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morimakesfanart · 3 years

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Sindria’s Prophet Ch1

I shut my laundry alarm, slipped on my flip-flops and headed to the basement to get the clothes from the drier.

My frustration lead my hands to my eyes while taking the steps down. I had been hyper-fixating on Sinbad's character arc again. Constantly vacillating between love and hate for this fictional character was driving me, and everyone who had to live with me, up a wall. I needed to get my Sinbad feelings under control before I ranted my best friend/sibling/roommate's ear off again. They would just remind me that you don't get to choose your hyper fixations. Or your comfort characters. Or who you're attracted to. As they've said before, "people are attracted to appearances and personalities. That's why it hurts so much when we find out someone is a bad person."

"Ah!" Vertigo pulled me out of my thoughts as I tried to take another step down after already hitting the bottom of the stairs. I groaned at my own lack of awareness.

The lighting was different. 'Did the power go out?'

The space around me was pitch black. I felt like I was being pulled. It was like feeling the current in a stream. I got walking.

A very dim light grew around me. All of the shelves of my basement were gone. Was I dreaming? I've been a lucid dreamer since I was 5 so it was possible -sure as hell felt similar. Given my mental state, it made sense that I couldn't control the dream like normal and only had awareness.

Hopefully, having to do laundry was part of the dream.

Worried voices came from a turn up ahead.

As soon as I made the turn I saw a bunch of people panicking around a child on the ground. More people came from behind them to see what was going on.

"He isn't breathing!"

I had first aid training back when I was a student and had experience using it into my time as a teacher. I was by the child's side in a flash, having squeezed past the useless people swarming around them.

Long blue hair in a braid, open blue vest, turban, and a golden flute. This was Aladdin from Magi, and I knew what was wrong with him.

I ripped the flute from his hands as Alibaba and Morgiana rushed over. Alibaba pulled Aladdin into his arms and pleaded for his friend to hold on before I could check his condition. At least I had removed the flute so he wouldn't die.

Maybe I *was* a little too obsessed with Magi to be reliving it in a dream, but this gave me an opportunity to do a thing I always want to in scenes like this -hell, I've had to do it with real people.

"Put him down! And stop shaking him!"

The two just stared at me.

I gestured to the ground. " He's weak so holding him like that could hurt him. Put him down."

The desperation on Alibaba's face was one I've seen before in series and on real people. I knew Aladdin would live and I had training, so I could face this calmly, but he didn't.

My words finally register and he put his friend back on the ground. I passed Ugo's flute to them adding, "Keep this away from Aladdin." Holding the flute would hopefully give him something to focus on. "He was pouring all of his magoi into that empty vessel -basically killing himself."

Luckily Aladdin's breathing had returned immediately. I pushed up the sleeves of my oversized hoodie, and adjusted his posture to help his breathing and checked his pulse.

The crowd watched while I checked Aladdin's condition. His pulse and breathing were both uneven, and I felt a weird sensation like I could tell he was drained of energy -like a nearly empty well. I knew the future though so I wasn't too worried.

"He's unstable but holding together," I said. Alibaba and Morgiana were still in shock at seeing their friend like this. "He will live, and wake up when he's ready in a few days. I promise."

"Thank you." Both teens said with shaky voices.

Then I looked up at the crowd, "Can someone get a stretcher or something so he can be moved safely?"

Gold eyes were watching me with an unreadable expression.

How could I forget that Sinbad and Ja'far were in this scene?? Sinbad was the one who originally yelled to remove the flute from Aladdin's hand. There was a look of recognition in Sinbad's eyes as our eyes met, and I felt that strange current again. My stomach went cold. He might be my favorite character, but I also knew all of the horrible things he has done and will some day out do. And I knew I'd probably struggle to keep composure around him.

All the same I felt a pull towards him that I couldn't deny. I tried to play it off, and turned back to focusing on Aladdin.

A guy left and returned with the stretcher, so Aladdin was moved safely.

I hung back as the main cast followed the stretcher to wherever Aladdin was going to be staying until he obtained Solomon's Wisdom. The more space between Sinbad and me, the better.

I needed to decide where I was going next. I tried to change the dream. I didn't want to live through the revolt in Balbadd nor have to deal with Sinbad or my feelings. Still nothing. I could still feel that current strongly, so I couldn't be awake. And yet it seemed the only thing I had an affect on was myself.

A few people were watching me. I was wearing an over sized zipper down hoodie that was just long enough to hide my short-shorts -not to mention my flip-flops and glasses. I didn't exactly fit in. Even I thought it was weird though; in dreams I'm normally in a t-shirt and jeans or at least have my legs covered.

Thin fingers pulled my sleeve to get my attention. "Please come with us." Morgiana stared at me. I could tell she wasn't just asking me to come, she wanted me to help look after Aladdin since I knew what was wrong with him.

She was only slightly shorter than me. She'd get taller in a few years.

I sighed. I couldn't bring myself to say no -especially not when the others also seemed to be waiting for me.

---

After securing Aladdin a private room, Ja'far confirmed his condition.

"How did this happen?" Alibaba panicked over his friend. "This is so much worse than in the dungeon!"

"He used too much magoi." Sinbad and I said in unison. We glanced at each other, and I gestured for him to do the honors, inwardly cursing my tongue. I knew he was going to explain but I couldn't stop myself from answering anyway when I saw Alibaba's worry in person. I identify with aspects of Sinabd for a reason.

The violet haired king explained how even though Aladdin was a Magi, he was too weak to call upon the unlimited magoi of the surrounding Rukh so could only call upon his own. Even a Magi can die if he loses too much magoi.

During his explanation, Sinbad had watched me out of the corner of his eye. No doubt he was looking for my reaction to the boy being a Magi. I couldn't find it in me to act surprised given the circumstances even though the last thing I needed was for him to pay attention to me.

I took note of his unnecessary lingering on my chest and bare legs though. Sinbad will always be Sinbad after all.

I decided to add information. "The Djinn isn't even in the metal vessel anymore., so his efforts were wasted."

"How can you tell?" Sinbad asked. I couldn't tell if it was genuine curiosity or a test.

I pointed to Ugo's flute in his hands, "The most obvious sign is that the star isn't on the metal vessel anymore." It was something Sinbad was going to take notice of anyway. "Besides, it wasn't Aladdin's magoi fueling Ugo, so when the magoi ran out during the fight there was nothing left keeping Ugo here."

Alibaba and Morgiana were too worried about their friend to notice the name drops, but the King and his aid caught them.

"Regardless, Aladdin needs rest."

We all left the room. Alibaba and Morgiana went to tend to more of the injured. Sinbad and Jafar were supposed to meet up with Masuru and help manage the situation, but instead pulled me aside to a different private room. It was the one with the small table they used after joining the fog troop. Sinbad sat on one side and gestured for me to sit across from him. Ja'far stood behind him.

"Now then, who are you? You're clearly not from around here." Sinbad's nonthreatening smile didn't actually put me at ease. "I could have assumed that you heard Alibaba call Aladdin's and Ugo's names earlier, but you didn't blink at hearing Aladdin's a Magi and now you even know why his attempt to save his friend didn't work. You don't seem to be a magician or a dungeon capturer." He smiled, but he was gauging how much of a threat I was. "Hmm?"

I couldn't blame him for being suspicious of me; I appeared out of nowhere, dressed like no one in this world had ever seen, and knew way more than average. He may have even thought I was a member of Al Thamen. I had to swallow my nerves if I was going to get through this. I tried to think of it like a business meeting, so at least I'd be half put together.

I shrugged, "I doubt you'd believe me even if I told you, King Sinbad." No way he'd believe I was dreaming. I purposefully said his name and title to make it clear that I knew who he was even though he hadn't introduced himself yet. I tried not to, but the longer I looked at him the more nervous I got, and even though he was the Sinbad that I had fixated on and found so comforting he still gave off a slightly dangerous air. I felt a light blush coming on.

"You'd be surprised how much we know. Why don't you try anyway?" Of course Sinbad wouldn't be deterred.

I sighed. "Then would you believe that I actually read this world's fate many times. And I mean more than feeling it's waves. I know exactly what's going to happen next."

"What?” the room seemed to gasp with them. They had been through many adventures and seen many unbelievable things, but never had they met someone who could read fate. The way Sinbad tensed when I mentioned the waves gave me a good feeling -almost like I actually had some level of control.

Part of me regretted saying it of course. However, I thought it would be safer to tell the truth than to lie and reveal it later. Besides, there was no believable answer I could give.

"What type of fools do you take us for?!" Ja'far yelled at me.

Sinbad put a hand between us, quieting Ja'far. "Can you prove that?"

I thought for a moment and looked between them. "If I can 'predict' events that will happen during the next 24 hours, would that be proof enough?"

Sinbad's gaze was piercing, but I knew I wasn't lying and returned it. His eyes were like molten gold with all of his focus. It was the longest I had looked at him directly since I arrived in the world. He was much prettier in person -too beautiful. If he didn't say something soon, I was going to start studying him and get distracted. He had glanced at my legs and chest a few times already, and I was ready to return the favor -even if I'd appear weak to him in the process. Seeing him without his metal vessels was a rare sight after all. He was a good art reference when fully gilded, but it was much easier to see his form when there was just clothes covering it. He almost looked soft; he definitely look about 10,000% more touchable when not covered in a thick layer of gold, silver, and jewels.

"Fine." Sinbad's words shook me from my thoughts. "What is going to happen next?" His smile widened. His sudden charming act must have meant he noticed me ogling him a bit, but I wasn't about to drop my guard for a gorgeous face even if I was blushing.

I answered, "Tonight, the person who has been leaking information to the fog troop will reveal himself -no, I won't say who 'cause it's more fun that way, but let's just say he normally stands behind the king of this country- and he will let everyone know that said king plans to sell his citizens as slaves to pay off his debt to the Kou Empire in order to keep his luxurious life style."

This garnered an even louder, "WHAT???"

I ignored them and carried on with my recounting of the story. "Alibaba will struggle with the stress from being asked to fix things by Morgiana and the informant due to his inexperience. You will step up again, and in turn become more disappointed in Alibaba's abilities than you've done already. Then while drunk tomorrow morning you will voice your disappointment only to be over heard by Morgiana, who will tell you of a past accomplishment of Alibaba's that will make you realize you judged him too quickly. Jafar will call you out as being a drunk idiot-"

"HOLD on a second! You seriously think he would sell his own citizens?" Sinbad's had to be remembering King Rashid and not wanting to believe his son would destroy his legacy that badly. Things were worse than he thought, but it explained many of the problems he was seeing in Balbadd.

I figured he probably only had such an animated response unlike in the original because of how I said it -like the outsider I am, without emotion.

I put my hands in my hoodie pockets. "Soon enough, you will be able to ask the leak yourself."

"Hmm." Sinbad seemed to think he'd find answers somewhere on my form if he looked at the right spot or he was just checking me out openly. His eyes were piercing as he said, "That's still a very serious accusation. What will you do if it turns out you're wrong?"

I sighed and looked away. "Probably the same thing I'll do if it turns out I'm right: try to use what I know to help people and survive another day." If I was going to be dreaming this seriously about any series, I was going to do my best to help, even if I end up changing the plot in the end. I've never been the type to stay still.

"It will be interesting to see what happens." Sinbad seemed to accept my words. "I do have another question."

"Oh?"

"What's your name?"

Ah that. I had been hoping he wouldn't ask. "Call me whatever you want." I really didn't want to hear him say my name.

"Then," the smoldering look he turned on me was too much, "how does 'Beautiful' sounds?"

My face became red as the setting sun as it crashed into my hands. I couldn't tell if I was more embarrassed to be called such a thing or if it was second hand embarrassment for Ja'far having to put up with such a man.

"Whatever! Fine! I don't know why I was expecting anything different from the womanizer of the seven seas, but here we are!"

Ja'far looked at me with pity as Sinbad chuckled at my reaction.

I continued spewing embarrassed nonsense, and left before he could try to to get anything more from me.

I can only assume that the two would go to do whatever they originally would have during this part of the story.

---

This was becoming the most realistic dream I'd ever had. I'd had dreams before with smell, touch, pain, etc, but this one had no time skips, and I felt hunger. In some of my past dreams when I got tired it was actually a sign that I was about to wake up, but it felt different here. It felt more real.

I couldn't take it. I either needed food or sleep or both, and I had no money to get either.

It was a bit sneaky, but I went back to the room Aladdin was resting in. Alibaba would spend some time there later that night after getting asked to save the country. He wasn't there when I arrived, so I was pretty sure Sahmad hadn't revealed himself as the informant yet.

Aladdin was doing as expected. I was a bit disappointed that I wouldn't get to actually meet him before I woke up. He was a good boy -a perv, but still good.

One of the corners of the room had a gap in the supplies so I sat down in it. Some poles would block view of me from the door and most of the rest of the room. I pulled my hood up, my hoodie over my knees, and laid my head on my knees. Hopefully, when I'd wake up I wouldn't have to do laundry.

---

Honestly, I didn't want to wake up. The air was dry so my throat hurt, my back hurt from sleeping in a bad position, and I was really hungry. It would be easier to just sleep a little longer until my hunger subsided so I could move to actually get food.

My stomach growled at me for not taking better care of myself, and I groaned back in frustration. 'I really should get up and feed the cats at least...'

"H-how- How long has that thing been there??"

I blinked my eyes open and looked up at the source of the voice. With my hood no longer protecting me, the sunlight from the window assaulted my eyes. I jerked my head back down with a squeak, "Too bright."

The voice was Alibaba. There were others with him, but I didn't get a good look. How was I still dreaming?

I think I heard someone say, "so this is where she was hiding," under their breath but I could have been hearing things.

Gentle steps made their way towards me and stopped about a yard away. "You're the one who helped Aladdin before, right?"

I lifted my head up slowly that time. I tried to look Morgiana in the eye while adjusting my crooked glasses. "Yeah. That was me," I mumbled.

She was crouched in front of me. "Can you look at him again please?" Her eyes pleaded with me.

"You said he'd wake up in a few days. How long will he need??" Alibaba joined her on the floor making me jolt.

This was not my idea of a good wake up call.

"Calm~ down~" I said through a yawn as I stretched my legs out then stood up.

I walked past them both and up to the sleeping Magi. My too long sleeves covered my hands and I couldn't be bothered to fix them as I yawned into the fabric again.

The two got up and watched me. There was definitely someone else in the room but I couldn't see them past my hood, and I was still too sleepy to care.

Aladdin was sleeping like he would be for a while. What was I supposed to see? "I don't remember exactly how long. He won't wake up until after his Rukh goes and visits Ugo."

A cluster of voices shouted "What?" and "How?" with varying levels of detail.

"Oh right.. That was a secret, wasn't it? Forget I said that." I really should have waited until I was more awake to say anything.

Not looking at any of them, I closed my eyes and moaned. "I just woke up. And now I'm achy from being in that position for so long." I flapped my sleeves in frustration and in an attempt to wake up more. I opened my eyes again, still looking down at Aladdin. "As long as you take care of his body, he'll be fine."

And then my stomach growled again spoiling the moment. My left hand pressed into my stomach. I really felt that one. "Can I impose on you guys for food? I don't have any." I was glad my hood was up. I could feel my eyes getting watery. When I was young I got hangry, but as I got older I started becoming sadgry instead.

There was a light clapping sound and a jovial voice answered me, "Food is not a problem, Ms. Prophet! Just come with me and we'll get you fed."

I turned to the source and saw Ja'far giving me his best professional smile.

#Sindria's prophet #magi prophet fanfic #king sinbad #sinbad magi #magi sinbad #fix-it fic #magi fanfiction #magi fanart #Sinbad x oc #magi fanfic #illustrated fanfiction #sinbadxoc #King Sinbad

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aquamarineicecream · 4 years

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Rewind Sanders Sides Superhero AU - Chapter 4

Ao3 Link

>Chapter 1

>Chapter 5

Logan regretted it.

He regretted everything that had led to that unimaginable moment. The shock was slowly subsiding and giving way to a much deeper emotion. Anger flooded through him, mingling with the grief to form a near deadly combination. The pain crept in, not unlike tomorrow creeping in this petty pace from day to day. Logan loathed his ability to effortlessly recall the iconic line from Macbeth’s Act V, Scene 5 soliloquy much like he currently loathed the man responsible for talking passionately about Shakespeare's dramas so frequently that the knowledge in its entirety had long ago become instilled in his head. The same man who was also at fault for the destruction of one of his most prized possessions. The man who was now looking at him with the innocence of a puppy, yet with the notorious mischief of a raccoon lying just underneath the surface. Roman.

