

 ~~~

“I still don’t understand why you want us all to wear these, Jimin.” Jin called out as he stood in the doorway of the studio, a pink towelling headband adorned with a spotted bow dangling from his long finger and held away from his body with faint disgust in his expression as though it smelled unpleasant.

Jungkook was adjusting his own headband in the wall of full length mirrors at one end of the entirely white room, frowning as he pulled it forwards and then pushed it back again. “Because it’s funny, hyung,” he answered on Jimin’s behalf as he saw him speaking quietly with a blatantly forlorn Taehyung in the opposite corner of the room.

Namjoon had been standing with them initially, the three of them whispering with their heads close together, the leader occasionally extending his arm around Taehyung to massage his shoulder soothingly. He had left just as Jin had entered, striding from the room purposefully with a determined expression on his face, and the oldest had watched him walk down the corridor to his own studio in confusion.

Hoseok appeared from behind Jin and walked over to crouch beside the maknae, affectionately ruffling his hair and undoing the work he had done to position the pink material to his satisfaction. “What makes it funny, Kookie?”

Despite his mild annoyance at the disruption, he smiled a toothy grin up at the dancer and pulled at the two sides of the bow so they stood almost vertically from the top of his head. “Just look at it,” he raised his hands to frame them around his latest adjustment to emphasise his words. Hoseok clearly remained unconvinced but returned the grin anyway, straightening up and walking back out of the room to get his make up fixed before the broadcast began, grabbing one of the remaining four headbands from the small box Jimin had placed on a chair by the door on his arrival.

Jin still stood at the door, placing his hands at his hips and eyeing Jungkook suspiciously. “Ya, Jungkook-ah, you never agree with Jimin’s ideas. What’s going on? What are you up to, both of you? Is it a prank? A hidden camera?” With each question he strode further in to the room, and the intonation of his voice rose until it was almost manic. He came to a halt beside Jungkook in front if the mirror and haphazardly dragged the head over his thick black hair and examined his reflection. “It’s ruining my handsome face, ah!” He joked loudly as one side of the band lay heavily over one eye, forcing it shut.

There was a weird energy in the room and Jin was doing his best to remedy it, and as always he was ecstatic to find Jungkook laughing fondly at him. He laughed even harder as Jin removed the band from his head and stepped in to it, one foot at a time, and pulled it up so that it was somehow encircling his waist, and began to dance around the room in an effort to catch Taehyung’s attention with the intention of perhaps making him laugh too. He had been so dejected since their arrival home all those weeks ago and – while the second youngest had seemed much quieter in general that year – it still worried him and the other members, but as the oldest, Jin felt a large amount of responsibility for all of them, especially the three youngest.

Having finished in the make up room, Hoseok returned to the mirror to attempt to display the towelling monstrosity in a vaguely flattering way. He turned to Yoongi, who had been sat silently on the floor the entire time they had been in the dance studio with the bow already perched atop his bleached hair, and huffed out a sigh. “You are okay with this, hyung?”

Yoongi looked up as though noticing there were other people in the room for the first time, lowering his phone in to his lap. “It’s something to do with Taehyung and his girl,” he said nonchalantly, but such was the quiet in the room as Jin had chosen that moment to cease leaping around it, that the sound of his voice travelled across the studio. “Just wear it.” The five other members turned to stare at him in astonishment, and he retrieved his phone from between his crossed legs unperturbed. “What? I thought everyone knew. We’ve been doing such weird stuff these past couple of months.” He shrugged and carried on watching music videos on his phone.

It took a few moments for the members to unfreeze, almost as though when Yoongi has pressed play on his media player it had affected the members too. The three youngest exchanged worried glances and Hoseok continued to stare mutely at his fellow rapper.

The eldest stood dumbly as the cogs whirred around in his mind. The penny dropping was almost audible and if the room had been dark Jin would swear the others would have seen the lightbulb ping on above his head. “Jimin-ah,” he called out accusatorily across the room. “Is that why you asked me to learn to play that song?”

 ~~~

With the wind at your back and the strange sense of closure you felt following your encounter with Mark and Jess at the cafe, your steps felt swifter and a little lighter as you made your way back to the bar with your precious cargo.

