#adding more red string to the conspiracy board | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rosemaryreaper · 10 months ago

Text

Where was Nick when Hancock evacuated the Diamond City ghouls to Goodneighbor?

Back in September, I started working on a fic that covered exactly that…then I tossed it aside because I thought it was bad. But now I actually want to finish it. It’s a short Nick POV fic that follows the three days before McDonough passes the Anti-Ghoul decree. Also featured are Ellie, Security Captain Lennie Sullivan, and a still human Hancock. Here’s a snippet from Chapter 2, which is the night before everything goes to hell.

* * * *

In the end, there was nothing to be done but wait. Ellie returned with more than enough documents to fit the bill, and after another round through the line, the guard let him through with minimal hostility. When he tried to subtly linger to keep an eye on things, Security threatened to shoot him for loitering, so there was no choice but to return to the office. Lennie never returned. Neither did many of the ghouls.

Convincing his old circuit board of a brain to focus on work after that morning was difficult, but it didn’t change the fact that he still had a half dozen interconnected missing persons cases on his desk. Sitting around doing nothing wasn’t going to help anyone, ghoul or missing girl, so the least they could do was be productive with the spare time. He got Ellie to bring out what she had dubbed “the conspiracy board”—a big map of the Commonwealth they had pinned to a corkboard—and the two of them spent the afternoon moving around colored pins and strings, trying to work out which route the traffickers were using to smuggle these girls around the state.

“Think Bunker Hill could be a stopover?” Ellie asked, tapping her fingernail on a red circle to the northeast.

“They’d have to go through Goodneighbor first,” Nick said.

“I don’t doubt it. Sounds like the sort of business Vic’s gang would get mixed up in. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s responsible for this whole horrible trade.”

“Still could be a third party. Or a bit of both. We won’t know till we learn more.” He paused. “But I wouldn’t be surprised either.” He added another pin to the board. “If they’re using Bunker Hill, then they aren’t the only party stashing that particular kind of cargo there overnight. I have a contact I can talk to, see if his guys have noticed any odd goings on.”

“Sounds promising,” Ellie said.

“Let’s hope so. This is one trail I absolutely do not want to leave to get cold.”

Arturo was the neighborhood tourist. Nick would have to catch him alone sometime soon; ask him to get a message through to Deacon and his crew. If anyone was an expert on smuggling people through the Commonwealth undetected, it was the Railroad.

The door screeched open, and a choked sob tumbled through its frame. Violet shuffled in, fully weeping within Riley’s embrace. To her, Riley said, “Here, sweetheart, let’s just sit down for a spell, okay?” To the rest of the room, she said, “I’m going to fucking kill someone.”

“Oh, Violet.” Ellie rushed to grab a blanket from the bedroom. “Here, have a seat, honey.” While Riley lowered Violet into the cushioned chair, Ellie wrapped the blanket around the poor ghoul.

Jax stumbled out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed and in their undershirt, which had rolled up to expose their bandages. “Vi? What happened?”

Riley’s brows shot up. “What the hell happened to you?”

“New exercise regime,” Jax said.

“Jesus Christ,” Riley said. “Somebody jumped you.”

“What?” Violet gasped through tears.

“It’s nothing, Vi,” Jax said. “What’s wrong?”

Violet let out another sob. “I’ve never been s-so humiliated.”

“Oh no,” Ellie said. “They didn’t accept any of your papers?”

“None! The boys and I tried everything. Yefim even tried to draw up something last minute, but they wouldn’t take any of it! Now I’m going to lose everything—my home, my job. I won’t survive outside the Wall, not for a night.” She bowed her head and cried.

Ellie yanked open the drawers of her desk, pulling out a whole stack of handkerchiefs and a mug, the latter of which she filled from the coffee thermos. She murmured to Violet, out of even Nick’s broad earshot, until she could convince her to hold the mug in her hands. Nick sent a silent thanks to fate that he had hired her. He had been about to say something a hell of a lot more blunt.

“Nonhumans,” Riley snarled. “Nonhumans! We’re not another species. We’re not animals. I have half a mind to march up to the Stands right now—kick down doors until I find every councilman responsible. They want to see feral? I’ll show them feral.”

Nick said, “You’ll get yourself shot.”

“I’ll get myself shot outside too. This way will be quicker.”

Jax said, “None of our lot are getting shot outside if I can help it. Not if they stick with me.”

“Oh, look, it’s the ghoul savior,” Riley deadpanned. “Right now, if I had to bet on who would win in a fight, you or a mole rat, I’d back the mole rat.”

“It’s not all hopeless, is it?” Ellie asked, rubbing Violet’s back. “Some ghouls still managed to vote. Riley, you did.”

Riley scowled. “I did, barely, because I’m fortunate. They gave us no warning, no time to get our papers in order—and a lot of ghouls didn’t. Screw all the drifters, I guess.”

Nick could sense Jax giving him a look out of the corner of his eye. One of the “I told you so” variety. Ellie was giving him a different kind of look. One that placed far too must trust in his nonexistent ability to overcome the odds. You can do something, Nicky. Right?

Nick could do something. He could turn his investigation towards the city, root out who was pulling the strings—who had organized the guards, who had influenced the Council, who had to benefit from all the chaos. It would take time, but he was nothing if not persistent. His joints hadn’t rusted to a halt yet.

But the ghouls didn’t have time. They had tonight. The proverbial nuke had already been launched. Catching the crook here wouldn’t save anyone until after there was no one left to be saved. So, Nick would do something all right: he would shield them from the blast best he could and help those who survived out of the debris. No more. No better.

“Jax is working on an escape route,” Nick said. “I’ve been scrounging up supplies. You need something—help organizing a caravan, a spare gun, anything—you say the word.”

The room calmed, but not in a comfortable way. The room calmed in the same way a snake calms when it is too cold to move. Violet had quieted. Jax looked determined; Riley grim. Ellie turned her face away.

Jax crossed over to Violet, offering her a hand up. “Come on, Vi. Why don’t we get you back to the Dugout? You look like you could use something stronger than coffee.”

Violet accepted, sniffling, and they slipped an arm around her shoulders. With a quiet murmur of thanks to Nick, she and Jax made their exit. Riley didn’t follow. She gazed down at the empty chair, then up at Nick with that grim expression. She stalked forward, and he froze, startled, as she threw her arms around him.

Most folks weren’t lining up to give the metal man hugs. It wasn’t the kind of relationship he had with Ellie, who was technically his employee, and it wasn’t something he would ever initiate with a client, no matter how distraught. He was hyper aware of his own strength as he lifted his arms, and they hung suspended for too long as he tried to recall the last time he had calibrated them. He briefly considered blacking out to run a quick diagnostic.

But the moment had already gone on too long, and something of the old Nick kicked in. He rested his hands on her back.

“Hey now, Doc, this isn’t like you,” he said with something like humor.

Riley chuckled, with something a little less like humor. “Just saying thank you, gumshoe—for everything. In case I don’t get the chance to.” She pulled away. “I could use a drink too. Might as well celebrate my last night, while it lasts. Feel free to join.” Then she made her exit.

Ellie was on the verge of a question again, but she still didn’t want to ask it, because she still wasn’t looking at him. He looked at the board with all its strings and pins. He looked at the empty chair, the abandoned blanket, the untouched coffee. He released a long breath, forever weaker than it should be. Then he donned his coat and his hat, and he offered his secretary his arm.

It got her attention. With a faint smile, she linked her elbow with his, resting her other hand on his forearm. And they made their exit too.

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #nick valentine #ellie perkins #john hancock #hancock’s not actually in this snip but he is in the fic i promise

28 notes · View notes

late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

Text

A Special Day - a TMA fic

It's the big day. Jon and Martin will join to create one family, to become Blackwood-Sims for the rest of their lives, however that looks.

But this world is a mess, and Jon's red-string conspiracy board doesn't come close to solving it. Also, Jonah Magnus has the worst timing no matter what world he's in.

Part of the Magnus Monsterverse.

AO3

------

I drove my uni roommates absolutely mad with my notes. Post-It notes, half-used notebooks, scraps of paper torn from things. Sometimes I wrote on old receipts, or on the backs of syllabi, or (one memorable day) on the A4 sheet with a professor’s name, which had been taped to her door. I had nothing else to write on! It wasn’t as though she’d miss it, anyway.

My coworkers at the Magnus Institute had no idea how good they had it, really.

