#my friends brought me FOUR more parrots last night- three of them were blue like edgare and one was green- i love my birds so much 🥺🥺 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

s-creations · 3 years

Text

This Lullaby

He knew it was going to be a struggle. They all knew it was going to be a struggle. But raising Della's children, for some reason, makes Donald feel worse than before. And he wasn't sure how to make that feeling go away.

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: Original Character, Depression, Loss, Loss of Family.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Hey everybody! Just like the previous entry to this, I have tagged depression on this installment as well. I think it's a bit more pronounced that in the previous story. So, just be warned, it's there.

And someday I'll make a happy story with these six. Someday...but not today.

If Della was there, Donald would want her to explain why she thought Jet, Turbo, and Rebel were good names to give children. I mean, really? Those were names you use for imaginary friends. This was a setup for the triplets to be bullied later in their lives. Seriously, what was she thinking?

But...Della wasn’t there. So, he had to just silently stew. Wondering what her thought process had been.

More than just her naming choices.

Donald named the older triplet Hubert, or Huey, after a captain the older duck has served under. A tough but fair bulldog. Built like a wall and able to punch with the strength of a bulldozer. Or, that’s what the stories swapped between the cadets said. But the bulldog was more of a talker. Wanting to smooth things over any confrontations with words before the fists had to come out. A philosophy that Donald had hoped the older triplet would follow.

Dewford, or Dewey, was given his name by Panchito. The rooster recalled his favorite childhood storybook that he’d read multiple times when the family became too loud. One that told of an adventurer who saves the world on a regular basis. The main character was brave, putting the needs of others before his own and making sure the innocent were kept safe. While it hit a little close to home for Donald, the duck couldn’t help but admit that the name seemed to fit the duckling perfectly.

José had taken a while in naming the youngest. A few days passed before he gave his choice to the other two. Llewellyn, or Louie, named after the parrot’s late grandfather. Shocking both the duck and rooster by the reveal as they’d never heard of this parrot before. José was known to not get along well with his family. He explains, while cradling the green bundled form closer, that his grandfather was the only person José had connected with. The elder parrot had passed when José was only four. Far too soon.

The other two pressed closer after the reveal. Saying that Louie was a perfect name. A wonderful way to remember a good soul.

It was hard getting into a new routine. When the triplets were still eggs, all that was needed was to keep them warm and keep them on a stable surface. Now it was about keeping the triplets entertained. Fed. Cleaned. Making sure they get enough sleep. Deciding if pre-school was a better place to start schooling then kindergarten. When would be the best time for them to start socializing?

“Why is it so hard to find a three seated stroller that can break apart into separate single ones? Do I really have to design my own?” Donald grumbled as he scrolled through the shopping page.

Panchito looked over from his spot on the couch with a raised brow. “Why would we need that? We can just take them on a walk together, all in single strollers.”

“What if José’s not here.”

“Um, a duo stroller with a single one?”

“What if you’re both not home and I need to get out of the house with the kids?”

“...We’ll keep looking.”

The duck couldn’t say this enough times about how thankful he was that Panchito and José were there to help. Trying to balance all of this and worry about keeping a stable job? He would have started molting long before the eggs had hatched.

How would Della have handled this?

While the other two took care of finances, Donald focused his energy and attention on the home front. Even then, caring for the house and the triplets was a...struggle. He wasn’t sure how to raise kids. His own childhood was filled with being dropped off at a new family member’s house every other weekend. Or on dangerous adventures in which he should have and almost did die. Only surviving on sheer dumb luck.

Luck, from him, could you imagine?

Della’s luck didn’t last forever.

The triplets were exploratory the moment they learned how to crawl. If Donald had his back turned for even a second, they would scatter. Thankfully, due to the older duck’s prep work, they couldn’t get into the many places. But that didn’t mean the triplets couldn’t find new areas to help give their uncle a heart attack. Like when Dewey somehow found his way onto the top of the refrigerator.

How? How was that even possible? Donald was feeling absolutely exhausted…

“Do you need me to take some time off? I am sure I can convince my company to give me a few days home to help with the boys and let you sleep.” José offered.

“No no. I’m sure they're still upset since you left so suddenly before, then decided to change location, and then ask for more time off only a few months later? No, you don’t need to worry about that. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I could ask for time off.” Panchito voiced.

“You just started working. Guy, I’m serious when I say I’m fine. The triplets are just a bit of a handful. I got this.”

It wasn’t a necessary lie. But it wasn’t fully true either. Just like when the other two asked if he was okay when they first arrived. Donald knew he was in an unstable state at this moment. He was emotionally and mentally exhausted. Everyday it was an internal battle of wanting his family back and never wanting to experience that kind of pain again. He was still angry with Scrooge and Gyro with how they handled the entire situation. Still hurt that Gladstone was so indifferent or angry without truly being involved. Donald would have reached out to Fethry, but he knew how much of a blabbermouth his cousin was. And he didn’t want Scrooge to know anything about his life.

What was most painful was how torn he was feeling about Della. Donald was furious that she just left. That she would just abandon her eggs, and so easily too. For Donald, it was a declaration that she didn’t want to be responsible. It was just something she wanted someone else to take care of them. How was he supposed to explain this to the triplets when they started asking what happened to their mother?

The turmoil that Donald felt was the idea that...could he really be mad at her? She was gone. Her choice was paid with the ultimate price. So could he hold a grudge with someone who wasn’t there? Who was never going to be there. He wanted to. But he knew it would just drive him further into an unkempt state. Holding a grudge against someone he would never see again. There would be anger burning in him that would never be able to be released.

As if Donald didn’t have enough issues with his anger.

Donald was brought out of his thoughts hearing gentle coos. Eyes traveling over to the standing playpen. The triplets were starting to try and stand. Dewey showed off his skills as he clung to the pen’s wall netting. His brother’s were more interested in the surrounding toys. But the blue dressed triplet was focused on his fractured uncle.

Letting out a small sigh, Donald lifted Dewey up, sitting down by the playpen.

“You should be with your mother… She should be here, raising you three… All of this...it’s all so unfair…” He pulled Dewey closer, cradling the small head with his hand and it was pressed against his chest.

Donald was tired. He was scared. He didn’t know what he was doing. He wondered why Panchito and José would stick around. They were supposed to be living their life in vibrant cities that matched their personalities. Not stuck here. Dealing with the absolute mess that was Donald and his life and his famiy. It was a battle between knowing he needed the help and not wanting to be a burden.

A small pat to his chest brought attention back to the triplet laying on his chest. Dewey letting out a small whimper. As if he was aware of how upset his uncle was.

Donald gave a gentle smile to the duckling. He cautiously stood, collecting the other two, and laid them out on the blanket that had been placed on the floor. Donald laid himself down on his stomach. Laughing softly as the triplets began crawling closer. Babbling as they clung to feathers and attempted to climb onto their uncle.

A misstep from Huey caused him to take a tumble, landing on his back. Small sobs bubbling up as his legs kicked desperately. In response, Donald reached out, cradling the red cladded triplet’s head in his hand while the other rested on the stomach. Huey turned to face his uncle. Unshed tears at the corners of his eyes were gently wiped away.

“Look to the stars my darling baby boys…”

Huey’s eyes lit up, falling completely still as he focused on Donald. Dewey and Louie rolled off their uncle. Instead propping themselves up on Donald’s arms, starting at him as well. Their eyes wide with curiosity.

Now that he had full attention by his audience, Donald started again.

Look to the stars my darling baby boys,

Life is strange and vast,

Filled with wondrous and joys,

Face each new sun with eyes clear and true,

Unafraid of the unknown,

Because I’ll face it all with you.

He was crying before he finished. No sobbing or cracking voice, just tears. The triplets had calmed down and were starting to drift off. Unaware of their uncle finally reaching his breaking point. Donald didn’t flinch when José and Panchito suddenly appeared. Each laying on either side of the duck, whose eyes were still trained on the triplets.

“I don’t think I know that song.” Panchito whispered.

“Della wrote it,” Donald replied, “She’d sing it to them every night… When they were still eggs and she was...you know...still here.”

“It was beautiful. We shall need to sing it more.” José suggested, pressing closer.

Donald didn’t reply right away. Focusing on the warmth seeping in from the bodies pressed against him. “I think there’s something wrong with me. I’m...angry. Not just angry, I can’t focus. I don’t know what I’m really angry about. I think. I just know that I am. I’m so...exhausted.”

The parrot hummed. Reaching up to preen at the exposed white feathers. “I think...you have had a lot of things being thrown at you. Very quickly. Without a way to fully...understand how to deal with it. Like me.”

“Like you?”

“Very much like me. I believe it would benefit you if you saw someone. It has helped me.”

“...When have you started seeing a therapist?”

“A few years now. Panchito convinced me to do so.”

“I can try and convince you as well.” The rooster added with a smile.

Donald gave a soft laugh. “No...I’ll go… I think I need to go. I know I need it… I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. We understand, we are just here to help.” José whispered, Panchito nodded softly as he laid his head on the duck’s shoulder.

Donald let out a shaky breath, eyes closing as he sank into the warmth surrounding him.

“It will be okay. We are here for you and it will be okay…”

_____________________

Donald let out a slow breath, scrunching himself further down into the cushioned chair. The triplets were babbling happily resting in their three seated stroller. All being entertained by Panchito while José focused on the older duck. The waiting room for the therapy office was small, with only a few cushioned chairs, a fake plant pushed into the corner, with a magazine rack hanging on the wall. The reception desk was situated across from the entrance with a large window resting across from where the six of them were resting.

Donald was realizing how cold this office was.

“You will be fine. Dr. Bessing is amazing. I have only been with her for a few months, but I trust her.” José said as he took Donald’s hand gently.

