#snake man of India | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mercurytojupiter · 3 months

Text

the labyrinth - chapter one

a/n: do you guys have any idea how hard it is to get my friends to beta for saltburn?

warnings: farleigh being farleigh, which includes underage drugs, drinking, cigarettes and sex 18+

fic summary: ariadne gavin and her childhood best friend turned enemy return to saltburn for the last time

Ariadne is twenty-one now, and can hardly recall the last civilized conversation she had with Farleigh Start while sober. Everything about him is grating. She can't even imagine how he used to be her best friend.

He bites his lip as he throws an arm around his girl-of-the-week, whose name has come and gone from Ariadne's mind so quickly it was like she'd never heard it at all. Alicia? Felicia? She doesn't know and doesn't care. She doesn't. And she absolutely cannot smell the mix of his citrus and sandalwood cologne - a signature scent that they had picked out together when they were twelve, and yes, hers was the matching, feminine version of the same collection - and the sharp tang of cigarettes. She is not looking at his hair and thinking about how he's using the wrong conditioner because it's frizzing, and probably not even wearing his durag since he's waking up in a different bed every morning.

She's not paying attention to any of that.

She sits comfortably on India's lap, laughing breathily at whatever joke the girl just made. She doesn't know and doesn't care, but India tightens her grip and presses a red lipstick print into her neck, she takes another hit off of her blunt and waits for Farleigh to fade away.

Ariadne and India aren't dating, but they are fucking. Poor replacements for the two boys at the table, but replacements nonetheless.

Besides, if Ariadne had learned one thing during her education, it was that boys got off on girls making out. She liked it personally, but she knew some girls did it just to catch Felix's eye. Their loss, Felix didn't find Ariadne hot so he found none of the girls she kissed hot either. India has yet to learn this lesson.

Felix is talking about how some nerd was his hero or something because of the flat tire on his bike, Ariadne doesn't know and certainly doesn't care when the nerd himself catches Felix's eye.

Ariadne takes one look at the man and knows that Felix is going to string the poor boy along for months without even realizing it. Or, maybe he did. Ariadne doesn't care. She doesn't care much about anything these days, and when she does, she takes another hit, another shot, another something until the world fades again.

When she's sober and has no homework, she remembers to care about Farleigh, so she makes sure those two states never occur at the same time.

Against her will, she notes the way Farleigh's jaw tightens when Oliver Whatshisface approaches the table. This must be Oliver "Thus" Quick from his tutoring sessions.

Ariadne snorts as Farleigh shifts in discomfort and sinks back again as the conversation turns to who Ollie is, what college he's in, and other shit she wouldn't even care about sober.

Her attention tunes back in when the shot chant begins.

"Jagerbombs!" She and Farleigh demand at the same time. She shoots him a look of annoyance.

Farleigh makes a low rumble in his throat that only she knows to watch for. "It's your round, man!"

"I should go to bed," Oliver mumbles, suddenly green.

Farleigh shakes his head and curls entrancingly, so much so that she almost forgets to pay attention to what he's saying. "No, no, no, no. You can't snake out of your round."

Oliver squirms in his seat. Something about him is offputting, now that Ariadne's finished her blunt and is coming down from the high. "I'm not," the boy mutters.

"It looks like you are." Farleigh laughs, but Ariadne knows he's not joking. She knows that the alarm bells in her head are going off in his, and even more so, she senses his competitive streak flaring up.

The table boos except Felix, who seems to sense Oliver's unease. Ariadne rolls her eyes. Ever the angel, their Felix.

He's going to get himself killed that way. It's unnatural to Ariadne that anyone could be as trusting as he is.

"Okay, okay." Oliver concedes. Maybe Ariadne's imagining the way he seems to sneer at Farleigh as he gets up.

Oliver manages to get to his feet and heads for the bar, and Ariadne's final assessment begins to click into place. This kid was a gold-digging little weasel, but probably too weak to do any real damage, except for Farleigh, who seemed to be pissed off by the dude's very existence.

"Farleigh," Felix scolds.

"What?" Farleigh fakes innocently. She sees the way his round eyes widen and his lips open just enough that even India's head falls onto her palm in adoration. There's no denying that Farleigh is pretty.

"Just cut him a break, mate." Felix pleads.

It's not going to work. Whenever Felix asked any of them to be nice to his strays, they always got meaner. Her and Venetia included.

For example, poor old Eddie last year.

"What?" Farleigh repeats lower.

He'd never liked receiving orders from the Cattons. When they were younger, she might have soothed him back down, but it was no use now. She couldn't even if she wanted to.

The crack had become a canyon, just like her dad had foretold.

"That round's gonna cost a fucking fortune." Felix continues.

"Pub rules, Felix." Farleigh grins.

Silently, she agrees, but she decides she can't be here anymore. Farleigh's pretty, white and fox-like smile, had very suddenly become too much for her.

"I'm off." She declares suddenly, sitting up. The group groans and complains good-naturedly, and she watches Farleigh stare at her with an intensity she had grown used to.

She sits in her car for twenty minutes, smoking a cigarette and trying to pretend every time she's with Farleigh she can't feel him in her skin when she hears a tap-tap-tapping on her passenger window.

The man himself, grinning his evil grin.

She can't help herself. She unlocks the car.

"There you are, pet! I looked out the window and I saw you hadn't even driven away! How weird is that, hm?" He teases in that tone which he only takes with people he can't stand. She'd never imagined she'd be on the receiving end of it.

She takes another long drag of her cigarette. "You used to hate when they called me that. You almost broke Felix's nose over it."

"Pass." Farleigh demands. She hands him the cigarette and he puffs it gently. "You gave a shit about me then too. Venetia called me a dog and you fucking bit her. At fourteen."

"I was a weird fucking kid," Ariadne mumbles.

"What the hell happened to us?" Farleigh asks. His long fingers twist a ring, which she deciphers as nerves. She hates that she knows that. Because she wonders, if they aren't friends, and they aren't lovers, why does she know him better than she knows herself? Why does she think about the little things he's done since they were children and worry about his health? Why does she make sure with a glance that he's eating well?

What the hell happened, indeed.

Ariadne knows exactly what happened to them. She had a crush on someone incapable of loving her back and took the lowest of all low roads in her envy. She doesn't say that. She just shrugs. "I dunno, Far. I really don't."

Farleigh leans across the console, palm resting on her cheek, and kisses her.

For a moment, Ariadne sinks deep into the feeling. How many years had she craved his affection? How many times had she let him ruin her life just for a chance of this? His soft, plush lips on hers, their foreheads pressed against each other, his hot, warm tongue twirling with hers. It felt beautiful and religious and, above all else, right. Just fucking right. Like this was how it ought to have been all along.

But then she realizes that this isn't what she was waiting for. She pulls away, gasping.

"My dorm or yours?" Farleigh asks breathlessly.

Ariadne wants to cry. She doesn't want this. She wants him, but she wants all of him, not a night like he gave everyone else.

She shakes her head. "I can't. I can't, I-"

She scrambles for anything to say that isn't "I like you, and I've had a crush on you since we were seven."

"You can't cheat on Alicia." She settles on instead.

"I don't give a fuck about Alicia!" He huffs.

Ariadne sobs. "I know! I know and that's the problem, Far. You used to be so sweet. You used to love everyone and you would never hurt someone's feelings without a reason and I don't even recognize you anymore!"

Farleigh stares at her. "Is that why you stopped talking to me? Because I'm too mean, because newsflash, princess, you're not exactly all sunshine anymore either."

"I stopped talking to you because of Arabella Vaillancourt." She whispers before she can stop herself. Why would she say that? He's going to know exactly how immature and obsessed she is and-

Farleigh scrunches his nose. "Who?"

Ariadne bangs her head against her steering wheel. "You don't even remember. You shattered my worldview and it was so insignificant you don't even remember."

"I-"

"Get out of my car, Farleigh," she begs. She wishes it had venom in it. She wishes she had yelled or something. Instead, all there is left is exhaustion and heartbreak.

He doesn't argue, and that hurts even worse.

She doesn't speak to him again until graduation. Steals glances at him sometimes, after he breaks things off with Alicia, and shares twin looks of annoyance every time Oliver does something irrevocably stupid, but never words.

She misses it. Even arguing with him had been better than not having him at all.

Until, suddenly, on the last day of term as she packs her things, Farleigh bursts through her door.

"Felix invited Oliver to Saltburn." He says like he's announcing a death.

Ariadne groans. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Start."

"He's worse than Eddie from last year," Farleigh complains, throwing himself on her bed like they're fourteen again.

Ariadne nods. "Like, times ten. Am I the only one who can tell that this kid is fucking insane?" She whines.

"No," Farleigh hums competitively. "I know it too."

"Shut up, this isn't about you," Ariadne commands.

Farleigh holds his hands up in the air in surrender before he gets distracted by her bookshelf.

"Is this that old copy of Pride and Prejudice I got you?" He asks.

Ariadne shrugs. "Yeah. I wasn't going to get rid of a perfectly good novel just because I was mad at you."

"Was?" Farleigh grins.

Ariadne sighs. "Am." She amends. "You are a mistake and a scourge on the earth."

"And," he licks his lips, "The first friend you ever had."

She doesn't dignify that with a response and sets about finishing packing her clothes.

"Do you ever miss Bel-Air?" He asks suddenly.

Ariadne closes her eyes and can almost smell the sea salt of Malibu Beach. Remember the small staff of her home rather than the expansive staff at Saltburn.

She also remembers her and Farleigh's mothers at the mini-bar drinking themselves into oblivion and her father yelling at her to be perfect and finds she even misses that too.

"Every day. You?"

"Yeah," Farleigh says, suddenly sounding very small.

He perks back up. "Arabella Vaillancourt was the girl I lost my virginity to at prep school," he declares proudly.

Ariadne bites back a smile. "Good. Now prove to me you've changed since then."

Farleigh practically skips out of her room.

Later that day comes the six-hour night drive back up to Lowick from school. Ariadne cherishes the drive. It's the only time she spends with the Cattons now when all of them are sober.

Venetia stretches her arms, as catlike as ever. "So, what're we going to do about the O-word?"

"Orgasm?" Ariadne guesses.

Venetia smirks. "Maybe for Felix, but I meant Oliver."

"Dad didn't get you the flat in town so you could be a bloody spy, y'know." Felix huffs.

Venetia pats his cheek. "But he never said it wasn't."

"I don't want to fuck him," Felix says sternly.

Venetia raises an eyebrow. "Then why the fuck did you invite him?"

Ariadne sighs. "I wish I fucking knew, Vee."

"Ari and I agree; the dude's a fucking creep," Farleigh says.

"I swear to god I saw him watching me change. And did you know he almost fucked Annabelle but he kept bringing you up and that's why she stopped hanging around?" Ariadne complains.

"Wait, what was that?" Farleigh raises a hand.

Ariadne doubles back. "He tried to fuck Annabelle. Little weasel-freak."

"I think he meant the part about Ollie watching you change, Pet, which I don't believe. He's gone through a lot. Did you know his dad died last week, right before exams?" Felix sighs sadly.

Ariadne rolls her eyes. "He's such a little snake I wouldn't be shocked if that was a lie. And I'm not kidding, I straight up saw him outside my bedroom window just staring at me."

"God, he deserves a good fuckin' punch, maybe it'll set him straight," Farleigh mutters. He's seething, and for once, Ariadne can't even tell why.

"Well, clearly not straight if he's hanging off Fi like you guys say," Venetia snickers.

They all laugh - even Felix- and the topic shifts to god-knows-what.

Ariadne scoots closer to Farleigh in the backseat, feeling like she did that first summer on this road.

On the first day at Saltburn, while they await Oliver-the-Golddigger's arrival, Ariadne holes herself up in her room to avoid running across the Weasel.

Ariadne only ever reads Pride and Prejudice at Saltburn. It is her yearly reminder that love is fickle and takes time and sometimes cannot be seized at all.

On her eighteenth birthday, she had gone with Vee to get the words "from admiration to love; from love to matrimony," along her wrist. Once, she had told Felix that the only people who understood her were him and Elizabeth Bennett.

A knock at her door has her scrambling up. "Dinner's in an hour."

She's shocked Farleigh came for her instead of Vee or Felix.

Farleigh leans against her doorway, already in his slacks and button-down, though his bowtie is disastrously loose.

"How'd you know to get me?" She hums, opening her closet.

Farleigh shrugs. "You always read when we're here. Figured you might lose track of time."

Sometimes she thinks that he must observe her as much as she does him.

"Is this a part of me telling you to show me you've grown?" She asks, pulling her tee-shirt off to slip on the black, floor-length dress for dinner.

Farleigh whistles lowly. "Maybe. Or maybe I thought it was unfair that Oliver saw you naked before me."

"You jealous bitch." She snarks. "Zip me?"

He strides across the room towards her - it doesn't take long, because he's always been much taller than everyone except Felix - and slowly zips her dress up. His fingers barely ghost over her skin and her whole body shudders.

"You look good, Gavin." He mutters.

She turns and fixes his bowtie. "Back at ya, Start. Y'know, you'd be gorgeous if you could keep your mouth shut."

"How will I lick Uncle James' boot, then?" He hums sarcastically.

She kisses his cheek. "You're improving, you should know." She pats his chest.

She walks past, but she knows he pumps his fist in the air from the sound of his clothes rustling.

Loveable damn idiot.

Dinner is an absolute bore. Elspeth gushes over Oliver, Poor Dear Pamela retells her sob story, and Venetia takes two bites of her dinner. Oliver is wearing one of Felix's suits. she can tell, the arms are too long, and the cufflinks are some old ones he had gotten for his sixteenth birthday.

She says nothing but shares a long glance with Farleigh. He rolls his eyes and she snickers.

Farleigh follows her up to her room. She was expecting it, to be fair.

He undoes his tie and throws it across the room before releasing the top few buttons of his shirt.

"Zipper." She reminds him. His lithe fingers are skimming her waist and her back, all the way up to the top of the zipper, and then back down again.

She throws on a tee shirt. "Go grab some house clothes from your room." She huffs. "Your hair has been bothering me since Oxford 'cause you've been doing it alone, I've got to do something about it."

He exits and returns in a tee shirt of his own and a pair of Fila sweatpants.

Ariadne missed this more than anything. The feeling of churning her fingers through his scalp. The way he simply relaxed into her palms. She loves it. She loves him.

Oh. Oh fuck. She loves him. She doesn't just like him, or have a crush, or want to fuck him out of her system, as she had been insisting since she was a kid. She loves him.

She breathes deeply, finishes his hair, and wraps it up in his durag. "When your curls pop back tomorrow, you'd better thank me."

He snorts. "Yeah, sure. Night, Ari."

"Night, Far." She watches him close the door to his room across the hall and scrambles over to Venetia's, swinging the door open.

Venetia is on the bed, painting her nails. "What?"

"I'm in love with Farleigh," Ariadne whispers, still shocked.

"Sorry," Venetia said automatically.

Ariadne slows her breathing to be heard. "I'm-"

"No, I heard you." Venetia interrupts. "I just think it's unfortunate."

Ariadne lays down beside Venetia and allows the girl to pet her hair. "What am I going to do?"

"Seduce him," Venetia says simply, petting and swirling a curl off Ariadne's head.

Ariadne groans, rolling away. "It's not that simple and you know it! I don't just want to fuck him, if I did I would have said so."

"So what, you want to marry him? Because I'll tell you now that's a bad idea." Venetia hums.

"No! Well, maybe? I don't know!" Ariadne whines

Venetia pins Ariadne to the bed. "Do not do anything stupid until you've decided what you want from him. I mean it, Pet."

Ariadne shrugs her off. "I'm not going to hurt him." She mumbles.

Venetia giggles. "Wasn't him I was worried about, Newmo."

Ariadne climbs off the bed, flipping off Venetia. "I'm going to sleep. Night, Vee."

"G'night Pet!" Venetia grins.

When the morning rolls around, Ariadne stretches out of bed at first light, throwing on a pair of house shorts and a cropped tank top. She would never have the old money urge to waste her nice silken robes on a simple breakfast at Saltburn.

She waves hello to Miss Portia, the maid, as she makes her way down.

"Morn' Liam, Joshie." She grins.

The two footmen wave to her. "Good Morning, Miss Ariadne."

Liam clears his throat. "Your boyfriend's already at breakfast."

"Oh fuck off, you nosy little-" Ariadne starts, but silences before Felix can pass them.

"Enjoy Breakfast, Ma'am," Liam grins.

Ariadne scrunches her nose and blows a raspberry at him before she makes her way to the table.

Farleigh's curls look decidedly better, she notices smugly, and she knows he's aware. He's already holding a cup of coffee and is probably the only one in the house who takes coffee instead of tea beside her.

"G'morning, guys." She hums. Everyone gives her similarly apathetic greetings. Felix looks like he fell out of bed.

She's halfway through her scrambled eggs when Oliver makes his way down the stairs. "Morning."

She waves, zoning out. Weasel.

"You sleep well, mate?" Felix asks, leaning a little over the table to look at Oliver closely. From an angle where she knows at least Farleigh and Felix can see her, she pokes her cheek with her tongue and pokes her finger in the air, mimicking a blowjob. Farleigh snorts so hard that coffee almost shoots out of his nose.

"Uh, yeah," Oliver mumbles. He's so mumble-y. It's grating.

"Hey, Oliver, have some breakfast." Felix coaxes.

Ariadne looks at Farleigh and rolls her eyes hard. She watches him smirk and feels a flutter of pride at the effect.

Duncan places Felix's boiled eggs on the side of his breakfast platter and retreats quickly.

Ariadne raises a hand and awkwardly points to her coffee cup, and a maid - Amelia, she thinks, the nice ginger one - pours her a new cup and then places the appropriate amount of creamer in it.

Ariadne silently mouths thank you and shakes her hands in a prayer-like stance. Amelia blushes and disappears from the room as if she were never there at all.

"Can I have a full English breakfast too, please?" Oliver asks quietly.

Ariadne looks at the table housing the food, and then to Farleigh, and then at Oliver the Weasel, and then to Farleigh again. She watches his eyes follow the same path and dip down to the magazine in his lap to keep from laughing again.

"Breakfast is on the side, darling," Elspeth says helpfully. "Just help yourself."

"How would you like your eggs?" Duncan asks, returning.

"It’s fine. I can get them." Oliver stammers. She rolls her eyes. Didn't he just see Felix's eggs delivered onto the plate?

"Not the eggs. The eggs are made for you." Farleigh corrects.

Felix gives him a sharp look, but in Farleigh's defence, he wasn't even being mean that time.

"Exactly. And everything else is on the side." Auntie Elspeth finishes.

"Fried over easy, please," Oliver says queasily.

"Ollie, we were just talking about the Shelley biography." Felix interjects, sweeping in to rescue the weasel.

Ariadne was sure they were, but she surely wasn't paying the conversation much mind. Until Oliver's arrival, she had been at peace, shockingly enough.

"Shelley who? Shelley, Belinda’s sister Shelley?" Poor, dear, idiot Pamela asks. Ariadne looks at Oliver. Pamela was Oliver's best future. A leech and an idiot who couldn't help but overstay their welcome.

"Oh, Percy Bysshe Shelley. The poet. The Romantic poet." Sir James explains as though speaking to a child.

"Oh." Pamela says simply because she is simple.

"Do you know the story about Shelley’s doppelgänger?" Venetia hums, hidden eagerness just below the surface of her tone.

Ariadne rolls her eyes. She couldn't count the amount of times Venetia had brought this up since she'd learned it.

Sir James, clearly sensing his daughter's nefarious tone, looks at her warily. "His doppelgänger?"

"Mmm. Shelley’s housekeeper was cleaning one of the rooms when Shelley walked past the window and waved at her. So, she waved back before she realized that Shelley was in Italy. And she was on the top floor of the house." Venetia had always had the perfect voice for telling a scary story.

"Oh, Vee. Stop, stop, stop. I won’t sleep." Felix balls up his fists and covers his ears.

Felix had always been a bit of a wimp, though Ariadne meant it in only the most loving of ways. Over countless summers they had held bonfires and told scary stories, and without fail, every time they did, All of them had to sleep in Felix's room because he was too scared to go to sleep. Ariadne is never annoyed by it though. It's a reminder of how sweet and pure their dear Felix is.

It was a stark contrast to Venetia, their resident investor in the macabre and overall gloomy and grotesque.

"A few hours later," Venetia continued, undeterred, "he drowned."

"Oh! Oh, that’s just given me goosebumps. Look, Pamela." Elspeth says dramatically.

"Oh, no." Pamela sighs in the same dull tone she says everything else.

"Look, Fi, the only important thing about Shelley was that he was married to the mother of science fiction." Ariadne comforts.

"I heard he fucked his sister, so there's that too," Farleigh adds helpfully.

Ariadne snorts, and so does Venetia.

"Oh, for God’s sake!" Sir James chides.

The weasel pokes his evil little head up. "I think that was Byron."

"Fucking English majors." She mouths to Farleigh. He gives a slight smile and nods.

Pamela and Elspeth talk nonsense about people Ariadne doesn't care about, so she reaches over the table, snatches Felix's apple from his plate, and bites in.

"What the hell, pet?" Felix whines.

Ariadne rolls her eyes. "You don't even like apples that much!"

Duncan delivers the eggs to Oliver's plate. "Thank you so much," he says, big blue eyes darting around like a frightened animal. then, the eyes peer down, and Oliver grimaces at the eggs.

"Is everything okay, Ollie?" Felix asks, that sweet, tentative sound in his voice that, when directed at the right person, could make you spill your deepest secrets and greatest fears.

The way he calls him Ollie, the way the Cattons always take to nicknames for their pets, makes her jaw tick. It's such an odd but effective way to claim possession over someone, and it didn't even occur to them that they were doing it.

"Er, ‘course, yeah. It’s just. Runny eggs. I get a bit sick from them."

Ariadne can't resist the urge. she whistles, quietly. Duncan is going to be pissed. The Cattons, especially Elspeth, will be horrendously embarrassed. The whole kitchen staff will have their asses handed to them.

"Sorry." He says as Duncan clears his plate of eggs, and again when Duncan leaves for more.

Farleigh smirks into his magazine. "Well, I'm goin' up to my room." He declares.

Venetia nods. "I'd like to head back to sleep an hour more."

Ariadne snorts. "I'm sure you can show Oliver to the pool by yourself, right Fi?" She grins wickedly, making a good show of yawning.

Farleigh waits in the doorway for her, and she flicks him in the chest as she passed him. He sets to follow her, undeterred. "Later, losers." She hums as she swings out.

#farleigh start x black!oc #farleigh start x original female character #farleigh start x oc #farleigh start smut

111 notes · View notes

hmslusitania · 2 years

Note

Unified theory of Indiana Jones and The Mummy? My interest has been piqued 🍿 👀

Okay so I think it goes without saying that these movies clearly take place in the same universe, just off the bat.

That said, we also know that several of the (unseen) previous generation of characters had careers that would've taken them to similar geographic areas -- notably Howard Carnahan and Abner Ravenwood, who were Egyptologists of roughly a similar age.

So, it would make complete sense to me if, at some point, they were contracted to work on the same project. Whether or not they got along, whether or not they worked well together, is immaterial. The important part is that they both brought their daughters. Now, according to the wikis for the respective franchises, Evelyn (Carnahan) O'Connell was born in 1903, and Marion Ravenwood was born in 1909, and young girls, as Marion would've been, tend to heavily imprint on older girls especially when they're stuck together in a camping situation. And I think Evy, a perpetual baby sister, would've jumped at the chance to get to be the cool older sister type friend.

They would've corresponded after that.

In 1925, Marion writes to Evy about her father's dashing new student who she's fallen hopelessly in love with (and an equally passionate disavowal of the man only a few months later).

In 1926, Evy writes back to tell Marion that she's been part of an expedition to help recover the site of Hamunaptra (leaving out the magic, because that would be just a shade too far; adding the fact she may not have found much treasure but she did find a husband in the post script -- prompting many more questions from Marion).

They write each other about Evy's journey to respectability as an archaeologist and Egyptologist, and her impassioned arguments with another young archaeologist out of the University of Chicago, who Evy pointedly refused to name in any of her letters out of disrespect (the nature of their academic disagreements is simple -- Evy's seen magic with her own eyes and brings a layer of credulity to her interpretation of sites that Indy just cannot fathom. Well. Not yet, anyway).

They write when Alex was born, when Marion moves to Nepal.

In 1933, Evy writes her about the Oasis at Ahm Shere, but she leaves out the part where she died and was resurrected, and the part where the entire oasis was sucked into the afterlife afterwards.

(In 1935, Indy sees Magic in India, and he thinks briefly of his continuing journal publication feud with the British-Egyptian Egyptologist E. O'Connell, and then he locks this information away in a part of his brain he does not touch lest he go mad.)

In 1936, Marion writes her about the search for the Ark, about her father's old student -- a professor now himself -- coming back into her life. She mentions the pit of snakes, being entombed, and the deaths of the Nazi bastards. She doesn't mention the magic, the actual Ark of the Covenant saving their asses. It would sound crazy, after all.

In 1937, they see each other in person for the first time in over a decade by chance at the Cairo Museum. This is before the events of the Last Crusade, so for the moment, Marion and Indy are more-or-less together and more-or-less happy about it. Rick and Evy are there for their standard work reasons, delivering some recently excavated artefacts.

At first, everything goes fine. Evy and Marion recognise each other, and as nearly life-long penpals tend to do, take a moment to remember how to speak to each other in person, but then they're thrilled for the opportunity to do so. The four of them agree to get dinner together and it's at dinner while they're talking about their work that Indy makes the connection between E. O'Connell, academic rival, and Evelyn O'Connell, and Evy makes the connection that Marion's "Indy" is actually that very same Henry Jones Jr who Evy's wanted nothing more than to knock senseless with the Book of Life for over a decade.

In the ensuing loud argument that nearly gets them thrown from the restaurant and during which Rick and Marion decide they're best friends now, both Evy and Indy accidentally reveal their hands as regards magic, archaeology, and the realities therein. They part dinner as wary allies.

The academic detente lasts just until Marion writes Evy about the dissolution of her relationship with Indy and concurrent birth of their son, and then the rivalry's back on.

Frankly, all of them prefer it this way.

(As an additional aside, while he was serving in WWI, Jonathan Carnahan met and befriended {""befriended""} an Australian nurse, who had the mixed fortune to lose all of her father's titled cousins during the war and returned home as the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher)

#the ghost ship scribbles #indiana jones #the mummy #wilddragonflying #with the exception of checking birth years in the respective wikis #this is all just off the cuff #so if there's incorrect continuity don't @ me

2K notes · View notes

lunar-serpentinite · 6 months

Text

AU where the Potters are actually South Asian and their earliest ancestor, Linfred of Stitchcombe, was actually an immigrant from what is now known as Tamil Nadu. He came from a family of potioneers and healers who were known for their relationship with snakes and their ability to understand the language of serpents (known within Europe as Parseltongue) but their variant of Parseltongue was believed to be a blessing from their patron deity Aravan.

The Descendants of Nandhini

The Descendants of Nandhini, more commonly known as the Descendants of Aditya by outsiders, refer to a family of Tamil wix who occupy a heavily warded and hidden territory within part of the Western Ghats in Tamil Nadu, India. They are traditionally healers and agriculturists who work closely with snakes of both Magical and mundane origins. Their affinity and bond with snakes lead them to develop the Magical ability to speak and understand the language of serpents.

They are named after the first member of the family who mastered the language of serpents, Nandhini. Nandhini was a Tamil witch who lived at the height of the Chola Empire, specifically during the mid-900s. Nandhini was her parents’ third child and only daughter. When Nandhini began to display perfect fluency in the language of serpents, it was viewed as a sign of favour from their patron Aravan and Nandhini was then announced as the family’s next head. However, she was to disguise herself as a man and go by the name Aditya as well as take on a wife for the rest of her life.

From Nandhini, new traditions were developed. One tradition was the secretive way of succession for the title of family head. While the family head remained a male in official records and to anyone who asked. But in reality, a woman held the actual title of family head. The hereditary Magic and Relics of the family was bestowed upon the eldest daughter of the main line, which she would then pass down to her eldest daughter when the daughter came of age. This is one of the family’s best kept secrets and is still kept close and hushed up to this day.

Another tradition was keeping long-living Magical serpents as familiars and protectors of the family and carriers of hereditary knowledge. These serpents were regarded around the same level as the family’s elders and the family often spoke with them for advice or knowledge.

The descendants of Nandhini, like the other Magical families of Tamil Nadu at the time, lived in harmony with their mundane neighbours. Mundanes were aware of and lived with Magic despite being unable to wield it themselves. This carried on until the start of British colonization in India. The Magical families of Tamil Nadu escaped colonization by a breath’s width by using Magic to completely hide themselves from the rest of the world. The descendants of Nandhini in particular worked with their snakes to “camouflage” their biggest family compound within the Western Ghats, with the snakes themselves acting as the living “boundaries” of their territory who also act as natural deterrents for anyone who comes too close.

The Magical families remained isolated from the outside world for the entirety of the British’s colonization of India and even lasted a couple of decades after. However, they have managed to reestablish connection with the other Magical families as the years passed by. During their time of isolation, the caste system was slowly dissolved and forgotten and many Magical Tamil families abandoned their castes and titles in favour of simply calling themselves the descendants of their oldest recorded ancestor. In the present time, Magical Tamil Nadu are large joint family groups scattered geographically but are well-connected by an intricate communication system set up by their ancestors. They are still mostly disconnected from the rest of the Magical World but not as much as it was during the colonial era.

The descendants of Nandhini in the present time mostly use the language of serpents, Tamil, and Sanskrit as their main languages. However, their members also show fluency in Middle Tamil and Classical Sanskrit. The latest generation of the descendants are currently learning present-day English.

BRITISH BRANCH — THE POTTERS

During the 1200s right as the Chola Empire began to decline, a group of the descendants of Nandhini led by someone now known as Linfred of Stitchcombe found their way to the British Isles. Though considered “eccentric” by his British neighbours, Linfred was nonetheless well-liked due to his helpfulness and affable nature. He and his family were known for their excellent healing remedies and strange plants, but they were warned by their ancestral snakes and the local snakes to hide their affinity for snakes and their knowledge of the language of serpents for their own safety.

This branch eventually adopted the surname of Potter by demand of the British Ministry of Magic, though there wasn’t any significant reason behind the choice of surnames. Though they are Potter on paper, they still proudly refer to themselves as descendants of Nandhini and would often use Nandhini as another surname in addition to Potter. They kept in contact with the main branch throughout the centuries until the main branch seceded during the British colonial period.

Despite their positive reputation in the British Magical community and their position of being essentially Purebloods, the Potters preferred to marry within their South Asian community. The other British Pureblood families attempted to marry into the Potter family for generations especially after the Potters rose to the top of their respective industries, but they remain unsuccessful to this day. It is because of this refusal to marry into the British Pureblood society that the Potters were exempted from the Sacred 28, not that they cared anyways.

The Potters amassed wealth, prestige, and influence through their revolutionary contributions and breakthroughs for British healing magic and potions. Eventually, they also started to build up a business in Magical pottery and ceramics. The potions they sell are often packaged in custom ceramic bottles made by their own company. Their business partners are exclusively businesses owned and run by South Asians and South Asian immigrants and have recently begun to open their connections to other BIPOC-owned businesses as well. As of the present day, the Potters are one of the leading names in both the potioneering and Magical pottery/ceramics industry.

The Potters usually send their children to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where they would usually be Sorted into either Slytherin or Gryffindor. However since they have reestablished their connection with their main branch in Tamil Nadu, the recent generations have been considering sending their children to their ancestral home for schooling instead.

During the mid-18th century, the Potters began to republicize their affinity and connection with snakes and their usage of the language of serpents as a way of preserving their connection to their family back in their motherland and as a silent protest against the growing negative perception of snakes and serpent-speakers in the United Kingdom. It was noted by Magical linguists that the language of serpents that the Potters knew were far different than what Europe had called “parseltongue”. This variant of “parseltongue” became known as Potters’ parseltongue amongst the European populace, though the family themselves have never used the term themselves.

Despite having lived away from their main branch for centuries, the Potters still maintain almost all of the family traditions. The family is patriarchal on paper but matriarchal in practice. Their family manor in Gloucestershire had an entire green space for the ancestral snakes that they have brought from Tamil Nadu and their other snakes that they have adopted and bred. They continue to revere their patron deity Aravan, whose image decorates sacred spaces within the Potter family estate.

In the latest generation, the Potter family is closely connected with the other Magical South Asian families within the United Kingdom and the rest of Europe. They also have close ties with the Black family who claims ancestry from ancient Egypt and Persia. The current heads of the Potter family, James and Lily, have both married Regulus Arcturus Black who is the second son of Orion and Walburga Black. James also considers Sirius Orion Black his best friend and the couple have appointed Sirius as the godfather of their eldest child Hariharan "Harry" James Potter.

#harry potter #desi harry potter #desi james potter #harry potter au #the black family #jegulily #your faves are now bipoc im not sorry #everything is approved by my south asian mom friend btw #theres more where this came from #my stuff : nandhini's legacy au

89 notes · View notes

anonimusunnoan · 5 months

Text

Nothing can compare to the desi queer horror of seeing modi smiling and "celebrating" diwali in "ayodhya" while in the intermission for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. This man is the Indian symbol of hate and hindu religious supremacy in india. His blind mass following who believe they are being liberated by his actions from the evil dalit and non hindu folk are the majority. Everyday we fight for our rights as the minority whether we are Muslim – queer – lower castes. And we are trampled by the overwhelming support that this man gets from his goons. Goons who are swept up in his mirage who believe in Israeli propaganda too.

Make no mistake. The hunger games may be fictional, but it's villains are very very real. Until you leave the Capitol you never get to really know.

#tbosas #thg #the hunger games #real world parallels #india #indian politics #modi #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #queer community #queer #gay #desi tumblr #desi queer #brown queer #coriolanus snow #free palestine #fuck

59 notes · View notes

hindulivesmatter · 4 months

Note

I used to think Hinduism could be reformed but seeing y’all sanatanis clownery has me convinced that only Periyar-style radical atheism can help this country. Y’all are the damn problem

We should shift to "Periyar-style radical atheism"..... Right....

E.V.Ramaswami (aka Periyar) was honestly what I'd call a Hinduphobic, perverted idiot. What he preached bordered on the verge of insanity to the point where Jawaharlal Nehru called him a lunatic. Former Tamil Nadu chief ministers late C.N.Annadurai and M.G.Ramachandran, who were once close supporters of Periyar, had parted company with him later because of his unjust and unethical policies and behaviour.

But, my apologies, his teachings are the only thing that can help this country, hmm?

Let's look at some fun facts about him, shall we?

Some things Ramaswami did:

Paraded naked idols of gods and goddesses.

Married his own daughter. His second wife was his adopted daughter. Wow.

Used every opportunity to condemn the Hindu Gods and ridicule Hindu customs and traditions, while keeping a steady silence on Islam and Christianity.

Organised a procession in Salem in Tamil Nadu with big cutouts of Ram, Sita and Hanuman garlanded with slippers.

Reportedly used to tell his followers that if they encountered Brahmin and a snake on the road, they should kill the Brahmin first.

Was very pro British. He wanted the British to rule India and didn’t join the independence moment

Was responsible for starting reverse casteism against the minority brahmin community in the Hindu fold

Was a firm believer of Aryan invasion theory

This is the man you want to follow. This man has absolutely no respect for the religion you wish to see "reformed".

And we're the clowns? Please. Literally all we have asked for is to stop the destruction of our temples and respect our history and culture, and you fuckers take that as a personal insult.

If us speaking of about history and all the crimes that have been committed us makes you uncomfortable, maybe you're the damn problem.

Take your Hinduphobic ass somewhere else, and let us live in peace, you dickhead.

[Exhibit 43]

#hinduphobia #anon asks #answered #stupid #hindulivesmatter #fucking done with idiots

43 notes · View notes

xxxsweetdreamzxxx · 2 years

Text

Good Morning

Jotaro Kujo x Reader

warnings/tags: dom!Jotaro sub!reader, fanfic, smut, cursing, implied sex, slight degradation, voyeurism, fingering, groping, denied orgasm - I'm so sorry this is such filth ≥^≤

summary: breakfast must come to a halt when Jotaro sees you in nothing but one of his oversized shirts

word count: 1.4k

You opened your eyes, waking from a pleasant dream. Under the bedsheets to your left lay a peacefully sleeping Jotaro, his chest rising and falling as he softly snored. Past him you gazed out the window of your bedroom - seeing the town beneath you light up with the soft glow of dawn on the horizon. You were currently in the mountains of India, and Mr. Joestar had rented a small house for the six of you to stay the night in.

Slipping out from under the covers, you shivered as the room's cool air hit your naked form. You padded over to the pile of fabric on the floor that was your combined clothes. The two of you had been too busy last night to bother putting them away - your cheeks heated up at the memory.

Being as silent as you could, you shifted through the pile, slipping on your panties and one of his large lavender shirts, which fit you like a short dress. Tiptoeing to the door, you opened it and exited the room. Turning back around to close the door, you glanced one last time at your boyfriend with a loving smile - he hadn't moved an inch.

As you made your way down the hall to the kitchen, stomach grumbling, you listened for any sounds signaling that your other companions were awake. But the house was dead silent - you were apparently the first one up.

Humming a quiet tune, you made your way into the kitchen. Deciding to surprise the crusaders with breakfast, you looked through the cabinets and fridge for the necessary pots and ingredients. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you cracked some eggs and began frying some bacon on the stove, caught up in your own little world. You lost track of time, going through the motions of your task like you were entranced.

You jumped in surprise as you felt two heavy arms snake around your waist from behind. Immediately, you relaxed when you smelled a familiar smokiness wafting off the man behind you. You sank into his embrace, tilting your head up to peck his cheek as he rested his head on your shoulder.

"Morning, JoJo." You greeted, reaching up to ruffle his already messy dark hair.

He grunted in response, closing his eyes and hugging you tighter as he inhaled your scent.

"You're so fucking hot." He complimented, his voice still deep and raspy from sleep. Whenever you wore his clothes, he could've sworn you got sexier each time.

His hands began to travel lower, fingers playing with the edge of your shirt. You felt your heartbeat speeding up, suddenly very aware of how close he was, his broad chest pressed to your back. Feeling very flustered, you began to lose your grip on the metal spatula in your right hand. You could feel the tension in the air.

"Jotaro…" You warned.

He let out a low chuckle, his chest vibrating against you. "Don't act like you didn't wear my shirt on purpose. You wanted the others to see you this way didn't you - for them to see who you belong to?"

You felt your knees buckle at his words.

"Oh? So that's how it is?"

What would've been a frantic denial was silenced when he began to leave a flurry of hot kisses down your neck. He knew exactly where to place them, how to drive you mad. Soon, he had you nearly forgetting your surroundings and the fact you were very much not in private. He pulled your hips closer, your ass brushing up against the tent already forming in his sweatpants.

"Oh my God, Jotaro!" Your high pitched voice raised above a whisper, surprised and embarrassed by his boldness.

"What?" He asked, hot breath fanning over your neck, with a tone feigning innocence. "If you want them to know so badly, then why don't I just take you here where they could walk in at any moment?"

You scoffed, turning bright red. "You can't be serious."

He spun you around in his arms so you were now facing him, staring up into his turquoise eyes. Smirking darkly at how flustered you were - you'd secretly fantasized about this very scenario many times - you could see he was dead serious. Your mouth opened in shock, feeling yourself clench around nothing at the thought of living it.

Jotaro leaned down, taking the opportunity to lock your lips with his in a heated kiss. Your mouth fell open further as you shut your eyes, letting him slip his tongue past your teeth to intertwine with yours. He pushed you up against the stove, burner knobs digging into your back. Reaching behind you, you fumbled with them, trying desperately to turn them off. Breakfast would have to wait.

You blindly threw the spatula on the counter right before his large hands gripped your ass, lifting you up into his arms. He turned around, setting you roughly atop the kitchen island that sat across from the stove. Spreading your thighs, you wrapped your legs around his hips, bringing him closer and feeling his erection against your clothed core.

"JoJo…" You moaned softly into his mouth, rolling your hips in an attempt to pleasure yourself on his covered cock.

He laughed another low, rumbling laugh. "You're such a little whore, shamelessly wanting to be stuffed with my cock at seven in the morning."

You mewled at his words, digging your nails into the muscles of his arms in response. Continuing to ravage your lips with open mouthed kisses, he began lifting your shirt, exposing your bare breasts. With one hand he squeezed one, running the pad of his thumb in circles over the nipple. His other hand traveled to your lacy black panties, which he pulled to the side with ease.

You thrusted your hips forward harshly when you felt him press a finger to your clit, rubbing quick circles around your dripping entrance. Squirming at the overwhelming pleasure, you felt yourself beginning to shake slightly as the dangerous combination brought you to orgasm. He could tell you were close as you began to go limp in his touch. Just before your release washed over you, Jotaro pulled back his hands and rested them on your hips again.

Whining loudly in frustration, you wanted to scold him for denying you this. But he wasn't having it, instead relentlessly attacking your lips and barely even giving you a chance to breathe.

It took you a moment to fathom what happened next, only realizing the sound you'd heard behind you had been footsteps when you heard their owner's shocked exclamation.

"Oh wow."

The accent was unmistakable. You broke away from Jotaro's kisses, whipping your head around to see the wide eyes of your white-haired friend standing in the entrance of the hallway.

"Polnareff!" You spluttered, scrambling to escape Jotaro's grasp. But he held you firmly in place, only smirking at your desperation.

A second later, your situation got much worse as Mr. Joestar walked in behind the Frenchman. Your boyfriend's smirk immediately faded. It took Joseph a moment to process the scene in front of him, eyes eventually drifting to Jotaro's hands on your hips and your legs around his waist.

Joseph's hand shot up to cover his mouth as he screamed. "OH MY GOD!"

At that, a third member of your group appeared, still rubbing his violet eyes sleepily. "What is going on in here…" Kakyoin started to ask before glancing up. "Oh."

A little too late, Joseph attempted to block the red head's view with his mechanical hand. But the poor boy had already seen and understood everything.

Jotaro cooly slipped you off the counter, letting your shirt fall back down to conceal your underwear. Spinning you around once again, he continued to hold you tight from behind as if to say: 'you got your wish.' He stood protectively behind you, staring daggers at the other crusaders.

You cleared your throat quietly before smiling awkwardly at your companions. "Um… good morning everyone."

Amused, Polnareff chuckled. "Yeah, seems like it."

Flushing pink, you quickly busied yourself with handing out what you'd managed to make for breakfast, eventually sitting down to eat with Jotaro over at a small dining table. You happened to glance up at Kakyoin as he moved to sit down at the island with a full plate of food. Hesitating a moment, he promptly backed away and moved to sit on a cushion in the living area, muttering:

"On second thought…"

338 notes · View notes

eminsunnytoons123 · 30 days

Text

The teppums Show gang characters: part 1, 2, 3, 4, And 5!!

I added timrek's new design here-

Here are the five parts of the teppums Show gang! But i sorta changed their info top since i sorta forgot their info-

And also im still thinking about their info, just give me time to think, y'all ^///^;

Info about them:

Timrek the sheep (formerly timrek the opossum) - Timrek the sheep is Kermit's teppum counterpart, he is an kind-hearted, sweet, polite, akward And kind shy leader sheep of the teppums Show gang, he is 22 years old like kermit And he is bisexual And polyamourous, he is dating madame camela And Evan the Elephant. He plays the violin And sings about beautiful starry nights. His headcanon voice actor is Andrew Francis, And his voice claim is shining armor from my little pony: friendship is magic.

Madame camela - madame camela is miss piggy's teppum counterpart, she is an headstrong, hot-headed, sassy, flirty, arrogant And sarcastic camel Lady in the teppums Show gang, she is 22 years old like miss piggy And she is bisexual And polyamourous, she is dating timrek the sheep And Evan the Elephant. She has a very good sense in Fashion And she does karate like miss piggy, she is an egyptian-french camel woman that Sounds like a man. Her headcanon voice actor is Nick Kroll, And her voice claim is Lola from big mouth.

Evan the Elephant - Evan the Elephant is fozzie bear's teppum counterpart, he is an goofy, silly, sweet, kind, friendly And naive Elephant Guy in the teppums Show gang, he is 23 years old like fozzie And he is pansexual, queer And polyamourous, he is dating timrek the sheep And madame camela. He uses hoola-hoops just like how fozzie uses Rubber chickens. Whenever a child or someone in the teppums Show gang is sad or crying, he tries to make them laugh And comfort them. His headcanon voice actor is Bill Farmer, And his voice claim is Modern voice of goofy from the Mickey mouse cartoon.

Hector the brilliant - Hector the brilliant is gonzo the great's teppum counterpart, they is an enthusiastic, sassy, optimistic, sarcastic And energetic Guy in the teppums Show gang, he is 22 years old like gonzo And he is pansexual And non-binary, they is dating Diana the mermaid. He is like an yellow feline with an Purple nose And no ears, but he does have claws And possibly a tail. He is an acrobat in the teppums Show gang. His headcanon voice actor is Sam Vincent, And his voice claim is Russell from littlest pet shop.

Quade the fennec Fox - quade the fennec Fox is Rizzo the rat's teppum counterpart, he is an sarcastic, Wise-cracking, sassy And sorta arrogant fennec Fox Guy in the teppums Show gang, he is 20 years old like Rizzo And he is pansexual And polyamourous, he is dating litvik the King cobra And Victoria the fennec Fox. He is from Egypt just like madame camela, And he likes playing computer games And video games on his Gameboy. His headcanon voice actor is Ronald Binion, And his voice claim is pixel byte from lazytown.

Litvik the King cobra - litvik the King cobra is Pepe the King prawn's teppum counterpart, he is an friendly, flirty, sassy And sarcastic King cobra in the teppums Show gang, he is 20 years old like Pepe And he is bisexual And polyamourous, he is dating quade the fennec Fox And Victoria the fennec Fox. He is from India And has an thick Indian accent, And! Dont call him a "snake" or "anaconda", he is an KING COBRA! he says "haan.", "haan?" And "haan!" at the end of every sentence he says, And haan Means "yes" in indian. His headcanon voice actor is Peter New, his voice claim is Sunil from littlest pet shop.

Dr linnaeus un shingems - dr linnaeus un shingems is dr bunsen's teppum counterpart, he is an sweet, friendly, curious, Scientist in the teppums Show gang, he is 27 years old like dr bunsen And he is bisexual, he is dating arlo. He does lots of weird And Crazy Experiments And science, he once made arlo some kind of weird shoes, And arlo ended up being on the ceilling. His headcanon voice actor is Billy West, And his voice claim is professor Hubert from Futurama.

Arlo - arlo is beaker's teppum counterpart, he is an awkward, kind And friendly but an nervous And shy wreck in the teppums Show gang, he is 28 years old like beaker And he is bisexual, he is dating dr linnaeus. He can be sometimes nervous And scared when dr linnaeus tests his Experiments on him, but he doesnt get Hurt. He speaks in: "eeh?", "beep!", "meep." And "ah!" But he does say: "hello!" And "bye-bye!". His headcanon voice actor is Samuel Khouth, And his voice claim is Edd from Ed, Edd & Eddy.

Shane the american bison - Shane the american bison is rowlf the dog's teppum counterpart, he is an wise, sarcastic, sassy, Nice And friendly american bison in the teppums Show gang, he is 29 years old like rowlf and he is bisexual, he is dating Isabella the hot Pink-haired whatnot. He plays the banjo just like how rowlf plays the piano, And they both sometimes make a duet together. He has an thick american-texas accent, And sometimes others mistake him for a bull. His headcanon voice actor is Peter Kay, And his voice claim is tin-top from roary the racing car.

Travis - Travis is scooter's teppum counterpart, he is an intelligent, friendly, bragging, sarcastic And sorta narcissistic Guy in the teppums Show gang, he is 15 years old like scooter And he is bisexual, he has a crush on Zane. He helps timrek with The Show, And he sometimes brags about it. His big sister is tiana And he doesnt really Admit his crush on Zane because he thinks that tiana, especially others, will laugh at him. He isnt really narcissistic, but he acts like that. His headcanon voice actor is Youssef El Kaoukibi, And his voice claim is brainy smurf from the 2021 smurfs.

Zane - Zane is Walter's teppum counterpart, he is an friendly, sweet, kind And optimistic Guy in the teppums Show gang, he is 17 years old like Walter And he is pansexual, he sorta has a crush on Travis. He is a huge fan of the teppums And he is the part of them. He is very talkative, but he sometimes thinks that it annoys the other teppums but it actually doesnt And they like his stories. His headcanon voice actor is Kaycie Chase, And his voice claim is jokey from 2021 smurfs.

Lavi the King lion - lavi the King lion is sam the eagle's teppum counterpart, he is an mature, serious, arrogant, ignorant And sarcastic King lion in the teppums Show gang, he is 25 years old like sam the eagle And he is bisexual, he is dating dr Lips. He is from the UK and sorta has an mixed accent, an american-british accent I can say. He likes the UK culture, And he calls almost everyone in the teppums Show gang "crazies". And he has an twin Brother named Lionel the King lion number two, And he is more Purple And blue unlike lavi. His headcanon voice actor is James Earl Jones, And his voice claim is Mufasa from the lion King.

Dr Lips - Dr Lips is dr teeth's teppum counterpart, he is an sassy, chill, laid back, friendly And groovy guy in the teppums Show gang and the cloudy System band, he is 24 years old like dr teeth And he is pansexual, he is dating lavi the King lion. He is the leader in the cloudy System band And he plays the accordion, And he likes eating the Strawberry shortcake dessert. His headcanon voice actor is Robin Williams, And his voice claim is Genie from the original Aladdin.

Stephany - stephany is Janice's teppum counterpart, she is an groovy, chill, laid back, kind And friendly Lady in the teppums Show gang and the cloudy System band, she is 23 years old like Janice And she is pansexual And a demi-girl, they is dating Sgt Gideon Quinn. They likes listening to Melanie Martinez And she plays the tambourine in the cloudy System band. Just like madame camela, she Sounds like a man. Her headcanon voice actor is Brad Bird, And their voice claim is Edna from the incredibles.

Sgt Gideon Quinn - Sgt Gideon Quinn is Floyd Pepper's teppum counterpart, he is an chill, laid back, sarcastic, friendly And Kind Guy in the teppums Show gang and the cloudy System band, he is 22 years old like Floyd And he is pansexual, he is dating stephany. He plays the bass in the cloudy System band And likes listening to any bass music. His headcanon voice actor is Marc Silk, And his voice claim is Nick from roary the racing car.

Wilds Benner - wilds Benner is Animal's teppum counterpart, he is an wild, Crazy, energetic, friendly And Enthusiastic Guy in the teppums Show gang and the cloudy System band, his Age is Unknown, but he might be 19 years old, he is pansexual And asexual, he is dating Theodora the blue-haired whatnot. He plays the timpani And he hits it very hard to make loud music. His headcanon voice actress is Lea Delaria, And his voice claim is Helga Phugly from the oblongs.

Nicolas - Nicolas is Lips' teppum counterpart, he is an chill, sweet, kind, friendly And sorta forgetfull Guy in the teppums Show gang and the cloudy System band, he is 23 years old like Lips And he is pansexual And genderfluid, he is dating Werner. He is playing the mouth harmonica in the cloudy System band, And he always has interesting stories to say, And he has an thick European accent. His headcanon voice actor is Dominic Frisby, And his voice claim is Loada from roary the racing car.

Werner - Werner is zoot's teppum counterpart, he is an arrogant, ignorant, annoyed, lazy And sorta an quiet guy in the teppums Show gang and cloudy System band, he is 23 years old like Zoot and he is bisexual, he is dating Nicolas. He plays the trumpet in the cloudy System band, And he hates when someone tells him what to do. His headcanon voice actor is Dan Mintz, And his voice claim is Tina belcher from bob's burgers.

I'll post the others tommorow! And im making more!

@splashy900 @kxllboii @cheezecirno @aquamarine-dream-queen @oscarandgrinchfan @moshywoosh @ilovescaredysquirrel2 @nuggetaubrey @nightkit92 @familyoffood @dayzsaclark @mysafespaceblog13 @thelazzyblogzz @sugar-miss1 @shrimpathizer @shypeachrunaway @iggyguyy @sophia-does-skits @typical-sophie @peaceforpeople @ben5569 @princessmishka22 @lindseynicole1999

10 notes · View notes

mangoshorthand · 3 months

Text

Arrow of Time: Chapter 5 [Five Hargreeves/ F Reader]

(Hard Feelings Part 5)

SUMMARY: When the mother of all teenage tantrums causes time itself to fracture, Five has to travel back to 1831 to repair the damage. But will he be able to cope with what he finds there?

Chapter 6 >> << Back to Chapter 4

A new face and and old one.

Chapter 5: Sir Lewis Danforth

As always after the ladies withdraw, the men stay at the dining table to enjoy a drink. It’s a particularly unusual dining room, and the owner of the house at Lafayette Place does as much as possible to show it off to his guests, although they almost always leave it feeling slightly bemused.

The room is dominated by an immense crystal chandelier overhanging the dining table. It hangs by brass chains from a gold-leafed peacock in flight affixed to the ceiling. The body of the immense light-fixture takes the form of a lotus flower in full bloom off which sparkling cut-crystal festoons hang, catching the light attractively.

The rest of the room is equally striking in a way that, if not quite offensive to the eye, is at least highly bewildering: the jade-colored velvet curtains, (held back by gilded snakes wrapped around them), the painted walls adorned with marble pilasters and arched alcoves…it’s as if somebody who once heard the interior of the taj mahal inaccurately described decided to try recreating it in 1830’s Manhattan.

At the head of the long dining table, Sir Lewis Danforth sits splayed in the high-backed mahogany chair, a cigar in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other. Rather like his dining room, Sir Lewis has a look of opulent anatopism about him. Unknowingly, he is around thirty years ahead of his time in wearing a smoking jacket, but his descendants would be unlikely to choose a silk Sherwani to serve as one. His broad, slightly flabby face is currently ruddy with the drink, and he laughs along amiably enough with the other men.

Mr Wilson, a mousy lawyer at the other end of the table, (largely invited for the sake of his much more fashionable wife), ventures a compliment:

“I admired the food today. Most unusual. Quite the culinary experience.”

Sir Lewis smiled with satisfaction. It seemed Wilson had his uses after all. He was desperate to show off a particularly unusual acquisition and Wilson had given him the perfect opening to do so.

“I have not visited the Indian subcontinent myself,” continued Wilson, “but my good friend, Sir Henry Lytton has, and the food we sampled today seemed quite authentic to the flavors he described. Do you keep a Hindoostanne cook?”

“Lord no,” Sir Lewis chortled, “though not for lack of trying. Lady Anne won’t have anybody browner than a pail of milk on the household staff. She nurses unfortunate prejudices, I'm sorry to say.” he swilled down another swallow of liquor, cleared his throat and continued, “No, I had quite the remarkable little find. Ring the bell for me, won’t you, Smyth?”

The visitor at the other end of the table crossed to the bells to summon a servant. When the footman arrived, he was instructed to fetch the cook.

“Now just you wait here, gentleman, and tell me what you think of my special cook. Spent a year on the subcontinent at nineteen years old: India, Ceylon, Bengal and came back with capital knowledge of curries, spice blends, oriental herbs: all you could want.”

“Remarkable. His name, Sir Lewis?” asked Smyth, retaking his seat at the table.

Another chortle rumbled from Danforth as if traveling up his body from his toes, wobbling in his belly before bubbling out of his mouth.

“ Her name, Smyth.”

“A woman?”

“Precisely! And that’s the best part- she commands less of a wage than a man and she provides other… compensations , if you take my meaning.”

Other men around the table joined him in his lascivious chuckle.

“I’ve had her for nearly a year now and I’m perfectly satisfied with her. Hargreeves, she’s called: Mrs Hargreeves. No relation, I hope,” he looks laughingly at one of his guests and then tilts his head as if suddenly struck by his appearance:

“That’s a curious eye-piece you have there, Reginald. A single spectacle?”

“It's called a monocle,” said Hargreeves, shortly, adjusting it slightly, "my own design.”

“And an excellent piece it is too,” said Sir Lewis, “I say, you’ve visited the subcontinent: what do you think of my Mrs Hargreeves’ work?”

“Quite authentic,” he said, simply, “I should have guessed she wasn’t a native but she is, nevertheless, extremely capable.”

To go upstairs to the dining room, it's necessary to wash and change into a clean apron and cap. Why you couldn’t simply take off the apron was still a mystery to you. So many social conventions seemed bizarre, but blending in and keeping in your employers’ good graces was a matter of necessity. Your wages provided you with what felt like your only chance of getting home. Posing as the wife of a missing and presumed dead husband had been your only claim to respectability in this world.Sir Lewis found you on the street one night and assumed you were a prostitute. By then, you had managed to scrape enough money together to buy a cheap dress but not enough to afford room and board any longer.

After you’d refused his offer of payment for your ‘company’, he’d taken pity on you and offered you a meal. From there, conversation had flowed; your tale of woe had appealed to romantic ideas he had held as a very young man and your way of conducting yourself gave a ring of truth to what you told him.

He also mentioned in passing his interest in the Indian subcontinent and you’d leapt upon the commonality: describing the dishes you enjoyed cooking at home and what you knew of the geographical and cultural influences on each region’s cuisine, embellishing your knowledge with well-placed inventions. He’d been easily impressed: it soon became clear that he actually knew very little about the area.

Lady Danforth, however, had been less easy to impress. Although living in New York, she ran the household as if she still lived in England, underlining Sir Lewis’s aristocratic roots as much as possible as an attempted claim to prominence in this alien world.

You knew your presence was a constant annoyance to her. Although the domestic arrangements were her domain, Sir Lewis had imposed you upon her, insisting that she hire you after he had sampled a simple curry you cooked at his request. You’d tried to ingratiate yourself with her but with no luck. You could hardly blame her: like most women of this era, she accepted her husband’s dalliances as a matter of course. She could have probably turned a blind eye were he pursuing a buxom young maidservant, but to have him hankering after a middle-aged cook only a year or two younger than herself was an insult she couldn’t be expected to ignore.

The injustice of this rankles: while you've successfully avoided Lewis's sexual overtures, the entire world (including himself) behaves as if you're actually sleeping together.

The powerlessness is (and has long been) excruciating. For the first few days, you'd expected Five every moment, only leaving the vicinity of alley you arrived in briefly to find the site where the academy buildings would stand, several decades from now. You’d asked shopkeepers to convey a message to any frantic man who arrived but soon necessity had driven you to find this work. It wasn’t the nearest to where you arrived but trying to alert Five to your whereabouts cost money. Five knew what Viktor had done in Dallas when in a similar situation and trying to trace his family. Surely he’d check the newspapers?

That he’d do everything in his power to come was certain. That he hadn’t come yet was your major worry. You missed them both with intensity that had not waned over the months. Thanks to Sir Lewis’s favor, you were treated as an upper servant and this meant having your own small room in the basement servants’ quarters. Although you were suspicious of his reasons for this maneuver, (the hope of a private spot in which to visit you after dark), you hadn’t resisted it: the seclusion of your bedroom allowed you the space you needed to cry yourself to sleep virtually every night. Aoife’s smile and the memory of Five’s caresses were a toxic sustenance in your lonely existence: they formed the anchor to your real life. Too bad if that anchor’s prongs dragged and dug in your gut as if searching for purchase in a too-soft seabed.

Standing outside the drawing room now, listening to their manly, drink-addled chuckles, you take a deep breath and knock.

“Come.”

You open the door, advance a little way into the room and bob a curtsey to the gentlemen still around the table.

“Come in, Mrs Hargreeves. Mr Wilson here was just complimenting our good table.”

“Thank you, sir.” you nod demurely first at Sir Lewis and then at Mr Wilson.

“Very impressive indeed.” said one of the guests in another, clipped British accent. “Under whom did you study?”

The face of the man makes your stomach drop. You’ve seen that face, though older, in portraits and photographs around the Academy. The monocle firmly in place, the mustache, the goatee. Hair fuller and darker than you’d ever seen it pictured. As if to confirm your impossible identification, Sir Lewis says,

“Oh Reginald, you’ve and your odd ‘monocle’ seem to have scared my Mrs Hargreeves. I hope you don’t do the same to your own Mrs Hargreeves?”

He puts a flabby arm around your waist and slaps your hip bracingly and he chortles, pulling you a little closer towards him. As you regain your balance, you answer the alien in a skinsuit who is your father-in-law, for now pushing aside the fact that he’s appearing here nearly one hundred years earlier than any of his children estimated.

“Um…nobody in particular. I traveled and picked up what I could from local women…sir.”

Reginald eyed you with what your paranoid mind was convinced was suspicion as Sir Lewis began to rub firm circles into your hip. You extricated yourself smartly but politely to stand beside the intricately-carved mantle. He chuckled low in his throat. This, in his eyes, was you ‘playing hard to get’.

“You have talent,” Sir Reginald stated, taking a sip of his drink.

“You most certainly do,” concurred another guest.

“But this is a most extraordinary story,” Hargreeves said, speaking over him, “under what circumstances does a nineteen-year-old born and bred American female have the opportunity to explore the Indian subcontinent?”

“Extraordinary circumstances, sir,” you smile, unable to keep the nervous laugh out of your voice. Sir Lewis joins you, chuckling indulgently.

How to tell him or Hargreeves that your knowledge actually comes from cookbooks, youtube and living in a multicultural future? When it becomes clear that this won’t satisfy him, you tell the already-concocted lie:

“My father worked for a spice trader. When my mother died, he sent for me and I spent a year with him until he could secure a position in New York.”

“Hm.” by his tone, you can’t tell whether the sound expresses approval or doubt.

You bob another curtsey and cast a look at Sir Lewis in a silent appeal to be excused.

He nodded, mustache twitching with his grin.

“Thank you, Mrs Hargreeves. You may go.”

The other servants are starting to talk.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that you were strange, made the servants quarters smell of pervasive, unfamiliar spices and seemingly came out of nowhere, you’re also clearly having an immoral relationship with the master. That private bedroom, those evening visits to his study. (“We might not have much schooling”, said the ladies’ maid to the housemaid, “but we weren’t born yesterday”)

When the butler stumps his way ill-naturedly back into the kitchen, he looks to you with gruff annoyance.

“We ought to give you your own bell. Master wants you in his study again.”

You try to conceal a sigh, marking the page in your book.

“Thank you, Mr Hill.”

“Women of your age should know better than to read novels, Mrs Hargreeves. It’ll give you funny ideas.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

He doesn’t return your smile.

You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help but like Sir Lewis Danforth. It’s like being pursued by a horny old bulldog with a penchant for belly rubs. He always accepts your rebuffs with a good grace, perhaps even happier than if you’d given in. Yes, he can get a little handsy, but the thrill of the chase is the only thrill he really wants, even if he can’t admit that to himself. If only all sex-pests were as harmless. You’d learned quickly that 21st century feminist ideals were virtually useless here. It wasn’t a pleasant discovery but it had been a realization that helped you play the part you needed to play. It was no worse than keeping a smile on your face while being talked over in a sales meeting.

“You’re quite the saucy little vixen, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry sir?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, woman,” he said, waving an admonitory finger in your direction, eyes twinkling, “sit down, have a brandy.”

Before you arrived, you’d known little about this period of history, but it hadn’t taken you too long to realize that a sixty-five-year-old knight drinking in his study with his cook was not considered appropriate. These interviews probably aren’t wise but these times with Sir Lewis offer a rare opportunity to be yourself. This, you know, is why he thinks he has a chance of late-night rendezvous in your bedroom but it’s hard to let go of a small source of fun. He’s one of the few people who’s kind to you in this new life and, even more unusually, honest about his intentions.

Now, he wears a silk turban, a nightshirt and pajama pants: in this, like his improvised smoking jacket, he is an early-adopter. In all things, he takes his inspiration from India…or from the strange simulacra of vaguely eastern ideas he’s invented in his imagination. In your time, his cultural appropriation would be enough to get him canceled several times over: in his own time, he’s considered an eccentric sophisticate.

“So,” he says, handing you a glass and raising his to you, “it wasn’t enough for you to bewitch me, you’ve bewitched Sir Reginald Hargreeves too. Isn’t one man enough for you?”

You roll your eyes, letting your guard down,

“My husband is more than enough.”

He harumphs good-naturedly.

“Admirable sentiment, I’m sure. It’s in woman’s nature to be constant and it’s quite to your credit that your feelings are so loyal. But, if your husband lives, (and, for your sake, I hope he does), I can assure you he won’t have such fine feelings. He’ll be taking every opportunity to enter into amorous congress with a game lass. It’s quite normal for a red-blooded fellow. I'm afraid we can’t help ourselves.”

“We’ll agree to disagree there,” you say, swilling the brandy around your glass.

“Hmph. Well, he stumbled upon a gem when he snagged you as his bride. Damn, him. To his good health and safe return.”

He raises his glass in grudging tribute to Five before continuing.

“As I was saying, Sir Reginald has become an unlikely ally to me, even as he tries to court you himself.”

“You’ll need more than Sir Reginald Hargreeves on your side, Lewis. And neither of you will be courting me.”

“That’s the spirit I like,” he rumbled, smiling at your informal use of his Christian name, “but I’ve broken many a wilder mare than you, believe me. But that’s by the by: humor me and take a look at this.”

You’re unsure you believe that he’s broken any ‘wild mares’ in his time, but you take the piece of paper he offers you without comment. He ensures he brushes your hand with his as he transfers it to you.

It was a richly printed invitation inviting him to a party at Reginald Hargreeves' house in only a few days. At the bottom, in a neat, compact hand was clearly a handwritten addition:

Bring that intriguing cook of yours and tell her I'd like to claim her hand in the French waltz.

You look back up at him, a creeping sensation in your stomach. Because you can think of nothing else to say for the moment, you say:

“I don’t know the waltz.”

“I’ll teach you!” he said, clearly overjoyed at the idea of putting his hands on you.

You stare down at the invitation, taking a rather large swallow of brandy in order to give yourself time to think. You knew that trusting Reginald Hargreeves, especially when it came to maintaining timelines, was simply not an option. It was imperative that he learn nothing about who you are and why you’re here. You should refuse, you should stay as far away from him as possible…

But…

If Five’s anywhere in this time, he will sure as hell be paying close attention to anything his father does. Your other efforts have done nothing so far…so why not try a different approach?

“What about Lady Danforth?”

“That’s the best part, my dear. Staying with her niece. She won’t be home until the following afternoon. What Annie doesn’t know won’t hurt her, by God. And to stop tongues a-wagging, I’ll introduce you as my cousin.”

He smiles proudly at his own ingenuity.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Don’t concern yourself, my dear. I know you ladies can be very particular in matters of dress but will you allow me to select something suitable?”

You hesitate slightly. Knowing Sir Lewis, you’ll probably be turning up to this thing in the 19th century equivalent of stockings, suspenders and titty tassels.

“As long as you promise to keep it decent,” you say, warningly.

“Upon my honor,” he said, raising his right palm as if swearing on a bible, “it’s what’s underneath that counts, eh?”

You sigh again and down the rest of your brandy in one: sealing your decision.

“Then sure. I’ll go.”

After a lesson in the French waltz in which you had to readjust Sir Lewis’s hands several times, you make your way stealthily back to the servants’ quarters. As always, he’d signed off your private audience with him with a hearty: ‘May I come to you tonight, my dear?’ which you, as always, denied him. Expecting nothing else, he’d waved you off genially.

As you avoid the creaky floorboards outside Lady Danforth’s sitting room, you wish heartily that you could blink back to your room. Just as you think you’ve gotten away with it, her cold voice issues from within.

“Mrs Hargreeves?”

You wince and turn around, reluctantly entering the sitting room and bobbing a curtsey to the mistress of the household.

“Yes, Lady Danforth?”

You try to look innocent as she surveys you suspiciously from under her frilled cap. She’s a beautiful woman: what people of this time would call ‘handsome’. About fifteen years younger than Sir Lewis and five years older than you. Her long nose and hard expression added to her formidable demeanor. Her hair is an attractive graying blonde and her eyes a shrewd hazel.

“What are you doing in this part of the house?”

“I was summoned to the master’s study,” you say. Then, to try and ingratiate yourself while forming an alibi, “he was requesting some dishes for your absence next week but I suggested to him that they should be subject to your approval, given that you know the household matters best.”

“You presumed to tell Sir Lewis what was and wasn’t his jurisdiction in his own house?”

“No ma’am.” you say, having accidentally dug yourself further into her bad graces. The old-timey language is easy, the body language is easy, but your understanding of this era’s social dynamics is still constantly wavering. It seems like you can barely breathe without mortally offending someone.

“You were rather a long time,” she says, delicately, “for one discussing meals.”

You waver slightly, needing to come up with a convincing lie on the spot,

“Sorry ma’am. Sir Lewis had questions about my time in Bombay.”

She stares at you in silence for a while, sitting perfectly upright on the sofa, hands and feet primly together. You wet your lips briefly. In the last year, you’ve had to lie constantly; the creativity gets easier but holding your nerve never does.

When she speaks again, she moves her hand to stroke a finger gently across the arm of the damask sofa.

“Do you have children, Mrs Hargreeves.”

“Yes Ma’am. One daughter.”

Lady Danforth nodded contemplatively, “I have a daughter too. Married just over a year ago to a Baronet in England.”

You nod, smiling unsurely, “All the servants speak fondly of Miss Catherine.”

“Hm,” she said, tilting her head in order to look down her nose at you, “my daughter had a housekeeper. A widow, Mrs Fredericks. Or not a widow, as it turned out. She was dismissed recently. It was discovered that she was, in fact, still Miss Fredericks, although she had a grown son. Not only this, she had been stealing from her employer.”

“Oh.” you say, dumbly.

“Can you produce a marriage certificate, Mrs Hargreeves?”

Shit.

“No ma’am. My husband had it about him when he went missing.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Mrs Hargreeves. How inconvenient for a woman in your position.”

“Yes,” you all but whisper.

“But surely church records are available?”

“Um…no.”

She tilts her head in mock confusion and you gabble out the latest twist in a long and convoluted series of lies.

“The church we were married in burned down. The marriage records were lost with it.”

“Another inconvenience,” she says, raising her eyebrows, enjoying the seconds she leaves you hanging, “very well, you may go.”

You waver for a second, “ma’am?”

“You may go.” she repeats.

It’s almost second nature to curtsey now as you leave the room.

You don’t fall asleep for a long time that night. Your family seems closer than ever tonight, just tantalizingly out of reach. Your complex, intelligent and determined little girl and your Russian nesting-doll of a husband. The adult with a septuagenarian within and, at the deepest level of his precious heart, a scared, neglected little boy.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88, @nevillescomslut

On to Chapter 6 >> Masterpost

14 notes · View notes

thecreaturecodex · 9 months

Note

May I ask what reference materials you have at your disposal?

This list includes only books about monsters that I own and have used for the Codex at some point. It does not include books I've gotten from libraries (I have access to an excellent university library and one of the best public library systems in the country), nor does it include RPG books or books about science and nature. We'd be here all day, and this list already took like 90 minutes to collate.

A Field Guide to the Little People—Arrowsmiths and Moore Barlowe’s Guide to Extraterrestrials; Barlowe’s Guide to Fantasy—Barlowe The Dictionary of Demons—Belanger Monsters in Print—Benedict Ghosts Monsters and Demons of India—Bhairav and Khonna The Mwindo Epic—Biebuyck and Mateene, ed. The Beast of Boggy Creek; Momo—Blackburn Bigfoot: Life and Times of a Legend—Buhs The Hidden—Christopher and Austin The Unexplained!—Clark Ghostland; The Unidentified—Dickey Prehistoric Monster Mash; Dinosaur Memories II—Debus After Man; The New Dinosaurs; Man After Man—Dixon Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology—Eberhart Welsh Monsters and Mythical Beasts—Ellis The Book of Yokai; Pandemonium and Parade—Foster Encounters With Flying Humanoids—Gerhard The Leprechaun’s Kingdom—Haining Meeting With Monsters—Hlioberg and Aegisson Dragons—Hogarth and Cleary Monster Atlas Volume 1—Hyland and Kay The Field Guide to Extraterrestrials—Hyughe Bestiarium Greenlandica—Kreutzmann Evil in Our Midst—Jones The Natural History of Unicorns—Lavers Legends of the Fire Spirits—Lebling Travels to the Otherworld and Fantastic Realms—Lecouteaux and Lecouteaux Cowboys and Saurians 1 and 2—Lemay Medieval Monsters—Lindquist and Mittman The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures—Matthews and Matthews The Night Parade of 100 Demons; The Hour of Meeting Evil Spirits; The Book of the Hakutaku; The Fox’s Wedding—Meyer Hunting Monsters—Naish Cryptozoologicon Volume 1—Naish, Koseman and Conway Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology—Newton The United States of Cryptids—Ocker Chasing American Monsters—Ofutt Iberian Monsters—Prado The Creatures of Philippine Mythology—Ramos A Wizard’s Bestiary—Ravenheart Giants, Monsters and Dragons; Spirits, Faeries, Leprechauns and Goblins—Rose The Encyclopedia of Monsters—Rovin Bad UFOs—Schaeffer JaPandemonium Illustrated—Sekien, translated by Yoda and Alt Dragons: A Natural History; A Manifestation of Monsters; The Beasts that Hide from Man; Flying Toads and Snakes with Wings; Extraordinary Animals Revisited; Mirabilis; A Menagerie of Marvels; The UneXplained—Shuker Dangerous Spirits—Smallman Myths and Legends of the Australian Aboriginies—Smith Monsters of the Gevaudan—Smith A Chinese Bestiary—Strassberg Mummies Cannibals and Vampires—Sugg The Ashgate Encyclopedia of Literary and Cinematic Monsters—Weinstock, ed. Mythical Creatures of the USA and Canada—Wyman The World of Kong—Weta Workshop Mystery Animals of China—Xu

Appearing on this list does not necessarily constitute a recommendation. Carol Rose's books, for example, has a lot of gaps and are responsible for a number of myths and misconceptions that have circulated around the internet. And A Wizard's Bestiary by Oberon Zell-Ravenheart is more worthwhile as a curiosity than as reference material.

There are a lot of internet sources, of course, but I'm linking my top choices. If you're not already aware of A Book of Creatures and Yokai.com, you need to be.

#long post #housekeeping #mythology #folklore #monster books #cryptozoology

38 notes · View notes

officiallordvetinari · 7 months

Text

Wikipedia Featured Article Poll, Biographies Edition. Summaries and links below the cut

Margaret Ives Abbott (June 15, 1878 – June 10, 1955) was an American amateur golfer. She was the first American woman to win an Olympic event: the women's golf tournament at the 1900 Summer Olympics.

Lilias Eveline Armstrong (29 September 1882 – 9 December 1937) was an English phonetician. She worked at University College London, where she attained the rank of reader. Armstrong is most known for her work on English intonation as well as the phonetics and tone of Somali and Kikuyu. Her book on English intonation, written with Ida C. Ward, was in print for 50 years. Armstrong also provided some of the first detailed descriptions of tone in Somali and Kikuyu.

Morris Berg (March 2, 1902 – May 29, 1972) was an American catcher and coach in Major League Baseball, who later served as a spy for the Office of Strategic Services during World War II. Although he played 15 seasons in the major leagues, almost entirely for four American League teams, Berg was never more than an average player and was better known for being "the brainiest guy in baseball." Casey Stengel once described Berg as "the strangest man ever to play baseball".

Edward Dando (c. 1803 – 28 August 1832) was a thief who came to public notice in Britain because of his unusual habit of overeating at food stalls and inns, and then revealing that he had no money to pay. Although the fare he consumed was varied, he was particularly fond of oysters, having once eaten 25 dozen of them with a loaf and a half of bread with butter.

Harold Francis Davidson (14 July 1875 – 30 July 1937), generally known as the Rector of Stiffkey, was a Church of England priest who in 1932, after a public scandal, was convicted of immorality by a church court and defrocked. Davidson strongly protested his innocence and to raise funds for his reinstatement campaign he exhibited himself in a barrel on the Blackpool seafront. He performed in other sideshows of a similar nature, and died after being attacked by a lion in whose cage he was appearing in a seaside spectacular.

Marjory Stoneman Douglas (April 7, 1890 – May 14, 1998) was an American journalist, author, women's suffrage advocate, and conservationist known for her staunch defense of the Everglades against efforts to drain it and reclaim land for development. Moving to Miami as a young woman to work for The Miami Herald, she became a freelance writer, producing over one hundred short stories that were published in popular magazines. Her most influential work was the book The Everglades: River of Grass (1947), which redefined the popular conception of the Everglades as a treasured river instead of a worthless swamp. Its impact has been compared to that of Rachel Carson's influential book Silent Spring (1962). Her books, stories, and journalism career brought her influence in Miami, enabling her to advance her causes.

George Went Hensley (May 2, 1881 – July 25, 1955) was an American Pentecostal minister best known for popularizing the practice of snake handling. A native of rural Appalachia, Hensley experienced a religious conversion around 1910: on the basis of his interpretation of scripture, he came to believe that the New Testament commanded all Christians to handle venomous snakes.

Margaret Alice Murray FSA Scot FRAI (13 July 1863 – 13 November 1963) was a British-Indian Egyptologist, archaeologist, anthropologist, historian, and folklorist who was born in India. The first woman to be appointed as a lecturer in archaeology in the United Kingdom, she worked at University College London (UCL) from 1898 to 1935. She served as president of the Folklore Society from 1953 to 1955, and published widely over the course of her career.

Dom Pedro Afonso (19 July 1848 – 10 January 1850) was the Prince Imperial and heir apparent to the throne of the Empire of Brazil. Born at the Palace of São Cristóvão in Rio de Janeiro, he was the second son and youngest child of Emperor Dom Pedro II and Dona Teresa Cristina of the Two Sicilies, and thus a member of the Brazilian branch of the House of Braganza. Pedro Afonso was seen as vital to the future viability of the monarchy, which had been put in jeopardy by the death of his older brother Dom Afonso almost three years earlier.

Elias Abraham Rosenberg (Hebrew: אליאס אברהם רוזנברג; Hawaiian: Eliaka Apelahama Loselabeka; c. 1810 – July 10, 1887) was a Jewish immigrant to the United States who, despite a questionable past, became a trusted friend and adviser of King Kalākaua of Hawaii. Regarded as eccentric, he lived in San Francisco in the 1880s and worked as a peddler selling illegal lottery tickets. In 1886, he traveled to Hawaii and performed as a fortune-teller. He came to Kalākaua's attention, and endeared himself to the king with favorable predictions about the future of Hawaii. Rosenberg received royal appointments to several positions: kahuna-kilokilo (royal soothsayer), customs appraiser, and guard. He was given lavish gifts by the king, but was mistrusted by other royal advisers and satirized in the Hawaiian press.

#i expanded the summaries from the first sentence of the article to the first paragraph #cause with some of these people you don't get the full effect from just the first sentence #and also cause it's my poll.#Wikipedia polls

23 notes · View notes

bradydugan8 · 24 days

Text

The Jungle Book (1967)

The Jungle Book is a wonderful coming of age animated musical film that follows Mowgli as he learns to grasp his identity of man. The music in this film is a combination of a rich score, songs lacking in cultural authenticity, and a framed structure that is easily interpreted.

In what ways does the film’s score situate the story with its narrative context?

Because the film is a coming of age story, while situated within a dangerous jungle where Mowgli's life is at stake, the score is composed of jazz that communicates four main emotions. Those are mystery, danger, curiosity, and happiness. Mowgli, making his way through the jungle with the help of Baloo and Bagheera, is either in a mysterious situation, in a dangerous situation, filled with curiosity, or completely blissful. This is communicated through the score which establishes that the jungle is a mysterious and dangerous place. It then goes on to communicate when Mowgli is not in danger and exploring or filled with happiness. The opening credits that show the darkness of the jungle combined with the mysterious score perfectly set the scene for Mowgli's trek through it.

youtube

How do songs use character performance to push cultural authenticity in the film’s diegesis?

The cultural authenticity in this film is lacking. Even though the film takes place in the jungles of India, the style of music performed by the characters and executed in the score is composed of jazz, Dixieland jazz, barbershop quartets and pop. Other than the small uses of snake charming music, which originates from India, the styles are all American or European. Although the film lacks this crucial cultural authenticity, the performances of the characters are upbeat which through the genre of the music, makes a fun film. The "Trust in Me" number, in which Kha the snake hypnotizes Mowgli, is a standout use of culturally authentic music to craft a scene of danger which leads Mowgli down his path of mistrusting everyone. After this plot point, Mowgli realizes he has to have his guard up at all times and additionally, he cannot rely on anyone to save him from Shere Khan.

youtube

In what ways does the film use musical "framing" to structure the score within familiarized styles?

The structure of the films score progresses from mystery and intrigue in the beginning, to curiosity and happiness in the middle, to danger and fear in the ending. This structure helps progress the narrative of the film and encompass the many emotions Mowgli feels as a result of the situations he's in. This rising and falling of conflict reflected in the score helps structure the film and relates to other styles as it is easily understood. In the final fight scene amongst Mowgli, Shere Khan, and Baloo, the dramatic crashes of the jazz score aid the emphasis on the climax.

youtube

#Youtube #oxyfilmmusical #animated musical #@theuncannyprofessoro #@uncannyprofessoro

16 notes · View notes

sirserpentine · 1 month

Text

On Pentious' backstory.

//Hi lovelies! I've been thinking and developing Pentious for a short while now, and while I will likely accept whatever canon history we'll get for him in the future, I have a few current POSSIBLE ideas for what may have led him to Hell in life. This is one of such possibilities:

Short version: Pentious was a rich inventor in Victorian England. He served portions of time as an engineer in the army, working in the British Empire's colonies in Africa and Asia. (Hardcore colonialist. Very nasty, as they were.)

He had an amicable relationship with his wife who had been chosen by his parents. They wanted to have children very badly, but suffered from infertility for years with no improvement. Pentious grew bitter over his work overseas as well as depressed and hot-tempered from his repeated grief and disappointment when his family wouldn't grow.

Eventually, desperate Pentious decided to research dark magic and ask for the help from demons, as angels wouldn't answer his prayers. A deal was offered by a demon he managed to summon, a potion that would guarantee healthy children to its drinker. The catch? Pentious would automatically descend into Hell upon death. When promised his wife and future children would be safe from such a fate, Pentious took the leap and drank the potion at once.

But coming home that day, nobody answered his calls.

What followed was a grief-induced rampage, a desperate attempt to create an antidote, a bitter attempt to create poison, plans of calamity, plans to burn down the world that had forsaken him, toxic fumes spilling over his body by accident, red, red marks all over his skin, a study that burnt down in flames.

And a snake who entered Hell alone.

In detail:

He was born into a rich, aristocratic family in the late 1840s and had the privilege to study to his heart's content in London, his busy birth town. Being an engineer or an inventor was something he wanted to do since he was very young and his family accepted this, though a bit reluctantly. Following a degree in the university, he was engaged and married to a bride of his family's preference but didn't hate or outwardly disagree with the arrangement.

He and his gentle wife found common ground when it came to the enjoyment of music, art and the scoffed-upon, silly preference to usher house-intruding rats and mice outside without excessive violence. They also doted on all the children of their friends and relatives and eventually desired a big family of their own.

With no upcoming patent for an invention in sight, young Pentious instead found a job as an engineer for the army and travelled to the empire's faraway colonies in India and Africa to oversee and assist in the construction of windmills, vehicles and the maintenance of weaponry. Pentious received elementary level soldier training at this point and for the first time learned how to hold a firearm. He also got to enjoy the life in a true colonizer fashion; feel a false sense of superiority towards those their troops supervised and bossed around, eat exotic treats and send gifts back to his wife. Snakeskin purses, spices, jewellery, everything that could be ripped from their place of origin. He paid money for them, surely it couldn't count as stealing? They made his wife so happy, surely he wasn't greedy for hogging so much? He was a Britt, a civilised chap, certainly he was deserving of his share?

Though the reunion at home after his travels was a warm one, Pentious and his wife grew agitated when they weren't blessed with children after years of trying. They did their best, employing each home remedy, prayer and doctor's order they could afford, but the situation never improved. Pentious had to leave for more job contracts to fulfil and each time he returned to his grieving wife and empty nursery, the less he resembled the man he had been in the past. The idealistic, kind gentleman had become entitled and stressed, his smiles had turned into frowns, his passions into a hot temper.

And when he started shooting at the intruding rodents that disturbed his precious work in the study or tea in the parlour, his wife grew even more concerned. And when she mentioned this and all he could offer as consolation and apology was a concoction of rat poison to get rid of the problem instead, she wasn't sure if she even knew him anymore.

Pentious grew desperate enough to turn to dark magic to have his dreams come true. If Angels wouldn't listen to his wails, maybe demons would? Though doubting it would work until the very end, Pentious managed to summon a demon who offered him a deal; A potion that, once consumed, would guarantee him the conception and birth of healthy children. The catch? He would automatically descend into Hell at the moment of his death.

When promised his wife and future children would be spared from such a fate, Pentious wasted no time in swigging down the potion. Despite the prize he knew he would be paying, he felt more lighthearted than ever as he ran back home, desperate to tell his wife they could still try, they could fix things up, there was still time.

But once he was home, all that greeted him was silence.

The vial of rat poison was empty.

#about.#tw:colonialism #tw:infertility #tw: implied miscarriage #tw:implied suicide #tw: body horror #I exist to hurt myself when I develop muses it seems #this is one possibility of his backstory #he doesn't remember much of his own mortal life anymore though...#Which is beneficial for me #I'll keep it open until I'm sure of which angle to go with!!#headcanons.

7 notes · View notes