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universalfanfic · 4 years ago

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I finally did it! I finally wrote the Mary/Owen first date for the RR/AMH AU! Don’t know why it took me so long, but I’m happy to have it done. And to write a bit more of the AMU Rogers siblings :)

Mary belongs to @inkoutsidethelines <3

(Also a mention of @whindsor‘s Mika. <3)

Mary had to finish the job on their picnic this afternoon. She had no more options.

Already she’d been stalling this job for too long; her years of training stumbling as something inside her wrestled with the task. But now she didn’t have a choice. And now there wouldn’t be a more perfect time to strike.

Ever since they’d touched, heard that soft music, and Owen had declared they were True Loves, he’d dropped his guard around her completely.

It still made Mary sick to her stomach.

She didn’t have a True Love. Widows didn’t. Couldn’t.

It wasn’t something she’d mentally prepared for. Wasn’t a lie she’d been trained to enact and so it had momentarily thrown her off balance. Momentarily.

Really, she needed to do this; poison Owen or set up an accident with his gryphon, before she got cold feet.

Before she started thinking too much.

Widows always finished the job.

He was waiting for her at the castle entrance, looking dapper and nervous. It was to be their first outing together. Their first time spent together with the knowledge of being True Loves.

Mary’s stomach churned but she shoved down the doubt. The creeping desire.

Widows didn’t want.

His eyes caught hers and his entire countenance shifted. He lightened. Mary let the practiced smile take over as she joined him.

“I apologize if I kept you waiting.”

“Not at all.” He responded. “In fact, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

Mary canted her head in question and Owen rubbed the back of his neck.

“About the picnic,” he started. Mary felt unease twist in her gut. He couldn't cancel. She needed to do this now. “I tried to shake them.” He continued. “I really did. But they rallied against me, I’m afraid.”

“Shake who?”

The question was answered for her before Owen had a chance to speak.

A cacophony of sound barreled into the room and Mary stiffened. Every single one of Owen’s siblings joined them in the foyer, their faces vibrant and excited and eager.

Well. All except Emma, who glared at Mary with a persistent suspicion that wouldn’t go away.

Smart girl.

“Our dear brother’s True Love!” Maddie declared. She threw an arm around Mary’s shoulders and grinned down at her. “How could we possibly leave you two to run off on your own? Shouldn’t we also get to know Andolasia’s future queen?”

It was only her years of Red Room training that kept Mary from openly reacting. She blinked several times and shook her head. Demure. Polite.

“Oh.” She said. “I suppose I hadn’t thought about that.”

“I’m sorry, I told them to leave us be, but they’re refusing.” Owen reiterated. “I hope you don’t mind.” He turned a pointed look his siblings’ way. “They won’t be doing this for the next outing.”

Mary tilted her head up and gave Owen another practiced smile. His expression flickered briefly.

“I don’t mind at all.” She said.

Owen cleared his throat and forced himself to loosen some tension in his shoulders. Mary internally screeched. Her acting was perfect. Why were his responses so varied? What did he want from her?

But he held out an arm and Mary held back her frustration. It was an offer. At least he made no presumptions. At least he gave her a choice if she wanted to link arms or not.

But choices were dangerous things. Technically, she still didn’t have one.

She took his arm.

Mary could only think about how all her plans were currently being thrown out with the dish water as they flew on gryphon-back to their picnic destination. She mentally sifted through options as she sat with her face pressed against Owen’s back. Part of her act, her character. Not because he was warm and smelled good and hadn’t made a move to touch her yet despite being “True Loves”.

Of course not.

Her stomach twisted yet again and she hated it. She’d never felt like this on a mission before. Mary prided herself on being one of the best from the Room, and this would put all of their confidence in her in question.

But did she even want that? Did she really want them to find her useful if it meant killing Owen?

Mary shook her head and compartmentalized all her traitorous thoughts away as they landed.

The meadow they settled in was a mere opening in the surrounding trees, a seeming secret pocket filled with birdsong and sunshine. Owen removed the dangling reins from Mopsey and Mary watched as the trio of gryphons settled into the grass, ruffling and spreading their wings in the afternoon sun.

Orchestrating an accident would be incredibly hard in this situation.

“Lady Mary, do you want to sit next to me?”

Mary looked down to find Willow peering up at her. Willow’s wild curls nearly swallowed her face in their wind whipped state, but her mismatched eyes still clearly drilled into her.

“Of course, Willow. As long as Owen gets to sit next to me too.”

“Okay!”

Willow grabbed the fingers of her hand and attempted to lead her to the blanket that was spread out over the ground; Mary let her. Emma stood on the blanket and pulled Maddie down to her level to whisper something in her ear as she cast Mary another disapproving look. Whatever she said made Maddie laugh and poke Emma’s nose with a finger.

“Don’t be silly, Emma. We promised Owen our best behavior, remember?”

Owen cast his sister his own look.

“And you’re actually listening for once?”

“Hey. I can, when I put my mind to it.”

Mary situated her skirts and sat on the blanket, Willow plopped down next to her with enthusiasm. She looked ready to burst with excitement.

“So, do you like Mopsey, Lady Mary? I like Mopsey very much and I think she’s one of the very best flyers. But she’s not my favorite-favorite, because Sprinkles is my best friend and so she has to be favorite-favorite.”

“Willow, this is supposed to be an excursion for Owen and Lady Mary to get to know each other, not for you to question Lady Mary.” Grant piped up.

“I want to ask some questions.” Added Emma.

“No.” Owen’s voice rose above the rest and settled his siblings. “Grant is right, you’re not here to interrogate my True Love.”

Grant preened a bit at that and Emma scowled.

Mary cleared her throat after an awkward lull in speaking, and Owen smiled apologetically at her. His eyes searched hers and Mary swallowed back any snappy remarks that popped up in her head that would have been oh so funny to reply with. It wouldn’t be something a maid did.

Owen's gaze flickered once more at her peaceful expression and he turned to distract himself with the picnic basket next to him.

Inwardly, Mary screeched yet again.

The picnic commenced with the appearance of food and everyone quickly tucked in.

Owen must have had the cooks prepare something special for their excursion, because there looked to be a little bit of everything. Sweet bread, cured meat, fruit, and pastries. As well as some pale white bricks of what looked like rice.

Emma reached for one and Maddie swatted her hand away.

“You can have one after you eat lunch,” she said.

Willow tugged on Mary’s sleeve and leaned closer.

“My mommy invented those,” she said proudly. “You should certainly try one; I know you’ll love it Lady Mary. They’re so sweet and gooey and good.”

“Mom didn't invent them.” Grant groaned. “She introduced them. And she wouldn’t have been able to make them without Aunt Mika showing her how to puff rice.”

Willow, for a moment, looked as though Grant’s words had corrected her. But then she shifted back to Mary and said,

“Auntie Mika helped invent them.”

Mary couldn’t stop thinking about how all of this foiled her first plan to poison Owen. it would have been simpler. Painless, for him. She could have disappeared never to be seen again; never have to face his family for what she’d-

It bothered her.

The thought still arrested her, no matter how long it’d been bubbling under the surface. She liked his kingdom, and his oddball siblings, even his parents. And him. She really liked him.

And wasn’t that a problem?

Killing him would be a kindness compared to what the Red Room would do to him if they found out she was his True Love. Their direct link to the future monarch.

Mary tried to spend the picnic pleasantly. She ate lunch, even tried one of the things they called crispy treats, and kept her conversation polite. Inside she felt coiled tight like a spring.

Owen did his best to keep conversation with her. He talked about their picnic location, the local fauna. He asked about her life, her interests, and her wants. Mary was glad that she had enough of a cover story to answer believably.

Maddie bounced her leg restlessly as lunch progressed. It was like a reflection of Mary’s inward tension.

Eventually it got to the point where it seemed Maddie could take it not longer and she jumped up from the blanket. Mary was a bit relieved to not have her restless movements feeding into her own emotions anymore.

“I say we show her gryphon jumping,” she said.

“No.”

Owen’s answer came before Maddie even managed to finish her sentence, and that only seemed to spur her on.

“Owen, really. It’s practically a time honored tradition-”

“It’s a stunt you came up with that could get someone killed.”

“Honestly, it’s like you don’t trust Mopsey, Acorn, or Kip at all.”

Mary leaned forward, focused on the conversation.

“What is gryphon jumping?”

Maddie’s eyes shone.

“See? She wants to, I can tell. It’s exhilarating. So, you get your gryphon up as high as you can, or as high as you dare, and then you lean back and-” Maddie stretched her arms out wide at her sides. “You drop.”

Owen scowled and Maddie’s grin only widened.

“You fall as long as you can and then you whistle and have your gryphon catch you before you turn into a pancake. It really is fun.”

Emma crossed her arms.

“Mommy and daddy won’t let me try it.”

“You would cry,” said Grant.

“Would not!”

Willow made a patting motion with her hand.

“It’s okay to cry, Emma.”

Something inside Mary sparked; her neatly folded hands twitched. The thrill. She’d be good at it, she knew instinctively. All her training and natural disposition would let her push the limits of the jump. She would be able to rival Maddie at it.

The idea of them competing also stirred her. It would- It would be fun.

She was allowed to pretend to be having fun for missions, but Mary wasn’t sure when the last time she’d done something she actually wanted to do was. Had she ever done anything just for the sake of doing it?

But Owen frowned at Maddie’s speech and obviously didn’t approve of the activity.

She had the faint thought, a blip, that this could be her opportunity. If she pushed, she could get him to join in and gryphon jumping was obviously so dangerous. Accidents were bound to happen if a person didn’t focus on what was happening the entire time.

But still, the thought twisted her stomach.

A stringy, uneasy sort of note sounded in the air and Mary stamped down on the train of thought. She gave Maddie an apologetic smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, thank you for the invitation,” she said. “But I’ve never done anything like that before. For now, I think I’ll keep my feet on the ground.”

Maddie’s smile faded slightly even as she stared at Mary. Stared as if she were looking for something. Like she was confused by the answer. Owen’s shoulders dropped in relief, but he too seemed affected by the answer. Like he’d expected her to go along with it.

Mary bit the inside of her cheek at another awkward lull.

They wrapped up the picnic shortly after that. The same amount of people who’d come made it back home.

Widows didn’t fail.

Mary didn’t know what that made her.

#RR/AMH au #ink tag #whindsor tag #friends ocs #oc crossover #my writing #mary/owen #hopefully this is alright?#i could have done more but i wanted to get it out

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rafaelxalvarez · 4 years ago

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⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚ david castañeda, cis man, he/him. yes, i know RAFAEL ÁLVAREZ. the BARTENDER AT BEE BALM PUB has been in sage lake since 1974, and are still waiting for their soulmate, SELENE PAXTON. they’re known around the lake for being INDEPENDENT & STAUNCH & DAUNTLESS, though it’s rumored they’re SARCASTIC & CYNICAL & HOTHEADED. may they find their other half in the ageless autumn.

Hey everyone! I’m Kip and very late to the party, but here is my disaster! Feel free to like this or message me if you’d like to plot!

▷ currently playing —— CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ by THE MAMAS AND THE PAPAS.

Name: Rafael Álvarez Nickname: Raf, doesn’t take too well to being called Álvarez Age: 30 Birthdate: April 17th, 1944 Birth Order: Youngest of three Hometown: El Paso, Texas Languages: English & Spanish Education Level: High School Arrival in Sage Lake: June 21st, 1974

▷ currently playing —— FORTUNATE SON by CREEDENCE CLEARWATER.

WAR & DEATH TW

Rafael grew up in a single parent household with two older brothers. His father died in WWII before getting the chance to come home and meet the newest addition to the family. Things weren’t easy growing up this way, but the tightknit family always seemed to manage.

Growing up, he didn’t have too much to complain about. Sure, his family might not have been as well off as others, but it never seemed to bother the free-spirited kid. He was always too busy running around with the other neighborhood kids and getting himself into trouble with his inability to keep his opinions to himself.

Though he was a bright kid, his family didn’t really have the means to send him to college, so he ended up working a factory job right out of high school. Admittedly, he did have bigger dreams for himself and was disappointed life couldn’t pan out the way he wanted it to. He tried to keep his head up though, reminding himself that things could be worse.

With America’s entrance into the Vietnam War, it was more likely to find Rafael speaking out against it than volunteering to fight in it anytime soon — something that caused somewhat of a rift between him and his eldest brother, who decided to enlist at the time. Though his brother would eventually make it back, the two never fully patched things up between them before Rafael ended up in Sage Lake.

Despite his strong opposition to the war, fate seemed to have other plans for him. The draft rolled around in December of ‘69 and Rafael, who was a year away from being exempt, was drafted into an ugly war he wanted nothing to do with. The year he spent in the war was easily the worst and most influential year of his life — full of never ending horrors and death.

After what felt like several lifetimes, his year in service was finally over and he was able to return home. Attempting to adjust back to the life he had before wasn’t as easy as he thought it might be — especially when he held onto a lot anger, guilt, and mistrust from the war.

Just when he felt like his life was somewhat returning to a state of normalcy, the rug was ripped out from underneath him again and he found himself in Sage Lake. Once again, he found himself struggling to adjust to his new reality.

These days, Rafael can usually be found at the Bee Balm Pub either working or drinking. With several decades to accept the things he can’t change here, he’s opened up a bit more in recent years, and is at least attempting to make the most of things.

▷ currently playing —— DON’T LET ME BE MISUNDERSTOOD by THE ANIMALS.

Rafael can be a little rough around the edges, but anyone who gets close enough will come to find he’s actually a lot more caring than he comes across.

He’s extremely ride or die for the people he’s closest to. Like it’s a miracle he made it back from Vietnam with some of the stunts he pulled to make sure the guys he served with made it back okay.

Rafael initially didn’t handle getting stuck in Sage Lake well. It felt like another major choice in life was completely ripped out of hands. He spent a good decade and a half pissed off at everything before eventually accepting things as they were.

