bakerstreet | (no subject)

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the alternate universe meme

how to play
1. post with your character, name and canon in the subject line.
2. feel free to mention which aus you’re willing or not willing to play in the body of the comment.
3. tag by rolling for an alternate universe setting using rng.
4. or tag by picking whatever au you’d like to play in most.
5. have fun!

alternate universes
i - all human: in an all human au, characters who are canonically vampires, werewolves or superheroes, are now humans, with corresponding changes to their backstories.

ii - apocalypse: a portmanteau of "apocalypse fic", apocafic is fiction set during or after some sort of apocalypse, or end of the world. some canons carry a built-in apocalypse against which the protagonists are fighting: in apocafic, they lose. for example, apocafic in stargate and x-files is usually set after the alien occupation; supernatural apocafic is set on a demon-controlled earth.

iii - band: an alternate universe in which the characters are members in, or form a band. often, the instruments they plan and their roles in the band are analogous to their canon identities. for example, tony stark might be cast as the fame-hungry lead singer who is also a musical genius, or river tam might be a classically trained pianist who, after a terrible experience at julliard, writes songs for mal reynold's grunge rock band, serenity.

iv - circus: circus aus are a popular trope in fanfic and sometimes fanart. using a circus as a setting means introducing the characters to each other in a close-knit community. that can help break down barriers between them and make them bond together against the outside world which may not understand them as well as the other characters do. it also brings a sense of adventure and the idea that this world may have different rules and everything is possible. a circus can also be a good place for characters to go undercover and meet the love of their lives.

v - coffee shop: the barista au (or coffeeshop au, or the closely related bakery au) is a popular fanfiction trope in livejournal fandoms. in most cases, one half of the main pairing is the barista and the other is or becomes their favorite customer; in some stories the whole cast works at a coffee shop. this trope is especially popular in fandoms where one character is very attached to coffee, either in canon or in fanon, or is frequently stressed.

vi - college/high school: college fic is a popular genre of fanfic (less often a genre of fanart) that places characters together in college or another secondary institution such as the starfleet academy in star trek fic (then called "academy fic"). this can be canon stories, for example backstory if characters have or could have met during college, or college aus, similar to high school aus. in science fiction, historical or fantasy fandoms the present day college au is a popular subgenre of the modern au that puts fantastic or historical characters in more mundane everyday settings.

vii - cop/detective: an alternate universe in which the characters are cast as cops or investigators of some kind. often, the canon villain is also cast as the villain in the story. this might be set in modern times, or in a noir-like environment, complete with gangsters and femme fatales.

viii - daemons: his dark materials is a fantasy trilogy by philip pullman. the trilogy consists of the golden compass (1995; published in the uk as northern lights), the subtle knife (1997), and the amber spyglass (2000). there are currently two companion novellas: lyra's oxford (2003) and once upon a time in the north (2008). a movie adaptation of the first book was released in theatres in late 2007. humans have their souls living outside their body in the form of an animal companion. males have female souls and females have male souls. the animals often correspond to the character’s personality.

ix - fantasy: an alternate universe populated with fantastical characters like elves, dwarves, unicorns, sorcerers, and dragons. canon characters might be cast as analogous races (e.g. clint barton or katniss everdeen as elf archers) or they might be humans in a fantastical setting. characters also might be able to secretly shape-shift into another form, like a dragon, and therefore is related closely to were/vampire/supernatural aus.

x - historical: a historical au is a fanwork which moves characters into a different historical period than their canon setting. typically this involves taking "contemporary" characters (from the late 20th century or 21st century) and putting them in an earlier historical period (such as the 19th century or before). popular settings for historical aus include: pirates, america's old west, britain's regency period, ancient rome, a vague facsimile of medieval england such as robin hood, and many others.

xi - hooker/porn/stripper: hookerfic is a type of fanfic where one or more of the characters is a sex worker. there are many different types of hookerfic, ranging from more realistic depictions to the more common pretty woman-type fantasy of a hooker with a heart of gold, rescued from life on the streets by a client. sex work of all kinds is portrayed—brothels, escorts, street prostitution, "call-girls" as well as strippers and go-go boys.