You missed Taehyung. There was no denying it. You supposed a part of you would always miss Taehyung and mourn what could have been had circumstances been entirely different on all fronts. Having said that, had the situation been entirely altered, you imagined there would have been absolutely no reason for him to come to your part of the world. Either way it remained wholly pointless to speculate on what could have been, even if it was a perfectly wonderful way of spending your time when it didn’t feel like a million pins pricking at your heart.

If Mark was able to pull himself from his funk and get back out there, then so could you. Not that you had any intention to start trying to date again, but thinking back on the state you last found Mark in three months ago, the improvement was jarring and caused the tiniest spark of optimism in you. Mark had four entire years to move on from, surely getting over three days would be an absolute breeze in comparison...right?

You arrived back at the bar and pushed the door ajar with your shoulder as you cradled the sandwiches. Walking over to the bar, you handed Ronnie the sandwich containing only bacon and took in the strange expression on his face. He looked to be on the verge of laughter but desperately trying to hold it in, his face reddening from the effort.

“Ronnie, what on earth is going on? Is everything alright, you look...” You weren’t sure how you should finish the sentence. In all honesty he looked constipated.

A weird squeak escaped him as he opened his mouth to speak. “Y/N, I know you’ve had a rough few weeks, but...” he clasped his hands together in barely-concealed delight, his face stretched in to a smile so broad it was hurting your cheeks just looking at him. “There’s someone here who might just make you feel a little bit better.”

Your entire body froze, even your heart felt as if it had stopped. It couldn’t be, could it? You stared unblinking at the door Ronnie was gesturing flamboyantly at as though he were a magician at a child’s birthday party, your breathing coming in short, sharp gasps and you felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen reaching your brain.

“Are you ready?” he asked excitedly, his voice booming, though you may as well have been under water given the way his question sounded to your ears.

Your voice was barely a whisper as Ronnie stretched out his hand to wrap it around the doorknob, drawing out the tension unintentionally cruelly and indulgently. “Yes.”

“Ta-da!” he announced and pulled open the door with a flourish.

“Y/N!” Your best friend since practically birth screeched joyfully as she ran towards you with open arms, and you embraced her tightly and gratefully, not fully realising just how much you had missed her smile, her laugh, and – especially at that particular moment in time – her hugs.

“Oh my god, Hannah! I can’t believe it! I am so happy you’re here!” You declared sincerely as you pulled her tighter in to the hug.

You felt completely ashamed at the split-second of disappointment that had swept through you momentarily as you realised it was not Taehyung standing on the other side of the door. It was then that you knew for sure that trying to move on from him was going to be even harder than you had initially thought.

A/N Chapter 19 will be out same time next week! Only 4 more chapters to go! Thank you again for reading you sweethearts xxx

#bts v #bts fanfic #bts #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts fluff #bts kim taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #bts imagines #taehyung scenarios #bts taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung #v x reader #taehyung x reader #bts v fanfic #bts angst #taehyung angst

[theloversofmrsunshine]

Vampire Eugene, pt 2

For the most part, whenever the townsfolk brought Eugene victims, called “brides” for reasons Eugene didn’t fully understand, they tended to bring them young. Mostly between the age of seventeen and twenty, unmarried and untouched. It seems the people of Joseon held his standards in their own narrow views of what a sacrificial lamb should be. However, there were two times when Eugene had proved these standards to be the safest course of action.

Once, they had brought a woman who had just given birth. A woman of lowly status, a butcher, still recovering from labor; probably thrown in for the sake of offering twenty sacrifices. The townsfolk must have thought the numbers were more important than the life of a butcher’s newborn son. Eugene had taken one look at her and instantly known. He had dismissed the rest of the “brides” with an angry snarl, making the girls run. The young butcher had shivered where she knelt, holding her midriff in obvious pain. Eugene had sat down almost amiably in front of her, his chin on his palm.

“Which village is yours?” he had simply asked. When she had pointed out where she had come from, Eugene had merely smiled beatifically. He’d left her and come back barely two hours later, covered in blood and carrying a squalling babe in his left arm. The woman, agape and shaken, had instantly taken her hungry, angry baby in her arms. Eugene had nodded and left her to do as she wished. She had walked home, breastfeeding her baby as she went, only to find the entire village razed to the ground, aflame and drenched in blood. That had been over twenty years ago, and the surrounding villages had never offered another mother to the vampire.

