#❪ archaeologist ❫ ⤿ they were locked in history and we are not.

[atlasthegreatest]

A Game of Hearts and Ruins / Lara Croft x Indiana Jones! Male Reader

Which, Lara Croft crosses paths with Y/n Jones, a charming archaeologist and long-time rival, while both pursue the same ancient artifact.

Word count: 4788

The midday sun blazed mercilessly over the dense jungles of Cambodia, where the ancient ruins of a forgotten temple slept beneath layers of tangled vines and centuries of dust. Lara Croft crouched low on the edge of a broken stone pillar, her eyes scanning the scene ahead. She’d heard rumors of rare artifacts hidden within these ruins—legendary relics of power that would be a thrilling addition to her private collection. However, she wasn’t alone in the pursuit.

The soft crunch of a boot on fallen leaves caught her ear. Without looking, she smirked, already knowing who it was.

“Late as usual, Croft,” came a smooth, confident voice behind her.

Lara rose to her feet, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. “If I were late, Jones, you wouldn’t have needed to follow me here.”

Standing a few feet away was Dr. Y/n Jones—a fellow British adventurer and archaeologist with a devil-may-care grin, ruffled hair, and an insufferable twinkle in his eyes. He wore a worn leather jacket over a white shirt and khaki trousers, looking every inch the reckless explorer he was. His belt was loaded with tools, and a coiled whip hung from his hip, further adding to his roguish charm.

Y/n’s grin widened as he tucked his hands casually in his pockets. “Follow you? I was here first, love. Just wanted to see how long it’d take you to catch up.”

Lara tilted her head, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Jones.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “And you’ve always been terrible at admitting when you’ve met your match.”

Lara felt the spark between them, that familiar current of playful rivalry. This wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths on an expedition—nor the first time their competition had made things complicated. They both thrived on adventure, danger, and the thrill of outwitting each other. It was a game they loved to play, though neither would ever admit just how much they enjoyed the other’s company.

“Still planning to raid the temple alone?” Y/n asked, sauntering closer. “Or do you want to call it a truce and split the prize?”

“Please,” Lara replied, crossing her arms. “I don’t need help. Besides, we both know you’d try to take the lion’s share.”

Y/n grinned. “Of course. It’s what I do best.”

Lara turned on her heel, making her way deeper into the ruins without another word. Y/n followed, as she knew he would. They were drawn together like magnets—constantly orbiting, occasionally colliding, but never fully able to walk away from each other.

Inside the temple, the air grew cooler, filled with the scent of damp stone and ancient decay. The maze of narrow corridors twisted in every direction, and both explorers moved in practiced silence, each determined to outpace the other.

Lara was quick, slipping through narrow gaps and climbing crumbled walls with the grace of a cat. Y/n stayed close, his every move fluid and calculated, as if he were waiting for the perfect moment to make his move.

“Tell me something, Croft,” Y/n said as they entered a massive hall, its ceiling carved with faded murals of long-forgotten gods. “What’s your fascination with these relics? Is it the history, or just the thrill of stealing them before anyone else can?”

Lara shot him a sideways glance. “And what’s yours? Looking to get rich or just eager to impress me?”

Y/n chuckled. “Can’t it be both?”

She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement. Y/n’s charm was infuriating, mostly because she found it oddly… endearing. But she wasn’t about to let that distract her. They reached the center of the hall, where a large pedestal stood. On it rested a golden amulet, glimmering in the dim light. Both of them stopped at the same moment, eyes locked on their prize.

“Shall we call it a tie?” Y/n suggested, his voice low and teasing.

“Not a chance.”

In a blur of movement, both lunged for the amulet at the same time. Lara’s fingers brushed the metal, but Y/n’s hand was already there, closing over hers.

“Not so fast,” he whispered, standing far too close.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, their faces inches apart. Lara could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, and the intensity in his eyes made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the chase.

“Careful, Jones,” she murmured. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice a husky whisper.

For a moment, the tension between them shifted. What had started as playful competition now felt like something far more dangerous? It was as if all the stolen glances, the teasing words, and the shared adventures had been leading to this exact moment.

Then, with a sly grin, Lara twisted her hand free and snatched the amulet. “Better luck next time.”

Y/n blinked, momentarily stunned, then laughed—a deep, genuine sound that echoed through the ancient hall. “You’re impossible, Croft.”

“Thank you,” she said, slipping the amulet into her pouch.

Y/n shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know, one of these days, I’ll beat you to it.”

“I doubt that,” Lara shot back, her expression smug but playful.

They made their way out of the temple side by side, their footsteps light and their conversation even lighter. For all the rivalry between them, neither could deny the thrill they felt in each other’s presence—the way their hearts raced not just from the danger, but from the sheer joy of being together.

As they reached the jungle clearing where they’d first crossed paths, Y/n gave her a sidelong glance. “What do you say, Croft? Same time, same place next month?”

Lara smiled, a rare softness in her eyes. “We’ll see. If you can keep up.”

Y/n reached out and brushed a stray leaf from her shoulder, his touch lingering just a second too long. “I always do.”

And with that, they parted ways once again—two souls bound by adventure, rivalry, and something neither of them was quite ready to name. But as they disappeared into the wilderness, each knew the truth: the next time they met, it wouldn’t just be artifacts they were chasing.

————————

Several weeks later, the humid jungles of South America set the stage for their next encounter. Lara had tracked down rumors of a jade mask—an ancient relic tied to a pre-Columbian civilization, said to grant prophetic visions to its wearer. The mask was hidden somewhere deep within a forgotten temple, buried beneath layers of rock and a thick rainforest canopy.

As she approached the vine-choked entrance, a voice echoed through the foliage, smug and familiar.

“You know, Croft, you’re starting to make this too easy.”

Lara turned to find Y/n Jones leaning lazily against a tree, arms crossed, his whip coiled at his side. His grin was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and the sun caught the mischievous glint in his eyes. He had somehow beaten her to the site—again.

“Following me across continents now, Jones?” Lara asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I had an admirer.”

Y/n pushed off the tree and strolled closer, his expression full of playful arrogance. “Who says I was following? Maybe I just know you better than you think.”

Lara gave a scoff, though her lips curled into a slight smile. Their rivalry had become a dance—one they both enjoyed far more than they admitted.

“Then you must know I don’t intend to let you take that mask,” she said, brushing past him toward the temple entrance.

Y/n’s grin widened as he followed at her side. “Tell you what—how about we make things interesting this time? Whoever gets the mask first wins.”

“And what’s the prize?” Lara asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

Y/n leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “Winner picks the next adventure. Loser buys the drinks.”

Lara let out a quiet chuckle, her heart skipping a beat despite herself. “Hope you’re ready to part with some cash.”

Y/n’s laugh followed her into the darkness of the temple, a deep, infectious sound that made her chest feel annoyingly warm.

Inside the temple, they fell into their usual rhythm—both racing against each other and the ticking clock of hidden traps. The ruins were riddled with dead ends, collapsing pathways and intricately designed puzzles meant to keep intruders at bay.

Lara slipped through tight spaces with feline grace, while Y/n used his whip to swing over bottomless pits and climb crumbling walls. They traded banter along the way, their words light but carrying the weight of something unspoken.

“You know, Croft, one day your luck is going to run out,” Y/n said, watching her disable a complex trap with practiced ease.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Lara replied, glancing back at him with a playful smirk. “Just skill—and better instincts than yours.”

Y/n chuckled, adjusting the strap of his bag. “We’ll see about that.”

They reached the heart of the temple at the same time—a grand chamber with towering statues and an altar at the center, upon which rested the jade mask. It gleamed under a shaft of sunlight that cut through the darkness, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

Both adventurers slowed their pace, eyes locked on the artifact. For a moment, neither moved, as if testing the other’s resolve.

“Ladies first?” Y/n offered the smirk on his lips suggesting he was anything but sincere.

Lara scoffed. “Chivalry doesn’t suit you.”

And just like that, they were in motion—both of them darting toward the mask. Y/n’s whip lashed out, aiming to knock the artifact into his hand, but Lara anticipated the move and dodged. With a roll and a leap, she reached the altar first, fingers grazing the jade surface.

But Y/n was faster than she expected. His hand closed over hers—just like before—and they both froze, breathing hard from the sudden burst of adrenaline.

Lara looked up, meeting Y/n’s gaze. His face was inches from hers, and for a moment, all the teasing banter, all the playful rivalry, melted away. She felt the steady rhythm of his breath and smelled the faint scent of leather and earth on his jacket.

“You’re predictable, Jones,” she whispered, her voice softer than before.

“And you’re impossible,” he murmured in return, his hand still resting lightly over hers.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity—caught between the thrill of competition and the pull of something deeper. Neither was willing to admit it aloud, but in these stolen moments, the game they played felt less like a rivalry and more like something… inevitable.

Y/n’s lips quirked into a slow, teasing smile. “You always this competitive on dates, Croft?”

“This isn’t a date,” Lara replied, though the amusement in her eyes betrayed her.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

And then, before she could think twice, Lara made her move. She shifted her weight, used Y/n’s balance against him, and twisted free with the jade mask in hand.

“Better luck next time,” she said, throwing him a playful wink as she tucked the mask into her satchel.

Y/n stared after her, half-exasperated, half-impressed. “You’re going to be the death of me, Croft.”

“Maybe,” Lara called over her shoulder, already heading for the exit. “But you’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Y/n laughed, shaking his head as he followed her out of the temple. As they emerged into the bright sunlight, the jungle buzzing with life around them, he caught up to her once again.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside her. “Since I lost, I suppose the drinks are on me.”

Lara shot him a sidelong glance, the corners of her mouth curling into a rare, genuine smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Y/n grinned, something warm and knowing flickering in his eyes. “And next time?”

Lara gave a light shrug, though her heart was already racing at the thought of their next adventure. “Same stakes. Same rules.”

“Good,” Y/n murmured, his voice laced with promise. “Because I have a feeling our best adventures are still ahead.”

And with that, they disappeared into the jungle once more—two rivals bound by danger, drawn together by something far more powerful than either of them could resist.

——————-

Lara and Y/n didn’t part ways for long. Just a few weeks later, they found themselves standing in the shadows of the Atlas Mountains, on the outskirts of a Berber village. Their latest quarry was the Scarab of Anhur, an ancient amulet believed to bring victory in battle. A collector in Marrakesh had offered an obscene sum to acquire it, but neither Lara nor Y/n needed the money. For them, the scarab was just another excuse to outmaneuver each other—and perhaps, neither of them could stay away.

They stood together near the entrance of a remote tomb, surrounded by jagged cliffs and the endless stretch of desert sky. The sun was sinking low, casting long golden beams across the rocky landscape.

“So, what’s the plan this time?” Y/n asked with a grin as he adjusted his whip. “We race to the artifact, you leave me in a pit, and I show up at the bar later like nothing happened?”

Lara smirked, brushing dust off her cargo pants. “That does sound familiar.”

“You wound me, Croft.” Y/n placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I thought we were building trust.”

“Trust?” Lara echoed, raising an eyebrow. “This isn’t trust, Y/n—it’s foreplay.”

The words hung between them, thick with implication. Y/n’s smirk faltered for just a second, his eyes darkening with something that wasn’t entirely amusement.

“Careful,” he said, his voice quieter now, “or one of these days, you might get in over your head.”

Lara leaned closer, a dangerous glint in her eye. “I doubt it.”

They stood like that for a moment, caught in the web of tension and teasing that had been growing between them since their first encounter. There was no denying it now—their rivalry was more than just a game. It was a dangerous dance, one that neither of them knew how to stop.

Inside the tomb, the temperature dropped sharply, the cool air heavy with centuries of silence. The walls were adorned with faded carvings of ancient battles, and the narrow corridor stretched deep into the earth. They walked side by side, the sound of their boots echoing in the stillness.

“So, why do you do it?” Y/n asked after a while, breaking the silence. “Chasing after these things. The artifacts, the temples… What’s the endgame, Croft?”

Lara shrugged, her flashlight beam dancing over the walls. “It’s not about the end. It’s about the journey. The discovery.”

“And the thrill of beating me to the prize, I imagine?”Y/n teased, though his gaze softened as he looked at her.

Lara glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “That’s just a bonus.”

They reached a large chamber, the heart of the tomb. At the center, atop a pedestal carved with intricate hieroglyphs, lay the Scarab of Anhur. The golden amulet shimmered faintly, untouched for centuries.

Lara’s pulse quickened.

Y/n, ever-watchful, moved closer. “Shall we flip a coin this time, or are we sticking with ‘winner takes all’?”

Lara shot him a sly grin. “What fun would a coin toss be?”

Without another word, they both moved toward the pedestal—two shadows racing against each other through time.

Y/n was quick, but Lara was quicker. She reached the scarab just as Y/n lunged forward, and once again, their hands collided over the artifact. For a moment, they stood frozen, breathing hard, faces close enough to feel the warmth of the other’s skin.

“Déjà vu,” Y/n whispered, his voice low and rough.

Lara looked up, her eyes locking with his. This time, there was no witty remark, no teasing banter. Just the steady hum of adrenaline and something far more dangerous—something that had been building between them for too long.

And then, before she could stop herself, Lara leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was brief, but it was electric. The moment their lips met, the tension that had simmered between them for so long ignited into a blaze. Y/n responded without hesitation, his hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

When they finally pulled away, both were breathless, their hearts pounding in unison.

“Well,” Y/n said, his voice husky with surprise, “that was… unexpected.”

Lara’s lips quirked into a rare, genuine smile. “Maybe. But it’s been a long time coming.”

Y/n’s grin returned, softer this time. “No arguments here.”

The scarab glimmered between them, forgotten for the moment. The prize didn’t seem quite as important anymore—not compared to what they had just discovered.

Lara cleared her throat, stepping back but not breaking eye contact. “So… what now?”

Y/n shrugged, his grin turning lazy and affectionate. “We could fight over the scarab. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or,” Y/n said, slipping an arm around her waist, “we could call it a draw. Just this once.”

Lara chuckled, a rare sound that made Y/n’s heart skip a beat. “You’re getting soft, Beckett.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just realized that beating you isn’t the prize I want.”

Lara looked at him, the amusement in her gaze giving way to something deeper. For the first time, the lines between rivalry and affection blurred beyond recognition, and she found she didn’t mind.

“Come on,” she said, tugging his hand lightly. “Let’s get out of here before we both regret this.”

Y/n grinned, following her toward the exit. “Regret? Never.”

As they made their way back through the tomb, side by side, the weight of the scarab in Lara’s satchel felt lighter than it should have. For once, the artifact wasn’t the victory she cared about.

And maybe, just maybe, the adventure they’d found together was only just beginning.

Bonus chapter:

The bonfire crackled warmly in the moonlit desert night, casting flickering shadows over the sand. Lara sat cross-legged on a blanket, sipping whiskey from a battered flask, the glow of the fire soft against her bronzed skin. The day’s adventure—their narrow escape from collapsing ruins—had left them both exhausted but exhilarated. Across from her, Y/n Jones reclined against his rucksack, his leather jacket thrown carelessly aside, hair mussed, and a satisfied grin playing on his lips.

“This almost feels… domestic,” Y/n teased, raising a brow as he accepted the flask from Lara.

Lara gave him a smirk. “If your idea of domestic includes dodging spike traps, solving ancient riddles, and nearly being buried alive, then sure—domestic.”

Y/n chuckled, the sound low and easy, sending a warmth through her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. He tipped the flask to his lips and took a slow drink, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “It’s not exactly Buckingham Palace, but I’d say it’s the perfect evening. After all, I’ve got the stars, good company…” He shot her a playful look. “And the fact that I didn’t lose—entirely—today.”

Lara arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t win either, Jones.”

Y/n leaned closer, close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath, that familiar spark lighting between them once again. “Well, if it’s a draw, I say we call it a victory for both of us.”

“Ever the optimist,” Lara said, though there was no bite in her tone.

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a while, the night wrapping around them in a quiet embrace. The stars stretched endlessly overhead, and the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the distant whisper of the wind against the dunes.

For once, Lara wasn’t thinking about ancient artifacts or dangerous tombs. She wasn’t planning her next move or trying to stay one step ahead. For once, she was simply here—sharing the moment with someone who understood the same restless hunger for adventure, the same need to keep moving, always chasing something just out of reach.

“Do you ever think about it?” Y/n asked suddenly, his voice low and thoughtful.

Lara glanced at him. “Think about what?”

“Stopping,” he said, tilting his head back to gaze at the stars. “Walking away from all of this. The treasure hunts, the danger, the endless competition.”

Lara considered the question, surprised by how serious it sounded coming from him. She’d spent her entire life running toward the next adventure, always searching for the next discovery. But now, sitting here with Y/n, the idea didn’t seem as foreign—or as impossible—as it once had.

“And do what?” she asked softly.

Y/n shrugged, his smile lazy but genuine. “I don’t know. Open a bar in Marrakesh? Start a museum somewhere quiet?” He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes warm and knowing. “Maybe find someone to share it with.”

Lara’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression cool. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

He grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself. “And if you had to bet on it—how long do you think we’d last in that quiet life?”

Y/n laughed, the sound rich and full of mischief. “A week. Maybe two.”

“Generous,” Lara said with a chuckle.

Y/n leaned back on his elbows, watching her with a gaze that made her feel as though he could see past every wall she’d ever built. “But we’d have fun trying, wouldn’t we?”

Lara smiled—a real smile, not the half-smirks she usually gave. “Yeah, Jones. We would.”

They stayed by the fire long after the flames began to die, sharing stories from old adventures, moments they hadn’t told anyone else. Y/n told her about the time he’d gotten trapped in a Bolivian cave with only a compass and a bottle of rum to his name. Lara recounted a narrow escape from pirates off the coast of Madagascar.

Somewhere along the way, the space between them disappeared.

Lara didn’t remember exactly when Y/n shifted closer, or when she stopped pretending to mind. All she knew was that his hand brushed hers, and for the first time, she didn’t pull away.

The kiss that followed was slow, unhurried—different from the adrenaline-fueled kiss they’d shared in the tomb. This one was deliberate, a promise made under the open sky, without the pressure of stolen moments or looming danger.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/n rested his forehead against hers, his voice low and rough. “I hate to admit it, but I think I might be falling for you, Croft.”

Lara’s heart hammered in her chest, but she met his gaze without flinching. “Then you’d better keep up, Jones.”

Y/n grinned, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Always.”

Morning came too soon, and with it, the pull of the next adventure. The fire had burned down to embers, and the cool dawn air nipped at their skin.

Lara rose first, brushing sand from her pants and adjusting her gear. Y/n followed, slinging his pack over his shoulder with an easy grin.

