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script-a-world · 2 years ago

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Submitted via Google Ask: Follow Up Question Regarding Therapy in the Masquerade

Hey, I sent in the question about a world with secret aliens and stuff, where when normal people get affected by such, it is not believed and get inadequate psychological help. I think you misunderstand the entire question. I am not at all talking about the heroes needing help in the case, it's the innocents who do not know. Superman does not count because that is a world where aliens ARE known to the world, at least after all that happened. I'm sure some civilian who got attacked by a supervillian can end up getting psychological help who isn't going to say they are delusional and imagined an out of the ordinary attack. I'm talking about innocent victims who, like go to the police and claim they've been attacked by a 6 eyed alien with massive claws, and the police think they're delusional and send them to a shrink and can't find the (obviously human they think) culprit. Maybe another bystanded saw it and fled in terror. That's no help when there IS such an alien, even if the heroes caught it. What I do need is a system where these heroes actually get these victims the proper help and not told 'you did not see this' or 'this did not happen'.

Mod Note: Previous answer is here: https://scriptaworld.wordpress.com/2022/06/09/submitted-via-google-ask-4/

Tex: Yes, occasionally, we’re not going to interpret a question the way it was intended, so it’s helpful when someone comes back and elaborates and clarifies what they meant.

“Proper help” would be “someone trained to deal with this” - if the police or some other person thinks the affected person is crazy or delusional or whatnot, then that likely means that nobody that could help has experienced the same situation before. How would anyone go about training therapists to help people who see six-eyed aliens with massive claws if no therapist has ever seen anything like that? They’ll have no means to contextualize the situation, so they’d have no way to provide structured assistance in helping a patient cope with their experiences.

In such a situation, the people who would be trained to help would be the first people who’ve experienced such traumatizing events. Quite likely such a situation would not spur someone on to thinking “I need to help others with this”, because they would have no way of knowing others have experienced the same thing as them. Unless some means of finding and contacting others in a casual and/or personal context is available to develop a network of similarly-affected people, it’s going to be a case-by-case basis and dependent upon what each individual was already likely to do about helping others in need.

That’s why I brought up Superman as an example - he was not there since the dawn of humanity. At some point, we can divide that in-universe world into two eras: Before Superman, and After Superman. It’s that transition point which will start aggregating people, over time, who will experience the situation of meeting Superman in some context. Eventually, there will be enough people to reach a tipping point into public consciousness that this A Thing ™, and that people aren’t crazy. For comparison, see the popular trope of “Batman is an urban myth”, because Batman works in hard-to-see and hard-to-believe conditions.

Feral: There are a few problems that just gaslighting the victims of the supernatural solves.

If the Masquerade is to be maintained in your story; it must be actively maintained. Unless magic automatically rewrites a person’s memories to be more in line with a non-magical reason, people have to maintain the Masquerade. The Masquerade can be enforced for a variety reasons, including that the heroes might be required to keep it. Harry Dresden in his first several books actually might be a decent example for you to look at - he is required to maintain the Masquerade but doesn’t really care to; he’s not out there performing magic in front of people, but he’s also not about to call Karen Murphy “silly” for believing she saw a werewolf.

Side note: the Masquerade is usually spun as “good” for the muggle population. What’s better, completely upending a person’s entire view of the world and confirming that their worst nightmares really do exist and they are ants to a boot, or explaining that they did go through something traumatic and horrible that never should have happened to them and that their brain had a very normal reaction of messing with the details so they don’t have to confront the reality of it? Answer: there is not a correct answer, and stories confront this quandry in many different ways. But most do interpret it as better to be in the dark, especially from the perspectives of the people who are not.

If your heroes are hero-ing, it’s gonna be a little difficult for them to also be running group counselling. Most heroes in these types of stories are truly emotionally and psychologically screwed up; they are in position to be helping random strangers with their trauma.

Depending on the regularity with which muggles encounter the supernatural and on the resources of the heroes, you may have some kind of network of people in on the truth who can reach out and help.

There are a lot of factors to consider, and we cannot worldbuild for you. But hopefully, everything we’ve said across both asks will give you somewhere to go from here.

#google submitted #support system #therapy

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sirennamedkore · 4 years ago

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New Dresden Files idea: Harry "I-wanna-fuck-John-Marcone" Dresden gets 'mugged' by a mothman wannabe in a dark alleyway and proceeds to go batshit feral trying to figure out just what the FUCK happened to him only to find out it actually was mothman just trying to get help because "help girl, some jackass is messing with the fae again and now I'm somehow here"

#the dresden files #mothman #harry DEFINITELY wants to fuck marcone #this man isnt straight #lets be real #harry dresden #john marcone #random idea #haha just kidding #unless?#👀👀👀👀#this was super random #but like #I REALLY LIKE IT FOR SOME REASON

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goodsirism · 3 years ago

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top 5 pready roles

oh christttt

5. the side of his head in angels and insects just because I cannot believe I watched that entire shit film for 30 SECONDS OF THE SIDE OF HIS-

4. Macbeth. didn’t see it but he looked Good and Feral and I know he rocked it

3. I guess I’ve watched death of Stalin the most of any of his roles but he has nothing to do in it soooo William in Dresden because Twink Paul Moment We Love to See

Literally cannot decide between Harry Goodsir From The Terror and Kevin From Motherland… I fell in love with him (read: developed severe gender envy about him) in motherland and my mum literally convinced me to watch the terror by describing his performance. Actually you know what I just remembered that they made Kevin straight so

2. Kevin Motherland- sweet, beautiful, tender, hilarious portrayal of modern middle class masculinity!

1. Harry Thee Goodsir- I don’t need to even say anything do I… a fucking tour de force a fucking. Masterpiece HE WAS ROBBED OF A BAFTA where’s his bafta. your fav could simply NEVER take a shit book and some letters (and a very good script of course) and create such a complex, multifaceted character, the literal heart of an ensemble of some of the most famous and established British actors in THE GAME, the stand out performance, THIRD IN THE CREDITS BEFORE IAN HART AND CIARÁN HINDS-

#the rest of this rant is behind a paywall #thanks mag u are the best <3 #roonagh.txt #paul ready

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xserpx · 4 years ago

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One Dresden for the fandom quiz please, sir!

