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dementedseal · 1 year ago

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FAE MASTERPOST

Devstuck is a thing I've been vaguely working on for roughly 6 months now, and I wanted to introduce it to the world with a bang by introducing my Fanspecies. Fae. I do not have sprites yet i will append them when I do but also I AM NOT AN ARTIST. anyway. here's the Fae Masterpost.

FAE:

BASIC INFORMATION:

Fae are a species of gelatinous aliens similar to amoeba or jellyfish with adhesive properties. When they reach adolescence, these adhesive properties emerge and they will “Bind” to a substance or multiple substances. Depending on the substance, this could alter them intrinsically or simply act like skin. This is seen as a “Coming of Age” and the adolescent becoming an adult. Fae group themselves into different groups depending on what materials they Bind to, with different groups being more common in different areas. Fae primarily have monarchies in their various areas (called “Courts”), with supplemental theocratic ideologies underpinning the society of a given civilisation.

BIOLOGY:

A Fae is not born. It Forms. When a given Fae wants to reproduce and become a “Sire” they will detach a part of their body and that will become a new Fae with identical genetic information. They can also mix their gelatinous body part with a body part of a different Fae which will meld together and create a Fae or multiple with genetic code that is a fusion of the different Fae’s genetic codes. This process can be done with any number of Fae.

A Fae has a complex and strange nervous system, which has no real solid structure. It shifts when the Fae binds to something, changing their shape into one which is more solid and extending into the bound material, allowing the Fae to feel the material as their body.

lh6.googleusercontent.com

If a Fae plays an S game (their version being called Sblub) and they god-tier, that Fae will gain a permanent Natural Feature based on their personality. These can range from horns to vines to jutting spines of rock. They are also completely distinct from the Fae’s Binding, often damaging it in the process.

Binding occasionally will allow a Fae to gain abilities beyond the norm. This can be as mundane as Glass Fae reflecting light to as complex as Volcanic Fae creating flames. This will, however, always have a justifiable reason. For instance, Volcanic Fae can superheat their bodies, and their metabolic processes create flammable gases, which the Fae can vent along with superheating to ignite.

As a completely asexual species, Fae gender is completely unnecessary on a biological level. However, the Fae have gender anyway, because they do not care what humans think. Especially since they do not know they exist. Fae gender is often based on the physical form they choose when binding. This is seen as humorous by other races, who quickly decipher the fact that, since their form is influenced by their area and the god/s they worship, this means that Fae have genders including variations on such things as Catholic and French.

CULTURE:

In addition to their names, Fae adopt a signature symbol which they often emblazon upon their bodies and property (They don’t tend to wear clothes because of the inherent protection Binding provides and the lack of genitals). This symbol is seen as equal or greater in value to a Fae’s name, and addressing a Fae by it without knowing them is seen as an incredible slight.

Fae romance works on a set of seven core Septets someone can be in. This is traditionally represented as 7 Hexagons which border each other, but is more accurately represented by a 3d representation as a cube with 6 more cubes on its faces as they are actually a set of axis and a Fae can be in multiple septets with an/other Fae. These septets include Reflebliss, which is essentially the differential of Romantic = Platonic and is represented by a bisected circle, Solour to Bitrite which is traditional romance to catty disdain and is represented by a heart and fleur de lis respectively, Mentyrian to Peremour which is mutual awe and respect to mutual dedication to improvement and is represented by two intertwining lines to three overlapping triangles, and Serenadora to Catalin which is calming to exaggerating and is represented by a clover to a celtic knot. Reproduction is usually facilitated by a Mentyrianesque or Peremourst.

lh4.googleusercontent.com

Fae culture is influenced heavily by the areas in which they live and the gods those regions worship. I will now quickly rattle off some of the more important areas.

The planet all Fae inhabit is known as Annus. It is actually the result of the lands of all of the previous session’s players colliding. Its areas are diverse and wild, and magic is common on it.

CUVAT is sometimes known as the Brass Citadel. It is the centre of worship for He Who Wrought Order From Metal, Grennar The Oathtaker. This worship typically is represented by a steadfast adherence to law and sets of rules considered natural and holy by the Archpriests. Metal is considered a holy material there, and nearly all Fae there Bind to it. Those rising to religious status will often Bind to brass. It is a beautiful place, with many twisting spires and beautiful stained glass windows. To outsiders, its obsessive adherence can seem stifling sometimes, though most will never consciously force their virtues upon another. It has a mild problem with its clergy abusing their power though, so common tourist guidance is to avoid any of the many churches. Nearly every building in Cuvat has a bell, and they all chime in harmony when it’s time for worship. A beautiful concerto you cannot escape.

GLASTRATA is mostly a barren tundra, but among its spears of jagged glacial ice and endless stone lie many small towns and cities, the largest of which being a place called HIRBERG. Primarily worshipped and feared in this region is The Entombed Bringer Of Ice And Might, Titan Frostbreaker. A terrifying and imposing god, the populus believe Titan himself is encased within a massive frozen pillar at the centre of Hirberg. Religious doctrine states that the only way to keep him pacified is to follow his teachings to the letter in hopes of not angering him. This means that Glastrata as a whole is a rigidly militaristic nation which values strength over everything else. Its inhabitants typically are encouraged to Bind to ice and snow. This causes their bodies to become incredibly hard and large, as minerals present in the water convert the gases they excrete into something akin to liquid nitrogen. Glastratan homes are typically small, round, well defensible stone affairs, though in less fortunate areas igloos are also common.

CUMASTONE is a volcanic region with both blasted plains and fertile fields, home to artists of all kinds. It’s a harsh place, but hardship breeds beauty (which is incidentally the Cumastone motto). Fae here tend to Bind to volcanic rock or petrogel flows (a unique feature of the region, various minerals combining into what is essentially natural napalm, if a bit more explosive). Those who Bind to the latter tend to also gain large metal “Safety Suits” which are one of the most distinctive items of the region. Despite their name and similarity to a suit of armour, they actually serve as a form of mobile home. Inside their spherical chest-cavity is anything a fae could need, partially because they design them themselves. They are primarily for the purpose of saving other fae from drying out because of the incredibly high heat given off by petrogel Fae, but have been integrated into a semi-nomadic lifestyle. Homes for non-petrogel fae in the area are typically caves. The older the cave, the more smooth and large it’ll be. It’s considered a great privilege to be able to live in a cave that once belonged to a famous sculptor or muralist, as the walls will typically be decorated with incredible frescos and reliefs. It worships the Stonelord, an intrepid mining god who crafted beautiful artworks with the gems they unearthed. This worship is typically seen in art which is created from materials sourced by the creator themself.

NIMBAE is a land of sheer, incredibly high cliffs. It’s the centre of innovation on Annus, due partially to the lower air pressure and temperature allowing Fae to expand, and grow more easily. Fae in this region typically bind to various types of natural sludge from the region that lower their density and allow them to absorb oxygen more. These come in a few varieties, but some allow the buildup of static electricity, some have a cooling effect like the minerals of Glastrata, some make the body more flexible, some make the body toxic. Some do multiple! Homes in this region are a precarious affair, perched perilously upon peaks aplenty. They’re often multistorey wooden affairs, though some are meticulously worked stone, if that particular Fae needs a more robust home. The god of the region is Spined Hero Shard. He’s almost like a superhero to the realm, and doesn’t demand much worship. What little worship happens is often offerings of food and gadgets as recompense for assistance provided by the nomadic god. Strangely enough, no-one seems to see him for more than a few minutes. So, like if superman was a cryptid.

SEREMUT is a combination of vast deserts, titanic canyons and sparse patches of greenery. It was heavily shaped by its god, The Empty King. As its name implies, it’s the monarch of the region, and its power was what caused the land to be such a barren place. But as life is wont to do, it persevered and adapted. Cities in the region are often heavily walled to protect young fae from the harsh, sand filled winds. Fae in the region either tend to Bind to sand to protect themselves, or glass. Those who Bind to glass often cover themselves in large robes when outside to protect other Fae from the searing reflections of their mosaic bodies. The area primarily exports accessories and material processing. Homes in the area are often short on the surface, but extending a long way down. This is done to conserve heat during the cold nights, when excessive surface area would compromise comfort. Worship in the area is mostly done in communal tithes to their ever-loving king. Strangely enough, there’s not a single tale of any city ever failing to produce this tithe…

LAWROB is the land of the eternal falls. A distinctly vertical land, it is situated in the middle of a large ocean, and is comprised of an incredibly large circular waterfall. At various points down these falls, there are outcroppings of rock which serve as towns. Fae in the region Bind mostly to a plant known as Scaleweed almost without exception, which grants them a fishlike appearance and incredible hydrodynamics. They sometimes bind to other materials in part, if they didn’t they’d find it hard to tell each other apart. As you get deeper into the falls, it gets more high-profile and more prone to crime. Outcroppings of luminous crystal become more common the further down you go, and at the deepest points they can even have effects on the mind. Fae in Lawrob worship The Fallen God. This worship is the most harmful worship on annus, as worshippers let parts of their body fall down the various rings to where they believe their god is, to give them the strength to rise out of their chasm once more. The name of their god is a cruel joke by the denizens of the lowest area of Lawrob, who know their god has been dead for eons. The god’s blood leaking into the geology of the region is what causes the crystals in the lower regions to gain their mind altering properties. To add to things, the leaders of Lawrob bind in part to these crystals, granting them the ability to simply stop any knowledge they wish from getting out.

While not a region, the two cults of Annus bear mentioning as well. They are:

LA GRANDE PERFORMANCE is a cult worshipping Fae themselves as gods. They aim to gain surreptitious control of Annus through manipulation of its populus. They have partially succeeded with Lawrob. Disguising themselves as theatre troupes, bards and the like, they believe the universe is naught but a story. They seek to simply spice up the narrative a bit, and fulfil their desires along the way.

THE FLESHLY CULT is a cult worshipping the Betrayer. The Betrayer was simply what it says on the tin. A god who betrayed the other gods in a clash for power. They do inhabit a region, their region being the Meatlands, but they are found all throughout Annus. It would be more correct to say they’re simply the only Fae in the Meatlands. They believe that Fae should become more animalistic, and Bind to the dead flesh of the many creatures of Annus in order to achieve this goal. There are multiple sects depending on the interpretation of “Animalistic” and specific animals they revere but they all look somewhat like they’re on the Furry Scale somewhere.

DEATH:

When a Fae dies (typically due to either age or simple bodily deterioration) what remains of their body is turned into decorations or jewellery for other Fae they cared about to wear. This is seen as a way of passing down knowledge, but can have some odd interactions in some cases. If this is done to a God-Tier Fae that Fae’s classpect can be wielded by the holder of the jewellery, by connecting their body to what remains of the dead fae’s nerves.

so yeah

that's it

#homestuck #fanspecies #homestuck fanspecies #Devstuck #Fae

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personalityarchive · 4 years ago

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Mike Morton 7w6

[[28 August 2020

Originally written as a comment thread on PDB]]

I will admit that I did a double take seeing the consensus vote on Mike’s enneatype. I had thought it rather plain to see that he is a base type 7, but apparently that is not the case. Perhaps his career as a performer is what caused the mistype, but it’s still strange to imagine a type 3 Mike. (I also got a bit of a chuckle out of seeing Mike voted as chaotic good when he’s clearly a chaotic neutral character. More on that in its own thread.)

As a character with a full set of deduction targets, several costumes, and accessories, there is an abundance of information on Mike’s character that I feel is vital in discerning his true enneatype. From his deductions alone, it’s quite obvious that he cares less about personal image or professional success than he does about trying new things and having a good time. Especially the parts of the deduction tree written from Mike’s first person perspective, it’s obvious that image and career is a secondary consideration, tied more to the 7’s desire to be entertaining than from the 3’s desire to maintain a “good image”.

Mike’s second deduction target, entitled “The Secret of Juggling”, has this description line: “Throwing isn't just an interesting skill. It's what makes a juggler successful.” Now, if this was all it had to say about him, I would agree, a 3 interpretation wouldn’t be far-fetched at all. However, the deduction conclusion is what is truly significant here, as it is in fact a diary entry from Mike himself. The deduction tagline could be interpreted as a general statement on Mike’s career, or even as an opinion from Bernard himself. Meanwhile, the conclusion has this to say:

“Diary 1: Bernard said that the size and shape of the bag, as well as the type of filling, are critical. He refused my request to fill the bag with stones, stating that it was ‘hazardous’.”

We can see here that Mike is less interested in appealing to the expectations of others, and indeed, in maintaining a polished image, than Bernard is. What Mike is interested in is in fact trying out new things, even dangerous ones — his phrasing of Bernard’s response to his proposal shows that what he finds frustrating is feeling limited in his options. Mike doesn’t seem too convinced that his idea should have been rejected, and was less concerned with the practicality of it than he was in simply exploring the possibility. This is clearly far more indicative of a 7 than of a 3.

Now, based on what Bernard told Mike — namely, that he identified certain factors as “critical” to the bags used in juggling — we can infer that it is Bernard who is concerned about keeping up appearances, or doing things the “right way” (suggesting perhaps a base 1 or 3 for him). From this, we can further conclude that the tagline of this deduction target is indeed a reflection of Bernard’s thoughts rather than Mike’s.

This flows into the next deduction, “Artistic Acts”, with the description: “Creativity is what ensures that the stage performances continue to improve.” Again, this sounds like a statement from Bernard’s perspective, and perhaps offers us some insight into why Bernard treated Mike with the kind of leniency that permitted Mike’s later experimentation with acid and nitre. Since Bernard is the one in charge of the circus, he is the one concerned with constantly improving the show; because Mike’s creativity allows him to come up with new ideas (and gives him the natural charisma that propelled him into the position of audience favorite), Bernard is willing to let Mike get away with quite a bit.

Meanwhile, the conclusion for Artistic Acts gives us a summary for one of Mike’s own writings: “Notebook: The properties of Nitre and some ‘Test Records’ were recorded in detail.” The implication here is that Mike was not very concerned with how his experiments would directly benefit his performances; in fact, the notebook’s contents give a sense of unease, communicating a message in direct opposition to the deduction target summary. Not only is nitre entirely unnecessary in improving his performance as an acrobat, but Mike’s behavior seems rather secretive in nature. So, the purpose of this deduction target is to show a disconnect between the way Bernard perceived Mike and the activities that Mike was actually engaging in. Bernard saw Mike as an invaluable member of the Hullabaloo Circus, and assumed that the experiments and ideas Mike explored all went into augmenting said performances. Of course, by advancing along the deduction tree, it becomes increasingly clear that Mike’s area of interest had little to do with his professional success.

Taking a step back and analyzing the deduction targets for Mike from a more holistic standpoint, a certain pattern emerges. We can see that the first 5 deduction targets are separated from the last 5 in tone and perspective.

1) “Family: He's like a father; an ideal one.”

2) “The Secret of Juggling: Throwing isn't just an interesting skill. It's what makes a juggler successful.”

3) “Artistic Acts: Creativity is what ensures that the stage performances continue to improve.”

4) “A New Face: The circus is where people come and go. We always welcome new faces, and obviously, the beautiful ones.”

5) “ ‘Darling’: How people call each other often reflects the degree to which the relationship has developed.”

6) “Downcast: Watching a sad face can sometimes bring us some dark pleasure.”

7) “Carnival: Carnivals usually mean chaos, and chaos means opportunity.”

8) “The End: It's all over.”

9) “Encore: Audiences often say this hoping that the performer will continue performing on the stage.”

10) “Reappearance: Call their names and make them return to the stage once again.”

Laying them out side-by-side, it’s clear that the first five have summary lines that focus more on outward appearances, professional achievement, and success — all values of the 3. Key words can be picked out from each to support this conclusion: “ideal” from Family; “successful” from The Secret of Juggling; “improve” from Artistic Acts; “beautiful” from A New Face; “reflects” from “Darling”.

Meanwhile, the second half contain sentiments that are far more self-driven, or self-referential, yet less self-aware. Rather than seeking to appear a particular way in the eyes of others, there is an endogenously-generated drive based on the assessment of the appearances of those around the speaker. This way of approaching the self and others maps to the 7’s desire to forget the self through constant absorption in the external world. For the 7, there is a lack of consideration regarding professional success — real or perceived — and a greater emphasis on living in the moment. Plans for the future all funnel into goals that may not be practical or even fully fleshed-out, since stopping to examine their own thoughts and feelings can frighten the 7.

On top of this, the deduction targets undergo an overall shift in speaking style; while the first half of the deduction targets can be a bit longer, even bordering on long-winded, the second half are far more succinct but, again, less self-reflective. This displays the 7’s style of interacting with the world more than the 3, where focus can be more scattered in the search for instant gratification, although the analytical aspects of the mind center are still present.

What we see in the second set of deduction targets is the perspective of a more active, impatient person than the previous deduction summaries. There’s only one that contains a sentence with more than a single clause, and even then it’s to quickly connect two different concepts without having to go through the trouble of further explication. While indicative of a nimble mind, this cleverness manifests as an underlying impatience. Overall, the tendency in these deduction summaries is towards a more singularly outward-focused attention, with a desire to engage with the world without having to pause for self-reflection.

This pattern in turn suggests a split in the speaker for the first set of deduction target taglines versus the second set. While deductions one through four reflect Bernard’s perspective, six through ten are Mike’s. As for the fifth deduction, that’s the bridge; it’s where the speaker switches from one to the other, segueing into Mike being the deduction’s “voice” for both the summary and conclusion of each. Even more interesting, in fact, is the particular way the fifth deduction target implies an asymmetry in the perspective of the two speakers; the summary is a reflection of both Bernard and Mike’s understanding of the other, though the angle is skewed significantly when moving between the two.

While Bernard and Mike are simultaneously experiencing a shift in their relationship to one another, the directions of perceived development are not only incongruent, they’re fundamentally incompatible. The title and speaking style of this deduction further underline this imbalance; while the tone and pacing of the summary reads as Bernard’s voice, the conclusion and the name “darling” are clearly from Mike’s perspective.

The deduction conclusion is as follows: “Diary 2: I love Nitre! As long as it's mixed with water, even a hot summer's day can become refreshing! Bernard's reaction was hilarious, and he even called me ‘Dear Mr. Mike Morton’! Oh, Bernard, I want to hear it again. Next time, I'll make sure to put my cold hands down your collar.”

This casual and playful writing style is juxtaposed against the matter-of-fact — almost distant — statement on the nature of relationships in the summary, creating further dissonance within the deduction. It is implied, then, that Bernard’s opinion of his relationship to Mike has developed from one of paternal care (see the information given by the first deduction) to one of a more professional nature; Bernard is Mike’s boss, not his caretaker. Meanwhile, Mike has developed what appears to be homoerotic feelings towards Bernard, seeing the nickname “Dear Mr. Mike Morton” as a term of endearment rather than one of separation.

Referring back to the second deduction target, the subtle shift in Mike’s understanding of his and Bernard’s roles in their relationship can be further explored. While the contents of Diary 1 suggest that Mike does still see Bernard as a superior (one that he will listen to, if a bit begrudgingly), Diary 2 shows a significantly more excited response to what can be inferred to be reprimand from Bernard. Mike, it seems, has come to view Bernard and himself as interacting on equal terms, and thus, as eligible for developing a relationship outside the bounds of their previous connection. Similarly, Bernard no longer sees the power dynamic of their relationship as being defined by “guardian” and “child”; however, contrary to Mike’s interpretation, Bernard still very much sees himself as being the superior. In a sense, elevation from “child” to “employee” does put Mike on more equal footing with Bernard, but what Mike has failed to pick up on is the paradoxical increase in distance in their relationship, even as he is elevated to the status of “fellow adult”.

In these differing sets of expectations, we can see a clear conflict between a 7’s approach to relationships and that of a 1 (or a 3 with a strong connection to 1). While Bernard is concerned with the way the relationship is “supposed” to develop (e.g. the way a boss is supposed to treat an employee), the 7 is concerned with exploring possibilities and having fun. Further, the 7 is interested in relationships that are constantly changing, as a way of staving off boredom and maintaining investment in the other person. For many 7’s, the only way to preserve dedication to a single “other” is to NOT preserve some aspect of it. In other words, if he is to be limited in the individuals available for him to form attachments to, he must seek variety in the way the attachment functions.

Bernard seems to be interested in treating Mike as a proper adult now, one who has responsibilities and ought to know the proper way of behaving. His reaction to Mike’s experimentation with explosives is one of frustration, calling him “Dear Mr. Mike Morton” as a combination middle-naming of a misbehaving child, and a more professional way of addressing another adult. So, it can be said that Bernard appears to be straddling the line between criticism for a subordinate’s “improper” behavior, and a lingering fondness for his charge.

Mike, on the other hand, seems to have simply derived great amusement from the situation, whether or not he picked up on the remaining fondness Bernard held. His excited proclamation of love for nitre and his plans to put his cold hands down Bernard’s collar read solidly as a 7’s epicurean desire for pleasure and sensual enjoyment, rather than from any influence from type 3. In fact, it’s questionable if Mike was even consciously aware that Bernard was not as amused as he by the entire affair; indeed, his spin on being scolded is exactly the sort of reaction expected of the positive outlook of the 7.

Additionally, as opposed to the 3’s efforts to maintain a good image in the eyes of others, the 7 tries to hold onto a self-image of being okay through rationalization and positive reframing. As long as they don’t have to acknowledge negativity, they can feel comfortable and happy. At the same time, the 7’s rationalization goes towards thinking of what lies ahead, escaping from the limited present to a future with boundless possibility. What we can see Mike doing in his diary entry is just that: he chooses to see Bernard’s scolding as an expression of endearment, and has already skipped forward to thinking about fun or interesting plans for “next time”. Nowhere in this diary deduction is there even a whiff of the 3’s desire to appeal to the expectations of others, or appear competent and professional.

