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shirasade · 4 years

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More detective AU - the longest to date (I think), at almost 1.5k words, and it’s smutty! :) I’m tagging all entries with “medent au” - and there’s also a masterlist, with all ficlets in both posting and chronological order. This is set sometime after they got wet, but before Fighter starts dating Hwahwa. (Oh, and in case this wasn’t obvious before, I’m totally pushing my sub!Fighter agenda here. *g*)

Feel free to drop me asks and prompts about this ‘verse.

Fighter had a problem. Said problem was currently briefing their Chief about the theory they'd developed about the recent murder, laying out the facts in his usual calm manner, his voice firm. He was also wearing light-blue jeans and a fluffy pink sweater, because they'd been called in on their day off and Tutor had obviously thought there wasn't time to change into his work uniform of trench coat, turtle neck and slacks.

This was a problem because Fighter was half-hard in the linen shorts he was wearing. Tutor looked good enough to eat on a normal day, his clothes always impeccably tailored to show off his slim but well-muscled physique, but Fighter had developed a certain immunity to that look. Right now, however, his partner just looked... touchable, more vulnerable and open without the armour of his regular clothes. Fighter's fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, although he wasn't sure whether he wanted to run his hands all over the sweater or cup Tutor's cheeks, which somehow seemed rounder, softer than normal, his lips pinker, more inviting.

Closing his hands into tight fists and cursing internally, Fighter tried to shut down this treacherous train of thought and focus on Tutor's words instead. At some point he would almost certainly be expected to chime in, after all, and he somehow didn't think that, "Sorry, but I was too busy imagining my partner's mouth around my dick," would go down well with either the Chief or Tutor. Taking a deep breath, he managed to rein in the worst of his arousal and even offered some additional information, although he was pretty sure he caught Tutor giving him a suspicious look out of the corner of his eye. Fighter studiously ignored this, doing his best to pretend everything was normal.

In reality, nothing about this whole thing was normal. What confused Fighter most of all was that he'd never had much a problem controlling his libido. He'd always found flirting easy, earning himself a reputation as a bit of a ladies' man, but he'd rarely felt the urge to follow through. That was until Tutor, whose very existence appeared designed to complicate Fighter's life, and who, ever since that kiss in the evidence room, only needed to stand close or smile for Fighter to suddenly having to fight an inopportune boner like a hormonal adolescent. The fact that it was his male partner who'd brought out this new side of him was something he tried very hard not to think about.

It had only gotten worse since the night that Tutor had insisted on taking Fighter home with him. Now he knew what his partner looked like shirtless, and the feeling of his bare chest pressed against his own, his breath gusting hotly over Fighter's flushed face as he pressed him back against the armrest of the couch, had fueled many a jerking off session. He always felt guilty afterwards, but that didn't stop him.

Just as it didn't stop him from following Tutor to the men's room once they were dismissed. The lock clicked shut, and most of Fighter's blood rushed south, even before Tutor pushed him against the sink. Other than that he didn't touch him, just looked at him consideringly from dark, hooded eyes, and Fighter drew a shuddering breath, his heart hammering in his ears. It should be an incongruous sight, the innocent-looking young man in his pink sweater reducing Fighter to this quivering mass of anticipation and desire with nothing more than a glance.

Yet when Tutor grabbed his throat lightly, the pressure of his hand made Fighter swallow hard, and he had to suppress a whimper at the huskiness in his partner's voice as he said, "You've been wanting to touch me ever since you saw me today." It wasn't a question, so Fighter didn't reply, just stayed perfectly still, his hands clenching on the cool tile of the sink behind him. Tutor smiled, sharp and amused, and leaned in to nip at Fighter's Adam's apple. His next words demanded an answer: "Remember the rules?"

"Y...yes," Fighter stammered. Tutor had been very clear, back at his condo, that, whatever happened between them, it was nothing but two sexually compatible adults letting off steam. It was exactly what Fighter had needed to hear, and he clung to it now as well, even as their lips finally met in a heated kiss. Their bodies collided, rocked into each other, and Fighter groaned into Tutor's mouth at both the friction and the proof of Tutor's own arousal. It felt amazing - but it wasn't what he wanted.

Not giving himself time to think, he switched their positions and broke the kiss, instead moving his mouth downwards. He didn't spend too much time on Tutor's neck, no visible marks being one of the rules they'd established, but he pushed up Tutor's sweater, dimly registering that it was as soft was it looked, and mouthed at his nipples. Tutor's hands tightened in Fighter's hair, and he leaned back to give him better access. The hard nubs, enticing as their were, weren't Fighter's main objective, however. Neither was the hard planes of Tutor's abs as he slowly went to his knees.

He'd never done this, had only been on the receiving end a few times himself. Luckily the most memorable time was Tutor himself, taking him apart on his living room couch. So now, while hastily unbuttoning his partner's jeans and pushing them down along with his boxer briefs, Fighter tried to remember what he'd done. A hand appeared in his field of vision, offering him a familiar square foil package. Fighter took it, telling himself he was imagining the slight tremor in those perfectly manicured fingers. His own fingers, on the other hand, were definitely shaking as they rolled the condom on the hard length that curved up against Tutor's stomach. Glancing upwards, he found Tutor staring at him intently, a strange mix of heat and awe making Fighter shiver and get impossibly harder.

"Fuck, P'Fight..." Tutor sounded wrecked, and the warmth which uncurled in Fighter's chest had little to do with the desire that had him rocking his cock against the hand not currently holding the base of Tutor's erection. It felt dangerous, somehow, so Fighter quickly refocused his attention on the feeling of Tutor in his mouth, on the sounds he made when Fighter hollowed his cheeks or swirled his tongue around the head. The bathroom tiles were hard under his knees and his jaw was beginning to ache, but that didn't change the fact that Fighter was more turned on than he could ever remember being, especially when Tutor began to praise him, panting and hoarse, "So good, oh fuck... Yes, P'Fight, just like that... just..."

Tutor tightened his grip on Fighter's head, tried to pull him up. It sent sparks of pleasure-pain through Fighter's body, all the way from his scalp to his toes. He refused to budge, instead tried to take him as deep as he could. Tutor cursed, hips bucking helplessly while he came, and triumph flared hot inside Fighter, despite the fact that he almost choked. He'd done this - he'd been the one to do this to Tutor, to turn him from perfectly composed, always-in-control detective into this disheveled, red-faced human.

Unsurprisingly, after he'd recovered enough to pull Fighter to his feet, it took Tutor less than five minutes to bring Fighter to his own climax, his spit-slick hand hot around his cock, his tongue apparently determined to lick every last trace of himself out of Fighter's mouth. It was all Fighter could do to hold on, his hands gripping the fluffy pink sweater so tightly, Tutor shook his head in exasperation once Fighter had recovered enough to stand on still slightly wobbly legs.

"You ruined my favourite sweater," he complained in familiar annoyance, but there was no heat to it, and his hands were gentle when he cleaned up Fighter's softening dick. Tutor of course had somehow managed to catch most of Fighter's come with his hand, sparing their clothes.

Not that Fighter would have cared one way or the other. His heart rate slowly returning to normal, he laughed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. "I'll buy you a new one."

He knew that the feeling wouldn't last past the unlocking of the bathroom door, but for now Tutor was smiling at him, looking almost fond, and Fighter felt as if there was no problem he couldn't face.

(Masterlist)

#why r u?#wru the series #tutor x fighter #fighter x tutor #medent au #my fic #my own stuff #boys love

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marinaaniseed · 5 years

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Dark ‘n’ Stormy Pt. 3

Hilariously, it is thunderstorming like a mofo right now, so I’m going to pretend that Thor is giving his approval on this utter trash. Many thankings to @mindthelspace for reading an early version of this drivel around the campfire.

Around 3,600 words. Follows on directly from Pt. 2. Some unhappy discussion of y/n’s past, some feeding, body worship, and sexy shower shenanigans, but no actual sex, because I am the worst. That’s planned for Pt.5. Or Pt.4 if I decide to stop teasing everyone.

