#mumbo just shoots back through time its fine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justletmeplayminecraft · 4 years

Text

xisuma doesn’t smooth over a server glitch fast enough. the others have to save him from the consequences.

in this fic, i play loosely with minecraft mechanics to create angst. very loosely. don’t think too much about ‘em. you can also date how long i’ve spent on this by the projects they’re working on.

featuring: being an admin gives you a connection to the server, xisuma has a less than stellar day, angst/comfort, zed is an ender hybrid, false & tango are minor admins, getting stuck in blocks is not a fun experience, the hermits care a lot about each other.

warnings: sensory deprivation, starvation, suffocation, its a death loop babyyy, a fair amount of panic, fighting code, glitches, helplessness, it’s pretty whumpy before the comfort. let me know if something’s missing here.

also on ao3. link in replies.

Xisuma sighs as the sun beats down on him. It's barely let up, even on the outskirts of the jungle. He enjoys the brief stints in the shadow of the giant quartz walls. Even then, waves of heat come off them. All of the structures in his base are a heat trap. Clearing out several layers of dirt and stone is a necessity he should've left for another day. With a click, he tugs his helmet off his head. The humidity outside is worse than his filtered air. He tucks the helmet under his arm, pushing sweat slicked hair from his face.

He's made good progress levelling this arena space. He leaves his helmet on his bed and heads to the temporary storage chests. They're filling up quickly, he notices, as he starts emptying his inventory into them. Except, something's broken. The stacks of blocks aren't all moving. He tries a few times before sighing, ruffling his hair. When he turns to the area he's been mining, it's still empty. It's been a long time since they've had desync this bad. He's not even sure when it started.

Stepping gently across the stone, he can feel the heat rising from them. He'll rollback the world and then he'll relax by Keralis's river. The farm is delightfully cool. Anything will be better than this oppressive heat.

He's almost reached his bed when something takes hold in his chest and pulls.

He stumbles forward with a gasp. Of course, the server decides to fix itself this time. He forces his feet forward, trying to reach his helmet so he can smooth things over. He only makes it two steps until his eyes are forced shut as the server reloads. For a split second, all he feels is the chill of the void as chunks reload around him.

He opens his eyes to darkness. It feels like he's suspended in space, unable to move. There's a suffocating pressure around him. Though it's with shallow breaths, he can still breathe. Did something go wrong? He blinks hard. All of his limbs are accounted for, he's certainly present. Even when he's working in the void there are still particles around him. His attempt to raise his arm fails, finding it impossible to open his back up admin panel. His helmet is- where even is his helmet?

His breath hitches, a feeling of panic escaping his controlled calm. He feels like he can't breathe. He can't move. He's trapped in his own body.

What's happening?

[MumboJumbo] anybody else just experience some major desync?

[Keralis1] Oh, is that what that was?

[Zedaph] I had nearly finished my redstone! All of that work, gone!

[FalseSymmetry] didn't you notice you weren't actually... losing anything from your inventory?

[Tango] he was probably too caught up in his supposed mastery

[FalseSymmetry] everybody okay though?

[Grian] all good here!

[Zedaph] Only my pride's wounded.

False looks down at the bedrock layer at her base. Like half an hour spent placing glass, all gone to waste. She groans, closing her chat as it pings away. Sure, she can rib Zedaph, but that doesn't change the fact she just did the exact same thing. She kicks off the sidewalk, gliding to the bedrock layer. She can feel the cold of the void float up with specks of grey.

"Good going, False," she murmurs. Some patches of glass survived. It's almost worse, that's going to be so much less satisfying to fill in. She takes her goggles off, tugging her hair loose to tie it in a low ponytail. Usually Xisuma gives them a warning before the server resets like that. It always messes up her hair, leaves it floaty and static.

She adjusts her goggles on her head, opening the player menu. Xisuma's currently online. She checks chat. He hasn't said anything. She considers it strange, but it's not unusual. Maybe he's been at a farm and isn't AFKing. She types out a private message, sending it across to him.

[FalseSymmetry to Xisuma] hey x, server blipped, might need to check it when you get back.

She'll see if he returns her message. She's got glass to place.

Iskall looks through his in-progress sorting system with a frown. It's broken somewhere. The stupid server reload has glitched it out and he can't find how. He's checked the redstone, he's checked the hoppers and he's checked the chests! Which means it's glitched. Either Xisuma reloads the chunk for him, or he's going to have to tear it down.

Actually, he'll probably have to tear it down anyway. Reloading the chunk will only roll it back.

At least he's not the only person who's redstone has been ruined. The thought brings some comfort. If he has to be miserable, somebody else should be too. He opens his communicator, checking who's around at the moment. That might take his mind off it.

He notices that Xisuma's online. Their admin has been quiet in chat since the reload. Maybe there's something going on behind the scenes he's having to sort out. He'll reach out to Mumbo and Grian, but first, he sends a message X's way.

[iskall85 to Xisuma] hey is everything alright? nothing broke?

[iskall85 to Xisuma] don't forget you can reach out to us if you need help.

He has no idea how much time has passed. Usually he's connected intrinsically to the server. It helps him keep track of the world, dig out any errors or mishaps - sometimes before his suit alerts him. It's essential for his job in order to keep things running smoothly. The server is always there, at the edges of his consciousness.

In this nothing, he can't even keep track of his internal clock. Perhaps it's his own panic, but the code he tries to reach out to feels fuzzy. It feels like it's glitching, sending shooting pains through his head if he focuses too hard. He couldn't take a guess how long he's been trapped. His breathing still comes too fast and shallow, ignoring his attempts to calm down.

He's completely helpless here. And he doesn't even know where here is.

Tango stares up at the stars on his ceiling. He checks his inventory again, counting aloud. He flicks it off with a frown. Yeah, he's definitely missing some. It's not a massive deal, Impulse will be happy to help out. But if he's having problems then some of the other hermits might be. Perhaps they fell and despawned in the reload. Either way.

"Tangoooooo!" The cry is accompanied by several rockets, something hitting the ground and the sound of damage. He chuckles, stepping away as Zed soars over the edge, stumbling forward with a flutter of his elytra. Tango straightens him up with his free hand.

"No, I'm not doing your redstone for you." Zedaph gasps, dusting off his jeans. He bounces up with a grin.

"You really think I'd come all this way for that?" Zed questions.

"So why have you come all the way here?"

"I'm bored," Zed replies. "And it still stings too much to do my redstone again." Tango laughs, opening up his chat. Xisuma's online, though Tango doesn't expect an immediate response.

"How do you feel about some wither grinding?" He types a message to Xisuma, Zedaph attempting to peer over his shoulder.

"Mmm, I don't see why not."

[Tango to Xisuma] Hey, seem to have lost some stars when the server reset

[Tango to Xisuma] might wanna check nothing important got eaten.

"Right, let's go."

Keralis hums, staring at the plot he was about to start building on. The area has been a bit... Funny. He'll break and replace a block, only to have it switch again. He might have to work on another area until it sorts itself out. His attempts at working here started after the reload, so he doesn't know if that caused it. He's not been able to spot Xisuma nearby either. He's been online, but Keralis hasn't spotted him in chat for a while.

He sighs as he watches the last blocks he placed switch back as if nothing happened. Crossing his arms, he examines the area. He wonders how big this is. Definitely more than one chunk. His new house is going to have to wait. He was excited to show Xisuma around, too.

With a glance at the sky, he realises it's late afternoon. He yawns, stretching his back out. Perhaps it'll be best to settle in his office and work on some future designs. He'll drop a message in chat first, in case this is affecting anyone else. It might give him an excuse to hunt down Shishwamy. He always feels guilty bothering him about things. Their admin takes far too much responsibility on his shoulders. They’re all adults. Keralis wishes he’d ask for help sometimes.

[Keralis1] Has anyone else been having glitchy blocks?

[iskall85] some of my redstone is broken but it's no biggie

[Tango] lost some of my nether stars with the reload but it's been fine since.

[FalseSymmetry] been placing glass without any problems since the reset

[MumboJumbo] I haven't had any problems either.

[Keralis1] A bunch of chunks around our bases are glitching

[Keralis1] but it seems like Shishwamy is busy :(

[Grian] well it looks like he just went afk

[iskall85] that answers that lol

His mind is becoming blurry. It's hard to focus on... Anything. He can't tell if it's because he's struggling to breathe, or something further, tugging him down and away. He tries to fight against it but there's nothing he can do to stay present. He can't hear anything, barely even his shallow breaths. He can only feel the consistent pressure on every inch of his body, the wet tears on his cheeks. He tries pulling on every one of his senses, but nothing comes up.

He slips under.

False empties the last of this glass stack, stepping back at a job well done. She smiles, rubbing her aching hands. It's nice to finally work on this part of her base. Even better now it's not going to pick itself up. At least she hopes so. She'll be right annoyed if it happens again. Something's been tingling at the back of her head, though. She wonders if it's because of the reset.

She looks up at the late afternoon sky. That's enough work for today. As she stretches, she can feel each and every ache in her body. She brushes away her hair, already falling loose. Maybe she'll have something nice for dinner. Some steak, potatoes and pumpkin pie. If she has pumpkin, of course. Xisuma was planning to build a pumpkin farm, wasn't he? His traditional pumpkin and melon combination. She chuckles to herself as she pulls out her rockets.

No matter how things change from season to season, there will always be things that don't. Hermits might come and go, but they'll always be her family.

She launches up, shooting through the water barrier. It's fast enough it doesn't stick. She lands gracefully, making her way to the kitchen. She hopes this nudging in her head doesn't get worse. She just wants to enjoy a nice meal. That's all.

"Well, I think we have a plan," Grian declares, grinning from his perch. His legs are crossed, hands resting in his lap.

"I mean, we didn't exactly need a plan to fix our redstone," Mumbo replies, slouched in his chair the way he only ever does in front of them. Iskall chuckles, resting his hands behind his head. They've really helped take his mind off the broken redstone. Mumbo had a similar problem, so tomorrow they'll meet up again and attempt some fixes.

"Always helps," Iskall says, shrugging. "Especially when one of us spends so much time in the Nether depths, now." Grian laughs, his legs kicking.

"Hey, I'm doing good work out there!" Mumbo yawns, looking between them.

"Well I don't know about you two, but I'm exhausted."

"Food then sleep?" Grian suggests. Iskall nods. It's been a long day.

It's dark as Zedaph and Tango return from The End. Zedaph yawns, running a hand through his hair, messing it up. Tango rubs the side of his own hair. Something's been bothering him, but he can't tell what. Like there's something just not... Right. Zedaph is chatting beside him, a bounce in his step. It's like he doesn't feel it at all.

"Do you want to have dinner together?" Zed asks, twirling his sword by his side. They've repaired their tools, done everything properly. It's been a hard day's work, but they've achieved a lot, even with the setback.

"Yeah, dinner sounds good." He looks at the night sky, squinting his eyes. Zedaph tilts his head at him. The purple eyes are concerned, particles floating up in his worry.

"Tango, are you okay? You seem... Off." Tango sighs, waving Zedaph's worry away.

"Something's nagging me. It's not a big deal." Zedaph's still frowning, but the particles die down.

"Let's just get you something to eat, yeah?" Tango nods, leaning into Zedaph when he squeezes his shoulder.

"Sounds good to me."

Keralis watches the night sky overhead. He's sat in the doorway to his office, a blanket around his shoulders. The stars are always a beautiful sight. It's the perfect way to relax after such a, hm, busy day. Not busy in a conventional sense, no, but still busy. His specially commissioned noteblock song plays in the background, a perfect accompaniment in the peaceful night. He thinks it's strange how the stars always seem the same no matter what world they're in. Maybe he should ask Xisuma about it in the future.

He pops up his screens open. Xisuma is still afk. He misses seeing his neighbour out and about. Xisuma often spends time at his farms, it's nothing new. But Keralis enjoys saying hello to him! Especially after missing well... Years of his life. He tries not to think about that.

With a sigh, he lies against the doorway. Time for bed soon. He laughs at the sound of Bubbles' voice in his head. His communicator beeps and he glances over to it.

Huh. That's interesting.

Xisuma is thrown into full consciousness. His stomach is still cramping with phantom hunger. He opens his eyes and finds...

Black.

No, no, he died. He died. Why has he respawned here? He chokes on his sob, realising no air is entering his lungs. His cheeks are still wet with tears, more leaking out as he gasps at nothing. His lungs burn, unable to take the shallow breaths he needs to. Would it even help? He wants to curl up, clutch at the growing pain in his chest. But he can't move an inch. Heaviness sinks into his limbs and head.

He wakes again in the same place. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry. There's not enough air for him to scream, anyway.

[Xisuma starved to death]

[MumboJumbo] X?? mate?

[Tango] X?

[FalseSymmetry] do we need to get your stuff?

[Keralis1] I'm by his base.

[Tango] he's not afk anymore

[Grian] x???????

[iskall85] maybe he's getting his stuff rn

[Keralis1] Shishwammmmyyyyyyy

[MumboJumbo] starving isn't a nice way to go

[Zedaph] It really isn't.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[iskall85] oh no

[FalseSymmetry] x???? im going over

[Keralis1] so am i

[Tango] this isn't right, this really isn't right

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Grian] what's going on???

False shimmies back into her elytra, reaching for the one jacket potato that finished cooking. So much for having a sit-down meal. She rubs her head, pushing away the fear that has something to do with this. Her communicator continues beeping as she grabs her rockets. She runs to the entrance, kicking off and launching into the air.

"We should go and help," Iskall decides, already picking up his armour.

"Thought you'd never say." Mumbo straps his elytra on, grabbing a spare shulker box and an ender chest. Grian nods with a seriousness that doesn't fit on his face.

"Let's go."

"We're going?" Zed asks. He's already stuffing food into his mouth. Tango rubs his temples, nodding. He takes the elytra that's thrusted into his hand.

"Yeah. We're definitely going." He watches the particles floating off Zed in waves, glowing the same purple as his pupils. Tango presses his eyes shut against another spike of pain as their communicators beep. "C'mon."

Keralis scrabbles until he balances on the tower roof. He's searched each one and not found X anywhere. Tapping his foot, he meddles with his communicator to turn some settings on. He has no minor admin powers - that he has to leave to False and Tango - but he can at least try this.

"Ah-hah!" He grins as hitboxes light up beneath him, hopefully a better clue where his currently red coloured friend may be. He scans the towers closely, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. There are a few mobs, especially as night sets in. Then he sees Xisuma's new build.

He has to take a step back at the sight. The chunks look- a mess. The outline of the blocks are overlapped or flickering. It hurts to look at. Blocks aren't meant to highlight like that. He glides across the treetops. It not only covers the area he was trying to work earlier but spreads into Xisuma's current build. Yeah that's- that's bad. That's not good. His communicator has continued to beep with messages as he searched. He goes to read it, and spots different colours in the mess. The red of an eyeline. He stands on his toes, leaning off the leaves. The outline flickers in and out, accompanied by a beep.

He thinks he's found X.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Keralis1] he's in his new build!

[Keralis1] I think I can see him in the ground

[Keralis1] it is very very broken

[FalseSymmetry] tango? you on your way?

[Tango] as we speak

[Tango] been a long time since we've had to use these powers

[FalseSymmetry] not long enough

Tango and Zedaph are the first to land by Keralis's side. They kick up loose powder from the road, taking in the massive structure in front of them. Tango's shoulders raise, cringing at the sight.

"That's definitely broken," he agrees, his eyes twisting as they focus.

"And Xisuma's in the middle of it?" Zedaph looks at Keralis. He nods, usually big eyes sharply focused. He points beyond the walls.

"You can just see his name tag. I think the glitched blocks have got him stuck. I tried to build there earlier but nothing would stay." Tango presses his lips together in thought as False lands. They nod to each other in acknowledgement.

"How long does it take until the blocks pop back?"

Keralis hums, tapping his chin before answering, "About ten seconds, I think."

"That's not going to be enough time to reach him," Zed says. "Can't you just teleport him?" He looks at Tango and False. Tango opens his console menu, typing something in. Zed can tell the answer before Tango says it.

"What ideas do we have?" Keralis asks. "We can't just leave him there!"

"Of course not!" Tango replies, sounding shocked at the suggestion. "We just- need a plan." False nods.

"We're not as powerful as X," she explains, "Together we should be able to roll back these chunks but- I have no idea what that would mean for Xisuma. We don't really work with player code." She brushes her hair back. The conversation is paused as the trio of Grian, Iskall and Mumbo land beside them. The three slot in, listening as they're caught up.

"There has to be something that's making him spawn there." Iskall points out, his hand held towards the structure. False searches through the control panel, whilst Keralis and Tango simply examine the messed up blocks.

"He has a bed in there," Tango answers. False taps where Xisuma's spawn is tied to on her screen.

"Since the blocks are glitched, it must mean the bed isn't like... Registering them. Since they don't fully exist." She thinks about it carefully, putting the pieces together as she explains.

"So if we break the bed, he'll respawn at the world spawn?" Grian suggests.

"But how do we get down there?" Mumbo turns to look. It's pretty far down in the ground. They'd have to move quick to get near where Xisuma is.

"There's a few of us." Iskall waves at the gathered group. "I say with enough TNT and manpower, we could do it."

"Wait-" Zedaph holds his hand up, "-Get me close enough and I can teleport in there, get the bed. Less blocks to destroy."

"Zed." Tango turns to him, glaring at the blond. "That's a stupid idea, don't you get how dangerous that is-"

"Xisuma is stuck in a death loop, Tango!" Zed cuts in, raising his voice. The others fall silent, not sure how to handle this exchange. "Sure, I might die a bit! That's nothing compared to what Xisuma's currently experiencing."

"TNT will destroy a fair amount, but it already puts us on a time limit," Grian adds, a sideways agreement.

"I'm willing to do it. Either we reach the bed, or I teleport in." Zed says it with finality. The others don't argue. False checks his spawn point. Zedaph will respawn back in his cave, safe and sound. Even if it goes wrong, it'll be recoverable.

"We need to be ready to roll back the chunks," False says, focusing on Tango. "If I have this headache for much longer I'm going to go insane." Tango smiles tiredly.

"Fine. Let's try this." He shrugs. "I don't think we have a better idea."

"Well, come on! Let's go!" Keralis claps, placing an ender chest. Tango sighs, typing in a command.

"I think I'm allowed this time," he says, a stack of TNT appearing in his hand.

"And other times?" Grian asks. Even through the teasing, they can hear the fear in his voice.

"Don't push it."

There's noises. He blinks his eyes open into the unending darkness. He tries to focus past his burning chest and the weight of his body. There's... Definitely noises up above him. It sounds like explosions. The space he's stuck in shakes slightly. After another lapse, he gasps back to life in the same position. He wants to scream, tell somebody he's down here. This opportunity might not come again.

Then he feels a sharp stab of pain. Something is there, near him. Everything hurts and he still can't breathe. For a moment, he thinks he hears the trill of an Enderman. His tired mind can't figure out how as he runs out of air.

He wakes up to a chill. He slightly opens his eyes, spotting yellow sand as he falls, blacking out.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Zedaph suffocated]

[Grian] have we done it?

[Keralis1] he's at worldspawn! got him!