It all started the day after Deceit’s suggestion to train Virgil. The team decided it was best not to waste any time and instead to begin the training after a small, slightly rushed breakfast cooked by none other than Logan himself, who'd been taking cooking lessons for the past month and was more than happy to put his new skill to use.

“Okay kiddo, so I talked it over with Logan before you got up and we figured it would be best to start the training on the roof. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure. But I really don't think this'll work. I've been trying for the last five years to control this thing but I've found it's pretty pointless.”

“Oh cheer up and don't be such a Negative Nancy! We'll have your powers shipshape and Bristol fashion in no time.”

“I'll take your word for that,” Virgil mumbled into his pancakes, avoiding Roman's overly optimistic gaze as though worried it was contagious. Logan had observed much about Virgil Messana in the past day alone. As one of the top intelligence workers in the Superiors’ organization and the soon-to-be head chairman of the entire intelligence sector of the association if he played his cards right, Logan had already created a mental list detailing Messana’s habits and ticks, down to the way he tugged his worn hoodie sleeves further over his hands every time he got particularly anxious.

Quite frankly, Virgil Messana fascinated him. He knew every detail about the man’s file, yet the man himself was slowly proving to be quite the enigma. He was rather quiet at times but he always was able to come up with a snarky response if needed which appeared to be having some effect on Roman. They'd begun to have quite the rapport and even Logan, despite all his oblivious glory, was able to sense underlying tension every time Virgil was near Roman.

“Lo, everything a-okay?” A gentle voice interrupted Logan's thoughts and he abruptly realized that for the past minute, his unfocused gaze had been fixated on the chair where Patton had previously been seated.

“Hm? Oh, yes. I'm alright. I merely became momentarily lost in thought, that's all,” Logan was quick to reply as the world shifted back into focus and he became vividly aware of the fact that he and Patton were the only two left at the table.

“Okey dokey. If you're sure you're okay, then we can head out.” Patton's voice was warm and grounding, as Logan had discovered it so often was. It was comforting, and refreshing even, when put into context with the cold reality they all called normalcy.

“We should join the others,” Logan agreed with a nod. He stood and picked up his mug to bring it with him, ignorant, as always, to Patton's gaze lingering on his retreating figure as the young hero began to lead the way up the stairs.

“What a beautiful day to blow stuff up!”

Roman’s enthusiastic remark was met with a disapproving look from Logan.

“What? I’m just trying to lighten the mood a little. It’s too early to look so serious,” the larger man protested. Logan merely crossed his arms and turned away to look at Virgil, electing not to dignify Roman with a response.

“Alright, Virgil. It’s time to begin. Please hold this and stand a small ways back.” Logan handed Virgil a small beanbag and waited for the other man to take a few steps back before picking up a notebook and pen he’d left on a small table he’d set up earlier that morning. Patton had arrived by now and was standing alongside Deceit and Roman, all three a safe distance away from their new recruit. Logan and Deceit had spoken last night and decided on how they were going to conduct the experiments. He nodded at Deceit to ready the stopwatch before speaking again. “On my count, I would like you to attempt to explode the item you’re currently in possession of. Ready?” It was evident to all of them that the young soon-to-be-hero was far from ‘ready’ based on his trembling hands alone, but Virgil gave a small nod, allowing Logan to proceed with his plan. “Three… two… one… now.”

The team watched with bated breath as Virgil closed his eyes. Logan had a tight grip on his pen which was poised over the paper, ready to scribble down notes and observations at a moment's notice. They watched on as…nothing happened.

It was the epitome of underwhelming. Logan made sure to write a note of how Virgil’s entire body, not just his hands, was trembling now as the young man opened his eyes, the disappointment in himself evident.

“Maybe you just need to hold it a little longer?” Patton suggested hesitantly. Virgil set down the beanbag without meeting the other man’s gaze.

“That won’t make any difference. I told you all this was pointless,” Virgil replied darkly, haunted by his many failed attempts from the last five years.

“Aw, kiddo, you can’t give up already! It took me a while with my powers too, but I’m sure you’ll get it sooner or later.”

“I guess…” Virgil picked up the beanbag with a sigh and studied it for a moment before closing his eyes to concentrate again.

“Alright.” Logan readied his pen once more. “Begin your second attempt.”

~~~~~

The sun was beating down, making the day uncomfortably warm. Uncomfortable also happened to be the optimal word to describe the tension the group shared at the moment. It had been hours of trial after trial yet no matter how many times Logan instructed Virgil to attempt to corrode and subsequently explode the item in his hands, failure appeared to be inevitable.

By now, their efforts had become both more tired and desperate. Logan had suggested Virgil try holding different objects since the beanbag remained unaffected by Virgil’s powers. These objects included but were not limited to: Virgil’s old pair of gloves, a sponge, an umbrella, an engraved gold pocket watch (given to Virgil by Roman after the latter stole it from Deceit), a handful of playbills (given to Virgil by Deceit as his revenge on Roman), a Rubix Cube (as Roman’s attempt to pull Logan into Deceit’s and his mini war), and lastly, a package of Oreos. No one was quite sure why Roman chose the last one, yet none had time to question it since Virgil refused to even attempt to corrode and explode it, saying he was insulted by the very notion of being told to destroy his favorite cookie.

However, the process of experimenting with different objects had ended almost an hour ago and their spirits were once again low. Logan’s notebook now contained multiple pages detailing the distinct ways in which Virgil held each object, hands still shaking each time he concentrated regardless of how many times they had already gone through this process.

“I believe that we should all take a respite. It would appear that one is far overdue.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, Lo. A small break sounds like just the ticket.” Patton turned to Virgil. “How about we go get you something to eat for lunch, kiddo?”

Logan closed his notebook as Virgil set down the beanbag in the pile of other unsuccessful, now-neglected objects before following Patton to the kitchen.

“Maybe we should try another remote. That could be his specialty,” Roman joked while walking over to Deceit and Logan.

“Don’t be foolish, Roman. We already know his powers have worked on other materials in the past. There must be some minute element to this that we’re missing.” Logan handed his notebook to Deceit for the other man to look through.

“In all seriousness, what do you two make of Virgil?” Deceit asked without looking up from the page he was reading.

“He’s a good guy deep down. I know it. But our stupid Superiors are keeping stuff from us, I’m sure of that. And it wouldn’t be the first time either. They’re always up to something.”

“Relax, Roman. You know better than to speak ill of our employers. You’re beginning to sound like Deceit with his constant suspicions.”

“I’m only saying that we shouldn’t keep trusting them so much when we never know if the next legislation they pass will stop us from even seeing each other.” Roman crossed his arms. “And you’re only happy with them because you’re their golden boy who’s one successful mission away from becoming their new Head of Intelligence and leaving the rest of us to try and deal with whoever they choose as your replacement.”

“There is no cause for you to be upset over this. My replacement will most likely be Virgil at this rate, which is fortunate for you considering the fact that ever since he was kept alive, you’ve appeared to be happier than you have acted in quite some time. But either way, nothing is for certain yet, especially because they might not even choose for me to retire from being ‘Logic’ and take the mantle and responsibilities of the new position instead.”

“Logan, we all know that you’ll get the promotion. All I ask is that you consider looking closely into the reason the position is vacant in the first place.” Deceit spoke calmly as he looked up from the notes before closing the notebook and handing it back to Logan.

“It’s shady,” Roman added to break the silence that had begun to fill the space. “And you should also keep in mind that not all of us started here by choice, so you never know what you’re gonna have to deal with in a spot that high up.”

Logan had no response as both his and Roman’s thoughts drifted to what Patton had confided in the others precisely two years and 314 days ago. Their momentary distraction allowed Deceit a chance to force the pained expression from his face without either of the other men noticing it was ever even there at all. It seemed that his return to a neutral expression had come just in time too, as at that moment, Patton and Virgil walked back onto the roof, each carrying plates of snacks to share with the others. They set them down on the table and Virgil grabbed a couple chips before retreating to a deserted corner. Roman ate a pretzel before immediately going after him.

“Hey, Messana.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“So, you liking your second day so far?”

“You mean, am I enjoying disappointing you guys and making a complete fool of myself? Meh, it’s just another day for me.” Virgil shrugged as Roman rolled his eyes in response.

“You’re hardly disappointing, my Chemically Imbalanced Romance. You just need to keep practicing and I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“I guess,” Virgil replied doubtfully.

“C’mon, I’ll prove it to you. All you need is to try a little thing called trial-by-fire. Though I guess in your case, it’s trial-by-matchstick since it’s not exactly a life and death thing.” Roman led the way over to the table and Virgil hesitantly followed, curious to see what Roman had in mind. Roman’s back was facing Virgil so the smaller man didn’t notice as Roman grabbed the first object on the table, without stopping to check what it was, and flung it at Virgil while shouting “catch!”

“Roman!”

Virgil fumbled to catch the object but it slipped through his hands and Logan looked on in horror as his prized TARDIS-shaped mug smashed on the concrete.

“Roman!!”

It was Logan, not Virgil, who shouted this time. The educated man had a look of murder on his usually inexpressive face as he stormed over to Roman and Virgil.

“What were you thinking?! You can’t simply surprise someone by flinging easily breakable mugs at them! Especially when the mug isn’t even your own,” Logan fumed.

“I’m sorry, Specs. I didn’t realize it was that. But it’s just a mug and I can get you a new one online,” Roman offered apologetically.

“You should have stopped to consider your actions before proceeding with them. And I would not like to receive a new mug from you, I can purchase a new one myself. But it is the principle of the matter! You always do actions such as these, including on our missions when you hurl yourself into combat and potentially dangerous situations with a complete lack of forethought and without having paused to either listen or contribute to the plan. You’re impossible! And another thing -” Logan paused momentarily from his tirade to adjust his glasses and take a breath but Deceit shushed him before the other man had the chance to finish his sentence. Logan, in turn, turned his deadly glare on Deceit, silently imploring him to have a justified explanation for the interruption.

“Everyone be quiet and listen,” was the only response Deceit gave. They all held their breath while listening attentively. Patton was the first of the others to notice the faint pounding coming from downstairs.

“Someone’s here.”

The alarm in his tone was evident and in mere seconds he was racing down the stairs with his coworkers on his heels and Virgil, slightly unsure of what to do, bringing up the rear. Once the group reached the living room, it became evident that the noise was due to someone banging on their front door. Patton, being the nicest of them, walked over to answer it, leaving the rest in suspense. Logan shared an uneasy look with Deceit, both men hoping the person at the door was a civilian who’d gotten lost instead of who both men had a sneaking suspicion the unidentified visitor truly was.

“Of course you can come in, sir.” Patton’s cheerful voice carried into the room and Logan’s heart sunk with the knowledge that his guess at the mystery person’s identity was all but confirmed to be who he worried it was.

“Wait in here for a sec, please,” Patton said, leaving the person by the door before rushing back into the room where the others were.

“A representative is here. He’s come for Virgil,” Patton explained in a hushed tone.

“We can’t let them take him!” Roman whispered in reply.

“We won’t. I’ll talk with them to try and come to a reasonable resolution. Logan, Patton, it would be best if you join me.”

“I’m coming too. If we’re gonna give a case for Messana to stay here then I want to help.”

“No. You’re not diplomatic enough so it’s better if you stay here and keep him out of sight.”

“But that’s not fair. I should be able to help just as much as the rest of you do, Snakey McSnakerson,” Roman argued while crossing his arms defensively.

“You know, Ro, your never-ending nicknames don’t exactly help your case.”

“Fine.” Roman gave a slightly exasperated sigh before motioning for Virgil to start walking down the hall that led to their bedrooms.

“Wait, Roman,” Logan went after him as the others left to go speak with the representative. “I apologize for allowing my temper to get the best of me earlier. It was childish and unprofessional and I quite hope that you’re willing to forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Calculator Watch. You’re already forgiven. But are you sure you don’t want me to get you a new Doctor Who mug?”

“I am certain of it, Roman. However, thank you anyways for the offer.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“About the conversation I’m about to partake in, I am sorry that you can’t join us but it’s for the best. Deceit has proven in the past that he often has an overarching plan, so it’s better that we trust his decisions to be logical.”

“I guess…”

“You shouldn’t concern yourself about the matter. Currently, your main priority is to assure that Virgil does not dwell too much on the setbacks of today nor that he worries an excessive amount about the meeting at hand. I have a working theory that I’ll explain to you later regarding his powers in relation to his emotions but for now, attempt to keep him calm so that we may ensure no inopportune mishaps occur whilst our visitor is present.”

“Okay, you got it. I know exactly how to deal with our resident emo.” Roman gave the other man a reassuring grin and turned to go the same way as before, hearing Logan muttering a doubtful “I’m sure” under his breath as Roman made his way to Virgil’s temporary room.

Roman walked into the practically bare guest room, unsurprised to see Virgil awkwardly perched on the edge of one of the only pieces of furniture in the small room. Roman sat next to him, midnight blue eyes a striking contrast to the drab gray sheets of the twin-sized bed. In fact, everything about Roman looked out of place compared to his surroundings, from his auburn hair to his bright red and white bomber jacket covering both his fitted black shirt and toned muscles, which Virgil was now realizing he was having a weirdly strong urge to keep admiring. He despised that urge much like he hated how seeing Roman this close and in a casual outfit instead of his uniform. It felt so commonplace when it should be feeling foreign considering this man was still a stranger to him.

“There’s nothing to do in here so do you wanna go to my room instead?” Roman offered, interrupting the other man’s thoughts. Virgil stared at him without responding. “It has a TV,” he added with a disarming grin.

“Alright, I’m sold. Let’s go.”

With that, Roman stood up and led Virgil down the hall to the furthest room from the one they’d just left. Roman flopped back on his bed while Virgil entered. The room was accentuated with as much red and gold as possible, falling just short of appearing cluttered. Roman’s room had an assortment of both poster sized and polaroid photographs showcasing deserted beaches and sunsets peeking through from behind snowy mountain landscapes, which covered the starch white walls. There was a distinct vintage feel to the decor, yet it lacked the element that made it feel lived-in. Instead, it was closer to one of those display rooms one sees in department stores; perfect at a glance, but disguising an empty feeling underneath.

The only indications of life there were a red and black acoustic guitar propped up in the corner furthest from the door and the man currently sitting up in order to start flipping through channels. Roman watched out of the corner of his eye as Virgil took in the new surroundings.

“Do you like the photos?”

“Yeah. Surprisingly, they’re pretty cool.”

“Thanks. I took them myself.” Roman continued looking through channels for a minute longer before giving up.

“Nothing good is on so I’m gonna look for something on Netflix.” Virgil sat down next to him as Roman opened the streaming service only to have it crash moments later, causing Roman to groan in frustration.

“Oh, come on! You’d think being a world-renowned superhero would at least warrant having fast enough internet to let us watch a movie!” Roman tried opening it again in hopes that it would load but his attempt was in vain. “This stupid thing won’t work.” He tossed down the remote and crossed his arms, appearing bothered by the device yet in truth, it was for another reason. “First, I’m not even considered to have another chance to help and defend you and now this thing refuses to work!”

“Well none of you should be talking for me. I don’t need some kind of knight in shining armor. I can take care of myself.” Virgil paused to narrow his eyes suspiciously. “And what do you mean ‘another chance’?” Virgil’s distrusting gaze landed on Roman who looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment before quickly racking his brain for an answer.

“That’s classified.”

“Seriously?”

“…yeah.”

“Alright then.” Virgil examined Roman for a moment before adding, “If everything’s gonna be classified and we can’t watch anything, then I’m going back to the guest room.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you. But for the record, I know what you’re doing, Count Woe-laf, and it totally didn’t work. I’m just nice and enjoy breaking rules. But anyways, what I was talking about was that I wasn’t exactly on board with the whole ‘Let’s Kill Messana’ party but following orders is part of my job so I couldn’t really protest.” Roman looked down to study his crimson comforter which he decided had just become the most interesting object in the whole universe. He was sure Virgil suspected there was more behind Roman’s original comment that he was holding back but he didn’t press for details. Virgil stayed quiet while watching Roman for a moment before speaking again.

“Can I ask you a question? How did you start working like this? And why do you guys sometimes act like you know each other and other times act like total strangers?”

“That’s more than one question,” Roman joked in an attempt to lighten the mood to which Virgil rolled his eyes. “I started when I was recruited when I was 19. I was working with a partner at the time and doing jobs for hire when some people saw me use my powers, I guess. I got an anonymous message giving me a time, date, and location so I went to see what it was all about. I met a guy there who told me he wanted to recruit me for a program they were setting up for people who were ‘special’.” Roman paused at the memory, guilt plaguing his features for a brief moment before he hastened to finish the story.

“I took him up on the offer, they trained me, and now, here I am,” he said, giving Virgil a forced smile.

“Oh…what about your partner? Are you still close?”

“He was like a brother to me. But no, we don’t talk too much ever since I left three years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil offered after a short, unbearable silence.

“Don’t be.” Roman gave Virgil a smile in reassurance that he hoped appeared more sincere than his last one.

“So...you were recruited like one of the Avengers?”

“Think more like the Justice League, though all those comic book heroes don’t have anything on the real thing. But pretty much how it works is that we’ve all got our own places to protect, like how Batman has Gotham, but we team up for certain high profile missions. This place is where we stay when we're doing those missions so it's pretty much our version of the Watchtower. And, to answer your question from earlier too, we only know bits and pieces about each other and our pasts. Our Superiors give us information on a need-to-know basis, so all we’ve got to go on when it comes to each other is whatever they decide to tell us or we want to share with the rest of the team. For example, none of us knew each other’s secret identities for almost a year. And we still don’t know Deceit’s name. Or pretty much anything about him.” Roman turned so he was directly facing Virgil before speaking again. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

“Alright fine. Ask away.”

“Is your favorite song ‘The Black Parade?’” His eyes had a mischievous glint that perfectly complemented his teasing grin. Virgil only glared at him in reply. “What? You look emo enough,” Roman added, feigning innocence.

“You know what? I’m not even gonna answer that. I’m pretty sure if I did, it would only encourage you, which is literally the last thing I want.”

“You’re no fun, Marilyn Morose.”

“Wow, another nickname. So original,” Virgil retorted sarcastically. “Besides, you can’t judge me when your favorite song is probably something from a cheesy, overrated musical.”

“Excuse you, my favorite song is not even close to that, actually. It’s ‘La Canción’ by J Balvin and Bad Bunny.”

“I’m sorry- Bad what?”

“Bad Bunny. You know I gotta support my fellow Puerto Rican.”

“What kind of name is Bad Bunny?”

“Shhh. Don’t question it.”

“Alright fine Princey, I’ll admit it. I wasn’t expecting that at all.”

“Well, I’ve got a good memory associated with that song,” Roman explained with a shrug. “It’s a pretty good song too.”

“In that case, you’ve gotta play it for me sometime.”

“Okay, I will,” Roman agreed with a smile. Before either could say anything else, they heard shouting coming from the kitchen, interrupting any chance they could have had to continue their conversation.

“We should go see what’s wrong.”

“Wait, but I’m supposed to keep you here and away from the representative.”

“Technically yeah, you are supposed to do that. But don’t you wanna go with me to see what’s happening?” Virgil asked while standing up.

“You know I do. We gotta make sure no one catches us over there. I’m sure we’ll be fine though, so let’s go.” Roman stood and walked into the hallway, being as quiet as possible as he and Virgil made their way to the source of the ruckus.

“-we will not hesitate to remove him from your custody by force if necessary.”

“If you want him you’ll have to go through me!”

“That can be arranged,” the stranger’s voice snapped coldly.

“If you insult Patton one more time, I can personally assure you that you will be leaving this building both without a job and possibly with a stronger understanding of the importance of self-preservation considering that I will make you regret ever setting foot in here,” Logan threatened, immediately jumping to the sweeter man’s defense.

Roman noticed Virgil's visible surprise at hearing Logan speak in such an emotional manner twice in one day, especially considering that this time was much more passionate than the first.

“They have a kind of thing going on between them. It's complicated,” Roman whispered to Virgil to serve as an explanation before staying quiet so they could eavesdrop once more.

“Calm down boys,” Deceit, ever the negotiator, said in a placating tone. “I swear to you that we’ll uphold our end of the bargain as long as you stand by yours.”

“I still say this whole deal is ridiculous.”

“Maybe it is, but keep in mind that you were the one who set the terms for our compromise. Terms that we’re going out of our way to agree to.”

“Fine. I’ll be sending someone in a month to verify that you’ve made the progress you assured me you will. I hope we won’t have the misfortune of seeing each other again.”

“The sentiment is mutual,” Logan fired back.

Roman and Virgil moved from their hiding place in time to see the scathing glare the representative gave the three other men in the room before he turned on his heel and stormed out the front door. They, in turn, rushed into the kitchen the moment they heard Deceit close the door after him.

“What happened? Are they coming back for Virgil?”

“Calm down, Roman,” Deceit said in a soothing tone. “We have until December 2nd to train our new friend. That’s when another representative will come back to check up on us. If we fail, they’ll take him to train him using their own methods.” Seeing the clear worry on Roman’s face, he quickly added, “But that’s a month away. Everything will be fine by then.” Deceit’s reassuring smile was just as false as his reassurances, but Roman didn’t want to question it. The two continued talking about ways to speed up the training, with Virgil giving occasional commentary, while Logan and Patton walked back into the living room.

“Are you alright? In regards to your emotions, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Lo.” Patton sighed heavily as he sat on the couch. “You didn’t have to defend me back there.”

“It was only right of me to do so.” Logan sat next to him, stiff posture relaxing slightly, the way it only ever did when he was alone with Patton. “You make a conscientious decision to act as kind as you possibly can to every individual you meet in spite of your upbringing and the events you have lived through which have all figuratively shaped you to become the amiable and considerate person you are now. I possess a profound respect for you for that and you should not have to tolerate sitting by and listening to your good-natured personality be slandered in such an unjust fashion.”

“Thanks, Logan. That’s nice of you to say. I should be asking if you are okay, though. We never got a chance to talk after the whole thing that happened on the roof.”

“Oh, that. I must implore you to consider moving past my immature actions from earlier. I shouldn’t have reacted in such a rash manner to the situation and quite frankly, am ashamed and embarrassed by the part I played in the ordeal.”

“Logan, it’s alright to show your emotions more than just once in a blue moon. It’s not healthy to bottle all these tricky feelings up all the time and only let them out in bursts when you can’t help it. You don’t have to try and deal with it on your own so no one will think any less of you if you need help sometimes.”

“I appreciate your concern, Patton, but please do not take offense to the fact that I am going to continue managing things the way I always have.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. But just remember I’m always here for you.”

“Thank you.”

“I was wondering though, why did you get so upset about the mug? I get that it’s your favorite one, but you can replace it, right?” Despite Patton’s expression remaining as gentle as ever, Logan lowered his head to avoid the other man’s gaze, his own expression quickly becoming clouded with a look resembling shame.

“I am very much aware of how juvenile it is for me to have attachments to inanimate objects, yet, despite my best efforts, it would appear that I unintentionally allowed myself to mentally form an emotional connection to that particular mug.” Logan quickly adjusted his glasses to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts just as Patton’s gloved hand gently cupped to Logan’s face and tilted it up so they could look each other in the eyes. Patton looked silently into Logan’s eyes for a second before speaking quietly, unaware that Logan’s mind had completely blanked of all thought the second Patton had touched him.

“You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to.” He lowered his hand. “I don’t want you to be pressured, Lo.”

“No - I mean, that’s alright. I want to tell you, Patton. If only based on the fact that at the very least I owe an explanation for my unconventional behavior.” He glanced down in an effort to hide any residual hesitance in his emerald green eyes, before meeting Patton’s gaze once more.

“I cared so deeply about it because that mug was the first thing I was ever able to purchase with my own money that was not an absolute necessity. I purchased it when I was only eighteen years old, a few months after I had been forcefully instructed to leave my aunt’s house for being too much of a burden ever since I had no choice but to move in with her. The mug was symbolic of a milestone for me, I suppose. It was physical proof that I truly was free and no longer had to rely on her for anything thanks to my new job working in intelligence for our Superiors, even before I discovered my powers. Furthermore, that mug was the first thing of mine, ever since I moved in with her, that I could own without being worried what repercussions might occur due to it being an object designed to represent one of my favorite television programs.”

“Wow, I had no idea it meant so much to you.”

“I’m sure you think I’m rather foolish now, though.”

“What? No way! Tons of people have stuff they associate with a memory or feeling. That doesn’t mean you should think you’re silly for having those feelings, Lo.”

“Well, thank you for listening. However, I regret taking so much of your time.”

“Don’t worry about that. I like spending time with you.” Patton’s smile was infectious, causing a hint of a smile to grace Logan’s features before he schooled his expression back to the emotionless one he usually had.

“We should go discuss Virgil’s training with the others. Who knows what eccentric ideas they may have come up with while we were gone?”

“Good point.”

The two stood and made their way back into the kitchen, rejoining the rest of the group, anxious for a solution to controlling Virgil’s powers.

