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yel-halansu · 4 years

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Pre-Reform Vulcan isn't what you think it is

So I've seen a lot of confusion in the fandom regarding Vulcan history, which is a shame because it's really detailed and interesting! I've compiled this summary of the main eras and events in Vulcan history which I hope you will find informative and useful (just as a note, all dates will be given in standard Earth years and centuries for clarity). Let's begin!

THE TIME OF THE BEGINNING

Life was seeded in Vulcan by a preserver race around 6 million years ago, which explains the similarities with other kinds of humanoid life in the galaxy. Evolution took its natural course, and by 600,000 BCE, a humanoid species had developed from a feline ancestor.

Proto-Vulcan humanoids were a peaceful people with an aptitude for logic. They lived mostly in the plains and kept away from mountain areas due to the danger posed by volcanic eruptions. They learnt to use fire early, and the abundance of metals made for a short Stone Age as they quickly developed rudimentary metallurgy and agricultural techniques. They soon started to domesticate animals and developed other basic technologies such as weaving. During this time period, strong solar flares and increased volcanic activity desertified the planet. The lack of resources such as water and fertile land that ensued would mark Vulcan history for thousands of years to come.

THE AGE OF ANTIQUITY

By 2,700 BCE, society was organized around tribal lines in clans that banded together for protection. Most tribes were nomadic, crossing the desert in search of water and following the migrating herds of the animals they hunted. It is theorized that groups were female-dominated, with the clan matriarchs overseeing most aspects of life.

Around that time, however, settlements had also started to develop across the territory, mostly near the shorelines of the small seas of Vulcan and by protective rock formations near oases, in order to utilise these precious resources and guard them from outsiders. These settlements eventually developed into fortified city-states. Conflicts over water and arable land became common as the cities fought to monopolise them, and technological development quickly stagnated as they fought for survival, ushering in a dark age. Political intrigue and violence were rife, with the warlords of the city-states securing alliances through arranged marriages and concocting elaborate plots of betrayal.

It is also thought that it was around this period of time that Vulcans as a species started to develop psychionic abilities, with members of the population who displayed these abilities being highly sought after and respected. As early as 2,500 BCE, some isolated Vulcans appear to have began to mentally train themselves to suppress their emotions, noticing that doing so resulted in a heightened control of their telepathic abilities.

The Age of Antiquity lasted thousands of years, but due to the uncontrolled destruction of the environment during the wars that were about to ensue, little archaeological evidence remains of it. Most accounts about this period are now shrouded in legend.

THE AGE OF EXPANSION

Eventually, an arms race began as the Vulcan city-states, locked in constant skirmishes, rushed to overpower their neighbours and defend their scarce resources. Technological advancement, which had up to that point been slow, quickly sped up and focused on weaponry, until Vulcans came to create weapons of mass destruction such as atomic and neutron bombs. The wars that ensued ravaged the surface of the planet, permanently distorting a region of its magnetic field, and leading to frequent energy discharges in the red sands.

By the 9th century BCE, Vulcans were capable of space travel, though they did not yet possess warp capability. Legend states that the first spacecraft was built by the warlord D'Vir in 855 BCE. At the time not many species were warp-capable, and so the Vulcans did not come into contact with other civilizations. They quickly landed on Vulcan's sister planet, T'Khut, and started mining it for resources.

Wars were now worsened due to the shifting balances of power caused by the destabilizing factors of the discovery of new off-world territories to colonise and the new incoming resources taken from T'Khut, the nearby asteroid belts, and other neighbouring planets. The wars in Vulcan continued for centuries.

SUDOC'S HEGEMONY

The landscape suffered greatly, and the Vulcans came close to extinction just around the 3rd century CE. It was around this time that a warlord called Sudoc took power in the city of Jaleyl by assassinating the previous ruler. His psichionic abilities were renowned and he used this power to control his followers through mind-melds and telepathic torture. He cultivated a close circle of ardent brainwashed followers. He quickly became very popular in Jaleyl by appealing to the majority of the populace with propaganda techniques, and began to expand his kingdom quickly and violently. Initially, other neighbouring city-states resisted, but Sudoc fought them mercilessly and invaded them. He is said to have slaughtered entire cities except for a single survivor, who would then be sent to the next town with the following message: “Your rulers are responsible. They would rather see you dead than out of their control.” This would cause neighbouring city-states to either surrender or be torn apart by internal conflict, as the leaders would be overthrown by their fearful citizens. For over a century, Sudoc's armies advanced across the planet.

THE TIME OF AWAKENING

Surak was born to a general in Shi'Kahr just as the city was entering in conflict with Sudoc's expanding kingdom. As a well-off youth, he was spared the horrors of the war and was not drafted into the army as most common citizens were. Instead, he spent his youth reading, studying and discussing philosophy with his friends at the sumptuous feasts of the upper class. The turning point in his life came when his entire family was assassinated by Sudoc's agents. Surak was spared as he was at a party that evening. Many other influential families were killed in this coordinated attack, including that of Surak's closest friend, Senet. Senet was consumed by rage, and immediately joined the front lines of the army, wishing to get his revenge on Sudoc. He was promptly killed.

This event changed Surak permanently, and he began to write. He theorised that all the problems of the Vulcan people stemmed from their excess of emotion. He started to develop his discipline of logic, which he believed was the only thing that could temper emotion and allow Vulcan society to develop past the horrible struggles of war. Many of his former friends deserted him during this time, but others stayed as he developed a close circle of faithful followers. Surak surrounded himself with masters of all disciplines, such as law, calligraphy and mathematics, who would in time go on to apply his principles of logic into these disciplines.

Surak faced great opposition at the beginning, as he was perceived by the population of Shi'Kahr as a spoiled kid who knew little of the horrors of the war. Sensing their apprehension, Surak and his followers started crossing the enemy lines and teaching their philosophy of peace among the armies of Sudoc. Many warriors began to desert the army, and propagated his teachings in turn as they travelled through the desert, fleeing the conflict.

From that point on, Surak's teachings gained popularity and sparked unrest in many of the territories of Sudoc's kingdom, which soon rebelled against the warlord. By this time, Sudoc had grown old, and in 331 CE, he died in a telepathic accident during melding session with his inner circle. His empire collapsed quickly after that and the war came to an abrupt end. The Vulcan people were still fractured into various groups while Surak spread his message, but in the vacuum left by Sudoc, many more Vulcans found comfort and hope in Surak's teachings.

THE SUNDERING

Even though Surak's teachings were extremely popular, not all Vulcans felt inclined to follow them. A group of Sudoc's most ardent supporters, led by a warrior named Tellus, found themselves increasingly disturbed by the new philosophy that was sweeping the planet. They would come to be called the "those who marched beneath the Raptor's wings". After attempting to start a new war against the followers of Surak, they saw themselves forced to leave the planet.

In 369 CE, hundreds of thousands of Tellus' followers took to space in the rudimentary crafts available at the time, looking for a new planet to call their homeworld. They would eventually arrive to a distant planet named Romulus and their culture would develop to become the Romulans we know today. It is a mystery how they managed to survive in space and travel that far a distance in non-warp ships, and it has been suggested that they may have accidentally entered a wormhole or been aided by some poweful interstellar entity.

With the exodus of the proto-Romulans, Vulcan was left mostly unified in thought and belief. However, Surak always considered the societal rift responsible for the Sundering to be one of his greatest failures. Surak died of radiation poisoning on Mount Seleya in 481. Selok, one of his disciples, took to the task of building a new system of government that would align with the new philosophy of pacifism and planetary unification, emotional supression and logic.

THE GOLDEN AGE

With a renewed spirit of unity and cooperation, Vulcans ushered in a new age of technological development. Within the space of a few years, Vulcans mapped the geothermic activity of their planet to contain its destructive force and harness its power, and used this new energy source to construct desalinisation plants and supply water to the cities and the cropfields. For the first time in Vulcan history, resources were plentiful and the constant threat of famine was erradicated. Science progressed quickly, with the Vulcan Science Academy being founded in 399 CE. Psichionic techniques also developped faster under the discipline of logic, and by the 6th century they had become cemented in the population as the new techiniques of meditation and self-control developed in their mainstream culture.

THE ROMULAN WAR

The Golden Age came to an abrupt end in 1270, when mysterious spacecrafts entered Vulcan aerospace and attacked their planet. These were, in fact, the Romulans, who has returned to their homeworld with the intention of conquering it. Both civilizations lacked warp drive capability at the time, and it is theorised that the Romulans were using an unstable wormhole to travel between the two worlds when permitted. Because of this, the timing of the incursions was unpredictable, and sometimes long periods of time would pass between attacks. The war lasted around 100 years in total. Romulan strategy dictated that their vessels must self-destruct rather than being captured, and because of this, the Vulcans never understood who was attacking them or why. However, they defended themselves with tenacity and avoided being conquered, until the wormhole closed permanently, putting a stop to the war.

SPACE EXPLORATION

The Romulan war drove technological advancements in many fields, including aeronautics, and after many years of avoiding space travel, the Vulcans took to the stars once again. Initially motivated by the potential discovery of their enemies in the recent war, they developed warp-drive capable starships. However, as they were still weary of other civilizations due the recent conflict, they avoided first contact with other races, preferring studying them from afar until they had gathered sufficient data to judge whether they posed a threat. First contact with Earth took place on 2063, and by that point they had already had encounters with the Tellarites and the Andorians, among others.

THE REFORMATION

Relations between Vulcan and Andoria were always tense, and by the 22nd century they had reached a boiling point when the Andorians sacked the Vulcan monastery of P'Jem, believing it to be an undercover spying operation. In the political fallout that ensued, the Vulcan High Council came under the control of Administrator V'Las, an undercover Romulan agent who was working to instigate the Vulcan invasion of Andoria.

In 2137, a Vulcan named Syrran created the Syrrannite movement, with the goal of returning Vulcan to the true path of pacifism and logic laid out by Surak. The increased militarism of the Vulcan High Council did not go unnoticed, and the Syrranites stood in stark oposition. The Council, weary of their influence, commenced a long campaign of persecution and slander against them.

In 2154, V'Las attempted to bomb the Terran Embassy in Shi'Kahr and blame the Syrranite movement, now led by T'Pau. However, his plans were foiled when T'Pau uncovered the Kir'Shara, an ancient artifact containing some writings of Surak that had been lost for centuries.

As a result of this discovery, the government of Vulcan was reformed and restored to a less militaristic democratic government in 2155. T'Pau stood for election and was elected as First Minister, and during her term she became one of the most influential Vulcan politicians of all time.

THE FEDERATION

The Federation was founded in 2161, with First Minister T'Pau as one of the signatories. Vulcan was proposed as capital, but the more conservative elements of government rejected the idea as it seemed culturally dangerous. Instead, Earth became the capital, though Vulcan remained a core member in spite of the warnings from conservative Vulcans that too much involvement in the affairs of other worlds was illogical and could be contrary to the philosophies of autonomy and peace that guide Surakian thought. In 2241, T'Pau refused a seat at the Federation Council, the only person to ever do so, and Suvok volunteered in her stead. This reticence to become overly involved in offworld affairs extended to Starfleet, as many saw the paramilitary organisation as having the potential to become violent. While enlisting in Starfleet was not forbidden, and many Vulcans did indeed choose this career path, it was mostly frowned upon in Vulcan society.

Though the majority of Vulcans support the Federation, the growing influence of Terra and other alien worlds in the affairs of Vulcan crystallised the radicalisation of more xenophobic elements of society, such as the Logic Extremists. During the 23rd century, this terrorist group bombed the Vulcan Learning Center to kill young Spock and Michael, the children of the mixed family of Ambassador Sarek. In the following years, they went on to sabotage several diplomatic missions until they were disbanded. In 2370, the Vulcan Isolationist Movement, the spiritual successor to the Logic Extremists, was discovered and also disbanded.

And these are the main periods in Vulcan history so far! In spite of their rapid advances in technology, Vulcan remains respectful of its traditions, ever logical and reserved, ever holding the violence that plagued it for centuries as a reminder of the past they wish to distance themselves from and the bright future that lays ahead.

Sources: VLI: Planet Vulcan History, The Way of Kolinahr: The Vulcans, Memory Alpha, Memory Beta.

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oviids · 4 years

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New Lore in The Shadow of Kyoshi

Shadow of Kyoshi reveals a LOT of cool new Avatar lore, especially on the Fire Nation and Avatar’s Szeto, Yangchen and Kuruk. I’ve compiled some of the most important or interesting information below the cut, they don’t have much to do with the main plot of the book for the most part but I’ve marked some extremely significant ones with spoiler warnings just in case.

On the Fire Nation:

The country now called the Fire Nation is actually pretty recent, and was previously made up of multiple warring clans and factions controlling their own islands or small territories.

Notorious warlords would periodically rise to power over different factions and fight against each other in devastating battles. One in particular is mentioned, Toz.

After unification, the clan leaders became the new nobility but retained enough independence and power to keep up their feuds and maintain political influence over the Fire Lord. This would nearly lead to the dissolution of the Fire Nation at least twice.

Many Fire Nation historians and courtiers believe that Avatar Szeto, Yangchen’s predecessor, was the main factor in holding the country together under Lord Yosor’s reign.

We already know that a Fire National’s topknot is a sign of honor and rank and that cutting it is the ultimate mark of dishono, but even touching the hair of someone you aren’t related to (in public at least) is extremely insulting.

The palace has a turtle duck pond at this point, and the description makes it seem likely that it is the same one Zuko and Ursa visit.

Some fire benders, or at least ones trained to be Fire Sages, can channel heat through a patients energy pathways and heal spiritual and possibly some physical injuries to a degree.

{SPOILERS for the end of the book} it is strongly hinted that the current Fire Lord will begin the process of breaking the clan’s traditional power and roles and centralizing it under himself, eventually enabling Sozin to begin his conquests and have complete control over the nation.

On Avatar Szeto:

Avatar Szeto was able to stabilize the Fire Nation in an unconventional manner: by working as a court bureaucrat and tying his achievements directly to the Fire Lord’s hold on the throne.

He insisted on being treated like a normal civil servant, and was able to rise to the position of Grand Advisor by the merit of his diplomatic and accounting skills. As Grand Advisor he was able to smooth over the greatest conflicts between rival clans and created a long lasting peace.

A religious holiday was created to honor him, and much of the plot of the book takes place during it.

On Avatar Yangchen

A lot was already revealed about Yangchen in both the comics and Rise of Kyoshi, like the fact that she was widely beloved and often considered to be the ‘ideal’ Avatar

However, in this book she confesses that she actually made some grave errors, continuing the cycle of new Avatars having to clean up messes caused by the previous Avatar’s actions.

{SPOILERS for the end of the book} In Yangchen’s case, she focused far too much on the human world and neglected the spirit world. At the end of her life she realized her mistake but it was too late to fix the unbalance she had created.

Interestingly, Kyoshi thinks Yangchen looks a great deal like her mother, even beyond the tattoos and hair/clothing styles. Maybe they’re related in some way?

On Avatar Kuruk

Kuruk seemed to actually have been something of a bending savant. His experience as a waterbender influenced the way he saw the other forms of bending, letting him “flow” from one to the next without having to conform to a single style each time he wanted to bend a different element. He even invented at least one new technique, an airbending “cushion” that could move heavy objects with ease.

Jianzhu initially befriended Kuruk because he agreed with the the Avatar’s unconventional methods, despite being thought of as “prissy” initially.

Kuruk fell hard for Hei-Ran at first sight. She turned him down, but hinted that a romance might not be out of the question once she was off duty.

The island where Kuruk entered the Avatar State for the first time and subsequently submerged was actually a holy site, where Avatar Yangchen had waterbended for the very first time.

{SPOILERS for the end of the book} As a fully realized Avatar, Kuruk began having dreams of enraged spirits attempting to break into the physical world through”cracks” between planes. These incursions were a result of Yangchen’s neglect, and the “cracks” were created by the spirit Father Glowworm from the first book.

Kuruk began to travel into the spirit world in his corporeal form to hunt down and kill the spirits before they could harm any other humans. Each fight resulted in psychological, spiritual, and some physical damage.

The drinking, philandering, and partying that he became notorious for were actually his attempts to cope with his trauma and hide it from his friends. The damage on his body and spirit is also what caused his death at only 33 years old.

#kuruk #szeto #yangchen #rise of kyoshi #atlaworld #shadow of kyoshi #atla #kyoshi #shadow of kyoshi spoilers #the alie tag

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shenglingyuan · 4 years

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title: the second chance we didn't ask for (ao3) pairing: gojo satoru/geto suguru both satoru and suguru are free from the prisons that bound them, but returning to life is another matter entirely.

The Zen’in estate boasts of its wide space and multiple residences, a feature Satoru is able to take advantage of. After being released from the Prison Realm with a death sentence hanging over his head, there really isn’t anywhere he can go. Suguru’s case is worse, of course, this death sentence is his second one. He might have been able to take back control of his body, but it doesn’t erase the crimes he and that ancient sorcerer did while residing inside him.

If it was up to Satoru, he wouldn’t drag Megumi into this any further. The boy — now the undisputed leader of the prominent Zen’in Clan — insisted, owing it to the fact that Satoru kept him and his sister under his care when they had no place to go to.

“Sorry for troubling you, Clan Leader Zen’in.”

“Please, Gojo-sensei, you should be the last person calling me that. Besides, I’m an accomplice anyway.” With the passing of the years came Megumi’s mastery of the Ten Shadows Technique, granting Satoru this freedom. “The last place they’d look for is their own backyard, won’t they?”

“That’s smart. Your teacher must be really great.”

Megumi ignores his lousy attempt at a façade and jabs directly at the issue at hand, “How is he?”

For a moment, Satoru’s shoulders seem to drop, but he immediately straightens up, as if that moment of small weakness was but an illusion.

“I don’t know, but I’m working on it. No worries, he’s no threat with me around.”

“I’m not worried about him.”

Time didn’t pass for Satoru inside the Prison Realm, but the world has moved on without waiting for him. He looks at Megumi without having to lower his gaze, smiles genuinely, and reaches out to ruffle the boy’s hair, “So responsible already. Don’t worry about me, either. I can handle this.”

Though the Zen’in estate is big, Satoru and Suguru had to reside in one of its smaller, unused quarters, leaving them with a small space with the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, and the bedroom altogether. At least, the bathroom was a separate structure on its own, albeit it’s not big enough for comfort. Satoru thinks this is still better than none, besides, with this arrangement, he can keep an eye on Suguru all the time.

Suguru isn’t too keen on the fact that he’s being guarded, but it’s not like he can put up a fight either way. That ancient sorcerer’s plan released all the curses he had so far collected and left him with very basic ones. He did try to resist before, almost at the cost of their small quarters, but without his previous arsenal, he isn’t much of a match for Satoru.

“Keeping me here is pointless.”