Hand in hand, the two of you sauntered from the bedroom, Thor’s large paw completely enveloping yours. You spied the Pop-Tarts spread forlornly in pieces and moved to tidy them up. Bending over, you offered Thor an excellent view, and he could feel himself become aroused imagining you face down, arse up on his bed.

The smell of the Pop-Tarts hit his nose as you walked past him to the kitchen and his stomach let out a thunderous rumble.

“You go ahead and get cleaned up, I’ll have lunch ready when you’re done,” you offered.

“I was rather hoping you’d like to shower with me,” Thor said with a shy smile.

“Alright, so food first, then a shower?”

“An excellent plan,” Thor agreed. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you. You can just talk to me keep me company.”

You filled a pan with water and set it on the hob to boil. Lunch was going to be macaroni cheese. Nothing fancy but enough to keep Thor satisfied. Not that he was willing to wait. He busied himself laying the table and taking the pitcher of water from the fridge, before settling down with the remains of last night’s pizza. You were surprised he’d grabbed the water instead of a beer but chose not to comment.

“Tell me about yourself, y/n,” he said through a mouthful.

“What’s there to tell? I’m a person and I’m here,” you responded guardedly.

“You know. Where are you from? Why did Valkyrie find you wandering along the road?” Thor pressed, seemingly oblivious to your tone of voice.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know who I’m going to make love to.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m going to let you.” Then, seeing Thor’s face fall, you added. “You’re right, of course. I am going to let you but I think we need to address the problem of protection. I don’t think my condoms will accommodate you.” You nodded your head towards his crotch in emphasis.

“That’s not a problem. I’m a god of fertility as well as thunder. I won’t give you a child unless you desire one.”

“That’s an...interesting combination of powers. But what about infections? Diseases?”

“Asgardians are immune to all terrestrial diseases.”

You added the pasta to the pan and looked at him, trying to ascertain if he was serious or if this was an elaborate way of getting out of wearing a rubber.

“You have my word,” he assured, sensing your thoughts.

“Fine. But,” you said, waving a wooden spoon at him, “I will find several interesting ways to exact my displeasure on you should I find out you’ve been bullshitting me.”

“I have no doubt about that,” then, he added ruefully, “My brother would’ve liked you.”

Turning back around, you saw the time. You were late taking your meds. That would explain your tetchiness.

“Sorry Thor, I get a bit arsey when I don’t take my tablet on time. May I have a glass of water, please?”

Wordlessly he brought you a glass and gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze as you swallowed your tablet. You continued cooking in silence, using Jarlsberg to make the cheese sauce.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t answer your question. Like I said to Brunnhilde, I’ve just been travelling around pretty much since the snap, doing odd jobs and trying to see the world.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t stay as I was, it was too painful. Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

“What did you do before the Valkyrie picked you up?” Thor asked as he sat back down at the table.

“I worked in a bar in Oslo.”

“Ah! You were a serving wench.”

“Something like that. The landlord tried it on with me. Tried to take liberties,” you clarified for Thor. “So I left.”

Thor’s blue eye darkened from aquamarine to sapphire, as a storm seemed to gather across his face.

“That’s no way to treat a lady. I should go there and teach him a lesson,” he growled.

“Easy there. I appreciate the sentiment but I don’t think it’d be good publicity for New Asgard if the king went to Oslo to beat up a publican.”

“I’m not king,” Thor insisted.

“Ok, but you’re still the face of your people.” A very handsome, comfortable-looking face, one that would be fun to sit on, you thought. “Besides, I gave Soren a swift kick in the knackers on my way out, so hopefully I bruised more than just his ego.”

Thor roared with laughter at this. You were so small and delicate in comparison to him but he had no doubt that you could defend yourself ably if provoked, like a cat whose tail’s been pulled.

“Sorry this isn’t very interesting,” you said as you brought the hot pan of pasta to the trivet on the table. “I was aiming for something easy.”

“Don’t apologise,” Thor replied. “It smells delicious.”

He scooped some into a bowl and handed it to you, before serving himself.

“This is the best macaroni cheese I’ve had,” he said after inhaling a large mouthful. You couldn’t understand how he could eat it when it was so hot - you were blowing on your fork, trying to avoid burning your mouth on the cheesy lava.

“Have you had much macaroni cheese?” you asked.

“Oh yes, Rhodey made it all of the time at the base.”

“Well, next time I go shopping, I’ll make sure I get some sweet chili crisps. Growing up, my dad used to make macaroni cheese but instead of cutlery, we used to scoop it up with sweet chili crisps.”

“I think I’d like that.” It was the first time Thor had heard you offer some kind of information about your family, so he decided to press to see what more you’d tell him. “Is he still around, your dad?”

“He is now.”

Ah, so he’d been dusted. You didn’t seem too happy about the fact that he was back. Thor would dearly love to have one of his parents or his brother here. They’d know how to help Asgard.

“Have you seen your father since...you know?”

“Only via Skype. It’s been hard to adjust. For five years, I thought my family was dead. And then they were back, like nothing had happened. They know I’m in Scandinavia but I don’t like to get into specifics. They’d try to visit and I’m not sure I can face them.”

“But they’re your family.”

“Yes, they are. But I lost them, I mourned them, I tried to move on with my life. Dead people should stay dead.”

“I’ve watched my brother die a couple of times.It never got any better but I was always so pleased to learn that he wasn’t really dead. I keep praying to the Norns that he’s still out there somewhere.”

“I can understand that but it took me a long time to get to the point of being able to accept what happened. Some days I still can’t accept it at all. I lose the love of my life. Even now there are things I see, jokes I think of, that I think ‘Alex would love that’ but then I remember that Alex is dead. It’s selfish and it’s greedy but Alex was my world. All the other losses and problems I could’ve coped with, maybe, but not that one. My parents didn’t live through it, it hasn’t sunk in for them. They’re forever asking me how Alex is. Dead. That’s how Alex is. I went through that alone. And now other people are reunited with the love of their life and I’ll never have that. I’ve got a bunch of people I mourned, who today, next month, ten years time - whenever - are going to die again. It’s easier for me not to acknowledge that they’re alive again.” You rubbed your ring finger throughout, shame flooding through you at how you’d tried to forget it all with strong booze and meaningless fucks.

Watching the tears and snot running down your flushed face, Thor didn’t think he could feel any guiltier. You’d lost the person that meant everything to you because he hadn’t gone for the head. He’d thought that after the second snap, everything would be good again. Apparently not.

“It’s not your fault, Thor,” you choked out. “I’m not ungrateful to have some of my loved ones back, but it’s hard to pretend that everything is great. It’s like I said yesterday, a lot of damage was done.”

“What happened to Alex?” he asked tentatively.

“Lorry driver got snapped. Lorry kept going and hit the front of Snappy Snaps. That always seemed oddly apt. It’d almost be funny if it wasn’t so sad,” you said with a strange smile.

Having seen the beer lorry Brunnhilde drove, Thor knew and average human would stand no chance against that amount of machinery. He desperately wanted to hug you but was aware of the cum crusted onto his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Is there anything I can do?”

You sat for a moment in silence, poking at the pasta. Funnily enough, you weren’t hungry anymore. You slid out of your chair and padded over to Thor, perching on one of his thick thighs. Burying your face in his chest, you let the tears fall. Not the pretty tears they cry in films but horrible, noisy sobs that wracked your entire body. Everything you’d tried to forget over the years rose to the surface, an eruption of sorrow that could no longer be contained. Thor held you close to him, stroking your hair, his softness and warmth comforting you until you quieted.

“We’re a right pair, crying and snotting at each other,” you said, before wiping your nose on your arm. “I know I needed to get it out but I’d rather you hadn’t seen it.”

On the contrary, Thor was glad that it had happened. It made him feel less alone. Of course, he knew other people were hurting but he never saw any proof of it. You were so raw and vulnerable, it was like he was only truly seeing you for the first time. Everything was a mask, and armour you wore to protect slow-healing wounds and prevent new ones. And now you had bared to him. He wanted to do everything he could to ensure your heart was never hurt so much again. He was about to scoop you up and carry you to the bathroom, when you reached for his spoon, shovelled up a heap of pasta, and brought it to his mouth.

