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halothenthehorns · 3 years

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All in the Family

Chapter 81: The Yule Ball

"Achoo!" Regulus sneezed painfully hard, his eyes watering so much they were squinted nearly shut, leaving him half blind as he tried to gaze blearily around to their new torture grounds. The bright sunlight was helping nothing, the nausea that still persisted through their trips along this place was as heavy as ever, and this time in particular they seemed in a truly bizarre area that he couldn't imagine had to do with Harry Potter's circumstances. It was a garden, a truly illustrious one that Professor Sprout would water at the mouth to see. He'd landed on a pile of Honking Heleniums that were vocally none too happy at him as he scrambled onto the smooth limestone pathway, and looked around to see Evans the Muggleborn in the field across from him gazing in just as much confusion at some purple flowers he couldn't identify.

Brushing pollen from his robes and looking around carefully, surely no one had forgotten the Devil's Snare, he found nothing immediately dangerous about their environment, but didn't quite relax either. The hedge walls were about a foot above his head, but he could see even taller ones in the distance as if they fluctuated in size, or perhaps the whole place was built on rolling hills, and behind him in the distance he could see where the trail began in the shadow of an odd building. It looked sort of like an abandoned, though clearly once very fancy hotel carved right into a mountain. The huge cracks along its surface made him leery though it would collapse any moment and start an avalanche, so he wasn't keen on inspecting it too closely. Rising clear above all of this was the mountain peak, the glinting sun shining down right on the whole place like a spotlight.

He turned back around to see Evans was cautiously making her way through the plants with the most dainty of steps, and waited patiently for her to make it to the pathway before deciding she wasn't going to die so turning to be on his way in search of the book.

"Hey, err, Black!"

He turned back with honest curiosity what she had to say to him, they'd hardly spoken this whole time, and he certainly had nothing to say to her.

"I, um, I don't recommend stepping back off the path, alright? There could be something more dangerous than Dancing Dahlias around here, wherever here is."

He nodded once to show he'd heard before going back off, hands deep in his pockets. He was surprised at himself he didn't care anymore what anyone would have said about how he handled that situation. That he should have cursed her, or at least reminded her that as the more superior wizard he needed no such warning, would have been the expected return, but now he had other things on his mind to worry about than whatever that Muggleborn got up to in this place.

He didn't have to travel much farther, taking two right turns before he found the book nestled in a patch of strange-looking plants. From what little he knew of them, he'd guessed they were foxglove and irises mixed together in a bright plum color to create whatever was strong enough to hold that hefty book aloft nearly up to his waist. Even though it was in arms reach, he wasn't stupid enough to try grabbing it from the strange plant, and instead he looked miserably at his bare hands. Even if he did summon the book to him, he wasn't sure he trusted the strange plant enough it wouldn't leave residue on his hands to cause some adverse effect. Then his eyes brightened with an idea, and he shucked off his shoes, slipping them carefully into his bag this time, almost enjoying the warmth of the path on his bare feet while he pulled off his socks and used them as makeshift gloves before getting the book in hand. He was quite proud of his ingenuity and didn't care how ridiculous he probably looked as he read out the chapter title, happy at least this was being gotten out of the way already.

Frank had landed in a very prickly shrub, and the more he twisted to get free, the sharper the leaves dug into his clothes. He could feel small nicks where several had already broken skin. He was cursing so frantically by the time the hand was being shoved in his face he didn't care if it was You-Know-Who offering him help out, he took it with gratitude as he was finally pulled free.

"Thanks," he said in relief, already scratching at a bead of blood traveling down his wrist as he looked up into the werewolf's eyes. He yelped so hard in surprise he backed right back into the bush, which gave him a very uncomfortable prod and sent him stumbling back forward right into him. Lupin caught him with a look on his face Frank's panicked mind couldn't process. Was he smelling the blood? Was it going to send him into a frenzy? He didn't know, he bloody didn't bloody know-

"Oi, Moony! What was all that then?"

Lupin rolled his eyes with an expression anybody in the world could have understood. 'This idiot, right?'

"What do you think it was Sirius? Frank petting the thing?"

Sirius Black was giving him a look that was somehow more dangerous than even the werewolf had yet given as he was scrutinized, and Frank took another automatic step back. Black was splattered in what appeared to be gray paint and was already clearly in a bad mood. Frank saw this as a perfect opportunity to make his escape. He meant to turn around and leave, and found himself face to face with a very large hedge, at least twenty feet high. Looking around properly now, he saw there was only one path away, where Black was standing, with only a cobbled limestone walkway leading towards the bramble bush he'd landed in. It still had a few delectable, succulent green fruits hanging lowly from it, resilient little thing it was.

"I don't suppose you two know where we are then?" He asked into the awkward silence, taking all self restraint not to scratch at his itchy skin, the blood quickly mingling with sweat that had nothing to do with the pleasant weather.

"Not one little bit," Lupin said pleasantly.

"If we find out, we'll let you know at the next landing," Black shot off with more venom than a Venomous Tentacula could hold as he spun around and stalked off, clearly expecting his friend to follow. Lupin watched him go with an exasperated look, gave him an awkward sort of smile, before jogging after him.*

Swallowing uncomfortably, and well aware whatever insane garden they were in could possibly have that as well, he made his choice and stood his ground as they turned the corner and left. Counting to thirty in his head, he then left the area as well, hoping Alice was alright.

James was staring up at a tree full of golden apples and was very tempted to climb up and grab one. Not for eating even, just for something to toss around and do. Peter was being no help, humming to himself and bouncing on his toes as he watched a patch of Sunflowers carefully, the edge of their enclosure keeping them in a nice warmth despite the breeze blowing through. He seemed no more intent on breaking the awkward silence though.

"Wish Evans was around," James finally said. "Bet she'd be able to name every plant here. Wonder if that will give you the Midas Touch if you eat it?"

"You never need an excuse to want her around," he returned passively.

They were saved from anymore stilted attempts by Sirius' little brother's voice breaking the silence, and to James's further bewilderment, he saw an actual smile break out across Peter's face.

"We should go find him. I've been meaning to ask for ages-"

"Why bother?" James blurted in confusion. He barely registered Peter's downcast look at being interrupted, this had been baffling him for ages. "What on Earth have you two been getting so chummy about anyways?" His tone came out far more bitter in the end than he really meant it to, how he wished none of this had even happened anymore and they could just go back to school. If he had to find a way to get Remus and Sirius to make up again all over he'd take that over this constant spin-table of his usual life.

"I, I mean we, well he doesn't-" He's never interrupted me, just sounded petty out loud, but Peter couldn't think of anything else to say in that moment. The first time he'd talked to Regulus, he'd just been trying to be friendly in some bad circumstances as well as outsourcing a prank on Sirius, it wasn't until this moment he realized he'd been so excited to go find Regulus and ask him about this strange environment he'd not even bothered to question he'd be able to ask without somehow being overlooked.

He'd stuttered himself into silence, and James just gave him a bizarre look for it. For a peace offering, Peter summoned one of the golden apples to him and gave it a toss to James, who smiled in delight at the distraction and began tossing it in the air, turning on the spot and walking off without glancing back, expecting Peter to follow as usual.

Peter only hesitated for a moment before he did.

Alice landed in a fountain with an undignified squee. Standing up and checking all over her skin wasn't melting off or something, she slogged through the golden liquid and had to crawl on her belly to drag herself over the edge and flop down on the other side, shivering harder than ever. Realizing she was alone and instantly weary of this fact, she kept her wand held tightly and turned slowly, hopefully to clue in what was going on.

The fountain was glamorous, the water itself had a charm on it to sparkle in the sunlight from the two golden wands crossed, being held aloft by two people she vaguely recognized for some reason. It took a lot of concentration for her to recall that was Nicolas Flamel, and so possibly his wife Perenelle with him. As the book echoed around her of Harry being at the Yule Ball, and not enjoying it one bit by the sounds of how the night was going, then further progressing into the grounds where Hogwarts had set up a sort of mini garden path as well, she suspected her home school had been inspired by the Beauxbatons Academy for some decorative inspirations.

She sighed wistfully and shivered again Frank couldn't be here to dance with her at the mention of all this, she'd have much rather landed in the splendidly decorated Great Hall, and she winced in sympathy instead it seemed to be wasted on the patrons as not everyone's love life was going so well. Hagrid and Maxime, then Ron and Hermione even having an unpleasant spat, as well as Harry's Champion Rival giving off the oddest of advice before going back to the girl of Harry's affection. As grand as this place was, she couldn't imagine even its splendid manor could fix the myriad of problems going on in these worlds.

HPHPHPHP

Sorry I couldn't show off how I imagined the real Beauxbatons would look, but you know, they are outsiders and I'm probably cheating a bit by even showing off the gardens.

*Lemon to be posted separately

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #GoF #Wolfstar #Jilly #Marauders #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #James Potter #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith #regulus blurb

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atlasxrose · 4 years

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As many of the Christmas ones with Xander you want

tw:nsfw, tw: sex mention, tw: singing, tw: dancing, tw: GLEE

🎁 / our muses exchange gifts to one another .

Atlas was tired, Xander had apparently been away all week and for the first time in months the witch was forced to reacquaint himself with how deafeningly loud Alarick’s snoring was. The wall that divided their rooms practically vibrated, the entire night. But, it was Christmas Eve, and Xander had promised to be back, so after he’d pulled on a heavy sweater, the witch had headed closer to town and towards the vampire’s home.

There was something different about the place as the oracle approached Xander’s front door, he pulled the key that the vampire had given him out of his pocket and slid it into the lock. There was a warmth when Atlas entered the home that felt almost palpable, was that cookies? Xander stepped around the corner, a bright smile on his face, unusual, but welcome, as the two were quick to embrace. Atlas breathed out a few words, I missed you, I love you, Merry Christmas Xander, as Xander’s arms wound aptly around his back and pulled him close. The vampire’s face buried in his hair, he spoke the same soft words in return as the pair lingered there for a while.

“Do you wanna see what I made you?” Atlas asked, a smile on his lips, it had been expressly difficult given how dilapidated his old work space in the forest had become, the long hours spent weaving out in the wilderness was now less of an soothing retreat and now more of a hassle. His loom did not fit in Alarick’s cabin and nature had worn away at its once sturdy frame.

“Another sweater?” Xander quipped, Atlas shook his head, still in the vampire’s arms as he leaned back, Atlas added a heavy roll of his eyes, his hands rested on the back of Xander’s neck.

“It’s a blanket, actually.”

“Ah great, because I can never have enough blankets.”

The witch felt his face bright slightly, he enjoyed the labor that went into it. The satisfaction that gift giving gave him.

“I’m kidding, I’m literally wearing the sweater you gave me. I can’t wait to sleep with it, now c’mon, I want to show you what I got you.”

Xander took his hand and pulled Atlas deeper into his home, the silver rose-petaled daylight ring that the witch had gifted the vampire previously glinted as they passed through rays of sun that flooded from above. The ring felt cool to touch as Xander gripped his hand and led him through the den and to a back study that, as far as Atlas knew, had mostly gone unused.

“Ready?” Xander asked, his hand fell from Atlas’ as he reached for the double doors, he looked back with something akin to mischief in his eyes. Perplexed, Atlas merely folded his arms across his chest.

“I suppose.” There was no small part of the oracle that was not concerned, there was every possibility that he was going to hate whatever was through these doors. Atlas braced himself as Xander swung open the doors and all at once the oracle’s breath hitched, a gasp escaped his lips.

The study had been refurbished, significantly. Dusty shelves had been revitalized with every spellbook and reference guide the vampire had apparently been able to get his hands on. The witch moved to run his fingers along a herbalist’s guide to the native forests of Greece, bestiaries and spellbooks, hand written journals of witches and oracles alike. Shelves of every regent the witch could think of, fresh and powdered, local and imported; there were planters that hung across floor to ceiling windows that allowed for natural light to come through and join the soft rays that filtered through the skylight. Beneath sat a wide-brimmed cauldron, freshly polished and - bronze? Before the windows between planters was a desk, stocked with tools and equipment, items for enchanting, for brewing, for divining.

Perhaps the most beautiful portion of the room was along the far wall to his left, rows of different materials, and above all a hand crafted loom, the finely polished wood and detail was stunning, all at once Atlas was upon it before he turned towards Xander at the sound of his voice. A clearly satisfied smile on the vampire’s face.

“I want you to have somewhere you can work, why not here?” Xander stepped in, “I love you, and I don’t want you to go, so, stay - stay here, with me.” Atlas threw his arms around the vampire all at once, his lips upon Xander’s as he breathed yes, yes, yes, in between each kiss.

🍞 / to invite my muse to a holiday dinner with their family .

“You look fine,” Atlas insisted, his family had been making their own clothes for centuries, they absolutely were not going to care about the state of Xander’s holiday attire. Actually, he does look a little too put together.. The oracle shook the thought from his mind, he was only slightly nervous, and the last thing he wanted was for those nerves to rub off on his vampire fiance.

“Easy for you to say, what am I supposed to tell your father again, I’m thirty-two and holding?” Atlas rolled his eyes.

“Just be yourself, he’ll love you. They all will, I promise.”

🔌 / help hang lights or decorate with my muse.

“This is stupid.” Xander commented as he held the ladder while Atlas climbed it.

“No, it’s festive.” Atlas corrected. He reached off of the top to hook the last strand over the eavestrough, the witch wobbled a bit and Xander all but hissed.

“Be careful, just come down.”

“I’ve almost got it, just... a little more... -” All of a sudden Atlas lost his balance and he was suddenly falling from the top most part of the ladder, he landed in Xander’s arms and heard the ladder clatter to the side beside them. His face red, his arms wound around Xander’s neck, the vampire just shook his head.

“Can we go in now?”

🎄 / decorate and help my muse with a christmas tree.

Atlas hummed in between verses as carols played over the radio, they had been nearly nonstop since November first and while Xander was not amused, they were presently decorating the Christmas tree together and thus the music was on theme.

“You have a nice voice,” Xander commented,

“Thanks, it’s the only one I have.” Atlas offered, the vampire scoffed as the witch continued to go behind Xander and reposition the ornaments he had just hung up.

“What are you doing?”

“Just... It’s important to space things out so there isn’t any weird vacant spaces.”

“Right.” Xander shook his head and continued to not adjust his technique for placing ornaments.

🌿 / our muses catch themselves under a mistletoe .

“Look,” Atlas offered, his hands on Xander’s chest after they’d bumped into each other. One of their friends had a holiday party, and truthfully, neither had really felt like attending but here they were. Being social. being seen, together. The witch pointed above them as the pair swayed lightly to whatever holiday anthem played around them. “mistletoe.”

“Is this why you like the holidays so much?” Xander asked, an inquisitive but playful look in his eyes as Atlas merely shrugged.

“Maybe.”

Xander kissed him then, strong, certain, less of a formality and more of a promise: we’ll do this again next year, and the year after that, and the year after that, too.

💨 / our muses are trapped inside a cabin during a snow storm.

The snow had hit suddenly, and hard. The two of them were visiting Atlas’ parents, and while they were enjoying the holidays with the Coven, the two had slipped away to steal a few quiet moments alone, and while they were out and away, a storm rolled in overhead. Out of blind luck, a cabin appeared in the distance, all at once Xander scooped the witch into his arms and sped ahead through the dense snow bank to burst through the cabin door.

Wind and snow bellowed behind them as their laughter rang through the small structure, their lips pressed together as Atlas kicked the door closed. It’s freezing in here, the oracle smiled as the vampire moved their lips in a heavy tandem. The other’s hands worked away at their clothes as articles were haphazardly discarded about the abandoned cottage.

I can think of one way to keep warm.

✨ / our muses watch the northern lights together .

“So, why the top of the world?” Xander asked, the pair had traveled about as far North as you could, beyond the closest National park, to a place that the coven had only ever heard whispers about. From within their walled tent, the pair managed to keep warm against the minus forty degrees weather that roared outside in the night air.

“Just wait.” Atlas promised his head nestled on the delicate curve of Xander’s shoulder, his hand wandered idly across the vampire’s chest as he traced small lines across cool skin. All at once Xander’s eyes went wide, the witch drew his gaze from the ethereal green glow that had been cast across his lovers eyes, to look at the roof of the tent.

The aurora borealis was close enough to brush the top of their tent, lines of green and gold and pink danced through the walled enclosure. Atlas’ eyes sparkled as he watched with some delight, his head canted to take in Xander’s expression, it was one of bewilderment and wonder, there was a smile, and that was all the oracle longed to see.

“It’s beautiful.”

NAUGHTY :

💋 / give my muse a hot steamy kiss .

“Xander?” Atlas called out, his home was welcoming, cozy, comforting. It had transformed recently, infused with new life, perhaps a bit of happiness. “Helloooo,” the witch called out again, he went from room to room until the oracle pushed open the bedroom door and all at once he felt Xander’s lips upon his. All at once Atlas groaned as he pushed his hands through the back of Xander’s hair, his lips parted as the vampire moved his lips against his in a fiery tandem. The witch kissed out of need, necessity, out of desire, he emptied himself into the other and continued to pour. Kissing Xander had always been unlike anything else, anyone else, and while the vampire slipped past Atlas’ lips he greeted him warmly, eagerly, hungrily. The oracle remembered every story ever told about Hephaestion and his prowess, his generosity, his willingness to please, and truly, he held nothing back thousands of years later. When Xander at last broke away Atlas was pressed against the door, nothing but his own hot breath between them as he panted, lips suddenly sore. Xander smiled, “I missed you.”

👗 / my muse dresses up as a sexy Santa for your muse .

The auditorium lights kicked on and from the stage, Atlas heard the doors swing shut. He felt some nerves as he wrung his hands together just off stage, this was a stupid idea, it had to be stupid, whose idea had this been again? The oracle looked down at the skimpy outfit he’d put together for this number and sighed, he’d spent too many hours hemming this sexy Santa skirt, too many days stitching these knee-high boots to not go through with it. Atlas fixed his hat one last time, the white pom-pom bounced idly on the side of his head as he walked with confidence onto the stage and took center.

The witch could tell by the look on Xander’s face that the vampire was shocked, good.

With a smirk he pulled the cropped red and white velvet top a little down so it at least met his upper abdomen before he leaned forward and folded his pleather-gloved hands on his knee. Leaned forward, the opening to Jingle Bell Rock began to filter through over the radio.

Preferring to sing acoustic, Atlas began on time, his choreography leading him to sway from side to side as he stepped to the beat.

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock,” The witch smiled, he did a short twirl as he pittered across the stage, “Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring, snowin’ and blowin’ up bushels of fun,” the talented tenor breezed across the lyrics, Xander’s stunned expression egging him on as he pun amidst a fake snowstorm. “Not the jingle hop has begun!”

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock, jingle bells chime in jingle bell time.” Atlas effortlessly hit the high note as he stepped to the beat and did a broad wave of his arm, he drew it across his field of vision as if beckoning a massive and unseen audience.

“Dancin’ and prancin’ in Jingle Bell Square, in the frosty air!” Atlas twirled again into a high kick as the tempo increased, “What a bright time, it’s the right time, to rock the night away.” He punctuated this with a turn before he slapped his bare thighs, “Jingle bell time is a swell time, to go glidin’ in a one-horse sleigh!”

As if on an invisible sleigh, Atlas held the reigns as he stomped across the stage, his high-heeled boots echoed like a dozen hooves as he walked, “Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin’ feet, that’s the jingle bell, that’s the jingle bell, that’s the jingle bell rock!!!!”

👅 / my muse licks your muse .

