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musings-of-miss-j · 3 months

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no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part four: in which the doctor is irritated (nothing new), you lose a rather important item and signora requests your presence

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: slowburn that makes you want to tear your hair out according to my friend, snarky reader, fluff, crack, slight social anxiety, reader is referred to as 'miss' but no pronouns, childe is pining, you are oblivious and the rest of the harbingers got a -9 on their 'how to romance your crush' exam

be sure to notify me of any pronoun slips!!

series masterlist

word count: 4433 words

author's note: thank you so so so much to everyone who has expressed interest in this series!!! a special thank you to @viridian-coffer, @nin3ss and @@vvzhyxx !!! i hope y'all don't mind being tagged but your little comments are so so appreciated <333 please continue engaging, it makes me unbelievably happy (also about scara: he's getting his own separate fic so stay tuned for that!!) quick reminder that asks and requests are always open :)

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The mystery occupied your thoughts more than it should have; the next day at the lab you dropped a replica of a ruin mechanism you’d made and were forced to endure the agonising process of watching it shatter to pieces on the floor. You mourned its loss as you picked them up, and the Doctor muttered something derisive under his breath.

“Just what is the matter with you?” He demanded from across the lab. He was prodding away at a poor fox’s corpse, testing out yet another one of his artificial hearts. It had been difficult to hide your distress at seeing the furry little thing dead on his workbench, and this trial of his wasn’t going any better than the others; he was in a particularly foul mood.

“Nothing, doctor,” you replied, disposing of the remains of your wonderful model. It’ll take me at least a week to make a new one. Damn that mystery woman for distracting me.

He tsked, abandoning the fox and the metal parts and striding over to you.

“Are you ill? Drunk?” He leaned in close, and you stepped away until the cool bite of the marble workbench dug into your back. The tip of his pointed mask was just inches away from your nose, and you fervently hoped he wouldn’t stab your eye out with it. “Your behaviour has been irregular since you stepped foot into the lab today. Whatever instability you pose is a danger to my experiments, and unless you provide a satisfactory explanation I’ll have you dismissed for a week.”

You clenched your teeth. Such a delay would put you severely behind schedule, something he was no doubt aware of. The Doctor was knowledgeable even in the science of making highly effective threats. And invading your personal space, apparently; the hard edge of marble was beginning to bruise your back the closer he leaned in.

“I assure you that won’t be necessary.”

“Then for the Tsaritsa’s sake, stop acting like a bumbling fool. Better yet, tell me exactly what caused this deviation from your usual efficiency so I can eliminate it myself.”

You allowed a small grin to take over your features. “I'm efficient, doctor?”

“Don’t play coy. You’re well aware of your capabilities, which clearly include diverting from the subject of conversation.”

“Oh, alright.” What harm could it do to tell the Doctor about the mystery woman? You pushed him away. Or at least tried to; he didn’t budge an inch and now your hands were on his chest. You quickly pulled them away, fighting the urge to avert your gaze in embarrassment at the proximity. How adorable, he thought. “A strange woman all but interrogated me in the dining hall last night, and admitted to be disguised as a recruit. She asked me a great many questions with the air of a person who’s used to obtaining answers, but refused to divulge her true identity. I’ve been wondering who she might’ve been.”

“That is what’s been occupying your mind to the point where you fumble in the lab?” He demanded after an incredulous silence.

“A scholar’s unsatisfied curiosity isn’t the most manageable of problems.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, tracing his mask with his thumb. “My apprentice, a supposed genius, led astray by a cliché mystery.” You could no longer tell if your face was red from how close he was standing or his derisive tone; either way, you were left flustered and a little indignant at how nice the Doctor's cologne smelled. You'd expected him to stink of laboratory chemicals, but the subtle earthy undertone was rather appealing. You toyed with the fingertips of your gloves in an attempt to distract yourself from such thoughts.

With a roll of your eyes, you retorted: “She was capable of illusionary magic. Do you have any idea who she might be?”

The set of his mouth revealed nothing, but he let out a soft 'ah' of realisation.

“Well?” You prompted. “Who was she?”

“That, my dear student, is none of your concern.” He backed away from you and returned to what you considered his half of the lab.

“Oh, why the change in tune, doctor? I thought you intended to eliminate any distractions?” You tugged your gloves and turned back to the sketch you’d made of an ancient ruin in the depths of Avidya Forest. It was a prime example of how elemental magic, in this case dendro, affected physical structures and their functionality; one particular crack in the stone wall housed a Dendroculous, and around it moss and other greenery flourished although the conditions for plant life were less than optimum. The mechanism to access the ruins had also changed due to elemental exposure; when formerly it could only be activated using a key or some other specific piece, it now responded to dendro application. Fascinating. “Oh, right. Doctor, where can I acquire a mask?” you asked, flipping through the pages of blueprints you’d made to build a replica of the ruin mechanism. You wanted to see how it might have functioned years ago, and now you’d have to rebuild the whole thing.

“How should I know?” Came the disdainful reply. It had been by design that you didn’t receive a mask, after all; it would obscure your expressions and make it difficult to read you. And your eyes were too pretty to be hidden.

“Then who should I be asking if I want a helpful answer?”

He muttered something under his breath, no doubt scornful, before replying. “Regrator, I suppose.”

Another unhelpful answer, and he sounded even more contemptuous than usual. You bit back a sigh and resigned yourself to asking Childe or Signora.

You spent the rest of the day rebuilding the replica. Thankfully it didn’t take as much time and you even managed to draw up a few prototypes for the key. Which looked nothing like a key at all, more like a vaguely star-shaped disk with four distinct points, and by the time the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the sheer chill of Snezhnayan night time truly set in, you were in high spirits and reluctant to leave the productive atmosphere of the lab. You decided to write the report for the day instead of leaving, but soon encountered a problem; there weren’t any chairs in the lab. Not a single one. The Doctor was completely immersed in the mechanical heart that had finally begun to beat underneath his fingers and you doubted he’d register any questions you sent his way, and so you reverted to the tactic you’d been forced to utilise during secondary school; perching cross-legged upon the workbench. The lighting was thankfully much better than it was in the rest of the palace. No dim floating lanterns for the Doctor, no, no. Instead the ceiling was mounted with large, circular lamps that glowed anywhere from bright white to soft yellow, and you settled beneath buttery radiance that was almost reminiscent of Sumeru summers. Quiet prevailed, with only the scratching sound of your pen and the metallic clinking from the Doctor’s direction disturbing the stillness. The scene contrasted vastly to the chaos of the Akademiya’s hectic workspaces; tranquil and unhurried where the latter had been loud and frantic, with panicked students rushing back and forth between different experiments and yelling at each other when their experiments affected each other. You still resented the Akademiya somewhat for showing such clear favouritism towards the literary and historic Darshans.

Working like this, after a successful lab session with no younger students coming dangerously close to breaking your apparatus or begging for help, snow swirling outside and a lovely big workspace and minimal pressure, you could almost convince yourself that this had been your plan all along. That you were here, in the Fatui’s headquarters, because you’d wanted this position and not because you’d been afraid of refusing. It was far from unpleasant, sitting on the workbench and refining your draft for a report about a subject you’d chosen.

Until the Doctor looked up and opened his damn mouth.

“Why are you sitting there?” The way you perched on the countertop, of all places, with your legs crossed beneath you reminded him of a bird. The sheer self-assuredness could’ve been enough to make you feel as though you were committing some atrocious, unforgivable crime. Luckily, your sense of guilt had been left a little weathered after several long years of defending yourself and your research.

“Because there’s no other place to sit, doctor,” you replied without looking up.

“If you deem your work enough for the day and find yourself with enough free time to bemoan the lack of seating then perhaps you should return to your dormitory.”

Unbelievably passive-aggressive. What difference does my presence make, anyway?

“Perhaps,” you conceded, without making a move to get up.

“Oh, for the Tsaritsa’s sake. Go to dinner or whatever other meaningless rituals you practise,” he said, that special brand of casual contempt lacing his words. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be offended; you’d become accustomed to his brash mannerisms in the span of little more than two weeks. Besides, it was funny to think that he wanted you to leave so badly. You adjusted your notebook in your lap and continued writing.

“Surely you can abide my presence a little longer, doctor.”

“Leave, you insubordinate pest.”

That drew a surprised laugh from you. He was seized by the urge to make you do it again. The Doctor usually dealt in elegant, intricately-worded insults, and this outright rebuke was such a change in pace you couldn’t help but laugh. The intensity of his stare grew until you were worried you’d offended him, and you glanced up to see him standing before the array of mechanical spurs and gears strewed across his workbench, arms crossed and head tilted to the side as he surveyed you. You wished you could see what emotion was in his eyes behind that damn mask. After a few moments more of staring, you gathered he could very well be contemplating the prospect of dissecting you if you didn’t leave (really, he just didn’t want to continue one of his more gory experiments in front of you. The discomfort would surely make you clumsier, and he couldn’t have an inefficient apprentice in his lab), and so you pocketed your notebook and pen and hopped down from the abnormally high countertop.

“I shall disturb you no more, doctor,” you said, slightly amused, before opening the door with a series of complicated knocks and leaving.

You no longer needed to consult your little map to find your way; the winding corridors had lost their daunting unfamiliarity. In fact, the whole palace was beginning to develop an air of friendliness; the silver phrases in the walls served as landmarks, the floating lanterns brightened whenever you approached, and the glowing jasmine perfumed the air with its delicate scent. Despite knowing that it would be much smarter to keep your guard up at all times, it was difficult not to relax when the palace so cheerfully presented itself to be discovered and mapped.

You stepped into your room, humming absent-mindedly under your breath as you went through the usual motions after a day in the lab; hanging up your cloak, letting down your hair, checking to see if your hidden store of valuables had remained untouched during your absence, tidying the myriad of reports, articles and notebooks strewn across your desk and other such minor chores.

A peaceful evening, if it weren’t for the fact that Signora was watching you.

“So this is what the little one gets up to after a long day.”

You gasped, startled, and dropped the teapot you’d been in the process of removing from the fire. Signora emerged from thin air and caught it before it could crash onto the floor, setting it calmly down on the table. You froze, shocked and partially wondering if she was a hallucination. Her beauty certainly seemed beyond the realm of understanding; she wore a black silk gown studded with blood-red gems, elbow-length gloves and a smile glorious enough to raise the dead. She watched you try to gather your wits with a bemused expression, and when your brain finally caught up with her sudden appearance you bowed and stammered out a greeting in an attempt to gloss over your initial shock.

“Good evening, my lady.” Her smile grew; you’d learnt the correct way of addressing her. She quite liked the way her title sounded on your tongue, almost as much as she’d liked the wide-eyed look of astonishment on your face, “To- to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She lowered herself into one of the armchairs

“Do I need a reason to visit?” She asked, crossing one leg over the other and raising an eyebrow.

“You’re always welcome here, my lady,” you replied, straightening and regaining some of your composure. You busied yourself with taking out the tea set and grabbing a serving of your most expensive leaves, mostly so you could avoid her gaze and knowing smile.

“I hear you’ve taken to hiding away a servant girl in your chambers,” she said as you passed her a cup. You stiffened slightly, glancing up at her and hoping she hadn’t taken offence; just in case, you quickly cycled through potential responses to avoid an uncomfortable situation. Noticing your dilemma, she laughed and took a sip of her tea.

“Relax, little one. I can practically hear you worrying.”

You chuckled awkwardly, toying with your glasses.

“Now, I do in fact have an ulterior motive for paying you this visit,” she began, leaning back in the chair and surveying you through her one visible eye. Her statement didn’t surprise you in the slightest; it made perfect sense that a Harbinger would exercise a measure of cunning.

“You see, our yearly gala to strengthen some political connections is just around the corner.” Your brow furrowed; what did that have to do with you? “My fellow Harbingers and I would like you to attend.”

You blinked. Raised your eyebrows. Fidgeted with your gloves. Anything to fill the silence before she redacted or rephrased the statement. Your scepticism only grew when she made no move to do so, instead revelling in your bewilderment with that half-lidded look of sheer satisfaction.

“My lady, I fail to see what my presence will contribute to such an important event.”

“You’re too humble. Why, I hear the Akademiya is frothing at the mouth with rage over losing a genius like you!”

You hesitated and sat down across from her to process, refraining from pointing out that you largely came to Snezhnaya on the basis of subtle threats from them.

“Surely one needs more than intellect to gain such an invite.”

“And you, little one, are the whole package!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh. It was odd, how she’d been stinging and harsh the first time you met, and now she was all smiles and cordiality. You wondered which side was her true one, and marvelled at how both temperaments fit her like a second skin. “It’s a wonderful opportunity to show you off.”

You stared at her blankly. It had been a long day, and you were not in the mood to engage in verbal acrobatics.

“I still don’t see the purpose of the invitation, my lady.”

She sighed. “Oh, well. Your presence is expected either way.”

You frowned. A big social event where you’d most likely be alone was not an appealing prospect. “My lady, please. I don’t think my schedule will allow for it, and I’m certain the invitation will be better received by a more influential member of the Fatui.”

“Do you plan on rejecting the invitation I went to such lengths to acquire for you, little one?”

You were trapped, and she smiled because she knew it. You let out a sigh of defeat, running a hand through your hair. “Yes, my lady,” you murmured, a touch of your dreariness seeping into your voice.

“Good, good,” she all but purred, adjusting her fur collar and rising from her chair. At least she was leaving so you could go to sleep. You followed her to the door, taking off your glasses to rub your tired eyes. The day was beginning to catch up to you, and the knowledge that you’d have to partake in a magnanimous social event did nothing to lessen your exhaustion; already you were beginning to worry about the overwhelmingly likely prospect that you wouldn’t know anyone at the gala. How bothersome. Signora paused in the doorway. “I’ll have the servant girl inform you of the details, since you’re so fond of her to the point where you’ll let her hide in your room.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. She made it seem so shameful, like an unforgivable sin that you should have been mortified to commit. You locked the door the moment she stepped out, feeling rather cheerless and vexed at more or less everyone in the palace. With a grumble, you grabbed the warming packet you’d designed in secondary school and shook it with perhaps more force than strictly necessary to trigger the flaming flower stamen within it. It was quite the handy little thing, utilising the flower’s reaction to nearby movement to heat up the agnidus agate within. You were especially thankful for it here in Snezhnaya, where the nights stung with a bitter cold that couldn’t be dispelled by a hundred blankets. At least I have a warm bed, you reasoned dejectedly to yourself, collapsing into it. Maybe I should run away and forge a new identity to avoid this damn gala.

The morning brought a splitting headache (predictable) and clear skies (surprising). No snow fell, and though the world was blanketed with the perpetual layer of white you could glimpse snatches of a frosted-over pale blue sky through the stained glass of your window; you admired it from the comfort of your bed. You moved to get up, but a precise and agonising throb in your skull abruptly put a stop to that plan, and you collapsed back onto the mattress with a pained groan. After a few moments, you tried to sit up again; your head pounded even harder, as though in warning, and an ache began to form behind your eyes. Cursing under your breath, you rootled through the drawer of the nightstand for a bottle of your special all-cure. You’d concocted it specifically for your body mass, metabolism and stomach acidity, and even done the same for a few others and sold it as a custom medicine, so it worked like a charm. If only it tasted half-decent, you lamented as its acridity burned your throat on the way down. Kaeya had likened it to drinking cheap liquor, and Kaveh had taken a similar stance. Still, they gladly asked for refills of it every year when winter struck, much to your eternal smugness.

