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wutheringmights · 2 years ago

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After the last chapter, I was wondering if you had an idea of what the Chain's kill count is? If it's plot significant, don't feel like you have to spoil anything.

There is one other person's kill count that is relevant, but I can't tell you whose. It's a surprise ;)

Sky

Kill Count: 0

Okay so did Sky kill Demise? Yes.

Does Sky consider Demise a person? Absolutely not.

Demise is a cosmic entity. He is a concept. Sky did his job and walked away with no regrets.

Hell, he'll do it again if he has to. No hesitation.

Zero percent guilt.

Four

Kill Count: 9

It's explained in story but basically one of those kills is Vaati and the other eight are corrupted knights of Hyrule

This is one of those things where he knows he had his reasons and many people would say he's right about this, but he doesn't feel good about it.

It's complicated.

The best way to put it is that he chooses to be regretful.

Time

Kill Count: 3-ish

I don't think Time has ever gone into a battle choosing to kill another person, even if that other person is horrible and tried to kill him first.

Like, he sealed Ganondorf in one timeline then turned him over to the authorities in the other. And he hates this guy more than anyone else.

His kills are all instances when he defeated someone in battle (like a thief or something-- they picked the fight, not him) and they succumbed to their injuries some time after

He still feels terrible about it, but it's not crushing guilt

He's killed a lot of people under the influence of the Fierce Deity Mask, but those aren't his kills. It's the diety’s. There's a difference.

Legend

Kill Count: 4-ish

Let's get this out of the way: Legend does not think he killed everyone on Koholint Island. Sorry, like I know this is a popular headcanon but I hold true to that little hopeful smile at the end of Link's Awakening. He's wistful, but not guilty.

That being said, he's defeated the sorcerers and servants of Ganon who have taken over the kingdom, like Yuga and Agahnim.

The guilt involving all that is pretty low too. They had it coming.

He's in too deep to start feeling bad about it now.

(That being said, I am very tempted to ignore canon and declare that he's never actually killed anyone, just because it would be really funny if the guy with the most amount of world-threatening emergencies managed to solve all of them without any bloodshed. Like, he would make everyone else look terrible at their jobs.)

Hyrule

Kill Count: 0

This is another instance where Hyrule technically has killed, but like Sky, he doesn't think Ganon is a person.

That being said, Hyrule lived a pretty a dangerous life before his adventures began. The fact that he had gotten into so many fights without killing anyone before being roped into his first adventure is a testament to how good of a fighter he is.

That being said, he is prepared at any given moment to kill another human

He can't tell if any of the people attacking him for his blood are Ganon's minions in disguise until after he kills them

So far, none of them have actually been people

But he really doesn't care-- if someone is out to kill him, he's going to be the one who walks away with their life no matter what he has to do

Twilight

Kill Count: 1

Knock knock, Twilight. Who's that? If the fact that Time didn't kill Ganondorf himself coming back to haunt his descendants.

Twilight killed Ganondorf

He doesn't regret it. He made his peace with it long before he stormed Hyrule Castle.

But he's not itching to do it again.

The idea is still pretty unpalatable.

Wind

Kill Count: 1

Knock knock, Wind. Who's that? If the fact that Time didn't kill Ganondorf himself coming back to haunt the next generation.

I think Wind got in over his head during his first adventure and chose to cope by leaning into this idea of being the new hero

So he was able to justify killing Ganondorf in a black-and-white, good-always-wins kind of way

It’s only as he gets older and he starts thinking on that first adventure that he starts to feel sympathy for Ganondorf

At that point, would he start to feel bad? Maybe.

Perhaps he would, despite himself.

Warriors

Kill Count: 150 at a minimum

I mean, he fought in a war where he did end up having to fight other people

86 of those kills were from the mass-execution of traitors, though he’s definitely had to execute more on an unofficial level

His feelings of guilt and self-righteousness are such a mess that it would just be easier to toss out the whole suitcase

Despite how complicated it all is, he would do it again

Wild

Kill Count: 3-ish

I think he’s killed some Yiga

I don’t think he intended to kill any of them, but sometimes those assassination attempts got really nasty

Most of the assassins would escape with their lives, but there were a few that were not so lucky

I think the first time it was a huge shock to the system. And I think a lot of his feelings about it got mixed up in what he feels now versus what he thinks he should feel

He definitely remembers a time where he would not have cared as long as it was in service of the Royal Family

Nowadays, he is more sympathetic towards the Yiga

He admits that if someone is trying to kill him, he has to be the one to who walks away with their life.

But killing someone is never easy for him. He will always try to avoid it.

But if pushed enough, he will reside himself to what he has to do.

#in this case we're not counting monsters as people but as we've just explored #maybe we should be skeptical of the mass killing of monsters #linked universe #lu ctb #me rambling #ask #anonymous

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ashdoesfandomarchieved · 3 years ago

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of all i am made of (perhaps you are too)

ao3

Hugo does not believe in soulmates.

To be fair, he doesn’t much believe in anything but the feeling of coin in his pocket and the clever bite of his dagger. What use has he for god and destiny when he carves his own path of lies through time, with a sharp tongue and a cocky smile.

Why should Hugo believe the universe would gift him a soulmate when it already has made it perfectly clear that nothing is free?

Besides soulmates are rarities of the past--legends and folktales on the lips of elders and religious fanatics; the former clinging to superstition from the od era, the latter feeding false promises and hope to the instupid masses.

Soulmates are for hopeless romantics and tiny children. Not for Hugo.

“That does not surprise me,” Nuru says, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face.

She’s lying down in the golden field where they’ve set camp for the night. The contrast of the bright yellow against her dark skin is stunning-particularly in the moonlight, with her dark hair fanning out about her head.

Hugo, who is sitting upright a few paces away and playing with his daggers, frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, unsure if he should be feeling defensive or not.

Nuru folds her arms beneath her head, propping herself up enough to make eye contact with him. “Even if you had a soulmate, you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” she scoffs.

He snorts. “ You believe in soulmates?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes, actually. I thought you were the rational one in this party.”

Nuru gives him an expression that indicates how stupid she thinks he is. “I might be the only person who can keep their head in a crisis, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in a higher power, Hugo.”

She rolls over, so that she’s laying on her stomach, facing him. “Burning stars fall in my homeland every year. There are stories of a sun princess who’s tears heal the dead. Varian somehow hasn’t strangled you yet. I think you’d better start believing in a god.”

“Or soulmates apparently,” Hugo mutters.

“Or soulmates,” Nuru says. “Would it really be that far-fetched?”

“Do I believe there’s someone out there who shares my dreams? Or has my name written above their heart? Hard pass, Princess.”

“Alright then, how about sharing the same soul?” Nuru asks, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound at least a little romantic?”

“I don’t have a soul.”

“Now that,” she says, a grin stretching across her face, “that I can believe.”

___

“I think Anya’s my soulmate,” Yong says dreamily, staring at Varian’s redheaded cousin like she hung the fucking moon.

Hugo, despite secretly adoring the round child, rolls his eyes. Hard. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means we share the same time threads,” Yong replies distractedly.

Varian and Anya are nerding out over something-something Hugo would find interesting or fun to mock them over, but right now, for some reason, he’s more interested in Yong’s adorable-if not misguided-crush on Varian’s little cousin.

“Time threads,” Hugo laughs, cracking his knuckles. Yong winces at the noise, momentarily taking his eyes off the two babbling alchemists. “Alright, color me curious. What are time threads?”

Yong frowns. “You’ve never heard of time threads? Every child in Koto learns about them.”

Ah, must be some religious poppycock only spread in the fire kingdom.

“Well, I’m not a child living in Koto, am I?” Hugo replies lightly. “Spill, little pyro.” He pokes the kid in the shoulder repeatedly until he gets swatted.

“Her lady, Odiyesi, spins a thread for each person,” Yong recites in a sing-song voice. “This thread contains the beginning, the middle, and the end of our lives. If she so chooses, two threads will be intertwined-maybe even beyond the Snip, if she wills it.”

“The Snip?”

“Oh yeah, that’s when you die,” Yong says, side eyeing Hugo.

Hugo ruffles Yong’s hair. “And you think Anya is your thread partner. That’s so cute .”

Yong ducks out from under his hand, scowling. “Why did you ask if you don’t even believe it?” he mumbles, face pink.

“You know what I think?” Hugo asks, pretending like he doesn’t hear Yong. “I think you should go right up to here and tell her all that. Give her a heads up about your eternally bound souls.”

“Your soul is eternally bound to the underworld,” Yong shoots back, with a surprising amount of fire.

Hugo bursts into laughter. “That,” he says, “is the first thing you’ve said all day that makes sense.”

___

“What do you think about soulmates?” Hugo asks mildly. He has a glass of wine in one hand, but he’s barely tasted it. Instead, he stands, staring out the stained glass window and into the courtyard.

Donella, sitting behind her desk, looks up from Varian’s Ulla’s journal-recently procured by Hugo.

The amount of deception and sneaking around he’d gone through to actually get it out of Varian’s line of sight had been painstakingly difficult. And it had been even harder coming up with an excuse to Nuru why he needed to spend the night somewhere other than their current lodgings.

He doesn’t really remember the lie. Just the trust in the Princess’s face when she’d briefly patted him on the shoulder, telling him to be back by sunrise.

Donella closes the journal with a snap, leaning back in her chair. “What a curious question. And from you, no less.”

When Hugo turns around, she’s smiling that sharp smile-the one that makes his stomach plummet with discomfort. Something in him churns at that dangerous expression now, unsure of what he’s suddenly gotten himself into.

He gives a casual shrug, raising his glass to his lips. “Just making idle conversation, I suppose.” The wine tastes terrible. Still, he takes another sip before setting it down on an end table.

“Hmm.” His mentor eyes him skeptically. “What do I think about soulmates?” she muses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the proper answer would be that I hate them.”

He frowns. “So you don’t believe in them?”

“You can’t hate something you don’t believe in, Hugo. Of course I believe in soulmates.” Donella must see the surprise in his expression because she laughs after a brief pause. “I would be hard pressed not to believe in them after seeing it with my own two eyes.”

Hugo blinks, startled. “You met someone with a soulmate?” he asks, disbelieving.

“You could say that.”

“How do-how did you know they were-”

She opens the stolen journal again, long scared fingers deftly flipping back to her reading place. “Because I could feel when she was in pain. Now shut up, Waif, I still have three quarters of this tedious reading to get through and only five more hours to do it.”

___

Even though Eugene has decided to make the conscious effort not to kill Hugo, the guy still shows mild animosity. And by mild, Hugo-of course-means that he drags him around, making him do tedious tasks and scowls whenever he gets close to Varian.

Whatever. It’s not as if Hugo’s going to complain, considering that it’s mostly his fault there was a demon monster briefly unleashed onto Corona that destroyed most of her capital city. As long as Varian isn’t blaming himself, Hugo calls it a win.

So he lets the Prince Consort drag him around the city and put his alchemy to work.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hugo says, at one point, when it becomes apparent that even though Eugene has no idea how alchemy works , he was still going to hover. “I’m not going to cut and run.”

The man had snorted. “Yeah, I already figured that one out for myself,” he’d muttered and then proceeded to not explain what that meant.

So here Hugo is, with an ever present shadow, hovering like he’s a fucking five year old. Hugo honestly doesn’t see what Varian sees in the guy-or Queen Rapunzel for that matter. She looks at the ex-thief like he hung the moon and all the damn stars in the sky.

“It’s because they’re soulmates,” Eugene’s buddy-Lance, Hugo thinks-had said when he caught him staring.

Hugo had scoffed.

Now, bored and overheated after a long day’s work, Hugo watches Eugene frown over some blueprints in the Queen’s study. Hugo’s not exactly sure why he has to be present for this particular part of the renovation project, but he’s too tired to protest.

“Are you and the queen soulmates?” he hears himself asking.

Eugene lifts his head, eyes alight with surprise. He glances back down at the blueprints once, before leaving the table to join Hugo by the open doors leading to the balcony.

“Weird question, coming from you,” he snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But yes. We are.”

Hugo doesn’t know what to make of that. “How do you know?”

The older man hesitates, something like understanding dawning on the man’s face. A small smile crosses lips. “Have you ever met someone that no matter how many times you tried to walk away, you couldn’t?”

Hugo swallows.

“That’s how I know. Now,” he claps Hugo on the shoulder. “If you’ll stop messing around, I need your opinion on whether Yong’s demolition idea or Varian’s solvent solution is going to work best for the lower district’s avalanche problem.”

___

At the end of all things-or perhaps the beginning-Hugo finds Varian on a rooftop.

It’s not hard to find him, as when Varian is brooding, he likes to perch. It’s a habit that the alchemist has either picked up from spending most of his time in a castle with high roofs or perhaps it’s born of chasing his dumb racoon into precarious positions.

Either way, Hugo learns early into his friendship with the darkhaired boy, that when he’s being introspective, he likes to pick a high roof and perch like a fucking woodland creature.

So when Varian goes missing in the middle of Corona’s lantern festival, it takes precious few minutes to find him.

“You are so predictable,” Hugo says, dropping down next to him. Heights don’t usually bother him, but the castle is impressively tall.

The other alchemist doesn’t really seem to mind, however. He lets his legs dangle over the edge, occasionally swinging in the air.

“Or maybe I wanted you to find me,” Varian replies easily. His head--tilted up, toward the stars that are mirrored in the constellations of freckles on his face-is wearing a peaceful expression.

Something in Hugo’s chest clenches tightly at the sight of it. There was a time, not too long ago, where he was convinced he’d never see Varian happy again.

But now, Varian turns his face toward Hugo and offers him a smile. “Or maybe I’m just predictable to you.”

The tightness in Hugo’s chest dissipates. What is left aches for something he can’t have.

“Or that,” Hugo says, instead of doing something stupid like trying to hold Varian’s hand or kiss the stupid expression off his face.

Varian turns back to the stars.

“You know, they say shooting stars fall in the direction of your soulmate.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “Not you too,” he groans, eliciting laughter from his friend. “I thought out of everyone, you would be on my side here.”

“Aw, don’t believe in soulmates?” Varian teases, grinning boyishly. “Sun and moon, I should have expected that.”

“Yeah?” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

“You’re so cynical. And not in the way Cass is-she’s like realistically -cynical. You’re just oh poor me I could never have a soulmate because my soul is made of garbage -”

Hugo clamps a hand over Varian’s mouth, shrieking when he tries to lick him. “I- stop -I don’t have to listen to this slander -”

“-and if you ever did find your soulmate you would be insufferable about it,” Varian goes on, catching Hugo’s wrist when he tries to silence him again. “You would spend the entire time trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there was no possible way they could be your soulmate and when you couldn’t you would-”

He stops. Blinks at Hugo with realization dawning across his face.

Hugo’s wonders if Varian can feel his pulse racing where the smaller boy’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yeah? What would I do?”

Varian’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you would do. I’d hope you would be smart about it.”

He lets go of Hugo.

Hugo immediately misses his warmth.

“And what would be the smart thing.”

“Well,” Varian draws out the word thoughtfully. He scoots close enough to Hugo that if the taller boy wanted he could wrap and arm around his shoulder. “Well, an excellent start would be telling them.”

“And how would you tell them? If it were you,” Hugo adds quickly, when Varian shoots him a questioning look.

Varian leans back on his hands, head tipped back, exposing his throat to the sky. “I would tell them my heart started beating at the same time as theirs when we touched. That there’s a silver dagger inked on my shoulder that burns when they’re angry and sings when they’re sad-”

“Varian.” Hugo’s heart clenches so hard he briefly wonders if he’s having a heart attack.

“-I would tell them that I dreamed in color the first night we lay side by side in the forest,” Varian goes on, ignoring him. “I would tell them that when we touch I see every color-even the ones that don’t belong here.”

“Varian.”

Hugo’s hand finds his soulmate's.

Varian turns his head to the side slightly, finally meeting Hugo’s eye. With his free hand, he cups the side of Hugo’s neck, tentatively.

“I would tell him that our souls are made of the same thing.” He smiles gently. “It’s just science, Hugo.”

Hugo laughs, pressing his forehead into Varian’s. “How is that the most romantic thing you’ve said yet?”

“Because you’re a closet nerd,” Varian says, right before he leans in.

Underneath a starlit sky, Hugo kisses the boy made of the same stuff as him.

___

#varigo #hugo vat7k #varian #nuru vat7k #yong vat7k #eugene fitzherbert #my fanfic #vat7k fanfic #tts #tts fafic

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acreepqueen · 4 years ago

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Inktober 2020 |Day 1: Fish|

Eek! Guess I’m doing Inktober this year! This isn’t the best thing I’ve ever written but, I really hope you guys enjoy this.

Word Count: 1,679

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You had never been much of a believer in anything you couldn’t see or prove. Even then, you were prone to doubt something you couldn’t explain. That was why, when the aquarium in town had announced it was revealing a newly discovered species, you were skeptical to say the least. The information they had released to the public was limited, but there was talk in the town of it being something monstrous. You’d scoffed at the idea but your curiosity was peaked. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to take a trip to the aquarium. You knew you’d enjoy the species they for sure had even if this new thing turned out to be a bust.

The crowds at the exhibit’s debut were surprisingly large, though not entirely unexpected. After all, it had been the talk of the town since it was announced. You slipped through the hoard with only slight difficulty. Before long, you were able to see the exhibit. It was odd that there was a barrier put up to keep people away from the glass. The enclosure itself was rather ominous. It wasn’t as well lit as the other tanks and it was huge. You were pretty sure it could comfortably house a whale. Still, it was unnerving that you didn’t see anything but a couple small fish and a manta ray. You eyes scanned the crowd around you for any workers, but you didn’t have time to find anyone.

Murmurs from the people around you suddenly quieted and you glanced back at the tank in slight confusion. You gasped as your eyes met a pair startlingly similar to yours. Although, with a start, you realized that the face of what ever you were looking at was much bigger than yours. You froze unsure what to do or feel as you watched the creature. Never had you seen something quite like it. It looked humanoid, the biggest difference being the giant fish tail in place of legs. On the tail, the scales were a murky black and sharp looking spines ran down it. What at first you had thought was hair you soon realized was a mass of tentacles on the creature’s head. Its eyes were pitch black voids which made it impossible to tell where, if at all, it was looking. Though, the your main concern lay with the creature’s mouth. Teeth that made shards of broken glass look soft sat in its mouth. You gulped slightly as you watched the thing move. It looked agitated to say the least.

Within moments the silence of the crowd was broken by jeering and the sounds of cameras clicking. Many had neglected to see or follow the many posted signs stating to turn off your camera flash. You winced as the creature bared its teeth. Something in your gut churned as people continued to ignore the rules. One young girl ducked under the banister and walked up to the glass. She stood about a foot away and turned her back to the tank. She smiled, posing briefly for a picture.

You saw what was going to happen moments before it did. Without thinking you slid under the banister and pushed the girl often the side as it slammed into the glass baring its teeth once more. No one in the crowd behind you missed the loud smash, but with the blood rushing in your ears you didn’t hear it at first. You turned to the tank only to see two huge cracks stretching out from the places where the creatures hands had smacked into the glass. You felt a chill run through you. The glass was a couple of inches thick and it had been cracked as if it were nothing.

