#Treasure of Aztec

[sparkoflena]

I have a list of highly underrated shows and National Treasure: Edge of History is very high on that list.

The National Treasure movies were an amazing exploration of United States history. The show is that - but focused on Indigenous (North) American history. It is chaotic and explorative of the dynamics of governmental power against history. It is fun and exciting and had me on my toes the whole time.

If you are into:

- National Treasure movies

- Aztec, Mayan, and/or Incan history

- A big mystery

- Puzzles

And so much more, then this movie is for you.

The Catherine Zeta-Jones feature as a primary antagonist in every single episode was absolutely a highly for all those interested. Justin Bertha (Riley Poole from the OG movies) makes a fascinating entrance as well.

But really, it was the primary cast (ESPECIALLY Lisette Olivera who played my girl Jess) that set the tone of the show. It is a show featuring young adults going on adventures, delving into family histories, and I can not say enough about how this show deserved so much more success. Highly recommend. If I had Rich Person money, I would dump so much of it into a second season.

[jeandejard3n]

Pirates of the Caribbena: Aztec Gold

[universalambients]

Mexico, 1856

[kipplay99]

Treasures of Aztec │ สาวถ้ำจะขย้ำเจ้า ➤ ซือย่างโหดถ้าไม่ดีก็เท!!#kipplay99

[mycabinet]

Movie:  Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"THIS IS AZTEC GOLD. ONE OF 882 IDENTICAL PIECES THEY DELIVERED IN A STONE CHEST TO CORTÉS HIMSELF."

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on film stills of the gold pirate medallion as well as being the 882nd and final gold piece of cursed Aztec gold once belonging to Hernan Cortés, from "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" (2003), directed by Gore Verbinski.

BARBOSSA: "You don't know what this is, do ye?"

ELIZABETH: "It's a pirate medallion..."

BARBOSSA: "This is Aztec gold. One of 882 identical pieces they delivered in a stone chest to Cortez himself. Blood money paid to stem the slaughter he wreaked upon them with his armies. But the greed of Cortez was insatiable. So the heathen gods placed upon the gold a terrible curse. Any mortal that removes but a piece from that stone chest shall be punished for eternity."

Source: https://disney.fandom.com/wiki/Treasure_of_Cort%C3%A9s.

[margocooper]

Агератум (лат. Ageratum) "Сокровища ацтеков". Сентябрь 24. Ageratum "Treasures of the Aztecs." September 24.

[hinatastinygiant]

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Y/N, an archaeologist on the hunt for hidden treasures, stumbles upon an ancient map that shows her the way to a pirate's long-lost treasure on a remote island. However, her journey takes an unexpected turn when she's captured by the cursed pirate captain, Bakugou. Forced to work together to break the curse, they navigate traps, fend off rival treasure hunters, and search for the treasure.

Warnings: Language Warning! NSFW (18+) Sexual Content!

one [Fool's Gold]

two [Pirate's Gold]

three [Spanish Gold]

four [Aztec Gold]

five [Desert Gold]

six [Blue Gold]

seven [Lunar Gold] [NSFW]

eight [Solar Gold]

nine [Lost Gold]

ten [Starry Gold]

eleven [Black Hills Gold] [NSFW]

twelve [Eldorado Gold]

thirteen [Sea Gold]

fourteen [Heart of Gold]

fifteen [Gold Blood] [TW: Attempted Suicide]

sixteen [Ancient Gold] [NSFW]

seventeen [Fairytale Gold]

THE END.

I DO NOT OWN MY HERO ACADEMIA OR ITS CHARACTERS. I ONLY OWN THE OC’s.

(Completed November 18, 9:00am est)

Back to Masterlist

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Xolo Dogs

One of the oldest canine breeds, Xoloitzcuintli or Xolo dogs, have been around for more than 4000 years.

Ancient Mesoamerican cultures, like the Aztecs and Maya, treasured them for their spiritual importance because they thought they could fend off bad spirits and bring good fortune.

🎥📷: xochitl_official_

[tassjis]

I want to talk about the Vault Gods and my design process

Each idol was drawn as though they were statues or altar peices, something of worship not necessarily what the gods look like but what the villagers would interpret their looks to be.

First I wanted to ensure that they looked like villagers, or have a villager template. The initial drafts has them with their arms together in a villager pose.

Each design had multiple aspects I gave them, a material, a gem, a minecraft mob, and an item

Idona The Malevolent, kill and sacrifice the marked to appease this god

The idol is designed after cinnabar a toxic red material with high levels of mercury.

Idonas item is the vault hunters altar with reference and designs inspired by Mayan and Aztec sacrificial alters.

They are designed to look like a bat and a Wolf with lots of sharp angles and shapes, with cultish and sacrifical undertones

The eyes are rubies, a gemstone that symbolises life force. They are cut with a 5 point star facet and bezel with means the eyes are also pentacles, there is also a hidden sacrificial knife in the eyes.

They say experience makes you wiser, but is it wise to give it up for treasure? Sacrifice your experience and knowledge to Tenos the Omniscient to be granted treasure beyond your wildest dreams.

Tenos is made of silver or iron, a pure metal that is reflective

Tenos has the enchanting table book, a potion of enchanting and xp balls

They are designed with a lot of softer rounder shapes compared to its counterparts and is based on a polar bear with angelic bird wings to give it a wise and pure vibe.

The eyes are sapphires, with a gemstone meaning of focus and inner vision. Tenos also is the one one to wear a gemstone accessory to give the allusion to a third eye.

Velara The Benevolent, sacrifice your health, sacrifice yourself to appease Velara, only then will you gain the riches

The idol is designed to look like oxidised copper. I wanted Valara to look like an old and ancient god from a forgotten religion, the kind where you find a forgotten statue in a forest overgrown with new life.

The like all the idols, it focuses on a theme relating to what you use to open the altars, so Valaras design is health or in this case life.

Velara has the fern and tall grass as its minecraft item.

Initially designed to be more rabbit like the design ended up becoming vague in animal and more bug like.

The eyes on Valara are emeralds that symbolise rebirth and growth.

Wendarr The Timekeeper, you only have limited time, will you sacrifice some of it to this god for riches?

Wendarr is a brass idol, a very common metal for clocks and timepieces to be made from.

Wendarr is designed to look the most like a villager with wings similar to that of DaVincis flying machine.

Unlike the other gods, Wendarr did not receive a minecraft item as I felt the minecraft clock did not fit the ancient and old aesthetic. Instead, they received an hourglass and an alluded clock face in the background, and some rococo inspired designs in the foreground.

The eyes are made of topaz, which apparently stands for manifesting clarity and astrology?

Anyway that's my thought process and some small details about each God and my designs.

[uncharismatic-fauna]

The Dragon Drags On

Though seldom seen today, dragons, of the genus Draconis, are some of the most famous creatures in the world, known for their size, ferocity, elegance, and supposed love for treasure. Though the exact number of dragon species is unknown, there are at least a dozen that are officially recognized; the real number is likely much higher. Once widespread, the range of this group has declined dramatically in the past centuries and populations are now believed to reside in only the most remote parts of the world. Most of what we know of dragons comes from historical records, and study of live specimens has proved impossible due to their rarity.

Because of their global distribution, dragons display a wide variety of morphological traits, including coloration, features, and even the number of limbs. However, some traits are common to nearly all species. Most dragons are thought to be brightly colored, often red, green, or blue; many species also have gold patterns in some form. As reptiles, dragons are covered in scales, though some also posses feathers or manes. Dragons also have extremely long, flexible tails which in some species may act as a supplementary limb. The body is generally long and serpant like, with the exception of the European Dragon and the mushhushshu, or Babylonian dragon. Though all species share an ability to fly, only the European dragon has a functional set of wings. The mechanics of flight for other species are unknown. The European dragon is also noted for its ability to breathe fire; other species such as the Chinese Dragon, or lóng, are more often associated with water.