“What if I don’t like her?” The duck questioned quietly.

“Then we find someone else. And we will keep doing this until we find someone you do trust. It will be fine,” José smiled softly, “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then trust me when I say you will be cared for.”

Whatever bravado Donald had started to build was instantly broken when the nearby door opened. A robin with short brown hair and casually dressed entered, carrying a clipboard. She smiled over at the six of them. Giving a small coo seeing the triplets before her full attention went to Donald. “Mr. Donald Duck?”

José gave a gentle nudge, giving an encouraging smile as Donald slowly stood. He was led to where the back offices were. Entering one of the rather small rooms, the large window showing the garden behind the building being the first thing Donald noticed. It was sunny outside, the light hitting the garden path perfection. It looked like it came from a photograph.

The office itself was small, but rather cozy. Warm and inviting. Even with the numerous medical items seen around the room. A desk was pushed against the wall that was across from the window, framed with paperwork and books, a closed laptop resting in the center, and a leather, armed chair placed before it. Numerous diplomas were hanging on the wall above said desk. A cushioned chair was facing the desk, with a small end table nearby that was covered with numerous children’s toys. A large bookshelf was placed by the window and was filled with a number of thick volumes. Donald couldn’t really read all the titles. But from what he’d been able to see, they all held something about psychology.

“Go ahead and take a seat.” Dr. Bessing smiled as she took the seat by the desk. Donald let out a shaky sigh as he did as was suggested. “So, how are you feeling today? I know therapy can be a little overwhelming for the first time.”

“Um...yeah, I am a little nervous.”

“Completely understandable. You’re not used to opening up to complete strangers and now you're suddenly supposed to change your whole outlook? In one hour? It’s a weird feeling. But I am here to assure you that you have nothing to worry about. This is a safe space and nothing will be shared with anyone unless it’s on your say so.”

“Okay… Um, did José tell you...anything? I-I know you’re seeing him. Am I allowed to know that? I’m not breaking any rules am I?”

“No, you’re all good. José is allowed to share who he sees and what we talk about if he wants. The clients are in control as to what’s shared with other members of the family and friends. As far as him telling me anything, he just informed me you’re having a bit of a family issue. Nothing more. I want you to tell me what’s happening in your life. Even if he’s your husband, he can’t speak for your experiences directly. And, I will say this again, nothing leaves this room unless you want to share it. Either here or at home. It’s about making you feel safe.”

“Okay… I… Where do I...how do I start this?”

“Why don’t you just start with what brought you in today. What has happened currently that would make you feel that you need to see someone.”

Donald nodded, rubbing his hands together. “...Sorry, I really don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“That’s fine. First session is an open book, you just talk with whatever comes to mind, and it sounds like there’s a lot to tell. Just take a few minutes, try and get everything in order, and start when you feel ready.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Donald allowed himself a few minutes. Eyes traveling to the garden as he tried to find the right words to start with. A small smile formed seeing numerous daffodils growing proudly among the green.

Della’s favorite flower...

He gave another nod and started.

#Donald Duck #Jose Carioca #Panchito Pistoles #jose carioca/donald duck/panchito pistoles #The Three Caballeros #the three gay caballeros #s-creations

35 notes · View notes

takingcourage · 4 years

Text

Miscalculations: A Witness AU

Chapter Three

Catch up here: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two

Pairing: M!Cassian x MC

Word Count: 2,250

Series Summary: After years apart, fate brings Kellen and Cassian together a third time. Can they learn from the mistakes of the past, or are they destined to repeat them once more?

Note: Unlike previous installments, this chapter is from Kellen’s point of view. We’ll catch up with Cassian again in Chapter Four, which I plan to release on Wednesday!

Kellen navigated the streets with ease, her small purse tucked under her arm. As she bypassed the milling crowds, the heels of her boots clicked purposefully against the concrete. On any other morning, she might have been content to run her weekly errands or stop to pick up takeout, but today all she wanted was to make it back to her apartment as quickly as possible.

Out of instinct, her free hand slipped into her jacket pocket to cradle the keychain of pepper spray. Though she’d never had to use it, she had been grateful for the slender canister more times than she could count. Just because Boston was home didn’t mean it was safe.

She’d learned a lot with Cassian that summer. She’d learned even more since.

A chill escalated her spine as she paused at the crosswalk. The thoughts rarely plagued her waking hours, but she still had infrequent nightmares about bloody sidewalks and gleaming knives. Between the murder she’d witnessed and the restraining order she’d had to place while pregnant with Owen, she’d grown substantially more cautious.

If the last several years had taught her anything, it was just how much of life lay outside her control.

With a sigh, she hurried to cross the street, then entered through the front door of her building. As she waited for the elevator, she ran her thumb over the ring of the keychain.

How could Cassian remain unchanged when her entire world had been turned on its head?

He was the same man she’d known before: Genuine. Caring. Much too attractive for comfort. Those vibrant eyes still stared back at her as though she was the most priceless thing in his world. Or, at least, they had until she’d brought up the news about Owen.

Her throat constricted at the reminder of the pain that had been evident in his features. She hadn’t kept their son from him on purpose, but she couldn’t quite erase the sense of guilt that had come over her.

How had everything gone so wrong three years ago? She had been so determined not to let their relationship get out of hand, and yet, theirs had been the most painful separation she’d ever gone through. From what she’d heard today, it didn’t seem that Cassian had fared much better.

Approaching her own door, she left her jumbled thoughts in the hall behind her and withdrew the key from her purse. A smile lit her features at the reminder of what waited on the other side.

“Welcome back!” Harika greeted with a little too much enthusiasm. Her best friend was seated on the couch, keeping careful watch over the toddler playing on the living room rug.

“Hey,” she returned, tossing her keys into a bowl on the kitchen counter. By the time she’d removed her jacket, she felt a small hand prodding the side of her thigh.

“How’s it going, big guy?” she asked, brightening even further to find her son’s smiling face turned up toward hers. “Did you have a good morning?”

Owen took her hand by way of response, leading her back to the rug. Kellen’s initial pleasure at the interaction was mildly dampened by the realization that the child was much more excited for her to see his tower of blocks than he was to see her.

Two was such a fickle age.

Nonetheless, she knelt beside him and studied the architectural marvel he’d constructed. When his work had been sufficiently praised, she turned to address the woman on the couch. “Thanks again, Harika. I owe you a bottle of something very expensive.”

“I won’t let you forget. For now, I just want to hear about your date!”

Kellen rolled her eyes skyward and resisted the urge to respond to her friend with one specific finger. “It wasn’t a date. And it was about as surreal as you’d imagine.”

“Do you think anything will come of it?”

“I’ve got no idea. We’re meeting at the park tomorrow so he can meet Owen. I guess we’ll see where things go from there.”

The other woman humphed. “He’s a good guy, Kellen. And you should have seen the way he talked the other night -- he’s crazy about you. Doesn’t hurt that he’s in the running for sexiest man alive.”

“Harika!” she whispered, hands covering her young son’s ears. He batted his fingers in protest, but she held firm. “Trust me, I know that more than anyone. But this can’t just be about sex anymore.” She pulled her hands back to her lap and rocked onto her heels, surveying Owen’s tower. “There’s a lot more at stake.”

Lowering to the floor next to him, she absently began assembling her own edifice of yellow blocks from the pile. For a couple of minutes, the boy was content to continue building beside her, but she caught the exact moment that a spark of mischief entered his bright green eyes.

“Owen…” she cautioned playfully, pitch wavering as he extended a hand toward her tower. “Don’t knock over my blocks.”

Still reaching for her blocks, he stifled giggles with his other hand as though her admonition had been some grand joke Kellen couldn’t understand. At her shocked expression, he yanked the hand back to his side before being seized with another fit of laughter. Kellen couldn’t help echoing his laughter as it continued.

They followed the same pattern a half-dozen times, but the amusement never grew old. Finally, she reached over and tapped his blocks with a single finger. When she removed the hand without causing any damage, he smacked it over himself, shrieking with delight as the top half of the tower collapsed.

“Ugh. You guys are too cute. I’ve gotta get out of here before I get a cavity.”

Kellen smirked at the hollow complaint. There was a reason her coworker was on the very short list of people she trusted with her son. “We know you love us, Harika.”

“Heeka!” Owen attempted, knocking the rest of the structure into a pile. “Heeka, Heeka!”

“Auntie Heeka needs to head home now, but I’ll see you again soon. Can I get a hug before I go?”

Owen complied, earning himself an affectionate hair rumple from his babysitter.

“Be good, Owen,” she encouraged as she gathered her jacket and purse. “And Kellen?”

She cocked a skeptical brow.

“Please be naughty, for my sake.”

Kellen released a breath through parted teeth, shaking her head at the ridiculous suggestion. “Bye, Harika.”

“Bye!” she chirped before heading out the front door with a wave.

“Bye! Bye, bye, bye,” Owen parroted back, scooping the fallen blocks across the floor in wide armfuls.

He was such a happy kid. Kellen didn’t have a lot of experience, but he was a lot more content than she remembered children being at her parents’ endless social gatherings. If nothing else, she was doing everything in her power to ensure that his childhood was happier than her own.

Maybe that means having his father in his life she mused, unable to keep herself from brushing a particularly long curl out of his eyes. He was in desperate need of his first haircut, but she'd been dragging her heels about scheduling the appointment.

Cassian would have been such a good dad. If either of them was naturally suited to be a parent, he was by far the more likely choice. She’d had similar thoughts many times before, especially in Owen’s infancy when she’d still felt completely unqualified to have a child. Those fears of inadequacy had nagged her intermittently for the first year of her son’s life. It wasn’t until he’d started walking and showing more autonomy that she’d realized she wasn’t failing him. He was his own delightful, goofy self, and all she had to do was be there to support him.

