#which; able to spot / identify all the more people here but noting none of all of them here seem to be annie golden; solo; thus....
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another fourteenth annual joe iconis christmas extravaganza rehearsal glimpse, from katrina rose dideriksen
#joe iconis christmas extravaganza#yeah backing up the idea that this is just a roomful of singers doing a read &/or singthrough & All Partaking of that latter element#thus no reliable info on what their roles are through this stuff b/c 99% sure this song will be done as a solo; annie golden if available#which; able to spot / identify all the more people here but noting none of all of them here seem to be annie golden; solo; thus....#but it does include:#will roland#joe iconis#And Many More....did just check if the Cast List has updated (don't think so except the Headshots section rolling out further lol)#gay mention! are we muddling (i'm at least pretty sure they've done the UTWHTMTS version before if not always)#spying that i love play rehearsal laptop sticker; katrina's Choices halfway through lmao; harrison grabbing people for Faithful Friends &c
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Congratulations EVA, you have been accepted into the University of Lima as SANTANA LOPEZ!! To keep your spot at UoL, make sure that you send us your account within 24 HOURS and complete the CHECKLIST. But beware, Shady Lima is just waiting to expose your secret!
OOC INFO
NAME/ALIAS: eva PRONOUNS: she/her AGE: old TIMEZONE: cst ACTIVITY LEVEL: 8/10 PREVIOUS RP BLOG: blah TRIGGER(S): none ANYTHING ELSE?: none
INTRODUCTION
Hey, Lima, I’m SANTANA LOPEZ but everyone calls me SNIX, I identify as a CIS WOMAN and use SHE/HER pronouns. I was born on AUGUST 27TH making me TWENTY-ONE years old and a VIRGO. Most people call me the HBIC, maybe that’s because I am INTELLIGENT but also VAIN. If I had to describe my vibe, I would say it revolves around BREADSTIX, SHORT SKIRTS, & SMOKING CIGARS. Of course there is one thing I hope no one ever finds out, and that's I’M A CLOSETED LESBIAN & PUCK IS MY BEARD. Anyway, on a more fun note, people always say I look like CIERRA RAMIREZ.
FAMILY INFORMATION
HOMETOWN: lima, ohio FAMILY: lopez TYPE OF SIBLING: full BIRTH ORDER: oldest PARENTS STATUS: yes, but not happily POSSIBLE SIBLINGS: full, half, and adopted
SCHOOL DATA
YEAR IN SCHOOL: junior MAJOR/MINOR: fine arts (vocal performance) EXTRACURRICULARS: cheerios co-captain LIVING QUARTERS: 3 bd home with puck and maya OCCUPATION: bottle girl @ babes
HEADCANONS
From a young age, the Lopez children were being taught the importance of working hard. With their father being a doctor and their mother being a lawyer, they were at least well off enough that the kids were given opportunities most people that look like them weren't given. From music and dance lessons to sports, the Lopez children were all well rounded in something, which was how they liked it. But having extremely busy parents came with one downside: while their parents worked, the children were sent to Lima Heights Adjacent to be watched by their abuela, Alma Lopez. The woman is a strict, religious hard ass, so her grandchildren were being taught to stand up for themselves while also being respectful of her beliefs. That might not have been too hard when they were younger, but as she got older, Santana found herself testing her abuela and her beliefs more and more.
Although Santana could still excel in school and in cheerleading, it didn't take long for her to start rebelling once she hit her teenager years. What started out as just talking back to her teachers or telling a lie here or there to her parents quickly turned into stealing from her parents' liquor cabinet and sneaking out to parties. She didn't think any of it was that bad, or enough to get her disowned, but that changed in high school when she noticed the way her stare started to linger under her friend's skirts. Abuela had practically recited bible passages to her family for as long as San could remember, so she knew that the old woman saw homosexuality as an unforgivable sin, and she would outright disown her for it. Santana may have been her favorite grandchild (don't tell her siblings that), but Alma Lopez wouldn't go against her religious beliefs even for her mini me.
Withholding her desires for women worked out through high school, mostly, but by the time she graduated and was moving on to college, Santana knew she wouldn't be able to fight it for long. That's where Puck came in. The two are practically the male and female versions of the same person, so while their chemistry is mostly platonic, it's off the charts. With him being a single father who was quietly bisexual and hiding the identity of his baby mama, and her needing out of her parents' house so she could indulge in the beauty of women while in the closet, the perfect opportunity fell into their laps: they would be each other's beards. San moved in with him and his daughter Maya, who refers to her as Tia Santana, and as far as people know, the two are in a happily committed relationship. When Maya's asleep, San brings women she's met through her job at Babes over for a nightcap, and then kicks them out before her niece wakes up in the morning begging for Spanish lessons. It's almost too perfect of a situation, in her opinion, and it's her best option until she can get out of Ohio for good.
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[This post has been sitting half-done in my Drafts for a long time, because I keep hoping that I’m going to find something more about these images, and then I just keep not being able to. If you recognize any of them, please tell me!]
It’s very hard to identify the framed works on Shen Wei’s walls, mostly because a) they’re small, and b) we never get good closeups on any of them. After a lot of squinting, here’s my best take on them.
Let’s start with the easy one: The large framed print back in the little nook is a reproduction of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne and Saint John the Baptist, a 16th-century charcoal. This is the only piece that seems to match the Renaissance theme going on in the DCU hallways. Ignore the part where all this art confirms the existence of Christianity in the Guardian universe. The theological implications are staggering.
The wall opposite that has a lot of what appear to be certificates and diplomas that somebody familiar with Chinese higher education could probably make sense of, but that someone is not me. Look, I know trying to make sense of the Guardian timeline is a fool’s errand, but I still have to wonder how Shen Wei got all of those. He had to go through some schooling, right? Even if you have a super-absorbant brain, one does not simply pop out of the ground after 9,997 years ready to lecture on genetics at a university level. And he and the Nice Doctor are supposed to be college buddies, so unless she’s lying, he actually knuckled down and earned a couple letters after his name. I’m suspecting he magically fudged the undergraduate credentials, but calling him 沈教授 somewhat implies he’s a full professor with a Ph.D. I’m sure one of those framed certificates is praise for his groundbreaking dissertation on having there is a monster in the wo.
...Also, there’s a convenient great big blank spot right above the fish tank! Almost like it was waiting for an embarrassing spy-banner-slash-love-note!
The wall opposite the door has four images, none of which are very clear. The one all the way to the left looks like some kind of cloud formation, with a row of people all along the bottom looking up at it and either raising their fists or pointing. The next one over, the largest, looks to be an old man and a young child, both squatting on the ground and looking upward. There’s a much smaller one next to that, and that one may be two children standing in front of a group of adults. Finally, there’s a long image of something I can’t even start to identify, lines of what looks like lumps of contoured, colored ... sand? clouds? And is that a little owl perched at the bottom of the frame? Tell you what, that’s the one that’s been driving me up the wall, because I can’t even begin to tell what I’m looking at.
Finally, there’s the wall by the door. Some of them look like they might be by the same photographer, but they don’t look like they’re all by the same photographer. The cafe with the red seats has a lot of similar pieces hanging on its walls. Left to right, the images look like: at least one person standing on a street corner under a streetlight; a set of developed islands surrounded by canals, two of which are connected by a bridge; a person seated at a table, either looking at themselves in a wall-length mirror or looking at someone else through a doorway; a sky-perspective view of tall buildings; several balconies overlooking a courtyard, taken from the middle one of the balconies; a young boy on a smoky street with an old-fashioned car behind him; a person alone on a street, maybe in the rain; a man carrying rice seedlings for planting; and a seated, smiling person peeking out from behind a pillar.
I assume every art choice here (except maybe the certificates) is 100% a case of, we had a blank wall, so we grabbed the nearest framed objects we could find. But it’s kind of nice imagining these being deliberate choices on Shen Wei’s part, with no overarching theme in mind. He has no idea what’s “supposed” to go up in an office like this, but he knows what he likes.
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The Sound of Thunder (Spoilers)
This post contains spoilers for the future direction of The Sound of Thunder. If you do not want to read spoilers, stop here.
The Sound of Thunder is basically inspired by Silence of the Lambs with Lightning playing the role of Hannibal Lecter and Fang stepping into the shoes of Agent Clarice Starling.
The story opens with Fang be sent to interview Lightning in a secure facility. Amodar wants to get her insight into a case since someone has begun to commit murders that are eerily similar to those committed by Lightning. The critical difference is that while Lightning killed sister, she often focused her ire on the younger sister whereas the present murders seem to show greater anger toward the older sister.
Lightning’s sister, Serah, is currently in protective custody, her whereabouts unknown.
After a brief conversation, Lightning taunts Fang but takes an interests in her, revealing the differences between her murders and the present murders.
That’s where the first chapter finishes.
The basic idea of the story is fairly simple. Fang is going to try to put together the clues to identify the murderer while bodies continue to pile up.
Things get increasingly tense when Yuna and Rikku are abducted. Yuna’s father is a powerful politician, and he demands that something be done. What disturbs Amodar and Fang is that the two aren’t actually sisters. However, when asked about this, Lightning tells Fang that it isn’t necessarily the blood relationship that matters, so much as the bond between the two. After all, she didn’t just target any old pair of sisters. Lightning always went after the sisters that were the closest.
It is during this time that Serah Farron apparently disappears from police custody. After consulting with the witness protection program, Fang discovers that the murders have occurred in areas not far from Serah. She believes that Lightning’s ‘admirer’ is trying to finish what Lightning started by killing Serah.
Lightning just laughs when she’s told this, telling Fang that her ‘admirer’ would never be so crass as to take what’s hers, not if they know what’s good for them. Fang points out that Lightning is stuck behind bars, but Lightning merely smiles and tells Fang that she’ll be out soon enough.
Fang begins to believe that Lightning knows exactly who the killer is. This belief is further bolstered when forensic analysis shows that the weapon and style used to kill the latest victims is archetypical of the veterans from Lightning’s old unit in the military. Many of them simply vanished off the face of the earth after the war, and still others were lost in the conflict but never confirmed dead.
With the days passing and Braska (Yuna’s father) growing more desperate, he decides to use his political clout to force a meeting with Lightning. Lightning was a former soldier, someone who loved the outdoors and a good bit of exercise. These days, she’s cooped up in one of the most secure cells in the world.
His offer is simple. If she can give information that allows them to save his daughter and Rikku, he will have her transferred to a new cell on a deserted island. She will still be confined, and the island itself is so isolated that escape would be meaningless, but she will get more time outdoors, and a cell that allows her to do some indoor exercise.
Amodar urges Braska to reconsider, but Braska is adamant. It is at this point that Fang’s sister, Vanille, disappears. Fang is horrified, especially when a cryptic message left at the scene suggests that the one responsible is indeed the killer. She seeks out Lightning’s advice, only to find that Lightning has already been transferred as is being held in another secure location.
Dr Jihl Nabaat tells Fang that she should hurry. As Lightning’s former warden, she protested the move, but was overruled. She doesn’t think that Lightning’s new minders will be able to hold her. They don’t know what they’re dealing with.
Fang hurries to the location where Lightning is being held.
Meanwhile, Lightning is being wonderfully civil. She has passed on information to Amodar indicating that the killer is a former colleague, someone who grew up in a broken home, someone who grew to blame someone in his life that he viewed as something between a sister and a lover for his ills. During their time on the front, they came to understand one another and she learned that he planned to enact his own bloody vengeance on the world.
His name? Caius Ballad.
During a seemingly uneventful dinner, Lightning begins her escape. Faking a seizure, she lures the inexperienced guards close enough for her to kill them and take the keys. She then takes their weapons and sounds the alarm. As the backup team rushes to her ‘cell’, Lightning begins to systematically hunt them down, wiping out the entire team. She does this by wounding some of the members to lure out the others and erode team discipline while using the bodies of the guards she killed as props to draw attention at critical moments.
Rather than attempt to escape through the front door, Lightning instead takes advantage of the building’s geography to escape first to the roof and then over to a nearby building where she kills someone else, takes their clothes, and disguises herself using a hat to hide her hair. She even changes her gait and simply walks out of the building as reinforcements rush into the original building.
Fang arrives on the scene shortly after, and Lightning actually stays to watch her. When Fang somehow manages to trace Lightning’s steps via intuition and cunning, Lightning ambushes her. Rather than killing her, Lightning knocks her unconscious, but not before leaving her with a few clues.
When Fang regains consciousness, she tells Amodar what she has learned, and she finds out that Caius Ballad isn’t really the one responsible. Instead, when they track him down, they find out that he’s been dead for years. In fact, it looks a lot like Lightning killed him herself. The isolated cabin he was in was also rigged with a trap that killed most of the team sent to apprehend him.
Following Lightning’s tip to investigate the ‘chains of the past’, Fang delves into Lightning’s history. She discovers evidence that after Lightning’s parents died, she and Serah became abnormally close. At this time, they were badly let down by the system. They lost their house. They had to resort to begging to survive, and Lightning ended up joining a gang to make ends meet. It was during this period that Lightning’s kills were believed to have begun. This relationship only deepened until Serah met Snow Villiers. This enraged Lightning who saw it as a betrayal.
Lightning went to war only to return and find that Serah and Snow were going to get married. It was around that time that Lightning’s killings began to ramp up. Fang believes that Lightning saw Serah marrying Snow as the last piece of her family abandoning her and leaving her all alone. It was notable that in the car accident in which Lightning’s parents died, Lightning never lost consciousness whereas Serah did. Lightning spent three days in that ravine trapped next to the dead bodies of her parents trying to get out of the wreck and save her sister. The other driver would escape charges due to political connections but would later be killed during a robbery gone wrong.
Snow would later be killed in a car accident, but the more Fang investigated the matter, the more certain she grew that it wasn’t an accident at all. That was when Lightning’s killings took on an even more gruesome style, culminating in the hideously awful murder scene where Lightning forgot to cover her tracks. Some of her hair was found on the scene, along with fingerprints. This was how Lightning was caught.
But something about the old case files bothers her. Looking more closely at the wounds on that last, pivotal set of murders, Fang notices that the older sister was actually harmed more than the younger one - something closer to the current murders. Moreover, the knife work isn’t quite as expert as in Lightning’s older murders.
She doesn’t know quite what to make of it, but as she delves into the archives containing Lightning’s old records, she finds a note about a location very dear to Lightning: an old beach house in Bodhum. It was never hers, but her family used to walk past it every day. Fang has a hunch, and she follows it to the beach house.
There, she discovers that although it should be abandoned, there are signs that it has been lived in recently. Preparing herself, she makes her way inside. She finds Yuna and Rikku huddled together in a dark pit. She tries to call it in, but there is a jamming device in place. She is about to leave and call for reinforcements when she spots a familiar bit of clothing nearby. It belongs to Vanille.
Fang can’t bear to leave. She presses onward and finds Vanille unconscious and strapped to a chair. However, before she can leave, she is ambushed and knocked unconscious herself. When she wakes up, she finds herself staring into the face of Serah Farron.
Suddenly, it all clicks in Fang’s mind.
Lightning was never the sole killer. She and Serah had been killing people together, right from the start, most likely beginning with the driver who crashed into their car and killed their parents. The reason they’ve been killing sisters is because they don’t very highly of them. They see them as not being close enough, of not caring about each other the way Serah and Lightning do. In fact, Fang remembers that as close as the murdered sisters generally were, there were always rumours of friction and occasional arguments - imperfections in Lightning and Serah’s eyes. After all, alone and with none one else to turn to, Lightning and Serah always had each other. How could they respect people who couldn’t even manage that?
When Fang tells Serah this, the other woman is impressed.
Fang also explains her suspicions about what happened later. Snow’s accident wasn’t an accident. Lightning sabotaged his car. Serah says that is exactly what happened, and she framed Lightning for the last murder to get her arrested and killed. However, Lightning surrendered and avoided being killed, and she was then put out of Serah’s reach for revenge since she genuinely loved Snow.
Her plan was to then commit more murders knowing that Lightning would be drawn out. This succeeded, and she went after Vanille to get to Fang since she thought Lightning found Fang intriguing, and Lightning hates it when people mess with her stuff.
Sure enough, Serah is still talking when Lightning arrives.
The two sister square off. In the midst of their battle, Fang manages to free herself and Vanille, and they run for it, saving Yuna and Rikku along the way. The beach house is destroyed in an explosion when Serah, who starts losing, detonates a trap she’d set beforehand.
This spells the end of the two sisters.
Or so Fang thought.
A few months later, having received a commendation for her efforts, Fang gets a letter. It’s from Lightning. She thanks Fang for a most interesting adventure, especially the chance to reunite with her sister. Fang doesn’t have to worry. Lightning has other scores to settle and other people to kill, and she wants to see how far Fang can go.
A few days later another letter arrives.
It’s from Serah. In her words, she tells Fang that the world failed her and Lightning. They spent years afraid, wondering what new horror the next day would bring in. She talks about how often Lightning came back home bruised and beaten from her work with the gang, and how often Serah had to steal and lie to get essentials. She tells Fang that she and Lightning are going to settle their score one day. She hasn’t forgiven Lightning for Snow, and she probably never will, but she has other people to go after first.
A few days later, two sets of murders begin. They’re no longer targeting sisters, but Fang knows who is responsible. She joins the special team Amodar is putting together to catch the two sisters.
X X X
Author’s Notes
So, yeah, there is an unedited stream of consciousness of the ideas I had regarding where the story would go. Obviously, it’s very rough, but this was the ‘skeleton’ of what I thought might happen. Had I written it in full, I would have fleshed it out and tinkered with it a lot.
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Kyidyl Explains Bones - Part 3
Well, I had this halfway done and then TUMBLR ATE IT, so let me start again. UGH.
(These posts are collected under the KyidylBones tag. Do with that information what you will, lol.)
So what are we getting into today? Sex determination!
Ethical Note: I’m adding this bc not everyone who sees this post saw my post yesterday and this is important info, especially on Tumblr. Anthropologists of all stripes are well aware that sex and gender are extremely complicated. Trust me, we know. But we still do sex determination for a few reasons. First, because missing persons databases are arranged on a male/female binary, and if we’re comparing a set of remains to that database to identify the remains then we need that info. Second, demographic info for populations that have disappeared is important, even if those populations are historical. This might shock you (<--sarcasm), but written records are usually either lacking or inaccurate. Third, if we know the sex of the skeleton we can compare that to the grave goods and learn some interesting cultural things, including possibly being trans, because none of the signs of being trans survive physically in the skeleton. So I am going to be using male/female binary language, but it isn’t to exclude the wide variety of sexes and genders that don’t exist on that binary, it’s because it’s what I’ve got to work with. And if you have questions about this, feel free to ask, but please be respectful.
Alright, so there are some vocab words for today’s post and I had them all nicely written out in an easy to read paragraph, but it got eaten, so I’m just gonna present them in list fashion this time:
Characteristic - All physical markers of human variation exist on a spectrum because humans are varied and we invented the categories to begin with. If something is characteristic of, say, a male? It means that it is very, very distinctly male. It matches the stereotypical expectation of what you’d see in a male. It’s a standard for an obvious example of a given thing.
Landmark - A landmark on your bones is a feature of the bones that is always in the same place. We use this to help us identify a bone and to help us know what side it is on. IE, your lesser trochanter is a bump on your femur (thigh bone) that is on the inside towards the back. It’s always in that spot, so we know which direction it should face and ergo which side it would be on. Landmarks are unique to the bone in question.
Foramen - A hole on a bone. The big one in your skull that your spinal cord goes through is the foramen magnum and it literally means big hole. But there are a lot of little ones all over your skeleton so your nerves and blood vessels can do to your skeleton what the weirwood did to Bryden Rivers. I said what I said. ;)
Bilateral - Both sides. Humans have bilateral symmetry and so one side is symmetrical (externally and WRT your skeleton, but not always your organs.) to the other. You can split us down the middle and the two sides are basically the same.
Ok, so there’s another set of terms that you need to know, but I’m going to be copying and pasting this into every post going forward so I’m making it separate. Anyone who works with any kind of anatomy uses these terms to be very specific about the location of something on the body. They are:
Anterior/Posterior - Front and back respectively. I remember them because my mom used to say posterior when she didn’t want to say butt, and because A comes before P the way front comes before back. Sometimes people say dorsal and ventral, and I remember that because a dorsal fin is on a whale’s back.
Proximal/Distal - Near and far vertically in relationship to the center of your body. I remember it because one end of the bone is in close proximity to me and the other one is distant.
Medial/Lateral - Near and far horizontally in relationship to the center of your body. I remember it because medial is closer to the middle of my body, and lateral isn’t medial. Also, if you are reading left to right L comes before M and you’d get to a lateral body part before a medial one.
So, where to begin? How do we know what sex people were assigned at birth from just their skeleton? Let’s start with what everyone is most familiar with:
The Pelvis
The pelvis of an adult human is a really common thing for an archaeologist to find. And by the time we find it, it’s usually in three pieces (excluding your tailbone aka last vertebra). Your left and right hip bones, called the innominates, and your sacrum. Mind you, the pelvis is made up of a number of bones, but they all fuse in adulthood except these three (fun fact: I’m so used to using the individual names for them that I had to *google* the word innominate.), so this is what we usually find. If it’s a kid, they still survive well because they’re thick, heavy bones, but they aren’t fused. Another fun fact, the bumps of bone that you feel under your ass are called your ischium and I’m only telling you that because I think it’s a fun word to say. Your hop bones, like the actual entirety of the flat bladed part at the top, that’s called the Illium. I like that word too. Aaanyway, here’s a human pelvis:
(Source)
These are actual bone specimens in the top down view, both are women, but they are of different ethnic origin.
(Source)
This is a cast (IE, plastic), front view of a male pelvis.
You can see those 3 pieces I’m talking about. The only joint there that remains unfused is the sacroiliac joint, IE, where the two halves of the pelvis join the sacrum. However! You sacrum is technically a series of fused vertebrae and your spinal cord runs almost all the way to the very tip. There are some conditions which cause these not to fuse, or to not fuse properly, or to not properly encase the spinal cord and it causes all KINDS of issues. But anyway, yeah, your sacrum is a really tough hunk of bone because it carries a lot of weight. The bit in the front is called the pubic symphysis and, despite what certain tumblr posts would have you believe, having children does NOT leave a notch on the inner side of it from the muscle tearing away tiny chunks of the bone. In fact, it is hotly debated whether or not pregnancy leaves behind any skeletal evidence at all.
