#if you notice the mystery skulls references we should be friends

[laughingsapphic-creates]

God I don't think I've posted art online since I was active on deviantart

I wanna draw some dpxdc comics so I wanted to get used to drawing my boy

[m-y-fandoms]

Kokichi x reader - patching him up after he falls through the floorboard

Request: I felt bad for a Kokichi when no one bothered to check up on him when he fell through the floor so how about a scenario where someone catches up to him after the trial and bullies him into letting them bandage him up. This small act of kindness causes him to fall for them.

Hey! I love this idea, but when he showed up at the trial, all the blood that was on his head and face was cleaned up, and he wasn’t light-headed or anything during the trial, some I’m gonna change up the request a bit to have the reader find him directly after he falls through the floorboard. Also, thanks for suggesting best boy, I will always have time to write for him - Mod Kokichi

SPOILERS FOR EVERYTHING UP TO CHAPTER 3 ENDING. Gender of reader never specified.

NOTE: MONOKUMA WAS OUT OF COMMISSION FOR THIS INVESTIGATION, BUT IM TAKING CREATIVE LICENSE TO ADD HIM BACK IN. WORK WITH ME LMAO.

     “Hmmm, I see. Thanks, Kiyo!” You finished up your light but lengthy interrogation of the anthropologist, who elegantly bowed his head and disappeared into his lab. You exited, rounding the corner to investigate further. You headed toward the three empty rooms, wanting to re-examine Tenko’s body after Korekiyo’s statements, even if the thought of your friend’s corpse made you uneasy. It had to be done.

     You rounded the corner, a sharp yelp releasing from your throat.

     Shuichi, Maki and Kokichi turned to face you, startled by your sudden scream. Kokichi’s forehead was soaked, dripping pink rivulets of blood, and he was leaning on the wall for support.

     “What’s going on?! What happened?! D-did someone attack you, Kokichi?” You ran over, joining the group and looking to Shuichi for answers.

     “He’s fine.” Maki stated flatly.

     “Obviously not, his head is gushing!” You were a bit irritated with Maki’s indifference, but a bit biased with your opinion on Kokichi. You knew many people disliked him, Maki least of all, but you didn’t see a reason to hate him. In fact…you’d been nursing quite the little crush on him. You found him witty, cute, intelligent.

     “Yeah, he felt well enough to pull a childish prank on us, so I’d say he’s fine as well,” Shuichi’s eyes narrowed as he spoke, arms crossing as he looked at Kokichi with contempt. Kokichi simply grinned back.

     “What prank?” You inquired.

     “He pretended he was dead, lying there face-down and bloody only to pop up when we got worried!” Shuichi scoffed, his nasally, nerdy voice getting rather worked up.

     “Kokichi…” you warned, seeing Shuichi’s point now. Kokichi merely smirked back at you as well.

     “Anyway, we gotta go finish up this investigation before Monokuma cuts us off, so if you’ll excuse me, y/n.” Shuichi nodded, leaving with Maki to investigate Angie’s research lab. That left Kokichi and you in the hallway alone, his eyes drooping now that Shuichi was out of sight. A moment of weakness.

     “Kokichi, are you alright? That’s a lot of blood. And you hit your head, yes? What if you have a concussion or something?”

     “Why are you standing around? I haven’t seen you investigating at all, you lazy, lazy scoundrel,” he changed the subject. “Gonna leave all the work to everyone else?” He forced a venomous grin that quickly turned into a clenched-teeth grimace, his head pounding. It didn’t escape your notice.

     “For your information, Ouma, I have been investigating, it’s just obvious to me who the guilty party is, so I’ve been slowing down. I’m ready for the trial.”

     “Hmm so you’re useless and cocky? Great, just what we needed for this case!” He started walking off toward the stairs, still heavily depending on the wall. His words were harsh, but as usual, held an untruth within them. He knew you were smart, and that you probably had figured it out, but he wasn’t going to admit that to you, of course.

     “K-Kokichi! Let me help you!” You grabbed his arm before he could stumble down the stairs. He looked to you incredulously, but didn’t pull away, looking at the little drops of pink that stained his white jacket sleeve.

     “I don’t need your help, stupid-head! What, you’re the Ultimate Nurse or something? Ultimate babysitter? Go bother someone else!” He was trying your patience now, but you weren’t going to turn your back on someone obviously in pain. You saw pain in his eyes, both from his mysterious past and the current injury. Kokichi was more than meets the eye, and you could easily perceive that. It didn’t hurt that he was attractive.

     “No, the Ultimate Psychologist, remember?” You stopped him when he tried to pull away and continue down the stairs alone.

     “Ohhhh, pfft! Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “I had forgotten since you never actually do anything during trials.”

     “Monokuma!!!” You yelled out, ignoring his insult. Kokichi jumped at your sudden volume, and the monochrome bear appeared seemingly out of thin air.

     “What do you twerps want?” He smiled, hands on his hips.

     “How much time do we have left in the current investigation?”

     “And why should I tell you...? I think that seems a bit unfair! Then I’d have to tell eeeeeveryone!” He leaned forward at your threateningly. You gestured toward Kokichi.

     “Kokichi is obviously in no shape for a trial. He needs to get cleaned up and assessed, at least. I’m asking you to allow me the time to do so, no more, no less?” You challenged him.

     “No way! You’re cra-“

     “Kokichi is easily the smartest one here, and he keeps the trial fun and interesting, wouldn’t you agree?” You hated using the word fun to describe the killing game. You thought it was horrific and morbid, but a little lie to help a friend in the end wasn’t against your morals. “If he’s down for the count or out of it during the trial, it’s going to be painfully boring, right? No one to harass Miu, and everyone else gets along pretty well. It’s going to be a hand-holding ceremony of cooperation. Do you want that?” You glared at the small robot, Kokichi’s mouth a bit agape behind you. Not only were you defending him, which no one here did, but you were standing up to Monokuma.

     “Hmmm...well, I suppose, if it will improve the trial...I must reluctantly agree!” Monokuma’s paw rose to his chin pensively. “You’ve got an hour! Not a minute over, got it?!”

     “Deal. Can I have a first aid kit?”

     “No!”

     “RISE AND SHINE URSINE!” The three remaining Monokubs appeared in front of you, with Monodam holding a large white case in his metal paws.

     “HERE. I. WILL. ALWAYS, CONTRIBUTE. TO. THE. CAUSE. OF. GETTING. ALONG,” Monodam spoke in his staccato mechanical voice, handing the plastic container’s handle to you.

     “You’re lucky my wittle cubs are so cute and helpful and wesponsible!” He swooned at the smaller bears. “Now get outta here, times ticking!”

     “SO LONG, BEAR WELL!”

     You turned to Kokichi with a smile, and to your surprise, he smiled back.

~

     You sat in your room in the dorms, with Kokichi leaning his head back gently onto the side of the tub in your small, personal bathroom. You sat on the edge, massaging the dry blood out of his hair as he pouted, arms crossed against his chest and thin legs splayed out in front of him.

     “OW!” You touched a sensitive spot, the opening of his wound a little too roughly, and he shook his feet up and down, stomping on the ground like a little kid. “It’s clear you’re trained to take care of people’s minds, not their bodies, you asshole!” He yelled up at you. You chuckled lightly, easing up on his skull and rubbing out a particularly crunchy bit of coagulated blood.

     “What ever do you mean by that, my dear Ouma?” You teased, and he stiffened up, before quickly realizing his emotions were plain on his face, and pouting again.

     “I mean, it’s clear you know how to unravel someone psychologically and trick them, like how you ‘know the culprit already’and persuaded Monokuma, but you really have no talent for physical care, huh?” You assumed he was referring to your rather rough treatment of his body...well, what he determined as rough.

     “I think you’re being a little unfair, Kokichi. I think I’m doing a pretty great job. Do you feel any better after the water?” You’d made him down a few water bottles upon entering your room and examined the wound before rinsing his dark locks out.

     “Hmpf! Whatever. I guess I am grateful to you,” he sighed, “but my appreciation will only continue if you prove you’re truly not as dumb as I once thought!” He looked off dreamily.

     “And how do I do that?” You wrung out the longer pieces of his hair, playing along.

     “Who is the culprit then...if you’re so smar-?” You wrapped his head in a towel and it covered his face and mouth, muffling his words, “HEY!” You giggled and quickly rustled the towel around gently, careful to avoid directly scraping his wound. When you were done you lifted the towel, peeking under to look at his face. He scowled at you, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

     “Aww, don’t look so angry. It only makes you cuter!” He turned away from you abruptly, embarrassed, then stood until he was hovering over your seated position, playing it off.

     “Whatever! I’m outta here. Some of us actually want to live through this trial.” You grabbed his hand as he began to exit your bathroom.

     “It’s Korekiyo. It’s obvious, to me at least…he killed them both.” His eyes widened. How did you…? Of course, he had already come to this conclusion. Seeing something like confusion in his eyes, you continued. “It became apparent as I analyzed him. I talked to him for quite a while.”

     “Did you... shrink him?” He scoffed, a bit impressed.

     “I’m afraid so,” you wore a crooked grin, standing to meet him.

     “Aww, poor guy. And he didn’t even make an appointment!!! Though, I guess it’s really your loss after all. You shrinks are expensive! I hope he has insurance!” He laughed loudly, pitying the graceful anthropologist who would shortly meet his doom.

     “You knew already, then?” You inquired.

      “Of course!! Evil recognizes evil after all, and he is evil.” He waltzed toward your bedroom door, not a hint of a thank-you or appreciative word coming from his lips. You didn’t stop him, knowing the trial would soon commence anyway. But then, your thoughts prodded at you, and your lips opened.

     “K-Kokichi?” He paused, hands on his hips as he turned to face you.

     “Whaaaat? We haven’t got all day!”

     “I need to place a bandage and some antibiotic over your wound...it’s pretty deep.” Why were you so worried about him, he wondered. “A-and...I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you…” your cheeks felt hot and you looked toward the ground. He rolled his eyes, walking over and plopping down, criss-cross-applesauce in front of you. “Kokichi?”

     “I can’t blame you for wanting my attention,” he spoke lazily, “I am the most entertaining person in this dump!” 

     “You really are charming, you know?” You spat sarcastically.

     “Well???? Get to it!” He handed you the first aid kit beside your bed, and you accepted it with a relieved, gentle smile. You began to part his hair, looking for the wound, and he was grateful that you couldn’t see the expression on his face from that angle.

[thewatsonbeekeepers]

Chapter 6 – So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish [TST 1/2]

The chapter title comes from the wonderful Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy book series – drop this meta and read them immediately.

No, no he [Moriarty] would never be that disappointing. He’s planned something, something long-term. Something that would take effect if he never made it off that rooftop alive. Posthumous revenge – no, better than that. Posthumous game.

This is what Sherlock says about Moriarty in the very first scene of TST, and on rewatch the application to Mofftiss is startling. Trust the writers – a short-term disappointment for a long-term excitement, if you will. The reference to the rooftop is a way of pointing out just how far back this has been planned – in other words, the seeming randomness of the series is not in fact random. But let’s see how that plays out in TST.

This episode opens, as so many have pointed out, with doctored footage, as though deliberately showing us how stories can be rewritten. However, we only get glimpses of the footage at the start of the episode – the extensive old footage is not security camera footage, but recap footage from s3, and specifically the end of HLV. The idea that there is something classified, hidden, that we don’t have the full story, is meant to be associated with the actual show Sherlock, not just the camera footage – it would have been very easy to give us most of the same footage in security camera style, but they deliberately reused shots from the show to make us doubt their own authenticity. So far, so good.

The first thing that I (and most of my friends) noticed about this scene, however, is that it’s not good. The writing is questionable, to say the least. The serious resolution to the problem of Magnussen’s murder is interrupted by Sherlock tweeting, brotherly bickering, hyperactive and possibly high Sherlock being played for comedy (complete with mock opera). And then, perhaps the worst lines of the show so far:

SHERLOCK: I always know when the game is on. Do you know why?

SMALLWOOD: Why?

SHERLOCK: Because I love it.

Like a lot of this show, think about those lines for more than a nanosecond and they really don’t make sense. You’ve got to think about them for a lot longer before they start to again. This, I think, is where BBC Sherlock’s self-parody really starts. TAB focuses on parodying, critiquing and rewriting historical adaptations, but it’s easy to see the merging of all of the undeniably Sherlock elements into one parodically awful scene. The quick quips that are supposed to be clever and that are so common in Moffat’s dialogue are seen in that moment of dialogue – but the quip isn’t clever anymore, it’s empty. The same catchphrase of ‘the game is on’ comes back, and the quintessential use of technology is referenced in Sherlock’s Twitter account, where again his #OhWhatABeautifulMorning is unfathomably glib. Our Sherlock is also better known than previous adaptations for his drug abuse, and this also gets referenced, but here it gets played for comedy, which is incongruous with the rest of the show – in fact, THoB, HLV and TAB all take it pretty seriously, so to see it played off as a joke is tonally questionable. In other words, here we have Sherlock caricatured as a programme, in one scene – and it’s horrible.

(We should also notice that the use of Twitter is important – it underlies a lot of the glib comedy in this episode, with Sherlock later Tweeting #221BringIt (which is so unbelievably queer?). In Sherlock, Moffat use Twitter rather than Tumblr to comment on fan reaction to Sherlock, probably because their older audience will have no idea what Tumblr is, but also because Twitter is much more mainstream in its appreciation. Twitter takes centre stage in TEH, with #SherlockLives and the scene with the support group. The joke there is about the sheer level of how-did-he-do-it mania that gripped the public – so when we see Twitter again, we should be thinking about an extratextual as well as a textual response to Sherlock, and how Sherlock’s behaviour on Twitter in this episode might caricature the way that he is seen from the outside.)

I don’t truly buy that (in this scene, at least) Mofftiss are critiquing their own show in a straightforward sense, because they have dealt with technology better than this (words on screen, technology as useful within mysteries), drugs better than this (John’s, Mycroft’s and Molly’s reactions to Sherlock’s behaviour as well as Sherlock’s own difficulties) and clever quips far better (pick any episode). But in deconstructing this show to its instantly recognisable elements, and making them worse to hyperbolise the point, that scene strips the show of its heart. Interestingly, it’s also stripped of John, who will be the metaphorical heart of Sherlock through the EMP, but is also the part of the show that is missing when it is caricatured as the Benedict-Cumberbatch-being-clever show. This is also a critique of most people’s perception of Sherlock Holmes as a character through history in the sense of the reductive cleverness – Mofftiss are showing us that this is completely empty.

What does this mean for Sherlock himself, bearing in mind that this is taking place in his Mind Palace? The answer is pretty grim – remember that Sherlock is metatextually grappling with his own identity at this point; he needs to discover the man he is, rather than is portrayed as, in order to get out of this alive. In a psychological sense, then, the opening of TST sees Sherlock deconstruct himself as seen from the outside, and as his psyche has traditionally perceived himself, and realise that that version of himself is hollow. This scene, then, is a rejection of the Sherlock of the public eye, as well as Sherlock’s own eyes.

There is a non-explanation for how the Secret Service doctored the footage of Sherlock shooting Magnussen, the response simply being that they have the tech. If the answer is going to be that vague, there is little reason to bring up the question – except to raise it in the viewers’ minds. Making the audience question their belief in the s4 universe is something that happens very frequently, and this is the start of it. A later chapter goes into the parallels that Sherlock and Doctor Who have, but there’s an important bit from Last Christmas (DW Christmas Special 2014) that is relevant here – the main characters, all dreaming, whenever they are asked any questions that can’t be explained in the dream universe, simply reply ‘it’s a long story’. This is a ‘long story’ moment – where no explanation is given, so questions about reality are raised and unanswered.

Another similar moment comes when Sherlock says he knows exactly what Moriarty is going to do next – how? And, more to the point, it becomes hugely obvious that he doesn’t. Yet, for the first time in history, he feels happy to sit back and wait on Moriarty, because he knows that what will come will come. This insistence that the future will take its course as it needs to might draw our minds ahead to the frankly ridiculous reliance on predictions that we see in TLD – however, it should also draw our minds across to Doctor Who, and to Amy’s Choice, a series five episode I’m going to delve deeper into later, but where because it’s a dream, the Doctor is able to predict every word the monsters say.

Notice that ‘glad to be alive’ is followed by Vivian saying her name – we’ll come back to this later.

Cue opening credits!

Before going anywhere else with TST, required reading is this meta by LSiT (X). I can’t make these points better than she has, nor can I take credit for them. I’m particularly invested in her description of the aquarium and the Samarra story, as well as the client cases that appear and aren’t updated on John’s blog. Our reading will diverge later on – I think this series is a lot more metaphorical than it is hypothesis-testing, although the latter is a notable feature of ACD canon (see the original THotB) that definitely does happen here as well. I’m going to leave the Samarra story, the aquarium and the cases for LSiT to explain, however, and move on.

When we move into 221B, the fuckiness is instantly apparent from the mirror. You can go here (X) to navigate the whole inside of 221B, and I suggest you do; it’s a fantastic resource. The mirror showing the green wall is simply wrong – the angle that this is shot from suggests that we should see the black and white wallpaper, complete with skull etc. Instead, we see the green wall – and the door. We can tell this is wrong because in the ‘wrong thumb’ case about thirty seconds later, the right wallpaper is reflected in the mirror. Another note of fuckiness that we should spot is that Sherlock seems to be taking his cases from letters, in the mail he has knifed into the mantelpiece – this show has been really keen on emphasising that he uses email for the last three series, so the implication that people are sending him letters is even odder than it would be in a modern show anyway.

(Everybody in the world has commented on the ‘it’s never twins’ line – but to reiterate its importance. Firstly, it’s almost identical to the line in TAB, just with ‘it’s’ instead of ‘it is’. TAB repeats lots of things though, because it’s a dream – well yes, but dreams can’t tell the future. So material from TAB being recycled doesn’t point to TAB being a dream, it points to TST being a continuation of the dream in TAB. The fact that they saw fit to reiterate this line in a series about secret siblings also puts paid to the theory that s4 was plotted in a rush and not in line with previous series – there is a theme here, and they’re pushing it.)

And so we move to Sherlock relentlessly texting through the birth, through the christening – horrible, ooc behaviour for him if we think back to how emotional he was at the wedding. Importantly, this behaviour is all tied up with his obsessive Tweeting, which in turn links in to how the outside world (i.e. us) perceive Sherlock – is this the Sherlock that people want to see on screen? Doesn’t he feel wrong? Sure, there’s an element of self-critique in there from Mofftiss, but the incorporation of the phone obsession leaves the blame squarely with the audience. In case we couldn’t already feel that Sherlock’s character is way off, we have his Siri loudly say that she can’t understand him.

We remember from TAB that Sherlock sees himself as cleverer through John’s eyes, and the reasonably sympathetic portrayal we get in TAB we can probably put down to this attempt at understanding himself from the outside. The water in TST is showing us that we’re going in, and the sad thing is that this is almost definitely how Sherlock has come to perceive himself, but just like Siri he doesn’t truly recognise it. It’s also worth noting here the emphasis placed on God in godfather and later the deliberate mentions of Christianity at the Christening – there is also a tuning out of a culture he can’t really align himself with here, which is more important when we think about the fact that this character has been around since the 19th century.

Water tells us we’re sinking deep into Sherlock’s mind, as discussed in a previous chapter. Water imagery is going to be hugely prevalent in TST, but I want to talk quickly about the subtle hints at water even when we’re not in a giant fuck-off aquarium. Take a look at the rattle scene (which always sparks joy). When we get a side angle that shows both Sherlock and Rosie, there’s a black chest of some description behind Rosie – the top is glowing slightly blue, for reasons I can’t fathom. Then we’re going to cut to a shot of Rosie – despite seeing only a second before that there is nothing on her head, there is a glow of blue on it that looks almost like a skullcap. Cut back to Sherlock getting a rattle in the face, and the mirror is glowing the same blue colour behind him. This is all fucky, and it’s a fuckiness which is aesthetically tied to the waters of Sherlock’s mind perfectly. It suggests that Rosie isn’t real, but more important is the mirror. Earlier on I pointed out how the mirror was showing the wrong reflection; here, the mirror is glowing blue, linking it thematically to Sherlock’s subconsciousness. Visually, we’re being hinted at the process of self-reflection that’s going on in Sherlock’s brain – and the opening of TST is showing him getting it terribly wrong. Note that when the mirror jolted right earlier, Sherlock was proclaiming that it had been the wrong thumb – god knows what thumbs have to do with this, but there’s a question of shifting perception on his person, like he’s trying to locate himself.

The glowing blue light sticks around, and seems particularly associated with Rosie, like she’s the focus of much of Sherlock’s thought at the moment. LSiT’s meta linked above has already picked up on the many dangers in Rosie’s cradle decoration, from the Moriarty linked images to the killer whale mobile. Due purely to a lucky pause, I caught the killer whale’s eyes glowing blue, just like the blue from the rattle scene. He’s thinking about her in terms of the key villains of the show as well as the villains in his mind.

I’m not going to comment on the bus scene because I have a chapter dedicated to Eurus moments before TFP – jumping straight ahead.

We then find our first Thatcher case – others have been pretty quick to point out the significance of the blue power ranger in gay tv history (X), and infer that Charlie is queer coded – much like David Yost, who played the blue power ranger, he is not able to come out without being treated badly. This is undoubtedly important, as is the fact that this is the second time in 12 minutes of this show that they’ve shown us how easily film footage can be faked, and someone can be lied to – you don’t need to have Mycroft Holmes levels of clearance, just a Zoom background. This is important too. But the other thing I want to focus on is that he says he’s in Tibet.

Sherlock comes pretty high on my list of top TV shows, but currently Twin Peaks holds the top spot – it’s an unashamedly cryptic show all about solving mysteries through dreams, so no wonder I like it. It’s made by David Lynch, and in the TAB chapter I talk about how TAB takes a lot of structural inspiration from his most famous film, Mulholland Drive, which has similar themes. I don’t think this is anything particularly interesting beyond an attempt to reference the defining work in the field of it-was-all-a-dream film and tv – David Lynch and Mofftiss and Victor Fleming are the only people I can think of who can actually make that plot look good. But this Tibet moment, particularly as we’re going to be hit by another reference to Tibet later, underlining its importance, I think is a reference to this scene (X) where the protagonist, Cooper, outlines a dream in which the Dalai Lama spoke to him and gave him the power to use magic to solve mysteries. Fans of Twin Peaks will know that the magic doesn’t last long – it’s pretty much an introductory way in, and most of the rest of his important deductions will all be made in dreams. This is one of the most famous scenes in the whole programme, because it introduced the world to the weirdness of what had been set up as a straightforward cop show, and despite Cooper rarely (possibly never?) mentioning Tibet again, it’s still highly quoted and recognisable. As a watershed moment in bringing dream worlds into normal detective dramas (something highly frowned upon according to any theory of storytelling!) this is a gamechanging moment, and I don’t think it’s a stretch to point to Sherlock’s several references to Tibet as a link back to this moment.

We then cut back to Sherlock thinking whilst Lestrade tells him more about the case – what is bizarre here, is that John and Lestrade are clearly visible through what can only be described as a rearview mirror attached to the side of Sherlock’s head. If anyone can tell me what that is, I would love to know. I’m going to assume it’s a fucky mirror, because it’s in keeping with the other fucky mirrors so far. The visibility of John and Lestrade in the mirror is even more odd because it doesn’t match the colour palette of 221B at all. Sherlock is lit largely in warm, brown colours, as is Charlie’s father in the previous scene we’re transitioning from – Lestrade and John are lit in dark blue, to the point where they’re barely visible. This looks like a rearview mirror, but not like the one on the power ranger car – it’s a much older car, out of a different time, like so much in this dream world. The only colour palette they seem to match is the one from the s4 promotion photos – you know, when Baker Street is completely underwater.

Drowning in the Mind Palace. Here we are, back where we started. Sherlock might be thinking about the case of Charlie, but he’s actually reflecting on that world we saw in the promo photos, where he’s struggling to stay alive in his brain. Notice that this isn’t just a split shot, it’s specifically a mirror, so we’re meant to focus on this episode as an act of reflection. There are great parallels between Sherlock and the Charlie case which you can find here (X) – essentially, Charlie and Carl Powers from TGG are mirrors for one another both in their names and in the manner they die (a fit in a tight place, basically). Carl Powers is already a mirror for Sherlock – obsessively targeted by Jim for being the best at what he does. Charlie mirrors Sherlock through their shared trip to Tibet (dreamscape alert) and, we think, through the metatextual link of the blue power ranger. In case you hadn’t spotted it, Powers links back to that too – probably coincidence, but a nice one nevertheless. Carl Powers’s death is by drowning, which we shouldn’t ignore in an episode as loaded with ideas about drowning in the mind palace. The fact that the mirror reflects drowning Baker Street aesthetics should make us think that Charlie is asking us to reflect on Carl Powers’s death, but also on Sherlock’s own – already fatally injured (by a fit or by Mary), he is going to die smothered, unable to cry for help (in a swimming pool/carseat costume (?!)/mind palace). The idea that none of these people could cry for help is particularly poignant because so much of series 4 is about Sherlock being unable to voice his own identity, and as we’ll see once he’s able to do that, that may give him the impetus to escape his death. Think of ‘John Watson is definitely in danger’ back in HLV.

Now. Why is Sherlock so keen for Lestrade to take the credit? It’s another reason to bring up the fact that John’s blog is constantly updating – it’s dropped in a lot in this series as opposed to others – and to make us think about why nothing is happening in real life. But, given that this episode is about Sherlock trying to find who he is, is it a rejection of the persona that goes along with being Sherlock Holmes? Possibly, but he’s going to have to go to a lot more effort than that. John’s blog is the real problem here, making not just Sherlock but Lestrade out to be like they’re not. John’s blog is a stand in for the original stories, which were supposed to be written by John Watson, but TAB has already (drawing on TPLoSH) laid the groundwork for the idea that John’s blog/those stories really do not tell the whole story. So this is coming back with a vengeance here, even though for the first time Sherlock is properly moving against the persona in there, not just bitching about John’s writing style, which is a theme more common to Sherlock Holmes across the ages. John then says that it’s obvious, and when pressed just laughs and says that it’s normally what Sherlock says at this point – so again, when Sherlock stops filling the intense caricature of arrogance and bravado, John the storyteller steps in to put him back in line, even though that means pulling him back to being a much more unpleasant character.

