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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

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Between @peachesofteal, @ceilidho and @charliemwrites I have been plagued with mind rotting thoughts of manipulative!Johnny and I wrote this in a feverish haze

So uhhhh yeah, here’s 1.8k words of Johnny being an overbearing and possessive menace to reader

This will be part of a larger collection of works The Wild Hunt Masterlist

This is a dark fic, 18+ MDNI, descriptions of kidnapping, coercion and mentions of death below the cut

Snow falls beyond the frosted window panes, flickering like static in shafts of warm-hued lamplight and collecting in powdery, white drifts. The picturesque cityscape and the dissonant overlapping of conversation coming from the gathering of family and friends in a quaint town house decorated for the upcoming holidays feels like something plucked out of a cliché holiday romcom. Except this isn’t a yuletide gathering, and the congregation of familiar faces is one less tonight.

This is a wake. And an odd one at that.

You didn’t believe in the myth that deaths are more frequent around the holidays, and you certainly didn’t believe in a black cat that eats the souls of the recently deceased if you don’t throw a proper party with games and drinking, and enough food to feed a small army, at the wake. But this is Scotland, and the country is teeming with myths and superstitions.

So, here you sit. Curled into the corner of a sofa with a glass of… something. You’ve been told it’s like eggnog, done the Scottish way.

Great aunts, uncles, cousins several times removed and friends of the deceased distant relative all nurse their own glasses of the festive drink, and various recounts of fond memories are shared amongst the group gathered in the living room. There’s one voice that stands out among the others, and you watch with reserved interest as the mohawked man it belongs to tells his story. It’s a little louder, with more bravado than the rest, narrating his memory with a jubilance that belies great fondness.

You’d never met the man everyone was reminiscing about, only came tonight because a cousin on your fathers side—the Scottish side—had cajoled you into going with her to the wake so she’d have someone to talk to besides her mother. You didn’t understand why she’d begged and pleaded as you sat in your corner alone while she flits about here and there, talking to just about everyone there about anything and everything. A trait you had not inherited from your Scottish patronage. You’re so deep in your own thoughts in fact that you don’t immediately register the added weight on the sofa beside you, the way it dips and bows beneath it, until that lilting bravado is crooning in your ear, close enough to feel the whisper of warm air from his breath on the outer shell.

“How’d ya know Captain MacMillan?”

You blink, realize you’d been so entrenched in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even seen the man you’d been watching stand from his seat and take up the empty space next to you, and a flush of embarrassment blooms across your cheeks when you realize he must have seen you staring. When the rest of your body catches up with your brain you turn to face him, finding his face mere inches from yours.

He smells like the earth after it rains, like petrichor, and it mingles with something tangier—something sharp—like the honed edge of a blade. His smile is just as striking, all teeth and curling lips. Feline.

And his eyes—bluer than Loch Lomond on a clear, sunny day, and glittering in the same way the sunlight catches on the cresting ripples at the water's surface. They feel just as deep and endless too, the way his pupils flare and swallow that brilliant blue as he studies your face with a startling intensity, devouring every detail. Something rattles and trills in your mind at the way his gaze seems to drag you down, down, down, where it’s hard to breathe beneath the waves, and you can’t tell if the sound is sweet music or a frantic warning.

The realization that you haven’t yet given him an answer dawns on you and you suck in a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I uh… I didn’t know him. I knew of him though—a distant relative,” you explain and your fingers curl tighter around the glass in your hands.

He doesn’t lean away, remains firmly inside your little bubble and cocks his head in a manner that reminds you of a cat watching a bird outside a window. Hunting. He’s so close you can see the shadow of a beard, freshly shaved but with new growth already pushing its way to the surface to darken the sharp line of his jaw.

He hums. A low rumbling sound that emanates from deep within his chest. “Didnae ken the Captain comes from such a bonnie family,” he says in that swaggering bravado, and it almost sounds like a purr. “What’s yer name, hen?”

You give him your name, along with an outstretched hand which he takes in his large one, palm and pads of his fingers rough and callous against your own, and his pupils flare wider, causing his eyes to darken a sinful shade. “I’m Johnny MacTavish. Or Soap, if ye like,” he says, and holds onto your hand for just a few seconds longer than he should, the warmth of it branding your skin before he lets go.

“Soap?” you question and quickly pull your hand back into what remains of the personal space he seems intent on crowding, feeling like you’ve reached for a hot pan without a mitt.

“It’s muh callsign,” he says and drapes an arm over the back of the couch behind you, caging you into your little corner.

More bells.

“I’m military. SAS, like the Captain.”

SAS.

Suddenly you’re seeing all of the things that had drawn your interest to him earlier in a new light.

He’s built. Broad shouldered and bulky in the arms and thighs that have been creeping closer ever since he sat down. The scar on his chin that pulls taught when he smiles with all his teeth. The metallic tang that lingers on his skin. How silently he had suddenly appeared on the couch beside you.

Danger.

He places his broad hand on your thigh and your eyes jerk to his. There’s a menacious glint flickering in the dark pools that reels you in and pulls you under, like the kelpies young children are warned about.

Don’t get too close to the water or you’ll drown. Don’t get too close to him.

His hand feels more like a paw, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your leg like a cat sinking its claws into fresh meat.

“They’re choosin’ teams fer quarters,” he says with a nod in the direction of the coffee table where guests have begun to gather around an arrangement of disposable cups, bottles of scotch and a collection of coins, splitting into two groups. “Think ye should be on my team,” he says a shade darker, fingers digging harder into your thigh and lips curling back to reveal his feline grin once more.

You pull your leg away from him, tugging it closer to your chest, and your heart thumps insistently against your ribs, pulse quickening in the way prey that recognizes the hunt does. You feel like a mouse caught between the claws of a kellas cat, half-wild things that roam the highlands.

“I-I actually have to go,” you blurt and shoot to your feet before he can sink his claws in further, discarding your half-empty glass on the end table. “I don’t hold my liquor well, and I have an early morning tomorrow.” It’s a lie, but how would he know? You snatch your sweater from the arm of the sofa and shove trembling arms through the sleeves. “It was… nice meeting you though.”

Was it?

“A-and I’m sorry for your loss.” The words come tumbling out like you can’t say them fast enough, tripping over your own tongue as you hurry to extricate yourself from his grasp. You don’t wait for him to return the sentiment, turning on your heel and making a beeline for your cousin.

You tell her you’re tired and heading home, offering a brief hug for her and your aunt before you have to walk back through the living room, right past Johnny, to get to the door. You don’t know if it’s relief or dread that flutters in your stomach when you see Johnny no longer occupies his spot on the couch as you cross the room. Isn’t anywhere in sight.

With your down coat bundled tightly around you, you step out into the cold night, immediately hit with icy wind and stinging particles of snow against your cheeks. Your car is parked just around the corner, less than a minute's walk. And you take hurried steps away from the town house towards the pavement.

You should have been more careful.

One moment you’re turning the corner towards your car and the next your feet are sliding out from under you on ice-slick pavement, sending you to the ground in a bone-shuddering fall.

Your skull cracks off the pavement and it echoes between your ears. You lay stunned on the ground, unable to do more than groan at the pain radiating from the base of your skull down your spine.

And then there’s hands on your shoulders. Large, warm hands that glide up your neck and prod at the tender flesh at the back of your head. You groan at the painful press of calloused fingers and a familiar voice coos to you.

“Took quite a tumble, wee rabbit. Ye really shouldnae have been walkin’ so quick through all this snow,” he says as he retracts his fingers from your head and they settle on your shoulders again.

You groan, trying to open your eyes and see through the flakes of snow that blur your vision as you try and fail to lift your head.

“Dinnae move too much, ye’ll hurt yerself more.” His hands move from your shoulders to snake beneath your knees and under your back to lift you from the ground.