She was trying not to see Cassian’s return as a threat to what she’d built with Owen over the past two years. Her gut told her that she could trust him not to do anything that would hurt her son, but it was impossible to know for certain. After all, she’d trusted him not to leave her too.

“Mama!”

An insistent hand slapped her knee repeatedly until she lifted her eyes from the floor and gave her attention to his latest creation.

The tower was a patternless combination of blue, green, and red, standing more than half the toddler’s height. As he beckoned her to watch, she felt her heart catch in her chest. Would having Cassian back change what she had with her son?

How could it not? She whispered, pulse racing as she watched Owen demolish the tower a second time. Owen’s going to love him. I can’t let him get attached like that until I know he’s here to stay.

Her hand was on her back pocket before she even realized she’d moved. Feeling the firm shell of her phone case beneath the denim, she hesitated. She couldn’t cancel on him. That wasn’t fair.

Cassian deserved to know his son.

And Owen deserved to know his father, even if he was too young to understand his significance.

She tapped a nail against the hard plastic, fighting with the question one final time before pulling her hand away.

As soon as Owen was down for his nap, she made her way to the home office set up along one wall of her living room. It was considerably less space than she’d had prior to her move, but still the best place she had to get work done. Here, with the natural light at her side and the span of industrial brick before her, numbers and logic were as natural as breathing.

Usually.

As her fingers flew over the keys, she did her best to put all thoughts of Cassian on the back burner. There could be no daydreams of his alluring eyes. No reminders of the electric shock that had passed between them when he’d touched her knee. No longing for his ability to make her feel more safe and valued than she had ever felt before...

“Damn it,” she breathed as she realized how far her mind had wandered. “Why did he have to come back now?”

Going to the kitchen for something to drink, she allowed herself a moment to mull through her thoughts of him.

Cassian was the closest she’d come to a relationship since grad school. He was certainly the closest thing she’d had in the last three years, when work and taking care of Owen had left little time for anything else. After a history of problematic men and impulsive choices, he was also the closest she’d had to someone who was good for her.

Or he had been before he’d left.

But in spite of his disappearance, she'd never been able to abandon thoughts of him completely. Her sleepy brain had bewitched her into imagining his arms around her more nights than she could count, and it had been impossible not to compare all of Harika’s ill-fated setups to the near perfection she’d had during that summer. If only she’d appreciated him more while she had him.

Kellen took a long drink of seltzer water, grateful for the burning sensation that the liquid left behind. She needed her senses to be taken up with something that wasn’t Cassian. To aid further, she skimmed through notifications on her phone. She’d deleted most of her social media accounts when she’d changed her number, but there were still emails from work and a pair of nonsense texts from Harika.

Quickly replying to a couple of them, she forced herself back into the chair to continue her work. Engrossed in her task for the next hour, it was a welcome distraction when she heard movement from Owen’s bedroom. Even without his quiet cries, the footsteps progressing toward her would have been enough to alert her that he’d woken up.

Her son was at her side less than a minute later, clutching his blanket with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. “Mama,” he called with a voice that was still pitifully broken from sleep.

“Sit with me, sweet boy.” Careful to avoid his toes, Kellen pushed away from the desk and helped Owen climb into her lap. He nestled close, still hot and sweaty from his nap. She kissed his disheveled curls as the sniffling subsided.

Shutting the lid on her laptop, she cast a thoughtful eye over the child in her arms. She took in every detail, from the fingers that held tightly to the collar of her shirt to the long, dark eyelashes that still glistened with the remnant of his tears. Soon, he would be fully awake and craving his independence. The reminder made her pull him just a little bit tighter to her chest.

When Kellen looked back on the last two years, moments like these were the ones she remembered most. They were the ones she was most afraid to lose in the future.

And as much as she had trusted Cassian in the past and wanted to believe in his pure intentions, a sliver of doubt crept in whenever she thought of tomorrow’s meeting. Even if everything went smoothly and all of her fears were in vain, one undeniable truth remained:

Their world had just become much more complicated.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #witness: a bodyguard romance #cassian keane #cassian x mc

26 notes · View notes

auberginesdonthavelimbs · 5 years

Text

Phanniemay Day 15: Alternate Ending

Word count: 3595

“The ghost boy is Jack’s son?” Vlad was taken aback by the revelation, though, he had to admit, he wasn’t particularly surprised that Jack’s idiocy had claimed a second victim. He turned human and smiled in a way that an onlooker might reasonably describe as sinister. “Well, whadaya know?”

Vlad knelt next to Daniel’s unconscious form and carefully lifted him. He was initially worried about waking him, but he seemed to be completely out cold. Vlad felt briefly guilty, but he banished the feeling as quickly as it had come. He couldn’t possibly have known who he was attacking, and, of course, he had no plans to hurt him any further. No, his plans for Daniel were far grander.

As Vlad walked back to the guest bedroom Daniel was sleeping in, he smiled again, the same sinister expression but tinged with a genuine warmth that was unusual for him. No matter their differences, and it was clear already that there were many, Daniel was like him in a way that no one else was, and that, indeed, he hadn’t been certain anyone else could be. Both hurt by the same man, both granted the same powers. It had taken Vlad no time at all to perceive the potential for an alliance. And Daniel was but a child; he needed someone in his life to guide him. He had Maddie already, of course, but she could only help him so much when the challenges he faced were so unique. Vlad would be in a much better position to train him with the use of his ghost powers - training that he sorely needed, as evidenced by his utter devastation in their earlier fight. And, he was sure, Daniel wouldn’t turn down the many benefits that his wealth offered.

Vlad phased through the door of the guest bedroom and walked over to the bed. He could feel that Daniel was starting to stir, so he quickly tucked him under the blanket. As he did so, images sprang unbidden into his mind. He saw himself tucking Daniel in night after night, reading him stories, teaching him how to ride a bike - stereotypical images of fatherhood that were based far more on tv shows he once watched than anything in his own life. Still, those images affected him deeply, and he had to pause to catch his breath, aware that Daniel’s own breath was coming faster and faster.

Vlad walked to the door and pushed it open, apparently forgetting for a moment that he could turn intangible. He had meant to just keep walking, but he could hear Daniel muttering something very quietly. He turned around, standing just outside the door. After a few more seconds, the muttering resolved into words.

“No, please. No, get away!” With that, Daniel started awake, pulling the blanket off of himself. “Huh? Where am I? What happened?” Vlad realized that he was still standing in the open doorway, very much visible. He needed an excuse. Luckily, Daniel had just given him a decent opening.

“I was going to ask you the same question, young man.” Vlad stepped casually into the room as if he had meant to do so all along. Daniel scratched the back of his head.

“I must have been worn out from the long car trip.” That made no sense at all, but Vlad supposed he could forgive the boy for not being able to come up with a good explanation; he had just been knocked unconscious, after all, and now had to deal with a veritable stranger in his bedroom asking questions. “I-I’ll be okay in the morning. I’m sorry for the scare.” Vlad smiled amicably.

“Oh, what’s a little scare between friends, son, hm?” Had Vlad just called Daniel ‘son’? It felt so natural, but Vlad wondered if it was too soon for that. “And I do want us to be friends, Daniel. If you need anything-” Daniel raised his hand to stop him.

“I’ll let you know, Mister Masters. But, right now, I probably should get back to sleep.” Vlad nodded.

“Of course. Sleep tight, little badger.” Vlad walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He paused for a moment, listening. It sounded like Daniel was, indeed, going back to sleep, so Vlad turned back into Plasmius and made his way to his lab. As expected, his ghost vultures were there, awaiting further instructions.

“You three really are absolutely useless, you know that?” They hung their heads, but Vlad could tell it was an act. “Oh, don’t give me that. I send you to kill the oaf, you come back empty handed. I bring him to you on a silver platter, and you let an inexperienced child knock that platter from your hands.” One of the vultures raised his head.

“Well, technically, boss, we don’t have any hands.” Vlad shot an energy beam from one finger, catching the shoulder of the vulture who had just spoken.

“Silence, you incompetent parrot!” Another of the vultures seemed about to speak, but Vlad dissuaded him with a look. “Tomorrow, guests will be arriving. Wait until there’s a crowd. Wait until Jack Fenton is in that crowd, and then kill him.”

“Uh, boss,” said the vulture with the injured shoulder, “I haven’t been an assassin for very long, but isn’t that kind of the opposite of how this usually works?” Vlad shot him again, and this time all three of the vultures winced.

“How this usually works,” Vlad said slowly, enunciating every syllable, “is that you are hired by someone, and that person tells you what to do, and then you do it. You three have already failed me twice. Frankly, you’re lucky to still be alive, let alone working for me. So shut up and do the job. I don’t want to hear any more complaints or snide remarks.” Vlad emphasised this last point by turning on his heel and walking away. He paused by the door, not turning around. “And don’t call me ‘boss.’ My name is Plasmius - use it.” Vlad walked out without waiting for a response.

Of course, Vlad knew he was going to have to kill the vultures. He needed Daniel to respect him, to see him as a friend, and, in time, as a father figure. Eventually, he would come to see Jack for the monster he was, but Vlad couldn’t expect that change to come overnight. For now, Daniel would have more fondness for his father’s saviour than his murderer. And it certainly wouldn’t do to have those loud-mouths around to implicate him.

Unfortunately, Daniel was well aware that someone had sent the vultures after his father, which meant that Vlad was going to need someone to pin that on. He hoped Skulker was a decent actor.

