Hero's Spirit: A Vision of Nightshade

All For One did not reach the age of over 200 by not listening to his medical professionals.

He was still looking for a faster way to regain his full vision, but until then the Doctor had recommended him using a cyberpathy quirk to look through security cameras and such, so he wouldn't be out of practice with light levels, colors, and shape recognition.

He didn't enjoy it, because he disliked having his consciousness out of his body (at least unless it was going to be a permanent transfer). But he recognized the value of the Doctor's orders and did a few short bursts a day.

During one of these he noticed Tomura's little rival, Midoriya. (He would allow it until All Might finally chose a successor, then he'd encourage Tomura to switch over.) Midoriya was talking to a young woman on the sidewalk he seemed to know, who was speaking to him fondly. Maybe she had been his baby sitter when younger, or a neighbor? He focused the camera in on her.

She was beautiful, with long dark hair and purple eyes and lips that made a stark contract over pale skin. All For One felt his pulse quicken through his weak connection to his body as his heart pounded in his chest. His mouth when dry and his palms began to sweat. What was this feeling? It had been so long since he felt it? Ah, right. Abject Terror.

He slammed back in to his body and immediately opened the communication like to the League of Villain's current hideout.

"Shigeraki Tomura you will immediately cease any activity targeting Midoriya and any focusing one UA class 1A that might involve him." Tomura, predictably, did not like this announcement. "No! You said I could destroy the things I hate! And I HATE him."

"Tomura if you continue this vendetta we will both die."

"This is stupid! I'm not afraid of All Might-" "Nor am I. He is a pathetic worm that will one day die at your hand. But Midoriya is under the protection of Nightshade." Fear shone in speaking her name.

"Never heard of a hero by that name." Tomura began scratching at his neck.

"Not a hero, no." Kurogiri tilted his head in thought. "Was Nightshade not the name of the first villain?"

"It was. It is. I knew her well, as we had been allies for a time. She didn't seek power, but wielded it effortlessly. Personal power, power over others. She had amassed an army of those with powerful quirks even at the dawn of them and laid waste to the United States. She had been fond of the first hero, you see, though he was never credited as such. And the American Government not only killed him, they covered up all he had done, to ensure he was forgotten and their mistake never came to light. She crippled the country which at the time boasted the strongest military force in the world." "But she was stopped. I mean, America's still a country."

All For One shook his head. "No. She stopped when anyone even tangentially involved in the decision and those who defended them were dead. No quirk affected her, and he quirk could not be stolen. She is an untouchable wildcard who will slaughter thousands to make her point. She has chosen Midoriya as hers. Do Not Touch Midoriya Again!"

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part One

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: You kids lookin’ for a fix-it? Let’s get it started.

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​​ @cookiethewriter​​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​​ @thirstworldproblemss​​ @anonymouscosmos​​ @culturalrebel​​ @karmezii​​ @teaofpeach​​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​​ @wrestlingfae​​ @zombiexbody​​ @nelba​​ @scribblenotes76​​ @toxiicpop​​ @mstgsmy​​ @misty-possum​​ @gallowsjoker​​ @midnightbeauty35​​ @lackofhonor​​ @renegademustelid​​ @missfronkensteen​

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of pregnancy and general peril. Stay safe!]

"I want the fellow you've got in that cell. The one you're sending up the river." The mustachioed man demanded without pretext. "You boys give him to me and I'll make it worth your while, plus a touch extra." 

  "Listen mister, I don't know who you are or where the hell you came from, but that feller has five grand on his head. I doubt you've got enough scratch to make anythin' worth our while." The senior bounty hunter sneered, his boots still propped up on the table in front of him.

  A sack hit the table, the mysterious man undoing the drawstring slowly. "I've got six grand right here, genuine bill and coin. Count it all if you feel like it, or if you just want to touch it." His smile was mean , like the slash of a knife across his face. "Split between the two of you? Three grand apiece. Five hundred extra each. You boys really so well off that you can turn down five hundred window dressing?" The man queried.

  "Hell." The bounty hunter gawked at the money, then over at his partner, and finally back up at the man in front of them. "Jesus mister, you know this feller will probably die even before he reaches justice, don'cha? He's real sick. He was nearly dead on the mountainside as-is, and he ain't gotten better. Hasn't so much as opened his eyes in days!" 

  "Hey hey, if he wants him and he's willin' to pay that much…" The other bounty hunter trailed off, looking greedily at the bag on the table. "I ain't that inclined to turn the bastard in to the Pinks if I can make a little extra."

  "But we was gonna'-"

  "Or," the mysterious man sighed, "I suppose I could just take my money and be on my way." He began to retie the drawstring but the first bounty hunter stopped him. 

  "Hold up there, friend . We didn't even catch your name. Normally in polite society, a feller makin' an offer has the courtesy to introduce themselves."

  The man leaned in, sweeping his hat off of his head and offering a stately little bow. "Ah, where are my manners? Gentlemen, my name is Doctor Franklin Craft. Junior of course."

  The younger bounty hunter openly stared at him. "Ol' Doc Craft had a son?" He asked hesitantly. "All I ever heard about was the messy business that went on with his daughter's husband." 

  "Truly, a sordid tale. And she is actually the reason why I'm here." Doctor Craft ( junior, of course ) bowed his head in respect. "Before Irene...made her brief return to polite society, she chanced across the very fellow you have in that cell." Craft's grip on the brim of his hat tightened visibly. "He stole something from her. Something... irreplaceable . And while I may be unable to get it back, I can assure you that this man will be afforded all the comforts I can offer him while he lingers on this earth." He snarled sarcastically. "Now, do we have a deal?"

  ...

  Two Days Prior ...

  "Annie, you're a terror! " Irene laughed, scrubbing at the little girl's grubby face with the corner of her apron. "What have I told you about playing in the mud? Only in your mess trousers and only outside, right?"

  The child nodded, offering a beaming smile. Irene probably would have fallen for it, had the girl not tracked mud all over the modest dwelling. Anna was only a hair past one year of age, but she had been racing around from the moment she was able to walk. Irene was hard-pressed to keep track of her on her own. 

  It had been nearly two years since Irene had seen Arthur. Once she realized a seed had been planted during one of their pleasurable trysts, she took great pains to tie everything up neatly. Returning for her deceased husband's money had been her boldest move yet, but there was little the courts could do to dispute her claim to his property. Willie had purported that she was dead so he could remarry, and yet here she stood before them, hale and hearty. It had caused quite the uproar, if only for the unapologetic way that she had addressed everyone's shortcomings in dealing with her reports of abuse. 

  The railroad bonds he had hoarded so jealously became her failsafe, and it was with careful consideration that she began to invest in various ventures. Subsequently, there was the business of selling off every last thing . Every ounce of property, every stick of furniture, down to the hideous pewter candlesticks in the dining room. 

  Irene found herself politely turning down suitors left and right. Now that she was a woman of means, it appeared that men were willing to give her the time of day once more.

  It wouldn't be long before she would have real difficulty hiding how her body was changing. Irene decided to purchase a simple cottage up in the East Grizzlies, and it was there that she began making a home. A true home. A home of her own.

  She planted herbs, chopped enough firewood to last a lifetime, and went fishing and hunting in the nearby woodlands. The self-sufficient woman continued to live in relative isolation, only making the trip to Annesburg when she desperately needed a midwife. All the research and overheard lectures from her father couldn't have prepared her for labor, and she would be eternally grateful for the patient woman who had led her through the agony to emerge on the other side one daughter richer. 

  She named the baby Anna, her heart full to bursting when the tiny babe clutched Irene's index finger with all her strength. Little Annie Craft , her eyes just as devastatingly blue as her father's and her hair soon growing into a mess of tawny-blonde corkscrews.

  Anna held out a small rock to her mother, the muddy offering obviously one of contrition. "Sorry?" The child questioned.

  Irene sighed, rumpling her hair and accepting the pebble with a laugh. "Go get washed up, little one. It's nearly dinnertime."

  Anna nodded, trotting back outside to the small bowl on the steps that Irene had repurposed as a child-sized washbasin. 

  Irene took the small stone and wrung out her dishrag, scrubbing at the rock to reveal whatever it was that had caught Anna's eye with this particular specimen. It appeared to be quartz, the dull glitter in the last of the day's sunlight more than enough of a reason in a child's mind to acquire it. Irene smiled a bit sadly down at the small stone on the counter, then scooped it up and placed it carefully on the windowsill with the rest of its contemporaries. A few more pebbles, several dried up leaves and flowers, and the real prize, a snake's shed skin. All the treasures a small child could muster up and then some, proudly displayed.

  "Well! Gracious me, where did you come from, little cherub?" An unfamiliar man's voice drifted in through the windows and Irene jerked her head up, startled and dismayed to see a dapper-looking fellow on one knee in the mud of the front yard, her daughter's hand in his own as he presented her with a small paper flower. 

  The woman fairly bolted for the door. "Annie, love, come here!" She called benignly, trying not to distress the child. "What have I told you about strangers, wee miss?"

  Anna nodded, gifting the man one of her signature smiles but not moving. "She is a beautiful little girl." The stranger mused, rising to his full height and moving his hand to Anna's shoulder, keeping her where she was. "Her eyes, in particular! What a lovely shade of blue they are." He studied Irene standing on her front porch for several long moments. "I assume she must get them from her father, since yours are such a pristine hue of amber."

  "Indeed she does." Irene replied evenly. "Please unhand my child at once, Mister…"

  "Trelawny, ma'am! Josiah Trelawny, at your service."

  "Mister Trelawny, release my daughter and you may leave my property unharmed."

  "I had dealings with a man who has eyes like your little girl's, Miss Craft." He continued breezily like she hadn't spoken. How did he know her name? "Strong fellow, secretly altruistic, bit of a temper. Fiercely loyal." Josiah paused dramatically. "And currently , almost out of reach."

  Arthur . Irene knew she must have let something slip in her expression, for a knowing smile blossomed on Trelawny's face. The man let Anna go, and she toddled across the front yard to the steps. "What is it that you want from me, Josiah Trelawny?" Irene snapped. "Does he have debts that need paying?"

  "Heavens, no! That man has paid his debts twice over again." Josiah took a step forward. "Might we converse indoors, Miss Craft? The things I am about to tell you are matters that warrant a certain amount of... discretion ."

  Irene hesitated, then reluctantly nodded while beckoning him to approach. Trelawny followed her indoors, not speaking again until they had settled down at her small kitchen table.

  "Arthur, you see, is a friend of mine. Though I'm certain he would argue to the contrary." Josiah explained while he helped himself to the grudgingly-offered biscuits and fresh raspberry jam. "Currently, however, he sits in a filthy cell waiting to be judged. The bounty on him was very substantial, Miss Craft, very substantial indeed." He settled back in the chair, biscuit crumbs marring his damask waistcoat. "Five thousand dollars, by all accounts."

  " Five thousand? " Irene repeated in horrified dismay. 

  "Yes. Now, that is undoubtedly distressing enough. That is no simple room and board, ma'am! A man may work his whole life for funds such as those." Josiah leaned forward. "And yet there is something far worse that hangs like the sword of Damocles over his head, Miss Craft. Arthur is abysmally ill. He is plagued by that lunging pestilence, the consumption. Lord only knows how long he's had it, but it is ravaging him now in incarceration."

  Consumption . Irene had no doubt that she was white as a sheet at that news. "Why are you telling me this, Mister Trelawny?" She mentally congratulated herself on keeping her voice steady. 

  "The locals mentioned you are a woman of skill. That you know certain... remedies , though you are not permitted a doctorate so instead you must fall back upon the moniker of hermit witchery." Josiah steepled his fingers. "Then of course, there are the rumors I've heard about you being the long-lost Widow Carson. There was much ado about her in the polite society...why, over a year ago at this point! How time flies." His eyes were narrowed. "The dead woman who came from the wilds and returned to them just as fast, carrying with her a fortune and apparently ," those eyes darted to the oblivious child who was currently playing on the hearth rug, "an outlaw's brat-"

  Irene was on her feet in a flash, her palms meeting the table to cut the man off before he could continue. "You shall not speak so rough in front of my daughter, Mister Josiah, or I will make you regret opening your mouth. Mind your tongue while you sit at my table and take my hospitality hostage," she seethed. "What is it that you want from me? Did you simply come here to chastise me for having a child out of wedlock? I fear you're a touch too late to stop me on that front."

  "From you , my dear woman? Nothing at all!" Josiah exclaimed, seeming appropriately cowed by her display of backbone. "You misunderstand my intent. I am here because I am in search of a gentleman named Frank Craft ." His contrition gone, the man was watching her like a hawk . "I came across mention of him in Arthur's journal. Frank is... instrumental to a plan I have devised, you see."

  Shit . "Why don't you tell me about this... plan of yours and I'll see whether it's even worth Frank's time." Irene challenged him, folding her arms across her chest. Anna buried her face in Irene's apron, the child obviously picking up on her mother's discomfort. 

  ...

  Back In The Present...

  "Oh well done , sir! Well done indeed!" Josiah praised her roundly when she returned to their meeting spot with Arthur in the saddle in front of her. "You have performed admirably , Doctor Craft!" 

  "Don't forget your half of the bargain, Trelawny." Irene said sharply, peeling the false mustache off with a grimace. "I expect that money back in my hands in two days."