A note here: most of the time in EMP theory, I think John represents Sherlock’s heart, and I try to refer to John as heart!John as much as possible when that’s the case. There are a few cases which are different, but most notable are when the blog comes up – then John becomes John the blogger, and our symbolism shifts over to the repressive features of the original stories and how that’s playing out in the modern world. Although a pain to analyse sometimes, I find it incredibly neat that the two of them are bound up in John as source of both love and pain, which fits our story beautifully.

John as blogger continues in the baby joke that he and Lestrade have going down the stairs – they continue with their caricature of Sherlock, but he doesn’t recognise himself in it. Or rather, there’s a moment when he seems to, but he can’t quite grasp onto it. This is typical of the way he recognises himself in the programme. It’s also worth noting that the image of John as a father is particularly tied into ACD, as the creator of Sherlock Holmes, so tying together blogger and father in this scene cements our theme.

Going into the Welsborough house, we get a slip of the tongue from Sherlock which is fantastic. He tells them that he is really sorry about their daughter, which at an earlier point in the show might just be a classic Sherlock slip-up. But mixing up genders is actually something which happens quite a lot in this show, and it’s something drawn attention to as significant in TAB.

Sherlock asks John “How did he survive?” of Emelia Ricoletti, when of course he’s thinking about Moriarty, and John corrects him quickly, much like here. A coincidental callback? Maybe not. What’s the first mistake that Sherlock ever makes? Thinking that Harry Watson is a man. What’s the big trick they pull at the end of S4? Sherlock has a secret sister – and Eurus points out that her gender is the surprise at the end of TLD. Eurus is also an opposite-sex mirror for John and for Sherlock at various points and this allows Sherlock to approach their relations from a heterosexual standpoint and thus interrogate them – more on that later. So gender-swapping is a theme that runs through the show a lot. But the similarity to TAB in particular is important here, because in TAB that was our first obvious declaration that this wasn’t just a mirror to be analysed by the tumblr crowd, this was a mirror on the superficial level that had to be broken through. This callback to TAB is a callback to the mirrored dreamscape. Don’t believe me? Look at what happens next. The second Sherlock sees Thatcher the whole room not only goes underwater, but actually starts to shake – another throwback to recognising that Emelia was Moriarty, when the whole room shakes and the elephant in the room smashes. So, again, we’re being told that this isn’t about this case – it’s about something else, and that something is the elephant in the room. Just like the shaking smashes the elephant in the room, the shaking is what tells us about the smashed bust of Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher, whose laws on “promoting homosexuality” were infamous. Smashing the elephant in the room and Thatcher simultaneously between 2015, the 1980s and 1895 is hitting the history of British homophobia for the last hundred years summed up as quickly as possible, and tearing it down through Sherlock’s self-exploration. This is a good fucking show.

You’ll also notice that Sherlock is alone in the room, just for a second, when he has his Thatcher revelation – everybody else vanishes. Again, we’re seeing that the rest of the case is an illusion, providing just enough storytime to keep the audience believing in the dream, and possibly Sherlock too.

[There’s a fantastic framing of Sherlock here between two portraits, a man and a woman, seemingly ancestral – I would love to know more about these, because if I know Arwel they’re significant, and the way they hang over Sherlock is really metaphorically suggestive. If anyone has any info on that, it looks like a really good avenue to explore.]

Blue. Blue is the colour of Sherlock’s mind palace, but this scene ties it firmly to the Conservative party. The dark blue of Sherlock’s scarf nearly matches Welsborough’s jumper, which is in fact a better match for the mind palace aesthetic generally. Thatcher unsurprisingly wears blue as well. If blue is the water that Sherlock is drowning in, how interesting that it’s being tied to the most homophobic prime minister of the last 50 years. There was absolutely no need to make this guy a cabinet minister, dress him in blue, even make Thatcher replace Napoleon – I would actually argue that Churchill is a figure who matches Napoleon’s distance and stature much better for our time. Thatcher is an odd choice, and therefore significant. To tie this to the mind palace further, we then get a shot of Sherlock reflected in the picture of Thatcher as he analyses it – a reflection of him reflecting. In case we forgot what this was actually about.

Sherlock not knowing who Thatcher is – perfectly feasible and actually quite important, although something that I’m not going to resolve until my meta on TFP, because that’s where it comes together for me. But Sherlock playing for time with his further jokes about being oblivious (‘female?’) – that, again, is Sherlock actively playing a caricature of himself. He’s not doing it for fun – he’s doing it to cover up his concern about the smashed elephant in the room Thatcher bust.

The weird thing about the reveal of how Charlie died is that we see what should have happened, if everything had gone right, before we see how he died. I can’t recall this happening in another episode of Sherlock, although I could be wrong. It’s marked by the really noticeable scene transition of crackling television static, as though the signal is cutting out. This is possibly a bit of a reach, but there’s one obvious place where we’ve seen a lot of static before.

Moriarty coming back isn’t what’s supposed to happen. It doesn’t happen in the books. We’re telling the wrong story here. (Bear in mind, from previous chapters, that Jim represents Sherlock’s fear that John’s life is in danger.) Just like Jim returning isn’t the right story, but it’s the one that happened, Charlie’s story isn’t the right story but it’s the one that happened – and indeed, Sherlock needing to save John from a dangerous marriage + suicide is not what is supposed to happen – John and Mary are supposed to be married for good (until she dies) in canon. A whole load of false endings – new stories superseding old ones. Mofftiss has an idea that there’s a new story that’s going to be told, and our strongest canon divergence is the end of s3, when we get into the EMP – and from thereon in to TAB it’s off the deep end, and the same is seen here. That TV static is talking about a new medium for a new age and their refusal to deal with established canon norms. Just in case we didn’t remember, outside in the porch we even get a visual reminder of the TV static with a second’s flashback to ‘Miss Me?’ Bad news is, that means Sherlock Holmes rejecting the norms he’s been given (feasibly represented by the hyperbolic nuclear family here) and instead… dying in his mind palace. Less fun. Carl Powers died too. Sherlock still hasn’t got there quite yet – let’s hope he doesn’t.

The next scene is, I think, very important. We come across Mycroft in a dark room with a tiny bit of light – this is really odd, as the obvious place to put Mycroft would be the Diogenes Club. Yet, although clearly more modern, this reminds me most of all of the room we meet Mycroft in in TAB.

The colour palette is the same as the top photo, and the similar chunks of light falling through suggest that we’re in the same place. I’ve brought in a photo from the aeroplane in TAB to show how the light is designed to mirror that of the Diogenes Club in TAB as well – there is a unity in all these Mycroft’s that we shouldn’t miss. Here I can’t imagine I’m the first one to notice that the light in Mycroft’s office is designed to look like a chessboard, which was an important motif in the promotional pictures for s4. Chess is associated with Sherlock’s brain through Mycroft, most notably in THE where it is contrasted with Operation which represents their emotional (in)capacities. So here we are – Mycroft is the brain, if we didn’t already know, and Sherlock has gone to speak to his brain alone much like he did in TAB. Mycroft has already been associated with the queen a lot; they meet in Buckingham Palace in ASiB, where there is a jibe about Mycroft being the queen of England – we can see here in Sherlock’s head that the brain’s power is vastly reduced by comparing these two episodes. The first time we see Mycroft in connection to the Queen we go to the most famous building in the UK. The second time, Sherlock says he’s going to the Mall, which is the street that Buckingham Palace is on, so we are led to expect a reprisal – and instead come here. There is still a picture of the queen on the wall, but apart from that we are in the darkest room of the show so far, whose grating makes it look under siege. Mycroft’s power in Sherlock’s head is vastly reduced, and indeed the brain’s influence (represented by the queen) over Sherlock’s character is waning as Sherlock struggles to come to terms with his emotional identity.

[Crack/tenuous theory: when Sherlock asks John if he is the king of England in s3, in the drunk knee grope scene, this shows that his brain’s control over his emotions have slipped; references to the queen in relation to Mycroft before have shown that Sherlock does know about the royal family, so this has to metaphorically refer to his own psyche and letting go of his brain’s anti-emotion side. Like I say, crack. But I believe it.]

Again, if we weren’t sure about Mycroft representing the brain without the heart, his rejection of the baby photos is sending out a clear message of juxtaposition with John, who represents the heart. We also shouldn’t fail to notice the water coming over Sherlock’s face again as he struggles to recognise what is important about this. This comes as he is trying to recognise what is important about the Thatchers case. I’m going to try to lay it out as best I can here.

We’ve been through what Thatcher represents to queer people of Sherlock’s age, so there’s already a strong metaphor for homophobia being smashed there. However, let’s look at the AGRA memory stick being uncovered. We know (X) that Sherlock deduced his feelings for John as he was marrying Mary, and so having the smashing of the Thatcher bust at the AGRA memory stick reveal is pretty devastating metaphorically. Why does Sherlock constantly think Moriarty is involved? Well, HLV tells us that the Jim in Sherlock’s mind is his darkest fear – and he’s originally tied up in Sherlock’s mind when he’s first shot, but he pretty quickly gets loose. That darkest fear is exactly what Jim says in that episode: ‘John Watson is definitely in danger’. The reason we bring Jim in to represent this is part of deconstructing the myth of Sherlock Holmes. The whole concept of an arch enemy is made fun of in the show, and rightly so; Moriarty himself tells the Sir Boastalot story which lines Sherlock up with that ridiculous heroic tradition that he’s set himself into, which isn’t what Sherlock Holmes is really about at all. Holmes has never really been particularly invested in individual criminals (although there are exceptions –  Irene Adler, for example) – the time he gets most het up is The Three Garridebs, as we all know, when he thinks Watson is dying. It’s his greatest fear, and it’s also what Jim threatens, so Jim has become a proxy for that – and to understand that Sherlock Holmes is not the great Sherlock Holmes of the last hundred years, we have to get under and beyond Jim. Hence what we’re about to see. It’s not Jim, it’s Mary – and this is in very real terms, because Mary’s assassination attempt on Sherlock has left John in danger – but Sherlock won’t put the pieces together until the end of this episode, as we will see.

We should also pause over Mycroft asking Sherlock whether he’s having a premonition – Mycroft is laughing at the concept of Sherlock being able to envisage the future here, which we should remember when it comes to the frankly ludicrous plot of the next episode. Much like the much commented upon “it’s not like it is in the movies” which is there to undermine TST, this line is here to undermine TLD and point out the fact that it can’t possibly be real.

Sherlock describes predestination as like a spider’s web and like mathematics – both of these are to do with Moriarty. In the original stories, Moriarty is a mathematician, and one of the most famous lines from both the stories and the show describes Moriarty as a spider. This predestined future is one that Sherlock doesn’t like – Mycroft points out that predestination ends in death, which is what Sherlock is trying to avoid in this episode, and although Moriarty is never mentioned explicitly, his inflection here suggests that Sherlock is thinking about John subconsciously, without even understanding it. The Samarra discussion brings us back to the question of Sherlock’s death, and links it in with the deep waters of the mind he’s currently drowning in – the pirate imagery becomes really important here, because a pirate is someone who stays alive on the high seas and fights against them. The merchant of Samarra becoming a pirate is not merely a joke about a little boy, it’s a point about fighting for survival – and how will Sherlock later fight for survival? We’ll see him battle Eurus (his trauma, more on that later) head on, literally describing himself as a pirate. Fantastic stuff.

The scene transition where all of the glass breaks and then we cut to a background of what looks like blue water is a motif that runs through this entire episode – we’re smashing down walls in Sherlock’s mind, most particularly the Thatcher wall of 1980s homophobia, and indeed the first picture we see is that of the smashed bust.

Moving on – before we go back to Baker Street, there’s a shot of the outside – that features a mirror, reflecting back on 221B in a distorted, twisted way. Another mirror that is wrong – we’re reflecting in an alternate reality. These images keep popping up. It’s echoed in Sherlock’s deduction a few seconds later – by the side of his chair is what looks like either a car mirror or a magnifying glass, possibly the one from the Charlie scene, distorting his arm. It’s placed to look like a magnifying glass, whether it is or not, which ties in with the classic image of Holmes – but that image is distorted, remember.

Others have pointed out that when Sherlock falsely deduces that the client’s wife is a spy working for Moriarty, he should really be talking to John – and, in fact, this is another proof that this isn’t really, because otherwise this is pretty touchy stuff to be making light of in front of John. Instead, let’s remember this is Sherlock’s Mind Palace – John isn’t John here. What Sherlock does a lot in s4 – and nowhere more than the finale of TST – is displace a lot of his real world problems onto other people because he cannot handle the emotional impact of them, and that’s what he’s doing here. He’s trying to come to terms with the danger that Mary poses, but he can’t do it with John – hence why this scene has a John substitute, because that’s what the client is.

Note that the red balloon is over the Union Jack cushion, reminding us that this scene is about John in danger (see this post X). However, what’s important here is that Sherlock has got it wrong. He’s currently trying to work out why what has just happened with Mary poses so much danger, and he’s imagining Mary as the worst threat he possibly could – in a word, this Mary is a supervillain. But Mary is not a supervillain; he’s got this all wrong, and even as he says it, it’s completely ridiculous. This is not the danger Mary poses – and so out the door the client goes, and we’re back to square one, trying to work out exactly why John is in so much danger.

I’m not going to pause over the next moment of importance for too long because many have covered it – let’s just notice that Sherlock’s face is overlaid with a smashed Thatcher bust, and remind ourselves that these are the walls of homophobia in Sherlock’s brain. Also note that this matches the half-face overlay of the water in the previous scene, linking the two (although the scene with Ajay later will cement that anyway).

Next up: Craig and his dog. Nothing can be said about dogs that hasn’t be said in these wonderful metas by @sagestreet (X). Nevertheless, let’s note that this dog is coloured the same as Redbeard, and Mary (a Sherlock mirror in this episode, and in this scene – their clothing matches, and their joining of skillsets to exclude John is the link that has always united them as mirrors) compares John to the dog. We know from the metas linked above that dogs are linked to queerness in the show, but let’s remember that John here is not John – John represents Sherlock’s own heart. It’s going to take longer than this for Sherlock to acknowledge John’s queerness. I don’t think Toby the dog is that important – instead, this is foreshadowing for the more significant dog to come in TFP. The dog also allows for another bit of self-parody in the show – the close-up on the dog running through chemical symbols and the map link directly back to the chase scene in ASiP, but this time everything is different. We have no clue really what Toby is chasing or what the crime that has been committed is – they’re not even running, they’re walking! All we have are cool, if ridiculous, graphics – and, brought down to style without substance, it’s nothing but comic parody. This is important because the opening of TST is so parodic – we’re back to questioning whether the things that people associate with Sherlock and think they like about Sherlock are the right things. The fact that Toby reaches a dead end here is important – he’s a weird loose end to have hanging through the episode. When things in Sherlock normally tie together so nicely, this is a section which has absolutely no bearing on the rest of the plot other than to look a bit silly. But fundamentally, we’re talking about the superfluity of style and image here; we’ve been talking about it for a long time in relation to previous adaptations, but TST brings it in in relation to Sherlock itself.

Skipping past more bust breakages, the next scene is John and Mary in bed together – and the first thing we see is them, once again, in a mirror. There’s nothing wrong with this mirror (as far as I can tell) – everything seems to be in order! But it doesn’t break the theme of mirrors misreflecting, because this is the scene that introduces unreliable narration on a big level – this is the scene which deliberately excludes John’s texts to E. John and Eurus are gone into in another chapter so we’ll move on again.

Craig’s quote about people being weird for missing the olden days is, of course, crucial to this reading of Sherlock. It’s pretty on the nose for a show whose protagonist is idealised in the Victorian age – and sums up Mofftiss’s feelings towards the Vincent Starrett 221B poem that I elaborated on in the TAB chapter of this meta: essentially, that it always being 1895 is a very bad thing! Craig’s mockery of this nostalgia puts it into more comprehensible modern terms for us, but it also links Thatcher and 1895 again as pasts to be broken with. It’s also important that Craig says that Thatcher is like Napoleon now – although the titles of most episodes are taken from ACD stories, it’s rare that an explicit reference is made to the link between the titles (nobody mentions scarlet vs. pink in ASiP, for example). This is the first time that I can find that Sherlock shows self-awareness from within the narrative that there are extranarrative stories being played out. I’ve said before that I don’t think Thatcher and Napoleon are a good comparison; whether it is or not, Craig’s reference is actively pulling a metatextual part of Sherlock’s history into his story and forcing him to reckon with it. This is important, because he develops expectations of how this story is going to play out (black pearl of the Borgias) which are wrong – because they’re based on what he has learned to expect of himself as fictional character. We could only have such a reference within the Mind Palace.

For the sake of splitting this meta up to make it readable, I’m going to call time on this half of TST, and we’ll pick it up tomorrow at Jack Sandiford’s house. (Also I don’t know how much text tumblr allows and this is a long document.) Until then!

[puttingfingerstokeys]

and we danced

I’ve had this one sitting around for a bazillion years. Sequel to Faraday Cage, though I think I started this one first. Oh well, that’s been happening a lot.

Faraday Cage

prevented timeline 

Sunset in Beverly Hills was a time of peaceful winding down for some—very few, of course, but some—and for Johnny Cage in particular, it was a time to sit on his patio, crack a beer, and play with the new turntable Cassie had gotten him to replace the one that had been lost in the move. A few boxes of records stood about like milling party guests and he was going through them, deciding what to listen to first. There were albums of many genres, and not all of them were his. He held a Doors album that had belonged to his late ex-wife, Sonya Blade, and gripped his beer a little harder than was perhaps necessary.

 The sun sank lower, casting red-orange hues over the expanse of his home and yard, staining everything a rust color while the sky ran through shades of pink, lavender and, to the east, blue, Stygian and star-dotted, though only for the moment. As night’s blanket fell, the lights of the city—the brazen neon refusing to relinquish its hold upon the evening—would drown out those points of light, irreverently casting them aside as if they were shards of glass, rather than precious diamonds. A lot of life’s like that, Johnny considered, choosing a record and placing it gently upon the turntable, lowering the needle with relish.

 An almost muffled crack of thunder—how a lightning bolt could be muffled would forever remain a mystery to the aging actor—resounded across the yard just as night took hold and his hanging “fairy” lights came on, activated by the lack of ambient illumination. He looked up to see the protector of Earthrealm, Raiden, striding across the expanse of grass which marked his yard. He was glad his fences were high and his neighbors were, in all likelihood, out on the town.

 “Whoa Raiden—somethin’ wrong?” He was immediately alarmed and set his beer aside to stand and face the deity. In his defense, Raiden walked everywhere with purpose, as if something urgent was happening someplace and it required his attention. Johnny chalked it up to being a god, though perhaps it was simply Raiden’s personality. Some people had a hard time differentiating between Raiden’s duty and personality; they so often coincided that even the god himself seemed helpless in the face of that gap—if indeed gap there was. But Johnny knew better. The gulf was spanned with firm ties, but there was a divide. 

 “No, Johnny Cage,” said the god of thunder with relief in his voice. “I am sorry to have alarmed you.”

 “I wasn’t alarmed—just… y’know…” Johnny sat back down before realizing he should offer a chair. He stood once more and gestured to his.

 “You were,” the god corrected, “because you rarely refer to me in that way unless you are alarmed.”

 Johnny felt himself go red to the ears as Raiden took the offered seat and he retrieved another from the garden shed which was positioned off to one side of the patio. A push mower and a few lawn grooming implements were also placed therein, but for the time being, he was only interested in a chair. Grasping it with one hand, he lifted it and closed the doors behind himself, returning to the record player, the records, and the literal deity who had settled in his seat.

 “Should’ve known,” Johnny amended, setting his own on the other side of the player so he could still manipulate it. “I mean you’re… not in armor, so I guess shit can’t be that bad.”

 “An astute observation,” responded Raiden, regarding the machine, speakers, and vinyl disks. He touched none of these, knowing that even his presence could upset electronics, but wondering after their purpose. He was certain that the machine itself would be adversely affected by his lightning, even if the discs were not. Raiden was not ignorant of mortal machines or customs, just too busy to become intimately acquainted therewith. No one seemed to hold it against him.

 Rather, they found it endearing. This, for some reason, did not upset him. It delighted the god of thunder to know people found him… approachable. Long ago, he had relinquished the cloak of aloofness, finding mortals and their lives to be far too fascinating and precious to loftily hold himself above them. The irony is in my tardiness; Fujin understood eons ago what it has taken me much longer to learn. I am a fool.

 “So why are you here?” Johnny’s words fled his tongue before he could restrain them and he blushed once more as he reached for the beer he had discarded. “Sorry—not what I meant. What’s… uh… Up?”

 “A desire to commune with a friend,” said Raiden simply but in his usual elaborate fashion that made Johnny wonder if he should also be speaking that way—it was like feeling underdressed at a gala or five-star restaurant, but with words. “I would have called,” Raiden added after a moment, “but…” His hands rose, palms skyward to indicate that he had no means by which to contact Johnny—e.g. no cellphone. Magic amulets, of course, were plentiful if one knew where to look, but there was no need to saddle Johnny Cage with such an implement when he could simply touch down in the man’s back yard and speak with him personally.

 For Johnny’s part, the thought of Raiden texting sent a hysterical thrill through his body and he restrained the urge to laugh aloud. He made a mental note to say something to Cassie later, but for now, it was more important to focus on the fact that Raiden had come back after that weird afternoon a few weeks ago—or had it been months—when he had kissed him! 

 Johnny had been sure that would be the last he would see of the god of thunder, though he had hoped this would not be the case, and he had resigned himself to only hearing peripherally from the guy when Earthrealm was in peril. He had even gone through the “is he avoiding me” phase before the resignation had set in. It was almost thrilling to feel so young and stupid again. Next to him, I guess I am young and stupid.

 “Well, I’m havin’ a beer and listening to old records—and I’m all outta beer. Lemme put this sucker on.” He did just that, gently laying a record on the turntable and placing the needle, standing with what he felt was a thunderous crack of his knees and then straightened. “You want one?”

 “My body is a temple, Johnny Cage; I do not imbibe.”

 “Could be an amusement park, Sparky,” came the reply, but as he had never forced his alcoholic preferences on Liu Kang or any of his other White Lotus or Wu-Shi friends, he did not press and headed inside to grab a second beer and maybe breathe a little. In the background of his retreat, Jim Morrison’s voice filtered through the air and filled his back yard.

 Johnny’s fingers closed on the handle of his refrigerator door and he pulled it open, feeling nothing other than casual affection toward the strange being on his porch. As he reached toward the next beer, however, his mind began racing along, out of control. It felt as if casual affection was morphing. He needed the alcohol and the comfortable haze it promised. 

 His hand closed about the chilly bottle and he stood, regarding the singular illumination provided by his refrigerator and realized that he’d forgotten to turn any lights on. Sunset had come and gone and here he was, standing in his dark kitchen with the god of thunder relaxing on his patio and listening to the Doors. His heart began to pound and he fumbled with the bottle opener magnet. Casual affection was, indeed, quickly giving way to something which scared him.

 When he finally managed to free his bottle of its troublesome top and return to the door, intent on gaining the patio without fumbling anything, Raiden had once more removed his hat and cap and was running his fingers through his hair. Johnny wasn’t sure the guy knew he was standing there, hand poised just above the handle of his slider, watching that silvery-white stuff flow and wave, catching the warm illumination of his yard lights. Once more, he was assailed by the desire to see it spread out upon a pillow beneath him. 

 Johnny shook his head to clear that thought, swallowed hard and tugged the door open. Raiden straightened and shifted, softly glowing eyes turning toward his host. In the back of his mind, the actor wondered if Raiden could read minds. He had never asked, but he certainly hoped this was not the case. 

 “I apologize for arriving unannounced,” Raiden said, inclining his head. His hands had dropped from his hair and were poised almost demurely in his lap. Johnny shrugged and remembered that he was supposed to walk out and join Raiden on the patio, rather than standing in the doorway, frozen by the man’s divine beauty. 

 Fortunately, the possessor of the divine beauty in question did not seem to notice and as Johnny uprooted himself, he turned, politely, and resumed his relaxed position on the seat. Johnny could not help noticing, with offhanded curiosity, that the seat didn’t sink much with the god’s weight as it did with his own. Weird.

 “It’s fine,” Johnny assured him, raising a hand. “Really. It was just gunna be me and this record player.” He reached over and turned the volume dial down so they could converse without difficulty. Raiden’s voice, he had noticed, was firm, but gentle—except when he was pissed. The commanding tone doubled his voice, amplifying it to the point where it seemed to come from everywhere and rattled in Johnny’s ribcage and skull. He was glad this was not the voice he was hearing. “I’m glad you’re here, actually.”

 Once more, Johnny’s words were getting ahead of his brain and, as usual, he could not retract what had been said. It wasn’t a lie, of course, or an exaggeration, but some things were best left unsaid. He lifted the beer to his lips defensively, but the statement was already out there, hovering in the air between them.

 Raiden watched him with a Mona Lisa expression, almost half of a smile, certainly relaxed, and knowing, as ever. Johnny prayed he would not ask why the mortal was glad to see him. He did not have the energy for that explanation, short though it should have been. Just tell him you wanted to see him again because you’ve got a thing for him, simple as that. Liu was right. Better to get it out in one go and see what happens. Worst he can do is vaporize me.

 Johnny decided that was an unkind thought and busied himself digging through his records; better to do that than prolonging the awkwardness of the utter lack of conversation. Fortunately, Johnny was the only one feeling awkward, as Raiden seemed content with the musical quietude and had settled back in the provided chair, inscrutable eyes focused on nothing in particular, and then falling on Johnny’s back as he crouched near a box, having himself a trip through memory lane. A warm wind began to pick up, coming off the ocean and bringing with it the smell of salt.