Alright, so basically speaking, females make da babies and males don’t, so the different equipment is differently shaped......
.....wait, no, that’s not right. Let’s back up. Male and female humans are differently proportioned and their center of gravity is, on average, different. This is the whole thing about men having upper body strength and women having thighs that can crush watermelons. This is on *average* (I will be saying a lot about averages in these posts.) true. And so the physics of the forces exerted on your bones is different. Males are top-heavy, and so their pelvis is shaped in response to their gate and muscle structure because the pelvis supports and distributes the weight of your entire body. And bipedalism means that the shape of the pelvis is very, very different depending on the weight distribution. These changes to the pelvis are really obvious, which is why we can tell from just a few bones whether or not a hominin was bipedal. It changes the *entire* body.
It is true though that the pelvis of a female is different than a male, because a female pelvis has to be able to support the weight of a developing child while still allowing the individual to walk. So the interaction of average size, a uterus, and the bipedal gate means that male and female pelvises are a different shape.
Here is a comparison:
(Source)
So firstly, that angle is called the sub-public angle, and because a females pelvis is wider and flatter than a male’s (when viewed from the front) it’s wider in the front. This also gives any babies more room. Secondly, you can see the difference in the tilt of the sacrum - in the female you can’t see the tailbone. This, again, is due to the confluence of weight distribution and the necessity of passing a baby’s head through that space. It would be a lot harder to push it out if you had a tailbone in the way. Lastly, you can see that the shape of the circle when you look top down and bottom up are different - wider on the woman because of the same reasons I’ve already mentioned. There is one more major difference between the male and female pelvis, and that’s the sciatic notch:
(Source)
Characteristic of male on the left, intermediate in the middle, and female on the right (and dang, she was young, too.). Thinner is male, wider is female. Usually you can fit your thumb in a female’s notch but barely or not at all in a male. I personally find the subpubic arch and the sciatic notch the easiest to use because, fun fact #2, those 3 sections are a bitch to hold together with your hands and that makes it hard to see the other shapes. The amount of sacrums and pelvic bones I’ve accidentally dropped while trying to determine sex....it’s a lot, ok? It’s a lot. I only have two hands and pelvises are big.
There are also several less obvious ways of determining sex from a skeleton, so you guys should definitely visit the source for the above image because they go into it deeper and there are several excellent images of public bones.
So how else do we determine sex? The next easiest way is from the skull, because the features are distinct and skulls survive well.
The Skull
In my opinion the easiest landmark to use on a skull for sex determination is the jaw. There are several features of the jaw that can be used here - and, mind you, when determining sex we measure every small and large sex-linked feature according to a scale and then average it all out. We never look at any single thing (although sometimes the individual has something so characteristic that you can’t help it. The individual in my position has a brow like a neanderthal, so it was pretty obvious.). Anyway, there are several features here but the easiest is to look at the shape of the lateral distal posterior portion of the jaw. It’s called the masseteric tuberosity. Basically, it’s a little bit of bone that sticks out of the back of your jaw. It’s one of the attachment points of the masseter aka chewing muscles attach. Because males have stronger muscles pulling on that part of the jaw and exerting more force, it flares out further for them when you look at it from the front, like this:
(Source)
It’s that sticky-outy thing thing that I circled in red. Here is an example of the same thing on females:
(Source)
Female jaws are rounder, and so that bit is less defined, flares out less, and is not as sharp as it is on males. And this is a reminder that these measures aren’t absolutes - humans have a lot of variance in them. The female asian and the male on the right both have somewhat atypical structures, while the female european and the two other males have a very characteristic structure.
The two other easiest to identify are the shape of the brown line and the shape of the chin (the mental protuberance). Here is an image of the comparison:
(Source: Pinterest, but this images are from the Human Bone Manual text that I use and I used this image so I wouldn’t have to make my own. :P)
You can see in the profile that the female skull has a higher, more vertical forehead with less pronounced brow ridges. If you look, you can also see that her chin protrudes less in profile, and is softer and less pronounced in the frontal view. The angle under her teeth is less severe.
So these three things, the chin, the brow, and the jaw, are the easiest to identify the most likely to be characteristic of the sex of the individual. But, if you compare the images I’ve used here you’ll also notice that there are other differences in the skull. Females have more of a slope to the bottom of their jaw, the bump on the back of their heads (the occipital protuberance) tends to be far less pronounced; and this is the case for all muscle attachments generally speaking. On average, males are more easily able to build muscle mass and are larger, and so their muscles pull harder on their skeletons and create larger muscle attachments. The round, blunt thing to the right of the back of the jaw that sticks out from the skull (the mastoid process), is also at a different angle and is larger in males. This is another case of the muscles being bigger and stronger - the mastoid process is where several of your jaw and neck muscles attach.
There you have it, then. The easiest ways to tell the sex of a skeleton. :)
This post has been approved by Gage the science doggo:
#science#anthropology#skeletons#human remains#human skeletons#education#KyidylBones#archaeology#bioarchaeology#humans#bones#human bones
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Tongue Tied - Tim Drake x Reader
Words: 2.4k
Requested? Yes! From a lovely anon!
“Hello lovely author, may I please request a Tim x reader who start as nerd friends, then she finds out about him being Red Robin before he can tell her, and then Red Robin saves her one day and she lets slip that she knows it's Tim. With her smarts, she's able to help him with cases and missions, and the batfam is impressed by how smart she is. You can choose whether it's a romantic ending or not, that's up to you. I just feel like smart Tim needs to be seen more. Thanks😊”
LINK TO PROMPTS & MASTERLIST -> REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN!
When I tell you I love me a smart reader I LOVE ME A SMART READER! Thank you so much for the wonderful request! Strap in dear anon you set me up for a long one and I really said “get in the car!” I hope you enjoy ; )
In the midst of a mental breakdown you let the flashbacks ensue, that’s the only correct way to lose your mind as everything you thought you knew crumbled around you right?
First you remembered “meeting” Tim Drake-Wayne for the first time. You always put meeting in quotes because you’d been in love with him for months and had sleuthed out his favorite coffee shop just to stumble into him. And because you’re you, nothing can really go as planned can it? Your plan to stumble into Tim was taken more literally when he caught you from tripping as you tried to enter the store, as you pulled yourself from his chest you felt your cheeks redden immediately.
“Oh my gosh I am such a klutz I’m so sorry” he looked flustered himself, nervously fidgeting with his sweatshirt sleeve. “Oh uh, no problem, are you okay?” he up from his jacket to meet your eyes, and though he’d never tell you his heart melted on the spot, his brother Dick defined it as “love at first sight” but that seemed too cheesy. “I’m fine! You going in here too? This is my favorite spot!” you shook off the nerves, making your way into the cafe. Tim followed you in, and to your surprise paid for your drink. Sitting at a little bar you pulled out some of your college textbooks before you realized Tim and slipped into the seat next to you.
“You in college?” his voice made you jump, your head jolting up. “Oh - no! I just think this kinda stuff is interesting. Math can predict everything ya know!” you slid your textbook between the two of you, feeling Tim’s shoulder lightly brush yours as he leaned in to read it. “Totally! Like even the golden ratio in nature!” Tim explained excitedly.
That day turned into texting every single day and hanging out whenever Tim could, and it slowly developed into a best friendship.
How did you not see the red flags like how Tim could rarely, almost never hangout at night? Or how he’d have strange bruises scattered across his body. Tim always looked dead tired but you knew he didn’t do any activities after school, to be honest the math just didn’t add up, so you took to investigating before making a conclusion - as any good scientist would. And because he’s a messy teenage boy investigation was easy.
While over at the manor Bruce had called Tim to W.E. for some sort of emergency press conference about his younger brother Damian biting a reporter, the interview was only supposed to be a half an hour. So, Tim left you with snacks and Youtube in his room while he threw on a suit and tie, which he looked like an absolute five course meal in - that wasn’t the point. You took the opportunity the riffle through his room, not exactly sure what you were looking for as you pawed through stacks of overdue assignments and dirty clothes.
With deep breaths you relived the moment that hadn’t stopped playing in your head, finding his Red Robin suit. Throwing open his closet you stifled a laugh at his pajama pants and ratty t-shirts but you choked on air when a deep red and black suit fell from the top of his closet onto your face. Thinking it was some sort of halloween costume you held it up and realized what you were touching. It made sense, the late nights, bruises, frantic cancellations, it all added up except that Tim was the sweetest person you knew, the most loving soul you knew was kicking ass while you struggled through trigonometry.
Unable to comprehend what was happening you put everything away and went home, shooting Tim some bullshit excuse about your family as your ran up to your room and began making a list - comparing Tim’s absences to Red Robin sightings, googling photos of Red Robin and drawing comparisons to the way he held himself like your best friend. There truly was no denying - Tim Drake was the Red Robin. Then it hit you like a truck - Bruce Wayne was Batman. And you assumed all of Tim’s adoptive family were vigilantes as well. You didn’t sleep that night, trying to make google searches that didn’t give anything away while trying to make a list of everything you discovered.
Tim was Red Robin. You still couldn’t wrap your mind around it. So you sat in your room at 4am, crying. Because Tim was probably out risking his life for years without you knowing. Everytime you yelled at him for cancelling plans was probably because he was out saving lives and he took all your anger, he let you berate him for scrapping his knees when it was probably the fucking Joker whooping his ass. Is it right to apologize? To tell him what you found out and try to move on with the friendship. Is this like a “now that you know I have to kill you” kinda thing? You weren’t exactly ready to die.
It seemed like Tim’s secret to keep, it was difficult at first to keep the facade that you didn’t know what he was doing at night, you just tried to always be understanding and appreciative of all the time he made for you. You fell back into the lull of best-friendship, Robin or not, Tim was the best person you knew.
“You’re in love with her Drake” Damian chided, almost annoyed with Tim’s ambivalence on the topic of his life long crush. “Am not, she’s my best friend. It’s not my fault you don’t understand friendships demon” Tim spat back, keeping his head down to hide his blush. “I’m with the demon, you practically worship the ground she walks on” Jason called, drinking straight from.a carton of milk as Dick cried out in disgust before adding his own opinion to the mess that was Tim’s love life. “Sorry kid it’s 3 to 1 which means you have to ask her out for real, remember last time?” Tim glared at the mention of his failed date proposal where you thought he was speaking in strictly hypotheticals. “You can’t out vote me on my own feelings” Tim groaned. “All in favor of allowing us to out vote Tim?” The three raised their hands again as Tim stomped up to his room, he planned on going on a peaceful patrol to plan his dream date for you.
A couple weeks into knowing Tim’s secret you learned that if you climbed to the roof of your apartment building you could see Batman and whomever he took out for patrol flipping around the city late at night. It had become a nightly routine and you’d grown to be able to identify the hero by their style of movement, your notebook filled with notes and sketches about each boy or girl. Then when you hungout with Tim you could match a vigilante’s mannerisms with one of his siblings, it was simple science really. Then you began taking down notes about whoever the Bats were fighting if it was public, discovering little facts and trying to slip Tim subconscious knowledge, it was the least you could do to help your favorite boy on earth.
But that wasn’t enough, you wanted in on the excitement of crime fighting, to have more knowledge than was on broadcast TV. So you took to the streets of Gotham armed with pepper spray, a pocket knife, and a notepad. You learned tidbits of information that you poured over, working it together until you’d solved a case, then you’d slip hypothetical ideas to Tim throughout the hours of hanging out. You felt like a real life hero, and you were getting better by the day.
“Jeez Tim it’s like you’ve been working double time! You’re solving cases before they’re even on B’s radar, what’s your secret kid genius?” Dick was stretching on the BatComputer while Tim feverishly typed in his newest solve. “Well I hangout with Y/N! She’s like a good luck charm dude I also get the best ideas when I’m with her! It’s pure magic bro I’m telling you” Tim explained as he frantically finished his report. “Lovers do have that effect! So when are you gonna tell her you’re in loveeeeee” Dick cooed as Tim shook his head. “Shut up Dickwing I’m working” was all he could give Dick without blushing or mixing up his words. He just had to plan something perfect.
But it never was perfect was it?
Kill Croc was out in the sewer, and you’d taken it upon yourself to help Tim out, you knew people who knew some of the people that helped out Croc and you were determined to find him first at any cost. That’s how you accidentally ended up in a dirty drug deal.
“Hey Timbers, you’re gonna wanna get to my location asap, I’m pretty sure your girlfriend is in trouble and it would be rude of me not to offer her saving to you” Jason heard a scramble from the other side of the comm as Tim confirmed he was on the way. He watched carefully as you searched for an escape from your capture, normally he would’ve busted the drug dealers for capturing teenagers by now but he was feeling magnanimous, deciding to give Tim the opportunity to save an unsuspecting but terrified Y/N.
There were definitely no clear exits, you cursed yourself for getting too close. You were not Red Robin, you played the long game you didn’t rush into the arms of armed drug dealers in the name of the law. Your heart was beating out of your chest as they pointed a gun at you, forcing you to walk towards a sketchy delivery truck with the other kids. “Ooh totally not gonna happen!” a familiar voice cheered as glass windows shattered, none other than your best friend stood with a grin. He looked hot as fu- not the time, not the time.
“Come any closer we’ll blow her brains out!” you felt a loaded pistol connect with the back of your head as you froze, begging to any god to live and promising not to be a field agent ever again. “That’ll be pretty hard without your gun dumbass” Tim called as four batarangs knocked the guns out of all the guy’s hands. Red Hood, who you knew was Jason Todd, burst through the back windows, guns raised. “I thought we had a deal you sorry bitches. Now let these kids go or I’ll show you what blowing brains out really looks like” the men froze, letting everyone escape.
“Too late for us, but we’re taking the pretty girl with us!” one of the men had picked up their gun, aiming it straight between your eyes and firing. You screeched when a flash of red jumped in front of you. Almost in slomo you watched the bullet connect with Tim’s body. Your scream was deafened by Red Hood’s guns as he knocked all the men completely out. Rushing to Tim’s side you pulling his head into your lap. “Tim! Oh my god Tim are you okay!” you cried as Red Robin pulled off his domino mask to reveal a very confused Tim Drake. “Kevlar, I’m fine, bullets pack a punch but it just knocked the wind out of me, how did you know who I was?” Tim sat up, showing you the bullet sized dent in his suit.
“We should go somewhere else and I can explain” you smiled sheepishly, letting Tim put his cowl back on as he loops his arm around your waist, pulling you to the top of the nearest building.
“YOU’VE KNOWN FOR MONTHS” Tim looked shocked as you explained how you figured it out and how you’ve been helping him out for weeks. “Should I have told you? I’m really sorry I just didn’t know I felt like you’d tell me when you were ready” you flinched at Tim’s shout and he calmed down. “To be honest I don’t know, you’re one of few that know who I am, but I’m glad you know, makes this even better” Tim added the last part softly, placing his hand on your cheek to lift your lips to his. Your eyes widened in shock before fluttering closed, kissing him back. The build up of months detangled itself in a night, and kissing Tim was just as perfect as you’d imagined all those years ago.
“So you’ve really been solving all those cases and you didn’t even tell me! You’re totally amazing at it!” Tim added, almost as if he’d been thinking during the kiss. “Yeah it’s pretty fun, you’re still gonna let me help right? I’m not stopping now!” you poked Tim’s chest while he thought. “I mean I’m pretty sure Babs needs a partner, but no ground work, you saw how well that went tonight, but it’ll be good to have a partner who finally knows everything” Tim exhaled, letting everything off his chest.
“Partners!” you smiled, leaning in to seal the deal with a kiss.
“This is totally epic” you stood stunned as the BatCave shined in all it’s glory. “I mean yeah it’s pretty cool, look this is my actual suit, I bet the one you saw was an older model!” Tim let you around the cave, showing off his favorite parts. You squeezed his hand trying to convey how excited you were. “I’m gonna be a better detective than you soon Timmy” you teased as Tim showed you the ropes of the BatComputer. “In your dreams babe” he rolled his eyes. “Babe huh? Didn’t realize you asked me out” you scrunched your nose at Tim while he blushed. “Oh uh, see I meant to, but yeah, I definitely should do that like-” you cut him off “yes Tim I’ll be your girlfriend you idiot” you laughed at how tongue tied the loveable boy was. You weren’t going to pretend like you didn’t get flustered around him either - you practically tripped on your own feet the first time you met him, but look how far you’d came from there.
From friends to partners to lovers and probably everything in between, you were finally Tim’s in every way, working side by side was the best thing to ever happen to both of you. That’s not quite right. Tim Drake himself was just simply the best thing that’s ever happened to you. And you to him. And that’s truly love at it’s finest.
#tim drake#tim drake x reader#tim drake x y/n#tim drake x you#red robin#red robin x reader#red robin x you#damian wayne#dick grayson#jason todd#red hood#dc fluff#tim drake fluff#tim drake fanfic#tim drake imagine#batboys#batboys x reader#batboys x you#bruce wayne#batman
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Grand ReOpening
Hubert x Reader 5,613 words
descriptions of violence, possession, Modern AU
You work at the newly remodeled and soon to be reopened Museum of History in Enbarr. A huge fire caused devastating damage to the old building, over half of the structure had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Donations pour in from private collectors in the form of money and items to replace those lost to the flames.
You finish arranging the items in the display finally locking the door on the huge glass case. Some items donated were questionable. Everything in this case is legitimate, you reassure yourself. You have already weeded out the fakes, the near perfect imitations. The director asks you how do you know? You explain to him the materials available for crafting such items, known specifics from inventories found in the locked away historical books, too delicate to be placed upon display. Sometimes you tell him you just have a feeling deep inside based on your experience and knowledge of the period. You can’t tell him the truth.
Whenever you touch one of these items, you close your eyes, the history of the item and its owners flash through your mind. It is easy to bypass the collectors, the ones that shove an item in drawers or hang it on a wall as a decoration for years at a time. The imprint left on the item when it was handled, touched, used is what you are able to see most clearly.
The small silver dagger in the upper left of the case. Its card reads: Dorothea Arnault owned this fine silver dagger. It is small enough to conceal in multiple places upon the body. Perhaps she may have concealed it in the curls of her hair for a ball or tucked it away in her corset or bodice.
They write the cards to romanticize the exhibit. People want a good story, not simply a display of stuffy items from long ago. Who would want to read a card stating she kept this particular dagger tucked into a pocket in her left boot for many years, which is exactly what you saw when you touched it.
Metal rimmed reading glasses belonging to the Imperial Spy Master, Hubert von Vestra. The card: Perhaps he wore them while brewing one of his poisons or when translating encoded messages during the war. Hah. He did not obtain these until fifty years old and mostly wore them when reading a book that struck his fancy prior to retiring for the evening.
Ferdinand von Aegir’s opera glasses. The Card: Fine mother-of-pearl covered opera glasses belonged to the Imperial Prime Minister, Ferdinand von Aegir. He may have used them when going to the Mittlefrank Opera house to watch Dorothea perform. Nope. Mother gave him these when he was but a child. Once he was older, after the war, he purchased a pair that much better suited his face, these were much too small for him as an adult.
Oh my, you’ve lost track of the time again. You scurry out of the building, making certain all doors lock behind you. Making it home just in time to change clothes, freshen up, you head back out for the Museum’s Grand Reopening Gala. Thankfully you are not on the front lines, that is the duty of the Curator, the Directors, those on the board and anyone responsible for schmoozing the rich guests, many who donated to the cause, keeping them happy. You put on your headset and have three laptops at your disposal, ready to answer any questions the staff has regarding particular items on display. You are literally fielding questions left and right. To the left are the searches for the director’s queries, to the right the Curator. In the center you follow on the security monitors where they are standing helping you to identify which particular item they need additional information about. Well past midnight you are finally allowed to leave. Security escorts you to your car and you head home for a well deserved sleep.
Two days later is the Grand Reopening. The tickets sold out three months in advance. The most devoted history fans always line up first to observe and breathe in the milieu. Listening to them mill about the displays, pour over the cases of preciously preserved objects is a joy for you.
“Look, this mirror belonged to the Emperor herself. I wonder what these items could say if they could speak. Did they reflect her face as she finished her makeup before one of the grand balls at the time, I wonder?” You knew the answers to some of their ponderings and could not hide your smirk.
A very tall dark haired male catches your eye. Dark suit jacket, black satin shirt, very nicely tailored. His jet black hair blocks the right side of his face from view. His fine leather gloves barely hover over the display case as he observes the items contained within. It suggests a hint of cosplay? Or perhaps he is attempting to channel the spirit of Lord Vestra? Your eyes sweep about the room regularly, spotting him in several different locations, each time it appears he is studying items that had belonged to the man he resembles. You wish you could see his face more clearly, however his back is turned or someone is in the way. You quietly move towards the end of the circuit the floor plan leads you through, close to the guard by the exit. There are three items of clothing belonging to Hubert this person would probably pause to examine, perhaps you can obtain a good look at his face then.
Finally, you glance through two panes of glass to see the face of the man. There is a strong resemblance to Hubert. Not exact, of course, but the cheek bones were close, the eyes are a similar shade of green. His skin tone is much darker, not nearly as pale. Your attention is taken away as the security guard a few feet from you is asked a question by an older woman.
Your focus is then called in front of you as a polite “Ahem” is noted. Standing directly before you and requesting your notice is none other than the tall dark gentleman that you have been secretively following for the last 30 minutes.
“My apologies. Not to be a bother, but I believe that you work here and would like to ask your opinion about something.” His long slender gloved fingers reach into his breast pocket, pulling out a golden box about the size of a cigarette case, barely a centimeter thick. His thumb activates a button on the case and the lid pops open revealing a dull yet clean looking folded yellowed cloth. The initials H.v.V. are sewn in black thread close to the bottom edge. The cloth is folded in a different manner than it normally lies in order to display the initials on top.
You raise your right hand up to the level of the box which is even with your chin. Touching the material with an index finger you feel the violence connected with the item, fainting straightaway.
You find yourself in the employee’s lounge with two security officers and the strange man. He is seated at a table nearby, you are located pleather covered chaise lounge, reclined. Bolting upright on the lounger, you gather your senses about you. The security officers called for EMT’s to check you out. Fortunately, you were unconscious for maybe a minute or less. You flush bright red and blame it on ‘female issues’. They insist that you remain and be checked out.