  "But of course! A few more investments in the Kilgore mines and I shall have your payment safely returned." 

  Arthur, who did not even seem to be conscious , started coughing and wheezing like his lungs were fit to come out. Irene didn't miss Josiah's look of extreme worry. "I'll do my best with him, Trelawny." She murmured. "I can't promise anything. He seems in a bad way."

  "The coughing started back in...April, perhaps early May of last year if I recall his journal entries correctly. It's a miracle he's endured this long." Trelawny stated bluntly. He shifted in his saddle, "speaking of his journal, I have that very item with me. Should he recuperate, I imagine he would miss it immensely." He tossed her the leatherbound book, and then tipped his hat. "I'll be off. Thank you for your assistance, Miss Craft."

  "Just get me the money, Josiah." She retorted, pulling her scarf up over her nose and mouth before spurring Bluster off in the direction of home. Arthur's mare trotted along behind them serenely, the other animal having always possessed a much more even temperament than Bluster. 

  Irene pressed her ear to Arthur's back after a time, listening to how ragged and labored his breathing was and her heart broke. She prayed like she never had before the entire ride home, prayed to the Good Lord to let her save this man.

  Please God, spare him, he's suffered enough .

  As she rounded the final bend in the road before the last thickly-wooded section, she was startled to see an enormous stag barring her way. The beast was a strange amber-white, boasting a many-pronged rack of antlers that would have left many a hunter awestruck. It practically glowed in the moonlight, nigh ethereal as it turned its head and studied the woman with one liquid, pitch-black eye.

  Irene cautiously reined in Bluster, who didn't seem concerned with the massive creature. That of all things was what made her uneasy. Bluster, the perennial coward, was wholly unbothered by the hulking apparition that currently sat in front of them. Chase was unphased as well, the mare actually lowering her head to graze the sparse grass. Bluster's breath fogged out around his nose, the air already sharp with the promise of winter, and Irene realized with a jolt of confusion that the stag had no visible haze from its breath around its head. 

  The deer that towered head and shoulders over her even while mounted turned in the direction they had been heading, and then set off at a stately pace. It stopped after a moment, looking back at her as if to say, " well? " 

  Irene clicked her tongue, coaxing Bluster to a careful trot. The stag appeared satisfied with this arrangement, soon picking up speed. It led her on a strange path, a bit more of a winding one than she would have taken, but Irene felt weirdly confident that this odd... vision was here to help. 

  Off in the woods to the left, sounding like it was dangerously close to the deer track she would have taken, she heard a furious crashing of branches and the yowling of a cougar as it chased down some unfortunate prey. 

  Irene looked wide-eyed at the stag and found that it had turned its head to stare at her once more. Bluster whinnied uncertainly, beginning to fidget as he doubtless caught the noise and smell of the big cat, and Irene urged him on a little faster. 

  Jesus , encountering a cougar at this hour, her with nothing but her revolver and the limp weight of Arthur further burdening Bluster? They would have been dead for certain!

  "Thank you." She breathed, feeling foolish for being disappointed when she received no reply.

  The stag finally halted on the rocky hilltop adjacent to the little hollow her stead rested in, still not an ounce of breath fog around its nose or issuing from its mouth, and Irene realized after a moment that it was waiting for her to continue onwards. 

  "Thank you," she said again softly, grateful even through her disbelief.

  The deer folded its legs to lay in the grass, as if to keep an eye out for danger while Irene dismounted and led the two horses down the steep incline. Arthur started to cough again, the noise sharp and hollow as his breath rasped in and out.

  "Nearly there Arthur, nearly there." Irene soothed, knowing that he was probably unable to hear her in his delirium. "We'll be home…" her words trailed off when she turned to look back at Arthur and saw that the stag had vanished. "...soon."

  Bluster whickered at her quietly after a moment, breaking the spell of her confusion. Right . Work to be done.

  ...

  " The queen will never win the game, for Rumpelstiltskin is my name! "

  Arthur couldn't even bring himself to wonder what the hell he was hearing. Some sort of distant nursery rhyme, and he wasn't sure if he was imagining the sound of a small child laughing fit to split their sides.

  Christ , he was tired. His body ached and his lungs seared like hellfire. Throat raw from coughing, tongue sour with the iron taste of blood. He had really, really thought he would be dead by now. Guess his body had other plans, the bastard .

  He went back under, muddling around in the red haze of semi-consciousness. It seemed like someone was always forcing him to take some kind of medicine. Bitter, scraping his battered throat like knives all the way down. Maybe it was poison. 

  Some strange salve for his chest, reeking so potently of mint that his eyes watered even though they were closed. It reminded him of the ointments Hosea had soothed the horses with, the damn man probably pious as a pope from all the anointing he did. 

  A ladle full of lukewarm water pressed to his lips and he drank as best as he could, though some of it ended up trickling down his chin. His jaw was physically sore from the rib-shattering coughing he had struggled through; it was all he could do just to pry his teeth apart. 

  Christ , he should be dead. He had been surprised enough when he managed to survive getting a hole blown in his shoulder without losing the limb to gangrene, but this was a whole new level of bullshit. 

  What little life he had left after enduring Dutch's madness, Micah had done his best to beat out of him.

  Maybe they wanted him healthy for the gallows. Put on more of a show if he was strong enough to raise his head. Arthur didn't have the heart or breath to tell whoever this was that their care was in vain. He was so far gone…

  Nobody could save him. Not even God himself could save Arthur Morgan at this point.

Winter’s Cold, Part Two

Tendrils of Regret - Part 3

Read on AO3 Here!

You found out very quickly that it was easy for you to annoy Vergil. In fact, it seemed that your entire existence was enough to do it. But you quite enjoyed pushing more of his buttons. Music in the shower? Check. Typing as loudly as possible while working on the paperwork? Check. Silent treatment? Check. (He did tell you to be quiet, after all). Conveniently forget to wash his clothes despite helping Dante with the laundry? Check. Anything you could do to make his day a little more annoying was free game. 

But you also realized very quickly that Vergil was doing the exact same thing. Buy pizza for dinner but forget that you couldn’t eat it? Check. Read in your desk chair and ignore your (silent) demands to leave? Check (Though he’d quickly given that up when you’d almost sat in his lap just to prove a point). Bring home the stinkiest demons he could find to help with your “condition”? Check. (You wish Trish hadn’t recommended he or Dante do such a thing). And your little game, or whatever it was, went on and on and on. A never-ending dance of increasingly annoying things back and forth, as if one was waiting for the other to crack.

And Dante was absolutely loving it. 

“It doesn't bother me one bit,” he said one day while looking through one of his more scandalous magazines. “It’s lively around here now, thanks to you.” 

You stared at him. “Lively!?”

Dante laughed as he tossed his magazine toward the trash bin. He missed, of course, and just put his hands on the back of his head. “It’s been a long time since my brother and I shared the same space, but things would have been boring between us. You’re like… chaos incarnate.” You scowled at him, but he just kept going. “Verge can’t predict you, and I think that’s good for him.”

“Good for him?” You said. 

“And it’s entertaining,” Dante said as he grabbed another magazine from his desk.

“How many of those do you have?”

“Just about enough,” He said with a grin. “Now go pester my brother some more.”

“He’s not even home.”

“But he will be-”

Then the phone rang. 

Both of you stared at it for a moment. The phone hadn’t rung once since Dante and Vergil had come back from the Underworld almost a month ago. It was Morrison who had taken all of the calls, sending requests their way in a well-coordinated manner. The only reason the phone was even on the desk was because Dante claimed he was “fond of it”. In fact, you hadn’t even realized it was plugged in, as you all had cell phones now. 

“Should you get that?” You said. 

Dante glanced at you, then back to the phone. Finally, he lifted it off of the receiver. “Devil May-”

“Demons!” A male voice yelled. “There’s a swarm of them outside my house!”

Dante frowned, glancing at you. You nodded, more than ready to get out of the store for a little while. “Where are you?” Dante said. The voice was quieter this time, but Dante just nodded. “We’ll be there shortly.” He tossed the phone back on the receiver and grinned at you. “Sure you wanna come, sunshine?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Only one way we’re going to get there.”

You blinked. “But you don’t have a car.”

“Nope,” He said as he grabbed his sword off the wall. 

“What then?” You said. “Am I piggy-backing?”

He laughed. “Something like that.”

-----------

You don’t know what compelled you to get on that infernal bike. As much as you’d come to trust Dante, riding a demon motorcycle without a helmet and an arguably crazy driver was the last thing you should have done. And he made you pay for it, going far faster than the speed limit, turning corners as sharp as possible, and even jumping a bridge with little care in the world. At some point, you’d been forced to wrap your arms around his stomach to keep from falling right off. And once he’d skidded to a stop in front of an old country home outside of Redgrave, you’d jumped off the bike so fast you almost hit the dirt stumbling away. “Are you crazy?” You said, breathing heavily. 

“But it was fun.” He said as he sent the bike away. 

“Fun!?”

“You were perfectly safe, Sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“And if I don’t?”

You scowled and stormed toward the building. Except a demonic screech from nearby stopped you in your tracks. You wandered to the side of the building, peering around the back. As the man had said, there were numerous demons. They were ones you’d seen before; fat bodies, flowers for heads with nothing but mouths filled with shark teeth. However, most of them were already dead, and a certain blue-coated man was standing in the middle of the carnage. 

“Hey, Verge!” Dante yelled with a dramatic wave. “Surprised you got here first.”

The elder brother swiped his hand through his hair. “Of course I did,” He said. “You should have sensed them yourself.”

Dante snorted. “From Devil May Cry? You give Sunshine too much credit.”

“Me?” You said. “I can’t sense demons.” 

A rumble beneath your feet stopped you in your tracks. Dante moved first, picking you up before you had a chance to react and leaping an impossible distance away. The ground split open, throwing chunks of earth in all directions. Dante slashed a few that came towards you. The others suddenly turned to dust as Vergil clicked his sword back in its sheath. “Show off,” Dante said. Vergil said nothing. 

Your heart pulsed with sudden energy as vines shot out of the ground. In the next second, a blur of purple emerged, slamming down in front of you. Petals unfurled on top of a bulbous stomach, revealing a humanoid figure from the waist up. Her beady red eyes fell on you as a crown of black rose petals formed on her head. “I knew I sensed you.”

Your heart pulsed again. You flinched, grabbing at it. The demon laughed. “How far you’ve fallen, sister.” Vines snaked out toward you, but they too disintegrated. The creature wasn’t even phased as more vines emerged to take their place. “Take a host, she said. I’ll be stronger than even you.” The demon cackled in pure delight. “Look at you now, sister. Nothing more than a useless vine in a useless body.” 

Your eyes narrowed, but it was Dante who stepped forward. “You picked the wrong place to sprout.”

Her eyes flickered between the brothers. “Sons of Sparda,” She said with a dramatic sigh. “How unfortunate. No matter,” The creature said. “You can’t really blame me. My sister and her master in the same place?” Her eyes came back to you. “Both shadows of their former selves.”

Master… 

“This is a waste of time,” Vergil said. “Just kill her and be done with it.”

“Tired of the interesting stories already, Verge?!” Dante said. 

Vergil reached for his sword. “If you won’t do it then I’ll-”

“Who are you?” You said, taking a step forward. You could feel the weight of Vergil’s glare on the back of your head but ignored him. “I remember her thoughts, and she never spoke of you.”

“Of course not, worm,” The demon said. “I was the better of the two and she just couldn’t accept it.”

Dante snorted. “Now that sounds familiar.”

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Vergil said through gritted teeth. 

“What? Afraid of what she’ll think?” Dante said. “That’s funny coming from you.”

“I suggest you…”

“Shut up,” You snapped as you took another step forward. The vines didn’t move, and the demon was giving you a curious look. “You want your sister back, don’t you?”

“What would make you think that?”

“You came to see her,” you said. “And you couldn’t have known she was in my body.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You know how to remove the piece she left behind.”

After a moment of silence, the demon burst into laughter. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t bother now. She got what she deserved, and I do enjoy the suffering of humans.” Vines crawled up around you but you merely flicked your hand and they slammed back into the ground. The demon’s laughter stopped, her eyes wide. “You retained her powers?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” You said as you raised your hand, calling to your own plants. But a sharp pain pierced your chest. You cried out, barely able to remain standing as your vision blurred. 

“Poor little girl,” The demon said. “Can’t even fight without your Master’s permission.”

“What?” 

“You probably thought you were free while he was gone from this world,” The demon said. “But you’re not. Not anymore. That pathetic vine in your heart pledged her allegiance to the Demon King. You’re lucky you can even breathe without his permission.”

Furious, you whirled on Vergil. “Stop… whatever this is.”

“I’m not doing anything,” He said. 

A vine crashed beside you.  You pushed it back, but your head felt like it was splitting open. “I was right then,” You said. “You… You can…” You couldn’t finish that sentence as the realization struck you. He can control me. 

You’d never hated the vine in your chest more in your life. 

“I’m done with you,” The demon said as vines wrapped at your feet. “You’ll die here, sister. And I’ll be free.”

“What are you waiting for?” Vergil said. 

“What?”

“You want to fight?” He crossed his arms. “Then do it.”