“Stop.” Xander swatted at the oracle as the witch ran a hand through his hair. The vampire was not amused, his gaze on whatever book he was reading remained fixed before Atlas ran his hand through his hair again. Again, the vampire swatted at Atlas’ hand. “Stop,” Xander empathized, “what has gotten into you lately?” The vampire pressed, his gaze severe as he leveled his eyes on Atlas at last. The witch smiled, grabbed Xander’s head between his hands and pulled his face towards his so that he could run the flat of his tongue across the entire length of the vampire’s face. “Ugh.” Xander objected as he pushed a laughing witch off of him, the hint of a smile on the vampire’s face despite his disgust. “You’re gross.”

“You love me.”

#gabrielxnikephoros #convo:xander #corinth.meme #tw:sex mention #tw: sex #tw:

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concealeddarkness13 · 4 years

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WHG Skylar Post Games Part 6

Tagging: @ratracechronicler (also thanks for Jaden and Rat!), @nightskywriter, @merigreenleaf, @maple-writes, and @onmywaytobe!

I was dressed up for the party with my sunglasses, and Tash escorted me to the party, but then they disappeared. At least they wouldn’t be following me everywhere.

But as soon as I thought that, President Poison On His Lips appeared in front of me with a small smile on his lips. “It is good to see you here, Skylar.” He held out his arm for me to take, and I had to swallow back bile before I took it. I was still being watched.

I smiled back. “Oh, I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” I flinched as the machine gave me a small shock. Yep. They really were still watching.

He laughed. “Come now, my dear. I know you’ll enjoy this party. I have a special announcement that I wish for you to hear.”

And I’ve got a special presentation I can’t wait for you to see. I kept the smile on my lips. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He escorted me to my seat and walked off to talk to other stupid Capitol people. I just sat there, munching on my food and staring at the people milling around. I didn’t have much of a chance to sit, though, because people crowded around me too quickly.

After about an hour of BS, someone in an elegant dress with sunglasses of her own shoved her way through the crowd and pulled me on the dance floor. I just automatically started dancing as my fake smile stayed on my lips.

The woman smirked. “Hello, my name is Rat, and I was the mentor for Absolon and Jaden. It was so unfortunate to see that they died. Even more unfortunate that I was in a hospital room while it happened.” She sighed dramatically. “The Capitol really needs to watch their food. I had such a bad case of food poisoning. Emphasis on the poisoning.”

My smile slipped a little. I had been watching to see if they would do anything before the party, but this was when they decided to try to rescue me? When President Poison On His Lips was right there? “That is unfortunate. Are you sure you are well enough to be here?”

She scoffed. “Oh, hun. I’m in the perfect condition to be here. Thanks for your concern, though. It’s appreciated. I’ll be sure to return the favor.” She winked at me, and I smirked, even though I really wanted to frown. I didn’t want to show to anyone that was watching that anything was wrong.

Someone in the crowd cried out, and I was about to look around to see what was going on, but Rat clicked her tongue, and I looked back at her. “Rude. Am I not pretty enough to keep your attention?” She laughed and started guiding me around the dance floor to the other side. “And you probably won’t be happy about this, but we’re doing this for your own good.” She paused. “Well, they are. I’m just here for the thrill of it.” Her expression was too hard to read to tell if she was being serious.

Crap. But I couldn’t try to stop them, or they really would get caught. I just had to hope that they had a good plan. Rat leaned close with a smile, as if to say something just to me. “Boondoggle. Look it up. It’s a word.” She smirked at me and pulled me off the dance floor, and people glanced at us with knowing smirks as she brought me to a secluded corner with a curtain up around it.

I couldn’t help but smile when I saw Jaden inside. He smiled back at me and held up what looked like a flashlight. He ducked his head. “This—this is the Disruptor. It will disable the machines they’re using to control you and track you. It won’t hurt. I just need to tap it over the machines.”

I nodded and held out my arm where the tracker was. He poked my arm and then moved over and poked the shocker. Nothing seemed to happen, but that didn’t mean anything.

I smiled at him. “Thank you. And be careful. I don’t want any of you getting caught.”

He smiled back. “Of course. But that means you too.”

I was about to respond when a voice boomed over a microphone. “Skylar Tresting. You are requested at President Snow’s side.”

Crap. Jaden bit his lip and put the Disruptor in one of his pockets, and I walked out of the enclosure, trying to keep as neutral an expression as possible.

Rat didn’t help matters. She sighed loudly. “But we were just getting started!” she whined.

I walked up to the table where my seat was and stood by President Poison On His Lips. He smiled down at me. “I apologize for pulling you away from your fun. I just want to make sure you hear this announcement.” He turned to the audience. “The Hunger Games has always been a source of excitement and entertainment for everyone in Panem! In my quest to always strive for a more exciting Hunger Games every year, I have found the perfect solution! Four tributes from each district will now be chosen to participate in the Hunger Games from now on, and the minimum and maximum ages have been changed! Tributes will be chosen from the ages of 10 to 20 years old now, and anyone who participated in the Hunger Games in the past but did not win can still be chosen to participate again!” He pointedly glanced at me, and I kept the smile frozen on my lips. Crap. He was guaranteeing that I would be chosen next year. And anyone else who escaped. Would we be able to escape a Reaping?

I frowned, though, when a hovercraft appeared from the mansion and started ascending. A few servants, which at second glance turned out to be Margot and Logan, were ushering people away from a spot in the middle. They were planning something. And President Poison On His Lips was frowning as well. Well, as good a time as any to show them my presentation.

I hacked into the projector (again don’t ask me how) and pushed my creation to play. The booming voice of a recorded President Poison On His Lips echoed through the party, but he wasn’t saying anything that he would really say.

“People of Panem, I am an idiot, part of the rebellion against my own country. I want to overthrow myself and then have myself executed.” It continued on, but I slipped away from him before he could try to grab me. And the shocker didn’t work and I didn’t see the mutt anywhere. They must have done something with that one too.

Just as Rat grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the hovercraft, I glanced back to see the mutt tackle President Poison On His Lips to the ground. Absolon whistled, and the mutt followed us onto the hovercraft, and everyone else worked on closing the doors before the Peacekeepers could get to us. I just stared. They had actually done it, and Holt was here, smiling slightly at me. I hadn’t seen him in so long. All the emotions pushed to be felt at once, and I didn’t even know how to feel.

#writeblr hunger games #whg

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winchester-with-wings · 4 years

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Thief at Sea

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Witch!Reader

@yaviel-writes requested (a long time ago lol): Niffler steals stuff from the reader, who is also a witch

A/N: This is an older request that I finished a long time ago but never posted. You might notice a Titanic reference here or there hehehe Hope ya'll like it!

Word Count: 2700ish

This was posted a long time ago on my Patreon! Wanna get previews, early access and make exclusive requests? Become a Patron! You can follow my Patreon for free too! Can’t become a patron? please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi (Tips are appreciated, especially in this uncertain time)

Mobile Masterlist / Ko-Fi

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*gif found on google*

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Newt Scamander figured the likelihood of there being other witches and wizards on a ship bound for New York City was quite possible. Statistically, there must’ve been at least a few wizards amongst the hundreds of muggles aboard. But just as he kept to himself, so must they.

Three to four people were bunked in some of the boat’s rooms. Newt had been fortunate enough to afford a small but private room for him and his suitcase. He wasn’t about to risk the chance of a curious muggle opening his case when he wasn’t looking. Some wizards might not have been so lucky.

Still...Newt found the middle of the North Atlantic ocean to be quite a lonely place. He explored as much of the ship as was permitted, all the while carrying his suitcase with him. His creatures were restless as well. Though they had plenty of living space, they must’ve sensed the change in geography.

Newt visited them when he could, daring to enter his suitcase only when he was in his quarters with the door locked. His longing for land and sun was satiated by Frank’s enclosure. Caring for his young Occamys kept him busy and the Mooncalves needed feeding. And one morning, he checked on the Bowtruckles and found that Pickett had a cold. The small creature was now tucked into his coat pocket for body heat.

The niffler seemed especially susceptible to the world outside the suitcase. He could sense all of the worldly treasures people were travelling with. And if Newt had to guess, it was his niffler who kept popping the latch on his case and attempting to escape. Newt would just have to remain vigilant.

There was a multitude of fascinating people aboard this boat. You filled your days observing them all and basking on the sundeck. As a novelist, you had been looking forward to your ride to America, as much as the trip itself. The crowds and the opportunities for isolation were the perfect conditions to work on your characters and stories.

There were a few people you'd become quite infatuated with too.

A small girl with a pretty dress, large sun hat, and a doll. You'd imagined her to being an energetic little thing, an only child, perhaps a bit spoiled, the kind of girl who had tugged on her mum's hand until she'd relented and bought the hat.

A hearty bloke, rough around the edges, well-worn clothes and a scar here or there on his exposed arms. You would write him as a working man, a former soldier perhaps, in search of a woman and a better life in America.

A young couple with extravagant taste in clothing. The dark haired man looked happier than the red haired woman. You wrote them as arranged, betrothed for wealth and only one of them was happy about it. You imagined her to have a strong spirit and wandering eye. She'd exchanged looks with with a strapping lad, below her class. You hoped they fell in love and defied all the odds.

Another man who caught your attention seemed quite preoccupied with a suitcase. He was lovely to look at with tousled fiery hair and fair skin that had been speckled by sun exposure. He dressed well but they were worn. He looked like a traveller and the way he clutched that suitcase, he must live out of it.

What would drive a man to be so protective of his personal items? Wealth? Perhaps, but you had trusted your cabin to store all of your items. What could he possibly have to protect?

However, you had charmed your personal effects. No muggle...or wizard...could access them. Perhaps this man was a muggle? It was hard to tell. But surely there were other witches and wizards aboard.

The man with the suitcase took a stroll around the ship at the same time every day. At some point, he'd sit at a bench and rest the case on his lap. One of the latches popped open now and then but you never saw what was inside.

What if it was treasure? That was an intriguing thought. You wore your treasures (a locket and an opal ring) around your neck and on your finger, except for your grandmother's ruby ring. That was locked away, with a charm for good measure. No one would get their hands on it.

At least that's what you thought.

You were sharing cabin with a few other women. They seemed pleasant enough. Private yet hopeful for what awaited them in New York.

One of them called New York home and you revelled in every detail and recommendation she could offer you. Another was travelling with her family but they couldn't all fit in one cabin. She enjoyed the company of you and the other young ladies. The third was a girl with a sweet voice and tightly curled hair. She longed for the life of a New York girl; couldn't wait to attend parties wearing glitter and lipstick. She aspired to be an actress and you found her to be quite talented.

They didn't ask too much about you, which you preferred. You didn't want to elaborate on “Grew up outside of London and went to boarding school.” These girls were definitely muggles and they had no business knowing about Hogwarts.

One night, as the ship embarked ever closer to New York, there was a rustling in the cabin. One girl squealed and awoke you and the others.

“Rat!! Don't you hear it? Scurrying about?!”

The cabin remained dark as no one risked touching the floor and encountering the animal. You could hear it and if it was a rat, you weren't too concerned. Rats were common pets at Hogwarts. Yet you played the part of a frightened girl, sitting up in bed and curling your knees to your chest. One of the girls on the top bunk, tossed a shoe at the floor in an attempt to scare off the animal and she must've succeeded because the animal left the room, leaving you all wondering how it got in in the first place.

It was fortunate that you were the one who learned of the creature's true identity the next day. A muggle would've reacted differently.

The sun was bright today, beating down upon you in your several layers of clothing, which had served you well in London.

You took a respite in your cabin around noon. No one else was there as you changed outfits. But as you rifled through your own suitcase, you came to realize something was missing. Try as you might, your grandmother's ring was gone!

You searched the cabin high and low for the ring. It couldn't have left the room! And still you couldn’t find it. Hopeless and upset, you laid upon your bed, burying your face in your pillow.

At some point, you fell asleep. You’re not sure when you did but when you woke, there was a weight on your chest. It reminded you of your cat from Hogwarts and how he used to sleep on you. You thought it was just a dream but there was a tugging sensation at your neck that awoke you.

It happened so quickly, the way you startled as you realized that there was, in fact, something on top of you. You have the chance to either flail or freeze. You chose the latter. You opened your eyes slowly, straining your eyes to look down. It’s not as large as a cat but it’s alarming no matter what. At first glance, you’ve never seen anything like it.

You figured that the creature sitting on your chest--tugging at the locket around your neck--is not from the Muggle world. However, he did slightly resemble a platypus. He didn’t seem malicious but how were you to really know? Why did he have his little webbed paws clasped around your necklace? You tried to sit up slowly, a test to see if he could be scared off or if he’d stay in place. While he did slide down your body, the creature stayed put as best he could. The expression in his sparkling eyes was defiant as he yanked at your necklace.

“Give it to me!” he seemed to be communicating with each tug. You pried his little paws off of the gold pendant and chain and when that tether had been released, you set him down and jumped to your feet.

“You’re the little blighter that was in here last night, aren’t you?” you accused him--not that you expected him to answer. He only looked ashamed for half a second before something shiny caught his eye from across the room. He scurried off the bed towards your cabin mates’ belongings. “Bloody hell! Oh no you don’t!”

Like an uncoordinated cat after a mouse, you chased the creature around the cabin, not once coming close. As he stole a piece of jewelry and some money from one girl’s trunk, you pulled out your wand. He scurried across the room and before you could mutter a single word, the creature squeezed himself through the miniscule crack under the door.

If you doubted whether the creature was magical or not, that certainly answered your question.

“No!” You ran after him, throwing the door open and hoping for an empty hallway. He couldn’t go far on a ship in the middle of the ocean but still you couldn’t have him wandering around and stealing from people. How did he even get here?

As you rounded the corner of the narrow hallway, you risked whipping out your wand once more.

“Accio!” you hissed, exasperated. The creature was caught in your line of sight, susceptible to your charm. He surged into the air and then floated over to you where you suspended him for inspection. You watched as he slipped a coin into an invisible belly pouch. It was then that you realized what this creature was. “Ohhh, you…” you squinted at him, “where did you come from? Of all places to find you…”

The niffler tilted his head and just blinked at you. The corner of your mouth tilted up. He was rather cute, in an odd sort of way. With a flick of your wand, you pulled him closer to you, taking him into your embrace.

“Let’s get you back to my cabin, shall we? Don’t want any muggles to see you.” The niffler nuzzled into you, once again taking hold of your necklace. “If you stole my ring, I’m going to need that back,” you warned him.

The sound of shoes scuffing the floors brought you to the realization that someone else was in the corridor near your cabin. You glanced up to see the red-haired man you’d observed on the upper decks. He was on his hands and knees peeking around other cabin doors. He pulled that brown suitcase along with him as if he needed it nearby when he found what he’s looking for.

You’re about to turn around and hide the niffler when the man’s face lifted to look at you. Your back is to him.

“Oh um...excuse me…” he muttered quietly, getting to his feet. “I must be in your way. I’m terribly sorry. I was just…” He swatted at his coat and finally his gaze met yours as you turned around. “...looking for something…” his voice trailed off. His green eyes trained on the niffler.

“Does this little bugger belong to you?” You approached the man, coming closer to your own cabin.

“Erm, yes that’s my niff--”

“A niffler, yes.” The wizard breathed a sigh of relief at discovering you were a witch. “Were you smuggling this creature into the country?” you accused him, holding fast to the animal. The red-haired man, who’d yet to introduce himself, seemed shifty and unwilling to make eye contact.

“N--no no, absolutely not. I mean, technically, yes. But he was to accompany me on my travels. Never for sale,” he reassured you. “My name is Newt Scamander.” He introduced himself, extending a hand. You took it but not as a handshake.

“We should leave the corridor in case any muggles come by,” you suggested. You pulled Newt towards your cabin and checked to make sure that it was still empty before pushing him into the small space. You locked the door behind you. “Does he have a name?” you asked, holding up the creature that was snuggling into your neck.

“Erm...no...he’s--uh--just niffler.”

“Oh, well that’s boring,” you giggled. “Do you have several nifflers?” Mr. Scamander shook his head. “Well then, if he’s one of a kind in your collection, I should think he should have a name.”

“Y-yes, one of kind indeed,” he scowled at the creature. “And what about you? Surely someone like you must have a one of a kind name, as well?” Newt ventured to say and you thought it almost sounded like a compliment.

“Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you.” You shook his hand for real this time. “I was starting to think that if he was just a stowaway and no one was to claim him that I would take on the honor of naming your niffler.”

“What would you call him?”

“I’m thinking...Richard.”

Newt seemed to snort and scoff at the same time. His smile was a crooked one, tilting up on one side when he looked at you with those green eyes.

“I’m--I’m sorry. Richard? Why, might I ask?”

“Well, for several reasons. One: Richard is a very dignified name. Second: Richie the Pickpocket has a nice ring to it and third...well stealing priceless heirlooms from people is a bit of a dick move. Don’t ya think?” you asked as you tried to hold up the niffler and put him on display. Newt grinned.

“I suppose. Though, I see he hasn’t taken your necklace. Not for lack of trying,” he admitted. He started to detach the animal from your necklace and take him into his own arms. The platypus looking creature squirmed.

“Yes, well he did take my grandmother's ruby ring and that’s a problem. Do you know how to get it back?”

“Yes, unfortunately I have too much experience with that.” Newt took the niffler but the foot and hung him upside down. You squeaked, out of concern, but Newt smiled at you for reassurance. With his deft fingers, he started to tickle the creature’s tummy.

Countless items started to fall out of his invisible pouch! All things shiny! Jewelry and coin currency mostly. You imagined he’d be quite the desired tool for criminals looking to make money. Newt didn’t seem surprised, nor interested in the money. Still holding onto his creature under his arm, Newt searched through the pile of treasures until he found the only ruby ring.

“I’ve found it!” he boasts, kneeling before you on one knee. He presents the ring to you and for a moment, the scene before you is eerily similar to a proposal.

You accept your heirloom.

“Thank you so much! I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost it forever.”

Newt put the niffler on the ground but still had a hold of him by the tail. He kept control of the animal while the niffler cleaned up the mess of shiny objects which had spilled like a golden waterfall. He stashed it all away in that pouch again and you couldn't think of an unethical reason for why he couldn’t do so. The little thief probably always had a stash.

Once Richie, the pickpocketing niffler, had cleaned up his mess, Newt brandished his large, old, leather suitcase. He opened it up and shoved the niffler inside, locking it quickly.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Scamander?” you asked as the two of you left your cabin for the main deck.

“Oh, well uh, I study magical creatures. I’m writing a guide on how to care for them.” There’s a twinkle of passion in his eyes.

“Of course you are,” you grin. “I imagine there’s to be an entire chapter on your niffler?” you teased.

“Yes, you are quite right.”

“I’d love to learn more. If you’d happen to be available during our passage to New York, perhaps we could further discuss it?”

“Oh, yes. There’s much I can tell you. And maybe even show you?”

Your eyes drifted to his suitcase. There must’ve been more than one magical creature stowed away on this trip to America.

#newt scamander #newt scamander x reader #newt x reader #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander fanfiction #newt scamander fluff #fbawtft #fantastic beasts and where to find them #my writing #eddie redmayne #harry potter #wizarding world #niffler

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itslula1991 · 4 years

Text

My Jewel (In Corrections)

Hello everyone! I am very sorry for the delay in uploading this chapter but the inspiring muse is failing me lately. Here is the second part, sorry if this is too long. I hope you enjoy ❤️

Genre: Adventure, comedy, romance, fantasy

Summary

An ancient spell causes a millenary young lady to weaken, it is up to Larry and her friends to help her find the key to return her to normal while an unknown woman, along with three known individuals, and in order to proclaim her “how hers,” she try to take over a captive jewel somewhere in Egypt. (The shock of all the chaos in the girl).