Following this split perspective, the deduction summaries fall squarely into the realm of Mike’s internal dialogue. Deduction six, Downcast, leads with the following: “Watching a sad face can sometimes bring us some dark pleasure.” When compared to some of the earlier deductions, the contrast is jarring. While the present or implied “others” were previously referenced in terms of interaction or as a source of expectations, here they exist solely as a source of entertainment. There is an absence of people-pleasing or even the sentiment that others are tools to be used; this falls far more in line with the 7’s desire to be entertained or to be entertaining, rather than the 3’s understanding of the give and take of unspoken social contracts.

More than that, the conclusion of deduction six gives us another glimpse into the shifting dynamic between Mike and Bernard:

“Diary 3: Bernard sent his regards to my beloved little ones. He thought the wounds on Joker's face looked more like ‘corrosions’. His suspicions really hurt me! Of course, I did lose a bottle of strong acid. Maybe I'll have to get another bottle before Bernard finds out about this ‘mismanagement’.”

While I admit to being unsure who Mike is referring to as his “beloved little ones”, the rest of this diary entry is fairly straightforward. Again, we see Mike’s bubbly and enthusiastic character, brushing off what are clearly well-founded misgivings from Bernard. Like with the scolding he received in the second deduction target, Mike — in a very characteristically 7ish way — responds with a playful attitude: “His suspicions really hurt me!” is expressed in a manner completely foreign to the 3, especially one who is experiencing a threat to their image in the eyes of someone they feel close to.

While it may be true that Mike is wounded by Bernard’s ability to suspect him of such a crime, he covers it up with humor, rather than going to the 3’s tactic of trying to prove his integrity or good character. Rather than indicating a wounded ego, Mike shows an avoidance of the negative; he distracts from a situation that could be emotionally difficult by covering it up with a joke, then quickly moving onto something else.

Now, Mike does engage in willful deceit (planning to cover up anything that may further implicate him), the ego fixation of the 3. However, the tone he takes is still one of measured amusement; his cheeky admission of incriminating evidence paired with his word choice “mismanagement” indicates an almost facetious attitude towards Bernard’s accusation, and more broadly, his concern with professionalism and image. After all, “mismanagement” is a term likely employed by Bernard in the past, as previous deduction targets indicate that he is a man who takes his work seriously. By placing this word in quotation marks, Mike expresses two things: first, that he is using someone else’s word; and second, that he himself does not hold the same values.

The following deduction, Carnival, starts with: “Carnivals usually mean chaos, and chaos means opportunity.” Again, there is a clear expression of the 7’s unstructured energy, always looking for the next exciting thing, chasing that high. While a 3 takes a more structured approach to reaching their goals and seizing opportunities, it is the 7 who sees chaos itself as being opportunity. In chaos, anything is possible, and the 7 finds this stimulating, even considering it to be an ideal situation.

Of course, when figuring out one’s enneagram, it is also important to consider the lines of connection. If the core type is uncertain, figuring out just one line can be enough to create a compelling case for one enneatype over another. The final deduction targets and the rumor about Mike, therefore, offer some vital pieces of the puzzle.

Deduction 8, “The End: It's all over.” Short, sweet, to the point, but overall somewhat disappointing. There’s not enough substance to really determine much more about Mike than we already know. But, when including the slightly lengthier conclusion, necessary context is provided. The conclusion follows thusly:

“Newspaper Clipping: The carnival killer remains a mystery. The public feels that the local police did not do a good job and has called for further investigations.”

Despite not being directly from Mike’s own diary or journal, this is still following his perspective; the framing of this information is key in our understanding of its significance. Clearly, this conclusion functions to tell the audience what sort of tragedy occurred at the circus, but also to include Mike as being a member of the public who holds this belief. This hints at the start of a 7’s disintegration into 1, where the focus goes from what is “fun” to what is “right” and “wrong”, edging into the unhealthy territory of becoming critical and punitive.

When faced with the death of his circus family, Mike, in an attempt to distract himself from the painful reality, jumps into action, hoping to escape the fears nipping at his heels. After suffering such a devastating loss, he wastes no time with mourning; he immediately goes to enacting a plan to deal with the perpetrator of the crime. We see in his next deduction, Encore, the following: “Diary 4: I scoured the city's mortuary and found everyone except the strange new couple. They were scheduled for the grand finale and couldn't sneak out.”

We see immediately another massive tone shift in the speaker, though we know that rather than crossing over from one character to another, it is Mike who is undergoing the switch in tone. In stark contrast to the chipper, playful mood of his earlier entries, this one is very matter-of-fact, very controlled. The 1’s desire to be objective and principled has overshadowed the 7’s energetic distractibility. From the rumor on his page, we know that: “Mike Morton is the most popular guy in the traveling circus ‘Hullabaloo’. After surviving the disaster, Mike Morton's only goal is to find the real killer who destroyed his home."

This solidifies the interpretation of Mike disintegrating into a 1. As a 7, his natural instinct when faced with the threat of loss is to reach for more, trying to gather close that which he feels is important to his survival and comfort. Unfortunately, this option has been denied him completely; he cannot have “more” of “nothing”, which is precisely what he has now that his entire way of life, his home, his family, has been destroyed. Faced with this harsh reality, Mike has dedicated himself to the single-minded goal of hunting down the one who dared to steal everything from him. The 7’s impatience is magnified by the 1’s resentment and anger, leading to his overpowering pursuit of a quite 1ish crusade against the wrongdoings of others.

This understanding of the text is only further supported by alternate translations of the original text, which provide additional information and insight into both the tragedy itself, and Mike’s perspective:

1) “Blonde curls, a lively spirit and clear blue eyes forever full of joy, Mike Morton was the most popular guy in Hullabaloo, the travelling circus. Hullabaloo was Mike's entire world, a world where slaughter should never have existed. Having survived from the tragedy, Mike would stop at nothing until he finds the one responsible for shattering his world.”

2) “Now desperate and having lost the only things that mattered in his life, Mike's only goal in life is to find the true murderer of those he cherished.”

In all three translations, we see the overwhelming sense of loss, devastation and panic driving him over the edge. Having found the bodies of his comrades, and having discovered what in his mind is the suspicious departure of the circus’ newest members, the last hopes of employing his instinctive response (read: avoidance) are dashed. All at once, Mike is forced to contend with problems and pain he is unaccustomed to coping with. He dips immediately into the unhealthy emotions of the 1, the 1’s feeling of being the only one who is Right and Good; he alone can know the Truth.

This reading is supplemented by the correspondence we have from Mike to a man by the name of Arthur Russell. Thanks to being included as content for both Mike and Murro’s character days, we have not one but two samples of his writing post-Hullabaloo disaster. Following on the heels of the Encore deduction target, Mike’s drastic tonal shift while writing stands in stark contrast to his earlier, livelier musings. Mike’s birthday letter is as follows:

“Dear Mr. Arthur Russell,

The investigation report you've sent last time was of great assistance to me. In regard to the animal tamer Natalie, also known as Margaretha Zelle, I wish to acquire further information on her upbringing as well as her life before the circus. Starting next week, I will be out of town for a while, and your salary will be paid in the same payment method per usual. There is no need to send in your report this time. I will pick them up at your residence.

I look forward to your reply.

Yours Truly,

Mike Morton”

We can see that he has adopted a very formal voice, adhering to proper etiquette and expressing his thoughts in an impersonal, emotionally distant way. Without knowing whose signature adorns this letter, one could easily be convinced that this was penned by Bernard. In fact, my first time reading this letter caused me a moment of confusion; surely it was a mistake, a particularly egregious error similar to the mistranslation of Priestess’ name. After all, how could Mike have been the one to write in such a clipped, formal style? Yet, here is Murro’s birthday letter:

“Dear Mr. Russell,

Due to unforeseen circumstances, your mission objective has been "eliminated" prior to the engagement of your employee.

Therefore, I regret to inform you that the remaining payment is beyond my obligation, as stated in our agreement. After all, no one could possibly uncover a fully-intact cranial remains within that pile of ashes.

I wish you well.

Your loyal customer,

Mike Morton”

There is no denying it, Mike did in fact send these letters. His playful, somewhat childish persona is just that: an act. Underneath it, he is incredibly capable and self-sufficient, and the letters seem to place a great deal of emphasis on the matter of “should” or “shouldn’t”, whether something “ought to be” or not. He must do the right thing, in the right way; he expects others to do the same. To the reader, there is a feeling that beneath the carefully controlled surface lies a mass of ugly emotions. There is anger. There is resentment. There is a gradual movement towards a breaking point. It is precisely this which led people to initially believe that Mike himself could have been the circus killer. The details are obscure, the content sinister, the controlled tone reading as hiding something — some dark secret. Murro’s birthday letter seems to imply that Mike has hired a hitman to “eliminate” somebody — likely Murro — but an incident (perhaps even one of his own making) has prematurely killed that person off.

What these letters show us is the 1’s methodical approach; they bear a striking similarity to Mike’s early deduction summaries, as though Mike were subconsciously attempting to borrow from Bernard’s more structured, 1ish mannerisms. With a professionalism and formality that is unassailable in its dignity, but with the base 7’s falsely cheerful tone and the 6 wing’s suspicious nature, Mike sends letters to this “Arthur Russell” character.

Why wing 6 rather than wing 8? Especially when given his apparent embrace of violent means? Well, despite his vengeful rage, he does display the 6 wing’s avoidance of conflict, when possible; as far back as the second deduction target, this is made clear. Mike’s reaction to Bernard denying his request was not to lash out, or argue; he simply moped about it later, when he was alone. Then, when Bernard suspected Mike of disfiguring Joker’s face, Mike’s response was again one of disappointment, not aggression.

The mere fact that Mike would say that Bernard’s accusations “really hurt” falls in direct opposition to the 8’s unwillingness to display weakness of any kind. Even in jest, exposing one’s own emotional vulnerability is not something a 7 with a strong 8 wing would be comfortable doing. On the other hand, the 6 wing is far likelier to allow this; one defense mechanism of the 6, after all, is to appear vulnerable in an attempt to elicit protective feelings from an authority figure. Further evidence is supplied by Mike’s Deduction Star 2020 quotes.

Quote: "Don't think I'll trust you so easily, you cute little thing."

Here, Mike is speaking with the playfulness of his base, 7, while communicating a 6ish difficulty in trusting others. Especially when directed at someone (or something?) “little” and “cute”, this suspicion really does play to the 6’s anxiety and doubt. Where an 8 may feel powerful and confident in the presence of something that appears defenseless, a 6 will be wary; it can’t possibly be so simple, right? Surely it’s a trap?

A 7 with an 8 wing would be more likely to find this mixture of traits endearing, perhaps even themself feeling some twinge of protectiveness. The 8, in general, tends to champion the underdog, desiring to defend that which is innocent or tender. Besides which, the 7w8 is far more blunt and forceful; if there is doubt of a person’s trustworthiness, the problem will be dealt with head-on. It is the 7w6 who will communicate a lack of trust in the lighthearted manner used in the quote; after all, the 6 wing doesn’t want to escalate the situation unless it becomes absolutely necessary.

What of this Deduction Star quote: "I won't let go of the person that destroyed Hullabaloo’.”? Does this not embody the 8’s ego fixation, vengeance? Well yes, but actually no. It’s easy to mistake his actions as being driven by this, as both the 7 and the 8 share an assertive Hornevian type. However, the 8 experiences threats as a challenge, a call to battle; the 8 will make their presence known, and the subject of their wrath will be aware that they have a target painted on their back. By contrast, the 7’s aggression is more of an entitlement, and need not manifest itself overtly all of the time. The 6 wing is what allows the 7 to readily employ the dishonest, underhanded scheming that Mike happily does.

8’s “holy idea” is truth, meaning a life-long search for truth and justice. Mike does not show any interest in such a thing until after the slaughter. His 7’s harmonic pattern of optimistic outlook is twisted into the 1’s focus of attention on what’s imperfect and must be made better. His active nature is turned toward a need to do the “right thing” in the “right way”, with the 1’s ego fixation of resentment driving his actions. But what is it that separates the 8’s vengeance from the 1’s resentment, and how does Mike display one over the other?

The 8’s need for justice calls for the righting of all wrongs, notably towards those they feel protective of, while the 1’s resentment stems from needing to do the “good work” that others won’t notice, won’t care about, or won’t make a “strong enough effort” to do. Not only did Mike not feel protective of his fellow Hullabaloo performers, but we see from the newspaper clipping that “insufficient effort” on the part of law enforcement played a significant role in Mike’s outlook. His search for the “truth” behind the killings, then, is the 1ish excuse for his own actions. His goal is “noble”, therefore, his actions are “right” or “necessary”. The final deduction, “Reappearance”, further solidifies this view.

Summary: “Call their names and make them return to the stage once again.”

Conclusion: “Invitation: Enclosed is a photo of a dark-haired woman with a name on the back - Natalie.”

We find out what he was sent that brought him to Oletus: the knowledge that Natalie is at the manor. Remember, now, that he has been investigating Natalie under the suspicion that she was involved; he had no real evidence. Still, he insists that he is after the “truth”. This falls in line with the 1’s strong sense of purpose, coupled with the need to justify their actions to themselves (and sometimes others as well). He has convinced himself that he is following logic and perhaps objective truth, when in reality, he is allowing his own judgements and unsubstantiated convictions to guide his actions.

Driving this point home is one of his dislikes being listed as “violent and rude people”. Yet, somehow, Mike seemingly hired a hitman, and may have had some involvement in Murro’s death. This is the hypocrisy of the unhealthy 1: it is evil and bad when others do it, but the 1 is exempt, since they are acting for a good cause. (On the other hand, a stronger influence from the 8 would allow for the admittance of double standards, but with justification along the lines of “law of the jungle” or “the strong devour the weak”.)

Considering all of this, Mike’s childish persona seems to be a product of a 7 base with a 6 wing; his desire to enact retribution upon the circus killer comes from the 7’s disintegration to 1, not from an 8 wing. Following the tragedy at Hullabaloo, Mike undergoes a transformation: his spirited, ludic nature turns condemnatory, moralistic, and ultimately, vindictive.

#long post #character analysis #identity v #mike morton #idv acrobat #enneagram #enneatype #ennea 7 #7w6 #idv bernard #idv murro #wildling #idv wildling #the full writeup was 15 pages long #so this is just the section about the enneagram #but without the appended skins information #which will be added in a reblog #plus the chaotic neutral essay #and the tldr

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magic-is-something-we-create · 2 years ago

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Goddess-Touched Snippet - (2/?)

Happy MSM! I'm out of town until Wednesday afternoon, so the taglists are appended to the base post this time and I won’t be able to do any timely self-reblogs - but I hope you all enjoy, if you see it!

Word count: 380 Trigger Warnings: Depiction of death on a large scale POV: Nimbus In which Nimbus learns what happened to Delya.

“How long’ve you two been in the desert?”

Beta clucks his tongue. “Near four days.”

“When’s the last time you checked the news?”

“Almost a week ago,” I answer, too lost in the translucent haze of words and images to make sense of any of it. Too lost in thoughts of Andy would kill to use this kind of thing as a reference and the amount of information at their fingertips and it’s right here, working, without a single worry about magical insulation.

Too lost in myself, until Jett grunts.

“Haven’t heard about Delya, then.”

And they wave again as my blood runs cold, the screen that flies forth bearing a recording I hope--poisonous, baseless hope--won’t end in death.

The camera shakes, clearly held candidly in an excited hand. The owner walks down a busy street that curves gently into the near distance, a wall of sandstone buildings to their left and a view of the glittering ocean between clusters of market stalls to their right. Pennants and banners and skirts twirl in the breeze, laughter muffled by the crackle of recorded wind, a world of color and light and liveliness.

And then the ground starts to shake, and everything falls silent.

I watch, the grain of the stool digging into my fingers, as the camera stumbles. As a crack rips through the street ahead of them, screams erupting all around. As dust rolls forth in a cloud, caught in glimpses as their hand waves desperately, reaching for stability.

As the people around age, hair bleaching and skin thinning, before they fall, crumbling away into soot.

They fall, the camera hitting the ground and cracking its lens, a corner of the screen taken by dry, ashen-green skin the only sight of the owner we get before the dust gives way to ash, and the ash gives way to darkness.

The video lingers on the darkness for a breath, before starting again.

Jett mutes it, lets us catch up, knuckles pressed grimly to their mouth as they wait.

All I can do is watch as doom crashes down again and again and again, searching desperately for any sign, however small, that it’s fake. Doctored, edited, staged--some kind of sick joke, unaware of just how possible it really is.

But I find none.

General Writing Taglist (let me know to be +/-):

@sadsentinel ; @writingbyjillian ; @hysteriwah ; @writeblrfantasy ; @zonnemaagd ; @47crayons ; @sageblogsthings ; @pepperdee ; @naps-tries-writing ; @faithfire ; @dahliaornelas ; @justwriteyoudummy ; @ashen-crest

Millennium Saga Taglist (let me know to be +/-):

@ladywithalamp ; @lavenderrosewrites ; @47crayons ; @writeblrfantasy ; @ashen-crest ; @dragon-swords-prophecies ; @faithfire ; @midnight-and-his-melodiverse

#writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #original fiction #fantasy fiction #fiction #original writing #writing excerpt #original fantasy #millennium saga monday #the millennium saga #goddess-touched #snip #q

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majolishious · 4 years ago

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Ummmm~Hello! I love your blog and I love your writing hehehe 😍 I want to ask for HCs for the brothers if you may? Um, with an MC who has appendicitis during her stay at Devildom and has to go back to the human world to undergo a laparoscopy surgery (it's a much faster surgery using improved equipment rather than normal ones)? Then the brothers go visit her in the Hospital and she's feeling after surgery pain so much so they comfort her? Thank you and sorry if it's too specific for you 😣

Hilarious story, but uh, my appendix actually burst, and I had no idea, even my doctor was like, “No ur fine lol, take some pain killers,” and then 5 days later I was in surgery and later the ICU. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this, I put it under the cut due to the length of the post.

It’s obvious to the brothers that you’re experiencing pain, not that clutching your stomach wasn’t a dead giveaway. They assume that perhaps you just ate something, the food in the Devildom might be too rich, or too heavy for a human handle, but the other symptoms you’re experiencing; even after Beel gives you some stomach medicine warrants a visit from one of Diavolo’s royal physicians. Once they finish the exam, and draws the conclusion, the doctor informs the brothers to get you immediate medical attention at a human hospital, as the hospitals in the Devildom simply aren’t equipped to deal with such medical issues.

The doctor suggests that one of the brothers accompanies you, while trying to reassure them that this is a relatively common condition in humans, and is rarely fatal if caught in time - which does no good as the brothers now realize they’re on a time limit. The doctor proposes the idea that you should choose the brother that takes you, and quickly leaves the house before more chaos ensues.

【Lucifer】

It was natural you would pick him. He’s the only brother that seems even remotely calm, though on the inside he’s deeply worried. Lucifer wastes no time on creating a portal to the human world, and making sure you get to the hospital in the shortest amount of time - while he takes notice of your worsening pain and discomfort. It was rather fortunate that your case was treated as a priority, but that didn’t ease his concerns - and holding onto your hand became more of a way to calm himself down rather than you, not that his pride would ever allow him to admit he was worried.

Lucifer makes a promise to you that he’ll be there when you wake up, and the time spent waiting for the surgery to be done was almost agonizing for him. As soon as you’re brought out and he’s able to see you again, Lucifer rushes to your side, as a wave of relief washes over him. He sits quietly as you rest, but is even happier when you do wake up, though the pain hits you, and is almost unbearable. The first born of the brothers does his best to comfort you by carefully wrapping his arm around you, showering you with words of praise while he gently holds you until a nurse is able to give you some relief from the pain.

Lucifer would rather stay in the hospital with you, but knowing that the whole house is likely to be in chaos - and there are some things he has to do, Lucifer bids you goodnight, giving you a soft kiss on the head, and telling you to rest and get better soon, promising he will be back to visit tomorrow. When Lucifer returns the following day, he’s happy to see you looking so much better, even if you’re still in some pain. He spends the day with you, doing what he can to ease any pain and make you more comfortable, but he’d rather have you back at the house of Lamentation as soon as possible, since he doesn’t have to worry about the tedious visiting times in his own home.

【Mammon】

Not the wisest choice you could have made, but given the situation, everyone assumes that it’s because Lucifer assigned him as your protector while in the Devildom. Regardless of the reason, there’s really no time to dwell on it, as getting you to hospital was the top priority, and even if the hero wasn’t ready, the portal was, and Mammon had no choice but to take the leap with you. Mammon is just worried you’re going to die, even after you reassure him that you won’t, he’s not convinced, and squeezes onto your hand that’s interlaced with his own, fearing he won’t get to feel it for much longer.

Mammon cries when you’re taken for surgery, and can do nothing but nervously pace around the waiting room - despite it being nothing more than a small box room with three chairs and a small table with some books. He eventually resorts to quietly watching the time tick by, but as soon as you’re out of surgery, he is right at your side like the faithful demon he is, watching as your chest slowly rises and falls as you sleep. He can’t help but think that this is the first time in days he’s seen you look comfortable and not in pain; a fleeting thought as when you awoke, you could only weakly smile at Mammon before the pain came for you with a vengeance.

Mammon does everything to shoo the pain away from you, though he can’t do much but allow you to cuddle into him until you’re given relief for it. He tries to convince the doctors to let you go home as soon possible, telling them the great Mammon can care for you. It’s not very convincing, and they decide to keep you in their care, forcing Mammon to reluctantly return to the house of Lamentation without you. Fear not, he returns the next day as soon as he is able to, despite the fact he looks exhausted and has clearly been crying all night, though he denies it hard when you ask him what’s up.

