#(-about the alien world she truly lives in. that was all him.)

[nazrigar]

Transformers All-Sparks: Joes and Foes

The final major batch of human characters for my AU.

With the fall of Cobra thanks to Operation Ouroboros (AKA Operation "Make Cobra Eat Itself"), many of the G.I. Joes have either retired or transferred back to their original military branches.

Still, even as the main threat has essentially eaten itself, there's still many who wishes to change the world through the darkest and underhanded means possible. Some are true believers in that the world is a sickly place that needs to be upended. Others are just looking for a quick buck

Gen. Joe Colton: The ORIGINAL G.I.Joe, the man who inspired the creation of the Highly Trained, Special Mission Force. Leader of the original Adventure Team, whenever there was a mission too bizarre or too risky, Joe Colton was there to fight. Most who join, grow up on tales of Colton's heroism and courage. Most Joes, at least early on, felt that the stories are true… but as the foes become wilder and more bizarre, so did Colton's ruthlessness.

Simmons and Fowler both fear he Colton has too much power within the US Government, being considered nigh untouchable. "America's Shadow Emperor" as Simmons would call him.

Col. Abernathy, codename "Hawk": The last of the original G.I Joes still on the field, and a man dedicated to destroying anything in the world that causes disorder and chaos to the lives of man. If a bit too well. It was assumed that, now that Cobra ate itself and effectively no more, Colonel Hawk would finally rest.

He didn't. The concept of retirement is alien to him. He won't rest until every last trace of Cobra and affiliates are stamped out. He's still searching for Destro, wherever he is. He is especially bitter about the fact that everyone, from Duke to Scarlett, decided to retire or move on from the Joes.

Conrad and Ana, AKA Duke and the (Former) Baroness: The pair no one saw coming, but the two most responsible for the downfall of Cobra. Duke is an all-American hero, while Baroness was one of the best Cobra had to offer. However, an incident involving botched intel regarding a general by the name of Miles Mayhem meant that both got captured.

Their experience incarcerated by the bloodthirsty monster had a lasting impact on Duke, for in his mind, with what all that Mayhem was able to get away with, that the system he served was a broken one... and all to willing to throw whim on the bus. Ana remains cagey about her experiences, but the fact is, that her history with Duke on a personal level may extend FAR beyond their years serving either faction... and that Cobra, for all its resources and might, ultimately would never truly what she wants, for Cobra wanted to replace the corrupt "system" of the world with its own.

Being the best of the best, they of course escaped together, and Conrad and Ana went straight to Colonel Hawk. They revealed everything from Mayhem's underhanded ambitions with technology, to all the potential factions within Cobra, Hawk relayed all this to General Joe Colton, and so began Project Ouroboros, the operation to literally make the 'Cobra' devour itself. And it worked like a charm, with the death of Cobra Commander to boot!

In reward, Colton gave Ana her wish: Complete and utter freedom to live her life as she wished, free from any system of control or from prying eyes. Conrad and Ana now live quietly with one another... and surely nothing will EVER ruin it for them!

Lance J. Steinberg, AKA 'Clutch': master of vehicular engineering, and the best (and craziest) driver the Joes ever had. He's now retired, and owns a rather successful auto-repair business. A rather swell guy who, miracle of miracles, managed to live a fulfilling life of a civilian. Serves as Duke's closest pal in retirement. Still unused to the fact his best friend shacked it up with the Baroness of all people, but hey, everything worked out in the end!

The Bad Guys

Destro: With the death of Cobra Commander, and the splintering of the whole organization, it is Destro who holds the title of Cobra's leader... or what's left of the core. He still works behind the scenes as an arms dealer, but now has to further lay low as to not get on the radar of Hawk and Colton. Has a sincere belief, with enough time, he can turn his criminal empire into a real one like Rome.

Has a petulant, almost all-consuming grudge against Duke and Ana.

Silas: Leader of MECH, once simply a cell of Cobra, now a formidable organization of its own. Cold, cunning and ambitious, he sees the world as a failing thing with failing nations, and aims to wrest power from the world with what he perceived has worked for millenia: The most advanced technology and a LOT of manpower. Works with Destro due to his connections, arms and money.

"Joe Colton strives to preserve a failing world and it failing nations. Not realizing that if one sees the opportunity, one has to grasp it with their own two hands"

Dr. Meridian: Protector of Mankind! Haunted by an accident by a creature he swore is real, he dedicates his life (and work) to making sure that mankind can protect itself from such potential threats. He believes that adopting technology to improve the self vs. Dr. Sumdac's innovations with robotics technology to help mankind. Works most closely with Silas, and with Destro out of convenience.