 “That you, big guy?” Johnny, as usual, broke the silence. Raiden shook his head.

 “No,” he responded. “I am the god of thunder, Johnny Cage, not wind.”

 There was humor in his tone and a levity that Johnny had come to appreciate, even to crave. It was so rare, even now, when everything seemed to be at peace. Shifting from his crouched position to one of kneeling, Johnny clutched a record in one hand and reached for the turntable with the other. Raiden could not see what was on the cover, but even if he could, it would be insignificant. In all his time and travels, he had rarely taken the opportunity to sit and absorb the music of Earthrealm—or any other realm, for that matter.

 “Raiden I—”

 “Johnny Cage—”

 Both men paused as they began simultaneously and then that strange, utterly human embarrassment settled over them like the blanket of night which had tucked itself in for the evening. Johnny turned to face Raiden, still half-crouched. The god of thunder was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, glowing eyes meeting Johnny’s without reservation. There was something in those eyes; right then they were not as inscrutable as they had been in the past. Or maybe I’m just getting better at reading him, Johnny thought, unsure if he was comfortable with this.

 “Please,” ushered Raiden finally, extending a hand toward his mortal companion. Johnny shook his head.

 “Age before beauty,” he insisted, attempting to introduce humor to a situation in which it may not have been appropriate, a very on-brand move for him. His heart was seizing and then hammering and then fluttering, as if there was some kind of small bird within, fighting desperately to escape. Johnny was not even clear within himself just what it was he wanted Raiden to say, or what he himself was attempting to express. He had been content simply allowing his mouth to run away with him, to see where it would take this situation. Now, faced with the reality of what a runaway tongue might cause, he was terrified. To busy his hands, he gingerly switched records as Raiden conceded. 

 “Very well, although I have heard on the breeze that some mortals find me to be… exquisite.” This, too, seemed to be an introduction of humor, so Johnny didn’t feel as silly as he might have done otherwise. Raiden sat back, looking almost impish, and certainly amused.

 “Fujin promised he wouldn’t tell!” Johnny’s tone was jesting, but his heart continued its staccato tattoo. He had not, in fact, spoken with Fujin in quite some time—like Raiden, the man was busy. If he had, it certainly wouldn’t be to confess some kind of high school crush on a celestial being’s equally divine brother. Twins, he reminded himself, they’re twins—Thunder Cat told Cassie and me recently. Weird. 

 They were night and day, Fujin and Raiden, but Johnny assumed that twins among gods did not operate the same as mortal twins. Or perhaps they did and he simply had no firsthand knowledge. The only twins he had ever encountered were a pair of actresses in one of his films—notably not the Ninja Mime franchise. The music began, but it was secondary to the melody of Raiden’s voice as he spoke.

 “He did not have to,” said Raiden, his tone warm, almost inviting—or maybe that invitation was a misinterpretation of Johnny’s fevered mind as he tried to lose himself in a swig of beer and an ‘80s power ballad whose title was lost in the cyan pools of Raiden’s eyes. “I know it is not an appropriate custom,” he continued, “to leave someone for long periods of time with no contact, but the nature of my—of what I am—dictates that I must. Forgive me for that, if you can.”

 “Anything,” Johnny breathed. He realized that he had not yet been able to return to his seat, so enraptured was he in Raiden’s gaze. The soft, warm illumination of his backyard lighting fell upon Raiden’s statuesque face and, rather than making him look ghoulish as it might do to just about anyone else, he became an older Adonis, still painfully handsome—beautiful, even—but no longer pretty in that fleeing way of youth. His face lacked the innocence of a younger man and Johnny realized he had come to appreciate this, craved it too, along with much else.

 “Your kindness does you great credit, Johnny Cage,” Raiden said.

 It ain’t kindness. This is so far beyond that, Johnny thought, his mind losing itself in that strange warm haze of beer, good music, and good company. Without thinking, Johnny shifted once more, moving closer to the god of thunder and reaching out toward him, laying a hand upon his knee. There was a low buzz when he did that, not a sound, but a feeling under his palm and fingers, dancing up his arm. He squeezed, feeling his heart clambering in his throat and wondering if Raiden’s was doing the same—or if he even had a heart. What operated within the body of a being like him? 

 Was it all clockwork, or maybe ethereal light? He had seen Raiden bleed and the blood was red, but when it caught the light, it was clearly shot through with veins of gold, unless his eyes deceived him all those years ago. When it hit the ground, it clattered as if solid. He did not understand this, but all the times he witnessed this, Johnny had been more than a little preoccupied. Gods were not supposed to bleed; it was anathema to their nature. Yet Raiden and Fujin could bleed and, more than that, they chose to bleed for the peace and safety of Earthrealm.

 “You don’t have to say anything,” Johnny advised, speaking low, loud enough to be heard, but not to drown out the music. He was responding to a look on Raiden’s face that suggested he was searching for words. His smile was more tentative now, leaning in the direction of the Mona Lisa, inscrutable and ethereal. He clearly wanted to relax, to allow whatever was happening within him simply to happen. The mortal could almost see the fight in his eyes. It broke Johnny’s heart and he wanted, all of a sudden and more than anything in every realm, to help Raiden move past whatever was slowing him down, whatever strange barrier stood between the god of thunder and his happiness, his own desires. 

 The deity had no trouble being decisive, even vicious, and dropping one whopper of a hammer when the need arose, but that need was never his own; always, it was someone else’s burden, though he would remind Johnny Cage that it was a responsibility he had chosen and for which he would fight to the death—maybe beyond. This scared the actor, sometimes. He didn’t know if he had ever, or COULD ever, dedicate himself to something with such vehemence. Had he expressed this aloud, Raiden might simply have pointed out his daughter, Cassandra Cage. 

 “I do,” rumbled the god of thunder. “My silence has done damage in the past.”

 “Everyone’s has,” Johnny reminded him, moving so he was crouching before Raiden, both hands comfortably on the man’s knees. His connection with the ground seemed to be strong enough that the current was running harmlessly through him. Raiden’s corona of electricity was not arcing or dancing about, seeking to harm him. It simply flowed, rather like water, from the eternal battery that was the thunder god, into Johnny Cage, and down through the earth. Whence beyond that was anyone’s guess. “But this isn’t silence, is it?”

 Raiden reflected that it was not, in fact, silent in that yard. There was music, and there was the two of them, and they were capable of conversation, of healthy discussion, and of much else. He moved with a deliberate purpose that froze Johnny momentarily, both hands finding either side of the actor’s head, a motion he had seen turn healthy muscle, bone, and gray matter into so much electrified pulp. 

 Rather than lightning from Raiden’s fingers, however, he felt the soft press of lips on his own, not urgent, but hardly tentative. This, he realized, was a version of Raiden who knew what he wanted, even if part of him was still unsure he should want it. Johnny would like to flatter himself—it really would be hubris at that point—and think that Raiden had spent all that time away thinking about him, about how to do this. If no one disabused him of that little flight of fancy, he would gladly go on pretending it to be the case. 

 To that end, Johnny returned the gesture, pressing into it and forcing Raiden back into the comfortable seat. The beer spilled somewhere in the grass and its memory was lost in the haze of heat the actor had found between the two unlikely beings—and between Raiden’s thighs. 

 Johnny’s hands were now gripping these, firm and powerful, through the strange material of his pants. He had in the past made a mental note to ask Raiden of what his clothing was made, if it could be manufactured for himself and the SF “kids” (when you were old, everyone was a kid). Right now, that thought was not even in the same galaxy as the rest of his mind. Right now, he only felt that heat; he was a being of pure sensation and would be more than happy to drown in it.

 Slowly, gently, his hands slid upward. His thumbs soon found Raiden's hips through the fabric of what Johnny considered his "habit". His grip tightened briefly, testing the waters. The music hummed on, but Johnny heard nothing. His focus was solely on Raiden, whose grip had shifted to the front of his shirt, grasping the lapels of Johnny's button-down. He seemed content to keep the Hollywood superstar as close as he possibly could. Johnny's hands traced the curve of Raiden's waistline which, though offset by leather and cloth, was pleasantly molded, almost perfectly to Johnny’s grip, like the narrow portion of an hourglass. 

 He heard himself moaning quietly into the kiss while the epiphany of his attraction to the thunder god’s shape washed over him like an ocean wave. His heart's rhythm had regulated itself and was thudding along steadily, if a bit strongly. Blood was rushing to all parts of him and he felt himself break out in a sudden sweat. Maybe he's frying me and doesn't realize it; isn't this what radiation poisoning feels like? He had to remind himself that Raiden was not, in fact, radioactive. 

 “Dance with me,” Johnny heard himself say suddenly, breaking the kiss with plenty of surprise, but no reluctance at all, eager to share this next, utterly unforeseen desire. Raiden, too, seemed more than a little astonished, glowing eyes widening momentarily, before softening. In fact, his entire countenance softened, assuming the look of something more accessible than merely a benevolent deity which, Johnny reflected, he was. He’s seen some rough shit, thought the actor as he stood, hearing his knees crack once more as he did so, pulling Raiden with him. So have I. Now I want some peace and quiet.

 Raiden stood willingly, unsure of what was next. It was a refreshing feeling. In all the eons of his life, he had rarely felt unsure of something and also been very comfortable with it. Lack of information had often led him to make poor decisions. This was not one of those situations, however. He was not really making any decisions, save to follow Johnny’s steps as the mortal pulled him close, wrapping one arm about his waist and taking his other hand.

 Johnny was surprised, as he had been when noticing the lack of weight upon the chair, at how easy it was to heft the god of thunder, so to speak. He was not picking the man up, yet, but even the act of moving him from a seated to a standing position was utterly without strain. It felt natural to draw Raiden to himself, pressing their bodies tightly together, all potential awkwardness draining away in the notes of the song coming from the speakers attached to the turntable. 

 When he held out his hand to receive Raiden’s, the god of thunder offered it with no hesitation or complaint. When Johnny pulled him close, he did not protest. When they began to move to the ebb and flow of the music, it was very much as if they were made for this. When the mortal manipulated the deity’s movements and body into a deep dip, he felt Raiden bend and ride along with the motion. 

 When he kissed the god of thunder, both men held tightly to the lifeline the other had become.

[septic-skele]

UT - In All But Name

Summary: Papyrus has grown up believing that he's never had or even needed parents. When the other children explain what a dad is, however, he comes to the conclusion that Sans has been his dad all along.

Sans and Papyrus, last surviving skeleton monsters of Snowdin Town, were sons of mystery.

No one was sure of where they were originally from, the exact time they snuck into Snowdin or how long they had been there before they were noticed. It was to Sans’ credit that some of the shopkeepers to this day were unaware that he had snatched their foodstuff to line his pockets. Grillby, however, was more observant than most, clearing away the trash behind his bar to uncover the sneak thief and the hungry, fussy bundle he protected with his life.

No matter how the nosy yet well-meaning townsfolk poked and prodded, they could never pry anything out of Sans about their parents. Whenever the topic came around, it seemed to trigger all of his trap doors; in the span of a soul beat, he would close off with a tense shrug and a grin.

“Dunno, it doesn’t really matter. Hey, I actually gotta get goin’, okay? Y’know. Papyrus.” That was all he would say, as if Papyrus’ existence explained nothing and everything at once. Baffling, the townsfolk thought, but they wouldn’t stand between Sans and supervision of his charge for an answer.

Why not ask Papyrus then? the bold ones pointed out, only to be reminded that Papyrus had just recently grown into striped shirts. If he was an infant when they arrived in town, he would have little to no memory of his parentage unless his brother opted to inform him. Sans’ obvious caginess about it made that unlikely and it would be unfair to upset Papyrus by pointing out that something was missing from his life. It wasn’t their place to drop such a realization on him.

If there was ever a scenario where the notion of a parent was strictly necessary, such as school registries or field trips, Sans handled it with the teachers behind closed doors. He was Papyrus’ guardian, a single parent in all but name—though whispered rumors of that sort weren’t unheard of either.

“Are we certain they’re brothers? If Sans is older than he looks, he could be…”

“No, no. Skeleton genes ran strong, back in the day. Papyrus would be his spitting image if it was like that.”

“What if he takes his looks after the mother?”

“Grillby said that Sans was barely out of striped shirts himself when he found them! He couldn’t have, not at that age—certainly not with a gimp soul.”

Those conversations were always smothered before either of the skeletons got close enough to overhear; no one wanted to risk offending Sans any further with the suggestion.

With all of the secrecy surrounding the subject, a short attention span and the wide-eyed obliviousness of a carefree child, Papyrus remained largely unaware. He had his brother, his teachers, the various children he (hoped to) call his friends. What more could a baby bones ask for? What more could he want?

One afternoon, after what might have been four rounds of the game Humans and Monsters, Papyrus finally felt the surrounding enthusiasm waning. He was always cast as the scary human, chasing down the other children with the goal of snatching and eating them. They had proved to be expert runners and hiders, scrambling away from him at every turn with very convincing shouts of disgust. Nevertheless, Papyrus was relentless in his attempt to play the game properly. At long last he caught up with them to find that they collapsed into the snow, worn down and breathless.

“Wowie! That was a lot of fun, right?” he burst out eagerly, undeterred when they groaned at his presence. “Oh, don’t worry! The game’s on pause; I won’t try to eat you now!” With no further ado he scooted himself into their circle and crossed his legs nicely. A couple of them glared at him. They must be sore losers of the game.

“We didn’t really wanna play Humans and Monsters, Papyrus,” a rabbit monster by the name of Hedda told him flatly. “’Least ways, not with you.”

“Oh!” How was he supposed to respond to that? “I’m sorry. But thank you for playing anyway; it was fun! We can play something else now if you want! What do you like to do? Do you like puzzles?”

“No,” Hedda huffed, ears flattening in annoyance.

“I don’t think I have time for another game. My dad’s coming to get me soon,” a boy named Chiff sighed.

“You got lots of homework?” Capra, a teacher’s daughter, guessed sympathetically.

“Nope. Dinner’s been cold two times this week ’cause Dad’s late picking me up, so Mama’s mad at him about it. She wants him to come get me a whole half hour early!”

A half hour was an eternity of playtime stolen from him. Scandalized gasps of dismay went around the cluster at this dreadful news.

“That’s awful! Instead of taking you earlier, your dad should just walk you home faster. You should tell him that,” Capra advised firmly, backed up by noises of approval.

Papyrus, for his part, concurred with the others, though his brow was furrowed with curiosity. When something he didn’t know was brought up in conversation, he would often nod and smile anyway, happy to pretend he was in on the secret, but the question had been on his mind for some time.

“What is a dad?” he asked. He had heard them speak of their dads before, always referring to a specific adult in their lives, but he was never certain of what singled that one out as a “dad”. It was only now that he was in the right mood to ask and the others seemed in the right mood to answer him.

“Don’t be stupid!” Hedda snickered, shoving at him. “Everybody knows what a dad is! Don’t you have one?”

“Well, tell me what it is,” he urged, bouncing back upright just as hurriedly, “so I can know if I do or not! Why’s it so important to have? What is a dad?”

Hedda drew herself up confidently, as though an entire dissertation on the matter had already been prepared, only to falter as she gave it a second thought. Until now she had never needed to explain something she believed to be common knowledge. “A dad…Well, a dad’s someone older who’s in charge of you,” she announced at last, folding her arms authoritatively. “He makes up the rules.”

If that was the only condition, Papyrus had quite a number of dads! His teachers had pasted colorful “Class Rules” posters on the walls. The King made rules for the entire Underground and Sans had created plenty of annoying house rules: finish homework before playing, clean your whole plate, don’t try to build snowmen in the house, close the door after coming inside but don’t slam it. That had to count for something.

“That’s not all a dad does,” Chiff protested before Papyrus could comment on this.

“Oh, then you tell him what it does, if you’re so smart!”

“My dad takes me all sorts of places, like I said. And he shows me how to do stuff, like reading and numbers and magic and…lots of things! And he scolds me when I get in trouble.”

Gnawing pensively on one of his knuckles, Papyrus mulled over this information. Briefly he considered the river person, who had taken him and Sans in a boat on their special outings to Waterfall, but there wasn’t much else to say about them. They didn’t fit the rest of the criteria.

Because he had never met the King, he couldn’t be sure of his opinion on getting in trouble. At school he often heard of things that the King had said or done, but did that count as Asgore showing him things? Probably not, which meant that he was out of the running too.

Still, that hardly created a shortage. His teachers spent all day explaining sums and magic and Sans helped him read a picture book every evening. None of them were happy with him when he misbehaved; that he had learned the hard way, many times over. Sometimes he would walk from a teacher’s scolding with a note in his hand, right home to Sans’ reproach for making them scold him in the first place. Oftentimes it felt like they were ganging up on him.

He frowned. “Is that all they do?”

“Not just that! When you’re not being naughty, dads are really nice to you. They give extra big hugs; sometimes they’re so big, they take you right off the floor!” Capra asserted. “And they play games with you and cheer you up when you’re sad and take care of you when you’re sick or hurt. They buy you sweets and clothes and tuck you in at night and tell you that they love you very much.”

At that Papyrus perked up. The teachers played games with him and his classmates sometimes at recess and if he got scraped up they would take him to the school healer, but comfort, big hugs and tucking in? All of those things were Sans’ job.

Just a few weeks ago, when they were playing chase, Papyrus had slipped on an icy patch and smacked his head too hard. As soon as Sans reached him, he had gathered him up in a hug, patting his back and hushing him while he cried. Later that night, when the headache became truly awful, Sans perched on his bedside and pet his skull until he fell asleep. The next day, he had chocolate syrup in Papyrus’ oatmeal as a surprise treat.

“Nyeheheh! I do have a dad!” Papyrus exclaimed. “Sans is my dad!”

“Sans is your brother,” Hedda snorted. “Brothers can’t be dads.”

“Why not?” Chest puffing out in defense of his new conclusion—and Sans’ honor—Papyrus remained triumphant. “If those are all of the things only a dad does and Sans does them all, that means I’ve got a brother who’s cool enough to be both! Can your brothers do all that your dad does too?”

Hedda’s nose twitched. “Well—” Before she could muster an answer, an older monster calling interrupted the conversation. Chiff pushed himself upright.

“There he is,” he informed them before raising his voice. “Coming, Dad! I gotta go. Bye, Hedda. Bye, Capra. See you tomorrow, maybe.”

“I hope so!” Papyrus chirped. He was eager to play another game with him sometime, as thanks for being part of the group to offer him all of this newfound knowledge. Next time he could catch all three of them at once, he would have to ask what the difference was between a mom and a dad.

Once Chiff left, the girls rose to make their exit too. Papyrus trailed after them at a distance, hoping not to seem overeager or clingy for companionship, but he wasn’t too far to see when their parents came to fetch them. He couldn’t help but feel pleased on their behalf at the hugs and kisses they received.

It was curious, though, that Sans had never asked Papyrus to call him by the well-deserved title. Papyrus had only ever called him “brother” and Sans called him “bro” in response.

Oh, stars! Did Sans think Papyrus didn’t want to call him Dad? Was he hurt about it? Papyrus had learned quickly over his short lifetime that even when Sans was hurt, he would pretend he was fine for some stupid adult reason. Was he secretly disappointed that Papyrus only thought of him as a brother all this time?

How could he not have noticed? If no one had told him the secrets of dad-ness, how was Papyrus supposed to know? With this new wisdom, he couldn’t let that stand any longer. He had to set it all right!

“Hey, Pap!” Sans hailed as he waded through the snow, his grin weary but no less genuine. “Did you have fun?”

Lighting up, Papyrus whirled around to face him and, now ready to demonstrate his new regard for Sans’ feelings, charged and flung himself at him for a hug. “Dad!”

With his arms tight around his brother’s neck and his face tucked into his shoulder, he didn’t see the way Sans’ smile froze or the startled looks Hedda and Capra’s parents cast their way. As he gingerly returned the embrace, Sans forced an uncertain laugh.

“…Bro? You ready to go home?”

“Yes! Ooh, can we have oatmeal tonight? Can we? May we?”

Maybe Papyrus hadn’t realized what he said. Maybe it was a fleeting, random aberration, Sans decided, like calling a tutor “Mom” by mistake. Shouldn’t he have corrected himself already, though?

“I guess breakfast for dinner couldn’t hurt,” he answered, rolling with the changed subject. He wouldn’t comment.

“With chocolate syrup?”

“Heh, sure thing, buddy. We can’t miss oat on that!”

Papyrus groaned, shoving into his side in annoyance, though he didn’t resist when Sans promptly slung an arm around his shoulders to give him another affectionate squeeze.

That would have been the end of it, Sans thought, if it hadn’t been for Papyrus’ call at dinner:

“Dad, we’re almost out of milk!”

And after dinner:

“Dad, look at the puzzle I drew in school!”

And at bedtime:

“Da-a-ad! Dad!” he appealed to Sans down the hall, following it with a small, self-satisfied giggle as if he had just done something particularly clever. “I’m ready for my story and tucking in!”

Was this…some attempt at a joke? If so, Sans wasn’t sure of the punchline. Eye sockets narrowed in bewilderment, he slowly eased into his usual perch on the edge of the bed. Snuggled into his blankets, Papyrus beamed at him in anticipation as he picked up the book.

Sans opened it, read the first two lines aloud—and then promptly gave up. With a shake of his head, he propped the book face down against his leg. “Papyrus, what’s gotten into you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been talkin’ to me weird all night. Why aren’t you just using my name?”

Judging by the expression that came over Papyrus’ face, this was clearly not the reaction he was expecting or hoping for. Confidence faltering, he scrambled upright in bed, displacing the carefully arranged blankets. “I—No, but I am! That’s what I’m supposed to call you!”

“‘Dad’? Why would you think you gotta call me that?” Fingers subtly tightening on the book, he lowered his head. “Was someone teasing you for not having one?” That would be some well calculated cruelty.

“No, no, see, that’s just it, I do have one! I do ’cause I’ve got you!” Papyrus protested. “Hedda asked me if I didn’t have a dad so I asked her, ‘What’s a dad?’ and everyone said it’s a monster who teaches you things and scolds you for trouble and makes you happy when you’re not and takes good care of you, with lots of hugs and niceness! So I said I do too have a dad, and it’s my brother, so I can call you both, can’t I? ’Cause I thought you might be sad about me not calling you that, ’cause that’s what you are, so I thought I ought to call you that so it’ll make you happy!”

Blinking through this slew of information—rather impressively fit into one breath—Sans reeled back slightly, stammering. “Papyrus, I…I’m not your dad.”

“But you are,” he insisted. “I know you are. There are rules and everything and I checked them for you. You act just like a dad’s supposed to!”

“Okay, well—thank you, but acting like a dad isn’t the same as being a dad.” Sliding the book off to the side, Sans weighed his words. “Listen, Pap. I really love you; I love you with my whole soul.”

The doubt on Papyrus’ face was swept away with delight at the familiar words. He loved this guessing game. “More than ketchup?”

“More than that.”

“More than space books?”

“More than that too.” Twisting, he scratched his free hand gently over the crown of his brother’s skull. “More than gold—”

“And your trombone? And your best jacket?”

“And my slippers, and even more than sleeping—though I love those a whole lot too. But you had a dad once and it wasn’t me.” He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eye sockets. “He was our dad, for us to share.”

Eyes round, Papyrus peeked past Sans’ outstretched hand. “But I don’t remember him.”

“I know. It was a long time ago…I don’t really remember much either, but I know someone was there in our lives back then. Who else would it be?”

“Oh.” Picking at a loose thread on his blanket, Papyrus considered. “Did he love me as much as you do?”

“Heh, I’m sure he did. Who wouldn’t love a cool guy like you?”

“So where is he then? Why doesn’t he live with us? The other dads live with Hedda and Chiff and Capra!”

Sans wavered, digging his toes into Papyrus’ worn carpet. How could he explain it in a way Pap would understand when most of his own ideas were fog, faint hopes and guesswork? His next word was more of a sigh. “Well…he probably thought it would be better for us to strike out on our own. Prove how strong and independent we can be without his help.”

“Oh! We’ve done that right, haven’t we? I’m super-duper cool and you take care of me just as good as a dad could!”

He was a sorry substitute, nothing more, but Sans was already aware that putting himself down in front of Papyrus would only upset him. He wouldn’t mention it. “Yeah. So all we would have to do to make Dad proud is keep going on the way we are now. We’re…doing alright without him, aren’t we?” The last thing he wanted was to create a new sense of loss for something that was little more than a whisper.

“We’re more than alright, Sans!” Papyrus reassured him, a balm on Sans’ soul as he reached to squeeze his hand. “We’re great! If he comes to visit someday, so he can know how good we’re doing, everybody in Snowdin will be able to tell him so! Wait and see!”

“We may be waiting a long time for that, Paps…years, probably.” His voice fell a shade softer. “Or forever. I dunno.”

“Well, we can still be great in the meantime! I can be patient and be happy at the same time, as long as you’re with me!”

“Heh…you really are the coolest.”

“I know! And whenever Dad comes, if he comes, he’ll see that.”

“Maybe. Maybe.”

[reds-self-ships]

🔎 The Adventure of the Detection Club

Chapter 4: Memoranda & The Great Detective's Plan

Table of Contents & Trigger Warnings

⚠ CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNING: This chapter contains mild references to death and crime scene descriptions, specifically through severe and repetitive blunt force trauma.

The police hadn’t gone away for even five minutes before *Sholmes, Susato, Ryunosuke and Redford gathered their things together and got into a cab, and were already on their way to the scene of the crime.

Mr. Sholmes put the end of his pipe to his lips, but no kind of smoke seemed to be coming out of it.

“So, Mr. Nineteen—”

“—Ninate—”

“Yes, that. You’re a crime fiction writer, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m also a student of English Literature with the University of London.”

“Well; I do believe that Mr. Naruhodo here also studies English. Well, that is, he studied it before he became an attorney anyway.”