The next day, at the party, Vlad found Daniel sitting behind a suspiciously empty food table. He looked absolutely miserable, which seemed appropriate, given that his father was leading an absurd and dated dance in the middle of the room and paying no mind at all to what or whom he was hitting. He looked like a dying fish, flopping up and down, gasping for breath that would not come, slowly suffocating, his face turning blue, his organs beginning to fail as he convulsed on the ground -

Vlad shook the image from his mind and walked over to Daniel. He hesitated for an imperceptible fraction of a second, then placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. May as well test the waters.

“Well, son, you’re looking much better. I trust you had a restful sleep?”

“Oh, I did, thanks. But, call me, ‘Danny.’ ‘Son’ is what my dad calls me.” That stung more than it probably should have, but Vlad had decades of practice concealing his emotions, so his face remained neutral.

“Oh, yes of course. Now, I was wondering if you could do me a huge favour.”

“Sure thing, Mister Masters. What do you need?”

“Could you go to my lab, second door on the right upstairs? There’s a present up there for your father that I’d like you to bring down.”

“Okay.” Daniel rose and walked off, not even a hint of suspicion in his voice or movements. Vlad remembered the previous night, when he had easily lured Daniel through a wall and into a room whose contents Daniel didn’t know. Twice, now, in less than twenty-four hours, Daniel had willingly walked into a situation that could so easily have been an ambush or some other kind of trap. Indeed, it was a trap in this case, though not a lethal one.

Vlad wondered how Daniel was even still alive, and he suspected that it had rather a lot to do with luck. Well, Vlad was already planning on training him. Avoiding obvious traps would just have to be added to the lesson plan.

Danny approached the door to the lab and was surprised when it slid open. What, was Vlad a Star Trek nerd too? Inside, he saw a small, gift-wrapped box and started walking over to pick it up. He might have wondered why the present had been left in the lab in the first place if he hadn’t been interrupted just then by a net wrapping around him. The net knocked Danny into a wall, and then, just for kicks, electrocuted him. Danny looked up to see his attacker, who was standing ominously in a corner.

“Skulker?” This was bad. Danny tore through the net and flew at the ghost before he had time to react, landing a solid kick to his chest and returning the earlier favour by sending him flying backward. “How did you get back in your ecto-skeleton? What are you doing here?”

“All excellent questions. Catch.” Skulker tossed a small back cube toward Danny. It slid along the floor, stopping near his feet. Danny looked at the cube, and then at Skulker.

“You miss-gah!” The cube had suddenly started unfolding itself, forming into a large box that completely enveloped Danny in a second. He tried to phase out, but he couldn’t - the box was interfering with his powers somehow.

“You like my new spectral energy neutralizer? It’s perfect for containing pesky prey like you. And that’s not all it does.” He pushed a button on his arm, and Danny was overcome by searing pain. When the pain stopped, he felt his body reverting to human against his will, and he collapsed, suddenly exhausted.

“That should keep you out of the way long enough for my vultures to deal with Jack Fenton.” That brought Danny back to reality.

“Wait, you sent the vultures? Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He builds anti-ghost weapons, and I want them.”

“But why not go after him yourself? Is Jack Fenton too much of a threat for ‘the ghost zone’s greatest hunter’?” Skulker glared.

“Listen, whelp, I-” He was interrupted by a chime coming from his suit. He glanced at the screen on his arm, pouting. “I have to go to the library and check out a book on a gorilla.” He looked back at Danny and shrugged. “You see my dilemma.” With that, Skulker turned intangible as his hacked suit carried him through the roof, and, presumably, off to the library in Amity.

Vlad was chatting with one of the few people he actually had fond memories with, a fellow former member of the UW chess team named Nadya. Although this whole reunion had been planned mostly as a setup to get close to Maddie and her children, he had to admit that it was kind of nice to see some of these people. And it was very nice to see all the people who had bullied him suddenly kissing up, now that he was rich enough to buy and sell them.

But then Vlad felt the temperature drop, and he heard someone scream. Showtime. Amidst the panic that was caused by the sudden appearance of three ghost vultures, Vlad had no trouble slipping into an obscured alcove and transforming into Plasmius. He turned invisible and waited.

As Jack struggled against the vultures, Vlad noticed Maddie running outside, looking determined. No doubt she was rushing off to retrieve some anti-ghost weapons. Vlad had hoped to watch Jack get trounced by the birds for a bit longer, but he decided he should probably intervene before Maddie returned, lest he end up on the business end of one of her weapons.

Just as he was about to enter the melee, Danny Phantom flew in from upstairs. Vlad paused, raising an eyebrow. Had the boy really avoided the trap and defeated Skulker so quickly? Perhaps he needed to reevaluate Daniel’s skills.

“Hey, bird brains! Why don’t you peck on someone your own size!” The vultures all stopped what they were doing and looked toward Daniel. Then they looked back at Jack, who was now lying on the ground, apparently unconscious, and then at Daniel again. One of them said,

“Both of you are bigger than us.” Daniel raised a finger and opened his mouth, then paused. He put his finger down.

“I, uh, that’s true. But you heard me say ‘peck’ instead of ‘pick,’ right? Like, because you were pecking him.” Alright, Vlad thought, that was just about enough of that. He dropped his invisibility and flew up behind Daniel.

“Yes, it was a very clever pun. Now, how about we actually deal with the threat, hm?” Daniel looked confused, but not as confused as the vultures.

“B-Plasmius, I don’t -” Vlad didn’t wait for him to finish, shooting the vulture out of the air as easily as if he were swatting away a fly. His body crumpled on the ground; unconscious, but not dead. Disappointing.

Daniel took his cue and starting shooting at the remaining two birds. His aim was deplorable, but he managed to score a hit that knocked one of them right toward Vlad. Vlad created an energy wall in the vulture’s path, knocking this one unconscious, too, with the collision. Before the body could slide off to join the other on the floor, Vlad created a second energy wall and slammed it into the first, crushing the ghost in between. Vlad was knocked back by the wave of energy that was released when the vulture’s core was destroyed, but he managed to keep himself upright and floating.

The third vulture didn’t need any more reason than that to flee. Vlad raised a hand to shoot him in the back, but his arm was knocked away by an ecto-energy beam from his left. Vlad turned to see Daniel, hand raised, expression horrified.

“What the Hell are you doing?” Vlad looked back to where the third vulture had been, but he was long gone, now.

“What am I doing? You just let one of them get away!”

“That’s better than killing him!” Well, shoot. This wasn’t how Vlad had anticipated this going. If he were ever going to get Daniel on his side, he needed to convince him that this killing was justified.

“Killing in defence of a human. Surely you can understand that. Aren’t you a ghost hunter?”

“And what if I am? Aren’t you the one who made fun of me for using my powers for good?” Touché, Vlad thought. He really wished he hadn’t made those comments, but he was just going to have to deal with it.

“There’s a difference between being an all-around goody-two-shoes and having some morals, like, for example, killing an innocent person is bad, and we should try to stop people from doing that.” Vlad bristled at calling Jack innocent, but he trusted that Daniel would read the emotion as righteous indignation.

“There are other ways to stop someone besides killing them.”

“For now, perhaps. But what if they should return when you aren’t around? Are you really comfortable letting this man die because you were too obsessed with your own purity to get a little bit of blood on your hands?”

Daniel didn’t seem to have a response, but he was spared from having to admit that when their conversation was interrupted by an RV crashing through the wall. Vlad and Daniel both looked over to see the array of weapons that were being aimed at the two of them.

“We should leave,” Vlad said simply. Then he swept his cape around himself and teleported to his lab. He quickly turned back into Masters, and then leaned his forehead against his hand. Looking back, he should probably have predicted Daniel’s response. He was fourteen, and the very picture of a wide-eyed idealist. Life experience hadn’t yet taught him that sometimes one had to choose between the lesser of two evils.

Vlad straightened up. This was merely a setback. So Daniel wasn’t his biggest fan at the moment, that was fine. He had at least convinced him that he wasn’t evil - an extremist, perhaps, but someone with whom Daniel shared some basic moral beliefs. There would be time later to undo the damage that had been done and build a stronger relationship. Right now, there were other priorities.

Vlad looked around the lab. He was disappointed, if unsurprised, by the moderate amount of damage that had been sustained. It was a shame, but it had been unavoidable; this was the only soundproof room in the castle, and thus the only viable option for staging a fight while there was a party happening just downstairs. As Vlad mentally calculated the bill, his eyes landed on the small gift-wrapped box, which was tragically untouched. He shuddered. This next part was going to test his acting ability.

It had been a few hours since everyone else had left. After Maddie had used two of Vlad’s first aid kits to patch up her husband (Vlad was disappointed that it seemed he wouldn’t need to go to a hospital), the Fentons had packed up their things and were just about ready to leave. They all stood in the front hall with Vlad.

“I realize this reunion didn’t go … particularly well for you,” Vlad said, eyeing Jack’s many bandages, “and, for that, I apologize deeply.” Jack waved a hand dismissively, then winced in pain. Vlad gave no indication that Jack’s pain amused him.

“Don’t worry about it, V-man. I’m a ghost hunter; danger follows me. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just glad that no one else got hurt.” Vlad smiled.

“You always were so selfless, Jack. I’m sorry that we ever grew apart. Actually,” he began, taking the gift box out of his pocket as he did, “I got you something. I know twenty years is a lot of lost time to make up for, but I’d like to try.” Jack’s eyes grew wide as he took the box from Vlad’s hand. Vlad relinquished it immediately, carefully avoiding any contact with Jack’s skin.

“Oh, Vladdy, you shouldn’t have.” Jack started to unwrap the box, but he winced again, his injured hands apparently not up to the task.

“Here, dad, let me.” Jasmine took the box and unwrapped it herself before handing it back to him.