As you wish! :)

The first character I ever fell in love with:

Dresden. The opening scene of Storm Front is so, so good.

A character I used to love/like but now do not:

Butters for sure. Used to love him, now I actively hate him with a fiery passion that only gets worse when I have to begrudgingly acknowledge that the scene where he fought Ethniu was like, okay, I guess.

A ship I used to love/like but now do not:

Ummm... Harry/Lara. It was cooler when it only existed in my head.

My ultimate favourite character:

Dresden and Murph!

Prettiest character:

Thomas. Too pretty to die.

Most hated character:

Maeve. She was grating as hell, I hated every scene she was in.

My OTP:

Harry/Karrin, nacheese! 🥰

My NOTP:

The stubbornly inflammable Harry/Molly.

Favourite scene:

Oh gods... [throws a dart at the board] The climax of Dead Beat? The flashback with the ghouls in White Night? Murph Family picnic? The Eldest Gruff? The Wild Hunt scene in Cold Days? Anduriel swimming with sharks? There's so many fantastic moments!

Saddest death:

"Paranoid? Probably. But just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there isn't a wizard's ghost standing beside you with tears in his eyes."

Favourite book:

Blood Rites, all day, every day.

Least favourite book:

Summer Knight.

Character everyone else in the fandom loves, but I hate:

Molly and Butters.

My 'you're a piece of trash but you're still a fave' fave:

Marcone & Kincaid. First class wankers. ❤

My 'beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this' fave:

Ivy!

My 'this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but I still love it' ship:

I don't have one? That sounds fake, but ok.

My 'they're kind of cute, and I lowkey ship them, but I'm not too invested ship:

Thomas/Justine/Molly. Hendricks/Marcone. Most of the canon ships apart from Thomas/Justine and Harry/Karrin, which I highkey ship and go feral for.

#dresden files

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authorsofparadiseroleplay · 4 years ago

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Dark Days, Chapter 2

This is a crossover fan novel featuring my own characters and world of The Authors of Paradise, blended with those of Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files. This derivative crossover work is being written for the sheer fun of it, with no financial gain. Jim Butcher owns Harry Dresden, The Dresden Files, and all associated characters. I own Evelyn Alvar, Arabella Thorne, Thornebridge Manor, The Authors of Paradise, and all associated characters. I’ve taken the two worlds, mashed them together, and whipped up this meandering thingamabob. Mmm, tasty.

This novel is rated M for Mature, because it’ll get bloody.

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

ii. Harry

The entire world exploded into panic, and it completely ruined my lunch at Burger King. I have all the luck.

Hey, I didn’t say it was good luck.

I had just returned from a grueling weekend in rural Louisiana, helping a psychic Paranetter who had found herself unwittingly being used as a conduit for a demonic spirit attempting to take form in the world, care of an object that had been used as a vessel for housing and transporting the spirit in the physical world. That sort of thing doesn’t just randomly happen; somebody had to have called it up and put it there, but I hadn’t quite figured out who, or why. I did know one thing, though– these sorts of incidents were becoming more and more prevalent lately, and widespread. If it was the work of a single person or group, they were throwing one hell of a wide net.

I had gone and returned by train, disembarking a little after one in the afternoon, hungry and unwashed and exhausted. I hadn’t felt like making anything at Molly’s apartment (I still couldn’t bring myself to call it home. It was borrowed. It wasn’t mine) so I decided to make a grub stop at Burger King.

I ordered. I sat. I started to eat. The sun went out.

Figures.

Burger in hand, I stepped outside to see what was happening, then staggered under the sudden, vicious psychic assault that swept over me like a particularly nasty tidal wave. Before I could even register what was happening, something cold and furious had surged to life inside me with icy fury to press back against the assault. The Mantle of the Winter Knight, taken on after a deal struck out of sheer desperation with Mab, the Queen of the Winter Court of Faerie, came with its own set of perks, which more often than not looked a hell of a lot more like curses to me. The battle seemed to wage for hours, but when the assault lifted, I was sure it had only been minutes.

I lifted my head and looked around, breathing heavily through flared nostrils, every muscle wound tight and ready to spring into action the instant I saw something to attack. I didn’t feel beaten down or defeated. I felt feral. I felt enraged that something would dare encroach on my space, on my person. All around me, I could see people recovering, still panicked but apparently not under the influence of… whatever that had been. They sprawled on the pavement, some of them sobbing, others stricken to horrified silence, still others clinging to one another as they looked around in vain for what could have caused their sudden collective panic.

They all looked like prey to me. Easy pickings. Vulnerable, confused, weak. It would be so easy to…

Drawing in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and began reciting multiplication tables in my head. It took a minute or two, but the influence of the Mantle waned, and I felt a bit more like myself again.

Whatever that meant these days.