【Leviathan】

To say he was shocked you picked him would be an understatement, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it much before you were both hurried to the human world. It hadn’t really sunk in how dire of a situation you were in, but he didn’t like seeing you in pain, and tried to awkwardly soothe by rubbing small circles on your back as your continued to writhe in pain. Levi’s eyes scanned the waiting room, until eventually falling back onto you as the doctor called out your name. He tried, really hard to be comforting while the doctors reaffirmed what you already knew, and only then it hit him that this was serious, “You’re gonna die?!”, he exclaimed, catching you, and the poor doctor off guard.

Levi ends up sitting quietly at your bedside squeezing your hand, trying to distract you by talking about an anime he was excited for this season - though it was more of a distraction for himself. It actually worked, until you were taken to surgery and the reality hit him once more. The envious demon had nothing to amuse himself with while waiting, and anyone that came close to him only tightened the knot in his stomach. He wanted so desperately to know what was going, to know if you were okay, and when the doctor finally came out and told him it was fine, he nearly collapsed on the spot. Levi only listened to half of what the doctor was saying, he zoned out once he heard you were fine, but still had to see for himself.

Entering your hospital room was a strange experienced for him, but he was just to see you were okay, at least until you woke up in pure agony, unable to do anything but whimper and calls out for Levi, who rushed to your side as quick as he could. Anime always makes the process look so much easier, with the protagonist waking up and being fine, but here you were, waking up and not fine. All he could do was hold your hand and attempt to shush and calm you down - his awkwardness making it a difficult task. When it came time to turn in for the night, Levi really didn’t want to leave you alone, and swore he’d be back the next day with video games to help distract you from the pain.

【Satan】

Once you make your choice, Satan won’t hesitate and has you both through the portal to the human world in record time. Despite appearing calm, he’s incredibly worried, and every whimper that escapes your lips only adds to his concern. He does his best to take your focus away from what the doctors are doing, but often can’t help but quiz them on what they’re doing, or what certain things mean, but as you lightly squeeze Satan’s hand, his focus snaps back to you, as he shoots an apologetic look your way, and masked sure to focus his attention on the one that needs him the most.

Once you’re taken to surgery, he has no idea what to do, and can only impatiently wait in the waiting room. The books did little to amuse him, or take his mind off of you - he just wanted to know that you were okay. The time seemed to pass by slowly, and when someone finally came to release him from his own confinement, he was scared, worried they were about deliver bad news. Satan was relieved when the news was good, and as soon as he could, he was right at your bedside, a relaxed smile spread across his face.

When you eventually woke up, and began to deal with more pain, Satan’s smile quickly faded, and he moved to sit beside you on the bed, bringing your head to his chest while he softly peppered your head with loving kisses, with it being all he had to offer you as a pain reliever. Satan was unwilling to leave your side, and even refused to at first, even after you promised him it would be fine, he wasn’t convinced. He knew you needed rest however, and returned home, only to return the next day with a pile of books he planned to read to you while you were recovering.

【Asmodeus】

Picking him wasn’t the best choice, as he immediately tired to run to his room in order to pack, though he was reminded of the fact you were both in a race against time by his brothers, as they pushed him through the portal with you. Asmo was going to complain about the less than soft landing, but your pained expression stopped him, “Oh love,” he murmured, doing his best to help you through the pain. He really wasn’t a fan of the hospital, fearing that just being there would make him sick, and ruin his flawless skin, though he hardly had time to be dramatic with you holding onto his hand, silently pleading with him for comfort.

Asmo does his best, softly running the slender fingers of his free hand through your hair, while the other reminded entwined with your own. He couldn’t bear to let go of you when you were taken for surgery, and the loneliness he felt in the waiting room was agonizing - flirting with the doctors and nurses that passed by did little good, as they were too busy to pay much mind to the avatar of lust. Asmo has no choice but to admit defeat, sitting back in the less than comfortable chair he began to hum to himself while waiting. He nearly squealed when the nurse came to give him an update on your condition, granting him the permission to go and see you.

Asmo was expecting you to be fine, and able to return home immediately, so he got the shock of his life when he saw that that wasn’t the case. He didn’t know what to do at first while you slept, and resorted to lightly grazing your cheek with his hand, only excitedly taking them away when you stirred and woke up. Before he could speak, you winced when as the pain hit you, and despite trying to hide it, Asmo knew, and was able to get someone to help almost immediately. He was also able to charm his way into staying longer than was allowed, but he only stayed until you fell asleep, but rest assured, he came back the next day with fruit, cakes, and some self-care items to aid in recovery.

【Beelzebub】

There was no hesitation when you picked him, as Beel scooped you up into his arms and carried you through the portal. Despite it being unnecessary, he carried you through the hospital too, and held you tight while the doctors looked you over, until he eventually had to place you onto a bed. Beel settled for keeping your hand in his own, while showering your forehead with tender kisses to calm you down when needed. He did his best to put his own worries aside, but once you were taken for surgery, it was all he could think about while he waited for any news, or simply for you to come out so he could see you again for himself.

While waiting, he ended up raiding the vending machine, and subsequently devouring all the snacks while passing nurses gave him worrying looks. Beel looked like a sad puppy while sitting in the waiting room. He had been worried when you first took ill, even more so when his stomach medicine didn’t work. The more he thought about it, the more worried he got. While deep in thought, a nurse finally came to give him some relief, to confirm that you were okay, and finally let him see you.

Beel darted to your bedside, taking hold of your hand as he settled himself beside you. Though you didn’t hear most of what he said, Beel was talking to you while you slept, only stopping when you finally woke up and locked eyes with him. His face lit up, but seeing you wince from the pain with a sharp intake of breath took the smile away, and filled him with concern. Beel did his best to comfort you, softly rubbing his thumb over your hand, while whispering sweet nothings to you. He outright refused to leave at first, and only did so because he got hungry and had no choice, though he came back the next day with plenty of food so he could stay for longer.

【Belphegor】

He was pretty surprised when you chose him, but it wasn’t like he had time to complain before being shoved into the portal with you. He really wasn’t happy to be in the human world, and was only willing to put up with it since it was for you - though he did feel guilty when he saw how pained you were, and letting out a sigh, he decided to his best, for your sake. He did his best to comfort you for as long as he was able to; holding on tightly to your hand and allowing you the comfort of his pillow. The demon couldn’t do much more for you, as you were soon taken out of his reach and into surgery, leaving him alone in the waiting room with bated breath.

Belphie couldn’t do much while waiting, other than curl up onto a chair and take a short nap - since the doctors had to give him back his pillow for the meantime. He hugged it close to his chest, nuzzling into it, trying hard to pretend he was cuddling with you - it didn’t work, but he was able to fall asleep, even if only for a short time. The nurse that woke him nearly got an earful, though the sharp glare he gave them said more than enough. The nurse nervously informed Belphie of your condition, giving him the okay to see you, turning his original sour expression into a more relieved one before he hurried to your bedside.

It was a surreal experience for him, seeing you so vulnerable and weak. It gave him bad memories of what he did before, and part of felt as though he had no right to be at your side like this. When you awoke, he tried to brush away his thoughts, and offered you a small smile, which you only weakly returned before being struck by pain, with Belphie doing his best to comfort you. He crawled into bed next to you, being careful of any wires and tubes, especially as he switched your pillow out for his own, giving your head something more comforting to rest on. It wasn’t long before you ended up falling back asleep, snuggled up to Belphie as he quietly dozed off next to you, getting his wish to cuddle you close - this time without anyone disturbing him, as none of the nurses dared to this time.

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blazerina · 4 years ago

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Ethically Questionable // Open Heart AU // Chapter 1

Miami Heat // Ethan x Maggie (MC)

Word Count: 4458

A/N: This is chapter one of our Ethically Questionable AU that @parkerattano & I dreamt up late one evening. I literally thought I dreamt the conversation when I talked with her about it the next morning. Check out the moodboard below that she put together – isn’t she amazing? Mad props to her because all of this is pretty much her idea, I’m just putting a few words out there to help everyone else get to experience this amazing HC of hers. There is plenty more to come and we are just getting started with the drama. We’ve hyped it up a lot because we are Tumblr besties and super excited but we really do think you’ll enjoy the ride too!

Check out our hype posts HERE, & HERE.

Let us know what you think – chapter two will be coming soon!

EQ AU tag list: @mvalentine / @choicesobsessedd / @dulcehernandez / @missmiimiie / @edgiestwinter / @junehiratas / @binny1985 / @datynasuha / @unluckygs / @trinittyy / @lilyvalentine / @honeyandsunfl0wers / @lucy-268 / @choices-love-affair / @parkerattano / @queencarb / @custaroonie / @mkamra2355 / @humanpokemon / @ramseysno1rookie /@unknowntimelady / @myusualnerdyself / @schnitzelbutterfinger / @mvalentine / @jasminedayz / @thanialis / @tefigranger / @kenzierookie / @justanotherrookie / @keepcreativechoices / @heauxplesslydevoted / @ethandaddyramsey / @kaavyaethanramsey / @sherlockedmcu / @edith-eggs1 / @noboundariesplease / @edgiestwinter / @danysims4cc / @tempesreture / @unusualvisionsblog / @chasingrobbie / @mapipa / @lifeof-liv / @3riche-blog / @anonymous2094 / @annaidziaszczyk / @ntoraplayschoices / @jessirosebud / @mskinkyafro / @caseyvalentineramsey /@desmaranj / @trappedinfandoms / @lucy-268 /

*If you asked to be on my Ethan tag list, I just added you here -- but let me know if you wish to be removed! Or added in that case!*

“A world-renowned doctor at a top hospital thinks you’re the best intern. Most people would kill to be you.”

Bryce’s words from yesterday echoed loudly in Maggie’s head as she stared out the window of the plane on the way to Miami. She could hardly contain her excitement. He thinks I’m the best intern…she thought to herself as she replayed her conversation with Bryce for the thousandth time. Dr. Ramsey had chosen her. That meant he saw something in her. To him, she was already special. Now, she just needed to capitalize on it.

On the outside, of course, she was trying to present herself to Dr. Ramsey as a polished, professional, put-together intern – but on the inside she was bubbling over with enthusiasm for this quick two-day trip.

Maggie truly felt like the luckiest girl in the world. This hard-working, smart-mouthed kid from upstate New York was selected by her mentor and current crush, Dr. Ethan Ramsey. He had been the whole reason she wanted to become a doctor in the first place. In her freshman AP Biology class when her teacher, Mrs. Hart, asked the class to read one of his journal articles for extra-credit, she Googled him immediately, wanting to digest as much information about him as possible.

Her friends would tease her about the fact that instead of teen heartthrob pictures posted on the inside of her locker, she had medical journal titles and Dr. Ramsey quotes. No one understood her high esteem and true admiration for him. She was confident when she applied to medical school that she would be competitive at Edenbrook, but she felt even more confident as of late. Now that she was number one and Dr. Ramsey’s clear favorite, everything was right in her world. The only thing that would make it better would be a searing gaze, a brush of his fingertips, hearing Dr. Ramsey call her by name and not “Valentine” or “Rookie…”

She was daydreaming again as she watched the snow-white clouds dance along the deep blue sky. The plane was about 30 minutes from landing. She was able to finally admit to herself that she had butterflies in her stomach. Could it be true that she had caught Dr. Ramsey looking at her differently lately? Had he actually started to smile a bit when he saw her for rounds every morning? Could it be that she was impressing him not only with her intellect but with her physical assets too? Is there any chance he could, maybe be, attracted to her?

Maggie’s imagination got carried away, thinking about this conference. She’d at least get to share a meal or two with him, maybe there would be a chance for them to get dressed up. Maggie planned ahead and brought a killer dress for just that kind of opportunity. She would make sure Dr. Ramsey got to see even more of her, um, “assets” and she’d get to see what makes him tick outside of the stuffy hospital. They’d dance alone on the beach; he’d declare his never-ending love for her and then at sunset they’d kiss…

“Aaahhh!” she let out a soft cry of surprise as the plane suddenly lurched up and down. Maggie reached for the armrest to clutch it tightly, forgetting that Dr. Ramsey was seated next to her, and his hand was already occupying the space between them.

In an instant her hand grasped his as her eyes grew wide, not because of the turbulence but because of the feel of his skin on hers. Something she had only dreamed about up until this very moment.

He had been reading and with his free hand removed his glasses, staring at her with a questioning look upon his face.

“Maggie.” He stated, matter-of-factly, but Maggie swore he said it breathlessly.

“Maggie.” He repeated.

“Yes, Dr. Ramsey?” She looked deep into his eyes now, hoping her longing and desire for him was evident in her eyes too.

“May I have my hand back, please?”

She immediately released her hold and smiled sheepishly. The Ethan Ramsey smirk appeared on his face briefly as she pulled her hand away.

“Of course.”

When he spoke to her, she hung on his every word, no matter what it was he was saying. However, Maggie had learned by now to keep her answers short and to the point.

“Thank you again for asking me to accompany you on this trip, Dr. Ramsey. It’s my first large conference and I know we’re going to have a wonderful time! I’m thankful, truly, I am.” She smiled, trying to make things less awkward.

“Yes, yes. So you’ve said. No less than a dozen times now. And as I have said before, don’t thank me, just do what you’re told. This is a work trip not a vacation. You’d do well to remember that fact, Dr. Valentine.”

The way he slowly emphasized Dr. Valentine sent shivers down Maggie’s spine. Did he know what he was doing to her? It was little lines like this, where the tone and pace of his voice changed, that made her think – no, believe – that he was indeed beginning to develop feelings for her.

Maggie nodded and returned her gaze to the window as he pulled his hand off the armrest. He cleared his throat as he settled back into the chair, recoiling a bit and trying to focus again on his reading material. Soon they’d be on land once more. If Maggie wanted any semblance of a decent relationship with Dr. Ramsey, she’d have to take advantage of opportunities to remind him that she wasn’t just THE number one intern. She was HIS number one intern. She decided for now to keep her mouth shut and continue to stare at the sky. It was safer that way.

When she had to tell Dr. Ramsey that they messed up on the reservations and only had one room for the two of them to share, she delivered the news matter-of-factly as if she was sharing the status of a broken arm or an appendicitis diagnosis. There was no flare, no pomp and circumstance, just the facts.

She was looking forward to it and would make sure Dr. Ramsey didn’t regret it, but she knew that she had to present her case clearly and without emotion in order to keep anything from changing too much.

“They only have reservations under your name. One room. We’ll have to share.”

Maggie was quite pleased with herself and the way she tackled what could have been a nightmare situation.

“Morons. Can no one do anything right?” He clenched his fist and his jaw while simultaneously rolling his eyes.

“I promise I don’t snore…” Maggie offered, trying to lighten the mood that had suddenly become very tense.

“I just don’t like the way it looks.” He explained with a heavy sigh, “But, we’ll have to make it work.”

They took their luggage up to the room. As they entered, Maggie did her best to keep the amount of awe she felt, to a minimum as she took in the sight of the beautiful balcony and the scenic view of the ocean and beach below. She immediately went out to look over it all. It wasn’t until Dr. Ramsey called her back in that she realized there really was only one bed.

“We need to go speak with some vendors and make the rounds on the exhibition floor.” Dr. Ramsey explained, checking his watch.

“Sounds fun!” Maggie smiled as she clasped her hands together, clearly delighted.

“You are woefully misinformed. Nothing about this is fun, Rookie.”

“There’s a first time for everything, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Meaning?”

“Maybe you’ll actually have fun this time because you’re with me.”

Maggie tried to be subtle in her tone but gave him a wink and then smiled through one side of her mouth as she boldly approached him and looped her arm under his.

She gently pushed him alongside her to the door of their hotel room.

“I should have asked Harper to pay for an assistant instead of bringing you…don’t get any ideas.” He raised an eyebrow and down on her with mock disdain.

The energy between them had shifted now and as he looked at her with mischief in his eyes, she wanted to reach up right then, snake her arms around his neck and toss him on the bed. The expo vendors be damned! But she swallowed those thoughts away and promised him she wouldn’t.

“I’ll be on my best behavior…for now.”

Maggie offered, followed by a throaty chuckle that made Dr. Ramsey stop in his tracks.

He turned sharply to look at his reflection in the full-length mirror near the door of their room. Maggie studied him as he studied himself.

The hair. Those eyes. His lips. Everything about this man was sexy. It didn’t matter that he was 10 plus years older than her. His brain, his body, all of him was exactly what she wanted.

There were so many rumors about what Dr. Ramsey was really like. People said he was vain, arrogant, selfish, rude and cocky as hell. But she had yet to really see that side of him. Sure, he was particular and liked things done a certain way, but it was all for the good of the hospital, the patients and his team. He had a right to be that way, he’d earned it. He was after all, the Doctor Ethan Ramsey.

Those three words had rattled around in her brain for years. Doctor. Ethan. Ramsey. He was everything she hoped to be and also everything she wanted at the same time. He was standing right in front of her; she still felt at times as though she should pinch herself. It was truly a dream come true to be able to be in the presence of her mentor day after day.

“Like what you see Rookie? Let’s go.” He ushered her out the door and she nodded in agreement while biting her lip, wondering just where the rest of this day and this trip would lead them.

Dr. Ramsey and Maggie were able to spend some time both together and apart in the vendor area of the exhibit hall. The bright white lights pierced Maggie’s eyes and started to give her a headache. She went from booth to booth listening to people as they peddled their latest technology to either aid in surgeries, help make diagnoses or, some would claim, cure the rarest sicknesses. Maggie was surprised at the wide range of options being offered and just how far these companies and salespeople would go to try and get her, a lowly intern, to agree to use their product. She was actually glad that she didn’t have the power or authority to tie Edenbrook to some of these companies. It was overwhelming to say the least.

Maggie found Dr. Ramsey waiting for her at their predetermined location. They split up for a little bit to “make the rounds” and decided to meet back up after about 45 minutes out on the floor. She was desperately trying to keep a headache at bay but must have been showing signs of fatigue on her face.

“Are you all right?” Dr. Ramsey asked, appearing genuinely concerned.

She nodded slowly and smiled, wanting to appear strong and capable at all times, but especially in front of him.

“Oh yes, just a slight headache is all. Once I get some water and a couple ibuprofen, I’ll be fine.”

“Let’s get out of here. We need you feeling better before the reception this evening.”

“Reception?” Maggie questioned.

Before she could ask more questions, she was interrupted by a strikingly beautiful blonde who approached Dr. Ramsey from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder. It didn’t take long for Maggie to realize she was watching something very intriguing unfold right before her eyes.

“Isabelle?” Dr. Ramsey’s eyes grew wide, turning around and enveloping the mystery woman in a hug.

A long hug.

A hug that lasted for what felt like five minutes.

Maggie felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Dr. Ramsey clearly knew this woman. She was beautiful and he seemed happy to see her.

“It’s been a long time.”

Isabelle, as he called her, responded in a more abrupt manner than Maggie expected. She noticed her body language and was immediately confused. Isabelle’s arms were crossed in front of her chest and she seemed less than pleased with Dr. Ramsey’s greeting.

“Yes, it has. Too long, Ethan, if you ask me.”

“How long has it been, exactly?”

Maggie assumed Dr. Ramsey was trying this hardest to be charming. He was smiling not only with his mouth but with his eyes. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though his eyes were also travelling the length of Isabelle’s body as they exchanged words.

“I believe it was last year’s conference. Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

Isabelle purred like a luxurious cat, still looking a bit stand-offish, but clearly remembering or feeling something for Maggie’s beloved mentor.

“Oh, I remember…things just get busy and life takes over once we’re off conference time, you know.”

“I had heard a lot about you before…that night…” Isabelle leaned in, closer to him, the last few words barely above a whisper.

Maggie was feeling more than awkward in this moment. She was torn between wanting to distract herself and also wanting to hear every bit of this exchange. This was juicy information and she needed to know who the heck this woman was and what history she had with Dr. Ramsey.

After letting out a loud and uncomfortable laugh, Ethan focused again on Isabelle and took her hand in his.

“I suppose I should be flattered. Usually at these things people either hate me or want something from me.”

“Well I was definitely one of the many women who wanted something from you. And there are plenty more who would want something from you too...”

At this point, Maggie noticed Isabelle’s eyes wandering to where she was standing. The two women made eye contact while Maggie shifted uncontrollably.

Dr. Ramsey came to her rescue, swooping in beside Maggie and introducing her.

“Ah yes, Dr. Isabelle Crane, this is Dr. Maggie Valentine. Edenbrook’s finest intern, ranked number one currently. She’s accompanied me to the symposium this year.”

“And I do mean finest…” He whispered quickly and breathlessly into Maggie’s ear as she reached forward to extend her hand to Isabelle.

She wanted to do a double take; her mind not completely sure she had heard Dr. Ramsey correctly. Instead she focused on the woman in front of her, hoping this exchange would end quickly.

Isabelle looked Maggie up and down then licked her lips and smiled deviously. Her eyes flicked from the doctor back to the intern. Maggie could almost see the wheels turning in this Isabelle woman’s head �� she didn’t mind where she thought it was going but found it to be a little unprofessional.

“Well,” Isabelle cleared he throat, again her eyes playing ping pong between the two doctors. “Let me offer you this word of advice, number one intern...”

Maggie swallowed hard, her eyes locking with Isabelle’s. She was suddenly very afraid of what Isabelle was going to say next.

“Take great care to not let this one get away. It’s been my experience that once he’s out of sight, you’re out of mind.”

Isabelle was terse and made it beyond clear that she was unhappy with Dr. Ramsey’s behavior. Maggie wasn’t sure she wanted to know exactly what went on between the two of them, but she was astute enough to get the gist. She watched, keeping her composure, as Isabelle spun on her heel and quickly exited.

Wanting to break the ice and let her mentor know she wasn’t the least bit phased by anything, Maggie was the first to speak.

“I think I’ll go get that ibuprofen now.”