“So,” he said, falling into step beside her as they made their way across the dunes, “where to next?”

Lara glanced at him, her eyes sparkling with that familiar glint of mischief. “There’s a legend about a lost temple in the Himalayas. Supposedly, it holds a relic that grants eternal youth.”

Y/n chuckled. “You think we’ll beat the odds and live forever?”

Lara gave him a playful smirk. “I wouldn’t bet against us.”

And with that, they set off into the rising sun—two explorers, two hearts bound by adventure and something far more precious than any treasure they could ever find.

Because for Lara Croft and Y/n Jones, the real prize wasn’t the artifacts or the glory. It was the journey. And as long as they had each other, the adventure would never end.

———————

A month later, the frigid winds of the Himalayas howled around them as they clung to a cliff face. Far below, jagged rocks peeked through a blanket of snow, promising a swift end to anyone careless enough to misstep. But the danger was nothing new to Lara Croft and Y/n Jones.

“Still think eternal youth is worth it?” Y/n called over the roar of the wind, his voice muffled by the scarf wrapped around his face.

Lara smirked, planting her ice axe into the frozen rock. “You afraid of a little cold, Jones?”

Y/n huffed. “No, just making sure you don’t lose your edge.” He swung his body forward, driving his own axe into the ice next to hers.

They had chased the myth of the Temple of Shambala through ancient maps, local rumors, and narrow escapes from rival treasure hunters. Now, only a few hundred feet separated them from the summit—and the legendary temple said to be hidden beneath the glacier.

Y/n reached the ledge first, pulling himself up with a grunt. He turned and offered Lara a hand. “Come on, Croft. I’d hate to have to rescue you at the last minute.”

Lara raised an eyebrow but took his hand, letting him help her up. “You’ll never let me forget it, will you?”

Y/n grinned, tugging her close for just a moment, their faces inches apart. “Not in a million years.”

The entrance to the temple was hidden beneath layers of thick ice, but Lara had spotted faint carvings—indications of a doorway. Together, they set to work, their ice axes clanging rhythmically against the frozen surface.

When the ancient stone door finally cracked open, a rush of warm, stagnant air escaped from within, a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside.

“After you,” Y/n said with a mock bow, sweeping his arm toward the dark passage.

Lara rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “So much for chivalry being dead.”

The temple was vast, its cavernous halls shimmering with ancient ice that glowed a ghostly blue. Enormous statues of forgotten gods lined the walls, their faces serene as they gazed down on the two explorers. The floor beneath their boots crunched with frost, and the air was heavy with centuries of silence.

“This place is unreal,” Y/n whispered, running a hand along one of the statues.

Lara nodded, captivated by the beauty of it all. But she knew better than to let awe distract her for long. “Keep your eyes open. If the legends are true, there’ll be traps.”

As they ventured deeper into the temple, they found more signs of its ancient purpose—symbols of renewal, carvings of stars and moons, and murals depicting pilgrims drinking from a golden chalice. At the heart of the temple, beneath a dome carved with constellations, they found what they had been seeking.

The Chalice of Shambala sat atop a pedestal, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light.

Y/n gave a low whistle. “That’s it?”

Lara approached it cautiously, her eyes scanning the room for any hidden mechanisms. “Be careful. If the myths are right, that thing grants eternal youth—but only if it deems you worthy.”

Y/n raised a skeptical brow. “And what happens if it doesn’t?”

“Let’s not find out,” Lara murmured.

They approached the chalice together, their hands brushing as they reached for it. Neither spoke, but the weight of what they had shared over the past few months hung between them.

Y/n broke the silence first. “You know, Croft… If this thing works, we could keep doing this forever. Adventure after adventure. Just you and me.”

Lara looked at him, her expression softening. “Forever, huh?”

“Think you could stand me that long?” Y/n asked, his grin playful but his gaze sincere.

Lara hesitated, her hand hovering over the chalice. For once, the temptation wasn’t the treasure—it was the thought of what came next. She realized she didn’t want a life without him, whether it lasted fifty years or five centuries.

With a small, mischievous smile, she pulled her hand away. “I think I’d rather grow old with you.”

Y/n blinked, momentarily stunned. Then his grin returned, warmer than the firelight on a desert night. “Well, Croft, that might just be the best treasure I’ve found yet.”

Lara rolled her eyes, though her heart swelled. “Come on, let’s get out of here before this place decides to kill us.”

Y/n grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers with hers as they turned toward the exit. “Lead the way, Croft. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

And with that, they left the chalice untouched, their footsteps echoing through the ancient halls as they walked hand in hand toward the next great adventure—one filled not just with danger and discovery, but with each other.

Because in the end, they realized, it wasn’t the promise of eternal youth that mattered. It was the journey—and the person they chose to share it with.

[kamisatomay018]

Playtime with the Otters

Neuvillette x fem!reader

Lots and lots of fluff! And yes I know many people must’ve written fics on this topic but I wanted to give it a go as well! Hope you all enjoy!<3

Also the artwork is not mine, all credits go to the original owner!

There you stood, with your lover’s face buried in your stomach, his arms clinging onto you around your waist while you caressed his long locks. You were both alone in the Opera Epiclese, and as usual, a hard trial had left your husband very upset, prompting you to come visit him to help him feel better. You loved how he was never afraid of being vulnerable around you, how the rain would always slow down and stop the moment he saw your figure walking past the grand doors to the courtroom. You massaged his head, gently caressing his horns making him hum in satisfaction. “Feeling better now love?”

He smiles softly, nodding and looks up at you with those devastatingly beautiful siren eyes of his, your presence having brought back life into them. “Yes Mon Amour, I cannot thank you enough..” You giggled softly, placing a sweet kiss on his forehead “Since when did we start having such formalities between us hm?” He laughs at your words, the gentle yet heartwarming sounds of his laughter bouncing off the walls of the rather depressing courtroom, filling it with joy. The dark clouds were long gone, and gentle rays of sunshine had begun to seep through the fluffy clouds.

“You’re right Cherie…but I do not wish to part with you so soon. I have plenty of free time, can you please stay with me some more?” Oh archons, how could you ever say no to those pleading eyes of his? Your smile brightened as you nodded, an idea already coming to mind. “I’d love to spend more time with you Neuvi! How about we go for a swim hm? It’s been so long since we’ve done that!” Neuvillette’s eyes softened as sweet memories swarmed into his mind like the tides, reminding him of your beautiful past; of the day he first saw you.

As the Hydro dragon, being in water always calmed him down, he would dive into the deepest depths of Fontaine’s oceans after a difficult trial to clear his mind. Besides, the melusine’s village was also underwater, and he’d spend a lot of time with them. On one such fateful day, as he swam towards the depths of the salacia plains, he saw a beautiful young girl examining a shipwreck ever so carefully, analysing every single scratch and dent on the broken pieces of the ship. That person was you, Fontaine’s leading historian and archaeologist who had been awarded and recognised by many for your hard work and dedication towards piecing together the history of this land.

Neuvillette was surprised by your bravery, for the depths of the salacia plains were dangerous and eerie, and no human would willingly come close to them. But here you were, seemingly enthralled by the historical evidence in front of you. He also noticed a Hydro vision glowing around your waist, which explained why you were so unafraid of the depths of these waters. However, Neuvillette’s eyes had widened as he saw a few enraged seals swim your way, ready to attack you. Without him even realising, he swiftly swam towards you, protecting you from the attack and using his hydro powers to harmlessly deflect the seals, making them retreat.

You on the other hand, were utterly surprised by what happened. You turned around and to your bewilderment, the Chief Justice himself was in front of you, protecting you from the seals’ attacks. To say that you were flustered was an understatement. Ah how embarrassed you were! Your cheeks had flushed pink, as you timidly thanked the Iudex, apologising for troubling him. But what you didn’t know that just by looking into your ocean blue eyes, Neuvillette’s heart immediately told him that he had found his mate, his partner for life. And ever since that day, he always found some way or the other to meet you, and you noticed how friendly the melusines had become around you. One thing led to another, and you both fell deeply in love.

Ever since then, both of you would often go to dive into the depths of Fontaine’s oceans together, collecting seashells, starfish and ancient relics together. Sometimes you would take him to multiple ruins underwater, explaining the history behind them and he would listen to you, completely enthralled by your knowledge and research abilities. Swimming in these oceans had deepened your love far beyond the deepest depths of the oceans of Teyvat.

And now, to hear you suggest that you both swim together made Neuvillette happier than ever, making him readily agree. Anything for his love. His heart skipped a beat as he heard your giggles, the big smile on your lips tempting him to kiss you, which is exactly what he did. You gasped softly, but immediately reciprocated the soft action of pure love. Neuvillette was clingy by nature, and it was your favourite thing ever. He would kiss you out of the blue, always hold your hand, whisper sweet nothings in your ear and hum the tunes of the oceans to lull you to sleep. He was the sweetest husband ever.

As you both parted, he held you hand, intertwining your fingers together as you walked outside the now empty Opera House, heading straight towards the ocean. The rain was long gone, and a beautiful rainbow decorated the skies, illuminated on the gentle surface of the waters. You both dived in together, your vision glowing as you both felt so content. You decided to head towards the salacia plains, as that place held the best memories you both had ever made.

As you both were swimming towards the depths, neuvillette felt your hand slip away from his, making him frown. He looked towards your direction and saw you swimming towards what looked like a cage. He followed immediately, not wanting you to come to harm. What you both saw upon reaching the sight broke your heart. Inside the cage was an otter, looking afraid and trying to get out, and outside the cage was another otter, probably his partner, whimpering in agony as she couldn’t help her partner out of the cage. They joined their little paws through the bars of the cage, seeming so distressed.

“Neuvi..look at these poor otters! How could someone trap such an innocent animal! Come on, we’ve got to help them!” Your worried voice spoke, making him nod. Indeed, it was most cruel to trap such beings in these cages. You swam closer to the otters, alerting them both as they were afraid you had come to harm them. “It’s okay, I don’t mean you any harm, I promise..I’m gonna help your partner get out okay?” You spoke in your soft voice, but of course, the otters couldn’t understand. Neuvillette then swam next to you, and you saw the way the otters instantly relaxed, the free one even approaching him, tilting her tiny head as she swam backwards towards his horns, making happy noises.

Your heart melted at the sight, and you laughed in delight. “Neuvi, you and the otters look so much alike!! They think you’re one of them!” Although puzzled, Neuvillette couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head softly knowing that you would never let this incident die down. And quite frankly, he wouldn’t mind because your happy giggles were his favourite melody. Taking this chance, he swam towards the cage, examining it. “Hmm..mon amour, I think we need to search for a key to open this lock. I’m afraid we cannot use our powers to break this open as it might hurt the poor otter trapped inside.” You nodded at his words “Alright, you stay here with them, I’ll be right back with the key!” He turned towards you, tenderly kissing your forehead. “Be careful, and if any danger comes to you, immediately call for me hm?” You gave him that oh so sweet smile of yours, nodding. “I will, you have my word.”

With that, you swam away, searching for a key. After around 10 minutes of searching, you found a metal key buried in the sand, picking it up and went back to your husband. “Alright, I’ve found a key, let’s hope it’s the right one!” Neuvillette took the key, and to your delight, the cage opened, making the otters immediately hold hands and hug each other, their snouts rubbing together in tender affection. Meanwhile you and Neuvillette both smiled happily at the sight, holding each other’s hands out of habit. “Oh this is so precious Neuvi!” “Indeed Mon amour, I’m glad we could rescue the otter.”

The otters then looked at you both, noticing the way you were holding hands, just like them. In their eyes, Neuvillette already looked like them, so perhaps you were his mate! They swam towards you both happily, expressing their gratitude. You laughed happily as the otters surrounded Neuvillette, examining his horns in glee. “Aaaww if only I had a Kamera with me, I’d capture this moment! You sure you’re the hydro dragon Neuvi? Because you clearly look more like these adorable otters!” You teased your husband, a playful glint in your eyes. Your husband laughs at your words, shaking his head as he snakes his hands around your waist, spinning you around. “Someone’s having a lot of fun hm?” He spoke with a playfully threatening tone, yet his voice was so full of love and adoration for you.

While you both were busy being playful, the otters had returned, this time with the sweetest little surprise for you both. Your eyes shined happily as they gave you both beautiful pink seashells, glittering under the soft sunlight from above. “Oh these are so beautiful!!” “Sweetheart, look..” Your husband’s gentle voice made you look in front of you, and your heart melted into the biggest puddle ever. Two tiny baby otters were surrounding their father who was previously trapped, and then swimming towards you and Neuvillette, booping their tiny snouts with your noses as an innocent little gesture of gratitude. “Aaaww they’re a family! Oh Neuvi this is so sweet..” He smiled too, nodding as he held you close to him, all his stress long forgotten. “It really is..and one day, we’ll come back here to visit them, with our own family..” Your cheeks flushed pink as you looked at your husband, nodding happily. “Yes, yes we will..”

5 Years Later..

Both you and Neuvillette watched with big smiles and warm eyes, as your tiny 4 year old twins played with the otters in Salacia Plains, the very family of otters you both had rescued 5 years ago. Neuvillette’s dragon powers granted his kids the freedom of swimming in the water, and to his delight, both your children had inherited one particular draconic feature of his: his beautiful blue horns. Your daughter had beautiful white locks like her father, while your son had your shining brown hair. They were such darlings, and the day the two of them were born, all of Fontaine had celebrated. The sun had shone brightly, a big beautiful rainbow adorned the skies while all the creatures underwater celebrated the arrival of two new hydro dragons.

Like their parents, your kids were deeply connected to the waters of Fontaine, and both you and Neuvillette would often take them on swims. And now here you all were, watching with joy as your kids played with the otters, finding shiny shells and little wonders buried underneath the sand. As neuvillette held you close and watched his little dragons grow and play, he swore he had never been this happy. And he knew that he would always protect this happiness, his family. With you three, he was complete. With his family, he was at peace. And these very depths of Fontaine were your family’s safe place, and the keeper of all your memories together.

[fairfieldthinkspace]

The Unconquered Mathematics of the Inca

By Professor Chris Staecker, PhD

Department of Mathematics

The quipu is a beautiful thing. It was a mystery, but we figured it out. It’s a system of knots tied in cords that the Inca and their predecessors used to keep track of numbers. The Inca had no written language, so the only records we have from the old days were written with fingers in quipus. Over 1,000 pre-columbian quipus still exist today, mostly in museums.

One old document, Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala’s El primer nueva corónica y buen gobierno (1615), includes a famous drawing of an Inca recordkeeper—a quipucamayoc—holding a quipu. For historians, the quipus became a source of frustration: the old sources describe it, but none of them explain exactly how it worked. That’s where the mathematicians came in.

Left: Drawing of the Quipucamayoc, from El primer nueva corónica y buen gobierno by Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala, 1615. He holds a quipu, with a diagram of the yupana at lower-left. 

Right: A replica quipu on the wall of the author’s office in Bannow Science Center. (Come see it!)

In 1912, American mathematician and historian Leslie Leland Locke was the first to propose a specific interpretation. He believed, without much evidence, that the Inca were using a base-10 positional number system exactly like our own. So the number 74 would be represented by a 7-turn knot followed by a 4-turn knot. It seemed reasonable, if a bit familiar, but really there was no way to test Locke’s theory.

Above: The number 74, as it would be represented on a quipu. (Photo and knotting by the author.)

Later work by Marcia and Robert Ascher in the 1970s discovered that many quipu bundles include a special cord which shows the sum of all the others. So the quipu functions like a spreadsheet! Several numbers grouped together, with the sum written at the bottom. This work finally proved that Locke’s interpretation of the numbers was right: the correctness of the sums only makes sense if the Inca really were using Locke’s proposed system.

Anyone with an appreciation for mathematics will recognize a particular thrill here: we encounter mysterious symbols, see strange patterns, and apply mathematical analysis to figure it all out! This “decoding” of the quipu represented one of the first great successes in what we now call “ethnomathematics:” the study of the mathematical practices of traditional cultures.

But the quipu was not the only mathematical instrument used by the Inca. There was also the yupana, shown in the lower left of Guaman Poma’s quipucamayoc. It seems to have been some sort of counting board, where counters would be moved around to represent calculations—like an abacus without bars. However, details in the old sources are very scarce concerning the yupana, even more so than for the quipu. No one described exactly how it worked, and Guaman Poma’s simple illustration is the only drawing of a yupana that exists in any primary source.

But in the late 1800s, archaeologists began to find rectangular boards divided into compartments, often with different shapes and heights (see photos). These artifacts were quickly identified as the mysterious yupana, and again the mathematicians took an interest.

Above: Author’s photo of a “yupana” artifact in the Museum of Natural History, New York City. The museum describes this item as: “carved stone block of unknown purpose.”

Below: Author’s 3D-printed replica of the “yupana” artifact of Chordeleg, excavated 1869. (Come see it in my office!)

The yupana artifacts are beautiful objects, but they didn’t come with instructions. How exactly were they used as calculators? Over the decades, many people have announced their own “decoding” of these things. But serious scholarship has reached other conclusions.

The problem is, these artifacts don’t actually match the historical descriptions of the yupana. The striking feature of the artifacts is their three-dimensionality, but Guaman Poma’s drawing is a flat grid of squares. Additionally, the old texts describe the specific geographical region where the yupana was used, which doesn’t correspond to the locations where the artifacts have been found.

We also know that the Inca loved to use regular geometric shapes in their art, and they played board games. So these artifacts could very well be artistic carvings or gameboards. The scholars generally agree: the Inca probably did use a counting board, but they are lost today. And there’s no good evidence that these “yupana” artifacts have anything to do with calculation at all. 

Unfortunately, the mystique of the Inca is too strong for this kind of dry academic conclusion. Especially in our time, a lifetime of serious study is no match for the idle notions of a confident hobbyist who “does their own research.”

A European engineer made headlines in 2004 when he announced his own “decoding” of the yupana artifacts. His explanation assumes a base-40 number system (the Inca used base-10). He boasted that it took him less than an hour to “solve the riddle,” and that he did so with no knowledge of the Inca culture (no surprise there). Media reports did not point out how deeply unserious it all was. This guy probably felt a certain cosmic kinship with the Inca, a respectful connection across the centuries when he finally cracked their code.

But it is not respectful to trample so casually on another culture’s ground. Respect begins with seeing the Inca not as a puzzle, but as a people. They were a complex people, and yes, a mathematical people, but they did not exist in order to be deciphered. They created their own mathematics for their own reasons, and their knowledge was not lost by accident: it was purposefully destroyed. And who are we, after all this time, to demand answers from the Inca? Their yupana, at least, will probably remain forever unconquered.