“What? Oh, er—yes!” Ryunosuke exclaimed, his eyes darting about the carriage as though he was following a rather excitable fly.

“Is that so?” asked Redford, his right leg resting up on the knee of his left, stroking his chin with his right hand.

“Er, yes. Though, more as a foreign language than any of the ‘literature’ end of things, that is. You’d probably want to speak to my friend Asogi if you wanted to know anything about English literature.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Although,” added Susato, “there’s also plenty to say on Japanese literature. I’m sure Mr. Naruhodo could give you some recommendations if you ever get the opportunity to study up on it.”

“Yes!” Ryunosuke suddenly exclaimed. “A former client of mine—also a Japanese exchange student—has written his own book of late. He sent me a signed copy as a thank you for defending him in court, actually. It’s called…er…how would you say it in English…? It’s…‘Wagahai wa neko de aru’.”

“I believe it would be ‘I Am A Cat’, Mr. Naruhodo.”

“Oh yes, it would. Wouldn’t it?”

“No point in asking me,” Sholmes said. “I only know a few basic phrases, such as ‘Kutsū no Fukutsū’.”

Susato asked: “Do you mean to say that your stomach has shoes, Mr. Sholmes?”

“What—No! Er, anyway, as I was saying, I don’t speak the language that well.”

“I don’t know any myself, to be honest with you. Who knows, maybe I could learn some crime-related words? Or maybe some courtroom-related words if we ever end up getting that far.”

“Well then, I promise that I’ll do my best to get you found ‘Muzai’,” said Ryunosuke.

Redford and Sholmes sat and stared at him as he began to smile and blush awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head.

“That, er, that means ‘Not Guilty’ in Japanese.”

“Oh…!

——————————

The carriage pulled up in-front of the building that housed the headquarters of the Detection Club, which, even now, was almost entirely surrounded by police constables and blue wooden barriers marked “METROPOLITAN POLICE – DO NOT PASS” in white, stencilled writing.

“Ironic that the offices of a group of crime fiction novelists ended up becoming a crime scene itself, isn’t it?” said Sholmes.

“Definitely something that even I couldn’t make up. I mean, it definitely sounds like something I wouldn’t even be bothered to sit down and write about, now that I think about it. I mean—who’d even want to sit down and read such a thing?”

Ryunosuke came back with Susato after having had a word with the constable in-charge of maintaining the perimeter around the local area. “Alright, we’ve been cleared to enter the crime scene whenever we need to.”

Susato added: “Apparently Detective Jones already sent a telegram ahead to give his approval, and said that we can access any materials involved with the investigation. And that includes the victim’s autopsy report.”

Ryunosuke, Susato and Mr. Sholmes looked up to see that Redford had already deployed a fountain pen and a brown leather-bound notebook, and was already taking what looked to be some particularly in-depth notes.

“Er, Mr. Ninate—?”

“Yes? By the way, Redford or Red will do just fine. Mr. Ninate is my father.”

“OK, er, Red…what are you doing?”

Redford didn’t even lift his head from his work. “Taking notes. You do make notes when you’re investigating something, right?”

“Well, yes, but normally we just file stuff away in the court record as opposed to…”

Ryunosuke craned his head and tried to make out the sort of things that his client was writing. Was this the so-called ‘short-hand’ that Susato had suggested he try learning?

“…a novel, is it?”

“You know, I don’t even bother making notes,” said Sholmes, proudly. “I remember it all myself, then get Dr. Wilson to write it all up when I’m done.

(Which explains so much…so, so much…) said Ryunosuke, quietly to himself.

“Well I’d prefer to keep notes. Well, if you don’t mind, that is?”

“Well not really—”

Ryunosuke didn’t get to finish that sentence. “—Excellent. I’ll just keep making notes, pretend I’m not here.”

Redford continued his note-taking intently, as though nothing had even been said at all. Ryunosuke decided to allow that point to pass without notice.

“Alright then, so the name of the victim is Harris Thomas,” Ryunosuke read from the autopsy report supplied by a constable. “Cause of death is listed as ‘repeated blows from blunt instrument’.”

Mr. Sholmes pulled the photo of the body out of the envelope it came in, immediately putting it back in again as he pulled quite the expression. “Oh my. That’s rather gory.”

“Good to know. But we should get a look at it ourse—” Ryunosuke took the envelope from Sholmes’s hands, opened it, removed the photograph and looked at it. “Oh wow, that ishorrifying.”

Susato tilted her head slightly to one side. “I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, Mr. Naruhodo.”

The photograph, to phrase it gently, wasn’t much to look at. In fact, there wasn’t much left of the victim’s skull either, after the killer had finished what they had set out to do, that much was very much certain.

“A look around the crime scene proper’ll be able to tell us far more, though. Especially as this seems to be quite the locked room mystery as to how the killer managed to get in and out of the locked room after they killed the victim without being spotted or without any sign of forced entry or exit.”

“Well in fairness I did tell you it was a weird one. No forced entry, no other doors, a lock designed to break if it’s tampered with, and windows that barely open, all on the third storey, up there,” Redford pointed out, squinting as the sun reflected off of one of the higher windows of the building.

As the other three looked up, Redford quickly scribbled something out onto a back page of his notebook before tearing it out and handing it to Ryunosuke.

“Oh, thank you. Er…what is it, exactly?”

“A written memo, obviously. ‘No way in besides the key of the defendant. He maintains testimony that it remained on his person at the time. Only one such key exists to his knowledge. There is only one door into the room which didn’t appear forced, and as the windows only open a small amount and the room is up on the third floor of the building’.”

“I see. Thank you, then.” Ryunosuke passed it to Susato, who filed it away in her pocketbook.

“If you need me to write down anything else, do let me know.”

“Alright, er, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Right. Well then, after you,” said Redford, allowing Ryunosuke to step into the building ahead of him.

Before he could follow in after the pair, Susato caught Sholmes by his arm. “Excuse me, Mr. Sholmes…”

“Mm? What is it, Miss Mikotoba?”

“Are you planning something involving Mr. Naruhodo or Mr. Ninate?”

“No…what makes you say that?” the detective lied.

“Mr. Sholmes, you don’t exactly have the best track record for lying and being able to get away with it with any kind of great success for long, you know? You even weren’t able to keep Mr. Naruhodo’s surprise birthday party a secret from him for all of three days. And Iris and I only told you about it a week before it was due to happen!”

“Well how can I be expected notto talk to him and avoid bringing it up with him when we’re all living under the same roof?”

“What are you planning?” asked Susato, with the intonation as though she was talking to a misbehaving dog.

“Well I’ve been watching Mr. Naruhodo’s eyes all day since Mr. Ninate first came into Baker Street. He’s not been able to keep his eyes off of him all day! Even in the cab he didn’t know where to look without making it exceedingly obvious.”

“But Mr. Naruhodo ends up doing that most days anyway.”

“Still. I do believe he may have a bit of a ‘crush’ on this particular client – especially with the way that he took on the case so quickly, and especially given the particular circumstances of this case.”

“So I’m going to assume that making them share a room also falls under the idea of trying to get them together?”

“Precisely!”

“Mr. Sholmes, you really are something else, you know.”

“I try my best.”

Before they could continue any further, Ryunosuke himself shouted down the stairs.

“Susato! Mr. Sholmes! Are you coming?”

“Coming!” responded Sholmes. “Just…tying…my…shoelaces!”

“This isn’t over, Mr. Sholmes,” said Susato as they headed in together after the attorney and the writer.

*AUTHOR’S NOTE: Iris had decided to stay behind and try to repair the door that had been taken off of its hinges by the rather over-eager Detective Athelney Jones.

[pi-cat000]

Whumptober No. 15 & 16: Scars & Pinned Down

Fandom: Mystery Skulls Animated

Characters: Arthur, Lewis, Mystery

Summary: A year after Lewis returns the gang investigate a strange house. (PART 4)

(PART 1), (PART 2) (PART 3)

NOTE: Kind of follows the prompts but not really. Like, maybe if u squint. 

.

“…Save Vivi.”

For his last words, they’re pretty good. This is Arthur's final coherent thought before the world dissolves in a burst of blinding light. It doesn't hurt. One second he is alive, investigating a case, and the next second he’s not. Simple as that.

Arthur is not quite sure what happens after. All he knows is that, at some point, he gains enough coherency to start noticing the dark nothingness around him. With a growing sense of self, he begins to actively observe his environment. There is nothing to observe, but he still tries.

Eventually, Arthur begins to wonder. 

'Is this it?' His question goes unanswered.  

Is everything just going to be dark nothing from now on? Is it going to be nothing for the rest of eternity?

It is a rather grim prospect. Was death supposed to be like this? All he has as a frame of reference is Lewis and it’s not like he has ever asked Lewis what dying was like. Their relationship was strained enough as it was. No need to throw fuel on the proverbial and, in Lewis’s case, literal fire.

Maybe he should have asked…Maybe he should have tried harder to reconnect. But, it’d been hard. Some scars took longer to heal than others…like a lot longer. Mutually, he and Lewis had decided to take it slow, understanding that rebuilding their friendship after all the hurt and misunderstanding would be a slow process. In amongst all the healing and finding a new way of existing around each other, they’d started to grow close again. And then Arthur had gone and died like an idiot, leaving both Vivi and Lewis behind.

Well, he hopes he left them behind and they aren’t all dead, floating around in their own personal voids. He really hopes Vivi isn’t dead. He really hopes Lewis is still with her. He desperately wants them to be happy together.

The longer Arthur spends thinking, the greater his want to see them okay and happy becomes. With nothing else to occupy his thoughts, the want soon turns into a need. A burning, desperate need. The need consumes him, eating him inside out. Never has he wanted anything so badly. Not even when he was searching for Lewis and losing night upon night of sleep to nightmares, had he felt this powerfully. Slowly, a pressure builds, growing stronger, feeding into his longing.

Arthur finds that he isn’t as okay with death as he had initially thought.

This can’t be it. He won’t accept it.

Just when Arthur thinks he might collapse into himself, crushed by his unattainable desire like a star going supernova, he explodes outward. The darkness is dispersed, evaporating into a white haze.

....

..

.

“What the…Hey…Ah…”

Arthur hears a familiar voice.

“Mystery! Arthur’s star is glowing!”

That’s Lewis. Arthur latches onto the sound, following it further into the light.

“What do I do? You said this would take another week!”

IT’S LEWIS! He still can’t see properly, everything is blurred, but that is definitely Lewis’s voice. Arthur struggles so respond, becoming increasingly frustrated when sound fails to produce itself.

/That was a rough estimation at best. Quick, stand back. /

The second voice is deeper and directionless, coming to Arthur from all angles. Mystery, he recognises, before listening intently for Lewis again.

“Wait! We can’t do this here! Not after we wrecked the last room…/

/There is not much we can do about it, unfortunately. I am sure Vivi will understand./

Vivi? Did Mystery just say Vivi? In a ripple of brilliant light, not unlike the blast which had killed him in the first place, Arthur explodes into being. Instantaneously, he goes from disembodied nothingness to occupying space. Accompanying his materialisation is shockwave of yellow energy. There is the sound of furniture scraping along a wooden floor and the crash of objects falling to the ground. Arthur pays the chaos no mind, twisting around, trying to locate his friend.

“Lewis…” He says, spotting the familiar figure. Lewis is human in appearance, wearing his purple vest and grey pants. He seems surprised, ruffled by the explosion, staring right at Arthur.

Arthur, he doesn’t even notice himself move, appears right in front of Lewis with a barely audible pop of displaced air. Smack, he runs into Lewis, pushing them both back. For that second, knowing that Lewis right here, touching him, is all that matters. 

A hand lands on his shoulder, gently inching him back. Arthur can feel the heat of Lewis’s aura and the echo of muted emotion. There is a hit of concern underpinning deeper burning anger which seems to be the source of the heat. He would be afraid, but the anger isn’t directed at him. Weird...but nice...

“You’re okay,” He whispers. His voice is a bit distorted, echoy, but it’s nothing he hasn’t grown used to hearing from Lewis before the ghost had figured out how to change it.

Then his brain catches up to his emotions, and he realises what he may have implied. “I mean, you’re dead, obviously, but you’re here. I’m sorry, I mean, I’m happy you’re still here. I’m not happy you’re dead…ugh...”

Shit. This is a disaster. He tries to step back but can’t because he isn’t actually on the ground. He is floating. Lewis probably hates him all over again! No, that was an overaction. They’d already sorted that stuff out... Why is he having trouble thinking?

“Where Vivi’s?” He asks instead, flailing around, trying to regain his balance. As he asks, he turns to the door. Is Vivi through that door? He needs to see Vivi. He needs to see her right now!

/Stop him!/

Arthur hears Mystery’s order while also registering the fact that he is now standing by the door with Lewis behind him. Did he just teleport? A hand catches his shoulder and Arthur spins, lashing out, disoriented by the change of location.

“Arthur calm down. You’re…”

A wave of that yellow energy forces both him and his assailant, which turns out to be Lewis, away from each other in a violent pulse. Arthur bumps back into the door and Lewis stumbles, floating a few feet up into the air to stop himself from tripping over the bed at the centre of the room.

“Sorry!” He panics, “I’m sorry. I need to find Vivi.” 

After spending all that time thinking about seeing Lewis and Vivi, it has become all he wants. Before he makes good on this declaration there is a spark of red and Mystery is no longer dog. All Arthur has time to do is think ‘danger! That’s dangerous!’ and Mystery’s many tailed form is on top of him. The weight of the Kitsune pins him to the floor.

/My apologies Arthur, but it is probably best that you do not go tearing through the middle of town in broad daylight./

“What…no, I won’t…I just need to find Vivi,” He tries to escape, wriggling to get free. However, Mystery’s weight isn’t entirely physical so the effort just leaves him drained.

Lewis, he is a skeleton now with flames burning a radiant purple, drifts forward to examine Arthur. Arthur quietens, gawking. Did Lewis always burn that brightly…The colour is kind of mesmerising.

Lewis gives him a funny look, “What’s wrong with him?”

/New ghosts are erratic with a one-track thought process, as I am sure you know./

/I suggest you find Vivi. Hopefully, seeing the two of you together will calm him down enough so that we might have a rational conversation./

“Yeah, okay…” Lewis, shifts back to human, grimacing. Arthur’s kind of sad to see the flames go.

“She’ll be happy to know he’s up at any rate.”

. 

If you want to know more about this challenge I have an intro here

Completed Prompts: Shaky Hands, Explosion, Delirium, Human Shield, Gunpoint & Dragged away, Isolation, Stab Wound, Unconscious & Shackled, Stitches, ‘Don’t Move,’ Adrenaline, Tear Stained

[hollenka99]

The Vlogger

Summary: With no choice but to keep going, Chase meets others like him and starts his second chance at life with them. 

Warnings: Suicide, alcoholism, self deprecation, depression

@egopocalypse

As soon as Chase Brody pulls the trigger, he regrets it. Not because the rapid loss of blood is dizzying or he knows he may have something to live for. Instead, he rethinks things due to the pain. There's a hole in his skull, a hole he put there himself. If he knew he'd remain conscious, he wouldn't have bothered with the gun. So he's stuck there on the ground, the camera crew hovering uncertainly as an ambulance is called. The thing is, he doesn't want to actually die, doesn't want his children to grow up without their dad. He just wants a way out. No matter what he does, he can never fix the situation at home. Now Stacy was taking them from him. If he won't get to watch them grow up then it should be because he made it impossible, not Stacy. He believes that was the logic that got him in this situation. It was a stupid piece of logic. If the ambulance doesn't hurry up, he won't have much longer to dwell on it. For fuck's sake, why couldn't it have been instant? He can't even shoot himself properly. Now is not the moment to admit that may actually be a good thing. He finds himself waking in a hospital bed. As sure of his abilities as he is stern, Chase doesn't know what to make of the German doctor attending to him. The guy's bedside manner could do with slight improvement at times. However, Chase can't deny he's helpful when he needs to be. Chase find his left arm doesn't work as it used to. Apparently, he suffered damage to his premotor cortex. He won't be able to perform complex actions with that arm, whatever the hell 'complex actions' meant. Physical therapy is advised. He's too preoccupied by the fact he wrecked part of his brain to listen too intensely. That hadn't been in his list of things he'd hoped to achieve. Well, he supposes he had wanted to mess things up in that area of his body. But... the fatal kind. Not that he really knows what he wants in general. Except probably stopping the shitshow that was commonly referred to as his life from plaguing him further. He wants Stacy. And the kids. He wants to be the father and husband of a happy family. He wants to be happy himself. Dr Schneeplestein provides him with an address after he lets it slip he has nowhere to go after being released. It's where the doctor's friends live. They are always open to welcoming a new inhabitant. Chase's isn't convinced he should bother. Schneeplestein suggests he should at least think about it. Well, it's not like he has anywhere else to go. He might as well give these people a chance. Jack is really friendly once he arrives at the house. After checking Chase was aware of Sean, he calls someone named Marvin to the living room. Marvin is clearly a very cold person. The welcome he delivers is the opposite of Jack's. One had made him feel like he was welcome, the other seemed to want him gone immediately. Well fuck you too, Marvin. Despite being quiet and somewhat of a loner, at least Angus didn't seem too bad. Chase doesn't know how to react when Jack directs him to a private clinic within the building. He's even more at a loss for words when Dr Schneeplestein is there, greeting him. Okay, yeah, he gets it. While the doctor may not live in the building, he was an ego himself. Chase had noticed the similarity in appearance when it came to the guys here. Over the coming days, Schneeplestein checks up on him. He promises it is okay to call him Henrik if wants. Their discussions develop into a mix of formal medical stuff and informal getting to know each other better. Schneep reveals he is himself a father of three. He suggests Chase talk a little bit about himself. Okay. Well, his name was Chase Brody. He ran a YouTube channel called Bro Average where he performed trickshots. Occasionally well rehearsed stunts too. He had been married to a woman called Stacy. However, she had just announced she wanted a divorce. She was planning to take full custody of their two children. Their names are- they are... Wait, why couldn't he remember their names? Did the incident take some of his memories? Shit, don't tell him he's fucked up his memories as well as his arm. But he's been thinking about the situation since waking up, here and at the hospital. Wait, no, he was just thinking of them as 'the kids'. Why the hell hadn't he noticed before now? He was a bad father, just like Stacy had- "Chase?" "They're my children, how can I not remember their names?" "I did not either." The doctor reassures him. "Maybe talk to Jack, he is good with names. Helped me remember." He does indeed speak to Jack. They reach Noah without too much issue. It takes several names to get there, sure, but his son's name is fairly common. His daughter though... this was taking forever. Even Jack sounds like he's losing hope as the suggestion of Daisy is accompanied by a sigh. Chase is so thankful this is the one to stir something within him. Encouraging Jack to keep on the plant-based route hits his helper with a second wind. A handful of names later, they finally reach their destination of Willow. Willow and Noah. He remembers now. He can see a 4 year old girl with dark hair who loved mint choc chip ice cream. Then there was her 3 year old brother who loved to chat about anything and everything. They may not have been born at the right time in their parents' lives but he by no means loved them any less because of that. Not everyone has memories of rocking their daughter to sleep while studying. He'd love to hold those two again. As the days and weeks go by, Marvin remains distant. Chase approaches Jack, needing to know what the hell the magician's deal was. He learns there had been another ego, a 16 year old superhero who'd arrived in July. At the beginning of November, Jackie had slipped out to clear his head. Suffice to say, he was yet to return home. Marvin and Jackie had been becoming close friends at the time of his disappearance. He was simply grieving more noticeably than Jack. Jack also takes this opportunity to discuss a second mystery ego. Antisepticeye was very dangerous, not to mention unpredictable. Jack had caught glimpses of him prior to his official appearances on the channel in October. Anti was the one behind Jack's throat scar. Understandably, he'd rather not go into that day. What was important was that Chase did his best to stay safe from Anti, now that he was aware of him. Anti had attempted to kill Jack, abducted Jackie and recently, hijacked Sean's PAX panel entrance reel to threaten the audience. If Chase ever found himself in Anti's sights, run. Drop anything non-essential that may slow him down and get the hell out of there. Eventually the interactions that seem forced melt into something nicer. It's still clear the memory of Jackie will remain superior to him. However, it was good to be more than tolerated by Marvin. Things are easier like this. As it turns out, the magician is actually a pretty cool dude. He's really into plants and able to do a lot of cool stuff with his magic. Please keep everything made of iron away from him though. The first time he bought alcohol, he pretended the intention was innocuous. He'd had a shitty few months. It would just be to take the edge off a bit. Better to get a little tipsy than try to permanently escape again. 'A little tipsy' soon becomes stumbling to bed drunk. Which inevitably results in painfully frequent hangovers. It's a good thing he doesn't have to save money for rent or anything. He can keep this habit going for longer. Of course, this behavioural change doesn't go unnoticed. Jack encourages him to limit himself to a bottle a day, if he needs to drink at all. He understands and appreciates his concern. However, it wasn't exactly his place to dictate what Chase could and couldn't do. This talk still has an effect on his drinking habits. He gets better at hiding his stash. The best thing about the bedrooms in this house were that they changed to fit the needs of the ego whose bedroom it was. This in turn meant he had a mini fridge without asking for it aloud. Jack and Marvin grow more desperate with trying to get through with him. There are weeks were he does genuinely attempt to make an effort to improve. Those attempts don't usually go well. At least there are two people cheering him on. Stacy's even been more approachable about the split during the past month or so, which was pleasant. She still wants full custody though. Especially because she's aware of his issue with alcohol seemingly developing into something likely diagnosable as alcoholism. That would be motivation enough to get him to stop. It only makes him feel worse when he gives in to temptation. At the end of July, Jack invites him and Marvin to marathon the Harry Potter films. He's had an argument with Sean and needs the distraction. Following the end of the second film, Marvin leaves for a moment to take a bathroom break. He turns to his friend on the other end of the sofa. "I-" A pause to question whether he should even bother with this line of conversation. "Jack, I don't get you, dude." "Uh, okay. Where did this come from?" "I don't know. I just don't get why you bother with Sean. You always seem to be at each other's throats." "Why did you try to hang on to your relationship with Stacy for so long?" "Hey, don't bring her into this." "Well?" Chase gives the most exaggerated shrug he can muster before crossing his arms, curling into himself on the sofa as he does so. The best Jack is getting out of him is a mumble. "Dunno. Still love her. Kids." "Yeah, well, Sean and I have quite a history ourselves. What can I say? We can't really go our separate ways by this point. He's an asshole but I still love him despite it. It's... it's complicated. We've known each other since we were kids. We were there for each other back then and we are still down to hang out now. I mean, that's what happened today. He's a busy dude and I don't expect him to drop everything for me. Yet we still make time for each other." Jack pauses to pick up his glass. "Want me to top you up before we start Prisoner of Azkaban?" "Jack." "I was made to be his friend. I can't... not be. Like I said, it's complicated. So, top up?" Days later, he spots Jack stumbling towards where Henrik was privately working on something. When he asks if his friend is feeling well, Jack waves him off, excusing it as 'probably nothing serious'. The words sound strained, as if he's attempting to keep his lunch in. Chase would call him out on the blatant understatement, were it not obvious Jack didn't want the fuss. The first clue he gets is Marvin leaving his room to hover restlessly in the corridor. The magician murmurs about something in the air feeling off. Chase suggests opening a window to aid air circulation, only for Marvin to snap that it wasn't like that. Besides, it was August and fairly warm. Most windows were already open. The second is Henrik being heard loudly speaking his surname. It doesn't sound right, almost like he's not the one to have said it. Marvin freezes at this. This has clearly shaken him for some unknown reason. As rapidly as the noise had stopped Marvin in his tracks does it cause him to pivot and march in the direction of where Schneep is working. The final hint of what is unfolding is Marvin's desperation. He's at the door to the med bay, pounding it with any spell he can think of. Chase rams into it whenever he is sure he isn't at risk of being unintentionally hit. They cry out to Henrik and swear they're coming to help. The locked door receives a series of abuse in a matter of minutes. The door finally gives. Marvin blocks his view temporarily but he sees regardless. There are too many wires and machines for him to comprehend they're all attached to one person. If he'd known, he would have swapped places with Jack in a heartbeat. Henrik is nowhere to be found. Chase's first encounter with Anti has robbed him of two of his good friends. His and Marvin's lifestyles change immediately. Marvin rarely has time to practice magic. Chase, similarly, puts Bro Average to one side. They both focus on providing Jack with the best care their inexperience can form. They are way in over their heads with this. However, Jack remains alive. They must be doing something vaguely correct. The 17 year old in the stolen outfit appears at their door a month on. Chase originally assumes this is a new ego. Oh, Marvin is going to be livid. He already lost his cool when Robbie showed up. Let's not even mention when Sean attempts a visit. Either way, the kid looks completely shattered and like he could collapse in a heap any moment now. He struggles to focus on the sentence he's trying to finish. This ego really is out of it. What kind of video did Sean upload today that it produced someone so wrecked? The teenager sways a little. Chase moves to steady him while Marvin is spouting the same shit about how Sean better not have created another ego. Tired of Marvin's anger at this specific moment, he calls him over to help. The magician barely enters the hallway before the newbie crumples into Chase's hold. He glances back at Marvin, a second away from encouraging him to assist him already. The haunted expression on his friend's face prevents that. Oh. This was Jackie. Of course it was. The two of them place him in the medical bay. Marvin withdraws into himself. Especially in the following days. He spends all his time hanging around Jackie. All he talks about is Jackie and how he's doing. Jackie, Jackie, Jackie. Listen, Chase is glad Jackie has returned home. Ecstatic, even. It's just... things have drastically changed in the household in barely any time at all. First it was Jack slipping into a coma. Now it's Jackie showing up after months of no clues regarding his whereabouts. It doesn't help when the teenager sticks to Marvin's side wherever possible and acts wary of Chase. He supposes he gets it. Marvin is the only person, other than Angus, whom the young superhero recognises from his pre-Anti life. Meanwhile, Marvin, who has spent close to a year missing his friend, wishes to protect him as much as he can. Either way, Chase gently inserts himself into the friendship group. He's heard about this guy a fair bit and felt his absence in the grief of those who'd loved him. He wants to get to know him. It took a couple months for Marvin to be chill with him. Chase would rather not return to being rejected once more. That's why he continues to be Marvin's person to spill his woes to and the one to let Jackie know he's not judgmental of the potential symptoms of PTSD on display. October isn't a good month. An ego named Shawn Flynn is born on the 5th as a result of Sean's video involving his Bendy voice role. On Halloween, they find it very suspicious that an ego who got a personal video hasn't shown up at their home yet. Didn't this guy also have pictures on Instagram as of earlier this week? He really should be here. Especially seeing as he had his own room waiting for his arrival. Chase volunteers himself to speak to Sean. As it turns out, that was the right move. When Sean lets him in, he is introduced to Jameson Jackson. It goes down as well as expected. Chase brings Jameson home and give him the house tour. As they travel around the building, he ensures Jameson knows Sean is not to be trusted. When the new ego argues that their creator had accommodated him, Chase decides this moment was as good as any to visit the medical bay. "This is Jack. He's a prime example of what happens when keep trusting Sean and believing he actually cares. We're not shitting on Sean for the hell of it. We do it because he's a dick and we'd rather not force anyone else to lose their friend." Chase takes a stabilising breath. He shows Jameson to his new room and suggests he familiarise himself with it this afternoon. If he needs anything, feel free to give him a tap on the shoulder. He has to admit, Sean has balls. Not only did he trick Jameson into being his friend, he's trying to get Chase to sympathise with him too. Sean even has the nerve to give some sob story. Obviously, he'd twist the truth to get his way. Chase is smarter than that. It's not like he's to blame for Sean being overloaded by the need to keep up with the upload schedule. That was purely Sean's own doing. Then he has the audacity to pull the Jack card. Oh, fuck you. How dare he?! So what, Chase is just supposed to become Jack 2.0 until Sean bothers to wake him up? No thanks. Unlike Jack, he requires sleep so it's not like he can help without consequences. Besides, he's got his own shit going on. Maybe Sean recalls the whole 'depressed and suicidal guy who's going through a divorce' thing he'd centered his character on. "Chase, please, at least think about it. Jack is in that coma because I was stressed and resentful. I don't want to risk making things even worse. I know I'm just repeating myself now but less time focusing on videos means more time for me to work out how to fix everything." He does think about it. Okay, fine! If it's just to keep the channel going then whatever. The channel is necessary to keep all of them healthy. He'll do it for Jack's sake. Anything to increase the chance of waking him up is worth it, right? Even if it means going against his morals. He nearly throws Sean's offer back in his face a month later. It was simply a charity stream. All that was supposed to happen was a nightly break in the 2 day event. He will forever hate CCTV footage and security from this point onwards. What the fuck did Anti do to Jackie that Silent Night triggers him? The night is spent ensuring two things. One, that everyone, especially Jackie, felt as safe as they could be in a stressful situation like this. The second objective was to observe the feed for the whole night. They sleep in the living room and take an hour long shifts to monitor the glitches. A doctor moves in during January. As much as they need the medical help, Dr Jacksepticeye is hardly Henrik. Either way, an ego is an ego. Chase is glad he's not the only one who is uncomfortable watching the stranger overseeing Jack's care. They just need Henrik back. Things can be generally alright after that. After much negotiating from both parties, Stacy agrees to allow him some custody. She'll have the majority of it but she's fine with weekends being Chase's time with them. Yes, yes, god yes. He'd obviously prefer to have it more evenly split. Maybe alternate weeks or Monday-Thursday morning for one and Thursday afternoon-Sunday for the other. But weekends? He gets to see Willow and Noah for 2/7 of the week? He'd take an hour a year if that was the most Stacy was willing to compromise. The others surprise him with a small party, complete with cake, when the arrangement becomes official. That first weekend can't come soon enough. He has a talk with Jackie about mental health and coping mechanisms after he catches him binging on his secret whiskey stash. Trust him, hangovers are no fun. Stop trying to force your raised metabolism to submit and become intoxicated. Frequently battling with your head is exhausting. Drinking yourself silly is not the answer. No, don't ask why he resorts to alcohol. Do as he says, not as he does, you know? Please tell him you're aware he's down to confide in if you want. No, no, don't cry. It's all good. Marvin doesn't have to know a single thing. Anything else you wanted to say? Zero judging, he swears. Early May finally provides them with their favourite German doctor. Like Jackie, Henrik's wellbeing has certainly seen better days. To think, the three of them had been having some dumb debate about Spider-Man moments before the big reunion took place. This is the beginning of the 10 days where Chase believes things can be good for the egos. The only thing missing is Jack's consciousness. A week later, he provides Sean with a video he'd edited himself. The level of trust they have between each other now means Sean doesn't check the video's contents. It is for this reason that the comments come flooding in before his creator's wrath does. Sean deems the mistake irreversible and the video therefore eligible to stay up. Chase can only hope it doesn't lead to any more issues. The weekend passes without any problem. On Monday, he notices Willow forgot to bring her doll back to Stacy's. He might as well return the toy. It is with annoyance that he realises Stacy's probably experiencing a power cut. Albeit dangerous to have done so, Chase considers it lucky that he was carrying that lighter in his pocket. Come on, work already. Stupid thing. The flame is tiny but at least it's something. Better than exploring blind at any rate. As Chase wanders through dark hallways, he becomes increasingly aware he may be endangering himself. After all, this home was meant to be displaying signs of life. Where were- Faint laughter. Children's laughter, undoubtedly. Oh God, that sounded like Willow and Noah. A girl screams. He wants to run to her. Fuck it if it's clearly a trap. His daughter's in trouble and he'll expose himself to whatever's frightening her without a second thought. He wants to sprint and he knows he should. Yet something keeps him at a cautious pace. His frustration grows as whispers are cut off by what sounds like Noah crying. He's coming, he swears. Daddy's coming. Just hold on. The whispers intensify as he turns the corner. This new hallway is bathed in red. Chase has better visibility but it wasn't necessarily a good thing. The room at the end of the corridor is completely soaking in the colour. It leaks onto the surrounding walls. The only object blocking the light is the silhouette. "Who's there?" The silhouette's head steadily twists over its shoulder. A second passes. An eye illuminates green with an unnerving crackle. It does nothing to acknowledge the questions its current prey begs to have answered. "Where are they?" Chase cries. "What do you want from me?!" There is no time to scream or escape. There is only the erratic approach. And as quickly as a video can cut to darkness, they are both gone.