Most everyone had run away by now, but you couldn’t make your legs move. You stood frozen in place making direct eye contact with a humanoid sea monster twice your size. Okay, yeah. This is not how you had planned your day to go. To your surprise it didn’t continue breaking the glass, instead it put its hands on it looking at you in a way you could only describe as curious. Still, you didn’t trust the look in its eyes. It blinked and that was all you needed to snap out of it. You slipped back behind the banister but continued to watch the creature. It was still watching you with interest, hands pressed up against the glass. You took some time to study it more closely. Its skin was a dark greyish blue hue that reminded you vaguely of the deep deep ocean. The more you looked at it the more it looked emaciated and even a bit sickly. Though, maybe that was just how this species typically looked. Afterall, this was the first time you’d ever seen one.

Hesitantly you waved at the creature. With its sharp, boney fingers it waved back mimicking you. You couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto your face. It once again copied you, smiling back. Feeling more than a little amused you stretched backwards with your arms behind your head and it copied you again. You were getting ready to try something else when a voice behind you caused you to jump.

“Amazing. I’ve never seen em’ do that. Typically he’s pretty damn mean, that one,” a worker stated, looking at you incredulously. You weren’t sure what to say but the creature bared its fangs at the worker beside you and swam away. Only peeking out at you briefly from behind a large piece of coral behind ducking down again.

“He don’t like me one bit, I tell ya. Won’t take nothin’ I give em’. Spiteful lil’ retch would rather starve to death than eat the food I’ve got!” He ranted. You grimaced but listened on politely. So you were right about the creature looking unhealthy.

“We’re gettin’ real desperate now. Everyone’s had a go at takin’ care of em’ but he’s just hateful. Ricky had to get stitched up after he got a little too close to em’.”

You weren’t sure you liked where this conversation was going. If you were about to be asked to do what you thought you were going to, you weren’t sure if you could refuse. You didn’t want the creature to starve to death and it would probably be a once in a lifetime opportunity. Although, you didn’t really have a death wish either.

“Maybe you’d like to give it a go?” the worker asked hopefully. You frowned slightly and he piped up.

“I’m sure they’d pay ya good money if they know he’ll take food from ya!” he encouraged. You glanced back at the tank, more specifically the large cracks in the glass. Looking back towards the coral your eyes locked with a pair of sunken black ones. To hell with it.

“Okay, fine. But I’ll for sure sue if I get seriously hurt,” you agreed staring down the worker. He clapped his hands excitedly and thanked you, before he practically dragged you along.

The nerves hit you like a trainwreck the moment a bucket of dead fish was placed at your feet. You stood a couple of feet away from the open tank absolute terrified. This was such a bad idea and you were totally going to get yourself killed.

“Now, just scootch a lil bit closer to the tank and call for em’,” the man instructed. You inched forward on trembling legs with the bucket in your hand. Dead fish was certainly not a pleasant smell.

“H-hey,” you called softly. Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“He’s not gonna hear ya if-” the man cut himself off when a head peeked out of the water. God, up close he seemed so much bigger. You wanted nothing more than to bolt in that moment but you kept your feet planted firmly.

“Hi, I have food,” you stately lamely gesturing towards the fish. The creature upturned his nose at the bucket and you couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

“M-maybe something fresher would be better...?” you inquired towards the worker. He shook his head.

“Nah, his kind clean off carcasses normally. We can’t feed em’ rotten fish though, they’re afraid it might hurt em’,” the worker explained. Your eyes widened a smidge, but that would certainly explain the teeth. You picked up a fish from the bucket and took a step towards the creature.

“I know it’s not what you normally eat, but you have to eat something. I don’t want you to die...” you trailed off, unsure why you were trying to converse with it in the first place. To your surprise it placed its hands onto the side and laid its head down on top of it. It still watched you warily but it didn’t seem malicious. Slowly, you set the bucket down and pulled out a fish watching it all the while for any sort of sign it might want to hurt you. You cautiously walked over to it and held out the fish. It snarled and you flinched, but stayed rooted in place. With what sounded like a heavy sigh it took the fish and plunged back into the tank with it. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and turned back to look at the caretaker. His mouth was agape and he looked stunned.

Finally, he asked, “Why didn’t you just throw the fish!? The hell were you thinking!? Why was he so gentle?! He won’t let anyone get within a foot of that tank!” he didn’t seem like he knew whether he should scold or applaud you. You just grimaced and let the man talk your ear off for a moment. Eventually, you swapped contact information and he said that he’d set up a time for you to be interviewed tomorrow. You weren’t sure the legality of all this, but you’d been meaning to find a new job for a while now. If it meant working at an aquarium with a potentially dangerous sea monster, so be it.

#inktober #inktober 2020 #exophilia #monster lover #merman #mermaid #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #writing #acreepqueen #I may or may not have drawn this

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highlifeboat · 4 years ago

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Scenario Time, its been a couple years in the dimitrescu household, Mia & Alcina have been together for a while now, the girls now see Mia as a second mother and Rose is now a toddler that as just started talking.

However, there as been a couple incidents surrounding Rose getting a hold of weird items. Mia's electronics, Alcina's hats and one time (horrifyingly) Daniela's sickle.

At first everyone thought Rose just inherited Ethan's ratlike abilities to horde things. Up until Rose starts to claim its her other 'sister' sharing with her.

It all comes to a head one night, when one of the cellar dwellers manage to get into Rose's room. Cue the panicking family, all sprinting to make sure she's safe. Only to find a large mass of mold were the beast should have been.

Rose is clapping her hands chanting " Evie Evie Evie"

Not my finest work, but here’s a little thing;

Cassandra wrinkles her nose as Daniela takes a closer look at the black crystallized mass in the center of the room. Bela quickly picks up Rose and backs away, the toddler giggling as she wiggles in her oldest sister's arms while she checks her for any physical damage. Alcina’s eyebrows knit together, in all her years on this planet she’s never seen anything like it. Daniela taps it with the back of her sickle, jumping a little when the fingers of what was once a monster crumble and turn into a puddle on the floor.

“What is this sh… stuff?” The redhead takes a harder swing and the mass falling into a puddle in response. The girls all take a step away. “Ew… Besides a mess for the maids to clean…”

“Maybe… Rose did this?” Cassandra suggests, looking back at both of her mothers. “Mama said she’s part mutant, right?”

Alcina bites her lower lip as she thinks. Her head turns to Mia, and her concern suddenly shifts when she notices her wife has turned ghostly pale. Her whole body is rigid and her hands are trembling as she stares at the pile of black goo. “Darling?” Alcina gently puts a hand on Mia’s shoulder, and the shorter woman jumps in response. “Are you alright?”

She inhales, ignoring Alcina’s question as her focus turns to Rose, who has since calmed down Bela’s arms. “Rosey, look at mama.” She gently holds the toddler’s face, giving a stern look at the innocent eyes staring back. “Sweetie, did… Evie… do this?” Rose smiles as she yells the name again. “Where is she now?” Mia can feel her family staring at her, but her eyes are locked on Rose until she points her little hand towards the bed the monster had loomed over. The mother swallows, the feeling of another set of eyes on her sends a chill down her spine, and once again it was Alcina who broke her sudden trance.

“We can deal with it later.” She states, all eyes now on the matriarch. “For now, Bela, go make sure that basement door is locked. Tightly.” The oldest girl nods, passing the toddler to Alcina on her way out. “You two go check that there aren't anymore of those creatures running around, and if there are, kill them.” Daniela and Cassandra let out a simultaneous “Yes, mother.” before rushing out of the room in a swarm of flies. Alcina cradles Rose in one arm as her attention returns to her wife, whose gaze is fixed on the bed. She isn’t sure what Mia is seeing, if anything at all, but the room has put her on edge and that was enough for Alcina to gently usher her out of it and towards their own bedroom. She sits on the bed, allowing Rose to roam the covers as Mia paces the floor. “Mia, what do you know about this?”

The younger woman runs a hand through her hair. “I know… whatever is in Rose’s bedroom is Mold. I know it’s infectious. I know the maidens probably shouldn’t touch it.”

“Mold…” Alcina thinks for a moment. “That’s… what caused you and Rose to have mutations, is it not?”

“Yes, but it’s kind of limited to regeneration. Rose can’t turn things into Mold. At least, I don’t think she can….” In truth Mia wasn’t a hundred percent sure. Connections had never tested a child born with the genetic mutation before. “If Evie is around-”

“Rose’s little imaginary sister?” Now Alcina sounds skeptical, and Mia lets out a sigh.

“Evie isn’t imaginary.” She sits on the bed beside her wife. “Do you remember when I told you about the Baker Farm? How I was transporting a bioweapon and it… took over the family?” Alcina nods slowly. “Evie… Eveline was the weapon… She was a little girl, or at least she looked like one, and she thought…” Mia pauses. She can almost feel the familiar sensation of claws in her throat. “She was trying to make a family, and she turned them into monsters. And maybe it’s a coincidence, but if Eveline is back…”

Alcina rubs her back when Mia’s breathing quickens. “It will be okay….”

“What if it isn’t? What if she infects the maidens, or one of the girls, or you?” Mia puts her face in her hands.

“Nothing will happen.” She tries to reassure her, and pulls her wife into her lap. “If it makes you feel better, my daughters and myself might not be able to get infected. We’re already mutated.” She doesn’t know if that’s true, but if it helps in calming down her darling then it doesn’t matter at the moment. “And we’ll make sure Rose is safe. Nothing will happen to either of you while I’m around. I promise….” They stay like that for a moment, until the excited squeal of Rose gets their attention.

“Evie!” The toddler grins, and Mia pales again at the sight of a girl, no older than ten, in a deep navy dress and black rubber boots, staring at them through a curtain of messy black hair standing in the doorway.

“Hello, mommy.” Eveline says with a smile that makes the younger woman’s blood run cold. “Did you miss me?”

#The scenario is actually very interesting #asks #anons #fanfiction #mia winters #alcina dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #eveline #rosemary winters

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ask-spider-man-61610 · 3 years ago

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So I think you’ve talked about your Doc Ock a bit on here... but have you ever encountered any other Ocks in other dimensions? How do they match up to yours?

Yes, I have. Doctor Octopus might not be exactly a universal constant, but it's certainly a common enough title that I've crossed paths with a fair number of them. I'm going to give a short little rundown of each of them, and why they should go to hell. This is gonna be a salty list. If you didn't want that, you should've come to someone else.

The Otto Octavius of Earth-1512 was the first alternate Ock I ever encountered. Unlike most of the Ocks on this list, I don't know or care what his deal is--I just spent an hour in my first ever alternate universe before I saw a man in armored green and yellow throwing cars around with mechanical tentacles. He was also working with the Green Goblin and holding civilians hostage at the time, which in my opinion is reason enough to put him in the ICU like I did. I've never been back to this universe and never will, but presumably he's just doing the same shit every month or so.

The Otto Octavius of Earth-8363, colloquially called God Ock because I guess we can't fucking help but stroke his ego, was the Ock I met during my first outing with what'd eventually be the Cluster. He's a weird edge case. First we fought a robotic duplicate of him, then his actual self after he'd done the dumbest thing I've ever seen an Ock do and integrated an extradimensional energy source into his fucking body in a bid for omnipotence. I suspect he was already basically dead when Gwen ripped the Shard out, but he had a backup personality on a secret hard drive and so we've met his AI self. He agrees it wasn't his smartest move. Still, fuck this guy. He apparently stabbed my alternate self in the back so he deserves what he got.

Oliver Octavius, of Earth-42711a, isn't a doctor. I refuse to call him Doctor Octopus, but he's calling himself that because he claims to be the son of Otto Octavius. Knowing Otto, I'm more than a little skeptical of that claim, but that doesn't change the fact that in a bid to be just like Daddy he dropped out of college to become a supervillain. When Melly noted that this plan was less than stellar he interpreted that as a personal betrayal and has sworn revenge on her. He's temperamental, idolizing of a man he's never met, and has an ego more fragile than sugar glass--and he's not even good at villainy. I walked into his lair, kicked his ass, and walked out again in less than five minutes. Oliver's pathetic. And he knows it, because he's scrambling to compensate with a desperation that anyone with half a brain can see is going to kill him very, very soon.

The Otto Octavius of Earth-22701 needs to fucking leave Morgan alone. The Peter Parker of that universe died like a century ago, and that Otto's engineered a way to stop aging so he doesn't even need to fight superheroes anymore. But no, he reads about a kid in New Orleans with my powers and decides that that's obviously his dead enemy having, I dunno, reincarnated or something. Instead of being the result of the spider-related experiments that he funded. I don't have a lot of respect for this Otto's intelligence. I've only met him in-person once, when I was going on the warpath and beating up everyone who's ever tried to kill Morgan, but for some reason having an actual Peter Parker knock two of his teeth out wasn't enough to deter him from his theory about Morgan being me. I'll try again as soon as I get a chance.

Odyssia Octavius, the Ock of Earth-777, is probably the least scientist and most mad of all the mad scientists here. Also the one who leans the hardest into the Octopus aesthetic, because alone among the Ocks she's a marine biologist. Now, unlike certain counterparts of mine I could mention, I actually don't give a fuck about her decision to serve an eldritch sea monster for power. Nor am I opposed to her overall goal--obviously we gotta save the environment, and obviously we're gonna have to fuck up some industries to make that happen. That's fine. My problems with her are more related to her habit of painfully twisting people she's got a grudge on into horrific monsters and then siccing said monsters on the populace. Even if that wasn't fucking abominable and evil beyond all recompense, it doesn't exactly convey the green message she's trying to go for. Maybe the Writhing One is modifying her logic to suit its own ends, using her as a puppet to get what it wants. Maybe she just fucking sucks. I've only ever spoken to her through the Internet, but if we ever meet face to face I'll be sure to ask which one it is right after I kick her ass and rip off big handfuls of that magic tattoo.

October Otto, the Doctor Octopus of Earth-2, is the only person in this list who I'm not inclined to attack on sight. It took me a little while to get to that point--when the me of Earth-2, Pax, introduced us I was pretty suspicious. But out of all the Ocks I've ever met, this is the only one who's not...nefarious. They're a little eccentric, more than a little shy, but overall a very well-meaning and selfless biologist. I'm glad I met them, even if their tentacles make me a little nauseous to think about. They and I still communicate occasionally, and after what happened to Pax I've been checking in with them to ask about their progress on a cure. This is one of the few people with whom I've ever felt the need to share my files on the Oz virus. I hope it does them good.

With the exception of October, all of these people are fucking awful. But none of them are as dangerous or as detestable as the Otto Octavius of Earth-61610.

The Otto I know is an unrivalled genius. His entire existence is devoted to biorobotics, and over the years he's integrated man and machine on a level that makes the Iron Man armor look like a remote-controlled action figure. He's modified his tentacles to counter my super speed, he's designed and redesigned a zillion different personal helpers, he's made himself the center of a technological superpower controlled solely by his mind. And unlike a lot of Ocks, he's not being manipulated by his tentacles. Nor was he driven insane by the accident that fused them to his body. No, this is a perfectly sane, rational prosthesis engineer who got so frustrated with the bounds of the law that he decided he had the right to start snapping necks.

He's a futurist, is the thing. A man with a grand vision of the technological utopia he could turn the world into, who thinks without a shadow of doubt that he knows what's best for the world and everyone in it, and who's decided that if you try to stop him from realizing that vision that the best thing to do is Remove you from the equation. Worse, he's written off massive swaths of the human race off as expendable--as little people whose lives are a perfectly acceptable sacrifice to bring about his future, who maybe even should be thanking him for the chance to finally mean something.

Every Octobot contains at least a few pieces of human brain. He kidnaps people, lobotomizes them, and integrates parts of their central nervous system into his systems to make his robots more adaptable and independent than purely mechanical systems could be. He's seeded mass-produced medicine with nanotech that hijacked the nervous system of the people who took it and turned them into unconscious parts of a worldwide neural network. On more than one occasion, he's tried to turn entire cities into his own personal laboratories, and everyone inside into lab rats.

Otto Octavius is a monster. No other Ock I've ever met even comes close.

#spider-man #specs #peter parker #ask #spidersona #earth-61610 #Otto Octavius #Doctor Octopus

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parasite-core · 3 years ago

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@faunscozyspace so here’s the looong answer

So Draven was a regular poor farm kid in Mendev, the country unfortunate enough to be next to a demonic rip in reality called the Worldwound. Because of it the land is mostly fallow so farming is not lucrative. His parents supplemented it by fishing in the Lake of Mists and Veils, but the lake is treacherous and they had to be cautious with their expeditions. His father also did odd jobs around town, helping to fix roofs and tools or tend to cattle, and was all around generally well liked, so they got by because of their community.

Then one day demons broke through the Wardstone barrier protecting the rest of the world from the Worldwound. This demon raiding party came across Draven’s family farm, and they tortured and slaughtered everyone inside. They were not fast about it, and at one point Draven lost consciousness from the pain and trauma of what was happening around him. He was saved by some local retired crusaders who’d heard the commotion and grabbed their old arms and armor to slay and chase off the abyssal scourge. Unfortunately, Draven was the only survivor. He was in a coma for close to a month while his wounds healed—all but a terrible mark on his left arm, the Mark of Deskari, the demon lord of Locusts and Pestilence, which never closed and scarred, but festered and bled. The cleric’s finally had him bandage it and told him to keep it hidden, as others would jump to the wrong conclusions about such a thing.

Unfortunately rumors had already begun to spread, and by the time he was taken into the Light-Oath Orphanage, owned by one of the retired crusaders, former captain Scarlet Jules, the children had heard of him. The boy who had survived what no one should have. The boy whose body had become strangely hardy since the ordeal, despite having been a somewhat scrawny kid in his youth. The boy who might have made a deal with a demon. The boy who might have demonic blood inside of him. The boy marked by evil. The boy who might not be a boy as all, but a demon in disguise. All kinds of rumors followed him, and it left him isolated from his peers.

Until Leto Jules held out a hand of friendship.

Leto was a brilliant golden tiefling, abandoned to the orphanage with no record of who his mother and father were. He was roughly the same age as Draven, maybe a little younger. He understood being shunned for rumors and connections to demons you had no control over. So he tried to invite Draven to play with him. At first Draven was hesitant. He had never met a tiefling before, and his appearance with his sharp fangs and twisted horns brought to mind the monsters that had killed his family and tortured him. He refused. But Leto did not relent. He kept trying to befriend Draven, taking every opportunity he could to try to include him. He wouldn’t force the subject when Draven said no, but he would always come back when another opportunity arose. Eventually Draven warmed up to his presence, and then grew fond of it. After a year together the two of them became inseparable. Draven in time grew to think of Leto as a surrogate brother. Leto in turn grew very protective of Draven, despite Draven seeing himself as the one who needed to protect those around him.