Your senses snapped into focus. The fog cleared. The pain ceased. And as the vines tightened, you pulled your hands back as fast as you could. The vines split from her body, falling limp around you. The demon shrieked, swinging her arms out. A new pair of vines stretched off her body. You jumped back and touched the ground. You felt your power seep into the soil and you yanked your hand up. Your own plants emerged, their roots growing large enough to block the strike. “How?” The demon yelled, slamming her vines into your barricade again and again. “My sister trained for years. How can you…?”

“I had a good teacher,” You said. Then, you took off into a sprint. Each time a vine swung toward you, you dodged to the side, pulling up more plants to block her path. Her attacks were more frantic, some swinging right over your head. Others missed you entirely. More plants grew; flowers from deep in the soil. Grass that grew and twisted until it was as thick as the vines themselves. As you reached the demon, you slid under her belly, pulling your hands down to your sides. All of your plants surged forward, piercing through the demon’s body. She shrieked, unable to move as more grew, wrapping up around her. You pulled down, straining as you felt her try and fight back. But it was no use. Her own vines wrapped around her, pinning her to the ground. 

The vine in your chest stirred. It was hungry. 

You felt a tinge of excitement, and you didn’t think it was your own. 

You walked slowly as the demon struggled, mentally preparing for what the vine expected of you. You had done this numerous times before, but never on a demon of this size. You remembered the words V had given you when he first taught you what to do. It’s a transference of energy, he’d said as he jabbed his cane into the head of a demon. You’re taking what is rightfully yours. 

How is it rightfully mine?

Strength rules all in the Underworld, my vine. If you defeat a creature like this, its power is yours to take. And if you want to live, you’ll remember that. 

You did remember. You’d hesitated once after he’d left and it had nearly killed you. Now, you promised yourself that would never happen again. 

You just wished nobody was here to see it. 

As you made your way to the front, you shed your shirt, letting it drop at your feet. You were grateful when neither of the brothers said anything, as you fully expected at least Dante to throw something your way. The demon struggled more, but it was useless. “Strength rules all,” You murmured as you reached your hand out toward her body. She shrieked again, trying to dissuade you. But you barely heard it, wincing as the vine emerged from your chest. It was small at first but grew as it wrapped around your arm, heading for the demon. 

“No!” The demon yelled. “You can’t do this.”

“The better sister, huh,” You said. “Not anymore.”

“Human!” She shouted. “Don’t…” But the vine shot upward, piercing her through the heart. Your senses flared to life, even brighter then they had been before. You watched as blue blood slipped through the vine and back into you. You took a deep, slow breath, adjusting to the foreign feeling. You felt lightheaded, but you always did like this. Your body couldn’t handle the blood. It was human. Fragile. But once the vine snapped back, all would return to normal, its magic doing whatever it needed to do to keep you alive. Before you, the demon shrunk, wilting away as her life slipped out of her body. 

After another moment, the vine pulled away, drawing back into you. The wound closed, leaving behind the same, star-shaped scar that you’d stared at for months. For a moment, the demon stood there, mouth agape as she stared up at the sky. Then, she tumbled backward, shattering like a brittle leaf crushed under the weight of someone like you. You felt dizzy as your heartbeat quickened. You reached for your shirt, but stumbled and fell to your knees. You’d never defeated such a large demon. Not on your own. It had always been V to take the power from them, and you’d gladly given it. But now…

You shuddered as nausea swept over you. Exhaustion spread to all of your muscles, threatening to drag you into a deep slumber.  You managed to get your shirt back on, but it was clumsy. You could barely breathe. Barely think. The world felt so small. So constricting. You’d never felt this bad in your life.

Had you taken too much?

Stay strong, V had said the first time you’d absorbed a demon. Its power is yours to keep. 

You felt a hand on your back.  Stay strong V whispered again. 

Yours to keep. 

You passed out, uncertain if you’d ever wake up again.

+molliarty: the necessity of colour: the end

This marks the final chapter of this accidental Molliarty mini-series. Thank you to those who've read, liked, reblogged, reviewed and sent me messages. You help fan the flame for us fic writers to keep going and to believe in and enjoy our work even more. I hope you've enjoyed this series just as much as I've loved writing it :) x In case anyone would like to catch up on previous chapters, here they are: Part I & II :: Part III

The Necessity of Colour: Part IV & Epilogue [also on FF.net and AO3]

It surprised Jim that there were other ways to inject thrill into his veins. No murders had taken place and no buildings had been bombed but his blood was on fire. Even as they lay together, talking like they used to on their ‘charade’ dates, the ecstasy of their afternoon still pulsated through every cell in his body.

“Would you knit me something?” Jim teased, shifting to kiss her gently on her bare shoulder. “You’d hate it,” Molly answered with a chuckle. She sat up, causing the sheets to slip away from her whilst her hair cascaded down in their place. “Why would I?” murmured Jim, utterly distracted by the vision before him. “I know you absolutely hate colour,” Molly said, “And I refuse to knit something so bland.” “But I wore those patterned shirts…” “A charade, Jim, remember?” “And you saw right through that?” “Well, I was informed beforehand. But yes, your discomfort was rather obvious,” Molly said, grinning. “You are good,” Jim said, returning her grin with a kiss on the side of her neck. “No, Jim,” Molly chuckled, before pinning him back down, “I’m better.” They laughed at the odd memory of their first real confrontation. How they had been made temporary antagonists once they had their disguises ripped from them. That was just it though, was it not? That not only had their antagonism been forced upon them, it had only been temporary. There was no way any real animosity could have lasted, not with the type of chemistry that lay bubbling beneath their skins. As they continued to kiss, both minds raced along with their pulses. The deeper they sank into each other, the more they remembered the distance they were supposed to maintain. “What do we do now?” Jim asked, relishing the view of Molly above him. Molly merely smiled and returned to plant another kiss on his mouth. It was a different kiss this time. There was no hunger or playfulness behind it. Instead, it was slow, almost contemplative, as though she were trying to memorise every sensation of the moment. “I’ll admit, it’s a little unclear,” she whispered in return. She was tempted to kiss him again, but something in her told her they had to stop. As if reading her mind, Jim sat up and leaned against the headboard whilst Molly shifted but remained straddled on his lap, facing him. “Unclear is okay,” Jim said with a smirk, reaching for her hands. “Unclear is dangerous,” said Molly, staring at their intertwined fingers. “But that’s where we live, Molly, don’t you see?” he whispered, trying to catch her gaze. Molly looked up, feeling the pull from his gaze. She could not help but smile when she saw those eyes of his resting on her. There was something so dazzling about the darkness in them and it caused a rush in her veins. “Listen,” said Jim, taking a moment to quickly kiss the top of her knuckles. “Ithought I knew everything about you, and it’s becoming apparent I don’t quite know everything. And while you seem to know quite a lot about me, I know you don’t know everything. Even your all-knowing boss…no one can be that all knowing…” “Yes, she can…” “Okay, fine, maybe she can. But who cares, Molly?” he remarked, a strange excitement growing in his voice. Molly could not tell where he was going with this and could only stare back at him with a single, raised eyebrow. “We live in the grey area, Molly, that’s where we thrive,” Jim said, smiling widely at her. “We never know what will happen, but that’s where the fun is…” He paused to pull her closer to him so he could kiss her properly again. Her hands automatically reached for his face as he drew her mouth to his. “We’ll just make it happen,” he said, running a thumb across her cheekbone, “It’s what we do.” “Sounds a bit chaotic to me,” Molly teased, feigning disbelief. “Then chaos is the colour. In all of this grey, chaos is the colour,” Jim argued, fixing his eyes on hers. “When did you get so poetic?” Molly said with a laugh. “I’ve always been poetic,” he retorted, grinning. It was nice to see the light come back into her eyes. When she had said that where they were headed was dangerous, it had been sobering for him too. There was the issue of her boss who seemed both powerful and unknown, two characteristics that would have normally frustrated the life out of this criminal mastermind. Yet, it had only disturbed him momentarily. The larger fear that struck his cold heart was the thought of never being able to delight in the presence of Molly Hooper again. Again, there was that inexplicable need for her. This time, not only did Jim decide he was all right with it, he was going to indulge it. “Life needs a bit of colour, no?” he remarked, letting his fingers outline the beautiful contour of her face. Molly shut her eyes and savoured the feel of those hands against her skin. Had her boss, in all her intelligence and near omniscience, not realise that this would happen? Or had that been her intention from the beginning? It amused Molly for a moment that perhaps in falling for Jim Moriarty she had outdone her boss and done the one thing no one had been expecting.   How was Molly to resist? He was so clever, so wickedly funny, so divinely handsome and had the most impeccable manners she could barely contain it. “I suppose life does need a bit of colour,” Molly said at last, as a smile grew. “Your wardrobe could do with some for sure.” “My wardrobe? Are you implying that we should start living together?” Jim asked, his eyes widening as his theatrics returned. The both of them collapsed into each other, laughing and sinking into each other’s embrace again. “Please, could we?” Jim whispered, softly kissing the side of her neck. Smiling against his skin, Molly returned the kiss against his temple and continued until she reached his beautiful mouth. “You really do have the most perfect manners,” Molly remarked, succumbing as she pushed him back down to bed. ++ Epilogue Molly did not remember the last time she had been here. After all, it was a bit of a journey to get there but she did not remember the room being so cold. The glass, concrete and absolute dead silence certainly added to the chill Molly felt in her bones. She sat as still as she could in her seat and faced the empty space before her, waiting. Soon, she heard soft footsteps and a figure emerged, shrouded in the only thing the figure ever wore; a plain white medical gown. “Well, Molly, love is a good look on you,” said the figure. “I have to agree,” she smirked in return. “It seems you’ve strayed completely from the brief,” continued the figure, sitting herself cross-legged in the centre of the empty space before Molly. Molly swallowed nervously. She had been dreading this meeting and now it was finally happening. “Why do you look so scared?” asked the figure with a small, playful smile. “Because you’re terrifying?” Molly replied. “Come now, Molly,” laughed the figure, “I respect you too much to punish you, you know that. I couldn’t hurt you even if it one hundred percent warranted it.” “I know,” Molly answered, “And that’s what’s even scarier.” The figure shook her head and stood up. She walked across the space so as to stand right in front of Molly. “Molly, do you know why I hired you in the first place? Why we became such good friends so fast?” asked the figure. “Because we’re both clever. Very clever.” “Precisely!” exclaimed the figure, clapping her hands together, “And your little…deviation from the operation, has inspired me with a better idea.” “It has?” “This is why I trust you, Molly. Even when you go off-course, you make things better,” the figure continued, “It’s hard to believe, I know, but I can have poor judgement on occasion.” Molly laughed at her comment, causing the figure to grin in return. Molly knew she was clever but she was nothing like her boss. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief knowing their working relationship had not been damaged. “I want to meet him,” said the figure. “Oh?” “I think he’d be a great addition, don’t you think?” the figure remarked. “I have to agree,” Molly replied with a smirk. “Besides, based on what you’ve been telling me,” the figure said, a wily smile appearing. “It’s time we had someone who really brightens up the room.” ++ When Jim received the text, his blood had run cold for a moment, his mind going immediately to Molly’s safety and wondering if it had finally been compromised. He decided to obey whatever it was this E wanted, especially if it meant keeping Molly safe. As he was ushered from one car to another and finally into a helicopter, he was surprised to see the very face he had been worrying over greet him when he finally stepped off the helicopter onto an undisclosed island. “It’s take-your-boyfriend-to-work day,” Molly teased, kissing him quickly on the cheek. “I..I don’t understand,” Jim remarked, genuinely puzzled. As they entered the massive building and made their way through what felt like a thousand different corridors, Jim found himself facing a heavy, metal door. Molly gave him another kiss on the cheek and smiled at him. “Molly, what’s going on?” he asked. Molly did not answer but merely opened the door and gestured for him to step in. Once he did, he heard the heavy clang of the door shutting behind him. The ensuing silence was deafening as he stared at the sparse room he was in. Soon, a figure shrouded in a crisp white medical gown appeared and walked towards Jim. “Mr James Moriarty,” the figure said, extending her hand. “You must be E,” Jim replied, reaching to shake her hand only to flinch slightly from how cold it felt. The figure paused, still holding onto his hand as she examined him from head to toe. When she was done, a slow smile appeared on her lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” the figure continued, releasing his hand and gesturing for him to sit on the only chair in the room. She walked over to the center of the room and planted herself down, sitting cross-legged. “Now that we’ve finally met,” she began, “Please, call me Eurus.” END

BASICS

BIRTH NAME: Julian Mateo Santiago

NICKNAME(S): 

DATE OF BIRTH: April 05

AGE: 36

GENDER: Male

PRONOUNS: He/him/His

NATIONALITY:  Ecuadorian-American

HOMETOWN: Miami, Florida

OCCUPATION: Biologist 

APPEARANCE

HEIGHT: 6′6 

WEIGHT: 249

BUILD: Muscular 

ETHNICITY: Latinx

HAIR: Black

EYES: Brown

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Several bullet wound scar on chest.

DISABILITIES:  Poor eye sight

DRESS STYLE:  Casual T-shirt or flannels/ jeans or sweats. 

TATTOOS: None

PIERCINGS: None

PERSONALITY/PSYCHOLOGY

INTROVERT or EXTROVERT: Introvert

INTELLIGENCE LEVEL: Very intelligent has a MA in biology and botany.