Though it’s far more likely to hear him complain about Sage Lake, the place has grown on him. If nothing else, the town has a peacefulness the rest of the world could never seem to offer him.

Definitely a night owl. You’re not going to find him out and about anytime in the morning unless he absolutely has to be awake.

Really used to like going dancing before getting drafted and then getting stuck in Sage Lake. He hasn’t done it much since.

Still listens to a lot of music from the 50s, 60s, and early 70s for the nostalgia.

Probably not the best bartender to tell all your troubles to because he’s far more likely to offer up a sarcastic comment than helpful advice.

Lowkey probably still has some unresolved trauma from the war, but is very “it’s cool, I’ll just ignore it and it will go away.” :/

He honestly didn’t pay attention to his watch when he first got to Sage Lake, too upset about his situation to care. His attitude has changed since and he’ll subtly check it from time to time out of curiosity.

▷ currently playing —— STUCK IN THE MIDDLE WITH YOU by STEALERS WHEEL.

Found Family: I’m an absolute sucker for these kinds of plots/dynamics. And since Rafael was so close to his family, he definitely misses having a strong sense of family and would absolutely love/appreciate having that type of relationship with some people in Sage Lake.

Friends: Even though he can have a difficult personality to get along with and he doesn’t make it easy to get to know him, he has been in Sage Lake for quite some time now so I’m sure even he’s been able to make a few friends.

Coworkers: Throw all the Bee Balm Pub employees my way. Rafael’s worked there for a long time now and I’m super open to the dynamics he has with his coworkers.

Anything and everything! My brain is fighting me right now, but I’m definitely open to more than what I came up with so if you have any ideas you think would work for our muses, feel free to throw them my way!

#sage.intro #war tw #death tw

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msjr0119 · 5 years ago

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Why me?

Part 26- Yoga🧘‍♀️

Riley is forced out of Cordonia unknowingly to her friends, and moves back to New York.

She is later faced with her past from Cordonia and is hiding a few new secrets. With the help from her New York friends and friends from Cordonia will she escape her current situation and find her happy ever after?

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @ibldw-main @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @nikkis1983

*******

“Since when did you do yoga?”

Riley asked Beth, surprised with her friends hobby. Beth was like her sister Lola- the party girl, never the relaxed/chilled out girl.

“You and Lola enjoyed jogging... Me and my friends decided to go to yoga... besides I thought it would benefit you- as long as you take precautions that is. It’ll help calm both your body and mind especially with all the emotional stress that you are going to have during this pregnancy. So, I thought we could do it together...”

Surprisingly it was calming, and Riley felt stress free for the first time in a while. That was until a familiar face turned up with a face like thunder.

“What the fuck are you both doing?”

“Yoga! Beth said it was good for myself and this little one... what’s up Liv?”

“Sure. O nothing. Liam just bruised my ego, telling me to basically shut up because I said something to your idiotic boyfriend...”

Riley continued to sit with her legs crossed, taking deep breaths.

“Liv, please don’t talk about him like that. And what’s he doing out of bed? He should be resting? Are you going to join us?”

“No thank you! I’d rather die than do that shit! I don’t know do I? He’s probably looking for you?”

Riley rolled her eyes back, the stress free moment had ended. She was hoping that he had rested and was feeling better. All of a sudden she felt nauseous, covering her mouth, Beth and Olivia noticed.

“Olivia, take her back to her room. I’ll go and find Drake.”

“Beth, if she is sick all over me you do know this won’t end well...”

*****

“So how are you going to ask her? Do you need me to help? We can celebrate by having a Beaumont bash?”

“I honestly don’t know? I can’t do anything as good as what Liam did. And no thank you. I want it to be personal between myself and Brooks.”

“Personal... hmm... is there anywhere here that holds a special memory or a special place for you both? And Drake? You’re going to have to stop calling her Brooks- soon she’s going to be Mrs Walker...”

Drake thought about what Maxwell had just said, his nickname for her was to cover the fact up that he liked her. He then thought about the special memory and place...

“I’d probably still call her Brooks- it’s our thing. My thing. Max, I have an idea about what I’m going to do. But I need your help on something...”

Just as the men was discussing the proposal idea, Maxwell saw Beth and assumed Riley was with her so changed the subject- Drake immediately turned around to hope it wasn’t because Riley was there.

“Hey Beth. Our favourite Princess..”

How he hasn’t got a girlfriend I’ll never know- the way he turns the charm on.

“Hi Maxwell. Drake. I’m glad I’ve found you! Ri isn’t feeling well. Just letting you know, that Olivia has taken her to her room.”

“Is she okay? Is the baby okay?”

Before she could answer, Drake ran out of the room and towards Riley’s room.

“Yes Drake! It’s only morning sickness...” Beth shouted.

“But it’s afternoon...” Maxwell said confused. Beth laughed at his comment, and they both mingled with everyone else.

*****

“Hey Brooks?”

Olivia answered the door immediately, gasping for breath.

“She’s in the bathroom Walker, it’s not a pretty sight. I’m glad your here to take over holding her hair.”

“Thanks for looking out for her Liv.”

Olivia nodded and smiled at him before leaving. Drake walked into the bathroom, Riley’s head was hanging over the toilet- Olivia wasn’t being dramatic. The toilet was covered in sick and Riley’s mascara had run, but to Drake she was still beautiful.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just got this awful taste in my mouth and felt sick. Got here and ... well you know the rest of the story. How are you feeling?”

“You’re seriously asking me that, when you’re hugging the toilet with your head in it? C’mon I’ll tuck you in bed.”

“I’m not an invalid Drake. I’m fine. It’ll pass. I’ve had it for weeks. It all now makes sense. But, thank you.”

He softly smiled and helped her up. As she stood up, he stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His hands then lingered on her stomach. Riley’s heart fluttered. She knew this baby was the making of them, every time he placed his hands on her stomach she knew he would protect them both with his whole life and that he loved them both with all his heart. She brushed her teeth before grabbing some water- this was going to be a long pregnancy, she thought.

“You seem extremely happy today? Is everything okay?”

She can see straight me. Even if I wasn’t planning a proposal, I’d be happier than usual. I’ve just found out I’m going to be a dad- obviously I’m extremely happy.

“I do? I mean, I am! Why wouldn’t I be happy? I’ve missed you both.”

“We’ve missed you too! Did you relax okay?”

“Yeah. Did you and Beth have a good time?”

“Yeah, we did yoga. That was until Olivia came and ruined the peaceful atmosphere.”

“Is that safe? You know.. for the baby?”

Riley smiled at him, his protective side was coming out- she loved him but she especially loved this part of him.

“Of course it is. Don’t worry Drake.... So what are the plans for tonight? Any stupid balls we need to prepare ourselves for?”

“Be careful if you do it again- promise me Ri? And actually.. the Beaumont’s are having a dinner tonight and have invited us and few others over.”

“Okay, so what are we going to do before then?”

“Well, I promised Max and Bertrand I’d help them prepare. I don’t want to leave you alone so we arranged for the ladies to go with you later on. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.. I could probably do with a kip anyway. This little one is draining the energy out of me.”

“Okay. I love you both. I’ll see you soon.”

“We love you too daddy!”

Drake walked out, he couldn’t stop grinning after Riley had called him ‘daddy’. He went to his room, grabbed his grandmothers ring before getting in his truck to head to Ramsford.

*****

Pulling up on the Beaumont’s drive, Maxwell met him outside, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. At times it seemed like the younger Beaumont was more excited than Drake was. Drake started to become nervous again- surely she would accept the proposal - we’ve spoken about it before and she’s carrying our baby now.

“Have you managed to set it up Max?”

“Yes, of course. The room is all romantic, thanks to yours truly. Did she accept the dinner excuse? I mean I can grab you both a pizza if you want?”

“Yes, she did. Thanks, Max for your help. But forget the pizza....”

#theroyalromance #drake x riley #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #choices

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rpgmgames · 6 years ago

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September’s Featured Game: Ghost Hospital

DEVELOPER(S): Lev, Kip, Rose, Tredlocity, C, Bittersweet ENGINE: RPGMaker MV GENRE: Adventure, RPG WARNINGS: Anxiety, Body horror, Implied child harm SUMMARY: Ghost Hospital is a game about anxiety, depression, despair, mental rock bottoms, and, of course, ghosts. You play as Robin, a twelve-year-old girl who has an anxiety disorder and is very much alive in this hospital meant for beings that are not alive. Frankly, her anxiety was already bad enough before she landed in a hospital full of dead people, the still-shambling shells of ancient ghosts who try to take her down for a sweet taste of life, and the hospital directors hellbent on keeping her contained, and more importantly, away from the reason she's REALLY there. Thankfully, you have your new friends Jay and Sarcastic Ghost- Jay is a ghost about your age, and still a very new arrival to the hospital, and Sarcastic Ghost…well, he's an amorphous blob of a ghost, who talks a lot despite not having a mouth.

Download the demo here!

Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! Lev: Hey, my name is Lev! I'm an artist and storyteller, and though I've wanted to make games for a long time, this is my first serious attempt! Most of my work is about my experiences in mental illness. Kip: I'm a freelance artist being allowed to write cheap jokes in ghost form. Rose: I'm a freelance writer and editor for the game! I also work on dialogue and story drafting. Tredlocity: My name is Tredlocity! I do some character designs and writing in the game! C: c / ghoul is a character designer, comic artist and Halloween enthusiast. They're currently apart of several indie game teams and are writing the webcomic, This Dark Forest of Ours. Bittersweet: I'm Kendall (AKA Bittersweet), and I'm the resident music person (one of two, technically, but the other left the project unfortunately.) This is my first (and thus far only) major soundtrack composition project, but thus far, it's been a satisfying one!

What is your project about? What inspired you to create your game initially? *Lev: Ghost Hospital is a game about anxiety, and the game was born out of an idea to put someone in the shoes of someone with clinical anxiety and depression without going for the prototypical 'horror game' or 'walking simulator', giving more game-friendly, practical narrative and gameplay examples of how it effects people.

How long have you been working on your project? *Lev: The game started development in late 2016 as a thesis project for college. At its inital completion, it was more of a beta or proof of concept than a demo- in its current state, it's far closer to what we have envisioned for the final project.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *Lev: Absolutely! The biggest influences are OFF, Yume Nikki, and Sweet Home, and a lot of Gameboy Color graphics and aesthetics- namely, Pokemon GSC and the GBC Zelda Games.

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *Lev: RPG Maker is a versatile engine, but still fairly restrictive, so getting all the effects I wanted to work was challenging. Mental illness and real life have been taking a toll on development time, too. Getting things to work took teaching myself some javascript, and after being in serious development for this long, I've found ways to motivate myself to keep working. Having other people checking in on you helps, too.

Have any aspects of your project changed over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *Lev: In its very first inital pitch, it was much closer to Yume Nikki, being more atmospheric and serious. At some point in character and world development, though, I couldn't bear to make it a stoic adventure, and with most of the stuff I already take inspiration from, it's hard for me to not put jokes into the media I make, anyway.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *Lev: At the beginning, it was just me working on everything. The first people I brought on board were my concept artist, Kip, my writer, Rose, and my musician, Bittersweet. I can't do music on my own, and I knew from word go that I wanted this to be the kind of game with a strong story and a lot of unique NPCs.

What is the best part of developing the game? *Lev: Call me biased, but the most fun part is making the art for it. It's hard for me to motivate myself to keep working if I'm just using default placeholder sprites, I have to make new NPCs to keep myself interested. It's not the most convenient, but it's fun to do, and it actually really does help with my workflow.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *Lev: Oh, absolutely. RPG Maker games have a bad reputation for being very cut-and-paste, and there's a lot of those out there. But it just takes a bit of effort to make yourself and your game stand out, and it can be done absolutely beautifully! The latest one I've played was Hylics, completely surreal and wonderful.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *Lev: Robin is a sort of proxy character for myself, so...I'm a bit biased on her. I love Jay a lot, too, he's kinda the friend I wish I had in elementary school when all this first showed up, haha. *Tredlocity: As someone who faces anxiety on a daily basis, I relate to Robin a lot. Though I would say my favorite character is Jay, since he can shoot plasma and has blue hair. *C: I'm partial to Coop [upcoming character], not just bc I designed them but bc I love big sister types. *Rose: I also relate to robin and jay! i try to control my anxiety while remaining positive and hopeful about situations. *Bittersweet: As an anxiety-riddled person, I relate immensely to Robin. However, my favorite character by far has to be Carna. (There's another character I'm particularly looking forward to when the full version of the game is released, though~)

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *Lev: Honestly, there's a few things I wanted the game to be able to do at the start that I wasn't able to make happen. I spent a LOT of time trying to get it to work without having to go in and code it myself, and I wish I'd been able to take a step back, remind myself that this is my first serious project, and just stop worrying so much about what, in the end, would've been a minor detail, anyway.

Once you finish your project, do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *Lev: Chances are I'm gonna leave it alone, but if I go back, I HAVE had a bit of a 'Ghost College' AU where they're exploring a haunted old library on their college campus instead of being trapped in a ghost hospital. It'd probably be cool as a point-and-click adventure, but it wouldn't exactly be a canon exploration of the postgame.

What do you look most forward to upon/after release? *Lev: I'm actually working on a few other projects, so being able to work on those more freely would be great, especially considering I'm really bad at keeping my own limits in mind, haha.

Is there something you’re afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *Lev: Mostly, I'm afraid that making a game about a subject like this, as a minority and with other people in my team that would be considered minorities, that releasing this game to the mainstream public would get me a lot of negative attention from people who think that people like us don't belong in the gaming sphere. It's pretty nerve-wracking, but after the positive reception of games like Undertale and SLARPG, it's getting easier to convince myself that I should be more afraid of people just generally not liking the game, haha.