[ruffled-serpent]

Nethke’s Lair Review

@the-belows-128375​  You’re up, friend!

To start I want to say that right off the bat I noticed that you seem to have a soft spot for guardians! They’re quite excellent dragons, so I understand the sentiment. And also I enjoy how you seem to have a nice, organized biography template that you use for dragons that have lore. The templates you use are legible, and a great reference for both quick refreshers on the dragon’s personality and good for deep diving into their lore. First up, your namesake

Nethke

I like the wild ride of a backstory you gave Nethke, going from abandoned egg, to loner, to slave, and finally ending up in a welcoming home is such a great direction to take this dragon. What I particularly adore about the aesthetics of this dragon is you found a way to incorporate the reds of her tertiary into a nice gradient that shifts into pinks accomplished by your chosen accent and halo. The blues of the cloak mesh nicely with the secondary color AND gene. Excellent work all around in making this genone work so well

Nothing

Nothing really caught my eye due to her name, so I had to click to see if she had some juicy lore. I was rewarded because her lore is incredibly captivating. I personally love shade-related lore, and Nothing is such an interesting way to do just that. I really resonate with the quote in her bio that reads: ”That feeling when you're halfway through a really delicious thing, and you're like "should I finish this?" and you're physically full, but then you're like, "I'm eating this anyways"” because what a dang mood. As for aesthetics, I want to compliment you on your use of matching her browns with the garb and her eyes with the cloak. I imagine you chose her for the muted colors, wanting her to be a shade-touched dragon, and by golly you’ve done a great job with her.

BloodMixer

The whole ebonhide estate tab has me super intrigued, but BloodMixer drew me in on aesthetics alone. He is SUCH a handsome looking dragon. The way you’ve matched the celebration sage with the gold opal is utterly satisfying. The way his ice eyes blend in to look like just another star involved with the StarCon combo is quite lovely. His familiar, the harvest hardshell is such an excellent match as well, with the deeper oranges and tan of the cornucopia matching not only with the dragons own orange range them but with the little Olive wreath apparel as well. A subtle detail that didn’t go unnoticed here :)

Yaremka

Yaremka is such an excellent use of the festival skin, but what I most admire about the way you’ve dressed her is your use of the luminous sundrapes to frame her wings SO nicely. The small empty space is still visually pleasing, and if anything were to fill it, it would probably make the dragon look too busy. What an excellent light representative all around! I also enjoy the feisty wildclaw nature that comes out in her lore.

Firestarter

although not as dressed up as some other dragons I want to talk about how much I LOVE firestarter’s look. I’m not sure if you were going for this angle, but the use of terracotta ghost makes his ribs look like I’m peering into the grate of a furnace. It so wonderfully matches the grating on the banner as well. This dragon literally represents a furnace and I’m absolutely here for this aesthetic

Pandoriax

Pandoriax’s accent goes SO well with facet and opal. It brings in nice flashes of purple which lets the eye wander around the whole dragon which guides the viewer to admire the whole dragon. The wisps and the gloomwillow guide is an excellent combination here and their bright blues mesh well with the accent and the opal gene. Pandoriax is a stunning and beautiful dragon.

Marlowe

Marlowe’s aesthetics really nail down the whole “light dragon accepted into Earth culture” theme. Marlowe’s lore is so amazingly detailed. I love how as a dragonling you’ve given him a lisp and how you illustrated him correcting his lisp overtime. That is such a small, but fantastic detail that just makes the whole piece seem so full. Speaking of full, Marlow looks like he’s filled with gems. The opal gene and the earth halo combined with the gold from his accent is SUCH a fantastic way to bring out the Earth aesthetic. He is such an entertaining dragon to not only look at, but to read about as well

Wistala

Wistala is such a sparkly dragon. I really like how you’ve used the accent to match her tertiary color and her crystal facet genes. The purple gradient also works nicely together with the browns in her apparel, and I like how you matched the white cloth from the gem thief with the map kit. I also rather enjoy how you incorporated her cat into her lore :) a very well put together dragon!

Beautiful Dreamer

There are so many things I like about this dragon. As far as looks, I like the accent paired with the poison primary. The color matching is so spot on. I also really like how he is a dream specialist, and how that can easily tie into his smoke gene. I love it when genes are integrated with lore, and Dreamer’s a fantastic example of it. Speaking of lore, I adore Baku’s involvement in Dreamer’s life, and I’m glad you gave such a cool dragon a happily ever after.

A Practical Heart

right off the bat, A Practical Heart is such a romantic looking dragon. The reds of his accent, flowers, and coat only emphasize the passion, and while this dragon doesn’t have lore in his bio, it almost isn’t needed to at least assume to motive behind his design. I like the small amount of mystery we get from having his eyes covered by the hat. The storytelling done with just his outfit is commendable

A Practical God

I’m sensing a theme here with the names, and honestly I love it. It’s such an intriguing mechanic. So, with A Practical God, I like how you’ve use the skincent to turn the dragon into a ghostly shadow god. The skull and antlers really bring home that “old god” type aesthetic while the magic cards are a good visual storytelling on what we can expect his powers to be. Another great visually based dragon

Practical Bones

I get a witch doctor kind or a vulture culture kind of vibe from this dragon. I can appreciate the raven armor and the birdskull apparel pieces as a part of this dragons collection or aesthetic. I’ve always admired how the raven armor gives dragons an entirely armored leg, and I particularly enjoy the layering you did here with the wingsilks. Sometimes it can be hard working with blacks in regards to apparel because of the differing tones, but you handled that very well in this greyscale themed dragon.

Forgemaker

The use of the skincent and crucible here is just so dang flawless. It almost looked like the crucible was part of the skin until I realized the smoke was definitely a part of an apparel item. The whites involved in this dragon remind me of fallen ash, and work so well with a fire-themed dragon. And while Forgemaker doesn’t have much lore, the small bit in his bio is very telling. Defecting to the Other Power is so ominous and hints so something much larger.

Bayer

Bayer is such an amazing looking arcane dragon. From deep purples to light pinks you’ve worked with such a great range in both Bayer’s genetic colors and apparel items. I love that you’ve chosen a dragon with a dark primary, it brings out all the other details of his apparel and genes that would be washed out if it were any brighter. Everything flows so nicely here, what an intelligent design and inspiration.

Rumple

For Rumple, everything also flows nicely here. The secondary gene you’ve picked for him goes perfectly with the electricity of the stormclaws. I love how close the robin/cyan colors match. Given that he’s the engineer of the estate, you’ve pictured his skill of tinkering well with the steampunk gloves, circuit accent, and again the stormclaws. His spines match so well with the vest, and while not perfectly matched the dark colors do go hand in hand with the lead wings. Lastly, the Sentry Squawker as his familiar is such a great way to drive home the engineering theme you’ve created for him.

Nethke, from your lair I feel like I’ve learned a great deal about visual storytelling. And with dragons that you’ve written lore for, it feels full and enriching. Nothing feels like it’s too much or overdone. Thank you for letting me review your lair!

[thedeevirus]

JEALOUS EDWARD NYGMA

yallsothirstyfored said:Annoying things they do to get each other’s attention when they are busy or interested by something else and they crave for attention.

Enjoy!

Also added to Nygmobblepot Ficlets on AO3

***

‘Evening’.

Henry smiled widely. First rule of The Foxglove; Always be happy to see the customer. Or at least their wallet. In this case, Henry didn’t have to pretend. The man on the bed was dressed in a green suit with dark, chocolate brown eyes and one lean, long leg draped over the other. Far more attractive than the obese sixty five year old widow he had been ‘entertaining’ the night before.

‘Evening handsome’, Henry replied, walking towards his client, ‘What can I do for-‘

The door slammed behind him, making Henry jump. He swallowed hard as a large, waxen skinned figure loomed over him. Even as he began to sweat, he wondered how the pasty brute had hidden behind the door!

‘I-uh- I don’t usually see more than one cl-client’, Henry stammered.

The massive hulk advanced on him, causing Henry to fall backwards into an armchair. He pressed himself back as the monster (it didn’t feel right to refer to it as a ‘man’) glowered down at him with bloodshot eyes. A musky odour rose from its tattered black suit.He noticed the other man get up from the bed.

‘We’re just here to ask some questions’, the man said breezily, ‘But I suggest you answer quickly. “Else Grundy here will get cranky’.

Grundy moved around the armchair and placed both slab like hands on Henry’s shoulders. Henry cleared his throat.

‘Talk about what?’

‘Penguin’.

‘Penguins? Like the birds?’

The man in green leant in and even though he was smiling, Henry suddenly wasn’t sure Grundy was the one he should be most worried about.

‘Here’s a riddle for you. In the next five seconds there will be a dead man in this room if he keeps asking stupid questions. What is his name?’

‘H-Henry?’

‘The Henry that has Oswald Cobblepot aka ‘The Penguin’ as a regular client?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You don’t sound very sure’, the man smirked as he stepped back, ‘Jog his memory big guy’.

Ed grinned in relish as Grundy began to exert pressure on Henry’s shoulders. Having his own ‘hired goon’ was a rush he could get used to!

Grundy shook Henry gently. Ed had already warned Grundy not to get carried away until they had the information they wanted.‘Ah! I’m sure! I’m sure!’ Henry cried desperately, teeth clacking as he was lifted bodily out of the chair and slammed back down again and again.

‘You not Henry?’ Grundy demanded.

‘I’m Henry too! I’m Henry and I’m sure!’

Grundy looked at Ed. Ed nodded and Grundy stopped abruptly. As Henry shook his head dizzily, Grundy slowly released his grip. Henry flopped back into the chair. His eyes widened as Grundy placed both hands on the head of the armchair instead, at either side of Henry’s skull.

‘What do you wanna know?!’ Henry gasped.

‘When did Oswald first hire you?’

‘A few years ago’, Henry said, wincing as he hesitantly rubbed his shoulders, ‘When he was mayor’.

This surprised Ed. He had been in total control of Oswald’s schedule back then. Every moment had been accounted for and he had rarely left Oswald’s side. It was what had made him an exceptional Chief of Staff.The thought that Oswald had subverted his fool proof system by sneaking off behind his back irked Ed. Had he not trusted him to tell him where he was going?Ed shook his head annoyed. Why the Hell did it matter? It was ancient history. But ancient history was, by nature, full of mysteries and Ed couldn’t stand to leave this one unsolved.

‘Why?’

‘He said he wanted to tell someone how he felt about them and wanted to practice’.

Ed fidgeted with his gloves. Oswald had started coming to The Foxglove because of him?

‘You didn’t think that was strange?’ he asked.

Henry shrugged.

‘No. We get weird requests all the time here. He also wanted to practice kissing’.

Ed gave a bark of laughter. Bet Oswald thought that had been money well spent.

‘And what do you do for him now?’ Ed asked, feeling a bit better that Oswald had been the death of his own carefully planned machinations, ‘Please don’t include any intimate details. I’m not sure Grundy’s charming childlike innocence could handle the imagery’.

Henry chuckled politely at Ed’s joke. Grundy gave a low growl and he stopped.

‘Nothing really’, Henry said.

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘It’s true!’ Henry said hastily, ‘I don’t need to leave out any details ‘cause we don’t do anything ‘intimate’’.

‘Then why does he come here?’ Ed demanded.

‘Sometimes he asks me to kiss him, hold him or massage his bad leg but we mostly just talk’.

‘About?’

‘Mostly about how he’s making the city better’.

‘I bet he talks about that a lot’, Ed said sourly.Oswald’s favourite subject had always been himself.

‘It’s actually really interesting!’ Henry said somewhat defensively, ‘Do you know crime’s dropped 85% since Oswald invented the licence thing?’

‘Of course I know!’Henry flinched at Ed’s harsh tone and Ed adjusted his glasses self-consciously.‘Continue’, Ed said, fingers drumming on a nearby table.

‘Honestly, it’s hard to keep track since we kinda talk about everything. Music, art, theatre, his mother…’

Henry trailed off, thinking.

‘He never mentions anyone else?’

‘He talks about an old friend called ‘Jim’ sometimes. Is that you?’

‘I’m the Riddler. I ask the questions here’.

Ed felt a flash of vindication as recognition materialised in Henry’s eyes. It felt good to see his reputation hadn’t been put on ice like he had been.

‘Sorry Mr Riddler’.

‘What does he say about Jim?’

‘That he wishes they were on the same side. I think Jim’s a cop though so that makes it kinda difficult for them to be friends’.

‘If you think Penguin knows what friendship means then you’re a moron’, Ed said darkly.

‘Maybe’, Henry said thoughtfully, ‘I know people call Oswald a monster but he’s always been a perfect gentleman with me. I think he’s a very lonely man’.

‘It sounds like you feel sorry for him’.

‘I just think it’s sad he needs to pay money just to have someone to talk to. He seemed a bit happier at our last appointment though so maybe he’s found someone?’

Ed felt his eye twitch involuntarily. Oswald? Find someone?!Henry’s familiarity was also bothering him. Since when did Oswald let rubes like this moron call him by his first name?!

‘So there’s nothing else between you and Oswald?’

‘Of course not. I’m a professional’.

Ed bit back a curse. The whole reason they had come to The Foxglove was to gather ammunition for Ed’s ultimate revenge against Oswald. One of Ed’s spies had told him the Penguin used the facilities weekly and had a ‘favourite’ host. Ed had overestimated Oswald’s attachment and cursed his impaired mental state. Yet another crime to lay at Oswald’s doorstep.

‘Well this is a bust’, Ed growled.

‘I’ll make sure you’re refunded for the session? if that’ll make things better?’

‘You actually think we’re paying for this?’

‘Guess not’.

‘You look glum for someone who’s still got all his limbs’, Ed said, heading for the door, ‘Say anything about this little visit to Oswald and Grundy might change his mind’.

‘Wait!’ Henry said suddenly.

‘What?!’ Ed snapped, hand on the doorknob.

‘If you’re really The Riddler, I have a message for you from Oswald’.

‘Wait, Oswald knew I was coming here?’ Ed asked.

Suddenly Ed saw an image of the new coat his usually shabby Narrows informant had been wearing when he had given him the information earlier that day. Bait at the end of Oswald’s hook. Ed gritted his teeth. He should have noticed that! The old him would have noticed that! The pleasant memory of the sudden recognition in Henry’s eyes also became bitter ashes. So, he only knew Ed’s name because Oswald had told him in anticipation of Ed following the trail. Not because Ed’s fame preceded him.

Ed numbly watched Henry pull on a green jacket and a derby hat along with some reading glasses, too furious at having fallen for Oswald’s bait to do anything else. Too nervous at what was coming next.

Henry spun on his heel dramatically and Ed’s eyes widened. It was like looking in a mirror and somehow more disquieting than the dread Ed usually felt looking at his actual reflection. With props identical to Ed’s own effects, the similarity was astonishing. Even Grundy could see the resemblance, judging from how his head was ponderously swivelling between he and Henry.

‘Riddle me this!’ Henry declared, striking a flamboyant pose as he read from a cue card, ’They say “If you love something let it go. But if it keeps coming back who does it belong to?”’

Ed was silent.The impression had been startlingly accurate.Oswald had obviously intended it as a cruel jab. A reflection of who Ed had once been. Who he should be. Forgotten glory that he would never experience again.Instead, inspiration had struck like lightning.Two could play at this game.But Ed preferred an audience.

‘I-uh don’t think you’re supposed to answer’, Henry said, turning the card over to show the blank opposite side, ‘There isn’t one on this’.

Ed shook his head, chuckling to himself.

‘No. I think I got the answer just fine. You wear this getup often?’

Henry’s eyes darted away and Ed’s eyes narrowed.

So, it seemed Henry hadn’t been entirely truthful about the ‘intimate’ details.Ed blinked hard to dispel and unwanted image of Oswald in a tuxedo, stroking a top hat suggestively.This had the strange side effect of conjuring another memory.Isabella.Was Oswald trying to replace his first love? Or was it just another subtle insult at Ed? Look Oswald can have a second chance too!If it was the former, it was ridiculous! What Ed and Isabella had had was special! It didn’t matter if Oswald had apparently known this Henry for longer! Ed and Isabella’s short courtship had been Oswald’s fault!But then, why did the thought of Oswald using Henry as a petty insult make him so angry instead of it being Oswald genuinely missing him?! Ed did not miss Oswald. He hated him! That was the whole reason they were here; to get ammunition!Ed’s thoughts were so frantic and mixed up that it took him a few minutes to notice Henry babbling placatingly.

‘L-like I said, whatever’s going on between you two, my relationship with Oswald is strictly business and um, if you like, I mean, you have booked me for the hour, we could have some fun of our own?’

Ed glared at Henry as Henry blithely continued digging his own grave.

‘We could make it even? So, you know, there’s no need for anyone to be…. jealous?’

Ed smiled poisonously.

‘There’s no need for you to be conscious’.

Grundy’s large fist descended, squashing Henry’s derby hat flat. He crumpled into an insensate heap on the floor.

Ed considered killing him but decided against it in the same instant. Killing him would surely signal to Oswald that his little pantomime had gotten under Ed’s skin. Ed grinned in relish as he pictured Oswald’s reaction to the little show he was forming in his own head. How delicious that Oswald had given him the idea! Even better was the thought that Oswald would figure that out.

Let Oswald have his dress up doll. Oswald hadn’t known Ed would come here. He had hoped. He was so obsessed with Ed it was pathetic!He’d never have the real thing. Not even if he came begging on his knees for forgiveness. Looking up at Ed with tears in his green eyes, grasping his jacket, pleading. The ‘King of Gotham’ on his knees. Had he ever been on his knees in front of Henry? Did he act out his fantasises in this very room?Longing and lusting for Ed. Desperate for his love. His attention.Ed felt his cheeks reddening and inhaled slowly.He noticed Grundy looking at him, brow furrowed in concern.

‘Ed okay?’

‘Best I’ve felt in days’, Ed said cheerily, pushing the worryingly erotic images to the back of his mind.

Grundy smiled, reassured that his friend was feeling better and jabbed a thick thumb behind him.

‘Window?’ Grundy suggested.

Ed stepped over Henry and glanced outside, surveying the alley below.

‘Good thinking buddy. Meet you outside’.

Ed headed for the door as Grundy prepared to relocate Henry’s unconscious body. He glanced back over his shoulder as he opened it.

‘Don’t try too hard to aim for the dumpster down there’, he said.

[tyrantisterror]

Revenge of the ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest: ENTRY ROUNDUP!

Twenty three wonderful monsters were submitted by twenty three wonderful people to the second ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest.  Let’s give them all their due before the winners are announced, shall we?  Just as with last time, I went ahead and sketched them all, because I’m a masochist who enjoys hurting his carpal tunnel ridden hand, and because I feel like it gives every monster a fair shake.

@bugcthulhu starts us off with Rohobaron, a hot-headed retrosaur/crocodile chimera that can superheat his body to ignite the landscape and incinerate enemies with a touch.  Despite the fairly nasty powers, Rohobaron actually has a somewhat sweet personality, being quick to make friends and staunchly loyal to his allies, though his short fuse can also make him drag his friends into danger.

Design-wise, Rohobaron’s got a very solid concept, with those dynamic fuckoff-big arms and horns  being the most obvious selling points, along with little dashes of character like the gharial lump on his nose and the heavily armored plates on his chest.  You wouldn’t confuse him with the other retrosaur kaiju in the series, that’s for sure.  The idea of a monster this burly and gnarly looking being a sweetheart is the kind of “appearances can be decieving” thing that ATOM thrives on, and giving a kaiju powers that reflect its personality (in this case, hot-headedness = heat powers) is always cool.  There are some minor continuity issues with the bio given what’s going to happen in ATOM Vol. 2, but Rohobaron doesn’t lose points for not reading a book that isn’t fully written yet.  All in all, a wonderful submission!