At any rate, it wasn’t really shocking that no one could understand my filing system. The confusion on Martin’s face as he witnessed my newest masterpiece spoke to that.

“Uh,” he said, staring at my handiwork.

“Wait,” I said. “I can explain.”

His mouth twitched. Martin Blackwood, the love of my life, was trying very hard not to laugh at me. “Right,” he said, and put his bag on the counter, carefully avoiding the strings.

“So,” I said. “Here’s what we have so far.” And starting on the left, I walked him through my system.

Red strings connected events and people. Post-It notes indicated category by color, and colored paperclips to indicate subcategories. The unknown was scribbled on white lined notebook paper, generally pinned according to how confident I felt about solving them—i.e., red push-pins meant I don’t have a damned clue, green push-pins meant possibly someday, yellow push-pins meant, I am about to give up on this—

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” said Martin, no longer hiding his grin. “But maybe we could cut to the chase a little? What’s all this for?”

“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. I thought it was obvious.”

“No?” he said, outright grinning now.

I took a deep breath. “So here we have all the players that I know of. Two Agnes Montagues, status unknown; at least one Jared, status known; two Jude Perrys, at least one Melanie, three Georgies, two Nolans, Crew and Banks, Campbell and Jane Prentiss, at least one each of Michael and Helen—”

“Oh, there were more,” said Martin. “They get absorbed.”

I stared at him.

“By choice,” he added. “Trust me, they aren’t upset about it.”

I lost a few seconds as the Eye showed me a merging I couldn’t understand, because they became one and yet they absolutely did not. Michael was legion, which meant Gerry was literally fucking a horde.

I shook my head. Back to reality. “Right. Well. Three Gerrys, sort of. At least one Manuela, something like eight Jonahs, at least one Tim, Peter Lukas, Callum, and Simon Fairchild.”

“I mean, there are more,” he said.

“Oh, I know!” I said brightly, and continued to explain my system.

Satellite feeds “monitoring everything,” Manuela had said. Leitner’s mysteries. Gertrude the unknown. The nonsense of us all being chosen ones. The precise mechanics by which we all ended the world—which included the fact that apparently, I had done it in a totally unique way. “What is the Veil, anyway?” I said.

“A… dimensional skin?” Martin suggested. “I don’t know. I mean, the Fears aren’t exactly like Smirke envisioned them, either.”

“True enough.” Smirke had definitely not imagined anything like what the Eye had become.

It greeted me happily and dumped a few episodes of of 1980s Ducktales in my head.

I needed a moment.

“Jon?” said Martin, concerned.

“It… it’s nothing. Sorry.” It had a catchy theme-tune, though. "Anyway. Here’s the thing. Whatever is happening here… for some reason, it needs us. I… am the only one here who ended the world the way I did. What are the chances? How can it be? It can’t! Why me? Why like this?”

He slides up to me, and as his arms wrap around, I melt into his warmth and his scent, the sandalwood aftershave, the slight crispness of his starched tuxedo jacket, the softness of his fresh-shaven cheek. “Because you’re unique,” he said, and his lips grazed my ear. “I won’t hear otherwise. I am marrying the most amazing man I’ve ever known in any universe.”

I close my eyes, resting my face on his shoulder. Although the tux, I will admit, is not my favorite texture. “Suppose I’d better get ready.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” he teased.

I laugh. Then I go to finish arranging my own fancy clothes.

It wasn't not a large ceremony, but I’m quite certain it would still give a stranger a bit of vertigo. After all, half the audience was doubled.

At least doubled.

It was important to invite them. To say I was intentionally letting go of any potential lingering unpleasantness, bitterness, fear. To say I was joining this bizarre, piecemeal family—and by their invitation to our wedding, they were joining mine. Speaking of wedding…

A lot of Roman traditions made it through to modern times, and oh, boy.

I was damned lucky I didn’t need to wear a toga. We did have to don wreaths of flowers and herbs (both of us, instead of the “bride”), and would be wearing veils when we made vows. But before that… well, it was damned embarrassing.

So first, the “groom” (we'd decided I would be, based purely on the fact that I am older) must kidnap the “bride,” who pretends to be against it to fool the household gods. I must drag him away (while he loudly protests) with witnesses, who would, in all likelihood, be hurling bawdy jokes and dirty lyrics our way in an encouraging manner.

Then, having obtained my ill-gotten bride, I cart them away to a room with a special couch where we are supposed to consummate. With all our guests in hearing range, just on the other side of the wall. Dear lord.

So we wouldn’t be doing that, but we would do the rest, and spend some time on the stupid little couch while they all enjoyed a reception outside. After, we would sign the contract, and we'd be done. We’d be married. I’d be a husband. Why in hell was I nervous?

Martin kissed my cheek. “See you on the other side.”

“Come on, damsel,” said Tim, and pulled Martin away from me to the other room, where he would pretend to defend his honor.

Michael stood with me. It had insisted on being my friendly household spirit (a ridiculous fulfillment of a ridiculous tradition), and now handed me a small bowl of salts. “To throw and distract Tim,” it said unnecessarily.

“Thank you. And thank you for, uh. Volunteering.”

It grinned at me with too many teeth. “I had to see it happen. Also, Gerry asked it of me.”

Well, that was news (but it didn't have to be, and the Eye offered to show me their conversation in the middle of absolutely bizarre multi-person in single-body sex anyone could imagine, and I shut that right down). “Why?”

Michael shrugged. “Oh, Archivist… is it so hard to believe others would like to see you happy?”

It was, and I didn’t know what to say.

The embodiment of doubt shivered. “Delicious, but now, it is time to move on. Are you ready for your role, Archivist?”

“Absolutely.” Not at all.

It cackled. The laugh was… less of a headache these days and more an expansion of human sound. “Delicious,” it said again, and steered me toward the door.

Ridiculous.

“Oh no! My virtue?” Martin cried as if in doubt it existed at all.

There was laughter as scents and lights and so many voices hit me all at once (and the Eye tried to show me everyone’s everything and I begged It to scale back), and Tim stepped between us and smirked, faux-glaring. “Thou shall not have his virtue, foul fiend.”

Martin was all-in. “Who shall rescue me from my virtue! Oh, wait, I got that backwards…”

The laughter was good-natured. Cheering (a surprising amount for me, by name) to get on with it and give a show, and the vague but ubiquitous command to get em. And I was laughing (and hadn’t expected to, but the joy on Martin’s face—) and people threw flowers and Tim waggled his eyebrows and said, “Put em up, put em uuuuup,” (The Cowardly Lion! the Eye informed me), and I emptied the salt bowl at Tim’s feet.

“I am defeated. My one weakness… salinity!” he said, swanning away.

The hoots and howls rose, and someone banged a tambourine. I was cheered on. By name.

Martin gave me the naughtiest look I have ever seen, and that was saying something. “Oh, no,” he said, absolutely flat. “To be freed from my binding chastity!”

And I don’t know what took over me. Maybe my millennia-past youth in student theater, or maybe the shock of everyone’s praise, or maybe… maybe just him, his eyes sparkling, his grin huge and playful, his blush (he was blushing!) amazing and lovely. Whatever the cause, I lost my mind, and dove all-in. “Oh, I’ll free you, all right,” I said (and managed a growl, to his delight), grabbed his hand, and yanked him into me.

He was larger. Heavier. But I stood still like a wall as he fell into me, and my arms around him were strong. “Jon,” he whispered, and licked his lips.

“Let’s blow this Popsicle stand!” I announced, spending all my “cool” credits for the foreseeable future, and ran for the door, pulling him behind me as everybody in the room erupted in cheers.

They started music out there, and loud conversation, patient while we did whatever with this steamy tradition.

Martin sat with me on the special couch (loosely inspired by the ancient Roman lectus) and held hands, side by side, both smiling shyly, both red in the face.

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this with me,” I said. “I red-stringed your kitchen.”

He laughed. “I’ll take your red strings over anyone’s anything.”

“Madman,” I pronounced, and pulled him in for a kiss.

We took our time, just lying there; we would not be consummating in (relative) public, but it was all symbolic, anyway. Also deeply romantic. To lie there under him, our tux buttons catching on each other, our breath mingled, our lips red and swollen, while out there, people we knew or had known cheered us on.

“This is weirdly inebriating,” I murmured, worrying his lower lip.

“You are,” he murmured back, and made an indecent sound. “You’re making it very difficult to be public-safe.”

