#and so did the corpse in the intrusion extra | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grewlikefancyflowers · 4 years ago

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‘Intrusion’ extra, what it says about Jiang Cheng’s role in MDZS, and how Wei Wuxian looks back on his past with the Jiangs

I said back in like June that I’d write meta on this and then put it off for a few months, oops! Here we are, finally!

First things first, both the ‘Intrusion’ and ‘Iron Hook’ extras are not just silly romps featuring married wangxian and fanservice, as some people seem to believe?? I’d say both of them clear up pretty neatly, for those that are still confused, points of contention in the fandom - such as Wei Wuxian’s heroism, and Jiang Cheng’s role as an antagonist. Specifically, if his actions were justified or sympathetic, and if he was punished unfairly by the narrative.

The first and most obvious statement made in ‘Intrusion’ is the parallel between the story of Young Master Qin (YMQ), and JC and WWX’s youths. I’ll summarise quickly the relationship between YMQ and the fierce corpse that has been bothering him.

They grew up together in YMQ’s grandmother’s house, since they were a similar age they played together

The fierce corpse (FC) was a servant in YMQ’s grandmother’s household

The grandmother took a liking to FC, and he was in some ways treated less like a servant, and more like a member of their clan, and was allowed to attend school with the other boys

YMQ specifically notes that his grandmother used to praise FC a lot

YMQ describes a story at the school in which someone answered a question, and FC incorrectly claimed he answered wrongly. When FC pushed the matter, the other students became annoyed and drove him out of the class

It is very heavily implied (to the point where ‘implied’ isn’t really the right word) that ‘someone’ was YMQ, that he had actually answered the question wrongly, and that he felt shown up by someone he felt should be below him proving so, and that he led the other boys in driving FC away

FC left the school and didn’t attend again

I probably don’t need to lay out where the similarities are…?

In response to YMQ’s story, Wei Wuxian (rhetorically) says this - ‘“Regarding the solution to that problem, in the end, who was right and who was wrong?”’

Aside from just exposing the kind of person YMQ is, in reference to a story wherein ‘FC’ is clearly a stand in for WWX, and YMQ for JC, MXTX’s decision to highlight specifically that it was FC that had the right solution to the problem is not insignificant. Nor how she specifies that he was the instigator of FC’s expulsion, while hiding behind the mob mentality of the other students.

Another interesting detail is that YMQ deliberately obscures the truth throughout the chapter, because despite his refusal to acknowledge it, possibly even to himself, he knows that between him and FC he is the one in the wrong. Similarly, JC obscures the truth about WWX, to the wider cultivation world during the period of WWX’s ‘downfall,’ (Ch.73) but also, more importantly, to JL after WWX’s death. JL believes that WWX ordered WN to kill both JZX and JYL (Ch.42). Of course, if JC did not have a guilty conscience, he would not feel it necessary to lie about these things. Or rather, convince himself that they are true, as he still blames WWX for the deaths of his parents’ and JYL and the end of the story (Ch.102).

YMQ’s attitude about servants is bad enough that it upsets Sizhui quite a lot, and shortly after their interaction with him, we have this exchange between LSZ and Wangxian.

‘Lan SiZhui thought about it, “I do not know either.” He responded with honesty, “He never did anything truly evil, but perhaps I find it difficult to deal with people of such character. I do not particularly like the tone with which he mentioned the word ‘servant’…”

He paused at this point. Wei WuXian was oblivious to it, “Typical, typical. Most of the people in this world looks down upon servants. Servants sometimes even look down upon themselves… Why are you two looking at me like that?”

Halfway through, he interrupted, not knowing whether to laugh or frown, “Stop—is there a misunderstanding here? How could I compare? Lotus Pier isn’t the usual household, after all. I’ve beaten Jiang Cheng up way more times than he’s ever beaten me!”

Lan WangJi didn’t say anything, but instead gave him a silent hug. Wei WuXian couldn’t help but smiled. He hugged back, stroking Lan WangJi’s back a couple of times. Lan SiZhui coughed. Seeing how confident Wei WuXian looked, not at all sensitive to the word ‘servant’, he was finally at ease.’

There’s a lot going on here...

Firstly, WWX definitely does not think badly of himself because his father was a servant, because WWX doesn’t think badly of servants. It is also true that Lotus Pier wasn’t so strict with hierarchy as other sects (Ch.51, Ch.71), and that WWX and JC sometimes playfully fought on equal terms in their youths. But WWX was also very clearly treated badly in the Jiang household due to his status, notably by YZY (Ch.51, Ch.56, Ch.57, Lotus Seed Pod extra), JC does also repeatedly enact real physical violence against WWX, that he simply brushes off (Ch.56, Ch.59). You could argue that the example from Ch.59 is under extenuating circumstances and therefore should not count, but the same excuse cannot apply to Ch.56.

Knowing this, Lan Wangji’s response to this, to hug WWX, does not feel casual at all. Instead it comes across as if he is offering comfort, which WWX accepts.

Finally, this exchange finishes with ‘Seeing how confident Wei WuXian looked, not at all sensitive to the word ‘servant’, he [LSZ] was finally at ease.’ To me, this seems to suggest that the entire purpose of this was not at all reader directed exposition about how good and equal the Jiang household was, but rather a WWX-typical veneer meant to appease LSZ’s concerns (taking a moment to quietly fangirl about how good MXTX is at ‘show, don’t tell’). Also suggests that WWX is aware on some level that he was treated badly, and LWJ is too - presumably, it is something that they have spoken about.

Continuing with the story of YMQ and FC…

YMQ returns to his home village as an adult wearing a jade pendant that belonged to his now deceased grandmother

FC asks to borrow it, YMQ allows it, thinking FC is missing his grandmother

FC returns telling him he has lost the pendant, YMQ thinks he has actually sold it, and has him beaten, it is very heavily implied that he breaks his leg

In the present, YMQ admits that he doesn’t actually think FC would have gone so far as to sell something of his grandmother’s

This is reflective of JC’s attitude towards WWX throughout his life, with regards to how he frequently comes to the worst conclusions about him, without having any real evidence, and lashes out at him for it. I spoke about this a bit before here. Most notable example is probably during their conversation in the demon-slaughtering cave wherein they discuss WWX’s defection, and JC decides that WWX is acting carelessly and playing the hero, though admits himself that WWX is following the Jiang Sect’s teachings, then declares WWX an enemy of the cultivation world behind his back.

The ambiguity of FC’s death, and YMQ’s role in it discussed in part 3 of the extra is referencing WWX’s own death, and JC’s role in it. In the end the conclusion is that whether or not YMQ was responsible, FC did not hold him to it.

In the end, FC is content to simply throw some fruit, and punch YMQ in the face in vengeance for his death, and even goes out of his way to avoid hurting LSZ when he is fighting him. He returns the jade pendant, that he really did lose and not steal, and goes back to resting peacefully.

WWX, LWJ, and LSZ’s views on YMQ’s fate are as follows

‘Lan WangJi gently tugged Lil’ Apple’s rein, his voice calm, “He was fortunate.”

Wei WuXian agreed, “Indeed. Young Master Qin has got quite the luck.”

After some time, Lan SiZhui finally couldn’t hold his words back any longer. Sincerely, he spoke, “But I still feel that only one punch might be a bit insufficient…”’

JC didn’t even get a punch to the face. I’d say he got off very lightly indeed.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #jiang cheng #jc wank #wei wuxian

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plan-d-to-i · 4 years ago

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I really feel bad for WN, I think I feel the worst for him out of all the characters in mdzs.

Poor guy bravely risks his skin to save JC from WC and his cronies then he risks himself again to retrieve JC's parents' bodies/ashes so they can have proper rites then hides JC and WWX from the wens risking his and his sister's lives... WN does all of this for JC and WWX (plus the GC thing) and doesn't ask for anything in return he only does it out of the goodness of his heart.

How does JC thank WN for all his help? First of all he refuses to help WWX stand up for WN and his family and leaves them all to starve and rot on the BM, then when JC has the chance to tell the sects how WN and WQ saved his life and sheltered him after the fall of LP he decides to stay silent and let them be executed, then JC goes and orchestrates and leads the massacre of WN's innocent non combatant relatives.

It's a testament to WN's kindness and forgiveness that he doesn't tear JC limb from limb in the most agonizing death possible because that's what I would have done if I had been in his shoes.

It's also why I just can't tolerate JC at all, he's an ungrateful back-stabbing cowardly POS and I hate how he got no comeuppance in Canon but also I understand how it goes with the themes of the story that rich powerful assholes like him will get away with any crime and will even be coddled and treated like innocent victims instead(re: Fandom's reaction when donghua JC showed an ounce of guilt and regret and went into seclusion)

My poor man WN deserved so much better and so did WQ

Ah beautifully put. I completely agree.

It's wild to think that were it not for Wen Ning saving jc and Wen Qing giving him Wei Wuxian's core, jc would have probably been dead and not leading a siege against Wen Ning's relatives YET at no point does Wen Ning bring this up! He takes jc's attitude and physical violence on so many occasions without fighting back!

It's interesting because even in the novel we have the parallel to jc in the "Intrusion" extra (discussed in depth here)and Master Qin does the bare minimum, and gets praised! Even though he essentially ruined the servant's life with his petty jealous bs:

It was rumored that one morning, a young corpse wearing tattered burial robes was found in the middle of the streets. It was already half-rotten, emitting a strong stench. As the crowd discussed if they should wrap it in a mat and bury it in a ditch somewhere, the one and only Young Master Qin generously provided the funds to collect the corpse and bury it properly. For a while, he received the praise of all.

When Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian left the city and passed the Qin estate, it had long since reinstalled a gleaming new set of doors. People scurried in and out, leaving no trace of the previous chaos and desolation. It was a bustling scene indeed. (Chapter 122 exr)

Like that's life. That's why jc doesn't get his comeuppance in full, because rich, privileged assholes rarely do.

Ugh. I'll just end on some favorite Wen Ning moments as a palate cleanser. Wen Ning helping WangXian fight their way out and get away at Koi tower:

“Wei WuXian, “When did you begin to follow us?”

Lan WangJi, “Koi Tower.”

Wei WuXian looked at Wen Ning as Lan WangJi continued, “The day of the fight with the cultivators, he helped.” (Chapter 67)

Wen Ning apologizing to the body parts of the corpses controlled by the new bootleg Yin Hufu lol

“He lay the corpses that he had broken up inside as he rambled on, “Everyone, I’m really sorry. I can’t tell anymore which of your corpses belonged to whom. If I buried anyone’s wrong, please excuse me…” (Chapter 67)

Wen Ning trying to devandalize the wall Lan Wangji graffitied :

Suddenly, he heard a series of coarse, scraping sounds in the middle of the night. Alarmed, Wei WuXian went around the corner and saw a figure clothed in black pressed against the wall. With a small file in hand, the person was attentively filing away the doodles on the wall.

Wei WuXian stared in silence, “…”

Wen Ning turned his head around. With his face covered in white powder, he asked, “Young Master, what brings you here?”

Wei WuXian asked back, “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Wei Ning replied, “I see that Young Master Lan has written quite a lot. If someone sees them tomorrow morning, it will probably cause them trouble. So I’ve started to erase some of them……” (Chapter 97)

#mdzs #answers #Wen Ning

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bigbadredpanda · 4 years ago

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Hello! I have what I think is a really dumb question, but I keep wondering it and hope that you and your amazing reading skills will help answer it, please?

Why did Jin Guangyao dig up Nie Mingjue after he had already been entombed in his ancestral burial ground? Why risk the possibility of being discovered (which he was) for such a heinous crime after NMJ had already been laid to rest, most probably with plenty of “and move onward peacefully” rites?

Was JGY afraid that NMJ would turn fierce, that NMJ’s resentment would cause him to rise and punish JGY? Much like the friendly corpse in the Intrusion extra, but not so friendly?

Or did MXTX just need a catalyst for WWX’s return?

Many thanks.

Hello again! It’s not a dumb question at all! (And I really don’t think I have anything to boast about my reading skill haha I’m mostly helped by a fairly good memory which comes in useful for remembering insignificant details)

Nie Mingjue’s body was actually not entombed in his Sect’s ancestral burial ground. Jin Guangyao dismembered him not long after he died from qi deviation, probably partly out of cruelty as dying with an unwhole body is considered a particularly ignominious way to die (in ancient China, one’s body is considered a gift from one’s parents so it is deemed unfilial to harm it, this is also the reason why people at the time did not cut their hair). Wei Wuxian remarks drily that this way of dying is marginally more dignified than his own death by being torn to shreds (ch.5). In the earlier unedited version of the novel, when Wei Wuxian links with Nie Mingjue’s head through Empathy, he sees Jin Guangyao about to dismember the body that has already become a fierce corpse. Presumably it was considered a plot hole and removed. (x)

So what happens after Jin Guangyao’s gruesome work? In chapter 109, Wei Wuxian surmises that Nie Huaisang must have realised at some point that his brother’s corpse has been stealthily substituted and this kicks in the plot to revive himself as a tool for revenge. The various body parts were scattered, perhaps by Xue Yang as some locations are tied to him, and Jin Guangyao keeps the head, the only way to identify the corpse, in his secret chamber and under the security of a series of incantations that prevent the head to be aware of its surroundings as a way to suppress it (ch.47). Jin Guangyao definitely dreaded that the heavy resentful energy surrounding Nie Mingjue would cause the fierce corpse to seek revenge. When this comes to pass in Guanyin temple (ch.106), he is absolutely terrified...