All dragon species are believed to be carnivorous, though the content of their diet varies from region to region. Due to their large size, it is believed that they predate upon larger mammals such as cattle, sheep, camels, llama, deer, and even megafauna like elephants. Though they lack natural predators, their consistent targeting of livestock and game animals has in the past led dragons into conflict with humans; centuries of dragon hunting for sport and to protect agricultural interest has pushed the dragon to the brink of extinction.

Very little is known about the breeding habits of dragons. Like most large reptiles, they are believed to be solitary and fiercely territorial. It is also likely that they lay eggs, but whether parents provide any kind of care for their clutch or hatchlings is unknown. To date, no record of juvenile dragons has been found, indicating that the rate of survival to adulthood is extremely low. This may be due to predation on hatchlings by opportunistic animals, or adult dragons may attack and kill juveniles to defend their territory, or a combination of the two.

Although they are extremely rare today, dragons have been and continue to be important part of cultures around the world. Ancient civilizations such as the Aztec, Egyptians, and Mesopotamians all revered dragons as dieties. Many other cultures incorporated dragons into their folklore and mythologies, and in many parts of the world the dragon has come to symbolize power, changes in the seasons, or natural disasters, among other things. In more modern times, dragons have come to be associated with wealth, though there is no biological evidence for treasure-hoarding behavior.

Conservation status: Because no dragon species has been sighted for several centuries, they are largely believed to be extinct; however, the IUCN has yet to make a formal declaration. A few hopeful biologists believe that some species still survive in remote locations such as the deep Amazon rainforest or the mountains of Central Asia.

April Fools! I hope you enjoyed this departure from the usual content. I will be on hiatus until April 9th, as I'll be helping a friend with his field research. In the meantime, feel free to send in questions, commons, requests for a particular animal, or proof-of-donation submissions to help the people of Palestine; I'll respond to them all if I have spare time or when I get back!

Photos

A mosaic of a mushhushshu (Draconis babylonia) on the Ishtar Gate, constructed in the 6th century in Babylon; photo by Jan van der Crabben

A bust of an Amazonian dragon (Draconis quetzalcoatl) carved in 150-200 CE in Teotihuacan; photo via Wikimedia Commons

An illustration of a European Dragon (Draconis europa) from 15th century Italy, by the British Library

A Chinese dragon (Draconis qin) depicted as one of the eleven dragons in a Ming dynasty scroll, via the Smithsonian National Museum of Asian Art

A page from an illuminated manuscript of the Hamzanama, dated to the 16th century, showing a Persian dragon (Draconis mughal) via the Museum of Applied Arts in Vienna

[major-toast]

Rosekiller Microfic - Skull

"Rosiieee", Barty singsongs, stumbling into the back of the shop.

He reeks of alcohol and cheap floral perfum; an afterthought from his most recent visit to the brothel. Saturdays are always his brothel days. Evan doesn't mind. Well, he wouldn't mind hadn't the stench disrupted his work. It is incredibly hard to concentrate now.

"What?" he answers, as always not looking up from his current project. The crow-headed hare is looking at him reproachfully.

Giggling, Barty wraps his arms around Evan, leaning his cheek against the back of the blonde one's head. With a low hum, he starts swaying them both, dancing drunkenly to a tune only he can hear. Evan puts down his instruments.

"I missed you", his fiance mumbles, burying his nose in his hair.

Fiance... The word still sounds strange to Evan.

"I'm sure you did."

"I always miss you!"

"I'm sure you do."

"Hmhm."

Evan circles Barty's wrists, holding onto them.

"Anything you want to tell me? You're only this clingy when you want something."

"Oh, you know me so well." Barty sighs happily. For a moment, he is quiet.

"How good are you at faking bones?" he then asks.

Evan mulls over the question. "It depends."

"Can you fake a skull?"

"Perhaps."

"Good."

Leaving Evan in the middle of the room, Barty saunters over to a worn-out knapsack standing by the door. With a more-than-pleased grin, he fishes around, hauling out a crystalline skull. He holds it out for Evan to see.

An untrained eye would mistake this for a true treasure. Breaking every ray of light into its spectral colours, it shimmers like sunlight during a downpour. However, Evan's eyes are trained.

"It's fake", he says.

"Oh, I know." Barty's grin only gets wider. There is the spark inside his pale blue eyes again. It is always there whenever he has a great new scheme brewing in his mind.

"But the others won't know!", he declares. "So, if I get to fence this off for a decent price, we could make this part of our business. You know, sell 'aztec treasures' to idiots. They'll believe to have found something truly authentic, but will go home with nothing but deformed glass. Brilliant, isn't it?"

Evan rolls his eyes. Leave it to Barty to come up with the most outrageous ways to scam people off their money. He truly is a fascinating bloke.

"Yeah", Evan replies, turning back to his crow-headed hare. "I can make it work."

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader [4]

description: Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment covered in blood for the second time this week with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?

word count: 8.7k

trigger warnings: death of a baby bird (sorry little pigeon you got fridged for the plot), blood, lots of blood on her skin but it’s washed off, Marc is mean, angst ville, talks of a dead body very briefly, Marc thinks about his mother

main masterlist | series masterlist

Marc remembered being young, when he was just Marc, not Marc and Steven. Before his mother was cruel, though that part seemed tainted, as if he couldn’t quite remember a time when she wasn’t. But he remembered being a boy, before the world felt heavy, and his eyes felt tired. He remembered Randall. He missed the boy he was allowed to be when he had Randall.

The day he was no older than ten when they played in the back garden, knees muddy, trainers scuffed, sweat on their backs from the blazing July heat. School was starting soon, and he remembered him and RoRo had been trying cram in as much time together as possible before they’d go back to only seeing each other in the evening when the sun had long since set and they had homework to do.

Randall had pink on his cheeks, having quickly wiped off the sunscreen Wendy had smeared on their faces, Marc felt his own temple burning. But he didn’t care. They were on their greatest adventure yet.

Dr Grant and his faithful assistant, Rosser, were on track to discover a long since lost Aztec artefact, inscribed on it the map leading to a hoard of gold and jewels. To the everyday person the boys were jumping around their yard in search of the spool of kitchen roll Elias had drawn on that morning, and their mother’s intricate and full jewellery box they’d promised to return once they’d ‘found the treasure’.

“Look, Rosser! Another clue!” Dr Grant called out, his small arms already grabbing his brother and near dragging him to a tree hanging low enough for the two of them to climb, “We’re getting close, I can smell it!”

‘Rosser’ tended not to say much when they would play their games, but his giggle was enough to spur Marc on to continue their venture. Marc gave him a boost up for his tiny hands to grab onto the thick branch, ignoring the way the leaves brushed in his face and tickled his nose in the hopes he could spend more time with his brother. Marc followed suit, pulling himself up to stand carefully on the wooden limb, already reaching for the next one. He could still remember the way his hands scratched on the rough, dry bark; the season had been particularly hot and had taken its toll on the wildlife, stripping the wood of its moisture to the core.

“If my calculations are correct, the last clue should be at the top of this mountain!” Marc said, holding his hand out for Randall to grab onto as he pulled him up. He was sure to only go for the branches strong enough to hold the two of them, knowing his brother was afraid of heights. But Randall went along with everything he did, even scaling mountains was no chore too big for Rosser and Dr. Grant. The two of them had been about to reach for the next branch already when they both heard the tiny peeping sounds.

“Marc, what is that?” Six-year-old RoRo asked, his chest puffing in and out from exhaustion having pulled his small body now a good ten feet off the ground.

“No, Randall, it’s Dr Grant, remember?” Young Marc whined, though his ears seemed to catch onto the sound of the chirping too. The boys’ eyes widened as they got louder, Marc carefully stepping on his tip-toes to see a bundle of twigs the next branch up. Sure enough, in between a knot of sprigs and fluff lay three tiny bodies of Sparrow hatchlings.

“By jove, Rosser!” Marc’s imitation of the fake English accent was endearing, but he knew Randall loved it when he got completely into character, “The Rare Amazonian Spotted-Dove! Maybe that’s the next clue.”