Dragging my thoughts kicking and screaming back into focus, I rose to my feet, letting my eyes travel around in search of anything that could shed light on the situation. I knew I hadn’t been the one to send the psychic attack packing; I’d barely been able to weather it as it was, even with the Winter Mantle leading the defense. Maybe it was on a timer or something. Maybe their favorite show came on T.V. and they just couldn’t stand to miss it.

Maybe it was a test run, and something bigger and badder was on the way.

“Dammit,” I muttered, and gave a last, mournful look at my burger before tossing it in a nearby trash can. Lunch would have to wait.

The world wasn’t completely dark, despite the lack of power everywhere, and when I looked up, I saw that the sun was actually obstructed by something, ringed by a brilliant red halo that illuminated the streets below with a dim, dusk-like light. I returned to the car, the World War II-era Cadillac hearse provided for me by the Winter Court, and which I had dubbed the Munstermobile, and retrieved my staff from where I had stashed it in the backseat.

As I slammed the door, I saw the woman. She approached the restaurant’s parking lot slowly, a pair of thin silver rods crossed in an X in front of her, as if she were dowsing for water. It was hard to make out a lot of detail in the darkness, but I could see that she was short, maybe three or four inches taller than Murphy, with a wild mass of shoulder-length waves and some enticing curves visible beneath her sweater, jacket, and jeans.

I watched as she disappeared around a building across the street, dowsing rods practically dragging her along behind them, and I began to follow.

As I traced her steps around the building, I became aware of something that reminded me a little bit of Molly’s One Woman Rave, a wash of strobing lights in pink and yellow and red and blue dancing across the brick of the building. I didn’t need to stretch out my wizard’s senses to feel the power gathered there.

Rounding the bend, I saw the woman standing silhouetted before a massive swirling, pulsing vortex of color hovering a couple feet above the pavement. She looked tiny and vulnerable in front of that ocean of energy, as if she could be consumed by it any minute, vanishing into its depths. Cautiously, I moved closer, around to her side, and saw her eyes wide and unblinking as they gazed into the light. An ever-shifting spectrum of color danced across her fair features, giving her an otherworldly cast, making her seem immaterial, almost as if she was made of the light itself. Her eyes stayed locked on the vortex. She wasn’t just seeing; she was Seeing. Her Sight was wide open. God knew what she was seeing in there.

She whirled and anchored those wide, dark eyes on mine. I had to shift my gaze slightly to the side to prevent the start of a soulgaze; that was the last thing I needed right then. She stared for a few seconds, then blinked several times, shaking her head as she evidently closed her third eye. Then she looked up at me again, her features shadowed with suspicion.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” I said, full of eloquence and wit.

She took a step towards me. She was more than a foot shorter than me, maybe just a few inches taller than Murphy, but she leaned forward, jutted her jaw, and glared at me.

“Well,” I said, finally deigning to answer her question (but only after a stubborn delay), “I’m Harry, and I was out here going about my day when I thought to myself, Self, I wonder if there are any big, colorful vortexes to see in town. And what do you know, I found one. It’s my lucky day.”

“Vortices,” she said.

“What?”

“Not vortexes. Vortices. The plural is vortices.”

I raised an eyebrow and regarded her for a few seconds, then said, “I also thought to myself, Self, I wonder if there are any grammar Nazis hanging around those vortexes. And what do you know, I found one. It’s my lucky day.”

She rolled her eyes at me and turned back to the vortex. “Okay. I don’t have time for this.” Casting a sideways glance at me, she flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Shoo.”

A wave of icy fury swept over me, that this woman would presume to dismiss me like that, but I had gotten pretty good at discerning the difference between my own emotions and the sharper, colder, more visceral effects of the Winter Mantle. I took a breath, reining in the violent instincts of the Mantle before they could start calling the shots, and regained control.

The woman tensed and turned to look at me, narrowing her eyes as if she had sensed the danger. But before either of us could react further, something came out of the vortex.

It was a nebulous, translucent mass at first, with no real static shape. It seemed to shift and warp as it moved past the swirling colors of the vortex, as if it couldn’t quite decide what shape it wanted to be.

Then it emerged into the cool autumn air and solidified. Muscles rippled as they formed under black, leathery skin, and huge wings unfurled and whipped downward, creating an air current for the creature to hold itself aloft with. The batlike creature turned its head and glared down at us with red eyes, and my first thought was that it was some sort of vampire, but larger. Much larger.

Its long, wolflike muzzle opened and presented us with a hungry smile full of sharp teeth. And then it shrieked, long and loud, and another wave of soul-rending horror descended on the world.

#Dresden Files #The Dresden Files #Dresden Files fic #crossover with original universe #not RP #Dark Days

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memoirsverse · 5 years ago

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Dresden Files/The Authors of Paradise: Dark Days, Chapter 3

This novel is rated M for Mature, because it’ll get bloody.

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

iii. Evelyn

I had looked into the swirling, prismatic abyss, and had Seen what was emerging from it. I had heard the jarring discordance of its song taking shape. Its energy had blossomed inside my mind like rotting flesh melting aside to reveal the gore held within.

That was why I was ready this time when the creature hurled a wave of suffocating dread in my general direction. The whole world is made of song, if you know how to hear it. When you know the resonance of something, you can counteract it with your own tone.

I drew in a deep breath, opened my mouth, and sang out a long, loud, crystalline note that rang throughout the alley like a giant tuning fork. That single, protracted note I formed into a word, no word in any human tongue but simply a collection of syllables that danced along the threads of my intent and coalesced into pure Will.