You stumbled out of bed with a groan, rubbing the painful spot on your neck. The beginnings of a cold were settling in your throat and chest, and you resigned yourself to going to the dining hall that day to fetch a few jueyun chilis and performing a quick whopperflower nectar extraction in the lab to dispel it. How troublesome.

A knock sounded at your door just as you were lacing up your boots.

“Come in,” you said without looking up, knowing it would be Anya. She stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with a breakfast you wouldn’t eat and insist she have instead. You’d grown used to her presence, fond of her even, and you smiled at her as she walked in. With Childe in tow. Your eyebrows quirked up in surprise, and you rose to your feet and moved to grab your cloak from where it was draped across the back of your chair. Which it blatantly wasn’t. You frowned.

“Anya, Lord Eleven,” you greeted them, patting Anya’s shoulder as she walked past you to set the tray on the table in front of the fireplace. Childe eyed the motion, mildly jealous. Not that you noticed, too preoccupied with looking for your cloak. “Good morning to you both.”

Anya remained silent, clearly nervous from the Harbinger’s presence. Childe had no such reservations; he strode up to you and ruffled your hair, undeterred by your glare. He’d made it a habit, much to your chagrin.

“Why so cold, Trixy? I came all this way and all you can offer me is a ‘Lord Eleven?’”

“I suppose you’d prefer ‘sweetheart?’” You deadpanned, your tone wry. He grinned.

“I would, actually.”

You brushed his response off, rummaging through your closet for your cloak. You were beginning to get irritated; the barely-receding headache and your lost cloak weren’t helping in the slightest.

“What’re you looking for?” He asked, leaning in from behind you to survey the closet’s interior.

“My damn cloak.”

“Oh, that stylish thing? You’ve lost it?” He’d noticed you weren’t wearing it the moment you opened the door; he was surprised to see you without it. Normally you had it over your clothes, and in its absence he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on your figure. Knit turtlenecks looked unfairly good on you.

“Evidently,” you bit out, slamming the closet door shut. His eyes caught on the flowers painted at the base of it. Those hadn’t been there before; he’d know, this had been his room and he’d pulled several strings to make you its new resident. Cute. You liked to paint. You ran a hand through your hair with a disgruntled sigh, pondering your options. Or lack thereof; you’d spent a hefty chunk of mora on that cloak and you didn’t have an adequate replacement, especially considering the looming threat of getting sick.

“Damn it all,” you muttered under your breath, clipping your pocket watch onto your belt.

“What, don’t have anything else to wear?”

“No. Don’t sound so bloody smug about it,” you added. He chuckled; it was thoroughly enjoyable when you became aggravated enough to let go of just a bit of your polite facade.

“I can lend you something,” he suggested, leaning his shoulder against the closet. “For the right price,” he added with a wink. You shot him an unimpressed look, then let it drop off your face with sigh; you really didn’t have any other choice. It was either accept Childe’s help or increase the risk of getting sick by a significant margin, and catching a cold was very close to the bottom of your to-do list.

‘Alright,” you conceded with a resigned air.

“Great. I’ll be right back, then.” He sauntered out of the door, clearly pleased with himself though you couldn’t pinpoint why; he probably liked having you ask him for something, you concluded. (The idea of you wearing his clothes just excited him.)

You sighed and turned to Anya, who was hovering over the table with her hands clasped in front of her. “Thank you for the breakfast,” you said with a brief smile. “Would you eat it in my stead once I leave?”

She laughed quietly. “It’s a shame you refuse to have breakfast, miss. Isn’t it meant to be the most important meal of the day?”

“Gluconeogenesis will do just fine.” You knew she’d appreciate the joke, as she was a student in a Snezhnayan academy who’d taken the biology pathway. Sure enough, she chuckled under her breath.

“If you say so, miss.”

Childe returned a moment later with a white coat in his arms. You made to take it from him with a muttered ‘thank you,’ but instead he stepped behind you and draped it over your shoulders, gesturing at you to slip your arms through the sleeves.

“Ah- thank you, but there’s no need for that, really,” you said as he adjusted the prominent collar, a little embarrassed. He ruffled your hair, and you grudgingly let him.

“Nonsense. It looks fantastic on you, Trixy.”

You let out an amused chuckle, rolling up the long sleeves. It was clearly made for someone with broader shoulders and a taller frame than you; the hem fell almost to your knees and the seam of the shoulder was too far down your arm. Still, it was warm, and you appreciated it.

“Thank you again, Eleven,” you replied with a small, earnest smile. Childe was immensely grateful you looked away to grab some paperwork so you wouldn’t see the love-struck look on his face. You’d never smiled at him without a bite of irony before. “I’ll return it to you as soon as I’ve found my cloak.” He was almost disappointed.

“It’s no rush, you’re welcome,” he replied when his tongue finally started working again. You left the room and he followed you.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you or Lady Eight,” you added off-handedly, weaving between the crowds of people in the hallways. “Do you know anyone named ‘Regrator?’”

“Huh? What do you need him for?”

“The Doctor told me I should ask him about why I didn’t get a mask. Or a uniform, for that matter. Where could I find him? Who is he, anyway?”

Childe followed close behind you as you made your way up the spiral staircase to the lab.

“Well, Regrator is the Ninth Harbinger’s code name.”

You paused in your tracks, glancing back at him with a surprised expression.

“Really, now? Why would the Doctor refer me to him for matters as trivial as a recruit’s uniform?”

Childe shrugged. “He’s the banker, to put it simply.”

“That… doesn’t offer a very satisfactory explanation. Is the delegation of work among the Harbingers devoid of logic?”

“Sure,” he allowed with a laugh.

“Right.” You sighed, starting back up the stairs and mulling over this new information. It was unlikely you’d be able to get an audience with a Harbinger you had no affiliation with, much less for something as inconsequential as a missing uniform.

“Why do you want a mask, anyway?” Childe prodded. The world was all the better with your eyes on display, he thought.

“It’s unreasonable for every other employee to have one with me as the exception.”

“You’re just special like that, Trixy,” he teased.

“Oh, yes, I am simply bursting with individuality,” you quipped back. “The first candidate who comes to mind for exclusive treatment.” Reaching the door to the lab, you tapped the four corners and knocked twice on the centre with the knuckle of your index finger. You turned back to Childe as it swung open.

“I’ll see you in the dining hall today,” you informed him.

“Finally you decide we’re worthy of your presence! What brought about the change in heart?”

“I need some jueyun chilis from the kitchen,” you reply over your shoulder as you head into the lab.

“I’ll hold you to your promise!” He called as the door slammed shut behind you.

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fluentmoviequoter · 6 months

Text

Pretty Lies

Pairing: Victor Vale x EO!fem!reader

Summary: As you die, you wish to know to truth: about what your life meant, what happens after death, everything. When you come back, you know when people are lying and when they’re telling the truth. You are a human lie detector, who Victor Vale decides to use to his advantage.

Word Count: 4.8k+ words

Warnings: descriptions of injuries and death (reader is an EO), spoilers for Vicious and Vengeful, takes place after Vengeful but ignores something that happens, EMT codes and medical terminology, OC villains, angst, canon-typical violence, fluff, Victor is Dol's biggest fan. I think that's all?

A/N: I'm desperately searching for an actor/model/anyone that matches my mental image of Victor to make gifs. As I said in the warnings, this takes place after Vengeful but doesn't reference something that Victor does/experiences because I didn't think it was necessary (and it made me sad reading it tbh). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think!🖤

Masterlist Directory | Victor Vale Masterlist | Request Info (OPEN)

Your heart rate slows to a crawl as your mind races, and questions form in your cerebrum faster than you can process any answers. Asking yourself these questions, you don’t register the sharp pain in your chest or the shortness of your breath.

Why? What was the purpose? What happens next? Did I make an impact?

The last thing you hear before the questions stop is, “Check for pulsus paradoxus; blood pressure unstable! Code 99: W, 902H… 914C, DOA.”

✯✯✯✯✯

As your hearing returns, a steady beeping causes your head to pound. Opening your eyes slowly, you realize you’re in a hospital room.

“Welcome back,” a nurse says as she walks in. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” you respond.

“I’ll call the doctor.”

She walks out, and you feel a strange flinching sensation in your right wrist.

“Hello,” the doctor says, introducing himself as he looks at your vitals. “You’re making quite the recovery.”

Another flinch.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asks.

“Umm, I was in an accident,” you answer.

“Yes, you had a fairly severe case of cardiac tamponade; blood gathered around your heart and the pressure caused some problems.”

“My heart stopped?”

The doctor nods. “We performed a thoracotomy, cleared the liquid and brought you back.”

Your wrist flinches again, and you look down, feeling the sensation but seeing no evidence you’re moving.

“There were no complications,” the doctor adds.

Your wrist feels like it contracts quickly, and before you think about it, you say, “That’s not true.”

The doctor swallows, checking your chart and avoiding eye contact as he admits, “The injury that caused the tamponade is fairly hard to correct, at least permanently.”

“You’re saying it could happen again?”

“Yes.”

Flinch. Truth.

“I would encourage you to get a service dog trained to your symptoms and get your heart checked regularly. It may come back, but considering how quickly you recovered, I consider it unlikely.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Of course. I’ll be in a few more times today, but you should be ready for discharge soon,” he says as he leaves and closes the door behind him.

“That was true,” you mutter, looking down at your wrist.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How could you possibly know that?” Sydney asks, spinning her cocoa cup as she sits across from Victor.

“Your brain, the medial temporal lobe and the medial and lateral prefrontal cortexes, makes false memories, Syd,” Victor answers, not looking up from his paper.

“But why?”

“That’s a question for a psych major. I was pre-med,” Victor deadpans.

“If the brain makes different memories, though, why do we think some of the false ones are real?”

“Trauma responses?” Victor suggests, sighing as he looks up. “I really don’t know. Deep inside your brain, you know which ones are true, unless you somehow convince yourself which ones are false.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking out of the hospital, you hear as many lies as you do truths.

“You’re going to be fine,” someone promises. Lie.

“There isn’t much we can do.” Truth.

“The bathroom is down the hall.” Lie. You look over and see a young boy laugh as another child walks in the opposite direction.

Speeding up, you decide to go somewhere you hopefully won’t hear anyone. While you walk down the street, you see a small coffee shop off by itself. You walk inside and take a deep breath at the lack of people. Only five or six customers occupy the cafe, and only two don't have their noses buried in computer screens. You order a drink and sit in the back corner, lying your head on the table as you enjoy the quiet.

When you pick your head up to take a drink, you feel a weird sense of pain, less painful than nudging, like it’s directing your attention away from something. Even stranger, the pain isn’t real. Turning toward the sensation, you notice a pale man wearing the black clothes and the blonde girl sitting across from him. They could be siblings, but that doesn’t feel true. The girl looks over at you, her eyebrows raising when she sees you looking. She taps the man with her foot, and he glances up before following her gaze, his eyes locking on yours.

“Can we help you?” he asks, his eyes narrowed as the nudging sensation strengthens slightly.

“No, sorry. I, uh, I thought you were someone else,” you apologize as you turn back to your drink.

“Remember what I said,” the man whispers, sounding much kinder than when he spoke to you.

You ignore them until they leave, but as soon as the man is out of sight of the coffee shop, the patrons begin whispering to one another, truths and lies floating through the air as new life enters the atmosphere. The distraction of pain is gone, too, and you jump out of your seat to follow the man in black.

“Hey!” you yell as you catch up.

He turns around, pushing the girl behind him as he sticks a hand under his jacket.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Was that you? The pain that kept everyone from looking at you?” you ask.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you still have the wrong guy.”

You shake your head as your wrist flinches, barely noticeable, but enough to be sure he’s lying.

“That’s not true.” The girl pokes her head out, and you look at her to ask, “Can you do something, too?”

“No,” she whispers.

“That’s another lie.”

“Look,” he begins, raising a hand toward you.

“No, no, you look. I died yesterday, but now I’m a walking lie detector. So if you can do something too you have to help me,” you ramble, dropping your shoulders as you add, “Please.”

“You know when people are lying?” he asks.

You nod, and he looks at the girl, gesturing his head toward you.

“My name’s Sydney,” she says, standing straight as she steps beside her protector.

You nod and introduce yourself, tapping your hand on your thigh rather than shaking Sydney's hand. Her protector doesn’t seem like he would appreciate the sudden movement.

“This is Frank,” Sydney says.

Shaking your head, you look over at him.

“Lie?”

“Lie.”

“My name’s Victor,” he corrects, extending his hand.

You shake it, scrunching your nose in pain, your chest tightening much like it did yesterday.

“You died very recently,” Victor says. “I can control pain, obviously.”

“What can you do?” you ask Sydney.

“Doesn’t matter,” Victor interjects, looking at Sydney as she steps behind him again. “What kind of help do you want?”

“I’d like to know why I am a human polygraph test now,” you answer with a weak chuckle.

Victor looks around and sighs. “Come with us. Syd, call Mitch and tell him we have company.”

You thank Victor quietly and walk behind him, watching people turn away from him as the same nudging that pulls you to him pushes them away.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Okay,” Victor says, looking at Mitch’s computer. “This says you were gone for nearly two minutes. You were on the brink of brain damage.”

“What caused the bleeding around your heart?” Mitch asks.

“An accident. I don’t remember many details, though,” you answer, fiddling your fingers in your lap.

“What were you thinking about when you died?” Victor asks.

“Umm, there were a lot of questions. Like what would happen after I died and what everything meant. That’s all I remember thinking.”

“Have you heard of the theory of EOs?”

“ExtraOrdinary?” you clarify. “Just what I’ve seen in the papers. The masked vigilante that got arrested? Uh, something Ever, I think.”

Victor clenches his jaw as he nods. “Yeah, he was an EO. Just like me, Sydney, and you.”

“What do you mean, me?”

“EOs are, in the most basic sense, people who died and came back with something extraordinary,” Victor explains. “Unfortunately, something is also missing when we come back.”

“You’re saying that this power, whatever, is because I died? I have to live with this forever?”

“Yes. But, I have an idea, if you’re willing to help.”

“Help how?”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where is the new EON facility?” Victor growls, wiping a knife on his sleeve as he circles the chair.

“I don’t know!” the man in the chair cries.

You lock eyes with Victor and shake your head; another lie.

“See, you do know and you’re just not willing to share. That’s not very nice,” Victor says, bending forward and placing his hands on his knees to look into the man’s eyes. “Tell me where it is and the pain goes away.”

“You’ll never find it!”

You shrug when Victor looks up at you; it’s not an answer, so it’s relatively true and false at the same time. Schrödinger’s answer.

“Do you want to meet my friend?” Victor asks, a small smile on his face. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Victor walks around the man, leaving him thrashing against the restraints. When Victor reaches you, he looks into your eyes as he speaks.

“Seeing you, knowing that you can tell what’s true and false will make him more aware of how serious this is,” Victor explains. “Are you up to this?”

You nod and follow Victor, similarly dressed in black to hide in the shadows.

“Why don’t you tell her what you told me?” Victor begins. “Where is the EON facility?”

“I don’t know,” the man repeats, staring at you.

“That’s a lie,” you state, setting your hands on Victor’s table of knives as you lean back against it. “Why don’t you tell me something true? No one ever tells the truth anymore.”

“Probably because you’re going to kill them regardless!”