MENTAL HEALTH: He’s pretty at peace with himself his power requires inner peace.

HABITS: Every morning he waters his plants and meditates. 

MANNERISMS: At first he’s every formal with anyone he meets, until he warms up then he tends to relax around them. 

HEALTH: Overall great: he’s mostly a vegan and joys working out daily. 

MBTI TYPE:  INTP-A

POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES:  Loyal, Strong-willed, Driven

NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES: Jealous, Paranoid, Over protective

LIKES: Water, Music, Sun bathing, Gardening, Mediating 

DISLIKES: Fire, Deforestation, Pollution   

HOBBIES:  Gardening, Mediating, Working out

TALENTS / SKILLS: Even though he doesn’t cook too often he’s a truly amazing cook.

FAMILY

PARENTS: Father [Unknwon] Mother [Alive: Sarah Santiago] 

SIBLINGS: Older brother [Alive: Miguel Santiago] Younger sister [Alive: Natalie Santiago] 

CHILDREN: None

MARITAL STATUS: Single

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): N/A

OTHER FAMILY: Uncles [ Gabriel Santiago | Angel Santiago]  Cousins: [Emilo Santigo, Juan Santiago, Sofia Santiago]

PETS: Do his plants count?

SEXUALITY

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

DATING STATUS: Single

DOMINANT / SUBMISSIVE / SWITCH: Dom...for sure

TOP / BOTTOM / VERSATILE: Sober Top and Drunk Bottom. 

TURN-ONS: Round ass, V-lines, Kissing Necks, Moaners

TURN-OFFS: Bad smalls, bad kisser 

SUPERHEROISM

ALIAS: Warden

POWERS / SKILLSET: Chlorokinesis

COLORS: Mostly Green and brown

APPEARANCE: He appears like a giant wooden tree like creature he looks like the Green man.

WEAKNESSES: Fire [destroys all live in his way, burning everything in it’s path] Airborne toxins [every single cell of julian’s body can absorb anything, even if he isn’t breathing it in, it could absorbed through his skin Lack of sun/ CO2 [just like plants, Julian needs carbon dioxide and the sun to photosynthesize. Without them he will die]

MENTOR / PROTEGE: Mentor

LENGTH OF ADVOCATE MEMBERSHIP: He was one of the first member who left when Torque was kicked out. 

POWER GRID: INTELLIGENCE ◼◼◼◼◻◻ STRENGTH ◼◼◼◼◼ ◻ SPEED ◼◼◼◻◻◻ DURABILITY ◼◼◻◻◻◻ ENERGY PROJECTION ◼◼◼◼◼◼ FIGHTING SKILL ◼◼◼◼◻◻

SUPERVILLAIN ARCHNEMESIS: Richard Knight AKA Hellfire [Pyrokinesis: Once close friends but took large amounts of money from loggers to burn down large parts of Amazon. ] Paul Levy [None: But uses his riches to destroy natural resources, paid Richard Knight to burn the amazon.] Bryan Guzman AKA Greenside [Chlorokinesis: Paul and Julian were biologist who were studying the rain-forest, when loggers were attacking local natives. Both Paul and Julian tried to protect them however were killed. The spirit of forest gifted them with life however both men use their powers differently. Paul is actively trying to kill off all humans in order to save the planet.]

SUPERHERO HISTORY: Ever since Julian was small, he loved plants. Something watching them grow drew Julian in. It wasn’t a surprise when he graduate high school he choose biology with a focus on plant life to study. While working on his master, the young biologist took a trip to the amazon. He quickly fell in love with the rich biodiversity and spent many summer studying it’s endless resources but year logger kept cutting down more. He tried to help but there was only so much he could do.  He returned on year and found a group of men attacking native indigenous. He along with his friend tried to protect them but were shot and left for dead in the woods. But little did they know the spirits were watching they saw how they tried to protect land and people that wasn’t theirs. So the spirits gifted them the power of green. Both men were able to control all plants.  With their new power Julian and his friend stopped the men. They had won the fight and Julian was going to turn them into the authorities for illegal logging his friend, Bryan, murdered them. Which led to a huge fight between them. Even though both had similar gifts they wanted to use them different. Julian would become the protector of the green and it’s inhabitants, he was the Warden.  Julian traveled a lot between the States, Ecuador, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia and other places. That’s where he met someone, one who could control fire. The two quickly became friends but just like their power they were different. Julian fight crime because it was the right thing to do, Richard used his skill for the highest bidder. Their power in the field never crossed until one night.  Julian was awake by the scream of his babies. He could hear his plants screaming out for him someone had set fire to them. Of course Julian rushed to help as much as he could but in the center of the fire he could see someone. Naturally Julian went to comfort them and it was only when he got closed did he realized who it was. At first Julian tried to reason with but Richard wanted the more than anything. A fight broke out which Julian surprised won but ended their friendship After learning who made Richard, Julian began to investigate who it was. He soon came to learn the men who killed a long time ago, were also paid by this man. A man by the name of Paul Levy, one of the richest men on the planet. He wanted to dig up the oil deep inside the amazon and suck it dry. Julian vowed he would never allow that to happen.

Beric Dondarrion will give the Kiss of Life to Sansa Stark

February 26, 2018

Why is Beric Dondarrion still alive on the show?

Answer: He's still alive to give the kiss of life to one of Catelyn Stark’s daughters.

A STONY HEART

There have been many theories put forth for why Beric Dondarrion is still alive on the show. He died in Book 3 of the series and so should have exited stage left in season 3.  However, that was not the case and so the writers must have kept him around for a reason.  The obvious explanation is that he will give the kiss of life to a character on the show as he did to Catelyn in the books.  In fact, Beric’s most important role in the books was to bring back Arya and Sansa’s mother—an event that did not happen on the show.  And yet, the writers included him and his story in the show.  Why?   

Some have proposed that at Jon’s behest, he will bring back Dany or that possibly she will ask him to do the same for Jon. Other theories suggest that Beric will give the kiss of life to the Hound, Brienne or even Tormund.  However, all of these theories have missed the obvious and most thematic explanation for why the Lightning Lord overstayed his time on screen and that is his book link to Lady Stoneheart and as a result, the Stark daughters. What I propose is that D&D kept him alive for the singular purpose of giving the kiss of life to one of Catelyn Stark’s daughters.

In the books, Arya’s arc is most closely tied to that of her mother.  Her direwolf Nymeria drags Catelyn’s dead body out of the water while Arya is unknowingly having one of her wolf dreams.  She has numerous other dreams where she sees the events of the Riverlands through Nymeria’s eyes.  Arya also previously travelled with the Brotherhood Without Banners and Lady Stoneheart of course, currently leads the group.

The fact that book Arya’s story is so closely intertwined with that of her mom would seem to suggest that it would be her who is given the kiss of life by Beric on the show.  However, in both the books and on the show, it can be argued that Sansa is the daughter who is symbolically most closely tied to Catelyn.  Of the Stark children, she is the most enamored of southern customs and is more like her mother in temperament and looks than any of the other children.

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper.

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

Catelyn’s words are shown to be true when Petyr Baelish meets Sansa for the first time.  Littlefinger is actually unnerved at how much she looks like her mom.

When Sansa finally looked up, a man was standing over her, staring. He was short, with a pointed beard and a silver streak in his hair, almost as old as her father. "You must be one of her daughters," he said to her. He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. "You have the Tully look."

"I'm Sansa Stark," she said, ill at ease. The man wore a heavy cloak with a fur collar, fastened with a silver mockingbird, and he had the effortless manner of a high lord, but she did not know him. "I have not had the honor, my lord."

Septa Mordane quickly took a hand. "Sweet child, this is Lord Petyr Baelish, of the king's small council."

"Your mother was my queen of beauty once," the man said quietly. His breath smelled of mint. "You have her hair." His fingers brushed against her cheek as he stroked one auburn lock. Quite abruptly he turned and walked away.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

Sansa’s likeness to her mom is also shown to be true on the show as the writers have gone out of their way to emphasize the similarities between mother and daughter…especially in the last two season where they have dressed and written scenes for both Sansa and Jon that echo ones with Catelyn and Ned.

And so for this reason—along with others both on the show and in the books, I propose that the daughter Beric brings back will be Sansa after she is potentially killed by the Night’s King Icy sword but more likely as a result of the machinations of Cersei.

From the time they reunited in season 6, the writers have highlighted Jon’s pledge to protect Sansa and her belief that he can’t as according to her, “no one can protect anyone.”  The seeds of this story arc were planted in season 4 after Joffrey’s murder and Cersei’s discovery that Sansa was missing.

The writers have also made sure to point out the danger she poses to Sansa in each season as shown in season 5x01 when Petyr sold Sansa out to the Boltons.

However, these seeds did not start to bear fruit until season 6, episode 9 when Sansa and Jon argued in private after the war council.

Sansa: “If Ramsay wins, I’m not going back there alive. Do you understand me?”

Jon: “I won’t ever let him touch you again. I’ll protect you. I promise!”

Sansa: “No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”

D&D reinforced the idea of Sansa being in danger in season 7, episode 2.  This time they went the extra step of bringing up Ned and how he was unable to protect any of his children.  It can be argued that it’s a tinfoil idea to say that Cersei will have Sansa kidnap and yet that is exactly what I propose will happen.  The foundation for it happening is laid in this dialogue between Jon and Sansa.

Jon: What did father used to say…anything before the word but was horse shit.

Sansa: He never said that to me.

Jon: Yeah, no, he never cursed in front of his girls.

Sansa: Because he was trying to protect us.  He never wanted us to see how dirty the world really is but father couldn’t protect me and neither can you. So stop trying!

Jon: Ok, I’ll stop trying to protect you and you stop trying to undermine me.

Sansa: I’m not trying to undermine you. You have to be smarter than father. You have to be smarter than Rob. I loved them! I miss them! But they both made stupid mistakes and lost their heads for it.

Jon: And how should I be smarter…by listening to you?

Sansa: Would that be so terrible?

The maester then arrives with a dispatch from Cersei and we then get this bit of conversation.

Sansa: What does she want?

Jon: Come to Kings Landing! Bend the knee or suffer the fate of all traitors.

Sansa: You’ve been so consumed with the enemy to the north that you’ve forgotten the one to the south.

Jon: I’m consumed with the Night King because I’ve seen him.  And believe me, you’ll think of little else if you had to.

Sansa: We still have a wall between us and the Night King. There is nothing between us and Cersei.

Jon: There is a thousand miles between us and Cersei. Winter is here and the Lannister are a southern army. They’ve never ranged this far north.

Sansa: You’re the military man but I know her.  If you’re her enemy, she’ll never stop until she’s destroyed you.  Everyone who’s ever crossed her, she’s found a way to murder.

Jon: You almost sound like you admire her.

Sansa: I learned a great deal from her.

The potential danger Cersei represents to Sansa is again emphasized in episode 7x06 during the conversation between Brienne and the Lady of Winterfell.

Brienne: My Lady, you are the Lady of Winterfell

Sansa: I am.  And you will represent my interest at this gathering as you see them.

Brienne: They invited you. They want you there.

Sansa: I will not set foot in Kings Landing while Cersei Lannister is queen.  If they want another Stark prisoner, they can come and take me.

All the scenes I’ve listed build upon the seeds planted all the way back in season 4. When taken together, the dialogue actually reads like a discussion in script writing 101 on how to lay the foundation for a future event.  It also suggests that Jon does not understand the specific threat Cersei represents to Sansa or the possibility that the Lannister army may indeed range north for the first time under her orders, which is what I proposed will happen.  However, instead of the regular Lannister army, I think it may be some of the Golden Company on a special mission to retrieve something or in this case someone Cersei thinks belong to her as hinted in episode 7x04.

Cersei: My Hand Qyburn has made overtures to the Golden Company in Essos.

Tycho Nestoris: I know them well. They have helped us recover significant sums from parties who have fallen into deep arrears.

Cersei: That’s good to hear. I too would like them to recover some things that belonged to me.

Game of Thrones 7x04

I think that Cersei might have meant both Sansa and Tyrion in her conversation with Tycho but she seems to have come to an understanding with her brother—at least for now. 

Yes, kidnapping Sansa sounds like a stupid idea but I think that is just what Cersei will ordered done and it will happen when Jon sends Sansa away from Winterfell to either the Vale or White Harbor for protection in advance of the White Walker’s attack.  And truthfully, is stupidity not Cersei Lannister’s second name. In the books, she may very well die long before the final battle but the show has made Cersei into a more omnipotent character and she still has damage to do in season 8.

The interesting thing is that both Jon and Sansa are right about the enemies they face.  He is right that the Night King is the most important threat and the Lannister army has never ventured that far north.  And she is most definitely right that Cersei never forgets anyone who has crossed her. Just think of Ellaria and Lady Nym.  In fact, I would not be surprised to see Cersei lock Sansa in the same cell.

As far as Cersei is concerned, Sansa is unfinished business and a Lannister always pay their debts.  She may even have tried to tempt Sansa into her clutches with an invitation to the council at Kings Landing but the Lady of Winterfell sent Brienne as her representative instead.  They never actually told the audience who sent the invite to Sansa but it was more than likely Cersei because Jon knows how Sansa feels about Kings Landing and would never ask her to go to a place with such bad memories.