xii - magic: magic aus are alternate universe fanworks that incorporate magic in fandoms where there is no magic present in canon. (or in some cases, fanworks that make a canon with magic more magical.) they differ from elf aus in that there may be magic without any elves showing up, and are opposites of all human and mundane aus.

xiii - neighbors/roomates: an alternate universe where the canon characters live next-door to one another, or in the same apartment building or complex, or in the same apartment. often, this is also an all-human au, if the canon characters are powered in some way. the forced proximity is usually used to create romantic tension between characters.

xiv - space/sci-fi: a space au is an alternate universe where a source set on earth is transported into space; works are often referred to as "[fandom] in spaaaaaaaaace!" the trope can be a form of crackfic, but often includes surprisingly serious reinterpretations of the most earthbound of sources, particularly historical fiction written or set before space exploration. cyberpunk trappings such as robots, cyborgs and ais are often included.

xv - steampunk: steampunk was originally a term for a sub-genre of speculative fiction that imitated 19th century "scientific romances" like the work of jules verne and h.g. wells. later, the term was applied to a general aesthetic involving styles that would be "futuristic" from the perspective of the 19th century. steampunk appears in fanworks as both a genre and an aesthetic. there are some fandoms for which the canon is steampunk(-ish), e.g. the secret adventures of jules verne, but more often it is found as steampunk alternate universe.

xvi - western: the western is a genre of fiction set in the later half of the 19th century in the western part of north america, especially the united states, but also canada and mexico. sometimes also included in the genre are stories about western-type characters and plots in other settings, e.g. "space westerns" (in science fiction settings) and contemporary westerns (set in the western part of contemporary north america).

xvii - were/vamp/supernatural: a reversal of the all-human, in these fics characters who are normally human are now supernatural creatures of some kind the most common being werewolves or vampires.

xviii - choose your own: self-explanatory! choose your own option.

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[ There is a certain relief in having her body press to his. It took all he had to keep on his knees, stubborn pride instilled in him by people long dead that refused to let him die with his face in the dirt like an animal. With her support, he is now able to slump some of his weight forward, focusing that energy instead on trying, and failing, to draw a full breath. The press of her hand to his back helps, but his chest still feels wrong; his right lung has been punctured.

While he struggles and gasps, the men that have hunted him seem unmoved — some even border on amused by the sight. The man with the rifle remains stone-faced and matter of fact. ]

This Indian here's a wanted criminal, and we'll be wantin' a word with you as well as to your aidin' and abettin'. So kindly get yourself back up on that horse and hand over the reins, or we'll be takin' your bodies as baggage.

[ To emphasize their point, two of the men level their pistols; they clearly are not in the mood to chat. ]

[ Her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as she simmers with anger. With fools like these, there's little doubt in her mind that if her patient's life became an inconvenience, they'd sooner murder him than help him. ]

And what of him? You shot him. He cannot get on a horse like this!

[ The man with the rifle is apparently prepared for this issue — insomuch as he leads his horse forward, leans over out of his saddle and, gathering a big fistful of the horse thief's shirt at the nape of his neck, rides forward enough to haul the man up and over the back of the mare Haj had been riding. The wounded man lets out a noise that's a mix of agonized gasp and startled cry; when he hits the horse, he's briefly limp, as he undoubtedly loses consciousness for a moment. The man with the rifle remains impassive, even as his compatriots whoop and laugh. ]

He's on a horse. Now get movin'.

[ Without sparing the brutish man -- a bounty hunter, it would seem -- a second glance, she rushes over to the mare and her patient, gently coaxing him in an upright position before climbing up behind him. Curling an arm around his waist to hold him up, she pulls another kerchief from her pocket, pressing that in addition to the first to the man's wound. As the bounty hunter nears to take the reins, she holds herself proudly while warning him: ]

Do not think that the sheriff will not hear of your actions here. This is my land that you are treading on.

[ Sesi manages, with considerable assistance and no small amount of agony, to get upright on the mare's back, his weight sagging back into the woman behind him as he's torn between dark unconsciousness and endless, throbbing agony. He's already broken into a cold sweat, shudders of pain wracking through his body. The bounty hunters seem unmoved as one of them takes the proffered reins, tying them to his saddle. The man with the rifle fixes Haj with a look that is unnerving in its disinterest — as though gunning a man down was no different than shoeing a horse. ]

Ma'am, at the end of the day, this is white man's land — and you'd best get used to that idea for as long as you've got left.