It truly had been complete chance that the nest had been so close to their next escapade, but Marc was creative when it came to their games. Randall’s chubby little hands reached up to grab the nest, not completely understanding what the fuss was about, near ready to tip the delicate bundle of twigs over to see the new find.

“Let me see! We’re going to be on the news, Dr Grant!” Randall played along, his digits wrapping around the edge of the nest, causing the birds to squawk in freight.

Marc was quick to pull his brother’s hands off the roost, pulling them away from the flora, “Gentle, Rosser!” He said with a kind chide, watching his brother's excited face descend into a sad pout, “They’re still babies, RoRo. You can’t touch them,” Marc whispered, as if to hide his break in character from their invisible audience.

“Why not? I wouldn’t hurt them,” Randall asked in his sweet young voice, his eyes still pining over the nest that was too far for him to see inside even at this height.

“Because if the Mom bird sees you holding them she’ll abandon them and they’ll die,” Randall’s face was struck with fear, looking up at his brother with glassy, russet eyes, clearly not expecting that answer.

“Why?” He asked in the most horrified of tones. Marc couldn’t help the way he held onto his brother’s hand the moment he heard it, ushering him to start descaling the tree so they could finish their game and go in for dinner.

“Dad said it's their way of making sure they only look after their own babies. If you touch them, the mom and dad bird thinks you’re the new mom and they stop looking after them,” Marc explained the best he could, though even he didn’t fully understand it either, just what Elias had been able to tell him.

“But that's horrible! That’s their babies,” Randall exclaimed, his tiny legs dangling off the bottom branch until he hit the ground with an Oomph. “We’d look after them then, wouldn’t we, Marc?”

“Right you are, Rosser,” Marc perked up with his faux accent, eager to take his little brothers off the birds and the idea of anything bad happening to them, “Good voyagers always protect the vulnerable,” Marc dusted his shorts off, straightening RoRo’s backpack and picking the sprig of leaves out of his hair, “And when danger is near, Dr Grant has no fear!”

Her eyes cracked open at the sound of bread popping out of the toaster, the smell of burning meeting her nose in a tang that had her wincing.

It was then she caught onto the fact she was not in her house at all. Nor was she in a bed the same way she had been the last time she awoke with little recollection of what happened the night before. The pain in her neck was instant, a crick in her back from being sat upright, slumped over and arse numb from hardwood flooring. It was then she felt the collar around her neck, tight enough she knew she had marks where it bit into her skin.

The panic hit her like a freight train, her body jolting forward when she realised she was bound with her arms behind her back, tied to a post with a chain and cuff secured around her neck. Her breathing came out laboured, head whipping around to see who was the perpetrator that had bound her.

She was dragged back to the before. Before she’d escaped to London. Before she’d so much as turned twenty. Before. With him. The before, when she was nothing more than a girlfriend, a puppet on a string, his doll to control. The before she’d spent so long running from.

She missed who she was before. That girl was gone. Dead, like him. Maybe that's why she was so scared, how else does someone react to feeling a ghost draw near?

It wasn’t until her foot scraped loudly on the floor, an odd sort of grain crunching under her boot, that she was snapped out of her reminiscence.

Sand. There was sand on the floor. And beside her was a bed. She was secured to a wooden beam, thick and oaky, a woodsy smell ravaging the room that she would know like her own childhood home.

Steven’s apartment.

She had yet to relent squirming in her binds, her hands tugging at the thick leather, moving enough that she could tell there were another two sets of chains wrapped around her waist and legs, making them heavy to move, the clinks of the metal links meeting her ears much too loud.

The thing that made her stomach churn however, that wasn’t helped whatsoever by the smell of charred bread that overwhelmed her nose, was the smell of metal. A coppery edge that overpowered anything else the moment she took note of it.

Her clothes felt wet, clinging to her skin, the chains, the leather collar biting in her neck the more she squirmed, the whole room collapsing in on her.

She was tied up again. She was back in the house, back in the before. Her wings clipped, her strings tied. Her porcelain cracking.

Why was her top red? A dark red, a brown red, why was it wet? Why did the room smell of corpse, or was that her?

Blood. It was blood. More blood than she’d ever seen in her life. Except that night when-

“Hey! Hey!” She hadn’t realised she’d made a sound until she felt two hands grab her shoulders and she flinched, a bleat of utter terror echoing around the loft style apartment. She hadn’t realised the wood was cracking under her strength until the hands shook her slightly, their words going in one ear and out the other, “Hey, it’s okay! It’s just me-”

Her watery eyes snapped up to meet two hardened brown ones that stared at her in concern. Marc could tell the woman that looked back at him wasn’t fully there, as though she was surfacing from a dream, as if struggling to decipher a nightmare and reality.

“I know you’re confused, it’s okay-”

“Why is there blood- Marc, why is there blood- there’s so much blood, oh god,-” And he couldn’t deny it. He hadn’t wanted to change her clothes when she’d finally worn herself out, it had taken everything out of him to wrestle her to the ground after whatever that thing was inside her body last night took over. He still felt his thigh twinge at the thought of her teeth that were not at all her teeth, that had become long canines the moment she’s turned, the razor sharp kind that sunk into his flesh as Layla and Steven both gave him the signal to get her away from civilian people.

She had practically lunged at him spitting and hissing, yowling as he’d socked her in the jaw and tried knocking her out long enough to bind her. He hated himself for the way he hurt her, but one look into the abyss like eyes told him it wasn’t her. She would never want this, never want to hurt Steven.

He’d had no choice but to chain her up in Steven’s apartment until she came to her senses. He was worried she’d wreck the place, sure, but anything was better than her killing an innocent person who just so happened to cross her warpath.

“Alright, it’s alright, it’s mostly mine and yours,” He’d meant it as a piece of reassurance, but he was quick to realise it was not nearly as pleasant as he’d thought when her face dropped and her eyes widened.

“What?” She whispered, horrified, “What do you mean- what happened? Did the jackal come back? Am I dead- again?”

He watched her for any sign of realisation, that it was in fact her who had done this to them, but he only saw the fear in her wide eyes that implored him to say anything to make her feel okay again.

Marc said nothing for a moment, sighing to himself, his eyes lowering to where she gulped and pulled at the ankle collar Steven used to keep himself from sleepwalking. It had been the only thing he’d been able to use when he’d entered the apartment with her sleeping body in his arms for the second time that week, having to head to his storage locker for the rest of the chains.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll talk,”

She’d been scrubbing her hands for twenty minutes now and the damn blood refused to come from out of her nail beds. The shower had done her good, she’d used Steven’s shampoo and conditioner, and his shower gel that brought her some comfort as she felt he was with her with every breath she drew in. She smelled of him through and through. Missed him, yearned for him, wanted to hear nothing but her name from his lips, feel his arms wrap around her, hold her close.

Marc was not one for affection, she had noted. The two of them were more different than she could have imagined, the accent alone had yet to sink in, but the thing she missed most about Steven was his kind words. His gentle touches. The way he would always know how to make her feel better. Where he was soft, Marc was rough. A tough love kind of guy.

The closest they’d gotten to endearment was when he’d handed her a stack of Steven’s neatly pressed clothes for her to change into, even down to his boxers embarrassingly enough, and taken from her a sodden, blood soaked pile of her own to stick into the washer.

They both knew there was no amount of washing that would get the blood out. Marc put it in for her anyway.

It wasn’t until she was four bites into the toast he had made (burned) for her that she showed any sign of understanding as he talked her through what had happened.

Marc had purposely dodged the part where she had grabbed Steven and had been seconds from ripping his throat out, not wanting to upset her more than she already was. Things came back to her in ripples; fuzzy, distorted, vague. Like de je vu, as if she didn’t remember them until he said it, and even then it seemed almost like recalling a dream. The feeling of slashing and biting, animalistic noises coming from her throat, like she was seeing things through a stranger's eyes. That was not her.