The note reached out to the dark, pulsing energy rushing along the channel of the creature’s screech and diverted it away from myself and the man standing beside me, splitting it apart and scattering it to be carried away on the wind. Peripherally, I could see the man lifting his staff, holding it across himself with one hand, and could feel him gathering energy.

I ran out of breath and my voice dipped to silence as I frantically reached into my bag to retrieve one of the little spherical glass containers I had carefully packed in an interior pocket with plenty of padding. The creature slapped the air with its wings and dove forward, but the man stepped forward, his booming voice echoing throughout the alley. “Forzare!”

An invisible wrecking ball slammed into the creature and sent it tumbling backwards towards the portal. Catching itself mid-trajectory with a billow of its wings, it flipped itself in midair, braced its feet on the brick facade of a building, and lunged forward again. The man moved forward, stepping between the monster and me as he hefted his staff. “Get out of here, lady!”

Instead of responding, I darted around the man and hurled the glass sphere at the creature with a murmured word. It shattered, releasing the coiled energy that had been contained within, a paralysis enchantment that immediately began to twine around the creature, immobilizing it. It struggled for a few seconds, its wings beating the air, then fell to the pavement and was still.

I glowered at the man. “You were saying?”

“Don’t get too comfy, toots,” he replied, gesturing at the creature with his free hand. He still held the staff at the ready, and had a wild, almost feral look in his eyes, his body coiled taut as if readying himself to spring into action again. Despite this, he was breathing steadily, in through his nostrils and out through his mouth. This certainly wasn’t the mage’s first battle. “It’s not over.”

“Call me ‘toots’ again and I’ll shove that staff exactly where you don’t want it,” I growled, but I followed his line of sight. The creature was shuddering in its invisible restraints, and something scarlet flickered along the surface of its leathery hide. A spiderweb of red lightning rushed to spread over its skin, and it began to stand, flexing its wings and limbs. I could feel the binding enchantment popping and breaking like so many snapped threads.

“Oh, crap,” I said, and thrust my hand into my bag again, frantically casting around for another glass sphere.

I’m not very good at direct psychokinetic battle magic, what I’ve heard referred to as evocation in some circles. Give me time to prepare, give me time to carefully and meticulously and mathematically construct enchantments set to go off at a certain trigger, or to build a thaumaturgical link and manipulate with ritual, and I can manage. It’s usually by the skin of my teeth, but I’m still alive, so that must count for something.

But sometimes my gadgets, baubles, and carefully laid plans fail me. Darn it all to fucking heck, as Arabella would say. But Arabella wasn’t here, and the only backup I had right now was this smart-mouthed human skyscraper wielding an oversized phallic symbol and Big Thug Energy. Gods grant me patience.

The livid energy crackling over the creature’s body intensified and multiplied, and I felt the last of the binding enchantment fray and snap apart. The creature rolled its neck and stretched its wings as if it had merely woken from a pleasant nap, then lurched itself at us with a shriek.

The man, evidently still suffering from an acute case of misplaced chivalry, again moved so he was between the creature and me, staff raised as he eyed the creature and the dizzying, psychedelic whirlpool of a portal behind it. With a snarled word, he hurled another kinetic blast at the creature, this time successfully sending it tumbling backwards into the Rift. Then, striding forward a step with his long legs, he lifted his staff again and shouted, “Instaurabos!”

“That’s not going to work!” I tried to warn him, assuming he was trying to close what he likely thought was a portal to the Nevernever.

A second later, the creature came barreling through the whirling lights which had, of course, failed to collapse in on themselves because they were something entirely different than a portal to the Nevernever. It hit the man like a missile and rode him to the ground. I heard him grunt with the impact, his staff clattering to the pavement and rolling away, and he twisted and bucked beneath the creature as it hissed and seized him by the throat, shoving him back down.

Seemingly heedless of the sudden death-grip on his throat, the man snarled, his teeth bared and his eyes glittering with feral rage, and somehow twisted his body so his left arm and leg were leveraging to the left side of the beast. Then, in one swift, terrifyingly graceful motion, he shoved the creature so it went tumbling off him and rolled to his feet, dropping down into a crouch. My eyes widened as I felt a surge of cold, wild energy, and as I watched, ice began to rapidly crystallize around his fingertips, forming razor-sharp claws.

The man’s lips peeled back into a savage grin, and I found myself wondering which of the two of them was really more dangerous.

The creature started to lunge at the man, and he met it with his own attack, darting forward and raking his ice claws at its throat. The creature whirled out of the way, threw itself into the air, and dove at the man, its own claws flexed. The man caught it in some kind of judo throw, slamming the monster to the ground with enough force to crack the pavement.

His lips still curled in a snarl, the man raised his right hand and plunged it towards the creature’s chest, claws first. The monster caught his wrist, surged up, and went for the man’s throat. He canted sideways at the last second, taking its teeth just above his left collarbone instead. With a violent wrench and a spray of blood, he jerked free of the bite. He barely even seemed to notice, and the alley echoed with his furious scream as a jagged, deadly-sharp icicle extended from the palm of his right hand. With a flip of his wrist, still held in the creature’s grasp, he took the makeshift blade in his hand and drove it downward. It tightened its grip on his wrist and resisted, and then there was a flurry of violent movement and furious growling from both fighters, and the monster gave a powerful lurch and threw the man flat on his back.

It followed with blinding speed, leaping on him and driving a bony knee into the man’s chest. It grabbed a fistful of his dark hair, dashing his head once, twice, three times into the ground. Stunned, the man slowed his struggles, though he didn’t entirely stop them. The creature’s hand clamped around his throat again and began to squeeze.