“Thank you, sweetie,” he said as he opened the box. “A watch? Oooh, I get it, a watch! Make up for lost time!” Jack tried to clap Vlad on the back, but Vlad stepped to the side. The force of the swing threw Jack off-balance, but, unfortunately, he managed to steady himself. “V-man you are a gas! Lost time! This is fantastic.”

“I’m glad you like it. And, Maddie, I have something for you as well.” Vlad procured a smaller box from a different pocket. This was just a simple jewelry box with a tiny metallic bow on the lid. Maddie took the box and cautiously opened the lid.

“It’s … a locket?” Vlad nodded. Maddie sounded a bit overwhelmed, and he wondered whether she was responding to the fact that it was made of solid gold, or the fact that it was shaped like a heart.

“There are pictures inside of you and me in college. Just in case you ever wanted to remember that time.” Maddie closed the lid.

“Thank you, Vlad. That’s very thoughtful. Now, we really should be heading out.” She looked down at Daniel and Jazz. “What do we say, kids?”

“Thank you for having us,” the children intoned emotionlessly. Vlad smiled at them.

“Thank you very much for coming. And know that you are welcome here anytime.” He looked back over at Maddie. “That goes for all of you.”

“Well, gosh,” Jack said, even though Vlad had been explicitly not looking at him, “that’s great to hear. You know, we might just take you up on that. And maybe we can take care of your ghost problem for you in return.”

“Hm, perhaps. Well, then, I’ll be seeing you. Have a safe trip.” The Fentons all picked up their bags and headed out the door, Vlad waving goodbye as they went. After the door closed behind them, Vlad waited until the count of ten, and then sighed heavily.

“I don’t look forward to having to keep pretending to enjoy your company, Jack. But it will be worth it soon enough, when you’re out of the picture and I finally have the life that you stole from me. And then you’ll know my pain when you have to watch your ex-wife call me ‘husband,’ and your children call me ‘father.’” Vlad smiled at the thought, his expression far more sinister than warm. It was a long game, to be sure, but it was one that Vlad was sure he would win.

#danny phantom #phanniemay #phanniemay19 #vlad masters #danny fenton #phandom #my writing #fanfic #holy shit so this is a long one huh?#I really just think about a danny+vlad interaction and then black out until it's done #this is wild #granted in this case a lot of the content was lifted directly from the episode #so I probably can't claim too much credit #but i'm still impressed with this #i realize that in a way this is more of an alternate beginning #but i figured everyone was going to do alternate ending for PP/the series as a whole #and i already did a PP alternate ending back in dannymay 2017 #so i figured i'd do an alternate ending of a different episode #bitter reunions for those who aren't as familiar with the source material

23 notes · View notes

lunaschild2016 · 5 years

Text

Dark On Me - [Wraith/Eric] Part 1

A/N: A little something cooked up, brought to you by a monsoon, chai lattes and a sleeping five-year-old!

Rating: M

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

Summary: Summary: ‘You’re the cause, the antidote. The sinking ship I could not let go. Who led my way and disappeared. In the dead of night, you went dark on me.’ Wraith and Eric were well known for their dislike for each other, or so everyone thought. So he thought. Her death tormented him, just like she did in life. Love or hate? Enemy or soul-mate? What is the truth?

Eric: Jai Courtney

Wraith/Lexa: Kate Beckinsale (First Underworld)

Trip: Jacob Elordi

Tris: Shailene Woodley

Four: Theo James

@kenzieam @pathybo @jaihardy @every-jai@ericdauntless@beautifulramblingbrains@bookgirlthings@jojuarez26@oddsnendsfanfics@offroadinjandals @singingpeople@iammarylastar@irasancti@captstefanbrandt @clublulu333@fuckthatfeeling@tigpooh67@ex-bookjunky @jughead-wuz-here wuz-here @badassbaker@beanzjellly @beltz2016@meganbee15@affabletimelady @scorpio2009@gylisaa@geekybeyondallreason @violetsonthelam@kyloswarstars@emmysrandomthoughts@kgurew@beltzboys2015-blog @slytherin-princess-25273@whatwouldbuffydo666@jaiboomer11@holamor@wealwayskeepfighting @original46 @blakefc@xtheserpentx@artisthedgehog

Third Person

The scene of the attack was a gruesome one. The pictures captured all the gore in vivid detail.

The bed covered in blood, the trail of it leading from the apartment.

The wounds on both of the attacks participants. One of these being far more gruesome than the other after the body, battered beyond recognition, was finally located.

What wasn’t caught in the pictures from the camera after the guards arrived on the scene was caught on the vidfeed in the control room.

In that, a young female was seen stumbling from the male’s apartment, clutching her side as blood continued to drip from her wounds. That blood left a clear trail all the way to The Chasm. It was there that the young woman was seen last on the feed. Wobbling her way until she dropped halfway across the dangerous metal bridge, unable to continue further.

He watched the feed in morbid fascination and with a chilling emotional disconnect as the girl looked around frantically. One would think she was looking for help but he knew she was looking for an escape.

What wasn’t showing on this particular feed was that the guards were closing in on her. The body of the male had already been found in a pool of blood in his apartment.

She couldn’t know that the guards weren’t considering her the aggressor of the event. Not given the reputation of the man involved and their well-known dislike for each other.

She couldn’t know that, with him being completely unconscious and slowly bleeding out, it was assumed he got what he deserved after he attacked her and it was self-defense.

But it was her next actions that shed doubt on that particular theory though there were plenty that never lost the first assumed belief even with the evidence.

A look of defeat and hopelessness crossed her face before she crawled to the edge of the bridge. She struggled, using the last of her strength most likely, and just as she made it the guards finally appeared.

They were too late.

No matter how many times he watched this damn scene play out, it always ended with the same thing.

Her lunging over the side with a sick smile on her face as she stared straight at the camera. She never even screamed. She just smiled until the abyss swallowed her from sight.

His hand slapped down onto the console to hit rewind until he reached the same point he’s watched a hundred times by now and he would continue to watch until someone put a stop to it.

“Jesus Christ, Eric. Give it a fucking rest already.”

The outburst coming from an ashen-faced Zeke Pedrad as he grimaced and jerked his eyes away from the large vid screen that was displaying the enlarged image of the girl's death.

Eric grits his teeth and turned his head ever so slightly to glare at Zeke who raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. “I’m just saying. I get that you have a right to see this shit if you want to. I mean, I guess if it had been me…”

He trailed off when he saw the slightest tick developing at the edge of the man’s eye and swallowed the fear at what he knew that usually signaled and continued on. “It’s been three weeks, Eric. You aren’t going to find the answers to why she attacked you there, and dead women tell no tales.”

Eric let out a hiss of breath and focused on the screen one more time, unable to look away until there was nothing left to see.

He didn’t hit the rewind control, even though his hand itched too. He hated the hollow feeling it left him with every time her face disappeared from his view. It didn’t make sense why he was feeling that way and that made him even angrier.

A dull ache throbbed through his body as the still healing wounds seemed to respond to that loss at the same time. Another thing he couldn’t explain, why he continued to refuse the serums that would heal and erase any trace of those wounds.

‘How can I explain that erasing them would be like erasing the last bits of her?’

He spun around to start to walk out but stopped when he heard the relieved expelling of breath from Zeke Pedrad. He whirled back around and stomped over to get close to him.

“Do you think this was me?” He hissed out while bending closer to the other man’s ear. “Are you one of those ready to parrot fucking number boy and assume I’m responsible for her?”

Zeke never turned his head, nor did he flinch away even though he desperately wanted to. Eric had always been one scary motherfucker but after the attack and being forced to be the one to give the funeral speech for her, he’s almost unhinged.

“Who? Wraith?”

Eric gritted his teeth so hard the sound reverberated in Zeke’s ear loudly and he could feel the anger boiling in the other man at the mention of the name. “Yes.” He hissed. “Wraith.” He finished with disgust dripping from every syllable.

He swallowed and shook his head in the slightest, speaking without ever looking at Eric. “Everyone saw you two in the pit that night, Eric. I saw you. I know you were wasted and said something insulting. But that was normal for the two of you, always exchanging insults. It never got physical before, but that night I saw her react and almost attack you. I was one of the ones that were going to step in and stop her. It was completely out of character for her, I know, so that might explain why we didn’t stop her from leaving with you. We were all pretty drunk, I guess. It’s the only reason I can think of why we let her be the one to take you to your apartment after that. We don’t know what happened behind the door of your apartment, but I can’t help but think it shouldn’t have even made it there.”

This time he swallowed out of grief and not fear as he closed his eyes. “I guess what I’m saying is, we’re all responsible in some way.”

He opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to look the man straight in the eye and was confused by what he saw. The tension eased slightly but his blue eyes were filled with an expression that is completely unlike the ruthless leader. There looked to be, remorse, in them.

“If you ever thought of her as a friend you will never fucking refer to her by that name again. Her name is Lexa and she should be remembered that way. Not as some fucking living ghost.” He snarled this out before flinching and straightening up. He left Zeke Pedrad behind, mouth hanging open in shock and blinking as if he thought he was imagining things.

‘Let him think whatever he will. Let them all think whatever they want, they always have. I’ll find out what happened that night and then maybe I can understand why it feels like I just lost the love of my fucking life.’

31 notes · View notes

stunudo · 6 years

Text

BAU Prep School AU

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Competition

Welcome to the Frederick Buchanan Institute located in scenic Quantico, Virginia, a senior high academy that shapes the best and brightest minds. Its motto is “Behavior, Analysis, Unity,” the mascot the Submariners, colloquially “the Unsubs”. The small school supports the most accomplished faculty from across the country.

Feb. 11, 2017 8:49pm Winter Formal

The entire room had frozen around her, the music a distant throbbing as her eyes fell on the pair. Lizzie didn’t know what to do, she wanted to scream at him, call him out in front of everyone. She needed to run. The traitorous tears had started falling before time returned to her. Her corsage scratched against her cheek as she tried to brush away the downpour. She wrenched it from her wrist and dropped it as if it had grown arms and legs that had somehow offended her.