It was the first conversational sentence Suguru drops several days after they have settled in the Zen’in estate, spoken over a lukewarm cup of black coffee. The television blares unintelligibly on the corner, its volume never loud enough to be heard beyond the walls of their small room.

Satoru looks up from his own cup, just having dropped the fourth cube of sugar in it.

“The world is after my head,” Suguru adds.

“They are after me, too, don’t think you’re so special.”

“You’re a vital member of the Gojo clan… No matter how the higher-ups seem to hate you, if you just bring my head to them, they’ll have to forgive your previous offenses. There’s no use in keeping me here, I’m a criminal.”

“I need no forgiveness. Not from them.”

Suguru ignores the implication. “Just kill me already.”

“Death is not the only path. You’re just being a coward, Suguru.”

“What? Do you want me to spend this second life repenting for all the lives I took? I still don’t care about them, Satoru.”

“Repentance? Both of us…we’re beyond that. You’ve killed people. I’ve brought people to their deaths. There’s already too much blood in our hands.”

“Then should we die together?” Suguru smiles — it is anything but sincere. Satoru has almost forgotten what his real smile looks like.

Satoru drops another cube of sugar. “We will, but not anytime soon.”

Satoru sleeps next to Suguru, not because he hopes to form some intimacy through contact, nor to make sure he will not run away in the middle of the night, but because there are times where terrors unseen haunt Suguru’s slumber, Satoru would need to hold him down lest he ends up hurting himself. He used to keep the distance as well, sleeping on the couch, but after one close call, Satoru didn’t want to take another chance.

It was also during these moments where Suguru’s walls are at their lowest, and they could have a semblance of a proper and civil conversation.

“What is it this time?” Satoru asks, almost an involuntary response at this point, his hand already smoothing Suguru’s hair, rubbing circles down his back.

“He’s trying to creep in again.” His voice is hoarse, low, almost inaudible, as if in fear that when he speaks loud enough, the nightmare will turn into reality. “He says…this brain is his…and he can return anytime he wants…”

When Suguru is like this, Satoru can hold him close without being pushed away, and so Satoru does, wrapping Suguru tightly between his arms.

“You’re stronger than him, you took over him. That bastard won’t own you again.”

“If I die, it’ll finally be over.”

“You won’t die. Not on my watch.”

With the small space and bare minimum mode of entertainment, Satoru resorts to watching movies with Suguru to pass the time.

Well, to call it ‘watching with’ is too much of a stretch.

“What do you want to watch today?” Satoru asks, as usual.

Suguru doesn’t respond, as usual too, remaining seated on the corner of the bed, always seemingly creating as much physical distance he could between the two of them. Whatever closeness they would have during Suguru’s nightmares dissipates as if it never existed in the first place.

Satoru eventually gives up with a sigh, picking a 2008 horror movie from the selection this time.

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen this yet.”

He loads the disc onto the player, then settles himself on the end of the small couch. It’s some sort of an unspoken invitation, one that Suguru never entertains.

The film plays, the film ends.

It’s a daily cycle.

Every now and then, Megumi drops by personally, providing them with their daily necessities. In this situation, his Ten Shadow Techniques are particularly useful for hiding the things he brings them, only pulling it out once he is within the four walls of the small quarters. They can’t be too careless, after all. Whenever Megumi arrives, Satoru takes it upon himself to do the cooking and even sets aside a portion for Megumi himself.

“How is it outside?”

“Curses are still running rampant,” Megumi says, his tone as if still a student reporting to his teacher. Nevertheless, his bearing has become more and more that of a clan leader, “There’s quite a lot, so it will really take some time.”

The responsible person is quietly laying down the bed — whether he is truly asleep or just pretending, Satoru just lets him be. The sizzle of the oil as he pours the ingredients onto the pan fills in the momentary silence.

“And how is being a clan leader?”

“I think I can understand why the late elder Naobito was drinking all the time.”

“Haha, now don’t go picking up his habit. You’ve got a former clan head before you here, just ask for my help if you need it.”

“I feel like Kamo-san would know more about being a clan head than you.”

“Was never one to deal with family politics anyway.”

“Don’t worry about the affairs of the Gojo family. Okkotsu-san is making sure your family won’t lose its place.”

“I knew I could always rely on the new generation.”

“But Gojo-sensei, many of us still do rely on you.”

“A habit that must be changed.” Satoru turns off the stove and transfers the food onto the prepared bowl. “It’s for this very reason the incident at Shibuya became possible.”

His eyes wander to Suguru’s figure then, and he notices how tense the other man’s shoulders are. In fact, they really haven’t talked much about that time. The ancient sorcerer knew of Satoru’s weakness; Satoru wonders if Suguru himself came to realize it.

“No, I mean...,” Megumi seems to want to say something else, but in the end, he just sighs in defeat, “Never mind.”

“Don’t be thinking too much. Here, have this,” Satoru gives him a bowl of the freshly cooked stir fry, “Added some extra ginger especially for you.”

He takes another look at Suguru —— he doesn’t seem to be planning in joining them. In the end, Satoru decides to eat dinner with Megumi. It’s only when Megumi bid his farewell and left the room did Suguru finally move, only catching a glimpse of his retreating figure.

“Your dinner’s ready,” Satoru tells him, “It’s still a bit warm.”

Suguru stays seated on the bed, his eyes still at the door. “Megumi, that kid, he looks oddly familiar.”

“Remember Zen’in Toji?” A frown forms on Suguru’s forehead, his lips pursing rather unhappily. Satoru immediately quips, “Well, Megumi’s his son. Megumi didn’t know anything about his father’s shady business, and they were left without parents, too, so I took him under my care.”

“He seems to be quite dependent on you.”

“Is he? That kid hates asking me for help.”

“When he said many of them still rely on you, he was probably referring to himself. I know that tone.”

“From where? The two kids you had with you?”

Suguru suddenly stops responding. It’s apparent that the topic of the two girls is something he didn’t want to talk about. Though Suguru never told him about what happened, Satoru has been able to connect the dots from the first report of Suguru’s crime to the time he showed up in Jujutsu Tech to declare war.

But still, he wished that Suguru can tell it to him in his own words. There’s so much that happened in the last decade, cleaving an immeasurable distance in the space between them — an emptiness about the people and things and circumstances that shaped them to be the people that they are now.

“It’s funny though,” Satoru tests the waters, trying to fill the gap starting from his own side, “Back then, we said we’d run away together with Amanai if she wanted to. We failed on that part, but—”

“We still ended up babysitting,” Suguru continues for him, the tension on his shoulders replaced by a sudden weight, “I guess Riko-chan got the best deal out of that incident.”

“The girls—”

“I’m not hungry.” Suguru cuts him off immediately, lays back on the bed, and turns around, covering himself with a blanket. He obviously didn’t want to talk about his own share of babysitting, so Satoru lets the conversation go.

For now, Satoru bottles his many questions —

Why did you run away?

Why didn’t you force me to come with you?

Why didn’t you tell me all the things that have bothered you?

Why did you suffer with your thoughts in silence?

If I tried a little harder, would you have come with me?

There are so many things to talk about, many things that can’t be talked about. Patience is one of Satoru’s virtues, and when it comes to Suguru, it becomes the greatest.

Many times, he catches Suguru staring at his own reflection in the mirror…no, not at his reflection, but the wound lining his forehead. Satoru isn’t as skilled as Shoko in terms of healing others — the skull is intact, the wound is gone, but the scar remains, a reminder to them both every single day.

“Does it bother you?” he asks.

It takes a while before Suguru replies. “A bit.”

“A full bangs will hide the scars.”

A small smile starts to form on the edges of Suguru’s lips, but it disappears in a flash, replaced by a melancholy look on his face, “Mimiko and Nanako would have loved to see that.”

“Are those…their names?”

“…Yes.”

The girls he saved and raised throughout these years, to whom he exchanged his status as a sorcerer to be a curse user, just so he can provide them a better life. After all that’s happened, their place is still big in his heart. Not a single ash could be recovered in the ruins left by Sukuna, and so Suguru mourns with only the memories the girls have left him, memories his body was able to keep despite death.

Later in bed, Suguru weeps quietly. Satoru holds him. In between them, there is silence.

Satoru loads a 2009 suspense thriller this time, one that he himself hasn’t had the chance to watch yet for some reason. With a bowl of popcorn in tow, he settles himself at the end of the couch.

The film starts.

Just as the title appears, he feels the couch shift.

Satoru holds his breath, turns to look —— Suguru sits next to him, his legs already crossed comfortably.

“Mind if I watch with you?” he asks.

Satoru smiles, offering him the bowl, “Not at all.”

The film plays. The film ends.

And by the time it does, Suguru’s head is already resting Satoru’s shoulder, and Satoru’s head on Suguru’s. The positions are so familiar even though it has been over ten years since they were last together like this. The credits roll and neither of them moves.

“It sucked.” Suguru is the first one to speak.

“Sure did,” Satoru lets out a laugh, “Want to watch another one?”

“Let me pick this time.”

“Your call.”

“Satoru.”

Suguru calls out his name in the dark, certain that he is still awake. Satoru turns. In the dim light, he finds Suguru staring up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. His nightmares have been recurring less and less, and at times they can go a whole night with a peaceful rest.

“Can’t sleep again?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something —— Why didn’t you chase after me?”

Memories of Shinjuku are still vivid in Satoru’s mind, especially the view of Suguru’s back getting further and further away from him, his own outstretched fingers curling into a fist. Looking back at all his years, it’s the only time he has ever felt so helpless. Shibuya can’t even compare.

“You didn’t seem to be the type to be swayed if I held you back.”

“And after that? You’re a jujutsu sorcerer. You have the responsibility to clean up curse users like me. Why didn’t you chase after me?”

“I didn’t want to be the one who kills you.”

Suguru turns to face him then, his expression solemn, “Yet you did.”

Satoru can’t help but reach out, running a hand over Suguru’s left arm. If there’s one thing he’d give that ancient sorcerer credit for, he fixed up Suguru quite well. “It was beyond me already. You declared war. I was under orders.”

Suguru doesn’t shy away from the touch, but neither does he reciprocate. “And what about now?”

“You and I are both fugitives. No need to follow some stupid higher-ups.”

“Freedom?”

“As free as we can be in this small quarters, yes.”

Ironic as it is, what Satoru just said was true. Step out and their tails will be chased by jujutsu sorcerers, stay in and they can maintain this pretense of liberty. In any case, it can’t be worse than staying inside the Prison Realm or being controlled by some ancient being.

“Back in Shibuya, many people died.”

“Trying to make me feel guilty?”

“Not at all. I just wanted to ask what you think of it now.”

Satoru ponders for a while, then with a sigh he says, “Can’t be helped. It’s regrettable, but it’s not like I’m a god. That brain knew me too well —— Do you still hate them? Non-sorcerers?”

“I don’t know. It used to be my fuel, but I’ve spent it all. Now I’m just…drifting.”

“Drifting isn’t bad. We can drift together over this sea of blood beneath us.”

A small laugh escapes Suguru’s lips. “Satoru, you really are so foolish. Because of me, you got sealed. Because of me, there’s a death penalty over your head. Why do you even still stay with me?”

What value does one Geto Suguru hold that the great Gojo Satoru can turn his back on the world just to be by this person’s side? Shouldn’t have it been obvious by now? Satoru can’t put all his heart’s contents into words, and so he reaches for Suguru’s hand instead and places a soft kiss on his palm.

“I’ve let you go twice,” he whispers, his breath warming Suguru’s cold hands, “and they both turned out to be very bad decisions.” Satoru looks up, meeting Suguru’s astonished gaze in the dim light, “I’m not letting you go again.”

Despite the chaos unleashed in the world, humanity still observed festivities, especially something like Setsubun as it concerns the cleansing of evil spirits. It also happens to be Suguru’s birthday. Upon Satoru’s request, Megumi drops by their small quarters and brings them food apt for the occasion. Satoru takes it from him with much gratitude and prepares the table, inviting him to eat with them.

It is a bit awkward, after all, Suguru has never really interacted with this young Zen’in clan head. His uncanny resemblance with Fushiguro Toji also rails up his fight-or-flight tendency, as if his body remembers the person who quite turned his world upside down.

“What?” Megumi suddenly asks him, the boy’s own shoulders tense, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” Suguru offers a weak smile, “I was just reminiscing — I fought your father once.”

Megumi visibly relaxes, very much unlike when he asked the same question to Satoru over a decade ago. “Apparently, I did, too.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know he was my father at that time. I just came to know recently.”

“He’s crazy strong.”

“That he was.”

“Satoru looked after you?”

“He occasionally dropped by, but he’s no more a parent than my negligent father.”

“Hey—,” Satoru tries to butt in the conversation and save his reputation—

“No wonder. I thought you’re too good of a person to have been brought up by this nuisance.”

It’s useless.

“I heard that.”

“I was only speaking the truth —— Fushiguro Megumi, isn’t it? I apologize for imposing on you,” Suguru’s tone shifts, his fingers wrung together on top of his knees, “I don’t have anything to offer in return, I even had your sister caught up in all this mess. I can only thank you for letting me stay here unnoticed.”

“I’m no saint, I also have my personal biases. And I didn’t do this for you. Since Gojo-sensei asked for it, it’s nothing I can’t do. Besides, my sister’s issue has already been resolved, no need to hold onto things that are past. Just…whatever your issue is, please deal with it yourselves.”

Just in time, Satoru finishes laying down the food on the table, a small cake with a single candle lit on top taking the center spot. His eyes meet Suguru’s, his lips curving up in a soft smile. “Don’t worry, we’re already working on it.”

“We can be like…I don’t know…rogue jujutsu sorcerers or something. There are too many curses running about, I’m sure they won’t notice us if we do clean up some. We'll be doing them a great favor, too, you know?”

In the end, the two of them decided they can’t stay in the Zen’in estate forever. Sprawled on the bed, they’ve been discussing how to move forward with limited resources and a death penalty over their heads.

“You’re too noticeable for us to keep lowkey.”

Satoru suddenly stops, not failing to hear Suguru’s use of the word “us”. A sudden warmth blossomed in his chest, like the first ray of sunshine after a long, arduous, winter. It’s the onset of spring within his reach.

“Maybe if we eliminate all the released curses, they’d provide us both amnesties.”

“I released them, remember? The moment anyone from the jujutsu society sees me, I’m as good as dead.”

“I won’t allow that, of course.”

“No need to be so gallant. We can just run away after.”

“Where to?”

Suguru doesn’t even miss a beat when he replies, “Anywhere.”

“Gojo-sensei, are you sure about this?”

Under the cover of the night, three silhouettes huddle in an obscure corner of the Zen’in estate.

“We don’t want to overstay our welcome either,” Satoru smiles.

“You won’t,” Megumi assures him, “You’ve taken care of me for nine years, after all.”

“Then I’ll come back to settle the rest of your debt when things calm down, okay?” Satoru reaches out to pat Megumi’s hair one last time, “For now, we’ll have to deal with our lives on our own.”

“Please don’t die,” Megumi says with a stern look. “And please don’t get yourself sealed again.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?”

With a final farewell, Megumi retreats back into the Zen’in estate.

It’s only until his figure disappears that Satoru finally turns around and faces Suguru. He stretches out an arm, reaching for him. The weak moonlight brings an almost glittery sheen over his hair, reflecting the galaxy on his eyes. The sight is so beautiful it’s almost breathtaking — they haven’t been out for a while, and now, in just a few steps, it will be the road to freedom.

Together.

“Let’s go?”

Suguru takes his hand.

#satosugu #goge #jujukai #i write sometimes #au where megumi is clan head wwwww #also a few years time skip

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draven-imani · 3 years

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Journal 3

We met the First Descendants. They’re pretty cool, honestly. You have to get past some of them looking a bit…eh…but they’re exactly what their name says. They remember where they came from. Their leader upon hearing that the Wardstone broke asked that we put in a good word for them, to see if they could return to the surface and return to the fight against the demons to continue what the first crusaders, their ancestors, started. I like these guys.

I should start from the top, sorry, I got ahead of myself again. Listen it’s not every day you find an underground civilization descended from the original crusaders.

So we woke up at the Torag temple feeling refreshed and ready to go. Auriel had finished consecrating the temple, and…it looked nice. Really. I’m glad he did it. I don’t think I actually said anything, but I’m sure Torag and Iomedae were pleased. And I mean Auriel seemed happy with a job well done, so that’s plenty. That’s what the guy who died here didn’t get, so probably a lesson we’re supposed to take to heart. Or something like that.

Then we walked. And walked. And walked. For a long time. Until we came to a room where a bunch of darkmantles dropped on my head, because that’s just my luck, and a crazy dwarf who’d been farming them attacked us. We fought him off and continued on our way.

Not long after that we came upon a collapsed tower, with two people scrambling around it. We quickly realized they were the First Descendants. We decided to approach peacefully and try to parlay. They were nervous at first, worried that we were here to harm them and were with the crazed dwarf, but we assured them we weren’t enemies and that we’d dealt with him. They were relieved, and told us that we could pass through. We asked them if we could help with what they were doing. It turned out that yes, we could. One of their members was trapped under the rubble of the collapsed tower, which had fallen when the earth had shaken when the Wardstone broke. Three days ago. We’d…apparently been unconscious for quite a while.

We decided we’d deal with that later, and for now focused on helping with the rubble. Together we lifted, with Luna taking the lead and the rest of us assisting in removing the large stones, until we’d gotten the hole large enough for their companion to climb out. He was frankly quite the striking figure, a somewhat reptilian looking man with a single twisted horn and large clawed hands, by the name of Lann. He thanked us for helping to save him, and asked that we come with him back to their village to meet with their chief.

As we made our way forward we eventually came upon a cave. The First Descendants hesitated, saying there was a dangerous fungal creature within. However, they believed with our help we should be able to clear it out. We agreed, and the four of us plus Lann and his two ranger companions entered the cave. We found no creature to worry about, it had already been slain. There were two bodies alongside its corpse.

At first look, they appeared to be followers of Iomedae like myself and Auriel, although I was not familiar with the combination of lance and locked gauntlet they wielded. The reason why became quickly apparent when we found an unholy symbol of the demon lord Baphomet on their person.

It would appear we had spies in our ranks, Baphomet worshippers masquerading as the faithful, and they were responsible for setting up the destruction of Kenabres. Lann informed us that there were more false Iomedae worshippers working with a rebel clan of First Descendants, which is what he’d been bringing us to talk to their chieftain about. The rebels were blocking the only path to the surface, which meant one way or another we were going to have to go through them. Auriel and I swore that we would root out these worshippers of the minotaur and destroy them. Auriel even sounded a bit gleeful about it, wanting to see who could kill the most cultists between the two of us. I saw no reason to discourage his little blood sport—these cultists had visited so much death and suffering upon innocent people, I was actually looking forward to Auriel’s little contest.