You moan as the motion jostles your head and sends a blinding jolt of pain through your skull, exploding behind your eyes and sending stars dancing wildly across your remaining vision.

“Shhh wee thing, yer awright. I’ll make sure that pretty little heid of yours is tended to.”

You’re being carried, cradled to a broad chest by burly arms. Smells like rain-

No…. No, no, nonono-

You try to force your eyes open, fighting desperately against the tunneling of your vision to see through the hazy edges and blurry focus.

You’re shifted against him and you cry out as pain flares bright behind your eyes again, and he coos, telling you he’s got you now. He’ll take care of you.

Broken whimpers bubble up in your throat as you’re laid down on something soft, and you wince against the rumble of an engine as it purrs to life. Everything sounds like it’s underwater, and somehow amplified to rattle your brain in your skull. You feel heavy, arms and legs turned to lead.

“Was here fer the captain, but when I saw ye, so pretty curled up on that sofa… knew then I was leavin’ with ye instead.”

It’s the last thing you hear before your fading consciousness suddenly gives way to complete and total darkness.

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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fastcardotmp3 · 6 months

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stobin on the run; ronance; background steddie; 1k words

After everything, after Vecna, after the Gates close, Robin is never quite able to let go of Starcourt.

None of them are, to a certain extent, but the particular way Robin Buckley clings to Russian conspiracies and the fear of what it would mean for her and her friends if they ever decided they weren't done with those kids who knew just a little too much, is actually dangerous.

She keeps an eye on things, learns Russian for real, never really lets go of the paranoia that any drink she doesn't make herself might be spiked, might be the one that takes her down long enough for her to end up in another cell with no windows and no hope for getting out.

It's dangerous because she's smart.

It's dangerous because of how damn close she gets.

When Agent Stinson shows up on her doorstep and tells her its not safe for her to remain where she is, living the life she's leading, her initial response is to tell her to go fuck herself. Robin hasn't been safe since 1985. Robin hasn't been safe since long before then either, given Steve's stories, given El's.

But the fact of the matter is she's something of a national security risk. The binders tucked under false bottomed drawers in her and Steve's apartment are borderline treasonous.

When Agent Stinson says, "you're not safe," she means from their own government as much as an enemy one, and that?

Well, that earns a different response.

It doesn't feel obvious to her that Steve would come with her when she runs.

He's built a life here in Indianapolis, a job he likes painting houses and a burgeoning relationship with the guy they both came to adore while waiting by his hospital bedside, but when she reflects upon this out loud he gets more angry than he's ever been.

Not loud, but mad all the same, that she'd ever presume to leave him behind when her life was in danger.

So Steve comes.

They're in Scotland first, the quickest flight they were able to get seats on after driving themselves to Canada, and then Italy for a while. They jump below the equator to Argentina and then even lower to Australia.

They see the world. They leave their lives behind. They leave their people too.

And it hurts. It hurts to be hunted by the government they've covered for their entire adult lives. It hurts because of how unsurprising it is.

It hurts to be lonely for no reason other than knowing too much.

It hurts enough to, one day, embrace the danger again.

One day isn't today.

One day isn't the day Nancy Wheeler's phone call doesn't get picked up.

At twenty-seven years old, Nancy has essentially spent a decade working in journalism.

At twenty-seven years old, she's deep into burnout over the frustration of impeding bureaucracy and she's talking with Robin on the phone every other day about how she's going to come join them in Indy and learn to paint or something instead.

She's talking with Robin on the phone every other day.

And then Robin doesn't pick up one afternoon.

And then she gets a call from Eddie.

Nancy resigns from her job at the Boston Globe the same day, hangs up her credentials, and makes that trip to Indy followed immediately by a trip to Hawkins because two of their friends are missing and in their experience? That can't mean anything good.

It becomes clear within a week that this isn't going to be an easy solve. A week of sleeping in her childhood bedroom and watching Eddie spiral and listening to Dustin and Erica go on tangent after tangent about all their various theories, hiding genuine terror underneath all their bickering.

It becomes clear in a month that this is going to require different skills than any of them have, and Nancy drives her car through the night to end up crashing in a bunker where she learns all the ins and outs of private investigation from a man with about twelve different identities should he need them.

Sam Owens went off the radar years ago.

Anyone who worked at Hawkins Lab all but doesn't exist anymore.

It's a hard fucking thing to solve and all the while Nancy carries those phone calls in her back pocket, because she knows Robin wouldn't just leave, not from the way they spoke with each other.

Robin laughed with Nancy.

She was so eager to share stories about her day that she would leave lengthy messages on Nancy's machine. She was so eager to hear Nancy's own stories that she would stay on the phone while making dinner at risk of burning the house down.

She spoke quiet and earnest into the dead hours of the night, the cresting of a rising sun. She told Nancy about everything they'd do when Nancy finally took a break from the job that was making her miserable and how they would find her something fun. Something just fun, Nance, I swear, we're gonna get you hobbies.

Robin wouldn't just leave.

But if she had to? If she had no other choice? Nancy knows Steve would go with her.

It takes three years in the end, and Nancy's half convinced the two of them got sloppy on purpose, caught back in the Americas with a trip to Mexico and a reused passport, and Nancy is dragging Eddie out of his head and onto a plane before she can fully explain that it's mostly a gut thing.

The trail she's been chasing? Seeing them in it even if they're not there? It's entirely a gut thing, which is why it's only Eddie she drags with her, it's only Murray she allows to know where they're going in case it goes wrong.

It's only her head she lets believe it, because she doesn't think her heart will survive another loss like this.

She dreams sometimes at night, of an amused voice teasing in her ear, tinny over the phone lines but so vastly real.

She lets her head believe it on the plane, on the cab ride, on the bus ride, on the walk down a long rural road out to a little house in the desert with a fence and a mailbox painted yellow.

She lets her head believe it when she watches the twitch of a curtain from inside.

She only lets her head believe it, and that's a lie she only realizes was a lie when Robin Buckley steps out onto the porch with Steve at her shoulder and the world stops.

Nancy Wheeler's knees almost give out from under her when those freckled cheeks plump up with the hint of a smile.

When she gets her arms around her, a hand across shaved down and dark-dyed hair, a word over the top about you're okay, you're okay, you're alive--

When Nancy breathes again, it's with the beat of a heart that knows it's not this easy.

But for a moment? She's dreaming in a lonely Boston apartment all over again.

For a moment, she's making plans.

She really does intend to stick to them this time.

#dot fic #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steddie #stobin #platonic stobin #in todays episode of things I found half done in my drafts…#I’m having a Moment and needed a distraction and past dot came through!!!

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writeforfandoms · 10 months

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Waking Lions 4

Find the series masterlist

You learn some things, do Laswell a favor, and run into Captain again. This is becoming a bad habit.

Speech in italics is Russian, this chapter.

Warnings: Swearing, aftermath of violence, vague threat from terrorist, MW2019 typical Russians, blood, injury (not to reader), spy shit.

Word count: 2k

Serious slow burn John Price x f!reader

You discovered the plot on accident. Really.

It was just… one of those things.

Sergio had invited you to stay for a few days and play with his girls, so you did. You brought them gifts from Turkey, California, and Scotland (you’d had a layover and had gotten bored in the airport).

The girls were darling, and you’d known them both all their lives. You would never, ever marry Sergio (not least because of his obsession with the next future ex-wife) but you loved his kids. Sophia and Natalia. For a while, when you’d initially started building this relationship, you’d helped tutor Sophia.

Now, you played with the girls and helped to keep them out of trouble and helped with their homework. You were more or less the weird aunt they saw every once in a while, and that worked for you.

The girls were asleep, but you’d been unable to sleep yourself. So you got up, figuring you’d have a little snack or some water and wander a bit.

Except wandering may not have been the best idea.

