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I’ve started playing dnd again and the campaign I’m in has the pitch that we all must be characters from written works. The plot is we got thrown out of our own stories and must find our way back.
I am Hamlet, a warlock who made a pact with his Dad’s ghost (it’s absolutely his Dad’s ghost, he wasn’t tricked at all, ignore the fiend patron type) to get revenge on his Uncle. But this post isn’t about him.
Because our cleric, the one entrusted with keeping the party full of heals, the only person with healing magic, is House MD.
“Wait Iz!” You cry. “House MD is a television show, not written fiction.” You’d be correct. Which is why our cleric House is not from the television show.
He’s from a fan fiction.
It’s as funny as it sounds.
Mold x calico cats!
Murdoc is - and i mean this very sincerely and in all love for my rottweiler serial killer mercenary for hire darling - insane in the brain in so many ways and that’s the problem, that’s the wound, the tissue of the issue in the severed leg Murdoc keeps in his basement.
Murdoc points all his incredible and unfathomable and uncountable neuroses at Mac for no other reasons than that he is fun and challenging and Murdoc also wants to string him up like a cow corpse and make him sing and dance and perhaps bleed, because Murdoc, like a good supportive American, knows only death, sniper and unhealthy romances.
He does this with such derangedness that you can’t help but love him even if you want to swing him around like a discus and smack him against the floor. He’s like the cat that’s gotten used to running the household, he’s the asshole cat that you keep shooing off the counter top but he still insists on coming back because how dare you do stuff without him, he is the most important thing in your universe, and he needs to know what you’re doing right this second so he can give you permission, even if that includes washing your hair or brushing your teeth, because otherwise he will lounge outside singing the songs of his people which is the dying screams of people he’s killed or the wailing screeches of people Mac has blown up because he likes the look of Mac shellshocked and PTSD ridden, especially when Murdoc is the one to cause that PTSD to manifest.
This metaphor got away from me.
Regardless, the bottom line is that Murdoc is very strange in a very directed way and that directed wat is towards Mac who kindly wishes to be buried beneath ground with a bomb set off if Murdoc even so much as thinks about him. Or, that’s what Mac deludes himself.
Because Mac - also very sincerely and with so much love for my fucked up babygirl, my homeboy, my meow meow - is an adrenaline junky that thrives off danger and saving people by the very skin of his teeth, and doesn’t realize that this is a death wish since his mother died and his father left, and thus wants recognition anyway he can get it. Of course, Mac finds tangling with Murdoc very much a death wish, in which loading a shotgun with the barrel pointing directly into your face is a death wish, or getting into a Lamborghini because you might as well die in style right, but Murdoc lets you know before you get in that he’s cut the brake lines and he’s shoved duct tape over your mouth because your screams are for him only.
And you want that, sincerely, derangedly, because who else could love you if not the man that caused your nightmares and made you afraid of the dark and who drags you as close to the edge of dying by his own hands only to drag you back because he demands that not even death can claim you, Mac is Murdoc’s and Mac shall die when Murdoc says Mac will.
Of course, it could also be because Murdoc has shown that regardless of anything that has happened, that Murdoc wants Mac and perhaps the intrigue of that devotion in the face of everyone leaving him is….toxic and intoxicating, but who can tell.
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