[ And with that, they get a move on. The trip is quiet, at least for them; the men escorting them talk amongst themselves, though occasionally references are made to the ones they've captured, often in colorful and insulting epitaphs. They have many thoughts about "redskin savages," it seems, and delight in telling tales of those they've slaughtered. They pay no mind to the ones with them, as though they ceased to exist for the time being. The man they hunted like a dog remains awake and mostly coherent, though he wisely remains silent for their ride. Shudders wrack his body as he struggles still to breathe in anything more than short, pained wheezes; his shirt is drenched in cold sweat.

It's three hours they ride like this before a ramshackle town comes into view. By now, Sesi has begun to sag heavily; it's a small miracle he's even still upright, and he's moved his hand to press it against the one Haj has wrapped around his midsection, if only for something to focus on. The whole ride has been a blur of pain and fever, and at this point he's half past delirious. They're lead into town and he's scarcely aware of any of it — until a hand grasps his leg and, with one violent yank, sees him to the dirt. He hits the ground with a cry, curling in on himself and coughing violently; the hunters appear unmoved, as one simply rolls him onto his stomach and binds his wrists behind him before dragging him up to his feet. The man with the rifle stands beside Haj on her horse, offering her a hand while another shouts something about "tying up the squaw." ]

Best get down now, ma'am, or you'll see much the same as your outlaw companion.

[ After what she just witnessed, the last thing she wants to do is to give this man her hand. The trip to this-- outpost, really, was enough to make her ill, but the sudden, casual violence is horrifying in a way she doesn't have words for. She stares at the rifleman as though he's grown a second head, horrified by his eyes and the lack of soul behind them. ]

How...? He is hardly more than a boy, and he bleeds just as red as you do! How do you justify treating him so?!

[ Her captor is clearly unmoved by her distress, his eyebrows raising in a way that could almost by sympathy — not to the situation, of course, but her confusion of it. It's as though he finds it most unfortunate that she doesn't understand the way the world works. ]

Ain't my business what a man bleeds, savage or no; all's I deal in is the bounty paid for a man what's broken the law of the land. Now I'll ask you again to come down off that horse — or one of my boys will bring you down.

[ With the way one of those said boys is leering at her, one imagines she would not want his hands on her in any fashion. Their other captor is already dragged indoors; they've arrived at what looks to be the sheriff of this outpost, no doubt to be held before their "trail" — which, for people like them, is more a waiting period before execution. ]

[ Nodding slowly, she slides from the mare's back. After a moment's consideration, she spits on the ground at the man's feet. ]

May your God forgive you for what it is you are doing.

[ If she expects her display to make even the smallest impression, she'll be disappointed; his eyes don't even twitch as he takes her by the arm and leads her inside. There's a single cell in the station, currently occupied by her companion, who lies face-down on the floor. The bounty hunter escorts her inside before pulling the barred door closed behind her, which is then locked with a heavy key by the deputy; the man fixes her with a look of clear animosity. ]

Don't get too cozy; you ain't gonna be here long.

[ It's six hours to sunrise. No doubt the morning brings nothing better for the pair of them.

As the deputy and bounty hunters return to the other side of the room to speak of their reward, Haj is left alone with what very well may be a corpse -- at least it seems that way, until his body spasms with a choke of a cough, a few dots of blood spattering across the floor near his mouth. The world tilts around him as he balls his hands into fists. Has he ever hurt this much? He doubts it. Who knew getting shot was this damned awful? His eyes screw shut, and he pushes away the miserable thoughts of self-pity, instead shifting his weight to push himself up on trembling arms.

He has to get out of here. Nothing else matters beyond that; not the bullet in his back, or the men who talk cheerfully now of watching him swing. He will not die in this place. There's still too much to be done. ]

[ Dropping to her knees at the wounded man's side, she slides an arm beneath him, propping him up on her shoulder as she's all but engulfed by her patient's draped form. Her hand flutters to his forehead, then to the pulse at his neck. Neither are ideal, but exemplary when current conditions are taken into consideration. ]

Save your strength. You will need it to overcome, yes?