“Your jacket is long enough,” I said practically, and he laughed.

“Come on, you goon. We’ve made them wait long enough. Got to sign the paperwork.”

The final formality. The Blackwood-Sims family begins.

We exited the room to ribald cheering, to loud toasts, to Tim and Michael hurrying forward to put veils on us and replace our wreaths. Carefully, both of us holding the same pen, we signed the final paperwork, and it was done. To massive cheering, we grinned at one another, his veil making his eye color pop, and finally joined everyone else in a feast well-started.

Can a man made of eyes get pleasantly sloshed? I was about to find out.

I have never “partied.” I can’t even qualify that with like this, because I simply never have. After today, I sort of see the appeal.

In true traditional fashion, everyone stayed and ate and drank until they were completely blotto. Some took advantage of the couches places strategically around the room to sleep it off. Others hired drivers to take them home; still others disappeared into mist, or vanished into webbing, or accepted a trip (so bold) through someone’s conjured doors.

Martin was out, leaning on the table with his head on his hands, dreaming… well, um. Things not meant for others.

I was considerably less drunk than I’d hoped I’d be, but at least I’d had a short while of feeling blissfully buzzed, delightedly dozy, and we all had a very good time. And I was married. There was that.

Married.

I could absolutely not be happier than this.

I hummed as I clean up a little, not that it was my job, but it was the least I can do to thank the people who came together to make this happen. I gathered and stacked cups, hummed some more as I put trash into a bag, and ensured everyone’s airways were unhindered.

I was married.

I couldn’t help smiling like a fool as I moved between tables. After this, we were going home. I’ve requested time off from my new job (and Spider Martin is hardly going to argue) so we could have something of a honeymoon, though I wasn’t entirely sure where.

Martin wanted to go to Canada. It was a magnificent place, apparently—neither France nor England ever had control over it, and the lack of colonialism left the land pristine and the people varied and creative. The Canadian nation was evidently a loosely affiliated network of tribal associations, and it was a wonderful place to visit.

I wanted to visit. I wanted to see, all on my own, without the Eye showing me… and It wanted that, too. It wanted to see through me. It wanted my heart, my mind, my brain; I didn’t fully understand why I was so to Its taste, but the crucial point was that we—

I felt it happen before I saw it.

Felt the parting of air, the ripping of this dimension’s flesh. The opening of a portal: the one that happened before in Martin’s tiny kitchen.

No. Not now. Why was this happening now? I turned to find that hole in the air, and that older Jonah Magnus staring at me through it.

He took in the tables, the sleeping guests, and just slightly, wrinkled his nose. Oh, older Magnus looked worse for wear. His shirt was sweat-stained, and his hair all stood on end as though he’d been running his hands through it. I saw the ghost of young Jonah in his face, in his features, but this man was entirely different. A scowling man, a harried man. He did not look at me with adoration, for one thing, which was deeply appreciated.

I’d had a plan for this. Exactly what I would say and how. Instead, I blurted, “You came back.”

“Come through,” he snapped. “At once.”

What the blazes? “Why would I do that?” I snap back. “You’re interrupting my wedding, I’ll have you know.” (My entire planned conversation had at this point gone up in flame.)

He startled. “You wed?”

“Yes! Who are you? What do you want? What are you doing?” I said.

Magnus kept looking around the room, frowning more by the moment. “Most unexpected,” he muttered. “No matter. Bring your bride. Come through. Before it’s too late.”

“I don’t have a reason, do I?” Gods, I was messing this up.

He drew himself up straight, and I finally noticed how broad his shoulders were, and how defined his forearms. “Very well,” he said. “I wanted to do this the easy way.”

Those were never good words to hear. I took a step back. “Do what the easy way?”

His look was withering. “Save the world, you bloody monster.” And he held up a—

I—

Don’t know what—

Sirens?

Darkness.

I woke to Martin’s scent, familiar and lovely. My head was in his lap; this was a good place to be, a safe place, and I turned my face to press it into his wonderful, soft belly and hide from the world.

“Jon,” he said softly.

“Mmm,” I said.

“Jon,” said Jonah Magnus, and I went stiff.

I turned my face slowly to find young Jonah there. He had a violently black eye, and what might be some dried blood on the side of his neck. But his expression… it was not defeated. It was not upset. It was triumphant. “I knew he’d wake.”

Martin’s arms were around me, and he lifted me slightly, holding me to his chest. “You scared me a lot, Jon,” he said, almost lightly, almost casually, into my hair.

I felt absolutely… awful. It was almost familiar; in secondary, I’d driven myself half-mad trying to get the best possible grades in my final year, and ended up passing out from… well, a combination of poor decisions. Waking from that faint felt like this; difficult to open my eyes, difficult to remain conscious, impossible to really focus on anything.

Martin made the tiniest sound. A miserable sound. As if he’d been crying.

I would not be unable to comfort him now, and with my push of will, my body seemed to settle. I gripped Martin’s arm. “What happened?”

“You were attacked,” he said, and suddenly I was aware of flashing lights, of many voices. There was an ambulance outside.

Oh, gods. “What happened? Is everyone…”

“It was close,” said Martin. “But everyone is okay.”

“What happened?” I cried.

“Hold on, Jon,” said Martin, and turned to talk to the police officer who came over to see me now that I was awake.

I lay silent, held by my husband, fighting dizziness. Jonah said nothing, but did not leave, and I realized the dark spots on his shirt were… burned. Cloth singed black.

How? I… why couldn’t I see it?

The Eye was silent.

The Eye was…

“Easy, Jon,” said Martin, because I’d begun to hyperventilate. “You’re all right.

The Eye was silent! “I…”

“It’s fine,” Jonah whispered, leaning in, hand on my arm. “It had a shock, too, through you. It’s recovering. It’s fine.”

I stared at him. “Tell me what happened,” I whispered.

“When we’re out of here.”

I shuddered.

The policewoman leaned over. She looked incredibly uncomfortable, as if struggling to meet my eyes. “Hello, Mister Blackwood-Sims. I know this is the worst time, but we need a statement.”

“I don’t know what happened,” I say, because it was the truth. “We were… everything was done, and I was helping to clean up, and then… suddenly, I’m waking now.” Which was a lie.

“Hm,” said this policewoman. “We’ll be contacting you. Something happened, and hopefully, you’ll be able to remember more. Congratulations, by the way. Sorry this happened, whatever it was.” She did not say that as if she meant it.

“Thank you,” I said, because I had to, and hid my face in Martin’s belly again. I let the world spin around us, clung to my husband, and just held on until we were finally allowed to leave.

There was a lot of burning. Jonah wasn’t the only one; Martin fielded text after text as our guests checked in, verifying they were all right, offering aid.

I was amazed. I thought we’d be blamed for… whatever this was.

And what had it been?

Jonah walked with us to Jared’s car, and rode with us to Martin’s apartment, and sat with us in our living room while Martin took my jacket and gave me something cold to drink.

“I don’t know what triage looks like for eyeballs,” I said, trying to be funny.

And the Eye… responded. Washing stations, refractory medical therapy, surgical intervention by an oculoplastic surgeon or neuro-ophthalmologist or neurosurgeon providing a ventriculoperitoneal or lumboperitoneal shunt.

Oh… oh.

I know It felt me react, nearly weeping with relief, unable not to, glad and grateful even though I would have done anything to be free of it in my former life. Are you all right? I thought at It.

In response, It gave me an absolutely bizarre animated movie called, Care Bears Movie II: A New Generation.

I laughed weakly.

Jonah watched me, eyes lidded. “There It is,” he said.

Finally, I was able to turn my attention his way. “Explain. Explain now. If I have to order you by whatever absurd deity you have assign to me, so help me, I will.”

“Easy,” said Martin, pulling me against his chest, arms around me. “Not my favorite thing to say right now, but… we owe him.”

“Owe him!”

“I saw…” Jonah took a slow breath. “I wasn’t invited to your wedding.”

“No, you were not,” I said.

Martin kissed my forehead, and that was enough. I fell silent.

“I understand,” said Jonah, long lashes brushing his cheeks. “I hadn’t been supportive of your relationship. It’s only fair. But I was… nearby. I wanted to congratulate you after, and hopefully put all the unpleasantness away. I waited while those who were going to leave left, and I waited while you were doing whatever in there.” He said that with the dismissive tone of one who clearly would rather not think about us doing whatever in there. “But then I saw a shift.”

“A shift.”