This article is adapted from the author’s YouTube video about the yupana: https://youtu.be/93QoXmIEsvw.

[ashitakaxsan]

Thrilling archaelogical dicoveries

TEHRAN—Archaeologists in western Iran have found over 1,000 clay seals (and fragments) along with other “important” relics estimated to date from the Elamite era (3200–539 BC).

“We unearthed arrays of important objects such as over 1,000 clay seals while conducting an urgent excavation on an archaeological hill in Kermanshah province,” IRNA quoted archaeologist Shokouh Khosravi as saying on Monday.

Moreover, a number of earthen animal figurines and counting objects belonging to the early Elamite culture have been discovered in these excavations, Khosravi, who leads the excavations said.

“Those objects are unique in their kind in western Iran,” she said.

The archaeologist said those findings mark the first archaeological materials of the Elamite period in the west of the central Zagros region

“The finding triggers fundamental changes in our understanding and knowledge about the situation of western Iran in the fourth millennium BC,” Khosravi stated.

During the excavation, which is authorized by the Research Institute of Cultural Heritage and Tourism, a large number of clay door locks, hundreds of pieces of container seals, and a cylinder seal were also found, which shows the site was an administrative center for organizing economic and exchange affairs in the early Elamite period, she explained.

“As the excavations continue, more information will be obtained about the nature and absolute history of settlement on the site.”

Experts say the Kermanshah region has had one million years of archaeological continuity, which is due to the geographical features such as a high number of springs and fertile soil.

Elam, or the Elamite kingdom, was one of the most impressive civilizations of the ancient world. Its territory was once in a region, which is now situated in the modern Iranian provinces of Ilam and Khuzestan.

However, according to sources, it was never a cohesive ethnic kingdom or polity but rather a federation of different tribes governed at various times by cities such as Susa, Anshan, and Shimashki until it was united during the Middle Elamite Period, briefly, as an empire.

The name Elam was given to the region by others– the Akkadians and Sumerians of Mesopotamia–– and is thought to be their version of what the Elamites called themselves– Haltami (or Haltamti)– meaning “those of the high country.” 'Elam', therefore, is usually translated to mean“highlands” or “high country” as it comprised settlements on the Iranian Plateau that stretched from the southern plains to the elevations of the Zagros Mountains.

Susa was formerly the capital of the Elamite Empire and later an administrative capital of the king of Achaemenian Darius I and his successors of 522 BC. Throughout the late prehistoric periods, Elam was closely tied culturally to Mesopotamia. Later, perhaps because of domination by the Akkadian dynasty (c. 2334–c. 2154 BC), Elamites adopted the Sumero-Akkadian cuneiform script.

Documents from the second period, which lasted from the 16th to the 8th century BC, are written in cuneiform; the stage of the language found in these documents is sometimes called Old Elamite. The last period of Elamite texts is that of the reign of the Achaemenian kings of Persia (6th to 4th century BC), who used Elamite, along with Akkadian and Old Persian, in their inscriptions. The language of this period, also written in the cuneiform script, is often called New Elamite.

Although all three stages of Elamite have not been completely deciphered, several grammatical features of the language are known to scholars. These include a plural formation using the suffix -p, the personal pronouns, and the endings of several verb forms.

Elamite language is an extinct language spoken by the Elamites in the ancient country of Elam, which included the region from the Mesopotamian plain to the Iranian Plateau. According to Britannica, Elamite documents from three historical periods have been found. The earliest Elamite writings are in a figurative or pictographic script and date from the middle of the 3rd millennium BC.

Just to notice how the name Elam was written, n the various languages of the ancient times: Liner Elamite:hatamti Cuneiform Elamite: 𒁹𒄬𒆷𒁶𒋾 ḫalatamti; Sumerian:𒉏𒈠 elam; Akkadian:𒉏𒈠𒆠 elamtu,hebrew:עֵילָם ʿēlām, Old persian:𐎢𐎺𐎩 hūja

Source: https://www.tehrantimes.com/news/489442/Amazing-archaeological-finds-dating-back-to-Elamite-era-unearthed

[bardbattledhasmoved]

❛  you  sound  like  you’re  having  fun  already .  ❜        ♡        @lokadottr​.

❝ oh, you have no idea. ❞   she can’t help but laugh, hands curling around her bottle as she directs her voice towards the phone lying on the table. it’s so nice to hear torvi’s voice. she’s been off the radar for the last four days which isn’t very surprising. the signal at her site had been terrible to begin with and she’s supposed to be up to her ears in work... but she’s not at the site, and she’s not excavating. no, she’s having a drink in spain, reserving this table for a man she’s known for less than 48 hours while he finds them something to eat. after this, they’ll check into their hotel, get some sleep, and continue pursuing the looted mayan artifacts jared’s devoted to retrieving. supposedly one of them is some majorly cursed mask. she can’t begin to understand his obsession with it, but the inexplicable occurrences so far  ( which she doesn’t intend to fill torvi in on yet )  have brought her all the way here, so that’s something.   ❝ so, i’m... actually not in a field in wales. i’m in spain. ❞

[unsteals]

❝ it sounds like we’re here for the same thing. ❞   which prompts the question of how the other had gotten onto the artifact’s trail. layla doesn’t think she’s a criminal here to steal this previously-stolen object, but she herself isn’t... alright, legally she’s a criminal, but morally she’s sound.  according to her code at least.  she doesn’t know if she can trust a stranger, but she’s willing to listen.

@libraryguarded​.

[ncityrave]

Playing God: Chapter 2

Pairing: Vampire!Lee Jeno x Archaeologist!Reader Genre: Vampire!AU, Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Slow Burn, Humor, Angst. Rating: M Word Count: 8k

Chapter Synopsis: There's something hiding deep within the walls of a castle in the chilly mountains of Austria and it's brought Jeno back down a path he'd been running away from for so long.

Warnings: Mentions of death, blood, and dark magic. Profanity. Sexual innuendos. (Another plot-heavy chapter, I swear this is the last one in a while dsjakdhakd)

Taglist: @sunbaekery, @kaja2016, @nominsgirl, @ncitylover, @thejeongjaehyun @jungwooisms, @kkakkdugi, @m1ss-foodi3, @neomorning, @neoboyoftheweek, @lovejustlikemob, @nicolemolina03-blog.

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Wooden cabins hardly protected anyone from the chilly air. Layers of clothing made a feeble attempt to keep you warm, and Sooyoung took almost every opportunity to make you aware of your chattering teeth and trembling fingertips. Yet another field day had passed in the blink of an eye with nothing more than dirty hands and sore legs to show for—and a frown on your face as well. Walking into the office, you all but collapsed onto the desk, papers strewn across in a heap of indecipherable information.

It’s been weeks since the project began, and you were starting to get frustrated over the lack of developments—more for yourself than the insane amount of funding afforded to your team. There were only so many excuses you could make before they’d pull the plug on the operation altogether.

The problem was you had an idea of what you were looking for, but couldn't really pinpoint exactly what it was. It wasn't the hundreds of vampire and demon remains hidden under concrete and dirt, sedimented after hundreds of years of neglect. Nor was it the books filled with spells of darkness left to rot in their libraries.

“Frozen vampire!” Ryujin had screamed joyfully on the first day.

In the forests of Romania, remnants of Count Dracula’s castle were found years ago. But the castle itself was nowhere in sight. It was an ugly thing, so you’ve been told. A twisted, metal structure with towers protruding in different directions like claws on a wild beast. It was one of the first sites you'd ever worked on. Months of digging through quadrants, studying the stratigraphy of the trenches, and whining about coming up with nothing. Then, at the last possible minute, something valuable was discovered: a key.

Chipped off around the edges, barely the size of your palm with a strange design along its bow. But something. At first, the team thought it was the usual key any normal person with a house would use, but it's carbon dating revealed it dated back around Dracula’s war. The Immortal War. It was the first tangible vestige of an erased past. Not a story passed by mouth or a conspiracy made up by some lunatic who took one class in history and decided to name themself a scholar. The months of having to nurse muscle pain was definitely worth the trouble.

You thought coming to Carmilla’s castle would provide answers, given she was one of Dracula’s generals. Maybe a matching lock or more keys like it. But no matter how many keyholes you had a go at, the familiar clicking of the lock never sounded. Something was missing, this much you knew. It was like assembling a puzzle without even knowing what picture was supposed to be formed.

Suddenly, a knock sounded from the door and Sooyoung peeped in. “The center called and—,” she noticed the scowl on your face, “you're upset.” Quickly, she sat across from you.

“You would be too if Wendy kept asking for updates...and you always wind up with none,” you replied, head leaning against the headrest.

“Hey,” Sooyoung mumbled, her hand coming up to squeeze your fingers. “It's part of the job. We don't all get to have cool adventures escaping booby traps like Indiana Jones.”

“Ugh, those movies are such horrible representations of archaeology. I wish I carried a whip around with me and not animal poop or dead bugs half the time.” Sooyoung laughed out, throwing her head back.

“You'd be about 10% scarier, if we're being honest. Although…I’d like to see you whip Jungwoo’s mouth shut for sure.”

Your eyes rolled at the mention of his name, scowl deepening. “He never shuts up!”

Kim Jungwoo was to you a colleague from the research center and a thorn in your side. He’d been quite vocal about the little progress made, but you were half sure it was because you were assigned site supervisor instead of him. He always did like to treat this as a competition rather than an actual job. You would wonder how he’s managed to keep his job, but he was a great archaeologist as much as he was a great nuisance.

“Don't get me started, the other day he refused to help me with this one trench ‘cause he said he knew we weren't going to find anything anyway. Can you believe that?” she gossiped. “I wanted to stick my pickaxe up his ass.”

Sooyoung lets out a snort. It was remarkably unladylike. You couldn’t help but join her amusement, completely thrown off by her rash declaration. Her eyes crinkled with laughter like yours, giggling at her unprofessionalism.

“I'll make sure to leave that out of the report,” you said laughingly. Clearing your throat, you sat back up straight. “You mentioned the center called?”

She took a beat before answering. “Oh, yeah! Apparently, someone’s coming down here in a few days. Something about underworld-related investigations.”

“Investigations? Isn't an excavation site the last place to be looking for new evidence?”

“Beats me. They just told me to inform you. Don't shoot the messenger.” She brought her hands up as if to admit defeat.

“Now I have to deal with that!” you said dramatically, plopping yourself on the desk in an exhausted heap. Like anyone working under stress-inducing situations, there were only so many inconveniences you could take on your plate before breaking and it showed.

Sooyoung watched, a sympathetic look in her eyes as she rounded the desk and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. I have two hands for two pickaxes if ever you need my help.”

You reached a hand up to smooth over her own, shoulders shaking as you chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, but I don’t think Wendy would approve.”

Sooyoung stepped back, making her way towards the door with her gaze still lingering on you. “I’ll be in my room if ever you need me. Don’t stay up late tonight,” she said pointedly, “you look like one of the bodies we end up uncovering whenever you do.”

Sparing her a smile, you nodded and waved her goodbye. “I promise.”

Later in the night, you were still in the same spot you were when Sooyoung left you, scanning the reports, documents, pictures and any other little pieces retrieved from the site until an ache pounded against your temple. You weren’t sure if it was fatigue or disillusion, but the images were starting to morph into each other, words turning into floating black wiggles in the air. Perhaps Sooyoung was right: you needed as much sleep as you could get at this point.

You couldn’t fight the feeling that there was something nibbling at your consciousness, an itch that would not go away. Annoyed, you flipped through the scattered documents once more, hoping you missed something the first time only to come out just as empty-handed as before.

“I’m going mad. I’m trying to see things that aren’t there,” you said to the room. “It's cabin fever!”

Slumping back down on your chair, your eyes wandered over to your watch. Half past ten and nearly everyone else was already fast asleep. The cabin had been quiet for quite some time, save for the whistling of the wind by your frosted windows. Deciding to save the frustration for the next day, you gathered back the papers in a disorganized mess and set the pile aside. With the table cleared, you nearly made your way to your room until you caught sight of a small, brown notebook. Mindlessly, you reached out for the leather hardback.

From years of use, its corners were curled, pages worn out from use, but intact nonetheless. What used to be taut leather had deep, wrinkled grooves on its front and back like a deep canyon. And it was filled with discoveries and stories about the supernatural—vampires, demons, witches, mages, Forgemasters. Think of anything you can associate with dark magic. In its pages, a little collection of what your race knew before creatures of the night went underground. It wasn’t just any database. The old thing in your hands held with it sentimental value that could never be found anywhere else because it was your father’s, and he’d gifted it to you before he passed.

Historians joked a lot about wishing they could meet the dead people they studied, but as a scholar of vampire antiquity, your father had reason to take the punchline to heart. Your only wish was that he would get to be by your side throughout this project, but you’ve made peace with his passing—or at least tried to. Perhaps in continuing his work, he still lived.

Flipping through the pages filled with paintings of the ancient beings, you're once again lost in the stories. Profiles of nearly every ancient vampire known to have participated in the Immortal War greet you in a brew of thick, black ink. On its first pages: the Council of Sisters, the war council responsible for the Bloody Conquest. Each sister played their role with utmost perfection.

Morana, the administrative expert of the bunch. A tan, tall, blue-eyed vampire who’d walked the earth the longest out of them all. The years under her belt were proven quite beneficial as her expertise and knowledge of past civilizations kept Styria running on clockwork. After the war, she disappeared along with her lover, Striga.

Striga was the largest and tallest of them. Humans and vampires alike cowered before her stormy, green eyes. Like a wild beast, she liked to keep her hair unkempt. But then again, physical attributes may not be of much interest to Striga when she was too busy running the violent military forces of Styria. She was a sister to the Council, slayer to the rest of the world.

Lenore, the most diplomatic of the four, had an air of innocence that could fool anyone. Bright auburn hair framed her pale skin, and her red eyes glowed menacingly despite her petite frame. Lenore was patient, often seducing her targets before striking.

Finally, Carmilla, the grand orchestrator of their war’s dark symphony. The vampirette carried herself with an air of sophistication and elegance. She was quite beautiful, but the woman hid a raging storm behind her calm demeanor.

Profiles of their generals appeared on the next pages.

Lee Yongqin

Species: Vampire Ethnicity: Chinese Role in the Immortal War: General sent to annex southern China Other Known Abilities: Shape-shifting Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Rumored to go by “Ten”

Lee Taeyong

Species: Vampire Ethnicity: Korean Role in the Immortal War: General assigned to handle eastern Korea Other Known Abilities: Hypnosis Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Co-council of The Brotherhood

Nakamoto Yuta

Species: Vampire Ethnicity: Japanese Role in the Immortal War: General responsible for the fall of the Ashikaga Shogunate Other Known Abilities: Electrokinesis, exceptional swordsmanship Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Disappeared after the war, allegiance unknown

Kim Doyoung

Species: Dhampir Ethnicity: Korean Role in the Immortal War: Carmilla’s central general in the East Other Known Abilities: Dark magic practitioner and a highly-skilled war strategist Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Head of The Brotherhood

Lee Jeno

Species: Vampire Ethnicity: Korean Role in the Immortal War: General in the East alongside Kim Doyoung Other Known Abilities: Highly-skilled war strategist and combat soldier Status: Assumed Living Location: Unknown Threat Level: Highly Dangerous Details: Allegedly conspired to kill Carmilla of Styria

There wasn't much documentation on the generals. Gone were their tales and faces as soon as the war ended. Even the most important, Kim Doyoung and Lee Jeno, disappeared without any paintings recovered or documented. Most tales passed on through generations claimed them to be handsome men who both fell for one of Carmilla’s confidants, Joan of Styria. There wasn't much narrative to the convoluted love story, but from what you gathered it was quite tragic. Joan loved Jeno the most out of the two, but died by the end of the war—for reasons unknown to you. You wondered if Lee Jeno still mourned after all these years—if he was still alive to even mourn in the first place.

Shutting the notebook closed, you aimlessly tossed it back onto the table. It ended up shoving an envelope to the floor, sending pictures taken of the site flying across your carpet.

Great, you thought.

Forcing yourself out of the seat, you kneeled and gathered back the photographs in your arms. You would eventually need to go through them soon and see what was worth studying further: the decayed remains of flesh or dinnerware deep in the ground, large arches that led to even larger rooms, the carvings along the walls of an old study.

The carvings along the walls of an old study?

You paused, staring at the photograph. Those carvings…you'd seen them before.

Quickly, you got to your feet. The photo was held tightly in one hand, a laptop in the other, and you rushed to Sooyoung’s room.

“Sooyoung!” you called, knuckles rapping against her door, echoing through the hall. “Park Sooyoung! Open up!”

The door flew open, revealing your disheveled friend, face twisted in a sneer. Ryujin sat up from her bed behind her, eyes squinted with sleep.

“Are you trying to wake up the whole damn cabin?” she scolded, tugging you inside. Her annoyance doesn't faze you as you plonk the laptop down on her table before pulling up a photograph of a key—the one found at the ruins of Dracula’s castle.

“Look,” you said breathlessly, pointing to the screen.

“I am.”

Ryujin got up, dragging herself over to the both of you. “What's going on?”

“It's the key, right? The one we retrieved in Romania.” Sooyoung nodded. “Okay, now look at this,” you continued, showing them the photographs of the study.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” She wasn't having it, looking at you with a hand on her hip. Maybe interrupting her sleep wasn't the best idea and waiting until the morning would've worked as fine, if not more.

Ryujin didn’t share the same irritation for you, observing both pictures until something clicked in her mind. “Wait,” she said, “zoom in.”

Sooyoung looked over at her with furrowed eyebrows, sleepiness slowly dissipating. You zoomed in, enhancing the image of the key’s bow, the characters coming up on the laptop much clearer.

“They're…the same…,” Ryujin said in a hushed tone. Her gaze tossed between a disbelieving Sooyoung and your jittery frame, waiting for any of you to confirm her suspicions. Sooyoung locked eyes with you.

“That wasn’t a design,” Sooyoung said. “The carvings—they’re a message…they’re words?”

“Get up early tomorrow, we’re gonna go check.”

Fire crackled by the copper mantle, a weak illumination flickering across the otherwise dismal room. Moonlight barely pierced the thick curtains, a lone slice of silver seeping through, shining against the wood floors. The clock’s ticking was Jeno’s only companion; even then, he watched its hands move with about as much regard as a goldfish. He toyed at the silk handkerchief by his lap, the pads of his fingers gliding across the worn-out fabric.