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *Lev: Have someone to work with! DEFINITELY have someone to work with. Even if it's just a friend to bounce ideas off of or someone to ask if you've been working on the game, having someone else involved helps a lot. And specifically for RPG Maker- if you can, replace your default font with a different one. It's a minor detail, but it goes a long way towards making your game feel more original. *C: Always have a backlog of different projects. I have about four or five ideas constantly on rotation so I don't burn myself out on just one. *Tredlocity: My advice for any creatives is to start small, and just get it out. Feedback is a great motivator, and the only way to get better at something is to keep doing it! *Rose: I think some good advice is to write a few drafts of whatever it is you're working on in order to see which version you'd like to continue! let your work have different scenarios and situations based on various elements you insert or take out of a story, game, or other piece. *Bittersweet: Don't pressure yourself to a dead-set deadline. I know, you want to get this project out eventually, and if you're on a roll with development then all the power to you, but if you're struggling, don't let it burn you out. That's just unhealthy.

Question from last month's featured dev @toxicshroomswamp: How do you feel about your main character(s)? What piece of life advice would you give them? *Lev: I love my main characters, I love them like my own children. I would probably tell Robin that she'll learn to handle everything, it won't be so scary forever. I'd tell Jay that stopping for a minute and thinking is way more important than it seems. I'd tell Sarcastic ghost to shut up.

We mods would like to thank Lev, Kip, Rose, Tredlocity, C, and Bittersweet for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Ghost Hospital if you haven’t already! See you next month!

- Mods Gold & Platinum

#rpgmaker #rpg maker #indie games #pixel games #ghost hospital #ghost hospital (game)#game of the month #gotm #game dev #game making #gotm september #september 2018 #2018

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geraltsbxrd · 5 years ago

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Julian Alfred Pankratz (Jaskier) Intro ||

( Joey Batey. Cismale. The Witcher. ) It looks like JULIAN ALFRED PANKRATZ (JASKIER) has been trying to survive in this city and are associated with A VERY SEXY LUTE, SEVERAL DEVILISHLY ROGUE OUTFITS and A VOICE TO MAKE ALL THE MAIDEN SWOON. HE is 23 # years old and has a LUTE with them. In New Detroit, they side WITH the revolution. Good luck, BARD.

BASICS

Full Name: Julian Alfred Pankratz Aliases: Jaskier/Bard Gender: Male Species: Human Age: 23 Date of Birth: Unknown Zodiac: Unknown Memory Status: He has kept her memories. Three Positive Traits: Funny, Kind, Generous Three Negative Traits: Irritating, Dependant, Reckless Religious Beliefs: N/A Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Marital Status: Unmarried Children : None

RESTORED LIFE

What is their living situation?

Currently, Jaskier is using his charm to get by while his performing on the streets earns just enough to give a little to whoever’s couch he’s managed to kip on for a night. Mind you most of these places are more comfortable then several inns and taverns he’s frequented so he’s not complaining (any more than usual). He’s used to a nomadic lifestyle and tends to flit from temporary stay to temporary stay. Though in this unstable, alien place he’d prefer something a little more permanent.

Are they affiliated with any of the three organisations?

At this point no and for his own safety he should keep it that way... but he’s a sucker for tagging along on an adventure.

CANON LIFE

At what point of their canon are they pulled from?

Jaskier is pulled from the end of episode five ‘Bottles Appetites’ of The Witcher, making him younger than by the end of the series and my placing him at 23.

What do they remember?

He remembers all of the events prior to the end of Bottled Appetites (one minute he was looking at Geralt and Yennifer going at it through a window… the next he’s in Detroit).

Jaskier is from a noble family and studied art, poetry and literature at The University of Oxenfurt before embarking upon travelling the world, wanting to perform for people and write his own epic ballads just like the ones he studied. He was largely ineffectual at this to begin with, until he came across Geralt and finally found his own personal muse for adventure, epic-ness and death-defying tales. He somewhat inserted himself into The Witcher’s life, travelling with him and crafting songs from Geralts hunts and other adventures, splitting up for months or sometimes over a year to sing his pieces, doing wonders for Geralt’s reputation and own as a performer.

His talent won him the affection of many and with a hugely open heart he often found himself falling in love with so many others, his affection and interest always immediate, not unlike a puppy. This often-caused problems since the targets of his affection were already married or not in a position to be tumbling into the sheets with a travelling bard. He’s always kind to those he was with. One of his more notable affairs was with the Countess de Staël, who (for reasons he could never understand) dumped him, and left him broken hearted. He travelled after this, coming across Geralt once more while he was searching for a Djinn. Following some arguments, a near-death experience (two if you count Yennifer holding a knife to his unmentionables) it seemed he and his friend had survived to journey once more… But then he suddenly found himself somewhere very different, alone, afraid and with only his lute for companionship… He hoped the people of this land enjoyed epic ballads..

#restored:intro #{I love this man... He's the sweetest goof}

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coffeekaspbrak · 6 years ago

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Coffee date- Kay x Bev fic

Author’s note: Sorry if this is cliche or has lots of typos, we just need more McMarsh and I’m here to provide y’all

Beverly Marsh had been up for 27 hours.

She’d pulled some late night stunts in the past, but never 27 goddamn hours.

The insomnia had painted streaks of purple underneath her eyes, ever noticeable against her pale and now greasy skin. She hadn’t showered in those 27 hours either.

A double major in graphic design and fashion combined with a job at the bookstore hadn’t lent itself well to hygiene or sleep.

Needless to say, as a college student, Bev was pretty broke. Her aunt had helped her pay for school itself but she didn’t have the means to spend much outside of tution. She certainly didn’t have cash to be blowing on a five dollar cup of frothy coffee.

But spring midterms had kicked her ass right into starbucks at four o’clock that morning.

She had finished three projects in the past five hours and still had four classes to go to and a shift to work at 7 am and so it was too late to go bed. So, forgive her for drowning her sorrows and class induced insomnia in an overpriced latte.

The still chilly March air had shut the door behind her with a slight bang that made her jump, eyes flying open. The few customers in the shop stopped glanced over with surprise, the loud sound cut through the calm, tired atmosphere of the store. Bev felt immediately out of place as she walked slowly up to the counter. Her overgrown red hair hung down to her ears in messy, unbrushed curls that she pushed out of her face to see the drink options.

“Hello, what can I get for you this morning?” the preppy looking kid working asked her with a tired smile. Bev knew that exhausted, customer service smile as she would be sporting it later. She smiled back, “Almond milk latte please.”

The kid picked up a sharpie and a cup.

Bev stared to the side, taking in the customers here this early.

The sound of the door opening and then closing abruptly with a slam brought her eyes to the entrance of the shop. There, coming closer to the line, was a woman with curly dark hair and the most gorgeous dark brown eyes Beverly had ever seen. She seemed to walk in slow motion as Bev’s eyes widened and followed her movements to the space close behind her. They met eyes and the woman smiled at her, a bit awkwardly, “Hello.”

Her tone made Bev realize she was being a total creep to this poor, hot woman.

“S-sorry,” she said loudly, turning back to the cashier who she realized has been talking to her. “Ma’am?” He asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Sorry what?” She asked.

“Your name?” Damn she was off her game.

“Oh,” she blushed heavily, “Bev.”

“3.25 please”

Bev handed him five dollars and told him to keep the change. She shouldn’t have given her current financial situation but she was too flustered to wait.

She moved to the side of the store to wait for her drink and buried her face into her hand.

Of course, today of all days, she had to embarrass herself in front of someone cute, as if the lack of sleep wasn’t enough to ruin her day.

She then felt a presence in the space next to her and breathed in a scent, a bit like honey. She kept her head down, not wanting to embarrass herself more.

The barista, a different one from before looked at the cup and tried to read the smudged handwriting before rolling his eyes and announcing only, “almond milk latte!” And placing the drink on the counter.

Bev perked her head up and reached towards the cup.

Before she could pulled away, her hand collided with another.

“Oh,” she blushed and pulled away looking up at the person who’s hand met her’s. It was the same woman from earlier, because who else would it be.

“No, no,” she pulled away, “You ordered first, it’s yours.” She kept a gentle smile on her face. “I like your rings, by the way.”

Bev looked down at her own hands, almost forgetting she had the rings on, “Oh, thanks, I like your jacket,” she responded, gesturing towards the girl’s green bomber jacket.

“Thank you,” she said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

The barista called out again, “Almond milk latte!”

“Now we can just see,” the woman picked up the latte that was put down first and squinted, trying to read the cup, “Bec?”

Beverly suppressed a laugh, now feeling more comfortably confident, “Bev. Starbucks doesn’t play around with screwing up names I guess.”

The girl’s eyes lit up slightly, “Oh dude, it’s a total marketing scheme. Get a messed up version of your name, post it on Instagram, boom free marketing for Starbucks.”

Bev laughed tiredly, sounding kind of crazy, sleep deprivation made lots of stuff funny. “You’re so right I hadn’t even thought about that.”

The girl stuck out her hand, “I’m Kay,” she said.

Instead of shaking it, Bev picked up the other latte and read it, “Well looks like this is for Kip, but I won’t tell if you won’t.” She placed it in the Kay’s hand, who

laughed an angelic sound. But then kept on laughing, hunching over.

Until there were tears in her eyes.

Bev was faltered if a little confused.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, “That wasn’t even that funny, I just haven’t slept in 24 hours.”

“College?”

Kay nodded, still laughing, “I’m a political science major.”

An older man glared at them for taking up space in front of the counter.

Kay collected herself, “I’ll get out of your way, sir,” She said still smiling. She motioned for Bev to follow her out the door. Which Bev gladly did.

Once outside Kay giggled again, “God what an asshole. Can’t he see I’m trying to have a conversation with a cute girl?”

Bev blushed and then retorted, “I know right.”

“Hey,” Kay touched her shoulder, “Do you have anywhere to be right now?”

“My first lecture is at seven, I’m all yours.”

“Cool,” Bev could see her cheeks turn darker, “Wanna walk for a while?”

She nodded, “I’d like that.”

The two made their rounds around campus, in which time Bev learned that Kay was planning to go into law with her degree.

“I’d love to be an environmental rights lawyer. People act like I’m just some tree hugging hippie but I really want to help the earth.”

Bev didn’t know much about environmentalism besides the basics, but Kay makes her want to learn more as her eyes light up with passion and her voice blooms with interest.

Bev had told her that she was double majoring “Graphic design and fashion,”

she motioned down to her gray sweatpants and crewneck sweatshirt, “Believe it or not.”

Kay laughed, “Sleepy chic. It’s cute on you.”

Bev thought her cheeks must be tomato red.

Half way into their conversation about what kind of music they like, Bev began shivering a bit. She realized that she was definitely underdressed for the weather, only prepared for a short coffee trip.

“Oh, are you cold?” Kay asked, looking concerned.

“A little, but it’s fine-“

Kay was already taking off here jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders.

They eventually found themselves near the bookstore where Bev worked.

“Wanna stop inside? I’ve got my key.”

“Of course.”

Bev took to showing her around the place and watching Kay nerd out about some of the ones she’d read in her classes. She’d talked for a while about the book they were reading in her gender studies class while Bev smiled completely entranced in her excited voice and her beauty.

Kay suddenly blushed and looked up at her, “You aren’t bored of me talking yet?”

She shook her head, “I don’t think I ever could be.”

Kay stared into her eyes and moved herself closer to Bev, placing her hands on her face. She smiled as their lips connected, Bev brought her hands to Kay’s hips. She tasted like honey chapstick and good coffee. The kiss was gentle and over way too soon.

“Oh shit,” Kay said, looking down at her watch, “it’s 6:45, I better start walking.”

“Oh my god, that went by fast, almost three hours.”

Kay grinned slyly, “Time flies when you’re having fun.” She walked over to the counter and pulled out a pen.

“Give me your arm,”

Bev stuck out her arm and Kay wrote something on it, before throwing the pen on the desk and pressing a kiss to Bev’s cheek. “I’ve gotta go. Call me.” She hurried out the door. Bev watched her and was reminded of that phrase,

Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave.

She looked down at her arm,

A phone number was written along with Kay (or kip) McCall and a heart.

For once in her life, Bev was happy to be up so early.

#it 2017 #beverly marsh #kay mccall #mcmarsh #it fanfic #it stephen king

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hurt-care · 6 years ago

Note

Love your fics! If you ever feel like writing it, I'd loove to see some Remus trying to hide a cold from Sirius but like, of course he can't hide anything from his Sirius

Thank you!! Great prompt ;) Here’s a little something....!

----

Admitting Defeat

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was abuzz with activity and Sirius Black was tiring of it. The innumerable Weasleys, the various other Order members coming and going, and so on. He liked having people around to soothe the doldrums that came with being trapped in his hated ancestral home, but too many people was overwhelming. He was used to being alone with only the tortured cries of those in neighbouring cells.

He poured a glass of Firewhiskey and sat down at the table, massaging his temples against the din of Bill and Charlie Weasley's booming voices discussing Wizarding politics in Spain. Hestia was at the stove, cooking up some concoction for the evening's supper.

It was a great relief when a quiet, safe face appeared in the kitchen. Remus Lupin, stooped over with his usual withdrawn hunch, came in and went straight for a tea cup and then paused in front of the tea storage to select a box from the back of the cupboard.

Lemon ginger, Sirius noted curiously. He normally drank Darjeeling.

“Hiya Moony,” he said as Remus sunk into a chair opposite him with his hands curled around his steaming mug.

“Hey,” Remus replied. He sounded a little hoarse, which wasn't unusual, but coupled with the odd choice of tea made it more suspect. While there were many things about his past that were foggy in Sirius' memory, the memories of his friends remained crystal clear. Even twenty years later, he could tell just by a slight change in Remus' demeanour that something was wrong. Not to mention that the man's nose looked distinctly rough and reddened at the nostrils.

“Where have you been? It's like a can of pixies flying around down here. I was just considering going to hide out upstairs.”