The second incident had been much more harmful, as the village had decided to offer an orphaned thirteen year old girl. It always baffled Eugene how the good people of Joseon would offer its most disenfranchised and wounded for pain and suffering. The rich evaded the hardships using their money, power and influence. Meanwhile, the middle class would readily put those beneath them in the line of fire. It’s a practice Eugene did not understand. For the most part, he ignored it. He was not in Joseon to bring about a revolution, a power struggle or change. He avoided getting involved in the lives of the mortals. He outlived them, for one. He fed on them, as well. It was best to view them as livestock, not equals. Poor, middle class or wealthy, it mattered little to him. What guided his choices was usually simpler. If the scent of her blood was appetizing, he would choose that victim. If they annoyed him, it pleased him to end their lives. That was a standard he lived by, and held his own head high by.

However, it had appalled him that they would offer him a child. Two years ago, they had brought a young girl among the bunch, huddled in fear and mute in her despair. Eugene had Gwansoo send the rest of the women home with a wave of his hand, then he had knelt before the girl, observing her for almost an hour. After such a prolonged silence, and no fangs, the child was understandably confused.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” she had asked, looking forlorn and clearly terrified.

He had stared at her a little bit longer, pondering. He was no stranger to eating children. In fact, he was rather fond of doing so, for the sake of torturing the infant’s parents. Especially if it happened to be someone who had crossed him; and a child’s meat was tender, it delighted him. He never went out of his way to hunt children, though. Eugene enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, the torture of a good, savory kill. Children did not make fun targets, nor did their suffering please him. In addition, they were too small to make a very satisfying meal. Even human hunters avoided killing females with offspring during breeding season for the sake of allowing the species to proliferate in a healthy manner. Eugene considered hunting children (and their mothers) rather counterproductive. As such, Eugene magnanimously decided he would not kill this child.

So, he said instead. “No, child.” He had then stood up and swept back to his throne of bone. The girl had sat, wide-eyed, for a good few minutes of silence.

“But… you always eat the girls you keep,” she said, a little unwisely to Eugene’s mind.

Still, he chose to answer. Her voice was quivering with fear, but something in her dark eyes made him want to answer. It’s a dash of hope, something he had not seen in a human face in more than a century. She may be questioning him, but she’s trusting him. It pleased him to fan her hope, if only to see it bloom.

“Yes, indeed,” he remarked, taking a seat. “But you, I shall not keep. I do not enjoy eating children.”

She stood abruptly, and Eugene wondered if she would run. He hoped not, he wished to see her emotions play out a little more. To his surprise, she surged forward, falling to her knees only feet from his throne. Not even Gwansoo dared to come so close to the vampire. Eugene lounged on his throne, interested.

“Oh,” she said softly, staring at her hands. “Well, do you keep children?”

Confused, Eugene wondered what she was getting at. He cocked his head, keeping his silence. Reading something encouraging on his face, the girl elaborated.

“Sacrifices who come back aren’t treated well in my village. I’m the eldest of five; I was the only source of income for my family. They offered to take care of my siblings if you chose me, and if I go back… they might hurt my family.” She explained, wringing her hands. “I don’t want my family to be stoned or worse. In two years, I’ll be a lady! I f you’re patient, you can eat me then!”

She stared up at the vampire, very clearly serious. In all of his years, no human had ever begged him to take their life. Most of the time, it was the opposite. They would shout they did not want to die, to please be spared. A very rare few would tolerate their impending doom in total, resolute silence. This… was new.

Intrigued despite himself, Eugene leaned down to look the child in the eyes. She flinched, still afraid. She had heard stories of him, and she didn’t doubt all of them were true. The vampire stank of blood and carnage, and being this close to him terrified her to the soul. However, the child kept still, only lowering her gaze in the presence of this predator.

“For your siblings, you would choose to remain here… and die.” He asked, if only to be sure. The girl nodded, and her scent proved her lack of guile.

