#six hundred lives at stake. the town.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

'six hundred lives at stake, it's just one life to take, and when we kill him, then our journey's over...no dying on me now, defeat is not allowed, we must live through this day, so fight, fight, fight!' < fordcore, weirdmaggedon edition

(song is 'survive' from epic: the musical)

[livingformintyoongi]

When The Lights Go Out | Min Yoongi

a/n: I wanted so badly to write something horror and this idea popped into my head and I needed to post it :( my initial idea had been to make it an interactive story, but I'm still not sure whether to do that or not.

summary: Your boss -with whom you had been working for more than seven years- had given you the job of going to check out one of his most recent projects, a large house on the outskirts of a rather quiet town that was quite far from the city.

It wasn't until you spent the first week staying at the house that you realized something important. From dead animals, to the shadow of a badly wounded young woman screaming at your window in the early morning hours, every single thing that happened during your stay there was screaming at you to leave, warning you about what your future would be.

It had taken you a long time to realize that, much to your disgrace, you had no escape. You were trapped in that place, and it was no longer just your job that was at stake, after all, how could you work when you were dead?

warnings: the respective warnings of each chapter will be added as appropriate. They may touch on sensitive topics, so please read them carefully.

wc: ???

taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss

You checked the clock on your phone screen for the third time. It was barely six o'clock in the evening and the sky was already beginning to darken. You weren't sure if it was because of the time or simply because of the lack of streetlights in the neighborhood, if that's what you could call it. The last house you had seen you had passed about ten minutes ago by car.

You let a sigh escape your lips, feeling a little calmer as you watched a large house grow larger and larger. It had taken you almost eight hours to get from your apartment to here, your feet felt cramped and your eyes felt heavy.

Soon after you left your car parked near the entrance. You got out of the car, making sure to lock the doors. You couldn't help but grimace at how terribly disastrous the state of the house was, not even a rat could live in such a neglected place. Or maybe it could, you weren't too sure about the lifestyle of rats.

You took a quick look around. On your right hand side was a lush forest that, to the naked eye, seemed to extend much further than you could imagine. You made a mental note just then, dead before you entered that forest, your sense of direction was too poor to be able to get out of there. On the other side, a little further from the manor house was another kind of hut; this one was a little smaller than the one in front of you, but it still seemed to have enough space to house a family of at least four people. Due to the darkness you could not distinguish much more clearly the state of that hut, but what you were absolutely sure of was that there were people living in it. You could see the lights coming from one of the second floor windows.

Before entering the house, you caught a glimpse out of the corner of your eye of a man coming out of the cabin. You weren't a hundred percent sure, but you could have sworn he turned to look at you once outside.

You had spent the last forty-seven minutes tidying up some of your things and doing a complete check of the house. To your great surprise, the lights were still working, something that eased the burden of the work you would have had to do if the power lines were out. First you checked the master bedroom, the one you would be staying in for the next days. The bed seemed to be in pretty good condition, even the sheets seemed to have been in a state that was too spotless. You thought maybe it was because the former owners were still in charge of keeping the rooms in a livable state.

The second place you checked was the kitchen. Everything seemed to be in its place, there were even services in the drawers and some pots and pans in the cupboards below. The refrigerator contained no food, in fact, it was almost like new. You made sure to check the functionality of the furniture and some of the appliances that were still here. Luckily for you, they were still in perfect working order.

You walked around the first floor a few times, listening for the sound of wood creaking against your footsteps. It was only until you reached the end of the hallway that you noticed the house had a basement. You hated basements more than anything. But you weren't here to be whimsical, you were here for work. That said, you walked over to the door and grabbed the handle. You were ready to turn it but, just as your wrist began to twitch, knocking on the front door made you stop in your tracks. Who could it be?

With a frown you walked straight to the door, feeling a slight pressure in your chest and a sense of dizziness that prevented you from breathing normally. Why were you so frightened by the simple knock on a door? Well, admittedly, you were in the middle of nowhere, the nearest civilization was a ten minute drive away and you were staying in a house that's next to a forest that's not exactly what you'd call something appealing to the eye. Yeah, come to think of it, you had a lot of reasons to feel unsafe in this place.

The door had no peephole, so you could only open the door to see who was on the other side. You hesitated for a few seconds, but ended up opening it. On the other side of the door stood a woman and a man; the woman seemed to be around your age, she was much shorter than you, she was wearing a lilac-colored vest and had a huge cake in her hands. Next to her was the man, he didn't seem to be much older than you, but he had an expression bitter enough to add a few extra years to it. He was wearing a black colored jacket, kept both hands in the pockets of it and, quite unlike his companion, there was no glimpse of a smile on his face.

"Hi!" greeted the girl cheerfully, giving you a too big smile. For a second you wondered if her cheeks hurt from doing so, "I'm Chaewoon, Yoongi" she pointed at the guy next to her, not taking her eyes off you, "told me you had arrived a while ago and I couldn't help but think that you'd probably feel a little dazed by all the change, I mean, you can tell you're coming from the city" she pointed at your car, letting out a soft laugh before continuing, "I thought maybe it would make you feel a little more comfortable if you knew your only neighbors. It's necessary to have communication between us, you know, the nearest town is a bit far, it would be much better if we were here to help each other!".

"Chaewoon, you're making her dazed by talking so much" muttered the man who, from what you remembered, was called Yoongi. Chaewoon frowned at him and stomped his foot in annoyance, "Hey! What's wrong with you?".

"Shut your mouth, there are people trying to be nice around here" she snorted, turning her full attention back to you. "So… what do you think?" she smiled kindly, spreading the cake in front of your face.

You grimaced, glancing inside the house, only to turn your attention back to the two people standing in your doorway. It was true that you didn't feel very comfortable being in this house all alone, but the idea of having two strangers inside didn't quite suit you either.

"Well?" the girl insisted after a few seconds, cocking her head slightly.

You bit the inside of your lip, unsure of what to say to her. She looked so excited with the cake in her hands. You looked up, still looking just as unsure as you did. "I..."

Masterlist.

[badfanfictionaire]

It’s not unusual for a vampire to go their whole existence wishing to find someone to spend forever with.  They’ll probably have five or six lovers over their lifetime, until they inevitably got snuffed out by some happy-go-lucky monster hunter and perish like a pathetically mortal soul.  But, they’ll probably never find the one before that. Eddie’s never heard of a vampire meeting their soulmate, at least not in real life.  Lore would suggest that women swoon over vampire lords, and swear allegiance to them for as long as they both shall live.  But, lore would also have you believe that all vampires can turn into bats (which, bummer, they can’t), and that they’re all allergic to garlic (which again is untrue, garlic bread is delicious) (Why is it that only the shitty parts of lore are true, like the whole stake through the heart bit?). In Eddie’s experience, the minute you ask a girl if she wants to spend forever forever with you, she freaks the fuck out and takes off.  (Which, ouch??)

Needless to say, Eddie doesn’t even consider the possibility that he might meet his soulmate backstage at a talent show in some podunk town in Indiana.  Life gets boring as hell when you’ve been alive for six hundred some odd years, so, from time to time he liked to get creative with his human persona.  In 1980 he decided that with a buzzcut and ill-fitting clothes, he could probably still pass as a middle schooler, especially if Wayne told the school he’d been held back or something.  So he decides to try going back to school.  He kind of underestimated how different school was going to be in 1980 though, given that he hadn’t been in school since the 1960s.  Things had changed a lot, and he stuck out like a sore thumb.  

He met Christine Elizabeth Cunningham on September 12th, 1980, and he just knew he had to win her over some how.  By 1986, he’d realized that was going to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated…

But, in March of that year, he caught a break, Chrissy broke up with her long-time boyfriend and needed a shoulder to cry on.  And it just so happened he had not one but two leather-clad shoulders to offer.  And so, offer he did.  As luck would have it, having existed for six hundred-some-odd years finally paid off, because if there was one thing he’d become quite proficient at in his life it was being a good listener.  Tearfully she told him everything, from how controlling her mother was to how much of a moldy schnitzel Jason was. 

Somehow they ended up back at his place and got high, laying with their faces inches apart on his bed. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” 

She nods. 

“I’m a vampire,” he whispers.

She giggles. “Sure don’t look like one to me.”

“No? Not even with the pale skin and the whole dark aesthetic?” 

“No,” she says, making grabby hands at him, “You’re too squishy.” 

She scooches a bit closer and her hands land on his shoulders, “You listen to me, Eddie Munson, you are not a mean scary vampire like everyone says you are.  You’re just a big soft teddy bear who wears black and… well, you’re too hot to be a crusty old vampire anyway.”

His breath catches in his throat with the way her big blue eyes bore into his soul, but then she lets out another giggle and he can’t help but laugh too. 

Later, when they’re starting to sober up, he rolls over to face her again. 

“Can I tell you something serious?”

“Anything,” she says. 

“I really am a vampire.”

Her eyes rove over his face, and don’t see any hint of it being a joke. 

“Oh.” 

“Wanna see?” 

“See what?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing together. 

“My, uh, crusty old vampire fangs?” 

Hesitantly she nods.  Maybe she’s expecting him to produce a pair of those flimsy imitation fangs they sell at Party City, but he knows she’s probably not expecting him to open his mouth and protract his fangs. 

“Holy shit,” she murmurs, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he says, immediately retracting them and regretting having frightened her.  She was just so disarming, he couldn’t help it.  He wanted her to know him, the real him, even if it meant they only had today. 

“What for?” 

“I’m a monster, Chrissy,” he says, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. 

“Hey, look at me,” she says, her tiny fingers pushing his chin back up so his eyes meet hers again, “You are not a monster, Eddie.  I mean, maybe in the literal sense, but, in all the other ways? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was less of a monster than you.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Whatever self-deprecating you’re going to say, I won’t hear it.”

“I shouldn’t have sprung that on you,” he says. 

Chrissy gives him a one-shoulder shrug. 

“You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be like,” she says softly. 

“Mean and scary? Not even with the fangs?” 

She nods, then, “I’m not scared, you know.” 

“You should be.” He brushes his thumb against her cheek. 

“Kiss me?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Please,” she urges sweetly. 

And so he does, gently, tenderly, with every ounce of himself.  

“I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you,” he breathes when they separate for air, “Even back then-”

“Back then?”

“The middle school talent show,” he says, remembering it fondly. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” she replies, averting her eyes in shame.

“I wouldn’t remember me from back then either,” he assures her, “But, perchance, we could continue from here? Where we are now?”

“I’d like that,” she says, a contented smile replacing her frown. 

It’s much too soon to ask her to be his bride, or to ask for her to join him in the afterlife, but he knows deep down in his heart that one day she’ll agree to both propositions.  He’d wait another hundred years if he had to, as long as it meant he would finally have his soulmate by his side where she belonged.  Thankfully, it doesn’t take nearly that long for his dream to come true. 

In the year 1990, Edward James Munson and Christine Elizabeth Cunningham are united in both holy matrimony and the afterlife.  And so, the young man who once believed he was destined to wander the Earth alone forever, found he was no longer trapped in solitude.  Instead, hand in hand, he and his true love would navigate the world as one.  (Until, ya know, they inevitably got snuffed out by some happy-go-lucky monster hunter and perished like any other pathetic mortal souls.)

👻👻👻👻

(read on AO3)

[ladykikyo1792]

Darling Pan Halloween Fic, Part 1

A/N: no editing. We die like men. This is a completely self-indulgent AU (Rated M) and isn't related to "Dark Paradise," other than characters and ships. Enjoy and let me know what you think! ~

Prologue

            Older people always told Wendy there was a time when anyone could leave town.  It was as easy as getting in a car and driving past the sign that read “Storybrooke.”  You could walk, too, if you wanted- though it would take far longer than to drive in the wilderness.  But either way, there were no guards.  No walls.  No checkpoints. 

            There certainly hadn’t been a promise from the government to be killed on sight for leaving.

            Wendy herself only had flashes of memory of that time.  She remembered a trip to the mountains.  She thought her parents might have taken her and her brothers skiing.

            But that had been before the Infestation.

            Before the National Guard had surrounded Storybrooke, and all the forest around it, for a hundred miles in any direction.

            Before the President had told the citizens they could never leave again.

            Well, technically, he had told them they were under a “curfew.”   Still, Wendy likened it to house arrest (or, perhaps, town arrest).  Some people- delusional though they were –thought it would end someday.

            Wendy doubted it.  After all, vampires were immortal.  It would be far more likely for Storybrooke’s citizens to die out before the vampires did.  Once the citizens were all killed off, the vampires would have no food source.  They’d turn on each other or starve to death- maybe both. 

            Then, and only then, would the curfew be lifted.

            It was too bad she wouldn’t be alive to see it.

Chapter 1

            Wendy was never supposed to open the window.  Among the rules imposed on the town after the Infestation, Mayor Mills had insisted on a strict curfew. While the town’s denizens could roam as they pleased during daylight, after sunset, they were completely confined to their homes.  Doors were locked, curtains were drawn, and windows were shut tight.  For just as a vampire could not walk in sunlight, a vampire could not enter a home uninvited. 