“Is that what he told you?” you ask, cocking your head as you glance at Victor. “No, no, you tell us the truth and we leave. We don’t need you, we just need your information.”

“I’m taking it to the grave.”

“Now that’s true,” you say, smiling. “What about your name? What’s your name?”

“Bradley,” he mumbles.

Victor returns to your side, spinning a knife as he leans against the table beside you.

“In the mood for sharing now?” he asks.

“Not with you,” Bradley snaps.

“Oh, I see. Pretty girl is worthy of the answers, not me. I get it.” He places a hand on Bradley’s shoulder, stooping to whisper in his ear as he walks out. “I think for a moment she is in danger and you will experience pain beyond what you can imagine. Understand?”

Bradley nods as your wrist flinches. Whatever Victor said was true.

“Why are you willing to share with me, Bradley?” you ask once alone. He shrugs, and you ask, “Where is EON?”

“I don’t have an address.” Truth. “All I ever heard was that it is in a building once owned by the government. Somewhere north of town where there’s not much traffic.” Another truth.

“Do you have any idea which building it could be? Or which agency owned it?”

“No.” You tilt your head toward him, and he sighs before asking for paper and a pen. “Just this one,” he says as he writes an address.

“Thank you,” you say as you slip the paper into your pocket.

“What happens now?” Bradley asks.

“We all move on,” you say, smiling at him before walking out.

Your wrist doesn’t contract when you lie, but you and Bradley know that isn’t true.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Good work,” Victor says as he emerges from the building, wiping his hands on his coat.

“Thanks. He gave me this address, but he’s not sure if it is the correct building. All he could say for sure was that the building is somewhere north of town, no traffic around it, and that it used to be owned by the government,” you explain as you walk beside Victor.

Victor nods and takes the paper from you, reading the address before putting it in his pocket. “It’s probably the right place; there aren’t many abandoned government buildings around here. How’d you get him to talk to you?”

“People are less inclined to lie when they know they can’t get away with it,” you answer. “And I’m pretty sure he was just scared of you.”

Victor nods, keeping his eyes on something ahead of you as he shifts you to stand on his other side.

“Would you have killed him if I wasn’t there?” you ask quietly.

“No. I needed the information, I would have found another way to get it,” he answers after taking a few steps in silence.

Your wrist flinches as you round the corner, Dol greeting you at the door.

“Mitch, we got an address,” Victor says, passing the paper to Mitch. “I need the property records and a list of previous owners.”

Mitch nods and begins typing as Dol rubs his head against your thigh.

“Sydney, does he need a walk?” you ask, laying a hand on Dol’s head.

“No, I took him out this morning,” she answers.

“Can I take him anyways? He seems antsy.”

“Sure,” Sydney answers, smiling at you. “Want me to come with you?”

“No, keep doing whatever it is you do.”

She sticks her tongue out at you, laughing as you return the sentiment while clipping Dol’s leash to his collar. You wave to Victor as you open the door, waiting for him to nod before you leave. Dol leads you down the street, stopping to sniff occasionally before stopping in front of the coffee shop where you met Victor. He growls lowly as his shackles rise, and you look around but don’t see anyone or anything that would cause him to act so differently.

“Dol, what’s up, buddy?” you ask quietly, setting your hand on his back.

He barks in response before pulling you to the corner. When the hospital comes into view, his growling gets louder as he looks between you and the building. You see someone walk out of the hospital with a hood over their head; they stop walking suddenly, and the hood snaps up in your direction like they’re looking at you.

“Dol, run,” you whisper, dropping his leash as you both turn and run toward the door you left just a few minutes ago.

Dol is a few steps ahead when a hand leaps out of an alley and pulls you into the darkness.

✯✯✯✯✯

Victor rolls his eyes when he hears Dol’s incessant barking at the door.

“How many times do I have to tell you to take a key?” he asks as he opens the door, freezing when he sees Dol is alone. He leans down and picks up Dol’s leash, looking into his eyes as he asks, “Where is she?”

Dol doesn’t answer, obviously, but looks behind him, the direction he came from.

“Sydney, did she say where she was going?” Victor asks, closing the door as he pulls Dol inside.

“No, she just offered to take him for a walk. This is bad isn’t it?” she responds, grabbing Dol’s neck as he sits at her side.

“Sydney, remember the promise?”

“No one will hurt me because you’ll hurt them first. Yeah, I remember.”

“I made the same promise to her. I’m going to find her. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, tell Mitch to get you and Dol out of here.”

“We’re not leaving you!”

“And I’m not dragging you down with me,” Victor promises as he walks out the door, his black coat trailing behind him.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tell him to stop looking for EON,” the hooded figure says, its hand around your neck as you’re pushed against the brick wall in the alley.

“Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, panting as you struggle to breathe.

“You do know! Maybe you can tell when other people are lying, but you’re not a very good liar yourself, are you? How many lies have you let him tell you because you think you’re helping. He killed my brother and now I will kill him.”

You feel a flinch signifying the truth of his statement as you ask, “Why?”

“He’s not good. EON is doing good. Until EOs can be understood, they can’t be trusted. Surely you understand how important trust is.”

The pressure is taken off your neck, and you cough before saying, “Torturing people doesn’t build trust.”

“Is that what he said we do? Victor is many things, and a good liar tops the list.”

“He’s not a liar. You are.”

“Really?” A dark chuckle proceeds the demand, “Ask me to lie.”

“Why?” you ask.

“I am not going to kill you.”

Lie.

“I only want to kill Victor.”

Lie.

“What about… I only want to kill Victor first.”

Truth.

You look up but can’t see anything past the hood. “Why are you doing this?”

“EOs aren’t trustworthy until they prove it. Show where your allegiance lies and maybe I will let you live.”

“You know where my allegiance lies: with the truth, and you will kill me no matter what I do.”

“That’s not true.”

It’s not, you know that, but you trust Victor. Or at least you think you do.

“Trick him into lying and see what your detector says. I’ll give you some time to reconsider.”

You blink, and the hooded figure is gone. Rubbing your neck, you stumble out of the alley and into someone’s arms.

“What happened?” Victor demands.

“Did you kill someone?” you ask, gripping his biceps.

“No. What are you talking about?”

Truth. But you know differently. You release his arms and try to back away from him, but he drops his hands to your waist and holds you firm.

“Let go,” you demand.

“Not until you tell me what happened.”

“There’s people here, Victor.”

“They’re not paying attention to us. Talk.”

You look around and see that no one is looking at you. As usual, no one notices Victor.

“Why do you push people away?”

“To keep the people close to me safe,” he answers.

Truth.

“And why did you let me join you, help you, whatever it is you call my role here?”

“Because I thought your ability would be helpful. And I knew EON was back and wanted to help keep you safe.”

Two truths.

“Fine. Did Dol come back?”

Victor nods and releases you, watching as you walk past him. He clenches his jaw before dialing a random person’s pain up as he follows.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Victor asks, letting himself into your assigned bedroom.

You’re sitting on your bed in the dark, staring out the window as you respond, “No.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you’re lying to me.”

Victor sighs as his leg hits your bed, jostling the mattress slightly as he stands behind you.

“About what?” he asks.

You turn around to face him, looking up into the dark, barely able to make out his face, as you say, “Lie to me.”

“Tell me what happened,” he demands again.

You shake your head and lean back.

“Why is this so important? Don’t you trust me?”

“I did. And I want to. But you’re not making it easy right now.”

Victor sighs and runs his fingers through his pale hair before kneeling by your bed, looking up into your eyes as he offers, “If I lie to you will you tell me what happened?”

You nod as you lean forward, closing some of the distance between you. “But talk to me like you normally talk to me, don’t tell me something that is obviously a lie.”

“I’ve never killed anyone,” he says.

Truth.

“How do you do that?” you whisper. “I know you’re lying but my body still tells me it’s true.”

“Have I ever triggered a lie response?”

“Once. When we first met you said you didn’t know what I was talking about and that I had the wrong guy. But everything since then has been true, or so I thought.”

“My turn,” Victor says, cutting you off as he stands. “Tell me what happened in that alley.”

You take a deep breath and scoot back, allowing Victor to perch on the edge of the bed. “I was walking Dol and he stopped suddenly and started growling. His shackles raised, too. We were in front of a coffee shop, the one where you and I met.” You look down at your lap as you try to remember every detail of what happened next. “Then he led me to the corner, where you can see the hospital, and someone in a hood came out and looked toward us. I let go of Dol’s leash while we ran but I got pulled into an alley.”

“By the hooded… figure?” Victor asks.

You nod and continue, “Whoever, or whatever it was, told me to tell you to stop looking for EON. They knew your name, too, and said that I let you lie to me because I thought I was doing good.”

“What else did they say about EON?”

“That they were building trust with EOs, that until they could be understood they couldn’t be trusted.”

“Anything else? Did you see or hear anything that could tell us more?”

“They said they want to kill you.” You pick at the comforter as you add, “And me, if I don’t reconsider and show my allegiance is with them.”

Victor stands suddenly and turns the light on.

You close your eyes tightly at the sudden brightness before asking, “What are you doing?”

He places a finger under your chin, raising your face toward him as he looks at your neck. His jaw clenches before he pulls his hand away.

“What?” you repeat.

“You didn’t say they touched you.”

“Obviously they touched me, Victor, they’re bad- wait, you killed the brother,” you say, remembering what else the hooded person said about Victor. “They said, ‘He killed my brother and now I will kill him.’”

“Bradley,” you and Victor say together.

“You lied to me,” you accuse quietly.

“I thought I was protecting you.”

“How do I know you’re not still lying?”

“Because I can lie to you, I just also know how to manipulate the truth. Yes, I killed Bradley.”

Truth.

“And I killed my friend Angie, and I killed several other people.”

Truth.

“And I will kill you if I have to.”

Lie.

You look into Victor’s eyes, and he shakes his head. “I can lie to you and get away with it, but only if I think it’s protecting you. I don’t know why it works. Maybe it’s just because I care about you.”

Truth.

“We need to find Bradley’s brother,” you say, standing and following Victor down the hall. “Victor.” You grab his arm to stop him, facing each other in the dark as you whisper, “I care about you too. Thank you for telling me the truth… and for lying to me.”

Victor smiles, just a flash in the darkness, before pulling you into the living room and opening Mitch’s laptop.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You reconsidered?”

“I did… Jake. But I didn’t change my mind,” you answer, crossing your arms as Victor walks in behind you, a shadow visible for only a second as he melts into the darkness.

“I will avenge my brother,” Jake vows as he removes his hood.

“Dying at the hands of your brother-in-law must have been embarrassing,” Victor taunts from the dark. “I can’t imagine what kind of power you received to deal with something like that.”

“Come out and see,” Jake calls.

“I actually do most of the bidding,” you interject with a smile. “Easier to determine who’s worth the time when you know if they’re lying.”

“And is he lying to you?”

“He was. You were right.”

“Then why are you still helping him?”

“Because you lied too.” You stick your hands in your coat pocket as you walk toward Jake. “EON does torture EOs, and when they get tired of the EOs or deem their powers useless, they kill them. That’s not building trust, that’s genocide.”

“And your little shadow boyfriend killing everyone he can get his hands on isn’t?”

“He doesn’t kill everyone,” you argue. “But tell me, have you ever killed anyone?”

“Of course not, I’m not a monster.”

“Oh,” you sigh, clicking your tongue. “See, the bad thing about a half-truth, is it’s also a half-lie. Killing your wife accidentally is still killing your wife, Jake.”

Jake lunges toward you before Victor drops him, creating enough pain that he curls in on himself. You step over him, looking toward Victor as you continue talking.

“One more question. What did Haverty promise you before he died?”

Victor eases the pain, his eyes on Jake as he stands and turns to you.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie, Jake. We feel the same way about lies, don’t you think? Be considerate and tell me the truth or you’ll learn just how convincing Victor’s power can be.”

“Doesn’t old Victor back there have to see someone to use his power?” Jake asks, smirking at you.

“I see you talked to Eli,” Victor calls. “What Eli wasn’t around to find out is that once the initial connection is made, the power works a little differently.”

“Just tell us what we need to know, Jake, and no one else needs to get hurt.”

“Or you could just make yourself invisible because that’s how you feel, right?” Victor taunts.

Jake rushes into the shadows, and you look down at your wrist as you tap the heel of one shoe against the toe of the other. Victor emerges a moment later, dragging a nearly unconscious, half-invisible Jake back to you.

You squat beside him and whisper, “I really am sorry about Bradley, I know what it’s like to lose someone. But you were going to lose him anyway. Just tell us what Haverty promised you and who you were working with.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jake groans.

Truth. You look up at Victor with wide eyes.

“Why doesn’t it matter?” you ask.

“She’s dead. And everything I earned is gone.”

“Marcella?” Victor asks.

Jake nods, and Victor gestures for you to stand beside him.

“Run, Jake, and stay away from EON,” Victor says.

You watch as Jake disappears.

“Is this fight ever going to end?” you ask.

“Not likely,” Victor answers.

“Who killed Marcella?”

“Eli.”

“And then you killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Victor,” you say, drawing his eyes to yours. You smile and say, “No, you didn’t.”

Victor opens his mouth to argue, but you turn and walk away, calling, “Sydney is a better sharer than you.”

Victor rolls his eyes before catching up with you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’ll never figure all of them out,” Victor says, dragging a Sharpie across the first page of his parents’ newest book.

“Sydney, help me out?” you ask.

“Dol, don’t let Sydney help,” Victor adds.

“Okay, so saying you’d kill me is a lie,” you muse aloud.

“You said you’d kill her?” Mitch asks, looking up from his computer.

“She told me to lie,” Victor answers with a shrug.

“Someone else tell me something,” you request, turning away from Victor.

“Dol is ugly!” Sydney says, complying with your request.

“Don’t listen, buddy, you’re the most handsome guy here,” Victor whispers, setting the marker aside to pat Dol’s head.

“Obviously a lie, c’mon, Syd,” you chide playfully.

“Dol likes Vic just as much as he likes Sydney,” Mitch adds.

“That… you think it’s true, at least,” you determine.

“And why wouldn’t you?” Victor asks Dol. “We’re both amazing, aren’t we?”

“Try to trick me,” you demand.

Sydney says something, but your wrist flinches before she finishes, the sound of Victor’s marker drowning her out. The same as when he whispered to Bradley. You turn to face him, and he raises his eyebrows as you take his marker.

“Did you just say something?” you ask.

He shrugs and looks back to the page. You glance down and find the few words still visible:

“What did you tell Bradley when you left me alone with him?” you whisper.

“That I’d hurt him if I thought you were in danger.”

“And what did you say just now?”

“You read it.”

“Do you mean it?”

“I meant them both, and I still do. I won’t let anyone hurt you because I’ll hurt them first. I let you stay because I care about you but it grew from there.”

“Finally,” Sydney says behind you.

Your wrist flinches as Victor rolls his eyes at her.

“You love me? I love you.”

Victor smiles. Not the smile he smiles before he lies, but a genuine smile. “That’s good to hear.”

“Good indeed, now stop making us uncomfortable,” Mitch says as he sits beside Sydney.

Dol barks as Sydney argues that you and Victor are cute together.

Your wrist flinches with every comment, especially when Victor whispers, “I’ve loved you since you accused me of lying the first time we met. Even though you lied to me, too.”