“I’d seen them—we had, my friends and I—a few times when we began truly exploring what we could do in service of the Eye,” he said, “and I recognized it. Someone was wrinkling reality. Damaging the walls between worlds.”

I stared at him. “Multiverse is absolutely not a thing you thought in the 1800s.”

His look was… real. “It was, though not by that term. We’d uncovered that much. The point is, I ran inside, and found you facing something that really took me a moment to understand. I froze, Jon. I apologize.”

I stared at him.

Jonah sighed. “I thought, for a moment, it was my father, back from the dead to haunt me through a hole in the air. But that only lasted a moment; I knew him. Knew him.”

“He was you,” I said softly.

“Me with… many, many different choices made. And he was hurting you.”

“How?” I sat up. “What was happening?”

Jonah studied me. Then he looked at Martin. “Does he know?”

“You know he doesn’t,” Martin whispered.

“You’re both being very worrisome,” I said.

Martin produced his phone—screen now cracked—and opened the camera.

I startled… badly. My eyes were… I… “What the fuck?” I whispered.

“He had something I can only think of as… a prism,” said Jonah.

I shook, was shaking, could not calm my breath. It had been difficult enough to handle my brown eyes turning green, but this—

True polycoria, the Eye said, in which there is an extra pupil, reactive to light and medication, independently dilating and contracting with triggers, and with an intact sphincter muscle. Normally, this leads to handicapped vision, but in your case, it has improved it. Also—

I closed my eyes and my mind tightly.

Jonah was still talking. “It looked like a mirror, sort of, except that you were broken up in the reflection, as though the mirror's surface had shattered. And you were… you were breaking apart, Jon.” His voice cracked. “You were making these horrible cracking sounds, and… there was so much heat.” He shuddered. “Like sunlight through a magnifying glass, though I couldn’t see its source. I tried to help you, but, ah.” He indicated his burns with a small smile, as if to say all was forgiven. “So when that didn’t work, I picked up a chair and threw it at myself. It hit the thing he was holding, and it shattered.”

“That’s when I could move again,” said Martin, his voice so strained. “I was hearing it all, but I couldn’t… no one could move.”

“By then, there was fire all over, in random spots,” said Jonah, “but you’d stopped cracking apart and had fallen to the floor, insensate. We put out the fires. Evacuated people. The other me was… rather furious, actually.”

“He had an argument in some other language,” Martin said, and gave Jonah a sharp look.

Jonah looked far too thoughtful. “He did. He tried to tell me you were the end of the world, and if I didn’t help get you through the portal and to him, it might be too late. I said we’d already all ended it a few times, and didn’t need his help, thanks. He, ah. Didn’t appreciate that.”

“He pulled out a damned handgun,” said Martin.

A Tranter revolver from 1858, I was informed, which was a double-action cap & ball revolver invented by English firearms designer William Tranter in 1858. This model operated with a dual-trigger mechanism, one to rotate the cylinder and cock the gun, the other to fire it. The first model of his own design used the frame of an Adams-type revolver, with a modification—

That told me something about other-Magnus’s time.

“He did,” said Jonah. “Fortunately, whatever hole he’d opened couldn’t handle bullets. He fired once; it ricocheted. Someone unseen behind him shouted, I told you that wouldn’t work! and then his hole collapsed.”

Slowly, I looked at the camera again. My eyes were normal. I’d willed them normal—or willed them to better hide. “You… you saved us.”

“I saved you,” said Jonah. “I won’t lie about my priorities here—you’d know, anyway, and to you, I will never lie. But… they are your people, so yes, I did make some effort.”

“How bad was the fire?” I can’t fully process all of this.

“It was lots of little fires,” said Martin. “Jonah helped, Jon. I’m not thrilled by this either, but it’s true. He helped.”

“I knew you wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t,” said Jonah.

There was a strange comfort in knowing that his self-satisfying bullshit would work to my benefit for now. More than that: to the benefit of my loved ones. “Thank you. I… I don’t know what would have happened.”

“Something I wasn’t willing to allow,” said Jonah, low, his young voice cracking.

Martin sighed. “It’s been… a day.”

I looked at him. “You can’t be all right with this. With… I just…”

“Jonathan Blackwood-Sims,” said Martin. “If you say you ruined our wedding, I swear I’m going to snog you until your face could melt marshmallows.”

I choked.

Jonah stood. “I really need to go get this looked at. I’m glad you’re both all right. Congratulations.”

I looked up at him (and we both pretended my face wasn’t already on fire). “I don’t… know what I owe you. I don’t know how to respond to this yet.”

He was so godsdamned eager. “I know. In time, you will. I’m sincere, Jon. I would die for you.”

“Please don’t,” I muttered.

Jonah smiled, still patient. “Many happy returns.” And he left.

Martin left me long enough to like the door, then sat with me again, and we clung.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “Don’t even fucking… I did this. Maybe not on purpose, but my presence is the reason—”

“And you are worth it, so you will stop,” Martin said, almost sharp, holding me so tightly it was like he wanted our ribs to catch on one another, like he wanted us to share a heart. “I feel so… useless.”

“Useless!”

“Here you are, you’re… you’re a god, apparently,” he said, and laughed weakly, “and you’re making things happen by just speaking, and there’s some insane plot going on with an alternate universe, and I’m just… I can’t even say boo! I couldn’t even move when it was happening!”

“Oh, Martin.” I breathed against his neck, kissing the curve, still scented with his cologne, though also now his sweat. I loved all of him, in any condition. “Without you… I know what I said to Gertrude, but I… I need you. So much. Please don’t think… please. Don’t think you’re useless. You’re anything but.”

“The only thing I can do is love you,” he whispered.

“That’s what I need,” I managed. “While you love me, I still feel human.”

He inhaled. Then he started kissing me.

We were both tear-wet, both smelling of smoke and sweat. Both smelling of chemical fire extinguisher, and alcohol. Both trembling from adrenal shock and whatever powers were expended against us tonight. But we lay on that couch together, and pulled off our sodden dress clothes, and held each other, and kept each other in one piece, and it may not have been a traditional wedding night, but it was perfect for us.

We were grounded.

We dozed, the couch's afghan draped over us, murmuring at each other about getting a steam cleaner in here and laughing at our indulgence.

I was so glad I could sleep. I still felt… dizzy, out of it, weak. Perhaps, like I almost blew apart.

What was that? What happened? It didn’t just hit me, either. Somehow, that hurt the Eye? How? How could that happen?

Maybe it didn’t hurt the Eye. Maybe it hurt the parts of It that… were affected by me. This personality. These preferences. This playfulness.

How horrible—yet my gut said that was true. What would have been damaged was not the eternal embodiment of the fear of being seen (of course not), but the… dare I say it? The good parts, or at least, harmless parts, or at least, more controllable parts…

The parts that liked me. That loved me

I was suddenly furious that whoever this other Magnus was, he’d tried to murder my friend. Oh, but since when had the Eye been—

I was suddenly flooded with a lovely recipe for warm vanilla pudding, because Martin liked that, and It liked Martin, and…

Fresh tears dampened the throw pillow beneath me, but I didn’t care. I held my husband. I still had my friend. I didn’t understand what happened... but I would. And when I did, whatever godly powers I had would be brought to bear.

This Magnus would regret the day he came after my loved ones. This Magnus would regret the day he didn’t finish the job. A god of guilt runs this world? For Magnus, I would make this world’s shame feel like a cool breeze on a hot godsdamned day.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Muh-muh,” Martin agreed, already asleep, and I held my husband, and seethed, and took a truly long time to follow him into rest.

#tma #tma fic #tma au #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jon x martin #jonmartin #jmart #teaholding #magnus monsterverse

8 notes · View notes

clanofjones · 1 year ago

Text

Ghosts of Our Days - Chapter Four

Start

<- Chapter Three

Ao3 (full work)

Co-written with @theosb0rnway

If you like, you can enter this fic to the @tmntausummit! It would help us a lot!

Chapter Four: A Lover's Desperation

The walk back to the lair was the quickest one April had taken in years thanks to her run-in with Casey. Not only was he still alive, but Raph also had to be too, and they were somewhere in the city! She skipped into the lair, the Hostess's donut bag shaking in her right hand, a bright smile on her face.

"I brought donuts!" They all turned to stare at her and her very peculiar good mood.

"Is it somebody's birthday or something?" Donnie questioned before letting out a loud gasp. "DID I FORGET YOUR BIRTHDAY, APRIL?!?" She shook her head and sighed.