~~~~~

In what felt like no time at all, December 2nd arrived and they had yet to find a solution. Virgil had been training for hours every day, but so far the only times he’d successfully managed to blow something up had been unintentional. Now, as they sat around the kitchen table in palpable tension, they restlessly awaited the foreboding knocks that were bound to mark the arrival of the representative.

“Kiddos, I know today’s a big day, but you should eat up as much as you can. We’d hate to host a guest on an empty stomach.” Patton attempted a calming smile, yet it fell short of reaching his eyes.

“I don’t think any of us can eat anything today, padre,” Roman replied, noting how Patton too had been pushing his food around on his plate for the past five minutes.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed, worry leaking into his expression for a moment before he quickly smiled again to save face. Patton turned to Logan. “Lo, can you come with me to the kitchen to help me get a serving dish I left there?”

“Of course.”

“Great!” Patton said cheerfully and led the other man to the kitchen.

“I wasn’t aware that there was still a dish remaining. I was under the impression we had already brought all of them to the table but it appears I must have been mistaken,” Logan said as they arrived.

“Actually, you’re right. We already took all the food for the others over there. But the thing is, I needed an excuse to get you to come here so we could be alone,” Patton admitted sheepishly as he took off his gloves which had previously had syrup spilled on them. He quickly began to wash his hands as both as excuse to get the remaining syrup off his wrist and to avoid Logan’s perplexed stare,

“Patton, if you needed to talk to me about a private matter, you are aware that you could have simply said that from the start and I would have come, right?” Logan leaned back against the counter as he spoke, a touch of amusement and curiosity in his tone.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that I know you don’t like showing any feelings in front of the others.” Patton dried his hands and kept his back to Logan as he opened the cabinet in front of himself, making sure Logan couldn’t see what he was now holding with the utmost care. “Plus I didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” he added, barely able to contain his excitement.

“What? Patton I’m afraid that you have - metaphorically - lost me.”

“Well, you told me how much your TARDIS mug meant to you, and I know it’s been a month but I can tell it’s still bothering you a bit and on top of that there’s all the nerves of today, so…” Patton trailed off as he turned around with a small smile, a Baymax mug cradled in his hands. “I made this for you. I remembered when you were telling me all about how much you like the message and symbolism in Big Hero Six, so I really hope you like this.”

“Patton - “ Logan cut himself off before his voice betrayed how overcome with emotion he truly was. “I can’t believe you actually listened and remember what I told you months ago. And,” he paused to quickly adjust his glasses in an attempt to distract himself from his slightly watering eyes, “thank you so much for taking the time to make this. It’s one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me.”

“It was no trouble at all, Lo,” Patton replied, beaming. He turned the round, white mug in his hands so the front decorated with the two black dots and line between them representing Baymax’s eyes along with the small gray circle located close to the mug’s base and hand painted to mirror where Baymax’s ID chips could be inserted was facing away from Logan. Instead, Patton showed the other man where he had painted the feeling chart Baymax used in the movie.

“Now with this you can ‘rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10’ without having to try and find the right words to talk about all those icky emotions. And if you’re ever feeling down and wanna talk about it without interrupting the others, you can just look at me and point to however you’re feeling so we can go get a quiet space to figure everything out. Just know you can always come to me.” Patton smiled, the same way that always made Logan feel a strange warm and tingling sensation in his chest.

“This means a great deal to me.” Logan felt a small smile tugging at his lips and for once, he allowed himself to experience the fleeting blissful feeling. Logan didn’t hesitate to reach out to take his new mug from Patton so that he could admire it further, taking Patton by surprise and rendering him unable to set down the mug fast enough. Logan, still distracted, had yet to realize his mistake. The moment their skin touched, it was too late.

Logan’s body hit the floor with a thud.

Next Chapter>>

Tag list: (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@milomeepit , @captainhadeslover , @yep-another-fander , @pattson , @lala-the-rebel , @artistictaurean , @ironwoman359 , @ab-artist , @wicked-rosie , @starsinger , @superarrowholockian , @shapoodle , @virgil-the-virgin , @fun-with-colors , @theloveliestsweetspongy , @anastasialestina , @inferablossom , @confused-pat , @midnighteclipse98 , @silversmith-91 , @pattons-second-cookie , @harboring-hatred , @creativenostalgiastuff , @sadb0tt , @today-only-happens-once , @thelogicalloganipus , @the-shark-boi , @mantha-has-fallen , @averaillisa , @emochechirecat , @camillenicole , @thedukeofdeodorant-main , @time-out-for-thee , @sandersstuffsblog , @letsmoonkid , @iampengwing , @5150brotherbear , @approximately12lbs-of-ducks , @bexxbeauty , @elvis-has-been-dug , @ollyollyoxinfree , @magsnine , @littlewolf432 , @logical-princey

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brilliantorinsane · 5 years

Text

The Case of the Lady Beryl

As the name suggests, the closest canon analogue for this episode is The Case of the Beryl Cornet. As far as I can tell the similarities are pretty superficial, basically just consisting of the fact that both mysteries feature a suspect taking the fall for a crime they didn’t commit for the sake of a loved one. I didn’t notice anything particularly interesting in the episode’s use of the canon story, however, so I am going to set that aside and focus on Watson.

Introduction, Ep1 Pt1, Ep1 Pt2

This episode features Holmes at his best, but I was initially bothered by the fact that Watson spends the first half of the episode being rather stupider than normal. Now, characters needn’t be intelligent to be loved and lovable, and the fact that Holmes and Watson take their turns being played for fools is frankly one of the strengths of the series. But given the history of adaptations erasing Watson’s capabilities I get touchy when he is being underestimated, so when in the span of 10 minutes he has fallen for a transparent lie from Lestrade, mocked Holmes’s experiments, taken 24 seconds to process a perfectly straightforward sentence, and flat-out forgotten how bullets work, I start getting defensive.

Fortunately, fandom has taught me a great deal about the potential for audience interaction with texts to be transformative as well as analytical, so I’ve brought my stubbornness to bear and found an interpretation that (mostly) satisfies me. I do not know whether the reading I have to offer was in any way intended, but I do think it is consistent with what exists on the screen and adds depth to Watson’s characterization. That being said I don’t suppose I’ll ever entirely forgive them for implying that John Watson, a fricken doctor and soldier, is unable to differentiate between a bullet-wound and a bashed-in head.

The observation that prompted my re-evaluation of Watson’s behavior was realizing that in every instance his slowness is directly related to his following Lestrade’s lead or being more focused on Lestrade than Holmes. This is a curious thing, particularly since I think it would be far too simplistic to infer that Watson is simply looking for someone to follow and imitate. After all, even though Holmes has a deep effect on him, Watson frequently challenges Holmes’s conclusions and never adopts his manner. So of all people, why would Watson choose to imitate Lestrade, a man who is frequently the butt of the joke and at times seems to care about his own image more than the justice he has been given the authority and responsibility to protect?