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“A can of pixies?”

“Isn't that the expression?” Sirius asked.

“Maybe in your family. The expression was clown car in my house.”

“That makes no sense,” Sirius replied. “What sort of clowns drive cars? I thought you said they were in that...err, is it a sirrus?”

“Circus,” Remus answered, his voice betraying a hint of weariness. “Also an apt metaphor. Should we hide out in the library instead?”

“I think so,” Sirius agreed, taking up his Firewhiskey and leading the way.

Remus sunk down onto the overstuffed couch and flicked his wand at the fireplace, sending flames bursting to life. With a grimace, he hoisted his legs up and rested them on a pillow.

Sirius watched carefully. Remus seemed to grimace a lot more than he remembered. They'd both aged, of course, but the aches from transformations seemed ever-present. He'd wondered about sending an owl to Madam Pomfrey to ask if werewolves could get arthritis from their frequent injuries, but he figured she had enough on her plate keeping the current students at Hogwarts alive. And she'd never really liked him much after the whole Prank situation anyhow...

Remus yawned furtively, turning his face away from Sirius.

“You've been tired a lot,” Sirius commented. “You okay?

“Mmhmm,” Remus confirmed. “Fine. War is tiring.”

“Where did Dumbledore have you to off yesterday?”

“It was to look at that Selwyn tip,” Remus replied. “Mostly it consisted of me sitting in the rain watching a storefront for six hours. Thrilling, tiring stuff.”

“”Hopefully under an Impervious charm, at least?”

“Yeah, one on my coat. Couldn't make the full bubble shield though. It was a Muggle neighbourhood. Had to settle for an umbrella.”

He cleared his throat with a cough and sipped at his tea.

“And you got a cold?” Sirius pushed.

“What?” Remus replied. “No?”

“Lemon ginger tea, Moony?”

“It's good.”

“You've never liked lemon things.”

Remus scowled.

“I don't have a cold. What, are you Molly now?”

“Your nose just looks a little sore,” Sirius commented.

Remus rubbed his nose with his hand distractedly. This seemed to trigger some sort of unexpected response, however. Remus cupped his hands over his nose and sneezed roughly.

Hurhh-TSGHHT!

He kept one hand clamped over his nose and held out the other, twisting his wrist. A handkerchief appeared there and he wiped off his face.

Sirius watched, appreciating the wandless magic. Remus has always been the best at it, though he rarely showed off how well he could do it. The ability was too tied up in his werewolf DNA to be one he felt confident about. But this simple, necessarily bit was still impressive, even if Sirius knew that the handkerchief only had to dissolve and reappear from the nearby safety of Remus' pocket. He never went anywhere without one when he was ill.

“Want to tell me again that you don't have a cold?”

“It's winter, it's dry,” Remus said. “My nose isn't a fan.”

He sniffled and wiped his nose again.

“I know what will help with that,” Sirius said. “A humidity charm on your room and a good nap.”

Remus glared at him.

“Padfoot can come keep your company. I could use a kip.”

“Fine,” Remus relented. “You're right. I'm trying to fight it and I should just rest up and not get it worse.”

“Oh my god,” Sirius exclaimed. “Did Remus Lupin just admit to feeling unwell and agree to go to bed? Mr. Lupin, I'm a reporter for the Daily Prophet. Do you care to comment on this incredible change of tune?”

Remus laughed hoarsely and began to cough, waving his hand at Sirius to stop.

“Cut it out,” he wheezed. “You git.”

Sirius grinned.

“I'll go get you another cup of lemon-ginger,” he said. “Go on up and get comfy.”

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unofferable-fic · 6 years ago

Text

Do You Fear the Devil? (Loki x Reader): 1 - Mary Ann Nichols

Summary: You are one of the many working women roaming the streets of Whitechapel when a madman begins to murder your comrades one by one. The attacks are so gruesome, that the detectives can only describe his work as that of “a devil than of a man”. Loki Laufeyson is a Metropolitan police detective and surgeon who is assisting on the case. As more bodies pile up and you and your friends fear for your lives, the police remain well and truly stumped. When Detective Laufeyson turns to you for help to find the murderer, you must face your fears to save yourself… But who can you really trust when you are the prey being stalked at night by someone who calls himself Jack the Ripper?

Gif originally found here

————

Victorian London AU

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries/violence, gore, language, angst Victorian London was a kip.

Word Count: 5,205

Next Chapter

Playlist: “The Curse” — Agnes Obel, “The Knights Theme” — Jason Graves, “Through the Valley” — Shawn James

————

A/N: Also available on AO3. Well, well, well… Look at what we have here. My first Loki/Reader series! I hope y'all enjoy the first instalment and feel free to leave a comment and say howdy. I’m really eager to hear your thoughts as always! It’s a little different from my usual stuff, so I really hope y’all like it!

31st August 1888, 2.30am.

“Is it just me, or is it colder than usual tonight?”

As if answering your own question, a light mist appeared from your mouth as you spoke, before fading away in the night’s breeze.

“It’s not just you,” Natasha replied, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself while you both enjoyed a brief pause in that evening’s constant rain showers. “I’m freezing my arse off.”

You had been working on the streets of Whitechapel for some time now. You didn’t dislike your job — you had grown quite accustomed to everything that went with it and you enjoyed the pay, but things had grown more difficult in the last few years. Parliament had passed an act which basically made life more difficult for you and your fellow prostitutes. There were tougher stances on brothels and prostitution in general thanks to that decision, and you were seen as something of a public nuisance to the more respectable citizens who frequented taverns and hotels within the community. When once you were able to roam the streets with your fellow workers with little abuse, now you faced the very possibility of repression.

Attacks on prostitutes had risen too, which was why you were currently walking up Whitechapel Road with your friend Natasha, with whom you worked at a local brothel. She had been at the business for a lot longer than you since she moved to London from Russia, and was more than happy to show you the ropes when you had first arrived yourself. She was a passive person when she wanted to be and earning her trust was difficult, but you always felt that she was a very valuable friend to have on your side once the trust was gained. It was especially useful when you found yourselves leaving the brothel to try find some clientele with whom you could return. Your current pairing was due to a string of attacks on local prostitutes. Violence was not uncommon in the area, and it was mostly normal to hear cries for help during the night. These usually went unanswered. Back in April, poor Emma Smith was attacked by a gang of men and subsequently died of her injuries, and, only weeks ago, a seasoned prostitute called Martha Tabram was stabbed to death in George Yard. There was nothing easy about soliciting anyway, but the recent events left a dark cloud hanging above most of your friends’ heads.

But what else was there to do?

If it wasn’t for your work, you would surely died from poverty.

“I hate nights like these,” you mumbled as your shoes clinked on the stone cobbles below. “I would much prefer to stay in the warmth of the brothel.”

“Needs must,” Natasha replied. “Sometimes you have to give the men a little push to get some money in your pocket. Consider yourself lucky that you’re not one of the women who have to find lodgings this way.”

Given how a lot of the brothels in London were filthy and usually involved having most of your earnings taken by those who ran it, you were lucky enough to find an establishment that mostly serviced high-class clients, or those who were deeply trusted. The madame who owned the place was surprisingly fair too, and you were quite satisfied with your wage.

Natasha made a fair point though, and you knew that. There were a lot of women residing in workhouses or lodgings who regularly solicited on the streets just so they could keep a roof over their heads. Sometimes they possessed an excessive fondness for drink, so most of their earnings were pissed away on funding their addiction. You knew some of these women too, and it only served to fuel your thankfulness for the current situation in which you resided.

The pair of you were passing down a lane way before heading to a local tavern in which some of your regulars drank. Sometimes you picked up clients when strolling through the lane, so neither of you thought there was any harm in checking. As you walked through the shadowed archway, you noticed a figure at the opposite end of the lane.

He stood beneath the archway and wore a long black coat with a tall hat atop his head. He was a surprisingly well-dressed and respectable looking individual — not the sort you usually found in the lane.

“What about him?” you asked Natasha, pointing to the waiting figure in the distance.

Her eyes followed your pointing finger. “Well, men wait ’round here for only one reason in particular. He’s an odd-looking sort though.”

“He seems fairly normal to me,” you shrugged as you both continued walking towards him. “He may be the wealthy sort.”

Natasha seemed unconvinced. “We will have to walk by him anyway. I suppose there is no harm in asking what he fancies.”

Perhaps hearing your chatting, the distant figure raised his head and looked in your direction. Though you could not make out his shadowed face beneath the brim of his hat, the dark moustache on his upper lip was the only signifying feature visible. With a swift glance over his shoulder back towards the main road, he turned and slowly made his way towards you, full lips pulling into a friendly smile.

“Like fish in a barrel,” Natasha mused, linking your arm with hers and continuing forward. “Stick with me, Y/N. I want to check this lad out before we agree to anything.”

You trusted Natasha with your life, so you eagerly agreed and walked forward.

“Oi! Miss Romanoff! Miss Y/L/N! Over ‘ere!”

At that moment, at the archway where the mysterious figure had previously stood, a regular customer of yours, James Rhodes, appeared. He beckoned you and Natasha over with a wave just as stranger was getting closer. You looked at your friend for guidance on whether to give your regular priority above the stranger, but it seemed that the latter had made the decision for you. As he walked by, he tipped the brim of his hat down in greeting, subsequently covering his face, and passed without enquiring about your services. You glanced briefly at him as he went, momentarily confused by the exchange, before turning your attention back to Rhodes as he approached.

“I was hoping to bump into you two,” he said with a genuine grin. He was one of the rare few people in Whitechapel that didn’t treat you like an animal. He was always fair, and always paid for your services with a friendly smile. It was the main reason why you liked him as a regular. “Fancy a drink at the Frying Pan?”

“And why exactly did you not come to the brothel?” Natasha asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Instead you expect us to come running after you?”

“I was getting to that, love. I have a new guy for you to meet!” He offered an arm to you and Natasha and then began walking. “He just started at my job and seems like the shy type. I was thinking, come have a few drinks with us and then we can drag him back to the brothel once he’s relaxed a bit.”

“Free drinks and more pay?” You pondered aloud, hanging on to his slender arm. “Okay, I’ll bite.”

Natasha smiled at you approvingly. “As will I.”

“Great!” James exclaimed, and strode happily towards the tavern.

You had spent over an hour with the two men and your friend in the Frying Pan Pub. The new man, Scott, was shy as James had claimed, but he also seemed to be quite genuine and talkative once he was engaged. He was pleasant company and had no problem buying you drinks once you relaxed him. It was nearly 4am when you left the pub, the men now quite eager to return to the brothel. Scott offered you his arm and you happily took it before walking with them up Whitechapel Road. While you were well used to roaming the streets at night, you felt s lot more comfortable doing it when in the company of men who treated you as well as you deserved.

It was upon passing by the narrow and cobblestoned Buck’s Row that you noticed the commotion. A small crowd was gathered on the corner, peering down the alleyway at a handful of police constables who were examining something on the ground. They held their lanterns towards the unmoving bundle on the western end.

“What’s all that about?” Scott asked, halting and looking down the lane.

“Fucking hell,” Natasha muttered. “Don’t tell me it’s another attack.”

James looked between her and the investigating police. “Looks dodgy enough from here. I can’t see much though.”

“Excuse me, excuse me,” a polite voice cut through their conversation. You turned your head and saw a man shimmying his way through the gathered flock of observers. You recognised him as Doctor Banner, who lived in the area and sometimes worked as a Medical Officer for certain divisions in the area. He was also one of Natasha’s most frequent clients. “Excuse me, doctor coming through.”

“That can’t be good,” Scott said as Dr Banner and another PC approached their peers and a police ambulance was pulled into the lane. “Maybe they’re still alive?”

“What if this is connected to the other attacks?” you asked Natasha with a frown.

The red-haired woman looked back at you and shook her head. “Then we may have to stick closer together from now on.”

“We can stay here for a little while if you ladies want?” James offered, nodding to the spot where the body lay. “Incase we hear any information that might help you look after yourselves.” He looked around briefly before he nudged a man next to him. “Did you hear what happened?”

The man nodded, fiddling with his flat cap in his hands. “Police found some wagtail lying there in a pool of blood with ’er throat cut. It looks like she was dead before they got ’ere.”

“So it is another attack then,” you realised anxiously. “This is getting out of hand.”

“Then we should stay here for a while,” Natasha suggested. “We stick together and try to get what information we can. Maybe we can identify the poor woman.”

“We’ll stay too,” James declared. “I’d rather keep an eye on you two tonight. Scott and I can escort you back to the brothel later.”

You thanked your client for his kindness, something that was hard to come by those days, and you weren’t about to brush it off anytime soon. You were beginning to worry about these attacks more than usual, but you could feel that something was truly amiss this time. Though you could’t place it, you trusted your gut, and would heed its warnings. You looked on in concern as Dr Banner stooped down next to the unmoving woman and began his examination.

“When did you find her like this?” Dr Banner asked his colleagues as he studied the severe wound on her throat.

“Only about fifteen minutes ago,” Sergeant Steven Rogers replied. “I had been ’round here half an hour previously, and saw no one then. I was on the right side when I noticed a figure lying in the street. It was dark at the time, but there was not a soul about. Then I saw Bucky on the street and asked him to fetch you. Sam arrived after being alerted by the two men who found her on their way to work.”

PC James Buchanan Barnes stood on the sidelines, looking between the crowd and the busy doctor from under the brim of his helmet. “Looks like word spread pretty quick.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised by that,” PC Samuel Wilson mumbled as he halted the police ambulance nearby. “We should ask the neighbours and the Night Watchman if they heard anything.”

“I already spoke with the three slaughter-men who work on Winthrop Street,” PC Barnes informed him with a smug smile. The two constables were always trying to one-up each other, and it was beginning to do Sgt Rogers’ head in. The three slaughter-men he spoke of were currently on the scene, having been asked to remain there while the examination was conducted. “They say they heard nothing, but we are going to take them in for questioning to be safe.”