Eugene grunted, leaning back into his seat. “Very well, you may stay. Tell my translator to come inside, please.”

The girl had shot to her feet, bowing multiple times in gratitude. She turned and fetched Gwansoo, who had been on stand-by just outside the throne room. Confused, but glad to see the child alive, he’d come in.

“You asked for me, Master?” Gwansoo bowed, holding the child behind him. He was among the few humans Eugene was fond of, but the man was ever-vigilant with the vampire. Any misstep could be fatal. He’d spoken English, confusing the girl.

“Accommodate the child on the premises,” Eugene declared in English as well. “And bring her family to me. I will see them taken care of myself.”

Gwansoo had stared at his Master in horror, but done as he had been told. With Eugene “taken care of” could mean all manner of unspeakable things. To the man’s confusion and delight, Eugene had taken one look at the children Gwansoo had brought and simply… adopted them. Sumi, Domi and the rest of their siblings had been living in the palace for the last two years, enjoying the luxuries of good food, constant baths, a fire and a bed. The children all clearly adored the vampire, however odd it was, and the ancient creature didn’t seem to mind them or their noise.

Their village, however, hadn’t been quite so lucky. Eugene didn’t like people who preyed on those beneath them, so he began hunting the villagers. One by one, they would disappear, then turn up as half-eaten corpses. Eugene had gotten particularly creative in the placement and staging of his victims, slowly driving the entire village mad. Until, surely, the humans in the village turned on one another. It had been a disaster, wiping the entire village right off the map in the wanton destruction, murder and savagery that took place.

When Gwansoo had delivered the news to his Master, Eugene had chuckled darkly. He’d gone out that night and come back whistling with bodies piled up on a cart. The vampire then went on a week-long binge, feasting on the flesh of the corpses on the village… then he’d come out with grotesque statues using the different body parts of his victims. He made mismatched scarecrow-like beings, horrifying chimeras and monsters, and even a totem pole of flesh and bone.

He’d decorated the dilapidated village with his sculptures; a warning for all who saw it.

Since that moment, no one offered the vampire a victim younger than seventeen.

#VampireEugene #MrSunshine #EugeneChoi #CaptainEugeneChoi #fanfiction #vampirestory #vampire fiction #sumi #domi #GuDongmae

[iishipallthethings]

The Hunt Chapter 1

Story Summary:  Its been thirteen years since Mabel helped Dipper defeat Bill. And five years since she last step foot in Gravity Falls or even seen her twin brother. Desperate for information and help, Mabel returns to Gravity Falls in hopes of finding her Grunkle Ford but instead, she finds Wendy Corduroy, the new sheriff of the strange town. Why did Mabel leave? What is Wendy hiding?

Chapter Title: Cheers!

Pairing: Wendy x Mabel (slow burn)

Coffee?

The Skull Fracture was the only bar in Gravity Falls. It was advertised as an extreme biker joint and it certainly lived up to that reputation. Mabel parked her motorcycle and headed up to the bouncer guarding the door. He glared down at her and she had to bite her tongue from laughing at his ridiculous “CHIN” and “HEAD” tattoos. She pulled out her ID, well one of them, and handed it over. He glanced at it and jerked his head to the door as he gave it back. “Don’t summon another gnome, kid. I still have the scar from before.” Apparently he remembered her from the time she let loose the gnomes on him when he worked for Gideon. At least he wasn't holding it against her.

Mabel slipped into the bar and surveyed the area. Everything looked pretty much the same from the first time she visited the bar as a child, except there was no Manly Dan destroying the game, Bicepticus. There was however, his daughter waving Mabel over to a table in the back corner. Mabel walked quickly to the older woman, expertly dodging a pair of fighting patrons.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Wendy said with a smile. She was already nursing a bottle and pushed over one that was opened but untouched. Wendy watched Mabel take a gulp, mildly surprised that the older Pines twin could without making a face. “Did anything interesting happen once I left the Mystery Shack?” Wendy asked, sipping her own beer. She had been in Skull Fracture for well over an hour now and she was glad she had the bartender clear away the three previous beers.