[ It's hardly more than a murmur as her eyes dart over his shoulder, watching the jovial exchange on the other side of the bars. To them, he is already a dead man. While they may be right, he is her patient, and she will not betray him by giving up while he still breathes.

Catching sight of the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table, she raises her voice to be heard by the small gathering. ]

At least allow this man what is left in the bottle there to drink away his sorrows, if you must talk about his death so freely!

[ Or, you know. Disinfect a bullet wound. ]

[ A shuddering breath escapes him as he's shifted to lean his weight heavily on the woman from whom he stole, too weak and in pain to even begin to argue her support. His head lolls to lean against hers as he focuses only on breathing. All he can hear is a sharp ringing in his ears and the weak fluttering of his heart. Is he dying? No, he can't be. He refuses to.

The conversation at the desk ceases as she is fixed with a dark look. The men all look at one another, as though considering their options, and none of them seem good. Finally, the lead bounty hunter, who seems to be mostly apart from the conversation, nods; one of his team grudgingly carries the bottle to the bars and sticks it in, rolling it across the floor. He straightens. ]

Better watch your goddamn tone, squaw, else I come in there and fix that attitude for you.

[ Another chuffed laugh. ] If you’re looking for “fair”-

[ She grits her teeth, bites down on her tongue. Pain keeps her awake. Pain is the key to life. ]

-I’ll get you a dictionary.

[ She saves what breath she has left. It’s still hours to go before they touch down at Mother Base, and so she gently pushes off the helicopter bulkhead to come to rest her back against Venom’s bulk, that she might better catch her breath. She’s small against him - compact, lightweight. She’s undone her bandana, and so he can see how the cyanosis is creeping into her lips, turning them a shade of blue, feel how she’s shivering against him even through her parka and base layers. When she blinks, it is as though she is in a daze, brown eyes looking into blue.

Her free hand moves now to Venom’s forearm, where it rests before she gives it a gentle squeeze. ]

It’ll be okay.

[ Trauma patients that don’t see the inside of an OR within an hour are goners, most of the time - they call it “golden” for a reason. This is especially true for shock. Losing more than two pints is cause for rapid transport to an ER, and three or more is grounds for starting an IV right then and there.

But somehow Frost perseveres, she persists, riding the waves of pain all the way back to Mother Base. She’s too weak to stand - some of the medics have to help her over to a stretcher, and they’re just about to put a non-rebreather mask on her when she pushes them away and pushes herself up to a 45-degree angle, motioning to Venom. When she speaks, her voice is weak and thready. ]

Boss.

[ There’s something she needs to tell him. Something that’s been gnawing at her ever since they got on the ACC, something that she can’t keep to herself anymore, something that she’s wanted to say since the day she met him. ]

[ A gunshot wound is perfectly survivable if cared for properly, even with a pierced lung (from the sound of his breathing). Honestly, he should be more concerned about the brutes across the room having their way come morning. Without sparing said brutes a second glance, she reaches for the bottle, carefully balancing the weight of the other man on her opposite shoulder. ]

It is not in my nature to turn a blind eye to what is morally reprehensible.

[ Firmly stripping him of his coat and shirt, she uncorks the bottle with her teeth before splashing its contents over the bullet wound. Hopefully he's too dazed at this point to feel the bite of it, but if not... well, there's not much that can be done. Then she shrugs out of her coat with a small sigh and tears off the lower half of her sleeve. While she doesn't have a large number of blouses, blood has already soaked the cuff, and it's no doubt cleaner than anything an outlaw wears. Soaking the now rag in whiskey, she presses it to the wound and tears another strip from the bottom hem of his shirt, tying it around his torso. While an imperfect solution, should he live past sunrise, it'll do. ]

[ He is not so fortunate. While he is bordering on limp as she strips him down, the moment she splashes the liquor across his wound his muscles go taut, a strangled gasp escaping him. The rush of adrenaline is welcome, even if it means his body is wracked with pain; the hammering of his heart clears his head enough for him to be at least somewhat more aware of the world around him. He'll need it; he knows what sort of people these are, and he doubts they will make it safely to morning.