A grating, raspy cough began to emit from the creature as it leaned in close to the man, the sound like broken glass crunching over stone. It took a few seconds for me to realize it was laughing.

“The Winter Knight and the One Who Forgot,” it cackled, tightening its grip on the man’s throat even as it twisted its head to look at me. Wheezing, the man clawed ineffectually at the creature’s iron grip, and I am ashamed to say I stood frozen. The creature had effectively taken a hostage, and it would only take a small jerk of its hand to snap the man’s neck like a twig. Its black lips peeled back from huge, gleaming canines in what could have equally been a sneer or a snarl. “What a fortuitous chance of a meeting.”

The man tried to speak, but it came out as a strangled gurgle. The creature leaned down over him, a hair’s breadth from his face, and took a long whiff through its nostrils. Its eyelids fluttered and it made a rolling, guttural sound of pure pleasure. “So much fear tearing through your veins even as you fight to the end. And yet you are ignorant of the true nature of things. Blind little sheep. Lambs to the slaughter. The both of you know so little, and understand even less. Events have been orchestrated that you cannot even begin to fathom. You play your parts well, as ever you have.”

Swallowing back my fear, I lowered my bag to the ground, lifted my hands and stepped forward. “If we’ve got parts to play for you, we’re no good to you dead.”

It grinned at me, giving me another good look at its teeth. “Dead. Alive. Alive and dead. The cat’s ever in the box, little taistealaiche.” It looked down at the man, tilting its head and crooning wordlessly, and I saw that the wizard’s face was taking a purple cast, his lips turning blue. But I also saw what the creature didn’t appear to see: his hand sliding into the right pocket of his leather Inverness coat.

“But not for either of you,” the creature purred, and the man pulled his hand from his pocket, swung the revolver around, and shot the monster point blank in the face. It fell back and flopped around blindly, wings beating, an unearthly shriek emanating from the gaping, sludge-dripping hole that had been its muzzle.

The man stood up, his breath rattling in his throat, aimed the weapon, and shot the creature in the face again. “Well, I think that cat just climbed out of its box and fucked you right up, oh Melodramatic One,” he rasped. He glanced over at me. “Guess it’s not immune to bullets. Let’s see how it likes a little bit of ice.”

He retrieved his staff, raised it in front of him, and growled, “Infriga.” An arctic wave of energy swept forward with a crackling, gleaming sheet of ice rushing into being in its wake along the pavement, and both overtook the creature, rising around it and encasing it like a crystalline monolith.

A beat passed, and the scarlet lightning flickered into visibility as it began to spiderweb beneath the surface of the creature’s temporary prison. The ice groaned and crackled, and a pattern of branching fissures began to appear in its surface.

The man looked at me. His breath seethed through his teeth, and he still had a wild look in his eyes that made me want to edge away from him. “I’m gonna take a wild stab in the dark and say you probably know how to send this thing back and close the portal.”

“Yes.” I was already digging the needed implements out of my bag. There was more to it than what he had said, but one thing at a time.

“Well, let’s get a move on already. What do we need to do?”

I pushed aside another spike of irritation at his words. He had, after all, successfully and competently helped to contain the creature. As much as I hated accepting assistance from strangers, I had to admit that this one would have been too much for me to handle alone.

That didn’t mean I had to trust him, of course.

I removed a sketch pad, a stick of sharpened charcoal, and a kneaded eraser from my bag and settled cross-legged on the ground, as close to the creature as I dared. “Keep it contained for me. Can you build a circle around us? The creature and me, I mean.”

He peered at the sketch pad, an eyebrow rising on his angular, scarred face. It wasn’t a particularly unattractive face, I thought, even if he made me want to throw something at him every time he opened his mouth. “Your master plan is to Bob Ross it to death?”

I sighed and mumbled something distinctly unladylike under my breath. As the man used a stub of chalk to create the circle around the creature and I, I took a deep, cleansing breath, then opened my all my senses to gaze into the abyss again.

#Dresden Files #fic #not roleplay #ok to reblog but don't continue it like a thread please!#Dark Days

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majingojira · 7 years ago

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Introducing Recent Supernatural Fauna into the Dresden Files

As time goes on, new supernatural monsters are added to the bestiaries of fantasy lore when there was no folklore or belief around them. Some spawned from famous stories (Tolkein being the obvious influence), others from recently developed folklore (cryptids, the Slender Man), and others just because they’re “Weird Ideas Some Nerds had in the 70s for D&D” (The Gelatinous Cube, Beholder, & Mind Flayer).

Here are four such creatures of the first kind and how I’d think they’d work were they incorporated into the Dresden Files mythology.

I may do more if asked (or if I can) because I like cross-pollinating like this.

Slayers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Slayers in the Dresden Files were created by Ancient Sorcerers, a group of them even older than the White Council, but still similar to them. They called themselves the Shadow Men. They wished to create a guardian for humanity against the various supernatural predators out there. What they performed was similar to an ascension rite, and similar to the creature of a spirit of intellect like the Archive. This time, it created an atypical supernatural lineage. Over time, the Slayer mostly came under the purview of the Venatori Umbromum and was known as a “Verum Venator” or “True Venator” after regular use of Latin fell out of favor. After the turn of the millennium, as there was a spike in supernatural activities, so to was there an uptick in Slayers. So much so that for the first time in about 2000 years there was a significant number of them to form their own organization and rebel against the Venatori.

Slayers are empowered by a connection to what can only be called a Goddess. What it is, is unknown, but many have claimed they draw their strength from many deities. While it is claimed the Amazons were descendants of Ares, aspects of their abilities tie them more to the Egyptian Goddess of Justice: Ammit the Devourer.