“I am terribly sorry. I assisted in bringing you back here and now that I know you are well cared for, I shall excuse myself.” The stranger stands to leave. You reach in your pocket, thrusting your business card toward him. He completes the exchange by handing you his. As he returns to the public areas of the museum the EMT’s arrive and begin their 1,000 questions.
After every possible vital statistic can be taken and recorded, they finally leave you to yourself and the security of the museum. They nod in agreement that it was most likely ‘female issues’ and you should increase your iron intake. Once you finally convince your boss that you are well enough to leave, you get in your car, grab some drive thru dinner and head directly home.
A warm cup of tea, comfortable clothing and your soft couch beneath you, you take a deep breath and begin to relax. You mull over what happened when you touched the handkerchief. That sort of reaction is expected when you touch weapons used in the war, used for self-defense, etcetera. You did not expect that from a handkerchief. The cloth was normally soaked in a strong smelling agent and held over the face of his target. Too early for ether, most likely mandrake root. Normally it would cause the target to quickly become unconscious, occasionally it would cause illness along with and possibly but not always death. One of Hubert’s weapons in the darkness, when silence was required.
You pull out the business card. Vincent H. Vestraegir. Hmmm. Possibly from the line of descendants. You enter his number and name into your phone, then text it.
You: I gave you my card at the museum. Do you still wish to discuss the
item?
Waiting for approximately 20 minutes you hear the notification tone.
V.H.V: Absolutely. Perhaps meet for coffee? Thursday or Saturday?
You: Thursday. Crown Café, 10am, after the morning rush has cleared.
V.H.V: Agreed. See you then.
Working on your day off, as usual. You log onto the Museum’s Employee website to check your email, the top notification is from your supervisor telling you that you will take a few days for yourself. The success of the reopening is greatly due to your hard work and you will take the rest of the week off. See you Saturday.
Well, well, you may get some sleep after all. After a fitful night of restlessness and strange dreams you awaken Thursday morning feeling overtired. It would be in poor taste to cancel the meeting, so you get up, showered and dressed. You decide that since you are doing this basically for free for this man, you have no obligation to him and refuse to dress up. Wearing your hair in a messy pony tail, GMU sweatshirt and jeans you head to the coffee shop a bit early. Hopefully you can get a full cup into you and wake up before he arrives.
You order a coffee double shot and finish it quickly. Bathroom, order new regular coffee, take a seat and it’s 9:50am. In the corner of your eye you see him walking past the café’s front window. This makes you smile, but you are not certain why.
He takes his seat across from you at 9:59am.
“Good morning” you greet him casually.
“Same to you.” He says, placing his phone face down on the table. He wears a long sleeve black turtleneck, fine dress pants, and black gloves.
“Please tell me what history you know of the handkerchief.” You request.
“Skipping pleasantries, straight to business, eh?” His lip curls at the edge of his mouth on the right side. “See if I pick you up off the floor the next time you faint.”
You roll your eyes.
He clears his throat. “There are several items that have been kept within the family. I do not understand the meaning behind them, why they are kept in separate or specific locations within the family residence or what significance they mean to particular members of the family. My family history appears to go through highs and lows, the most recent low is turning around, getting back toward recovery.” He pauses, enjoying his coffee for a moment. “My mother recently passed and I am now in possession of the family estate. I have not had much time to go through the property, my work is my priority. I have no intention of living there and have considered selling it. There are few things I plan on keeping for myself, the rest may go to the museum should you be able to find a use for them. I noticed at the exhibition there were some unusual items on display that I do not normally recall seeing in museum exhibitions.”
Quaffing your coffee, you take a breath. “I am sorry for your loss. The museum is changing its thought process. People are more interested in seeing the everyday life of those from history. The differences are always blown out of proportion, romanticized, too large to be true. The current exhibition is displaying the things of everyday life, to show these were not only persons held in high regard, but also humans with human needs, feelings, emotions. I agree with some of this, however there are personal items that I question if they would really want to have displayed.”
Mr. Vestraegir thinks on these last remarks, savoring the remainder of his caffeinated beverage. “Why are you concerned about the feelings of the dead? It is not as if they can come to you and complain.”
“Let us say this afternoon you are struck dead by lightning. The funeral is held in three days. Open casket. You are dressed in a white tuxedo, no gloves upon your hands. How would you feel about that?” You raise an eyebrow.
“Preposterous!” He blurts out. “I would insist on having gloves on and I have an ample amount of perfectly adequate black dress suits.”
“Why should be concerned with the feelings of the dead again? Why is it that you wear gloves? The weather is certainly warm enough they are not needed. You are extremely familiar with wearing them.”
“Hmm.” He nods in understanding, rubbing one gloved hand upon the other.
“You do have me intrigued. It is difficult to find pieces of history still standing today. It has been hundreds of years.” You wonder aloud.
“The original structure has been incorporated into the current structure. At one point walking through a corridor it feels as if you are stepping backward in time. Quite an unusual feeling.”
“When do you plan on returning there next?” You ask, thinking of your full calendar.
“In the next day or so. I want to go through some things personally prior to the movers bringing the more recently purchased furniture here.”
“I would like to accompany you to the estate. If you like, I can drive us there this afternoon. I need only to pack an overnight bag and a few items for research. My guess is you do not have internet there?”
“No.” He answers. You would have to use your phone. Not all of the house has electric, so you may wish to bring some flashlights or long extension cords as well.
Fantastic, less disturbance to the original structure you ponder. “I can pick you up in an hour if that suits you?”
He nods and it is a blur from there. Rushing home, packing, picking him up at the duplex at the address he provides. Stashing his items in the trunk you are headed to the highway.
Vincent as he prefers to be called, tells you what information he knows of the Vestra Estate. He had lived there for the first years of his youth. He and his father did not get along well and mother abided by fathers wishes. By the time he turns 12 he is sent to boarding school, graduating straight into college. Finishing his degree in law minor in accounting, he is an atty and CPA/Accountant.
There may be a few books at the property that have a bit of history in them, he’s never had much interest.
A brief stop at the store close to the house, you purchase groceries. Simple premade sandwiches, a few frozen dinners, drinks and snacks. As you wait in the car you suddenly realize you have driven far from the city with a perfect stranger, not even leaving a trail of where you are or who you are with. The perfect setting for a murder. How stupid! You quickly drop an email to your landlord, advising of your destination and how long you expect to be gone. You hesitate and do not leave Vincent’s name, that would only lead to more questions from her as she is determined to set you up with a nice bachelor.
Another 30 minutes and your car is pulling into the long driveway, the large house comes into view. He unlocks the door to show you in. He really doesn’t know much of the history of the place, it had never interested him. The two of you unload the car and he has you place your things in his mother’s old bedroom, located in a newer section of the house that has electric and running water. He goes back to the kitchen to work on groceries.
Beds are so personal. You take a breath and complete the touch. Trying to keep your mind focused on the edge of your vision. Fortunately, it is a newer bed and does not take long to complete. You will be fine sleeping here.
Vincent invites you to the more modern kitchen and the location of the food, coffee, and sundried items. He has a few things to attend to, leaving you free rein of the house to explore. He will get to specifics later tonight or in the morning.
He is absolutely correct about the corridor, they had built on to the house in multiple stages. You enter through the most recent and modern additions. The corridor seems to reach back further and further.
You slowly walk down the walls touching each section. Perceiving people passing through the corridors fill your vision, styles of clothing changing as you progress. You touch the doorframe of a small bedroom in an older portion of the house. The faces of the occupants quickly parade before you. You will the flow to slow, a young girl clings to a doll, nodding with tears in her eyes. Then the next owner, a young male perhaps ten years old with hair to his shoulders, citrine eyes. His brows are furrowed, and he is shouting, but you cannot hear what he says, anger written all over his face, his brows furrow deeply as if he argues with someone just behind you. The door appears as he is slamming it shut. Was that Hubert? Could this have been his room, you wonder. The room is decorated with old wallpaper with a feminine print. The coat of dust on the few furnishings reveals that the room has not been used or tended to for many, many years. The curtains on the window are of a thin lace, possibly being held together by the spider webs covering them, the bottom inches shredded threads.
The mantel of the fireplace and baseboards are the only pieces painted. The rest is left to the beauty of the original wood and bricks. Running your hands over the bricks at the edge of the fire box you see countless hands stacking wood, lighting the kindling, flames beginning to burn bright in the small firebox. Finally, you see older gloved hands, incredibly long fingers waving as fire bursts from their fingertips into the kindling. There are gaps until much younger but long spindly fingers cast magic into the wood creating flames.
Touching the firebricks making up the fireplace you reach out to the bottom bricks. On the right, the furthest one back is loose. A bit of maneuvering and you pull the block from its wedged in position. Three bottles lie on their sides. Without thinking you reach in to grab them. Hubert’s face comes into view, laughing with the bottles in hand. These are definitely his poison bottles, contents long dried. His handwriting on the side, coded of course, one is foxglove, the next mandrake and last is nightshade. A small paintbrush is also in the hollowed space. Removing the item provides visions of blades and darts being painted, and then the interior of a teacup.
Diabolical bastard. You admire him and hate him both at the same time. The Empire would not have won the war without him, however you did not need to firsthand witness his secrets. Sitting on the floor you catch your breath. The daylight is fading and you need to go back to your bag and set up lights and a flash light.
The room is different in the too bright halogen light. Rubber gloves in your pockets, in case something more lethal is found are at the ready. You begin touching the floorboards with your bare feet. You will notice if any has a special significance of course. Only after moving the bed and the rug that is beneath it do you find something. (the bed is approximately 300 years old, mostly for children, same with the rug.) A pocketknife blade at a corner edge and the board lifts quite easily. Several items are stashed between the supports for the floor. Gloves on and flashlight in hand you reach in and remove the items, placing them in a large clear plastic bag. You replace the floorboard and return the bed and rug to its normal position.
“Keeping yourself entertained?” Victor chuckles as he enters the room.
“Found a few things. Haven’t had a chance to look them over yet.” You say as you take the halogen lamp to the next room to inspect.
“I can make it easy for you as far as what few things I know.” He offers. “You’ve already been under the floorboard there. Next the master bedroom.” He turns that direction and you follow him with the light, dragging the extension cord behind you. He steps until he hears a hollow spot at a floorboard by the head of the bed, taking out his pocket knife, he lifts the board out of place, then steps back for you to see.
Bringing the flashlight you see a jacknife and several gold coins. You pick them up with your gloves on and place them into a separate plastic bag.
“That is all I know. I found the floorboard when I was much younger, so of course I had to stomp on every floorboard after that listening for hollow sounds.” He grins.
“Quite logical, actually.” You nod. “As a boy I am surprised that you left them here.”
He coughs. “There were more coins, I did leave some.” He looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink.
You both decide to stop searching for the evening. You’ve not had dinner yet and tomorrow is another day. Besides, you want to investigate the floorboard items further as well as show him the items found behind the fireplace.
Dinner is quickly tossed into a microwave, coffee brewed and laptops pulled out onto the kitchen table, connected to the internet via the cell phones. Both of you sit quietly, only forks scraping plates or fingers tapping on keyboards for an hour.
Closing your laptop, you place a soft towel on top and the first bag with the items from the fireplace. Wearing a glove on your right hand you take each item out of the bag, placing them on the towel.
“There were owned and handled by Hubert. I believe them to be bottles of his own poison. The brush is used to paint it upon his weapons, mostly daggers.” You relay to your tablemate.
Vincent’s eyes go wide. “You’ve just seen them. How can you swear to their authenticity?”
“The appearance matches what you would find from the time. The writing on the bottles closely resembles his handwriting from the samples we have at the museum, and the code is correct for three different poison types. The brush appears to be animal hair that would be used at the time, stuffed into the end of a tube and then crimped to hold the hair tight.”
Taking a small box of plastic bags, you pack each item individually. As you reach for the third bottle it tips over and rolls off of your laptop. You grab it with your left hand and read its history. Your eyes focus as Vincent’s fingers are snapping in your face.
“Come on, are you all right?” He questions.
“Um, yes.” You shake your head a bit, placing the item in a bag and back into the larger bag with the other items.
“Are you epileptic? You spaced out there. Please let me know if you have health issues.” Vincent pleads, the concern is heavy in his voice.
“It…it’s hard to explain.” You want to tell him something. You’re never this open with people, but he makes you feel like it is okay to let him know.
“Go on.” He says waiting patiently.
“I can see some things related to a history of an item just by touching it. I see who used it, how long ago it was when used. Yes. I must be crazy.” You nod quickly after your confession.
“I want to see it work.” He frowns, two wrinkles between his eyebrows get deeper. He stands and goes to a drawer, pulling out a large spoon and a knife. Both appear to be silver, one more tarnished and scraped that the other. He places them on the laptop.
You grab the spoon. You see his mother’s hand stirring long yellow beans in a pot before pouring a creamy sauce onto them, then it changes to different people, an older stove, another older stove. A black ceramic stove stirring gravy in a large heavy skillet.
“Your mother liked to use it for cooking yellow beans. It has been here for several hundred years, at least 300 based on the dress of the last man who had a beard was dressed.”
He looks down at the table and thinks a moment. “She loved wax beans. They look like green beans but taste a bit different. She would cook them in a sour and creamy sauce. She said the spoon was in the family for a long time. Now the knife.”
Taking the silver knife in your fingers it shows she used it nearly every day to put butter on rolls with jelly. There was a lot of time in the drawer, different users. Clothing styles changed. The age of the silver butterknife is closer to 450 or 500 years old.
You share your findings.
“I’m still not convinced.” Vincent reaches into his shirt, and pulls out a gold necklace with a ring hanging from it. A simple gold band with its necklace is placed with hesitation on the laptop. As he places it there your hand brushes against his glove.
“Your gloves are four months old, purchased at Baers and the saleslady had red hair. Just saying.” You clear your throat and take a sip of now too cold coffee.
Reaching for the ring your fingers touch it softly. Your mind is filled with its memories. He has it with him all the time, takes it off for nothing, then you see the crash, blood everywhere. You fall headfirst into the table. Vincent helps you sit back up in your seat as tears are streaming from your face.
“I…I am so sorry for your loss.” You choke and gasp as the tears fall from your eyes. “M-motorcycle crash. Five years ago. He would bring you little yellow flowers he picked from the side of the road.”
Vincent’s face lost all color. A tear fell to his cheek as he nodded. He took the necklace back and put it around his neck.
After a while he took the cups to the sink, “I think it is time to sleep.”
You nod and head to bed. For hours you lay there, unable to sleep as your mind plays back the last nine years of Vincent and his husband’s lives, together and apart. You should have refused to touch it, but you wanted him to believe. And now…now. You shake your head, turn over and stare at the wall again.
The alarm on your phone wakes you. You want to flee, leave this place. It is one thing when someone shares with you tragedies in the past, it is another to have them thrust upon you. You push yourself out of bed. You can make it through today. Once in the kitchen the coffee has just finished you reach to grab a cup. Seeing the two in the dish drainer, you carefully pick out the cup you used yesterday.
You find a note on the table that he has gone for a walk and to go through the boxes he has left in the living room. Grabbing a muffin from the counter you head to the boxes. Wearing glove you begin. A few interesting books, certainly a possibility to go into a collection, many of them simply too modern or of no interest to the museum in their current condition. A box of random items haphazardly placed into a wooden box. Some woodworking tools, chisels, a pocket watch that did not work but was several hundred years old. A coffee grinder, you would definitely need to check that out. Taking that and the watch you sit at the kitchen table. One by one you experience the history of the items. The pocket watch came from approximately 1300. The coins from the floor and jack knife were owned by Hubert’s father, Marquis Vestra. The coffee grinder, broken by a child, had belonged to Hubert at one time well after the war, during his retirement.
The bags from the child’s bedroom revealed two very different groups of items. Vincent himself had placed items in a pocket next to the ones he had originally discovered. Thinking they were a time capsule, he created one of his own including a letter about his 9 year old self, a green plastic army man named Lt. Schwartz, a yo yo and a few baseball cards. The other group of items were from a young girl. A cloth doll with a few wisps of hair still left on its head. A tiny gold ring. A slate and stylus used for writing letters and numbers, the wax long eaten away. A small carved wooden horse.
Deciding to see if there is anything in the last room as well as completing your inspection of the master bedroom, you take your half cup of coffee with you down the hallway. Coming to the end of the corridor, you hear a sound behind you. Turning slowly, you see the countenance of Hubert von Vestra walking toward you. Outfitted in his full Imperial dress uniform, his large stiff collar extends several inches up from his shoulders. A ruby red brooch holds down his cravat. You drown in the sound of leather creaking from his belts on his clothes and the swish of the heavy material of his jacket. His boots create a deep a thunking sound echoing down the hallway.
“Finally.” He says with great satisfaction. “It has been an eternity.” His right hand, void of gloves, reaches out to you, fingertips softly stroking your cheek. His pale skin is cool to the touch, it has always been that way, you think to yourself. He opens his arms welcoming you to be wrapped within them. Burying your nose in his chest you deeply inhale the familiar scent of coffee, parchment, ink and dark magic. How you have longed for this.
“What of Vincent?” you ask him, looking up into his beautiful yellow-green eyes sparkling down at you.
“We have come to an agreement.” Hubert chuckles.
The vibration of his chest, his deep laughter sends chills down your spine. After waiting nearly a thousand years to have him back in your arms the reward is so worth it.
Epilogue:
Each lifetime you searched for him, but your journeys were fruitless. This girl was the most cooperative, the most willing. You found her worse than Bernadetta in some aspects of her life, especially social. She shared this body, watching from behind, creating stories in her mind. You take control and immediately begin your plan. The museum holds his property, perhaps by touching these items you can call to him. Send a signal that you are here. But they would not let you touch the things that belonged to him. The display items you could reach, touch, were not his, only beautiful recreations. Even items held in storage at the museum were not his. You had developed a spell to obtain the history of an item by touch.
It was awful that you had to burn down part of the museum, but you needed access and you needed legitimate items. What people wouldn’t do to have their name on a placard as a donor. From the items donated several very real items were found. You found yourself touching them frequently, just to catch another glimpse of him. Your cohabitant could not take the violence, she caused you to faint so frequently. Perhaps now she may finalize her agreement with you, being released and then you and Hubert can finally have the lifetime together that was stolen from you during that horrible war.
You spoke often of death, war does that. Both agreed to move on and live the best life they could. Finding out Ferdinand was at his side made you happy, especially since it made him happy. Still, he had promised that no matter what, he would find you again and finish what was started. And so the rest of your lives begins…
#fe3h#fe16#feth#fe3h x reader#fe16 hubert von vestra#fe3h fanfic#fire emblem three houses#hubert von vestra
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Family Reunion (Darth Maul x reader) Pt. 4: Madness of Maul
{masterlist}
Story summary: the reader reunites with Maul for the first time in twelve years and...the ex-sith lord gets a strange surprise
Warnings: none, canon-madness
Notes: female pronouns, an OC child
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, current read, Part 5, Part 6
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You could feel yourself colliding with rogue bits of metal as he went, even though you could see where you were going, your own human legs could not keep up with Maul and his reckless running. The entire time, he continued to wail and mumble to himself with one hand covering his ear and the other steadily cutting into your arm. You could definitely feel blood beginning to flow out of the large punctures. But, that wasn’t what pained you the most. No, it was Maul and the state you had found him in. What had happened to your lover? What had done this to him? If you had known he was alive and you had been able to find him could you have prevented it? “NO, no, no…” Maul mumbled to himself. His voice was a growl and the noise of his metallic legs clicking against the metal walls mockingly echoed in your head, saying ‘you could have done something’.
Maul was dragging you further down into the tunnels and you could safely say that you were thoroughly lost. And, worryingly, the two of you were approaching a warm light. “Lost, she was, lost. Here she is....with me.” Maul muttered before falling into a cacophonous bout of unhinged laughter. You knew he was referring to you-had you been lost? Had he also fallen for the ruse that was your death? Guilt crashed down on you. What if that had pushed him even farther over the edge?
“Maul...Maul, I’m sorry.” You whimpered despite the niggling feeling that told you he wouldn’t understand what you were saying. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Maul hissed something garbled and incomprehensible. Soon, the source of light the two of you had been approaching was identified. In the center of a wide cavern was a pyre of burning garbage. Maul charged right towards it with another cry. Without warning, the demented zabrak scooped you up and deposited you in the corner of the clearing. “Maul?” you questioned quietly, staring up into the unfocused eyes of the man that was once your everything. The zabrak spat out a string of complete gibberish as he looked at you with his head tilted. “I-I don’t understand you!” You sobbed dryly and Maul’s face fell. He lowered himself to be closer, hands reaching out for you and, instinctively, you flinched away. But that only seemed to make his panic worse. Maul wailed at your fear and burst into his own sobs that mixed unsettlingly with high-pitched laughter. What had happened to him?
“No, no, no…” Maul heaved as he moved around his apparent new-home, swatting at invisible enemies. Your eyes stung at the sight. Slowly, you tried to get to your feet now that Maul wasn’t hovering over you. The zabrak watched your every move with a pain in his eyes that, for a second, might have convinced you that he was of sound mind. With palms raised in surrender, you dared to step closer to the man you had once described as the most cunning being in the universe. You opened your mouth to speak but, by now, Savage had caught up to the two of you.
“You are the brother I’ve been searching for.” The golden zabrak’s booming voice carried across the open area to steal Maul’s attention from you.
Immediately, Maul began to recoil. “No, no!” He shouted towards Savage as he backed away from you as you watched on completely at a loss.
“Yes, we are, we are brothers!” Savage continued despite his brother’s objections. “And look, Maul, your wife is here too. We’re here to help you, brother.”
“No!” Maul screamed again before falling into another round of demented chuckling. “You don’t know...you don’t know anything!” Maul seethed, swiftly throwing his arms out in punctuation as he clambered up what looked like a busted engine. “Never, never!”
Amidst his laughter, you looked at Savage through the flames of the pyre. Savage met your eyes and softly shook his head-he wasn’t sure how to help his brother either. Speaking of which, Maul was already on the move again. He had climbed back down the fallen engine and was now scurrying across a small ramp behind you. Maul’s brother was tracking his movement just as you were. In an effort not to anger the unstable zabrak, you stayed rooted to the spot he had left you in as Savage slowly worked his way towards you, talking all the while. “I know I am your blood.”