"No, Donnie, it's nobody's birthday." The boys sank into their shells, going back to their usual moping.

"But I found Casey!" Now that got their attention. All three turtles had different reactions, but they all could be summed up in lots of cheering and shocked facial expressions. Mikey even added a fist pump or two.

"Casey's alive?!?"

"Yeah, and he was acting weird as hell,” April recalled. “As soon as he saw me, he ran out of the store, and stole almost forty bucks of snacks!”

“Well, if he’s stealing food, then Raph is going to be with him,” Leo started. “He must not be at his apartment in that case, I’m not sure if his family knows about us.”

“Even if they did, they’re both on the… Impulsive side,” Donnie remarked, and April nodded.

It wasn’t as if it were untrue. They were prone to making decisions without thinking about them for more than five seconds, no matter how much they denied it on any given day.

“Think Casey took Raph because he got injured in the… Fight?” Mikey said with a bit of a delay in his tone, a clear attempt to keep it light. Leo nodded.

“Most likely. If Casey’s already left wherever they’ve staked out for themselves, then Raph should be healing fine,” Leo reasoned. “Best course of action, we wait for them to show their faces.”

And so, for days, that was what they did. Eyes and ears open for any sign of communication that Casey or Raph might be trying to orchestrate with them. Neither of them had even been seen in any alleyways on patrol, which was even stranger. This fact had begun to drive the remaining three turtles into a bit of a tizzy, so April decided on a peace offering of their favorite pizzas. She had also gotten Raph and Casey’s, in the blind hope that one or both would catch her drift and reveal themselves for the sake of the food.

But alas, no such thing occurred. So April returned to Donnie, Leo, and Mikey with a stack of boxes almost as tall as her, which Donnie and Mikey immediately relieved her of.

With a clean view free of cardboard, she could properly take in the numerous conspiracy boards – some looking only half completed, some on bulletin boards on wheels, some tacked to boards on the walls, some were just photos and magazine cuttings taped, tacked, nailed, or stapled to the wall with no respect for the structural integrity of the place, with red string connecting them. She was almost certain they’d been forced there by nails and a mallet once Donnie had run out of tacks, tape, and staples.

“What’s all this for?” she asked, without expecting an answer most people would call sensible.

She wasn’t disappointed when Donnie set the pizza boxes down, cleared his throat, and straightened his mask. “We have our very own Jack the Ripper.”

When she only blinked, Donnie elaborated.

“Somebody has been running around murdering people. Not innocents,” he added when April’s eyebrows surely receded past her hairline, “to be honest, it’s just been the scum of New York, but enough that it has caught the eye of the media.”

He moved to a conspiracy board and wheeled it next to one attached to the wall so they made one, conjoined board.

“And,” he continued, “Whoever’s behind it has either stolen Casey’s gimmick, Casey’s actual gear, or Casey!” He gestured wildly to several news clippings of a figure that did seem to have lots of Casey’s gear if Casey had been thrown into a horror film. Whoever it was, they acted alone and brutally. As April’s gaze lingered on the description of several of the killer’s victims – some gang members who Donnie had suspected of aligning with Shredder whose faces didn’t look a lot like faces anymore – Donnie spoke up: “No sign of Raph yet, which is a little surprising.”

In April’s mind, Raph and Casey had both been kidnapped, or Raph was still out of commission because there was no way he didn’t know yet.

Leo took over from there. “It could just be someone with a similar build to Casey, shapeshifters, mind control, we’re not too sure, no run-ins yet.”

“Pizza aliens, dude,” Mikey offered, and poked a haphazardly thrown-together piece of paper, to Donnie’s credit, also tacked up with a red string connecting it to other concepts, labeled ‘Pizza Aliens’ with artistic renderings of them.

"Pizza aliens don't exist, Mikey" April sighed. "Plus, Casey doesn't kill, he's a good guy, just like all of us! Maybe he's just in trouble, and that's why he didn't talk to me in the store!"

"That would make sense, but this is Jones we're talking about!" Donnie replied.

"So?" April questioned.

"So, he can be a dangerous guy, April! He has a flamethrower on his bike! A flamethrower!!" The turtle screamed, causing the other three to cringe and cover their ears.

April was the first to respond, after a few seconds of recovery. "Flamethrowers don't make people evil, Donnie."

And with that, she kissed him on the lips, cutting off whatever he was going to say. That was fine with Donnie, she could win the argument.

This time.

Casey’s POV

Crunch. Crunch. Swoosh! Thud.

Casey let out a cheer as the knife landed right into its target on the wall: A grainy, garbage-looking picture of Shredder from back when he looked like a decently shaped human being. He continued to crunch on his convenience store Doritos, his smile making it a little harder to chew, but he didn’t care, until he heard something that made him stop smiling.

'You're getting that cheesy shit all over your hands.' His lips dropped into a frown.

"And why do you give a shit?"

'Cause it's gross and your aim is shit. You'll never kill THE Super Shredder, that's practically impossible!'

"Don't fuckin' tell me what's possible or not, fuckface! Now leave me alone!"

'Alright, douchebag. Have fun sweepin' up crumbs from your careless eating that isn't doing anything to solve your problems.'

Casey grinned again, wider than before. "Oh, my problems are already solved. I just needed my friends: bombs, knives, a LOT of bullets, and some new shoulder spikes! The old ones kept falling off," He complained, acting as if spikes falling off his battle gear was a normal pain to have. He paused for a second, his eyes widening like he'd forgotten something. "But of course, my best, best, best, best, BEST, best, bestest friend is my Raphie! He'd hate it if I thought my knives were better than him! He wins over them any day, right annoying voice?"

'The only one who won anything is Shredder, dumbass.'

Casey growled throwing a knife towards his left ear from where the voice was coming. It hit one of the three remaining walls instead. "SHUT. UP! Raphie's fine, he's totally fine, he's just... resting in that box, cause Shredder hurt him, but I won't let that horny, no good, asshole FREAK do anything to anyone EVER AGAIN!"

Another knife, this time right into Shredder’s face. "YES!! BULLSEYE!"

'Nice shot, I guess.'

"Thanks. Gotta start the day off on a good note, right? Wouldn't want a bunch of Foot cronies escaping 'cause I couldn't hit em'!"

'I didn't think Casey Jones liked knives or guns.'

"I like knives, they're fun, but yeah, guns are a 'Hey this is like the only way to get through Super Shredder's armor' kinda resort."

The voice didn't say anything back, silence filling the room. Casey Jones had grown to hate silence. "Aaannywaaays! Once I take down some of these lowlifes, maybe I can find out where that dickhead is! After all, nobody ever talks until there's blood on the ground!"

Silence. Sliiiide. And then a thud.

Casey jumped, turning around with one of Raph's throwing stars in his hand to see that his newly acquired gun, found loaded underneath the threadbare couch, which was placed far away from the edge of the ice box, had fallen on the ground.

"What the fudgenutters...? If there's anyone here, show yourself! O-or you're gonna fuckin' die!"

'Hi.'

"Not you!"

'Yeah, me, dumbass. Who else could move something in an empty apartment?'

Casey shook his head in disbelief. "You're a VOICE. And unlike me or my Raphie, you can't do jackSHIT. Now let me do my job and I'll stop getting chips on your precious fuckin' floor, alright? Alright."

Once again, silence. This time, Casey used it wisely, grabbing the rest of his gear and muttering things under his breath. "...Gonna stab that guy like this... shoot this guy in the chest... then maybe I could light this one on fire- ooh YEAH! MY FLAMETHROWER!! Sick! And then this guy..."

All the voice did was sigh, but Casey couldn't hear him.

'If you really loved me that much, you'd listen, Case. But whatever. The ice box feels better than your cold ass stares.'

The vigilante never made any movements that indicated that he'd heard anything, walking towards the door still mumbling, his disgusting corpse paint distorting his smile.

"Alright, Raphie. Time to make some people wish they stayed home in their cozy little beds and never joined that son of a bitch."

If Casey hadn't launched into another rant as he walked out the door, he might have heard a 'Go get 'em, babe!'

But he didn’t. Because the voice was just a voice and Casey Jones had better things to do than talk to himself. Murder was a great stress reliever and also really easy to commit! So he chose that instead.

Sounded more fun.