My theory, counterintuitive though it may seem, is that Lestrade is the sort of man Watson believes he ought to be. I think there is evidence that this Watson, regardless of his actual personality and inclinations, thinks he ought to be a traditionally proper English gentleman. Throughout the show he continually protests Holmes’s eccentricities, and yet far from meaningfully attempting to abate or escape them, he not infrequently joins in wholeheartedly. To me, this seems indicative of a pattern: in this series Holmes and Watson are both eccentric madmen, but whereas Holmes is perfectly comfortable with the fact, Watson has put effort into appearing ‘normal’ and ‘correct’, and periodically struggles to maintain or reclaim that image—both in the eyes of others and himself.

And the funny thing about Lestrade is that, for all his buffoonery, in a very real way he represents the proper English gentleman. When Holmes isn’t busy destabilizing Lestrade’s self-image he is confident, assertive, and takes the lead. His manner (when he feels in control) is dignified and polite. He has the socially sanctioned “correct” opinions about gender and class and English superiority. And granted much of this is a facade which interferes with his accomplishing his job justly and well, but it has been sanctioned by the symbol of the police cap and the power of the Inspector. He has been chosen as the protector of a society whose cultural ideal he (superficially) embodies.

So, all things considered, Watson is very little like Lestrade, but Lestrade is very much like the sort of man Watson has been socially conditioned to aspire to.

(As a side note, part of the reason I enjoy this reading of Howard Watson is that it puts him in conversation with other Watson adaptations and the canon itself. Certainly it fits with my reading of the BBC Sherlock and Guy Ritchie Watsons. I haven’t decided the extent to which I read canon Watson in a similar manner, but the potential for such a reading is there in the way he paints himself as a deeply normal man while engaging in highly abnormal behavior. The Sign of Four, I suspect, provides especially good material for such an interpretation).

Perhaps the best part of this reading is that, if Lestrade leads Watson into performative normality, it is Holmes who releases him. Once Holmes is included in the investigation, a gradual shift occurs. At first Watson maintains his alliance with Lestrade, but for all that Lestrade has the advantage of social pressures pushing Watson towards him, this cannot last long once Holmes has re-entered the picture. By the time they are interviewing the primary suspect, he has returned to his usual intelligent and capable self.

Because that’s one of the many the beauties of their relationship: Holmes frees Watson from the endless task of conforming, and his genuine self is far better than any cheap imitation. And while I didn’t get into in this write-up, Watson returns the favor by loving Holmes as he is while curbing his more dangerous exterminates and keeping him grounded and present. Also in this episode he’s already 2-for-2 saving Holmes’s life and property and they’re just so good for each other and I love them.

My Story:

I don’t have anything particular to add on this point aside from what I’ve already said, but here’s the link to chapter two of Hidden in the Moments:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12795147/chapters/29238576#workskin

Highlights:

Although Watson’s behavior around Lestrade isn’t his finest, I quite enjoy the fact that in the second episode Watson has already wheedled his way into cases on his own merit. Then his first move is to convince Lestrade to involve Holmes, which is adorable.

Also when he suggests they bring in Holmes his eyes get all soft and he has this warm little smile, like he’s so pleased and excited at the prospect of seeing Holmes at work again (3.20).

It’s also worth noting that the first thing that gets Watson on Lestrade’s side is Lestrade ranting about how Holmes deserves more credit. I’m pretty sure it’s insincere deflection on Lestrade’s part, but Watson believes him and is so endeared to Lestrade for defending Holmes and it’s honestly quite sweet.

Wilkins!!! Have I mentioned yet that I really love Wilkins? He’s smart without being showy, plays everything straight but is actually rather snarky, doesn't dismiss Holmes’s experiments like most people do and is maybe the only character who always enjoys Holmes’s intelligence without ever feeling threatened by it. I just find him really endearing.

So Wilkins walks into Baker Street when Holmes is doing an experiment, and Holmes immediately drags him into his experiment while absentmindedly offering him tea twice. And I love this scene because this Holmes is actually pretty social, it’s just on his own terms. He’s probably not going to do small-talk most days, but when he’s in the right mood he will serve you endless cups of probably-not-poisoned tea and ramble about his current fixation, which I honestly feel is very true to canon. Also I think he just genuinely likes Wilkins.

When trying to hurry Holmes off to a crime scene Lestrade calls his experiments ‘nonsense.’ Poor Holmes looks absolutely stricken, then passionately lectures Lestrade on the importance of Science and Progress all the way to the crime scene. Holmes is a nerd and I love him.

As they rush off to the crime scene Watson pauses to turn off the burner under Holmes’s experiments, and by Holmes’s estimation very likely saved Baker Street. It’s a lovely little example of how Watson’s somewhat more grounded personality works in tandem with Holmes’s absentminded hyperfocusing.

I quite like Lady Beryl. Granted her performance and circumstances are a bit melodramatic, but she has a quiet and calculating strength that draws me to her.

There’s a scene at 16:15 when Holmes is (rather unnecessarily) ribbing Lestrade and Lestrade begins to get worked up and defensive. Matters could have escalated from there, but Watson quietly leans forward and relays some pertinent facts about the crime scene to Holmes. It’s just a little moment of unpretentious conflict-resolution born of what Watson has already come to understand about these two men, and I really appreciate it.

24:27–24:32: “Brilliant Holmes, absolutely brilliant!”“Thank you Watson :)”

Watson again nabs the criminal efficiently and without posturing, while Holmes watches with all the attentiveness he offers a crime scene before offering one of his secret little smiles.

Holmes runs off in a panic upon realizing he left the burner on, and the episode ends before Watson can catch up and reassure him. And while I have my own (much longer) mental timeline of events, I must admit that what with our not being privy to it, the rush of gratitude and relief when Holmes realizes what Watson has done makes that unseen moment an excellent candidate for a first kiss.

@the-prince-of-professors @tremendousdetectivetheorist @devoursjohnlock@mafief @the-hopeless-existentialist@irishunic0rn @a-candle-for-sherlock@rfscommonplace @acdhw @artemisastarte

#it's 10:24 #which means its still jan 29th here #i mean it's not actually about their meeting #but it still is about them #and at any rate this gave me an arbitrary date to force myself to post it by #anyhow i've been struggling to get this one close to right and i'm currently half-asleep so i've no clue if it makes sense #enjoy!#howard holmes #sheldon reynolds #howard marion-crawford #ronald howard #howard holmes meta

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thranduilsperkybutt · 5 years

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Series Masterlist

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Reader; Sam Winchester/Reader

Warnings: Some cursing. Lengthy exposition. Nothing else, really.

Word Count: 3,982 words

Reader Gender: Female

Author: Meg

Summary: You bring Charlie up to speed on things and learn a little more about Sam from a colleague. Car trouble causes delays but a handsome stranger swoops in and saves the day. [While You Were Sleeping AU, Coffee-Shop!AU? — I’m playing fast and loose with the plot.]

A/N: Ayyyy! Here’s part two! So this slow-burn is going slower than I planned, but I’ve got a lot of ideas! Next chapter things are going to start to heat up between Dean/Reader and I plan on going into some more detail on both of their pasts! Hope y’all keep enjoying!

| Part 2 | Long Road Home

“You told them what?”

“Shh!” you hiss quickly, glancing around the shop to make sure none of the patrons had been too disturbed by Charlie’s startled shout. Charlie, on the other hand, hardly seemed worried about the few curious eyes her outburst had drawn, too occupied with gaping at you in disbelief to notice. You couldn’t blame her; not after the story you filled her in on over the course of the morning, “I know, I know! All I wanted to do was make sure he was okay, but everything just snowballed out of control!”

“A snowball would be an understatement! You’re like Indiana Jones in Raiders, and the giant boulder that’s chasing you is the web of lies you’re weaving!” Charlie waves her hands at you dramatically, but there was a teasing tone in her voice, “You’re so doomed!”

“Thanks,” you comment sarcastically, “that’s really what I needed to hear right now, with the family dinner right around the corner. You’re a big help, Charlie.”

Leaning on the counter top, you’re thankful the Coffee House’s morning rush had decided to settle down with the nearing of noon, making it easier to finally have this talk with your friend. The night of the accident, the best you could do upon arriving home was to crash on your bed, your exhaustion taking all the wind out of you. But in the light of day, you found yourself seriously in need of Charlie’s insight on the situation, despite her reputation for brutal honesty or her lack of viable relationship advice. With her having gone to her class yesterday, you hadn’t seen her at work, and this was a conversation best had face-to-face.

“You know, you’re probably right,” reaching to take a sip of ice water from the Yeti you bought yourself this Christmas, a heavy sigh escapes you, “Maybe I should just back out of it. Come up with an excuse not to go---”

“Oh, no you don’t! You have to go to it,” Charlie interrupts, nearly making you choke on your water as her features smooth with her seriousness. She tugs her hair out of its falling messy ponytail, letting the fiery tendrils drape across her shoulders for an instant as she pops the band around her wrist.

“What? I thought I was ‘doomed,’ remember? Your words, not mine,” quoting her in the air with your index and middle fingers, you fix her with a skeptical brow. What’s with the sudden one-eighty? She was going to give you whiplash at this rate.

“Oh, you are still totally doomed, my dude,” she breaks into a teasing grin, pulling her hair back up to fix it into a, hopefully sturdier, bun, “but this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in the past three years I’ve known you! I’ve gotta’ see how it turns out. Nothing exciting ever happens to you!”

“Wow, Char,” rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Glad to know this is at least amusing for you! Meanwhile, I’ll just completely wallow in my own guilt about living a lie! His family--- they’re so nice to me. They wanted to know how we met, what made me know he was the one, and all I could say was that his eyes were kind. I don’t deserve how nice they are.”

“Okay, fine! If you won’t listen to me, listen to… Cas!” she calls, drawing him to look up from where he was currently in the midst of restocking the blueberry muffins, “Cas, please tell (Y/N) that she should go to her fake-fiancé’s family dinner!”

“Don’t drag Cas into this,” the protest does nothing to quell her enthusiasm. You can see it in her eyes, she was nowhere through with trying to convince you to go.

Cas’ dark brows draw together in confusion beneath the Charlie’s Coffee House cap he wore, before he decides it’s better to not question her too much, and fixates his sapphire eyes on you, “You should go to your fake-fiancé’s family dinner.”

In all honesty, you didn’t need much convincing to go. Somewhere buried beneath the rational side of you who knew there was something morally wrong with lying to Sam’s family more than you already had, was a desperate want to experience a family dinner. You ached to have at least one day’s worth of the simple family gathering you never got to have. Living your life with an estranged family was better than being around them, but it still hurt that you could never experience the things that normal families got to. Gathering around a dinner table always seemed just barely out of your family’s reach, each Christmas or Thanksgiving being filled with some sort of drama or falling-out. The dysfunctional circular motions your family went in each year resulted in your slow drift away from them, until it culminated in this year, when you hadn’t even received so much as a phone call on Christmas.

As one last-ditch effort to talk yourself out of it and listen to the morally-correct angel clinging onto your shoulder by a thread, you murmur, “I should tell them I’m not his fiancée. Ripping the band-aid off sooner is better than later, right?”

While you had expected Charlie to start in on you, it’s Cas that pulls your listening ear back to him, “While I did not catch all of your story, (Y/N), I believe I’ve heard enough to have a grasp on the situation you find yourself in. From my perspective, I don’t think you should tell your fake-fiancée’s family the truth right now.”

“Someone pinch me! Did the saint just tell you to lie?” Charlie quips, making Cas’ shoot her a mildly annoyed glare at her teasing nickname for him.

“All I’m saying is, what good would come from it? Think about it,” Cas begins, leaning beside you on the counter as he tries to make his point clear, “if you do tell them, yes, they most likely would be upset, but they also are having to handle their son’s accident, too. Do you really think it is the time to give them the truth? It’s a mercy to keep it to yourself, at least for now.”

“What happens when Sam wakes up, though? It’s going to be even worse, then, if I don’t come clean now,” you worry your bottom lip with your teeth, feeling quite stuck between a rock and a hard place. It seemed that whatever you did, the end result left you hurting them, and admitting the embarrassing truth that you’d lied, regardless of what your initial intentions were.

What was the saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. You never quite put too much thought into the phrase until right now.

“When Sam does wake up, at least that is one less thing they have to worry about,” he offers.

“Our friendly neighborhood saint has a point,” Charlie hums, gripping Cas’ shoulder in her own proud approval. “Maybe you should put it off until Sam’s back up and running. At least they won’t have to worry about you and Sam at the same time.”

“Ugh, I hate to say that you two are probably right,” you groan, rubbing your temples, “how did I get myself into this mess?”

“You told a fib,” it comes out jokingly, but all it makes you want to do is smack her for it. Luckily, you’re saved from the conversation by a vibrating in your back pocket. Pointing up your index finger in the universal gesture for them to hold on a second, you pull the phone from your pocket, not recognizing the name there.

Arthur Ketch, it announced.

“Huh,” you huff, debating whether you should even answer the call. It wasn’t even your phone, it was Sam’s. You had just been toting it around in case it got a call, but you hadn’t actually thought you would be on the receiving end of one, as Sam was in the hospital.

“Did you purchase a new phone?” Cas wonders, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s… Sam’s,” the admission earns a scandalized gasp from Charlie, and you quickly explain, “The hospital gave me his stuff! I’m the fiancée, remember?” Finally deciding it could be something important, you move away from the two of them, if only for the space to breathe that the distance provided. Swiping to answer, you lift the cell to your ear and motion for them to be quiet, “Hello? This is Sam’s phone.”

“Uhm, hello,” the man’s voice was accented, but curious, as he drawled through the crackly reception of the phone, “To whom am I speaking?”

“This is (Y/N), I’m… taking Sam’s calls while he’s in the hospital. Would you like to leave a message?”

“In the hospital? My goodness, so that explains why he hasn’t called in to the office! What’s he gone and done to himself this time?”

“He was hit by a car on Wednesday,” you reply, choosing the blunt approach. “He’s in a coma right now, but the doctors think he’s doing better. Sorry--- you said ‘the office?’ Are you from Sam’s work?”

“Ah, yes. My apologies. This is Arthur Ketch of MacLeod and Associates. I was calling to see why Sam had neglected work, but I dare say this is quite a valid excuse for not showing up, or giving a call-in, for that matter,” Arthur chuckled in his own amusement, before adding. “Which hospital did you say he was in, again?”

“I didn’t, actually, but he’s at Lawrence Memorial,” you wondered if your frown was audible through the phone. This guy didn’t even sound too upset at the news that Sam was in the hospital, as if this were just another business phone call. Freakin’ lawyers.

“We’re very sorry to hear that. I will definitely pass on the news to our partners. Of course, we wish Sam will get well soon,” he pauses, before adding, “He is one of our best attorneys, after all. But, it can’t be helped. Please, be certain to send our sympathies to his family. It is truly bad luck after the last accident.”

“The… last accident?” you press, only to hear Arthur click his tongue in response.

“It isn’t my place to say…”

“I’m sure the doctors would want to know about it,” a bit worried now, you wondered how Sam could have been hurt before. It could really be some information the doctors needed to know! It wasn’t as if his family knew a thing about him, it seemed.

“Well, I suppose you’re right.”

While Charlie was spending her Friday night on a much-anticipated date with her online friend Ruthy, who she had spent the last three months gushing to you about, you had a date of your own at the hospital.

Your Jeep had other ideas, though.

“Damn it,” you growl, kicking angrily at the tire that was comically flat, as if just for God to laugh at you. “Just had to ignore that repair, didn’t you, (Y/N)?” The nail that you’d been avoiding paying to have fixed until payday had finally taken its toll, when your tire had blown on the highway. Really, you were lucky you didn’t wreck when you felt the threatening thump-thump-thump of your rim on asphalt, but sitting at the side of the road, all you could do was blame yourself for this.

The sun was already low in the sky, and in another hour sunset would settle into nightfall. The last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road with a spare you couldn’t even put on because your damn lug-nuts were on too tight for you to be able to get off. With a defeated sigh, you crouch back down to take up the lug wrench once again, in the hopes that maybe third time's the charm and you find some strength you hadn’t had before.

You’re in the middle of struggling with it, a slew of grumbled profanities slipping from you, when the low rumble of an engine draws closer in the distance. Your attention isn’t drawn from your own work until you hear the car pull off the road, and you find the driver stopping a little behind your Jeep, blinding you slightly with the circular headlights and drawing your hand up to shield your eyes.

For a moment, your heart skips with icy adrenaline. You’d seen enough horror movies to know where this could go.