Dr. Ramsey was scratching the back of his neck, his head hung low. He looked up at her with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah. Good idea.”

By the time Dr. Ramsey returned to the room, Maggie was in the shower. She had laid out her dress for the evening, hoping it was right for the occasion. The last thing she wanted was to be too dressed up or not dressed up enough. She was well aware of who she was with and she did not want to disappoint him in any way.

It wasn’t long before she heard Dr. Ramsey’s voice call out over the noise of the water. She knew he was back in the room when she heard the loud hotel door slam close. Thankfully there was no way he could enter the bathroom, as she had thought ahead and locked it. She already had her fill of awkward encounters for the day.

“Maggie?”

She swallowed hard, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. She could feel her neck and chest flush a little bit upon the realization that the only thing between her naked body and Dr. Ethan Ramsey was a flimsy hotel wall. And what’s more, he knew it too, and still chose to engage with her. Trying her best not to come across too hopeful or excited, she casually responded.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry for all that back there…I know you may…uh…have some questions but she’s…”

Maggie cut him off, not wanting or needing an explanation.

“It’s fine, Dr. Ramsey. Really!”

She began to wash her hair, biting her lip and closing her eyes wondering where this conversation would go next.

“I know you might need the shower, so I’ll be fast. I’m just finishing up!” She lied.

“Oh, um, okay. No rush.”

Maggie noticed his voice had gotten lower and a little more raspy with that response. Could it be possible that he was thinking the same thing she was? There was no way he wasn’t thinking about her being in the shower as he spoke with her WHILE SHE WAS IN THE SHOWER.

“How’s your head?” He asked plainly.

Maggie had now put her head under the water to rinse. “Oh, it’s much better, thank you.”

“Is this – this dress here on the bed, is this what you’re wearing tonight?”

She cursed herself, unsure of his tone.

“I brought a lot of options. I wasn’t sure how fancy this was, and I can do something different if it’s not that kind of reception.”

She was finished with her shower now and had turned off the water, wrapping a towel around herself quickly. Her heart was beating fast indicating she was nervous, but her mind was fixed on him and she also felt daring. She wondered if it was possible to be both at the same time.

“It’s sufficient.” Dr. Ramsey responded in typical fashion.

With her hair dripping wet, she decided to go for it. He wasn’t stupid and neither was she. If anything, she could play it off like an honest mistake. But she wanted him. And she wanted him to know she wanted him. Coming out of the bathroom in just a towel would definitely send that message.

She opened the door and wasn’t prepared for him to be right there, but he was. Literally a few inches from her. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of his lips. She wished she had looked at his eyes instead, because she wanted to watch them and see where they travelled. Did he look her over like he had Isabelle?

Dr. Ramsey suddenly cleared his throat loudly.

“Rookie…” he almost whispered, finally locking his gaze onto hers.

“Only sufficient?” Maggie pouted.

She could feel a bead of water running from the end of her hair down her chest between her breasts and she held her composure perfectly as she watched her favorite teacher’s eyes follow the path of the drop.

“More than sufficient.”

And with that he stepped into the bathroom, leaving Maggie to finish getting ready.

The reception was everything Maggie dreamed it would be. She got to wear her fancy dress and drink champagne all with Dr. Ethan Ramsey on her arm. If she had the chance to go back to high-school-Maggie and tell herself that this would be her life, high-school-Maggie never in a million years would have believed her.

She was trying to take mental inventory of everything. Not just the amazing food and ambiance, but the way Dr. Ramsey looked in a tux, the way he had given his approval with a curt nod as she spun around for him in their hotel room, asking him if she “looked okay.” Maggie didn’t want this night to ever end.

The reception had been held by the pool at the resort and eventually, they had to shut it down. Maggie had convinced Dr. Ramsey to stay until the bitter end, even though she had her shoes off and could barely keep her eyes open, when the music stopped and people started picking up, she knew it was time to go.

The bartender was packing up and called out to the couple as they passed by.

“You all want this?” He held out a bottle of champagne.

“It’s already been paid for.”

“Of course it has.” Dr. Ramsey responded as Maggie reached out to grab the bottle.

“And of course we do!” She giggled a little, taking the bottle and wiggling her eyebrows.

Dr. Ramsey couldn’t even stifle a smile this time. Maggie thought that perhaps, despite himself, he had a good night with her and for a few moments, maybe he actually enjoyed himself.

Once the couple exited the elevators on the floor of their room, they walked down the long hallway to the very end where their suite was waiting. Occasionally Maggie’s hand would brush with Dr. Ramsey’s as he held the champagne bottle by his side. She could tell something had changed. There was a new electricity between them now. She hoped it wasn’t just the buzz from the multiple glasses of Prosecco she consumed.

“Maggie…” he trailed off just as they reached their room.

“I had a nice time tonight.”

She couldn’t find her voice as she was lost in his incredibly bright blue eyes. They were always piercing but, in this moment, they looked a more intense shade of blue than she had ever seen or noticed before. He stood there, watching her, and she waited for her own brain and mouth to connect in order to respond but nothing came out. She was only able to smile and nod.

The familiar heat spread again on her cheeks, her neck and chest. He opened the door slowly and went to gather more champagne flutes from the table outside on the balcony.

“It’s a beautiful evening and it’s not over yet. Let’s drink out here!” He called to her.

Maggie felt like she was floating. She took a deep breath, dropped her shoes on the floor, and followed him outside. The view was breathtaking, both him and the oceanside. He brought her a flute, held up his glass and looked at her as he spoke.

“A toast. To you. The marvelous Dr. Maggie Valentine. Cheers to surviving your first medical symposium and a day with me. You truly are the finest intern Edenbrook has ever…” he paused adding dramatic effect, “…ever had.”

“Dr. Ramsey – I don’t know what to say, I…” Maggie felt like crying she was so proud of herself and so glad he felt that way about her, but he cut her off.

“Ethan.”

She nodded, taking a drink.

“Please, call me Ethan.”

Ethan exhaled quickly, took a drink of champagne and then began to speak again. Maggie couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as though his voice was a little shaky as he started.

“I owe you an apology. I’ve been short and more cranky than normal as of late.” He moved to the railing, holding his glass with both hands and leaning over it.

Maggie almost interjected but decided against it. She wanted to see where this was going and what he would say next.

“This trip has been very difficult for me. And I don’t like to admit when I find things challenging or tough. I thought I could handle this. I thought it would be different. I’ve just never…”

“…felt like this before?” Maggie blurted it out without thinking. Her eyes grew wide, she covered her mouth with her free hand and spilled a little champagne in the process.

Ethan’s head turned slowly to face her. His smile turned into his trademark smirk and Maggie was done for.

“That’s it exactly, Maggie. I’ve tried. So hard…but this trip -- being together so much just us, one on one, and seeing you like this and being with you tonight, everything has just made it impossible.”

And there it was. Just like that he called her Maggie. She was now on a first name basis with Dr. – no – Ethan. Strangely, she was calm. Her pulse was normal, she was concentrating on him and him alone.

He quickly finished what remained in his glass and set it on the table, taking her free hand in his.

“I could say all of that, too.” She gulped.

Remembering she also had champagne, she took a sip and shivered as he ran his thumb lazily across her knuckles. The words continued to come out of her mouth before she could even think.

“I can’t even believe that right now, I’m me and you’re you and we’re standing here on this balcony looking at the ocean, all dressed up, together. Like actually together. And you’re holding my hand and I just…I’ve wanted this…with you…”

Ethan nodded and without saying a word, took her face in his hands and whispered, “And I want you.”

Maggie didn’t know what was happening anymore. She wasn’t sure if she moved in for the kiss or if he was going to do it anyway, but it didn’t matter. She was now officially in the arms of Dr. Ethan freaking Ramsey and she was going to enjoy it.

After a few moments the passion was intensifying between them both and Maggie took a quick step back, holding Ethan at arm’s length.

“What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

“Not a thing.” She smiled, holding his gaze and looking at him fondly.

“I want to remember this. There’s not one second of this moment I want to ever forget.”

Ethan smiled and then moved closer to her, nuzzling her neck just below her ear and moving her towards the bed, where the two of them tangled themselves together for hours, enjoying their evening and each other long into the night.

#blazerina babbles #blazerina x parkerattano team up #ethically questionable #eq au #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #mc x ethan #tumblr will HATE me #open heart #open heart au

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unsettlingshortstories · 3 years ago

Text

The City

Ray Bradbury (1950)

The city waited twenty thousand years.

The planet moved through space and the flowers of the fields grew up and fell away, and still the city waited; and the rivers of the planet rose and waned and turned to dust. Still the city waited. The winds that had been young and wild grew old and serene, and the clouds of the sky that had been ripped and torn were left alone to drift in idle whitenesses. Still the city waited.

The city waited with its windows and its black obsidian walls and its sky towers and its unpennanted turrets, with its untrod streets and its untouched doorknobs, with not a scrap of paper or a fingerprint upon it. The city waited while the planet arced in space, following its orbit about a blue-white sun, and the seasons passed from ice to fire and back to ice and then to green fields and yellow summer meadows.

It was on a summer afternoon in the middle of the twenty thousandth year that the city ceased waiting.

In the sky a rocket appeared.

The rocket soared over, turned, came back, and landed in the shale meadow fifty yards from the obsidian wall.

There were booted footsteps in the thin grass and calling voices from men within the rocket to men without.

"Ready?"

"All right, men. Careful! Into the city. Jensen, you and Hutchinson patrol ahead. Keep a sharp eye."

The city opened secret nostrils in its black walls and a steady suction vent deep in the body of the city drew storms of air back through channels, through thistle filters and dust collectors, to a fine and tremblingly delicate series of coils and webs which glowed with silver light. Again and again the immense suctions occurred; again and again the odors from the meadow were borne upon warm winds into the city.

"Fire odor, the scent of a fallen meteor, hot metal. A ship has come from another world. The brass smell, the fusty fire smell of burned powder, sulphur, and rocket brimstone."

This information, stamped on tapes which sprocketed into slots, slid down through yellow cogs into further machines.

Click-chakk-chakk-chakk.

A calculator made the sound of a metronome. Five, sic, seven, eight, nine. Nine men! An instantaneous typewriter inked this message on tape which slithered and vanished.

Clickety-click-chakk-chakk.

The city awaited the soft tread of their rubberoid boots.

The great city nostrils dilated again.

The smell of butter. In the city air, from the stalking men, faintly, the aura which wafted to the great Nose broke down into memories of milk, cheese, ice cream, butter, the effluvium of a dairy economy.

Click-click.

"Careful, men!"

"Jones, get your gun out. Don't be a fool!"

"The city's dead, why worry?"

"You can't tell."

Now, at the barking talk, the Ears awoke. After centuries of listening to winds that blew small and faint, of hearing leaves strip from trees and grass grow softly in the time of melting snows, now the Ears oiled themselves in a self-lubrication, drew taut, great drums upon which the heartbeat of the invaders might pummel and thud delicately as the tremor of a gnat's wing. The Ears listened and the Nose siphoned up great chambers of odor.

The perspiration of frightened men arose. There were islands of sweat under their arms, and sweat in theirs hands at they held guns.

The Nose sifted and worried this air, like a connoisseur busy with an ancient vintage.

Chikk-chikk-chakk-click.

Information rotated down on parallel check tapes. Perspiration; chlorides such and such per cent; sulphates so-and-so' urea nitrogen, ammonia nitrogen, thus: creatinine, sugar, lactic acid, there!

Bells rang. Small totals jumped up.

The Nose whispered, expelling the tested air. The great Ears listened:

"I think we should go back to the rocket, Captain."

"I give the orders, Mr.Smith!"

"Yes, sir."

"You up there! Patrol! See anything?"

"Nothing, sir. Looks like it's been dead long time!"

"You see, Smith? Nothing to fear."

"I don't like it. I don't know why. You ever feel you've seen a place before? Well, this city's too familiar."

"Nonsense. This planetary system's billions of miles from Earth: we couldn't possibly've been here ever before. Ours is the only light-year rocket in existence."

"That's how I feel, anyway, sir. I think we should get out." The footsteps faltered. There was only the sound of the intruder's breath on the still air.

The Ear heard and quickened. Rotors glided, liquids glittered in small creeks through valves and blowers. A formula and concoction-one followed another. Moments later, responding to the summons of the Ear and Nose, through giant holes in the city walls a fresh vapor blew out over the invaders.

"Smell that, Smith? Ahh. Green grass. Ever smell anything better? By God, I just like to stand here and smell it."

Invisible chlorophyll blew among the standing men.

"Ahh!"

The footsteps continued.

"Nothing wrong with that, eh, Smith? Come on!"

The Ear and Nose relaxed a billionth of a fraction. The countermove had succeeded. The pawns were proceeding forward.

Now the cloudy Eyes of the city moved out of fog and mist.

"Captain, the windows!"

"What?"

"Those house windows, there! I saw them move!"

"I didn't see it."

"They shifted. They changed color. From dark to light."

"Look like ordinary square windows to me."

Blurred objects focused. In the mechanical ravines of the city oiled shafts plunged, balance wheels dipped over into green oil pools. The window frames flexed. The windows gleamed.

Below, in the street, walked two men, a patrol, followed, at a safe interval, by seven more. Their uniforms were white, their faces as pink as if they had been slapped; their eyes were blue. They walked upright, upon hind legs, carrying metal weapons. Their feet were booted. They were males, with eyes, ears, mouths, noses.

The windows trembled. The windows thinned. They dilated imperceptibly, like the irises of numberless eyes.

"I tell you, Captain, it's the windows!"

"Get along."

"I'm going back, sir."

"What?"

"I'm going back to the rocket."

"Mr. Smith!"

"I'm not falling into any trap!"

"Afraid of an empty city?"

The others laughed, uneasily.

"Go on, laugh!"

The street was stone-cobbled, each stone three inches wide, six inches long. With a move unrecognizable as such, the street settled. It weighed the invaders.

In a machine cellar a red wand touched a numeral: 178 pounds . . . 210, 154, 201, 198,- each man weighed, registered and the record spooled down into a correlative darkness.

Now the city was fully awake!

Now the vents sucked and blew air, the tobacco odor from the invaders' mouths, the green soap scent from their hands. Even their eyeballs had a delicate odor. The city detected it, and this information formed totals which scurried down to total other totals. The crystal windows glittered, the Ear tautened and skinned the drum of its hearing tight, tighter- all of the senses of the city swarming like a fall of unseen snow, counting the respiration and the dim hidden heartbeats of the men, listening, watching, tasting.

For the streets were like tongues, and where the men passed, the taste of their heels ebbed down through stone pores to be calculated on litmus. This chemical totality, so subtly collected, was appended to the new increasing sums waiting the final calculation among the whirling wheels and whispering spokes.

Footsteps. Running.

"Come back! Smith!"

"No, blast you!"

"Get him, men!"

Footsteps rushing.

A final test. The city, having listened, watched, tasted, felt, weighed, and balanced, must perform a final task.

A trap flung wide in the street. The captain, unseen to the others, running, vanished.

Hung by his feet, a razor drawn across his throat, another down his chest, his carcass instantly emptied of its entrails, exposed upon a table under the street, in a hidden cell, the captain died. Great crystal microscopes stared at the red twines of muscle; bodiless fingers probed the still pulsing heart. The flaps of his sliced skin were pinned to the table while hands shifted parts of his body like a quick and curious player of chess, using the rad pawns and the red pieces.

Above on the street the men ran. Smith ran, men shouted. Smith shouted, and below in this curious room blood flowed into capsules, was shaken, spun, shoved on smear slides under further microscopes, counts made, temperatures taken, heart cut in seventeen sections, liver and kidneys expertly halved. Brain was drilled and scooped from bone socket, nerves pulled forth like the dead wires of a switchboard, muscles plucked for elasticity, while in the electric subterrene of the city the Mind at last totaled out its grandest total and all of the machinery ground to a monstrous and momentary halt.

The total.

These are men. These are men from a far world, a certain planet, and they have certain eyes, certain ears, and they walk upon legs in a specified way and carry weapons and think and fight, and they have particular hearts and all such organs as are recorded from long ago.

Above, men ran down the street toward the rocket.

Smith ran.

The total.

These are our enemies. These are the ones we have waited for twenty thousand years to see again. These are the men upon whom we waited to visit revenge. Everything totals. These are the men of a planet called Earth, who declared war upon Taollan twenty thousand years ago, who kept us in slavery and ruined us and destroyed us with a great disease. Then they went off to live in another galaxy to escape and that disease which they visited upon us after ransacking our world. They have forgotten that war and that time, and they have forgotten us. But we have not forgotten them. These are our enemies. This is certain. Our waiting is done.

"Smith, come back!"

Quickly. Upon the red table, with the spread-eagled captain's body empty, new hands began a fight of motion. Into the wet interior were placed organs of copper, brass, silver, aluminum, rubber and silk; spiders spun gold web which was stung into the skin; a heart was attached, and into the skull case was a fitted platinum brain which hummed and fluttered small sparkles of blue fire, and the wires led down through the body to the arms and legs. In a moment the body was sewn tight, the incisions waxed, healed at neck and throat and about the skull-perfect, fresh, new.

The captain sat up and flexed his arms.

"Stop!"

On the street the captain reappeared, raised his gun and fired. Smith fell, a bullet in his heart.

The other men turned.

The captain ran to them.

"That fool! Afraid of a city!"

They looked at the body of Smith at their feet.

They looked at their captain, and their eyes widened and narrowed.

"Listen to me," said the captain. "I have something important to tell you."

Now the city, which had weighed and tasted and smelled them, which had used all its powers save one, prepared to use its final ability, the power of speech. It did not speak with the rage and hostility of its massed walls or towers, nor with bulk of its cobbled avenues and fortresses of machinery. It spoke with the quiet voice of one man.

"I am no longer you captain," he said. "Nor am I a man."

The men moved back.

"I am the city," he said and smiled.

"I've waited two hundred centuries," he said. "I've waited for the sons of the Sons of the sons to return."

"Captain, sir!"

"Let me continue. Who built me? The city. The men who died built me. The old race who once lived here. The people whom the Earthmen left to die of a terrible disease, a form of leprosy with no cure. And the men of that old race, dreaming of the day when the Earthmen might return, built this city, and the name of this city was and is Revenge, upon the planet of Darkness, near the shore of the Sea of Centuries, by the Mountains of the Dead; all very poetic. This city was to be a balancing machine, a litmus, an antenna to test all future space travelers. In twenty thousand years only two other rockets landed here. One from a distant galaxy called Ennt, and the inhabitants of that craft are tasted, weighed, found wanting, and let free, unscathed, from the city. As were the visitors of the second ship. But today! At long last, you've come! The revenge will be carried out to the last detail. Those men have been dead two hundred centuries, but they left a city here to welcome you."

"Captain, sir, you're not feeling well. Perhaps you'd better come back to the ship, sir."

The city trembled.

The pavements opened and the men fell, screaming. Falling, they saw bright razors flash to meet them!

Time passed. Soon came the call:

"Smith?"

"Here!"

"Jensen?"

"Here!"

"Jones, Hutchinson, Springer?"

"Here, here, here!"

They stood by the door of the rocket.

"We return to Earth immediately."

"Yes, sir!"

The incisions on their necks were invisible, as were their hidden brass hearts and silver organs and the fine golden wire of their nerves. There was a faint elector hum for their heads.

"On the double!"

Nine men hurried the golden bombs of disease culture into the rocket.

"These are to be dropped on Earth."

"Right, sir!"

The rocket valve slammed. The rocket jumped into the sky. As the thunder faded, the city lay upon the summer meadow.

Its glass eyes were dulled over. The Ears relaxed, the great Nostril vents topped, the streets no longer weighed or balanced, and the hidden machinery paused in its bath of oil.

In the sky the rocket dwindled.

Slowly, pleasurably, the city enjoyed the luxury of dying.

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vintagesimstress · 5 years ago

Text

III. Meshing a (vintage) dress

(Previous: II. Learning to mesh)

Now that you know how to get around in Blender, you can finally put your newly acquired skills into action and mesh your first dress. I just hope you did your homework and really made your donuts - otherwise you might find it very difficult to understand what's going on in this part! I'll assume that you've watched and practised it all, so I won't explain the basic yet again. I will be writing the shortkeys in brackets though – there are way too many of them to remember them all after just a couple of videos.

So, let's get it started... But where?

As usually, there's no one proper answer to this question. Generally speaking, creators' approaches to meshing can be divided into 3 categories:

Combining parts of different EA meshes into a new mesh – a.k.a. frankenmeshing.

For sure you've seen frankenmeshed CC many times, even though you might not have realised it. Let's say EA releases a new DLC which includes a top with some cool, never-seen-before sleeves. Let's say there's a dress in game which you think would look great with those new sleeves instead of the boring old ones. In such case you can simply export both meshes in S4S, open one of them in Blender and append the other one (more on it later). A bit of deleting & merging of vertices and voilà! The mesh is ready. Most of the time you don't even have to worry about uv-1 and weights (again, more on it later... LOTS on it later).

Mesh editing

That's pretty self-explanatory, isn't it? This method is what most tutorials try to teach you. Look for a piece which resembles the most what you'd like to make. Export the mesh and make the necessary adjustments. Depending on how much you edited, you might have to mess with uv-1 and weights a little bit, but usually it shouldn't be too problematic.

Making a mesh from scratch

As far as I know without having ever used Marvellous Designer, this is what MD creators do: 'sew' their mesh completely from scratch and then import it to Blender. Such a mesh doesn't carry any of the vital information – uv-maps, weights, bones, anything - so all of those have to be manually assigned to it. This, obviously, significantly increases the workload and can be very tricky to do; however, this meshing method gives you almost unlimited freedom. If you don't limit yourself to editing existing stuff, you can make pretty much ANYTHING.