“Nah but Soos and I talked a bit more.” Mabel noticed how Wendy’s eyes were slightly more closed than usual and how the older woman had an ever pleasant smile on her face. She wondered how many beers Wendy already had. “He told me about you joining the police force and quickly rising through the ranks because,” she looked around to make sure there were no outsiders present at the bar. Finding none, she continued, “of your involvement with the magical creatures of Gravity Falls.”

Wendy showed her confusion and tightened her grip on her bottle on instinct. Realization dawned on her face and she loosened the bottle to wave away Mabel’s words. “Oh that? It’s not a big deal, really.” Wendy took a gulp from her bottle and frowned when only a little came out. She sighed and pushed the empty bottle away. “After all the weird stuff was exposed during Weirdmageddon, the magical folk didn’t want to stay in the forests anymore. I guess they figured if people already knew about them, then why not venture out?” Wendy rested an elbow on the table and then her chin in her palm so her vision of Mabel wouldn’t sway so much. “We obviously couldn’t let them roam free with all those tourists coming and going so we, or rather I, came up with a deal when I got onto the police force.” She turned her head so she was looking at the bar’s counter. “Hey! I want some sex on a beach!” Several of the bar’s attendees hooted at the words and Wendy rolled her eyes. It took Mabel a few moments and a blush later to realize the older woman was ordering the drink and not making a sexual request. Wendy looked back at Mabel, “Three, two, one.”

Just as she hit one, the doors leading into the kitchen slammed open and a Manotaur came walking out. He had to hold the drink up high and sidewalk through the little opening in the counter. The bar’s patrons didn’t react to the half-man, half-taur moving about, humming some tune. He set the drink down in front of Wendy. “Here you go, sheriff. It’s on the house, along with your other drinks.”

“Thank you, Chutzpar.” Wendy winked at Mabel and pointed to the charm hanging from the Manotaur’s neck. “See that?” Without asking permission, she reached over and grabbed the charm. Chutzpar didn’t seem to mind, he even leaned closer so the two women could better see the little trinket. It was made from ancient oak dyed red and carved into an eight-pointed star. “This is the alchemical symbol of life. Inside it, there is a small vial of the wearer’s blood. To anyone who doesn’t know Chutzpar’s a Manotaur, he would appear as an average, unremarkable human being.”

Chutzpar stood up straight and Wendy let go of the charm. He slammed a closed fist into his chest, careful not to crush his charm. “Even if I did look human, I look like the manliest man there is!” he declared. Wendy rolled her eyes again and grabbed her drink. Before she could take even a sip of it, Chutzpar laid a hand on her arm, covering it entirely. “Wait, I forgot the most important part!” He reached into the pocket of the apron he had tied around his waist. Chutzpar opened up a bright pink tiny umbrella and carefully set it into the drink. “There! Perfect!”  He turned around and headed back to the kitchen, taking orders from the other customers as he walked past.

“I got to hand it to him, he makes a killer sex on a beach,” Wendy said, plucking out the umbrella and holding it out to Mabel. The older Pines twin however just stood there with her mouth agape. Wendy frowned and poked her forehead. “Uh, you still there Mabel?”

Mabel came back to earth and shook her head, her eyes glued to the closed kitchen door. “Wha?”

Wendy chuckled and grabbed Mabel’s hand, turning it over and opening it. She placed the umbrella into her palm and settled back to her seat. “Cool, right? Gideon made them after a bus of tourists got flashed by something called the Hide Behind near the Mystery Shack. A kid got really freaked and started screaming it's the Slenderman or something, I don’t know. Either way, we had to erase their memories and Gideon made all of the magical creatures their own charm.” The sheriff shrugged like the entire incident wasn’t a big deal.

“Gideon!?” Mabel choked on her beer and Wendy gave her a few slaps on the back. The sheriff was a lot stronger than she looked, it felt as if she was being punched by Manly Dan. Mabel shook her head at another slap and caught her breath. “He made them?”

“Well yeah. I mean Mr. Ford helped but Gideon did all the carvings.” Wendy drank from her glass and looked down at it with a grimace. “Why did I even order this?” She looked at Mabel and a sly grin spread across her cheeks. She nodded to the beer Mabel was holding. “I’ll trade ya. I know how much you like girly things and this isn’t nearly as strong as those beers, I swear.”