[iskall85] YES!!!

[Zedaph] Oh thank goodness I don't want to do that again

[World reloaded]

[Tango] Z, you okay?

[Zedaph] I'm good. Bring my stuff? I'm going to worldspawn

[FalseSymmetry] will do

"Keralis!" Zedaph's elytra beats as he lands, feet digging into the sand. "Is he okay?" Keralis nods. Xisuma's head is resting in his lap. The admin's eyes are closed as he breathes slowly. His expression is relaxed. It's a good sight to see. The spawn island is lit up well, but Keralis keeps his eye on the surrounding oceans.

"He's sleeping," Keralis says, messing with strands of brown hair. "I don't think I'm strong enough to move him on my own." Zedaph drops onto the sand next to them, crossing his legs. There are still bright particles floating off him, his eyes fully purple. "What about you, Zee?" Zedaph seems to notice Keralis's focus, ducking away to hide his eyes.

"Um, not the best. That kind of sucked. But, it worked, and that's what matters!"

"Make sure you look after yourself, too," Keralis tells him. "Fighting the server's code isn't easy." Zedaph laughs, resting on his hands.

"Can say that again. Forgot we have anti-enderman griefing." Keralis cringes, realising why Zed looks so much like he might collapse. It'll pass, but it's never fun to go against programming like that. The architech trio arrives next. All of them look relieved to see the three on the island.

"Oh, Zedaph, I have your stuff." Mumbo starts emptying it out, the few things Zedaph couldn't fit in an ender chest. Zedaph smiles, tugging his helmet on and feeling a lot more comfortable. He tries not to meet anybody's eyes.

"Tango and False will be on their way. They're just checking everything's good," Grian tells them, hands moving quickly as he talks.

"Should we try moving X somewhere safer?" Iskall suggests. "The shopping district isn't that far."

"If you're willing to boat him." Keralis is firm. "I don't want him dropped in the ocean."

"I swear nothing will happen to him under our watch." Grian puts his hand on his heart. Iskall and Mumbo nod in agreement.

"It'll be the safest boat journey on the server." Iskall's hands are on his hips. Keralis tilts his head up.

"Look into my eyes and nothing but my eyes, if anything happens to my Shishwamy, I will not hold back." The architechs look suitably threatened.

"Can I boat with someone?" Zedaph asks. "I nearly crashed so many times flying over here."

"Hop in the back of mine!" Iskall calls, placing one in the water. Grian plucks Xisuma into his arms, carrying him to the edge of the water. He sets the admin in the boat before climbing in himself. Keralis checks him over before nodding and allowing Grian to keep him.

"I've told the others to meet us there," Mumbo says. "I'm going to fly across and see where's best to bunker down. I think we could all use some sleep."

Zedaph looks at the moon hanging overhead, "Yeah, I think we could."

[MumboJumbo] we're heading to the shopping district.

[FalseSymmetry] thats a good plan

[MumboJumbo] any idea who's shop we could stay in?

[FalseSymmetry] my dimension shop is pretty empty

[FalseSymmetry] plenty of room for some beds. pretty warm.

[Tango] we'll get it set up for you

[MumboJumbo] ok. ill protect the others

[Keralis1] so will I.

The first thing Xisuma picks up on is the talking. He stays still, trying to tell if his brain is playing tricks on him after so long in the nothing. His body is like a rock. He's barely able to move. His lungs still ache and it takes some conscious effort to continue breathing. He blinks his eyes open, wincing at bright lights. Light. There's light. He rolls forward, a sob leaving his lips before he can catch it.

"Xisuma, hey, hey." The voice is soft, casting a shadow over him. Xisuma forces his eyes open now the worst of the brightness is blocked out. Keralis is crouching in front of the bed. His fingers gently brush across Xisuma's cheek. For once, Xisuma doesn't feel the dried tears that had become his constant. "You're okay, you're safe. We got you." Xisuma takes a shaking breath in, squeezing his arms to feel the pressure of his own touch.

"Do you want your helmet?" He flits to look at False. The mere sight of his helmet is overwhelming. He reaches out and wraps it close to his chest. Keralis laughs gently, scratching through Xisuma's hair. The admin sighs, his eyes slipping closed once more.

"There you go." He can hear the smile in Keralis's voice. "We've got you, right here." The sound of movement. Cracking his eyes open reveals False sitting in front of the bed, weaving her hand into Xisuma's. He squeezes it gently.

"You're in my shop, in the shopping district," she tells him. "It's past midnight. You're completely safe here. We've got things sorted, there's nothing you need to worry about." A tear slips from his eye. Keralis wipes it away.

"What happened?" He can't make his voice louder than a whisper, and even that hurts.

"Something went wrong with the world reload," False tells him. He can trust her not to sugarcoat things. "We all had a few bugs, but the chunks around you glitched out badly. Created a bunch of like... Invisible blocks, but they were visible, if you get what I mean? They weren't fully there. Ugh, Tango's better at all this technical stuff." Xisuma tries to peer around for him, but the light still hurts if he looks for too long.

"You were stuck in a bunch of them," Keralis finishes. "We didn't realise until you starved and got stuck in a death loop. I'm really sorry, Xisuma."

"We broke your bed to get you out. Well, Zedaph did. The others got him close enough then Tango and I fixed the area. It's all sorted." Xisuma forces his sluggish brain to put the pieces together. He didn't dream up that enderman sound. That was-

"He's over there, sleeping. Tango's with him." Keralis points at a bed nearby. Tango's back blocks any sight of their part Ender friend, but Xisuma can see purple particles floating into the air. A concerning amount of them.

"What did Zed do?" He asks, the vice around his lungs tightening in concern.

"Um," Keralis answers, False looking at him. "He mentioned fighting the anti-enderman griefing code? So I think he picked the bed up." Xisuma's stomach drops. He tries to push himself up but collapses onto his back again.

"Hey, X, careful," False warns. Her voice is stern but Xisuma shakes his head.

"No- I-" He shuts his eyes, fighting off disorientation. "The server's going to keep fighting him. I've got to reset it." False helps him sit up, but she still watches him with concern. He picks up his helmet, pulling it on and relaxing slightly as all the displays flicker to life. Now when he looks at Zedaph he can see the extent of the damage. His very code seems to be fighting itself. "Help me up?"

False gets an arm around his chest. He ends up leaning his weight against her to stand, his legs shaking. She's firm, grip only tightening to accommodate his need. Keralis hovers nearby, ready to jump in if he has to. They take slow steps across the room. Xisuma strains to see under the light, but the tint of his helmet helps. He can see the architechs sat nearby, watching without any attempt at discretion.

Tango looks up as they approach. Xisuma can see the resignation on his face.

"This isn't going to fix itself, is it?" He asks. His hand in clasped tightly in Zedaph's, whose usually bright expression is twisted in pain. His skin is all too pale, black freckles spreading into larger patches across his face. He doesn't open his eyes, not even as Tango moves so Xisuma can sit down. The grip on each other's hand remains tight.

"I need to reset the code that's attacking him," Xisuma explains. His words have a tired slur he can't quite hide. "I'm gonna write an exception, I can't believe I haven't already just- not right now. Don't wanna do it wrong."

"Xisuma, it's okay." Tango smiles, pinched but genuine. "I'm sorry you need to do this." Xisuma shakes his head.

"It's nobody's fault," False says, "Do what you need to do, X. Then you're going back to bed." Keralis hums in agreement. Xisuma laughs softly as the command screens in his helmet boot up.

He zones out the others around him, leaning on Keralis's shoulder when his friend perches beside him. He scrolls through information as he brings up Zedaph's data on one screen. With one eye on it, he unlocks the data packs, searching through them. He gives voice instructions with his microphone muted to the outside world. Finding the pack he needs, he disables it and checks Zedaph's data. It looks like his code is straightening out again. Thank goodness. He makes sure all activity is deactivated before he turns the pack back on.

"That should do it," he mumbles, before realising his microphone is still off. He reactivates it before repeating himself.

"Maybe you should teach us a bit more sometime," False squeezes his shoulder, helping him up. Xisuma slings his arm over False with a nod. That would be good.

"Thank you, X." Tango smiles. He rubs his thumb across Zedaph's hand. The ender hybrid has relaxed, face slack. It looks like he's properly sleeping now. Xisuma can finally rest.

"Come on. Don't you fall asleep here, I don't want to carry you across." Xisuma hums, too tired to commit to any words. Before he knows it, he's sitting down on the comfortable bed again.

"Shishwam, lemme get your helmet." Xisuma nods, tilting his head up so Keralis can unlatch it and bring it off. His head rolls onto his shoulder the moment it's gone. Keralis giggles, ruffling his hair. "Come on, sleepy time." False lies him down, his helmet tucked safely in his arms. Keralis's hand slips into his. Xisuma shuts his eyes, before blinking them open again.

"Stay?" He asks, too tired to worry about being needy. He doesn't want to be alone in that darkness again.

"Of course," False replies.

"We're not going anywhere," Keralis adds. Xisuma smiles at them both, eyes slipping closed. The darkness is manageable with his friends by his side.

"Don't you dare wake them up," False hisses, watching as Grian and Iskall play with redstone. The morning sun is beginning to shine through the cracks in the windows. She's exhausted, having only caught a quick nap. Keralis is asleep next to Xisuma, sitting on the floor with his head resting on the bed. Tango's slid into bed beside Zedaph, holding him close to his chest. Mumbo's dead to the world across the room.

"We won't!" Grian calls, trying to figure out the game he could make out of this mechanic. Iskall has a Statues book open, an armour stand sat in front of a piston.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if the two people who have done this with armour stands were helping," Iskall points out, flicking through the pages.

"We're fine, it's part of the adventure!" Grian watches as the piston shoots the armour stand across the room. False smiles, leaning back against the bed. Some of the other hermits have been coming online with the early morning. Thankfully, they don't seem to know about everything that went down yesterday. It's best things are quiet for Xisuma whilst he rests. She's sure he’ll tell them about it. She'll make sure he does.

As the sun grows higher with the dawn, she dozes off again. Grian is yawning, him and Iskall only catching a few hours of sleep. He's still buzzing with activity. He'll crash later, easy enough.

It's to this quiet atmosphere that Xisuma wakes up. Iskall and Grian are still experimenting. Grian’s laughter rings out as the armour stand bounces in the air. The beat of the piston is monotonous, but they're nearly falling over each other at the sight. Xisuma watches with a soft smile, eyes barely opened.

"It we got one on top, do you think it would-" Grian holds his hand up, demonstrating an armour stand shaking up and down aggressively. Iskall chuckles, shaking his head.

"It's only the morning, we don't need to break physics yet."

"It's for science," Grian protests. He sounds breathless, half-delirious with his need for sleep.

"Please don't make me do work," Xisuma whispers, all too aware of the sleeping hermits around him. Grian perks up, Iskall turning to him with a grin.

"'Suma!" Iskall calls. Xisuma smiles at both of them, making no attempt to move. He's comfortable here and he doesn't want to wake his friends.

"Exy-Suma!" Grian slides across, leaving a gap from the sleeping hermits. Iskall stands by his side, resting his hand on Grian's shoulder. "How are you feeling?" Xisuma wraps his arm tighter around his helmet.

"Not the best, my friend," he answers honestly. "But I'm certainly better than before."

"Well, we'll just have to make that even better then." Grian is committed to the cause now. He's going to make Xisuma's day.

"You don't have to rush back into things," Iskall says, offering a smile. "I'm sure we can handle ourselves today."

"I don't think I'm getting out of this bed anytime soon." Xisuma looks down at Keralis, dark hair brushing Xisuma's chest plate. False is asleep slouched in the chair beside him. Even without being able to see the other occupants of the room, he can still tell they're sleeping. "Feels a bit weird not going for a jog at this time, though."

"I'm sure your legs won't wither away after one morning, X," Iskall jokes. "Be lazy like the rest of us." Grian grins.

"We could always play some mini-games later, too!" Xisuma laughs, stretching as much as he can without shifting Keralis. He's beginning to regret sleeping in his armour, but it's too late now.

The three chat with each other, Xisuma offering advice now he's awake. They're gradually building up a system to launch the armour stand across the room. Sure, they'll have to clean it all up later, but it passes the time and it makes them laugh. Hearing Xisuma laughing is good for all three of them, despite the roughness reminding them of last night's ordeal. It's safe to say that nobody envies Xisuma's experience.

The three jump at a strange, shrill noise, until the realisation kicks in. Zed is sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Hair is falling into his face, ruffled from sleep. Tango remains slumped against him. He even rolls into the warmth Zedaph leaves behind. It takes a few seconds until the hybrid notices his audience. Zedaph jumps, smiling sheepishly.

"Oh, hi, sorry! Forgot I wasn't alone." His eyes are glowing brightly in the morning light. He looks down at the arm lazily clinging to his waist. "This oaf is used to it."

"No, no, you're okay," Xisuma tells him. False is stirring beside him, blinking to life, but Keralis remains out. "How are you feeling?" Zedaph taps his chin, resting his finger on his lip.

"Pretty well-rested, actually." Then his attention turns to Xisuma. "What about you? I should be asking you that question!" Xisuma laughs, flexing his fingers against his helmet.

"I'm okay. Taking it easy." He tilts his head towards Grian and Iskall. "Whether I like it or not, it seems."

"Too right," False agrees, yawning. "T'others can handle admin duties for today. You're ours."

"Is that a threat?"

"We can make it one!" Iskall tells him, his voice a lot more cheerful than the implication of his words. "We just need a good leash-"

"Oh absolutely not! Don't you dare!" Keralis pokes his head up next to him, trying to tune into the conversation. Zedaph laughs from across the room. He's tugging a bleary Tango to rest on his shoulder so he can wrap the blanket around them both.

"Oh come on, X, it'll be fun!" Grian wraps his arms around Iskall's shoulders. Xisuma shakes his head.

"You two are terrible. Absolutely terrible. Goodness me."

"I'm sure X will agree to take a day off willingly," False says, sounding far too threatening as she rubs sleep from her eyes.

"I already agreed. No leash required!"

"Why are we talking about leashes?" Keralis finally asks, looking more confused than anything. They break down into laughter.

[Grian] hello everyone

[iskall85] HALLO!

[iskall85] we are stealing your admin for the day!

[Grian] yeah he's ours.

[falsesymmetry] x had a rough night so he's having a day off

[falsesymmetry] so if any admins besides tango, x and i could step up please?

[cubfan135] yeah I'm on it.

[joehillssays] of course, and send our well wishes to our dear admin!

[Xisuma] your dear admin thanks you :-)

[Xisuma] please try not to break anything

[Etho] have a fun day lol

[joehillssays] don't make us lock you out of your screens, x!

[Keralis1] Nothing will get past us.

[iskall85] he's been suitably threatened.

[Renthedog] Should uh... We be concerned?

[Grian] about x-i-sooma finally getting a break?

[falsesymmetry] he's in safe hands. promise.

"Should we get this day started?" Tango asks. Grian is about to answer, only to yawn. He covers his mouth, face turning red.

"Another hour of sleep first?" False suggests. They look around the room, everyone in varying states of awareness.

"It never hurt anyone." Iskall shoves Mumbo over, fitting into bed beside him. "See y'all in an hour." Keralis smiles at Xisuma. He bumps their heads together.

"You deserve a break without being traumatised first, you know that Shishwamy?" He checks. Xisuma laughs, pressing their foreheads together.

"Yeah, I know." He leans back. "And I think I've got some good friends to remind me." False pats his back, getting comfortable enough to doze off again.

"And don't you forget it." Xisuma looks around the room. The architechs are fighting over the bed, Tango and Zedaph curled back up on theirs. He smiles, the fear from last night already on its way to being a distant memory.

"Don't think I can."

#hermitcraft #xisuma #falsesymmetry #keralis #grian #iskall85 #tangotek #zedaph #feel like mumbo's role is too minor to tag him lmao #my writing #this fic took so loooong #but i wanted to get it done #more brain space for my other projects

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

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So, took a bit longer to write this since I was moving back home now that the school year is done and as you probably saw if you follow me, I created the Shared Space au! I’m really proud of that too, so check it out! and send asks for it too!

anywho, tagging time! @petrichormeraki @helleborusangel

Jrum stood facing Grifect, sword at the ready. He just needed to buy some time because there was something easy he could do. Instead of having an actual communicator, it had been built into his system at one update, so he didn’t need to get it out and type. Instead he could just send it mentally, though it could be a little odd at times.

But right now it was important. Jrum got a message ready and sent it to Mumbo, then to Grian. Telling them he was in danger and Tommy probably was too. But there was a problem, he didn’t get a message back from them, but an error.

“Sowwy, but I can’t wet uwu caww fow hewp! Thawt wouwd make my dad mad. If they gow aftew Tommy, they’ww see youw bwothew iws gone.”

Jrum jumped at Grifect, slashing his sword at the other bot. An arrow hit him as he ran forth, a second when he hit Grifect. Not wanting to get shot anymore, Jrum kicked the dispenser, pushing it out of Grifect’s reach. He attacked with his sword again, but a shield materialized on Grifect’s arm and deflected the attack. “That’s not fair!”

“Why wouwd I make iwt faiw? I wawnt tuwu win awnd hacking iws easy. You’d awweady be dead if I couwdn’t wisk wetting a message out thawt I was the owne who kiwwed uwu.” Grifter explained with a giggle, hacking in a new dispenser. “At the vewy weast kiwwing machines won’t duwu thawt, then I cawn pwetend iwt was juwst an accident whiwe you’we fine! But if aww my data iws wight, once you’we dead, you’ww be whisked away fwom thiws wowwd again!”

Jrum hesitated at that. He would? But he lost a life in the SMP and came out fine. But then again they had weird respawn rules, Tommy was proof of that. Jrum thought about trying to run, but then had an idea. If he would have an issue with respawning, Grifect would have to have the same issue!

Jrum pulled out a bow and fired it at Grifect before pulling out an axe. The helsbot put their shield up for the arrow, so Jrum was quickly able to chop it in half with his axe. Grifect’s eyes widened which let Jrum know something else, the other bot wasn’t good at combat or have a program for it. “You asked Xannes how to be a better hacker?” Jrum swiped his sword at the bot. “He’s a good hacker because he had to train all his skills. Xisuma is the best admin, so he needed to beat that. But he also needed to be good at everything!” The sword managed to tear into a weak part of Grifect’s body at a join. “You may be a hacker, but you have no clue how to actually use what you have! And that means I win!” And the sword sliced Grifect in half, the robotic body disappearing in smoke before it could reach the ground.

Jrum panted, having used a lot of energy for that. He wanted to close his combat program to conserve power, but he didn’t know if anyone else would show up. He wasn’t even sure where his hels version would respawn. But the fact that he needed to respawn at all was good news, so Jrum attempted to send another message and smiled as it went through. Now people would know what was going on.

Grian kept glancing at his comm, worried out of his mind while he wasn’t with either of the bots. He had just gotten them back and while they looked like they were getting better, he couldn’t help but imagine the worst. It also didn’t help that he was dealing with NPG, Xannes and Sense all in one room.