When midnight finally struck, the ancient grandfather clock sounded off, a worn out wooden bird popping out of its casing. The doors flew open and in walked Donghyuck, a sweet smile plastered on his face. He skipped towards Jeno, holding an obscure box in his hands.

“Happy turn-day!” he greeted, shoving a cake that comically resembled a vampire into Jeno’s lap—the kind made for children’s parties. Jeno raised his eyebrows in surprise, fighting the urge to laugh. Donghyuck caught the twitching of his lips either way.

“Ever since you started going out with mortals, you've become increasingly more insufferable,” Jeno half joked, swiping his finger on the frosting and bringing it to his tongue. “Hmm, buttercream…my favourite.”

“I'll take that as a compliment for my expertise as a baker.” Donghyuck found his place on the couch parallel to Jeno.

“Please, since when did you know how to bake?”

“Around the time you decided sulking in this drab study of yours was the most interesting thing in the world—which was the moment we moved here.”

“I go out of my study,” Jeno said, albeit defensively. “This isn’t the only place I like to spend my time in.”

“Whatever you say,” Donghyuck teased, slipping a flask of blood out from his inside pocket and bringing it to his lips.

Jeno often thought he should have never told Donghyuck about the day he was turned since he had a knack for turning sob stories into something more amusing—if not for Jeno, for himself. Turn-day. Who in their right mind would celebrate the day they were drained of life and turned into a creature of nightmares? Lee Donghyuck, apparently. Although Jeno could admit that the boy knew how to drive him up the wall just enough to make his otherwise miserable life the least bit lively.

He studied Donghyuck from his seat, the glow from the mantle casting a warm hue across his face. There was something melancholic about the way the flames danced across his skin, bringing to attention the blemishes and beauty marks that dotted his boyish features like galaxies and constellations in a plain, smooth abyss. At that moment, protectiveness started blooming in Jeno’s chest.

Nearly seven hundred years alive. Six hundred of them were by Donghyuck’s side, and yet Jeno never liked to admit to him that nightmares of what could have happened the night they fled from their war camp plagued his slumber. Their heads on two pointy pikes outside the camp’s borders, looming over those who dared to cross the annexed terrain. Jeno watching as Donghyuck is burnt at the stake, thrashing and screaming for someone to help him.

“You’re doing it again,” Donghyuck observed.

“Doing what?”

“Ruminating. You have that glossed over look in your eyes and you’re scrunching your nose like you always do when you’re troubled.”

“I don’t scrunch my nose.” Jeno said, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Tell me, Jeno.” He leaned against the cushions, hands clasped by his lap. “What are the thoughts running in that seven hundred year old mind of yours that you refuse to confess to even me, your friend you’ve known longer than most countries have existed?”

Many. Too many for even Jeno to compass. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“So, there’s nothing going on up there? It’s just…empty?” There’s that familiar mocking tone that laced his voice and Jeno fought the urge to shove the cake in his face. Luckily for Donghyuck, the doors opened wide once more and Jaemin sauntered in, Minhyung and Renjun trailing closely behind.

“Happy turn-day,” Jaemin repeated, a fanged smile creeping onto his face. “Popped open the bottle of virgin’s blood just for you.”

“You know how I feel about human blood,” Jeno groaned. Ever since the war, it’s been strictly animal blood for Jeno. Nowadays, synthetic blood was also an option. Both didn’t have that lively kick that human blood had, but they kept Jeno strong and healthy and that was enough.

“Oh, quit your whining and just live a little, you corpse!” Jaemin walked over to the windows, sweeping the heavy curtains wide open, letting in the moonlight’s luminescence. He scooted over by Jeno’s side. Jeno shifted with the lack of space, raising the cake in the air so his overzealous friend doesn’t end up sitting on it. Minhyung collapsed next to Donghyuck, Renjun silently finding his place on the couch alongside them.

“You're 700 years old and more worried about the source of your blood rather than just accepting my fine gift,” Jaemin said, legs draped over an ottoman. Jeno remained silent.

“Don't worry about it being ‘virgin’s’ blood; we all know it just means the human doesn't have any vices. God knows Jaemin would gladly play with anything that walks, talks, and has a hole,” Minhyung butted in. Jaemin lets out a sharp gasp, narrowing his eyes.

“You act like you weren't that walking, talking hole at one point,” he tossed back, looking at his former lover straight in the face.

“And why do you think it only happened once?” The two bickered on, eyes giving off playful frustration for one another

“Enough, the two of you. I'd rather enjoy my cake without images of your past endeavors being thrown at me,” Jeno sighed, a hand coming to rub at his temples. He got to his feet and walked towards the fireplace, wanting to avoid their exchange altogether

“That makes two of us,” Renjun finally quipped. It seemed that he had to endure their quarreling all alone on their way there and the way Renjun’s shoulders hunched into him was telling of how much he didn’t want that to happen again. He looked up at Jeno, eyes growing wide. “Can I have a piece of that cake?”

Jeno waved him over. Renjun shuffled across the room, cheerfully clapping his hands together as Jeno reached out to offer him a bite.

“Oh, buttercream!” Renjun’s pupils blew wide from the sugar, a toothy smile on his face. Vampires obviously didn’t need regular food, but that didn’t make them miss the one constantly good thing about being a human: the flavors. Blood was always so salty and thick—unless it was a virgin's blood.

“Donghyuck made this. You should tell him when your turn-day is and he’ll probably bake you one too.”

“I don’t remember my turn-day that much,” Renjun said sullenly, corners of his lips downturned.

Jeno froze, fearing he struck a chord he didn’t even know was there. Renjun’s timidness was something Jeno feared circumnavigating. Renjun was a skilled swordsman, one of the oldest in their pack. He fought in the war—and eventually by Jeno’s side—with skill, bravery, and valor. But Renjun was also a great mystery, not many have been able to learn much about his life before the war.

Minhyung’s voice rang into the room before Jeno could apologize.

“Donghyuck? Don't you go by Haechan now?” The one in question rolled his eyes, taking a pillow in his hands and whacking it across Minhyung’s face.

“Oh, quite funny, Mark.”

Any other day, Jeno would have wordlessly walked out of the room to some place with less…them. But this time, he watched the two go at each other, Jaemin coming in to referee their petty fight as Renjun laughed until the apples of his cheeks ballooned. Jeno sometimes forgets that despite having lived far too long, his friends were exactly what they looked like: twenty-something year old boys who were thrusted into a world they never wanted in—with the maturity to match. So, he’ll let them squabble and tease and badger if that means they can pretend they were the least bit normal even if it were for just a few moments. A tiny drop in their ocean of immortality.

Suddenly, the doors swung open and crashed against the adjacent walls. The five stopped altogether, turning their attention to the two silhouettes framed by the entrance.

“Jisung! Chenle! How awfully convenient of you to finally join us.” Jaemin jumped from his seat, arms outstretched.

The two walked in, barely trying to match Jaemin’s enthusiasm. Jisung struggled to hide his distaste when Jaemin approached him with puckered lips. After a struggle, Jaemin lets him go—not without a playful shove on the shoulder. Chenle’s a little bit more aloof, striding towards Jeno with a determination that had him reeling.

“We need to talk.” It's not a request, but a demand.

“What is it?” Jeno asked in a murmur once Chenle was right in front of him. The others watched them carefully, waiting for Chenle to speak. He looked around, mentally debating whether he should continue. Minhyung caught on to his internal struggle, speaking up for the rest of the room.

“Anything you need to say to Jeno, you can say in front of us too.”

“Yeah, just tell us,” Donghyuck added with a shrug of his shoulders.

Chenle gulped, gaze wavering. Eventually, he relented. “Our intel in Austria has been…silent for quite some time now. Before they stopped communicating with me, they mentioned seeing strange carvings that they thought would be our concern.”

“And what does that have to do with us?” Jeno asked, chewing on some cake.

“It could be vandals. Thrill-seekers looking for a scare. Again,” Donghyuck joked.

“It's something much more complicated than that.”

“What do you mean?” Renjun pressed, eyebrows knitted together. Confusion filled the sullen room.

Chenle retrieved a manila folder from his jacket sleeve and tossed it onto the table, urging them to look inside. Minhyung raised an eyebrow before flipping the seal open, sliding out a thick pile of newly printed photographs. He picked one of the images up, eyes going wide before they moved to Jeno.

“It’s…it’s Carmilla’s castle.” Minhyung handed the photo over to Jeno.

If Jeno was shaken by the mention of her name, he doesn’t show it. As expected, the old ruins are seen on the page, worn down by time. Despite the overgrowth and snow, he could clearly make out the familiar staircase, court, and stained windows he used to call home. Jaemin leaned forward to take another image in his fingers and sucked in a breath, lowering his hand to show his friend the photograph. Menacing carvings lined the archways and podiums, curving upwards. They varied in size and placement, but were written with similar strokes. There’s a sick feeling that settled in Jeno’s gut, uneased by the sight.

“What do you suggest this means?” Jaemin asked, looking up to the rest of the room.

Chenle’s eyes shook. “I don’t know, but it can’t be anything good.”

Donghyuck sighed, running a finger along his lip. “We should wait until that intel of yours comes back before making any drastic decisions. Like what I said, vandals are a thing and ruins are wonderful places to deface, paint over, and poke at until something remotely supernatural happens. We don’t need to get ahead of ourselves.”

“He’s right and I’m sure human authorities can handle this before we meddle. Heavens know they hate it whenever we try to butt in,” Renjun added.

“I don’t think human authorities have the expertise to handle this,” Chenle said, barely over a whisper. Reaching down, he sifted through the pile of photographs. Once he found what he was looking for, he snatched it with his fingers and placed it in Jeno’s open palm.

Jeno looked over dubiously before taking the glossy paper in his hands. Eyes scanned the pixelated image, spotting red ink circling over one point. He brought it closer—close enough to catch the profile of a tall, pale man with pointy ears and red eyes. The man smiled in the photograph, putting on display a pair of razor-sharp canines just like his own.

The man was Kim Doyoung.

“He’s been seen around in Austria lately. You’re right, maybe it isn’t the Brotherhood, but we have enough reason to worry that perhaps it is,” Chenle explained, regarding Donghyuck.

Heaviness casted over Jeno, worming its way into his bones. He nibbled at his cheek and with every little detail Chenle revealed, the taste of his own blood coated along his palette until the cake’s sweetness vanished. It was foolish for Jeno to believe that this time wouldn’t come. Centuries of near-silence, there was a storm coming and he didn't know if he was ready to face its winds. Six pairs of eyes watched him closely, moonlight shimmering across his pensive features.

Minhyung was the first to break the silence. “What do you think?”

Jeno’s fist tightened around the handkerchief. After a beat, he looked up at them. “Let me take care of this.”

“You better have a good reason for having me work on a weekend,” Jungwoo grunted.

“I'll shove some reason up your ass—,” Sooyoung started, walking up to Jungwoo with the pickaxe by her side. Frantically, you reached out and grabbed her back beside you.

“Behave!”

“Once. Just let me do it once,” she practically begged. Ryujin held down a laugh.

“I agree. Once is enough to get the message across,” Minghao added, huffing from the large bag of equipment mounted to his back.

“And it's enough to get in trouble, too, so listen to her when she says no,” Seungcheol lectured. His tone was authoritative as he says this and you silently thank him for helping you keep your friends in check. Besides, the last thing you needed was having to spend energy mediating work conflict.

Sleep was not something you achieved the night before, not when a discovery was right at your fingertips. In the morning, you immediately informed your other colleagues of the carvings and insisted on checking it as soon as possible. Something sculpted into stone wasn't going away any time soon, but so wasn't your excitement.

“Don't worry, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we all get to rest,” you reassured, struggling to balance with the sheen of ice now making the path slippery. Winter was just around the corner and soon enough the project would need to be postponed lest you all risk getting caught in a blizzard storming the Austrian alps. All the more reason to check those strange carvings.

Metal scaffoldings lined the limestone walls and ceilings deep inside the excavation site. There’s barely any light, not with thick, grey clouds filling the sky above and blocking the sun. So, you adjusted the headlamp on your forehead and continued walking into the castle.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Jungwoo asked and you fought the urge to sigh.

“There are carvings along the archway to the study and they’re similar to the ones on the key we found in Romania. Maybe they're the same language…or at least akin.” The shuffling of booted feet on the debris-covered floor bounced along the walls, echoing all around you.

“It's over there.” Seungcheol pointed ahead of him, leading the group towards a curved opening around thrice his height. Hurriedly, you caught up to his larger strides. At the foot of the entrance, you craned your neck skyward, mouth agape at the sheer size of it. Its aged walls were caked with dust, mold, and a dark crust that vaguely resembled dried blood. The sight made your skin crawl. You wasted no time walking up to the scaffolding, holding on to the banister and climbing up even as the steps trembled with your rushed footsteps.

“Careful!” You heard Minghao call out.

Once you reached the top, you brought a hand to adjust the headlamp. At a much larger size, you could better study the harsh lines that made up the writings. They were spiky, sharp, and didn’t resemble any other ancient scripts you knew of. They were the kind anyone would find difficult to decipher. What was strange was that the carvings also looked to be recent. It didn’t look greyed from time, nor did it crack around the edges or seem dull like Egyptian hieroglyphics. Grabbing a glove from your pocket, you quickly slipped it onto your hand before running your fingers along the fringes of the markings. They’re jagged—time hadn't worn them out yet.

“What?” you breathed, confusion and disappointment turbulent in your mind.

Ryujin called you before you could dwell any longer. “You’re gonna want to see this!”

You spared the carvings one last puzzled glance before joining them back on the ground. The rest of them were scattered throughout the grand room, necks stretching upwards. When you followed their gazes, you noticed multiple carvings like the one on the archway lining the walls of the study. Stepping forward, you examined them closely.

Jagged, like the ones outside.

“This doesn’t make any sense…,” you said in disbelief.

“Vandals or looters,” Jungwoo pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What would they know about ancient languages?” you bit back, pacing around the room.

“I don’t know, would you like to ask them?”

For a fleeting moment, Seungcheol glared at Jungwoo. As his gaze moved back to your troubled expression, his face softened. “Are you sure they’re the same?”

“Positive. Ask Ryujin—they’re the same, okay? I know…I could tell the moment I saw the photographs.”

“Doc, it wouldn’t make sense that they’re so new…,” Minghao said.

“I know. I can’t wrap my head around this either.”

“Has Yeri confirmed what kind of language is on the key?”

You looked up at Minghao, biting your lip nervously. You don’t answer right away. “No…no. She hasn’t gotten back to me, yet.”

Minghao smiled at you empathetically. “We can wait until then, and then come back here.”

Sooyoung stepped forward, catching the way your hands wrung together. “I’m sorry, but they’re right.”

“We would’ve been warned—or at least found out about them by now.” Dragging a palm over your face, you sighed heavily.

In all your years working, excavating, analysing, you’d never encountered vandals so attuned with the writings of the past. Normally, angry red warnings spray painted on the caves and walls would greet you and you’d simply laugh at the lame attempt to drive out your team. These were not warnings, but it was definitely out of the ordinary.

Silence. Wind cut into the corners, whistling throughout the hall. You racked your mind for any other explanation, perhaps an apology for dragging them all the way up there on a Saturday, but nothing comes up.

Bae Joohyun’s home sat at the outskirts of Seoul, away from the metropolitan and—more importantly—the people. The witch didn't like to meddle and talking was her least favorite activity. If she could help it, she'd rather live the rest of her days with the four calico cats she comically named North, South, East, and West. It’s worth noting that she gets them wrong half the time.

Unfortunately for her, Jeno didn't feel like entertaining her solitary wishes. He'd heard stories about her from fays and mages. Joohyun was a powerful witch and perhaps the only one who could help him.

“What do you want?” she sneered, looking at Jeno through the tiny slit on her door.

“May I come in?” Jeno calmly asked.

“This isn't some shop you can waltz into whenever you feel like it. This is a home. Now, tell me what your intentions are…vampire.” Repulsion dripped from her words. Joohyun wasn’t fazed by his presence, unlike many others who would gladly bend to their knees. “Did you come here to taunt me? Because I know a great deal about methods to drive nosey bloodsuckers away.”

“No, I come with a request and I am willing to pay generously for it.” Jeno shoved a bag filled with gold and silver coins towards the slit. He jostled it, the currency clanging inside.

The witch laughed dryly. “Do you regard me as such a fool to be bribed by your golden nuggets or drachmas or whatever else you have in that pouch of yours?”

Taken aback, Jeno faltered. “I don't mean to bribe you, I simply need your help.”

“And why would I be interested in helping you? I don't even know who you are.”

“Will a name suffice? I'm Lee Jeno and I would like to pay for a spell,” he all but spat, irritation buzzing. He wasn't expecting Joohyun to be so difficult, most witches would gladly cast spells so long as there was something in exchange.

After seconds of silence, the witch still doesn't speak. Jeno had half the mind to curse her out, unless he wanted to come home hexed instead. So, begrudgingly, he stepped down her porch and back down the path towards his car. He supposed he could search for other witches like her who were the least bit courteous.

Then, he heard a door click.

“I've been waiting for you.”

Jeno felt incredibly out of his element. As soon as he stepped onto her porch, the odor of dark magic hit his nostrils. Now that he was inside, the scent was so pungent it made him queasy. But her home also strangely smelled of spices, herbs, catnip, and floral perfume.

Bae Joohyun barely reached his shoulders, but the witch made him cautious. Usually, dark arts practitioners were quite promiscuous or playful. Joohyun seemed cool and calculated, with eyes studying him carefully. Surprisingly, she was also beautiful. Midnight black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall shimmering in the night. The candles in her home reflected onto her fair skin, and cherry-red lips adorned her small face. Jeno made sure to keep his arms by his side so he doesn't end up knocking into anything and angering the witch. Cauldrons with thick, bubbling liquids of blues, greens, and pinks boiling inside decorated tables placed haphazardly around the entryway. Water-damaged wooden shelves lined the walls with bottles and jars of unfamiliar masses floating in murky fluid. Joohyun led Jeno, her cats meowing by his feet.

“You should've told me who you were much earlier,” she scolded, clearing her path of furniture with a wave of her fingers. “If I'd known maybe I would have let you in without a fight.”

“I'm sorry…?”

“I should've known,” she said, more to herself. “I could smell you.”

Jeno raised his eyebrows. “Smell me?”

“I know what hell smells like.”

Jeno blinked, kissing his teeth. “And what exactly is the stench of hell?”

“Depends,” she ushered him to a table, spell books strewn all over, “for some it smells like wet socks and a public toilet.” Jeno lets out a chuckle, taking a seat on a crooked chair. “On others, it smells like burning flesh.”

“And on me?”