Low voices from a sitting room had you on alert, and you moved as quietly as you knew how, creeping closer.

“...perfect bait for them,” someone was saying in Russian. Not Sergio. You didn’t recognize this voice, actually.

“Why do you want to capture one of them?” That was Sergio, sounding vaguely disgusted. “More of a risk this way, no?”

“You are short-sighted,” the first speaker said. Well, he was definitely above Sergio, then. “Capturing an operative will give us an edge.”

There was a beat of silence. “Still sounds risky,” Sergio grumbled. “But it is your will, so we will see it done. When will you set the bait?”

“It has been set already,” the leader said, sounding smug. “I let information leak about the gas storage, so the Americans will know of it by now. We will be ready this time.”

Well. That was fucked.

There were days when the back and forth espionage shit got on your last nerve.

“To a successful hunt, then,” Sergio offered, the gentle clinking of glasses following his words.

You might be able to hear more if you stayed… But you also ran the risk of discovery. And that would end poorly for you.

Bullet in the head kind of poorly.

So you snuck away back up to your room, debating the best way to alert Laswell. Text was risky, but a call would be more risky, especially here. You couldn’t wait until morning, just in case people were already en route. And since you didn’t have a location…

You puffed out a breath, walking into the en suite and shutting the door. There was no easy way to do this, and you didn’t trust Sergio not to have bugs planted in the bathroom. So you hummed to yourself as you typed out a quick text.

Gas a trap for info. Advise abort.

There. That was… not your best work, admittedly, but you were a bit strapped for time. It got your point across.

And, really, if someone managed to get hold of your text records, you had more things to worry about than the wording of a single text.

She replied two minutes later. Copy. Send updates.

You puffed out a breath. She was so lucky you liked her. (And that you were indebted to her still for her help.)

Turning the shower on, you decided maybe a bit of hot water would help you relax enough to get to sleep.

You were very glad you had the girls as an excuse to be out of the house for the fallout of the failed mission. Sergio didn’t tell you anything, but the blooming black eye spoke for him.

You stayed another week, mostly because the girls pleaded with you to stay. But a little bit because you were curious and wanted to see if you could hear anything else. When that ended up being futile, you booked a flight to Morocco.

Because why not.

The plan was to touch base with someone you knew who had fingers in shipping pies. (Seriously, the woman was an absolute master. She could get anything anywhere in the world, for the right price.) And, of course, to eat some delicious food, and check on the hideaway you kept there. You had several across the globe, but it had been a while since you’d been to this one. You probably needed to change out some of the non-perishables.

It was supposed to be a low-key, quiet trip. Relaxing. The only adventure you wanted was wandering through the city.

It was not a low-key, quiet trip.

Three days in, you’d restocked your hideaway, contacted your shipping master friend, and found a new place with some of the best food you’d ever had. It was shaping up to be a good trip.

And then a man dropped down in front of you, woozy, dark skin glistening with sweat. The tactical vest was a dead giveaway, but the flag was a surprise.

You very purposely did not look for a name. But you did do a quick sweep of the rest of him.

Blood seeped out from under the vest, staining his shirt, and you swore softly.

“You need help.”

“I’m fine.” But the words were a little sluggish, one hand pressing over the wound at his hip.

“You need help,” you reiterated, glancing around, suddenly wary. You did not want to be caught in the crossfire of this, and the longer you stayed out in the open, the more likely that became. “Please. I’ve got bandages back at my place.”

His gaze held yours, suddenly hard, calculating. “I’ve got people on the way,” he said, clearly testing.

“Good, then they can pick you up.” You ducked under one of his arms, your own looping across his back. “Come on, in we go. Before whoever shot you finds us both.”

He gave in, letting you walk him down half a block and inside. He didn’t even complain going up the stairs to your hideaway, though you could see the way his jaw clenched.

“This one’s mine,” you told him, pulling your keys out of your pocket when you reached the appropriate floor. It took a moment to get the door unlocked and maneuver him inside without letting go - he was slowly leaning more on you for support. You kicked the door shut after the two of you and more or less carefully deposited him in a chair. He groaned softly, like he didn’t even mean to, and you winced in sympathy.

Fortunately, all your hideaways had first aid kits stocked, and you thumped it onto the table in front of him.

“I’ll help if you want,” you offered, taking a step back and putting your hands up, away from your body. “But you are very well armed and I am not.”

“S’alright,” he muttered, accent effortlessly charming even as he popped open the first aid kit. “I’ve got it.” His gaze lifted to yours, a little less wary and a little more curious. “What’s your name?”

You tutted at him, amused despite yourself. “Does it matter? You need to get patched up and wait until your buddies come get you.” You put two sealed water bottles onto the table for him, already kind of mourning your decision. Dammit, you shouldn’t have brought him here.

“Thank you.” He tugged his shirt up and out of the way to press gauze to the still-bleeding gash.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. You stepped past him into your bedroom, taking a quick look around. Only a few things of sentimental value resided here, and you were quick to throw those and a change of clothes into a duffel bag.

You had to burn this hideaway now. Not literally, but you’d never be able to come back here again.

At least nothing here would give them more information on you.

You set the duffel bag on the floor by the door, ignoring his gaze. You let yourself look around one last time. You really liked this place. Damn.

“Where are you going?” His voice was calm, just a hint of urgency there.

“Nowhere yet, I suspect,” you said on a sigh, turning to look. He didn’t actually have a weapon in hand, which rather surprised you. “Just getting ready to go once your friends arrive.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicion growing. Your smile was crooked and understanding.

“Just because I helped you doesn’t mean I want that kind of attention,” you said, hands carefully palms-out at your sides again. “Nothing personal.”

He didn’t seem quite sure what to make of you, shoulders tense, fingers twitching. Then he blinked once and lifted his free hand to the radio on his vest. “Injured, currently patching up. Indoors, one unknown.”

Ah. You were likely the unknown. Well. Fair, honestly. You were acting pretty suspicious for anyone who didn’t know you.

“Solid copy.” His hand left his radio, but his gaze stayed fixed on you. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“And I suppose I’m to wait here until they arrive?” You puffed out a breath. “Alright, sure.” You had contingencies, if you needed them. If you really needed to, you could call Laswell. But you hoped you didn’t have to.

The wait was silent and felt like it dragged on forever, although in reality it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Two heavy knocks pulled you from your spot, and you opened the door.

And then blinked.

“Captain?”

His expression immediately settled into a scowl. “Ace.”

“Huh.” You stepped back to let him in. “I take it this one’s yours, then?” You nodded back at the wounded man behind you.

“Yes.” He stepped past you, momentarily dismissing you to kneel by the injured man. You could hear them speaking quietly, going over the situation. But Captain’s voice had softened a little, care clear in the way he checked his man. He did have a heart after all.

That would be your cue to leave.

You picked up your duffel bag and managed to take one step before a quiet, “Sir,” cut you off.

“Where are you going?”

Captain was glaring at you now, tense, wary. Probably thinking the worst of you. Again.

“I have to abandon this place now anyway,” you pointed out reasonably. “You might as well enjoy it, get properly patched up before you go.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Is it not enough to know that I’m leaving?��

“No.” He stood, prowling over to you, using his height to loom over you.

You debated with yourself, head tilting to one side, looking up at him. You could probably make it if you distracted him with something and ran. Then again, you might not, and you were not in the mood today to be thrown around.

“I am planning on getting the hell out before whatever chaos you’re involved in explodes.” You kept your tone dry, chin tipping in challenge.

His lips thinned. “No.”

“You’re not my boss,” you said quietly, stepping into him, refusing to back down. “And you can’t keep me here, not without all kinds of trouble. I’ll be on my way to another country, and you can bug out as soon as you want.”

He was going to keep arguing with you, you could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were ready to grab you. But something distracted the both of them, Captain turning to the injured man.