PC Wilson started clapping sarcastically. “Well done, Barnes. I am sure your actions have saved this woman’s life!”

“Yeah, and some help you were, Wilson! That ambulance is going to come in really handy when she’s already dead.”

“The pair of you need to shut up before I dismiss you both,” Sgt Rogers stated impatiently and then turned back to the occupied Dr Banner. “Is she dead, Doctor?”

“With a cut to the throat that severe? Unfortunately. She wasn’t going to make it out of this one. Her wrists and hands are cold too.” Dr Banner studied her through his spectacles as he continued his examination. “But her legs are warm.”

“And that means?” PC Barnes urged him onwards.

“That she can not have been dead for more than half an hour.”

Sgt Rogers looked bothered by this revelation. “The culprit was probably still in the area when those two men found her.”

“Most likely…” Dr Banner continued with his examination for a few minutes. He appeared unsettled by the sightseers at the end of the lane and quickly stated. “We should move the body to the mortuary on Old Montague Street. That crowd is starting to get too big for my liking and I can make a more detailed examination there later today.”

“You’ve never been one for crowds,” Sgt Rogers commented before gesturing for PC Barnes to assist him in moving the body. “C’mon, Buck. We have to move her; doctor’s orders.”

Without complaint, PC Barnes got to work, and helped his friend to lift the corpse into the police ambulance, which was nothing more than a wooden handcart. As they moved her, they noticed that the back of her clothing was completely soaked in blood.

“Ah shite,” PC Barnes said in surprise. “Steve, there’s blood everywhere.”

“Well, she does have a gaping neck wound, Barnes.”

“Shut it, Wilson!”

“Buck has a point,” Sgt Rogers added before pointing to a mass of congealed blood that had been underneath her body and was now running towards the gutter. “There isn’t much blood on the spot where you found her. She might have been dumped here and murdered elsewhere.”

“Possibly,” Dr Banner mused. “There is not more than would fill two wine glasses, or half a pint, maybe. I will know more when I perform the examination. Perhaps witness testimonies can confirm as to whether they heard any noise.”

Sgt Rogers carefully helped to place the body in the cart and turned his attention back to the doctor. “We will know more about that when we interview the neighbours. Hopefully they heard something.”

PC Barnes looked at his hands in mild irritation and saw that they were covered in the blood that had soaked into the victims clothes. “Identifying the victim might help? I could ask around — I’m sure there are some dollymops here that could provide information.”

“Good call. Take Wilson with you and then interview the neighbours after.”

“Awh, c’mon, Steve—!”

“If you two could go a single day without arguing, that would be fantastic. Get to work!”

PCs Barnes and Wilson trudged off towards the onlooking crowd, urging them back as they went.

Dr Banner turned his attention back to Sgt Rogers as he spoke. “While they tend to that, it might be a good idea to call Doctor Laufeyson.”

“I already asked Bucky to get on it,” the sergeant replied. “He called for him while calling for you, but he wasn’t at his home, so he’ll probably be late. I have another sergeant out looking for him though, so hopefully he will arrive soon. I will help you move her to the mortuary in the meantime. Those two twats can bring him up to speed when he arrives.”

They patiently waited beside the ambulance for someone who could possibly identify the body to be brought forward.

You watched as the two constables approached the crowd in which you stood. You were ushered back as they ordered for people to disperse. One of them ran his blue eyes over you, idly stroking the stubble on his chiselled jaw. You met his gaze before he shoved his loose hair beneath his helmet and then eyed Natasha at your side.

“You two,” he said, pointing at the pair of you. “Step forward, please, ladies.”

While James and Scott threw you hesitant looks, you obeyed the police, Natasha leading the way as you slipped through the now dispersing crowd. Your colleague was immediately on the defensive, but you didn’t exactly blame her. “What do you want?”

The constable seemed slightly taken aback by her tone, while his own colleague chuckled. Blue Eyes replied. “Relax, sweetheart! I’m PC Barnes and this is my irritating associate, PC Wilson. We just want to see if you can identify the victim. You were in similar employment, it would seem.”

She eyed them suspiciously. “And that’s all you want?”

“Of course. Follow me, ladies.”

You stood close to Natasha as the constables lead you to the police ambulance up the lane. Sergeant Rogers introduced himself to you while Dr Banner tried to hide his blush when he recognised Natasha. She merely smirked and said nothing, not wanting to lessen the man’s reputation in front of his peers.

You and Natasha looked at the body together, momentarily surprised by the gaping wound in the woman’s throat. Violence was such a normal part of life in Whitechapel and you saw plenty of it, but this was on another level. You didn’t know why, but something about this left you feeling more uneasy than usual. There was something so…visceral about the slash the knife had caused. She never stood a chance. Once you had forced your eyes away from the cut, you gazed upon her ashen face. Her unfocused eyes stared at nothing, all signs of life gone from them.

After a moment, you turned to your friend. “I think I have seen her before.”

“Where?” Sgt Rogers asked you in concern.

“Did she hang around with Emily Holland?” you pressed Natasha, ignoring the sergeant. “You know the girl who stays in the lodging house on Thrawl Street?”

She nodded in agreement. “You’re spot on, Y/N.”

Sgt Rogers tried to grab your attention again. “Do you know her name?”

“I can’t be sure, but I think I heard Emily refer to her as Polly before.”

“Wilson,” he began, addressing his partner. “I want you to find this Emily Holland in the morning. She can give us a proper identification so that we can be sure.” He offered you a curt smile and nodded. “Thank you for your assistance, madams.”

“A bit of assistance on your end would be helpful,” Natasha said in earnest. “These attacks are getting out of hand and we can’t make a living with our lives at risk.”

“I understand,” the sergeant tried to reassure her as he covered up the body with a sheet. “And we will do our best to apprehend the man who did this.”

“You better,” you added with a shake of the head. “We’ll be waiting nearby to make sure that you do.”

“You like watching men at work, huh, sweetheart?” PC Barnes asked her as his eyebrows rose suggestively for a brief moment.

You rolled your eyes at him. “I have to watch sometimes, you rantallion. Otherwise you lot would surely fuck it up.”

His smile immediately fell as PC Wilson burst out laughing. “Well done, Barnes. You cannot even manage to get yourself a dollymop!”

“Back to work!” their superior shushed them as you and Natasha walked back to rejoin your companions. You threw a glance at PC Barnes over your shoulder and gave him a wink. All he could do was shake his head in reply and let out a slight chuckle.

The two men left with the ambulance, giving PCs Barnes and Wilson complete charge of the scene while they were gone. You and your friends agreed to remain there for another half hour or so while the neighbours were interviewed. After seeing the gruesome aftermath of the attack, you didn’t feel comfortable with leaving completely empty handed. You needed something to keep yourself relaxed — some sort of witness statement, a sighting, a noise… Anything! If there was someone on the streets of Whitechapel out to kill prostitutes, then you needed all the information you could get.

* * *

Divisional Police Surgeon Loki Laufeyson sat some twenty minutes away in the nearby Princess Alice Pub on Commercial Street. He had a half full pint in hand and took a large gulp out of it before setting the glass back on to the bar’s counter. He pushed back his raven hair with his hand and let out a tired sigh. He was hoping for a quiet night, away from any police business. But such a wish was farfetched when you worked in Whitechapel. There was always bloody something amiss around here, especially when it was your job to stop it. That being said, Loki relished his alone time as his green eyes wandered to a pair of working women sat drinking together on the other side of the pub.

They giggled together, and he ran his finger along the brim of his glass.

“Doctor Laufeyson?”

Loki suddenly heard his name being called and turned to see Sergeant Kerby standing behind him. “Ah, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What seems to be the matter, Sergeant?” he asked as he took another swig of his pint, suppressing the urge to tell his comrade to politely sod off.

“There’s been a murder on Buck’s Row,” he explained before he eyed the nearly empty pub. “I, eh, called to your home but you weren’t there, obviously. Your neighbour was nice enough to tell me that he saw you coming in here not long ago.”

Dr Laufeyson cleared his throat as he recalled meeting said neighbour as he was entering the pub shortly before 4 am, and momentarily cursed the old man for seeing him. “I could not sleep, so I thought a walk and a cold pint might help.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to wait — Rogers wants you on the scene as soon as possible.”

“Right then,” the surgeon sighed and left the end of his drink on the counter. He shrugged on his coat and top-hat before nodding to the man. “Lead the way.”

The walk to Buck’s Row had been a quick one and the pair hurried through the cool night air before arriving at about 4.30am. There was a small crowd gathered at the entrance to the lane, which Sergeant Kerby claimed to have been much larger not too long ago. As they rounded the corner, gently shooing some bystanders out of the way, Loki saw Constables Barnes and Wilson speaking with three men while a young boy was throwing a bucket of water on the cobbled path. The liquid disappeared down the gutter just as the doctor noticed the distinct lack of a body. He quickly approached the PCs.

“You rang, gentlemen?” he asked as they turned to greet him.

“Morning, Dr Laufeyson,” PC Barnes said with a slight nod of the head.

“Nice of you to join us,” PC Wilson added in jest, flashing his signature gaped teeth with a grin. “You missed all the fun.”

“So it would seem,” Loki replied, looking at the scene around him. “But I was busy. Where is the body?”

“Steve and Bruce took it ’round to the mortuary already,” PC Barnes replied. “Bruce was getting put off by the size of the crowd.”

Loki released another heavy sigh, irritated by the inconvenience. He could have been far more helpful had he seen the victim where she was killed… “Where was she found?”

PC Barnes shone his lantern on a spot before them — the very spot the young boy was cleaning. “Steve found her here about forty-five minutes ago, and we have little James Green there washing down the blood. He’s the child of Mrs Emma Green who lives right here.” He gestured to the cottage right next to the murder site. “And before you ask, she said she heard nothing. Neither did the three slaughter-men who work on Winthrop Street, although I wish to question them further.”

Despite the boy’s cleaning efforts, there were still slight traces of blood between the cobblestones and Loki frowned at his ruined crime scene. “And Dr Banner’s thoughts?”

“Definitely dead when we found her, but only for about half an hour. You’ll understand when you see her throat — slashed to bits.”

“So murdered quietly and with no witnesses.” Loki surveyed the lane, looking between the spot of the murder and each end of the small street. “Do we know who she was?”

“Two obliging dollymops helped us with that,” PC Wilson explained and pointed to two women who were standing at the front of the dwindling crowd. “Pointed us in the direction of someone who should be able to give us a positive identification.”

The surgeon surveyed the women — clearly that of the working variety — where they stood, accompanied by two men. They were watching him curiously, even when he met their gaze. One of them — the fiery-looking redhead — raised a brow at him before saying something to her companion. The other woman, however, held his stare, replying to her friend without looking away. He narrowed his eyes at her and she eventually relented and turned her head in disinterest.

“Talking to them was my idea,” he vaguely heard PC Barnes add with a proud grin. “Wilson had nothing to do with it.”

In response, the other constable huffed. “Have I told you lately that you’re annoying as hell?”

“Several times, actually!”

Loki had had enough of their bickering and, knowing that he could do little more here, threw them a brief glance before stating. “I am going to the mortuary. Evening, gentlemen.”

As he exited the lane, he could feel the women’s eyes on him again, and he couldn’t help getting another quick look at them before he left. Sure enough, they were watching him closely.

He hurried around to Old Montague Street where the mortuary stood. It was little more than a brick shed, but it did the job for the most part. As Loki approached it, he was relieved to see the police ambulance still in the yard. Beside it was Sgt Rogers, who greeted him politely as always. He also explained that Dr Banner had returned home and promised to return in the morning to perform a full examination of the body. Loki gave her a quick check where she lay in the the ambulance but could see little with her clothes and the sheet covering most of her body.

Once an attendant had arrived, he and Sgt Rogers were allowed to bring the body inside and Loki quickly set about giving her a more detailed examination.

“Are you going to stay here?” he asked the sergeant, who stood beside the door with his arms folded across his chest.

Sgt Rogers merely nodded. “I just want to see you give her a once-over before I leave the coroners to their job. I’m sure your observations will be helpful, along with Bruce’s later this morning.”

“I could have been more helpful on the scene,” Loki added as he shrugged off his coat and threw on a blood-stained apron. “With the body undisturbed, but I arrived to find some boy already washing away all the evidence.”

“It was imperative that we got her out of there,” the blond replied, looking firm in his beliefs. “The crowd was getting out of hand. And you were late because you were not at home when Bucky called.”

“Whatever you say, Sergeant. What would I know, anyway? It is not like I am a Police Surgeon, or anything like that.”

“I’m not trying to undermine you, Doc. I was simply trusting Bruce’s intuition.”

“No need for apologies, I am well used to such talk.” With a sarcastic smile, Loki removed the sheet that covered the warm corpse. He felt the other man watching him as he got a good look at the victim, eyes still slightly open despite her ordeal. “There are bruises on the side of her face, possibly made by a thumb or fingers, if my guess is correct. It’s on her jaw on the right side, as if her head had been pushed back and her throat then cut.”

Barnes had not been joking about — the wounds on her neck were shockingly deep. He tilted her head slightly so he could get a better look. On the left side of the neck, about one inch below the jaw, there was an incision roughly four inches in length, and ran from a point immediately below the ear. On the same side, but an inch below, and commencing about one inch in front of it, was a circular incision, which terminated at a point about three inches below the right jaw. That incision had completely severed all the tissues down to the vertebrae, and the large vessels of the neck on both sides were severed. That incision was eight or so inches in length, Loki observed, his brow furrowing further with each detail he found.

Essentially, she was cut from ear to ear.

“Her throat was slashed twice,” he muttered, just loud enough for his companion to hear. “It would have killed her quite instantly.”