As she soaks the rag in whiskey, his teeth clench in anticipation. It makes little difference as she presses the rag to his back, earning another muffled sound of pain and a spasm through his body. He wants to swat her hand away, yank the bandage off, beg her to stop — but he doesn't. Barely. Instead, he focuses on his breathing, measured in sharp inhales and exhales through his nose.

Their captors seem to care little for their going's on; three of them, including the head of the bounty hunters, leave the sheriff's outpost, ostensibly to see to a place to stay for the evening. They're left with two overseers then: the deputy, and the bounty hunter who rolled Haj the bottle. The former is busying himself with whittling a piece of wood; the latter is now watching them, and his gaze is not friendly. His eyes remain fixed on Haj. ]

[ Wincing in sympathy, she takes his hand and squeezes tightly, encouraging him to do the same in turn as she murmurs to him. ]

It is of little consolation to hear that the pain is what reminds us that we still number among the living, I am sure.

[ But no doubt he would mistrust any so-called clean water just as she would. ]

[ At first, his hand only twitches in hers; with some effort, he manages to squeeze in return, exhaling a shivering breath. She's not wrong, even if he has no real appreciation for the fact right now. The pain is awful, but it keeps him awake.

Their bounty hunter captor is silent in his observations for only so long before he walks to the bars, leaning his shoulder against it while he stares the two of them down. ]

You redskins never teach your women how to keep your fuckin' mouths shut?

[ Turning to their captor, she fixes him with a flat glare, after having had quite enough with this foolishness. Though neither her nor the wounded man are lily-white, it's foolish and small-minded to lump them together in the same group based purely on that fact. There are many people throughout the world whose skin comes in all sorts of different shades! ]

India, India! [ She repeats it, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. ] I am not one of his people, I am from India! And I am my own woman, no one else's!

[ Judging by the way the man's expression twists, one gets the feeling that her tone is not appreciated. He stares her down in mute fury before storming back to the deputy. ]

Gimme that fuckin' key.

[ Snatching it without waiting for an answer, he storms to the door, hastily unlocking it and flinging it open hard enough for it to strike the bars with its swing. His eyes are wild and furious. ]

You think I give a fuck about where you from, squaw?!

[ Throwing the door shut again — though not locking it — he storms over and brings up his boot, catching the thief right in the ribs. The wounded man lets out a bark of pain as the force of it flings him to the ground, leaving Haj open and unprotected from the man with rage coursing through his veins. He wastes no time in snatching her up by the throat and shoving her up against the wall behind her. ]

Ain't no business of mine what kinda redskin you are; you think bein' some kinda savage from the Orient makes a damn difference?!

[ Even if she'd like to respond, she'll be hard-pressed to do so; his grip around her throat is tightening. He bares his teeth. ]

I'm thinkin' you've got to learn yourself some manners and remember your place.

[ It's rather clear what he might mean by that when his free hand starts fumbling with his belt. Outside the cell, the deputy keeps whittling; he doesn't even look up. ]

[ Clutching at his wrist with both hands, she tries to free herself from his choking hold to no avail, her fingers clawing desperately at his fingers. As his grip tightens, however, her attempts grow weaker and more frantic, her field of vision narrowing as her lungs scream for air.

Please... please don't let her die here!

And then, it gets worse. Any desperate attempts made to kick him away fail to take hold, outdone by the close proximity of his body, and only seem to hasten the inevitable as he takes the opportunity to reach beneath her skirts. Extending her arm out, she grabs for something -- anything, finding purchase against his cheek a moment before she drags her nails across the side of his face. ]

[ The rake of her nails earns a yelp of pained surprise that bites off in a snarl. The hand that's making its way up between her legs withdraws, but only long enough for him to backhand her across the face. Returning to his business, he shoves her skirts up out of the way before going for the buckle of his jeans once more, getting them down enough for him to get a grip on himself, already hard with anger and excitement.

And then, blood.