“Typical, Lizzie, of course no one is your friend for you,” She berated herself. “He just wanted to get into the fancy school dance, wanted to flirt with all the rich girls.” She didn’t know where she was going, but she was marching out of the gymnasium with a zeal that would have impressed the Speed Walking team, if the school had such a thing. She was muttering under her breath when Nurse Callahan stopped her.

“Whoa there, where’s the fire?” She asked jokingly, until she saw the state of the young woman. “Lizzie, is everything alright?”

“Yep, fine, Nurse Callahan,” Lizzie sniffed back the tears and postured her bare shoulders. Kate couldn’t remember the last time Lizzie had worn makeup, this was a special night for her and something had wrecked that.

“Do you need an escape plan?” She asked knowingly, tossing her arm over the girl’s shoulder, conspiratorially. “Because, I will have you know, that my office is a perfect place to hide from life or, bad dates?” She guessed.

“It wasn’t even supposed to be a date, the only way I got him to come was in a group.” Lizzie admitted. “Why are boys so shallow, Ka- Mrs. Callahan?”

“They’re not all that way,” Kate squeezed her arm, despite the height difference Lizzie felt protected. “I know it’s hard, but everyone is so confused on what they want at your age. Find a guy who likes your fire more than he likes your body.”

“But what if I want him to like my body too?” Lizzie mumbled.

“In order for that to work, there’s gotta be trust. Don’t waste your time on people who can’t see all of you.” She grabbed the lanyard from her neck and unlocked the door. She held the door open for the burdened teenager and flipped the light switch.

“Take your time, I’ll check on you when the dance is wrapping up.” Kate made sure Lizzie was situated before turning to leave. “I’m serious, just yesterday Coach Jareau needed a break. That couch does wonders.”

“Thanks, Nurse Callahan.” Lizzie fell sideways and stared at the wall of quotes and baby animals.

Kate returned to chaperoning, letting Penelope know that Lizzie was in her office. Women understood the devastation of dance drama best. After a good, solid cry, Lizzie sat herself back up. She headed into the private bathroom to straighten out her face.

February 24, 2017 4:02pm Charlottesville, VA

The caravan of SUVs and minivans pulled into the assigned parking lot on the college campus. Zachary had fallen asleep, but one of his earbuds had fallen out allowing the rest of the car to listen to James Earl Jones’ voice reading from the Bible. Ms. Blake was appreciating the cadence and gusto as she clicked open her seat belt.

“We’re here,” Alex rolled her shoulders and started opening doors before ending at the rear hatch where the coolers were stored.

The teen-aged participants grumbled in their seats as they woke from their short naps. Six students had progressed to reach the State competition, blowing everyone away was little Zachary Henkle. Kimi Dalton, Sacha Kane, Trevor Malcolm, Amelia Turner and Jake Hernandez rounded out the little troupe.

Ms. Garcia bubbled over to their coordinator, leaving Dr. Reid in the passenger seat of her massive car. “Are we settling in or just taking a knee?” The be-dangled counselor asked, clearly picking up some sports lingo from her boyfriend.

“Well, er,” Alex started, scratching the back of her neck. “I think we have allotted tables inside the Center. They will be our base of operations for the weekend.”

“I brought signs and name tags,” Penelope explained. “This way we can keep track of everyone.” She opened her canvas bag showing off her eye-numbing neon signs.

“If you can get anyone to wear those, sure, Penelope.” Alex placated. “Didn’t Reid ride with you?”

“He’s finishing up the rule book, only had like fifty pages to go,” Penelope waved towards her car.

“Well, at least someone read it,” Alex muttered, shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “Un-subs! We will drop off our bags at the hotel later, for now let’s get situated outside the auditorium.”

The students tossed their luggage back in the trunks as they listened. The few parents that came along also respected the teacher’s authority and listened intently. The winter chill nipped at the poorly dressed students, hoodies and letter jackets hiding bunched fists.

“Dr. Reid and I are required to attend a supervisory orientation this evening. I trust you all, will listen to Ms. Garcia and the parents who came down early, while we are away. After that, you will have free time at the hotel until lights out at ten o’clock.”

“Ms. Blake?” Zachary’s hand caught her eye first. “If our parents aren’t here, do we have a shared room?”

“Yes, Zach,” Alex answered in her same booming voice. “Students may stay with their family members. Dr. Reid will supervise the boys’ room and Ms. Garcia will stay with the girls.”

“Good thing, Michel didn’t come.” Jake muttered to Kimi as the group started making their way across the parking lot.

“I’m pretty sure Ms. Garcia would have made sure they had their own room, Jake.”

“That’d be nice.” The boy admitted.

“Creating safe spaces isn’t easy, loves.” Ms. Garcia whispered to the pondering competitors. “Are you excited for tomorrow? I love a good debate, well, not really. I like winning debates. Does that count?”

The teens laughed, their guidance counselor loved to keep them entertained.

March 7, 2017 3:45pm

The pitch was still damp with the late winter rains, naked of chalk, gleaming in the fading light. JJ held her clipboard in front of her as she paced, waiting for the girls to change and meet her outside. A new season of soccer was underway, tryouts lasted two weeks, starting this afternoon. With her mind on the pool of players, JJ lined up the school’s balls in a daunting row. Thirty seven names were on the sign up sheet from outside her office, three were boys and four were mildly comedic and terribly immature imposters. She put out thirty three navy and white balls, to be safe.

She didn’t start the tryouts with a heated inspirational speech. She just explained her expectations for the day and kept the students moving. Twelve of the team from last spring had returned and another seven that had been cut had put themselves back out there for another round of scrutiny. The rest were new faces, freshman and sophomores that hadn’t tried out last year. JJ was impressed and slightly apprehensive about the large numbers. Cuts were hard, but necessary.

After an hour of warm ups, drills and sprints, JJ was ready to get down to business. She evenly divided the returning players with the new recruits, preparing them to scrimmage.

“Hannah, I want you to lead the Blue Squad and Camille I want you to lead the White Squad.” Coach JJ explained. “You have five minutes to set your line ups and I will whistle when we are set to start.”

The girls broke off into excited huddles as JJ sauntered over to her bag and camping chair. Seltzer water had become her best friend over the past month and she downed half a bottle while the players organized. Her features were pink in the late afternoon chill, she seemed to have lost what little meat there was on her face. She checked her watch, time to release the hounds.

“Un-subs!” Her voice sliced across the field. “To your positions. We will have a quick scrimmage. All players must be subbed in if they are not starting. Fifteen minute quarters, to ensure your captains are able to make those substitutions.”

She hiked to the center of the field, lined with orange cones as Anderson wouldn’t lay down the paint for a few more weeks. The whistle hovered over her lips, she eyed the forewords, nodding to the White Squad that they could call the coin in the air.

“Heads!” A chirping voice called out.

“Its tails, Blue Squad, choice?”

“Blue Squad will receive, Coach.” Little Cissy Howard parroted Hannah’s instructions.

“Very well, line up.” The whistle finally peeled into the gloaming.

March 8, 2017 7:22am

Coach Morgan was running behind, having left Penelope’s house later than normal. She was quite distracting in the morning and as she didn’t have a class full of students waiting on her first period; a terrible influence. He by-passed his usual stop in the main office and jogged down the corridor towards the gym and eventually, the weight room. Lifting in the morning was his favorite class, the students were too tired to be chatty and it got the bulk of the supervising out of the way. It didn’t hurt that he practically dictated his own schedule each year.

He slipped inside the locker room to change for class, always ready with a “go-bag”. As he rounded the corner he caught the hulking form of Andrew Heathridge bending over the bench. But he wasn’t tying up his trainers, his foot was bare and he had a syringe in his hand. Derek did a double take as the door finally closed, signalling his arrival.

The muscular boy stood up quickly tossing the needle into a corner of the lockers.

“Heathridge?” Coach reprimanded.

“Coach?” His voice startled, shame clouding his features for a moment before he reset his eyebrows.

“Do you want to tell me what I just saw?”

“No, sir.”

“You and I are going to have a talk after school, man.” The other weightlifters had started filing in behind the awestruck Coach. Andrew remained silent, but he rolled his eyes and went back to his sock and shoes. Derek Morgan was heartbroken.

March 10, 2017 9:37pm

“Alright, but remember that one time you tried to serve him store bought gelato and he nearly threw it back at you?” Alex was laughing so hard that the tears were collecting in her crow’s feet.

David Rossi nodded solemnly then shook his head, “I mean, I probably spent more on the stuff in the package than I do on ingredients, but Jason knew!”

Haley was laughing just as hard as Alex and Stan, Jordan’s husband. Aaron smirked as he sipped his bourbon. Chef Rossi had some of the old timers and the headmaster over for a dinner, letting the memories of Jason soothe over the rough way he was sent off.

“I remember him telling us, once, that his great uncle was an executive for some movie production company in Chicago?” Hotch asked Rossi for verification.

“Believe it or not, that wasn’t a lie. He has some old reels of Chaplin that he puts on sometimes.” Dave admitted. “God, what is he going to do with himself now?” Instinctively, his eyes wandered to Allie for an answer.

“Don’t look at me,” Alex teased. “I lost Jason and the house, remember.”

“You hated this house,” Dave shrugged.

Haley sensed some wine-fulled nostalgia changing the topic. “So what was Jason like, before, when he was married?”

“Night and day,” Jordan piped in. “He smiled, he was courteous. Still impulsive and perhaps even more reckless.”

“Before his wife left him, Jason was a decent guy, thriving on knowledge and sharing those discoveries.” Stan explained in a broad baritone.