Hope that helped ^^

#mo dao zu shi #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #weishenmewwx

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withthewindinherfootsteps · 11 months ago

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Ooo yes!! I would add that I'm not sure it was glory WWX was seeking as much as it was excitement/a challenge (though of course any chance to show off his skills would also be welcomed) – this is how he talks about 'going wherever the chaos is' in the Intrustion extra:

When Wei WuXian heard of Lan WangJi’s reputation for being wherever the chaos was, he didn’t think it’d be too hard, but right now as he tried it in person alongside Lan WangJi, he discovered that it was truly a test of one’s resolution. It wasn’t difficult. In fact, it was too easy. When he went on night-hunts in the past, he always liked to choose strange, adventurous locations, so naturally his trips were full of thrill and surprise. However, Lan WangJi wasn’t picky. He did anything he deemed that he ought to do, and so he’d often come across some night-hunt targets that were unchallenging to Wei WuXian. This case of the fierce corpse, for example, was really not too interesting compared to the things Wei WuXian had hunted in the past. - EXR translation, Intrusion One

(He still enjoys it due to Lan Wangji's prescence of course, they're so sweet)!

Obviously note that this is present-day WWX speaking, and seeking glory in the Jianghu is certainly not a motivation for him now, so he likely wouldn't take that into account in his thoughts. But still, his narration seems to focus on the challenge level and thrill rather than any glory gained. When he does remark on most others deeming that level of night-hunt as 'unworthy' for him he doesn't seem to care much (and he doesn't dwell on that point, unlike on this one). That isn't to say it couldn't have been part of the motivation, and showing off his skills probably was! But the more important thing seems to be the excitement it posed.

That was a bit of a tangent irrelevant to the wider post though – LWJ very much did get WWX to start going wherever the chaos was, when it wasn't something he did before. I agree with it so much, I love this!

I love how, even though Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji already matched each other in morality, they still impart in each other changes to their behaviors that the other just… didn’t consider due to their different personalities and upbringings. Teenage Lan Wangji starts helping out civilians with odd jobs and minor cultivation world-related issues because Wei Wuxian during the Cloud Recesses lessons told him to try some lotus pod seeds, for which he had to travel to do so. Before this, Lan Wangji would only leave the Cloud Recesses on mission-assigned nighthunts with other Lan disciples. Then, years later, Wei Wuxian learns that Lan Wangji travels around doing mundane tasks for non-cultivators and thinks this is so neat—as someone who used to only choose nighthunts for the glory one could potentially gain from the assignment—that he suggests they do it for their honeymoon.

The way they open up each other’s worlds to new and wonderful possibilities that the other had never thought of but now that they are, it totally matches their interests? That’s some real loving couple shit right there!

#mdzs meta #wangxian #i love them so much aa thank you so much for this post

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saturnwritings · 5 years ago

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from the perspective of an anarchist

—the events of the dream smp festival told through technoblade’s point of view.

word count: 924

warnings: implied death at the end but not explicit

Technoblade had always been one for chaos, he was a self proclaimed anarchist. Which was what made Tommy’s offer so enticing: join his rebellion and take down the president.

He remembered the day he got Tommy’s letter, dirt stained with more spelling errors than he could count. Despite that, Techno had a soft spot for the teenager. His charisma, his sense of justice, the way he always looked at Techno with admiration. He was stubborn, as well. No matter who told him what, he had always done what he believed in and what he thought was right, he was just that determined. So Techno joined their rebellion.

He didn’t necessarily believe in what Tommy was fighting for, he didn’t care about how the president was oppressing the nation, how he wasn’t doing anything for the country, Techno just thrived on chaos, and the satisfaction of bringing a government to shambles would sedate the bloodlust he had been feeling for oh so long.

Techno joined silently, no announcement, no over-the-top reveal that one of the strongest fighters of the country had joined their side. For the most part, he kept to himself, gathering resources and training, all leading up to the day they executed the dictator that was the president.

The annual festival of the country came around and Techno received a letter from President Schlatt. Unaware of his alliance with the rebellion, he invited Techno to the festival, to the celebration of democracy. Techno accepted.

He was sat on one of the wooden benches that had been set up in front of a main stage. Uncomfortable with many conversations of the crowd around him, his eyes shifted awkwardly as he tried to instead take in his surroundings. Soon enough, a young boy he didn’t recognize walked onto the stage to join the President and his guards.

He tuned out the speech that the boy gave of togetherness and democracy, instead keeping preoccupied with intrusive thoughts of the upcoming assassination his associates had been planning, he only wished he was more involved in the chaos. In the back of his mind, he registered applause before everything but a man clearing his throat into a microphone went silent.

“Technoblade.” That was his name.

The boy had finished his speech, President Schlatt was now standing at the microphone, calling Techno to join them on the stage. Confused, he mindlessly followed, too on the spot to think of anything else. Once on the stage, Schlatt handed him a crossbow, along with an arrow. He inspected it for a second, coming to the conclusion that it was a standard wooden crossbow, no indents or carvings to suggest ownership or previous use. Schlatt turned away from Techno and faced the unknown boy.

“I’ll cut to the chase.” Schlatt began, “I know what you’ve been up to, Tubbo.”

Tubbo, that’s who he was. The realization hit him as Techno made eye contact with the boy, Tubbo was Tommy’s friend. While Schlatt’s vague descriptions of things like ‘traitor’ and ‘betrayal’ and ‘execution’ made their way into his head, Techno flashed back to the time he spent in the secret base of the rebellion. He remembered Tubbo, he was their double agent, their man on the inside.

Techno was brought out of his haze when Schlatt turned to him, motioned to the crossbow, smirked devilishly, and told him to shoot.

Techno’s expressionless face went back and forth between the crossbow and Schlatt. He wanted him to shoot. Shoot what? The balloons? The birds? Tubbo. Schlatt wanted him to shoot Tubbo. A rare expression of shock made its way to Techno’s face in the form of his eyes widening ever so slightly at the realization.

His stomach churned with nausea at the memory of Tubbo and Tommy together in the base, Tubbo chatting excitedly about this and that, Techno only just then realized they were talking about the festival. Tubbo had said something about food and carnival games, which he had promised to take back extra of for Tommy. Techno didn’t know what he meant, he didn’t make the connection to the festival.

Why was he remembering that now? It didn’t matter to him then when he didn’t know what they were talking about, why should it matter to him now? Why was he having so much trouble shooting the crossbow? This was what he should be thriving on, chaos; what better way to cause discord than turning Tommy’s best friend into a corpse.

Where was the bloodlust he had been feeling for so long? This was his chance, why were his hands shaking so much? Why did his heart sink to his stomach as he raised the crossbow? He was about to cause death. Death was bad, death caused chaos, and chaos was what he was there for.

“Sorry, Tubbo, I’ll make this as painless as possible.” Why was his usually monotone voice shaking slightly as he whispered a promise so quiet only Tubbo could hear?

He shouldn’t regret firing the arrow as much as he does, but by the time screams made their way to his ears, it was too late.

Everything around him was happening so quickly, and all at once. Techno stood there, the crossbow lowered to his side as he registered Tommy’s agonizing screams and cries - when did he come out of his hiding spot? - but everything sounded like it was underwater.

In the back of his head, he knew he shouldn’t feel regret. He caused chaos, anarchists caused chaos and that’s who he was. Technoblade was an anarchist.

a/n: helloooo yeah sorry its short this was for an english assignment and like you had to write max 2 pages so yeah :DD oh!!!!! also i have an ao3 now!! its @/saturnwritings as well :] also also follow my twitter i stg its @/SAIL0RSATXRN

#fics #mcyt #mcytumblr #tommyinnit #tubbo #technoblade #technofestival #wilbur soot #but only briefly #dreamsmp #dream smp #dream smp festival #dream smp spoilers #i still don't know how to tag #angst #i guess ???#mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fanfic

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taxicabinmemphis · 5 years ago

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Prince Charming - Chapter 5

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six

Word count - 3,332 Pairing - Intrulogical, Prinxiety, Moceit (I’m deleting the pre bc I have decided to have a chapter with them getting together) Warnings - some characters are a lil insensitive in spots but I wouldn’t call them unsympathetic, creativitwins angst, swearing, food mention, self-deprecation bc they’re all wrecks, pining, and then there’s Remus-typical behavior (body horror mentions, sexual innuendo/mentions of sexual stuff, and other stuff heh), if there’s anything else that should be tagged or put in the warnings, tell me!

After a hearty and delicious meal of spaghetti and meatballs with a side of broccoli, the sides had all retired to get ready for bed. The adventure had gone terribly late, so dinner was later than they’d ever had it.

Logan stopped when he reached the door to his room. Yes, he knew that the next logical course of action would be to enter his room and get ready for bed, perhaps read a book as his stomach digested dinner, but he couldn’t help but remember how quiet Remus had been at dinner. He was never quiet.

His mind flashed back to what Roman said to Remus when they left the Imagination, and Logan clenched his left hand into a fist. Roman, while always striving to do what he saw to be the correct course of action, could also be awfully insensitive. Especially when he didn’t even know he was doing it.

Logan promptly turned on his heels and walked towards Remus’ room.

He ended up meeting the side in the hallway outside his room. Remus was walking alarmingly slow and seemed to be contemplating something.

“Remus,” Logan called, a good fifteen feet behind him.

The creative side jumped in surprise. He turned to face Logan, eyes widened. “Oh, uh, Logan! What brings you to the dark and hellish end of the hall?”

Logan fiddled with his tie nervously. “I came to ask you about something, Remus.”

Silence followed Logan’s statement, prompting Remus to speak. “Well? Fire away, my sexy robot!”

A pink dusted Logan’s cheeks at the nickname. “Yes. Umm...are you okay, Remus?”

Remus blinked. “Of course I am, Nerdy Wolverine!”

Logan frowned. “I believe that’s a falsehood, Remus.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Really? What can I do to convince ya? Rip my heart out and dissect it?”

Logan shook his head, adjusting his glasses. “No, none of that. Just...I remember what Roman said back when we exited the Imagination. It wasn’t kind, but he also had no cruel intentions. However, I could see that it...affected you. Are you okay? Do you require someone to...talk to?” Logan hoped he was doing this right.

Remus sighed and threw his hands in the air in resignation. “I might be okay. Does it matter?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Remus. It does. You are a part of Thomas’ mind and it is important that you are functioning properly.”

“Functioning…” Remus gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Look, Logan. Ultimately, I am fine. I can intrude on everyone’s well-being just as I could three hours ago. You can go to bed, you don’t need to worry.” He paused. “Why do you care, anyway?”

Logan frowned. “You are a side, essential to Thomas creating and acting like himself.”

“You don’t know that,” Remus disagreed, shaking his head.

Logan closed half of the distance between them, concern written all over his features. “Of course I know that. I can logically ascertain what exactly your worth is as a side, especially considering I spend a significant amount of time with you.”

“Maybe all that time you spent analyzing my contributions in preparation to shoot them down has clouded your judgement, Logan,” Remus replied, spitting out Logan’s name like it repulsed him—when in reality, it did nothing of the sort.

Was that really how Remus thought of Logan? Someone who only listens so he can later tell someone else why everything he said was wrong? Logan tried to be kind like he did with everyone else, and many of Remus’ ideas interested him. He gave him honest opinions, criticisms, and scientific observations on anything Remus pitched him. But did Remus only see him as an instrument of the intrusive side’s demise?

“Remus…”

“No, Logan, please,” Remus interrupted. “Don’t pretend to care.”

“When did I ever say anything about pretending?!” Logan exclaimed abruptly, widening his eyes and putting a hand over his mouth when he noticed his volume. Logan did his best to erase the surprise from his face and compose himself, clearing his throat and making sure to lower the volume of his voice before continuing. “I apologize for the outburst, Remus. However, you seem to have perplexed me with everything you have said so far during this conversation. Presently, I believe the statement to question is your most recent one and I will state that I am unaware of any action I took that would give you a reason to think I was engaging in a deception at your expense.”

“Oh, Logan, you know. Just drop it and go to sleep,” Remus said, turning around and waving his hand in dismissal.

“No, Remus, I’m afraid I don’t know,” Logan said honestly. “That troubles me. Could you elaborate, please?”

Remus turned around slowly. “Maybe you think you don’t know, so I’ll enlighten you.” He took a deep breath. “You’ve been assigned to listen to me. You have to listen to my crazy bullshit whenever I think it up. In return, I listen to your criticisms, opinions, scientific analyses, notes, whatever. Even when you go insanely far in depth into a topic I might’ve brought up with one of my...contributions, as you call them. It’s a trade, a deal. You have to listen to me and then I listen to you because it’s the least I can do. Neither of us would’ve chosen it on our own, we both hate it, and you know you have better things to do. Don’t pretend to care just because some extra time together allows you to know more about me than you should.”