And as those two grew close, Leto’s natural charm began drawing others to them as well. Gabrielle, a kindhearted aasimar cleric, whose instructors feared she was too soft for the work of a field medic. Sophia, an orphaned Kellid girl who lived up to her people’s reputation for battle. She was fierce and vicious, but she had a clear soft spot for Gabrielle, who also worried over her in combat and tended to favor healing her—sometimes to the detriment of others. Everyone in the group knew Sophia had a crush on Gabbie and vice-versa—it was only a matter of time until those two boneheads came out and admitted it. Issac, the youngest of the group and the only one besides Draven who didn’t came to the orphanage as an infant. Issac lost his parents in an accident he didn’t like talking about when he was 13. He was quiet, shy, extremely unsure of himself despite his clear skill with magic, and always a bit droopy-eyed, like she was about to fall asleep. He was also the only religious skeptic in the group, despite being a celestial blooded sorcerer. And last but certainly not least was Lorette, a bard who was seeking for his friends to make big names for themselves so he could be the one to write the ballads and tales and earn a name for himself in that manner. He was a short blond man whose large personality made up for his stature. He was always the most boisterous in the room, always the center of attention, and generally pretty well liked by the sorts who enjoy his kind of big personality.

So these six made an adventuring party, and when Draven was 20 they headed out to the Crusader city of Kenabres to enlist.

Things…didn’t go well. About an hour outside of the city, a demon broke through the Wardstone again. Draven felt the Mark of Deskari on his arm begin to burn and bleed severely, and he immediately knew something was wrong. There was no time to warn his friends before all hell broke loose. They had trained together, they knew how to fight…in theory. But they had never been in a real battle. And they didn’t have cold iron or good aligned weapons, so even when they did hit the target it did nothing. The demon ripped them apart. Gabrielle—innocent and sweet, aimed at for being an aasimar, never saw it coming. Sophia—flying into a hopeless rage over the love she’d never confessed to’s corpse, before falling beside her. Issac, terrified, trying to draw on his celestial power in one breath and cursing the gods that had turned his life into this mockery in the next. He fell silent with barely a whimper. Lorette tried to flee, all grandeur lost. He didn’t get far.

Draven tried to defend Leto with his shield. He felt claws rake across his face, there was a terrible pain and then a terrible cold, and then the next thing he remembers is waking up in a temple’s healing center in Kenabres. Somehow Leto had gotten them to safety, the lucky bastard. But not before Draven had lost his left eye.

He had to spend the next year relearning the sword and shield with only one eye, regaining his hand eye coordination and relearning to tell distances, and in that time he ended up relegated to the lowest most looked down upon branch of the crusades: The Raven Corps. And there he remained.

Until the fateful day the Wardstone was destroyed, he and six others were tossed into the caverns below Kenabres, and by the end of it his recent friend and mentee from the Raven Corps, Auriel Answerer, died in battle against a Baphomet Cultist who had been leading a conspiracy to infiltration the Church of Iomedae, after dealing her a crippling blow. Auriel we discovered after his death had been meant to be Iomedae’s Chosen One, the Paladin to wield the intelligent holy sword Radiance. However since Auriel’s spirit vouched for Draven, both the honor and the burden or wielding Radiance fell to Draven. Radiation was not pleased—they did not come off as terribly fond of their replacement wielder who wasn’t even a true Paladin.

Not longe after we met an eldritch archer magus in the sewers looking after some orphans. So our party became Luna the innocent accused serial killer The Butcher of Balestreet, Melody the Inquisitor of Shelyn who followed a holy songbird to find us, and Hiskaria a convicted murderer who was supposed to be in the Raven’s Corps as community service under orders of her land’s kind Kevoth-Kul after all forms of execution failed. So Draven has Hiskaria as his responsibility now whether he likes it or not (she grows on him)

Since then long story’s short: we met The person Draven hero worships, Commander Irabeth Tirabade, got a mission from her to destroy the final shard of the Wardstone before the cultists could turn it into a weapon of mass destruction. So we did. And Draven got closer to the party after spending a long time holding them at arm’s length because they risked everything to keep Leto safe after Draven saw a scry that he was in danger and that if they retreated now he might not make it back safely. Hiskaria avoided our entire boss fight by tapping the Wardstone shard with a rod of cancellation while we had her distracted and it blew up and tore the enemies apart. We had some visions of what was meant to happen—all bad—but we broke fate and made a better reality. Then we got the power of the Wardstone and became mythic.

After that we’ve met Iomedae the Inheritor, Draven’s goddess, herself and got three boons from her for helping to cleanse her temple of the Deskari cultists and their desecration. Then we met the Queen of a Mendev who was somehow equally cool. She knighted all of us and promoted Draven whether he likes it or not. So after naming his new Legion he is now Sir Draven Imani, the One-Eye’d Knight, Commander of the Adamant Shield Legion.

A Legion strong enough to stand unyielding before the forces of the Worldwound like an Adamantine Shield to protect the innocent of the world outside.

Since then we’ve led Draven’s army to liberate a number of fortresses. Had some insubordination that almost ended really badly when some of the men went to desert—and then they were snatched up by gargoyles. We fought through hordes of ghouls, gargoyles, a half-fiend gargoyle inquisitor, an incubus, and a nabasu to get to them. The nabasu killed Melody, but by a miracle there was a scroll of resurrection with the healing supplies kept under the podium behind the podium of what was once a church of Iomedae, Draven isn’t powerful enough to cast this magic consistently, so he had to take a gamble…and it worked. With Iomedae and Shelyn’s blessings the spell worked, and we had Melody back. For the first time ever Draven’s curse did not take hold.

The three crusaders we saved were ashamed after we’d literally put our lives in the line for them, and they returned to camp. Draven later spoke to their ringleader Arles. He explained he knew were Arles was coming from—mourning caused people to act irrationally. He just hoped it wouldn’t cause them more problems in the future. Arles gave Draven a book of tactics to look over to try to be a better commander in future battles, which from an inscription inside of the cover Draven discovered was originally from Arles’ love Jellel, who had died under Draven’s command in his first real battle leading an army. He committed Jellel’s name to memory, ashamed that he had been so new to command that he hadn’t known anything about them before they died because of his imperfect orders. From here out he became much more focused on his soldiers. He prioritizes what will be best for his men, he doesn’t want to betray the trust of people who are putting their lives on the line for him. Legit if it ever comes down to a choice between doing something that will protect his army or something that protects the party, I don’t know which side of the coin he’ll land on. But I’m heavily leaning protect his men. The others can take care of themselves. His army relies on him, he’s the one with mythic power leading them, if he were to abandon them he’d be choosing the deaths of hundreds or thousands of people and he couldn’t live with himself if he did that.

Fun fact: One of Draven’s mythic abilities is called Divine Source. It gives him two domains as if he were a god, and people who follow him can prepare spells from him as if he were a god. He has *no idea* he has this ability, beyond suddenly having a few new spell-like abilities he didn’t before, but he’s just chalking that up to ‘Wardstone weirdness’ same with him suddenly learning to speak celestial (and he’s going to freak when he suddenly learns Abyssal next level 😈) I look forward to the day someone in his army spontaneously starts getting protection domain spells from him and it’s like “that’s not Iomedaen. Draven we’ve seen you cast this on Melody before do you know what this is?” And Draven will nope out of existence because he didn’t want to be a commander he definitely doesn’t want to be a god or god adjacent, Melody can be the party’s demi-god thanks.

Anyways he led his army to march on the Citadel city of Drezen, which had been captured and held by demons for 100 years. No one had managed to get close to taking it back since, everyone who had tried died.

The party took it back in three days. One to clear out the exterior defenses. One to clear out the first floor and kill the army’s commanding officer and show off his severed head in the most dramatic way Draven could think of to make the enemy army retreat, and one to go into the basement and kill a Shadow Demon and save their friend who he was possessing.

And then the demon general Aponavicious almost cut Draven’s head off through a portal, if he hadn’t activated the magical Sword of Valor—the banner once wielder by Iomedae herself—at just the right time. It closed the portal and saved his life. But things weren’t over. She couldn’t teleport directly in, but she could teleport her army outside and march on Drezen. And that’s what she began to do. With an army of thousands upon thousands of demons.

Until a single figure in shining silver armor stepped out from behind Aponavicious. A golden tiefling. He spoke to her, then viciously wrapped her in spiked chains. Words were had, and then the army retreated.

Leto looked across the battlefield at Draven, held up his right hand, and Draven felt the mark on his left hand began to react. He heard Leto’s voice in his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Then he teleported away, too.

So Draven was nearly catatonic for a bit after that revelation of his brother working with the enemy. He tried Sending Leto but only got a response that wishes come true when you least expect them, and to meet him at the Ivory Labyrinth. And that he would protect him.

So Draven is extremely confused. Then a few days later it turned out Melody is actually the demigod child of Desna and Shelyn, so there’s that on top of things. Then Draven had some more self revelations a few days later.

None of them good.

They’d been asked by Irabeth, who’d been promoted to Lord Captain of Drezen, to look into stopping some raiders who were attacking their supply lines. Easy right? Just people, no cults, no demons, just desperate people in the Worldwound making bad choices. We could deal with that.

Or so we thought, until the party got lost in a petrified forest in the way to the raiders fortress, and Draven’s mark started acting up, so consistently that they could use it as a compass pointing the way to their destination. So clearly there was more to this than met the eyes.

Luna discovered that the raiders were being held here and forced to continue their raids at threat of death by their leader Marhokev. Luna promised if he led them to their leader, she and her friends would take care of him so they could go free. He warned that if it came down to a fight, Marhokev would force us to fight the raiders. Luna assured him that we had a lot of resources in our side to keep them safe. The raider placed his faith in us, and after working out how to get the entire party past the alarms Luna had passed via Invisibility, we were led inside.

There Draven met a large raider man who immediately locked eyes with him and grinned, referring to Draven as kin. Seeing Draven’s confusion he explained they both shared Lady Jerribeth’s blood. And they had both made a wish. Draven was confused and trying not to give into his first instinct to just go on the offensive, instead shakily explaining that he didn’t know what the man was talking about. Marhokev laughed, realizing Draven didn’t remember what he had wished for. So he told Draven a story. About his own life. His family had lived faithfully in Mendev for generations. And all it had saddled him with was demonic taint in his blood. He’d lived with a violent temper his entire time. He’d found it impossible to make a name for himself, or to keep down any sort of respectable position.

Then one day Lady Jerribeth came to him, and offered him anything he could desire. So he wished for power. And now he had it. Power and people to lord it over. He was living the life of a king as a raider. So, when given the chance to have it all, he took it. And it appeared when Draven was given the same chance, he’d squandered it away on something he couldn’t even recall. A pity. But Mahokev still felt something for their kinship, so he was willing to open his arms to let Draven join his band.

Draven said absolutely not, and that the time for talking was over. That was his final answer. He saw now what sort of man Mahokev was, and hr wasn’t one Draven could do anything for.

The raider flew into a mindless rage and attacked Draven, but Draven reflected him off his shield. Draven managed to hit the raider, but his rage powers activated to begin healing the damage, leaving Draven’s average sword arm virtually useless as-is.

While he had his stand off, Hiskaria blasted the raider’s pet ice drake with a scorching ray and peppered it with arrows, quickly finishing the beast before it was a terrible threat.

And Melody began dancing, distracting the other raiders so that the party wouldn’t have to hurt them.

Hiskaria and Luna began helping Draven to damage the raider, their much more respectable damage output doing a number on him. He made a break for it, aiming for Melody to try to snap his minions out of their trances.

Draven was having none of that. He was aiming to stop him in his tracks—but he stopped him alright, with a blade right through the rib cage and into the heart. Marhokev fell.

It appeared the battle was over. Melody ended her performance with a flourish, the raiders were grateful that we hadn’t killed any of them and that now they could leave the Worldwound and return to the places they’d once been from, or make new homes elsewhere.

None of the party were paying Marhokev’s corpse any mind. Not until his marked arm had ripped itself from its socket, and clamped onto Draven’s throat. He failed his save and suffocated, being knocked unconscious immediately despite his frankly absurd number of hit points. Melody ran over and yanked the hand off Draven. Burnt flesh pulled away from where the hand met skin, and underneath a second Mark of Deskari was emblazoned across his neck.

Draven’s had a lot to think about since then. His feelings about having demon’s blood in his veins in general, as well as his feelings about it being Jerribeth’s blood specifically, the architect of Drezen’s fall, likely the cause of his family’s deaths, likely the Glabrezu who made Leto start acting strangely, and a demon with untold amounts of innocent blood on her hands. He’s wondering exactly what he wished for—he assumes as a terrified tortured child who just saw his family tortured and killed that he probably wished for it to end and to be safe, but he doesn’t know the exact wording, which with these things the exact wording is important. He’s going to wait to talk to Nurah to try to regain his lost memories for that. He’s also really worried about what sort of wish Leto made. And he’s worried that he’s compromised, that when he meets Jerribeth in person no matter how much he hates her she’ll be able to worm her way into his mind and make him do what she wants because of him being so bound to her. Plus the foreboding feeling about having a new mark of Deskari, and the fact he feel like more power began to awaken within him when he received it. The fear that his soul is bound for Deskari no matter how faithful he is to Iomedae, and had been since he was a child. There’s just…a lot.

He also just really wants to kill Jerribeth.

#draven imani #long post #my ocs #i went overboard #I wasn’t kidding that I’m really bored lol #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr spoilers #pathfinder wotr

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tough-bit-of-fluff · 4 years ago

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Prompt #3 - Muster

“And THAT’s the story of how Turnip, Liv, Kail, and I, stopped the quote unquote bandit attacks on traveling merchants and their chocobos, vanquished a massing army of undead, and secured the supply of feed for all chocobos everywhere but especially ours!” Alyona seized her mug from the bar beside her and took a triumphant swig of cider as she finished her tale. Her pink tail swished happily. A tidy, self-contained story of heroics with neither casualty nor rampant collateral damage was not always so easy to come by.

The woman behind Aly let out a sigh of relief. The petite lalafell was waiting for a blind date at the bar counter, and had gotten caught up in the story in spite of herself. Focused on the exploits of the heroes, she had let her ice melt in her drink, which she now eyed skeptically. It was watery beyond recognition, but she was on a strict budget. She smoothed her dress, telling herself the cost had been worth it, to wear a shade and style so similar to the Sultana. She sipped at her drink, eyed the clock on the wall, and grimaced, though whether more at the late hour or the watery cocktail’s taste could not be said.

The man two seats in front of Aly let out a sigh of relief at the story’s conclusion as well. He was a feline-featured miqo’te, like Alyona, but his ears were folded back beneath his cowl in annoyance, and what little could be seen of his face looked deeply unhappy. “Thank the bloody Twelve,” he muttered, just loud enough to be overheard. “I thought she’d never quit her yammerin.’”

This tavern patron seemed to be waiting for something as well, though what, other than the cessation of Alyona’s speech, was unclear. He ordered himself another drink, perhaps as a reward for having endured the boisterous bar talk. Although there was ample seating elsewhere, he remained firmly planted on his stool. The scowl, likewise, remained planted on his face.

The man directly in front of Aly was none other than Ramius Raske, an inventor of some notoriety, and her new associate. He chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement at the tale’s resolution, jotting a final note into his leather-bound journal. “And all that in answer to the question, ‘So what do you like to do for fun?’” The story ended, he closed the small tome and replaced it carefully in the depths of the satchel beside him on the bar counter. He had listened gamely and intently all the while, Aly noticed, while still keeping an eye to his surroundings. Aly liked that.

Ramius swept his fingers through his fiery hair, and shrugged a shoulder. “Well, with the whole ‘zombie horde’ element, one certainly couldn’t say that it wasn’t an adventure.”

Alyona nodded. “Right, malevolent animate corpses equals adventure, everyone knows that.”

“That’s just basic monster math,” Ramius agreed, raising his cup slightly as if to indicate “I’ll drink to that,” and then doing so.

Aly broke into a broad grin. “You get it!” she enthused. “This guy gets it,” she announced to the nearby patrons. The lalafellin woman giggled, curls bouncing prettily.

The cowled miqo’te hissed something under his breath about how someone was going to get it. Ramius raised an eyebrow, but Alyona was unbothered, seeming to take no notice.

“So,” said Ramius, “Refresh my memory. Kail is the...captain, of the Four Winds?”

Aly shook her head. “Nope, he’s the Head Pirate for sure, though.”

“An esteemed position, no doubt,” Ramius said, straight-faced.

Aly nodded emphatically. “No doubt! Norah’s right-hand dude! A real go-getter! He’s a Getter of Things. And of injuries!”

The Midlander chuckled again. “I believe I’ve filled that role myself a time or two, unfortunately. The injury part,” he added quickly, seeing Aly’s eyes widen. “Not the ah, Head Pirate aspect.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat. “So, this Norah. She’s the captain? Flies the ship?”

“Norah is the captain, but Argent flies the ship. He’s a teacher you know, an educator, which is very good because I am veeeery new to the fast-paced fun-filled field of navigation as far as I know, and I am looking forward to benefiting from all his years of experience. I will try try try! I’m a Try-er.” Aly beamed happily as she took a drink. She put down her empty tankard and took on a thoughtful expression.

“Norah is...our Must-er, I think.”

“Your...muster?” Ramius propped an elbow on his satchel, rested his chin on his hand. The cowled miqo’te growled, perhaps because of the man’s marginally closer proximity.

“Yeah like...she knows what must be done. Even if it seems difficult it won’t sway her. I bet lots of people said, don’t sell all your stuff and buy an airship! Live a comfy life! And she said, ‘No! Nein! I must! Baby I was born to fly.’” Ramius had never met Norah, but he was already reasonably confident the woman had never said such a thing. He did not interrupt, however. “And I bet other people said to her, don’t kiss a sky pirate on the lips, you don’t know where that’s been! But she knew she must do that sometimes too! And she was right, Ramius, don’t you see? Because under that cool mask-goggle-combo-dealie, Kail is totes kissable-looking, and it’s important for our rag-tag plucky protagonists to appeal also to an older demographic! We should, nay, we MUST!” Alyona slapped her fist into her open palm, as if that was explanation enough.

Behind her, the lalafell began to sniffle, and then to weep. Aly whirled around, flailing her hands in the air, a look of confused panic on her face, as Ramius patted his pockets for a handkerchief.

“I-it’s okay!” Aly babbled. “You can still like the ship even if you’re still young and cute! Or, or does it contradict your head-canon? There’s always fanfiction, it’s as real as you want it to be! Imagine yourself with everybody, I certainly do!”

Ramius coughed, handing a clean white hankie to the tiny, tear-stained woman.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” she sobbed, accepting the handkerchief. “I just know I’ll never have someone like that, a captain or a sky pirate or a Raubahn to call my own.”

Ramius mouthed, “Raubahn?” to Alyona, wondering what that had to do with anything. Aly shrugged in response, then narrowed her eyes. “Hey! That doesn’t belong to you! That isn’t even a sleight of hand, it’s just a hand! Where it’s not supposed to be!”

Ramius whirled around to see the cowled miqo’te making for the tavern door in a hurry, something tucked under his arm. In the same fluid movement as his turn, Ramius had unholstered his gun and leveled it at the fleeing feline.

“Did you honestly think you were going to get away with that? Drop the journal,” Ramius said in an even, practiced tone. “Who sent you? Harvelle? Blavenhauer? Start talking and I might let you live, instead of bleeding out senselessly on a dirty tavern floor.”

“That got dark fast,” Aly murmured. The lalafell, wide-eyed, could only nod in agreement.