Yet all she could think about was the fact the blood was still settled under her nail beds, no matter how hard she’d scrubbed it, no matter the fact her skin was raw around the keratin, probably bleeding again with where she had been so brutal. She struggled with picking at the site when she was nervous, her fingers were sore already from the assault.

Marc noticed how red they were, the butchered skin ugly and damaged, but said nothing. Said nothing about the blood that clung to her raw skin.

Possibly hers. But also the jackals. Marc’s- Steven’s blood from where she’d taken swipes at him.

She could tell Marc was downplaying the severity of her condition. She could tell by the way embers of guilt lingered in his eyes, concern clouding the corners of his coffee bean gaze, that he tried so desperately to hide with his natural cold stare, that it had been bad.

She could still see the way the shower water had dropped off her in waves of red, rolled over her tainted skin and had still yet to make her feel clean.

“Look, no one got hurt, we made sure of that.” Marc took another stab at reassuring her, the way her eyes glazed over as his spoke, detached from the usual spark of life they had and staring into nothing, “If anything, the way you took out those two jackals, you saved people last night,”

“That wasn’t me,” She mumbled, her gaze falling to her half eaten breakfast. She felt sick to her stomach, felt the barely chewed pieces of bread already churning and making their way back up with every breath. Every flicker of memory that came back to her, none of it making sense.

“Huh?” Marc’s voice was unnaturally soft, as he urged her to repeat herself, not quite catching her quiet words the first time.

“That thing wasn’t me- it wasn’t me that did that, it was Seth, he was in the room before- in the room where we got trapped- when Layla had left and- and Steven had been thrown through the window- and he- I don’t know what he did to me but everythings dark after he touched me- and-”

“Hey, look just breath, okay?” Marc grabbed her wrist, and she hadn’t even realised how fast she had been talking until his hand alone snapped her out of it, and she felt her eyes burning, her lungs crying out for air. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose, head snapping to look at him in the eyes for the first time all day.

Marc noted how cold her skin was. He’d noticed the way her skin looked gaunt, sunken. Sickly. As if Seth festered under her skin within the single day he’d had her.

They looked at one another for a moment, his eye brows curving upwards being the only sign that he wasn’t outright glaring at her.

���It wasn’t me,” She said again once she’d finally caught herself, voice weak and childlike, petrified.

“I know,” He says calmly, letting go of her. She looked at him again as if to check her was telling the truth, that he believed her, and seemed to comfort herself somewhat when she found he did.

As if a switch had flicked in Marc’s expression, he looked back to his own clean hands, clearing his throat and ignoring the way Steven was yelling at him from inside the body to let him talk to her. Telling him to just hug her for Gods’ sakes. Ignoring the way Steven was begging him to comfort her in any way.

“Look, I understand this thing with Seth is rough on you right now, but Harrow got the scarab while we were all trying to fix your… problem,” Marc said simply, and Dove fought the urge to not cry at the way it sounded as though he blamed her. “I’ve got an informant working on getting us a place in Cairo, chances are Layla’s already on her way over there,”

“Cairo?” Her body straightened at the idea of leaving the country unplanned.

“Yeah, Egypt,” She rolled her eyes at his dumb statement, standing to clean her still full breakfast plate.

“I know where Cairo is. I’ll have to call in sick for me and Steven for a couple days,” She said, dumping the cold toast into the bin and turning the tall brass tap on.

“Not Steven. The museum cut him off after the jackal destroyed the toilets,” Marc said, his eyes flicking to the spoon he’d used to eat his cereal, where he saw Steven frowning and pointing at him in the reflection.

“After YOU destroyed the toilets. YOU!” Steven sassed, shaking his head at the way Marc glared back.

“Shit! I can’t believe I forgot!” Suds sprayed up her arms as she spun back to look at Marc, “Steven’s fired? Is he okay? Can I talk to him?” She rushed, knowing Steven would be crushed to lose that job.

Marc sighed, running a hand through his hair tensely, “Steven’s not gonna be around for a while, alright? It’s better for everyone if I deal with Harrow, Steven’s not exactly got the hang of fighting,”

“I could do if you gave me a chance,” Steven snipped, sulking from his perspective in the metal.

“So I can’t see him? For what, a week?” She asked, a frown settling onto her features at the thought of it, “That’s not fair, I want to speak with him, ask him if he’s okay,”

“Look, princess, you’re just going to have to learn how to share, alright? Haven’t you got other friends to talk to?” Her face dropped, and he didn’t realise she’d yet to say anything until it had gone quiet in the small kitchenette.

His nut brown eyes cast up to hers, the sadness he found there slowly steeping into a bitter anger. Surely she couldn’t be so upset over not seeing Steven for a couple of days when they had much more important things to worry about.

That is until it dropped in his head what had gotten her so forlorn.

She had no one else. Just Steven. And now, just him it seemed.

A flutter of guilt washed over Marc’s chest as she put the plate on the side to drip dry and avoided his gaze. Marc couldn’t help but scoff at the fact she seemed to have only him, the same way he had no one else really, no one except Layla and even that whole mess was a dead rose that he’d been meaning to cull when he got enough courage to stop running from her.

And yet he couldn’t escape from the girl in his kitchen. Not when she made it so easy for Steven to stay, made it so easy for her to depend on him. He felt like shaking her silly and telling her to run as far away as she could, tell her he was an explosive waiting for a single wrong step to detonate and that he would take everyone out with him when he did. He wanted to tell her to stay away, leave him alone and never look back. And she knew it too. He could tell she knew he wanted her away, wanted her gone. That no matter how many brief soft glances she had caught, the slightest of kind touches, he wanted nothing more than for her to steer clear of him.

He was a rot, he was a virus and she was the forbidden fruit, young and vibrant and full of life that had already started wilting because of him. Because of his selfish mistakes, and his awful luck, and the disease that followed him long before Konshu and Harrow and any of this mess.

She was a delicate blossom, and he was nothing more than the weed that would choke her, kill her from the inside before she could realise she was in any danger. Because all of this, everything she’d been through the past two days that riddled her face with such malady was all his fault. It was all his fault, all of it.

“Look, just message me the flight details and I’ll meet you there,” She said with a huff, collecting her now red-brown stained clothes from the dryer and fighting the urge to cringe at the sight of the colour. Marc said nothing, what was there to say? He didn’t do comfort, and affection, getting her to take a deep breath was the extent of it. Wendy had taken everything soft out of him before it could bloom into knowing how to love, how to show someone you care.

So he didn’t. He let her leave in silence, staring at her with his cold gaze as she left. With not a single protest falling from his grimacing lips.

He waited until the door was shut before the plate went hurtling towards the wall, the delicate ceramic exploding on impact.

She had gotten all but ten minutes down the street before his (Steven’s) phone buzzed with an incoming call, a picture of the two of them in the museum stockroom lighting up the screen.

Marc huffed with effort, his fingers scratched from where he’d been cleaning up the porcelain chips with his bare hands, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart leapt when he saw her face, worry overcoming him. She was mad. She was angry at him, upset with how he’d spoken to her. And could he blame her? And yet she still called. That meant it was serious.

“Hello?” He accepted the call with an irate tone, just to make her sure how much of a bother to him the action was.

“Marc-c,” She hiccuped, and he could tell she was crying. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel his pulse spike from fear. “Marc, I’ve killed it, it’s dead- oh my god, its neck-”

Fuck.

“What? Where are you?” He asked, already on his feet and heading for his jacket.

“Marc, it’s little neck- fuck what have I done?” Fuck, what had she done? He knew he shouldn't have let her out of his sight, he was supposed to protect civilians not set off a hellhound into the wild with no leash on her bloodthirst.

“Send me your location- it’s gonna be alright-”

“I’m outside,” She sobbed, cutting him off with a low mewl of sadness, “Can you buzz me in?”

Great. Steven’s apartment, which was already a hotbed for Harrow’s followers, was now about to become a crime scene. What the fuck was he about to let through those doors?

This was all on his hands. He had given her over, let a monster take over her soul and use her as he pleased. Killing and maiming included.