Chapter Five ->

#tmnt 2012 #2012 casey jones #2012 raph #2012 rasey #2012 donnie #2012 april #2012 leo #2012 mikey #fanfiction #Ghosts of Our Days

9 notes · View notes

oolathurman · 2 years ago

Text

ok so despite what everyone may think i am first and foremost a zelda fan and the new nintendo direct zelda trailer has me YELLING and i'm gonna copy paste what i said in discord but be warned there is a conspiracy wall and pins and thread everywhere. this is a long post you have been warned. special interest go brrrr so hard i might need new RAM.

I'm so excited for matt mercer for voicing ganon

i think the car thing. it looks like nintendo saw everyone fucking with physics and making their own diy vehicles and shit in the first game and then nintendo was like 'fuck it let's make it a feature'

AIR DROPPING ENEMIES ONTO YOU?????

am now more convinced than i was previously that the twilight realm/shadow plane/whatever (a la twilight princess) will be a part of this game, give the floaty bits and the reversed sounding music clips. however i never did play tp so /shrug

hee hee funny hats on mobs

are we leaning more into zelda puzzles again cuz i fucking hope so i miss that shit bro

give me my enrichment puzzles

did ganon gain sheikah slate magnesis powers???? the light blue connection bits between this golem's bits look like magnesis.

screaming alone in the house I'm excited for loz totk

the crop circle shapes are gonna be a new puzzle and if I'm wrong I'm eating my shoe. like there is no fucking way the zelda series would have something like that and NOT make a puzzle out of it.

SHEIKAH SLATE FUNCTIONS BUILT INTO YOUR NEW ARM

still can't figure out what culture may have made that shield but damn if it doesn't look cool. there's the crying eye element which would make me think sheikah but also it's so very different than the sheikah eye logomark we've known all this time????

new arm looks dead. did ganon's arm get grafted on him. tf.

also if this is sheikah tech it is not a flavor we have seen yet. unsure if it IS sheikah or my hope for twilight tech.

the thing on his belt ARE WE GETTING LIMITED CHARGES OF SOMETHING. WHAT IS THIS. IT LOOKS LIKE CAPSULES.

MY HYPERFOCUS AND SPECIAL INTEREST IN ZELDA IS EVERYWHERE RIGHT NOW AHHHHHH

yeah we def DIYing our own shit now hehehehe

ALSO LOOK AT YHE FACE ON HIS TRACTOR WHAT CULTURE ARE YOU FROM THIS LOOKS LIKE. IDK SOUTH AMERICAN VAGYELY INCAN SHIT. ANOTHER STRING FOR THE TWILIGHT REALM PIN

IT'D ALSO EXPLAIN WHY THERE WAS THAT AREA IN BOTW THAT HAD VAGUELY INCAN LOOKING ARCHITECTURE AND IT JUST WAS NEVER EXPLAINED

I THINK THE TWILIGHT REALM IS THE EXPLAN wait link did you just. grab a random stable for your tractor. is that what that wooden structure is. oh my god babygirl.

99 luftballon also yall see the very angular smoke coming from that floaty bit on the left right. let me. screenshots one sec.

also look at twilight architecture while i find screenshots

k this was the best i could find but the lil squares and shit. it's always been very TP. and now elements of that are being brought to totk.

there is so. much. thread. on the "twilight realm" pin rn on this mental conspiracy theory board.

link gets goody baskets from the sky now

also adding more conspiracy theory thread. the architecture from the twilight realm uses that cyan color.

also idr if tp uses reversed vocals at all but i know that in general loz uses a lot of audio cues, and will back that thing up and reverse it, and /flaps wildly/

i am conspiracy theorying so hard yall IM SO ECCITRD FOR RHIS GAME

ZELDA SAYS "LEND HIM YOUR POWER" NOT "LEND ME YOUR POWER" "LEND HIM YOUR POWER" IM 90% SURE SHES TALKING ABOUT GANON AND IF SHE IS DO WE GET GANONDORF IN A BIGGER ROLE THIS TIME OH MY GOD

AHHHH YHE ERHU SOUNDING INSTRUMENT PLAYING ZELDAS LULLABY IM CRYING YALL

ok so a few things (i started out with 'two things' and then the list kept growing)

that arm is definitely dead. still not convinced that's his original arm.

he's tossing the master sword to go save zelda oh my god i'm crying yall (listen the knight who would risk everything for his charge is a trope i would die for and apparently so will link)

that arm is glowing red. that specific red has been the color of Malice TM and Ganon TM in botw

this clip comes right before the 'lend him your power' line I AM 98.88% SURE THAT IS GANON'S ARM god the conspiracy threads are so tangled rn yall

another thing, he's got that... idk, brass banding thing? from earlier? off of his arm in this clip. and now the arm is glowing woooooo so that tells me that whatever it was, it was keeping the Malice TM away, probably away from consuming him too much.

how heavily will we see the consequences of malice eating away at him, idk.

but given that the malice has like. eaten away at his clothes, even the leather that's keeping his shit in place (look at how worn it is in the second pic compared to his completely fine and unmarked bracer on his left arm), wait where was i going with this. oh yeah. this seems like Malice is a fast acting thing.

also fwiw a good handful of other folks in the video comments are also talking about how they're reminded of twilight princess so i don't think it's TOO far fetched.

---- end copy paste, time for More Of My Opinion B) ----

so at this point i'm pretty sure of a few things but it's also late at night so i could probably be convinced of almost anything. that said, i'm pretty sure of a few things.

that's no longer link's original arm. (my best bet is it's ganon's arm.)

the twilight realm, dark realm, mirror realm, whatever it is, it's coming back. it's not far fetched given that botw is sorta a conglomerate of a lot of elements from previous games, or has easter eggs from a lot of other games (eg tingle's islands, lon lon ranch), and TP was one of their biggest games.

ganon and link swapping arms could also explain(?) why that golem has magnesis keeping it together. tho this feels like a stretch.

90% sure we're having more involved puzzle dungeons again which i'm excited about.

i'm preordering this game idc what you think

#personal post tag i guess #the legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #crying screaming etc etc

13 notes · View notes

heroami · 1 year ago

Text

Oooookay - but you asked for it.

So Bruce likes to think he’s Reputation but he’s Evermore: full of regret and deep sadness, but he’s not going to succumb without a fight.

Jason also thinks he’s Reputation but he is actually Folklore with that melancholic 2am brand angst and introspection with hope & healing.

Tim is leaving his chaotic Speak Now era (rollercoaster high highs and low lows) and is entering into his 1989 era where he’s more secure and settled. (his Red Robin era was Reputation coded tho - LWYMMD and IDSB @ Ra’s and LoA)

Dick is Lover with the nuanced joy that comes after hardships and heartbreak.

Damian and Cassandra are Midnights, recognizing the hurt you gave and received and moving forward despite lingering ghosts, with some added Boss Bitch vibes

If anyone is Reputation, it’s Steph and Babs - cause even after Going Through It™️ they still have the balls to tell the Batman to fuck off, also with Boss Bitch vibes

I’m not overly familiar with Duke, but he gives me Red vibes - still trying to figure the ins and outs of a new lifestyle while embracing it and making it your own. With a dash of deep trauma, for funsies.

And you are 100% correct - there is a Taylor Swift conspiracy board with color coordinated string somewhere in the manor - some family members are more invested in it than others.

Hogwarts houses and dnd alignments are cool, But I wanna know what their Taylor Swift era is!

Example: Batman is absolutely Reputation. Look me in the eye and tell me that Mr “world’s greatest detective” isn’t thriving rn trying to figure out when we’re getting Taylor’s Version. YOU CANNOT!

#imo #i put way too much thought into this #dc #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #duke thomas #shut up hero #hero speaks

28 notes · View notes

cheerstotheelites-if · 3 years ago

Note

Hey no reason whatsoever but how would the ROs react if MC is some conspiracy theorist/self proclaimed amateur monster hunter and in their room a conspiracy board with red strings and pictures of monsters like ‘werewolves’ ‘vampire’ and ‘demons’ and they are determined to find them and expose them to the public

Weylyn: "Oh!" Blinks as he smiles. It's a bit off, and you can't tell why. "Maybe they're hiding for a reason, MC…? I mean, maybe they're scared?"

Fleur: Has her arms folded across her chest as she listens to your theories. She'll bring up comments every now and then about how some theories sound stupid and illogical. Exchanging looks with Cooper.

Zephyrine: Gives Weylyn a glance, before looking at the conspiracy board before her. She doesn't say anything, but she looks… worried.