Mabel cocked an eyebrow. “What, you think I can’t drink?” Wendy nodded, her smile becoming cocky mixed with a little mockery. Mabel looked over to the bar and slapped a hand against the table. “One mongolian motherfucker, please!”

“Whoah, Mabel wait,” Wendy immediately began protesting. “Don’t you know what’s in those?” She knew she might have been teasing the younger woman too much by suggesting she couldn’t drink but this was definitely not the right response. Mabel was going to end up even drunker than her if she gets that drink. And Mabel was supposed to be her ride home!

Mabel simply smirked at Wendy and tapped her fingertips on the wood. “Take back what you said about me not being able to drink and I’ll cancel it.”

Wendy didn’t even take the time to consider the proposition. “You can drink, okay! I mean, man can you drink. You finished that beer in like what, twenty minutes?” Mabel’s eyes narrowed and Wendy scrambled to say something else. “Not that that means you can’t hold your liquor! You just wanted to savor the taste, I get that more than anyone!”

But it was too late. Chutzpar had come out of the kitchen, looking as dubious as Wendy felt. He placed the drink in front of Mabel and cleared his throat. “Before you drink that, I’m going to have to ask for your keys.” Mabel handed them over without any complaint. He stuffed them in his pocket and walked back to the kitchen, telling people their food would be ready soon enough.

“Any last words?” Mabel asked, lifting the drink.

“Please don’t,” Wendy pleaded, doing her very best puppy dog face.

To her credit, Mabel hesitated for a moment but it ended with a smirk as she took a huge gulp from the glass. Wendy watched in stunned disbelief as Mabel gave a sound of appreciation and set the glass down, not grimacing or gagging as the fiery mixture went down her throat. “Not bad,” she praised.

Wendy blinked a few times, trying to connect this new Mabel to the one she first met thirteen years ago. “What’s gotten into you?”

Mabel shrugged and took a swig from her drink, much less this time Wendy noticed but still too much in her opinion. “When you go out and travel the world, you learn how to drink.”

The words seemed to have stolen some of the drunken happy atmosphere that was being created around the two. Wendy sheltered her meager sex on a beach in both of her hands, staring down at the fruity mixture. “It was really unexpected you know.” Wendy glanced away at where two men were singing a song about a woman stealing their heart and money at the top of their lungs at the bar. “It was like you were here and then poof! You left us.” She lifted her eyes to look at Mabel’s and the younger woman had no idea she could cause this much pain with her absence. “Can you at least tell me why?”

“I- uh,” Mabel bought herself some precious time by taking a long sip from her drink. Now the bubblegum flavor tasted like motor oil. “I wanted to go off on my own for a bit,” she said lamely. She wasn’t sure if she could tell Wendy the truth. The sheriff would have worried over her too much.

Wendy frowned at Mabel, seeing through the lie easily. “Without Dipper?” she pressed. “He’s your twin, you two went to literal hell and back. You defeated Bill together!” The way Mabel’s grip tightened on her drink made Wendy’s eyes soften with regret. “I’m sorry, I should have figured that it was a sore spot.” It was for her too in truth, after everything settled, it took months for her not to wake up screaming and sobbing and even longer for the nightmares to stop plaguing her on a regular basis. Mabel must have gotten a lot worse from that monster.

Mabel held up a hand of truce. “It’s okay. I shouldn't be like this now, it’s been more than a decade since that Bill fiasco.” She looked around her at the laughing and occasional fighting. “I should have moved on by now.” Mabel was jolted by the hard slap Wendy gave the table.

Wendy jabbed a finger at Mabel’s face. “That’s it. No more sad times.” She looked at the door where Chutzpar’s head was poking out. “Two rounds of tequila and keep them coming!”

The Manotaur disappeared for a quick second and came back, balancing a tray of fresh food and the two women’s liquor. With expert ease, he handed the food to the respective customers before standing in front of the two. He set two shots of tequila in front of Mabel and two more for Wendy. He held the tray under his arm and held out his hand. “Keys,” he said. Wendy placed her own into his palm and he walked back to the kitchen. “I’ll tell your friend to take over your shift.”