As you can see, all of those methods have their pros and cons - and they're all equally valuable as long as they help you achieve your goal. The method which I like the most and which I'm going to show you lands somewhere between no. 2 and 3: I use an existing top and make it into a dress. This way I have lots of creative freedom, but also reduce the unnecessary workload (yes, in most cases meshing a top from scratch would be totally unnecessary).

Enough theory, let's go grab that top!

Open S4S. Choose the “Create 3D mesh” option under “CAS” menu and then click that “CAS” button. You will see the list of all CAS items in your game.

NOTE: If you DON'T see the list, that probably means S4S didn't manage to find your TS4 files. You have to open the 'Settings' tab and manually change the 'Sims 4 Path' and 'Sims 4 Documents'. And if you're already there, make sure your Blender path is correct as well!

As you can see, there are many categories you can choose from at the top to narrow down your search. I need a top for adult females, so that's what I'm going to select. My favourite starting point is that simple BG top – it's skin-tight (meaning: the texture is only printed on top of the body, not really meshed, which makes it perfect for any future edits) almost everywhere, except for the breast area: there it's nicely stretched, just like it should be in case of my dress. If I wanted to make a dress with a deep décolletage, like an evening or ball gown, I'd type 'nude' in the search bar and select that naked female Barbie top instead.

The swatch doesn't matter. Select any of them and then click 'next'. I chose the red one, just because I like the colour:

What you're doing now is cloning a BG item and creating a new package. Name it whatever you want and save it in some 'Tutorial' folder or so. It doesn't really matter, as soon you won't need it anymore – we're here only for the mesh.

Once you've done it, a new window will appear. This is your new package with all the information it carries. We'll delve into details later – for now, as I said, we only need the mesh. Go to the 'Meshes' tab and click the 'Export mesh' button (make sure NOT to change the level of detail by accident!). Save it in your Tutorial folder as whatever (e.g. mesh_1).

You can close S4S now – we won't need it for a loooong time. Open your newly exported Blender file instead. This is what you should see:

NOTE: It won't make any sense to you right now, but check if you see the 'S4Studio CAS Tools' on the right side! If they're not there, it means your Blender and S4S are not properly connected and you'll run into problems later. Go back to S4S settings and assign the correct Blender path!

I'd suggest you immediately change the perspective to Ortho (num 5) and hide those sidebars on the right (n) and left (t) of the main window. Better, right?

Make sure your cursor is in the main window! If the shortkeys aren't working, it's probably because the cursor is in the wrong place.

When you go into edit mode (tab), you might notice one very important detail: body parts are also parts of the mesh. If you delete them, they won't appear on your sim either. Our top includes hands and neck only – the rest of what you can see is visible only in Blender. A good way to check if your mesh isn't missing anything is clicking that little plus next to 'rig' and then 'closing' all those little eyes next to all the listed body parts. Now your model will look a bit different:

Of course, missing some of those body parts is not a problem. A dress shouldn't include head or feet – those are separate categories. We can toggle feet, both heads and teeth visible again. What we lack is a bottom, i.e. legs – but luckily, we don't have to worry about it, as they'll be hidden under the skirt anyway. I will explain how to add legs (or any other missing body parts) to the mesh at one point, but a bit later – for now let's say we don't need them.

There are two methods of meshing a skirt that I'd like to show you, and they both start with the same basic steps:

1. Just after exporting, your mesh is cut wherever its uv map was cut, which might lead to some problems. Better select all your vertices (a), press w and choose 'remove doubles' from the list. Almost 300 vertices got merged!

2. Turn on the X-ray. Make sure you're in the front view (num 1) and then select (b) all the vertices below the waistline. Press X or del and choose 'vertices'. Kaboom!

3. Select (b) the lowest remaining row of vertices.

4. Extrude those vertices down (e, z) until the point to which your dress should reach. If you're using a reference picture, that's one of those moments when you should take a close look at it.

5. Scale (s) those extruded vertices until the bottom of your dress is as wide as it should be. If you're using a picture, pay attention to the proportion of the bottom of the dress vs shoulders – that's usually the best reference point you can get. Mine should be quite a bit wider than the shoulders, so I got this:

6. Turn the camera around and check how it looks from other viewpoints. I can see that my skirt is kind of asymmetrical, and not in a good way: flat at the back, going too far to the front. Let's go to the side view (num 3) and move those vertices back a bit (g, y). Much better!

7. I still don't like that flatness at the back. Let's go to the top view (num 7) and select only the central vertex on the back. Now, do you remember what you did to get that icing on the donut? Proportional editing? That's what I'm going to use. I'll turn it on only for connected vertices (alt + o) and then move that central vertex back (g, y).

NOTE: If your whole mesh is moving when you're trying to use proportional editing, scroll your mouse wheel until you see a white circle on the screen. The smaller the circle, the smaller the area affected by your edits. By default it's very big, that's why everything is moving!

8. Once again look around and make sure the basic shape of your skirt mesh is correct. Save, e.g. as mesh_2 (ctrl + shift + s).

Did you make it till the end? Congratulations! I'm sorry it got so long and I hope you could follow everything (also, please tell me if something isn't clear, I'll try to add explanations). Of course we're not done with our meshing adventures; the skirt still needs lots of tuning, but we'll deal with it next time. Now we all deserve a good rest :).

(Next: III a. Method I: Loop, Sculpt, Cut)

#tutorial #meshing

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angry-slytherin · 5 years ago

Note

Hi!!! I wanted to see if u could write a prompt where Scout gets hurt and Jo and Alex receive him in the ER and they have to tell Amelia and Link? And maybe like the shock of Jo when she sees her nephew? Pls??

i most certainly can! this is set in the Heaven Help Me verse sometime in the distant future. i struggled with this one because it’s past ‘canon’ in my fic, but three-year-old don’t tend to get appendicitis. without further ado,

Jo places the electronic chart in its charging spot. She yawns, pumping hand sanitizer into her hands. She feels a tap on her elbow, which makes her jump. She grabs her chest, looking up at the culprit; Alex looks at her with a sorrowful expression.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Warren called me. It’s Shepherd and Lincoln’s kid.” Jo’s eyes widen.

“What? Oh my god, what happened?”

“I don’t know. I could use you- maybe. Just, come with me, please?” Jo rubs her hands together.

“Yeah,” she squeezes Alex’s shoulder, and they head towards the elevator.

Once down at the ER, they’re met by William ‘Scout’ Lincoln-Shepherd, surrounded by an ultrasound machine, an ER resident and a pediatric nurse.

The ER doctor turns to Jo and Alex.

“It’s appendicitis.” Jo feels her heart clench, but her stomach unknot. The nurse and the ER doc depart, along with the machine.

Jo goes over to the small boy, bending down and grabbing his hands as he uncoils his arms from around his abdomen.

“Hey, Scout. It’s Aunt Jo; look at me, buddy,” Jo smiles tearily at Scout.

“It hurts,” he groans.

“I know, sweetheart; but Uncle Alex is going to fix you up, okay? And I’m going to get your mommy and daddy, too.” She kisses his forehead, letting go of his hands, and stepping back. Alex reads her face.

“I’ve got him. It’s just an appy,” he looks Jo in the eyes.

Jo sniffles, “I know. Can you do it now?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got two hours until my next surgery, anyways. Hayes can handle the peds department meeting.”

“Yeah, I have a coly of my own in thirty, but I’m going to tell Amelia and Link first,” Jo rushes through her words. Alex nods, and she pages both of Scout’s parents.

Jo makes her way up to the OR floor, meeting Link outside OR 2.

“Jo, 911? What happened?”

“It’s Scout,” she leans against the doorframe, “he came into the ER with appendicitis. The babysitter called 911 and Ben Warren called Alex. He’s bringing him up now.” Link’s face pales as she speaks, and he tries to run out of the scrub room.

Jo slams her hand against the doorframe, putting herself in between Link and the hallway.

“Alex has got Scout. Mrs. Gonzales needs you,” she gives him a soft expression. Link sighs, hanging his head.

“Have an intern page me with updates?”

“Yeah.” Jo can’t resist giving Link a quick hug, before leaving him to scrub, and her to find Amelia.

Jo makes her way toward her own OR, finding Amelia walking out of that particular scrub room.

“Oh my god! I forgot you paged me. What’s up?” Amelia wrings our her hands above the sink. Jo falters.

“Scout- he has appendicitis. Alex is performing his appy now, probably as we speak.” Amelia, however, does make it past Jo.

“Where?”

“Family can’t watch surgery. You should watch Link’s surgery, or come watch mine! But his is cooler,” Jo says excitedly.

“Jo, please,” Amelia begs, tears filling her eyes.

“No, I can’t. I love you, and I love him. I have my own patient. Go be in the waiting room or something, please,” Jo pleads with the blue-eyed woman. Amelia nods, so Jo takes that as her cue to make her way to her own surgery.

***

Jo practically collapses next to Link in the waiting room. He and Amelia are gripping each other’s hands, Link’s wedding band making a mark on Amelia’s skin.

They’re both silent, something highly uncharacteristic for the pair, and Jo takes a moment to rest her eyes. Who knew a colectomy could have so many complications? Jo is just glad her patient is healthy and on their way to recovery.

Then it occurs to her that Alex should be here. Actually, should’ve been here long ago. So she places a hand on top of Link’s.

“I’ll go find Alex,” she whispers. Jo asks a nurse at the desk if they’ve seen him.

“I saw him in the on-call on four room twenty minutes ago. Out like a light,” the nurse informs her.

“Thank you so much!” Jo rushes off to the fourth floor on-call room, and finds Alex being the sole person in there. She slaps a pillow onto his torso.

“Wake up, you idiot!” She angrily demands.

“Oh crap,” Alex jumps up, “oh crap!”

“Yeah, ‘oh crap’, what is wrong with you?”

“My intern; the one with the red hair, he never updated them?”

“No! Ugh!” She slaps Alex’s chest.

“He’s fine, by the way.”

“I knew that. Now go tell his loving parents! I’m going to kill your intern. Seriously.”

#amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #jo wilson #jo karev #alex karev #amelink #jolex #original child character #au fanfic #ask response

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hibiscus-tome · 4 years ago

Text

in case of trouble

(also posted here on ao3)

Pidge recognizes the Garrison official who processes her paperwork. She's never met him before, but Matt's talked about him enough that she can pick out the brown hair, darker brown skin, glasses, and stuffily put-together officer's uniform. He'd been friends with her brother, once, alongside Takashi Shirogane and one other cadet that she's never met and whose name she doesn't know — and then they stopped being friends, for whatever reason, or at least Matt had stopped talking about him — but it's simultaneously comforting and terrifying, all the same, to be so close in proximity to someone familiar.

The name tag pinned to his uniform reads "Adam W." There's a pinch to his brow as he scans her forged contact information and falsified transcripts and medical records. "So," he says, "Pidge Gunderson."

His eyes drift down to her, narrowed with something that could be either suspicion or mild annoyance. She watches as he takes in the pilfered glasses, the too-short brown hair — but there is no anger, no accusations. "That's me," she says, pushing her luck just a little. His eyes narrow into something almost like a glare. "... uh, sir," she quickly appends.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Sweat starts to collect in her palms, but she doesn't let it show — not when he has the power to end this right here.

—and he breaks first. Adam sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and says, wearily, "Fine. Do what you have to."

He turns, sharply, to the student in line behind her, and Pidge takes that as her cue to run. She'll be lucky if she never sees him again, after this — but somehow, she can't shake the feeling that that won't be the case.

Miraculously, she makes it through the first week of class without any other hiccups. Then the second, and the third.

She's always had an idea of how laughable the Garrison's defenses are, but it's never been more apparent in how easily she blends in with the rest of the student body. It hardly takes any effort at all. Her roommate, thankfully, leaves her alone beyond his attempts at smalltalk every so often. Bathrooms are a non-issue when she's able to grant herself access to the single-stall bathrooms set aside purely for Garrison faculty (thanks Dad).

A month in, she goes to the rooftop for the first time. It's after lights out, so it would be disastrous if she were to be caught — but she's been preparing for months to be here. She'll do what she came here to do, or die trying.

So she sets up her radio, fastens the headset around her ears, and waits. This is the boring part, albeit the most important — but perhaps it's not the best idea to tune everything else out, when her position here is already so precarious.

—because the next thing she knows, Adam's there on the rooftop with her, glaring down at her. It's only the knowledge that he was once friends with her brother, that makes it possible to not make it obvious just how screwed she is.

"When I told you to do what you had to," he seethes, "I meant within the laws of the Garrison."

She doesn't know much about this guy. She didn't even know his name before coming to the Garrison. And yet, she can remember Matt telling her about one friend in particular, not Takashi Shirogane, who liked things done a certain way, was a little bit of a stick in the mud — and so, she feels no guilt whatsoever when she retorts, "Your friends disappear and the Garrison decides to cover their asses by calling it 'pilot error,' and you're worried about following their rules?"

Something fractures in his expression, then — and it's hard not to feel guilty when it becomes evident that that was a low blow. "Look," says Pidge, sighing harshly. "If you're not here to help me, then stay out of my way. That's all I'm asking."

He looks at her for a long moment, and then slowly sinks to the floor next to her. "Hey, military security's no joke," he says. "At least try to take it a little more seriously? For my blood pressure, if nothing else."

At that, she can't help but smile. "I make no such promises."

He smiles back, gently. It's so unexpectedly nice that all of a sudden, she can see just why Matt had been friends with this person. He might be a stick in the mud, intent on doing things a certain way, but he'll stand by you when it counts — that he still hasn't told a soul about who she is and why she's really here, when it's obvious that he knows the truth, is more than enough evidence of that.

"Well, you already know who I am," says Adam, "and I know who you are... but we never really had a proper introduction, did we?"

She shrugs. "I only met Shiro," she says. "Heard a lot about you, though."

He nods. "Matt talked a lot about you, too," he says.

"All good things, I hope."

"Mm... mostly good things."

"Ass."

"Brat."

Against all reason, this is enough to send them both into a fit of giggles. She can't remember the last time she's laughed like this — before Matt and Dad disappeared, for sure. Maybe before they left for Kerberos, even. (Maybe Adam hasn't laughed like this since back then, either.)

It's strange, to share this moment with someone she only met a few weeks ago — and yet, it feels like she's known Adam for a long, long time.

Adam doesn't meet her on the rooftop every time she goes. He's too busy for that — even if full-time Garrison officers don't have rigidly structured schedules like the cadets, there's more they need to get done before their work is truly over.

Sometimes, he's already there when she goes up there. It's hard to tell if he's waiting for her up there, or if he likes going there all on his own — but he never protests when she joins him, and for that, she's grateful.

He'll never agree to listen with her, even when she offers him her headset every time. "Aren't you at least a little curious?" she asks him one day.

He shrugs. "What would be the point? So, you discover that the Garrison really did try to cover something up. That doesn't mean it's going to bring them all back."

She knows that, damn it, but he doesn't have to rub it in. "It's wrong."

"It is," he concedes, "but I'm much more interested in taking care of the people still here, than chasing after ghosts."

... Matt had stopped talking about Adam, at some point. Maybe this is where their falling out happened. "They're not ghosts," she says.

"You don't know that."

"You don't know that, either!"

"We know nothing." His voice is a low whisper. Somehow, that's worse than if he'd yelled at her instead. "You're looking for aliens in radio frequencies, that idiot's chasing mirages in the middle of the desert, and the Garrison still won't—" He cuts off there, his voice cracking as he slaps a hand over his mouth.

Something frighteningly unsteady gleams in his eyes, and... oh. She's screwed this up. "Hey, listen—"

He pushes his hands up under his glasses, and he buries his face in them. "We know nothing," he says again, plaintively, "because someone decided that it was more important to keep the truth a secret than to consider the people left behind by... by pilot error. And I know it's pointless to just wait here, endlessly, and hope that they'll say something, but—what am I supposed to do?"

"Adam—"

"I just," he says, his voice shaking. "You're fighting back. It's what Takashi deserves, but I—I can't."

She has to say something — but every time she tries to think of something, the words evaporate before they can fully materialize into coherent sentences. Adam's shoulders are shaking, and she reaches out towards him — but before she can touch him, think to say something, literally anything else, he bolts to his feet and leaves the rooftop.

The facts are these:

1. Matt had three people he considered close friends, at the Garrison: Shiro, Adam, and a third person that Pidge has never met and whose name she still doesn't know.

2. Two of them, in that friend group, are missing. Adam is here, at the Garrison. Pidge hasn't seen the third guy here, as far as she knows.

3. There was a falling out at one point, which probably explains why Adam hadn't been there at the launch.

4. It couldn't have been that bad, though — Matt had never said anything bad about him, after all.

5. Adam's still here, working at the Garrison — surrounded by people who call it pilot error and mission failure.

6. Part of working here means that he has to grin and bear it, when they do that — pretend it doesn't affect him when they talk like that about his friends.

She's an asshole. A grade-A asshole. It wasn't fair of her, to think that she was the only one who truly cared about the truth behind what had happened to the Kerberos crew. It had clearly affected Adam too, to a degree that he's never been allowed to express.

(One thing her mother had reminded her over and over, since Matt and Dad first went missing, is that you don't get to tell other people how to grieve.)

It's laughably easy to find his address, even when it's not publicly listed in the Garrison's internal directory. It takes her half a day to reprogram a vintage vacuum cleaner robot to sync with his phone and play audio, and she hopes the "sorry I tried to make you feel bad about the way you're grieving for your missing friends" present is enough when she goes to visit him the next weekend.

He lives in an apartment complex less than a mile away — privately owned, which probably means that the Garrison isn't helping him out at all with rent. There are two meticulously cared for house plants framing the front door; there isn't the slightest bit of dust on the door, but there's an intense, spicy aroma coming from inside the apartment.

He answers half a minute after she rings the doorbell, looking just as stuffily put together in street clothes as he would have in his officer's uniform. He doesn't glare at her, when his eyes land on her — instead, his expression is oddly soft. "I should've known you'd find your way here one way or the other," he says. "Come in. Shoes off, please."

She toes her shoes off and kicks them off the welcome mat, before stepping into the apartment. Whatever he's cooking, it smells good — even though the smell will probably linger in the apartment for a good while longer, once he's done. "Sorry, for the mess," he says, but the worst she can see is maybe one pillow tilted askew on the couch and one jacket resting on the back of a dining chair.

"Uh... this is for you," she says, holding up the bag with the vacuum robot. "Can I...?"

He glances over briefly, before heading into the kitchen. "Yeah, just leave it over there by the couch," he says. "Sorry, can't talk for very long. I need to be somewhere soon. Can I get you anything? Water? Food?"

But he looks busy enough, hustling away in the kitchen. "Nah, I'm good," she answers. For the time being, she settles into one of the stools by the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. There's two framed photographs resting there: the first is of Adam, Matt, Shiro, and the fourth person in their friend group — a boy with a mop of dark hair and sharp, indigo eyes. The four of the are lined up together, arms slung around each other's shoulders and all of them smiling happily to the camera. Matt, in particular, looks like he's laughing.

The second is of just Adam and Shiro — the both of them pressed close to one another, arms slung around each other's shoulders. There's something different about this picture, though, not like the one with all four together — something else that compels Adam to stand that close to Shiro, hold onto him that much more tightly.

... oh. Now it makes sense, why he'd fixated on Shiro specifically, that night on the rooftop. Now it makes sense, why there might have been a time when he distanced himself from the rest of the group.

"Um, so..." says Pidge, slowly. "Got any plans?" It's a dumb question, because he just said that he has somewhere he needs to be.

"Yeah," he answers, somewhat distractedly. "Meeting a friend in a bit." At that point, he switches off the stove, and starts pulling a series of plastic containers from one of the cabinets.

"That's a lot of food for one picnic," she says.

Adam chuckles. "It's not just one picnic," he says. "He... has a bit of a one-track mind. Like you. He's not the best at taking care of himself, so all he eats is canned, instant crap. Figured he should have at least something homemade to tide him over."

... oh. The fourth guy in their friend group. The so-called idiot chasing mirages in the desert. "Do you visit him often?" Pidge asks.

"Uh..." says Adam, rubbing the back of his neck as he leans back against the countertop next to the stove. "Whenever I can. Definitely not as much as I probably should."

An awkward silence settles between them — and Pidge is terrible at this sort of thing. She came here to apologize, but the words are stuck in her throat, and she has no idea how to start.

(Matt was always better at this sort of thing.)

"Listen..." says Adam. "I'm... really sorry, about the other night. I shouldn't have lost it like that, at you."

"No, that's..." says Pidge, awkwardly. "That's totally fine. It's just... this whole situation just sucks."

He sighs, wearily. "Yeah... agreed."

"But, uh..." Pidge stares resolutely down — at her fingertips, her broken and relentlessly chewed nails. "I... should apologize, too. It was kind of shitty of me, to put all of that on you."

"No, keep putting it on me," says Adam. "Ah... if you want to, that is. That's what I'm here for."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to. They were your friends, too." And if she's right about Shiro, then more than friends in at least one case.

His expression crumples. "... yeah. They were."

... it's not fair. Matt, Dad, and Shiro deserve better than to be remembered for a fabricated failure in a shoddy Garrison cover-up. Her family deserves better than the cheap platitudes the Garrison gave her mom, just hours before the news broke. Adam deserves better than to have to go back there every day, living that same lie.

—but they move forward anyway. Adam turns back towards the stove, and begins ladling one of the pots' contents into a container. "Oh..." says Pidge, sliding off the stool and making her way into the kitchen. "Let me help."

He seals the container, and hands it to her. It's warm and it smells amazing — from what she can see, it looks like some kind of stew. "Can you put these in one of those bags over there?" he asks, jerking his thumb towards a small pile of reusable grocery bags by the pantry. She nods, and sets the container down on the nearest countertop before bringing the bags over. "I'm sorry. If I knew you were coming, I would've made more."

