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starlightandetherealshadows · 10 months

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☾. DEMO (24k) ☾. CHARACTERS ☾. PLAYLIST

Latest Update: Chapter 1 released on 08/25/2023

Your story starts like any other. Your life was normal, until it wasn’t. Two years after an invasion ravaged the Earth, you’re struggling to find purpose. The lonely life of struggle and survival is not for you. You’d promised yourself that if there was an apocalypse, you’d end it. That was then. That was when hypotheticals existed. Instead of dying, you lived against all odds and continue to do so. Why? You don’t know. You wake up fortunate to be alive. Everything between the sunrise and sunset is white noise. Insignificant. Now, your normal shifts again. You’re surrounded by a group of strangers, their faces unfamiliar except for the exhaustion in their eyes. There's something coming, something worse. It isn't hard to believe. After all, still water is an infested one. For the first time in two years, you aren't sure who is a predator, and who is prey. Caught between a millennia-long war, the human race is but a spoke in the wheel, narrowly avoiding being crushed by powers beyond your comprehension. At the end of the world, there is only one question. Who is running from whom?

☾. FEATURES

Customize your MC. Play as male, female, or nonbinary. You can determine their appearance and personality, updating it (voluntarily and involuntarily) as the story progresses. Are they charming or intimidating? Do they use their fists to solve problems, or their keen mind and deductive reasoning? Can they talk their way out of trouble, or do they avoid it in the first place?

Become an asset to your group. The perfect team has balance. Choose your MC’s strengths and weaknesses; develop them as you see fit. Make decisions that change the lives of your found family, or sit on the sidelines and watch chaos unfold. Do you believe in fate, or will you change your future by force?

Engage in romance, or keep it purely platonic between 5 love interests. There are two options for short term flings, and one poly option available.

Survive. Easier said than done.

☾. ROMANCE OPTIONS

For each of the romanceable characters, there will be options to increase flirtation, friendship, or antagonism.

☾. Ayana Tsosie (F)

Compassionate, intelligent, tactical, and ambitious, you have no doubt that A is a natural born leader. Despite her warm, welcoming demeanor, A is reluctant to pursue close relationships for fear of it interfering with her sense of responsibility to the group. You catch her crying in the early hours of the morning. Whose ring adorns her necklace?

☾. Cecelia/Chase Quinn (F/M)

Always up for a laugh, C isn’t interested in the doom and gloom. That doesn’t mean they lack competence. C is damn good with technology, able to rig up electricity seemingly from their back pocket. They take their friendships seriously, and will be the first to defend you when trouble comes knocking. Still, you wonder why they flinch at any sudden movements.

*C is demisexual; it takes a high friendship for them to reciprocate any romantic/sexual feelings.

☾. Delphine (F)

A succubus alien from the planet Cypress Velo, Delphine has been on Earth long before the Nion 8 invasion. At the end of the world, the seedier clubs and places of indulgence stand; Delphine works as a bartender and dancer at said places. Wealthy, gorgeous, and playful, Delphine can flash her fangs and have the world on it's knees. You can't help but gravitate towards her. Is she using her powers on you, or is her magnetism all natural?

☾. Zero Chevalier (M)

Having been plagued by night terrors since they were teenagers, Z can't close his eyes without hearing things. Seeing things. His parents, friends, and psychiatrists tell them that it's all in his head. Z prefers the shadows to the spotlight; at least the nightmares hold him close.

*Zero is locked in a v-type polyamorous route.

☾. Xa'eks/Xa'veed (F/M)

X never wanted to be in the military; they didn't know that until their species invaded Earth and they realized that others have a choice. Those words: choice, love, want, fear, longing, regret. It is all foreign to them. X knows their people cannot hide forever. The time for war is coming; but what sort of militia would they be if they couldn't see a lost battle a mile away?

*Memento Mori is a 18+ interactive fiction game that is best suited for the genres of sci-fi, romance, and horror. Wrecked and ravaged by an alien invasion, Earth is on the brink of war. War with who? That is yet to be determined, as no one knows who is the predator, and who is the prey.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Thank you all so much for your interest and support. It means the world to me!! ♡ ♡

All my love,

Cheye (she/her) :･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･

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flowerandblood · 5 months

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The Man with the Lost Soul

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: virgnity loss, smut, angst, violence, mention of the suicide, murder attempt, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She remembered little of her father's speech, focusing only on the fact that she had a fever and on her little brother's body, cuddled into her, shaking with sobs. She wore a matte, black suede gown with open shoulders, its sleeves reaching all the way to the ground.

She wore no adornments, her hair loose, falling freely down her back. She felt his presence a few paces behind her, separating her from the rest of those gathered, the lords and ladies of the court immersed in disbelief, weepeing loudly in despair as if her mother's fate would ever concern them.

They all knew that her father had kept her locked up for years.

She looked at her King and though she could see his lips moving, tears on his cheeks, but she could not hear or feel anything − all she could think about was what Vhagar had told her that night.

Your father the King wanted me to make it look like she took her own life.

"It was with great regret that I accepted the high priest's decision regarding the fact that a person who takes his own life cannot be buried with honours in the royal tomb. For this reason, therefore, my beloved, poor, suffering-stricken wife will be buried outside the town walls, respecting her remains and her memory, needless to say." He said in a trembling, deep, hoarse voice, as if he really suffered at the thought.

She felt something surge through her heart, a tightness and pain from which she parted her lips in trembling breaths, a single, lonely tear running down her cheek.

When it was all over, her servants braided her hair and put a black, translucent veil over her face. She felt suddenly that she was partially covered from the world, that she was surrounded by the darkness she felt in her heart.

She wondered if this was what Vhagar felt while hiding behind his mask.

She followed her father and brother in a small procession behind a closed coffin covered by a shroud, a monk in front of them singing a slow, mournful chant that echoed in her mind.

She stared at the back of her king-father and thought only of the fact that he had killed her mother and deprived her of an honourable burial, without even waiting for the mighty of the Kingdom or her own family to arrive to bid her a proper farewell.

She watched as the coffin containing her body was lowered into a deep grave dug outside the city walls, heard the sobs of the mourners, but she herself shed no more tears. She looked to the side − behind her father stood his guards, his ghosts, but her ghost, her Vhagar stood by her side, a few steps behind her.

She felt his presence, the presence of death with her whole being.

When it was all over her father pulled her out of her musings by approaching her, pale, wiping his face with his palm, as if he himself could not believe that all this was really happening.

"I know you blame me for this and you have every right to. By separating you, I drove her to the brink of despair, she obviously felt she no longer had a reason to live." He muttered in a trembling voice, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, far away.

She looked at him through the thin material of the veil, feeling only her breathing and the beating of her heart, besides having the impression that she was surrounded by nothing but emptiness.

"I do not blame you, my King. You have done everything in your power. She was mad with despair. You could not help her." She said softly, calmly, her words like pleasant music to his ears. He grunted and cheered up, walking up to her, grasping her face in his hands, placing a long, drawn-out kiss on her forehead.

"My beloved child." He said warmly − she felt a squeeze in her heart and forced herself to smile.

As soon as he passed her the corners of her mouth sank down, her gaze focused on the spot where she saw fresh earth and a small stone monument, all surrounded by flowers.

"My Princess."

She heard his voice and shuddered, only now noticing that there was no one around them anymore, they were completely alone.

"It's time to go back."

She shook her head as she walked closer, placing a hand on the cold tombstone − she had the feeling that everything around her was blurry and foggy, her heart and throat squeezed.

"No. I won't leave her alone this time." She whispered, feeling like just laying down next to her, growing into the ground, being covered in flowers and grass, falling asleep next to her.

"She's free now."

She pressed her lips together, feeling a squeeze in her throat at his words, her nostrils quivering in an anxious breath. She glanced over her shoulder at him, looking at his tear-streaked mask, and thought that they were the same now.

She approached him with the quiet rustling of her gown, the hum of the grass and the singing of birds all around them, their robes blowing in the wind.

She stood in front of him and looked at him, at the man who had betrayed her, at the man who had killed her mother, at the man who had taken away her chance to decide her own life and death.

Every time she thought about it she had to remind herself that it was her father who made him follow her, it was her father who made him report on everything she did, it was her father who ordered him to kill her mother and it was her father who made her want to end her life.

He was just a tool, a blade held by someone else.

She placed her hand on his chest, rose on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his mask where a tear had been outlined − despite the material that separated her lips from it, she felt the cold, unpleasant, tart taste of steel.

She heard him swallow loudly, his bright iris looking straight at her in surprise, his pupil dilated wide, his eye almost completely black.

"This is my expression of gratitude for your dedication to the affairs of our family." She whispered with feigned fondness, running her hand over the spot where his cheek would have been, the steel beneath her skin uncomfortably cold and slightly wet due to the moisture it had gathered from the air around them.

She passed him without a word, heading towards the gate. As she walked along the roads of the city, the people living in the townhouses threw field flowers under her feet, called out her mother's name, expressed their love for their Queen.

She trampled their wishes, their gifts, their words with each step, looking ahead, lifting her gaze to the great fortress standing on the hill before her in the distance − it seemed to her now completely black, its towers partially veiled by grey clouds.

A great black coffin, she thought.

She was as dead as her mother.

As she stepped into her chamber she ordered loudly that she wished to take a bath. Vhagar stood at her door watching as her servants filled the tub they had brought moments earlier with warm water, one of them helping her undo the ties of her gown.

"Your Grace…is he…" The girl asked uncertainly, looking at the hooded figure standing on the other side of her chamber.

"Let him look." She said dispassionately, feeling no shame or embarrassment as she was left in just a thin white chemise − her maid swallowed loudly and nodded, curl by curl loosening her hair.

She stepped into the tub and sighed quietly, resting her head against its edge, closing her eyes, saying softly that they could leave.

She heard quiet footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing, and then there was complete silence.

She lifted her eyelids and saw that he was standing in the same place as before, right at her door, straight, with his arms folded in front of him, looking at her unashamedly, her naked body peeking through from under her wet undershirt.

"Do you draw satisfaction from this sight?" She asked teasingly, twisting in place with a quiet splash of water, its pleasant warmth relaxing her tense muscles, finally no longer shivering from the cold.

He stared at her in silence, his pupil fixed on her face.

"Do not do anything thoughtless under the influence of emotion." He said dryly, his eye wide open, his chest rising slightly with each breath he took. She furrowed her brow at his words, feeling a tightness in her throat.

"I don't understand what you mean, Vhagar." She said coolly and he chuckled under his breath, however it was a laugh from which a cold chill went through her despite the warmth of the water.

"Your father wants to believe your words, which is why he does not yet see what lurks in your gaze. But when he finally notices it, it is not me he will send to you. I will not protect you from what will happen, and your greatest nightmare will come true." He said with a cold tone filled with some kind of superiority and opened the door from her chamber, disappearing behind it with a quiet clatter.

She pressed her lips together at his words, drew in a breath and slid backwards, sinking her entire head under the water − the voices in her head silenced, only an all-consuming hum around her.

She lasted like this for a moment before she felt a tightening in her mouth, her body craving another breath against her will, demanding to live. She rose to the surface, drawing in air loudly, wiping her face of the water droplets with her hands, sighing heavily.

She closed her eyes, thinking of what her mother had said, what she had spoken about since they had lived in this fortress.

The passage in her chamber and the cry of the child.

She opened her eyelids, feeling the sudden, rapid pounding of her heart.

Has Prince Aemond's body been found at last?

She stepped quickly out of the bath with a loud splash of water, quickly putting on a black, matte robe, tying it around her waist, opening the door of her chamber and stepping out into the corridor.

Although her body was shivering from the cold, she had the feeling that her heart was on fire.

She felt his surprise, his quick steps behind her, trying to catch up with her. She ran into her mother's old royal chamber, and as he entered behind her she looked at him with furrowed brows.

"No, Vhagar. Wait outside. It is time for me and my mother." She said coolly. She felt him hesitate, stand still for a moment − he turn his head, impatient, and walked out, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

She looked around the room, running quickly to the walls, touching them with her hands, trying to discover some roughness or unevenness, something that would tell her there was a hidden door behind them.

She pressed her lips together and ran her hand over her face in impatience, unable to find anything, wondering where the child could be hiding.

She circled the room with her fingers pressed to her lips, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

His face was cut open, he couldn't survive it.

At the time of the attack he was not in his room but in his mother's chamber − her father's soldiers said they attacked him first − his mother threw herself at them to protect him, and then the Prince suddenly disappeared and was not found.

The entire chamber was searched, at first believing her mother that he could indeed have been hiding there, however nothing was found and it was decided that it was a figment of her imagination, the result of her remorse, and that the boy had taken advantage of the inattention of the men when they were wrestling with his mother and had fled.

She looked to the side and froze, licking her lower lip, feeling the cold sweat on her back as she looked at her mother's large bed.

Where did children hide when they were most frightened?

She walked over there slowly and crouched down, peering in from underneath, seeing only the dusty wooden floor. She swallowed loudly and pulled herself in deeper, feeling her body quiver at the thought that maybe she was now in his place, imagining all that must have been going on around him, that he had very little time.

She began to press the various pieces of wood one by one, hoping something would happen, however nothing did. She sighed heavily as she pressed her forehead to the floor, resigned, thinking it was pointless and suddenly she felt something under her hands.

It seemed to her at first that it was simply a piece of wood that had chipped away over the years, but it had a semi-circular shape, and was so small that only her little finger could fit in there.

She tried to lever it up and lift it, but nothing happened. It wasn't until she slipped her finger in deeper that she felt she had pressed on something cold and made of steel, and when she pushed it hard and let go she heard a quiet click − the piece of floor lifted slightly, as if the hinges holding it in place had loosened.

She lifted the flap higher, breathing loudly, feeling the chill emanating from the black stone hole, with a small staircase that a very petite woman or child could fit into.

She clenched her eyes shut, feeling tears of regret and horror running down her cheeks, panicked at the realisation that her mother was not mad, that she had died for nothing.

Was his body there or had he managed to escape?

Where did this passage lead?

She began to crawl down inside with difficulty, seeing only complete darkness in front of her, and then she heard a slam and loud footsteps, someone's large hand grabbed her ankle and aggressively pulled her backwards.

She screamed, terrified, clenching her hands on the wood, her willowy legs trying to kick him but to no avail − after a moment he forcibly dragged her out from under the bed and turned her onto her back, his eye wide open, staring at her in disbelief, she could hear his loud breathing.

He seemed to hesitate.