#victor vale x reader #victor vale #vicious ve schwab #vicious #fem!reader

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whovianwatchingstartrek · 6 months

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A Whovian Watches Star Trek for the First Time: Part 072 - The Ship that Waited

Star Trek: Enterprise - Season 3 Episode 21 - E²

Somewhat unusually we open with some old Vulcan Woman. Apparently, another 7 million people are dead, and this Vulcan needs to find Archer. What is happening?

After the intro, we cut to T'Pol on Enterprise, and Trip is stopping by for Neuropreasure, but because of T'Pol's heightened emotional state, she's reluctant to spend time with him. Apparently she hasn't left her quarters unless she's on duty.

Really really strangely, Enterprise encounters another Starfleet NX class ship. It can't be the NX-02, because it's still under construction, and then, the name of the ship comes on Screen: It's another Enterprise.

The crew of this second enterprise, captained by a Vulcan warns them that they'll be thrown back in time if they travel forwards. A perfectly reasonable explanation for how this has all come about, even if the attempt to stop it happening transgresses the First Law of Time.

Apparently the Lorian's Enterprise has ways to modify Archer's Enterprise to reach speeds as high as Warp 6.9, which definitely gonna be helpful! Archer and T'Pol don't believe Lorian however, so they got o Phlox to check DNA and apparently Lorian is Trip and T'Pol's child, which is a bit of a huge reveal!

Lorian got a nice scene with Trip. Apparently Lorian's Enterprise's Trip died when he was young, and the scene is kinda sad. Archer also got to spend time with his great granddaughter, and even with a much older T'Pol.

Lorian is an absolutely amazing character. He's sort of a reflection of the path Archer started going down in Damage. Just like Archer there, he's filling to sabotage Archer's Enterprise in the name of his mission, and justifies it with "We have no other option". Hopefully, this serves as a wake up call for Archer.

A firefight between both enterprise ensues, and Archer's solution of Transporting Lorian's Enterprise's key components onto our own enterprise was a genius way of getting around their equal firepower.

Lorian's Enterprise's sacrifice at the end, to keep fire off of Archer's enterprise was a really touching ending, and redemption for his character. I hope this isn't the end for him, but it seems like he either went down or it's mission erased itself from history. I would make a Faction Paradox reference, but not even most Whovians would understand that.

This episode was really good. Both crews interactions with eachother were brilliant, and the premise of this episode was a very creative way of furthering Trip and T'Pol's relationship. This episode feels a lot like Eleventh Doctor episode "The Girl Who Waited", just with less tragedy to it, and that is a high compliment. This was a really good episode.

#whovian watching star trek #star trek #star trek enterprise #star trek ent #star trek: enterprise #enterprise #ent

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redpanther23 · 1 year

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FAQ

How do you write your comics?

They're satire. Dare to say no!

What are your political views?

The only state I care about is the altered state of consciousness. For any more specific questions, I refer to dear Uncle Lou Reed: "Give me an issue, I'll give you a tissue, you can wipe my ass with it."

What software do you use?

I only use hardware to create my art, unless you ascribe to the theory that all reality as we know it is a computer simulation.

What are your pronouns?

Please refer to me as whichever gender is funniest.

What religion do you practice?

I never practice, I just have natural talent.

What is Discordianism?

A philosophy (or way of liberation) from the late 60's based on Zen Buddhism and absurdist humor. It's like an irreligion for crust punks who eat acid. You can read our most sacred text here, and you should, because we'll be taking over the world soon. You can also buy a physical copy from Last Word Press. (If religion is the opiate of the masses, then you can just cook me up another hit, babe.)

What is your band name/where can I hear it?

My punk cover band is called Rong, and it's a multigenerational chaos magic and performance art project, passed down to me by my father. In the words of my uncle, guitarist Scott Panther, our lead singer "takes strange drugs and leads our village into the spirit world." You can hear our recordings on Youtube. As a Discordian magical practice, anyone is free to be Rong, and if you're interested, you can read my very brief grimoire here. My all-original band is called the Red Scare, but we have no recordings yet!

What's your advice to aspiring artists?

Sell your soul to the devil.

Where did you study?

I got let out of high school early for good behavior, and after much hard work, I was accepted into Weed University (located in Ithaca, New York) where I earned my BS in Bong Engineering. I studied under Subgenius/Discordian Pope, His Assholiness Professor Bluey Cleveland.

What makes you a doctor?

I inherited the title from my father, but I asked him, and he said he ain't never tried PhD.

What's your REAL name?

My real name is Red Moon Rising, which was given to me by my grandfather Silent Thunder of the Meskwaki tribe after my walkabout.

What's your diagnosis?

Schizoaffective Cannabis Dependency.

What's your sign?

"Out of Order"

Are you single?

I'm married.

What tribe are you from?

My dad is Choctaw and Ashkenazi, and my mom is Scottish and Muskogee (Creek). The Muskogee side of my family raised me, so I feel most comfortable saying I'm Creek, although to my knowledge, I've never met or spoken to anyone Muskogee other than my immediate relatives, who are all so abusive I choose not to be part of their lives. So if I seem out of touch, please reach out!

Witness mine paw:

From Mega Stoned: The Work Completed 418; MAGUS 6'=9' L.'. S.'. D.'. whose words are slurred; who is called Knight in the City of the Hub; Saint on the Hill of Ghosts: Doctor in the mystic order of the City of Lost Souls L.'. S.'. D.'. and in the World of cats upon the Earth, Red Panther of Jones County, Mississippi.

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erikiara80 · 6 months

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El, Virginia and Katinka

This is what I do at 1 am...

Katinka is the diminutive form of Katerina. Meaning: pure. Often used for small children.

Yuri is the russian variant of George. Like "George Smith" in the prequel. He says that there are two Katinkas: a woman and the helicopter, "a virgin".

Virginia means pure. According to legend, Virginia was a Roman girl who was killed by her father in order to save her from seduction by a corrupt government official (interesting)

I think young, pure Katinka and adult Katinka are a reference to young Virginia Creel and adult Virginia.

But there's also a big parallel between El and Katinka. Yuri removes the spark plug, so that Katinka can't fly. Brenner tells El that her powers were still there after the massacre, they just needed a spark. So, like Kali says, there is a missing piece. For the helicopter, it's the spark plug, for El it's her memories.

Mike compares her to Superman, and Brenner says that in order to defeat One she will have to fly. But she's not ready, because she still doesn't know the whole truth. In fact, she destabilezes the helicopter, while Yuri and Enzo, when they're finally on the same page ("become whole again") make Katinka fly.

Also, all the memories they show when Brenner says that El needed a spark, are terrible and sad: El crying, or killing people with the head tilt, like Henry does in S4.

What gives her her powers back and makes her even more powerful is not a spark (cruel experiments, fear and isolation) but a bright light. And it's not remembering Henry or her opening the gate. It's the memory of her mother.

A happy memory, different from what she saw in Terry's mind. They didn't let Terry say hello to Jane. Imo, one of the hints that she's not her mother. She is mama to Brenner's papa. They became her parents, yes, (all the paralles with Hopper and Joyce) but after she was swapped at the hospital. El has started to remember tho...

They tell her that thanks to Nina, which means little girl in Spanish (Joyce's last name, Maldonado, is Spanish) she will become even more powerful. But when they say that and when she lifts the water tank, they only focus on her and the doctor who looks like Will.

But if the whole point of Nina is to help El to remember how she defeated Henry, it's strange that they focus on a woman who looks like her brother, who wasn't even in those memories.

Unless the missing piece is the memory of her real family. After the van scene, we get this transition and Brenner saying that he doesn't know what El found in herself that day. Maybe they show it here what she found, for a brief moment. She found him, Will. And Joyce.

(screenshots by @chirpsythismorning )

Another hint might be the parallel between the hand El sees in her memory and Nancy touching the light particles, after she mentions Will and Joyce, and Dustin says that it's a tear in time and space.

Dustin also mentions Mothergate. He says 'This is the answer' when Karen asks the agent if he wants a glass of water. Then they talk about tears in the fabric of time and space, and there's the painting of a lake behind them (the car crash. Yeah, I love that theory ok? lol) I think Mothergate is also about the UD/Mind Flayer spreading into our world, a parallel with IT, who takes the shape of a giant spider and laid eggs in her lair, like the spiders Max sees in Vecna's mind space (other parallels with IT) But yeah, El's mother and water. A lake and a tear in time and space...

Like I said in other posts, I don't think these are coincidences. Like Karen showing up and mentioning water when they talk about Mothergate. She's the one who joked about Nancy being 'swapped at the hospital'. It's not a coincidence that she and Nancy are always in scenes that hint at what might've happened to El in the past. Including the parallels with Barb. Because it's possible that Karen is connected to Henry, so maybe these are hints about both her story and El's.

#el hopper #will byers #jane hopper #twelvegate #willel twins #henry creel #joyce byers #joyce maldonado #karen wheeler #nancy wheeler #dr brenner #st parallels #st theory #st analysis #stranger things

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moon-sang · 1 year

Text

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝔹𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣

CHAPTER 2: BLOOD BY THE RIVER ~ PART 1

SERIES MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Dark secrets are revealed about 003′s past. Not everyone has their happy ending.

WARNINGS: (for the whole series) Mild horror, Mature language, sexual references, mention of experimentation on children, wounds, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, possible smut (I’m not sure where this is heading at the moment), typical violence, descriptions of blood, fem!reader, mention of abuse, please tell me if I miss anything.

~~~~~~~~

Din stays silent for a moment. Processing the words that just came out of her mouth. She’s clearly been abused. Din thinks. Why else would she say something like that? 003 stares Din down, wordless as usual. So he attempts asking her another question. “Where is your home?”

003 looks at Din, blankly. Her eyes held no emotion. Like they were staring into a void of nothingness. After a moment longer of silence, she speaks. “Tear me to pieces. Skin and bone. Welcome home.” She whispers, her voice was almost angelic, if not for the small crack in between her words. Was that a riddle? She was talking in riddles?

The Mandalorian stands there, completely still, his head trying achingly hard to somehow decode her statement.

Tear me to pieces

Skin and bone

Welcome home

Home was somewhere she got hurt, maybe?

Was she so used to being hurt so much that she feels home isn’t the same unless someone is hurting her? It seemed far fetched, but it was the only lead Din had.

“What does that mean? Does your family hurt yo-”

“Hello! Excuse me?” a raspy voice calls from the door of his small hut.

Din sighs, and looks towards the door, then to 003, who was strangely acting skittish, eyes scanning the door in absolute horror.

“Stay here.” He tells the girl, with his pointer outstretched.

“I’ll be back.”

~~~~~~~

“Can I help you?” Din blankly states. In front of him stood a man, dressed in a white gown with a pale creased face. “Good evening, Mandalorian. I’m Doctor Miller. I come from Odari’s national lab, just above that cliff.” he exclaims, pointing to a cliff, right above the river. “Ok.” Mando says. He offers a curt nod, encouraging the doctor to get to the point. The green-eyed doctor continues with a small smile. “A girl...with a severe mental disorder, has run away from our care, at the hospital, in the lab. Our camera’s last saw her jumping off of the cliff, and we presume she would have landed somewhere in this river.” Doctor Miller explains, eyes creasing to zone in on the Mandalorian’s visor. “You haven’t seen her, have ya?”

Severe mental disorder?

Hospital?

That would explain why 003 was using riddles to communicate with him before. He knew there wars something wrong

Maybe....giving her in, would help her, after all, if it really was a hospital, they would be trying to heal her in some way.

Din huffs out.

“Actually, doc, I have seen he-”

The door slams shut.

Din stumbles back from the impact, pure shock filling his system. The wind couldn’t have been that strong. His eyebrows crease under his helmet, in utter confusion. With a quirk of his eyebrow, Din cautiously reaches for the wooden door knob again, but when he tries to pull it open, it doesn’t budge. He tries pulling harder this time. The door only offers ear-piercing creaks as it is pulled back with such brutality. “What the kriff?!” Din curses, slamming a fist on the weakened door.

“Mandalorian?” The doctor questions once again, from the outside.

“Just give me a second.” Din shouts back.

“This place better have some tools to get the door open.” Din mutters under his breath as he turns to ravage the ramshackle house. He almost bumps into 003 as he strides away... why was she standing up, right behind him?

Somethings weird.

Her eyes are trained on something, and a trail of fresh blood runs down her ears. Her mouth is creased into a thin line, deep in concentration. Her breaths are oddly laboured and sound sort of pained.

Curiously, Din follows her gaze to... the door, the door.. that slammed on him moments before.

No...

She didn’t?

Close the door?

Did she?

Din shakes 003 out of her trance, and her eyes meet his almost instantly. He can almost feel her hold on the door break.

Experimentally, Din reaches for the knob again, visor never leaving her panicked face. He made sure to watch her every move, every twitch of her fingers, every small shake of her head, the glimmer of fear in her eye...it was oddly familiar. It reminded him of the same look his bounties would give him when they knew they were caught. When fear finally took a grip on their soul’s and they resorted to a begging blubbering mess.

With a small sigh...

He opens the door.

But just as quickly as it opened, it closed again, and a new line of blood, falls from the girls nose.

“No” The girl says in a breathy whisper.

But her mouth doesn’t move. No, it’s almost like she was talking in his head? And he’s almost convinced that he made her voice up in his head when-

he hears her again.

“Bad man.” She adds.

But her mouth is still closed. Her plump lips pulled into a small pout.

“How are you-?” Din starts, talking more to himself than the girl.

“Excuse me, mr Mandalorian?!” Doctor Miller shouts from the door once again. “Dank Farrick!” He whisper shouts.

Please don’t give me to him

And she did it again. Telepathically communicated to him.

It only took one look into her teary pleading eyes, for Din to make up his mind.

For now, she would be safer with him, than anyone else.

“I won’t” He assures her, before taking a step outside, and shutting the door halfway behind him.

~~~~~~~

“I did see her, but I didn’t pull her out of the river. I thought she was dead.” Din lies explains to the doctor. Doctor Miller nods, eyebrows creased in understanding. “I completely understand, seeing someone just floating in the river, I can see how you thought she was dead.” He chuckles. Din nods, nervously chuckling with him. “Can I just ask one question then?” He asks, voice going up in pitch slightly. The Mandalorian says nothing, widening his stance slightly. “If you didn’t pull her out of the river, then....Who’s that?” He asks, pointing towards him- no, behind him.

Din’s helmet slowly turns back.

Please don’t be behind him

Please don’t-

She was there.

The doctor smiled cockily, twinkling his fingers at the girl in an attempt to wave at her. “Hello, 003. Ready to come home yet?” She creases her brows in anger and shakes her head two times.

Din couldn’t risk bounty hunters coming after him for a girl.

He tried protecting her

She went outside

She made the choice to reveal herself

If he kept her now...bounty hunters would find his location.

He didn’t need that stress.

“Take her.”

~~~

003′s head snapped in the Mandalorian’s direction.

Her eyes instantly filled with betrayal, regret, and unspent anger.

Raging emotions bubbled to her surface. It was obvious to Din, she had limited practice at controlling her emotions, they were written all over her face.

A familiar guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he watched the doctor harshly grab 003 by the arms, and drag her back. “I shall see you soon, Mandalorian.” Shouts the Doctor as he disappears through the mist with 003, screaming and thrashing in his hold.

~~~~~~~

2 Days Later

He came to Odari to hide

He came to Odari to let the child stretch his legs

He came to Odari in the hopes to be safe for a while

He came to Odari to shake off the bounty hunters, not attract more

which is why he couldn’t understand-

Why he was on his way to the lab.

