Awkward Question, But What Do You Think Holmes Saw In Watson?

i like phil being near-immortal, and i like techno being near-immortal alongside him, but i think that it works better when their specific brands of immortality are different. u know?

so it goes a little something like this:

The first time they meet, Philza is still young. Not young, you understand, but young enough that he has not yet been cut down to stark and jaded utilitarianism. He sets out on a journey into the nether and feels a tug on his sleeve and looks down to see some wide-eyed little piglin child whose parents are nowhere to be found, and his heart stirs.

So he teaches him: combat and farming and life in the Overworld, all of the knowledge that he’s gained over the years. Raises the boy like a son.

It takes twenty years before war starts building in the neighboring empire. Twenty years before the piglin child — now grown, of course, but still so desperately young — offers his service. Like he wants blood on his hands, like he wants to make somebody pay.

Phil buries him before the war is over.

He’s lost people before, of course. So many people. But it’s been a long time since those people were family. He plants a tree on top of the grave, a tiny sapling behind their home — his home now — and makes a promise to himself to stop getting attached.

The second time they meet, the sapling is fully grown.

The soul that will one day call itself Technoblade comes gasping into the world again, trembling memories of wings and violence that flit around the edges of his consciousness when he’s suspended between sleep and wakefulness, and he grows up a fighter. Bruised knuckles and scars that crisscross his back and shoulders like delicate lace, and when he runs into a man who holds himself with world-weary poise and the same wings that have haunted Techno’s dreams, he feels a jolt down his spine.

“Sorry, mate,” says the man. “You just reminded me of someone I used to know.” “Oh,” says Technoblade.

They get four years together this time before Phil has to plant another sapling.

Techno lives through six lives before Phil’s certain that it’s the same man every time. There’s another voice added to the chorus in each one, another whisper in his ear demanding things of him; at night, his dreams are full of a man with long blond hair and gray-purple wings and cold blue eyes. The memories slip through his fingers like sand whenever he tries to get a solid grasp on them, but the surety with which he holds a sword can only come from years of muscle memory that he’s never practiced.

They say that ‘Technoblade never dies.’ And it’s a lie, but there’s some piece of truth in it: Technoblade dies, and then he comes home again.

There’s a room for him in Phil’s house, kept tidy and waiting in his absence. There’s a journal that Phil keeps, writing down the history of each new lifetime, so that when they find one another Techno will be able to remember. There’s a vault beneath the floorboards that holds bits and pieces of the lives that Techno’s lead, armor and items and memories. There’s a place for him in the world, and Phil keeps it carefully maintained for the next time he finds it.

One lifetime becomes ten lifetimes becomes a thousand lifetimes.

It’s never quite the same, of course. Techno’s a grown man, battered and beaten and bitter but still standing tall; Techno’s a child, tugging on Phil’s sleeve like he did so long ago and asking if they’ve met before; Techno’s already in old age, battle-scarred but determined to track down the man he sees in his dreams. Sometimes they raze empires together, side by side in a blaze of glory. Sometimes they’re content to simply live in one another’s company. Sometimes they don’t meet at all.

Phil’s journal becomes a library, his vault an archive. The valley he lives in goes from open grass to a dense forest of trees that are planted in far-too-orderly rows to be natural.

And for every life that Techno leads, Phil’s always the one to bury him.

it's the one year anniversary of the red festival and all i can think of is two minutes and forty six seconds.

that's how long c!techno stalled for.

two minutes and forty six seconds of him pretending schlatt wasn't asking him to kill tubbo, asking if he meant getting tubbo a coat when schlatt told him to 'take care of' him.

two minutes and forty six seconds of techno stuttering and turning ever so slightly towards his allies on the roof, not wanting to give up their position, knowing they couldn't do anything.

two minutes and forty six seconds of pretending that knowing if he tried to run or save tubbo, he'd likely die was 'mild peer pressure'.

and two minutes and forty six seconds of c!tubbo wondering what was going to happen, wondering if the ally he'd been promised wouldn't hurt him would do just that.

two minutes and forty six seconds that tubbo had to wait either to die or for his friends to try to save him, putting their lives at risk as well. two minutes and forty six seconds for his work as a spy to be over.

two minutes and forty six seconds for schlatt and this one event to drive a wedge between so many people, drive it in so firmly, that to this day the server is still feeling the effects.

something of stress dreams

[the song is dancer by novo amor :D]

Azula always lies. 

saw this post by @heavenly-dusk and kinda went insane thinking abt it so i drew it, i hope you don’t mind! 