“That explains the blood-soaked clothes…”

Loki continued his routine examination as he removed the garments covering the body. Her chest showed no injuries or bruises as he worked downwards. “It would seem that most of her blood did indeed soak into her clothes and hair, for that matter. Her breast is clear of blood or cuts as is her… Jesus Christ.”

Loki’s words died on his lips as his jaw fell open. He could hear the sergeant asking what the problem was, but he ignored him and pulled back the victims skirts to get a better look at what he thought he saw.

His eyes had not played tricks on him — on her lower abdomen were three or four deep gashes, one of which was particularly violent.

As he stared at the lacerations in shock, he noticed Rogers approach the table. “Loki, what is the—” He halted in speechless surprise before he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, God. What did he do to her?”

Loki could only shake his head. “Send for Dr Banner, and Inspector Stark for that matter.”

“What the hell happened to her?” the other man demanded, horrified by the violent sight before him.

Meeting his worried gaze, Loki’s reply was that of a man who couldn’t believe his own eyes. “She has been disembowelled, Sergeant.”

Taglist: @heysliver @lisalisa007 @ava-royal @eloisemacguffin @tvdplusriverdale @trickster-grrrl @mellow-mischief

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inevitably-johnlocked · 7 years ago

Note

I hope you are having the loveliest, coziest holidays, and reading All The Fics (like I am). Currently on a big binge of ‘Sherlock & John go on a retreat/holiday/getaway event while pretending to be a couple but actually aren’t except they actually are but haven’t sorted themselves out yet because keeping everything repressed has worked fine until now obviously and let’s just pretend we both don’t have boners while we share the bed’ trope. Any suggestions off the top of your head? All my love!!!

Hi Lovely! *HUGS*

Thank you so much for your kind words!

HAHAH I LOVE THAT TROPE TOO OMG!! It’s one of my faves! I’ve actually made quite a few lists already on this very trope, a couple very recent too, and I haven’t anything really new to add. So, here’s my related lists:

The Speckled Blonde / BedSharing

BedSharing Pt. 2 and Insecure Sherlock

For a Case Trope

Meeting the Family

Christmas: Oblivious That One or The Other is In a Relationship

Married For a Case / Fake Husbands

Tooth Rotting Fluff

Hugs & Cuddles and Tooth-Rotting Fluff (Pt. 2)

Christmas Fic Recs (Dec. 2017)

AND Guess What? I have a whole new slew of Bed Sharing Fics I can give to you! Hope these all help you find what you’re looking for!

BED SHARING PT. 3

Whispers in the Dark by coloured_ink (G, 833 w. || Bed Sharing, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety, Caring John, Spooning, Little Spoon Sherlock) – Sherlock has anxiety attacks. Good thing John always knows what to do.

A Discourse on the Inadequacy of a Duvet by guns_and_poses (T, 1,005 w. || Est. Rel., Fluff, Humour, Bed Sharing, Romance) – Sherlock keeps stealing the covers when they share a bed because he wants John to move closer to him when they are sleeping but of course doesn’t want to ask. John gets annoyed at first until he realises what Sherlock wants and is more than happy to oblige.

The First Night by TheForerunner (NR, 1,043 w. || First Time, Fluff, Non-Explicit, Prose) – When all was over, Sherlock reached to dress again and John reached to stop him. They sat at opposite ends of the bed and one set of eyes surveyed the other’s set of limbs, and they were quiet in the downbeat, melody suspended. Sherlock was sheepish, and this confused John, who now smelled of his companion and felt they were part of one another.

The Cure for Snoring by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 1,278 w. || Bed Sharing, Cuddling, Fluff, Domestic, Platonic / Sleepy Cuddles) – Sherlock and John spend the night in Scotland after finishing a case. The sole Inn in town only has one room left…one bed. This would be fine - if not a bit awkward - if Sherlock hadn’t developed a habit of snoring loudly. John suffers through many hours of sleeplessness before he discovers that skin-to-skin contact stops the noise. Part 1 of Dreamscapes

John Was Nice Like That by hannah_baker (T, 1,307 w. || Est. Rel., Fluff, Body Worship, John’s Bum) – Sherlock Holmes may not ever sleep, but that hasn’t prevented him from having a kip on the couch with John.

Caught by Salambo06 (E, 1,859 w. || Frottage, First Time / Kiss, Bed Sharing, Wet Dreams, POV John, Masturbation) – A hotel room. They’re here for a case, hadn’t planned to spend the night and ended up sharing a room. No, sharing a bed. Suddenly John is very much aware of his own hand closed around his hard cock and the ragged breathing next to him. Closing his eyes for the briefest second, John dares to turn his head just enough to confirm what he already knows. Sherlock, on his side, watching him.

Stay by msdisdain (M, 3,561 w. || First Kiss / Time, Angst / H/C, Bed Sharing, Nightmares, Blow Jobs, Anal) – John’s nightmares are nothing new. Sherlock’s inability to ignore them, however, is.

Everything by patternofdefiance (E, 4,409 w. || Snuggles and Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Vulnerable Sherlock) – John wakes up with an armful of Sherlock.This – situation – is unusual, yes, and definitely unfamiliar, but in no way does it feel wrong.Rather, it feels the exact opposite. Part 13 of I Blame Tumblr

Keep Each Other Company by orithea (E, 4,600 || Est. Rel., Threesome, Self-cest, Time Traveller Sherlock) – One Sherlock is demanding enough. Two of them are impossible to resist. Part 3 of The Time Traveller’s Flatmate

What Happens in Vegas (is legally binding in the United Kingdom) by moonblossom (E, 5,051 w. || Accidental Marriage, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, CSI Crossover, Fluff & Porn, Bathtub Sex, Hand Jobs, First Time) – When a case sends the boys to Vegas, John comes out of it with a bit more than he bargained for. Part 19 of Prompt Fills, Remixes, Works inspired by others

Adjacent by weeesi (E, 5,711 w. || Bed Sharing, Fluff and Smut, Pining Idiots, On a Trip, Frottage) – Sherlock and John spend the night at a hotel in adjoining rooms, and keep finding excuses to visit each other’s rooms, until WHOOPS they’re sharing a bed.

The Honeymoon Suite by Salambo06 (E, 5,827 w. || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, Frottage, First Kiss, Cuddling/Snuggling/Sleepy Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Holidays / Hotels, Case Fic) – “You’ll see,” the receptionist smiles, handing John the key to their room, “This honeymoon suite is quite spectacular. Our hotel has won many awards, most of them for these rooms.” John nods, licking his lips and playing with the key in his hand. We’ll probably be leaving first thing in the morning, he wants to tell her. As soon as Sherlock proves who robbed the previous couple who booked a room here, we’re out of here and stopping this happily married charade. “Thank you,” he says instead.

Just a Touch by MissDavis (E, 6,248 w. || Bed Sharing, Masturbation, First Time/Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Room) – John has trouble falling asleep these days. There’s one thing he can do that always seems to help, but he’s stuck in this hotel room with Sherlock and doesn’t think he’ll get the chance. How will he ever find relief and a good night’s sleep?

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

Coda by SilentAuror (E, 7,448 w. || PWP, POV John, Porn with Feels, Switch, Fluff) – Coda to A Satisfactory Arrangement. “This is all I want to do for the rest of my life,” Sherlock tells him. “Screw the work. Let’s just stay in bed forever.” Part 2 of A Satisfactory Arrangement

I can’t pretend by Salambo06 (E, 7,692 w. || Fake Relationship, Victor Trevor, Jealous John, Miscommunications, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Anal, BJs) – They had arrived more than a hour ago, and the moment they had walked inside the hotel reception, John had understood why Sherlock hadn’t wanted to come. Two men, posh suits and expensive watches on their wrists, had come to greet them with sharp remarks and badly hidden mockery, and John had seen red. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, mostly ignoring the two men entirely, and without thinking twice about it, John had slid an arm around Sherlock’s waist and introduced himself as his husband.

Your Eyes in Darkness Glowing by tamed_untranslatable (E, 14,686 w. || Est. Rel., Case Fic, Hotel Sex, Bottomlock, Anal, BJ’s, Porn With Feelings, Homophobia) – Sherlock gets roped into a case in Moscow on his brother’s insistence, but finds that he can’t do it without John.

Twelfth Night by yourdykeinshiningarmor (E, 15,139 w. || Fake Relationship, Christmas, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Angst & Fluff, BJ’s, Anal) – John is invited to his aunt’s Twelfth Night ball. Sherlock offers to attend with him as a friendly face among strangers, but John’s family force him to address his true feelings for Sherlock.

A Hundred Thousand Ways to Say the Name John by Jberry (E, 16,825 w. || Fake Relationship, Fake Marriage, POV John, Pining John, Cruise Ship, Angst & Fluff, Case Fit) – John Watson and Sherlock Holmes must solve a case on a cruise ship. To get close to the crew and passengers, they must get married for the case on the Baetica. However, their relationship hits rocky seas both due to the case and internal conflicts. Part 1 of Baetica

The Semantics of Crop Circle Formation: a case study by Sherlock Holmes [unpublished] bycanolacrush (M, 41,710 w. || Sherlock POV, Aliens, Wordplay, Casefic) – “Look at these photographs,” I said, gesturing to the wall of crop circles. “What do you observe?”“Crop circles,” John replied.“Obvious. What else?”“Are…are those intestines surrounding them?”“Yes. The majority are bovine and ovine in origin. The farmers who have acquired these crop circles in their fields have also had a tenth of their livestock murdered and arranged thus.”“Why?” John said, presumably in a rhetorical fashion. I detest rhetorical questions. “That is what I must find out, John.”

Bedroom Tales by Junejuly15 (M, 49,950 w. || Friends to Lovers, Through the Years, H/C, Military Kink, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Insecure Sherlock, Voyeurism, Post-TRF, Ficlets, Fluff and Angst, Fix-It Fics) – Bedroom Tales is a collection of John and Sherlock ficletsThey are set at various stages of their relationship and are in no particular order. Some are fluffy, some sexy, some angsty, there is hurt and comfort, romance and love. What unites them is that they all play in a bedroom, but not necessarily the one in 221B.

John Watson’s Twelve Days of Christmas by earlgreytea68 (M, 53,464 w. || Christmas, Holmes Family, Fake Relationship, Alternate First Meeting, Falling in Love, Fluff and Angst, Hardcore Pining) – It’s the holiday season. John Watson needs money. Sherlock Holmes needs something else.

A Case of Identity by jkay1980 (T, 91,009 w. || Fake Relationship, Post-TRF, Case Fic) – John and Sherlock have succeeded in rebuilding their friendship after Sherlock’s fake suicide, but an unusual case puts their relationship to the test. They pretend to be engaged and attend a marriage counseling workshop. Under the pretext of the case, Sherlock turns out to be a master of seduction, and John finally learns he might like Sherlock more than he thought. Slowly, John discovers that he loves Sherlock not only in a friendly, brotherly way, but both men have to fight their own demons before they can think of taking their relationship to a new level…

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #bed sharing #for a case trope #johnlock fluff #johnlock #esthershapiro

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vateacancameos · 7 years ago

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Here We Are As In Olden Days, Part 31

Day 31 of @missdaviswrites December Sherlock ficlet challenge.

31 December, New Year

Sherlock | Johnlock | Ficlet | ao3 link

Sherlock woke up with a crick in his neck, a draft on his feet, and a sleeping John on his shoulder. He took a moment to orient himself. It was New Year’s Eve, no New Year’s Day, according to the clock, which stated it was almost two in the morning. They had been watching some New Year’s Eve show on the telly, one with terrible musical performances and annoying emcees. John had insisted they have it on so they could ring in the new year and watch the fireworks shows from other cities around the world, but mostly he and John had talked over it. It had been a quiet, pleasant evening—a little alcohol in celebration, but nothing out of hand, quiet conversation with the person he loved most in this world, and the warm cocoon that seemed to hang around him and John constantly these days.

Somehow, they’d both managed to fall asleep before midnight. At least, Sherlock assumed John had dropped off around the same time he had. Their conversation had slowed, John had scooted down the sofa cushion to rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, and they’d drowsily watched the horrible presenters natter on.

Knowing they’d regret it if they stayed on the sofa for the rest of the night, Sherlock put his free hand to John’s cheek. “Wake up,” he whispered lowly. John groaned and dug his head deeper into Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock tried again. “John, we should go to bed.” Another groan was his only answer. Sherlock smiled, gently extricated himself from John, and pulled them both to standing, letting John lean on him rather than try a third time to wake him.

By the time they made it to the bedroom, John was awake enough to undress himself and climb into bed, and he sighed softly as he burrowed under the covers. “Hurry up,” he mumbled. “The sheets are cold.”

Sherlock chuckled, shucked his pajama bottoms, and crawled in beside John. “Rude,” he teased. “You’re supposed to warm them for me, not force me to warm them myself.”

“Make it a group effort,” John replied drowsily, inching close to Sherlock and putting his arm around Sherlock’s waist.

This one gets a bit long. Rest of the story below the cut.

Sherlock hummed happily as he let himself be situated to John’s exacting specifications. If asked who would be the picky one about how he slept, most people would pick Sherlock, but it was John who needed to be facing a certain way with Sherlock positioned just so in order to fall asleep (sofa kipping aside). When asked, John had said that positioning himself in the same way every night had helped him go to sleep faster after he’d first returned from Afghanistan. He’d needed a sense of routine and feeling of familiar comfort in order to relax. Whereas Sherlock was used to getting sleep when and where he allowed it, without any sort of routine to fall back on. Still, he found John’s routine comforting, and he did accede that he’d been falling asleep much faster ever since John had taken up residence in his bed. Of course, it could also be that clocking John’s vitals and learning his every bump and crease and angle as the nodded off was a bit like counting sheep to Sherlock—a good way to slow his brain down enough to let it relax.

He was ready to begin that nightly routine when John sighed in his ear. “We missed midnight,” John noted.

“We’ve both seen many starts to many years, I’m sure we’re allowed to miss a few.”