Joshua Joyce:

Destro, Silas and Meridian all have hidden elements. Destro runs the underground, Silas tries to be incognito as much as possible, and while Dr Meridian has a reputation, he's not exactly well known by the public.

Joshua Joyce on the other hand? Everyone knows him. He made your favorite app, your favorite phone, and so many, MANY things. He's the cool inventor type! Or at least that's the image he deludes himself on, as most of his "innovations" were actually done by others. He just patented the stuff.

On the other hand, there's been a lotta rumors of neat new high tech gear in the underground, he just knows people to come in contact with. He missed out on Sumdac's robo revolution, and his ego demands that he be a real revolutionary in tech!.

[magnusmodig]

||. finally going to bed thinking about lore - keeper asgardians . thinking about how intelligence and wisdom are one of their favored traits. thinking about how thor is the best of every asgardian ideal . thinking about how he is wise . thinking about his street - smarts . thinking about how he is also knowledgeable in legends , lore , and folktale. he is adaptable . he takes this knowledge , adapts to it , and crafts himself into something stronger. he is ever growing , and one of those ways is how he seeks out knowledge , and knows well to keep a sharp mind on the tales told by word of mouth or written on a page.

[helluvapoison]

Possessive

how the overlords would put a claim on you

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Carmilla Carmine ⁎⁺˳✧༚

As much as she loves spending her mornings in bed with you, wishfully thinking she could stay there all day, she can only give you 3 more minutes at best. Being an Overlord and a CEO keeps her rather busy. You’re grown, you can handle yourself (you have to in this world) she’s not keeping tabs on your whereabouts. Carmilla isn’t itching for a fight like these new “up and comers”. Giving you something to protect you when she’s not around simultaneously puts a target on your back. A simple ring with her name inscribed would suffice, satisfying any possessive vices she may or may not have

˚✧₊⁎ Zestial ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Abhorrent is jealousy, driving the younger generations to filth like, ugh, hickeys. Although, on a certain level he does understand. Being in Hell for as long as he has and alone the same amount, he knows all too well the primal need to claim what other’s might steal. One must leave their mark as a warning sign for others. Zestial’s exceptionally charming when he wants something, notably not asking when he presents you with the crisply wrapped gifts. There’s no less than twenty. Boxes upon boxes of accessories and clothes that suit you but hold his color palette, spider and web details to boot. He’s utterly thrilled when you wear them, showering you in compliments and declaring himself the luckiest soul in Hell

˚✧₊⁎ Rosie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Goodness, have you seen how sinners nowadays go about the whole ordeal? What happened to romance!? Call her old fashioned, but Rosie likes a smidge of glamour in her techniques! She’ll walk shoulder to shoulder with you, holding her parasail over the both of you. She’ll accidentally press her painted lips on your cheek and forget, quickly getting swept up into conversation with someone or the other. It’s fine, no one would question her! Not if they wanted to live anyways. Butterflies swarm her stomach when she notices you haven’t wiped her imprint away, a proud smile spreading across her face. It becomes purposeful as the days go on

˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

While happy to broadcast newsworthy exploits, sharing his private affairs with the world is out of the question. Of course the appeal of it all isn’t lost on him, he merely doesn’t see the point. Why broaden your horizons of potential dangers by claiming you publicly? To calm that unruly, covetous alien in the pit of his chest? He’s not that selfish! Besides, nothing less than something permanent could truly satisfy him anyhow

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

If he doesn’t have eyes on you, he’s working. Those measley hours apart won’t stop him from reminding all of Hell you still belong to him. He doesn’t trust anyone down here. He’ll convince you it’s for your safety that he tightens the collar around your neck. With a hum of approval, Val’s long and slender fingers twist the tag with his name on it. Heart shaped, of course, he loves you after all!

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Only the insecure need to put a claim on their person. That’s not Vox, no way! You’re never really out of his sights anyways, what with today’s power of technology and all! The need to brand you goes a different route. He wants everyone to know you’re spoken for, pulling you on camera every chance he gets. He wants them to stare in awe and envy but cast their eyes down when you walk by in public. A slight on you would be a slight on him personally and no one messes with The Vees

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Truthfully, there isn’t much she wouldn’t do. You’re all over her Sinstagram and that says it all. Every runway show, every red carpet walk, every paparazzi shot you’re always beside her. Vel dresses you left and right to match her OOTD somehow. She snaps a pic every single day (sometimes more) to show her followers their favorite couple is thriving and stylish as always! The description never fails to scream how your all hers

[perlelune]

Dollhouse | Rafe Cameron | i.