Logan processed what Remus said, staying unmoving only with the exception of blinking. This is what Remus thought of their arrangement? That he hated it, that he thought Logan hated it, that he forgot Logan was the one to suggest the arrangement in the first place? Janus’ words at the end of their sword fight rang through his head. Logan had been scared that Remus, the one side who listened to him, only did so out of courtesy. And he did. Logan’s fear was a reality.

“You forget that I suggested this...arrangement, as you call it. I was the one who pitched it to Thomas. I chose to do this, and do I have anything better to do? That’s subjective, so I don’t know. I am sorry this arrangement you hate so much has ended up being a prison rather than a way to save Thomas distress while not repressing you at the same time, so if there’s anything I can do to make the experience more pleasurable, I am open to hearing it. However, you are also mistaken that I hate it. I do not, I am incapable of such emotions. Though--”

“No you’re not,” Remus said, voice having a shocked tone caused by Logan’s previous statements and admissions.

“Sorry, what?”

“You’re not ‘incapable of such emotions’, you’re not some heartless robot without a soul. You have feelings, Logan, and I’ve seen them,” Remus elaborated, shock slowly dissolving from his tone.

“That’s ridiculous, you even called me a robot-”

Remus shook his head. “No. I’ve seen you interested by anything remotely scientific I bring up, I’ve seen you as burnt as black toast after I’ve talked to you for a particularly long time, I’ve seen you immediately after a conversation with the others when you have a desperate need to be listened to because they refused to, I’ve seen you embarrassed, I’ve seen you flustered—yes, I caught you burying your face in your hands today—and you just said you care about me. Even though that likely isn’t true, you have demonstrated care for Patton, Roman, and Virgil as well. Even just one of those examples is enough to prove you have feelings.”

Logan was silent for a few seconds, his weight shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at Remus himself. Accepting that he couldn’t argue with most of Remus’ statements without communicating a falsehood, he decided to argue over the only one he could. “I do indeed care about you. It’s not just Patton, Roman, and Virgil. How could it be, considering only you listen?”

“I…” Remus tried to think of a good response. “I bother you. I wear you out. I give you all these terrible things to go through, forcing you to pick them apart like a medical examiner does with a rotting corpse, despite how disgusting and terrible they may be. I occupy way more of your time than I should, and I guess I’m sorry for that, so how could you care? I wouldn’t.”

Logan didn’t quite know how to respond. He wasn’t aware Remus thought so lowly of himself. He contemplated his reply.

“See? It’s not that hard to-”

Logan raised his hand as a demand for silence. Remus shut his mouth, only complying out of surprise. He waited as Logan carefully pondered what he would say next.

“Falsehood,” Logan said gently, starting his response. “None of those things are true. You shouldn’t be suspecting such things either, considering you have no way to know your effects on me. I want to say I wish you hadn’t said that, but I couldn’t do so with honesty, since my real wish is for you to never have thought—much less, believed—those falsehoods in the first place. However, I am considering your previous behavior and would postulate you do not believe me as I have not done anything to prove your statements are falsehoods. Would I be correct in saying this, Remus?”

Remus took a moment to respond, still processing Logan’s response. “I..uhh...yeah.”

Logan nodded. “First, you do not bother me. To bother someone is to trouble or annoy someone by interrupting or causing inconvenience. Considering that I volunteered to be in your company—which immediately debunks anything related to interruptions—and that my time with you makes you cause less inconvenience, you neither cause interruptions nor inconvenience to befall me. You don’t trouble me either. I spend time with you so don’t trouble anyone. And, everyone annoys me. So even if you did, which I don’t find to always be true, you wouldn’t be alone in that regard. You don’t wear me out too often either. Working with you only requires my ears and my brainpower, neither of which take much out of me since you rarely say anything that troubles me or forces me to contemplate problems that drain me. When you do, the reasons are typically seeded in my scientific curiosity for something you might’ve brought up, which is something I can in no way blame on you. To be candid, your company can be a relief, especially after dealing with the others.”

“That makes less sense than glow-in-the-dark lungs.”

“I’m not finished,” Logan stated, trying to be as kind as possible. “But if you would like me to restate what I just said-”

“No,” Remus shook his head. “I understand what you said...it’s just...how? How is that the truth?”

Logan’s face softened. “I am Logic, Remus. Many things that would normally affect a person or another side in a certain way will affect me in different ways or not at all. Your contributions don’t bother me as I am aware of their detachment from reality and get less disgusted at them than the others. And you listen to me, which is a far cry away from being a nuisance.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Remus said, shrugging.

Logan gave a small smile. It was hardly visible, but to Remus, it was as if Logan was grinning. Remus relished in the sight, hoping he could see it again soon and wishing it was something he could gaze at every day till the end of time. Logan never smiled, and Remus causing it made him all the happier.

“I am pleased to hear that you understand that I care for you,” Logan said, voice quiet and gentle. “Now, back to my original question. Are you okay?”

Remus turned his head to the side. “I was hoping you’d forget about the question.”

“Yes or no?” Logan pressed.

Remus took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “No.”

Logan nodded, taking a small and cautious step forward. “Do you require someone to talk to?”

Remus opened an eye and peered at Logan. “I don’t need anything, Pocket Protector.”

“Would you like someone to talk to?” Logan rephrased.

Remus shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to listen to me.”

“I already do.”

Remus gulped. “Alright. Yes, I suppose I would.”

Remus took a moment to gather his words, facing the floor but eyes flicking up to look at Logan every other second.

“Well, you were right,” he started. “About Roman, I mean. It was his comment. I know it’s kind of silly-”

“It’s nothing of the sort, he was out of line.”

“-But it still hurt. And yeah, he said none of us besides him were heroic and charming or whatever instead of just me, but still. It was directed towards me, and...he’s not wrong. I’m the resident villain. He’s the hero. I’ll never be heroic, or charming, or romantic while he can go and sweep Virgil off his feet. I guess his comment was just a wake-up call,” Remus continued. “I know he didn’t mean it to be mean and he’s just nowhere near being self-aware enough to take note of his insensitivity, but I still let it affect me. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

“It’s fine if his comment got to you, Remus,” Logan said, taking another small step forward. “Roman says things like that sometimes without knowing what their consequences could be, and so it likely did mean nothing, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be able to hurt you, or that you’re wrong for letting it. But you also have to acknowledge that he’s wrong, and not view it as a wake-up call of sorts.”

Remus frowned, making eye contact with Logan. “What do you mean? I’m the evil murdery green side who will pull your teeth out and string them on a necklace if you’re not careful. Of course he’s right.”

“I suppose it’s a matter of perspective. Anyone can be a villain in the eyes of someone else. However, any establishment that a certain person is a villain ‘factually’ would be incorrect as the concepts of good and bad are arguably meaningless and any action can be seen as wrong or right in the eyes of another human. There is no truth in opinions, only preference.”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“You may be a villain in Roman’s eyes, you can be a villain in your own eyes if you so choose, however, there is nothing that can or will establish you as a villain for everyone forever.”

“So to Roman, I’m a villain,” Remus said slowly, trying to understand.

“Maybe, he could have just been exaggerating,” Logan said quickly. “He also sees everything as very black-or-white, which I imagine contributes a great deal as well.”

Remus nodded slowly. “And I can see myself however I want.”

“Though I’d prefer that you see yourself positively or neutrally. A negative self-image is never good.”

“And you…” Remus trailed, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Oh, I don’t care for labeling those types of things. I do see you as a positive influence on my existence if that was your question.”

Remus grinned brightly. “That answer is better than fermented semen!”

There was an awkward silence between them.

“Do you honestly believe you can’t be heroic, charming, and romantic?” Logan asked quietly, not wanting to scare off the intrusive side.

Remus stared, surprised by Logan’s question. “It’s not an opinion, Logan, it’s fact. I’m a duke, not a prince.”

“And royal status dictates those traits?”

Remus shook his head. “No...I’m just not those things.”

Logan frowned. “Do you want to be?”

Remus took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to reply without confusing the nerd. “No. I know none of them fit my personality, and I don’t want them too. Especially charming. But...it might be nice to experience once. To prove Roman wrong and that it isn’t impossible for me to have the traits of a hero.”

“There are no specifically assigned traits to heroes, Remus,” Logan said, tightening his tie. “However, you can act however you want within the bounds of acceptable reality.”

“I can?” Remus asked, a smirk on his face. He started to take a couple of steps closer to Logan but stopped a good four feet away.

“Yes, you can,” Logan replied, voice quieter at Remus’ confident advance. The logical side shuffled his feet back, only moving a couple of inches.

“Do you think I’m heroic?” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Do you think I’m charming?” He took a step closer.

“I-I don’t-”

Remus took another step, a larger one, closer to the logical side. There was likely only six inches between them. He stared deep into his eyes, a fiery passion for the visually impaired nerd burning hotter than any star Logan could name.

“Do you think I’m romantic?”

“I…”

Logan’s words died in his throat as he met Remus’ eyes. Remus, who was intrusive, offensive, bad to the bone, impolite, occasionally funny, interested in certain sciences, and strived to learn whatever Logan could teach. Remus, the only one who ever listened.

“You can if you want to be,” Logan said quietly, finally able to speak but never louder than the volume he was currently speaking at.

Remus hummed and pulled Logan flush against him by the waist.

“Remus?” Logan asked nervously.

“What is it, my bashful brainiac?”

“Do you really hate our arrangement?” Logan asked quietly, the question so painful to ask but the answer was something he needed to know before anything else happened. “And do you only listen out of courtesy?”

Remus sighed, running his free hand through the logical side’s hair. “Not one bit. And you are the most interesting person I’ve ever spoken to.”

Logan let another small smile cross his face and glanced at his feet.

“So I can be romantic, hmm?”

Logan nodded.

Remus smirked. He swept Logan into a dip—one arm around Logan’s thigh, lifting his leg into the air, and the other arm around his shoulders. Remus gazed lovingly into Logan’s shocked brown eyes and admired the red face of his nerd, giving the side a second to process what he did. He then dipped his gaze to Logan’s lips and flicked his tongue across his own.

“May I?”

Logan gulped before nodding.

Remus immediately crashed his lips against Logan’s; the simple nod of Logan’s head acting like a lamp that just turned on and Remus’ lips being their loyal moth.

Logan was still shocked from previous events when Remus’ lips met his, his eyes still open. Remus didn’t hate him, which was a plus, and now Remus was expressing romantic interest in him? He couldn’t believe it.

Yet, it was still happening. Logan closed his eyes, put a hand on the nape of Remus’ neck, and deepened the kiss.

It was something both were desperate for, something they had both wanted for ages—no matter how long they were aware of their romantic feelings for the other.

And so they dissolved into the other: Logan melting wherever Remus’ hands met his body, and Remus putting his desperation and need for Logan on clear display as he kissed him like he never would get to again. Remus got to be romantic, Logan was treated like a beautiful princess, and they both felt so incredibly loved.

The kiss eventually had to come to end, so when they both remembered they had to breathe, they pulled away and opened their eyes. Remus kept Logan in a dip and looked down at him like he was the loveliest thing to ever walk the earth. This only reddened Logan’s cheeks further. Remus gave him the fondest, most loving smile he could muster.

“I suppose I can be romantic.”

Taglist: @the-sympathetic-villain @justanotherhumanstuff @thistledown15

This was technically the end of this story, but I do have a Moceit themed sequel that I have decided will just be chapter six. After that, hopefully it’ll be done! Hope you liked this chapter. Sorry, I meant to get this to you on Thursday but homework piled up and I just had a bad day Saturday so it’s coming to y’all now. (Also um you may have guessed but the image of Remus dipping Logan popped into my head and inspired this fic. It was 18k longer than expected)

#intrulogical #ts fanfic #remus #logan #romantic intrulogical #prinxiety #moceit #prince charming #roman #remus sanders #logan sanders #fic #kill writes #swearing tw #self deprecation #food tw #food mention

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mother-snake · 5 years ago

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the scale of the situation pt 2

(welcome back to this heap of a mess known as me creating a series and hoping to see it through. also yay or nay to bringing nico flores in to this..)

begining: the scale of the situation pt 1

next: the scale of the situation pt 3

taggs: @idkanameatall @girl-with-many-fandoms @imma-potatoo @smoltreehousekid @prinxiety-shipper101 warnings: dead body mention, blood... dw just remus being remus words: 1286

-overload pt1-

the next time it happened was only a few days later. He had been sitting at his desk, trying to get some of his work done. But it seemed with everything he got done, double would take its place. And he found himself getting frustrated with it all.

And thus, he stood up and ignored the increasing pile. Leaving it as it was for now and making his way out of his room and down the hall. He knew Logan wouldn’t be in his room so that would be the perfect place to hide for the time being.

He opened the door and did a quick look around. Searching for the best place to hid for the time being, or at least until his work didn’t seem as daunting.