~~~~~~~ Taglist Open

#din djarin x reader #The girl by the river #the girl by the river chapter 2 #mando x reader #Din x reader #The Mandalorian series #The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian x reader #Mando x you #Din Djarin x you #Din x you #The Mandalorian angst #mando angst

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lycanlovingvampyre · 1 year

Text

MAG 128 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: putting up a new fence.

BASIRA: "Jon. Don’t turn on the light. Go get Melanie, quickly." Get Melanie? For what? She’s not Buffy the Vampire Slayer anymore.

BREEKON: "That’s right. Just wanted to – to drop off a package." That pause after “Just wanted to”. He's so unsure of what he's doing...

JON: (with compulsion) "Why are you here?" BREEKON: "Dunno." (pause) "‘S not right, on my own. Not right. No point in doing it on my own." Breekon & Hope... Still a better love story than Twilight... (I like how TMA makes us feel for people and monsters who did terrible things. But in the end I guess we're all just human?)

BREEKON: "Make me." [AND ALL AT ONCE THERE’S A STRANGE SOUND, MUSICAL YET HOLLOW, AND IT SEEMS TO BE BUILDING TO –] JON: "Stop." Seriously this "strange sound, musical yet hollow" and then Jon putting a stop to it is actually really badass. How's that for recording enemies into submission!

BREEKON: "What are you – stop it. Stop it!" [WHEN THE ARCHIVIST SPEAKS, IT HAS AN ECHO TO IT, REMINISCENT OF THE HOLLOWNESS FROM EARLIER:] JON: "No." Yes Jon, show 'em you're not everyone’s punching bag anymore!

I btw also always thought Breekon just couldn't stand the gaze of Jon anymore and fled the Archives, perhaps tossing over a table or a chair in his way and slamming some doors (Does this count as door motif? Oh, when we're on the subject of slamming doors! There is a video of Sam Sam the music man breaking down the TMA main theme and he said those smashing sounds at the end of the theme are supposed to be slamming a door! Just because it's such a stereotypical thing for the horror genre - see MAG 85 Upon the Stair "And please don't slam the door". Such a fitting coincidence! But I already said in one of those Relisten posts, coincidences like this happened a lot more often than people probably think, it's a blessing for artists!) Ok, lost the thread a bit there. I think the image of the telekinesis comes from the fact, that we don't really hear any footsteps? (And I think, people wanted to give Jon a bit more badassary probably? He's demonstrating it so well already in this scene, why not go a bit further xD I generally like it, but I think it doesn't really fit into canon, he'd be too op.) Thing about footsteps in TMA is it's a bit inconsistent until S5? This has bothered me in a few instances before, like the end of MAG 21, when Martin storms into Jon's office. We only hear the door and the squelching of the worms. No out of breath sound aaand no footsteps. There was another one when I thought it's really missing footsteps, god I can't remember what it was... What I'm saying is, I wouldn't really get hung up on (the lack of) footsteps here.

"We started in a plague." / "It wasn’t the plague they feared; it wasn’t the death that waited in our wagon. It was us. Two strangers rolling towards them, unstoppable and uncertain, wearing faces they would only half-remember, bringing a fate they would beg their god to forget." Hm, wearing faces they would only half-remember... Strangers at the time of the plague I’d think more of those masks plague doctors wore - being literally unable to see their faces.

"Poor wretches who emerged from Millbank, with tales of Australia and its cruelties on their lips, bundled into the cramped and creaking ship that would drag them away from everything they loved. And towards everything they feared. That was the first time we saw what would become this place: The Eye’s Pedestal." Hold on, wait! Is that another reference that Millbank Prison was a place of power for the Eye? The Robert Small was a convict ship and (Western) Australia was a penal colony of the British Empire..

"We were conductors on a train, prim suits and scowls, a relentless beast of iron and steam that never seemed to get you exactly where you wanted to be unless there was something dreadful waiting for you. We punched tickets, ignored questions, and threw off those who looked like they were having too fine a time of it." Lol, is that a dig at public transports? xD

"We carried and lifted and helped the circus move towards its next destination, the next doomed town." Makes me think that they probably would have made superb roadies!

"Sometimes we joined the show, lifting weights and things that looked like animals. Sometimes we lifted members of the audience. Sometimes we even put them down again." First of all, lol, that last sentence. Second, throwback to MAG 24 - the two strong-men!

"And so we took the casket, a hungry thing of the earth, a crushing, choking tomb that will not let you die because it is too much what it is for death to find you there" “Too much what it is for death to find you there”... Saying the End has no grasp within the coffin. And not just the End because Daisy also lost her connection to the Hunt in the coffin. Eye + Web being the only ones with a chance to make it out.

"It was one like us that found it, a thing of shifting names and deja-vu. A fool, that believed because it found the coffin in chains, it would be an easy thing to control, to bargain with." Confirmation that MAG 2's "John" was a capital-S Stranger.

"She took him from me, made us a me." Still a better love story than Twilight!!!

"And she doesn’t get to die for that. She gets to live, trapped and helpless, and entombed forever." There are fates worse than death-trope.

"I have never known hate before. I have never known loss. But now they are with me always, and I desire nothing but to share them with you." Still a better-

JON: (voice shaky) "Statement.. ends." [HE COLLAPSES.] Since Melanie makes fun of Jon in MAG 189 about him collapsing again I have the headcanon that Melanie came across collapsed Jon, was like "Alright then" and just left again. (Maybe she went to tell Basira.)

BASIRA: (inhale, set) "Right. Keep it safe; I’ll be gone a few days. I have some leads I need to follow up." Oh, that (whatever that was exactly) was what Elias was proposing to Basira at the end of the previous episode, not his actual plans about the coffin. Alright, gotcha, I'm on track again!

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 128 #tma #tma spoilers

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hexusproductions · 2 months

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♥ (02) ♥ (03) ♥ (05) ♥ (06) ♥ (07) ♥ (09) ♥ (10) ♥ (12) ♥ (14) ♥ (18) ♥ (20) ♥ (23) ♥ (24) ♥ (25) ♥ (28)

gonna need these all for Flatline if that slides, i am doing research <3

Hello and welcome to Flatline & Love 101, I will be your lecturer for the evening. Please take a seat.

Does another OC love your OC? If so, whom, and does your OC know?

It really depends on who I’ve decided to ship him with at the time. In terms of other OCs, I have a few ships with some friends’ OCs, but strangely nothing involving another OC of my own with Flatline. But if there were some poor random Vehicon with a crush on the mad doctor, Flatline would have no idea. It’s never his first thought that someone might actually have a thing for him, because his reputation is not particularly flattering.

Are there any romantic gestures that your OC loves?

Bringing him energon to make sure he refuels (eats) properly. He often forgets to take breaks while he’s working, and bringing him some fuel is not only a caring gesture, but it’s relatively unobtrusive as well. Also, please take an interest in his work, he’s itching to excitedly explain what he’s been doing and it’d make him so happy.

What is the most romantic thing your OC has done for someone else?

From Flatline’s perspective, staying close to his beloved during a fight and making sure their injuries are dealt with quickly and efficiently is very romantic. As is getting retribution on whoever caused those injuries in the first place. Referring specifically to ShockLine, that time Flatline left Shockers an extra cube of energon and made sure he was taking breaks (Flatline’s a hypocrite, as we know).

What is the most romantic thing that has been done for your OC?

Being gifted a test subject when he was having trouble with a specific mixture felt super romantic to him. But also, whenever he’s firmly reassured by his partner that they refuse to recoil or run away from him in fear (even despite his best efforts), that means soooo much more to him than even he can properly process.

How successful is your OC at flirting with others?

When he tries (assuming the person he’s flirting with isn’t an especially stoic individual), Flatline’s pretty alright at it. It’s fairly rare for him to flirt with somebody though, especially initiating it, unless he’s particularly head-over-heels.

What is your OC’s favorite small way to show their love?

Praise. Lots and lots of praise.

What is your OC’s favorite big way to show their love?

Going out of his way to ensure that someone else is protected and safe. Flatline has made a careful circle of self-preservation for himself, and by expanding that circle to include somebody else, it shows he truly cares about them.

What do you love most about your OC?

Everything. He has rewritten my brain chemistry. Mad scientists/mad doctors are my favourite character archetype, he’s hot, and I get to enjoy putting my own robot guy amongst the other fun robots.

Does your OC have any romantic traditions?

Nothing specifically romantic, but Flatline does have a habit of coming up with a gift for someone he’s recently taken a liking to (whether that ‘liking to’ is attraction or plain admiration). Usually, this gift is something he’s cooked up in the lab to suit the recipient’s needs, because Flatline prides himself on his scientific skills.

Does your OC have a “type”?

Big weird guys!! Give it up for big weird guys!!! If they spark his curiosity (pun intended), have a noticeable amount of strength, and especially if they have some intelligence to go with it, you can bet that Flatline will have a thing for them.

How does your OC feel about public displays of affection?

Small displays are okay, he tends to act lovey dovey around his partner/s and some physical affection comes with that. Bigger displays of affection though, he would rather reserve for private moments.

What is your OC’s favorite nice thing to do for themselves?

Flatline’s favourite thing to do for himself is to curl up with a cube of hard grade and a nice book or something equally relaxing. He likes the peace and quiet - not to mention the privacy - of doing this little routine of his every so often.

How does your OC determine that they’re attracted to someone?

That rush where his spark pulses so fast it might burst and the air rushes from his ventilation systems. He keeps being drawn to them, and he’s utterly fascinated with who they are and what makes them who they are. He wants to know them inside and out.

Does your OC believe in soulmates?

Flatline believes that soulmates are made, not assigned. You find the person you love, and you forge that connection, with your bare hands if you have to.

What is something unconventional that your OC thinks is romantic?

Destroying each other’s enemies and serving their heads on a silver platter. A gift-wrapped case of military-grade corrosive acids. Flatline is a Decepticon scientist, so as you might expect his tastes are generally a little unconventional.

#Flatline (OC)#thank you for asking!#I LOVED ANSWERING THESE TY FOR LETTING ME TALK ABOUT MY GUY #I hope they're helpful to whatever research you're doing :)#long post #tagging just in case

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toulousewayne · 2 years

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Batman: The Dark Knight Series🦇🌃✨

Season 2: There’s a time jump of a year and six months between Season 1 and season 2.

——\\\\\\\——————////////—————

This is a concept for a live-action Batman Tv Series that could be adapted on something like HBO MAX or a another network or streaming.

Synopsis: Gotham City has been at the mercy of criminal networks and underground operations that have plagued it for years. Batman had fought hard to protect Gotham. Has the Dark Knight enters his third year he learns just how much more help he’ll need to accomplish his crusade on the city.

——-

This is my pitch for Season/Part 2. The cast is the same as part one I will just be adding the new characters. So please refer back to part one of the Batfamily and the villains of season 1.

*****

Cast & Characters Season/ Part Two:

Hugo Strange……Giancarlo Esposito

Dr. Harleen Quinzel…….Emma Roberts

Harvey Dent……Oscar Isaac

Jervis Tetch/ The Mad Hatter……Eddie Redmayne

------

Seeing if this was on streaming TV series the episode count would be anywhere from 8-13. For the second season will go with 11. Each episode is about 59 minutes, and I’ll also give a little summary for each episode.

Episode List:

1. I’m Late! I’m Late!:

- Gordon informs Batman & Robin about a string of recent murders going on around Gotham. All the victims were found with pages of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland at the crime scenes.

- Harvey Dent the hotshot D.A. has made it his mission to get rid of Batman. But he’s plans don’t go they way he expects when the Mayor and Gordon warn him that Batman is the only hope the city has.

- Barbara has begun taking a liking to the new Boy Wonder in the city.

2. Alice, the Alice?:

- The Mad Hatter kidnaps Barbara Gordon from the library and threats to make her his next ‘Alice’. Which would be a very deadly thing for her.

- Robin is starting to settle into the role of sidekick well,but he does not feel like he is good enough to live in the Manor or even be Bruce’s adopted son. A wise butler explains to him why he’s just perfect for the part.

3. Dr. Strange Will See you Now:

- Batman has noticed more and more patients at Arkham are becoming more erratic and violent until they turn up dead later on. He and Robin begin to look into the hospital for the criminally insane.

- Dr. Quiznel begins to feel defeated about her progress with the Joker. She beings to look into the Joker’s personal life and look into his ‘family’.

4. Doctor’s Orders:

- Bruce’s world comes crashing down when Hugo Strange makes it known that he know’s Batman identity and will reveal it unless Batman does as he’s told and stop investigating the Asylum.

- Barbara has overcome her nightmare with the Mad Hatter and has begun channeling her angry, and tapping back into her gymnastics and she begins marital arts and self-defense classes, thanks to Jim.

5. Trial of the Batmen:

- Harvey has disregarded what the other officials in the city think and has publicly announced that he wants the Batman in custody.

- Hugo Strange has blackmailed Batman to track down a serial killer known as Pyg and bring him to Arkham without outside help.

6. One Bad Day:

- Dr. Quinzel informs Dr. Strange that she needs a few days away from the city, to track down a lead about the old mob Joker worked for before his trip to into acid.

- With the Mayor being murdered; Strange has orchestrated it look like the Batman is the murder,this in turns it gives Harvey the ammon he needs to prove the Batman isn’t a Guardian Angel.

7. Mad World:

-Barbara and Dick go to the school dance and it’s crashed by the Mad Hatter.

-Gordon has been working none stop to prove Batman’s innocence,but Harvey has made a mess of it and on top of it all has decided to run for the Mayoral Election.

- Bruce has one last test from Hugo Strange and it will test Batman’s one rule.

8. Phone A Friend:

- Selina returns to Gotham and she along side Robin infiltrate the Asylum to collect some much needed information.

- Barbara steals some of Batman’s old gadgets from GCPD evidence lockup.

- Halloween is in a few days and Strange is setting the stage for his final confrontation with the Dark Knight.

9. You Scratch My Back,I’ll Scratch yours:

- Catwoman gives Batman the proof Strange has on him in exchange for something she wants.

-Barbara puts her skills to the test when a group of thugs break into the Policemen’s Ball.

-Dr. Quinzel confronts the Joker only to see just how much the Joker hates not being the one in control.

10. All Hallows’ Eve Pt 1:

- Batman,Robin,and Catwoman are trapped on Arkham Island when Strange releases the inmates. And with all outside communication being severed.

- Joker uses this breakout to his advantage and tests the good Dr. Quinzel.

11. All Hallows’ Eve Pt 2:

- Barbara dawns the alias of Batgirl, and assist the police with Harvey’s rampage on the City Hall. Which is not without a ugly side affect.

- Batman,Robin, and Catwoman fight to escape Arkham and take down Hugo Strange.

————-

Side Notes/End Credits:

-Dr. Quinzel would see the Joker a someone who has used their environment to become something horrible during the Arkham riot. This will be a key part into her downward spiral into Harley Quinn.

- The Mad Hatter kidnapping Babs is from the comics and in the series will be a catalyst into her transformation into Batgirl. She doesn’t want to feel helpless or ever be underestimated again.

- The Joker will return to his cell after the riot. Their will be no interaction with Batman for him in the finale.

-Batgirl’s costume is homemade by herself.