            This, Mayor Mills promised (both in her initial speech announcing the curfew and on the curfew reminder Sidney Glass played on the news each night), was the only way to keep them safe.

            Of course, it was likely far easier for the mayor to say these things when she didn’t live in a two-hundred-year old house.  Wendy’s home had been passed down through generations, and while it had plenty of charm and was what New England Living Magazine had called “quaint”- an issue forever treasured by her mother –it sorely lacked central heat and air conditioning.   While this hadn’t been a problem before the Infestation- when the siblings had merely opened their windows to allow for a zephyr on hot summer nights -this meant that with the Infestation, Wendy, John, and Michael either roasted or froze, depending on the season. 

            Their parents had been incredibly cautious about the Mayor’s rules, with their father barring the windows and doors himself each night to ensure their security.  He also kept watch in an armchair in their living room, makeshift stake in one hand and a shotgun in the other.  He spent hours gazing at the front door, waiting for some demon of the night to smash it to pieces.  His gun was forever cocked, and as Wendy observed his vigil over the years, she thought a vampire would indeed be very sorry to encounter George Darling.

            However, in the end, it wasn’t a vampire that killed him.  Instead, the stress of staying awake all those nights drove him to a heart attack when Wendy was twelve years old.  Mary Darling, in the wake of his demise, became a ghost of her former self.  Grief-stricken, she stopped speaking six months later, and when it became obvious she was entirely unable to tend to her children, it was Wendy who had to step up.  While Mary spent her days and nights sat in the same armchair George once occupied during his nocturnal watches- staring at the wedding photo she clutched to her chest as if George himself might walk out of it and into her arms –Wendy assumed the role of Mother.  She cooked and cleaned for her brothers, making sure they were fed, helping them with their homework, and listening to the outlandish stories that followed them from school (for children has to distract themselves somehow). 

            “Michael,” Wendy rolled her eyes, “don’t be ridiculous.  Hansel’s out of line.”

            “But Wendy!” Michael whined, “He said he saw one!”

            “A werewolf?”  Wendy clucked her tongue, putting potatoes on his plate, “Hansel saw a giant, gray wolf prowling about his backyard? When did Hansel say this, exactly?  Before your math test today?  And if he did actually see one- which I doubt -why is he telling you, Michael Darling, and not the Mayor?  Or the police?”

            “Maybe he thought I could help,” Michael insisted.  He sounded somewhat offended that Wendy didn’t think him more fearsome, but Wendy was merely practical. Of her two brothers, Michael had yet to hit his growth spurt, even though he was fourteen.  It was something he was deeply insecure about- and something his classmates tended to take advantage of. 

            “Wendy,” John mused, spooning his own potatoes onto his plate, “Hansel could have seen something.  There’s definitely been stranger things in this town.”  John, at seventeen, towered over his older sister. Wendy stood a mere five four to his five nine, and just as she had to fill the role of Mother with Mary Darling lost to madness, John did his best to fill the role of Father.  Still, while he physically might echo their father, he was still a child.  Wendy, at nineteen, knew that better than anyone. 

            So she stood up to his posturing and raised an eyebrow: “If you’re referring to the Infestation, I highly doubt it.  If we suddenly had werewolves on top of vampires, I don’t think even Mayor Mills would be able to save us.”  The last part of her sentence went unsaid:             They’d just nuke us.

            John frowned, though he didn’t rebuke her.  Many of the citizens had wondered why the President had yet to to destroy Storybrooke.  It would be the quickest, most efficient way to end the Infestation- though it would murder innocent civilians in the process.  There seemed to be a stalemate in the matter in Congress (where Regina had friends in high places), and of course the Church had given its opinion that the death of innocents was never acceptable.  Wendy herself privately wondered if the nuclear option might have been better.  At least that death would be quicker, rather than the slow waiting they all endured as vampires roamed the town, searching for victims. 

            Though of course she’d never voice that opinion to John and Michael.

            Instead, Wendy tried to put on a hint of hope for them over the years.  After dinner, when they’d all showered and readied for bed, she’d told them stories.  Stories of the world outside, stories of the lives they’d lead when the curfew was lifted, the places they’d go.  Tales of college, and travels in the Caribbean.  They’d ski again, and sail ships, and visit jungles so vast and teeming with flowers that one could hardly fathom the myriad scents.  Yet as they all grew older, sometimes, the hope felt more and more like fantasy.   At that point- about a year ago now -John and Michael asked her for stories about the vampires.

            So Wendy told them.  Some of the stories she’d borrowed from the town’s library, enlisting the librarian’s help in finding new legends (Isabella, for all her kindness, apparently had a fondness for horror).  Others she simply made up on her own, adding details here and there.  She had no idea where they came from, but John and Michael were always an enthusiastic audience until they fell into an exhausted, fitful sleep.

 That fateful night, after Michael had been sufficiently distracted from werewolves and instead told stories of vampires prowling about, a heat wave seemed determined to keep the siblings awake.  The news had advised the townspeople to use their air conditioning for the next week (the National Guard, in addition to keeping the town citizens trapped, also ensured their electricity, water, and food did not dwindle- a poor trade, Wendy suspected, for keeping them imprisoned with vampires), but of course that hadn’t been an option for the Darlings.   And while the Guard kept existing work functioning, they had never permitted new construction or contractors into Storybrooke.  Even if they wanted air conditioning, it would never be allowed.

Wendy and her brothers had fans, but they merely served to push hot air over their beds.  She’d eventually grown frustrated, turning hers off.  John and Michael had left theirs running, the air in their room humid and sticky.  Sweat beaded down Wendy’s skin, forcing her nightgown to cling to her body.  A light cotton, it was the thinnest clothing she owned- something that ought to keep her cool.  But even it was struggling in such extraordinary circumstances.

She did her best to imagine that she was in the Arctic- another place her brothers had once fantasized about going to; Michael had always wanted to see a polar bear –but for once, even her powers of pretend were meager.  Thinking of snow only served to emphasize how boiling the room actually was.  

Then, blasphemously, Wendy had an idea:

What if she opened the window?

It was an idea she should have discarded immediately.  Opening the window was not just dangerous, it was forbidden.   Their family- their entire town –hadn’t opened a window a night for nearly fifteen years.  It was how they were safe.  If they couldn’t keep vampires out of the town, at least they could be kept out of their houses.  The window had to stay closed.  It had to. 

Yet instead of reminding herself of this critical tenet, Wendy found herself rising to her feet.  The white sheet was already a tangled pile rumpled at the base of her bed, and she didn’t bother reaching for her robe (lest the heat get any worse).  Instead, she approached the window nearest her bed, bare feet creaking on the old wooden floors.  As if she were following a siren’s call, she stepped closer and closer, until her nose was nearly pressed up against the old glass.

The leaves on the tree outside were moving. 

There was a breeze.

She swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her at that temptation.  How much better would fresh air be than those horrid fans?    Could she even fathom it?  Wendy’s fingers paused at the windowsill as she cast quick glances back at her brothers, each doing his best to curl up in bed.  Michael had cast his blankets to the floor, while John had stripped down to his shirt.  Each had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, stuck in some tortured in-between where perhaps their dreams might be better than the nightmare that was their reality.  But they had to have a restful sleep to get even a chance of that.  John and Michael’s faces were openly perspiring.  Nothing sounded more comforting than a cool summer’s wind, the secret ingredient, she was sure, to a good dream.  But the rules that had been drummed into her were hard to let go of:

            Always lock the doors.

            Bar the windows.

            Never open either until sunrise, and keep them closed all night.

            “That’s the only way to keep safe,” Wendy whispered to herself.  But as her fingers brushed against the brass lock, the wood itself seemed to moan in protest.  It was sweltering, and this heat couldn’t be good for John or Michael- let alone their ailing mother.  Would the briefest of openings really be so bad?  Just a tiny sliver, enough to let in a wisp of fresh air?

            It sounded heavenly.

            Besides, vampires could not enter uninvited.  Cracking a window was hardly an invitation.  And if she kept the lights down…maybe they wouldn’t notice. 

            Rumor said they were typically preoccupied this time of night anyway.

            Heart pounding, hardly daring to breathe, Wendy undid the latch.  She pushed the window slightly, and the squeak it emitted sounded loud as a bomb to her.  But while her pulse thundered in her ears, no vampires came running.  There was only the great oak tree rustling outside her window.  The moon shone against the black sky behind it, stars glittering as if they knew a secret she’d yet to discover. 

            And as the wind swept across her cheek like a lover’s caress, sweet relief flooded her. 

[oflowtides]

⸻  DOMHNALL GLEESON. HE/HIM / have you ever heard of STICK SEASON by noah kahan, well, it describes FIONN KEOGHAN to a tee! the forty nine year old, and OWNER OF A NEW CHAPTER BOOK STORE was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say HE is more dicey or more INSIGHTFUL instead? anyway, they remind me of neatly stacked books, highlighted poetry passages, the soft scratch of a record that’s played all the way through and closets stuffed full with unneeded trinkets, maybe you’ll bump into them soon!

time in notting hill: six years

alcoholism & gambling tw

Born and raised in Ireland, Fionn didn’t move to London until he was 20 years old, to pursue more schooling, and then just never left.  (Yes he still has an accent no i can’t type like that)

An avid reader, though not one to do particularly well in school, he scraped by, getting a degree in library sciences.  While working at libraries was rewarding in it’s own right, Fionn decided to save up to be able to take over a bookstore one day.

He met a girl when he moved to London, and their love story wasn’t anything out of the ordinary - they got married and moved in, talked about their future together - but unfortunately they had no idea the trials they were about to face.

From a young age, Fionn had problems with betting and gambling.  It started innocent enough, with friends in the schoolyard, playful bets about girls and homework.  But as he got older, the stakes got higher and higher.  The rush of winning always seemed to overshadow the crushing defeat of losing, and it was a vicious cycle that he seemed doomed into from the start.  These things ran in his family, and he could blame it on his dad, who often took him to race tracks as a kid, but he was his own man now.

At first it was just a few hundred dollars, then a thousand.  It became harder to hide the financial deficit, and his wife started to ask questions.  Too ashamed to admit it, Fionn just tried harder and harder to win back the money, causing him to lose even more. The breaking point finally happened, and while his wife tried for a while to help him, the strain became too much.  Despite the tears and desperate pleas that he’d get better, she left, and he was absolutely devastated.

The divorce was hard on Fionn, and while he was lucky she wasn’t asking him for anything since he barely had anything left to his name, he turned to drinking as another way to cope.  Between the gambling and the alcohol, he couldn’t keep up with any of his payments, and wound up having to live in the office of the bookstore he had actually managed to get in the small town of Notting Hill he moved to almost immediately proceeding the divorce settlement.

These events one after the other seemed to trigger something in him, causing him to also start hoarding - nothing serious enough to wind up on Hoarders, but it was hard for him to get rid of things - clothes, books, etc.  He also had a tendency to pick up anything off the street that caught his eye - usually anything shiny or out of place.

Fionn has a lot of OCD tendencies, though he’s never been to a therapist and hasn’t been officially diagnosed.  Most people would just call him anal retentive and soft spoken, but usually leave him alone to organize and sort how he wants.

He still owes a great deal of money to many people, and he hasn’t been able to curb his gambling.  While he isn’t closed off from finding love, he finds more comfort in brief flings or one night stands, not entirely over his ex even though it’s been about five years since the divorce.

Despite all this, he’s very witty and pleasant, though whatever you do, do not say ‘wanna bet?’ to him because he does and he will and that won’t end well for anyone involved.

[dankusner]

Archaeologists Dug Up a Vanished Texas Town and Found 10,000 Artifacts

It’s part of a $51 million project to rebuild Washington-on-the-Brazos, “the birthplace of Texas,” where the declaration that created the Republic of Texas was signed.

Archaeologists Dug Up a Vanished Texas Town and Found 10,000

Artifacts recovered from Washington-on-the-Brazos. Texas Monthly; Courtesy of Texas Historical Commission

In 1843, Sam Houston toiled away at a desk in a sixteen-by-sixteen-foot log cabin not far from the muddy banks of the Brazos River.

From that makeshift office in Washington-on-the-Brazos, about halfway between Austin and Houston, the then-president of the new Republic of Texas penned letters inviting the chiefs of several Native American tribes to join him for a council meeting.

Many of the chiefs came, among them leaders from the Caddo, Delaware, and Shawnee tribes.

They spent nearly two weeks in the rough-around-the-edges little town, meeting with officials, demonstrating skills, dancing and playing music, and signing a treaty.

Today, there’s not much to indicate the significance of the spot where Houston’s cabin once stood, at one end of the long-vanished town of Washington-on-the-Brazos.

This place is nicknamed the birthplace of Texas, since the declaration that created the Republic of Texas was signed on March 2, 1836 (in Independence Hall, just a few hundred yards from Houston’s cabin).

But only a few wooden stakes are punched into the dirt to mark the place where Houston’s cabin once stood.

That’s about to change.

Archaeologists recently completed excavations along the town’s main road as part of a $51 million, five- or six-year project to improve the Washington-on-the-Brazos State Historic Site, operated by the Texas Historical Commission.

The state set aside some of the land for a small park in 1915.