“But it was our first one t’gether. It deserved special cel’bration,” John slurred sleepily.

Sherlock warmed at the thought. John was much freer with his thoughts and feelings now that they were together. It was as if he’d only kept everything so tightly bottled was because he was afraid of revealing his love for Sherlock. And now that that was out in the open, he didn’t care about the rest. Sherlock understood the feeling. It was liberating for them both, though it had started even before they’d even kissed. It had begun one month ago, when John said he wanted Sherlock around for the rest of his life.

He hadn’t revealed his complete feelings then, and neither had Sherlock, but they’d taken that first step, that pledge to spend their lives together, to put each other over anyone else. They could’ve kissed then and there, but Sherlock had enjoyed spreading it out a little, feeling that will-they-won’t-they tension, enjoying the little flirtations John so loved to give in their texting conversations, reveling in the increasingly open looks and touches from John and Sherlock giving his own in return. And now here they were, over a week into their new relationship, happy and open and starting a new year together. He understood John’s disappointment in being unable to ring in the new year together, but it was fine. He’d spent it sleeping and curled up with John, which was somehow maybe a bit better. It illustrated their comfort level with each other, which was a much better indicator of the longevity of their relationship than some big, showy kiss at a somewhat arbitrary moment of time. Still, he understood.

“If you can hold out for…” he checked his phone, “three more minutes, we can celebrate with Rio de Janeiro.”

John chuckled. “Okay, let’s…” he yawned, “do that.” He tightened his arm around Sherlock’s waist.

“What did you decide for your resolution?” Sherlock asked, mostly to keep John awake, but also because he was curious. John had been mentioning it for days, but hadn’t said what’d he’d landed on. Sherlock, of course, wasn’t pledging anything definite, though he’d tacitly vowed to make John happy. That was enough to be going on with, he thought.

“Oh,” John began with a hum. “Spend the year proving I’m worth a lifetime with you.” He rubbed his nose against Sherlock’s cheek. “Figured that would annoy you far less than a fitness regime or dieting or, I dunno, being less of an arse to other people.”

It was simultaneously greater and less than any answer John could have given. Less because it wasn’t as if John hadn’t been doing that all along, and greater because it made Sherlock feel special, to have such a vow concentrated on him, of all people. He scooted even closer to John, careful not to upset their current arrangement.

“Oh, John, I’ve known your worth for years. Maybe not from day one, otherwise I wouldn’t have turned down you chatting me up that first night, but definitely early days. Hell, you jumped on Moriarty’s back while covered in explosives for me. You, John Watson, are worth everything to me. You have been for ages, and you will continue to be so for the rest of our lives.”

John propped himself up on his elbow, leaned over Sherlock, and put a hand to Sherlock’s cheek. “Never stop amazing me, Sherlock. God, how did I get so lucky to find you? I think you proved your worth to me that first day, in the lab. You read me in a way not even my therapist had managed after two months of sessions. It was… freeing to be seen without having to explain myself for once, for you to understand where I came from and what I needed to feel valuable and wanted. I knew then that you would play an important part in my life, and that grew only more obvious over time. It hasn’t always been easy, you and me, but we’ve managed to get this far. I have high hopes that the rest of life’s challenges won’t be insurmountable if we stay honest with each other.” John stopped a moment, then chuckled.

“What?”

“It’s just gone midnight at the start of a new year, and the two of us are talking like we’re in a wedding ceremony.” He laid back down, snuggling back into position next to Sherlock.

“Did you… were you hoping…” Sherlock had trouble making himself ask. He didn’t want to disappoint John, but he wasn’t sure the whole wedding song-and-dance was necessary. He would do it, though, if it made John feel more secure.

“No,” John said with a sigh that sounded content. Good. “It’s just a paper stating what we already know. And in this day and age, really, something said in a church or in front of witnesses doesn’t really hold much more intent than what we’re saying now. We’ve been marinating all month in the idea of spending our lives together, longer, really, at least in our own heads. Maybe down the road we’ll decide the tax benefits are worth it, but as a means of pledging ourselves to each other, not necessary.”

Sherlock relaxed as John talked. It shouldn’t surprise him that they agreed on this. They were two danger-loving mad men. Marriage wasn’t a priority for either of them. Still, that didn’t mean romance wasn’t warranted. He did want to make it clear what he expected out of their future.

“I agree,” he replied. “And, for the record… I vow, John Watson, to love you, to make you laugh, to keep adventure in your life. I promise I won’t abandon you when this gets difficult. I won’t let jealousy or boredom or criminal masterminds interfere with our happiness. I’ve loved you for years, and I’ll continue to do so for as long as I’m alive.”

Sherlock felt John’s smile through the t-shirt covering his shoulder and John’s fingers rubbing softly over his hip, a comforting and mindless gesture. “I vow, Sherlock Holmes, to love you, protect you, and stand tall by your side. I will support you in your mad schemes, learn as much as I can from your genius mind, and take the mickey out of you every once in a while to keep you from getting too big a head.”

“Hey,” Sherlock complained insincerely, pinching John’s arm.

John giggled. “I won’t let anger or hopelessness or lack of understanding get in the way of you and me. I’ll always ask for stolen ashtrays and make jokes only you understand. I may have sometimes hated your actions, but I’ve always love you, and I plan on doing the same for the rest of my life.”

The idea of them growing old together seemed to not become any more boring or commonplace the more they talked about it. Sherlock’s heart was light, and a happy hum infused his body. He was in bed on New Year’s Day with the man he loved and had just vowed to spend the rest of his life with. No other holiday would beat this one out. The winter solstice would always hold a special place for being the moment they first kissed. But this was more comfortable, more… forever.

“To a new year and the beginning of a new life,” he whispered against John’s temple.

“To us,” John replied. “Happy New Year,” he mumbled, beginning to drift off again.

“Happy New Year, John.”

With such an auspicious beginning, Sherlock knew it would be a good one.

Beginning | Previous

Thanks so much to everyone who read, followed along, liked, and reblogged. You made me a happy person. Happy New Year!!!!

#sherlock #johnlock #fanfic #ficlet #sherlock december ficlets #winter #new years #love #vows #meagan writes #ao3

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tenscupcake · 7 years ago

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electrostatic potential (34/?)

ten/rose. teen this ch. this chapter was definitely an exercise in pushing my creative boundaries. a style i’ve never tried to tackle before, and it’s a short chapter on top of that (concision is something EVERYONE already knows i suck at). i like the way it turned out though, as did my beta :D so i hope you guys do too. summary: as the doctor and rose traverse time and space looking for adventure, they slowly fall victim to a mysterious energy that can manipulate their emotions. though confused and unnerved by the cerebral affliction, neither of them understands its cause, or realizes that it could jeopardize their friendship. what will it take for them to discover the truth? this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3

There’s a phenomenon that exists in many species across the universe – ones with cardiovascular systems, at any rate. A temporary enlargement and reduction of function of the heart muscle in response to a severe stress, especially a death or breakup. Untreated, it can result in fatal arrhythmia or heart failure. Its symptoms are similar to those of a myocardial infarction: acute chest pain and shortness of breath.

Some medical professionals designate it takotsubo cardiomyopathy. But, species and language barriers notwithstanding, it’s known colloquially across much of the universe as broken heart syndrome.

“We haven't got time to argue. The plan works. We're going. You too. All of us.”

“No, I’m not leavin’ him!”

There’s no evidence the condition occurs in Gallifreyans.

But as the Doctor turns his back on the stark white wall and faces an empty room, he wonders if all his time spent around humans hasn’t begun to affect his biology. His chest is swollen yet empty and aching, and the only time he can breathe is when the erratic, pounding palpitations of his hearts knock the wind out of him and he gasps for air.

“He does it alone, Mum. But not anymore. ‘Cause now he's got me.”

Why did he do it? Why did he sling the device around Rose’s neck?

He would never. He should never.

His legs, barely functional pegs, slowly carry him out of the room where the rift was created. Broken. Numb. He nearly makes it to the stairwell but falls to his knees before he can reach the door. He buckles over at the waist, barely catching himself with his hands before his head hits the ground. The cold, hard floor is a welcome, if miniscule, reprieve from the agony in his chest.

“I made my choice a long time ago, and I'm never gonna leave you.”

He squeezes his eyes closed, wishing tears would fall. Wishing he could scream. Wishing something would happen to disrupt the deafening silence. The intense emptiness of this room. This entire building. Its previous employees either evacuated or dead.

He knew. He knew she’d never leave. He promised he’d never leave her either.

Why did he do it?

But she came back. The storm had nearly passed.

Nearly.

“Hold on!!!”

Haunted by the memory of his own guttural scream, he finds his voice.

“NO!” he shouts at no one except the walls and the corpses scattered through the building. Smashes clenched fists on the linoleum.

They had come so close.

And they had hardly two weeks connected. Hardly one actually believing they might be able to live out their days together.

More and more seconds pass without Rose’s mental presence close enough to feel, and his mind begins to throb with the realization she’s gone. It worsens until it overrides the pain in his chest, the edges of his mind a raw wound that no salve will treat. And yet, futilely, the abandoned tendrils of his mind search for her. They’ll never stop searching for her.

He was right not to trust. To flee from a possibility of a connection like theirs. He saw this coming. He knew how much it would crush him, but he did it anyway. He’s a fool.

And for his stupidity, Rose will live out her millennia of life in a different dimension, with no one to spend it with. Her very immortality a constant reminder of what she’s lost. He’s thrust the very curse upon her that he can hardly bear the burden of himself.

He can’t let her suffer like this.

He can’t.

He has to find a way to her. He’d rip apart two universes to find a way.

A burst of adrenaline wrenches his eyes open. A second gets him to his feet, supporting himself against a wall.

As he takes in his immediate surroundings, trying to re-orient himself so he can find the TARDIS, the stark surfaces of the white box he’s trapped in begin to warp. The walls bend and buckle. A haze drifts over everything, until it’s suddenly too treacherous to take a single step.

He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his fingers over them, giving himself a moment to try to breathe. Kick in his respiratory bypass to assist. This must be merely a symptom of his situation, his brain’s sensory processing ability taking a temporary hit from hypoxia or shock. Maybe both.

But when he opens them again, the entire interior of the cursed building flickers in and out of existence around him. Milliseconds of utter blackness interrupt his shaky perception of the world – like a live video feed cutting out.

Somewhere, Rose is screaming his name.

He screams back, only it’s not her name but a garbled cry of pain, because his head is suddenly pounding like it’s about to explode. Clutching the sides of his head, he crumples to the floor again, and this time he’s unable to break the fall with his hands.

---

He’s tried everything he can think of.

Went back in time to Canary Wharf, risked it all to try to slip through the crack between the universes while it was still open. But the TARDIS wouldn’t allow the risk of crossing his own timeline. He shouted himself hoarse and tried to override her safety precautions but she wouldn’t budge. She wouldn’t let him kill himself trying to get her back.

Normally he’s grateful for her protection, but right now the alternative still seems preferable. He did have that deal with himself, didn’t he?

He tore apart the console trying to recreate the accident that brought them to Pete’s World in the first place. It was an even worse failure that led the TARDIS to confiscate his flying privileges entirely. He was marooned inside the ship, no outlet for his grief for what felt like years.

He’s searching for other gaps between universes now, any crack that might be large enough to squeeze through. It doesn’t even matter if it’s a one-way trip or not. Setting the randomizer over and over, he searches every new destination for signs of the Void seeping through. But with and all of time and space at the TARDIS’s disposal, her search radius a mere pinpoint in comparison, it could take ten billion stops before he found one.

It’s hopeless.

His mind cries out for her, its edges aching, still raw. Frayed. Like the stub of a severed limb.

The monitor still doesn’t have any positive readings.

He crushes the pen in his hand, not caring when the ink bleeds onto the keyboard beneath it. He’s about to punch the glass screen, desperate to feel something besides the hollow ache in his chest.

But he suddenly feels… strange. Without warning, a different emotion rapidly displaces his grief and hopelessness: a potent sense of amnesia.

How many times has he done this? How many loci of this universe has he already checked? Two? Two thousand? He can’t remember any of them. But their current voyage doesn’t feel like their first one, either. Mingled with the amnesia is déjà vu, a nagging sense he’s done this before. He’s exhausted like he’s been at it for months without sleep, maybe even years.

He rubs a hand down his cheek, finding it rough with stubble. Looking down at his suit, he finds it stained with grease, dirt, and blood. His own? How long has it been since he washed it?

As he looks around, suddenly nothing he sees feels real. The console, the floor beneath his heavy feet, none of it.

Why are there such large gaps in his memory? Was he dosed with something? He doesn’t feel right.

He must need sleep. He’s been fighting so hard to get back to Rose, he’s been neglecting himself. Severely.

That’s all it is. A kip is all he needs.

Suddenly too exhausted to make the trek to his own bed, he drops to the console floor and is unconscious before he can second guess himself.

---

The Doctor carefully pilots the TARDIS around the dying, blazing star, getting the ship into just the right orbit to absorb its power without her shields being depleted by the intense radiation.

The gap he eventually found isn’t large enough to fit through.

Only just enough to send simple communication.

When it’s finally in the right spot, he steps away from the monitor. It’ll take a few minutes to draw enough power to send the projection, and the Doctor needs to freshen up. He’s still determined to find a way through properly, but he’d be an idiot not to consider the possibility this is the last time she’ll ever see him. He doesn’t want to look pathetic and unkempt as he says what might be his final goodbye.

He mechanically changes his suit and shaves his face, styles his hair though he hasn’t in he can’t remember how long. The way she likes it.

They didn’t get to say goodbye.

It’s the very least she deserves.

It will destroy them both, to be able to see one another but not touch. To be tempted with one another’s image even as the pervasive emptiness in their minds persists.

But it’s better than nothing. He repeats that to himself as he drags his feet back to the console.