The moment your mother marries Ward Cameron should have been the moment your life changes for the better. A fresh start out of the Cut for the both of you. And for the first seven years of living with the Camerons, everything truly is perfect.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Pogue!Reader, Stepcest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Jealousy, Drugs, Drinking

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You peek from your hiding spot, beneath the lavishly decorated long table. Mom looks pretty. She’s wearing a fancy white dress that likely costs ten times the rent you used to pay. Perhaps more. The diamond earrings she dons, a wedding gift from your new dad, (Your new dad, your mind still cannot grapple with that reality-altering piece of information. You have a dad now, a stepfather), glimmer as they catch the glow of the fairy lights overhead. 

She’s laughing. So loudly you can see all her teeth and her eyes are crinkly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Mom laugh like that. No. You have never seen Mom laugh like that. Not ever. In the eleven years she’s raised you on her own. There have been sad times. Very sad times. Happy times too. 

Still, she’s never looked as happy as she does today. 

Like she’s on Cloud Ten. Not on Cloud Nine. Cloud Ten. Because there has to be a level above that fully captures how overjoyed Mom looks right now.

All because of this man. Your gaze swings to him. He’s wearing a suit, a white wedding suit, because Mom insisted they match and she always despised - despised not hated - bland wedding tuxedos. Bland anything really. So she picked his suit herself. Just like she did everything for the wedding. Her dream wedding. Something she’s constantly reminded you for the past month. 

That this is her moment. Her big moment. One you shouldn’t ruin. 

Which is why you’re hiding here. You can’t ruin anything from underneath a table. A silent observer. Quiet as a mouse. 

That way Mom can have her moment while you bask in the shock that she’s a Cameron now. And so are you. 

“Hey. Why are you hiding at your own mom’s wedding?”

You gasp, startled by the voice beside you. Your head turns. A blond-haired boy is crouched next to you, his neck crooked from having to fit his tall frame in the small space. His blue eyes are wide and curious as they rest on you.

“I-I’m not hiding,” you stammer, shocked that someone found your secret spot. Everyone’s focus is glued to the new Mr. And Mrs. Cameron. Even your new stepsisters are cheering from the circle around them. Sarah’s the loudest. Her thunderous clap and megawatt smile is a cheering squad all on its own. 

This is their day.

So you figured your existence must have been forgotten by now. You tossed flower petals across the aisle, just like Mom asked. You smiled for the family pictures. You hugged him, that man, your new dad.

You awkwardly greeted your new siblings. Well, mostly waved from a safe distance.

You assumed your disappearance would go unnoticed amidst the bubble of joy keeping everyone trapped in its spell. But someone slipped away from it for a little while, it seems, broke the spell. Long enough to notice your absence. 

He nods and says, “Really? Come out then, since you’re not hiding.” When you dig your pink ballet flats into the grassy dirt, refusing to move, the teenager chuckles.

He plops onto the floor. 

“Or we can stay here.”

Your brows knit. We. It sounds strange. Alien to your ears. It’s always been you and Mom. The two of you against the world, jumping over every hurdle life stuck in your path together. There’s just so many kids now. And based on Mom’s recent announcement…there’ll be another one soon. The final knot binding your two families.

Thinking about it makes your mind spin. Overnight you went from being an only child to having three siblings. Well, four in some months. 

Saying your world has been turned upside down is an understatement. Everything that used to be up is now down. And the house! Tannyhill is nothing like the tiny apartment you and Mom used to share. The one where the lights used to go out sometimes. It has all these big rooms. A gigantic yard. A pool. 

JJ even made fun of you at school because he said you’re a Kook now. 

A Kook. You wanted to punch him…and you did.

You will never be a Kook. It doesn’t matter if Mom makes you change schools, forcing you to attend the one on Figure 8, if she buys you new clothes, moves you to a new house.

You’ll always be a Pogue. A fact the kids at your new school make sure you never forget. 

You tuck your knees against your chest.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do what I want,” he replies with a shrug.

He brings out a piece of cake from behind him. 

“Do you want some?”

You make a face. 

“Not hungry.”

He laughs and takes a spoonful of the three layered chocolate cake himself. 

“What kind of kid refuses cake?” 

“Why are you here?” you retaliate, growing more annoyed. 