Objective? The guard and the exhibits must prevent it from falling into the wrong hands while between Ahkmenrah and the girl, a romance will slowly emerge that will bear fruit over time.

Chapter 2

Nowadays…

After graduation he was able to move to a fabulous place in Queens, without any more instability, without any more worries about unpaid bills and all thanks to his good salary as a teacher when getting the job in the same career in which he was oriented for a better life. However, at night Larry still worked as a nightstand at the New York Museum of Natural History, because after all for his wax, metal and polyurethane friends, he is a hero so to speak.

Larry mentioned: "Follow everything as it was the last time.", walking happily as he toured his workplace.

"Not much has changed, Lawrence. Except for one detail.", Mr. Roosevelt mentioned in his peaceful voice.

Larry frowned in confusion: "I've been out of the museum for over three years due to my studies and I'm not very aware, what is it about?"

The sky razo remained the same, like all the inhabitants, revived by the magic of the table of Ahk, who walked their house going from one place to another, browsing other exhibitions than their own, in themselves continued the consistency of each of the corners of the enclosure in details, also the floating floor of warm color, waxed and always slippery as usual. What could have changed over the years?

Well, Larry's curiosity was answered by Mr. Roosevelt when he pointed to a museum space where a pretty girl with ornaments and Egyptian clothing, she was sitting on the bench in a neutral room conversing animatedly surrounded by four girls from different times, a girl Colonial, an Italian girl, a Greek girl and a Native American girl, sitting on the floor the women listened to her narrate, perhaps a funny story about her because the women laughed along with the young woman.

But not everything ended there, hidden behind a showcase with artifacts from the first African tribes, King Ahkmenrah allowed his striking eyes to be seen above a vessel at the level of his nose, observing the lady in question. It could be seen how the polychromatic orbs radically mutated from a deep tourmaline pigment to a brilliant green-water, and everything indicated that the change was connected according to their mood, making their eyes clearer, denoting joy or darker, showing absolute sadness, and in this case it seemed that the green color exposed light to all its essence.

"She is new, I hadn't seen her before I temporarily retired from here."

"She's a lovely young lady.", Teddy commented with acceptance towards her.

Larry smiled looking at the scene: "So that detail is Ahk and the Egyptian girl."

"This is Larry.", Sacajawea contributed her good eyesight being sweetly taken by the arm by Teddy. "Ahkmenrah has not skipped a day since she appeared. They are the same as two young people from this time playing to fall in love."

Sacajewea was tenderly made by the king to spend hours at random, other times too, choosing the hiding place behind the plants of Africa spying on that particular someone.

"I still remember the day the boy first saw the young woman.", Teddy smiled at the two teenagers.

**** Flash ****

A month ago...

It was night, and there was a little party, maybe it was the one that Larry started attending night classes to get his teaching degree.

Nothing particular happened as King Ahkmenrah came down from that balcony leaving Jed and Octavio in charge of the music.

Since Doctor McPhee already knew everything that was happening with the tablet, it was not surprising to see a figure come to life, so wandering next to one of them was not considered nonsense either.

It turned out that the aforementioned was a beautiful Egyptian girl, with light skin, hazel eyes, long brown hair, sandals, a fine long kalasiri (dress) with two straps that covered her bust made in real white linen with bows gold at his waist. She, too, was wearing a kind of short cape covering her shoulders, a two-piece cylindrical snake bracelet adorning her left arm, a small crown with a baby cobra, and a delicate pendant in the shape of a winged golden and green beetle with an ankh completing the young woman's outfit.

Ahkmenrah's face said it all, it seemed that everything happened in slow motion in his mind.

"Wow...", Ahkmenrah whispered as if he were seeing a wonder of the ancient world. "By Ra and all the gods."

Ahk's face lit up as he was dazzled by the bubbling chestnut. It was as if he were in a dream.

When he saw her speak willingly next to the Museum Director on one of the stairs, he was fascinated. No matter what she was doing, he smiled and his eyes filled with love and wonder. Ahkmenrah did not miss a single movement of the pretty girl, standing next to the desk watching her with a half-twisted smile and her gaze was as if billions of stars lit up within her eyes. The boy was indeed in love, and although not any woman managed to shake his heart as the Sheik of a harem in the past, she instantly shot him or, as the cliché is vulgarly said, love at first sight.

“I had not seen a museum more impressive than this one. It's amazing.”, she was so happy.

“I am extremely pleased that you feel comfortable, Your Highness. I will leave you with the figures of the establishment so that you can get to know the place. Miss.”, Doctor McPhee said goodbye with respect and she made a slight bow allowing her withdrawal.

Like everything an Egyptian goddess, she glamorous went down the stairs, the girl moved exploding sensuality and with a comic touch when everything happened in slow motion to the rhythm of the background music.

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She ran her hair back with one hand, blinking coquettishly looking around while some exhibits threw roses at her, adoring her presence, therefore she greeted with extremely overwhelmed and gratefulness as she slid down the hall, seeming to parade like a 1999 BC model.

And to all this Ahk thought that she addressed him with that hip shake, he enlarged his smile but it was not, she followed long and the comical sound of when one track is run to another, made him raise an eyebrow reflecting a little disappointment. However, he continued absorbed in his thoughts without taking his eyes off each line of the toned and fine female figure, wandering in those curves when Mr. Roosevelt's voice made him come out of that trance.

"I don't want you to be the same as me.", Teddy spoke solemnly.

Ahkmenrah was half foolish trying to spin his answer well: "What do you mean?"

“In the sense that I have spent more than 50 years observing and not daring to say a word to my dear Sacajewea until Larry's arrival prompted me to do so. Do not hesitate or let her escape, Your Majesty.”, Teddy wisely advised as the boy sighed looking at the Egyptian girl.

The young woman with an unknown name detailed every corner and she never realized that those jade eyes did not lose sight of her.

Sac spoke very sweetly: "Teddy?", Appearing on the scene as she wrapped her arms around Mr. Roosevelt and inevitably smiled.

"He knows what he's doing, love."

It seems that the words of Mr. Roosevelt encouraged the king to arm himself with courage, inflate his chest, accommodate his deshret (crown) and approach her to relate, establish a bond, perhaps.

"This is so beautiful.", she whispered fascinated looking at the divine building and how the party continued with its magic.

"Hello.", Ahkmenrah finally said with real elegance behind her.

She gently spun on her axis as she was distracted watching the constellations form mirror balls illuminating the room in soft blue. The pretty girl greeted him with a friendly smile once they were face to face.

"Hello."

"What is your name?"

"I am Larempteh.", she introduced herself with singular elegance.

And Ahkmenrah raised an eyebrow detailing her peculiar appearance at a considerable distance, she had almost no makeup, just a little soft brown shade that accentuated her sweet eyes and bushy lashes, kohl for a discreet black liner and lipstick lipstick, privileged to possess the fleshy. Beautifull.

"High Blue Sapphire of the Nile, fourth queen of the fifth great king and sovereign of the reign of my pharaohs. It is a pleasure.", Larempteh added with graceful finesse in his speech.

She was not conceited, only that the way of presenting herself in the ancient world was that way when you were belonging to the nobility of Upper Egypt, and her voice was a caress with words for him since the girl was cordial, warm and very respectful , in addition to sweet and possessing that mix between shy and intellectual. She illuminated the whole place only with her presence.

"What a beautiful name.", Ahkmenrah recognized and she smiled, she was hypnotic and Ahk's eyes could not detach from the young woman for any reason. "Excuse me, I don't look at girls like that."

Larempteh excused him with a pleasant laugh: "Don't worry, it's fine. For that you have a view, you appreciate what you see."

"Also your English is perfect, you speak divinely, where did you learn?"

"I went to Cambridge University."

Ahkmenrah was amazed with a smile.

"Were you in Cambridge?"

"On display..."

"From the Egyptology Department?", both agreed in the sentence with surprise.

"Yes, that's right! What a coincidence!"

"Have you been there too? Wow, that's great."

"Is this your first night at the museum?"

"No, I came here in 1954 from the Giza expedition.", Larempteh said.

"How come I have never seen you before?"

"Here or Cambridge?"

"Both answers have value."

"Well, I arrived there in 1940 and have spent 14 years in my sarcophagus."

"That explains a lot."

"Yes. And here they kept me away in the warehouse until they created my showroom just around the corner from your showroom. I have had so few visitors interested in the old world that all this time I have been around my exhibition and never dared to abandon it, habit, melancholy perhaps... It is difficult to detach yourself from Cambridge once you belong 14 years."

"Indeed. It feels weird."

"It would also be due to the fame of a little docile nature that was instilled in us and I did not want to be feared by the other exhibitions. Apparently, today I took a lot of courage after 66 years being here and I left tonight finding a beautiful place."

Larempteh apparently hinted at Ahkmenrah, but Pharaoh did not catch that eulogy in the air.

"I understand you."

"I must add that it may be by fate, I would say."

"And why were we in different temples?", Ahkmenrah joked.

Larempteh found a cute shoulder: "Or maybe the gods had prepared our meeting for a suitable moment and I think it worked today."

"It is wonderful and you believe in destiny, that is fabulous."

She gave him a sweet smile with the music still playing in the background and neither she nor he stopped inspecting each other, reviewing his features, the most prestigious in her and manly in him. Larempteh decided to cut the air to get into the conversation a little more.

Larempteh said: "And, you're from around here I guess or..."

"I belonged. I am a limited time conservation."

She was stunned, Larempteh asked, "Limited time conservation?"

Ahkmenrah gave the queen a cute smile.

"Yes, I am a British museum of treasures."

She frowned and asked a little confused: "What?"

That's where the voice came into play in the king's mind.

"Great Ahk, now you will look like a clown from 4000 BC for the rest of your life."

Ahkmenrah was slow to process his own words, what he least wanted was to be an idiot in front of her and accidentally he did, he mentally reprimanded himself for the inconsistency he had just said, feeling ashamed for possibly making a bad impression within minutes of having her known.

The pharaoh spluttered trying to accommodate the correct sentence in her brain while she paid no attention to anything other than the strong blush of shame that formed from her cheeks to the bridge of her nose, therefore Larem smiled attentively at that detail. because it made her feel tender that there was still a young man like him and that she blushed in such a way, and that made him more nervous.

His throat went dry, his usej suffocated him, and Ahk swallowed thickly, omitting such awkwardness.

He adjusted his voice and said: "No, I meant that I am part of the treasures of the British Museum."

"No problem, I understood.", Larempteh laughed lightly. "And what is your name?"

"I am Ahkmenrah, the fourth king of the fourth king, the ruler of the lands of my parents and the pleasure is all mine."

Ahkmenrah showed up bowing in his presence showing Larem cordiality when he kissed the back of the queen's hand, she could not believe that that kind of young man with approximately 18 years of age, a classic conservation of 4000 years, was real. Like the man she dreamed of all her life but hearing the boy's name, she divinely opened her eyes at a certain surprise of having him face to face.

"For Isis! Are you the famous Ahkmenrah?”, Larempteh questioned with deep happiness.

Ahkmenrah frowned in confusion: "Famous?"

"Yes, in Cambridge. All the time the museum figures have talked about you, you are an icon there. By Ra! I can't believe it, I didn't think I had the chance to meet you one day and... Oh, what happiness! What an honor, son of the Sun. You must be considered a legend in the history of Egypt, not many reach one of the most remarkable and visited venues in the world as the British museum. It is a luxury that you are there then, you are very lucky.”

"Yes, I do not know if I am as important a figure in the history of Egyptian humanity as Ramses was, I knew later that he was more important than me."

"But you must have had fabulous feats to have been a part of here in the past as well."

“I suppose, although I don't entirely remember it, my memory has always been blank since I arrived. I mean, I wish they would help me a little more to understand myself and to know who I am apart from my name because all I know is that my determining home is there because my family is there. But sometimes I am only treated as a piece of archaeological piece from my Era.”

The glitter in Ahk's eyes faded slightly.

Larempteh grieved: "Oh what a shame they make you feel like this because you are a very nice boy."

Ahkmenrah analyzed the girl's words, the pharaoh blushed timidly again, his face was a poem and he frowned with a vague smile thinking that she could not not get over you by not resisting her charms.

Larempteh had a blush when reformulating his sayings: “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it was not my intention to bother you. I mean, you're cute in the sense of your soul.”

“You don't care, I've never been told before. It is precious that it comes from you. Thank you."

Larempteh smiled at Ahk's intense gaze, wiping a slight perspiration from her dress against her palms.

"You do not have to thank. After all, you do have a splendid shine and impressive eyes, they attract attention, they are very pretty.”

Ahkmenrah did 'the thing' with his smiling mouth, showing off his defined cheekbones.

"And maybe it must be because I just have them in the middle of my face.”, Ahkmenrah built a good sense of humor in which she laughed refinedly. "I also like your eyes, they are very warm and sweet. Since they are conspicuous and shocking to the delight of others, it would be considered a crime not to appreciate them in such a way nor are they how to be wasted.”

Queen Larempteh's eyes sparkled. An action that made her smile.

"Thank you. So your family is in the British museum, huh? It's great to have your parents nearby in one place or someone by your side to remind you of where you came from.”

“Yes, the boys made me stay close to them and it was also to keep my board safe. But don't worry, it's just a long story that I'll tell you already.”

"Okay, no inconvenience.", Larempteh said quietly.

"And where are yours?"

"I do not know. I am adrift just like you with my mind.”

"Oh I'm sorry."

"Do not worry, nothing happens. I suppose it is part of our life as museum exhibits having to find pieces of ourselves at random to feel complete. It's just a matter of divine intersession.”

"We can change the subject if you want."

"As you like."

Ahkmenrah watched her closely: "Dynasty XIX? I suppose."

"Yes, how did you know?", Larempteh cackled with sophistication.

She was charmingly curious to tuck a strand of hair behind her right ear, revealing one of her sparkling triangle-shaped hoops and elegant burgundy nail varnish.

"About the above, it is that you have an unseen face and it is impossible for you to go unnoticed. My guess is that you happen to be an old relative with proximity to Nefertari's family ancestors or perhaps it is because she has reincarnated in you."

Ahkmenrah learned to maintain his cordiality by behaving like a great nobleman, he was taught that his feelings should be fair and necessary before anyone but it seems that Larempteh appeared only to make him break the rules, disobeying his archaic teachings.

Well, Ahk always did, but Larem made it worse, like a fever with no disastrous results.

What he could never hide was a dazzled observing of her tangible beauty, he winked at her giving her a warm smile indirectly telling Larempteh how extremely beautiful she was.

Perhaps the young man hinted that the girl would be a descendant of the most important queen that Egypt had, making her an extremely attractive goddess for her taste and reach.

Larempteh thought, "No, I don't think that's the case either. Well, one knows who it comes from to reincarnate as a living human god on Earth, but one of my parents may have had the honor of belonging to the offspring of the Nefertari's lineage from the many children she had. Perhaps I am some great-granddaughter or great-great-granddaughter, as were the many siblings I had."

"The hundreds of kings who claimed your love should tell you."

Ahkmenrah guessed vehemently. And how not to do it? If she radiated sweetness and owned an exquisite exotic image; how it was not possible that the kings would not argue the hand of that venerable woman.

"No, well, yes, in part, but it was my older sister who received ninety-nine point nine percent of all these courtships.", Larempteh let out a natural laugh.

"Sister.", Ahkmenrah was not interested, rather he was unsuspecting. Shocked by the fact that her beauty is not praised.

"Yes. You see, Dad wanted two male rulers, one who was a strong pharaoh and who knew how to command the kingdom and another who was a champion in battles, especially in Kadesh. As you see, it could not be, he had my sister and me some time after that event. And considering that my father's wish was fulfilled very late, yes, he had more secondary children, but she and I were the eldest daughters of the family and for Real rules we had the privilege of direct access to lead a nation for being of pure lineage. Although something happened along the way and it was damaged or rather someone made history change its course regarding that. A long story that I will tell you.", Larempteh commented with a frown with a smile naturalizing his story.

"And why her and not you, how is that possible?", Ahkmenrah used a tone of Royal disbelief.

"It was just that she was extremely beautiful.", Larempteh just shrugged her shoulder in a cute way continuing the thread of praise. "She was so crazy though."

"I am sure she does not exceed the honey of your voice or your delicate presence.", Ahkmenrah said raising his jaw with elegant bearing.

The young queen did not know where to look, and of course, if Ahk's electric eyes did not dare to detach themselves from his youthful features.

Larempteh was intimidated by these charming courtships and tilted her face to the side a little hiding a faint blush keeping a thin smile as she tilted her head to later observe him.

"Excuse my daring but I couldn't stop watching you since I saw you. It's just that you're more beautiful than the Giza pyramids.", Ahkmenrah complimented her and the girl felt another strong blush take over her face.

In a delicate tone, Larempteh said: "How divine.", stunned with a slightly strange smile wandering her lips for all the praise she got from him.

"I spent 54 years wrapped in dirty linen bandages, locked in a sarcophagus and after waking up 66 consecutive nights to meet you, that's divine. You are a precious, beautiful creature."

Ahkmenrah after that praise, smiled sideways showing his immaculate teeth, without showing lewdness or perversion, it was like a seductive tactic in him.

The queen laughed in elegant confusion as she said: "Thank you?"

Obviously, in her time she was not very familiar with more than 100 compliments in a row due to her real beauty and so many coming from a single pharaoh, it was something intense but that was still a nice touch on her part.

"Don't be thankful since the pharaohs used to have an aggressive and unkind image. You should be suspicious.", Ahkmenrah commented regaining his posture of standing up.

Larempteh said: "I'll be careful then."

And her whispering was a little less than what's called suggestive, perhaps being eerily suggestive was a healthy seduction tactic to start the romance game.

"Although if someone stands between me and your beauty, probably the king of 4000 years ago, perhaps he will make an exception. But as long as none of that happens..."

"I knew what pharaohs were like in our time. Not tolerant, only in tiny exceptions.", Larempteh reaffirmed.

Ahkmenrah leaned down again, bringing the female hand to her lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles.

"I am kind, believe me not unless..."

The pharaoh straightened up, winking at the girl again so she smiled at him causing Ahk to wrap himself in the infinite tenderness of her beautiful grimace and lose herself in the brilliance of her precious eyes.

Maybe it was because of an attraction that burned inside her or an irrepressible instinct to want to touch her, even if it was to take something from her to remember her before returning to the darkness of her sarcophagus, extinguishing that sadness and going to 'sleep' happily and waking up a bit more alive by an obtension, and then the pharaoh felt the need to approach very slowly to Larem's face reviewing his eyes for each of its smooth details directing his lips to hers, who incidentally, looked at that mouth with reverie.

Larempteh for her part closed her eyes at the preamble of the stimulus in which her heart beat a thousand times stronger than before, announcing that perhaps she would have her first kiss under the beautiful blue light of the constellations. How romantic would it be, right?

She stood still with her eyelids hiding her pupils without startling when Ahkmenrah gently cupped a hand on her right cheek, it was such a sweet touch, he transmitted so much peace to her from the first moment.

Ahkmen closed the distance between the two more, and more, and more, and more, and more until Tilly's voice was heard as he ran to Laaa through the hall interrupting the moment.

"Laaa, no! Don't touch that! Those aren't headphones! It's a defibrillator!"

Ahkmenrah and Larempteh suddenly opened their eyes and immediately regretted the situation in which they found themselves and laughed without penalty or glory.

Larempteh said with a laugh: "How pitiful."

The queen touched her own face that burned from the strong blush, but she continued to laugh, being accompanied in good humor by the loud and manly laughter of the pharaoh.

That commotion where Tilly chased Laaa, made Rexy and Trixy freak out and make sounds minimally chasing away the crowd causing Larempteh to dodge the alpacas, the flames, the terracotta soldier and the Vikings fleeing in terror in his direction. .

