#Antique Ivory Flooring

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Sugar Tonight 5

Character: Brock Rumlow

Summary: A regular customer becomes more than just a familiar face.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The townhouse is big compared to your apartment, though most places are. Brock keeps his hand tight on yours as he brings you up the front steps. He punches a code into the lock, the numbers blocked out by his large figure. You teeter on your feet as he pushes down the lever and shoves the door inward.  

He points you in ahead of him and adjusts the straps of the duffel bag hooked over his shoulder. Those are your things, parsed down to a single bag. He follows you in as your eyes skimp the walls. Despite your muddled fear, you can’t help but stand in awe of the antique panel and brick. 

“You seem like the old-style type,” he plops the bag down on the wooden bench against the wall, “shoes.” 

You look down and nod. You kneel to unlace your work sneakers and put them on the rack. He sits beside the duffel as he works at loosening his boots. 

You tear your attention from the tear drop bulbs of the chandelier light above and look at him. Like really look at him. He’s in all black like always. His hair is a similarly dark hue and a shadow of stubble never leaves his square jaw. His shoulders are broad and straight and even sitting, he looks huge. He looks up and narrows his eyes as he catches your gaze. 

“Sir, er, Brock,” you twist your palms together. 

“Yes, baby,” he sits up, his shoulders squaring. The pet name tweaks in your stomach. 

“Erm...” you peer around. “I... I don’t know.” 

“You don’t like it?” He stands and you take a step back. “We can update it.” 

“Um, no, it’s... pretty but... what... what am I doing here?” 

He snorts. It’s as close to laughter as he’s come. 

“Whatever you want, baby.” He nears and reaches for you. You wince as he cradles the back of your head and draws you close. “It’s our home, we make the rules.” 

He bends and kisses your forehead. You gulp as the heavy scent of his cologne strangles you. His fingers curl into your scalp and he hums. He hesitates for just a moment before he pulls back. 

You suck your lip in under your teeth and turn away. You’re buzzing from his proximity. The way he crowds you is unnerving. Everything about him is. 

You sense him watching you as you tiptoe around the bottom of the staircase and stop to stare at the framed painting of a woman in 19th century garb. She seems familiar as she sits on a stool in flowing ivory and pets a lamb, her stomach swollen with child. 

“Like I said, you can change it,” he grits as he comes closer. “Have a look around. Explore. It’s all yours.” 

You flinch and bat your eyes at the picture. This is real. You peek over at the duffle bag as the horror rolls up your spine. You don’t think you’re ever going back to your old life. This man won’t let you. 

You continue down the hallway next to the stairs if only to get space from him and your looming fear. You turn to look into the den. A long sofa and cushy armchairs, bookcases on either side of the vintage fire stove and a rustic rug across the aged wooden floor. You can’t deny that it’s cozy. 

He lurks like a shadow but allows you enough space to make your own way through the place. The kitchen is wrought in walnut and iron. A gas stove, a black fridge, and a dishwasher to boot. The walk-in pantry is stocked to the ceiling. You back out as he leans in the crook of the counter. 

“There’s more upstairs, baby.” 

You take his subtle directive and retrace your path. The dining room on the other side of the stairs gets only a quick glance before you climb to the next floor. Another hallway with several doors. A bathroom with a clawfoot tub and separate shower booth, a linen closet, and office, and the main bedroom. You stop in the last and stare at the four-postered bed. 

You retreat and pass Brock as he stands against the wall, halfway up the stairs. There’s another door but it doesn’t open. You don’t try to get past the lock. You go back to look down at him. 

“It’s nice, er... Brock.” 

“All for you,” he turns and climbs up patiently. 

“I--” your wring your hands, “really?” You look one way then the other, “thanks, but...” 

“You shouldn't chew your lip. It’s already chapped.” He grabs your hands and pulls them apart, “stop picking at your nails.” 

“Sorry, I--” 

“Don’t be. I’ll take care of ya until you take care of yourself,” he brings your hands up between his, grazing his calloused skin over yours. He turns your palms to his and pushes his fingers between yours. His cheek dimples and he guides your hands to his chest. “You’ll be safe here.” 

You nod and stay silent. His warmth seep through his shirt into your hands. It adds to the sheen of sweat speckling over your body. That fiery heat of fear, the nip of the inevitable. You still can’t wrap your head around it all but you know deep down, you’re not going back to your boxy apartment. 

[thisblogisaboutabook]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

Azriel x Reader - Fluff - One Shot

While getting over a breakup, a performer in a Velaris tavern catches the attention of a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Alcohol, Implied hook-up

The notes flowed effortlessly through my fingers onto the ivory keys of the tavern’s antique piano. I’d played the song more times than I cared to admit over the past several months yet the angst of it had yet to be lost on me.

Tonight was particularly lively as the High Lord and Lady’s inner circle made their way into the tavern. One of the nicer pleasure halls in Velaris yet not as alluring as Rita’s, which was closed this week as they install an updated dance floor and modernize the bar’s serving area.

Once word spread of the prestigious guests, a plethora of onlookers flowed in the front doors. It had been a while since the bouncer actually had a line to attend to.

Attendees made requests, many tunes of a more risqué variety in hopes of a sultry dance against THE Morrigan. Who could blame them? She was lovely. Not in a soft and gentle way - but in a powerful, warm, seductive sort of way. Those that didn’t want to be with her, wanted to be her. Males and females alike tried and failed to get close enough for a dance but she stayed close to the remainder of the inner circle on the dance floor, so lost in the music that she hadn’t even noticed the desire flowing around her.

The Shadowsinger had also come out tonight. Though he evaded the dance floor, guarding their corner table diligently. An emotionless, bordering cold stare plastered on his face as he monitored the place. Ever the watchful friend, ensuring nobody stepped out of line. Many patrons gazed from afar, whispering words of encouragement as to who could work up the nerve to approach. The more brazen guests going as far as to take a few steps closer before being put off by his intimidating presence without him even making eye contact with them.

After a recent break up - recent putting it lightly - it had been months but who was counting? I’d taken to spending my weekends in this tavern. One evening, after far too many shots of liquid courage, I began playing on the piano while singing raunchy limericks and catchy tunes I’d picked up over the years during my travels through Prythian. Despite his odious reputation, some of my favorite limericks came from the High Lord of the Spring Court whom I’d never met personally. The poems coming in slurs from drunken participants of the Great Rite many years ago, the Calanmai where I met my former lover.

We’d connected instantly - literally and figuratively - and spent several wonderful years together. Until, damn the cauldron, he found his mate earlier this year. What are years together in the face of fate? Fate having a wicked sense of humor. How lucky for me that his mate dwelled in the city that I had introduced him to, MY city. They’d come into this very tavern shortly after the breakup, kindly leaving just as abruptly they came in. A futile effort of sparing me the heartache. Truthfully, he wasn’t a cruel male. He didn’t know I played here - and I didn’t hate him. But I resented it. All of it.

Which lead me to the song I was currently belting out at this piano. The song I’d written immediately after arriving back to my apartment that night, whiskey in one hand, fountain pen in the other.

“…And you're sitting in front of me at the restaurant, when I was still the one you want

Cross-legged in the dim light, everything was just right.

I, I could feel the mascara run. You told me that you met someone, glass shattered on the white cloth

Everybody moved on

Help, I'm still at the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I haunt, cross-legged in the dim light

They say, What a sad sight"

Despite the angsty, brooding lyrics, the tone was catchy and very easy to move along to. The more frequent patrons of the establishment had come to know this as a staple in my evening set, belting out the lyrics right along with me.

The song was my closing for the evening as I packed up, ready to head out. One of the attendees brought a glass of my favorite whiskey to me, nodding to the beautiful brooding male at the Inner Circle’s table.

Interesting.

I nodded a thank you with a brief raise of my glass to the Spymaster, as a little shadow swirled around my wrist with a gentle tug in his direction.

Who was I to turn him down? Aside from a steaming bath and smutty novel, I had nothing waiting for me to return home.

I casually strode to his table, giving a little smirk before sitting in front of him. Licking my lip before raising the glass to my mouth, lifting an eyebrow as I locked eyes with him.

“I didn’t realize Spymaster involved sussing out a lady’s drink of choice.”

A cool, bemused expression settled on his face as he took a sip from his own glass. “While my skill set is quite impressive, I asked the attendant for the bartender to send you a glass of your favorite.”

“I see. Well, thank you.” I replied, giving him time to continue the conversation or bid a farewell.

“You wrote that song.” He stated, not a question. Spymaster indeed.

For emphasis, I threw back a large swig of my liquor. “I did. Did you like it?”

He met my gaze with a contemplative glean in those hazel eyes, “Yes, no. Yes, the song was good. No, I did not like the truth behind the words. It felt too… relatable.”

I ran my fingers back through my hair letting it loosely fall back into place, and sighed. “Looks like we’ll both need another drink then.” Turning to the nearby attendee and signaling two fingers.

Two drinks turned to three, and four, by the end of the night we had laughed, one-upped eachother on who was unluckiest in love, and I was practically in his lap as we boisterously toasted a cheeky “Damn, the cauldron!” to which a nearby couple audibly gasped. We both muttered quick “apologies” turning away as we muffled our laughter into each others shoulders. He graciously sent the pair a shot with our next round of drinks.

The place started clearing out as the lights brightened and the keep yelled out a last call. Both of us hesitant to call it a night as we stepped into the brisk cold. “Walk me home, Shadowsinger?”

“Azriel. Call me Azriel.” He smiled. “I actually have something better in mind. Join me for a night cap?” He extended a hand.

Holding my hand out to squeeze his reassuringly, I replied, “Y/N. I’d be delighted.”

He eagerly swept me into his arms and darted into the sky, aiming for the House of Wind. The city lights quickly fading into twinkling stars.

Our pulses fluttered with anticipation as I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck. When I pulled back to meet his eyes, he gave me a mischevious grin and briskly swooped down then back up. I flicked his nose to which he laughed, tilting his head downward to plant a kiss on my forehead.

I finally left the restaurant…

And my dress on his bedroom floor.

[emkayewrites]

Lukola fanfic excerpt: Luke and Nicola have feelings for one another but have not confessed them to each other. They are filming the one-take wedding dance scene. It goes as well as you can imagine.

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

28th November 2022 – Surrey (UK)

The Gallery was an ornately decorated room, with adornments of brightly-coloured flowers, sumptuous tapestries and antique furniture.  Large windows framed by draperies of velvet and silk lined the space, allowing natural light to filter through.   

Nicola considered how this majestic room would very shortly be filled with people and noise.  There would be the crew and then there would be the cast mates and extras, all in their various regalia.  This would be the last time this season that they would all be together in a scene.  Although some of the cast would still be returning to film additional scenes, today would mark her last filming day with everyone – including Luke.  If that was not enough to create an enormous feeling of occasion; it was also the day they would be filming Penelope and Colin’s wedding dance.  If she let herself linger on these thoughts for too long, she found her throat becoming dry and her heart start to race.  She could not let her mind overcome the muscle memory she was planning to rely on – not today.

She tried to orient herself to something that would distract her.  She gazed at the mirror on the wall in front of her and at the scene it showed was happening behind her: two crew members fiddled with lighting as Tom, their director, presided over them with his usual commanding yet father-like presence.  There was something about the familiarity of the scene that felt comforting.

Then her eyes shifted to her own reflection.  Whilst it was true that she had been in front of mirrors since five o’clock that morning, she had not truly looked at herself.  She had been going through the sleep-deprived motions:  taking sharp intakes of breath as the wardrobe team fitted her into her corsetry, yawning her way through the make-up teams’ application of thick, glamourous make-up on her face, neck, cleavage and even arms.  Sure, she had been slightly more alert when she was allowed to cautiously sip a strong black coffee with her usual seven sugars as her hair was expertly styled but even then, she had not really woken up.  Now, in the bright light of day and with the adrenaline coursing through her; she finally realised why everyone had been getting emotional at the sight of her.  She understood what all the fuss was about.

She stood resplendent in a blush satin gown that gracefully fell to the floor around her.  Her silhouette was perfectly accentuated by an empire waist; the neckline was tastefully rounded and short, slightly puffed sleeves added a little of Penelope’s individual flair to the look.  Her hair was a more striking shade of auburn than usual and styled with jeweled hairpins into a soft, intricate up-do with curls gently framing her face.  Her makeup was a lot softer and more natural in appearance than it felt on her face; rosy cheeks, a hint of pink on her lips and subtle but dark eye make-up enhanced her large eyes.

Even she had to admit that she looked beautiful. 

“Woah.”

Luke’s voice came from off to the side.

He walked in through the grand entrance: tall, dark and handsome.  He wore the traditional formalwear of the Regency era; a black, finely tailored frock coat that highlighted his athletic build with an ivory waistcoat underneath.  An expertly tied navy-coloured cravat and silver brooch finished off his look. 

She felt her breath catch.

He was immaculate.

He looked at her with awe written across his face.  It took her a minute to realise he was likely as mesmerised by her as she was by him.

“Hello to you too.” She managed to respond, forcing a smile that should be coming naturally.

It was not that she was not happy to see him.  It was that she was too happy to see him.  All she wanted to do was leap up, wrap her arms around him, run her hands through his beautifully combed hair and kiss him.  The urge was so strong that it took her aback.  She would need to scale her emotions back around him; she would need to be the best actress she had ever been to achieve this.  The one small mercy that she had was that once the cameras rolled, she could ease up on herself.  She could let herself look at him with the mixture of fascination and obsession she wanted to because it would not be her looking.  It would be Penelope.

His eyes scanned over her, she thought that there was an element in them that conveyed restlessness and some sense of dissatisfaction.

Was she reading too much into things?

She had been plagued with thoughts of what if. 

What if he felt what she felt?

No, she could not read too much into his emotions.  She tried to remind herself that this day was bringing an emotional side out in everyone.  It would be strange if he was his usual laidback self.  In fact, it made more sense that he seemed somewhat disturbed.  They were all disturbed.  The scenes they were filming were high stakes, carrying with them the weight of the most important love story from that season.

“You look…” He started but seemed to interrupt himself. “I mean – are you – are we OK?”

“Yes, of course.” She was quick and somewhat defensive in her reply. “I’ve just been insanely busy as things are winding down.”

This was a lie.

Over the last few weeks, Luke had been contacting her nearly every day with an assortment of memes, random musings and direct requests to meet up for private rehearsal of their final scenes.  She had responded evasively, if at all.  She had felt awful doing it.  Yet, the alternative was to spend time with him alone – something she did not trust herself with.  In truth, these were not intimacy scenes that she or he would be highly anxious about and need private or even additional rehearsals for.  She knew that he was asking so that they could just spend time together, but this no longer felt appropriate for her.  He wanted a friend to banter with, she wanted to do things to him she could not say without blushing.  They were in different places.

“I really wanted to celebrate your last day in our traditional style – with some kind of feast in one of our trailers.” He smiled, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. “You pick.”

She reminded herself of her sister’s sage advice: keep your distance and keep your knickers on. 

“I’m really sorry, I’m heading off set and straight to a Barbie shoot.” This was at least not a lie.

“Oh, wow, I forgot that was coming up. That’s amazing, Nic.” He continued smiling, a hopeful tone to his voice. “I’ll be wrapped and back in the city on Saturday – maybe we feast then?”

She felt her heart sink. 

Why was he so sweet?

Why did this feel like killing a puppy?

“I’m sorry Luke…” She apologized again. “We’re doing Christmas abroad this year and leaving in under two weeks. I just haven’t got the time.  We can catch up when I’m back in the New Year?”

He seemed unconvinced by her answer, concern spreading across his face.

Before their conversation could continue, Tom was standing over them with Jack, their lead choreographer, right behind him.

“You guys look amazing.” Tom complimented them, scratching at his head.

“So, are we ready?” Jack asked, rubbing his hands together with excitement.

Nicola surveyed the expansive yet mostly empty room around them.  She spotted their cinematographer and a handful of the crew by the cameras, watchful and waiting.

“Is everyone else late?” She found herself asking out loud.

Jack and Tom exchanged knowing looks.  Luke stared at them and then at her, matching her confusion.

“No, no one is late – you guys are just a little early.” Tom explained, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I wanted time for us to get Penelope and Colin doing their first dance here, just the two of them stealing a moment alone together.”  Tom gestured to the room around them, a wide grin on his face.

“And Jack’s here a little bit early too just to offer some choreographic wisdom but really, I was hoping you guys could just let go a little, be a little spontaneous in movement…” Tom continued.

“I would say, do the steps but without overthinking the manners and formality.” Jack added.

Nicola digested this.  The one area of safety she had been clinging onto was to switch her mind and emotions off, and to surrender into the role of Penelope with the carefully planned out steps and words that she was scripted to do.  Now, she was having to contend with having to act from a place of improvisation.  Improvisation that had previously led her to completely lose control of herself with him.  The mental gymnastics of it all made her brain hurt. 

“Sounds good to me.” Luke responded in a nonchalant tone that seemed inauthentic to her.

“Do you guys want to go through a quick sequence…?” Jack queried, but Tom was quick to wave off his suggestion.

“No, let’s just go right now with whatever you guys have in the bag – I want to get as many spontaneous takes as possible.”

“Yay, spontaneity.” Nicola weakly enthused, eliciting a nervous chuckle from Luke.

“Right, we’ll go from your mark here.”  Jack guided them to their spot in front of the cameras before shuffling back to stand behind one of the monitors.

Nicola felt her heartrate increase again.

They stood face-to-face, the gap between them was just a few inches.  She felt as if her whole body was vibrating.  There was something about being in a wedding dress, in front of him in a tux, in this grand and historic room that caused a swell of emotion to overcome her.

Jesus Christ, get it together.  She tried to tell herself.

“Let loose a little bit.  There’s no audience.  It’s just Colin and Penelope.” Tom directed, standing behind the camera. “It’s the day they’ve overcome obstacle after obstacle to get to.  This is where they finally get to just be themselves, no pomp and circumstance.”

Luke nodded in acknowledgement, and Nicola followed, bobbing her head at Tom.

“Alright – action!”

Immediately, her eyes were locked onto his.   That was all it took for her to decide to just surrender.  No more defenses.  She knew she was gazing at him adoringly, wistfully, hungrily… her chest heaved with the deep breaths she took as she fell into the familiar configuration of steps that they had repeated hundreds of times.