Eliseo: Examining the conspiracy board with a raised brow. He isn't a big conspiracy fan, but will furrow his brows in confusion at how out there some of them are. Quickly glances at Weylyn.

Cooper: Very fidgety all of a sudden and clinging on to Fleur a lot more than usual. Exchanging looks with her.

Ophelia: Ecstatic to find a fellow monster hunter and conspiracy theorist! She's joining you and adding her own theories onto the conspiracy board, and sharing ideas on how to expose the monsters.

#RO ask #curious anon #Weylyn #Fleur #Zephyrine #Eliseo #Cooper #Ophelia

25 notes · View notes

iffeelscouldkill · 3 years ago

Text

Uplifting TSCOSI fics: a rec list

Because I think we could all use a few after the latest episode XD

(I meant to put this together sooner, but it’s been a Big Tired few days. Hopefully it’s still somewhat timely!)

Below is a list of uplifting, fluffy, funny and feel-good TSCOSI fics that I personally have enjoyed and can rec! Since we don’t have a lot of rec lists in this fandom (I don’t actually think I’ve yet seen one?) I feel like I should state upfront that this is not meant to be a Definitive List in any way, shape or form, and just only reflects my personal taste and the fics that I have read!

To keep this list at least somewhat constrained, I’m only adding fics from pre-2020 (which newer members of the fandom might not have come across), so these are all set pre-season 2.

I would love others to reblog this and add their recs too (from any time period)!

feel my heart against yours by Macremae - Violet/Arkady, super fluffy post-episode ... three? I think? fic with a drunkenly affectionate Violet. Fun fact, this was the first TSCOSI fic ever posted to AO3!

fly towards a secret sky by blommowitch - Violet/Arkady, one of my all-time favourite TSCOSI fics. The Rumor crew are docked on a safe planet, Violet and Arkady explore a market, and then there’s a confrontation with some space Nazis. Bit of a warning for street fighting and a suppressed panic attack (Violet’s), but it’s super feel-good, I swear <3

unfold your own myth by blommowitch - Violet/Arkady feat. Violet in a tank top and Arkady being Officially Too Gay To Function. And there’s bonding over Rumi poetry!

A Ring and a Plan by Ehlana - Brian/Krejjh, Brian has a Plan to propose to his would-be spowz, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans... Super fluffy, adorable and hilarious, this is an all-time favourite. <3

Bold Deceiver by marginalia - Violet/Arkady, Violet and Arkady go undercover as a married couple. Featuring femme!Arkady and Violet in menswear :D

Rather Be by knightinbrightfeathers - Five times Violet missed the Iris (the original Iris), and one time she didn’t. This has soooo many good headcanons and scenarios (like Krejjh burning their mouth on overly spicy snacks) and sort of lives in my head rent-free XD Also an all-time fave. Look, I can have as many as I want XD

if that red string could bite by jaggedwolf - Violet/Arkady, SOULMATE GOOSE OF ENFORCEMENT. SOULMATE GOOSE OF ENFORCEMENT!!!! Look - just read it. You won’t regret it. It’s hilarious.

helpless to the bass and the fading light by earlymorningechoes - Violet/Arkady, this is another fantastic entry into the Violet Liu in Menswear agenda. There’s an undercover job, dancing, and *Piper Tanaka voice* chemistry

‘cause i don’t want you like a best friend by earlymorningechoes - Violet/Arkady, I’ll just quote from the summary for this one: “Violet joins Sana on a quiet market run when they find a safe port, and makes a purchase that gets under Arkady’s skin." ADORABLE!!!!!!

Nighttime Stories by Vivien - Brian/Krejjh, this is another one that honestly lives rent-free in my head. Brian can’t sleep, and Krejjh talks to him, describing a Dwarnian... ceremony? event? called the Night of Ritual. The description is just spine-tinglingly beautiful <333 Also, Jewish!Brian before Jewish Brian was officially canon.

Little Truths by myhomeistheshire - Sana/Campbell, Sana volunteers to watch Campbell’s nephews at short notice. Absolutely too cute for words, I love this one.

Sleep is a Conspiracy to Make You Buy More Pyjamas by gostaks - Brian/Krejjh, a collection of scenes from different points in their relationship, mostly revolving around Krejjh getting their head around odd human behaviours like the need for regular sleep. And romantic tandem eating! :D

as happy as they understand happiness by reconditarmonita - Sana/Violet/Arkady <3 Sana, Violet and Arkady watch opera (Der Rosenkavalier), and there’s pining followed by a very cute conversation <3

We’ll just have to get creative by beejones - Violet/Arkady, Arkady surprises Violet with a Significant Meal on board the Iris 2.

What If Cuddles by pancakesforbreakfast - Violet/Arkady, Violet realises that touch is one of Arkady’s love languages and starts making a point of showing tactile affection :3 Super fluffy!

Huggy Drunks by jaggedwolf - Violet/Arkady, Violet gets tipsy during a we-survived-Plan-B! drinking party, and it turns out she’s a huggy drunk :D

#fic recs #TSCOSI #TSCOSI fic recs #rec list #uplifting fic #fluffy fic #cute fic #I'm sure I've missed some amazing stuff off this list but I did my best #please add to it!#and yes I didn't add any of my own stuff #I do also have fluffy fic! but this is an other people rec list #Vikady #Brian/Krejjh #Sana/Campbell #Arkady/Violet/Sana #ficlets #The Strange Case of Starship Iris

26 notes · View notes

delimeful · 4 years ago

Note

When I read the description of wibar Remyy, one of my first thoughts was that he kinda looks like mothman and now I can't get the picture of Virgil theorising about mothman being an alien out of my head. XD

Anonymous said: what of cryptids on earth are actually just aliens. like maybe there's a sister-species of ampens that are much bigger and one or two just decided to land on Earth and became mothman Anonymous said: so, for Wibar. like, i really want them to end up on Earth, but the best i can think of is Virgil talking about myths and legends and of course cryptids and just the crew's reactions. (p.s, i adore you and all of you're fics/ficlettes, i can't wait for more!)

virgil: *adding to his red string board of mothman conspiracies*

logan: virgil, you are from a deathworld. everything on your planet is literally designed to kill offworlders.

virgil:

virgil: *slowly adding logans name to list of mothman sympathizers*

#patton: wow this mothman seems pretty cool!#virgil: *tearfully also adds patton to list of mothman sympathizers*#asks #anonymous #mothman #cryptids #wibar #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #queue

181 notes · View notes

ginnyvos · 4 years ago

Text

Dear GM, do not build your world

(Let the players to it for you)

As a gamemaster (GM) and dungeon master (DM), I take utter joy in building my worlds.

I love figuring out the way it fits together, laying down the lay of the land, designing the socioeconomic and cultural landscape, making up prominent figures and hidden treasures. I can spend hours and hours writing, imagining, lovingly building and developing every aspect of it. I’ll strive for an inner logic and consistency, a thematic unity that leaves open space for the characters to tell their own stories in. Pages and pages and pages of notes, maps, pictures and statistics.

I love these pet worlds of mine. Love playing in my sand boxes and building my sand castles all on my own. It’s one of the reasons I was drawn to GMing in the first place and I don’t think I’ll ever stop doing it.

And yet here I am, telling you not to do it.

Build the bare bones of a world instead, just enough to inspire your players, and let them fill it up.

Hell, if you do it right, you don’t even have to make up the Big Bad Evil. Your players will do it for you instead, and will be all the more invested because of it.

Let me expand on that.

I joined a really cool discord server for a podcast named “DMs Treehouse” in January. People would run tabletop roleplaying games (ttrpgs) on the server. A bunch of us ended up playing Masks, a teenage superhero ttrpg. The base premise is simple: Halcyon city is a city full of superheroes where every superhero comic cliché holds true. You play a teenager who, for whatever reason, is one of those heroes.

It started with one GM: Jonah. He ran a number of interconnected one shots, different players in different combinations. Then another person GMed and we decided that his one shot, too, took place in that world. Then I GMed, and another person, and another. Everyone added their own unique spin on it, but it all somehow worked together and didn’t contradict each other at all.

It worked because it wasn’t the GMs that built the world; it was the players. With each character that got created, more lore was added: One player made a character that was the mayor’s son, and so suddenly the city had a mayor that hated superheroes. I created a character that came from a long line of very well known superheroes, and suddenly everyone in this world knew and had an opinion about the Skybrights. Another created a connection to AEGIS (the Masks version of SHIELD) and suddenly, AEGIS had a face and a lead agent.