“Because you’re my new sister,” he states with a shrug. Your eyes round. “That’s what my dad says anyways.” He sighs. “Gotta look out for you and all that.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Well, little sisters are a pain in the ass. Didn’t ask for another one.” His brows furrow. “Didn’t ask for a new stepmom either but…here we are, princess.”

“Princess?”

“It’s what you look like, with your pink ribbons and all the bows,” he says, waving his hand in front of you. 

You open your mouth then close it. Mom did go overboard with the pink and the bows. But she wanted you to look cute in the photos. She wanted all the girls to look cute. Adorable, as she said. So you and your stepsisters ended up with those big, embarrassing, fluffy pink dresses. 

“Anyways. I’m your brother now. Deal with it, okay?” He scratches the back of his neck, placing the cake on the ground. “Pretty sure if I let anything bad happen to you my dad will kill me.”

You look ahead. Mom’s dancing with the girls now. She pauses momentarily, glancing around, but quickly returns to the dance. She, Wheezie and Sarah bounce in a circle, giggling as they tap their feet to the music. 

Your eyes swell with tears. 

This is how long it took Mom to replace you. A few seconds.

Rafe’s voice laces with irritation. 

“Are you crying?” His harsh tone only drags more sobs out of you. You grip the hem of your fluffy dress to wipe the snot pouring from your nose. 

The boy rolls his eyes. 

“Girls are so annoying, always crying for no reason.” He plucks a tissue from the back pocket of his dress pants and dabs it against your eyes. He does it rather aggressively which startles you out of your meltdown. “Here, stop.” You blink at him. “I’m sorry, okay?” His blue eyes soften. “I promise, we’re not so bad.” He scrunches his nose. “Well, except for Sarah who’s a spoiled brat…but you get used to it too.”

You sniffle and duck your head. Almost as if reading your mind, he assures softly, “Your mom will always be your mom, so stop crying, okay?”

You raise your head, gaping at him. 

“T-Thank you, Rafe,” you mumble between your abating sobs.

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

As he continues wiping your face, your tears slowly drying, you start pondering. Perhaps having a big brother won’t be so bad.

Cheers and applause explode around you as you blow the last of the sparkler candles. It took several tries before all the flames flickered out, plunging the room in total blackness. Your sisters giggle beside you and a contagious smile creeps onto your lips.

“Make a wish, make a wish!” your family chants around you.

You shush everyone which draws more laughs, especially from Mom and Dad. “Guys, quiet. I need to focus.”

You suck in a deep breath. 

You close your eyes and make a silent wish. Your smile broadens. It’s easy. You wish for everyday moving forward to be as perfect as this one, as wonderful. A happiness untouched and crystallized like a butterfly in amber. Its paper-thin, delicate wings never shriveling. Its vibrant colors never dimming. Its beauty never waning, never yielding to the fickle whims of time. Every year onwards, you wish to be surrounded by the same love and support you’ve gotten to experience for the last eighteen years. 

You wish to always be with family. 

When your eyes open, you beam brightly. The fact that familiar faces stare back at you fills you with warmth and comfort. Sarah, your sister, offered to throw the flashiest, biggest party of the year for your birthday. She even made a vision board for it. It was quite impressive actually. She planned on making sure her little sister celebrated eighteen years on this earth with a bang. But you staunchly refused. Not only did you hope to avoid more organizing drama between Sarah and Kie, you wanted something discreet and casual this year. You had no desire to be surrounded by vague acquaintances from the Island Club or the snobbish classmates who only stopped calling you names once they realized Mom was more than Dad’s mid-life crisis. 

Despite the twenty-year age gap between them, you’ve never witnessed two people more in sync than your mom and dad. You know every woman on that side of the island has wished for their marriage to fail. You wouldn’t flinch if you learnt there was a voodoo doll of your mom in one of those women’s closets. People figured they wouldn’t last. After all, they are so different. Mom used to be a cocktail waitress at the country club Dad is still a faithful member of to this day. His wife Rose had recently died and they bonded over fishing and sports. In many Kooks’ eyes, Mom will always be beneath them. You can see it in their eyes. Their pinched smiles. Their forced pleasantries. A veil of unbelonging will always cling to you and your mother. Deep down, despite living in this big beautiful house for seven years, you’ll always be Pogues. Not that you’ll ever tell Mom. She lives in a pink-colored bubble of her own making. One you wouldn’t dare pop lest she land in a cold puddle of harsh reality.

Still, you’re happy for your parents. 