“Has anyone heard from Stephen?” Hotch asked, cautiously.

“I get semi-regular updates. But nothing since,” Dave finished his glass. He stood making his way to the beverage cart he had in the sitting room. “Can I get anyone anything? I’m up.”

“Actually,” Aaron eyed his beautiful wife. “We should probably get going. The babysitter is waiting.”

Dave and Jordan shared a knowing smirk. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“Thank you so much for having us!” Haley stood enthusiastically hugging the old chef. “You really do have a nice house.”

“Mansion, but thank you, my dear.” Rossi teased. He shook Hotch’s hand at the door.

Jordan and Stan helped Alex clear the glasses before heading home. Alex sighed as she looked back at the circular drive illuminated like a beacon, a lonely castle in the night sky. She never really hated the house, it just held too many memories to live in it any longer. It was better to visit, rarely.

March 13, 2017 7:18am

Dr. Reid found Coach Morgan in the Main Office before school, his shoulders hunched in his FBI windbreaker. The inquisitive man didn’t know how he was going to explain his impulse to offer to help with an athlete, but something had put his feet in motion. Perhaps it was everything that had happened to students this school year, perhaps it was a distraction. Whatever it was, it wasn’t leaving Spencer Reid to sit by the wayside.

“Coach?” Spencer said, despite his croaking voice.

“Hey, Reid. What’s up?” Morgan’s full attention was now on Spencer.

“Listen, I heard, about young Mr. Heathridge,” Spencer began as Derek nodded. “I was wondering, maybe, if I could talk to him?”

“Uh, sure, I guess. But Reid, what exactly do you know about the situation that I don’t?”

“Though I am sure you are versed in the lasting effects of such doses, I may be able to appeal to him on a different level.”

“And what level is that?” Derek straightened his posture, eyeing the science teacher now.

“As an addict.” Spencer let it sink in. “Now, obviously I wasn’t taking steroids or performance enhancers, if, we are being generous. I have a problem with Dilaudid, which is like heroin. I know what its like to take something to make life easier.”

“Wow, man. How long have you been clean?”

“Three years, seven months and eighteen days.” Spencer said instantly.

“So right before you started teaching?” Derek said after a few moments of heavy silence.

“Pretty much.” Spencer waited.

“Does anybody know about this?” Derek asked gently.

“Hotch does, President Strauss, uh, found out, and I am sure some of the students do, or have guessed.”

“Let me think about it?” Derek answered finally. “I want to help Andrew, but I don’t want to leave you vulnerable, if it backfires.”

“Derek,” Spencer said, was this the first time he had used the coach’s first name? “I need to help. I can’t let another student falter, not when I could have done something.”

“Okay, man.” Derek smirked in admiration, patting Spencer robustly on the back.

Very Special Thanks to Cassie @mentallydatingspencerreid,

Meg @imagicana , and Loki @ay-nako!!!

@ddreammcatcher @ultrarebelheart @lightbluelester @criminal-anatomy @captainreid @thebadyears @amarislestrange @shaelyn102 @badasprentiss @fl0werb0nes18 @inestava @sam-carter-in-training @wonderboygenius @fortheloveofpearlet @valentina-pendragon-blog @imarockstar45 @chocok22 @cynbx @fairymega @madamredwrites @doctorspencerreidrp @mindsunleashed @dontshootmespence @bookofreid @marvelfanlife @welp-there-it-is @ilikeitwhenyousleepforyouareso @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @original-criminal-fanfics @derpyprentiss @olicia-leeshy @lookwhatyoumademequeue @veroinnumera @sarahkay-19 @sammles27 @lesbian-asajj @teatimewithtiya @braziliangirlonasharkcity @alienlynz @janam03 @nobravery @clockworkballerina

@whymesswperfection @hagridsmumhasgotitgoingon @brooke0297 @xxmaddhatter39xx @gurliest @handpaintedgalaxy @kxlley

@krazykendraisnotinsane @bat-crazydoll8 @hownottobeaheartbreaker @captainreid @beereadsthings @prettyboysjello @megsi98 @criminal-prentiss @eternaldarknessiscool

@loadingdelete

45 notes · View notes

biofunmy · 4 years

Text

A Nile Journey Into the Past

Huddled on a chaise on the upper deck of the Orient, the dahabiya that I had chosen for a cruise down the Nile, I sipped hibiscus tea to ward off the chill. Late in February, it was just 52 degrees in Aswan, where I had boarded the sailboat, but the scenery slipping past was everything the guidebooks had promised: tall sandbanks, curved palms and the mutable, gray-green river, the spine of Egypt and the throughline in its history.

I’d been obsessed with Egypt since childhood, but it took a cadre of female adventurers to get me there. Reading “Women Travelers on the Nile,” a 2016 anthology edited by Deborah Manley, I’d found kindred spirits in the women who chronicled their expeditions to Egypt in the 19th century, and spurred on by them, I’d planned my trip.

Beside my chair were collections of letters and memoirs written by intrepid female journalists, intellectuals and novelists, all British or European. Relentlessly entertaining, the women’s stories reflected the Egyptomania that flourished after Napoleon invaded North Africa in 1798. The country had become a focal point for artists, architects and newly minted photographers — and a fresh challenge for affluent adventurers.

Their dispatches captured Egypt’s exotica — vessels “laden with elephant’s teeth, ostrich feathers, gold dust and parrots,” in the words of Wolfradine von Minutoli, whose travelogue was published in 1826. And they shared the thrill of discovery: Harriet Martineau, a groundbreaking British journalist, feminist and social theorist, described the pyramids edging into view from the bow of a boat. “I felt I had never seen anything so new as those clear and vivid masses, with their sharp blue shadows,” she wrote in her 1848 memoir, “Eastern Life, Present and Past.” The moment never left her. “I cannot think of it without emotion,” she wrote.

Their lyricism was tempered by adventure: In “A Thousand Miles Up the Nile,” Amelia Edwards, one of the century’s most accomplished journalists, described a startling discovery near Abu Simbel: After a friend noticed an odd cleft in the ground, she and her fellow travelers conscripted their crew to help tunnel into the sand. “Heedless of possible sunstroke, unconscious of fatigue,” she wrote, the party toiled “as for bare life.” With the help of more than 100 laborers, supplied by the local sheikh, they eventually descended into a chapel ornamented with dazzling friezes and bas reliefs.

Though some later took the Victorians to task for exoticizing the East, these travelers were a daring lot: They faced down heat, dust, floods and (occasionally) mutinous crews to commune with Egypt’s past. Liberated from domestic life, they could go to ground as men did.

Wolfradine von Minutoli wrote of camping out under the stars by the pyramids. Florence Nightingale, then 29 and struggling to gain independence from her parents, recalled crawling into tombs illuminated by smoking torches. Nightingale, among others, was struck by the otherworldliness of it all. Moved by the fragmented splendor of Karnak, the sacred complex in Luxor, she wrote to her family, “You feel like spirits revisiting your former world, strange and fallen to ruins.”

Taken with their sense of adventure, I wanted to know whether the Nile journey had retained its mystique. Would I feel the presence of these women along the way? And could modern Egypt rival the country that they encountered?

As in the Victorian era, there would be unknowns: Political upheavals and terrorist activity are realities in Egypt. The country’s tourist industry reached a nadir after the 2015 attack on a flight from the seaside resort of Sharm el Sheikh; more than 200 people perished.

Violence has continued to flare: In December, a bomb destroyed a tour bus near the pyramids in Giza, killing four people. A second bus bombing in May injured at least 14.

But risk, I decided, is relative. The State Department’s advisory places Egypt at Level 2 out of 4 (“exercise caution”), along with China, Italy and France. And though still fragile, the country’s travel industry (which recorded 11 million visitors last year, up from 5.4 million in 2017) is rebounding.

Aboard the Orient

Dozens of double-masted dahabiyas and river cruisers now ply the Nile, but I was drawn to the low-key Orient — a charming wooden sailboat, it has a capacity of 10 people but I was joined by only four. Instead of a cinema and floor shows, we had backgammon and intermittent Wi-Fi. (The cost of the three-day cruise, including my single supplement, was $964.) On the upper deck, I could lounge on oversize cushions and watch storks skim the river. In the salon, a low sofa and carved armchairs were perfect for dipping into vintage National Geographics.

My cabin was compact, with twin brass beds and floral wallpaper. The river was close; I could have pulled aside the screens and trailed my fingers through the current. (Not that I did; early travelers praised the “sweetness” of Nile water, but trash bobs on its shores and bilharzia, a parasitic disease that attacks the kidneys, liver and digestive system, is a risk.)

Before 1870, when the entrepreneur Thomas Cook introduced steamers (and declassé package tours), a cruise on the world’s longest river was a marathon. Journeys lasted two or three months and typically extended from Cairo to Nubia and back.

Just getting on the river was a trial: After renting a vessel, travelers were obliged to have it submerged to kill vermin. The boats were then painted, decorated and stocked with enough goods to see a pharaoh through eternity.

Published in 1847, the “Hand-book for Travellers in Egypt” advised passengers to bring iron bedsteads, carpets, rat-traps, washing tubs, guns and staples such as tea and “English cheese.” Pianos were popular additions; so were chickens, turkeys, sheep and mules. M.L.M. Carey, a correspondent in “Women Travelers on the Nile,” recommended packing “a few common dresses for the river,” along with veils, gloves and umbrellas to guard against the sun.

With my fellow passengers, I spent the first afternoon at a temple near the town of Kom Ombo. The structure rose in the Ptolemaic period and was in ruins for millenniums. Mamdouh Yousif, our guide, talked us through it all. A native of Luxor, he used a laser pointer to pick out significant details and served up far more history than I could absorb.