The witch looked at him curiously. “Like a shrill, winter night...and lavenders.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

Joohyun doesn't look amused by his comment as she picks at the foxed pages of her spellbook. One of the cats leaped onto his lap, coiling into Jeno’s arms with a pur. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so he awkwardly petted its head with a heavy hand. It brought its paw to Jeno’s palm, as if telling him to stop.

“Glamour spells are deceptively easy to do, they just require a lot of energy, thus higher witches are more likely to complete one successfully,” she explained.

“What happens if it's unsuccessful?”

“Depends. If you're lucky, it just won't work. If you're not, I heard someone exploded once.”

Jeno swallowed, letting out an anxious laugh. As much as the image of his body blowing up brought a bad taste in his mouth, something told him he could trust the strange witch. Besides, glamour spells weren’t exactly something he could trust with lower level witches. With them, he’d definitely blow up. Magic wasn’t as simple as most made it out to be. Card tricks and pulling something out of your sleeve was as much about hand tricks as it was finding someone gullible enough to fall for it. It needed energy, a skill of concentrating spiritual forces that took years to master. Even those born witches still needed to practice it to perfection.

Joohyun was one of the only known elder witches who could cast glamour spells—bewitchments specifically done for creatures of the night to hide their features and avoid trouble. Trolls used them all the time, for good reason. Jeno just needed to hide away his fangs and pointed ears. Humans were already growing more cautious of his species and he didn't want to stir the pot any more by appearing at Carmilla’s ruins, fangs on full display.

“Don't look so worried. I know what I'm doing,” Joohyun reassured, climbing up a wobbly stepping stool to reach for herbs. “You wouldn't come to me if you thought otherwise.”

“I'm sure anyone would be worried if they knew exploding was a possibility.”

“Lucky for you, that isn't happening.” She stepped down, jars in her arms as she wobbled to the desk. Jeno scrunched his nose, watching the witch stir the concoction.

“Do you live all alone here?” Jeno questioned, watching the cats dash behind her. “I noticed your home is barely within 10 miles of a convenience store.”

“Why? Would you like to keep me company?” There's no sign of her inquiry being a teasing jab. In fact, her voice remained neutral.

“I just can't imagine living so long on your own.”

“My cats keep me entertained.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And why is a vampire interested in the living arrangements of a witch?”

“Immortal to immortal, we both know eternal living is quite woeful when done in solitude.” Jeno played with the gold chain around his neck. Joohyun’s eyes flickered up to him.

“Immortal to immortal, after years of being around personalities too overwhelming to handle you start to seek solitude.” Joohyun added a dash of some strange grey powder and the cauldron puffed out a tiny glittering cloud. “Besides, cats don't need attention or much conversation. More importantly, they don't try to kill you. I heard of a fay couple once around these parts who were always at each other’s necks until there wasn't much neck in the end…or heads. If you take my meaning.”

Jeno nodded. “You said you were waiting for me. For what exactly?” he probed, sitting up on the seat. It tittered under his weight.

Joohyun doesn't waste any time answering. “We've been hearing word about the Brotherhood recently. We suspected it was only a matter of time before someone from your pack heard so as well.”

Jeno’s ears perked up. “What exactly is going on with the Brotherhood?”

“Something about operations moving above ground—which we both know is strange,” she shared.

“Do you know what these operations are, by chance?”

“Like what I said, I like my solitude, so I may not be the best person to explain what's going on.” Once the bubbles settled, she grabbed a tiny glass and poured in an iridescent liquid. It moved. Not like how liquids flowed. But like a raging, new galaxy ready to rip the space-time continuum. “Although there’s one thing I am sure of.”

Joohyun’s tiny fingers placed the glass in Jeno’s much larger hand. He downed it in one go, face twisting with the nasty taste. The bitterness doesn't go away even as it travelled down his throat, settling in his stomach. It's balmy, buzzing as if it was alive and breathing. Jeno had a fleeting moment of fearing he would explode.

“And what would that be?” he grimaced, wiping at his mouth. The witch hesitated, jaw set.

“There's a creeping shift in the world…and I'm afraid it's not something only spells and magic can solve.”

The nearest airport from the excavation site was around an hour away, so it wasn't the most convenient trip to make in the middle of a winter night. When they announced you were site supervisor, you weren’t exactly expecting to be designated chauffeur to unforeseen guests too. Then again, Jungwoo would probably give off a bad impression, Ryujin didn’t know how to drive, Minghao had a mouth that could run anyone’s ear off, and Sooyoung and Seungcheol refused to budge. Hence your standing in an Austrian airport at dawn. Of all available flights, this investigator had to choose a red-eye.

With a phone pressed against your ear, you got to your tiptoes and scanned the arrival area. The carvings were all that filled your thoughts in the last few days, but you had to force yourself to forget about it for now.

“I thought his flight was supposed to be arriving by now,” you murmured sleepily into the phone.

“Sorry, he really wanted one late,” Wendy said apologetically. “I’m checking the arrivals right now, he’s probably at the baggage claim.”

“If he could deal with it a lot faster, that would be great,” you droned, a pout on your face. Wendy laughed from her side. You could almost hear her shaking her head.

“You’re doing a wonderful job, by the way.”

You smiled, but it barely reached your eyes. A snarky comment formed on your lip and as you’re about to speak, a small group of people poured into the arrival hall. Some wore puffer jackets that covered half their faces; others wore extravagant travelling outfits to make an entrance in a foreign country. They all found their friends, relatives, and chauffeurs; lugged their bags behind them, the wheels clicking against the tiled floor. Still no sign of the investigator.

Underworld-related investigations, Sooyoung had mentioned.

Since the turn of the 18th Century, humans and vampires agreed that no one could win the endless wars that ravaged the free world. In the end, they chose to live separate lives, never meddling with each other unless needed to. The Purgatory Treaty of 1789 was created specifically to make sure both sides never had a repeat of the Immortal War. The Treaty laid down the laws for how and when humans and mystical creatures would find their paths converging: legal trade, delegation of territories, protection from dark arts, and other agreements both sides benefited from. While people bustled around and made the world their own with the sun as their company, vampires liked to stay underground. It was rare for them to meet, although there have been human-vampire bars opening up lately, blurring the fine line. Some feared that would rock the boat too hard, tip the delicate balance that fought to prevent a repeat of the wars. Vampires liked teetering along that boundary, humans often crossed it. You wondered which was the reason for the visitor’s arrival.

Amidst the crowd of high-strung tourists and homesick locals, a man stood out. In your defense, it was difficult not to notice him. He walked with his back straight and head held high, towering over other passengers and passersby who stared up at him, not even trying to hide their attraction. There’s a beat to his step that gave the impression that he wasn’t here to make friends, too. A dress shirt the color of crow's feathers hugged his lean body; a pair of matching slacks fit his long legs and you wondered if he'd gotten it tailored. The fluorescent lights reflected in his sharp eyes, raven hair slicked back, and his milky white skin glowed. He scanned the crowd, spotting you, and you floundered as soon as his gaze met yours.

You were expecting someone middle-aged; maybe even some old, wrinkly gentleman who vaguely reminded you of your grandfather. You definitely were not expecting someone around your age—someone stunning. Rubbing the sleep off your face, you feebly looked down to your stained sweatpants. The shirt you haphazardly threw over your head while half-asleep was too big on your shoulders, and fitted awkwardly underneath your jacket. Early in the morning, the thought of being severely underdressed made you cower into yourself.

Unsure, you cocked your head to the side, raised an arm up and waved. He barely smiled before walking over to you. If the slight twitch of his lip was a smile at all.

“Wendy, I think I see him,” you spoke into the phone. “I’ll call you when we’re back at the cabin.”

Pocketing your phone, you strode towards him warily. The details of his features came to view the closer he got. Smooth skin dotted with beauty marks along high cheekbones. A golden chain rested on his collarbones, glinting at you. His lips were strikingly red, crescent-shaped eyes regarding you indifferently.

Oh, Wendy, you better give me a raise for this, you think to yourself.

The last thing Jeno expected upon landing was you walking up to him with authority in your stride that didn’t match your anxious eyes. You stopped in front of him, clearing your throat before sticking a hand out. “You must be the investigator Wendy told us about. I’m the site supervisor of the excavation, I’m sure they’ve informed you about me. Most people just call me ‘Doc.’”

Jeno blinked, letting go of his bag’s handle before taking your hand in his own. It’s warm. Something he hadn’t felt in quite some time. When you looked up at him, there’s a familiar flash in your eyes that strangely reminded Jeno of a lost time. A blizzard, old books, and music. His grip tightened around your much smaller hand. You inhaled sharply.

“I’m Dominic Lee.”

© NCITYRAVE. All rights reserved.

Thank you so much for reading this fanfiction! I hope you enjoyed it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Don't be afraid to send in critique or comments, it's my biggest motivation to keep writing these stories. 💖

[redpenship]

ive re-written this fake gerald report for a fic like twenty times so im posting it here to shame myself into keeping it the same ty ty

Ever since the discovery of Angel Island two years ago, the best and brightest human researchers have travelled from across the world to explore its ruins. There is much to study: ancient murals, collapsed structures, and unique geological formations. This period of frantic research has dramatically increased our understanding of ancient Mobian civilization, earning it the nickname “The Angel Island Leap”. 

Among all the discoveries made on the island, our attempts to date the beginning of Mobian civilization have provided the most interesting results. The use of accelerator mass spectrometry—a form of radiocarbon dating—has allowed New American archaeologists to determine that some ruins existed up to 10000 years ago. We do not know exactly when Mobians evolved into their current form, but we do know they have a history of civilization nearly as long as ours. 

Obviously, this discovery was exciting for anthropologists and historians. The island is a floating gold mine for their fields.

It was devastating for scientists.

The Department of Planetary Studies is well versed in the Chaos Energy Crisis. However, since it is my understanding that this report will be shared with the Special Committee on Current Civilizations, I will attempt to explain it using layman terms.

The Chaos Energy Crisis has shaken physicists around the world. Its impact on the field of study is felt even at the high school level, where fundamental laws of physics are being challenged by the crisis. The law most challenged is the law of conservation of energy. This is for a simple reason: energy can now be created in closed systems. 

Members of the Committee have probably experienced kitchen troubles in their homes. As an example, ovens now have a tendency to rise rapidly in temperature and burn any food inside. This occurs because transfers of energy (in the case of an oven, the transfer from electrical energy to thermal/heat energy) are potentially subject to random increases in energy. Chaos Energy quite literally inserts itself into your oven and blasts your food with large volumes of heat energy. 

Why is this a crisis? Any technology dependent on energy transfers now operates at a failure rate of 37%. Our research tools are unreliable, and repeated experiments now vary greatly in results. We are entirely dependent upon mathematical models for our research. Until the Chaos Energy problem is solved, science will remain locked in its current state. Our fields can no longer develop.

Now that the Committee understands the issue, they will surely sympathize with our mass disappointment at the discoveries made on Angel Island. As you know, there are three general stages of societal development: preagricultural society, agricultural society, and industrial society. Mobians appear to have existed in the agricultural stage with little to no technological advancement for a very long time. At first, we believed the reasons for this to be purely cultural: industrial development requires the exploitation of natural resources, which is something strictly prohibited by Mobian cultural norms. Sans human intervention, it is possible that they never would have advanced to the next stage. This theory of development assumes that they were kept in place by self-imposed rules. 

Thanks to our discoveries on Angel Island, we know that is no longer the case. Murals on the island depict powerful clans that were comfortable with wiping away forests to build cities, as well as hierarchical political structures unseen in most modern Mobian tribes. In the ruins, we have found remnants of aqueduct systems, complex agricultural infrastructure, and even metal fragments that resemble a crude steam engine. The many great ancient clans from Angel Island and the Mystic Ruins were on the cusp of major technological breakthroughs—they just never made it. 

The reason for this is simple: Chaos Energy interference prevented them from achieving this breakthrough. Much like our science, their society was locked in place—progressing to the next stage was impossible. 

All of this has grave implications for humanity. I am not an economist, a sociologist, or whoever might be expected to make my next observation. However, I will still include it in this report because I believe it to be important. 

Our current international economy is dependent upon constant development. Future capital is found in new technology such as weapons, information systems, and consumer electronics. Many of our industries are dependent upon continuous technological advancement for long-term gains. Our society functions based on the expectation that the future will bring good things to us. 

Chaos Energy interference has made technological advancement impossible. When the news breaks, I expect that we will enter a economic recession of horrific proportions. But it will not only be our economy that slows to a stop—it will be our civilization, too. 

If there is a stage of development beyond industrial society, Chaos Energy has ensured that we will not reach it. 

We are stuck. 

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Diana’s child

Diana Prince x child!reader

warnings: ww84 spoilers ahead!

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Lacey! I see you're taking request for ww84, would you write HC for being Diana's child? I'm not sure you're up to HC though. Hope you have an amazing year ;)”

growing up with so many stories of your mother’s home

that and stories passed down from your grandmother

“and asteria held back mankind in order for the amazons to survive. our people shall never forget her sacrifice” -diana

“tell me another!” -you

“i can’t tell you all my stories! then what would i have left to say?” -diana, giggling as she tucked you in and gave u a kiss on the forehead :)

you had to keep her secret growing up

😔sadly you couldn’t tell everyone you had the world’s coolest mom

buuuut a mom who works at the smithsonian isn’t NOT cool

👉👈exclusive field trips at school

“y/n, can you ask your mom if i can touch that?” -classmate, pointing to a display

“i already know the answer and it’s ‘no’” -you

actually knowing a decent bit about the stuff there

and the people too!!!

“if it isn’t our archaeologist in training, how’s school going?” -mom’s coworker

“pretty well! how has it been here?” -you

“busy busy busy” -coworker

diana teaching you ✨self defense✨

you were half amazon, but you shared many of her traits

that included her speed and strength

*ahem* and badassery

“okay, y/n. you are much stronger than your friends, but they cannot know that. you must be careful not to hurt anyone by mistake or show them how powerful you are” -diana

“so i can’t give my friends piggy back rides?” -you

“i would advise against it, just in case” -diana, chuckling

on your first try against a punching bag

you uh. destroyed the punching bag

“uh...we’ll work on that, yeah?” -diana

“i can’t lie, mother, that was pretty cool” -you

she opened up about steve to you and only you

“he gave me this watch right before he...he saved the world. i wish you could have met him” -diana

“he sounded brave. and really sweet. i mean, at least you got to know him” -you

“that’s true, my love. i am very lucky to have known him for what little time i had, i will cherish it forever” -diana

you were very wise at times. and she enjoyed learning what it was like for her mother to raise her

and although she felt guilty making you hide your true self from the world, you understood that it was necessary

you were not able to grow up as free as she did, but you assured her that it was not a bother at all

you guys totally go on “lunch dates” on saturdays because life does get busy for the both of you and you guys make time to catch up

you tease her when there’s sightings of a woman saving the day

“busy day of work, mother?” -you

“what can i say? i can’t keep myself away from the action” -diana

“when will you let me get a piece of the action?” -you

“your time will come, y/n” -diana

dont let me forget that your mom is super affectionate!!!! (as long as you’re comfortable with it ofc)

kisses and hugs and little notes and alway fixing your hair and cupping ur face just cuz she wants to see her baby!!!!!

oh also!! you can go out whenever you want really because she trusts you to come home on time and knows you can hold your own

“going to see star wars with some friends, mom!! see you in a few hours!” -you

“no problem, do you need money for your ticket or snacks?” -diana

“all taken care of! love you!” -you

“i love you too” -diana

and then stuff got really weird!!! weirder***

starting with the gala that your mom had to go to, you got the house to yourself

it wasn’t all that spectacular really but that’s what happened

meanwhile......

*after meeting steve again* “oh, gosh! i have to call my child and let them know that i’m not coming home tonight!” -diana

“w-what? you have a kid?!” -steve

ngl your mom did not want you to have ANY part of the dreamstone stuff

but she also did not want to leave you alone so ye you had to go to cairo with her and steve but you were really happy to meet steve

“your mom told me that you like history” -steve

“some of it. i do like her history though, i can only hope to see where she comes from one day” -you

“well, i accidentally crashed into themyscira, maybe you will, too” -steve

“wait...you found themyscira on accident??” -steve

“don’t get any ideas, y/n” -diana

“but now we have an invisible jet! it’s like this was meant to be!” -you

once your mother started losing her powers, it was your duty to step up to the plate

and you did a pretty good job for your first time hero-ing

“they remind me so much of you. that’s a good thing” -steve

“the world is not ready for them” -diana

being a pretty badass detective when it comes to max lord and the dreamstone

oh! and then meeting barbara. she was pretty cool

jk she was a lil wild ngl

and it was between defeating her and saving your mother and her first love, you knew which was more important

and your mother was proud of how responsible and caring you had become

soon enough, she did have to renounce her wish

and you had to say bye to steve

“hey kid, it was really great knowing you. i’m so glad that your mom has a kid like you, you’re gonna do great things” -steve

“and i’m glad my mom got to see you one more time, but i’m sad to see you go. goodbye steve” -you

feeling REALLY bad when your mom was crying next to u

but there was still work to be done

she had armor for you and another from asteria herself

and you two were about to get down to business

“y/n, before we go any further, i have to let you know that this is a one time thing. you will have more opportunities in the future, but after this, you should go back to normal. be a kid for as long as you can. it goes by so fast, i don’t want you to miss out on a second of it” -diana

“i know, mother. i understand” -you

clashing with max

and reminding him of the ✨child neglect✨ that he is at fault for

it was a very rough and emotional couple of minutes

but the world was.....mostly saved

it needed some time to be put back together

and you and your mother had to return to normalcy

“i’m very proud of you, y/n. one day you’ll make an excellent warrior. but you know that there’s no rush” -diana

“i know, mother. but you have to admit, we make a pretty good team” -you

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @randomfandomimagine //

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yanois - Second Impressions Can Bring Misfortune

Read Part One here, or check it out on AO3!

Though their first meeting could have gone better, Illinois might be a little fond of the mystery prisoner. Let’s just hope his famous luck doesn’t run out…

Warning: There is an instance of deadnaming under the read-more. It’s accidental, but be mindful if that might cause a little upset. (I promise this doesn’t end on a bad note)

Word Count: 2,448 (sorry, it’s four hand-written pages)

-

After his encounter with the brash prisoner, Illinois found he couldn’t get the other man out of his head. It was hardly an attraction (no, shut up! It wasn’t!), but he accepted that there was a level of interest in the unknown. Perhaps it was the prisoner’s standoffish attitude, or how he seemed utterly disinterested yet keenly focused. He didn’t heckle during the lecture, so he wasn’t there for the sole purpose of causing trouble.