Even after all these years, they love each other deeply. They still find ways to surprise each other, to make the other feel special.

Alice and Ward Cameron are what true love looks like in your eyes. What it should look like. Unless you have what your parents have one day, you don’t see yourself tying the knot with anyone. Your dad set that standard by being the best man you’ve ever met. 

Willa bounces in front of you, displaying her gummy grin. She recently turned seven and her front teeth have yet to come out. It never stops her from smiling all day however. 

“What did you wish for?” 

You don a cryptic expression.

“It’s a secret.”

Willa pouts, folding her arms dejectedly. Dad chuckles and picks her up. He rubs her back to comfort her, explaining, “She can’t tell you her wish, sweetheart. Otherwise it won’t come true.”

Your little sister gives a reluctant nod. Willa abhors the word ‘no’. Setting limits for her is a problem as she’s so accustomed to Dad surrendering to her every whim. Ward Cameron is what some would call a ‘girl dad’ through and through. It never takes much effort from you and your sisters to convince him and whoever would dare hurt any of you should probably count their days…as your dad would likely have already picked a date and funeral plot for them.

The time for the gifts comes. You sit in a chair at the head of the dinner table as everyone gathers around you to give you their gift. 

Sarah got you a coupon for a tattoo. While Dad is livid, she winks at you. The two of you mentioned getting matching tattoos before you leave for college. You’re glad to learn that she hasn’t forgotten.

Wheezie hands you a Sephora gift card. She’s very solemn, adjusting her glasses while giving it to you, which tears a chuckle from you.

“You just always say you don’t want anything, then everyone gets you a super cool gift,” she laments. Mom squeezes her shoulder. 

“It’s an amazing gift. I love it, Wheezie.”

Her face lights up at your response.

Willa’s gift draws the biggest smile from you. It’s a handcrafted wooden box covered in seashells, glitter and sand. It has a silver lock with a little key. It’s just so cute and you already picture yourself placing it above your bed or somewhere on your desk in your college dorm. It’ll be a much-welcome reminder of home. 

Mom and Dad’s combined gift sits in a square velvet jewelry box. The breath hovers in your lungs, your fingers shaking with anticipation as you open the box.

Your jaw drops.

A gold necklace with a single diamond charm shaped like a teardrop lies on beige satin. 

Your hand flies to your mouth. This must have cost a pretty penny.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

“Do you like it, sweetheart?” Dad asks.

“I love it.”

A bright grin unfurls on his face at your swift response. He moves forward, collecting the necklace from the box. 

“Can I…”

“Of course,” you reply, shoving your hair aside so he can place the necklace on you. 

When he’s done, he takes a moment to look at you, his hands clasping your shoulders. “It suits you. Your mom and I picked it out…” His voice falters, unspilled tears filling his blue eyes. 

You wrap your arms around him. He hugs you tightly. 

“Dad, it’s okay,” you say.

He unleashes a watery laugh. “It’s just…you girls are growing up so fast.” He steps back and hastily wipes the tears in his eyes. Dad loathes crying in front of you. Well, showing any sort of emotion really. You don’t remember seeing him shed a tear since the day you called him ‘dad’. It just slipped out of your mouth one time. It just felt natural after a while. 

Ward is the only father you’ve ever known, your mother having divorced your biological father when you were just a few months old. You’ve never met this man, though you’ve heard he has another family on the mainland. You can’t deny you’ve been curious about him at times. But your mother’s lips are sealed when it comes to that man. She rarely talks about that time but you always gathered that his absence in your lives is somewhat of a blessing.

You hug Dad again.

“It’s okay. I promise to visit a lot. For every holiday. And you guys can come see me too.” You try to lighten the mood as you note the sour faces. “It’ll just be four years. Then I can come home and work on getting my real estate license while working with Dad at Cameron development.”

“That’s my girl. Eyes on the prize,” he praises. 

“Always.”

He sweeps an icy glance over Rafe.

“If only a certain someone followed your example.”

Your brother flinches. He’s been a bit more withdrawn than everyone else during the party. Besides singing ‘Happy Birthday’, he hasn’t said a word to you. You surmise he’s not too eager to see you leave either. Out of all your siblings, you are the closest to Rafe. 

While he was standoffish when you first met, he’s warmed up to you considerably over the years. He’s not just your brother. He’s also your confidant. You can count on one hand the things you don’t share with Rafe.

“Come on, dad. That’s not fair,” you say, trying your best to dissipate the tension in the air. “He’s just on his own path.” 