D&D have actually done a pretty good job peppering the story with clues that that Sansa will once again end up in Cersei’s clutches before the end.  I don’t think they will meet again in the books but on the show, it makes thematic sense for it to happen. 

KISSED BY FIRE

The writing on the wall strongly suggests that Beric will give the kiss of life to someone before he exists stage left.  As he was the one to bring Catelyn back in the books, it makes the most sense that he would do the same for one of her daughters on the show.  Let’s look at why the daughter given the kiss of life is likely to be Sansa and not Arya. Here are the thoughts of book Sansa’s as she escapes Kings Landing following Joffrey’s murder.

He had not been dead when she left the throne room. He had been on his knees, though, clawing at his throat, tearing at his own skin as he fought to breathe. The sight of it had been too terrible to watch, and she had turned and fled, sobbing. Lady Tanda had been fleeing as well. "You have a good heart, my lady," she said to Sansa. "Not every maid would weep so for a man who set her aside and wed her to a dwarf."

A good heart. I have a good heart. Hysterical laughter rose up her gullet, but Sansa choked it back down. The bells were ringing, slow and mournful. Ringing, ringing, ringing. They had rung for King Robert the same way. Joffrey was dead, he was dead, he was dead, dead, dead. Why was she crying, when she wanted to dance? Were they tears of joy?

She found her clothes where she had hidden them, the night before last. With no maids to help her, it took her longer than it should have to undo the laces of her gown. Her hands were strangely clumsy, though she was not as frightened as she ought to have been. "The gods are cruel to take him so young and handsome, at his own wedding feast," Lady Tanda had said to her.

The gods are just, thought Sansa. Robb had died at a wedding feast as well. It was Robb she wept for. Him and Margaery. Poor Margaery, twice wed and twice widowed. Sansa slid her arm from a sleeve, pushed down the gown, and wriggled out of it. She balled it up and shoved it into the bole of an oak, shook out the clothing she had hidden there. Dress warmly, Ser Dontos had told her, and dress dark. She had no blacks, so she chose a dress of thick brown wool. The bodice was decorated with freshwater pearls, though. The cloak will cover them. The cloak was a deep green, with a large hood. She slipped the dress over her head, and donned the cloak, though she left the hood down for the moment. There were shoes as well, simple and sturdy, with flat heels and square toes. The gods heard my prayer, she thought. She felt so numb and dreamy. My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.

— A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

Littlefinger then stole Sansa away to the Vale where she took on the identity of his bastard daughter, Alayne Stone.  The Vale arc was of course highly condensed on the show.   However, the writers made the point to emphasize that Sansa’s heart had hardened in ways that have not yet been shown in the books. Her hardened heart has toughen her up and she is out for vengeance for herself and her family. On the show, this led to her letting the dogs loose on Ramsay and sentencing Petyr to death.  As she said to everyone in the room when she sentenced Petyr, honor demands that…

“I defend my family from those who would harm us.”

“That I defend the north from those who will betray us.”

I theorize that Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell who once went by the name of Alayne Stone; who looks so much like her mother—a point that has been reinforced on the show in her costume and hair styles since she escaped Kings Landing but especially since she returned to the north; and whose heart has hardened because of her trauma and what was done to her family; will be killed after being kidnapped on the orders of Cersei and will be brought back after she is given the kiss of life by Beric Dondarrion.  Lady Stoneheart anyone!

I believe that this will be how D&D reimagines Catelyn’s death and resurrection. Only of course, when Sansa comes back, she will not be like the deteriorated corpse that was her mother.  The show has vastly over simplified both Jon and Beric’s resurrections and the deteriorating effect the many returns have had on the latter.  When Sansa is brought back, I believe that her physical body will be just like show Jon in that to the naked eye it will look as if nothing much has changed from one life to the next.  Of course, underneath, that will not be true.

I speculate that the attempt to rescue Sansa will be made by Arya—possibly with Jaime’s face where she will play the Valonqar and kill Cersei; the Hound who will finally have the Clegane Bowl showdown with his brother; and Jon who will desperately ask Beric to bring Sansa back.  This will of course echo the events of Ygritte dying in Jon’s arm except this time around, the outcome will be different as Sansa will return.

I believe that this rescue of Sansa from Kings Landing will represent D&D’s version of a similar attempt to rescue her from the Vale in the books.  In the books of course, I don’t think that Arya will be present but if you read my previous 3-part essay, “Do Direwolves Dream of the Weirwood Net” then you know that I am of the opinion that Sansa is the modern day Nissa Nissa, and that she has been moving in and out of the Weirwood Net with Lady in what she thinks are simply dreams.

And so, I am most excited to see if this theory about Sansa plays out on the show as it would mean that I am on the right track with my hypothesis that she is the modern day Nissa Nissa, and a greenseer.  In part 3 of my Direwolves essay, I also laid out the hints in the book that Jon will be in the Vale and others in the fandom have of course written about the clues that suggests the Hound is already there in disguise.  For this reason, it makes sense that the two of them will be the ones who attempt to rescue Sansa from Kings Landing.  You can check out part 3 HERE.  

Most everything from the past is repeating in some manner and if I’m right about Sansa and Nissa Nissa, then it makes sense that she will die and be brought back. Does this mean that I also think that she dies and is brought back in the books?  Possibly but not necessarily.  

Having Sansa die on the show would be a simplification of what I think is happening in the books on the part of D&D.  In the books I think that Lady’s death may have been the symbolic representation of Sansa’s death/sacrifice that opened her third eye, which has allowed her to unknowingly enter the Net.  As is the case with Jon and Ghost, the direwolves and the Stark kids are part of each other.  My theory is that Lady is now in the Weirwood Net and when Sansa visits Winterfell in her dreams, she is traveling through it with her direwolf.  “The bones remember.”

Once D&D didn’t kill Beric but more importantly, move him into the arc of the north, it seemed obvious that he was kept around to bring back one of Catelyn’s daughter and I believe that Sansa’s being the symbolic modern day Nissa Nissa will be why it is her who gets the kiss of life on the show.  And as Beric has the fire of R’llor in him, one can argue that literally and figuratively, Sansa Stark will be “kissed by fire.”  

Now in the books, I think that there is more to this Wilding saying and I’ve been pondering the possibility that it has something to do with the ability to enter in and out of the Net without having to be wedded to the trees as is the case with Bran and other greenseers.  I will have to do so more digging to see if I’m on the right track with that theory.

I don’t see Beric bringing back any of the other characters mentioned in the numerous theories out there. He will not bring back Jon, who I don’t think will die again.  He’s dead already and “what is dead can never die.”  Beric also will not bring back the Hound, who could die, but I don’t think will, as I suspect that he will take on the mantle of Elder Brother.  I also don’t think he will bring back Brienne, who I used to think would die on the show but I’m now not so sure.  

And unfortunately, I also don’t think that he will bring back Dany who will help win the battle for the dawn but I suspect that she will die soon afterwards.  She is the fire queen and as was the case with Rhaenys and Meraxes, I believe that Dany will die when her and her dragon plummets from the Sky into the Dragon Pit—possibly after being hit by a spear by one of Qyburn’s catapults.  Rhaenys died when a bolt pierced Meraxes eye and I think that it will be the same with Dany and Drogon.  

D&D tipped to Dany’s death in Tyrion’s warning to her and the missed attempt by the Night King to bring down Drogon with a spear.  They laid out the hints of where her death will happen with the comments from Jorah about the dragons as the group approach the pit during the summit and of course with her later conversation with Jon in said pit.  

Now I know that many will argue that the dragon pit scene is about Dany becoming pregnant with Jon’s kid and I suspect that will happen on the show.  However, I’m also of the opinion that she will miscarry the baby, which will echo the suggestion in the books of the same thing unknowingly happening to her in the Dothraki sea.

So, that’s my explanation for Beric’s continued purpose on the show and prediction of how things will play out.  What do you think?  Could D&D be going the Lady Stoneheart route with Sansa?  Will they give her detractors another reason to hate on her by having her, instead of Dany be the one who gets the kiss of life?  If you are a Sansa fan, look on the bright side.  At least those who don’t like the character will finally have to acknowledge her importance to the story.

what kind of NCIS episode produces the phrase “capitalist jihad”? asking for a friend

s5e11 is a fucking trip

it’s all about islamophobia, basically (WOW this show took a turn in season 5)

opening is in a mosque during prayer. filmed in the traditional “look at this evil hive mind” manner. one congregant seems like he’s sick or drugged. 

the imam’s arabic is...not quite right, and then he switches to english; pretty sure he’s supposed to be arab, so him saying something like “IZZ-lam” is kind of hilarious

the shaky young man leaves, collapses in an alley, is followed in by a white man in a hoodie. hoodie guy takes his gun, shoots him, then takes his wallet, watch, and ring. 

ZOOM IN on dog tags showing our now murder victim is both muslim and a marine. WHO COULD HAVE EXPECTED!!! IMPOSSIBLE!!!!

when Ziva and Gibbs enter the mosque to check it out, the imam assumes they’re there to interrogate every man under 30. NCIS is woke now 

Ziva is more deferential to gender separation in the mosque than Gibbs because “I am Jewish. I understand tradition.”

this from the woman who in her early appearances was a gung-ho mossad volunteer because her sister had been killed by hamas. 

i’m not saying it’s impossible for a real person to have both these opinions, just that IMO the show uses her as a basic cipher for Israeliness and, as is often the case, therefore a somewhat aspirational model for Americanness in certain respects. when she came on board, she was established as supertough, hyperviolent, willing to do anything for the mission, always assuming everything was terrorism, etc. now in this episode, which exists to be a “grappling with xenophobia/islamophobia/racism” episode, suddenly she’s hypertolerant and understanding.

evidence: in this same episode it is revealed that she “likes muslims” because her best friend growing up was muslim and he was killed in an israeli airstrike when they were 12. which is a precise reversal of the backstory about her sister.

this backstory is revealed in a conversation with the dead marine’s father, who is also the imam of the mosque where we opened, lest the symbolism escape us.

(i should note that she killed her half-brother, who was a kind of geopolitical experiment: her father, the head of mossad, deliberately got a palestinian woman pregnant to have the perfect sleeper agent for the palestinian territories. he grew up hating his father, mossad, israel, etc. and was a double-agent terrorist. ziva is entirely defined by the deaths of people around her, is what i’m saying; her only real love interest was a terminal patient when she met him. and aside from this love interest, every one of those deaths is a palestinian muslims killed by israeli jews, an israeli jew killed by palestinian muslims, or a hybrid killed by a combination of his israeli jewish father’s ruthlessness, his own racialized/islamicized terrorist actions, and his jewish israeli sister.)

(my point is that ziva is not a real character, she is always a cipher for some aspect of the GWOT)

explosives residue is found, i shit you not, on the murder victim’s PRAYER RUG. is it because he was handling and defusing IEDs on deployment in iraq, or because he was in a terrorist cell??? THE AMBIGUOUS DUALITY OF IT ALL. HAVE I MENTIONED A MUSLIM MARINE IS REALLY CONFUSING BECAUSE NCIS WANTS TO MAKE SURE YOU’RE CLEAR ON THAT. NO MUSLIM HAS EVER LED A NORMAL LIFE

the imam, with ziva’s help, appeals to ducky not to autopsy his son because it goes against the religion. ducky is immediately sympathetic because of experiences in bosnia. (ducky is often a cipher for colonial britain; he’s been to every poor, war-torn, and/or developing country in the world, always having fun hijinks with tribal chiefs or volunteering unto the less advanced. this despite his proud scots identity, which you’d never guess from his accent or his mother’s accent; as represented onscreen they’re just real-ass english gentry. ducky only goes scots when they want him to seem folksy.) gibbs and the director object.

when ducky hits on the painfully obvious solution of using cat scans and mris instead of cutting him up, palmer then engages in one of those dumb moral exposition conversations about why should anybody get special treatment, no i don’t have a problem with muslims but they seem to have a problem with “us,” etc. this actually leads to a nice moment where ducky declares that nothing will get better until we learn to respect each other, as he hoists the body into the cat scanner.

when the team goes to plant bugs in the mosque, they comment to each other about how it shouldn’t be this easy to surveil a mosque, and if this were a church or a hospital they’d still be waiting on a warrant. they then immediately drop this to compete over who gets to plant the bug before it turns out the FBI is already there! zoinks!!

zoinks again!! new suspect is a white guy who converted to islam in prison!! and this white guy has the real-deal takfiri ideology going on! “ryan” is his “slave name”!!!!!! (”your slave name?” “yes. you want a statement? death. to america.”) 

oh my god @ literally everything

the fbi thinks the mosque is a recruitment site for al qaeda (which, in NCIS, is actively operating on american soil like.........constantly). but there’s not a cell here! al qaeda has a new business model! they pay people! not only muslims! american citizens, even!!!!!

and that, my friends, is how you get to “capitalist jihad” 

ooooh, it seems like the imam might be in touch with this german guy who recruits for al qaeda (don’t even ask). but wait! plot twist! the imam actually called the fbi on his own mosque! his son was undercover for them!! whoda thunk the muslims mighta been on the right side!!

come to think of it, off the top of my head this is the fourth instance of NCIS doing a kind of cold-war-spy thing where the muslim threat is from white or white-passing people, the whole “you never know who has infiltrated” thing. there was a major incident with a swedish honeytrap who was gonna kill dinozzo because she was secretly hamas.

imam: why do you hate us? gibbs: i don’t. imam: your people do. all we ask for is to live in peace and observe our beliefs. gibbs: i think you are. imam: islam came to your country with hostility in 2001, and that was wrong. but YOU came to our land 500 years ago and you have never left! all we wish for is to be left alone to practice our ways, and yet you cannot LEAVE us alone! why? gibbs: the recruiter killed your son. because he said no, or because he said yes?

i don’t even know what to say about this conversation, except that it’s a strange combo of weird and dumb.

after the FBI stuff, the imam says, “find this recruiter and let me have my vengeance.” gibbs: “no. he’s mine.” this is just so hilariously ncis, even as it’s trying so hard to be, uh, a different show than it actually is

ANNNNND heyo, the murderer is indeed the german guy, but the white guy in the alley was our noble dead marine’s personnel officer, the very one who vouched over and over that the kid never would have been involved in any bad terrorism stuff. took a payoff from al qaeda via steiger! a white guy, and not even a muslim! truly, no one can be trusted

(note how the episode moves away from racialized islam toward the unthinkable opposite: from muslims in a mosque, to a patriotic american muslim, to potential other muslims as perpetrators, to a white american convert as perpetrator, to a white american non-muslim marine reservist plus a german as perpetrators.)

german guy turns up dead, it’s basically made clear that the imam killed him in revenge, probably with some sort of help from gibbs. anyway, gibbs isn’t going to prosecute him for it. good ol’ american revenge! woo!!

what an insane triple-decker sandwich of competing impulses THIS was

cobblebats fanfic pt. 22

 From Bruce’s POV

I sat in my car, observing Arkham Asylum from a distance while Oz opened up a map of the gothic building. Things seemed to be less chaotic here ever since Vicki released the patients, but judging by the tight security, they hadn’t completely regained total control just yet. There were police officers patrolling every corner, guard dogs sniffed their way around, and search lights glided along the ground. Well, the front door was obviously not an option. But the asylum was old--there had to be another way in.