Through the empowerment, they first receive knowledge – the most potent power of all. Parts of past slayers lives and experiences are transferred into them. Not directly or fully, but instinctively. Like the difference between muscle memory and knowledge memory. Their bodies, in effect, remember how to fight, how to train, and where to strike all sorts of nasties. And with what. They may not be able to put it into words easily, but it’s there

The second gift is more mystical. All that knowledge helps them in practising the craft, but their talents seem to be limited. They can perform a ritual as anyone can, but they show aptitude in Kinetomancy. They incorporate this into their martial arts and make the stronger ones truly potent. They also have a gift of prophecy. This comes to them in the form of dreams. Some take the shape of the memories of past Slayers should an old threat return. Mostly, however, it comes in the form of annoyingly vague dreams that often do little more than simply alert them to something happening. This works similar to Cassandra’s Tears, but instead of no one believing them few people can decipher their meaning until after the fact beyond “Keep an eye on this person” or “Something bad is coming, and it’s probably a demon/vampire/fae/demigod/dragon.”

The next gift they receive is to their senses. Slayer senses are sharper than those of normal humans. While still within the range of mortal animals, they are impressive nonetheless when compared to a normal human. Most potent of these is their vision and hearing, both very important for beings that hunt at night. They also receive an extra sense against danger or ‘violent intent’, a true “Spider-Sense” as Harry would put it. This allows them to detect predatory or aggressive acts against them, even while blind or in complete darkness. Being aware and reacting in time is, of course, two different things, but if a Slayer is attentive, they cannot be fooled easily.

The fourth gift is the most obvious, their physical abilities. The Strength, Speed, Stamina, Recovery, and Durability of Slayers are truly supernatural. They were made to go toe-to-toe against Vampires primarily, after all, so they were made tough. Weaker slayers (mostly those just starting out) are able to perform on the level of Olympic athletes across the board while being able to fully heal from a stab wound overnight. Stronger Slayers can bend prison bars, snatch crossbow bolts out of the air at point-blank range, survive multistory falls with little more than a limp afterwards, run at highway speeds, and do that for hours. Recovery wise, they can block a superhuman cleaver strike with their bare arm and . . . have the bone stop it. It’s an odd vulnerability. Against blunt force trauma, they’re extremely tough but introduce a piercing weapon and things become tougher. Still, the best way to be sure one has been killed is to aim for a spot on a human that would be instantly lethal. A gutted slayer can recover given time, as can a paralyzed one, or one that has lost a limb would regrow it in a few years. But it’s hard to recover from a destroyed head, heart, or a properly snapped neck. Fully draining them of blood also works.

Their final gift is indeed why they are called Slayers and why Ammit the Devourer is seen as their patron. Slayers absorb ambient mystical energy around them, and when they attack supernatural or spiritual beings, they can rip them apart. This primarily occurs when they do enough damage to destroy their mortal shell. As the spirit flees, the ‘devourer’ takes a big bite out of the spirit and the energy used to create or maintain their physical form. This can be so damaging that the spirit unravels, being effectively destroyed. The bodies of beings like vampires, fae, and demons often burst into dust or melt into ooze after being slain by a slayer as the Devourer takes its fee. This is, along with the connection to the goddess, allows them to have such supernatural powers without needing to feed on flesh, blood, or other ugliness.

For some reason, this does not work on fully incorporeal spirits such as ghosts. It is theorized that, unless they manifest, there is nothing for the slayer to ‘grab on’ to.

Slayers generally appear as attractive young women, few have lived past the age of twenty until recently, so little is know how long their youthful appearance holds, but it matches their M.O. They appear as helpless young women ripe with vitality to most supernatural predators. They are in for a rude shock when the prey turns out to be the predator.

(Demoniac) Vampires (BtVS)

Undead corpses animated by a demonic spirit? More common than you think. They are known mostly as the Demon Court. They are found throughout the Americas, Europe, Africa, and Asia, but the idea of them being a full ‘court’ is a misnomer as they rarely form large organizations. Sure, mobs of up to 20 or 30 can form around powerful and charismatic individuals, but there is little to no inter-group activity beyond posturing like packs of wolves. So, mostly, they form gangs of 4 to 10.

A demoniac vampire are born through infection. A victim is brought to near-death via bloodloss and infected with the Vampiric Spirit. Once the victim dies, the spirit takes control. It animates the corpse in a few days and gives it a semblance of life. The heart doesn’t beat and it doesn’t need the organs to function, but aside from feeling room temperature, it’s hard to tell that they are anything but a normal human.

Until it’s time to feed. Then it shifts the face into a horrible mask and grows out its teeth. Not just fangs, but premolars and incisors become sharp and biting.

The spirit also grants them superhuman strength and speed. They have the durability of a corpse but retain a sense of stamina as the spirit needs to be fueled regularly with blood in order to keep going. A Demoniac vampire that hasn’t fed in ages becomes more akin to a Black Court vampire visually, and an old one at that. It debilitates the mind and makes them savage. Well, more savage than normal and feral to boot.

The vampiric spirit gains potency over time, but beyond an increase in physical powers, they are usually minor but still noteworthy. Some can grow claws as well as fangs or turn their hands into bludgeons. Others display hypnotic, illusion, or enthralling abilities, but these are thankfully rare.

Like anything bore from humans, it can have the potential abilities of a human: Sorcerers, talents, and other powers can crop up on occasion. The Vampire Spirit retains the knowledge and experiences of the being whose corpse it now inhabits, exploiting the ‘residue’ of the soul left behind in the corpse. This also grants the creature the passions the host body had in life, albeit twisted through the ravenous, sadistic carnivore.