He quickly found himself close to the floor and slithering around trying to find any nook or cranny that could contain him. and he found that on logans bed hidden under a blanket at the end of his bed that had been crumpled up. he made sure his head was poking out of the blanket to ensure he wasn’t sat on.

The soft fabric felt nice against his smooth scales, providing a sense of comfort as well as covering him, mostly, from sight.

As time passed, he began to find himself falling asleep once again. But even so he still kept his eyes on the door, waiting for Logan to return from wherever he had wondered off to. --

Logan had been in fact sitting in the living room with roman and Remus, going over the weekly schedule. he glanced to his watch. He still needed another half an hour until he could get back to the extra work in his room that needed done. he turned back to the barely started schedule and let out a sigh.

“come on! if he spends the day planning out the new video’s then he can spend the rest of the week doing everything else!” roman said exasperated. “yes. But by doing that he could end up overworking himself and you. if we do it in hourly intervals every day, he can still do other things,” Logan said back, trying his best not to snap at roman. “I'm with the nerd on this one roman,” Remus sighed, “look can we just call it quits. I’ve got a corpse in my room with my name on it,” he grinned.

“we might as well,” Logan said glaring at the barely filled calendar, “were getting nothing done.” “oh come now,” roman said to the both of them, “we can do this!” “we’ve being going since six in the morning. It is currently,” he looked down to his watch, “fifteen minutes till ten,” Logan said.

“oh fine, very well then,” roman said as he stood up, “shall we continue this later then?” he asked. “I think that’s fair; I shall see the both of you later then,” he said before picking up the paper. he was vaguely aware of the sound of moving chairs and footsteps before he was alone. Or so he thought.

He looked up and was startled by Remus looking at him with squinted eyes. he stared for a couple seconds before picking up the pile of paper and the several pens. “what do you want Remus?” he asked. “eh, I don’t know. Just going to sit in your room if you don’t mind,” he said. “what about the corpse?” “fucking with my brother as usual. Its in his room,” he snickered.

Logan let a small smile grace his face. it was not an unknown thing that Logan enjoyed pranking the other sides and always found whatever Remus did to be amusing much to their shock.

They had apparently spent a week debating who had put the spiders inside the cookie jar and decided it was Remus. Oh, how wrong they were.

He gestured for Remus to follow as he made his way up the stairs and towards is room. A little upset that he would have to get work done now, but alas, it must be done.

He paused as he reached his door. He could have sworn, nay. He knew he had shut it when he had left. “you okay there specks?” Remus asked as he saw Logans shoulders tense.

Logan didn’t respond but pushed the door open with his free arm he looked around the room quickly before his eyes softened at a sight, he hoped wouldn’t be the case.

There poking a small head out but fast asleep was Janus. “oh,” Remus said as he looked at his friend.

They glanced to one another before slowly making their way. they had to step over a couple piles of books and a few scattered clothing items. “you know, for logic, your room is rather messy,” Remus hushed over. “and for intrusive, yours is rather immaculate,” Logan shot back, a playful tune in what was said. “touché,”

As Remus got close enough, he carefully picked up the blanket with the snake inside and sat down on the bed before placing it back down onto his lap.

Logan placed the paper onto his desk’s chair. The desk itself was swamped in things that could be done quickly once he had the time. His main priority right now being Janus.

“I take it you already know about this habit of his?” Remus said. “indeed, Virgil and I found him like this under Janus’s bed only a couple days ago,” he said. “was that when he didn’t arrive for breakfast?” he asked. “indeed, it was a rather… unusual situation for me,” he said, rubbing an arm as he sat down next to Remus, bringing his legs up and crossing them.

They didn’t speak anymore in fear of waking Janus from his sleep. Logan however did move after a while to get some work done, occasionally getting some input from Remus when he got stuck.

They both smirked when they heard an all mighty scream coning from roman’s room. they looked at each other with a knowing look and tried their best to withhold their laughter in case it awoke Janus. but after Remus saw Janus’s head shift slightly, he knew that he was starting to wake up and placed him next to himself. --

Janus awoke to the sound of what he thought was a scream. There was slight movement and for a brief second, he felt as if he was in the air. But as soon as it happened it was over.

He cracked his eyes open and looked up to see Logan and Remus in the room with him. “hello Janus!” Remus exclaimed. “good morning Janus,” Logan said.

He slithered out of the blanket and up and around Remus’s neck. He wasn’t quite ready to shift back and he hoped that by doing this he would hopefully feel a lot better.

He was startled when the door slammed open and roman stood there with a red smudge covering his torso. He peaked his head up in curiosity and looked onwards.

“I swore to god. Whichever one of you it was, fess now or I will run both of you with my sword!” he yelled.

Janus glanced up to Remus and then over to Logan. nope he wasn’t dealing with this. he uncurled himself and slid down Remus’s back and onto the bed before twirling down a bed post and along the floor, letting out a goodbye in the form of a hiss.

Roman only watched in confusion as the snake made its way past him. covered in familiar shimmering golden scales.

“wait was that deceit- “he said in surprise snapping his head to see no snake, nor person in the hall.

#sander sides #remus sanders #janus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #snake janus #tw blood #tw corp #surprisingly one of my least dark stories so far. this whole series may just be fluff for now!#hope you guys enjoy!#ts spoilers #ts spoiler

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schrijverr · 5 years ago

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An Insightful Picnic

Will and Tom look after Mary and Jane while Polly and Mrs. Blake are away. They go on a picnic and musings about the future and what that means for them come to light.

From the Being Home series that starts with Returning Home and the Joe’s Letter.

On AO3.

Ships: Blakefield

Warnings: WW1 mentioned and period typical homophobia mentioned.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was summer in 1918, almost halfway through June in fact. The weather was lovely and the fields around the small town where the Blakes lived alongside the Schofield siblings. There would be some races with horses up near Birmingham and Mrs. Blake had decided to take Polly for a fun day out, she had wanted to invite Tom and Will as well along with the two little girls, but the two men had declined saying that they had seen enough horses in the war to be cured of any curiosity, the rotting horse corpses still fresh in their minds. With only two adults and a goal to relax it was also decided that the twins would be better off staying with Tom and Will.

The two girls had been pretty disappointed to miss the races, so in order to make it up to them Tom and Will had planned a fun picnic in the forest. This delighted them to no end, Jane hadn’t been able to stop chattering on about it with a happy Mary on her trail. They had been even more excited when Tom had announced Saturday evening that they got to stay up a bit later to help him bake a cherry pie for the picnic the next day.

Jane was allowed to help with rolling out the dough and Mary with preparing the cherries. Tom did the measuring and most of the kneading, although both girls wanted to try, making it into a small competition. Will had watched them from the kitchen table with a fond smile. He had offered to do the clean up while Tom tucked the two girls in and told them a story.

When Tom came down again he wordlessly picked up a towel and started drying the dishes Will was washing. Will asked with a smirk: “Did they go to bed smoothly?”

Tom laughed: “They put up a good fight, but it’s late and I’m much stronger.” he paused his drying to flex his arms, making Will laugh. Indignantly he asked: “Oi, what are you laughing at?”

Will bit on his bottom lip to stop the smile, but it didn’t work. He gestured vaguely with the sponge at Tom and said: “Just, just you, dumbass. Very heroic, winning against two seven-year-olds.”

Tom pouted for a second then he couldn’t help, but laugh as well. He jokingly tried to save his pride by saying: “Hey, your nieces can be menaces. I don’t know how Polly, does it every night.”

“Don’t involve me into it, they’ve adopted you as an uncle, they’re your nieces now too. And I feel you are the bad influence out of the two of us.” Will said.

A burst of warmth went through Toms chest. Will had come so far from the lonely, quiet and sad chap he had met out on the fields of France. He was more happy now and it made Tom so proud that he was part of Wills family and vise versa. They probably could never have anything public or official, but these feeling they were real and that could never be taken from them.

Will noticed his silence and raised a concerned eyebrow at him, not saying anything as well. Tom smiled at him to reassure him that nothing was wrong and quickly leaned in for a kiss. There was no one else in the house, Mrs. Blake and Polly had already gone further North and Jane and Mary were in bed.

The kiss was soft. It was quiet, but said a thousand words. It said I love you, I’m proud of you, I’m glad to have you in my life. It said never let go of me, because I will never let go of you. They didn’t need to say those words, because they already knew them, but it was nice to let the warm feeling flow between them in that small kitchen on that summer eve.

The next day they were pulled out of bed by two excited young ladies, who had burst through the door and jumped on the bed startling the two sleeping ex-soldiers. It spoke volumes about their progress that the only physical reaction they had to the sudden intrusion was startling into an upright position, with they fists up. Jane and Mary didn’t notice it, just pulled on their hands as they complained that it was morning and they wanted to go.

After telling them to go downstairs, the two got up and started to get dressed. It was a familiar routine. Tom got dressed completely, while Will got dressed as far as he could with one hand and made the bed, when both were done with that Tom tied Wills laces and did up his buttons, before heading downstairs.

They ate a quick and small breakfast, before preparing the last of their food for the lunch, packing it all into a basket and calling Myrtle. Then they were off, Jane wanted to hold the basket at first, but when Mary had stopped to pluck a flower and stick it in her hair, Jane had opted to hand Will the basket, so that she could do the same. Will had smiled at that and shared an amused look with Tom.

It was probably better that the basket was occupying his only hand, because it had been nearly habit to slip his into Toms the moment they entered the forest, but with Mary and Jane there they couldn’t risk it.

Soon they arrived at a small clearing in the middle of the forest. It was a quiet spot that not many people knew about, so Tom and Will found themselves there quite often. Normally they would sit on the ground, but to spare the girls light dresses from too many grass stains they’d brought a checkered blanket to sit on.

It was a pretty big blanket, but with the two girls and all the food on it Will and Tom had to sit on the ground. They didn’t mind, but Jane did. She said: “No, uncle Will, uncle Tom, you have to sit on the blanket as well. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a good picnic.”

Beside her Mary nodded seriously as Jane pouted at them. Will smiled at them and explained that they couldn’t fit on the blanket, but that it was alright, because they didn’t mind sitting in the grass. The two wouldn’t hear it. They started to rearrange all the food, until their was a small enough spot for both of them to sit on. And when they said small, they meant small. The only way they could fit was if one of them sat cross-legged and the other squeezed on right beside that with his feet and legs in the grass. After a small conversation with their eyes, Tom was the one sitting cross-legged.

Jane and Mary were pleased and the picnic could begin. Myrtle laid next to blanket and her tail wagging as she closed her eyes and rested in the sun. She had taken a liking to the twins and Will could understand why as he watched them pet her absentmindedly throughout the lunch and sneakily feed her some meat from the sandwiches when Tom wasn’t looking.

When they had sat there for a while Jane and Mary were starting to get bored, Tom picked up on it and suggested: “Why don’t you go play with Myrtle, while me and Will watch the blanket. She needs some exercise and I’m sure she would appreciate your company.”

At that the two lit up and sprinted off with Myrtle, before they could get too far Will yelled: “Stay in sight, don’t go too far!”

Jane gave a yell back while Mary waved at them to signal they had heard, neither of them stopping for a second. Tom smiled and said: “Children, I’ll always be surprised at the amount of energy they have.”

Will gave him a look and said: “Like you aren’t still a child as well.”

His comment earned him a shove and he allowed himself to fall backwards, using the momentum to roll onto his feet. He gathered the left overs to make space on the blanket, seeing what he was doing Tom helped until there was enough space to sit down properly together.

From their blanket they watched the two girls run around with Myrtle, laughing and shrieking in delight. If he squinted enough, he could almost picture a future like this. A future where he and Tom could have kids and live happily on the countryside with no war going on and no hate against them and people like them. He knew that future wasn’t going to happen, but he hoped that it at least could stay like this for a little longer.

Tom noticed his far off look and softly asked: “What is going on in that brain of yours?”

“Hmm?” Will locked their eyes as he processed the question, then he looked back at Mary and Jane and sighed: “Just, what could be, you know, if the world wasn’t shit. What our future could have been.”

Tom understood, when he had realized how much he loved his then friend, he knew what he would have to sacrifice to love him. But Tom also saw how much they could have. He knew Will and Polly were trying to make her dream of owning an inn a reality and he knew that it would be hard if they ever wanted that small home for just them, yet he was hopeful. He believed that a long and good life wasn’t that far out of reach if they tried. So, he said: “Our future can still be something, love. Maybe not kids and marriage, but Mary and Jane need us and I know that we don’t need formalities to be happy, right?”

He gently bumped his shoulder into Wills and gave him a tranquil and inquisitive look. Will bit his lip and frowned a bit as he thought, then he said: “You’re probably right and I do want to be here for them and Polly and Mrs. Blake, but I can’t understand how you’re so certain of this hope for the future. After everything we’ve seen, after we felt first hand how easily life slips away.”