But when he re-enters the console, his head is suddenly killing him again. He pushes his fists into his forehead, clenching his eyes shut and gasping through his teeth to try to will the pain away.

It does begin to fade after a few moments of steady breathing, and he takes one last deep breath, steeling himself for what he’s about to do.

But when he opens his eyes, the TARDIS’s interior has been completely transformed. A console still looms in the centre, the time rotor still breathes heavily as it churns up and down. But a purplish glow has replaced the green hue he’s accustomed to. The control panels have sharp edges, the organic corals supplanted by polygonal pillars. Unfamiliar Gallifreyan inscriptions line the walls and moving parts overhead, and the room is far bigger: multiple tiers of pathways extending in three dimensions beyond the grating of the console.

Dimly, as though a projection itself, a young redhead traipses around on a level of grating above him, and he can just faintly hear a Scottish accent...

And with a blink, it’s all gone. The stranger, the headache, the foreign TARDIS. It’s all back to normal.

He shakes his head, blinking hard a few more times. But the console room is now just as he left it: small and green and old-fashioned.

But… how… wait...

How did he get here?

The last thing he remembers is falling asleep on the grating. When he came to, he had already found this supernova. What did he do in between?

He shakes his head, dispelling the nonsensical train of thought.

It’s the anxiety. It has to be. Messing with his brain. Temporarily distorting his memories. But he can’t back out now. This might be his only chance to say goodbye to her.

---

“How long have we got?”

“About two minutes.”

---

“Am I ever gonna see you again?”

“You can’t.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“Oh, I've got the Tardis. Same old life, last of the Time Lords.”

“On your own?”

He nods.

“I…”

A sob chokes off whatever she’s about to say, and she buckles over at the waist, trying to contain it.

Two minutes.

They’re running out of time.

When Rose rights herself, meeting his gaze again, her cheeks are still wet with tears, but they’re no longer falling. Terror and desperation have replaced the sorrow on her face.

“Doctor!” she shouts, far too loudly for being right in front of him. It’s frantic and impatient, as though it’s not her first time shouting his name, like she’s been shouting it for ages and he hasn’t heard her. The tangible shift in her emotional state makes this feel so much more real. Her presence here with him is an illusion – she’s not really inside the TARDIS – but it suddenly feels like she is. She feels closer to him than she has for months. His mind agrees she may be within reach, reaching out and calling her more strongly than it ever has.

Which is foolish and naïve. It must be merely his instinct to protect her kicking in, a strong emotional response to her evident distress affecting his judgment.

“Rose? What’s wrong?”

“You need to regenerate!” She’s still shouting just as forcefully.

He looks around, searching within the TARDIS for whatever danger she’s detected, but finds none.

“Rose, what are you on about?” Panic bubbles up inside him. This isn’t how he wants their last conversation to be. “I’m fine.”

“Doctor, whatever this is you’re experiencing in here, it’s not real.”

In here?

He’d rather they could touch one another, too, but this projection was the best he could do. He’ll keep trying the rest of his life, but there’s a good chance this is their last chance to speak. As far as Rose knows, it is. He doesn’t want to waste their final seconds together arguing about what’s real.

“Rose, I know I’m not here properly. Not physically, but… I had to say goodbye.” He pleads with her to understand with his mind, though he knows she can’t feel it. Her mind is still too far away, notwithstanding this visual fabrication that’s projecting her image inside the TARDIS.

“No, Doctor! Don’t say goodbye!” She lunges forward and grabs onto the lapels of his suit, the strong clutches of her fists successfully capturing the fabric, and his eyes bulge out of his skull. He stares down at her hands, the dark blue fabric of her jumper pressing into his chest, the arms attached to them suddenly quite real.

“Rose,” he gasps out, breathing heavily. “How are you doing this?” He reaches his arm up, touching her shoulder and finding it quite solid. His throat closes up with panic. Has sending this projection torn the fabric of reality? Jeopardized the stability of this universe? Hers? Both? As much as he wants to touch her in return, he knows something has gone horribly wrong.

“Look, you’re hurt.” Rose moves her hands up to his cheeks, tilting up his head, forcing him to look her in the eyes. Frantic as they are determined. “You’re hurt really bad. You hit your head. You need to regenerate.”

“What’re you…” he tries to speak, but a potent spike of pain in his head prevents him from finishing the sentence. “Agh!” Clutching his head, he sinks to his knees, but rather than the hard grating, there’s nothing but sand beneath his knees. He glances around, only to find the console, the coral struts of the TARDIS, the ramps and the adjacent hallway are fading out of view. In just a few seconds, his ship has disintegrated completely. There’s only Rose, the ocean, the cold wind and sand and scattered rocks surrounding them.

“Rose, what’s happening?” he grits out through his teeth. The world tilts on its axis as the relentless pain brings nausea and disorientation.

“Doctor, you need to stay with me.” She kneels down with him, fighting desperately for his full attention. But he can’t give it; the pain is already excruciating. “Can you feel the regeneration energy?”

“No!” he spits out, too miserable for politeness.

Amidst the agony is a profound confusion. How did he get here? Why does his head feel like it’s been cracked open?

But he has to say goodbye.

Two minutes.

He’s running out of time.

A powerful wave of dizziness crashes over him as he looks up at her, making the entire world spin around Rose until she goes completely out of focus.

“Rose, we don’ ‘ave much time. Just… needt’ tell you…” The words are slurred. Like he’s drugged, about to lose consciousness.

“Doctor! Listen! We’re not on this beach, okay? We’re at Canary Wharf. You’re about to leave me forever. You’ve got to trust me. I can feel it. The fire in your veins. You need to surrender to it.”

He stops trying to fight against what she’s saying. If this will be the last time he sees her anyway, he might as well indulge what she wants.

But how can he regenerate if he’s not dying?

Maybe he is dying. He’d be better off dead than living without Rose, anyway. Either way, regenerating sooner just means his miserably lonely life will be over sooner once she disappears.

He searches inward for the familiar flames of change, and to his surprise, he can just detect it down in his toes.

Is he dying?

Now that he can feel the fire in his veins, it quickly consumes him. Spreads through his body, burning every cell it touches from the inside as he yells against the wind in protest. The relentless migraine in his head worsens as the fire reaches his head, spreading and swelling with unbearable pressure until his head feels fit to burst. An overinflated balloon about to violently pop, its shrivelled latex remnants raining to the ground.

The agony at least brings a burst of adrenaline that hauls him to his feet, still holding his head. At this point he’s worried if he lets go his skull will fall apart, but he pulls one hand away from his head, needing to see the evidence for himself. He watches as the golden glow emanates from his hand, trickling down to his fingers. Brighter by the second.

He doesn’t want to regenerate. He wants to stay in this body. This is the man Rose fell in love with.

But if she’s gone, what’s the point? If he can’t get her back… oh, he’d do anything to get her back... but it’s too late. The crescendo of energy is moments from reaching its peak. The overwhelming heat is melting his organs, the poorly contained energy tearing his cells apart one by one as it searches desperately for an outlet.

He gasps for air, desperate for the pain to be over. Maybe Rose will still be here when he comes out the other side...

Rose.

“Get back!” He barely gets the words out before he explodes.

Rose.

She’s his only conscious thought as his body combusts to a whirlwind of plasma and ashes around him.

#ficandchips #ten x rose #aaaaaaa this story is winding down so fast #i've been excited to post this chap for literally so long too #really stepping out of my comfort zone but think it paid off #i hope?#written by yours truly

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ancient-trees · 7 years ago

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Current WIPs Meme

Rules: List all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on: writing, art, gifsets, whatever.

Tagged by @theticklishpear and indirectly by @brynwrites. Going with Bryn’s question format because at this point the “expected length” for all my projects is a big ol’ SHRUG EMOJI. Or just plain “long.”

Novels - I am unfortunately a huge fan of ensemble casts and multiple interlocking plotlines, so my (still unnamed) series consists of several novels in a not-necessarily-linear order that merge into one cohesive whole by the end of the thing. The story is about a world that was broken in a magical cataclysm thousands of years ago and never quite healed correctly... and now something has begun picking at the seams.

The Self-Slaying Dragon (...working title. I like the wordplay, but I don’t think it quite FITS the story the way I’d want a title to) Status: Right now I’m rebuilding it from the ground up, in the interest of giving full-on Planning a go (rather than Plantsing like my previous attempts), outlining the whole story before I dive back into prose this time. Counts: 50,195 words of an unfinished NaNoWriMo first draft, 3,927 words of an attempted restart, and a shit-ton of pages of notes. Blurb: Dragons are forces of nature: half-physical, half-spirit nexuses that anchor Magic into the world, sometimes also serving as metaphysical guardians to humankind. But when a power-hungry wizard's attempt to soul-bind the Great Storm Dragon and commandeer his magic goes horribly wrong, the Dragon is ripped loose from his anchor-point and takes off in a roiling storm of magic, raining blind fury upon the people to whom he’d been sacred protector. The wizard is left to answer for what he has done... only, somehow in the failed binding the Dragon’s consciousness has become lodged in the dying wizard’s body. And so it’s the Dragon himself, along with the wizard’s traveling companion and a young dragon-priest in training, who must figure out how to set things right... before his mindlessly-raging Dragon-self destroys his people, his people find a way to destroy the revered protector who has apparently betrayed them, or some even worse consequence occurs.

The Unbreaker’s Tale Status: Writing is on hold while I focus on Dragon, story’s being developed bit by bit in the background as I work out how the novels weave together. Counts: 22,172 words Blurb: Ever since he was a child, Perrath has had a magical talent for mending broken things - and a passion for helping people to go with it. Then one night a strange wind sweeps away all the magic in his village... including his innate gift. He’s been searching for it ever since, with a scruffy dog at his side for companionship and a probably-still-functional finding charm leading the way. While he misses his magic, he’s found that in the meantime he really enjoys a life of wandering - going wherever his finder points him, meeting new people and exploring places he’d never heard of, using his mundane skills to repair people’s things in order to get by. Until he finds himself in a sticky situation out in the uncharted wilds, and learns that promising to fix something for malevolent shadow-demons is maybe not a good idea…

Other stories in the series, which aren’t being AS actively worked on (except obliquely, as the whole thing gets built):

(still don’t have a title for this one) Status: Was written for NaNo AGES ago, before I knew it would fit into a series. Will need to be 99% scrapped and redone (this is a good thing). Counts: 50k+ words, draft unfinished Blurb: A holy fae prince and an unsuspecting message-runner wind up someplace they’re emphatically not supposed to be. Rules are broken, prophecies are mislaid, bounds are transgressed - and in the frayed wilds of the spirit realm, no rule ever gets broken without dire consequences.

(No title for this one yet either) Status: Another old NaNo draft. SLIGHTLY less of it will need to be scrapped than the previous novel. Probably. This one might be an aside for personal worldbuilding and not make it into the series proper at all. Counts: another 50k+ unfinished draft Blurb: Ages before the present-day events of the series, there lived a people who could use magic as easily as breathing. They kept the peace and ruled over the surrounding lands unchallenged for countless years, until one day the unthinkable happens: a threat arises against which all their magics are useless. A young queen must decide the best course for her people in a time when all roads seem dark.

The Hollow Road (That title might end up going to a later book, depending how events line up) Status: Vague planning stages. Some of the characters for this one actually date back further than all the other novels, but they’re getting massively overhauled from their original versions. Counts: A lot of notes and a few sketches Blurb: Thanks to a valiant sacrifice-beyond-hope made by the parents she’s never known, Aleoth supposedly harbors within her the soul of a great evil… and no one has ever let her forget it. Stifled and stigmatized by those who were supposed to be her protectors, she runs away and takes up with a band of notorious brigands. But whatever she does, she can’t escape the unnerving creature that has haunted her dreams all her life, or the disasters that seem to follow her steps. When events begin to come crashing in around her, she’ll have to figure out who and what she is and what she really stands for.

Non-writing WIPs:

Tamuran Webcomic. I do the art and some editing and write a few characters, and a friend of mine does the story-plotting and most of the writing. Status: Still on hiatus right now. Counts: Writing - 828 chat logs of various lengths, which cover about 2/3-3/4 of the first story arc. Comic - 551 pages in 16 chapters. Blurb: Nashua is a wild elf searching for his wife, children, and entire clan, who have all vanished without a trace. Kip is a shapeshifter and spoiled court lady left reeling after losing her place in the world. Hhr’skhygh is a deadly forest predator who likes hunting, exploring, and reading unabridged dictionaries... but can’t seem to escape his trouble with curses. Ranon is a young royal heir forced into exile when his brothers conspire with long-banished sorcerers to seize their father’s throne no matter the cost. Together they find themselves racing across the wilds of Tamuran on a desperate quest for aid, as strange forces close in and the consequences of the princes’ dark pact begin to engulf the land.

(Tamuran is awful to write blurbs for. Any attempt at basic plot summary ends up sounding like the most excruciatingly generic fantasy story ever created, and kinda.. misses the entire spirit of the thing.)

Costuming - Thranduil’s battle armor from The Battle of the Five Armies (I hate sewing. I like making stupid-elaborate things out of foam and whatever else I can find to work with...) Status: Progressing very slowly, since the room where I have space to work on it is getting renovated and I’ve been focusing on other things lately. Counts: I have most of the materials gathered and scattered pieces and templates made... which will get adjusted and remade ad infinitum before I’m happy with them. I have a coat prototype mocked up, and about 2/3 of the ventilating done on the godforsaken wig...

Tagging: hm. @aetherdragon, @adrastuscomic, @whitherling, @greyliliy, @titherdel, @zyrenskistudios, @locirodrawsstuff, @wigglytaf, @elfyarts, @felix-duskglass. (I know I’ve heard about some of you guys’ projects elsewhere, but if you’d like an invitation to talk more about them here, go for it.) And anybody who has WIPs they want to talk about, really - tag me, I’d love to hear about them!

#memes #writing #my novels #webcomics #long post #writeblr

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