Before that, however, we arrived at Neatholm, the city hidden below Kenabres. It was floating atop a subterranean lake, and inhabited entirely by First Descendants of countless forms. Like the first two we’d met, most of the members of the city were timid at first, but as Lann assured them that we were friends they began to show more curiosity at visiting outsiders, some even waving and welcoming. Lann led us to their chief, a much larger member of their people with somewhat rat-esc features. This is not me trying to be rude, the First Descendants have literal animal features so I’m describing him objectively. He introduced himself as Chief Sull.

He explained in a bit more detail what Lann had already told us. A rebel offshoot clan had joined with the worshippers of Baphomet in a grab for power, and were holed up in a nearby fortress that stands between Neatholm and the path to the surface. The chief said he was initially going to ask us to clear them out, but as we spoke, before he ever made the request, we already made it clear our intentions to get rid of the Baphomet cultists and get the rebels off his hands. It was our ticket back to the surface, and it was personal to myself and Auriel to deal with the cultists who were besmirching our order.

So he made one other request—the one I already mentioned, that we put in a good word for them up top, if anyone is left for us to report to. Anevia assured him that she would speak to her wife, and that times have changed since the days when they were banished down here. Commander Tirabade is a half-orc and in a position of great honor and renown, when once that was unheard of. I thought of Leto, too, doing so well for himself.

Fuck I hope Leto’s alright. I feel—bad when I think about it.

The chief gave us permission to use any of the town’s amenities we needed, provided us with what few supplies they had available here below ground, and provided a place to rest before heading out. I’m taking a nice rest by the lake writing this before bedding down.

I’ll probably wash my arm before I go to bed. It bled quite a bit the other day, my bandages are stained through. No one noticed of course, enough happened it just looked like all the rest of the blood and injuries. I’m going to change my bandages tonight before we go. I don’t know if it can get infected but that’s the last thing I need right now.

Baphomet first. Tomorrow we’re taking care of his cultists for what they did. Then Deskari’s servants are next.

#journal entry #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wotr spoilers #Draven Imani

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dayseternal-blog · 4 years

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Summary: Naruto and Hinata join the Twelve Guardian Ninja of the Land of Fire's Daimyo. (But not really.) Their mission is to smoke out the rat among them who's selling political secrets to insurgents, while making sure the other Guardians don't figure them out.

Neither can tell when their acting became so convincing.

A fake relationship canon-divergent AU.

Rated E for eventual shameless smut.

Written for @naruhina2020 March - Bodyguard Theme

Chapter 1: Introduction: Motives

She’s called for a mission at an expected time, about 9:00 in the morning, rather than some odd hour of the night. Whatever it is, it must not be a real emergency.

He uses the rooftops to get to the Tower, as is his preferred route these days, rather than get caught up in conversations with groups of giggling girls.

She enters the Sixth Hokage’s office, surprised to see that Shino is not already there before her.

He makes his way through the hall, wondering who he’ll be partnered with, or if he’ll have a partner at all.

“He never knocks,” Kakashi laments, and right on time, the door swings open.

He excitedly wonders aloud, “Who am I working-”

She honestly can’t remember the last time she worked with Naruto. Their skills are too similar. Close combat. Sensory. And he’s simply too good to need anyone with the same specialties as him.

“Hinata! You’re my partner this time?! This is going to be great!” He’s not going to fight over stupid things like he does with Sakura, Kiba, and Ino. He’s not going to be overworked with Lee and Tenten, who are both used to a level of workouts that no one else has been conditioned to enjoy. He’s not going to be creeped out by Shino.

Shikamaru’s his usual partner.

But Shikamaru’s been out on a ridiculously long mission.

“It must be a tough one if I’m partnering with Hinata,” he casually observes.

She doesn’t say it out loud, but obviously, if Naruto’s on the job, the mission must actually be some kind of emergency. A or...S-rank. For Naruto to say that something’s going to be tough...

“Yes,” Kakashi starts, hands folding together, lackadaisical attitude turning serious. “An extended S-rank. Estimated for a month or longer.”

They kneel before the Fire Daimyo, officially pledging their loyalties to a man who’s never known mud on his cheeks, never seen a comrade fall, perhaps never even broken a sweat in his life. Yet somehow he carries far more political clout than their own Hokage.

Not our Hokage, Hinata corrects herself. Or at least, she needs to pretend that she’s no longer a shinobi of Konoha.

They’re Guardians now.

On paper and in the assessing eyes of their new peers, their abilities and bodies belong to the Daimyo, to fight and protect this leader with their lives.

She can feel their judgement boring into the top of her head. Unlike Naruto, whose reputation precedes him, she’s often underestimated. Small. The only kunoichi in the room. She’ll be tested in some way by the others. But she’ll do whatever it takes to gain the other Guardians’ trust, and, eventually, smoke out the conspirator among them.

“Uzumaki Naruto. Hyuuga Hinata,” the Fire Daimyo addresses.

They stand at his call.

“Starting from today, you no longer serve just the interests of Konoha. You are now shinobi of the Land of Fire. You lay down your lives for me, you lay down your lives for the entire country.”

In the corner of her sharp vision, she can see Naruto bristling.

It’s no secret that Naruto has never held high regard for this man, whose decisions did very little to help during and after the war, who refused to fund Sakura’s mental health initiative for children, who seems to always defer to the loudest voice in the room.

If he could, he would tell the daimyo to stick his little speech up his ass. But he can’t fail, here, now, already, only a few minutes into their undercover mission. Kakashi made it a point to make clear that he didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but himself...but that he still had to show some level of respect to their political leader. While they’re out here in the capitol, the daimyo is their only contact to Konoha, the only one who knows of this charade.

After all, he commissioned them.

The reasoning being that the daimyo didn’t want to stir distrust among the remaining Guardians. They had already caught two informants on their own. Morale among the rest was high now.

But the daimyo had suspicions that there might be another hiding among them. Rather than having them turn against each other, he decided that this was an outside job.

And if this man fails to make a good decision in every other area of being a leader, Naruto needs to make sure that at least in this, they do not fail.

Failure could mean a coup d’etat.

Civil War when the rest of the shinobi world is at peace.

They can’t let that happen.

“Your accomplishments and track records in your career thus far have marked you as the strongest and most loyal to our nation. You join the ranks of the most elite shinobi in not just the country, but in the entire world. Here you stand among the greatest, and your names will forever be remembered for your service to me.”

Hinata keeps her face placid, not difficult at all for a Hyuuga.

She can only hope that Naruto’s doing the same.

But based on the furrowed brow of one of the Guardians, who steps forward, holding the branded waistcloths out to them, she can deduce that Naruto’s not doing a very good job hiding his thoughts.

They take the waistcloths, tying them on in the same way as the others.

The kanji for Fire emblazoned on their hip, meant to announce their status.

It’s a recognition that neither of them need, but Hinata knows she can’t ignore its meaning.

The ten Guardians who stand lined up before them, gathered from across the country, really are the best, on par with at least her own skills, and needing to take down even just one of them qualifies as an S-rank mission.

They haven’t even left the main office yet when four of the Guardians who were meant to show them the ins-and-outs of the administrative buildings turn them into an empty hall.

“So you think you’re better than us?” snarls one, a bulky man by the name of Geiiro.

“They’re Konoha shinobi. What did you expect?” laughs Tacchi, his pretty features marred by a long, raised scar cutting through the side of his head. “Konoha’s Hero, Saviour of this World,” he sneers. “It’s all gone to his head.”

Naruto holds his tongue. It was his mistake to not hide his dislike of the old man. These men are not his enemies.

At least not right now.

Geiiro huffs, “If you have no interest in being out here in the real world, then run back to your ‘hidden’ village.”

Naruto raises a brow at that. He didn’t know that that’s how the outside villages see Konoha. But he knows they suffered damages just as much from the war, if not moreso. And they don’t pledge the same prided allegiance to their country’s Hokage.

If they want to rant, he’ll listen. He’ll learn.

The tallest of the group, Eizan, steps forward, cocking his head, eyes trailing over her. “And what about the Hyuuga princess?”

They both tense.

She expected to be tested, but not quite so soon.

“So it’s true what they say. For you to have accepted a position here…you were replaced by your younger sister,” murmurs Hukukane. He stands in the back, hands on his hips like a casual observer.

Like a long-range fighter.

She doesn’t care about her sister taking the helm for the clan. She hasn’t cared about that in a long time. But she pays careful attention to the men before her, their formation, their “relaxed” stances.

Was this planned from the start?

“So she’s trying to prove her worth to her clan here?” Eizan laughs, earning smirks from the others. “Pretty little princesses should play at home-”

Her eyes flash up to his, just as his hand grabs at her chin.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Naruto’s rasengan is only centimeters from Eizan’s chest.

The warping chakra is close enough to exert the pressure of a fist pushing against his skin.

He glares furiously at Eizan, even as the edges of his senses tingle at the knowledge that the others have taken on their own cautionary stances. “She doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone!”

“Naruto-kun,” she tries, as calmly as she can, hoping she has just enough force in her voice to remind him to stay calm, too.

But Naruto doesn’t budge. If he doesn’t make a point now, then what else might they do to her? Eleven men and only Hinata? Why aren’t there any other women in this group?

It’s just another reason to hate the current daimyo.

“So that really is why he’s here,” Hukukane interrupts.

“Yeah,” Eizan agrees, frowning at the jutsu threatening to burst a hole in his body.

“We all have reasons to be here,” Geiiro says. “For us, not part of Konoha’s shinobi system, this is a steady job. Money to send home to our families.”

Naruto reluctantly turns his attention to him. But he doesn’t back down.

“Money for my younger siblings,” Tacchi adds on.

“I send money home for my wife’s aging parents,” Hukukane continues. “Believe us, we don’t like the daimyo’s decisions much either. But he’ll pay us to protect him. So long as we keep him alive, we have income.”

Naruto turns his attention back to Eizan. What their stories have to do with this guy touching Hinata, he still hasn’t figured out. But he’ll let Eizan explain.

“I never had a family. The Guardians are my family.”

That’s something Naruto can understand. Still doesn’t excuse the guy from touching and insulting Hinata.

“My family has no room for secrets.” This time Eizan’s eyes gain a fire that wasn’t there before. “What are two Konoha shinobi doing here?”

Hinata answers quickly, knowing these men are certainly sharper than they initially seemed. This confrontation was all a ploy to get them to reveal themselves. “We wanted to gain insight on affairs outside of Konoha. Our actions are limited within the village’s walls, we’re under constant surveillance. We only interact with other Konoha citizens and the occasional visitors or people we meet on missions.”

“For a Hyuuga to say that, certainly that makes sense,” Hukukane responds. “We figured that. They say clan lives are stuffy.”

“Naruto-kun,” Hinata tries again.

He lets his rasengan disperse. He lets a second pass before he finally steps back, closer to Hinata than before.

“Relax, Naruto,” Eizan starts. “None of us are stupid enough to touch your woman.”

She can’t help the reactive heat that touches her cheeks, even though she knows the obvious implication completely flew over Naruto’s head.

A glance over, and she can see only a contemplative distrust on his face.

“Sealed a goddess, ended the world war, master of the Kyuubi, next in line to be Hokage? We couldn’t think of any logical reason for someone like you to leave Konoha to join us,” Eizan continues, suddenly conversational.

“But love can make even someone like Naruto make irrational decisions,” Geiiro barks out with a laugh. “You two don’t have to keep your relationship a secret.”

“What?” Naruto asks, trying to catch up with the shift in atmosphere.

Hinata flushes even worse than before. She thinks to correct them, but that would only earn worse scrutiny on their reasons for joining the Guardians.

They can’t let them know they’re here on a mission. Any one of them could be another spy for the insurgents.

So...maybe she needs to play along. Even if it’s mortifyingly embarrassing.

She just has to make sure Naruto understands, too.

She swallows her own fears. And steps up to him.

She has to choose her words carefully. She still doesn’t know what abilities the other Guardians might have.

She closes her hands around her mouth, leaning in toward his ear, knowing it’ll look intimate to the others.

“Hinata?” he asks, finding her pressing against him.

“They know we’re lovers,” she whispers.

“W-what?” He steps away, eyes wide. “Hinata-”

She grabs his hand with both of hers, keeping him from backing away too far. “It’s okay. It’s better if they know.” She looks hopefully into his eyes. Hoping that he catches on. Hoping he doesn’t say anything in denial.

He just stares at her, mouth wide open, attention shifting down to her hands firmly around his. She’s acting really touchy with him. She said they’re lovers when they’re not. Hinata doesn’t usually act like this, so why-

“You really don’t have to hide it. We don’t operate on the same rules as Konoha,” Tacchi explains.

She nods, pretending to agree with him. She blushes harder with what she wants to say next. But she has to make him understand. “Naruto-kun,” she calls, as sweetly as possible. It sounds so embarrassing. Like she’s really trying to catch his attention.

He looks back up at her, eyes growing wider still at her flirtatious tone of voice.

“This way, maybe we can spend more time together...” She looks as meaningfully as she can into his eyes. “...alone,” she adds on, in a whisper.

The other Guardians start laughing and hooting.

She’s flaming red, she knows, she doesn’t remember the last time she felt so hot.

He can see the vibrant color on her fair skin, but he can also feel the searing heat pressing into him from her hands. He realizes she’s incredibly embarrassed. She’s not under some genjutsu or trying to play a trick on him. She’s pretending. So that they can meet to talk about their mission. “A-aah, yeah!!” he stutters out, embarrassment belatedly catching up with him. “W-whatever you want, Hinata!”

“He’s whipped!” hollers Geiiro. “Poor boy’s got it bad!”

She smiles in relief, trying to ignore the teasing of their new comrades.

He looks down, suddenly very, very conscious of her hands around his.

She lets go of him quickly.

“You two can hold hands!” Geiiro continues, laughing harder and harder.

Hinata shakes her head furiously. She got her point across, and she needn’t embarrass either of them any further.

And by Naruto’s blushing grimace, she knows she really embarrassed him.

#naruhina fanfic #canon divergence au #no the last #fake/pretend relationship #bodyguard #undercover missions #romance #eventual smut #minor original characters #naruhina 2020 #nh2020 #thank you for reading!#naruhina fanfiction

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gongju-juice · 4 years

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6. Once Upon A Southern Night

I Won’t Hesitate

Warnings: the usual, language, some rAuNcHy InTeRaCTiOn

You laid sleeplessly in his bed. These days were so lonely, Jasper and the wolves were always fighting, and in the daytime, Ava trained you in magic.

You’d made quite a bit of progress, but it always drained you physically. Being a witch was not as easy as they made it out in the movies. It was about refining your energy, making sure a face-full of gravity didn’t hit you in the face and incapacitate you. You’d done that a couple of times already.

The limits of being a witch was still undefined. Because you and your sister were only half—as were most modern witches—there were still so many things and spells you couldn’t access or perform. Still, Ava knew how to do just about everything.

She could fly and shadow travel for short distances, was completely impervious to all human weapons, could breathe without oxygen and create breath-taking illusions that could completely fool and take down an unsuspecting vampire. You barely even knew how to affect the temperature around your body, much less create fire—the new skill she was trying to get you to master.

You would never be ready by the time Preston and Maria arrived.

Uncle Carlisle contacted some of their old friends. The Denali clan came down from Alaska, Alistair from the English countryside, and the Egyptian coven from the east. The shapeshifters were not thrilled to have vampires trespassing near their land, and Edward kindly informed them of the coming wave of newborns.

Jasper took control in training everyone to fight, though it seemed some of them already had prior experience. He showed the wolves how to avoid the crushing arms of a vampire and how to mobilize their forces to focus on a specific target.

Meanwhile, you were on the sidelines wasting all the time trying to make a leaf catch on fire. You felt like you were doing nothing—and what was the point? Ava could’ve been training by herself, honing her own skills. Instead, she was beating you with a stick everytime you failed—which was every time.

That was until her friend, Zacarias, arrived.

He was tall and very well-defined, like he’d been lifting heavy tools all his life. His skin was the color of dark chocolate, eyes a metallic bronze. He arrived just before you were about to give up, just before you caved in front of a group of fully capable vampires.

“So this is the little bear,” he said, chuckling. “Wow, you always described her like she was so tiny. She’s bigger than I thought.

“Little bear?”

“That was your nickname,” Ava explained, “Because you had thick curly dark hair.”

“Who gave me that nickname?”

She faltered before walking away. You knew who gave it to you, even if she refused to say his name.

“I heard you’re having trouble with your magic. That’s okay, it’s expected for the first few weeks. You’re only a half-blood, after all. But now you’ve got me, and I’ve never had a student fail,” Zacarias promised.

Suddenly, he launched you straight into the air. You were hovering in place, your body stuck where the tip of the trees touched the sky.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jasper demanded, dropping Eleazar, his opponent. His eyes glowed protectively. The Major had taken control. “Put her down immediately. And trust me, you don’t want to make me have to do it.”

Zacarias dusted off his hands. “It’s part of her training, Whitlock. Try not to be on edge, alright? Trust me, her instincts will kick in if she wants to get down.”

You struggled in the air, flailing your arms and trying to move your body. But the air was so stiff around you, like gravity had the opposite effect. Birds flew past you, cocking their heads at you with their curious beady eyes.

“She doesn’t need no training!” Jasper insisted.

The witch rolled his eyes. “Fine, if that’s the way it’s going to be. I’ll put her down.”

Now you were plummeting down to the ground. You screamed, shielding your arms over your face. I’m going to die, you thought. And in the most embarrassing way.

Jasper, climbing up a tree, was preparing to catch you. But now you were no longer hurtling down to the ground. The grass stopped about a foot from where you hovered above the ground, and you felt something like electricity buzzing in your veins.

“I told you, I’ve never had a student fail,” Zacarias smirked. “Works every time.”

“If you ever try some shit like that without my permission—” Jasper started.

“How else is she supposed to protect herself? If Preston decides he wants to snap her neck, what’s she supposed to do? She’s a witch, Whitlock. More powerful than any of you standing here. But the only way she’s ever going to unlock that power is by coming out of her comfort zone. This isn’t the Civil War anymore, Major. You aren’t the leader of this circus.”

That night, surprisingly, Jasper made it to his—your temporary bedroom. His room was filled with shelves of books, little collectables and trinkets from over the years. He’d never even had a bed until you arrived, but he made sure to buy a big enough mattress where you both could fit on it.

“Jas?”

He stopped just inches from the bed. “Thought you were asleep. You’re so quiet up here.”

“Where are the others?”

“Carlisle and the family took the others to feed outside of Forks. The wolves are back in human form in La Push, and the witches are at the hotel to rest for the night.”

“Jasper?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Can you please get in with me?”

He was hesitant for a moment before giving up and climbing in the covers. He held you tightly to his body, your head resting in the crook of his neck.

“There’s so much we have to talk about,” you whispered.