Toms eyes saddened a bit with Will words, but he knew where his boyfriend was coming from and if he was good at something, it was talking to cheer Will up and give him hope. So he leaned back on his hands and stared up to the sky as he said: “I think that’s what gives me hope. Life is so fragile, but we made it this far and until it slips away you need to make the best of it, you know? Maybe our future won’t be all that we dream to be, but if we give up before we try we might never see how close we can get. I practically died out there is France, all I’m living now is extra and I’m going to make the best of it.” he looked back at Will and finished: “And I hope I get to do that with you.”

Will blushed from the sudden eye contact along with the words and he struggled with a reply. In the end he settled on giving Tom a quick hug and a pack on his cheek after he had quickly glanced at Mary and Jane to see if they were looking, the two were still wrapped up in their own fantasy world and didn’t notice. He whispered: “Thank you.”

Tom petted his hair and said: “No need, did it with love.”

They enjoyed the rest of the afternoon in the same fashion, until it was late and they needed to head home. This saddened the twins, but they still followed after them. They were tired after a day of fun and the prospect of a bed and dinner didn’t sound so bad, although neither would admit that if asked.

Will made a simple soup with the help of Tom, which the four of them ate while sitting on the porch and watching the sun lower over the fields.

Then it was time for bed. Will and Tom escorted the girls upstairs and helped them get ready for the night. Tom tucked in Jane, while Will tucked in Mary. They wanted to leave quietly, believing the girls close to sleep, but a tug from Mary and a soft protest from Jane stopped them. They wanted a story, a real story, about France, not a fairytale.

Tom shrugged and settled down at the end of the bed while Will did the same. Tom started: “This is a story that begins with a sad ending.”

“How can that be?” Jane asked.

“Well, it starts with me getting badly hurt.” Tom told her.

“What happened to you?” Mary asked.

“Me and your uncle Will had been send out on a mission. We were well on our way, when we saw three planes flying over. We watched as one om them crashed down, the man inside still alive.”

The girls gasped as Will frowned, he could understand which story Tom was telling, but he didn’t understand why he would tell that one. It wasn’t one of the happier stories, certainly not, it also wasn’t very fun to listen to, especially if you were a child. Still Tom went on: “We saved the man, but it was too late, he was close to death and he used the last of his strength in attacking me, hurting me badly, which is where I wanted to start.”

Will appreciated that Tom left out that Will had been the one to kill the German soldier. And listened closely to try and figure out where Tom was going with this.

“I couldn’t go on and told Will to leave me and finish our mission, because it was very important.” Tom said, “He didn’t want to, but he had to. Not soon after he had left me to find on his way back, a medical team found me.”

The end of that was just plain false, but Will liked this version of what happened much better than the real one. The one where Tom had nearly died and had lain there for hours in pain, just waiting for anyone to help, the one where he didn’t go back for him.

“Did they help you?” Jane asked.

Tom smiled: “They did, they got me back home.”

“That’s good, right? It’s not sad anymore now.” Mary added.

“It is good, I got the help I needed, but Will couldn’t find me anymore.” Tom said.

Mary interrupted again: “But that is not good at all!”

“But it’s going to end well, don’t worry.” Tom reassured her, “It was indeed quite sad that me and Will couldn’t find each other again. We thought that maybe we never would and we both hated being separated from a good friend.”

Will nearly snorted at Toms description of their relationship, but kept his mouth as he absentmindedly stroked Marys lower leg as they all listened to Tom, who went on: “We didn’t see each other for a long time, but then suddenly I get an answer to the letter I send Will. It had arrived with him and he had send a letter back. Suddenly we could find each other again.”

Jane cheered and Mary smiled. Tom continued: “We met up again and although it had taken hard work to get there, we could now be friends once more. The end.”

Jane yawned and said: “That was a good story, I like it.”

Mary nodded as well and soon both had drifted off to sleep. Quietly Tom and Will left the room and went downstairs. Once they were out of earshot and didn’t risk waking them up Will softly asked: “That story was more for me, wasn’t it.”

“If you think you needed to hear it, sure.” Tom replied with a wink.

Will would’ve been mad to be treated like a kid, but honestly it was nice to think Tom was so sure of their survival and their future. It gave him hope too, so he just smiled back and asked if Tom wanted some tea.

They sat in the living room, just enjoying each other company until it was late at night. They slept in each others arms and comforted the other when the dreams weren’t kind.

The next day Mrs. Blake and Polly returned and were nearly overrun with two excited girls, who chattered on about the picnic and how fun it had been. Polly told them: “How nice of your uncles, we might have to hire them full time to babysit you two.”

The girls pouted and told their mother that they didn’t need to be babysat, because they were already old enough to look after themselves. Polly just smiled at that, but didn’t comment. She did look up in surprise when Tom said: “We’re happy to, just say the word when you need the helping hand.”

From the living room Will looked at Tom, who was standing in the hallway, and smiled. He heard Polly backtrack, saying it was just a joke and that he didn’t have to, really. Will stuck his head around the corner and said: “It isn’t a bother, Polls.”

He and Tom smiled at each other and he thought that they were going to be alright.

#RR writing #1917 #1917 movie #tom blake #Tom x Will #will schofield #Wills nieces #tw: mentions of war #tw: war mention #tw: homophobia mentioned #blakefield

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normal-horoscopes · 6 years ago

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She awoke to a boxcar full of corpses,

which was damn lucky, because it meant she now had a one-way train ticket to exactly where she wanted to go. All that was left to do was pass the time.

The student took inventory of her body. It was the first thing she knew to do in case of catastrophic injury, but the ritual of it was almost meditative now. Start at the bottom, work your way up.

Feet: Sore from walking. The leathery sheathe of mutagenic skin that ran up to her shins was largely unfeeling scar tissue at this point. They looked and functioned like a pair of high-topped hiking boots, except permanent and a part of her body. They were a rough custom job, designed for traversing the pools of acid that dotted the necrotic swamps common to her homeland. Home. Not much left of home now. She was getting sidetracked.

Legs: Also sore from walking, but less so. The musculature was hers, but the skeleton was reinforced with carbon-steel after a fall when she was little. Shock absorbing hydraulic femurs were nice for someone who did as much walking as she did. Skin was necrotizing again. Gotta get that replaced. Maybe one of the corpses is fresh enough to provide a graft.

Pelvis: Mercifully unfeeling. The surveyor had grabbed her by the hips. Skeleton was completely replaced a long time ago, but she could feel a hitch in the joint of her left leg whenever she moved it just so. An easy fix but time consuming, and not the sort of work to be done on a moving train. No necrotization here, at this point it was all synthetic. Uterus was completely original, not that it meant much. The little bundle of braided tubes that assisted her endocrine system remained stapled to her skin. The jangling was annoying, kept getting stuck on her hatchet, thus, staples. Fluids were looking a little dark, she must be dehydrated.

Torso: Felt fine, aside from the strain on her spine from carrying her things. Even with the augments, spines in general were just poorly constructed. Flesh was scarred, lots of burns, but mostly original. Both clavicles were removed and replaced with cargo sockets. She rolled her shoulders, it seemed like everything was working well. Breasts and sternum had been removed too, replaced with subdermal bulletproofing. She had spent extra for the good stuff there. One solid hand-ground piece of sloped armor. Getting shot in the lung was a lesson you only needed to learn once. Heart was completely mechanical. She even had a backup in her bag just in case. She traded the old lung and the breast tissue for that.

Right Arm: She rolled back the sleeve of her heavy coat and stretched her arm, watching the little electric motors dance. It was strong and dexterous, with half a dozen small tools built into the length of her forearm. No need for skin. In a pinch she could perform everything from network intrusion to basic surgery. Most of it was covered by the sleeve of her heavy coat. The amputation was above the elbow. She had leased her original arm for the current mechanical one when she was working on the pit crew for for an order of knights. She ended up keeping the arm.

Left Arm: She liked her left arm. She was proud of it. The trademark of a sythetimancer. It was pretty. Biological and mechanical features blending seamlessly together. Coils of veins and circuitry making intricate braids up her arm terminating in perfect Fibonacci spirals. Softly bioluminescent blood, filaments formed from calcified nerve tissue, synapse clusters under crystal clear de-pigmented bulbs of alpha-keratin. She concentrated for a moment, allowing the whirls on her palm to twist and readjust themselves with a tingling sensation. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, all recombining into butane. She snapped her fingers, igniting a tiny flame, letting it dance along her fingers for a few moments burning and repairing the flesh as she went, spirals parting and coalescing like leaves navigating the twain of a gentle river. They looked like the little shell fossils she found at the white desert when she was little. Memories. Loss.

The spirals in her hand began to twist and pulse, little corkscrews of bone began to form, growing outwards against the thin layer of biosynthetic skin. It hurt. She winced, and regained control a moment later. Careless. She shook her arm, and the flame on her finger went out.

Head: Still a bit hazy from the pain. Where to start with the head? Neck. Parched. Currently being warmed by a scarf with a length of handmade maille hidden in the folds. Rebreather was working well because it was made well. It was made well because she made it. She made it because it used to be her job. Like everyone of her strain, she had no teeth, only two solid ridges of tough bone, largely blunt and made for gnashing but gradually coalescing into a single triangular point, evolved for ripping flesh. She clacked her jaws together experimentally. Clack. Clack.

Eyes were tired and dry. There was a short mechanical hiss and a snap as she the shields over her eyes retracted back into their sockets in her cheekbones. The only light was from a pair of grates in the ceiling, but the glare nearly blinded her. She snapped the shields back into place, and the heads up display came slowly back into focus.

Originally her skin was the sort of rust color common to her strain. By now it was a deep weather-worn red, except for the parts that were charred black and rotting. Gotta replace that. If she could grow hair, she had done a damn good job of making sure it was thoroughly singed off. It occurred to her that it might be fun to have hair one day. Maybe she could make it herself. Would it grow in spirals? She looked down to open the bag of genebending tools at her waist, and her heart jumped into her goddamn throat.

Staring up at her from the pile of corpses was a pair of bright red eyes on an unnaturally pale face with no nose or lips. Which would not be terribly upsetting or surprising, had it not just said “well met” in an oddly pleasant female voice, attempt to sit up, fail, and then ask politely if its new acquaintance would stop sitting on it.

End of part 1, click here for the index

#amber skies

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mst3kproject · 6 years ago

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Daughter of Dr. Jekyll

John Agar’s in this. So, for that matter, is Gloria Talbott from Girls Town and The Leech Woman, and it was directed by Edgar G. Ulmer, who brought us The Amazing Transparent Man. It was released on a double-bill with The Cyclops, which I’ve already reviewed, and while all that seems to promise us an utter crapfest, the premise at least sounded intriguing. Then I actually pressed play, and was greeted by an opening consisting of gray fog, theremin music, and a bored narrator. Oh, yeah. This is gonna suck.

Said opening narration very (and I mean very) quickly introduces us to the tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, in which a distinguished scientist used a strange potion to turn himself into a werewolf! Wait… that’s not what happened in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at all. Wasn’t it a story about how every person has the capacity for evil and that’s part of what makes us human, and… aw, fuck it, this is a John Agar movie. Okay, sure, a werewolf. Whatever you say, Portentous 50’s Narrator. Moving on.

Janet Smith and her fiancé George Hastings arrive at her family’s palatial home, which she will inherit on her upcoming twenty-first birthday. That’s not all that’s come down the family line, though. Janet’s last name is not Smith, but Jekyll, and she was born after his experiments in lycanthropy had begun. Might she pass it on to her children? Or might Janet herself not be affected? Or is her father’s old friend Dr. Lomas an evil hypnotist using her for his own ends? Wait… what?

After sitting through crap like The Incredible Petrified World and Creatures from the Abyss, I kind of want to give extra points to Daughter of Dr. Jekyll. It’s actually fairly well-constructed for the most part, it’s rarely boring, and the sets representing the Jekyll family estate are very nice. There’s a plot I can follow, I know who the characters are, and so forth… my standards have dropped so low, that’s actually kind of impressive. The creepy delivery guy who hangs around whittling stakes and sowing discontent is pretty effective, himself, even though he’s a very one-dimensional character.

There’s still plenty of badness to be had, of course. The movie appears to be set in the first decade of the twentieth century, but it’s not very committed to that. The sound is frequently weird, from the absolute cacophony of frogs at the opening to musical cues that I swear were stolen from Robot Monster. There’s a random cameo from a very 50’s pin-up girl who appears, gets killed, and vanishes without us ever even learning her name. The climactic fight between George and the werewolf is extremely shatnery and the werewolf makeup is even lamer than in Werewolf in a Girl’s Dormitory.

Even worse, there’s an entire subplot that kind of doesn’t even bother happening. Most movies that are going to involve angry villagers have some scenes in a local pub or something to show the rabble being roused – even The Giant Spider Invasion had that. In Daughter of Dr. Jekyll we hear about angry villagers from a couple of different people but never actually see them until the pitchfork-toting crowd appears out of nowhere at the end. It’s like an angry flash mob. All we needed was a few thirty-second scenes, but I guess this movie couldn’t afford villagers. The whole climax is obscured by fog that makes it very hard to tell who’s who and what’s going on.