And so it went on: there is an orphanage and a group home for superpowered kids, two newspapers that are in constant competition, a music scene, a building that has a sideways circus tent sticking out of it, a line of products branded after a big shot superhero with a taste for publicity. There are several branches of AEGIS and there’s the HCPD (Halcyon City Police Department), and those don’t play well together at all. There’s an evil science corporation and an underground fighting ring. Add to that a race of sentient alien garden gnomes, a really good BBQ restaurant and an assortment of aliens, robots and teenage superheroes and you have a city that is alive, thriving and full of conflict.

This is the most vibrant, creative, multifaceted, interesting world I’ve had the pleasure of GMing, and I hardly made any of it up myself! The things I did make up mostly built on the backstories the players gave me.

More than that, the world feels real and lived in like no other, despite being a super weird, cliché, gimmicky superhero world. That’s because it didn’t all come from one person’s imagination. Different people with different experiences, different perspectives and different interests all added their point of view to this world, and that makes it feel real. All I do as a GM is take everyone’s backstories and find the places where they intersect. That’s where I play.

The best part of it all is that everyone feels ownership of this world. Everyone adds to it. Everyone feels invested. If the villain you’re fighting is your sister, or your teammate’s sister, it’s so much more impactful than when they’re just some Very Evil Person the GM came up with. That makes it personal. I will never forget the moment I found out that my character’s sister was the one attacking my teammates, and I wasn’t even playing in that game!

Look on as slowly, lovingly, the world gets filled in. And if some parts aren’t filled in, who cares? Apparently those aren’t that interesting to your players. If there’s anything missing, you can add it together. So many of the best, most memorable parts of our world were added just because, in game, the players decided to go to a place that didn’t exist yet.

“So you walk away from Duke’s house, his father yelling at you from behind the door. Where are you going?”

“Is there some kind of… underground fighting ring in this city? I need to blow off some steam!”

“Sure, absolutely!”

“Alright, we go there! What does it look like?”

“You tell me. What does this underground fighting ring look like and how does Ray know about it?”

“Oh! Well… It’s in this old warehouse in a rundown part of town and it looks like-“

So if you’re a GM, try it. Come up with a theme, the bare bones of a world, just enough to give your players inspiration… and let them fill it in. Be interested in your player’s characters and backstories and ask them questions. Help them develop and integrate their characters into the world, or take what they came up with and secretly integrate it yourself. Then sit back and enjoy their reactions as they discover how they are now a part of the larger narrative… and how their backstories are biting them in the ass. Grin as they accuse you of being evil, of giving them trauma, and tell them (quite happily) that they did all of it themselves.

Honestly, most game prep these days feels more like the players hand me the clues and all I have to do is take my little ball of red string to connect the dots and make my murder board. I find that I make a pretty decent conspiracy theorist.

Thanks to all of the folks over on the DMs Treehouse server, you all rock!

Jonah (check out his podcast 2s Company!), Scott (check out his podcast, Reckless Rollers, as well!), Peach, Fran, Arca, Johnny, Cameron (from the DMs Treehouse podcast), Fishy, Alex, Gigi, Reid, Cam (also from DMs Treehouse), Patrick (also from 2sCompany), Lychee, Lime, Chey, Pikro and Jack, thank you for building this amazing world with me and just being really cool players and people!

#ttrpg #dnd #masks #dming #gming #dm #gm #dms treehouse #worldbuilding #I adore worldbuilding #don't get me wrong #And I love the worlds I've made and will probably make many more #But this game really made me think about the way I prep games #And changed it a lot

23 notes · View notes

yobaba30 · 5 years ago

Link

You don’t have to be a medical professional to recognize that the patterns of the unscheduled visit, interrupting the weekend on a Saturday evening, conform more closely to a medical emergency than a routine check-up. Just as the reality of Mr. Trump’s corruption and criminality is catching up with him through the impeachment hearings, the reality of his mental and physical condition cannot help but catch up with him.

Some of this was on full display in his highly concerning, 53-minute breathless outpour of grievances that his interview with Fox and Friends on Friday morning became. He reverted to conspiracy theories—as he often does under stress—of Barack Obama’s wire surveillance of him, a coup in the works from the beginning, and the claim that Ukraine, not Russia, interfered in the 2016 election and had a secret DNC server.

All of this came just a day after his former Russia expert warned that the Ukraine theory would bolster Russian, not American, interests. Finally, he added that he fired former FBI Director James Comey to stave off an investigation into him and that he was glad to have done so.

These are the very self-defeating, blatantly abnormal signs that have raised alarms for psychiatrists and neurologists for years. No “specialized … evaluations” on the White House physician’s part seems especially inappropriate in this context.

Declining Cognitive Functions

The president’s cognitive functioning alone, in terms of his ability to process information and thoughts, has deteriorated to the point where he has difficulty stringing together a single coherent sentence. His word-finding difficulties, repetitions, and loose connections are only superficial indicators of a more serious, deeper process. He has additionally shown multiple neurological signs, including slurred speech, movement abnormalities, and confabulations (filling in gaps of memory with fabricated stories).

The psychiatric signs of impulsivity, recklessness, and erratic decision-making have been even more consequential. Earlier this year, preoccupied with his former fixer’s testimony to the special counsel, he walked away from a high-stakes nuclear talk with North Korea. The impeachment inquiry began because of a phone call he made over the summer to solicit Ukraine for election interference, the day after the special counsel’s testimony on Russia’s interference in the 2016 election. More recently, as the impeachment proceedings unfolded, he gave permission, without consulting any of his advisers, for Turkey to massacre our Kurdish allies and together with Russia seize control of the region.

Irrational Behavior

These are not actions that are explainable as rational or political strategy, as much as a typical manifestation of the mental impairments we have been observing for a long time.

In January 2018, then-White House Physician Ronny Jackson administered to the president a screening test that an Alzheimer’s researcher consortium specifically recommended against for ruling out serious conditions, given that full-blown Alzheimer patients and hospitalized schizophrenia patients were found to score in the normal range. It did not stop the rear admiral from using the results to declare his employer and commander-in-chief “fit for duty.” Earlier this year, newly-appointed White House doctor Sean Conley involved “11 different board-certified specialists” in evaluating the president as “very healthy,” without the mention of a psychiatrist or neurologist. Conley failed to give reasons for the unusual number of specialists for a healthy individual with allegedly no concerning signs, since excessive testing carries its own risks, such as false-positive findings. He also did not explain departing from his own prior practices to split a “routine” check-up many months apart.

Physician Without Independence

Neuropsychiatric matters may be beyond a White House-employed emergency physician’s repertoire. As a subordinate under the commander-in-chief, he may also feel constrained in issuing an accurate assessment, as did his predecessor.

Then he should delegate. A group of us has, for this very reason, devised over a year and a half a process for forming an independent, nongovernmental panel of specialists and have offered ourselves in the interim. This is even more appropriate when a president’s symptoms become more than just matters of his personal health but of national and international security.

White House physicians, historically, have not served the public’s interests when it comes to presidential debility. This is one of the reasons for our acting on our societal responsibility since the start of this presidency, as our medical code of ethics dictates.

Further, the American Psychiatric Association’s code states that “Psychiatrists are encouraged to serve society by advising and consulting with the executive, legislative, and judiciary branches of the government.”

Since Congress members who asked to meet with us ceded that there was not much they could do without public awareness, we embarked on educating the public, following the APA guideline that we contribute to activities that improve the community and better public health.

We agree on the importance of public awareness: subtle signs for the untrained person can be blazing red lights to a specialist. Misconceptions surrounding psychiatric issues are particularly common, even though within medicine they are considered to be no different than physical ones: they are just as science-based, objectively observable, and debilitating, with predictable courses and standardized protocols for management. Mental health is just as important, if not more so, when it comes to the office of the presidency. It should not be relegated to the realm of insults or partisan attacks. Healthy discussions are therefore necessary if we are to dispel secrecy and stigma, so that we might take the necessary precautions to keep ourselves safe, since, with the president’s diminishing political power, greater mental health challenges are sure to come.

Bandy X. Lee is a forensic psychiatrist at the Yale School of Medicine, president of the World Mental Health Coalition and editor of The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump: 37 Psychiatrists and Mental Health Experts Assess a President.

23 notes · View notes