He couldn’t help but sigh in relief when he got some messages from the boys. Jrum was still having fun playing with his hels copy and Tommy seemed to be taking care of Grum. The best part was the message that Grum was cuddling with Tubbee, which was great to imagine. It was just a shame Tommy could send a picture without disturbing them.

“So are you guys close to being done arguing?” Grian spoke up, getting up from where he was sitting. “I’m getting a headache from it all and Mumbo’s not here to help.”

“You can always go for the next best thing.” Sense suggested, making Grian scrunch his face up in disgust.

“What would Grifter think?”

“As if he wouldn’t want some fun with a clone.”

Grian shuddered. “Why are you like this?”

“Because Grifter and I love each other, which is surprising that you can’t do that as the ‘good’ versions.” Sense replied, crossing his arms.

“Hey! Those two of course love each other, they’re just not gross about it.” NPG argued for Grian. “And Even Xannes is okay with his stuff.”

“Ye-Hey!” Xannes complained, but then was stopped as their comms buzzed. Everyone looked away, Grian going over to his own and reading two messages, watching as a third appeared.

Grifect was slain by Jrumbot

<Jrumbot> Something’s wrong with Grum and Tommy. Grifter’s been up to something and my copy’s been hacking.

Grian was slain by PerfectSense

Grian watched as his own death message appeared as he was blasted in the back by a death ray Sense had on him. When his eyes next opened, he was in bed and heard a scream in the distance. His comm was still in his hand since he was holding it when he died. There were three more death messages, one for Xannes, one for Tommy and one for NPG.

The one for Tommy was the most concerning with Jrum’s message, so Grian jumped out of bed and broke his window to go through, not wanting to go through the main hall and run into Sense again. A few shards of glass cut into his wings from the shoddy break and Grian’s recklessness, but he didn’t care, needing to get there fast. He flew as fast as he could to get to the old hobbit hole, glad it wasn’t too far away.

Grian’s eyes widened as he got into the place. It was a mess and Grum was standing in the middle of it, holding a sword and staring at Tommy’s bed. Tubbee flew near him and was stabbed by the sword, making Grian hold his breath before the bee popped out of its hive again. The avian was glad that Xisuma had set it up so that the bee could respawn since Tommy had been scared of something happening to it.

“Grum, put the sword down.” Grian said. He wanted to reach for a weapon, but realized he hadn’t grabbed any before rushing over there. He frowned as Grum didn’t move, instead killing Tubbee again. “Grum, put it down!”

Grum put the sword down, slowly laying it down on the ground. Grian started to take a step towards the bot, but they immediately turned around, pulling out a crossbow and shooting Grian with it. Grian yelled as the arrow struck him and he looked at Grum, now realising it wasn’t his son, but the hels version. “What did you do with Grum?! And it said you killed Tommy too. How? You left the world with Grifter and didn’t-”

Sefter moved so fast Grian barely comprehended it. Grian’s wing deflected the attack, though an axe chopping into it still hurt. At the very least it was weak as Sefter was just bringing the weapon out, but he was just after any damage. Another attack came down on Grian’s arm before the bot changed to another crossbow, shooting Grian point blank.

Grian attempted to attack back, even though he only had his fists and wings as weapons, but Sefter kept dodging them. Grian huffed, finally noticing the magic radiating off of the robot. A strong speed potion. There was no way he could land a hit on Sefter, especially without a weapon. But that was fine, because it finally made sense. Tommy wasn’t here, likely in the other half of the hobbit holes. Grum also wasn't around because someone messed with the messages and he had left the world, not Sefter. Because of that, there was no reason for him to be here.

When Sefter next attacked, Grian dodged, letting himself fall. He opened a portal just below himself, letting the magic envelop him before closing it again so the bot couldn’t follow. He felt like he was falling for a few moments before opening a second portal, taking him out of the Watcher’s world and into the SMP.

The first thing he heard was someone crying. It sounded familiar, but at the same time he couldn’t place it. A voice that spoke up definitely was recognizable though. “Hmm, not sure it worked. Why not hit him again harder this time?”

“Tech-” He got out before something slammed into his gut, winding him. “Wh-What the fuh?” He managed to wheeze out.

“I-I’m s-sorry. I d-didn’t… You s-said he was- wh-why are you laughing?”

“You’re a f-fucking bitch Techno.”

“Nice to see you too Tommy.”

Tommy groaned as he sat up, having trouble as he found Grum sitting on his lap, holding a book in his hands like he was ready to bludgeon Tommy with it. That was probably what hit him in the gut now that he thought about it. “What the fuck happened?”

“The kid got the revive book that Dream had and used it to fix you. Did the same for Wilbur.”

Tommy sat up just a little bit straighter. “Wait, Wil’s alive? You’re serious?””

Techno gestured to Grum. “Yeah, apparently this one half revived him while we were all gone.”

“This one? His name’s Grum.” Tommy said, crossing his arms.

Techno crossed his arms back. “Does it matter?”

“He’s our fucking nephew!” Tommy complained, making Techno huff.

“And? So far all of my ‘nephews’ have tried killing me.”

“B-because you did it first.” Grum piped up. “I tried to be d-diplomatic with y-you and-”

“Yeah, well I hate government.” Techno cut Grum off.

“Yeah. I know. It was sort of my job to account for people like you. But it’s fine! One uncle is enough!”

Tommy chuckled. “Hey, maybe you’ll like Wil as an uncle too. Then you’ll have two.”

Grum turned to look at Tommy again. “I was already accounting for him in my count as I already had encounters with him here before. That is the one I was referring to.”

“Wh- Hey! Why am I being excluded?!” Tommy shouted while Techno smiled slightly.

Grum recoiled slightly, which made Tommy back off a bit. “You… you said I could call you something else. Just because you’re actually my uncle… you’re sort of not.”

It took Tommy a bit to realize what Grum meant. He supposed it was true, a week ago, they hadn’t known they were actually related to each other. “Well, alright, if you’ve only got one uncle, I’ve only got four brothers! Take that Techno!”

The hybrid just rolled his eyes while Grum tackled Tommy with a hug. Tommy patted the bot, rolling his own eyes, though it was more sarcastically. “So kid, why not start with Tommy?”

There was a moment of confusion from Tommy before Grum suddenly stiffened, letting Tommy know that whatever was being talked about wasn’t the greatest thing. “What are you talking about?”

“Something got brought up before we came here. I figure since you two seem close, he should be telling you, especially if I’ve already been told.”

Tommy leaned back to look at Grum. They didn’t look scared as much as they were nervous. “Hey big man, what is it? If it’s something that happened because of Dream, I won’t be mad. I mean, you kinda killed me and I’m fine.”

Grum fidgeted a bit, still looking nervous, but then he answered. “Um, I think I have something called chat? At least that’s what Techno called it.”

Tommy was taken aback and looked at the piglin. “Yeah, well, chat’s just what I call it. They’re basically just voices.”

“Right… sorry.” Grum apologized.

Tommy looked between the two of them again. “Wait, so you’ve got your own form of chat? They’re not telling you to be as bloodthirsty as Techno, right?” Tommy asked, and Grum quickly shook his head. “Then yeah, it’s fine. Besides, even if I didn’t like it, your dads do so-”

“They don’t.” Grum cut Tommy off. “You’re… I’ve only told two people and you’re the second. I thought it was bad.”

“No, you’re fine. It runs in the family.” Tommy assured the bot. “Plus, they don’t sound too bad, so it’s fine.”

Grum fidgeted some more. “Well… Dream isn’t the nicest-”

“Wait, you hear Dream in there?!” Tommy couldn’t help but stand up in shock, causing Grum to fall off the bed. “Uh, sorry Grum. I just- Dream?! Really?!”

Grum rubbed his head. “Yes and no? He’s not like the one that was admin here, at least mostly. And they’ve kinda been around before I even knew you.”

Tommy didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t want to make Grum even more upset. “I guess that’s okay. Who else do you remember the names of?”

“Um, all of them. There aren’t many. There’s Dream of course, but also Eyes, Gor-”

Tommy didn’t need Grum to continue. “I found your book. You hid it in your charger. Their names were in there. I mean, I don’t know how you got PM in your chat, but it sounds cool.”

“You found my book?” Grum asked, tilting his head. “And it was in my charger? Who put it there?”

“Uh, I thought it was you. I mean, you sent me a message to go there, though you used Eye’s name.”

Grum shook his head. “Then I didn’t do that. Eyes did.”

“What do you mean Eyes did?” Techno asked. “How can your voices do stuff like that?”

Grum looked even more confused now. “But… Is that not supposed to happen? Eyes and Console have both been doing that.” And then Grum’s confusion turned to panic. “I thought you said it was okay?”

“Shit.” Tommy cursed, sitting back down to pull Grum into a hug. “Yeah yeah, it’s okay. Just different. Fuck we need Mumbo and Grian.”

It was perfect timing, as just as Tommy said that, Techno’s communicator buzzed. The hybrid took it out and read the message before showing it to the teen.

Grian joined the world.

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #jrumbot #hels!jrumbot #grian #watcher!grian #grian xelqua #avian!Grian #evil xisuma #npg #npc grian #hels!Mumbo #hels!Grumbot #tommyinnit #technoblade #grumbot

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lookforanewangle · 4 years

Text

behind your darkest doubts | whumptober 2020 // one false move No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped // ao3 //

They’d all been kidnapped before. It was a packaged deal; be the children of the wealthiest person in Gotham, or be a vigilante, it all worked the same. Being kidnapped was bound to happen now and then.

The four of them being kidnapped together and in their civvies, though. That one was new.

Jason groans as they wake and find themselves in an abandoned warehouse office. “I thought I outgrew being held for ransom," he complains, flopping onto his back.

“Once a Wayne, always a Wayne,” Dick grunts, pushing himself up and blinking against the harsh LEDs glaring down in the small space. “Unfortunately, these types of things never change.”

“Bruce is gonna be pissed,” Tim breathes, rubbing at his eyes. His wrists are crossed over one another and tied with a flimsy strip of rope. He turns to look it over in confusion. "...is this a prank?"

“If not, these people are clearly amateurs,” Damian sniffs haughtily, rubbing grit from his eyes and begins to fiddle with the ties. “I could break out of these in under a minute.”

“Could be a prank, but I’m going to guess amateurs,” Dick muses, mind going a mile a minute as they all get to their feet and tug at their restraints. “Let’s just see if we can find a way ou— ”

He cuts off as the door to the room swings open, and a sturdy, middle-aged man strides in. He’s exuding confidence, as if capturing them was his greatest accomplishment. He had a handgun in one hand, fingers loose around the handle.

“Wakey, wakey, boys. Judgement day is here.”

“Oh goody,” Jason mutters, rolling his eyes. “Bruce is gonna be so happy we got kidnapped by a trigger-happy nobody. What a way to go. Who wants to go first?”

Tim snorts. The man’s grip tightens around the handle of the gun and Dick tenses. He watches him like a hawk, shifting his stance to lunge if the man goes towards any of the others.

“You think I give a shit what your daddy thinks?” the man snarls, sudden anger not entirely unexpected, but dangerous nonetheless. “I don’t care if he walked in here himself and picked favorites. I’m tryin’ to get back at him, y’see, make a statement, and one of you is gonna pick who that message is delivered by. I’m givin’ you agency, takin’ the choice away from him, yeah? Just like the choice was taken away from me.

“So who’s gonna pick which one of you dies tonight?”

They all stare at him in stunned silence.

“Yeah, that’s not happening, dumbass,” Jason snarks. “Good fuckin’ luck.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” the man responds, advancing on him with a scowl, gun suddenly up and pointing at Jason’s head. Jason straightens himself to his full height, snarl on his lips. “I worked too damn hard to get you all here in one spot! Daddy’s little princess was too slippery to snatch,” he growls, “but the rest of you will do just fine, I think. He’d break over losing one of you. And if any of you even think of breaking those ties, you're dead first.”

“What the hell is wrong with you,” Tim spits, fingers stilling on the loose knot of his own rope.

“Wrong with me? I’m just a hard working man, earning his keep while you all sit up in your high towers hoarding all that cash and not sharing it with the rest of us.”

“You want money?” Dick cuts in, drawing the man’s attention away from his brothers. Focus on me. Stay away from the rest of them or I swear— “Bruce would pay a fortune—”

“No, I don’t want money!” the man roars. “Money wouldn’t bring my Jessie back!”

They all stiffen as the gun swings in his outburst. The man clenches his eyes shut, sucking in a shaking breath through his nose and exhaling sharply. “No,” he says quieter. “No, money won’t fix anything. Not for this.”

He turns back to Jason with narrowed eyes, cocking his head to the side as he looks him over thoughtfully. Jason scowls.

“What, am I not good enough for you?” he taunts, shifting lazily on his feet. “I’ve already died once.”

“Jay—” Tim hisses.

“Don’t fucking joke with me, kid,” the man snaps. “People don’t just come back from the dead.”

“Wanna bet?”

The gun is back at Jason’s forehead. Jason shoots him a lazy grin, razor sharp at the edges. “I’m his secret favorite, obviously. B wouldn’t miss the others one bit, I’m the one he puts all his time into. He did all sorts of research and magic mumbo jumbo to bring me back, couldn’t handle losing me once.”

“You’re lying,” the man growls, digging the gun into Jason’s head. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing. Trying to protect your brothers. It’s not going to work.” He pulls the gun back and gives Jason a once over. “You’re too rough around the edges anyway. He wouldn’t miss you, much. ...Nah,” he continues thoughtfully, turning towards Damian as Jason’s face shutters in rage. “But the baby…”

Dick stiffens as the man saunters up to Damian. “Don’t you fucking dare,” Dick snarls.

“Oh, come on,” the man says, exasperated. “I wouldn’t ever kill a kid.” Dick’s eyes narrow, gritting his teeth as the man swipes a hand roughly through Damian’s hair. Damian is stiff beneath the manhandling, rage coursing through him at the man’s attention.

“Jessie was about your age when he died,” he murmurs, pushing Damian's hair from his face. “And the man who killed him was around the age of your brothers. Just be a good boy n’ pick which of your brothers is your least favorite, and then you can all go home. I don’t have all night.”

“I will not,” he snarls. “Killing them will not bring Jessie back.”

“Of course not,” the man shrugs. “But it’ll make me feel a whole lot better.”

Damian flicks his gaze to Dick in a question. Can I just take him out already?

Dick shakes his head minutely. Don’t give up your cover.

“Oh, big brother, huh?” the man muses. Damian’s eyes widen in horror. “That’s harsh.”

Damian lunges as the gun whirls on Dick.

“Wait— no!”

“Dick!”

The gun cracks, and Dick crumples to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut just as the window explodes inwards.

#kidnapping #threats of death #guns tw #hands are tied #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #whumptober 2020 #bydd #lyss writes #my fic #no proofreading we die like mne #posting at 2 am this time woah #work takes a lot of my time okay #also spoiler alert: no one dies in this fic!!!#i don't really do mcd all that much #might try it for one of these days but it will be fully warned for

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

LoL Chapter 7- Mineral Mage

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

The hermits are home on their hidden island of Eremita, welcomed by a friendly face...and a not so friendly friend. TFC is desperate to discover what the crystal is, even at the expense of his own wellbeing. But does he take it too far?

--------------------------------

At the tallest rise of the island, a glimmer is visible. Light shining off metal, and a small red tassel flowing free of the knight’s helmet. As stoic as he looks, standing heroically at the crest of the island, his face shows a childish glee. Jevin squeals, jumping from the sky turtle and rolling across the grass. “Wels! Long time no see, my man!”

Wels lets out a raucous laugh, features lighting up with joy to see his friends, his family. After what he’s been through in Alphasgard, he was afraid he’d never see them again. See the ragtag team of idiots he calls family. “Hear you guys got a big contract- and you didn’t invite me?”

“You stopped answering our letters, we thought you were too busy.” Stress giggles.

“Phoebe was so sad every time she returned with the letter unopened.” Zedaph pouts, patting the head of the massive turtle, fingers gently preening the green feathers of the beast, the whorls like clouds in the sky.

“What even happened?” Doc questions, sliding down the massive turtle shell with a lot less of his usual suave attitude. He may be a puppeteer mage, but animals are Zed’s thing. “We came as fast as we could.”

“Let’s just say some people were less than happy to find me snooping around their sewer lair.” Wels shrugs off his tunic’s sleeve, showing the scar running over his shoulder. Mumbo winces alongside Stress, but False steps up.

“Wicked scar, man.” She high fives him. “I’m sure you left me with a whole pile of things to fix, huh?”

“You bet. But first… what’s been going on with TFC? What is that crystal that he’s practically sleeping with?” The guild turns, looking down the hill, across the small forest and pond, over the training grounds to the inhabited side of the island. Among the odd collection of homes, he can see the crystal cave that TFC calls his own.

“Lets grab TFC, and we can go over everything at once. Including what he missed.” Xisuma nods the rest of the guild to their open hall, while he follows the footpath to the cave. Exactly as Wels warned him, TFC is hunched over his desk, picking and scraping at the crystal in his hand. “TFC?”

“What?” TFC looks up, blinking away the fatigue in his eyes. Dark rings and bags accentuate the sharp gaze he shoots at Xisuma. X steps back, before entering into the cave.

“We’re back, all of us are gathering in the guild hall to go over everything that happened. Haven’t you filled in Wels yet?” TFC isn’t acting like himself, he isn’t acting like the leader Xisuma knows he is. The father he is to every hermit. Strong and a good leader, calm and thoughtful. His words are short, cutting into Xisuma’s skin and lashing him with the tone in his voice.

“I’m busy, can’t you see?” TFC raises the piece of the crystal, light consumed by the darkness. Xisuma retreats from the magical item, feeling the evil magic within. He looks up, noticing the hungry, weak stare that TFC holds with the crystal. He’s obsessed with it, he doesn’t even notice his hunger or fatigue.

“TFC, please. Take a break, we have...a lot happened in Milliara. You’re our guildmaster, you need to be there.” Xisuma reaches out, but as soon as his fingers brush the draining crystal, TFC’s hand wraps around his wrist. It’s a firm grip, fingers constricting tighter and tighter until Xisuma’s knees buckle from the pain. Xisuma gasps, shaking. Sure, he’s been in duels with TFC more times than he can count, but TFC never intended to hurt him before. He never intends to hurt any of them. “T-TFC.”

TFC notices the fear crossing Xisuma’s eyes, the way he’s collapsing under the tight grip around his wrist. Fear...of him. Of his own guildmaster. TFC retracts his hand, cradling the crystal close to his chest. Why did he do that? Why did he hurt Xisuma? He just didn’t want him to touch the crystal. “Fine, I’ll go.”

The rest of the guild is listening to Wels regale them with his mission, pointing to aging wounds. “-and that’s when they captured me. They thought they had me beat? Ha! I took that sleep potion on purpose. I knew they’d take me right into their lair.”

“But you were tortured! Wounded!” Keralis whimpers.

“A little bit of pain wasn’t going to stop me from finishing my mission. These rogues were murdering people in cold blood- lucky for them mine was hot.” Wels’s lion tail flicks to the side, passing from one shoulder to the next like the tongue of a clock. Content to be with his friends- and very content to have some of Cleo’s amazing hard cider in his stomach.