Which means those who are aimless in life and have no wants or desires beyond basic hedonism make for the most horrifyingly inhuman demoniac vampires.

They can breed fast, but thankfully are easier to kill than the Black Court. Destroy the brain/decapitate severs the spirit (which nests in the head) from the body. Jamming a wooden or bone stake forces symbolic life into the un-life of the vampire and destroys it completely. Sufficient damage through fire also burns away the animating spirit (and they are highly flammable). And despite being in a body, the animating spirit is still pushed away by sunlight (which also sets the body on fire). When the creature is truly destroyed, it runs back into the Nevernever with such force it disintegrates the body, rendering it into dust.

They also show a repulsion to holy symbols, and contact with holy or blessed items causes them to burn.

Gargoyles (Disney’s Gargoyles)

Gargoyles are a name provided to a mortal, but magically influenced species that has gone by many names over the years, and across cultures. In Japan, they are Tengu, Shisa, and Otoroshi. In Greece, they are furies, harpies, and Sphinx. India’s Garuda is one of their number. Babylonian Lamasi. The hummingbirds of Huitzilopochtli. China too has its gargoyles, a tribe of which lives at the corners of their known lands and eat mostly fish. Even in the modern United States, Leeds Devil, and the Mothman are thought to be Gargoyles.

Gargoyles are mortal, in that they have free will, choice, and thus a ‘soul’ as humans understand it. They are fully sentient, sapient species that happen to have a very variable, monstrous look.

Physically, Gargoyles are supernaturally strong and durable. While they can still be cut and bleed, it’s a lot harder to do. They resist cold and heat better than humans, able to walk around in subzero temperatures with little more than what amounts to shorts and a t-shirt in sub-zero temperatures to no ill effect. Their strength is great enough to bend steel but is mostly used as a vector for their powerful talons. They usually claw their way up walls, punching through stone and concrete easily. They do this in order to fly. Though they claim they can only glide on their wings, their problem is the initial lift. Once in the air, they have been known to hover, and flap to gain altitude. Some kinetomancy is suspected to achieve this, but their power is subconscious and unrealized. They also have a fully prehensile tail.

One truly supernatural ability comes in a form of inspiring fear. Sure, part of it is the fact that a 300-pound fanged horror is growling at you, but the supernatural element is present in their actively glowing eyes. White in males, red in females. This glow is surprisingly bright, as much as a low flashlight. While this blinds them temporarily, it is a wonderful threat display.

Gargoyles do not eat much either despite this. The price for all this power comes from their stone sleep. When the sun rises, they turn to stone. Artificial sunlight does not have such an effect, but oddly they can get ‘jet lag’. The transformation turns them into a stone-like substance (calcium based), and when the sun sets, they change back, but a layer of stone is ejected in a wonderfully cool display.

Until you learn that’s how they excrete waste. Then it becomes hilarious.

This sleep keeps them immobile and vulnerable to anyone wielding a sledgehammer, which is why they usually perch on tall, out of the way places. It does have three benefits: one, it slows down the aging process (gargoyles age at roughly one half the speed of humans); two, it allows them to heal from many forms of injury overnight; and three, it allows them to absorb solar energy in order to fuel their active lifestyles and supernatural power.

Morlocks/CHUD (The Time Machine, C.H.U.D.)

Little is known about this species. They are hulking carnivores that live deep underground in both the Nevernever and in parts of the mortal world. They crave flesh but seem to be able to do without for decades or even centuries without any ill effects. It’s thought that they hibernate or otherwise go into a state to stave off starvation for long periods and gorge themselves when the opportunity arises.

Roughly humanoid in shape, Morlocks have powerful claws, supernatural strength, and are slightly more durable than a mortal human, though the same things which can kill a human will end them. They are, however, almost completely invulnerable to poisons and toxins. Or, if there are such chemicals that can affect them, they are not found in squalid places or deep underground (which, given what they’ve been found in, might just be chlorophyll). The only known aversion they have is too bright lights. Flashes of light can blind and stun them for a time, allowing for escape.

Unless they get clever, and they are moderately intelligent at least. They are able to create ambushes and use tools, but are savage and have little hierarchy known.

But because they also smell foul, no one has taken the time to study them. Until about a hundred years ago, they were thought to be a species of ghoul. And they might be, but it is clear they are quite distinct from Ghouls. Same family rather than the same genus.

#The Dresden Files #Dresden files #Buffy the vampire slayer #Slayer #Gargoyles #disney's gargoyles #Morlocks #CHUD #C.H.U.D.

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raccoonodysseus · 2 years ago

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Spoilers for Harry Dresden ghost story

Couldn’t stop thinking about Harry watching Molly while she’s going completely feral over some food in a Denny’s. And she can only see him through the prongs of a tuning fork. I just imagined him looking at her with so much love, I always think of Harry like and uncle or even an older brother to the carpenter children, especially when they had a snowball fight with them, he’s just a big kid sometimes I swear.

i also did a version without the tuning fork in view, and a more.. ghostly(?) version. Which honestly looks kinda sad but that was kinda what I was going for.

#harry dresden #harry blackstone copperfield dresden #dresden Harry #the dresden files #dresden files #harry Dresden ghost story #Spoilers for ghost story #Kinda #spoilers for the dresden files #I love this man #michael carpenter #michael carpenter practically just adopted Harry I swear #Wish Michael was my dad :(#My art

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summonthebats · 2 years ago

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Actually I want him yeeted to the Dresden files and joining the Outfit while he waits to be rescued.