“Never!” Maul growled at Savage and came swooping down to place himself between you and his brother. “Never.” He groaned, head tilted back with his eyes pressed to his face. You carefully tried to move away from the zabrak in case he decided to do something rash. Your movements were forced to halt though when Maul brought his hands down and laughed once more. Again, you made eye contact with Savage. All three of you were at a crossroads, no one sure which direction to take.
But, suddenly, a familiar voice humming a foreign tune decided to interrupt the tension of the strange lair. “I’m ready for my leftovers!” Morley was back. His head popped up over the edge of the clearing with a smile on his face that soon fell into a look of pure shock upon spotting you and Savage. “Oh, you’re still alive?” He asked nervously. Savage took a step towards him and Morley fell back, trying to slither away as fast as he could but your zabrak companion was far quicker. In just a few strides, he had caught up with Morley and picked him up by the neck attached to the base of his head.
“Who did this to my brother?” Savage demanded as he marched back. You attempted to step around Maul to also interrogate Morley but his attention snapped to you in an instant and he was quick to block your way by caging you in his arms. “Are you part of this?”
Maul’s skin was searing against your own but it felt wrong. Your reunion was supposed to be warm and beautiful and sane. You struggled to get out of the zabrak’s grip, blindly kicking backward with the intent of finding purchase, but Maul held tight. One of his hands rested atop your head, nails slightly digging into your scalp as he muttered to himself and you were left suspended by his grip. “No, no,” Morley’s struggled confession took you away from the fact you were dangling like a ragdoll for a moment. “I-I found him this way.”
You were moving. Maul had lowered himself suddenly and thus, you went with him, face dangerously close to touching the rock below. You could feel Maul’s every shuddering inhale and his fingers mindlessly drummed atop your skull. Formless utterings fell from your once proud lover.
“I found him this way, I swear!” Morley still struggled to defend himself while you tried to wriggle free. But, your movement only made Maul’s grip tighten around your waist, ensuring your hands were completely useless from their position trapped against your hips. From your rather compromising position, you focused on the two other sane people in the room.
“You are a slithering liar, Morley!” You spat and the golden zabrak turned his hand so the snake was forced to look at you. “You can’t be trusted!”
“You should have been helping him!” Savage piled on, voice thundering.
“I-I didn’t know! I didn’t know!” Morley wheezed but his pleas fell on deaf ears as Savage crushed the uppermost part of his neck with a single squeeze. As the sounds of the snake’s bones cracking faded away and his body found a home on the pyre, Savage started to approach you and Maul, the latter pulling away with a hissed laugh and taking you along with him.
Not quite reading the room, Savage continued to step closer and closer. “This is where you live?” He addressed Maul who twisted his torso away from his brother. “How long have you been here?”
“Years and years and years.” Maul answered swiftly, finally letting go of you in the very corner of his home. You fell on your backside with a small huff as Maul remained hovering over you, hands making odd grabbing gestures in front of his face. “Through victory, my chains are broken. The chains, the chains are the easy part.” He took a deep breath in, “It’s what goes on in here that’s hard.” And let it out in a heart-wrenching wail as he tapped his temples.
“You have been lost, my brother.” Savage calmly explained over Maul’s sobs and you made eye contact with the golden zabrak under one of Maul’s legs. The crimson zabrak lowered himself further till his head was pressing into your shoulder and, unsteadily, you reached up to massage the back of his neck. In response to the ministration, Maul’s sobbing died down. It was strange. Your lover was not himself, not in any way, shape, or form but he responded to your touch the same way he always had. In fact, if his hovering was any indication, he still craved it. “Do you remember who you are, where you came from?”
Maul sat up, eyes glimmering as he looked past you. “Always remember I am fear.”
“Y/n, my love, my bright shining sun, how can you stand to be held by me?” Maul asked out of the blue, disrupting the still air of his ship. Confused, you pulled your face away from the juncture of his neck and shoulder where you had steadily been pressing whispering kisses against his skin.
“What do you mean?” You asked softly as one of your hands gently traced the tattoos on his chest. He didn’t answer until you looked up at him, glittering gold eyes meeting your shining (e/c).
“Always remember I am hunter.” Maul seethed, hands grasping at nothing.
“Look at me. I am Sith-a dark lord. I’m a trained killer.” Maul’s grip tightened around your waist, one hand ghosting over the steadily forming bruise on one of your hips. “I’m not meant to love or be loved-I am meant to destroy.”
“Always remember...I am filth.” Maul’s voice cracked.
“And you’re a...my light, you’re this beacon of good.” He sighed into your ear, breath ghosting over the side of your face. “You’re someone that knows how to heal and how to create. You deserve the universe, (Y/n).”
“Always remember, I am nothing.” Maul broke into sobs once more, his face falling to your shoulder as his hands wrapped around your arms.Helplessly, you looked at Savage who seemed to be contemplating his next move.
“Your legs…” he began with a vague gesture to Maul’s lower half.
“That scum!” Maul screamed into your shoulder, pulling away as he swatted at the air. “He took them from me! He took them!” His voice echoed around the chamber as you got to your feet to avoid being trampled by Maul’s spider legs.
“Who? Who took them?” Savage pressed.
“Jedi. Jedi!” Maul whispered, crouched so his torso was parallel with the floor.
“You remember?” You asked disbelievingly. If he did remember who had hurt him, then it was possible that his other memories were in there too. And maybe that meant that you could make him remember. You moved to be in Maul’s peripheral vision and Savage took a step forward to crouch in front of his brother.
“I must ask for mercy, Master. Mercy is a lie, a delusion of the weak to make themselves strong. I ask not for mercy…” Your love rambled on, moving back inch by inch as he struggled through the annals of his mind.
“What? What is it? Brother, what are you saying?” Savage yelled as he hoisted both himself and you to your feet.
“And through the filth,” Without warning, Maul charged at Savage. He picked the larger zabrak up and threw him against a wall, leaving you separated from your companion. “through the grief, Jedi!” You and Savage were struck silent as Maul’s voice bounced from wall to wall and seemed to resonate within your very bones. “Revenge. I must have my revenge.” He whispered, suddenly calm.
Quietly, you crept forward and gently placed a hand on Maul’s bicep, trying to coax him to let his brother go. “And you will have it, Maul, but first we must get out of here. Will you let Savage go and then come with us?” You squeezed his arm gently, boldly looking into Maul’s eyes which, for the first time since you’d found him, seemed focused. “My love, please.” Maul’s gold eyes flicked between you and Savage before he suddenly smiled and dropped his brother.
With an almost dopey smile, Maul clasped both of his hands around your arm and moved your hand to be cupping his cheek. “Anything...anything for my light.”
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Practical GCSE Advice
Tips From A New Year 12 Who Somehow Got All 9s
Don’t worry, I’m not becoming a studyblr. I’m writing this on results day as a sort of farewell to GCSEs and to impart some “wisdom” upon the youngsters before I move on to A-levels. I’m going to keep this to specific, practical things you can do to improve, none of that vague nonsense. Subject-specific tips for maths, geography, triple science, language, literature, graphic comms and comp sci under the fold because this is too bloody long already.
General Tips:
Don’t go revision crazy. People will always emphasize revision, but so long as you’re revising effectively (see below) you’re safe to start revising about a month before mocks, and two months before your final exams. In terms of a revision schedule during those months, I worked with one or two hours per day, with a free day on Friday and Sunday.
Use apps to stay organised. Put your school timetable and exam dates in your calendar of choice with appropriate reminders and colour coding. To keep track of homework and revision, use Adapt - you can put in your GCSEs and it tracks which topics you have covered and how many times, as well as allowing you to input homework and your school timetable. During study time use Forest (free on Android) to lock yourself out of your phone for a certain amount of time.
Pay attention to lessons from the start. From the beginning of Year 10 every lesson is a GCSE lesson, and everything you learn could come up in an exam. Follow along with your teacher, make the best notes you can, do the work and understand the concepts as early as you can. You’ll thank yourself in a year as you watch the rest of your class wonder what a ribosome is when revision time comes.
Revise effectively. Use Adapt or a textbook to keep track of your confidence level on every topic, so when you’re revising you can focus on the ones you don’t understand whatsoever. Also, don’t just read stuff when revising. You have to train your brain to retrieve the information. Memorise vocabulary and basic facts using flashcards, then answer exam questions. Lots and lots of exam questions.
Use your teachers. They want you to succeed because it reflects well on them! If you don’t understand something after a lesson, pop back at break or lunch, or shoot them an email and they will help. Don’t just bank on it not showing up in the test because Sod’s Law dictates that it will. After Christmas in Year 11 they will often start revision sessions or intervention. Attend them for any subjects you’re even slightly shaky on. They’ll boost your grade like nothing else, even if it does take up some of your chill out time.
Buy textbooks and study materials through school. If your school offers you textbooks and workbooks it’s likely that will be the best deal for them, since they’re purchased in bulk. Grab all you can in Year 10 and talk to the school if you can’t afford many - they may be willing to help. If you know any higher-level teachers see if they have any sample study materials from CGP and the like. My English teacher gave me a lovely set of sample CGP Macbeth flashcards that would have proved really useful.
Make flashcards at the end of every topic. Stay on top of them. You want a term on one side and a definition on the other, or a quote and analysis etc. If you don’t like endless bits of card floating around use Quizlet - you might not even need to make them yourself as many people have shared GCSE flashcards there.
And finally - don’t forget you’re a human! Humans need regular sleep, healthy food including breakfasts, hydration, fun and social time. Make time in your day to take care of yourself. Your brain works better when you’re healthy so often an extra hour of sleep will do more for your grade than an extra hour of revision. Hanging out with your friends and keeping up with your hobbies reduces stress.
Feel free to ask me any questions you may have about any of this stuff, or if you just need advice I’m here too! I’ve done it before, I can help you out.
Subject Specific Tips:
Edexcel Maths:
Use CorbettMaths. All the time. If you haven’t done every one of his worksheets at least once you’re not grinding hard enough. Jk, but seriously this guy used to teach me in real life and he’s awesome. He makes flashcard packs, videos on every aspect of GCSE maths, daily challenges, textbook exercises, practice exam questions... literally everything you could ever need.
Practice everything until you’re sick of it, and then do ten more questions.
You’ll need to memorise some trig identities. Don’t memorise them as a table, that’s hard. Memorise them as these triangles, sketch them out in an exam and work it out on the spot. Easy.
AQA Geography:
Don’t goof off during your fieldwork. Don’t make the same mistake as me. If I ever had to do the fieldwork paper I would not have got a 9. Even though it’s a field trip, even though you’re with your friends, this will directly impact your GCSEs and you need to treat it like an exam.
Memorise vocabulary then move onto exam questions. Geography is very formulaic and exam questions repeat themselves - take advantage of that.
Memorise. Your. Case. Studies.
AQA Biology, Chemistry and Physics:
A l l h a i l f r e e s c i e n c e l e s s o n s .
Practice those reading comprehension questions where you’re presented with information and have to answer questions about them. A surprising amount of people get overwhelmed because they haven’t revised it. You can’t! You have to read and understand it within the exam.
Memorise your bloody equations for physics or you will fail. Use Quizlet, learn them all by the end of year 10 even if you don’t know what they’re about yet, practice using them.
Buy the CGP workbooks and complete them! Make sure to buy the answers too, because CGP are scammers.
AQA English Language and Literature:
Identify 10-20 brief quotes from each piece of literature so you have a few for each character and theme. They can overlap! Also, memorise the author’s intentions for each one. With poems (for those of you who have to do them... I’m not salty, I promise) ask your teacher to recommend 5 that match up with the most themes and memorise 3 quotes from each. Remember to analyse the rest of the poems too - any of them could come up so it’s good to have an understanding.
Memorise structures for every question. The examiners will tell you not to use structures. Shut up, I got all 9s. Structures are the best way for slow writers to ensure they get everything they need to in. TETAAC (topic, evidence, terminology, analysis, alternative interpretation, context) works for lit essays and can be modified for every other question. Work out how many paragraphs you can write in 40 minutes and take that into account when planning. Once the plan is done it’s just a matter of making it sound frilly. English: hacked. My normal plan for a lit essay is a one-sentence thesis statement for an intro, 3xTETAAC paragraphs and a conclusion which reiterates everything but better.
Don’t worry if your grade is terrifyingly low to begin with. That’s just how English rolls. You’ll slowly develop the skills you need and start to make 3 or 4 grades of progress throughout year 11.
OCR Art and Design - Graphic Communication:
Think long and hard about whether you want to do graphics or fine art, if your school offers both. Graphics is designing logos, fine art is whatever you want. I should have taken fine art in retrospect.
Make as much work as possible from the very start, even if you haven’t decided on your portfolio project yet. Everything, and I mean everything, can be shoehorned. If you make a lot of work you have some leeway and can leave out your early stuff so your overall portfolio looks better.
Annotate as you go and store all your thoughts digitally. Even if you have no clue what you’re supposed to write in annotations, put down your thought process. It’s easy to tidy up something you wrote a year ago, but it’s really hard to stare at a letter F made out of newspaper and remember where on earth you were going with it.
To make enough work you will need to stay after school often and give up a lot of lunch times. That’s just how it goes. At least with the right crew it can be fun - the combo of my friends and the very chaotic art teachers at my school made my Thursday graphics sessions something to look forward to.
OCR Computer Science:
Use Quizlet flashcards to memorise terms. Being able to correctly define terms is half the battle, literally. You’ll basically get an instant 9 on the first paper if you memorise every term defined in the textbook. Luckily, someone beautiful and generous by the name of sporkified (wink wink) on Quizlet has created two sets with everything you need to know for the entire qualification.
Practice programming in your chosen language before your programming project starts. Learn to do everything mentioned in the textbook and try it out on a sample project. Many will tell you to not bother about the programming project, it doesn’t matter. That’s true to some extent, but excelling in the programming project can tip you up a grade as well as making the algorithm questions on paper 2 easier for you.
Take part in Cyber Discovery. Give it a Google, sign up. It’s really hard if you have no practical computer experience but doing it gave me a real edge with paper 2 which is where you want to focus your energy as it’s weighted more. Also it’s fun.
#certified crystallised post#crystallised infodumps#revision tips#exams#revision#gcse#gcse 2020#gcse 2021#gcse 2022#gcses#gcse maths#gcse geography#gcse biology#gcse chemistry#gcse physics#gcse english language#gcse english literature#gcse art#gcse graphics#gcse computer science#queueranium
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Hey, remember how I said I was going to post a little something writing today? Well, here it is. It’s called ‘The Krakow Tapes’ and it’s a story/document about five tapes found in Krakow, Poland, (hence the name). It’s very inspired by the SCP Foundation, but it is not an SCP, it’s my own original piece. I think it also has some of the vibes of the Magnus Archives, so think of it as a bit of a combo between the two. Full story under the cut, as it’s 3,556 words.
Entry #: 4061---------> The Krakow Tapes
Description:
The Krakow Tapes are a collection of five recordings recovered in Krakow, Poland in 2015. These recordings feature a variety of locations in and around the city. The recurring cast, so to speak, is formed by a redheaded woman, a blonde woman, two men with dark hair, and the man behind the camera, of whom we only get scant glimpses.
The recordings are made using equipment that would date them to the 1960s, but the dress of the people and the tapes they are found on would suggest the 1980s. (Note: The tapes were able to be played on a VCR.) The one exception to the 1980s style clothing is the shirt worn by the blonde woman in one of the tapes, which displays an asexual pride flag, despite that flag’s creation dating to 2010.
The identities of the five people in the tapes remain unknown, but efforts to identify them are continued as of the writing of this entry.
The recordings are of comparably high quality, given the equipment used, but all of the tapes experience audio or visual interference at a variety of points. All those present in the recordings speak in Polish, and translated transcripts are available, attached to this document.
The tapes were found scattered on the ground in an alleyway unlabeled, and no other physical evidence has been found pertaining to these recordings, as of the writing of this entry.
There is no official order, chronological or otherwise, for the tapes. Additionally, as of the writing of this entry, they remain undated.
[End description.]
Transcripts:
The following are the transcripts of the tapes, translated into English. As such, the transcripts may not be fully accurate.
Tape #: 1.
[The recording begins with the redheaded woman, standing on a rooftop. It is late afternoon. The rooftop is painted white. Other buildings are visible in the background. The woman is wearing ripped jeans with a short sleeved shirt and leather jacket.]
Cameraman: “We’re going.”
Redheaded woman: “We’re going? Oh, good, good. Hey everyone! [She spreads her arms wide, smiling.] “We’re back home again, back in the city.”
[The camera turns to show the skyline, and the blonde woman is visible in the shot.]
[The redheaded woman laughs.]
RW: “We’ve been having a good time so far, much better than we’ve had recently.”
CM: “Yeah, safe to say we’ve been sleeping a little rough.”
[RW nods in agreement.]
RW: “Yeah. I always have us prioritize food and water over other things.”
[The blonde woman walks into frame.]
Blonde woman: “That’s because you’re bossy. When you get going it's hard for us to get a word in edgewise, much less argue.”
[A vocalization is heard. The camera pans over, and the source is revealed to be one of the dark haired men.]
RW, from offscreen: “What are you doing?”
[The two men are embracing, and swaying back and forth. (Note: Due to what evidence is available, it is believed that they are in a relationship. This theory has not given light to any new leads to the identity of the people, or purpose of the recordings.) The vocalizations are believed to be singing.]
Singing dark haired man: “Having fun, buzzkill!”
Other dark haired man: “He’s gonna be a music man. Right?”
DHM: “Shut it, you.”
[The other dark haired man smiles and rests his head on the other man’s shoulder. The camera moves back to the RW and BW.]
RW: “Right, back to it. We’re staying here for now, but the view is gorgeous.”
BW: “We love this city.”
[The CM vocalizes his agreement.]
[RW begins to walk, and reaches a cooler, opening it. The sound of heels clicking is heard. She removes a bottle of water.]
RW: “We’ve got lots of water this time, so we’re set for at least a month. Food’s easier to come by, since we’re in the city, so I’m not worried about that.”
[RW takes a sip of her water.]
CM: “Yeah, we’re way better prepared than Paris.”
[RW laughs. The motion shakes her earrings, which dangle from her ears, and the chain attached to her jacket.]
RW: “Paris was a mess! We were stuck down there for days, and then we got separated.”
[RW shakes her head. There is notable visual distortion here.]
RW: “It was a lot.”
[BW fully enters the shot.]
BW: “All because that one guy wouldn't leave us alone.”
[Both RW and BW shake their heads.]
RW: “Some people just don’t know when to live and let live, as they say.”
CM: “We didn’t even take that much from him. And it’s not like any of the stuff was stuff he couldn’t replace.” (Note: This conversation, along with other bits of information found in the tapes, would imply the people in these recordings are involved in criminal activity. No police or court records have been found matching what evidence is available. This aspect is still under investigation.)
[The dark haired men move closer, and BW greets them.]
ODHM: “It’s getting about that time. Who’s turn is it to grab the night supplies?”
RW: I’d do it, but my ankle hurts so I’m not gonna be up to the climb.”
CM: “If you don’t feel up to it, we’re not going to make you, sweetheart.” (Note: There is evidence suggesting CM and RW are in a relationship. This theory has led nowhere.)
DHM: “You might be willing to let her off the hook. We’ve all done more in worse states.”
BW: “I’ll do it.”
[The camera is set down on a ledge, and the remaining fifteen minutes of the recording is footage of the skyline and the sunset.]
[End transcript of Tape #: 1]
Tape #: 2
[The recording begins on the same rooftop as before. It’s nighttime, and a few stars are visible. There are sleeping bags spread around the roof, duffle bags and backpacks, and a second cooler in addition to the one from the first recording. A fire pit has been set up in the center of the roof, and a fire has been lit. Wood is piled beside it.]
CM: “Beautiful night here. Not too cold, and we managed to snag a fire pit.”
[The sound of heels is heard, and RW jumps on CM from behind.]
CM: “Hey, hey! Careful of the camera!”
RW: “I know, I know.”
[The camera turns to face her, and she is dimly lit by the fire.]
RW: “You can be no fun sometimes, you know that?”
CM: “I’m careful.”
[The camera is moved in a panoramic shot of the rooftop. The dark haired men are sitting in chairs next to the fire, holding hands. The blonde woman is walking on the ledge, making a vocalization that is believed to be humming. She is holding a glass bottle in her hand.]
RW: “Do you want me to grab you a drink?”
CM: “Sure. You know what I like.”
[RW moves into frame as she walks to one of the coolers, and removes two glass bottles. One of the bottles is lit well enough to identify it as beer. RW hands one of the bottles to CM.]
DHM: “Come sit!”
[RW and CM walk over to the chairs, and each take a seat. CM sits across from the three of them, so that they are in frame. The camera zooms in on the night skyline, and remains there for five seconds, and then zooms back out, and the people are again in the shot.]
ODHM: “I love the city at night. So peaceful. Plus, I’m with you.”
DHM: “Yeah.”
[DHM smiles and gives ODHM a kiss on the cheek. RW smiles.]
RW: “Anyway, we plan on staying here for a while. We’re not going to have the fire on too much longer, but I’m not super concerned as there’s a chimney on this building.”
[The vocalizations from BW grow louder, and appear to be singing. It is noted that there is audio distortion at this time.]
ODHM: “Be careful! None of us are going to catch you if you fall off.”
[The camera is moved so that it is pointed at BW. She is still walking along the ledge with the bottle, and her step is noticeably more uneven. There is slight visual distortion, which may be a result of the equipment used.]
BW: “I’m fine.”
RW: “Just come down, please. You can come sit with us!”
[BW stops walking. The camera zooms to show her mock pout, and zooms out to film her walking towards the rest of the group. She takes a seat next to DHM.]
RW: “Should we talk about our plans for what we’re going to do next?”
ODHM: “Sure. We’re going to lay low for a while. Like we said before, there’s that one guy who won’t get off our backs.”
[RW and DHM roll their eyes.]
ODHM: “Besides that, we never do anything here, in our home city.”
DHM: “Yeah. We want this to be our safe spot, a place we can come back to. Whenever we do something, if the fallout is bad enough we may never come back. We like the freedom to move.”
BW: “We talked a little about going to Moscow next, right?”