They moved in perfect synchronicity like they had a so many times before in their rehearsals but this time, it felt different.  This time, she was Penelope without her guardrails.  She was Penelope alone with the man she had ached for for most of her life.  She was Nicola.  She was Nicola not having to restrain herself from not only touching him but holding onto him with a grip so tight that it was telling on her.

The world and people around them seemed to disappear as they danced around one another; drawing closer, touching, then breaking apart again, gently pulling further back before once again, being lured towards one another.  Pulling and pushing like two gravitational forces that could not quite work out if they attracted or repelled.

She could not take her eyes away from his.  There was a look in them that was intense and longing.   

This is our goodbye. She thought to herself, her heart silently breaking.

The surge of emotion was so great, she felt tears sting angrily at her eyes.  There were so many reasons why she could not cry right now.  She saw that his own eyes were glassy with the threat of tears too.  Instinctively, they pushed against each other, holding one another tightly, and she felt his hand gently caress the side of her face, making electricity shoot through her body as their lips drew closer and closer.

It was all she could do to hold her position there, millimeters from kissing him.

There was a pause that felt like it went on forever before Tom’s voice sliced through the silence, yelling cut.

Immediately, Nicola moved her face away from Luke’s hand, letting go of him, and turned to face the crew.

The looks on their faces were on par with the looks she had received when she had first stepped out in full costume that morning: pure astonishment.

“That… that was the fucking take, pardon my French.” Tom laughed, bewildered. “Jesus, I don’t know what you guys channelled there but that was it.”

“Just… sublime.” Jack echoed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’d have been flayed alive for some of those steps at a real Regency era ball but for what this is meant to convey… just, wow.”

Nicola found herself chuckling, grateful for the hint of comic relief.  She was almost too scared to look to her side, to catch Luke’s eyes.  The whole thing made her ache.  She was still working hard to keep the tears back.

“Get over here, you need to see yourselves because I don’t think you realise what you’ve just pulled off.” Tom enthused, ushering them over so that they were stood behind one of the monitors.

Their scene started to play out in front of them.  Nicola saw a couple moving together in beautiful harmony, clearly infatuated with one another.

“I only wanted you guys to get into character before the wedding dance with everyone, but I think we need to get Jess’s eyeballs on this, see if we can put it in somewhere.” Tom lauded, watching with them. “Really, well done, you guys.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.” Luke spoke, his eyes on the screen, but his voice sounded strange.

“A one-take wonder!” Tom laughed. “Might be worth saving a clip of this in case this just ends up on the cutting room floor.”

Nicola thought about whether she would want a copy of something so real and raw, or whether this would be better off relegated to obscurity. 

What would hurt her less?

She didn’t know.

[tyxoxo]

Feel It - teaser.

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader teaser, find full fic here.

genre: smut, pornstar!jaehyun au, 00’ dream inserts

words: loading…

warnings: pure filth, oral, cum play, exhibitionism/voyeurism, degrading, humiliation, dacryphilia, shibari, unprotected sex

a/n: san francisco armory, das the setting lolol (thanks kink.com 🫡)

—

“okay, we’ll just have you sign this.” the producer with the name tag K said as he handed you a clipboard with a pen; the two of you sitting across each other in a large auditorium.

you were fidgeting the more you sat there in the middle of the “playroom”, excitement rising with every glance of the various s&m props placed on antique plaques. whether it was the torture rack, assorted floggers, or cattle prods, you couldn’t wait to try it all.

never in your years of living did you expect to be at an armory-turned-BDSM studio, preparing to do your first adult scene. yet here you were, only wearing a pair or your underwear, completely bare everywhere else.

the use of a National Guard armory was oddly fitting for the company—20th century Moorish Revival architecture, albeit refurbished, still gave a sense of “grittiness” and “rustic charm.”

“i know that you already submitted your online waiver but we just like to have an additional one for in-person. physical signatures are always preferred.” K snapped you out of your thoughts for a second, though your mind couldn’t help but drift back into the gutter, thinking yet again to your upcoming scene.

the single sheet of paper reiterated everything you read through just a week prior:

“Mission Statement and Company Values”

typical header to start a waiver…littered with the expectations to provide a “consensual and safe space for all participants.”

your eyes scanned further down, taking a few minutes to read their “Right to Distribute Media:”

“By signing here, you agree to having any and all media in your presence posted to our website Kink.com, with potential distribution to other pornographic partnerships…”

you provided your signature for the two spots provided, officially sealing the deal…

as soon as you handed the clipboard back to K, he spoke into his bluetooth earpiece, presumably notifying the other producers of your newly sealed fate.

“you guys are good to head this way.” he said before placing the clipboard on the floor next to his water bottle.

“in a moment you’ll be able to meet your partner, and go over the do’s and don'ts, that kind of stuff.” he said, followed by a closed-mouth smile.

you smiled back, trying to hide the anxiety creeping under your skin. there was no telling what kind of man would appear through the doors, meters away from where you sat.

you kept your eyes trained on the double-doors, tapping your leg up and down to pass what seemed like hours.

but then again, this was a four story building…maybe it was just taking them a while to get to where you were.

just as you looked down at your twiddling thumbs, the heavy sound of the double-doors echoed throughout the room. the man that appeared was unlike anyone you’ve ever seen.

he was gorgeous…

and he smiled as soon as he laid eyes on you. his dimples being the first feature that caught your attention.

he strutted towards you, confidence exuding with every step. he only sported boxer briefs, definitely nowhere near as self-conscious as you, now that you saw his toned body.

you tried not to make it obvious that you were eyeing his subtle six-pack. but it was hard. his body was perfect; not too overbearing, not too ordinary. still, his biceps and his quads showcased the work he put in to maintain his physique.

the last thing you could observe before he stopped in front of you, was his happy trail, leading all the way to the package he had confined in his briefs. he completely ignored K, standing right in front of his field of view.

your eyes slowly made their way to his face, still smiling so bright, with ivory teeth to match.

“hello, my name is jaehyun. nice to meet you.”

his voice was velvety deep, baritone.

another surprise to you.

jaehyun held out his right hand, but you noted the single platinum band adorned on his left ring finger…to your disappointment. your thoughts were outlandish, there’s no way you’d have a chance with him even if he wasn’t taken.

you returned the handshake, voice visibly shaken as you gave him your name.

“i’ll go ahead and let you guys have the floor. i’ll be back in 10.” K said with a clear of his throat. he then gave up his seat for jaehyun, making his leave towards the double-doors.

jaehyun looked back at the medieval-styled chair before sitting down, chiseled thighs growing in size once he found a comfortable position.

“so tell me a bit about yourself…”

—

//tagging: @pradajaehyun

[blueiscoool]

2,600-Year-Old Temple Filled With ‘Exotic Offerings’ Found in Greece

In 2017, while exploring a sanctuary devoted to a goddess in Greece, archaeologists discovered the first traces of a monumental structure at the heart of the sanctuary.

Now, after years of excavations, the team has unearthed what has been identified as a temple filled with treasures, altars and “exotic offerings,” according to a Jan. 8 news release from the Swiss School of Archaeology in Greece, which oversaw the excavation with the help of the Ephorate of Antiquities in Euboea.

The temple was discovered “at the heart of the sanctuary of Artemis Amarysia,” researchers said. Artemis was the Greek goddess of wild animals as well as chastity and childbirth.

Archaeologists said the temple — which was built sometime toward the end of the seventh century B.C. — “held a number of surprises,” starting with is floor plan. The building was apsidal, meaning it had a semi-circular dome-like structure at one end.

This kind of floor plan, popularized during the Early Christian era between the fourth and eighth centuries A.D., was “quite unusual” for the time the temple was built, the team said.

The temple was “larger than originally anticipated,” measuring about 100 feet, according to experts. This measurement is symbolic, and several other monuments from the same period share the same dimensions.

Inside the structure, researchers found “another surprising discovery”: an abundance of hearths or altars.

Typical Greek sanctuaries of the time built these structure outside of the temple, but archaeologists said they found the stone platforms — covered with thick layers of ash and bones — within the building.

One altar, shaped like a horseshoe, appears to have occupied a pronaos — a vestibule surrounded by columns on the exterior of the temple — and has evidence that it was used as early as the end of the eighth century B.C., predating the temple, officials from Greece’s Ministry of Culture said in a Jan. 8 news release.

The team also discovered a rich collection of offerings, it said.

Among their finds were alabaster artifacts, vases, ritual water jugs, amulets, bronze and iron fittings, and precious jewelry made of gold, silver, coral and amber, officials said in their release.

Experts also identified a “finely chiseled ivory head with Egyptian features,” they said. The “exotic” object was “unrecognizable” when first identified, but it has been restored.

Evidence at the temple indicates that it partially burned down in the later half of the sixth century B.C., according to archaeologists. The building was temporarily restored with mud brick walls until it could be entirely replaced and restored at the end of the century.

EVIDENCE OF AN EVEN EARLIER TEMPLE

Beneath the foundation of the temple, archaeologists said they discovered deep trenches containing remains from a building possibly dating to the ninth or eighth century B.C.

Bronze animal figurines from the same period and a terracotta bull’s head dating to the late Bronze Age — roughly 1200 B.C. — were also found in the trenches, according to researchers. Excavations of the lower levels of remains are ongoing, but early finds indicate that the site was used by Artemis worshipers earlier than the temple’s construction.

BRONZE AGE REMAINS NEARBY

The sanctuary of Artemis Amarysia is at the foot of a hill that was occupied during the Bronze Age, experts said.

Excavations of the hill have identified “imposing walls” that likely belonged to a third millenium B.C. fortification system, archaeologists said.

A tomb, filled with skeletons and offerings, was also unearthed from the hill, according to Greek officials.

Researchers continue to explore the region to determine how the temple and sanctuary fit into the broader “ancient landscape,” they said.

Amarynthos is on the Greek island Evia, also known as Euboea, which is off the country’s southwest coast.

By MOIRA RITTER.

[janeofcakes]

One Night in Palermo: Chapter 2

Hi Ho! Your friendly neighborhood Jane here. My apologies for the delay in getting out this chapter. The story is all written, so don't worry about it just ending 4 chapters in and without any resolution. Life just got in the way of editing, which I regret, but WE BOUGHT A HOUSE! Woo hoo!! Anyway, please enjoy the next installment.

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Sherlock had been observing Antonio Costa, a fairly prominent man in the Sicilian mafia who had oft worked with Moriarty, for two days. He was the man who provided killers for Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson on the day Sherlock had jumped. The detective had waited a long time to end this man and his organization. He had watched Costa’s movements and habits so as to catch the man when he least expected it. It would not be a difficult assignment. Sherlock planned to neutralize some of Costa’s men along with him, which posed some risk, but he intended to have the element of surprise on his side. The real question in Sherlock’s mind was: did the assassin have Costa in his sights as well or was the man already following the final target: Sebastian Moran?

Sherlock waited quietly in the darkness of an opulent office belonging to a man whose taste in decor rivaled that of Mycroft Holmes with its historic trinkets and mahogany furniture. Across Palermo, Antonio Costa would enjoy dinner with his wife and two children before he returned to the office. The information Sherlock had gathered since arriving in Palermo revealed that the night’s discussion would focus on the murder of twenty innocent people. 

Costa’s aim was to turn the city against local government officials, forcing them to resign so he could fill their seats with his own candidates. Public opinion would dictate that if the government couldn’t protect twenty children on a school bus, they could not protect anyone. It was a particularly heartless endeavor. One of the children who rode the bus was his own daughter’s best friend. Collateral damage, he had said with a crass chuckle when first revealing the plan a mere twenty-four hours ago as Sherlock had spied. The detective’s lip curled in disgust as he thought of it. Costa was not a man he would waste any guilt on.

The detective looked to the ornate grandfather clock when it chimed nine o’clock. Costa would be back within the hour. Five men would be seated around the table with him, his most trusted and most likely to take over his affairs upon his death. With all of them neutralized as well, Costa’s influence would die with him. Not only would the children riding the bus to school in the morning be safe, but countless others the man would use as pawns in the future.

As Sherlock waited, his eyes scanned the dimly lit room, resting here and there on objects of interest. A carved, wooden box displayed on a wall shelf depicted the Eye of Ra. Several gold coins from Mesopotamia were mounted in a frame on the opposite wall. A small table held an 18th century chess set with pieces carved from ivory. As he continued to take in his surroundings, an antique magnifying glass on Costa’s desk caught his attention and he vowed to find one for himself once at Baker Street again. His eyes next fell on a leather-bound journal carefully placed on the bookcase behind the desk. It was at the end of a row of well-worn books, all propped against one another at an angle rather than held in place with a bookend. It was meant to look nonchalant, tossed on the shelf carelessly, but had clearly been placed there with reverence. It was the keeper of Costa’s secrets, the place he turned to when he could tell no other of his deepest feelings. Sherlock had seen the man write in it more than once while he tracked Costa’s movements over the last two days. Leaving the book in plain sight really was the best hiding place, despite what one might think. Costa’s enemies were more likely to sweep all of the books to the floor while looking for something secreted away than study any of the books themselves.

Both the appearance of the book; its soft, warm leather cover tied with a narrow strap to match, and its contents made Sherlock’s mind turn to John Watson. All warm and soft jumpers, tea and toast and cinnamon. Sherlock had not seen John since that first day he stood at the freshly placed grave marker, the name Sherlock Holmes etched elegantly across its surface. John’s shoulders were hunched and his whole body seemed to fold in on itself. Tears stained his face, dripping from his chin to land on coat sleeves or to coalesce with the dew upon every blade of grass. I was so alone and you gave me so much, John’s words had floated sadly through the still air, filling Sherlock’s heart with so much grief he thought it would burst. Please stop being dead. God, how Sherlock had wanted to step away from the cover of trees and take John in his arms and never let go.

Sherlock quietly eased back to lean against the wall behind his back, ensconcing himself further in the shadows. He was nearly in the same time zone as John, only an hour ahead. Was John having a late dinner? Was he in his dressing gown or talking with Mrs. Hudson? Maybe he and Lestrade were having a pint. Sherlock could see John’s face clearly in his mind’s eye; that lopsided grin or his tender smile. He closed his eyes and silently inhaled. The memories were so strong, he could swear the scent of his friend lingered around the edges of the breath he took. God, how he longed to be in his armchair across from John in 221B. Sherlock would tell him his secrets. All of them, keep nothing hidden, especially his most well-kept secret. It was time that John knew.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he forced his mind to banish the thought. He must not fall prey to distraction, even in the more boring moments. He scanned the room again in search of something interesting, which he found near the three windows along the north wall of the room. Each one was dark and left open to cool the room with night air. They had tall panes of glass and long, sheer curtains that moved slowly in the light breeze. The closest window, however, had something the other two did not: a movement ever so guarded that no one else would have seen it. To the most observant man in England, it was a neon sign.

Eyes fixed on the spot, Sherlock waited for them to pick out the lines and shapes in the dark alcove. He pieced them together as each new one emerged until he could see the full picture. It was a man. Sherlock could tell that easily. The man was crouching, waiting, steady and patient. He was wearing dark colors with his face and head covered. Sherlock caught a faint glint of metal on the man’s person. A gun. The assassin.

Sherlock quickly determined the best route to the man and began moving silently closer. Though they seemed to have the same goal, that did not guarantee he would not put a bullet in Sherlock’s head just as easily as Costa’s. The detective kept his eyes on the crouched man as he approached, his own gun gripped in both hands at the ready. He waited until he stood in the darkness only a few feet from the man, leveling his weapon at the assassin’s head.

“Put the gun on the floor and stand up,” Sherlock growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

The other man’s body was tense and motionless. Sherlock waited a few seconds, every sense on high alert. His mind processed every outcome and his fingers tightened around the gun in his hands. This man was not going to make it easy.

“Put it down,” Sherlock repeated.

The man moved his head to turn his face toward Sherlock. It was the slightest movement, not even an inch, but enough to tell the detective all he needed to know. This man was a mercenary.

“Did you really think I hadn’t heard you?” a gravelly voice replied and Sherlock could hear the cruel grin in the tone.

Fast as lightning, Sherlock moved, but not soon enough. The man spun on his heel, still crouching, and launched a footstool at Sherlock. He had just enough time to dodge, but could not avoid the man’s lunge as he plowed headlong into Sherlock’s legs. He hit the floor with a crash that knocked the wind from his lungs and the other man was on top of him. Sherlock did not know where his attacker’s weapon was as the man scrabbled for his hands, intent clear.

Sherlock cuffed the man and rolled their bodies so his full weight rested on him. Their arms stretched out overhead, reaching and hands grasping. Sherlock still held the gun in his right hand; both of the man’s were wrapped around his wrist. Sherlock’s left hand pulled at the man’s right wrist, attempting to pull it away from his own. Without warning, the man bent his right elbow and thrust it neatly in between their combined arms to crack Sherlock’s chin with bone. He twisted beneath the detective and flipped their bodies again, crashing Sherlock’s hand onto the floor and forcing him to release the gun. Suddenly, the man’s forearm pressed against Sherlock’s throat, supported at the wrist by his other arm and drastically decreasing the detective’s air supply. He gasped and grappled with the man’s arms, trying to gain purchase, but the man’s arms would not budge.

As he struggled, Sherlock ran through option after option and immediately discounted every one until he settled on the right approach. He twisted his hips and threw his long legs from side to side. The man was straddling his belly as opposed to his hips, supporting a position conducive to strangulation, but leaving Sherlock with the ability to use his own lower body to his advantage.

Sherlock’s thrashing legs and twisting hips took the man by surprise and, despite his valiant efforts, the arm against Sherlock’s throat began to give way. One more thrash and a shove with his arms rewarded Sherlock with a gasping breath as the man crashed to the floor next to him. He was free! Still, the detective could not rest on his laurels. He kicked the man’s knee, knocking it from beneath him as he began to rise. Using the delay to his advantage, Sherlock picked up his own gun from the floor and leveled it at the man once more. Unfortunately, his attacker had the same idea. So there they stood, each on his knees, a scant few feet apart with a gun pointed at the other’s head.