When the lights turn off, you blink away your blindness, the spots in your vision resolving just as the driver’s door opens and a man steps out, calling to you, “You need some help over there, princess?”

He was tall, with short hair that bordered on a buzz in the back, and stubble trailing along his jaw. His smile was warm, though, blindingly white teeth parting his plump lips. A leather jacket framed his broad shoulders, with a flannel layered beneath it, nearly covering the Henley that peeked from below.

But it was the car that caught your eye next. All black and sleek and something right out of a period piece set in the sixties. It was a car that was cared for--- fawned over--- that much was apparent.

Hell, it looked better than the old and slightly rusted ‘95 Jeep you bought off your uncle back in the day for two grand before leaving town, and was probably twice the age. At least. You were guessing it was a Chevy.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” you respond cautiously, after weighing your options. No way were you getting these lugs off by yourself, “Just having a hard time with the lug-nuts, is all.”

“Hey, leave it to me. I gotta’ impact wrench in my trunk, it’ll be better than that old thing you’re using,” you hadn’t thought his smile could get wider, but you caught a glimpse of it before he turned to move to his trunk, popping it and rummaging around. Your watch never left him, not wanting to turn your back on a stranger on the side of the highway.

It had absolutely nothing to do with how attractive he was. Yeah, nothing at all to do with that.

It doesn’t take him all that long to fish the wrench from his trunk, which he shakes a bit in his hand at you as if he’s discovered a treasure, before he makes his way on over. When he comes closer, you notice his eyes are green, right before he leans down towards your tire.

“I appreciate it,” you begin, but he just waves you off, taking the lugs off as if you hadn’t been struggling for the last thirty minutes with the damned things. You might just need to get yourself a wrench like the one he had, if you could save up enough.

“Don’t mention it. These things can be a bitch to get off with the manual wrenches, especially if they were tightened in a shop,” he sighs, making quick work of the flat and replacing it with your spare as you put the now-ruined tire in your cargo. By the time you come back around to the side of your car, he’s already lowering the jack, seemingly finished.

“There, should get you home now,” and he was grinning at you again.

“You have no idea what a life saver you are,” you sigh gratefully, but feeling a little guilty for taking up this kind stranger’s time, “I’d pay you for your time, but all I’ve got is like five bucks in cash and a gift card to Charlie’s Coffee House on me.”

He laughs at that, “Don’t worry about it. Just call it helping a damsel in distress.” With a playful wink, he moves around you to head back to his car, leaving you with the jack and repaired tire.

Still, you call after him, offering a wave as you climb back into your Jeep, “Thanks, stranger!”

Albeit a little later than you intended, you eventually arrived at the hospital to hand off the information you learned that morning from Arthur Ketch. Telling yourself you were there to pass on the info wasn’t enough to deny the fact that you didn’t want to go back to your empty house just yet. You could have turned around and went home as soon as you finished your conversation with the nurse, but instead you lingered, moving to Sam’s bedside.

“Hey,” you murmur low, almost half-hoping for an answer that doesn’t come, your only response his steady breathing, “do you mind if I sit?” With the chair comes a contented sigh, the ache in your heels subsiding just a bit as you finally get off your feet for the day. With a sigh, you murmur, “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” Looking around the hospital room, you notice the things that hadn’t been there the day before.

There were flowers, an assortment of daisies in all different hues, along with the Get Well Soon cards that Jo had littered the windowsill with. A militarian-looking duffel bag was in the corner of the room, left by John, stuffed full of an extra set of clothes as if Sam could wake up at any moment and walk out of here. A tug in your heart reminded you how you wished he would, not just for his own sake, but for theirs.

“They love you,” a soft smile comes to your lips. “Mary misses you, more than from just this... I can tell.” Looking back to Sam, you sigh, “I’m sorry I roped you into this whole, engagement thing, but I couldn’t tell them I wasn’t really getting married to you. They let me in, and I can’t bring myself to tell them different.” Your hands fidget with your bag as you dangle it between your knees, your elbows resting on your thighs as you lean towards him, “I know it’s probably selfish, but I’m going to go to the family dinner, Sam. I don’t expect you to wake up and fall madly in love with me at first sight or anything--- I’m not going to ever be a perfect model girlfriend, like I’m absolutely positive you’ve had in the past--- no matter how awesome it would be to feel wanted like that, and if it was by you, that would be amazing, because the more and more I hear about you, the more amazing you apparently are. I know you’ll wake up and I’ll have to go on with my life. I know I’m going to have to let them go, but I just…” you huff out a chuckle, but there’s no humor behind it, “I don’t want to be alone for once, you know? I just want to have this one dinner, okay? Is that really so bad?”

Of course, Sam doesn’t answer. He just breathes steadily. He could have tricked you into thinking he was sleeping, if it weren’t for the hospital gown and the beeping of the monitors in the background.

Pursing your lips, you add dryly, reaching to brush his hair out of his face, “You’re a pretty good listener. Thanks, Sam.”

With a sigh, you will a smile onto your face, “Hey, on a lighter note, I got you something.” You fish through your back, pulling out the small, stuffed bear who proudly wore a tiny Lawrence Memorial shirt and had Feel Better embroidered on its left paw. It brings an embarrassed chuckle from you, “The gift shop is lined with rows of these things, but I think this one’s the cutest.” You sit it on the bedside table, making sure the bear can sit upright on its own before letting it go.

Dean’s anger was tempered just enough by the time he got to the hospital that he wasn’t entirely steaming as the elevator let him off at the floor his brother was apparently on.

“You needed to be focused on finishing the job. It’s not like you could have finished in Chicago any faster.”

Yeah, well, he could have damn well tried if he’d known something like this had happened. Dean would have dropped everything, job be damned. But he didn’t want to fight with his dad right now. Right now, Dean wanted to see his little brother.

Frustration and worry matched themselves in equal strides as he moved towards the nurse’s station, catching the eye of a plump woman with latte hued skin as he leaned over the counter to ask her softly for directions to his room.

“Oh, he’s in three-oh-eight, right over there on the left,” the nurse points out to him the room, drawing his eye to spot the glass-lined room. Dean’s about to thank her and head over, when she adds, “Just knock before you go in.”

“Wait--- I thought Sam was in a coma?” Dean raises a brow.

“So you don’t startle the fiancée,” she explains, looking with pity towards the room, “Poor thing comes by every night to check on him.”

Dean does a good job of hiding his shock. Keeping the emotion simmering beneath the surface. The most she gets is his widened eyes, though they turn towards the room quickly enough.

“Thanks for the tip.”

Dean maneuvers around another nurse wheeling a vitals machine as he makes his way to the door, peering through the window as inconspicuously as possible to catch sight of the fiancée he hadn’t known Sam had.

Her back was to him, seated in a chair as she leaned a bit on the edge of Sam’s bedside. Her fingers fiddled with a teddybear on the nightstand, trying to keep it from falling over before she could be satisfied with leaving it alone. A hint of recognition flashes through him as he stares at her, before moving to open the door without a knock.

The sound of the door opening draws your attention, and instinctively you move away from the bedside in case it was a doctor or nurse who needed to get to Sam, only for your eyes to find someone entirely different.

“It is you,” comes from the man in the doorway, who looked on at you with an incredulous look in his green eyes.

It was the guy who fixed your tire.

“Y-You! What are you doing here!” you stood, immediately on edge, your mind rushing back to the worst-case, horror-movie scenario, “Did you follow me?!”

“What?” his nose wrinkles up at the accusation, rolling his eyes, “No! I’m not some freakin’ creep who goes around stalking chicks who have flat tires on the freeway. Sam’s my brother!”

You weren’t as good at hiding your shock, your mouth parting slightly at the news, as your finger pointed at him warily, “So you’re Dean, then?”

“Now you’re on the right track, princess,” he sighs, before his eyes widen a fraction at himself and his hand comes to rub the back of his neck nervously, “Eh, I mean--- Guess it’s about time I learned your name, huh?”

“Oh! Yeah. Right,” you stammer, before offering it and an apology, “Sorry.”

“Well,” Dean frowns, glancing to Sam as he moves to the side of the bed, reaching out to give his brother’s hand a squeeze, “wish we met under better circumstances.” Dean’s eyes find yours again, studying you as you stood there awkwardly, as if trying to figure something out in his mind, before speaking, “So… you’re Sam’s fianceé, huh?” He said it like he already knew the answer, but just wanted to hear it confirmed from you for himself.

Heat burns at the back of your mind as you stammer out your lie, poorly, “Y-Yep. That’s me.”

Dean must take your nervousness for something else, because he just shakes his head with a sad sounding sigh, “I can get why he wouldn’t want to tell everyone all at once, but… I just can’t believe he didn’t tell me about you, though.”

#dean winchester fanfic #sam winchester fanfic #supernatural fanfic #author meg #female reader insert #supernatural female reader insert #fanfiction #newstuff female reader insert #fanfic by me #gif not mine

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phantomoftruth · 6 years

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An Aspiring Coven Flips the Coin: Complete Edition

I figured due to things being spread out and such, it might be nice to put my recent 3 part coin flip story into a single, large post so you can read the whole thing here as a Halloween treat^^. Happy Halloween everyone!

NOTE: This story turned out very long, thus, I put it under a break. Click below to read the whole thing!

It was a Friday night, mid October, as Janice, Nessa, and Quinn huddled around the table in Janice’s locked dorm room, gazing at the magic coin with excitement and consternation. The room had its stack of text books, but they were easily dwarfed by the owners clear fixation on the occult. Books of magic and witchcraft, compendiums of folk lore, myths, and monsters filled shelves and fought with crystals and candles for space. Though for now, they simply had the lights on, showing art of fairies and creatures that ranged from wondrous to dark hanging from the walls.

Janice, the owner of the room, and the one that found the coin, clutched her occult diary to her sweater-clad chest. “So, we each flip once, and whatever we choose applies to the three of us together, good or bad, and we’ll take our turns by seniority. You both agree as well?” Janice was a 3rd year studying folk lore and mythology that hid her height with an unconscious slight hunch, and concealed her pale, shapely body with plain clothes. Her strongest feature was the wild mane of black hair that often concealed her face, spilling all over. She was the founder of the would-be coven, and while she fidgeted a bit as she spoke, her mania for the occult carried through in her voice and gleaming dark eyes that she fixed on her coven-sisters.

“Hey, I’ve got no problem,” Nessa spoke with a smirk and a casual shrug of her sun-tanned shoulders. “You’re our fearless leader, and even if we switched it around, I’d be second regardless.“ Nessa was in her second year, pursuing a liberal arts degree secondary to her appetites. She had a pear-shape to accompany her slight pudge, and knew how to work her hips for dancing and fucking. So what if she liked to eat? The guys she snagged didn’t mind her love of cooking, or her big fat ass, and her favorites always were the ones she could throw her weight around with a bit. She licked her full lips, toying with a bit of brown hair, green eyes hooded as she pet herself lightly, speaking with a bit of husk in her voice. “Besides~ Just thinking about what that thing can do is getting me warmed up.”

“Yeah! You didn’t even have to share this with us at all! Sure it’s scary, but it’s once in a lifetime! There’s no way in hell I’m passing this up!” Quinn pounded the table as she spoke, her 80s cut top with her current horror favorite, Scissor Sister on it slipping to reveal a shoulder bathed in freckles, brown eyes brimming with vigor. 18, it was her first year away from home, pursuing theater, costume design and practical effects. Sitting next to Nessa only made her flat chest and curveless body even more pronounced, as though puberty had simply skipped right by, leaving her to her freckled skin and short, shocking red hair. Nessa teased her about her lack of a bra and her lack of sex in general, but her passion for horror movies and monster make up made her passionate about her studies.

The three reached over the table, joining hands as they spoke together. “As sisters we swear.”

Sitting back, Janice took the coin, and made the first flip. “If the coin lands on heads, then grant us the power to make people into monsters. If tails, let us become monsters, each to our type.” So intoning, the occult manic flipped the coin.

It landed on tails.

The changes were steady but irresistible, and each girl was consumed by their own transformation, forgetting the world and each other as the magic took them.

Janice clutched her diary to her chest, panting as the darkness of her hair drained down and spread over her body like ink drowning paper, staining her skin into a dull black hide, and leaving her hair pale like moonlight, drained of all color. There was a chill on her that made her muscles taut and her nipples hard and every touch a tingle as her already wild hair grew like madness. Janice gasped as her hair didn’t just grow, but moved, alive and caressing her body, teasing her even as it rooted into her clothes, ripping them. A surge moved through her and the already damaged clothes were destroyed as Janice grew even taller as sleek, sinewy muscles pulsed into being. That same pulse spread to her extremities, as her fingernails became moon-colored claws, and even her toenails grew sharp and pointed. Her tongue turned black, running over gleaming, pointed teeth, while the darkness in her eyes grew even deeper. Her living hair touched her diary, and she could feel a pulse in it as well. She didn’t fully understand it yet, but all her notes on the occult, her studies of creatures, all her passion and obsession was part of what she was now, and she needed it.

Rising to her feet, Janice looked towards a full body mirror hanging on the wall, and while she now had killer abs, she was forced to duck down to see her face and shoulders. She had become some kind of black-skinned, statuesque ogress, wearing nothing but the hair on her head that even now gently swayed in a phantom breeze. Thinking about it made it stop however, and she realized she could control her hair like her body. With that, other things clicked into place. She was a predator made to stalk darkness. She felt the strength, the confidence. And her book. It gave her magic, and protected her life. She had to keep it safe, and keep filling it. The more she filled it, the more magic she would have. More power. Despite herself, the thought did make her tight pussy twitch, and a stray strand of white hair wrapped and tweaked her glossy black clit, making her shudder.

Nessa’s pussy twinged just a moment before an orgasm wracked her body with pleasure, drenching her in sweat that quickly made dark stains on her clothes, even as the crotch of her yoga pants darkened with wetness given her lack of panties. Her nose twitched, even as warmth suffused her, dazing her slightly. She was sweaty, but it felt good. Clean. Right. She smelled right. Fuckable. She stuck her tongue out to taste the scent and found herself drooling like crazy, letting her tongue loll limply. That drool pooled on her swelling chest that snapped her bra and strained her top, which turned to tatters as the change spread from her chest through her body, making everything soft and heavy and thick and ripe. Her arms were meaty now, and her stomach was round like the full moon. She couldn’t see her pussy anymore, but she could feel it, feel the waves of heat spreading to her legs and thighs as she just kept gushing which her stomach gurgled soothingly, like a stream. Nessa’s yoga pants desperately clung to life as long as they could, but suddenly snapped as her hips grew, becoming brood-bearing. Even keeping her newly weighty legs closed would require effort, naturally exposing her plump, juicy pussy and fat clit. Her ass followed suit, filling and thickening and jiggling. Doors would be a challenge in her new future.

Nessa’s pussy pulsed again, finishing her with the most drastic, monstrous changes. Her tanned skin darkened and shifted, becoming a mottled mix of earth browns, mossy grey and swampy green, chased with orange hints of a harvest moon. The sweat on her body thickened, becoming a permanent glistening on her now hairless skin. Her nipples fattened and darkened, oozing something thick and syrupy, and her cunt followed suit, making a puddle on the dorm room carpet. Her lolling tongue grew and grew until it was frog-like, tickling her nipple, tasting her own sweet syrup. Her brown haired turned to a curly wave of Spanish moss, and all over her body, things began to grow. plants sprouted in her new hair, shelves of fungi sprouted along her back and under her heavy breasts, holding them up, and a mushroom cap, like a hat, sprouted from her head. Mycellium grew where her webbed hands and feet were on the carpet, and random plants were growing in the pool of her pussy-syrup. Whatever she was, she was ripe as a fruit, fertile and milfy as fuck, and as she came back to herself, she tested her tongue as her webbed hands roamed her body, stroking her belly and seeking her needy greedy pussy. It took some stretching, but she could reach with both hands, and despite probably weighing double what she did, her new body was plenty flexible. Perfect for breeding~. Just thinking the word made her clench as a spurt of plant life sprouted all around her.