RW: “Yeah, we did. Nothing’s set in stone, as if we ever do that, but yeah, I think we should.”
ODHM: “From what we’ve heard, there’s definitely a space there for what we do. Even if it’s not what we do next, we’ll definitely do it at some point.”
CM: “Personally I’d like to go because the city is beautiful. I’d love to take pictures there. City that big’s gotta have a decent place to develop them, too.”
[DHM and BW sound their agreement. RW gets up and tosses a couple of logs onto the fire.]
RW: “We’ll let it get through those and then put it out. Gotta sleep sometime, and we really shouldn’t be sleeping with an open fire around.”
ODHM: “Yeah, I’d rather not go up in flames in my sleep.”
[The next few minutes of the recording are extremely distorted, and when that ceases, RW and DHM are putting out the fire.]
BW: “You guys got it?”
RW: “Yeah, you head to bed. Or bag, rather.”
[The fire is put out, and the camera lingers on a shot of the city skyline. The recording is turned off after approximately a minute and thirty seconds.]
[End transcript of Tape #: 2]
Tape #: 3
[The recording begins with a shot of a rose. The camera moves to show a park, all of the people, save CM, are shown in this shot.]
CM: “You guys can talk now, I’ve got the shot.”
RW: “Oh, cool. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
[BW nudges RW in the arm. They are seated on a bench, and BW is wearing a shirt with the asexual pride flag on it.]
BW: “Didn’t you say we were going to have lunch now?”
RW: “Yes! I left the basket in the car. I’ll be right back.”
[RW gets up and heads offscreen.]
DHM: “While she’s getting that, I’ll give you a brief rundown. We had a bit of time to ourselves, and we decided to hang out in this park and have lunch.”
[ODHM laughs.]
DHM: “Well, I said it’d be brief.”
ODHM: “Yes you did.”
[RW returns with a picnic basket in hand.]
RW: “Did we decide where we’re eating?”
DHM: “Uh, the park?”
[RW rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.]
RW: “I know that, Mr. Sarcastic, but I’m talking about the specific spot. We can eat on the benches, but I did bring a blanket.”
BW: “Just spread it out in front, if someone wants to sit on the bench they can, if someone wants to sit on the blanket they can.”
[RW and BW spread the blanket on the ground. RW sets the basket down on the right side, and CM sits on the blanket, with the others remaining in frame. RW and BW sit down on the blanket, and DHM and ODHM remain on the bench.]
ODHM: “Can you still see us okay?”
CM: “Yes.”
ODHM: “Cool, cool.”
[The next ten minutes of the recording are of them eating. There is light conversation throughout, but audio distortion makes it mostly inaudible.]
DHM: “So yeah, not eating there again.”
[They all laugh.]
BW: “Fun story, but it is really the one to tell while we’re eating?”
ODHM: “She’s got a point.”
[DHM rolls his eyes.]
DHM: “You’ll be fine.”
[ODHM takes DHM’s hand.]
ODHM: “You’ve gotta lotta snark in you, don’tcha.”
RW: “Yeah, he does.”
[RW pats DHM’s knee.]
CM: “If we’re all done, we should put the food stuff back in the car.”
BW: “Ever the clean freak.”
[BW smiles into the camera, looking at CM.]
DHM: “I’ll help, if you’re doing it.”
BW: “Okay.”
[BW and DHM clean up. RW and CM get off of the blanket. RW and ODHM fold up the blanket and pass it to BW. BW takes the basket and heads offscreen. The other three sit on the benches while CM stands.]
CM: “Good to be here, with you guys. I hate it when we can’t be together.”
DHM: “Yeah. It almost feels like we’re always together when we are, but when we’re apart it’s like we never have.”
[RW and CM make noises of agreement.]
ODHM: “I love you guys.”
[The camera is set down, and all but the legs and feet of the people are out of frame. It is believed that they are embracing each other here. The camera stays on this shot for six seconds, before becoming incredibly distorted. When the recording is clear again, it is on a shot of BW and RW embracing each other. BW is holding out a camera, pointed at them, and RW has her arm draped across BW’s chest and her hand is resting on her shoulder. ]
[End transcript of Tape #: 3]
Tape #: 4
[The recording begins with footage of the carpeted floor of a restaurant. The camera moves as CM walks. After fifteen seconds the movement ceases.]
DHM: “We’re clear.”
[CM moves through a door into a bathroom. The camera remains pointed at the tiled floor.]
CM: “We’re the only ones in here?”
BW: “Yes, we are.”
[The camera moves up to about eye level. BW is in front of the camera, wearing a deep blue dress with criss-cross cording down the front. RW is half out of frame.]
ODHM: “Everyone’s in here, we’re just behind the camera. Small bathroom, you see.”
[The camera moves in a circle around the room. RW becomes fully in the shot, wearing a knee length silver dress. DHM and ODHM are shown in frame, and they are wearing suits. The camera completes its rotation and stops once BW is in the frame again.]
CM: “Do you want to explain? I stopped on you, but I can move.”
BW: “No, no, I can do it.”
DHM: “Awesome.”
BW: “If you don’t interrupt, that is, please and thank you.”
DHM: “Sorry.”
BW: “Anyway, this is very impulsive and not what we’re supposed to be doing, we’re working right now but we all look gorgeous and we wanted to preserve it for posterity.”
RW: “Yeah we do!”
[The camera turns to focus on RW, and she spins to show off her dress. When she’s done, she blows a kiss toward the camera. The camera moves back to BW.]
BW: “So, yeah. We can’t talk about what we’re doing, we’re not supposed to, but we are enjoying ourselves. Can’t say that about every time when we’re working.”
[ODHM voices his agreement.]
BW: “How much time do we have in here?”
RW: “I think about five more minutes. Food is gonna be here soon and we’re already been gone for a while. Don’t want them to get suspicious.” (Note: Whoever ‘them’ is has not been identified. However, the restaurant the people are in has been identified, based on the carpet pattern. The restaurant is no longer in business, but the building still has the same carpet.)
[RW walks in frame. She stands next to BW.]
RW: “Let’s get a shot of us all together before we stop.”
[RW gestures DHM and ODHM over to the same side of the bathroom as her. CM has to take a couple of steps back to get them all in frame. As he steps back, a brief glimpse of his reflection is visible in the mirror. The facial features are mostly blurred, but the man appears to have light brown hair.]
DHM: “Can you see us all?”
CM: “Yes.”
[DHM and ODHM position themselves on the outermost side of RW and BW, respectively. They stand there and smile. A knock is heard at the door. The camera points towards the ground and is shut off.]
[End transcript of Tape #:4]
Tape #: 5
[The recording begins with a shot of a bridge. Traffic is moving at a steady interval on the road on top. The bridge was painted white, but the paint is peeling, and much of the bridge has been graffitied. One section has what more closely resembles a mural, with an impressionistic sea scene and birds flying above it. Four of the five people are standing under the bridge.]
CM: “You know, I like this bridge. It’s not the most unique, but something about it is just nice.”
[ODHM spots the camera and jogs over. He smiles.]
ODHM: “I knew you couldn’t resist filming the bridge.”
CM: “It’s a nice bridge.”
[ODHM laughs.]
ODHM: “Yeah, I guess it is. Come on, we’ve snagged some fruit. Your favorite!”
[He turns and walks over to RW, who is holding a plastic shopping bag. CM follows.]
CM: “For your information, fruit is not my favorite. I just like eating healthy food. It seems strange to you because you’re twenty-five percent chips.”
[ODHM and RW both laugh. RW rests her hand on her stomach.]
RW: “Hey, play nice you two.”
ODHM: “We will.”
[ODHM tosses his arm around RW’s shoulders. DHM comes into frame.]
DHM: “Did you get any bananas? I’ve been wanting some lately.”
RW: “Yeah, right here.”
[RW rummages in the bag, removes a banana and hands it to DHM, who begins to eat it.]
CM: “Now, what do we say?”
[DHM snorts.]
DHM: “Thank you.”
CM: “There you go.”
DHM: “You realize I’m, how old? I’m old enough to know when to say thank you.”
RW: “First of all, do you not know your own age? And second, it’s not just knowing when, it’s doing it, too.”
BW: “Manners!”
DHM: “Why don’t you come over here and tell me yourself?”
[BW jogs over to be in frame.]
BW: “I was talking to a squirrel, who was chasing another squirrel that was trying to eat a nut.”
[They all laugh.]
RW: “Yeah, sounds like you.”
[RW reaches out and pulls BW to her side.]
ODHM: “Dork.”
[ODHM smiles at BW, who smiles back.]
BW: “I am. And you are too.”
CM: “We’re all dorks, I think. It’s probably why we get along so well.”
RW: “Birds of a feather.”
CM: “Exactly.”
[BW points behind CM.]
BW: “There go the squirrels!”
[The camera is spun around to catch the squirrels chasing each other. The camera zooms in on the animals running after each other, and eventually up a tree. The camera turns back toward the people.]
ODHM: “Other than watching squirrels and eating fruit, we haven’t been up to much lately.”
RW: “We’ve decided to take a little break, and just enjoy life for a little while.”
CM: “Like this bridge.”
RW: “Like this bridge. And really, would we be proper miscreants if we didn’t hang out under bridges?”
DHM: “I feel like ‘proper miscreants’ defies the whole point of miscreants.”
[BW shrugs.]
BW: “It’s possible.”
RW: “Anyway, we were going to go down to this pond and feed some ducks. I have bread in the bag.”
[RW smiles at CM.]
RW: “Do you want to put the camera down and come with us? Live in the moment, you know?”
CM: “Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ll come along.”
[The closing shot of this recording is of the four people in the frame smiling, until the camera turns off.]
[End transcript of Tape #: 5]
End Notes:
There isn’t much to say, on this one. Most of the information we have is already in this entry, and what’s left is just menial stuff that is filed somewhere else. The annoying thing about cases like this is that unless any new evidence turns up, we’re never going to fully solve it. Usually if cases like this are solved, it’s just people messing around, making one of those ‘alternate reality games’ that are so popular nowadays. It’s rare for it to be something that needs a real investigation.
Well, I guess it’ll just stay open, then. This is just a weird set of tapes with a bunch of time inconsistencies and some possible offscreen criminal activity. Nothing we can turn over as actual evidence of something going on.
If you’re reading this, you know the protocol. If anything else turns up related to this case, you notify the research team. Unless you have specific permission to do so, do not edit this entry. You know the consequences.
[End (End Notes)]
[End Entry #: 4061---------> The Krakow Tapes]
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It’s Not about Death, but Life
Getting into the event was child's play. This one was outside of her normal area these days, but they were all basically the same. High society events were excuses the upper class used to show off their wealth and to show anything off you also needed people to show off to.
A press pass got her through the doors without even a pat down despite the baggie hoodie she wore.
Sloppy.
Byleth carefully didn't roll her eyes at the bargain bin security team. Instead, she made a point of looking reluctantly impressed by all the glitz and glam on display around her. In a hoodie and a knee-length skirt not even her strappy black heels could help her blend in with the guests. Hunching her shoulders in an visible act of self-consciousness, Byleth adjusted the hood of her jacket to cover her messy bun before moving forward into the fray.
Notepad in hand, Byleth slowly worked through the crowd making notes on current fashions, who was speaking to who, and who was very pointedly not talking to who. She reached the other end of the excessively opulent entry hall having filled out a sheet and a half of barely legible scribbles before she found an empty bathroom to clean up in.
Once the door was locked behind her, Byleth pulled the elastic from her messy bun and shook her head to let her pale seafoam hair fall back down over her shoulders. She deftly tucked the notepad and press pass into her jacket pocket along with her hair tie before reaching for the hem of her jacket. It pulled off easily over her head, though it mussed her hair a bit more in the process. She made sure the sleeves weren't inside out and set it neatly on the marble countertop next to the sink.
Lightly biting the inside of her lower lip, Byleth hiked up one side of her black dress so she could reach loose knot she'd made under the fabric earlier that evening. There it was. She undid the knot one handed with the ease of long practice. Straightening, she tugged lightly at the sides of her dress and she did a little shimmy, allowing the bottom half of the ankle length skirt to fall from where she'd hidden it before arriving. The dress was a solid black and the slits on either side of the dress went nearly to her knee. A classic look that wouldn't draw too many eyes.
Dress sorted, Byleth reached for her hoodie and quickly adjusted her makeup to suit the new look. Once that was done, she replaced the tools and pulled out a pair of thin black gloves. Biting her lips and inspecting her reflection, she gave her top one last adjustment to make sure the strap was secure around her neck before draping the jacket over an arm and walking back out into the party like a whole different person.
Passing the jacket to the nearest server was easy, a worried comment about finding it in the bathrooms and it was being taken to the lost and found for easy retrieval later.
The mansion belonged to the gala's host this year - another obvious display of wealth to their constituents and the public alike. It worked both for and against Byleth by providing a veritable banquet of nooks and crannies to hide in. For now it meant a lot of meaningless small-talk as she drifted through the rooms, 'oh'ing and 'ah'ing at the abundance of expensive antiquities the host and their family had purchased over the years as she searched for her target.
None of the other guests Byleth ran into knew her, which was a blessing. The only people that would be able to identify her on sight that lived in this particular region were ones she'd rather avoid.
Thankfully, she wasn't here for the host or his family. As the ones in the brightest spotlight, it would have made her night difficult indeed.
Instead, she was here for one of their close friends, a man who had made more than a few enemies on his own climb to the top. At least one of those took exception to the social climber's preferred method of ruining others’ reputations - usually by setting them up to take the fall for his dirtier schemes - and reached out to Byleth's agency after two years fighting to clear their name both in and out of court.
She found him on the third floor in one of the guest rooms. It looked like the family lent a few of them out to their closest friends so that they wouldn't need to worry about travelling on the day of the party. He was straightening his tie in front of a floor length mirror when she spotted him.
It was always so nice when her targets isolated themselves.
"Oh! I'm terribly sorry." Byleth tipped into the room before catching herself on the door, standing unsteadily in her heels. "I'm afraid I've gotten quite turned around. You wouldn't happen to know where the closest bathroom is, would you?"
She blinked at the man as he looked her up and down, carefully showing no reaction when his eyes lingered in a few telling areas.
"Of course." His smile made her skin crawl and Byleth ruthlessly suppressed a shiver as he made his way over to her. "You can use mine. Right this way, sweetheart."
He guided her in, taking her gloved hand and pulling her away from the bedroom door before shutting it behind them. She giggled like the happy, slightly tipsy debutante she was pretending to be as he led her right into the bathroom, stumbling a little as they went. When he turned to close that door as well, she calmly slipped the garrote she just palmed from her thigh holster around his neck and pulled.
Byleth's face was blank as the man's struggles grew weaker. Strangulation wasn't her usual style, but she had to admit that it was less messy than a knife. Arterial spray was just so hard to anticipate.
Besides, her knife was a little too distinctive to use on jobs these days.
When she was sure that her target wouldn't be getting back up ever again, she maneuvered the body into the shower and turned it on to lukewarm. That done, Byleth left the bathroom, engaging the lock before shutting it behind her. Exiting the bedroom in the same manner, she made her way back down the hall to one of the rooms she already cleared in her search. Double checking that it was still empty, she quietly made use of the fireplace.
Her cotton gloves didn't burn that fast, but it didn't take more than ten minutes for them to be reduced to ash in the large wood-burning fireplace. As they burned, she wondered why a family with this much money wouldn't put in gas fireplaces for their guest rooms. Maybe they were worried that someone would forget to turn it off?
Once the gloves were nothing more than dust, Byleth began to make her way back down to the lower floor. Her contract was complete, there was no reason to stay any longer and she was happy to go. She'd hoped to never return to these flashy shindigs, but the rich were the most likely to contract a hitwoman and as they often targeted one of their own she supposed that was a pipe dream.
She made it all the way to the ground floor, moving slower as the crowds thickened, before she saw him.
The love of her life.
Claude von Riegan.
Her heart jumped for her throat and her stomach fell to her shoes.
He looked sharp in his three piece suit, his striking features standing out even in the sea of beautifully dressed people. It was hard to tell what drew the eye more, his handsome face, the confident baring, or his completely black clothing in a flock of glittering butterflies.
Byleth barely noticed any of that. She was too caught up in comparing him to the Claude of her memories.
His hair was longer and was looked better behaved because of it. A trimmed bit of scruff enhanced his jawline, reminding her of how she used to run her thumb along it when they kissed. Those last few inches put him a head taller than her and she wondered if she would just tuck in under his chin now.
Green eyes found hers and Byleth suddenly remembered that he wasn't the only shadow in this field of flowers.
For a moment, it was like the crowd around them didn't exist. His lips parted, jaw dropping ever so slightly as his eyes widened. Claude's skin paled under his warm tan.
It was like he was seeing a ghost.
Byleth snapped her own mouth shut at the reminder, teeth grinding a little as she swallowed.
Because he was.
Turning sharply, Byleth slipped through the crowds with a little more speed, ducking behind some of the taller guests as she did. Her roundabout plans of going to 'find' her jacket were scrapped. If he was here, there was no telling who else-
"Darling!"
Wrist caught, Byleth swung around to follow the unexpected tug. Her intentional stumble to hide the reach for her thigh holster was anticipated, her free hand caught in a familiar grasp.
Her breath caught in her lungs.
The black silk tie contrasted nicely with the fitted black vest.
"There you are!"
This close, it was clear that the shirt underneath them was actually a dark charcoal instead of black like she first assumed.
"I didn't know you'd be here, my dearest."
She swallowed and tried to force her heart to behave, to slow down, to move out of the way so she could breathe again.
"You should have told me."
Byleth forced herself to look up and meet those green eyes once again.
"Should I have?" Her tone didn't show any of her struggles thankfully, it was just as light as she needed it to be. In high society parties like this, every attendee was always listening intently for any drama they could find. "I thought you wanted me to stay home like mother."
Her very dead mother, at home in her grave.
"Never." Claude's voice was a little too vehement for the crowd. Noticing that, he released her wrist in favor curling an arm around her waist. Only when he was sure she wasn't going to brush him off did he let go of her other hand and begin guiding them out of the larger hall. "Who would even dream of telling you a thing like that?"
His face was calm, his voice now relaxed and almost joking. Claude was always a better actor than she was. However, the fingers at her waist were flexing hard enough that her dress was sure to wrinkle. Even if the others couldn't see it under her elbow, she sure could feel it.
It was just as steadying as she remembered.
She stealed herself against the nostalgia and the part of her brain that was screaming that she should run and never look back, that she should hug him and never let go, that coming to this party was a mistake, was a miracle.
Was fate.
"Oh, you know how grandmother is." Even as old as she was, the woman was still running the Garreg Mach Agency so far as Byleth was aware. "I thought for sure that she'd convinced everyone that she knew best."
"You know I never liked other people thinking for me, why would this be any different?" Claude sounded playfully put out. A glance at his face let her see the tightness around his eyes as he guided them into another hallway, ironically in the same direction as her 'lost' jacket. "If you'd told me I could have swept in and carried you away on my white horse."
His grand statement made another woman further down the hall chuckle and no one looked twice when Byleth chuckled and pulled an unresisting Claude into a side room by his lapels.
"You would have, would you?" She turned him so she could scan the room and then kick the door shut behind them before pressing him up against a wall. One arm slanted across his chest to hold him in place while the other pulled the gun from the shoulder holster Claude always hid under his suit jackets to point it at the underside of his chin. "Or would you have been the one she convinced to kill me instead?"
"Impossible." He replied instantly. "Nothing she could say would ever convince me of that."
Slowly, his unpinned hand came up. Byleth's eyes never wavered from his, but she didn't move to stop him as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. Warm fingers traced down her jawline and it was only as they lifted away that Byleth noticed that her blank expression had melted away in the process.
Taking a deep breath through her nose, she firmed her expression into a glare and clicked the safety off. She hoped that if he really did try to kill her here she could at least attempt to try and return the favor.
She cocked the gun and he didn't even flinch.
He was the best spy she knew. That didn't mean anything.
Claude's eyes were soft as he gazed steadily at her.
The memory of those green eyes looking at her with love and adoration merged with reality. Her heart lurched. She felt ill even imagining the possibility of him dying.
Damn it.
She pulled back and de-cocked the gun, letting that hand fall to her side.
"Say I believe you," Byleth said as though it wasn't obvious that she did. "What are you going to tell her about this?"
There was no way he was here for any other reason than information gathering. Claude despised this sort of gathering five years ago and she couldn't imagine that changing.
"Nothing." Smug in the face of her disbelief, Claude grinned. Relaxing under the arm still pinning him, he shrugged. "I left shortly after you did and headed back home, though I somehow did it on better terms."
Left Garreg Mach? To go home? Wait.
"Did everyone in the Alliance leave?" That was a lot of people. Byleth couldn't imagine Rhea letting that many competent people go, it would be too much of a threat.
"Not everyone and those of us who made it out needed to go further afield than you're probably thinking." Claude admitted. He tilted his head and Byleth could almost see him scratching the back of it. He may have suppressed the habit over the years, but the head tilt was exactly the same.
Light glimmered, the movement allowing one of his earrings to catch the light perfectly.
Byleth's eyes widened, the style of it reminding her of some rumors she heard when she was laying low in those first few years away from Garreg Mach.
"Almyra?"
Claude went tense under her arm for a moment before sighing.
"Never could get one past you, could I?" His rueful smile faded as she waited for an answer. "Yeah, Almyra. I've got family there, you know?"
No. She hadn't known. She suspected, but even as a rookie Claude played things close to the chest. Byleth couldn't fault him for it, they all did the same thing. They had to or they died.
Honest people didn't live long in their line of work.
Subterfuge wasn't a guarantee of safety either.
"Why then?" Why not before when he'd been complaining about the jobs they kept assigning him? When his input on larger jobs was ignored or when the younger members got pushed hard enough that he started picking up some of their work without telling them?
He looked confused at the question.
"Why would I stay if you weren't there?"
Byleth's heart wasn't content with being ignored any longer. It swooped and sped, raced and stopped, jumped and sunk. Her eyes felt wide on her face, but she was too busy trying to breathe to control her expression.
"As soon as I could manage it, I collected everyone who wanted to leave and I gave Rhea a choice." Claude was kind enough to ignore her dumbfounded reaction as he filled her in on what she missed while she was in hiding. "Let us leave or Almyra will bring it's forces to her doorstep. With all of the infighting she was already dealing with from Edelgard's end, it really wasn't a choice at all."