Yet he did as she asked, because who else would she go to? The phone cut off as soon as he did, telling him she was likely in the elevator. Sure enough, two minutes later and he heard a forlorn knock at his door.

Taking a deep breath in and preparing himself for whatever it was he was about to see. Gods above what if she’d killed a kid? The thought of it made his stomach churn.

He opened the door with a stoney expression, his eyes immediately finding two bloodshot eyes looking back at him sorrowfully, a small sniff coming from her wet nose before she gave a short mewl.

“Marc, I’m a fucking monster,”

Fuck. Fuck she’d killed someone, gone feral like she’d done last night and he hadn’t been there to stop her because of his stupid pride. This was all his faul-

It was then he realised she was clutching something in her hands. Her hand cupped in front of her, as if keeping a bug from escaping, latched together tightly with something inside.

He looked from her delicate hands to her face, still sniffing and whimpering, eyes huge with fat tears.

She opened her hands, seeing his confused eyes, to show him the damage, awaiting her trial from the man she’d been so angry at she hadn’t been watching where she was walking.

There, in her hands, a frail, near skeletal frame of a pigeon hatchling. It was barely a few days old, its beak too big for its face, its skin dark and ugly, fluff where feathers eventually would be covering its leathery undercoat in patches.

Its wings, if he could even call them that, were bent at awkward angles, its tiny neck snapped in two as if it had been mauled.

“Why are you showing me a dead bird?” Marc said with a cold stare, his voice just as biting. The word ‘dead’ had sent her into another sob by the time he dragged her back into the apartment.

“I was so mad at your stupid arse that I-” She seemed to choke herself with the thought, “I wasn’t watching where I was going- and I” She hiccupped again, “Heard a crunch and-”

She presented him with the tiny victim again, watery eyes never leaving the chick that was quite clearly since passed. Marc huffed, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. He couldn’t catch a break from this girl and her tears. He wished Steven hadn’t gotten so attached to her, that he would be able to just up and leave her in the dust, wished she hadn’t been such a good friend to his alter that she had never gotten so wrapped up in all of this and he could simply tell her to grow up and that shit happens, birds die all the time, that if it was on the sidewalk it was probably already abandoned and she put it out of its misery quickly. He wished he didn’t find it so difficult to be cold to her, that a cloud of guilt didn’t hang over him for the whole thing.

Perhaps that's why he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, or perhaps it was the way Steven was glaring at him from the kitchen sink, waiting for him to tend to the girl as he would if he would just let him have the body. And seeing as that wasn’t going to happen, it was down to Marc to do so.

He felt her semi freeze at the contact, unable to miss the way her skin was cold to touch as it had been all day. “Do you want me to have it?” Marc held out the other of his olive hand’s, his bruised knuckles seemingly fitting as she carefully dropped the bird in his palm. She sniffled under his muscled arm, her hands out infront of her as if to not know what to do now he had the creature.

“Be gentle with it,” She murmured.

Its dead you fucking idiot. I don’t need to be gentle; is what Marc would have snapped, had she been anyone else. Yet the emergence of the words in his sour brain only revolted him. She knew it was dead. She knew it. He didn’t need to tell her, to see her cry harder.

She looked up at him expectantly, and he gave her a barely there nod. ‘I will�� He seemed to say without words.

Letting go of her he went to find an empty shoe box to put the corpse in, knowing he would likely flush the thing as soon as she left.

He heard her run the sink to wash her hands, scrubbing at her already raw nail beds the same way she was when she’d seen the blood. He’d already noticed the way she’d pick at herself, pulling off flesh as if the pain of it was nothing compared to what it was she was feeling inside. He didn’t have the heart to comment on that either, he knew what it was like to have the demon come from within.

“You’ll give it a grave?” She asked, wiping her wet eyes with sore fingers, one of which bleeding once more from her washing. Her eyes looked at him guiltily, imploring him to fix it, fix it Marc. Depollute this awful body of mine that seems to ravage everything it touches, even innocent baby birds, no matter how ugly they were.

He nodded wordlessly again, and she seemed to quieten down for a moment, though she fidgeted in her place as if to not know where to put herself. Marc wasn’t dumb, he knew she was probably waiting for a hug, the fawning and pining that Steven would shower her in by now. He writhed internally, knowing what she expected of him, watching her pitiful frame cowering in on itself, waiting for him to give her something.

“You should probably get going, I’ll bury it later,” He said huskily, his eyes avoiding how she bit her lip to stop herself from crying again. Get out, he was saying nicely, go bother some other depressed man with enough on his plate already. She nodded quietly, turning on her heel to head back towards the door for a second time that day. She felt stupid for coming here, she felt instantly as if he was annoyed at her for bursting back into his apartment in floods of tears, but as he’d already established - she had no one else. No one except a man who hated the sight of her and shared a body with her only friend. She felt even more stupid for expecting anything else from him. Even more angry at herself for taking up so much of his space.

Slouching in his, Steven’s, clothes, she shuffled towards the door, face burning at the way she felt his cold eyes on her back, no doubt ready to lock the door the moment she left to ensure she stopped bothering him.

Maybe it was the way she looked so broken-hearted as she left, or the way she was still sniffling, or the way Steven had gone back to glaring at him through the surface of the bathroom mirror, shaking his head in utter fury that he’d let her go alone when she was so clearly distraught.

Marc sighed, a grunt of annoyance building in his throat as he reached over the back of the sofa for the soft blanket Steven kept for their movie nights. He said her name, her real name not Steven’s sweet nickname for her, and it had her whirling on the spot at the rough edge to his tone. Moving to her with an almost frustrated scowl, he threw the blanket to her stunned figure, heading towards the kitchen cabinet.

“What are you-” She uttered, catching the blanket fluidly and stammering, frozen in her place. Quickly wrapping the blanket around herself, of course she’d noticed how cold she felt, how her body had seemed to die and wither since Seth had taken her. She wouldn’t be surprised if her skin began to rot and discolour any minute now.

“I’m only doing this to get Steven to stop heckling me, understand?” He snipped, pulling out a medical box and producing a box of blue plasters. “You have no idea how infuriating it is to have someone telling you what to do inside your head all day,”

They both froze at his poor choice of words. Of course she knew. She’d spent all morning in a state of shock that Seth had so easily taken over her every movement, puppeteered her as if she was nothing more than a Barbie, and here Marc was complaining as if her being manipulated by the God wasn’t his idea in the first place.

His jaw went slack, the look on his face the guiltiest she’d seen yet. He seemed so caught off guard by his own mouth, bobbing open and closed as if looking for the words to say sorry, a concept clearly unnatural to him.

Maybe it was the way that for the first time he didn’t seem cold and distant, he seemed human in his expression, he seemed so shocked and unlike the stoic face he usually held. It was perhaps the slip of character, and she was sure she’d never see such a face again, but the sight of it made her burst out laughing through watery eyes.

She was sleep deprived, still moneyless from when her date had stolen her purse, likely to be kicked out of her apartment any day now seeing as her rent money was gone, had nothing to eat for the foreseeable future, had an ancient Egyptian God playing house in her body and going on killing sprees, had an entire cult of child murderers looking for the two of them, and yet this was what had made her crack.

“I’m-” Marc started, only to realise she was laughing, genuinely laughing though he pinned some of it was probably just sheer mania from the stress. “Stop laughing at me,” He growled, throwing the plasters into her free hands that peaked out from under the blanket.

“Sorry-I’m sorry-” She cackled again as he huffed and turned around, busying himself inside the fridge, looking for something for her to eat, “I’m sorry- just your face-”

“Shut up or I’m going to Cairo alone,” Marc snapped, though he tried to fight the slight smile that teased at his lips hearing her biting her tongue to hide the giggles, making herself at home on the sofa.

“Steven would never let you,” She muttered, knowing full well he could hear her. His eyes flicked over to her as she started peeling back the paper and applying the plasters to her raw digits, her face concentrated and much less miserable than she had been.