Quinn froze as the magic washed over her body, a tingling feeling settling into her skin. Her gaze was fixed, staring into space, but she could feel her body quivering, like the strings of an instrument just waiting to start, and her face fixed into a smile. She felt the familiar feeling of hair brushing her shoulders as every other hair on her body disappeared. A fresh wave washed over her, and she tilted her head down, looking at her hand as her skin went pale, then milk-white, and flawless as porcelain. All over, she could feel touches like invisible brushes, dotting all along her body, and she despite her new strange skin, her freckles were increasing, becoming intricate patterns from her shoulders down her arms, making art of her back, and continuing to expand, forming swirling, sweeping decorations. There was a click, and Quinn came back to herself, saw her hand as lines appeared and connected, forming new joints. First the fingers, then the wrist, the elbow, the shoulder. Without seeing, she could feel her body changing, becoming a puppet body. No, a doll body. Her head lolled when the change reached her neck, giving her a look at her changing body in her old clothes. She still had a slight yielding quality to her body, but there was a definite clicking as her new body settled into place. Some kind of plastic? Soft wood? It was silly to wonder when magic was involved, probably more so when it was her body she was thinking about, but she just couldn’t resist. Not to mention her body wasn’t going to be changing on its own again anytime soon.

The magic passed over Quinn one final time, and her quivering body was freed, no longer spellbound. She went to jerk her head up from its heavy tilt, and instead had a sudden moment of the world spinning as her head detached and rolled off into her lap. Which was freaky, but kind of awesome. Looking at her body, it was one of the most beautiful pieces she’d ever seen. Her skin was ghost-white, and flawless, decorated with countless freckled spots, like it was painted by elves. Picking up her own head, she felt her hair, marveling at it as she got a look. It was a real, deep red now, silky but with some curl. As the last of the magic took root in her, she couldn’t contain her excitement. Reattaching her head was simple enough. Seemed everything was detachable. Her fingers seemed dexterous enough, and she was brimming with energy without the slightly scrap of fatigue. Not knowing anything else, she could do a lot with this. Some parts, anyway, as she eyeballed her flat chest, and a quick check downstairs with her fingers revealed her crotch to be soft and yielding enough, but dry as only a sex doll could be.

Their transformations completed, the three friends finally looked away from themselves, taking in each other’s new, monstrous forms. Janice was easily the tallest, to the point that Quinn looked like a child next to her now, including being able to lift the doll-girl with only one arm. At Nessa’s insistence, Quinn stripped as well, revealing pointed nipples on an otherwise doll-jointed, sexless body, while the other girls took turns poking at Nessa’s swollen belly and budding garden growing out of the floor, which the broodmother herself was more then content to pick parts off of and eat as she teased a nipple.

“Alright Nessa,” Janice cleared her throat, not used to her new voice, though she did like how it matched her new body. “it’s your turn to flip. And be careful.”

“I’ve already got just the thing in mind~”

Nessa, now a slimy cross between animal and plant more than twice as wide as a human, took a few moments to stop teasing her new body and shift forward on her new big booty, grabbing the coin with green fingers. Despite her slimy, syurpy touch making plants grow, the coin itself remained shiny and pristine. Was it because it was metal, or magic? Nessa shrugged shoulders topped with budding growth, a gesture that now made her ripe and weighty body jiggle.

“I don’t know about you two, but this body is dying to FUCK. Love spells are witchy, right? And there are sexy monsters that seduce men and stuff yeah?” The other two monsters each nodded a confirmation in turn. “Right! So this is on point. And don’t worry, I’ll word it for you guys as well. Since it seems like Quinn’s not getting her cherry popped any time soon.” Nessa snickered as Quinn rolled her eyes as only a living doll could. “Come on girl, flip already.”

After waving a hand at Quinn, Nessa readied the coin. “On a heads, we will each get magic to seduce others and make them our servants, slaves, pets toys, whatever fits us best! If it’s tails, we’ll be reshaped and ruled by our fetishes, like to the point that we can’t help ourselves. And oh don’t act like you two don’t have them!” Sticking out her frog tongue turned into a slurp, and after sucking it back into her mouth, she flipped the coin.

The coin gleamed and rattled as it fell on the wooden table, before coming to rest. It landed on heads.

The magic bathed Nessa’s fertile form in pleasure, and her eyes rolled back in her head as her body spoke to her, teaching her as it changed according to her flip. Small branches of green and brown sprouted and curled from her back, bearing a mix of strange, fleshy fruits. Vines spider-webbed across her body and limbs, clinging to her slick ripeness and birthing grape-like clusters and berries that adorned her like decorations along her limbs, between her breasts, sprouting from her naval. Even when she bruised or crushed them with her motions, they released alluring scents. More mushrooms and fungi bloomed to life, and the mushroom cap on her head twitched, dusting her in a spore cloud as her body tensed, stomach gurgling.

Mother. Feed them. Embrace them. Breed them. Birth them.

Nessa slobbered as she came, feeling something squishy and round pop out of her thick gushy pussy. She was just so fucking FULL. She was already running over, and was sitting in a little marshy garden as the puddle spread under her oversized ass, a festival of smells and tastes that were wordlessly beckoning to something, ANYTHING to fucking breed her oozing cunt until they made something together.

Wet Mother. Green Mother. You are life. All beasts are soil. Dust. Clay children. They crave you. Desire you. Thirst for your blessing. Become one with them, guide them as your obedient children.

Nessa heaved a breath that made her heavy breasts jiggle, causing drips of syrup to spill onto the table, sprouting small patches of moss, and the communion ended. The broodmother looked at her body, already half-knowing what had happened to her. So weirdness aside, It was about tasting her, whether drinking her juices, eating the stuff growing on her, or breathing spores. She did lean her head forward to look over her stomach, between her legs. There was something that looked like a frog’s egg, the size of a large peach, jiggling on the carpet. I guess eggs count too. And ‘all beasts?’ That’s kind of nasty, but I guess I’m not human anymore either. Some pets might be fun though. Nessa’s frog tongue snaked out as she licked her lips, pondering fresh depravities.

The magic settled on Quinn’s doll body like gentle hands, dressing her in an invisible costume. She wasn’t just excited, but confident. Not just skilled, but graceful. Not just beautiful, but enthralling. Glamorous.

Faerie Maiden! Doll Maiden! Mistress of the stage! Here is the moon, and here is the night! How beautiful the darkness, dressed in starlight!

The magic suffused her, and Quinn shuddered. Everything was so vivid. Was this magic? Was she losing her mind? She couldn’t be drugged with a body that wasn’t alive right? But she was glowing, her skin giving off a pale, silvery aura. Colors were stronger, shadows sharper. Her imagination was running wild, suggestions of invisible creatures swimming across her vision. She was inspired. She was inspiration. Her fingers twitched to life, moving even as the words giggled their sing-song into her inhuman head.

Little miss, little miss! All the world’s your stage, and they are all your players, models for your fancy, canvas to paint with all your desires. Enthrall them, enchant them, give them new roles, new lives! Here is a princess, her hair in tresses, to tease and tickle and terrify. Here is a maid, with scissors and mask, to snicker-snip and aid your craft. Here are the puppets to dance on your strings, and here you are, to clothe them in dreams.

She was only vaguely aware of the impossibility her hands were performing, caught in the grip of her craft. At some point a chunk of the table had come off, and she molded the wood like soft clay. Her fingers snatched a shadow, pulling it like cloth. She’d produced a needle at some point, made of moonlight, and threaded it with a strand of her hair, stitching the shadow with feverish speed.

Chill them, thrill them, fulfill them! Make them laugh and make them cry, make them serve you and never die. Undress them first with your eyes, then your hands, and let them scream however you like as you paint them in enchantments. Each night a new performance! Each role you grant them a new beginning! Mistress of the stage, forever young, forever free! Spotlight or shadow, your place is wherever you choose.

The mask was finished. It was black wood, a polished, beautiful thing, chased with ruby red around its boarders. It was a domino, styled just to cover the eyes, and it made a sharp contrast against her pale face as she put it on. A quick scuttle to the mirror confirmed that yes, it looked as awesome as she imagined. Quinn still felt a bit lightheaded from the rush, but her hands continued unconsciously, picking at her old clothes as she sat on her knees, wrapping her head around her new self. So I’ve got fairy magic. Glamour. Like stage magic, or star power. Charisma. And I can make costumes and stuff out of just fucking whatever, and they’ll take on the role to match it, with me in charge as the director. Hmmm…Quinn actively stopped herself a moment, and got her hand to do a creepy clicky finger clatter, along with a 360 spin at the wrist. I bet I could make that go in reverse too. Like make it so no one notices me until I want them to. That sounds like a fairy thing, being invisible to prank people. Yeah, yeah…

The magic settled on the book in Janice’s hand, and she felt it like it was part of her as the coin’s power caressed it, transforming it into a thick, leathery grimoire, and she threw a clawed hand over her heart as she felt a responding pulse in her chest, and then another in her head. New words were writing themselves into existence, filling her book and her brain equally while her body thumped and her hair writhed, floating as though she was underwater. There was no communion, no rush of insight. The knowledge was just there, secrets of the unknown laid bare in her brain.

The aspect of the Crone embodies wisdom, endings, death, repose, and the waning moon. Wisdom comes by the word. Any knowledge I add to the book is added to me, any magic or witchcraft I write, I can comprehend and perform. People are made of words, and I can take those words from them with the clutch of my hair, take their spirit with their breath, leave them mindless, soulless, in repose, in need of new words, any words I want. I can give knowledge, take it away, seduce, corrupt, control, consume. Take their names and I can make them slaves, swallow them up and they’ll be nothing but zombies, moaning obedience, while I tangle their ghosts in my hair and make them mine. I can rewrite people’s lives. And as long as this book exists as my soul, I won’t end.

It was terrible knowledge, but that only made it more alluring, intoxicating, and intensely tempting. The fact that she already knew all kinds of other folk lore and potential witchcraft only made it more inviting. She could play with it, just in little experiments, taking and giving back, or switching someone up. She could have a little cult bound to her in fanaticism, or drain people down to their dregs, putting their existence down to single words. Her flesh felt powerful, and her body was hot with desire, but it was a heavy weight on her soul as she panted. Her grimoire was a thick, black thing now, veined with strands of her pale hair, like spider webs.

The magic of Nessa’s flip settled down, finished, and the former college girls turned monsters gazed at each other, taking in their changes together as they shared what had happened to them, and the new power each of them held.

As nessa was preoccupied with fondling herself, Janice bent down and picked up the coin between two clawed fingers, offering it to the doll girl. “Alright. There’s one more flip, and it belongs to you Quinn. You’re free to flip whatever you think of that we can share. Choose wisely.”

Quinn, for her part, fiddled with the black shroud that she had magicked her former clothes into, adjusting it on her pale body for different styles.

“Hmmm. I do want to flip for sure, but before I do~” The doll girl smiled, eyes shining.

“I can’t be the only one that wants to try out what we can do now. Anyone else want to have some fun before I do the last flip?”

“Shouldn’t you just-”

“I VOTE DICK!” Both Janice and Quinn turned as Nessa cried out. Loudly. She was currently sitting in a frog squat, pickling some alien cucumber that had burst itself out of the growing garden that was Janice’s dorm room with her syrupy snatch. Each bounce of grey-green hips made Nessa’s overripe ass slap against the floor. As Janice’s room was on the third floor of the building, things were shuddering a bit.

Janice spoke up again, voice full of authority, and Quinn swiveled her head back to face her. “Going out now means the coin is here. I’m not leaving the coin alone, and there’s no way in Hell it’s leaving this room before the flips are done. And given that getting Nessa out of here isn’t really happening right now without people freaking, going out to play means bringing people back here. People you’d have to get fast. People that would be in the same place as the coin. It’d be a nightmare to make it work.”

Quinn looked back and forth between Nessa and Janice, one masturbating in a growing garden and tall grasses, the other tall enough that she had to look up to see more than her stomach, and ultimately let out a sigh. “I guess you’re right.” Her face immediately brightened up, however, transfixed with a smile. “That gives me an idea though! Here, give me the coin, I’ll do my flip right now.” After being passed the coin, Quinn played with it, expertly running it along her jointed doll-fingers.

So clearly, this,” she said, while wildly waving her free hand at Janice’s overgrown dorm room. The motion caught Nessa’s attention, and she pulled herself off the fat greenery she was fucking with a gooey plop. “This isn’t going to work for us. We’re magic. We’re monsters. We need a home base. A hunting ground. A lair. That’s what I’m gonna flip for!” Fixing her posture, standing straight as she could, pale arm fully outstretched, Quinn readied the coin to flip.

“Hey coin, here’s my flip. If heads, make this whole school our domain, us running the show and everyone accepting us and our benevolent rule. If tails, then give us a lair, for the three of us that we share together, where we can really live like monsters.” She flipped, and the coin rang slightly as it spun before Quinn caught it out of the air, slapping it on the back of her hand with a clack.

It was tails.

The effect was immediate. Janice’s dorm room faded away, becoming indistinct before vanishing completely. There was a single moment where the coven of monsters stood suspended in a colorless, soundless void, then reality resumed, rebuilding itself around their new location, their lair.

The sounds of society were gone with the campus, giving way to the music of a lonely, midnight wilderness. The lake was quiet, but the forest was alive with bugs and birds and frogs and things that weren’t quite what they used to be since Nessa made it her pleasure garden paradise. The forest was not the same either, invaded by a wild legion of strange fruits, vivid fungus, and unnamed plant life that only accelerated it’s transformation into a wet, fragrant swamp. But it was a pretty playground, and hard for a human to just stumble through, Of course, a little magic helped with that. There was even a grotto Nessa loved to use for a bit of extra privacy, and plenty of room in the depth of the lake.

Though she preferred the swamp and starlight, even Nessa couldn’t deny their manor was right where it belonged, in the heart of the swamp, looking over the lake, complete with secret underwater tunnel. The one she’d used to meet up with her coven sisters in the foyer they were standing in now. It was old and musty and spooky, but the mood was just right, all faded and elegant, with fancy stone floors and lots of double doors that made it easy to move around. Not to mention the big dramatic staircase in the center for the second floor. There weren’t any lights, and it wasn’t like they needed them, but there were debates about getting internet going somehow. Well, Quinn wanted it anyway.

New memories formed as the coin’s magic shaped the house to match it as a monster’s lair. Janice claimed the master bedroom on the second floor, less because of any kind of leadership and more to have a room and bed that accommodated her statuesque frame. It being connected to a study certainly didn’t hurt though, and evidence of her practice and experiments in magic and witchcraft came into existence at the same time as the memories of those experiments. The kitchen and the space outside as well showed signs of experiments, with the kitchen becoming a makeshift lab, and a large cauldron resting over the ashes of a wood fire outside. And then there was the library, still bearing a few weathered books yellowed with age and damp. It wasn’t haunted yet, but Janice was working on it, along with filling those shelves herself.

Quinn’s bedroom was smaller, but as sleep wasn’t really a thing for her anymore, with anything approaching rest just being collapsing into a creepy doll-slump, she didn’t mind. Especially given the rest of the house was more or less hers to romp around in. There was a studio that quickly crowded with her projects. Costumes and mixes of pigments, accessories and even puppets dangled from stings from the ceilings. The ground floor hard a large, ruined ballroom, complete with an aging stage. With her and Janice working on it though, she was sure they could come up with something enchanted~. There was even a little gallery with enough room for sculptures, not to mention paintings on the wall. It wasn’t originally her thing, but she was just bursting with energy now, and it gave a little variety over just costume work all the time.

Several sets of stairs going down were peppered into existence around the house, leading to a stony basement layer. Rooms for servants, humble even before time wore away at the few bits there, came into being, along with a cellar and places where the former inhabitants would have worked and lived, doing laundry, a second kitchen, and cunning slits for ventilation that endured. It was fairing fairly well considering the encroaching swampiness consuming the forest, with a bit of dankness that made it feel like a dungeon.

The coin’s magic moved like a tide, pulling away from the newly formed lair, taking root in the three monsters as it set about completing Quinn’s wish for the three to live like monsters. The former college friends were stunned, unawares as the magic dug deep, transforming them all in will and soul to match their new bodies.

Quinn felt her sight expanding, her spirit flying as though it were freed from gravity as her human grip on reality loosened and fell away. She was innocent, and careless, as only the Fae could be. Everything in the world was for her amusement, and boredom the only sin left. She understood now, mortality was something that could just be brushed away, just a thing that happened on the stage. Play. it was all an endless play, with the world as the setting and all the people in it hers to take and change and trick and terrify, outlets for her arts and crafts, pets for her fancies. Fear and awe were the bare minimums she was due.