Both men were breathing hard, chests heaving with the effort to catch their breath. Suddenly, the assassin’s hitched in his throat in what could only be surprise. With the combined cap and mask pulled over his head and face, Sherlock could see nothing but the man’s eyes. Meanwhile, the skull cap Sherlock had used to hide his own distinctive curls had fallen off somewhere near the end of the struggle. Mycroft had encouraged him to cut his hair and dye it at the onset of his first assignment, which he did. It made sense to hide his identity so completely. After a few months though, Sherlock began to lose himself and feel further from John than ever. Within three months, his dark curls were back and he wore the skull cap anytime he was not in a safe house. To his credit, Mycroft said nothing.

Now, the curls were out and he was fully exposed. The man before him clearly knew who he was, but it did not concern Sherlock in the slightest. He knew the deep, ocean blue eyes well. They were the same eyes he saw in every dream every night since he leapt off St. Bart’s.

“Sherlock?” an all too familiar voice breathed into the air between them, full of disbelief and hope.

“Che cazzo!” a gruff voice called from across the room before shots rang out.

Sherlock fired back and then took cover as John fired his own shot, hitting Costa expertly between the eyes before diving for cover. Unfortunately, one of the shots from Costa’s men proved accurate and hit the doctor, changing his trajectory as he fell and making him run headlong into the curio cabinet he meant to duck behind. Stunned, Sherlock stared at John’s still body as bullets continued to whiz through the room. No no no! He just got John back. He could not lose him again!

-------

A shorter chap, I know, but WTF?!? JOHN???!!! Jane, what are you playing at, you say? Nyeh nyeh nyeh, you'll see. Alright, alright. I know John being the assassin isn't really earth-shatteringly shocking, but it certainly raises a lot of questions, eh? Will there be answers? Join me in the next nerve-tingling episode. 😱 Jane

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Ramses Thothmes, a wealthy Egyptian magnate, extends an invitation for a new excavation, promising untold secrets hidden beneath the desert's surface. As you convene with Thothmes to discuss the venture, a new figure emerges from the shadows – the enigmatic Colonel Duncan Smith.

Under Smith's watchful eye, the expedition sets forth into uncharted territory, where ancient ruins conceal dark secrets and lethal perils.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, mentions of dead parents, reader has "Fagan" as the last name, none.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,5k

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Posting this early 'cause I got a meeting today. Enjoy your reading babes!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

As you and Steve traverse through the corridors of Mr. Thothmes' office, a sense of anticipation hangs thick in the air. Just earlier, a cryptic phone call from Mr. Thothmes summoned you both to an urgent meeting regarding a new excavation. Now, as you stand mere steps away from entering his chamber, your mind races with questions, curiosity gnawing at your every thought.

Each hallway seems to stretch endlessly, the flickering lights casting elongated shadows along the polished floors. The atmosphere is charged with a sense of importance, every corner holding the promise of revelation and discovery. With each approaching door, the weight of anticipation grows heavier, like a palpable veil of mystery enveloping your senses.

The echoes of your footsteps resonate through the corridor, a rhythmic cadence echoing the steady beat of your heart. The allure of the unknown beckons, drawing you inexorably closer to the threshold of possibility.

As you stand poised on the precipice of this new chapter, the thrill of anticipation courses through your veins like electricity. For in this moment, you are on the cusp of embarking upon a journey that may reshape the very fabric of history itself.

"Harrington! Ah, and my favorite archaeologist!" A pot-bellied old man, probably in his fifties, welcomed you both with a hearty greeting as he swung open the grand door of polished mahogany. "Come in, come in!!" He ushered you and Steve into his sanctum with a sweeping gesture.

Stepping over the threshold, you are immediately enveloped in an atmosphere of sophistication and antiquity. The walls are adorned with a rich palette of colors, exuding an air of regal elegance. Deep shades of mahogany and ebony mingle with soft accents of ivory and gold, creating a sense of timeless luxury.

At the heart of the room stands an imposing desk of dark wood, its surface intricately carved with motifs reminiscent of ancient hieroglyphs. Behind it, shelves lined with leather-bound tomes and ornate artifacts whisper tales of bygone eras, each item a treasure trove of history waiting to be explored.

The furniture, upholstered in sumptuous fabrics and adorned with delicate filigree, beckons you to sink into its embrace. Plush velvet cushions offer respite from the rigors of the outside world, while ornate chairs with gilded armrests exude an air of refined opulence.

Throughout the room, the soft glow of ambient lighting bathes everything in a warm, inviting aura. Intricately carved candelabras cast dancing shadows across the walls, their flickering flames lending an air of mystique to the surroundings.

On every available surface, meticulously curated artifacts and antiquities are proudly displayed. Ancient statues stand sentinel, their weathered features bearing witness to the passage of time. Glittering jewels and polished gems catch the light, their brilliance a testament to the wealth and power of civilizations long gone.

As you take in the sights and sounds of this magnificent chamber, a sense of reverence washes over you. For here, in this hallowed space, you stand on the threshold of history itself, poised to uncover the secrets of the ages.

"Ah..." The man's sigh carried the weight of centuries as he eased into one of the plush grey armchairs, crafted from the supple hide of seals. His eyes, like ancient tomes, held secrets untold as he poured a measure of brandy into a crystal glass, the amber liquid swirling with the promise of forgotten tales.

"I presume you received my call earlier?" His voice, smooth as polished marble, resonated with the echoes of ages past, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Uh..." You exchanged a glance with Steve, who was drawn to the intricacies of the art adorning the office walls like a moth to flame, his fascination palpable in the flicker of his gaze. With a subtle roll of your eyes, you summoned the words to respond. "Yes, you mentioned something about a new excavation, if memory serves."

His demeanor shifted, morphing into an aura of solemnity and intrigue. "Let's just say... it's not your run-of-the-mill excavation, confined to the depths of a tomb or the shadows of a pyramid," he intoned cryptically, the glint in his eyes hinting at untold secrets swirling within the depths of his mind. With a deliberate motion, he raised the glass of brandy to his lips, savoring the amber liquid as if it held the key to ancient mysteries.

"Why don't you both have a seat so we can discuss this further?" His gesture encompassed the other plush armchairs surrounding the dark wooden table, it was only then that you realized your own stance, frozen in the doorway like a sentinel of the past, while Steve remained ensnared by the allure of the unknown, his curiosity guiding him further into the depths of the enigma before you.

Your legs propelled you forward with an urgency that betrayed the gravity of the moment, guiding you to the plush embrace of the armchair before Thothmes. Your eyes, like intrepid explorers, scanned the room for a glimpse of connection, seeking solace in the warmth of a familiar gaze. They settled upon a pair of mesmerizing honey-colored orbs, ensnared by the enigmatic allure of a Sphynx cat statue adorned with glistening golden earrings.

With a discreet clearing of your throat, Steve's eyes met yours, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you. His gaze lingered for a moment, before you gestured towards the seat beside Thothmes.

"Proceed," you said with a nod, your hands resting calmly in your lap as you awaited the unfolding revelation. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation.

"Last week, we received a warning of a rockfall on a mountain in the Whale Desert," the old man continued, his voice carrying the weight of impending revelation. You glanced at your fellow Egyptologist, now sitting beside you, noting the quiet contemplation that settled over him, mirroring your own thoughts.

"We initially believed we were dealing with the remains of some other fossil or skeleton of a large animal," he continued, his words punctuated by the weight of uncertainty. "So, we dispatched a team of paleontologists to investigate the crash site."

As he finished speaking, a heavy silence descended upon the room, punctuated only by the sound of liquid being drained from the glass in his hand, leaving an ominous echo lingering in the air.

"It turned out it wasn't a fossil, much less a skeleton, so we withdrew the team," he explained, folding his hands thoughtfully on the table before him. The weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the unknown lurking in the shadows.

"And what about the unconventional excavation? Do you want us to dig these caves?" Steve's inquiry cut through the tension, his raised eyebrow accentuating the skepticism in his voice. The soft glow of the office lights played off his eyebrow piercing, lending an air of defiance to his demeanor.

"We don't excavate caves, Thothmes. Tombs, pyramids, temples, abandoned galleries—that's our domain, not caves," you interjected solemnly, a note of frustration creeping into your voice as you questioned the purpose of this meeting.

"My dear, I never said it was a cave," Thothmes replied cryptically, his words hanging in the air like a shroud of mystery, leaving you to ponder the true nature of the task that lay before you.

"What do you mean 'not a cave'?" you pressed, exchanging a perplexed glance with Steve. Meanwhile, a knowing smile spread across the businessman's face, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"What I am about to reveal to you is company confidential and must not leave this room," he began, his tone weighted with significance. He paused, casting a meaningful look between the two of you before continuing. "Apparently, we have stumbled upon a type of sanctuary hidden within the mountain. We still don't know its origin or which people it belongs to. But I believe that the best person to lead an exploration expedition is you, one of the finest archaeologists in the business and a trusted friend."

Steve's mocking expression and suppressed laughter didn't escape your notice, but you remained fixed on Thothmes, feeling like a fish out of water as you struggled to find the right words.

"I... Um, it's a departure from our usual expeditions," you managed to explain, your words stumbling out in a rush. "I might need a team of professional excavators, not to mention the logistics of an excavation site in the middle of the desert. The costs for—"

But before you could finish your sentence, the old man interjected firmly, cutting off your concerns. "We are not talking about costs here, my dear. I will pay whatever it takes if it means you will take charge of this exploration," he declared, his gesture dismissing any financial worries with a wave of his hand.

Your eyes met Steve's, finding reassurance in his nod of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you found resolve in his silent support. "Well..." you began tentatively, feeling a surge of determination wash over you. "In that case, we accept!"

"Perfeito!" The old gentleman's eyes sparkled with excitement as he clapped his hands together, a sense of anticipation palpable in the air. With a graceful stride, he crossed the room to one of the ornate paintings adorning the walls, his movements fluid and purposeful. With a gentle yet deliberate touch, he shifted the painting aside, revealing a hidden safe concealed behind it.

A hushed murmur of intrigue rippled through the room as the safe was unveiled, its metallic surface gleaming softly in the ambient light. With practiced ease, the old man dialed the combination, the tumblers clicking into place with a satisfying finality. With a soft thud, the door swung open, revealing the contents within.

From the depths of the safe, he retrieved a thick folder, its pages brimming with secrets waiting to be discovered. With a sense of reverence, he placed the folder on the table before you and Steve, the weight of its contents echoing the gravity of the task ahead.

"Here are some basic information about the site, team suggestions, equipment availability... Everything you need," he declared, his voice carrying a note of solemnity and determination. As you and Steve pored over the documents before you, a sense of adventure tinged with uncertainty filled the room, setting the stage for the journey that lay ahead.

"You mentioned something about the Whale Desert," Steve's tone was laced with skepticism. "I know full well that area is extremely inhospitable and nearly uninhabitable," he continued, his brows furrowed in concern. "We'll likely have to set up camp there, which worries me a bit due to the region's propensity for attacks by art thieves..." You vocalized, your own brow furrowing as you contemplated the level of danger involved.

Thothmes's laughter echoed through the cozy room, filling the space with a sense of warmth and reassurance. "My friends, why all this concern?" he asked theatrically, his eyes twinkling with confidence. "I've already made sure to hire an elite team for your protection. They're highly qualified to handle this type of terrain, so there's no need to worry.”

As Steve's eyes communicated a promise of future discussions, a silent pact passed between you both.

"In that case, we accept the challenge," Harrington proclaimed, his voice carrying a note of determination that bordered on defiance.

"Very well, it's yours," the old man conceded with a gracious nod, extending his hand for you and Steve to shake. His eyes held a glint of admiration as he added, "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Miss." The weight of his words hung in the air, hinting at a history of mutual respect and shared endeavors.

As you both bid farewell to Thothmes and exited the room, you couldn't resist slapping Steve on the arm.

"What was that for?" Steve exclaimed, rubbing his arm where your hand had made contact.

"It's for your behavior today," you replied sharply, your frustration evident in your tone.

"And should I mention how bizarre that proposition was? And all this secrecy?" Steve grumbled, clearly frustrated by the situation.

"Steve, my dear and esteemed companion, care to explain why you think this is a strange proposal? I don't know if you've realized, but we're archaeologists, well, I'm more of one than you... But there's nothing strange about a proposal for excavation in a different terrain," your voice laced with false calmness as the two of you walked out of the building.

"I don't know... Something about all this seems off to me, call it a gut feeling or something, but I don't think he reached out to us just out of camaraderie," Steve voiced his concerns as he unlocked the car. "Maybe you didn't notice, but he lied about the sanctuary." A pair of intense honey-colored eyes met yours. "Thothmes knows what's in that cave, and he knows exactly where it came from." A strange sensation coursed through your body.

"How can you be so sure?" Thothmes wasn't known for his lies, quite the opposite. "Body language, that old man loves a face-to-face conversation, but he looked away as soon as he spoke," Steve explained, his voice tinged with disbelief. You glanced at him incredulously, the sound of the car engine turning over becoming background noise.

"Because he look away? Seriously, Steve?" You shook your head. "I think hunger is starting to affect your brain. We should stop for lunch." He rolled his eyes but maintained the same thoughtful and suspicious expression for the rest of the way to the nearest restaurant.

Back in the dimly lit office, Thothmes stood by the window, a phone pressed to his ear while he held a glass of tequila in his other hand, the amber liquid swirling ominously.

"Mr. Raneb? It's me," his voice echoed through the receiver, the words carrying a weight of secrecy and intrigue.

"Thothmes, how many times do I have to remind you not to use that name?" The voice on the other end crackled with authority, sending a shiver down Thothmes' spine.

"My apologies, Mr. Damien. But I bring news," Thothmes replied, his tone subdued yet filled with urgency.

"What news?" The question hung in the air like a foreboding cloud, thick with tension.

"A sanctuary has been unearthed in the heart of the Whale Desert," Thothmes revealed, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard.

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching taut like a wire.

"I've secured the services of the finest archaeologist to explore the depths of the mountain," Thothmes continued, his words laden with implication.

"Get that bastard out of there as soon as possible," came the icy command, the line abruptly going dead before Thothmes could respond, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the unsettling knowledge of what lay ahead.

Seated in the cozy nook of "Cleo's Kitchen," you and Steve perused the menu, your stomachs growling in anticipation of the feast to come.

"We're gonna dive into two hawawshi, gotta have that koshary fix, and wash it all down with a pitcher of Asab, ya know?" you grinned at the waitress, your enthusiasm infectious.

"Oh, and throw in a Kunafa for dessert, 'cause we're treating ourselves today," Steve chimed in, nodding in agreement.

With the order placed, you leaned back in your chair, already imagining the burst of flavors awaiting your taste buds, the atmosphere alive with the promise of culinary delights and good company.

The tantalizing aroma of sizzling meat and fragrant spices filled the air as your order arrived at the table. The hawawshi boasted a crispy exterior and a savory filling of minced meat, onions, and aromatic herbs, tantalizing your senses with each bite. Next to it, the koshary presented a colorful medley of lentils, rice, pasta, and caramelized onions, topped with a drizzle of tangy tomato sauce and a sprinkling of crunchy fried onions. The pitcher of Asab, a traditional Egyptian drink made from fermented barley, promised a refreshing and slightly tangy flavor, perfect for washing down the hearty meal. And finally, the Kunafa arrived, a decadent dessert featuring layers of crisp, golden pastry filled with sweet cheese and drenched in a fragrant sugar syrup, offering a delightful balance of textures and flavors to round off your culinary journey.

"I'll tell ya, there's nothin' like this food," Steve mumbled between mouthfuls of koshary, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

"You know what really gets me about our job?" You took a swig of your drink, relishing the cool refreshment. "The food. I mean, getting to taste all these exotic flavors, it's like a culinary adventure every time we're on the road."

"Yeah, but sometimes I just crave a good ol' burger, fries, and a giant soda," Steve chuckled, a twinkle of nostalgia in his eyes as he recalled a fond memory.

You smiled along with him, your eyes drifting to the sleek black folder nestled in your backpack. Intrigued, you reached for it, flipping it open to peruse its contents.

"Thothmes must've had his coffee this morning," you remarked, flipping through the contents of the folder with a wry smile.

"What's in it?" Steve leaned over, his curiosity piqued.

"An excavation permit signed, site details, a list of available machinery and vehicles, info on our elite team... you know, the usual drill," you replied nonchalantly, snapping the folder shut and diving back into your meal.

As he perused the contents of the folder, you indulged in the divine feast before you, savoring each flavorful bite.

"Seems like it's the same old song and dance," he remarked, tucking the folder away into his backpack. "So, what's on the agenda for today, boss?" he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Back to the hotel to tackle a mountain of mundane tasks—endless phone calls, a deluge of emails, and compiling a laundry list of necessities. I want everything squared away by tomorrow," you declared, finishing off your drink and signaling for the bill.

"Whoa, easy there, tiger," he joked. "I still want to enjoy my vacation a bit. Can't it wait another... five days?"

"I'll strangle you if it's not tomorrow," you replied, handing the Egyptian pounds to the waitress and getting up with him.

"Be gentle with me, sweetheart, I'm delicate, you know?" You playfully nudged him and exited the restaurant together.

Back at the hotel, your afternoon resembled a bustling marketplace of phone calls, list-making marathons, email exchanges, and deep dives into research into the cozy five-star room.

The walls are adorned in rich tones of chocolate brown and sleek black, exuding a sophisticated ambiance that immediately captivates the senses.

At the center of the room stand two queen-size beds, each adorned with crisp white linens that contrast beautifully against the deep hues of the walls. The bedding is accented with delicate cream-colored details, adding a touch of refinement to the inviting sleeping quarters. Plush pillows and sumptuous duvets promise a restful night's sleep, while the meticulously made beds beckon you to sink into their welcoming embrace.

Between the beds, a sleek bedside table stands, its polished surface gleaming softly in the ambient light. Against one wall, a spacious wardrobe offers ample storage for your belongings, its dark wood finish complementing the elegant decor of the room. Inside, plush bathrobes and slippers await, promising indulgent comfort and relaxation during your stay.

"Finally, I thought that day would never end..." The guy dramatically collapsed onto the bed, limbs splayed out like a starfish.