She was right. Steven would never let him. Nor did he think he could leave her with Seth alone if it came to it. She’d burrowed under his skin like a stray dog that had followed him home, wanting nothing more than a companion, someone to bathe in the horridness of reality with.

Marc only hoped she didn’t get too attached when he inevitably drove her away, made her feel as disgusted with him and he was. They were on borrowed time before she was all Steven’s again. And he hated the idea that she was never his, never his friend. That she’d never lust over him. That the only time she’d ever looked at him with such affection in her eyes was when she’d thought he was Steven.

She was not his to enjoy. Which only made him feel all the more selfish for feeling so grateful she’d stayed this time.

English people were simply not made for heat. No matter the amount of sun cream, cool packs or ice lollies they consumed, they were simply not adapted to hot weather.

Egypt was mind-blowingly gorgeous, she would give it that. Marc had let her have the window seat, pretending to not know why she’d made such a fuss about where they sat, but he couldn’t deny seeing her practically vibrating in her seat, nose pressed to the glass to get a better look of the country upon crossing the border, hot air puffing up the tiny glass with her close breath.

“Look, Marc, look!” She said, not drawing her face away, simply reaching out behind her to grab his arm, “The sea, it's so blue,” And it was. The royalest shades of cobalt lapped at the beachy shore surrounded by archaic buildings that seemed revamped for modern life. The entire city was a buzz of activity, only made more enticing to watch by the vibrant colours that ran through it as well. A pier plunged out from the beachfront, its canopy providing chunks of new hues among the lapis blue water; cloth of cardinal red, canary yellow, aubergine purple covering citizens from the harsh weather. The lush greenery that covered the earth where roads and buildings had yet to trample over it was a sight to behold in itself, the grass only getting darker and thicker the closer to Cairo they got.

“That’s Alexandria,” Marc said, as she drew back from the window to look at him with wide, excited eyes, “Named-”

“Named after Alexander the Great in 331BC after he liberated them from the Persians,” She cut him off, eyes guilty when she realised through her history fogged brain that he had been about to speak. She would have apologised had he not given her a small nod, and had she not seen the tiniest of amusement in his eyes, “Sorry. You don’t work at a museum and study Ancient Languages and not get excited by this stuff,”

“Ancient Languages?” Marc asked, for once not a tone of annoyance or disgruntled coldness. Since the incident with the bird (which Marc did in fact bury, only it was in the park near his house since he didn’t have the heart to remind her he didn’t have a garden) he seemed more patient with her. Less outright mean every time they spoke or so much as looked at one another. She pinned it down to being pitiful for her big, naive heart and tendency to get upset by the smallest things like dead birds. She pinned it down to sorrow, real women didn’t cry like a child over something like that. Birds fall out of their nests all the time, she was the only one immature enough to blubber over it. “I see why he likes you so much,”

Her ears perked at that. “Steven?” She asked, in a practised innocent voice as if she wasn’t desperate for more information immediately.

Marc laughed, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, “Yes, Steven. Who else?”

“He likes me?” She asked, secretly hoping the optimism wasn’t shining in her eyes like the sun reflecting off the waves below them. It was.

Marc caught the girlish, excitable glee in her face at the sound of his alter’s name. It was obvious how smitten she was with Steven. He had seen it even before he knew her, before he had messed up his alter’s life. Messed up hers. The two of them were skipping around the feelings they so undeniably had for one another. Even Layla had seen it the second she met her, the puppy dog look she got in her eyes when she saw Steven so happy to see her, the gentle touch his rough hands held her with, the way the two seemed to gravitate around one another as if moved by an orbit of their own, joined by atoms no one else seemed to have.

But Marc knew it wasn’t his place to interfere, knew Steven would be so angry beyond belief if he was the one to tell her how he felt. And besides, he was sure they would have time to figure it all out without him in the way when he handed the body over to Steven for good, when he could watch them be bumbling idiots once more from inside the body.

“You’re his best friend. Of course he likes you,” Marc recovered his slip up smoothly, only feeling half guilty when her face visibly dropped and her chest deflated.

“Oh, right.” She said, straightening herself back into her chair, the elation dissipating from her face. How could she have been so dumb to think otherwise?

Marc knew he should say something, knew he should try and comfort her in some way but he didn’t know how. Which was how he felt about her most of the time anyway, unable to escape even now the thought that she’d much prefer it if he were just Steven. Not Steven and Marc. Steven would have known what to say.

“You alri-”

“Where’s this friend of yours meeting us?” She cut him off for a second time, her attention back on the window, her eyes scanning over the Mediterranean sea as it blended into the land, Alexandria slowly becoming Cairo.

Marc could have laughed and yelled at the same time. The only time he’d bucked up the courage to extend a hand of friendship to her she cut him off unknowingly.

“He’s not, he’s booked us a car to use and a hotel room to share,”

Share would be an understatement. It had been two days since they had checked in, only to discover Marc’s friend had wildly gotten the wrong end of the stick when Marc had asked for a room for two. One queen sized bed, a fancy ensuite and a tiny balcony later, Marc had been pacing the room, pissed, as he hung up the phone with the hotel lobby.

“They said the double rooms are fully booked, and unless you got enough cash for two singles, we're sharing.” He huffed, throwing his phone onto the bed where she sat, eyes wide and looking up at him with an innocence that had his heart jump into his throat.

She had got to stop looking like that if he had any chance of leaving her for Steven to have entirely to himself.

She shrugged, looking behind her at the huge, luxurious bed, much bigger than the double she had at home and made with the softest Egyptian cotton sheets she’d ever felt. “I don’t mind sharing. I’ve slept at Steven’s before,”

“He took the sofa, remember? Sharing a bed is a whole other thing,” Marc dismissed, moving to grab one of the pillows and move it to the red loveseat in the corner of the room.

“You were there?” She asked, her face pulling into a shy smile as he tossed her a look over his shoulder.

“Huh?” The agitated frown was back, one that had been missing the entirety of the way there.

“You could see me, see what we were doing?” She asked again with a bashful pull at her lips. She found it odd the idea of an outsider watching in on the time she spent with Steven, as though she were entirely herself with Steven in a way she wasn’t with Marc. Yet from that spiralled another thought, she was herself with Marc in a way she wouldn’t allow in front of Steven; vulnerable, emotional, scared. She would never let Steven know any of those things, knowing how much he worried over her. She hadn’t even told him about getting robbed by her date yet, conscious of how much he would fret.

Yet she had let Marc tend to her that first time they met in the museum, when she was bleeding out onto the beautifully polished marble. She had begged him to not leave her the day she’d woken up to find herself rather dead. She had let him console her when she’d arisen tied up in his apartment. Let him wash her clothes, make her breakfast. He’d been the first person she’d called when she’d found the bird.

She felt safe with both of them in entirely different ways. Safe knowing Steven was always there to cheer her up, to dote on her over every tiny thing she did. He was always bringing her little keepsakes that had made him think of her, bringing her the cinnamon rolls she liked from the bakery on his street on the days he knew she was running late and would have gone without food. Always walking her to her train stop even though it was entirely out of his way. Making sure she was having enough breaks at work, eating her full lunch. He remembered everything she ever told him, even the time she’d mentioned the anniversary date of her dog’s passing, he'd remembered it to the very day and given her a sympathy card and a bunch of flowers. Her favourites of course, that too had only been brought up once.

She felt loved by Steven, felt safe and cared for in a way she knew was beyond friendship. Yet she could only hope and imagine what anything more than being loved like this felt like. What kissing him, touching him in a way that went beyond what they had would feel like.

And to have such a raw feeling for someone spectated on turned her stomach oddly. She thought she’d feel more intruded on than anything, but she simply felt indifferent. It was only Marc afterall.

“It’s like I’m watching a movie, kind of. It’s more like I’m watching over his shoulder but I can’t do anything to stop him unless I really try to take the body,” He explained, though the way his shoulders tensed up had her guessing he didn’t like to talk too much about it. Marc seemed the anal type to want control over his life, and to have someone take the reins in front of him sounded torturous.