Nessa quivered as her self melted, touching at something massive and countless and primordial. She was fucking the earth. She was the earth. She was life, wet, squirming life that was around before humans were a blink. They were just another kind of animal to embrace. Whatever taboos she had dissolved. All that mattered was her breeding, her pleasure, her flesh, her children, whether by adoption or birth, until they covered the whole earth. Everything would be green and quivering and alive, and they’d all eat and fuck and breed and birth and sleep and be reborn to doll it all again and again and again and again and again forever and ever until her blood was the one blood and everything was one again, united again in an everlasting dance of life.

Janice felt her hair embracing her body as the darkness that had changed her body before seeped down, staining her soul with haggish wickness and sadistic pleasure. The weight she had felt when blessed with that forbidden knowledge was gone. It wasn’t a burden, but something to embrace. Power. Power was something to revel in. Whether her flexing, steely muscles, her towering black-skinned body, or the witchcraft that suffused her with knowledge forbidden to mortals, power was a delight. And the only thing better than being powerful, was using that power. Not bullying the weak. No, that wasn’t quite right. To deprive others. Yesssssssss. Just the thought of it made her sex clench. To take everything they were, and leave them with nothing. To taunt them, toy with them, twist them about and humiliate them. Drink them down to the dregs until they were dull-eyed little dredges that would debase themselves to lose even more. Her black tongue slid across her sharp teeth, as her face split with a wicked grin as she took control of her hair, teasing herself to her new, sadistic desires.

At last, the magic completed, the coin vanished, leaving the three monsters with their new lair, new minds, and new lives, all thoughts of the coin gone.

Quinn giggled and straightened her dress.

Nessa slobbered, fresh growth growing from her needy body.

Janice picked at her claws, and looked at the former college girls, full of evil intent as she leaned forward.

“The night is still young. NOW, what shall we do for fun~?”

#coin flip #mind control #corruption #monstergirl #complete

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brandxspandex · 6 years

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Smashing through some pre-modern Spotlight issues on the way towards the meat of the main story in my IDW re-read.

Spotlight: Thundercracker again leaves me wondering how the hell Thundercracker managed to live with being a Decepticon for so long. After all, this Spotlight is set towards the beginning of the Great War and Thundercracker already has misgivings serious enough that he’s moved to commit some pretty severely treasonous acts, and this was back when organic genocide was just a side effect of the Decepticons’ goals, rather than a goal in itself. If he was already upset with how the Cons treated organics at this stage, I can’t imagine how he would have reacted when they made cleansing the galaxy of organics their policy, and I can’t understand how he stuck around after that point. I used to think that the increase in the Decepticons’ outward brutality probably corresponded to the increase in their inward brutality, so as Thundercracker gained more and more reasons to leave the Cons he also got more and more reasons to be afraid of leaving. Yet this issue confirms that the DJD existed even at this point, and Thundercracker was still willing to risk acting on behalf of his morals regardless. I suppose it’s possible that the DJD’s tactics were less extreme at this point, but I still find it hard to wrap my head around the fact that it took Thundercracker millions of years to take the final little step towards a heelfaceturn.

After letting Bumblebee live, Thundercracker seems to imply that if all Autobots were like Bee he would be willing to switch sides, or perhaps that they wouldn’t be at war in the first place. While Bumblebee is an exceptionally friendly guy for sure (in fact this issue takes time to hammer home that in terms of heroic intent Bee is pretty much on Optimus Prime’s level, even if he lacks Optimus’s focused leadership abilities – which is a big theme of Bee’s own character arc), Thundercracker seemed particularly taken with Bee because he went out of his way to save organics, which doesn’t seem that unusual a trait among Autobots. Sure, we’ve seen some Autobots that don’t seem to give a shit about organics, and some that have just been nasty pieces of work in general, but most Bots we’ve seen have been of the heroic, organic-saving inclination, so it seems as though Thundercracker must have had a warped perception of the Autobots if he thought Bee was an exception (unless of course particularly heroic Autobots are overrepresented amongst the main characters, which may very well be the case). So maybe Thundercracker didn’t switch sides and go to the Autobots because he was under the impression that they were no better than the Decepticons (and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Cons were fed propaganda to maintain those sorts of perceptions).

Thundercracker also seemed pretty hung up on the fact that being a Seeker was his identity, which may have made leaving the Decepticons difficult for him. I guess that before the war most Cybertronians had a very solid sense of their identity, which was defined by their alt-mode, before the war began and threw all of this into disarray. While a big reason the war was fought in the first place was precisely because many people didn’t like being boxed into these limited identities, it must have nonetheless been very disorientating to many to have the familiarity of their old identities disrupted. Thus it wouldn’t be surprising if many went on to dig their heels into whatever identities they could find in wartime.

Spotlight: Shockwave sees Shockwave going about his whole Regenesis Ore thing, which makes me wonder how much of the energon throughout the universe was due to Shockwave’s actions and how much of it just existed out there independently. I often wonder what sort of substance energon is exactly, and whether it is in anyway comparable to any real substances or if it is something completely alien and unknowable. The fact that we’ve seen Transformers converting known matter into synthesised energon suggests that it is at very least made of the same fundamental elements as the known universe. Still, I wonder if it’s something that can arise in the universe without any sort of Cybertronian involvement.

It’s interesting that Shockwave puts his (temporary) downfall in this issue down to his failure to factor in the universal constant of chaos, given that now he’s back he seems to be fixated on “the higher order of logic that is chaos”. Was this the beginning of the path that led him to decide that becoming some sort of chaos worshipping furry was the way to go? Speaking of furries, it’s kinda funny that Shockwave ended up becoming the furry Prime when his spotlight is also the issue in which the Dinobots get their dinosaur forms. Turns out that with Shockwave, everything begins and ends with furries.

Shockwave puts his inability to anticipate and understand the Dinobots’ rash, emotional actions down to his strictly logical thought process, to the point where he actually has to shut down his higher processing to allow him to “evolve” a primal subroutine approximating rage in order to deal with them. Shockwave’s apparent evolution in this issue is never really brought up again (at least, not yet), but then again, even before reappearing in this currently ambiguously un-shadowplayed state, Shockwave was suspiciously snarky and melodramatic for a guy without emotions. I gotta say that I find it kinda hard to believe that Shockwave finds irrational and emotional behaviour so mind-bogglingly shocking and hard to process given that this issue is set a few million years into the war and he has been with the Decepticons for all that time, a movement filled to the absolute brim with spectacularly emotional and irrational individuals.

Also I’m going to post this panel because when required to draw the gadget that enables Shockwave to signal his ship it sure as hell looks like the artist just decided to give him some car keys:

I can’t really recall Cliffjumper doing anything that notable in IDW outside of his Spotlight (and spoilers in the Unicron prologue issue he unfortunately got rather unceremoniously killed off off-panel) so I had forgotten that he’s apparently a total badass whose name strikes fear into troops of Cons who he then wipes out single-handedly before using one of their severed hands to hammer in the grave of the little organic girl he wrecks vengeance in the name of. I do really like how the Autobots have their little friendly round cars like Cliffjumper and Bumblebee as their spies, saboteurs and deadly assassins.

We see some very human-looking aliens in this issue, which is honestly something that always bugs me, even though it absolutely saturates sci-fi. It just strikes me as so astonishingly unlikely that evolution would pull the same trick so many times that it really pulls me out of the story; it’s something that stretches my suspension of disbelief that little bit too far. That’s why I love it when sci-fi provides some sort of explanation behind the humanoid pattern recurring throughout their setting, often in the form of some sort of progenitor race seeding genetic blueprints throughout the cosmos. And you know what? In IDW I’m just going to assume Shockwave’s behind it at this point. It seems like exactly the kind of thing he’d do and he’s responsible for pretty much everything else in the continuity so let’s go with that.

This issue implies that Cybertronians have some sort of in-built program that enables them to pick up the transmissions of an alien world they’re on and use them to synthesise a translation of the native languages they can then easily speak, as part of their “robots in disguise” adaptability shtick. This seems to somewhat contradict later instances where we see Transformers attempting to learn languages the more traditional way, but personally I much prefer the idea that they have this more alien and robotic approach. I also like the idea that it is part of the same collection of features that allows them to have alt-modes that mimic the vehicles and technology native to the alien world they’re on, because adapting to alien environments is an intrinsic part of their natures AND HOLY SHIT what if the reason Transformers have such a hard time changing their ways and breaking free of their vicious cycle of war, yet seem to suddenly undergo rapid character development when they encounter other species, such as humans, is because of this adaptability algorithm? When they’re just around other Transformers they automatically adapt to each other so they get stuck in a loop of mimicking the same behaviours, but when they encounter other species with new behaviours they can adapt to them and break out of the loop (same could go for encountering Transformer colony worlds that have been isolated for a while)??? Ok that idea probably wouldn’t hold up to closer inspection in this continuity at least BUT HELL IT’S A THOUGHT.

The idea that Transformers require alien transmissions in order to synthesise translations for their languages fits in well with the fact that Wheelie can’t automatically adapt to the language of the alien he encounters in Spotlight: Wheelie, give that both he and the alien are away from their native worlds. I thought that the alien having a translation device that for some reason requires the speaker to speak in rhyme in order to work was a pretty clever way of explaining Wheelie’s whole speaking in rhyme gimmick.

Wheelie’s Spotlight has the same basic core theme that most of this lot of Spotlight issues seem to have; the main character is faced with a moral dilemma where they can choose between taking the safest option that most benefits themselves, or they can save an innocent (typically an organic) and sacrifice something in the process. Each time the main character realises that if they choose to take the easy option and allow the innocent to befall whatever horrible fate is dangling over them, they will be sacrificing something even worse. The Autobot characters come to the conclusion that this is what defines them as an Autobot and separates them from the Decepticons, but we see Thundercracker making a similar decision in his own Spotlight. But of course, we know where Thundercracker’s storyline eventually takes him.

There’s a major tease at the end of Spotlight: Wheelie involving the presence of the Quintessons that certainly seems like the set up for some kind of significant plotline, but unless the Quintessons turn out to have some kind of important involvement in the Unicron storyline, I guess that’s never gonna go anywhere. It’s a pity, cos I reckon a lot can be done with the Quintessons, and in their sparse appearances in IDW they’ve always been quite intriguing.

Spotlight: Hot Rod introduces everyone’s favourite piece “woah what the hell they’re bringing that back up again now?” in the form of The Magnificence and yo hang on those Omega Guardians in this issue sure look like those things on the cover of an upcoming issue of the Lost Light:

I wonder if Hot Rod’s experience with Dealer plays into his hatred of Getaway. Hot Rod spent so much time angsting over his failures on his mission to collect The Magnificence, including the fact that he had to abandon Dealer in the process, and then he risked his life in order to save Dealer from a Decepticon prison camp. Then it turns out that Dealer was a doublecrosser who had caused the failures on Rodimus’s mission in the first place, and was still planning to stab him in the back. After all that, it wouldn’t be too surprising if Rodimus had developed a bit of a hair-trigger reaction when it comes to people who betray him.

Spotlight: Sixshot addresses the strangely sweet camaraderie between the emotional abyss/utter force of annihilation that is Sixshot and his carnage-loving fanbots the Terrorcons, which is something that, as far as I can recall, is never explored or brought up again. But, nonetheless, it’s nice to know it was a thing. It also features The Reapers, who provide an interesting little taster of some of the other aliens that exist in the IDW universe, from an electric space jellyfish to a berserker virus infected monster bird. The Reapers are all about ending war by pre-emptively destroying any sources of war, which makes me wonder how the hell have they haven’t got around to trying to destroying the Transformers yet. It’s a big universe I suppose.

Reading through these issues provided a nice little reminder of some forgotten characterisation and plot hooks that have been left dangling. It’s sad to think that most of these things won’t have a chance to be picked up now (except for The Magnificence, and I still can’t quite get over the fact that happened), but they are ready fodder for any fanfic writers who may want to pick up where canon is going to leave off.

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classhattery · 6 years

Text

Personal Space - Interstellar Sarcasm (Prologue)

--------------- This is a little something I’ve been cooking up over the past year or so. I would’ve posted this teaser/prologue earlier but I only recently got comfortable enough with the main story arc to warrant posting it here. I hope you all enjoy, and if anyone wants to follow it, I’ll be posting occasional updates under the #PersonalSpaceStory and #ClasshatCompositions tags. Extra special shout-out to my editor and reviewer, @risualto for helping this pile of words resemble a plot. <3 Happy Reading! ---------------

Prologue

“Thrusters?” “Online.” “Vectoring ports?” “Online.” “Weapons?” “Secured and stowed.” …I always enjoyed pre-flight checklists. Even if it involved meticulously re-reviewing the same list of things I had gone over personally the night before, it felt satisfying to know my ship was working well. The list also gave me a second or two of silent repose in an otherwise hectic morning. “Navigation and guidance?” “Online.” “Cortex Reactor?” “Optimal to within 3 percent.” I ran my hand along the sleek edges of the leading wing of my ship, feeling the light vibrations that the dual fusion reactor steadily put out. Even in the dim light of the hangar, the Federation Class 5A Interceptor’s jet black polished angles shimmered like the facets of a gem – brilliant, yet exact. Even after a year in the Tactical Fleet, spaceflight was still amazing to me, no matter how commonplace it had become in my life.

”Life support?”

“Functioning.”

“Databases and communications?”

“Online.”

…Cosmic awe or not, I had today’s agenda in my hand, and daydreaming was better-suited for times where I wasn’t at the controls of a multi-million-dollar spacecraft. “Launch Clearance Code is 4578-D.” “Open hatch 1 for boarding and prepare all systems for immediate departure.” “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dave,” the ship’s loudspeaker blared.

When scientists finally perfected computerized artificial intelligence, they realized that each one they created had a unique personality. In the same way that all humans are different, so were all the AI’s that they created. Now, when Cadets graduate from academy, they choose their ship, and along with it, the embedded nav console’s artificial personality. When I chose my ship based off the personality trait “impressionable” listed on the registry for a new 5A, AEPRIS was there, waiting there for me on (in?) deck. AEPRIS’ full textbook name is “Artificial Evolving Personality, Relations, and Intelligence System” however, unlike others, she preferred to go by “PRI”. If she wasn’t integrated into the dashboard of my ship, you wouldn’t be able to tell that she was a computer. Have you ever watched one of those adventure movies where the protagonist chooses a companion or animal out of many just like it? There’s normally some sappy bonding and cheesy music to accompany it, and it leaves you feeling like your sense of reality was just sugar coated and deep fried by a guy named Roy Disney. That was craft selection day for me, except you replace protagonist with pilot, and companion, bonding, and music with four weeks of teaching a computer how avoid sarcastic retorts in intense situations. The thing about “impressionable” AI’s, though, is that they learn fast. It took no longer than three days of exposure to…me…before PRI was about as bad as I was when it came to inherent sarcasm. You’d think that two innately sassy individuals with an affinity for space would get along just swimmingly, and you’d be right. Regardless, PRI and I had our moments. ----- While PRI’s reference was a good dose of humor for an otherwise dreary morning, I was on a schedule. “We do have a mission today, you know. You can pretend to kill me later, HAL.” I shouted, rapping loudly on the hatch.

Over my coms link I came a reply. “What do you mean pretend?” she chuckled. “I’m just looking out for you, for all we know there could be deadly space out there, and you could die from it.”

“PRI, we’re at war and I still think I’m in greater danger of dying from old age out here if you don’t open the door!” After what sounded like a stifled electronic laugh, the hatch swished downwards, and the interior lights flickered on.

“Welcome back, Captain Killjoy,” she snickered.

“Always a pleasure, Lieutenant Lithium.”

I climbed up and inside. If the outside of my ship looked sleek, the interior made you feel like a true starship captain. Arrays of holographic blue displays and arrays of buttons flickered to life and the HUD on my headset synchronized with the PRI’s onboard computer. The 5A was an Interceptor class Starfighter, meaning it was about the size of a small single-story home, yet weighed over 15,000 tons due to the reinforced hull, shielding, and increased weapon capacity. Regardless (literally) of mass, space didn’t seem to care about weight, so the 5A was still nimble on its feet and absolutely gorgeous throughout. I sank into the command chair and plugged in my data logger.