She smiles, and bags the container. "Next time, then."

Adam smiles — and after months, something in her finally settles. "Yeah. Next time."

#voltron #pidge holt #katie holt #adam (voltron)#fic

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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

Text

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 61 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 61 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Aboard the Longin, men and women broke out every boat that could be put under oars and began the long task of dragging their ship out of the calm fog. It took over two hours to get the Longin to a breeze. They paused only long enough to reload the boats before they set every scrap of sail that could be set and began to hunt south for the Dorton, that was sailing near to them. Together the two ships sailed north, searching into the Dragon Sea for the Grandalor.

They ran two days north before turning in a wide search sweep of the same sort that they would have used to locate a lost fishing boat. They saw nothing but an occasional soaring Wide Wing.

When Mord slept at all, he dreamed — — Hag taken by the poisonous tentacles of nightmares that would not stop. The blood of the fight had stained his hands and would not come off. Barad, ripped open by a strong Skin’s fin spine was screaming in agony until the huge fish bit him in half. The Grandalor attackers rowing away in the fog when a Wing Ray, so large that it darkened the sky as it leaped, pancaked down on them reducing the boats to bits of floating wreckage — but they’d taken Kurin with them …

Bleary eyed from his Hag poisoned dreams, Captain Mord said heavily to his mother, the Longin’s Purser, “I hate to admit it, Alor, but we need to go find help for this search. We can’t do it with only two ships. Already we have lost days.”

“If we can, Mord,” Alor replied thoughtfully, “we need to get the Dark Dragon and the Soaring Bird. Both of them are experienced in tracking ships.”

In a far different tone she went on, “I am worried, son. I need to talk to you as a mother. There have been some rumors about that boarding. Did you really silence the fog drum when you knew that they were from the Grandalor?”

Angry, full of self justification, he answered, “What difference does it make, Mother? Yes, I did. They were from the Grandalor! We don’t allow them onto our ship! We never have.”

Alor looked sadly at her son, of whom she’d been so proud for so long. “What happened to the first one to set foot on our deck?”

“I repulsed her, Mother!” he said defensively. “What difference does it make? Stop looking at me that way! … All right! I stabbed her with my knife!” He looked puzzled, thinking back to the fight, “I must have. The knife was mine, in my hand but I don’t really remember doing it. She was boarding us, for Dragon’s sake! I was in my rights!”

“The man who tried to pull her back over the rail?”

Suddenly Captain Mord realized that Alor knew far more of the fight than he had realized. “He got in front of me! His throat was cut! He couldn’t attack us further.”

Her face fell. Sadly she said, “Now I must talk to you as a representative of the officers and Masters of the Longin.”

She held out a limp fish-leather bag, weighted with scraps of the same. “What was the worst injury that we took? I’ll tell you the answer, though you already know it. Old Sorra got three bruises. None of the Grandalor folk struck at any of us, unless we struck at them first. They only defended themselves. All that they had were these pitiful coshes.”

“Mother! They were a boarding party! They attacked us! They kidnapped Kurin!”

“Are you quite sure of that?” she asked sharply.

“She’s gone!” Mord shouted frantically. “What more do you need?”

“The note that she left would be a start,” she said quietly.

“There was no note!” he said desperately.

“You have persisted in lying to me about this event. I have no choice.” Alor put her face in her hands and wept, saying through her tears, “By order of a joint council of the Masters and officers, you are relieved of your Captaincy until we can hold a hearing on your fitness to command. You will have the right to witnesses on your behalf and to rebut all charges. You will be notified in writing of all charges in advance, to prepare your defense.”

Three officers entered the room. They took away the dismayed and unresisting Mord. He was allowed to stay in the Captain’s cabin on his word to do nothing to interfere with the running of the ship during the investigation.

The Longin continued to run south through the treacherous weather of the storm’s aftermath, seeking aid as swiftly as straining canvas could take her.

Mord, the once Captain of the Longin, looked in disbelief at the parchment that had been handed to him only a few minutes before. It bore the familiar signatures of every officer and Master aboard the Longin. They were formally requiring an investigation into his competence to govern the ship that he had commanded for nearly thirty Gatherings.

Seeing the allegations in writing finally brought home to him just how far onto dry land he had run. For him, the worst of the whole affair was that he could not deny any of the charges. He could explain what he had done and even why. He could not excuse it.

He was accused of violating the boarder’s rights under the Fifth Great Law (the right of safe haven to mariners in distress). There were two counts. He had silenced the fog beat and he had refused to allow them to come aboard to safety.

There was an accusation of violation of the Second Great Law. They had the right to a fleet trial, to call witness on their behalf, and to rebut the cases against them. In repulsing them he had prevented them from obtaining fleet justice.

He was accused of murder in the case of the one man whose throat he had cut. There was a charge of attempted murder in the case of the woman that he had stabbed, who was still alive when last seen.

He was not accused directly of the death of the Grandalor sailor (tentatively identified as the Bosun named Modanet). His injuries had occurred in the heat of combat and none remembered who had stabbed him. The death, however, was put to the Captain’s flawed leadership.

He was accused of leading his crew in the above illegal actions.

He was further charged with destroying Kurin’s note and refusing to examine the tallow-slates brought by the boarders and then lying to officers who questioned him about them.

In addition to all of the above was breach of custom in the burial of the dead.

The parchment also informed him that Kurin’s note had been recovered by careful scraping away of the upper layers of tallow by Master Juris. The recovery process had been witnessed by Alor for the ship’s officers and Mistress Daeron for the Craft Council. The note verified that Kurin had apparently left the ship voluntarily, her right as a legal adult.

One of the tallow-slates from the Grandalor had been recovered by a sailor and given to an officer. The note had been in Tanlin’s left-handed writing. This had been compared to documents relating the cargo survey and security agreement with the Grandalor. The documents contained material written by both Barad and Tanlin. It was Alor’s formal opinion that the handwriting was the same as Tanlin’s. The contents of the note revealed that the twelve boarders were to be hostages for Kurin’s safe return, should she agree to come away. If she did not, then the twelve would submit to trial under fleet justice. The note’s signature identified Tanlin as the Grandalor’s Captain.

Appended was a list of witnesses and what each had contributed to the case.

Mord thought long on the problem of what was needed. It was clear that he needed to be relieved. As bad as things had got, now that he could see the charges, with time to reflect on them, their justice was obvious. He could not fight this.

The stress of nearly losing Kurin, and the rest of the Grandalor business had unhinged him. Now that it was not hidden by his responsibility for the whole ship, he realized that he felt more for Kurin than just pride in an outstanding member of an outstanding crew. He felt as if she were the daughter that the Birth Lottery had denied him. When he thought of all that he had not done, his heart clenched in nearly physical pain.

He opened the port near his bed for fresh air and to see something besides walls of Strong Skin. The sky was dark with leaden clouds and rain sweeping by on gusts of wind. It suited his mood.

When Kurin’s mother went mad, after her father’s death, He should have fostered her. He had let Cat, his foster sister, do it. He should have hugged her, praised her and disciplined her. In fear of seeming to favor one above any other, he had never done any of the job of a parent. He had left it to others to do.

He missed her accomplishments and strange mix of adult wisdom and childhood. She had stood up to him and tried to prevent the disaster, and he had sent her away. He could see now how the battle combined with a few persuasive words could have made her go. The whole mess was his fault … He would have to plead guilty with mitigating circumstances.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 61 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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perspective-series · 5 years ago

Text

Lilliputian Perspective (10/10)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Fear, threats, treating someone like a monster, manipulation, and mention of eating people and death

First chapter || Previous chapter

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Virgil was right when he said Dee was already getting the preparation together for his coronation. He was crowned early the next morning and he found himself here, sitting on his throne, wearing a crown that didn’t quite feel right.

“Now that I’m king...it’s my decision on what we do with Logan, right?” Virgil asked, looking over to Dee who was standing there. He bowed.

“Of course, my king. May I suggest something? I feel as though the giant can be useful to us and-” Dee was cut off when Virgil gave a firm shake of his head.

“No, I’m setting him free.” Virgil said, standing up. Dee blinked.

“You-You can’t be serious.” Dee kept back his growl, composing himself. “Sire, think about our people. How would they react to you unleashing this beast among them.”

Virgil continued to walk, Dee following close behind him. “Logan isn’t going to do anything. I-I know that now. It’ll be fine and pretty soon, he’ll be off this island and back to his home.” Dee stopped as Virgil continued on, gathering some guards up to take with him to the cave. Dee growled and turned to go in another direction.

Virgil made it back to the cave, the guards hesitant as to Virgil’s plan. Virgil smiled at Logan and Roman. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Logan returned the informal greeting. He considered appending a ‘good’ to his statement, but his aching bones from sleeping in a strange position made him think otherwise. He gently poked at the human still asleep on his chest. “Roman, wake up.”

“Hmm, don’t wanna.” Roman mumbled, rolling over and burying himself more into Logan’s chest. Virgil chuckled at the sight, reminded of his own self in the early morning.

“I apologize for his behavior.” Logan hid his eye roll well, scooping up Roman into his palm and sitting up more formally. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Roman opened his eyes as he was moved with a groan and Virgil took that moment to tear his eyes away and look up at Logan. “As my first act as king, I’m setting you free.” Virgil did not miss the way the guards started whispering frantically behind him but he ignored it.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, surprised by how quickly things had turned in his favor but not wanting to upset this decision. “I’m honored, your highness.”

Virgil smiled and then turned to the guards. “Alright, undo the chains.” He ordered but the guards stood in place. Virgil frowned. “Uh...now.” Still no movement.

“Oh, Virgil, your highness, they are scared, can’t you see?” Dee said, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Virgil glared at him. “Even they can see how much of a bad idea this is.”

“I’ve already been unchained several times in this company.” Logan reminded the crowd, making sure to look as humble as possible. “I assure you, I mean no harm. Not to mention, I was under the impression that a King’s word is law in a monarchy.”

“He’s right.” Virgil noted, turning full on to his guards. “Now release him.” The guards looked to each other and started over to the chains.

“Virgil, I implore you to think about this some more.” Dee all but hissed. Virgil looked to him.

“Alright.” Virgil paused for a moment. “Okay, I thought about it some more. And Logan’s getting released and you are fired.” Dee physically reeled back at that and Virgil smirked. He had been wanting to do that for forever.

“Looks like the snake is jobless now, ha!” Dee snapped his eyes over to Roman, who was looking much more awake and laughing at Dee’s misery.

Logan hid a smirk of his own, quite pleased that Virgil had made the correct call.

Dee, noticing the smirk on the giant’s face, turned to him. “You.” He pointed, growling. “This is all your fault, you beast.” He narrowed his eyes. “You are going to pay for this. Mark my words. You all will.” And before anything more could be said or done, Dee was gone.

Virgil frowned. “Well...that didn’t sound good.” He’d have to strengthen security a bit more.

“Yeesh, talk about bitter,” Roman said, rolling his eyes.

“You might want to keep an eye on him.” Logan advised, watching the Lilliputian storm off. “Revenge is a powerful motivator.”

“Yeah, I will.” Virgil promised. He looked to the guards, who had only barely moved. “Oh, for pete’s sake, just unchain him already!”

The command got them all moving, undoing all the chains and then quickly moving out of the way and outside the cave. Virgil watched them go, rolling his eyes.

Logan set Roman to the side to take a moment to rub at his sore wrists and ankles. Satisfied, Logan stretched, grateful to once again stand to his full height.

Virgil took a nervous step back but smiled at Logan. “Again, I have to apologize for all this trouble.” Virgil said.

“As you should.” Roman said, stretching himself.

“Roman, it’s not his fault.” Logan scolded, looking down at the Lilliputian at his feet.

Roman huffed. “Well, he could have done something a little sooner. Instead of locking you away and agreeing to execute me.” Roman shot a pointed look towards Virgil, who winced.

“S-Sorry.” Virgil mumbled again. Man, he had made a number of bad decisions, didn’t he?

“Moving forward, what now?” Logan asked, not one to dwell on the past.

“Well, we can get started on trying to build you some sort of raft? So you can sail home?” Virgil suggested. It would take quite a bit of wood but he was sure they could manage.

“Yes, what resources are available to me?” Logan rolled up his sleeves, ready to begin.

***

Dee growled as he stomped through the castle. Fired. No, no, that wouldn’t do at all. Logan would pay for this and so would Virgil. He thought Virgil would be easy to control but it seemed he was wrong.

Dee’s new plan was as follows. Turn the town on the giant and convince them that the king was brainwashed and too far gone to save. Honestly, it shouldn’t be too hard. The peasants already feared the beast.

And maybe, he could use a former ally of theirs. He knocked on the guest bedroom door and waited for a few seconds. When it opened Dee smiled at the glasses wearing merchant. “Hello, Patton. How has the castle been treating you?”

Patton blinked, a little surprised to see Dee here. He had been wondering when he was going to come back. “Oh, uh, good.” He paused in thought for a moment. “I, uh, I heard they moved Logan over to a cave.” He had wanted to go and see him but Dee thought it was best if he stayed in his room.

Dee nodded. “Yes, well, actually that is what I wanted to speak to you about.” Dee put on a solemn face. “You see, the giant has brainwashed our dear king into letting him go. I fear it is only a matter of time before he shows his true colors on this town.” Dee placed a hand on Patton’s shoulder and Patton tensed. “I would like your help in informing the townspeople of this predicament. Perhaps with them all banded together, we can put a stop to him.”

Patton stared at Dee incredulously. “You mean...Logan finally convinced the king that he didn’t mean any harm and the king was nice enough to let him go and probably is helping him get home?” Patton asked.

Dee narrowed his eyes. “No.” He growled out. “I meant what I said.” The grip on Patton’s shoulder got tighter and Patton pulled away from it, staggering back a few steps and looking at Dee warily.

“I’m not going to help you. I know that Logan is a good person!” Patton shouted and Dee groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Seriously? You’ve known him for not even a day. There is such a thing as being too trusting, you know?” Dee growled and Patton took another step back. Patton eyed the door behind Dee. If he could just get past him, then he could warn them of Dee’s plan.

With that in mind, Patton broke out in a run, surprising Dee enough to be able to slip past. “Wha-No! Get back here! Guards!” The guards, not knowing Dee had been fired yet, started running after Patton.

Patton didn’t stop, he couldn’t afford to. He had to warn them of Dee’s plan.

***

“Your highness, I really don’t think-” Virgil shook his head, cutting off a nearby worker.

“I don’t want to hear it. Now please continue to chop this wood down.” The worker sighed but got back to work. Virgil looked around the forest, seeing a worker at almost every tree. He had gotten most of the woodworkers and lumberjacks in the kingdom for this. It was the only way they would be able to get enough wood.

Virgil went back out on the beach, seeing Roman messing with some rope. He glanced at the pile of wood that was already growing off to the side. “I hope this will be enough.”

“It should be, if we plan accordingly.” Logan murmured, focused on his task of preparing the logs. He skinned them almost like a long potato with his knife, removing the branches and creating even pieces.

Virgil nodded, he hoped so. “If we can get enough without demolishing the entire forest, that would be great, too.” Virgil spoke, looking back at where the workers were logging.

“I think at this rate it will only be half the forest. Which, for how much wood we actually need, I say isn’t that bad!” Roman exclaimed, still lugging pieces of rope around.

Logan was quiet, feeling almost guilty for taking so much while giving back so little. “I’ll be gone before you know it, thankfully.”

“Yeah, hopefully we can finish all this by tomorrow.” Virgil stared off into the distance. “...I wonder if I should be more worried about Dee…”

Roman snorted. “That snake? Yeah, no, I think we’re fine. If anything, Logan can just flick him into the ocean for a little swim.” Roman laughed at the thought.

Logan gave Roman a brief glare. “Yes, I would be concerned about your former advisor. Do you have a replacement in mind?”

“Not yet.” Virgil admitted.

“You know, I am always available.” Roman swooped in at the opportunity. Virgil just sent him a look.

“As I said, I don’t have anyone in mind yet.” He turned back to Logan as he said this. Roman huffed and crossed his arms.

“Rude.”

“I would advise against Roman.” Logan confirmed. “I would offer to fill the position but that would be quite difficult.”

“Not you too!” Roman huffed. He thought he would make a great advisor, thank you very much.

Virgil looked up at Logan, still ignoring Roman. “Actually...yeah, you would actually make a really great advisor. If, you know, we were the same size.”

“And I wasn’t currently fleeing your country.” Logan reminded him. Still, it felt wonderful to at least find one Lilliputian who trusted him so wholeheartedly. “But I’m touched that you agree with my sentiment.”

“I mean, it’s hard not to. You seem really smart. Not to mention calm and collected, even when we were chaining you up.” Virgil shook his head. “You’d be, like, the perfect advisor.”

“I do believe I would.” Logan tested out the title in his head: Royal Advisor. It was almost enough to make him reconsider leaving in the first place.

“Alright, we get it, enough with the compliments already.” Roman said, rolling his eyes. “If we want to get this done, we have to focus.”

“Right.” Virgil said. “I’m going to go make another round…” He trailed off when he saw someone running towards them at a distance.

“Guys!” Patton exclaimed as he was still running from the guards.

Roman blinked. “Is that...Patton?” He hadn’t seen the puffball in a while.

“Why are you being chased?” Logan called out.

“D-Dee sent the guards after m-ah!” Patton was cut off by a shout as he was finally caught. Grabbed roughly by one of the men.

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Guards! Let him go!” The guards looked up at Virgil before releasing Patton, who bent over in slight pain, gasping for breath.

“Are you alright, Patton?” Logan came closer, crouching to inspect the scene.

The guards, as Logan came closer, all but ran back to the castle. Patton looked up at Logan with a small smile. “Um, yeah, he just grabbed me kind of hard.”

“How dare they!” He turned to Virgil. “I thought you fired that snake!”

“I did!” Virgil raised his hands in surrender. “I haven’t been able to let everyone know yet, though.”

“Ah...perhaps you should remedy that quickly.” Logan advised. “Patton, why did he send the guards after you in the first place? Has Roman rubbed off on you?”

“Huh? Uh...Oh! No! Dee was trying to get me to go along with his plan but I refused. He’s going to try and convince the town to turn against you!” Patton exclaimed, looking panicked.

“...Well, that isn’t going to be difficult for him.” Roman muttered, worried.

“I think that’s already public opinion.” Logan sighed in agreement. “But I’m thankful to have you on my side, Patton.”

“Still...that could be a problem.” Virgil bit his lip. “We definitely need to speed this along. Logan? Uh, do you think you can uproot a tree or two yourself?”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Whoa, I would love to see that.”

Logan chuckled, a bit uncomfortable with the notion. “Ah, if everyone clears the area I could certainly get some of the smaller trees.”

Virgil nodded and constructed some workers to move to another area, to clear a small number of trees. Patton moved so he was next to Roman, who gave him some rope to help out with.

“Alright, all yours.” Virgil said, looking at Logan.

Logan nodded, approaching the smallest evergreen standing. It was tall, but still not taller than Logan himself. He gave it a harsh tug, feeling the roots begin to give way. With a grunt he readjusted his grip, and soon found the entire tree came loose from the soil in his hands.

Everyone’s eyes widened. “Whoa…” Patton said breathlessly.

Logan set the tree to the side, careful to avoid his onlookers as he turned to the next tree. The work went faster when it was just the human himself, and the pile of lumber began to grow.

“I estimate this will be enough.” Logan panted finally, his hands rubbed nearly raw from the bark.

Virgil nodded, staring wide-eyed at the pile. “Yeah, I think so. That was...that was impressive.” Virgil said in awe. The workers, noticing that they were no longer needed, were quick to get out of there.

“Fantastic! Now we just need to put all this together.” Roman said and Patton grinned, holding up some rope.

“Rope, anyone?”

This task ended up being better for the Lilliputians. Despite his best efforts, Logan’s fingers fumbled to braid the tiny Lilliputian ropes together into what could resemble normal rope.

Patton noticed Logan’s struggle and placed a hand on his much bigger one. “I think we’ve got this part, kiddo. You just sit back and relax.”

“Yeah, it would help if you could keep a lookout for Dee.” Virgil said.

“Very well then.” Logan handed the rope back to his tiny companions, peering over the treetops instead as a living watchtower.

“I am worried.” Patton admitted as he continue to tie the ropes. “What if he succeeds in getting the people on his side?”

“Pft, the guys a snake, I mean, surely they won’t actually listen...right?” Roman asked, looking to the king for confirmation. Virgil bit his lip.

“I don’t know...the people are still wary around Logan, after all.”

“But your word is law.” Roman reminded him. “Especially now that you are king.”

“You’re going to need to assert your dominance, else the governing body can easily be undermined.” Logan spoke up.

“Right. Well, I can do that later. Once you’re safely afloat and we don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Virgil said, going back to tying.

They were nearly done, when suddenly, a voice drew them to look at the top of the hill. “Hello, dearest king. And...beast.” Dee spit the name out in pure disgust.

Roman glared. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“Dee is here.” Logan informed them, a bit late on his watchdog duties.

“Thanks, we noticed.” Roman deadpanned.

“Virgil! Oh, Virgil, the townspeople are so worried about their king!” Dee said, putting on a show, it seemed. “If it’s not already too late, please, stop helping this monster! A beast such as this does not deserve to live!”

Virgil glared at his ex-advisor. “Yes, he does. I won’t stop helping until he doesn't need help anymore.”

“Yeah! How dare you try to make him the bad guy!” Patton yelled.

“Truly I just want to leave you alone.” Logan gestured to the nearly finished raft. “Hence, leaving the island.”

“How are we to know you won’t just come back? With even more giants. No, the people are clear on their stance. Virgil? One last chance.” Dee sneered.

Virgil held his ground. “The answer is no.”