“Is he here now?” She asked, her eyes lighting up at the thought of seeing him again, “Can he hear me?”

Marc fought the urge to grunt in annoyance (that was entirely annoyance, and not at all jealousy) at her eagerness to see Steven. “Not right now,” She slumped for the second time that day, “From what I understand, we can either be co-conscious which is when he can hear and talk to me or he can just go away if he wants to. Go quiet, make it so I can’t feel if he’s watching me,”

“Huh,” She said with an intrigued look, “Well, it must be nice to never be lonely, I guess,”

Marc was ready to snark something back about how Steven was possibly the biggest pain in the ass when he was spouting off nonsense inside the headspace, how he had still yet to stop fawning over the way she looked, filling Marc’s head with a mix of his own thoughts as well as Steven’s running commentary about how her every movement made her “something out of the films, you know, like one of those actresses on the big screens, like MariIyn Monroe or Elizabeth Taylor, but entirely in her own way better, you know what I mean, Marc?”

It drove him insane, and he was glad Steven had taken a stand of silence for whatever reason, and left him to at least have a few days to himself.

Of course that hadn’t stopped Marc from noticing just how softly beautiful she was, but he was glad of the silence nonetheless.

And happy to have her to himself, but that was by the by.

He stopped himself from snapping at her that the reality of having someone in your head 24/7 talking to you and nagging your every move was a thousand percent more frustrating than being lonely, but then he guessed he’d felt lonely his whole life; grown used to feeling alone. Trying to protect Steven from the awful reality of what happened to him as a child, keep him from knowing what a failure he actually was, what a curse this body was, to know someone and never being seen in return. He realised it was lonely, and lonely was draining.

And he watched her eyes soften, a sadness shining through them, not intentionally but a glimpse of her soul Marc had never seen from her, as if she truly envied having someone there for him at all times. And Marc realised maybe having Steven wasn’t the worst thing to have. He could be entirely alone with his own mind, his own thoughts. He could have been entirely alone throughout his childhood, entirely alone with Wendy and her cruel hands.

Steven was annoying most days, but Steven was needed.

“I guess,” He muttered, turning back to setting up his bed on the plush sofa that he already knew would murder his back. Sighing, and fighting back his usual moody tone, he chanced a look at her, only to find she was already staring at him. It made his stomach turn to know she watched him when he didn’t know, “You know, you’re not alone, right?”

Her face hardened, eyes flicking away from his in a way that screamed she felt caught in an inner turmoil, surprised that Marc had seemed to almost read her mind, “I never said I was alone,”

Marc rolled his eyes at her pushback, wishing she wouldn’t make it so difficult for him to be kind for once, “I know that but,” He chewed over his words, “You’re not alone, you got that?” He sounded annoyed despite the fact he’d tried to rein in his demeanour, “You have Steven, and me,” Her expression faltered at that, and he was sure to turn back to rearranging the sofa cushions before she could give him anything more to admire about her. “And, you’know, Layla’s got your back through all this too, so you know. You’re all set really,” He cleared his throat, a few beats of silence. He thought that would be the end of it, that she would simply move onto something else.

He heard her stand off the bed, not thinking much of the movement other than the soft sound of her sock-feet crossing the hotel room. He froze when he felt two arms wrap around his middle from behind him, her face burying into his spine.

“What are you-”

“Don’t ruin it,” She said, her voice muffled by his body, her hands tightening around his toned waist as if worried he would pull away, “Just let me-” She nuzzled closer into his beefy back, taking a deep breath of his scent, “Thankyou,” The woman mumbled, but he still heard it.

Two large hands came to rest over her forearms that squoze his midriff, letting the girl soak into him, lean on him, take all of him in entirely in a way he’d craved from someone for so long.

Not hugging Steven. Hugging him. His friend. His Dove, too.

Marc said nothing, a small smile pulled at his lips that felt almost foreign on his permanently bitter face.

His Dove, too.

Tag lists:

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets s @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra–mae @lou-la-lou

MCU:

@blackcat420

[whencyclopedia]

The Silver of the Conquistadors

The Spanish conquistadors might have gained a lasting reputation as the great gold-seekers of history, but they were actually far more successful in acquiring silver. Over 100 tons of gold were extracted from the Americas from 1492 to 1560, but the quantity of silver ultimately shipped in the treasure fleets back to Spain dwarfed that figure. By 1600, 25,000 tons of silver had been transported to Spain.

The process of acquiring silver had two phases. First, the conquistadors stole whatever they came across of value, kidnapping and torturing anyone they thought had knowledge of the whereabouts of valuables. The second phase was to investigate the source of the metal, that is to find and expand through forced labour the silver mines American rulers had themselves been exploiting. Mines like Potosí in Bolivia proved to be so lucrative that silver soon far outstripped gold as the most valuable cargo of the Spanish treasure fleets that shipped the resources of the Americas to Europe.

Properties & Supply

Silver was esteemed by many ancient cultures because of its relative softness, which made it easy to work by metalsmiths, and the fact that when polished it gains a lustrous shine. Silver was mined in ancient Mesoamerica and South America and was much valued by the Aztecs, Incas, Moche, Wari, Lambayeque, and Chimu cultures, amongst others.

The Spanish conquistadors arrived in the Americas in the final decade of the 15th century, and they were most interested in finding gold since it was much more valuable than silver – 1 oz of gold bought 11 oz of silver in Amsterdam in the 16th century. Silver was a good second prize, though. The early conquistadors plundered whatever artefacts they could of silver and melted them down to create coinage and bullion bars for ease of transport and sharing out between them. Indigenous people were mercilessly robbed, captured, and tortured to find out where their silver and other valuables were hidden. Countless works of art, often of high religious significance to the indigenous peoples, were lost forever in this ruthless quest for cash. When the silver items ran out, the conquistadors turned their attention to the source: the mines. These they found and further exploited while new mines were also located. Eventually, thanks to the massive yields of the silver mines in Mexico and Bolivia, it was silver and not gold that dominated the meticulously kept pages of Spanish colonial accountants. By 1540, silver made up over 85% of annual precious metal shipments to Spain.

Continue reading...

[soob1nn]

MY FILMS - ADULT FAME DR

REMINDER! I haven’t shifted yet, so all these is just my imagination 🤍

masterlist - main masterlist

Films are a powerful medium of storytelling and artistic expression. Combining visual, auditory, and narrative elements, films captivate audiences, transporting them to diverse worlds, evoking emotions, and sparking thought. From silent classics to cutting-edge blockbusters, the world of cinema has evolved, reflecting societal changes and pushing creative boundaries. Whether it's the magic of a well-crafted screenplay, the mesmerizing performances of actors, or the technical brilliance behind the scenes, films continue to be a dynamic and influential form of entertainment and cultural expression.

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN

The "Pirates of the Caribbean" saga is a cinematic adventure like no other, immersing audiences in a world of high-seas exploits, swashbuckling action, and supernatural wonders. This beloved franchise, brought to life by the charismatic Captain Jack Sparrow, has left an indelible mark on the world of cinema.

What sets the "Pirates of the Caribbean" saga apart is its perfect fusion of thrilling action and cleverly woven mythology. From the very first installment, "The Curse of the Black Pearl," to subsequent sequels, the films have taken viewers on a journey filled with cursed treasures, mythical creatures, and, of course, eccentric pirates.

At the heart of the saga is the enigmatic Captain Jack Sparrow, portrayed brilliantly by Johnny Depp. Jack's witty charm, unpredictable antics, and ever-present quest for rum have made him an iconic character in cinematic history.

The franchise's success also lies in its ability to seamlessly blend history and fantasy. The Caribbean settings, the pirate code, and the age of exploration provide a historically rich backdrop for the fantastical elements like cursed Aztec gold, undead sailors, and mermaids.

Each film in the series has introduced new characters and expanded upon the lore, creating a vast and interconnected narrative that keeps fans eagerly awaiting the next installment.

With unforgettable moments, memorable quotes, and a score that resonates long after the credits roll, the "Pirates of the Caribbean" saga has carved its place as a beloved classic. It's a thrilling voyage into the world of pirates, where legends, curses, and epic battles reign, making it a timeless adventure that continues to captivate audiences of all ages.

BEAUTY OF THE BEAST

"Beauty and the Beast," in its live-action adaptation, breathes new life into a timeless tale that has enchanted generations. This magical film takes the beloved animated classic and transforms it into a visually stunning and emotionally captivating experience.

Set in a picturesque French village, the story follows the intelligent and kind-hearted Belle, brilliantly portrayed by Emma Watson, who longs for more than the provincial life she leads. When her father becomes a prisoner in the enchanted castle of the Beast, played by Dan Stevens, Belle courageously takes his place, embarking on a journey of discovery, love, and the power of inner beauty.

With its stunning visual effects, lavish costumes, and memorable musical score, the live-action "Beauty and the Beast" faithfully pays homage to the original while adding depth to its characters and narrative. The film not only celebrates the power of love but also explores themes of tolerance, acceptance, and the beauty that lies within.

This enchanting adaptation is a cinematic masterpiece that captures the hearts of both long-time fans and new audiences, reaffirming the enduring power of this classic tale as old as time. "Beauty and the Beast" in its live-action form invites us to be their guest in a world where magic and love flourish, reminding us that beauty truly comes from within.

LITTLE WOMEN

"Little Women" stands as a cinematic jewel, capturing the timeless essence of Louisa May Alcott's literary masterpiece. This film adaptation, directed by Greta Gerwig, breathes new life into the beloved narrative of the March sisters, presenting a fresh and poignant take on sisterhood, ambition, and the pursuit of one's dreams.

Set against the backdrop of the American Civil War, "Little Women" unfolds the lives of the four March sisters—Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy—each with distinctive personalities and aspirations. The film gracefully weaves between the past and present, allowing audiences to witness the joys and challenges of the sisters as they navigate the trials of womanhood, love, and societal expectations.

With an all-star cast featuring Winter Reed Jackman, Emma Watson, Florence Pugh, and Eliza Scanlen as the March sisters, and an exceptional performance by Timothée Chalamet as Laurie, the film brings these iconic characters to life with depth and authenticity.

Greta Gerwig's directorial prowess shines through as she infuses "Little Women" with a contemporary spirit, resonating with modern audiences while maintaining the timeless charm of the original story. The film is a celebration of the strength, resilience, and individuality of women, urging viewers to embrace their ambitions and forge their paths.

"Little Women" is a poignant and visually captivating cinematic journey that captures the spirit of sisterhood and the pursuit of one's aspirations. It invites audiences to revisit the cherished tale with fresh eyes, offering a profound and emotionally resonant experience for both new and devoted fans of this literary classic.

KNIVES OUT

"Knives Out" is a modern masterpiece in the realm of whodunits, a brilliantly crafted film that masterfully blends mystery, humor, and a star-studded ensemble cast. Directed by Rian Johnson, this murder-mystery film takes audiences on a rollercoaster ride of suspense, twists, and dark humor.

The story centers around the death of wealthy crime novelist Harlan Thrombey, portrayed by Christopher Plummer. When renowned detective Benoit Blanc, played by Daniel Craig, is enlisted to investigate, the Thrombey family becomes the focal point of scrutiny. With each member harboring secrets and motives, the plot thickens, and the suspense escalates.

"Knives Out" boasts a stellar cast including Daniel Craig, Winter Reed Jackman, Chris Evans, Jamie Lee Curtis, and more, each delivering standout performances that contribute to the film's gripping atmosphere. The narrative is cleverly layered, keeping viewers on the edge of their seats as they attempt to unravel the intricate web of deception and motive.

Beyond its gripping storyline, "Knives Out" is a sharp and satirical take on family dynamics, privilege, and the consequences of wealth. Rian Johnson's expert direction and sharp dialogue elevate the film, making it a delightful homage to classic whodunits while infusing it with a contemporary edge.

This cinematic gem not only keeps the audience guessing until the very end but also provides a fresh and entertaining perspective on the murder mystery genre. "Knives Out" is a clever and stylish film that engages the mind, tickles the funny bone, and ultimately leaves a lasting impression, establishing itself as a standout in the pantheon of modern cinema.

TOP GUN: MAVERICK

"Top Gun: Maverick" is a highly anticipated sequel that soars into the iconic world of fighter jets and high-stakes aerial combat. Directed by Joseph Kosinski and starring Tom Cruise reprising his role as Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, this film is a thrilling continuation of the 1986 classic, "Top Gun."

Set decades after the events of the original film, Captain Maverick finds himself adapting to a new era of aerial warfare dominated by drone technology. As he mentors a new generation of Top Gun graduates, the film promises heart-pounding dogfights, cutting-edge aviation sequences, and a nostalgic nod to the beloved elements that made the first film an enduring favorite.

"Top Gun: Maverick" not only reintroduces fans to the adrenaline-fueled world of fighter pilots but also introduces fresh faces played by actors like Miles Teller and Winter Reed Jackman. With its combination of high-octane action and character-driven storytelling, the film aims to capture the spirit of the original while propelling the narrative into uncharted skies.

As Maverick confronts his past and embraces the challenges of the future, the film offers a blend of nostalgia and innovation, promising an exhilarating cinematic experience for both longtime fans and a new generation of moviegoers. "Top Gun: Maverick" is poised to be a blockbuster that reignites the Maverick legend while delivering a visual spectacle that takes the iconic franchise to new heights.

THE SEVEN HUSBANDS OF EVELYN HUGO

"The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo" unfolds on the silver screen as a spellbinding cinematic journey through the glitz and glamour of Hollywood's Golden Age. Adapted from Taylor Jenkins Reid's compelling novel, this film invites audiences into the captivating life story of Evelyn Hugo, a legendary film actress portrayed with brilliance and nuance.

In the film, we follow Evelyn's journey through the decades, beautifully capturing the essence of old Hollywood. The glamorous sets, meticulously crafted costumes, and evocative cinematography transport viewers to a bygone era where stars shone brightly on and off the screen.

As the narrative unfolds, the complexities of Evelyn’s seven marriages come to life, each husband portrayed by a stellar cast that adds depth to the character-driven drama. The film navigates the twists and turns of Evelyn’s life, revealing secrets, scandals, and the sacrifices made in the pursuit of fame and love.

The storytelling prowess of Taylor Jenkins Reid is masterfully translated to the screen, with Evelyn's compelling voice narrating her journey. The film seamlessly weaves together themes of identity, love, and the price of success, creating an emotional tapestry that resonates with audiences.

While exploring the intricacies of Evelyn's life, the film introduces Monique Grant, the journalist chosen by Evelyn to tell her story. Monique's personal journey becomes an integral part of the cinematic narrative, adding layers of depth and connection to the overarching tale.

"The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo" on the big screen is more than a glamorous expose of Hollywood excess; it's a poignant exploration of the human experience. The film's rich storytelling, combined with outstanding performances and lush visuals, elevates it beyond a mere adaptation, making it a cinematic triumph that lingers in the hearts of viewers long after the final credits roll.

[sun-e-chips]

📝I remember listening to this questioner (credit I believe goes to The New York Times) on the Distractible podcast and I thought it would actually be a pretty cool way to really get in the mind of your characters (as well as for others to learn something new about them:)

Pick a number and one of my Waterspark Bay boys (Aztec Sun or Polynesian Moon) and I’ll try to answer them :D

(Pls also feel free to reblog and use this!)

…

1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

2. Would you like to be famous? In what way?

3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

4. What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?

5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.

9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?

14. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?

15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

16. What do you value most in a friendship?

17. What is your most treasured memory?

18. What is your most terrible memory?

19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?

20. What does friendship mean to you?

21. What roles do love and affection play in your life?

22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.

23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?

24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?

25. Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling ... “

26. Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... “

27. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.

28. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.

29. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.

30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?

31. Tell your partner something that you like about them already.

32. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?

33. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?

34. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?

35. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?

36. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.