“I know, and I’m not going to lie, I haven’t been the most doting in the last few weeks. The wolves have never fought any vampires since their ancestors last battle, they have so much to learn. And your sister’s done a pretty good of keeping you busy as well.”

You were quiet before sitting up in his arms. He was so beautiful under the lamp light. If you blocked out all your other racing thoughts, you could imagine the two of you somewhere else under different circumstances. Maybe you’d be married by now—after all, high school wasn’t an option right now anyway.

If he were human, he’d be just coming home from work—and you’d be in the kitchen cooking dinner. He’d come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, whispering all the naughty things he wanted to do to you. . .

“That was a swift change in your emotions,” he said, eyebrows raised. Now that you were a witch, Ava taught you how to turn off the different powers of the vampires around you. But you liked having Jasper being able to read you, it kept a sense of honesty between the two of you. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You shook your head. “No, I’m getting off track. I wanted to talk to you about something different. . .about the past.”

He tensed, sighing. This conversation was inevitable anyway. You both knew that.

“Ask anything you want.”

You paused. “What was your life before you became a vampire?”

“I. . .there’s a lot I can’t remember. But from what I do remember, it wasn’t much. I had a little brother named August and a Ma and Pa. Pa was just a poor farmer, and we didn’t have much of anything. And Ma came from a pretty well-off family, but they never accepted Pa, so they moved away from her family’s house, penniless and in love.

They had me about a year later. By the time I could walk, I was out on the farm helping with the chores. We had a little barn with chickens, and we had a mule—not a mare—named Buttercup that pulled all the carts. And the bulls in the field were not our own. We tended them for a wealthy planter several miles away.

August was born about three years after I was, and by the time the recruits came to our house for the war, he was only fourteen. Times were hard and I knew my parents could barely afford to keep food on the table. I left home and lied about my age to get into the army, and I left all my savings so I’d never have to look back.

I quickly moved up the ranks—Carlisle suspects it's the trait that carried into my vampiric life. When I was nineteen, I was finally promoted to Majorial status, and I was sent to Alabama where I had to collect men who were drafted.

That’s where I met Preston. He was smart, quick on his feet. It wasn’t long before I made him my Captain. I had no idea about you, for he was quite private about his personal life. We were friends, I trusted him with my life. But that’s when we met Maria.

We were on a mission escorting refugee women and children from Galveston. We saw Maria, Nettie, and Lucy all walking by themselves, dressed in the finest clothes. They were some of the most beautiful women we’d ever seen, and we stopped to give them our aid.

Working for Maria was pure hell. We trained her newborns, and I had the job of disposing of them. We fought other covens for territory, and all for what—a few days of dominance? After a while, she started a rift between me and Preston. He fell in love with Lucy and wanted to establish his own coven elsewhere. They wanted to overthrow Maria and all of us, but I sensed their aggression.

We planned a surprise attack and destroyed all of them. Preston got away, I couldn’t bear to see my long-time friend die. Eventually, I left Maria and went to live with my friends Peter and Charlotte. But I met my sister Alice in a diner, and we left together to join the Cullens.”

It was so much to process. Jasper had lived nearly two centuries before you, and lived a long, full life.

“Were you in love with her?” you whispered.

He lowered his eyes. “I thought I was. I thought she loved me, but she didn’t. I’d just convinced myself otherwise.”

He lifted your chin to meet his gaze. “But the only woman I love right now and will forever love is you.”

Your lips touched and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Whenever you kissed, you never wanted to separate. His tongue pushed into your mouth, and the taste of him drove heat straight to your core.

“I know you want me,” he growled onto your lips, “but there are several feeding vampires nearby. I can’t stand when any human men are around you, much less witches and wolves and vampires. Besides, this is not how I imagined our first time to be.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” you breathed. “I want everyone to see that I’m yours.”

Jasper smirked. “As tempting as that sounds, I believe a real lady deserves to be pampered and pleasured just like a queen. I want to take you to some beautiful island so the sun can shine on your pretty skin. I want to make you my wife before I. . .take you in that way.”

You blushed into his chest, hiding your face in the fabric of his shirt. Not even a few moments later, you heard the front door bust open.

Jasper groaned. “The family’s here.”

Emmett suddenly appeared in the doorway, a stupid grin on his face. “Aren’t you guys so romantic? Jasper’s gonna take to a farm so y’all can get married surrounded by the ducks and chickens.”

“The sad part is, that isn’t very far from what he was thinking,” Edward cried. “God, I hate being in the house with a bunch of immortal, horny teenagers.”

When they were back downstairs, you turned back to your boyfriend.

“So. . .what are you going to do when Preston and Maria arrive? Will you try to talk them down, come to some kind of agreement?”

He stared off towards the mass of dark trees visible through the window.

“I don’t want to do it, I don’t want to kill anyone. But if he comes between us, I won’t hesitate to do just that.”

wHoOoOoO cHiLe, ThE hEaT. Only three more chapters folks.

Part Four Part Five Part Seven

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagines #jasper hale x reader #twilight #twilight imagines #twilight scenarios #twilight x reader #edward cullen #carlisle cullen #emmett cullen #esme cullen #rosalie hale #alice cullen #there are a lot of vamps with e names in Twilight

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alchemyismagic · 4 years

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Even before the Official Founding of the Mason Family, the bloodline was tainted by the hooves of cruel fate. Limestone Mason went on to travel the world annually, without fail, as he grew sicker and sicker. He learned from all the ancient civilizations and their practices, and eventually..

Eventually he found a lover, who in turn helped him in the process of creating what my ancestors passed down from generation to generation. A practice that was kept obscured with care to the outside world, and lead to the Masons becoming a very secretive clan of ponies hidden from the world themselves and always, always watching. We know things others do not, for we all carry the curse of Limestone Mason’s greed for knowledge. Some of us are driven mad by it. Limestone Mason was not only the ancient founder of my family... But in fact the co-founder of Alchemy itself.

He died shortly after the creation of Alchemy and all its convoluted rules, leaving behind a wife and unborn son. His brothers mourned his death, and each changed their names to join the clan themselves. Midnight became known as Obsidian Mason, and Summer Star became Quartz Mason. Our naming scheme is.. odd I will admit, but it is said that the brother’s father was himself fond of masonry and stones.

Now I suppose I should move further to modern day... It pains me to spill secrets so willingly, but I am without desire for further fools telling me I am a murderer of my own kin. There are two rules with my family, the first is to never reveal our secrets, of which I had already broken long ago... and the second is that you are never to kill another Mason, for any reason.. And now I stop my blubbering, and begin the tale of my dear sister’s unfortunate demise, and how I met her face-stealing copy whom I call my daughter.

#notice how he doesn't elaborate on Limestone's madness too much #the story #the mason family #show caution in the face of danger #long post

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cincinnatusvirtue · 5 years

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Let’s talk tactics: Highland Charge

The Scottish Highlands historically has maintained its own unique culture which touches on virtually all aspects of life, food, drink, fashion, family, religion and even warfare. In the art of warfare the Scottish Highlands contributed in two ways one its rugged topography leading to a guerilla style of warfare and two in its infantry tactics and one that conjures almost a romantic vision, the Highland Charge. Before we discuss the tactic itself, we need to know the history of the region from ancient times until the modern era and how topography and tradition shaped the Highland Charge.

Historically, Scotland has been viewed by many an invader to be wild and untamed land. This was true of the Romans during the age of Roman Britain from the 1st-4th centuries AD. The Roman legions encountered a number of various Celtic tribes that caused them troubles in the modern day regions of England, Wales and the Lowlands of Scotland. The areas that often leant the Romans the most difficulty were areas of rugged topography, namely the Britons of Wales in particular the Ordovices and Silures of the mountains of North Wales and valleys of South Wales respectively. Topography in war is a sometimes underappreciated part of strategy and it took many years and much loss of life and the development of forts and garrisons to finally subdue these tribes in Wales. The same can be said of the Highlands of Scotland. The Lowlands known to the Romans as Caledonia was conquered but this remained the greatest extent of Rome’s northward expansion. To the north in the Highlands with its rugged mountains, hills and many glens were a related but distinct Celtic people, the Picts, who spoke a language identified as Celtic but somewhat distant from the Common Brittonic southern tribes.

The Romans associated the Picts as pirates in later Roman Britain along the coasts and fierce warriors in the interior of the country, conducting raids and disappearing into the Highlands before the Romans could send legions after them. Rome’s response to this was to build and garrison Hadrian’s Wall along the modern English/Scottish border. The Picts were never subdued by Rome unlike the rest of Britain and this was to have a ramifications overtime and echoes throughout history in the Highlands in which they resided.

In time as the lower portions of Britain saw the Romans retreat, leaving the Romano-Britons to their own defense and the subsequent establishment of the Welsh and Cornish as distinct Celtic nations so to would the Picts meld with their fellow Gaels from Ireland and Western islands of Scotland’s coast giving birth to the modern Scots. While the southern Britons in the start of the Middle Ages faced the Anglo-Saxon threat. The Scots merged into their own kingdoms with the Gaels becoming overlords of the Picts and eventually both Celtic confederations synthesizing into one distinct entity.

In time Scotland, like the rest of British Isles was subject to Viking raids and the establishment of Viking petty kingdoms, but unlike England and even parts of Ireland, Scotland’s Viking rule was largely relegated to the Hebrides, Orkney and Shetland islands on its periphery, the Highlands and much of lower Scotland remained the Scots Gaelic speaking land that forged out of the blending with the Picts. The topography of the Highlands as always contributed to this isolation.

As the Middle Ages wore on, the Kingdom of England would see troubles in its attempts to subdue Scotland, especially of note was the Scottish Wars of Independence against England under Edward I and Edward II of England. Despite some English successes their overall rule of Scotland remained somewhat limited due to in part to Scotland’s difficult to manage geography and its Clan system.

The Clan system had been a tradition found in Scotland and Ireland throughout the centuries, an important dynamic that social groups were built around. The Highland clans had a fierce sense of independence from both the English and Scottish crowns and from each other at times, alliances were formed and rivalries as well. Murder, warfare alternating with peace and cooperation were part of Clan lifestyle throughout the centuries. The romantic and distinct image of the kilt and tartan clad Highlander Clans really forged in the 15th-17th centuries. Gradually, English rule, settlement and influence over the Lowlands of Scotland lead to the spread of the English language being spoken along with a distinct derivative Germanic language called simply “Scots” quite separate from this the Highlanders retained their Scots Gaelic language and Celtic traditions. Once again geographic isolation a contributing factor.

The Highlander Clans alternated their allegiance to the Crown of Scotland when it suited them. Some clans would rebel against the Crown while others supported them, less out of honor bound duty to the king and more pragmatically for the chance to rid themselves of a rival and gain riches and territorial expansion for their own clan. Clans were led by chieftains who in time were granted titles of nobility and rewarded with wealth and land for their service to the Crown. Highlander Scots became famed for their prowess in combat and became mercenaries throughout Europe, serving in various armies at various times. Some Highlanders became involved in England’s conquest of Ireland, namely after the Elizabethan era establishment of the Plantation of Ulster in the North of Ireland, Highlanders would side with both the native Gaelic Irish and English and Lowlander Scots depending on motivation ranging from cultural and familial ties to money and the promise of wealth. Ultimately, the English gained control over Ireland and the Scottish Highlanders added to the mix with Lowlanders and English to form the Scots-Irish or Ulster-Scots community of Northern Ireland.

By the late 17th century Scotland had much upheaval due to Stuarts of Scotland becoming the royal dynasty of England as well. They remained separate kingdoms under one monarch. The War of Three Kingdoms and the English Civil War along with religious fervor all caused Highlanders to alternatively suffer and profit, largely depending on which winner they would back. By the year 1688, James II of England/VII of Scotland with his Catholic leanings was overthrown and in the so called Glorious Revolution by his Protestant daughter Mary and her husband and his Dutch nephew and her cousin William, Prince of Orange and Stadtholder of the Dutch Republic. They were crowned William and Mary of England and a de-facto personal union now existed between the Kingdoms of England, Scotland, Ireland and the Dutch Republic. James II/VII fled to France and later to Ireland to conjure up support among the Irish Catholic populace in hopes of regaining the throne, he also raised some support from loyal Scots and French soldiers too. This started the Williamite War, the British theater of the Nine Years War. William III of England now forged an army of Protestant forces made of English, Scottish, Irish, French, Dutch and Danish troops. Famously in 1690 at the Boyne River north of Dublin, Ireland, James and William’s armies met. However, the better trained Protestant forces won the day and James fled Ireland ultimately returning to France. However, he never accepted in theory that he or his direct Catholic descendants were not the rightful rulers of Britain. This was to have repercussions in the form of the Jacobite Rebellions and it would play out its final stages with the Highlander Scots and the famed Highlander charge.

The House of Stuart tried to regain the British throne in exile with French support in the early 18th century. William and Mary had no children and they were succeeded by James other daughter, Anne. Anne like Mary and William was raised Protestant and under her rule Great Britain was formed with the 1707 merging of the Crowns of Scotland and England officially as one with a single parliament based in London as opposed to a separate Scottish one as had been the case for the last century. Anne in turn passed away without an heir and was replaced by her closest Protestant relative, the Elector of Hanover from Germany, now George I of Great Britain.

The Jacobites were supporters of the Stuart royalist cause in exile and hoped to restore them to the throne of Britain. Jacobites were so named for the Latin name for James was Jacobus. Jacobitism as an ideology had Stuart restoration as it central tenant but the individual motivations were varied largely depending on the country the Jacobite supporter was located in. In Ireland, it was support for a Catholic monarch in and the promise of religious toleration that James II had granted earlier. In England and Wales a Catholic minority showed Jacobite support but largely its greatest support was found among royalist conservatives or Tories who believed in the divine rights of kings and felt the Glorious Revolution had been an unlawful usurpation and was in violation of what they saw as God’s natural order. Nevertheless, the vast majority of England and Wales were Protestant and anti-Catholic so it is a matter of academic debate among historians just how strong Tory support of Jacobitism really was. In Scotland the reasons were also varied. For some, the Jacobite cause was in solidarity amongst the Scottish Catholic minority. For Highlanders, their own feudal Clan system prized a tradition of feudal service to a landlord, namely the King. Despite the Highlanders varied legacy of service and opposition to the King was a matter of pragmatism but the essential relationship between Highlander Clans and the Crown was still rooted in a traditional belief in the divine rights of a monarch as feudal landlord of all Scotland and the Clan chieftains were loyal subjects granted a certain degree of autonomy in exchange for their recognition of King’s nominal authority and service to the Crown in times of need. This established a looser form of nobility than the later English influenced tradition. However, the traditional ideological and religious causes were in reality only the surface for Highlander support for the Stuart cause, as always economics, a sense of autonomy coupled with what they saw as a defense against an encroachment on their way of life was the primary motivation. Opposition to the Act of Union 1707 which united Scotland and England into one nation under a common monarch and Parliament was viewed by some Highlander Clans, particularly in the northwest of Scotland as to the detriment of Scotland namely for economic reasons and due to certain laws barring Scottish nobility from serving in the House of Lords in London, opposition to the Union was also strong in Edinburgh, the modern capital of Scotland and seat of its own Parliament.

From their positions in France and later Rome, Italy the Catholic Stuarts with French funding often tried to stir rebellions to their cause back in Britain. From 1689-1745 a number of Jacobite Rebellions occurred with the goal of Stuart restoration being central to their goals. 1715 and the final one of 1745-46 were the most notable, particularly for their support among the Highlander Scots.

1715′s rebellion was a clash of Highlanders in some ways. Under John Erksine, 6th Earl of Mar Highlander clans were rallied to the Jacobite cause and army was assembled with took over the Highlands and spread on down to Stirling Castle in the heart of Scotland. They had declared James II’s son James Francis Edward Stuart the new King of Scots, he was also referred to as the “Old Pretender”. In opposition to him was the Hanoverian British government and its commander in Scotland, John Campbell, 2nd Duke of Argyll. Campbell was a well known Highlander Clan with the Earls and Dukes of Argyll as its primary chieftain, the Campbells of Argyle had become very wealthy and politically well connected, perhaps the most well connected Highlander Clan in Scotland by the 18th century. Argyll led his force against Mar the Battle of Sheriffmuir in November of 1715. Both sides would claim victory but it was inconclusive, the Highlanders fought on both sides of the battle, largely depending on which clan one was a member. Ultimately, the Jacobites were beaten at the later Battle of Preston and the cause was frustrated in its goal once more.

1745 would see the most famous Jacobite Rebellion, it was an outgrowth of the concurrent War of the Austrian Succession. During the greater European wide War of the Austrian Succession, France and Prussia formed a coalition with Spain and other German and Italian states against Austria, Great Britain, the Electorate of Hanover and the Dutch Republic with other German supporters and limited Russian support. The new Jacobite leader was Charles Edward Stuart, known to the Jacobites as the “Young Pretender” after his father and to the Scots he was affectionately called “Bonnie Prince Charlie”. Charles was smuggled into Scotland to start an uprising when British military power there was weakest due to the bulk of Britain’s military being on the continent in war against the French coalition. Charles had hoped for French support to help knock Britain out of the war and raise him to the throne but bad weather prevented this from happening. Nevertheless, he gathered local support mostly from the Highlanders of northwestern Scotland.

He captured Edinburgh and was declared King and subsequently the Highlander Jacobites routed the Hanoverian British government forces in September 1745 at the Battle of Prestonpans, thanks to the Highland Charge. Further success was later had at Falkirk Muir in January 1746, once again the Highland Charge was instrumental to Jacobite success. However, by spring of 1746 the good fortunes of the Jacobite cause was fading. That winter they had marched into England toward London which caused a panic. They made it as far as Derby but realizing the French support they long hoped for never materialized and now facing a large, disciplined and experienced government army fresh from war on the continent, under the command of Prince William, Duke of Cumberland and son of King George II, the Jacobites returned to Scotland in high spirits but achieving no last strategic outcome. With Cumberland in pursuit the Jacobites retreated to the Highlands themselves, there they hoped to blend in and lead the government force on to ground of their own choosing where they could defeat them decisively.

Since 1689, government forces had been often been overrun by the Highland charge tactic in battle. Largely this was due to lack of discipline in government troops and the Highlanders fighting on topography of that catered to their advantage. The Duke of Cumberland was aware that these elements had lead to government defeat in the past, he was not apt to repeat the mistake of past commanders. The battle that finally took place in April 1746, known as the Battle of Culloden, fought near Inverness in the Scottish Highlands was not fought in the hilly or mountainous terrain that favored the Highlanders but instead on a boggy moor ground which slowed their advance in the face of modern weaponry (muskets and canister shot from cannons), the result was an hour long battle culminating in the last Highland Charge in history and the last major battle on British soil. It ended in bloody fashion for the Jacobites, Charles was thoroughly defeated, though he escaped Scotland back to the continent, disguised in drag. His Highlander force was butchered in the aftermath of the battle and so with Culloden died the Highland Charge tactic and effectively the Jacobite cause with which it had become so linked...