-Harvey’s other personality is beginning to show.And his fall grace is only the first seed into his transition into Two-Face.

- The End credit scene will have Dr. Pamela Isley creating a pheromone power in her lab at GothCrop Laboratories and using it on her sleazy Supervisor, and she makes him off himself and this beings her arch for season 3.

#batfam #dc comics #batman #batfamily #dick grayson #batgirl #barbara gordon #gotham knights #hbo max #live action #batman tv series #dc universe

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metalhead-brainrot · 4 months

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[Album of the day] Phantom Spell - Immortal's Requiem

Murcia, Spain // 2022 // Wizard Tower Records / Wizard Tower Recordings

[Genres] classic prog rock

[Themes] immortal wizards have problems too

[FFO] Seven Sisters, Iron Maiden, prog rock/proto metal, chiptune, classic fantasy à la David Eddings.

[Thoughts]

You may have heard of Seven Sisters, a UK-based heavy metal band from that NWOTHM revival in the late 2010s;* Kevin McNeill is the frontman, guitarist, vocalist, and occasional producer. During the depths of COVID, the band (like many) was unable to record, and Kevin McNeill started this personal project, Phantom Spell.

Immortal's Requiem is simply infectious. As prog rock goes, it's not quite interested in playing the technical game, like Rush or Emerson, Lake, and Palmer,** opting instead for a more relaxed approach to progressive (McNeill lists more of his inspirations below).

Contemporary prog rock is a strange and altogether different discussion from its founders. Prog rock founders in the 70s existed in an artistic space predating metal, often cited as the inspirations for bands in the First Wave of heavy metal.*** 70s prog rock was the heaviest music of its time, the most recent innovation from the rock scene. But contemporary prog rock (and hard rock) exists in a world where metal already exists; choosing to make contemporary prog rock isn't part of the innovation game, it's revisiting an older style. And while I spend a lot of time keeping up with the innovations and trends, I think it says more about the artist in particular when they time-travel to a particular era of the past.

Phantom Spell labors over the floor with chalk in hand, taking its time to craft the perfect summoning circle to facilitate your time-travel to an era of the past. The songs are filled with sorcerous inspiration; the dramatic fantasy sung in McNeill's powerful vocals remind me of listening to Seventh Son of a Seventh Son for the first time. "Black Spire Curse" is an instrumental chiptune track (i.e. chiptune methods to prog rock ends) that serves as an ode to another musical trend from the era, shaking hands with the fantasy-focused videogames of yesteryear.

I've pretty mush said enough at this point, but I would like to highlight that when you purchase Immortal's Requiem on Bandcamp, you get access to two hidden tracks: a cover of "Moonchild" by Rory Gallagher (i.e. the greatest guitarist you've never heard of) and an alternate release of Phantom Spell's first track, "Keep On Running" (I prefer the alternate, both are good).

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* If you haven't, go listen. The instrumentation is all solid, the music inspiring, and the album artwork great.

The band name is most likely a reference to the Pleiades, seven stars that, in ancient Greek mythos, were the (cough) companions of Artemis. The Seven Sisters are also referenced as the seventh song on The Sword's 2012 album, Apocryphon.

I somehow missed the Seven Sisters on my big heavy metal kick through the late 2010s, but I'm glad I eventually found my lighted by their stars. It can be difficult to reliably encounter heavy metal of quality; heavy metal junkies seem equally enthused by every heavy metal band, an attitude that does not adequately reflect the variance in musical talent in the genre. I won't punch down on the acts that I think are overrated here (unless you ask, and then I'll share my opinions free of charge), but I'll make an effort to promote acts that should survive the NWOTHM trend.

** Which is where I typically lean within the realms of prog rock, my synaptic pathways having been thoroughly rotted out by technical death metal.

*** To this day, Iron Maiden opens all of their concerts with their cover of UFO's "Doctor Doctor." Phenomenon (1974) has been one of my favorite albums since I was a teen, a statement that is also true for my father. For me, it was the beginning of my exploration into heavy metal; for him, it was the end.

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[From the band/label] Wizard Tower Records / Wizard Tower Recordings

Phantom Spell is the brainchild of Kyle McNeill. Frontman for London based classic metal stalwarts, Seven Sisters. Having established his command of songcraft over several albums with the UK's twin-guitar renegades, McNeill has decided to add a second string to his bow. Delving heart-first into a musical love letter to his favourite prog rock artists of yesteryear. As McNeill elaborates: "Musically, this is an area I've wanted to explore for a very long time. The classic prog records have truly captured my imagination and continue to inspire me. I hope that in some odd way, this can be seen as me trying to repay the favour to those bands for enriching my life – a tribute to the dorkiness and grandeur of prog rock!". A tribute, it may be. However, this is more than a mere copycat experiment. Those who have followed McNeill's work over the years have come to expect a certain level originality and attention to detail. This new project promises to follow in that same tradition. After releasing the single, "Keep On Running", in July 2021 to much praise, the stage is set for Phantom Spell's debut album. Through "Immortal's Requiem", Phantom Spell presents a spellbinding sonic journey. A journey in which fractured thoughts of a deteriorating clairvoyant are given form as cascading guitar harmonies and weaving mellotronic passages. Songs like "Dawn of Mind" and "Seven Sided Mirror" effortlessly navigate shifting sonic textures with purpose and unabashed curiosity. Akin to the theatrical majesty of those dear Kansas and Yes gatefolds tucked away in record collections worldwide. You would be forgiven for thinking this facade of shimmering synthesizers is a means of escapism from what we face in the real world. However, amidst the grandeur is a stark vulnerability on display. The driving electrified rhythms of "Up The Tower" clear the heady smog of spell-craft and make way for a direct message. After all, Phantom Spell was born in isolation. A child of the plague years and a necessary catharsis. As the project creator, Kyle McNeill, explains: "At the core of these songs are insecurities and emotions we'll all encounter in our time. Even if you're an immortal wizard". This sincerity makes for a compelling juxtaposition against the baroque instrumental passages and fleeting guitar work. The album's only instrumental track, "Black Spire Curse" showcases McNeill's aforementioned guitar work perfectly. Navigating complex melodies and Hackett-like dreamscape soloing with equal dexterity. Culminating in a grand cacophony of marching rhythms and hedonistic simplicity before gently easing in to the lull of an acoustic/hammond organ combination. Foreshadowing the awakening that is the slumbering beast, "Blood Becomes Sand". The dynamic peaks and troughs that give the album such life are on full display here. A quality that brings the listener back time and time again. With "Immortal's Requiem", Phantom Spell present a complete work. Rounded and satisfying enough within itself while presenting avenues of exploration for a later date. A fitting opening chapter to a new story!

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pattywagon2go · 6 months

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Train Talk Tuesday

Train Talk Tuesday: Happy Halloween everyone, I hope your Halloween has been quite well for you all. Originally I wasn't going to do a Halloween Special, but I thought about it, and I decided "Yeah y'know what, why not". But I wanted to do something a bit unique, so instead of something like a "Ghost train" or haunted stations, this week will be talking about a time when railways drove people to the brink of insanity in England.

Now, hold on, you may be thinking "You're crazy. How could that even be possible?"

Well, that's kinda the problem: I can't say for certain.

Unfortunately, when you're dealing with events that don't have a lot of historical documentation on them, it's going to be hard to actually prove anything happened to begin with. In the case of Victorian Railway Madness, as it's commonly referred to, a lot of the evidence came from tabloids and word of mouth, so a lot of the details were most definitely lost in the process due to this/fudged to make it sound more outrageous than it actually was. Regardless, I still want to talk about a little bit of it, as I think it would make for a cool post nontheless.

To set the stage, the time was England in the 1800s. Specifically, the Victorian era of England. By this point, the steam locomotive had matured enough to where operating one wasn't like operating a massive bomb on wheels, and so rail transportation became the dominant way of getting from Point A to Point B. But amidst all of this progress, something very strange was happening.

Reports began coming in regarding ordinary men who would for some inexplicable reason go crazy while in a train car. This would range from trying to climb out through the window of the carriage to even trying to harm other passengers. To compound this, Victorian Era railway coaches were very much derived from stagecoaches, where the coach has individual compartments with no connecting corridor through it, unlike what you see on modern intercity trains. So once you were in the carriage, there was no getting out whatsoever.

On the subject of growing violent, there wasn't a shortage of stories regarding those. You had stuff ranging from a guy who climbed across the narrow ledge on the side of the carriage to get to another part of the carriage to even a guy who pulled a gun and tried breaking the windows on the car to reach other passengers. It was so bad that The London Times even had a letter sent in by an American who said that they would never want to travel on English rails unless they were armed with a gun for self-defense against a lunatic.

Easily the most perplexing part of this entire phenomenon is how in most cases, when the train came to a stop, the people who were undergoing the madness regained their composure and acted like normal Victorian Era citizens. It was only while the train was in motion that they became affected by the madness.

So what the hell happened?

Well again, I can't say for certain, as there's a very limited amount of knowledge on this topic, but nonetheless there's been no shortage of theories.

The most general accepted theory, proposed by various newspapers and doctors at the time, was that the speed and motion of the railways that caused the madness. The sounds of a steam locomotive puffing, the rocking and rolling of the carriage, and the speed at which the train moved could have been effectively a case of sensory overload for some, and it caused them to act irrational.

Another theory states that this wasn't the fault of the railways, but rather some were just having a hard time accepting how much things were changing. The Victorian Era was in the midst of the Industrial Revolution, and England was very much rapidly industrializing during this time. The changes brought by industrialization could have been hard for some to mentally process, and moving on a train could have been a tipping point for them. Experiences from former explorers also backed this theory as they said that events like these were unheard of in less industrialized areas.

Overall, I think the Victorian Railway Madness is a neat little insight into some of the weird effects railways had on society. Over time, cases like these eventually disappeared, and it remains as little more than a small event in the long timeline of railways in England, let alone railways in general. Railways were a major step forward in bringing together nations, and they allowed for ways of travel unheard of for their time, but it's interesting to see some...interesting...side effects it had.

Happy Halloween everyone!

#train talk tuesday #happy halloween

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themand0lorian · 2 years

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BEHIND THE MASK // 4 // THE NEW NORMAL

Summary: You deepen your relationship with Dieter Bravo.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: Teen

Words: ~4000 (AO3)

Tags: enemies to lovers, miscommunications, lots of Pandemic talk, lots of mention of illness/vomit/pills/doctors, the scene in the trailer where he’s on the toilet (jfc this tag), the real Dieter Bravo™️, Stardew Valley, a specific reference to a Netflix movie in which a dog dies (nondescript)

no movie spoilers (unless unintentional)

Notes: Wanted to finish this story before the movie, but it doesn’t look like that’ll happen :( I have two more parts planned!

You end up being correct, at least in one aspect.

Right as you get on the mend, temperature approaching normal levels and stomach keeping down solid foods, Dieter comes down with the same flu you had.

You suppose it was inevitable; since the night in the bathroom, he hasn’t been short with his physical affection. He was always laying his hands on yours, pulling you to him on the couch until your head rested on his shoulder and your knees touched chastely.

You’re pretty sure you hallucinated his lips on your forehead, since nothing like that ever seemed close to happening again.

Luckily for you, he had been popping Vitamin C and zinc pills like candy since you were diagnosed, so he wasn’t as severely ill as you were; still mostly capable, not bad enough to warrant his own prescriptions. But Dieter Bravo was a petulant patient.

He was needy, but not in a bad way; not needy like when he wants his pants ironed or his coffee brewed just right. More like needy for human interaction, for an escape from the mental prison he had built up. Needy for something, you think, he doesn’t know.

Still, he had doted on you when you were ill, and so you doted right back on him. His tea and coffee were made perfectly, even when he groused at being awoken; you pulled new sets of pajamas and forced him into a shower—alone, much to his chagrin—when he needed a pick-me-up. Netflix was always queued up to the movies section, some classic or another droning in the background, though you didn’t think he was really paying attention.

When he emerges out of the shower this time, wearing a Cliff Beasts promo shirt with his face over it (which you had chosen for him purely for comedy, finding it stuffed behind some other, nicer items), he sniffs loudly at the air, still congested.

“Are you cooking?” You startle from the kitchenette, your back to the bedroom.

“Oh—yeah. I had Pete bring by some ingredients for my Mom’s famous chicken noodle soup. Thought it’d help get rid of the last of the flu.” He shuffles over, bending down for another whiff and letting the steam clear his sinuses. “Ew, don’t get snot in it—”

“Alright, alright,” he acquiesces. “It smells great—I hate to mess with perfection, but, maybe, could you hold the noodles?” You roll your eyes. Typical Hollywood.

“Dee, you could really use the calories to help you get better—”

“What? No! Not—no,” he sputters, then scoffs. “Not because of that. I—I’m allergic to gluten.” You drop the spoon, narrowing your eyes at him, and when he gives a sheepish grin, you decide to believe him.

“Ok. Get in bed. I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.” He nods, excitedly shuffling back to the bedroom as you continue the recipe, setting aside the noodles. You suppose it made sense; he didn’t eat Pete’s cookies because he physically couldn’t, not because he’s an ass. None of the candy or food in the room was ever gluten-based. You had even spotted the half-eaten bag of chocolate chips, specified “gluten free” on the package, in the cupboard.

When the soup is done, you bowl it up, moving to walk slowly with the full bowl into Dieter’s room. It still feels strange to call him Diego; part of the fever dream you’re still not quite sure is real. But you were getting used to Dieter.

Speaking of, you found the man tucked into the fluffy white sheets, an awful movie about killer beavers playing on the large tv, though his eyes immediately shift to you with a big smile when you enter.

“Here we go, chicken-no-noodle soup for you,” you offer him the bowl, and he takes it greedily.

“And some chicken noodle for me at the table.” You set your bowl on the little table you’ve setup just outside the room, but he whines moodily when you move to walk to it.

“Come to bed.” “What?” You look at him in confusion.

“Come watch Zombeavers. It’s very bad.” You cock your brow. “You would like it.” “Are you in it?” With that he chokes out a laugh, which turns into a pitiful coughing fit.

“No. C’mon. I’ll restart it.” You think on it a moment. You think about your original list of rules; no getting involved. You think of Hailey’s comments; Dieter Bravo never has the same woman in his bed twice. But then you think of his care when you were sick, his puppy-dog eyes and sickly-sweet smile, and you acquiesce, bringing your soup bowl into bed, too.

Dieter practically cheers, excitedly restarting Zombeavers as you settle. The sheets are mussed, no housekeeping in while you’re quarantined, but it feels comfortable and homey as you both begin eating, and Dieter explains the intricacies involved in the filming of this movie bomb.

By the time the movie’s halfway done, you’ve both settled low in the bed, watching as the idiots on screen essentially set up their dog to get eaten by a beaver.

You turn away before the carnage can show, upset; watching the humans be killed by zombie beavers was one thing, but the poor dog? As you turn, you curl closer into Dieter’s shoulder, broad and warm and perfectly fit to your hiding. When did you get this close? When did his arm snake around you? He holds you there as you mumble into him.

“Tell me when it’s over.” “Okay,” he murmurs. When a bark sounds, you burrow closer into him, and he holds you, seemingly ready to distract instead.

“You know, I never thanked you for your help with the necklace—I chose a simpler one, just a bar with stones in it, but my sister loved it.”