Just then, I saw Gordon himself emerge from inside, accompanied by Montoya and a few other officers. He was wearing the commissioner’s uniform, and a despondent expression was plastered on his face.

“Oz,” I said, “Gordon’s here. Any way you can help me hear what he’s saying?”

“Well, everyone and their mum’s got a phone on them these days. I can try hacking his, and connecting the microphone to your earpiece.”

“Give it a shot.”

I saw a dim, square-shaped light glow from inside Gordon’s pocket. There was a string of static for a few moments, until his voice finally broke through.

“--ow’s it going in there?” He asked Montoya.

“Zsasz is back in his cell, and that blue brute’s in the infirmary. Penguin took his eye out--quite literally. Other than that, everything’s going smoothly. For now.”

Gordon sighed, dragging a hand down his face. Montoya patted his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Jim. I know you were good friends with Grogan.”

“I...I just can’t believe he’s really gone...just like that. I ever see that Bat-freak vigilante again, he’s dead. What the hell’s gotten into him?”

Montoya crossed her arms. “Do you think Batman could’ve been drugged?”

Gordon’s brow furrowed at the suggestion. “...I don’t know. I mean, I guess anyone could be a victim of it. You were hit with it, so was Dent...and even Wayne. Who knows. Maybe Lady Arkham thought Batman would make a useful addition to her arsenal. That would explain why he saved Penguin.”

I switched over to Oz. “Montoya thinks Batman was drugged when he attacked Grogan. Though, I’m not sure if Gordon’s buying it.”

“Well, let’s hope he does. We can’t afford having the GCPD up our arses. But listen: I found another way into the asylum. If this map is accurate, then Gotham’s catacombs run directly underneath Arkham. If Vicki’s hiding anywhere, that’d be the place. There should be an entrance nearby.”

I searched around the perimeter, seeing nothing but what looked like endless miles of barbed-wire fences. At the end of the road however, I noticed a small, brick wall with a doorway in it as well as a staircase leading downwards behind it. 

“I think I see it. I’m heading in.”

“...Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

Oz was quiet for a second. “...be safe. Okay?”

I wished that were an option. 

“I will.”

Exiting the car as it drove off on its own, I quickly rushed over to the catacomb’s entrance, doing my best to vanish from sight before anyone could see me. Reaching the doorway, I gazed down into the nearly pitch-black abyss, a bone-biting cold breeze escaping from the tunnels with a whistling hiss. It felt like I was walking into the embrace of death itself.

I took a deep breath and readied my gun. After so long of wanting vengeance for Alfred and Harvey, my chance was finally here. Whether or not I left these catacombs alive, Lady Arkham was not getting out.

With one last look of the outside world, I descended the stone staircase and disappeared in the tunnels as the darkness soon consumed everything around me, welcoming me into the tomb.

Snaking around the dark catacombs, I followed the narrow paths lined with countless bones and skulls, having nothing but the occasional, flickering lamp to light the way. A deathly silence sat in the chilly air, and the only thing I could hear was my own pounding heartbeat.

“Oz?” I whispered, even if no one else was here. “You there?”

No response. The signal was probably being blocked by the walls. I was all alone down here. 

I had to admit: this place terrified me, and I didn’t know why. Somehow, that made it worse.

I mean, I had seen my fair share of human remains by now, and aside from Lady Arkham, there wasn’t any other threat creeping around that I knew of. And maybe that was just it. I had no idea what I was throwing myself into, and without the Batsuit, I felt completely defenseless.

My mind lit up with realization. For the past two decades, it had always been Batman solving my issues for me. Bruce Wayne never had to fight one-on-one with his enemies, and now that Batman was no longer there to help, I felt more vulnerable than ever. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should’ve waited until Oz recovered. 

Halting in my tracks, I prepared to turn around and leave, but I planted my feet into the ground and stopped myself. I couldn’t walk away. No matter how scared I was. Not now. Not after so much had happened. The more I postponed this, the more damage Lady Arkham was going to do. I had to deal with her now.

Swallowing my fear, I steeled myself and braced for whatever was about to come, when suddenly, a voice traveled through the tunnels.

“Well, well, look who came crawling out of their hole, just to crawl into another one.” It was Lady Arkham.

“Bruce Wayne...you’re the last person I expected. Then again, after what your family did to mine, it only makes sense. Have you come to finally accept your punishment?”

I whipped around, trying to find the source of the voice. She was nowhere to be seen.

“You know,” she continued, “I’m surprised you didn’t just hide behind your power and let Batman fight your battles for you. That man protects you like you’re his son. Though, considering what he just did to the commissioner, he probably can’t do much now, can he?”

I picked up my pace, delving deeper into the catacombs.

“Where are you!?” I exclaimed. “Come out!”

Just then, I heard something snap with my next step and, out of instinct, immediately jumped away as a row of spikes shot out of the wall.

“Hmm,” Lady Arkham chuckled, “you’re certainly more agile than I thought. It’ll be interesting to see if you can survive these traps.”

“Enough games, Vicki.” I stood back up. “Come out of hiding so we can settle this for good.”

“Feeling brave, are we?” Another laugh. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could’ve sworn I saw Lady Arkham for a split second before she disappeared behind a wall. I didn’t know if she was actually there, or if I was just seeing things, but I decided to follow the figure and began chasing after her.

I twisted and turned through the skinny tunnels, starting to lose track of how far I had traveled. The catacombs looked the same everywhere, and the paranoia of being caught in another one of Vicki’s traps kept me constantly on edge.

After a few more minutes though, I eventually found myself standing in the middle of what looked like to be a small chapel.There were stone pillars supporting the ceiling above, and the orange glow of candlelight swayed on the aging walls, causing the shadows to deform.

Up ahead, I saw Lady Arkham herself standing in front of the altar with her staff in hand, as always, and her back was facing me. I approached her.

“...you.” I breathed, suddenly feeling powerless. “...it’s you.”

She turned around and glared at me, but said nothing. I gazed down at the gun in my hand.

“You took everything from me. Harvey, Alfred...” I took a step closer. “...you even tried to take Oz.”

Out of nowhere, my sadness was washed away by a wave of anger and I aimed the gun directly at her head. My finger inched towards the trigger. 

“I’m. Done. Letting you torment me--along with everyone else in this goddamn city! If I die, I’m going out fighting.”

Lady Arkham smirked at me. “Do you even know how to use that gun? Have you even ever taken a life? Watched the spirit drain out of someone’s eyes as they savored their final moments on Earth? You’re nothing but a babe in the woods, Wayne. The larva of your father’s crimes. You’ve got guts to come down here alone--I’ll give you that--but ultimately, you’re still a fool. You can try to kill me all you like. Even if I die, the Children of Arkham will thrive. We’re too powerful to vanish now.”

I scoffed. “You think this is about the Children of Arkham? About Gotham’s safety? Quite frankly, I couldn’t give a shit about any of that right now. No. This is about you putting me through a living hell, and destroying everything I ever cared about. Now, it’s my turn to kill what you care about.”

She spread her arms to her side in a taunting manner. “Everyone I care about died ages ago. There’s nothing for you to take.”

I decided to bluff and averted my aim from her, pointing the gun at my own head. Her eyes popped open. 

“What the--!?” Lady Arkham blurted. “What are you doing!?”

I laughed. I was in control now.

“Everything you’ve done, everyone you’ve murdered--your only motivation all along...was always to kill me. I’m gonna die today, by my own hand, and you’ll live the rest of your life knowing you failed to avenge your parents.” I cocked the gun. “If I’ve learned anything growing up, it’s that no wound cuts deeper than those in the mind.”

A bolt of lightning suddenly burst out of her staff and at the gun, throwing it out of my hand as it seared through the edge of my ear and blood began gushing down the side of my neck. I was staggered for a moment before regaining composure and dodging her next attack. This time, the lightning blasted straight into one of the pillars, an ominous cracking sound emitting from it.

“You little shit!” Lady Arkham roared. “You walk in here, acting like you have the upper hand, and have the audacity to threaten me!?” She charged her staff, an electric light crackling all over it. “Very well. You’ll get your challenge. But you’re going to die screaming, and once I’m done ripping you to shreds, I’ll go after that whore you call a lover.”

I grinned. “Try me.”

With the shriek of a madman, Lady Arkham darted towards me before leaping into the air, preparing to strike her staff down onto me. I rolled out of the way and fired a bullet into her leg, causing her to tumble once she hit the floor. Though, due to her armor, she was nearly unscathed by the attack, and quickly jumped back up, ready to fight.

As if she were Zeus, she began raining down a storm of lightning bolts, smashing the furniture in the chapel and shattering the stained glass as smoke filled the air.

I could see the structures around us beginning to crumble as tiny rocks and dust fell from above, the ground beneath my feet slightly trembling. If Lady Arkham kept this up, we would both soon be crushed under the debris. I had to get out of here.

Dashing in my direction, I hurriedly threw a punch at her and a few kicks in an attempt to push her back, only to have her slam the staff into the side of my abdomen. I found myself flying into one of the walls, and as soon as I made impact, it felt like my spine had dislocated to the front of my body.

Coughing in pain, I rose up from the ground regardless of how much it hurt, gripping onto a nearby table for support and taking one of the candlesticks in my hand. The minute Lady Arkham got close enough, I batted the metal object as hard as I could into her head, knocking her mask off as she reeled.

I took advantage of the opening and bashed the butt of my gun into her face, blood spraying out of her nose as the staff dropped from her hold and she fell to the floor. Without a second thought, I snatched the staff away from her and aimed it at her. I could feel the weapon vibrating with a low hum in my hands, and the yellow light continued to increase as the energy inside built up more and more.

The entire chapel was falling apart now, and multiple parts of it had already been smashed to bits by plummeting boulders. Lady Arkham let out a curse.

“Well, go on,” she snarled. “Do what you Waynes always do. Finish it.”

I hesitated, glancing back and forth from the staff to Lady Arkham. This was my chance. This was the moment I had been waiting for for so long, and had done so much to reach. 

Strengthening my grip on the staff, I began to charge up the violent energy and readied myself as I brought the fatal weapon closer and closer to her head. 

Before I could finish her off though, a flashback flooded my mind, and Alfred’s warm, familiar voice whispered in my ear.

“You’re a strong boy, Bruce--just like your father was. You’re not easily knocked down--and on top of that--you carry your mother’s compassion. There’s no deadlier combination when it comes to fighting hate.”

My mind cleared up with eye-opening realization, and I froze mid-action, slowly lowering the staff. What was I doing? What...had gotten into me? Was I...was I actually about to...kill her?

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Lady Arkham snapped. “Just do it.”

I shook my head and steadily took a step back, staring at her in what was a mixture of fear and shock as she looked at me with bewilderment.

“...no,” I said, throwing the staff down. “I’m not you...and I’ll never become you.”

Leaving her there, I began making my way out of the chapel as it started to collapse around me, boulders crashing left and right once the pillars finally gave in.

“Wayne...!” Lady Arkham shouted after me, crawling pathetically across the stone floor. “...get back here...! We’re not done!”

I ignored her as best as I could and continued walking, tearing myself away from the wretched catacombs. Even when I was a reasonable distance from the chapel though, I could still hear her yelling at me, her words abruptly coming to a halt when a particularly large boulder plunged down onto her.