"You're here on their orders then?" At his slow nod, she continued, "Who else is here? Anyone that will tell her?"
Byleth survived the last assassination attempt by pure luck, she didn't think she could do it again.
"Shamir's here with me, but she left Garreg Mach with us. She never did believe what Rhea said about you."
"Shamir?" Finally stepping back, Byleth couldn't help but wonder if they often went to things like this together as she and Claude used to. If she was projecting her own wants onto what he said, imagining the feelings she hoped were returned when in reality he moved on without her.
Wait.
"What did Rhea say about me?"
"She said that your death was necessary, that you betrayed us and everything we stood for, yada yada yada." Making a dismissive gesture, Claude's face clearly showed what he thought of that and it was nothing good. "Trying to justify it all. I don't think even Seteth believed her. He didn't show up to meetings for weeks after."
"He found me." Byleth supplied, holding the gun out to its owner. "They threw me in the river thinking I would die, but I was found the next day and brought to a hospital. He found me there and found a place for me to recover."
Clipping the gun back into place, Claude whistled lowly.
"Seteth? I never would have suspected." He watched her as she turned towards the racks and boxes of lost items on the other side of the room. It was a good thing no one needed in the room earlier in their discussion. Weapons at a gala were always hard to explain away. "Why are you asking me about what happened then? Verifying your sources?"
The teasing tone had her throwing him an exasperated look over her shoulder before digging through the rows for her jacket once more.
"He set up a cash flow and then cut all ties to make sure Rhea couldn't trace him to me."
"So no illicit love affairs?"
Byleth stopped and set the jackets in her hands back on their racks.
Was that... jealousy?
Half-turning towards him Byleth gave him a look.
"None." If he was going to go there, she was allowed to ask as well. Right? "And you?"
"Love affairs? Me?" Claude gestured to his clothes. "Can't you see I'm in mourning?"
Mourning?
"For the whole five years?" He couldn't possibly still be mourning her. Please tell her he wasn't.
"For the rest of my life." He looked serious.
Shaking her head in disbelief, Byleth turned back to the clothing and tried to blink away the tears that sprung to her eyes at his sentimentality.
"You can't just say things like that. What if I actually died? You shouldn't be tied to a dead woman, you should be happ-" He was suddenly beside her at the coat rack. She cut off in surprise when Claude reached out and turned her towards him once more.
"Without you I will never be happy. Alive, sure. Content, if I'm lucky. Happy?" Leaning in, his green eyes searched hers for something. "Never without you."
Clothes dropped from Byleth's hands once again as she reached out, fingertips brushing along his cheekbone before following the line of his jaw like she did so many times before. She felt him shiver under her touch. Eyes trailing to his lips, she then looked up at those green eyes and thought she knew what he was looking for just a moment ago.
Moving her hand to his shoulder for balance, she leaned in.
Claude met her halfway.
They kissed.
They kissed and it was everything she remembered and more.
It felt like they'd never stopped.
Like that five year gap was nothing.
Like it was a lifetime.
Her free hand wound itself into his hair, pulling him down and finding it just as soft as before even as it tangled around her fingers.
His hand slipped down her shoulder to her back, following her spine until it found the old scar hidden just below the open back of her dress that had never felt his touch until now.
It felt like she was finally home.
"Ah! Um, I, er, need to get to the rack- I mean, the coat stand?"
Byleth pulled back, turning her head away from the door. Her fingers slipped from Claude's hair as he chuckled sheepishly at the man bringing in some more lost items.
"Looks like we got a little distracted while trying to find her jacket." Claude caught her eye and, with her back turned to the man in the doorway, she covertly mimed straightening a hood before ending in a symbol they used to use. "Do you think a hoodie would have been hung up or folded?"
"All jackets are hung, sir. I believe the softer jackets are to the left." The voice was unfamiliar, definitely not the one she'd handed the jacket to in the first place then. Good.
With that direction and the additional light from the hall, Byleth quickly located the jacket. Claude wrapped up the small-talk with his usual finesse and they were on their way.
The jacket was deftly folded in on itself with the strings tied together and worn with confidence as a particularly shapeless shoulder bag. While she was dealing with that, Claude messaged someone on his phone one handed. The other was still holding her close as they headed for the entrance.
"Shamir's going to meet us out front with the car, if that works for you?"
"It will for now." Byleth agreed with a small smile.
"For now?" Raising a brow at her growing smile, Claude turned and looked at her with playful suspicion as they pushed through the crowd.
With both of them controlling their reactions so as to not cause a scene, it was probably better to tell him now rather than later.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet and it will require us going to them in the morning." She blinked up at him with a perfectly straight face before turning back to the crowds in front of them. Byleth watched him closely in her peripheral vision as she continued casually, "You could say I'm a lot more like my father than anyone expected."
They did attract a little attention on their way out when Claude bit his tongue so hard trying to stifle his response that it bled.
#fe3h#aonorunic#oneshot#claudeleth#inspired by that one pic by#alzzzimi#on twitter#you know the one#Hitman AU#murder tw
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Chapter 2: Kooks
Summary:
-Good morning guys - the woman said in a powerful voice. -I'm Altea. Your Potions Teacher -
The boys looked at each other in surprise.
- Excuse me - Milo spoke - We thought Delta would give us this class because ... well ... he specializes in this -
-Well, he won't. Delta asked me to give you this class. Delta may know a lot about potions but he is not an expert like me. - Altea spoke with a certain air of superiority - Now if you'll excuse me, we'll start with the class, we are already late.
Tag-list: @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen
- Marshall - The black-haired guy just grunted slightly and covered his face with the covers - Marshall, you have to get up -
Marshall slowly opened his eyes to meet Lucas's smiling face. He blinked a few times before turning his back on Lucas. He felt again how his roommate was shaking him slightly by the shoulder.
-Shhhh I'm trying to sleep - Marshall said hoarsely.
- But you have to get up - Lucas replied - Professor Delta said you had to get up early. Do you want to be late for class?
-I don't care. I just want to sleep - Marshall said as he snuggled into his covers.
Lucas grunted. He walked over to the base of Marshall's bed and pulled on his covers to uncover him.
-Hey! - Marshall yelled when he felt the cold in the room.
-Now you'll have to get up,- Lucas said as he put the covers on his bed. -Class starts in ten minutes -
A part of him wanted to get angry but just couldn't. As much as he wanted he couldn't go back to sleep, so he stretched out a bit before getting out of bed.
He changed his clothes and went downstairs. The others had already finished breakfast and Delta was nowhere to be found, which was a relief to Marshall so that he wouldn't have to listen to his sermon about getting up earlier for the third time.
He headed for the kitchen without saying anything to anyone, not even a good morning. He took the carton of milk from the refrigerator and a glass from one of the shelves.
-Don't you want something for breakfast?- Lucas asked.
-I'm fine, thanks,- Marshall said as he took a sip from his glass of milk.
Lucas frowned.
-Do you always do that? -
-Do what?-
-Skip breakfast,- Lucas said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Marshall shrugged and took another sip from his glass.
-I've been doing it since…- He couldn't finish the sentence.
Lucas looked at him, waiting for him to say something.
-Since I'm 12,- Marshall said quickly, -I grabbed it as usual when my father stopped caring about me.-
Since then, Marshall practically had to take care of himself: preparing his own food, going to school alone, and even he had to take care of the shopping and keeping the house in order. His father… had lost interest in all things, just left the house and came back late at night. Although his father was already trying to change his bad habits and reconnect with his son, Marshall wasn't sure if he could forgive him for leaving him for two years.
-I'll change that - Lucas sang. Marshall raised an eyebrow - I'll make sure that you get back into the habit of eating breakfast. Because it is the most important meal of the day!
Marshall chuckled at Lucas's enthusiasm. It was nice to think that someone cared about you.
-Hey! - Felix yelled at them from outside - Class is about to start -
Marshall quickly finished his glass of milk and put it in the sink
The boys went out into the courtyard to take their first potions class. The table was already set, with the cauldrons, spoons and jars they would use for class.
The weird thing was, Delta still hadn't shown up. They waited ten minutes and he showed no indication that he was coming soon.
Marshall took the opportunity to eat something more decent while the others played with paper airplanes.
Twenty minutes later, Delta came out onto the patio with a woman with long curly hair; she was dressed extravagantly in a dress that was made from pieces of fabric of different colors; she wore a blue beaded necklace and several bracelets.
Delta spoke to her about five minutes before the woman approached the table.
-Good morning guys - the woman said in a powerful voice. -I'm Altea. Your Potions Teacher -
The boys looked at each other in surprise.
- Excuse me - Milo spoke - We thought Delta would give us this class because ... well ... he specializes in this -
-Well, he won't. Delta asked me to give you this class. Delta may know a lot about potions but he is not an expert like me. - Altea spoke with a certain air of superiority - Now if you'll excuse me, we'll start with the class, we are already late.
“For Celene” thought Marshall "This woman is worse than Delta"
-You probably saw things about potions in your old schools.- The boys agreed silently. -Well, I want you to forget all that. I will show you the potions that will really help you. None of those silly things to make things bigger. One potion that must be learned to the letter is one of instant healing. You will never know when it can save your lives -
-We'll start with a basic instant healing potion. This potion is quite weak, it can only heal small wounds like shallow cuts or scrapes, but it serves as the basis for other healing potions-
Altea motioned for Milo to light the gas lamps. One by one he lit them all with his blue fire and returned to her place.
Altea rummaged in her bag for something.
-The basis of any healing potion is this,- Altea said as she showed them a deep pink bell-shaped flower, composed of six long petals. - They are roseas. Many people use them as decoration in their gardens but this plant has healing properties. You simply have to boil this flower for five minutes. -
She placed a few flowers in the cauldron of boiling water. She handed the boys a few roseas to start with their potion.
When Marshall placed the flowers in the cauldron, he was able to observe how the flower slowly shed a little of its pink color to stain the water.
-While that finishes boiling, I need you to cut these boldo leaves.- He handed them a cloth bag. - Grab a handful and with that you will have -
Each boy took his respective handful of leaves and passed them on to the next until the bag returned to Altea.
Marshall took the knife from him and started cutting the leaves all together. Altea didn't say how fine they needed to be, so he only cut them in half.
When Altea indicated that the five minutes had passed, Marshall carefully extinguished the alcohol lamp. He grabbed the wooden spoon and pulled out the flowers that were wilted.
He put the boldo leaves in the cauldron and waited another five minutes.
While they were waiting, Altea spoke to them about different things, about how she "fell in love" with the creation of potions, about her studies and how they forced her to travel all over the country collecting the rarest objects to make potions.
The rest of the class saw the different types of potions and what their bases were, what objects were used to make them more and more specific and how to enhance their effectiveness.
Things Marshall didn't care about in the least, he didn't even bother to take notes and surprisingly her Altea didn't scold him, unlike Delta.
___________
The rest of the week passed in the most monotonous way possible. With Delta's boring classes, with the homework that Marshall never did, and Milo and Felix's insistence on going out to the pier, which he always refused (not even Lucas managed to convince him). In the end the three of them went out while Marshall stayed in her room trying to get some sleep.
The only good thing was that Lucas kept his promise to him, every day he made sure he got up early and made breakfast for him. He had to admit that the food was delicious, the best he had had in years, in fact.
Finally Friday came, and Marshall could go back to his house but he had to put up with another long day of school first.
—Well guys - Altea said in front of the class - Today we won't have class here. We will go to the drift. -
The drift. Marshall had heard the locals talk about that forest. It was nothing special, just that it was the perfect place to get potion plants.
-Delta will come with us to take care of you. So ... put on your field clothes and pack your backpack with her potions things, we leave in ten minutes -
-But we don't have field clothes - Milo reproached.
—Then the most comfortable you have -
The boys did not question anything else and returned to the house to change
____________
It had been almost three years since Marshall went out for a walk in the woods. Marshall remembered that he used to do it all the time with his mother. How she taught him to identify some plants and taught him the basics of their magic, divination and dream interpretation. He felt a little strange.
-Isn't it dangerous to go out into the forest? - Asked Milo - I mean something like a dragon could come out -
-There are no dragons in Valparaíso,-Delta clarified. -The dragons are not from here -
—Yes, but… you never know. My brother said that he once saw a dragon -
Altea stopped.
-We've arrived,- she said as she took off her backpack and put it on the floor.
The boys looked around her. It was exactly like any other area of the forest, full of strange trees and plants.
-What's so special about this place?- Marshall dared to ask while the others took out their potions things imitating her teacher.
-We're very close to a Roseas bush. -
Altea motioned for them to follow her to where she was. The boys approached the rosea bush.
-Take the flower carefully,- Altea instructed them. Marshall moved closer to the plant - But grab it by the stem, we don't want to mistreat the flower petals -
Marshall rolled his eyes.
-Oh! - Marshall heard Felix yell and stopped, pulling his hand away from the bush.
-I think something bit me,- Felix said as he rubbed his hand.
Altea moved closer to examine it more closely. On the back of his hand there was a red spot that almost completely covered it completely and it was slightly swollen.
-Nothing happened to you,- Altea said without concern. -It was the leaves-
-Leaves? -
-The leaves are poisonous, so avoid touching them - Everyone looked scared at Altea, even Delta - But it's nothing serious. It will just itch and hurt a little. In a couple of hours it is going to go away - Felix breathed in relief.
The boys continued to collect the flowers, being careful not to touch the leaves.
They collected around 20 flowers when Altea indicated that they were enough and that they will begin to prepare the potions.
-Will we do it alone? - Milo asked.
- Yes -
-But we barely did it once - Marshall protested annoyed.
-And with that you must have enough,- Altea said indignantly.
Marshall said nothing more. He put his backpack on the ground and sat down like the others.
He took all the things out of the backpack and set up his potion-making rack. With the cauldron on the tripod and with the alcohol lamp underneath. Milo did everyone a favor by lighting the lamp.
Once he had everything he needed up front, he realized that he had no idea how to do it.
How did she expect them to replicate it after only doing it once?
He took a deep breath. Maybe his potion would not be the best, Marshall firmly believed that he was going to be the worst of all, but he was not willing to sacrifice a part of his grade. Even if he got two points, it was better than nothing.
He glanced at Lucas to see what he was doing. He was separating the leaves from the roseas and then he cut them finely.
It's not like that, Marshall thought.
He turned to see Felix and Milo. Felix had apparently already put his flowers in the water and Milo had his hands in the cauldron to heat the water faster.
Marshall imagined that the others either did not know what they were doing or only vaguely remembered it.
Marshall began to separate the flowers from his stem avoiding damaging the petals, remembering how delicate they were.
He threw them into the hot water and set the timer for five minutes. He wasn't sure if that was the right time but it seemed reasonable to him.
He grabbed a handful of boldo leaves and began to cut them finely. When the five minutes were up he carefully scooped out the roseas and poured out the leaves. And he again set the timer for five minutes.
Finally, the timer rang. He grabbed the spoon and began pouring the potion into the small vials, trying not to spill too much. In total he managed to fill eight jars. Marshall saw that the others were finishing up as well, but they couldn't complete the eight jars.
Marshall noticed that his potion was the one with the deepest pink color and he wasn't entirely sure that was good. They all handed their potion to Altea and she put a name tag for each one.
Altea told them that would be all in the matter of the potions, but taking advantage of the fact that they were already there they could explore a little more.
Marshall had to admit that it wasn't as bad as he thought. He had forgotten how calming it was to walk in the woods. And even though he didn't listen to Altea's explanation about all the plants, he enjoyed the atmosphere. From the aroma of the flowers, from feeling the sun on his skin and all the sounds that the birds made. He considered going out more on his own, without having classes in between.
After two hours of that walk, Marshall was exhausted. All he wanted to do was lie down in his bed and sleep forever.
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There is a time vortex, and a malfunction, and in the end there are six people on top of the Wayne Enterprises building.
They look at each other in shock and take in the matching outfits, the red and yellow and green. All of them have some idea what’s going on, who they’re seeing, except the youngest (who is really the oldest).
“Wait,” he says, his eyes wide. “There are more Robins?”
“There must’ve been something that altered time,” says the third Robin, who is clever. He is not yet wearing the red and black costume of mourning, and when he looks at the group around him, he only knows the second and first Robins by name. “It’s the only explanation.”
“Of course,” the fifth Robin huffs, exasperated. Unlike his brother, he recognizes everyone except the sixth, and he wishes he didn’t. Under his mask, his eyes rocket skyward. “Just my luck to be stuck with you imbeciles.”
“Awfully judgemental, aren’t you?” the third Robin notes.
“I have a 4.0 GPA,” the second Robin says. “I don’t think I’m stupid.”
All of the Robins stare at him. This is unexpected.
“Okay, I’ll admit I don’t know what’s going on,” the sixth Robin says. “I’m barely even a real Robin, I’ve only met Batman like...twice.”
“Why are you in the costume, then?” the fourth Robin asks, her arms crossed. She’s afraid, a little, and nervous to be in the presence of all these other Robins. She doesn’t like that she’s the only girl.
“It’s complicated,” the sixth Robin says. The other Robin accepts that at face value.
“How do we know the order?” the second Robin asks. “I mean, I know I’m second, and he’s first.” He points at the first Robin. “And apparently, after us you guys put on some real pants.”
“It’s a traditional acrobatic outfit,” the first Robin protests, and the second says, “I know, I’m just yanking your chain.”
“I’m the third,” the third says.
“I’m next,” the fourth says, tossing her ponytail and trying to be brave. She knows the first and third Robins, although not this young.
“I suppose I am forced to admit I am not the last Robin,” the fifth one says, glaring at the sixth, who shrugs and says, “Again, I’m not like, a real Robin.”
“What purpose did that exercise serve?” the fifth Robin hisses.
“Well, we need a leader,” the second Robin says. “But I guess it doesn’t matter who’s technically oldest, just who’s actually oldest.”
“Why should the oldest--” the fifth Robin starts to protest, but all of these Robins are young, and to young people, the oldest is in charge.
They look at each other.
“Don’t look at me,” the sixth Robin says.
“I’m eleven,” the first Robin says. The fifth blinks.
“I’m twelve,” he admits, staring at his mentor as if just realizing that the first Robin is a child.
“Thirteen,” the third says. “Almost fourteen.”
“And I’m actually fourteen,” the second Robin admits easily. The ones after him wince at this casual admittance of his age, at the reveal of this ticking time bomb they know will go off only too soon.
The fourth Robin’s eyes widen. Oh no, she thinks. Oh no.
The others are looking at her expectantly, and she clears her throat.
“I’m sixteen,” she whispers, her voice hollow, and the others nod.
“I’m only fifteen, anyway,” the sixth Robin says, evidently relieved, and the second one says, “Girl Robin is in charge, then.”
“I beg of you to reconsider,” the fifth Robin says, and something in the way his voice snarls makes the fourth Robin’s fists clench. She looks around at them, determined. They are all looking to her.
“Fine,” she says. “I’ll be in charge. Our first order of business is to figure out who’s timeline we’re really in. The easiest way would be to ask Oracle.”
“Who’s Oracle?” the first Robin asks, eyes wide.
“Don’t worry about that,” the fourth Robin says. “Everyone who can, try to get in touch.”
She touches her own ear, and the third and fifth mimic the gesture.
Oracle does not answer any of them.
“Okay,” the fourth Robin says. “Let’s find a newspaper. What year is it?”
She points to the first Robin.
“2005,” he says. She points to the second.
“2012,” he says.
“2014,” the third Robin says.
“2017,” the fifth says.
“2018,” the sixth says. The fourth nods.
“Alright,” she says. “And I’m from 2015. Everyone remember? Okay. Let’s go find a newspaper.”
They leap from the rooftop together. The fourth Robin watches the sixth, since he said he’s new, but he has a grapple, and he can use it. They don’t go straight down, just away from Wayne Towers, and towards somewhere they can be inconspicuous. The fourth Robin is aware that she’s in the lead, and she realizes they could just go back to the Manor, that would solve their problem of what year it was.
But no, instead she casts her gaze instinctively to the spot in the sky where the signal gleams, and it’s not there. She falters and stops at the next rooftop.
“This isn’t a newspaper,” the fifth Robin snarks once everyone else has stopped.
“Was the signal on?” she asks, and the others exchange a look. “Answer me!”
“Yes,” the third says.
“Yes,” the second says.
“Yes,” the sixth says.
“Yes,” the first says.
“Yes,” the fifth admits.
“Look,” the fourth says, and she points at the sky where the signal isn’t. “Someone turned it off. No matter what year we’re in, someone turned it off.”
The others exchange looks, although none of them know each other, not as Robin, anyway. The fourth Robin remembers that she does know the third Robin, but she thinks she’s the only exception.
“We’re going to GCPD,” she says. “We have to see why they turned the signal off.”
“What about the newspapers?” the first Robin asks. “We still don’t know what year it is.”
“If the person who messed with time turned off the signal, than we can confront them,” the fourth Robin says.
“There could be a newspaper on the way, anyway,” the second Robin reasons.
“Or something else to clue us in,” the third says.
“Exactly,” the fourth Robin says. “Let’s go.”
Surprisingly, the others don’t really argue, and the fourth Robin leads the way.
In front of the Batsignal, there are six shapes. They are standing in a perfect circle, the same distance apart. One is shorter than the others. The fourth Robin squints at them from her spot behind the signal, the others crowded around her.
“Which is which?” the sixth Robin whispers.
The fourth Robin gets up and goes to the back of the signal. The others follow her, even the stubborn fifth Robin.
She signals, and the second Robin flips the switch and turns the light on.
The six Batmen turn, five dropping into a matching fighting position and the sixth into a different one.
“You all had better be time-displaced Batmen, otherwise we’re gonna be really mad,” the fourth Robin calls, flipping herself up to stand on top of the signal. The second and third Robins point the light at the Batmen instead of the sky.
“Spoiler?” the Batman who seems to be in charge says. He must be the oldest, although the fourth Robin thinks it’s weird that he would call her Spoiler when she’s not that anymore.
“Wrong,” she says, crossing her arms. She’s behind the light, and they can’t see her. “Boys, be ready.”
“How many are there?” in-charge Batman says.
“Six,” another Batman says. Even from here, the fourth Robin can tell he’s a younger one. “There’s six of us, why wouldn’t there be six of them.”