There was a moment when the girl lost her balance due to their action and it was there when she fell into the arms of Ahk, who reflexively held her tight by the waist like the gentleman she is. That caused her to sink her face into the hollow of the precious and soft neck of the king, thus forming an electricity that was made at the clash of skin against skin and at that moment a spark ignited between the two upon closer inspection.

"Well, I must reaffirm it, now more than before, what divine eyes you have."

Ahkmenrah praised the color of the girl's irises that now mutated to the striking honey pigment, giving Larempteh a soft grimace on her lips as she watched him from behind her thick lashes as she smiled tenderly, with her too, of course losing herself in his eyes.

**** End of Flash ****

@sherlollydramoine @xmxisxforxmaybe @txmel @moon-stars-soul @sunkissedmikky

#ahkmenrah #rami malek #night at the museum #natm #natm ahkmenrah #night at the museum 3

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

All is fair in Love & War - 7

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Less angst, some lewd undertones....actually it might be more than undertones. What I’m trying to say is that the “do will be done” at some point in this chapter and you might get to read some of that. K? Also...I’ve not done any corrective readings on this, sorry (I know, bad me).

7. Getting into shape

Daily walks with Loki helps rebuild some of your constitution, and each time the god notices improvement, he finds some task or exercise for you to undertake. Although some chores are less tempting, you don’t mind because it gives you something to do, not to mention a chance to understand the way of life in Utgard.

The new task of the day is even one you have been hoping to be given. Standing in the stables with a pitchfork and a wheelbarrow, the joy of working with or near animals is bubbling within you, making you giddy as you look up at the giant black horse. Already, you have zoned out Loki and the conversation he is having with the stable boys in the guttural, rumbling language of the Jötuns – none of what they say makes any sense.

You had managed to sneak an apple from your breakfast tray, hiding it in the pocket of the dress you have been given to wear for menial tasks. It’s a bit big for you, clearly made for a Jötun who generally are of bigger stature. Maybe it is made for a child? Either way, the rough material is comforting to you because it is what you have been used to, and it is much warmer than the flimsy silk gowns which are not made for the winter that is settling over the kingdom.

A soft muzzle nudges your shoulder, making you realize that you have lost yourself in thoughts. Mumbling an apology, you give the horse the fruit and enjoy the loud munching, adding to the companionship by stroking the smooth neck of the beast. Even the strands of its mane are silky to the touch, threatening to sidetrack your thoughts again. The silent exasperation rolls through your lungs, then you begin the work.

Once upon a time when life was normal, you had become the one to tend to the larger animals of the little village although they were not shared property. But the three cows, one donkey, two mules, and a score sheep and goats mixed were easier tended to in a single herd, allowing more villagers to work at the quarry or tend to other tasks benefitting everyone in the tight-knit community. All hands were needed. From a young age, you spend full days in the pastures before the new enclosure stood finished, and after that your time was divided between the animals and seasonally dependant chores. You grew confident in the much larger beasts presence, learned to understand their behaviour as easily as if they spoke to you.

“Come on now,” you mumble to your new companion while nodding at the wet hay below the enormous hooves, “you don’t wanna step in that, do you?”

A huff and shameful shake of the mane provides the answer, and a nod to another corner of the stall is enough to get the stallion moving. He’s so gentle. Patting the creature as a way of showing your appreciation, you resume the work of cleaning out the dirty bedding.

Side-eyeing the black horse, you keep talking gently to him. “What do I even call you, huh? Can’t just call you any silly ol’ name…”

“His name is Magni.”

Maybe you manage to hide how the voice startles you. You hope so. There is no reason to look for who is answering you because even if you had not recognized Loki’s soft tone, there is still only one other who speaks your language. How long has he been standing so close, watching?

“Magni.” You stroke the horse’s flank before dumping the last pitchforkful into the wheelbarrow.

“One of the boys will take it from here.” Loki announces.

The secretive curl in his voice is slightly unsettling, creating a cool seed of worry in your guts that grows and begins to bloom as you follow the king of Jotunheim through the courtyard and out the heavy gates.

It is the first time you set foot outside the castle grounds during the day, and even the view from your chambers have not prepared you for the endlessness of the landscape on this side of the old fortress. Standing on top of a giant hill, the landscapes fall away in rolling waves of faded green dotted with shrubs and ragged cliffs on which lichen grow. Here and there is a birch tree, naked against the cold winds that flattens grass and whirls leaves towards the grey clouds that are hanging heavily above. Further off are the rivers and dark woods of evergreens. Whoah.

“Yes, it may appear a harsh or even unforgiving land to most, but I find Jotunheim holds a beauty best appreciated in the changing of the seasons.”

The comment could have been meant as bragging. It’s not. There might be a lot to learn about him because, truth be told, nothing you had been told had turned out to be right. Months around him had not proven quite as fruitful in terms of getting to know him as you had hoped, and yet…Oh! No! Not going there again! A warm knot is already forming in the pit of your belly, matched only by another heat in your cheeks. You don’t want to look over at him, nervous he might be watching you for any reactions. He may be an enigma to you, however, a suspicion that the god is able to read your mind is increasingly prevalent. He is in your mind, under your skin, appearing in dreams that have no business appearing let alone starting an aching need between you legs. So now you stand beside him, looking over the rolling hills of this wild, rugged kingdom and knowing that you cannot escape even if you tried because this world is an unforgiving one.

Outside the shielding walls of the keep, nothing keeps the wind away. Tearing at you clothes and hair, it sends a chill into your bones and a shiver is setting in.

“Here.” Loki wraps a cloak around your shoulders and fastens the clasp under your chin. “It is time you learn about the area.”

It is wonderful to be out and about despite the slight worry that creeps in as the two of you move away from the solid structure that has been your prison for soon two seasons. Thoughts are racing through your head, analyzing everything about the situation and any potential reasons might have for taking you out here. Kill me? No, he would not have a problem doing that at the keep, he has proven that before. Imprison me elsewhere? That would be impractical, considering how much time the tall man spends in your company. Have his way with me? The idea does not scare you as much as you do (that does frighten you, though), but either way it is still just as unlikely as murdering you. Each idea becomes more and more farfetched, granting you no peace. This is how it has been since Loki came back and practically saved you. Was that planned? Nothing in your world is right anymore, fueling a desperate determination to find out what is going on then. Maybe, as things begin to make sense, the strained tension will dissipate.

Rounding the top of the hill brings the forest visible from you windows into view. An arm is stretching for the keep and it is towards that that Loki now strides, his long legs carrying him so fast that you sometimes have to run a little bit to keep up – not that you are sure you really want to, but being left alone in a distinctively different land than your own is not anything you want either.

By the time you reach the trees, the first snowflakes of the winter are floating down from the leaden clouds to settle in your hair, on the cape. On the mosses that carpet the forest floor in shades not unlike Loki’s eyes when they flicker darkly each time they travel over your form. No, wait, I wasn’t going to think like that! Leafless birch and rowan are replaced by the spruce and fir that shield better from the cold but strengthens the shadows until the two of you are walking in perpetual dusk. It is all too easy to imagine the dangerous creatures roaming the woods, and it urges you to stay closer to the god leading the way. Thankfully, he has slowed down.

It feels like hours before he finally stops, making you bump into him because you no longer have been paying attention. For a second, you freeze with fear of what Loki will do as he reaches out to you, but he only wraps an arm around your waist to pull you into his lap as he sits. There is no part of your body that does not ache. Knees are weak. Finally. Looking around, you see the seat is simply a large, flat stone placed almost perfectly in a circle of taller granites shaped by rough carvings. Old figures are staring down with empty eyes below horns that turn into ridges creating swirling patterns adorning their naked bodies. Naked bodies with surprisingly detailed…parts. Though you are no virgin, it still makes you blush.

“Makes one think, does it not?” Loki asks playfully, his hand drifting to your thigh, and you watch it with apprehension. “These are ancient carvings made by the ancestors of the Jötun. My people.”

Before your very eyes, the hand of the god changes. Transforms. The fingers grow a bit longer…or maybe it is the entire hand that grows? It does not matter, though, because there are other alterations: skin grows blue like cobalt and dark lines appear before rising into ridges. For a moment, your eyes flash to the crude statues then back to find that the nails now are black and claw-like.

“Look at me, [Y/N].” Loki begs softly.

A deep breath steels you, making it possible to turn to face the Jötun. There are no horns adorning his brows though the ridges are a bit more prominent. His eyes. Black pupils in an endless see of dark red. Orbs of blood. I’ve seen this before. Vague memories attempt to claw back to the surface, but they do not bring the same terror that you once associated with Loki’s strange nature. Instead, you find him strikingly handsome. Every trait that have haunted your dreams as forbidden desires are enhanced, mixing with a raw tenderness as he exposes what must be his true form to you.

A small frown fails to wrinkle the ridges on his forehead. “You do not fear me?”

“I’m sure you can be…ermm…scary like a monster if angered, but…” You hesitate in order to make sure. “No…I don’t fear you because of…this…” With a vague wave of a hand, you gesture his appearance.

Watching his lips curl in a smile adds to the confusion in your body. He looks truly happy, reminding you of how rarely you have seen joy in his eyes. Your hand cups his face before you know it, the thumb stroking a chiseled cheekbone. This is his real form. It should be frightening, as he suspected. The reaction is far from that, instead showing itself as a warm knot in the pit of your belly and an insistent tugging at your heartstrings.

I should know better. The words are meaningless. Stretching, you brush your lips against his. Heat meeting cold and your breaths mingling as the kiss deepens. Loki inhales sharply when you run your fingers through the dark strands to pull him closer, and you grab the opportunity to slip your tongue in.

He has you straddling him soon enough. Blue and, to you, normal coloured hands are tugging at clothes, searching for skin to mark and explore in any way possible. More. The aching need between you legs is back, followed by a dampness that begs for contact and has you fumbling with belts and buckles to free his manhood until he stops you by reaching his goal first. Shivers race through your limbs as long, cold digits delve between the folds, spreading the slick and making you moan breathlessly by the time he reaches the sensitive nub. More. Suddenly, you can only hold on, hands fisting his black hair and teeth digging into his shoulder to maintain a semblance of decency.

You are gasping shamelessly when he finally retracts is fingers from inside you to undo his belt. More.An insatiable craving is eating away at you as you watch him free his cock (also blue and with smaller ridges tracing spiral patterns along the shaft), and you have your hands wrapped around it as soon as you can. Exploring. Pumping gently until his head falls back and he groans softly. More. Nimble and determined, you reposition yourself to slide him in. Slowly. The cold of his erection soothing the stretch.

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afantasticbeastwriter · 5 years

Text

Warm || Newt Scamander x Reader

Genre: ANNNNGST Warnings: Character death. Word Count: 1,934 Prompt: “Ooh what if the reader was Leta's younger sister by maybe a year or two and they liked Newt. And then poof time skip to many years later maybe the reader is Newt's assistant and maybe she gets hurt while fighting a Grindelwald fanatic and that's when he realizes he loves her?” A/N: Thank you to boxofteenageideas for this request! Sorry it took me so long. So, the original request mentioned the reader getting hurt. I took it a bit further because I watched Les Mis recently and well, it inspired me in quite a way lol. Sorry for any tears! Please let me know what you all think, and do not hesitate to give me some more requests! Enjoy (the best you can)!

“Excuse me?”

He turned around with a swish of his hair and not much eye contact. Good ol’ Newt Scamander, third year recluse and animal lover extraordinaire, never had been too observant of others. His beasts he took impeccable care of, but when it came to humans, he did not notice their worries or needs. It simply did not come to him. It was not worthy of note.

It has cost him multiple potential friendships in the past from those too shy to accept his quirks or too popular to associate with his awkward-natured self. But Newt did not mind. They were not worth his time if they did not understand him. That was why he kept so close to Leta Lestrange, the Slytherin in his year with soft chocolate skin and big eyes that sparkled like diamonds when they gazed at his creatures. She was the only one who did not laugh or mock him when he put his beloved creatures first. She accepted him for everything. As far as he was concerned, he was indebted to her for life.

Because of his deep appreciation of her, Newt often kept her company. He knew everything about her and her interests. She came to him for everything – comfort, help, fun. She also came to him when her home life became rough. That was why, when he looked down and briefly saw you standing before him, he knew exactly who you were. You were his best friend’s little sibling. Just having entered Hogwarts, you were wearing your full robes and wide-eyed. You were, quite frankly, adorable to him. In a little kid kind of way, at least. Newt awkwardly smiled.

“Hello.”

“M-My sister told me I should say hi to you.” It was a lie, but he did not know any better. “I’m {Y/N} Lestrange.”

Briefly meeting your eyes, Newt nodded. “Nice to meet you. Call me Newt.”

“Newt.” His name sounded funny coming from your much younger, tinier voice. Where Leta sounded more older and mature, you sounded quite small and innocent. He rather fancied it, though he would never share that fact with you. “I was wondering if you could show me the creatures you show her.”

“Y-You want to see them? Are you sure?”

You smiled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Now, that was a question young Newt Scamander had never heard before. It was a good one – a great one, even. Why shouldn’t people be sure to meet his creatures? They were harmless, after all. They were quite majestic, too. Everyone should want to see them. Face brightening, Newt beckoned you to follow him and got up to go.

You followed him down a few of the halls, not quite sure where you were heading but trusting nevertheless. Newt weaved through a few doors and staircases until stopping at a little staircase leading to a nook. He reached his hand out to you, and you took it with confidence. All nerves swam away when Newt felt that.

“I suppose you should meet my newest creature first,” he said, guiding you into the nook. You noticed quite quickly a large jar with some murky creature lurking in it. You would be lying if it did not scare you, but you did not mention it to Newt. Instead, you watched as a small, twig-like creature crawled out toward you from his arm. With glee, you joined Newt in taking a seat on the ground and held your arm out for it. It chirped and made its way onto you, making Newt smile.

“I believe I’m going to call him Pickett.” His eyes watched the creature crawl further up your arm, making you laugh. “He’s quite agile, isn’t he?”

“He tickles,” you giggled. “Where did you find him?”

“There’s a special tree. Your sister and I visited it last term. We’ve grown to become good friends. M-Me and Pickett, that is,” he stumbled, face growing red. Too engrossed with Pickett, you remained ignorant. That was how the rest of your time with Newt went. You would fall for his creatures, and him quite frankly, while he showed you his world and trailed after Leta. It was a constant pattern, one that involved both of you remaining blissfully unaware of each other’s emotions.

It was not until years later, somewhere in Paris, that either of you figured one’s emotions out. You were the unfortunate one to find out first. There was something almost cruel about the way you realized Newt’s love for Leta. Being his assistant, you believed there was no one closer in Newt’s world. You dealt with his creatures daily – who else could say they did that? You came into work every day and earned at least one smile from Newt. That was a constant. What was not constant, however, was your heartbeat as you walked into one of the creature’s case enclosures and found Newt in a loving embrace, lips pressed to lips, with Leta.

You began to flee just as Newt caught sight of you. He chased you, but you escaped in tears. Where you ran, you hardly knew. You got out of the case and simply sprinted. When it seemed as if Newt would catch you, you disapparated and went as far away as you could think of on such short a notice. His emotions did not mean anything in that moment to you. All you cared about was the panic coursing through your body, and the feeling of unwantedness that drummed through your mind. When you wandered into an abandoned cemetery, you hardly thought anything of it.

You thought of everything, however, all at once when a sudden array of green sparks hurdled your way from your right. Tears quickly forgotten, you squealed and hid behind a tombstone with a pounding heart. It thumped in your mind feverishly as the sparks continued to bombard the stone, slowly breaking it. You had no idea who was doing this or why, or why they were so combative at a cemetery of all places. Though you detested him at the moment, you wished Newt, shy, sweet Newt, would show up and rescue you. For a bit, no one did.

Then, you saw white sparks fly through the air, ceasing the green.

“Back away from her. Now.”

Jumping up, you noticed the scene before you with utter shock. It was him. He stood strong, piercing, ready to take on the world. Leta was behind him, wand cast forward at whatever person stood ready to attack you. She looked trapped in a heap of emotions, but you could not really decipher them all from your vantage point. What you could see was Newt in attack mode, showing more furious than you ever had seen him to this mysterious figure. They laughed and yelled something about Grindelwald to him, about how he needed to watch his tongue and let what was to happen happen if he did not wish for Grindelwald’s fury.

Of course, Newt hardly cared for the likes of the sly, mostly evil wizard, so he moved forward anyway. He shot a spell their way and it hit them good, knocking them off their feet – not before they shot a spell right at you.

The sensation was sharp, searing like flame into your skin. Not much else went through your mind as you collapsed to the cold, grassy floor beneath you. You heard Leta yell, and you heard the cracks of spells, and then you felt Newt’s arms cradle you into him. Your emotions went wild, but your mind went blank as he fussed over you. Whatever was going on with the flames, you were apparently really hurting from them, and he looked utterly terrified because of it.

“{Y/N}, s-stay with me, s-stay, it’s going to be okay.”

Stay? You had no idea what he meant by stay. You were not going anywhere. Body beginning to shake, you turned and looked up into his eyes. He looked far worse off than he had been in his nook all those years before.

“Newt, I-”

“Shhh.” Holding you close, Newt looked over to Leta as she dealt the final blow to the fanatic. As soon as she finished, she too joined him at your side. Her eyes were wide and frightened, as if one more moment staring at her younger sibling in pain could snap her world in two.

“Newt, {Y/N} needs help. Now.”

“S-She can’t apparate,” he choked out, eyes watering. “Leta, it’d be too much.”

“We can’t just let her-”

“We can’t do anything.”

You caught a glimpse of your sister as these words sunk into her brain. She looked lost. Worse, she looked tormented and distraught and afraid. You could not tell why she was so afraid. You were fine, weren’t you? Sure, you were shaking and the flames did not go away, but you felt so warm up against Newt. How could something feel so good if things were bad?

“{Y/N},” Newt’s voice was shaky, uncertain. “I…I love you. I need you to know that.”

You opened your mouth to counter, but he hushed you. “What you saw in the cemetery…{Y/N}, I just told Leta we needed to part ways for your sake. Y-You stole my affection, and I did not want to drag her along. {Y/N}, you cannot leave me. Please.”

Hearing such a confession made you never want to leave. How could you leave when everything seemed to fall into place? You had been wrong; you were loved. Newt loved you, not your sister. Surely, that was cause never to leave. But, as you opened your mouth to speak, something clogged your airway and forced you to cough. And, as you looked ahead of you to Newt’s coat, a blood stain from your cough made you realize that, perhaps, you were about to have no choice but to leave. Newt and Leta’s voices grew more muffled with this realization, almost at the same rate the taste of iron filled your mouth. Coughing more, you clutched to Newt and his warmth more than you ever had before. He was your space heater, your comfort, the one tangible thing left keeping you tethered to Earth. You clawed for him, bringing him closer, and he met you with a kiss that left you both wildly fulfilled and panicked.

On his lips, you saw nothing but bright red.

The coughing began again.

“I love you,” he muttered, holding you close once more and slowly rocking you back and forth. “I love you. So much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Leta sobbed. You looked beyond Newt’s shoulder to see her with tears streaming down her face. Her skin was pale. Her eyes were dull, life slowly drawing out of her. If you had not known any better, you would say she was dead herself. Though you could not physically move, you pleaded with your eyes for her to be okay. Something about the way she could not seem to meet your eyes back left you feeling worse off than before.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

Newt choked on his tears.

“I love you.”

The fire seemed to dull in that moment. Where shaking once sat, stabilization found your feet firm on the ground. The warmth you felt, though, stayed the same. It in fact grew, enveloping you until you found yourself sitting in Newt’s nook, meeting his creatures for the first time and meeting his smiling gaze.

Death was cold. Newt was warm.

And although you did not get to experience life with him, you were content to make up for lost time in the eternity after it.

#newt #newt scamander #Newton Scamander #newt x reader #fbawtft

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

Starlight & Strange Magic, Chapter 2: In Which Garcia Flynn Blows Things Up

Rating: M Summary: Lucy Preston, a young American woman, arrives in England in 1887 to teach history at Somerville College, Oxford. London is the capital of the steam and aether and automatonic world, and new innovations are appearing every day. When she meets a mysterious, dangerous mercenary and underworld kingpin, Garcia Flynn, her life takes a turn for the decidedly too interesting. But Lucy has plenty of secrets of her own – not least that she’s from nowhere or nowhen nearby – and she is more than up for the challenge. Available: AO3 Previous: In Which Lucy Preston Makes An Entrance

For a long moment, even as the zeppelin continues to burn and thunder down in pieces, which hit the grass like meteors just a few feet away from Lucy, the world seems eerily silent. So this is him, the man buying enough guns to start a dozen turf wars, who has just shot down a passenger airship and is a wanted criminal across the city – what the hell is he doing here? Aside from the literally flamingly obvious, and he clearly doesn’t intend to be here much longer, as he’s halfway across the lawn and almost out of sight. There is every good reason in the world for Lucy not to go anywhere near this man, especially given what he has just done. If they can prove it was him, at any rate. He could just be a garden-variety psychopath who enjoys watching the world burn (is he Jack the Ripper?) All of it is very likely. But nonetheless, Lucy starts after him.

She has to weave an obstacle course through the hail of fiery debris, sees someone trapped under a plank, and stops to haul it off them, helping them to their feet and telling them to run while still staring ahead into the darkness for Flynn. He is hurrying across the park, has almost reached the London Zoo on the far side, and Lucy has to outright run, never the easiest feat in long skirts, to keep him in sight. He pushes through the gates of the zoo, as if he’s just going to go chill out in the monkey house and wait for things to calm down, and Lucy fights a demented urge to laugh. Or is he going to make a clean sweep, and blow this up too?

Either way, no time to dawdle. She ducks behind the gatehouse as Flynn, as if sensing he’s being followed, looks around sharply. She draws the Colt out of her pocket, checks that a round is chambered, and debates whether to leave her bag behind, as it’s heavy and will slow her down. As well, it contains the rifle that Karl gave her earlier, which might be an unpleasant tip-off that she has now popped up twice to uninvitedly involve herself in his scurrilous business. But if she drops it here, is she going to be able to get back to it?

Very cautiously, she peers out an inch, careful not to break from cover. Flynn has apparently decided that he’s in the clear, because he starts to jog again, and Lucy decides it’s too risky to leave her bag. So she edges out and stays low, darting through the decorative shrubbery and brick-cupolaed, shingle-roofed buildings. London Zoo in this age is no enlightened model of animal welfare; they’re kept indoors in cramped cages, and Lucy can hear distant howls and gibbers and shrieks as they smell the smoke and panic. With flames still scorching the sky an eerie orange behind her, it gives the place an unsettlingly infernal air, as if she has stumbled down into hell in pursuit of the devil, and these are the torments of the damned. She raises her gun, eyes stinging as she squints. She can possibly wing Flynn from here, but it’s risky. If she hurts him but doesn’t finish him, he will be very motivated to run back and express his displeasure. She is a small woman, and he is a tall and formidable-looking man with clearly extensive experience in this sort of thing. She is under no illusions that she can take him hand to hand.

Up ahead, Flynn alters course sharply, cutting toward a small shed behind the African mammals enclosure that might, for all Lucy knows, actually contain a live lion. She hesitates. She has no obligation to go after him alone; she’s a civilian, he’s crazy, and there will be plenty of awkward questions and red flags raised if she is caught with him. Any chance of decent intel on Rittenhouse while she’s in London, not to mention the rest of it, could go up in (more) smoke. But he’s just vanishing inside, and after a final instant, she flings herself after him.

The shed is low and dim and smells strongly of animal fodder, and Flynn has his back to her, checking what looks like a makeshift electric chair. It definitely is something he is going to tie someone to and commence on further unpleasantness, at any rate, and one of the three crates of guns acquired from Dooley this morning is set to the side. Where the other two are, who knows. Probably distributed to his henchmen, who are – what? Dragging survivors off the airship and shaking them down for all their valuables? Is this the most over-the-top and spectacularly overkill jewelry heist in history? If he wanted that, why not just hit up a bank, or –

No time for that. Lucy has the drop on him for an instant longer, and she had damn well better take it. She raises the Colt, training it on the back of his head, and cocks it with a click. “Put your hands up and turn around slowly.”

There is one brief instant where Lucy has the vaguely satisfying impression that he has been completely taken off guard, is shocked and horrified for it, and is scrambling to think how to respond. Then Flynn does as ordered, raising his hands and turning around slowly, so she looks at him full-on for the first time. A flip of dark hair falls over his forehead, and his eyes glitter in the sharp, angular lines of his face. His nose is long, his eyebrows dark and expressive and somehow managing to communicate a singular amount of sass before he’s even said a word. He surveys her up and down, clearly not expecting to be held at gunpoint by a petite woman in tweed and velvet. “Let me guess,” he says, not sounding terribly concerned. “You’re the one that Karl was complaining about this morning.”

This, to say the least, is a rather blasé reaction to someone pointing a gun at your head, no matter who they are, and the smiling-sociopath theory ticks up a few notches as a possibility. His accent isn’t English, or for that matter Irish; it sounds European of some sort. Slavic, if Lucy had to guess. The Times did say “gipsy,” which could mean anything from Czech to Romanian to Hungarian, though most of that is presently part of the Austrian Empire. Mysteries of origin aside, Lucy can already tell that everyone is right. He’s a terrible pain in the ass.

“You shot down that zeppelin,” she says. “Didn’t you?”

Garcia Flynn shrugs. “So?”

“So?” Lucy takes a few steps closer, can see his eyes following the barrel of her gun, and knows as before that if she does fire, she better not miss. Or for that matter, let her attention slip for a single instant. Despite the faint, stinging residue of smoke, his gaze is almost tocker-level unblinking, until she wonders if this man is somehow also powered by wheels and gears instead of flesh and bone. It’s cat and mouse, but even though she has the gun, she has a strong feeling that she’s the mouse. “Is that just what you do, murder people for fun?”

“I – ” Flynn looks first confused, then exasperated, then angry, as if he can’t believe that this tiny historian can appear from nowhere and think she is entitled to an explanation for his recent spectacular spree of homicidal recreation. “Who the hell are you? You’re no peeler, not that they’d risk popping their monocles and taking on women. Just get out of the way, you have no idea what you’re interfering with. We’ll call it square once, but if you try again – ”

“Why did you shoot it down?” Lucy tightens her grip on the gun and aims it between his eyes. As far as her marksmanship skills go, she is not Annie Oakley, but she can hardly miss a broad target less than three yards away, especially when he’s standing there and staring a hole through her. “What’s this, planning to take someone hostage and torture them – for what? Fun? Information? Feed them to the tigers once you were finished, cover your tracks?”

Flynn raises one of those insolent eyebrows at her, as if to remark that she said all that, not him, and he admires her vivid and gruesome imagination. He takes several steps closer, outright daring her to pull the trigger, until they’re only a few feet apart in the dim, earthy-smelling shadows. “You’re brave,” he says. “Coming out here alone. I can respect that. One last offer. Get out, or I kill you. I don’t want to do that, but I will.”

Lucy raises the gun, as if to remind him that one of them is empty-handed here, and it isn’t her (not that she thinks he’d actually need a gun to do it, and she has let him get within grabbing range without firing, she needs to back up). But just then, the door of the shed bangs open, and Lucy whirls around just in time to see Karl and one of the thugs from this morning, dragging an unconscious man. Her gaze locks with Karl’s, there is a mutual and very unfortunate moment of recognition, and she remembers an instant too late that she should not have taken her eyes off Flynn. But he isn’t quite lunging at her – he’s taken too long to react, he’s still just standing there – and as Karl drops the man’s arm, draws his own gun, and points it at Lucy, Lucy spins and fires at Flynn. It’s a wide shot, fast and reckless, just trying to create enough disruption for her to escape, but he stumbles backward, hand to his neck, and a spurt of blood slaps the dark air. She hikes her skirts, hurdles over the unconscious man in her way, and bursts out into the night. There’s a lot of shouting from inside. Karl and the ancillary thuglet might be after her to pay her back for wounding the boss, and whatever temporary truce she established with them in the Croft is very definitely off. She puts her head down and runs like actual hell.

Lucy is winded, gasping, and stabbed agonizingly with a stitch by the time she navigates around the still-burning wreckage of the zeppelin, out a side gate, and into the dark streets of London. This is not a safe time to be wandering around any city, especially this one, and she remembers that the automaton could be waiting for her back at the boarding house. She puts the Colt back in her jacket and removes the tocker dropper instead, checking that she knows how to load and prime it, then pulls the pump to send a crackle of blue energy coruscating in the barrel. If she isn’t careful running with it, she’ll electrocute herself instead, so she dials back the charge, but keeps it tightly in hand. Her heart is hammering, her mouth is dry, and she feels in a state of mild shock. She doesn’t know why. It’s definitely not the first time she’s shot someone.

Once she’s put some distance between herself and Regent’s Park, and because Lucy physically can’t run anymore, she slows to a crawl. Her feet are absolutely killing her, and she might just shuck the boots and walk the rest of the way barefoot, but that is definitely a horrible idea. She limps and labors, wonders if she’s really up to facing that thing if it’s there, and diverts course into one of the narrower, shabbier lanes of Covent Garden. She staggers up to a certain establishment with a red-glass lamp before the door, heads inside, and buys a room with the last of the money she has with her. It comes with a whore named Bella, who is probably about sixteen and looks younger, and Lucy tells her to go to sleep. She pulls off her overskirts and her boots, winces at the mess of her feet, then crawls into the bed and very determinedly does not think too much about what she’s lying on. She wondered if she might lie awake, but instead she passes out to a level barely compatible with continued brain function.

It takes a long time for Lucy to be stirred the next morning, remember why exactly she feels like total death, and why she’s lying in the none-too-clean sheets of a bed in a Victorian brothel. Filmy, indeterminate sunlight slants in the grimy window, and while she will definitely want to wash thoroughly when she gets back to the boarding house, it’s better than being murdered by one of any number of potential culprits. Lucy sits upright slowly, grimacing, and catches sight of Bella digging through her bag, as most whores will when a client (even if, in this case, only in the loosest sense) falls asleep. “Hey. Hey, leave that alone.”

Bella jumps and drops the bag with a clunk. She looks at Lucy guiltily, and with a hint of fear and respect alike. “I’ve never seen a lady as has so many guns, mum.”

“Yes, well.” Lucy rubs her face. “Never mind that. Did you steal anything?”

“No, mum.”

“Are you sure? It’s important.”

“No, mum.” Bella holds out her hands, as if in proof. “Only nick from the ones who deserve it.”

Lucy grimaces. After a pause she says, “Have you heard of the Church Penitentiary Association? It’s for women of your – of your profession. It’s not a workhouse, and it would be better for you than here, could teach you a different kind of trade, if you want. I could take you over there.”

Bella goggles at her as if Lucy’s asked if she wants to walk on the moon. “The what?”

“The Church Penitentiary Association for the Reclamation of Fallen Women.” It’s a mouthful, and Lucy hopes it still exists here, since as far as she knows, William Gladstone established it in 1848. For everything you can justly say about this era, at least the institutional church is concerned with actually helping widows, orphans, the poor, the homeless, prostitutes, thieves, and other members of the invisible underclass, in a way that other incarnations of it could take a lesson from. Protestant evangelism and social reform is very much afoot, in other words, and Lucy just doesn’t want to leave this child here to get brutalized by however many more men. She can’t save all the whores in London, but still (and besides, you won’t want to be a lady of the evening in Whitechapel in 1888). “Look, I know where it is, I’ll take you. Do you want to go?”

Bella looks justifiably frightened, as if this is a trick or test to catch her out or take her somewhere even worse. “Mr. Carr, he who owns the house. I don’t think he’d be ‘appy.”

“Well,” Lucy says, nodding at her bag. “Guns.”

“Why’d you do that, mum?”

“Because I’d like to.” Lucy stands up, and immediately regrets it as her raw-hamburger feet hit the floor. She can’t face the prospect of stuffing them back into her boots, which is a problem, but maybe she can just suffer it for a little longer. “If you want to go.”

Bella considers that. Finally she offers, “I can please you if you want, mum? I know how to do it with ladies.”

“No, no thank you,” Lucy says hastily. “I don’t want that in exchange, or anything else. If you really want to stay here, I suppose I can’t stop you, but… I just thought I’d offer.”

The young whore blinks, still confused and waiting for a catch, but then she looks up and firms her chin. “I wouldn’t mind seein’ you shoot Mr. Carr, mum, and that’s God’s truth. S’pose if them church types are too bad, I can run away again.”

With that, she gets up, puts on her slippers, and grabs a small calico bag out from under the floorboards, which probably contains all her worldly possessions. Lucy wonders what her parents died from – typhoid, dysentery, cholera? Any of the epidemics that still can take out entire tenements, though less so since Joseph Bazalgette finally finished his pioneering outfall sewer system about ten years ago and reduced the virulent pollution and stink of the Thames. Bazalgette is one of the unsung heroes of the Victorian or any era, a civil engineer who saved countless lives and introduced the concept of modern sanitation systems and waste treatment, but as Lucy has noted, even the new technology and science and magic (if that’s what you want to call it) available here has not made the lives of the grindingly poor any more enjoyable. It almost personally offends her. All this possibility, and you still don’t do anything with it?

She sneaks Bella down the back stairs as the rest of the brothel is waking up and doing its morning laundry and shooing out hungover johns who want to stay later without paying. They emerge into the alley without being caught, and walk as quickly as Lucy can, but she gets Bella to the headquarters of the Association on Harley Street and into the care of a pair of ward sisters. Bella squeezes her hand with her small, grimy ones, and solemnly promises Lucy that if she can ever help her sometime in the future, she has only to say. She won’t forget this, mum, she won’t.

Lucy tells her it’s all right, makes her promise not to run off, and then finally departs, feeling like she’s been beaten with a nightstick and desperate for a proper bath and sleep. She can’t help but wondering if she has now added Mr. Carr, who sounds like the kind of well-adjusted, respectful-of-women, and not-at-all-violent man who owns a brothel in Victorian London, to her sizeable list of enemies, once he finds out that some of his property is missing and a funny American woman was the last person spotted with her. Between him, Flynn and his gang, the automaton, and Rittenhouse, it will absolutely be a miracle if Lucy gets out of this city alive. Maybe she should just leave for Oxford today. It seems safer than staying here any longer.

At last, Lucy staggers up to the boarding house, where Mrs. McBride is volubly relieved to see her. “Thought ye might have gotten mixed up in the airship disaster, Mrs. Preston. Hear about that? All over the papers this morning. A zeppelin crashed in Regent’s Park, and Mr. Stanley missing. A terrible shock for everyone, sure. But they’ll sort the villain that did it, you’ll see.”

“What?” Lucy has already decided that she does not need to tell this nice middle-aged Irish Catholic landlady the least thing about how wildly eventful her last twenty-four hours were, nor that she almost sorted the villain herself, but at that, she frowns. “Mr. Stanley?” That name sounds familiar. “Which Mr. Stanley, and why is he missing?”

Mrs. McBride pushes the morning edition of the Times at her. A black-and-white photograph of the burning zeppelin is splashed all over the front page, and the banner headline blares, AIRSHIP TRAGEDY SHOCKS LONDON; FAMED AFRICAN EXPLORER MISSING; CULPRITS STILL AT LARGE. Underneath, the article goes on to explain how the passenger service arriving from Brussels last evening was downed by an unknown incendiary device, crashing in Regent’s Park with considerable property damage and public terror. Loss of life has been thankfully minor, as most people managed to escape in time, but there are still six confirmed dead, as well as ten or twelve unaccounted for. Several dozen have suffered injuries of some degree, and both Houses of Parliament are in an uproar as they demand a full investigation into the outrage and prompt punishment for those responsible. Everyone from Irish republicans to anarchists to Marxists are being blamed, sometimes all at once. To compound the insult, Henry Morton Stanley, famed for his voyages to the Dark Continent of Africa, may be a victim. He was traveling aboard the airship, and has not been seen hide nor hair of.

At that, a bolt of lightning goes down Lucy’s back. Henry Morton Stanley – yes, he’s one of the major explorers of the Victorian era, he of “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” fame, upon locating the lost Scottish missionary deep in the African bush. He goes to find the source of the Nile and the Congo basin and other expeditions to Africa that earn him the pomp and approval of imperial Britain, including eventually a knighthood. He’s also a terrible, terrible person even by nineteenth-century imperial British standards: virulently racist, fond of force, instrumental in opening central Africa to plundering, colonizing, and exploitation, and the right-hand man of Leopold II of Belgium in running his genocidal empire in the Congo. He’s supposed to be in Africa right now, in fact, but if he was returning from Brussels to London, he was probably meeting Leopold on the down-low. As she stares at the photograph of the esteemed explorer, Lucy realizes that she knows exactly where Henry Morton Stanley is right now. Or rather, where he was last night. In a shed out behind the African mammals exhibit at the London Zoo, unconscious, as she jumped over him and ran.

“Mrs. Preston?” Mrs. McBride frowns at her. “You look a bit peaky, if you won’t mind my saying. Perhaps I should put the kettle on?”

“That – that would be nice.” Lucy sits down heavily, still staring at the newspaper, as the landlady bustles into the kitchen. Her head is whirling. Did Flynn shoot down an entire airship just to get his hands on Stanley? He must have been tipped off somehow, learned that he was planning to travel on that crossing, and pulled together this whole operation at extremely short notice. While Lucy can’t say that she disapproves of the irony of feeding Stanley to lions and tigers, as she suggested last night, she doesn’t see Karl and the others going to the bother of saving him from the crash just to kill him outright. Flynn was going to pump him for information, or at least he was. Then Lucy shot him in the neck, which probably threw a wrench into his plans for the evening. What the hell?

Mrs. McBride returns with her tea, which Lucy sips in a state of extreme distraction. Flynn did say that she didn’t know what she was interfering with, and this suggests a considerably more sophisticated degree of strategy and intention than just blowing something up to see it go boom. Knowing Stanley was going to be on the airship. Getting enough weaponry to take it down, and then successfully doing that. Having his men in position to drag the explorer out of the wreckage and convey him to a prepared location for interrogation. Ask him – what? It can’t just be how he sleeps at night, though Lucy wonders that too. Unless –

Oh God. Is Stanley Rittenhouse? He fits the profile a little too well, but not every terrible person in history has been part of a cultish secret society. Sometimes people are just awful dicks because that’s humanity for you; you don’t get the luxury of putting them all in one bad-apple box. But given that Lucy is here because there is reason to suspect that Rittenhouse is trying to expand their operations, and because she was just thinking yesterday that they might target Queen Victoria, they have plenty to offer Stanley. Maybe that is why he cut his expedition short and returned to Europe. Is Leopold part of the package too? You’d hardly think he could get any worse, but if Rittenhouse has promised to make sure that his regime endures –

This is at least plausible, much as Lucy wishes it wasn’t. But the problem is that it would require Flynn to know, or at least suspect, that Rittenhouse had made overtures to Stanley. Which in turn would mean that he knows… about Rittenhouse.