You didn’t wait. You booked it, hauling ass out of the apartment and down the stairs. You heard the yell behind you, but you didn’t acknowledge it, focused on getting out.

And once you were outside, it was easy to find crowds and blend in, easy to get to the airport and buy a ticket to Cairo. From there, you weren’t sure, but you did know one thing.

Captain was showing up too often in your life. He was becoming a distraction. And that? That could be a problem.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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the-cypress-grove · 5 months

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Hi hi I saw ur "So, you want to write ..." post for vamps and zombs would it be possible a werewolf one be made?

Love ur blog by the way makes my brain happy

So, You Want To Write Werewolves....

I had been planning to do werewolves next so I had already been making a list. As always, take the bits you want/need, don't feel you have to answer every question I write, and always always do what works for you and your story.

Werewolves Through History

Lots of myths around the world feature some form of werewolf, or at least people in possession of the ability to turn into animals. Sometimes they're helpful like the Wulver of Scotland who leave fish for people in front of their houses. Sometimes they're malevolent forces like the Skinwalkers of Native American legend.

In Europe, France especially, there was a fear of these creatures and many were killed because they were believed to be one. In some cases, these people were at least partially skinned as it was believed that a werewolf had fur on the inside.

If you want to research a particularly notable case of werewolves, then you should look into La Bête du Gévaudan, France. It was believed a werewolf perpetrated 210 attacks resulting in 113 deaths and 49 injuries. 98 of the attacked were partially eaten. Eye witnesses and survivors of these attacks claimed that it was a wolf the size of a donkey and then came the belief about werewolves for which some people were executed. All these attacks took place within about fifty miles of each other. These attacks were so bad it was brought to the attention of the king at the time, Louis XV, who sent people to deal with the creature.

You might want to make a note of the beliefs about werewolves i.e. their strengths, their abilities, their weaknesses, as these will be useful when you come to design your werewolves.

The Complete Book of Werewolves by Leonard R.N. might be worth reading if you find this interesting.

2. Genre Decisions

Before even beginning to design your werewolf you're going to want to decide what genre you're writing in. A werewolf in a horror story will have different qualities and weaknesses compared to, say, a werewolf of in a romance novel. There are usually fewer werewolves in a horror story and larger packs of werewolves in stories where the werewolves are more friendly.

3. Origins

In almost all stories the origins of werewolves as a species are entirely unimportant. This might be something you want to include / explore in your story so I'll touch on it briefly.

Was it a gift or a curse? Was it simply evolution? Have werewolves changed from the time of the first werewolf to the time your story is set? Were they created by a higher power? Was it magic?

4. Wolf Behaviour

Something you might want to look into is the behaviour of real wolves. If your werewolves lose their human mind / have wolf instincts do these follow the patterns of real wolves?

This will help you know how big a territory they might have, what leadership structure they might follow, what techniques they might use to hunt their prey.

Bare in mind, different types of wolves have different behaviours. Does this affect your wolves? Do different wolves of different regions behave in different ways?

5. Werewolf Design

So, now the fun bit. You get to make your werewolf.

Are they affected by the moon? When they turn, do they keep their human mind? How much like a wolf do they look? Are they wolflike or do they have wolf qualities but walk upright? Does shifting forms hurt? How long does it take?

Do you have to be born a wolf or can you be tuned? Does silver affect them? How can they be killed? Do they age? Is their aging process slowed? In some stories werewolves have soulmates, is that the case for yours? Do they live in packs?

How quickly do they heal? Are they strong and fast even in human form? What are there sense like compared to a human? If their abilities are better than that of a human, is it the same in both forms or are their abilities weaker when in human form?

Pick the qualities the suit your story / selected genre the best.

6. Themes

The beast is among us.

Themes of werewolf stories often depends on the genre. In a horror story the themes centre around the struggle between man and beast, humanity and the natural world, secrets, deception, and the illusion that we are in control.

7. Pack Dynamics

If your werewolf knows others amongst their kind then they will most likely be at least one pack in your story. You need to decide the size of the pack, how they function on a full moon vs when they are humans, how are they funded, their leadership structure. Are their packs strictly werewolf only, or can others be found amongst them?

8. Threats

What threats are there to your werewolves? Is it others of their kind Another species? Are there werewolf hunters? Who knows that they exist? Is it common knowledge or do they keep themselves hidden? How far are they willing to go in order to protect themselves?

#writeblr community #creative writing #writeblr #writing #prompt #prompts #writing prompts #writing prompt #fantasy prompts #story prompts #werewolf #werewolves #writing werewolves #requests open #writer blog #for future reference

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klanced · 9 months

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dog au

this is less about designating them as a specific dog breed and more about the Vibes

keith: he’d be one of those dogs that are bred to have a specific job but he’s unemployed (read: house dog) so he just constantly destroys the house and eats the walls. neurotic as fuckkkkkkk. he would calm down if you gave him a sheep or something

allura: one of those dogs that looks like a horse like a greyhound or an afghan hound. if allura was a dog she’d have a long skinny snout and huge soulful eyes that make her look like a prey animal. neurotic as FUCK but she doesn’t eat the walls like keith instead she just micromanages the shit out of her daily walks

shiro: obviously you could type-cast him as one of the Quintessential Japanese Dog Breeds but that’s such low-hanging fruit imo. i do think shiro is one of those dogs that was bred to thrive in subzero temperatures but now he’s forced to live in like san francisco so he constantly suffers from heat exhaustion. he’s still missing one of his front legs in this au idk maybe zarkon hit him with his car or something.

hunk: born to be a teacup dog forced to be Huge. if you compare him in the tags to a golden retriever i will stone you. if hunk was a dog i think he’d be one of those dogs that have beautiful bangs and luscious facial hair like a portuguese water dog. i actually think hunk would have less anxiety if he was a dog

lance: honestly idk what kind of dog lance would be all i can say definitively is that: 1) he’d be one of those dogs with a weird shaped head, and 2) he’d be one of those dogs that were bred to Hunt and Chase. so looooong legs. i also think he would have very short + thin + smooth fur and he wants to be a lap dog so, so, so bad but he unfortunately weighs like 50+ pounds

pidge: i think pidge would be one of those mean as fuck small dogs. like she’s an angel to her family but a total terror at the dog park to the point that you have to walk her at weird hours so there are less dogs around for her to bully. i know pidge is comically short in canon but as a dog i think she’d be a small to medium sized breed. i also think pidge would be some kind of spaniel or one of those dogs that have alarmingly human-like eyes

coran: ok i know i said this wouldn’t be a specific list but coran is CLEARLY some kind of terrier and he is specifically one of those breeds that has glorious muttonchops like an airedale terrier or a scottish terrier. if coran was a dog he’d be the purest kind of purebred with a carefully registered bloodline going back hundreds of generations in scotland

#voltron #keith #allura #shiro #hunk #pidge #lance #coran #shitpost #dog au #katiecanons #i guess. like why not.#this joke was too mean to include in the post: dog lance has thin fur as a reference to his canonically thinning hairline #neurotic as fuck: keith and allura #surprisingly not neurotic: shiro and hunk #they are not neurotic they are just absolute menaces: lance PIDGE and CORAN #i think out of all of them coran would have the best hunting + killing instincts. do you feel me.

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isadorastarotcards · 1 year

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Flowers That Offer Protection

Snapdragons

Snapdragons were believed to offer protection against witchcraft and evil eye. Dried snapdragons look very similar to skulls and can be used as charms against aging. In ancient Greek it was thought that wearing a snapdragon in your hair or on your neck would offer protection. During medieval times many castles would plant snapdragons around the entrance with the intention of protecting the castle (warding). Hang some snapdragons above a babies crib to repel bad spirits and nightmares

In Russia many women used snapdragons in ointments to reverse aging and appear graceful. In victorian times it was thought that hiding a snapdragon on you would make you appear more alluring.