Celebrated for its majestic setting above a river bend, the temple was nearly empty. Reggae music drifted from a cafe and shrieks rose from a neighborhood playground.

Dedicated to Horus, the falcon god, and Sobek, the crocodile god, Kom Ombo has a separate entrance, court and sanctuary for each deity. Inside are two hypostyle halls, in which massive columns support the roof. Each hall was paved with stunning reliefs: Here was a Ptolemaic king receiving a sword; there, a second being crowned. A mutable figure who was both aggressor and protector, Sobek was worshipped, in part, to appease the crocodiles that swarmed the Nile. Next to the temple, 40 mummified specimens — from hulking monsters to teacup versions — are enshrined in a dim museum, along with their croc-shaped coffins.

Defaced by early Coptic Christians, damaged by earthquakes and even mined for building materials, Kom Ombo was in disrepair until 1893, when it was cleared by the French archaeologist Jean-Jacques de Morgan. Now, it’s inundated in the late afternoon, when cruise-boat crowds arrive. As we were leaving, folks in shorts and sunhats just kept coming, fanning out until the complex became a multilingual hive.

Back on the Orient, my cabin grew chilly and I wished, briefly, that I had made the journey in the scorching summer. An early supper improved my mood, as did the winter sun setting behind silvery-gray clouds. Since I’d brought a flashlight, I was only mildly annoyed when we learned that our generator would stop at 10 p.m. The darkness was nearly complete, but silence never set in: Creaks, thumps and splashes resounded through the night.

In the morning, we headed north to the sandstone quarry and cult center of Gebel Silsila. With their rock faces still scored with tool marks, the cliffs have an odd immediacy — as if armies of stonecutters could reappear at any moment.

The compelling part of the site is a hive of rock-cut chapels and shrines. Dedicated to Nile gods and commissioned by wealthy citizens, they are set above a shore lined with bulrushes. Eroded but evocative, some retain images of patrons and traces of paintings.

In Edfu, an ode to power in stone

After lunch, we traveled downriver to Edfu, to Egypt’s best-preserved temple. Tourism has made its mark in the agricultural town: Cruise boats line the quay, and the drivers of the horse-drawn carriages known as calèches stampede all comers. Begun in 237 B.C. and dedicated to Horus, the temple was partially obscured by silt when Harriet Martineau visited in 1846. “Mud hovels are stuck all over the roofs,” she wrote, and “the temple chambers can be reached only by going down a hole like the entrance to a coal-cellar, and crawling about like crocodiles.” She could see sculptures in the inner chambers, but “having to carry lights, under the penalty of one’s own extinction in the noisome air and darkness much complicate the difficulty,” she wrote.

Excavated in 1859 by the French Egyptologist Auguste Mariette, the temple is an ode to power: A 118-foot pylon leads to a courtyard where worshippers once heaped offerings, and a statue of Horus guards hypostyle halls whose yellow sandstone columns look richly gilded.

Feeling infinitesimal, I focused on details: a carving of a royal bee, an image of the goddess Hathor, a painting of the sky goddess Nut.

Mr. Yousif kept us moving through the shadowy chambers — highlighting one enclosure where priests’ robes were kept and another that housed sacred texts. Later I thought of something Martineau had written: “Egypt is not the country to go to for the recreation of travel,” she said. “One’s powers of observation sink under the perpetual exercise of thought.” Even a casual voyager, she wrote, “comes back an antique, a citizen of the world of six thousand years ago.”

Our dinner that night was festive: When someone asked for music, our purser, Mostafa Elbeary, returned with the entire crew. Retrieving drums from an inlaid cabinet, they launched into 20 exuberant minutes of song.

The night quickly deteriorated, however. Gripped by an intestinal upheaval, I bumped my way back and forth to the bathroom. In the morning, I was too ill to visit more tombs and temples. The chef sent me soupy rice, and Mr. Elbeary kept me supplied with Coke.

Watching the river in bed, I realized what was missing: While 19th-century voyagers rode camels into the desert and ventured into villagers’ homes, we had seen little of local life. Before the cruise, I had sampled the chaos in Egypt’s capital. With a guide from the agency Real Egypt, I spent an afternoon exploring the neighborhood known as Islamic Cairo. Heading down a street lined with spice stalls and perfume shops, we had passed Japanese children with sparkly backpacks, Arab women chatting into cellphones tucked into their hijabs and old men arguing in cafes. We stopped to watch Egyptian girls draping themselves in rented Scheherazade costumes; after snapping selfies, they happily vamped for me.

A trip to Giza was nearly as diverting. Though I didn’t find the monuments inspiring — the Pyramids looked like stage flats against the searing-blue sky — others did. I was standing by the Sphinx when I overheard a man angling his phone toward its ravaged face. “You see me?” he asked, ducking in front of the camera. “That’s the Sphinx. It’s one of the most famous monuments in the world.”

Roman emperors and Egyptian gods

The next day I roused myself for our final outing. We had docked at the town of Esna, and from my window I watched an ATV driven by a boy who looked to be about 7 just miss a herd of goats.

The others were waiting, so I followed Mr. Yousif through the streets at warp speed. Built during the reign of Ptolemy V and dedicated to a river god, Esna’s temple was conscripted by the Romans and then abandoned. Only its portico had been excavated when Nightingale visited. In a letter to her family, she said, ”I never saw anything so Stygian.”

Now partly reclaimed, the temple is 30 feet below street level. Beyond the portico is a hypostyle hall whose columns are inscribed with sacred texts and hymns. Still traced with color, they blossom into floral capitals. On the walls are images of Roman emperors presenting offerings to Egyptian gods.

On our way back to the boat, Mr. Yousif led us through narrow streets where children were racing about. Two little girls, one in a bedraggled party dress, followed us, whispering. A succession of boys darted into our paths to say, “Welcome, hello, hello.” From a closet-size barber stall, three men called out; a merchant in another stall held up his tortoiseshell cat.

Exploring Luxor’s riches

After a celebratory breakfast the next day — crepes, strawberry juice, Turkish coffee — our cruise ended. A driver from the dahabiya company was waiting to take us to Luxor, about an hour away.

Though it was little more than an expanse of fields dotted with mud huts, in the early 19th century, dahabiyas made lengthy stops in Luxor. Near the town is one of the world’s largest sacred monuments and across the Nile is the Valley of the Kings.

In the afternoon, I set out for Karnak. Founded chiefly by Amenhotep III and originally dedicated to Amon-Re, the complex was modified and enlarged by rulers, including Ramses II.

In the 19th century, its pylons, halls and courts were still mired in detritus: Nightingale was unsettled by the temple’s “dim unearthly colonnades” when she visited on New Year’s Eve in 1849. “No one could trust themselves with their imagination alone there,” she wrote. With enormous shadows looming, said Nightingale, “you feel as terror stricken to be there as if you had awakened the angel of the Last Day.”

Though it’s now besieged by tourists, the complex is still haunting. An avenue of ram-headed sphinxes leads to an imposing first pylon; beyond is a hypostyle hall where 138 pillars soar into empty space.

Wandering without a guide, I lingered over details: the play of light on a broken column; the base of a shattered statue that had left its feet behind. On the way to the necropolis across the river, I thought about the desecration described by Victorian travelers. Jewelry, cartouches and body parts were all on the market, and Amelia Edwards, author of “1,000 Miles Up the Nile,” was among those who were offered a mummy.

After casually expressing an interest in an ancient papyrus, wrote Edwards, she and a companion had been “beguiled into one den after another” and “shown all the stolen goods in Thebes.” Inevitably, they found themselves underground with a crumbling object in “gaudy cerements.” (She rejected it.)

Sheltered by limestone cliffs and set off by a limitless sky, the Valley of the Kings has been brought to order: Vendors now sell their wares in a visitors’ center, and tourists can hop an electric train to the burial grounds.

One of the most spectacular tombs in the royal warren belonged to Seti I; it was known to Victorians as “Belzoni’s tomb.” The entrance was breached in 1817 by the Italian adventurer Giovanni Belzoni who removed the sarcophagus of Seti I and sold it to a collector. In 1846, Martineau visited the chamber that had held the sarcophagus and reported, “We enjoyed seeing the whole lighted up by a fire of straw.” With its brilliant paintings set off by the flames, she said, “it was like nothing on the earth.”

It still is: The deepest and longest tomb in the necropolis, the resting place of Seti I is adorned with astonishing reliefs. Scenes from texts, including the Book of the Dead, lead from one spectacular enclave to another. On the day I visited, the crowds were elsewhere and the silence was profound.

The pharaoh who eluded the Victorians, of course, was Tutankhamun. Cloaked in obscurity for 3,000 years, his tomb was unsealed by Howard Carter at a time when the valley was believed to hold no surprises. In January, conservators completed nine years of restoration that revived the intimate enclosure.

Though most of Tutankhamun’s treasures are in the Egyptian Museum, his outer sarcophagus is still in the burial chamber. Stripped of its bandages, his corpse, blanketed in linen, now lies in a glass box — a desiccated figure blanketed in linen. Only his blackened head and feet are exposed, but he looks exquisitely vulnerable.

Surrounding the remains of the boy king are murals depicting him as a divinity; he enters the afterlife in the company of Anubis and Osiris and Nut. Set against a gold background, the images temper the pathos of his remains.

In the end, the tomb lost for so long is a reminder that in Egypt, the past continues to evolve. Perspectives can shift; voices can change. And something astonishing may be just around the corner.

Michelle Green has written for The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, The New York Review of Books and other publications. She is the author of “The Dream at the End of the World: Paul Bowles and the Literary Renegades in Tangier.”

Sahred From Source link Travel

from WordPress http://bit.ly/33D3P3R via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes