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thebubblesareevil · 2 years

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How Can You Resist?

To say the library was extensive would be a severe understatement. The whole room seemed to expand as Kaldur wandered throughout the stacks. There was only one other visitor to the library who sat at one of the tables perusing a rather large tome. He was a rather large ghost who appeared to be male and wore a long purple cloak. Eventually Kaldur came across a section of Atlantean text, much to his surprise, many of which appeared to be romantic poetry and love stories. Kaldur came across one of his favorite novels and sat down to read, not noticing when the only other occupant stopped paying attention to his book and began watching him instead.

But then again can people so rarely tell when he’s watching.

————————

Three hours, Danny had been stuck in this meeting for three hours. Why the Second Brother felt the need to go on a tangent of proper wing care, Danny’s not sure, but it had been going on long enough. Once the Second Brother paused Danny jumped in before he could continue.

“I am incredibly grateful that you took the time to inform me of such important traditions, however it seems we have run over our allotted meeting time and I must attend to some urgent duties.” Both Spirits rose from their seats and grasped arms. “It was an honor to meet such an accomplished warrior Lord Second, may your wings never falter”

The large winged man replied “And may the wind carry you far. Thank you for this opportunity, it was a pleasure speaking with you.” He hesitated for a moment before letting go of Danny’s hand. With those parting words Danny exited the room and is greeted by the Fright Knight.

“My liege” he greeted with a slight bow “how did it go?” He asked eagerly.

Danny gave a short chuckle “It went well, he seemed to be preening throughout the meeting with how much he boasted about his realm. That’s 2 out of the Twelve done. I need to see if there’s anything I can to speed these along, I made a promise to Kaldur and I intend to keep it.” He grinned at Fright Knight “Speaking of meetings, how did your meeting with the Knights of Mattingly, any suitable knights? How IS Dora doing? Did you ask her?” Danny raised his eyebrow.

Fright Knight gave a slight echoing cough “There are a few promising candidates that stood out, though none who stood a chance against my prized pupil. Truly your daughter takes after you, my King, as she quickly sent them running for their shields.” Danny sent a proud smile toward Fright Knight.

“Well she’s had a great teacher, we’ll have to set up a date for a proper sparring session. We haven’t really been able to spar together since the coronation.” Danny smirked “Now stop using Elle to dodge the question, how did it go?”

If it was possible for the knight to blush he would make a tomato jealous, instead his flames flared up as he responded “Queen Dorthea has granted me the honor of being her escort to the treaty celebration.”

“Congratulations Fright! Now that you have a date to the ball I gotta ask when was the last time you went to a ball to actually dance?” Danny asked as he walked only to stop as he realized he lost his companion. He looked at Fright Knight and carefully asked “You do know she’s gonna want to dance with her right?” Never before had Danny seen the grand knight look so nervous. “Don’t worry big guy there are still 10 more meetings to go before the Ball, you’ll have time to practice.” He said with a laugh. The two ghosts continued down the hall, seemingly unaware of the shadows that stalked them, waiting to strike.

———————

Kaldur was just finishing his book when the other occupant of the library approached him.

“A lovely story, if a bit tragic” Kaldur looked up in surprise as he did not notice the stranger approach.

With a cautious smile Kaldur responded “Perhaps, but it is one of my favorites.” The other man stands there for a moment staring at Kaldur as if trying to figure out a particularly interesting puzzle.

“How are you finding Phantom’s Keep? I trust you are making a speedy recovery.”

“Between Frostbite and Danny, I should be fully recovered before I return to my team. It’s interesting so far, I have not been able to explore much yet but it’s been interesting so far.” Kaldur sighs “In truth I find it difficult to relax, not knowing when I will be returning and being in an unfamiliar environment.”

The stranger nods “Completely understandable, I believe Danny sometime forget how the zone affects others. After all, the Infinite Realms were not meant for the living, though none shall be turned away.” He pauses “What do you intend to do with your newfound knowledge of the Realms Kaldur’ahm?” Kaldur looks at the stranger confused and suspicious, he grins in response. “The Realms are an extremely difficult place to reach… while alive, and many people would positively kill for the chance to learn even a fraction of what you have seen. In fact a few have killed for that knowledge, not that it helped them any.”

Kaldur is getting ready to answer when the stranger interrupt him. “No need to answer now. When the time comes you’ll know your answer, besides I think your time would much be better spent rushing to the aid of our dear King.”

“What do you mean?!” Kaldur demands

“We’ll you see, at this very moment Danny is being viciously attacked by a group of assassins. If you hurry you should be able to assist him.” The stranger says with a smirk.

“Where is he?!” The smiling stranger just floats away and Kaldur immediately gives chase until he comes across an empty courtyard, the stranger gone. He doesn’t have to wait long before a massive form comes barreling through the the castle doors before falling to the ground.

“Oh woe is me! I have been beset upon by assassins! Thieves in the night!” He bellowed he turned very dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes falling to his knees. A group of flying children surround him

“Avast ye matey! Surrender the princess and we shall spare your life!” Cried the child dressed as a pirate

The giant paused in his dramatics uncovering his face to reveal Danny himself as he replied “Sorry Youngblood, Elle’s not here today.” He then struck a dramatic pose pointing at the pirate “You shall never take the princess from these lands! I will forfeit my life before I forfeit my daughter!”

The pirate seemed to pause for a moment. “Your life shall be spared this day, but in exchange you must surrender to us your cookies instead!”

Danny nodded and then called out “Very well Captain Youngblood. Garçon bring me the finest cookies in all the land!” Kaldur couldn’t take it any longer as he let out a laugh. The pirate vanished from his sight and the rest of the children fled to hide behind Danny. Danny looked sharply until he saw Kaldur, then he turned towards the children. “Hey, hey calm down, it’s okay. This is just my friend Kaldur he’s not gonna hurt you I promise. Would you like to meet him?” He asked softly.

Danny turned around and slowly made his way toward Kaldur, shrinking to normal size as he walks towards him. A little ghost girl peaking out from behind his cape. Kaldur crouched down to greet her. “Hello, my name is Kaldur, what’s your name?”

“Mama says I’m not supposed to tell my name to strangers…” Danny then turns to the girl

“That is exactly correct! So what do we say when people ask for your name?” He asked with a wide grin. The little girl jumped into the air causing Kaldur to look up.

“I am the mighty Box Lunch fear me and meet your boxed lunch doom!!!” Kaldur looks surprised while Danny fell to the ground laughing. When he finally got a hold himself he turned to Kaldur

“Would you like to join us we were about to go raid the kitchens for cookies? I have a little time before the next meeting.” Kaldur stood and looked at Danny with a raised brow.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early for dessert?” He teased

Danny then picked up one of the children and held him in front of Kaldur “Look at him! He’s practically skin and bones we need to fatten them up and if I have to eat cookies before dinner, well that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” He said solemnly. Danny grinned and whispered something into the child’s ear. The young ghost then looked at Kaldur with what had to be the biggest pair off puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. “C‘Mon how could you resist these eyes?” Kaldur looked Danny right in the eyes for a moment. Danny gave a slight gulp.

“I don’t think I can.” He held out his hands for Danny to pass him the child. “Shall we go get some cookies before you all wither away?” The children cheered and jumped on Kaldur clinging to his arms. “Lead the way your majesty.” Danny’s face was ablaze as he turned around sharply and coughed.

“Alright everyone, FORWARD MARCH!! To the kitchens!” They all disappeared into the castle laughing.

—————

From the roof of the castle Clockwork watches the interaction.

“Every moment he is here, a new branch is formed in the timeline. I can’t wait to see what happens next” he stated before taking a bite of a rather chewy glowing cookie.

In the distance the sound of drums is heard.

#danny phantom #ghost king danny #cold current #dc x dp #danny/kaldur #kaldur'ahm #cross posted on ao3 #pt 6

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celestial119 · 2 months

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Perfect Cell x Time Patroller Reader (Female, fluff)

Stretched Thin

Warnings: passing out (from exhaustion) uhhh nothing else just fluff!

AN- Hey Tumblr it’s been a week or two apologies but been busy trying to move out which still isn’t done yet. Anyway I took my time with this and it’s really sweet. Remember requests are still open so DM me or drop an inbox, or just say hey. Anyway enjoy this one <3!

Your time at the time patroller academy was challenging for a young saiyan but you persevered with each challenge and all the training. Now also being one of the supreme Kai’s most prized time patrollers too but you never let that go to your head. passing through the ranks brought new opportunities with different mentors and power levels too. You did anything to help and being such a selfless and motivated student made a lot of teachers enthusiastic to work with you.

Although it often did stretch you thin, being exhausted constantly yet you always rose to a challenge. This term at the academy when you received your mentor sign up sheet you noticed the mentors only available for students with higher ranks were actually available for you this time around. Being the saiyan you are you began shaking with excitement and pretty much within the hour you had already handed your form back in with your mentor choice.

You had chosen perfect cell as you’d heard from your superior time patrollers that he was intense and had barely any if not no students during term. When you heard how much of a gruelling mentor he was you were practically bouncing with excitement. Personally he was so cool to you and you kinda figured he was gonna be one of the hard working teachers anyway, yet you went into your first class under him with a huge smile and bubbling enthusiasm, your new mentor wasn’t very amused.

~~~~~~~~~

It was one of those weeks again, one where you were thinly stretched. Between overtime on missions with the supreme Kai, studying and the definitive over training from your master you were absolutely exhausted. You’d barely got a couple of hours of sleep when the sound of your communicator pierced the silence and blaring an emergency alert notification through the dark silence of your small apartment. Groaning and flipping over in bed you squinted at the screen as your eyes adjusted to the screen. Reading the alert for the rifts in time (Y/N) shot out of bed quickly changing into her gear and grabbing her gear before heading out the door.

Quite an amount of hours later (Y/N) was trudging into her apartment absolutely exhausted from the rips in time which took an excruciating amount of time to set right, working from barely the break of dawn until some time after midday. She wanted to pass out and sleep for the rest of the week but right now she needed food. Setting some instant ramen on the stove to bring to a boil, (Y/N) worked diligently chopping some leftover veggies from the fridge. Humming a nostalgic tune and preparing her meal was interrupted by a blaring alarm from her communicator.

Whining and mumbling about what on earth could’ve happened now she grabbed the device into her hand and immediately her blood ran cold. The daily alarm she set for her training with master cell. Rushing to turn off the stove and put the chopped vegetables away again she quickly changed into a new set of uniform and headed out quickly.

Landing shakily at the wastelands that were her training grounds she bowed to her teacher. Cell scowled.

“I never in a million years expected you to be late. I expect you to work extra hard today.”

“Yes master cell. Apologies for being late it’s been a rou-“

“Ah ah ah I don’t want to hear your excuses dear. Now warm up and we’ll get to work.”

Cheeks now lightly dusted in pink (Y/N) began stretching. Pondering over the changes with your master pupil relationship with cell too. You were his only pupil and have been for a little while but just having all those one on ones made a huge difference to your power and cell of course loved seeing you improve and began to get more comfortable around you. He even started to give you little rewards for hard training sessions like little sweets. You’d never heard of Cell doing this for any of his pupils before but I guess they never lasted that long. A hand a top your head interrupted your thoughts.

“Come on now my favourite pupil it’s time to get started.”

“Master I’m your only pupil.”

“Still my favourite now battle stance my dear.”

He totally flirts like this on purpose, you thought. It was gonna make you pass out. Or maybe your forgotten hunger might do that.

~~~~~~~~~

The hours ran away from you both and Cell was still pushing you to keep going, except you were growing weak from hunger. You were barely hanging on and every punch getting weaker but you pushed on. Once again being kicked down to the dirt you groaned limbs like lead, not wanting to move.

“Is that all you’ve got? Come on I know you can hit me.”

He always knew how to push your buttons just right. Gripping the dirt and powering up for another frenzy of attacks you launched towards cell throwing a punch that was unfortunately caught in his fist. Vision going hazy you threw a kick but once again it was caught and blocked by cell.

“Come on dear just a little longer. I’m not dismissing you until you land a hit.”

With that he threw you back into the dirt. Once again limbs too heavy for your strength you tried to push yourself up, the world now spinning you whined feeling overwhelmingly nauseous. Cell knelt down tipping your chin up using a finger tip, smirking his usual arrogant expression.

“You are nowhere near your limit I know you can do more than that.”

“Master, I-I’m sorry. I failed you.”

Cells eyes widened at that, quickly grabbing your head before it smashed into the dirt below, gently shifting your body into his arms cell gently stroked some hair out of your eyes. He shifted to stand holding you bridal style in his arms as he set off towards Conton city and your apartment. You shifted in his arms eyes opening weakly to meet the shining magenta that were full of worry. Reaching a hand up to Cells chest you lightly stroked the smooth surface of cells skin up to his shoulder.

“…cell…..”

With that you were out again, fully limp in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

Groggily you began to come around. This place was warm and soft but also so familiar. Whining and half opening her eyes (Y/N) realised that she was in her bed in her apartment with a blanket draped over her. Becoming more aware now she also realised that she was in the base layers of her Saiyan armour and the outer shell of her torso piece was lying on its side on the floor. (Y/N) shot upright in a panic remembering about her training and how she’d passed out, the speed greeting her with a thumping migraine. Trying her best to pull herself upright and out of bed took a while but eventually she was making her way towards her ajar door.

Pushing her way through her apartment (Y/N) immediately got drawn to a gorgeous smell coming from the kitchen. Leaning on ever surface she got closer and then picked up on the sounds of cooking.

Once you eventually made it to the threshold of the kitchen the smell began to assault your senses becoming woozy once again. Over the stove stood Cell cooking away until he picked up on the shuffling behind him. Twisting his body the android came face to face with (Y/N) who looked like she was about to pass out again. Knees convulsing against the unnaturally heavy body weight she began to slump to the floor when Cell caught her waist.

“You should be resting my dear. Don’t worry I’ll take care of you until you feel better.”

(Y/N) began frantically blinking in confusion.

“No master, this was my mistake I should take care of myself.”

“Absolutely not my dear I am gonna help you. Also you don’t need to use the honorific this isn’t training.”

“But master I-“

The android tuts you gently before scooping you into his arms again and heading towards your couch. Skin now igniting in searing heat you tried to protest and wiggle your way free. Cell tutted you again before gently laying you onto the couch, above you Cells magenta eyes were gently gazing back.

“Listen to my my dear. Your training is important but please don’t ever do this again, you worried me for a while there.”

Averting your eyes and fiddling with the hem of the knitted blanket draped over the couch you began to feel overwhelmingly warm again as your master continued on tilting your head back to face him once again pink irises shining now.

“Over the course of your training you’ve improved so much you are a student I can be proud of yet caring for you has increased substantially on my part.”

(Y/N) grasped the hand that was now gently holding her chin and leaned into it slightly. She smiled sweetly up at the android and leaned up slowly due to still being lightheaded and gently kissed Cells cheek with her lips. Cell smiled back genuinely happy, eyes creasing at the edges.

“I’m going to finish the food I was making for you my dear, don’t move from that spot.”

#headcannons #video games #requests open #dating #dbz fandom #dbz #perfect cell #fluff #fanfic #romance #time patroller #dbz xenoverse #female reader

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the-better-rainbow-unikitty · 6 months

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I've recently overheard my fellow lower secondary school teachers boasting about how they never give any pluses, gold stars, or anything like that to the pupils because they are big now and should be grateful for their marks only. That's when I started giving my pupils all the pluses, gold stars, funky stamps, and dinosaur stickers I have. I see no reason why these little prizes should be for small kids only. My oldest pupils are fifteen and they are still pretty much children. They try much harder now. Such a little motivation boost goes a long way. I'm staying alive to protect this hill.

#teacher #teaching #teacher life

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justforbooks · 6 days

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Laurent Cantet

French film director who won the Palme D’Or at the Cannes film festival with his improvisatory education drama The Class

The social-realist boom in 1990s French cinema produced compelling new voices such as Jacques Audiard, Bruno Dumont and Érick Zonca. The most humane and rigorous of that group was Laurent Cantet, who has died aged 63 after suffering from cancer.

Cantet, who often worked in an improvisatory mode with non-professional actors, won the Cannes film festival’s top prize, the Palme d’Or, for his education drama The Class (Entre les Murs, 2008). Sean Penn, president of that year’s Cannes jury, called the film “a miracle, a perfect movie, just so exciting to see. We walked into the jury room afterward and it was like we had swept up the floor and our work was done.”

A kind of Parisian Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, it was arrived at by cross-pollinating drama and documentary to create what Cantet called “documented fiction”. François Bégaudeau, author of the autobiographical novel Entre les Murs (Between the Walls, 2006), on which the film is based, plays a version of himself: an enthusiastic inner-city teacher who inspires his adolescent pupils but also crosses swords with them.

In one scene, François is taken to task over his use of anglicised names in his mathematical exercises: Bill has 12 apples, Bob has three, but what about, say, Rachid or Aïssata? This playful scene plants the seed for one of the film’s main themes – the use of language to gain leverage, and to reshape the world.

The movie’s sharp-eyed visual style lends these semantic wrangles a strong cinematic dimension. Shooting on location with three high-definition cameras, Cantet achieved an omniscient documentary effect. “This gave us a lot of freedom, allowing us to improvise, to capture the energy of the pupils rather than interrupt them when we wanted a different angle,” he explained. The students and staff in the film, who were all drawn from Françoise Dolto junior high in the 20th arrondisement of Paris, generated many of the scenes in collaboration with Bégaudeau and Cantet.

The movie’s overall tone is one of bruised idealism. “It shows the richness of multiculturalism rather than its weaknesses,” said Cantet. “The film is utopian about the possibilities this kind of setting offers, but pessimistic about the school system in general.”

The Class received an Oscar nomination and became Cantet’s most successful film. But the three features that preceded it were more impressive, withholding even the smallest spoonful of sugar to help their messages go down.

He made his debut in 1999 with Human Resources (Ressources Humaines), in which a business-school graduate starts a management job at the factory where his father is a welder. The newcomer clashes with the union at first, then has a change of heart when he learns of planned redundancies.

That film, which the critic Ginette Vincendeau called “generous, sensitive and innovative”, addresses with Loachian fastidiousness the challenge of reconciling principles and productivity. Both Human Resources and Cantet’s 2001 follow-up, Time Out (L’emploi du Temps), explore how work defines us even in our most interior moments.

Time Out concerns the middle-aged, middle-class Vincent (Aurélien Recoing), who conceals his unemployment from his wife and children, and instead lets his days drip by in service stations and motel lobbies. To retain his role as breadwinner, he cheats cash out of gullible investors he meets on the road.

The film was inspired by the case of Jean-Claude Romand, who lied about his non-existent job, and finally slaughtered his family. Cantet and his regular co-writer and editor Robin Campillo (who later became a director in his own right) stopped short of such horror. “We wanted him to have a disconcerting banality,” Cantet said. “He’s just someone who slips and trips down a certain pathway.”

Some audiences found a note of hope in the final scene, in which Vincent attends a job interview. Cantet was quick to scotch that reading. “The notion of work is so full of wealth and worthiness that the prospect of Vincent finding employment again is obviously a winner,” he said. “But not having a job can be of a certain wealth, too. For people like him, work can only be slavery, so to see the last scene as a happy ending is a denial.”

Heading South (Vers le Sud, 2005) applied Cantet’s usual scrutiny to a different milieu, albeit one still steeped in exploitation and commodification. Charlotte Rampling and Karen Young play sex tourists at a Haitian beach resort in the late 1970s who find themselves competing for the same 18-year-old gigolo (Ménothy Cesar). Neither woman is interested in the young man’s plight under the corrupt regime of President “Baby Doc” Duvalier, though eventually the country’s political strife eclipses their feud. The film has a starkly Fassbinderesque view of the intersection between sex, money and power.

Cantet was born in Melle, a town in western France, and raised in nearby Niort. His parents were both teachers. He attended university in Marseilles, then studied at the Paris film school IDHEC (L’Institut des Hautes Études Cinématographiques), where he met Campillo. Their first full-length collaboration, Les Sanguinaires (1997), was made for French television as part of a project looking ahead to the new millennium. (Human Resources was also made for TV, but earned an international cinema release.) Asked about the 13-year gap between graduating and directing Les Sanguinaires, he said: “I spent a long time trying to discover what I wanted to say in a film.”

Reactions to the movies he made after The Class were mixed. An adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates’s 1950-set novel Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang (2012) met with muted acclaim. Return to Ithaca (2014), about a reunion of five friends in Havana, made few waves. It was Cantet’s second project in the city: he was one of seven directors who contributed to the portmanteau project 7 Days in Havana (2012). It was part-funded by Havana Club rum, which features prominently on screen.

His 2017 drama The Workshop (L’Atelier), about the relationship between a female teacher at a summer writing school and a male teenage student radicalised by the far right, revived the simmering tensions of Heading South, and represented a real return to form, though in fact the film had been gestating for more than 15 years. Cantet’s final picture, Arthur Rambo (2021), was inspired by the real-life case of Mehdi Meklat, and follows a young writer from the banlieues whose career is wrecked by offensive social media posts that predate his fame. He was working on a new film, The Apprentice, at the time of his death.

“My characters are never heroes,” Cantet said in 2008. “They always have weaknesses. That’s what motivates me to write them. They are people looking for their place in society: a place which is much harder to find when you don’t march in step with the rest of society. It’s something I can recognise in myself: keeping the world at arm’s length. Perhaps making films is a way of making up that distance.”

🔔 Laurent Cantet, film director, born 11 April 1961; died 25 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Laurent Cantet #in memoriam

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ampleappleamble · 4 months

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—

Very few ships operating within the Deadfire bothered to make the long and treacherous trip to the lonely expanse of open sea known colloquially as the Windless Wastes. Traversing the unnaturally still waters was, after all, a task hardly worth the effort– excepting a direct route south to Naasitaq or the White That Wends, the area held little of value. No whaler was mad or foolish enough to brave the icy depths for a prize that could be won far more easily in safer waters, and cartographers had yet to make an offer enticing enough for any sufficiently competent explorer to successfully chart the place. The only known ports in which one might find shelter consisted of an abandoned Vailian fortress surrounded by shipwrecks and shrouded in a malevolent fog, and an inhospitable iceberg populated entirely by fanatical Rymrgandian cultists. Therefore, very few ships passed that way, and fewer still dared to drop anchor at the lone settlement frozen into the crevices of the Dead Floe, lest the burgeoning ice issuing forth from the winds of the glacial cliffs freeze their vessels in place for good.

Still, an unlucky or incompetent captain finding themselves bereft of the trading companies' good graces– if not a crew still to be paid and fed– might sometimes need plunge into very unfriendly waters indeed if they were to make ends meet. And even oblivion-seeking zealots needed tallow and firewood, needed vegetables and fruit and grain, and if they had coin or useful sundries to trade for it, who was a desperate merchant to argue? And so ships still, on occasion, reluctantly docked at Harbinger's Watch, offloading whatever wares they had before they spoiled: to the brewmaster, the fishmonger, the innkeeper.

But despite the dangers and the difficulties, one plucky young entrepreneur visited on a more regular basis, one who treated exclusively– and secretly– with the High Harbinger himself. And on this visit, much to her chagrin, he was proving to be a very difficult client.

—

"This is it?" Vatnir picked at the thin, shabby fare laid out before him, an unimpressed scowl stretched across his lipless face. "This is all you have on offer?"

"Per complancanet, fentre, do not sound so offended." The merchant fussed with a loose strand of ivy sprouting from her shoulder and strode briskly across the tiny hidden room, as though she were trying to physically distance herself from her own pathetic muster. "Di verus, it is nothing personal. My sister and I, we have merely suffered a... a lean quarter, ac? A temporary bout of poor fortune. You, more than anyone, should understand that." She narrowed her goat's eyes at him, somehow managing to pout condescendingly.

The son of Rymrgand shot the daughter of Galawain a withering glare as he roughly placed a jar of corpsefruit preserves back onto the table with a resounding crack. "And you, more than anyone, ought to understand the incredible risk I take in simply meeting here with you every month."

He folded his hands behind his back and lowered his horned head down between his shoulders as he spoke, sounding not unlike a teacher scolding a bright but lazy pupil. "I am the leader of this clan, Bela, the very beating heart of this community. My spare time is both exceedingly scarce and incalculably precious to me. If it should ever be discovered how I choose to spend that time–"

Bela huffed indignantly. She had come here to do business, not to get lectured. "Postenago, of course I know that–"

"Then why," he hissed, whirling sharply on her, "do you think you can convince me to trade the products of my limited time and effort– painstakingly crafted, authentic, invaluable jommydra– for dross and dregs?" He thrust a bony, accusing finger at the pitiful display of substandard goods cluttering his table.

For a moment Bela was shocked into silence, but if her miserable childhood as part of a traveling curiosity show in the Republics had taught her anything, it was how to recover quickly from an unexpected blow. "Well, you seem to have very easily put a value on them, High Harbinger," Bela spat back coolly. "Over the years we've been doing business together, you've traded away quite a few copies of your precious lore. For food, drink, smoke..."

Vatnir snorted derisively, waving a bandaged hand at her as though to waft away her insinuations. "Yes, yes, good food, good drink, good smoke," he barked. "Rare foreign luxuries that might lift away at least some small portion of the burdens I bear. Things worth the hours I pour into reproducing my clan's most sacred scripture for a profane outsider. Not this... detritus."

"There's plenty here that's perfectly good yet!" Bela insisted, stomping back over to the table and casting her hand in a broad arc above the sad little pile of miscellanea, trying to convince herself as much as her customer. "Madiccho, I thought you Glamfellen were more resourceful than that. Look, here. This whiteleaf–"

"—is naught but stems and seeds," he scoffed, "more likely to clog my pipe than to ease my pain." He coughed, as though to make his point.

"Well," she countered brusquely, "perhaps a man in your condition should not be smoking so much anyway." She snatched up a brown glass bottle from the table, waved it enticingly at him. "Drink, I think, would be much better to soothe your poor throat, ac? Rum, fine rum distilled in the heart of Neketaka, fit for a Watershaper– no, for the Queen herself!"

"Half empty," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. "And nowhere near as good as anything I can already get from Nyvardir. For free."

Really, the worst part was that he was right– her stock was shit, all of it. But unfortunately for her, shit was all she had, and she couldn't endanger her proprietary arrangement with the only priest of Rymrgand in the Deadfire, and one willing to betray the sacrosanctity of his office for personal gain at that. Desperation crawled up inside her guys like a creeping vine. "Gellarde. Fine. Fine! All of it, then! I will give you all of it, fentre, everything you see here, if you'll only–"

"Maribel," Vatnir snapped. "I don't want any of it."

She turned away from him.

With any other client, she'd have probably called it quits by now and referred him to a peer to whom she owed a favor. Part of being a good saleswoman, after all, was recognizing when one was simply the wrong kith for the job, and networking with contemporaries was just as important as pleasing one's customers. But if Marri was right– and being an Endings godlike herself, her "sister" did possess some unique insight into the matter– having exclusive access to authentic Glamfellen holy lore could mean the difference between dominating the market in the White That Wends, or continuing to drag along the bottom of the mercantile social strata as they did now, barely making enough profit for the next job's expenses, servicing clients with her body when her merchandise would not suffice. And if they were successful in using their godlike status to capture the custom of an entire country (or the communities along the northern coasts that deigned to trade with outsiders, anyway), perhaps they could capture the attention of the Songretta as well, convince them and the ducs that godlikes did have a place in the Republics, that they could run magnificent businesses, fill a niche that no ordinary kith ever could. She couldn't just give up on that dream. In fact, she refused to rest until this repugnant, boorish, creepy little charlatan of a priest gave her what she wanted; what she deserved, really, for putting up with him for so long. So she turned away from him, and she uncorked the vial of oil of allure strung around her neck for just such an occasion.

When she turned back to face Vatnir again, her eyes were downcast, her full, glossy lips parted just slightly. She fluttered her long, dark eyelashes, willed color into her cheeks, made her voice smoky and sultry and sweet. "In that case," she murmured, "I suppose I only have one more thing to offer you, High Harbinger."

The dozens of tiny orange flowers that crawled up her delicate antelope's horns and nestled throughout the tight curls of her mahogany hair all slowly turned toward Vatnir in unison, as though he were the sun. Her lichen-pocked hand drifted slowly across her soft, round belly, then up and across the plunging neckline of her dress, tugging at a leather strap tucked between her shoulder and her ample bosom.

Vatnir stumbled a step backwards, a bruise-colored blush spreading beneath his mask, bad memories rising up inside him like bile. "N-no," he blurted, "no, no. None of that. Never again. I'll not humiliate myself a second time just for you to–"

"Cuè?" Bela purred, pulling the strap harder to bring her satchel around to her front. The oil burned as it clung to her tongue, its intoxicating perfume billowing up around her as she spoke. "Sientere, but I cannot imagine what you might find humiliating about being offered a perfectly innocent book, fentre."

Vatnir blinked, eyeing her suspiciously before stepping closer again, his shame quickly and mercifully forgotten. "A book?" he muttered, his tripartite gaze fixed on her hands as she opened her bag and produced a thick, heavy volume bound in skuldr leather. "What, a new one?"

"New to you. And to me as well," she sighed, trying to suppress a grin. He couldn't smell it, she knew, but her oil was definitely working on him, drawing him in. And it was working on her, too, loosening her up, making the right words come to her as though they were being whispered in her ear. "Di verus, this item is not exactly part of my regular stock– it is a personal possession, a... gift from another client. I am only halfway through it myself, but if you insist on driving such a hard bargain..."

She coyly proffered the book, holding it just out of his reach, and as expected, he grasped for it eagerly. For many reasons, physical travel wasn't feasible for the High Harbinger of Dusk, but reading afforded him a kind of escape anyway. While narcotics and culinary delicacies could bring great pleasure and powerful succor, his enjoyment of them was also agonizingly momentary, and he was at the mercy of the gods to decide when an opportunity to endulge might fall upon him. A good story, however, was something he could escape into whenever he pleased, for as long as he dared: he needed only find the time to read it first, and then his chanter training allowed him to easily recall a particular turn of phrase or a favorite quotation and slip into another world inside his mind, a fantasy where he could hide away from the endless, miserable drudgery of his life. They were good for inspiring new ideas, too, new imagery and experiences and characters to weave into his sermons and his "visions", to make them sound more meaningful, more believable to his ignorant followers. If he were to be completely honest, a good, thick book was probably his very favorite thing to find among the vendor's wares when she visited– although, in the interests of trying to lower her prices for the damned things, he'd never admit it to her. Noting with relief that this one was written in a language he could actually read, Vatnir took up the weighty manuscript in his arms and adjusted his eyes and his mind to Aedyran script, drinking in the title.

The New Legends of the Eastern Reach: A True and Thorough Telling of the History of the Dyrwood in Anni Iroccio 2823, Detailing the Animancy Trials, the Assassination of Duc Aevar Wolf-Grin and the Defiance Bay Riots, the Rise of the Watcher of Caed Nua, and the Lifting of the Hollowborn Curse.

He sagged in disappointment.

"What in– for frost's sake, what kind of title is that?" he whined, even as he flipped the cover open and began leafing through the pages.

"One that tells you what the book is about, fentre," Bela deadpanned, smirking. "I know you haven't much use for world news down here in the frozen-over asshole of the southern seas, but let me assure you, the events described therein are as exhilarating and enthralling as any fantasy novel or sprawling epic. And what's more, they actually happened! In fact, if rumors–"

"You said this one was new," Vatnir grumbled, licking his thumb before turning another page. "The title says Anni Iroccio 2823. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the current year in your Vailian calendar is 2828, ja?"

Bela bristled slightly at the priest's constant interruptions, not to mention his choice to smear his stinking slobber all over the book she'd worked so hard to pilfer, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. "I said it was new to you," she reminded him patiently. "And books do take time to scribe and to illustrate, fentre, especially the more comprehensive ones like this. But the really interesting thing about this one is–"

"Ah, so there are pictures," Vatnir mused, happening across one as he rifled through the pages. "And in color, even." Indeed, vivid hues and brilliant goldleaf leapt out at him from the copious marginalia and full-page illustrations, charming and intriguing him despite himself: a Dyrwoodan city district teeming with what looked like the undead, a cluster of adra pillars surrounded by armed kith with painted faces, a bearded meadow folk man in an opulent cloak. He turned another page, and another, searching for more.

He stopped.

There on the page before him was a portrait of an orlan woman in a shining silver breastplate, her bright red hair cascading over her sturdy shoulders, her golden fur glittering against her tawny skin, her long, slender ears arcing gracefully toward the heavens, her violet eyes fixed on a point beyond the edge of the page, piercing and determined.

Vatnir stared, stupefied, powerless to look away. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

Bela, peeking over his shoulder, had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. Oh, she had him now. "Careful not to drool on the parchment, fentre. You'll make the ink run."

The smitten priest abruptly snapped back to reality, blinking rapidly and sucking air in between his teeth. "W-what?" he gurgled.

Now the merchant allowed herself to laugh. "As I was saying," she continued, "the interesting bit about this book is that it chronicles, in part, the rise of a particular hero of the Dyrwood. One who, if rumors are to be believed, has recently arrived here in the Deadfire. And gellarde! You have found her: the Watcher of Caed Nua!"

"Watcher?" Vatnir looked down at the book again, his gaze lingering on the woman's face for a moment before finally spotting a caption woven into the portrait's intricately detailed border, just beneath her clasped hands.

"Axe," he read, then stopped, perplexed. He squinted at the page. "Ocks-ah–"

"Ah-sha, postenago," Bela laughed. "She is Ixamitec. Ah-sha Ma-la is her name."

"Ah-sha Ma-la," he repeated softly, reverently, his eyes roving hungrily over the portrait again. "Axa Mala, of Ixamitl. Who is she?"

Hook, line, and sinker. Now all Bela had to do was reel him in. "To find out, aimoronet, you will have to buy the book," she teased, lightly running a fingertip along the edge of his ear. "Or trade for it, of course."

"Of course," he echoed absently, completely sincere– and then, too late, he caught himself.

Embarrassed, he gritted his teeth and jerked away from the merchant's touch, slamming the book shut. "Of course," he groused, scurrying to the opposite end of the room, the book still in his arms. "Well. You were right about one thing– I have no use for world news. In truth, no one does. So long as the Floe keeps expanding, there will soon be no world, no news. As it should be." The High Harbinger heaved a heavy sigh. "But..."

Bela's grin broadened. "But...?"

He turned his head to peer at her over his shoulder. "But you have piqued my curiosity. You said this... Watcher was here, in the Deadfire, now? What brought her here? I doubt I'll find that out from a book written five years ago."

Bela's golden-green eyes shone with excitement, and she hurried to his side, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You have heard of the giant adra man, ac? The one storming across the archipelago, possessed by Eothas, the dead god, devouring souls and luminous adra wherever it treads?"

A giant man made of adra? This was the first he'd heard of anything like that. "I've heard rumors," he lied. "So it's true, then?"

"Oh yes, fentre, it is true," she chirped. "And this Watcher, this Axa Mala? She is here because she is chasing it. It emerged from beneath her castle in the Dyrwood, tearing away her soul with its rising, and Cirono returned her to us from the Beyond to hunt the giant down."

Vatnir rolled his eyes at the mention of Berath, but pressed on regardless. "Hunt it down?" he muttered. "To what end?"

She shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps Cirono wishes her to reclaim her soul from the dead god, that it might return to the Wheel as is proper. Perhaps she has been tasked with finding a way to stop the giant's rampage, or else destroy it. Whatever her reasons, she has told the Queen of the Kahanga that she intends to sail the seas far and wide, scouring the isles for her runaway god. Who knows? Perhaps one day she'll even pay you a visit, all the way down here. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Bela winked at him, laughing again as the priest cringed and blushed.

"D-don't mock me, Vailian," he grumbled. "I've grown weary of your company. Just... take the jommydra and go. A book for a book– that will have to stand in for a fair trade, this time." He set the thick tome carefully on the edge of his table, snatching up a significantly slimmer manuscript and coughing into his free hand as he thrust it in the merchant's general direction.

Bela clapped her hands together, delighted in her victory, and flounced over to him to collect her prize. "Agracima, High Harbinger," she gushed, gathering her hard-won treasure– along with her unsold wares– into her satchel. "Always a pleasure to do business with you."

He grunted dismissively, and then again in alarm as he noticed what she was up to. "H-hey, wait a minute– what are you doing? You said I could have all of it if–"

"–if you'd trade me what you promised me you would when last we met, ac," she explained, cocking a slim green vine of an eyebrow. "I did not say you could have all of this and my personal copy of a rare and expensive book. It's one or the other, fentre. Do not be greedy."

Vatnir narrowed his cold, beady eyes at her. "Fine," he spat. "But you owe me better, much better than this next time. And I intend to hold you to that."

"I'm certain you will," Bela chuckled, latching her now bulging bag shut. "If you should ever wish to trade it back to me, my sister and I will return in a month, as per our arrangement. Corès for now, aimico. Use her portrait for your pleasure all you wish, but do try not to fall in love, ac?"

Vatnir growled, reaching threateningly for an empty bottle of rymsjódda. But before he could even pick it up let alone throw it at her, the woman gave him a cheerful little wave and vanished in a puff of smoke– her favorite rogue's trick, and an excellent way to return to her ship undetected by any of the other harbingers. She always ended their meetings that way. Annoying, but at least he was finally alone.

Alone with his new book. With Axa Mala, hero of the Dyrwood, and the tales of her great and terrible deeds. His hands trembled as he cracked the book open, letting the pages fall to either side, parting to reveal the orlan's portrait once more, every bit as captivating as the first time he'd seen it. He suddenly felt nervous, nauseated even, as though she were about to march into his quarters in person and demand to know what he thought he was doing. So he closed the book and took a few deep breaths before opening it again, this time to the first page.

"Well then," he murmured, "shall we get to know one another, Watcher of Caed Nua?" And he started reading.

—

#pillars of eternity #vatnir #fanfic wip #working title: hero worship #honestly that'll probably be the published title too #kinda bummed i had to change the Lords of the Eastern Reach reference #but unfortunately it just didn't quite work #anyway this is the intro and first half #the rest will come... uh later #thanks for reading ♡

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cellarfulofnose · 20 days

Text

call on me

5.2k words. 1960. Dear sir or madam, will you read my book?

It made sense that John would be here, now. In some backward way. He never showed up to school when class was in session, so it might as well be after hours that he decided to set foot in the classroom. The star pupil out of place here was Stuart, and he seemed to know it. He didn’t outright complain, but he plodded along unnecessarily far behind John, and shushed him when he made a joke. He was nervous. John could understand. They’d never broken in anywhere before. John usually preferred to do his light-fingering when the sun shone, during normal business hours. Alone. Shopkeepers were idiots, so there was rarely any real danger. But this was a slightly higher caliber mission. For a real breaking and entering job, he needed a lookout. He needed an accomplice—if one went down, they both went down.

Besides, Stuart knew how to pick locks, and John didn’t.

Stuart's hands glowed like bone in the moonlight. Delicate. Meant for the piano, John thought. Not the bass. “Come on,” John hissed, briefly hot with jealousy.

Stuart played the locking mechanism like a virtuoso and sprung it in a minute. The shadow of John flitted inside and made for the teacher’s desk. Wouldn’t it be just his luck if this one were locked, too? But no, the saints were smiling on him tonight. (Bloody voyeurs, John sneered to himself. Perverts for watching him and for the nature of this little extraction.) Stacks of paper formed a skyline in miniature across the desk. Stepping into the sliver of moonlight, John put on his glasses and began rifling through in search of his handwriting. It shouldn’t be hard to find; he’d handed in fuck all else.

Stuart whispered to him urgently. John turned to ice for a moment, listening with arrested breath, but it was only a bid to hurry up. John set his stack aside with an exasperated sigh and moved to the next one. It wasn’t here. His fingers walked through page after page. Essays. Reports. Cyn Powell’s perfect, tidy little hand. Sweat tickled his brow. What if…?

There it was. Even with a bat’s eyes, John felt his vision lock to the middle of the page; the peppering of punctuation, the carefully deployed words, his shibboleth. Relief knocked a sigh from his chest. “I’ve got it.”

“Get a move on, then.”

John checked the pages before it and after it. Nothing had slipped between the cracks. He was saved from embarrassment and ridicule for another day. He folded his prize in double halves and shoved it in his jacket pocket. This time, he made sure it was safely zipped.

For this particular war chest, John was doubly thankful. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want anyone to read it (more to the point, he didn’t want the professor to read it, mistaking it for an essay). He needed the story tonight, the thrill and release it would provide him. It was a far cry from his magnum opus, just a six-pager about a model with an acute sensitivity to perfume. But Stuart was champing for it too, unzipping before they’d shut the door to the Terrace.

John flipped the pages over, scanning the lines for where the story began. One page, back, next page, back.

No.

“Put your glasses on,” Stuart said in a rush, reaching into his shorts. But that wasn’t why John had frozen.

“There’s a page missing,” said John.

Stuart wobbled to his feet, nearly pitching over as he tried to hike up his pants. He snatched the page and turned it over. And the next. He even put his own glasses on. It only brought their reality into sharper focus.

He’d lost the middle page. It was out there somewhere, double-sided, at large. Where anyone could read it.

◇◇◇

Whoever decided to bring art into university, John thought, should be lined up against a wall and given no cigarette. He hadn’t much choice but to attend class today. If the middle page had indeed fallen into the wrong hands, he needed to be there for damage control. It wouldn’t take much more than waving his fist under the poor idiot’s nose to get it back—unless it was a girl who’d got hold of it. John shuddered. He’d almost prefer a professor.

Class was dismissed without incident. John couldn’t stand it. He spared a glance at the bin on his way out, thought about kicking it over and rifling through every crumpled page. Instead, he joined Stu on the commons to have a smoke for lunch.

“I’m going round the twist,” John muttered as he shook out the match. “What’re the odds some…some—”

He trailed off. Stuart was looking pointedly behind him.

Paul approached, cow-eyed and long-limbed as a new fawn. His Inny blazer was missing its badge. He was playing hooky, and not very well. John whipped his glasses off as casually as could be and ignored Stuart scoffing faintly through his nose.

“All right, John?” Paul didn’t give John time to respond, nor Stuart time to react to not being addressed. “Rationing them, or what?”

Stuart put a cigarette in John’s fingers. He lit it for Paul.

“Cheers.” Paul inhaled deeply and swallowed a cough before continuing in a slightly pinched voice. “Written anything lately?”

John sighed out loud. Any other day, he would have indulged the boy, even invited him for a bite at the canteen. But today his patience was wearing thin. “Had other shit on me mind, if you’ll believe it.”

“Not saying there’s more to life than music, are you?” Stuart needled, and John felt himself smile.

Paul gave a hasty laugh. “Yeah, or short…you know, fiction.”

The hairs on the back of John’s neck stood straight on end. More than anything, he wanted to share a frantic glance with Stuart, wanted Stuart to tell him he was crazy, that there was no way this cherub-faced brat had the dirt on them. He wet his lips, swallowed without meaning to. “Literary Society’s got a youth chapter now?” he sneered.

“Well I, I was just curious.” At Paul’s slight stammer, John glowed with victory. Paul knew he’d be daft to challenge them. But a fit of courage or stupidity drove him on. “I found this page, see…”

John’s eyes darted to Paul’s hands, busy with nerves—empty. He carried no bookbag.

“Thought I recognized your writing. Your handwriting.”

It was a clever amendment. Held neither of them liable. Paul wasn’t admitting he’d read it, merely glanced at the letters. And there was no accusation that it matched John’s prose. Only his hand. John had to remind himself of these things. He wasn’t defending himself against an accusation. There was nothing to defend.

“What was it about?”

John’s stomach flipped. Stuart had called Paul’s bluff. Masterful. Even if the alleged story existed, he hadn’t written it, so his curiosity would appear genuine.

“I, well I. Didn’t give it a good read.” Paul shook his head emphatically and shrugged.

“That boring, was it? Must have been mine,” John said. Double bluff. He didn’t know why Paul had suddenly lost his gall, but he pressed down on the weak spot.

“I mean, it didn’t make sense.”

John’s breakfast threatened to make a second appearance.

“It ended in the middle of a sentence.”

“Did you read it, or didn’t you?” John snapped.

“Only there wasn’t a period at the end of the page…”

John could tolerate this stupid dance no longer. “What was the girl’s name?”

Paul tilted his head. “What,” he said with perfect candor, “you mean Susan?”

John felt even Stuart’s body tense. It was over. “Yeah,” he said. “So?” A challenge.

A beat of silence as Paul processed John’s confession. At the moment of realization, he spat out, “I’ll—give it back.”

“At’s a good lad.” Pressing down, pressing down. John held out his hand.

“Well, I don’t have it. It’s at me house.”

John stood up. “Bit late for Geography, aren’t you?”

Paul blinked coolly. “We can do an exchange.”

“I’ll say we fucking can.”

Stuart murmured, “John.”

“Come to mine. Bring the rest of the story.” Though they were nearly face to face now, John couldn’t decipher Paul’s expression. “And you’ll get the page back.”

John laughed, not for the first time out of fear. “Yeah, fuck off.” He sat beside Stu once more and took a heavy pull to get a light on his cigarette.

Behind them, a pair of girls called out Paul’s name. Sculpture students, apparently no strangers to Liverpool’s own Tom Sawyer. Paul waved brightly and excused himself with a nod. “Milords,” he said with a Yorkshire affect. Then he was gone.

“Git,” hissed Stu.

John elbowed him in the gut.

◇◇◇

John stooped low enough to scrabble a handful of stones from the ground. That McCartney prat. Just who did he think he was? It was blackmail—no, hostage-taking. He lobbed a stone hard and seethed in frustration when it didn’t bounce off anything. John pitched the lot, and they skittered satisfyingly off his target. Good. He bent down and scavenged another fistful.

And Stuart, the coward. First he’d suggested Swiss neutrality. Non-aggression. Paul would tire of the chase in a week, he assured John, and all this would blow over. Berk. John threw a pebble, then another. They ping-pinged off the wooden windowsill.

Then came the most ridiculous suggestion of all. Stuart had said they should oblige the boy. They, plural, march over to Paul’s waving their white sketchbook-paper flags and break bread. It horrified and disgusted John in equal parts. Unconditional surrender! Trust Stu to strike that kind of bargain when it was John’s neck on the line.

A pair of pebbles struck the glass pane. A moment later, the window flew open.

“The hell are you—” Paul swiftly dodged the final stone, which had left John’s hand too late to retract. “‘Ey! Watch it.” Judging by the volume of his protests, and the music emanating from the room behind him, Paul’s father wasn’t home.

John held up a sheet of paper in each hand.

Paul craned his neck out the window, peering down with an open-mouthed squint that showed off his front teeth. When the realization struck, his eyes popped open. “Come on up, then,” he said, with a modicum of dignity.

John felt his jaw tremble with the effort of keeping his breathing soft after galloping up the stairs to Paul’s second-story room. Neither of them spoke. Paul reached for the page in John’s left hand, but John yanked it away.

“Get nothing for nothing.”

“Right.” Paul flipped the latch on a chest that sat at the foot of his bed. He pulled out a pillow and reached inside the sleeve. John heard the crinkle of paper.

“Fuck’s sake,” he snickered. “No one’s gonna nick it off you.”

“And what is it you’re doing, then?” With a wry grin, Paul extracted his prize from the pillowcase. He even gave it a little wave. John’s heart skipped a beat to see it.

“I’m taking back what’s mine.” He didn’t snap, but the tone of his voice made his intentions clear. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“I’m only teasing.” Paul stretched out his hand without further provocation. John made to grab the paper.

“Can I at least read it?” asked Paul.

Caged-animal fear blazed in John. He wanted to snatch the page and rip it, and knock Paul down while he was in the neighborhood. It wasn’t just shame. Paul simply wasn’t equipped to appreciate it. Why should he cast pearls before swine? These stories weren’t like music. Paul couldn’t be a whiz at them too.

Sweat soaked John, threatening a shiver. He’d been silent too long. Paul would think he had something to hide.

He shrugged. “Be quick about it, yeah? I’ve got a date.” To show his nonchalance, John spread himself across Paul’s bed and began unlacing his boots.

Paul gathered up the pages like sweets and sat in his desk chair. As he glanced from line to line, trying to determine their order, he asked, “Does she know?”

John freed his foot, letting his right boot fall with a thud that he hoped would sound contemptuous. “Does my girlfriend know we’ve a date tonight?” He didn’t want to believe Paul was calling him a liar.

“Does she know you…you’re—” Paul gestured with the pages. “That you like this stuff.”

John didn’t allow that to hang in the air for more than half a second. “She knows I like my dick sucked.”

A small laugh escaped Paul, though it sounded more nervous than mirthful. But, as John hoped, he didn’t say anything more. He cleared his throat and bowed his head to read.

John bent over to untie his other boot. As he did so, he slipped his glasses on to monitor Paul’s reaction. His mouth was unreadable, obscured by the rest of his hand as Paul nibbled at his thumb. But John watched his round eyes meander to and fro, down the line and back again like a typewriter—and awfully fast. John set his jaw against the urge to tell Paul to slow down and savor it. Any idea how fast you were going back there, mate? John nudged his glasses back into place and pretended to adjust his laces.

Paul flipped over the first page. A while later, his chair creaked. John could hear Paul’s breath softly huff-huffing around his hand, and he didn’t like that. He shook off his left boot and lounged backward. The mattress groaned and whined beneath him as the springs bounced.

Paul didn’t so much as blink. He gnawed at his thumb for another page, then pressed his cupped hand to his mouth. His pillowy cheeks rose above his fingers as a smile spread.

Oh, that was just rich, John thought. Trying not to laugh. He’d give Paul something to laugh about. He’d wipe that little smile clean. He’d…

It started in Paul’s ears, then his ivory face. He was turning a hot, flustered pink: blushing. Deeply. His hand wasn’t big enough to hide it.

John felt very strange then. He tried to remember the first time he’d read—one of those—that he hadn’t written. He didn’t think he ever had.

Paul’s chair creaked again. His leather pants gave a dry squeak as his legs shifted. He picked up the third page.

John itched everywhere. The record playing on the shelf had run out minutes ago. It crackled and scratched as he wished he could. He found his hand fussing with his own mouth now, a mirror on a delay.

“Jesus.”

Paul let out a breath and turned his eyes heavenward, as if in disbelief. He’d dropped his hand for only a moment, and before he could replace it, John saw his tight, crooked smile. He looked mystified.

“Well?” John blurted when he couldn’t wait a second more.

By way of an answer, Paul laughed, almost sighed. He made a show of tugging the collar of his t-shirt off his chest, fluttering cool air down his body. “Not bad, this.”

John was a boy at the circus. He forgot to be suave. “You like it?”

“I mean it’s, um.” Paul rose and crossed the room…and locked the door. “Dunno how you do it, really.”

He must have seen John’s eyebrows go funny at the sound of the latch, because he quickly added, “Mike, you know, he’d only bother us.”

Men at work, that’s us, thought John.

“But it was good, yeah.” Seemingly unsatisfied with the desk chair and unwilling to move John’s legs off the foot of his bed, Paul stayed standing, leaning his weight on one wooden bedpost.

“It was shit.” It felt good to say it, to be rid of the miasma in his head, to season the conversation a bit.

“No it wasn’t.” Paul’s voice pitched up with sincerity. Then, “Could’ve used a different point of view, maybe.”

John was too intrigued to be cross. “Go on.”

Paul shrugged. “Well, she’s a model, ’n’t she? Everyone makes allowances for her. Suppose she was a model’s assistant. She gets all close up with ‘em. Five, ten women a day, ten different perfumes. She’s got to run errands. Disappear when the camera’s running. Pressure’s on.” He lifted his eyebrows once.

John sat forward, shoeless, speechless.

“She’d worry her job was on the line.” Paul stuffed his hands in his pockets and paced a few aimless steps, his eyes glued to the floor. “Oh, but they love her too much. The girls. Couldn’t live without her. Sometimes they…” The edge of a laugh crept into his voice, “...can’t help but kiss ‘er…even as she’s—”

“Wait, wait, shut up.” John scooped up the first page. “Start over.” His head swiveled in search of a pen.

“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter,” Paul stammered. Something drew his attention back to the chest where his treasure hid. “You ever record any of these?” he asked as he rummaged through its contents.

John snorted derisively.

“Have it your own way. I’m just sayin’. Like a dirty magazine for your ears, isn’t it?” Paul recovered a small tape recorder and a flimsy set of earphones.

“Yeah, my own fuckin’ voice. Gone all funny just hearin’ myself talk,” John said, with a little shimmy to garnish his camp affectation.

“Well, you could…” Paul seemed unsure of where to go next. He held the tape player as if he’d forgotten it.

John felt the fishhook pierce his cheek. He raised his chin. “What’s that, then?”

“Well, but you know, if that’s how you feel…” Paul lowered the equipment to place it back in the chest.

“Hey!”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“Aw, fuck off. Gi’s a listen, come on…”

“No, it’s no good, you’ll only laugh…”

“I won’t. I won’t.” John found himself on the ground beside the chest, as if to intercept the tape player before Paul could replace it. He laced his fingers together, a penitent at prayer. “Oh, go on.”

Paul tsked, pretending to think about it, so John added, “Please.”

“You won’t laugh.” Even as he said it, Paul positioned the orange foam over John’s ears.

John shook his head, then stopped when the earphones threatened to rattle loose. “Honest.” He crossed himself for good measure and loudly kissed his thumb.

Paul hit play.

If he’d an ounce of brains in his head, John would have known exactly what to expect. But he felt blind and helpless listening to the fuzzy ripping sound of the tape, waiting for something that sounded like anything. No dialogue, no music. He met Paul’s eye, as if for guidance. Paul pursed his lips and looked away.

The unmistakable sound of heaving breath sliced through the static. John straightened, pressing the earphones tighter to his head. The voice on the tape gasped and sighed, and—John actually jumped at the sound of it. A sneeze! A girl’s, so fairylike, so angelic it could have been the tinkling of little glass bells.

“God bless you, my dear,” purred a chocolatey, upper class male voice.

“God,” said John, feeling like Echo before Narcissus, but it wasn’t over. The girl sneezed a second time; higher pitched, if that was possible, a lovely delicate squeak.

“Gesundheit,” growled the man, and the tape ran out.

John whipped the earphones off his head. “How the fuck d’you get a girl to do that?”

At first Paul looked bewildered, then plain insulted. “That was me.”

“What was?” It took John moments to process the suggestion. “You fucking never.”

Paul shrugged. “Can’t exactly pay me rent on it, but—��

“You’re lying.” John’s auditory memory began to warp as he sifted through the ripples of sound.

Paul scoffed. “Yeah, course I am,” he said in somewhat of a huff, and took his tape recorder back. Before John could protest, it was locked in the oaken chest.

“Come on. Who was it, Dot?”

A genuine laugh spilled out of Paul. All right, so she wasn’t privy to his little hobby. That left…

“Iris?” John didn’t want to believe it any more than he wanted to consider the alternative.

“Haven’t I shown you how I get out of class when I want to slag off?” Paul sat at the head of his bed, now that it was vacant again.

John settled for the foot. “Always figured it involved a few hours under the Geography master’s desk.”

In reply, Paul put up his hand. His owlish eyes suddenly looked bright, inquisitive.

“You, boy, what is it?” John barked, calling on his young pupil.

“I don’t feel very well at all, sir.” Paul’s transformation was instant and total. His voice grated in a way that made John’s own throat sting, and his diction was stopped-up as if speaking against a wall of gunk. His hooded eyes and parted lips suggested sinuses almost too swollen to allow the passage of air. One could nearly see the halo of pink around his nostrils.

Goodness, gracious. “The bloody hell do you expect me to do about it, eh?” John snapped, his jaw set like the Bulldog himself. “Nurse you back to health?”

“Please, sir,” Paul wavered, looking as though he might cry. “May I be…” It wasn’t a sob that cut his sentence off at the kneecaps, but a shivering sneeze, caught against the back of his wrist. “Ex-excused…?” he gasped, then ducked down to sneeze again. It was a wretched, dragging sound that seemed to take the life right out of Paul. He shuddered and snuffled and gave a weak cough.

John had almost no reason to imagine he was watching a performance. He’d startled slightly at the first sneeze—and he wasn’t being generous in calling it that, in suddenness and heart-rending texture it’d been as real as they come—forgetting, for a moment, that he wasn’t seeing Paul at his most vulnerable. He’d never actually heard Paul sneeze before now. Supposed he still hadn’t. But these false ones suited him uncanny well. Emotional, modestly strong, hopelessly endearing. It felt the most natural thing in the world to bless the boy. John felt his lips press together to do it.

Then at once Paul straightened. Once he’d wiped a drop of spittle from his mouth, he appeared totally unscathed. The sharpness had returned to his face, the alertness to his eyes. Of course, it hadn’t gone anywhere. He grinned.

That did it. John awoke from his stupor. In his Churchill-teacher voice, he snarled, “Certainly not,” and pantomimed slapping Paul across the face. Paul, obligingly, flung his head back with a yelp. “And next time you cry wolf you’ll get worse, is that clear, boy?”

Paul cowered, laughing behind the arm that shielded his face from future blows. “I’ve only had to do it once. I don’t think it’d work again, not on the same one.”

“But he really bought it?”

Paul shook his head dismissively. “He was a bit thick.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you had me with the girl ones. How’d you do that?”

Paul let out a sputtering laugh, glancing over at John as if to gauge whether he was joking. “Need a bit of prep…”

“Oh, yeah?” John lunged for Paul’s crotch, his clawed hand promising to tweak Paul into mezzo-soprano range.

“Get off me!”

John found it hard to argue with Paul’s demand, punctuated as it was by a pillow to the face. While John spit feathers, Paul clambered off the bed to the record player and put on a Little Richard disc.

“‘Scuse me for askin’,” John huffed, but Paul waved it away reassuringly.

“Sound carries up here, you know.” The record wailed its high notes, and Paul echoed them with a shake of his hair. “Helps me get in range,” he added bashfully.

“So what do you do?” John perched on the edge of the bed. “Study one girl and—and parrot her? You ever heard Genevieve sneeze?” She was in his year at art college and often found her way into his head when he had time to himself.

Paul nodded. “Ginger girl? She’s like…” Without prelude, he cupped his hands before his face and sneezed. It was like an act of ventriloquism; someone else’s voice came out of him. Gen’s voice, note for note, perfect. He’d even scrunched his eyes shut and let his hair toss a little bit, as if to immerse himself in the character. Perhaps it was a necessary part of his method.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” John had been sorely unprepared. His body reacted to the sound identically to the real thing. His mind still hadn’t caught up.

Paul rolled his eyes a bit, but he couldn’t squash a smile. “You pick up this and that.”

“Iris?” John said, half insensible with curiosity and greed, hardly daring to hope.

“Ooh,” Paul clucked appreciatively, “horrible tease, is Iris.” He fanned the air delicately, appearing to lose control even as John looked on. He pinched his nose and squelched what should have been a sneeze, but finished as more of a strangled chirp.

John’s vision swam slightly. “And if we’re lucky?”

Paul, who never missed a cue, fairly exploded with an un-strangled sneeze that could have been Iris on tape.

John groaned loudly, clutching both hands over his heart as he collapsed on the bed. Run through with Cupid’s arrow. “Oh, she’s a cracker.” He was vaguely conscious of exposing himself by lying prone. His train had long left the station, there was nothing to be done about that. Well—not nothing.

“What about Bardot?” John’s hand had a slight tremor as his palm rubbed over his zipper. “Think her mascara’d run?”

“Probably just from…the itch.” Paul’s voice sounded distant, as though he were part of another ventriloquist act.

“Yeah?” John panted. He undid his belt, pulled down his zip, and cupped himself, feeling his body heat thrum through soft cotton. His lip caught briefly in his teeth.

“Mind?” he asked plainly, raising his head for a moment to look Paul in the eye.

Paul shook his head, well before he seemed to know what he was answering. But he offered no complaint.

Still, John didn’t think he fancied being watched by a wax statue. “Well, don’t just stand there. Bloody creep. In or out.”

Paul was in. As the bed dipped, John slivered one eye open to watch him sit with his back against the wall. The chain-link bracelet on his left hand jangled softly.

John’s imagination began churning, as did his wrist. “Brigitte,” he lowed, already breathless.

“Brigitte,” Paul breathed.

“You’re blowin’ smoke in her face. Big, fat cigar.”

“She…says stop.”

Paul didn’t sound confident, but John thought it was the most delicious thing he’d ever heard. He felt his heart go double-time, his brow scorch and dampen with sweat. “She…she gets her finger up like this—stop her poor pretty nose from tickling so bad.” With his left hand, John jammed his first finger under his own nose, and he felt the lethal ugliness of it straight away, the bare vulgarity that had him feeling he was nearing the crest. “But it’s no good, ah fuck. She’s cryin’ off her makeup, and she—”

A single chime of desperate breath: Paul inhaled, his voice high.

“She…” John wasn’t planning to say it, didn’t know if he had the faculties to shape the word. But it started to materialize without him. At his shoulder, Paul sucked in another Bardot-breath and it immediately caught in his throat, making him cough rapidly.

“My throat, sorry, ‘s murder,” he quickly said, not that John could hear him. John barely had time to yank the hem of his t-shirt up under his chin before he came in hot pulses over his stomach. He gave a rattling groan, not out of ecstasy but from the way the room spun. It’d snuck up on him.

“Sorry,” Paul said, whispered.

John was so exhausted, it was all he could do to remember what house they were in. “...Sneezes,” he finished sleepily, without opening his eyes.

A trembling sigh escaped Paul. John listened to the springs squeak as Paul stiffened on the mattress and found pity in his heart. Could there be nothing private in this house, nothing sacred? One last Oh, a seize of movement, and he too was still, but for his distance-runner panting.

Sleep tried to settle over John’s too-warm face, drooping his eyelids. He straightened up with a deep breath and smoothed down his shirt. “Listen.”

Paul sprang from the bed as if his ass were made of rubber. “Yeah?” he said casually, fastening his pants.

John tried to laugh at the marvel of science before him, the combination of man and squirrel. All that came out was a heavy breath. “Have you got any tape left?”

“Loads. Why?”

John played with his belt buckle. “Just thinking.” His gaze drifted to the window. It was getting dark.

“I’ll call the Mirror.”

John gave another weak scoff. “Come over’ere and say that.”

“Oh, in my own bed, in my own room, you mean?” Paul’s full weight came down on John’s leg as he dropped like a sack of flour onto the mattress. John yowled. He jabbed his fingers into the dip of Paul’s waist in self-defense, then in sheer sick amusement when Paul began to giggle and convulse. Pleas for mercy and bids for escape were thwarted when John got his arm around Paul’s shoulders, holding him fast.

They stopped.

John’s body cried out for rest. The pressure of Paul against the front of him was a draught, warm and strong. It’d been ages since John needed a glass of hot milk to get to sleep. “Have your bed back, then,” he said, and didn’t move.

“I wasn’t kicking you out.” Paul was still—motionless. “We’re having sausages.”

John heard we and thought of McCartney Senior, and that was enough to get him vertical again. He hated parents. His own, other people’s, it didn’t matter. It was John’s deeply held belief that every child would be better off if their parents had never shared a bottle of whiskey on a Saturday night. “Yeah,” he said, creaking and groaning like an old man as he climbed over Paul to find his footing on the floor, “but what’s your brother gonna eat?”

Paul laughed. “John, it’s fine—”

“See you down the docks.” John opened the window. Jim wasn’t home, but he wasn’t keen to run into him in the doorway. “And, uh…How the fuck d’you say it in French? A tes vous…a tes souhaits, baby,” he offered, banking that Paul wouldn’t know what it meant. He didn't look back to see whether the translation had gone through.

The walk home was a strange twilight. So Paul was of that ilk. It shouldn’t have surprised John; he and Stuart found each other easily enough, so it couldn’t exactly be some kind of rarity. And as if that weren’t enough, he dabbled in the performing arts too. It almost wasn’t fair. But John wasn’t discouraged. They could make something of this. With his writing, and Paul’s vocal talents—and all right, he conceded, Paul’s editorial advice—they could corner the market. Find some perverts to sell to, even. John wondered what color his Rolls-Royce would be.

Stuart was waiting for him as soon as he opened the door. “Well?”

John brushed past him. “Well, what?”

“Did you get it?”

John stalled, uncomprehending. When realization dawned on him, he fisted both hands into his hair and bellowed, “Fuck!”

Stuart shouted something in response. John was too busy kicking over the wastebasket to hear.

Halfway across town, Paul slipped three pieces of paper into his pillowcase, nestled the pillow into the oaken chest, and closed the lid.

#if you find any historical inaccuracies in this. roll them up and smoke 'em

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josefavomjaaga · 1 year

Note

Judging by Madame Campan’s outdated as fuck ideas on women, I’m surprised Hortense and Caroline didn’t die of boredom in the school.

(I know it was a different time but those ideas don’t fit them at all.)

But what did they learn there? What subjects were taught? Do you happen to know?

Why, thank you for the question! That's a good one. And as usual, I've never really studied anything serious enough to have an answer.

But. In her biography of Hortense Beauharnais, Marie-Hélène Baylac cites a bit from one of Hortense's school reports (in order to show that sweet Hortense was not precisely the model student she claims to have been in her memoirs). It's from 1798, when Hortense would have been 15/16 years old. The bulletin cites some deficits in "dictation", but overall she seems to be doing okay in "reading and writing" yet needs to cultivate her memory more. "Application and submission" are satisfactory, Hortense is docile and always ready to please her schoolmates.

Which, I believe, already shows some things that Madame Campan's institution placed value on. There were more school subjects of course: history (at the time of the Directorate reduced to only Greek and Roman history), geography, languages (Hortense claims that Napoleon abruptly ended her studies in English for political reasons), and all the things that, in those days, would turn a girl into an "accomplished woman": drawing, music, singing, dancing. And while, according to Caroline d'Arjuzon, girls that left Madame Campan's school often still rather lacked some orthography and grammar, they all had learned to dance and draw and hold polite conversations - everything to entertain and please a future husband.

English writer Fanny Burney once watched a price giving ceremony (the whole school system was based heavily on tests and prices) during the Consulate: the girls, on a stage and in front of a large audience that included, besides parents and relatives, also high political functionaries and sometimes the First Consul himself, had to do a series of tests: dictation, drawing of maps, pointing out the main cities of each country while other girls would name their coordinates, recitation and explication of poems, answering to questions about history. Fanny Bruney noted that the jury took great care to not embarrass the girls in this latter matter and to "carefully guide them to the correct answer". Two girls still burst into tears live on stage during this test though. The main prize however was a rose awarded for "sweetness of character".

(I think I once told you about Sandra Gulland's novel "A rose for virtue"? That title refers to this prize. Also, it's a nice book. The Hortense of that story is truly a nice person, and her pining for Duroc is just sweet.)

Again, I guess that's somewhat telling. The geography session seems impressive though (I've always hated geography 😋).

There also were teachers for mathematics and natural science, I believe, so those must have been subjects, too. But I am not sure if all pupils always were educated in all these subjects. I seem to recall a report card from Hortense's days at Madame Campan's where some major subjects simply were left blank, as if she had not taken part in them.

That's the best I could do for now, I fear. But maybe somebody else has something to add? I'd be very interested myself!

Thanks again for the question!

#btw i'd have sucked in that school #answering questions live on stage?#help!#madame campan #hortense de beauharnais

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leonsrightlations · 4 months

Text

The Earth is Online Chapter 18.2

“How did you become an official player?”

Tang Mo lifted his head to see Chen Shanshan walk out of the gym and lean against the wall to look at him. He was silent for a moment.

“On the third day of the earth being online, I participated in a Black Tower game and obtained victory. It was a one versus one confrontation game and the other player was your father."

Chen Shanshan’s body tensed, then quickly eased. “You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“I don’t feel guilty.”

She looked at him. Tang Mo said, “It was your father who pulled me into that game. If I hadn’t participated in that game, I might already have disappeared. But now I’ve completed his dying wish and verified your safety. It wasn’t me who disappeared in that game. It was him. I had some guilt, but now that I’ve seen that you’re still alive, I won’t feel guilt and I don’t think your father will blame me, either.”

Chen Shanshan looked at him for a good long moment, then smiled. “You’re a very strange person.”

The little girl was shorter than Tang Mo by a head, yet her speech was very mature.

Tang Mo said, “You’re very smart.”

“My grades have always ranked in the top ten of my year. I won first prize in the Olympics and the National Computer Competition [1], and often represent the school to participate in various academic competitions.” Chen Shanshan said, “But after the earth went online, the physical quality of reserve players has also improved, and I seem to have become even smarter. For example, do you know how you become a reserve?”

Tang Mo’s pupils shrank. “I don’t know.” Official players are those who participated in a Black Tower game within those three days and obtained victory. Stowaways are the players who killed a person within those three days. Then what about reserves?

“After the game officially started, our school had eighteen people in total. Among those, only Zhao Ziang and Qiao Feifei are official players. The other sixteen people are all reserves. I inquired in detail about their experiences during those three days and noticed a commonality.”

Tang Mo hadn’t met that many people and so didn’t have the chance yet to fully explore the requirements for becoming a reserve. Chen Shanshan knew a lot of reserves and had the opportunity to explore the cause, but that she could think to do this and additionally seemed to have found an answer was already enough to amaze others.

“Including me, those sixteen people all played games within those three days and won. They weren’t Black Tower games, just ordinary ones, including computer games, mobile games, and games played in real life. Among these, Teacher Li is the most unusual. He didn’t play any games, but he once won a bet with another teacher and so also survived.”

Tang Mo frowned. “It’s not that simple. If it’s merely winning a game, the number of humans who have played games in those three days’ time is absolutely not just four hundred million.”

Chen Shanshan nodded. “Yes, it’s definitely not so simple. For example, me. In those three days, I won games and also lost games. I survived, yet my classmate who won didn’t survive. I carefully inquired again and noticed that my surviving classmates all, with their own ears, heard the other party admit that they were eliminated.”

Tang Mo said in surprise, “They personally admitted that they were eliminated?”

“Correct. They personally admitted they were eliminated. The Black Tower made an announcement on the fifteenth, giving notice that the earth was online and telling us that we must eliminate a player. No one knows how to eliminate a player, but it said these words, and many people took it to heart. Normally when you play a game you might say, ‘I lost,’ but you generally wouldn’t say, ‘I was eliminated.’ It’s exactly because the Black Tower previously said this word ‘eliminate’ that many people had a lot of awareness toward it in their hearts. Sometimes they might have been joking and sometimes they might have spoken without thinking - they just said this word.”

Tang Mo had never imagined it would be this simple.

Chen Shanshan leaned against the wall. “But this might only be one method for becoming a reserve. Among us sixteen reserves, there are two students whose opponents didn’t personally admit they were ‘eliminated,’ but those two students also became reserves. The sample size is too small. I can only analyze this much.”

“You’re already very amazing.” Tang Mo rarely praised people.

Chen Shanshan bowed her head. “They should attack tonight.”

Tang Mo said, “En. It should be tonight.” [2]

Chen Shanshan was called by Teacher Li to come help out and Li Wen walked over. “It was unfortunate that you came today and it happened to be at night during the most dangerous time. That little girl, Chen Shanshan, is particularly smart. She not only had us set up a trap to one side of the gate guard room’s entrance, she even had us block the fence gate’s entrance with a very thin wire. Anyway, if you want to enter the gate, you will fall into the trap. Fortunately you broke through the gate guard room’s glass. Otherwise you certainly would have fallen into it. Hey, that’s right, how did you know there was a trap?”

“I found a map of S-City with North Jing Middle School marked on it in a news kiosk. It even marked the area’s boundaries. This middle school is quite large.”

Li Wen didn’t understand. “My alma mater is one of S-City’s four famous schools and really does take up a lot of space, but so what?”

Tang Mo looked at him “Middle school isn’t elementary school. Most middle schools will have snack stands set up on their campuses. A school as big as yours might have a campus supermarket. It’s only been two days since the game started and the school has a supermarket. The students can’t lack food and water. I deliberately told that chubby little boy [3] that I wanted to give him food and water. If he didn’t want it, that’s normal, but he surprisingly did want it, which shows he was definitely bluffing.”

The chubby little boy, Zhao Ziang, walked into the gym right then, scratching his head in confusion. “Ah? I originally wanted to deceive you into walking into the trap, but it turns out that it was actually always you who was deceiving me?”

Tang Mo said, “You’re still young. When you deceive people in the future, you must first think in advance about whether there are any loopholes.”

The chubby little boy nodded, dazed.

Li Wen jokingly said, “You’re actually teaching an eighth grader [4] how to deceive people.”

Tang Mo shrugged and looked at the chubby little boy. “I heard Chen Shanshan say that your ability is in the attack category. Can you talk about its specifics? Were those nails I ran into on the road your doing?”

Zhao Ziang sat down and honestly said, “That’s right, that’s my ability. Qiao Feifei and I are official players. Don’t look at how short and thin Qiao Feifei is, our physical strength and energy is even better than Teacher Li’s. Qiao Feifei is a girl, so I volunteered for the nightwatch at the gate guard room to defend against those bad guys’ nighttime attack. Chen Shanshan said that from eleven o’clock in the middle of the night to two in the morning is when those bad guys are most likely to attack. You just happened to come at that time so I thought you were a bad guy and moved against you.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry. I almost scared you.”

“It’s nothing. If you can scare me, that’s your ability.” [5] What Tang Mo was more concerned about was, “Were those street lights broken by you?”

The chubby little boy nodded his head. “That’s right. It was Shanshan who had me break them. She said that with all the broken glass on the ground like this, people coming close will make noise. After I became an official player, my hearing became very good. Someone only needs to step on that glass for me to be able to hear it from very far away.”

“What is your ability?”

“It could be considered spatial movement? I also don’t really get it. I can shift objects to any place within a one hundred meter range. But my ability isn’t strong enough and I can’t move heavy things. But if it’s nails or needles, that kind of very light, very small thing…”

“Woosh!” A small, thumb-sized, sharp needle instantly appeared before Tang Mo’s eyes. He swiftly flung his head to the side. The slender needle only floated in front of his eyes, not moving forward. With Tang Mo’s current vision for movement, he could see the path the needle took to fly over, but this was only on the basis that he had been somewhat on guard. If he hadn’t been the least bit on guard, he was afraid it would be very hard to dodge this needle.

Zhao Ziang watched Tang Mo swiftly dodge and said in astonishment, “Your reaction speed is so fast. You’re faster than both Qiao Feifei and me.”

Tang Mo already understood this eighth grade boy’s ability. It truly was an ability with a great offensive nature. Unfortunately, the things it could move were really too small and the speed still wasn’t fast enough. At least, Tang Mo could dodge. If he could use an even faster speed to move a sharp knife, then I’m afraid those stowaways would have an even harder time.

Tang Mo held the needle and looked toward the chubby little boy. “In the future, don’t casually tell other people about your ability again.”

Zhao Ziang: “Ah?”

Tang Mo said, “Be more careful.”

Zhao Ziang said, “...Isn’t it you who had me say it!?”

The chubby little boy had never been tricked by someone like this before and walked away feeling wronged.

Li Wen said in exasperation, “Tang Mo, is it really okay for you to bully a small child like this?”

Without changing his face, Tang Mo said, “I’m helping him grow up.”

Li Wen actually felt this was reasonable, and was convinced.

During the daytime, Tang Mo and the few other people spread a good number of traps at the school entrance and along the road in the school’s neighborhood. With the chubby little boy’s ability, it was extremely easy to lay down traps. Chen Shanshan also gave Tang Mo a detailed account of the remaining three stowaways’ abilities.

“Of the three people, two people’s abilities are very dangerous and there’s one person whose ability has unclear usage. I’ll first talk about that ability with unclear usage. That stowaway’s ability is…growing flowers. Teacher Li saw it with his own eyes - the places where he passed suddenly blossomed. It’s just ordinary roses. [6] We met him twice and he didn’t show anything in particular. However, his speed is very fast. Moreover, he seemed to know a few wrestling moves and fought very fiercely.”

Tang Mo had seen all kinds of “weirdo” abilities. He himself had that trashy book which was also a “weirdo.” As far as this kind of self-cultivating flower growing ability went… He couldn’t evaluate it, but he still couldn’t relax his vigilance.

Chen Shanshan said, “There are still those other two people’s dangerous abilities. Of these, there’s a person who can breathe fire.”

“Breathe fire?” It was Tang Mo’s first time hearing of an ability like this that was both strange and in line with common sense.

In many television shows, characters with abilities for the most part used a magical power such as breathing fire or spitting water. When Tang Mo was bored at the city library, he would read a few novels. There were many abilities classified as metal, wood, water, fire, and earth - that kind of thing. [7] There only a few with “weirdo” abilities like those produced by the Black Tower.

“Yes, he can breathe fire. His fire came out of his mouth. I observed carefully, and he can breathe fire once every three minutes. The flame’s temperature is very high. It can’t melt steel, but it can melt marble. Previously, when the night was so dark it was impossible to see, he blew fire that melted two of the four words that say ‘North Jing Middle School’ at the school entrance. The melting point of steel is approximately 1500 degrees Celsius and the melting point of marble is approximately 800 degrees Celsius. I estimate that the temperature of the flame he breathes is 1000 degrees Celsius or lower.” This truly was a very dangerous ability.

“What about the one that’s left?” Tang Mo’s tone was solemn.

“The one that’s left…he has a gun.”

“A gun?” Tang Mo’s expression went hard.

Chen Shanshan said, “Zhao Ziang likes to play survival games and is relatively familiar with firearms. He said that gun is one used by the police and was probably grabbed by that stowaway after the game started. But having a gun isn’t frightening at all. The frightening thing is that that person’s ability seems to have something to do with guns. He has unlimited bullets.”

Tang Mo’s heart tightened.

“Zhao Ziang said, in general, police guns have eight bullets. But last night, that stowaway shot at least thirty bullets. He didn’t change guns, nor did he change magazines. [8] Ultimately, we don’t know how many bullets his ability can fire and can only consider the worst situation - that he has unlimited ammo.”

Tang Mo’s eyes focused and he said, “The physical quality of official players is very high, with hard skin that can resist being cut by ordinary blades. But for the time being, we’re still unable to contend with guns. If we’re shot three times, we’ll lose the ability to fight. Reserves have even less ability to defend against guns.”

“Yes, we know.”

Tang Mo thought about it for a while. “Can you give me the big match to use?”

He had only just spoken when the chubby little boy hurriedly brought the big match and passed it over to Tang Mo. “I’ve been waiting for you to say the word. The physical quality of us three official players is the best and I get the sense that your strength is even greater than mine. Chen Shanshan said that it's best to give this to you to use.”

Tang Mo was slightly startled and looked at Chen Shanshan.

The short-haired girl’s expression was serious, like a small adult. “This thing is definitely really amazing.”

Tang Mo smiled. “In my hands, it will be even more amazing.” So saying, he pressed the familiar big match to his wrist. Instantly, the huge match disappeared, and a red match tattoo once again appeared on his wrist. Chen Shanshan and the chubby little boy’s eyes widened in surprise.

Tang Mo said, “My ability.”

The chubby little boy suddenly understood. “Like this, it can be considered a concealed weapon! It really is great!”

Time passed by minute and second and the sun gradually sank into the west. During the day, everyone was still able to relax a bit. As it got closer to evening, everyone’s minds tensed.

Tang Mo walked to the side of the little girl, Qiao Feifei. This weak and delicate ninth grade girl had a big stick tied to her body. She was a girl, but even more than that, she was an official player. She was even stronger than Teacher Li.

“Don’t use a stick. You’re a child and not big enough. You won’t be able to use a stick with your full strength, and having it tied to your body will be cumbersome, too. You’re more suited to use an agile weapon.” Tang Mo said, “Give the stick to me.” [9]

Qiao Feifei thought about it, then took the stick off her back and passed it to Tang Mo. “Okay.”

Taking the stick, Tang Mo felt the expected bizarre trace of strength.

He walked into a corner and took his ability book out of midair –

[Ability: Looking for a friend. [10]

User: Qiao Feifei (official player)

Type: Special type.

Function: Check player identities.

Level: Level one.

Restriction: Can only check five players’ identities a day. Moreover, cannot check directly when the target’s ability is much stronger than the user’s.

Remarks: It’s too trash. I don’t want to make a remark.]

It turned out that his ability was stronger than Qiao Feifei’s so she wasn’t able to directly see his identity and needed to touch him. Tang Mo looked down again –

[Tang Mo version usage explanation: Can check one player’s identity every day. This ability is too trash. If Tang Mo doesn’t pay for it, I also have nothing to say.]

Tang Mo had intentionally collected Qiao Feifei’s ability. Yesterday, after obtaining Li Bin’s ability, he had vaguely sensed that his physical quality seemed even stronger. He could see even further, his reaction speed was even faster, and his strength was even greater.

Before he had obtained Li Bin’s ability, Tang Mo wouldn’t dare guarantee that he could dodge the chubby little boy’s first nail attack. He wanted to verify that after obtaining another’s ability, in addition to the ability, he would also increase his strength.

The results were as he had thought. Tang Mo clutched the stick in his hand, forcefully pressing down the five fingers of his right hand. On the solid wooden stick, five shocking fingerprints appeared.

If obtaining others’ abilities could increase fighting strength, then in that case…

Tang Mo walked up to the chubby little boy’s side. “I’m a bit hungry. Little chubby, [11] can you give me this bread?”

Zhao Ziang was in the middle of eating to replenish his strength in preparation for a big fight. He mumbled, “There’s still a lot over there. Go get one yourself, okay.”

Tang Mo thickened his face. “I like the taste of the kind you have and it’s the only one left.”

The little chubby boy was extremely generous and gloomily gave the bread to Tang Mo.

Li Wen said, “Hey, Tang Mo, you’re even snatching the little friend’s food?”

Tang Mo didn’t respond to his words, but even so, his face was a bit ugly. He coerced bread from the chubby little boy and didn’t pay for it, but unexpectedly didn’t get his ability!

How could this be? Tang Mo was slightly unresigned. The chubby little boy’s ability was a very useful attack type. If he collected it, it would be a big help in the future. Tang Mo again coerced a few cookies [12] and a carton of milk. He didn’t want anyone else’s food, just the chubby little boy’s.

The chubby little boy’s face was green, wanting to cry without tears. “Why the heck are you staring at me, huh?”

Tang Mo’s face was even greener. “Another cookie.”

He ate two boxes of the chubby little boy’s cookies, a piece of bread, and a carton of milk. Tang Mo opened all of them and still didn’t get his ability.

The other people were all amused by their strange behavior, having a hard laugh together before the big fight.

Chen Shanshan took a pensive glance at Tang Mo. Just as Tang Mo had finally given up and turned to leave, she picked up a box of cookies and quickly ran over.

The short and thin little girl wasn’t good looking, yet she had an expression of unwavering determination.

She looked at Tang Mo. “Do you want to get things from others? Does it have something to do with your ability? Is it okay for me to give you something? With this, will you become even stronger?”

Tang Mo was startled.

How could she be so smart? How could she guess so accurately?

Chen Shanshan didn’t have an ability. Even if Tang Mo took her things without paying for them, there wouldn’t be any benefit.

Yet the little girl was earnestly staring at him, offering a box of cookies with both her hands. She grit her teeth and said, “I’ll give it to you. No matter what it is, I’ll give it to you as thanks for helping us.”

Tang Mo was just trying to figure out how to decline when he heard these words. He closed his mouth and accepted the little girl’s cookies.

The instant his fingers touched the cookies, Tang Mo’s eyes widened. After he had taken the ability book out just now, he hadn’t put it back into the air but instead into his backpack.

Now he took it out and opened it to look –

[Ability: Super Intelligence.

User: Chen Shanshan (reserve).

Type: Gene type.

Function: Develops the brain to its utmost. Super keenness.

Level: Level three.

Restriction: The upper boundary for the degree of accuracy of judgment is 50%. The extent to which physical strength can improve is 0.

Remarks: How can I always guess the actual facts? Stupid mortals, it’s because I’m smarter than you, ha ha ha ha…] [13]

“What is it?” Chen Shanshan asked.

Tang Mo lowered his head to look at this little girl. The big mole had previously said that official players and stowaways definitely had abilities while reserves might also possess abilities.

It turned out to be like this. It’s no wonder she was so smart.

“I will definitely take revenge for you.”

Chen Shanshan: “Good! Revenge!”

“Bang!” An ear-piercing gunshot broke the quiet of the night. Tang Mo twisted his head to the side and pushed Teacher Li, who was standing behind him.

Before his eyes, a silver bullet flew at a slow speed past the place where Teacher Li had just been standing. Tang Mo rapidly looked toward the place where the bullet had been shot from, his gaze focused.

Tang Mo said loudly, “Little chubby, smash the gym’s light.”

“Okay!”

A nail quickly pierced the air. The gym’s lightbulb was completely broken.

The world sank into darkness.

Surprised, Li Wen asked, “Tang Mo, what are you doing?”

Tang Mo crouched down to the ground and drew out a precise circle at an extremely fast speed. The sky was too dark and the other people only saw him suddenly crouching down without knowing what he was doing.

Tang Mo stood up and lightly said, “Drawing a circle to curse him.”

[PREV] [TOC] [NEXT]

Okay, sorry this was so late. This chapter was very long ha ha ha ha...

This is the end of Chapter Two: Official Players. Next chapter is the start of Chapter Three: Mario.

Translation Notes:

[1] Academic Olympics. The National Computer Competition here is the National Computer Rank Examination, a real Chinese exam that tests students’ abilities to use various computer applications such as Microsoft Office and even programming languages.

[2] And then in the original Chen Shanshan she wants to kill them, but this part is cut out in the print version. Let *clap emoji* middle schoolers *clap emoji* commit *clap emoji* murder *clap emoji*.

[3] There’s no non-awkward way to translate this, especially since it’s used as a direct form of address later on. It’s 小胖子 or ‘little fatty.’ I changed it to chubby at least because this is nicer in English than ‘chubby.’ Uh…setting aside complex issues regarding body image, culture, and untranslatable language differences, this isn’t supposed to be as mean as it comes across in English. It’s just an unfortunate nickname.

[4] Second year middle school student, but that’s a mouthful. I’m pretty sure this is the equivalent of eighth grade (year nine in the UK). Chinese schooling has six years of elementary school, three years of junior high/middle school, and three years of high school.

[5] As in, his capability as a person, not his Black Tower ability.

[6] 就是普通的玫瑰 - ‘it’s just ordinary roses’, but then there’s a second part - ‘月李什么的’ - and I’m not sure what this means. Guessing at a specific variety maybe? Discovered the answer, I was writing it wrong like an idiot. It's 月季 not 月李. 月季 is yueji, Chinese rose. So it's ordinary roses and roses. And I will just leave it as is.

[7] The classic Chinese elements.

[8] [sic] I don’t know enough about gun anatomy to definitively say whether you call it a magazine or a clip and when I tried to look it up the internet just asked me if I wanted to buy one. ┐( ´ д ` )┌

[9] In the original he also recommends she specifically use a knife instead.

[10] 找呀找呀找朋友 - This is a line from a common Chinese children’s song. [link]

[11] …*sigh* There’s really no way to translate this that doesn’t sound rude. It’s even worse because Tang Mo is literally the first person to actually call him 小胖子. Everyone else just calls him by his name. It’s only the narrator and Tang Mo who do it. Which is kind of hilarious but like. Just take my word for it that it’s not mean… lmao…

[12] 饼干 - The word for cookies and crackers (like Ritz or Goldfish or something, not rice crackers) is the same. I assume these are cookies but I’m not really sure.

[13] I suspect that this is a specific reference to something since this would be in line with the book’s style, but I’m not really sure. I can at least say it’s definitely really chuuni.

#the earth is online #translation #地球上线 #danmei #mo chen huan #teio #18.2

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cazperx-x · 2 years

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From across the room Robin Buckley x fem!reader Part two

Background: this takes place after season 4 (well what’s out currently anyway) and Vecna has been defeated. y/n is currently close friends with Robin and the others, when suddenly a new plague takes over the town. Teenagers and children around Hawkins have been in mysterious comas which turn their pupils and the whites in their eyes black, no one knows the cause.

Additional notes: Part two! Tysm for all the likes and everything I've been getting with my hc post and part one for this! You can find part one here

Warnings: fem!reader, but they/them pronouns are used and no explicit mentions of the reader being female. Uhhh thats it really

Reminder! My requests are open, I do Robin Buckley mainly, but I can also do Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington, and Eddie Munson :)

“ Steve! Steve, we have a major, major problem!” Robin was screaming, her voice cracking. “ Y/n, are you in there? Please just hold on for me, just for a little while.” She whispered.

How the hell am I back in middle school? You wonder as the day drags on. But the better question was, why this day in particular? You sigh, and suddenly the class is over. But as you get up to leave, something doesn’t feel right. “ Y/n! What are you doing out of your seat?” The teacher calls. You look around, and suddenly everyone is back in their seats. “ Well? What do you want, a prize? Go sit down or else.” The teacher scolds.

Back at your seat, you take a closer look at this Robin. She looks the same, but different. Less freckles, longer hair, shorter. You smile and chuckle to yourself. “ I can feel you watching me.” Robin whispers. “ You might’ve finished this assignment already but I'm no genius. Not saying you are a genius. I-I mean not saying you’re not a genius. Well now not saying you’re not not a genius it's just that-” You laugh and shake your head. “ Sorry I have this thing where I ramble around girls I like- l-like to envy. Sorry I worded that really weirdly. “ She says, looking around, obviously nervous, her face red as a tomato. “ Its fine,” You start to say, before the teacher cuts you off. “ Buckley! L/n! You didn’t come to my class to talk. Do I need to cut both your grades in half?” Now your face is a tomato. “ N-no ma’am!” You stutter out, before staring down at your paper. Great first day.

“ Oh shit oh shit oh shit! ” Steve was practically screaming. " It's like one minute they were here just fine and speaking and then they collapsed. It was when we got to the weird pond.” Robin replied, tears streaming down her face. “ It’s like what y/n said about Nancy, right?” Mike said, walking back and forth. “ Yeah.” Robin whispered.

The bell rings and, like before, you try to leave. But this time when you get up, everything turns dark. There are particles in the air, just like how Robin described the upside down. “ Shit.” You whisper. You try to leave the room but the door won’t budge. “ Shit shit shitttt.” You mutter. You look around the room, but there's only one person. Robin. But she isn’t like your Robin. Or this new Robin. This one is different. Her skin looks withered, old and her eyes look dim and distant.” R-robin?” You whisper, your voice trembling. There was no response. Suddenly the floor starts cracking, breaking underneath your feet. You look down, horrified, unable to move. “ Robin..?” You whisper

“ H-hey um Steve? Mike? Dustin? C-can I have a minute alone with them?” Robin asks, her voice trembling.” Yeah, yeah.” Steve sighs. Dustin and Mike take the hint and leave with Steve. “ Y/n? Y/n? I-I don’t know if you can hear me, but I really hope you can.” She chuckled. “ Remember middle school? First period, Mrs. McKinny’s class. You sat next to me. And my first thought when you sat down was ‘ Wow, this amazing, beautiful, smart person is sitting next to me. What are the odds.’” She smiled, and a single teardrop fell on your cheek.

“ Robin?!” You scream. You can hear her. Warm tears start falling down your cheeks. The floor is still cracking, still opening up underneath you.

“ A-and remember when we were given silent assignments and I was staring at you the entire time, a-and I did that stupid thing where I ramble on and on while im with the girls I like- and I tried to save it with envy and you laughed- god I fell in love with you that day y/n. A-and then I didn’t talk to you the rest of middle school, I didn’t talk to you until you started hanging out with Steve and Nancy and everyone, and I tried to forget about my feelings because I convinced myself that being one of your friends was the closest we were ever going to get.” Robin was close to full on sobbing now. But you could still hear her.

“ R-robin! Robin please please please!” You were screaming, shouting until your throat hurt. But the floor kept opening. The hole was inching closer and closer to you.

“ Please, y/n. I need you here with me.”

Suddenly a hole opened up on the other side of the room, a portal out of this place. “ Robin.” You whispered. You take a deep breath, and get as close to the wall as you can. It's now or never you tell yourself. “ Robin. I have to get back to her.” You whisper.

“I-I love you, Y/n. And I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was a coward and stopped talking to you, I'm sorry if there was anything I could've done to save you that I didn't.” Robin was sobbing now.

The floor was cracking and opening up even more now. You run forwards, and take a leap of faith.

Your eyes open, and you find yourself gasping for air. “ Baby? Y/n? Y/n?! A-are you with me?” It was Robin. Your Robin. “R-Robin.” You stutter out. “ Yes! Yes it's me, it's me baby. Baby.. can I call you that? I-I don't know if you heard what I said but I'm sorry because I know don't even think of me like that and-” Robin keeps rambling on but you're not even listening anymore. You smile and notice there are mere inches between you and Robin's lips. You cup her face in your hands and kiss her, softly, gently.

It takes a minute for Robin to realize what’s happening, but soon enough she kisses you back. “ You just- I just- we just-” Robin stammers once you separate. “ I heard everything you said, Robin. And yes, you can call me baby.” You say with a smile.

Finally, everything is alright

At least for a little while

#robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x reader #robin stranger things #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #st4

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gardenofkore · 6 months

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November 8th 1934, the Swedish Academy assigns del Nobel Prize in Literature to Luigi Pirandello.

Luigi Pirandello, (born June 28, 1867, Agrigento, Sicily, Italy—died Dec. 10, 1936, Rome), Italian playwright, novelist, and short-story writer, winner of the 1934 Nobel Prize for Literature. With his invention of the “theatre within the theatre” in the play Sei personaggi in cerca d’autore (1921; Six Characters in Search of an Author), he became an important innovator in modern drama.

[from Encyclopedia Britannica]

"I take deep satisfaction in expressing my respectful gratitude to Your Majesties for having graciously honoured this banquet with your presence. May I be permitted to add the expression of my deep gratitude for the kind welcome I have been given as well as for this evening’s reception, which is a worthy epilogue to the solemn gathering earlier today at which I had the incomparable honour of receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature for 1934 from the august hands of His Majesty the King.

I also wish to express my profound respect and sincere gratitude to the eminent Royal Swedish Academy for its distinguished judgment, which crowns my long literary career.

For the success of my literary endeavours, I had to go to the school of life. That school, although useless to certain brilliant minds, is the only thing that will help a mind of my kind: attentive, concentrated, patient, truly childlike at first, a docile pupil, if not of teachers, at least of life, a pupil who would never abandon his complete faith and confidence in the things he learned. This faith resides in the simplicity of my basic nature. I felt the need to believe in the appearance of life without the slightest reserve or doubt.

The constant attention and deep sincerity with which I learned and pondered this lesson revealed humility, a love and respect for life that were indispensable for the assimilation of bitter disillusions, painful experiences, frightful wounds, and all the mistakes of innocence that give depth and value to our experiences. This education of the mind, accomplished at great cost, allowed me to grow and, at the same time, to remain myself.

As my true talents developed, they left me completely incapable of life, as becomes a true artist, capable only of thoughts and feelings; of thoughts because I felt, and of feelings because I thought. In fact, under the illusion of creating myself, I created only what I felt and was able to believe.

I feel immense gratitude, joy, and pride at the thought that this creation has been considered worthy of the distinguished award you have bestowed on me.

I would gladly believe that this Prize was given not so much to the virtuosity of a writer, which is always negligible, but to the human sincerity of my work."

Luigi Pirandello’s speech at the Nobel Banquet at the City Hall in Stockholm, December 10, 1934

#literature #nobel prize #history #luigi pirandello #sicily #people of sicily #contemporary sicily

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blankdblank · 1 year

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Poke Pt 1 - The Winter Soldier

@devilishminx328. @theincaprincess, @lilith15000, @jesevans, @jiminapickle

Hey guys, this is the rewrite of Poke! Chapter One and the fun continues! Hope you like the new way Bucky and Pluto interact compared to the original go around when they meet in the middle of the invasion. 25 chapters written so far and it's so much fun, can't wait for you all to see it as it grows. :)

As always let me know if you want on or off the tag list or what you think so far.

Camp Lehigh, New Jersey. Hours of operation for tours of Captain America’s training stomping grounds were posted on the front gate. Past that in the dark of the night a tactical gear clad group of nine passed armed to the gills and in search of a glowing Vigilante, Misique. Black and yellow armor styled after a yellow jacket, what the name translated to in Latin, supposedly she was the one who had targeted once known Jyllania Vladiskarskova, code named The White Dove, born Pluto Lagertha Pear. The child with a familiar face to the eldest Winter Soldier who had seen red at the word that his prized pupil was being targeted by the Vigilante while on her first solo mission.

This seclude place was where the team had located the target. Out here, not for the first time, but the third time this year so far. Hydra had a hidden hold here within a secret SHIELD backup of cold files from the birth of the organization. But as far as the team could tell there was no clue as to what the target ever came here for since their trip wires had never been touched to warn of her knowing of the secret hold here at all. An assumption was made her secret base was kept here to use the protection of both the notoriety of the Cap’s history here, SHIELD’s and Hydra’s to keep what they hid here safe within the overlap of protection.

Barrack buildings lined the pathway that led to a heat signature they were tracing with aims to ambush. Just a paintball like ball, unseen in the night air to the men wearing night vision visors, burst against the chest of the lead man. Colorful gas that exploded to a twenty foot diameter within a second dropped the dozen men around the Winter Soldier to the ground while the latter struggled to not succumb. Bent forward however inside the mist a familiar knock of a boot into the side of his was his last memory before the colorfully cloud hidden world went dark to the Winter Soldier.

“All yours,” you said gripping the arm of your former teacher. In a hunch you hoisted his body up over your shoulders to the pounce of Symbiotes in wait that devoured the others, and then did as they had planned to cough up the trackers in the oddest of places to send Hydra chasing their tails. Masked and blind you hastened for eleven feet back into clear night air. Left solely in the dark under watch of your cluster of hidden bees on patrol you removed the mask that slipped into the open tear in your jeans.

Up a set of steps you trotted with ease even with the 200lb over six foot body slumped across your shoulders to let yourself inside the munitions building you sealed behind you. Deeper inside the building a bookshelf was grabbed to slide aside revealing a hidden staircase down to a numerically locked door with a keypad. Back to the side you moved the shelves then turned to head down to the door that for you opened itself as you said, “Mark Antony, go for it.” Not since the blip had you been able to set this wildfire bee loose, and after being named the target of your former teacher, Pierce had broken the terms of his warning and would pay dearly. He tried to take your new life away for a second time and now permanently you would take his away.

Already you had a cot ready for the man you lowered onto it, taking his fleshy arm to cuff to a well anchored metal bar around a raised platform floor section, knowing what his initial response would be when he woke up after a gas attack. And before he could wake with a roll of tools laid out already the vibranium left arm he had was removed so you could disassemble it. Asking a bee to search into the shoulder mount and his collarbone destroyed the tracking device anchored on the latter.

Settled back onto a nest shaped chair the arm laid across your lap. The bee shaped communicator earpiece hidden inside a small tray within the red star painted on the arm was removed to be scanned by your bees for the usual damage it would receive from the cryo chamber. Trackers were negated by the field barrier inside this hidden space you used to cut off Hydra from what happened inside when you were here as SHIELD labeled it as practically fossilized for usefulness.

One twist of a tool and like chain mail snakes sections of the arm began to collapse into lengths that coiled in their falls to the floor around your feet. And out of your new tassled messenger bag you’d found in your favored second hand shop to replace the one the trip back to 1963 had ruined a trio of jars was brought out to open. And with the coiled linked parts of a new black vibranium arm for your teacher were expanded to fit together again closer in appearance to an arm from their snake like current shape.

At least it was somewhat warm a good deal underground. Just in a baggy sweater pinned by a secretly pocketed vest, wedge boots and torn jeans you dressed for an easy slip into crowds after this planned ambush. He was dressed warmly in layers with just the top half of his face and his metal shoulder joint so he didn’t need one of the blankets that were folded underneath his head to become a makeshift pillow.

Gradually his breathing had deepened and with eyes off the new arm his body flexing in a series of tests of his bodily control was your signal to lower the now completed arm to your side. Just barely the angle of his arm had his close eyed self shift to test his inability to move his arm then snap his eyes open.

“Hey Star Boy.” Right to you his eyes snapped as you said, “Had to take their tracker out of your collar bone too.” Still masked he kept his eyes fixed on you as you eased off the chair to crouch at his side. “Mind if I take off your mask?” He shook his head and lifted it a bit so you could ease hands around his head to remove the clip holding the mask over his nose and mouth. “Sorry about the gas, but I take it there’s a great deal you weren’t told when they sent you out here.”

“What is your mission, White Dove?”

And you grinned at him, “No mission. There’s a great deal they made you forget. Would you like to remember what they wanted you to forget?”

“Yes.” He said and you lit up settling a hand on the side of his face igniting his eyes in return. For a few moments the light lingered as all their work to trap his mind and keep what they forced him to do was gone while a warmer past stolen from him came flooding back and right away he knew just why he had taken to you as a child. “What’s your real name?”

“Pluto Lagertha Pear. Would you like me to uncuff you now Bucky so I can give you a new arm?”

Tears began to prickle into his eyes hearing his real nickname from his former life from you, “Yes please.”

“Now,” you said reaching over him to unlock the cuff from his wrist leaving the other end linked to the pole. “I suppose I should explain something,” as he sat up you settled the key at your side and said, “Okay, there was this AI with a crystal body but the mind of a clone of Hitler.” You said parting his lips. “Few Christmases back he snatched a group of people, me and Tony Stark included. I got sent back to 1938 and Tony to the middle of the Cold War.”

“So you’re Chickadee.”

And you smiled to his playful smirk, “I am, but SHIELD has taken the excuse she’s from an alternate dimension and just has my face and a similar past coming here to keep this version of her safe.” That had him chuckle and you rolled your eyes. “Which brings up the question, you did an interview for an article on me.”

Again he chuckled, getting lost in the feeling of having his emotions back and feeling actually safe and happy to be with you as he had felt in that first meeting with you so long ago before he was captured. “They paid $80, wanted a lovesick story. Helped my Ma out. You killed Hitler for me.”

“That is debatable, whether he was in that Nazi castle or not is debatable. History claims otherwise. If I made anything confusing-,”

“You were a kid who, you lit up dancing, you were not very good,” he said with a chuckle making you grin in embarrassment, “You caught on, but, even terrible you lit up like something else on that floor.” A seriousness flooded into his eyes painted with remorse, “All I could think was somebody hurt you so bad, to light up like that, and I hurt you.”

Catching his eyes you said, “You apologized, even when they had you drugged, you apologized.”

A tear broke down his cheek, “I wanted to tear you out of that tomb. I have never, heard anything, like that scream.”

Onto his shoulder above is missing arm your hand rose to rest, “I forgave you each time you apologized. You taught me how to fight, taught me to play the weaker one and my size to advantage, taught me to stop flinching. You taught me how to save myself when I knew even SHIELD was never going to, and if they hadn’t put you back on ice I could have taken you out then. I’m sorry James, it’s been four years since I left Russia.”

Just slightly he leaned in to seriously say, “You never, ever, apologize for saving yourself from them. I’m not the first they sent after you, am I?”

“Few people, Cooper was, last year,” you said making him smirk as you said, “He kicked Pierce through a wall when he tried to give the code words to him alone. They won’t work on you, neither will the gas, not anymore. Left a failsafe in your brain against them.”

“How is Cooper?”

“Good, with his family, niece was shadowing me a while before he was cut loose. Technically they were after tech called an Orca box, and he happened to cross my path. Aside from that it’s been the odd mercenary or a couple Widows.”

“He told you about Pierce?”

“Few months after I got out Pierce tried to gas me. I broke every bone in his body,” you said making him smirk, “Then I made him walk coated in bees right into SHIELD HQ as I blew up his properties and erased his life and that of his daughter’s and her son and his mistresses. Just enough trouble to remind him what I can take away if he came near me again. He steered clear since then, Cooper took me to a hospital where Pierce and Nick Fury came to check on the men who were there from the day, oh you’ve missed some fun stuff. There are creatures named Titans that box can speak to, they think it controls them but it just pisses them off, found out I can talk to them. And you should have seen his face when Project Insight failed, we call it the Blip. Three carrier ships hovering over the world Hydra wanted to use to obliterate any threat to their rule and I hacked it to wipe out criminals all over the planet in seconds. They couldn’t stop it and the world forced them to ground and destroy them. I kept making the videos, should help you catch up to the main fun things.”

“Four, so, eighteen?” You nodded as you turned to grab the arm you finished assembling and readied to attach it into his shoulder joint as he asked, “You in school?”

While you attached his arm basics of life so far were shared warming him up to how you had survived and built a mini family and group of allies were shared until you said, “Got a surprise for you. You need fresh clothes first.” Once on his feet he accepted the clothes he noticed were left on a desk and behind your back removed his leather top, gloves and pants to pull on the jeans, tank top, long sleeved shirt resting atop a cargo jacket. Smiling as he had taken hold of his earpiece your bees carried to his reach that inside a new hidden tray in his arm only able to be opened by him and you he secured it. Keeping that gift from you enabling him to translate your videos with ease and reply secretly in his own and be tracked by you in case he needed help.

“Done,” he said walking around to your front adjusting the sleeves of his long sleeved shirt to pull on his new jacket. After you stood he helped you to gather your things and his discarded rifle and mask to walk with you up to the shielding building not even stealing a look back at the jar of his old arm. Out in the night air he caught scent of the impending sunrise by subtle hints in the air and asked, “Your friends took the others somewhere secure to dump them?”

“They’re dumping the trackers, Symbiotes eat people.” You said making his brows lift in a glance your way making you giggle as he finally took notice of your height, even with heeled boots, and how tall you stood at his side compared to the last time he’d seen you in person.

“Had a growth spurt summer after the blip traveling with Eddie. Whole six inches.”

“Look at you,” he joked and chuckled to your giggle continuing to walk with you to wherever you wanted to take him. “Where’d you end up befriending cannibals again?”

“Technically they’re carnivores, they come from the planet Klyntar and latch onto humans for a Symbiotic relationship, link to the digestive system to help supply a steady stream of food as their bodies are designed to be linked to other creatures. They adopt their histories and culture and all of it. Eddie and Venom lived next door and then I met Venom’s kids while out on a forced lunch with Harry Osborn, they froze the whole building to pass through unseen. Try not to draw attention when they can help it, Venom’s the main one people have seen and they assume he’s a weird powered human.”

“Okay, question, why is this base giving tours?” he asked passing a tour gathering area sign he pointed at with his new black vibranium hand with faint golden seams he not so secretly adored the look of that you had gone for mimed after Kintsugi, your shared favorite style of pottery.

“Steve trained here.”

“Yes, but why are there tours?”

“Because partly SHIELD needs the tour location as a cover for the hidden former base of their organization and also, he’s still their number one propaganda man.”

“Still?”

“Oh ya, been trying to get him into art lessons, man needs a hobby. Big time, can’t sleep, clearly has trauma. Ooh, I booked you a slot with my therapist.”

“Now?”

“No, Thursday,” you said giving him an appointment card from your pocket he looked over and pocketed as you said, “They’ve helped me a great deal. Don’t think Steve is the talk it out type, more the suppress it till you snap and murder a room of children while trying to beat a single person to death who stepped on your boot type.”

Unable to help it he chuckled, “Ya, his old man did a number on him. Mine was no picnic but, apples to oranges, I had a family after I helped Ma kick Pops out.”

“Well, what did you want to be?”

Breathily he chuckled and said, “Used to like stories, never had time to write them down before they would leave my head. Boxing, was easy, used to getting hit and friends like Steve gave me ample practice to punch people between matches. I was training to be in real estate. I could give that a shot again.”

“I think you might need to be sitting down when you start to look at the average prices in New York now.”

“I did pick up some stories while under the gas, inflation’s a killer. There’ll always be a housing demand though, pretty steadfast profession. Study up, current situation and then go to get licensed again, or, for the first time but officially. Never actually tested last time around, enlisted.”

“At least you have a distraction beyond the gym. I do have a theory he won’t try to talk to me now that you’re out and about.” You said hopping over the bar welded gate to his hip that he sat on and swung his legs over for an easier move for his stature.

“What did he do?” he asked with a smirk and you looked up at him, “He did something I know that tone.”

“He’s rude, and self centered. Just uses talking to me to get hints on you. No hesitation back in the war to go save you but now, he’s just been sitting around waiting for me to give a green light x mark on a map for them to hit.”

And with a hint of amusement in his tone he said, “You doubt his loyalty. He’s just dumb,” he said making you giggle to yourself at his own chuckle. “Used to be small and stupid, now he’s big and stupid. I’ll get him to accept some help if I have to drag him along and tape him down.” After another glance your way he asked, “You have shell shock?”

“They call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder now. PTSD, ya, bought a boat shaped bed from a play at the theater I work at during summers, so I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor anymore and wouldn’t be afraid to wake up chained down to my bed.”

“Now that bed sounds adorable,” he said watching you unlock the restored bus he climbed inside as you did. “Does it get easier with therapy?”

“To an extent. The earpiece will help you sleep if you need it. Things still make me anxious and uncomfortable but there are tricks to help keep calm or even warning signs to isolate until the panic fades. Most literature on it shows it never fully goes away but it gets easier. For me confidence in starting over has helped.”

Through the dark you followed the road lit solely by the headlights for a time until the sky began to lighten the closer it got to sunrise. “Your gramps is really an Earl?”

“Ya, mainly runs a fishing boat company though. But they do dabble in racing boat teams.”

“That is wild.” He said, “And, you’re bonding with your family?”

“Spent the last two winter breaks and part of last summer in Norway and Sweden partly for that.”

“What’s the hardest part of being out?”

“Catching up, I would say. Nothing odder than a kid who doesn’t know how to bond with other kids over basic things that are so culturally well known. Most of it I can put off that I’m not from around here.”

“Hence the accent?” he asked playfully.

“It was easier to pretend I didn’t know English to avoid people. I’m not the most social of creatures.” You said making him chuckle. “Being Scandinavian is a big part of my life, learning who I came from to shape my family line from here.”

“Family line, I thought-,”

“I heard they were moving me to take my ovaries, that’s why I left. Tried to give me plastic surgery and even donate my organs to Widows, everything said the surgery wouldn’t take but they wanted to try anyways and I wasn’t going to risk it. They killed my parents and failed to kill me but I refuse to let them think they can end my bloodline.”

“What’s the surprise?”

“You’ll see.” You said making him chuckle and sit back chatting about what was on the way or even the music on the radio he turned up a bit as you hit the first bridge.

Morning had dawned and into a packed car lot for a cathedral terribly familiar to him in Brooklyn the pair of you climbed out and to your side he moved in a tangled internal maze between fear and confusion as to why you were here. All the same with you he went up the front steps and through the door you opened to hear the pre-Easter mass going on just beyond the entrance hall. At the bowl on the wall plainly out of habit he crossed himself and watched you ease the well oiled and less noisy door of the two closest into the hall of worship to slip inside. Popping on your bolero hat as you did.

Hushedly around the side of the back of the pews a seat was found with a glance of acknowledgement from the Priest, who at least noticed you on a couple occasions sneaking in that he took as a possible new member to the faith who now had company. He naturally gave a hint of a head nod in return for Bucky’s without breaking his sermon. A quiet welcome to the stranger now accompanying a slightly more recognizable stranger, though he did steal a few more glances in wonder to where he might have seen them before. At your side Bucky took his seat and stole a quick glance your way in the cross of your ankles when your legs were barely too short to reach the ground thanks to these deep pews they had in the back.

Lowly in Russian you whispered to him so no one in the actually occupied pews in front of you could hear, “Fifth row, two o’clock.” Ahead he looked with eyes following your direction and heavily his heart gave a thud recognizing, at least faintly who it was. Name by name of those you knew were whispered through the fall and ease of his metal hand atop yours to take hold of it, hold of something to ground him here. “And the one in purple behind them is Jamie with her friends. She’s a tray holder for blessing rings in weddings here. She’s also a terrible spy.” Unable to help it he teared up and took solace in your silence as he calmed down again with knowledge of why you’d brought him here.

Until mass let out after the sacrament you both remained seated for the pair of you were glued to the spot. Presumably for the Priest to wait to speak to him then until he watched you lead the larger figure who stepped out of the pew first up to the family who usually lingered so their child who participates in ceremonies here gets spare details. Right to the identical twin women who were nearly to their 80’s you led the way with his bulky self being led along by that same hold of his hand to the family who hadn’t yet noticed anyone was behind them.

He couldn’t speak so you did, “Miss Benjamina, Miss Bernadette Barnes.” That caused a silence for the duo who turned and over your head up at a ghost the pair of them stared with eyes matching his.

Sharing a gasp then both uttering in broken elation and shock, “James!” The lost brother the Priest knew of now clearly with the child who had known how to get in touch of him was engulfed into his family that kept the teen here against a try to slip away. Right back to the family home they kept up decades after he had gone to war and never come home. They led the way to share the usual meal and hear from the two guests how he had gotten back home and hopefully that he would choose to stay in his old room they updated but kept open for him just in case since learning he was alive.

“Okay, got your bag in the bus,” you said luring him with you when he had been told he could live there and take up his old room with his sisters and their grandkids who were in college.

“You got me a bag?” He asked in a sentimental tone taking hold of it to sling the strap over his shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t I? I know your measurements, color scheme weaknesses, and there’s a list of good food, second hand shops nearby, I mainly shop in Queens by my place. I do have an early shift at the book shop but I will be at the gym tonight if you’re up for it. Your old stomping grounds, Steve is usually there. Oh, and got you a phone.” You said handing him a sidekick like yours, “Linked to my network so it’s free and you get YouTube and all the social sites and internet. And one more thing,” you said making him chuckle at the card you handed him.

“You got me a library card. Thank you.”

“On the phone you can link to their rental network of films, shows and even old records.”

“Thank you, this will help me catch up. Can I drop by sometime?”

“Always, drop me a line I bounce around and I’ll let you know where I am. For now, enjoy family time.”

And he gave you a warm hug, “See you tonight, Pluto.”

“Have fun Lucky Duck,” you said making him chuckle at the use of the nickname you used for him while on mission when he didn’t like the name assigned to him.

You’d barely taken a step away and Jamie had blocked your way to squeeze you in a tight hug. Then promptly turned taking her uncle’s arm to guide him inside and help him to get his room ready so that she and her cousins could show him around town as she promised to see some of his old haunts and how they had changed. She wanted to show him off as did the rest of his family and now you’d done your part all he could do was hear the sound of the bus pulling off the drive to head back to Queens.

Atop your hand you had written the word ‘bus’ to not forget. An amusing word for people to pass by and take notice of, including your manager who chuckled as you said you’d driven here and didn’t want to forget the vehicle and head home on foot.

“Bus,” MJ said lifting your gaze from the shelf you were lifting the end of to help others scoot it onto a set of wheeled mounts to move to another area. She had just locked her end into place and you grinned.

“I drove here. Trying to not forget it.”

“You got a bus? Oh, the one from summer trips the old VW outside!” She said with a chuckle all her own.

To the other side of the shelves you moved to lift that end for Cindy to push her wheeled mount. “Yes, easier when we’re on a trip, out here I just forget even if I park it in front of the door.”

“Do you like fusion food?” She asked and you looked at her as the others readied to push the shelves to where it was going now the heavy beast was on wheels. “Peter and Ned said they’d come over for lunch but Peter dropped out saying he got a call to meet Tony Stark for some internship he got into last minute.”

“If I’m not allergic I’m always up for food. Ned drop out too?”

“No, he’s avoiding his Gran, keeps pestering him about being a dentist.”

Jokingly you told her, “You mean the young man who spends a suspiciously large amount of time at the dentist would not like to go into that profession?” Making her chuckle. “Told Peter once his appointments could be cover for a second life somewhere.”

“And he didn’t believe you,” she said with a nod, “How adorably naive of him.” Joking back for you both to giggle and turn to get the next set of shelves up on wheels. There she eyed the hand you had surgery on you squeezed the middle finger to pop the knuckle that still occasionally tried to be stubborn in popping. “Hand alright? I can give lifting a try.”

“Hand is good, just doesn’t like to pop on occasion just to spite me.”

“Any clue where that Doctor ran off to?”

“A monastery in Nepal not far from the one my uncle is at.”

A chuckle escaped her and she asked, “You have an uncle in a monastery? Like out in a mountaintop somewhere?”

“Ya, have another in the desert who eats cactus and has a opiate problem, neither of them are too letter friendly since it old them I wasn’t dead and all. Took dad’s disappearance badly, well, beyond badly. Did get an advertisement for a new truck though, think he was trying to hint at something,” you said chuckling again making her smirk your way. “But I’m a bit too short for a dual wheeled beast like that.” And pointing at her you added, “Always did want to drive a monster truck though.”

“Everyone wants to drive a monster truck. I grew up with Grave Digger posters in my wall.”

“Best way to do it, for myself one of those little Hot Wheels copies, only a buck but I love the little thing. That one and the dog one,”

She nodded as you lifted the end of the shelf for her to push the next platform under that end. “With the ears. You can tell monster truck drivers are just really tall kids.”

When that set was being moved she looked at you as you asked, “Team ready for Washington?”

“Ya,” and after a nod she said, “I gotta know, you said something to Flash. He’s actually been nice to Peter, for a solid stretch since you came to Pete’s with that pie.”

“Sometimes all we have left of our parents is the name we carry. Peter said it, his parents are legally dead like mine are.”

Widely she smirked at you, “You guilt tripped him. Found the cold codfish had a weak spot and you jabbed a pin in it.” Making you giggle.

“Clearly you haven’t been paying attention to the rumors about me at school.”

“Oh there’s a fairly big one on why the cheerleaders hate you so badly. Some girl tried to pick a fight with you and got kicked out.”

“Beverly did try to pick a fight, terrible at blackmail though. School didn’t make her leave her family did when the press got wind her dad was part of one of the purges.” You said dropping her jaw.

“What’d he do?”

“Used the family kid center to pick targets for abuse,”

“No way,” she whispered.

“Paid the families off to keep it from the press. Was generational he had other men in the family who did the same. She left now her friends keep bugging me imagining they bother me.”

“So they’re totally abuse apologist, that is so twisted.”

“Well they’re sticking by their friend, admirable, no matter how horrid the core of the spoiled brat born with a silver spoon and bushel of entitlement. Beverly really didn’t start bothering me till Harry came around and I pushed him off trying to buy my affections.”

“I never got that appeal in being bought. I get the comfort of all you could ever dream of, but I don’t think I could do that.”

“Suppose it comes down to nature vs nurture. Grew up seeing money solved everything, money is everything so anyone without it or scorning it must be weeded out.” You said making her smirk again. “I just want a Hobbit lifestyle, cozy home, seven meals a day and nice peaceful life to do small good things and then grow old and die.”

“Singing to the choir,” she said shaking her head. “Throw in that monster truck outside for the weekends and I am in the same town as you for retirement.” She said making you chuckle and check the diagram off a table nearby of how the new kids section was to be shaped and what was left to move to accomplish the ideal end product.

*.*.*

Remains, all that listed the contents of drums of evidence pulled from Pierce’s home. Unanswered calls and several hours of being unable to contact the man who neglected to come into work but was seen collecting his family and even nightly companions to come to this now blood painted house were being taken for testing to see what was what.

Seated speechless and staring blankly Pierce was found inside a room with just a number carved into the surfaces and his exposed torso on what he could reach, unexplained but an exact count of how many children he had ordered killed and tortured. Clearly he inflicted those wounds upon himself by the angle and lack of carvings where his now removed hands could have reached. Paired up to the lone clue of computer a printed spreadsheet of names, dates, locations, and series of numbers and dashes that kept printing off to make the paper stack grow that agents would rush to keep the supply of paper full until it was completed in its task of printing.