“Chum,” a different Batman says, holding out his hand. “Come here.” The fourth Robin hears movement behind her and she holds out a hand.
“We don’t know that this isn’t a trick,” she says. “How do we know you’re who you say you are?”
“Do you want your secret identities?” the different-Batman says. The other Batmen glare at him.
“Come on, Rob,” the third Robin says. “We should be able to identify our own Batmen.”
“The Batmen could certainly identify their own Robins,” the second Robin says. The fourth Robin sees four of the six Batmen flinch at the sound of his voice. “I mean, come on, we all have different costumes.”
“Ours are the same,” the first says, gesturing at the second. The fourth Robin looks away from them and back to the Batmen.
“I already know my Batman,” the fifth Robin drawls. “I am fairly sure this isn’t a trick.”
“Are you saying there’s six Robins back there?” the different-Batman says, sounding like he might laugh. There’s something familiar about him, the fourth Robin decides. Definitely not Bruce, but familiar.
“Hm,” one of the Batmen says.
“There’s more than one Robin?” a Batman asks, and the fourth Robin knows which one that is.
“I mean, they seem time-displaced,” she says, and the fifth Robin scoffs.
“To hell with this,” he says, and he breaks out of the gaggle below the signal and steps into the light, heading straight for the different-Batman.
“Language,” the different-Batman says, laughing for real this time, and the fourth Robin wonders why he would be different but the sixth Batman is still Bruce.
“Fine,” she says. “Find your Batman, or whatever.”
The others listen to her, and leave the shadows. One of the Batmen puts his hand on the sixth Robin’s shoulder and guides him away. The first Batman permits the first Robin to hug him.
The various Batman stare at the second Robin, except the one who claims him as the correct time. The second Robin doesn’t seem to notice.
The last two Batmen stare at the third Robin, and the fourth feels a little sick. They’re only one year different, after all, and she knows she wasn’t the first choice of a Robin.
She jumps from the signal but stays near it, watching their showdown and staying by herself.
“What’s going on?” the sixth Robin asks her, dragging his Batman behind him.
“He hates me,” she says, gesturing.
“I mean….you’re Robin, aren’t you? He probably doesn’t hate you,” the sixth Robin says.
“I made him make me Robin,” the fourth Robin says. “He didn’t chose me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” the sixth Batman says unexpectedly. “I had a lot of issues, back then.”
“And you don’t still?” the fourth Robin asks him, raising her eyebrow.
“A fair point,” the sixth Batman says, and Robin’s mouth drops. He never agrees with her! “Close your mouth, Robin.”
She does, and she looks back at the Tim Trio. The third Robin seems to have claimed his Batman, and the other one is kind of watching her talk to the sixth Batman and Robin.
“You were always one of the best,” the sixth Batman says, his voice soft and weirdly tender.
“Better than Tim?” she asks instead of addressing that, grinning.
“Go to your own Batman,” the sixth Batman says.
“That’s not a no,” the fourth Robin sing-songs, but she listens anyway, and goes over to the only Batman by himself.
“Fifth Batman is staring at second Robin still,” she says. “Embarrassing.”
“Actually, he’s looking at you,” her Batman says, and when the fourth Robin turns to see if that’s true, the fifth Batman has changed his gaze to look at the first Robin, instead. Some dots attempt to connect in Robin’s head, but she ignores them because that makes no sense.
“Sure he was,” she says instead. “Whatever. Let’s go home.”
The sixth Batman is in charge of the Batmen, since he’s oldest, and the Robins follow their Batmen. The Time-Turner is from 2018, but accidentally transported them all back to 2005. He apologizes profusely upon seeing six Batmen and Robins, and everyone goes back home.
After Steph’s shower, she goes out into the cave in leggings and a t-shirt so someone can drive her back home.
“Why don’t you stay tonight,” Bruce says, also freshly showered, and Steph blinks after him. He only lets her stay if she’s injured!
“Sure!” she says, and she follows him up into the Manor and to the hall with all the bedrooms. Before she goes into the guest room that she always uses, he clears his throat.
“What you did today,” Bruce starts. “I mean. You were in charge?”
“Yes,” she says slowly. “They wanted the oldest to be in charge. It was Jason’s idea.”
Bruce flinches at the mention of his dead son, and then reaches out a hand to put on her shoulder.
“I’m...proud of you,” he says, his voice a little strangled, and she stares at him, wide-eyed, until he releases her and goes to his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
[ao3]
#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#stephanie brown#damian wayne#duke thomas#bruce wayne#my writing#OK.
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TEAM ZRCN ARC 3 - CHAPTER 15
A less battle heavy chapter this time as Zelde and Wren share a nice bonding moment.
Also will Rosie ever get to punch something? Maybe one day...
Many thanks to @neopoliitan for proof reading for me again!
ZELDE
Zelde closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, shifting the weight of the weapon until it was comfortable in her hand. This was the first time she had been able to train with it since Morgan and Calantha had adjusted it for her. She spent a few minutes shifting it from the gun form she was familiar with, to the new sword attachment Calantha had convinced Morgan to add.
After switching between the two forms Zelde settled on the sword for the day’s session. She was supposed to be training with Morgan, who had been assigned to by Wren to help practice her skills, but unfortunately her mentor had been called away for the day to tag along with Cordovan and Parson for a mission. Morgan may not have been there, but that didn’t mean she was about to neglect her training - she was just as capable at doing it on her own.
Zelde had set the room so that hard-light cubes were stacked into a small column, acting as a target of sorts.
She took a breath, moving into an attacking stance before rushing forward, sword drawn at the ready. Though she was by herself, she was moving and shouting out orders as if her whole team were standing and training with her. One of the key areas Morgan had identified for her to work on was communication with the rest of her team and how to open up more. Morgan admitted that the latter was something she’d have to work on herself, as he couldn’t - and wouldn’t, for that matter - force her to say anything she didn’t want to. His only real advice on that matter was to advise her against bottling up her feelings and to always be honest with her team.
“If it’s hurting you,” He had told her. “It’s hurting your team.”
Zelde continued to move towards her target, envisioning herself ducking and stepping out of the way to avoid incoming attacks, and instructing her teammates where to move. When she was close to the target she finally lashed out, striking an upwards blow to what she imagined was her opponent's chest. Thankfully the stacked blocks wouldn’t break after just one hit, allowing her to further emulate a real battle by being forced to attack her “opponent” three more times before it finally caved in.
After the block was destroyed, Zelde was dragged back to reality by a light clapping behind her. Turning her head slightly she saw Wren applauding her.
“Pardon the intrusion,” Wren said as she stepped further into the training room. “I assumed you would be forgoing any training due to Morgan being called into town.” She paused, and Zelde was aware of the veteran huntress giving her an appraising look. After a moment she stopped and gestured to Zelde’s weapon. “You appear to be handling the adjustment well based on what I’ve just seen,” Wren noted. “Though you shouldn’t hold out your arm so rigidly when you strike, you risk hurting yourself. ”
Zelde thought back to the training from moments ago, recalling the moment in question that Wren had been referring to. “Noted,” Zelde said with a nod. “Helia said I need to work on how I hold Järnpigor.”
“Well, she would know best,” Wren said with a smirk. “She’s become our resident sword expert.”
Zelde smiled at the comment. “Did you want me to leave at all? I don’t mind letting you have the room if you need to train.”
“Actually, I’m not the one who will be training - well not in the sense that you mean.”
“Oh?”
“She’s training me!” An excited voice echoed around the room. The sound of footsteps came rushing towards them and Zelde was aware of a red blur attaching itself to her legs. Looking down, Zelde could see Rosie beaming up at her with a toothy grin.
“Hi Zee,” Rosie said, dragging out the shortened nickname that she was only used to hearing Xanthos call her. If Rosie had picked it up from him, it was only a matter of time before he did the same and started calling Cordovan “Corduroy” as Rosie did.
“Hello, Rosie.” Zelde greeted, returning the smile the young girl had given her.
“Rosie, don’t cling to her like that, it's rude.” Wren scolded with something of a playful tone. Rosie made a faint grumble in response before detaching herself from Zelde and hurrying over to stand with Wren. Rosie’s reddish-brown hair had been styled back into a singular ponytail for the time being and she wore an oversized athletics shirt (not unlike the ones worn by Caspian and Sera) tucked into her usual cropped, faded jeans.
“Wren’s teaching me how to fight!” Rosie announced, practically bouncing up and down on the spot with excitement.
"Isn't she a bit... young to be learning how to fight?" Zelde questioned, looking over at Wren.
"Given the situation at home a few weeks ago, I thought it'd be beneficial for her safety to learn how to throw a proper punch in case the worst might happen," Wren answered softly, touching Rosie's hair affectionately as she spoke, which seemed to settle her for the moment. "You'd be surprised, but Cordovan was younger than Rosie when his father first put a weapon in his hands and began to teach him to fight."
Zelde made a face. "From what I hear, your ex-husband wasn't exactly the model of parenthood."
"Oh, he wasn't," Wren moved her hand away from Rosie to stifle a chuckle. "...But he had his moments." Zelde noticed that when Wren took her hand from her mouth, she began caressing her opposite ring finger absently -- looking for something that was no longer there. She seemed lost in her thoughts, and only snapped out of it when Zelde spoke again.
“You know, I’m surprised you didn’t offer to train Cordovan yourself.”
“I considered it,” Wren admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, which seemed to further settle her following her momentary lapse in concentration, “But Cordovan has a style of fighting much like his father’s, and one that matches closest to Parson.” There was a hesitation in her voice before she added, “Besides, Parson is the only one of us who understands how Cordovan’s unique challenges affect him in a fight.”
Zelde arched a brow. “How so?”
“Parson is an amputee too.” Wren explained.
“Oh.” Zelde blinked in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that. “I had no idea.”
“It’s not something he likes to bring attention to.” Wren informed her. “He doesn’t want people to think of him any differently because of it. He’d rather let his work speak for him, rather than people make assumptions about what he can and can’t do. He’s as capable as any one of his team -- if not more so in some cases.”
“That’s very admirable of him,” Zelde admitted, suddenly feeling a greater deal of respect for the man upon hearing Wren’s words.
“Yes,” Wren said, nodding her head in agreement. “I’m honoured to call him a colleague and a friend. He has weathered many storms by my side, and for that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank him enough.”
The two women shared a knowing smile and the room was silent for the moment, until they were interrupted by Rosie tugging at Wren’s hand with one simple request; “I want to punch now.”
Wren laughed a little. “Okay, okay, I’ll show you.”
“Woohoo! Yeah! I’m gonna go punch a Grimm after this!” Rosie cheered, dancing around Wren with excitement.
Wren watched her with a fond gaze before looking up at Zelde. “Did you want to stay and watch?” She offered. Hearing the offer of Zelde staying, Rosie stopped and looked up at her with a pleading gaze.
“No, no, I don’t want to interrupt the two of you,” Zelde politely declined. “But maybe next time I’ll join you.”
Rosie’s expression dropped, but she soon perked up again when Wren told her to get ready. Zelde shook her head in amusement, and quietly holstered her weapon. She was about to leave when she heard Wren speaking again. At first she assumed she was talking to Rosie, but by her tone and words, it was apparent she was talking to someone else entirely. Zelde turned and saw the older woman had her finger pressed against her earpiece.
“Can you say that again please Cherry? I didn’t - Rosie, hush - I didn’t catch you the first time. Who’s here?” There was a silent pause as Wren waited for her response. The tensing of her posture told Zelde it wasn’t anyone good. “Right, I understand. Thank you. We’ll be right up.”
The call ended then and Wren sighed. “Sorry, Rosie, we’ll have to forego the lesson for today. Something has come up.” She didn’t wait to hear out Rosie’s defeated sigh before moving over to Zelde, and grabbing her arm with a sense of urgency. “You’d better follow me.”
Zelde looked at her questioningly for a moment, but didn’t argue against following her. Wren led the way out of the room, moving fast to wherever it was they were supposed to be going, and Zelde and Rosie fell in behind her. The three of them made their way to the comms room, where several of the group were already waiting. Cherry was off to the side looking suspiciously at whoever had just come in. Zelde couldn’t see them at first, but the sound of Cordovan’s voice informed her that his little patrol had returned.
“What’s going on?” She asked, pushing forward to see what the problem was. She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening and her chest tightening when she realised who was so important that she and Wren needed to come see them.
“Who’s that?” Rosie asked, getting a peek of the person in question herself.
Stood between Cordovan and Morgan, bound in handcuffs, head lowered, was none other than Wisteria Bloome.
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Candlestick Charts: Understanding All Patterns
Candlestick Charts – Understanding All Patterns Easily: Candlestick pattern is a tool for technical analysis of an organization. It shows the movement of the price of financial instruments, graphically, in a candlestick chart and helps in predicting price directions.
Originated back in Japan, the candlestick is a powerful trading concept. What makes this fantastic tool more potent than traditional charts is its ability to capture highs and lows of every move. In other words, it can pack more data into a single bar.
Every trader, whether a beginner or experienced, should be aware of this fantastic trend analyzer. It not only helps to predict the future price but also tells when to enter or exit the market. In this article, we would be covering the basics of candlestick charts. Starting with its components, we would move to various types of patterns.
Components of Candlestick
The critical component of a candlestick chart is that it shows four things – the highs & lows of the session, the opening price, and the closing price.
And, apart from that, it has three main features:
Body: It represents the opening and closing price
Shadow: Also known as the wick, shows the highs and lows (price) of the session.
Colour: It works in either green or red colour; or perhaps, in some cases, it might be black and white. Sometimes you can even change the colour if you want, but generally, the most common colours are green and red. These colours show the momentum of the market price, whether bullish or bearish.
For a bullish price trend, it’s either green or white; and for a bearish trend, it’s either red or black.
Here is an example of how a candlestick looks-
Also, Don’t Forget,
For a bearish candlestick, the open is always above the close. (Red or Black) and, for a bullish candlestick, the open would be below the close. (Green or White)
You look quite confused!
Let’s understand this in simple words.
Take the case of a bearish market. A bearish asset opens up at a higher price, but due to a downward trend, it closes below the open.
Note that there’s nothing more complicated trading pattern than candlesticks. However, it is also the most data-packed chart pattern. Thus, without wasting a second, let’s move ahead to our next section.
Types of Candlestick Patterns
There are dozens of identified trends in candlestick patterns. Some of them are more popular than the others because of its accuracy and reliability. While the complexity of each candlestick is different, we would try our best to make it easier for you.
Engulfing (Covering completely)
It is a two-candle pattern in which the second candle engulfs the body of the previous candle.
If we talk about a bearish market, then the engulfing candle comes at the end of an uptrend where a red candlestick engulfs the green one. Similarly, in a bull market, green candlestick overshadows red candlestick.
It shows that the market has changed its trend now. The bullish engulfing pattern indicates a surge in the buying pressure. It means more buyers will enter the market and bring the price up further. However, a bearish engulfing pattern is precisely opposite of bullish engulfing and indicates the selling pressure where it may drive the prices down in the future.
Hammer and Inverted-Hammer
Hammer and inverted-hammer are bullish patterns of a downtrend. The body of the candle is short here with a long lower wick. Did you get why the name hammer now?
Hammer shows the price rejection of lower prices in the market. It is a sign that sellers somehow took the price of a commodity down. However, eventually, buyers were the ones who outperformed here.
Inverted-hammer is the inverse of the hammer, which shows buying pressure followed by a selling pressure; eventually, prices closed a little above than opening.
Hanging Man
Hanging men are bearish candlesticks and have the same shape as the hammer. The only difference between the two is that the hanging man appears in an uptrend.
Hanging man pattern is usually seen after a short uptrend, in a down going chart. It warns that bulls are losing balance and is about to fall further.
Doji
Doji is a situation where open and close prices are the same. When the momentum of both buyers and sellers were unable to change the price, then a Doji was formed. It looks like a Plus sign and indicates price rejection among the users. There are two types of Dojis.
Dragonfly Doji
As the name suggests, the dragonfly is a bullish pattern which means it occurs at the bottom of a downtrend. It indicates that the market opened and the sellers degraded the price. But, the buyers take control soon and bring the price to its initial level.
Gravestone Doji
It is the opposite of dragonfly Dojis where opening, closing and low price meet and the candle has a long upper wick. It’s a bearish pattern and shows that buyers started strong, but the seller’s pressure came soon after. It brought the price at the lower level and finally, it closed where it had opened. It shows weakness as sellers are in power, and it tells you that the market has rejected higher prices.
Spinning Top
A spinning top is an indecisive market pattern where buyer and seller both fight for their control, but none succeeds. It results in a small candle body and a long upper wick. It is similar to a Doji but, here there’s a minor difference between the closing and opening price.
Morning and Evening Star
A rarely seen pattern but if seen must not be avoided. The morning and evening star pattern suggests the trend reversal.
A morning star is a bullish pattern and forms at the bottom of a downtrend. It’s a three candle pattern- the first candle is a long bearish candle, the second candle is a small bodily Doji candle, and the third is a bullish long candle.
Similarly, an evening star is a bearish pattern which occurs at the top of an uptrend, showing a negative sign in the market. It’s also a three candlestick pattern- the first candle is bullish and long, second is a Doji, and third is a long bearish candlestick.
Tweezer Top and Bottom
It’s a two or more candlestick pattern. A reliable pattern which indicates a shift in market trend. The tweezer top is a bearish pattern, which appears in an uptrend. It shows bull prices on the first day, but on the second day, the market reverses, moves straight down, which may result in eliminating previous day profit. Just remember, both candles will be high at the same level.
A tweezer bottom is opposite of tweezer top. Hence, it is a bullish pattern. For the first day, it shows low prices throughout the day, but on the second, it moves upwards and shows a reversal trend which covers previous day losses too. Visually, the second candle must be longer than the first one. Both candles must have the same low price here.
Three Black Crows and Three White Soldiers
Three black crows is a bearish pattern appearing after an uptrend. It looks like a staircase; each candle should open below the previous day’s opening. The trend indicates the sharp reversal of the market from the bull market to a bear market.
Three White Soldiers is precisely the opposite of Black Crow. It’s the three consecutive long bullish candles, all of the same size. If the third candle is smaller than preceding two candles, it shows buyers are not wholly in control, which may indicate weakness. The candles have no or little upper shadow/wick.
Piercing Line and Dark Cloud Cover
Piercing consists of the two-day candle where the first candle is long bearish and second is a long bullish candle. Remember, the second candle is lower than first and should cover at least half of the upward body of the previous red/black candlestick. There is a downward trend before the piercing, and this pattern implies a potential reversal from downward to an upward trend.
Dark cloud cover is precisely opposite the piercing line. It’s a bearish pattern where the first-day candle is the bullish and second-day candle is bearish. The closing must be above the opening of the previous candle. It shows a shift in the momentum from the upside to the downside. It shows market prices will go down further.
So, these were the types of candlestick chart patterns. Reading all of them effectively would help you spot potential opportunities and threats. Moreover, with the help of these, you will also be able to make better entry and exit decisions. Also, these are not the only candlestick patterns, but these are the most popular ones.
Now, before ending this post, below is a piece of final advice for you. You must not skip it.
The Final Say
In the last 3-4 years, candlestick patterns have gained significant popularity among traders. The reason is the extensive information in a single chart. However, traders should not rely wholly on this technical analyzer. Like any other tool, this also has some drawbacks. Also, the candlesticks would not prove to be much useful in the short run.
But, it sometimes does wonders when you want to invest in an asset for the long run. Remember to use this technical tool after doing your fundamental analysis of a company. Because many times we have seen people deciding solely depending on a single tool and regret later.
Candlestick pattern charts are not available with every trader. Thus, make sure your trader has one. And, if you are someone who is looking to open a trading account, then here is a list of the best forex broker in the UK.
#forex strategy#crypto exchange#bitcoin#forex broker uk#fxbroker#stock#forex news#forextime#stock exchange
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Chapter 1: Iskall
Iskall didn’t like the way Lord Gerald looked at him. It wasn’t anything malicious, just...weird. Ever since he first walked past Lord Gerald on his rounds, the Lord had looked at him like he was something to be coveted, like he was one of Iskall’s parent’s iskallium swords, like he was a particularly tasty meal. It would almost be flattering if it didn’t make him so uncomfortable. And ever since they first met, Lord Gerald has been keeping Iskall close, even requesting to have him on the guard rotation for the Judges Quarters where the Lord was staying. The other guards teased him about catching the Lord’s eye, but at this point Iskall was just waiting for the Creator's Competition to be over so Lord Gerald would go home.
“Iskall!” The dwarf felt his spine stiffen upon hearing the Lord’s voice.
“Lord Gerald.” He replied politely, turning and giving the man a slight bow. “How can I help you?”
Lord Gerald placed a friendly hand on Iskall’s shoulder, and Iskall had to hide his discomfort. “I was hoping you’d join me for dinner later. I have a friend visiting that I want you to meet.” This time Iskall couldn’t hide his wince. “My Lord, I’m flattered, but I had other plans--”
“I’m sure you’re busy with all of the competitors arriving, but I’ll talk to the head of the guard and make sure you have time off.” The Lord interrupted. “My friend really is eager to see you himself! And don’t worry, this isn’t a formal dinner, so you don’t have to worry about appearances. Just three friends spending time together.”
Iskall really didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. He wasn’t interested in the Lord romantically, or at all really. But it didn’t look like he’d be able to get out of this one, and the Lord should at least have some fancy expensive food.
“Alright,” he sighed, “I’ll come visit after my shift ends.”
“Excellent!” Lord Gerald beamed, “I’ll see you then!”
With that the Lord swept away, and Iskall relaxed with a heavy sigh. His partner for today’s shift chuckled at him.
“Someone’s got a date with nobility!”
“Oh shut up.” Iskall grumbled at her, continuing on their path.
“I’m jealous.” She teased, matching his pace. “Fancy food, the night off...”
“Yeah, except for the part where I’m not interested!” Iskall protested. “I don’t want to lead him on, but if I straight up tell him no and he gets mad it could be bad for me.”
“He’ll only be here for another week and a half, two weeks at most.” His partner consoled, though she was still clearly amused by the whole situation. “Then he’ll be out of your hair and all you’ll have to worry about is the teasing.”