The miqo’te hissed, baring his fangs. “Does everyone think himself a hero anymore? It’s these stupid adventure stories, filling heads with fool ideas that get people killed.” He shifted his robes to reveal a pistol in his own hand. “How about if you drop the gun, and I let you live.”

“How about THIS!” Aly yelled, and the journal thief shifted his gaze just in time to see the hurtling tankard that caught him squarely in the face. “Looks like I wasn’t the one to ‘get it’ after all,” she observed breezily to her staggered target.

In the moment of distraction, Ramius blasted the man with a pulse of energy from his weapon, catching him in the hand, and causing the miqo’te to cry out and drop his gun. The inventor tsked and shook his head, closing the gap between them with a half-dozen quick strides. “You poor sod,” he lamented, kicking the dropped weapon across the floor. “You really went for it literally as soon as I turned my back. This job was above your pay grade.”

“Alsoooo, maybe everyone you try to steal from wouldn’t think they’re heroes if you weren’t dumb enough to steal only from heroes!” Aly piped up, crouching next to the seething, disarmed man with a length of rope she had produced from her own pack. “Hands please! We’ll get some first aid on that as soon as you’re alllll tied up.”

~*~*~*~

As the authorities questioned the last remaining witnesses in the tavern, Aly hefted a pouch of coin. “Feels like the reward money for his capture should juuuust cover the damages we’re being billed by the bar. Maybe next time we’ll get our drinks to go…”

Just then, the tavern doors swung open. A towering mountain of a roegadyn burst, panting, through, a sheen of exertion shimmering on his copious muscles. Pushing past the Brass Blades who tried ineffectually to stop him, the man made his way purposefully towards the bar.

Ramius groaned. “More trouble?” He got to his feet, ready for another conflict.

The roe’s eyes lit up, and then, dimmed with guilt, as he dropped to his knees directly in front of the lalafell. “It’s ye, right? Th’ pretty lil rose petal Fufelu tol’ me about?”

The lalafell’s eyes widened again. “Fufelu!? Does that mean you’re my-”

“Yer date, aye, an’ about two bells too late by me reckoning. Gorgeous creature like ye deserves better’n’ me busted wagon wheel woes. Ye look just like th’ Sultana, ye do! Can ye ever forgive me?”

His lowered gaze rose abruptly, for the woman had already thrown herself into his arms. “Take me to see the sights, and I’ll think about it! But I must insist on the best seat in the house,” she laughed merrily. The roegadyn laughed too, in relief, and hoisted her effortlessly onto his shoulder.

Aly clasped her hands together in delight. “Looks like you’re a Must-er, too!” She called to her departing newfound friend, who tossed her an eager thumbs-up in response.

Across the room, the miqo’te hissed again as he was taken away into custody. “A Must-er isn’t a thing,” he thought in utter annoyance. But he didn’t mutter or grumble. He had other things to worry about.

~*~*~*~

@ramius-xiv @norahnightsbane @erstwhile25 @matter-of-a-pinion @argentrenard - thanks for being compelling co-protagonists in our shared stories! <3

#FFxivWrite2020 #FFxivWrite #alyona amariyo #ramius raske #norah nightsbane #kail gerrad #argent renard #ffxiv #ffxiv characters #ffxiv stories #miqote #hyur midlander #lalafell #roegadyn

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heartofether · 4 years ago

Text

Episode 5 - Run Rabbit TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Please state your message.

[THEME MUSIC AND INTRODUCTION PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-Eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME CONTINUES BEFORE COMING TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. IRENE’S OFFICE.]

IRENE

I’m not—okay, look, I’m not recording this for personal reasons this time. I know last night was…really rough, and I should probably talk through it more with myself before I do anything irrational.

It really was just an awful night, huh? Not only did I cry in the Sonic parking lot, but I got home immediately afterwards and found out that the yellow mold had started growing in my kitchen. [SHE SCOFFS.] Yeah, not my night.

That’s not important, though. What is important is that…

[SHE TAKES A DEEP BREATH.]

IRENE

Last night, in the woods, I saw something that I couldn’t explain. Today, I am going to find it again and confront it—and this time, figure out what the hell it is instead of running away.

I guess this is sort of me taking you with me for the ride. It’s also for evidence purposes, though. [MUTTERS] For once, I have an actually valid reason to be recording myself.

Here goes nothing.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. THE STAFF KITCHEN AT IRENE’S WORK.]

[THERE ARE FOOTSTEPS ACROSS THE TILE FLOOR.]

IRENE

Aden.

[ADEN DROPS A SPOON IN HIS SURPRISE.]

ADEN

Jesus—oh, Irene! Thank goodness, you’re alright. You, you startled me. [sigh of relief] I never heard from you last night after your…adventure, so I thought you had—

IRENE

[CONFUSED] Wait, you seriously didn’t hear anything?

ADEN

...no? You never—

IRENE

Aden, I tried to contact you through the radio.

ADEN

…oh. [HE REALIZES.] Oh! That makes sense. I swear, my radio got all static-y while I was watching TV, but no words were coming through. I thought it was broken.

IRENE

[SHE HUFFS A SIGH.] That…that’s fair, actually. Look, I’m fine now, okay? That’s what matters.

ADEN

Oh, that’s good. [STUTTERING] I definitely wouldn’t—I would have gotten fired if I had let you get killed by wild bears. [HE CHUCKLES.] Actually, wait, why were you trying to contact me?

IRENE

[HESITANT] It wasn’t bears, I promise. It was…something worse, I guess?

ADEN

Worse than bears?

IRENE

You really hate bears, don’t know?

ADEN

[PASSIONATELY] Obviously! They’re horrifying killing machines! How could you not be terrified of them?

[HE HUFFS.] What did you see, though?

[A BEAT OF SILENCE.]

IRENE

Promise you won’t think I’m crazy.

ADEN

Oh, I already think you’re crazy. You talk into your phone for a person who will never listen.

IRENE

[DEFENSIVE] I do not—[STUTTERING] I mean—

[DEFEATED] How did you know?

ADEN

Carol told me.

IRENE

[MUTTERS] Oh, of course she did. [BACK TO A NORMAL TONE] Just please promise to hear me out?

[ADEN PONDERS FOR A MOMENT.]

ADEN

Alright, sure. Go ahead.

IRENE

I saw a big writhing monster rise up from the ground.

ADEN

[SUDDENLY OUTRAGED] Oh! Oh, okay! Sure! “Hey, let’s play a fun prank on Aden! He sure seems gullible and easy to scare. How about we make him believe that a big old beast in the forest—”

[IRENE STUTTERS IN FRUSTRATION AS SHE ATTEMPTS TO CUT HIM OFF.]

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING HIS LAST FEW WORDS] Aden, I’m not messing with you. Cross my heart. I went to go check out the branches, and I turned around because I heard a scream, and when I turned back around, the branches and the dirt had gotten up into this huge living mass. I can’t make this shit up. I don’t even have a good reason to.

ADEN

[SKEPTICAL] Okay…

IRENE

I even recorded it happening. I know it’s just audio, but it’s still proof.

ADEN

Alright…

IRENE

[CONTINUING] And I promise I’ll play it for you if you just promise to come with me and help me find the creature.

[A PAUSE.]

ADEN

[SLOWLY] You…want me to…go monster hunting with you?

IRENE

[A BEAT.] Yeah.

[A PAUSE WHERE ADEN WAITS TO SEE IF IRENE IS JOKING.]

ADEN

Oh, you’re being serious about all this, um—Could I at least finish my coffee first?

IRENE

Take as long as you need. I’ll tell Carol we’re going out to do some field work, and then we can go back out to the branches.

ADEN

You actually think we’re going to be able to find it? I mean, if it even is real and not just a figment of your imagination—

IRENE

[DEFENSIVE] Hey—

ADEN

—then how can we prove that it even comes out during the day? Or maybe it only comes out when there’s only one person?

IRENE

[CONSIDERING] You have a point, I guess.

I have to check, though. I need to figure out what it is. Because if there’s an actual eldritch beast or whatever hiding out in our woods, I have a feeling that’s going to be just as, if not more dangerous than your average forest fire.

ADEN

[HE SIGHS.] You really believe what you saw?

IRENE

Yeah.

[ADEN THINKS FOR A MOMENT.]

ADEN

Okay. Alright, I, I’ll go. Just give me a bit.

IRENE

[SHE HEAVES A SIGH OF RELIEF.] Thank you.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. THE FOREST.]

[THERE IS FAINT FOREST AMBIANCE AND BIRD SONG IN THE BACKGROUND. FOOTSTEPS AS ADEN AND IRENE WALK.]

ADEN

You’re seriously recording this?

IRENE

If we’re going to run into it again, we need evidence.

ADEN

[HE SCOFFS.] Then take a photo and upload it to Instagram or something! A recording without any video hardly counts for anything.

IRENE

[SLIGHTLY UNCOMFORTABLE AND EMBARRASED] I...I don’t have Instagram.

ADEN

Alright then, whatever you have. Twitter, Tumblr, whatever. It was mostly just a joke.

IRENE

I don’t have anything, actually.

ADEN

Oh. [HE CHUCKLES.] Didn’t really take you for the “off the grid” sort.

IRENE

I’m not. I just don’t have room on my phone for any social media apps.

[A PAUSE IN THEIR FOOTSTEPS.]

ADEN

Don’t tell me your entire phone is just those audio recordings.

IRENE

[SHE WINCES.] And what would you say if that was the case?

ADEN

Irene!

IRENE

[SHE GROANS.] Come on. I can still text, call, and check my email. I just...can’t do much else.

ADEN

[DISTRAUGHT] Not even listen to music? That’s a terrible and sad life to lead, Irene.

IRENE

I use CD’s or vinyl whenever I want to listen to stuff.

ADEN

[TEASING] Oh, so you have a retro aesthetic?

IRENE

I have no clue what my aesthetic is. Can we please just find the branches?

ADEN

Whatever you say.

[THEIR FOOTSTEPS COME TO A HALT.]

IRENE

This is it.

ADEN

…so, what now?

IRENE

We wait, I guess?

ADEN

[WONDERING WHY HE AGREED TO THIS] Ah. Okay.

What exactly were you doing when you saw it the first time?

IRENE

Nothing? I was just standing here. I turned around, and when I turned back, there it was.

ADEN

Well then, maybe we shouldn’t stare at it.

IRENE

Good idea. [A BEAT.] Okay, how about this: we go sit on those rocks over there, wait for a bit, and then see what happens?

ADEN

[ANXIOUSLY] Or, wait, I have a better idea! We could just go back to work and pretend this never, ever happened.

IRENE

We’re already here, Aden. We might as well try.

ADEN

[WORRIED, BUT DEFEATED] Fine.

[THEY BOTH WALK OVER TO THE ROCKS AND SIT DOWN.]

ADEN

Now we wait?

IRENE

Yup.

ADEN

[SLOWLY] What should we talk about?

IRENE

Um…I guess just, anything? What do you want to talk about?

ADEN

Hm… [HE THINKS FOR A MOMENT.] What kind of music do you listen to?

IRENE

A mix. Um, I like Fall Out Boy?

ADEN

[SNORTS LAUGHING] Fall Out Boy? Seriously?

IRENE

What? Their older stuff is good.

ADEN

Ah, so you’re only a classic Fall Out Boy fan.

IRENE

[SLIGHTLY DEFENSIVE] I just haven’t listened to their newer stuff, that’s all. I’m not trying to be an elitist or anything.

ADEN

[HE CHUCKLES.] Sure, sure. What else? [A BEAT.] If you say MCR next, I swear, I’ll never look at you the same again.

IRENE

[SHE SNORTS.] I mean, I dunno. Cage is good. I used to listen to Glass Animals a lot, too, but it’s been a while.

ADEN

Those are respectable choices.

IRENE

What about you? [TEASING] I’m guessing you only listen to the most underground of indie.

ADEN

Mm, actually, not really. I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard of Mitski, Superorganism—

IRENE

[OVERLAPPING] Mitski?

[A PAUSE.]

ADEN

Your life is a joke, Irene.

[IRENE STARTS LAUGHING, BUT ADEN REMAINS DEAD SERIOUS.]

ADEN

I’m serious. Your life is a joke and I have no idea how you manage to live this way.

IRENE

[STILL LAUGHING] Fine! Fine. I’ll listen to Mitski.

ADEN

Oh no, I’m definitely forcing you to listen to her on the way back. That’s a promise.

[IRENE’S LAUGHTER DIES OFF, AND THERE’S A MOMENT OF SILENCE.]

IRENE

What else?

ADEN

I dunno.

Who do you record messages for?

IRENE

[SHE BECOMES MORE SERIOUS.] What?

ADEN

If you don’t mind answering, that is.

[A BEAT. IRENE SIGHS HEAVILY.]

IRENE

My ex-girlfriend.

ADEN

Ah. I understand not being able to move on from a relationship, [WHISTLE] trust me. Is there some sort of heartbreaking break-up story, or—?

IRENE

[GRIM] She went missing.

[SILENCE.]

ADEN

Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I didn’t—

IRENE

It’s fine. The wound is four years old. It hardly hurts to pick at it now.

ADEN

[SINCERE] Do you want to talk about it?

IRENE

[STIFLED] I mean, it’s kind of complicated? I’ll spare you the details for now. It’s just…I don’t know.

I just thought I’d be over it by now. That’s what those recordings were meant to do: help me get over it. I just keep obsessing over it, though.

[ALMOST MOURNFUL] I try to look for the good in my new life, but I realize that she’s in all the things I think are good. I can’t even date other people—and I’ve tried. It doesn’t take long for the relationships to unravel and fall apart. [SHE SCOFFS.] One girl said it was like I was cheating.

ADEN

[SYMPATHETIC] People handle loss differently, you know. It’s okay to not be over it just because time has passed.

IRENE

[DISTANT] Right.

[THEN, MORE AWARE] I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping this onto you. You’re my coworker, not my therapist.

ADEN

Don’t worry about it. I’m always here if you need anything, work-related or not.

Have you tried therapy, though?

IRENE

I did, but it’s been a while. To be honest, at this point, I’m not sure if going back would—

[THERE’S A LOUD RUSTLING NEARBY.]

[EERIE MUSIC BEGINS GROWING IN THE BACKGROUND.]

ADEN

Did you hear—? [SUDDENLY PANICKED] Irene! Hey, stop!

[IRENE HAS ALREADY RISEN TO HER FEET.]

IRENE

Shh! [WHISPERS] I think that was the branches.

ADEN

[WHISPERS THROUGH CLENCHED TEETH] Irene, I think a big living mass of dirt would sound a lot louder than—

[ANOTHER LOUD RUSTLING.]

IRENE

I’m going to check it out. You stay here.

[SLOW AND CAREFUL FOOTSTEPS AS IRENE STEPS TOWARDS THE BRANCHES. THE RUSTLING CONTINUES.]

IRENE

[WARY] Hey…

Wait, is...is that—wo-oah!

[THE MUSIC CUTS OFF ABRUPTLY.]

[THERE IS A RUSTLING ACCOMPANIED BY THUMPING NOISES AS RABBITS RUN PAST IRENE, THEIR FAINT SQUEAKS AND WHIMPERS IN THE BACKGROUND. IRENE STUMBLES FOR A MOMENT BEFORE SHE IS HEARD FALLING OVER. A CRACKING NOISE IS HEARD AS HER PHONE SCREEN SHATTERS.]

[THE RABBIT NOISES FADE OFF.]

ADEN

[UNIMPRESSED] Rabbits. It was a family of rabbits hiding beneath the branches.

IRENE

[SHE GROANS IN PAIN.] Shut up.

[SHE SHIFTS TO A SITTING POSITION.]

IRENE

Oh, fuck.

ADEN

[WINCES] That screen is cracked pretty bad.

Does it still work?

IRENE

[SHE SIGHS IN RELIEF.] Yeah, and it’s still recording, too.

ADEN

Whew, that was close. You, er, have all of your recordings backed up, right?

IRENE

No?

ADEN

[DUMFOUNDED] Seriously? You’re a young adult in the 21st century! How do you not know the basics of technology? Always back up your important files to a flash drive or something!

IRENE

Of course I know that. I just never thought to back up the recordings because…well, I guess I just never thought about what would happen if I lost all of them. I usually just focus on the act of making them.

ADEN

You probably should upload them somewhere else for safe keeping, though. In case your phone’s next fall is its last.

IRENE

You’re probably right.

ADEN

[NERVOUS] Can we please leave now? I don’t think your “eldritch monster” or whatever you called it is going to show up anytime soon.

IRENE

Yeah, let’s go.

[SHE GRUNTS AS SHE PUSHES HERSELF TO HER FEET.]

IRENE

Thank you. For uh, following me out into the woods and listening to me talk about my missing ex-girlfriend.

ADEN

Anytime! [HE PAUSES.] Actually, no, I never want to follow you into the woods to go monster hunting ever again. Er, no offense. Can you turn off the recording now?

IRENE

[SHE CHUCKLES.] Sure.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today’s quote is: “Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.”

Matsuo Bashō, 1644-1694.

[OUTRO MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

#heart of ether transcripts

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omgkatsudonplease · 6 years ago

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a head full of fairytales

for @wangxianweek‘s day 5 “crossovers”: a pushing daisies au! this is a bit more 1:1 than i’d normally do but i wanted some good sugary fluff so enjoy!

Wei Ying is six years, five weeks, two minutes, and twenty seconds old when he first discovers his gift of waking the dead.

Unlike most gifts, however, this one did not come in a box, with an instruction manual, or with any sort of warranty. It had not been given to him by anyone, but it did have two major caveats.

Wei Ying finds out about these caveats the hard way, after his mother dies of a ruptured blood vessel to the brain. He pokes her back awake, only for his father to collapse in the next room over just one minute later.

Then when his mother kisses him goodnight, she collapses again, and no matter how hard he pokes, she remains cold and still.

First caveat: he could only keep a dead thing alive for precisely one minute, or else something else will have to take its place.

Second caveat: first touch, life. Second touch, dead. Forever.

After that, Wei Ying is promptly shipped off to the Cloud Recesses School for Boys, where he meets a boy named Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is six years, eight months, three weeks, and five minutes old, and he has little to no concept of the permanence of death just yet.

His mother, Madam Lan, had been almost a non-entity all of his life. Having pled down from first-degree murder to manslaughter long before he was born, Madam Lan had been spared prison and sent to a psychiatric hospital instead. Lan Zhan only saw her once a month, leaving class early with his big brother to go listen to her hum lullabies while combing his hair.

And then one day, his big brother told him they would no longer be visiting her.

Indignant, Lan Zhan had escaped from the Cloud Recesses and walked all the way to the psychiatric hospital by himself, only to be turned away. He’d snuck up to her window, but had found someone else in her bed.

The first night Wei Ying spends in the dormitory of the Cloud Recesses School for Boys, he hears Lan Zhan’s quiet sobbing, and walks him down to the kitchen to wrap him some dumplings.

Lan Zhan, in return, takes a page from the fairytales his mother had read to him, and gives Wei Ying his first and only kiss.

“I don’t think we should call them zombies. It just reminds me of slow-moving masses of brain-hungry monsters, which is definitely not what’s going on here,” Wei Wuxian says as Jiang Cheng, Private Eye, tucks into the platter of dumplings on the table between them.