But even then, I still kept walking, the fear from earlier vanishing. I didn’t know what it was, but I suddenly felt more free than I had ever felt in my whole life, and defeating Lady Arkham was like finally being able to shut the door on one of the darkest chapters of recent memory. 

In a way, facing Lady Arkham almost felt like coming face-to-face with my inner demons...and now she was gone. 

As I found the exit to the catacombs, a smile formed on my lips and I shut my eyes as I took a deep breath of the fresh air outside, gentle rain pattering down on me.

“--ruce?” Oz’s voice broke through. “Bruce? Everything all right? I lost signal with you for a bit there, but I think I’m gettin’ through now. You doin’ okay?”

I pressed the earpiece. 

“...I’m okay.” I said, a refreshing sense of relief filling me. “I’m finally okay.”

origin-of-astrly-wylde

thing to the earth She is now in her late twenties and she wants you dead They have been known to take on more than one mortal form as they seek out new souls that will become their slaves or even servants They are widely respected by hell, although they are not the favorites of any demon or devil They found a method to channel the life force of a person through astryl allowing her to live a long unnatural life hair It is now nine a clock and you have spent the past four hours running a strong self-defense program designed by govcos sending horrible psychic visions to your brain and goes swinging onto his couch, bringing the shattersteel mug onto our small coffee table at a horrible pitch "Ah you should probably know: Dawnflower is dead te says as his severe lisp makes his speech hard to understand Te can speak proper english, yet chooses not too her hisses again as he graps the mug with the safty cover on it, where several buttons can be pushed dont you leave then? " her laughs as te can't help bu regret hjaving said it questions e as he wonders why he is in this position "anatidae was the last thing i loved, "even though she has been cracastically torn apart from me, ill miss the shallow yet flirtacious cordialness you had with her, for a split second and he eeps as his elbow stands up and clunkily slow He would die from embarrassment if he could, finding himself in such a weak state "i am sorry did that hurt? under the covers of his bed "would you like me to " te asks himself as he heads towards the lavatory attached to his bedroom "NO! Te sits on the toilet seat and hums "skeleton dance" as he tries to pee as he prepares to inspect the corn "LITTLE BOY NEEDS TO PEE? " her quiet and whispering voice gives him a static shock him in real life "maybe just reset the whole thing, it looks like an abstract cluttering of digital pieces Still he attempts to understand some of it thinking that this could be important maybe He begins to have trouble breathing as he feels the final judgement closing in on him scrolls and bizarre patterns constantly keeping him informed about everything throughout his body Every system, every organ, every cell The little boy's father is put in a uncomfortable position doing an unusual task with me watching him "These aquatic environments give you cancer you know, heavy as atomic weighs his mind down fills mens with embarassment The withered facial skin begins to break away showing brutal red flesh and yellow teeth on one of the blisters in a pleasant manner Her hands all forms of soot and burns The man' saliva build up causing everything wet Asthary every which way A round object is found floating around "What do we have here? The lister breaks away and finds itself uncomfortably near her genitals of all places A perscription pad is filled with blood stained gibberish "Odd The lister slashes and cuts at the scolex and suddenly drop a multitude of earwigs "Yes! out of his ears, nostrils, eye, urethra and rectum Several ribgones fall out parting his mouth aiming at me Dead a few minutes later "Drink in her chair "Seven scoleces please, Her luster has faded and lost to the filth of reality that her life has finally ended herself and retiring to her room drive enter MSDOS state "Have a mint kid, and gagging someone The boy and his family allow for impeccable wisdom in the form of words to enter and fill there minds on the edge of someone chest for footing as they go to plunge there hand into their buttox a powder from her buttox into the faces of curious children length display between one image and another "FILL IT UP! Who has the time and energy anymore her private parts in front of the boy "Charge it to my room, And the money and energy that it takes to play this broken game some barcode for him "Thank you come again, The boy bids the family of scoleces goodbye as he walks out of a pedophile The man sulks away pleading no Astryl timely writing something down on a notepad someone from a comatose state the man gasp for air and begin admins scolde up the vomit and change left over after a strange man has played out her unmentionables slitting astlay scold sshole anonymous scolice a hidden compartment within the pool table "Welcome BOY! a lake of scoleces up in size and blubber A house made of scoleces cries and complains about mothers disappearing from the collapsing building carrying a sheep A family of scoleces has a pleasant dinner together ghasping scortions until they have disappeared a collage of scoleces finds there way out of the building "You did a wonderful job finding your way out! his offspring to the moon on a search for hugs! E Floot! the planting process of body parts and scolex husk has a ? is growing from the ground! asttas flayed "I want the works, I'm growing humans for fronts and schemes the best fertilizer to one of the hands runs to te machine a jingle about cleansers to himself clicks constables with foriegn scoleces in his masses "You have a message from the Old Man, applictiation annexes punishment seperation damnification ekkills flinch ekkill separationklls date today year advancement purchase leveling sentence years and years ahead of you they released new advancements for the people scoleces are after me year 821 a prototype advancements scoleces they make you döuble the levels they must be getting smarter poor human brains used to run things not anymore

the girl gone missing shows up but her mouth is forced shut with barb wire, jaw sewn up like a corpse in a morgue. she should have been found in a funeral home, too beautiful and too young to have been taken. she's merely the upshot of a girl that should have corroded and perished in a fire.

attired in a black suit he saunters towards her body that lays on a metal bench to be wrapped up. her flesh pale and gaunt, benighted in the toxic bane that killed her he observes her beauty. even still, even lifeless rid of rose coloured cheeks. he leans in, plants a kiss on her cold blue lips. this was the fate she should have been given. he whispers, i will let your body rot with your mind.

all and sundry had been convinced that she was six feet under by now in the middle of the forest without a trace never to be found. their lack of hope withered with her. if it weren't for her persistence she might have rot out there, become as moth eaten as her case file. lifeless and fading she stumbles into a hospital and takes everyone by surprise. the girl who won't die even though she was bound on that cabin bed just as well as she was with her death. she became the girl who escaped from her captor. it's a moving headline only she doesn't describe the unnamed man that the nation is terrified of. they all presume stockholm syndrome, that she will tell her story with time but her lips are glued in a fine line. why would she protect a monster?

she purposely seeks out danger. she abjures her own protection. she let herself be found by him, it was all ruse in her self ruination. she hadn't watched her back in these last few months, all she did was turn to face his suffering that she created. the screaming that caterwauled through the dirt and slithered through the trees, baying like a dog for her as he howls in pain. she quivers for that masterpiece, her core shakes as she's besotted in the blazoned lackluster gray leaden in plague of travailed torment. this is better than death, she gets to spread her own misery.

ragged respires neither draw nor swallow air, a pretense of life, he mocks life. he looms over the petrified she-demon, whose grasp on a switchblade relents. his own breaths hitch and hasten like a hare caught in a snare. he stood ‘fore her, makes her feel subservient. fear ripens, anticipated red and raw between teeth. mandible unhinges to rival lion’s yawn. a supernal timbre disturbs meal, has her spun around as she barks in his face. undaunted, unblinking, he stares at her.

asperity grows in his heart. hate blisters over love. she just wants the worst. she wants their bodies racked with aching crevices. steadfast, the blade imperiled in his thigh, he grunts but doesn't wince, there's silence. it's deafening. he hauls the edge from inside his flesh, crimson pours down its length and he suddenly assays it into the wall behind her, just nicking her cheek.

alabaster shadow augments the obsidian glow to his irises: an inklike immoral corruption takes over, the eyes that would defy the human race and not be encompassed in any mortal tongue. a blink, further blackness interchanged from his orbs, and the murkiness swallows the atmosphere with the darkness that grows within him. upturn of his nose in a scornful manner, withering to his audience: and drowning. running his tongue over the curvature of his front teeth, he sucked in a breath in somewhat of a hum as he let her essence permeate him and infuse him. he feels like he's in the corner waiting for her love, put on a chain in a byre for her to just beg for water. he feels his humanity sink through the floor beneath him.

slender digits grip at the thick mane of her hair and jerk it back, only to grab underneath the mandible of her jaw near the ball of her throat and slam her head against the brickwork again, almost hard enough for a concussion. a cold disgusted look upon his otherwise handsome features turns satiated, for his appetite is securing the best of him. his mouth turns in an enticed fashion. engorging his gluttony. "blood is the first warning to flaying the truth. i'm impatient." bleed. bleed for me. bleed inside me, leave me blind. give me that relief i need.

pale white pallid flesh tainted with the devil’s liquid, as deep as the seven hell’s deflowered the beauty of the rose. her soft tender petals of sweet yielding are tarnished, filth ridden by the crimson that stained her skin; the type of mark that embedded itself like a scar and his foul fingertips would be the final blemishing to smear her innocence.

she stares in the face of danger, taunts it, watches as the flames get higher. he admires arduous nature. for the refined sex and the she-serpent she is, she is raw. the product of a vehement coercion that is designed like pure craft of nature. she is a staggering gentle fawn in the woods to be prayed upon, nonetheless in spite of that she has been tempered by the earth’s evil. demonic being as such as his own. for this, she is everything a man like zadist could worship, adorn with wine-stained flourishes all the while mastering her on the way to fruition, eclipsing the supreme apex she could be mentored.

her strength in final stages she would be exquisite. the delicate docile structure of a woman turned beast. he was curious to wonder, would she be illustrated as an auxiliary masterpiece, prove herself to be even more deserving of grandeur? she stares him dead in the eyes, although averting her visage to be cast anywhere but on his own, avoidance perhaps to not stare the devil incarnate or be tempted to his handsome vessel would have been wiser.

she was the weak embodiment of a defenceless pure fawn, but the outlast of one. whereas, most refined beautiful creatures are destined for an ongoing slow eventual rot. she wouldn’t be foiled. there would be marks, purple and blue bruises left on her virtuous flesh in her warfare but she would overcome all odds.

he feels the knife against his abdomen slice near his bullet wound, warm liquid drips down his body. he grabs it from her grasp by taking it by the blade, it cuts him in his grip and blood drips onto the wooden floors. he doesn't tremble and instead finds delight in the blood.

"you missed the main artery." callous grip forcefully pulls her from the wall by her throat and onto the ground where he slammed her down again and moved on top of her holding her by the base of the neck. the knife he took is against her scar on her cheek. "you're beautiful, katerina. even with scars. i think they make you more breathtaking. your mother cut you first, i can do it again."

"i break, and i'll break more. i'll trap you in metal teeth. i'll beat inside you before i reach your heart. it's how i love. i destroy everything i touch. i will destroy you because you resist. fear is a communicable disease; it comes out in the sweat and passes from host to host. fear is an incendiary agent; it combusts with stupidity. you're not afraid of me so you ran because you're afraid of love? that's the same thing. you didn't rat me out to the cops, why? because you wanted me to be able to find you and i couldn't do that as long as i was imprisoned in a cell?"

he can feel tears wanting to crawl from beneath his eyes, breathing pattern irregular and his vocal chords tightening, he wants to scream in her face. "what do you f***ing want, katerina? how do you want me to touch you? do you want me to destroy you, hurt you? kill you? you wanted me to find you just to finish what i started?" he enjoys inflicting pain, he's never had his emotions involved however for his victim and she's given him a noose: he's hanging on every word she could say. "pain is as much a part of this life as the summer and the winter and the rain, and there is no greater idiot than the one who believed you can cure it. but i know that love can't just be pain. but you make it that. you want it to be painful. you want to be a coward most of all, afraid of the same thing you breed."

"you want mercy, baby? you don't like the taste of blood in your mouth, half choking on it? the metallic taste too strong? unable to tell me what you feel because you would rather die than tell me that. you choke on your own pride faster than breaking your neck on a noose."

bruises are formed around her neck and he changes his grip to turn her body around on her front against the wood, his weight crushing her as he lifts the hem of her blouse up and exposes her back area. using the blade he begins to cut a zed for the beginning initials of his name into her flesh. his other palm pressing into the center of her back to keep her still. her words are manipulating, cunning. he doesn't know what the truth is. even when a snake sheds its scales it still serpentines. "i want you to tell me how much you missed me."

"i want you to tell me every detail about your pain. how much it ate you alive. or was it nothing but satisfaction knowing i'm wallowing in my own need to have you? tell me, katerina. i need to know how much it hurt in the way you like."

he's in the corner waiting for her love. he needs to know that it hurt her in the way it hurt him. she f***s with herself more than anybody else.

she needs him to pacify her love, clarify their love before she will drown herself in it, even if he chokes.

4 Funky Fungi to Liven Up Your Game (And A Few Ways To Use Them)—Part 1 of 2

This is as pretty as mushrooms get. Fair warning: it’s all a horror show from here on out. Image Courtesy of Pixabay.com

Beneath the soil they wait, oozing digestive juices to liquefy and absorb any edible material hapless enough to fall in their path. Silently, patiently, they spread hidden tendrils thinner than a hair under the ground, linking threads to form an invisible net below the feet of the hapless humanoids lumbering above them. Relentlessly, they burrow through the ground. Growing, consuming, they bide their time over months, years, centuries, even millennia until the time arrives that they burst through the ground, hurling copies of themselves into the air and preparing to begin the cycle once more.