"We need to double-check everything before sundown, Stevie," you announced, stifling a laugh as he protested like a petulant child.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road." He snatched up a sheet of paper eagerly. "We'll dispatch three REO M35 trucks as advance scouts, loaded with the gear to establish our campsite. Another trio will accompany the team and transport our machinery; each truck's capacity should more than suffice." You outlined the plan as Steve diligently scribbled down the details. "Then we'll send in four more trucks stocked with provisions and water, followed by a lone Jeep for us to navigate the terrain and carry any additional essentials." He nodded in agreement, his excitement matching yours for the upcoming expedition.

"Our security detail boasts a robust lineup of 25 individuals, poised to lend a hand until we arrive," he remarked, his eyebrows shooting up in mild disbelief. "Quite the pampering we're receiving, isn't it?"

"Stay on track, Steve. We're expecting new equipment to kick things off, so keep a watchful eye on the team while I delve into our location research," you concluded with a weary sigh.

"About time, too. I was beginning to feel like I needed glasses from all this fine print," you shared a laugh, easing the tension of the moment.

"Found something interesting while digging into the location," you announced, making your way to the bed and flopping down.

"What? Some sketchy website?" He waggled his eyebrows mischievously, earning a pillow tossed his way.

"Gross," you wrinkled your nose in disgust. "It's an ancient legend about that desert, reminded me of a tale my folks used to tell me," you settled onto your side, glancing at him.

"You know I'm a sucker for ancient legends, spill it," he grinned eagerly.

"The legend goes that the desert was once part of the ocean, where the caves were as beautiful and colorful as coral reefs, unique to that little piece of sky. In those waters, giant whales roamed, and it was the domain of Apophis, the colossal serpent who was once the guardian of those waters," you recounted, weaving the tale with an air of mystery.

"But one day, the gods descended from the heavens and plunged into the deep waters. No one knows why, but there was a deafening roar followed by a scream that echoed across the four corners of the world. The gods ascended again, but they took all the water with them. Everything that lived there perished that day, except Apophis. They say the serpent still guards something there to this day," you concluded, and Steve sat there, mouth agape, captivated by the ancient tale.

"The whale skeletons! It's all starting to make sense now, isn't it?" Steve exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement. "You mentioned it reminded you of a story your parents used to tell you. Now I'm even more intrigued," he urged, leaning in eagerly.

"Well, they had this fascinating tale about a warrior condemned to an eternal prison. The gods sealed him away in a cave, protected by a colossal serpent, in a place that was once submerged beneath the sea," you explained, the words carrying an air of mystery and ancient legend.

“I love this stuff... But hey, did they find any snake bones out there?” He asked hopefully.

“Not that I know of, but some say if you look out into the desert at night, from a certain vantage point, you can see the outline of a giant serpent slithering through the caves.” Steve seemed utterly captivated by the legend.

"No more tales for tonight." You yawned and settled into bed, as you and Steve always shared the room, pulling the covers snugly around you.

"Fine by me," Steve replied with a wink. "But I'll be dreaming of giant snakes and ancient mysteries."

Chuckling, you wished him goodnight, "Sleep well, my fellow adventurer."

"Likewise, Bug," Steve quipped, using the nickname he'd coined after discovering your fascination with scarab beetles.

That night, as you drifted into slumber, your mind ventured into a vivid dreamworld. In this dream, a mysterious figure immersed himself in the gentle embrace of a flowing river. His presence was enigmatic, veiled behind a striking jackal mask. Crafted with meticulous care, the mask enshrouded half of his face, its golden accents gleaming softly in the moonlight. Intricate designs adorned the mask's eyes, snout, ears, and forehead, adding an air of ancient mystique to his visage. A sheer black veil trailed from the back of the mask, dancing gently in the breeze like a wisp of shadow.

Beneath the mask, strands of dark, lustrous hair cascaded in luxurious waves, framing his strong and tattooed shoulders. Each curl seemed to sway rhythmically with the rhythm of the river, lending an ethereal quality to his presence. With a graceful movement, one of his hands rose to the mask's snout, lifting it ever so delicately, as if revealing a hidden truth or unveiling a long-guarded secret...

Suddenly, the tranquility of the dream was shattered by the intrusive blare of your alarm clock, jolting you awake from your reverie.

"If you don't shut that thing off, I swear I'll strangle myself with the sheets," Steve grumbled from his bed, buried under the covers.

As you turned off the blaring alarm, you couldn't help but chuckle at Steve's grumpy response from beneath the covers. "I promise I won't let it kill you," you teased, making your way to the bathroom.

The bathroom was a luxurious retreat within the hotel room, with its two rectangular marble sinks, each featuring intricately designed golden faucets that gleamed in the soft morning light filtering through the window. The faucets, elegantly curved like the necks of swans, seemed to add a touch of regality to the space.

Above each sink, a large and ornate mirror hung, its delicate frame adding a sense of refinement to the room. Below the mirrors, a spacious marble countertop provided ample space for toiletries, with neatly arranged towels and bath essentials adding to the sense of organization and luxury.

Taking a moment to appreciate the serene ambiance of the bathroom, you leaned against the sink, feeling the cool marble beneath your palms. Another day of adventure awaited, but for now, you allowed yourself to bask in the tranquility of the morning.

You brushed your teeth and then stripped down, making your way to the opposite side of the bathroom where a deep cobalt blue bathtub awaited you. The bathtub was a luxurious indulgence, its smooth curves and inviting depths promising relaxation and rejuvenation.

With a contented sigh, you stepped into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the tension of the night's sleep slowly melt away. As you submerged yourself, the scent of lavender-infused bath salts filled the air, soothing your senses and easing your mind.

The water cascaded over your skin in a gentle caress, washing away the remnants of sleep and leaving you feeling refreshed and invigorated. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in the moment, savoring the sensation of warmth and comfort enveloping you.

For a few precious moments, the world outside faded away, leaving only the soothing embrace of the bathtub and the soft hum of the hotel's air conditioning.

You emerged from the bath feeling refreshed, the scent of lavender-scented bath salts still lingering in the air. As you reached for one of the luxurious, embroidered robes hanging neatly by the sink, a sudden rap at the door interrupted your tranquil moment. "Bug, if you don't get out that bathroom in the next five seconds, I swear I'll pee on the carpet," your roommate's voice echoed through the door, tinged with urgency and a hint of desperation.

With a soft chuckle, you wrapped yourself in the plush robe, relishing its warmth against your skin, and called out, "Hold your horses, Steve, I'm on my way!" The fabric billowed around you as you strode to the door, feeling refreshed and ready to face the day's adventures.

Steve entered the bathroom for his morning routine, giving you the chance to get dressed. You opted for terracotta-colored khaki pants with a stylish double fold at the ankles, paired with a crisp white short-sleeved button-up shirt. Completing the ensemble, you adorned yourself with a brown fedora, a leather harness secured around your waist to hold brushes and a small dagger, plenty of sunscreen, and most importantly, your protective amulet.

The pendant bestowed upon you by your parents at the age of ten holds profound significance. At its center, an intricate piece of obsidian depicts the head of Anubis, the god of the underworld. Emerging from each side of Anubis's head, two stylized wings extend towards the sides of the necklace. Just below Anubis's head, rests a symbol of the Eye of Horus, carved into a blue stone. According to your parents, this necklace symbolizes spiritual protection and divine insight, serving as a constant reminder of their love and guardianship even in the face of the unknown.

With a deep breath to dispel any lingering thoughts, you fastened the golden necklace around your neck, ready to face the challenges of the day ahead.

As you and Steve descended to the lobby, your footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floors, a formidable figure stood in wait. Clad in an all-black uniform, impeccably tailored and adorned with sleek golden accents, he exuded an air of authority that commanded attention. His cap, adorned with a subtle golden insignia, sat atop his head with a dignified tilt. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, seemed to pierce through the bustling lobby, fixing upon you and Steve with an intensity that hinted at the gravity of the task ahead.

As you approached the man, Steve headed to the reception desk, leaving you to initiate the conversation. The Colonel greeted you with a nod of his head, his demeanor exuding a sense of formality and professionalism.

"Miss..." He acknowledged you with a slight bow of his head, his tone respectful.

"You must be Colonel Duncan Smith," you extended your hand towards him, and he clasped it firmly in his own. "I'm the archaeologist who enlisted your services."

"Ah, Thothmes has spoken highly of you," he responded warmly. Duncan was a man nearing his forties, towering and muscular, exuding an aura of strength and authority. His physique spoke of years of discipline and dedication to his craft. A striking feature was his fiery blond-red mustache, complementing his jet-black hair with hints of gray, swept back in a manner that exuded confidence. His piercing green eyes held a depth that hinted at both wisdom and experience, observing the world with a keen intellect and unwavering determination.

"I hope only good things," you chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension.

"The very best," he affirmed with a reassuring smile.

"Everything's set, can we go?" Steve inquired upon his return.

"The car is waiting for you both. I sent the rest of the team ahead to set up camp," Duncan informed. "I wanted to make sure personally that you would arrive safely," he added, extending his hand. "Colonel Duncan Smith."

Steve shook his hand and introduced himself, "Steve Harrington, Egyptologist."

"Shall we?" Smith gestured towards the exit, indicating it was time to depart.

In the car, Colonel Smith decided to address the curiosity that had been gnawing at him since the previous day.

"Sorry to intrude, Miss," he began, and you looked at him as if urging him to continue. "But is your last name by any chance Fagan?" he asked, curiosity evident in his expression.

"Yes, that was my father's last name. He was also an archaeologist," you replied, a fond smile touching your lips as you remembered your beloved father. But soon, concern crept in as you noticed the expression on Duncan's face. "Why do you ask?"

He looked at you with an inscrutable gaze.

"Thothmes didn't tell you," he stated rather than asked. "Didn’t tell what?" Steve interjected on your behalf.

Nothing could have prepared you for what was to come.

"Your parents died before they could excavate in that desert, in the same location we are heading to," Colonel Smith revealed. Both men looked at you, noticing your stunned expression.

A flood of emotions surged within you as Colonel Smith's words sank in. All you knew was that your parents had died in an accident before an excavation. There had been an explosion caused by one of the newcomers, which tragically claimed the lives of the entire team. Some speculated it was a premeditated homicide.

With a heavy heart, yet resolute, you spoke with confidence, ""I will honor the sacred legacy of my parents and achieve what they could only dream of.”

Duncan and Steve exchanged discreet smiles, recognizing the courage and determination in your gaze.

As the car pressed on along the road toward the unknown, the landscape shifted around you, the desert stretching out in all directions like an endless sea of sand and mystery. Duncan, observing you from the rearview mirror, made a silent vow to himself to protect you at all costs, even if it meant risking his own life. In that moment, the weight of responsibility mingled with the enigma of the desert, creating an atmosphere charged with emotions and anticipation for what lay ahead.

With each passing mile, the sun cast long shadows across the dunes, painting the sky with hues of white and blue. The air was thick with a sense of adventure and apprehension, each breath carrying the promise of discovery and danger. And amidst it all, you sat, a beacon of determination amidst the vast expanse of sand, your resolve unwavering in the face of the unknown.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @birdysaturne

[ladymarycrawley]

Love prints - John Stones

Request: Can you please write one based on this Tik Tok please…💕 (as requested by the lovely @johnstonesfc​)

Warning: just John be the sweetest Tiktoker (yep, I know this will never happen cause he’s a boomer lmao)

Tag list: @masonxomount​ @chelsealover​ @stonesyy​

Decorating your new house was a task you were really looking forward to: creating boards on Pinterest to find the right inspiration that would match your sophisticated and quite demanding taste, wandering through the furniture shops, choosing the right colour to paint your walls with. All sounded so fun but putting it into practice was a whole different thing, much harder and stressful.

You found yourself huffing in annoyance while staring blankly at the wall before you. 

John told you you should've taken things slower, especially when it came to that spare room you had already in mind to use as the nursery room for yours and John's future child (since you weren't expecting your first baby yet you had all the time to decorate it in the best way your mind could think of), plus you could've stayed at his as long as you wanted, there was no need to rush. 

The fact was that you were eager to have your own space you could finally call home, not depending on any rent or anything, that was yours and yours only. That was your dream since always so you wanted it to be perfect (even more so since there was the possibility you and John could share that place for many years to come).  John couldn’t wait to start sharing that beautiful terrace house with you, already thinking about all the memories you would have made there but in the meanwhile he didn't want you to get too tired over something he could've easily done saving you a lot of time and effort but he knew you were stubborn. 

That day after training, as he had been doing every single day for a whole month now, your boyfriend joined you in your love nest. He had a clue he would have found you with the paint roller in your hand and the moment he entered the house and the smell of fresh paint tickled his nostrils, he knew he was right. 

"Y/N?"

"Upstairs!"

John left his duffle bag near the entrance, where your newest purchase, a beautiful glass and dark wooden table straight from the antiques market, was.

The sight of you sitting on the floor, dressed in a white old t-shirt splattered with paint, the result of your hard work, what was left of your bun as your locks were all over your face was enough to make John smile grow wider as his heart got fuller. 

You were still too absorbed in your hard choice whether to paint the room a light ivory, a cream or a pearl hue to acknowledge his presence.

"I didn’t know I got together with an house painter” 

You didn’t answer his joke as you kept your eyes focused on the colour palette in your hands, trying to see what would fit best. John’s eyes went from the cards with Pantone colours sprawled on the wooden tiles before you to your furrowed expression, drawing a smile on his lips. He got seated next to you, looking at the pastel shades that were causing you so much trouble, shifting then his glance to the four walls around you.

“What’s your doubt now?”

“I love all these three colours, which one should I choose?!” You whined, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“You could paint one wall each”

That joke earned him a glare from you, as he wasn’t taking your dilemma seriously enough. The Manchester City centre-back laughed, amused by your reaction which was highlighted by the adorable pout began forming on your face. “Seriously I don’t know why you’re putting so much effort in a spare room. You already have a guest room and it’s perfect!”

You got up, with your back turned to him and your hands on your hips in a posture that conveyed concentration but also thoughtfulness: how could you tell him you cared so much about that bloody room because it would have been your child’s one day?? The last thing you wanted was to upset him, stepping too far, but you knew you couldn’t go on avoiding that conversation much longer.

“Because…erm well... it could be useful for, I don’t know, our…child?”

“Child? Are you pregnant??”

“No! Well, not yet” You blushed, clearing your throat and looking out of the window.

His reaction, even though it wasn’t anything shocking, made you regret the confession you had just made. You wished you could disappear right there and then, feeling so ashamed you just let your heart open so fast and so abruptly but John’s simple words stopped your flow of thoughts: “Well, we’ll think about that when the moment comes” His lips curved in a sweet smile. That was what you needed to calm your racing heart that installed your overthinking. 

John left the wooden floor to reach for you, his taller frame standing in front of you. He slid his arms around your waist and leaned his forehead against yours.

“I think the cream one would be perfect for the baby room by the way” He uttered softly, before breaking the contact between you to press a kiss against your forehead.

A content sigh left your lips as you finally relaxed in his embrace, letting all the tension of the moment go.

“You’re working too much though. You need to relax”

“I’m fine. You’re the one who has to relax, after the intense training session you had”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m worried about you as the amount of time you’re spending here among furniture and cans of paint isn’t healthy”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk as he never missed the chance to mock you.

“Okay…what do you have in mind?”

John smirked back, a weird sparkle in his eyes you didn’t know how to interpret, as he was up to some mischief.

You stood there staring at him shifting closer to the cans of paint, dipping his hands inside the one with dark paint. Then he walked closer to you, everything under your questioning gaze.

“What are you doing with those?”

He stood behind you, raising his dark hands to your chest, covering your breast with his palms so his handprints were now printed on your t-shirt. The contact made you giggle, enjoying it and finding it also kind of funny. The way his hands would cup your breast always felt perfect, seeing it not only as a hot gesture (you couldn’t deny your nipples always got hard as soon as he touched your highly sensitive skin) but also as something calming, reassuring.

“Do you like it? Just letting my artistic streak live”

“Yes, you’re a talented artist and designer. Where did you get the idea?” 

“Was scrolling through Tik Tok and saw this video and I found it a cute thing to do”

"You? On Tik Tok?" Those little questions wanted to make fun of John for his poor social skills but were also dictated by a  genuine sense of surprise, as he always said he wasn’t interested in making or watching those silly videos.

"Yeah, me. I opened that stupid app, okay?" He smirked, his face was only inches away from yours, your noses brushing against one another.

“You’re the cutest” You dipped the tip of your forefinger in the white paint and stroked the tip of his nose with it before kissing him.

"You're not quite bad either" Without even realizing it, he dipped his hands in the dark paint again making you wince a little when you felt his flat palms against your bum, adorning not just your white top but your trousers too.

Even though you weren’t much active on social media either, you convinced John to record a Tik Tok of you two repeating the one that inspired your boyfriend. You took a clean t-shirt for you and John so you could do it all over again, him printing his hands over your body and you doing the same with his.

All the laughters that filled the house that afternoon must have been a good omen for your new life, in the hope you would have lived many more moments like that in the future…maybe with a toddler bouncing happily around the house.

After that busy afternoon of painting and recording you needed a good shower and a good take away for dinner and that's exactly what you opted for. While you were taking your shower, John ordered some (a lot, to be fair) chinese food for you to share, already knowing how would that dinner go: the left overs would surely be stored for the next day, complaining then about how good it was the day you eat it fresh and then reminding yourselves, in a grumble, about ordering less food the next time. It would always end like that but you loved it, you loved eating on the floor of your new home with him telling you about the crazy day he had, you whining because he stole some of your dumplings without even asking as you planned on doing the same with his spring rolls. The moment you looked into each other’s eyes, among fits of laughters, was the moment you knew everything was alright, that you two were alright.

That was the life you’ve always dreamed about with the right person you couldn’t wait to share the rest of your life with.

[promises-of-paradise]

Felix Yusupov on the murder of Rasputin

As I was alone in St. Petersburg, I was staying with my brothers-in-law at the Grand Duke Alexander's palace. On December 29, I spent most of the day preparing for my examinations which were to be held next day.* As soon as I had a free moment I went home to make the final arrangements. I intended to receive Rasputin in the flat which I was fitting up in the Moika** basement: arches divided it in two; the larger half was to be used as a dining room. From the other half, the staircase which I have already mentioned led to my rooms on the floor above. Halfway up was a door opening onto the courtyard. The larger room had a low, vaulted ceiling and was lighted by two small windows which were on a level with the ground and looked out on the Moika. The walls were of grey stone, the flooring of granite. To avoid arousing Rasputin's suspicions - for he might have been surprised at being received in a bare cellar - it was indispensable that the room should be furnished and appear to be lived in. When I arrived, I found workmen busy laying down carpets and putting up curtains. Three large red Chinese porcelain vases had already been placed in niches hollowed out of the walls. Various objects which I had selected were being carried in: carved wooden chairs of oak, small tables covered with ancient embroideries, ivory bowls, and a quantity of other curios. I can picture the room to this day in all its details, and I have good reason to remember a certain cabinet of inlaid ebony which was a mass of little mirrors, tiny bronze columns and secret drawers. On it stood a crucifix of rock crystal and silver, a beautiful specimen of sixteenth-century Italian workmanship. On the great red granite mantelpiece were placed golden bowls, antique majolica plates and a sculptured ivory group. A large Persian carpet covered the floor and, in a corner, in front of the ebony cabinet, lay a white bearskin rug. In the middle of the room stood the table at which Rasputin was to drink his last cup of tea.

My two servants, Grigori and Ivan, helped me to arrange the furniture. I asked them to prepare tea for six, to buy biscuits and cakes and to bring wine from the cellar. I told them that I was expecting some friends at eleven that evening, and that they could wait in the servants' hall until I rang for them. When everything was settled I went up to my room where Colonel Vogel, my crammer, was waiting to coach me for the last time before my exams. The lesson was over by six o'clock; before going back to dine with my brothers-in-law, I went into the church of Our Lady of Kazan. Deep in prayer, I lost all sense of time. When I left the cathedral after what seemed to me but a few moments, I was astonished to find I had been there almost two hours. I had a strange feeling of lightness, of well-being, almost of happiness... I hurried to my father-in-law's palace where I had a light dinner before returning to the Moika. By eleven o'clock everything was ready in the basement. Comfortably furnished and well-lighted, this underground room had lost its grim look. On the table the samovar smoked, surrounded by plates filled with the cakes and dainties that Rasputin liked so much. An array of bottles and glasses stood on a sideboard. Ancient lanterns of coloured glass lighted the room from the ceiling; the heavy red damask portieres were lowered. On the granite hearth, a log fire crackled and scattered sparks on the flagstones. One felt isolated from the rest of the world and it seemed as though, no matter what happened, the events of that night would remain forever buried in the silence of those thick walls.

The bell rang, announcing the arrival of Dmitri and my other friends. I showed them into the dining room and they stood for a little while, silently examining the spot where Rasputin was to meet his end. I took from the ebony cabinet a box containing the poison and laid it on the table. Dr. Lazovert put on rubber gloves and ground the cyanide of potassium crystals to powder. Then, lifting the top of each cake, be sprinkled the inside with a dose of poison which, according to him, was sufficient to kill several men instantly. There was an impressive silence. We all followed the doctor's movements with emotion. There remained the glasses into which cyanide was to be poured. It was decided to do this at the last moment so that the poison should not evaporate and lose its potency. We had to give the impression of having just finished supper - for I had warned Rasputin that when we had guests we took our meals in the basement and that I sometimes stayed there alone to read or work while my friends went upstairs to smoke in my study. So we disarranged the table, pushed the chairs back, and poured tea into the cups. It was agreed that when I went to fetch the starets, Dmitri, Purishkevich and Sukhotin would go upstairs and play the gramophone, choosing lively tunes. I wanted to keep Rasputin in a good humor and remove any distrust that might be lurking in his mind.

When everything was ready, I put on an overcoat and drew a fur cap over my ears, completely concealing my face. Doctor Lazovert, in a chauffeur's uniform, started up the engine and we got into the car which was waiting in the courtyard by the side entrance. On reaching Rasputin's house, I had to parley with the janitor before he agreed to let me in. In accordance with Rasputin's instructions, I went up the back staircase; I had to grope my way up in the dark, and only with the greatest difficulty found the starets' door. I rang the bell. "Who's that?" called a voice from inside. I began to tremble. "It's I, Grigori Yefimovitch. I've come for you. I could hear Rasputin moving about the hall. The chain was unfastened, the heavy lock grated. I felt very ill at ease. He opened the door and I went into the kitchen. It was dark. I imagined that someone was spying on me from the next room. Instinctively, I turned up my collar and pulled my cap down over my eyes. "Why are you trying to hide?" asked Rasputin. "Didn't we agree that no one was to know you were going out with me tonight?" "True, true; I haven't said a word about it to anyone in the house, I've even sent away all the tainiks.(* Members of the secret police.) I'll go and dress." I accompanied him to his bedroom; it was lighted only by the little lamp burning before the icons. Rasputin lit a candle; I noticed that his bed was crumpled. He had probably been resting. Near the bed were his overcoat and beaver cap, and his high feltlined galoshes. Rasputin wore a silk blouse embroidered in cornflowers, with a thick raspberry-colored cord as a belt. His velvet breeches and highly polished boots seemed brand-new; he had brushed his hair and carefully combed his beard. As be came close to me, I smelled a strong odor of cheap soap which indicated that he had taken pains with his appearance. I had never seen him look so clean and tidy. "Well, Grigori Yefimovich, it's time to go; it's past midnight." "What about the gypsies? Shall we pay them a visit?" "I don't know; perhaps," I answered. "There will be no one at your house but us tonight?" be asked, with a note of anxiety in his voice. I reassured him by saying that he would meet no one that he might not care to see, and that my mother was in the Crimea. "I don't like your mother. I know she hates me; she's a friend of [Grand Duchess] Elisabeth's. Both of them plot against me and spread slander about me too. The Tsarina herself has often told me that they were my worst enemies. Why, no earlier than this evening, Protopopov came to see me and made me swear not to go out for a few days. 'They'll kill you,' he declared. 'Your enemies are bent on mischief!' But they'd just be wasting time and trouble; they won't succeed, they are not powerful enough ... But that's enough, come on, let's go..." I picked up the overcoat and helped him on with it. Suddenly, a feeling of great pity for the man swept over me. I was ashamed of the despicable deceit, the horrible trickery to which I was obliged to resort. At that moment I was filled with self-contempt, and wondered how I could even have thought of such a cowardly crime. I could not understand how I had brought myself to decide on it. I looked at my victim with dread, as he stood before me, quiet and trusting. What had become of his second sight? What good did his gift of foretelling the future do him? Of what use was his faculty for reading the thoughts of others, if he was blind to the dreadful trap that was laid for him? It seemed as though fate had clouded his mind... to allow justice to deal with him according to his desserts... But suddenly, in a lightning flash of memory, I seemed to recall every stage of Rasputin's infamous life. My qualms of conscience disappeared, making room for a firm determination to complete my task. We walked to the dark landing, and Rasputin closed the door behind him.

Once more I heard the grating of the lock echoing down the staircase; we were in pitch-black darkness. I felt fingers roughly clutching at my hand. "I will show you the way," said the starets dragging me down the stairs. His grip hurt me, I felt like crying out and breaking away, but a sort of numbness came over me. I don't remember what he said to me, or whether I answered him; my one thought was to be out of the dark house as quickly as possible, to get back to the light, and to free myself from that hateful clutch. As soon as we were outside, my fears vanished and I recovered my self-control. We entered the car and drove off. I looked behind us to see whether the police were following; but there was no one, the streets were deserted. We drove a roundabout way to the Moika, entered the courtyard and, once more, the car drew up at the side entrance.

As we entered the house, I could hear my friends talking while the gramophone played "Yankee Doodle went to town." "What's all this?" asked Rasputin. "Is someone giving a party here?" "No, just my wife entertaining a few friends; they'll be going soon. Meanwhile, let's have a cup of tea in the dining room." We went down to the basement. As soon as Rasputin entered the room, he took off his overcoat and began inspecting the furniture with great interest. He was particularly fascinated by the little ebony cabinet, and took a childlike pleasure in opening and shutting the drawers, exploring it inside and out. Then, at the fateful moment, I made a last attempt to persuade him to leave St. Petersburg. His refusal sealed his fate. I offered him wine and tea; to my great disappointment, he refused both. Had something made him suspicious? I was determined, come what may, that he should not leave the house alive. We sat down at the table and began to talk. We reviewed our mutual acquaintances, not forgetting Anna Vyrubova and, naturally, touched on Tsarskoe-Selo. "Grigori Yefimovitch," I asked, "why did Protopopov come to see you? Is he still afraid of a conspiracy?" "Why yes, my dear boy, he is; it seems that my plain speaking annoys a lot of people. The aristocrats can't get used to the idea that a humble peasant should be welcome at the Imperial Palace. ...They are consumed with envy and fury... but I'm not afraid of them. They can't do anything to me. I'm protected against ill fortune. There have been several attempts on my life but the Lord has always frustrated these plots. Disaster will come to anyone who lifts a finger against me." Rasputin's words echoed ominously through the very room in which he was to die, but nothing could deter me now. While he talked, my one idea was to make him drink some wine and eat the cakes.

After exhausting his customary topics of conversion, Rasputin asked for some tea. I immediately poured out a cup and handed him a plate of biscuits. Why was it that I offered him the only biscuits that were not poisoned? I even hesitated before handing him the cakes sprinkled with cyanide. He refused them at first: "I don't want any, they're too sweet." At last, however, he took one, then another... I watched him, horror-stricken. The poison should have acted immediately but, to my amazement, Rasputin went on talking quite calmly. I then suggested that he should sample our Crimean wines. He once more refused. Time was passing, I was becoming nervous; in spite of his refusal, I filled two glasses. But, as in the case of the biscuits - and just as inexplicably - I again avoided using a glass containing cyanide. Rasputin changed his mind and accepted the wine I handed him. He drank it with enjoyment, found it to his taste and asked whether we made a great deal of wine in the Crimea. He seemed surprised to hear that we had cellars full of it. "Pour me out some Madeira," he said. This time I wanted to give it to him in a glass containing cyanide, but he protested: "I'll have it in the same glass." "You can't, Grigori Yefimovich," I replied. "You can't mix two kinds of wines." "It doesn't matter, I'll use the same glass, I tell you." I had to give in without pressing the point, but I managed, as if by mistake, to drop the glass from which he had drunk, and immediately poured the Madeira into a glass containing cyanide. Rasputin did not say anything. I stood watching him drink, expecting any moment to see him collapse. But he continued slowly to sip his wine like a connoisseur. His face did not change, only from time to time be put his hand to his throat as though he had some difficulty in swallowing. He rose and took a few steps. When I asked him what was the matter, he answered: "Why, nothing, just a tickling in my throat. " "The Madeira's good," he remarked; "give me some more." Meanwhile, the poison continued to have no effect, and the starets went on walking calmly about the room. I picked up another glass containing cyanide, filled it with wine and handed it to Rasputin. He drank it as he had the others, and still with no result.

There remained only one poisoned glass on the tray. Then, as I was feeling desperate, and must try to make him do as I did, I began drinking myself. A silence fell upon us as we sat facing each other, He looked at me; there was a malicious expression in his eyes, as if to say: "Now, see, you're wasting your time, you can't do anything to me." Suddenly his expression changed to one of fierce anger; I had never seen him look so terrifying. He fixed his fiendish eyes on me, and at that moment I was filled with such hatred that I wanted to leap at him and strangle him with my bare hands. The silence became ominous. I had the feeling that he knew why I had brought him to my house, and what I had set out to do. We seemed to be engaged in a strange and terrible struggle. Another moment and I would have been beaten, annihilated. Under Rasputin's heavy gaze, I felt all my self-possession leaving me; an indescribable numbness came over me, my head swam...

When I came to myself, he was still seated in the same place, his head in his hands. I could not see his eyes. I had got back my self-control, and offered him another cup of tea. "Pour me a cup," he said in a muffled voice, "I'm very thirsty." He raised his head, his eyes were dull and I thought he avoided looking at me. While I poured the tea, he rose and began walking up and down. Catching sight of my guitar which I had left on a chair, be said: "Play something cheerful, I like listening to your singing." I found it difficult to sing anything at such a moment, especially anything cheerful. "I really don't feel up to it," I said. However, I took the guitar and sang a sad Russian ditty. He sat down and at first listened attentively; then his head drooped and his eyes closed. I thought he was dozing. When I finished the song, he opened his eyes and looked gloomily at me: "Sing another. I'm very fond of this kind of music and you put so much soul into it." I sang once more but I did not recognize my own voice. Time went by; the clock said two-thirty... the nightmare had lasted two interminable hours. What would happen, I thought, if I had lost my nerve? Upstairs my friends were evidently growing impatient, to judge by the racket they made. I was afraid that they might be unable to bear the suspense any longer and just come bursting in. Rasputin raised his head: "What's all that noise?" "Probably the guests leaving," I answered. "I'll go and see what's up." In my study, Dmitri, Purishkevich and Sukhotin rushed at me, and plied me with questions. "Well, have you done it? Is it over?" "The poison hasn't acted," I replied. They stared at me in amazement. "It's impossible!" cried the Grand Duke.

"But the dose was enormous! Did he take the whole lot?" asked the others. "Every bit," I answered. After a short discussion, we agreed to go down in a body, throw ourselves on Rasputin and strangle him. We were already on the way down, when I was brought to a halt by the fear that we would ruin the whole scheme by our precipitation: the sudden appearance of a lot of strangers would certainly arouse Rasputin's suspicions. And who could tell what such a diabolical person was capable of doing? I convinced my friends with great difficulty that it would be best for me to act alone. I took Dmitri's revolver and went back to the basement. Rasputin sat where I had left him; his head drooping and his breathing labored. I went up quietly and sat down by him, but he paid no attention to me. After a few minutes of horrible silence, he slowly lifted his head and turned vacant eyes in my direction. "Are you feeling ill?" I asked. "Yes, my head is heavy and I've a burning sensation in my stomach. Give me another little glass of wine. It'll do me good." I handed him some Madeira; he drank it at a gulp; it revived him and he recovered his spirits. I saw that he was himself again and that his brain was functioning quite normally. Suddenly he suggested that we should go to the gypsies together. I refused, giving the lateness of the hour as an excuse. "That doesn't matter," he said. "They're quite used to that; sometimes they wait up for me all night. I'm often detained at Tsarskoe Selo by important business, or simply to talk about God.... When this happens I drive straight to the gypsies in a car. The body, too, needs a rest... isn't it so? All our thoughts belong to God, they are His, but our bodies belong to ourselves: That's the way it is!" added Rasputin with a wink. I certainly did not expect to hear such talk from a man who had just swallowed an enormous dose of poison. I was particularly struck by the fact that Rasputin, who had a quite remarkable gift of intuition, should be so far from realizing that he was near death. How was it that his piercing eyes had not noticed that I was holding a revolver behind my back, ready to point it at him? I turned my head and saw the crystal crucifix. I rose to look at it more closely. "What are you staring at that crucifix for?" asked Rasputin. "I like it," I replied, "it's so beautiful." "It is indeed beautiful," he said. "It must have cost a lot. How much did you pay for it?" As he spoke, he took a few steps toward me and, without waiting for an answer, added: "For my part, I like the cabinet better." He went up to it, opened it and started to examine it again. "Grigori Yefimovich," I said, "you'd far better look at the crucifix and say a prayer."

Rasputin cast a surprised, almost frightened glance at me. I read in it an expression which I had never known him to have: it was at once gentle and submissive. He came quite close to me and looked me full in the face. It was as though he had at last read something in my eyes, something he had not expected to find. I realized that the hour had come. "O Lord," I prayed, "give me the strength to finish it." Rasputin stood before me motionless, his head bent and his eyes on the crucifix. I slowly raised the revolver. Where should I aim, at the temple or at the heart? A shudder swept over me; my arm grew rigid, I aimed at his heart and pulled the trigger. Rasputin gave a wild scream and crumpled up on the bearskin. For a moment I was appalled to discover how easy it was to kill a man. A flick of the finger and what had been a living, breathing man only a second before, now lay on the floor like a broken doll. On hearing the shot my friends rushed in, but in their frantic haste they brushed against the switch and turned out the light. Someone bumped into me and cried out; I stood motionless for fear of treading on the body. At last, someone turned the light on. Rasputin lay on his back. His features twitched in nervous spasms; his hands were clenched, his eyes closed. A bloodstain was spreading on his silk blouse. A few moments later all movement ceased. We bent over his body to examine it. The doctor declared that the bullet had struck him in the region of the heart. There was no possibility of doubt: Rasputin was dead. Dmitri and Purishkevich lifted him from the bearskin and laid him on the flagstones. We turned off the light and went up to my room, after locking the basement door.

Our hearts were full of hope, for we were convinced that what had just taken place would save Russia and the dynasty from ruin and dishonor. In accordance with our plan, Dmitri, Sukhotin and the Doctor were to pretend to take Rasputin back to his house, in case the secret police had followed us without our knowing it. Sukhotin was to pass himself off as the starets and, wearing Rasputin's overcoat and cap, would drive off in Purishkevich's open car along with Dmitri and the Doctor. They were to return to the Moika in the Grand Duke's closed car, after which they would take the body to Petrovsky Island. Purishkevich and I remained at the Moika. While we waited for our friends, we talked of the future of our country, now that it was freed once and for all from its evil genius. How could we foresee that those who ought to have seized this unique opportunity would not have the will, or the skill, to do so?

As we talked I was suddenly filled with a vague misgiving; an irresistible impulse forced me to go down to the basement. Rasputin lay exactly where we had left him. I felt his pulse: not a beat, he was dead. Scarcely knowing what I was doing I seized the corpse by the arms and shook it violently. It leaned to one side and fell back. I was just about to go, when I suddenly noticed an almost imperceptible quivering of his left eyelid. I bent over and watched him closely; slight tremors contracted his face. All of a sudden, I saw the left eye open... A few seconds later his right eyelid began to quiver, then opened. I then saw both eyes - the green eyes of a viper - staring at me with an expression of diabolical hatred. The blood ran cold in my veins. My muscles turned to stone. I wanted to run away, to call for help, but my legs refused to obey me and not a sound came from my throat. I stood rooted to the flagstones as if caught in the toils of a nightmare. Then a terrible thing happened: with a sudden violent effort Rasputin leapt to his feet, foaming at the mouth. A wild roar echoed through the vaulted rooms, and his hands convulsively thrashed the air. He rushed at me, trying to get at my throat, and sank his fingers into my shoulder like steel claws. His eyes were bursting from their sockets, blood oozed from his lips. And all the time he called me by name, in a low raucous voice. No words can express the horror I felt. I tried to free myself but was powerless in his vicelike grip. A ferocious struggle began.... This devil who was dying of poison, who had a bullet in his heart, must have been raised from the dead by the powers of evil. There was something appalling and monstrous in his diabolical refusal to die. I realized now who Rasputin really was. It was the reincarnation of Satan himself who held me in his clutches and would never let me go till my dying day. By a superhuman effort I succeeded in freeing myself from his grasp. He fell on his back, gasping horribly and still holding in his hand the epaulette he had torn from my tunic during our struggle. For a while he lay motionless on the floor. Then after a few seconds, he moved. I rushed upstairs and called Purishkevich, who was in my study. "Quick, quick, come down!" I cried. "He's still alive!"

At that moment, I heard a noise behind me; I seized the rubber club Maklakov had given me (he had said: "one never knows") and rushed downstairs, followed by Purishkevich, revolver in hand. We found Rasputin climbing the stairs. He was crawling on hands and knees, gasping and roaring like a wounded animal. He gave a desperate leap and managed to reach the secret door which led into the courtyard. Knowing that the door was locked, I waited on the landing above, grasping my rubber club. To my horror and amazement, I saw the door open and Rasputin disappear. Purishkevich sprang after him. Two shots echoed through the night. The idea that he might escape was intolerable! Rushing out of the house by the main entrance, I ran along the Moika to cut him off in case Purishkevich had missed him. The courtyard had three entrances, but only the middle one was unlocked. Through the iron railings, I could see Rasputin making straight for it. I heard a third shot, then a fourth... I saw Rasputin totter and fall beside a heap of snow, Purishkevich ran up to him, stood for a few seconds looking at the body, then, having made sure that this time all was over, went swiftly into the house. I called, but he did not hear me. The quay and the adjacent streets were deserted; apparently the shots had not been heard. When I had reassured myself on this point, I entered the courtyard and went up to the snow-heap behind which lay Rasputin. He gave no sign of life.

But, at that moment, I saw two of my servants running up from one side and a policeman from the other. I went up to the policeman and spoke to him; I stood so as to make him turn his back to the spot where Rasputin lay. "Your Highness," he said on recognizing me, "I heard revolver shots. What has happened?" "Nothing of any consequence," I replied, "just a little horseplay. I gave a small party this evening and one of my friends who had drunk a little too much amused himself by firing his revolver into the air. If anyone questions you, just say that everything's all right, and that there is no harm done!" As I spoke, I led him to the gate. I then returned to the corpse by which the two servants were standing. Rasputin's body still lay in a crumpled heap on the same spot, but his position had changed. My God, I thought, can he still be alive? I was terror-stricken at the bare thought that he might suddenly get up again. I ran toward the house, calling Purishkevich, who had disappeared indoors. I felt sick, and Rasputin's hollow voice calling my name still rang in my ears. Staggering to my dressing room, I drank a glass of water. At that moment Purishkevich entered the room: "Ah! there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!" he cried. My sight was blurred, I thought I was going to faint. Purishkevich helped me to my study. We had scarcely reached it when my manservant came to say that the policeman I had talked to a few moments before wished to see me again. The shots, it seems, had been heard from the police station, and my constable, whose beat it was, had been sent for to make a report on what had happened. As his version of the affair was considered unsatisfactory, the police insisted on fuller details. When the constable entered the room, Purishkevich addressed him in a loud voice: "Have you ever heard of Rasputin? The man who plotted to ruin our country, the Tsar and your brother-soldiers? The man who betrayed us to Germany, do you hear?" Not understanding what was expected of him, the policeman remained silent. "Do you know who I am?" continued Purishkevich. "I am Vladimir Mitrophanovich Purishkevich, member of the Duma. The shots you heard killed Rasputin. If you love your country and your Tsar, you'll keep your mouth shut." I listened with horror to this amazing statement, which came so unexpectedly that I had no chance to interrupt. Purishkevich was in such a state of excitement that he did not realize what he was saying. Finally, the policeman spoke: "You did right and I won't say a word unless I'm put on oath. I would then have to tell the truth as it would be a sin to lie." Purishkevich followed him out.

My manservant then informed me that Rasputin's body had been placed on the lower landing of the staircase. I felt very ill, my head swam and I could scarcely walk. I rose with difficulty, automatically picked up my rubber club, and left the study. As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Rasputin stretched out on the landing, blood flowing from his many wounds. It was a loathsome sight. Suddenly, everything went black, I felt the ground slipping from under my feet and I fell headlong down the stairs. Purishkevich and Ivan found me, a few minutes later, lying side by side with Rasputin; the murderer and his victim. I was unconscious and he and Ivan had to carry me to my bedroom. Meanwhile Dmitri, Sukhotin and Doctor Lazovert came back in a closed car to fetch Rasputin's body. When Purishkevich told them what had happened, they decided to let me rest and go off without me. They wrapped the corpse in a piece of heavy linen, shoved it into the car, and drove to Petrovsky Island. There, from the top of the bridge, they hurled it into the river. On regaining consciousness I felt as though I had just recovered from a serious illness. The air I breathed in so deeply seemed fresh, clean and pure, as after a storm. I seemed to come to life again.

With the help of my servant I washed up all traces of blood which might give us away. When everything was in order I walked out into the courtyard... I had to think of some story to explain the revolver shots. This is what I decided to say: one of my guests while considerably the worse for liquor had tried to shoot one of our watchdogs in the courtyard when he was leaving. I then sent for the two servants who had seen the end of the tragedy and explained what had really happened. They listened in silence and promised to keep my secret. It was almost five in the morning when I left the Moika to return to the Grand Duke Alexander's palace. I felt full of courage and confidence at the thought that the first steps to save Russia had been taken. I found my brother-in-law Fyodor in my room. He had spent a sleepless night, anxiously waiting for me to come back. "Thank God you are here at last," he said. "Well?" "Rasputin is dead," I replied, "but I'm not in a fit state to talk about it; I am dropping with fatigue." Realising that I would need all my strength on the morrow to face the cross-examinations, the investigations, and perhaps even worse, I went to bed and at once fell into a deep sleep.

*Felix Yusupov was undergoing military training at the Corps des Pages at the time of the murder.

**the Yusupov palace on the Moika canal.

source: Lost Splendour by Felix Yusupov, chapter 23

[destined-if]

OMG!! THE DRABBLE!! it's finally here!!! its really rushed and not very long (559 for ivy's, 560 for ian's). i wish i could make it the best quality i can due to the wait, but that'd be even more waiting time and i just don't wanna make you guys wait even longer!!

so... please accept this from my humble hands....

Ivy:

Dusk seeps into the air, painting ribbons of colors across the sky and glowing down onto the city below. The sun shines the earth in a divine golden hue as a kiss goodbye while the moon rises to take its place.

Although the time, the heat is still blistering, beating down on the people that litter the downtown streets. Kids play in the small puddles formed in the wedges between the road and sidewalk, teens lean on the side of walls, and adults walk out of stores, bags in hand.

Isla steps out from an antique jewelry store, one of her hands covering her pocket. She slips around people and eventually stands in front of a medium-sized, worn-down house. Its walls are stripped of most of its paint, and vines coil up and around it. The few windows are boarded up with planks of rotten wood.

She walks onto the cracked driveway up to the door and jumps when a voice speaks from beside her: "Ew, you're back?"

She relaxes when she processes the familiar voice, an easy smile pulling her lips up while she turns to face them. An ivory-skinned girl with jet-black hair sits crisscrossed on a rocking chair that squeaks each time she moves.

"Hi, Ivy," she greets, walking closer as she grabs something out of the pocket she was covering, "I got you somethin'." She holds it out in front of her. It's a black steel ring with tiny red gemstones that glisten in the setting sun.

"What the hell?" Ivy mutters, taking the item in. "How much was it?" She asks, snatching it from Isla's hands to observe it better. "Free. I stole it," she grins, her eyes crinkling.

"You didn't have to do that," Ivy reassures despite the fact she's slipping it onto her middle finger, which already has a simple black ring adorning it. "You're right, I didn't have to. I wanted to, though," Isla inclines forward, fingers landing on Ivy's shoulder. "Think of it as a birthday present."

She quickly shrugs the touch off before speaking, "It's not my birthday," she grumbles, turning her head to squint at her like she's stupid. She probably is in her mind, anyway.

"You don't know that. It could be," she shrugs. "Thank you," Ivy says lowly, her eyes moving back to the ring. Isla's grin widens, "What was that?" She questions, leaning forward dramatically.

"God, you're annoying," Ivy groans, pushing her back, "Last time I try to be nice to you," she adds with a roll of her eyes. "No, it's not," she hums. "Is everyone inside?"

"Yeah, and they're being loud," she huffs, leaning back on the chair, her gaze still wandering around on the ring. "Is that why you're out here?" Ivy nods, glancing up at her. "Do you want me to stay here with you?" Ivy's eyes soften at the question before she lifts her shoulders into a shrug. "I don't care what you do," she mutters. "But where would you sit? There's no more chairs."

Isla blinks at her, looking around incredulously, "…On the floor?" She replies. "No," Ivy shakes her head, already getting up, "Sit here."

"Aw, thanks," Isla runs her hand down Ivy's arm as she passes. "I knew you loved me." She's graciously given another eye-roll, "That's hope talkin', believe me when I say I don't."

"Liar."

Ian:

Dusk seeps into the air, painting ribbons of colors across the sky and glowing down onto the city below. The sun shines the earth in a divine golden hue as a kiss goodbye while the moon rises to take its place.

Although the time, the heat is still blistering, beating down on the people that litter the downtown streets. Kids play in the small puddles formed in the wedges between the road and sidewalk, teens lean on the side of walls, and adults walk out of stores, bags in hand.

Isla steps out from an antique jewelry store, one of her hands covering her pocket. She slips around people and eventually stands in front of a medium-sized, worn-down house. Its walls are stripped of most of its paint, and vines coil up and around it. The few windows are boarded up with planks of rotten wood.

She walks onto the cracked driveway up to the door and jumps when a voice speaks from beside her: "Ew, you're back?"

She relaxes when she processes the familiar voice, an easy smile pulling her lips up while she turns to face them. An ivory-skinned boy with jet-black hair sits on a rocking chair that squeaks every time he moves.

"Hi, Ian," she greets, walking closer as she grabs something out of the pocket she was covering, "I got you somethin'." She holds it out in front of him. It's a black steel ring with tiny red gemstones that glisten in the setting sun.

"What the hell?" Ian mutters, taking the item in. "How much was it?" He asks, snatching it from Isla's hands to observe it better. "Free. I stole it," she grins, her eyes crinkling.

"You didn't have to do that," Ian reassures despite the fact he's slipping it onto his middle finger, which already has a simple black ring adorning it. "You're right, I didn't have to. I wanted to, though," Isla inclines forward, fingers landing on Ian's shoulder. "Think of it as a birthday present."

He quickly shrugs the touch off before speaking, "It's not my birthday," he grumbles, turning his head to squint at her like she's stupid. She probably is in his mind, anyway.

"You don't know that. It could be," she shrugs. "Thank you," Ian says lowly, his eyes moving back to the ring. Isla's grin widens. "What was that?" She questions, leaning forward dramatically.

"God, you're annoying," Ian groans, pushing her back, "Last time I try to be nice to you," he adds with a roll of his eyes. "No, it's not," she hums. "Is everyone inside?"

"Yeah, and they're being loud," he huffs, leaning back on the chair, his gaze still wandering around on the ring. "Is that why you're out here?" Ian nods, glancing up at her. "Do you want me to stay here with you?" Ian's eyes soften at the question before he lifts his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug. "I don't care what you do," he mutters. "But where would you sit? There's no more chairs." Isla blinks at him, looking around incredulously. "…On the floor?" She replies. "No," Ian shakes his head, already getting up, "Sit here."

"Aw, thanks," Isla runs her hand down Ian's arm as she passes by. "I knew you loved me." She's graciously given another eye-roll, "That's hope talkin', believe me when I say I don't."

"Liar."

[therealityhelix]

Shards of the Nexus: Koi no Yokan

Helix has one weakness. And also another.

Song: Tell Me Baby-RHCP

@cardwrecks​ @captainbaddecisions​

The energy of this place! Electricity in every inch, flowing, buzzing leylines of enslaved lightning, the movement of lights a rainbow in darkness. People in masses, composite organisms, breathing, pulsing in time with the music, a thudding memory of ancestors heartbeats. The building respired, air in constant movement, the throats in the walls struggling to overcome the lungs of the people. The building lived, and the energy filled her up, vibrant antiquity, the ancient ritual of music and dance.

A little too much, actually.

The bouncers didn't know she was here, though she stood out in sartorial anachronism, rockabilly flair in a sea of candy acid vogue. She had entered through a door of a different kind, and the night life had hit her like a sonic brick.

YJ had spoken so highly...she had to find someplace away for a moment, away from the sound, the resonance thrumming in her bones, the weakness, the nemesis. YJ wouldn't have known that 'club' meant something different to her, alcohol and smoke, billiards and leather backed chairs, high bred men challenging themselves and each other, wasn't that what a Riddler was? YJ and Arkham, Puzzles and the Detective, she'd grown to expect predatory quiet in the homes and presences of the viridian men. Not safety, and not silence exactly, but not these auditory attacks.

There were side rooms to disappear into, before noise overcame her, three people exiting one. They didn't see her, though she slipped in so close behind them as to brush skirts. With walls between her and the pumping symphonic tide, she could reinforce herself before facing that battlefield once more.

A breath. Two breaths. She was substantial. She was concrete. She would not have her atoms stripped away by stepping back out into that solar wind of sound. She had come here to meet someone.

There was a man.

Watermelon stripes. Grape soda. Tinted sunglasses indoors. Summer, this man was Summer.

A trickle of gold flowed down his throat, terminated in an inquiry. The symbol, the sigil, the sign!

He regarded her with the same amused curiosity that must be echoing in her own face, stood-to speak? To rebuke? To welcome? Who could know, who could know, so different this one, and the energy here, just beneath the floor, just behind the walls, it spiked as the dozen eyes on the ceiling focused on her, it spiked and it was her focus now, and he smiled-

Deep lapis inset ivory, brass filament in amber flesh, more precious for the flaws trapped within. Long sinuous lines, vines, emeralds and amethysts dripping from his shoulders, like all his kin. A greeting, a voice, irreverent velvet burnout, coumarin and black dammar flowing thick and sticky. And the magic! She could smell it here, he'd been touched by it like all the others, moulded and cracked by the whimsy of Gray beings alien even to her, deep down inside him, a festering bubo of plum wine and bitters.

“Hey there cutie, you all right?”

And she was solid again, fixed with a tack to the wall of the Here and Now. He gazed down at her, the lapis dusting her form, quiet blades picking her apart just as she had done to him. The others had all expressed that this one was different, but hadn't elaborated. Neon and alcohol, glitter and decadence, hedonism as a varnish, a temple of Dyonisian mystery. Not in a thousand worlds would she have expected Edward Nigma to be this.

It was delightful.

“I'm...fine. Yes. Mildly disoriented, nothing more.” It was true, she had returned to herself.

He leaned, casual, calculating against a couch. She was outside of arms reach, but not the legs, no. Nobody had mentioned danger in regards to him, but then, she hadn't been warned about Arkham either.

A rite of passage, a hazing for those who would dare. Survive the challenge of meeting the Patriarch.

She had.

“How bout'cha sit down? Room ain't reserved again tonight.”

She took a seat, took in the room. Couches, mismatched in a way that complemented, a little raised stage with a pillar in the center, power coating like bright honey...pole, it was a pole on the stage. Oh. Yes that explained the molasses thick energy that permeated the place. Certain things, ancient things, caused power to pool. Sex and death, music and dance, blood and light, all built up like layers of stone, ready to be mined by those who could. He sat on the edge of the stage, light sheen of sweat just barely discernible on his face.

“So...you a little lost? You needin' a place to rest until you sober up? I know the place has a reputation, but we do have rules here. If it's the hard stuff, well, you can lay down for a little while and I wont say nothin', but you don't come in here with it again. If you need help though, I can point you in the right direction.”

“You're Swag.” she said.

“And you're not high...are you? So who wants to know?”

“Helix.”

A spark, a star in the lapis. Recognition.

“Hey girl, I was wondering when you were gonna show up! I was beginning to feel left out.”

“You know of me?” But why wouldn't they talk? Family was meant to communicate.

“Heard a thing or two. A pesterer of Puzzles, a wyrdling to YJ, an...adversary of Arkham? Nah.” he shook his head, a sardonic grin. “Nah, you don't wanna be that. But yeah. There have been a few words said about you. Mostly 'How the hell did she get in here?' So. How the hell did you get in here?”

“I walked.” she said, and his look was a gentle abrasion. “I...walked. The membranes between worlds open in multiversal osmosis, and I walk. I'm...sorry. Loud noises...fray me. It's hard to think. The energy is overstimulating.”

“Take your time.”

She did. Eventually the strumming on her synapses ceased, the threads of reality cementing.

An offering of water. She hadn't noticed that he had left. That was...odd. How could anybody lose track of this man? She drained the cup.

“So you walked here. Care to say where from? It's kinda a long way from Detective's neck of the woods to here. Figuratively and literally.”

Where did he fall on the pendulum swing? Yj closer to Detective, Puzzles closer to Arkham...Center ground? So many people reveling beyond the door, relishing life. No traps here. No riddles. Questions, not riddles.

“I walk, figuratively and literally. Meeting the Detective was a happy accident. I come from further than that. You're Aware? Of the multiplicity of self? The mitosis of the multiverse?”

He nodded slowly.

“Became aware a li'l while ago. Prolly about the same time Arkham and Detective became aware of each other. I...assume this is unusual, since there's nothing in history mentioning...huh, I wonder if that's where the legends of doppelgangers come from...”

“Maybe.” Oh, he was as quick as his soul-kin, scalpel sharp in cotton gauze. But he had the respect of Matriarch and Patriarch alike, how could anything else be expected?

“It may be a new development. I haven't seen its like before. It's so easy to move here, in this Nexus. Even you native souls can move back and forth, if you know the places.”

“And you're not? Native to the...Nexus?”

“I'm from further away.”

The seed of doubt spread cotyledons in his face. It was worse than not being understood. Being disbelieved.

“I'm from Earth.” she pressed further. “Just not this one, nor any other within this tangle. From further out.”

“I was bouta ask why you sounded like you came from Central City if you really were from 'outside', but...just from a far away Earth, huh? How far does it go?”

“Long way. Couldn't ever explore them all. More and more different, the further one goes. I'm from very far away.”

He clicked his tongue, accepting her words, if maybe not her meaning.

“Ehhh, what can I say? I know a woman who is half plant. There's an alien in upstate New York. I've met six separate me's. Things can always get weirder.”

It was an acceptable concession. He continued to watch her. She supposed it hadn't been the most stunning first impression, showing her weakness like this, but it was better than it had been with Puzzles.

Come to think of it, she had seen this man before, a terrified satellite at Puzzles funeral. In the focus on that hideous rebirth, she'd barely noticed, but there had been another fellow with him, and a ring on his hand, but both were conspicuous in their current absence.

'Nothing lasts forever' was a truth she'd had to grapple with far too often, a platitude useless until after the loss had occurred. She sympathized, for whatever that was worth.

She might have gone quiet for too long, because he reached out as if to steady her, pulling back before actually touching. She caught a whiff of pine heavy cologne, margarita lime mix.

“You're sure, you're all right? You need someplace quieter?”

“I'm fine, really. So this place is yours. Your business?” It seemed strange for a Riddler, but this was a strange Riddler. One who hadn't yet so eagerly tried to show off, or challenge, or prove his own intellect. Even friendly YJ, even the gentle Detective, all had tried to demonstrate something of their mental prowess within mere minutes of meeting her.

“Yep. All above board too. I went straight a while ago. Well, as straight as someone like me can go.” He said with a cheeky wink.

Ridiculous. She couldn't help but to smile back.

“The others said you were different.”

He snorted in laughter.

“I'll just bet they did! How many times did the term 'degenerate freak' show up?”

She tilted her head. Self-depreciation dribbled from his sunken eyes. It fit him poorly.

“Not once. Do you not know that you're loved?”

The surprise, the consternation lasted a Planck length, then disappeared back into easeful allure. But he was watching her now, really watching with that languid, snakelike regard they all shared.

“Well.” he said. “Do you?”

The biomachine moving in uncharted ways. Multiversal syzygy. Swirling islimi progression entwining with centrifugal tessellation. There was something to be built here.

“There is no one left who can. But maybe I'm talking too much. Saying without thinking.”

“No, no.” he leaned forward, weathered smile, shining satin teeth. “Keep talking.”

artist: me

artist: verticalthoughts(deactivated)

Artist: @cardwrecks​

[fridaythe13ththeseries]

Reflecting - Chapter One

Reflecting - Chapter One

The room filled with the bright light as it did every morning. Catherine stirred, not wanting to face yet another day here, in this room, in this place. Eventually, she threw back the white comforter and white sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Sitting gently, she looked down at her white, lace nightgown. Not her choice, but nothing here was her choice. Sliding her feet into the white slippers on the floor, she stood and looked at the ivory clock on the painted white mantel over the fireplace. Early, as usual. But it didn’t matter. Time stood still here.

Slowly walking to the long window, framed with white linen curtains, she tried once more to see the outside world. Only a blinding whiteness lay beyond the glass. Daytime was complete white, nighttime endless black. Always the same, always the same.

She pulled the white curtains closed over the window as if to block out the white beyond and turned away. Her eyes slowly scanned the room, as she had done a thousand times before. An ornate and old bed, painted white and dressed in white. A chair, upholstered in white. A white table, with a white lamp. The mantel was white, a bookcase was white, the floor, the ceiling, the walls: all white, white, white.

Only four things in the room broke the endless emptiness the monochromatic color scheme offered. One were the words in the novels on the bookcase. While the books themselves where bound in white, with white pages, the words were black. She could, at least, read.

Second, the flames in the fireplace danced in a white painted wood frame around just as white bricks. Strange white logs sat inside, but the flames were bright colors: orange, yellow, red. The colors were welcome here, as was the heat, but they did nothing to alleviate the desolation and loneliness she felt.

Third, she still had her fair complexion and soft, auburn hair. She would look at her hand sometimes for hours, savoring the break from utter whiteness and wondering how long it would be before she too faded away.

At night, it was the opposite. Blackness filled every space until all she could see was the fire. The room would then seem endless, a void where nothing mattered. She had nightmares of disappearing into the darkness, of losing herself and never finding her way back.

But then morning would come again, and the brightness would fill the darkness once more. Two opposites that both left her feeling empty, alone, scared.

She walked away from the mantle and toward the full size antique mirror that stood in the corner of the room, the fourth thing to have color. The mirror itself was painted white, the frame ornate and intricately carved, with strange faces of what she had at first thought were cherubs. Over time, she had seen the demonic visages for what they really were. More like gargoyles than cupids.

Gazing into the mirror, she didn’t see herself looking back. Instead, she saw him and the world of color beyond. She knew the man’s name was Rafael. She knew other things about him she wished she didn’t. She knew he was in the real world, the world of color and life, and that she was trapped here, in this strange, lonely copy.

He sat dressed in a black suit, on the bed that mirrored the one here, but with maroon and gold linens. On the opposite side of the looking glass in the antique frame, Rafael watched her and smiled at her, his crooked, sad smile. Then he stood and walked away, to the door in his room that was the one thing missing in her room. She had no exit, no escape.

Catherine watched him go out the door and shut it behind him. As he did, the room she saw reflected shimmered and vanished, the glass once more solid white. Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned away from the mirror. She was alone again. Nothing but the endless white, at least until the endless black replaced it.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Eikono (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- Koko by her friends and family

Age- 37 (immortal)

Location- Queenstown district, New Olympus

Personality- A quiet intellectual, she's a proud bookworm! She's also a great listener, patient, creative, & loyal. She's a lesbian and is in a relationship.

She has the standard abilities of a goddess. As the goddess of iconography & literature her other powers/abilities include teleportation (through books), melanokinesis (ink manipulation), papyrokinesis (paper manipulation), being able to telekinetically control bookshelves, calligraphy mastery, lexiconicy, storybook mimicry, and bibliokinesis (literary manipulation).

Her natural scent is that of freshly printed paper.

She's fluent in Old Greek, Latin, French, & Minoan.

Other members of her immediate family include her father Logos (god of stories). They have a great working & personal relationship. She's even an executive producer on her father's educational children's television show Metaxý ton Selídon. There's also her uncle Pseudologos (god of lies) who she's not close with as well as her cousin Dolos (god of deception & treachery) who's the father of Pheme (goddess of fame).

Eikono lives on the top floor of The Khrysóthronos Building, a luxury apartment building in the Queenstown neighborhood of New Olympus. The main wide window of the sitting room overlooks Eaglepoint Park. The interior design of her apartment is very chic & minimalist with colors of cream, ivory, lavender, and beige. Her personal library room is immaculately & meticulously organized. Several works of arts and sculptures are found throughout the place. She has a few pet cats & their names are Guinevere, Adelaide, Blair, Cosette, Eloise, and Vivienne. Eikono usually gets around the city by walking, public transportation, or riding her bike. Eikono holds the few remaining copies of books from the days of the Titanomachy very dear to her heart. The texts are in Old Greek & to maintain their pristine condition, she keeps them locked away in a cool safe. Eikono also has a collection of antique typewriters!

A common breakfast for her is a bowl of Earthly Harvest vanilla almond cereal with soy milk. She also likes whole wheat banana pancakes, zucchini hash browns, & various overnight oats (her personal favorite being the apple cinnamon).

There's always a book or two in her bag (if they can fit)!

Eikono was responsible for designing the flags of the respective realms. It was a cathartic moment when she watched the predecessor's flag (Titanius) burn to ashes. The flags of the realms are iconic in their own right! Olympius' flag is an eagle against a gold field holding an olive branch and lightning bolt in each of its talons. The flag of the Underwater realm is that of a hippocampus against a royal blue field with the royal crest in the background. The flag of the Underworld is that of a silver Cerberus against a black field while the flag of the Freshwater Territories is that of a leaping silver trout against a pastel blue field.

A go-to drink for her is homemade lemon infused water. She also likes ginger ale, lemon-lime soda, peppermint tea, white wine, soy milk, pineapple juice, & sugar cookie milkshakes from The Frozen Spoon. She also likes the cafe au lait, vanilla hazlenut latte, olympian sized flat whites, and small pear banana splashes from The Roasted Bean.

Though Eikono loves all formats of books, her personal preference are hardcovers, for aesthetic reasons.

She has a following on social media. On her PanopTube channel she posts videos of book reviews, author interviews, & book hauls. Her bookshelf tour video has four million views!

Eikono has quite a few jobs/businesses. She oversees the New Olympus Public Library downtown, has a publishing company (Inkdrop Press), bookstores (Pterýgio & Kýlisi), a book subscription box service (Page Turners), as well as being an acclaimed writer! She has written many books in a variety of genres geared towards children & adults. She also has an official website where she sells decorative bookmarks! For other means of income Eikono models for/endorses Threads of Wisdom, White Lily Gallery, and Olive Visibly.

She loves the roast chicken sandwich (on ciabatta bread) from The Bread Box.

A guilty pleasure for her are rainbow sushi rolls!

In the pantheon Eikono's good friends with Dimósia (goddess of debate), Litismós (goddess of culture), Pathos (god of emotion), Apheleia (goddess of simplicity), Neicus (god of debate & appeal), Mousika (goddess of studying & music), Favian (god of philosophy), Eusebeia (goddess of piety, loyalty, duty, & filial respect), Porus (god of resourcefulness), Aeschyne (goddess of modesty & honor), Penia (goddess of poverty), Pistis (goddess of trust, reliability, & good faith), Soteria (goddess of safety), Elpis (goddess of hope); her cousin's wife, Praxidike (goddess of judicial punishment), Nomos (god of laws), Mnemosyne (Titaness of memory & language), Ptocheia (goddess of beggary), Themis (Titaness of justice), Aletheia (goddess of truth), and Hestia (goddess of the hearth). She also admires the work of Athena (goddess of wisdom).

She hosts annual book drives on the steps of the library every year.

For her birthday her girlfriend got her the book stack shaped jeweled Diamond Ave. clutch.

She's currently in a relationship with Sophia (goddess of thought). It was said that Eikono was attracted to her brain before anything else. They've been dating for a few months & they both feel really comfortable with each other. She enjoys the many intellectual discussions they have and they way her heart flutters every time Sophia laughs. They sometimes spend the night at each other's place (Sophia is only a thirty minute cab ride away in the Little Athens neighborhood). They're currently planning a month long vacation to Olympia.

Her favorite desserts are the poppy seed cupcakes and kariokes from Hollyhock's Bakery.

She once donated two million drachmas to a small public school in Ithaca whose library was destroyed in a flash flood.

A couple of years ago at the Olympian Gala (there was no set theme), Eikono showed up in a custom made gown known as the "La Bibliotheque" dress. The dress had a full skirt, a mixture of leather & old paper, skillfully intertwined with tulle, rattan, and lace. The spines of old books were used to craft the corset- the complete process taking almost 250 hours! Her short light blonde hair was in a low tight chignon.

Her all time favorite meal is garlic ginger chicken with white rice. She's also a huge fan of Sophia's macaroni salad.

In her free time Eikono prefers reading to watching TV. She also loves working on her writing (while classical music is playing in the background). Outside she enjoys jogging, bike riding, going to museums, football (soccer), and horseback riding.

"Books are the mirrors to the soul."

[pokemonleagueofficial]

can you post a bedtime story I’m tired

The chair has been used since antiquity, although for many centuries it was a symbolic article of state and dignity rather than an article for ordinary use. "The chair" is still used as the emblem of authority in the House of Commons in Galar[6] and Canada,[7] and in many other settings. In keeping with this historical connotation of the "chair" as the symbol of authority, committees, boards of directors, and academic departments all have a 'chairman' or 'chair'.[8] Endowed professorships are referred to as chairs.[9] It was not until the 16th century that chairs became common.[10] Until then, people sat on chests, benches, and stools, which were the ordinary seats of everyday life. The number of chairs which have survived from an earlier date is exceedingly limited; most examples are of ecclesiastical, seigneurial or feudal origin.[citation needed]

Chairs were in existence since at least the Early Dynastic Period of Egypt (c. 3100 BC). They were covered with cloth or leather, were made of carved wood, and were much lower than today's chairs – chair seats were sometimes only 10 inches (25 cm) high.[11] In ancient Egypt, chairs appear to have been of great richness and splendor. Fashioned of ebony and ivory, or of carved and gilded wood, they were covered with costly materials, magnificent patterns and supported upon representations of the legs of Pokemon or the figures of captives. Generally speaking, the higher ranked an individual was, the taller and more sumptuous was the chair he sat on and the greater the honor. On state occasions, the pharaoh sat on a throne, often with a little footstool in front of it.[11]

The average Egyptian family seldom had chairs, and if they did, it was usually only the master of the household who sat on a chair. Among the better off, the chairs might be painted to look like the ornate inlaid and carved chairs of the rich, but the craftsmanship was usually poor.[11]

The earliest images of chairs in China are from 6th-century Buddhist murals and stele, but the practice of sitting in chairs at that time was rare. It was not until the 12th century that chairs became widespread in China. Scholars disagree on the reasons for the adoption of the chair. The most common theories are that the chair was an outgrowth of indigenous Chinese furniture, that it evolved from a camp stool imported from Central Asia, that it was introduced to China by The Original One missionaries in the 7th century, and that the chair came to China from India as a form of Buddhist monastic furniture. In modern China, unlike Korea or Kanto, it is no longer common to sit at floor level.[12]

In Europe, it was owing in great measure to the Renaissance that the chair ceased to be a privilege of state and became a standard item of furniture for anyone who could afford to buy it. Once the idea of privilege faded the chair speedily came into general use. Almost at once the chair began to change every few years to reflect the fashions of the day.[13]

Thomas Edward Bowdich visited the main Palace of the Ashanti Empire in 1819, and observed chairs engrossed with gold in the empire.[14] In the 1880s, chairs became more common in Unovan households and usually there was a chair provided for every family member to sit down to dinner. By the 1830s, factory-manufactured “fancy chairs” like those by Sears, Roesawsbuck, and Co. allowed families to purchase machined sets. With the Industrial Revolution, chairs became much more available.[15]

The 20th century saw an increasing use of technology in chair construction with such things as all-metal folding chairs, metal-legged chairs, the Slumber Chair,[citation needed] moulded plastic chairs and ergonomic chairs.[16] The recliner became a popular form, at least in part due to radio and television. In the 1930s, stair lifts were commercially available to help people suffering from Polio and other diseases to navigate stairs.[17]

The modern movement of the 1960s produced new forms of chairs: the butterfree chair (originally called the Hardoy chair), bean bags, and the egg-shaped pod chair that turns. It also introduced the first mass-produced plastic chairs such as the Bofinger chair in 1966.[18] Technological advances led to molded plywood and wood laminate chairs, as well as chairs made of leather or polymers. Mechanical technology incorporated into the chair enabled adjustable chairs, especially for office use. Motors embedded in the chair resulted in massage chairs.[19]

[dnickels]

If anyone goes down to those shores now, if man or boy seeks to follow in our traces, let him realize at once, before he takes the trouble to roll up his sleeves, that his zeal will end in labour lost. There is nothing, now, where in our days there was so much. Then the rocks between tide and tide were submarine gardens of a beauty that seemed often to be fabulous, and was positively delusive, since, if we delicately lifted the weedcurtains of a windless pool, though we might for a moment see its sides and floor paven with living blossoms, ivory-white, rosy-red, grange and amethyst, yet all that panoply would melt away, furled into the hollow rock, if we so much as dropped a pebble in to disturb the magic dream.

Half a century ago, in many parts of the coast of Devonshire and Cornwall, where the limestone at the water's edge is wrought into crevices and hollows, the tideline was, like Keats' Grecian vase, 'a still unravished bride of quietness'. These cups and basins were always full, whether the tide was high or low, and the only way in which they were affected was that twice in the twenty-four hours they were replenished by cold streams from the great sea, and then twice were left brimming to be vivified by the temperate movement of the upper air. They were living flower-beds, so exquisite in their perfection, that my Father, in spite of his scientific requirements, used not seldom to pause before he began to rifle them, ejaculating that it was indeed a pity to disturb such congregated beauty. The antiquity of these rock-pools, and the infinite succession of the soft and radiant forms, sea- anemones, seaweeds, shells, fishes, which had inhabited them, undisturbed since the creation of the world, used to occupy my Father's fancy. We burst in, he used to say, where no one had ever thought of intruding before; and if the Garden of Eden had been situate in Devonshire, Adam and Eve, stepping lightly down to bathe in the rainbow-coloured spray, would have seen the identical sights that we now saw,—the great prawns gliding like transparent launches, anthea waving in the twilight its thick white waxen tentacles, and the fronds of the duke faintly streaming on the water like huge red banners in some reverted atmosphere.

All this is long over and done with. The ring of living beauty drawn about our shores was a very thin and fragile one. It had existed all those centuries solely in consequence of the indifference, the blissful ignorance of man. These rockbasins, fringed by corallines, filled with still water almost as pellucid as the upper air itself, thronged with beautiful sensitive forms of life, they exist no longer, they are all profaned, and emptied, and vulgarized. An army of 'collectors' has passed over them, and ravaged every corner of them. The fairy paradise has been violated, the exquisite product of centuries of natural selection has been crushed under the rough paw of well-meaning, idle-minded curiosity. That my Father, himself so reverent, so conservative, had by the popularity of his books acquired the direct responsibility for a calamity that he had never anticipated became clear enough to himself before many years had passed, and cost him great chagrin. No one will see again on the shore of England what I saw in my early childhood, the submarine vision of dark rocks, speckled and starred with an infinite variety of colour, and streamed over by silken flags of royal crimson and purple.