As usual, we’re confused about who our main character is supposed to be. The person whose eyes we see the story through is Janet. It’s Janet whose arc we follow, and Janet who we learn the most about, but she’s a very frustrating character because she is entirely without agency. The only choice she appears to make in the entire film is agreeing to marry George, before this story begins. Otherwise, she’s letting him or Lomas tell her what to do, completely incapable of making her own decisions (she even says as much, when George asks her if she’d like to go to London and elope). When the action occurs, she’s drugged with sleeping pills or in Lomas’ hypnotic thrall.

Even the very premise strips Janet of control over her own fate. She is not the heir to a scientific legacy (as other descendants of Henry Jekyll in other movies have been) but to a genetic one. Tanya in Lady Frankenstein chose to continue and improve on her father’s work. She might not have. Janet, on the other hand, cannot opt out of the family’s potentially tainted DNA. This lack of control is reinforced through smaller events as well: George won’t let Janet change her mind about marrying him, and when the young couple tells Lomas they don’t want his money or estate, he reveals that both were actually Janet’s the whole time. Like Eddie in The Beatniks, Janet is basically a victim even when good things are happening – they always happen to her rather than because of her.

The character who actually tries to take control of the situation, and who I think we’re supposed to see as the ‘hero’, is George – but we know nothing about George. He loves Janet and he has terrible fashion sense, and that’s really it. It’s her family we learn about, and her mental disintegration that follows. George spends most of the movie just hovering on the sidelines watching, and even at the end he doesn’t do very much. He explains what’s really going on to Janet and the audience (though we’ve already figured it out) and gets his ass kicked by a geriatric werewolf. The monster is actually killed by the mob of villagers, while George just stands there with Janet sobbing into his shirt. The movie probably wouldn’t have been much different without him.

The thing that really takes the viewer out of the movie, however, and does so repeatedly for its entire seventy-minute running time, is that it can’t make up its mind what its monster is supposed to be. I already mentioned the narrator’s conviction that Mr. Hyde was a werewolf, but it gets way weirder and more confusing than that.

The servants at the Jekyll house also talk about werewolves, and tell Janet and George in threatening voices that they know how to deal with such creatures. On the other hand, when Dr. Lomas himself tells them what happened, he tells the story we’re familiar with: Dr. Jekyll wanted to separate the good and evil parts of a person, and ended up giving the evil in himself a free agency of its own. This made me think maybe the servants were just a bunch of superstitious peasants? Maybe they called Mr. Hyde a werewolf because they didn’t know what else to call him? That almost started to make sense… but then George picks up a book about werewolves, and in its pages he reads that a werewolf leaves its tomb on the night of the full moon so it can drink blood, and can only be killed by a wooden stake through the heart.

Wait. What?

That… that’s not werewolves! Werewolves are killed by silver bullets! Stakes through the heart are vampires! Werewolves don’t have tombs! What is going on here?

By the time the climax rolls around, we’ve already figured out Dr. Lomas’ evil plan, and sure enough, it turns out he’s hypnotizing Janet into believing she’s a werewolf so she will commit suicide and he can have her family’s money. That makes sense in a Scooby-Doo kind of way, I guess, and I can accept it for the sake of the movie… but then he actually turns into a werewolf and goes out to suck blood! What? What? How did that happen? Was he playing with Jekyll’s formula? But Jekyll turned into Hyde when he took the drug, not at the full moon! What the fuck?

The movie never explains itself. We’re just supposed to take this bizarre conflation for granted. But vampires, werewolves, and Mr. Hyde are three totally different types of monster! Vampires are undead corpses who avoid decay and death by sucking blood. Werewolves are living people who transform under the full moon and kill out of animalistic rage. Mr. Hyde was Dr. Jekyll’s repressed evil side given form. You could probably argue that all three have the same root, in our need to conform to certain standards in order to make society work, but Daughter of Dr. Jekyll doesn’t try to do that. It just mixes and matches story bits at all, combining conflicting mythologies and leaving very visible seams. In fact, we may as well consider this a Frankenstein movie, too!

I can only imagine the fun Mike and the Bots would have had with this confusion. I’m picturing a game show in which they must match the weapon with the monster, and if they lose, they get eaten. Tom would have figured out that you survive by picking what ought to be the wrong answer. Crow would not.

The opening narration of Daughter of Dr. Jekyll notes that Robert Louis Stephenson’s book is a classic, and it is so for good reason. It’s an exploration of the evil within us all, the intrusive thoughts and secret desires we would rather attribute to an alter ego than ever admit to anyone, and the fact that the sinner is as much a part of each of us as the saint. Daughter of Dr. Jekyll throws all that out the window by equating its villain with a vampire/werewolf, making him a sort of mindless monster. It’s confusing and annoying, and its compelling source material deserved far better.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #daughter of dr jekyll #oh shit it's john agar #50s #you is a warwelf #just fuckin weird

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gooddadstan · 6 years ago

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Fuzzy Walls and Tired Eyes Chapter 2

Dick Grayson was usually collected on patrols. Even while searching for the Joker like they were, he’d expected himself to hold some kind of stability above the rage boiling in his bones. Bruce knew that if he didn’t get to the Joker before Jason or he did there were going to be problems, but there weren’t any issues over that before they left. The Joker always managed to snatch Batman himself first, after all, unless he was planning something specifically against the hoard of Robins. It’d been the status quo last time, and the time before that, and before that one, and so on and so forth. So really, while his eyes were peeled and his heart burned with rage, he was collected.

That is, until a beep he’d only heard a handful of times rang through his ear. The beep of an emergency tracker being activated. A fresh panic settled intrusively in him as he clicked into the channel to hear the report, halting his movements on a rooftop and turning should he need to sprint off to help Duke. Cass should be fine, being to the right of him in their spiral, and Jason would be the one to Duke’s left coming in with Dick.

“This is Red Robin reporting in, requesting assistance. The initial situation has been resolved, but I have sustained injury inhibiting my return to the cave.” His voice was an almost painful monotone, words so clearly spoken as protocol burned into his mind instead of a genuine wish for help. It sent that small, cold feeling of dread into his heart with every word. As Tim rattles off the address of the warehouse he’s in, closest to Cass and him, he immediately flung himself into motion. No time for extra flips, just freerunning and grappling his way to his brother. ETA 17 minutes, the GPS he’d pulled up told him. Not fast enough.

What if the Joker had thought it’d be more fun to chase after birds instead of bats this time, and ambushed Tim after he’d finished up the drug bust tonight? If it was the Joker, that would’ve been in the report though, unless it was the Joker trying to lure in more of them to set the trap against Batman like he had last year? No, there would’ve been an indication of that too. The Joker would far rather leave Tim unconscious on the ground and screech into their comms himself than lure them in duos like this. Then what the hell happened that could leave Tim needing an emergency pickup? He knew better than to pick a case he couldn’t handle alone, and he’d said the situation was resolved. Was it unexpected additions that made the situation too much of a wildcard? Why didn’t he request backup in the middle of the fight instead of waiting for an emergency situation?

As Cass falls into step beside him, Dick takes the momentary reprieve from his concerns to respond. “Red Robin this is Nightwing, your request has been acknowledged. Black Bat and Nightwing are en route, with an ETA of 15 minutes.” He gets no response, and as the tide of anxieties rise he bites his lip to try and stop his own voice. Trying to uphold a conversation would only slow him down, distract Tim from bandaging what he can. Just get there as fast as possible, Dick tells himself, he can ramble about anything and everything once they’re on the scene, keep Tim distracted and awake.

The fifteen minutes between when Dick first speaks to Tim via comms and their arrival pass agonizingly slowly, every rooftop seeming to take eons despite the way he clears them in two or three steps without fail, and the sweat on his brow a testament to how hard he’s pushing his legs to just move faster, please. Cass is never more than a half step ahead or behind him, silent worry over her brother causing her to stick closer to Dick than she normally would to compensate for not keeping Tim safe.

Five minutes in, when the time for a check-in comes and goes without a word, Dick immediately dropped the professional take of ‘no names on the field’ for the sake of ‘this is my little brother and if he ends up dead at the end of the day I’m going to murder the Joker myself’. “Tim? Tim, you missed the check-in, are you okay?” There’s nothing. Not the distant sounds of a scuffle, or the vile taunts of a madman. He couldn’t hear any breathing, and he gets the strong suspicion that Tim’s comm had been turned off and was only buzzing with his questions.

Throughout the rest of the trip, too long and too slow, Dick repeats his pleas for a response from Tim with varying levels of fear and urgency in his voice. It’s only when he hears the click of a comm entering the line that he lets his hopes rise, and no matter how much he wanted to remind himself that it could be some random person or a villain, he felt like he was swinging from a skyscraper with the light sensation in his gut. “Timmy! Timmy you’ve got to answer me, can you hear me?” He doesn’t bother keeping the emotion from his voice, unrestrained panic coming from his mouth in buckets. ETA 3 minutes.

For a heart wrenching second, there’s nothing on the other end. Then, a shaky breath that really shouldn’t be audible for the comm breaks through, and Dick feels a cringe spread through him at the labored sound. Slowly, painfully, a voice comes in. “Nightwing?” It’s small, weak, hurt, and it’s Tim. He’s alive, but he can barely breathe from the sounds his lungs are making, and every single alarm in Dick’s mind was only getting louder with each consecutive breath that doesn’t make it through uninhibited.

Years with the Titans seized his actions, voice coming from a place of not entirely consciousness as pouring into the air are not words of encouragement but questions to assess the situation. “Yeah, yeah it’s me, Nightwing. Timmy, Black Bat and I are coming to pick you up and bring you back to the cave. Is your tracker still on you? How badly are you injured?” It’s deceptively calm, far calmer than it was only seconds ago, calmer than he thinks any hero could be in a situation like this.

There’s a hitch in Tim’s breathing, followed by an almost silent cough leading way to what can barely be called a hiss of pain, and it’s more than enough to send another spike of urgency through any calm image he’d forced himself into. Shuffling sounds in his ear, and the concern at the fact that Tim still has to check how injured he is sends a fresh round of rage at the GPS saying there’s still a minute before they arrive at the warehouse. Groans drag his eyes away from the screen, gurgly in a way groans aren’t supposed to be. A loud whap followed all too quickly by a metallic sound of the comm hitting a metal floor brings an unprecedented relief into his heart at the feeling of the warehouse under his feet.

Maneuvering towards a window, he doesn’t let himself pause as he registers one person inside, surrounded by a level of blood he’d only seen accompanied by a corpse. Crashing through the window with no hesitation, he pays no mind to Cass analyzing the room around them as he crouched next to his brother focusing on one thing then another and another, none of them bringing anything but bile rising in his throat. There are bones sticking out of half of his little brother’s limbs, his eyes are open and empty, this amount of blood loss needs a transfusion, there’s no rise and fall in his chest. Shoving it all down, he cradles his brother’s head in his lap as he searches for a pulse.

He finds nothing.

Every single internal organ pooling down into his toes, he forced his hands into steadiness as he slid his brother’s head off his lap and moved to one side before checking the airway. Going through the motions of CPR as fast as he could without causing further injury, he paid no mind to the blood now seeping through his pants and gloves onto his skin.

Minutes pass, and when Cass lightly presses a hand to his shoulder in a silent wish to take over, he gives a nearly imperceptible nod while she gets into position. Switching seamlessly, Dick slid himself backwards and stared ahead. His little brother wasn’t breathing, didn't have a heartbeat, and had a highly concerning amount of blood around him that was most certainly his if the haphazard bandages colored red in a pile on the floor had anything to say about it. Other, cleaner bandages had been applied where they could be, and a part of him says that it was Cass even though he hadn’t seen her until she switched off on the CPR. This was so beyond the capabilities of the cave, especially with Alfred on another continent. With a jolt, he rose from his seat and pulled out a phone as he dialed Leslie Thompkins’ number.

“What’s wrong.” She answered immediately, launching to analyze the situation that would warrant a call ahead instead of just popping in like they usually do on a night like this.

Without hesitation, Dick described as much of Tim’s state as he could and what they’d done, throwing in a request for prepared blood and an extra plea for help. As his words finally die down, there’s a heavy sigh from Leslie, more dejected and tired than he’d ever heard her.

“Dick, with injuries like that, and you’ve already swapped on CPR, I…” He can almost see the hand running through her hair in a silent show of stress. Then he heard a gasp from behind him.

Twisting in a way that almost makes him trip over his own feet, he sees Cass kneeling with her hands by her sides, Tim’s chest rising and falling with shaky, inconsistent breaths. He’s breathing. Practically falling by his brother’s side, his fingers snake around to feel the pulse in his veins, and it’s like the world was lifted from his shoulders when he found it. Weak, but there.

“Dick! What happened?” Leslie’s voice rang from his phone in the background, and he reached one arm out to grab it as his other stayed on his brothers heartbeat.

Relief flooding every part of him, there’s none of the past dread in the back of his mind as he says, “He’s breathing, Leslie, and his pulse is there again. Not incredibly strong, but enough where he’s alive. We’re bringing him over now.”

“Good, but be careful. Blood loss seems to be the biggest issue now.” With a short click the call ended, and Dick didn’t hesitate with shoving his phone away and gathering Tim in his arms as carefully as possible. Cass stood before him, watching with her careful eyes as she moves two steps ahead and clears a path.