Dee sighed, though even from where Virgil was, he could see the smirk on Dee’s face. “Very well, then. It seems you truly are lost to us. As you can all see, Virgil is no longer fit to be king!” Dee announced turning around towards the forest. Slowly, several people started coming out of it, Virgil recognized some of them from the council and that was far from good.

“I am perfectly fit!” Virgil yelled, that one statement having more confidence than any other. Despite that though, Dee just laughed.

“Sorry, Virgil.” Dee held his hand out, one of the council members handing over the crown. Dee put it on. “But it appears that I am king now.”

“This is how your monarchy operates?” Logan seemed more confused than nervous at Dee’s statement. “What a wretched system you seem to have.”

“Oh, not usually.” Dee spoke, checking his nails. “But in this case, an exception had to be made. And with the whole town on my side, well...it was an easy decision for the council to make.”

“That crown does not belong to you!” Roman shouted, practically growling.

“Says the thief. Please, you’re one to talk.” Dee smirked. “And once I get my hands on you, you will be executed for real this time.” Roman took a step back at that, looking slightly worried.

“You can’t do this!” Patton cried out. “Logan is a good person!”

“Logan, is a monster! And he will be treated as such.” Dee clapped his hands. “Guards! Seize them!” Suddenly, the army came out of the forest, coming towards the party of four.

“Uh, Logan, I know you have that whole moral thing going on but now would be a great time to do something.” Roman hissed at him in panic.

Logan glanced at the raft, then at his three companions. “How attached are the three of you to Lilliput?”

Virgil blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

“Uh, not too much?” Roman went ahead and answered. It was true, not many people liked him here anyway.

“A little bit?” Patton shrugged and Virgil sighed, looking back at the army still coming toward them.

“Considering my people turned against me, I have to say I wouldn’t miss this place much.” Virgil admitted.

That seemed to be all Logan needed to hear. He quickly scooped all three up, dumping them onto the raft. With a grunt Logan dug his ankles into the sand and shoved the raft into the ocean. Once it got going Logan jumped on as well.

“No!” Dee cried out, running down to the shore. But Logan’s push, along with the tide had already pulled the raft pretty far out.

Patton blinked away his surprise, looking up as the island got farther and farther away. “W-Wait, are we…?”

Roman got up as well. “I...suppose that is one way to go about that.”

Virgil remained silent as he simply stared back, not so much looking at the island, but at the people.

“I apologize, that was brash.” Logan admitted, grabbing the ore he had fashioned from one of the larger logs. “I can return any of you if you wish, but it seemed disrespectful to leave you in the path of a charging army.”

“No, I...I think that was the best choice.” Virgil said, turning away from the shrinking island. Sure, he would miss his home but with his father gone and Dee having turned everyone against him, there was no place for him there anymore.

“I certainly do not want to go back. I don’t have a death wish, thank you very much.” Roman spoke.

Patton looked up at Logan. “Does this mean...we’re going to your home? Where everything is your size?”

“Attempting to, at least.” Logan looked against the open sea, so large compared to the tiny land of tiny people.

“So...I’ll get to see a giant dog?” Patton asked, a smile appearing on his face. Roman looked at him.

“Really? Is that all you care about?” Roman asked, crossing his arms.

“No!” Patton cried. “I just...a giant doggo sounds so cute.” Patton said.

“Sounds terrifying to me.” Virgil shivered. Actually, the whole thing sounded pretty scary. “We’re going to be completely out of our element.”

“Yes, but I’ll be there to assist you.” Logan assured them. “Just as you three have assisted me.”

“You better! We sacrificed a lot for you!” Roman said but he was smiling.

“Indeed.” In spite of Roman’s joking tone, Logan was completely serious. “I appreciate it. You all did not need to stick up for me and yet in the end, have ended up sacrificing yourselves to help me get home.”

“You’re welcome, Logan.” Virgil said with a small smile.

“Like I keep saying, you’re a good person.” Patton grinned. “You deserve to be able to go home.”

“Well, I guess this is the start of a new chapter in our lives. Or, an old one, in one case.” Roman said, looking up at Logan.

“No, a new one for me as well.” Logan corrected, trying to imagine what his life would entail. “It will certainly be a new adjustment.”

“I suppose it would be, having three lilliputians around.” Roman mused.

Virgil stared off into the ocean horizon. “It’ll be nice...not having to worry about running a kingdom.”

“I wonder what will happen to Lilliput.” Logan thought aloud.

“Knowing the snake? He’ll probably rule with an iron fist.” Roman answered.

“I feel kind of bad for the people.” Patton spoke. “Even if they did turn on us.”

“I say they deserved it.” Roman huffed.

“It doesn’t matter.” Virgil finally said. “It’s behind us now.” Literally and figuratively.

“Indeed.” Logan agreed, pushing his ore into the water and pushing them farther away.

Soon Lilliput was out of sight for the strange group, forgotten in the endless sea of mysteries. Now all that lay ahead of them was a world full of possibilities and future adventures.

Logan stroked the water again, bringing them ever closer to whatever fate had in store next.

#gt #Giant/tiny #thomas sanders #sanders sides #infinitesimal!sides #au #lillputian au #human!logan #giant!logan #lilliputian!roman #lilliputian!patton #lilliputian!virgil #lilliputian!deceit #platonic #lilliputian perspective #part 10

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dagarbagerat · 2 years ago

Text

Garbage Rat Lore Compilation - Stream 2

If you don’t care about Oli the Garbage Rat’s life story as of Stream 2, keep scrolling. Otherwise learn more below the cut. Information is vaguely ordered chronologically from when it’s mentioned in the stream. Any new information relevant to old details are appended to the end or placed nearby.

New information is written in italics. I also added new categories for health issues, parental relationships, & education.

If I choose to do it there will be a separate post for Stream 3 with all this information and new information added in a similar manner.

Next: Halloween Stream (x)

Family/Friend Deaths

His father was drinking water out of a toilet in a night club in Central Sheffield. A drunk person sat down and it all went dark, then he was flushed. Oli says if his tail was longer he could’ve pulled him out and saved him implying he was there when it happened

His mother died when he was young (long before his father died) to various unspecified rat diseases. He also has a bladder infection he got from his mom which may have been one of the diseases that killed her

His grandma died to a spider

His little brother, twitch, died in a stream

His sister was cooked alive

His grandpa fell and went splat

His grandma fell to her death. It’s unspecified if this is a separate grandma to the spider one

States he has a dead uncle

Oliver was murdered with a knife after Oli hired Martyn to kill them. Oliver is included as they were his friend during the majority of Stream 1 and Oli even told them that they could be his new family

Cats ripped some of his family to shreds, specifically he mentions his "sister twice removed" (some fleas in chat speculated this meant his sister named "twice" was "removed" from the world by cats since sisters by definition can't be twice offset a generation)

His aunt twice removed lived in a paint can, but the fumes got to them and drove them crazy before they eventually perished from the fumes. Note: this aunt was only referred to with they/them pronouns. Also, "aunt twice removed" would typically be called a "great-grand aunt"

A whole "flock" of his cousins were in a pizza box together when a human found them and threw them all into a composter where they died

His friend Remi, from Paris, was found dead after bleeding out on a carpet

Had a step father who died as well. Causes unspecified and it's unclear which of his parents his step father was married to

His wife died

His uncle fell out a window and went splat, he doesn't know for certain if his uncle was pushed. He was there and saw it happen with his own eyes. Unclear if this is the same uncle mentioned in stream 1 with no specified death

Locations in his Life

Lived and grew up in Sheffield

Lived for a while in a chalet in Paris. Had a good friend named Remi while living there. One of the last meals Remi made for him was shrimp. Also, Remi is El's great uncle

Also in Paris, he spent time living on the streets. Here, he knew street cats that were just like the street rats

Implied that he’s visited London as he “knows the type” of rat that never left London. It’s possible he’s stereotyping without ever having been there himself but he’s been to stranger places so it’s not a stretch for him to have visited

Spent some time in the trash of New York. Witnessed a lot of crime there

Has been to New Orleans and saw Hamilton there

Health Issues

He is 80% alcohol & 20% garbage

Has a bladder infection

He is pretty sure his body literally cannot handle normal food

His tail has been gnawed short by gnats

He is balding from lack of nutrients (not really visible on the skin so either he means his hair is thinning or there are missing patches of fur under his clothes)

Had lice as a child

He's pretty sure his brain cells are rotting

Has a weak heart which he thinks is due to a lack of potassium

Parental Relationships

His father was the last person to love him, his mother loved him too but she died first

One of his parents is in heaven and the other is in hell, did not specify which is where

His mom didn't love him anymore when she was dying

He says a cat (Oreo) was acting "just like his mother" when the cat attacked him soon after they shared a sweet moment together

His mom is the only person who ever gave him gifts, his father was always too busy

Education

Knows how to read the numbers "5" and "0"

Has stated he has gone to both rat school and rat college (could be the same place). However, he was kicked out of school when he ran out of money. He had a friend named Joe in rat college. He also seems to have cut class fairly often to look for garbage

Is seen reading and writing, and has told some rats he learned how to do this in rat school. He has also told other rats he can't read or write as he's just a dumb garbage rat

He’s read the book “Of Rats and Men” and considers it a classic all rats should know

Says he learned how to read from the papers and food wrappers in the garbage

His sister also went to rat school and they both learned cursive there

Says his writing is practically his own language

Did not learn how to tell time in rat school because he was too busy looking for garbage

Other Lore Bits

He is in his “mid 50s” in rat years. However he got this number from reading a 5 and a 0 on a coin

The movie “Flushed Away” is based on his dad’s story and he hasn’t received any royalties. This is why he lives in & eats garbage

Doesn’t bathe as it reminds him of how his father drowned.

His dad drank every night

His last name is “Orionsound” but he considers his full name to be “Oli the Garbage Rat”

Pronouns are he/rat/garbage and more

Has referred to Shubble as his sister, but said out of canon that he isn't sure if the two of them have decided if they're siblings or just old friends. UPDATE: In Shubble's stream the two confirm that they are in fact siblings, but he thought she drowned and her body was washed downstream as he called out for her shouting "noooo". She says she just went missing for a bit and was a little surprised to learn both their parents are dead but quick to agree that they are each other's last family members.

Oli (the streamer) has stated that he is "literally the smallest size [of rat]"

Likes Papa Caspacito in a non-platonic way

His sister loved learning cursive when she went to rat school

Has done shrooms in "the big city". It is unclear which big city this was as he's been to several

He nibbles on tide pods at night

He is aware of China and how far away it is

He knows a lot about training/befriending cats (specifically strays), as if he's done it before (likely the Parisian street cats he knew)

His wife used to nibble on his tail in a sexy way (tail was already short due to gnats gnawing it down), but she died and it's only been nibbled on in an unsexy way since then

Was on the streets for 20-30 years, he isn't quite sure how long

Refuses to be used as a test subject

#rats smp #oli the garbage rat #theorionsound #text

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tommyparkerr · 5 years ago

Text

Appendicitis Pt. 2 | Peter Parker & Tony Stark (Irondad)

I TOLD YOU GUYS I WOULD HAVE THIS UP LATER TONIGHT ON PETER’S BIRTHDAY AND TIME KINDA GOT AWAY FROM ME (i was watching hallmark whoopsy daisy) AND NOW IT’S CRUNCH TIME BABY

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PETER, I LOVE YOU HONEY <3

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: Brief mentioning of a panic attack, other than that none (I think)?

Read Part One here

-Masterlist-

A P P E N D I C I T I S P T. 2 — T H E T A L K :

When Peter woke up a second time, he felt much more awake than before. He still had a cannula breathing extra oxygen into him, yes, but his limbs no longer felt like a hundred pounds and his brain wasn’t muddled by fog. This time he was able to take in his surroundings, taking note of how homey the hospital room felt. He was sure this was only because he was at the Tower’s med bay and not an actual hospital, but he appreciated it all the same.

One thing he didn’t appreciate as much, though, was being alone. Peter fuzzily remembered his mentor getting him water which meant he had to have been here at some point, proven by the half-empty cup still sitting by his bedside.

Peter grunted as he sat up, protectively putting an arm over his stomach. He was exhausted despite having slept for probably a long while if the glaring sun outside the window meant anything. He blinked lethargically, letting a yawn escape before taking the leftover water and gulping it down. His mouth was incredibly dry—so much so, in fact, that his lips were cracking.

“Hey, FRIDAY?” Peter asked, his voice weak but steady. “How long have I been asleep?”

“You’ve been asleep for approximately twenty-nine hours, Peter,” the AI answered, and Peter’s eyes immediately widened.

“Twenty-nine hours?!” he exclaimed as he leaned forward, wincing when his movement disturbed the stitches he remembered Tony telling him he had. He wanted to look at them, but he also didn’t want to pull up his entire gown to do it.

“Yes, Peter.” She paused for a moment as if debating whether or not to give him extra information. Eventually her coding must have convinced her to do so, as she followed up with, “It seems your healing factor induced you into a deep sleep while it worked.”

“Huh,” Peter muttered, shaking his head. He’d known his healing factor hadn’t left, per se, but the whole situation still confused him. He didn’t let himself worry about that long, however, as FRIDAY’s next line had him worrying (panicking) over something completely different.

“Shall I alert your father that you’re awake?”

“My...my what?” Peter choked out, his breaths growing shorter as he suddenly remembered being curled up on the bench in the lab, vomit underneath and on him as he told the AI he wanted his dad. His dad, who was luckily out of the room but probably gladly so as he wondered how exactly to tell Peter he didn’t want him in his life anymore.

Shit.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he quickly said, “No—no, FRI, just-just give me a sec.”

“Of course, Peter.”

Peter was suddenly thankful for the oxygen cannula, even though it was starting to get uncomfortable against his skin. He forced himself to breathe, closing his eyes and thinking of only calm, safe things.

Aunt May’s arms around him after he came back from Spider-Manning, Ned’s constant fanboying, and Uncle Ben’s laugh as Peter sat on his shoulders. Accidentally calling the Tower ‘home’ in front of Aunt May and the woman being so happy her nephew had a second family that she cried. The sound of AC/DC as it blasted throughout the lab, Dum-E’s whirring, and the consistent sound of metal hitting metal. The way his mentor’s face lit up every time Peter walked through the door, making him feel wanted in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

This was his new normal. This was his new safe. And as much as Peter wanted to deny it, his mentor was more than just a mentor to him. He was, in every shape and form, his dad, and though he was terrified Tony would kick him out of his life after this, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret what he’d said.

If luck was on Peter’s side, maybe Tony didn’t remember it. Maybe he even chalked it down to Peter being delirious from the pain and rolled with it only not to freak him out even more.

There was only one way to find out.

“Okay, FRI,” Peter said quietly as he opened his eyes, breathing deep. “You can alert him now. Just...just don’t tell him I told you to. Let him think you did it on your own.”

Because while he knew it probably wouldn’t make a difference in how Tony thought of him, Peter didn’t want to seem too needy. He was sixteen now, almost an adult, so he could take care of himself. He didn’t need his mentor to do that for him. The only reason he’d told FRIDAY to in the first place was because he knew she’d have to sooner or later, and doing it soon after he woke up made it more believable that Peter hadn’t given the okay—that, and because he didn’t want to be alone.

He hated being alone.

While he waited for Tony to appear, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, hating the way his legs almost collapsed from underneath him. Luckily he was holding onto the side of the bed, but his arms were pretty weak as well so it limited his time.

Finding a way to maneuver the IV so it didn’t pull out as he walked away was difficult but not impossible. The oxygen, however, had to come out. It surprised him how much more difficult it was to breathe without it but didn’t linger too long on the thought, grabbing the empty cup and shakily walking over to the sink. Peter couldn’t help but get frustrated at how much he was wobbling. He figured the lack of food probably didn’t help, but he was hoping an increase in fluids would (mostly because that was all he had access to at the moment, and even that was a struggle).

Peter had just started on his second cup of water when the door to the room opened, startling the boy and causing him to hurriedly grab onto the edge of the counter before he fell.

“What are you—Peter, I swear to God if you don’t get back on that bed in five seconds-” his mentor said, obvious frustration seeking into his tone as he quickly supported the boy upright. “Exactly what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Peter smiled sheepishly at him. “Getting some water?”

“And you couldn’t have, I dunno, waited for me?”

“In my defense,” Peter said trying to hold back an amused grin at his mentor’s distress, “I didn’t know how long you’d be, and I was parched.”

Tony huffed, running a hand over his face and shaking his head. “You’re actually going to give me a heart attack one day, kid. Mark my words.”

Seeing his mentor authentically frustrated with him made the humor of the situation lower considerably for Peter, and he winced before quietly murmuring, “Sorry, Mr. Stark.”

Something like a frown crossed Tony’s face before he shook himself out of it, taking the cup of water from his hands and setting it aside.

“Hey!”

“Nope,” Tony interrupted. “You don’t get any more of this until your butt is back in bed.”

Peter grumbled and rolled his eyes but complied, turning and (with the help of his mentor) walking back to the bed. He tried hard not to sigh too loud in relief when Tony fitted the cannula back under his nose. From the looks of it, he didn’t do a very good job of holding it in.

“You’re still weak, Underoos; you’ve had no food for over 24 hours plus had nothing in your stomach beforehand, and they had to give you round the clock drugs to keep you knocked out during and right after surgery. Having a ruptured appendix along with one of the speediest metabolisms in all of mankind does that to you,” he explained, finally handing over the water. Peter frowned and took it, gulping it down.

“FRIDAY said my healing factor put me in some sort of induced sleep.”

“After the majority of the drugs were out of your system, yes.” Tony plopped back into the chair by his bedside. “That’s what we could figure, anyway. Are you hungry?”

Yes, his mind instantly replied. His mouth, however, stayed shut. He shrugged, looking down and picking at his sheets. “I mean, it can wait. You just sat down and I know you’ve been busy taking care of me for awhile, so you can totally take a break if you need one. I can take care of myself.”

A hand rested on top of his. Peter looked up to see his mentor’s raised eyebrows and ‘are you kidding me’ look. “Kid, I’m taking care of you because I want to, and you’re most certainly not capable of taking care of yourself right now,” he added, nodding toward the cannula. Peter pursed his lips. “I know you hate being in this position, and, trust me, I hate it just as much as you do, but let me take care of you without any complaints just this once, okay?”

Peter stayed quiet, sighing softly to himself. His mentor paused as if just now realizing how uncharacteristic his words were for Tony Stark and opened his mouth to cover it up with, “I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s the least you could do for giving me nearly eight heart attacks in the span of three days.”

This got a smile out of Peter. “Fine,” he relented. “I guess I’m hungry, then.”

Tony grinned. “That’s good to hear. Unfortunately, you won’t be receiving anything other than toast, crackers, and pudding for the next 24 hours, but at least it’s food.”

Peter made a face. “That’s not real food.”

“I hate to break it to you, kid, but if you decide you want to eat anything other than that your stomach isn’t going to be digesting ‘real’ anything.”

“Welp,” Peter said, his nose scrunching up and his appetite considerably lowered, “that was totally not an image I needed to see right now.”

Tony shook his head at him with a chuckle. “How about we see how the water settles and in about an hour we reassess?” Peter nodded and sunk back into his pillows, relieved at the silence that filled the room afterward. However, the relief didn’t last long. “Sooo…” Tony drawled, looking directly at Peter.

Peter gulped, and his heart skipped a beat before picking back up full speed ahead. “Sooo...what?”

“We need to have a talk, kiddo.”

A weight settled in Peter’s stomach, making him shift uncomfortably and look down at his lap away from his mentor’s accusing eyes. “What-what about?”

“I think let’s start with your self-preservation skills and how utterly stupid it was to hide your symptoms from me,” Tony said with a sharp edge to his tone, though Peter could tell he wasn’t really angry. Just worried and maybe a teensy bit frustrated Peter let it get this far. But this topic was much better than the one he’d been anticipating, so he gladly responded.

“Okay, so I know it looks bad—“

“Bad? Oh no, kid, it doesn’t just look bad—it looks completely idiotic and is seriously making me wonder what else you’ve kept hidden from me,” Tony snapped, and Peter shrunk in his seat, trying not to let the guilt in his eyes show for fear his mentor would grill him about the secrets he’d kept and the lies he’d told.

“Tony—”

“Hell, kid,” Tony exhaled with an exhausted laugh that Peter knew wasn’t in response to humor. “The fever, the fatigue, the stomach ‘ache’, the lack of appetite, the inability to keep anything down—it all pointed to the flu, so we wrote it off as such. If we had known that when you said your stomach ‘hurt’ you meant debilitating and excruciating pain, I think we could’ve caught this a little sooner.”

“But it wasn’t excruciating!” Peter finally was able to get in, seizing his opportunity to defend himself. “It just...hurt, you know? Like when you hit your hip on the edge of the counter and you swear you’ve been stabbed or something because it hurts so bad? But then it fades away and you don’t pay any attention to it because you know that everyone has felt it and at that point it’s just embarrassing?”

Tony studied the boy for a few moments, his soft yet skeptical eyes meeting Peter’s frantic ones. Peter wanted—no, needed—him to understand that he wasn’t back on his ‘self-sacrificial bullshit’ as his mentor called it, taking excruciating pain as it came without telling anybody because he was too stubborn and hard-headed to admit weakness.

There was once a time where Peter would’ve done it. In fact, it wasn’t too long ago that he’d hidden from Tony the full extent of what exactly the fight with Vulture had entailed; but one night, after one too many nightmares and post panic attacks, he’d swung to the tower where he’d broken down on the roof—the only place he could breathe. He’d sat there by himself, body racking with broken sobs, until his mentor had joined him in a panicked flurry, making FRIDAY scan him for any injuries. What Tony hadn’t known until FRIDAY told him that his mentee wasn’t currently injured was that the condition Peter was in was caused by nothing other than his own head. Something Tony couldn’t just...fix.