More land was later added, and in 1970, the 22,000-square-foot Star of the Republic Museum opened.

But the museum, along with a riverside picnic area and a re-creation of Independence Hall, never fully conveyed a sense of what this frontier town was really like.

Now architects are preparing to rebuild some of the ramshackle old community where so much Texas history took place.

When the project wraps up, by late 2025, visitors will be able to visit seven full or partial re-creations of structures that once lined La Bahia Road, a major thoroughfare that carried goods and travelers hundreds of miles across the state, from Goliad to Nacogdoches.

Besides Houston’s office, they’ll be able to stroll past a drugstore where townsfolk bought basic supplies, poke their heads inside a carpentry shop, look down on the foundation of a typical home, and step inside a pool hall and tavern that doubled as a meeting place for government officials.

The project also includes renovations at the park’s visitors center and new exhibit space at the Star of the Republic Museum, which houses maps, documents, and what’s believed to be the only existing flag from the Lone Star State’s nearly ten-year period as an independent republic.

The revamped site may also include a dry-docked re-creation of a ferry that transported travelers across the Brazos River, just down the hill.

“We’d like to get people in the mindset that they’re on a street grid,” says Jonathan Failor, manager of the Washington-on-the-Brazos State Historic Site.

Washington was platted in 1835.

By 1836, about a hundred people lived there, sipping drinks in its multiple taverns, fitting their horses with shoes at a blacksmith shop staffed by slaves, and purchasing clothing at the tailor shop.

From 1842 to 1845, during Sam Houston’s second term as president, the town also served as capital of the republic.

“It’s known as the place where Texas became Texas,” Failor says. “Texas was its own country, and the town of Washington has a role in that. That story never really got told, and people want to engage in history in a tangible way.”

Archaeologists Dug Up a Vanished Texas Town and Found 10,000 Artifacts

The remains of an old brick fireplace uncovered at Washington-on-the-Brazos.Courtesy of Texas Historical Commission

The population had hit roughly one thousand by 1852, making Washington one of the largest cities in Texas.

But after residents rejected a proposal to bring the railroad there in 1858, the town shriveled on the vine.

A few photos from the late nineteenth century show the town’s slow decline; in 1912 a fire burned the remaining structures.

By the 1920s, German immigrants had moved to the area and begun building homes.

But those structures, too, eventually fell into disrepair.

Today, clear glass signs etched with the outlines of some of the homes and businesses along the main street give visitors an idea of what the street once looked like.

But Failor hopes the reconstructed town buildings will help tell that story in an even more visual way.

Visitors will be able to explore the townsite on their own, and although nothing has been finalized, occasional living history programs and special events are likely.

The state legislature has allocated $41 million for the project, and the Washington on the Brazos Historical Foundation has raised about $5.6 million of the remaining $10 million needed to do the job.

Despite the fame of the site, crews trying to re-create the town had surprisingly little to go on.

The only known plat map of Washington-on-the-Brazos vanished during the Great Storm of 1900.

Researchers used tax records and other documents to determine roughly where buildings were situated, then surveyed to look for anomalies below the ground.

“Some fun things popped up, including the brick foundation of a house built in the 1830s,” Failor says.

Excavations began last September.

Over the following six months, crews pushed buckets of dirt through sieves, looking for traces of the old town.

They dug trenches, searching for evidence underneath the 20-by-150-foot plot where archival records indicated Houston’s presidential office once stood.

On the third try, they found a hole where a support post had been.

From there, they determined the footprint of the 16-by-16-foot building and uncovered nails, window glass, buttons, and bits of ceramics, all buried under more than a foot of dirt.

“When you think about the stuff that occurred in this building . . .” Failor says, his voice trailing off.

The reconstructed office will be positioned just in front of the actual site, to preserve it.

Down the road, a tavern and pool hall called Hatfield’s Exchange also played an important role in the town’s history.

Ministers once used its pool tables as sermon pulpits, and it served as the House chamber for the republic.

It was where, in 1845, Congress made the decision to let residents vote on whether the republic should join the United States.

They voted yes, and the republic’s flag was lowered for the last time on February 19, 1846, two months after Texas officially became a state.

“Some great debates happened here,” Failor says.

Hatfield’s burned in 1854, and signs of its existence disappeared beneath farmers’ plows.

Across the street, archaeologists uncovered the brick floor of a house built in the 1830s that was later covered by another building.

Crews will re-create the outside of the structure, then build a catwalk inside so visitors can walk along it and look down on the original floor.

Farther down the street, teams will rebuild Hall & Lott’s Tavern, where Davy Crockett stayed on his way to the Alamo.

Among the 10,000 or so artifacts archaeologists have uncovered are nails and other building materials, the remains of an old brick fireplace, the key to a gold pocket watch, buttons from a soldier’s uniform, gun flints, animal bones, pipes, glassware, ceramics, and coins, including a Spanish silver dollar from 1820 and an 1831 U.S. dime—essentially, “everything you might find on a city street somewhere,” Failor says.

A lab in McKinney is processing artifacts, and architects from the Texas Historical Commission, in collaboration with historian and subject matter expert Michael Moore, are busy designing the buildings.

Because they have no photos to reference, they’ll base their plans on what was typical of the time and place.

Construction should begin sometime this summer, and the finished project—a row of modest structures along a dirt road that cuts through a field thick with grass and brush—should provide an authentic perspective on the Lone Star State’s past.

“What this reconstruction will do is remind us of Texas’s agrarian roots, which I think is pretty cool,” says Carlos Kevin Blanton, a longtime history professor at Texas A&M University.

“It serves as a reminder that the Texas we know today—whether you think of it as a nation or a state or maybe even a state of mind—has very, very humble beginnings.”

[kiss-my-freckle]

– Bennet Burial Grounds –

Bonnie Bennet: Wow, this is wacky! Two shows in a row opening with a weird witchy dream! I really need to lay off the tacos!

Klaus: I think you need to lay off the living! Fangs!

�� Bennet Burial Grounds – Six Feet Under –

Bonnie Bennet: This is less than ideal! But at least I can use my magic to get out of this fix! “Though success is mostly a stranger, magic get me out of danger!”

The Magic Coffin of Not Opening: Doesn’t open.

Bonnie Bennet: Poop.

Abby Bennet Wilson: Hi Bonnie! For some reason the spirits of a hundred dead witches are sending you on a useless quest that will put you in danger and give Klaus exactly what he wants! If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were trying to get rid of you!

Bonnie Bennet: Mommy!

– Mystic Falls Home for Immolated Wiccans –

Bonnie Bennet: Hi Elena! Stefan swore me to secrecy and made me promise to never ever tell you where the coffins were, but I’ve been having really bad dreams and last week I learned that bad dreams get better when you don’t ignore them so I figured the best way to get a solid night’s sleep would be to tell you all of our plans!

Elena Gilbert: Great! Hold on, just let me check in to FourSquare!

Elena Gilbert’s FourSquare: Elena Gilbert checked in to The Super Secret Hiding Spot for Klaus’ Daggered Siblings, 123 Fourth Street, Mystic Falls, VA.

Stefan Salvatore: Facepalm.

– The Gilbert House – Research and Revelations –

Elena Gilbert: Hi Bonnie! I asked the Sheriff to hunt down every single Abby Bennet in the country! And since everyone in this town does exactly what I tell them to, she said yes!

Bonnie Bennet: Thanks Elena! Your talent for manipulation came in really useful this week!

Damon Salvatore: You want to talk about manipulation? All I have to do is loook in to someones eeeeys and they’re all like “sure Damon anything you want Damon here’s Abby’s address Damon and her social security number and her driver’s license and her finger prints and her bank accounts and please bite me you’re so handsome and dashing and cool!” So let’s go on a road trip!

Elena Gilbert: Damon, no! Bonnie is going to meet her mother for the first time in fifteen years, and this situation is delicate and gentle and fluffy and you’re rash and sarcastic and cut oh yeah baby your abs are so cut let me see you abs no I mean I’m a good girl and you’re a bad boy and we can’t kiss again that would be wrong!

Bonnie Bennet: o_0

The Lady of the Manor: Wait, Bonnie has a mother? Is Bonnie getting a plot line?

– Chateau Forbes – Painful Plans –

Tyler Lockwood: Hi Caroline! Sorry about almost murdering you last week! But I have a great plan to fix this whole Sire-bond thing!

Caroline Forbes: Great! What are you-

Tyler Lockwood: I invited your vampire-hating, werewolf loathing, torture-obsessed father over for diner! And bondage!

Caroline Forbes: Why does my life always suck?

Neville the Corgi: Something about that boy intrigues me!

– Mystic Grill – Murder Mystery –

Alaric Saltzman: Thanks for having lunch with me Meredith! But I’m really worried about falling into the friend zone, and my penis is really worried about never meeting your lady bits, so maybe next time we could do dinner instead!

Meredith Fell: Okay!

Damon Salvatore: Hi Alaric! Who’s the hot girl?

Alaric Saltzman: That’s Doctor Fell! Her ex says she’s a complete psycho, and you know what that means … she’s gonna be a tiger in the sack!

Damon Salvatore: Speaking of psycho, do you think she might be the kind of girl who would drive a stake into a guy’s chest and leave him laying in the woods?

Alaric Saltzman: Why do you say that?

Damon Salvatore: Oh, no reason.

– Castle Salvatore – Dangerous Games –

Klaus: Hi Stefan! My hybrids have all left town, so I want to know what I have to do to get my family back!

Stefan Salvatore: Well, you could try pissing off and calling again in a few years! And if you make one move, I’ll-

Klaus: Okay, son, this whole “crazy Stefan with nothing to lose” thing has been cute, but let’s be real. You’ve had six months to practice your whole man on fire routine, but I’ve had a thousand years to get really good at causing chaos, mayhem, and pain in extraordinarily creative, terrifying ways. So if you really think you can out bad-guy me? Let’s go.

Stefan Salvatore: …Crap.

– Highway to Hell –

Elena Gilbert: Let’s talk about your mama!

Bonnie Bennet: Let’s talk about your Damon!

Elena Gilbert: Let’s talk about literally anything else ever!

Bonnie Bennet: Was it good?

Elena Gilbert: That doesn’t matter!

Bonnie Bennet: That means it was! He kissed you and you loved it! You want more! You want to hug him! You want to kiss him! You want to have his babies!

Elena Gilbert: Doesn’t this car have some product placement features we could discuss?

The Lady of the Manor: He’s Damon, of courseit was good. Seriously, that girl is dumber than a rock. An especially dumb rock.

Stefan Salvatore (on the phone): Hi guys! Just wanted to make sure you aren’t on your way to do anything stupid!

Elena Gilbert (on the phone): Nope! We’re heading up to the lake house to take a break from all of the crazy!

Bonnie Bennet: Hey, you didn’t leave my mom’s picture and address and social security number laying on your kitchen table by any chance, did you?

Elena Gilbert: Probably not!

– Mystic Grill – Profitable Public Relations –

Klaus (on the phone): Hi Wally! You know what’s great about having the entire Mystic Falls government playing for my team? Whenever Elena comes by and asks for very odd pieces of information, they give me a call! And on a totally unrelated note, I have a little job for you …

Wally the Werepire: Woof!

Neville the Corgi: He also intrigues me!

– Abby’s Home for Retired Wiccans –

Wally the Werepire: Hi Abby! I need you to look into my eyes …

Neville the Corgi: I wanna be a werepire! I’d compel you to give me endless cookies!

Jamie: Hi guys! What can I do for you?

Bonnie Bennet: Nothing nothing at all we were just leaving sorry to bother you got to go goodbye!

Elena Gilbert: Super Elena disappointed face powers activate!

Bonnie Bennet: Abby’s my mom.

Jamie: Another one? Well, you might as well come inside.

Bonnie Bennet: So Jamie, are we related?

Jamie: Nah, I just crash on your mother’s house. She’s really hot, and I’m kind of a cougar hunter.

lmfao! I'm currently working on these episodes now.

[quoteoftheweekblog]

JULES VERNE - 'AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS ' (FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1873)

First sentence:

'In the year 1872, the house at number 7 Saville Row, Burlington Gardens - the house in which Sheridan died in 1814 - was lived in by Phileas Fogg, Esq., one of the oddest and most striking members of the Reforn Club, even though he seemed determined to avoid doing anything, that might draw attention to himself.' (Verne, 2020, p.1).

On the English:

' ... people sing the praises of the methodical nature of the English and the proverbial coldness of their gentlemen ... ' (Verne, 2020, p.7). ' "A true Englishman never jokes about something as serious as a bet," ... ' (Verne, 2020, p.10). 'It is well known how seriously anything involving geography is taken in England.' (Verne, 2020, p.22).

'It is well known in England betting is an activity practised by a more intelligent and select group of people than gambling. Betting is part of the English character.' (Verne, 2020, p.23).