But the question that plagued Illinois was painfully simple: what was the prisoner’s name? He hated how badly he wanted to know. Ah, the curse of the archaeologist - insatiable curiosity! With no starting point, Illinois took inspiration from his work and fetched his laptop to start the research.

Most prisoners were from Texas, but not all. The stranger’s accent suggested he was potentially from New York, so Illinois decided to sieve through articles that made reference to a transferral to a Texan prison first. His abundance of good luck meant that it only took an hour to find a result that was most fitting. The article was several years old and discussed the outcome of a rather tragic case. The information was put to the back of his mind - Warden Murderslaughter always said to never talk about an inmate’s crime unless they bring it up first - as Illinois instead took the important information. The photograph used of the criminal was old, but it matched. Which meant… He had a name! All he had to do was wait until the next time he was set to visit Happy Trails Penitentiary.

-

As luck would have it, he merely had to wait a week. When he wasn’t travelling as part of archaeological trips, Illinois would volunteer two Saturdays a month to teach the inmates. Unlike his history lectures, these consisted of smaller groups of prisoners undertaking a short course on several points in history; which would be rounded off with each prisoner completing a short research project on something that interested them in the course. All he needed was to put his possessions in the room he used for classes, and then he would be free to find the right prisoner if he arrived earlier than usual. The inmates followed a set schedule with minor variations depending on when their work shifts were. He had been volunteering long enough to know when one of the crossover periods would take place. It would be easy to find him!

The rec yard was fruitless, as was the library. But it was upon leaving the chow hall that Illinois spotted the man of the hour. He seemed in a hurry as the prisoner dashed toward the hall.

“Ah! Can I have a moment?” Illinois called out. The tattooed man screeched to a halt, bemused once he realised who wanted his attention. Unfortunately, no one else was around, so it had to be him. 

“Sure. Fine. What?” His eyes didn’t stay on Illinois, but instead darted to the clock.

“I know this is likely a bad time, but I’d like a chance to talk. We got off on the wrong foot last time.” Even Illinois knew it didn’t go well. “Are you free after your shift?”

“U-uh…. Yeah?” Thrown by the turn of events, it appeared the bold prisoner was willing to cooperate. “I know I’d never hear the end of it if my friends heard I refused. They’s is always singing youse’s praises. ‘Sides, second chances is always a good thing, right?” He looked as though he was about to say something else, but decided against it. Regardless, Illinois was elated.

“Excellent! In that case, I’ll be in the classroom just opposite the library until seven this evening. Call by when you’re free. Even if there’s a class going on, sit in on it anyway.” The prisoner nodded and hurried past once he knew he was dismissed. Before the other disappeared into the chow hall, Illinois belatedly realised he should be more polite about this. He guessed the other might be swallowing his pride in accepting the invitation to chat, given their first meeting. The least he could do was show some manners.

“Thank you! I look forward to chatting, █████!”

Whatever progress had been made was instantly thrown aside. The prisoner froze in the doorway. Though his back was to Illinois, the archaeologist could see that the other was rigid. It wasn’t a reaction Illinois associated with hearing one’s own name…. Unless it was a name they didn’t use anymore.

“O-oh my God, I’m so sorry, I had no -” For once, Illinois found himself stammering in a frantic attempt to get an apology out. It was to no avail, as a fistful of his shirt had been grabbed and he was slammed against the wall.

“I don’t know what sorta shit game youse is playing,” the prisoner hissed, “But if youse is gonna act like youse is better than me by being such a sly bitch…. I really wanna beat the shit outta youse, but I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“Yancy! That’s enough!” The prisoner - Yancy? - dropped Illinois without hesitation and didn’t struggle when two guards rushed over and restrained him. “Bring him into th’ chow hall to calm down. I’ll speak to him in a sec. As fer you…” Yancy was led away by the guards, and it was hard to ignore how withdrawn he seemed compared to minutes earlier. With heavy guilt, Illinois pulled his attention away to finally acknowledge Warden Murderslaughter, who had been the one to stop the disaster in its tracks. His lips were pursed and his arms crossed as he shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Illinois. Out of all our volunteers, I thought you would’ve known our most important rule better than anyone else: don’t provoke th’ inmates with topics that are touchy fer ‘em.”

“But I didn’t know -” Illinois’ head turned toward the chow hall’s entrance. “I only wanted to get to know him. I didn’t mean to…”

“Who told you that name?”

“No one?” He looked back at the Warden with confusion. “I read it in an article covering the trial online.” The Warden pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh.

“Son… You could’ve saved yourself a whole lotta bother if you’d thought to ask someone here, even over the phone. It isn’t like you to mess up like this.” He put an arm around Illinois’ shoulder and began guiding him toward the staff breakroom. “The name you used is correct, if you go by legal documents or the press, but it’s not the name he goes by. Everyone calls him ‘Yancy’. See, his birth name has links to pretty painful memories that I don’t think he’ll ever recover from, and he’s been striving to prove he’s a better person as ‘Yancy’. So to turn ‘round and use th’ wrong name is like a slap to the face and a surefire way for him to hate you. Now, I know you had good intentions and it was an honest mistake, but you need to be more careful. Next time you see him, give him a good, proper apology. Just know he’s probably gonna be frosty toward ya. I’ll go talk to him and check if he’s okay, let him know you didn't mean to use the wrong name.” The Warden threw a glance over his shoulder with a hint of a smile. “Yancy’s a good kid, despite how he acts sometimes. He’s been through some rough times, but his heart’s stayed in the right place. If he can have a friend outside the prison… I think it’ll do him some good. Now, get yourrself a coffee before you start classes.”

Illinois blinked, genuinely surprised to realise they had arrived. Murderslaughter gave him a hearty slap on the back of the shoulder (Illinois had learned long ago the art of hiding the wince from the strength of such actions) before making his way back to the chow hall.

---

In the chow hall, Yancy was a mess. He sat far away from anyone else who might have been there. A cup of water had been given to him, but it was used more as a stress ball rather than a drink. He didn’t know what to think. How could someone act like they wanted to be a friend, then turn around in the same breath and say something that implied the complete opposite? Why remind him of what he did long ago? The cup was put aside so he could slump across the table with a defeated groan. █████… Was that all he was ever going to be to the outside world? Would the attempts he has made to be a better person forever go unnoticed under the large, looming shadow of his crimes? Then again, prisoners like him were locked away to be forgotten about by the world.

His form tensed the moment he spotted the Warden sitting opposite him. This was it - he was going to be scolded and sent to Solitary, and probably lose other privileges on top of that. How dare Yancy lay a finger on the visitor everyone worshipped!!

But it was nothing like that. Murderslaughter checked if he was okay. They sat in silence for a few moments so Yancy could try and collect himself without anyone else approaching. Then, the Warden praised him for not completely lashing out, but then took time to explain Illinois’ side of things.

“- He’s not like the reporters or anyone else who comes to ‘visit’ you. He was a moron who didn’t ask th’ staff for your name. It seems like he wants to try an’ be friends…. But it’s fine if ya don’t wanna see him today. An’ if you’d rather go lie down instead of working, that’s fine too.

“N-no… I’d rather work. Don’t really wanna be left alone with my thoughts just yet.”

-

Yancy spent the rest of the morning washing dishes. The work wasn’t ‘busy’ enough to keep his mind distracted, but it was labour-intensive and he could work out his frustration on the crockery. By the time he finished his shift and lunch, he returned to his cell with an idea - he needed to get rid of the White Jaguar model. It had to be the source of the blame.

But just like a blasted boomerang, the clay figure kept returning to him in ridiculous manners throughout the afternoon. Yancy dropped it in the trash on the way outside, only to be tapped on the shoulder by another prisoner who thought it was dropped by mistake. Trying to gift it to anyone in the Gang had them refuse - Bam-Bam had initially accepted, but changed his mind when he held the tiny model and handed it back to Yancy with the excuse that it ‘belonged’ to him. He then hid it in the long grass in the rec yard. When no one immediately found it, he went to the bathroom, returned to his cell… And was greeted with the terrifying sight of the White Jaguar sitting on his pillow, staring at him. Overcome with frustration, he decided to simply break it. He threw it at the wall with all his might. Instead of smashing, it ricocheted off the wall and toppled his radio that had been on his bed, before landing neatly on the pillow. Yancy picked it up, he swore there was a look of smugness on the Jaguar’s face, which reminded him of… Wait.

He could simply return it to Illinois and ask him never to speak to Yancy again. It would solve two problems at once.

---

“Come in!” Illinois’ voice was upbeat as he tidied the classroom after a day of workshops. The guilt from earlier had been put aside in favour of professionalism. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all. However, that professionalism immediately slipped the moment he saw who entered.

“Yancy!” The name was blurted out with relief more than pleasantry. Whatever Illinois had been putting into his briefcase was unceremoniously dumped as he gave Yancy his full attention. “Before you say anything…. I want to apologise for this morning. I made the mistake of not checking with the staff what name you prefer to go by. It was careless of me. I know I upset you, and I am truly sorry. You don’t need to forgive me, as I know it’s something that hurt you… But I just want you to know I didn’t mean to use that name, and I’ll never use it again, Yancy.”

Yancy was dumbfounded. No one who deliberately used that name apologised. They never cared that it made him uncomfortable and upset. Emotions stung him for the second time that day, but polar opposites to the anger that had nearly consumed him in the morning.

“I-I, uh… Thanks. For apologising, I mean. Takes balls to admit youse was wrong ‘bout something. But it means a lot that, y’know, youse said sorry. So… If it’s okay with youse, we can consider it forgiven and forgotten.” Yancy looked ill at ease, but Illinois couldn’t blame him. It would be better to find a new topic to talk about before Yancy decided to swiftly dismiss himself. At that moment, Yancy adjusted his stance, drawing Illinois’ attention to his hand.

“Is that the White Jaguar model I gave you?”

Yancy blinked and looked at his hand like he didn’t know it had existed until that very moment. He opened his mouth, only to snap it shut with a quick shake of his head. When he did speak again, there was the faintest hint of a smile.

“Yeah, uh… Had a few people asking ‘bout it, but I don’t remember shit from that talk so… Is it too late to join one of these class things you is doing?” Yancy mentally slapped himself for doing the opposite of what he had intended, but it wasn’t met with a cocky reaction. Instead, Illinois’ face lit up like the Fourth of July and invited Yancy to the desk so they could check if there was a class that would fit neatly into Yancy’s schedule. There was a hint of awkwardness between them, but Illinois was optimistic that this could be the start of a better chapter for them.

However, he did get a little ahead of himself and winked at Yancy just before the prisoner left. Yancy rolled his eyes, but the dismissive look had a trace of amusement in it as he left. Once the door closed, Illinois found himself staring at it for several long moments.

Okay… Maybe there was a bit of an attraction toward Yancy after all.

[fursasaida]

do you have sources or opinions about the uh. development of the idea of the 'veil between the worlds' stuff and how it relates to how we understand ... space and place? question brought to you by "i just read some fantasy fiction that royally hacked me off"

lmao did you know one of my big “i don’t work on this but i lowkey develop expertise in it as a hobby” things is fairy tales and folklore

Anyway, I don’t know very much about the history of the “veil” thing, but I am given to understand it originated with the Victorians. Google Scholar has been unforthcoming on this point, so while I do not have sources, I do have opinions! My opinions are these:

As previously discussed, most people in most places were not, until recently, of the opinion that the world is made of space and space is the universal extensive backdrop, the dimension in which things happen. Moreover, even if we more or less think the world is made of space semiconsciously and in our uses of language, it's not really how most people think most of the time, even in contexts where space in this sense (as opposed to "room") has been invented/internalized. Instead, the knowledge of the world was and is structured much more around places, routes, and regions (which are just a kind of place distinguished by being part of a larger whole). Places have insides and outsides. They are distinct from one another. (Although, as with regions, they can also nest or overlap; this isn't state territory or administrative boundaries we're talking about. Those are spatial artifacts.) Therefore, in a spaceless world, there is nothing contradictory about believing that there are, simply, places where magic is stronger or where the gods dwell or where time behaves differently, and so forth. Just because things aren't like that here means nothing about whether they're like that there. To be clear: I am not saying people in the past (or who practice such traditions today) had or have no sense of a visible/invisible, mundane/extraordinary, or material/immaterial divide. That, I think, is pretty truly universal, and simply a product of human cognition. We have myths in many cultures about a deep past when knowledge (or ignorance) was perfect and the world was immediate, young, more alive, partly because, for whatever reason, the way we experience reality includes the sense that there are some gaps in it, or a little too much room. ("A mystical experience" is basically--and across many traditions--an experience of the full immediacy we normally don't have.) However, places like Olympus or Tir-na-Nog or the realm of Ereshkigal are, still, places. You may not think you will find yourself in Hades or the land of the ancestors if you fall down a well,* but you can still think it is possible for someone to go there in a non-metaphorical sense. They may need extra steps or divine/magical assistance, but going is still going. You know, like people do in the stories.  And at the same time you can very easily accept that some extraordinary kinds of creatures or spirits really are here in this realm, and that their personalities and behaviors differ from place to place (animism, genius loci, some types of ancestor-honoring practices, etc).

(*Or in other words: to think you will end up in Hades if you fall down a well is actually to think about it spatially, or indeed geologically, as simply being what is found at a certain distance down. Why should Hades/Hell/etc, as a place, be under this well, all wells, any wells, just because it's under the Earth? These places have defined entrances, in the same way that you can walk up to a city wall as much as you like and this means nothing about whether you’ll get in if there’s no gate there.)

So I do think plenty of archaeologists, anthropologists, folklorists, etc. who study this kind of thing and look at the iconography or narratives as "obviously" portraying distinct realms in the sense of dimensions are unwittingly applying their commonsense, spatial sensibility to something that is much more ambiguous--because almost none of them have thought seriously about place as anything other than a location in space. They see a line or a boundary drawn and assume this means two existential dimensions, rather than two places. What now follows is basically the speculative explanation for how we got into this situation. It is based on a lot of things I know for sure, insofar as "for sure" can be known re: intellectual history; but I have not demonstrated a direct link, only surmised it. In Europe--more particularly, to my knowledge, in England, France, and Germany--space in our current sense really starts to get cemented in the 17th century. Notably, at the same time, people suddenly get interested in the scientific question of "the figure of the earth." It had long been known the Earth was round, of course, but suddenly it mattered to people what its precise shape could be. Is it a perfect sphere? An ellipsoid? What kind? What is the precise length of a degree of longitude? Is the Earth longer than it is wide or vice versa? This was the first time that intellectuals in these countries started seriously trying to reconcile the Biblical narrative of the Earth's formation with ~Science. They cared about this for some obvious reasons, like figuring out whether Newton or Descartes was right about the physics of motion, and testing Newton's gravitational theory; and there were practical reasons as well (the modern science of geodesy, which is what you need to make "accurate" maps for consolidating your state and conquering places, and to, say, build a railway, gets born as part of this). But they cared about it for another reason too. Namely: after the Thirty Years' War, there was a real sense of dislocation in Western Europe. This dislocation was religious, political, and social all at once. There was thus a serious need to realign political and social order with the cosmic order, and the Enlightenment and Scientific Revolution are significantly responses to this. Empirical knowledge (especially math) was to be the universal language that would allow people to communicate across differences rather than engaging in bloody warfare (they were quite explicit about this, especially Leibnitz, but if you know to look for it you can read it in Hobbes, Locke, Newton, Descartes...there was a reason they all suddenly got obsessed with reason), and the "Quest for the Figure of the Earth" was part of that. So was the emergence of geology a bit later, as the history of the earth becomes increasingly scientific rather than Biblical; the questions that created geology came out of these initial struggles to conceive of the Earth as a "natural" artifact to be known by science. This matters here because it means a redefinition of what the Earth is and what can happen there that is not just a matter of scientific debate but is fundamentally connected to social and political understandings of the world. In other words, it redefines what “the Earth” is as a place and in its cosmic place. One consequence of the new rational empiricism as a reaction to a war understood as being caused by religious ontological commitments and enthusiasms was a transformation in what counted as real. On the one hand, things that under the old Aristotelian paradigm were treated as real but imperceptible and therefore impossible to study (like magnetism) became newly study-able. In the Newtonian, empirical paradigm, you don't have to be able to say what something is or even what physical qualities it has; only to demonstrate its reliable and reproducible effects. On the other, things not observable in these terms become defined as unreal. At the same time, the shift from an Aristotelian to a Newtonian science is itself, precisely, a shift from a world explained by regions to a world explained by space. "Regions" here means places, but it also means directions like up and down. Aristotelian physics held that substances behaved in certain ways (like smoke rising and rocks falling) because it was in their essential nature to belong in different places. In other words, different areas of the world, as well as different substances, were ontologically different in real ways that had real effects. In modern empiricism, this is not at all the case. The laws of how things behave are universal laws. They are not about belonging, difference, and places/directions that have their own meanings and hierarchy; they are about forces interacting contingently. It's exactly Newton who formulates the idea of "absolute space" as an infinite and homogeneous, but insensible (like magnetism) extent over which things are distributed. Forces’ specific interactions may be locally different, but the forces are translocal and indeed universal, because they happen in the single homogeneous substrate that is space. So all of this percolates through various levels of society and fields of knowledge through the 18th century and into the 19th (and up to today). One effect is the redefinition of ghosts, fairies, elves, and so on as not real. It takes a very long time for this news to really reach everybody, though; I've read accounts of rural peasants in the British Isles and Ireland who still fully believed and practiced fairy lore into the 20th century. You also see some wobbles, like the famous hoax involving fairies and Yeats, in part because new technologies are making new things observable and therefore potentially “real” in the Newtonian terms. Thus Spiritualism, for example, was in many ways a practice of reliably producing observable effects of things that are not themselves observable; its attempt at credibility was pursued in Newtonian terms.

At the same time, after initial big achievements in geodesy, the figure of the earth keeps getting refined, details filled in, and so on. The same thing happens to the underground with geology. It similarly takes a while for this to really settle in; you have older formats like isolaria and cosmographic maps overlapping with properly spatial, cartographic mapping. (An isolarium is a world atlas that doesn't try to put all the pieces together but treats every landmass individually as an island. The islands tend to get filled in with what we would now consider fantastical stuff because the mapping enterprise, with isolaria, was all about places and their different characters; things did not have to be consistent, there was no homogeneous substrate. That fantastical stuff is part of what's called "cosmography.") So by the time you have people studying folklore in the 19th century, in these same countries and others, as part of nationalist projects and what have you, these educated elite types are likely to have accepted the following. 1) We know the shape and nature of the earth--not in every particular, but we know that physical conditions are basically the same everywhere--and 2) what is empirically unobservable is not real; and 3) space is a dimension, it is homogeneous, it is the dimension in which things that exist exist. (Plato is howling somewhere.) To be clear, #1 especially matters here because it means the idea that there might be places where things behave/occur abnormally gets ruled out. Long before the maps had actually been filled in, there were "no blank spaces" on them anymore. (Insofar as they ever did get filled in, that still hadn't happened by the turn of the 20th century. I actually have a personal theory about where the blanks are now, but that's a whole other digression.) Therefore, if you want to collect and make a fuss over stories about unreal beings and events occurring in places where the universal laws of physics and histories of geology do not seem to obtain, you cannot fit these beings, events, and settings into the world in which you understand yourself to live. There is quite literally nowhere to put them. They cannot exist in a physical, geodetic, geologic world of space; they cannot coexist with its elements. Let us now note that in the 19th century we also get the Spiritualist movement, which conjures up lots of ghosts and puts them behind a Veil. Ghosts in this framework are real, but they cannot be here. They can visit, but only by "piercing the veil." I therefore further surmise that, likely without being fully conscious or intentional about it, these folklorists and such had to assume that when people talk about a fairy court, etc., they are talking about another dimension, one different from the spatial dimension that we live in. (This is the same assumption the experts I was dumping on at the beginning make; this is what I mean about a commonsense spatial sensibility.) The language of "the veil" may well be influenced by Spiritualism, or may not; I think the "thin places" and "times when the veil is thinnest" stuff is even more recent than the Victorians, like mid-20th century. But what matters more IMO is that the two moves--what happens to ghosts in Spiritualism and what happens to fairies etc. in folklore--are parallel. They both get kicked out of here, they get made not part of "the world." The world is one place, and what is "not real" has no place in it. So in order to talk about interacting with those things that have no place here in the world, it becomes natural, maybe inevitable, to talk about what separates them from us. You need a barrier to explain why something that exists (if you believe it does) is not visible and testable all the time and everywhere, or to make sense of how other people could believe such a thing exists.

There is a very deep irony to all this, though. In making the world a single place with a single set of conditions and a single set of possibilities for what can happen and what can exist, right, we end up creating this “other realm” where all the other stuff is. In physics there is talk of a “quantum realm” exactly because the conditions, behaviors, objects, and so forth found there seem to behave differently from the “classical realm” of our experience. But "realm” is a very unstable and ambiguous word, not clearly spatial or placial. The irony is that what we have here is, still, in fact a discourse about two places. We just don’t even know that, because our formal thinking has become so spatialized. Thus the nature of the barrier between the two or how it could be possible for conditions to be so different in the “other realm” remains fundamentally mysterious--let alone what “crossing over” could possibly entail. Hence a metaphor like “the veil” becomes important and necessary not just to generate another place to put these unreal things, and not just to explain why these unreal things are not here in the real world/place, but also to paper over the basic absurdity of the whole premise. We have come full circle in that we are still basically talking about there being other places where things are different, but we have made it much more mysterious and confusing than it was (I believe) when it was just accepted that the world contains many places where things may be different.

[unsteals]

❝ were you seriously not going to tell me? ❞   layla’s beginning to wonder exactly how many times she’s been off planet without realizing it. this is the last time she trusts river’s word upfront, about anything that isn’t a direct life or death situation at the very least. 

@timesense​.

[historic-old-guard-lover]

What are your thoughts on the old guards and literacy ( past and present ) ?

I've reblogged some posts here (on why anything goes for literacy in medieval Europe), here (which touches upon oral history), here (a heartwarming take on reading aloud), and here (a humorous take), but I'd love to go in depth for you! As usual, the mega-post with pictures and more detailed explanations is below the cut-off.

TL;DR Summary of Literacy for Each Member:

Lykon: never needed to read or write, probably did neither

Andy: we see her read in the film, but might have only picked up reading in the last few centuries; doesn’t necessarily know how to write but would also be a fairly recent skill*

Quynh: may read or write, but similar to Andy would have been “recent” in the terms of her lifespan*

Yusuf: likely can read and write Arabic before his death, values literacy

Nicolo: total wild-card for either reading or writing, but we see him reading silently in the film so he has learned to read at some point; unclear whether he values it

Booker: very background-dependent for reading and writing, but values literacy as a social status symbol and clearly enjoys books from the film

Nile: can read and write and views it as an essential skill, but likely knows people who are illiterate and understands the socio-economics behind US literacy

*This is based on the fact that they never needed literacy to go about their lives, but they could have learned to read and write by the time that Yusuf and Nicolo die if they enjoyed it.

First off, what is literacy? If you ask someone or google it, chances are you’ll encounter the definition along the lines of “you can read and write.” This is a definition of literacy. The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) defines it as “ability to identify, understand, interpret, create, communicate and compute, using printed and written materials associated with varying contexts.” To summarize academic arguments, “literacy” could mean anything from “is able to read a newspaper” to “understands internet meme language” to “understands the doctor’s write-up after a visit.” For this post, I’ll broadly address the ability to read and the ability to write in an character system since that is what I imagine you are asking.

You can’t have someone read something if you don’t have someone to write in a mutually-intelligible language, so let’s start with the history of writing. The invention of writing has been awarded to Sumerian Cuneiform in ~3,100 BCE in southern Mesopotamia (modern day Iraq and Iran near the Persian Gulf). It was done on clay tablets by trained scribes, primarily for boring things like business and government. Below is a picture of a tablet so you can see what cuneiform looked like. They eventually settled on writing left-to-right and didn’t have any punctuation (not even spaces between words!).

[ID: “Sumerian cuneiform tablet, probably from Erech (Uruk), Mesopotamia, c. 3100–2900 BCE; in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City” from here. The Met attributes it as “administrative account of barley distribution with cylinder seal impression of a male figure, hunting dogs, and boars.”]

Another notable old language is (Old) Egyptian. The first complete sentence dates back to 2690 BCE and was done using hieroglyphs (shown below). This language was used throughout Egypt and Nubia, which translates to modern-day Egypt and Sudan. The language didn’t really pick up, from what archaeologists can tell, until around 2600 BCE where writing starts proliferating...and then is soon replaced with Middle Egyptian. Fun fact: the word “hieroglyphs” comes from the Greeks, but the Egyptians referred to their script as (transliterated) “medu-netjer” or “the god's words” because it was a gift from Thoth (yes, that guy with the falcon head who may also be accredited as Thot).

[ID: picture of a seal impression from the tomb of Seth-Peribsen. It reads “The Ombite (i.e. Set) has given the Two Lands to his son, Dual King Peribsen.”]

Skipping over a few more writing systems developed in the Middle East and surrounding regions, we finally get to the first records of Old Chinese in 1250 BCE with the inscription on oracle bones shown below. From the get-go, there were at least three different scripts of Old Chinese: oracle bone, bronze, and seal. I’ve also added a bronze script so that you can see the differences.

[ID: ox scapula oracle bone from the reign of King Wu Din. The fragments read “ ...divined: in the next ten days there will be no disasters...  (day 40) Zheng divined: in the next ten days there will be no disasters. (day 41) ... cleaved to (day 42) ... fifth month, in Dun...  (day 50) Zheng divined: in the next ten days there will be no disasters. ...   (day 50) Zheng divined: in the next ten days there will be no disasters. Third day, (day 52) ... (day 54) ... The Gui will also have sickness ...” ]

[ID: Rubbing of an engraving found on multiple objects which notes the appointment of a man named Song as supervisor of the storehouses in Chengzhou.]

As you can see, early writing would not have interested the earliest members of the Old Guard. The things that were being written down were things that were important to those governing and those in business. I really don’t think that Lykon, Andy, or Quynh would have cared much about the barely distribution or who’s in charge of the storehouse, and they wouldn’t have been important enough to keep their own oracle on retainer. If we use the timeline I developed for my history of language asks (~8,000BCE - 7,000BCE Horn of Africa Lykon, ~5,000BCE - 4,000BCE Caucauses Andy, and ~3,500BCE - 2,500BCE Southeast Asia Quynh), then they all predate the invention of writing excluding the younger range of Quynh’s possible birth which places her after the invention but still culturally separated from it. Lykon could have died without ever having to learn how to read or write, Andy was old before it was invented let alone became popular, and Quynh is from a time where writing was not common. This is a hot take, but there is a non-zero chance that if Quynh disliked reading/writing and resisted learning it, she could have been locked in the coffin without being solidly literate. Imagine the first language you really have to read after 500 years now that literacy is a requisite for society is French, which doesn’t even sound how it looks (I’m looking at you, silent -ent at the end of most present-tense verbs). Painful.

This brings us to the next question we should answer for these older members: when would reading or writing have become useful and important to them? This is obviously much more difficult to answer. Because of oral history traditions, they wouldn’t need to read for entertainment (that whole concept must be mind-boggling). Because they probably didn’t do much large-scale trade coordination, they wouldn’t need to write for business. I can’t see any of them working for the government. As much as I love the joke about Quynh recognizing wanted posters, that wasn’t a thing until right before the 19th century in Europe. Quite frankly, I don’t think Andy or Quynh has a compelling interest in learning to read until the 1700s at the earliest unless they want to and enjoy the idea of writing (perhaps introduced by the younger immortal couple?).

Yusuf and Nicolo are a different story altogether, as they were both born after the invention of writing had become fairly common (ie. books were a thing and people used them, though they were rare and expensive). A longer and far better post than I could write explains that literacy in medieval Italy was in no way uniform: Nicolo is a total toss-up. He might have only known how to write, only known how to read, done both, or done neither even if he was a monastic priest or even a scribe who copied manuscripts. As a member of a merchant family, this still holds because 1) he might not have been the child raised to take over the business; and 2) you could pay people to do that pesky writing thing for you if it was absolutely necessary.

Yusuf came from a society which valued reading, especially in religious contexts. It’s called the Islamic Golden Age for a reason! Young children were schooled in Arabic and the Quran, though it might have been memorization-based. Older students would be taught to read and possibly to write as well in order to engage in scholarship around their sacred texts. He is from the beginning of the creation and popularity of madrasa (literally just “place of study”) as institutions of learning. He probably had an entire curriculum he studied, like modern schooling. Given that we can all agree that Yusuf comes from a wealthy background, it is a safe assumption that Yusuf can read Arabic and it is probably also safe to assume that he can write in it. I’d say that, if you are writing him as particularly wealthy or scholarly, he is probably even trained in the art of calligraphy (see an example below) which is to say he can write BEAUTIFULLY. The example picture is simply words on paper like we’d expect of a modern book, but calligraphy would be integrated into architecture and pictures. Don’t tempt me to make another post on this beautiful art form.

[ID: Maghrebi script from a 13th-century northern African Quran, thanks to Wikipedia.]

Moving on to 1770s France, literacy was becoming common but still varied with social class (especially before the Revolution) and it’s not clear whether Booker would have learned to read and write. It’s ironic that many areas of the country did not have had more than 40% MEN’S literacy while at the same time the country was considered a hub of the Enlightenment with it’s institutions of higher learning. The North/South cultural divide that I’ve hinted at here and here, shows up in the literacy rates as well. As a Southern sharecropper or laborer, he would be very likely illiterate. As a Southern peasant, we approach a 50/50 chance as he becomes more wealthy. As an artisan (if anyone headcannons this), he most likely is literate though the extent varies with wealth. Whether Booker knows how to read and write before his death is closely linked to class and wealth, but he would value literacy as a major social status signifier and be motivated to learn if he didn’t already.

[ID: four maps depicting “men” and “women” literacy rates for the period of 1686-1690 versus the period of 1786-1790. Adapted from "Reading and Writing: Literacy in France from Calvin to Jules Ferry, 1982."]

This brings us to modern history for Nile. Compulsory schooling for children is present in the US and being illiterate is (unfairly) associated with being unlearned. She was definitely taught to read and write in school, and literacy has been an essential skill throughout her entire life. This doesn’t mean that she is necessarily disrespectful of any illiteracy, because thirty percent of Chicago adults would “benefit” from literacy instruction. Literacy is still tied to class (and thus race) for a lot of Americans, though less strikingly for 1770s France. Nile probably knows some adults in her life who are illiterate or struggle with literacy and would understand that this is tied to socio-economics.

[sserpente]

A/N: Requests from two anons and @cognativeresonance. More smut? More smut. And I think the gif is a spoiler.

Words: 2769 Warnings: ghost!Reader/succubus!Reader, smut

Peace was a treacherous word. At least it was for a spirit. You had been unwilling to accept death—and you had more or less come to terms with staying on Midgard and watching life pass you by when you would still be here once all life was gone.

But just because, according to mortal laws, you were dead, this did not mean you were not alive. Your physical manifestation resembled that of an angel, or a demon. You were not mortal—but you were not immortal either.

For decades, lower species had hunted you down for their sick and ruthless experiments and research, in an attempt to understand themselves, the universe, better. You had fled, times and times, until you found the perfect hiding place. Putting your trust in an Asgardian sorcerer who had done nothing but use you for his own wicked schemes. When you found out about his schemes, he punished you, bounding you to Midgard for all eternity. Now, you had taken refuge in an ancient castle with cold and moist stone walls that screamed history from every dark corner.

Every now and then, humans found this godforsaken and lonely place. Archaeologists, tourists and daring teenagers who had spread the rumours that the castle was haunted. Well, technically… they were not wrong. At least, that kept curious spectators away—most of the time.

Today, it was all different. You were almost grateful… for every now and then, life inside these ancient walls got rather tiring.

They called themselves the Avengers, on a secret mission to save the world. You rolled your eyes upon eavesdropping. This world was beyond saving. They needed a shelter for the night, somewhere safe to stay until dawn.

Still… they had not asked for your permission.

You recognised them; some of them anyway. There was Thor, God of Thunder and firstborn son of Odin Allfather. Ever since the destruction of his home planet, he had settled down on Earth, taking his mischievous brother Loki right with him. Loki. The God of Mischief. You licked your lower lips when you first lay your eyes upon him, unbeknownst to him.

He was tall, thin, yet well-trained and graceful with every movement he made. His hair raven black, his eyes piercing blue and those sharp cheekbones… you had heard about the horrors he had gone through over the last couple of years and you had taken quite the liking into him.

You followed him into one of the smaller chambers they had chosen to reside in for the night, secretly watching him, his body language and mimics. Good thing you were able to pass through walls. Your heart skipped a beat when he began taking off his heavy leather armour, revealing a plain green shirt seemingly made of silk. And when he took that off too, he revealed a pale but well-defined chest, making your mouth water.

You smirked. For Heaven’s sake, you had not had to lay with a man for decades. Unceremoniously, you knocked over the old vase on top of the drawer.

Loki turned on his heel, eyes darting around the room. He could not see you, of course.

“Who is there?” You chuckled. The sound echoed through the room, having him tense up. “Show yourself!” He demanded. Oh… so dominant. You would certainly enjoy having him in your bed.

And how you loved scaring intruders. Admiring his godly body once more with utter amusement, you only just missed the vigorous movement of his hand sending green shimmers of light through the room—until it was too late.

“My… what do we have here?” He purred darkly. His blue eyes locked with yours, knocking all air out of your lungs at once. You had certainly underestimated the God of Mischief. Your lips parted.

He could see you. He could actually see you. When was the last time a man… no, any other living being, had seen you with their own eyes? The thought both excited and scared you at the very same time.

“What a ravishing little ghost.”

Instantly, you frowned, insulted by the term he had used.

“I am a spirit. Not a ghost.”

Loki smirked. He enjoyed eliciting such reactions from you then. “Ah, pardon me. A spirit. So you are not… dead then.”

“No… not really,” You paused. “What spell did you cast? How are you able to see me?”

Loki was smart. A skilled sorcerer with centuries of experience. You should have known better than to provoke him. But then again… feeling his scrutinising blue gaze on you did things to you which you had not felt in so long it felt surreal. Perhaps this had been worth it.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, little spirit?” He was mocking you. He was actually mocking you. Angrily, you knocked over another vase without even laying a hand on it. It clattered to the hard ground, bursting into thousands of pieces and making him chuckle.

“Now since you had the audacity to haunt me like an ordinary ghost, why don’t you start by telling me exactly who you are?”

You snorted. He was the Norse God of Mischief. The more he knew about you, the more he would be able to manipulate and trick you. Besides, he was a stranger. This was personal.

Rolling your eyes at him, you turned on your heel in an attempt to pass through the wall, leaving him behind for good. The moment you collided with the hard and cold stone wall was the first time since your banishment you felt true pain.

What in the nine realms had he done to you?!

“No luck?”

You growled, rubbing your shoulder. Perhaps you should sleep with him and feast on his energy, if anything to wipe that cheeky smirk off his face.

“Who are you?” He asked again, more demanding and stricter this time. The sound of his velvety voice sent, unconsciously, pleasant shivers up and down your spine. You sighed. Somehow, he had bound you to this room. He could not mean to harm you but the threat lingering behind his words was clear.

“(Y/N)… my name is (Y/N).” Loki lifted his chin.

“Are you Midgardian?”

“What? Ew, no… I was born in Anaheim, almost five centuries ago.”

“Then how did you end up on Midgard? If you are not dead, your spirit must have been banished here.”

Hm. He knew what he was talking about then.

“I was, by an Asgardian sorcerer, almost two centuries ago.” The memory was painful. After all this time, the scar the day you had lost your body and became unable to leave this dirty planet, had still not healed.

“Which crime did you commit to deserve such severe punishment?” He probed.

Once again, you glared at him furiously. “Is this an interrogation? This is none of your business, Loki.”

“You know who I am then.” He stated bluntly. He took a step closer, threateningly. Gods, could it be? That you had offended him so gravely with your harmless spooking?

“Let me go.” You suddenly heard yourself whisper. Loki chuckled darkly. He was very well aware his sudden closeness was messing with your mind, sending waves of numbing heat through your body. The urge to grab him and throw him on the bed to ravish him grew with every passing second.

It had been severe punishment indeed. The sorcerer—Armal had been his name—was cruel. With your spirit detached from your physical form despite it never having left your body, you were unable to be seen or touched, your cravings left unsatisfied for all eternity.

Right now, however, in this very moment, your curse appeared like a true blessing. “You cannot touch me.” You hissed. “So stop threatening me.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. Only now did you realise that he was still shirtless.

“Can I not?” He reached out to grab your wrists and instead of passing right through you, his hands wrapped around them firmly. You flinched upon the sudden body contact, the fire that had been extinguished so many centuries ago igniting each and every one of your limbs within the fraction of a second.

“What… what did you do to me?”