“Your sister?” You mumble into his shirt. “Yeah, Lina? I had her boys’ birthstones put in it, she loved it--”

“Lina’s your sister?” You bounce up as you speak, though you ignore the tv, and he looks to you in confusion. “Why does she have a couple emoji in your phone?”

“It’s not a couple! It’s a brother and sister!” “It’s a couple,” you mutter. “I’m pretty sure they’re holding hands.” His eyes widen, and he pulls his phone from the nightstand, presumably pulling up the emoji and holding it close to his face to inspect as you settle back on his chest.

“Oh, god,” he groans, realizing the mistake and making you laugh loudly, forgetting about the movie. “You thought I was dating my sister!”

“I’m glad you’re not,” you chuckle. He pins you with a look you can’t really place, as you rest your head near his, cuddled in bed and watching shitty movies together.

“Me too.”

You must fall asleep to the sounds of zombie beavers, ensconced in Dieter’s arms, because when you startle again, the Netflix homescreen plays idly on tv, and the moon shines bright and big outside Dieter’s window.

And the bed is empty.

In your hazed confusion, you begin to look around the room, until you hear the sound of what likely woke you up to begin with; painful retching from behind a closed door. You move closer to it, knocking lightly.

“Dieter? Are you okay?”

“F—Fine,” he replies smally, though it’s punctuated by more gagging noises.

“Are you sure? You don’t sound—"

“What—what brand of broth did you use in the soup?” You twist your brow. “Uh—I don’t know, let me see—” you run out of the room, grabbing the carton out of the trash and reading it to him through the door.

“Does it have gluten?” Your eyes go wide as you scan the label.

“Oh my God,” you reply, which is all he needs to hear before heaving again. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Dieter! Let me in!” You hear several more awful retching sounds, seeming to escalate in their fervor as you try to open the door again.

“It’s fine, you didn’t know, just--please—just go,” he pleads.

“Dee, what’s happening? What can I do?” You jiggle the handle aggressively. “Let me in!” “No! Leave!”

“Dieter!” You try to jiggle the handle again, hearing him groan. “Dee!”

“Please, just let me be,” he practically begs. “I—It’s repulsive, and it’s only a matter of time before it starts out the other end, and then I get mean and achy and tired--” “Dee, I don’t care.” After a moment, he doesn’t respond, and you get desperate. “Please. Let me help. I—I did this. I want to help you. I don't care if you're gross.” You hear him sigh through the door. “Please, Diego—" You hear the lock give on the door through the silence, though you push the door open to burst in to a pitiful sight.

Dieter sits in front of the toilet, not unlike you had before, his top soiled with his own sick, which is unfortunate for the Dieter Bravo Cliff Beasts shirt. His eyes are glazed a bit, his bones stiff as he groans. You quickly flush what he’s produced so far, before looking to him.

“I—I’m gonna get you a change of clothes, okay? And some water? What else?” He directs you to some pill bottles at the bottom of his luggage, which you bring back with you along with a comfy grey shirt and sweats. He quickly takes a few of the different pills—all treatments for the symptoms, he later explains, not the cause—and flops back as he attempts to change himself, so you step in, pulling the shirt off of him and replacing it with the new one, which you’re surprised to see is from Target. He thanks you smally before gagging again, though he doesn’t produce anything, and you gently wipe his mouth with the old shirt.

“You don’t have to do this—"

“Dee, I told you. I don’t leave when things are hard. Especially not when I made them hard.” “You’re lucky I’m too sick for a boner joke,” he mumbles, his head resting back against the porcelain tiles on the wall. You sit next to him, and his head heavily swings over to your shoulder instead. “Didn’t want to get out of bed. You looked peaceful.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” you attempt to joke, but he pins you with soulful eyes.

“Why do you do that?” “Do what?”

“Hate on yourself for being strong.” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap, and a broad hand rests over them to bring them to stop.

“It’s not that long ago you were calling me a ‘ball-buster.’” He opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “That’s not the worst thing I’ve ever been called. That’s not even the worst this month.”

“M’sorry,” he offers, squeezing your hands in his.

“Me too,” you reply softly. “For the things I said.” “I know,” he whispers, his head still heavy on your shoulder, though his eyes linger on your face.

“What?” You chuckle awkwardly.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You’re delirious,” you brush off.

“Then you know I really mean it,” he replies with a goofy grin, his stomach still gurgling. “Even if you did poison me.” The two of you sit in the quiet some more, just the sound of the bathroom fan humming above you, when he breaks the silence awkwardly.

“Thank you for helping me. But I’ll be honest, sweetheart—things are about to get bad in here, and no matter how beautiful you are, I think I need some time alone.” You nod, moving to stand, then pulling him to his feet.

“I’ll be just in here,” you gesture to the bedroom.

“Go back to bed,” he almost pleads, but you ignore him.

“Come get me if you need me.”

Dieter does not come get you.

But you also do not go to bed.

He looks sheepish when he emerges again, the bathroom fan humming, seeing you watching a trashy reality TV show in a chair to the side of his bed. Almost immediately, you shake his embarrassment, standing up and approaching him with a smile that seems to erase any ill-will left in his heart as you enrobe him in fluffy terrycloth. When he finally does get into bed, you move to turn off the light, but he stops you with a hand to your wrist, not unlike you did to him.

“Stay?”

“Dee—”

“Stay. Even when things aren’t hard. Stay.” You search his face for a moment, finding nothing but sincerity there. Hailey is practically screaming in your ear. Dieter Bravo never has the same woman in his bed twice.

But it’s late, and you did poison him, and he’s giving you this look you don’t think you could ever describe, even with all the words in the English language at your disposal.

So you stay. Even when things aren’t hard.

You stay.

After a few more days and some final negative flu tests, you’re quarantine is finally over; it seems most of the cast and crew had been ill at some point, as the set doctor looks haggard, and you get word that it’ll be a few more days still until filming starts up again.

Though you’re finally allowed to travel back to your own room—a page had been delivering some of your items to Dieter’s while quarantined—you don’t spend much time there. It seems most of your time, even unrestricted, remains with Dieter—or Diego.

All the items that had made your way to his room seem to stay there; the Dieter Bravo promo shirt a favorite for pajamas as you exhaust Netflix’s archives. Dieter shows you his favorites—be it for cinematography or acting or costumes—and you see his passion again. You listen to him talk about it with rapt attention, even if the words mean nothing to you. You had never been much into movies before this, but snuggled low in Dieter’s expansive bed, tucked into his side as he tells you about green screens and practical effects and creative vision, it feels like you fit right in.

When the day’s movies are done, he even graciously switches to your trashy reality tv shows, getting more invested than you thought he ever would on whether Natalie and Shane would end up together (“He’s a psycho! Don’t, Natalie!”) or which housewife would end up in jail this time (“Teresa. Absolutely. Just look at her—you know she’s laundering money somewhere.”). You get the feeling he doesn’t often get to indulge in this side of himself; carefree, silly, human. So you do your best to bring it out.

You bake gluten free cookies, asking Pete for his recipe but changing out the flour for rice flour. It ends up with a flour fight and most of the chocolate chips in Dieter’s mouth, but the flour creases around his eyes when he smiles, and you wish you could bake the smile into his face like the cookies. You spend the afternoons out on his balcony—because of course, his room would have a balcony when yours could barely house a tv—the breeze billowing the curtains as you sit around the wrought iron table, Dieter studying his lines as you answer his emails and set up interviews. It all feels normal, domestic--only a little strange, like standing upon ice you know may start melting at any moment. At night, you’ve brought your Switch up to his room, and gotten him very invested in his farm in Stardew Valley, even if he only has a cabin on your main save file. He ensures he pets the chickens every day, and when he pets the dog and the heart emoticon shows up, he tells you all about his childhood pet, Doug the Dog, and how he starred in Dieter’s first directorial debut at age nine.

“It was about a dog trying to be tough like a wolf. Doug did the acting and I did voiceover. Though he was not a great actor,” Dieter laughs. “Was more interested in my treats than following my directions.”

“Of course,” you reply, eyes on the screen as you both move your characters down to the beach. It’s a rainy day, and a man stands in the corner of the sand.

“Who’s that?” Dieter asks, interacting with the man on screen. “Oh, he sells you a pendant if you want to marry one of the characters,” you supply, not looking away from your half of the screen. You make your way down to fish, setting it up before looking more closely at Dieter.

“Why don’t you do that again?” “What? Talk to that guy?”

“No. Direct. With real people and not dogs.” He shrugs, watching you catch a fish before both your characters walk back home to go to bed.

“No one wants an actor as a director.” “Why not?”

“I just—I’m washed up. I don’t know anymore—it doesn’t feel like it used to.”

“Then it sounds like you do need something different. Like directing.” He sucks in air, getting into his bed on screen before turning in on himself. “What if I suck at it? What if—what if no one listens to me? Like Doug?”

“Dee, Doug was a dog,” you chuckle, but he doesn’t return it. “Hey—look at me.” When he does, you see the fear in his eyes, and you grab his hand over the controller. “I listen to you talk about movies all the time. That’s the passion you want; the passion you need. I know it’s scary, but I think everyone would listen to you.” “You never do,” he supplies back sarcastically, watching your character climb into his bed instead of your own. “Get out of my bed!”

“In game or in real life?” You ask with a grin, pushing his buttons with you giggle. That makes him laugh fully, and he tumbles over you, the game forgotten as he cages you in with his body and you both dissolve into laughter. For a moment, you stay there; his elbows holding his body just barely above yours, your breath mingling between you as you come down from the giggles. You see that look in his eyes again; the one you don’t know how to take, and swallow nervously as he scans your face.

“Tomorrow’s back to shooting,” you murmur quietly.

“Yeah,” he offers plainly. You have so much you want to ask—will things go back to how they were? Will more hairstylists and boom operators make their way to his room when he’s allowed to have them? Will he turn back into Dieter Bravo like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

“I—I should go then. We have an early call.” I don’t want to get hurt when I figure out this isn’t real. I don’t want to be sucked into you any more than I already have. He nods, slowly moving away from you until you can get up around him. His hand traces the bed where you once laid, the warmth still set in the sheets.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Yeah,” he offers dumbly. “I’ll see you then.”

Dieter sleeps in your spot that night, holding on to whatever warmth, whatever scent is left, as he worries himself. Had he gone too far? Did he fuck this up like everything else? Had you finally seen who he really was and fled? It was what he expected all along. People see the glamour, the pomp, the fame. Then they see the real him; the him who can’t eat bread and talks about one shot in a movie for fifteen minutes straight, the messy, human side of him. They see Diego, not Dieter, and they run. Or they get what they wanted, and they run. There was never an option three.

You hadn’t though. You stayed through everything, requested specific flour and listened to his ramblings and encouraged his passions—

You saw Diego.

And you stayed.

And he needs to tell you what that means to him, what you mean to him; if he could only figure it out himself.

He’s never been good at words; it’s why he acts and doesn’t direct. The words are already on the page for him, ready to be said. So when he sees what’s on deck for the day—a specific scene in mind, one they blocked just before quarantining, he has an idea.

The morning goes the same as always, though he’s up and dressed before you even get to his room. He offers you coffee instead of the other way around, and you give him that smile, crooked and endearing an yours, and he knows.

They film a few group scenes first, getting back into the action after time away. When everyone comes back from lunch, Dieter finds you with the other PA’s, waiting to get your attention until you’ve noticed him.

“Hey, what’s up—” “Could you come with me?” You nod, seeming ready to jump in and help however he needs, but he leads you to the other side of the set, hands on your shoulders as he guides you.

“What are you doing?” You laugh gently, moving with him. He doesn’t answer, but mutters to himself.

“Just—riiiight here. There.” He places you to the side of the active set, finally releasing your shoulders. “You see that rock?” He points at a set piece. “When we do this scene, I want you to stand here, looking at that rock. Okay?” “Okay?” you reply confusedly, though he looks thrilled at your acceptance, and you stay rooted in the spot as the various castmates take their places. You’re not sure what’s interesting about the rock; it looks like every other one on set, likely made of Styrofoam rather than earth, but painted appropriately, but you have a feeling this may be another one of his movie making tangents he loves, and you watch it appropriately, hoping to finally provide some feedback when he talks about his interests. As the scene plays out in front of you, Dieter and the woman who plays Dolly, Lauren, move in front of your assigned rock, and you huff in annoyance at losing your intended visual target. Looking up at them instead of the rock, Dieter is standing, facing you, while Lauren has her back to you.

“Status update: We. Are. Fucked.” A glance down at the script in your hands confirms your suspicions; this is the scene you had practiced with him, though Lauren plays a much more believable Dolly. “It looks like this is it. I’m sorry I couldn’t save ya’ll. I’m supposed to know all about these beasts, and they damn near snuck up on me.” You watch on, Dieter looking up to face Lauren; but, instead, he looks past her, making eye contact with you.

“Well—I have to tell you. I don’t know about any beasts. I don’t know about any cliffs. But I do know a beautiful woman when I see one, and I can’t—no, I won’t--let these creatures take you away from me.” Your mouth hangs open slightly as he continues his impassioned plea; he hasn’t broken your stare as he speaks, even though he should be saying it to Dolly.

“What are you sayin’?”

“I’m saying, I think I’m falling in love with you, sweetheart, and that scares me more than these beasts ever will.” His eyes convey that thing you can’t quite place; a quiet pleading, a desperate ache. He has yet to even look at Lauren, holding eye contact with you instead. When he’s done, the director yells cut; Dieter messed up the line.

“Dieter, no, you made a mistake. See here—you say Dolly’s name. Not ‘sweetheart.’” Dieter hangs his head at first, but then looks up at you, though he nods in understanding at the director. You hold his gaze for a moment as he keeps talking. “It was good though—do it again, just like that. Maybe a bit thicker on the accent.” Dieter nods, letting the director walk off set as he sent you a coy smirk that made you think, maybe, the director was wrong.

Maybe Dieter hadn’t made a mistake.

Maybe he meant to say sweetheart all along.

TAGS: @i-love-movies @frasmotic @justanotherblonde23 @nicolethered @buckybarneshairpullingkink @scorpio-marionette @songsformonkeys @pedrostories @littlemisspascal @gracie7209 @fangirl-316 @spideysimpossiblegirl @mariwinns16 @ajeff855 @hungrhay

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x y/n #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction

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bigtittydemonwife · 3 years

Text

The pasta’s love language Part 1

Jeff The Killer

Protectiveness

this is the most obviously way the bastard man lets you know he cares about you

Behind the asshole tsundere attitude and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude about life lays another smaller asshole and buried deep under that lays the small boy that picked a fight with three bullies to protect his loving brother

Weather it’s him decking o**enderman for being creepy or saving you from a tricky last victim it seems Jeff always knows when your in trouble

So low-key about it you never really notice his eyes on you until you’re being helped, and even then you never notice how they never leave

Jeff is like a dog, but not the loving wagging tail dog, the asshole that stands on your feet with his sharp claws, rips open your pillows and terrorises the mailman so much your mail is delivered by drone.

but he is also the dog that late at night sneaks onto your bed and whenever there’s someone strange approaching you on the street at night stands in front of you and bares his teeth

Physical Touch

Jeff’s love isn’t soft

Jeff’s love is as rough as he is

Jeff’s touch is soft head-pats after you put someone in their place

His touch is high fives after a successful mission where your hands linger together

His touch is quick side hugs before he goes off to go do something stupid

Cheeky neck kisses in front of others to make you flustered

fingers running though your hair or down your sides whenever he gets bored

easiest way to get cuddled by this man? after a mission when he’s too tired to act like a tsundere

Jeff is funnily like a cat in this regards, his cuddles are fun but he has to want to, otherwise it’s deemed as unnecessary

Defensiveness

Jeff isn’t a rational man

So when he gets jealous his first response is to just stab the guy and run

Ass a traumatised stubborn teen Jeff is quick to anger but he toe’s the line (aha reference) at when people disrespect you

Is he an asshole to you all the time?