c!Dream is a tragic villain, not in the sense that he was molded into a terrible person by forces outside of his control, but in the way that every single decision he’s ever made has been the worst one possible. Like, he was respected, he had friends, he had so much going for him. But instead of being content, instead of quitting while he was ahead, he chose to be a child abusing mass murderer, and every step of the way you’re just left asking Why? Why would you throw away your life like this? How can you be this stupid? How don’t you hurt? And it’s awesome.

wilbur not wanting to be a father lines up with his fears. he doesn't want to give tallulah any weapons or armor because he wants her to just "be a kid." he doesn't want to expose her to atrocities and wants to keep her happy at all times. however, this isn't realistic for the world they live in. horrible things have already taken place. kids have died already, and their parents have gone on murderous rampages as a result. even beyond that, mobs will try to attack the children. wilbur is scared of tallulah being hurt and shown what the world is really like, but the catch is that those things are inevitable. there will be a point where tallulah will have to fight, where she'll see what grief does to a person, where she will have to protect herself, and wilbur is deathly afraid of that. the one thing wilbur is afraid of is the one thing he can't avoid.

Dante's last words (a prayer)

I hope that the heavens are kind to you, that your future is bright. I pray that He'll hold you in his arms and that you'll let yourself be saved.

I love you, I'm sorry.

I'll miss you.

“The Proof is in the Soup”

A slightly different take on that chicken soup scene in Releves. For @messy-scandinoodle

Hannibal generally isn’t one to argue with himself. He knows his own mind, he knows what he hopes to achieve, and he knows how to either get what he wants or how to adjust any situation so that it is more advantageous to getting what he wants. If he doesn’t get what he wants, he can still at least amused by the process.

Except…

There is now the Will Graham issue to contend with.

Where Will Graham is concerned, Hannibal does find himself second-guessing some of his choices. There are too many choices, or not enough of them. Hannibal wants certain outcomes more than others, and he doesn’t think he’ll be satisfied with just amusement at the process.

So as he prepares the soup he intends to bring to Will’s bedside table, Hannibal wonders how best to approach a recipe he’s recreated many times.

Should I leave the dates whole, or chop them? Might they infuse the broth with too much sweetness? What if Will doesn’t like dates?

Have you thought of that?

And the star anise…surely Will  knows not to eat them. Perhaps you should remove them after they’ve imparted their flavor.

Even on the way to the hospital, with the soup done and packed in its carrying case, Hannibal frets over how best to introduce the meal.

Make it sound artistic and complex. Impress him with the exotic components, like a composer showing off rare instruments.

But what if he sees the truth? What if he sees your true intentions?

He won’t. He’ll be dazzled by the ingredients.

In the hospital room, Will stirs from sleep as soon as Hannibal begins unpacking the meal.

“Smells delicious,” he says, hair tousled and eyes still drowsy.

“Silkie chicken in a broth,” Hannibal explains. He decides on a small history lesson. “A black-boned bird prized in China for its medicinal values since the seventh century. Wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates, and star anise.”

Will’s eyebrows go up. A cartoon light bulb practically goes on over his head.

“You made me chicken soup?”

Hannibal freezes in place. His inability to respond lasts only a split second, but it feels like ages. His mind screams at him.

HE KNOWS. WILL GRAHAM KNOWS WHAT YOU’VE DONE. HE HAS SEEN THROUGH YOUR ARTISTIC RUSE.

Time slows to a crawl, nearly stops entirely.

YOU FOOL. YOU FOOLISH FOOL.

Will’s expression bores into him like a tunneling electron microscope, ferreting out the purest essence of the truth.

HE KNOWS YOU HAVE MADE FOR HIM THE NUMBER ONE ILLNESS REMEDY MADE FOR LOVED ONES SINCE TIME IMMEMORIAL. CHICKEN SOUP! CHICKEN SOUP! WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE, YOU MAKE THEM CHICKEN SOUP!!!!

Hannibal forces himself to remain outwardly calm and waits for time to begin moving again.

“Yes,” he finally says, his tone curt.

CHANGE THE SUBJECT, YOU FOOL.

“The nurses tell me you’ve been wandering, Will,” he says, and hopes the burning he feels inside cannot be seen from the outside.

(end)

Starting today, Sherlock Holmes is, in all of his respectful, emotional glory, completely and unquestionably in the public domain, which means… Herlock Sholmes has outlived his place in history.

You’ve done good, my dear detective. Rest now.

The BBC Radio's version of The Blue Carbuncle contains, what has to be said is, one of my favourite scenes... It's when Holmes and Watson are standing in the street after proving the innocence of John Horner.

Here it is in its full text glory 💖

From Bert Coules' book 221 BBC.