“I am a sorcerer, my dear.”

“I…” You croaked out, unable to speak due to the growing desire overwhelming both your body and mind. “I haven’t touched… a… man… in… in decades.”

Loki frowned. He might have been a sorcerer. But when he leaned in even closer, his blue eyes wandering down to your lips, you realised that not even he was immune to your body.

“What are you?” He growled hoarsely.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Defeated by your own lust, you stood on your toes and pressed your lips against his, initiating even more body contact—even more intimate body contact.

Loki breathed in sharply, his hands letting go of your wrists to instead cup your face, taking control of the kiss. He was intoxicated—but so were you as he pulled you towards the bed, flipping you both around so he came to lie on top of you, straddling you and rendering you completely helpless.

He was strong. Much stronger than you, yet all you could think about in this very moment was Loki’s lips on your mouth, your chin, your neck… you gasped when he ripped your clothing off of your body, revealing your breasts to him. They bounced free upon the sudden movement, your nipples hardening both from the chilly temperatures around you and his greedy, hungry gaze on them.

You moaned when he took them into his mouth, one at a time to suckle on them teasingly, almost driving you crazy. Your back was arching, your body preparing to feed on his energy… would you be able to? It was true, you did not know what spell Loki had cast. Surely, he had not ended your banishment and surely, nobody but him was able to touch you right now. Instantly you wondered if he’d find a way to free you—you’d be forever grateful; and if you were just careful enough, you would not murder him during the act.

With but another flick of his wrist, the same green light returned, surrounding both your bodies this time. Only when he pried your legs apart to give himself access to your most intimate parts, you realised that you were both entirely naked.

The direct skin on skin contact made you swoon, your palms sweating with unspent energy, every fibre of your being longing to feast on him.

You were soaking wet when he forced himself between your legs, his hardened length leaking precum as he teased your clit with the tip, making you moan.

“Please…” You croaked hungrily. “Please…” Oh, in the end, all men were fools, driven by their carnal instincts.

Loki smirked smugly, seemingly enjoying your begging. You cried out in bliss when he buried himself inside you to the hilt, relentless and starving for pleasure. His energy built within you, flowing into your body like an ice cold river in spring. Your senses awakened, the world all of a sudden more beautiful, more colourful, more lively.

You dug your fingers into his bare back, leaving marks he would surely be able to feel tomorrow morning. When you opened your eyes to meet his lustful gaze, his own widened. You had almost forgotten they turned yellow, the pupils small black slits like those of a snake when you fed.

“You are a succubus.” He panted out of breath, slight shock swinging in his voice. If he were to pull away now, disgusted, you would never find the strength to keep him inside you. Loki was a god, after all. Much stronger than you.

“Please… please don’t stop now.” And it was true. The moment you had first tasted his sexual energy, your hunger returned like a tidal wave knocking you over and clouding your mind. He felt so incredibly good, both physically and spiritually…

For just the fraction of a second, his eyes flickered with an emotion you could not quite put your finger on. Was it compassion? Pity? The enchantment, in any case, seemed to be broken. He was fully aware now of what he was doing and with whom he was doing it.

You whined when he retreated from your tight heat, hissing in the process but screamed, out of control, when he plunged back inside you, fucking you hard and fast. The room filled with the smell of sex and sounds of skin smacking against skin, paired with both your moans and pants.

You threw your head back. He was so… so delicious. “Oh God…”

“’Oh God’ indeed…” He mused, barely able to contain himself. You had to admit, feeding usually felt as great as experiencing orgasms to you. You did not need them when you slept with men. This time, however… as you felt yourself tripping closer and closer to the edge, your breathing quickening and your heartbeat speeding up, you started to doubt this initial notion.

Loki knew exactly how to move and how to caress your dripping cunt to get you wet for him and welcome his manhood into your awaiting cave. With every powerful thrust he brought you closer to an earth-shattering orgasm threatening to steal away your senses and when you finally fell off the cliff, he was there to catch you. Your eyes returned to their normal colour, your hunger satisfied.

Rhythmically, your walls began clenching around him, milking him for all he was worth and triggering his own release. Loki grunted, wolfishly, as he spurted ropes of his seed deep inside you, making you scream his name in pure ecstasy.

He rutted into you a few more times, helping you ride out your climax until he himself was completely spent, then chuckled in an amused and mischievous manner when your eyes fell shut, exhausted by this wonderful adventure the Norse god had taken you on.

“Thank you…” You mumbled. What for exactly, you did not know. Was it the mind-blowing orgasm? The thirst he had quenched? The intimate body contact you had missed so strongly? You were still joined, his hard cock resting inside of you. He would soften any moment now, right? You should enjoy the sensation for as long as it lasted.

“Oh, my sweet little succubus…” He purred darkly. “You did not think I was done with you already, did you?”

Your eyes widened when he thrust back into you with a start. You had hardly recovered from your first orgasm when he already stirred you straight into the next, working you up even faster this time. One of his hands disappeared down to where your bodies where joined, his long and soft digits sardonically toying with your clit until you were ready to burst into a million pieces yet again.

“Oh… my God… Loki!” Your arms were all over the place, desperate for a safe grip. He pinned them down above your head, forcing you to simply take all the pleasure he was offering you. You screamed when you climaxed again, the sensations even stronger this time. But Loki did not stop. He kept fucking you roughly, hunting his own peak like a predator and never ceasing to make sure you enjoyed yourself as well.

How many more orgasms did he force you into? Was it three? Four? Six? Ten? You had stopped counting after the third time he filled you with his cum. Loki had turned you into a panting mess, all weak from all the bliss and as satisfied as you had never been in your long life.

Limply, you rested your head on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. He did not need to speak out loud what he was thinking—for this truly was an unexpected turn of events. Surely, none of the Avengers had planned anything alike on this mission, especially not for him.

Loki had been intoxicated by your scent, a magical component your body released to seduce your victims easier but in the end, he had been the one who had proved to you what it meant to share the bed with a Norse god. The Norse God of Trickery. Weakly, you smiled to yourself.

“Loki…” You whispered breathlessly. He hummed in response. “Can you help me? Can you help me leave this place?”

His hand came up to stroke your arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps wherever his fingertips brushed over your naked skin.

You could tell he was smiling as well when he replied.

“I most certainly can, (Y/N).”

-

A/N: Damn, I really enjoyed writing this one.

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[synergyeldorado]

Scientists Prove Human Ancestors Drank Milk

Scientists have spent decades studying ancient paintings on cave walls that depict animals being milked in an attempt to find evidence of dairy consumption. They have even found traces of dairy fat in pots. But scientists have never been able to determine if one specific human ate or drank dairy until now.

Modern technology has recently allowed archaeologists to test ancient remains for proteins specific to milk, and they can even tell you which animal the milk came from!

But how? You guessed it. By their teeth! Archaeologists have removed hardened dental plaque, called calculus, from our ancestors' teeth and test it for these proteins. Fortunately for us, many ancient people didn't brush their teeth. Unfortunately for our ancient ancestors, the lack of proper oral care coupled with the sugars naturally present in dairy probably meant a lot of tooth decay and pain. Over time, plaque built up on their teeth and hardened into calculus, locking in the dairy proteins and preserving them for us to find six thousand years later.

A study done at a gravesite in Sudan revealed that goat milk was being ingested over 4,000 years ago. Other studies in Africa have shown that sheep's milk was also consumed, while evidence in Europe suggests our ancient ancestors also farmed cows.

This discovery doesn't just prove that ancient humans drank milk from animals. It also provides a glimpse into the development of farming and dairying as humans transitioned from hunter-gatherers to a more agricultural society.

Studying the evolution of lactose tolerance, scientifically called lactase persistence, we can see how cultural development and genetic adaptations can evolve together.

Generally speaking, the ability to digest dairy disappears as humans approach adulthood. Lactase is the enzyme responsible for allowing the body to digest milk fully. Without it, we show symptoms of lactose intolerance: nausea, bloating, and stomach cramps, to name a few.

However, some populations have developed a genetic mutation called lactase persistence, allowing adults to keep digesting dairy into adulthood. There is one primary mutation in Europeans, but in different populations throughout Africa, there are as many as four! Why? How were ancient Africans able to keep drinking milk when their bodies stopped producing lactase? Scientists now think that ancient African cultures learned that by fermenting milk and creating yogurt, they could eat dairy without the symptoms of lactose intolerance. Little did they know that by fermenting the milk, they were naturally reducing the lactase present, making it easier to digest.

These studies provide a glimpse into not only the history of dairy farming and the evolution of the agricultural society, but it gives insight into the determination of the human spirit, both culturally and genetically, to adapt to a changing environment.

[spacebookettes]

Anomaly

Pompeii

“She’s found another one”

Some of the petrified ash people are kept hidden. The ones with iphone 12s. The Archaeologist kept finding them. One of the other archaeologists plugged his iphone 8 charger into the iphone 12 locked in the grip of an ancient long dead hand. The others turned to look at the archaeologist that keeps finding the ones with iphone 12s. “Should we suggest she works somewhere else. I mean she can’t be putting them there, these iphones haven’t been released yet. The face id won’t work.”

“Maybe she could do some paper work for a bit.”

“what are we supposed to do?”

Carbon dating suggests the iphones are ancient... but still working?

The archaeologist did that funny itchy nose thing and scratched her head. They all turned to face her. Sure enough there it was, when they looked to her feet, the futuristic corner of an iphone 12 and a silent hand.

The archaeologist is young, nothing so bizarre has ever happened to her before. She longed for something to happen before the iphone 12s. She had chosen human history, she felt learning about the lost times would be fascinating. Now all the iphone 12s were the wrong time and all different times. The dates were the future though. Only a few years. The Archaeologist reached down and said Hey Sissy. The phone lit up and the familiar famous voice said calling Dan. The phone rang and rang. Then someone answered. Hello is Dan there the Archaeologist asked. Dan was the name of her partner. Dan answered “where have you been and who’s is this number" the Archaeologist answered she was still in Pompei. “Pompeii"  “why did you run away from me" she asked when?

 “what’s going on?” the Archaeologist didn’t know how to explain. She asked what date is it? Dan answered “24th of August.” It was the 24th of August. The Archaeologist asked what year. “what do you mean what year? 2023 of course.” It isn’t 2023 she thought. But the anniversary of the destruction was today she also thought. How could she explain any of this to Dan. She didn’t have to, the phone went silent, the screen switched off. No power. How could she explain this to the Archaeologists. She didn’t have to; all the iphone 12s rang at once, just once.

“Who were you talking to on that iphone?”

She just looked at them.

“look something is going on here and you are at the centre of it! I do not know what , but i think you need to leave! Who did you speak to on that phone?” she answered Dan.

Part 2

You would think an Archaeologist would like time travel; but this one didn’t. In fact she detested time travel fiction. Though she loved sci-fi. The iphone 12 time travel was not the worst though, she was intrigued. The Archaeologist had kept the number of the outgoing iphone 12 that had rang Dan. She had time to look through the contacts and there in the middle was a giant ME. She rang it, no one answered. It was still the anniversary of the original catastrophe at Pompeii. She waited until the right time and rang the phone again... this time someone answered. They were speaking Latin. She quickly translated yoo ef o. The voice kept repeating it. The phone went silent. So was the Archaeologist.

She rang Dan, but quickly hung up. How could she cope with speaking to the past present Dan now. It was all so mystifying. Somehow she was linked to some phones from the future getting into the hands of an about to be dead people of the past and now (or then) aliens maybe involved. ‘something some aliens did in the past caused iphone 12s to manifest in the past and perhaps caused the eruption at Pompei.’ Saying it all out loud managed to coalesce the tale into something more manageable... fractionally.

I don’t know where to go with this.

The Archaeologist went to the south of France, she just sort of found herself there. Not knowing what to do, the Archaeologist just did anything. She sat in the sun. Had a few drinks and ignored the texts from past present Dan. It actually felt good somehow to have a break from it all; she had no choice anyway: but it felt good. She wished all crises were this pleasant. You can’t  really make a plan in a situation like this she thought; so she didn’t.

Little did the Archaeologist know, but Dan had hired someone to find her.

When she saw Dan the Archaeologist ran away.

To Malta.

Infact the Archaeologist kept running away, she travelled the world. The job kept paying her for some reason, she suspected to keep her away... so she kept away.

The Archaeologist's nose itched and she rubbed her head. She was in south Korea. As she looked at her phone a little banner ad for the new iphone 12.

Should she buy one, would the universe come to an end if she did. ‘you’re not that important.’

The Archaeologist had to wait to buy one, a few weeks. She opened the sleek box took out the white iphone 12. (Swearing She'd orded a black one) Put her sim card inside (she had changed numbers on her travels) turned on the iphone 12 and waited. The Archaeologist didn’t start the phone from backup, a total new start she felt. Nothing.

NOTHING happened, no one rang, no one texted. No one from work had been in contact. She was still getting paid. Nothing. She thanked the aliens and carried on travelling.

2023 the Archaeologist could not resist a visit to Pompeii... she wasn’t going to go; but somehow, without much thought, made her way there. She couldn’t face her colleagues. It was dark as she approached the secured site.  No access possible.

In two days the 24th August.

What happens next.

Nothing for two days then on the morning of the 24th a notification wakes the Archaeologist up. A news article all the team working on Pompei have disappeared. The breaking news of the day spread around the world slowly, without much fuss. Another strange anomaly in these bizarre times.

The Archaeologist rang all her colleague’s numbers, sent texts, asked other’s she knew connected to Pompeii. Nothing. She was still in Italy. No point going anywhere near Pompeii. She texted the number she dare not. The one from the iphone 12 that called Dan. Nothing. She realised at that moment that back then, that iphone 12 had been white and had face unlocked for her allowing her to find it’s number. A text blinked onto her phone. She had sent it to herself. Now she called Dan. Nothing. No answer.  The iphone 12 rang it was her name ringing. She gingerly answered but the phone rang off. A voicemail pinged on screen.

The Archaeologist went on with her travels. She dare not listen to the message left on her phone. She dare not delete it either.

I don’t know where to go.

Home looked different. It had been a few years. She didn’t have much family to miss her. The friends had tried to keep in touch but she had drifted away from them. She'd made sure an aunt had been kept in the know. But she had not told anyone about the iphone 12s. This mystery kept fueling her seclusion. Powered her constant travel. The bizarreness kept her life. She had the excuse of the anomaly to disengage. Or re-engage in this new direction. She didn’t  want to hear the saved voicemail. It might mean she had to re-engage with what ever reality was now. Something had split. Something meant she split from her path. Something happened in Pompeii those years ago. She was supposed to disappear with her colleagues. She was supposed to be petrified. But she was really here. Her own life, she could do anything. She’d been everywhere. She’d  eaten all the yummy food. She’d slept with some yummy people of all the countries of the world. Seen what the bees everywhere look like. Giant black ones were her favourite.  A little disk shape skirted around the sky; it seemed to be searching. She thought perhaps for her. So she turned around and walked in the opposite direction and kept going.

By Peter Stringer

Artificial

Little Winter Beach City, is in not on the coast.

The small artificial sunshine globes dotted around the city have winter beaches (no seas). Its warm sand is warm enough to sunbathe in your trunks. Just don’t wander too far from the globes or you’ll  catch pneumonia. There are winter beach parties of barbecues and Frisbee. Bring your Kindle 400 with holographic cut scenes. NO cocktails for obvious reasons. STRICTLY no drunks for the reason of the disaster the first year made for. So no security.

 

By Peter Stringer

Giant Moths

 The red laser light edges occasionally flicker as though un-serviced. A deep crimson sign glows at all edges and surfaces,  apart from a black silhouette, a moth on one side. It’s an old style sign and sways a little when windy. It isn’t windy right now in the super city. An older lady has seen the sign many times... many times because she keeps visiting this dark part of the super city. The older woman circled this detached ginormous Monumental un-serviced rectangular cubed building.  No signs of life. On a nearby, also detached ginormous monumental, the older lady has attached a small sensor to keep an eye on the tiny door under the moth. Nothing has ever been seen by the older woman through her secret sensor. The door never opens.

The older woman is watching the little screen on her arm as she likes to do from time to time. It flickers for a moment and the lady thought she just caught site of an arm disappearing where the small door is now closed. Older lady played back the footage, there was no arm.

Older lady spent hours searching her archives of moth door footage for any signs of flickers. In fact she ordered the arm screen to search for any moments of flicker. It finds five, she plays them all for signs of arms. Nothing. Someone has duped her she feels. Someone clever. No one had ever circumvented the older ladies technology before. The cloaking device attached to her little scanner on the opposite building, obviously wasn’t enough to fool who ever went into that building.

It is a year before. The older lady had walked past the moth door many times and never given it much thought. One afternoon while snuggling down in bed, the older lady was half dreaming of a lonely butterfly trapped in a box. She woke with a gnawing thought about the moth door.

Now the older lady tapped into the live feed of an orbiting future satellite, she zoomed in to the moth door. And was aghast to see a figure entering the door. The figure stops as the door opens and looks back and upward, looking directly into the viewer of the satellite above. The screen flickers.

The person in the doorway looked biologically male. Slender with a strangely grey complexion. The clothing was none descript. Inside the doorway older lady had noticed a hazel light flickering. The lady felt vulnerable. She remotely destructed the sensor on the opposite building... useless anyway.

Older lady went about her technology business as normal; she no longer walked past the moth doored building. Older lady regularly checked and rechecked her backup systems and channels. No sign of anything. Only the how was gnawing her: she dreamed of butterflies, giant butterflies in the giant cavernously hollow building, the butterflies were tattooed with futuristic circuit geometry. A low hazel light flickered over their scaly bodies. Older ladies subconscious was working on a problem that grew more difficult with each Flicker.

Every non descript male body that passed older ladies path caused moths in her stomach. Non had grey complexions thankfully.

Older lady had, by now, a few ideas about how the flickering and more importantly the satellite perception had been done. Some perception field surrounded the moth building and any nosiness could be automatically tricked. Something about the building it must be. Older lady rummaged in her junk room; a pair of real lens binoculars were retrieved. And from a suitable distance the moth building could be observed. Older lady switched off her augmented eyeballs and had a real look. The moth building looked a rather duller version than an augmented view... but it looked the same as always. Older lady focused the lenses onto one of the flickering red laser building edges. In between flickers she saw all manner of sensor equipment, things she felt were experimental; things she’d  heard stories about and technology she felt looked very illegal. Things imperceptible to an augmented eye due to the flickering laser edges. But old school vision with the help of long distance lenses was a different story. Older lady retreated.

The lady knew that whoever owned that building, was serious.

The end

By Peter Stringer