All it took for Peter to finally open up to the man about the gun in the car and the building collapsing on top of him was the understanding gleam in his mentor’s eyes that followed FRIDAY’s report. Somehow Tony had known without actually knowing, and that was the most comforting part of it all—that Peter wasn’t the only one who’d ever faced those feelings. That he wasn’t alone. That he’d be okay.

However, if Peter had known one of his organs was on the verge of rupturing and causing him unbearable pain, he liked to think he would’ve told Tony (or at least had done some research on his own and self-diagnosed).

“Kid,” Tony eventually sighed, running a tired hand down his face and giving a small snort of a chuckle. “I don’t know what’s more insane: the fact that you thought it was normal to have that kind of pain with the common flu or the fact that you‘re comparing that kind of pain to hitting your hip on the counter.”

Peter flushed but still attempted to defend himself. “But haven’t you ever done it, Mr. Stark?! It hurts like hell!”

“Language,” was Tony’s automatic response. As Peter was rolling his eyes and about to make a comment on how that wasn’t his line to cross, Tony went on. “Pete, I work in a lab almost every day with tables and countertops galore—of course I’ve hit my hip on the edge of one. I do it at least once a week. But there’s also only a few seconds where you’re convinced it’s hell-“

“Language,” Peter mocked under his breath. Choosing to ignore it, Tony continued.

“-until it fades away and you’re good to go again. You’re telling me having a ruptured organ is just as serious?”

He stayed quiet, shrinking a little under his mentor’s gaze. His only response was a mumbled, “It was just a comparison,” and a slight pout as he crossed his arms and avoided eye contact. Tony chuckled, absentmindedly reaching over to tuck a stubborn curl back into place on Peter’s head. Peter softened just enough at the action to lighten up on the pout and look at his mentor for just one moment before flicking his eyes back down to his scratchy hospital gown. One would think that since it was the Avengers medical wing, the quality of the clothing would be better. Turns out that while everything else was of much, much higher quality than a normal hospital—the food, the bed, the room, the channels on the TV, the actual TV—the gowns had to stay ‘for medical purposes’.

Peter couldn’t wait to change into sweatpants and one of Tony’s hoodies he’d been collecting.

“Hey, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“When do I get out of here?”

“Helen wants you under observation for at least 48 hours before she sends you off.” Before Peter could groan and complain some more, Tony raised an eyebrow and added, “She also said normally it’d be about a week for a case as serious as yours, but since you have your healing factor she was being generous enough to cut that time down by more than half.” Peter snapped his jaw shut. “That’s what I thought,” Tony said with an amused quirk of his lips.

“Actually, I have a question about that,” Peter asked some time later after uncrossing his arms and relaxing back into his bed.

“About what?”

“My healing factor,” Peter said, then realizing how vague that was, quickly added, “You know—why it didn’t take care of the internal damage.”

“Your healing factor was actually the reason why everything happened as sudden as it did,” Tony explained, looking quite comfortable in the chair accompanying his bedside (even though Peter was sure it couldn’t be). “Once it knew your appendix was inflamed, it immediately tried to heal it—as it should have.”

“Then why...why didn’t it heal?” Peter asked weakly, feeling stupid for even having to ask. He knew how his healing factor worked, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around why it hadn’t worked this time around.

“Put simply, once an appendix is inflamed and appendicitis hits, it’s donezo. Kapeesh. Nada. It’s not an organ meant to be healed or replaced; it’s why doctors chop it out rather than try to repair it.” Peter made a face at his mentor’s choice of words, but it didn’t seem to affect Tony. “So when your healing factor started healing it brought the pain level down just enough for you to not be overly alarmed about it, but because of your lack of hydration and nutrition, it didn’t have enough energy to do it consistently; it’s why your pain levels differed so much from hour to hour.”

Peter frowned, trying to digest this information with his brain functioning at half capacity. “I get why it couldn’t heal the appendix specifically, I guess? But...but how did it make it worse?”

“That’s the thing; it didn’t make it worse. Just simply camouflaged the pain until it became too big of an issue for it to handle.” At Peter’s continued frown as he tried to work it out in his head, his mentor went on with a tired exhale. “Pete, when your appendix finally burst, your healing factor could no longer contain it and you felt the pain you should’ve been experiencing steadily and progressively all at once.”

It was quiet for a minute or two. Eventually, a weak, “Oh,” slipped out of Peter’s lips.

“Yeah, kid. ‘Oh’,” he chuckled.

Another beat of silence.

“Does...does that mean I can’t get the flu, then?”

Tony gave an exasperated snort at that. “That’s what you’re worried about? You had an internal rupture that could have potentially killed you had your healing factor continued acting as a heavy painkiller, and you’re worried about the goddamn flu?”

Peter grew a sheepish smile; he realized now how silly it sounded, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still curious. But maybe that was something best to find out with time. Somehow, he didn’t think pushing the topic would squeeze out very many answers at this point.

Tony slumped in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nevermind, kid. Just...let’s just forget that piece of the conversation ever happened, yeah?”

“Okay,” Peter said, dragging out the last syllable. “But, in all seriousness, do you really think I could get the flu or is my DNA like Mr. Captain America’s and I’ll never catch the bug that goes around school every winter? Because I always did before I got bit, but I didn’t last year so do you think that was just a coincidence, like a stroke of luck, or do you think it was because of my new DNA?”

“You’re literally hopeless, Parker,” was all Tony said, laughing with his head shaking back and forth.

“Okay, but hear me out, Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaimed, his hands waving wildly around and missing the hurt look on his mentor’s face that had briefly shown up earlier as well. “There’s no way I didn’t get sick due to luck, because I think we both know Parker luck is literally the worst, so that just leaves coincidence, and I don’t think-”

“Pete, you know I love your senseless rambles, kid, but shut up for a second, okay?” Tony interrupted, and Peter immediately stopped talking, his hands falling back down to his sides.

“Um...o-okay?” Peter said, frowning as he turned his gaze to his lap. He wasn’t going to lie: being told to shut up by someone he’d come to think of as a dad hurt a lot.

Obviously sensing his hurt, Tony took one of his hands, being careful not to disturb the IV. “I’m sorry, kid. Look, as soon as I get done having this conversation you can go right back to speculating whether or not you can get the flu, but can I just talk to you about something for a minute?”

Peter couldn’t remember ever seeing his mentor so serious before which made him more nervous than he’d like to admit. Tony was all sarcasm with a side of snark, not...not this. Whatever this was. “I-yeah, um...yeah, sure, Mr. Stark.”

His face tightened, and Peter’s frown deepened. “I know I don’t say this very often, but I love you, Pete. More than I thought I could love the fourteen-year-old kid running around New York in red and blue pajamas every night, but it’s all the same.”

Peter blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. He swallowed, wondering if he should point out that that was actually the first time Tony had ever told him he loved him or if he should leave it be for fear his mentor already knew that fact but was ignoring it. He decided on the latter. “I...I love you too, Mr. Stark. But what’s this about?”

Tony sighed, dropping his head and squeezing his hand. “That. That’s exactly what this is about. The ‘Mr. Stark’ shi-crap.”

“What about it? I don’t think I-” Peter cut himself off, his eyes widening as he realized what exactly Mr. Stark had been referring to. His heart skipped a beat. “I’ve always called you Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark. I mean, yeah, it started out as good manners, but it just kinda stuck, ya know? I’m sorry if it offended you or something--I can totally call you Tony if you want. Actually, can we start with a transition? Like Mr. Tony? Just until I get used to the whole first name basis thing and can drop the ‘Mr.’?”

Tony had picked his head up somewhere in the middle of Peter’s ranting, had eyed the nervous aversion of Peter’s eyes from his, the attempt to ignore what both of them knew what Tony had been talking about, and was now wearing a half-smirk half-smile. “Cut the crap, Pete,” he said. “I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Peter stumbled, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “I-I don’t know exactly what you’re referring to, Mr. Sta-”

“The ‘Dad’ thing, Pete,” Tony interrupted, raising an eyebrow. Peter blushed, nervously chewing at his lip.

“Right,” Peter said much more quietly than he’d been talking before. “The...the ‘Dad’ thing.”

Tony didn’t speak, simply waiting—waiting for him. Waiting for Peter to explain himself because he wasn’t fooling anybody with the clueless act. The silence dragged on for a few minutes’ time until it successfully made Peter’s nerves spill over the edge in the form of, as Tony had put it, ‘senseless rambling’.

“Okay, so, in my defense, you were never supposed to hear that. I was only saying it in my head because I slipped in my thoughts once and so I thought that it’d be okay as long as I just kept it in my head. But-but then I just—it hurt so much, Mr. Stark, and I didn’t know what was happening and, yeah, I was scared, and I couldn’t control what I was saying, but that doesn’t mean anything, right? People say a lot of stupid stuff when they’re drunk or drugged up or in a lot of pain and that’s completely normal, right? And FRIDAY is just really smart because she knew who I was actually asking for when I said I wanted my dad, but then I said it to your face and I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Stark. I understand if you don’t want me around or if you want me to apologize or something, and I really am sorry.”

There was a pause, Peter’s heavy breathing being the only noise in the room other than the consistent beeping of his heart monitor.

“What the hell do you have to apologize for?”

His mentor’s bluntness took him by surprise. Peter blinked, only once this time. “Um...you know, for-for calling you ‘Dad’?”

Tony simply stared for a good minute and a half. Peter started to freak out all over again at that point, because maybe Tony had thought Peter hadn’t meant it when he’d called him ‘Dad’ and now that Peter apologized he was realizing he actually had meant it—because who sincerely apologized for something they didn’t mean?—and why exactly had Peter chosen to speak at all?

Just as he was about to open his mouth and apologize again—for what, he wasn’t sure—Tony beat him to it. “And you’re sorry about that?” he asked softly, his eyes gentle.

“Yes, I am! Because...because…” Peter was truly at a loss for words now. The truth was he wasn’t sorry that he’d admitted to himself what his mentor was to him. The problem he had with it was that he’d admitted it out loud to the one person he didn’t want finding out. He was afraid he’d lose Tony if he told him or that he would get Hulk-level angry and turn into some beast Peter didn’t recognize but fully knew he deserved to face.

So, the only slightly valid reason he could come up with in that short amount of time came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Because you’d get mad and leave,” Peter mumbled, pulling his hand out of his mentor’s grip and twisting his fingers together in his lap.

Another short pause. A sigh. “Peter, bud...you really thought I’d leave?” Tony said, his voice low and close to breaking. At Peter’s hesitant nod, he closed his eyes as if he were in pain and asked, “Why?”

Peter’s heart ached at his mentor’s rather emotional response and bit his lip to hold back the tears rapidly forming in his eyes. “Mr. Stark, I swear it’s not anything you did that made me think that, it’s just...it’s just…” Peter finally looked up to make eye contact with Tony, a surge of love and longing and sadness and mourning passed through him, and suddenly he knew how his sentence ended. “Everyone leaves, Dad. Everyone. My mom, my-my actual dad, my uncle Ben--everyone I love just leaves, and I was afraid—I am afraid—that as soon as I admit that to you I’ll lose you, too. It’s like I’m a walking death curse but only casting it on the ones I love, and it hurts so bad to watch all of them go away. “ Peter cried, finally admitting what he’d kept to himself for years. He hiccupped on a sob but kept going, because he wasn’t quite finished. “So I was hoping that-that maybe if I never told you, you wouldn’t go away. That-that you’d stay, for once. Because no one else has, and I-I need my dad.”

He hadn’t noticed he wasn’t the only one crying in the room until Tony gently brushed off Peter’s tears and he could see tear-filled eyes staring right back at him. The lump in his throat only grew bigger at the sight, and a new set of tears formed.

“Scoot over, kid,” Tony said, his voice sounding wrecked even at a whisper. Peter was confused but scooched over anyway, all of it becoming clear as his mentor—his dad—crawled in next to him. Peter fumbled as he was dragged into the space between his mentor’s legs but immediately took comfort in the position when his dad’s arms wrapped around him and held him tighter than he’d been held in a long, long time.

Peter buried his head in Tony’s old AC/DC T-shirt and continued to cry, some tears out of relief that he’d finally admitted everything he’d been carrying on his shoulders. He felt his dad kiss his head then proceed to rest his chin on it, fully encompassing Peter in his hold.

“I’m not leaving you, kid. Not now, not ever, and I swear that on my mother’s grave.” Tony’s voice was shaky but stable; it was at least strong enough that Peter was able to cling onto it with some semblance of faith. “I’m so sorry life gave you shitty circumstances, but, Peter, you’re always going to have someone who loves you. If it’s not me—and, just for the record, I’m never going to stop loving you, kid—then it’ll be May. If it’s not May it’ll be Ned, and if it’s not Ned it’ll be MJ, and if it’s not MJ it’ll be Pepper, and if it’s not Pepper it’ll be Rhodey—and you see how this continues down the line, right?”

Peter gave a teary laugh and sniffled, nuzzling further into his shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I see.”

Tony pulled back, cupping Peter’s face and gently wiping his tears away with the pad of his thumb. He smiled, blinking away some of his own tears, and made sure Peter was looking directly into his eyes before saying, “I love you, Pete. I love you like my own son, and I’m not sure when that started or if it’s just always been there, but you are the best thing to have ever happened to me, you understand?” He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head as if in disbelief. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, kid, but you’re evidence that I must be doing something right. And...and I’d really love it if you let yourself call me ‘Dad’ whenever it slips out instead of beating yourself up about it.”

Peter frowned, his lip wobbling. “You...you’re really sure? Like, really sure? You’re not, like, weirded out or anything by it?”

Tony laughed and tapped his forehead against Peter’s. “I’m really, really sure, Underoos. And maybe I should be weirded out by that since I’ve never been sure of anything in my life, but I think if there were ever to be a situation in my life where I didn’t second guess myself, it only makes sense that it would be you.”

Peter let out a cry of relief and threw his arms around his neck, squeezing as tight as he could without hurting him. “I love you, Dad.”

Tony squeezed back, finding just as much comfort in the ratty brown curls brushing against his cheek as his kid found in the scratch of his beard against his own. He breathed in once, twice, three times, trying to commit this exact moment to memory, before replying. “I love you too, kid. Even though we’re really only in this position now because you were too damned stubborn to say anything.”

He felt Peter’s grin against his shoulder. “It’s my self-sacrificial bullshit, remember?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Tony tutted, one of his hands coming up to hold the back of Peter’s head. “Only I’m allowed to curse, young man. Dad privileges and all that.”

The sound of Peter’s laugh stuck with Tony for quite some time, and it was then that he vowed to himself he would never go a single day again without it again. It etched a permanent home in his memory, just as a small, innocent, bright-eyed, broken boy had recently etched a permanent home in his heart.

---

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harrisongslimited · 5 years ago

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An Impossible Task-A John Wick Fanfic

A/N - Here we go again! Another chapter. I still don’t know how many chapters there will be--I haven’t even gotten to the smut yet! And yes, there will be smut-that’s what fanfics are for, no?

T/W - Grief.

Chapter 3

He wasn’t sure where he was, but he thought it was Helen running a warm hand across his forehead and into his hair. He thought it was Helen talking to him. Then he realized again that Helen was gone, and had been gone for 5 years….the same amount of time they had been married. In his mind he saw her, her smile, her long brown hair, her almond shaped eyes. What bothered him is that he could no longer remember the sound of her voice. It had melted somehow over the last 2 years since he lost the video he had of her on his cell phone. Part of him feared that he would lose her physically as the years passed, just as he had lost her vocally. There was only one remaining picture of the two of them, safely tucked away in the New York City Library.

When he woke, he saw a doctor standing over him and fear went right through him. He had to get out of this hospital…or they would find him for sure. He somehow needed to find shelter and get back to Manhattan to find out exactly what had happened to land him 90 miles away from where he thought he was.

John’s body ached. Every bump of the car caused another pain in his chest, in his leg, in his head. Surprisingly, his broken fingers hurt almost as much as the stab wound in his chest. He remembered the fight. Sort of. Things were still a bit hazy, probably from the pain medication they had given him. This is why he hated pain medication. It fogged the brain and weakened the body. He’d take a bourbon over a syringe filled with cloudy white liquid any time.

But now he was on his way somewhere, with a doctor he didn’t know. These were way too many things out of his control….this was way too much power he had freely turned over to someone else. But he glanced out of his peripheral vision to look at her as he rolled the coins and medallion in his hand. What was he planning? What was his plan? He still couldn’t think straight but watched the young doctor out of the corner of his eye. His plan for now was to trust no one.

It was his credo before he met Helen, trusting no one, but somehow she broke through his crusty exterior and found the goodness he didn’t even think he had. Once found, never lost and maybe that’s how he would honor her. Be the living embodiment of her good graces so if her physical being faded from his memory like her voice did, he could still remember her.

The doctor remained quiet as she drove through a regular family neighborhood. John studied his surroundings as unobtrusively as possible hoping his brain had recovered enough to hold the information. The medicine was still making him exceptionally groggy and he felt his eyes closing against the headlights of the oncoming cars.

“You okay, John?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“You’re going to be feeling that anesthesia for another couple of hours,” she told him. “When we get to my house, start drinking water…a lot of water…to flush it out of your system.”

He nodded his head in agreement. “Why are you helping me?”

Cassie glanced at him quickly then focused back on the road. “Because I’m an idiot with a death wish.”

John turned his face to her and realized what a risk she really was taking for him. “Well, thank you,” he said, still studying her. She was a pretty woman with a slightly upturned nose, making her look younger than her real age, he figured. Her lips were full with a light pink sheen and her neck was long and slender. Her skin was a smooth, creamy ivory, accented by her short, auburn hair and dark brown eyes. John’s eyes slid down her body and even covered with a winter coat, he could tell her body was petite but strong. John snapped his head forward, stunned by his observations.

He didn’t have much of a chance to get to know women outside of his business. Helen had been the first and he had given up that life for her. But illness had taken her from him and now John was back where he started. A hitman. An assassin.

Cassie turned a corner and pulled into the driveway of a small, ranch type home surrounded by green grass and trees. She opened the garage and drove the car in. John was about to get out until he heard someone calling her from outside the house.

“Cassie!”

Cassie ran outside the garage to meet her neighbor, 82 year old Deloris White. She was hoping John had slumped down so he wasn’t visible. If Deloris saw him, the entire neighborhood would know she had brought a man home.

“Hi Deloris,” Cassie greeted.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she began in a frantic tone. “I woke up with this pain in my side and I’m worried it’s appendicitis.” Deloris pointed to her left side.

Cassie took her hand. “Your appendix is on the other side, Deloris,” she told her calmly. “And if you ever get sick, don’t wait for me to come home. Call 911.”

Deloris nodded quickly. “So what is this on my left side?”

Cassie asked her several questions. What kind of pain? Vomiting? Diarrhea? Fever? Tenderness? To which Deloris said,”No.”

“Well, I think it’s okay,” Cassie reassured her. “If you feel sick during the night, you call 911. Promise me.”

Deloris nodded, looking towards Cassie’s car. “I saw someone in your car when you came up the street. Who is it? A young man?”

“Oh, shit,” Cassie said to herself. To Deloris she said, “It’s my brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother. I thought you only had a sister.”

“Nope, Nope. He’s my brother, John,” she stuttered. “John?” Cassie called. “Come meet my neighbor Deloris.”

John eased out of the car and walked over to them, thinking about what he was going to do about an 82 year old woman. Out of habit, he always had to secure a way out. He looked at Cassie.

“Deloris, this is my brother John,” Cassie told her. “He’ll be staying with me a couple of days. John, this is Deloris.”

John flashed his brown eyes at Cassie, then greeted Deloris.

“Are you a doctor too?” Deloris asked, noticing the scrubs and white lab coat.

John looked down at his clothes and nodded.

“How wonderful!” Deloris exclaimed. “Two doctors in one family.”

“Well, we need to get inside now,” Cassie told her. “And you need to go home and get out of the cold.”

Deloris nodded and touched Cassie’s arm. “Thank you Dear. I’ll go now. I feel much better.”

“Good,” Cassie responded. “Remember. Call 911 if you feel sick.”

She nodded and turned to walk back down the driveway. Cassie watched her get back into her house.

“Your brother?” John quizzed her, still staring down the driveway.

Cassie shrugged. “I was under pressure. I didn’t want to reinvent the wheel in my front yard, okay?”

John laughed slightly as they turned to go back into the garage and then through the door to the house. He rubbed his cold hands together and followed Cassie into the kitchen.

Cassie’s cell phone rang. “Hello? Yes, Edwin?”

“The police are here. Where is your patient?” he groused.

“He was in Room 8,” Cassie answered, looking at John. “You told me to leave. I left.”

“Without properly transitioning the patient to another doctor?”

“I charted thoroughly. Everything, including test results are in his chart.”

“This is a total breach of protocol, Cassie. Not transitioning the patient properly. And now he’s gone,” Edwin’s voice was getting louder and louder.

“Well, he was there when I left so I can’t help you.”

“When you get back on Monday, we’ll have a conversation about this, Cassie. This is unacceptable.”

“Understood,” Cassie answered him flatly. “Goodbye Edwin.”

John looked at her questioningly.

“My ass is in the grinder because of you,” she told him in a no-nonsense tone. “I sure hope you turn out to have the cure for cancer or know how to end world war and poverty.”

John surprised himself when he answered her, “I don’t even know how I ended up half dead outside your ER.”

“Great,” Cassie replied, filling the coffee pot with water and grounds. “Coffee?”

John nodded.

“And go sit down for God’s sake,” Cassie instructed, pointing him to the living room. “Are you hungry?”

John shook his head.

“You don’t talk much do you?” Cassie laughed. “Or am I talking too much? Or are you just plotting my untimely demise?”

#john wick #fanfic #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves #i don't know what the hell i'm doing #help #i hope this isn't shit #an impossible task

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