“I’d hate for you to miss out on the best macaroni cheese because of me,” you said.

Thor let you feed him. His compliment about your cooking had obviously stuck and he didn’t want to disappoint you. Once you’d fed him all of his bowl, he brought the pan towards you both and let you feed him until it was all gone. Thor felt a little ashamed that he’d eaten so much when you’d had so little, but you seemed content, rubbing small circles on the top of his stomach. For whatever reason, you seemed to like that part of him, so he squashed the urge to remove your hand.

“Shall we get ourselves cleaned up?” he asked.

“I need to wash up the pan first,” you said, shifting away from Thor,

“No, no. I’ll sort that tomorrow. Today is a day off for you. I want you to relax, not worry about work.”

You nodded mutely and this time he did scoop you up and carry you to the bathroom.

“Oh wow,” you gasped when you saw yourself in the mirror. Your face was a mess but it was nothing compared to your neck. Thor had well and truly left his mark. Good thing you had a scarf at the hut. The marks you’d left on him weren’t quite as impressive but he looked pleased as he stood beside you, trying to remove cheese sauce from his facial hair.

“I fancied a shower to wake myself up more, I hope that’s ok?” he asked, extending his hand. You took it and followed him, grabbing a bottle of body wash from the cupboard. Much like the bath, the shower was far larger and grander than an average one. Thor stepped in and turned on the powerful rainfall showerhead, turning his face up towards the spray.

“C’mon,” he said, beckoning you in. You copied him and let the water hit your face, flowing where the tears had flowed not that long ago. Thor took your hands in his and you stood there in silent reverie, as though the steamy shower could cleanse not just your body but your soul.

“I believe I offered you some more worship,” you said, at last, the smirk returning to your face.

“You did, yes,” Thor replied, mirroring your smirk. You poured a generous amount of the body wash into your hand and began to clean down the length of his body, working out the knots in his back and down the backs of his thick legs. Thor shuddered, despite the warmth of the water, as you pressed yourself against his back. He could feel your nipples running over his damp skin, could feel the warmth building between his thighs. You slide around him to clean his front, feeling the buried muscles of his arms and lavishing attention and kisses as you worked your way down his torso. Your lips pressed against the plum bruise on his thigh elicited an excited moan and he cleaned himself as you worked down to his feet.

“I’d like to return the favour, if I may?” he said, as you stood back up. You nodded and passed him the body wash.

Although his hands were more used to handling an axe, he was amazingly gentle and attentive, running his fingers with care over the evidence of this morning’s passion. When he got to your breasts, it was like he was lost in a trance, cupping and kneading, coating them in a thick lather. Eventually, he stopped cleaning them and just held a breast in each hand, looking at them like they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Realising he was lost in thought, you moved away, bending your knees so that your chest was level with his aroused cock. You guided him between your breasts, slowly sliding him between the soapy flesh you held together to grip his erection.

“Fuck,” he moaned, pressing a hand against the marble tiles to steady himself as you literally made him weak at the knees. You let him have a couple of thrusts before standing back up. Thor pursed his lips, trying to swallow his frustration.

“Did you like that, bear?” you asked in mock innocence, languidly rubbing your breasts against his belly, hard nipples dragging across his soft flesh.

“Uh-huh,” he whimpered, wondering if he should pin you against the tiles and take you just to end your teasing.

“I think you’re going to like this more,” you said, sliding down to your knees. You washed the suds off Thor’s cock, and with a quick prayer to any god apart from the one in front of you to not choke, you slowly eased him into your mouth. You teased his head with slow sucks before flicking your tongue across the ridge between his head and his shaft. You could hear him wheezing above you and decided to press on, taking more of him into your mouth, your tongue trailing up and down in firm movements that drew further gasps. You didn’t focus your attention in any one particular place, although Thor seemed to especially enjoy it when you licked the underside of his shaft, growing noticeably louder when you strummed across his frenulum. Your childhood penchant for Twister lollies certainly had its uses.. His soft stomach was a welcome cushion but it impeded what you wanted to do. You pursed your lips around him, pressing your tongue firmly against his shaft, slowly withdrawing with a teasing flick over his head.

Looking up, you could see Thor was bracing himself with one hand still, other stroking his nipple. His face was flushed, not just from the heat of the shower, and he opened his blue eye to look down at you. You gave him a mischievous grin before lifting his stomach with one hand and returning to pleasuring him. It was going to take some work but you were determined to have him. All of him. Wisdom teeth had made it harder to accommodate larger guys but you could still do it. His thickness caused your jaw to ache but you continued your journey, lubricating your path with insistent swipes of your tongue. You knew you were getting close and took one large breath through your nose, before taking the rest of him.

“Oh fuck,” you heard Thor roar, his legs trembling as your buried your nose into his soft, sandy pubes. Fighting back the urge to gag and feeling your eyes begin to water, you knew you couldn’t stay here for long. You ran your tongue clockwise around the base of his shaft, then back the other way. Your free hand cupped his balls and you ran your thumbnail over them, your fingernails dragging down his inner thigh. You weren’t sure if it was the pressure building in your ears, the shower or Thor, but everything was very loud. You pulled back just enough for some air then moved back for more. Each time you retreated a little further for air before taking him deeply again.

Thor desperately wanted to fuck into your mouth but he was so impressed by how well you were taking him, he didn’t dare disrupt your rhythm. He could count on one hand the number of people who’d achieved that particular feat. He chose instead to stop playing with his nipples and moved his hand to the back of your head, fingers gripping onto your hair, possessive but not forceful.

You could tell he was getting close by the trembling of his thick thighs and the increasing shortness of his pants.

He tried to warn you, he really did. But instead of words, all that came out was an incoherent roar and that was drowned out by an almighty clap of thunder. You swallowed him with pleasure, licking him clean and sending a tremor through his body. You sat back and let go of his tummy, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

Came to the shower to get clean and ended up even dirtier, you mused, as you looked up at Thor with heart eyes and a saccharine smile.

Nobody had looked at him that way in years. His heart was hammering like a mini Mjölnir in his chest. The Norns only knew why you liked him so much but he was grateful they’d brought you to him. He scooped you up and pressed you against the tiles, one hand supported you under each thigh. He pressed against you, tasting himself in your mouth.

You wound your hands into his hair, enjoying the weight of him constricting your breathing, a warm, hairy man-corset. Eventually, you had to come up for air and gave his braid a sharp yank.

“Oh, oh sorry. I forgot my size. Did I hurt you?” he worried as you gasped against his shoulder.

“No, no. I was rather enjoying it, I just sometimes need to breathe.”

“Perhaps we should continue this in my bedroom?” he suggested, setting you back down and turning off the water.

“Sure,” you said, slapping his ample arse on the way past.

You began drying yourself when you realised Thor was loitering behind you.

“May I?” he asked and you handed him the towel. He gently patted you dry, lingering on his favourite areas, before letting you return the favour. He was so soft and fluffy, a giant teddy bear grinning goofily down at you.

“Shall we?” he said, extending a hand to you. You slipped a hand into his massive paw and began to leave the bathroom, trailing slightly behind him.

Lucky for you that Thor was so big. He’d barely made it through the door when he stopped dead in his tracks

“Thor! Cool thunderstorm bruv. Ready for some Fortnite?” came the unmistakable voice of Korg.

Thor’s hands shot forward to cover himself.

“Er, this isn’t really a good time buddy…”

You can’t see what’s going on but presumably, Korg has now turned to look at Thor because the next thing you hear is:

“Woah! Where are your clothes? And what happened to your neck? Was it y/n Do I need to fight her?”

“I just had a shower. And no, please don’t fight her.”

“Well, where is she?”

“I’m here,” you said, peeking your head around Thor, hugging him from behind.

“Oh my god. Were you two…? Well, good for your bruv. Y/n, do you want to play Fortnite too?”

This is ridiculous, Thor thought. For the first time in years, I have the chance to fuck a beautiful woman, and being cockblocked by a guy made of rock.

“Uh, yeah. Like I said, this isn’t really a good time...I was hoping to spend some time with y/n. Alone. Maybe you and Miek could go to the beach, or the tavern or literally anywhere that’s not here for a bit,” Thor suggested.

“Aw man, ok. But you’ve got to make it stop raining first.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

Korg and Miek lumbered off and once the front door was shut, you burst out laughing. Perhaps Thor might want to start locking his door after all.

@morganhoran1671 @innerpaperexpertcloud

#thor #thicc thor #Thor Odinson #chubby thor #fat thor #squishy Thor #Soft Thor #endgame thor #dark 'n' stormy #reader insert #Female reader #avengers x reader #reader x thor #x reader

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helenarlett-rex · 5 years

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Want to use an eldritch horror in your D&D game? Why not Mother Hydra?

I already covered the oh so wonderful Shub-Niggurath in my last post about using eldritch horrors in D&D, so let’s take a look at another sinfully under-used lady of the eldritch world. Good ol’ Mother Hydra. Who is so under used I could hardly find any info on her at all...

So we all know what a Deep One is, right? They’re an ocean-dwelling race of fish people who kind of have the hots for humans. Seriously, Deep Ones love banging humans. They’ve done it so much that some people believe they’ve now reached the point where their genes are so weak that mating with humans is the only way they can still reproduce anymore. But if you’re a poor fishing village on the brink, you may actually find this appealing, because the Deep Ones are kind of like the shepherds of the sea. Only instead of herding sheep they’re herding fish. And they can herd those fish right into your fishing nets... In addition to that, they also seem to have a vast supply of gold artifacts of unearthly design which they are also willing to share.

So... Poor fishing, can’t sustain itself, people have nowhere to go and no way to survive? Problem solved! All you have to do is have sex with fish people and they will provide you with bountiful catches and gold treasures. And don’t think that it’s just a bunch of fish out there in the ocean viewing you as their prostitutes either... They’ll even stick around and join your village and help care for your women after they’ve knocked them all up. How nice! Although if it’s the other way around and you’re a guy who knocked up a fish lady it’s more like a shotgun wedding at that point, but hey... At least she’s got loads of gold, right?

And once the Deep Ones have set up camp in your village they will even let you join their religion. And by let you join, I mean that it’s mandatory... They’re going to tare down your churches and replace them with the Esoteric Order of Dagon, where they will teach you how to worship the true god, Father Dagon.

You know Father Dagon, right?

He’s the deity who presides over the Deep Ones. Some say he’s a Great Old One, but it’s more likely that Dagon is an enormous specimen of Deep One. While apparently immortal, his longevity may be attributable to his fraternization with the Star Spawn, who sometimes select formidable specimens from a given species to protect, nurture, and empower for reasons known only to them. So in reality you are probably just worshiping a really big fish warlock who is in turn getting his power from someone like Cthulhu.

But before you go thinking this deal is just getting worse all the time, let me point out that it’s not bad for everyone. Because Father Dagon is going to need a consort. Which means if you’re a hot little piece of fish girl ass and you are deeply devoted to the Esoteric Order of Dagon, and you follow all the rites and rituals and sacrifice enough of the unbelievers, Dagon may just decide to empower you the same way he himself is being empowered by definitely not Cthulhu but probably Cthulhu. Then you too can become a giant fish monster of enormous size and power and be worshiped by all the other Deep Ones as their new goddess, Mother Hydra. Sure, you’ve got to take Dagon as your Pact of the Great Old One patron, and then you’ve got to become his mate... but you’re already a fish girl so that probably doesn’t sound so bad... and you’ve just obtained godhood! Sort of... Not really... You have no supernatural power outside of what any other warlock would have... But who can tell the difference?! You’re fifty feet tall now and worshiped by your people! If anyone wants to argue that you aren’t actually a goddess, you can just eat them. You and your new hubby are sitting at the foot of Cthulhu’s throne. Who’s going to argue with that?

Now as a DM I don’t know if I would allow a PC to actually go through this transformation, but it is doable. Both Father Dagon and Mother Hydra are just titles passed on to the greatest of the Deep Ones if the old Father Dagon and Mother Hydra die. If I did allow a PC to go through the transformation into becoming Mother Hydra that would probably be the entire campaign and once the PC had become Mother Hydra it would end and I would take their character sheet to be used in future campaigns. Sort of a way of letting the players create the gods of their world they are playing in.

If the PC was a warlock who wanted to take Mother Hydra as their patron I wouldn’t do it all that much differently than other Pact of the Great Old One warlocks. Unlike some of the eldritch horrors that could be used, Mother Hydra isn’t all that powerful. She doesn’t have any extra supernatural abilities to grant to PCs the way someone like Shub-Niggurath does. If you wanted to be really realistic about it, you could actually make the PC roll with disadvantage when using magic on account of the fact that their patron is just a more powerful warlock, getting her power from an even more powerful warlock, getting his power from an actual Star Spawn. So if you wanted you could say the warlock’s power is not coming directly from the source and is being diluted twice before it gets to him. Not exactly great for a PC but that is something you could do if you wanted a group of warlocks for a low level party to fight without too much trouble. Just have them fight warlocks of Mother Hydra who all roll with disadvantage.

As for using Mother Hydra herself as a monster in combat, I would probably use something like this...

Mother Hydra

Huge monstrosity (deep one), neutral evil

Armor Class 20 (natural armour) Hit Points 337 (25d12 + 175) Speed 30 ft., swim 60 ft.

STR 25 (+7) DEX 14 (+2) CON 25 (+7) INT 14 (+2) WIS 18 (+4) CHA 20 (+5)

Saving Throws Str +13, Dex +8, Int +8, Wis +10 Damage Vulnerabilities lightning Damage Resistances poison; bludgeoning, piercing and slashing from nonmagical attacks Condition Immunities charmed, frightened, poisoned Senses darkvision 120 ft., passive Perception 14 Languages Deep Speech, Common Challenge 20 (25,000 XP)

Amphibious. Mother Hydra can breathe both air and water.

Aquatic. While in water, Mother Hydra has advantage on attack rolls against non-aquatic creatures.

Magic Resistance. Mother Hydra has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.

Magic Weapons. Mother Hydra's weapon attacks are magical.

Matriarch's Sacrifice. When a deep one within a range of 60 feet of Mother Hydra takes damage, Mother Hydra can chose to take this damage instead of the deep one.

ACTIONS

Multiattack. Mother Hydra makes three attacks: one with her bite, one with her claw and one with her mind grasp.

Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +14 to hit, reach 10 ft., one target. Hit: 23 (3d10 + 7) piercing damage.

Claw. Melee Weapon Attack: +14 to hit, reach 10 ft., one target. Hit: 25 (4d8 + 7) slashing damage.

Mind Grasp. Ranged Spell Attack: +11 to hit, range 120 ft., one target. Hit: 21 (3d10 + 5) psychic damage.

Matriarch's Blessing. Hydra chooses a deep one within 120 feet of her. This deep one regains 27 (4d10 + 5) hit points. Hydra cannot target herself with this ability.

LEGENDARY ACTIONS

Mother Hydra can take 3 legendary actions, choosing from the options below. Only one legendary action option can be used at a time and only at the end of another creature's turn. Mother Hydra regains spent legendary actions at the start of her turn.

Attack. Mother Hydra makes one bite attack or one claw attack. Matriarch's Blessing (Costs 2 Actions). Mother Hydra uses Matriarch's Blessing. Matriarch's Curse (Costs 3 Actions). Mother Hydra targets one creature that she can see within 30 feet of her. That creature must succeed on a DC 19 Charisma saving throw or be cursed for 1 hour. While cursed in this way, the target has disadvantage on attack rolls made against deep ones and on saving throws made against spells or effects created by deep ones.

As a variant on this you may also want to add a small spell list to Mother Hydra’s arsenal. If you actually allowed a player to create your Mother Hydra through turning a warlock PC into her as mentioned above, you could just use whatever spells that PC had at the time of her transformation. If you didn’t go that route but you still want your Mother Hydra to be a spell slinger, I would remember to keep the spells limited and not too powerful (choosing only from the Warlock’s spell list) because Mother Hydra isn’t intended to be anything more than a CR 20 monster.

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loretranscripts · 4 years

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Lore Episode 129: Digging Deep (Transcript) - 11th November, 2019

tw: ghosts, human remains

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

The construction was called to a stop the moment they found the bones. The work crew was preparing a building site along one of London’s many ancients streets when they uncovered what appeared to be a body – or, at least, the remains of one. It was clearly old, given that nothing but bones could be seen beneath the dirt, so a team of archaeologists was brought in to preserve and study the remains. In the end, they determined that the bones belonged to a teenage girl who had lived in London over 1600 years ago – a Roman girl. It’s not the last time something like that has happened in this city. During some development work near Spitalfields Market in the 1990s, a work crew uncovered what turned out to be an entire Roman cemetery. Among the finds was a perfectly preserved lead coffin, its lid covered in beautiful artwork that had been hammered right into the surface, still visible, all these centuries later.

And that’s the way history tends to work – time will bury it under new and current events. But if we dig deep enough, and brush away the soil, we can come face to face with it all over again. The past never truly goes away, after all. It’s there, waiting to be discovered, so that we can study it and relearn the stories it contains. Oftentimes, though, the things that leave the deepest marks tend to be the most tragic and painful, events that rattled people to their core and left a shadow on the history of a place that no amount of sunlight could ever chase away, and the older the city, the more common those shadows tend to be. Which is why I want to take you on a tour of one of the oldest, because while the past is always nearby in our modern world, few places allow it to dwell so close to the present as the city of London. Its past is both a treasury of historic significance and crypt full of the darkest tragedies we could ever imagine. Because in a city filled with so much light, there’s bound to be some shadows. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

London is ancient, there’s really no other way to say it. Most Americans live in a community that’s less than 200 years old. If you’re in New England or one of the other places with roots in pre-colonial America, perhaps those locations go back a bit further, but London’s history makes all of those seem brand new by comparison. Archaeological work in London can place humans in the area as far back as 4500BC, but if we’re looking for a major settlement where it stands today, that didn’t happen until 47AD, when the Romans arrived and set up a community there that they called “Londinium”. Although from what we can tell, it didn’t last long, all thanks to a woman named Boudicca. As far as historians know, Boudicca was the wife of King Prasutagus, who ruled over an eastern British tribe known as the Iceni. When the Romans arrived in their territory in 43AD, they came to an arrangement with Prasutagus, allowing him to maintain control of his kingdom. When he died 17 years later, though, the Romans refused to acknowledge his widow as the new ruler, and instead invaded them to take the land for themselves. But they misjudged Boudica, assuming she was a quiet woman, incapable of ruling anything. Instead, she rallied a massive army of close to 100,000 warriors and then led them on a campaign against the Romans all over Britain. In 61AD, her army rolled over Londinium like a Sherman tank, burning the entire settlement to the ground. In fact, her campaign against them was so fierce and unstoppable that the Romans nearly left Britain altogether. But those who survived managed to rebuild, and within a handful of decades it had grown large enough to become capital of the entire province.

Over the years, the city continued to expand and mature, and even though the Romans left towards the beginning of the fifth century, the community there refused to die. By the 7th century, London had earned a reputation as a major trade centre, which brought in a steady flow of wealth and goods, and also turned the city into a political powerhouse. Of course, power and wealth has a way of making a community a target for others, and London was no exception. In 1066, William the Conqueror sailed across the English Channel and earned his nickname by taking control of the entire kingdom and making it his own – and, of course, special attention was paid to London. Within two decades, the population of the city had reached nearly 15,000, and by the 1300s that had multiplied to over 80,000.

But something unexpected was heading their way that would ravage that growing community, something mysterious and dangerous and seemingly unstoppable – the Black Death. What started as a plague in western Asia quickly spread to Europe, bringing death and destruction to every community it touched. By the time the Black Death had burned itself out, some historians estimate that upwards of two hundred million people were dead. The people of London lost at least 10,000 lives, most of whom were buried outside the city walls. It wouldn’t be the last time the city would face tragedy. In 1664, a fresh outbreak of the plague killed another 100,000 people, and then two years later, in September of 1666, a fire broke out in the house of a baker on Pudding Lane. It eventually spread west, destroying much of the city as it went, and while there were only six verified casualties, historians now think the fire burned hot enough to completely cremate those who were caught in it, making the true death toll anyone’s guess.

So much of London’s history was tragic and outside human control, but there have also been moments along the way that could only be blamed on the people who lived there. Jack the Ripper and the murders that took place in 1888 in the Whitechapel district of the city are always front and centre in most people’s minds. But there has been a lot more bloodshed than just those five innocent women. In fact, a lot of the city’s murder and violence could be found higher up the ladder, in the very chambers and homes of the people who held the power and wealth. It seemed that rather than being immune to the shadows that lingered in the city, even the powerful could fall under their spell. Because if there’s one thing the nobility of England’s past seem to attract more than anything else, it was pain and suffering and death.

We don’t need to look far to find bloody nobles. It sometimes feels as though all we have to do is open a history book and flip it to a random page. Life at the top was often a cutthroat game, both figuratively and literally, and anyone who found themselves in the orbit of a king or queen certainly understood that risk. A great example of how blood-thirsty the English kings could be was Henry VIII. Henry is known for a lot of things, not all of which are so great in retrospect. He expanded the power of the crown during his lifetime and based a lot of that on his belief in the divine right of kings, something that threatened the freedom of his people. He was greedy and vindictive and had an ego that was only surpassed in size by the codpiece on his armour. But if there is one thing that most people remember today about Henry VIII, it’s his many wives. Henry had six of them, half of whom were named Catherine, which must have made it a lot easier for him, I’m sure. Five of those six wives came and went within a single 10-year period in his life, but not all of those breakups were friendly. After having his first marriage annulled in 1533 and sparking the English Reformation and the country’s separation from the Catholic church, Henry married the sister of a former lover, a women named Anne Boleyn. Three years later, he had her executed for treason and adultery, but also possibly for failing to deliver a male heir.

The day after Anne’s beheading, Henry proposed to one of her ladies in waiting, Jane Seymour. They had apparently fallen in love months before, but Jane had managed to hold off Henry’s advances in the name of honour. Once the queen was dead, though, she was much more agreeable. They were married 10 days later. From everything I can tell, Henry believed that Jane Seymour was “the one” – he viewed her as his perfect queen, and when she gave birth to his first male heir a year later, he probably sighed with relief. The complications from the birth put her life at risk, and over the two weeks that followed she slowly declined. In October of 1537, Jane Seymour passed away. That had taken place at Hampton Court Palace, Henry’s favourite London residence. It was a mixture of a pleasure palace, a theatre and a royal home, so when Henry brought his next two wives through those doors over the next few years, they were probably bittersweet moments. A lot of joy would be possible there, but it would also sit in the shadows of a painful past. His fifth wife, Catherine Howard, made a fool of the king by conducting at least one less-than-secret affair. After learning about what she had done, Henry had Catherine arrested and thrown in a prison cell there, at the house. She was only 18 at the time, and I can’t imagine the fear and desperation she must have felt, being a prisoner of the most powerful man in the kingdom.

According to the stories, though, Catherine managed to slip away from her guards one day, while being walked through the palace. She bolted away and ran down one of the long galleries that led to the king’s chapel, where she knew Henry could be found. Her goal was probably to beg for forgiveness, to ask for mercy and to plead for her life. But the guards caught up to her before that could happen, and her screams of terror were the only thing to reach him. Catherine Howard was beheaded a short while later, and Henry moved onto a new wife, also named Catherine. But just because those former wives were gone, doesn’t mean they were forgotten. In fact, if the stories are true, they might have stuck around to serve as a cruel reminder. It’s said that even today, visitors to that long gallery in the palace have heard echoes of a woman screaming, a desperate, panicked cry that chills them to the bones. Others have heard the quick rhythm of footsteps, as if someone were running down the hallway. And in 1999, according to one source, two different tourists fainted in the gallery at different times on the very same day.

Elsewhere in Hampton Court Palace, other shadows have stuck around as well. In a room at the top of the staircase known as Silver Stick Stairs, multiple visitors have claimed to have seen the figure of a pale women. She stands silently, hovering slightly above the floor, with a mournful expression and vacant eyes. For those who have witnessed it, the spectre has been both calming and terrifying. Whether or not the visions are real, though, it’s fascinating to look at the true history of that room, because while it has been used for countless purposes over the last few centuries, one specific resident stands out above all the others. It was in this room, you see, that Henry VIII’s only male heir was born to his true love, Jane Seymour, and it was there, just two weeks later, that she passed away.

The old home, located on Berkeley Square, is a townhouse, just one of many in a long row of similar facades, but as far back as the mid-19th century, it was different enough to stand out from all the others. But before I continue with the legends, let me be clear that not a lot is known about the house’s origins, and a lot of stories have yet to be completely verified. Still, we know enough to make this a journey worth taking – so let’s get started. The majority of the tales begin with the man who owned the house back in the 1860s. Thomas Myers wasn’t the first to live there, but he was certainly the most infamous. It’s said that he had once been engaged to be married, but his fiancée eventually changed her mind and ended their relationship. Broken and distraught, he retreated into his house and was rarely ever seen again. Neighbours claim that the house would be dead during the day, only to come alive at night. It was as if Thomas had traded in the sunlight for the shadows, living the rest of his life during those moments when most of the world was asleep, and it might very well be whispers of the house all lit up at night that first gave birth to the rumour that it was haunted – but it could also have been what happened next.

Sometime around 1872, the house sold to a new family, and they moved in to clean up the home and make it their own. The couple had two daughters, both in their late teens, and there were precious few years left for the parents to enjoy life as a family in this new setting before they became empty-nesters. In the weeks that followed, though, the future crept in. The oldest of the two daughters became engaged to a young officer named Captain Kentfield, and conversation became filled with talk of wedding plans and guests lists. And at some point in their engagement, Captain Kentfield planned a visit, so the family set about preparing the attic bedroom for his arrival. According to the story, what happened next is still shrouded in mystery. The family maid was sent up to put the final touches on the fiancé’s room, and while she was up there, the family heard her scream. At once, everyone in the house rushed upstairs to see what had happened, only to find her lying on the floor, an expression of complete horror painted across her face. More mysterious yet was that she couldn’t seem to put a complete sentence together and was unable to answer any of the questions the family asked her. All the maid was able to do was mutter a low, cryptic refrain. “Don’t let it touch me. Don’t let it touch me”.

The maid was immediately taken to the hospital to recover, where I imagine someone observed her, and did their best to treat her rattled nerves, but other than that, there was little they could do. Sleep, they assumed, would be the best medicine. The following morning, though, she was found dead in her room. The fiancé arrived the next day, and after hearing the stories of the maid’s unexpected death, he decided to check the room out for himself. Maybe he was playing the brave soldier in front of his future in-laws in an effort to impress them, or perhaps his fiancée needed some reassurance and he wanted to calm her nerves. Whatever the reason, he climbed the stairs to the attic bedroom and declared that he would keep watch throughout the night. In the darkest hours of the morning, though, a gunshot pulled everyone from sleep, their hearts racing at the sound of it. Everyone climbed out of bed, threw on their night coats, and then rushed up to see what had happened. What they found, according to the legend, was the young captain, dead on the floor of his room, a victim of his own pistol.

In 1907, author Charles Harper wrote about the house in a book, and it was there that he declared it to be “the very picture of misery”. After the events that were said to have taken place there, it’s easy to wonder if the misery was in the structure or the lives who lived there. Either way, the stories we’ve heard so far shed a bright light on one more tale that Harper added to the legend. According to him, the next family to own the house moved in fully aware of the tragedies of the past. The owner was an older gentleman, who was said to be practical and not prone to stories of the supernatural. Still, he understood the power of suggestion a creepy old house with a dark past might have over him, so he set some rules for everyone to follow. After settling in with his family, he told them all that he would ring his bell to tell them if he ever truly needed help. If it was a moment of fright, he would only ring it once, which they were all instructed to ignore, but if matters were more pressing and he truly needed help, he would ring it twice, a signal that they were to immediately come to his room.

Everyone went to bed at the end of the evening, and while the night began peacefully, the quiet was broken around midnight by the loud chime of the old man’s bell, not once, but twice, which sent everyone rushing to see what might be the matter. What they found, though, weren’t answers. The old man was writhing in his bed, his face twisted by panic and fear. Just like the housemaid all those years before, he too couldn’t answer the questions that the others around him asked. He could only mutter and shake with horror at something no one else could see. After doing their best to help him, they calmed him enough to let him sleep, and everyone wandered back to their own rooms. They left his bell on the table beside his bed, hoping that he would remember how to use it if he needed them, but the remainder of the night was one, long stretch of unbroken silence. In the morning, they discovered why. After visiting the old man’s bedroom to check on him, one of his family members gently pushed the door open and peered inside. The shape in the bed was unmoving, and so they approached to wake him and see how he felt. But like those in the house before him, he too had passed away. A random coincidence of natural causes, or a demonstration of the power of fear?

There’s a lot about London that seems to echo the atmosphere of the house at 50 Berkeley Square. It’s a city painted in shadows, but it’s unclear if that darkness was always there, or if we imported it over the centuries. What’s clear is that almost from the start, tragedy and suffering has been a resident of this ancient city. Right back to the invasion of Boudica, nearly 2000 years ago, and up to its most modern challenges, the city of London has had to suffer through quite a bit, and that has a way of leaving a mark. Over the centuries, though, the city has always found ways to move on. New layers are added all the time, building the present on top of the past and slowly burying one dark moment beneath another – which is probably why London is one of those places where new construction always seems to bump into ancient things. If you dig deep enough, you’re guaranteed to find something. And look – London is a massive city, and while I did my best to cover some of its larger and more powerful stories, there are hundreds more that I had to leave untouched. Honestly, if you want to visit a haunted location in the city, just visit a local pub, like the Ten Bells, or the Flask, or the Spaniard Inn. If the stories are true, you’ll find a lot more than a pint of ale waiting for you inside.

But if there’s one mark on the pages of London’s history that is bigger than most, it’s hard to deny the power of the plague. If you remember, when the wave of disease washed over the city in 1665, it took two years to run its course, and in the process, it claimed the lives of nearly 100,000 people, and that was a lot of tragedy to deal with – on the personal and the public level. The biggest problem seemed to be what to do with all those corpses. We’ve all seen films like Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and can all remember lines like “bring out your dead”, and from what we can tell, that’s pretty close to how it actually would have been, a steady, daily flow of bodies out of the city, away from the places where people lived in the hope that it would stop the spread of the disease. And most of the bodies were carried outside the city limits. One such burial location was started by the Earl of Craven, who purchased a parcel of land west of the city for disposal of plague victims, and every night, for months on end, carts filled with rotting corpses were wheeled out onto his land and then dumped into the pits there. Over time, the place became known as the “Pest House Field,” and later it was named Gelding Close, but to be honest, few people actually went there. They were too afraid of what might happen if they got too close to the body of a plague victim or, heaven forbid, accidentally touch one. So, the burial plot, like so many others around the city, became a sort of no man’s land.

After years of waiting, the owners of the land eventually made the decision to use the property for development. London was growing, and there would always be a need for a new neighbourhood to settle in, so it was sold in pieces and developed into homes for the wealthy and elite to move away from the centre of the city. Gelding Close eventually became known as Golden Square, and today it’s a prominent feature in the SoHo area of London. But even though the name has changed and the landscape around it has been transformed, the past is still there, lingering in the shadows of modern life. In fact, more than a few visitors to the park and buildings that surround it have bumped into the past in a very real way. A few have seen the figures of people dressed in old-fashioned clothing slipping through the square at night, while most have caught the sound of wailing, as if someone were enduring horrible pain and suffering. But it’s not the specific things people have heard over the years that are the most terrifying aspect to these stories. No, it’s where they all claim the voices have come from. The sounds, they say, seem to emanate from right beneath their feet.

A city as old and historic as London is guaranteed to have a library of mysterious shadows and otherworldly experiences and I hope today’s tour has been a satisfying dip into that enormous pond, but I’m not done just yet. There’s one more legend from the city that I absolutely love, and if you stick around through the sponsor break, I plan to tell you all about it.

[Sponsor break from the Great Courses Plus, Squarespace and Fracture]

When you think of London, it’s easy to think of money. As far back as the Roman period of the city, there has been an overt focus on the financial industry. In about 240AD, for example, the Romans constructed a mithraeum, a temple devoted to the god Mithras. Some of the most common members of the cult of Mithras were merchants, traders, customs officials and politicians, all professions that revolved around the flow of money. But it didn’t end with the Romans. As the centuries ticked by, the people of London found new and better ways to manage money and build the economy. In the year 1100, King Henry I instituted a new system of currency that even the most illiterate and uneducated citizens of his kingdom could understand: the tally stick. It was essentially a polished wooden rod that had nicks carved into it to denote its value, and it was then split down the middle. The king kept one half, while the other was put into circulation in places like the city markets, and that’s where the system really shined. If anyone tried to change the value of the public half by adding another nick, they just needed to be compared to the other half kept safe by the crown.

But at the end of the 17th century, one of the biggest changes to the financial world of London was born: The Bank of England. It was created in 1694 to solve a tricky financial problem the government of England faced. They needed to build a massive navy to defend themselves but lacked the funds to do it. So, an elaborate system of lending and currency came to the rescue. A century later, The Bank of England was simply a way of life for the people of London. It had all the prestige and power that you might expect from a government-backed bank and had established a reputation for itself that has carried into the 21st century.

But I don’t want to give you a tour of the bank’s full history, I just want to tell you about one of their employees, a man named Philip Whitehead. Whitehead worked in the cashier’s office of The Bank of England in 1811. Everyone around him viewed him as a pillar of the establishment, a hard-working, respectable man who was charming and delightful with staff and customers alike. Except that’s not all he was. Philip was also a criminal. It turns out he had been forging bank documents for months, cheating the bank out of a slow trickle of money, and at some point in 1911, his misdeeds were discovered, and he was quickly arrested and sent off to prison. A few months later, in early 1812, Philip Whitehead hanged for his crimes, and the bank moved on.

Several weeks after Philip’s hanging, though, a woman came into the bank asking for him. She said her name was Sarah, but when she asked to speak with Philip Whitehead, she was simply told that he was out of the office on a business errand. The woman left disappointed but promised to be back at another time. The next time that she returned, he not only told them that her name was Sarah, but that she was Philip’s sister. She told them of how she had lost touch with her brother many months earlier, and that she had been desperate to find a way to reach him, and at some point, her story must have plucked at the heartstrings of just the right bank employee, because one of the men took her aside and told her the truth. Her brother was dead. It wouldn’t be Sarah’s last visit to the bank, though. The next time she returned, she was dressed all in black, with a black veil that covered her face.

She stepped into the lobby of the bank and asked to see her brother. Taking pity on the poor woman, and official at the bank pulled her aside, apologised for keeping his imprisonment and execution a secret, and offered a small settlement. It was a pay-off, of course, designed to keep her from disturbing the other customers, but I’m sure he sold it to her more as a salve for her aching heart. Either way, she accepted the money and then left. But she returned a few days later. Over and over again, Sarah Whitehead visited the bank, each time dressed in that black gown and veil. At first, her voice was nothing more than a whisper, but with each new visit her question became louder and more aggressive – “Where is my brother?” she continued to ask. Each of those visits ended with another small payment from the bank, but they weren’t a charity house, and eventually decided that enough was enough.

Pulling her aside one day, they handed her a massive settlement and told her never to return, and to her credit, Sarah Whitehead listened. She never again set foot inside the bank, although it’s said that she also never wore anything else but that black gown and dark veil. We don’t know how long Sarah lived after that – sometimes grief has a way of speeding up a person’s decline, while other times it seems to give them a reason to go on. But decades later, Sarah passed away, having spent the remainder of her life in a constant state of mourning for her dead brother. Legend says that the churchyard she chose for her burial was the one right next door to the bank. Maybe she wanted to keep an eye on them from the other world, or perhaps it just happened to be where she attended church. I like to think that it was the former, and that those that still worked at the bank and knew her story were aware of where she was buried. It’s very poetic, whether or not it was actually true.

But her story doesn’t end there, of course. In the years following Sarah Whitehead’s death, employees inside the bank began to report seeing strange things. Oftentimes it was nothing more than a movement, just out of their field of vision, caught in the corner of their eye but never there when they turned their head. Other times, it was the fleeting vision of something black and shadowy. Many who have worked in the bank claim that certain areas give them a feeling of hopelessness and despair, and on rare occasions some claim that a mysterious shape has even materialised right before their eyes. All of them have described it in the same way, too, giving the old stories new life as the decades have passed by. They say the shape is that of a woman. Each time she appears, her pale skin is framed by a dress as black as coal, the veil that had once covered her face pulled back to revealed twisted lips, red cheeks and eyes that seem to glow like fire. But it’s the words she speaks that frighten people the most. After locking eyes with them and washing them in a wave of terror, the women in black repeats the same words she had grown so accustomed to in life. “Where,” she asks them, “is my brother?”

[Closing Statements]

#lore podcast #aaron mahnke #podcast transcripts #london #50 berkeley square #henry viii #uk #hauntings #transcripts #129

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courage-a-word-of-justice · 4 years

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Stars Align 5

Geepers, I accidentally read some spoilers before watching this episode…so I realised that the person in te clubroom was Toma without his glasses, but it took me a bit to realise still.

“Makimaki”…cute.

Don’t give Maki’s father your name, Toma. Names are weapons for guys like him!

It’s ben a while since I’ve done this type of maths, although the answer appears to be correct.

Huh? The ED went straight to the teachers instead of going to Kinuyo/Ruriha/Kaori (whatever her name is)…

Oh! That heart gesture hints at the fact he has a sister (I’ve forgotten the guy’s name though) – he might’ve learnt some dance choreography from watching idols or magical girls with her. Update: That’s Shingo.

Dr Stone 19

Rule no. 2 of shonen – don’t underestimate the bishonen.

The guy who kinda looks like Kirishima with orange hair is definitely going to be important…(rule no. ???? of anime).

Ooh! The themes I thought would never came back…came back!

Some people do consider underpaying people a modern form of slavery, y’know.

Does Tsukasa always have to be called “the strongest primate”, though…? It’s a badass title, to be sure, but it certainly wouldn’t be said a lot in a normal conversation.

Judging by the flame (homura) she carries, I’d wager her name is Homu-oh, dangit. Her name really is Homura!

Senku teaches Fire Safety 101.

Ginro’s not holding his bokuto (wooden kendo practice sword) anymore…hmm.

I didn’t think Sulfuric Acid lady would be back…ever.

The funny thing is that Tsukasa seems to be a gender-neutral name, so telling the brawny men to “go suck on Mommy Tsukasa’s teat”…LOL.

Hyoga has that mask thing of his anyway, so he’s probably better off than, say, Homura.

Is that a Death Star??????!!!!

Kensaku means “search”.

Cell phone…you’d need extensive knowledge of electronics and/or IT and architecture (for the larger networks, or at least the towers) to get one running.

“…who’ll be our double agent?” – No duh. It’s either Gen (as suggested in the scene just before) or Taiju and/or Yuzuriha.

I never thought a smartphone would make me feel sad for what has gone before, but it just did when all these quotes from the past came through.

Okay, so one of the ingredients is steel (hagane).

I love how Gen gets the wine image. He’s a stage magician, so his fancy suit matches the image of a sommelier.

Byakuya seems to be the one represented in the battery image.

BnHA 67

Yay! Amajiki, my booooooooooy!

Shinchou Yuusha 6

I never thought I’d say this to my seasonal husbandos – I don’t even say this about zaShunina, the random yandere – but…Seiya, you a**hole!

Lemme guess…Seiya’s gonna use some speed seeds?

I read on Leviae’s status earlier that she has an immunity towards fire…*gulp*

A nurikabe is a wall youkai that blocks travel, while a hyosube lives in a river and eats rice plants.

What’s the age gap between Mash and Elulu? I know Mash is hot enough (in the manga) to be compltly within my range, so I’d say he’s about 16 at the youngest, but Elulu is, what, 12…? Update: There’s no real indication as to what the characters’ ages are, but Mash is lvl 16 and Elulu is lvl 8.

Ooh, this is new! Seiya’s thrown caution to the wind for once for the sake of Elulu!

No Guns Life 6

“Strong Smells” (on the can) – Yep, Olivier seems to be proving that name right.

Motor City…I didn’t really care for it at first, but now I’m starting to warm up to it.

Ooh, it seems the implication here is that Olivier inherited the title of EMS commander from her dad.

“…I’m gonna get shot!” - I guess when you’ve got a gun for a head, the assumption is you’re gonna get shot.

Armed Tokisada seems to be this world’s version of All Might…(but then is Juzo Deku? LOL.)

Iruma-kun 7

This OP is a lot more battle-oriented than I remember…

I want a GIF of sparkly Amelie, stat!

Iruma’s voice as Rin is too CUTE! LOL!

Kawaii Comics, LOL.

Ooh! I can recognise Opera by his nail polish now…! His nail polish appears to be purple today.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Opera express his own concern for Iruma until now. Maybe he’s like a surrogate mother to Iruma by now…?

They even have monsters to call out bell noises…LOL wut.

Hmm…I just realised Azz speaks to Iruma rather formally. Not just the –sama, but the keigo as well.

Azz is rather observant too…(Seriously, I swear he’s been teetering on the edge of being my husbando from this show, but since he’s so subservient, it’s a bit of a hard concept to grasp. Not to mention the guy is, what, 14…?)

Even the shadows of background characters are blue and pink…

The little arrow over Clara really sells the moment.

The bird is so cute~!

I only realised it this year, but boba is really in, all over the world, for young people. *stares at all the boba shops that have appeared around my area lately*

I think Ameri = watashi and Iruma = boku. It’s politeness all the way ‘round. I think Sabro might’ve used ore.

“Don’t let go. Desire is your life.” – Sarazanmai ad <- I think this quote is appropriate for this episode.

Oh! We see Kuromu the Akudol in the ED…I didn’t realise that. (<- knows about her due to spoilers)

Oh! I think next episode might be Clara’s seduction class! Ooh! Interesting…

Dr Stone 20

Come to the dark side, we have candy…amirite???

Dr Stone 21

The pun here is that tou is a way to pronounce “copper” and “steal”, so Chrome copped copper in the Eng subs.

Couldn’t Ginro just use the word “s***” instead? That would’ve made the pun a lot better, tbh.

Thy translated all the dialogue in the fake menus! Yay! (<- translator’s brain showing up) For instance, Senku’s attack is listed as 1 while Suika’s is 3 and Gen’s is 5…LOL. The one that really made me laugh was “Runs away the second he knows he’s at a disadvantage. You’re scum, Ginro!”

Magma wasn’t in the fake game menu…!!! (I like how Magma questioned how Senku suddenly started calling him a “friend”.)

No Guns Life 7

I feel like the length of time between distracting the guard and Tetsuro conveying his plan was a bit much, but…okay.

Shinchou Yuusha 7

LOL, Beel Bub…y’know, Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies.

If Seiya were watching No Guns Life, he’d freak out…

Is that Cerceus in the back-yep, thought so!

Shinchou Yuusha 8

I almost expected Rosalie to woof…that’s how doglike she is!

Why do I get the feeling we’ll 1) find out what the Warmaster looks like next ep and 2) find out Rosalie’s armour is actually the armour Seiya’s meant to look for…? I could be wrong, but my intuition has some chance of being correct, even if I think up stuff that’s pure speculation…

Stars Align 6

Does Yonex sponsor this show, like Mikasa for Harukana Receive…?

LOL, Mitsue’s reaction.

If this were the Amazing Race, the hometown advantage would suck…but this is Hoshiai no Sora, so this could go either way.

“How to Soft Tennis” indeed…sic.

Wait, who’s Takada…? Update: She’s on the girls’ team, IIRC.

The Takenouchi/Souga pair is a bunch of trolls…LOL.

Oji seems to be the leader, full stop. Same way Katsuragi has been running things.

It’s been a few weeks since I last watched this show, but…is Oji the guy who threatened to punch them all…? He is, isn’t he…?

Stars Align 7

I feel like Mitsue’s bitterness is fuelled by personal experience in the manga field…

Well, the guy’s name isn’t Arashi (storm) for nothing! Update: The guy’s name is in katakana, which may or may not prove my point…

Arashi’s surname sounds like the Japanese word for “prince”, if you’re wondering.

I LOLled so hard at the line “Versus Arashi?” Y’see, there’s this game show with a group called Arashi. Therefore, its name is “Versus Arashi”.

I learnt most of what I know about tennis from Wii Sports, LOL.

I mentally cringed when I saw Itsuki’s burns again…

“…years and experience.” – That’s two things, Tacky!

Souya from Planet With would be in heaven here…what with all this meat.

Doesn’t “Kamuy” mean “god” in Ainu…? That Ouji, so conceited! *huffs at how arrogant the boy is*

Girls do eat like fiends…LOL.

I can’t believe 7 episodes in real life time was only a month in Stars Align time…

Yuta’s really sensitive to Toma’s mood…probably because the former likes the latter. (Yeah, I’m a derp for saying what we already know.)

Stars Align 8

I-I wanna cry…you do realise I gave up piano halfway through high school, only to become an absolute bum when I got into higher levels because I can’t use my piano lessons to demonstrate I can manage my time responsibly anymore???? I quit Chinese the same year and now it’s the one thing that’s preventing me from getting a bunch of beneficial opportunities because now there are so many Chinese people in my region! Studies are not your life! (distant crying can be heard in the background)

I kinda get where the mother’s going with this, but knowing what I know…please compromise, you two.

“The handsome half” – I wasn’t sure what that meant until I saw the image…”half” meaning ha-fu, or a person who’s half Japanese half something else. It’s like calling someone gweilow in Cantonese –it’s vaguely derogatory at the very minimum.

*Yuta’s sisters suggest clothes for him to wear* “Don’t tell mom about this.” – Oh, I have a bad feeling about this…(Then again, I got vaguely spoiled for this point by the This Week in Anime segment…that’s why I decided to watch 3 episodes in one shot.)

Maki’s shirt says “to continue”, as if it’s echoing his nonchalance. Like, “Yuta, please continue” or something like that.

To be real with you, the first resource I consulted to start thinking about the LGBTIQ+ spectrum (outside gender-bending fiction) was a book about an FtM person, so I guess I’m the most used to that sort of thing.

This is why empathy is so good, Maki.

Go, Mitsue! Be the diversion!

Who’s “Kanacat”? Kanako?...Oh, it’s Mitsue. Rigggggggggght.*facepalm*

Why do I get the feeling Mitsue wants to join the soft tennis club…?

Sakurai-sensei’s glasses are all fogged up, LOL.

Ohh (sounds down). These kiddos are soccer nuts.*grumbles about soccer nuts*

Update: To be honest with you, I’m fine with not making hard gender decisions too…Just so you know.

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