It spatters across her face, catching across her cheek as a blade sinks deep into the side of the bounty hunter's throat, missing his jugular but still causing one hell of a mess. He gurgles in surprise, releasing Haj all at once as he staggers backwards; the thief still clings on his back with an arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding the blade firmly in place while he twists it sharply inside the wound, opting for as much pain as possible before bringing it around to leave a yawning gape of a wound that pours blood down his chest. The man falls to his knees, pawing helplessly at his throat, before he collapses in a heap.

The deputy sees it all too late to stop it, leaping to his feet with a cry of outrage and shock; already he's scrambling to get his shotgun but the wounded native, tapping into whatever he's been storing up until now, rolls enough to get a foot hooked into the cell door, flinging it open. The blood-soaked blade spins in the air and, just as the deputy turns and takes aim, plunges into the man's eye. His head throws back before he crumples to the floor.

They're left in silence, save for the ragged breathing of the thief, who's now curled up on the floor, his body spent. ]

[ She doesn't want to move.

Sick with shame and fear, Hajalimala crouches on the ground not a step away from where she was nearly taken against her will, unable to look away from her near-rapist. Her fingers dig into the flesh of her upper arms to keep from trembling, but the trembling refuses to stop. Not for the first time in her life, she's at a loss.

It's the ragged breathing of her patient that pulls her gaze away, and for the first time in what has only been minutes but feels like years, she sees the deteriorated condition of her savior. They don't have time.

Putting the shame, the feeling of being overwhelmed, everything in a box to be revisited later, Hajalimala reminds herself that first, she is a physician, and there is someone in need. Crawling over to the man, she maneuvers him upright. ]

P-please... [ Clearing her throat, she projects her voice in such a way that sounds braver than she really feels. ] We-- we should go quickly, before what has transpired here is discovered.

[ The tug and pull of her hands earns a hiss of breath, but he doesn't resist it; he needs to be upright, and he knows it. They still have much to do. A shuddering cough wracks through his chest, rattling his bones and leaving a smear of blood on his lips. His eyes move to the dead man nearby. The sight of his blood pooling on the floor is empowering. ]

No.

[ His hand moves to push him up, but he's not strong enough; the best he does is move slightly up off his knees, then fall back on them again. ]

Have to... [ Talking is too much. He coughs again, then motions for her to help him from the floor. He needs a gun, and his knife. ]

[ Though she's seen her fair share of death, sat with it for days in the cabin of a ship with a miasma of sickness hung heavy in the air, she does not follow his gaze. Firmly looking anywhere but the corpse of her attacker, she's quick to dart beneath his extended arm, shouldering the bulk of his weight with surprising proficiency as she brings them both to their feet. ]

What you are in need of is medical attention. We will return to my home; there I will be able to see to your wound. Though it is further by horseback than what I would recommend for your condition... I do not trust anything closer to this forsaken place.

[ At some point while she's speaking, the trickle of something down her chin makes itself known. She wipes her lower lip, frowning at the streak of blood across her palm as the split in her lip continues to bleed. If not for him, she would not be in this place. But if not for him... she doesn't want to think about what might have happened had he not sprung to action when he did. ]

[ His teeth grit as she lifts, and he allows her to carry more weight than he would like, if only to get him to his feet. He breathes in and out once, twice, three times; he can do this. ]

Bounty hunters. They will find us.

[ And so, they need to die. He points to the fallen deputy's rifle, then shifts enough to slip his arm from her shoulders, staggering over and supporting himself on the desk enough to reach down and take the weapon from the ground. This managed, he grabs his knife by the hilt and yanks it from the dead man's skull with a wet sucking sound. Once he's upright again, he waves an arm at her. ]

Move. Out of sight.

[ The indecision shows plain on her face as she wavers between protesting -- she wants to be gone from this place as quickly as possible, he is her patient, he can barely stand -- all are valid reasons to leave.

They will find is. That thought turns her insides to ice, of the hunters finding her home in the middle of the night and barging inside. Folding her arms over her chest, cradling her elbows, she glances about the room until catching sight of the gathering of barrels in the corner. Nodding to the outlaw, she ducks behind a pair, out of sight of the door. ]

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STOP VENOM 2K17 also for atmosphere: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r38dRKKIZIs

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