It is now twenty-two years, two months, sixteen days, and fifty two minutes after that first night at the Cloud Recesses School for Boys, and Wei Wuxian is the resident dumpling expert at a restaurant called Lotus Pier. The restaurant owner’s little brother, Jiang Cheng, is a private investigator whose cases usually consisted of hysterical mothers running secret background checks of their children’s significant others.

He is also the sole keeper of Wei Wuxian’s little secret. How he came to that position was purely by accident, of course, after witnessing a robber fall off a building directly into Wei Wuxian’s path. The robber had tried to run as if nothing had happened, but Wei Wuxian had quickly cottoned on and touched him again, causing the man to drop dead a second time.

Jiang Cheng had proposed a partnership then: Wei Wuxian helps him solve murder cases — as it really is a lot easier to do that if you could just ask the victim who did it — and Jiang Cheng would split the reward money with him.

“Man, you’re really missing out on these. Does it upset you that you can’t eat dumplings?” asks Jiang Cheng through a mouthful of pork and napa cabbage.

“I haven’t eaten meat since I was six,” says Wei Wuxian.

“What a shame,” says Jiang Cheng. “The Dumpling Patriarch can’t even eat his own creations. But I guess that means more of them for me.”

“Suit yourself,” says Wei Wuxian. “As I was saying, though, zombie is too rude, and undead… no one wants to be un-anything.”

“Fierce corpse?” suggests Jiang Cheng.

“Corpse is too dead of a term.”

“They’re dead-ish people,” retorts Jiang Cheng.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I don’t see why we can’t just say they’re ‘alive again’.”

“Because it sounds like they’re narcoleptic,” replies Jiang Cheng, smothering his dumpling with vinegar and ginger before popping into his mouth with a satisfied hum. “Okay, so, how about this case?”

“I don’t like dogs,” says Wei Wuxian immediately. “A dog bit me when I was five. I’ve been scared of them ever since.”

“You wouldn’t need to talk to the dog,” says Jiang Cheng. “You just need to talk to the master. Some guy got mauled to death by a dog and the sole witness is this lady here.” He pulls out a picture of a chow chow. “Her name’s Princess, and she’s been framed.”

“How do you know that?”

“The family swears that Princess is innocent,” replies Jiang Cheng. “They’re offering a sixty-seven thousand yuan reward for any information about the death. Have a conversation with the guy, see who did it. Chances are, if some other dog is behind it, then Princess was, in fact, framed.”

Wei Wuxian goes to the morgue, touches the man. Within the week, Princess is exonerated.

And then that weekend, everything changes.

The body of a young man has been fished out of Lake Biling this morning. The victim’s identity is being withheld at this time, but investigators are saying it was probably a boating accident out on the lake…

Jiang Cheng switches off the TV. “That young man’s older brother is offering three hundred thousand yuan for more information on his death,” he announces. Wei Wuxian looks up from the dumplings he’s wrapping with a skeptical eyebrow quirk.

“Three hundred thousand yuan,” he repeats.

“Yeah, apparently he’s the CEO of some tech company and is convinced his brother couldn’t possibly have gotten into a boating accident.”

“Why not, is he some sort of hermit?”

“To some extent, I guess?” says Jiang Cheng. “You in or not? Better make it quick, the funeral’s going to be in a couple of days.”

“I’m in,” says Wei Wuxian, though he’s not sure what’s compelling those words out of his mouth. “Where is he?”

“Caiyi Town,” says Jiang Cheng. “He’s the nephew of the rector of the Cloud Recesses School for Boys. Name’s Lan Wangji.”

“Lan Zhan,” breathes Wei Wuxian, and the dumpling he’d been wrapping drops onto the counter.

Wei Wuxian had never returned to the Cloud Recesses after graduating. He’d declined every reunion invitation, ignored his classmates’ half-hearted attempts to stay in touch. Despite all of that, however, he still found himself spending time every day since he left the school thinking about Lan Wangji.

“You know this guy?” asks Jiang Cheng as the rolling mist-covered hills of Gusu Province come into view of their car.

“I know of him,” says Wei Wuxian.

Jiang Cheng arches an eyebrow. “In the biblical sense?” he wonders.

“I haven’t thought about him since I was seventeen,” lies Wei Wuxian.

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. “You thought about him a lot when you were seventeen?”

Wei Wuxian feels his cheeks flushing. “No comment,” he replies. Jiang Cheng snorts, as they traverse the old familiar tree-lined road leading into Caiyi, which now looks more like a small city than a town.

The facts are these: Lan Wangji, known as Lan Zhan to his (admittedly few) friends and family, had been twenty-nine years, two weeks, and five hours old when his body had been found in the freezing waters of Lake Biling outside Caiyi Town, moments after it had been discarded there. By whom, of course, is the question that Wei Wuxian has been brought over to ask.

“Master Wei, good to see you back in town,” says the rector of the Cloud Recesses School for Boys as they enter the funeral home. His voice clearly indicates the opposite of his words. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I’d like to see Lan Zhan, please,” says Wei Wuxian, feeling like he’s a stupid child who’d been caught sneaking treats to his best friend once again.

Rector Lan Qiren’s expression darkens with unmistakable sadness. “He’s through there,” he says, gesturing to the door. “I take it your friend has seen Xichen’s request for information?”

“What makes you think that?” wonders Jiang Cheng.

Lan Qiren scrutinises him closer. “I know of Wanyin Private Investigations,” he replies. Jiang Cheng’s cheeks colour, but he heads to the door to open it for Wei Wuxian nonetheless.

At the threshold, however, Wei Wuxian balks. “I… think I’d, uh, like to do this one alone,” he says.

Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow. “You got something special for this guy?”

“Er, well, you could say something like that,” says Wei Wuxian, rubbing at the nape of his neck with an awkward chuckle. “Just… stupid things. Closure. Whatever.”

(A confession of feelings, maybe.)

“Ask him who killed him first,” says Jiang Cheng. “Also, don’t forget the time limit.”

“Yeah,” says Wei Wuxian, fingers itching for the door handle.

“That’s a minute,” adds Jiang Cheng. “Sixty seconds, no more, no less. Got it?”

“Got it,” agrees Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng pushes him in and closes the door, and now Wei Wuxian is faced with the disturbing finality of seeing Lan Wangji lying in a coffin, his expression beautifully serene even in death.

In this moment, his head is full of fairytales, like the sort he and Lan Wangji had read as children. What would the prince do in this moment, faced with the dreaming princess whose curse could only be broken with True Love’s Kiss?

Touching his lips seems too forward. Maybe the cheek —

He reaches out and touches Lan Wangji’s cheek, and is promptly knocked into the coffin by the lapels of his leather jacket for his troubles.

“Hold on! Hold on, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian yells, stumbling backwards. Lan Wangji seizes a chair, pointing it defensively at him. “It’s me! Wei Ying, from school? We grew up together?”

“Wei Ying,” repeats Lan Wangji, his eyes growing wide. He sets down the chair, looking decidedly awkward in his white suit. His hair is shorter than Wei Wuxian remembers. “Where… am I?”

“Do you remember the last thing you did?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji considers it, brows furrowing. “I was strangled by a plastic sack.”

“Right.” Wei Wuxian gestures to the coffin behind him. “You died from that.”

Lan Wangji turns around, looks at the coffin. “Mm,” he concedes.

“Jiang Wanyin!” exclaims Lan Xichen as he steps into the corridor outside the room with Lan Wangji’s coffin. “Imagine my surprise when my uncle mentioned you were here. Are you enquiring after my brother?”

“I am,” agrees Jiang Cheng. Lan Xichen checks his mobile.

“Right, my assistant said he’d be here shortly as well, but he hasn’t shown up yet,” he says. “Master Mo has all the paperwork, though, regarding the reward should you happen to find something pertinent to this case. You’ll have to pardon his lateness; we’re still trying to train that out of him.”

“No worries,” says Jiang Cheng, looking at his own phone timer. Sixty seconds is almost up…

“You only have a minute left, so: do you happen to know who strangled you with the plastic sack?” wonders Wei Wuxian. “Just wondering so that justice can be served.”

“It took me by surprise,” replies Lan Wangji. “I was on the lake with my samples.”

“Samples?” echoes Wei Wuxian. “Of what?”

“The flora and fauna of Lake BIling,” replies Lan Wangji. “I was a researcher.”

“Okay, and you definitely didn’t get a glimpse of your attacker’s face,” says Wei Wuxian.

“He wore a mask,” replies Lan Wangji.

Disappointment curls through Wei Wuxian. “Okay then.” His watch beeps a warning. “Your time’s almost up. But before you go, I just —”

I loved you, Lan Zhan. And I think I still love you now.

The words choke into “you were my first kiss” instead.

Lan Wangji nods. “And you were mine,” he says. “There has been no other.”

A first and last kiss. How fitting. Wei Wuxian steps closer, leans up.

That’s the farthest his lips will ever go, ever again.

“You’ll have to excuse Master Mo; he must be indisposed. I could potentially get you the documents when I return to the office,” says Lan Xichen with a sigh, extending a hand for Jiang Cheng to shake.

Unbeknownst to all of them, Master Mo had in fact made it to the funeral home on time. The problem is, he had came just in time to catch Wei Wuxian’s first caveat.

Sixty seconds have passed, and Master Mo has paid the price for it.

“You do not have to do this,” Lan Wangji points out. Wei Wuxian grimaces, inching just a little out of Lan Wangji’s reach when the other man leans forward. “I understand if you do not wish to —”

“No, that’s not — there’s nothing in the world I’d like more,” mumbles Wei Wuxian, feeling his ears heat up. “I just — what if you didn’t have to, you know, stay dead?”

“Mm,” says Lan Wangji, a clear sign of agreeable excitement. Wei Wuxian scrubs his hands over his eyes.

“Okay, then,” he says. “Hop back into the coffin, and lie still until I come to get you.”

“They will be sealing the coffin to prevent my spirit from becoming vengeful,” warns Lan Wangji.

“I’ll try to get you before that,” bluffs Wei Wuxian, who has no idea how to counteract something like a coffin sealing.

Lan Wangji nods. The faintest hint of a smile tugs at his lips. He gets into the coffin again, folding his hands, and Wei Wuxian closes the coffin lid with his heart hammering in his chest.

(Considering this isn’t his first time keeping a dead person alive for more than a minute, he’s not really sure why his nerves are eating him like this.)

“What does he know?” asks Jiang Cheng as Wei Wuxian steps out of the room.

“Nothing. He was strangled to death by a plastic sack but doesn’t know who did it.”

Jiang Cheng groans. “Then I guess it’s back to good old fashioned detective work,” he mutters, patting Wei Wuxian on the shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

“…What?” asks Wei Wuxian.

“You just reunited with an old friend for a minute and then had to say goodbye to them again permanently,” Jiang Cheng points out. “You’ve got to be more than a little shaken by that.”

“I —” Wei Wuxian’s mouth works uselessly for a moment before he starts heading back towards the door. “I think I’m going to stay for the coffin sealing,” he says. “Old time’s sake, you know. Catch you later?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing as he heads out of the funeral home. Wei Wuxian exhales, before pushing back into the room.

The coffin is missing. Wei Wuxian’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest in alarm.

Lying in the dark, Lan Wangji thinks about the life he’d led since graduating Cloud Recesses. He’d gotten research fellowships and scholarships to all the major universities in Gusu; he’d spent his days locked in labs or classrooms with texts and papers and samples. He’d written more words than he could possibly count, gotten more degrees than he could possibly need.

And now here he is, in a coffin, about to be sealed in forever if Wei Ying doesn’t come back soon.

But why should Wei Ying be the one to rescue him? The damsels in Mama’s stories sat around for their princes, but Lan Wangji wasn’t a damsel; he was a scientist. (And a writer, a musician, and everything else he’d put his mind to during the past ten years or so, but that’s neither here nor there.) And he’s perfectly capable of escaping the coffin by himself.

So he does, and replaces his weight with a heavy porcelain vase in the corner of the room. He runs out the back door, hiding himself in the bushes just as his coffin is carried out the door and placed into a hearse. Moments after it leaves, Wei Wuxian comes rushing out the door after it, his expression frantic.

Lan Wangji stands up from the bushes. Wei Wuxian turns towards him, his panic melting into the sweetest of smiles.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says.

Lan Wangji’s head is full of nothing but fairytales.

#魔道祖师 #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wangxian #wangxianweek #lily's dabbles #pushing daisies au

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dar-manda-rjct · 6 years ago

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Baby? (Pilot)

Summary: Sam and Dean find out that the Impala isn't how they left it. What the hell happened??

Warnings: (i rushed so it's pretty sloppy ma bad) confused baby dean uwu, skeptical and sassy Sam, cussing, HUMAN!IMPALA (i think that's it?¿)

Word count: +1300 idk

i hope you like it (i named it pilot bc this might flop lol love that for me)

Sam and Dean were on a case. They were posing as feds to find clues to a teenage girls death outside of the town. All signs pointed to vamps. They wanted to gonna go get some grub after talking it out with the parents.

"I don't know Dean, this isn't tying together so well, maybe we skipped something?" Sam called after his older brother.

They were heading back to the alley where they parked Baby, Dean was nodding back to Sam while he jabbered on, pretending to care when he actually wanted to bounce this place and get some food.

Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and turned the corner where they parked the Impala. Where it should be parked.

Dean's pulse quickened. Sam sensed his fear and anger from five feet away.

"Where the hell is my car!" Sam winced, "Deep breaths Dean." Dean whipped around his face pale from being on the edge of passing out, "Shut up Sam!"

A figure rose from behind the dumpster. It was a woman. Her dark skin was bare, she didn't have any clothes on her, Dean spun around on his heels to look away from her naked figure Sam spoke up to her,

"Woah miss you should be-" his voice faded in pure awe.

Dean felt arms wrap around his waist, he lifted his arms and curled his lip in disgust flailing his arms around, "Off, off, off!"

Please help me Dean." He looked back down at her, her golden eyes glaring back at him, they looked familiar but he couldn't place it.

He realized she knew his name. He didn't tell anyone in town his name, he was posing as a federal agent and should be addressed as Agent Morris.

Dean put his hand over where his gun was tucked in his belt, Sam did the same when Dean flickered his uneasy gaze to him.

"How do you know my name?"

The woman's eyebrows furrowed, "You won't believe me, you hunt weird shit like me, but Dean-" Her words were cut off and the wind was knocked out of her lungs as he rammed her into the brick wall, he checked her mouth for any signs of her being a vamp before snarling at her,

"Who the hell are you! How do you know who I am and what I do?" His voice rose and he had his gun out pressing the cold steel to her temple.

The woman didn't flinch she reached into his soul through his eyes with her fiery gaze taking him aback and took the opportunity to shove Dean off of herself and grab a rusty bar that lay next to her.

"I'm your car Dean! I'm Baby! I woke up here and I have legs, I have fucking legs!" Dean stepped off and looked at her chest, his and Sam's initials were carved into it, deep scars. "Bullshit!" Dean said harsher, he disarmed her and thrusted her body into the wall again.

"Baby?" Sam said with a tang of sass. Baby turned to look at him, "Yes!" she brought her arms up in submission "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

Dean glared at her, observing her markings. She showed him the white devil's trap tattoo that was just above her back dimples like the one that was in the trunk, the scars from every crash she endured, mostly on her back and face.

Everything.

Dean's car was human. Why? Who the hell knows.

Sam was the one to break the silence, "Well if you're Baby then where are all the weapons?" She looked at him with a raised brow and then caught onto what he was saying. taking their hands and leading them to where she was hiding earlier.

Behind the dumpster was the mass of guns, holy water, rosaries, knives, machetes, ammunition, and of course, grenade launcher. The duffel bags, cassettes, beer cooler, cases, cellphones, and wads of cash were there too.

Sam stepped closer to her his hazel eyes burning holes into her, "Alright then tell us something only our car would know."

Baby cackled, "I know how much people you slept with in my backseat, that you put legos into my vents, the army men, the amount of heads you've stored in the cooler that was in my backseat, the bodies you stored in the trunk."

She chuckled before the next confession, "When you kidnapped Crowley and put him in the trunk he would hum "Sweet Caroline" to himself. Good times."

She looked at Dean with an evil smirk, "Oh and that you and Cas-" Dean intervened , "OKAAY that'll do." Sam shrugged and pulled Dean to the side, "I mean I believe her."

Dean squinted at him, "What part made you believe her?" Sam raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, looking at Dean. Dean caught on, "Shut up bitch."

Sam and Dean turned back to Baby, "Okay, we believe you, but try anything we will kill you," Baby smiled

"But before we go anywhere you will put on some clothes." Dean waved his finger at her like a scolding parent,

Baby cringed not liking that tone one bit, "Thanks?"

Baby continued to put on one of Sam's red flannel shirts and jeans, they were long, she cut the pant cuffs with a machete and fixed the pants to fit her hips with one if their belts. She took Dean's combat boots and socks and slipped them on.

She walked from behind the dumpster and did a little strut. "Eh? I look good." Sam giggled, "You look like me."

She fumed, "And I still look like a better lumberjack, shut your hole."

Sam, Dean, and Baby rented a car for the time being, considering their main ride had it's own two legs.

The three got back to the motel after getting some food. Baby likes cheeseburgers and fries, a lot. Dean insisted it be her first real meal.

"I love food." She said through a mouthful, the flannel sleeves sunk to her elbows when her hands were angled up because the shirt was so big. "We'll have to go find you some clothes soon." Sam observed her after taking a swig of his beer. Pretty soon Baby would want to try some beer too.

Baby was a fine looking as a human just as she was when she was a car. A few scars, sigil tattoos here and there, but she had the same golden eyes the car's headlights had, dark skin with barely visible freckles and short, dark afro that pulled her little 60s look together.

She had an hourglass figure which was hidden by Sam's clothes, she was about 5'7 and quite muscular, not to mention resourceful.

Even still, she looked as if she just came back from the 60s, it was strange; and they hunt monsters for a living.

"So what now?" Baby leaned into Sam to get his attention away from the computer. Sam looked at Dean, his eye brows furrowed, "Should we let her take this case with us?"

Baby looked at Sam, her gold eyes narrowing questioningly then flickering it over to Dean, curling her lips in a smile and winking, "I think you know the answer Dean-o." Dean looked up at her and chuckled, "Hell no."

Her face got a sarcastic look, "Too bad grasshopper, I'm tagging along. I tag along when I'm a car don't I?"

Dean gave her the Winchester bitch-face, "It's different now, I don't think you even know how limbs work."

Baby frowned, "You'll teach me then, or Sam will." Dean got tired of her stubborn determination, "Fine."

Baby smiled satisfied. "We'll leave in the morning then, get some clothes for Baby, teach her how to use her limbs and then continue on our way it's getting late anyway." Dean announced.

They went to bed early, around 12, Dean didn't sleep much. How could he? His car was asleep in the same bed as him. This job couldn't possibly get any weirder.

Could it?

#human!impala #sam winchester #dean winchester #baby #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #confused #spn fic #spnfandom #spn fanfic #spn fandom #spn family #family #cars #castiel #misha collins #jensen and misha #vampire #hunter

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colorofmymindposts · 6 years ago

Text

Could We Start Again, Please?