' "If it can be done at all, then it's only right that an Englishman should be the first to do it!" ' (Verne, 2020, p.24). 'As for looking around the town, he never even gave it a moment's thought, as he was the sort of Englishman who gets his servant to do the sights for him.' (Verne, 2020, p.33). 'Mr Fogg with his usual composure sought to defend himself with the two natural weapons with which nature has equipped every trueborn Englishman, his fists ... ' (Verne, 2020, p.151). 'Mr Fogg was the sort of Englishman who, even though they don't put up with duels in their own country, are quite happy to fight them abroad, when their honour is at stake.' (Verne, 2020, p.152). ' ... "I can play whist. It is part and parcel of an English education." ' (Verne, 2020, p.170).

On going around the world:

' "The world has got smaller because you can now travel around the it ten times as quickly as a hundred years ago." ' (Verne, 2020, p.14). ' ... Paris, Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco, New York, iverpool and London.' (Verne, 2020, p.33). 'He was not travelling, he was tracing a circle. He was matter in orbit around the globe, following the laws of physics.' (Verne, 2020, p.49). 'In the past it took at best six months to go from New York to San Francisco. Now it takes seven days.' (Verne, 2020, p.154).

REFERENCE

Verne, J. (2020 [1873] ) 'Around the world in eighty days'. London: Penguin Classics.

[newstfionline]

Monday, December 4, 2023

Air Traffic Controllers Pushed to the Brink (NYT) One air traffic controller went into work drunk this summer and joked about “making big money buzzed.” Another routinely smoked marijuana during breaks. The incidents were extreme examples, but they fit into a pattern that reveals glaring vulnerabilities in one of the most important protective layers of the nation’s vaunted aviation safety system. In the past two years, air traffic controllers and others have submitted hundreds of complaints to a Federal Aviation Administration hotline describing issues like dangerous staffing shortages, mental health problems and deteriorating buildings, some infested by bugs and black mold. Air traffic controllers, who spend hours a day glued to monitors or scanning the skies with the lives of thousands of passengers at stake, are a last line of defense against crashes. The job comes with high stakes and intense pressure, even in the best of conditions. Yet the conditions for many controllers are far from ideal. A nationwide staffing shortage—caused by years of employee turnover and tight budgets, among other factors—has forced many controllers to work six-day weeks and 10-hour days.

Kissinger’s unwavering support for brutal regimes still haunts Latin America (AP) In Chile, leftists were tortured, tossed from helicopters and forced to watch relatives be raped. In Argentina, many were “disappeared” by members of the brutal military dictatorship that held detainees in concentration camps. It all happened with the endorsement of Henry Kissinger, the former U.S. secretary of state who died Wednesday at age 100. As tributes poured in for the towering figure who was the top U.S. diplomat under Presidents Richard Nixon and Gerald Ford, the mood was decidedly different in South America, where many countries were scarred deeply during the Cold War by human rights abuses inflicted in the name of anti-communism and where many continue to harbor a deep distrust of their powerful neighbor to the north. “I don’t know of any U.S. citizen who is more deplored, more disliked in Latin America than Henry Kissinger,” said Stephen Rabe, a retired University of Texas at Dallas history professor who wrote a book about Kissinger’s relationship with Latin America. “You know, the reality is, if he had traveled once democracy returned to Argentina, to Brazil, to Uruguay—if he had traveled to any of those countries he would have been immediately arrested.”

One dead and two injured in Paris attack near the Eiffel Tower (Reuters) One German tourist died and two others were injured after a man attacked tourists in central Paris near the Eiffel Tower on Saturday evening in what President Emmanuel Macron described as “a terrorist attack”. Police quickly arrested the 26-year-old man, a French national, using a Taser stun gun, Interior Minister Gerald Darmanin told reporters on Saturday. The suspect had been sentenced to four years in prison in 2016 for planning another attack, was on the French security services’ watch list and was also known for having psychiatric disorders, the interior minister added.

For eastern Ukrainians, the ordeal of war is entering its second decade (Reuters) Yevhen Tkachov, a volunteer aid worker and devout Pentecostal from Ukraine’s eastern Donbas region, spent much of his life travelling to the world’s war zones helping civilians in need. Nearly 10 years ago, his own homeland erupted into conflict, and the war never went away. “Right now I think it makes the most sense to help my own people,” said the 54-year-old, who is also a qualified veterinarian, after making his daily dash to deliver aid to the residents of Chasiv Yar, a once-sleepy, tree-lined town of 12,000 where he grew up. Like most people from Chasiv Yar, Tkachov has moved further from the fighting though some remain. All of them have lived through nearly a decade of war, a reminder that for millions in eastern Ukraine the conflict has rumbled on since 2014, long before Russia’s full-scale invasion in February last year grabbed the world’s attention. Ukraine and its Western allies say Russia infiltrated eastern Ukraine with fighters and intelligence operatives to stage a coup in Donbas in 2014 which Moscow subsequently supported with regular troops. Russia denied those allegations at the time, describing the events as a local rebellion against a government it accused of hostility to Russian speakers, which most Donbas residents were.

Unusual Names Can Complicate Life in Japan (NYT) Growing up, all Yuni Matsumoto wanted was to fit in. But his name made that hard. It was highly uncommon in Japan and, on top of that, essentially unreadable as written. Middle school classmates ridiculed him. The bullying got so bad that he eventually dropped out of school. Mr. Matsumoto, 24, had what is known as a kira-kira—meaning “shiny” or “glittery”—name. A growing number of Japanese parents are choosing these unconventional names, often in hopes of making their children stand out in a country where pressure to conform is strong. Mr. Matsumoto’s parents were driven by that same desire for uniqueness, but to him, his name was a shackle. This spring, he went to family court and had it changed to a common one, Yuuki, written in a way anyone could read. Japan is far from the only country where unusual names are on the rise. But Japanese children with unconventional names face societal and practical challenges unique to their country and its written language. Citing those difficulties, the government is now moving to rein in the practice, while insisting it is not closing off space for parents to be creative.

Strong earthquake that sparked a tsunami warning leaves 1 dead amid widespread panic in Philippines (AP) A powerful earthquake that shook the southern Philippines killed at least one villager and injured several others as thousands scrambled out of their homes in panic and jammed roads to higher grounds after a tsunami warning was issued, officials said Sunday. The U.S. Geological Survey reported that the quake Saturday night had a magnitude of 7.6 and struck at a depth of 32 kilometers (20 miles). The Pacific Tsunami Warning Center said it expected tsunami waves to hit the southern Philippines and parts of Indonesia, Palau and Malaysia, but later dropped its tsunami warning. In Japan, authorities issued evacuation orders late Saturday in various parts of Okinawa prefecture, including for the entire coastal area, affecting thousands of people. Thousands of residents stayed outside their homes for hours in many towns due to the earthquake and tsunami scare, including in some that were drenched by an overnight downpour, officials in the Philippines said. Defense Secretary Gilberto Teodoro Jr said that initial reports indicated there were no major damages except for two damaged bridges and pockets of power outages.

Freed Palestinians Were Mostly Young and Not Convicted of Crimes (NYT) Israel released a total of 240 Palestinian prisoners and detainees in exchange for 105 hostages freed by Hamas during a weeklong pause in hostilities, an arrangement that diplomats had tried to extend before it collapsed into fighting on Friday morning. A New York Times analysis of data on the Palestinians released showed that a majority of them had not been convicted of a crime. There were 107 teenagers under 18, including three girls. Another 66 teenagers were 18 years old. The oldest person released was a 64-year-old woman. Israel detained all of the people on the list for what it said were offenses related to Israel’s security, from throwing stones to more serious accusations like supporting terrorism and attempted murder. More than half of the cases were being prosecuted in Israeli military courts, which try Palestinians in the occupied West Bank but not Israeli settlers who live there. Nearly all Palestinians tried in Israeli military courts are convicted, and those accused of security offenses can be imprisoned indefinitely without charge or trial.

U.S. officials warn Israel to protect civilians as airstrikes resume in southern Gaza (Washington Post) Top U.S. officials warned Israel to protect civilian lives as it resumed aerial attacks on Gaza after a week-long pause in fighting, including in the south, where the majority of the Strip’s population is now crowded after Israel instructed people in the north to evacuate. “Too many Palestinian civilians have been killed,” Vice President Harris said Saturday. Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin said he “personally pushed Israeli leaders to avoid civilian casualties,” saying that a failure to do so would drive Palestinians “into the arms of the enemy,” undermining its war efforts against Hamas. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said the military was determining “safe areas” for Gazan civilians. Since the pause ended, Israel’s military has hit hundreds of targets in Gaza, including dozens in Khan Younis in the south, according to the Israel Defense Forces. At least 193 people in Gaza have been killed since the fighting resumed after the pause, the Gaza Health Ministry said. At least 15,207 people have been killed in Gaza and 40,652 wounded since the war began, the Gaza Health Ministry said. At least 1,200 people were killed in Israel during the Oct. 7 attack by Hamas.

Netanyahu’s goal for Gaza: “Thin” population “to a minimum” (Intercept) Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has tasked his top adviser, Ron Dermer, the minister of strategic affairs, with designing plans to “thin” the Palestinian population in the Gaza Strip “to a minimum,” according to a bombshell new report in an Israeli newspaper founded by the late Republican billionaire Sheldon Adelson. The outlet, Israel Hayom, is considered to be something of an official organ for Netanyahu. It reported that the plan has two main elements: The first would use the pressure of the war and humanitarian crisis to persuade Egypt to allow refugees to flow to other Arab countries, and the second would open up sea routes so that Israel “allows a mass escape to European and African countries.” Israel Today and other Israeli media are also reporting on a plan being pushed with Congress that would condition aid to Arab nations on their willingness to accept Palestinian refugees. The plan even proposes specific numbers of refugees for each country: Egypt would take one million Palestinians, half a million would go to Turkey, and a quarter million each would go to Yemen and Iraq.

Commercial ships hit by missiles in Houthi attack in Red Sea, US warship downs 3 drones (AP) Three commercial ships in the Red Sea were struck by ballistic missiles fired from Houthi-controlled Yemen on Sunday and a U.S. warship shot down three drones in self-defense during the hourslong assault, the U.S. military said. Responsibility for the attack was claimed by the Houthi rebels, who are backed by Iran. The attacks marked an escalation in a series of maritime attacks in the Mideast linked to the Israel-Hamas war, as multiple vessels found themselves in the crosshairs of a single Houthi assault for the first time in the conflict. In a statement, U.S. Central Command said the attacks “represent a direct threat to international commerce and maritime security. They have jeopardized the lives of international crews representing multiple countries around the world.” The Carney, an Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyer, has already shot down multiple rockets the Houthis have fired toward Israel so far in the war. It hasn’t been damaged in any of the incidents and no injuries have been reported on board.

[delicatenightfury]

"I was trying to protect you."

2021 Month of Writing: Day 26

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x reader

Prompt:

Word Count: 620

Author's Note: please don't steal my work! you can choose to respond to the prompt as well, but don't steal my work.

Y/N’s eyes went wide when she opened the door. Klaus offered a small smile, his hands in his pockets.

“Hello, love,” he said. 

“Klaus,” Y/N breathed. “What… what are you doing here?”

“I had to see you.” He motioned into her apartment. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Y/N knew how the supernatural world worked. Vampires couldn’t enter a home unless invited in by the non-vampire owner. The thing was, Klaus had already been invited in and she was a vampire. He did not necessarily need to ask permission to enter her home.

Y/N slowly nodded and opened the door a little wider. Klaus gave her a small smile and stepped around her to enter. Y/N closed the door, taking a breath to calm herself before she looked at Klaus again. He looked awkward standing there, as if not really sure what to do with himself. Y/N pulled her sweater a little tighter around herself.

“You’re looking well,” he commented. “That sweater is a lovely color on you.

Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that forced its way onto her face. Klaus wasn’t one to give compliments often. He also wasn’t normally this shy. Not to mention…

“How can I help you, Klaus?” she asked.

“I wanted to stop by,” he said, “see how you were doing.”

“I’m good. I’ve been doing well. Thank you.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was almost painful having him standing there in her living room. “What are you doing here?”

“I already told-”

“Don’t lie to me, Klaus. Please don’t lie. You broke up with me five weeks ago and now, out of nowhere, decide to just drop by and see how I’m doing?”

“Y/N-”

“No, I don’t get it, Klaus. You said you didn’t want me around anymore. You said that I was a distraction from what was important. You said you were just using me to pass the time.”

“I was wrong.”

“You were wrong?”

“Yes. I never meant any of that.”

“Then what were you trying to do? Hurt me?”

“I was trying to protect you, Y/N.” She had expected him to be yelling at her, but his voice remained soft, calm almost. His eyes darted around, like he was searching for the right words. “A new threat came into town. They were targeting everyone that I love. Kol almost died. I couldn’t let them reach you too.” He finally looked at her. “The truth is that I said those things to put distance between us to try and protect you. The truth is that I’ve tried to stop thinking about you. But I can’t. I replay those words again and again in my head and I regret them. I never meant any of them and… I’m sorry, love.”

“If I were to call Rebekah right now, would she tell me the same thing?”

“She’d probably tell you that I’ve been miserable since you left.”

The two shared a small laugh at his words. Y/N slowly walked toward him.

“And the threat?”

“A group of vampires from our early days. They were desiccating somewhere when a group of hikers woke them up. They wanted revenge. My family and I took care of them.”