Does John Marcone know what to do with this strange, heavily tatooed, highly trained and semi-feral cult escapee who probably got recruited after picking pockets/beating up a pushy customer in a bar?

Yes because thats a teenager and he has rules but Alec doesn't legally exist so getting him into a school is hard and in the meantime the little shit has been teaching mixed martial arts to the new recruits and, depending where he's landed on the timeline, has either

a) Been very practical about exploding hearts and the Harry Dresden problem and maybe talked the wizzard into providing info on monsters ('Look, you hate the vampire things and you hate the Outfit and everyone hates whatever the hell St Claire is doing. Provide us info on the vampire things and you get to watch two groups that you hate fight it out and get paid for it. What's your problem?)

b) Become Gards favourite sparing partner. ('You are skilled young warrior. Again?' -wheezing noises- 'Absolutly')

c) Been outed as nephillim by Macones Fallen brain guest and promptly been deamed interesting. Only in a non threatening way because Marcone has rules and thats a teenager.

Anyway, fun. Plus Marcone getting a minion whose responce to the magic shit is judgement, diplomacy and then violence while Alec gets the closest thing he's had to a holiday in years, even if he is very worried about his parabati who he can feel winding up to do something stupid.

Alec Lightwood would be fantastic at organised crime tho

#alec lightwood #john marcone #the dresden files #the mortal instruments #shadowhunters

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thatgoddamnwizard · 5 years ago

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"What I am is also what she is. Even if diluted. As for Nicodemus? To fully trust him would be foolish. I have not been around this long due to luck, Mister Dresden." Annoyance briefly shadowed his features before he was composed again. "Ahh." The amusement is back on his features. "Yes. It's I that's the pawn. Which makes you the dashing white knight? Here to save the broken damsel? Tell me, when did you first realise that you might have feelings for her?"

“And yet somehow you have to terrorize and abuse and coerce her in order to get her to bend even a fraction of an inch to your will. You scheme and you plot and you meddle and you make alliances with people who’d as soon stab you in the back as help you. Know what that tells me?” Harry arched an eyebrow and put his hands in the pockets of his duster. A chill autumn wind kicked up a scattering of leaves and sent them swirling around the headstones. His own grave yawned at his feet, open and waiting as always, but he ignored it.

Something nagged at the back of his mind, telling him that something was off about all of this. He kept his eyes open.

“Tells me you’re a bully,” he continued. “And there’s this thing I learned about bullies, all the way back in high school.” His lips peeled back into a grin that probably looked more feral than amused, and he took a step closer to Nikolai. “They aren’t as tough as they like to make themselves out to be, so they try to make up for it with intimidation and violence. I’ve known other angels, Niko, old boy. They could implode entire star systems with a flick of a finger, given the impetus. I’m gonna guess that you don’t have that kind of power. You’re probably trying to get it. That’s probably the purpose of your creepy little Evil League of Evil and all those perverse experiments you got going with your buddy Doctor Moreau. But you don’t. Have it. Now. Important distinction.”

Nikolai’s next words hit him almost like a physical blow. Did he have feelings for Mae? He certainly admired her for her courage and wit, her intelligence and integrity, and she was attractive and appealing in more ways than he could count. And when he thought of her on that table, helpless and terrified and in agony, the rage in him rose and threatened to spill over onto those responsible, even though Mae was safely behind the walls and wards of his apartment.

Wait a minute.

Wasn’t he there too? And for that matter, wasn’t it the middle of summer?

“Hell’s bells,” he mumbled, eyeing Nikolai. “This is a dream. Of course it’s a dream. But the question is: are you a part of my dream, or are you actually here and trying to get in my head?”

#Anonymous #wintermae #facelesscorps #harry: piss off all the bad guys?#harry: piss off all the bad guys!#role play #Cemetery Angel

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memoirsverse · 5 years ago

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Dresden Files/The Authors of Paradise: Dark Days, Chapter 2

This novel is rated M for Mature, because it’ll get bloody.

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

ii. Harry

The entire world exploded into panic, and it completely ruined my lunch at Burger King. I have all the luck.

Hey, I didn’t say it was good luck.

I ordered. I sat. I started to eat. The sun went out.

Figures.

They all looked like prey to me. Easy pickings. Vulnerable, confused, weak. It would be so easy to…

Whatever that meant these days.

Maybe it was a test run, and something bigger and badder was on the way.

“Dammit,” I muttered, and gave a last, mournful look at my burger before tossing it in a nearby trash can. Lunch would have to wait.

I watched as she disappeared around a building across the street, dowsing rods practically dragging her along behind them, and I began to follow.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing?”

“Uh,” I said, full of eloquence and wit.

She took a step towards me. She was more than a foot shorter than me, maybe just a few inches taller than Murphy, but she leaned forward, jutted her jaw, and glared at me.

“Vortices,” she said.

“What?”

“Not vortexes. Vortices. The plural is vortices.”

She rolled her eyes at me and turned back to the vortex. “Okay. I don’t have time for this.” Casting a sideways glance at me, she flapped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Shoo.”

The woman tensed and turned to look at me, narrowing her eyes as if she had sensed the danger. But before either of us could react further, something came out of the vortex.

Its long, wolflike muzzle opened and presented us with a hungry smile full of sharp teeth. And then it shrieked, long and loud, and another wave of soul-rending horror descended on the world.

#dresden files #not roleplay #ok to reblog but don't try to roleplay with it please!#so i finally finished chapter 2 #harry just can't catch a break #somebody feed him #Dark Days

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