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairings: Twelfth Doctor/Missy (implied), Bill Potts/Heather

Warnings: Major Character Death, Alternate Ending to series 10, Major Canon Divergence

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Status: Complete but part two of my The Doctor Falls series (You don’t have to read part one to understand what’s going on)

Word Count: 2800

Summary: When the Doctor falls, Missy rises.

Tags: Heavy Angst, With cute lesbians, While Missy is sad

I don’t know if the tagging system is still messed up, but you can read this work on ao3 under my username colorofmymind! Kudos and comments will be much appreciated!

With a gasp, all the air rushes into her lungs. Everything at once feels completely at rights and out of control, her hearts beating at a pace she knows goes against their natural rhythm, but they should not be beating at all. A calculation taking the span of a nanosecond tells her she needs her hearts going at least eighty beats per minute if she is going to survive, so she simultaneously counts her breaths and adjusts their volume to achieve this rate. Simply put, it’s a manual override of her basic biological functions. Her eyelids had fluttered open with the sudden rush of air, but she’s only managed to blink stupidly, frustratingly, as her eyes operating at full capacity— unlike her hearts, lungs, and other vital organs—are not necessary for her to stay alive.

Staying alive, surviving, carrying on. With all her experience, so innately a part of her core, Missy has a more complex and nuanced knowledge than any other creature in the universe on the most universal want: the perpetual avoidance of death, of end. At one time, that came at any price. In this case, however, there is a discrepancy even her beautiful, brilliant brain can’t account for. Perhaps it’s because her brain is functioning at the level of a 21st century backup generator, but that is really besides the point right now.

She should not be alive right now.

There had been no contingency plan in place because in no scenario had she considered her past self’s somewhat deserved retaliation. There are no Time Lords who could have saved her this time; she is the last Time Lady they would ever spend their resources on now. Yet, unmistakably, she lay on the same ground where she flirted with death once more and had somehow been revived, like a debtor of a long overdue payment miraculously having escaped the clutches of his dreaded collector.

Logic rules that there can only be one other alternative, an impossible one but so is he (irritatingly and incredibly so). The thought of Doctor flashes to the front her mind, and she sits up faster than she had fallen. She cries out immediately upon doing so, her hands arresting the spot where she’d been shot with the Laser Screwdriver, which flares as if in a hot rage. Gritting her teeth, she casts about for her umbrella and finds it quickly enough. Her body and voice cry out once again in resistance as she uses her umbrella to leverage herself to a standing position, the pain from the shot still as intense as it was before.

That answers one question. She hasn’t been healed, something has merely enabled her hearts to restart, so it is likely that she has very well lost the ability to regenerate. Whatever she does now, she’ll have to do with trepidation and care. Still, it’s certainly not the worst body she’s been stuck in, and at that she laughs to herself. She’s done this entirely to herself, a thought that has often crossed her mind over the last 70 years. While her past self has probably long since reached his TARDIS and regenerated into her current incarnation, there is some irony in his actions. His plan having failed at ending her life, she’ll be stuck in this state for the foreseeable future, a Time Lady who has realized the errors of her past and wants to do what’s right, everything he despised and feared becoming.

With that she sets off through the forest to find the Doctor. The trees thin as she traces her path back to the settlement, and the distinctive scents of fire and burning metal begin to assault her senses. Missy quickens her pace, trepidation and care forgotten as she spots the Cybermen bodies by the dozens littering the ground around her, the smell of ash and smoke and death clinging to the air like petrichor after a storm, one she knows the Doctor has brought down on this land.

“Doctah!” Her shriek echoes in the barren wasteland. She’s running now without abandon, eyes scanning the area for any sign of him when she notices the girl, Bill her memory supplies, standing besides her curiously wet companion, but that can’t be possible, she looks undoubtedly human again—

The next thing Missy knows her face is in the dirt and the ash, and every part of her body aches with acute degree. She drags her feet over the Cyberman body she must have tripped over in her distracted state. Her umbrella probably had been flung some distance away from her fall, so she sticks her right hand out, latching onto an arm, that should be enough to support her into a sitting position at least, when a sickening realization hits her. The arm isn’t metal. She snaps her head upward to look, to prove it isn’t true, it can’t be.

It is him. Undeniably. The Doctor lays in ash and debris like a forgotten soldier, the red inner lining of his coat splayed out by his sides as though he lay in his own pool of blood. She stares in silence, gathering herself to sit besides him and take one of his hands in her own to feel for anything, a pulse, regeneration energy, even a device to feign the appearance of death.

Nothing.

She stops breathing for several seconds herself; it’s an uncontrollable response, out of respect for her fallen friend who long since took his last breath. His sonic screwdriver is gripped in his other hand, which she lifts out of his grasp, inspecting it for an answer, something, that might restore him. The last action performed by the device had been a sonic pulse, causing a mass explosion of the Mondasian Cybermen but also must have rippled across the entirety of Level 507. This was the catalyst for her hearts restarting. He had saved her one last time, without even knowing it.

“Missy!” A voice she faintly recognizes as the human girl’s shouts at her. “What the hell are you doing here? Where have you been?! We thought you’d run off!”

She lets out a shaky breath before replying, never tearing her gaze away from the Doctor. “Is that what he told you?”

“I,” Bill starts and falters. After a moment or so she answers, “He didn’t say anything about what happened with you. Either version of you.”

Missy blinks away the tears forming in her eyes and finally looks up and away from the Doctor. Here and now is not the place for her grief, at least not in front of his companion and...whoever this other girl is. Missy actually has no idea where she came from.

“You’re...human again,” she comments lamely.

“Oh! Well, sort of, not really,” Bill denies bizarrely and incomprehensibly. “I’m in a body that looks like the one I was in when I was a human, but I’m still technically dead. That’s actually me over there.”

She points over to a fallen Cyberman a few meters away. “Heather saved me,” she finishes with a beaming smile with eyes only for the wet blonde girl Missy presumes to be Heather standing to Bill’s right.

“How romantic,” Missy says, trying not to sound sardonic. These humans and their happy endings. The universe has none to spare for her. That’s probably right.

“The Doctor would have been glad to see you’ve found happiness, as am I.” Bill looks at Missy curiously, the disbelief transparent on her features. “I was the one who caused you to become a Cyberman in the first place, no matter which incarnation caused it. Perhaps it was both of our faults. In any case, it should have never happened. I’m glad to see that this is one of my mistakes that has reversed itself,” she explains.

Bill looks back to Heather, seeming to wordlessly reaffirm that she had in fact heard those words come from Missy. In all fairness, Missy had been introduced to this companion of his as a “monster” and she even self-admitted to throwing a little girl down a volcano. A little skepticism of her goodness is to be expected, healthy even.

“I can’t believe it. I thought you were a monster, and the last ten years only made me more sure of that,” Bill confesses, the weight of those ten years visible in the set of her shoulders, the intensity of her gaze and the pain behind it. “But, even after all that, and everything you did to me, which was awful and cruel, I’ve realized maybe he wasn’t wrong. The Doctor, I mean. You have turned good. At least enough of you has.”

Missy opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Just a short time ago, she would have laughed and scoffed at a human attempting to give her wisdom and judge her character, in fact she had done so in the past.“No, I’ve not turned good,” Missy had said to Clara after her accusation of the contrary, killing two men in the square to prove it. One of them had been a married man with a child, she recalls. She had held onto that for so long, the belief she was bad, irredeemable and revelled in it. Her time in the Vault has taken care of that last problem at least, but she could never be sure of the former two. But if a woman who has been tortured by her for ten years can see a glimpse of morality in her, then perhaps...perhaps that is something.

“Bill, I think it’s time to go,” Heather says.

Ah, that does bring up a good point. She is alive but still requires transport. So does the Doctor. They had left each other to die on battlefields before, this is true, but it was different then. It was their battleground, the center stage, one or none of them left as the curtain drew to a close on that adventure, always the promise of rage, the game, of return. This is and is not her battleground. Yes, her former self in a way created and enabled it, but he’d abandoned it, no final climactic fight with the Doctor. The Master and Missy reserved that honor for each other. She was not here, either version, to battle the Doctor or protect him, and for that very reason alone, he must certainly be dead.

She thinks briefly back to two weeks ago, when she flippantly vowed “If somebody kills you and it's not me, we'll both be disappointed.” That was the planned end, always, scripted from the day they’d broken their pact to travel the universe together and faced each other as best enemies. But it was theoretical at best, they always survived one way or another, and it all started again. She wonders what he must have thought, possibly what he said, before he died. Missy cards her fingers through the Doctor’s mess of grey curls, only for smoky ash to lodge under her nails. She instead opts for holding his hand, once warm in her own just hours ago, turned cold.

Bill protests, “But the Doctor—and Missy—we can’t just leave them.”

Missy looks up once again, surprised. While Bill has obviously somewhat reevaluated Missy’s character, she was not expecting an offer for help, at least not for herself.

“Of course we can’t. And we’re not going to,” Heather grins back.

Before Missy can properly register it, she’s travelling with incredible speed through time and space, until she’s greeted with the warm psychic presence of the Doctor’s TARDIS. Simple as that, she’s back within these walls. So is the Doctor, still beside her, his hand held by hers. Bill and Heather stand to the side.

“I suppose this is the only place he’d rest in peace. If there’s any place he’d do that,” Bill remarks.

Missy notices the blonde one starting to move for the controls, and with that she’s up and blocking the girl’s path, although with much more difficulty than she’d like. (She really must look into what the TARDIS has in terms of pain medication.)

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing? This is a very complicated sentient space time capsule that requires a careful and knowledgeable hand to guide her. She may just seem like a second-hand gas stove at first, but she’s really like a sweet, unreliable old dog, and only a few people know how to take care of her,” she explains with a silly if strained simile. Humans seem to respond better to that than just her shouting she’s superior, even if it’s true.

“I want to pilot us away from the spaceship, and I know how to fly her,” Heather insists, pulling the lever to start dematerialization. “I’m the Pilot. I can fly anything.”

“Really!” Bill exclaims.

“Yeah,” Heather replies with a wink. “You’re not an exception either.”

Rolling her eyes, Missy takes this opportunity to continue piloting them away while the lovebirds chatter away with their innuendoes and desires and promises. At least, she thinks that’s what they’re doing at any rate.

“So I’m like you now. I’m not human anymore.”

“I can make you human again. It's all just atoms. You can rearrange them any way you like. I can put you back home, you can make chips, and live your life, or you can come with me. It's up to you, Bill, but, before you make up your mind—” Heather rushes to the doors, opening them before Missy has any time to stop her. Luckily for all of them, they are in Quadrant 3 of this galaxy and not the time vortex. A single blue supergiant illuminates the blackness of space. Any protests she had formed quickly fail her, instead captured by the beauty of the star. She cannot remember a time before now where she could admire something like this; a star burning, something she could always appreciate, but of its own accord, a master to none like her. And that’s okay now.

Missy realizes that she has long tuned out the ongoing conversation until Bill is suddenly in her line of sight. Bill has her lips pursued, clearly about to say something she’s conflicted about but has deemed important enough to share.

“Missy, I’m leaving—with Heather. A lot of things have obviously changed since we got on that spaceship together: you, me, Nardole, and the Doctor,” Bill declares, casting a glance at the Doctor lying still on the console floor. “I think somehow I still want to travel the universe after all this, but that’s going to happen with Heather from now on. I’m also okay with leaving because I really believe you can take care of yourself now and the TARDIS. You have before anyways. Just really try not to be like that bloke that came before you, alright?”

Missy has no idea how to respond. Of course, it’s not like she wanted Bill and her gal pal crowding up the TARDIS, but she also has no clue as to where to go next with the Doctor’s TARDIS and his lifeless body on her own.

“Oh and another thing, yeah? Whether the Doctor’s dead or not, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. You have to take care of him. Promise me,” Bill’s voice shook.

It doesn’t take her a second to respond. “Of course.” In any scenario, she would always be there for the Doctor. A memory she’d not been trying to recall, of “Love is a promise” in his voice spoken in a graveyard, reverberates in her brain suddenly. She forces down it, down below the endless layers of freshly surfaced regrets, where she hopes to never recover it.

Bill nods and then turns away, walking in a semicircle until she reaches the Doctor’s side and kneels beside him.

“You know what, old man? I'm never going to believe you're really dead. Because one day everyone's just going to need you too much. Until then,” Bill bends down to kiss his cheek. “It's a big universe, but I hope I see you again.Where there's tears, there's hope.” Her voice cracks at the last sentence, and Missy cannot find it within herself to chide the human’s sentimentality even in her own head. Bill stands finally, going to join her star-eyed lover.

“Just one thing. I've been through a lot since the last time we met, so I'll show you around.”

They clasp hands, and jump out of the TARDIS, flying on an unknown path, sure to include a variety of attractions and dangers with it. Plenty of love and kindness as well. As the TARDIS doors slam shut, Missy knows they will be more than fine.

She is left alone with the Doctor and his TARDIS.

#my writing #fanfiction #twissy #best enemies #space spouses #bill x heather #immortal space lesbians #space girlfriends #missy #the master #gomez!master #twelfth doctor #the doctor #bill potts #heather #doctor who #hope y'all enjoy angst #and cute lesbians #next part should be coming soon

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labgrownsteaks · 4 years ago

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Chapter 7

“Ha what were you guys on!?” Guy blurted out as he stuffed his mouth with some fries. We were at The Drumstick, a local diner that was open 24/7. Erin and I loved going there and getting fries and chocolate shakes. Guy was a bit skeptical. I knew this was the response we would get, yet it was still kind of annoying even our best friend didn’t believe us.

“So this beaver. Why was just standing there” he continued with a chuckle.

Erin was laughing too, which didn’t really help our case either. He didn’t even know about the sheet of acid on my table back at the garage.

“We totally saw a monster!” She was giggling, and had been trying to consume a fry for the better part of five minutes now. But she couldn’t stop talking, or giggling so it just stayed in her fingers like a cigarette.

“So Vitamin, what you think this thing was? I’m sure you have a rational explanation for it?!” Guy said smiling.

Erin piped up. “He totally did! He thought it was mass hysteria, something to do with aliens!”

I interjected “I entertained that as a possibility.”

“Man you are the most logical psychonaut I’ve ever met. Your brain is like proof that psychedelics don’t rot your brain. They made you even more logical. It’s crazy! Tell me this. Have you ever got high and just watched the Gummi Bears or something?”

Erin couldn’t resist “Vitamin actually has the worst taste in movies of anyone I’ve ever known!” It was true. I had the worst taste in film on the planet, which actually meant I thought I had some of the best taste.

I had to defend myself “It’s because all the films now are all made by committee. It’s like Aquaman. Who the hell made that?! Who wrote it? Nobody. A committee and some AI spit out a script, and they cast it with beautiful people and made its returns. That’s not how films were in the 80s!”

“I can tell you’re pretty passionate about something at least” Guy said.

“what’s that movie you watch all the time?” Erin asked me.

“Ninja III The Domination” I said with a sigh.

“What the fuck is that shit?!” Guy said with a burp.

I wasted no time. “It’s about a girl, who’s a lineworker, and also an aerobics instructor, she’s working the lines one day”

“Working the lines. what’s that?” Guy asked

“Working the telephone lines!” I responded somewhat annoyed

“Oh I thought maybe that was aerobics thing. Working the lines” Guy said

“Bruh, ok. So she’s a lineworker, and she’s sees this ninja while she’s working the lines. He’s got a sword, and he gives her the sword before he vanishes. He was killing cops”

“Sounds riveting” guy said with a fake english accent.

I got back on track. “She gets the sword, and takes it to her place. But the sword possesses her and makes her start killing cops, but she’s also dating a cop. I hate his character and I recut the film without him. Anyway.”

“I think I got the basics. Sounds dope...” Guy said somewhat sarcastically. He sloshed a fry around in his chocolate shake before gobbling it up and then stating.

“So, let me get this right. You watch goofy as movies with construction workers who get posessed by dead ninja cop killers and..”

“She’s a lineworker” I said.

“Ok, yeah. so you watch these goofy ass films. You take enough psychedelics to make the pope weep. Yet, when you’re completely sober, with your friend, you see a fucking walking beaver wolf demon. And you try to approach it in a logical manner?”

The question actually kind of threw me. I knew how to process weird things, and feelings, and dreams that became reality. And impossible synchronicities. I once thought my head had turned into a gear and part of a giant orange machine in the wall. But when I was sober, and saw this. I simply couldn’t process it.

“I don’t know man. I did see something, and it was weird. I’ll give you that”

“It was weird” Erin said “That should be your quote ““It was weird”” I can imagine it under your picture in the paper in a story about this. Let me get it down to the Chisuwick Tribune I’m sure they’ll get right on the story!”

We all laughed together, and I knew it was all in good fun. We slurped up the rest of our shakes and ate even the little bits of fries.

“Hey Guy, wanna trip with us this weekend? I got some acid.”

“Damn, where’d you get that?” Guy responded.

“Oh, just a girl..” I said, feeling kind of bad I was lying, but I couldn’t let the whole world know I had a drug printing machine.

“A girl?” Guy said Where’d you meet this girl?”

“In the library.” I continued

“How do you meet a girl in the library?!” Guy inquired.

“She just came up to me.” I said. Erin was looking at me smiling with pure delight.

“Why?!” Guy stated

“I had paint on my jeans and she wanted to know how to use the dewey decimal system. She had a big floppy hat on, looked like somebody who go to Burning Bush”

“lawl, what’s that got to do with paint on your jeans” Guy asked in disbelief.

“She...uh..She saw I was a painter, and she liked art, so she wanted to know where the art books were but couldn’t figure out the dewey decimal system”

“And then she gave you acid” Guy said

“Yes” I said with a smile.

“Ok, that definitely never happened. It’s cool, I’m square I get it, I don’t need to know your sources” Guy continued on. “By the way, I got the check” Guy always got the check. One day we were gonna pay him back, when we finally got rich. We walked out of Denny’s and jumped into his 89 Chevette, which was packed full of old Computer textbooks from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. Erin and I sat in back together because the front was piled full of crap he had bought at 2nd hand shops. In additional to collecting old computer textbooks, he also collected antiquated technology. Laserdiscs,8 tracks, reel to reel tape machines, you name it. He probably had one. His dream was to open a vintage computer museum and educate people about the benefits of dot matrix printers and CRT monitors. We paged through one of his books and looked at all the funny pictures of Leave it to Beaver moms sitting next to computers. So odd that in the beginning computers were seen as a woman thing. Something for secretaries to use. Now look where its got us. Staring at screens instead of the world in front of us. Which is just begging to be looked at. Ever since the VR headsets came out in conjunction with Lawnmower Man it was all downhill. People were all in their headsets now with their virtual trainers paying 50 bucks for a 30 minute lesson when they could just run around the river, or hop on a bike. These women sitting next to these computers had no idea of the monsters they were unleashing. They thought the computers were just going to listen to their fingers, and type what they wanted them to type. They had no idea, that the computers would tell us what to do.

#lgs

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 7 years ago

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SC:SI 3 start

Completely mortified over what had transpired, Eren found himself able to remember only some of what happened. What he could remember, he remembered with with embarrassing clarity. He'd wanted to bred. That was the only way to describe the sensations that had filled every part of his being... or at least that was how he explained it to Hanji. Sitting across from the woman, he was still exhausted, though determined. He'd just spent a 5 days as a wolf, which he couldn't remembered. What he could remember was shifting back into his human form and being filled with the need to be... filled. He was sure every word out his mouth was only making things worse for himself, but surely Hanji could find some way for it all to mean something.