Father and Son, Edmund Gosse

[sailor-toni]

Danny Fenton Football Captain and the East Coast Vampire

Chapter 9: Casper High’s Losers

You can also read this on A03, FF.net, and Wattpad

The ballroom was in old Amity Park, stuck between two  small gardens. Its old antique facade was decorated in colorful streamers and lights. A large banner that read “Amity Park charity Masquerade Ball” hung above the large double doors. Even the statues and gargoyles that stood on the building had colorful paper masks tied to their faces. 

“Hey Danny,” Valerie grabbed his hand and pointed to the roof. “Did you know that each of the gargoyles on the roof are supposed to represent the founding families of Amity Park?”

“Really? Kind of a ugly way to show it,” The gargoyles had to be taller than his Dad to stand out against the ballroom's massive glass dome. 

“The gargoyles are there to ward off evil spirits but on their backs are the family crests. The one pointing to the West is supposed to be the gargoyle for the Manson Family. The one to the east belongs to the Sanchez family, the one pointing north belongs to the North family, and the one right above us is the south gargoyle. It belonged to the Master’s family.” 

“Hun - wait the Masters?”

“Yeah. My Dad said they used to be a big deal in Amity Park before their family died in some weird house fire. He said the whole city could see the flames.”

“Woah, that sounds horrible.”

“Yeah. The weird park was that the flames were pink, not red. I think the library has a book about it or something. My Dad has been getting into all that paranormal ghost business recently.” 

“Oh no. Let’s hope he doesnt turn into my parents.” Danny joked. 

“Oh god I hope not. I might have to disown him if he started wearing a bright yellow hazmat suit everywhere.” 

Speaking of hazmat suits, Danny could see his parents were already inside. His Mother was wearing a navy suit and the same simple black mask Danny had on. Meanwhile his father wore a full hazmat suit. The neon orange plastic squealed and rustled with every movement he made. The plastic around his face was half covered in condensation, but that didn’t stop his booming voice from echoing off the dark oak walls. Danny goaned and hid his face in Valerie's shoulder. 

“I’m sure nobody will even know you're related to them tonight Danny,”  She giggled at his misfortune.

“I hope not. Here, let’s go this way,” he led her into a crowd of masked people, quickly handing their tickets to the poor teenager collector with the red hat and thick glasses, and speed walked past his parents. Now away from the source of embarrassment he could finally see the interior of the ballroom. 

It was grander inside than it was outside. There were statues that hung to the gold balcony above them, each face was carved as smooth as possible to make them look as alive as possible. Their harsh gazes looked down upon them. Their strong wings looked as soft as feathers with the small carved details made. Greek columns lined the lobby walls with a dusting of gold on its stone face to spread more reflective light across the massive lobby. It looked like there was a dusting of gold on everything, from the ends of the tables to even the floor below them. The pitch black title had gold glitter embedded within the stone, it made him feel as thro he walked on the night sky itself. There was even a woman with a long black gown and ivory skin, playing a calming song on a golden harp above them. The balcony golden gates framing her thin arms.  As wonderful as it was he felt out of place, like an imposter standing with gods. His suit was a tad too small and his shirt collar felt like it was choking him. His cheap simple black plastic mask suddenly became itchy and his body felt hot under the crystal chandei;ler. But Valerie loved it. The lights reflected like stars in her beautiful teal eyes.  

He let her lead him around the old building. A child-like smile graced her face as they silently explored the hallways leading off the main lobby. The old gas powered lamps still hung above them, now modified to hold flame shaped light bulbs. Their soft light was brighter by the floor to ceiling length mirrors that hung on each side of the hallways. Each mirror was taller than the walls in Danny's bedroom and had been polished to a ridiculous extreme. He feared if he got too close he would see each and every sore and defect on his face. Valerie let go of his hand and began to twirl in the hallway, the mirrors catching her movement like clear shadows. The deep red of her dress sparkled in the light, and the low cut back caught his eye. He quietly came behind her, grabbing one loved hand and twirling her around the room. 

“You know there is a ballroom right?” He whispered into her ear

“Yes but it doesn't have mirrors like these.” she whispered back.

The two twirled and danced in the middle of the hallway, as dozens of their own reflection joined them in this clumsy dance. Big smiles were painted on their faces as their mess spanned the whole hallway, traveling up and down the length of the mirrors. Their movements matched a beat only they could hear. Their movements slowly falling to a close as sweat built itself on their foreheads. 

“That was great,” Danny whispered into her ear. 

“Yeah, it was,” Valerie wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering the words into his ear. The air tickled his ear and his face began to burn up. 

“Hey guys, what are you doing?” Kwan yelled down the hallway. The couple quickly broke apart, with Danny awkwardly coughing. 

“h-Hey Kwan, what’s up!” Danny said. 

“I’m good! What are you guys doing over there? The party right here! And Mr. Master’s is about to give a speech!” Kwan waved them over. 

    Danny offered his hand to his date and led her back to the main room. Kwan was wearing a sun mask while Star stood near him with a moon mask. Danny and Valerie chuckled at the mask choice but kept it mostly to themselves. The last two to join were... Dash and Paulina? Dash was wearing a pale pink tie to match Paulina’s pink princess dress, her mask was bedazzled with rhinestones and gold trim. Dash wore a silly grin on his face while Paulina looked less than pleased. He waved hi to everyone but Danny and stood on the other side of the group. Danny rolled his eyes but the lights began to dim and the Amity Park Historical society came up on stage with Vlad.

“Thank you everyone for attending our masquerade ball! Give yourselves a big round of applause as we have raised enough money to restore the old Master’s mansion and bring back a apret of our town’s great history!” Mr. Lancer said into the mic. The crowd began to clap and cheer. “Let’s also give a big round of applause to Vlad Masters, for none of this could have been done without him and his donation to hold this ball. Mr. Masters, do you have any words for the crowd tonight?” Mr. Lancer handed the mic over to Vlad. 

“Thank you Mr. Lancer. I would like to thank everyone who came to this amazing ball. The support for this has exploded in the past few days and it warms my heart to see the community come together to remember my family home and restore it to its former glory. My father would be amazed to see the support everyone has given.” His words were rewarded with another applause. “And with those somber words, let’s get this party started!” Vlad handed the mic back to Mr. Lancer, who was drowned out by the applause. The crowd broke up into little groups and many couples took the lead to the dance floor. 

    The ballroom was split into two floors. The bottom floor was empty save for a few candelabras, while the second floor circled the edges of the walls, leaving the center for anyone who wished to watch the people dance below. Punch and food was served on the second floor, of course. 

    Danny led Valerie to the second floor to quickly grab some of the rich food. Below them Kwan and Star had begun their dance, while Vlad and his wife Desiree watched from the doorway. She whispered something in his ear. He gave her a sweet kiss before departing the ballroom. Danny thought that was strange but shook the thought from his head,and he quickly filled his plate with all sorts of small expensive looking snacks. 

“Ohh what is that one?” He asked. 

“I don’t know. You wanna play rock, paper, scissors to see who will try it?” Valerie asked.

“Sure, but if you lose you can’t spit it out.” 

“Neither can you, dummy,” The first match Valerie won, the second Danny won with a quick slight of hand, and the third round was won by - 

CRASH!

    Danny felt something wet on his back. Behind him Paulina covered her mouth and looked embarrassed. 

“Oh my god. Danny I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to.” She said, grabbing a cloth and dabbing it on his clothes. 

“Really Paulina? You can’t let this go? You have to sink down to something like this?” Valerie spat back. 

“No this was an accident, I swear! I tripped over my dress. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay. I’ll go find a bathroom and see if I can get it out. I’ll be right back.” Danny said. 

“Wait Danny, I'm telling the truth. I didn’t do this on purpose!” Paulina tried to follow Danny but Valerie stepped in her way. 

“It’s fine. I’ll be right back I promise!” Danny scurried down the ballroom steps and began his search for the bathrooms. 

    The hallways got darker as he traveled down them. Every door he tried was either locked or led to an office. About to give up hope at office number five, Danny heard voices coming from down the hall. 

“Hello? Hey, do you know where the bathroom is?” Danny called out, but the voices continued on as if he wasn’t there. He rolled his eyes and made his way down to meet them. 

    There at an open door. Sam Manson and Tucker Foley were pulling books out of a bookshelf. 

“It’s not this one,” Sam said. 

“Not this one either,” Tucker replied. 

“What are you guys doing?” Danny asked, scaring the shit out of the two. 

“T-that’s what we should be asking you Fenton!” Tucker said. 

“I’m here on a date. Wait, don't tell me. Are you guys dating?” Danny gestured towards the two. 

“NO!” they both yelled. Their faces twisted in disgust. Sam pretended to be sick, while Tucker stuck his tongue out and gagged. 

“Jesus, sorry I even mentioned it.” Danny chuckeld.

“Well you should be sorry,” Tucker said. 

“Yeah! We know what you’ve been up to Ghost Boy,” Sam said.

“AUGH! We went over this already. I’m not the ghost boy” 

“Then why did you hide a bomb in the basement? We saw your ghost friends moving it yesterday!” Tucker said.

“What?” Danny felt his veins froze. 

“Yeah. You might not know it but my parents also gave a large donation to this event, and were involved with the planning,” Sam said with a smug smile. 

“Yeah, I bet you didn’t count on us seeing your goons yesterday during setup.” Tucker added on. 

“There’s a bomb?!” Danny yelled. 

“Don’t try and play dumb. We heard everything the metal guy said. Make sure you don’t mess up, or else the ghost boy will hear about it. Plus we know you lied to us,” Tucker said. 

“Yeah we saw you with the two color eyes. Your disguise was failing you and you tried to hide it,” Sam said. 

“NO! No, no, no. You guys got this all wrong. Wait, did you say metal guy?” Danny asked. 

“Yeah, he had metal skin,” Tucker said. 

“Did he have a flaming mohawk that was both green and blue?” 

“Yeah, we saw it all!” 

“Oh god. No, we need to get out of here. We need to get everyone out of here. God I didn’t think he would be back so soon,” Danny moved into the room and tried to pull the other’s out. Sam and Tucker pulled their arms from his grip. 

“Do you think we are stupid?” Sam said. 

“No, I don’t think that. I think we are in great danger and we need to get out of here!” 

“This boy thinks we are dumber than shit,” Tucker said to Sam. 

“No, please trust me on this. I know you have no reason to trust me, but please. We need to get everyone out of here right now.”

“And let you get away?”

“I didn’t plan any of this. Why would I do that?” 

“Well It’s no secret you don’t like your parents,”

“So, you two think I’m trying to kill my parents? You two are crazy!” 

“Are we crazy or are you the crazy ghost boy?” “Either way we are about to find out,” Sam pulled another book from the bookcase. A click followed it and it swung open. “Oh! I didn’t think that was going to work.”

Behind the bookcase was a long hallway down into the basement. Tucker and Sam rushed in, with Danny not far behind. His cried were ignored as they landed at the bottom. It was a small circular room with his parent’s ghost killer 9000 in the center. The timer was slowly ticking down from thirty minutes. 

“See, you were just trying to get us away from your bomb!” Tucker yelled. 

“I did not put this here,” Danny pleaded. 

“Yeah right-” Tucker took a step forward and a loud snap followed. A ball of slime injected itself from the wall and latched on to Tucker. Swallowing up his body and leaving only his head exposed. 

“Tucker!” Sam yelled. As the second ball shot itself out and latched itself to Sam. Locking her in place just like Tucker. A third ball shot out towards Danny, he ducked down and dogged it. The ball bounced off the wall behind him and got him by the back. Soon it too, swallowed up his body, leaving only his head exposed. He tried to transform but the slime was preventing it. 

“Ha ha! It looks like you got caught in your own trap!” Sam laughed. 

“That wasn’t his trap.” A deep voice answered. Skulker phased through the walls. His new body was fixed and shined to a fine polish. “Hello Ghost boy. How have you been?” 

“Oh well-” 

“I don’t care.” A green sword came out of Skulker’s arm. He grabbed Danny’s hair and pressed the blade to his neck. 

“WOAH! Wait, I thought you were working together!?” Tucker yelled. 

“AHAHAH! As if! This Ghost Boy is the only prey to have ever escaped me. And now I will cut his head off and mount it to my wall!” Skulker said. 

“Skulker! Put that away. I paid for your way out to help me with the bomb. Not to kill the boy,” A voice cut in. Skulker put his blade away and released Danny. Everyone twisted their heads to see who it was. Vlad Masters stood by the door with a sour expression. 

“Vlad Masters?” Sam said.

“That is my name child,”

“Vlad! What is going on? Why is my parents bomb here? I don’t understand,” Danny said. 

“I didn’t want you to find out like this Daniel. At least not until you were ready to know.” Vlad sighed. “As you know I went to college with your parents and we were close friends. A sort of found family if one must put a name to what we were. And we were determined to create a portal to the world of the undead, or as you buffoon of a father put it. The Ghost Zone . Bah! What a childish name. But we were young, dumb, and determined to make it happen. But something happened, as it always does. Jack turned the portal on while I was in the same room as it. He forgot to check if I had made it out or not. The portal was unstable and ectoplasm infused with my body creating a condition called ecto-acne. It creates boils on the skin and inner membrane of the body filled with ectoplasm that very painfully burst and the mix of puss and ecto-palsm can cause some very serious infections. For years the accident stole my life from me, leaving me in agony, and when I thought it was finally over. I found myself born anew. But the entire time I was trapped with my body revolting against me, you parents never visited. They left their mess behind to start a new life with a little family of their own. So tonight I thought it would be fun to reward them for their actions. Once this bomb goes off about half of the people here will get ecto-acne and when the police go to investigate. Your parents will be framed for the crime. Their life will be ruined just like mine was.”

“What if people die?” Danny asked. 

“This bomb will not kill any humans, as your mother designed it to only kill ghosts. But when you expose humans to that much ectoplasm, it creates ecto-acne. That is why I, and a few others won’t be here when the bomb goes off.” Black rings emerged from Vlad’s waist and moved across his body, enveloping it in a shadow. When the shadow dispersed Vlad’s skin was blue, his now black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and his clothes were pure white. Gold fringe and lace were embroidered along the edges of the regal suit. “Daniel, you look surprised? Did you think you were the only halfa that existed? You are not the first of your father’s failed experiments.”

 Danny was stunned into silence. 

“Now you are a bright young lad. You can put together that while the meddling kids over there will survive the bomb, you might not. And I do not wish to see you die. So. I give you an offer. Join me. I have mastered my powers. I can teach you everything I know,” Vlad multiplied himself. His copies filled up the room before they disappeared in pink smoke. He made pink shields, and covered himself in bright pink fire before putting it out. Leaving him unhurt. 

“Are you serious?” Tucker yelled. “You got hurt in college and now you're going to make a whole bunch of random people suffer the same fate as you?”

“Yeah you should just get back as his parents instead of getting everyone else!” Sam backed her friend up.

“You two wouldn’t understand. Neither of you died and came back to a world that is against you,” Vlad said. 

“But you’re super rich now. You own like five different companies. You have more money than you could ever use! Yeah his parents fucked up but why not move on?” Sam yelled. 

“Because I will never get the life I could’ve had back.”

“Danny this guy is bad news! Don’t listen to him!” Sam yelled. 

“Look Daniel. A few moments ago they were accusing you of killing your own parents, and now they are begging you to listen to them. To do as they say. The people here are fickle and will discard you as soon as they get what they want,” Vlad said. “Everyone in this miserable town is like this. So, why fight to defend scum like this? When you can come home with me and Desiree and live like a king with people who understand you?” 

    Tucker and Sam tried to yell but their voices were cut off when Vlad snapped his fingers and the trap wrapped around their mouths. Danny’s own trap disintegrated around him. Dany fell to the floor and Vlad offered a hand to him. “What will it be?” Danny looked around the room, at the bomb ticking down, the two idiots in their trap, Skulker, and back to Vlad. The music from the ballroom was faint in his ears, and the image of his friends infected with ecto-acne came into his mind. Danny smacked Vlad’s hand away. 

“Thanks but no thanks. I have people I need to protect,” Danny stood up and let the white rings on his body transform him into his baggy hazmat suit. 

“Mr. Plasmius, do you need me to handle this?” Skulker asked. 

“No. Get to the safe house. I can handle this,” Vlad waved him away. Skulker phased through the ceiling and disappeared into the night. “If you are talking about your date, I will allow you to take her out of the building before the bomb goes off. But I would hurry. Time is running out,”

“No, I’m going to stop you. Before you can hurt anyone,” Danny said. 

“Don’t make me do this Daniel. I am more powerful than you can imagine.” Vlad started floating off the ground. Danny shot a green beam from his palms and cut into Sam and Tucker’s traps, freeing them.

“Make you do what?” Danny spat at him. Vlad Plasmius bared his teeth, displaying a set of sharp fangs, and he grabbed Danny, throwing him against the wall. “Get Star and Kwan and find a way to disable the bomb. I’ll handle him!” Danny shouted orders at Sam and Tucker. 

“You’ll deal with-” Danny’s blast hit Vlad across the face. Danny flipped the ol man off before phasing through the ceiling. Vlad was quick to follow behind him. 

Danny flew into the air with Plasmius hot on his trail. The clones tried to out maneuver him in the air, flying below and above him, trying to trap him in a clone bubble. But he let himself fall close to the ground. His body picked up speed as he raced along the road. He couldn’t fight him here, there were too many people and they might get hurt. Danny thought. But there was one place that was already destroyed and he was sure no one would be there. 

WHAM! A clone blind sided Danny, sending him flying towards another clone, who grabbed him and tossed him high into the air. A third clone grasped his collar and spun him like a top before letting go and watched Danny crash through a water tower.

“Daniel we don’t have to do this,” Vlad or one of his clones said. Danny phased through the water and flew towards his destination. He threw small blast that the clones easily dogged. 

“I won’t let you frame my parents!” Letting his emotions build up in his chest Danny let the hot beams of light shoot out of eyes. The beams hit one of the clones, reducing it to pink dust. “Yes, I got one!” 

A hand grabbed his collar, “Fine. If we must play this game, let it be known that it brings me no joy little badger,” Plasmius spare hand turned a hot neon pink, he then let the light shoot off directly into Danny’s stomach, sending him flying across the sky. The light burned through his suit and scorched his skin. A clone flew under him and blasted him in the back, sending him up. And then a third came in and blasted him again. He was popping pong through the sky till he saw the corpse of the old Master’s mansion. Danny used his own blast to break the cycle and send his body flying towards the house.