Tim might be breathing, but that doesn’t mean he’s out of the woods yet, and they know that more than anyone. They only need to make it to Leslie’s clinic in time.

#batfam #batman #robin #red robin #tim drake #dick grayson #fwtr

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plutoandpolaris · 6 years ago

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Fantasy AU: Fallen Temples

Jackie begins the long process of recovering from his possession and decides that he won’t take his torment sitting down anymore.

Warnings: Blood, injury, violence, mild profanity.

Jackie’s throat burned as he retched into the bucket. The hours since Rihannon had left his body had been pure agony, his system desperately trying to expel the God’s dark influence.

It didn’t seem to be working very well. Every bone ached, his stomach a twisting claw, tearing at his insides and wringing another hoarse whimper from him. He sat back from the bucket, looking up at the medic who was stationed over him.

“You need water, and food when you can stomach it.” A small glass was placed in his hands, the cold surface pleasant against his burning skin. He took a tentative sip, the liquid going down like a bucket of rusty nails. Coughing hoarsely, he set the cup down and rested his head against his shaking knees.

Everything hurts.

When he looked up again, Schneep, the medic, had his back turned, digging through a nearby shelf. He seemed more exhausted than usual, the bright green of his hair and leaves dull and faded, reds and yellows beginning to creep into their surface.

Autumn was upon them now, and the hibernation season for dryads was getting closer every day. Yet still Schneep worked, his good eye clear and sharp despite the bags pulling at his skin.

“Drink this.”

Schneep handed him a clear bottle with a dark liquid inside. He shook it a little, peering through the glass at its contents.

“It will not taste very good, but it will soothe your throat so you can eat and drink. You need sustenance, that’s the only way you will be able to recover.”

Jackie pulled off the cork and took a drink, suppressing a gag. It was thick and sour tasting, but Schneep was right. Swallowing was much easier than it had been before, his sore throat dying into a dull ache.

He picked up the glass of water again and took another sip, the cold water now a balm instead of the painful burn it had been before.

Finishing off the water a few moments later, he nudged the glass away and leaned his head back against the stone wall.

He did feel a little better, but not by much.

Schneep helped him to his feet, instructing him to sit on the stone table in the center of the room. He did so, watching as the medic looked him over.

“A little the worse for wear, but considering what you’ve endured, being alive is all we can really ask for.”

Schneep gave him a terse smile before turning back to his shelves, pulling down a stack of washcloths.

“I have to clean your wound again. I know that’s the last thing you want to do right now, but it is necessary.”

Jackie nodded, hesitating for a moment before leaning his head back to bare his neck. Schneep reached around to unhook the bandages, unraveling them as gently as possible. Unfortunately, the material stuck to the dried blood smeared along Jackie’s skin, making it a little more difficult.

The gash wasn’t very deep, but it was long, stretching from ear to ear in a haunting second smile. Schneep looked it over for a moment, lips pressed into a firm line as he surveyed the stitches. They held firm, though dried blood still married the area around the site.

Schneep turned, dipping a cloth into a nearby water bucket and wringing it tightly before bringing it up to Jackie’s neck. He wiped away the blood as gently as he could until the area was as clean as he could get it without soaking the stitches. After patting it dry with another cloth, Schneep dropped both into the bucket and nudged it to the side with his foot.

“You will need to eat, although it might be wise to wait a while in case you start to retch again. Your body is trying to expel the foreign influence the only way it knows how, and it’ll be a while until it settles in.”

He turned back around to empty the bucket, leaving Jackie alone in the room for a few moments.

It was pleasantly quiet, accented with the soft groan of the wood floors above him and the chatter of the servants as they went about their work. It felt nice to sit with himself for a while, though he could still feel Rihannon’s intrusive thoughts scratching at the back of his mind.

He let out a relieved sigh when Schneep returned, holding a small plate with bread, a wedge of cheese, and another glass of water.

“Eat it when you’re able. I will be in soon to check on you.”

Jackie nodded absently, picking at the edge of his fresh bandages.

Truth be told, Schneep’s words were all melding together at this point, in one ear and out the other like he’d never heard them at all. He barely noticed the medic leave, mind occupied by how small the room suddenly felt as agitation and anxiety skittered urgently against the edges of his mind. Two months as a prisoner at the castle, all catching up with him at once. It was as if he was just awakening from some kind of dream, only to discover that the reality was so much worse.

He had to get out, and he had to get out now.

He didn’t think about how hungry he was, or his wounds, or about how he would outrun the castle guards in his current state, or even about where he would go. A small logical part of him knew that no matter where he went, he’d be found eventually. You can’t hide from a God.

He didn’t care about any of that.

The stone floors of the basement level were cold against his bare feet as he ran, not particularly caring where he went. He must have doubled back at least twice before he found the staircase.

None of the servants even tried to stop him, watching in confused silence as he tore past them.

He was on the ground level now, sprinting through the maze-like hallways as he searched for an exit, any exit. Though some of the guards gave chase, he barely noticed, the burn from his injuries fading into a full body ache that he pushed into the back of his mind.

A sharp turn and abrupt stop later, he was met with the entrance to the garden. Not even thinking about the fact that it was completely walled in, Jackie burst through the door and veered off the cobbled path, sticking the calloused undersides of his feet with rose thorns and twigs every step of the way.

He could still hear the guards behind him, but they seemed to be slowing down.

“We’re losing him!”

“Let him run, he’ll come crawling back when the wolves start nibbling at him, mark my words.”

Jackie ran until he hit a wall, sliding down it until he was shrouded in a rosebush, listening for the guard’s retreating footsteps. Every muscle burned, his lungs heaving as he gasped for air. He couldn’t stay here, he had to keep moving, but every single part of his body rang with pain. His brief air of defiance spluttered out, leaving him exhausted and resigned.

The guards were right. He couldn’t survive out there, barefoot, in this condition. Fighting off a wolf at full strength would still be a little bit of a challenge, but in this weakened state? He could see himself collapsing in the woods and dying of exposure as the vultures picked at his corpse.

No, that’s what they want you to think, he chided himself, running shaking hands through his greasy hair. Sure, it was nigh suicidal. He knew that. But he also knew that he wasn’t going to hunker down in his gilded cage and live the rest of his life as a prisoner.

Even if he did get ripped to shreds out there, at least he’d die free.

Jackie turned, feeling along the wall. It was made of uneven stone, climbable if you had the grip. Considering the only other way out was to go back through the castle to the front, it was his only option.

Positioning himself on the wall, he began to climb. It was a lot easier said than done, even with the aid the uneven stones were giving him. His hands were slick with sweat, knuckles and fingertips stark white as he gripped the worn bricks.

Eventually he reached the top, casting a quick glance over his shoulder before looking down at the ground on the other side. About a seven-foot drop. He didn’t have time to think about the consequences before he slung his legs over and jumped, bending his knees and rolling into it.

It wasn’t the highest fall, and he’d jumped from higher without having to roll, but being a little extra careful in his condition couldn’t hurt.

He was situated in a small field, a few feet away from the forest’s edge. He should’ve bolted directly for it, gotten out of sight, but he just stayed there, flat on his back in the grass, looking up at the sky.

How did it come to this?

If he could go back three months and tell himself that he’d end up possessed by a vengeful god and trapped on an island run by a megalomaniacal demon king, his past self would’ve laughed. He hardly believed in the gods at all, once.

“As long as you stay out of trouble, you won’t have to bother with them. The gods don’t care what happens to us little folk, and they never will,” his father had told him.

Jackie had thought it the ramblings of a man who’d been slighted by fate one too many times, but he was right.

Father was always right.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position, taking a deep breath. Sitting there waxing philosophical about his situation wasn’t going to get him very far, and staying in an open field four feet from the castle wall wasn’t a very good idea either. Though that set of guards had just let him off, once the King found out he’d certainly send more after him.

He’d escaped far too easily, and his intuition told him he’d somehow walked into a trap.

Ignoring the ache in his legs, Jackie stood, making his way toward the tree line. The burst of energy that had gotten him this far had all but dissipated, and he felt as if he’d aged several decades in only a few minutes.

Though he was limping slightly, hungry, and with no idea where he was going, Jackie continued down into the forest. It was peaceful, at least. Dark and cool, fading evening sunlight breaking through the canopy and painting the ground with small squares of sunlight. Pine needles, autumn leaves, and mud gave way under his feet as he walked, letting the fresh air fill his head. It was refreshing, to say the least, and helped distract him from how lost he was swiftly becoming.

A small rustle in the trees caught his attention and he glanced upward. A small dove was looking down at him, stark white against the dark backdrop of the forest. It cooed at him, tilting its head to one side.

Jackie ignored it, continuing along the path. He got another few feet before the bird followed, hovering above his head before landing on his shoulder.

“Hello?” Jackie asked, voice tight with apprehension. “Do you want food? I don’t have any seeds. What do doves even eat?”

The bird stilled, digging it’s short talons in and glaring at him. Jackie didn’t even know birds could look annoyed, but this one was proving him wrong.

It fluttered its wings, pulling at his tunic with its feet. Jackie pulled back, but it was insistent, tugging him towards an opening in the underbrush.

Eventually he relented, letting the dove lead him.

Might as well. Can’t get me more lost than I already am, I suppose.

The area behind the bushes was a small clearing, a worn dirt path winding through it like a river.

“Well what do you know, I guess you really do know your way around,” Jackie mused under his breath, batting thorn brush out of his way as he followed the bird down the path.

Eventually, they emerged on the top of a large hill, overlooking the rest of the forest. It was a stunning view, large mountains dotted with pine forests stretching out against the horizon, deciduous trees in their autumn colors painting fire across the landscape. The sun was setting, dipping down beneath the horizon.

However, Jackie didn’t have much time to enjoy the view. The bird seemed frantic now, yanking at him, eyes blown wide with what Jackie could only assume was terror. Jackie attempted to follow as quickly as he could, but in his weakened state, he could only go so fast. His foot caught on the rocks, sending him tumbling down the hill, limbs catching on the brush and leaving him a heap at the bottom.

His ears rang, and he could vaguely feel blood spilling down the side of his head from where he’d probably hit it off a rock. The bird landed on his chest, pulling at his tunic one more time, but he barely felt it. Darkness encroached on his vision, his last thought one of morbid humor.

I guess I really am going to be picked apart by birds in the middle of the woods. Funny how that’s the part I got right.

He awoke in a warm bed, and for a moment he almost thought this entire ordeal was some kind of horrifying nightmare. He opened his eyes, expecting to see his room back at his parent’s mill, or the worn plank walls of one of the many inns he stayed in as a mercenary.

It was neither.

He was in a temple, situated in the middle of the great room. The doors leading into the other parts of the building were blockaded, as was the front door. Behind him was the decaying statue of a God, arms outstretched, beautifully carved flowers pooling in their hands and falling into a basin below. The stand was carved with inscriptions, each one worn away by time, the face of the statue overtaken by vines and moss.

Sitting on a chair was an older man, wearing a lumberjack’s coat and hat. His beard and hair were long but kept, a woodcutter's axe leaning against the wall beside him. Though he appeared normal at first glance, his eyes were blank, glowing a faint off-yellow, his gaze steely but kind.

Jackie sat up a little too quickly, immediately regretting it as the gash in the side of his head sent shock waves of pain through his head.

The man stood, holding out a hand.

“Don’t get up too quickly, you took a nasty fall.”

Jackie murmured something unintelligible under his breath, holding a hand to his head. The gash was bandaged tightly, much to his initial surprise. The man laid his hand on the bandages, the pain dissipated almost immediately, replaced by a slightly pulsing warmth.

“I apologize for pushing you so much, but it was very important that we get here before sundown.”

“Pushing me..?”

Jackie laid back down, staring up at the arched and crumbling ceiling.

“Were you the dove?”

The man laughed softly, sitting back in his chair.

“I suppose you could say that, yes. Truth be told, neither the dove nor this form is my true appearance. This man’s name is Ternus, he lives in a cabin nearby and tends to this temple. I had to… borrow his body to get you to safety.”

Jackie flinched a little at the notion of borrowing someone else’s body. He’d had a little too much of that lately.

“My name is Sana, and this is my temple.”

Sana. The name was so familiar, and after a few moments of ponderance, Jackie remembered why. Schneep had a small altar to Sana set up in the corner of his room. As a God of Medicine and Healing, Sana’s sphere of influence helped him with his work.

But still, Jackie didn’t trust them. His father’s words echoed in the back of his mind, a new feeling of suspicion pooling in his stomach. If he’d learned anything from the past few months, it was that you couldn’t trust a God.

“Why did you take me here?”

“Being out after dark without the protection of the castle walls is dangerous, especially now that Rihannon has laid claim to you.”

Sana leaned back in the chair, face thoughtful.

“I’ve only been able to meet Rihannon’s thralls after he’s truly gotten to them, hollowed out their souls and made them into nothing but flesh suits. At the very least, I’ve gotten to talk to you while you still have your head.”

Jackie narrowed his eyes, still not convinced.