Those hand free arms were pulled by the agent who found him out of a bucket of acid he had also used on his feet. Even if he wanted to there were no words for why he had done what he did. All his money and properties by his own hands gone by flame or hasty donations. Everything taken and threatened from him years prior now gone by his own actions.

Silent, broken and unhelpful, the former brilliant agent left only with his life to spend in a cell for the rest of the time he was given would sit in reflection physically and mentally trapped. With only his memories to keep him on the cusp of death until naturally he could be claimed as he would find later even tries to end his suffering would be kept from him as well.

No one could uncover just what his message meant, although the group who had been watching him for years did a quick inventory on where Misique had been, and more importantly where Pluto was to ensure he hadn’t hurt and stashed her somewhere as well. All while the secretive backbone of Hydra inside the secretive organization subtly made a head count to see who was being promoted and learn their next set of orders in this abrupt turn of their cart and buggy.

“These are missing children’s cases,” the words that only had sentiment for the man all but shatter as to what was going on.

One number after reference to an old file was checked and Fury went himself to Queens with Nat piloting the jet seeing the missing person file for Pluto Lagertha Pear within that list. The female former child assassin Natasha herself shaken at having found her own name on that list only worsened the possibilities of what this meant.

Frantic for confirmation that his personal task of keeping watch over this young scarred prodigy was safe as much as now one confirmed of involvement in her abduction and possibly murder of her parents was not for nothing and she was still far from danger following the work schedule he knew her to have.

Pt 2

#Escaped Child Assassin #Bucky Barnes #Loki x oc #Barnes Clan #Dead Man #Secret Plots #MJ #Nick Fury #Natasha Romanoff #Found Family #Rewrite #Marvel

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opera-ghosts · 1 year

Text

OTD in Music History: Composer, pianist, and organ virtuoso Cesar Franck (1822 – 1890) is born 200 years ago in France. After showing remarkable promise as a child prodigy – he entered the Paris Conservatory at the age of just 15, and within two years he had already won a “Grand Prix d’Honneur” for an astounding feat of transposition in a sight-reading test as well as a First Prize in fugue and a Second Prize in organ – Franck enjoyed a long and rather uneventful career working as a church organist, while also steadily teaching and composing on the side. As an organist, Franck particularly noted for his magnificent improvisations; indeed, on the basis of a mere twelve major completed organ works, he is now widely considered to be one of the greatest composers for that instrument since J.S. Bach (1685 – 1750). Rather ironically, given his start as a celebrated child prodigy, however, Franck only reached his full maturity as a composer in his final years: It is his "Variations symphoniques" (1885), "Sonata in A Major for Violin and Piano" (1886), "Symphony in D Minor" (1888), "String Quartet in D Major" (1889), and series of solo organ pieces that mark him as one of the most powerful and important French composers of the latter 19th century. Franck also left behind an important legacy as a teacher, and his most famous pupils include Vincent d’Indy (1851 - 1931), Ernest Chausson (1855 - 1899), Geuillame Lekeu (1870 - 1894), and Henri Duparc (1848 - 1933). PICTURED: An c. 1880’s cabinet photograph showing the elderly Franck, which he signed and inscribed to a female admirer.

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whitegoldtower · 10 months

Text

Oh my fucking god

The Ptolemaea drop fits Silvandrel too

Unlike Melauriel and his vampirism though, it’s Silvandrel getting tested on by the Thalmor, and the final scream of “stop” happens right before his eye gets fucked up

Poor man is a teen strapped down by several Thalmor mages who are trying to work out what gives vampires their ability to see in the dark so that they can amplify his vision even further. He endured the psychological tests, the physical training, the mutations, the mental conditioning, but this is the moment he realises that the procedure is going to go wrong, and nobody listens. His eye is being forced open, and some sort of sparking tool is getting closer and closer to his pupil.

He trusted them, he thought they were his teachers, his mentors, his family, but now he realises that he is nothing more than a weapon to them, to be honed and whetted, reforged and sharpened.

The drop after the scream is him now, older and less trusting, jaded by his trauma, the Thalmor’s guard dog, their “prized beast”.

Why do I hurt myself like this

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luna-mayham · 1 year

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You probably did something wrong in your past life to deserve this

What do you call a fake noodle? An Impasta.

I would avoid the sushi if I was you. It’s a little fishy.

Want to hear a joke about paper? Nevermind it’s tearable.

Why did the cookie cry? Because his father was a wafer so long!

I used to work in a shoe recycling shop. It was sole destroying.

What do you call a belt with a watch on it? A waist of time.

How do you organize an outer space party? You planet.

I went to a seafood disco last week... and pulled a mussel.

Do you know where you can get chicken broth in bulk? The stock market.

I cut my finger chopping cheese, but I think that I may have greater problems.

My cat was just sick on the carpet, I don’t think it’s feline well.

Why did the octopus beat the shark in a fight? Because it was well armed.

How much does a hipster weigh? An instagram.

What did daddy spider say to baby spider? You spend too much time on the

web.

Atheism is a non-prophet organisation.

There’s a new type of broom out, it’s sweeping the nation.

What cheese can never be yours? Nacho cheese.

What did the Buffalo say to his little boy when he dropped him off at school? Bison.

Have you ever heard of a music group called Cellophane? They mostly wrap.

Why does Superman gets invited to dinners? Because he is a Supperhero.

How was Rome split in two? With a pair of Ceasars.

The shovel was a ground breaking invention.

A scarecrow says, "This job isn't for everyone, but hay, it's in my jeans."

A Buddhist walks up to a hot dog stand and says, "Make me one with

everything."

Did you hear about the guy who lost the left side of his body? He's alright now.

What do you call a girl with one leg that's shorter than the other? Ilene.

I did a theatrical performance on puns. It was a play on words.

What do you do with a dead chemist? You barium.

I bet the person who created the door knocker won a Nobel prize.

Towels can’t tell jokes. They have a dry sense of humor.

Do you know sign language? You should learn it, it’s pretty handy.

Why did one banana spy on the other? Because she was appealing.

What do you call a cow with no legs? Ground beef.

What do you call a cow with two legs? Lean beef.

What do you call a cow with all of its legs? High steaks.

A cross eyed teacher couldn’t control his pupils.

After the accident, the juggler didn’t have the balls to do it.

I used to be afraid of hurdles, but I got over it.

To write with a broken pencil is pointless.

I read a book on anti-gravity. I couldn’t put it down.

I couldn’t remember how to throw a boomerang but it came back to me.

What should you do if you are cold? Stand in the corner. It’s 90 degrees.

How does Moses make coffee? Hebrews it.

The energizer bunny went to jail. He was charged with battery.

What did the alien say to the pitcher of water? Take me to your liter.

The soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray was a seasoned veteran.

Sausage puns are the wurst.

What do you call a bear with no teeth? A gummy bear.

Why shouldn’t you trust atoms? They make up everything.

What’s it called when you have too many aliens? Extraterrestrials.

Want to hear a pizza joke? Nevermind, it’s too cheesy.

What do cows tell each other at bedtime? Dairy tales.

Why didn’t the lion win the race? Because he was racing a cheetah.

What happens to nitrogen when the sun comes up? It becomes daytrogen.

What’s it called when you put a cow in an elevator? Raising the steaks.

What’s america’s favorite soda? Mini soda.

Why did the tomato turn red? Because it saw the salad dressing.

What kind of car does a sheep drive? Their SuBAHHru.

What do you call a french pig? Porque.

What do you call a line of rabbits marching backwards? A receding hairline.

Why don’t vampires go to barbecues? They don’t like steak.

How do trees access the internet? They log on.

Why should you never trust a train? They have loco motives.

Is your refrigerator running? Better go catch it.

The future,the present and the past walked into a bar.Things got a little tense.

I saw an ad for burial plots, and thought to myself this is the last thing I need.

I just found out I'm colorblind. The diagnosis came completely out of the

purple.

I'd tell you a chemistry joke but I know I wouldn't get a reaction.

Have you ever tried to eat a clock? It's very time consuming.

I wondered why the baseball was getting bigger. Then it hit me.

Read enough of our funny puns, and you'll be punstoppable.

Yesterday a clown held the door for me. It was a nice jester.

I used to go fishing with Skrillex but he kept dropping the bass.

The wedding was so emotional even the cake was in tiers.

What does a house wear? A dress.

Why can't bicycles stand up on their own? Since they are 2 tired.

I owe a lot to the sidewalks. They’ve been keeping me off the streets for years.

Imagine if alarm clocks hit you back in the morning.It would be truly alarming.

Why is a skeleton a bad liar? You can see right through it.

What do you receive when you ask a lemon for help? Lemonaid.

A man sued an airline company after it lost his luggage. Sadly, he lost his case.

What does a dog say when he sits down on a piece of sandpaper? Ruff!

What do you call crystal clear urine? 1080pee.

At my boxing club there is only one punch bag. I hate waiting for the punch

line!

An untalented gymast walks into a bar.

Einstein developed a theory about space, and it was about time too.

I was accused of being a plagiarist, their word not mine.

My friends say they don’t like skeleton puns. I should put more backbone into

them.

Let me FILL you in on my trip to the dentist.

Why does the singer of Cheap Thrills not want us to Sia?

Traveling on a flying carpet is a rugged experience.

Cartoonist found dead in home. Details are sketchy.

The old woman who lived in a shoe wasn’t the sole owner,there were strings

attached.

Did you hear about the crime in the parking garage? It was wrong on so many

levels.

My new diet consists of aircraft, its a bit plane.

Have you ever tried to milk a cow which has been cut in half? Udder madness.

Why are there fences on graveyards? Because people are dying to get in.

Why do trees have so many friends? They branch out.

Models of dragons are not to scale.

Never discuss infinity with a mathematician, they can go on about it forever.

Why don’t some couples go to the gym? Because some relationships don’t

work out.

Don’t trust people that do acupuncture, they’re back stabbers.

A persistent banker wouldn’t stop hitting on me so I asked him to leave me a

loan.

I ordered a book of puns last week, but i didn't get it.

People say i look better without glasses but i just can't see it.

Don’t judge a meal by the look of the first course. It’s very souperficial.

I heard Donald Trump is going to ban shredded cheese, and make America

grate again.

I relish the fact that you’ve mustard the strength to ketchup to me.

What do you call a young musician? A minor.

Police were called to a daycare yesterday, where a 2-year-old was resisting a

rest.

If artists wear sketchers do linguists wear converse?

I changed my iPod name to Titanic. It’s syncing now.

Jill broke her finger today, but on the other hand she was completely fine.

I smeared some ketchup all over my eyes once. It was a bad idea in Heinz-

sight.

I flipped a coin over an issue the other day, it was quite the toss-up.

I got hit in the head with a can of soda? Luckily it was a soft drink.

I heard that the post office was a male dominated industry.

Why isn’t suntanning an Olympic sport? Because the best you can ever get is

bronze.

What do you mean June is over? Julying.

Why is Kylo Ren so angry? Beause he’s always Ben Solo.

These reversing cameras are great. Since I got one I haven’t looked back.

The candle quit his job because he felt burned out.

Our maintenance guy lost his legs on the job, now he’s just a handyman.

Going to bed with music on gave him sound sleep.

A magic tractor drove down the road and turned into a field!

I met some aliens from outer space. They were pretty down to earth.

The plane flight brought my acrophobia to new heights.

My phone has to wear glasses ever since it lost its contacts.

I, for one, like Roman numerals.

How do mountains see? They peak.

The show was called Spongebob Squarepants but everyone knows the star was

Patrick.

This is not alcohol, water you thinking?!

Novice pirates make terrible singers because they can’t hit the high seas.

I told my friend she drew her eyebrows too high. She seemed surprised.

The earth's rotation really makes my day.

If I buy a bigger bed will I have more or less bedroom?

Two peanuts were walking in a tough neighborhood and one of them was

a-salted.

Two ropes were walking in a tough neighborhood and one of them was

a-frayed.

What kind of shoes do ninjas wear? Sneakers.

I got a master’s degree in being ignored; no one seems to care.

After eating the ship, the sea monster said, I can’t believe I ate the hull thing.

Smaller babies may be delivered by stork but the heavier ones need a crane.

A bartender broke up with her boyfriend, but he kept asking her for another

shot.

I had a pun about insanity but then I lost it.

He couldn’t work out how to fix the washing machine so he threw in the towel.

Why does the man want to buy nine rackets? Cause tennis too many.

Why don’t cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny.

If I got paid in lots of Pennes I would make loads of pasta.

I thought I saw a spider on my laptop, but my friend said it was just a bug.

A doctor broke his leg while auditioning for a play.Luckily he still made the cast.

The tale of the haunted refrigerator was chilling.

Why are frogs so happy? They eat whatever bugs them.

If you wear cowboy clothes are you ranch dressing?

I was addicted to the hokey pokey but I turned myself around.

Simba, you're falling behind. I must ask you to Mufasa.

I bought a wooden whistle but it wooden whistle.

The bomb didn't want to go off. So it refused.

The sore mummy needed a Cairo-practor

I feel sorry for shopping carts. They’re always getting pushed around.

The display of still-life art was not at all moving!

On Halloween October is nearly Octover.

Pig puns are so boaring.

Why couldn’t the dead car drive into the cluttered garage? Lack of vroom.

What do you call Samsung's security guards? Guardians of the Galaxy.

What does Superman have in his drink? Just ice.

How does a penguin build it’s house? Igloos it together.

Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

The safe was invented by a cop and a robber. It was quite a combination.

What do you do when balloons are hurt? You helium.

One hat says to the other, "You stay here, I’ll go on a head."

How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh? Ten tickles.

When does a farmer dance? When he drops the beet.

When the scientist wanted to clone a deer, he bought a doe it yourself kit.

If people ask how many puns I made in Germany I reply, "nein"

Did you hear about the invention of the white board? It was remarkable.

If Donald Trump becomes president, America is going toupee.

Can February March? No, but April May.

I hate Russian Dolls, they are so full of themselves.

What do you do to an open wardrobe? You closet.

The magazine about ceiling fans went out of business due to low circulation.

So what if I don’t know what apocalypse means? It’s not the end of the world!

Some aquatic mammals at the zoo escaped. It was otter chaos.

A backwards poem writes inverse.

Getting the ability to fly would be so uplifting.

I asked my friend, Nick, if he had 5 cents I could borrow. But he was Nicholas.

The soundtrack for Blackfish was orcastrated.

Where do you imprison a skeleton? In a rib cage.

There’s a fine line between the numerator and the denominator.

I used to work at a hairdresser but i just wasn’t cut out for it.

Why is metal and a microwave a match made in heaven? When they met,

sparks flew.

The lumberjack loved his new computer. He especially enjoyed logging in.

Garbage collectors are rubbish drivers!

When the church relocated it had an organ transplant.

Lettuce take a moment to appreciate this salad pun.

The scarecrow get promoted because he was outstanding in his field.

Sleeping comes so naturally to me, I could do it with my eyes closed.

I never understood odorless chemicals, they never make scents.

What do prisoners use to call each other? Cell phones.

Why was dumbo sad? He felt irrelephant.

When a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds.

Old skiers never die. They just go down hill.

Did you hear about the pun that was actually funny? Neither have we.

You know why I like egg puns? They crack me up!

Want to hear a pun about ghosts? That's the spirit!

I used to make clown shoes… which was no small feat.

Did you hear about the human cannonball? Too bad he got fired!

What happened when the magician got mad? She pulled her hare out!

Did you hear about the circus that caught on fire? It was in tents.

The one day of the week that eggs are definitely afraid of is Fry-day.

A hen will always leave her house through the proper eggs-it.

The man who ate too many eggs was considered to be an egg-oholic.

All the hens consider the chef to be very mean because he beats the eggs.

Eskimos keep all of their chilled eggs inside of the egg-loo.

Under the doctor’s advice, the hen is laying off eggs for a few weeks.

I had a real problem making a hard-boiled egg this morning until I cracked it.

The best time of day to eat eggs is at the crack of dawn.

The chicken coop only had 2 doors since if it had 4 doors it would be a sedan.

Crossing a cement mixer and a chicken will result in you getting a brick layer.

That reckless little egg always seems to egg-celerate when he sees the light

turn yellow.

Hopefully this egg pun doesn't make your brain too fried or scrambled.

Don't ever have multiple people wash dishes together. It's hard for them to

stay in sink.

People using umbrellas always seem to be under the weather.

I dissected an iris today. It was an eye-opening experience.

What was Forrest Gump’s email password? 1forrest1.

What planet is like a circus? Saturn, it has three rings!

Before my father died he worked in a circus as a stilt walker. I used to look up

to him.

Why did the lion eat the tightrope walker? He wanted a well-balanced meal!

I really look up to my tall friends.

I hate negative numbers and will stop at nothing to avoid them.

Long fairy tales have a tendency to dragon.

It takes guts to make a sausage.

You. I will eat you one limb at a time until I have finish you completely. Your skeleton will make a fine decoration for my wall.

(Aight, which one of you is this? The effort you made to write while whole ass wall holy hell.)

#bone’s grimoire #magic 8 skull #harper's va #where am i

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