Venus Flytrap

Venus flytrap are literal carnivores plants. Many witches use them as wards with the intention of eating negative energy. Use them to eat or bind negative energy. Many practitioners like to use Venus flytrap to bind people or negativity. As well as program them to feed off negativity.

I've also known people who use them as a sort of "trip wire" for curses, evil eyes and hexes. Though if you're not good with plants then your plant could just be dying and not have gotten an hex. You can tell the difference by whether it comes back to life when you take care of cleansing and necessary needs of the plant itself.

Angelica

Dried Angelica can be great for breaking hexes and banishing energy. Many practitioners use this flower and it's many parts in spells. It's believed that if it grows around a house or building it will protect it from witchcraft. Angelica root has also been used as amulets for protection or gambling.

In many European countries it was thought that Angelica would protect from sicknesses. The herb itself is used in many medicine even today. That's where it gets the name "angel" from. One of its best uses would be for breaking hexes. When used properly it can be the breaker.

‼️do not ingest if pregnant‼️

Carnation

Carnations are thought to be associated with the Holy Mother Mary and Diana the Goddess of the Hunt. Both were symbols of purity and Innocence. In many countries including eastern asian and Europe carnations are associated with healing and mothers love. In victorian flower language yellow carnations were seen as a symbol of rejection.

In parts of Europe red carnations were used to protect homes as well as repel unwanted visitors. Dried carnations can be used in many types of spells such as warding, protection, healing and love.

Yarrow

The herb is known for its protective uses as well as it's medicinal. It was said that the warrior Achilles learned of the herbs medicinal uses from the great teacher Chiron. In Ireland the herb was thought to disperse plagues and evil spirits. Was also thought to carry stocks of it for safe travels. Hanging yarrow throughout your home or near a babies crib is said to repel negative spirits.

In traditional Chinese folklore yarrow was used as a tool for divination. Due to how long lasting the flower is yarrow is also a symbol of long lasting love. You could use it in satchets or bouquets on wedding days or dates to promote a love that will last years.

Agrimony

Agrimony can be used as protection from negativity this includes witchcraft, evil eye, spirits and people. In wards they can cause a rebound on the sender of a hex. Carrying it around is thought to protect you wherever you go. These beliefs are common in English folklore and voodoo(closed practice) .

In old English the herb is thought to be put under a pillow for sleep. In ancient northern Europe the herb was thought to cure a lot of ailments. Anglo-Saxons had also believed that herb would reveal witches. Scotland had thought the herb could cure those who had been affected by fairies. This would mean unknown illnesses. The herb itself is seen as a kinda cure all.

‼️Please do intense research before ingesting or foraging ‼️

#beginner witch #free tarot #green witch #tarot blog #witch coven #witch #witchblr #witchcraft #book of shadows #baby witch #crystals #paganism #green witchcraft #kitchen witch #pagan wicca #green wicca

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mykneeshurt · 1 year

Note

hi!! happy new year!! 💗

I love ur writing, and I was thinking to drop this request;

so may request some hc’s of cod task force 141 (+ alejandro, könig, graves and rudy) :))

feel free to skip this if youre busy, just wondering, happy new year :)

Sorry this one took me some time, I got too in my head about it. It was so hard to not be bitchy to Graves lmfao, Soap is my favourite enjoy! SFW. Let me know if you want NSFW ones

Price 🥃

He supports Liverpool FC, no I won’t hear any different

His favourite non-alcoholic drink is ‘builders tea’

Glenfiddich 18 is his Whisky of choice

Favourite colour is khaki green

Is the father figure of the group, strong, reliable, approachable (everything my dad wasn’t lmfao, I still love him)

He wears a plain t-shirt pyjamas to bed, sleeps on his side, one arm under his head, absolutely snores

His favourite breed of dog is a Collie, or any working dog he can walk for miles for in the country side

He absolutely loves Bargain Hunt on TV

His favourite smell is fresh gingerbread

He’d make an excellent grandfather tbh

Soap 🧼

Despite being Scottish he supports Blackburn FC, an underdog (I refuse to comment on the Celtic vs Rangers, far too much history there. And I’m Welsh, it ent for me to say haah)

He absolutely loves winding the boys up about being English

His text tone is SCOTLAND FOREVVAAAA *aggressive bagpipes*

Soap 100% sleeps in the buff

His favourite dog would be a Labrador, nice active family friendly dog

He’s a chatterbox but a good listener when he needs to be, will often give some surprisingly good advice

He’s an iPhone wanker

Absolutely a mummy’s boy, would do anything for her - he’d love to pay off her mortgage for her

His favourite smell is the cheesy paws of his dog for real

He’s not a morning person, he loves a lie in when he can

Ghost 💀

Ghost supports Manchester City, he just gives me those vibes ok?

His favourite weather is rain/storms

When he’s home from a mission he’s a bath guy, he showers all the time on base, so when he’s home it’s hot ass bath with an audio book and his bourbon

He has two cats that his neighbour looks after when he’s away, two British blue shorthairs. Called Foxtrot and Whiskey

He also loves rabbits

He loves helping beginners at the gym

His favourite tv show is The Simpsons, something easy and colourful to watch to distract him from what he’s seen

He smells like Dior Suvage (anything musky and heavy)

He’s ambidextrous

He loves a cooked dinner, beef, roast potatoes, all the veg, stuffing and all the Yorkshire puddings

He’s got his tongue pierced, I’ve seen the fan art. You can’t tell me other wise.

Gaz 🇬🇧

He gives me Arsenal vibes, so he supports them

But also supports Chicago Bears in American Football

He’s gentle, reserved so he’d have a rat as a pet, highly intelligent

Fish and chips with curry sauce is his favourite meal, a proper British geeza

He smells fresh, think a bright spring day, fresh linen and cut grass

He loves the sunshine

He’s a keen gardener, grows his own herbs and vegetables

His house is spotless, minimalist, but has a huge book collection

He loves caramel lattes despite the banter from the boys, he has a sweet tooth

Loves meeting the boys down the pub on a Sunday for a carvery

Alejandro 🌹

He’s an excellent cook, his favourite hobby when not on a mission is trying out new recipes for Los Vaqueros

This man sleeps in silk sheets, tell me he doesn’t?

He’s fiercely loyal his country, he loves Mexico and is passionate about it through and through

He’s got a great sense of humour, enjoys making people laugh

He runs marathons for charity in his spare time

His favourite subject in school was history

If you’re sad this man gives the best hugs, he’ll make you a strong ass coffee and give one hell of a pep talk

His favourite smell is fresh cocoa beans, always stealing the nibs to eat

Him and Rudy have film nights with their families when they’re home

He’s 100% a girl dad, teaches her how to shoot with nerf guns in the garden

Rudy ❤️

He has a German Vizsla called Pollito, because her legs look like chicken drumsticks

He 100% has an android phone

He’s an armature photographer in his spare time, he loves nature

He and Alejandro have personalised ringtones for each other

His favourite food is Seafood paella

He owns a small farm, sells the produce to the local area, he loves animals

He once won a poetry competition

His favourite colour is orange

Sorry but he wears lynx Africa (I like it sue me)

He likes to game in his spare time, anything from farm simulator to RPGs

König 👑

He loves drawing, anything creative, he’ll draw/paint the Austrian countryside to de-stress

He grew up on a small farm in the Austrian mountains, he has a very close family

He doesn’t like large crowds, worried people stare at him because of his height, feels claustrophobic sometimes

He bites his nails when his hands aren’t busy or covered by gloves

He’s a cat guy 100%

He’s left handed, 100% a lefty but holds his gun right handed (its a struggle, I’m left handed)