“You’re still on work!?” Mabel exclaimed.

The sheriff laughed and pointed an accusing finger at Mabel. “What did I say about not having more sad times?” She took her first shot and raised it in a salute. “Besides, nothing serious happens around here anymore. It’s totally fine if I get a little tipsy.”

Mabel wasn’t sure if she agreed with that logic but her hand already found its way to the shot. She saluted Wendy and they downed the drinks, foregoing the lemon and salt altogether.

The rest of the time at Skull Fracture was a blur. One shot turned into two, then three, then Mabel couldn't count anymore. All she knew was that Chutzpar cut them off sometime later and when Wendy threatened to arrest him for not letting her to continue to drink, he called a cab. Mabel didn’t like how calm the Manotaur was about dealing with a drunk Wendy. She did like however how Wendy slurred the words to the song she claimed to despise when they were younger. She especially liked how Wendy tried to grab her leg to chew at her uniform pants when she belched out the “Eat your pants” part. Now Mabel was staring up at a ceiling on some couch. It was so comfy and the pillows had cute robins sewn on them. She traced one and imagined it spread its wings so she would have more to touch. “So soft,” she murmured. A loud and rather carefree bout of laughter brought Mabel’s attention down to the floor. Wendy laid on her back, looking up at the older Pines twin. “Hey you,” Mabel called out, swinging down an arm to touch Wendy’s face.

The sheriff just laughed harder and batted the hand away. “You’ve changed a lot but you’re still a dork.” She reached up to pat at Mabel’s arm. “What do you do on your travels?” Wendy giggled at her choice of words.

“Stuff,” Mabel answered, rolling so she laid on her stomach to better see Wendy. She was half on the couch and half off but she couldn’t find herself to care.

“What kind of stuff?”

Mabel chewed her bottom lip and figured what the hell. “Hunting.” She saw Wendy’s eyes narrow in confusion. Mabel could have hunted in Gravity Falls. The younger woman laughed and slapped at Wendy’s arm. “Not like that! I mean I’ve been hunting bad things.” She knew it was dangerous to tell her friend of her adventures but it was like a floodgate was opened. She couldn't close her mouth, even as understanding and horror spread on Wendy’s features. “I’ve actually met a couple of hunters like me. They’re really nice, except for Jake. Jake’s a dick.” Mabel giggled and slapped a hand on her forehead, but missed and ended up hitting herself right in the middle of her face. She winced but shrugged off the sting. “Wait, that’s mean. But it’s true.”

Wendy sat up and rested a hand on Mabel’s arm, staring into the woman’s eyes. “You’re killing magical creatures?” she whispered like speaking too loud would alert said creatures of Mabel’s deeds.

Mabel didn’t like the look Wendy was giving her and it twisted her insides to see a tiny bit of fear in her eyes. She should be smiling. Wendy said it herself. No more sad times, damnit! “I’m only putting down the evil kind. The ones like Bill and his asshole buddies.”

“Oh,” was all Wendy could say to that. She licked her lips, suddenly parched. “Are you being safe?”

“As safe as I can be.” Which meant not safe at all but Wendy didn’t need to know that. She worried enough as it was in Mabel’s mind. She patted Wendy’s head as if she was a dog and giggled at the responding grimace and drunken glare. “I’ve already escaped death once or twice even before meeting Bill. I got this,” she said confidently. Her head fell back to the couch. She didn’t realize how comfortable it was until now. It was so soft and comfy. “Night night,” she yawned.

Wendy opened her mouth to continue the conversation but a light snore came out of Mabel. She had completely passed out on her. The sheriff released a shaky breath and moved a strand of hair out of Mabel’s mouth. She got up on trembling legs and made her way to her bedroom. Wendy collapsed on her bed and held the penguin, panda thing that Dipper had won her all those years ago close to her chest. The way Mabel talked about ‘hunting’ made Wendy’s blood freeze in her veins. There was something in her eye. If Wendy’s mind wasn't so obscured by so much liquor she would have recognized it as pride. As bloodlust.

#the hunt #wendyxmabel #wendy x mabel #mabel pines #wendy corduroy #gravity falls #chutzpar #wenbel