That isn’t possible. That isn’t possible for any number of reasons. He could have been targeting Stanley because he’s actually an ass-backwards vigilante Dark Knight who is giving racist imperial mass murderers what they deserve. And since Lucy doesn’t know if Stanley is in fact Rittenhouse, or even approached by them, this is a lot of conjecture with very little solid basis. For all she knows, Stanley is involved in shady business deals and owes a lot of money to Flynn’s racketeering schemes. Lucy is not about to put her back out of joint rescuing this jackass, but she would be unwise to let this go entirely, and she needs to be careful. People must have seen her around the Croft yesterday, with Dooley and then with Karl, and it must be already whispered in the underworld that Flynn is responsible for the airship downing. They’re not going to take the risk of grassing on him to this strange American woman. (Definitely for the best that they have no idea how strange.)

Lucy is still dangling from the horns of her dilemma when the door opens, Mrs. McBride looks up, and utters a sharp sound of consternation. “Seamus! What happened to you, love?”

“I’m fine, Mam.” Her son in fact looks quite a bit less than fine, as he has a handsome black eye, a cut on his cheek, and blood running from his nose. “Gang of gobshites in the street, they threw a paving stone at me and said it was probably the filthy Catholics had blown the airship up. Scarpered like cowards. I promise, it’s not that bad.”

Mrs. McBride does not appear inclined to take his word for it, and as she is fussing over him with hot water and a cloth, Lucy doesn’t feel that the time is right to butt in and ask if either of them spotted a large and dangerous automaton outside last night. Instead, as she does know exactly who blew the airship up, she can’t help but feel obliquely responsible, even though she isn’t. She gets up, goes upstairs, and has a quick wash. Then she changes out of her bedraggled clothes, forces her abused feet into a pair of much sturdier and plainer shoes, and reloads the Colt. Puts the derringer in her jacket, the tocker dropper in her bag, and thus liable to clank slightly when she walks, heads out.

London is abuzz with nothing else but whispers of the drama. Everyone seems to have their own theory on what has happened, though most of these lack even a vague acquaintance with the truth (possibly for the best). Lucy makes her way back to University College, where – apparently properly chastened by Ada yesterday – Hubert the porter meekly lets her into the Royal Historical Society archives without complaint. The Analytical Engine seems to be running, though there is a weedy undergraduate in a three-piece suit who is instructing it to fetch him apparently everything ever written on Ancient Rome, and who gives Lucy a miffed look that she won’t just stand there and let him hog it for the next five hours. Finally, when she’s cleared her throat for the third time, and he has enough to be getting on with anyway, he scoops his books out of the tray and scurries off, and she waits for the gears to cool down a little. Then, since this time she has a better idea what to look for, she says, “Garcia Flynn AND crime AND London.”

It’s known as a Boolean search (George Boole was another contemporary of Ada and her intellectual circle, a mathematician and logician who helped establish the technological information age) and Lucy figures it will work here. That way, she won’t get results about every godforsaken Flynn that has ever been written about, but just whatever contains Garcia Flynn, crime, and London together. That should make it a lot easier to sift through.

Indeed, the stacks of newspapers and a few booklets that roll through the trapdoor are much less intimidating in size, and Lucy scoops them up. She will only be able to access information in the public domain, and which University College owns a copy of – in other words, she won’t get any secret state papers or private dossiers that the Government (she has found out that Gladstone is still prime minister, doubtless Not Amusing Victoria, who famously complains that he speaks to her as if she was a state meeting and not a person) might have compiled on a known threat. But maybe it will get her started.

It does, at that. The first reference she can find to Flynn’s presence in London is in February 1885, just after the end of the Berlin Conference – a three-month-long event where the European powers formalized the “Scramble for Africa” and all staked their claims as to who got what piece of it. Lucy recalls that Stanley was there as an American delegate, even though he’s English (or strictly speaking, Welsh) by birth. Otto von Bismarck chaired the whole thing, and among other things, it’s where the gathered European powers confirmed Leopold of Belgium’s right to his “Congo Free State” (viz., murdering up to ten million Africans for rubber and ivory). Has Flynn been hunting Stanley, or other attendees of the Berlin Conference, all this time? Yes, that is the kind of sordid and evil world-domination event that Rittenhouse would want to get in on, and there could have been all kinds of potential recruits that they might have tried to tap as a result, but that still assumes that Flynn knows about Rittenhouse. He can’t.

Lucy rubs her eyes, trying to focus on the lines of smeared old type. The papers, when they mention Flynn’s activities at all, do so in the disparaging tone of the establishment who can’t understand why this upstart doesn’t see that society is perfect the way it is, and it’s not very informative. There are dark rumors. In January 1886, one of the more sensationalist newspapers, the Daily Trumpet, informs its readers that the mysterious crime lord Garcia Flynn killed his own wife and child, which Lucy takes with a considerable grain of salt. However, the claim is then repeated in the Telegraph, with somewhat more information: the murders took place in 1884, in the Kingdom of Dalmatia, the coastal sliver of Croatia that is presently part of the Austrian Empire. Flynn ran for it after that, and has otherwise not behaved like an innocent man.

Considering that he threatened to kill her when they were face to face at the zoo, Lucy has to admit that it doesn’t seem out of character. She puts the papers down with a frown, thinking that the last thing she needs is a repeat engagement with this man, especially after she shot him and disrupted his carefully planned capture and interrogation of Stanley. But she also has questions that she can’t see an easy way of getting an answer to, and she doesn’t want to leave London, wise as it may be to do so, without them. Assuming that she’ll still be alive in a fortnight to go up to Oxford seems like a gamble, but as Bella said, she does have guns.

Lucy gets up, puts the newspapers back in the tray, and leaves University College, stepping out and trying to decide on her next move. She could go back to the Croft, as Flynn is clearly well-known and infamous there, but good luck trying to get someone to talk, and Dooley, if he just sold three crates of weapons used in the scandal of the decade, has probably packed his bags and gotten the hell out of Dodge. Finally, Lucy remembers that there’s a pub on Tower Hill that caters to the same general clientele as the Croft, and indeed is informally known as Traitor’s Gate, after the portcullis in the Tower of London where condemned prisoners entered by boat from the Thames. Someone there has to know something. She can try.

Traitor’s Gate is not the kind of place that should be visited by night or even, for that matter, by day, but Lucy is armed, and she is used to people underestimating a small and outwardly not-frightening woman. She takes a hackney to Fenchurch Street, then gets out and walks. It’s a cold, sour-looking day, wind whipping hard off the murky Thames, and she claps a hand to her hat to stop it from blowing off. A few passing gentlemen give her odd looks, as if an unescorted lady is a terrible affront to their patriarchal sensibilities, but at least they don’t push it.

Lucy reaches All Hallows-by-the-Tower, an ancient Saxon church where William Penn was baptized in 1644 and John Quincy Adams got married in 1797, crosses the garth and looks for the door at the bottom of the steps, and uses the same key she did for the Croft to open it. There’s a long, low tunnel that briefly forces even her to stoop, and then she emerges into a taproom built into the ground. She can hear the thump and treadle of steam pumps rattling through the pipes in the brick walls, keeping the Thames from flooding in. It’s warm and dim and smells like tobacco and cheap alcohol. There aren’t many patrons here in early afternoon, but all the heads that turn toward her wear expressions that are far from friendly.

Lucy takes a deep breath, reminds herself that she has as much right to be here as anyone, and touches the Colt in her skirt pocket, reminding herself that it’s there. She strolls up to the counter and leans on it. “One whisky, please. Neat.”

“We don’t serve ladies.” The barman, sporting an impressive set of mutton-chop whiskers and a stained serge waistcoat, doesn’t even turn around. “Especially not strangers. Suggest you leave, mum, before it’s difficult.”

Lucy grits her teeth. Slightly louder, as if he might not have heard her the first time, she repeats, “Whisky. Neat. And I’m not a stranger, by the way. What exactly would Flynn think, if you didn’t serve me?”

This, obviously, is an utter bluff – Flynn is the last person in the world who would care whether or not she got served in a bar, given that she, you know, shot him – but she intended to make the barman panic, and it works. He whirls around, stares at her up and down as his brain clearly cannot quite process how she might know Flynn, but can’t take the risk that she doesn’t. He grudgingly pulls one of the whisky bottles off the rack and decants it into a glass, and Lucy pushes a few coins over the bar. She takes a very small sip, as whisky isn’t her usual tipple, but it’s rare enough to see a lone woman drinking in public at all, let alone such an uncultured working-stiff libation as this, that she’s definitely drawn notice. Good. She can’t really find Flynn herself, so the best option seems to be to let him find her.

Lucy nurses the whisky in brief, burning bits, supposing that they probably don’t have a kitchen here to order late lunch, and wonders how long it’ll take. Depends on how angry Flynn is, most likely. She has seen a few men whispering in the corner and glancing at her, and one of them gets up and casually drifts out. A faro game has been abandoned, and the glowing green dregs in a glass, along with the distinctive whiff of anise, means that someone has been drinking absinthe. Lucy almost wants to try it, just for the experience, but she needs to keep a clear head right now. She hopes this doesn’t turn into a shootout, but she has to be prepared for anything.

At length, the man who left reappears, as Lucy has mostly finished the whisky and feels just buzzed enough to be fearless. He goes back to whisper to his comrades, and then they all stand up, crack their knuckles, and start toward Lucy. She lets them think she hasn’t noticed for a moment longer, then gets to her feet, draws the Colt, and turns around. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

There are startled looks at the presence of a firearm, which strikes her as stupid – she had one yesterday, she nailed their boss with it, did they think she suddenly forgot? There seems to be a brief discomfort with the idea of getting rough with a woman, but the one nearest to her appears to feel that he can shoulder the noble burden. He makes a grab for her, Lucy whirls aside, and the barman squawks in distress. “Mulroney, don’t, she’s one of – ”

Mulroney is clearly about to inform this idiot that no, she definitely is not one of theirs, but at that moment, a door swings open with a bang, a hush falls over the entire taproom, and Lucy doesn’t even need to look around to know who just entered. A chill goes down her back – yes, she wanted this to happen, but she’s now officially on extremely thin ice – and she knows that this coterie of experienced criminals are not scared of Flynn just because the Daily Trumpet prints hand-wringing articles. That is a certain and definite power, to silence an entire bar when you saunter in, and she turns her head, though she doesn’t need to confirm, to see.

Garcia Flynn looks much too tall for the low-ceilinged room, and has inclined his head slightly so as not to hit it on the mossy bricks. The side of his neck is clumsily stitched up – it looks like he might have done it himself – and he’s wearing a white shirt, suspenders, and crisp pinstriped trousers that look too nice for these breeds of ruffians. His suit jacket is slung over his arm, and he throws it over the back of the nearest chair; the other man who was sitting at the table grabs his drink, jumps up, and vacates it at high speed. There’s a holster strapped over Flynn’s left shoulder, containing a heavy Prussian revolver, and that’s only the gun Lucy can see. He probably has half a dozen more God knows where.

“Afternoon,” Flynn says, once he has deigned to break the silence. Even without the smoke, his voice is gravelly, rough and intense. “Anybody going to buy me a drink?”

There’s a collective scramble as the patrons hurry toward the bar, the barman is already pouring something, and Flynn reaches over for it with the same cool, unhurried demeanor. He takes a sip, staring straight at Lucy. With a graceful, sarcastic gesture, he says, “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced, madam. You are – ?”

Lucy hesitates just long enough to make it obvious that she’s fishing for a lie, and Flynn gives her a warning look. “I wouldn’t.”

“Lucy.” It feels kicked out of her, but she draws herself up and stares at him as defiantly as she can. “Lucy Preston.”

“Lucy Preston.” He repeats it, his accent giving it a particular lilt, then jerks his head at the table. “Well, Lucy. We have to stop meeting like this, don’t we?”

It’s on the tip of Lucy’s tongue to ask him where exactly he gets off saying that to her at their second meeting, but since the choice is clearly either to sit down by herself or have the goons drag her, she makes her way over and takes the chair with cool, icy dignity, smoothing her skirts. Flynn sits across from her, which doesn’t really reduce his size. He solidly blocks out the air around him, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, and arms heavily muscled, and he could clearly snap her like a twig if he took a mind to it, even if she might be able to get a few shots off first. She instinctively shifts back, trying to establish more space, but it doesn’t work. She just has to stare at him, as everyone makes a valiant effort to look as if they’re going back to their business and have just made a tactical decision to become abruptly blind, deaf, and dumb. Then, plucking up her nerve, she says, “Where’s Stanley?”

One of Flynn’s eyebrows raises. Then he shrugs. “Read the newspaper this morning, then?”

“That and a few others.” Lucy clenches her hands in her lap. “Apparently you have a reputation.”

Flynn grins, as if he doesn’t see why he should bother denying it. His teeth are very white and straight; he probably has a nice smile when he isn’t, you know, being psychotic. “What do you want, Lucy? Turning up here after what happened last night? That is very foolish, don’t you think? Especially now that I know your name. I already told you once to get out of my way. You should not count on there being a twice.”

Lucy has no reason to believe he doesn’t mean it, and is well aware that she is already playing with fire (literally, given his apparent propensity for explosions). She needs to choose her next words carefully, and he lifts his glass for another drink, never taking his eyes off her. She did shoot him last night, he’s not about to underestimate or laugh off her danger, and though she senses he might be genuinely impressed, it’s not enough on its own to protect her. Finally she says, “I’m not interested in rescuing Stanley. I was just wondering why you wanted him.”

“He is a dick.” Flynn still appears to be enjoying this somehow. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, he is, but no, it’s not.” Lucy holds his stare. “How long have you been trying to get your hands on him? Since Berlin?”

That, finally, catches Flynn off guard. He glances away, and his eyes have lost their amusement when they flick back to her. “So you have been reading up, haven’t you? What else did you find out about me?”

Lucy hesitates, but only briefly. He has to know, or at least guess, that she’s come across it. “You killed your own family.”

Flynn’s mouth twists. He doesn’t answer at once to confirm or deny it, though he polishes off his drink in a long slug, throat muscles working, then shoves the glass aside and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Who are you?” he says instead, low and sleek. “Some plucky American lady detective who has read too much Arthur Conan Doyle? You walk in here – in here – and think I’m going to tell you what I’m doing. . . why?”

“Because.” Lucy really isn’t sure if she should do this, but she’s backed herself into a corner now, and sometimes the only way out is through. “I’m wondering if it has anything to do with Rittenhouse.”

There’s a moment of total, stunned silence, and then Flynn’s eyes flare like West End floodlights. His hand flashes out, fast as a viper, and snatches her wrist, half-dragging her over the table toward him; she knocks his glass off and it falls to the floor with a crash. “What,” he breathes in her face, half a whisper and half a snarl, “do you know about Rittenhouse?”

Lucy would normally be too busy being floored that he knows about Rittenhouse, but he still has hold of her wrist, and his grip is bruisingly strong. She pulls at it to no avail, trying to loosen his fingers, until he finally looks at her face, seems to decide that she won’t run, and lets go very slowly. “Is that why you were there last night? To kill me and rescue Stanley? You’re one of them, aren’t you? Of course. That explains it. Well, Lucy Preston, I’m very sorry, but as that’s the case, I am unfortunately going to have to – ”

“I’m not one of them anymore. I used to be.” Lucy can feel her pulse hammering in the indents of his fingers. “They took everything away from me. I’m – I am not loyal to them.”

If Flynn doesn’t believe this, she’s toast, but something about the rawness and anger in her tone catches at him. He sits back and stares at her as if the Rosetta Stone has just dropped into his lap, as if this might be a new and exciting opportunity he has never considered. Lucy’s head is still spinning, because – how? To put it in the simplest possible terms, Rittenhouse is not from his reality. There is no way, at least that she has ever encountered (and that is a lot) for him to know.

There is a very, very tenuous pause as both of them size each other up. Flynn licks his lips, looking as if he’s on the verge of marching her off to continue this conversation somewhere more private, and Lucy is pretty sure she’ll have to put up a struggle if that happens. Then the door bangs again, making everyone’s heads swivel once more, and a large, red-faced man storms in, waving a heavy stagecoach pistol. “Where is she?” he bellows. “Where’s the American bitch? Heard she was here, bring her out!”

Lucy has just enough time to consider that her plan to reveal herself to the underworld has really gone far too well, but she has no idea who this man is, much less why he would be looking for her. But as she jumps up, Flynn grabs her adroitly from behind and spins her around in front of him – evidently he feels that if there’s any chance of shooting, it’s her turn to catch a few bullets, especially since she was the cause of him doing so last time. He also seems interested in discovering the source of the commotion, and calls over, “You mean her?”

The angry bloke wheels around, spots them, and comes charging over. Lucy is starting to have a bad feeling she knows who he is, and in another moment, that hunch is unfortunately confirmed. “You! Are you the bitch who stole my working girl? You’ve robbed me, thieved me! Either we go right now and fetch her, or I’ll make you go back in her place!”

“Mr. – Carr?” With him in front of her, spraying spittle, and Flynn behind her, arm still around her neck, Lucy is honestly terrified, and her knees feel like water, but she struggles to lock them and speak as calmly as she can. “I presume?”

“Yes, you bloody well presume, bitch. What did you do with my Bella? The girls said she vanished from the house this morning, with some meddling American cunt. You fetch her bloody back, I said, or you can – ”

“Mr. Carr, you have absolutely no right to Bella, or for that matter, any of the other women.” Lucy wonders if she can get to her gun, but her arm is awkwardly pinned to her side by Flynn’s grip and she can’t solve all of her problems by shooting them. There are too many witnesses, and to say the least, she’s already in enough trouble. “I’m not going to tell you where she is, and I’m certainly not going to take up her former employment, so why don’t you just – ”

At that, several things happen at once. The first is that Mr. Carr spits full in her face, thick and phlegmy and whiffing vilely of tobacco, the second is that she lets out an involuntary squeal of disgust and struggles to get it off, and the third is that Flynn, never letting go of Lucy, shifts his grip on her to the other arm, draws his revolver, and shoots Mr. Carr point-blank in the head. The report, directly next to Lucy’s ear, is deafening, and she can only hear a muffled, tinny ringing on that side, in a way that means it’s going to take a while for it to come back. There is an explosion of blood and brain and broken skull, and Mr. Carr goes down cold.

In the split second while everyone is staring at the dead brothel owner, Lucy moves. She jabs an elbow ferociously into Flynn’s gut, stamps on his foot, and twists herself out of his arm lock, punching him hard in the face as he lunges at her. He drops the gun, she grabs a drink from a nearby table and throws it in his eyes, then vaults over it, tearing her petticoat on a loose nail. The crowd is already pushing and jostling to every side, some toward Flynn and some toward the dead man and some for the goddamn exit like sensible people, and he can’t catch up to Lucy, especially as she reaches the passage on the far side and runs flat-out. Oh God. She doesn’t know why Flynn shot Carr, aside from the fact that he was clearly a mad dog and was going to make trouble, but she certainly isn’t staying to ask. Oh God. Flynn knows about Rittenhouse. How, how does he know about Rittenhouse? More than that, he was ready to kill her if she was working for them, and does that mean –

Lucy doesn’t know. Right now, she just wants as much space between her and this place as possible, and she doesn’t dare look back. Finally reaches the end of the tunnel and scrambles up the stairs on all fours, scraping her palms, and staggers out into the cold dusk. Shit, it’s past sunset, she’s too late. She can’t go back to the boarding house now (and it might not be smart to go back for a while, what with the draco dormiens she has sharply and repeatedly titillanded in the oculus). It might have to be Harley Street after all. Maybe she and Bella can be roommates.

There’s a crash from the tunnel below, and distant shouting. Lucy doesn’t wait around for further inspection. Once more, like escaping London Zoo last night, she runs.