@akitymh is next with Charlotte, a retrosaur of the herbivorous persuasion.  Exactly what clade of herbivorous retrosaur it belongs to is intentionally unclear, as Charlotte has a thagomizer like an armored goliath, but also shares some quirks with horned goliaths, despite lacking horns itself.  A missing link, perhaps?  She’s also unusually large for an ATOM kaiju, which suggests she’s been around for a long time - reinforced by her calm and sometimes protective nature, as the older kaiju tend to be less fight-focused than the young ones in ATOM.

Charlotte’s design is very interesting, and I like the idea of having some retrosaurs who don’t quite fit into any one given clade - it makes it more like real life taxonomy to have some oddballs here and there.  Her smattering of armor plates gives her and interesting look, and I like how her long hind legs allow her to go bipedal as well as walk on all fours.  Her neutral personality also makes her stand out among the mostly fight-happy monsters of ATOM.  All in all, a solid entry!

We continue the prehistoric theme with @ariccio50‘s marvelous armored retrosaur, Scolosurtr!  An genetically modified armored goliath, Scolosurtr’s most prominent features, as you have no doubt noticed, are the two massive yet hollow spikes on his back, which are connected to the kaiju’s two massive hearts and occasionally shoot projectiles when he’s pissed (though this is painful for the reptile to do).  Scolosurtr can superheat his blood as a defensive mechanism, which in turn allows him to melt the ice that often clings to his body in the frosty countries he tends to roam.  The armored monster is very easily stressed out, particularly by his fellow kaiju, and will even bite his tail in an attempt to calm down.

Scolotsurtr’s design is rad as hell - I love a giant monster that looks like a mountain, and the mini-volcano shaped shoulder spikes are such a cool pokeon-esque design feature (I say that as high praise).  His icy, antisocial personality is a fun contrast with his fiery look, and the personality tick of biting his own tail to calm down is a very endearing quirk.  Also, can we appreciate how wide this fella is?  Just an absolute unit.  His powerset allows him to stand out from the mostly tooth and claw fighters of ATOM, while still being balanced thanks to the pain it causes him to use it.  A very well rounded entry!

@scatha5 brings us our fourth entry, the enormous armadillo Rerradon!  Shy but willing to fight when backed into a corner, Rerradon is a formidable enemy when roused, with thick armor keeping him well defended and enough claws and spikes to make other monsters rethink their choice to attack him.

Mammalian kaiju are, as many have noted, very rare, and Rerradon is an excellent contribution to their small but growing ranks.  I’m a sucker for armadillos too, and Rerradon keeps all the traits I love about them while still having a unique and monstrous look to him.  My favorite detail on this fella, though, is one of his alternate names - “Dracula’s Weird Dog.”  Why?  Well, because of the fact it references some obscure monster movie trivia - both in the 30′s when the Bela Lugosi Dracula first came out, and the 50′s when it was prominently re-released, armadillos were not a particularly well known creature, and would have been considered exotic and strange by most Americans.  As a result, the film-makers of Dracula put an armadillo in the vampire’s haunted castle, banking on viewers thinking it was some sort of strange monster.  And, at the time, it works - most people who saw the film had no idea what the strange lizard rat thing was, though I imagine anyone living in the Southwest probably wondered why the hell an armadillo was in Transylvania.  Obscure references to monster movie minutia are exactly ATOM’s jam!

Our next monster is @quinnred‘s flying saucer mimic, Mogul!  An enormous descendent of the sea cucumber, Mogul needs both Yamaneon radiation and water to survive, and causes a great deal of chaos in the process of feeding until scientists realize dehydration can drive the creature away,  While too simple in nature to exhibit much of a personality, Mogul’s mysterious nature and accidental imitation of interstellar travelers allows it to leave a mark nonetheless.

An incredibly clever design that I wasn’t quite skilled enough to capture in my sketch (you should always check out the links to the originals here, folks), Mogul is tailor made to a great 1950′s style monster story.  You have the initial mystery with an inherent red herring built into it (i.e. everyone thinking the creature is initially a UFO), the startling discovery of what we’re really dealing with, and a creative solution that scientists come upon when studying the monster’s biology.  While Mogul’s simple nature means it might have trouble in a kaiju vs. kaiju story, it’s incredibly well suited to a stand alone tale, the kind that could really flesh out ATOM’s giant monster crisis.

@cerothenull brings us our first big arthropod, Acanpetax the enormous assassin bug!  A gnarly insect that wears the bones of kaiju its killed as armor, Acanpetax is a cruel and vicious hunter of its fellow monsters, though over time its vicious ways soften.

Kaiju bones turn to Yamaneon when they die, and Yamaneon crystals are shaped in a way that would give them a very coarse, spiky texture (if my muddied memories of Geology 101 are correct, anyway), making the insect’s armor even more evil-looking, which is great for a monster that (initially) plays a Heel role.  This guy has the makings of a great villain monster, and I like that, in ATOM fashion, he still manages to get a heroic turn over time, especially the implication in his bio that it comes from communicating with the spirit of the snake monster whose skull he currently wears as a hat.  It’s delightfully weird!  A big bug with a solid visual to work off of and a great role and character arc baked into his personality, Acanpetax is a strong contender!

(no seriously you really need to check out the original postings, my sketch here does not do this fella justice)

@evolutionsvoid also shows ATOM’s big bugs some love by bringing the fungus infested Megaria into their ranks!  Originally a larval cicada that was parasitized (and likely to die) by a fungus, Megaria’s sudden transformation into a kaiju brought her into a more balanced symbiosis with her parasite.  Neither an attacker or a protector, Megaria is a spectator of kaiju fights, and will eagerly watch her fellow giants battle without participating herself.  She is a force to be reckoned with when backed into a corner, though, as Megaria’s fungal growths have given her a variety of sound-based abilities, many of which she is not fully in control of.

It hasn’t been touched on in ATOM much yet, but plants and fungi are affected by Yamaneon radiation in a very similar manner as animal life, and Megaria presents a fun opportunity to explore that.  The idea of a parasite and its victim becoming partners post-mutation is really interesting, and Megaria’s design is just as interesting to look at as its concept is to think about.  Her fungal symbiote also gives her a great number of unique powers and abilities to make any fight scenes she’d be in unique, while her personality as a kaiju spectator allows her to stand out (I can see her making cameos in other stories as a background monster).  Another solid contender for the contest!

@highly-radioactive-nerd takes us back to the past with the helmeted retrosaur Tsunoking!  Technically a paleo tyrant, Tsunoking sports several defensive adaptations that are similar to those sported by many herbivorous retrosaurs as well, though perhaps his most notable adaptation is the crown of horns that gives him his name (see, he’s pointing to it in my sketch!  It’s a nice crown.).  A proud but honorable monster, Tsunoking is a powerful fighter who prefers to fight similarly powerful foes, and is also rather fastidious when it comes to personal hygiene.

I love the chimeric mix of features here - the dragon-y snout, the pachycephalosaurus dome skull, and the ankylosaurus tail club all give Tsunoking a very unique silhouette among the many carnivorous retrosaur kaiju in ATOM, and would no doubt provide some fun speculation for ATOM’s paleontologists.  The vanity gives his heroic personality a fun flaw to work with, and I likewise think his Samurai-esque honor code could be interesting to work with in a story.  A wonderful prehistoric monster to add to the roster!

@dragonzzilla brings us a very strange and melancholic monster, the bipedal caribou Najjuk!  In addition to its striking humanoid stance, Najjuk emits a great deal of toxic gas as a byproduct of its Ice Age biology, and its inability to cope with warm temperatures results in it becoming incredibly aggressive and dangerous whenever it leaves its arctic environment.

There’s a clear (but not too heavy handed) metaphor for global warming in the threat Najjuk presents, as the warming of the earth leaves it less cool spaces to seek refuge in, and the caribou’s methane emissions actually contribute to the problem that’s destroying its home.  The monster also has a great deal of pathos built into it - a herd animal that is the last of its kind, forced to live in a habitat that’s too inhospitably cold for most other kaiju to tolerate, making it an incredibly lonely monster.  Combine the symbolism and pathos of its plight with a very striking mammalian design and you have an incredibly unique entry into ATOM’s menagerie of monsters!

@virovac gives us a truly bizarre entry with one of the most clever descriptions I’ve read so far, the low budget monstrosity known as Nematerror!  A mutant roundworm, Nematerror is one of the monsters considered too simple in nature to have a personality, though it still seeks what it needs with enough voraciousness to be considered a threat.

The really ingenious thing about this entry lay in its description, as virovac chose to describe how the creature would look if it were an actual prop in a low budget 50′s monster movie.  Made from a garden hose, stuffed socks, and some other trash, Nematerror is the kind of cornball monster puppet idea that could only be carried out in the atomic era of creature features, the kind that Joel and the bots would have a field day with.  There’s even a description of how its hose nozzle could be turned around to represent a nematode’s malleable mouth parts!  It’s very clever, and definitely the sort of idea that suits ATOM’s love of cheesy monster movies.

@skarmorysilver brings us the old and crusty mole monster, Gnomoran!  A sadistic curmudgeon, Gnomoran is a deeply unpleasant monster to face in battle.  With venomous spit and caustic pus secreted from its many facial sores, Gnomoran’s natural weapons give it a revolting edge, which is made all the more nasty by its mean-spirited personality.  However, Gnomoran is also in immense pain, as its healing factor has been thrown off kilter, giving it the kaiju equivalent of cancer.

The design of Gnomoran is excellent.  Like many of the previous ATOM CKC entries, it plays on the secret connection between ATOM and my Midgaheim stories, in this case using my mole-derived Gnomes/Dwarves as a starting point, and working back to show their more explicitly rodent-like roots.  The star-faced mole nose, long beard, big ol’ horn, and lumpy tumors all give him a bunch of iconic design details, and his power set of venom and caustic pus is uniquely gross.  He’s a great Heel monster, with a nasty attitude to match his equally nasty looks and power set, all while still having the ability to be sympathetic.  Figuring out how to explain why his healing factor has gotten so out of whack presents a bit of a continuity hurdle - Gnomoran has symptoms of both cancer and old age, which normally aren’t possible in an ATOM-verse kaiju, so that would need a good explanation.  But design and personality wise he’s a damn good fit!

DA user Lediblock submitted the chicken/retrosaur hybrid Galiente!  Made by splicing DNA from Tyrantis’s blue nemesis, the Terror, with that of a chicken, Galiente is a panicky, defensive monster who is tormented by the knowledge that other kaiju find his flesh ridiculously delicious.

Galiente’s design is a freakish mix of reptile and bird that goes for body horror, with a patchwork mix of scales, feathers, and raw skin, twisted limbs, and, somewhat inexplicably considering the two animals it’s a mix of, velociraptor feet.  The result is a very tortured looking creature, which fits its nervous and tragically aggressive personality - Galiente is a monster that picks fights because it fears it will get hurt if it doesn’t make the first move.  There’s a sadness that goes along with its wretched appearance and attitude that’s very sympathetic.  The monster’s backstory would probably need some tweaks, though - the many ways it is tied to Tyrantis specifically seem a bit unnecessary, with the “people mistake it for Tyrantis” angle being a bit implausible (and somewhat redundant, given Tyrantis already has two enemies that are his twisted doppelgangers as is), and I’m not sure a monster hunting organization would recruit a chicken farmer into their ranks, no matter how good his business savvy is.  Still, a plausible backstory wasn’t one of the contest requirements, and design and personality-wise Galiente is a very solid concept.

@protagonistprepblog submitted Gentil, an armored monster with a sweet disposition!  Gentil is designed to be something of an earth elemental, with a mix of traits from various creatures associated with that element.  He sports a healing mist/aura, a poison blast from his mouth, venomous claws, and the standard kaiju powers of strength and nigh invulnerability.  He’s also smart enough to join an organization specifically to help people.

Gentil has a very striking design, albeit one that’s (intentionally) hard to place taxonomically.  He would probably be the result of genetic modification in ATOM’s world, though the way his creator described him as the kaiju of the Earth Element makes me think the intention is for something more magical in origin.  The sweet personality suits his name very well, and as far as monsters go he’s very friend-shaped.  Most of Gentil’s information was shared with me by his creator via DMs, and he’s a very thoroughly developed concept, albeit one that seems to fit a story of protagonistprepblog’s creation a bit better than ATOM.  A wonderful submission nonetheless!

@dinosaurana submits the nuclear gator known far and wide as One-Armed Louie!  Already a menace when he was just a big, one-armed alligator, Louie became a true menace when he survived the explosive failure of a nuclear power plant, resulting in a number of wild mutations that, among other things, allow the massive crocodilian to assume a semi-bipedal stance.  Louie’s aggressive nature and history of getting into mischief ironically make him a pretty good kaiju to have around, as he will more often than not turn those shit-starting instincts on his fellow giants and end up keeping them in line as a result.  Even Jim Madson, a gator hunter turned kaiju wrangler, can’t help but appreciate how the “rat bastard” has become something of a boon to humanity since becoming freakishly large.

One-Armed Louie brings a true crocodilian to ATOM’s cast, which warms my reptile loving heart.  One could argue that the retrosaurs are all just very weird crocodiles, of course, but while that may literally be the case, most of them don’t look like crocodiles - they don’t have that pure crocodile vibe - and Louie makes up for their deficiency by being very much a big ol’ crocodilian.  Big ol’ gators and crocs are a giant monster movie archetype just as much as big ol’ bugs, and Louie gives them their due very well.  He also looks absolutely hardcore, which fits his aggressive “rat bastard” personality to a T.  A very solid entry for the contest!

@iamthekaijuking submitted the modified martian monster Nyergolep!  Originally from the planet Mars, Nyergolep was kidnapped by the Beyonder Alliance and experimented upon until it developed psychic powers.  Designed to be a sort of anti-Kemlasulla, Nyergolep is a nervous wreck who hates combat and desperately wants to escape the Beyonders.

Nyergolep’s design takes a lot from Kemlasulla’s, albeit with a lot of twists - fitting for the “Anti-Kemlasulla.”  Its tentacles are much more massive than its legs, with the roles of each set of limbs being reversed (i.e. using tentacles for locomotion instead of grasping, using legs for grasping instead of locomotion), and it lacks all of the armor Kemlasulla has, including the bony plates protecting the head and eye.  The result is a very fragile looking martian, the squishy mage to Kemlasulla’s rough and rowdy fighter.  I like the wiggly line of its upper jaw the best - don’t ask me why.  “Nergle’s” design is a little too closely tied to Kemlasulla’s for me to give full marks in that category, though I do love that wiggly mouth.  Its personality is pretty damn good though, fitting with the other shell-shocked war veterans in the Beyonder Kaiju army.

@dragonseeker-rex submitted the cactus/bird hybrid Orothorn!  In a story that feels like it came from one of the more light-hearted Twilight Zone episodes, Orothorn began as a normal gilded flicker that happened to befriend an cowboy actor named Mick Auricson (specializing in playing cowboys was A Thing in the 1950′s) after Mick nursed the little bird back to health.  An ill-placed dynamite explosion near a hidden Yamaneon deposit not only supersized Orothorn, but fused it with some of the nearby cactus (violent bursts of Yamaneon radiation can do this kind of shit on occasion), creating a massive, thorny-skinned bird monster with a heart of gold and a fondness for humans in general, and Mick Auricson in particular.  The feeling is mutual, as Mick even commissioned a special kaiju-sized scarf for the bird to wear (which I forgot to illustrate, whoops!).

Birds are lacking in ATOM’s roster (we don’t even have any in the core 50 files), and Orothorn is a unique take on the concept, with cactus thorns sticking out from between his feathers.  Him being a kaiju that specifically emulates the heroic behavior of a cowboy (actor) is also adorable and so very in line with ATOM’s sensibilities, it’s genuinely cute and I love it.  It’s a giant bird with cactus thorns that wears a scarf and thinks it’s a cowboy, how can you not love that?

Dracosaurus Rex submitted the enormous tuatara kaiju Tuatani!  Initially mistaken for being a retrosaur, this three eyed reptile can shoot energy blasts from his third eye and carries a virulent disease in his blood that infects any who encounter it.  A lonesome creature, Tuatani is very placcid during the day but will go on nightly rampages from time to time, apparently in a fit of vengeful despair at being the only one of his kind.

A clear homage to the Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, Tuatani nevertheless has a lot to set him apart from his inspiration, with a multi-eyed motiff that sports an actual third eye as well as several eyespots.  The loneliness that drives him to lash out is a nice nod to both the film and the short story that inspired it, and his status as a Tuatara descendant would make him the last modern reptile missing from ATOM’s pantheon.  The nature of the disease in his blood would need some elaboration, as the immune systems of ATOM kaiju are very strong (being able to regenerate white blood cells almost instantaneously makes it very easy for them to learn which micro-organisms need to be destroyed), but it’s an interesting power for the monster to have.  A very solid entry!

@umbercario-sablesable gives us the giant silkworm, Munchy!  A caterpillar whose head, jaws, and true legs are covered in a metal alloy. Munchy lives to eat, and with metal jaws he can eat quite a lot of things!  While the insect will eat any non-living matter it comes across, it prefers not to eat living things, which makes it one of the few monsters who finds buildings more appetizing than the people inside them.  Though Munchy has little desire in this world outside of sating its gluttony, it isn’t a malicious creature, and so long as your house isn’t in its path you have little to fear from the monster.

Silkworms have a short but important role in kaiju history, as Mothra’s larva form is based on a type of silkworm, so making a silkworm kaiju plays into a very grand tradition.  Munchy goes for a more morally neutral route than Mothra, though, taking the voracious appetite of a caterpillar and exaggerating it to a proper kaiju scale.  The simplicity of it actually makes for a rather unique kaiju, as Munchy’s single-minded desire to eat as much non-living matter as possible makes it a very different sort of antagonist than the somewhat more complicated kaiju villains of ATOM.  Add to that the massive variety one can find in silkworms and you have a recipe for a very good monster!

(Apologies at the possible inaccuracy of my illustration - google could not find images of the  wakabayashi landrace species of silkworm that he is specified as being, so I had to just look up silkworms and hope I was somewhere in the correct ballpark - and then I missed the detail about his first pair of false legs being long enough to give him a bipedal stance so uh... well I think he’s still pretty cute, that counts for something?)

Sir K brings us the lung/ryu kaiju Yokaigon the Incredible!  Mistaken for a retrosaur by its initial discoverer (we certainly have a lot of scientists in ATOM who are very bad at taxonomy), Yokaigon is capable of affecting the weather like some of the few psychic kaiju in ATOM’s setting, suggesting latent psychic powers on the reptile’s part.  He is also able to absorb electricity and may or may not be able to fly.  Introverted and antisocial by nature, Yokaigon isn’t driven to seek out combat like most other kaiju, and prefers to be left alone.

With a backstory inspired by an absolutely terrible dub of Varan the Unbelievable!, Yokaigon is a fun homage that winks at some of the mythic creatures that existed in ATOM’s universe long before the series takes place - a surviving Loong/Ryu, much as Kraydi is a surviving dragon and Gorgolisk a surviving basilisk.  While Loongs aren’t covered in my Midgaheim Bestiary project, I have done sketches of what they would be like before, and it’s fun to see them mixed with a suitamation look here.  I don’t think a sea monster necessarily needs to make storms to still feel appropriately mythical, but the hydrokinetic ability to summon sea storms is plausible enough in ATOM (I’ve got a Yeti who summons blizzards in roughly the same way, so who am I to judge?).  And people always want more dragons.

@toothlessloveshiccup brings us the prehistoric arthropod Insectra!  Despite appearances, Insectra isn’t actually an insect, but actually a much older arthropod that is more closely related to horseshoe crabs.  Forged in a conflict between natives and an encroaching military force in the South Pacific, Insectra protects the local human civilization of her island home while repelling those who would destroy it.  With EMP blasts in her already powerful arsenal, she is a formidable enemy for anyone, man or kaiju, to face.

Insectra’s design has a great Hanna Barbera bug-monster vibe, the sort of thing you could see going toe to toe with the Herculoids or Space Ghost.  It’s simple in some places, but to the point, with great big spears for hands and wide, stompy feet.  Her motivation as a protector is a great nod to Mothra, while having an even more explicit anti-imperialist bent to it.  A very well rounded entry for the contest!

Shadyserpent brings us the draconic reptile Karax!  Another mythic creature sneaking into the world of ATOM, Karax is a serpentine beast whose vestigial wings allow it to fly (Yamaneon’s ability to defy gravity doing some of its most implausible work yet).  With terrible venom and a better-than-average healing factor, Karax is a deadly opponent, the dragon-like beast is thankfully more focused on collecting shiny objects than waging war against man or kaiju, though his desire to add to his hoard sometimes causes trouble.

See?  I told you people like dragons!  Karax’s design retains the ATOM-approved level of scientific plausibility, with his wings being fairly simple/under-developed compared to the more fantastical dragons of my Midgaheim stories.  He retains the prehistoric monster vibe that other Midgaheim survivors like Gorgolisk and Kraydi have, towing the line enough to fit in with ATOM’s menagerie while still winking at the mythic side of things.  His fondness for shiny objects is both a nice nod to his draconic nature and a fun character quirk that can get him into  the kind of trouble that stories are made of, and the fact that he’s also got more than a few references to the classic giant monster movie Reptilicus is also a plus!  A very good entry.

@titleknown brings us Neuro-Idiom, a brain monster who creates psychedelic mass hallucinations!  Formed from a bunch of aliens fusing their minds together, Neuro-Idiom conjurs other creatures out of thin air with its psychic powers, and has pretty much every other psychic power to boot!

Neuro-Idiom’s primary design, that of a big walking brain creature, fills a monster archetype that hasn’t been present in ATOM thus far - i.e. the big, ambulatory, disembodied brain, and yes, that is a SUPER popular archetype for 1950′s/60′s monster fiction.  Its psychic projections also pay homage to various monsters in fiction that were actually just the manifestations of an unsound mind - the Id monster from Forbidden Planet, the crawling brains of Fiend Without a Face, and the Crackler from Godzilla: The Series are examples of this concept.  The backstory of this monster would need to be reworked since it kind of ignores that “kaiju” in ATOM is a word with a very specific meaning (you can’t have a kaiju without Yamaneon involved), and the monster having amplified versions of EVERY psychic power makes it significantly more powerful than anything in ATOM’s canon, so that might have to be toned down a bit as well, but all in all it’s a lovely brain monster!

@drrockso20 brings us our final entry, the massive bison Chief Wrigley!  With gorilla-like arms and enormous horns, this big bovine has the muscle he needs to protect his herd and territory from any creature that dares to challenge it!  He’s not all brawn, either, as Chief Wrigley is clever enough to use the environment to his advantage, and even makes use of simple tools from time to time.  He can telepathically communicate with others, and can sometimes generate electric blasts from his horns.

With a very unique design, power set, and personality, Chief Wrigley has the makings of an excellent protagonist/hero kaiju, the kind who could headline his own corner of ATOM’s kaiju-verse.  Bison are a really underused basis for a kaiju, too - they have very unique heads, and their bodies are build in a way that’s very good at conveying mass.  With just enough special powers to make combat scenes interesting, but not so many that he feels out of place in ATOM’s world, Chief Wrigley is a strong contender in this contest!

Those are the entries!  Who will be the top three winners, and who will get the grand prize?  You’ll have to wait a bit longer to find out, but for now, let’s appreciate how many wonderful monsters we made here!  In a way, they’re all winners in my book, even if I can’t give prizes to the whole batch!

[gold-eyes-vengeful-heart]

BTHB :: Dissociation

((Or: Runya and Sorin find the old lab Runya was formerly kept in.

Needless to say I borrowed @aetherstitch​ again lol))

---

Runya had expected to find...well. More.

The laboratory complex had been, clearly, abandoned for some time; his boots crunched softly on broken glass in the entryway, and only half the lights still flickered overhead, sending shadows writhing along the wall like ghosts. 

“Are you sure this is the place?” Sorin’s voice filled the space easily, even as gargantuan as it was. 

“Very certain.” Runya knew that the blandness in his tone was gaining increasingly concerned looks from the healer, but somehow, the way that should have made him feel bad rolled right off of him as water off of oil. He should have been feeling...something, anything, but his mind just disconnected from his body and it just moved like an automaton, following old paths that his subconscious certainly remembered, with how thoroughly and deeply those memories had been scored into it—as much as his consciousness had desperately tried to bury it.

(About as effective as burying snow under lava, that.)

“Are you certain you’re alright?” Sorin’s voice came from behind him again and his hand reached to touch Runya’s shoulder. “This isn’t doing you any good—“

Runya flinched, and the touch withdrew as soon as it had appeared. And he glanced over his shoulder to meet Sorin’s worried eyes with his own increasingly-distant ones. “I need to see whether anything is here.” 

“It’s all derelict,” Sorin stated bluntly, leaning over to look into yet another dingy room full of shattered and broken equipment, then leaning the other way to look into what had been an operating room—

(One Runya remembered well)

—only to shiver and pull away, visibly unnerved by the vicious implements he was catching gleaming glimpses of in the shuddering, sporadic electric light. “There can’t be anything here for you but bad memories.”

The half of Runya that wasn’t drowning under those memories steered his body around a corner and he just shrugged one shoulder, the reaction deepening Sorin’s frown in a way he intellectually knew was bad, but...that he still felt nothing about. Odd. It felt more like just watching a recording than anything actually real. “Perhaps I can find something about what they did to me here,” he noted, stepping towards a door halfway to falling off its hinges. “I wasn’t privy to all the details, even with Angerona trying to explain some of it.”

(They walked by the long room where he had first been forced to see that her mind was gone and she had been turned into a mindless drooling automaton of a person and he couldn’t think about it he would stop thinking about it RIGHT NOW and so he did, after a few moments of swaying in place with the effort to compose himself.)