He’d like a family one day, he’s got a lot of love to give

He smells like leather, sandalwood and vanilla

He loves eating raw cookie dough, vanilla and chocolate chip

He holds the record for the hardest punch in his home town

Graves 🇺🇸

His favourite holiday is July 4th, he does a huge fireworks display whenever he’s home

His favourite food is Gumbo

He smells like Paco Rabane Invictus

He’s got 3 Dobermans, whom he loves with all his heart. Ben, Jacob and Molly

He has a white picket fence - obviously

He doesn’t have a good relationship with his father, daddy forced him into the army to gain approval

He sleeps in red plaid pyjamas and has matching slippers

He’s fluent in French, he learnt it to pick up girls

He loves hiking in his spare time, with his 3 dogs

He runs support groups for veterans on a Thursday a local library

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househuntingscotland · 9 months

Text

2 bedroom flat for sale on Albert Avenue, Glasgow

Asking price: £205,000

Sold price: £271,500

#southside #2 bedroom #big kitchen #glasgow #scotland #interior #home decor #houses #house hunting scotland #1/1 61 #G42 8RA #sold #sold price

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applecrumbledore · 10 months

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Happy WW! Question for this lovely Americana week: If you HAD to take the boys outside of America either on a quick job or to live for awhile, where would you make them go and why? I hate that we had that quick phone call with Bobby where Sam and Dean went abroad (Scotland, I think?) and we saw NONE of it! As much as I love my red-blooded American boys, I think we've been deprived of a great plot point!

hello!! what a great question thank you!!

the short answer: I'm Canadian and would love to see some Canada action, but the only canada-related plots in TV are hamfisted and cringe, so I can't imagine what spn would actually do with that that would be good

the long answer is a snippet from a fic I'll never publish that I KNOW I've posted on tumblr before but I can't figure out where, so I'm posting it again:

"You hung over?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged.

"Nah. Took some Advil."

"Good, good." Dean let a smile spread slowly over his face. "You, uh, really had a few."

"No more than you."

"You went on your little rant again."

Sam went still and looked over. Dean's smile was cranked up to a thousand watts.

"Which rant?" Sam asked carefully.

“You know which rant. Every time I get more than four drinks in you, you find a way to bring up moving to another country and telling people that we have the same last name because we’re married.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean saw his back get tight. He was embarrassed.

“Excuse me for finding creative solutions to the ongoing problem of dating my brother.”

"Have you considered not dating your brother?"

"Shut up, Dean."

Dean put his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands and made faces at him.

"This time it was Portugal. You said we could live in a seaside shack in Portugal. You were worried they weren't progressive enough, though. Then I said, if we want progressive, we're stuck with either California or Canada or maybe Oregon on a good day, and you said that wasn't far enough away, except maybe Canada."

"Would you please—"

"You know a surprising amount of Canadian lore, turns out. Have you been doing research? House hunting? I'm not moving to Canada, we'd never get guns again."

"Canada's too close," Sam grumbled. "Go away."

"Canada's big. And rural. Bet we can find a place backwards enough for our, uh, alternative lifestyle. But—"

"Alright, that's—"

"—I'd be willing to bet that any fucked-up commune that's down with the incest part would be extremely not down with the gay part—"

"Dean."

"—So maybe we'd just better keep being weird, violent hermits in Kansas for now."

"Are you done?" Sam asked, sounding physically pained.

"Are those pancakes done?"

"If it'll shut you up, they are."

"Deal."

Sam took the plate of warmed pancakes out of the oven and all but threw it down in front of Dean, leaving him to get his own utensils and syrup.

Sam had been very excited about Portugal. Dean thought it was grossly sweet, but he wasn't about to miss an opportunity to rib Sam by doing something as stupid as agreeing with him out loud. He knew it would never happen, but thinking about it made his heart turn over; two matching silver rings tapping on the railing of a balcony, sun-bleached stucco and curtains fluttering in the hot wind. Drinking vinegary pilsners and driving along a winding coastline, two old American guys with omnipresent sunburns and no past. Sam with his hair in a ponytail, reading a book under a beach umbrella.

Dean blinked and shook his head as if clearing sun spots from his vision. Maybe Sam thought about that life while he was drunk, but Dean thought about it sober. He really, really tried not to dwell on that delta. It made everything less funny.

#roncillary #ronanswers

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e-adlirez · 25 days

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Thea Stilton Treasure Seekers Review/Ramble

Behold, an impulsive ramble about a possibly-obscure trilogy that's been translated to English during quarantine-ish, adding to the obscurity.

So the Treasure Seekers, huh? :3

Coming out a little prior but more or less over the course of quarantine and thus a lot of people not having ready access to it, the Treasure Seekers is what turned out to be a trilogy of what it says on the tin: the girls hunting down cool treasures as a result of going down the world's biggest and highest-stakes scavenger hunt written a hundred-ish years prior to the present time.

Gonna be giving MAJOR spoilers for the first book in the trilogy, and there'll (probably) be one post per book in the trilogy. If you haven't read the book, here's a copy on the Internet Archive you can read before skipping ahead to the review, enjoy, it's pretty good. If you've already read the book or don't care about spoilers, please proceed below the cut :3

The story begins with the girls on summer vacation in Scotland. Shenanigans get started when they meet this old hermit woman who has in her house a mysterious heirloom tapestry with a mysterious poem on it.

The tapestry has this poem that talks about a place with sweet winds, petals that will lead you to something beneath them, something about midnight and birds, and an alabaster garden created for the "jewel of the palace" (like me to you), that is guarded by a friend with deep feet. Sounds like a whole lotta cryptic shnit the theory heads would enjoy :D

Anyway so the girls go visit Beitris (the hermit woman) the next day to return something they borrowed from her only to walk into a holdup :D

Said holdup-ers are these two grunts led by this mysterious lady hiding her identity under a black fedora and thick-framed Ray Bans. The girls deal with that situation real quick and get the guys to scarper (if you're wondering how they did that, "the police are coming"), and once it all blows over, they find that the thugs only stole the tapestry despite ransacking the entire place like raccoons. Such a realization leads to a revelation on Beitris's end, so she entrusts the girls with the tapestry's backstory in a segment I will describe as LAAANNNEEEE LOOOORRRREEEEEE (said in a MatPat voice, we'll miss you king :'])

The tapestry was a family heirloom passed down to Beitris by her grandmother Petra, who got it from her older sister Aurora Beatrix Lane, who is basically British Amelia Earhart. Wasn't into girly shnit, liked being outside and also archaeology, studied in the University of Cambridge as an Archaeology major and learned how to fly a plane, all while punting early 1900s gender norms into oblivion with her pants and motorcycle. Motorcycle queen, plane queen, archaeology queen, but then everything changed when this British Amelia Earhart did a British Amelia Earhart.

The context behind Aurora Beatrix Lane's disappearance is something relating to her work with her mentor Jan Von Klawitz, who was doing archaeology things with her and probably got up to some wild shnit, but we would never know because Aurora is very secretive about her plans and her destinations, and she only came home to the UK once, after her first trip, and that was when she gave smol child Petra the tapestry to guard because it led to "a very precious treasure", but she can't show it yet for the time being. The vibe was Aurora was planning on using the tapestry to show the treasure it hides once she's done with her archaeology shenanigans.

But then she did an Amelia Earhart but completely untraceable since she never revealed her destinations, so uh there's that :D

Back to the present, this little storytime from Beitris has gotten the girls sucked into a rabbit hole. They are now hyperfixated like nobody's business and this Aurora Beatrix Lane is JUST LIKE THEM FR, and as a result they decide that y'know what they still have a few days before classes in Mouseford starts, and while they're at it, they're gonna find Beitris's tapestry and maaayyyybeeee find the alabaster garden. First destination: Girton College at the University of Cambridge, Aurora Beatrix Lane's alma mater.

The girls take a quick jaunt to Girton by train and then by bus to have a lil' chat with the dean, who reveals to them that they're looking for the central archive if they're gonna be looking for the deets on a student from a hundred years ago, but uh the archive is closed for the day, please come tomorrow. (Wonder why, maybe it's because they rode from Scotland to Girton by train which takes a shnitload of time. /nsrs but fr tho I wonder if the original Italian had them drive over there by car-- they did rent an SUV, and going by car would be way faster, like it'll only take a seven-hour drive faster) They come back the next day, are let into the archives, and oop, they find a well-preserved diary with Aurora's initials hidden in the Stanley Library.

Y'know what that means, LANE LOOORRRREEEEE

So two months into her accompanying Jan on his excavations, she notes that Jan's been acting a bit sus lately-- being very nervous, being extremely protective over his luggage, being weird about hiding some of the relics he's found, and also a weird-ass incident where while exploring a small village's old castle, Aurora found a hidden chamber with a tome inside that Jan immediately snatched and was like "I'll take care of it don't worry, don't worry about the protocol stuff I'll be fine I'll take care of it". And then he went back to "normal" after that. Hmmmm.

A month later, while Jan was talking with one of his collaborators on their train to England, Aurora stumbled into the tome again, suspiciously in Jan's personal luggage instead of being properly archived and catalogued like it should've been. She read it, saw a thing about the Seven Treasures of the World, and that caused her protagonist genes to kick in since now she's now very tempted to look into finding them and showing them to the world.

After that, she went to some libraries to investigate and eventually decided to confront Jan about the whole treasures thing and his first reaction was he was pissed, calling Aurora a snoop and everything poking into his things. Then after calming down he said "just pretend to not see", but oh no, dear reader, Aurora was not gonna pretend to not see. She ain't gonna pretend to not see the fact that her mentor was actually a treasure hunter and collector who'd been using his occupation as an excuse to snatch some nifty treasures and keep them to himself like every European country who's stolen artifacts from Asian countries ever, ohohohooooo noooo, she's gonna do something about it.

The girls scuttle on over back to Scotland and Beitris, to find that uh oh dear, the thugs came back again and this time they were asking about the girls specifically. Beitris pulled the same trick the girls pulled to get them to leave. So NOW the thugs are looking for the girls for whatever reason and wanna know their deal. Anyway, the girls show Beitris Aurora's diary, tell her about the summary, and also that unfortunately some of the pages are missing, and the diary doesn't say shnit about the tapestry so far. Beitris helps by giving them a letter that Aurora sent to Petra about the tapestry and its treasure, but interestingly mentions that she should "only trust Robert".

Since I haven't mentioned him before, Robert Neville was Aurora's flight tutor, a flying medic, and was toootttallllyyyyy just friends with Aurora you guys they were totally just frie--

He is dead in the present time, but his nephew John Neville is a (former) lighthouse keeper for the Ar-Men lighthouse in the IÎe de Sein, Brittany, France. So the girls head on over there, land in France, insert a thing where Vi feels like she's being watched but is like "maybe it's just a me thing, I dunno".

They head over to the Île de Sein, find an old man who turns out to be John, are invited to his house, tell him about their situation, and John mentions that he himself has been researching like crazy too about Aurora ever since hers and Jan's simultaneous disappearance over the same place at the same time in the same terrible storm. And also the fact that Robert was totally devastated when he got the news and spent years looking for her. He gives them his notes that he's accumulated over decades of researching in his pastime (which amounts to just Aurora's trip to Mexico), and tells them that since Aurora was looking for seven treasures, they'll need to find out where her seven trips took place, which will not be easy because Aurora was extremely secretive, and she only made her first trip even remotely public.

First place is Mexico so might as well head on over-- oh god the holdup-ers are back to holdup.

The thugs snatch Aurora's diary and book it before the girls can do much besides get an impromptu ocean bath, and oh dear, the thugs' boss has them now, and it's not the mafia cosplayer lookin' woman. But that's something I'll address later :3

Nonetheless, they carry on since the thugs never stole John's notebook, and they use it to go to the Puuc Route in Mérida, Yucatán (sounds very specific until you realize that Mérida is the capital of the Yucatán, and one thing everyone and their mother knows about the Mayan ruins there like Chichen Itza) to find more clues.

They do some more research on the Puuc Route, find some clues about "an invisible place, guarded by the chattiest of creatures", discover that it means they have to go to Uxmal, get a dub against the unfortunately acrophobic thugs, and realize that yes, Aurora did in fact sneak another one of her diaries in there.

This one doesn't have as much Lane Lore to contribute besides a clue that the girls find leads to Kannauj, Uttar Pradesh, India, a city known for its perfumes :3 sounds like "sweet winds", doesn't it? Oh and there's also something about a place with two lakes, which turns out to be Lakh Bahosi, a bird sanctuary about an hour's drive away from Kannauj. The girls head on over and try to do some investigating, but it doesn't take them that long to find a pair of grunts struggling under the weight of a very familiar tapestry while their boss was struggling to supervise them with her heels constantly digging into bird sanctuary dirt.

Anyway so the girls concoct a little scheme to steal the tapestry and the thugs fall for it like fish for a fishing lure, and they managed to scatter with the tapestry. After getting to a private space in the sanctuary, they find a clue that leads them to a set of coordinates that they find is a beeg tree. Oh and the treasure seems to be a present that was made for someone close to Mumtaz Mahal, as in "the jewel of the palace", the woman the Taj Mahal was made for; and the tapestry has a set of coordinates that is leading them to a beeg tree, with deep roots/feet. Oh hell yeah it's all comin' together.

They get to the tree, deal with the mafia lady for a little bit, find the treasure, and it turns out it's a very exquisite perfume bottle made of alabaster called "The Perfume of the Earth". They find a little note from Aurora explaining the treasure and its value and the significance of finding it, and now the girls have found the treasure Aurora had been searching for, and now's the time for a villain reveal?

So I haven't talked about him yet and have glossed over this guy for the entire ramble. See the mafia lady, Cassidy? Yeah she's not the big boss here. It's this guy who has a whole secret base in Denali National Park, Alaska, and has been overseeing everything behind the scenes. And by everything, I mean everything: He was alerted to the whole thing with Cassidy's first raid of Beitris's house, found out about the girls' involvement, and for a good half of the book, was trying to figure out what the girls' motives are for interfering with his line of work and what they might know about this whole thing he's looking for, which is the alabaster garden.

This guy has been keeping tabs on the girls through Cassidy and her thugs, who've been stalking the girls ever since France. He and Cassidy figured out in Paris that the girls are Mouseford students on vacation, and he was the one who gave the orders to snatch the journal from there. He was the one who told the goons to tail them to Mexico, and he was the one who managed to look up the girls' names, backgrounds, reasons for being in Scotland, all from the comfort of his base in Alaska. And only then, only then did he go to India himself to supervise and put a cap to his goons' buffoonery.

Who is this guy? Well, he is a treasure hunter who just wants to enjoy the treasures Aurora Beatrix Lane has hidden from his great-grandfather a hundred years ago. That's right, meet Luke Von Klawitz, the current heir to the Klawitz legacy and the treasure trove Jan Von Klawitz left behind in spite of his disappearance. Unfortunately Jan was better (and old enough) to secure a family legacy of greedy artifact hoarding.

So while the girls were in Lakh Bahosi, Luke was too with the goons and Cassidy (who is not his right-hand man and more just... a subordinate trying too hard to impress him), being the babysitter with these guys on leashes, as he tries to keep their stupidity under control. He intercepts the girls as they're about to leave Lakh Bahosi, blocking their path, and asks about the alabaster garden. The girls obviously don't spill and prolly would've gotten themselves blackbagged and interrogated had a friend they made prior to Lakh Bahosi not shown up in her dad's truck and came in clutch. (It sounds cliche and like it came out of nowhere but trust me it makes sense in-universe-- after the girls left the friend's family restaurant that they were hanging at, Luke's goons came over to interrogate them about the girls and where they went. Subtlety, who is she?)