“How do I know this isn’t some sort of trap?”

“Would you have preferred if I let the vampires get you? Or the wolves? Or if I stood by and let the wood sprites tear off your skin and use it in their nests?”

Sana took a breath, shaking their head.

“Besides, Rihannon wasn’t even the main reason I came for you. One of my worshippers prayed for your safety, and I answered the summons.”

One of their worshippers? Schneep? Jackie thought of asking, but an insistent banging on the door wrenched him out of his thoughts. There was a low hissing and growling as the sound grew louder and more insistent.

“Damn it all, they’re here!”

Sana turned on their heel, grabbing the axe from the floor and positioning themselves in front of the barricaded door.

“Who?!”

The hissing quieted for a moment, another voice sounding above it.

“Clever, very clever. I’m almost impressed! Hiding in Sana’s temple like a frightened child hides behind his mother’s skirts.”

Sana’s face went white, the glowing yellow of their eyes beginning to flicker.

“Rihannon sent him?! This is much worse than I-“

They doubled over, the axe clattering to the ground. The light continued to flicker, Ternus’ natural brown eyes showing through.

“I can’t stay here, his body is rejecting me. If I keep using it, he will die. Whatever you do, stay in the temple. It’s your only chance!”

With that, Sana’s host fell to the ground, the light leaving his eyes completely. The room seemed to cool a few degrees instantaneously, and what once felt welcoming fell cold and unfamiliar.

Ternus was still breathing but unconscious, his brown eyes glazed over and staring at nothing.

The hissing and scratching continued, garbled voices whispering in daemotic seeping through the wood barricade.

“You could make this easier on all of us if you just surrendered easily. I’d hate to hurt you.”

Jackie could tell by the tone of voice that whoever this was definitely didn’t have his best interests in mind.

He threw off the covers, rising quietly to his feet and picking up the axe. It was cold and heavy in his hands, and though his body still ached, he held his ground.

“Not even going to answer me, hmm? Well, that’s awfully disappointing.”

The voice barked something in daemotic, probably an order, and the walls began to shudder as the mass of hissing shapes threw themselves against the barricade. Jackie took a few stumbling steps backward, holding up the axe, heart pummeling so loudly in his ears it nearly deafened him.

Suddenly the door splintered into hundreds of little wooden shards, several of them scraping red lines into Jackie’s skin as they exploded outwards with a resounding crack.

The sight outside the door froze his blood in his veins.

An entire mob of vampires stood outside the door, at least 20 in all, mouths open in panting snarls as their beady red eyes regarded him. They looked horribly starved, each and every bone of their ribcages poking out so grotesquely they resembled corpses, skin paper-thin, translucent to the point you could see the black veins twisting beneath.

He almost felt bad for them.

Though their hunger was so palpable Jackie could almost feel it himself, they didn’t move, shifting at the edge of the threshold but never coming any closer. It was almost as if they couldn’t.

Sana’s last warning echoed in his head and he took a few steps back, the axe heavy in his hands.

“It seems we’ve come to a bit of an impasse.”

The voice echoed through the temple, low and threatening, though Jackie couldn’t pinpoint who it belonged to.

“You have two options. Either you put the axe down and come out willingly, or I give these poor souls their dinner early.”

The writhing mass started hissing again, claws outstretched towards Ternus’ prone form. Jackie’s stomach dropped, blood draining from his face.

“He has nothing to do with this! He’s innocent!”

Jackie willed him to wake up, open his eyes and flee, but he stayed still as ever on the cold stone floor. A third option flashed through his mind, sweaty hands tightening on the handle of his weapon.

The voice tsks, feigning annoyance, almost as if it could read his thoughts.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve been told to bring you back intact, and it would take quite a long time to piece you back together after they’ve had their fill.

It’s you, or him.”

Jackie knew it wasn’t really a choice. Even if he refused to leave, they’d get to him eventually. Ternus would just be an unnecessary casualty.

“How do I know you won’t just kill him anyway?”

“Because, Jackie,”

A cold chill crawls up his spine at the mention of his name, but he pushes it down.

“Unlike many others, I enjoy playing by the rules. The game’s no fun if you cheat.”

Regardless of whether or not he believed the voice was telling the truth, he knew it didn’t really matter. If he was going to be captured anyway, he’d prefer it to be on his terms, not theirs.

“You may ‘play by the rules’,” his hands tightened on the weapon again, raising it over his shoulder. “But I don’t.”

Jackie charged the crowd of vampires, taking a strong swing straight at the throat of the one closest. The blood was cold and thick as it splattered across him but he paid it no mind, stepping over the corpse of his first fallen enemy to ready a swing at the next. The vampires fanned out, circling him, jumping at every available break in his defenses with bared teeth and sharpened claws.

He was weak, much more so than usual, his limbs heavy and attacks sluggish, but he never stopped swinging, sinking the woodcutter’s blade into every spare patch of unmarred grey tinted skin as the monsters dove at him. He could feel the brutal sting of the vampire’s claws cutting into him, pulling him down, the taste of salt slithering into his mouth. When had he started crying?

One of the beasts leaped at him from the side, slamming into his chest and knocking him off balance, sending them both tumbling into the writhing mass of claws and teeth. He lost his grip on the axe somewhere in the altercation, but that didn’t matter to him much now. His only real concern was keeping his grip on his attacker’s throat, keeping the fangs at a precarious two-inch distance from his face. The other vampires took this as an opportunity, dog piling on him from all sides, sinking their teeth into every available patch of skin, tearing at his flesh, leaving gaping holes in his legs and exposed torso.

The blinding pain made his grip loosen, allowing the one closest to dive at his face for the kill. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact-

But it never came.

“Enough. I think he’s learned his lesson.”

The vampires immediately stilled, retreating from their prize and congregating back behind the doorway as they had been before.

Jackie laid still, every single inch of skin burning, afraid to open his eyes to see the damage they’d done. He laid in a huge pool of blood, a good portion of it his, resisting the urge to scream in pain at the gaping, bleeding holes in his flesh.

“I like you, Jackie. You surprise me.”

He could vaguely hear the sound of footsteps approaching, stopping just near his head where it rested in the grass near the temple threshold.

A cold veil settled over his body, dragging him down and sleeping into his gaping wounds, and for a moment he wondered if he was dying.

The feeling settled in deeper, dissolving within, pulling him down into dreamless unconsciousness.

Jackie bolted awake, eyes wide, digging his fingers into the grass and pushing himself up into a sitting position. He was situated in a small glade, the vegetation surrounding him almost completely monochrome. It was as if he’d stepped into a strange black and white painting. He glanced around, seeing no one at first until twin hands tightened on his shoulders.

“So our esteemed guest is finally awake. Took you long enough.”

He yelped in surprise, whipping his head around to see the figure situated behind him.

The man was young, so young that calling him a man was probably a little too generous. He was a boy, a teenager. 16 or 17, Jackie guessed, although it was hard to tell.

He was dressed in a black tunic and silver trimmed boots, several talismans glittering against his chest and a swath of heavy black fabric hanging loosely around his shoulders. From a distance, he could even be mistaken for mortal. But his eyes were black as obsidian, the irises bright silver and crazed, glowing with power. He radiated energy, turning the air stale and thin.

“Who are you?” Jackie turned, struggling to his feet, eyes darting to the side to look for something to use as a weapon. Though this thing looked like a child, Jackie had learned not to take things on outward appearances.

The boy laughed, the sound maniacal and giddy, echoing against the small clearing and away into the distance. “Who do you think I am? I’d love to hear your best guess. A demon? Corrupted spirit? One of Rhiannon’s poor possessed thralls, perhaps?”

Discomfort pooled in Jackie’s stomach as he realized that’s technically what he was. The boy clearly knew and was reveling in it.

He leaned in close, lips pressed into a thin smile.

“Maybe I’m not even here at all. Just a figment of your demented little imagination.”

The confused and slightly horrified look on Jackie’s face sent the boy into another fit of hysterical laughter. He doubled over, feet lifting off the ground as he did so, leaving him floating a few feet in the air. It looked as if he was suspended in water, his movements fluid and slow. Even still, he didn’t even seem to notice.

“I really got you with that one, didn’t I? I’d honestly forgotten how adorably gullible mortals are, it never gets old. I could tell you anything and you’d probably believe me.”

He straightened slightly, letting himself drift back to earth.

“I suppose I should properly introduce myself, it’s only polite.”

He took a deep, exaggerated bow, plucking a dead piece of grass from the ground and twisting it between his fingers. The grass melted away, flourishing into a bright red flower that he held out to Jackie with a prim little grin.

“I am Alcinor, son of Rihannon, Lord of the Dreamscape and Keeper of Memory. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Jackie took the flower extremely gingerly, afraid of offending Alcinor if he declined. It didn’t explode or immediately poison him, which was a pleasant surprise, but he still didn’t trust it.

Alcinor straightened again, giving Jackie a quick once over before turning on his heel and stalking back into the trees.

“Keep up if you can, little lily! It would be a horrible shame if you wandered off and got lost!”

Though he was slightly miffed at being called ‘little’ by someone a full three inches shorter than him, Jackie jogged after him regardless, careful to keep the boy’s small silhouette in his sights as they trudged through the trees. Alcinor had proven himself a trickster, but Jackie was inclined to believe him when it came to the dangers of this strange place.

He was surprised to discover the exercise easy, with none of the pain from his wounds or the throbbing ache in his throat from the sacrifice. He felt completely rejuvenated as if he’d never been injured, and a slight brush of his hand against his neck as he walked confirmed his suspicions.

The skin was unbroken.

Every cut and gash he’d gotten fighting the vampires was also gone, his skin clean and dry. His clothes were also changed, the rough tunic from his time as a prisoner at the castle replaced by a simple white shirt and pants, both made of a thin, light material that almost felt like bedclothes.

He wasn’t hungry or exhausted, and the feeling was incredibly jarring. It had been months since he’d felt…okay. Healthy. Clean. ��

He was startled out of his thoughts by a rustle in the bushes as Alcinor came to a stop. They had arrived at a clear pond, sunk deep into the earth, so clean it was almost mirror-like.

“Where are we? What in the hell is going on?!”

Jackie questioned, agitated, going to lay a hand on his shoulder but thinking better of it. He was so tired of this, being ferried from place to place like cattle, caught up in this world so much larger than himself.

Alcinor chuckled quietly under his breath, turning on his heel with a wide flourish.

“You are in Animum, my own personal plane of existence, a place of perfect stasis.”

As if to demonstrate, Alcinor pulled a small branch off of a nearby tree, watching as it immediately regrew.

“Nothing ever changes here. You’ll never have to eat, sleep, or age. I keep Rihannon’s chosen here, in a constant state, to remedy the fragility of the mortal form. Why take a new host every 100 years or so when they can last for centuries on end exactly as you left them?”

Alcinor spoke of it as a grand achievement, but it seemed like hell to Jackie. Spending months staring at the same stone wall in his old prison cell had nearly driven him insane, but centuries in this monochrome hellscape?

The monotonous colors of it all were already making him a little twitchy and he’d only been there a few minutes. Alcinor seemed to notice Jackie’s immediate horror at the prospect, but it didn’t seem to bother him much.

“Of course, the mortal mind is much harder to preserve, and after a few hundred years here it tends to...break down.”

Alcinor leaned in a little, silver irises twinkling with dark humor.

“Consciousness is more a curse than a blessing anyway.”

He burst into another fit of laughter, the grating sound echoing through the trees and shaking the ground below them.

Anger burned white in his chest, blossoming out into a rush of fire through his veins. Anger at what, he wasn’t sure. Alcinor? His predicament? Himself? He didn’t know and didn’t care, lashing out with all his strength at the closest possible target.

Alcinor disappeared right as Jackie’s fist would’ve nailed him in the jaw, still laughing, mocking, his voice ringing out even after his body had vanished. Growling in frustration, Jackie bolted, sprinting through the trees, anything to get away from the boy and his silver eyes and maniacal laughter.

He knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. You can’t just run out of an alternate dimension. But it didn’t matter to him. He just wanted out, out of this nightmare, and running at least made him feel like he was doing something. How long he spent sprinting through the forest, he wasn’t sure. The exercise was incredibly easy. His legs never burned, his throat was never raw, he felt like he could literally run forever if he wanted to, but that just made him angrier.

He wasn’t supposed to be able to run forever. It was unnatural, and wrong, just like everything else in this damnable world. The pain made the work feel real, feel earned. But still he ran, until he came up short on the edge of the world.

The terrain dropped off into a void, so abruptly he almost sprinted clear off the cliff. In the distance, he could see other islands, probably smaller offshoots of the main landmass, but they were far in the distance with no way of getting to them. Jackie collapsed in the grass, staring off into the blackness of the void, hopelessness seeping in through the anger like blood in water.

I’m never getting out of here, am I?

This took me so long to write and I don’t know if it's bad just because I’ve been staring at for so long or if its actually trash so just take it so I don’t have to stare at it anymore.

Also Alcinor is my favorite boy and I’m sad I didn’t get to put more of his personality in this because I love him.

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