That frown of Sorin’s got even deeper at the mention of her name and the odd pause Runya had just taken—and again, it just rolled right off of Runya. “Then you could have just asked me to come here; I could have done that without you subjecting yourself to—“

Runya cut him off by kicking in the door. The rending crash, terribly loud in the otherwise silent and confined space, startled Sorin so badly that his tail bristled and his ears flattened back against his skull, his already-wide pupils even wider now.

“You...you could have warned me, thank you!”

“Mmm.” Runya walked in, and just for a moment, actually felt something: a little pang of confusion, before it was swallowed up by the drowning-sea of his numbing apathy. A control room? Or a records room? Some combination of the two. He couldn’t be arsed to figure it out beyond it had paperwork and this was a room he wasn’t at all familiar with.

...And some faint little corner of his botched false Echo tugged a little towards this place. Given its propensity for randomly inserting memories and information into his battered skull, he could only assume something important was here.

“Ah, here we are, I think,” Runya noted, and started into the room. But barely had he gotten a few paces in before something spherical—multiple somethings, actually—lit up in the corner and loomed towards the pair, two of them hulkingly large and sparking ominously. One of the smaller ones “spoke” then, in a tinny voice of indeterminate gender.

“[IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED FOR ENTRY.]”

“Runya!” Sorin hissed, Selene flaring into existence over his shoulder. 

“[IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED FOR ENTRY],” the little node repeated, pointedly moving closer until it was barely a fulm from Runya. The motion, combined with the other nodes closing in, effectively blocked them both from going further. “[IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED FOR ENTRY. UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS WILL BE MET WITH LETHAL FORCE.]”

“Runya!”

But the gaunt Miqo’te didn’t so much as bat an eye at the warning; instead, he reached out with one hand and something flickered in his eyes, a faint glow that shimmered briefly through previously-invisible markings that coursed over his body. “Oh, come now, you cheeky thing, behave.”

The smaller node flickered right back in the same strobing pattern, blipping and beeping for a few moments that dragged by interminably...before it spoke again. “[IDENTITY CONFIRMED AS: PROJECT DISCORDIA. AND GUEST.]”

Runya cheekily smiled.

“[ACCESS GRANTED.]” The two larger nodes stopped sparking and backed away, and the smaller ones dispersed to power off once more—except for the one that had just been speaking, which hovered near Runya’s shoulder like an obedient pet, its internals glowing faintly orange. 

Sorin just blinked. “...How—?”

“One of the many things they did to me,” Runya interrupted blithely, feeling just a little more in his own body as he pulled open drawers and started to flick through papers. Useless, useless, more useless...but the thin metallic datapads were another matter. A simple swipe of his fingers brought it to life with a soft hum, and information scrolled rapidly by under his hand as he moved it. “Interesting, interesting. These are the ones. The papers are useless, though—and someone has been filching through them, at that,” he added with an annoyed click of his tongue at the smaller node. He could swear the beep he got before it spoke again was an apologetic one.

“[OPERATIONAL CAPACITY OF DETERRENCE ESTIMATED AT...THIRTY PERCENT.]”

“Mm, and we were the lucky ones that actually managed to wake you, I take it?” But he kept flicking through the datapad’s various chapters and appendices and realized full well that this was referring to him.

“Discordia.” Sorin’s voice briefly pulled Runya from his reverie, and the thinner Miqo’te’s ear swiveled to follow his voice. “Is...that what they called you here?” “It was the name of the project, yes. I was merely Subject some number or other. A grand scheme of research, of the mysterious Echo and the magic of souls—the precursor to the vast variety of things they used to enhance the dearest Prince, I believe,” he added offhandedly. “I was intended to power my abilities through the ambient aether, but...ambient aether is fairly useless outside of areas of great concentrations of it.”

His clinical tone was earning him one of those stares again. But he continued. “So they began experimenting with stapling multiple souls to one another, and...well. There is a reason that the woman who was managing me isn’t in control of her own body anymore.” His smile was so sharp, as he turned to Sorin, that the other Miqo’te’s ears went flat once more.

(Of all the things to make him feel something again.)

The smile disappeared at the sight, and he just tucked the datapad under his arm, grabbing another and then another. “But enough of the chatter. I do wonder what else they had intended for me, given what a random combination an Echo’s power and control over Allagan weaponry is.”

Finally, Sorin’s ears flicked a little more upright, and he held out his eerily-patterned hands to take a couple more of the technology from him. “It is fairly strange,” he admitted, and his eyes finally stopped nervously darting between his friend and the still-lurking nodes. “And this is all we have to go on, with no one here and without the Alliance capturing any of them...”

“And that is even stranger.” Runya turned on another datapad, mostly on a whim. “This place had a great many workers, you know, particularly for as few subjects as they supposedly held here. Of course, logistics is logistics and always requires more people than one might think at a glance, but I do recall it being particularly strange that we had so many guards and the like so deep into—at the time—Imperial territory.”

“Hm.”

“And another thing,” Runya continued aloud, “is that I haven’t failed to notice that this place appears to have been left in an awful hurry, and may have even been attacked judging by many of the bloodstains and gun-marks I’ve noticed here and there on the walls—“

Sorin shuddered, and yet Runya continued.

“—But I haven’t seen a lick of any bodies or even parts of bodies. A pity, because I could have used something to kick around.”

That earned him a look. “Runya.”

But Runya ignored it. “You told me yourself when you found this place that the Alliance hadn’t been here, as far as you were aware. It’s almost as if something attacked them and made off with the corpses. Whether it was something outside or inside, who can say?” An interesting thing for sure, and the gears of his mind were turning far more rapidly than they had been before they found this place. (Even his friend had noticed and, irritation with some things he said aside, appeared to be fairly pleased with that over the...dissociating he had been doing earlier.)

“Well,” Sorin ventured, looking down at the datapads he was now holding, “let’s take these back and take a look?”

“Of course, but...Sorin?” Runya saw the other Miqo’te’s ears prick up, and so he continued. “Let’s not drag the Alliance into this yet.”

Much as Runya had expected, Sorin frowned. “This won’t and shouldn’t be a secret forever, Runya,” he warned. “It shouldn’t be a secret at all.”

“Ahhh, I thought a vaunted Warrior of Light might say that,” Runya remarked idly. “But answer me this: what are you going to do when they’re, inevitably, going to want to stuff me in a cage and poke and prod at me just like they did that Skulls woman, whatever her name was?” 

Sorin’s frown deepened.

“Or,” Runya added, “I imagine they might be a little upset about an Imperial experiment running around with a Warrior of Light and would send me away ‘for your safety’.” He actually twitched two fingers mid-air, around the words. “In other words: I would much rather prefer to let them discover it in their own time while I—sorry, we figure out how to fix whatever they did to me.”

And it wasn’t just that, either. Sorin probably hadn’t felt it, but...Runya’s false Echo hadn’t exactly been pointing to this room. In fact, it was pulling slightly downwards, as if something below-ground was actively trying to call him to it. And if he could keep the Alliance’s collective interfering nose away from this place until he figured out what it was...better for him.

But the notion had clearly escaped the unsuspecting Sorin, who merely nodded and glanced down with a sigh. “They...would not take kindly to it, I’m certain,” he admitted with some reluctance. “They’re only quiet about it because they’re unsure who you really are, and they believe you only have problems with Daeyona—which they’re not keen to get in the middle of.”

“Yes, yes, they rather dislike her, I’m aware.” Runya’s ears twitched happily. “It’s more a matter of they don’t care, as long as they’re having to devote their attention to the battle-front.”

Sorin coughed awkwardly but didn’t argue the point. So Runya started to walk, gesturing with his head for the nodes to follow, much to Sorin’s trepidation. “They won’t bite, dear Sorin.”

“Is it that good an idea to have more Allagan things around you?”

“They’re mere nodes,” Runya replied with a one-shouldered shrug. “And they recognize me as someone who commands them, so I will hardly need to strain myself—and I presume that’s what you’re worried about?” he added teasingly, and oh he could swear that Sorin almost went as red as his hair for a moment. But only for a moment, before he just huffed in annoyance.

“That isn’t...Runya, I may remind you that I’m your healer? I have some interest in making sure you don’t hurt yourself; I have to fix it.”

“Oh, you wound me, Sorin.”

“Runya.”

“Wound. Me.”

Sorin almost threw his arms up in exasperation, but he refused to relinquish his grip on what he was holding, so it warped into an awkward half-motion with his shoulders. “Fine, I’m sure I do.”

Runya chuckled, but he started to walk, Sorin by his side and the nodes silently hovering after them both. He had, perhaps, been inwardly hoping to find more about what they did to Angerona, but...all of that seemed to have been missing. Taken, in fact, and he tried not to think about the implications too much as of yet—

(And yet his thoughts raced on unimpeded on the topic, anyway.)

He would figure out more about himself, though, at a minimum. And maybe, about whatever he was fairly certain was lurking below the facility.

Interesting, indeed.

[dj-diabolik-fan]

Sir Noir

Code: Realize — OC ONE-SHOT

Sir Noir turns when the bell of the entrance rings. He sees a young lady with a group of gentlemen walk in.

“Do forgive me, club, but the bar is closed for the day.” He says with a warm smile on his lips, lowering the tray—used to carry around the drinks—in front of his lap.

“Won’t you serve even a single glass of wine to an old friend?”

The voice of one of the gentlemen makes Noir perk up. A young man of chocolate hair steps to the front of the group, snatching off his hat.

Noir quickly snatches a gun from the belt of his pants and points it at the gentleman, his expression completely changes. Everyone in the room is surprised, but no one makes any sudden moves.

“Well, if it isn’t the Gentleman Thief, Lupin Arsène...” his smile drops into a hateful frown. “I thought I was very clear on how I would fill up your skull with bullets if I was to ever see your face again.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re still mad about that time.” Lupin shurgs playfully.

“Can’t you tell?” Noir scoffs. His eyes turn back at the group. He stops on the lady and stares. He lowers his gun and straps it on his belt once more. “What do you want?” He asks.

“Did you figure it out?” Lupin asks.

“Considering I can sense the strangest aura from that girl, I assume you want information about whatever she has.” Noir crossed his arms, siding his hips. “Alright, then. If you got my payment, then spit it out and I’ll look for it.”

Lupin tosses a pouch of coins to Noir, who catches it with one hand. He unties the bag and looks inside. He ties it back up and tosses it into a chest behind the counter.

“What do you need?” He asks, turning back at Lupin.

“Isaac Beckford.” Lupin says. “I assumed that if there was someone who had information on him, it would be you.”

Noir chuckles mockingly. “Why, I’m flattered, sir Gentleman Thief.” He turns and starts walking behind the counter.

He crouches down under the table and the others can’t see what he’s doing. Suddenly, the top of the table flips open and Noir reappears. He sticks his hand on the inside counter’s base while repeatedly muttering “B” at himself.

“Why was this guy so pissed when you walked in, Lupin?” Impey leans towards him and asks in a whisper.

“That’s—”

“Alright,” Noir stands back up, holding a black folder. He closes the top of the table and crouches down once again. “This is everything I have on Isaac Beckford.” He looks at the lady and hums. “Ah, now I get it.” He claps his hands together and leans over the counter. “You must be Cardia Beckford.”

Cardia blinks. “How...”

“I could tell. You have the same eyes as that man.” Noir smiles.

“Really?” She asks.

“No,” Noir chuckles, “I was kidding.” He smiles. “I simply know everyone in the city.”

“Everyone?” Impey asks, speechless.

“Every single citizen of London, Impey Barbicane.” Noir smiles. He turns a the gentleman in glasses. “And who wouldn’t recognize our famous thought-to-be-a-terrorist-but-not-really pal? Victor Frankenstein.” He continues looking around the room. “Abraham Van Helsing and Count Saint-Germain, a pleasure to have you here tonight.”

The two nod; Germain smiles.

“Oh, but where are my manners?” Noir turns to the doorway. “Lyric!” He calls out.

A young petite man of pale skin and bright blond hair appears through the door in an agitated manner. He appears surprised at the group standing in front of Noir. “Yes, sir!”

“Won’t you help me serve this gentlemen and lady something to drink?”

“I won’t take anything.” Cardia suddenly says with urgency.

“Is that so?” Noir smiles. “If a Lady doesn’t want a drink, a gentleman should never force her into her, so I will not.” He turns to Lupin. “I suppose I could make an exception for today.”

“At your ordersz, sir!” The petite young man—whom Noir had referred to as Lyric—rushed behind the counter and started preparing the drinks.

“What happened to Bleach?” Lupin asks.

“He got married and had kids. He moved out of London and I haven’t heard of him since.” Noir says. “Good decision, in my opinion. My side of the team has gotten more enemies than allies. He was famous for being around me and I’m sure that could’ve gotten him killed or injured, as well as his family, had he stayed.” He turns to Lupin. “Didn’t think you’d remember him.”

“I came here often in the past and he was your closest bartender. Of course I’d remember him.” Lupin says.

Noir stares at him for a couple seconds, then he lowers his head and shakes it. “I hate those eyes of yours. There’s a god damn reason why I told you to never show yourself in front of me, Lupin.” He swiftly stretches out his hand towards Lupin and takes the collar of his shirt. He pulls him closer at the same time he leans over the table. “Won’t you go to the other side with me? Remember?”

Lupin’s eyes open wide. He yanks himself away from Noir’s hold.

Noir chuckles darkly and stands up from his place. “I’m glad you allowed me to escape from that old fart’s hands, but I guess I understand why you ran out of my life just like that. No one wants to be involved with a non-just-women lover that was once payed to kill whoever he was ordered to.”

“You know perfectly well that is not the reason why I left you all by yourself after that.” Lupin says.

“Tell me, then,” says Noir, turning back at Lupin, slamming his hands down on the table. “Why did you abandon me in the slums like I was some kind of play-thing you didn’t want anymore!?”

“Sir Noir!” Lyric shouts.

Noir turns to him, then back at the group. He sighs heavily and looks down. “Forgive me.” He says and turns to walk away. Everyone follows him with their gaze.

[ https://youtu.be/ksBjyegtBKE ]

Noir steps up the stage and takes a seat in front of the piano. He runs his fingers down the keyboard and stops on a few to press them. The song he play is unfamiliar to everyone, so they simply return to the papers their were given, relieved to have that discussion finally over.

I’m trying to hold my breath.

Lupin stops on his tracks and looks over at Noir.

Let it stay this way. Can’t let this moment end.

“Lupin?” Cardia asks.

You set off a dream in me.

Noir’s eyes slightly turn to Lupin, but return to the keyboard as he notices he’s looking his way.

Getting louder now. Can you hear it echoing?

“That’s...” Lupin mutters, but doesn’t finish his sentence.

Take my hand. Will you share this with me? ‘Cause, darling, without you...

Noir turns a lever on the side of the piano and the keys he’d been playing continue on their own. He stands from the chair and hops off stage to the counter.

All the shine of a thousand spotlights, all the stars we steal from the nightsky will never be enough... never be enough.

He continues on, pacing back and forth as he brings and leaves glasses with wine and other drinks on the table.

Towers of gold are still too little. These hands could hold the world but it’ll never enough. Never be enough for me...

Never, never... never, never... never for me.

That song... Lupin’s thoughts wonder off to the times when Noir and him were just on their late teens looking for adventures and when they could help the other. He stands up from his place, passing the folder to Impey, who was sitting next to him.

“Lupin, what—”

“Give me a second.”

He stands next to Noir and reaches out for his hand. Noir’s startled when he turns to find Lupin.

He glances down at his hand and looks away.

Never enough... never enough... never enough for me. For me... for me!

All the shine of a thousand spotlights, all the stars we steal from the nightsky will never be enough... never be enough.

Noir pulls his hand away from Lupin’s. Instead, he put’s it up; Lupin does so as well. It’s as if they were dancing, but they weren’t touching the other.

Towers of gold are still too little. These hands could hold the world but it’ll never be enough. Never be enough... for me!

They get close, yet they still don’t touch the other. The back of Noir’s hand lays centimeters away from Lupin’s face as they spin at the rhythm of the song. Noir pulls out a smile—a genuine one—and looks down.

Never, never... never, never... never for me. Never enough, never, never, ever enough... for me. For me... for me!

They stop their dance. Noir lowers his hands from beside Lupin’s face and takes a step back.

For me...

He looks over at Lyric, who’s now finished preparing the drinks and is leaning over the counter. He glances at Lupin’s group and lowers his head.

“I’m sorry.” Noir whispers, only so Lupin can hear. He turns to the rest on the bar and smiles brightly. “I’m sorry for the trouble and uncomfortable aura I created just a few moments ago. I’ll retire for the night. If there’s anything you need, please ask Lyric.”

Noir turns and without another word, he starts walking away. His posture is calm and his stance appears to have no flaws. Soon, he’s vanished through the door, guiding somewhere else unknown in the bar.

＊

[Mun: I think the one-shot’s a bit confusing, but tried to keep a few things a mystery, so maybe that’s why. Also, sorry the gay-ness in this one-shot got a little outta hand, haha! :(；ﾞﾟ'ωﾟ'):]

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 76)

*Teenagers scare the living shit out of me! (have i used this line yet on this fic?)*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warning: language

After learning that I was from Neverland I went back and did some research at the library. Since there wasn’t any real mention of Neverland in Henry’s book I needed to resort to the classics. My first discovery was more of a realization that made my eye twitch. The author of Peter Pan was a man named J. M. Barrie. Marigold Barrie. I think I want to punch someone.

For all my reading it didn’t seem to lead anywhere. It was all the same story. Neverland was the place where kids never grow old and can fly and fight pirates and party with indians. It seemed so innocent compared to what Neal described.

I don’t know why but reading only made me angry. With every mention of Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, or Lost Boys, every time I looked at an illustration of Neverland, I wanted to claw at my skull. I could feel something in the back of my mind. A tickle. A nagging that all the answers to what I used to be was right there on the brink of consciousness.

I know I said I was content being Marigold but ever since Neal told me I was from Neverland I had been having weird dreams. They slipped away too quickly to mean anything but I knew they had to be about Neverland. My old life. The only thing I could ever remember was a pair of green eyes and the smell of wind mixed with something earthy.

It frustrated me not knowing who those eyes belonged to. Why that smell was so familiar and comforting. Why I felt like crying when I woke up and the dream slipped away.

Henry was hanging out with me for the day while everyone was off doing detective work. Apparently Regina was missing and everyone was banding together to find her. Even if Regina is the Evil Queen I didn’t like the thought of her being hurt. She’s a good person, even if she doesn’t go about it in the right way.

We were hanging out at the park. I was about to suggest we go back to Granny’s to get something to eat when the Charmings showed up looking somber. Emma pulled Henry away to talk. Something had gone wrong.

“Henry? Emma?” I got closer, a feeling of dread settling in my stomach, “What’s happened?”

“My--my dad--” Henry hiccuped. Tears were streaming down his face.

“Shh,” I hugged him, “Take it slow. Deep breaths.”

I looked over at Emma. She seemed to read the question in my eyes.

“Neal’s dead.”

“Oh god…” I gasped. I looked back at Henry and hugged him even tighter. “I am so sorry.”

The others went back to their apartment and I decided to take a walk and clear my head. Neal was a good man. He didn’t deserve this.

I ended up down near the docks when a tremor shook the ground. “What the heck was that?” I muttered to myself. Please let there not be another giant running around.

I sat down on the edge of the pier and watched the water lap against the wooden beams. Another tremor went off even worse than before. I didn’t move. Later still there was another that almost pitched me into the water. Still I remained.

The chaos didn’t frighten me. Not as much as it should have. It was just another town crisis. It would pass like all the rest.

“Love?”

I turned at the voice. A man clad in leather with a hook for a hand stood behind me. “Let me guess, Captain Hook?”

“You know it is.” he swaggered over to me, “What are you doing out here, Y/N?”

“Oh Y/N...you’re referring to the other me. The one they say I forgot.” I stared back at the horizon. “Should have guessed that if I lived in Neverland I would have come across the captain of the Jolly Roger at some point.”

“Forgot? What in the bloody hell are you talking about?”

I groaned internally at having to explain this once again. “I crossed the town line and forgot who I was before the curse that created this land took hold.”

“Are you joking?”

“Nope. All I know is what Neal and the others told me. My real name is Y/N and I was from Neverland. Everything else is a mystery.”

“You really don’t remember…”

“Not at all. What are you doing in Storybrooke? Sightseeing? Looking for buried treasure?”

“I was actually just leaving,” he gestured to the ship I had been sitting next to all this time. “I don’t suppose you would want to come along.”

“Why would I go with you?”

“Because I can bring you home.”

“I am home.”

“Your real home.” he pulled something from his pocket. It looked like strangely shaped jewel. “And this can get us there.”

“My real home...you mean Neverland?”

“Yes. As you told me before you lost your memories, if I were to return Peter Pan’s missing Lost Girl I would be rewarded handsomely. I bring you home, you get reunited with your crazy family, and I can get whatever I want in exchange.”

I looked between the town and the ship. That tickle was back. A memory right out of reach.

“If I go with you, do you think it’ll help me remember?”

“Only one way to find out,” he held out a hand for me, “Shall we?”

“Okay.” I grabbed his hand and next thing I know he’s practically pushing me onto the ship. I watched as he worked effortlessly to bring the ship into the open water.

“So, Captain,” I stood next to him by the wheel, “How are we going to get to Neverland? Fly? Follow the second star to the right?”

“Not necessary,” he flashed the jewel again. Looking at it closer it looked like a sparkly bean. “With this it will open up a portal and take us there directly. No flying necessary.”

“That works too I guess.” I looked over the side of the ship as Storybrooke grew smaller. I was gonna miss everyone but I needed answers. I needed that nagging in the back of my mind to stop. This may be my only chance.

“Um, do you mind if I look around? I promise I won’t mess with anything.” I asked.

He didn’t answer. “Captain?”

“Hang on to something, love,” he turned the wheel sharply. Soon we were sailing back towards Storybrooke.

“What’s going on? Why are we going back?”

“I’m doing the right thing.” he groaned, “Nasty business, the right thing.”

We docked the ship. Emma and the others ran to meet us. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Helping.” Hook answered.

“Well, you’re too late.”

“Am I?”

“I thought you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Maybe I just needed reminding that I could.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I chimed in, “What’s going on?”

“Marigold? What are you doing with Hook?” Emma furrowed her brow at me.

“Stuff…” I felt bad admitting that I was leaving.

They didn’t pay me more mind as they went back to interrogating Hook.

“We need to get Henry.” Emma said. “Greg and Tamara took him through a portal.”

“Well I offer my ship and my services to follow them.” Hook looked back at me, “Sorry Y/N, looks like I won’t be taking you home.”

“Probably for the best. This seems like divine intervention telling me to stay the heck away from Neverland. If you’re going to rescue Henry though, I’d like to help. I love that kid and I owe him a lot. I’m not much help but I want to do what I can. Do we know where Greg and Tamara took Henry?”

“Leave that to me.” Mr. Gold stepped forward, “I can get us where we need to go.”

Hook looked less than pleased to have Mr. Gold along but conceded all the same. The others boarded the boat. Emma came up to me and asked if I was sure about coming along. It could be really dangerous.

“I want to help Henry. I don’t care how dangerous it is.” For the first time in a long time I felt like I had a purpose. I was going to bring Henry back home.

Mr. Gold conjured a white globe and squeezed a drop of his blood onto it. The blood grew and swirled until some land formed on the pristine surface.

“Where is that? Where have they taken Henry?” Regina asked.

“Neverland.” Hook turned to me, “Looks like you’re going home after all.”

“This could work to our advantage actually.” Mr. Gold walked up to me. “We already have an inside source.”

“I don’t remember anything though. What do expect me to tell you?”

“You don’t need to tell us anything. You just need to look the part.” he waved his hand and I was no longer in my regular clothes but something darker. Strapped to my hip was a dagger and I was now holding something that looked to be a cross between a walking stick and baseball bat.

“What is this?”

“This is the real you, Marigold.” Mr. Gold grinned, “Or should I say, Y/N.”

“I’d hate to say it but the crocodile has a point. Y/N was Pan’s most trusted friend. If we are going to Neverland then she can walk among them without suspicion.”

“She showed up with us. I think that’ll be a little suspicious.” Emma reminded him.

“Not for her.” Hook wrapped an arm around my shoulders, “The lass was always a sneaky one. It could be very believable that she found out where we were heading and stowed away on the ship without us noticing.”

“And you think they’ll buy that? I get that this Y/N character was some violent Lost Girl but giving me weapons and telling me to call myself Y/N isn’t going to change anything. They’ll know something’s up.”

“Oh no, they’ll be too happy to have their precious Lost Girl back that they won’t notice a thing. Best to forget the name Marigold. Until we’ve rescued the lad, you’re Y/N.” Hook gave me a push toward the lower deck, “Secure yourself below. We’ll worry about sailing the ship.”

“But I want to--”

“If we get there and something or someone sees you with us then the plan is shot to hell. You need to keep out of sight until we get onto the island. Understood.”

“Aye aye captain” I went below without arguing. I could feel the ship start to move and then tip. My stomach swooped as we fell through the portal.

When things evened out I left my spot below deck and poked my head up to where everyone else was. “Can I come up now?” The smell of the ocean calmed my nerves.

“No, love,” Hook said, “Stay below deck.”

“Who is possibly going to see me this far out from the island?”

“Pan’s shadow for one. Now stay down until we tell you to come up.” he growled.

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes and went back to the spot I had been nestled in before. While they worked up above I studied the things Mr. Gold had given me before we left. A club covered with dark stains and a simple dagger. Both felt natural in my hands.

I ran my thumb over the bottom of the dagger where a crudely carved R was marked. Was this Mr. Gold’s old dagger? R. Rumplestiltskin. It might be.

Small...I don’t want to call them memories. More like feelings. A familiar sense. Holding the club and the dagger I felt in control. I felt like nothing could threaten me.

While waiting Hook came down to where I was sitting. “Seeing as how you’re going to be acting as Y/N I figured it’d be prudent to tell you something about yourself and who you’ll be dealing with.”

“What do I need to know exactly?”

“Something I doubt dear old Neal felt comfortable telling you.” Hook looked like he was ready to jump out of the porthole, “Now I’m telling you this so when you meet Pan and the Lost Boys it doesn’t come as a shock.”

“What? You don’t sound like you’re very comfortable telling me this either.” This didn’t sound good.

“Pan and you were not just friends like you were told. The relationship between you two, as far as I knew, was far more...intimate.”

“Wait…” the realization started to dawn on me, “Are you trying to tell me that I was Peter Pan’s girlfriend?”

“Aye.”

“Oh no. So I’m gonna have to pretend to--to--”

“Unfortunately. If you don’t then I can tell you that may be the red flag that alerts the others that something is wrong.”

“Maybe this is a bit over my head.” I curled into myself.

“Don’t worry. You just need to keep up the act long enough to rescue Henry. After that you never have to look at the hellspawn ever again.”

I nodded. He gave my shoulder a pat. “You’ll be fine. He won’t hurt you. No matter what you do.”

The ship lurched and I fell to the ground. “What was that?”

“Mermaids.” Hook cursed under his breath, “Stay down here! Do not come up no matter what happens.”

“But--”

“Stay down!” he shouted before running back above deck.

I tethered myself as the ship continued to rock violently in the waves. If the sea was this dangerous I was scared to know what the actual island was like.

~~~

Greg, Tamara and Henry landed less than gracefully in the thick of the jungles of Neverland. Everything had gone according to plan. That was except for not being able to nab Marigold on there way here. The girl had disappeared and there was no time to go looking for her.

Hopefully it didn’t matter. Henry was the big target. Still, having Marigold would have been a big boost to the Home Office. Tamara was trying to get a signal on the communicator but the light wouldn’t even turn on. She handed it to Greg in hopes that he could get it to work.

When he pulled the back to check the batteries though sand fell out. What the hell was going on? Where were the batteries?

There was no time to worry about some dumb trick. They needed to find the Home Office.

Just as they were getting a signal fire lit people started to emerge from the jungle surrounding them. No. Not people. Boys. Teenage boys everywhere.

“Who are you?” Greg kept his nerve. These were just kids. They couldn’t hurt them.

“We’re the Home Office,” The tallest one said with a sadistic grin. “Welcome to Neverland.”

“The Home Office is a bunch of teenagers?” Tamara’s sense of unease only grew.

“They’re not teenagers.” Henry sighed, “They’re the Lost Boys.”

“Look at that.” The tall boy smirked at Henry.

“Why do the Lost Boys want to destroy magic?”

“Who said we wanna destroy magic?” the leader asked.

“That was our mission.” Greg was losing patience.

“So you were told. You were also told to look for a girl. Where is she? You had said you found her.” The leader boy drawled.

“We did find her. But we couldn’t grab her before we left.”

“Shame. At least now we know where to find her.” the boy looked back at Henry, “Now the boy. Hand him over.”

“Not until you tell us the plan--” Tamara said, “For magic, for getting home.”

“You’re not getting home.” The boys around them started to snicker.

“Then you’re not getting the boy.” Greg balled his fists. He had never punched a teenager but he’d make an exception for these creeps.

“Of course we are.” the way the boy said it unnerved Greg. Then there came the roaring sound. The last thing he saw was a mass of black with white glowing eyes swooping down on him.

(First) (Previous) (Next)

[lepagera-blog]

Besting the Holmes Brothers - Part 1

A/N: Hello! I’ve been thinking about this for some time and decided to share.  Not sure where it should go, but let’s go for a ride! This is going to be a multiple part series. Let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions. Oh - just for reference “Y/H/T” means ‘Your Hometown” whilst “Y/H/C” means “Your Home County” unless you’re from England ;) then just insert whatever you feel best suites the conversation :) Also, I don’t own the GIFs or the characters. 

Pairings: Sherlock x Reader, Mycroft x Reader; not sure which road the romance will take me... you’ll just have to find out with me ;) Or make requests!! 

You stared at the black door with “221B” emblazoned above the knocker. You’ve vaguely recognized the series of characters, not that your brain could bring you to the realization of why that was. But, you were intrigued by the posting for an open room - “Open bedroom, 3rd story, will share living space with two other gentlemen...” The advertisement continued to list the price for the rental of the room (which was incredibly reasonable for the London area) and what criteria the potential tenant needed to meet. 

“No pets, no drug paraphernalia, no loud music...” It seemed reasonable enough to you (especially considering the price.) You leaned to the right and rang the bell. After waiting a minute, and without hearing anyone’s footsteps, you rang again - still nothing. You took a deep breath and grabbed the gold knocker, which you couldn’t help but note was crooked, and knocked three times. You straightened the knocker after it’s use. God, you hoped you wrote down the right address, or right time to meet the landlady. 

You heard a series of quick footsteps to the door and were greeted by a pleasant woman. She must have been in her late 50′s, early 60′s. She had a kind smile and pleasant voice.

“You must be (Y/F/N Y/L/N). Come in, dear, come in!” You walked into the foyer; it was narrow with a staircase to the left and a door that led to a separate hallway to the right. 

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person!” you greeted her as you crossed the threshold. You observed your surroundings, from the worn stairs, to the textured wallpaper, to the cleaning supplies sitting besides the staircase as Mrs. Hudson closed the door. 

“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well. So sorry about the bell; I don’t know what those boys have done with it this time. I was so pleased to see that you applied to the open room upstairs. I’ve been trying to gather interest for some time without any luck,” she admitted. 

“Well for that price, who could argue? Especially in London,” you responded. 

“Now tell me, where are you from?”

“I’m from Y/H/T in Y/H/C. I moved here several months ago with some friends I’ve known since college. They recently found out they were expecting a baby, and so now I’m searching for a new place,” you explained. Your stomach twisted in knots; you never knew if you were giving too much information. You couldn’t help it; you were an open book. 

“Well, that is so sweet of you to give them their space! Having a child changes a relationship in more ways than you could know. You’re a good friend. Now, dearie, you never told me, what do you do for a living?” Mrs. Hudson inquired. 

“I’m a Communications Specialist for the Metropolitan Police. Basically, whenever an event has occurred, I make sure that our Detective Inspectors stay on track with key points when speaking with the media and don’t give out too much information to the public. And make sure the reporters stay in line” you explained. 

“Oh, a very important job indeed! You might get along with one of your potential flatmates, Sherlock Holmes! He’s a consulting detective you know...” Mrs. Holmes rambled on while you searched your memory. Why did that name sound familiar? You had to have know it for some reason, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Mrs. Hudson continued to go on about the perks about the room while guiding you up the stairs; the living space and the general area where the building resided. This was nothing that you weren’t already aware of. Whenever you approached a new endeavor, you were very thorough in your research.

You both reached the first landing had two doors, one to the left and one directly ahead. Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door in front of the two of your and opened it slowly with a greeting of “Yoo-hoo” to alert any tenants of an intrusion. There was no response, so Mrs. Hudson opened the door and entered with you in tow. The room was... well, different than what you expected. There was a couch and coffee table to the right, up against a wall; what appeared to be a dining table directly in front of you (not that you could tell with all the books and computers draped across it - and was that an animal skull with headphones on the wall above it??) to the left were two armchairs in front of a fireplace (you’re heartbeat jumped at the idea of reading a good book in front of a fire.) You turned to your left to see an opening to a kitchen which was nicer than most kitchens you’d been in. It had the basics, and an island (you swooned at the idea of preparing pastries on that island.) Unfortunately, someone stupidly thought that was a good spot to set up a makeshift laboratory. You could see there were petri dishes with Lord knows what growing and a microscope sitting among the mess of papers and experiments. No wonder Mrs. Hudson had the room listed for so cheap. It was within that moment that you realized that Mrs. Hudson was still speaking and you hadn’t even noticed. 

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hudson! I was admiring your kitchen and wasn’t paying attention to what you just said. I’m so sorry!” 

“Oh,” she said with a laugh, “don’t worry dearie, it’s a lot to take in. I was just saying, John has a fairly regular work schedule at the doctor’s office. But Sherlock’s hours vary. I hope that wouldn’t be too much of an issue.”

“I can’t see why not, “ you replied, walking up to one of the windows and peering below. “He’s not going to need me for anything.”

“You never know with Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson replied with a chuckle. With that, she led you up the second set of stairs to your bedroom and bathroom you would be sharing with... she said his name was John or Jim... GOD you needed to learn how to focus. 

After inspection of the top story, she showed you the door that gave you access to the roof (which was perfect, you loved sitting under the stars and daydreaming) and as Mrs. Hudson guided you back downstairs, she asked, “Is there anything else you have questions on?”

“Yes, when can I move in?”

---

The following Saturday, you waved to the truck driver as he drove down the street. Thankfully, the truck driver was sympathetic enough to assist you with delivering a majority of your boxes to the living space you were destined to share. Now, it was a matter of sorting through what your new roommates found acceptable in their shared space and what you needed to store away in your room. 

As you rummaged through a particularly deep box in the living room, you didn’t hear steps up the stairs. 

-- 

“Don’t you remember Mrs. Hudson mentioning that we had a new roommate?” John inquired as they entered 221B Baker St. 

“No, it’s not important,” was the short reply, John scoffed. Of course Sherlock thought a new roommate wasn’t important. He was immersed in their latest case that Lestrade had requested Sherlock’s assistance on. 

“Not important?! I think it’s very important to know that this person can be trusted to hear what cases you are working on, even if it’s minimal. Does this person know what is going on with the experiment you are doing n the kitchen?” 

“Most likely not. I doubt Mrs. Hudson has found someone that would be able to understand the basics of....” Sherlock trailed off at the sight of living room. There were boxes strung about the room in a haphazard manner. In the middle was you hunched over while pulling books from inside a box. Though John was momentarily stunned at the state of the room, Sherlock immediately began observing.

"Her clothes are slightly worn out from use, however they are newer, so, she wears them more than to just work out. Feels comfortable in more form fitting attire. Avid runner - shoes purchased within the last 6 months, but the soles are worn down. Loves to read - boxes to the side labeled "Clothes" clearly going to her room. But boxes in the middle are smaller, meaning they are heavier and easier for her to carry. Books on table are classics, 'The Lord of the Rings' and the works of Edgar Allen Poe. She likes adventure and mystery. But she also likes more modern books. The 4th Harry Potter book is poking out of her bag in the chair. The spine is worn in several spots - favorite book series. Perfectionist - not only did she straighten the knocker on the door when she came to inspect the flat, but did so again today whilst moving; the tape is applied the same way on every box, no creases or jagged pieces, which takes time. This move was planned in advance. But Mrs. Hudson hadn't posted the open room for very long so she accepted the room quickly. This move was planned but needed to happen soon. On a deadline? Possibly. More likely Mrs. Hudson put the room up for cheap and she needs to save cash. Meaning she has a job that doesn't pay well. Why would she stay if it doesn't pay well? She loves the job regardless of the menial pay or it's a fresh start, so she starting at the bottom of the barrel and needs to work her way up. Considering her move, more likely the latter. There is a small powder stain on the side of her leg, flour, she loves to bake..." Sherlock shook his head and cleared his throat. You jumped and popped your head out of the box. A moment of awkward silence ensued while you gathered yourself.

“I’m so sorry for invading your space! I’m-”

“Y/N Y/L/N, yes, Mrs. Hudson told us about you.” John interjected. He put out his hand for you to shake. You grasped it and smiled. John returned with a warm smile of his own. Sherlock observed the interaction. 'She smiled at John, very open person. Popular within her own circle. Wants to be accepted, willing to accept others easily. Cautious of invading someone's personal space. Single - if she had a boyfriend or girlfriend she would have moved in with them, or at least wouldn't move in at 221B Baker St (most partners would be uncomfortable with their other half being the only female flatmate.) Single and not looking - John was very excited to see her (as he is with most attractive females), but she didn't address him the same vigor. Eyes didn't dilate when greeting John. She has no interest in finding a partner at present time. Or maybe she prefers the fairer sex...'

“Hello - again, I’m so sorry. I need to invade your space for the time being. I’m just sorting through what I need in the living room and what goes my room.” 

“We can clear off some space on the bookshelves for some of your novels. Unfortunately, we don't have the space for expansive collection." You smiled at Sherlock's accommodation, but before you could finish Sherlock moved past you into the kitchen.

"Do you only bake bread, or do you enjoy making other pastries as well? And how often do use the kitchen?" You smile faltered at the invasive question- invasive and eerily accurate. Out if the corner of your eye, you could see John's head drop down to his chest with a mumble of "Sherlock" under his breath.

"Pardon me?"

"As you can see, I use the kitchen in a non-conventional way. I just wanted to know if we will be in each others way."

"Oh," you fumbled with your words. How did he know?? Looking up at the tall man, you felt as if his ice blue eyes were examining you, reading you as if you were an open book. "I'm sure we can come to some arrangement that will work. I don't want to disturb your...." you glanced down into a petri dish that looked as if it was growing hair, slightly disgusted "...work."

Sherlock peered down his nose at you. 'Lines around mouth - smiles a lot. Trying to keep up the appearance of being agreeable, even if it's an inconvenience. Doesn't ask annoying questions about experiments and state of the kitchen, keeps her nose down, avoids uncomfortable scenarios and confrontation. Docile.'

"It'll be nice to have home baked goods every once in a while." John stated, trying to diffuse the impending awkward deductions Sherlock was sure to address. You turned and smiled at John.

"Yes, sometimes the best thing after a long day is baking something warm and comforting." John smiled at your response. Meanwhile, Sherlocks phone chimed and he quickly pulled it out to check his message. You and John moved towards the living room.

"Well, let me help you bring your things to your room."

"Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you!" John turned back to the kitchen.

"Sherlock, you want to give us a hand?" Sherlock quickly moved to the front door.

"Can't, need to see Molly about a body." Sherlock quipped as he quickly strode down the stairs. You and John stood in the doorway with boxes in your hands, watching him leave.

"Do I want to know?" You asked.

"No, you really don't," was the response. He began moving towards the stairs to the third floor when turned back to you. "And yes - he's always like that."

You smiled as he answered you unasked question.

--

Mycroft turned his phone over after receiving confirmation that his younger brother was headed to St. Barts. He steepled his hands together as he mused over a file on his desk. Your photo was paperclipped to the top corner. You were smiling while assisting a very pregnant woman out of a car. He reread the details of your file again, memorizing every fact of your life.

'Pretty,' he thought. 'Wonder how long it will take Sherlock to scare off this one.' After a little while, Mycroft looked up as his assistant walked through the door.

"Ms. Y/L/N finished unpacking for the day. She is almost completely unpacked - so she intends to stay for a period. She seems to heading out for a drink." Mycroft smiled slightly.

"Yes, and I'm sure Dr. Watson is more than happy to accompany her. He does seem to fall for any attractive woman he comes across." Anthea smiled at the observation. She recalled when Dr. Watson attempted to ask her out. She feigned naivete and disinterest, but his feeble attempt was endearing.

"Yes, I'm sure he would be. But Sherlock commandeered him for a case he is working on. Ms. Y/L/N is alone." Mycroft's eyebrows lifted at the development.

"Really, now? And they will be too busy to notice if we borrow their new roommate for a short while?"

"I doubt they would, sir." Anthes confirmed. Mycroft nodded as he stood.

"Good, bring the car around. I'm sure Ms. Y/L/N will be much more cooperative than Dr. Watson was."

"Same procedure as before?"

"Yes - no need to reinvent the wheel." Anthea nodded and turned to call the appropriate channels to get the operation moving. Mycroft tilted his head as he stretched his neck. 'Yes,' he thought. 'This one will be much easier to manipulate.'

--

As you strolled down the street, you felt something was off. You were no more than 4 blocks from Baker St and you felt as if many public phones were going off around you. You passed the 4th phone booth that started ringing when you paused. Looking around, there was no one passing you on the street. How can someone call a pay phone?

Against your better judgement, you slipped into the booth and let the phone ring two more times before picking up the receiver. You waited a moment, contemplating how bad of an idea it was, before putting the receiver to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, Ms. Y/L/N," an unfamiliar male voice greeted you. "I want you to look up to your right. Do you see the camera?" Words could not describe the sense of dread that filled you.

--

Let me know what you think!

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 14)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Vivi POV, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Lewis POV, Part 12, Part 13

Part 15: here

Arthur glares at his reflection, leaning closer to the mirror's surface, scanning for imperfections. He’s been managing between four and five hours sleep a night with a careful combination of sleeping pills, anxiety meds and monitoring his caffeine intake. The dark circles, which had started to develop, are smaller and less noticeable. His younger body appears to be adapting to the sudden change in lifestyle decently enough. It’s amazing what a person is capable of when they haven’t spent several weeks lying in a hospital ward or worked themselves half to death. He stares and pulls his expression into a cheerful grin. It’s warm, inviting, the sort of smile you gave a friend upon hearing a particularly humours joke.

Perfect.

To double check, he glances down at his phone which is propped up by the mirror. A photo depicting him, Vivi and Lewis mid-laugh, school gates in the background, stares up at him. After coming to the uncomfortable realisation that he’s failing in the ‘being Arthur’ department and causing unneeded stress, he has been putting a bit more effort into engaging and being more sociable when Lewis and Vivi are around. Hence the search through his computer and phone for as many pictures of himself as possible to use as a reference. There’s not a whole lot because he has never been a huge fan of photos but the ones he does find all show him either grimacing in exasperation or grinning happily alongside Lewis and Vivi. Currently, he has one as a screensaver and a few others stuffed into his wallet for extra material. The three of them, together, happy. It’s weird seeing pictures of Lewis again. After The Cave, he had had to delete or hide away most of them so Vivi wouldn't accidentally see one and have an episode. He reaches to pick up the phone and fumbles with his left hand, almost knocking it into the toilet.

“Arthur,” Uncle Lance yells, voice filtering in from the garage, “You were plannin to leave a half hour ago. You’re not makin those friends of yours wait again are you.”

After a bit of awkward juggling, he manages to circumvent the disaster, and he lets out a long breath of relief.

“It’s okay. Everything’s on track,” Arthur calls, then flushes the toilet, letting out a tired huff. Lance isn’t one to hover, but he has been a whole lot more watchful this last week. Despite Vivi’s instance that he talk to his Uncle, he has yet to broach the topic of his odd behaviour, and Lance hasn’t openly called him out, so he’s been avoiding it mostly. It’s a familiar routine at the very least.

“You goin to keep in touch while on this road trip? Or am I just goinin to have to trust ya not to get murdered,” Lance comments when he tramps out into the reception, thin fibber door clicking behind. Arthur scoops up his overstuffed backpack and shoulder bag from the disused reception desk, slinging one over a shoulder.

“Yeah. Of course,” he gives the grin a trial run, “I’ll give you a call when we stop for the night. Unless there’s no reception, then I’ll call you tomorrow,”

His uncle frowns at him searchingly, “See that ya do,”

He doesn’t remember Lance being this worried on his first time around, but it’s possible he’s just forgotten.

“I will,” he does a small wave, stepping towards the front door, “Guess I’ll see you in a mouth then,”

This van is parked out front, full tank, packed with supplies, ready to go. All he has to do is pick up Vivi and Lewis from the Pepper’s diner.

Before he makes it through the doorway, Lance grabs his lower arm, pulling him up short, “You get inta any trouble you give me a call, ya hear.”

Lance is about a head shorter than him, so he has to bend at an odd angle. Thankfully, he doesn’t flinch at the sudden contact, but it’s a near thing.

“We’re doing regular touristy things. You know, the Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore, stuff like that.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Hopefully.

Lance grumbles inaudible complaints under his breath and lets his arm go, giving a stern nod. Arthur rolls his eye’s good-naturedly, squashing a chuckle, amazed at how natural the interaction feels. The comfortable sensation lasts up until he turns back towards his van. It’s bright orange, shinning with a fresh coat of lacquer.

There is no ‘Mystery Skulls’ logo.  

His smile falters, falling away. Of all the things he thought he would change this hadn’t been one of them. Vivi and Lewis had decided to hold off finishing the van’s design under the mistaken impression that Arthur disapproved of it. A by-product of blaming his recent change in behaviour on a fear of supernatural phenonium.  How the hell do you explain that it’s not the supernatural generally that’s the problem, just their groups' tendency to run into danger with lethal outcomes. An increase in hovering by both his friends means that any excuse or reasoning he tries needs to be airtight or risk being picked apart by a hyper-attentive Vivi and overly watchful Lewis. So... no ‘Mystery Skulls’ logo.  

With a sigh, he approaches, running his left hand across its smooth, unmarked, surface. Somewhat forcefully, he yanks open the door, throwing his bag into the back and settling into the driver’s seat. Time to go pick up his overly attentive friends and spend the next few weeks exclusively in their company, with no breaks and possibly sharing the same tent and the motel rooms.

He’s so not ready for this. If they don’t notice his weird sleeping habits, then they are sure to see when he inevitably slips up in his acting. Arthur slaps his cheeks with both hands, taking a few more deep breaths, thinking of Vivi and Lewis, both of whom were waiting.

It’s too late to worry about that now. Everything is okay. This will be fine.  

The van rumbles to life and he waves at Lance one last time. The older man is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eye’s tracking Arthur as he expertly reverses and spins the van onto the highway.

…

Pepper Paradiso is located on the same highway as Kingsman Mechanics, just on the opposite side of town. It’s hard to miss, being painted in bright shades of pink and purple. Sporting wide, stain-glass windows, the building is almost alarming in its contrast with the browns and dull greens of the surrounding desert.

“Arthur!”

Vivi greats as he pulls in, bobbing about in poorly contained excitement. The smoothly paved lot encircling the Pepper’s diner is mostly empty, not uncommon for the early morning, and he pulls straight into a spot near double door entrance. Lewis is in standing by the doors in the middle of what looks like a family huddle. Both senior Peppers are there, and he’s got one of his little sisters sitting atop his shoulders. A wistful smile tugs at Arthur’s lips. There had been many days during his extended quest to find Lewis dominated by the fear that he would fail and never see the Pepper family, happy, all together, ever again.

Vivi jogs up, and Arthur shakes the melancholic thoughts away, winding down his window so he can hear her while he finishes up parking. Mystery is trotting alongside her, and he tries not to give the dog any overt attention. This last week he’s been working the gauge how much Mystery knows but the dog is just too good at being a dog for him to get a proper read.

“There you are. Almost thought you’d forgotten again. Then we would have had to postpone things till the afternoon and miss a whole day’s worth of driving.”

Arthur can almost taste the slight underlining tension which now pops up whenever he forgets or doesn’t behave in a way that’s expected. Vivi’s on the lookout for behaviour flags. Luckily, he’s got a lot of experience dodging Vivi’s pointed questions.

“Yeah, sorry, it took me more time to pack than I anticipated. Also, Lance wanted to say bye as well. That took a bit longer than I thought it would.”

He hits her with the grin he’s just spent the last half hour perfecting in the mirror. It’s a success because Vivi relaxes and grins back.

“Haha. You’re not the only one,” She gestures at Lewis and his family huddle, “You would think he’s leaving for good with the way they’re acting.”

“They are a pretty affectionate people,” he responds, quashing the strain in his voice. Vivi doesn’t notice, now focused on Lewis again. Don’t think about it. This time Lewis is going to return. He’ll make sure of it.

“Hey, Lew. Look who finally showed up,” Vivi calls over, waving. Lewis, one sister still on his shoulders and another dragging at his arm, tries to turn and almost topples over. Vivi snorts in amusement. Her shout also attracts the attention of Lewis’s family. Cayenne, the little red-haired menace, immediately runs over to jump around just below his window.  

“Arthur. Arthur is this your van! It’s cool. Can I come in? Pleeaasse.”

“You’ve been in the van before,” He says with only a slight hint of apprehension. Cayenne used to be pretty big on pranking from what he remembers. After Lewis’s disappearance, her Arthur-targeted jokes had become less frequent, almost non-existent.  But, since that hasn’t happened, he should probably be on the lookout.

“But now it’s orange!” Cayenne shouts enthusiastically, jumping up, trying to get a look in.  

Vivi sniggers, “She’s got you there Arthur.”

He opens his mouth to object but is beaten to it by Lewis, “I’m sure the van’s too full to fit you in. Maybe, when we get back, Arthur will give you a ride if you ask nicely.”

“Aww. No fair,”  Cayenne pouts, throwing a look back towards Mr and Ms Pepper like she is hoping for Lewis’s verdict to be overridden.  

Lewis crosses his arms, appearing about as stern as one can with Paprika, who’s covered in copious amounts of ribbon and lace, sitting on his shoulders, clinging and messing up his hair.

“Cayenne,” comes an amused grumble from the older Pepper, “Make yourself useful and go help Belle with your brother’s bag,”

A few feet away Belle is attempting to move Lewis’s fully packed duffle-bag with minimal success. Arthur swears Cayenne gives him the evil eye on her way past, and he shivers, feeling like he’s dodged a bullet. Paprika also scrambles down off Lewis’s shoulders to join Cayenne. Together, the three girls manage to lift the bag despite taking the time to stop and squabble among themselves.

Lance sighs, watching his sisters merger progress, and loosens, turning to an amused Vivi, “She’s had this thing about fart bombs this last week. Don’t know where they’ve come from but I, for one, don’t want to suffer for the next eight hours.”

Vivi laughs, “Good thinking.”

Mystery barks, jumping around, acting every bit the excited dog, energised by the surrounding activity.

They watch Cayenne, Belle and Paprika attempt to drag over Lewis’s bag, stumbling when Mystery gets caught underfoot. He ends up climbing out of the van to help Vivi load up her last two packs, one of which is full of books going by the weight, while she runs off to corral her fake dog.  So far, everything’s off to a good start. Lewis is too distracted saying goodbye to his family and Vivi is fussing over Mystery.

Now. If Arthur can just keep it together for the next eight hours, then everything would be perfect.

Note: Had a bit of a dip in motivation to write recently. Luckily, you can always count on long-ass train trips to bore me into productivity.

Part 15: here