Sure, this is a workable description of any number of ancient evils in fantasy gaming, but it’s also a pretty solid way of talking about the fungi you probably have in the patch of ground nearest to you right now. What we think of as “mushrooms” are really only formed by a small fraction of fungal species;

…in fact, the “mushrooms” that we see are just the mechanism by which fungi spread. This means that Toad from Super Mario Brothers, myconids from D&D, and any other mushroom creatures you can think of are just ambulatory reproductive organs, and the Smurfs village is basically a scene from a Saw movie.

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in fact, the “mushrooms” that we see are just the mechanism by which fungi spread. This means that Toad from Super Mario Brothers, myconids from D&D, and any other mushroom creatures you can think of are just ambulatory reproductive organs, and the Smurfs village is basically a scene from a Saw movie.

The majority of the “body” of a fungus is its mycelium (yes, like the network in Star Trek), which grows out in all directions, seeking food and forming a network within the soil. This underground network exists in nearly all areas with vegetative life, and in addition to decomposing materials that would otherwise pile up, it is used by plants as a kind of external digestive system, forming a symbiotic relationship whereby plants can gather food and nutrients that they can’t reach with their own root systems. There is even evidence that this network of fungi is also used in a form analogous to communication between plants, forming what is sometimes called (and I could not possibly be more delighted to tell you this) a “wood-wide web”.

Until around 1960, fungi were considered to be plants — which makes sense; they grow from something that looks like seeds, and they don’t move on their own. However, later science determined that they were much more closely related to animals, just completely immobile and without any sort of muscle tissue — which really makes me wonder whether I might technically be a fungus. They store energy as glycogen (like animals) rather than starch (like plants), and their cells are given rigidity not by plant-based materials like cellulose but instead by chitin, the same material that makes up the exoskeletons of insects like cockroaches. Yum!

Fungi can be medicinal or poisonous or delicious (or sometimes a combination of any two of those things), and the difference between a good dinner and an early grave is sometimes a matter of how they’re prepared. Indigestible or poisonous mushrooms can be rendered edible (or at least less harmful) by any number of techniques. I’m not going to go into more detail than that because a) this is the Internet, and no one should try to do this kind of thing based on the advice of an RPG blog, and b) even if that were a good idea, I’m the absolute last person who should be giving that kind of instruction. With that in mind…

Warning: mushrooms can kill you.

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Warning: mushrooms can kill you, just like they were rumored to have killed the Roman emperor Claudius, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles VI, Pope Clement VII, and the composer Johann Schobert. And that’s just some of the famous people. About seven people per year die of mushroom poisoning in the U.S, and hundreds more are made seriously ill. Even though there are pictures in this article, and for the most part I tried to find reasonable approximations of what the fungi in question looked like, this is not an identification guide. I can’t even match my socks in the morning, and I can barely avoid killing my family when I cook for them even when I don’t use potentially poisonous ingredients — do not take anything I say as adequate reason to put these things in your mouth.

However, describing such things is not only safe, but extremely cool. And with that in mind, I present to you 8 Funky Fungi To Liven Up Your Game (And A Few Ways To Use Them).

Mind-Controlling Ant Fungus (ophiocordyceps unilateralis)

Strangely, the animated “Antz” movie left this scene on the cutting room floor. Is that reference dated? I feel like that reference is dated now. Oh, well. Look it up.

By itself, there’s nothing especially new or interesting about a fungal infection. If you’re alive, which I assume most of you reading this are, you are already host to a dizzying array of fungi, yeasts, and other creatures that call you home. They’re like roommates (good or bad). They do their thing to varying degrees of intrusiveness and stink. You also do your thing, and if you’re too incompatible, one or the other of you gets evicted. Cordyceps is more like that friend who visits from out of town and suddenly surprise! They’re moving to your city and need a place to stay. First they start eating all the food out of your fridge, then they start making demands, and before you know it, they’re trying to hollow you out and turn your body into a nutrient paste they can use for reproduction. Which is not, in fact, something that everyone does, Harold.

This particular species of Cordyceps infects carpenter ants, and then even while eating them alive, hijacks the nervous and muscular system of the ant, forcing it to travel to an appropriate piece of plant cover, climb to the ideal elevation for reproduction, clamp on to the grass with their mandibles, and then die. The fungus continues to spread within the ant, before eventually sprouting out of the long-dead husk and throwing its spores to the wind, beginning the cycle all over again. Some scientists think that the ants may be cognitively unaffected during all of this, and that the mechanism is actually a little less like mind control, and a little more like being controlled like an agonized marionette from within. Nature is amazing.

Potential Game Use:

A prodigal son from a local farming community finally returned, but the day after his tearful homecoming, he wandered into the woods and disappeared, only to be found again a week later dead, hollowed out, and filled with a mysterious powdery substance that creates a powerful feeling of well-being when inhaled, even accidentally. The heroes have been called in to investigate the case, as local law enforcement has no idea what is going on.

At first, all signs point to a horrible drug deal gone bad, until the characters find several locals attempting (and maybe succeeding) in stealing the mysterious powder, claiming that they feel compelled to share with their friends and family. “Addicts” at first violently resist any attempts to prevent them from taking or spreading this powder, eventually becoming a kind of hive mind that exhales spores onto the PCs. If not helped, the entire village will die in agony, possibly spreading the infection to other nearby areas.

In such a story, there are plenty of opportunities for medical or nature rolls (to determine the nature of the illness or the drug), social rolls (to determine that individuals are being non-magically mind-controlled) and constitution-type rolls to avoid infection. Potential solutions include spells curing disease, exotic alchemical reagents, introducing another fungal or bacterial species to counteract the infection, and good old-fashioned fire (for games that tend to be a little darker in tone).

Candy Cap Mushrooms (lactarius rubidus)

Sure; when a mushroom hunter finds something on the ground that tastes like maple syrup, they’re “nature-loving” and “exploratory,” but when I do it I’m “too old to still be doing this kind of thing” and “need to put on pants.”

Edible mushrooms, by themselves, aren’t all that much to write home about (unless “home” has a mycologist, in which case you should definitely write home to make sure you’re eating the right ones). Edible mushrooms that make for a workable ice cream flavor start to get a little more interesting. Where lactarius rubidus gets really fun though, is after the initial consumption. When dried and then reconstituted, this mushroom tastes like maple syrup (because, it turns out, it produces the same chemical that is used to make maple syrup flavoring—now who’s being unnatural, Canada?). The real magic happens later, when the sweat and tears of people who eat the mushroom start to smell like maple syrup as well. It’s like someone with more imagination than impulse control stumbled across a wish-granting leprechaun and demanded a combination of dessert and cologne, and I’ll be darned if the little guy didn’t make it work.

Potential Game Use:

The characters are invited to a feast by a local fae noble. Because interactions with faeries in folklore and fiction are one part entertainment to three parts weaponized manners, eventually, a character is going to insult someone. To keep this adventure from feeling too “on the rails,” feel free to use a character loosely associated with the fae whom the PCs have insulted or irritated previously. For a little foreshadowing fun, include some sort of massively dangerous but largely mindless beast in a cage, leashed or otherwise bound near the tables as the characters eat. After the feast, the heroes are offered an especially delicate and exotic dessert mushroom, which is also given to the dangerous creature. The creature immediately tears into the dessert mushrooms with terrifying abandon: think “Cookie Monster” meets “Sharknado.” Because players aren’t dumb, they will almost certainly check the dessert to make sure it’s not poisonous, magically or otherwise trapped (which of course, it’s not), and/or wait to see what happens with the Hungry Hungry Horror. Offer the character some sort of minor benefit for eating the mushrooms — healing, one additional use of a power, or whatever form of play currency is used in your game (e.g. inspiration, conviction, XP). Keep track of what characters eat the mushroom and how many they eat.

Following the meal, the characters discover the delightful side effect of the mushroom — they smell exactly like the delicious dessert they just consumed thanks to their unrefined humanoid biology. Their fae hosts, of course, have more refined digestion. As the characters look on in horror, the fae lord at the head of the table lets the leash slip on their pet monster, who lunges at the nearest character while the nearby court of fae watches and applauds. This is a fairly straightforward mostly-combat encounter, but with a lot of potential fun in the form of set pieces for combat. Think flipped tables, improvised weapons, flying crockery, and lithe, mocking figures darting in and out to make things more “interesting.” This may also be an opportunity for more socially-oriented characters to use their charm to request assistance from particularly engaged onlookers.

Octopus Stinkhorn (clathrus archeri)

Apparently, they smell as good as they look.

To the right, you will see a picture of what I absolutely swear is not only a fungus, but the single grossest fungus I have ever read about (and that’s including a species coming up in the next article that grows exclusively on herbivore dung). The Octopus Stinkhorn begins its visible life as a slime-covered bolus of egg-like material with its forming tentacles barely visible. Eventually, the tentacles strain against their “egg” and burst outward, covered in a thick, black-brown goo that smells like rotting meat. The stench attracts nearby flies and other decomposers, which wander around on the surface of the tentacles, picking up spores that they drop elsewhere (basically pollination, as imagined by Clive Barker).

Potential Game Use:

Look. If you’re going to have something sprout up unexpectedly from the ground that looks like Cthulhu’s dust bunnies, you might as well lean all the way in. Something unclean has been here before. “Here” can be the site of some sort of horrible sacrifice, sacrilege, or slaughter, or it can just be a case of “wrong place at the wrong time.” As another straightforward combat encounter, it’s hard to beat a tentacled creature that can unpredictably reproduce from any spot on the ground, but the real challenge will come in the form of the creatures that are attracted to and defend the Supernatural Stinkhorn. Take this as an opportunity to drag out every gross monster you’ve ever wanted to use. Giant cockroaches? Go for it! Slime molds, gelatinous cubes, worms that walk? They’re all fair game, and they’re all making heart eyes at this festering mound of thrashing goop. Every successful strike results in everyone within 10 feet getting splashed with putrescence, triggering some sort of constitution-type roll to avoid either taking damage or losing the next round heaving breakfast onto the ground.

What’s more, who’s to say what characters who take damage from such an attack might not themselves be the source of the next infection?

Bioluminescent Fungi (~80 species)

Preeeeeeeety sure this is a Photoshop job, but you get the idea. Glowing mushrooms: They’re A Thing (TM).

I almost didn’t include bioluminescent fungi in this list. They’re such a cliche that it’s almost not worth it. But there are about 80 species of bioluminescent mushrooms, and that’s a pretty big chunk of the fungal kingdom to just leave out because everyone already knows about them. So, with that in mind, yes. Glowing mushrooms are real, and there are a bunch of them, and yes, they all look very, very cool. Do yourself a favor and do an image search of them sometime.

Potential Game Use:

Lighting is a sometimes-underutilized part of adventure and encounter design. I can’t count the number of modules and supplements I’ve read that treat lighting as sort of a throwaway — there’s almost always magical ambient lighting, or unexplained torches (which are, if you’re a sucker for verisimilitude, extremely unlikely), or sometimes no lighting  at all. Which makes sense on a certain level — much like encumbrance or precise weapon details, not everyone likes thinking about and tracking questions of visibility in exploration or combat. However, I propose that if you’re looking for a quick and easy way of making things interesting in an otherwise bog-standard dungeon or cave, start caring about lighting. Have unseen things chittering in dark corners, or drips just out of eyesight, or things darting out of view as soon as the characters get too near.

Another consideration: do your players have darkvision? Of course they do. If it’s a fantasy game, pretty much everyone has darkvision. Things without eyes have darkvision. A soup tureen has darkvision in some rulesets. You know who doesn’t have darkvision though? The large group of frightened prisoners the characters may have just freed. Alternately, some puzzles or clues may only become visible when viewed under the light of a specific species of mushroom, the identification and gathering of which can be an encounter all by itself. For an extra “wow” factor, consider making a homemade blacklight to represent the mushroom’s glow, and using lemon juice to write a hidden clue, message, or even whole puzzle.

In Conclusion:

Fungi are really, really neat and can add to just about any fantasy game, above or below-ground. They’re terrifying, dangerous, delicious, poisonous, useful and frustrating in equal measure, and if you let them, they can give your game a touch of alien whimsy that few other things in the real world can. If you’ve enjoyed this article, come back in a couple of weeks for Part 2, where I give four more kinds of fungi you might want to use in your game.

In the meantime, do you think you’ll be using more mushrooms in your games? Do you have a favorite fungus (or a suggestion for me to cover in the next piece)? Let me know in the comments!

Further Reading:

Six Bizarre Things about Fungi : A cool, quick little article about the weirdness of fungi, prominently featuring three of the species that made this list (h/t Luke: thanks for the heads up!).

Mycophilia: Revelations from the Weird World of Mushrooms by Eugenia Bone. There aren’t a lot of books on mycology out there that aren’t aimed at mushroom hunters, farmers, or people looking for psychedelics. While this is an engaging and entertaining overview in a field that isn’t exactly crowded, I can’t entirely recommend this book, as it contains some flip statements about several vulnerable populations that have little if anything to do with fungi, and that kind of soured the read a bit for me. Your mileage may vary.

The Magic of Mushrooms. A documentary available in the US on Netflix (as of the time of this article), this fairly short but fun film walks you through the basics of fungal biology, as well as introducing some of the ways fungi may well shape our future. Fun, quick, and relentlessly British, I can’t recommend it highly enough for someone who likes documentaries.

4 Funky Fungi to Liven Up Your Game (And A Few Ways To Use Them)—Part 1 of 2 published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames