#it's just a continuous river of 'this fucking destroyed me' followed by polite thanks to the showrunners

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

so I watched the most recent episode of succession (oops) and the thought vaguely occured to me "oh dear how are they going to recover from this one?"

and the answer is, of course, that they won't. this is the beginning of the end. this is how they destroy each other.

anyways that's my prediction for the fandom ciao kisses hope u all have a very chill season 4 💋

#succession #succession spoilers #succession 4x03 #there's not going to be another season is there? #i feel like succession fans very quite literally could not survive another season #they are being torn about like tissue paper in the wind #...like used tissues in Gerri's pocket i was gonna say but letsbehonest that woman's never publicly used a tissue in her life #anyways what is this. what is this i am experiencing? #is this ENJOYMENT? am i experiencing ENJOYMENT from this highly popular television show? #i did not consent to this!!!!!! #oops accidentally joined a fandom by watching a show and reading the social media reactions and looking up all the inside jokes and #ew i hate it take it back #(but first let me enjoy ASMR Deceased Billionaire Being Crunched On By The Worms) #my favorite thing about this fandom is nobody seems to actually ENJOY being in this fandom #it's just a continuous river of 'this fucking destroyed me' followed by polite thanks to the showrunners #which is impeccable. impeccable energy.

[briyourmotherdown]

Put On A Show, Darling - Chapter 1

Pairing: Brian May/Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 4137

Warnings: Language, some angst

Description: You and Brian have been best friends for over five years now, and you’ve loved him during most of that time. While you’ve been agonising over your hidden feelings, Brian’s gone and got himself a girlfriend. A serious one. 

A/N: This is my first ever (published) fic, and I’m a little nervous about posting it, but I really hope you enjoy the first chapter with more to come soon. (Give me feedback ! I need to improve !!)

Enjoy :)

Everyone always told me that when I grow up, I’ll fall in love for the first time.

They told me that I would give my all for them, that they would be my everything. 

That I’d fight to the ends of the earth for them, I’d brave the seven seas for them. 

They told me to be careful, that I’d lose myself in them. That how easily they could lift me up, they could let me down. Break my heart, destroy my soul.

And now I’ve learned how it feels, to fall in love. 

And I’ve learned the sting, the fervid burn that rages in your bones. But in my great affliction, he continues on. For they also told me the worst pain of all, when all of your affection, all of your pain, every single tidal wave of infatuation is all simply unrequited love.

 The bright lights reflect against his skin, glowing from the blinding heat and the vigour of his performance. His eyes flitter up from his guitar a few times to scan over the crowd, the room overflowing with energy. Excitement, felicity, admiration.

  You let yourself melt into the audience, heat crawling up your spine, hands shaking in exhilaration. you let yourself pretend for a moment that you’re just another fan. Just another fan staring up at him in adoration as he performs his art. Just another fan who hopes that just maybe he would glance in their direction. Just another fan who after tonight, can go home and rest, holding onto the sweet memories of seeing their favourite band in concert.

  But you’re not.

  You’ve been there from the start. When it was just two men trying to make it. You knew from the start he captivated you. Every fleeting glance had your heart racing and palms sweating. Every small touch had you reeling, internally begging for more. Just the smallest bit more.

  It felt as if you were watching him from behind a double sided mirror, heart in your hand, but all he could see was his own reflection.

  He was the movie, you were the viewer.

  You should’ve made it clearer, you know that. Maybe you shouldn’t have given up so easily.

   But you hid away those feelings, placing them gently in the back of your heart where you prayed he would never find them. You knew he would never find them.

  It’s better that way.

  For you are best friends, inseparable, shoulders to cry on.

  But you could not cry on his shoulder for one thing, as you feared your confession would tumble from your lips before you had time to catch them.

  I love you.

  “You guys were incredible!” You greet the four men backstage, taking in their dishevelled appearances with a wide grin. You hope that no one notices your eyes flit to Brian one too many times, but you can’t help yourself.

  “You think so?” He speaks up first, greeting his best friend with a hug. You close your eyes momentarily, gripping onto the moment before he pulls away all too soon, “Sorry, I’m all sweaty.”

  You laugh, shaking your head. “I’ve seen you much worse.”

  He grins at you, and you both share a beat of silence until he speaks once again, “We’re going to the pub after we get changed, you should come along.”

  Your eyes light up, always loving the nights of drunken singing with the band, especially Brian, “I would love-“

  “Brian!” You’re interrupted before you can answer, the all too sweet voice of the girl Brian is currently seeing.

  “Go get changed so we can go, silly. Oh, hi Y/N!” Dani turns to you with a polite wave, and you can barely muster a smile, but of course you do, you have to.

  “Hi Dani, how’ve you been?” You reply, turning your attention away from Brian and praying that both of them don’t notice your voice drop half an octave. Dani is a sweet girl, and as devastatingly heartbroken as you are, you can’t bring yourself to dislike her. She’s a lovely woman, who illustrates childrens’ books for a living, for god’s sake. You wish that you had a reason for the prickling feeling in your stomach whenever you see Dani with Brian. A reason more justifiable than your unspoken love for someone else’s lover.

  “I’ve been great, thanks! Has Bri asked you to come out with us tonight? You should totally join us.”

  “I just asked her, I have yet to get a reply.” He smiles, his sharp canines poking against his bottom lip and causing your stomach to flip.

  “I would love to, you guys, but I have work in the morning and I’d rather be in the land of the living.” 

   You joke, hoping that it’ll hide the fact that you’re lying through your teeth. You do have work, that wasn’t a lie, but you’d much rather stay home with a cheesy romance novel and a hot chocolate than have to suffer through the couples stolen kisses and hushed giggles.  

  “Aw, that’s a shame. Another time, yeah?” Dani finds Brians hand, and your heart pulls.

  “Of course.”

 You smile at the pair, mostly focusing on Dani so you don’t have to look at Brian’s confused face. You always goes to post-concert pubs with the band, it’s almost tradition.

 “I’ll uh, I’ll see you tomorrow morning then?” Brian touches your shoulder, and you try not to flinch as you nod.

  “If you’re coherent by then, yes.” You giggle, “You have a tendency to be a bit of a lightweight.”

 “I do not!” He stammers, cheeks flushing pink.

 “Anyway, I should really get going, sleep awaits.” Lies. “Stay safe, bye you two.”

 And without another word, you turn around, clutching onto the unspoken feelings in your chest as you exit the venue, eyes welling with tears of frustration when you hear  the loud laughter of the couple behind you.  

  You sink to the floor the moment the front door is shut behind you, a heavy sigh exiting your lungs as you cradle your head in your hands.

 Five years.

 Five years you’ve loved him.

 No matter how hard you try, you just can’t free your heart from his grasp. He’s got a hold on you, his grip so tight that it’s almost suffocating, but he doesn’t even realise.

  No matter how many dates you go on with another man, there is never a second meeting. No matter how many drinks you down, his image always stays so clear. It’s like you’re being haunted by him, like the shadows you see in the corner of your eye at two am when no one else is home.

   You’ve had so many chances to tell him, you just never could. You couldn’t ruin the friendship you both share. You couldn’t bear to have him walking on eggshells around you, to have him view you differently because he couldn’t reciprocate the same feelings.

   Picking yourself off of the wooden floors, you trudge to your bedroom to peel off the concert-ridden clothing. You wore it for him. The pale yellow dress that he said complemented your eyes. He didn’t notice, he never does.

   Moments later you’re sat on the shared sofa of your flat, cheesy romance novel in hand and hot chocolate long gone. You thought you’d enjoy the escapism, but you find yourself huffing at the too-easy fantasies. Love isn’t easy. Love can be torture. You close the book and set it in your lap.

   You pick up your black notebook, the cover is slightly scraped and the pages are ripped in places from the frustration of a blocked mind. You pour your thoughts out in a river of smudged ink, scribbling down the hope that maybe one day he’d finally open his eyes to see that you’re right there, and always have been. The pages are full, handwriting barely legible as your eyes begin to droop, notebook still open in your lap as you drift off.

  Your slumber is interrupted by a harsh scraping sound, and you recognise the sound as the front door that’s been broken for months, always scraping against the floor with a horrific screech. The landlord is yet to repair it. The sound is followed by two sets of giggles, followed by the sounds of shushing each other but soon returning to giggles. You sit up, closing your notebook and holding it in your lap as you rub at your sleepy eyes.

   “Y/N? You’re still awake?” Brian slurs slightly, obviously just as drunk as the woman hanging off of him. He’s got lipstick smudges over his mouth and across his neck.

  “I uh-“ You clear your throat, voice scratchy and hoarse from sleep, “I must’ve fallen asleep here.”

  Dani playfully runs her hand down Brian’s chest and you swallow thickly.  

  “Don’t mind me, I’m off to bed anyway.” Rising to your feet, you offer a small wave to the couple. You can barely handle their affection towards each other in the day time when you’re wide awake, but it’s all too much when it’s late at night and you’re exhausted. 

  “We’ll try not to be too loud.” He laughs, finding his own drunken comment comical, Dani erupting into a fit of giggles along with him.

  Your stomach drops, the familiar ache in your chest returning as you force a smile.

  “Goodnight.”

  The soft sheets of your bed welcome you with open arms as you approach it, falling into it with a huff.

  Well, that fucking hurt.

  And he doesn’t keep to his word either, as the muffled sounds of drunken passion reverberate through the two bedroom flat. The noise is still heard through the pillow pressed over your ears and the rain pelting on the window. A tear streams down your face as you finally shut your eyes, falling into a restless sleep once again.

   The shrill, loud ringing of your alarm clock wakes you from your sleep, and you reach your arm out blindly to shut it off. Your hand lingers over it, letting it ring a bit longer simply to annoy the couple in the next room. They kept you up, they should suffer too.

  But with a sigh, you decide not to let your feelings get the best of you, shutting off the alarm.

  Hot shower steam soothes your aching muscles, the scent of vanilla and jasmine helping you to come around from sleep. Your wet hair is blow dried and pinned back into a low bun, a small amount of makeup smudged around your eyes and on your lips in order to liven yourself up. Taking a minute to look fixedly at your reflection, you notice the darkness under your eyes, similar to the dullness in your once glistening irises. You’ve never really enjoyed the way you look, always finding an imperfection some place or another. The feeling only worsened throughout the years of feeling unwanted.

  With a sigh, you slip into your work uniform, grinning fakely at yourself in the mirror, an attempt to lighten your mood.

  It’s seven o’clock in the morning when you arrive, just on time for you to scurry to the back room and put your bag and coat in your locker. The scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries is already wafting through the air as the chefs in the back prepare for the usually very busy Saturday mornings.

  You wave a polite hello to your boss and begin wiping down the counters until customers begin coming in for the day. Your shift today is 7am to 7pm, a long one. This is how you spend your Saturdays—earning money to contribute to your rent. You work on weekdays as well, but not for as long as you do on Saturdays since you also attend university.

   You’re a couple of years younger than Brian anyway, but he dropped out of university to pursue his dream while you continued to study. He’s immensely intelligent, showing you up in conversations at times, but you admire that about him. You’re no idiot, but Brian’s brain moves at a pace that is hard to keep up with at times. You notice the way he slows his diction when around other people, but speeds back up whenever he speaks to you. You remember the pride you felt when you first notice him do this, flattered that he thought you were able to keep up with him.

  A ring pulls you from your reverie, the bell on the door jingling loudly as someone enters. “Y/N, darling!”

  A grin overtakes your features as Freddie waltzes in, his stage persona barely noticeable in his casual attire. You love that he could be someone so flamboyant, so brazen whilst on stage, yet so gentle and unpretentious when the spotlights were off. He was so Freddie, and that’s what made him such an incredible friend.

  Behind him stood John, a friendly smile just brushing his lips. Freddie tugs you into a tight hug the moment you walk around the counter, before pulling away and allowing you to quickly hug John.

  “I’m happy you lot are here, but...why are you here?” You grab some menus from the cart near the door as you speak, motioning with your hand for them to follow you to a booth.

  ‘We missed you last night… and quite frankly we were a bit worried. You always celebrate with us after a gig.” Freddie scoots into the booth, followed by John.

  With a quick glance around the corner to make sure no customers have come in, you sit down across from them. “I didn’t feel too well after the show, I think there was something off with my food.”

  Freddie and John share a pointed look, “I thought you needed to sleep because of work in the morning?” Freddie holds up his fingers in air quotes.

  “Brian told you?” You sigh at being caught in a lie, resting your head in your hands.

 “Dani. We knew from the moment she told us that something wasn’t right. Care to explain why our darling friend couldn’t celebrate with us?”

  “I just wasn’t feeling it last night, guys.” The bell on the door rings and you stand quickly to greet and seat the elderly couple, offering them a tea or coffee.

  “Bullshit.” John shakes his head, and you shush him when the elderly man turns around.

  “It’s not, it’s just that, that-“

  “You didn’t want to be there when Brian and Dani practically shagged on the dance floor?” Freddie pipes up.

  The elderly woman audibly gasps now.

  “Freddie!” You cringe at the image put into your head.

  “Well?” He continues.

  “I...I...you know? About my feelings?” Your shoulders slump when he nods, John joining in.

  “Darling, everyone knows except Brian. Even Roger bloody knows.” John snorts at Freddie’s remark.

  “Does…?”

  “Does Dani know? I think so, yes.”

  You groan and turn around to fetch the couples order, also taking a moment to regain your composure before turning back to the two men.

  ‘Does she hate me?” You pour some coffee into two cups for them, and brew a tea for yourself.

  “The short answer is no, but I’m almost certain that she feels threatened by you.”

   “Me? Why?”

   “Because you’re the only one that really understands that guitarist. He only ever really opens up to you, not even us!”

  Your heart skips a beat at the slightest sliver of hope that something may be there, before you quickly swallow it down. You are best friends, nothing more.

  “We’re just best friends, she has nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh darling, I’m not worried about her, I’m worried about you.”

  “Me?”

  “How much do you…”

  “Love him?”

  “I was going to say like him, darling,” He raises a brow, “but I seem to have gotten my answer.”

  You place your head in your hands once again, shaking it slightly with a strangled groan.

  “Oh dear.” John speaks, glancing at you with pity in his eyes.

  “I can’t help it.” You wince.

  “For how long?”

 “Five years.”

 “Good god!”

 “Freddie!” You shush him, glancing around the cafe, “could you be any louder?”

 “Oh, much, but that’s not the point here. Five bloody years? And you haven’t told him how you feel?”

  “I’ve got close a few times, but I just don’t want to ruin our friendship. He means everything to me and if hiding the way I feel about him means that he stays in my life, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “But what if he feels the same way?”

  “He doesn’t, but either way, that's not a risk I’m willing to take.” Standing up again, you walk behind the counter to wait for more customers, bringing your empty cup with you.

  “Y/N, you can’t just run from your feelings. It’ll break you.” You hear john from behind you as you turn to put the cup in the sink.

   “It’s broken me for a long time, Deaky. I can handle it.”

...

   The wind whips at your hair, pulling and misplacing the strands, but you welcome it, breathing in the crisp air in attempt to clear out the heavy feeling in your lungs.

  Work is long over, but you simply couldn’t face Brian. You didn’t want to see his shoes by the door accompanied by a smaller pair that weren’t yours. After Freddie and John bid you goodbye, work passed by agonisingly slow. Your mind was occupied by thoughts of what could’ve been, it even dared to imagine a time where Brian loved you back.

   The city looks much too large from where you’re standing, the rooftop of a small bar you and Brian both came to know. You’d both sit in their tattered leather chairs, chatting over drinks for hours and hours until he became a bit too tipsy to walk home, and you’d practically carry him to a taxi.

  You’re standing in the exact place you once almost told him you loved him.

    “Wow.” He breathed as you both climbed the last step, revealing the twinkling lights that seemed to stretch forever.

  Your heart beat with adrenaline, from both sneaking into the restricted access of the roof and from how good he looked in the low light. You couldn’t even speak.

   “Why didn’t we find this sooner?” He slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side.

   “No clue.” You melt into him the same way you’ve done many times before. The same way you do when you both pass out watching movies on his tiny television. The same way you do when work and uni becomes too much and he holds you close to him, whispering softly that everything will be alright.

You both stumble slightly as you lean your weight on him, laughing together as you steady yourselves.

  “Careful love, I’m afraid I’m a bit drunk.”

You both laugh, your eyes lifting up to look at his profile as he continues to stare at the city ahead. Your breath hitches, your laughter ceasing. The silence causes him to turn to you, glancing down to be met with your eyes.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I uh…”

  He cocks his head to the side, the glow shadowing over one half of his face. The sheer intensity of his gaze and the sound of cars whooshing past below has your knees weakening, tightening your grip on his arm just slightly.

This is it, this is your chance.

Tell him!

“Y/N?”  He furrows his eyebrows.

“I...you...you have a crumb on your face.”

   Damn it, you idiot!

 “Oh?” He reaches up to wipe his face with his hand, “Did I get it?”

 “Yeah, you got it.” You’re happy that he doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks as you finish your sentence, tears of frustration threatening to spill over.

  Brian smiles once more, squeezing your shoulder before he turns his head away from you once again.

  He doesn’t see the tear glide down your cheek.

 You frown in disappointment at the memory.

 Squinting in the dim light to read the time on your watch, you sigh at the realisation that Brian is probably worried as to why you’re not home yet. You usually get home around 7:30, it now being 10:00.

  So you begin your walk back home, feet dragging against the ground. With each passing step, the more you don’t want to go home. What if Dani is still there?

  The feeling of dread only grows bigger in the pit of your stomach, stopping in your tracks outside of your front door. The deep purple paint is cracked and peeling.

  Suddenly the door swings open, the breeze from the speed fanning over your face.

 “Oh, hi-“

 “Where the bloody hell have you been?” Brian doesn’t let you finish, pulling you inside by your sleeve and closing the door behind the two of you.

 Dani’s shoes aren’t by the door.

 “I got caught up at work, it’s no big dea-“

 “Don’t lie to me, I called your work and they said you clocked out on time.” He cuts you off again, arms crossed over his chest.

  ‘I-“

  “You’re always back at 7:30! Where were you?”

  “Listen-“

  “Explain!”

  “I’m trying to, shut up!” You yell back at him, throwing your arms up in frustration.

  He closes his mouth and presses his lips into a firm line, narrowing his eyes as he awaits an explanation.

  “As I was saying,” you put emphasis on the word, “I just went to Jones’s for a bit, the roof. Needed some air and just lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

  He sighs, uncrossing his arms and sitting on the stool next to the island. “I was worried, I thought something happened to you.”

  “I’m fine. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  “That’s hardly the point and you know it.”

  You sigh, shifting on your feet. Your work clothes are feeling exceedingly uncomfortable as Brian stares at you like a child who’s just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He exhales through his nose, standing up from the stool to embrace you in a hug. You hesitate, but wrap your arms around his tall frame and sink into him.

  “Don’t do that again, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

   You close your eyes, taking a breath,

  “I promise.”

   He pulls away from the hug first, walking into the kitchen to fill the kettle with some water, “How was Jones’s anyway?”

  “The actual bar, or the roof?”

  “Both.” He turns on the gas cooktop and sets the pot on top.

   You jump onto the countertop, legs swinging over the edge, “The bar, although cute, still smells like cheese.”

  He scrunches his face up, leaning back onto the counter across from you.

  “The roof? Still beautiful. It was different tonight though, foggy.”

  “Couldn’t see Big Ben?”

  “Afraid he just wasn’t big enough.”

  “Shame.” He hums, nodding his head as a curl falls in front of his eyes.

  “This damn hair.” He huffs, trying to blow the strand out of his vision.

  “Hey, be nice to the mane. I rather adore it.” You lean forward, almost falling off of the counter to push the strand behind his ear.

  To stop you from falling, he moves forwards so that he’s stood in between your legs, hands pressed onto the counter on either side of your thighs. Your hand brushes against the side of his face as you push his hair out of his eyes, it falling back in place a few times before finally staying put. You don’t realise how close your faces are until your gaze shifts from his hair, noticing his hazel eyes right in front of yours.

  The air feels thick as your eyes meet, and you can swear that you can hear his heart beat just as fast as yours. Your hand drifts from his hair to cup his cheek, his eyes glancing down at your lips.

  No, he’s got Dani.  You’re imagining it.

 The kettle begins to whistle, breaking you both apart as he scurries to turn off the heat. You sit with red cheeks, his equally so as he brews the pair of you two cups of tea. You thank him quietly as he hands you your cup.

  Taking a small sip, you push yourself off of the countertop, “I’m going to head to bed. I...goodnight, Brian.” You want to say something, anything about what just happened but you just can’t find the words.

  He glances at you with a shy smile, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

  And with that, you scurry away, placing your cup on the side table before flopping face down onto your mattress. You want to scream, yell, groan, do anything, but you’re aware of Brian in the next room. So containing yourself, you get ready for bed and shut your eyes, tea becoming cold as you drift to sleep.

#fic #brian #Brian may #queen #fanfic #borhap #Roger taylor #John deacon #Freddie mercury #angst #swearing #best friends #Brian May x reader #fem!reader #reader #70s queen #70s #my babies #my loves #first fic #take it easy on me #lmao #im trying #writing #slow burn

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 52

We traveled by night to the Taffington Boathouse. A way-point for traveling Railroad agents and synth refugees from the Institute, the two-story house usually provided a safe place to rest and a meal. They were not quite equipped for a dozen people to suddenly appear at once, but made the most of it.

The sun was just coming up as we arrived with Tinker Tom and Pam. As I was known to be searching for the Mechanist, the idea was that an assaultron in my company might be less suspicious than with any agent trying to look average. Dr. Carrington, Drummer Boy, and a handful of agents had gone ahead of us, while Desdemona, Glory, and the remaining agents were behind us. Deacon had gone east, disguise in hand.

Drummer Boy stood on the porch, keeping watch as a woman worked in the thriving garden in the front yard. She stood up with a basket full of vegetables, saw us coming, and promptly dropped the basket with a yelp.

I recognized her. As her creator's son rushed out of the house, I had a horrible premonition of what was about to happen. I immediately froze, and fortunately all my companions did the same.

"Hello, Eve," I said. To the young man staring at me with shock and anger, I said, "Liam. Good morning."

"Fuck off," he spat. He stormed toward me. I held a hand out to keep my friends from reaching for their weapons. If Liam was still a pacifist, the worst I would receive would be a verbal beratement. If he wasn't, I would probably deserve whatever he did to me. "You lied to me! You destroyed my home and you have the nerve to come here and say 'good morning?!'"

Tinker Tom spoke, hesitant, "We... probably should have mentioned Patriot was staying here, huh?"

"Don't call me that!" Liam snapped.

"I won't be in your way," I told Liam, "and I won't stay for long."

"Good," he said, and stormed back inside.

I looked at Tom. He shrugged, "Glory found him after the Institute was destroyed. She recognized him. His dad… almost made it."

I winced, "That must have been terrible for him."

We continued to the house, "Yeah, man. If Glory hadn't found him, if Zachariah hadn't been able to talk some sense into him—"

"Who?"

"Used to be called Z1-14. Convinced Liam that this was the world he'd sent synths to, this was what freedom looked like, the least he could do was help them survive in it. So Glory got them set up here. I hear Eve is a pretty good cook.”

Preston had carefully approached Eve and introduced himself as she recovered the produce scattered across the garden. He offered to carry the basket for her, which she politely declined, and thanked him for his concern. She hurried inside.

"General?" Preston asked as we went inside, "The kid that chewed you out…"

I explained, "Liam Binet is responsible for a great many synths being sent to the surface. He decided that freedom in whatever world existed up here was better than slavery inside the Institute. I was going to help him free more… I was going to help him free all of them."

"And instead you showed up with a bunch of Minutemen and blew his home to hell," Preston sighed.

“Yes.”

Drummer Boy had gone inside at some point during all this, and now met us at the door, “Tom, we’re gonna give the boathouse a proper floor for you to set up shop. Carrington’s setup is temporarily in the kitchen. Pam, there's a space for you in the living room. Still not sure how we’re going to fit everyone here.”

“No sweat, Drummer Boy,” Tom said, “we’ll make it work. It’s only temporary, anyway. Hopefully. First though? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need some breakfast.”

We agreed. Danse left his armor on the porch temporarily, mindful of the limited space inside the house. Seeing yet another Minuteman uniform did not comfort Eve as she tried to cook. "Why are you here?" she asked Preston.

"Just here for a bite to eat and a moment's rest, ma'am. Then we'll be out of your way."

This comforted her somewhat. “You came with the Railroad.”

“General Holmes wanted to warn the Railroad that the Brotherhood were planning an attack. Figured we might as well help with the evacuation.”

Eve nodded, “The doctor, he said something similar, though much… harsher.”

“I can imagine,” I said with a small smile. “Dr. Carrington is not known for his bedside manner.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s sleeping now, but I’m sure he’ll reclaim the kitchen as soon as he wakes up. I’m glad you aren’t staying long,” she continued in gentle tones, no longer scared but still concerned, “it will be hard for Liam with you here. Harder than usual.”

“Are you his mother?” Danse asked.

She shook her head, “No, I’m a copy of her.” Seeing Danse’s scowl, Eve explained, “After she died, Liam’s father designed me to be a surrogate mother. I was a social experiment, to see if a synth could integrate into a family. That’s what he always told his colleagues. I like to think it was becoming more than that. I know Liam isn’t really my son, but I've come to love him as if he were.”

“How has he adjusted?” I asked.

She shrugged with a small smile, “Not much use for a computer genius on the surface. When synths come through, some of them like to talk to him, when they find out who he is, what he did. That seems to help him."

Danse’s scowl had lessened to a frown, but was made suddenly worse by Drummer Boy’s appearance, “Hey, mind if we borrow your power armor?”

“Yes.”

“We just need to move—”

Danse stood and followed, “Show me what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Preston, Tom, and I ate while Danse assisted with construction outside the house. Tom left to find a place for his sleeping bag, and Preston and I followed his example. Liam entered the kitchen as we left, pointedly ignoring our presence, and helped himself to breakfast with a pleasant "hello" to his surrogate mother.

Danse entered after him. Liam glared at the intrusion, unwilling to leave, and Danse wasn't about to be intimidated by a teenager.

So Danse filled his plate, sat down across the table from him and said, "I understand you're good with computers."

Preston and I listened in from around the corner.

"I was better than good, back when they still existed," Liam grumbled.

"The fact that you are no longer within a safe and secure closed system does not mean there is no use for your skills. Have you ever programmed a turret?"

"Have I… what?"

"Not as sophisticated as the challenge of freeing synths, but necessary to--"

Liam sighed angrily, "That's what I hate most about this place, everything comes back to violence."

"A pacifist nature in a world where ninety percent of it wants to eat you is exceedingly dangerous and unwise."

They ate in silence.

"You've been on the surface for nearly a year," Danse said, "what have you accomplished in that time?"

"Accomplished? Staying alive isn't enough?"

"You are secure in your position here with a consistent source of food, water, shelter, and supplies. Why haven't you done more?"

Liam was flabbergasted. "Like what?!"

"You're the so-called genius, you tell me." And with that, Danse stood, thanked Eve for the meal, and joined us in our search for a space to rest.

"Damn, Danse," Preston muttered when we were out of earshot, “think you were a little hard on the kid?” Despite the words, there was no mistaking the admiration in Preston’s tone.

Danse scoffed, "If anyone had known the entire population of the Institute could be utterly demoralized simply by forcing its inhabitants to the surface, the technology could have been salvaged instead of destroyed."

We ended up on the porch, out of the direct paths of activity in the house. I lit a cigarette as Preston and Danse made themselves as comfortable as is possible on ancient wood. We managed to rest for a few hours before Desdemona, Glory, and company arrived, sparking a rush of activity as everyone tried to expand the limited amount of shelter. It was time for us to go.

“Hey, Danse?" Preston suddenly asked, "The salvaging technology thing. Do you ever miss that part?”

“Miss it?” Danse was surprised and had to think for a moment. “Not exactly. I was skilled at identifying potentially useful artifacts, and there was always a sense of satisfaction in discovering a piece, but I was also content to simply hand them over to the scribes for study." He opened his armor, "However, I think there would be great value in scavenging missions, using technology to further enhance the effectiveness of our troops and security of our settlements.”

Preston shrugged, “We'd have to figure out how to use it.”

“True, though we do have some more scientifically minded individuals among some settlements.”

Preston’s brow rose. “You want to start a Minutemen version of Brotherhood Scribes with Institute refugees.”

Danse smirked and stepped inside his armor, “It does sound insane when you put it like that, doesn't it?”

"I completely disagree," I said.

They both looked at me, surprised, "General?"

"I know precisely who I want as our first recruit," I said over my shoulder as I hurried back inside.

Eve told me he'd gone out back, which is where I found him glaring at a machine gun turret pointed at the sewer drain north across the river.

“Liam, may I speak with you a moment?”

“I’d rather not.”

“I know I’m the last person you want to talk to, but I have a proposition--”

He spun to face me, “There is nothing you have to offer me! You betrayed me! My father is dead, everyone I loved and cared about was vaporized or lost in this barren irradiated shithole, because of you. I wanted to blame myself, I thought that somehow me trusting you meant I was responsible, but you were always going to destroy humanity’s best hope for the future, whether or not we ever met. You know, I used to feel sorry for you? You lost your son, you missed out on every moment of his life, but now, I see it's only what you deserved.”

I was incensed, “I will not be lectured by a petulant child. You were perfectly willing to send synths to this world you were so ‘curious’ about, you were perfectly willing to risk your perfect comfort, as long as you never had to think about the fact that your father was still building those slaves in the first place! There were plenty of scientists who had second thoughts about the Institute's isolation, about whether or not synths were people, about whether it was acceptable to experiment just because they could, and not a single one spoke up! Those ideas were firmly beaten down by fear of the consequences, and so apathy was chosen over compassion, because it was easier. And you want me to believe generations of isolated amoral inventors were the best hope for humanity? What about this humanity? What about the very real, human lives existing in this wasteland?”

"General?" Preston spoke from behind me, wary.

I breathed, suddenly very tired. “It's alright, Preston. Nothing to worry over."

"Awful lot of shouting for nothing."

"I'll explain later." I focused on Liam, "Your father was right in his belief that science should be done with compassion in mind first and foremost, but it takes a far more patient man than me to teach compassion to those who cannot feel it toward those they do not see. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret my actions, that people died, that the science that could have saved the world was lost. But neither could I stand by and permit it to exist. I tried to reason with the Director. I tried to tell him I wanted nothing to do with his Institute, but he wouldn’t listen. I tried to tell him… so many things. He was so convinced in his vision he refused to consider his father might not share it.

"But science with compassion," I continued, "that is a vision you and your father both shared, and it is one that could still happen. No, that needs to happen."

Liam was confused, "What?"

"You aren’t the only one to get out. There are Institute refugees scattered throughout the Commonwealth. Imagine what they could accomplish if they gathered together with a simple goal in mind - make life on the surface better for everyone."

He thought about this a long moment. "We’d work for you." The prospect did not please him.

"You’d be a new branch of the Minutemen," I explained.

Liam shook his head, "I don't want anything to do with you."

"Very well. The invitation remains open, indefinitely." I turned to leave.

"Why are you here?" Liam suddenly asked.

"The Minutemen and the Railroad are allies. Did no one tell you?"

He frowned, "Allies."

Preston answered, “The Minutemen are always happy to help everyone, no matter who you are, as long as you aren't in the business of hurting innocent people.”

Liam rolled his eyes, “Sure. Unless you’re the Institute.”

Preston was surprised. “Wait. You're really serious, you don’t know? Listen, man, I get that you probably weren’t in on all the activities of the people in charge or whatever, but you have got to know the people up here have some damn good reasons for hating your home. Like, super mutants? You know the Institute made them, right?”

Seeing Liam’s disbelief, Preston continued, “The Institute used the surface as its experiment testing area and dumping ground for who knows how long. People up here were tired of having loved ones taken from us and replaced, tired of synth raids destroying homes, tired of living in fear, so we struck back. I'm sorry not everyone got out. I know a lot didn't, even with the evacuation order, and I know that the ones who did escape had a hell of a nasty surprise in store."

Preston sighed, "I know survival is hard, but it's what we've been doing our whole lives while you were living down there. And you know, I can't even blame you for hiding away. But I can blame the Institute for making the lives of innocent people struggling to survive so much harder than it already was. If you want to just keep hiding, I get it. But humanity's best hope for the future is the one we make ourselves. You decide you want to be a part of that? There's a guy at the Red Rocket station south of Sanctuary who'd love to meet you. Just ask for Sturges."

We left. I told Desdemona the Minutemen would be in touch regarding the Brotherhood, and asked her to return the courtesy. We made our way west.

I don’t know if any of us convinced Liam Binet to keep trying to make a difference, but I hope the young man continues to find a reason to keep living.

#fallout 4 #fan fiction #danse #preston #sherlock holmes #crossover

[cowardcouch]

The Eccedentesiast’s Trouvaille

Chapter 11

" What should I give him ? A watch ."

" I am gifting that to him ."

" Okay , then , ummm a perfume ."

" Seriously Komorebi ? Give him something which he needs ."

" What about a car ? He doesn't have one . Nah , I'm broke . What about -"

" Leave it . Just think about it when you are normal . Whatever your are speaking right now has no rationality behind it ."

You pulled your hair in frustration . Today is his birthday and you hadn't bought anything for him . Chanyeol was also of no help . Should you make something for him?" I think instead of buying something you can make something for him . He likes when people do something for him ." Chanyeol suggested . You can always do this . You had also been so creative so you could make him something . It would make him feel special . " I must say your brain does really work some times derp ." You commented which made Chanyeol punch you in the gut . " Ouch . I was just appreciating your perspicacity , bro ." You scoffed at him and decided to get the things together to design your innovation .

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

" 1 teaspoon cocoa powder . Okay , so here comes the cocoa powder ." You had carefully read all the instructions for making the cupcakes and tried not be reckless . Measuring every dry ingredient and every fluid correctly you mixed them together . You had never tried your luck at cooking before . This was the first time you were cooking for someone , and that too a boy . You had pushed all the maids out of the kitchen and had the kitchen to yourself . You had decided to make cup cakes for him and also a keychain . You had just returned from the market buying all the essential things you required . " What are you making ?" Your stepmom entered the kitchen and folded her arms across her chest . " I-I was making a cupcake for Baekhyun ." You answered while mixing the milk with the flour in the bowl . " Do you need any help ?" She asked you politely . " No , it's fine . I'll do it myself ." You answered with a smile .

You had been talking a lot to her recently but still you couldn't bring yourself to accept her . You were still trying . Baekhyun's words had deeply influenced , like every inch of your skin . You did not know that a man's touch and words could have such an ineffable effect on you . You had never been close to any man except your father and Chanyeol , and now that you were , it was too heavy for your heart to carry such a feeling .Whenever you were near Baekhyun , your heart would start thumping loudly , so loud that you feared that Baekhyun might have heard it . The way he had wrapped his slender finger around your hand that day was so intimate for you . Just a few days ago , you were at Baekhyun's apartment and he had his hand over your knee . The way his milky and velvet like smooth skin touched your denim jeans was making your heart beat rapidly ; you could still feel the warmth there . Whenever his skin made a contact with yours , it would make your insides churn and would start some tingling feels inside your veins .

The way his chocolate brown hair covered his forehead was so sexy . You could actually write a whole thesis about his looks , but that would take a whole day . Some of the honorable mentions are - his thighs , his eyebrows , his nose , his adam's apple , his chest and many more things . The best part of his body according to you was his lips . They looked so plushy and whenever they made that bow kind of shape , you wanted kiss them . " And done ." You poured the batter into the heart-shaped molds and kept them inside the oven. You set the timer for thirty minutes and decided to make the key chain while the cakes were being baked .

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

You poured the mixture of plaster of paris in the guitar shaped mold . You had mixed some adhesive , colors and some glitters in it . You let the mixture dry while you pulled out the tray from the oven when the time was over . The odor of chocolate reached to your nostrils . They definitely smelled good . " I hope he likes them ." You carefully took out the cakes from the molds and let them cool down . After they became a little cool , you covered their tops with cream . You drew shapes on some and faces on the others . Finally , giving them a finishing tough with adding on sprinkles you kept them in the refrigerator . Waiting for the the key chain to dry , you decided to relax by playing your guitar . You tuned your guitar since you hadn't played it for a long time . You cleared your throat and strummed some chords to check if it was tuned correctly or not .

You began singing John Legend's All of Me . You had a habit of singing with your eyes closed so you did that but as you reached the chorus , you could only see Baekhyun's image before your eyes ; His smiling face which you loved the most . You couldn't concentrate and your attention wavered resulting in getting a cut on your finger . " Ouch ." You hissed in pain and immediately got the first aid box and wrapped a band aid around the cut .

Having nothing to do , you decided to watch your favorite k-drama . You liked cute,romantic things . It was weird for a girl who pushed everything away but now you wanted your old self back .You decided to check the key chain and to your relief it had dried up . With great difficulty you carved the letter 'B' on it . You drew some cute and small stars on them to make it more attractive . You had never worked so hard to make something . Whenever you had to go to a party , you simply bought it rather than applying your exemplary skills . It might be a matter of priorities . Maybe Baekhyun meant so much to you that you couldn't miss any opportunity to make him happy . Maybe , you liked him . Brushing away these thoughts , you decided to get ready . You had decided to wear rugged blue jeans and a pink tank top . This was the only non-black cloth you had . Quickly wrapping his gifts you headed towards the venue .

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

" Despacito , fgghjbhtewrh despacito, fsghg ido ~" Baekhyun and Chanayeol SCREAMED on top of their lungs as they SANG the lyrics of Despacito . " Stop singing if you don't know the lyrics . You both are speaking gibberish ." You yelled at both of them to stop them from destroying the grace of the song . But they never followed your orders and continued their leisure . Baekhyun turned his face and winked at you before continuing singing . You blushed and looked down . You never would have thought that going to karaoke would be so much fun . You had never gone to one until today . Even though you hadn't utter a single word except for 'Happy Birthday Baekhyun' . They told you to join them but you decided to just judge them .

You had fun with Chanyeol but Baekhyun made the evening more special . Of course , it was his birthday today , it had to be special . But he had made your evening special today . You still hadn't given him the gift yet ; you were too shy . You weren't sure if he would like it or not ." Komo , come on . We'll sing together ." You were reluctant to go but when you saw his puppy eyes you just decided to give up . "F-Fine." You got and shyly stood beside Baekhyun who handed you the mic .

All the three of you started singing Fifth Harmony's Worth it . Both Baekhyun and Chaanyeol were twerking while you could only laugh at them . Finally , out of breath both Baekhyun and Chanyeol sat down on the couch leaving space for you in the middle . You sat in the reserved space and both of them rested their heads on your shoulder . " That was awesome . It's the best birthday ,thanks to you guys ." He entangled both of you in a group hug ; a group of three friends is always 'legendary'. Pulling away he smiled at both of you which melted your heart . " All thanks to you buddy ." Chanyeol confessed and playfully hit him .

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

After cutting the cake together ,you guys had talked about a lot of things . Chanyeol exposed his deepest secrets and you hit him for not sharing it with you . You told them how you hated some of your college mates you thought were bitches and a little immature for their age . Chanyeol sang some of the songs that he had composed himself which made you and Baekhyun really proud . " I'll have to got bro . Sorry , but mom problems ." Chanyeol spoke ."But your mom doesn't ever-" Chanyeol cut you off ." Dad has come back from his business trip so I need to go." "No problem Chanyeol . Your coming here is the biggest gift for me itself ." Baekhyun thanked him ."Thanks for the party bro and happy birthday once again ." Chanyeol wished and hugged him before leaving the place .

" So I guess it's just the both of us ." Baekhyun spoke while chewing the chicken he had ordered . " Let's talk a walk by the river ." He suggested and you nodded . Paying for the bill , both of you headed outside . Baekhyun draped his arm around your shoulder making you feel all wiggly-wobbly . " Let's sit here ." He pointed towards the wooden bench . He headed towards it and you followed him . He remained silent for a long time , just staring at the dark sky filled with millions of twinkling stars . You just fidgeted in your seat .

" Whenever it used to be my birthday , my parents used to take me to the karaoke . I insisted the to take me to karaoke since I enjoyed singing . My mother wasn't much of a music-lover but my father had a splendid baritone." Baekhyun broke the silence which made you look at him. " It was a week after I turned twelve that I heard of a music festival being held in the neighboring city and I begged them to take me there . They agreed and decided to drive till there . We were enjoying the ride until a truck came speeding towards our direction and crashed with the car . My parents were taken to the hospital but the doctors couldn't save them . I was badly injured but they managed to save me . For months , I couldn't return to my old-self . I stopped making friends , talking to people and stopped eating ; just like you , I isolated myself for every fucking thing in this world . It was only with a passage of time that I realized that I was just killing myself . I was walking , breathing ,eating but I was dead inside . I was just wasting my life . I realized that instead of dwelling upon my problems , I should do something productive . So , I just decided to become a human being that would help everyone , heal people ; a bright ball of sunshine and I did that , which makes me proud ." He smiled at you and you could see the tears that he was holding back .

" You know...I was just curious about you . I know you suffered , I can see it in your eyes . You can always share it with me . Not that I am telling you to do that right now ." He scratched his nape . You exhaled and just looked towards the sky . " The constant support , my first best friend , my soul was my mother .She was so near to me that I couldn't tell whether I was her daughter or her bestfriend . Her love for me was ineffable . I loved my father too . He was just as bright as my mother . We were just enjoying the days of our life when it was discovered that she had Alzheimer's disease . It was her last day in this world when I had my audition for a company . When I came back home , I just couldn't breath upon discovering the truth . After her death , I couldn't bring myself to talk to anyone . I became numb ; people stopped talking to me seeing that I lost my usual sheen and became one of those weird girls . My father and I became more and more distanced till I started disrespecting him . Things got out of hands when he got remarried two years after my mother's death . I just couldn't bear all the changes and decided to keep myself locked somewhere . I just kept on hurting myself , till there was no humanity left inside me..." You couldn't speak more since tears started appearing from their hiding place .

" Hey...it's fine . I'm here ." Baekhyun crept closer to you and embraced you in the most beautiful way . He caressed your hair and kissed it . " I-I shouldn't have gone to the audition , otherwise it wouldn't have happened ." You sobbed and snuggled closer to him . " It's not your fault Komorebi. Even I thought that if I wouldn't have asked them to attend the music festival , I would have changed the fate but I can't do that . What's has to happen will happen for sure . Problems would come one after the other and you must learn how to confront them . They thrash you till there is no confidence left inside you and your conscience just fails . They just torture you but you need to deal with them at any cost ." He spoke , not leaving you for a second .

" B-But I can't do it anymore Baekhyun . I'm tired of all this Baekhyun." You confessed and wrapped your arms around him . " You can do this Komo and you are doing it so well sweetheart . You inspire me everyday . You are such a strong-hearted girl and the most beautiful girl I've ever met who has beautiful smile despite all the scars ." He confessed and which made you smile and pull away but still his arm was around you ." Really ? You think that ?" You questioned as you couldn't really believe his words. " Yup . I know that." He leaned in and kissed your forehead . Your eyes closed slowly , your attention directed towards the fluttery feeling inside you .

" Hey ! You didn't give me my Birthday gift ." He spoke in a disappointed tone when he pulled away . " Oh Right ! Here." You handed him the packet which he opened hastily . He first opened the bigger box which contained the cupcakes and observed them with a never disappearing smile on his face ." I don't know if they taste good . I have cooked them for the first time.." You confessed shyly and looked at his face to see his reaction after eating the cupcake . " Are you kidding me ! They are so good. Here , try one." He handed you and you hesitantly put one in your mouth . As the chocolate flavor dissipated , you wanted more . They surely tasted good .

"Oh! There's one more gift . You really are my best friend." Baekhyun fished out the the smaller box and opened it . His fingers touched the beautiful red guitar key chain. "I-I made this myself." You spoke which made him gasp in surprise . "It's beautiful . It's so cute . Thanks Komo." He hugged you again and you gladly hugged him back.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

" YOU DELIBERATELY LEFT ME THERE ALONE !!!" You yelled into the phone . " Yup I did it so that you can spend some time with Baekhyun." Chanyeol confessed . You hung up the call in anger . It's not that you hated being alone with Baekhyun ; it's just that you had to show his decision failed . You had to tease him .

You still felt the warmth of Baekhyun's hug and you loved it . You shrieked and squealed the whole night before finally falling asleep . On the other side , Baekhyun too was happy since he unlocked the first door to his goal to make you happy .

#baekhyun fanfic #baekhyunxoc #baekhyun fluff

[tanadrin]

On Mars

Things I love about Mars: the landscape.

Mars's landscape is both alien and familiar. There are other fascinating landscapes in the Solar System, of course: Venus, Pluto, Europa, Titan, etc., and each has their charms; but the thing about those landscapes is that the environment in which they're found makes them more alien. Venus has mountains and plains and, like Earth, few craters; but the crushing sulphuric pressure of the atmosphere and the fact that every few hundred million years it seems the entire planet may go molten and resurface itself makes Venus a setting for hard SF, or individualistic person-versus-environment stories: the narrative that suggests itself to me when I imagine standing (in some megaspacesuit) on the surface of Venus is not "this is a place humans could one day be," but "this is an unpeopled Hell."

(Also: apparently Venus may have had liquid water as recently as 700 MYA. Life on Earth seems to have arisen almost immediately, as soon as the conditions potentially favorable to it existed. From the formation of its oceans to 700 MYA, Venus would have been climactically stable, thanks to higher cloud cover than Earth. So it is entirely possible that for a couple of billion years, between the oceans of Venus forming and the runaway greenhouse effect destroying them several hundred MYA, Venus had life, up until the Neoproterozoic period on Earth. But if the theories regarding how energy is released into Venus's dessicated crust are correct, the fossil evidence of that life would have been annihilated in the same event that resurfaced the entire planet some time in its geolocially recent past. Perhaps fragments of it persist, floating deep in the mantle like the Farallon plate on Earth--but for now, an actual record of the biohistory of Venus is lost to us. What I'm saying is, Venus is a postapocalypse: not a hopeful Perelandra, not even in the far future, but a grievous memorial for what might have been our lush and gardenlike neighbor.)

Titan, Europa, and Pluto--although they have very different landscapes--have a common feature, which is that waste heat from technology (heck, from human bodies) would melt or boil their surfaces. Pluto is especially bad in this regard, given that its plains are 98% nitrogen ice. Humans on Pluto would be creatures of unquenchable fire, destroying everything they touched. Europa is much more familiar, especially if it has warm seas beneath the ice; but its landscape is a vast broken plain of ice, possibly with a band of peninent spires rising into the sky at the equator. It's metal as fuck. But the airless, radiation-bathed surface is, again, seems to be suited mostly to being a vehicle of existential exploration, and the subsurface ocean may just be a hopeful dream, like the jungles of Venus. Titan, that weird little orange goofball, also has a water ice surface, plus a hydrocarbon "hydrosphere" which is fascinating! It's the first time the IAU has had to come up with a naming convention for actual bodies of liquid on a planet's surface. It has lakes! Inlets! Seas! But it's tiny, has very little gravity, and if you tried to terraform it even a little bit the entire thing would melt or evaporate. There are stories I would happily tell on Titan. I can even imagine they would have some features of the stories I would tell of an Earthlike world: here is a political boundary following a river, here are pirates on the Ligeia Mare (pirates on a methane sea, frost condenses on the inside of the hull even through half a meter of insulation, we haven't seen sunlight in weeks, we haven’t seen the sun since we were born). But the strictures of the environment also demand a more hard-SF sensibility, and a hard-SF sensibility applied to the "soft" aspects of science fiction: how do the constraints of the environment shape how societies function? How is politics, war, and economics different in a place where atomic individualism isn't just maladaptive, but maybe impossible? I've thought about these questions in other contexts (deep space, settlements on airless rocks), and although Titan expands the possibilities somewhat, it doesn't expand them much. But it's definitely my third favorite body in the Solar System (after Mars and, of course, Earth).

[Ligeia Mare, the second-largest lake on Titan, 78° N, 249° W .]

The rest of the solar system is either gas giants (which fill me with too much dread to really apprehend them on an immediate or aesthetic level; what hubris is it to try to imagine a little human soul against the endless storms of Jupiter?), or small, airless bodies specked with craters. Some of these verge on the utterly uninteresting. Io is at least respectably garish. But the narrative context they suggest to me is the same as Titan, shorn of the unique geographical points of interest that moon offers, and while that doesn't mean they're not interesting, they don't excite me nearly as much. I am glad they exist. Some are really beautiful (speckled Ganymede! gleaming Eceladus, Europa's twin! what the fuck is wrong with you Iapetus!).

(What did we do as a species to deserve a Solar System full of so many different, beautiful worlds? How much wonder is there in the rest of the Universe if this little corner is already so full of it?)

But Mars. Ah, Mars. You know, my head says that interplanetary colonization would be a waste of resources and, lacking a useful economic purpose, ultimately a giant boondoggle. There are inhospitable environments on Earth that are, against Mars, an Eden, and we have yet to people them; if science is our aim, even the practical benefits of a manned mission to Mars stop at orbiting the planet and controlling robots remotely below. And I know all this. But there's a quiet voice in the back of my head--quiet only because like the rumble of distant thunder it is spoken at much deeper frequencies, frequencies of the ground beneath my feet and of my soul itself--that says if I don't die having crunched the grit of Mars beneath my feet or run its dust between my fingers, my life will have been empty and devoid of purpose. Not to get too metaphysical on you, but I'm pretty sure there's a part of my soul that is convinced it was meant to be born on Mars, meant to wander the Kasei Valles and the Tharsis plateau, that longs to stand on the Olympus Rupes and watch the dust storms on the Amazonia Planitia below; to sojourn in the Labyrinth of the Night, filled with fog from sublimating frost.

Mars is alien. Mars is not like Earth. Yet its appearance suggests a world we almost know: here are canyons, here are sinuous valleys, here are dusty plains. On closer inspection, these things reveal their true, unearthly nature: this is a canyon as long as Europe, yawning deeper than the mountains rise. This is a volcano, yes--it is the size of France. If you stood on its summit, very nearly above the top of Mars' atmosphere (which is taller than Earth's!), its slopes would disappear around the curve of the world before you saw their end. These valleys are not river valleys: they are ancient outburst channels, the catastrophe that scoured out the Channeled Scablands--over, and over, and over again. The atmosphere is gasping-thin, and often choked with dust. The surface is freezing. Nothing lives, not so far as we can tell. But you can imagine yourself there. I wonder why?

[The informally-named “Columbia Hills,” Gusev Crater, Mars, 14.5°S 175.4°E. Mosaic image taken by the Spirit rover. The distance is about 300 meters to the base of the hills.]

Part of it, of course, is the wonderfully detailed photography from Mars missions, and the fact the planet is extensively mapped--one of the best-mapped bodied in the Solar System. As part of the Inner Solar System, we can orbit it comparatively easily, and we don't have to rely on photos snapped during quick flybys. (The USGS has complete, detailed maps of Mars available for free! The USGS is a freakin’ international treasure.) I think Mars more easily than most worlds in the Solar System is a canvas onto which we can imagine projecting the psychodramas of our own history. If the "minor" objections of its ultrafreezing surface and its unbreathable, thin atmosphere can be overcome, we can almost imagine it like any other harsh desert into which human habitation has intruded (and humans, like a gas, do tend to occupy all available space). And those objections can be overcome, if we are patient and work very hard, and they can be overcome without annihilating the surface of the world. It would be possible to blanket Mars in a thick, carbon dioxide-rich atmosphere and bring its temperature up to, say, Antarctic levels (i.e., you could survive indefinitely in very warm clothing with a breathing apparatus) with several centuries or possibly a millennium of the diligent application of existing technology. We have no reason to do it right now, and it would be madness to try, but it's doable--so one day, we might.

And if we did? Well, I'd like to think that the species that did that would be, after Carl Sagan, a species very like us but slightly better in important ways, and that by then Earth would be a much nicer place to live; and Mars, therefore, by extension, would be a more rugged and difficult environment but still full of basically decent people who have solved problems like poverty and oppression and large-scale warfare. With a light brushing of a sort of Mad Max visual aesthetic, what with all the breathing masks and the exposed ductwork. Hopefully they would continue the IAU trend of giving everything really atmospheric names, so we wouldn't have the place carpeted in stupid shit like "New Canada" and "President Reagan Land", like Antarctica has been. (Seriously, the IAU needs to take over naming stuff in Antarctica, it's dire down there.)

There is another possibility of course, and in my mind that possibility is inextricably linked with the fact that Mars is small. Mars, like Earth and Venus, probably formed with a dense atmosphere. Its coldness, believe it or not, is not a feature of its distance from the Sun. That's a common misconception. The approximate habitable zone of a G-type star like the Sun extends from within the orbit of Venus to just to, or slightly beyond, a planet at Mars's distance (1.5 AU or so). Venus, for its part, was doomed by being just too warm, and, as the Sun aged and its energy output increased, the homeostasis of its environment being tipped a little bit too far, until the whole thing collapsed, the seas evaporated, and the water vapor was shorn apart by ultraviolet energy, its hydrogen scattered into space by solar wind. But Venus is big. Venus could hold on to its atmosphere regardless. Mars could not. Though further from the Sun, and initially with its own hydrosphere (which now sleeps frozen beneath its crust and at the poles--which have enough water in them to deluge the surface meters deep), the solar wind gradually stripped away Mars's atmosphere, until it was unable to trap heat, and liquid water ceased to be able to exist on its surface for more than the briefest periods of time. Earth, too, would be frozen desert if it had an atmosphere like Mars.

[A Noachian-era alluvial fan in Eberswalde Crater, 24°S, 33°W . Many Noachian-era craters show evidence of having once been filled with water. The aptly-named Noachian period was the last time surface water might have been abundant on Mars, and ended roughly 3.7 billion years ago.]

Any atmosphere we give Mars is doomed in the long run--on the order of thousands of years, not millions. Any civilization we engender on Mars is not a civilization for eternity: it is doomed from its beginning. If we are less wise than we hope, less able to cooperate than we wish, less able to accomplish the miracles of terraforming that we require, the saga of human habitation on Mars will not be the saga of overcoming the frontier, of planting a new, bright tree of our people on a neighboring world; it will be a saga of a promising beginning and then a long--terribly long--slow decline. The Martian desert will slowly cover cities and whatever little groves of life we plant; our first, tentative seas will dry up; increasing scarcity will become the norm, not for a few generations, but for whole civilizations, until the entire memory of the world is nothing but a medieval feeling of decline, of loss, of some ancient glory which we cannot quite remembering being forever beyond our reach. The midcentury scientific romances of a dying Mars were true, but they were not accurate assessments of the present or the past. They were prophecy--a prophecy which is not guaranteed, but which should serve as a warning nonetheless.

Again, my interest in these concepts is mostly from the standpoint of fiction and imagination. Colonization of Mars is a long, long way off, and sitting here in the mythic past of any future Martian civilization, with a warm green spring outside my window and the luxury of breathing free oxygen kindly manufactured for me for free by the native biosphere, I would be surprised if any future settlement of Mars unfolded more than a little bit in the way I expect. Nonetheless, these are the thoughts that occur to me as I pore over maps of Mars. Here, the Chryse Planitia. Here, the graceful curve of the Claritas Fossa. Here, Elysium, its scattered features named for the abodes of the dead. Here, the illimitable Vastitas Borealis. Here, the Chasma Australe, which cuts deep into the southern Martian pole; where Edgar Rice Burroughs might have imagined the ten-thousand mile River Iss. I know that I will probably never see this world with my own two eyes. But God Almighty! I would give anything!

#maaaaaars #ramblings and doggerel

[ddaddsprompts]

The dads' reactions to a taxidermist dadsona (but he taxidermises roadkill and deceased pets- not animals hunted for taxidermisation)?

FYI: Given the topic, there will be talk of death, dead animals and the work a taxidermist does! I hope you’ll enjoy! - Mod Mare

🥃 “What the fuck.” You whiparound so fast, it nearly gives you whiplash. “Jesus, Robert, you shouldn’tscare a guy holding a knife!” He raises an unimpressed eyebrow and kicks thedoor closed, then walks over to where you are working on your latest find, asmall hare. Robert’s never been in your basement before, which pretty muchturned into a running joke between you two after he found out about your work.It’s not the torture chamber he jokingly accused you of, nor are there athousand corpses lying around… well, no human corpses, at least. He pokes thehare, as if to make sure it’s really dead, and then picks up one of your tools.“What’s that for?”“Skinning knife.” You gesture towards the pelt. “You use it to remove the fur.”“I always thought you just… stuff the original body with newspaper orsomething.” That startles a laugh out of you. “No, I don’t think that would holdup very well. You make a sculpture of sorts. Some freeze-dry the animal afterremoving the squishy bits that might rot, but I prefer making woodensculptures.” Robert nods, watching in interest as you continue your work. “Whatkinds of animals have you worked on so far?”“Roadkill, strays or pets. I’ve never killed nor do I accept animals that werekilled.”“Would you make an exception?” You look up and frown. “For?” He looks like he’strying to keep a straight face, but there’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “IfI ever have to kill a cryptid in self-defence, I want a mounted piece.” Yougive him a thumbs up. “Though it might be hard to preserve it, depending on thesize.” Robert gets a thoughtful look on his face and tilts his head. “I’ll getback to you on that.”

🍸 “It’s… it’s dead, right? It won’t bite me?” You slipyour hand into Joseph’s and give it a squeeze. Then you carefully guide it torest on the dog’s head. He flinches, as if he expects the piece to leap at him,but slowly relaxes once he realises it is, truly, dead. He politely asked you afew questions when you told him your profession, but you were able to tell hedidn’t know what to think of it. So you invited him to your workshop to seehimself and he agreed, after you promised he wouldn’t see any blood or intestines.“Is that the skull underneath?” You shake your head and gently knock againstthe head, a wooden tone emitting from it. Joseph furrows his brows in confusion,but understanding quickly dawns on his face. “Oh, so you make a sculpture outof wood and… pull the skin over?”“That’s my way of doing it, at least. Others will do it differently, but thenagain, that’s true for every job.” Joseph chuckles at that and carefully moveshis hand down to the dog’s open muzzle. You formed the mount so that it lookslike the dog, a beloved pet gone too soon, is catching a Frisbee, its tail waggingexcitedly. Joseph pokes one of the teeth. “It looks so real. It’s trulyimpressive work.” You blush at the compliment and shuffle on your feet. “Thanks,Joe. Want to watch me make one?” Joseph pales a little, which is an amazing feat,considering his normal complexion. “Ah, no, thank you. I would rather not…” Hehems and haws. With a pat on the shoulder you release him from his misery. “I’mnot upset. It’s not for everyone.” Joseph visibly deflates in relief. “I’mhappy to hear that. Now, as fascinating as all of this is, I would prefer ifyou didn’t let the twins in this room until they’re at least fifteen…”

☕ Mornings like this are rare: With Mat,Carmensita and you all sitting at the breakfast table, enjoying a lazy morningwhere neither you nor Mat have to work and where Carmensita doesn’t have to goto school. “Y/N?” You crack open an eye and look over at Carmensita. “Hm?” Shefiddles with the bottom of her dress. “We’re doing a present your parents thingat school and I’m including you and I wondered… what do you do for a living?”“I’m a taxidermist.” Mat starts coughing. You pat his back, but he insists he’sfine. “What does that mean?” Carmensita asks. You take a second to think of achild friendly way of explaining your job. “You know how there are sculpturesof animals in the museum? With fur and all?” She nods. “I do stuff like that.”Carmensita gapes. “That’s cool! Can I watch you?”“Carmen, baby, I just remembered that Y/N got an important letter that I meantto show him. Could you go fetch it real quick?” Although Carmensita looksconfused, she nods and runs off to the front door. Mat turns to you. “I don’thave anything against your line of work,” he says. “I think it’s cool, really. Ialways admire the stuffed animals in the museum… but, um… could you not… showher anything involving death and related things? I don’t want her to…” He fidgetsin his seat. “She’s not good with blood and the topic of death is still a soreone and I really don’t want her to freak out or anything like that when shesees the tools and what you do and-“ You put a hand on his mouth to stop hisrambling. “I totally understand, Mat. I didn’t let Amanda in my workshop untilshe was old enough, I’ll try not to traumatise Carmensita.” Mat releases a sighof relief and removes your hand, taking it in his. “Thank you. She’s not assqueamish as me, but that kind of thing...” Before he can finish, Carmensita returns,empty-handed. “There was no letter, Dad.” Mat feigns surprise. “I must havebrought it into Y/N’s office already. Thank you anyway, baby girl.” Carmensitadoesn’t look convinced at all, but drops the topic.

🌹 Damien had put he was most likely to ‘listen to true crime podcasts whileI taxidermy my newest specimens’ on his DadBook profile, but you’re stillnervous as you wrap your latestspecimen in gift wrap. It’s not even a special occasion, no anniversary orbirthday, but you just finished preparing a bat that you found in the forest,and part of you had wanted to give it to him. There was no backing out of iteither, you’d told him you have a present, but gods, you’re nervous. You finishtying a bow on top the bat’s head and put it into a plastic bag to carry it toDamien’s house. He’s already waiting by the time you arrive and his eyesimmediately zero in on it. “The bag does little to quench my curiosity,” heannounces after greeting you with a chaste kiss. “Please do not keep me waitingfor too long, Y/N. I might not be able to take it.” You decide to take pity inyour boyfriend and fish out the gift. It might be wrapped, but the paper mostlyfollows the shape of the bat. Damien cocks his head to the side and examines thegift curiously, before reaching out and placing it on the table to unwrap it. Atthe first sight of black, sleek fur, his eyes go wide. He practically rips awaythe remaining paper. “Oh, what craftsmanship,” Damien breathes out in awe. “Youmust tell me who made this. They’re experts at their job.” Blushing, you motionfor him to turn the bat over. He does and reads the text at the bottom of thewooden platform. His eyes widen at the sight of your signature. “You… you madethis for me?” You nod shyly. Damien covers his mouth with his hand. “What did Ido to deserve such a perfect partner like you?” He crosses the distance betweenyou and pulls you into his arms. “Thank you so much, Y/N. I love it. Pleasetell me how you managed to get the leather of the wings so translucent. It’sincredible.”

🎣 Ever since you started your apprenticeship, you hatedworking with fish. You’re sure that nine out of ten taxidermists would agree:Fish are the toughest animals to work with. That, in your opinion, makes yourgift for Brian all the more special. You put hours upon hours of work into it;hunting down the perfect specimen in particular took you weeks, because of yourphilosophy of not using any animals that were killed by human hand. But now you’reholding the rainbow trout in your hands and you’re proud of what you’veachieved. Hopefully, Brian would like it too. The front door opening andMaxwell barking excitedly signals your partner’s arrival – now is the moment oftruth. You hide the trout behind your back and turn around, just in time forBrian to enter the living room. He walks up, arms spread to pull you into ahug, but he stops and points behind you. “Are you hiding something?” You staysilent, but nod. Looking like a kid in front of the Christmas tree, Brian asks,“Is it for me?” Again, you nod. “Don’t leave me hanging like that, Y/N! What isit?”“Have you noticed you don’t know what I do for a living?” It seems like nowthat you mentioned it, he does; Brian scratches his beard and hums. “I won’tforce you to play the guessing game.” You produce the trout from behind yourback and present it to him. “I’m a taxidermist. And I made this for you.” Anyworries you had are wiped away in a matter of seconds when Brian lifts youright off your feet with a hug around your middle. “Wow! It looks like it’sstill alive, that’s crazy-good!” He grins. “I’m going to hang it up at work soeveryone will see!” Of course he would.

👟 “You know, next time River manages to destroy Arnold,I might just make her a mounted capybara piece. Even if it costs a thousanddollars to track one down and have it shipped here.” Craig lifts his head offyour chest and blinks at you a few times to banish the last remnants ofsleepiness. “How do you mean?” Unsure of how to make yourself any clearer, you justraise your eyebrow. You can literally see the wheels turn in Craig’s head.Then, in a movement that nearly sends you both flying off the couch, he sitsup. “Dude! That’s right! You studied taxidermy!” He’s still so sleepy, with hishair tousled, it’s adorable. You try not to laugh, but can’t help but snicker. “Yes?”“I totally forgot about that. You really went through with it? I remember yourparents trying to get you to choose a different career.” You shrug. “I did,yeah. Got my own business now, some of the animals in the museum are actuallymy work.” Craig clasps your shoulder in appreciation. “That’s really cool. I’mglad you followed your dream.” There’s a pause. Then, “Wouldn’t a… stuffedanimal be too hard for a toy?”“I mean, they’re made from wood, so yes, they wouldn’t be soft and fluffy likea stuffed toy, but… you know I wasn’t serious, right?” Craig blushes and rubsthe back of his head. “I know, bro. You just got me thinking about it and now Ican’t stop imagining giving her one for her birthday. Just imagine of howexcited she’d be!” You tilt your head to the side and picture it. The cutenessof the mental scene makes you break out into a grin. “Bro. Now I want to makeher one.” Craig drops his head on your chest again, laughing. “I’m sorry?”“Don’t be.” You tap his nose. “You’ll be the one paying for it.”

📖 “—and now thatwe’ve finished skinning it, we’ll need to lay the skin out and sprinkle ourborax-corn starch mixture on it. We do that to disinfect the skin, but also toensure absorbency.” Neither you nor Ernest notice Hugo enter the garage, you’retoo focused on the bird corpse lying on the table in front of you. Gettingclose to Ernest had been the hardest part of your relationship with Hugo; ittook him a very long time to warm up to you. So when he brought you a dead birdhe found on the street and asked to stuff it, you eagerly agreed. Maybe youshould have asked Hugo first. How his son found out about your job before himstill confuses you. “Now what are you doing here?” Ernest curses and drops thebottle with the mixture, but thankfully doesn’t spill much. You don’t fare anybetter and press a hand on your chest to calm your heart down. “Don’t sneak upon people like that,” you scoff. Hugo holds his hands up in a silent apology. “Whyis there a… gutted bird on the table?” Ernest kicks a stone with his foot andlooks away. You nudge him encouragingly. He grumbles. “Y/N shows me how tostuff animals.” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How do you know how to do that?” Youshrug. “It’s kind of my job? I’m a taxidermist.”“I didn’t know that.” Hugo looks from the bird, to you and then to Ernest. “CanI join?” You nudge Ernest again and give him a look that says it’s hisdecision. The teenager scowls, but then nods. “Sure.” Him turning his back toHugo again means he doesn’t see the huge smile on his father’s face. Whichfades the moment you hand him a cotton ball. “Stick it into its neck.” Hugogoes a bit green, but his expression tells you he’s more fascinated thangrossed out.

#dream daddy #dream daddy: a dad dating simulator #dream daddy a dad dating simulator #ddadds #ddadds imagine #Anonymous

[imjustthemechanic]

The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout

Attempts to figure out what the fuck is going on continue to fail.

Sir Stephen's words hung significantly in the air for a few moments, then DI Carter turned to him with a frown on her face.  “Sorcery?  That was an act of terrorism, that's what it was!”

“I have seen such things before,” Sir Stephen insisted.  “It's a very dangerous form of magic, because you must persuade the devil to perform a task before you give it a reward.”

“Oh, shut up,” Carter told him.

Sir Stephen was apparently undeterred.  “Normally a demon performs no service until blood has been spilled for it,” he explained.  “To bring down a building and kill all those inside requires it to take on faith that there will be people inside, and the blood will be enough to pay for the deed. And if the devil is disappointed in the result...”

“Shut up!” Carter repeated.  “Are you listening to yourself?  Do you have any idea how many people just died?  There must have been a hundred or more, who came there to be cured, and now they're dying in the rubble and you're blaming magic?”

“The most terrible of all magics,” Sir Stephen said gravely.  “I know there are dead, and I know I was meant to be one of them.”  He looked up at Dr. Wilson in the pilot's seat.  “I did not yet come to that part of the tale, but when we tried to return to the priory, we found it had collapsed just the same way, with the blood of the sisters staining the snow.”

“You guys.”  Dr. Wilson turned in his seat.  “More important question: it looks like they didn't refuel the chopper after their last trip. We've got about twenty minutes in the air – where do we want to go?”

He'd turned to the southwest, following the line of the Great Glen as they left the hospital area.  The cloud of dust from the collapsed hospital was lit brightly behind them by the setting sun.

“Away from here,” said Natasha.  That was all that mattered.  If somebody were trying to kill one of them – or all of them – they had to go somewhere that person didn't know they were.

“Burnett Road,” said Carter.  “I need to talk to my colleagues and figure out if the bombing were connected to the disappearance of Mr. Pierce.”

“Invermoriston,” said Sir Stephen, “and I shall prove to you that it was.”

“There's nothing in Invermoriston but an Irish nutter with a deformed seal!” DI Carter protested.

“The woman who spoke to Wilson on his 'mobile' was there to tell of the beast, was she not?” Sir Stephen asked.  “If we can find her, I think she will tell you she did no such thing.  A kobold is a shapeshift.  I think you will learn it was Zola you spoke to, and the Red Death whose sorcery brought the building down once they were sure I was within it.”

Nat thought about that.  “All right,” she said.  “Invermoriston.”

“You must be joking,” Carter protested.

Nat tried to explain her reasoning.  “You're assuming he's making all this up, but what if he's not?  What if it's a twisted version of things that really happened?”  Maybe this was the spy thinking again, but Natasha didn't want to leave the possibility un-investigated.  “Maybe the reporter confirmed that Sir Stephen was in the hospital not because she wants to interview him, but because somebody paid her to – and then once they knew he was there, they bombed the place?”  That almost made sense, except that what had happened at the hospital hadn't felt like a bomb, any more than it had felt like an earthquake.

“I think you're reaching,” said Carter.

“Actually, it's not a bad idea,” Dr. Wilson said.  “They'll have a spot for us to land.  We'll be in somebody's way if we land in the city, because they'll be disatching police and rescue from everywhere they can, but that little square we saw on the news has space to put a helicopter.  It'll be easy to find, too – it's three quarters of the way down the Loch, where the River Moriston gets wider.  I'm out of practice navigating by night, but I can find that.”

Carter sighed.  “Okay, Invermoriston.  I'll have to call my colleagues when we arrive.”

“As long as it's unanimous,” Dr. Wilson said, and grabbed the radio. “Um, hello?  INV air traffic control?  My name is Dr. Sam Wilson. I just escaped the Raigmore Hospital collapse in the air ambulance, with a patient, a cop, and a guest on board.  We want to fly up the Loch to Invermoriston... and it's been about six years since I last flew a helicopter.”

Somebody at the airport gave Wilson some guidelines for the flight, and they continued to work their way down the Great Glen.  Days were long in the Highlands in August, but it was still twilight and rapidly getting darker.  Lights were coming on in the towns and tourist hotels on either side of the long, narrow Loch, and cars could be seen on the roads coming and going.  The waters of the lake themselves were very dark, reflecting the last light of the sunset and a bright half moon.

“Did you ever hear about a monster here back in the day?” Nat asked Sir Stephen, out of idle curiosity.  She was pretty sure she'd read somewhere that there were medieval legends to that effect, but had no idea if they went back as far as 1066.

“The first time I ventured this far north was in pursuit of the Red Death,” said Sir Stephen.  “Nobody warned me of such.”

“The BBC went through the whole Loch in 2003 with sonar, and they didn't find a thing,” said Carter.  “You'd think that would have been the end of it.  My guess is the guy caught that seal somewhere else and moved it to the lake himself so he could 'discover' it.”

“Are you so skeptical about everything you encounter?” asked Sir Stephen.

“Like I told Dr. Rushman, I don't beleive in things, I follow leads,” Carter insisted.  “When I see where they take me, that's reality  It's not about belief.”

“Truth is truth, whether you believe in it or not,” said Sir Stephen.

He'd thought he was arguing with her, but Carter treated it as an agreement.  “Exactly,” she said.  “If I start off believing things, I'll be looking for eviddence that confirms my belief, rather than for the truth!  Finding the truth is my job.”

“Mine, too,” Natasha said thoughtfully.  Archaeology and detective work were actually very similar.  Both involved looking for evidence of past events and trying to reconstruct what had actually happened. The only difference was the time elapsed – Nat's cases were very much colder than Carter's.  It was a curious thing to realize after she'd been doing this as a cover for several years now, especially when she contrasted it with her previous line of work, which had often been about obscuring or even destroying the truth and the traces it left.

She wondered what a psychologist would think of that.  Was Natasha somehow trying to redeem the years she'd spent hiding the truth by helping to reveal it instead?  Or was she still just a child who wanted to be Indiana Jones?

“I can see the mouth of the Moriston,” said Dr. Wilson.  “Air Traffic called them to tell them we were coming, and it looks like they've lit up the car park for us.  Hopefully somebody moved the Loch Ness Monster.”

He turned on the helicopter's landing lights, and managed to make a nice soft landing in the car park next to the Glenmoriston Millennium Hall.  Dozens of people were there waiting for them, including a news van and an ambulance, but all Dr. Wilson did was turn off the engines and slump agains the pilot's seat with a massive sigh of relief. “Never thought I'd have to do that again,” he said.  “Maybe I should take some lessons, get my license back.  Can't hurt.”

Natasha opened the door, and the first person she saw was the woman from the ten o'clock news, the one who'd reported on the monster capture.  She was taller than Nat but shorter than DI Carter, with bottle-blonde hair in a pixie cut and multiple earrings.  The helicopter landing had apparently caught her in her off time, since she was now wearing a sweater and jeans instead of a tidy pants suit, but her cameraman was right behind her.

“Good evening,” she said, coming up to meet Nat.  “I'm Yvonne Kirkland from Channel Four Scotland.  May I have a word about the events at Raigmore?  I understand you were a witness.”

“I'd rather not, thanks,” said Natasha, trying to be polite.

DI Carter climbed down next, and the two of them reached to help Sir Stephen – but he gently refused, preferring to demonstrate that he was able to stand and walk on his own.  “I am quite healed,” he assured them.  “Or nearly so.”  In the glaring lights set up in the car park nothing looked natural, but the wound on his face did look like it was knitting quickly.  Nat wondered if there would be a scar, or if it would entirely disappear.

“Would either of you mind telling our viewers what you saw when the hospital collapsed?” the reporter asked them.

“Yes, we would mind,” said DI Carter.  “We mind very much.”

“I...” Sir Stephen began.

“He would definitely mind,” Carter added, putting a hand in the middle of Sir Stephen's chest to keep him from approaching the other woman.  Nat could almost see what Carter was thinking – she must be imagining Sir Stephen telling the entire country that A Wizard Did It, and almost dying of embarrassment from the thought alone.

Dr. Wilson was now climbing out, and Kirkland decided to give it one more try.  “Excuse me, Sir,” she said.  “I'm Yvonne Kirland from...”

“I know who you are,” snarled Dr. Wilson.  “We spoke on the phone.” He took Sir Stephen's arm and guided him over to the waiting ambulance.  “Come on, Sir Steve, let's get you looked at.”

“Maybe get him something to wear,” Natasha agreed.  Sir Stephen was still dressed only in a paper hospital gown, and it was sagging open at the rear.  He had a very nice backside, but that didn't mean the whole world needed to see it.

“Wait,” said Sir Stephen.  He reached for DI Carter.  “I told you to ask the lady from the ten o'clock news whether she poke to Dr. Wilson.”

DI Carter hesitated, then turned to face the reporter.  “Inverness Police Department,” she said, showing her badge.  “Did you ring Dr. Wilson's mobile about an hour ago?”

“No,” said Kirkland, visibly puzzled by the question and still a little startled by Wilson's rude dismissal of her.

“You didn't ask for an interview with the man from the river?” DI Carter insisted.

“The riv... oh, from the Pierce disappearance?” asked Kirkland.  “No, I'm not even on that story.”

“Would you swear to it in court?” Carter wanted to know.

“Absolutely,” Kirkland said.  “On a stack of Bibles.”

“As I told you, Carter,” Sir Stephen said with a satisfied nod.  “It was sorcery.”

“Sorcery?” asked Kirkland.  “What do you...”

“He has a head injury,” Carter cut her off.  “We're taking him to the ambulance now.”  She grabbed the arm Dr. Wilson wasn't already holding, and the two of them dragged Sir Stephen over towards the waiting ambulance.

“It's been a long day,” Nat told the reporter, and followed them.

Nobody told the waiting paramedics about Sir Stephen's bullet and axe wounds, or the fact that he'd nearly drowned not twenty-four hours ago.  There was no spoken agreement not to, but Nat, Dr. Wilson, and DI Carter all seemed to be waiting to see if they'd be able to find them for themselves.  They didn't, or at least if they did, they didn't appear to think they were serious.  Instead, they behaved as if they thought Sit Stephen had been almost ready for discharge at the time of the disaster, and accordingly pronounced him ready to go.

“You're as healthy as a horse,” one of them said, clapping Sir Stephen on the shoulder.

“Thoroughbred,” murmured one of his female co-workers with a snicker.

The manager of the Glenmoriston Arms Hotel, just up the hill, had heard about the disaster at Raigmore and offered them rooms free of charge. None of them were planning to spend the night, but they accepted anyway for the simple reason that none of them had a car anymore. Nat, Carter, and Wilson had all been parked at the hospital, and their vehicles were now presumably buried in the rubble.  The hotel would provide them a place to wait for somebody to pick them up.

From a seat in the little hotel's comfortable common room, Dr. Wilson called his mother to assure her he was all right, then a number of other people for the same reason.  DI Carter called her family and then texted her colleagues to find out what they'd learned while she was busy fleeing for her life.  Natasha called Sue at Dundee and told her she might need a couple more days off.

Sir Stephen was dressed now, in clothes that had apparently once belonged to the manager's son – jeans and an annoyingly appropriate Superman t-shirt.  He had asked for a meal, and was now making his way through a plate of shepherd's pie with peas.

“I swear that guy's had about six dinners today and he's still hungry,” DI Carter observed, setting her phone aside to sip her tea.

“Well, the rate he heals suggests he has a hell of a metabolism,” said Dr. Wilson.  “He did warn us he eats a lot.”

“What do you think this all means?” Natasha asked the others.  “We've heard what he thinks is happening, so could it have been Zola who called, or somebody who works for him?  I mean, somebody's obviously trying to kill this guy, and Zola already expressed interest...”

“No,” DI Carter interrupted, “somebody's trying to kill people. I'm not gonna start believing in magic just because of that, any more than I'm gonna start believing in the Loch Ness Monster because somebody has a seal in the back of his lorry.”  Her phone beeped and she looked at the screen, then her face lit up.  “Oh, good!”

“What is it?” asked Dr. Wilson, leaning to see.

“Somebody's found the guy who made the statues,” said Carter.

#fanfic #black widow #natasha romanov #captain america #steve rogers #falcon #sam wilson #agent 13 #sharon carter

[multimask]

Session 8, Rundown

They're Coming to Take Me Away

Ha-haaa, they're coming to take me away ho-ho hee-hee ha-haaa, to the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time, And I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats, and they're coming to take me away ha-haaa … ANYWAY

(slight tw for NPC suicide, briefly mentioned)

((Sorry this took so long, would have gotten this up last night but hit a mental block about halfway through my session notes. But now it’s typed! It’s done!))

Where to start, where to start... Right.

The pilgrim woman we had talked to at the end of last session had just scampered away, and we had the day to ourselves. Just an ordinary, regular day in a strange town with pilgrims spreading their word and trying to convince people - especially those with children - to go visit the monastery. We swing by Aggie's place to check in with her and to let her know that we were planning on heading out to the monastery. If something went horribly wrong and we didn't return, at least someone would know where we'd gone. After some deliberation and what if'ing about the pilgrims & the plague, we come up with a general plan of action and then the party splits up.

Poppy and Elias (aka the "power bottom duo" according to the DM) go talk to some of the regular townsfolk to warn them away from taking the pilgrimage, and they also swing by the local temple. There, they talk to the priest to inform them about the pilgrims and whatnot. The area has been generally quiet, though some troops passed through heading roughly North-East. After leaving the temple, the two see a pilgrim talking to a young couple and they go politely intervene & let the couple know something was up with the pilgrims and their pilgrimage and to not go.

River, Ren, and Soliana go to find the woman we ran into that morning, or at least one of the pilgrims with a similar emotional footprint to ask them what was up. Turns out, we found her and three other similarly grief- or terror-stricken pilgrims at the tavern, and the woman had easily three or four empty tankards scattered around her. She was *drunk*. Instead of going to talk to her, we catch the attention of two pilgrims - a wood elf and a human - sitting together and talk to them.

From them, we learn that the monastery is about a day's travel or less away and try to make general small talk like we were interested in going. The elf offers up a very factual version of events and offers no personal opinions or experiences about  the monastery or pilgrimage, which is odd. Ren sends the elf a mental message and tries to tell him that everything's alright & he can speak freely with us. At this, the elf freaks out and states that he doesn't like people messing with his head. Soliana sends Ren outside, and the elf appears to calm back down a little. Around this time, Poppy and Elias return to the tavern and find Ren standing outside peering in one of the windows. The wood elf starts to say that no harm comes to those who go when the woman we'd been talking to earlier interrupts.

Like I said earlier, she was *wasted*, and she clearly did not give any fucks about anything anymore. She starts to tell the tavern that "they take them, invite families, and the children are -" *SNAP* Her brain stem is cut. She slumps over, dead. In the middle of the tavern.

River tells the room to clear out, and it does. Then Poppy and Ren enter the tavern to join River and Soliana. We inform the barkeep that this needs to get cleaned up quickly, Ren worries that destroying the head won't fully ensure that the woman wouldn't return as a zombie of some sort, so - despite protestations - Poppy hefts her warhammer and slams it down on both head and chest. Needless to say, this spatters blood *everywhere* and Poppy immediately sets about to cleaning up the mess. The poor barkeep tells us to not come back after we leave town...

Soliana watches Poppy clean for about 20 minutes before pulling out the Wand of Mom'ery and aiding the efforts, making sure to be on the exact opposite edge of the mess as Poppy at all times.

The wood elf takes off towards the woods, and River, Ren, and Elias chase after. At one point, they almost lose him when he ducks behind a tree. The three of them round the tree and discover him dead with his throat slit and the bloody dagger fallen from his hand next to him. Ren's had his spirit-vision on and the elf's spirit is sucked off to the North *very* quickly. The trio take care of his body, burying it off in the woods, and then return to town.

We set off towards the monastery that day, instead of the next morning like we'd originally planned. Since Poppy was a large part of why we left town early, we made sure that she took a watch. And since things seemed to keep happening during River's watch, they opted to not take a watch that night. As it was, the night passed thankfully uneventfully.

Tredas, 21 of Baerust

Next morning, we continue on to the monastery and make it there by roughly midday. The monastery itself is a lighter grey stone and made in a very blocky architectural style, and there are some people entering in the front door. We briefly discuss who, if anyone, would go through the front and who would sneak around for another door. Ren and Poppy end up going through the front door, since Poppy wouldn't have been able to sneak very well with full plate armor (though, she's been very good at rolling 15+ with disadvantage...). While Soliana, River, and Elias are skirting around the monastery to a back way in, they are ambushed by small thorny sprites who chitter "your friends are gonna die in there!" before sticking the three with thorns.

(Here, we bounced between the combat outside and the events inside at the end of every round of combat. Very cool during the session, a bit hard for to narrate well. I'll go through the inside events first, and then catch up with combat once the two groups somewhat meet back up - the two groups don’t truly rejoin by the end of the session)

Once Ren and Poppy enter and all the pilgrims are gathered, a man in a golden mask addresses the room and welcomes them to the Gathering of Unity. He then asks for everyone to give up their weapons before entering the ceremony room, promising that they'll be returned afterwards. Poppy very reluctantly gives up her warhammer while Ren pretends to be blind in order to keep Poppy's quarterstaff as a walking stick. One guy tries to sneak in a dagger, but is caught. We all immediately take a liking to "knife guy/dude/boy" (oh the fun of players taking a shining to NPCs the DM didn't name ahead of time lol).

The door to the ritual room is a giant mural with a hidden mechanism in the work. After everyone is in the ritual room, which is just a small room with four or five rows of pews and an alter/podium/lectern thing, the door is shut and Golden Mask explains why they're here and what's going to happen. Thanks to the Goddess for her gifts, we must give her an offering, yadda yadda yadda, typical religious spiel. He then asks the five or so children in the room to step forward and collect what offerings everyone has brought. After collecting the offerings, Golden Mask says that the Goddess will be pleased with the donations and would the children please follow one of the silver masked guards to take the offerings to the proper room.

Once the children have left the main room, and the ritual begins. Golden Mask requests that everyone holds hands and that those in the aisles hold their hand out. Magic mumbo jumbo happens, and his gloved hands started to glow a golden magenta light. He passes down the central aisle, touching each outstretched hand as he goes, returns to the front of the room, then shouts a word in whatever strange language he was speaking for the ritual. The light washes over the room, and he addresses everyone in Common.

They are to not speak of the children who are now gone, and they are to go to new different locations to spread the word of this glorious pilgrimage. The people are to not even *think* about defying the Gathering, or else. At this an elf pipes up in anger questioning what the hell was going on here. He gets blasted. Anyone else want to try and defy us? Please, let us know so we can take care of you now. Oh, and don't worry about the children, they've already been taken care of.

During this whole ritual, River, Elias, and Soliana were taking care of the thorny little fey that attacked them outside. They manage to finish them off right before the golden magenta light pours from the temple. River and Soliana aren't looking too great, but the three go rush around to the courtyard and drop in over the wall. The door to the inside of the temple is unlocked, so they go through and find themselves in the main entrance room. Looking around the room, there's the giant mural, which Soliana quickly figures out is the door, and the chests full of people's weapons - including Poppy's warhammer. The trio scoop up some of the weapons and open the mural.

While the other three were finding their way inside the monastery, the masked robed figures leave the ritual room through a back door and tell those elft not to follow. Ren and Poppy debate whether or not to follow him, and end up going after once knife dude - now named Clement - goes after. Down the hallway, it starts to become more natural caverns. Around a corner, they see shadows cast on a wall of some figures holding a conversation, a little of which they overhear. Golden Mask had apparently not sent the children where they were supposed to be sent, and a higher-up was not happy with this. There's some name drops and a revealing of a third party in this whole Gathering of Unity situation before the conversation ends. An undead orc walks by the hallway that Clement, Poppy, and Ren were hiding in, and he continues down another passage way. Golden Mask returns to the ritual room, not spotting the three in the hallway as he does so.

It's at about that time that Soliana opens the mural. Golden Mask is not too happy to see that the door is open. He tells the gathered that the dealings have gotten "us" in trouble with higher powers, that the children will likely be killed within the day, and asks one of the silver masks to close the door. Hearing that childrens' lives are in danger, Soliana slips into the room - there was no way to do that unseen, but she didn't care - and River and Elias dive after. The door is closed, silver mask leaves the room, Golden Mask drops the mass geas spell that was on the people, and fireballs the room.

River and Soliana were not doing well after the fight outside and go down, and many of the pilgrims don't fare much better. Ren wants to keep going down the tunnels to find the children, but Poppy is being magically compelled to return to the ritual room (gotta love throwaway lines coming back with fey nonsense - "I would die for you" well now's your chance to prove it lmao).

And there we ended the session with two players down, one of them being one point away from insta-death...

#isa babble #session notes #nix's misadventures #soliana's misadventures #oh dear #um #well #that was quite the session #and apparently we start the next one with a cut scene???? #dm what #i *think* my brain's settled enough to deal with the fallout of that? #mulling over events i'm pretty sure that Candle would not have jumped into the room and had slightly better self preservation skills #but children were in danger so #lmao rational thought #our dm also has been naming all of our sessions #and is the reason for the lyrics at the start #bc that's all i can think of when i hear that line