Iskall groaned, shoving her lightly. “At least I don’t have to dress all fancy. Maybe this friend of his will get that I’m not interested and tell him to back off.”
“Or you could always say you’re already dating someone else.” His partner latched onto his arm and fluttered her eyelashes. “I could make a great fake girlfriend!” Iskall shoved her again, this time holding back a laugh.
“I think I’d rather take my chances with the Lord!”
Several hours later Iskall was doing just that. He fiddled with the ring on his finger as he stared at the door to the Lord’s rooms. If all else failed he could pretend he was married, maybe mention that he’s going home to someone at the end of the night. Iskall wasn’t sure how the Lord would react to being turned down bluntly, especially if Iskall had to do it in front of Lord Gerald’s friend.
“...you’re sure you can...we could just take him...just a guard...” The sounds of quiet conversation could be heard from behind the door. It didn’t sound like Lord Gerald, so maybe his friend...? “...as part of my guard. Once he’s in my employ, no one will question his disappearance. We can send him to the Grimdog without alerting the others.” That was Lord Gerald. Were they talking about making Iskall disappear? Who was this Grimdog person? Iskall got as close as he could without actually touching the door.
“But if he rejects the offer it’ll be even more suspicious, especially when--who was it? Grian and Mumbo Jumbo? When those two are taken.” Are those two planning on a kidnapping? Iskall had to tell someone, he’s a guard--
“What if we made it seem like the two competitors took Iskall? Then it wouldn’t appear that we weren’t involved at all. Or we could say that they all killed each other.” Killed? Whoever these two people, Mumbo Jumbo and Grian, were, they were in danger. And so was Iskall. He had to warn them somehow!
“We could make it seem like an assassination attempt on you. You said you’ve been keeping Iskall close, so he would be in a prime position to defend you from any hypothetical attacks. Grian and Mumbo Jumbo would be framed as the attackers, taken down by Iskall, who died from his wounds.” Lord Gerald’s friend sounded almost excited and Iskall wanted to be sick. Why would someone want to kill him? Why would a Lord of all people want him dead? He couldn’t think of any enemies he’d made, certainly none who would be able to convince a Lord to join in!
“I...Are you sure? I thought my job was just to identify the gods and get them alone. I don’t want to actually see them die!” Some petty part of Iskall was glad that Lord Gerald was sounding sick himself. Serves him right!
“We need to follow the Grimdog’s commands.” The friend sounded harsh now, commanding, not like he was talking to a Lord at all. Lord Gerald must have noticed as well and shown a reaction, because the friend’s next words were softer, almost comforting. “You just need to help with this one thing. Then you’ll be in the Grimdog’s good graces, and you’ll have his favor in the next life. I can do the killing myself, you don’t even need to be there.” There was silence for the next few moments. Iskall couldn’t decide if he should run now or try to listen in more. If they discovered him listening in now they’d capture him or just kill him outright!
“I can do it. I...I’ll do as the Grimdog commands. Just try to keep the...the messier parts...away from me.” Lord Gerald’s voice was wavering, but he sounded determined.
“Good. Now what time did you say Iskall would be here? I don’t want to get the wrong person after all.” Iskall’s eye widened in fear as he heard the friend’s voice approaching the door. He backed up from the door hurriedly, pretending like he wasn’t just listening in.
The door opened, revealing a half elf with dark hair and sharp eyes. He scanned over Iskall briefly, then smiled charmingly.
“Ah, you must be Iskall! Gerald has told me quite a bit about you.” The half elf offered a hand to Iskall, who only hesitated a moment before shaking it.
“I, uh, hope I live up to the hype?” He offered. His skin crawled at the man’s touch but it didn’t look like the Lord’s “friend” had noticed anything wrong.
“I’m sure you will.” Iskall’s hand was dropped and he was quickly ushered into the room. Lord Gerald was sitting at a table set for three people.
Well. This was awkward.
Lord Gerald didn’t stand up to meet him, instead offering a tight smile and avoiding Iskall’s eye. If he hadn’t just heard that the Lord was conspiring to have him killed, Iskall would’ve assumed it was a crush. Now he wished it was something so simple.
“This is my...my friend. His name is Andrei. I’ve told him about your work.” The Lord’s words sounded hollow. Iskall just barely noticed Andrei giving the Lord a stern look out of the corner of his eye. The Lord seemed to compose himself for a moment, looking up at Iskall’s face, but it was lost once their eyes met.
“I’ve heard about your skill with the sword!” Andrei added cheerfully, sitting down at his seat and gesturing for Iskall to do the same. “I fancy myself decent with the blade myself.”
“Far more than decent.” Lord Gerald rebuked. “Even I can see that.” Andrei laughed and waved it off.
“I know enough to defend myself, but I’m no master. How long have you been using the sword, Iskall?”
The most disturbing part about dinner with his would-be murderers was how enjoyable it was. Andrei was an excellent conversationalist and soon enough he had both Iskall and Lord Gerald loosening up. Iskall even chanced the food, which was excellent, with the hope that his dwarven constitution would hold off any possible poison. Luckily it seemed that poisoning his food was too obvious for them, for the next morning Iskall woke up without so much as an upset stomach.
He lay there for a while, completely clueless as to how to deal with the situation. The Captain of the Guard was his first instinct, it’s the Captain’s job to keep peace in the city after all. And Iskall was familiar with her since she was his boss. But planning a murder isn’t a light accusation, and Lord Gerald is a Lord. His word alone wouldn’t be enough to get a Lord in trouble. Iskall needed some sort of proof as well.
But first, Iskall had to make sure the other two targets were safe. He remembered their names, Grian and Mumbo Jumbo, and he knew that they were competitors in the Architech’s Competition. With a bit of asking around it shouldn’t be too hard to find them. The hard part would be making sure that Andrei and Lord Gerald didn’t hear about it.
Thankfully, Iskall didn’t have to go farther than his fellow guards. One of them had been on gate duty and remembered two men entering together under the two names. He even said that Grian had a distinctive red half cloak and that Mumbo looked wealthy. Iskall kept an eye out on his patrol and eventually spotted a pair that matched the description. He took note of the tavern they were staying at (one of the nicer ones, apparently Mumbo could afford it) before finishing his shift like usual.
Iskall waited until about dinner time to go see Grian and Mumbo. The rush hid his entrance and he made his way up to the rooms without any fuss. There weren’t too many rooms but Iskall didn’t want to go knocking on random doors and bringing attention to himself. He ended up standing there awkwardly until one of the doors opened, revealing a man in a red shirt who was calling back to someone in the room.
“I’m just going to grab something to eat, I’ll be back in a sec. Want anything?” Iskall didn’t hear the person inside’s reply as he tried to casually walk over to the room. The man in the red shirt turned around, almost bumping into Iskall.
“Oh! Uh, can I help you?” The man seemed confused to see Iskall, and Iskall realized that he hadn’t thought past the finding them part of his plan.
“I’ve got a message!” Iskall blurted out. “For a Grian and Mumbo Jumbo?”
This seemed to only make the man more confused. “I’m Grian. Mumbo, were you expecting anything?” Iskall could see a man in fancy clothes behind Grian who looked just as confused.
“No. maybe it’s for the competition?” Mumbo asked as he came up behind Grian.
“It’s a private message.” Iskall added. “Can we step into the room for a minute?” Grian gave him a searching look and stepped aside.
“Sure. Who’s the message from?”
Iskall didn’t respond until the door was firmly closed behind him. Once it was the tension drained from his body and he let out a sigh of relief.
“It’s from me. You’re both in danger. I overheard Lord Gerald planning to kill you.” He revealed dramatically. Grian and Mumbo glanced at each other.
“Is this some sort of joke?” Grian asked.
“No! It’s true!”
“I’ve met Lord Gerald before and he doesn’t seem very homicidal to me.” Mumbo said doubtfully.
Iskall ran a hand through his hair, now totally aware of how crazy he looked. “I know how it sounds, but I heard him! He was talking to Andrei and they said they were going to frame you for murdering me, or maybe kidnapping me, or maybe murdering Lord Gerald.”
“Lord Gerald’s being murdered?” Mumbo seemed to be having trouble keeping up.
“No, we’re being murdered! By Andrei I think. And they mentioned something about a grimdog?” Grian suddenly grinned.
“Oh, I get it! You’re here about the competition!” Iskall stared at him blankly.
“I am?” “Yeah, you’re trying to scare us off! Make us drop out so someone else can win. Well it’s not going to happen, Mumbo and I are going to win this!” Grian eyed Iskall suspiciously. “You can tell your employer or whoever that they’ll have to try harder than that.”
Iskall’s heart sunk. “But it’s true! I heard--” “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.” Mumbo intervened. “But without some sort of proof we’re going to have a hard time believing some random stranger that came into our room talking about assassinations.”
Iskall grabbed onto the only sliver of hope he found in Mumbo’s words. “So you’ll believe me if I have proof?”
“How about this,” Grian jumped in again. “You bring us some proof, some good solid evidence that Lord Whoever--”
“Lord Gerald.” “Yeah, him. Bring us physical proof that he wants us dead and we’ll take you seriously.” Iskall stared at Grian for a moment, then sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again.
“Fine. I’ll bring you some proof. But until then, just-- just watch out for a half-elf with dark hair named Andrei.”
Grian agreed, waving his hand dismissively, and Iskall left, Mumbo shutting the door firmly behind him.
Iskall set out to get some proof the next day. He was once again guarding the Lord’s quarters, and he knew that the Lord was currently out preparing for the competition. It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to go look through Lord Gerald’s stuff, but he had to get past his partner first. Lydia was a friend of his, and she’d been teasing him about how fond of him Lord Gerald was, but she was also a good guard. She wouldn’t let Iskall go rummage around in a Lord’s quarters alone without a good excuse.
Iskall just hoped the one he’d thought up would suffice.
“Hey, uh, Lydia?” He started, stopping her as they passed by Lord Gerald’s door. “Do you mind staying here for a bit? I forgot something in the Lord’s rooms.”
Lydia studied him for a moment, a small frown appearing on her face. “I thought you weren’t interested in Lord Gerald? How did you leave something there?” Iskall’s face reddened a bit, which thankfully helped his story.
“I’m not! But when he invited me to dinner last night I brought a ring so I could pretend I had a wife if I had to, like you suggested with the pretending I have a girlfriend thing. But I didn’t put it on right away, because I only wanted to use it as a last resort, and I think it fell out of my pocket.”
“Why don’t you just ask Lord Gerald if he’s seen it?” At least Lydia seemed to be buying his story.
“I don’t want him to think I’m making excuses to see him.” Iskall said sheepishly. “And it would be really awkward to explain why I had a ring on me if I wasn’t wearing it. I’d rather just go in, see if I dropped it on the floor or something, and pretend like this never happened.” At last Lydia seemed convinced.
“Alright, I’ll wait out here. You can snoop through Lord Gerald’s quarters by yourself. But you owe me one Iskall!”
“Thank you so much. It won’t take long!” And with that, Iskall entered the Lord’s rooms. The Lord had a small suite consisting of one central room and three smaller attached rooms. The central room is where Lord Gerald hosted the dinner from last night, so Iskall didn’t know what was behind the other three doors. He quickly glanced around the central room, but he didn’t expect to find anything. Why would Lord Gerald keep assassination plans out in the open? And besides nothing had really changed from last night, and he hadn’t seen anything suspicious then.
With that, Iskall tried the leftmost door. It was unlocked, and once it opened Iskall could see why. This was the Lord’s bathroom, and there was very little in there. Just a sink, a toilet, a bath, and the faint scent of fancy soaps. Feeling weird about snooping around in someone else’s bathroom, Iskall tried the middle door. It was locked, and Iskall could see a keyhole right underneath the handle.
There were two options. Iskall could either move on and hope there was something useful in the last room, or he could try to break into the locked room. It was a pretty easy choice since Iskall was trained to guard places, not break into them. Last room it was.
This door wasn’t locked, and opening it revealed the Lord’s bedroom. His first glance revealed a side table, and Iskall made a beeline for it. The side table was beautiful and delicate, just like the rest of the Lord’s items, with a cup of water resting on top. When he opened the drawer all he found was a pair of reading glasses and a writing set. No incriminating letters or bloody daggers or anything!
Iskall slammed the drawer shut with a groan. He’d found nothing and Lydia was going to get suspicious soon! Maybe he’d missed something in the main room. He left the bedroom, stopping himself from slamming the door in frustration, and looked around again. If he was an evil Lord, where would he hide his evil evidence? The mantle maybe? But there was nothing there except for an ornate mirror. Maybe he could force open the door--
“Iskall, have you found it?” He heard Lydia ask. Iskall glanced around the room desperately and spotted a piece of paper tucked under a book on the table. He shoved it into his pocket just as Lydia opened the door.
“...Iskall?” Lydia seemed worried, so Iskall gave her a fake smile.
“Yep! It rolled under the table.” He could tell that Lydia wasn’t entirely fooled. She looked worried for him.
“If something’s wrong you can talk to me, you know that right? If Lord Gerald is really giving you trouble--”
“I’ll be fine.” Iskall said firmly. “Just a little bit longer, right?” Lydia hesitated but nodded.
“Let’s get back to our rounds.” It wasn’t until later in the evening that Iskall had the chance to actually look at what he had stolen. It was just a short note, no long and detailed plans on how to murder innocent guards, but it was still evidence. It read:
“Lord Gerald,
I applaud you on finding the Doomed, even if it wasn’t how we expected to find him. The Crimson One and the Technician will be revealed next according to the Grimdog. The Crimson One is short for his species, with golden hair and dark eyes. He will be dressed in red as his name suggests. His name has been revealed as Grian. The Technician will be much taller, with dark hair and eyes and a prominent mustache. He will be wearing formal clothes much like yourself. His name has been revealed as Mumbo Jumbo. Andrei has been sent to help retrieve the three of them.
The Grimdog has faith in you. You shall be rewarded.
H
That was suspicious. Maybe even suspicious enough to convince Grian and Mumbo. Iskall was going to talk to them in the morning. He spent the first part of the night packing, in case he and Grian and Mumbo had to make a run for it. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but having a contingency plan made him feel a little bit calmer.
It was lucky he did.
He was changing into his sleepwear when he heard a noise from behind him. He turned to see a knife just barely miss him. He jumped away, turning around fully to see Andrei wearing leather armor and wielding a knife.
Iskall swore and tried to dodge past him to the door where his sword was hanging. Andrei struck again, catching Iskall’s arm as he ran past. Iskall felt the sting of the blade as he reached his sword and tore it off the wall, swinging around to swipe back. He just barely missed, the tip of his sword brushing Andrei’s chest plate as Andrei dodged backwards.
The bloodlust in Andrei’s grin as he attacked again unnerved Iskall. He dodged, and the knife ended up embedded in his door instead of his chest. While Andrei pulled it out Iskall grabbed wildly for his armor. He was able to shove it into a bag he still had lying around from his rushed packing before Andrei struck again. This time the blade pierced into his shoulder.
Iskall grit his teeth and swung again. And once again Andrei danced out of the way.
“I would’ve thought a god would be harder to kill.” Andrei sneered at him, missing his next attack. Iskall lunged and Andrei dodged easily, but Iskall was next to the bag he’d packed earlier.
“Godslayer sounds like a fitting title, doesn’t it? Maybe after I finish off the Architechs the Grimdog will have me hunt the Hound. The Heren Forest isn’t that far from here.” Talking seemed to be distracting Andrei just enough to let Iskall dodge his attacks, but Andrei was still between him and the door. And Iskall still couldn’t land a hit!
“With the Grimdog hunting you you really are Doomed, aren’t you Iskall?” Andrei’s words finally got to Iskall and he managed to land another hit. Iskall was bleeding heavily, his bedclothes giving him no protection. He took a deep breath and powered through the pain to strike Andrei. Iskall hit, landing a bruising blow on Andrei and forcing him to stumble back. Iskall took the chance to rush past him and out the door, getting another stab from Andrei as he did.
Iskall burst out of his door and out onto the street, yelling for another guard. He didn’t know the man that responded to his yelling, but it didn’t matter.
“What happened?” The guard asked, looking over his bloody clothes.
“Attacker...in the house...” Iskall panted. “Tried to get me...as I was going to sleep...”
“Stay here. I’ll investigate.” The guard ordered. Iskall opened his mouth to protest but the guard was already drawing his sword and entering. He must be new, he should’ve waited for backup. Really, what sort of training were guards getting nowadays? And where was his partner?
Well even if that guard was bad, Iskall was going to do his job. He had to get to Grian and Mumbo, had to warn them and keep them safe, even if they wouldn’t believe him. With two bags in one hand, his sword in the other, and wearing nothing but his bedclothes, Iskall ran through the streets of Bludstone to the inn where the two were staying. The barkeep was just closing up for the night. The man tried to protest as Iskall barged into his inn, but Iskall didn’t stay long enough to listen. He raced up the stairs and pounded on the door of Grian and Mumbo’s room.
The minute between his knocking and Mumbo opening the door felt like an eternity. Iskall was half convinced that Andrei had gone for them first, that the door would open to their bodies lying on the ground.
“What in the world are you pounding at our door in the middle of the night fo--oh my word!” Mumbo greeted him, eyes growing wide as he looked over Iskall’s bloodied clothes.
“I was attacked.” Iskall got out, peering into the room behind Mumbo.”He’ll be coming for you. You need to pack, you’re not safe.”
“You’re bleeding everywhere! Come in, I should have some supplies...” Mumbo left the door open as he hurried into his room. Iskall followed him in, shutting the door behind him and sliding the deadbolt closed.
“Ugh, is it that guy again?” Grian grumbled from his bed. He sat up sleepily, rubbing at his eyes.
“You’re not listening to me, you need to go!” Iskall said again. Grian stared at him in disbelief.
“Gods, what happened to you? This is a bit far for a competition, don’t you think?” Frustration welled up in Iskall’s chest.
“This isn’t a joke!” He snapped. “I’m trying to save you lives, but the two of you are fighting me every step of the way! What will it take for you to believe me? A nice note ordering your deaths with Lord Gerald’s seal on it? My dead body? A knife in your chest? I got attacked as I was going to bed! I was exhausted after spending the day to find your proof! Is this not enough for you?” Iskall was breathing heavily, unaware of how crazed he looked. Grian slowly got out of bed, raising his hands like he was calming a cornered animal.
“Hey, there’s no need to get mad. Why don’t you just calm down. We can get something to drink, and then we can call--”
“Grian, I think he’s telling the truth.” Mumbo said quietly, coming up from behind Iskall with a medical kit in his hands.
“Mumbo, you can’t possibly believe--”
“Look at him Grian! Someone did this to him. If someone’s willing to go this far over some stupid competition they’d probably be willing to hurt us too!” Mumbo insisted. “We should leave.” Grian glanced between Mumbo and Iskall helplessly, as if waiting for one of them to tell him that this was all some sort of joke. But when no one did he sighed.
“Alright. Let’s pack.” He paused and looked at Iskall. “What was your name again?”
“Iskall.” Iskall replied, adrenaline starting to fade. The rush was replaced with relief. They finally believed him.
“Iskall. Will you bleed out in the next few minutes or can you wait until we can get you to a healer?”
“I’ll watch the door.” He said instead of answering. Grian nodded and started moving around the room, collecting his things. Mumbo set the med kit on one of the beds and did the same.
Keeping his eye on the door, Iskall set down his own bags with one hand and started pulling out his armor. It wasn’t ideal, but he could wear the chainmail over his bedclothes for now. He didn’t want to be caught without it again.
It took longer than Iskall would’ve liked for Mumbo and Grian to pack, but soon enough they were ready to leave. Iskall unbolted the door and peeked out at the empty hallway, then beckoned for the others to follow him. He knew the city far better than they did so he stayed in the lead all the way to the city wall.
“Halt! State your--Iskall?” There was only one guard stationed at the gates at night. Guards usually worked in pairs, so that if something happened one could stay and control the situation and the other could go get help. In the hopes of keeping costs down however, the late night and early morning shifts for gate duty only had one guard. Their job was to alert one of the patrol groups immediately if they noticed something off. It was a position usually given to newbies as a form of hazing, or one used as punishment if you angered the captain.
The current guard on duty was a human named Allan. He was one of the newer guards, and he had a tendency to accidentally anger the captain, so he was on late night gate duty a lot. Iskall teased him a lot, but it wasn’t malicious. If Allan ever needed help Iskall was there for him.
“Allan. I’m escorting these two out of the city.” Allan looked nervous. He hadn’t heard Iskall use his serious voice in a while.
“You look pretty roughed up. Did something happen?” He asked. Iskall winced internally. It wasn’t that bad! Everyone was acting like he was dying or something.
“I’m fine, just scratched up a bit. You’ll hear about it in the morning, for now I just need to get through the gate.” Allan still looked worried, but he nodded and got out his keys.
“Stay safe Iskall!” He said nervously as the group walked past. Iskall patted him on the shoulder with a sad smile. Iskall would miss the poor guy.
“You too Allan.”
Grian waited until they were well away from the wall to talk. “I can’t believe it’s that easy to sneak out of the city!”
Iskall nodded, a frown appearing on his face. “Yeah, I’m sort of disappointed.”
“Convenient though!” Mumbo added. “What now?”
“I heard Andrei mention something about the Heren Forest. I think there’s another target there.” “There’s more than just us?” Grian looked shocked. “I thought this was about the competition!”
“No, from what I can tell there’s a group hunting us and some other people. Andrei called me the Doomed, you’re the Crimson One, and Mumbo’s the Technician.” Iskall explained. “And the Hound was mentioned with the Heren Forest.” “So they’re getting someone to represent each of the gods?” Mumbo guessed. “That sounds like a ritual of some sort.”
“Well whatever it is I want no part of it!” Grian declared. “Or I would, but I think that ruining whatever plans they have would be a good way to get back at them for ruining the Architech’s Competition for me.”
“So the Heren forest it is.” Mumbo decided. “We’ll need to follow this road for a while, and at the first chance we go north.”
The trio continued following the road, debating the motives of their hunters, completely unaware of the man following behind them.
#hermitcraft#hermitcraft fanfic#iskall85#mumbo jumbo#grian#Dungeons Dragons and Demise#this took forever to write#and iskall kept on rolling really badly#so badly it was messing with the plot#half of this chapter had to be improvised because Iskall failed his rolls#if he didn't have second wind he would've died
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