Yes

Is he the only person who can be mean to you?

Yes

Despite what everyone thinks Jeff does understand the difference between mean teasing and just being an asshole

And if your someone like me who shows your love to people you care about by teasing and being mean to him he’s gonna understand if your friends are the same way

What he does not accept is anyone who dares treat you like your lower than them

thats when he pulls out his knife and commits stabby stabby

Ticci Toby

Physical Touch

Unlike Jeff when Toby is in love he’s a touchy feely person

And once again unlike Jeff when it comes to cuddles Toby is most likely to be the one to initiate cuddles

On a good day Toby recharges with touch

Most of the time he’s all over you

His favourite way to cuddle is him on the bottom with you on his chest and your face buried into his neck

If you cuddle with him like that theres a 97% chance you are not leaving any time soon

He loves to hold your hands alot, Toby hands are an eternal mystery as sometimes their cold as fuck and others their super warm

After a really bad day when he’s had his alone time and recharged (which can take as long as a week) he just wants to lay with you a bit

this usually happens when he’s burnt out (missions do not help)

on days like that he wants to be held in your arms and rest his head on your chest

that way as he falls asleep he can hear your heartbeat and know your safe and alive

Compliments

Toby is an asshole, but he’s a lovable asshole

And on a good day when he’s happy and in love he’s acting like a lovestuck school boy

He’s the type to give you either the cutest nicknames or the weirdest

One day he’ll call you love the next Mustard

His compliments are the sweetest thing ever because of how special they are

instead of complimenting something basic about you (well not basic but well seen by everyone) he compliments you on some of the most obscure things that you didn’t think anyone noticed about you

“I love how fast you talk when you get excited”

“I love easily you get along with sally”

“Your eyes glow in the sunset, it’s really pretty”

Ben Drowned

Space

Ben is an antisocial person.

He’s not bitter about it but most of the time he prefers to keep to himself

Ben understands if his partner isn’t like that, but one of his ways of showing love is giving them space to be their own person

While Ben does love to spend time with you and share interests and hobbies

He is a human demon? ghost? thing that loves alone time

And by giving you space and your own time alone it’s his way of letting you still have freedom to be you

Ben recharges his social battery with a quiet atmosphere so alone time or cuddle time is his favourite thing to do with you when he’s down

Don’t get me wrong he loves cuddles

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be clinging to you 24/7

Acts of service

Ben is a patient person

Despite what people think all his years of gaming have taught him a lot about taking his time and how easier it is to get things done when he’s chill

So he’s quite alright with doing things for people when they need help

But even so he’s still his own person

So he doesn’t usually do it for free unless it’s for someone he really cares about

And that’s when you come in

Ben is basically ready to do anything for you

Will Jeff call him a simp? Yes, will he care? No

In the end of the day he’s getting ass and Jeff’s not

Anyway

You could ask him to hack the government for you and he would

But basic shit is him bringing you snacks he stole from Jeff’s room when your hungry

He just likes making you happy

Physical Touch

Ironically enough in complete contradiction of the first one Ben actually loves spending time with you

Not all the time, otherwise in his opinion the time he gets with you will feel less special

But when either of you have a bad day he likes to either cuddle you and take a nap or hold you while you both/ he plays video games

Ben’s a ghost? Thing so his body is always cold

That’s one of the reasons why he loves holding you so much is feeling your warm body against him

He likes to nap on your tiddys because 1) he’s perverted and 2) he likes to hear your heartbeat

He finds the sound of it fascinating

Sometimes he feels his pulse just because the shock of not feeling anything is fun to him

Ben is probably one of the easiest pastas to date

He’s like a house cat

Just give him attention and water and he can fend for himself all good

Eyeless Jack

Giving Gifts

Jack in love is a very very confusing thing

Not because he’s contradictory but because the way he flirts sometimes ties into his demonic animalistic tendencies

For example

His gifts to you can sometimes be very sweet things that instead are normal gifts like flowers or chocolates but instead small things like breakfast in bed after a stressful mission (He may or may not use his acting like a doctor as an excuse yes EJ is the mansions doctor fight me bitch)

and then other times it’s organs like a heart or an eyeball, bones or a skull (sometimes animal) and sometimes even teeth, if your lucky most of the time once more they just belong to some pour animal in the woods

and they say romance is dead

Jacks way of showing love is sorta a mixture of how some birds gift their mates things to flirt and how cats give their owners dead animals

He’s cute I swear

Acts of Service

Unlike Ben jack isn’t going to drop everything to please you

but once again the way he shows his love is more casual(?) (I mean he gives you dead things to show his love that ain’t casual)

and if he’s in a good mood/ had a good day then more often than not you’ll find yourself being spoiled in a completely Jack way?

You’re thirsty? He made you both coffee/ tea/ hot chocolate

You’re on a mission and it’s raining? Take his jacket (not like he’s gonna die from the cold)

You’re hungry? Take a snack from his secret stash that no one else is aloud to go through (though most of the time it’s filled with organs)

Jack hates it when his lover is stressed so he likes to do whatever he can to help them out

Physical Touch

I hate to sound stereotypical but Jack does this the most because he is extremely touch starved

Trust me he’s not into PDA at all but behind closed doors he’s finding any excuse he can get to touch you ( with your consent )

he loves sleeping together because usually at night he’s reading or trying to piece together his broken parts

But when he’s holding you in his arms, and whispering how much he loves you in your ear when he’s sure you’re asleep he feels like he doesn’t to be whole

that he can’t expect you to fix him at all, but being with you is enough to make him feel like instead of being broken, being fractured is alright

But weather it’s his hand on your cheek on your hands laced together Jack likes to feel your skin against his

fucckkkk I’m tired, this like took three days, you’re getting a part two when I don’t feel like my head’s trying to kill itself and no I did not spell check this nor will I ever as spellings for pussys and people who graduate school

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kiki-shortsnout · 3 years

Note

Intimacy prompt 34 and 37 for IronStrange pleaze?.

Oh I think Have I Ever is my favorite work of yours in intimacy because there's no way those 2 will get together without being dramatic first haha XD

Hey! Thank you for the ask, and thank you for the compliment, I'm happy you're enjoying these prompts!

Whew! I'm making some progress on these prompts!

***

‘Do you regret it?’

Tony pulled up his sunglasses so he could give him the full effect of his unimpressed stare.

‘Am I supposed to pluck the context out of thin air, Strange? Regret what?’ he asked, flicking his sunglasses back into place, and sinking his feet further into the scorching sand. He heard the breath leaving the wizard’s lungs as he sat up on the blanket, the shift of bare skin across the fibers of it.

‘No, because you know exactly what I’m talking about.’

Groaning dramatically, Tony flung his arms out behind him to support his weight as he leant back, palms stinging from the heat of the sand, glorious, smoldering heat. He didn’t answer straight away, keeping his gaze locked on Morgan leaping through the frothy waves, Peter a few seconds behind her, just as excited.

‘No. No, I don’t regret it.’

His divorce with Pepper wasn’t something he liked to talk about, but their relationship was well past the point of idle chitchat. Hours wedged together on an alien spaceship would do that. They’d stared at death incarnate together, had given everything they could to stop Thanos, and that formed a connection between people, regardless of their backgrounds.

Magical or not.

Tony sat up, inching closer to the shade Stephen had refused to leave the whole time they’d been at Malibu, and taking a moment to eye up his milky white skin. The man looked like he could get sunburnt in the shade. Using magic to tilt the umbrella so Tony could share, Stephen scooped up the seashells Morgan had found earlier, gleaming treasure she had entrusted him with their safekeeping.

It made him smile, how seriously Stephen treated her, and it made an unusual sensation stir in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since he’d first started dating Pepper.

‘I think she loved the idea of me, what I could be, what I would’ve been if not for Iron Man,’ Tony said suddenly, watching his kids screech as the Cloak chased after them, shaking water from its fabric, indicating it’d been dunked in saltwater.

‘I wanted to be that man for her, I really did, and she’s still one of the most important people to me, not because she’s the mother of my child, but because I love her. I always will, just not in the way she deserves.’

‘Tony, this wasn’t an excuse for you to start tearing your self-esteem into ribbons,’ Stephen scolded.

‘I’m not, I’m answering your question. I knew, we both knew as soon as I leapt aboard the alien doughnut that it was over. We tried to work past it, all of us left behind in the five years you guys were gone tried to cobble our lives back together, but it…’ Tony sighed, scooping up a handful of sand and gazing at the millions of sun-kissed gems, fragments that created a whole.

‘I get it, I suppose it’s hard to love a hero, it’s hard to understand…unless you’re one yourself.’

‘I don’t blame her for wanting me to give up Iron Man, I get it, I just…couldn’t. I tried, but as soon as you came to me about Thanos, I knew I had to go…I didn’t stop to think about how it might affect her, jumping on another suicide mission.’

Tony reached over Stephen’s ridiculously long legs to reach his can of lemonade he’d left there earlier, grimacing at the warmth of the liquid, but grateful for the way it soothed his dry throat.

‘What about you, asshole, you got a special lady?’ Tony asked, deflecting the conversation.

‘Nope, no special someone,’ Stephen stressed the last part, watching the kids in the water and inhaling deeply.

Now that Tony didn’t know. He should’ve really, after the flirty little wink he’d given when they’d first met, but Tony had chalked that up to the man showing off his impressive skills. Tony wasn’t arrogant enough that he couldn’t admit Stephen had an extraordinary repertoire of skills, and the man could fight…but he didn’t have to verbalize it.

Strange had a big enough head already.

‘You were right, this…this was needed,’ Stephen said, waving a hand at the beach, indicating the this. Tony was distracted by the tremble in his fingers, the slender scars across his fingers and the back of his hands, revealing the trauma, the pain he must have felt having pins in his bones.

He could understand that, the story scars left behind, the proof of their hubris.

‘Well, I promised you both, didn’t I? Once we got back to Earth and everyone was saved, we were going to have a holiday. No outer space travels, no insane alien overlords trying to destroy us. Just us, the sun, sea and warm lemonade,’ Tony held his up in a toast, grinning as Stephen grabbed his own can and clinked the side of it.

Morgan had stopped running in the sea and was now digging a hole in the sand with her bare hands, watching as the tide came in and filled it, trying to create a moat of sorts. Lifting her head, Tony watched the briny breeze tease her salt-crusted tangles away from her face. His love for her startled him at times, how he could love another being as much as this. He loved Peter too, the kid had been his driving force to discover the trick behind time travel, and he’d risked everything to bring him home.

Thinking about them both made other feelings surface too, black oozing things that he tried to suppress, negative feelings about why his own father couldn’t have felt the same, if one day he would treat Morgan and Peter with the same cold-hearted disregard.

‘Tony, hey douchebag, you alright?’

The sun overhead burnt his gaze gold as he lifted his eyes, leaving him dazed and blinking back tears.

‘Yeah, sorry, I’m good.’

‘You drifted away there…anything you want to talk about?’ Stephen asked, his tone careful, trying not to probe.

‘Nah, Doc, just my daddy issues rearing their ugly head again.’

Stephen looked at him then, his aquamarine eyes glowing from the sun’s reflection, and Tony felt like his gaze was burning back the layers he swathed himself in, piercing his body and reading his mind. He couldn’t explain it, but he’d always had the sense Stephen knew more than what he revealed, that he could see things in the fabric of the universe that Tony was blind to.

Fourteen million futures, each a glimpse of a possibility, how many more of them were out there? What else had Stephen seen?

‘Tony, you’re a wonderful parent,’ Stephen argued.

‘How would you know!’ He regretted the snap, knowing it was part of his self-defense mechanism, but Stephen didn’t know him that well yet to recognize it for what it was, and he opened his mouth to apologize when he suddenly found a trembling hand across his mouth.

‘Because I’ve watched you with them. I saw you with Peter on the ship, the sheer horror in your eyes when you thought you’d brought him to his death, I could literally hear your brain trying to think of a way to send him home. With Morgan, Tony, you worship the ground she walks on, you’re caring, attentive…’ Stephen trailed off, a slight redness to his cheeks as he let his hand fall.

Tony went to warn him that he was burning from the sun when he caught sight of Stephen’s gaze fixed on his lips. Feeling daunting, he let the tip of his tongue come out to wet his bottom lip, suppressing his laugh when he saw Stephen’s blush deepen, his gaze turning back towards the sea.

He could do one of two things here. Ignore what had just happened and go back to the carefree attitude they were enjoying at the beach, or address the issue and explore the possibilities of what it could mean for them. Despite how quickly his brain tended to work, the way it could create possible scenarios and see them through in order for him to select the best one, Tony found himself hesitating.

‘When you said it’s hard to love a hero…were you referring to yourself?’ Tony asked.

Stephen didn’t answer for a moment, his gaze now on the Cloak shielding the kids from the worst of the sunshine, its collar dipping down as it tried to examine the castle Peter was building beside Morgan’s moat.

‘It’s not hard to love you,’ Stephen answered, his words nearly lost in the breeze.

‘I’ll have you know it’s near impossible to love me,’ Tony joked, his mouth moving faster than his brain. ‘I’m a mess, I forget about people when I’m inventing, I’ll always put the safety of Earth before my partner-’

Stephen’s mouth on his made his ramblings stop, the touch of shaking fingers on his jaw felt like wind brushing over sunburnt skin, blistering and soothing in equal measure.

‘It’s because of those things that I like you,’ Stephen murmured against his lips. ‘It’s not the idea of you I love, Tony Stark, I know who you are. Fourteen million versions of you.’

Despite the surprise he felt at this revelation, the clench in his gut from the anticipation of what this could mean, Tony smiled against his lips, leaning closer.

‘Sorry I didn’t ask,’ Stephen whispered across his mouth. ‘Can I kiss you again, Tony?’ His free hand covered Tony’s on the sand as the other continued to sweep across his jawbone, down to his throat and back again.

‘I could be persuaded,’ Tony agreed with a laugh, pretending to fight off Stephen’s tongue invading his mouth, falling back to the ground dramatically. ‘Why, Doctor Strange, I didn’t know you had it in you!’ he mock gasped, wriggling away from Stephen’s lunge, and getting to his feet as he scrambled down to the water.

‘Prepare to eat seawater, Stark,’ Stephen growled from behind him, giving chase.

He’d never seen himself in this position five years ago, hadn’t been able to see past the frigid metal walls of the doughnut ship as he hurtled forward on his suicide mission, but he was glad events had led him here. Looking over his shoulder at Stephen’s skin gleaming in the light as he pelted after Tony on the beach, he screamed for Morgan to save him, cackling as she ordered the Cloak to stop the Sorcerer Supreme.

This wasn’t where he saw his life at all, divorced, a beautiful daughter, an all but adopted mutant child, a sentient Cloak and a potential wizard boyfriend, but he was happy.

For the first time in years, he could say with complete honesty that he was content with his life.

#ironstrange #Fanfiction #anon ask #thanks anon!#thanks for the ask!

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