"What have you done?" He asked in a trembling voice, his hands held her shoulders pressed to the floor so that she could not move, her breathing laboured, looking at him in horror.

"I have discovered a secret passage." She muttered, feeling that she was trembling all over. "My mother said she heard a child crying inside her chamber. I think she heard Prince Aemond."

He was silent for a long time, breathing loudly − she heard him swallow with difficulty and clench his eyes shut, and when he opened them his gaze was different, frantic, dangerous.

"I told you not to do anything thoughtless." He said tiredly and resignedly, coldly, in a way that made her feel a shiver run down her spine.

His hands moved from her wrists to her neck, clamping down on it, instantly cutting off the oxygen supply to her lungs. In an involuntary reflex, she grabbed his wrists, her eyebrows arching in horror and pain, her body beginning to wince in despair.

"You're making me do this." He muttered under his breath apparently trying to drown out the sound of her choking, her mouth desperately trying to catch her breath.

He leaned in suddenly, the cold steel mask pressed against her forehead, a desperate growl of grief and rage escaped his lips, his hands let go of her, her lungs drew in a quick, deep breath.

She tightened her hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him away, but he lay on top of her, pressing her to the floor − she shuddered, a quiet gasp escaping her lips when she felt something hard throbbing between her thighs.

"You are my curse. My ruin." He breathed out; she felt his hips move back and forth, rubbing against her, her body went breathless all over − she felt something pulsate deep inside her, some kind of tickle in her lower abdomen from which she sighed quietly, her heart pounding like mad. "My doom."

He exhaled heavily − she could feel his hot breath gushing into her face through the holes in his mask, his hands from her neck slid down to her thighs, slipping under her thin robe. She shuddered as she felt his leather-gloved fingers tighten on the bare skin of her plump buttocks.

They both let out a loud, ripped breath, her hands slid lower from his chest, pressing his hips closer to her body, the spot between her thighs throbbed hard − she felt some kind of need inside her, for some reason despite her terror she didn't want him to stop.

She wanted him to take everything from her, she wanted him to strip her of her dignity, to punish her for allowing all this to happen.

"− destroy me − leave me with nothing −" She whispered softly; she heard him groan low at her words clenching his eyes, his hands slid down her thighs to the material of his coat − she saw him unbuckle his belt, her fingers helped him untie the bindings of his breeches.

"− fuck − fuck −" He mumbled, both of them breathing loudly in what felt like excitement and desperation, she tightened her hands on his back and whimpered when she felt something begin to push against her flesh between her thighs, trying to force itself inside her.

"− let me inside − don't fight me −" He breathed out, trying to forcibly slide deeper into her − she clenched her eyes shut and cried out, spreading her thighs wide in an attempt to ease the immense discomfort and excruciating pain she felt, one of his hands placed next to her head, the other firmly holding her hip.

He rooted into her with one brutal thrust of his hips and she whined loudly − despite his mask she could see that he was looking at her with a misty gaze, his body in what felt like a natural reflex began to move inside her, his manhood rubbing her again and again at a spot that sent shivers through her.

She panted and sobbed beneath him, feeling with every movement he made that one more thrust from him and he would tear her apart − he was too big, her muscles clenching against him in terror.

She heard his growl of pleasure each time he sank deep into her body again, instead of slowing down he accelerated, his movements beginning to be followed by the quiet click of her moisture.

"− g-gods, forgive me −" She mumbled out panting along with him, feeling with horror that the faster he slammed into her the more pleasurable it became, the tickling between her thighs became unbearable.

They both sighed with pleasure as her hips began to respond to his movements, his length rooting into her with increasing ease, sticky with her moisture − she felt as if her body had adapted to his size.

"− good gods, you are fucking enjoying this −" He scoffed teasingly, the thrusts of his hips sinking him deep inside her again and again. She felt with embarrassment her own wetness running down her buttocks − she tensed so that with each push he rubbed that wonderful spot from which shivers of pleasure ran through her.

It was so wonderful to be so full when she felt so empty, it was so wonderful to shudder with emotion when she thought she would never feel anything again in her life.

"− Vhagar −" She mewled beneath him, her heavy breathing making the moisture condense as vapour on his mask − he groaned low, both of them panting loudly, apparently taking surprising pleasure in this primitive, animal slapping of flesh against flesh.

"− no − not like that − you know my name −" He hissed out, she felt him twitching hard inside her as if the thought of her knowing his identity aroused him even more − she felt her heart pounding like mad, her lips parted wide, her hands slipped under his breeches and tightened on his buttocks.

She knew him.

Gods, she knew him.

"− I − I don't know −" She mumbled between his aggressive, sure thrusts, from which she felt stupefied, felt unbearable tension and heat in her lower abdomen − she had a feeling that a few more of his stabs and something would happen.

"− come on, you can do it − say my name − say my fucking name −" He growled, slamming into her with loud, low groans of pleasure, she could feel him throbbing hard inside her, her walls clenching down on him greedily, sucking him inside.

She shook her head, unable to give him an answer, her mind completely frazzled with pleasure, only whimpers and sobs coming from her mouth, her hips responding involuntarily to his every push, feeling the wonderful tickling between her thighs, in her fingertips, in her lips.

"− I − p-please, oooh, gods, yes, yes, yes −" She cried out loudly tilting her head back, feeling the unfamiliar, overpowering hot pleasure shake her body, her insides began to throb like crazy.

She heard him growl low feeling it, rooting into her with a few more desperate, sloppy thrusts before she felt something warm spill inside her, a loud sigh of relief escaping his lips.

His seed.

She looked sideways at the closed door to the chamber, hearing only their loud, raspy breaths, her body convulsing, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

What had she done?

They both pulled away from each other − she hissed in discomfort as he slid out of her and rose slowly, quickly tying his breeches. They were both breathing loudly, terrified of what they had done, of what had happened.

She moved away from him, looking at him in disbelief, wondering if he was going to try to strangle her again.

Why did her discovery frighten him so much?

Who was this man?

It seemed to her that he could read the doubt written on her face − he stood up and sighed heavily, buckling the belt of his coat.

"If your father finds out we missed this, he'll kill us all." He said lowly, and she felt some kind of relief that he had done it purely out of fear.

She swallowed loudly, looking at him distrustfully, catching herself with shame that she could still feel him deep inside her, her walls sore from his aggressive, greedy thrusts.

"If you wish, I will inform him of what you have discovered in your presence." He said finally and she turned her face away, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart.

Did she want her father to find out?

If Prince Aemond was still alive, he could return and take the throne for himself.

He could have done what she had secretly dreamed of since she saw her mother's coffin disappear into the black depths.

He could kill the King.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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janeyseymour · 14 days

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Won't You Be... My Neighbor?- pt. 5

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Summary: JJ is with Joe, and you and Melissa are at the hospital.

WC: ~1.7k

JJ is screaming, crying, terrified. His father has just taken him from the place that he’s finally gotten used to calling home- from the two people that he feels at home with. His shoulder is on fire, and the way that his father is driving is more than scary.

But he’s silenced when Joe’s voice comes booming out, screaming at him to shut the fuck up, and his cheek is smacked. The little boy is reduced to silent tears that pour down his face continuously. He wishes that his momma were with him- that you were with him protecting him like you promised you would. He still can’t believe that you couldn’t make good on your promise- and even at his young age, he doesn’t fault you. He knows that if it were up to you, he would still be safely tucked into your arms in the bathroom and waiting for the police to arrive.

“Fuckin’ Melissa,” he shouts as he slams his hands on the steering wheel. “Fuckin’ fuckin’ the lawyer- no wonder the bitch won. Gonna fuckin’ kill her the next time I see her.”

JJ’s eyes widen. This is not the father he knew. He knew of Joe to not always be the most helpful or father of the year when it came to parental responsibilities- no, that was all Melissa. But he’s never gone around cursing like this in front of his son- never threatening to harm his mother. And he… he smells awful. What is that smell? The answer to that silent question is: vodka, not that the young one would be able to identify that scent. His father reeks of vodka, and he only continues to bring the bottle to his lips as he drives. The little boy is nearly thrown out of his seat as his father slams on the brakes, just narrowly avoiding a car that is coming at him. And before the four year old knows it, he’s seeing the skyline of the city off in the distance behind him.

“I want Momma,” the little one whimpers from the back. “I want Momma and Y/N.”

“Well, you aren’t getting them,” Joe sneers. “You’re mine now.”

Even at the young age that JJ is, he knows that’s not true. He knows that the reason that they were in court earlier today was because it was to determine where he would stay- the judge had explained that much to him and had even asked him who he would rather be with. Of course, his answer was that he wanted to stay with Melissa. He told the judge how Joe never played with him, was never home for dinner or for bedtime. JJ explained to the judge that Melissa was the best momma that he could ever ask for- that she was always there for cuddles, to play, make breakfast and dinner, that she gives him more love and hugs than anyone in the world, and that his momma is his absolute favorite person. He remembers that he told the judge that he loves where he lives now… he mentioned that he loves living there because you reside just down the hall, and you’re his second favorite person. He silently cries in the backseat as he quickly buckles himself in, praying that he’ll be reunited with his momma and you- and soon.

The ambulance arrives not a few minutes after you place the call, and your heart breaks as they lift her onto the stretcher and she cries out in pain. Melissa is always so strong, not one to show that she’s struggling unless it’s in the confines of her own home- but this is something even beyond her. She can’t do anything other than writhe in pain- both at the hurt in your ribs and at the aching in her chest as she is terrified for her son’s fate.

You climb into the medical vehicle and hold the redhead’s hand the entire time. She doesn’t even register the absolute searing pain in her sides anymore- now she is just concerned for her son.

“They said they would have people meet us at the hospital,” you promise her. “And when I mentioned the Schemmenti name, the operator seemed shocked. So, maybe you always knowing a guy will work out in your favor.”

“If they don’t send Tommy to me, I will raise hell,” she grits through her teeth.

When the two of you arrive, the man in blue is indeed the one that she mentioned, and she feels the slightest bit of relief at that.

“Melissa Schemmenti, you look like hell,” the officer whistles lowly.

“You blues better fuckin’ get Joe,” is all the redhead grits out as they wheel her into the back. “Take Y/N’s statement, and get Joe.”

And so, while she is being assessed, taken back for various tests to ensure that there is no internal bleeding or anything of the likes, you sit in the room while the doctor tries to insist on also examining your own wounds and speak with Tommy. You brush off the doctor- your only focus right now is getting Melissa’s son back home safely.

“I don’t even know what happened,” you tell him honestly. “All I know is he was piss drunk, and I fought tooth and nail to keep that little boy safe.”

“Ma’am, any information is valuable.”

“Okay,” you will yourself to think back to just about an hour ago. You close your eyes, trying to concentrate, and you’re taken back to the apartment where everything had just happened. “Melissa and I were asleep on the couch… and I woke up when she started screaming. He- he had a bat. And he beat Melissa senselessly while screaming that she was fucking me- we are not… He beat me in the side. She told me to get her son, JJ- uh, Joe Jr. We raced to the back rooms where he was sleeping. I somehow got him despite him hitting me with the bat in the leg. We were locked in the bathroom, and Joe- he broke the door. I held onto him as much as I could. But Joe was stronger and… he pulled…” you start to break down remembering the way that JJ had screamed. “JJ’s arm got pulled out of its socket. And then he took off with him. By the time I hobbled my way to the door, his car was out of sight.”

“We’ve already sent an amber alert out for him,” the officer promises you. Do you have any photos of the little boy to help identify him?”

You pull up a photo of JJ on your phone, one of him with Melissa and Joe.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please find him.”

The officer, in a rather out of character move, places his hand over yours. “With Melissa’s family being involved? Yeah, we’s gonna find that little boy, and Joe is going to pay.”

“Good,” you wipe at your tears. “And when you do find him, take him to whatever hospital is closest… God, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get that ear piercing shriek of his out of my head.”

“He’ll get taken care of,” Tommy promises you. “Just like Melissa is now, and how you should be for that knee of yours.” He gestures to it. “It don’t look right at all.”

“I’ll get to it,” you wave him off. “Right now, Mel needs all the care she can get, and JJ is our top priority.”

“Just remember that you can’t help them if you aren’t helping yourself,” the officer tells you as he pats your hand once more. Then he’s trailing back to his other colleagues to tell them what you had said.

You’re led back to Melissa’s room, where they have her in a bed now. Her eyes are foggy, and you can’t tell what she’s thinking. The doctor comes in a few seconds later.

“She’s high as a kite right now,- it was the only way to get her to stop cursing us out for not letting her find her son,” he tells you. “Three broken ribs from what he did to her.”

“I didn’t want it,” the redhead in the bed slurs out. “I just want my son.”

“And we’ll find him, Mrs. Schemmenti,” the doctor promises. “For now, all you can do is focus on getting better.”

“I don’t give a shit if I get better or not,” the woman is as feisty as ever. “All I need is JJ.”

“Mel,” you whisper as you limp your way over. You press a kiss to her hairline, and even with all of the morphine she’s on, she manages a smile. “We’re going to find him, and he’s going to be just fine. I promise.” You only hope that you can keep that promise- because your guilt will eat you alive if you can’t. The thought of something worse happening to that sweet little boy makes you sick to the stomach, and you have to choke down the bile that threatens to come up.

“We’re going to keep her overnight for observation,” the doctor informs you once you’ve choked it down. “But then she’s going to be released. Will you be the one with her?”

“I will be,” you confirm.

“Then you should let us check you out too, so you can help her the best you can,” he presses again.

With a roll of your eyes, you let them examine you, but you are adamant that you do not leave the redhead’s side. She falls asleep during the checkover, and all they tell you is that you’ll be sore for the next few days.

“Not as bad as her,” you sigh as you rub your thumb over Melissa’s knuckles.

“Get some sleep for now,” the doctor tells you. “The police will be back tomorrow morning to get her statement when she isn’t drugged up, and we’ll instruct you on recovery for her in the morning.”

You insist on them wheeling a bed into the same room as the teacher. Your beds are right next to each other- close enough that you can grip Melissa’s hand softly in your own as you fall asleep, and as your drifting off to sleep, you feel the redhead squeeze your hand gently.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

#melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfic

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feelslessfoodmore · 2 years

Text

Ok so after going through the tag I feel like I'm really not seeing enough people talking about how narrowly Orym avoided an Absolute Perma Death this last episode‽‽‽‽ Laudna making that perception check (which Matt was very reluctant in allowing to begin with!) single handedly decided Orym's fate.

Let's break it down real quick: 1) Matt said they were 300-400 feet up which is above the cap for max fall damage but below the height where you take more than a single round to hit the ground. Orym would've fallen to the surface of the planet and taken a fuck ton of fall damage well before Imogen could cast fly and catch up to him. (The fly spell makes the target hover so by rules as written, she technically wouldn't have been able to catch up anyways since she wouldn't've been able to free fall and would've had to descend at her 60 ft. fly speed.)

2) in the keyfish incident, Keyleth's body did not remain in one piece and I doubt Orym's would either. This combined with the time it would take to get the body back to F.C.G. would put them well outside the time like l limit of revivify.

3) And finally, all of that is predicated on the condition that they can even find his body at all!! That air ship was high in the sky, moving notably fast, with strong winds perfectly capable of blowing a halfling around mid air. Predicting where Orym would land would be way more difficult than just retracing steps. I can't remember if they were still above jungle or not but if they were they'd be pretty much fucked unless F.C.G. had locate object prepared (dead bodies are objects RAW but they also could just target something he'd had on him and hope it didn't go flying in the fall.) It could take days to find Orym and I don't think the captain would be willing to risk it since as they said falling overboard is usually a one and done deal.

Like that wasn't just the usual "Oh Orym is putting himself at risk in battle again and might die" because in those cases F.C.G. is right there, diamond at the ready if healing isn't enough.

This was Certain Death.

This was Liam makes a new character because the Hell's Bells do not have the connections to bring him back yet. No church connection, the only person they even know of capable of bringing him back is Keyleth and while there might be some Watsonian reasoning that the characters would think to go to her I just can't see the players wanting that. Asking Keyleth to fix all their problems just doesn't make for a fun campaign.

Orym keeps dancing with death but this was something so infitesimaly close to the end of his life that I'm convinced if Laudna had failed that roll Liam would've narrated how during the fall Orym sees a Raven and just watches it peacefully has he grips his tattoo. His last words before he hit the ground would be "I'm sorry" and then something about his husband being on the other side and getting to see him again, maybe even a "didn't make you wait as long as I thought I would I guess".

P.S. How poetic that it was Laudna who once again when faced with Certain Death –instead of kneeling to Fate– took that shit in hand and said fuck no.

#critical role #cr c3e23 #Orym #Orym of the Air Ashari #Laudna #critical role spoilers #Feather Fall is a sorcerer spell for Laudna I'm pretty sure btw #that overturning of death #that isn't Delilah #Laudna is a shadow sorcerer in and of her own #SHE is the one overcoming death¸ not Delilah #also this post is about Orym but here I am focusing on Laudna in the tags lmao #but yeah no Orym would've died died if Laudna didn't make that check #depending on if Matt uses the optional changes to falling mechanics in Xanathar's #Orym would've hit the ground instantly and taken 20d6 bludgeoning damage which averages to 70 damage #depending on how much damage Orym had already taken it would've been technically possible for him to survive that fall if Matt rolled low #but even at full hit points the average knocks Orym unconscious #it was really not good odds at all

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

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Jungkook + things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear. thank you

thank you for the request, anon! this kinda went in an unexpected direction, so i hope you enjoy it anyway. please forgive me for how late i'm getting around to finishing these requests and the fact that this has absolutely nothing to do with valentine's day!

pairing: reaper!jungkook x f. reader

genre: supernatural au, crack/humor

warnings: this is pure idiocy, idk what to say. jungkook is a reaper who is easily embarrassed and extremely bad at his job. swearing, name calling, bickering, mentions of death and near-death situations, one (1) mention of a sexual thing. unedited bc i'm on mobile and posting anything from my phone is a fate worse than... you guessed it.

wordcount: 1.6k

requests are closed, but you can still come talk to me!

“Don’t stop there! Oh my god, what the fuck are you doi—you idiot, keep walking!”

You pause in the middle of the sidewalk, completely ignoring the voice in your head. That’s nothing new; whoever it is seems to have taken up permanent residence over the last few weeks. The first time the voice had called you a feckless dipshit with a deathwish had, admittedly, been a little jarring (especially since you’re in the prime age range for delusions to start manifesting), but you’d (for some reason) listened and narrowly-avoided getting flattened by a car.

Now that you’re used to it, the voice is nothing but a nuisance.

Still, whoever it is seems determined to keep you alive. You resume your walk to the coffee shop, and you don’t make it another ten steps before there’s a horrendous crash behind you. You spin around, disoriented for a second, and then there’s a man hanging halfway out of a window on the verge of tears, screaming apologies.

On the ground lies a window AC unit that almost certainly would’ve been the last thing you saw before you met your maker.

“Thank fuck,” the voice says, and it sounds exasperated, which stings a little. It also never speaks to you directly, because the next thing it says is, “How does she keep getting away with this?”

Because it’s one thing to have an amorphic voice in your head.

It’s something else entirely to answer it.

Answering it would imply things, so you just… don’t. And it isn’t like the voice is there all the time, just pops in every now and then when you’re, apparently, about to die. Like your own personal death cheat code, because not only does it tell you to get out of the way of air conditioners dropping out of the sky, it also makes snide comments about your caffeine intake.

Case in point: “This is her third fucking espresso today! No goddamn wonder she wound up on my list. Fuck getting smushed by an air conditioner, she’s gonna go into cardiac arrest—”

“Ma’am?”

You swear under your breath and mutter an apology to the barista. Just to spite the voice in your head, you order some kind of overpriced, bougie water with soggy fruit in it. You don’t hear it again for the rest of the day.

Another two weeks passes, and the disembodied voice saves you from getting sucked into the mall escalator and an unfortunate mugging outside the sketchy bar Taehyung had dragged you to one night after work.

It’s a completely unremarkable Tuesday night when you drag yourself home from work, drained and feet aching because the subway was out of service and you hadn’t wanted to waste money on a cab. Joke’s on you. Some expenses are worth it. And it just figures that the voice has nothing to say about this, because in your exhaustion you drop your keys and whack your head on your door when you bend over to pick them up. You’re expecting another what an idiot, but there’s… nothing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a looming, dark figure to your right. Now you’re really expecting the voice to say something, because surely something that large and nefarious means certain death, but there’s still silence. So you straighten up slowly, heart rate spiking, and once you have your key stuck in the lock, you dare a glance over.

It’s… just a guy. Looks to be close to your age—kinda cute, but dresses kind of like a dork. Has a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but it’s got hoops pierced into the bill. It matches the rest of his aesthetic (also all black), but it definitely looks a little goofy. Still, you breathe out a sigh of relief at this being the looming, dark figure. Just a guy, and Mrs. Min had mentioned having a thundercloud for a grandson before, so you figure this is him.

“I haven’t seen your grandmother lately,” you say in lieu of a greeting, unsure what else to do. Surely this guy has noticed you standing here. “Is she all right?” He startles, lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a shriek and a strangled yell, and you drop your stupid keys again, heart pounding so hard it nearly jumps out of your ribcage entirely.

Then, the response you least expected: “You can see me?”

Two things happen in quick succession: all the blood in your body turns to ice, and you’re certain all of this has been nothing but a cruel delusion. Because—

Oh, no.

Oh, absolutely fuck no.

“See you? You’re the fucking voice in my head!”

What once was a look of pure fear melts into one of disbelief. “No fucking way,” he responds, eyes wide as saucers, voice awed. “Holy shit. No way. You’re the idiot woman!”

“Fuck you, I have a master’s degree,” you retort automatically. “Who the hell are you? What did you mean about seeing you? Why are you at Mrs. Min’s?”

“She died,” the guy replies, and there’s an air of condescension about it. “I’m here to collect her.”

“Collect her? Do you work for the morgue? Why aren’t you in a uniform? Where’s your ID? Shouldn’t the police be here?” More silence. “Wait, she died? Oh my god, she was so nice, she always baked me cookies, what the hell—”

“I can’t believe you can see me,” he says again.

Your brows knit together. “Again: why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”

“Because I’m Death.”

And you… laugh. You can’t help it, but it’s so unexpected and so clearly bullshit that you laugh. “You’re Death? Really? And you’re wearing that stupid hat?”

“What’s wrong with my hat?”

“It’s stupid, like I said.”

“You’re stupid,” he fires back petulantly.

You roll your eyes. “Grow up.”

“I can’t,” he snaps back, “I’m literally dead.”

Once you take a second to think about it, everything makes sense. And then you promptly black out and fall to the floor.

“Hello. I see you’re alive.”

This has to be a new record for the longest-running delusion of all time, because the guy is the first thing you see when you come to. You’re on your couch, judging from your view of the ceiling (aka the water stain near the light fixture), and he leans into your line of sight to press a cool washcloth to your forehead.

“Why are you here?” you grumble, words all slurring together.

“Just because I’m a Reaper doesn’t mean I’m an asshole. I was raised with manners.”

A Reaper. Yeah, that makes no sense at all, despite whatever you thought previously. “A reaper that makes sure I don’t get myself killed? Yeah, right.”

“…What.��

You groan. The water stain looks like it’s gotten bigger. “Every time I’m about to meet my untimely demise, I hear your stupid voice in my head yelling at me.”

“…What.”

“Can you use your brain cells for two seconds? I feel like I just woke up from a coma and having to explain this to you is giving me a migraine.”

“You could hear all that?”

“Yeah.”

“The whole time?”

“Yes. I literally just said that!”

The guy—whose name you learn is Jungkook when it isn’t Death—seems… stunned, to put it mildly. Seems like you took his world and turned it upside down, because he’s stammering over his words when he says, “You were not supposed to hear, like, any of that.”

“Mm, including the time you called me, and I quote, a feckless dipshit with a deathwish?”

“Definitely not.”

You sit up. Ignore the initial pang of dizziness and swing your legs over the side of the couch. Put your Very Serious face on. “Why do you keep doing that? Saving my life?”

“Because you’re not supposed to die yet.”

Oh. Well, that’s… good to know, you suppose. “I’m not?”

“No. I know when and how you’re going to die, and it wasn’t from the mall escalator, I can tell you that much.”

“…When and how am I going to die?”

Jungkook holds up a hand. “Confidential.”

“Jerk,” you mutter under your breath. “Why can I hear you, then?”

Jungkook, for his part, looks genuinely befuddled. “I honestly don’t know. Same reason you can see me, I guess, and I don’t have a fuckin’ clue what that is.” He strokes at his chin, bites at the ring through his lip. Stupid (endearing) how it matches the one in his hat. “You have any relatives who were Reapers?”

“How would I know?”

“True. Guess you wouldn’t. That’s all I got, though.”

You sigh. Of course the powers that be would bestow this upon you. “Is there any way to turn you off?”

Jungkook startles again. Goes all red in the face, which you wouldn’t have assumed was possible before meeting him. Looks like he’d drop dead if he wasn’t already Death. “Well, I—I’m not really i-into piss?”

“Excuse me? Oh my fucking god, I meant your voice! Your voice in my head, not your kinks, Jesus Christ—”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines. “Please forget I said that! Please!”

“How can I?” you fire back. “You’re gonna save me from walking off a roof and all I’ll be able to think about is your opposition to water sports!”

“Let’s talk about something else! Please! Can we please talk about something else!”

“Answer my question!”

“I don’t know! Plea—hey, you like coffee right? I watch you drink, like, fifty cups a day, of course you like coffee. How about you make us some? And we can talk about how much we love coffee instead.”

You take in his face—almost cherubic, doe eyes, redder than you’ve ever seen a person’s face be—and take pity on him. “Fine,” you relent, “but then we’re also gonna talk about boundaries.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble

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bardicbeetle · 3 months

Text

foolish beginnings

for febuwhump day 1 - helpless read on ao3

“Please—”

Vee’s voice dies in his throat before he can get more than that one word out, the hand wrapped around it choking him off into silence. He’s going to die here. He’s going to die because he hesitated, because he was taken in by the monster exactly like it had wanted him to be, because he was an idiot who thought he was above consequence—

—he’s going to die in this house and nobody is going to know.

He’d thought that face so pretty when he was the one in control.

It’s a mask of horror and teeth above him now.

Brilliant red and stark white and dark curls.

Vee should have stabbed it by now. He’s poised above the monster. Ready to strike but… Transfixed. It’s beautiful. Peaceful in its demonic sleep.

“All out of fight already?” Its voice is soft and musical, just hearing it makes his body start to relax—with a horrid jolt he realizes that’s exactly what it’s meant to do. “That’s a pity.” The hand around his throat releases, and he is left choking and stuttering on the floor, drawing breaths that hurt almost worse than not being able to breathe at all. The impact into the wall feels like it may have cracked something in his chest, the breathing isn’t just hurting his throat, there is a sharp ache and a wetness to it that shouldn’t be there.

But the monster is gone.

Or at least—gone from his sight. The room is dark, his lantern shattered, he can barely see five inches beyond his nose. One hand tightens around the stake, grateful at least he was still holding onto it, hopeful like a fool that he might still be able to escape—

—there is a sound like a wire snapping, and then a sickening wet-flesh thump.

He looks down in the dark, nothing, black void and dull shapes. Feeling forward with one foot, the other—something catches, roundish and heavy. He can’t make out any detail with just a boot, so he drops to a crouch—recoiling almost as fast when his fingers brush against what distinctly feels like a face.

God dammit he’s better than this.

Slowly.

He reaches back out, a nose, thick eyebrows, hair tied up and tight to the scalp. Reluctantly he runs his hand lower, mustache, upper lip and teeth—fuck—too low, wet and warm and—

—where is the bottom third of the face?

“Still attached to the neck, you would have gone the same but unlike your friend there you appear to have retained your manners.” The voice comes from nowhere, from everywhere, pressing in from the dark like a wave of unbidden calm.

A candle flickers to life behind him, throwing what is now clearly most of his superior—Galen’s—head into view. Ripped apart at the jaw. Tongue gone, gore painting his upper teeth, and now Vee’s right hand as well—

His mouth waters, promising to make good on the urge to be sick. He sweeps the room again, eyes finding nothing even with the addition of a little light. Alone in a ruined bedroom with no windows, no way to open the door, no way of knowing if the solitude is real or imagined. If the thing that he’d come here to kill was just waiting. He’s probably alone with most of a head belonging to someone older and wiser and stronger than he is. Who died like it was nothing. Whose fate he has—apparently—only narrowly avoided by advent of what?

Begging?

Fuck.

“You did sound terribly desperate,” At the sound of the voice this time he slowly raises his eyes to the ceiling. It’s high and cast mostly in shadow. He could be imagining the lazy kick of a dangled leg from the rafters. Eyes playing tricks in flickering light. “and I’m not above enjoying a little mealtime entertainment.”

Vee wishes it would shut up, get this over with and kill him already.

He’s already damned.

It’s said as much.

It’s not getting the satisfaction of another word.

As he sinks back fully to the floor, suppressing a groan as the movement jostles his ribs, he thinks he can hear it faintly laughing.

@flyingbananasaur / @abalonetea / @meatandboneasmr / @captain-kraken / @kaiusvnoir / @albatris / @excessive-vampires / @febuwhump

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday1 #am i doing this right? who fucking knows. surely not me.#regardless you're all getting a lot of vampires this month have fun #except for Vee who will be having no fun at all for quite a while #writeblr #vampire writeblr #wip damask #character ref vf

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glitteringcrab · 24 days

Text

me rambling about the Puppetmaster Rick is currently hunting Evil Morty theory

1. It's been implied (although never confirmed) that Rick C-137 became motivated enough to invent portal travel when Rick Prime killed his wife. In the same vein, wouldn't Puppetmaster Rick also be motivated enough to re-invent or fix portal travel for himself after Evil Morty broke it? (so let's watch out for any Ricks with different colored portal fluids)

2. When this happened:

I can see two ways it may have played out for clone Mortys:

...either they were sent to the dimension of the original they were a copy of (but... what about any clone Mortys that are a blend of more than one naturally occurring Mortys? If such a thing is a thing, of course)...

...or all clone Mortys who had ever been created in the Citadel, dead or alive, teleported right back in the Morty factory, their excess numbers vastly exceeding its capacity (as it was created for hosting a finite number of Mortys at any given time and then every Morty ever manufactured there teleported back in), until it became a massive pit of clone Mortys long dead, clone Mortys who recently died in the Citadel's ruins, and alive clone Mortys (who were lucky enough not to be in the Citadel at the time of its destruction, and then unlucky enough to be teleported back and crushed to death by the weight of their peers' remains), until the WHOLE MORTY FACTORY looked like this:

Doesn't this mean that (unless he somehow managed to halt his resetting) Evil Morty probably was among the Mortys teleported there and narrowly avoided getting crushed to death, maybe by willingly teleporting himself back in the Citadel moments before the resetting took effect (therefore "resetting" himself before everyone else) and then again immediately teleporting himself away?

Any excess clone Mortys who were alive in the Citadel's Mortyburg (that Rick C-137 had used to escape) were probably exempt from the resetting and remained there, surviving for a while.

In addition, a small number of clone Mortys might have also survived being crushed to death in the Morty factory.

All those few surviving Mortys probably starved to death... (and might I say, it seems like Space Beth, Rick C-137 and Morty Prime abandoned all the surviving excess Mortys in Mortyburg, we never saw them transporting any...?)

...Unless they were kidnapped and trafficked by scavengers (which... might be a thing, considering Ricks are still around and Mortys suddenly became a rare commodity.)

3. So IF Puppetmaster Rick is alive and well and trying to find traces of the Morty who trapped him in a fate worse than death, wouldn't he eventually find a way to visit the Citadel, searching for traces of his old sidekick? (So let's keep an eye out for any traces that someone has been tampering with the Citadel's ruins; such as security footage missing, indications that someone temporarily powered up the Citadel's servers to access records, etc)

Wouldn't he run through all the Morty corpses, scanning each and every one of them for cables and other identifying characteristics, before discarding them? (which for some reason is an extremely unsettling imagery to me)

If any Mortys survived in the Citadel's remains and were taken by traffickers, wouldn't Puppetmaster Rick try to locate each and every one of them, in case one of them was Evil Morty?

Wouldn't he also simultaneously search the multiverse for traces of Evil Morty? Like, maybe he has a sub-basement level like this one:

...only instead of a monitor of Rick Prime's stupid smug face he'd have a monitor of Evil Morty's bloodied and tear-stained face...?

(or, you know, maybe he's doing none of the above. Maybe he was so messed up from the worse-than-death fate that he had been confined in for so long, that he did not have the presence of mind for any schemes for a long time)

4. If the above described clone Morty massacre is what really occurred, it probably was the best shield Evil Morty could ever have. Since the remains of dead portal travelers were also reset, what would seem more likely to Puppetmaster Rick:

that his old sidekick kicked the bucket e.g. in the blender dimension and his remains were teleported by the resetting but are no longer identifiable

or that somehow his old sidekick miraculously escaped almost certain death during a time portal travel was broken and is currently hiding extremely well?

So Evil Morty may not be too worried about being discovered, because the likeliest scenario is that Puppermaster Rick is not looking for him too hard.

5. Now me tying my two theories (Puppetmaster Rick hunting Evil Morty down & Evil Morty being a clone of Morty Prime) together:

So maybe, after Evil Morty returned outside the Curve, he scanned for his own brainwave/dimensional signature and, after filtering for probability stasis (which seems to discard the copies from the search result and retain only the original) located the dimension where his original Morty is: the Par-mee-zee-an dimension. Okay cool. Whatever. He already knew he was someone's copy, doesn't really matter whose. And since portal travel was still broken (the Smiths had to go to through the Rift to reach the Parmeezeean dimension) he had no reason not to assume his original Morty was Parmeezeean Morty (lol).

So he plopped himself down on the edge of the Parmeezeean dimension and built his home there. This way, in case Puppetmaster Rick scans for him, the two signals will be blended. Great.

...Provided, of course, that Parmeezeean Morty doesn't switch dimensions (how could he, given that portal travel is broken?) and that Evil Morty minimizes his stay away from the Curve, just as a precaution.

And this theory gives a different interpretation for this scene:

'Cause I thought of a couple of explanations yet none of them sat right with me:

Evil Morty did not seem upset while Rick was dragging Morty Prime with him through the portal, his expression only changed after they came to the other side (possibly explained because it was only then that he was safe enough to afford to be upset about anything).

He never seemed to even glance at Rick, Morty was the object of his attention.

I don't want anyone's decisions or reactions (including Evil Morty's) to be influenced by who is a copy of whom. It shouldn't matter. A lot of the clone Mortys in the Citadel probably originated from the same naturally occurring Morty that he did, and Evil Morty killed them anyway, so it's not like he has a soft spot for other Mortys simply because they had the same DNA and memories that he does. Plus I want his relationship with Rick C-137 to be defined over the actual interactions that they have (in which Rick is genuinely more respectful of him than any other Rick has probably ever been, but of course there is still zero affection. And while Rick C-137 obviously loves Morty Prime, he's still a toxic, fickle individual and Evil Morty has given up on the hope of a good relationship with a Rick for a long time now. I'm not sure he'd really feel jealous of Morty Prime's relationship with Rick C-137. Even if he's different than the other Ricks, it's only by a small amount. Plus he can't actually know if Morty Prime's loving memories of Rick -that were implanted in Evil Morty- were of Rick C-137 specifically; in theory, another Rick could have been living with Morty Prime originally) rather than implanted memories of someone else's interactions.

So. The other possible interpretation of Evil Morty's reaction that I can come up with is that, as soon as Evil Morty crossed the threshold of the portal that would bring them all to safety (that he had obviously no idea where it would lead because it was Rick who fired the joined portal guns), he received a notification on his eyepatch that he was now on the "home" dimension; the Parmeezeean dimension.

So he reaches the obvious conclusion, and glares at Morty Prime, because: "IT WAS F****** YOU?!"

...and then he gets over it because it doesn't really matter who is a clone of whom.

Points against this hypothesis:

Evil Morty never looks surprised as he passes through the portal. He goes straight from nervous to angry. I would have thought that he'd look surprised in between, as he reads the eyepatch's notification, but he... doesn't (possibly explained if the idea had crossed his head before and he just got confirmation).

Evil Morty is really cautious, wouldn't he be a lot more careful about the naturally occurring Morty he's using as a shield? Like, wouldn't he constantly and automatically check to make sure that his original Morty is still in the Parmeezeean dimension? Did Morty Prime not leave the Parmeezeean at all before the Prime Fight? (maybe... maybe he didn't! Even the spaghetti planet was not on a different dimension, it was on a different planet, which I felt was weird at the time. Naah, Rick did take Morty to Boob World once he fixed portal travel.)

We don't really know enough about how searching for another person's brainwaves/dimensional signature works. Would a search for Evil Morty and/or Morty Prime return data on the dimension they're currently in, without returning data on their dimension of origin as well?

#Puppetmaster Rick #Super Weird Rick #Evil Morty #Rick and Morty #Eyepatch Morty #I've seen this technology before #maybe I can use that someday

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farmerbebop · 2 months

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Here's the hotvillagepoll to find the best The Prisoner episode, which probably has the worst propaganda ever written.

Other polls in this round can be found under #round 1 tag on this blog.

Propaganda

Many Happy Returns: Where is he escaping from? Where is he escaping to? Is there anything left for him in the world? What is his world? Who is he? Who are his friends? Who are his enemies? No one really knows. I wonder if Number Six knows. Kafka would get a kick out of this. Well, me too.

The Chimes of Big Ben: It's only the second episode and the village authority has already identified Number Six's weakness. As he stoically accepted his fate in the end (not before narrowly avoiding disclosing his secret), we caught a fleeting glimpse of how tired he was, and not just physically. If I had questioned why he resigned in the first episode, I stopped doing that after the second. He is capable of being a human and he might have as many secrets as any of us.

#patrick mcgoohan #the prisoner #hotvillagepoll #round 1

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vanished-viral-hit · 10 months

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“Bite.” PT. 1 (Female Miguel O’Hara x AFAB Reader)

Content Warnings: Cursing, biting, being paralyzed, being chased by a feral woman

Word Count: 657 (Short)

♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥

“You didn’t call,” She snarled at you. Her facial expression was wild, her fangs barred and mouth open, her eyes were furious and looking into your soul. If you were none the wiser, you would’ve thought you were dead.

“You were drunk last night, I thought if I called that you would rip my head off,” You attempted to apologize. It only seemed to make anger her even more.

“I’m not a fucking monster, you don’t have to be afraid of me!” She roared like a lioness. You almost wanted to say, “Your tone says another wise,” but that would almost definitely get you mauled. Although if you did, you’d be bragging at the pearly gates of heaven that you got mauled by the hottest woman you’ve ever seen.

You didn’t want to hurt her, but you didn’t know that you should’ve called her. You figured it would hurt her to hear what happened last night. “I didn’t want to hurt you Mig, I thought that maybe-“

You were cut off as Miguela leapt on you, well tried. You narrowly missed being attacked by the snarling beast. You had almost forgot that she got like this when she got like this when she had a particularly bad memory or generally angry. “Mig calm down! I’m your friend!” You yelled at her, it only angered her more. It was almost like she was hellbent on murdering you, if not at least maiming you.

You ran, barely avoiding getting bit by her. Once or twice her fangs snagged on your baggy pants, luckily you managed to escape her grasp before she got enough time to inject her paralyzing venom.

You had managed to get into the bathroom and ran into the stall, you quickly slammed the door and looked it. Miguela’s large and muscular body crashed against the door, reminding you how close she was to catching you and quite possibly killing you. She growled and hissed and she stuck her arms and slashed in the air, trying to to cut your ankles or grab you. You were so glad she didn’t understand how to open a door in this state. You jumped up on the toilet, that way you were safe from her grasp.

You could hear a bunch of Spanish words you couldn’t understand, assuming the circumstances, they were most likely insults or curse words. You looked at the ground and saw the gouges in the floor, they were deep. You knew it was time to find a better spot when she started banging on the door, it nearly ripped off its hinges. You realized it was her slamming into the door. Shit.

You shot webs at the roof as you leapt and swung over the stalls, you landed and started running out the door. You managed to get a distance from Miguela. Of course that didn’t change the fact that you were being chased by what was basically a lioness but arguably worse. You managed to turn a corner and waved at a few other spider-men as you shouted, “Sorry, can’t talk, being chased by a feral spider-woman!”

You looked back to see her running on all fours and roaring. “Holy shit!” You screamed as you tried to run faster. You knew she could get aggressive when she was mad, but you never saw her like this. You tripped over yourself, you realized your fate when you felt fangs sink into your shoulder. You felt something getting injected into you. Your body went limp, she paralyzed you.

You were hoisted up on her shoulder as she took you somewhere. It was terrifying, not knowing if you were paralyzed in order for her to take you somewhere else to finish the job, or if she was going to take care of you. You ended up shoved in her closet. Saved for later, you thought.

♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥—♥

Yes this is just part one, the next part will be longer and smut filled.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #drabble #female miguel O’Hara #biting #paralyzing venom

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pantoneyoongi · 2 years

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01 || hot chocolate with the mini marshmallows

series ; in love with love (with you) description ; you’re a romantic. jungkook? jungkook is not.

chapter 01 ; hot chocolate with the mini marshmallows prev || next

word count ; 2.6k

tags ; office!au / coworkers!au, frenemies to lovers, jungkook is lowkey a fuckboy but mostly he’s just a softie, like one (1) furry joke, pls go to main masterlist for more / general tags

you cannot fathom why you continue to grab dinner with jungkook on a weekly basis.

it was never on purpose. one thursday evening, jungkook passed by your desk, made a vague eating gesture, and for some reason, you packed up and followed him out the door.

it’s always thursdays. fridays jungkook reserves for being a fuckboy, bar-hopping until he finds a girl within his standards to follow home then ditch after she’s fallen asleep. as a proclaimed romantic, you’ve always wrinkled your nose at the smug smirk he has plastered on his face whenever he talks about it, but you also know jungkook meets the bare minimum requirements of being a decent guy - i.e., fully sober, consenting only, clear one-night stand, no strings attached. so, to each their own.

jungkook shovels a pizza into his mouth unceremoniously. “that’s stupid,” he asserts, mouth still full of cheese and pepperoni. you make a disgusted face, shoving a pile of napkins in his direction.

“can you swallow before you speak?” you retort, in favor of arguing (for the upteenth time) that no, it is not stupid that mark showed up at juliet’s door with giant note cards to profess his undying love. it’s iconic. ‘love actually’ is iconic.

“i’m multitasking,” he snickers, opening his mouth wide just to gross you out. you groan while he laughs, but still, he shuts his mouth to chew, eyeing you with amusement.

you scowl but settle for taking a bite out of your own slice. jungkook, for all his misgivings, is the only one out of your close circle of friends that stayed in new york with you. jisoo, taehyung, and jimin are all scattered across various cities, leaving you alone with jeon jungkook, who, for some reason, not only lives in this city with you, but works in the same building, in the same company, on the same floor.

fate loves fucking with you, that’s for sure.

you open your mouth to ask jungkook if he’s booked his time off in preparation for your friends all coming home for the holidays, but get interrupted by the loudest human you know.

“JAAAAYKAY!” your brother says jungkook’s initials like he’s revving up a car, and you close your eyes tiredly. you love him, you do, but hoseok by far has more energy than any human should realistically be allowed to have.

jungkook perks up, waving enthusiastically, a drastic change from the way he treats you. you turn your head to face your brother, who brightens at the surprise of seeing you too. “fancy that,” he cheers. “scoot over.” he plops himself down in the booth, you narrowly sliding over in time to avoid being squashed.

“hobi,” you whine, but he ruffles your hair and just smiles, stealing a bite from your pizza. jungkook shuffles in as well, and your eyes widen, realizing that with hoseok came yoongi, who has his hands shoved in the pockets of his coat as he relaxes into his spot next to jungkook.

your heart jumps in your chest at the sight. yoongi looks at ease, if a bit tired, the white collar of his shirt peeking out from behind his jacket. he’s achingly handsome, windswept hair and sharp eyes that land on you, crooking the corner of his lips up in acknowledgement.

“hey,” he greets briefly, eyes scanning over the pie you and jungkook had been trying to finish. you jolt your eyes away from him so you don’t get caught staring. “were you two planning to finish this yourself?”

“yes,” jungkook answers at the same time you say, “no,” and yoongi chuckles, reaching over to steal a slice.

“too bad,” he glances at jungkook. “you’re paying for me and hobi now too.”

“who says i paid?” jungkook huffs. “we went halves.”

“shitty date,” hoseok remarks with a grin. he leans towards you, mock-whispering. “i don’t like him. find a better man.”

you snort, elbowing your brother while he laughs loudly. yoongi presses his lips together in amusement, eyes flickering to you for a moment before he goes back to his pizza, but it’s enough to have your heart skip a beat.

your eyes glitter when you look at yoongi. your heart flutters at just the thought of him, his small but warm smiles, the baritone of his voice. hoseok’s been friends with yoongi since middle school, so you grew up watching yoongi play the gentle, quiet counterpart to hoseok’s loud, boisterous personality.

your crush on him is possibly the worst kept secret in the universe. to call it a secret is borderline criminal, according to jungkook, but you rarely pay attention to jungkook’s opinions as it is.

when the four of you have demolished the pizza (rip to the leftovers you were supposed to have, you’ll have to find something else for lunch tomorrow now), you follow hoseok out the door, mindlessly listening to him run his mouth about something or another. you try not to flush when you realize yoongi is close behind you, one hand holding the door open for you while his other hand guides you out the door, warmth emanating from where it’s placed on the small of your back. it sends sparks up your spine, ones that don’t disappear even after he’s removed his hand, shoving them back into his pockets as you gather outside the pizza parlor together.

“it’s getting late,” yoongi comments. he glances at you. “do you want me to walk you home?”

it’s a simple question. but it sets off the butterflies in your stomach, to hear him worry about you, and suddenly it feels significantly less chilly outside.

“i’ll walk her,” jungkook says before you can answer. “we live two blocks from each other.”

you try not to let your disappointment show. you know it makes the most sense - yoongi lives a subway ride away in the opposite direction - but yoongi is also by far better company than jungkook, who picks fights with you just for fun. yoongi nods his approval and you watch him and hoseok leave, a wistful sigh escaping you as they turn the corner.

jungkook makes a face. “you’re so obvious,” he mutters, grabbing you by the elbow to get you moving. the only other thing he’s ever seen you look at the way you look at yoongi is hot chocolate with mini marshmallows on top. ever the easy one to please.

you ignore him, including the scoff he lets out seeing the fairytale pep in your step. you don’t care. your heart feels light whenever you’re around yoongi, comforted and warm. you can’t be bothered by jungkook’s pessimism - the boy didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, anyway.

jungkook follows close behind you the whole way home, keeping pace with every bounce in your step with ease. he tongues his cheek, thinking carefully. “why yoongi?”

all these years and he’s never been able to figure it out. you come to a halt so suddenly that jungkook jerks backwards, you twirling to face him. “wouldn’t you like to know.” it’s cheeky and smug, but jungkook just arches an eyebrow.

“yeah. that’s why i asked?”

you let out a huff. jungkook has a way of souring your mood in an instant - he calls it a talent, you call him annoying. “just because,” you lean in, not expecting jungkook to meet you halfway, dark eyes studying yours. he hums thoughtfully, but you refuse to budge until he does, tilting your head challengingly back, waiting for his response.

“because he kinda reminds you of a cat?” he clucks his tongue, backing out of your space. “didn’t know you were a furry, y/n.”

you sputter at his absurd response, and now you’re the one following him, a string of obscenities escaping while he laughs loudly into the night air. “what the fuck, jeon jungkook-” you smack him on the back and he at least has the decency to jump like it actually hurt him a little (but jungkook is built like a brick fucking wall, so actually, your hand stings a little bit). he cackles all the way to your apartment as you chase after him, yelling threats and causing a general commotion on the city streets on a simple thursday night.

you’re both a little out of breath by the time you reach your building, jungkook wearing a shit-eating grin while you bend to rest your hands on your knees. “dick,” you mutter, but jungkook’s grin stays infuriatingly put. when you’ve gathered your breath again you turn heel to enter your apartment building, looking back only once just to stick your tongue out at him. he chuckles, waiting for you to disappear from his line of sight before he shakes his head.

he’ll never understand your near-lifelong crush on yoongi. love is for suckers, he thinks.

but if it makes you happy, well - to each their own.

“here.”

you look up to see a bleary-eyed jungkook nursing a cup of coffee, holding out a cup to you. you squint at him. “huh?”

“it’s hot chocolate,” he grunts. “just take it. they gave me the wrong order.”

you pop open the lid to see mini marshmallows on top, a smile spreading on your lips from cheek to cheek. “nice,” you cheer, eyes shining in a way that has jungkook shifting his gaze away, chewing on the lip of his cup. “but why’d you order two drinks to begin with?”

“i was gonna get one for jaehyun,” he lies, glancing back at you. you peer up at him.

“jaehyun doesn’t like hot chocolate?”

you like it more.

jungkook clears his throat at the thought, eyebrows furrowing slightly. he’d rationalized easily enough this morning, while he was waiting for the drinks after his split-second decision to buy one for you - he was doing it because you were friends. well, friends was probably a strong word in your opinion, but you’d known him for over a decade by now, so you probably legally no longer had a say in the matter.

jungkook glances at you. “he needs coffee. you’re the only person i know who runs on pure sugar.”

you throw him a small glare but it’s short lived. hot chocolate - specifically with the mini-marshmallows - makes you inordinately happy, cheeks dimpling as you happily inhale the sweet aroma. “well,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut. “someone’s got great taste. a shame they’re missing out.”

jungkook rolls his eyes. “it’s literally one of the most common orders,” he retorts, but you shrug back at him, unbothered.

“and? the people recognize it as the best, what can i say?”

jungkook almost regrets buying it for you on his way to work. almost. he feels like he really needs the caffeine to kick in right about now, but still, you look incredibly pleased and he scoffs lightly, lips curling up in a disbelieving smile as he shakes his head.

he raises an eyebrow, watching you sip chain-brand hot chocolate like it’s luxury before walking back to his desk a few rows behind you down the aisle. he peeks his head out past his cubicle in time to see you presenting the cup up to jinyoung with sparkles in your eyes, and even jinyoung laughs at how excited you are.

without realizing, a fond smile makes its way onto jungkook’s face, eyes soft while he’s watching you. this is the happiest he’s seen you all week, and something warm settles inside his chest.

it’s probably just the coffee.

you’ll never admit this to his face, but jungkook’s hot chocolate is about the only thing that powered you through this day.

well, his hot chocolate, and copious amounts of caffeine, but the extra serotonin courtesy of free sugar was a welcome boost to start off the morning.

it’s nearing eight now; you have your head propped against one hand as you stare tiredly at the amount of data you’re currently filtering through. it’s been data analysis and back to back meetings all day, marking notes and double-triple checking work from junior analysts because you simply can’t afford to make mistakes for this project.

you scrub your hand against your face, exhausted. your stomach has been begging you for sustenance for at least an hour now, and it’s friday, for god’s sake. you just want to go home.

you scowl a little. director lee had of course left at five on the dot, like he always does, cementing his position as worst-project-lead-of-all-time. he disappeared when he wanted, had a total of zero useful comments, and actually made more mistakes than corrections, leaving you to clean up after him.

you couldn’t wait until this project wrapped up, so you could dive headfirst into your bed, subject yourself to holiday capitalism with your friends, and return in the new year on a new project, with a new lead. fuck, what you would give to have this project just be over.

jungkook is on this project too, but his team has less of a stake in it than your team does, so he startles you when he shows up by your desk, knocking gently on your table. “hey.”

you make a vague, miserable noise in the back of your throat. “hi.”

“pack up,” he says. it’s a command - not a request - but you’re so tired you don’t even have the energy to comment on it, throwing him an unamused look instead. he stares back resolutely, one eyebrow arched challengingly.

you’re not gonna fight him. not really. it’s eight-fucking-pm, and you’re tired and hungry and jungkook has better work-life balance than you do, so if there’s anything you’re going to take pointers from jungkook about, it’s when to leave work.

but you’re you and he’s him, so you also can’t make his life easy. instead, you faceplant into your desk, whining. jungkook sighs.

he’s being nice today, you realize, as you hear him shuffle around you, packing up your notebook and pencils into your bag. you must look about as bad as you feel. timidly, you lift your head up.

jungkook’s mouth twitches. there’s a red mark on your forehead from being pressed against the desk, and he presses two fingers against it, pushing you gently backwards. “come on,” he says. “hurry up. i’m hungry.”

you obey this time, shutting off your laptop and shoving it into your bag while jungkook waits patiently. the two of you walk out together, quiet all the way down the elevator and out into the cold air. you suppose you’re both tired, if jungkook doesn’t even have the energy to poke at you the way he always does.

“you stayed late today,” you say, as the two of you walk down the street. jungkook shrugs.

“i’m on the same project as you,” he responds simply.

“but it’s friday,” you comment pointedly, and jungkook presses his lips together flatly, eyeing you.

“sex is great but so is having money in my bank account,” he says dryly.

you laugh. jungkook’s expression lightens with yours. “besides,” he says, offhand. “the night’s still young.” there’s a wicked spark in his eyes that makes you sigh deeply and exasperatedly, sending jungkook laughing, bumping shoulders with you through the night as he teases your tired expression, wiggling his eyebrows.

he walks you home, picking up fast food along the way, and you’re too tired to question it. he’s right - eight pm is hardly late on a friday, and the activities jungkook prefers on friday nights usually gear up earliest by nine. still, he gets you home safe, but not without making a mess of your hair right before you head into your apartment building, grinning widely at the loud whine you let out as you paw his hands off you.

you make your way into your apartment building, but turn around in the lobby. the front walls are made of all glass windows, so you can see jungkook still standing outside, hands in his pockets. he tilts his head questioningly, eyebrows raised almost tauntingly, but you ignore the bait and simply wave good night.

you watch his gaze soften into a smile as he waves back, and your heart warms. good night, jungkook.

prev || next || series masterlist

#jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook x yn #jungkook #series: ilwl

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scruffyplayssonic · 6 months

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Are the ArchieSonic comics actually an 80's/90's syndicated cartoon? Episode 54: Random child rescues hero. The episode's all about them now

Welcome back to my look at the ArchieSonic comic series, and how it shared a lot of the same story tropes as a typical ‘80s or ‘90s syndicated cartoon! Alrighty then, what have I got for you guys today?

Episode 54: Random child rescues hero. The episode's all about them now

Ahh, another tagalong kid trope. The best example I can think of in this category is Zach from the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles series, a nuisance kid who wanted to be just like the Turtles but was mostly getting in their way.

But then he helped them save the day and was named the honorary “fifth turtle.”

I struggled to find a good match for this one within ArchieSonic. Tails doesn’t really count, as he’s an established character in the series. I did consider Tommy Turtle, a character whom I’ve had the displeasure of writing about here many times.

He does fit the category for saving Sonic and then seeing a massive rise in page time. But he was around the same age as Sonic and also was explained to be a childhood friend of his, so he doesn’t really fit being either “random” or “child.”

Hope Kintobor, someone I discussed briefly in the previous episode, is another one who came to mind. Hope was part of a colony of Overlanders (humans) who had taken a journey into space following the Great War and landed back on Mobius in Sonic #91. Unfortunately for them they landed right on the outskirts of Robotropolis and were quickly attacked by Eggman’s forces.

Sonic saved Hope’s grandmother, Lady Agnes, from combots, but Hope’s stepfather Colin had a deep mistrust of Mobians as he’d fought against them in the Great War. In a classic example of terrible timing, that was right when Monkey Khan showed up looking for a fight. His village and its people had been taken by Eggman, and he was out for revenge. Eggman took advantage of the chaos to appeal to Colin - who coincidentally turned out to be Eggman’s brother - and the Overlanders all fled and took refuge in Robotropolis.

Ugh, they really went for it with that episode title, didn't they? :P

Eggman was a gracious host for a while, having a master plan for them that was never really explained. But in Sonic #105 Eggman’s true nature was uncovered and he roboticised Colin and Agnes, with Hope narrowly avoiding the same fate when Sonic swooped in to save her.

He and Sally evacuated Hope and the rest of the remaining Overlanders to Knothole, where they were treated for radiation poisoning and were later accepted to live in Station Square as refugees. “So where’s the part where Hope saves Sonic?” you’re probably asking at this stage. Well… she didn’t. Unless you believe the cover art for #105, anyway.

I did mention I had trouble finding good examples for this category, right? xD

Actually, there is one character who probably fits this one pretty well. That would be Marine the Raccoon, who made her debut appearance when she “saved” Sonic and Tails in the Sonic Rush adaptation in Sonic #180.

The only problem here is that this was barely a story at all - just a five page preview retelling the opening of the game. So while the game itself became this trope, this story in the comics didn’t really go long enough for Marine to become the star of the show. Although I guess you could argue that her showing up to save Shadow in Sonic Universe #1 also qualifies.

Since I wasn’t really satisfied with any of the kids I came up with for this category, I went to Ian Flynn’s Bumblekast Discord and asked for suggestions there. Former ArchieSonic writer and colourist and current badass Aleah Baker suggested Larry Lynx kind of qualified for this one.

Debuting in Sonic #12, Larry was discovered by Sonic when he was rescuing woodland folks from Robotnik’s Swatbots. Larry had a bizarre power he couldn’t control that would cause bad luck to occur to those around him, and because of this he was trying to isolate himself from other people. While initially doubtful of Larry’s claims, the Freedom Fighters were quickly convinced due to…

…overwhelming evidence. But Sonic had the idea to turn Larry’s power against Robotnik, which caused Larry to actually have good luck for a change and broke his bad luck streak.

Larry seemed to get slightly better control of his power after this, suggesting that perhaps the problem was a lack of confidence?

Larry later returned in the Sonic Live! special, where he casually dropped into Knothole only to discover that the Freedom Fighters had all been captured by Robotnik. After initially panicking and wondering if his bad luck jinx had caused this, Larry pulled himself together and rallied his own team of Freedom Fighters to help save the day.

Sally rewarded Larry by giving him leadership of the Substitute Freedom Fighters… and then Larry vanished and was not seen again in the comics for 16 years. :P

HappyTimes had what is probably the best suggestion for this category: “Those two kids from Sonic Live.”

Uuuuuuuuuuggggghhhhhhh. Thanks, I hate it. But sadly, HappyTimes is right. I hate this abomination of a comic, so let’s just push through this with a quick summary of events, shall we?

#1: Sonic is killed by Robotnik.

#2: Sonic’s death is revealed to have been actually part of a video game, and caused by skill issue by two real world kids: Steve and Jessie (Ken Penders’ real life son and niece). Get gud, kids. 😛

#3: Sonic’s “death” left him stranded inside a tv.

#4: Sonic yanks the kids into the tv with him, which allows them to escape back to Sonic’s world.

#5: Sonic has wacky adventures with his two new sidekicks, stopping Robotnik from launching the other Freedom Fighters into space.

#6: Everyone gets sucked through a portal to another world, with the kids getting new designs without any explanation as to why.

#7: Sonic has more wacky adventures with the kids, stopping an army of Robotnik robot clones and meeting his supposed creators.

Apparently this was going to be done with photographed backgrounds of Sega HQ, but the creative team couldn’t get their hands on the necessary photos. As this is apparently the real world, the kids getting new designs makes even less sense.

#8: Sonic is sent back home and the kids play his new game.

I really don’t like this issue, but I cannot deny that it fits this category pretty well. The kids “save” Sonic from his imprisonment in the tv and then the story is all about them going on wacky adventures with Sonic. It is the very definition of the tagalong kid trope. They didn’t help that much in the story and in fact turned out to be a liability when Robotnik took them prisoner. Great idea, Sonic, taking kids into a battle. But Steve helped save the day at the end because he knew the code to turn off all the robotic Robotnik clones - the level select code from Sonic 1.

Because of course it was. :P Still, Steve was at least more useful than Jessie, whose main contribution was being in danger over and over.

Thanks, Jessie. 😛

Are there any other random kids who became the star of the story that I missed? Let me know in the comments! Next time I’ll be looking at another classic cartoon trope - the invisibility potion! See you then!

#archiesonic syndicated

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aidan-hartwood · 7 months

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Aidan Hartwood Cameos in WoW

[Part 1: Jedelan and Vilthea] - this contains spoilers to Jedelan's fate so skip this if you don't want that spoiled as Aidan does not know what happened to him ICly, otherwise check it out to learn more about Vilthea, and how she connects Aidan to Jedelan.

Battle for Azeroth

The first time the player can encounter Aidan is upon arriving in Boralus. Traveling to the docks just beside Pinky's Groggery in Upton Borough the player can see Aidan working at the dock. If spoken to he will say:

If you're planning to go to Drustvar, don't. The rumors about there are true. I narrowly escaped with.. help. Avoid that place at all costs.

Aidan will then have a quest that the player can accept.

Level 10 Quest: Way of the Tides

Clicking the quest Aidan will mention:

Growing up in Drustvar I always wanted to be a Tidesage, I dreamt about it every day, but the reality was there was little chance I'd get to leave my home to become one.. After escaping Fallhaven, I was rescued and brought here to Boralus and since have decided to follow my dream. I have been in talks with a Tidesage, and am supposed to meet with them to hear their response on if I will be accepted and can begin my training. Unfortunately, with my duties here cleaning the docks I am running late. Could you go meet with them and tell them I will be soon?

Accepting the quest the player will then be guided to the Tradewinds Market.

Once there they will find a dark-haired woman in Tidesage robes near the Enchanting trainer. Speak with her to progress the quest:

<The woman wipes something red from her lips with her thumb before turning her gaze to you> Can I help you? 🗨️ Aidan Hartwood sent me, to tell you he is going to be late for his meeting regarding becoming a Tidesage.

If the player selects the dialogue option the quest will update and she will say the following:

Ah, yes! Well, unfortunately Mister Hartwood was not accepted, we believe he has the skill but not the resolve to join our ranks. Now, I'm a very busy woman, I need to get back to the Monastery, I was expecting him to be here on time. One moment. <She takes out a piece of parchment and summons a magical quill before writing on the parchment> Here. Give this to Mister Hartwood, as well as my condolences, I just know he will be distraught.

The player will be given the letter to take back to Aidan to complete the quest. Making their way back to him they will find him standing by the crates where he was cleaning, speaking to him he will say:

You're back! What's this? <You hand over the parchment and he begins to read it, his expression turning solemn before crushing the parchment in his hand> I see.. Thank you for bringing me this. What am I supposed to do now? I lost my home, my family, and now my dream is dead? What do I do now? I- I'm sorry I need a moment.

Completing the quest the player will receive 5000xp and 10 gold, as well as 150 rep for the Order of Embers. Aidan will then walk off and disappear.

Note:

This first time we see Aidan gives a few backstory hints First, he is from Drustvar, and alludes to the fact that there is something bad going on there, but doesn't say explicitly what that is perhaps out of fear. After his narrow escape he began working at the docks in Boralus, but his dream is to become a Tidesage.

The quest reveals that he lost his family and home to whatever happened in Drustvar.

And, if the player saw the other cameos for Jedelan and Vilthea, they may recognize that the dark-haired woman that the player met was not in fact a Tidesage, but Vilthea in her human disguise. Her wiping her lip hinting at the fact that she killed the Tidesage Aidan was supposed to meet.

2. The second cameo players may encounter Aidan is later in BfA once they reach Drustvar. In Corlain, at a farmhouse near the armory, the player can find Aidan on the balcony of the home examining what looks to be a ritual site. With him are an imp named Zorjub and a succubus named Vilthea. All three can be spoken to and will have the following to say:

Zorjub

Master won't let me burn evil nasty witch book. Zorjub is good at burning things. <Zorjub's hands ignite with fire as he bounces excitedly and looks at the book and then Aidan> Can I burn it? Can I burn it?? Let me burn it!

Aidan

No, not yet! Calm down, Zorjub. We don't know if it's her book, if it is then I definitely don't want you burning it. <Aidan looks from Zorjub to you> He gets a little excited. I'm still new to this whole warlock thing so I'm not really sure if there is a way to make him... not so fire happy.

Vilthea

When Aidan became my master's apprentice I never thought it was going to mean I'd have to watch over him like some pet. <Vilthea sighs rolling her eyes> At least he's cute. Maybe he will be fun to play with.

Note:

This cameo hints at a few things. Since we know BfA takes place over two years this cameo hints at a bit of some time passage. During that time Aidan has become a warlock! He's still learning as he only has his base imp, Zorjub. With his new walk of life he has also gotten some new armor and a scythe that is similarly styled after the Heartsbane. It can be assumed he is hunting the witches, which given his comments in his first cameo means they were responsible for him losing his home and such.

His comment about "her book", is a hint that he may know the witch that left it there.

Vilthea's appearance also hints at a few things. It seems her pretending to be a Tidesage to crush Aidan's dream was a ploy to get him desperate, to which he apparently turned to a darker path and eventually made a deal with her master to be taught how to be a warlock. It has also let to her being Aidan's 'watcher', or babysitter effectively, much to her dismay, though this cameo shows she does find him attractive.

This is the first time the player hears of her having a new master as the last time she was seen, during MoP, she had none. Apparently during the the years she became bound to a new warlock.

Shadowlands

The next time the player can encounter Aidan is if they select Shadowlands timewalking, or are level 60, and find their way down into the crypts under the Cathedral. There they will find Aidan casting a spell on a Voidwalker as it writhes about, while Vilthea stand behind Aidan next to a skeleton. Approaching, the player can speak with both Aidan and Vilthea who will say:

Aidan

I have to focus... <He pushes his hand forward and the shadowy energy pulsates>

Vilthea

Aidan is progressing well in his studies of demons and fel magic. I knew he was ready to summon his own Voidwalker, and what better way than to summon the one that belonged to a rival my old master killed many years ago? Add a little insult to his memory. <Vilthea laughed and looked down at the skeleton before kicking it> Lest you think me just another evil demon, the man was a scourge upon the world. Part of a noble family that protected him despite knowing he used his demonic powers to harm innocents. Kidnapping people and experimenting on them. He deserves only the worst. <She shrugged and then turned her attention to Aidan, stepping forward to trail her hand across his neck lovingly> You're doing great, Aidan.

Note:

Aidan's story has progressed since the player last saw him. The fact that he is now in Stormwind shows he's left his home and venturing out into the world. The fact that he is no learning how to summon his own Voidwalker and bind it shows he's learned more about being a warlock since the player last saw him as he only had his imp, Zorjub.

The player also gets a little more of Vilthea's history with her old master, he apparently had a rival warlock within the city who he eventually killed. This cameo also hints at there being a little more to her and Aidan's relationship compared to before.

Dragonflight

The next cameo takes place in Dragonflight, once the player hits level 70 they can find Aidan in Old Town, in the back alley by the Pig and Whistle. It's quite the scene as Aidan is surrounded by two imps, two dreadstalkers, and a dead Felguard. Aidan has a quest the player can accept.

Level 70 Quest: Chasing Tomes

If spoken to Aidan says the following:

I'm in a bit of a situation here involving a untrustworthy thief, go figure, and a not too happy warlock. Think you can help?

The player can then select the quest to which he says:

I'll try to give the short of it. Basically, I'm after some old tomes written by a warlock named Jedelan decades ago. He went missing and some took advantage of that to steal all his work. I was supposed to meet an... less reputable trader here who allegedly has dealt with one of the books only for him not to be alone. <Aidan gestures at the dead Felguard> If I was a betting man, which I am, I'd say this dealer is in league with one angry warlock who has the tome I'm looking for, but doesn't want to give it up. The dealer fled to Dalaran through a portal. I could use some help, I have no idea what to expect in Dalaran. You in?

Accepting the quest the player is directed to head to Dalaran (Legion). Once there the player will see a succubus run up to them and start to follow them while using Lesser Invisibility, this is of course Vilthea, who will say:

Hurry! Aidan tracked the dealer into the Underbelly of the city. We need to help him and get that tome back!

If the player wanders around too long instead of heading to the sewers she will say:

Normally I'm all for taking in beautiful sights, but now is not the time.

The quest then points the player to the Underbelly where they will find Aidan accompanied by his Voidwalker, Hathnos, two dreadstalkers, and two imps. Across from him will be a man in robes named Endrik Wyther and his numerous demons including two Felguards, a succubus, and two imps. The player can then attack. Aidan and his demons will help during the fight until Endrik goes to 5% health at which point he open a Demonic portal and flee. Leaving behind a tome the player can loot. To finish the quest the player need only give the tome to Aidan who will say:

Thank you, I'm not sure I could have fought him alone. A shame he fled, but I cared more about getting the tome than anything else. Here, it's not much, but it's the least I can do for you helping me.

Finishing the quest rewards the player 250 gold and 500 rep with Order of Embers. Aidan will then walk off with his demons and disappear.

Note:

This cameo shows Aidan has made further progress in the dark arts! He now has multiple imps and two dreadstalkers, showing his knowledge on summoning demons is growing.

This quest also shows Aidan has begun to hunt for Jedelan's old grimoires. Having found one which a warlock named Endrik Wyther's came into possession of somehow.

2. The second cameo in Dragonflight takes place after the player completes Aidan's quest. If the player finds their way to Olivia's Pond in Storwmind they can find Aidan reading a book. However, if close enough the player can see an invisible Vilthea standing just behind Aidan. The player can speak to both who say:

Aidan

I spend a lot of time out and about, but never to just enjoy nature and relax with a good book. This is a nice change of pace. <Aidan flips through the tome> Vilthea wasn't kidding when she said her old master had a plethora of knowledge. It's incredible, actually. I hope to learn a lot from this tome, then we can try to find the others.

Vilthea

I'm a woman of my word, Aidan. I promised you power and knowledge from Jedelan's tomes as long as you helped me find them. I always keep my promises. <Vilthea spoke in a sultry whisper leaning her head on his shoulder>

Note:

This second cameo confirms that Aidan is searching for Jedelan's tomes cause Vilthea promised him he could learn whatever he could from them. It also shows that when Aidan has down time he enjoys to simply read and be outdoors.

#About Aidan #Aidan cameos #warlock #Vilthea the Succubus #world of warcraft

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diner-drama · 1 year

Text

Determination (6/6)

Merlin may not know much, but he knows not to believe any old prophecy a dragon tells him, especially without proof. He came to Camelot to determine his own fate, not to blindly follow his supposed destiny.

He even turns down King Uther's offer to work as a servant for the insufferable Prince Arthur, but they just can't seem to stop crossing paths.

Other chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Also on AO3.

Merlin chuckled as he leaned on the fence beside the training grounds and watched Lancelot scurry back and forth across the grass, holding a shield to protect him from the axes that the knights were throwing at him.

"It seems that something about being in my service has given Morris a nervous complaint of the heart," Arthur called as he let fly his axe into the centre of the shield. "He has decided to retire, and Lancelot will be taking on his duties from now on."

"My commiserations," said Leon, nevertheless throwing an axe with enthusiasm and grinning when it thudded into the wood.

"I am honoured to serve the prince," panted Lancelot, peeking over his shield and then ducking down again just in time to avoid an axe to the head.

Ready for one final round of "spot the Buffy quote"?

"My commiserations," said Leon, nevertheless throwing an axe with enthusiasm and grinning when it thudded into the wood.

"I am honoured to serve the prince," panted Lancelot, peeking over his shield and then ducking down again just in time to avoid an axe to the head.

"Keep going until all of you have hit the centre of the target at least three times," Arthur instructed them, spying Merlin at the fence and jogging over to speak to him. Merlin greeted him with a sunny grin.

"Don't you ever have work to do?" asked the prince.

"Are you calling this work?"

"You wouldn't understand the rigours of military training," teased Arthur, pinching Merlin's bicep.

"Yes, I can imagine that it's a terrible burden for you to have to spend your days chucking weapons at people."

"He's certainly brave, I'll give him that," Arthur commented, watching as Lancelot calmly coached Sir Pellinore on his technique while dodging the flying axes.

"And you've got him bravely scrubbing your back and fluffing your royal pillows."

Arthur leaned back against the fence, giving Merlin an amused, sidelong look. "Don't tell me you want to be my manservant after all. I'm sure we could find you something to occupy your time."

"Tempting though that offer may be, Gaius finds me absolutely indispensable," said Merlin loftily.

"He's in desperate need for someone to stand around watching my training sessions?"

Merlin grinned and pulled a sad, limp bundle of catchweed from his pocket. "I'll have you know, I'm collecting vital reagents."

"Mm-hmm."

"Besides, what if one of you gets injured? Surely having a healer on hand is a good idea. In fact, it's quite irresponsible of you not to have had one before now."

Arthur looked like he was about to disagree, but stopped short when one of the younger knights let his axe go a little too early in the swing and narrowly avoided it falling on his own head.

The prince sighed and shook his head. "Come on, Merlin. You have your duties to attend to, and I have mine. We can't spend time talking like this."

"You're the one who walked over to me!"

"You're the one who was standing here, looking all-" countered Arthur, waving his hand vaguely.

"Looking all what?"

Arthur's eyes flicked to Merlin's lips, and then he looked away, towards the ground. "Get back to work, Merlin," he said curtly, and strode away.

A terrifying vision sliced through Morgana's dreams, and she awoke with a start with Arthur's name on her lips. Gwen was by her side in a flash, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurance while Morgana grabbed the soft fabric of her maid's gown and tried to calm herself.

"One of your bad dreams?" asked Gwen softly, once Morgana's breathing had slowed.

"Arthur's in danger," said Morgana, collecting her wits and drying her eyes. "I saw him drowning, and a woman laughing over him. We must warn him immediately."

"The prince left early this morning to go hunting."

"Alone?" she asked, alarmed.

"Lancelot is with him," Gwen reassured her, carding her fingers through Morgana's hair. "They went on foot, so they won't have gone far."

"We must go after them and warn them," decided Morgana, climbing out of bed and shaking the last vestiges of sleep from her head. "Go and saddle my horse while I get dressed. She could attack at any moment."

Lancelot and Arthur were halfway back to the castle from their hunting trip when a scream ripped through the trees. Sharing a look, they dropped the deer carcass they were hauling between them and sprinted towards the source of the sound. A beautiful woman in a golden dress and an old man were pinned down in a clearing, beset by a gang of bandits.

Before they could draw their swords, the sound of hoofbeats thundered into the clearing and Morgana's horse barrelled into the bandits, knocking them over like bowling pins. As she climbed off the horse's back and helped Gwen to do the same, the prince and his servant drew their swords, bearing down on the ruffians until they fled into the trees.

"Arthur, I came to warn you-" started Morgana hurriedly, rushing over to him and taking him by the shoulders. She was interrupted when the woman in the golden dress got to her feet and laid a gentle hand on her arm.

"Thank you so much for your help," she said in a soft, musical voice. Morgana's jaw went slack as she gazed into her eyes.

"It was my pleasure," replied Morgana in a dream-like voice, bowing to kiss her hand. "You look familiar - do I know you?"

Lancelot reached out a hand to help the old man up from the ground. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No, no, I'm quite well," the man replied, taking Lancelot's hand and rising unsteadily to his feet with the help of his staff. "I am Aulfric, and this is my daughter Sophia."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said the prince, a similarly glazed look in his eyes as he kissed Sophia's hand. "Come, we will take you back to the palace. Lancelot, go and get the deer."

Gwen was left behind with the horse, frowning at the back of Morgana's head, as Morgana and Arthur attended to Sophia like lovesick puppies all the way back to the castle, Morgana's dire warning forgotten.

Late that afternoon, Lancelot knocked on the door to Sophia's guest chamber, a tray of food balanced on one hand.

"My lady, I thought you might be hungry after your ordeal," he said softly when she opened the door. She didn't seem particularly glad to see him, but her initial scowl of irritation was gone in an instant, smoothed out from her face and replaced with a smile.

"Please, come in," she said politely. Lancelot crossed to the table and set down the tray, uncovering the platters.

"It's not much, just some fruit, bread and milk, but I hope it will tide you over until the evening meal."

"Quite the offering," she murmured, looking reluctantly pleased. "Sit, you must stay and eat with me."

"Thank you, my lady," he replied, taking the chair opposite her. After waiting for her to break off some of the bread, he took an apple and began to cut it into slices with his pocket knife, eating it slowly. "I hear you are to travel to Carleon. It is a perilous journey indeed."

"You have travelled there yourself?" she asked, spreading the butter thickly over the bread.

"Only once, as part of my training. By hand, I climbed the rocks by the great waterfall of the Northern Plains, west of Idirsholas."

"Surely that can't be the only route available?"

"No, there is an alternative path to the south, through Stonedown and Howden. That is the route that I suggest you take."

"Did Arthur travel with you?"

"No, I had not yet entered the prince's service at that time. I am sure he would have scaled the cliff face with ease."

"You speak highly of your employer."

"He is a good man," Lancelot replied simply. "I'm sure you must be tired after your journey. I will prevail upon you no longer."

With a courteous bow, he left the room. Sophia watched him leave with a curious glint in her eyes.

Gwen came barging into Gaius' workshop just as Merlin was about to take the first bite of his dinner.

"Something's wrong with Morgana," she announced, tightening her mouth in disapproval and crossing her arms. Reluctantly, Merlin put down his spoon and exchanged a look with Lancelot.

"Do you think it's the Elanthia beetle again?" asked Gaius, already opening one of his books. "Some lingering after-effects, perhaps?"

"No, it's..." she tailed off, struggling to find the right words. "Ever since that Sophia woman arrived, it's like she's got her under some kind of spell."

"That's a very serious accusation," said Gaius gravely. "If the lady Sophia is found guilty of sorcery, Uther will have her hanged."

"Lancelot, you were there when we met her in the forest. Didn't you think something strange was happening?" she entreated, turning to him.

Lancelot made a face, considering this. "The prince and the lady Morgana did both seem rather..."

"Enchanted?" asked Gwen pointedly.

"Taken with her, at least," he conceded. "I confess, the prince has talked of her a great deal since then."

"And Morgana had one of her prophetic dreams this morning, she told me so herself," continued Gwen passionately. "She saw Arthur drowning, and a woman was standing over him, and when we first met Sophia, I think she recognised her."

"If she's going to put Arthur in danger, then she needs to be stopped," said Merlin, standing up. "It doesn't matter how pretty she is. Is she very pretty?"

Lancelot and Gwen exchanged a look and then both nodded.

"She needs to be stopped," said Merlin darkly.

"I had hoped that we would be alone," said Sophia tightly as she, Arthur, and Lancelot picked their way through the Darkling Woods.

"Oh, don't mind Lancelot," replied Arthur breezily. "If he hadn't managed to persuade my father to let me off of guard duty, I wouldn't be out here with you. Besides, someone needs to carry the picnic basket."

"I'm happy to serve, my lord," said Lancelot, slightly out of breath from the weight of the food and blankets that were strapped to his back. "Watch out!" he cautioned, stopping the prince before he took another step.

"What?" scoffed Arthur, looking down at the forest floor. "It's just a ring of toadstools. Don't tell me you go in for those old traditions about not offending the fairies. It's a silly superstition."

"Nonetheless, sire," insisted Lancelot gently, steering him away. Arthur rolled his eyes but continued on towards the river bank. Sophia paused, watching with interest as Lancelot broke off a small piece of bread from his pack and crouched down to lay it next to the ring as an offering.

"You may find it silly, my lady," he murmured as he stood, with an embarrassed smile, "but life has taught me to pay my respects to whoever crosses my path."

"Not a lot of people in these lands still know the old ways," she said, seeming almost shy as they looked down at the fairy ring together. "It's rare to find one so respectful."

Lancelot didn't have a chance to respond to this before an axe came whizzing through the trees and Sophia, with more strength and agility than he would have expected from her slight frame, tackled him to the ground. The axe thudded harmlessly into the trunk of the tree behind them, and Sophia's eyes flicked downward to his lips before she remembered herself and stood up hurriedly. Arthur came running back and took in the scene with a scowl of displeasure.

"Thank you, my lady," said Lancelot quietly, getting to his feet and waving to the apologetic guard who had thrown the axe.

"Sorry, Lancelot!" called Pellinore. "Thought you were a bandit."

"His aim is improving, at least," grunted Arthur. "Come on, this picnic won't eat itself."

Aulfric's head whipped around as Sophia slipped into their chambers.

"You've not been gone as long as I expected."

"I, um," she stammered, turning pink. "There were some complications. The prince's servant-"

"You couldn't dispose of a serving boy? Would you like me to do it for you?"

"No!" she snapped. "Lancelot was respectful. He brought me an offering, and he knows the old ways."

"Do not grow fond of a mortal man," he warned her. "Their lives are so brief. Once you have your place in Avalon, his time will pass in the blink of an eye."

"I know, father."

"You must bewitch the prince. Only his death can pay for eternal life."

Sophia looked down, refusing to meet his eye, but she was saved the task of formulating a response by a knock on the door. She unlatched it to see the prince standing there, a charming smile on his face.

"My lady," he said decorously with a small bow. "I'm here to invite you to accompany me on a walk in the forest on the morrow."

"Will your manservant be attending?" asked Aulfric, gripping Sophia's shoulder in warning when she moved to speak. "I wouldn't like my Sophia to spend too much time in the company of low-born men."

"I thought perhaps it could be just the two of us," replied Arthur. "I promise that your daughter will have all of my protection."

"Then it's agreed," said Aulfric jovially, beaming at Arthur until he left.

Morgana gripped the arms of her throne with all of her strength until the wood creaked under her fingertips, trying hard to keep her magic powers in control as her heart broke in her chest. From behind Arthur and Sophia, Gwen and Lancelot were watching her with wary eyes.

Uther's laughter boomed through the great hall, and Arthur's scowl deepened.

"I'm serious, father. The lady Sophia and I are to be married."

"Arthur, you have the emotional maturity of a blueberry scone," said Uther wearily, still chuckling to himself. "You are far too young to be married, and when you are, it will be a match of strategic importance."

"You can't stop us," declared Arthur. "We're in love."

Morgana leaned forwards in her throne. "Is this true, Sophia?" she entreated softly.

"I-" started Sophia, and then she hesitated, looking between Arthur, Lancelot, Morgana, and her father. "Perhaps... perhaps we could delay until we're older," she said reluctantly.

"Sophia, I-" said Arthur, looking heartbroken.

"There, it's settled," declared Uther, relaxing. "Son, I will forgive this insolence. I, too, was young once."

For a moment, Arthur was too shocked to speak, but then he released Sophia's hand and strode out of the room.

"Arthur?" said Merlin softly, knocking on his chamber door. "Are you crying?"

The prince's head whipped up to glare at him through puffy eyes. "I beg your pardon?" he snapped. "Get out of here, Merlin."

"Lancelot told me what happened," Merlin continued in the same tone, holding his hands up as though approaching a wild animal. "It must have been difficult for you. I know that you feel as though you love her very much."

"What do you know about anything?"

"I know what it feels like to love someone who doesn't want to be with you."

A confused look crossed Arthur's face, as though he were desperately trying to remember something, but before he could respond, Aulfric came sweeping into the room, pulling his daughter along with him.

"You must elope with Sophia," he announced. "It is the only way."

"Yes," agreed Arthur immediately, his expression clearing once more, and the blue of his eyes turning into a deep, fiery red. "The only way."

"I don't want to do it," hissed Sophia, struggling to get out of her father's grip. "Let go of me!"

Quick as a flash, Lancelot appeared in the doorway behind the old man, his sword at Aulfric's throat.

"Let her go," he said calmly.

With an irritated twitch of his staff, Aulfric threw Lancelot against the wall as though he were swatting a fly, and Lancelot's head hit the wall with a crack, knocking him unconscious. Sophia let out a growl of pure rage and directed a bolt of lightning at her father, which he only just dodged in time.

Aulfric turned to Arthur. "Go to the lake," he instructed him, before turning back to his daughter and letting fly a curse which blasted her across the room.

Glassy-eyed, Arthur began to walk towards the door as though compelled by an invisible force.

"Where do you think you're going?" said Merlin. Leaping at him, he knocked Arthur to the floor and straddled him, pinning him down by the wrists as he struggled to leave.

Sophia picked herself off the floor and turned to face her father with a snarl. "I'm not leaving Lancelot behind," she declared. "I love him."

"He's but a mortal man," spat Aulfric. "His life is too short to be of any consequence." He raised his staff to shoot a spell towards Lancelot's prone body, but Sophia was faster, and her spell hit the centre of her father's chest.

Aulfric only had time to gasp before he disintegrated into a cloud of ash. Immediately, Sophia dropped her staff as though she had been burned, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Father," she whispered, dropping to her knees. With shaking hands, she picked up a handful of ash and let it sift through her fingers onto the floor.

"My lady," said Lancelot, stirring. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder and she shrugged it off, snarling.

"Don't touch me," she spat. "We never should have come to this accursed place. See to your prince - I will not be returning."

With that, she picked up both staffs and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Merlin, what on earth do you think you're doing?" exclaimed Arthur, looking up at him in bewilderment. Merlin laughed in relief and released his grip on Arthur's wrists as he watched his prince's eyes return to their usual blue. Joyfully, he cupped Arthur's cheek and kissed him, smiling against his lips when the prince returned the kiss, his mouth opening to deepen their embrace.

The sound of Lancelot getting unsteadily to his feet broke Merlin's concentration, and he suddenly remembered himself and released Arthur, standing up and not meeting his eye.

"Merlin-" said Arthur quietly, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted when Morgana burst into the room, pure, incandescent rage in her eyes.

"Your fiancée just stole my horse!" she shouted, before stopping short at the scene in front of her. "What happened here?"

"I think we need to ask Gaius about it," said Merlin quickly, happy to have an excuse to leave the room. "I'll explain on the way."

"I need to speak to my father," sighed Arthur, peeling himself off the floor. "I don't think I'm going to enjoy this conversation."

"It serves you right," replied Morgana.