Y/N placed her hand on Klaus’ cheek. He let out a deep breath and leaned slightly into her palm.

“I appreciate your want to protect me, Klaus, but I’m a six and a half hundred year old vampire. I think I can handle myself. Next time, talk to me first before you decide to break up with me. Do that again and I’ll stake you myself.”

Klaus smiled at her.

“Of course, love.”

[markosmate]

lady

Pairing; Marko x Emerson!Reader

Summary; Moving to a different state with your younger brothers and mother just to live with your grandfather was hard enough, but falling in love with a vampire and then watching your brother do the same thing? Much different story.

Warnings; strong language

au://  Welp lovelies I had promised you a Marko series in February that I started writing while I was manic, then after writing a good five/six chapters I fell into a deep dark hole of depression and didn’t write anything but sad, worthless poetry about a boy I’m in love with who doesn’t love me back :) But now it’s May, a spark of inspiration and happiness has suddenly hit me and I’ve come back to this series to finally deliver it to you!! I hope y’all like it cause I literally stress cried over finishing it three different times :,)

I’d also like to point out that any kind of feedback at all is so so appreciated. Most of my inspiration comes from feeding off of people’s reactions to what I write. So if you enjoy it or have any recommendations or comments at all please please don’t be shy to send me an ask or DM or even comment to let me know :( Thank you and enjoy!!

Part 2

I wasn’t exactly mad about moving, there was nothing holding me in Phoenix that I would be particularly sad about leaving behind. The only thing that struck a nerve was that it was dumped out of nowhere on me. Suddenly Mom had divorced Dad, let him keep everything, and made plans with Grandpa for us to move into his place with him. A little prior warning would have been appreciated, but regardless when we were told it didn’t change the fact that everything we knew was changing. Sam wasn’t happy about it at all, leaving his friends, leaving Dad. Michael... well Michael didn’t really have an opinion. In my view, he was just indifferent. He didn’t really care where the hell we were as long as he had a motorcycle, a job, and some hot chicks to swoon over.

But here we were, packed into Mom’s truck and driving through a town that I’d most likely have memorized like the back of my hand in a good few days. As the three in the car argued over which station to keep on, I turned my head and leaned my forehead on the window of the car. I watched the beach as we drove along the road, and admired the waves hitting against the sand.

I was ready to drift off until we got to Grandpa’s house when a short, exited yell left Mom’s lips. “Oh!” She grinned happily as Sam landed on a station familiar to her. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Oh, that’s from my era! Grooving on a Sunday afternoon!” She sung along with the song as Sam threw his head back and groaned in protest. I laughed at her antics, enjoying seeing my Mom acting so carefree and happy. 

“Alright, keep going, keep going.” Mom and Sam agreed with each other at the same time, Mom leaning over to continue skipping through the stations. Finally, the next station was agreed on and my pounding head thanked the universe for the quiet that I hadn’t been able to achieve the entire drive here. “Hey we’re almost there!”

“Ugh,” Sam scrunched his nose up in disgust after taking a deep breath. I leaned forward to wrap my arms around his head-rest and pull my face closer to the open window. The pungent smell hit me, and I recognized it immediately, low tide, but it wasn’t bad - anything to do with the beach was calming to me regardless. “What’s that smell?”

“Ah!” Mom breathed in deeply and turned to share a knowing grin with me, “That’s the ocean air!”

I turned to look at the welcoming sign, taking in the colors and faded lettering. “Smells like someone died.” Sam muttered as Mom tutted at him softly. 

“That’s likely.” I muttered to Michael, nudging his head in the direction of the back of the sign, where in big red spray-painted letters sat the phrase “Murder Capitol of the World.”

“Aw guys, I know the last year hasn’t been easy. But I do think you’re really going to enjoy living in Santa Carla.” Mom tried to remain happy about the situation, but a shared glance with Michael after we both read over the sign revealed there wasn’t much he was excited for.

The rest of the drive only increased my excitement. Hippies galore filled the streets, a large amusement park covered most of the boardwalk, and the rest was filled with small shops and food stands. We stopped for awhile so Mom could give some teenagers rummaging through garbage some money to eat and so Michael could unhinge his bike and ask around for job openings, but before I could even think to step out of the car and get a look around we were already heading into the backroads to get to Grandpa’s house.

Grandpa’s house was farther into the plains than expected, but still only a good fifteen to twenty minute drive away from town. Before Mom could ever fully park the car, I had already jumped out and was looking around the property. Michael pulled his bike up next to Mom’s car, and they all took a good few seconds to look around at all the wood carvings and chimes before turning their vehicles off. I took note of the horses grazing in one of the back fields before walking around the front of the truck and seeing a man laying on his back across the front porch steps.

Sam lead the way towards him before Mom cut in front and marched up the steps to squat beside him. “Dad?” She questioned gently. “Dad?” The three of us leaned closer to get a better look.

“Looks like he’s dead.” Michael remarked.

“Like... really dead.” I quipped in, raising an eyebrow at Mom.

“No, no. He’s just a deep sleeper.” She brushed our comments off.

“If he’s dead can we go back to Phoenix?” Sam remarked, earning a snort from me and a sharp look from Mom. 

Suddenly Grandpa sat up, a cocky smirk apparent on his face. “Playing dead. And from what I hear, doing a damn good job of it.”

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation before Mom laughed faintly. “Oh, Dad!”

-

That night, Mom decided that it would be good for the four of us to leave the house after a night of unpacking and explore the boardwalk when it’s at its liveliest. I could admit it looked much more enjoyable now that it was dark and a little chilly, the sweaty people that had been occupying it earlier were now less sweaty and more stoned.

Almost as soon as Mom’s car and Michael’s bike were parked, Mom sent us off on our own so she could spend some time staking out a job in one of the family-owned shops. “Do you think she’ll be able to find one?” Sam questioned as the three of us weaved through crowds, trying to find our way to the beach concert. We could certainly hear it, we were just having a bit of trouble actually getting to it.

“One what? A job?” Michael scoffed as if it was hard to believe, still bitter over the fact there was no legal jobs for him to get hired in.

I laughed, elbowing him softly in the side, knowing that this place was exactly his vibe and in time he would most likely come to love living here. Sam was the only one I was actually worried about. “She’ll probably be able to find one. What, with all these missing people, there’s bound to be tons of job openings.”

“You’re telling me. It’s like there’s hundreds of bullet-boards around every corner with dozens of people missing. This place really is the Murder Capital.” Michael remarked as the concert finally came into our line of sight.

“Don’t say that!” Sam pleaded, shoving Michael’s shoulder with his eyebrows knitted tightly.

Michael just held his hand up in surrender and with one last shrug of his shoulders he turned to me. “You checking out the shops? We’ll find you once we get bored.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I agreed, turning sharply on my heel and blindly making my way back into the crowd. The concert was loud, sweaty, and crowded, and it wasn’t even my style of music - the last thing I wanted to do was spend my first night there. I figured it would be much more productive if I were to check out all the shops and stands running up and down the entire area, maybe find some new pieces of jewelry, or even a possible summer job opportunity.

Many places caught my eye, and I made a mental note to check them out the next time I had free money to spend, as it wouldn’t be wise for me to make an impulse-buy when I’m so close to being completely broke. Instead a small stand in the middle of the walkway drew me to it. A piercing stand. One person working on someone already sitting on the chair. There was a large wall selection of different studs, and many different kinds of disinfectants lined along the counter.

I walked closer to the wall, admiring all the different designs they had. I’d absolutely love to get a helix or orbital piercing, but I knew it wasn’t the wisest to spend money doing something like that at a small stand on a boardwalk in Santa Carla of all places. I was suddenly broken out of my thoughts when a voice spoke up directly behind me.

“It’s a scam, you know.” I jumped, hand flying to my chest, and whipping around to look at the owner. A teenage boy, my age, maybe a little older, with long curly blond hair and a grin that could have probably wooed me into his bed by the end of the night had he not literally just scared the shit out of me.

I laughed breathlessly, shaking my head. “What is?”

“The piercings. If you need one done, I could do it for you. But they use the guns instead of a needle which will definitely infect if you’re planning on doing a cartilage one.” He explained with a tilt of his head as he turned and began making his way towards the restaurants. I took that as an invite to follow, jogging to catch up and walking next to him.

“You know a lot about piercings?” I tried to make small talk, not wanting him to get away just yet.

He nodded with a confident smirk. “I did my own, and my friends. Someone had to learn.” I laughed a little at his mock-annoyed tone and shoved my hands into my pockets to appear to be doing something. He suddenly stopped and turned to me, holding out his hand. “Marko, by the way.”

“Ivory.” I accepted his hand and we both shook, hard and firm.

“You’re new.” He nodded as if finally understanding something that had been going on inside his own head. “I would’ve noticed you before if you’d been here all along.”

We dropped each other’s hand and I gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean by that?”

He barked out a laugh and shook his head. “Nothing rude, you’re just too gorgeous to go unnoticed around here.” Before I could reply, another voice cut in from a few yards away.

“Marko! Marko, man, we’re supposed to meet David in ten!” I looked over to see another punk-looking dude calling out to Marko with his hands cupped around his mouth.

I laughed and look back towards the curly blond. “See you around?”

He nodded in confirmation, sending me one last crooked smile before turning to jog over to his other friend. I turned as well, making my way back into the crowd and away from the middle lane stands. I didn’t make it very far before the body of my youngest brother crashed into my side. I glanced down at him in bewilderment as we used each other to steady ourselves.

“Sam? Aren’t you supposed to be with Michael?” I laughed as he looked as though he’d just had the weirdest conversation of his life.

“Well, I was. Then he saw some girl at the concert and wandered after her so I went to check out the comic store.” He explained, shrugging before letting his eyes wander around once more in search of Michael. I rolled my eyes, of course Michael left Sam behind to go chase after some girl. It didn’t take long to find him, he was only a little further down the stretch of restaurants. He was more towards the end, walking out of the crowd near where the last building - a bar - sat in place.

We walked up behind him, and as soon as I was at his side I followed his eyes to a girl who was walking behind a small child, hand on his shoulder, and steering him in a certain direction. She was pretty - with big, curly hair and a beautiful smile that curled her lips up as her eyes grazed over all the lights of the carousel one last time for the night. I followed her line of sight, trying to place why Michael was following her instead of just walking up and introducing himself, but I immediately realized what the problem was.

She hoisted herself up onto the back of a motorcycle, accepting the help of the blond driver. He had a spiked mullet, dressed in all black, and when he realized Michael was staring at his girl, a cocky kind of smirk crossed his face. His friends parked next him all revved their engines to a start, and I tore my eyes from the platinum blond to see the others. I didn’t manage to catch a good look at two of them, because my eyes immediately looked onto those of the punk from earlier who’d started a conversation with me over pierced ears.

He was already looking at me, and when he realized my attention immediately locked onto him, a predatory look filled the black circles of his eyes and his lips formed into a boyish smirk directed exactly at me. He lifted his hand in a short wave, laughing along with the friend who called him away from me earlier as he shoved Marko’s shoulder in a teasing way. I lifted my hand in a small acknowledging wave back, but was knocked out of my small trance by Sam, who began teasing Michael.

“Come on, she stiffed ya!” Sam laughed harmlessly, gently punching Michael’s shoulder and turning to probably go and find Mom. I broke my gaze away from Marko immediately, turning to follow after Sam and not bothering to look back at all as I heard the bikes pull out and speed off down the road.

“Too bad she left with Mr. Mullet, she was pretty.” I tried to break the tension with Michael, I really didn’t want him to be upset over the lose of the girl, he still had all of Santa Carla’s teenage population of girls to meet.

He cracked a smile and nudged his shoulder into mine. “She really was.”

Once we made it home for the night, I separated from both my brothers and made my way into my own room. It was the smallest of all of ours, but that’s the main reason why I had chose it. It was cozy, and cute. I liked the way it came out once I had finished decorating it.

I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to those boys on the motorcycles from earlier that night. Marko seemed nice enough, even if I didn’t know whether or not I was brave enough to try to pursue a friendship with his more than intimidating friends. Just as I came to the conclusion that I should just get over myself and approach them, a sharp sting of anxiety wedged itself into my gut and nauseous filled my stomach and rose up in my throat. No. I didn’t need to become friends with those boys, there was something off, something I didn’t need to meddle in.

If I saw them again, I’d avoid eye contact and conversation completely. I was never able to understand my anxiety, but I always listened to it when it struck me.

[whiskey-writes]

Return Teaser

A SPN x reader fic

-x-

Six months. Eleven states. An area spanning from the west coast to a couple hundred miles east of the cascades.

And seventeen cases of hunters vanishing without a trace.

(Y/N) had been investigating the disappearances for the past several weeks. Even after figuring out the pattern, tracking this thing down had proven to be just about as easy as nailing smoke to a wall. It had taken her a handful of all nighters, countless hours spent pouring over the internet, and approximately five gallons worth of caffeine, but she at long last traced it all back to the source.

She played her way right into their hands, and now the real hunt began. The die was cast, and she had all her cards laid out on the table in a high stakes game of life or death.

“Hey, Bobby.” The weight of the words hung heavy in the stillness of the air. It wasn’t looking like she’d be making it out of this hunt alive, and that grim, unspoken reality read loud and clear just in the way she said hello. She was in some way thankful her call had gone straight to voice mail. It was easier if she just didn’t think about how what she was about to do would upset her uncle.

(Y/N) sat with her back pressed against the far wall, phone held up to her ear by her non-dominant hand. Her arm was propped up by her knee, while her opposite leg lay stretched out in front of her. She ran a hand through her hair and suppressed a weary sigh as she spoke into the phone. Barricaded inside the little cabin and armed to the teeth, there was nothing left to do but sit and wait as the moon rose higher and higher into the night sky.

“So, listen. I don’t have much time.” (Y/N) said, fingertips absentmindedly tracing the sigils etched into the stock of the shotgun that lay in her lap. She had soaked every bullet, blade, and weapon she could in dead man’s blood in preparation for the coming battle. “This whole hunt just went full shit show. We are dealing with vampires after all. But it’s not just that. This is far greater than we anticipated. I’ve got my back to the wall and I’m out of options. If I pull this off then there’s a chance I’ll be able to end this once and for all.”

(Y/N) paused, taking a shaky breath before confirming what Bobby will have already guessed for himself.

“They’re tracking me down as we speak.” These blood sucking bastards were targeting hunters, and (Y/N) was going to make sure there was hell to pay for it even if it cost her her life. “I’m holed up in some cabin just outside Missoula waiting for them now. It’s god damn near 23:50, at this rate the frost is gonna bite me before they get the chance.” She joked, shifting her position and adjusting her hold on the shotgun so that the barrel now rested in the crook of her neck.

One of the logs in the fireplace fell with a soft thud as the charred wood burning away beneath it crumbled apart. The subtle sound caused her body to tense up, anticipation making her jumpy. Chuckling to herself beneath her breath, (Y/N) tilted her chin up, letting her head fall back against the wall while her eyes drifted shut.

“One way or another, my bike better be back at the salvage yard one week from today, or Singer - I swear to god - I’ll crack open all of your beers so they go flat.” The playful threat brought a slight smile to her lips. Bobby knew full well how much her motorcycle meant to her, he’d been the one that helped her build it after all. This was her way of asking him to come get it if she never returned. “By the way, if you’re still looking for the TV remote it’s in the glove compartment of the Chevelle. I’m not sorry, and I regret nothing. Yell at me about it when I get back.”

With that, (Y/N) hung up and pushed herself off the ground. She wasted no time in destroying her SIM card and tossing the remains into the fire. She had more than just Singer’s number saved in her contacts and she wasn’t about to risk putting Bobby or anyone else in danger.

Another hour passed by in peace, during which time (Y/N) made a couple rounds of the small little cabin, checking and rechecking her defenses. She had taken all the blood she could when she broke into the morgue on her way out of town, right down to the very last drop. She knew she could hold her own for only just so long against a nest this strong, but (Y/N) was going to do everything in her power to slow them down.

~ x ~

“You’re a hunter.” Sam Winchester leaned against the frame of the doorway with his arms crossed, watching as his older brother got down on the floor so he could look under the couch. He wouldn’t have been able to wipe the massive grin from his face if he tried. “You kill monsters for a living, and you can’t find one little remote?”

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean snapped gruffly, his frustration steadily increasing the longer he searched.

It had been about six hours since they had brought Bobby home from the hospital. Sam and Dean had just finished working a case in Wichita when they’d gotten the call from the hospital informing them that a Mr. Snyderson had just been admitted to the OR for an emergency surgery.

It was roughly an eight hour drive from Wichita to the hospital, so by the time the boys arrived it was nearly three in the morning. According to the nurses, Bobby had been lucky; he’d come in at just the right time and they were able to remove his appendix before it ruptured. The surgery went well, there were no complications, and “Bill” would be able to go home after 24 hours of observation.

It was now just past six the next morning, and the two boys were making themselves at home while Bobby rested upstairs. Dean had made the discovery that Bobby’s TV was stuck on some shopping channel with the same infomercial crap on loop while Sam was out on a breakfast run.

Their brotherly bickering (and Dean’s hopeless search for the remote) was cut short the moment Bobby Singer walked in.

“Would you two idjits pull your heads out of your asses for once?” Bobby spat, absolutely furious as he walked through the door. He muttered violently under his breath as he retrieved a file from one of his shelves. “...of all times...that damn reckless, stubborn...”

Dean exchanged a questioning look with Sam. Something was wrong; Bobby was worried.

They both followed Bobby into the kitchen, where he threw the file onto the table before digging out his bottle of pain killers from the hospital bag that sat on the counter.

“What happened?” Sam asked gently. Dean occupied himself by eating one of the donuts Sam had bought for breakfast, while Bobby and the youngest Winchester took a seat at the table.

“My phone was turned off while I was at the hospital. I got this last night.” Bobby said, putting his phone on speaker before replaying the message. The three hunters sat in silence, listening intently as the message played. Dean had moved to take a seat at the table during that time, his brow furrowing in thought.

“She made herself their next target.” Sam stated. Bobby nodded grimly.

“Why?” Dean asked, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Who is she?”

“Her name is (Y/N) (L/N). She’s been a hunter all her life.” Bobby‘s face fell as he spoke of her, too tired to mask the worry in his eyes. “And she’s every bit the bull headed, stubborn bastard her father was. Not to mention twice as reckless.”

Bobby opened the file filled with papers hand handwritten notes, sliding it over towards Sam and Dean so they could look through it.

“A couple of weeks ago I get a knock on my door at four in the morning on a Saturday, and there stands this stinkin’ idjit all bright eyed and excited about some new case she’d stumbled across.“ Bobby scoffed.

-x-

Interested? Let me know if I should continue! Thank you so much for reading ❤️

[genderbinaryisforlosers]

i want to talk about the shepherd’s boy

i always want to talk about the shepherd’s boy. for anyone who needs their memory refreshed, which is very reasonable because it’s been nearly six years since Heaven Sent/Hell Bent first came out, this is the shepherd’s boy as the Doctor tells it

There's this emperor, and he asks this shepherd's boy, how many seconds in eternity? And the shepherd's boy says, there's this mountain of pure diamond. It takes an hour to climb it, and an hour to go around it. Every hundred years, a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on the diamond mountain. And when the entire mountain is chiselled away, the first second of eternity will have passed! You must think that's a hell of a long time. Personally, I think that's a hell of a bird.

the Doctor tells this story while he chips away at his own diamond mountain, a wall of twenty-foot-thick azbantium, which is four hundred times stronger than diamond. it takes him two billion years to gouge himself a hole big enough to walk through. he tells this story because he is the bird, and he’s right - it is one hell of a bird.

but he’s also the mountain. he has been trapped inside his confession dial, and for every cycle, secrets are extracted from him. he is resilient, and unmoving - he knows there is one confession he can give to end the torture, but he does not give in. he forces the Veil to come back time and time again, until eventually, it kills him, and in the terms of the story, one second of eternity passes. he is renewed for the next second, and the cycle begins again indefinitely.

but there are two other characters in the story, the shepherd’s boy and the emperor. Twelve embodies those, as well. in Hell Bent, the Doctor’s story begins with him sitting in an old barn, where he used to sleep as a child. where we saw stars reflected in his eyes, one dark and fearful night (in Listen). when the emperor asks the shepherd’s boy his question, he does not expect the boy to have wisdom of infinity from nights sitting under the stars, far away from the dazzling palace the emperor calls home, full of its clueless wise men.

the Doctor doesn’t mention this part of the story when he tells it, but in the Grimms’ version, because the shepherd’s boy could tell the emperor the size of infinity, he was named the heir of the empire. Hell Bent sees the Doctor lay claim on Gallifrey, wresting it from Rassilon’s grasp before he can be cheated of his “inheritance” by firing squad. so the Doctor becomes the emperor - he also has been the emperor all along. he is the man trying to understand the shape of infinity and how he might preside over it. he does with the laws of time and space what he pleases, placing his goals above everything else and holding the universe to his personal standards.

the leitmotif of ‘The Shepherd’s Boy’ appears in another notable scene - in The Day of the Doctor, directly before Twelve’s first appearance. the track is ‘This Time There’s Three of Them’ (2:19-3:20), and the Doctors make the decision to try and save Gallifrey with their combined power. it’s an act of hope, defiance, and unimaginable hubris - kind of like punching through a wall of azbantium over two billion years. it is him staking his claim on infinity, saying “the laws of time and space are mine to control, and this war will not have its way over me or my empire.” because it's also when he takes Gallifrey as his own, the moment that allows him to depose Rassilon in Hell Bent.

that scene from The Day of the Doctor goes on to define Twelve - it's why he chose his face. “Just someone. Please. Not the whole town. Just save someone.” (The Fires of Pompeii) the people of Gallifrey burn, and he can't save everybody. but some of them. he can do that.

“And above all, it’s kind. It's just that. Just kind. If I run away today, good people will die. If I stand and fight, some of them might live. Maybe not many, maybe not for long. Hey, you know, maybe there's no point in any of this at all, but it's the best I can do, so I'm going to do it. And I will stand here doing it till it kills me.”

the Doctor is every part of the shepherd’s boy. that’s why it comes to represent him in his final moments - first as he fights to his death in The Doctor Falls, in the hopes that some people - just a few people, not everyone, but a few - might escape, before he collapses and stares up at the empty sky, wishing he could see the stars. then as he begins to regenerate, and accepts the next cycle. “How long can I keep doing this, Clara? Burning the old me, to make a new one?” he asks in Heaven Sent. “I suppose one more lifetime won’t kill anyone. Well, except me,” he smiles in Twice Upon a Time. the shepherd’s boy is humble, arrogant, helpless, resilient. eternal, and finite. and above all, the shepherd’s boy is kind.

[stargaze-issei]

— "𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞" (𝐛. 𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; when your father, the head of the japanese mafia, was killed, your childhood friend swore to protect you till his death. now, you're the empress of the underground world, and he doesn't know what's harder, to keep you safe or manage to hide his feelings. what will he do when, for the first time, your life's at risk and he isn't anywhere near?

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; mafia!au, angst.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; swearing, mentions of blood, guns, murder, kidnap, yk... mafia stuff.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 2.7k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; lemme know if u want a part two bc i felt like it was getting too long and i don't know if anyone will read it or like it 👉🏻👈🏻

"where the fuck are you?" bakugou's voice stroke over the phone, noticeably angry. he had told you several times to never go anywhere without him, which you mostly did, if it weren't for him being away a lot of times. nothing less was expected from your right hand, who handled every dirty job, and considering your line of work, it wasn't scarce. but you did had other bodyguards, just as trained as katsuki, willing to give their lifes for you, which was extremely better than having bakugou giving his life.

to his eyes, you were still the little girl from before. he saw you as a someone who needed protection. at first, you agreed. your father was murdered, someone managed to get through all his security and killed him, none of the guns he and his security team carried around could protect him, killing you would be like stealing a sweet from a baby. bakugou had always kept you safe, despite his agressive usual safe, he cared about you more than he cared for himself. so you stuck to his side, believing, hoping, he'd die for you. but that was a long time ago, now, you could defend yourself, and had raised a sense of loyalty in your people by your own. your father's empire was based in fear, yours? by admiration. you didn't see your people as working ants, but as important parts of a whole. still, anyone who was a threat to you, bakugou made sure to erase them forever.

"don't talk to me like that, i'm your boss" you could feel him losing his shit, a smile began to form in your face. even when everyone respected you, he was still the same.

"you can't boss anyone if you're fucking dead, you dumb shit" a laugh came out of your throat, he couldn't avoid smiling at the sound "wait, oh, okay, i know we're you are. stay there, i'll be in three" he hung up before you could reply.

you looked back, at one of your guards who was just putting away his phone. of course they told him. why couldn't you go get your own coffee? being in the office all day was tiring, to be five minutes outside was all you asked for. a few seconds after, they handed you your coffee, obviously, a guard had to try it first, in case that barista wanted to suddenly murder you. of course he didn't.

"who let her go outside without me knowing, huh?" a furious katsuki appeared through the door, making a scene in the place. you gave him a warning look. if there was something you hated, was that. everyone in the area knew who you were, but why make it any more obvious. those people were just living their usual lifes, and people tend to get nervous around you. "the car is waiting outside" he understood, but you knew he was going to scold you anyways.

you walked outside, smiling, and got into the car, followed by katsuki and one of his subordinates, the other one got in the front sit, next to the driver.

"save it, i'm n–"

"the fuck you are" he cut you "your safety is my responsibility, if i say you can't go out without me, then you fucking don't. specially not when there are people after your head" there was no denying he was right, but still, it upset you.

"there's always people after my head, bakugou".

two weeks ago, two men went into your office. they were in charge of some dealing territories, though small, important. most contraband had to pass those places, you controlled those police departments making everything easier to your truck drivers. they were beaten, cover in blood and barely standing.

"our men, all of them... they all..." only one of them could talk, the other being too shocked to even look at you. "kazuhito's men, it was them... they said we had to tell you, they're coming after you" you couldn't show any fear in front of your so called soldiers, and your template remained at ease. a shout was enough to get those men the help they needed, after holding their hands, you promised to go see them once they were checked by doctors. you called bakugou as soon as they left, he was the first who should know and help you decide what to do next.

the kazuhito family had always been rivals, enemies of the worst kind. everyone suspect they were behind your father's assassination, but with no proof, even you knew it would be the biggest mistake to charge against them, despite your personal desires.

"i already told the drivers they had to take rout b for a while, but we can't let them just keep what's our" you explained to katsuki once he arrived. "those drugs have to get in town by us, damnit". it was clear how frustrated you were, those assholes had mess with your and your father's hardwork.

"if we retaliate, a war will unchain. your father tried to avoid that for years"

"and see how he ended up" bakugou didn't know if it was the anger, or you talking. "we will lose everyone's respect if we don't do something, they killed dozens of our people, katsuki".

he was trying hard to stay objective in that situation, but it was near impossible. a war would put you in more danger than ever, your life was at stake, and bakugou wasn't sure if he was willing to risk it. growing up by your side, your father taking him in when his parents died, you were his only family. more than that, he loved you. the only reason he was able to do his job right, was the fear of losing you. your head was already valued in millions, how could he protect you in the middle of a conflict, that would end only with your death or the kazuhito's leader's death? your power was bigger than theirs by little, but they did something that reckless, which meant they thought they had out powered you. had they? or were they just bluffing? had they miscalculated?.

"we're taking action, wether you support me or not" you looked into each other's eyes, you knew him enough to understand his fear, just not the reason behind it. your voice softened "but i'd much rather do it with you by my side".

"you're the boss" he spoke, already regretting it "i'll schedule a meeting so the high charges let everyone else know, i'm staying at your place so we can trace a plan".

and there you were now, being reprimanded by bakugou. he was extremely tired, he decided to stay with you until things were calmer, which could be several months from then. getting up at six a.m, going to sleep past midnight, being always looking for possible threats, it had given him bags under his eyes.

"i'm sorry" you said once you were alone with him, it was only then that you could let your guard down "i'm making this harder for you".

"yeah, you are. but it's my job, after all" that came out wrong, he thought. it wasn't his job, it was his fucking life purpose. he wanted you to live a long, happy life, as hard as it seemed.

"i guess it is" deep down, his response disappointed you.

"hey, look at me" out of nowhere, his body was insanely close to yours, you felt his breath in your face as he lifted your chin with his finger "there's nothing i wouldn't do for you, got that, dumbass?"

for a brief moment, the taste of his lips was all you could think about. i bet they're soft. but as fast as it started, it was over, katsuki pulled away harshly, inventing an excuse to leave. he had flown too close to the sun, so close that it burned his skin.

a few more people went to see you that day, asking for diverse permissions, advice and stuff like that. since it had been slow, compared to other times, you decided to home early. a call to your team, and the car was already outside. bakugou left instructions for your departure, because he had things to do somewhere else, much to his displeasure. you were accompanied by your escorts to the doors of the building, that seemed like a normal office compound. there were waiting two other guards, making a total of six people protecting you. way to go, bakugou.

"how's your wife, ryota?" you asked the driver. of course, not everyone fitted in the same car, so you got into the second one, middle seat, between a built up woman and a big man. you tried to remember everyone's name, but it was difficult.

"she's good, ma'am, sends her regards" he smiled at you over the mirror.

"and the baby? he must be a month old, right?" at the memory of his child, his face lightened "you should take some days off, i bet your wife and son miss you"

"i have a duty with you, m–" a loud impact interrupted him, the front glass had exploded. the car had an abrupt movement back and forward, all you could see was blood, everywhere.

the woman next to you took her gun out, in order to protect you , you thought, completely wrong. before everyone could react to her act, she shot the guard in front of you.  you looked at your side, searching for someone alive, the same bullet that had killed ryota was in the guard's at your right forehead. besides you , the only other person was that woman. if she hadn't glasses on, that stare could've seen throughout your soul. then you remembered, katsuki made you bare with a knife under your sleeve. with a weird move, you felt its sharpness against your skin, it was there, but she read you like a book. before you could even pull it out, another shot stroke followed by a intense pain in you thight. the bitch had shot you. you blamed it on the adrenaline, because nothing hurt. what happened after was a couple of blurry images in your memory.

bakugou had called you more than a hundred times, you, the drivers, the guards, everyone in his fucking team, but no one knew anything. the cameras at your house never showed you arriving, your phone's location was off. he was out of his head, if he didn't hear from you in the next five minutes, someone's going to die. he rushed into his car, following your rout at a dangerous speed. 

both cars were full of bullet holes, and every guard he had hired was dead. there wasn't a place without blood. tears of pure rage came to his eyes, fuck, it was his fault. he started to look for you, but the whole world was spinning around him. where were you? where was your body? were you alive?, this couldn't be happening. he had left you unprotected, alone, and now you could be dead, because of his uselessness. his phone vibrated in his pocket.

"sir, we– we have– the kazuhito's are here" he left as fast as he came. they had touch you, they had taken you away from him, and he wasn't going to let them get away with it, even if he had to go against a whole army, whoever was behind it all was going to pay.

a man in a suit was sitting in the chair of your office, smoking a cigarette, as calm as a rock. katsuki was so close to rip his head of right there, that somebody had to hold him down. his own people updated him, saying that he had gone into the building alone, with no weapons of any kind, not even a cellphone.

"where the fuck is she?" he crashed his hand against the desk.

"ah, mr. bakugou, please take a se–"

"tell me where she is right now if you want to keep your head, fucking bastard" his hand had wondered to the tip of the gun in his belt, menacing to blow up at any second.

"you won't do that, mr., if i don't return to my people in one hour, she'll be so fucked up that not even you will recognize her" a laugh surge grom bakugou, a dark, cold laugh.

"i don't have to kill you, then" one of the man's hand rested in the desk, like asking for katsuki to rip it off his body. as you did, he also carried knifes under his shirt. in less than a second, one of them was buried into the man's hand. he screamed, both in shock and pain, giving your bodyguard a hatred look. "what do you want, shitface?"

"i-it's quite simple, actually" his face was white as paper, and even though he wanted to talk normally, his voice shivered "we want you to take over the y/l/n's business, under our command of course" he let out a sigh, trying to keep his composure and ignoring his bleeding hand "if you– if you agree, she will have to leave japan and never..."

bakugou won't agree to that. not now and not ever. to give away what you and your father built from scratch, and spent decades keeping safe, was like killing your child, and your father's memory. to send you away, alone, where he most likely won't see you again in years, was also off the table. it wasn't funny anymore. he started walking around the man's chair, picking up his sleeves. he checked the clock in the office, he had forty-five minutes with the man, meaning, forty-five minutes to make him talk. he ressourced to every fast interrogation method he knew. the people outside the door weren't surprised when they heard the man's screams, even wondering what had taken so long for the boss to start acting. katsuki was never a patient man. his senses were blocked, he couldn't hear anything but screams and begging, all his eyes could see was pain through all the man's body, his hands felt nothing but warm blood. but for the first time in a while, he wasn't enjoying it. he was doing it out of need, the need to save you. every minute that went by, was a minute were your life risked. he never felt so close to losing his sanity.

"outside the city! she's in one of our safe houses outside the city! i don't know which, please stop!" ten minutes before the timeline he finally gave up. your intelligence had all their safe houses, storages, garages, every location needed. not a second passed when one of yours men delivered a map with all the points marked. there were five in total.

"throw him outside in ten minutes" he shouted, walking to the armory "two teams, six people each, my fucking people, hear me? now, dammit! we're leaving in a minute, if i have to go by my fucking self, i'll do it"

when he was armed to the teeth, almost a dozen of people followed him outside. they were his most trusted men and women, being trained together, he knew they were as skilled as him, and they were all willing to put their life's at stake for you, their boss. in the car, bakugou barked the instructions. he had narrowed it down to two possible locations with all the information he had. if they had to kill every person in those places, then be it. he's going to get you back.

[dhwty-writes]

Prompt: toads. Just toads.

...are you the socks anon...? If so, you leave fantastic prompts! If not, I’ve got two anons who do :D All the better

Anyways, here is TOADS! I had a field trip with this. There's two horrible poems, friendly dunking and wrestling, and two grown men running after a single toad while trying not to laugh too hard. Have fun!

Read on AO3

"Gracious gods, Geralt, did you really have to take this contract?" Jaskier complained loudly and wiped his grimy hand on his breeches.

"Hm," the witcher grunted very unhelpfully and ducked down into the reed again.

"I mean, reall- eww," he tried to wipe his hair from his forehead and managed to smear mucky pond water all over it. "'Collect some toad toes', what kind of contract is that? And why in Melitele's cursed name do you need a witcher for it?"

"Told you, Jaskier," Geralt muttered and he could hear the tell-tale sign of two empty hands clapping together. "It's for a friend."

"Some kind of friend that is..."

He groaned and stood upright again. "Have you caught anything yet?"

"Of course not," Jaskier huffed and waded over to him. At least the way the mud squelched between his toes felt nice.

"A toady monster shall be slain,

But how can I praise prettily

That venerable victory,

If the white wolf cannot stake his claim?"

He slung an arm around his shoulders and revelled in the sight of Geralt staring at him intently.

"For I am but a humble bard,

Who, when he woke with a start

This morning, didn't think he would depart

With this stunning piece of art-"

"What?!" Geralt snapped and Jaskier had a hard time not to double over laughing.

"-who lives up to ev'ry ounce of his fame,

That I have equipped him with,

The man, the witcher, the myth,

Geralt of Rivia is his name!

But if you bet on him, go to your broker,

He can't catch a measly croaker.”

Geralt growled menacingly. 

"You don't like it?" Jaskier frowned. "Alright, let me start over.

Though he's surely not a savage beast, 

He pried me from a lover's side, 

To go for a different kind of ride. 

And I swear there was a growl at least.

 He led me into the forest deep, 

To a pond that stank to the skies, 

Where we were attacked by vicious flies,

Far away from any town or keep.  

 There he said to me: 

"Get right into the fray,

On this superb sunny summer day, 

Forget the bed where you could still be,

 Forget the adventure on the roads,

And collect some fucking toads."

 Geralt glowered darkly and Jaskier smiled brightly. "What," he growled quietly, "the fuck?!"

Now he couldn't hold back the laughter anymore. "Oh, my dear witcher, the look on your face! If you could just see yourself, you-"

"Bard," he rumbled, "you're treading on very thin ice."

"-I mean, what was it that brought your mind to a screeching halt? The alliterations? The rhymes? I think I crafted those two sonnets just marvelousl- fuck!" 

He had scarcely any chance to react before Geralt wrapped both of his arms tightly around his waist and tackled him into the water.

He thrashed around wildly, kicked and scratched and bit, and even tried to scream, although he wasn't very successful, just to pull Geralt down into the water with him. 

They were still scrambling at each other when they resurfaced, Geralt attempting a chokehold and Jaskier pulling at his hair. "Fuck!" he howled, soaking wet and fuming. "Geralt, you brute, you ruined my new shirt!"

"You wrote two fucking sonnets because I can't catch a bloody toad!" he barked and dunked him again. This time he landed a vicious kick into the hollow of his knee that made the witcher grunt as his legs buckled beneath him.

"Bastard bard...," he grunted and hauled him up.

Jaskier grinned widely. "Witless witcher," he countered and dealt a blow that Geralt had taught him. Roach let out a judgemental snort and moments later Jaskier discovered why: The punch had been a severe miscalculation, for Geralt saw it coming. He deflected his punch and before he even knew what was happening, he fell face first into the mud. "Elgh, Geralt, that's disgusting!" he complained and struggled to get to his feet. 

He rose up to shaky knees, but Geralt was on him again, smearing the muck into his hair. "Do you yield?" he asked and rubbed it in deeper. "Do you yield already, Jaskier?"

"I don't, I don't!" he screeched and Roached moved as far away from them as the lead rope let her. "Big bloody bastard man, get off me so, I can repay you, you- Geralt!"

The witcher laughed and attempted to push him into the mud again. "What? D'you want more?"

"No, look! Toad!"

And there it was, mere inches from their faces, staring at them with large eyes. It croaked quietly.

"Get it!" Jaskier screamed. "Fucking get it!"

He didn't need to, for Geralt was lunging already, hands outstretched. With a deafening SPLASH he landed in the mud, the wet squelching sound soon drowned out by Geralt's laughter.

"It's getting away!" He scrambled to his feet, slipping and sputtering, dashing after the small animal. "Fuck, Geralt, keep up, it's getting away!"

"I'm coming," he assured him, still fighting the giggles, but sprinting after the toad all the same. "There it goes!"

"Where, where?" Jaskier skidded to a halt and landed on his butt again. "Bollocks, I've missed it!"

Geralt ran further ahead, trying to reach down a few times, but evidently missing. 

Jaskier tried to stand up again, hindered by the peals of laughter that bubbled out of his mouth when he watched the six-foot-two-hundred-pound witcher try to scoop up a single toad, completely unaware of his surroundings. "Watch out!" he wanted to shout, but before he even completed the sentence, Geralt had already noisily collided with a tree.

He groaned quietly, rubbing at his shoulders. "Fuck," he muttered and Jaskier had to sit down again, holding his aching belly.

"Geralt, please," he wheezed, "I can't take it-"

"Jaskier!" he bellowed. "It's coming your way!"

"Fuck!" He was right, there it was hopping towards him. He bit down hard on his lip, to keep from laughing and gathered the last bit of his strength to throw himself at the beast, effectively squashing it beneath him. "I've got it!" he cried triumphantly. "Geralt, I've got i- yuck, it's slimy, Geralt, come, quick, it's icky!"

"I'm here, I'm here," the witcher assured him and crouched down beneath him. "Where is it?"

"Nooo, eww, it's trying to squeeze into my shirt! I don't want it on my skin, I don't want it, Geralt, help!"

"Where is it, where?" he asked again, squeezing his hands beneath Jaskier's upper body in search of the nasty little fiend.

"On the left, higher, no, higher; are you groping me, you bastard? Stop that, get this thing off me first!"

"I've got it!"

"Good," Jaskier sighed with relief, "now get off me."

"Can't. I've got it in both my hands and you're spread-eagled on them."

"I'm very much not," he huffed, but wriggled out of his arms nevertheless. Not without using Geralt's forehead as leverage for his foot while pushing away, of course. "Spread-eagled," he muttered. "As if I ever did such a thing..." He got to his feet, dusting off his pants in habit. The only thing it managed was smearing the mud further. "Gross," he muttered. "What now, Geralt?"

"I'm supposed to only bring the toes," Geralt said with a grimace.

"Pfft. Your 'friend' can cut them off themself, if they insist on it. I'm not touching that thing ever again. It's far too well acquainted with my body already."

 "Hmm. We still have to transport it there somehow." He looked around the small clearing. They had rid themselves of armour, doublets and boots before wading into the water and left them with Roach, who was staring at them disapprovingly. Jaskier's lute was with her, too, and-

"Ohh, no!" he declared loudly and backed up. "No, no, no, no, no! I won't, Geralt."

"Come on," he taunted, "do it for a friend."

"A friend?! Oh, now we're friends! Yeah, that sounds convenient!"

"Jaskier..."

"No, Geralt, you can't ask that of me. That's beyond cruel, even for you, and-"

"We have to put it somewhere, Jaskier. We don't have anything else where it might fit."

"No, and that's my last word."

"Fine," he growled and folded his legs beneath him, "I'll take you to Oxenfurt for the Bardic Festival this year."

He narrowed his eyes at him. "Keep talking."

"If you win all your celebratory indulgences are on me." 

He raised his eyebrows.

Geralt sighed heavily. "And if you lose to Valdo Marx, I'll help you pelt him with rotten fruit when he goes to accept his prize."

Jaskier beamed at him. "I love to do business with you, Geralt!" He sauntered over to Roach and untied his lute case from her saddle. Gently he took out his priced instrument and wrapped it in his doublet — that was clean, at least — and approached Geralt with his newly empty lute case. "I swear to every god out there, if it shits into my lute case, I'll rip you a new one."

"Hmm," he answered and lowered his hands into it. "Quick, close it!" he hissed. He pulled his hands out, the lid snapped shut and they both threw themselves onto it to keep it that way.

Together they closed the buckles and only when Geralt had inspected them they dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Fuck," Jaskier muttered emphatically, sinking to the muddy ground next to Geralt. 

"Hmm," he agreed.

He cautiously eyed the brackish water: "I need a bath."

"Not here," Geralt grunted and struggled to his feet. "We'll get a warm one once we deliver that fucking beast." Jaskier took the offered hand and reluctantly put on his boots again. 

With his toad-infested lute case slung over his shoulder and the lute cradled in his arms he fell into step next to Geralt. He delighted in the smiles and japes he could pry out of his usually taciturn friend. 

Entertained like that the way to the remote tower in the middle of fucking nowhere didn't seem quite as bad as before. Once they got there, he almost wasn't angry anymore. 

They knocked and were quickly ushered in once Geralt gave his name and the name of the witch that lived there — one Triss Merigold. The servant took one look at them before leading them to a room with a sizable bath in the middle.

"Oh, fun!" Jaskier said. "Someone's got manners."

Geralt snorted and crossed his arms. "He's saying you stink."

"Pffft, pish posh. As if you smell any better, you-"

Unfortunately, their banter was cut short when the door opened and a beautiful woman with dark curls entered. "Geralt," she said with a smile, "you've brought a friend- what on earth happened to you?"

"Jaskier the Bard," he answered and bowed with a flourish, "at your service, Madam." He produced the lute case and held it out with a wide grin. "We've retrieved your toad. Slipped in a bit of mud in the process."

The sincere smile on her face faltered, reduced to a confused, albeit polite one. "My... toad?"

"Toad toes," Geralt ground out, "what you wanted."

And then, the miracle that made sure Jaskier would never forget that day occurred: a sorceress was stunned speechless before his very eyes. "Toad toes," she repeated slowly. "That's what you got me?"

"Yes."

"Well, not quite," Jaskier cut in. "It seemed a bit cruel to rid the poor thing of his toes, truth be told. So, we procured the whole animal. If you'd be so kind to relieve us of it? I'd like my lute case back, thank you very much."

"Geralt..." A grin tugged at the edge of her mouth. "You're no stupid man. What exactly did I tell you to retrieve?"

He frowned deeply. "Toe of frog."

"Is that a problem?" Jaskier asked without lowering the case. "Come on, that can't be a problem! Toad, frog, that's practically the same thi- wait a minute. What did you just say?"

"Toe of frog," he repeated, obviously very confused.

"Toe of frog? No, Geralt, please tell me this isn't happening."

"What?"

"Toe of frog," Triss supplied helpfully, "is a flower. Not an animal. Buttercups, to be precise." She giggled quietly and took the lute case. "Don't worry. I'll clean it. You two go on and clean yourselves. Dinner's in three hours, you can try again tomorrow." With that she left the room, a sly smile on her lips. 

"Oh, I can't believe it," Jaskier groaned. "All of that for nothing? Couldn't you have asked her what she wanted toe of frog for? Couldn't you have told me? I would've known! But no, instead you say 'fucking toad feet'. Those are not the same, Geralt!"

He still stared after her. "Fuck," he muttered.

"Unbelievable!" he threw his hands up. "I want a bath, now. So, out with you." He walked over to the large tub and tugged the shirt over his head. 

"Hm." 

He turned and quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

"What you said earlier... Technically, I got the toad off you."

Jaskier prided himself on being a man who had travelled wide and far, and seen enough of the world that nothing short of the impossible could shock him. So, he wasn't ashamed to say his jaw dropped when he heard that. "Are you serious?" he spluttered.

"You're the one who said I could grope him if I got that thing off him."

"Geralt of Rivia," a wide grin spread on his face, "you impossible man."

He grinned, too, and pulled him closer by the hips. "Is that a yes?"

"'Is that a yes?'" he mocked him affectionately. "'Is that a yes?' asks the man who insulted my poetry, dunked me under water, slammed me into mud and smeared it all over my hair, made me chase after a toad, and, if that wasn't enough, made me carry said slimy, despicable animal in my beloved lute case. All in the span of one afternoon!"

"Mhm. Sounds like a horrible person." 

"The worst." He sighed and slung his arms around his neck. "He also happens to be my best friend, who I love very much and who I am very angry at, at the moment."

"And what do you propose we do about that?"

"Kiss me," he ordered, "clean me, and take me to bed."

Geralt grinned. "That I can do." He bowed down and kissed him very gently on the lips. He wanted to pull away again, so Jaskier whined and tightened his grip. Geralt chuckled and deepened the kiss, drawing delicious little moans and gasps from Jaskier's lips and even a quiet squeal when he simply picked him up and began crossing the room. It was everything his fantasies had promised to be, sweet, heated, and pas-

All of the sudden the world dropped out beneath him. Jaskier had barely time to shout before he hit the water once again and the bottom of the tub shortly after. It took him significantly less time to resurface, though. "Geralt of Rivia!" he bellowed indignantly, wiping water and softened mud from his face.

The witcher only laughed and stripped to join him in the bath. 

 Send me prompts

[amuseoffyre]

Arthur Conan Doyle on Anti-vaxxers

From time to time some champion of the party which is opposed to vaccination comes forward to air his views in the public Press, but these periodical sallies seldom lead to any discussion, as the inherent weakness of their position renders a reply superfluous. When, however, a gentleman of Colonel Wintle's position makes an attack upon what is commonly considered by those most competent to judge to be one of the greatest victories ever won by science over disease, it is high time that some voice should be raised upon the other side. Hobbies and fads are harmless things as a rule, but when a hobby takes the form of encouraging ignorant people to neglect sanitary precautions and to live in a fool's paradise until bitter experience teaches them their mistake, it becomes a positive danger to the community at large. The interests at stake are so vital that an enormous responsibility rests with the men whose notion of progress is to revert to the condition of things which existed in the dark ages before the dawn of medical science.

Colonel Wintle bases his objection to vaccination upon two points: its immorality and its inefficiency or positive harmfulness. Let us consider it under each of these heads, giving the moral question the precedence which is its due. Is it immoral for a Government to adopt a method of procedure which experience has Proved and science has testified to conduce to the health and increased longevity of the population? Is it immoral to inflict a Passing inconvenience upon a child in order to preserve it from a deadly disease? Does the end never justify the means? Would it be immoral to give Colonel Wintle a push in order to save him from being run over by a locomotive? If all these are really immoral, I trust and pray that we may never attain morality. The colonel's reasoning reminds me of nothing so much as that adduced by some divines of the Scottish Church, who protested against the induction of chloroform. "Pain was sent us by Providence," said the worthy ministers, "and it is therefore sinful to abolish it." Colonel Wintle's line of argument is that smallpox has been also sent by Providence and that it becomes immoral to take any steps to neutralise its mischief. When once it has been concisely stated, it needs no further agitation.

In the second place is the mode of treatment a success? It has been before the public for nearly a hundred years, during which time it has been thrashed out periodically in learned societies, argued over in medical journals, examined by statisticians, sifted and tested in every conceivable method, and the result of it all is that among those who are brought in practical contact with disease, there is a unanimity upon the point which is more complete than upon any other medical subject. Homoeopath and allopath, foreigner and Englishman, find here a common ground for agreement. I fear that the testimony of the Southsea ladies which Col. Wintle quotes, or that of the district visitors which he invokes, will hardly counter-balance this consensus of scientific opinion.

The ravages made by smallpox in the days of our ancestors can hardly be realised by the present sanitary and well-vaccinated generation. Macaulay remarks that in the advertisements of the early Georgian era there is hardly ever a missing relative who is not described as "having pock marks upon his face." It was universal, in town and in country, in the cottage and in the palace. Mary, the wife of William the Third, sickened and died of it. Whole tracts of country were decimated. Now-a-days there is many a general practitioner who lives and dies without having ever seen a case. What is the cause of this amazing difference? There is no doubt what the cause appeared to be in the eyes of the men who having had experience of the old system saw the Jennerian practice of inoculation come into vogue. When in 1802 Jenner was awarded £30,000 by a grateful country the gift came from men who could see by force of contrast the value of his discovery.

I am aware that Anti-Vaccinationists endeavour to account for the wonderful decrease of smallpox by supposing that there has been some change in the type of the disease. This is pure assumption, and the facts seem to point in the other direction. Other zymotic diseases have not, as far as we know, modified their characteristics, and smallpox still asserts itself with its ancient virulence whenever sanitary defects, or the prevalence of thinkers of the Colonel Wintle type, favour its development. I have no doubt that our recent small outbreak in Portsmouth would have assumed formidable proportions had it found a congenial uninoculated population upon which to fasten. In the London smallpox hospital nurses, doctors and dressers have been in contact with the sick for more than fifty years, and during that time there is no case on record of nurse, doctor, or dresser catching the disease. They are, of course, periodically vaccinated. How long, I wonder, would the committee of the Anti-Vaccination Society remain in the wards before a case broke out among them?

As to the serious results of vaccination, which Colonel Wintle describes as indescribable, they are to a very large extent imaginary. Of course there are some unhealthy children, the offspring of unhealthy parents, who will fester and go wrong if they are pricked with a pin. It is possible that the district visitors appealed to may find out some such case. They are certainly rare, for in a tolerably large experience (five years in a large hospital, three in a busy practice in Birmingham, and nearly six down here) I have only seen one case, and it soon got well. Some parents have an amusing habit of ascribing anything which happens to their children, from the whooping-cough to a broken leg, to the effects of their vaccination. It is from this class that the anti-vaccinationist party is largely recruited.

In conclusion I would say that the subject is of such importance, ancestors call and our present immunity from small pox so striking, that it would take a very strong case to justify a change. As long as that case is so weak as to need the argument of morality to enforce it I think that the Vaccination Acts are in no great danger of being repealed.

It was Yours faithfully,

A. CONAN DOYLE, M.D., C.M.

Bush Villa, July 14th, 1887(x)