#timeless #timeless ff #garcy #garcy ff #lucy x flynn #starlight & strange magic #steampunk au

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shoelacecollection · 6 years

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Substrates, Reviewed

At least in my humble opinion.

Paper Towels/Butcher Roll/Newspaper

Pros: -Economical -Easy to find just about anywhere -If Newspaper, Recycling! -Easy to replace when soiled -Will fit any enclosure of any size -Humidity neutral -No dust Cons: -You will burn through entire rolls so fast -Have to replace all of it every single time there’s a deposit -Snakes tend to burrow under it and then go to the bathroom there instead -If they get under there they will move your temperature probe around -I’m talking about you, Joshua -Humidity neutral: can mold easily in humid situations -Cannot be burrowed into, which some species won’t appreciate

Verdict: Great for quarantine and snakes like Joshua who waste huge amounts of substrate if given the chance with their... bathroom habits. A good choice for larger snakes or just about anyone, really, but take note for humidity lovers and burrowers. That said, while Lucy was in quarantine, I maintained her on paper towels without any mold issues. Constant Vigilance, my dears!

Shredded Aspen

Pros: -Usually easy to acquire -Relatively affordable -Not the dustiest option -Fantastic for burrowers like Matilda, Worm, and Orange Juice -Holds tunnels well -Can be spot-cleaned -Clumps like cat litter around waste -Can come in bulk sizing! -Multiple sizes available from tiny slivers to big wood chips

Cons: -Still dusty -Should prophylactically freeze it before use -Will mold when damp -Did I mention the dust -Takes a lot of space to store while it’s not being used -Gets expensive quickly if you have a snake named Joshua and must replace all of it regularly -I am literally coughing sawdust over here from deep-cleaning Matilda’s house -I’m not sure how renewable it is

Verdict: Fantastic for burrowing snakes, use the hell out of it for most everyone personally. As long as they don’t need daily dampenings like Lucy and the Newdle, it’s a great option in my opinion, especially since you can even find it at the walmart.

Shredded Pine: Shittier aspen. Just buy the aspen.

Cedar: If you want a dead pet, go for it.

(Isn’t that a little harsh?) No. (Cedar oils are a respiratory and skin irritant and literally immersing an animal in it with no way to escape is a recipe for disaster. Please don’t buy the bulk bags at walmart for dogs and horses either. Same with Pine, EXCEPT for the kiln-dried stuff.)

Carefresh (and other products)

Pros -Recycling 2: Electric Boogaloo -Next to no dust -Comes in lots of colors, including rainbow! -Another great option for burrowers -Holds tunnels well -Can be spot cleaned (doesn’t clump as well though) -Easy to find just about anywhere -Relatively affordable -Soft -Can also be bought in bulk! -As an absorbent product, you can scoop out the damp parts without having to replace all of it when Joshua manages to tip over his water bowl

Cons -It’s going to mold if it gets wet -Still takes a lot of space -Costs a little more than aspen in my experience -The colorful one costs even more -Doesn’t hold tunnels or clump quite as well -It’s still expensive to replace en masse -Will make you want to color-code your snakes’ enclosures, requiring more substrate than usual Verdict: I use this for corn snakes in particular because it’s fun and more forgiving to work with than Aspen when it comes to their antics and bathroom frequency. It’s probably good for most (CAVEAT EMPTOR) colubrids in that regard, garters and really BIG colubrids notwithstanding. IMO Carefresh and Aspen are fairly interchangeable between each other in their function. Protip: put one half Carefresh, one half Aspen in a Sand Boa enclosure. The texture change is pleasing.

Sand

Pros: -Fuck sand Cons: -Fuck sand -Also IT’S FUCKING DUSTY -AND STUPIDLY HEAVY -AND EXPENSIVE

Verdict: Fuck sand. (It irritates your snake’s eyes, cloaca, and mouth. Ingesting it can be dangerous. Vita-sand is some bullshit. Crushed walnuts aren’t even real sand and are also shit. As an enrichment item in limited exposure it’s not the worst thing on earth, but IN MY OPINION fuck sand.

Hemp: I WISH I COULD BUY IT HERE

Cypress Mulch/Forest Floor/et al

Pros: -This one doesn’t mold as much -Cheaper than orchid bark -Can find at most pet stores -Not the dustiest thing out there -Great for anything that needs higher than average moisture requirements -Often comes damp

Cons: -From what I understand, Cypress isn’t harvested in a sustainable fashion? Someone fill me in. -Sometimes has... things. Freeze it before use. -Harder to buy in the same kind of bulk that one would buy aspen/carefresh in -Trust me, dry it out some before use -It’s really heavy compared to other things mentioned

Verdict: Great for moisture-lovers, maybe not great for the environment, and it’s heavy and damp so use can be a pain. Pretty mold-resistant though.

Coconut Fiber/Coir/Eco-Earth et al

Pros -It’s everywhere -You can buy it in huge compressed bricks -Still cheaper than orchid bark -Moderate dust depending on cut -Comes in a variety of textures -Fairly mold resistant due to coconut being naturally antifungal in nature -Pretty easy to get ahold of -Can even emulate soil if needed, holds tunnels well -Potentially more sustainable than cypress mulch Cons -Compressed bricks can be used up quickly; bags take a lot of space -Personally, the finely-ground stuff molds on me worse than aspen (however, I know that’s not universal!) -The fine stuff can also be pretty dusty until it’s rehydrated -Can sometimes hold too MUCH moisture -Ivo was kept on it and it stained her scales until she shed, so potentially not a good fit for light-color snakes. Verdict: Caveat emptor about the mold, but tons of people use this for tropical animals of all sorts and it’s probably the go-to for anything in need of high humidity retention.

Orchid Bark

Pros -I think this stuff is indestructible. It never breaks down -Caveat emptor once again, but I’ve not gotten mold on it so far -Comes in a variety of cuts from big chunky pieces to tiny flakes -Probably the ultimate substrate for moisture requirements -Also great for growing actual orchids (and for planted terrariums by proxy, though be sure to set up a water table) -Burrowable -Can be bought in bulk Cons -It’s so goddamn dusty it’s almost as bad as fucking sand -It’s heavy as hell -It gets on everything when you spread it -It will stain shit -I don’t think anyone but Josh’s Frogs even carries outside of the gardening world -It’s expensive as hell compared to just about everything -If you have to replace it often, god help you -You can buy it in bulk because that’s ALL you can buy it in -Enjoy your completely excessive crop-sized bag of wood chips -The bag has little ventilation holes so as it sits in your freezer it covers everything in a fine layer of grit -IT GETS ON EVERYTHING YOU LOVE -It can’t hold tunnels for shit -Small pieces get everywhere, big ones are like mulch and hard to burrow through, the medium size is what I affectionately refer to as “wood gravel” -THE FUCKING DUST Verdict: Unfortunately I am forced to swear by this pain in the ass. I’ve never had it mold on me. This stuff resists breaking down better than anything I’ve ever met. Despite being overpriced and a huge inconvenience, it’s been a boon for Lucy, and I can’t go back to other products now. It’s like a really good waffle iron. You only need it for one thing, and it’s probably overpriced for a single-use item, but it’s really good for that one specific thing, and so you buy one anyway. I have to recommend it because I have a bag of it sitting on a shelf RIGHT THERE.

Gravel: I hate you.

Those are all the ones I have experience with, this isn’t a particularly good list, but it’s 4am and I just cleaned Matilda’s house, so I felt inspired to yell about snake bedding. I’m sure I forgot some things, so let me know about it if I did, or tell me your experiences with things I might not have liked. Unless they are sand.

Fuck sand.

As always I speak purely from a snake perspective, and those in the amphibian, invert, and lizard-world naturally have different views on all of this! And I can only speak for my own experiences, too; I don’t claim to speak for the majority whatsoever!

Thank you for reading if you read this~

#shoelace collection #reptiblr #snake #herpblr #hell i don't know what to tag this #joshua #matilda #worm #orange juice #ivo #neku #shoelace(TM)#lucy

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scope-dogg · 6 years

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I’ve been playing Jurassic World: Evolution,

Which is the parkbuilding sim based upon the famous movie franchise that released last week, developed by Frontier Development. It’s getting mixed reviews and not for bad reasons, I definitely have some misgivings about the game, primarily the fiddly and frustrating building placement. However, I’ve really been enjoying the game despite its flaws for a couple of specific reasons, one of which has a lot to do with the story I’m about to tell. To give a bit of backstory, Evolution is essentially the spiritual sequel to Jurassic Park: Operation Genesis, which was a similar sort of game that came out way back when in 2003. Similarly, JPOG was a game I enjoyed a lot but it also had a lot of problems, mostly to do with the hardware limits of the time. One of the game’s selling points was that it supposedly emulated the Jurassic Park films where yes, you could build the park of your dreams but the dinosaurs were dangerous and everything could go to shit at a moment’s notice just as it did for John Hammond. At least that’s how it was meant to be in theory, in reality it didn’t work that way. So long as you had each dinosaur species in your park behind a level of security fence that was appropriate for the threat it posed you would basically never have any trouble. That’s not the case in Evolution.

To set the stage, the game has you build attractions on each of “the Five Deaths,” a formation of islands off the coast of Costa Rica, with Isla Nublar, the setting for Jurassic Park and Jurassic World, being an unlimited-money sandbox you can unlock. Each of the other five islands has its own challenges, but you have to beat them to unlock all the dinosaur species and park facilities. The island I’m on, Isla Penna, is the most cramped in terms of buildable space and is frequently lashed by severe weather. Because of the lack of building space, having huge paddocks full of dinosaurs isn’t really an option, so the game instead recommends that you build smaller exhibits but with some real top-level dinosaurs. Of course, most of the more impressive dinosaurs are either more dangerous or just more awkward to accommodate. I’ve got no choice but to take the risk. I initially decide that my island is going to be a carnivore kingdom, as those tend to give you the most park rating per dinosaur. I have two exhibits with two Metriacanthosaurus and Ceratosaurus respectively, both of whom are mid-sized carnivores, and then further up north I have another two paddocks. Partially because my dinosaur rating indicated I had poor variety in my park and partially because I was forced to in order to complete one of the island’s missions, I decided to devote one moderately sized enclosure to herbivores, which houses Chasmosaurus, a dinosaur similar to Triceratops, and Gallimimus, famous as the ostrich dinosaurs that are “flocking this way” in the original film. I also have a small paddock with a small group of Ankylosaurus near the park entrance. Just besides the main herbivore pen is my park’s main attraction, a concrete-walled paddock housing a pack of Deinonychus (while Velociraptor in the films isn’t accurate to real life, Deinonychus is a much closer match to what appears in the movies) and the park’s biggest star, a T-rex. The game allows you, in true InGen fashion, to fuck with the genome of your dinosaur by splicing in aspects of other animals. You can change the colour of its skin, improve its lifespan and toughness, but the improvements that increase its rating the most are the ones that make it meaner. This is by and large what I have. The Deinonychus and the T-Rex get into little standoffs every so often but never actually attack or harm one another, so they manage to coexist well enough that they actually go well in the attraction together. The guests love the exhibit, and between that and everything else my island is at five stars. I’m only sticking around to complete the missions and unlock everything I can before moving on.

To set the stage a little further, the game has an interesting system where you have to court the favour of three internal divisions at InGen - Security, Science and Entertainment. Doing missions and small tasks that you can either be given or request from each division will improve your standing with them, which leads to you unlocking new stuff and the division head you’ve favoured the most paying you bonuses every so often. However, doing tasks for one faction will make the other two’s approval decrease slightly. I’ve been heavily focused on Security because it’s offering a dinosaur genome I really want, and I’ve been doing just enough to stay on Science’s good side. However, Entertainment have only been offering jobs that are inconvenient for me so I’ve been neglecting them. The flip side of this system is that if your approval is low enough with one of these factions, disgruntled employees affiliated with them might decide to sabotage your park to pay you back. This is what happens now, and all the gates to every exhibit are locked open all at once. Before my ranger teams can get out there and manually close them, both Metriacanthosauruses, both Ceratosauruses, all the Deinonychus and the T-Rex breach confinement and enter the park. I signal the alarm and open my shelters, but the Deinonychus are fast and are already killing and eating my guests, while the Rex charges around snacking indiscriminately on guests. I scramble my Asset Containment Unit helicopter as fast as I can, and thankfully am able to tranquilise the Ceratosauruses before they can kill too many people, but the Metriacanthosauruses have quietly slunk off while I wasn’t looking and are now hunting down guests in two separate and remote parts of the park. Before I can take care of them I need to stop the Rex and the Deinonychus. Both are a nightmare to stop. The Rex takes a ton of tranq darts to bring down, while the Deinonychus are small and fast and as a result are infuriatingly hard to hit, and there are six of them on the loose, killing guests indiscriminately. While this is happening, a tropical storm hits, bringing a twister into the park. It trails a path of destruction right through the middle of the disaster area, damaging most of my buildings and cutting off power to the entire north end of the island. The gates to the herbivore paddock are still locked open, and some of the Deinonychus charge inside to run away from my helicopter, and are still there when one of my beleaguered ranger teams gets there and closes the gate. The Deinonychus begin slaughtering the Gallimimus there. The Chasmosaurus panic and smash a hole in the fence, and then go charging out into the rest of my park. Stampeding herbivores are as much of a danger to guests as rampaging carnivores in this game. It’s at this time that I’m notified that during its escape one of the Deinonychus has contracted avian pox and the disease has spread to nearly every other dinosaur species in the park. While none of my Ankylosaurus actually left their pen one keeled over and died anyway, perhaps of a heart attack from witnessing what was going on. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of damage has been done by the storm, the Deinonychus have killed all of my Gallimimus, half the dinosaurs still alive have bird pox, dozens of people have been killed, I’ve lost millions of dollars in park revenue while the entire island has been on lockdown and my park rating is down to one and a half stars. While I’m chasing down the Metriacanthosaurus and panicking Chasmosaurus the T-Rex inexplicably gets pissed off again and smashes down the concrete wall to its enclosure, although mercifully a ranger was on hand to fix it before any of the Deinonychus can also make another escape. In short, it’s a catastrophe that makes the events in the original Jurassic Park look like a nice night out with the lads. It takes me what felt like half an hour of micromanagement to repair all the fences, get every dinosaur back in its pen and cured of avian pox, the dead dinosaurs removed and replaced, and the damaged infrastructure restored. Breathing a sigh of relief I open the shelters, letting the no-doubt terrified guests back into the park, although god only knows who would want to actually stay after all that. Almost at that very moment I get a message from the big dick corporate dude who’s your boss in the story and he tells me that I’m doing a great job running the park and pays me a half a million dollar bonus for a job well done.

In short, this game’s amazing, it’s the real Jurassic Park experience. Unlike JPOG the dinosaurs WILL get out and fuck your shit up. It’s the most severe crisis I’ve had in the game so far but I’ve had similar breakouts on every island so far. Even investing in the best security possible isn’t a guarantee of anything, any dinosaur that’s pissed off enough will smash through it if you don’t pay attention for long enough.

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avatoh · 6 years

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Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: General Audiences

Belle finds a lizard running loose in her library. It turns out that the creature was actually a human being trapped in a scaly lizard form who used to be an upstanding member of Storybook society thought to be dead years ago.

NEW SHORT CHAPTER BEFORE SHIT GETS SERIOUS

READ THE ENTIRE THING (so far) BELOW:

Sometimes, Belle wished her life would be more eventful. Life in the small town of Storybrooke, Maine was sleepy and repetitive to say the least. The entire population consisted of only a few hundred people who had their habits locked into an endless cycle of dull continuity. Nothing ever happened, nothing ever would.

Belle sat at her desk in the library where she worked and twirled a pen in her hand before biting down on it softly. At present, there were only six patron’s in her library that she ran completely by herself. Everyone there looked pretty relaxed, either reading a book or using the public computers. Thankfully it wasn’t one of those days like in the summer where there were about thirty or so people seeking refuge in the cool air conditioning of the building while she ran around hopelessly with always too much to do. Belle could take it easy and do as she pleased in that moment. She was allowing herself to take a break and finish the last few bites of her lunch while she lazily worked on a crossword puzzle. About half of it was done already; now only the harder words remained. The one she had been staring at for a while had a clue that stated the word she was looking for was the name of a former 1960’s U.S olympian. Clues like that were almost nearly impossible to figure out. As she continued trying to create a name from the related filled-in blocks, she saw something in the corner of her eye dart across her desk. Belle’s attention for her crossword book snapped as her eyes followed where she last saw the movement, and then to the patrons of the library to see if they had seen anything. One person coughed, but it appears that nobody seemed the wiser to the flash of movement that had just occurred. Something had just crawled across her desk.

A little rustle of papers confirmed her beliefs, that, indeed, something was in the corner of her desk now. Deciding to investigate closer, Belle got up from her chair and used the fork in her hand from her lunch to move some papers aside.

There, in the corner of her desk, stood a scalley little lizard who turned its head towards Belle upon her discovery. Belle made a quizzical face and stared at the creature who cocked it's head at her and stared back. The lizard was the most beautiful shade of green and gold that Belle had ever seen, and even had little specks of scales that sparkled when it caught the light. What a strange thing to find on her desk!

“Hello there, little guy,” Belle chirped, unafraid. “What are you doing here?” The lizard stood, paralyzed, its eyes breaking and making contact with Belle’s looking for a means for escape. It panicked and started to panic and run away. “Not so fast there,” Belle spoke, blocking the creature’s path with her book.

She then picked the little lizard up ever so gently, cupping her hands together to keep the little guy from stirring. Her empty open-lidded lunch container became the place where she ended up putting him. It's little stubby legs tried and failed to climb up the sides until it ran out of breath. The lizard almost looked angry at her. Belle poked at the container. Perhaps she should let it go in the grass outside, she immediately thought.

“Woah! What’s that!?” little Henry Gold said as he came up to Belle’s desk with his father in tow while she was thinking.

“I think he’s a lizard,” Belle answered. “Mabey a gecko, or something similar, but I don’t know exactly yet. I found him on my desk right now.”

“He’s so cool! Are you going to keep him!?” Henry asked.

“I don’t-”

“He could be the library’s mascot!”

“I mean, I suppose-”

“Yay!” Henry shouted in delight. “Oh, and I want these three books right there, Miss Belle,” he added, holding up the library books that he had picked out with his father earlier.

“Alright,” Belle smiled sweetly. “Coming right up.” She checked his books out one by one, handing them back to the boy as she did so. “Have them back here for me in three weeks, okay?”

“Okay!”

“And what do you say to Miss Belle, Henry?” Neil, his father, asked.

“Oh, right! Yeah! Thank you Miss Belle.”

“No problem, enjoy them.”

“I will. Bye,” Henry waved as he and his father left the library.

It had been a little over 2 hours since Belle had caught the lizard, and in that time, she’d done a little research into caring for the creature as a pet. First of all, yes, it was a lizard that she had caught, not a gecko or salamander. She could tell because of the moisture and eyelids on the creature. Second of all, she found out that she could, indeed, probably keep him if she got the supplies that she needed soon. Keeping the lizard as a pet wasn't a half-bad idea, Belle thought. Thankfully, it was a Sunday, so she closed early that day. She’d still have time to go out and buy some necessary supplies to keep the little creature as a pet.

It was luck of her that it was only a lizard she had found instead of a cat or a dog. There simply wasn’t any room for such a pet in her small apartment above the library. A lizard was a perfect distraction for a young, single woman such as herself who had been wanting a pet to keep her company. Belle made her way down to her local pet store to pick up a home for the lizard to stay in as well as some food, a water dish, and a light source, among a few other items. It was a little silly to spend a fair amount of money on a simple lizard, but he was cute and happened to fall onto her lap when she had been somewhat looking for a pet to keep. Also, when Henry had suggested that she keep him as a library mascot the deal was sealed in her mind. It was a great idea. A lizard was never a pet she had considered on having but people kept them as pets all the time, and so could she.

When she got back to her library, she set all her new things down and contemplated on where to put the little creature’s new home. She could pretty much put him anywhere that had a wide flat surface and an electricity outlet nearby. But she had to also consider the patrons and their children...and that the children could be a little “spirited” sometimes. So wherever she put it, it had to be within eyeshot, flat, and with an outlet nearby.

In the end, she settled on putting the enclosure on the side of her desk where she could easily keep an eye on him throughout the day but where the children could still enjoy him as well. Belle starred at the creature who still seemed to be staring back at her intently. “Here you go,” she spoke out loud as she settled the lizard in the enclosure. It walked around, unsure of its new surroundings and somewhat scared. “Welcome to your new home.”

Chapter 2

Mr. Gold had once been a prominent man in the town of Storybrooke, Maine. He had a wife, a child, and a business of his own. But that had all gone to shambles about ten years ago when his wife left him and he got himself turned into a lizard. Nowadays, hardly anybody knew about who he was. His power, his prestige, his influence, were now all long gone. Little evidence of him ever being the man who “owned Storybrooke” remained, besides his old boarded up pawnshop building. His story was a long story to tell, but to summarize it quickly; it had all started with his wife, Milah.

Gold had first met his wife when he had been in law school; they had finally started dating around the time he had completed the bar exam and had graduated. Those first few years together had been some of the best times of his life. They had gotten married and had a child together. When their child, Neil, turned about three, that’s when the trouble first started. Milah had changed, but so had he for that matter. Fatherhood had made him responsible, caring, and doting, in a way he hadn’t expected. On the other hand, motherhood for Milah had made her more selfish than ever before. Milah was acting like she was in her 20’s still when she was actually in her 30’s, married, and a mother to a wonderful child. She had wanted adventure and wanted to try new things, still exploring herself and the world. There was a crack in their relationship and it kept on widening and widening as the years went on and both parties grew increasingly more dissatisfied with each other. Doubt seeped in both of their minds, and soon, Gold wondered if his wife had ever really loved him at all.

The stayed married, however, for far too long than they should have and hate grew.

When the divorce finally went through, she hadn’t even been living with him for a few years. Despite her lifestyle and her cheating, she had managed to take away his son from him as well. The divorce hurt, but the custody arrangement hurt even more. Gold had to thank Milah’s latest lover for that, but at least he still got to see Neil every other week for the time being. What she had done to him was like punch in the gut, all too strong for him to bear by himself. Gold felt so empty. Alone. He broke down, so distraught over his wife leaving him and losing his son. In that moment, he felt as if he’d never been loved at all, or would be loved, or would ever experience love in any shape or form ever again; he was broken, incapable. Gold turned cold and his heart turned black, only a thimble of hope and love remained for his son.

His son was his whole world now and all that would matter to him. With Neil gone for days at a time, his heart grew more black and it became harder and harder for him to go on when he wasn’t around. Evilness, hatred, and everything bad engulfed him and he was turning into a monster. Perhaps Milah was right... Even his son sometimes shied away from him or got embarrassed at his behavior, although it didn’t even happen often when Neil was around. But now he had appearances to keep up around town, and he couldn't help his snarkiness around the townspeople if his son also happened to be there.

During the last year he had been a human, he was beginning to gain a even worse reputation than before. People were actually beginning to fear him. He had hurt people. His days had been rotten and he had been brooding continuously with no relief. He had snapped at everyone in town he had come across weather it be an old lady or a young child.

That fateful night, they day he ceased being a human, he remembered it as if it had just happened: the night was stormy one as it often was in that part of Maine. Everything that could have gone wrong: did. Slamming the door to his Cadillac, he trekked to the doorstep to his house without an umbrella. It was cold and he was soaked, the silk tie he was wearing was ruined. Mud had congealed along the pathway to his door. With one misstep, he slid, and his weight was transferred to his bad leg, causing him to fall. Anger seized him and he screamed towards the heavens about his misfortune. He snapped.“You took my wife, you took my son, you’ve taken everything! Leave me alone!” Thunder rumbled ominously as if talking back to him. “I dare you, take more from me, I dare you to! I’ll never find love! What is the point to all this!” Gold picked himself up to his knees, covered in mud. His voice, now soft, whispered out loud. “I want to love. I want to love. I want to be loved, please.” Stuck alone in the town, all he had wanted in that moment was comfort. He was just a man, not the scary dark one everyone thought him to be, a scary creature. If they could only see the real him! He sobbed.

It was the lowest point in his life, until a few moments thereafter when he turned into a lizard as the booming sound of thunder struck the air and filled with smoke. His fleshy body began to contort, grow scales, then shrink down. It had happened all so suddenly. One moment he was on his knees, and the next, his head and whole body was only a few centimeters off the ground; he had no idea what had happened or what he was going to do now.

Chapter 3

The Library opened at 9 A.M, but Belle was down on the floor around 8 doing her morning routine which consisted mostly of cleaning, sweeping, and a bit of re-shelving. Today, her morning chores also included duties that came along with her new lizard. They weren't too difficult, she fed the beast some bugs and changed out his water dish for some fresh water. The creature had seemed strangely receptive to Belle’s presence when she first appeared in front of him from upstairs, almost happy to see her. It made Belle smile.

The library opened up and the day went down well. A few of the children and even the adult patrons were really excited to see the lizard on her desk when they checked out. She was glad she’d kept it and couldn’t wait to see the look on Henry Gold’s face when he next came in.

He had been careless, Gold thought to himself as he paced around his new home, a lizard tank on the front desk of a library. He’d been caught because he hadn't been careful while observing his son and grandson this time. Too many years trapped in the body of a lizard could really mess with a man and his motor skills, but then again, it probably was only a matter of time before this happened.

His grandson, Henry, came to the library a lot, as well as his son, Neal. So, naturally, he’d taken to hanging around and in the library as much as he could to get a glimpse of his unsuspecting family. He’d discovered their frequent visits to the library on accident as he was slinking around town. Before then, he’d only gotten to see his grandson up close a handful of times. Under the cover of the library, he could visit his family to his heart's content without being spotted by anyone. Henry was about two when he’d last gotten within arm's reach of the boy. In the library, he could easily hide on top of, in, or underneath the books and shelved. Because of this, now he saw his family about once a week or so. It became his sanctuary.

Of course, all this time, Gold had been careful not to leave any trace of himself and he’d done a good job until he’d fallen from the safety of the high shelves due to the sudden jolt of a patron hitting the bookcase he’d practically been hanging off of. Within seconds, he found himself on the floor among the patrons, scrambling to hide as fast as he could. Staying along the wall, he ran, trying to get outside. It was too crowded with people at that time to stay on the floor. The only way he could reach the top shelves again is if he climbed up them in the open or entered the building from the ventilation from outside.

Somehow, in his attempt to escape, he winded up at the head librarian's desk. The woman’s name was Belle, and she’d lived in Storybrooke for about 6 or 7 years now. Single handedly, she’d cleaned up, and opened the town’s once deserted library. She was an amazing woman, someone he’d like to talk to and get to know if he ever got his body back. He owed her a lot, and she’d probably never know it. Unfortunately for Gold, he’d get to know her a lot more now weather he liked it or not since she had recently discovered and captured him.

Of course he had been captured by humans before that point but he was always either released or put in some crude container which he always eventually escaped from. Being captured by Belle was different; she had bought him a whole tank made of glass, which would most-likely prove to be a challenge for him to escape from. It deeply surprised him that not only did she keep him, but she also went out of her way to buy him a rather nice habitat and provided him with food. He had half a mind to stay. If he stayed, he’d be safe, well-fed, and would still be able to see his family.

There was only one real problem about his staying though - and it had to do with the upcoming full moon.

#rumbelle #ouat #ouat fic #rumplestiltskin #once upon a time #mr gold #my fic #i should have posted this text on tumblr a long time ago whoops

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avengeultrons · 7 years

Text

Title: Jurassic Park (Stark! Reader x Peter Parker)

Summary: Tony is invited to tour the world renowned Jurassic Park before its opening and begrudgingly brings you alone, even if he feels that something is off about the whole place.

Word Count: 2422

A/N: HAPPY FRIDAY THE 13th!!!! I LOVE THIS!! I’m reading Jurassic Park and am just having so much insp right now. I hope you enjoy!

“Thank you all for coming, really,” you and Peter were hardly paying attention as you got pushed to the back of the tour group, your eyes wide as you took everything in, “We’ll get you set up in your very own GyroSphere for a tour. Welcome to Jurassic Park!” your guide, who you remembered was called Mr. Grant, led the way through the maze of labs and stretching hallways, past a nursery for pterodactyls and a greenhouse for growing plants. There was even an incubator room for dinosaur eggs.

Your father had been invited along with the rest of the Avengers to tour and enjoy the park before anyone else and thankfully he let you accompany him. Tony had to keep his skepticism about the place under wraps when he was around you though, for you were like a kid on Christmas morning, “Thank you,” you beamed at Mr. Grant as you slid into a ride vehicle, a giant glass dome that seemed to levitate above the ground, “Can you believe this, Peter? We’re in a giant park dedicated to the Jurassic period!”

Peter nodded excitedly as your car’s restraints and safety locks were checked once more, “I know, I know!” he stole a glance your way while you looked around and took it all in. You smiled at him once you felt his eyes on you, Peter immediately averting his eyes as you laughed.

“Keep your eyes peeled please, I don’t need either of you getting swept away by an ancient monster,” Tony yelled over his shoulder at you before unbuttoning his suit jacket and diving into the sphere ahead of you. Teenagers.

You rolled your eyes from your spot next to Peter and gave him a thumbs up, “I assure you that these spheres are incredibly safe, Mr. Stark. We have advanced invisible forcefield technology to keep the animals at a safe distance and if the sphere rolls too close, we’re there to roll it away. If need be, there’s even a control stick in the center console for manual maneuvering. You’re in good hands!” Mr. Grant smiled and gave a wave as the doors slid shut on each of your GyroSpheres and the screen in front of you lit up with the park’s red and yellow logo.

“Look, there’s a Brachiosaurus,” Peter pointed a finger out across the lush green fields of grass at a couple of greyish blue heads peeking up from the longest of the grass, their long necks standing out elegantly against the overcast sky. You smiled as the screen began to relay facts about the dinosaur in its friendly tour guide voice, “Oh, hang on. I’m getting a call from your dad?” your cheeks turned red as he accepted the FaceTime, your overprotective father’s face lighting up the smartphone screen.

A scoff escaped your lips; he was one whole ride vehicle in front of you and he was still hovering, “Dad, everything is fine. There is a great amount of distance between us and the Dino. We are paying attention and our eyes are still peeled,” you said in monotone, relaying smart answers to the questions and comments you knew he would have for you already.

“Can you see the little map on your sphere’s touch screen? Which land are you headed for next?” his eyebrows were furrowed as Peter checked the screen in front of you, following the tiny animated car and dotted line to answer his question.

Peter raised an eyebrow, his eyes quickly scanning the screen,“It says we’re on our way to Triceratops Territory?” you laughed at the cutesy name.

“Right, okay good. Just like mine. And they don’t have any triceratops in the land yet, so it’s safe. Okay, talk to you soon,” with that, Tony clicked off without another word.

You sighed, trying your best to fill the awkward silence as the car rolled along, spinning every which way to give you a clear 360 view of the park. It was quite relaxing to ride around in an all-glass dome, even when your sphere ventured off of the beaten path for some reason, straight towards the Tyrannosaurus Rex enclosure.

You weren’t even nervous about it at first; you even felt yourself lulling to a drowsy and relaxed state. Peter smiled over at you, his brows furrowing as the sky seemed to darken from the trees looming overhead.

“Why are we in the T-Rex enclosure?” he asked, craning his neck to look around. Both of you drank in the scene, a sense of anxiety filling the sphere.

Your mouth fell open as your eyes followed the yellow tinted talons on scaly feet, all the way up to the tiny arms and giant head, “Holy shit,” you said under your breath. Unable to form any other words, you yanked on Peter’s jacket and pointed up at the dinosaur standing in front of you.

“Woah,” Peter breathed, his eyes wide with shock and fear. Both of you were awestruck, sitting right in front of one of the scariest dinosaurs in the world.

You could hear the ancient creature breathing, a large droplet of drool dripping down from its aged and decaying teeth. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, especially when the monster picked up its giant foot and sent your gyrosphere spiraling across the forest floor.

You let out a scream, grabbing Peter’s forearm as the two of you knocked into a tree with a loud thud, your sphere stuck upside down, “What the hell just happened?” your voice came out in a whisper as you reached a hand up to your throbbing hand, it coming away with sticky blood, “Peter, you okay?”

He groaned next to you, your phone vibrating loudly on the glass ceiling, which was now the floor, of your sphere. You reached with all of your might, just enough to click ‘accept’ on the screen, “Y/N? Where are you, why aren’t you behind us?”

“Dad, it’s the T-Rex. I know it sounds crazy but it’s true. We’re-we’re stuck. I don’t-Oh my god,” your voice was frantic as you stared straight into the beady, amber colored eye of the dinosaur, “Peter, are you okay? Peter! Dad I know you say to try your best to stay calm in difficult situations but Peter was knocked unconscious and there’s a dinosaur in front of me!”

Tony was yelling now,”I knew it. We need to contact Mr. Grant now, Steve. Turn this thing around! We’re coming, Y/N. Stay calm, stay quiet,” you nodded, tears streaming down your face, “Don’t hang up, please. I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“Jesus,” Peter rubbed his forehead when he finally came to. His whole body ached, his head, arms, legs, they all throbbed with a burning pain. His eyes widening as he saw the human sized eyeball staring directly at the two of you. The dinosaur roared, a low grumble that shook your ride vehicle.

Peter reached for your hand and squeezed as you were lifted into the air, staring at the dinosaur that was hanging upside down, thanks to your sphere still being flipped, “What’s happening?” Tony yelled, his face as close to his phone as possible. You weren’t breathing as you waited for the inevitable to happen, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Your whole body tensed up as the T-Rex slammed the orb onto the ground hard, sending a shockwave of pain to rattle through your body. You screamed as you were lifted into the air again, “Y/N? What happened? Steve, she dropped the phone. Something’s really wrong and I-“ Tony ended the call.

“Y/N, we have to do something. We’re gonna die,” Peter said quickly, flinching as glass flew everywhere when the dinosaur banged his giant, scaly head into your sphere. The whole back of your ride vehicle was blown out, cubes of safety glass covering the ground.

A giant claw poked through the sphere, striking you in the chest. Without your safety restraint, it would’ve pierced you like a Shish kebab and left you to die. Instead, you were left with a burning pain and a wheezing every time you took a breath.

You had to think fast. It was true, if you couldn’t get out of your sphere, you’d die, “Unbuckle your seatbelt, P. Unbuckle it!” you shouted, hearing the familiar click as you unbuckled yours.

You dove to the ground, Peter falling next to you. He draped an arm over your head as the sphere came crashing down on top of you again, glass spraying the forest floor, “Come on!” He shouted, pulling you up with him when the dinosaur was preoccupied with the GyroSphere. The two of you broke out in a sprint in an attempt to get away from the dinosaur, but once she noticed that there were two moving targets, she came after you. And she was fast.

A T-Rex can run up to speeds of twenty seven miles per hour, but only for a short period of time. Even then, the Dino’s stomps shook the earth beneath you and caused you to stumble with each step. Your window of opportunity was closing, especially when Peter yanked you back from the rocks of a cliff, dropping straight down into the icy blue water twenty feet below.

“We have to jump,” Peter said, kicking his shoes off. He tossed them into the water, watching them fly down at an outrageous speed and hit the water with a big splash. You gulped and followed suit, tossing your sneakers into the pool.

You looked behind you and saw the head of the Rex approaching fast; it was as if she had laser focus on the two of you. Peter glanced over at you and stepped up to the cliff before you yanked him back, “I can’t,” you said, taking a deep breath of the bitter cold autumn air.

“Yes you can. You’re Y/N, Stark,” Peter said, squeezing your shoulder as you tried to pull him back to the tree line, “Plus there’s a giant dinosaur chasing us. We can count to three,” you nodded at this, taking a final gulp of air before you counted. One. Two. Three.

A scream bellies out of you as you crashed into the water like a book being dropped onto a table. You felt the pain of a million belly flops along with the sharp sting of the frigid water. All you could do was kick your legs with all of your might, fighting to break the surface of the water.

“Y/N? Jesus, there you are,” Peter sighed in relief, gathering his shoes as the two of you kicked to the river bank. Your socks were sopping wet, squishing and dripping as you pulled yourself up onto the dirt while trying to catch your breath.

The two of you stared up at the T-Rex on the cliff, watching its confusion as it realized that the two of you had escaped its clutches. It roared before turning on its giant tail to leave. You and Peter had just escaped a T-Rex.

You laughed, collapsing onto the grass. You lay your head back, smiling over at Peter, “We just escaped Death by Dino,” you said through a sigh. He shook his head, laughing in disbelief himself “Wait, where are we? We have to go and find someone,” you sat up frantically, trying your best to scramble to your feet when you were hit with a wave of vertigo.

“Woah, are you okay?” Peter pulled you back down next to him on the back, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. The two of you had just survived an attack from a Tyrannosaur, living to tell the tale. Luckily, each of you only had minor injuries.

A smile broke out across your face as you nodded, “I’m fine,” you said, and you meant it. Miraculously, both of you were fine, “We’re fine.”

You brushed the wet strands of hair off of Peter’s forehead to reveal a small cut along his hairline caked in dried blood. Peter’ cheeks turned red and a small smile made its way to his face as he as he closed the gap between you and pressed a kiss to your lips. You couldn’t help but smile when the two of you broke apart.

“What was that for?” you asked, your cheeks red. It was unexpected considering the circumstances, but you couldn’t help but smile giddily and feel the butterflies flapping in your stomach as you thought about it.

Peter looked over his shoulder when the two of you heard shouts coming from the tree line and he helped you up, suddenly not so nervous anymore, “I-uh,sorry. I mean, we just escaped the clutches of a Tyrannosaurus. I thought it was about time,” he said quietly. You had to laugh as you jumped up.

“No, no. It’s fine, well more than fine. I...,” you took his hand and pulled him with you, the two of you shouting back at the calls of your names, “Come on.”

Tony jumped off of the back of a four wheeler, running to you at lightning speed, “Jesus Christ, I thought you were goners. Are you okay? You’re both bleeding? Why are you soaking wet?” he was trying to keep a level head and clear mind, but he was freaking out. Natasha jumped off of the four wheeler and tossed her oversized scarf at Peter and her jacket at you. You gratefully accepted it and draped it across your shoulders before Tony enveloped you into a hug, “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“You literally won’t believe it,” Peter said, throwing his hands up as he jumped on the back of the four wheeler, his shoes sloshing water around. Everyone seemed to laugh at this; they couldn’t believe they were going to a Dino Park yet there they were, “We were running from this dinosaur and it had crashed our sphere and glass was everywhere and,” you laughed as his voice seemed to disappear with the wind as the two four wheelers took off back to the hotel.

You swung your legs off of the back of one, Tony and Steve talking in hushed whispers before starting the vehicle, “Peter saved me,” you said with a smile. Even if it had been a group effort, the dinosaur was terrifying, Peter grounded you. You probably wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.

Tony looked back at your day-dream filled expression and grimaced, “Let’s get the hell off of this island.”

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