“Ready PRI?” I inquired to my co-pilot.

“As I’ll ever be, Captain.”

I contacted the orbital platform’s traffic control tower.

“5A Interceptor NVA-7S, registry M. Davidson, cleared for launch tunnel egress. Fly safe, Captain.”

As soon as the massive titanium gate started to lumber sideways, the hangar lights cut out and the artificial gravity shut off. As the air escaped the room, all the sounds of the hangar faded. All I heard was myself, my ship, and the silence of space.

“Vectoring to align with tunnel.”

The 5A nosed up until the glimmer of the stars in space came into view through the cockpit glass and reflected off the mirrored facets of my ship. I unlocked the throttle and the status lights on the displays surrounding me turned green in reply. I looked over the familiarity of my hangar one last time and edged the throttle smoothly forward. The warp bubble formed as the 5A slipped quietly into the darkness towards Saturn.

Chapter 1: Ringleader The flight to Saturn only took about 80 minutes, and that’s going sub-warp at light speed. About 45 minutes into my flight, the radio crackled to life, and I was greeted by today’s impromptu alarm clock.

“DAVIDSON!” roared a vaguely familiar steel-cut voice.

“Yes Sir!” I snapped to attention, even though I was millions of kilometers away and half asleep.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Matt!” the admiral chuckled.

I recognized the voice as Admiral Baker. He was a close friend of my father back when the Antero-Solaris war began. He was the one who introduced me to the Federation’s Tactical Fleet when I was young, before my father shipped off.

“It’s been a while, Admiral.”

“I’ll be dammed, it really has,” he replied, nearly putting emotion into his words. “You finished reading all of your father’s old science journals yet?”

An image flashed through my mind of the six boxes of Popular Science magazines and NASA Tech Briefs (print materials from the 20th and 21st centuries) that got passed down as an heirloom through my family. “Not even close,” I replied, feigning despondence. “So, what brings you onto my screen today? You don’t normally give assignments to the Tac Fleet.”

“I saw you coming out this way and just had to drop in. I even have a special assignment for you.”

“Special assignment?”

“And a good one at that! I saw you were en-route to Neptune via Saturn, and though I’d spice up your day job for once.” The Admiral then held up a portfolio, which materialized into my hands instantaneously. “Our long-range satellites picked up some anomalies in the rings of Saturn, and we can’t rule out the possibility of ACF activity this close to earth, so we need a scouting party to check it out.”

“ACF? In our solar system?” I suddenly felt less amazed about the folio that had just appeared in my lap.

The Andromedan Confederation, or ACF, was the first militarized foreign entity that mankind encountered and had long been the bane of our existence. The Antero-Solaris war stemmed from this first encounter, but never really went anywhere, as the Andromedans had technology that rivaled ours. In the decades since then, the conflict devolved into more of a cold war, with neither side really fighting with the other unless somebody got too close for comfort.

“I know the space commies really aren’t your cup of tea,” he remarked, “but the location takes you through the rings of Saturn, which I know you’ll love. Besides, our analytics team thinks that it’s probably malfunctioning sensor equipment. We just need a physical verification to confirm our guesses.”

He had me there. With the strict scheduling of my flights I never really got to explore places I wanted to go that often. “Sounds quite fascinating,” I answered, trying to hide my enthusiasm. “I’ll take up your offer.”

“Good man!” shouted Baker. “Oh, and before I go, how’s PRI?”

“Oh, the little virus is holding up just fine.”

“VIRUS?!?” boomed a faux-irritated voice from within the ship. Immediately, I lost control of the stick and the fighter started banking erratically, jarring me in my seat.

“I-M-M-M JU-US-US-T KID-D-D-ING!” I tried to sputter out while being tossed about like a bad salad.

PRI’s voice returned to normal almost immediately, and with it so did the ship. “I know!” she said gleefully.

“And what about our dear friend Matt, eh PRI?” Baker inquired.

"My space prisoner is holding up just fine,” chirped PRI.

“Glad to see you two are getting along well,” Baker said, stifling a laugh. “Regardless, duty calls. Dismissed, Captain.”

“That’s Captain Killjoy to you.” PRI interjected, as the comm-link clicked off. ----- Radio silence greeted me for the rest of my flight. Even PRI remained quiet for most of the trip, only speaking up when I asked for status reports.

“What’re our sensors picking up?”

“According to sensors, our biggest enemy in the solar system is currently ice and rocks.”

Ice and rocks. I hoped Saturn was as pretty as it was in the books, because it was still a dreadfully uneventful flight thus far. For the next 10 minutes, I fixated on the pastel orange speck slowly growing bigger in front of me.

“Approaching Saturn. Dropping out of light factor.”

As we decelerated, I banked slowly, wrapping around the planet in a wide loop. The scanner worked below 0.15c, so I completed my orbit and drifted to a halt at the extent of one of Saturn’s dust rings.

“PRI, what do you see?” I asked.

“Ones and Zeroes, mostly,” she teased.

“I mean through the sensor array,” I spoke, trying to conceal the fact that I wanted to laugh.

“The orbital sensor array seems to be working. I’m picking up some dust. Rocks. Moderately bigger rocks. Some ice, maybe? Oh, and there’s also this big planet thing here, if you’re looking for one. Can’t miss it.”

“PRI…”

“There are no signs of malfunctioning technology or intelligent life anywhere nearby. On an unrelated note, here’s the ship self-scan you totally asked for.”

“That scan defines you just as much as it does me, you over-engineered calculator.”

“And where would you be without your calculator?” she taunted playfully.

“Probably mauled to death by all the deadly ice and rocks around us,” I laughed.

PRI’s mic channel opened to respond with a quip, but was suddenly cut short by an incoming emergency hailing frequency request on my screen. I hit accept and a very harried looking Admiral Baker appeared on the console.

“Admiral! You look terrible, what happened to-”

“Davidson!” he interrupted, in an abrupt and alarming tone.

I recognized that tone of voice. In my seven years of training I heard that voice only one other time: When the Andromedans attacked my father’s regiment.

“Sir, what’s wrong?” I replied nervously.

“Matthew, you need to get out of there right away,” he warned. His frequency was weak, and barely audible through the static. “You…kzzzt…planet…bzzzz…array…krzsst…ACF…”

“I’m departing asap, sir. My reactor needs to safely recharge” I replied.

The static cleared for a moment.

“Davidson listen to me, drop the protocol and get the fuck out of there now!”

The admiral opened his mouth to speak again, but the signal was drowned out by an incoming message transmitted across nearly every open frequency. Immediately, alarms rang out from my ship. I clearly recognized the metallic lisp of an ACF translated transmission.

“UNIDENTIFIED SOLARIS CRAFT” the radio hissed. “YOU ARE TRESSPASSING IN THE LOCAL AIRSPACE OF A CONFEDERATION VESSEL. VACATE THE PREMISIS AT ONCE, WE WILL NOT WARN YOU AGAIN.”

A distortion appeared in the middle of the dust ring in front of me, rising higher. Slowly, a Confederation Capital ship materialized out hiding beneath the thick dust, blotting out the distant sun.

“PRI, redirect all power to thrusters and shields, now. Get us out of here.” The Capital ship was over a hundred times my size, and locked on to my Interceptor. I was out of time.

“IDENTIFY YOURSELF OR BE DESTROYED.” blared my headset.

“Sir I can’t hail them; the dust cloud is scrambling the message.”

“Then we’re leaving posthaste. Light Factor, now!”

“Our vectoring ports are clogged with dust, we cannot aim!” PRI shrieked frantically.

“TIYE DLRW UA AWLKWS!” seethed the Andromedans in their native tongue.

I felt the distortion created by their gravity well cannons charging up. I had a matter of seconds before I became a permanent part of history. I was out of options.

In every cockpit, in every ship, regardless of size, there exists an orange button that no pilot ever hopes he has to press: Manual Warp Override. In a frantic dash I spun around and hit the button. The glowing switch clicked down and locked.

“OVERRIDE PROTOCOL ACTIVATED” repeated PRI, robotically.

5A lurched forward as the first gravitational round exploded behind me. As the interceptor accelerated to warp 10 in a fraction of a second, I was stretched between the expanding gravity well behind me and the compression of space-time before me. The sudden change in G forces slammed me into the back of the cabin. As the stars bent backwards around 5A, the warp bubble formed, and I blacked out. The gentle hum of the Cortex Reactor was the last thing I heard as darkness enveloped me.

Chapter 2: A Rude Awakening I awoke to the sound of nothingness, floating in a black void. My ship, PRI, and all of space was nowhere to be found. “Hello?!” I shouted frantically, but nothing came out. The deafening silence was as black as the void that surrounded me. As I contemplated the meaning of death, a light appeared before me, and grew brighter. As white light blinded my vision I came to my senses, and could hear again.

“Be safe, dear,” a solemn yet familiar voice cooed.

As my eyes adjusted, I recognized the blurry outlines my mother and father, standing at the threshold of our front door at the base on Mars. My father was accompanied by two men in uniform, holding papers. It had been ages since I saw my father’s face, and I tried to call out to him.

“Dad will be back soon, Matthew, don’t worry,” my mother assured me, still choked up.

I tried to scream, but all I could do was cry. I was not in control here. My actions were on autopilot and I watched onwards like I was living through a replay of the past. Suddenly it hit me. The papers, the teary goodbyes –this was the day he shipped out to fight the ACF, and the last time I saw his face. The cruelty of the situation tore at me and I wanted to break out and run to him. Younger me had feelings to deal with too, and instead ran to the couch, crying and burying us both in it. As I felt the emotional dam crack within me, I felt the reassuring hand of my mother hugging me as the world faded to black again.

-----

I slowly awoke, and knew this time I was alive, as everything started hurting immediately. As I slowly got up, PRI, who was silent up until now, must’ve noticed my movement and shouted to me.

“Matt! Oh, thank god you’re alive!” she exclaimed, as if I just rose from the dead.

Something was oddly comforting about the sincerity coming from my electronic partner, but that warm feeling didn’t last for long.

“We can share details in a minute, disable the override, we’re still at warp!”

I immediately looked out the window and realized that my ship was still at warp 10, as space distorted around the cockpit glass. The hum of the reactor was no longer quiet, and was now an alarming roar that shook the back of the cabin. I crawled to the orange button and twisted to unlock it. Instantaneously, the ship slowed to a halt as the stars stretched back into shape. As I caught my breath, PRI spoke again.

“2 days.”

“…What did you say?”

“2 days. You were out for two days,” she explained, somberly.

As the reality of what those two days meant sunk in, my heart dropped. At light speed, I would only be 48 light-hours away from earth. At warp 10, which was about 1.6 billion times that, I could be lightyears away from the edge of our solar system. I needed more information.

“What did you do after I blacked out?” I asked, perplexed. I decided against sharing my story from my vision with PRI, she had enough to process without my compromised emotional state messing with things.

“After you collapsed, I sat and waited. That button is a manual override, meaning I was powerless to do anything to stop it. I just sat there and waited, recording data the whole time.”

I felt a twinge of guilt, realizing that I left my co-pilot stranded helpless for such a long time.

“At least I’m alive now, right?” I half-joked, trying to lighten the grim atmosphere.

“Just don’t die again, okay?” she said, worriedly. “Please, Matt. I don’t want to be stranded out here alone.”

“I promise I won’t,” I assured her.

…It took me a second to process the emotions coming from PRI. Engineers really nailed the self-aware aspect of AEPRIS, and it showed. It used to be cliché, for someone to grow attached to a machine, but among pilots it was a real thing. You spent more time with your AI then you did with your own family, so sentiment was something we all dealt with, so the sudden grimness that came over me shook me so.

“What data were you able to record?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation positively.

“It took about 8 hours at warp 10 to leave the range of the fleet’s beacons, so I have our exit vector from the local cluster. Past that, I only know the time frame that we were at warp for, which was 53 hours, 27 minutes, and 32 seconds. That’s onboard computer time, not observational time.”

It took me a minute to do the displacement calculation, but PRI beat me to it.

“It’s roughly 567 Trillion kilometers from Earth. Or about 5 light years,” she tabulated.

Normally 5 light years is cosmic pocket change in terms of faster-than-light travel, but I gulped at the thought of what running the core for 48 hours did to the ship. Prolonged usage of the Cortex Reactor can shatter the crystalline structure of the power cores, and two days is way over the operational limit.

“How does our core look?” I wondered.

“Output is severely limited. When we pulled out of warp, the immediate cooling stress fractured it. Warp functionality is offline, and we’re limited to impulse and emergency power.”

“Shit,” I thought. Either we had to find a replacement crystal, or I’d die of starvation long before then.

“Okay PRI, can we still do a scan of the surrounding area?”

“Our relay dish is still working, I can try.”

As PRI ticked away I tried to do an inventory of what we had left in terms of supplies. I had the Federation standard issue survival pack, and water. At least I wouldn’t die thirsty. The cockpit toolbox contained a set of basic implements: a hammer, adjustable wrench, and fusion welder; nothing of special interest.

As I finished my inventory, a critical alarm lit the ship’s interior.

��“Oxygen Levels Critical,” reported PRI.

“…Oxygen. I need that,” I bitterly thought. “Where’s the leak, PRI?”

”I can’t find it. You’ll be dropping below critical O2 percentage in 30 seconds.”

Federation code always ensures that there’s an emergency respirator on the bridge of every ship in the fleet. Mine was in an emergency cabinet underneath the console. I reached for it, only to be met with resistance from the door.

“PRI, the cabinet’s locked.”

“The manual says to ‘Break Glass to Open’ so I’d do that if I were you.”

“PRI the door is made of metal.”

“No, I think you literally have to say ’Break Glass’ to open it.”

“Wait, what?” I stammered.

“Just say it before you suffocate!”

“Break Glass!” I commanded the ship. Instantaneously, the metal cover of the panel disintegrated off the door and fell into a pile of fine dust on the floor. I knew that Command was trying to automate everything, but this was a bit of a stretch, even by my standards. I could picture the Aerospace Engineer who designed the door out there laughing his ass off at his own handiwork. I hastily affixed the respirator to the front of my helmet. Even with that, I had about 30 minutes of emergency oxygen to work with, and that was a generous estimation considering my current heartrate. “What’s our course of action? Did your scan find anything?” I asked.

PRI struck me with an unusually worried response. “There’s a registered Class M planet with enough oxygen content for your respirator to sort it out. However, it’s about a million kilometers from here.”

That was good enough for me. However, the distance meant that I had to jump to at least a fraction of light to arrive before I ran out of oxygen. It wasn’t optimal, but I was running out of lucky breaks to use.

“Set a course for it, speed factor 0.20c.”

“I hope we hold up, Matt,” PRI wavered as she inched the throttle forward.

The ship lurched into motion again, and accelerated to speed in an instant.

Seconds later, I arrived at the outer cusp of the atmosphere.

“Okay, full stop.”

Before I had a second to evaluate the situation, a crack appeared and ran across the length of the cockpit glass. My emergency supply of lucky breaks apparently just ran out.

“Hold on to something, now!” PRI shouted.

I clamped down on the chair right as the windscreen shattered, sucking shards of glass out of the cockpit – along with all my oxygen. The bag of emergency tools whizzed by me and I caught it by the strap before it was swallowed by the void of space.

“Impulse engines failing! System reserve power depleted! Core offline!” The ship started to fall, and I felt the “space elevator dropping” feeling in my gut.

“We’re getting trapped by the planet’s gravity, and we’re falling without impulse,” PRI emphasized.

The 5A was by no means an atmospheric vehicle. Reentry wasn’t something pilots normally had to do, and I was unsure if the ship would stay together. Without a windshield, I wouldn’t be able to monitor my own progress downward and the cockpit would be exposed to the effects of reentry.

“Trajectory unstable. We’re entering the upper atmosphere.”

The tip of the ship began to heat up, and I felt the air begin to push on my suit. I pulled up, aligned the belly of the craft perpendicular to the direction of travel, and dove into the back of the cabin, shutting the door. Hopefully PRI would be able to take us down gently. I could begin to hear sounds of the atmosphere interacting with my ship as we rocketed through the lower layers of the sky.

#personalspacestory #classhatcompositions #I had so much fun writing this #I hope y'all like it #there will be more to come #long post #writing post #space stuff

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jungparenteau-blog · 7 years

Text

Spanish Affection Expressions

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