The Highland Charge tactic itself was essentially a infantry shock tactic. It required speed and relied on overwhelming force, it was psychological weapon as much as a physical weapon. Enhancement to its success was the charge being initiated downhill from the high ground head on into the enemy’s front or flank. The Scottish Highlands being rife with hilly and mountainous countryside, were a logistical nightmare for large armies used to fighting pitched battles, a lesson the Romans on down to the English had learned. In turn, they were the perfect place for a loose fighting formation like the Highlander Clans which operated as functionally a guerilla army against their opponents, they possessed local knowledge of the terrain and could blend in to hide from the enemy and then ambush and disappear seemingly at will. The tactic developed overtime from the original Scottish Highland tactic of fighting in tight formation. The Scots overwhelmed the enemy with their ferocity in battle, heavy weaponry and unsettling war cries. in battle they fought with battle axes or two-handed heavy swords called claymores. By the 17th century with weapons shifting to gunpowder based firearms and artillery, these tight formations were becoming vulnerable to ranged weapons which could cause many casualties at a distance. The Highlanders instead adapted the formation to one more reliant on terrain, looser and faster in format overall but still using the goal of traditional overwhelming force with unsettling war cries. The weapons and clothing were also adapted to better accommodate the charge. Instead of a claymore, the Highlanders carried a single handed broadsword which was large but lighter, they also carried a targe shield for defense and a smaller dirk thrusting dagger. Their clothing below the waist was reduced to a kilt.

The Highland charge was launched downhill on firm open ground at great speed in a wedge formation with loud war cries to raise the attacker’s morale as well as frighten a hopefully inexperienced and ill-disciplined enemy. The charge was meant to hit the enemy as high speed and break their lines with the “savagery” of their fighting, sometimes the mere sight and sound was enough unnerve and overrun the enemy. The Highland charge always anticipated a number of casualties due to a initial musket volley from the enemy, but the speed would be too much for them to reload in an era of single shot firearms. By the time the enemy was reloading they were struggling unnerved by the wails of the Highlanders and already being engaged with swords and dagger hacking and stabbing them to death. In many cases like at Killiecrankie, Prestonpans and Falkirk Muir the charge was successful due to the essential elements, speed, terrain and ill-disciplined enemies. Psychologically terrifying and well timed it proved to be a classic shock tactic. It shortcomings however were the danger of modern ranged weapons like artillery and muskets hitting the enemy at range, especially those fired by a professional disciplined army not inclined to turn and run at the sound and fury of the charge. Additionally, its implementation over broken ground or flat terrain or a combination of two in the face of modern weaponry like at Culloden could yield fatal consequences. The Highland charge has its roots and a resemblance in the ancient shock charge tactics of the Scots Celtic forbearers of Britain against Roman legions and other enemies. It embodied an ancestral connection and became a romantic image in and of itself, forever etched in the minds of historical memory when we think of the Scottish Highlands, kilted-tartan clad men running at full speed with sword, shield and dagger in hand, screaming like a banshee right into the enemy’s front, cutting down their opponent with fierce and wild abandon. The ultimate image of the barbarian fighting to preserve his way of life and freedom in the face of modernity. That’s the kind of image Killiecrankie and Culloden conjure, the image Walter Scott in the later Victorian era somewhat revived. The ultimate picture of Scottish romanticism on the battlefield...

#military history #scotland #romanticism #culloden #jacobites #highlands #1745 #1715 #1689 #britain #celts #infantry tactics #shock tactic #highlander

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archeo-starwars · 6 years

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Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Warfare Author’s Cut, Part 2 – Ancient Coruscant

THE BATTALIONS OF ZHELL AND THE TAUNGS

Jason Fry: As published, Warfare offers a translation of the best-known section of Dha Werda Verda, an epic about the ancient battle between the Zhell and the Taungs. This “modern” exploration of the Zhell and Taungs was fun, and I liked how it connected the ancient era with the Mandalorians and the Empire. But it risked feeling redundant — and with Warfare way too long already, it was a logical cut.

Erich Schoeneweiss: I think it’s important to note the circumstances that led to some of the edits we had to make. The last thing I wanted to do was cut anything Jason wrote, but he was contracted to deliver a manuscript at a specific word count and far exceeded that. If this had been a novel that wouldn’t have been as a big an issue, but the Essential Guides are illustrated full-color books. We have a tight budget and set of book specifications we work with, and page count is one of those key specs. A longer manuscript means more pages, which means the book costs more to produce. Jason made some edits on his own and submitted the manuscript knowing we would have to make some more. It was a collaborative effort in deciding on the additional cuts, and this is one of them.

Reprinted From Imperial Center Today, 2 ABY:

A LONG TIME AGO…

The Zhell and the Taungs Are Names to Conjure By, But the Truth About These Long-Lost Combatants Is Hard to Pin Down

By Eschul Shaywa

The Zhell and the Taungs have been powerful names here on Imperial Center nearly as long as civilization has existed on our planet — and that’s an awfully long time. Their names adorn ancient neighborhoods that claim some connection to long-ago battles, as well as new developments whose builders want a patina of tradition for their durasteel and clari-crystalline palaces.

But how much do you really know about these ancient warriors? Talk to scholars, and they tell you the only thing clear about the Zhell and the Taungs is just how unclear their histories are. But that isn’t to say we know nothing: Researchers on several worlds are working tirelessly to knit together scraps of legend and bits plucked from archaeological discoveries, in hopes of one day reconstructing the ancient chronicles.

The outlines of what happened some 200,000 years ago are known to every schoolchild: The 13 nations that made up the Battalions of Zhell spent centuries clashing with the forces of the Taungs. During one of their skirmishes, a volcanic eruption destroyed the city of Zhell, shattering the Battalions’ power. The assembled Taungs watched in awe as ash blotted out the sun and rained down upon them. Taking their opponents’ destruction as a sign of divine favor, the Taungs christened themselves Dha Werda Verda, the Shadow Warriors, and celebrated their victory in the epic poem of the same name.

In its entirety, Dha Werda Verda encompasses more than 700 verses divided into 11chapters and written in the language known as Notron Cant, whose subtleties continue to defy translation. But most people know only a fraction of the ninth — the 10 verses popularly known as “The Maker Comes to Unmake.” No matter what school, junior academy or crèche you belonged to, if you’re Coruscanti you either memorized the strange syllables of these 10 verses for recitation or had a schoolmate who did.

But there’s something odd about our veneration of an ancient epic, notes University of Byblos historian Mesh Burzon.

“We believe the Zhell were humans — perhaps the original human population that took to the stars when Imperial Center was known as Notron,” Burzon says. “The Taungs were not human. If the account of the destruction of Zhell is even vaguely accurate, it was a monumental disaster for humanity. So what you have is the descendents of those who survived a near-extinction reciting the poem their oppressors composed to celebrate the event.”

As Burzon explains, the Zhell nations were battered by the loss of their capital, but not broken: They recovered and drove the Taungs off Notron entirely. The Taungs emigrated to the Outer Rim and eventually settled Mandalore, named for a legendary clan leader. From this new homeworld they became the scourge of the Republic, routinely raiding its outlying worlds and sometimes penetrating the very Core.

The Mandalorian clans valued loyalty to their ferocious warrior code above all else, a quality that would eventually transform their society. A later leader, Mandalore the Ultimate, admitted humans and other species to the Mandalorian ranks. As it turned out, Mandalore the Ultimate was the final Taung to lead the clans.

“The Taungs are now extinct, but their ways have been preserved by the Mandalorians — a human culture, ironically enough,” Burzon notes.

Hu Jibwe, scholar of military history at the Salmagodro Grand Academy, notes that there is another song popularly known as “Dha Werda Verda” — the Mando’a war chant known as “Rage of the Shadow Warriors.” During the Clone Wars, some Mandalorian trainers taught this chant to their clones, and it became a hallmark of those units. It’s rarely performed today, so if you have a chance to see it, take advantage: The chant and ritual dance are mesmerizing, particularly if the dancers follow Mandalorian tradition and drum out the rhythm on the chest or back of those next to them:

The ash of the Taung beats strong within the Mandalorians’ heart. We are the rage of the Warriors of the Shadow, The first noble sons of Mandalore. Let all those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still.

The gauntlet of Mandalore strikes without mercy. We are the rage of the Warriors of the Shadow, The first noble sons of Mandalore. Let all those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still.

But as Hu notes, “Rage” is far more recent than Dha Werda Verda. The best-preserved record of the Taung epic poem, written in Notron Cant and housed in the Baobab Archives on distant Manda, contains none of the verses of “Rage.”

“It’s my belief that ‘Rage of the Shadow Warriors’ dates from the reign of Mandalore the Ultimate, when the Taungs knew they were being eclipsed,” Hu explains. “I’ve always thought it a poignant work — a plea that the Taungs not be forgotten by the newborn culture they knew would outlive them.”

But what of the warriors on both sides whose valor is remembered in Dha Werda Verda? Of them we know almost nothing, academics say.

“Two hundred thousand years is an almost unfathomable amount of time,” says Arhul Manaxa, scholar emeritus at the University of Rudrig. “Not even the histories of the Columi date back that far. There is no agreement whatsoever about the site of Zhell, when exactly the battle took place, or if it even did. All has been buried — by kilometers of city and eons of time.”

Manaxa notes that many scholars have struggled to explain how the Taungs could have emigrated from Imperial Center to the Outer Rim after their defeat.

“We know of no species able to travel through hyperspace 200,000 years ago,” Manaxa says. “This leaves us with a few different possible explanations, none of which can be proven or disproven. Perhaps the Taungs were capable of faster-than-light travel, and invaded Imperial Center. Or perhaps the Taungs were native to Coruscant, and the Zhell were the invaders. Perhaps the dates are wrong, and the conflict in fact took place far later, when the Core was being explored by the eldest species of the galaxy. Or perhaps it never happened at all.”

Nor, says Hu, can we say anything about the Battalions of Zhell, or the Taung legions that confronted them.

“When enthusiasts stage recreations of the battle they tend to use replica great axes and swords known from the excavation of Taung burial sites on Roon,” he says. “But by the time the Taungs reached Roon these were ritual objects — species capable of traveling through hyperspace don’t still rely on edged weapons. Nor do you find such weapons still used by societies as sophisticated as the Zhell nations. It’s as if you staged a recreation of the Siege of Ramsir with the Imperial Army limited to parade sabers.”

Hu says he knows it may be unromantic to imagine the confrontation at Zhell occurring between armies that possessed aircraft and atomic weapons. But he urges us to look deeper and examine the qualities of Dha Werda Verda that have kept the poem alive for eons.

“All we have is a poem, but what a poem!” he says. “The image of the Maker appearing to unmake the world has inspired artists for as long as artists have existed. The mere names of the generals awaken something within us: What schoolchild hasn’t felt his heart race at the mention of Rexutu the Unconquerable or Olhak the Reaver, or mourned the inevitable downfall of the mighty and noble Doom of Ulmarah?”

In case the words of academics don’t stir you, let me close with a more personal story. I recently attended a performance of “Rage of the Shadow Warriors” alongside Swart Swifto, who served as a trainer for the Grand Army of the Republic and later the Imperial Center Guard.

After the final shouted dralshy’a died away, I told Swifto about the latest academic thinking about the Zhell, the Taungs and Dha Werda Verda. I was curious to see what this veteran defender of Imperial Center would think about the irony of a Taung war poem giving rise to a Mandalorian tradition, and that tradition in turn being passed on by Imperial Center’s guardians.

Swifto shook his head impatiently at me.

“I hear what you’re saying, Miss Shaywa, but none of that is important,” he said. “It doesn’t matter that the poem was composed by some Taung, or that Taung wanted to kill an ancestor of ours, or what weapon he wanted to do it with or what language he spoke. The Taungs and the Zhell were enemies, but they were also part of a brotherhood, one that includes all living beings who believe in a higher cause and are willing to fight and die for it. If you’ve been in battle, if you’ve entrusted your life to other soldiers who are just as scared and confused and noble and brave as you are, then you’re a part of that brotherhood. No matter what you look like.”

#star wars #the essential guide to warfare #in universe sources #taungs #zhells #ancient coruscant #mandalorians #mandalorian culture #Eschul Shaywa #Mesh Burzon #Hu Jibwe #in universe literature #Swart Swifto #dha werda verda #in universe songs

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pyronox-fr-blog · 6 years

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History of Orias

You settle down on the plush rug in front of Io’s desk, the skydancer pausing in her writing of documents to glance up at you. “Hm? You need help with anything?”

You think for a moment, then shake your head. “No, I just have a question,” you say. “I’m not from around here, so I don’t know much about this place. It seems peaceful enough, but... I’ve heard some stories...”

“And you want to know if they’re true?” Io’s attention is fully on you, and suddenly you’re aware of the fact that aside from a Slight Eyewing, the two of you are alone. You nod. “So, you want to know the history of this place.”

Another nod.

She sighs, closes her eyes, then opens them with a pensive look on her face. “Alright. It’s not well known, but not many care to ask. Settle down, this’ll take a while.”

As you relieve yourself of your bags, she stands and leaves the room for a moment before returning with a tray of tea levitating beside her. She closes the door, settles the tray on an empty spot on the desk, and lays down on her own rug on the other side of the desk.

“So,” she starts, “I’m sure you know the official history of the town. A few years ago, I, the town’s Guildmaster, started to build. As other dragons came through, some decided to stick around, like our Innkeeper Delta, and others simply helped build, set up shop for a while, and moved on. Activity increased over time, until Orias became the trading outpost it is today. This sound about right?”

You agree, and she nods in turn. “Yes, well, our history spans quite a bit of time before all that. I’m the only permanent resident who knows, because I was the only one here for some of it.

“Let’s start from the beginning. Now, I wasn’t part of this back then, but I knew a certain someone who was.

“Originally, the town - a regular clan at the time - was located in the Southern Icefield. The Fortress of Ends, to be exact. It started off on the wishes of a dragon created by the Icewarden himself, a dragon named Tyra. She believed she, made out of ice under cover of night, was... the union of Ice and Shadow. Put herself up on a God-like pedestal.

“She tried grouping together dragons from both flights, joining them under the name ‘Clan of Shadowed Frost’. You might be familiar with those particular legends?”

“No, not really,” you say, drinking from your mug of tea. “Maybe rumors of an old cult in the Fortress, or Crags?”

“That would be them, yes. Their influence spread pretty far for a while, and they were essentially a cult, with how they did things. Killing those who opposed their ideals, assimilating others who gave up, obeyed, or legitimately agreed with them.” She tilts her head back with a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Then, Neela happened.”

“Neela?”

“Mhm. Just as absolutely fanatic as Tyra. Became her right wing, her closest companion, all of that. Thing is, Neela didn’t think Ice and Shadow were meant to be together. She thought Fire, not Shadow, should be paired with it. Opposites attract, that kind of deal. Ridiculous, if you ask me.

“Neela gathered up prisoners of the clan, some Fire-born coatl and an assortment of Ice-born dragons. Eventually, she led them in a usurpation, leading to a civil war, of sorts.

“Now, the thing about Neela was that she could figure out a dragon from the inside out at the snap of a finger. Tyra and her dragons didn’t stand a chance, especially against those Fire dragons of Neela’s. Neela won, but she and another dragon, Verrick, were the only ones to survive.

“That didn’t deter them. It did the opposite, really. They simply cut their losses and left. Now, take a guess where they went.”

Considering the original topic of discussion, it’s an easy conclusion to make. “Here?”

Io nods. “Right here. Neela and Verrick essentially did exactly what Tyra had done in the Icefield, only now they called themselves the Clan of Burning Ice.

“However, over time, Neela somehow managed to become even more ruthless than Tyra. She’d send her dragons to hunt others for sport, of all things. Kidnapping hatchlings from their parents to force them into the clan’s ranks, capturing travellers, imprisoning every other dragon they came across. Killed her own children, even. Neela treated it all as a game, and eventually stopped caring about what Flight a dragon was when capturing them.

“Ice and Fire dragons had the highest chances of surviving. Shadow dragons didn’t stand a chance. The rest were captured indiscriminately, and most were killed unless they managed to gain the favor of a clan dragon.

“In my case, I bribed a guard and convinced Neela I agreed with her ideals.”

Her last sentence comes with a pause. After a moment, her words click together in your head, and realisation dawns on you. “In your case? You were caught by her?”

She sighs, then nods. “I was a young merchant, back then. That’s how I had something to bribe the guard with. As for Neela, she was so overconfident in her own perceptive abilities that she never noticed my own.” She shrugs. “A dragon will do a lot in those situations.

“But, you didn’t come here to hear some ‘woe is me’ story. Anyway...

“I got myself close to Neela, the way she’d done with Tyra. I learned her secrets, as well as her history. She’s how I know about the very beginnings of the clan.

“She was her own downfall, really. She told me how she won against Tyra, the same way I would use myself against her. I gathered our prisoners and led a revolt. And, somehow, we won.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Isn’t that a good thing, though? Would it really be so bad if others knew the real story behind the clan?”

She seems to visibly relax at this, for some reason. “You, I like you. You’re a kind dragon. Unfortunately, others... likely wouldn’t take well to knowing their trusted Guildmaster manipulated her way into that position.”

It’s true, and you know it, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair. She continues before you can object.

“Orias is built on trust. I don’t want them to think they can’t even trust me.”

Resigned, you nod, and she continues with her story.

“Yes. We won, and unlike Neela and Verrick, there were several of us at the end of it all. We drove Neela away to Gods-know-where, Verrick and the others dead, and we remained.

“And this is where Orias begins to take shape.

“I told my dragons to leave, to find their own lives after their imprisonment, to escape this place that to them, had only been full of suffering and blood and death. I stayed behind, to change this place for the better.

“You know how I began to build, and how others joined me. But the reason I built this place was to change it from a place where all that it had ever known was death, to a place where dragons could live freely. The others who’ve joined me weren’t always free, and here, they finally can be. We trust each other not to hurt each other the way we’ve been hurt before.

“And the trading post? Well, I was a merchant before, and I’m still a merchant by heart. I was biased in what my own freedom would be.”

She gives you a small smile, the first you’ve seen since you arrived. But there’s something still in the back of your mind, something that won’t stop bothering you. “That... answers a lot of questions. But- what about the other rumors? The recent ones?”

“Recent ones?”

“Yeah. The disappearances. I’ve heard some dragons say there’s demons here. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but... what do you think about it?”

Io’s smile fades and she sighs, pinching her brow with two fingers. “I think- no, I know, that the only demons here are our own. Quiet, lingering, and real, but with no physical form. Demons in the way you describe simply don’t exist.”

You nod slowly, taking this in. Of course she’d think that. These were all just rumors, after all; you’d doubted them before you even came here. “Thanks. I think that’s everything I wanted to know.”

She smiles again, and says, “Well, I’m glad I could settle things, then.” She rises to her feet, gesturing with a wing for you to follow. You stand and strap your bags back around yourself before walking after her.

She stops by the door, waiting. You approach, and as your claws click around the handle, she bows her head just slightly. “I hope you don’t mind, but could you not repeat what I’ve said to you today? I’d rather this history not be spread around.”

“Don’t worry, I wont,” you reassure her. She smiles at you with a nod, then lets you leave.

You walk from the building with new knowledge and secrets in tow.

Orias is new, yet even older than yourself. It’s peaceful, yet has known more blood than you’ve seen in your life. It’s full of opposites and contradictions.

You frown. Opposites and contradictions...

What, or who, are those in the present?

...Better not to dwell on it.

#my lore #fr lore #flight rising lore #c: Io

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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 7 years

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Clans: Chapter 1

Relationships: Mckirk

Characters: Jim Kirk, Leonard “bones” Mccoy, Sulu, Uhora, Spock, Christopher Pike, maybe more.

warning: there will be smut.

A/N: so this is my newest fic, and im super excited about it! Its sort of a mix of lore from Supernatural, cuz i love that show, crossed with the Star Trek characters. Basically Jim goes out on a hunting trip and gets himself into more then he can handle all too quickly. its going to be so much fun! So if you want give it a read and let me know what you think!! i would also love to give a super huge thank-you to @medicatemedrmccoy since this story was inspired by her and her amazing writing! BTW if y’all havent read her new “Bite Me” fic, you should, cuz y’all are missing out! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter one:

Central Park. Dark, quiet, secluded, it was Jim's favourite place to hunt. At night he would lay in wait, taking cover in the even darker shadows of the trees, the thick coverage of the bushes, and stalk his pray in the night. This night started no different then any other. As Jim silently glided across the damp grass, not a sound under his feet, he followed a young couple thorough the park. They couldn’t have been any older then twenty-five, the dark haired girl clinging tightly to her blond boyfriend as they laughed their way down the trail. Then Jim saw him, the haggard drunk stumbling through the park, emerging from the trees across from him.

The man stumbled across the grass, cutting in front of the couple who had narrowly escaped an early death that night as Jim set his sights on a new prize. The young couple sidestepped the drunk and hurried out of the park, no longer in sight, but Jim's eyes remained on the plump man now so close to him. “Drunk,” he thought to himself, “always did taste sweeter.”

He scanned the area with one quick glance, making sure it was just him and his prey left in the park, and slowly began emerging from his hiding place in the bushes. He could smell the man, he could smell the sickly sweet dripping off of him from the booze, and he couldn’t wait to get that taste in his mouth, it was all he could focus on. Then his moment came, the man turned his back to Jim, completely unsuspecting as Jim hunched readying to strike. Before he could lunge and take what he so desperately wanted he was wrapped in several pairs of arms and a mask thrown over his face. He didn’t panic and calmly tried to remove himself from the arms encircling him, but found that for the first time in his existence his strength was useless, as every time he tried to move their hold tightened and his strength was failing him. Now he was beginning to panic, what creature had strength measurable to his, able to keep him easily at bay? Nothing he had ever encountered before.

With no thoughts on what to do, he was dragged backwards and out of the park and roughly thrown into a car. They drove for what Jim felt was ages while they held him down with ease in the back seat, still masked. When they finally stopped and pulled him from the car he could smell the water, he could smell the rusting decay of old boats, the metallic tang of gutted fish, and before he knew what was happening he was thrown into a boat and being taken away from land. Eventually they stopped, the boat docked, and Jim was once again being manhandled. He heard doors creaking open and when they passed through them Jim's senses went off the charts. Every smell was new, every corner they turned seemed to provide a new scent, and he was finding it extremely difficult to manage to even walk straight. But amongst all the smells that this place was holding around him, there was one scent in particular that Jim found himself completely attaching to. This one scent that he wanted more of, and more, it was almost addicting. In the back of his mind he registered another set of doors opening and he was pushed through, then forced to the ground and made to sit on his knees. The addicting scent had left Jim's nose, leaving him slightly impatient for more.

His mask was finally ripped from his face and Jim found himself surrounded by men, ordinary men as far as he could tell, but their smell. It was something Jim had never come across, something that had him both confused and scared, and the strength they held was enough to drop his stomach to his knees. No man had ever been able to restrain him at all, let alone as easily as these ones had.

The panic was starting to grow wild in his chest as he turned his head in all directions at the men surrounding him. While he found himself unmasked and unbound he took his chance to lunge at the closest man to him, letting out a gut wrenching snarl as he did, only to be effortlessly pushed back to his knees.

“Wait here,” the gravelly voice of the man before him spoke, “our Lordship wishes to speak with you.”

“Lordship…” he whispered to himself, then watched the man leave.

Jim remained on his knees in the room, still surrounded by the odd smelling men. He wanted so bad to just bolt, use his speed and book it out of this place, but the strength in these men was something he found himself not wanting to mess with. If what he had seen already was as effortless as it seemed, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what they were capable of if they actually tried. Finally the double doors opened again and Jim turned slightly back to see who was coming in this time. It was a tall man, dark hair, slightly tanned skin. He entered the room flanked by two more guys, one the man from before, and the second someone new. Jim noticed that he was wearing clothes that seemed a little old fashioned for modern day New York. Compared to Jim's ripped blue jeans and worn leather jacket, this guy’s dark suit pants and black puffed out top and tie made Jim look like he was homeless. The very dapper man sauntered past Jim and sat in front of him in the chair that had been placed there by one of the men. Jim wanted to rip him open, he wanted to rip every person in this place open, no one ever dared touch him and this had already gone too far. He shifted, getting closer to the man with a snarl, but when he inhaled every muscle in Jim's body froze. That smell, it was the exact smell in the hallway that had Jim's senses in all kinds of trouble. It must be this man, he was the one who smelled so intoxicating to Jim, so much so that he had to hold his breath while in the mans presence.

The man tilted his head at Jim's now frozen form, giving him a quick once over before crossing his legs and saying, “My men tell me you're having a hard time sitting still.”

Jim quickly regained his composure and brought back his spiteful manor, though still held his breath, as he spat back, “Hard to comply when you’ve been kidnapped and held against your will.”

“Don’t worry,” the man folded his hands in his lap, “we will set you free, I just wanted to talk.”

Jim said nothing, just stared at the man, hard and cold before the man spoke again. “You’re a vampire, correct?”

Jim merely flashed his fangs, wishing that he could sink his teeth into someone right now.

The man chuckled, “Good, and in that case I have a request to ask of you.”

“First you can tell me what you are!” Jim took one long smell of the room, the mans scent still taking hold of him as he wavered on his knees, trying to gather himself, “You can’t be human, you don’t smell human, in fact… I’ve never smelled anything like you before.”

The man simply smiled, a dashing and effortless smile that had an almost instant effect on Jim. First his scent and now this. He then leaned forwards slightly and whispered, “We are werewolves.”

“You’re… wolves?” Jim all but whispered, “That’s impossible, wolves have been extinct for centuries!” “And yet here I sit,” he sat back with a smirk. “Then why, all this time, have I been told otherwise?!” The man took a breath before answering, ignoring Jim's seething glare, “Because as far as you or any other supernatural being is concerned we are extinct, wiped out. But on the contrary, we just made it seem that way. We have been here, on this island, thriving for centuries unnoticed by any other family or clan. It was the best way to keep our family safe after our quarrels with the shifters in the 1800’s”

“So you’ve been here all these years and never left the island?” the man nodded and Jim scoffed, “Well that explains your dumb ass clothes.”

One of the men to Jim's left took a step towards him and Jim immediately went on the defense, ready to attack. But the man merely held up a hand and the wolf backed off immediately. The man looked back to Jim as he continued, “I personally have never left the island, but some of the other werewolves have. The only time we leave the island is to obtain food and nothing more, that is until last week when our cover became compromised.”

“How?”

The man ignored Jim yet again, leaning fully back in his chair and resting a hand on his chin, “Go now, return to your clan and tell your blood father I wish to speak with him, tomorrow night. My men will leave you unmasked this time so you will know your way back to my house. Inform him that this is a civil meeting, I only wish to discuss some matters that have recently arisen and see if we can come to an arrangement that will suit both of our families.” “What matters?” Jim looked around the room confused, “What are you talking about?! The man waved his hand at the wolves again and this time two came to grab each of Jim's arms, hoisting him off the ground and to his feet. The man spoke to the two men now holding Jim, “Take him back to the docks and let him go, and hopefully,” he shifted his eyes to make contact with Jim’s, “I will see you tomorrow.”

Before Jim could say anything else he was being dragged, yet again, through the hallways of the house. He didn’t even bother to struggle this time, it was clearly useless. Instead he thought about everything that had happened to him that night. Wolves, actual wolves had kidnapped him, creatures he had been told, since his turning, were extinct. As far as Jim knew his family was the only supernatural clan in New York, and this opened up a whole new playing field, one in which he wasn’t sure where he stood and that scared him. For the first time in his vampire life he was actually scared.

Quicker then his first time around Jim found himself at the docks. The wolves stopped their boat and tied off, two of them stepping onto the docks then turning back to Jim. “You’re free to go,” one of them said, and faster then they could blink an eye Jim was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: ok, so just a short little intro...what does everyone think? more action to come i promise lol and if anyone wants to be tagged for future updates just let me know :)

Tags: @bi-e-ne

and @medicatemedrmccoy i already tagged you at the top of this one, but i didn’t know if you wanted to be tagged for the rest, so if not just let me know ;P

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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Booktober 2020 Week 4: Classic & Myth

Welcome back to booktober! Booktober is the month I talk about books; in particular I’m talking about horror and paranormal books. Okay, so Booktober isn’t a thing but we can make it a thing. Anyone is welcome to join me in booktober at any time. Just use the hashtag booktober and if you at me, ginnyzero, on social media I’ll reblog your post.

This week it’s time to delve into the past, classic and historical horror and paranormal. Fun fact about Ginny, I was born on November 8th. Who else was born on November 8th? Bram Stoker, the writer of Dracula. This could partially explain my early obsession with vampires and my necrophobia; the fear and fascination with death.

Dracula, the story itself, is one of those stories that’s been so regurgitated by popular culture that the basics of the story are known by about everyone. The book itself is written in an expository way and so if you like that type of reading, then you’ll like the book. I like watching or reading different remakes of the idea rather than the book itself. Hellsing, Van Helsing, NBC’s 2013 Dracula, and so on and so forth.

My favorite classical horror story is from Edgar Allen Poe, and is ironically rather appropriate for these telling times as it is the Mask of the Red Death. And in the Mask of the Red Death, plague haunts the land killing everyone, so the nobles lock themselves away in a castle with a beautiful and fancy imperial suite and they determine to party the plague away. Until the man in the mask of the red death comes and they all fall down.

It’s a beautifully written and chilling story that I’ve enjoyed since high school. You can’t run away from pandemics and death.

Poe enjoyed drawing on real historical stories for his works, such as the black plague in the Mask of the Red Death. But he also drew upon one of the stories in Glamis Castle, considered one of the most haunted castles in Scotland. Glamis is popular enough to show up in a lot of horror books because of the different tales in it are so outrageous ranging from secret rooms a la the folktale Bluebeard, to the devil coming to play cards, and horrifically, a group of men or a family being bricked up inside the walls until they had to commit cannibalism.

Castle ghosts are some of absolute favorite real life paranormal phenomena because they come with such rich stories behind them. Most of the paranormal phenomena in castles are audial. Hearing voices, such as the Lord of Glamis and the Devil playing dice and laughing at Glamis. Or even hearing pipers, such as the doomed Piper of Duntrune Castle who played his pipes to warn his clan of the Campbell Clan’s treachery, and they cut off his hands and buried him under the flagstones of the courtyard. (And yes, they did find a skeleton without hands buried within the castle grounds of one castle with a piper ghost.) There is an entire phenomena called grey or green ladies, these are ghosts of women who protect castles and castle ruins. Many of them were young women who fell in love with the wrong man and committed suicide when their families wouldn’t let them marry them. Very common theme.

The United States doesn’t have many castles. Not ones with the history of Europe, we do have a lot of penitentiaries and insane asylums that are haunted by the inmates, residents, and employees that look like castles. And if you watch the Dead Files, there are places in the states the land is bad. There’s no other word for it, people should not be living on the land. I think the most detrimental thing Protestantism has done is convince people spiritual and paranormal phenomena aren’t real. Catholicism has a heavy focus on mysticism and the influence of the devil.

If you watch the Dead Files, there are so many interesting things going on with ‘normal’ homes in the states from homes being situated on pathways for the dead, to bad land, to malevolent earth spirits, to even portals to alien dimensions that can’t be closed. That one was freaky because the spiritual alien entity was scratching the side of the house. And the worst thing that can happen is when someone doesn’t believe in it. 9 times out of 10 it makes things worse.

The one phenomena I’ve had some personal experience with is one of our naval ships, called the USS The Sullivans. Now, the USS The Sullivans is named after 5 Sullivan brothers who died at sea during World War Two after their ship was sank by a Japanese submarine. The Sullivan brothers became the reason for the important policy of not putting family on the same ship. They built a Fletcher Class destroyer, a small destroyer, in their honor and it was sponsored by their mother. The ship served in World War 2 and the Korean War and ended as a training ship in the 6th fleet before being designated as a museum ship and eventually stationed in Buffalo.

Sometime after being commissioned and being docked at the Naval Museum, the spirits of the Sullivan Brothers found their way to the ship named after them. Employees have reported lights turning on and off, they’ve seen the brothers, they have come upon locked doors that should be unlocked and vice versa. I think they’ve also heard voices and footsteps when it was supposed to be empty at the end of the day. Pretty typical stuff for a haunted ship and haunted places in general.

I have been to the naval museum. And I got through the tiny submarine the Croaker, and walked through the larger destroyer the USS Little Rock and everything was fine, lovely day, until I got to the ramp of the Sullivans. I didn’t know the ship was haunted at the time. They don’t warn you about this. As soon as I got to the ramp, something felt off. You could not pay me to go on that ship. No way. Absolutely not. I decided having seen the Little Rock and being reassured by my dad, the Sullivans was more of the same, I would not risk my skin and go on board the Sullivans. I stand by this decision.

I love my dad, but I’m not sure how spiritually sensitive he is to these type of phenomena.

Now, I have been on board the Aircraft carrier in New York City and felt a little weirded out on the electronic section because of the heat and static in the air but never since have I felt that sense of dread I did at the end of the ramp of the Sullivans.

Horror has been going on from the very beginning of storytelling and it’s older than dirt at this point with tales such as Beowulf and stories sanitized by the Grimm Brothers as they translated them from oral tradition for the Victorians. My personal favorite which how horrifying it is depends on your point of view and interpretation of the story is Hades and Persephone.

Now, the basic gist of the myth is grim Hades wants a wife and he decides on his niece Persephone asking Zeus, her father, for her hand. Zeus goes to Demeter. Demeter says absolutely not. Zeus goes back to Hades and is like “well, bro, her mom says no, but um, you’ve got my blessing to carry her off in traditional Greek style and marry her.” This was completely legit in Greek culture as long as dad’s permission was granted. (Great time to be a woman, not.)

Hades does so and well, we all know what happens is Demeter gets angry and causes a famine. Zeus panics and goes “hey, bro, we need Persephone back, my wife is going to kill all of us.” Since, you know most of Olympus’ problems are created by Zeus. And Hades is like “Fine, she can come back, as long as she hasn’t ate anything.” And Persephone, had ate 3 to 6 pomegranate seeds and they ended up compromising where Persephone lived with Hades part time as his cold queen, and the rest of her time with her mother, as the personification of spring.

So, the horror comes in on if Persephone was actually involved in this or not. Did she know anything? Was this a surprise? Was she looking to escape her overbearing mother? Did she love Hades? Was she in on the plan and ate the pomegranate seeds on purpose? Were they actually pomegranate seeds? Your interpretation may vary, so the horror could be having to go back to the overbearing mother or her being taken away without her consent to the grim Underworld.

It all seemed to work out in the end. There seems to be only one myth Hades cheated on Persephone and she turned that woman in to mint. (Don’t mess with Persephone.) But otherwise, Hades was faithful to Persephone and they had a lot of children included the personification of nightmares.

Obviously, my favorite folklore creature is the werewolf. Now, I’m talking about the werewolf in the context of folklore only. I’m not talking about the werewolf as presented by Universal Studios or any of the movies after 1935. The folklore werewolf was not considered evil or associated with the devil until the later Witch Hunts of the late 1500s to the 1700s. Before this, the werewolf was considered mostly benign and quite possibly someone who had been cursed by the church itself for punishment of perceived misdeeds.

The culture of the middle ages didn’t view being able to turn into an animal as bad or even evil. In fact, the church itself, most likely relying on the story of Nebuchadnezzar in the Old Testament, was thought to be able to curse people into take the shapes of wolves. The fear of curses and poxes had real power back then. It wasn’t shameful to be a werewolf, it was shameful to act like an animal without thought or reason.

Conclusion: You could be an animal, as long as you spoke with reason and didn’t attack people indiscriminately. Go ahead, be wild. Just don’t act like you aren’t civilized.

The Werewolves of Ossory in Ireland meld most of the ideas of middle age werewolves into several stories. They were warriors who would take on animalistic traits while fighting similar to Norse berserkers, or were able to transform into actual wolves using a wolf pelt much like a selkie or a swan maiden have pelts and capes, or they projected their souls from the bodies to be wolves. They were looking to make up for past misdeeds. Some stories say they were forced to change every seven years. Cursing men into wolves is a common trick of St. Patrick apparently. Or if you angered your wife by cheating on her for instance, she could curse into being a werewolf.

There were other ways to be turned into a werewolf. Some people were considered born as werewolves. You could drink water from the paw print of a wolf. Or as an adult, pass under a birch arch entwined with a wild rose briar three times. Or even by sleeping out under the full moon for three nights. The Yule werewolves, would like to come out during the holiday of yule and party drinking and dancing.

There were “cures” for werewolfism, mostly the use of wolfsbane or even exorcism and some torture because the Spanish Inquisition. But most werewolves lived peaceably with their neighbors and outside of what you might consider the “uglification” of the ‘savage’ before being converted to Christianity, no one noticed until they went on a wolf hunt and hurt the wolf or hurt the body of a soul traveling wolf and it was converted into an injury on the human.

Like Middle Ages witchcraft, unless it involved heresy, werewolfism was ignored and in some places such as Norway, female werewolves were even venerated. There were even laws instituted about to protect them unless it involved blasphemy and heresy.

Folklore and legends are extremely interesting because the way they changed over time and even by location and the way they were written about in Christian sources of the time, which outside of some written down oral tradition and actual laws are the only way we know about these creatures.

Next week is personal week! Time to talk about personal paranormal and horror things related to my writing and what I’d like to see in the future and just go wild. If anyone wants to join me in promoting themselves this last week of October, here is a handy dandy image!

#writing tumblr #wrtrblr #booktober #books #classic stories #classic horror #dracula #werewolves #the USS Sullivan #ghosts

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askdawnandvern · 7 years

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A Lamb Among Wolves Ch:26

First off, I want to apologize for being two days late posting this. I imagine you guys were sort of on the edge of your seats after last time, so making you wait longer probably sucked. The whole point of having a chapter buffer was if i got sick, I would still have something to post. But thanks to the poor weather being what it was, I was, and still am suffering a pretty bad cold. On top of that I had to have some stuff done today medically that'd I'd rather not go into. Sufficed to say, sitting at my desk and working was a very non-option.

So I missed the Monday post date, and for that I'm sorry. Here's the chapter you had to wait on. I hope you all like it. And don't worry, schedule is still the same. I'm not changing the post date to Wednesday now or anything. The Monday after next will see the next chapter go up. Until then, here's hoping you like this new chapter, and until next time, I'm going back to bed...

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Chapter Twenty Six: A Brief History of The Northern Roaropean Lamb

"When compared to other mammals rise to a civilized state, sheep and caprids in general were found to have crawled out of their caves significantly earlier than most. Long before the founding of Scottram, Irelamb, and The new Pridelands, Sheep had been subsisting in the form of small communities and cities states spread across the regions. Records of advanced farming tools and written texts have been found to go back nearly as far as the advent of the original Pridelands Empire, and it gave them a great deal of time to grow and refine their culture and practices as they approached nation status."

"Early sheep herds were actually surprisingly similar in structure to that of their wolf counterparts, although forgoing the alpha-beta hierarchy system. At the advent of sheep cultural norms, the herd was largely composed of family members, with the sire ram or ewe leading the herd. But sheep were largely less tribal earlier in their development, which lead to largely peaceful intermingling and trading with other herds. This would lead to the herd dynamic quickly shifting away from simply being made up of families, and expanding to outside herds and even other species of caprids in the interest or protection and convenience."

"This is where early sheep and wolf differed the most greatly. Caprids were generally more docile, and as such spent more time cultivating and perfecting the land they already held rather than forcibly expanding into new territory. But what they lacked in offensive war mongering, they made up for in defense. And this is why they open and inclusive nature of the herd system became a great benefit when it came to sheepkind, especially those centered in the burgeoning nation of Shcottram."

"Years of proxy wars against invading wolves had only proved to hone and embolden the herd mentality of sheep kind, more and more small herds combining their resources and arms in an effort to keep the wolves at bay. Naturally these increasingly larger and larger herd based clans would place their faith in the strongest warrior among them, looking to them as the herd leader. It was this style of herd structure that would lead to the Blackwool clan's rise to power, and the birth of Schottram as a unified country. Specifically Sean Blackwool, who would become the first king of Scottram upon it's creation in 954 A.P. Irelamb, the neighboring nation would see formation just six years later."

"Sean was a seasoned warrior who, in his years before rising to the status of ruler, would lead the sheep under his command to many glorious and seemingly impossible victories against the invading Norwulff forces. But the one that would earn him the favor and praise of every herd in the nation would be 'The Battle of Woolcrag' in 944 A.P. Sean's strategic planning, cunning, and exemplary skill in combat would see him lead his armies to the successful liberation of the town after ten years of wolf occupation. Word of Blackwool's greatest victory spread like wildfire, sung from village to village and herd to herd. And with it came the pleas and requests to join under Blackwool's herd and finally put an end to the wolf occupation of sheep lands. It would take a total of ten years, and numerous battles, but eventually every herd in the land would join Blackwool in his fight against the wolves, and elevate him and his family to the status of being the recognized leader of all the herds in the country."

"This of course saw the birth of Shcottram, In which Sean would declare every sheep who resided upon its shores as being one herd, as well as every wolf as unwelcome among them. And soon after the installation of the Blackwool family as the ruling class among the Shcotts, Blackwools armies successfully drove the last of the occupying wolves out of the nation, This of course wasn't the end of the Norwulff attacks, but never again would the invaders manage to hold any land on Schottish soil."

"The royal line would keep Schottram stable for many centuries. With each onslaught of attacks, (mostly coming from the Norwulves) being successfully repelled. Between the strategic planning of the Blackwool lords in regards to their armies, and many members of the family line leading the charges, kings included, attacks by the invading Norwulves were foiled at every conceivable turn. The Blackwool family, keeping in line with the legacy Sean Blackwool had left in his wake, considered themselves rams of the sheep of Shcottram. And so every male in the family was taught how to fight without exception. However the frequent Norwulff attacks kept the ruling Blackwools rather busy when it came to dealing with the economic needs and rule of law among the everyday Shcotts. And so it was left to the ewes of the Blackwool family to deal in the matters of diplomacy and the needs of the citizenry, especially the acting Queen. More often than not, the acting Queen would often find herself in a greater role as the face of the citizens of Shcottram, but the King's vigilant defense of Schottrams shores did not go unappreciated by the populace despite this."

"The Norwulff reformation caused great consternation and argument among the Blackwool Royal Court, as well as the residents of the nation as a whole. While the ruling herd in Irelamb seemed to be more open to hearing the pleas for peace with the new wolf nation out, the festering old wounds of the constant battles between groups kept Schottram on the offensive. Both the acting King and Queens remained unwilling to hear the Düclaw clan out on peace talks, that was until Delcan and Moira Blackwool took thier respective thrones in 1342 A.P."

"The newly crowned King had an even more distrusting and suspicious attitude when it came to the wolf's entreaty. In fact, the old wounds of the previous attacks, as well as Lesser Norwulff's continued attacks on the nation despite the Greater Norwulff's calls for peace left Declan eager to pay their old enemy back. He was one of the first of the line of Blackwools to call for an offensive stance rather than defensive one. That the time had come to bring the fight to the nation of wolves, to wipe them out, and ensure that sheepkind would never have to worry about their treachery ever again."

“Moira on the other hoof, believed that negotiation and mending old wounds were the key to moving forward as a species, for the sake of sheep and wolves alike. She believed that a full scale war would be nothing more than a fools errand, and would only end disastrously for both parties. This became the catalyst for the many arguments the couple, although it wasn't their first. According to the documentation left by castle guards and castle hoofmaidens close to the couple, they rarely spoke to each other in any manner other than professionally and coldly. There were rarely any affectionate moments between the pair, even after the birth of their sons they remained stoic and cold to one another. It is for these many reasons their short marriage was rumored to be an unhappy one."

"King Declan's attitude toward the wolves would prove to be his undoing however. Eager to get a jump on the unsuspecting wolves, the king put out an order to shore up every able bodied ram in the nation to prepare themselves for enlistment in the King's army. He planned to lead a fleet of 45 of Schottrams finest warships to the shores of Lesser Norwulff to exact what he felt was long overdue revenge for the wolves heinous crimes. Ignoring his wife's pleas to rethink the invasion, the King set off with his ships and nearly half of Scottram's males in 1345 A.P. But of course we all know how that ended, I more or less went over it in the chapter about Norwulff history. The ships never made it to the shore, swallowed by an angry sea while caught in a snarling winter storm. Not even a piece of the wrecked ships washed up on the shores of Lesser Norwulff, and thus the wolves never even knew anything about the supposed oncoming invasion. The Kings death left Moira to sit upon the Schottish throne alone, until her sons came of the proper age to take over the position of King in her stead. Moira's prediction had proven to be half true, in that the attempt at war had proven to be disastrous for the Schottish citizens."

"Now seated on the throne with a nation in chaos, Moira had to act quickly to repair the void left by the loss of so many able bodied rams to her husbands foolish endeavor. She would go on to announce to her subjects that the disaster that befell Declan and his army was an act of the gods, a powerful and painful warning that the time had come to end the bitter feud between sheep and wolf-kind. Some of the Schottish citizenry were vehemently against Moira's call for peace, but the overwhelming majority of sheep under Blackwool's rule respected and were willing to follow the Queens call."

"Schottram had suffered greatly for Declan's folly, and the prospect of making peace was more favorable than the possibility of losing even more lives while the nation was in such a critical state. Even more so, the possibility of finally putting an end to the dreary life of perpetual preparedness for war was an enticing prospect to the Schottish populace. Instead of living in constant fear and alert of Norwulff attack, always on guard for the next invasion, the Norwulves would now be the ones to guard the sheep."

"Queen Moira is quite an interesting and enigmatic figure. As well as being one of my ancestors of very high distinction, she was probably the most beloved ruler in all of Schottish history, even more so after the peace treaty was formed with the wolves in 1346. Many historic accounts of Moira describe her as a mammal of poise and grace that no Queen who had sat on the throne before had ever held, and those who wrote such statements could scarcely conceive a Queen in the future who could live up to her legacy. The air around her was said to fill those who looked upon her with renewed faith and confidence, and even her detractors couldn't argue against the wisdom and skill with which she managed the nation as a whole, with no King to aide her on top of it all. The strength and foresight she carried carving her a prominent and powerful role in the shaping of Shcottish History. Even today her portrait can be found on the ten buck note used as Schottish currency, as well as various churches and art pieces depicting scenes from her benevolent rule."

"However, details of the Queens personal life are few and far between, especially after her first meetings with the wolf ambassador Erik Düclaw. The Queen had kept sparse personal journals to begin with, and they completely stopped about a month after negotiations with Erik began. When concerns were brought up about meeting the ambassador alone, the Queen had been cited as brushing off said concerns off with a laugh. Apparently one of her guards accounts had described the Queen as mentioning that she was certain the meetings would go fine as she had dreamed that they would, as well as having dreamt of Erik specifically."

"Incidentally, aside from being the live-in ambassador, Erik was also made to be Moira's personal body guard despite the protest from the royal court and castle guard. Public accounts cite the Queens reasoning for the move as being a bid to instill confidence in wolves living among sheep, as well as a show of the Queens strength and resolve when it came to her beliefs. In the same way the Blackwool males fought along side their citzens, she was willing to risk her life in order to stand behind her decrees, at least in the eyes of the public it seemed."

"Even after the Queen turned control of the crown over to her son Declan the second, and retired to the royal estate to the north, Erik was bid to follow suit. While he was no longer the acting ambassador, Queen Moira insisted he remain her body guard until the end of her days despite more objections from her sons and the royal court. But the Queen once again justified these decisions as remaining firm on her stance about how well sheep and wolves worked together. Even though she would now remain out of the public eye, she refused to be seen as a mammal who says one thing, and does another."

"Reasons like these are the straws with which conspiracy theorists grasp at to point to the possibility of a secret tryst going on between the pair. Between the sudden absence in the Queens journals after Erik became a permanent fixture in Moira's life. That he was with her at all times, even so far as appearing in every portrait of the Queen post becoming her personal guard. There were even accounts from the night watch of alleged howling coming from the Queen's personal bedchamber in the midnight hours. Of course with no other wolves within close proximity to the castle, and the inability of mammals outside of the wolf species being able to read the type of howl being heard the watch chalked it up to dumb, functionless savage instincts.

"There was also Declan the second's short lived time on the throne, and the controversy surrounding his expulsion and the seating of his younger brother Roderick in his stead just four years later. Despite having been given the throne by his Mother without a struggle, Declan seemed to have a chip on his shoulder when it came to his Mother and her relations with Erik. Much like his Mother, his personal accounts are few and far between. But from the portions that he did write, it was clear the young king shared his Father's view when it came to wolves in general, and seemed to have a general disgust for his Mother's close relationship with Erik. Key phrases in his writings such as referring to his Mother's relationship to the wolf as an "unholy union." as well as an "affront to his Father's memory and legacy." tend to be the ones theorists tend to gravitate toward. But the most baffling turn was Declan's attempt to burn his Mother's Estate to the ground with the Erik and her inside without provocation. I mean, at the time Declan had already secured the throne, with no one to answer to other than perhaps his Mother's clout over the Schottish citizens. Was it simply to honor his Father's memory? To remove any dissent at the possibility of rolling back the Ram-Wolf pact? Perhaps a hatred of Erik specifically? Again the personal accounts are to few and far between to form an accurate account of the young King's reasoning."

"The plot was of course, a failure. Queen Moira and Erik Düclaw survived the blaze, despite half of the estate burning to the ground. It had apparently started in the newest addition to the estate, Blackwool Tower, a large windowless tower built once Moira had turned the throne over to Declan II, which was odd considering it was far from the Queen's living area. Despite the fact that no lives were apparently lost, the Queen was noted as being livid to the point of illness. Personal accounts of the guard staff and hoofmaidens had referred to her breaking down in tears on several occasions despite never expressing why. Needless to say, her anger and disgust fell at Declan immediately, and despite her turning over royal authority to the ram, she was able to easily rescind it in the face of the overwhelming evidence of his involvement in the arson attempt. Many of his personal staff held no loyalty for the new King, and had willingly confessed against him when faced with Moira and the Schottish public. Declan found himself imprisoned in a tower similar to the one he had burned to the ground shortly after being found guilty, and he would spend the rest of his days there while his younger brother Roderick took the newly evacuated throne."

“Instances like these do make it somewhat hard to completely dismiss such theories and notions about Schottam's Queen. Believers are also quick to postulate that the absence of the Queen's personal records and Declan the Second's after the Ram-Wolf pact are actually the fault of the Schottish Government. That officials and the current royal Blackwool descendants have buried the texts, in fears that confirmation of any relationship other than professional existing with Erik Düclaw would tarnish the Queens legacy. But whether it proves to be true or not, it seems we'll never know for sure.""I personally would like to believe in such a secret, clandestine relationship, having always been a hopeless romantic. But the idea that Vernon and myself were not the first star crossed lovers in my family line, and that our hardships were not only shared, but considerably more difficult to endure for the couple during the time. But I have yet to find any concrete clues to solidify it for me, despite my personal hopes. Perhaps if I find the time, I can do more research on the topic and revisit Moira's mysterious relationship in a later chapter, but for now I must press forward in regards to my family's history lest I get distracted from the overall goal of this book."

"Wolf integration in Shcottish society was slow going despite the overwhelming desire for peace amongst the sheep folk. Sheep remained wary of their new neighbors, and despite the desperate need for workers in a great deal of trades among Shcottish soceity wolves were turned away from most positions. The only exceptions were the role of peace keepers among the towns and cities, as well as positions in the Shcottish Army. This is where it is believed the association between wolves and positions of law and order really began. And even as the years went on, and the sheep became more lax when it came to the jobs available to wolves they continued to naturally migrate toward law enforcement and defense work."

"By the time the visionary leader King Richard the Lionhearted took the throne of the New Pridelands, the combined forces of wolf and sheep in the Shcottish army had repelled two incursions by the empire on the Southern Shcottish border. Proving just how effective the aide the Norwulves gave to the Schotts had ultimately been. At the time the nation had grown rather quickly, as had it's populace, and so these victories were nothing to simply shrug off. The New Pridelands had become a growing threat to Shcottish sovereignty, and without the aide of the wolves among them it is arguable that the nation would have remained independent."

"Luckily, Lionheart signified a changing of the guard in terms of the New Pridelands expansionist polices. The charismatic leader spearheaded a radical change of ideals, including phasing out the monarchy in favor of democratic rule, and the concept of co-operative exploration and shared ownership. Lionheart was very eager to find a new land where he could field test these ideas, and his plan would lead to the birth of modern day Zootopia as I mentioned in the section related to Norwulff History."

"While the Blackwool royals remained skeptical on the idea of phasing out monarchies, the concept of mutually beneficial co-operative exploration was somewhat appealing to them. Despite fears that Animalia was largely flat, the building pressure applied by the rebound of Shcottram's population created a great need to expand and find new resource supplies."

"While the population of Shcottram was adapting and growing comfortable with the wolves among them, the royals relationship with them seemed to grow increasingly bitter after Moira and Erik's respective passings. Despite all the benefits to the nation the wolf populace had brought, Moira's descendants almost refused to acknowledge that such changes had been the work of the new wolf migrants. When Declan the second took the throne, he was quick to make sure that no wolves were employed within the castle walls despite his Mother's stern condemnation of it. His son Donnan treated the wolf populace in Shcottram even worse, calling for the mammals to be taxed for simply choosing to live in Shcottram."

"However, to the public, the beneficial changes including wolves had made on their society was readily apparent to even the most uneducated among them, and as such disagreed with the proposed taxation. But the outcry became louder and more angry when Donnan began calling for undoing Moira's truce and expelling the wolves living among them. The wolf and sheep populace grew unruly and violent, and in response the king deployed his own army upon the most troublesome towns under his control to better keep the peace. However, his efforts would prove futile thanks to the work of his cousin Arthur Bellwether. A prominent public speaker, the sheep was found at the center of many of the unruly demonstrations, and the King's continued tyrannical action only garnered him enough public support for the staging of a violent coop against Donnan."

"With Donnan removed from power, and the throne assumed by Bellwether, the Ram-Wolf pact remained untouched. But with Bellwether's descendants, that coldness fostered for wolves and predators in general seemed to return and persist, and while nothing in direct conflict with the rights of Shcottish wolves ever came back into the laws of the land. The royals seemed averse to hearing the mammals concerns and looking after them as well as they did the sheep citizenry. Even under King Ewan, despite his willingness to join Lionheart's exploration of the mysterious western lands, his trust for the leader and predators in general remained bitter and strained."

"This would of course spread to Zootopia with the King's second son, Archibald Bellwether. And it would remain a consistent rhetoric in nearly every Bellwether that would hold political office after him, myself unfortunately included."

"No one is really sure why even after the change of hooves in the royal family, that the strange distrust and coldness in regards to wolves and predators seemed to return to the blackwool-bellwether line. But again, if one were to ask a conspiracy theorist, they would explain that the each ruling member of the bloodline was burdened with the truth in regards to Moira and Erik's affair. That living with the shame and the fear of exposure of that royal secret caused them to distance themselves from associating with wolves in any way. The more they appeared to disdain them, the less suspicion the public might have when it came to the Moira connection. But again, this is nothing that can be proven with any sort of hard evidence. And as far as Bellwethers go, when it comes to my Grandfather, my Father and me, we knew nothing about the alleged affair. At least I know I certainly didn't, and such information was never told to me."

"The events leading up to 'The Wolf War of the Meadowlands', and the subsequent aftermath is what saw the return of the public divide between the common sheep and wolf. The bloodshed and barbarism of the Native Canideans reminding the sheep populace of what their ancestors had always warned them that wolves were truly capable of. And while it was ultimately Leif's efforts to drive the Redclaws out that saved the county, Archibald had latched on to the fear and waryness of the local sheep and exploited it to fill the citizens heads with his own beliefs. The ram would feed into the rising anti-wolf sentiment, and even go so far as to expand it into including all predators in general. This left the caprid citizens more distrustful of their wolf neighbors than ever, and the wolves found themselves silently shunned and marginalized by the Meadowlands populace. Archibald's fear mongering was an attempt to set stage for how predators were to be looked at in this new world, and his take on sheep and wolf relations is largely what has persisted to this day in the caprid consciousness. But despite his efforts to denigrate wolves to the lowest echelons of society, they continue to find themselves in positions of protection and law enforcement. In fact it seems that when it comes to the overall perception of predators, the only thing Archibald's sentiments manage to construct was a hierarchy among the new world's predator classes. One that supported wolves and lions in higher roles in society while at the same time causing those predators to look down their muzzles at preds like foxes, racoons and rats."

"As for Shcottram as a nation, it remained under the archaic rule of a monarchy longer than any civilized society in historical record. The reign of the Blackwool-Bellwethers continued up until the early 1900s despite the other branch of their family in Zootopia allowing the district to be subject to a democratic vote since its inception. Today, the royal family still exists in Shcottram despite the nations now fully democratic government as a powerless entity with no real authority over the Shcottish citizenry. They exist as something of a tradition, a relic of cultural importance to the fabric of Shcottish identity. At most the members of the Blackwool-Bellwethers are akin to that of the famous actors and movie stars of North Mammalia. Making posturing speeches at public events, and hosting glitzy and glamorous ceremonies from their palatial castle estate. The most involvement the public has in regards to the family is paying for them to throw weddings and celebrations despite the fact the family has a near endless supply of wealth. But to the citizens of Shcottram, such celebrations are not just praising the Blackwools, but praising the rich history of Shcottram itself."

"Meanwhile the Bellwether family in Zootopia have been in and out of office since the city-state was founded. And though the faces may have changed, the anti-predator sentiment only seemed to worsen with each new Bellwether. Some believe this is why the Bellwethers would find themselves spending less and less time in office as mammalian society grew around and away from their primitive beliefs."

"Before my Grandfather, Ash Bellwether, there hadn't been a Mayor Bellwether in over sixty years. And almost as much time passed before I was elected to the lesser role as Assistant Mayor to Leodore Lionheart. Even from my perch in such a lowly position my poisoned mind was set on continuing my families legacy, thanks in no small part to the indoctrination and abuse I suffered during my youth. I schemed, and I planned, and I justified it to myself by buying into my families rhetoric full sale. And in the end I did more damage than any Bellwether who came before me. Despite coming to my senses, and even going so far as to prevent a catastrophe that followed the seed of my once heinous intentions, it will never be enough to properly make amends for my terrible actions."

"I don't think the future of politics hold any place for a Bellwether. The name is tainted, marred by the actions of myself and those who have come before me. And now, my choice in mate assures that I will be the last in the line of Zootopian Bellwethers. The name will die with me, and perhaps that is for the best."

Dawn let out a tired sigh as she scanned the final sentence once more.

"The name will die with me, and perhaps that is for the best." Dawn murmured to herself quietly. She was sure if Vernon ever read that particular passage he would pitch a fit. After all, the wolf had been one to argue just how important it was to keep her name even in a hyphenated form on the ride up to the Meadowlands in the first place. The wolf remained stubbornly set on not going through a caprid wedding ceremony unless he got to wear the name Hunter-Bellwether in exchange. The wolf believed she should be proud of her name, that it had come to represent that a mammal was not only capable of change, but even heroic after how she had helped save the city from her Father. Even she had begun to consider the idea after talking to her sisters on the ride out to the fair. The praise and warm wishes causing the ewe to begin to believe what Vernon saw in the name, and why keeping it was so important.

But it only took a few minutes in Dorian's study to remind her why she had grown to detest it so. And writing about her families 'illustrious' history had only managed to sour her further on the idea. Dorian was right, the ewe would never be able to truly make up for her wrong doing. The damage had sent ripples across the world around her, had wounded families and friendships in ways that were beyond her ability to mend. It wasn't as if she could simply go back in time and stop herself, to pull herself back from the brink of madness long enough to prevent the hysteria and chaos caused by her scheming.

No matter what good she could do now, the name Bellwether would remain synonymous with bigoted, speciesict ideologues, and at the very least the one good thing she could do at this point was allow it to die the death it deserved. Vernon may never agree with it, this she was sure of. But she knew the wolf loved her enough to ultimately give up on sharing last names should she remain firm on the idea. It wasn't a position she wanted to put him in, but it was necessary, at least to her.

'Knock, knock' A light rapping a the bedroom door drew Dawn's attention up from her laptop. Up until now she had been alone, taking the time Vernon spent being forced into dish duty to write the more boring but necessary portions of her book. She figured she would have more than enough time to finish the sections before the Hunter girls decided the time had come to turn in for the night, and checking the clock for a moment had proven that she had. In fact the ewe had managed to finish earlier than planned, leaving her puzzled as to who else had turned up for bed early.

"Dawn?" Came Vanna's voice from beyond the door. "Are you in there?"

Dawn let out a sigh of relief at the sound of the familiar tigress' voice. After everything that happened earlier in the evening, having to face Ada or Qali without a buffer would have made the already uncomfortable ewe even more uneasy. At the very least should Vanna bring up Dawn's transgression in the corn field, it would be done with tact and careful wording rather than bluntly bringing it up.

"Y-yeah, I'm here." Dawn replied, closing her laptop softly. "You can come in."

The door opened slowly, Vanna moving it with care as she slipped in to the large bedroom. The tigress was already in her pajamas, wearing a pink tee-shirt that said 'bad kitty' across the chest, and a pair of pants adorned with colorful yarn balls. It was almost enough to cause Dawn to laugh out loud, the colorful and cutesy outfit contrasting sharply with the tigress' looming and intimidating figure. Then again, Dawn knew better by now, at least if their midnight musical duet was anything to go by. Still the ewe couldn't help but crack a smile at the large feline.

"I was hoping to catch you alone." Vanna said, keeping her voice on the quiet side. "I wanted to talk to you before the other girls came up to bed."

Dawn's smile dropped slightly, the concerned tone in Vanna's voice conveying a gravity behind her words that told Dawn whatever she had to say was important.

"O-oh of course Vanna, is everything alright?" Dawn said as she placed her laptop aside, sliding it to the edge of the bed where the tiger now stood.

"Yes, I mean..." Vanna trailed off as she placed a paw behind her head and awkwardly scratched. She looked away from Dawn, seemingly unable to keep steady eye contact as she continued. "I mean if you are that is?" Vanna asked.

Dawn scrunched her muzzle in confusion. "Am I okay?" The ewe replied.

Vanna sighed, grimacing as she tried to focus her gaze back on the ewe.

"I mean, I wanted to see if..." Vanna shook her head. "If you spoke to Papa Hunter at all, like we had discussed?"

Dawn froze, her brow furrowing at Vanna's unexpected question. She hadn't expected the tigress to follow up on their conversation so soon. The ewe had already spent enough time dwelling on what had happened in Dorian's office while she mulled over the disappointing and disgusting history of the Bellwether families crimes despite having elected to bury it when faced with Audrey's overwhelming kindness and the prospect of destroying any enjoyment the ewe might be able to get out of the remaining weekend. Dawn had sort of assumed that Vanna simply wouldn't have followed up on it, instead waiting for Dawn to tell her about what happened whenever she had chosen to finally do it.

But now the ewe was faced with a dilemma. How could she lie to her new found sister about her meeting with the older wolf. Unlike Audrey, Vanna was trained in the same way Dori was, at least Dawn reasoned as much. If the ewe showed even the slightest hesitation or wavering in tone while crafting the lie she intended to tell, she was certain the keen eyed feline would pick up on it. On the one hoof, lying to Vanna could easily hurt their budding relationship, especially if she picked up on it. But telling her what had truly happened, what Papa Hunter had said about her, Zach and Dawn herself might cause all sorts of problems.

Even now Dawn wondered if Vanna knew the truth about why her transfer request to the North Meadowlands had been approved. Had Zach even told her that he had been shot just weeks before she joined the force? And if Vanna knew what Dorian had said about Dawn, would the tiger feel obligated to argue with the wolf? To fight on Dawn's behalf and damage yet another relationship in the Hunter family.

All these questions continued to swirl around the ewe's mind, making her more and more uneasy as she desperately tried to think of how to respond. She could feel beads of sweat starting to form on her brow as she began to wring her hooves nervously.

"Dawn?" Vanna's voice brought Dawn's attention back to the tigress. Already she had screwed up, taking long enough to think of a reply for Vanna to feel the need to follow up. The ewe had to act quickly now.

"After how Audrey had caught us..." Dawn said with a sharp exhale as she looked in the tigress' eyes. "After how our...picnic..." Dawn said trailing off, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to find the right words. "Ended, well...I didn't think it was a good idea anymore."

Vanna squinted slightly, placing a paw to her chin as she seemingly began to analyze Dawn. The ewe recognized the stare, having been on the receiving end of a similar one just hours earlier. The tigress was scanning the ewe for nervous twitches and subconscious tells, anything to prove to her whether Dawn was lying or not.

"Oh?" Vanna asked, suspicion rising in her voice.

"W-well I thought maybe I should just leave it be after talking to Audrey." Dawn lied through her teeth, cursing herself for once again stuttering at the start. Dawn offered a meek smile. " She told me to wait him out, t-that he would come around eventually."

Vanna raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she squinted down at the ewe. From what Dawn could tell, the tigress' only seemed to slightly doubt her. Her body language exuding uncertainty when it came to gauging Dawn's responses.

"Hmm..." Vanna said before easing into a seat next to the ewe. The weight of the feline pressing against the mattress caused such a deep impression that Dawn found herself pulled closer to the big cat despite her best efforts. The tigress placed her paws on her lap as she let out a tired sigh.

"You know, if anything happened, I'd want you to be able to tell me right?" Vanna said, her tone laced with concern.

Dawn felt the guilt start to bubble up within her stomach as Vanna spoke. The genuine concern in her voice tugging at Dawn's heartstrings almost immediately.

"I mean, I know we haven't known each other long." Vanna continued. " I mean we're already calling each other sisters but..." Vanna paused, scratching the back of her head again. "I know we're still sort of getting used to each other."

Dawn gave a soft nod, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat as quietly as she could.

"I don't know what exactly has gotten into Pa. But I don't want you to think I'm just going to stand by if he does anything out of line." Vanna sighed, placing a paw on the ewe's shoulder as she looked her way. Vanna's eyes shone with concern as she attempted to meet Dawn's gaze. "If he hurts you in any way, I would want you to feel comfortable enough to tell me."

The guilt was now weighing heavily on Dawn's heart as she listened to the feline's plea. Vanna truly did see her as a sister, and was set to do what she felt was the sisterly thing to do should Dorian act out of turn. She wanted nothing more than to help. But Dawn knew she had to keep up the lie. She had already done enough damage to the Hunter family, and she couldn't bear to do anymore.

"I would." Dawn murmured. "I-I swear."

The two were silent for a while, the awkward atmosphere filling the ewe with deeper dread and discomfort as she prayed for the tigress to simply accept her lie.

"You would?" Vanna asked, breaking the silence.

Dawn's response was immediate, as if she had seen the question coming a mile away.

"Of course!" Dawn said with a weak chuckle, flashing the tigress as genuine of a grin as she could muster despite herself. Even with her best efforts, the ewe couldn't manage to meet the large feline's gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time.

The tigress lowered her eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by the ewe's attempts at earnestly. Dawn could tell in Vanna's dull glare that there was no more doubt in her eyes that she was hiding something.

"Dawn." Vanna said firmly, her eyes tightening into slits as she grimaced.

A loud barking laugh suddenly broke through the tension, pulling Dawn's focus away from Vanna's interrogation to the entrance to the bedroom. The door had flung open revealing Ada standing proudly in the wooden frame. She was wearing a baggy pair of shorts, and a sleeveless tee that were a matching shade of blood red. Emblazoned across the front of the shirt was the white image of some sort of canid skull that Dawn could only assume was that of a hyena, with two bones crossing over one another behind it. She also seemed to be wearing some sort of fluffy white and purple cape draped around her neck.

"The party has arrived ladies!" Ada let out another cackle.

"Woo!" A voice chirped from seemingly nowhere. As Dawn searched for the source, her eyes fell back on Ada's odd, plushy cape. It took the ewe a moment, but as it suddenly dropped to the floor Dawn realized it hadn't been a cape at all, but rather it had been Qali. The arctic fox had been hanging from Ada's neck, and was now bouncing in her step as she made her way into the room in little more than a oversize purple tee-shirt and a pair of matching panties.

"Ada! Qali!" Dawn chirped, relieved that their sudden arrival was enough to quash any further probing from Vanna.

"'Evenin' squirt! How was your night?" Ada cooed teasingly, raising and lowering her eyebrows in a playful manner. "Cause from what I heard youse had a lotta fun."

Dawn immediately blushed, slapping her hooves over her muzzle in her best effort to cover it up.

"I...I..." Dawn stammered.

"Ah, dat's a yes!" Ada said with a grin as she made her way over to the nearest empty bed. With no hesitation the large mammal threw herself onto the bed, bouncing on the mattress as she came to rest in a lounging position. Leaning a paw on her chin, the hyeness regarded the ewe with a mischievous smile.

"Well c'mon lamb cakes, spill it. I want to hear all da juicy details!" Ada let out another barking laugh.

"W-well..." Dawn muttered, tapping her hooves together nervously.

"Howdy ladies." Once again Dawn's attention was drawn back to the bedroom entrance to find Malcolm standing in the doorframe. The pudgy wolf was dressed in baby blue pair of insulated underwear, monogrammed with his initials. The one piece garment seemed slightly undersized, as a good portion of the wolf's wrists and ankles were exposed, and the fabric seemed to strain around his pudgy belly. It was clear the wolf's PJ's had once been fitted to a slimmer wolf, but Malcolm had elected not to update his garment with the change in weight. The wolf had a tan, worn looking pillow clutched tightly against his side.

"Good evening Malcolm." Vanna replied as the wolf made his way into the room.

Dawn raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"W-wait, I thought Audrey separated the boys from the girls?" Dawn asked, looking to Vanna.

"That's only sorta true." Malcolm cut in as he sat down on another empty bed. "It's more about keepin' the couples separated." The wolf placed his pillow on the mattress, and proceeded to fluff it. "And me and Xavi bein' couples, well she had to figure out somethin'."

Ada chuckled. "Yeah, he couldn't stay wit da boys, dat would be like a buffet o' hunky wolves for 'em."

"So we made him an honorary Hunter girl!" Qali chirped, now bouncing on her mattress.

Dawn smirked, doing her best to suppress a chuckle.

"H-he's a Hunter girl?" Dawn bit her lip as the urge to giggle pressed against her teeth.

"Darn tootin'" Malcolm replied, leaning forward on the bed. The wolf idly kicked his feet in the air as he face the other girls. "Even got me a nickname and everythin'."

Dawn looked up at Vanna in a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"Really?" Dawn asked.

The tigress gave a short and simple nod. "Yes, we call him-"

"Butterbuns!" Qali snorted, idly playing with her tail as she stared up at the ceiling.

That was all Dawn could take before a giggling snort slipped free of her muzzle, Dawn did her best to close her muzzle with her hooves, but the giggling continued regardless.

"Butterbuns?" Dawn snickered. "H-How'd he get th-that name?" Dawn choked through her giggling.

The russet wolf's ear sagged slightly as a blush played across his muzzle.

"W-well it's sorta...I mean..." Malcolm stuttered awkwardly, poking his index fingers together as he looked away from the group.

"Let's just say I overheard him and Xave talkin' about a wild night involvin' sum budda." Ada said with a mischievously grin as she eyed the increasingly embarrassed red wolf. "And da name sorta....stuck." Ada let out another barking cackle.

Dawn felt a blush creeping on her own muzzle as she processed exactly what the Hyena was hinting at.

"But dat's old Buddabuns story to tell, for now lets get back to da topic at paw!" Ada shifted closer to the foot of her bed as her attention zeroed back on Dawn. "So enough stallin', I wanna hear about how you made ol' Puppy howl!"

Dawn's blush intensified as she shrunk into her shoulders. The ewe found herself skirting away from the attention, shimmying up to the head of her bed inadvertently.

"W-well I don't thi-"

"Leave her alone Ada." Vanna interjected, rising to Dawn's defense. "If she's not comfortable talking about it then you shouldn't pressure her."

Ada scoffed. "Ah c'mon, I ain't gonna rip on ya too hard for it." The hyena chuckled "Besides you ain't the only one here whose broken' dat rule." Ada grinned widely.

Dawn raised an eyebrow curiously. She had heard Vernon mention something like that earlier, and Audrey had more or less implied to the truthfulness of the wolf's statement, but in her emotional state she had barely even registered the statement. Now however...

"Wait..." Dawn said, moving away from the head of the bed as the hyeness peaked her interest. "Do you mean to say that you...?" Dawn trailed off, tapping her hooves together nervously as she found herself unable to finish the sentence.

Ada snickered. "Pft, of course not, I'm like da only on here who hasn't!" Ada leaned her head against her paw again. "Not for Yuri's lack a tryin'." Ada placed her paws under her chin before playfully batting her eyelashes. "I'm a classy goil."

Dawn turned her attention to Qali and Malcolm, both of whom seemed to be sharing an uncomfortable blush. With Dawn's eyes now fixed on them, the two produced weak smiles.

"Yeah, I'm afraid it's true." Malcolm said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Same, me and Trenny totally did it here." Qali added, with considerably less hesitation.

Dawn placed a hoof over her mouth in an attempt to stifle another rising giggle. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. That not only had she not been the first to break the House rule, but was now placing third overall. The previously shameful and embarrassing situation was starting to seem significantly more of a trifle now that she found herself among equally guilty members of the Hunter family.

"So you and Vanna are the only ones who-"

"Pft..." Ada shook her head. "Just me Fluff, I'm da only one who actually respects Ma Hunter's house."

Dawn blinked in surprise as Ada's words registered.

"Then...that would mean..." Dawn trailed off as she turned her attention back to the large, stoic cat sitting on the end of her bed. The looming tigress now seemed remarkable small as she cowed under the sudden attention. There was no way that Dawn could even begin to conceive of what Ada was implying, but the tigress' body language was all too telling.

"Vanna?" Dawn uttered as she raised her hooves to her mouth in shock.

The tigress only glanced at the ewe for a moment before turning away, but the blush that was radiating off her muzzle was blinding.

#Zootopia #Assistant Mayor Bellwether #dawn bellwether #fanfiction #furry #ask blog #wasted time #fan character

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