"Perhaps," mumbled Arthur, setting his jaw. "Lancelot, clean this up."

"Of course, sire," said Lancelot, looking about him at the ash that covered the floor.

With a commiserating look at Lancelot, Merlin slipped out of the room and started along the corridor, Morgana and Gwen hurrying to catch up.

"What was that woman?" asked Morgana.

"One of the Sidhe, according to Gaius," said Merlin. "I spied on Aulfric when he sneaked out to go to the lake. They were planning to sacrifice Arthur to achieve immortality."

"I've never felt magic that powerful," said Morgana, shaking her head. "How did you stop them?"

"I didn't!" exclaimed Merlin. "Sophia must have changed her mind, she killed her father and then ran away."

"My vision didn't come to pass," she murmured, almost to herself. "How can that be?"

"Destiny isn't fixed!" shouted Merlin, losing his temper. "I don't know how many people I have to explain this to before it sinks in." He slammed open the door to Gaius' workshop.

"I could hear you yelling all the way along the corridor," the old man reprimanded him. "I take it that your little talk with Arthur went badly."

"Of course it did! Even when he's not being ensorcelled by evil fairies, the man's still an idiot," said Merlin.

"The enchantment has been broken, then?"

"It certainly has," said Morgana. "Merlin, you mustn't be too angry with Arthur. The spell that Sophia cast - it was like being in love."

"She must have been powerful indeed," murmured Gwen. "The way you were looking at her, I've never seen you look at anyone that way... I mean, apart from-" She broke off, and turned pink.

"Apart from you, Gwen!" burst out Merlin, exasperated. "If the two of you insist on being as clueless as Arthur I'm going to set something on fire. Please, go away and have a real conversation before I burn this castle to the ground."

With that, he stomped away and threw himself onto his bed, clamping a pillow over his head and howling in frustration.

Gaius sighed, and quietly shooed Morgana and Gwen from the room. After looking at each other, shell-shocked, they shyly linked hands and walked through the door together.

"I'll give him some chores to do," he assured them in a whisper. "That usually cheers him up."

Merlin was grumbling to himself as he cleaned a particularly stubborn bit of grime at the bottom of a cauldron, when he was interrupted by a soft knock at the door of Gaius' workshop. He looked up to see Arthur leaning against the wall, watching him fondly.

"I've just had a very interesting conversation with my father about the rules of Camelot," said the prince in a casual tone.

"Oh yeah?" said Merlin, putting down his brush and drying his hands on a towel.

"Apparently they're incredibly important."

"Really."

"The whole kingdom could fall, if the prince were to break the rules," he continued, a little smile playing around his lips.

Merlin gave him a look. "If you say so."

"I take it that you disagree."

"I don't know what kind of king you're going to be, Arthur," said Merlin wearily, standing up to look him in the eyes, "but I know that only you have control over your destiny."

"You really believe that, don't you?" replied Arthur, reaching out to trace his thumb over Merlin's cheekbone, his fingers resting lightly on the side of his face.

"I know it," said Merlin, a fierce light in his blue eyes.

"I hope you're smarter than you look," murmured Arthur, his thumb drifting down to stroke across Merlin's lower lip. "Because I'm starting to believe you."

Merlin grinned against his lips as they kissed, and took great pleasure in pinning the prince against the wall to chase all thoughts of destiny out of his head for good.

#my fics #merthur #morgwen #merlin #determination

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edsmcnson · 1 year

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When’s the last time anyone heard anything about EDDIE MUNSON? Old friends remember them as WITTY & ENGAGING but also OVERLY EMOTIVE & EASILY AGITATED, no wonder they’re still known as THE FREAK around town. Today, in 2006, they are 38 and some people say they remind them of the smell of cheap weed and even cheaper cologne; downsizing your passions to fit into an adapted version of your dreams; bite marks on pencils and an abundance of notebooks filled with lyrics that you didn’t have it within yourself to finish; a hopeless inability to adapt.

THE ROAD TILL NOW.

tw: death mention / injuries / hospital

I: GROUND ZERO / THE IMMEDIATE AFTERMATH.

Spring break 1986 concluded with a bang. quite literally. Or at least, to Eddie Munson personally, something akin to, well, the biggest bang ever imaginable. A cataclysmic event - his own death. How he had managed to narrowly avoid that fate, Eddie still doesn’t know. What he does know is that somehow, by the grace of whatever gods might loom and linger out there, he’d been granted another shot at breathing.

As fun as breathing and not-being-dead was, it quickly turned out that Hawkins, Indiana wasn’t the best place for the recently traumatized to recover. Someone - Steve, he suspected - must’ve dragged him out of the literal hell beneath Hawkins, because when he came to he’d found himself blinded by fluorescent overhead lighting, hooked up to all sorts of machines and, not to forget, chained to the fucking hospital bed.

Despite the less than ideal circumstances of his recovery, Eddie found some solace in the fact that Hopper, although trying to manage and cope with his own losses, did his best to shield him from the press. The reporters outside the hospital were eventually persuaded to leave, thanks to Hopper’s efforts (well-timed threats). Some shady government officials also paid a visit, and after the public’s demand for answers had dwindled, they’d released a statement, clearing Eddie’s name. Apparently, they’d felt guilty enough to throw in a new trailer for him and Wayne, too, so they could have at least some sort of safe haven to retreat to.

Still weak, but with sufficiently healed wounds, Eddie Munson was discharged and suddenly a free man. But make no mistake - free on paper only. Because when he left the hospital, he was suddenly brutally confronted with the fact that, to the average Hawkins resident, he was still 1) the local drug dealing town freak, 2) the leader of a satan worshipping cult and 3) a fucking murderer. In that order. And so the dirty looks continued to burn into his back, the muttered insults followed him in passing, and nothing, I repeat, nothing had changed. Maybe it was all the pent up rage, maybe something just .. .snapped but either way, Eddie powered through and managed to finally graduate on his third try of senior year. He did as promised: walked the stage, flipped off principal Higgins. Only the running like hell part, that would have to wait until everything had properly healed.

The months went by in a blur. When El and Will’s double funeral rolled around, when his gaze followed as the caskets were lowered to the ground, it was .. for lack of better words a pivotal moment . There was nothing left for him here, was there? His uncle would manage fine on his own, especially since he’d been going on regular coffee dates with that sweet librarian. Eddie was more of a nuisance to him, he was sure. And whatever that weird tension between him and Steve had been, left unresolved post-Vecna and awkwardly fizzling out ever since, it’s just … not enough to keep him in Hawkins. So it’s really an easy decision. A week later Eddie’s van, packed with all the Corroded Coffin equipment, leaves Hawkins, without leaving a note, without saying goodbye, and takes the highway to Chicago.

II: CHICAGO, ROBIN AND THE STONY ROAD TO STARDOM.

Eddie Munson was fully aware that he wasn’t going to become a success story overnight, but he was determined to make it happen. Still haunted by his past traumas, he channeled his energy into his writing, playing guitar, and even experimenting with singing. Taking up odd jobs here and there, dabbling in some dealing if need be, to pay rent and put food on the table. The paying rent part got much easer, however, when a familiar face joined him in Chicago: One Robin Buckley.

Robin brought a sort of light and warmth, a breezy carelessnes, a lust for life previously unimaginable, back into his life. His twenties with Robin in Chicago were the best, it seemed the early nineties were made for them. Going out to bars and clubs where Eddie didn’t need to put a bandana in his back pocket for people to know he was interested in men, playing the odd gig here and there, with moderate success in the local scene. Countless hours spent listening to music as they smoked and chatted away into the night. Life was fucking good, man!

Until, for whatever reason, one foggy morning, reality harshly set in. Maybe his frontal lobe had finally finished developing, but Eddie had untangled himself from the arms of last night’s conquest to get up and reevaluate every choice he’d made in his life so far. How he was working two jobs, as a mechanic and at some gay club’s coatcheck, while claiming he was doing music ‘full time’ and that ‘they were gonna make it big, the world just needed to be ready for them!’ The year was 1996. Eddie was pushing thirty. Corroded Coffin was still playing venues akin to the Hideout. If anything, the world had been ready for metal, like, eight years ago. If anything, the world was getting tired of their sound, and everything was moving into the direction of grunge-y tones. And, if anything, Eddie Munson was getting fucking tired of getting his hard work discarded because ’metal’s just not the vibe anymore, man’. Eddie had promised himself to stay true to his dreams, his passions, the plans he’d made for himself. But so many promises made to him had been carelessly broken. It seemed only fitting that he would break his own, too. So, Eddie got up and proposed a new sound. Most of Corroded Coffin dipped immediately, as to be expected, and so he got to work finding a new band. With him as lead guitar and, for the first time, supporting vocals, he joined a newly formed grunge/alternative rock band called ’Bleach & Burn’, performing music inspired by Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Type O Negative and the like. Not his usual scene, but he could get down to their harder sounds.

Bleach & Burn, to his surprise, generated moderate success and a cult-like following. Suddenly, Eddie found he was able to quit his coatcheck job, able to support himself with just the mechanics and his music. But it was only a matter of time before the world would evolve, move on, repeat the trend cycle and suddenly, just as they were about to sign their first recording contract, the label pulled out last minute with a word of advice: “People are sick of hard rock. Do something a little more … for the everyday crowd. Something for the radio. Trust me, people are gonna go wild if you go a little more tame.”

This marked a turning point, the make or break - Eddie Munson was a lot of things but he’d been determined not to be a sell-out, not to sacrifice his integrity for feeble attempts at fame and success. But now? Seeing his dream slip by his grasp, when he’d been so close? What the fuck was he supposed to do? And so, after much tossing and turning, Eddie Munson, lead guitarist and supporting vocalist of Bleach & Burn, became lead guitarist and lead vocalist of Cornerstone. And so, in the year 2000, at the ripe age of 32, Eddie Munson became Chicago’s biggest sell-out. But, fucking hell, did it pay off!

III. EDDIE MUNSON’s CLAIM TO FAME.

Who knew sacrificing your sound and your dreams could be so lucrative! Their debut album, after reworking their harder sound into a more radio appropriate, alt-indie-rock beat and getting a second lead-vocalist in the talented Alice Phair, hit the shelves not four months after, somehow becoming an instant success. Chicago’s previously best kept secret spread through the nation like wildfire. Cornerstone played their first national tour in 2001, cruising through the country for a solid five months. And suddenly, Eddie was on stage every night in tight jeans and leather jackets while people screamed his lyrics back at him, feeling like a fucking rockstar. Scratch that, feeling a like a fucking god.

Suddenly, he had everything he thought he’d ever wanted and craved. The recognition he’d been waiting his entire life for. Life felt good, once again. - Or was it, really? He’d never aspired for international success, even surprised when his label had told him some little independent radio station in Finland had played their most recent single. But people, no matter how few, were hearing their music, all over the world. People, no matter how few, all over the world were listening to and enjoying the sound of Eddie’s sacrificed musical integrity.

Again, suddenly, a flip seemed to switch, and Eddie pushed two sleeping groupies off him as he waddled to the front of the tour bus to watch the sunrise. He was living his fucking dream. People adored him. Eddie ’the freak’ Munson had turned into Eddie ’can you sign my tits?’ Munson, posters of his face adorning the walls of America’s alternative youth. But if he had everything he’d ever wanted then why was he so fucking miserable? Why did he cringe whenever he heard a song of theirs on the radio, even going as far as skipping the channel, unable to stand hearing it? He loved, lived and breathed music, but whatever sound they had taken on, he hated it. Hated having to pretend something he was not - he did that oftentimes enough when he’d pose with Alice for a staged PDA picture that could be printed in the tabloids. It wasn’t like he was hiding his sexuality by any means - his label had simply … ’kindly advised’ him to maintain an air of mystery around that subject of his personal life.

Truth was, Eddie yearned to go back to his roots, that early 80s melodic metal sound, that had made him happier than every song on his last, what, three albums? He’d even gone to work writing some songs that fit that genre - but they’d never see the light of day. Only posthumously, if anything. Because he knew the second he’d pitch that idea to his bandmates, or god forbid the label, Cornerstone was good as done. How were they ever going to play another authentic show with the knowledge that their band’s lead fucking hated every minute of it? It was ridiculous. And anyway, Eddie shouldn’t complain about what had been handed to him. He’d never even thought he’d make it this far. So really, he was in no place to complain. He should be fucking grateful.

He tries his best to be. Grateful. Goes on tour after tour, even if he’d rather stay home and never leave his room again, even if he’s fucking exhausted. Dutifully just nods and smiles whenever the label suggests another single, another show, another interview - it’s not even like they’re properly ‘famous’ Eddie thinks, but he doesn’t say anything, never does. Even when some so called ‘music journalist’ has recently in a review called them ‘a delightful mix of Nirvana, The Fratellis, Franz Ferdinand and recently emerged newcomers The Arcitc Monkeys’. He’s been told that it’s a smashing review. Eddie feels a lot like smashing that journalist’s face in.

Eddie’s just finished up a tour, and the past few months have catapulted him to the very brink of .. .something. A cord, maybe, that’s coiled all the way up, ready to snap at the next minor inconvenience. The idea of leaving the band is ever present at the back of his head. Leave Cornerstone to Alice, knowing she’d do an amazing job. Better than him, even, he’s sure. They’re not schedulded to play another show for a couple months, and so when Robin stumbles into his arms, showing him the envelope, it’s really a no-brainer. They’re going. Back to Hawkins.

Eddie hasn’t been back since ‘86. Wayne had always insisted to come to Chicago or visit him in Indianapolis whenever he’d play a show there. Eddie hasn’t been back since ‘86 and he hasn’t seen anyone from … back then since ‘86. Hasn’t been keeping in contact much, either. Still, Joyce Byers had been one of the sweetest souls to ever walk this earth, had shown him nothing but kindness the brief times he’d run into her. And some time in Hawkins, away from the bustling city life, away from the music and the shows and the whole fucking business - who knew, maybe a change of scenery would do him good. Eddie’s willing to try about anything to get a brief respite from the life he’s built for himself.

EDDIE’S MIXTAPE: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7khzeAQVKhDiY9yuVDY7tU?si=528f1c826bbe47a6&pt=09605be34be01b61d41f4bb03dd2c40c

CORNERSTONE’S LATEST SETLIST: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Lvqa6xD18CRlXDZRLQaBK?si=da10cb712dd242d0&pt=3b48d12497b97736c9b5786ea324445e.

EDDIE’S PINTEREST: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/edsmunson/eddie-munson-2electric-boogaloo

#vr:intro #<3

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