Everyone looks up, seeing the last two members of the guild arriving. Wels turns, resting his arm on the black pants. He doesn’t feel like wearing his armor, not on a day off like this. “So… tell me, what took all of you guys off the island?”

“We got a huge contract. For all of us.” Grian grins, before remembering how that contract ended for them. They didn’t even get the gold, just a slap on the wrist. For what? Doing exactly what Magistrate Dolios wanted.

“We were asked by the magistrate himself to investigate a disturbance in a town. But when we arrived, everything was dead.” Xisuma adds, tucking himself in the shade of the tree. He pulls off his mask, safe from the blinding light of the sun, his eyes weak after years of stargazing.

“Okay… that’s not all that weird. Was it a plague? Or some banshee?” Wels shrugs, pulling his curly blonde hair away from his neck. He did not miss the warmth that the Ashioll sea brings, compared to Alphasgard’s cool mountain breeze.

“No, not dead like that. Not just a corpse on the ground.” Cleo mutters. “There was nothing. Not even a soul left for me to find. And not just people or animals. Crops withered to ash, wood rotted to charcoal, and water dried up. It wasn’t just the people- the entire land was dead. A black scar on the map.”

Wels’s face darkens, his eyes falling to the floor as he considers this news. “So what did you find?”

“We found a crystal within the well system. Large, imposing. Floating over the spring. Taking its power.” Zedaph leans over Tango and Impulse.

“And then it attacked us.” Tango hisses, playing with the tattered sash of Impulse’s. Pulling on the yellow threads and adding it to Zedaph’s golden locks. He’ll have an extra head of hair, if Impulse doesn’t notice. “These two creepy husk townsfolk came in, one attacked us, and then the crystal started spewing creepy mist stuff and nearly spiked us with it.”

“The same crystal that TFC has?” Wels looks at the black gem in his hand. It’s so small, how was it able to overcome them all?

“No, that’s just a mega tiny chunk.” Iskall responds, before pausing and squinting as he recounts his words. “No matter what we did, almost nothing could break it. Only my iskallium was strong enough to put it back into dormancy.”

“We narrowly escaped, but that’s when we rushed to Milliara. To tell the magistrate what we saw.” Xisuma leans against the massive oak tree at the center of the open guild hall.

“Wait...the magistrate, Magistrate Dolios- leader of the Council of Guilds, creator of that ridiculous law about licensing guilds? He asked us?” Wels looks around, waving at the island hidden among the mysterious, danger ridden sea. “He does know we aren’t a legal guild, right?”

“That was his whole point. His whole ploy.” Doc growled, his lips curling back. He wishes he could give that jackass a taste of his own medicine. Play with him like he did to them. “He tricked us into doing his dirty work, then made a fool of us all in Milliara.”

Now it’s TFC’s turn to be confused as well. “Wha- what do you mean? He tricked us?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the best part.” Etho growls. “He burned the contract, and kicked us out like we were idiots asking to be licensed. He played us.”

Anger flares hot in TFC’s veins, itching from his wrist where he holds onto the crystal. Like it’s feeding off his emotions. “So we did all this...for nothing!”

“No, not nothing.” Xisuma tries to calm TFC down. Try to get him to think like he normally does. Rational and calm. “This crystal, the one you have. I think there’s more going on. Joe, could I root around in your library, see what I can research? See what this magic could be from?”

Joe nods, and opens his mouth to welcome X to even search through his restricted books. But TFC cuts him off. “No! I’ve got this, I’m close to figuring it out. Learning the trick behind the crystal. You don’t need to get yourself tangled up in my work.”

“TFC...we always work together. That’s why we have a guild.” Mumbo whispers, standing up. “Listen mate… a lot of us are worried about you. I think that crystal is affecting you, dude. You’re- you’re scaring some of us.”

Mumbo opens his hand, quietly asking for the crystal. Not forever- he can’t do the magic that TFC can. If they hope to learn anything, they need his work. But it’s obviously affecting him. He’s changed.

But TFC recoils, gripping the crystal tight. “No! This is my work- I just have to test the gem and see it’s properties, and we’ll know exactly how to handle this. I don’t need you guys interfering!”

Xisuma’s eyes widen, realizing what TFC is saying. “T no!”

He reaches out, but he’s a second too slow. TFC’s magic circle has already been cast, surrounding the gem and sapping it’s powers. The blue arcane light stains black, circles and lines falling apart and struggling against the dark magic. Taking it over.

TFC falls to his knees, gripping his head. Black veins crawl up his skin, from the hand still holding the crystal. Unable to let it go. Like worms crawling through his bloodstream, infecting his body, sapping his strength. His skin turns pale, almost an ashen grey tone. The corrupted magic circle fades away, black mist replacing where magic hung desperate in the air, trying to stay activated. The mist retreats back to the crystal.

The hermits rush to TFC’s side. Grian’s hands are already glowing, trying to find a way to heal TFC from the pain, but none of it is external, or even wounded. He’s sick, not hurt. He’s in pain, not broken. Xisuma holds the guildmaster up, ignoring the painful glare of sun in his delicate eyes to focus on TFC. “The crystal! He must’ve activated it’s magic! It’s draining him like it did Gildara!”

“We have to get it out of his hand.” Iskall tries to pry the gloves open, but the older hermit won’t let go. It’s a vice grip, and when Iskall pulls his own fingers away, black mist trails behind. Trying to attach to even more power, the power surrounding it in two dozen different faces.

Wels draws up his magic circle. “Stress! You’re the strongest of us! Get it out of his hand!”

The azure circle is released, wrapping around the ice sorceress. Imbuing her with a strength buff. Iskall steps back, knowing not to get in her way. She digs her fingers between TFC’s. “Sorry, luv, but this really isn’t good fer yer health.”

Stress’s fingers pull apart the guildmaster’s, prying free his metal gloved hand and wincing through the mist that catches on her. Crawling on her like a cobweb, searching for magic to steal. She finally gets all the fingers to release, grinding her teeth as the crystal is exposed.

Jevin reaches out, encapsulating the dark gem in a mold of blue slime, hardening it into a thick casing. TFC collapses into the hermit’s warm embrace as soon as the crystal is punted away. “That thing needs to be destroyed now!”

“But what about TFC? We need to get him to the infirmary.” Grian needs to take care of him, or at least try to help. He’s the healer- he needs to heal their resident grandpa and guildmaster. Stress, still imbued with the strength buff, picks up the larger man bridal style, aided by Ren and Scar in giving her a gentle slope to the bottom of the hill. The hermits race off, leaving behind only a few to deal with the crystal.

Namely, Mumbo and Impulse. The two both watch the guild run to the infirmary room, but they know they will only add more bodies to the chaos. Impulse’s magic won’t do anything to help with that- but he is a master of destruction. And Mumbo, he knows he can’t help, and the last thing he needs to do is cause more issues.

The two look at each other. “Guess we’ve set ourselves up to deal with the crystal.”

#light of lairyon #lol #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft au #wizard hermits #wizard tfc #wizard wels #wizard xisuma #wizard grian #wizard jevin #wizard au #tinfoilchef #welsknight #xisuma #grianmc #ijevin

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vitamx · 5 years

Text

recordings

[Read on AO3, too!]

---

They had just been trying to steal some extra rockets laying around in Grian's base to sell at Sahara- that's all they were doing, honest!

But... perhaps if Grian's storage wasn't so morally unforgivable and disorderly, then they wouldn't have accidentally found a shulker box with a mysterious camera and accidentally stole it.

It wasn't their fault! All an accident, they swear!

Surely the several, several recordings on the camera were just going to be harmless, funny little bits to watch and tease Grian with, right? Besides, Mumbo and Iskall had nothing better to do- the only thing they could be doing other than snooping around was to count the seconds until Demise began, but that'd be no fun, would it?

So, smiling deviously to each other (although Iskall was much more excited for this than Mumbo was), the two of them settled down in the infinity room underneath the Sahara warehouse. Thankfully, the camera was a large one, so they wouldn't have to strain their eyes too hard to tell what was going on.

So, settled comfortably next to each other, leaning forward at the camera planted in front of them, Iskall went to the first recording on the camera and pressed play.

---

"So, this--"

A quite crackling sounded in the audio, a younger version of Grian talking without noise for a few seconds, for some reason wearing a horrible spray-tan and swimming wear.

"--I figured I could, like, look back on it later, or something. Any--"

Crackle.

"-ys, I'm just about to get off the bus- I'm meeting up with Taurtis and Sam... I don't really know Sam too well, actually. He could be a murderer or someth--"

The clip cut to white noise for a split second, and young Grian was now in a small shop, looking confused and a little bit baffled.

"So- what, pufferfish are currency here?"

"Yeah, Gree-on, did you even study anything about Japan before you came to visit? You're not in England anymore," A young man with rabbit ears said snidely, grinning at Grian teasingly.

"We accept all forms of dead fish here," A tan-skinned man with red and blue heterochromatic eyes said, sticking his tongue out playfully.

Grian stared down at the camera for a quick second, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

"Uh, yeah... alright then, so I can just... give him his dead children as payment?" Young Grian said with a nervous grin, the camera catching the image of some sort of humanoid pufferfish man.

The camera hummed and buzzed, the visuals flickering on and off for a few seconds before the camera cut to black, only a few hard-to-understand words came through;

"Sandcastle- brzzzt- Sam- brzt- road--"

---

Honestly, it wasn't quite what Mumbo and Iskall had been expecting. Mumbo hummed a bit uncomfortably, turning to Iskall with a silent question- was this invading on Grian's privacy too much?

Iskall reassured him it was fine, it wasn't like these were gonna hold Grian's deepest and darkest secrets! It was just a little fun, something they could joke about with just each other.

He reassured both Mumbo and himself that they wouldn't tell a soul.

And not tell a soul they did.

The recordings continued and continued.

---

"Wh- it's not a potato or a tomato, it's a scarecrow! I spent weeks on this!" Young Grian scoffed, the camera casted downward somewhat, the faces of anyone barely shown.

"It's obviously a tomato, Gree-on, I know what I see! You should've gotten a cooler costume, like me! I'm Satan." One of the figures next to Grian said, probably grinning.

"Y'know, yeah, that fits--"

The camera buzzed and cut to a different setting, one in front of what appeared to be a high school, decorated for Halloween.

"--ust have to see who can last the longest in the school..." A quavery, elegant voice spoke, the speaker's face holding a bleeding socket where an eye should be. "And we will see who is the better man..." They spoke with a chuckle.

"I don't think we told Grian about what happened last time we went in the school at night, actually," The same tan-skinned man from before said, now wearing a cheap Ryu costume.

"Oh, yeaahh!"

"...Well, I wasn't scared before, but I'm scared now--"

The camera shut to black for a few seconds, and Mumbo and Iskall thought that maybe the battery of it ran out, or something along those lines- until it flashed back, full force, crackles and buzzing loud and visible.

"Who killed my wife?"

A ghost, blank eyed with red scars around its neck appeared, hovering slightly in the air, and held a noose in its hand. The camera was positioned on the ground, most likely dropped.

The ghost floated closer to the camera, turning its head, staring into the lens blankly.

"I know it was you, Y--"

The camera stuttered once more, chills now running down Mumbo and Iskall's spines.

Did Grian deal with this type of stuff all the time?

When the camera flickered back, the camera was picked up roughly, frantic voices surrounding the area it was recording. The lighting was still dark, the atmosphere creepy.

"Just--"

Brzzt.

" -et's get out!"

The camera crackled and flickered to a different setting, just outside the school they had been in.

"-think those are fighting words, Sam!" Young Grian said, feigning shock and holding back a grin.

The young man with rabbit ears grinned widely and laughed, pulling out a knife of all things.

"They are! I've been waitin' for this!" He cackled, the tan-skinned heterochromatic person in front of him yelping.

A blonde woman stepped in between them quickly, scolding them quietly.

The rabbit-eared teen was disappointed, the other in front of him relieved.

"Yeah... You're right, Mrs. Okami, I shouldn't-- SIKE!"

And then... there was screaming- screaming, and laughter between two people as the rabbit-eared young man scurried away, his knife now tainted red.

There was blood, and there was Grian, holding onto his wounded friend close as his camera dropped to the ground, flickering to black.

It was quiet for a few seconds.

And then, without visuals, a voice spoke up, slurred and exhausted.

"...I don't... wanna die, Gri," The voice said weakly.

"You're not... You're not going to die, Taurtis. We're gonna be okay, Sam was just... I'm sure he didn't realize what he was doing." Grian's voice spoke quietly in response.

And then, a simple "I'm tired" was all that was heard before a loud bang erupted from the silence.

The camera's blackness parted for a split second, showing something disturbing, something the two of them could never unsee.

Grian's bloodied face appeared, gritting his teeth as he pulled another body from the wreckage, even more bloody than him. The body Grian was pulling was crippled and shaking violently, a piece of glass cutting into his forehead.

"Taurtis... Just... Stay with me, okay? I'll... There's a hospital nearby... Just..."

Grian's eyes locked onto the camera, his hand quickly reaching out for it before the footage cut off.

End of Recording Session 1.

---

They were both frozen in horror, now scooting closer to each other to bring some sort of comfort to themselves. Mumbo's hand was covering his mouth, and Iskall was hugging his knees, both physically shaking from the footage. That kind of thing- it could have been traumatizing.

Was Grian okay? Was this Taurtis guy okay?

They both wanted to make some move forward to cut the camera off. They really did.

Curiosity did kill the cat though, didn't it?

Naturally, the videos continued.

Grian being forced to dress up and act like someone else, Grian crying and being forced to eat plastic bags of chips, Grian shooting a man dead, Grian threatening to kill "Sam" to get information from some girl, Grian pretending to be the very man he killed, Grian helping to shoot down an entire fleet of yakuza-

And just as naturally, Mumbo and Iskall could not stop Grian from kicking them out of the Architechs in a fit of rage and tears.

---

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft grian #hermitcraft mumbo #hermitcraft iskall #grian #grianmc #mumbo jumbo #iskall85 #yhs #yandere high school #yandere highschool #yhs grian #yhs sam #yhs taurtis #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft oneshot

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spaceswordwasaimingforozai · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 23 - Exhaustion/Sleep Deprivation

Ao3

Zuko’s not sure of the time, but his inner flame is enough to know the sun went down a long time ago and is moving closer to rising every minute, even though the first rays of light have yet to creep over the horizon and light his dark office yet. He sighs and lifts his hand to his face to rub across his eyes. What he does know is that he’s not even halfway through the new pile of documents that landed on his desk yesterday evening that need urgently addressing. A new trade deal is in the process of being struck and of course it requires so many approvals and changes and reviewing of old laws and seeing what needs to be repealed. He’s been working constantly since they arrived, and even though he’s had two years of being Fire Lord to get used to these kind of sudden problems he still feels overwhelmed every time another this size crops up.

Zuko shuffles the papers as he puts aside another signed and sealed document. He badly wants a cup of tea, and almost convinces himself to get one, but that urge is overpowered by the knowledge that if he does he will likely fall asleep and so he doesn’t risk it. Instead, he refreshes his ink brush and hunches back over his desk, pushing off the creeping tiredness swearing to himself that he’s dealt with worse.

Sokka emerges from his rooms early, he has to if he has any hope of practicing with his swords before it feels too hot to do anything but walk slowly around the palace or sit in meeting rooms. He is constantly grateful that even though Zuko and the other fire benders on the council have their whole ‘rise with the sun’ thing they never impose that on the actual meeting times. The hallways are still mostly empty at this time, but he still encounters a few servants on the early round or at the end of the graveyard shift and greets them, pausing to talk with those who look awake enough.

He reaches the hallway where Zuko’s room is located and stops before he walks past the door. He had heard that the Fire Lord (‘Fire Lord, Sokka will never really get used to calling his friend that), Zuko had had a lot of work yesterday to sort around the newest trade deal so maybe he would appreciate the offer to do some sparring, let off some steam and do something other than paperwork and worrying about paperwork. Sokka’s only been in the palace as ambassador for a couple months but he’s already seen how committed Zuko is to making his nation better and repairing the damage they caused. He nods to the guards in front of Zuko’s door, not the Kyoshi warriors this time but ordinary fire nation ones. He knocks gently but loud enough to either wake Zuko if he’s not already awake or at least get his attention through the gigantic doors.

“Hey your majesty! Rise and shine, I was thinking you might want a break from being a royal clerk for an hour and come do some sparring. Promise I’ll let you win...maybe...probably not. C’mon!” Sokka waits for a response and gets none then knocks again, louder this time.

Still nothing. Sokka shoots a glance at the stern guards either side that he knows he’s still working to win over so he shouldn’t try to aggravate them, but Zuko’s like his best friend besides Aang (and Sokka will stand by the fact that he is more of Aang’s best friend than Zuko is, despite the Avatar always ducking out of that by saying Katara is his best friend). He pushes the door open finding it unlocked and shouts into the room.

“Hey wake up lazy jerkbender, where’s that whole ‘inner flame, I rise with the sun’ mumbo jumbo? He says, doing a bad impression of Zuko as he does. He hears muffled snort from one of the guards and smirks that he might be doing better at the warming up than he thought.

A quick look into the room reveals that not only is the bed empty, but it doesn’t look slept in, more so than the usual ‘quickly tidied by the palace staff once Zuko leaves for the day’ that it usually has. Sokka moves back out of the room and turns to the guard he thinks he remembers the name of.

“Ming,” Sokka starts, getting the woman’s attention, “where’s Fire Lord Zuko?”

Ming turns her head enough to address him while trying to maintain an air of officiousness, but Sokka can see her expression is softer than he had noticed passing by.

“I believe he’s in his office, Ambassador Sokka.”

Sokka sighs dramatically. “Then why didn’t you tell me that before I went banging on his door?”

Ming allows a small smile but it's the guard behind him that answers without turning his head. “Wanted to see what you’d do. Plus it’s not our job to stop you from banging on the door of an empty room.”

Sokka turns and laughs sarcastically. “Okay then well I’ll let you guys get back to guarding the Fire Lord’s bedsheets.” He backs away trying to keep eye contact with both of them, then turns on his heel and walks back down the corridor the way he came. He at least feels like the guards are starting to warm up to him a bit more if they’re making fun of him.

Sokka knows where Zuko’s office is, probably. He’s only been there a couple of times, but he knows at least it's not too far away from Zuko’s bedroom and it looks out on the turtleduck pond, so he’s got that to go on, as well as the vague memory of its location.

He crows with victory when he turns a corner and spots the equally ornate doors at the end of the hall with a pair of Kyoshi warriors outside that he’s ninety-five percent sure is Zuko’s office.

He walks quickly to the end of the hallway, aiming to open the doors with a flourish and berate his friend for already being a boring old Fire Lord at the age of nineteen when a strong hand on his chest stops him and he realises one of the guards on the door is Suki. He smiles in recognition at his friend/ex girlfriend.

“Oh hey Sooks! Didn’t recognise you-”

She rolls her eyes and cuts him off with another little nudge to his sternum.

“It’s fine, Sokka, that wasn’t why I stopped you though.”

“Oh?”

Suki darts her eyes back to the door and steps away a little, shooting a glance to the other warrior who nods and returns to her full focus to her job while they move a way back up the passage.

“Go easy on him today, okay Sokka? He practically hasn’t left that room for the last two days.”

Sokka frowns. “Wait what? Why? Is there something important going on I should know about?”

Suki sighs, crossing her arms as she drops back against the wall next to them. Even as she gives the appearance of casual, Sokka knows she’s still primed for any attack or anything unexpected and gives himself a moment for a little swell of pride for her skill and is again grateful that its her and her warriors in charge of looking after the best Fire Lord for a century.

“You know the recent trade negotiations?” Sokka nods, “It’s just all the documents for that. He has a lot of things to sign off and check before the deal can be finalised.”

Sokka glances back to the closed doors, then back to Suki. “But that’s just a trade deal? It’s like the fifth in the last couple years, and not on the scale of the earlier ones. Surely he doesn’t have to be working round the sun to do everything?”

Suki smiles, but it has a sad tint. “Tell that to Zuko. He wants everything to be right, and be the very best Fire Lord. I’ve told him he’s already done that, but he won’t listen. I forgot that you haven’t seen this before, it’s what he does basically every time all the paper in Caldera basically gets dumped on his desk to sign off on, but honestly he’s been doing it more with the little stuff now a lot of the big stuff has been sorted. We tend to just wait till he falls asleep on the desk then move his sleepy ass back to his room to get a bit of rest, but we can’t talk him out of the office until then. He won’t talk much about it, but I think it's because he’s scared of messing up, missing something, I dunno. Baby Fire Lord guilt and everything.” Suki smirks at him and he laughs, but then returns his focus to everything she’s said and sighs.

“I feel like I should have expected that from him.” Suki nods but says nothing more. As they stand in silence, Sokka feels a plan forming. He glances at Suki who won’t show it, but knows she was watching him out of her peripherals a moment ago.

“I presume part of you telling me this is basically ‘Sokka, your turn to have a go at dealing with the sleep deprived Fire Lord”?

Suki’s smirk is almost disguised by her face paint. She shrugs. “Maybe, everyone else has had a go, and I mean, you’re here now,” she turns to face him more, pushing off the wall, “I honestly wouldn’t have come to get you if you hadn’t come by. We’re used to him being like this, but it’s also tough to watch. Maybe you will have better luck getting him to look after himself before we have to physically make him.”

Sokka smiles at her and pulls her into a brief hug. “I’ll do my best,” he says into the side of her hairpiece.

They walk back to the doors together, Suki retaking her place beside the doors, going back into full Kyoshi warrior mode.

Sokka changes from his previously planned approach, deciding to knock instead, as if Zuko’s been working for as long as she said he doesn’t want to startle an exhausted fire bender in a room full of paper.

He knocks loudly and decisively, “Zuko? You in there, buddy?”

He wonders for a moment of silence if Zuko’s already fallen asleep, but then a weary voice comes through the doors. “Come in, Sokka.”

Sokka pushes through the heavy doors and is greeted by everything he expected but kind of worse. There’s papers covering every square inch of Zuko’s large ornate desk, and in the middle of all the clutter, with the early morning sun peeking through the windows behind him, illuminating his silhouette. He would look almost ethereal in beauty was it not for the haggard expression surrounded by a few loose tendrils of hair falling from the precarious looking topknot, made worse by Zuko’s ever present scar, but it seems to be worse, redder around the edges like it’s been scratched at.

Sokka quietly closes the doors as Zuko doesn’t look up more than a second from his current document.

“What do you need, Sokka?” It’s said not unkindly, but with an edge that Sokka struggles to distinguish beyond just plain exhaustion.

“Don’t need anything stifu hotman, just stopping by.”

Zuko hums noncommittally. “Then would it be alright if I saw you later maybe? Not to be rude, I’m just very busy right now.”

Sokka nods as he moves to the side of the desk, gently moving one stack of papers out the way to sit down on the edge. “Yeah, Suki told me. She also said you hadn’t got some sleep for a while. What’s up with that man?”

“Like I said Sokka, I’m busy,” Zuko says, sweeping his brush across the page in front of him with some semblance of his signature.

Sokka decides to approach things from a different angle.

“You know I stopped by your room this morning. Went to see if you felt like a sparring session before the sun got to its usual stupid hot level.”

Zuko hums again.

“I was disappointed to not find you there. So!” Sokka says, rising from the desk with a small flourish. “I came to bother you in all your fancy firelord business. See what you were doing instead of sleeping like a normal person tends to do at night.” Sokka moves around, leaning down with his face almost level with Zuko’s to get a look at the page in front of him that Sokka has noted he hasn’t moved on from for a few minutes more than it should have taken him to read it.

“I got up early is all, needed to get a few things done,” Zuko says, trying to wave off Sokka.

This time it’s Sokka’s turn to hum at Zuko’s usually unconvincing lying.

Sokka only leans over further, almost getting a mouthful of dark hair as he starts asking questions about the documents that he already knows until Zuko leans back to face Sokka.

When he does, Sokka can see how tired his friend looks and he recognises again the weight on Zuko’s shoulders. “What do you want, Sokka? I told you, I need to get this done.” Zuko breaks off with a yawn that he stifles behind his hand. Sokka smiles, torn between the sadness at seeing how stressed and worn down Zuko clearly is, and how sweet he also looks, a thought which Sokka pushes back to focus on the former.

He plucks the brush out of Zuko’s unresisting fingers and lays it down in the ink tray.

The Fire Nation isn’t going to start the war up again if you take a nap, oh great Fire Lord.” Zuko opens his mouth to protest, probably with something about how Sokka’s being overdramatic, but Sokka jumps in first. “Zuko, seriously. You need to rest. You’re no help to anyone if you can’t think clearly, and you never know what you could do as a sleep deprived ruler! Order all the citizens to do the dragon dance, release all the komodo-rhinos into the streets for them to have a party, declare a public holiday for turtleducks! Actually, that one sounds kind of good, forget that one.” He can tell Zuko’s trying to stay looking mad, but he’s not doing nearly as well to hide the small smile at Sokka’s antics as he thinks. “What I’m saying is you need to get some sleep, or a spa day, or something. You can’t keep working like this. Please Zuko, for me?” Sokka adds as Zuko looks like he’s about to argue again. Sokka leans down further, tilts his head and does his best polar bear-puppy eyes to try to persuade him. If reason won’t work, maybe guilt will, that’s what Aang usually does to Sokka.

Zuko closes his eyes against Sokka’s efforts, but when he does he yawns again and hunches in on himself. He sighs and Sokka knows he’s done it. He has to stifle his victorious grin as Zuko looks back up at him.

“Fine.” He says defeated, but with enough annoyance that he’s ensuring Sokka knows this was his choice, however coerced.

Before he can change his mind, Sokka swoops down and pulls Zuko out of his chair with one arm around his back to support him. “C’mon your royal jerkbender-ness, nap time.”

Zuko grumbles something under his breath about ‘interfering water tribe’ but Sokka pretends not to hear him. He won, and now Zuko’s gonna go not work himself to death, so Sokka doesn’t care what mr grumpy firebender has to say about it.

Zuko puts up a small amount of protest at being half lifted by Sokka, but quickly gives up when it becomes obvious that it will take more energy than he has to extract himself from his hold.

Zuko doesn’t register much after they leave his office, he thinks he spots Sokka giving a subtle thumbs up to Suki, but can’t be bothered to think any more about it. He knows they probably conspired against him, but with the way his body is feeling heavier and heavier with every moment since he was removed from his seat at the desk he feels like maybe they had the right idea. And even he cannot ignore the small feeling of warmth in his chest from his friends’ care.

They shuffle through the doors of his room and Zuko expects to be unceremoniously dropped on his bed, but instead Sokka lowers him gently, removing the stiff outer robe and his hairpiece but doing no more than that, and pulling the covers around Zuko. He sighs as he feels the welcome softness of the bed envelop him and smiles.

“Thank you, Sokka,” Zuko tries to speak loud enough to be heard, but he’s not sure if he manages it before he feels sleep pulling him under. The last sensation Zuko registers, not fully sure if he’s dreaming, is the feeling of a hand sweeping his hair away from his face and pausing there.

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fandomn00blr · 4 years

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Jadzia Dax had a warp core breach near a multiphasic star and ended up on the open decks of Siren's Call.

This ask, tho...I have outlined five chapters of this randomness and of course, this is what has finally broken my writer’s block (through much grinding and gnashing of teeth). Here’s the first chapter (it’s way longer than it has any business being)...you’re welcome (and I’m sorry)!

The salty, fishy stench hits Jadzia first, shocking her olfactory system awake before she even realizes that she’s no longer in the engineering bay of the Defiant. Her eyes open begrudgingly, almost fearful of locating the source of such an offensive odor -- worse than anything she ever had to endure in all of Curzon’s dealings with the Klingons, even worse than congealed room temperature Cardassian tojal with yamok sauce -- but all she sees is darkness.

She taps her combadge.

She hears nothing but the ringing in her own ears.

Her eyes finally start to adjust, playing an infuriatingly slow game of catch-up with the unwelcome acuteness in her sense of smell. She can just barely make out trace amounts of light swimming blurrily above her, but it’s not enough to make any kind of sense of her surroundings.

She tries to sit up, but everything is wobbly, she realizes, and there’s a sharp shooting pain behind her eyes whenever she tries to move or look or do much of anything, really. She manages to reach a hand up to her temple, tracing a trail of dried blood to a cut there. It stings when she touches it, but it’s mostly superficial and mostly done bleeding, nothing a dermal regenerator can’t handle, anyway. She moves her fingers gingerly toward the back of her head. “BaQa'!” she hisses as she touches the large tender lump she finds there...this one might be a bit trickier to deal with. But it’s not the first time she’s been concussed. And it probably won’t be the last.

She takes a deep breath through her nose and tries to focus through the pain, the sharpness of it renewed with every fresh whiff, every sound, every attempt to look or move or think.

In seven lifetimes, she’s endured far worse. In this lifetime, alone. Figure it out, Old Man!

Why she suddenly hears Sisko berating her at a time like this is something she can ponder later. But for now...she takes another deep breath, focusing on her surroundings this time instead of her own internal disorientation.

There are large wooden barrels all around her. They certainly don’t look airtight, and she fears that at least some of the odor is coming from them. Like it could be on purpose. Some kind of ancient fermentation process preserved for the sake of tradition or ritual, maybe. That might explain why everything here seems to be made out of wood. Perhaps this room has a ceremonial purpose? It doesn’t explain how she got here, or even where ‘here’ is, but it’s a theory at least. And she’s a scientist. Right?

She shrugs, gathering her resolve to stand up and investigate, even though her balance is still something to be desired. It doesn’t help that this smelly, dark, wooden room she’s in seems to be...swaying? It’s an odd sensation, probably just another symptom of her head injury.

But she has felt it before, hasn’t she? At least part of her has. Prior to being joined, Torias had taken up sailing as a hobby, much to Nilani’s chagrin. He managed to go sailing exactly once as Dax, and his voyage had been cut short, because Tobin had gotten seasick…Tobin, who’s fretting now. Tobin, who needs to be quiet.

The full memory comes flooding back now suddenly, viscerally...violently. She’s barely just managed to stand before she’s doubled-over, retching, and the contents of her stomach hits the wooden floor below her with a sickening splash. She can feel the liquid sliding and pooling around her boots with the gentle, nauseating rocking motion of the ship, but Curzon had an iron stomach, and Jadzia has no reason to believe she gets motion-sickness, so she banishes Tobin to the back of her consciousness, and she hopes her theory about this room having some ritual significance proves wrong, because she, Jadzia, has never been very good at apologies.

She taps her combadge again, remembering as she does it that it’s not working.

Still nothing. Not even an error signal telling her she’s out of range.

“Virtually indestructible, and they won’t run out of power for at least a century under normal use…” she mutters to herself, reciting what the Engineering folks had promised when they switched from rechargeable units to the current power cells. She knew she was overdue for an upgrade, but it hasn’t been that long since Curzon had gotten this new one, has it? She’ll have to have Miles take a look at it when she gets back.

Back. Back to where? Back from where? She tries to avoid the leaky barrels in the dark as she carefully maneuvers her way around the long, narrow room, balance and coordination slowly returning with every toe stub and banged knee. There’s more light streaming down on the other side, but trying to focus on it only seems to make things worse, so she can only hope it’s a doorway or a stairwell or something she can work with.

“Who’s down there making all that noise?”

She hears a voice above her and footsteps. Two sets, assuming they belong to bipedal humanoids. She freezes, but hears them stomp past overhead, heading in the same direction she is.

“I didn’t hear anything.” A second voice...lower, but with a tremulous quality betraying its owner’s attempt at disinterest.

“Bet one of those refugees is sampling some of the haul…or trying to take some to sell themselves. Not a bad idea, actually...”

“Captain says it isn’t even ready yet. Still needs a few more months in the sun to really ripen…”

Jadzia feels her stomach lurch again, but at least it's completely empty now, and she manages to breathe through Tobin’s overly-sensitive gag reflex this time.

“Rats, then?”

“Feel free to go investigate yourself. Bilge rats give me the creeps!”

“You’re a fucking Raider now! Grow a pair, will ya?”

“Have you seen the size of their bollocks?”

The owner of the first voice is laughing now. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! Heard a Warden once say they spread the Blight!”

“No real Warden ever said that…”

“Yeah! I heard it from one of ‘em at Ostagar!”

“Now who’s talking bollocks?”

Jadzia has to work hard to stifle her own chuckle at this. She isn’t sure what the Blight is, or Wardens, or Ostagar, but she recognizes and appreciates the spirit of the exchange. It almost reminds her of Odo and Quark bickering back on Deep Space Nine.

“Are you going to check down below or what? You’re the one hearing things. I’ll cover your ass, but you gotta go first. And if it’s rats...”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll be sure to neuter ‘em all just for you, baby brother.”

Ok, so maybe not quite like Odo and Quark. She hears them both descending the stairs, and she has half a mind to try and hide behind one of the barrels, but she’s not sure she can keep Tobin’s sea-sickness under control in such close proximity to the contents of the barrels. So she decides to take her chances making contact, walking a few more steps toward the light of the stairwell so as not to take anyone by surprise.

A human, a female, she presumes, in primitive leather armor, comes into view first at the bottom of the stairs, about ten feet away from her, peering into the darkness.

“...and who are you supposed to be?”

She crosses her arms in front of her and cocks one hip to the side, just enough so that Jadzia can see she has two daggers slung behind her back, but she doesn’t look particularly eager to use them.

“Is it rats?”

“No, you dumb idiot…” she hisses back over her shoulder without taking her eyes off of Jadzia. “It’s one of those weird tattooed elves, I think?”

“Are you sure it’s not a rat?”

The owner of the second set of footsteps, a male human, she thinks, finally peeks out from behind her, his large frame dwarfing the person in front of him.

“Or maybe you’re Qunari? I don’t see any horns, but that big guy in Lothering didn’t have any, either, and you’re awfully tall for an elf, aren’t you?”

Jadzia isn’t sure what to make of the two people leering at her, either, but they don’t seem to pose an immediate threat. The one with the daggers looks more intrigued than alarmed, and the other one isn’t even carrying a weapon. “I am a Federation Science Officer, currently serving aboard the USS Defiant.”

“An Officer, eh?” The first one smirks.

“What’s an Officer doing all the way down here?” the second one asks. “You should be at least three decks up.”

“Funny-sounding name for a ship, too…not part of the Armada, I take it?”

Jadzia purses her lips impatiently. Her head is still throbbing. “There appears to have been some kind of...accident.” This is putting it mildly, she thinks. “Can you tell me which star system we’re in?”

“Star system? I don’t believe in that 'Vint mumbo jumbo. Mum said I was born under a rising Draconis but I sure as shit can’t turn into a dragon…”

The first one eyes him with annoyance before turning back to Jadzia. “You mean to ask the date?”

"Sure…and the year, too, if you don't mind."

"By Chantry reckoning, it's 9:30...and it's the fifth of Solace."

“I don’t suppose you could convert that for me? Into something more...universal?”

“Oh shit! You are a ‘Vint!”

“No!” She puts her hands up defensively, assuming ‘Vint is probably not a good thing to be, based on his tone. “No...I just...my people...the, er, what did you call us? With the, uh, horns?”

“Qunari? Are you a spy?!” He turns back to the other one. “I told you they have spies everywhere!”

She looks unimpressed by this, but Jadzia notices as she shifts her weight to the other hip.

“No, not Qunari! The other thing…”

“Elf?”

“Yes! That! That is what you call my people, but we have a different word. And we use a different calendar. I am part of an isolated group, known for our unique height and markings.”

He eyes her suspiciously, and the other one -- the smarter one, Jadzia has decided -- just grins, her teeth flashing in what little light there is down here. It’s not particularly reassuring, but she has yet to reach for her blades.

“Sure,” she says, and the worrying grin vanishes. "Fine, yeah, whatever."

Jadzia realizes she’s been holding her breath. It’s been awhile since she’s had the proper training for this kind of thing. Surviving Cardassian torture and manipulation is an entirely different skill set, one that involves clinging relentlessly to your own identity, not making up an entirely new one.

“‘Vint, Qunari, Elf, or otherwise, the Captain’s the one you’ve gotta convince you weren’t trying to steal from her. Come on. You can work on your story on the way. Try it out on my idiot of a brother who believes the Blight is carried in the testicles of rodents.”

“Hey!”

Jadzia ducks her head and allows herself a quiet snort of amusement, and the woman with the daggers nods appreciatively.

#eranehn #star trek #dragon age #ds9 da2 crossover #because why the fuck not?#jadzia dax #totally random ferelden refugee siblings #she will meet isabela and anders in the next chapter ok #stowaway #is what this is called in my google docs #my writing #friend prompt

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citrinekay · 4 years

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Prompt: A case detective takes a dislike to Bill. Bill deals with it--not the first time this has happened--but when the guy starts getting on his age his self-esteem takes a hit. He *is* getting older and doesn't have the same energy he once did, but it also makes him think more about his and Holden's age difference. But Holden realizes what's going on and gives the detective a tongue-lashing. Basically an Insecure!Bill and a Protective!Holden.

Thanks for the prompt! I like it when someone makes me write something from a perspective I haven’t thought of before. Here you go, hon:

As if the week couldn’t get any worse, it’s fucking monsoon season in Albany, Oregon. Bill’s lungs are burning as he backtracks through the flooded, narrow streets, carefully avoiding the potholes creating tiny ponds in the pitted asphalt. Through the sheets of rain cascading from the angry, gray stormclouds, he glimpses their rented, tan sedan turning down the street.

Bill stops walking, and bends down to brace his hands on his knees. He’s yet to catch his breath aftering chasing the unsub across four blocks before the younger man turned a corner, jumped a fence, and disappeared out of sight. Now he’s soaked to the bone, cold, lungs aching, and the arrest is a bust. The fact that they know where he lives is the only silver lining in this miserable day.

Holden pulls the car up alongside him, and Bill ducks inside. Rain water drips off his coat and pools on the leather seat as he yanks the door shut behind him with a grunt.

“You okay?” Holden asks.

“No.” Bill says, “Let’s get back.”

Holden’s mouth is pursed in a thin line as he steers them back in the direction of the suspect’s house. As they approach, the lights from no less than five police cars smudge red and blue across the slick windshield. Crime scene tape is stretched in damp ribbons around the perimeter while detectives in trench coats shelter themselves on the front porch and crime scene techs carry their equipment inside with tarps dragged overtop.

Detective Messing is among those on the porch.

Holden sighs, putting the car into park. “You know he’s going to have something to say about this.”

“I know.” Bill says, sharply. “Let’s just fucking get this over with.”

They climb out of the car, and flash their badges at the perimeter. Making their way across the muddy, unkempt lawn, they reach the porch just as Messing concluding a conversation with one of the CSU officers.

The detective is a tall, fit man in his late thirties with dark hair combed back in neat waves against his nape. He radiates an air of self-assurity that had pissed Bill off the moment they met.

They were called in on this case because a string of rapes that Messing had been lead detective on turned to homicide. The case, which in Bill’s estimation should have been solved over a year ago, is now stretching past its third year, tallying up eleven victims - three of them dead. He and Holden had only been on the case a week before they matched the profile to a previous suspect who had already been interviewed, but released on an alibi provided by his mother who he lives with.

Bill doesn’t consider family a solid alibi, and he’d told Messing as much as soon as they came across the file on their suspect, Howard Jennings. Right away, he got the sense that Messing is used to getting things his way. The friction between them had only built since that first confrontation which had ended in Messing storming out of the conference room. Bill tries not to let internal politics or bad attitudes get to him when he’s on the job, but there’s something smug and infuriating about the way Messing treats almost everyone around him that gets under his skin.

“So, he got away.” Messing says, his tone already indicating a fresh meltdown.

“He’ll turn back up.” Holden says.

“Yeah?” Messing says, his eyebrows rising. “And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will.” Holden assures, climbing the porch steps to get level with Messing. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“We know where he lives.” Bill adds, stepping up beside Holden. “We already know his alibi is shit, and now that there’s police and CSU crawling through her house, his mother is bound to tell the truth.”

“So fucking what?” Messing says, sharply. “There’s nothing here, Bill. He doesn’t rape or kill them here. There’s not going to be any physical evidence that he’s our guy. Maybe you can close this up and call it done, but I’m the one who has to stick around once the charges are filed and try to prove to the jury that he’s our man.”

“We’re not just going to leave you holding the bag.” Bill says, disbelief sparking hot in his already simmering blood. “That’s not how we operate.”

Messing scoffs. “I should have run after him myself. You know what they say - if you want something done right, do it yourself.”

Bill draws in a deep breath, telling himself to cool it. They’re standing here on the front porch of the suspect’s house surrounded by uniformed officers and crime scene techs. The last thing he wants to do is lose the respect of everyone else in the department.

“Look, we know how he thinks.” Bill says, managing an even tone. “And we can get him to come out of the woodwork. It might take a few days, but-”

“A few days? He could hurt someone else by then.” Messing interrupts, “You guys are unbelievable, you know that? We’re here to do real police work, not sit behind a desk and spout a bunch of psychological mumbo-jumbo. This bastard requires on-the-ground, physical legwork. If you can’t fucking keep up, then you should have stayed back the precinct.”

“Man, what is your fucking problem?” Bill says, the words leaping from his throat before he can take them back.

Messing stares him down, his face flushed with anger.

“Okay, everyone take a deep breath-” Holden says, using his hostage negotiator voice that really just makes Bill even angrier.

“Stay out of this.” Messing says, “I don’t have a problem with you, Ford. You’ve got your head in the game. I’m not so sure about your partner here-”

“You think I can’t keep up?” Bill interrupts, taking a threatening step closer to Messing. “Great. Let’s go. Let’s take this out back right now so everyone on this task force can watch an old man put you on the ground-”

“Bill.” Holden says, disbelief ballooning in his tone. He puts a hand on Bill’s chest, and pushes himself in between them.

Messing’s jaw is quivering with rage, like he’s about to swing, and Bill almost wants him to do it just so he can make good on his threat.

“You talk big game.” Messing says, “But where’s my suspect? Huh?”

“I think we all need to calm down and think about this rationally.” Holden says.

Both Bill and Messing begin protest, but Holden’s voice rises firmly above them both, “No. Let’s think about this, Detective. Be honest with ourselves.”

Messing glares, his brows furrowing. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that we shouldn’t even be here.” Holden says, his tone steady yet cutting. “You’ve had Jennings within reach for months. You interviewed him, then you let him go. Bill and I are here because what should have ended with rape turned into one murder - then two, then three. We’re here because your chief of police took this case away from you, and handed it to us - because you couldn’t make the cut. Maybe you can run a little faster than both of us, but you certainly aren’t smarter than us when it comes to understanding how these men think and act. If you want us to leave now, that’s fine. Maybe you’ll get Jennings to resurface, and maybe you won’t; but we won’t be around to help you when your boss comes back looking for answers.”

The sound of the heavy downpour fills in the silence. Messing looks like he might explode. Bill lowers his head, fighting back a smile as Holden matches Messing’s glare, unwilling to back down.

Finally, Messing turns and walks off the porch without comment.

“Come on, Bill.” Holden says, nodding towards the house. “I want to get a look at this bastard’s bedroom, and see if we can do any real groundwork to flush him out.”

The next day, Bill’s body hurts. As soon as he wakes up in the hotel bed, he realizes that he’d pulled a few muscles in the chase after Jennings. He rolls back against the pillows with a groan, and closes his eyes against the hot pain that races down his back and into his leg.

Maybe Messing wasn’t far off from the truth.

Bill grabs his cigarettes from the nightstand, and inhales nicotine against the force of that self-pitying thought. He doesn’t like to spare any effort towards feeling sorry for himself, but it’s an idea that had cropped up in his mind long before Detective Messing and his arrogant vitriol came along. He smokes and drinks too much, and he doesn’t eat very well either. Most of their work is from behind a desk, and if he does expend himself the way he did yesterday, he pays the price the next day. More recently, there’s been times when Holden was up for round two, and he simply couldn’t muster the energy. Maybe he is getting too fucking old for all of this.

Bill opens his eyes, jarring himself out of the deepening pit of misery when a knock comes on his door.

He climbs out of bed, hissing at the pain shooting down his lower back. Throwing on a pair of trousers, he goes to the door, and pulls it open.

Holden is standing on the other side, already dressed for the day in a slate gray suit and navy blue knit tie. His hair is combed, jaw clean-shaven, eyes bright and alert, focused on the tasks ahead of them.

Bill tries to muster a smile. “‘Morning.”

“Good morning. Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Bill stands aside as Holden strides into the room, going straight to the coffee maker in the corner to start adding water and grounds.

“Have you showered yet?”

“No.” Bill says, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.

“Well, you better hurry up.” Holden says, dumping coffee grounds into the filter and flicking the lid shut. “We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

Bill rubs a hand over his stubbled chin, thinking he probably looks afright. Worse than that, pathetic. Pull it together. But the thought makes barely a dent in his flinching subconscious.

Holden jabs the button to brew, and turns around to pin Bill with an expectant gaze. “Well, are you gonna go get dressed?”

“Yeah.” Bill says, drawing in a deep breath.

He wanders to the closet, and retrieves a clean pair of clothes. He can feel Holden watching him as he chooses a powder blue shirt, and sifts through his tie choices.

“Is something the matter?” Holden asks.

“Nope.”

Holden crosses his arms, and draws in a deep breath. Gearing up like he’s about to pull a tooth.

Bill closes his eyes, and clenches his jaw. “Don’t.”

“Bill, come on.” Holden says, “Don’t tell me Messing got to you. That guy is a prick.”

“Yeah, he is.” Bill says, cutting Holden a glare. “And to an extent, he’s not wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There was no way I was ever going to catch up to Jennings.” Bill says, “Physically. Thought was I going to have a fucking coronary right there on the goddamn street.”

Holden sighs, and shakes his head. “That’s not what we’re here for, Bill - chasing down suspects. We went into that interview unprepared. We had no idea he was going to run. We should have had uniformed officers there with us. Running after suspects is their job.”

“Just stop trying to make me feel better. It’s over, done with.” Bill says, yanking a pair of clean trousers off the hanger.

He turns to head for the bathroom, but Holden stops him with a hand on his arm.

“This is not just about Messing, is it?” He asks, softly.

Bill glances away, feeling his face burning. He should have kept his mouth shut, but Holden has a way of getting him talking - and once he starts, he can’t really stop.

“Bill, talk to me.” Holden whispers, taking the clothes out of Bill’s hands, and setting them aside in exchange for his own hands.

Bill clutches Holden’s fingers, focusing on the neat, clean lines of his nails. His hands are soft and youthful, meant for devout, virile passion. For someone as young and fiery as him.

“Where is this leading?” He asks, slowly lifting his gaze back to Holden’s.

Holden’s brow creases with a little, confused frown. “What do you mean?”

“This.” Bill says, “You and me.”

Holden presses closer, whispering, “Wherever we want it to.”

“I’m serious.” Bill says, “It’s the best sex I’ve had in years, but what about you?”

“What? You think you’re not satisfying me?” Holden asks, scoffing quietly. “When have I ever complained?”

“You haven’t. Yet.”

“Yet?”

“Well, in five years you could be buying me little blue pills to get your rocks off.” Bill says, mustering a casual tone even as the words sting underneath.

Holden stares at him blankly for a moment before his confused expression breaks into a smile. He laughs, shaking his head. “Bill, you are not that old. I think you need to give yourself a little more credit.”

“Don’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”

Holden shrugs. “It hasn’t.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Bill wraps his arms around Holden’s waist, and meets Holden’s calm, reserved gaze with a choked chuckle. “Well … all right.”

“Even if I did have to buy you little blue pills, it wouldn’t matter.” Holden says, spreading his hands over Bill’s chest. “I’m not with you just because you’re good in bed.”

Bill lowers his head, biting back a smile, but Holden tucks his fingers under his chin to lift his gaze back up. He presses a soft kiss to Bill’s mouth, and sighs quietly into the tiny space between them.

“And you are.” He murmurs. “Really good in bed.”

Bill clears his throat. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so. Now go get a shower.” Holden says, nudging the heels of his hands into Bill’s chest. “We have to go show that prick, Messing, who’s boss.”

Bill chuckles, taking a shuffling step backwards. Holden has already crossed the room to pour himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the conversation miles behind his high velocity initiative for the day ahead.

Bill lags behind, still caught up in the revelation. I’m not with you just because you’re good in bed sounds a lot like something else, something more serious. He can’t push it right now, but he tucks it in the back of his mind overtop his insecurities. It rests there like a blanket, smothering everything else in warmth - and maybe something more.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing #Anonymous

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spruceplank · 5 years

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Glitch04

First // Previous //Current // Next >> -------- Also on ao3!

At first it wasn’t noticeable. Maybe the blocks you just broke would suddenly go back to where they had been. Maybe your hits wouldn’t connect with the mob you were hitting. Then it slowly got worse and worse. And then the world around them started to vanish.

And that was only the beginning.

Things were getting weird. There was a while where he hadn’t been actively involved with the others trying to deal with some things on his own, but now that he was back it was clear that something beyond normal was starting to happen.

And he wasn’t talking about whatever was going on with the build off. He was talking about the actual world itself. The holes straight to bedrock, the strange redstone torches in caves, the half carved out strip mines that randomly appeared, the mobs spawning even if the area was completely lit up, the portals breaking or connecting strangely, and now, now it had been night for three whole days in a row.

Phantoms screeched above the skies of Hermitville. Most of the hermits in Hermitville hadn’t been able to sleep in over three days. Because not only had sun not risen for three days in a row now, but the beds they had also placed there would never actually let them sleep the night away due to the fact monsters kept spawning no matter the light level. Plus for the past four days the nether portal had been broken so that was also fun.

The fact of the matter was that the longer they stayed up though, the more phantoms kept spawning. Thankfully X said he was trying to fix the portal issue for first so at least they could hide from the phantoms there.

The strangest thing was that apparently the main islands were completely unaffected by the broken day/night cycle. Which was strange in itself, granted a lot of the hermits were out in Hermitville currently. Then on top of all of that were the raids.

Cub and X had flew inside the walls carrying Scar and Jellie respectively a few days ago looking tired, ragged, and wounded. Behind them was a group of ravagers and then several raid patrol parties chasing them. No matter how many patrols they took down, two more would come and take their place.

They had holed up in the portal tower. Xisuma was in his church messing with the code, hiding away from the rest of them in hopes that the patrols that managed to break through the walls and constant swooping phantoms would go for the larger group. It seemed to be working for the most part, but there was only so long they could hold up there before their barricade downstairs was broken through from the sheer number of things trying to kill them.

It would be death to peak out and try to shoot down some of the mobs outside so they were stuck in here, cluttered together, just waiting for Xisuma to send word the portal was fixed. He knew a lot of the other hermits had also come out to build and explore in and around Hermitville, but now that they were all clumped up here together it was strange to see so many of them gathered in one place for once. It was worse because of the situation they were in.

Scar sat across from him, curled up around Jellie. No one asked about what had happened that required Scar to be carried instead of flying on his own. Granted amidst all the chaos that started right after the three of them flew into the village, he doubted many people had even noticed that fact. If he watched closely, he could see Scar shake silently with every breath he took.

Another thing why the others may not have asked was because Cub sat between Scar and a majority of the other hermits that were here. Though most of the others seemed to be talking about something, but he really wasn’t listening too much. It was too hard to hear over the screech of phantoms and general chaos outside. Well that and the fact that he was exhausted from a general lack of sleep and annoyance at being constantly blown up by creepers trying to build his manor. That and now things like what happened to Stress and Tango kept piling up.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the portal next to him lit up and his communicator beepeed.

XisumaVoid: The portal should be working now, head in and I’ll make my way after you once most of the mobs dissipate from a lesser population.

The others were also reading the message, gathering up their things, and - there was a loud explosion from below them that shook the whole tower. Fumbling from the tower shaking as he stood up, he nearly crashed into Scar. Another explosion shook the tower and Scar went tumbling into the portal. Without second thought he dove in after him.

The transition between the overworld and the nether was always something he could never get used to. It was disorienting to go from the gentle and usually calm air of the overworld to the harsh heat of the nether. The loudness of the nether now seemed quite compared to the warzone they had literally just come from. Standing up slowly he brushed his clothes off and looked around for Scar. For a second he was nowhere to be seen and Wels couldn’t stop the fear that started weighing down on him.

Then he saw something shift from the other side of the portal. Crouched behind the portal, Scar sat curled up in on himself, shaking violently. Rushing over to help Scar his heart jumped out of his chest when the portal shattered right next to him. Scar gasped loudly and shuddered at the sound. Throwing away his fears about the now broken portal he dropped to kneel next to Scar.

“Scar, Scar can you look at me?” he asked as quietly as he could over the sounds of the nether.

Scar slowly turned to look at him, breathing heavily. He didn’t need to look closely to see the tears in Scar’s eyes nor the dried tear tracks on his face. Just what had happened before all this?

“Just breathe with me okay? We’re going to be fine, just breathe with me right now okay?” he explained slowly. Making sure to breathe deeply so that the movements of his chest would be easily visible. “Breathe in, one two three, hold it four five, breathe out, six seven eight. Okay? In, one two three. Hold, four five. Out, six seven eight.”

He repeated the cycle several times until Scar’s breathing was only occasionally hitching. At this point he could faintly hear several pairs of footsteps nearby. Slowly getting up, he looked around he saw the other hermits rushing over to them. Maybe they managed to relight the portal, or had to find another one. Looking closer it was easier to tell that the latter option was the one they had done. Most of them were bruised and covered in phantom bites with tattered and torn elytra. Only Grian looked mostly unscathed which made sense because he was probably the best flyer out of the bunch.

Cub rushed up and immediately took the spot down next to Scar. He couldn’t hear what they were saying because they were whispering too quietly but Scar was whispering back so he took it as a good sign.

“Are you two okay?” Joe asked as he jogged over not far behind Cub. Doc not far behind him with the architech boys trailing behind them both as Grian held onto Jellie, and Iskall helped Mumbo along who wasn’t putting weight on his left leg.

“Better off than the rest of you I’d say, though I can’t speak for Scar. He’s still affected by whatever had happened before the past few days.” He explained looking back to where Cub was helping Scar up.

“What do you mean?” Doc asked looking the two Convex over.

“Well Cub and X came flying into town like four days ago and Cub was carrying Scar like he couldn’t fly on his own. I couldn’t see any scars on him though so I don’t know if he died or if they just faded away by the time they went and found him. But whatever happened, its shaken Scar up pretty badly. When we fell through the portal I had to get him to copy my breathing to stop him from hyperventilating.” He said. Behind him someone said something he didn’t quite catch. Turning around to face Cub and Scar, he caught most of what Scar was saying thankfully.

“.... There was a glitch. I was walking through the forest out near another village I had just renovated. Then the chunk I had stepped into vanished beneath me and I was stuck there until X and Cub came to find me.” Scar admitted. He looked down at Jellie whom Grian had handed off to him. He held Jellie a little bit tighter as he continued, “For three days I was stuck there. It, I, it was the worst. There was this awful static noise that nothing else seemed to be affected by. The worst part was -”

Scar was cut off when his, no everyone’s communicator dinged. Pulling out his own out, he read the message. It was in that moment he felt it deep in his soul, that they were in way over their heads.

Renthedog was slain by falsesymmetry using [¡!フㄣㄣĿㄣㄣ:フリ]

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfiction #the hermit collective #gltichau #:)#Things kick off next chapter kiddos #and its going to be a long long ride #:) :) :)

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ganymedesclock · 7 years

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So basically, Keith (and possibly Acxa if they're related) has some kind of internal magic-sensing radar?? Or quintessence-sensitivity? Or something supernatural going on, anyway. I'm really curious what the implications of that ability may be in the long run.

Let’s talk about Keith’s energy sense and how it works! (I’ll also talk about Acxa here)

So far, what we know for sure is that Keith sometimes exhibits a heightened ability to perceive certain elements in his surroundings. In s1e1, major examples of this are when he felt “called” first to the shack, and then felt a kind of ‘field’ around the Blue Lion that he was able to triangulate.

This map and “triangulate” would suggest that Keith can tell when he’s near certain things, and by turning in place he can identify which way will get him closer to it- the three ‘x’es are places he went to, and, from there, identified which way the energy was. By going to three different places, he was able to pin down the energy to a very specific location, which he marked in the smaller circle, and probably found the bigger circle by similar means.

So Keith’s “energy sense”, as I prefer to call it, is a pretty fine-tuned and reliable instrument. It’s not a power that comes and goes, but something very predictable. It operates similarly to Hunk’s Voltron detector, and what they later upgrade to track the comet and thus Lotor- only for Keith, who had no idea what Hunk was talking about with the Fraunhofer line, he has this piece of equipment functionally built into his head.

While we don’t have explicit confirmation, my personal hypothesis is that in s1e10, and parts of s3, this “sense” of Keith’s was also what guided him to focus heavily on the druid and on Lotor.

This would suggest that, rather than Hunk’s tracker, which operates on the specific material of the trans-reality comets, Keith is able to track large volumes of quintessence. Voltron is a perpetual motion machine that radiates vast amounts of energy- so what Keith is picking up here, is simply the large amounts of energy that Blue gives off, rather than a connection between him and the Blue Lion.

But when it comes to the Lion he is connected with, Keith is able to simply sense Red’s position once he gets close enough- while the others require equipment and glowing carvings to guide them to the spot, Keith simply takes a deep breath and experiences a vision of Red’s position.

In s1e10, he focuses first, intently, on the glowing canisters, and then becomes determined to follow them. This draws him to follow the druid, and discover the room full of quintessence. He also tries to take some of it with him, though he doesn’t explain why. He also lasers in on Lotor- when in s4e3, Haggar remarks that Lotor has an unusual energy around him, presumably Sincline itself, though Keith focuses on Lotor before that time.

Also, in s4e6, while he has other reasons to be suspicious, Keith becomes suddenly, incredibly tense about Haggar’s ship and actually says, “I don’t know why, but we have to attack that ship.” At a point in which Haggar is gathering a massive volume of magical energy to destroy Naxzela.

This is the first portion of Keith’s ability, and the most well-documented.

But I suspect there’s another element to this- Keith functionally has a kind of spidey sense.

Allura states that Red requires a pilot that “relies more on instinct than skill alone.” This raises something interesting when we consider Lance is not shown to be a bad pilot- he takes to flying Blue easily, and by s3e1, before he switches to Red, he’s shown to pull off some very complicated maneuvers and be a powerful dogfighter.

And yet he runs into not just problems with Red, but a very specific problem: he’s never able to react in time because Red moves too quickly.

A problem Keith has never had, even though Red would be leagues faster than anything Keith has ever flown.

On several occasions, in combat, Keith can be observed to preemptively orient himself to face an enemy he has no way of knowing is there. Most obviously, this happens in s1e10, fighting the druid, and also in s3e3, fighting Lotor. In the former case, the druid keeps teleporting around him, soundlessly, and attacking from blind angles. Each time, Keith pauses, sometimes appears to glance around his surroundings, and then looks at, or turns to face, his attacking enemy.

In s3e3, Keith, despite being explicitly on a planet that destroys all conventional sensors without specific adjustments- where Black is functionally blindfolded- finds Lotor repeatedly, at one point verbatim says, “He’s around here somewhere, I know he is,” and on another occasion, suddenly snaps his head upright to look above him- and seconds later Lotor dives the team from exactly where Keith was looking.

This is where I’m gonna mention Acxa, because Acxa herself seems to do this! Most noticeably on s3e2, when the generals first arrive on Puig, Acxa is disseminating orders, facing her left. A Puigian rebel shoots a laser at the back of her head, standing in the opposite direction from which she’s looking- the laser makes no sound until it crosses in front of the screen. However, Acxa dodges it by pulling her head back. Which casts suspicion overall on her incredible aim, and that she rarely properly steadies herself while shooting- if anything, she’s prone to shooting rapidly while tumbling or flipping through the air, which makes her actual marksmanship unusual- especially when the other sharpshooter in our cast, Lance, is shown to take time, aim carefully, and/or use a scope or sighting along the barrel to make his shots precisely.

(though, admittedly, he’s also made some downright amazing shots that we haven’t seen Acxa- precise distance shots are more his area while Acxa’s more impressive for her ability to shoot while moving)

Other scenes that become suspect in this would include s1e6, when Rolo leads the Lions into an asteroid field to escape them- Keith, and Red, go inside, and navigate the field of moving and colliding rocks with little difficulty.

This also becomes suspicious with the strong emphasis on instinct for the Red Lion- because “instinct” refers to intuition, having a ‘gut feeling’ about things, or processing information minutely on a subconscious level. Consider Alfor, Keith’s predecessor, in s3e7, and how he’s the conduit for understanding Voltron- its name, its capabilities, how it operates, and what must be done. He does not obtain this information by conventional means.

Red also forms a set with Green, who is all about conventional means of gathering information- technology, science, investigation, communication. As both of the legs are tasked with supporting and protecting the team, it makes sense the arms also share a task- and the task of the arms is gathering intelligence to return it to the head.

Alfor also responds with great animosity and discomfort to the rift creature when he first sees it, before it ever turns aggressive, and in contrast with his nature before then, where he’s established as almost brash to a fault.

As an aside, it’s also worth noting that Keith has some very stereotypically oracular traits. Out of the team, he’s the only one with a particular striking, unusual eye color- his distinctive indigo irises. He also is first encountered living in seclusion in the desert, focusing on a subtle, but insistent “calling” that he can’t explain and is unfamiliar with the science that validates his bizarrely potent gut feeling. Something Lance calls “Mumbo-jumbo”

There appears to be another side to this ability- something Keith hasn’t exhibited much on his own but someone else before him seems to have in Blue’s cavern.

That being clairvoyance. The ability to predict events before they actually happen, or that happened far away from you.

Keith tells us that someone wrote down, in the carvings and paintings around the Blue Lion, about “some kind of arrival happening last night. Then you showed up.”

So, at some point, before Keith found the carvings, someone knew Shiro would arrive, on a specific day, and marked it down.

One of the big things about s2e8 and the Trial of Marmora, while this was explicitly bequeathed by the suit, is that visions are a big deal to Keith, especially when it comes to his history, and his family. What he’s seeing, what’s real, and what’s born of his fears. Because sometimes Keith is able to pull genuine information from a nebulous source- as I’ve listed before- but other times, like his dream in s2e6, is completely inaccurate, and the trial is explicitly tinted by his fears and not what’s really there.

So I have to wonder if this is an exercise in character development for Keith- that maybe his murky nightmares contain valuable information or warnings, but he has yet to refine that ability as much as it could- to the level of whoever left the warning for him in the cave.

Perhaps another mysterious figure who seems to be linked to that area and has purple eyes just like Keith does... and who would have a connection to both Keith and Acxa if the theory of them being siblings is true.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Keith #Acxa #readmore #Anonymous

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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The Masque of the Red Death: Roger Corman Talks Pandemics and Restoration

https://ift.tt/3pjWssJ

During the 2020 lockdowns and ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, people at home sought isolated comfort. News reports continued to count the number of dead while people in charge downplayed its seriousness or offered dubious advice on dealing with the disease. It certainly didn’t interrupt many golf games. As workers were furloughed from jobs, they binged. One of the movies at the top of the playlist was The Masque of the Red Death, Roger Corman’s 1964 low budget masterpiece.

It told the tale of a wealthy medieval prince in a country decimated by an epidemic. The satanic overlord, played by the legendary actor and horror icon Vincent Price, locks his gates to his god-fearing dominions while he and his friends party like it’s 1999.

Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death” is about 2,300 words. Corman’s adaptation, which has been fully restored and can now be seen in its lush, psychedelic splendor, padded it with more Poe to reach 90 minutes. The screenplay by Charles Beaumont and R. Wright merged the tale with Poe’s “Hop Frog,” along with elements of the short story “Torture by Hope” by Auguste Villiers de l’Isle-Adam.

The devilish revelries came deep into a filmmaking cycle that began with American International Pictures executives Samuel Z. Arkoff and James Nicholson asking their in-house director Roger Corman to make two black-and-white horror films at $100,000 each. At the time, Corman had been producing tightly budgeted horror, science fiction, and juvenile delinquency quickies. With this opportunity, he pitched one film based upon Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher,” saying it would move AIP to up in the motion picture world, as the studio was regarded as the maker of exploitation pictures.

It was the first of a cycle of eight films. Poe is read in every high school and is part of America’s literary canon; Corman’s Poe cycle made the writer an international gothic horror fan favorite.

The Masque of The Red Death was the seventh in Corman’s series. The adaptation also stars Jane Asher (Alfie, Death At A Funeral), Hazel Court (The Premature Burial, The Raven), David Weston (Becket, The Red Baron), and Nigel Green (Jason And The Argonauts, Zulu).

The 4K restoration of the extended cut of The Masque Of The Red Death was done by Martin Scorsese’s Film Foundation, and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Additional funding came from the Hobson/Lucas Family Foundation. The Masque of the Red Death opened the same year as Stanley Kubrick’s nuclear nightmare Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. The fallout from an atomic war would result in a Red Death among survivors. Corman’s take on Poe was seen as a comment on the collateral damage of the Cold War, but it is a film which bridges generations of apocalyptic omens.

We spoke with Corman about the timeliness of his classic adaptation, as well as about stars Price and Asher, cinematographer Nicholas Roeg, and why Corman continues to find different delivery systems for message pictures.

Den of Geek: The last time we spoke, it was right before the inauguration. You had put Malcolm McDowell in funny hair and made him the president of the United Corporations of America. At the time, you said you hadn’t expected Trump to win. Today is the day after his (second) impeachment. Now that 2020 turned out to be a death race, did you expect him to be President Prospero?

Roger Corman: No. I assumed that [Joe] Biden was going to win. The polls all indicated that he was ahead. The polls have not always been correct, but in this case, they were so much in his favor, I assumed he was going to win.

Was there a conscious effort to put out The Masque of Red Death during the COVID-19 crisis with him as president?

Yes. Masque of the Red Death, in the United States, was on one of the platform streaming services, and the ratings on it went way up during COVID, because it was so appropriate. It’s actually more pertinent today than when it was made, because we do have the equivalent of the Red Death pandemic that is killing people all over the world.

In Masque of the Red Death, Prince Prospero brings together his friends, aristocrats and so forth, and they hold themselves up in the castle, to prevent the Red Death from killing them. And we have a somewhat similar situation today.

For instance, Trump is very careful. He claimed that the coronavirus was overrated. As a matter of fact, he said there was no such thing as coronavirus; it was “a hoax” perpetrated by the Democrats to make him look bad. But at the same time he was saying that, he was holed up in the lighthouse, going up primarily only to play golf or to hold big rallies. People were not protected within the rallies, but he himself made a real point of staying away from the crowd, to be on the stage and let the crowd get together and kill themselves, which they did.

The Mar-a-Lago of Red Death.

The Masque of the Mar-a-Lago.

Is it hard to keep a social distance when you’re squirming around on a floor like a worm?

It’s a little difficult, I would believe.

Vincent Price’s voice is beautiful in this movie. This is one of his most seductive parts. How quickly did he capture the character, from rehearsal to shooting?

He had the character pretty much set in mind when he came into it. Vincent always did a great deal of preparation. So what we would do [is] we would discuss the characters, just Vincent and me, before the rehearsals. He and I were in agreement on the character, and then he would bring that character to the rehearsals. We did not do a great deal of rehearsing because of the Screen Actors Guild rules. They charge you as if you are shooting when you rehearse.

Do you remember any notes you had to give him?

This is so long ago. It’s a little bit difficult to remember. But as I remember, I said, “The real key to Prospero’s character is that he believes God is dead.” And everything stems from that belief. That with the absence of God, he was free to do anything he wanted.

Did he always talk like that, like when he was ordering a bagel?

It was pretty much his normal voice. He added a certain drama to [lines], but basically that was Vincent. He was a highly educated man and very intelligent, so he spoke very well. And we simply heightened that somewhat in the films.

The film suffered some major censorship from the Legion of Decency, and the package booklet points out there was church involvement. Did you ever wonder whether you might be going to hell?

No, that never occurred to me. I’m sort of a lapsed Catholic, and I don’t believe there is a hell.

Is Red Death a disease or a sin?

The Red Death is a disease. That’s one of the reasons that’s a plague. You could consider it to be the Black Death of the Middle Ages. It would be the equivalent of coronavirus today.

In the booklet which comes with the DVD, it says that Father Miraliotta said the occult parts of the screenplay were “strung together gibberish” and “mumbo-jumbo Latin.” But did any of the satanic rituals have any validity?

No. We made up pretty much what we wanted. Actually, there were two writers, Chuck Beaumont and Bob Campbell, and I think it started with my discussions with Chuck.

How was Jane Asher to work with?

Jane Asher was wonderful to work with. She was a very young girl. She had worked on the stage. I think she was in the Young Shakespeare Group. And I don’t know if it was her first picture or not, but she was very good. She was an excellent actress and very good and easy to work with.

She was dating Paul McCartney when this was made, and her brother was a musician and a producer. Did you get to experience any Swinging London in-crowd during shooting?

A little bit. As a matter of fact, I can tell you a true story. Jane and I used to have lunch together in the studio commissary. And on a Thursday, she said a friend of hers was traveling through, on his way to London the next day. Would it be all right if he came and watched a shooting during the morning, and we could all have lunch together? And I said, “Sure, fine.”

Culture

When Paul McCartney Braved the Set of Roger Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death

By Tony Sokol

So, I got a director’s chair, sitting next to mine, during the shooting. And it was a nice, young guy, and we talked during the shooting. And I explained to him a little bit between shots how it all worked. And then we all, Jane and he, and I, had lunch together. And it all went very well. I said at the end of it, “Jane tells me you’re going to London. What are you going to be doing in London?”

He said, “Well, I’m with a singing group from Liverpool, and we’re going to be making our debut tomorrow night in London.” He was very cool. He knew that as an American, I didn’t know who The Beatles were or what he was. And as he left, I said, “Well, good luck, Paul, on your debut in London tomorrow night.”

And I remember he was very cool. He understood and he didn’t want to say, “Listen, buddy, we’re the number one group.” He just said, “Well, we’re a singing group.”

And then I saw the paper Sunday morning headlines, “Beatles conquer London.”

Did he ever come back to the set again?

No. But it was very funny. We were at an Academy Award party, which was I think the Vanity Fair party, which was a big thing, of people who were invited and so forth. We were at the Vanity Fair party, and I saw across the room Paul McCartney. And I said, “Oh, there’s Paul over there.”

And my wife, Julie, said, “Let’s go over and talk to him.” And I said, “No. I had lunch with him 60 years or so ago. He isn’t going to remember some guy he had lunch with 60 years ago, and I don’t want to intrude.” because he was in a conversation.

And Julie said, “Well, I want to meet Paul McCartney.” So, she went over and talked to him, and he came over to see me. As he approached, he said, “Masque of the Red Death.” He knew exactly where we’d met.

I interviewed William Shatner a few months ago and I asked about The Intruder, a piece he’s still very proud of. What draws you to consistently infuse your works, in any genre, with at least social questioning?

I’ve always been on the left, liberal side of politics. The Intruder was a time when the desegregation of schools in the South started. The schools in the South had maintained separate schools for Blacks. They were separate, but equal. And the Supreme Court ruled they were separate, but they were not equal, which was correct. They were inferior, and schools had to be integrated rather than keeping them separate. And it caused tremendous rebellion in the South. Chuck Beaumont, who worked with me on a number of pictures, had written the book The Intruder about an agitator, a little bit like somewhere between Joe McCarthy and Trump, who comes in, talking about patriotism and being against integration.

And I bought that book, The Intruder, and made it with Bill Shatner. It was his first picture. He was a Broadway actor, and he just came to Hollywood, and he was wonderful to work with, and the picture got incredible reviews. I’m trying to think of one of them, which was really good. Oh, it said, “The Intruder is a major credit to the entire American film industry.” And it won a couple of awards at minor festivals nobody ever heard of, but it was the first picture I ever made that lost money.

You consistently do social commentary in your work. What brings you back to it?

I stayed with it, but I tried to analyze why The Intruder got such wonderful reviews and such a great reaction, but the audience didn’t come to see it. And I thought, “I think I was too serious in this.” It was almost like delivering a message. And I remember years ago, some Hollywood producer said, “If you want to send a message, use Western Union.” And I thought, “I broke that rule.” And I thought, “I forgot that motion pictures are really basically an entertainment.”

So, from there on in, I used motion pictures as an entertainment, but as a subtext, with whatever theme or thought I was interested in. But first and foremost, the audience came to see and got the entertainment they paid to see. And as a bonus, as it were, there was the subtext, which sometimes was so slender that people didn’t get it. But [some] people got it. That was fine with me.

The restoration is really beautiful. I’d like to ask about the look. Your translation of Poe’s colors. Nicolas Roeg was the cinematographer. What was that collaboration like?

It went very well. It was the first I had done in England, except for a Formula One racing picture, which was in England and a number of other places. And they showed me a work of a number of English cameramen, and I thought Nic was the best of the group. And the collaboration went very well. I thought he did really, a brilliant job of camera work.

Afterwards he became a director. I never knew, did I inspire him to be a director, or did he feel if Roger can do it, anybody can do it?

So, he didn’t actually go through the Corman school of directors. I know you never produced any of his films.

I did not. He did it on his own.

You shot Masque on the set of Becket. What was different about having that as a cinematic playground, as opposed to shooting Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre?

It wasn’t really the set of Becket. What it is, Danny Heller, my art director, and I, always went to what was called a scene dock in studios where we’re going to work. The scene dock contained flats from previous pictures, just individual flats. Each of the pictures we shot in the United States, we were shooting at small rental studios, and the flats were not particularly impressive, but Danny would use them in the designs of sets.

When we did Masque of the Red Death, we found these magnificent flats from Becket. So they were not the sets, but we used those flats, and used them as an integral part of the sets.

Masque of Red Death was one of the first films that you had a longer shooting schedule. What was the first aspect of filmmaking that you noticed was affected by the extra time?

Well, two things. The English crews were very good. They were fully equal to the Hollywood crews, but they worked a little bit slower than the Hollywood crews. So I had a five-week schedule, whereas I had a three-week schedule in Hollywood. And I always thought I really had a four-week schedule, because we were working a little slowly.

Also, when we’d show up to work at 11:00, we would stop for elevenses. And then we would stop for lunch. And then in the middle of the afternoon, we would stop for tea. And I remember mentioning, I’ve forgotten who the assistant director was, but I said, “We’re spending half the day eating here. We should be shooting.”

But he said, “Well, this is the way we do it.”

In 2009, you made the Joe Dante series, Splatter, and each episode was shot in a week based on audience votes. Was that reminiscent of your early days of shooting on the 10-day schedules?

No. By that time, when I first started, although I did shoot a number of films in five or six days, in one picture, The Little Shop of Horrors, in two days. But my general schedule was two weeks when we started. As we moved along, starting with The Fall of the House of Usher, the first of the Poe pictures, I had three-week schedules. And our standard schedule for everything at that time was three weeks, so it was shot on a three-week schedule.

Did you really edit Little Shop of Horrors during a lunch break?

No. I shot Little Shop of Horrors in two days with a little bit of night shooting. So I’d say maybe two-and-a-half days. What happened, I had an office at a small rental studio in Hollywood and I was having lunch with the head of the studio. And he mentioned they had just finished a fairly big, slightly bigger budget picture. It was still low budget, and they had this really good, big set of an office. And I said, “Can you leave that up for a little while?” And he said, “Sure. We’ll leave it up until somebody comes in and rents the stage. And we’ll tear it down and put up the new set.”

So, after lunch, I went over and looked at it. And it was really a very good set, and I said [that] I was sort of experimenting with the concept of comedy and horror combined. And I thought, “It might be fun.”

I didn’t have a great deal of money at that time and nobody was going to back me with what I wanted to do. I thought, “I could shoot a picture here. And since almost everything is within this set, what I could do, I could shoot it in a couple of days, based upon this.”

Movies

Little Shop Of Horrors & the Tale of its Lost Ending

By Seb Patrick

Movies

The Roger Corman Fantastic Four Movie: The Most Faithful FF Ever

By Mike Cecchini

Screen Actors Guild salary structure was such that if you hired a person for a day, he got more money than one-fifth of what the weekly structure was. So I thought what I’ll do is hire everybody for a week. We’ll rehearse Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, because everything is in this set. And with everything set up, we can come and shoot on two days, on Thursday and Friday, which is what we did. And the whole thing was done sort of as an experimental lark.

It was quite successful. They made a Broadway play out of it and one thing and another, and a musical. And one of the reasons I think it was so successful was that none of us were taking it seriously. We were taking it and just sort of fooling around and having fun. And I think that attitude helped the picture, because the crew had the same attitude, and the whole thing permeated the shooting.

I remember we started shooting Thursday morning at 8:00. And at 8:30, the assistant director announced we were hopelessly behind schedule.

What are your favorite genres to shoot, and are they the same ones as the ones you watch?

Not particularly. I should watch more genre films to keep up with it. Actually, I watch a certain number, specifically to keep up and see what’s going on now. But I’m more inclined towards somewhat more serious films, and particularly foreign films, although I see fewer foreign films now than I did before. I don’t know why.

We were a production/distribution company, New World, which I founded in 1970, and we distributed for Fellini, Bergman, Kurosawa, Volker Schlöndorff, François Truffaut, a number of others. And I was a great fan of those films and went out of my way to distribute them. I was very much interested in that type of film.

In your early films, were you watching Mario Bava to see what he was doing? And were you expanding on that?

Actually, I saw only one film by Mario Bava, who incidentally I think was a brilliant filmmaker. It was because Jim Nicholson, who was the head of American International, had seen the film and liked Barbara Steele in it. He suggested I see the film and possibly use Barbara Steele.

I saw that one film. I don’t remember the name of it, but I thought it was really excellent. And indeed, I did bring Barbara Steele over. I think it was The Pit and the Pendulum. She played the leading lady.

What did Poe bring to your storytelling that, say, Lovecraft’s adaptations didn’t provide?

Well Poe, and this was part of my interpretation of Poe, I think Poe was working with the unconscious mind, from a writer’s standpoint, the same way that Freud, a little later in the same century, was working from a medical standpoint. I think the concept of the unconscious mind was starting to influence thinking in the 19th century, so I always thought that Poe represented the unconscious mind, and I shot according to that. It was one of my themes.

For instance, I felt the unconscious mind doesn’t really see the world. The conscious mind sees the world with eyes, ears, and so forth, and simply transmits information. So I made a point on all of the Poe films of never going outside unless I absolutely had to do it. I wanted to have full control, to shoot within the studio. Whether it came through to the audience, I don’t know. But at least in my own mind, I was able to deal with special effects with a number of things, with the concept of the unconscious mind.

When I did go outside, I tried to make it something that was not normal. For instance, on the very first picture, The Fall of the House of Usher, the only exterior sequence is when a man, played by Mark Damon, rides through a forest on his way to the House of Usher. And before we were shooting, there was a forest fire in the Hollywood Hills. I saw a picture of it in the Los Angeles Times, and all of the trees were burned. Everything was covered with ash, and I immediately put together, I think, a three or four-man crew. And we were up there in the Hollywood, burnt out hills, showing Mark on his horse, riding through that exterior.

I also used the ocean, a number of times. I feel that essentially, we came out of the ocean, and I felt somehow there is something fascinating about the ocean, even today.

Hazel Court’s invocation sequence is exquisite. When you were putting it together, were you having fun experimenting, trying to capture the unconscious mind?

Yes, it was all of the above. It dealt with the unconscious. We were experimenting, and I was having a lot of fun. I give a lot of credit to Danny Heller, the art director on that, because he would construct certain backgrounds. I would then work with different colored lenses on the camera, and then we would go in to a special effects shop, and they would take what I’d shot and overlay certain images. It was just a lot of fun putting them together, but I think I used that concept in almost every one of the Poe films.

And then of course, many, many years later, when I did The Trip, which was about an LSD experience, I really went crazy with those sequences.

On the other hand, I have to say this, at the time they came out, I got a lot of critical praise for that. But if you look at them today, they look primitive because the special effects today are so brilliant and so far advanced, that not only my pictures, but everybody was pictures at that time, when we used special effects, there was no way we could get the effects you can get today.

What do you think we’ve lost from the Mitchell cameras and having to lug things around and meticulously put together special effects? What do you think is lost in technology making filmmaking easier?

What’s gained is the fact that the special effects are just beyond anything anybody ever dreamed of before. They’re just astonishing. What is lost is the fact that there’s a tendency for the special effects to take over the picture, and the story and the characters are secondary to the special effects. And we’ve lost that to a certain extent. I wouldn’t say all the way, but we’ve lost to a certain extent the examination of characterization and the simple narrative, and the writing of dialogue.

How do you work with your composers on your films?

I work with composers probably a little less than most directors do. I don’t pretend to have great knowledge of music. What I do [is] I talk with the composer and discuss the themes, the mood within each individual scene, the basic feeling I want from the music, and then I leave it to him.

For instance, directors are generally on the soundstage when they’re recording the music. I’m never there. I’m not a conductor. I leave that to the composer.

The last movie you directed was Frankenstein Unbound in 1990. What would it actually take to put you back in the director’s seat?

Well, what happened was because when I started in 1970, I started my own production/distribution company. And I had planned simply to take a year off from directing, because I was just tired. I’d directed about 60 films in about maybe 15, 16 years. And I thought I would take a sabbatical, one year off from directing, and just be a producer and a head of the company. But then the company became instantaneously successful.

It was really amazing. Our very first picture was a giant success, and so were all of the following ones. And I got so involved in all of that [that] I just stepped away from directing. But then Universal did some kind of research, and they came up with the idea that “Roger Corman’s Frankenstein” would be a success for a film, and they asked me if I would like to make it, to produce and direct it. And I said, “No. You may have that research, but in my opinion, it’s just going to be another Frankenstein film. There have been so many Frankenstein films. It isn’t worth going back.”

But they kept coming back to me, and they offered me so much money. Finally, I thought, “Geez, I’d be an idiot not to turn this opportunity down for what they’re now offering me.” And I said, “All right, I can’t say yes right now. But if I can find a new version, something that is a different interpretation of Frankenstein, I will do it.”

And I read a novel, Frankenstein Unbound, by Brian Aldiss, a very good English science fiction and fantasy writer. And it was a story of somebody from the future, who, through a time warp, is thrown back into the 19th century and meets Dr. Frankenstein.

In the novel, he was some sort of a diplomat. But in the movie, I changed him from being a diplomat to a scientist, so that the picture essentially brought a 21st century scientist back to meet a 19th century scientist. And I thought that was an original and new interpretation. So I said, “If you can buy that novel, I’ll make the picture.” Which we did.

With all the streaming alternatives now for new projects, do you think it’s easier for an independent director to break in, or is it still just the same corporate-owned studio stuff?

I think you would divide that into two sections. It’s a little bit more difficult today, particularly with the studios, because they’re making now primarily these giant special effects pictures, and they’re not going to give a new director a chance to play with a $200 million budget.

But new directors are breaking in pretty much the way they were when I started, which is on independent films and particularly on low budget films.

You’re both the producer and the director on Masque. Were there things that you wanted to do as a director that you wouldn’t let yourself do as a producer?

I was a producer and director on almost all of my films, so I never really had any problems with the producer. If there was a problem with the producer, it was a problem with myself.

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The Masque of the Red Death is available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Digital now.

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enterprisetrampstamp · 7 years

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best of the best

also on ao3

The turnover rate of Operations ensigns on the Enterprise is one of the highest in the fleet, for reasons both macabre and not. With her predilection for danger and position on the galactic frontier, the crew mourns a different security officer each day (or so it seems, sometimes); none begrudge the living who remain transfer away to less dangerous commissions, simply wish them on their way. The regular outflux of engineering officers is more bemusing (at least to everyone but the Enterprise’s Chief Engineer himself), but nonetheless--it exists.

Standing in the sickbay, running preliminary check-ups on a fresh group of red shirted officers, then, isn’t the rarest of circumstances; nor is Scotty’s uncanny ability to pick out the engineers from the crowd.

McCoy shoots him a glance, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Naw, that one’s definitely security; see that musculature?”

Scotty whistles, quick and sharp, to pull the young woman’s attention away from the peers she’s chatting with while they patiently wait out the whirring of the nurses’ tricorders. She snaps to attention, probably fresh from the Academy, and out of the corner of his eye he sees McCoy hide a smile by glowering down at a tricorder he doesn’t even have turned on. “Engineering or security, ensign...?”

“Randers, sir, and engineering!” she declares cheerfully. “Looking forward to working with you, sir!”

“You, too, lassie,” Scotty says, waving her back to her friends, and clasps his hands behind his back with a smug grin as McCoy gives an exasperated huff.

“How?” he demands, giving a good-natured prod to Scotty’s ribs with one particularly pointy elbow.

“Can’t hardly give up me secrets, can I?” He jostles McCoy right back, until he nearly knocks into a tray of hyposprays and the indomitable Nurse Chapel shoots them both a side eye. He clears his throat, feeling himself flush slightly red at the unspoken admonishment, and leans slightly in to the doctor to confess, “Most of ‘em you can guess, too, eh? The security officers have a certain bearin’ me lads ‘n’ lasses don’t. For the rest of ‘em I just look for the ring--and it’s no’ fool proof, given how archaic the tradition is, but plenty of us engineers still indulge.”

McCoy’s gives him a sly look, hands clasping behind his back as he rocks forward on the balls of his feet. “The ring?” he asks, voice as neutral as he can get it.

Scotty isn’t fooled by the doc’s attempt to play coy in regards to his curiosity, but he’s given up 90% of the gold now; may as well follow through all the way. “Aye, the ring,” he says, pulling back the collar of his uniform shirt just enough to find the fine chain and tug it up and out--McCoy’s eyebrows shoot up, watching the little silver band spin until Scotty stills it.

“I dun wear it on duty, in case I end up elbows deep in a bit o’ machinery it could catch on and take me finger with it,” he explains. “Order the rest of the department t’do the same.”

“So those giant brains of y’all’s do understand safety precautions,” McCoy mutters, dry, and Scotty shoots him a glare.

“Aye, and we use appropriate eye wear ‘n’ heavy gloves, too; unfortunately things’re frequently explodin’ around us in the middle o’ a firefight.” He pauses, then begrudgingly admits, “Though the ensigns c’n get a bit lax on protocol if I take me eyes off ‘em for too long.”

“And you and your lieutenants think you’re above all that safety mumbo jumbo when you’ve done those things a thousand times!” McCoy waves a finger in his face. “I know how you lot think, Mr. Scott, and it keeps me up at night! Your department gets so many burns and bruises--” he breaks off, eyes narrowing, and his accusatory finger flicks the ring on its chain back into motion. “You’re distracting me.”

“I think you’re distractin’ yerself, Doc,” Scotty teases, “but I’ll forgive ya the accusation.” He winks, and McCoy rolls his eyes but waves him on. “It’s a centuries old tradition--started in civil, me thinks, but over time spread t’ most the disciplines. See, there was a bridge, ‘n’ the engineers on the project dinnit do their duty properly. Hard t’ say if it were negligence through carelessness or hubris, but the end result was th’ same either way.”

Scotty spins the ring himself this time, heaving a sigh. “People died. So other engineers who saw what happened made ‘emselves rings out o’ the same grade steel as that bridge ‘n’ wore ‘em on the li’l fingers o’ their dominant hands, so they remembered those lost lives every time they went t’ sign off on a project, ‘n’ they’d stop ‘n’ make sure they did their jobs right.”

He tucks the ring back under his shirt, smoothing it with one hand, and quirks a smile at McCoy. “You and your department dinnit think you were th’ only ones with the crew’s lives in their hands every day, eh?”

“How could I, with Jim up on the bridge, directing us through those firefights you were complaining about?” McCoy quips, but he squeezes Scotty’s shoulder as if to say I never thought about it quite that way before.

“I take me job awful serious,” Scotty offers, more quietly. “It’s why s’many transfer out; I expect the world of ‘em, ‘n’ they find out quick if they can’t cut it.”

“That why the ones who get promoted to lieutenant are always in demand from other ships, too?” the doctor asks, shrewdly, and Scotty beams.

“Aye, lad! We’re the best o’ the best on the Enterprise, and no one’d dare forget it.”

#montgomery scott #scotty #leonard mccoy #bones #tos #hey guess who's emotional about the engineering department today #a tramp stamp original

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elecman108 · 6 years

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Happy New Year everyone. I’m plotting to do nothing specific for like resolutions this year (I never do) but I’m gonna start the year off with some thoughts in general about the world.

So I’m gonna spew out some ideas in text format under the read-more line so y’all don’t have to if you don’t want to.

Alright, so, yesterday, late as usual, I was catching up on my Youtube. Yogscast, Madcat, Game Theory, the usual mumbo-jumbo I watch. I was watching more of a Zelda Ocarina of Time playthrough by FWOB (Episode 16, Recording Goblins if you’re interested) and Dad and Dillon were talking about their christmas shit they went through, and one of them said something really woke, I can’t find the exact bit, but it was something to the effect of “Parents don’t care about your information you might have backed up in science if it’s something that was around when they were younger.”

So, if it’s like their example, dieting by drinking protein shakes, and it’s not exactly what you’re supposed to do, because those are for building muscle mass (And if playing Persona 3/Q has taught me anything, is that Aki is a muscle nut who drinks protein shakes to build muscle, so... I learned that from a video game!). But like, whoever it was who was talking about it had a background in that sort of thing, so he KNEW about it. And his parents were like “that’s your OPINION”. Like, no, that’s science. I thought nothing of it aside from “man, adults are dumb” because it was almost midnight and I was tired.

But today I was chilling at my grandma’s - as my family does on New Year’s Day for some coffee and chatting - and I realized exactly how true that their little statement was. Lemmie set the scene for a moment.

My parents and grandma were chatting about meats, and someone mentioned antibiotic-free meat. Now, in a class I’d had this past semester, I learned that, at least for chicken in Canada, that “antibiotic-free” applies only to how the chick is raise, not their parent chickens. Most of these grain-fed chickens come from antibiotic-overusing places and thus, those superbacteria on the chickens that are immune to antibiotics gets spread down the lineage to their eggs. So I mentioned that casually like “it’s not necessarily a good thing, antibiotic free. You gotta know where the egg originated from, otherwise it’s like, probably got superbacteria on it.” And INSTANTLY all adults (aside from my bro) were like “Are you sure? Because its antibiotic FREE. That means free of antibiotic use.” And lemmie tell you, I wasn’t entirely going to step down, but I had to otherwise I had three adults telling me my founded in facts science I got from a reputable source study from a class where my teacher only used reputable sources was not reputable, and I’d be “argumentative”. And that got me thinking.

What the fuck?

Because it’s science. We know it’s science. Use a thing, body gets used to it, bacteria/viruses try to get used to it. That’s how it works. You take the drugs too much, your body lowers itself as to not cause you harm from overusing the drug, stop using it and the bad things that have gotten used to it remain and cause problems later.

So why is that science “wrong”?

And here’s another thing for thought: why is it that things about COMPUTERS, instantly adults turn to the younger generation, because they know computers? Why is that fine and understandable, but science might not be if coming from a younger generation’s mouth?

And here’s the thing: It got me thinking.

And that’s never a good idea, because I think a lot. And when I do, I put it to the world.

Here’s something we all know about: Gun Violence in the US. It’s rampant, it makes me nervous when I go through and see guns in random stores, I’m constantly on-edge. Why? Because I don’t... want... to get shot? A logical thought. I don’t want anyone ELSE to get shot. Guns are causing issues, get rid of them. But why won’t they? Because back in earlier decades, when the people in power were younger, guns were fine. They were useful. Now people are getting guns and being all bah whatever about them and they’re just ending up in bad hands and causing shootings regularly. But they won’t change it because the young people who are trying to force change are “wrong”.

How about anti-vaxxers? They don’t want to vaccinate their kids because they think it’s “wrong” and could cause bad things to happen. Why? Because when they were growing up, their parents most likely didn’t believe in vaccinations and put their values on their kids.

Any new information is bad if old information, however false it might be, contradicts it.

Even if the new information is a solid fact.

This new generation of people, these millennials and such, we’ve grown up with the internet. We’ve grown up with phones in our hands 24/7. We’ve grown up in the age of information, where you can check your facts and check what other people say, but we don’t check. Why? Because we’ve been raised to think if someone’s older, they’re wiser, even if they know jack shit about what they’re talking about.

Mansplainning! It’s the same deal! Someone older (or who thinks they’re superior in knowledge, it might just be that) thinks that everyone else doesn’t know shit, so what they say is true, even if the person they’re explaining it to wrote the book.

The world is run on two sides of the same coin. People who won’t change their opinions or knowledge for new information, and people who’ve grown up with so much bullshit being thrown at them that they’ve learned to take everything with a grain of salt and double-check their sources, information, and make an educated and logical opinion. And the people who want change are the second side, and the people who can make change are the first.

It doesn’t work.

People are stubborn, I know this. I’m stubborn. Hell, I take information with a grain of salt all the time and will stick my foot in the door to wrong information if I’m under the impression it’s right. But I have to check. That’s my problem. I hate being wrong. Everyone hates it.

Actually, I might just hate being wrong because I had crippling social anxiety issues growing up from being bullied for the longest time for being “smart”. Which makes me now be incapable of taking a compliment without almost crying or replying with “but I’m dumb, let’s be real here”. Which I am. Well, I think I am. Because I’ve been told this, and I’m not open to new information.

So take this with a grain of salt. I have no backup information. No research, no studies, no nothing. All I have is life experience.

Tumblr’s nipple-bot-ban? User-base can’t change it because the company thinks it’s superior to its users, and thus their information over-rules our logic, fact, and experience with the platform. Our thoughts? Fuck those, they’re not ours, they’re wrong. That’s their logic.

Companies cut corners to make things cheaper for them to make so they can make money. But that’s wrong. Slavery by whatever food company that was (Nestle, I think? Don’t take that for fact, I forget the company...) is fine, because they are right, and you, the person with the facts, are wrong. But you’re not. But they insist it’s needed or you’re wrong.

If it doesn’t make money instantly, they don’t want it.

Our society is being run by money-hungry capitalists stuck in their old, outdated information, and the new age of people who fact-check are screaming at them. Sometimes literally.

And some are just typing for half an hour on Tumblr because they have nothing better to do, and no other platform to put their thoughts on. Because the other one are... well, not the same sort of thing.

I’m not saying we’re going to have to outlive the old population to get anything done, but it might come down to that.

TL;DR: To make meaningful change, we need to fact-check our information and make sure we’re using the most up-to-date facts. And everyone needs to. The younger generation can’t do anything because the old generation controls everything.

Or, something along those lines. Regardless, I’m exhausted. Thinking about society and the world is exhausting. It’s... kind of scary. Really scary...

#the disappointment speaks #real world shit #long post #I have no idea where else to put some ideas seriously #like #I have weird concepts I just have to spew out here between memes #it's too real

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