Having finished speaking, Eren's heart was hammering in his chest as he waited for Hanji to speak. Given he'd been staring at the floor as he spoke, he cautiously looked up, fully expecting Hanji to look supportive. Instead he found her seemingly concerned

"Eren, I need to conduct an internal examination. Is this alright?"

What? Why? Hadn't she gotten enough data? What more was there for her to look at? He didn't particularly want to be cut open, but he couldn't say no. And Hanji knew that... so why even ask? Nodding quickly, he didn't trust himself not to voice his thoughts

"Good. I'll sedate you, and you'll feel minimal pain during the procedure"

And there went his determination. Straight out the window as his stomach dropped

"Hanji... will I wake up from this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will you kill me? While I'm unconscious?"

Hanji's eyes widened, shaking her head, she moved to kneel in front of him

"Is that what you think? That I'll just kill you?"

"No... no... maybe. I mean... I don't understand what's happening, and you and Levi just had to waste a week looking after me, when I'm not sure I even deserve it"

"Eren, we're not going to kill you. I honestly thought you were an alpha wolf, and that you were going through a rut. But just now you told me you felt like you needed to bred. So I need to take a look inside of you and see why"

"It doesn't matter does it? I'm a boy. It's not like sex will lead to anything happening"

"Still. I need to understand what's going on with you, so if we encounter someone else like you, we'll know what's going on"

"I'm sorry. I must seem so pathetic. All I wanted to do was work here. Even since before my parents died, I wanted to hunt the things that scare and kill people. No one knows where the werewolves come from, and to find out I'm like them. I feel like I've lost part of myself. I hate myself for this, but I don't want to die. I want to kill them all so no one has to suffer"

"I think you're tired and emotional. Once things settle down and you're finally allowed in the field, I think you'll end up feeling better"

"I don't know if or when I'll be allowed in the field"

"Until then, you'll help me with my research and not just as a test subject. We can't have you cooped up in the cell all day"

Nodding sadly, Eren felt like a damn pansy. Hanji was right though, his moods and thoughts were all over the place

"Alright. But if I do die, I want to be buried..."

"Eren, do you really think I'd let you die? I still haven't see your proper form"

Snorting at Hanji's grin, he couldn't help the smile forming in response to hers

"Let's do this"

Of all Hanji's ideas, this had to be the most pointless and he had no idea how the woman had secured Erwin's permission to operate on Eren, yet there he was. Watching as Hanji cut into Eren's most private places. The woman had started the procedure by first performing a biopsy on Eren's 4 scent glands, which was fine. What wasn't fine was the fact she was now openly slicing into the boys arse, while he was forced to watch the whole thing incase Eren shifted or became violent during the surgery. With all Hanji's meddling, Levi hadn't even talked to the boy since his rut... heat... ended. To him sexual curiosity seemed perfectly normal when it came to teenagers, yet because Eren had said he felt like he needed to be bred, they were going to all this bother. What did it matter if Eren swung that way? He was male, it wasn't like he'd wind up pregnant.

Watching the blood on Hanji's arm grow, Levi's teeth began to ache. This was another reason he shouldn't be the one watching over this surgery. His hunger still hadn't settled, and it felt like Eren's blood was just begging to be drunk. Rising from his seat, he began to pace at the end of the room

"Levi, I can't concentrate with you pacing"

"Too bad"

"Look, I'm nearly done here. Do you think you can stay still for just a little longer"

"Hanji. You have blood all over you. I think it's past time you were done"

"I can't help it. Every time I cut, I have to go over it half a dozen times because Eren heals so fast"

"What exactly are you cutting?"

"There seems to be a womb of some sort inside Eren's anus..."

"Alright. I don't need to hear anything else. Cut it out, and let him heal"

"I can't just cut it out"

"He'll heal, but he's not going to heal if he dies from blood loss first"

"Moblit. How's his heart rate?"

"Slower than when you started"

"Shit. Ok. Eren, I'm doing this for your own good"

Her statement was followed by a very wet and bloody pop, as something was pulled from inside Eren's arse. Levi couldn't help but scrunch his face up on disgust

"Is that?"

"Yeah. I need to examine this"

"Hanji, if he can get pregnant..."

"I severely doubt he'd be fertile. No. I think this comes from his wolf side..."

"That doesn't matter. If they even suspect..."

His friends face paled at the implications

"I can't not tell Erwin"

"Then tell him you removed it. Eren's already an outcast, he doesn't need to know about this either"

"Levi, could it be you feel something for Eren? Because he's like you?"

"No. I just don't want him ending up dead before we get some real answers"

Hanji hummed, clearly skeptical

"Alright. I just need to stitch him up. He's healing, but because of all the damage, it's taking some time"

Leaving Eren chained and in bed, Levi headed up to report to Erwin. Entering his friends office, he found Hanji already there

"How's Eren?"

"Still unconscious. The bleeding seems to have stopped"

"And you?"

Levi raised an eyebrow

"You'll have to feed off Hanji today. I have a meeting later"

Sinking into the chair next to Hanji, she immediately offered her arm to him

"I didn't even think of the implications of having Levi around all that blood"

"Well normally he can contain his urges, I understand you took samples from his scent glands"

Hanji winced slightly as Levi's teeth pierced her skin. Tasting soap, he also tasted what could only be Eren's lingering blood. The moment it met his tongue, he couldn't help the groan that slipped from the back of his throat. He'd never tasted anything like it. Erwin's blood was the best he'd ever tasted, but even that didn't hold a candle to the remnants of Eren's. Drinking deeply, it didn't take as long as usual for him to feel full

"You can take a little more"

Shaking his head, Levi pulled back

"I'm full"

"Levi, your hunger's not a safe thing to ignore"

Pulling his cravat off, he cleaned his mouth

"I'm fine. Thanks"

Both his friends stared at him, clearly worried that he was lying

"Eren's blood was still on Hanji's skin. I don't know why, but I could taste that and I didn't need to drink as much"

Hanji let out a small gasp

"Oh my god, do you know what this means? If you feed off Eren..."

"No. I'm not feeding off Eren. It's bad enough that I need to feed on either of you"

"But Levi, if your hungers sated so easily from a few drops of Eren's blood"

"No. Drop it"

Hanji looked to Erwin for support

"We can't risk Levi's nature being exposed"

"All I'm saying is, maybe I can come up with a tablet or something. Something you can keep on you in case of an emergency. I need to take his blood for analysis anyway"

"Your main priority should be masking Eren's scent"

"I already have Moblit examining the biopsies. Given his heat has passed, his smell seems to have dropped dramatically"

"So you're sure he's..."

"Yes. I found what seems to be the opening to a womb inside his anus, and of course I need to finish dissecting it, but I highly doubt he's fertile. For all intent and purposes, Eren is biologically male, making him incapable of falling pregnant"

Levi shot Hanji a glare, but Erwin rose to his feet

"No one else is to know. Including Moblit"

"Moblit won't tell anyone. He's been ordered not to include details other than those pertaining to the biopsy in his report"

"We still need to decide how much to tell them about his heat"

"I've already got that covered. Levi, when Eren awakens, make sure he eats. Hanji, I want you to report everything you find first thing tomorrow morning"

"So I'm still on babysitting duty"

"Just think of this as the prelude to him becoming your official partner"

Levi was shocked. He wasn't completely surprised they'd want a monster like him watching over Eren, but becoming the brats official partner...

Parting ways with Hanji, Levi felt no particular inclination or need to check on Eren. Hanji would more than likely check in with Eren later, so it was time he tried to return some normality to his life. Returning to his quarters, Levi stripped before heading into his private bathroom. Despite telling himself there was no point dwelling on something he couldn't currently change, Eren wouldn't disappear from his thoughts. The kid was only 15... half his officially listed age... a brat and a green soldier. Though to the public the Survey Corps was an official military branch that took on mission outside the walls in hopes of expanding Humanities territories, they were also the dogs of the government. Tasked with investigating things that weren't quite "human". As far as the masses went, vampires, ghosts, demons and spirits were all just fairytales of the past. And for the most part they were, yet here he was and no one had even put two and two together to realise he was a vampire. Other than his two friends, the only people who knew were his squad, consisting of Petra, Olou, Gunther, Eld, and Mike, Mike wasn't technically in his squad, but with the man's keen sense of smell, it wasn't something he could hide from him.

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captain-zajjy · 7 years ago

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Solstice, Chapter 14 - A Final Fantasy XV Story

Pairing: Ignis x Female Original Character

AO3 | Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

A/N: This one is pretty short, but I really like it as its own chapter. I plan to post another update sometime this weekend, so keep an eye out for it!

When Noctis disappeared, when Ardyn walked away seemingly unscathed from their attacks, no words were exchanged between the young King's Crownsguard. No one needed to state the obvious. They’d failed.

And as they made their way out of the Keep and the daemons began to spawn in overwhelming numbers (at least as far as Ignis's working senses could tell), Gladiolus, Ignis, and Prompto remained silent as they drew their weapons. This was the end of the road.

Ignis felt no fear of death, of pain, just a weary sadness that it was all over, that he couldn’t be the advisor, the protector that Noctis needed. That he’d never return home to Insomnia and the Citadel. That he’d never see her again.

Regis...Noctis...forgive me. He struck out with one of his daggers at the nearest sound, slashing through the air until the blade connected, turning the monster’s snarl into a gurgled hiss.

Val...be strong. There were so many daemons that Ignis seemed to hit something no matter where he attacked. He was vaguely aware of Prompto’s guns firing off round after round, the ground trembling as Gladio swung his greatsword. There was no joy in the fight, and no fear. They were resigned to their end.

Suddenly, a cold consumed the area, so fierce and abrupt it sucked the air from his lungs and the heat from his bones. Involuntarily, Ignis’s knives slipped from his grasp, his body huddling for warmth on reflex.

“What...the hell...is this?” Gladiolus choked out through a clenched jaw. Prompto’s teeth were chattering so badly they seemed likely to break in his mouth.

Ignis felt several somethings float past him, and then icy fingers were around his shoulder, caressing his cheek, soft as a lover’s kiss. The only sound apart from the three of them struggling in the cold was the soft chiming of hundreds of icicles hanging in the air.

“The Glacian,” he sputtered. He had been unconscious when Shiva had appeared to Noctis on the train, but the way the Prince had described the encounter was identical to what they were witnessing now.

In spite of the cold, Ignis forced his hand outward to see what had become of the creature that had been trying to destroy him seconds ago. Another set of icy fingers, frigid and stony but somehow gentle, wrapped around his wrist and guided him toward a large mass, hard as steel and smooth as glass. The daemon was frozen solid.

“Dearest friends.” A chorus of female voices, nearly identical in tone and pitch, spoke in unison, the sound coming from all around him. “Despair not. The King of Kings yet lives, slumbering in Bahamut’s embrace.”

King of Kings? Did they - it - mean Noctis? It somehow didn’t seem right to interrupt a Goddess with questions.

“Abide in hope, brave companions. When the Ring waxes full, the Chosen King shall return and restore the Light to this world. Your strength is His strength. Your will, His resolve. Go forth now, and hold back the Darkness in His stead.”

And just like that, Shiva was gone. The cold lessened to something a bit more bearable, but the Keep was still enveloped in frosty silence, a hushed stillness punctuated only by the sounds of Ignis and his companions breathing. Even the ever-present hum of machinery had stopped.

It was Prompto who spoke first. “The...'the Chosen King.' That’s Noct, right? He’s...he’s still alive, right?” The desperation in his voice mirrored Ignis’s own feelings.

He tried to keep his voice level. “I...I believe so.”

“Who else could it be?” Gladiolus said.

“He’s with...Bahamut? So, he’s safe, right?” Prompto was pacing.

“I imagine being under an Astral’s protection would be the safest place to be,” Ignis replied.

Gladiolus grunted. “So, what? We’re not good enough?”

Ignis sighed and bowed his head. “We played right into the Chancellor’s hands.” We failed. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say that aloud.

“But, wait. If Noct is with Bahamut...why would Ardyn want that?” Prompto asked.

“An excellent question. Perhaps...perhaps the Chancellor wants Noctis to kill him.” Prompto made a confused noise, so Ignis went on. “We saw for ourselves that weapons can’t harm him. Perhaps...” Ignis would have to ponder on it longer than a few seconds to figure it out. “Perhaps attempting to apply logic to a madman is an exercise in futility.”

“Yeah, and perhaps we should get out of here before these things melt,” Gladiolus said.

“The Glacian froze everything?” Ignis asked as Prompto grabbed his arm.

“Everything but us,” Prompto replied, leading him through a winding forest of frozen monsters. “So, uh...how exactly are we supposed to get out of here?”

Ignis thought for a moment. “Prompto, do you think that codeprint of yours can unlock Imperial aircraft?”

“Maybe?” Prompto squeaked out.

“Worth a shot,” Gladiolus said. “Hangar’s this way, I think.”

Noctis is alive, Ignis marveled as they walked. The Glacian’s words had been predictably cryptic, but that much was clear. His king, his charge, his friend. Alive, and safe. For now, that was all that mattered.

Gladio’s heavy boots echoed off the high walls of the hangar as he roamed around. “This one looks like it’s in pretty good shape.”

Prompto took Ignis over to the aircraft in question and took a deep breath. “Here goes.”

A moment later, there was a click, and then a hiss as the vehicle’s door slid open. Gladiolus practically shoved Ignis inside. He felt around until he found seats; Ignis sat in the one furthest from the cockpit.

“You actually know how to fly this thing?” Gladiolus asked as Prompto sat down.

“I mean...it can’t be that different that thing I stole in Altissia. Right?” Prompto gave a nervous laugh.

Gladiolus snarled. “Prompto, I swear to the Gods, if you kill me in crash when I could have died in battle...”

Ignis had to admit, if he had his druthers, he would have also preferred to go out in a blaze of glory, rather than a blaze of metal and gasoline.

“I know I needn’t remind you, but I highly doubt the Astrals will intervene twice on our behalf.”

“It’s cool,” Prompto said, sounding anything but cool. “I can do this.” He continued to repeat that phrase under his breath as he fiddled with something in the cockpit.

“Better buckle up, Iggy,” Gladiolus said.

Ignis doubted that would be of much help if Prompto flew them into the side of a building, but he did as he was told.

“Okay, here we go,” Prompto said as the engine rumbled to life. Then suddenly the craft lurched forward before coming to an abrupt stop, and Ignis was glad he’d heeded Gladio’s advice.

“Heh, heh...uh...okay. Okay, it’s this one,” Prompto mumbled to himself.

This time when the craft shot forward, it didn’t stop. Ignis gripped the back of Gladio’s seat and his stomach lurched, not entirely due to becoming airborne. He felt himself being pushed back in his chair with an increasing and alarming amount of force, like they were trying to pierce the heavens.

“Too steep, Prompto!” Ignis shouted. Then they suddenly began to pitch downward.

“Level it out,” Gladiolus growled.

“Okay, okay,” Prompto said as the craft began to take on some degree of normalcy. “I think I got the hang of it.”

Gladiolus made a skeptical snort that echoed Ignis’s own sentiments. “Don’t get cocky, flyboy.”

“There should be an altitude gauge on the dash,” Ignis said. “Try to keep the needle in the middle.”

“Unless we’re going to hit something,” Gladiolus added. Ignis thought that went without saying, but perhaps it didn’t in this case.

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Prompto replied. “So, uh, where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here.” Gladiolus shifted in his seat, then cursed. “Gralea’s swarming with daemons.”

Bloody hell, Ignis thought. He certainly had no love for the Empire, but its seemingly overnight collapse would spell even more disaster for Lucis, at least in the short-term.

“Bear Southeast,” Ignis instructed. “That should put us in the vicinity of Duscae.”

“Then we wait for Noct and take back the throne,” Prompto said eagerly. The craft turned somewhat more sharply than Ignis would have liked. “How long do you think it will take him to come back?”

Gladiolus sighed. “Who the hell knows?”

Ignis frowned. “I doubt the Gods would have whisked him off only to return him overnight.”

“Maybe we should have asked,” Gladiolus said.

Ignis straightened his sunglasses. “I suspect the answer would have been just as cryptic as the rest. Gods have no concept of time, at least not like ours. My suspicion is that Noctis will not be returned to us imminently.” When the Ring waxes full... Ignis wasn't certain what that meant, but something about the Glacian’s phrasing seemed to suggest that they were in for a long haul.

“Then...we get stronger, right Gladio? We ‘hold back the Darkness,’ whatever that means,” Prompto said, determined. “Don’t you get it, guys? We’ve been given a second chance.”

A second chance. Ignis liked the sound of that. “Indeed,” he murmured. This time, I shall not fail.

Prompto’s unflappable optimism seemed to have lifted Gladio’s spirits as well. After a while spent in silence, he said, “Hey, Prompto. Was that your first kiss?”

“Whaaa-?” Prompto spluttered.

Ignis leaned forward. “What’s this, now?”

“One of those...Glacian things gave him a big, fat smack on the cheek.”

“It was not my first kiss!” Prompto insisted, perhaps a little too defensively. “I’ve kissed, like, tons of girls!”

Gladiolus snorted. “Your mom doesn’t count.”

Ignis grinned. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Prompto. In fact, I’d say getting one’s first kiss from an Astral is quite the boast.”

#final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #ffxv #ff15 #ffxv fanfiction #ff15 fanfiction #ignis scientia #ignis #ignis x oc #gladiolus amicitia #gladio #prompto argentum #prompto #shiva

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may-shepard · 8 years ago

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Doyle’s The Parasite and s4

This little non-Sherlockian, paranormal gem, published in Harper’s Weekly starting in November 1894--that’s right, a little less than a year after Doyle published The Final Problem (November / December 1893)--deserves our attention. When @longsnowsmoon5 pointed it out a week or two ago, a few of us shouted about it a bit, but we didn’t really dig deep with it. Since then, I’ve re-read it twice, and boy howdy.

In case you’re not familiar, here are some plot elements to whet your interest:

a skeptical physiologist (Austin Gilroy) who allows himself to become a subject in a mesmerism / mind control experiment

a woman with mind control abilities (Miss Penclosa) who is generally unimpressive and walks with a crutch, but is surprisingly powerful

two people about whom Gilroy cares--his fiancée Agatha and his colleague, Charles Sadler--who are also both mesmerised (to offer some comfort to more tender readers of this meta, I read both Agatha and Charles as Sherlock equivalents when translated into the BBC Sherlock narrative)

obsession--specifically, Miss Penclosa’s desire to seduce Gilroy

supernatural mind control abilities that cause Gilroy to behave erratically, cause missing time, and, eventually, make him do things he would never otherwise do, some of them criminal

narrative bonus feature: the story is told from Gilroy’s perspective, in the form of his journal entries

(I recommend reading it at Gutenberg because there is much more to it of interest than I’ve been able to cover in this meta.)

Sound like it might, maybe, have some relevance to s4? I think it does, especially in terms of figuring out what the fuck is happening to both John and Sherlock.