The girls bring the perfume to a nearby university so it can be brought to a museum, send the tapestry back to Beitris, and return home to Whale Island, to read the last bits of Aurora's second journal and presumably to

So that's the book :D I put in a LOT of spoilers, but I'd say that reading the book is still worth it because you'll be able to get the connecting tissues that tie the organs of this story together. H-hopefully this all made sense . .'''

First things first, if you're not used to how Scholastic kids' novels are written, then uh, you might wanna get used to it, because the English translation of Thea Stilton is very... that. It's not beating the kids' book allegations in English, unfortunately. On the brighter side, though, it's pretty good for Scholastic standards! The pacing's very fast, but it feels about right-- gives me the same energy as diving deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole and going to all sorts of places because of the hyperfixation responsible for consuming their sanity for all of a week or so. The dialogue isn't nearly as atrocious as the worst it's capable of being (oh trust me we'll get to that). The tapestry puzzle and how the girls work towards solving it is very coherent and logical for the situation they are in at the beginning, and it's very satisfying to see everything come together and for things to slowly make more and more sense in the poem despite it being as vague and puzzle box-y as it was.

The Lane family lore is very well-thought-out, and Aurora Beatrix Lane is the perfect spiritual predecessor to the girls, what with her love for adventure, love for travel, strong moral compass, and the strong compulsion to elbow drop every single feminine social rule under the sun. I can totally buy her being someone the girls would totally hyperfixate on researching, because she feels like that kind of compelling character-- a passionate young archaeologist who decided to put her own safety on the line for the sake of what she believed in and to dunk on Klawitz and his selfish (and very illegal) goals of hoarding the treasures of the world to himself.

As for the villain, I'll be real gamers, Luke Von Klawitz is probably the most intimidating if not terrifying villain in the entire franchise. He has drones spying on every corner of the world for him, he has goons he can contact at any time and have them do his bidding (to mixed results it seems), he has cutting-edge technology that he uses for terrifying means, all in the safety and comfort of his secret underground base in Alaska where he has his little basement filled to the brim with historical artifacts he's kept all to himself to enjoy. Lemme run this through you again:

He was able to learn the girls names, the university they're studying in, and why they were in Scotland in the first place, all without ever meeting them face-to-face or having his goons interrogate them directly. All he needed to learn all of this was the (not very helpful) research by Cassidy, and a few commands put into his world-connected supercomputer.

Are you intimidated yet? I sure hope you are :D this guy's got a lotta potential is what I'm saying. He's a bit of a brat who wants what he wants and wants it immediately, but he's also a bit of a chess master who looks over things in the background while his minions do all the work for him. Really the only thing holding him back is the incompetency of his goons, and technically it's not even that they're very stupid-- Cassidy and her grunts Stan and Max are very good at swooping in out of nowhere to wreak havoc, dip in and get out before anyone can do anything about it. They're decent if not good at the job they're usually assigned: low-level grunt work. Unfortunately they're not good at much else, which drove Luke insane this entire book, haha.

The girls' dynamic with Cassidy, Stan and Max was refreshing in the sense that the girls aren't always getting punted by them, and the goons aren't always taking Ls just from physical contact with the girls. Cassidy and the goons always had the element of surprise on their side, being able to show up out of nowhere and do their thing before the girls have time to even blink; but once the girls figured out their whole shtick, it was easy to learn that they are easily outclass-able by five mouse Oxford students in braincell count and thus act accordingly. They force the girls to think fast and come up with some snappy plans on the spot, and the girls force Luke to realize he hired Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Dum, and Tweedle Dummy as goons :D

Now uh, I have been complimenting this thing the entire time, but there is one little thing I have an issue within this book, and that is the whole... Power of Friendship thing they've got going on throughout the book.

Yes, unfortunately, the Friendship Curse has claimed this hardcover series too, and while it's not the worst here, it's still... it's still a bit atrocious :D

For instance, the conclusion Cassidy and Luke come to for the girls' reasons for interference is "friendship". Literally, Cassidy literally says to Luke, "It seems they did it out of friendship, Sir", and then Luke responds with an evil cackle and is like "FRIENDSHIP? THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP DOESN'T EXIST IN THIS WORLD! AIN'T NO WAAAAYYYYY THEY'RE NOT FIVE SCHEMERS WHO WANNA GET THE TREASURES THEMSELVES", which is like... I don't get that vibe from Luke anywhere else in the book? Luke values efficiency and getting what he wants-- he's not hired Cassidy to be all buddy-buddy with her, he hired her for a job and she has to work to fulfill said job. He just wants competent employees, and y'know what, that's valid. Not a single part in that have I seen "ew power of friendship". It's very villain for the sake of villainy kind of energy, which I don't think fits Luke with the other bits of information we get of him? He's following his great-granddad's footsteps-- not a single minute of that did that mean "the spirit of friendship doesn't exist get yo head outa the cotton candy"

Then there's... how this applies to the girls.

inhales

WHY DID THEY MAKE VIOLET THE GROUP'S FRIENDSHIP PROPHET GRAAAAHHHH

I probably would make a full-blown rant about this at some point, but one thing I never liked about any of the hardcovers was how Violet of all people is the group's assigned friendship prophet. She'd occasionally make a comment about how uh something something the power of love is the strongest of all, and every single time I don't like it :D

Sure fine you can chalk it up to character development since her early months in Mouseford, but in the earlier books it's heavily established that she's the pragmatic one, the braincell keeper, the one who keeps the girls' group ADHD on track or the one who reminds them that "hey we've been at this for a really long time and it's now 2AM, we should really turn in now". Being a friendship prophet is a Colette thing, not a Violet thing, and I'm not trying to insult Colette or anything like that. I would be far more okay with it if Colette was the one to go on about the "power of love" because she's literally the HOPELESS ROMANTIC! She's the one with her head in the clouds, the one most likely to fangirl about ships in movies, the one who chooses to ship Romeo and Juliet and pretend to not see the entire second act of said play for the sake of believing in love.

If Colette had a line where she gushed about the power of friendship, I would've just chalked it up to "that cheesy-ass statement is something she'd totally say ngl", as opposed to the jarring whiplash I get from seeing Violet of all people call upon the Power of Friendship.

Again, probably will rant about this at some point (lemme know if you're into that idea), but yeah -m-

Literally just chuck the power of friendship bits and replace them with something more practical/realistic/grounded/whateveryouwannacallit, and it's basically perfect! Even the bits where the girls make friends on their journey is believable! Those don't have to be altered at all! Geuh it drives me insane, almost to the point of wanting to do something about it....

Well, that's enough rambling for today. I can't use up all my steam on this first book-- I plan on making ramblings for the second and third books, after all.

See ya Stilton fans, and for the newcomers from Twitter, welcome :D I hope you enjoy your stay :D

#geronimo stilton #thea stilton #thea sisters #book review #book rant #book rambles #unfortunately treasure seekers 3 isn't available on the archive as far as I'm seeing :'3 #which is disappointing because GWAAAHHH #not gonna give any spoilers but it and book 1 are tied for my favorite in the trilogy #i remember reading the first treasure seekers and immediately feeling nostalgic because i severely missed the girls treasure hunting #high stakes and all that crazy stuff that the older books delivered #tangoing with some crazy villains with some hella power and not like the latter four graphic novels did #i missed that a lot so having it in treasure seekers made my at-the-time 15-year-old self very happy #ipads dieded rn but once i get it back and fixed and hopefully not factory reset i should draw some treasure seekers doodles fr #maybe something like i dunno aurora beatrix lane #who knows :]

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