Reading s4 through the code of The Parasite may help explain Sherlock’s sudden propensity for intuition / premonition, and John’s erratic behaviour. Ultimately, including The Parasite as one of the many intertexts of s4 offers a great deal of support to readings like @jenna221b‘s theory about Mary manipulating John using TD12, which in turn adds support to the ever growing pile of evidence that Mary is a villain (thanks to @teaandqueerbaiting for that monster post). It also informs readings of Mary as femme fatale and the Woman in Green (femme fatale thread by @inevitably-johnlocked, Woman in Green addition by @deducingbbcsherlock). Although I’m not sure mofftiss should ever be let off any hooks for s4, this reading might offer John fans (myself included) a much needed opportunity for a more positive reading of John in this series.

Details under the cut.

Although the fandom as a whole has put its finger on a massive number of movie intertexts for s4, many of which seem to have unduly influenced this series, especially TFP, The Parasite is, to my mind, the standout literary intertext, for two reasons:

First, it represents one of Doyle’s dips into the “strange tale” / paranormal / horror genre. Given the general bent of s4 away from the detective story genre and toward something uncanny / weird tales-ish / disturbing, The Parasite seems a more likely fit with s4 than the stories from which the series borrows its titles: The Final Problem, The Six Napoleons, and The Dying Detective. With s4′s final revelation of Eurus as the ultimate antagonist of the series (although I read that revelation as hallucinatory), it points very directly to the themes of The Parasite.

Second, specific features and key plot points of The Parasite are echoed in series 4 character / plot / thematic developments. These serve as an interpretive aid in understanding what the hell, exactly, happened in s4, to very, very interesting effect.

A Study in Genre Hopping

One of the major disappointments / wtferies / cause of mass despair of TFP, and s4 in general, was the apparent sudden switch in genre. Sherlock Holmes, although in this incarnation an astoundingly sensitive fellow, has always been the centre of stories that stuck to a certain rational, materialist, logical ethos. If you can think clearly enough, and know the right facts, you can understand the world around you. Almost sort of comforting, right?

Well.

This series offered us a Sherlock transformed--into a really, really, kind, good man, which, YAY!--but also into a sort of intuitive soothsayer. The show even went out of its way to signal the turn away from Sherlock’s deductive methodologies, quite early, in this moment in TST, as Sherlock is deducing this client, and explaining how he’s arrived at his conclusions:

KINGSLEY: Sorry. I-I thought you’d done something clever. (Sherlock’s head turns towards him.) KINGSLEY: No, no. Ah, but now you’ve explained it, it’s dead simple, innit?

Excuse you, Kingsley.

Meanwhile, Sherlock is intuiting stuff all over the place, like in this moment in Mycroft’s office:

SHERLOCK (thoughtfully, looking off to one side): There’s something important about this. (For a few moments, the reflection and sound of dark blue rippling water seems to surround him.) SHERLOCK: I’m sure. Maybe it’s Moriarty. Maybe it’s not. But something’s coming. (The water disappears. Mycroft frowns and leans forward, folding his hands on the desk.) MYCROFT: Are you having a premonition, brother mine? (Sherlock blinks and looks towards Mycroft.) SHERLOCK: The world is woven from billions of lives, every strand crossing every other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics.

This series emphasizes, from the beginning, the idea that we’re not in the land of deduction any more. Something else is at play, something that can only be arrived at through following intuition:

JOHN: Now what’s wrong? SHERLOCK: Not sure. I just ... ‘By the pricking of my thumbs.’ JOHN (scoffing sarcastically): Seriously? You?! SHERLOCK: Intuitions are not to be ignored, John. They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend.

We never quite seem to discover what these intuitions might be trying to say, not really. The Thatcher busts continue to give Sherlock the heebie jeebies. They lead him to AGRA and Ajay, and Mary’s past, a series of events that ends in Mary’s death (“Mary’s” “death”). We never really get a sense of why the Thatcher busts give Sherlock these intuitive hits, or why that water effect happens when he looks at them, or. (They are surely not geniune premonitions. They are something else.)

As beginnings go, I think that it could actually have been an interesting setup to something or other. One of the best things a writer can do to a character is take away their usual method of doing things and plunge them into an unknown territory. And Sherlock is clearly lost. Something is not right with him. He’s in some kind of altered state. But what does it all mean?

If we follow the throughline offered to us on a textual level in s4, all of this means, apparently, nearly getting murdered in a truly weird hospital room, and ending up on Horror Movie Mashup Island for some hijinks with the plot device secret sister that literally no one cares about. Not exactly the payoff one might hope for, is it?

In times of textual failure, it pays to follow the subtext, however, and, in this case, the intertext, because this is where The Parasite comes in--at least, I think it does. We are, at least, on the level of the text, in hinky jinky supernatural territory, from the beginning of the series--or at least, things are presented that way. (They are not really that way, but I’ll get to that in due time.)

A Nefarious Plot

Back to plot of The Parasite. The story starts when the main character, Austin Gilroy, gets roped into attending a party thrown by Wilson, a wacky eccentric academic who is all wrapped up in pursuing the brand spanking new field of human psychology (ahhh...the state of science in the late 19th century). Wilson has decided to start by pursuing the most out there phenomena he can find: specifically, cases of extreme mesmerism. He thinks he’s found the perfect practitioner in Miss Penclosa, who humblebrags her way into Gilroy’s attention, and, essentially, challenges him to pick anyone in the room for her to influence, by way of demonstrating what she can do.

Miss Penclosa claims to have extraordinary powers of exertion over others--powers that depend, she asserts, not on anything known to science, but on her ability to extend her will into whomever she chooses. Gilroy picks his fiancée, Agatha Marden, believing that she’s strong of mind and unlikely to be influenced. Miss Penclosa puts her in a trance, and whispers in her ear--

--oopsie--

--Miss Penclosa whispers in Agatha’s ear, and all is well.

Until the next morning, when Agatha turns up at Gilroy’s house and tells him their engagement is over. She offers no further explanation, simply assures him that they’re finished, and she leaves.

Gilroy discovers it’s all part of the demonstration; half an hour later, Agatha doesn’t remember breaking up with him, and the engagement is still on. But, in an excessively creepy moment, Gilroy asks Miss Penclosa if Agatha would have killed him if she’d programmed her to, and Miss Penclosa agrees, yes, she would.

In fact, Miss Penclosa affirms that she has only scratched the surface of revealing her abilities. She has “further powers.” He, of course, wants to know more. She replies:

"I shall be only too happy to tell you any thing you wish to know. Let me see; what was it you asked me? Oh, about the further powers. Professor Wilson won't believe in them, but they are quite true all the same. For example, it is possible for an operator to gain complete command over his subject— presuming that the latter is a good one. Without any previous suggestion he may make him do whatever he likes."

"Without the subject's knowledge?"

"That depends. If the force were strongly exerted, he would know no more about it than Miss Marden did when she came round and frightened you so. Or, if the influence was less powerful, he might be conscious of what he was doing, but be quite unable to prevent himself from doing it."

"Would he have lost his own will power, then?"

"It would be over-ridden by another stronger one."

"Have you ever exercised this power yourself?"

"Several times."

This sort of wildly successful, wide-ranging mind control, is, of course, familiar from TFP:

GOVERNOR: Everyone we sent in there; it-it’s hard to describe. (John turns as the governor continues.) GOVERNOR: It’s ... it’s like she ...

MYCROFT: ... recruited them.

SO! So far we’ve got mind control powers, people under the influence of mind control powers, and those same people doing things they would never normally do. It’s enough of a connection, especially with Murder Mind Control Island TFP, to argue that The Parasite is at work in s4. BUT GUESS WHAT? IT GETS BETTER, IN THE SENSE OF MUCH MORE SCREAMINGLY RELEVANT.

It gets better because Gilroy’s narration, through his journal entries, in addition to some implications of missing days / time fuckery throughout the story, offers a first person description of what it’s like to be under the influence of Miss Penclosa. He describes not being able to help himself, but, once she decides to use her mojo as a tool of seduction, Gilroy holds hands with her, and spends time talking about how boring Agatha is, in comparison with Miss Penclosa. He tries to resist, and Miss Penclosa’s influence only deepens. He decides that, at all costs, he’ll never go anywhere near her again. And yet, when the evening rolls around and their usual meeting time comes, he finds himself simply and irresistibly drawn to her.

So, he locks himself in his room and slides the key under the door. When the moment for his standing appointment comes, he finds himself on the floor, trying to reach the key with a quill pen. This is how he describes what he feels:

It was all wonderfully clear, and yet disassociated from the rest of my life, as the incidents of even the most vivid dream might be. A peculiar double consciousness possessed me. There was the predominant alien will, which was bent upon drawing me to the side of its owner, and there was the feebler protesting personality, which I recognized as being myself, tugging feebly at the overmastering impulse as a led terrier might at its chain.

(Gilroy compares himself to a dog, and others compare him to a dog, so many times, I lost track.)

Most striking of all about The Parasite is what happens when Gilroy confronts Miss Penclosa, telling her that he finds her disgusting:

The very sight of you and the sound of your voice fill me with horror and disgust. The thought of you is repulsive. That is how I feel toward you, and if it pleases you by your tricks to draw me again to your side as you have done tonight, you will at least, I should think, have little satisfaction in trying to make a lover out of a man who has told you his real opinion of you. You may put what words you will into my mouth, but you cannot help remembering--

I stopped, for the woman’s head had fallen back, and she had fainted.

Mary is no fainter (I mean, idk, maybe faking your death is a type of fainting), but John certainly makes a move toward rejecting her in Morocco:

MARY: I always liked ‘Mary.’

JOHN (smiling): Yeah, me too.

JOHN: I used to.

Gilroy’s repudiation of Miss Penclosa triggers an endgame, in which she causes him to do increasingly terrible (and out of character) things that threaten to ruin his life. She goes after his career first, making him interrupt his own lectures at the university with gibberish. He becomes a laughingstock--people start attending his lectures to see what bizarre things he’s going to say next.

The university suspends Gilroy’s lectures, deciding that he’s not mentally fit to run classes, effectively taking his career away from him.

Has something similar happened to John? It’s certainly implied in TLD:

NURSE CORNISH: You involved much? JOHN: Sorry? NURSE CORNISH: Um, with Mr Holmes – Sherlock and all his cases?

JOHN: Uh, yeah. I’m John Watson. NURSE CORNISH (looking as if that means nothing to her): Okay. JOHN: Doctor Watson.

NURSE CORNISH: I love his blog, don’t you? JOHN: His blog?

...

JOHN (interrupting): It’s my blog.

SHERLOCK: It is. He writes the blog. NURSE CORNISH (to John): It’s yours? JOHN: Yes.

NURSE CORNISH: You write Sherlock’s blog? JOHN: Yes.

NURSE CORNISH: It’s ... gone downhill a little bit, hasn’t it?

I can’t think what the hell would fuel this exchange, unless the blog has genuinely gone downhill (you guys, I miss the blog), or Nurse Cornish is in on the whole gaslighting / manipulation / mind control deal (extremely possible, as implied by her position in front of a big hairy grinning yikes worthy head shot of Culverton Smith). Since the blog has stopped, or whatever is actually (”actually”) happening, it’s impossible to check and see if the blog really has gone downhill. If we take The Parasite as an intertext, however, we could certainly imagine John’s writings, and his sense of self, deteriorating as a result of the forces that are manipulating him.

Things take a turn for the extremely disturbing when Gilroy thinks he has found an ally in Charles Sadler, a friend and colleague. [I’ll just say here that this is the bit that convinced me that Mofftiss are cribbing off The Parasite, and, if anything in this meta has a trigger warning, the next bit should, for physical violence on par with the morgue scene, or, one might say, exactly like the morgue scene.] Charles Sadler has also been under the influence of Miss Penclosa, albeit to a lesser degree. Gilroy plans to talk to Sadler after they spend an evening together, at a university function, where Gilroy goes to prove that he hasn’t completely lost his sanity. Miss Penclosa is there, watching both of them from the sidelines. She knows that Sadler might support Gilroy. Gilroy narrates:

To-night is the university ball, and I must go. God knows I never felt less in the humor for festivity, but I must not have it said that I am unfit to appear in public. If I am seen there, and have speech with some of the elders of the university it will go a long way toward showing them that it would be unjust to take my chair away from me.

10 P. M. I have been to the ball. Charles Sadler and I went together, but I have come away before him. I shall wait up for him, however, for, indeed, I fear to go to sleep these nights. He is a cheery, practical fellow, and a chat with him will steady my nerves. On the whole, the evening was a great success. I talked to every one who has influence, and I think that I made them realize that my chair is not vacant quite yet. The creature was at the ball—unable to dance, of course, but sitting with Mrs. Wilson. Again and again her eyes rested upon me. They were almost the last things I saw before I left the room. Once, as I sat sideways to her, I watched her, and saw that her gaze was following some one else. It was Sadler, who was dancing at the time with the second Miss Thurston. To judge by her expression, it is well for him that he is not in her grip as I am. He does not know the escape he has had. I think I hear his step in the street now, and I will go down and let him in. If he will—

Gilroy wakes up the next morning, having broken off his journal entry with no memory of doing so, only to find that his hand is “greatly swollen” for some reason he can’t recall.

JOHN: I really hit him, Greg.

JOHN: Hit him hard.

Gilroy goes to Charles Sadler’s rooms, and is shocked by what he finds there:

I went to Sadler and found him, to my surprise, in bed. As I entered he sat up and turned a face toward me which sickened me as I looked at it.

"Why, Sadler, what has happened?" I cried, but my heart turned cold as I said it.

"Gilroy," he answered, mumbling with his swollen lips, "I have for some weeks been under the impression that you are a madman. Now I know it, and that you are a dangerous one as well. If it were not that I am unwilling to make a scandal in the college, you would now be in the hands of the police."

"Do you mean——" I cried.

"I mean that as I opened the door last night you rushed out upon me, struck me with both your fists in the face, knocked me down, kicked me furiously in the side, and left me lying almost unconscious in the street. Look at your own hand bearing witness against you."

I won’t screencap the morgue beating, because it’s traumatised people more than enough, but I was really, really struck by the identical quality of the choreography of what Gilroy does to Sadler, set against what John does to Sherlock.

John Watson, who wonders why everything is always his fault in HLV, may not in fact be to blame for these terrible actions, if we follow The Parasite intertext. If he is being manipulated, if Mary is in his head the same way that Miss Penclosa is in Gilroy’s, then it may be that John has been in some way compelled to hurt the one person who matters most to him.

The story of The Parasite progresses quickly from Gilroy’s attack on Charles Sadler. Miss Penclosa takes Gilroy over once more, and tries to force him to throw a bottle of vitriol (sulfuric acid) in Agatha’s face. Gilroy comes awake in Agatha’s room, vitriol in hand, and realises that the influence has lifted. It turns out that Miss Penclosa is dead--having tried to force him to do something so absolutely awful to Gilroy’s beloved, Miss Penclosa has exerted too much of her will / mojo / magical effort-stuff, and it’s killed her. Love conquers all? Ish? In any case, Gilroy and Agatha (and Charles Sadler too, I suppose) are free.

Implications for s4

Some free association style thoughts:

The Mary John sees in his mind may or may not be actual Mary (I really *love* the idea that Mary is still lurking around both John and Sherlock throughout TLD); she is, at least, the trace of an undue and unnatural influence that Mary has on him.

It’s possible that by the time we get to John’s confession scene in 221B at the end of TLD, he has, somehow, through the power of his will, transformed this mental image into something genuinely benevolent / representative of what he in fact wants--like Gilroy, exerting his own will to drain the spectre of Mary’s influence. However, it’s also possible that there are two Marys--the trace of the Mary that is trying to destroy John (and through him, Sherlock) and the image of Mary that John has made into something better.

This reading is suggested by the appearance of “scary Mary” in the Childrens Ward scene in TLD (balancing the frame behind John with Nurse Cornish--I SEE YOU VILLAIN)

with “angelic / Jiminy Cricket” Mary, who sits in front of him:

(I will just add, once you become aware of Scary Mary in this scene, it is NOT OKAY to watch it, it’s super creepshow.)

Obviously I wouldn’t argue for a magical mind mojo influence deal in s4. We don’t need to presume anything supernatural, because the narrative gives us a perfectly good mind control mechanism in TD12. Like others have argued, Mary could have been dosing John for as long as the narrative suits. Sherlock may or may not have been dosed by her as well--evidence suggests there may be other people involved.

I personally have always favoured the idea of Mary as henchwoman (because of her coding as Moran in HLV / The Empty House scene), rather than as main supervillain, although I don’t much care either way--she bad. I like the idea of Eurus as Moriarty sib, orchestrating John’s deterioration through Mary, even as Sherlock is similarly fucked with. The plan is to tear John and Sherlock apart, and it very nearly works, too.

As for Sherlock himself, he may have been receiving his “treatments” by another hand (Wiggins? I know...say it ain’t so...but Wiggins).

WIGGINS: Is ‘cup of tea’ code?

...

SHERLOCK: Stop talking. It makes me aware of your existence.

(If John talks to not-there / sometimes-there Mary, does Sherlock talk to not-there / sometimes-there Wiggins, who shows up from time to time to assure that Sherlock is fully dosed?)

So. What looks like genre-hopping, a sudden embrace of nonsense, and serious gaps in both plot and storytelling technique from the beginning of TST, may simply be the artifacts of memories erased, replaced, manipulated, and controlled. If Mary can make John hallucinate her, then she or whoever she’s working with can also, presumably, make Sherlock think he’s having a premonition / intuitive hit, when he is, in fact, trying to process memories that have been taken from him, or ideas that have been planted. Since TST is probably Mary’s exit plan--wild speculation here--could it be that she needed to make sure Sherlock found the breadcrumb trail of the Thatcher statues that would lead to her “death,” in order to make her exit plan work?

Similarly, many of the qualities of TFP could be the legacy of mind control on John’s hallucinating, dying mind after he is shot at the end of TLD. Sister X-Man’s uncanny abilities could be the explanation invented by the dreamer / John for the anomalies he has been encountering in his waking life. Unable to process or understand what has happened, even his own actions, and unable to deal with the idea that Mary is at the root of his personal torment, he ascribes executive function in the prison in his mind to a madwoman who can make people do whatever she wants, and who is a mishmash of his own impulses and desires, and the influence he’s been under. The events of TFP are John’s mind offering a partial explanation of a probable truth that has only barely leaked through the text of s4.

So, what really happened in s4?

Tentatively, I think that the real plot of s4 concerns Mary's failure to take John away from Sherlock, which was, I would argue, always her assignment. Sherlock is too stalwart, too loyal--he even befriends the woman sent to destroy him. Because of her failure, Mary is now withdrawn from the field via a faked death, leaving maximum carnage in her wake by manipulating John to behave in a totally self- and Sherlock-destructive way. This plan also fails to ruin John and Sherlock, because they do the unexpected--John allows himself to be forgiven, and Sherlock forgives. At the end of TLD, they’re closer than ever.

The only thing left is for John to die. It’s the last in a series of plans to burn the heart out of Sherlock. Enter TFP--the extended Garridebs moment--and the cliffhanger of the century.

Tagging @devoursjohnlock and @shamelessmash because look! I finally posted this.

#sherlock s4 #sherlock intertext #the parasite #arthur conan doyle

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