Rafe bolts from his seat, stomping out of the room and heading to the balcony. 

Your shoulders slump.

“Not everyone has to go to college to succeed. You know that. And so does Mom.”

“You’re right.” He heaves out a weary breath. “But I’m not mad that your brother dropped out of college. I’m mad he doesn’t care about anything he can’t shove up his nose or get high with.”

Concern scrunches your mother’s features. 

“Honey,” she says.

“Alice, he’s twenty-two years old. It’s time for him to grow up.”

Bereft of arguments to defend Rafe, and with your dad being stubborn as ever, you elect to join him on the balcony. The cool night breeze seeps through your clothes. Goosebumps break out on your skin as you shiver by Rafe’s side. 

You decide to crack his shell with a lighthearted joke. 

“So I don’t get a gift from my big brother this year?”

A smile breaks out on Rafe’s face. He turns to you.

“But you always say you don’t want anything because you already have everything.”

You give him a harmless punch in the rib. He pretends to be deeply hurt by it and bursts out in laughter.

“I’m kidding,” he admits. “I'll give it to you later this week. It’s something you’ve wanted for a long time, promise. There was just a…temporary shortage.”

You acquiesce. You let a comfortable silence hang between you and him for a while before speaking again.

You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry about Mom and Dad,” you blurt out.

Shrugging, he scoffs, “It’s fine. It’s not like Dad will stop riding my ass all the time. At least Alice doesn’t have her foot on my neck 24/7.”

You grip his arm.

“They’re just worried about you. About your future.” Rafe’s jaw clenches, his blue eyes set forward. “You know Dad loves you. He’s just not very good at showing it.” Hope laces your tone. “Maybe try to stop by the office more? I’m sure he’ll appreciate you showing interest in the family business.” You shift closer to him, whispering. “Even Sarah can’t be bothered, just so you know.” This makes his hard gaze fall on you. Talking about Sarah never fails to make Rafe’s blood pressure rise. Even after all that time, the two of them can’t seem to get along. “You’re always talking about being proactive and all that. Then be proactive, Rafe.”

He studies you for a while before a slow smirk unfans on his lips. 

“You know…that is actually not a bad idea, princess.”

“Of course it’s a great idea. I had it,” you jest, drawing a hearty chuckle from him.

The buzzing of your phone shatters the moment. You startle. You hastily grab it from the pocket of your cardigan. 

“Just give me a minute,” you utter apologetically. You step away for a bit. Rafe’s eyes on you are sharp as you check your phone. The message you receive has you fighting a smile. You feel giddy that he remembered your birthday. You don’t even remember telling him it was today. Suppressing the goofy grin threatening to take over the bottom of your face, you return to your spot next to Rafe. 

“Who was that?” he asks.

You lie with ease. While you love Rafe, he can be so overprotective. To a suffocating degree at times. No guy will approach you because the mere knowledge that Rafe Cameron is your brother and will surely dole out a severe beating if any guy so much as stares at his sister too long makes most of them steer clear. Some of your suitors have tried, the brave, reckless ones, but Rafe would scare each of them away. 

There’s been a boy lately. One who eluded your brother’s relentless scrutiny. Familiar, but also kind of new. Rafe would blow a fuse if he knew who it was. He can’t find out. Not yet anyways. 

You slap on a mask of nonchalance. 

“No one.”

He gives a nod, licking his lips. He seems to mull over something before narrowing his eyes in suspicion. 

“Are you hiding something?”

Your stomach knots. You try to keep an even, casual tone. You fail. 

“I-I’m not. Why would you say that, Rafe?”

“I don’t know. You were acting shifty just then.”

“I’m allowed to have some privacy, Rafe. I’m not a kid anymore.”

His jaw ticks. He takes a small step back, as if your words hit him square in the face. 

“But we never had any secrets for each other, haven’t we?”

“Yeah.”

His blue eyes trap yours. 

“So who was it, princess?”

You shudder. Keeping things from him is near impossible. He knows you like a book he’s read every single page from. Again and again. 

This is how you know your subterfuge can't be a complete success. Still, you stick to your story.

“Like I said, Rafe. No one,” you maintain.

He bends over you, seizing your hand and tucking it against his chest. Your heart skips a beat. 

“You know I’m just trying to protect my little sister, right? That’s all I’ve ever tried to do, protect you.”

“I know,” you say, a small smile tugging your lips. 

He rubs his thumb across your palm, squeezing your fingers more tightly than before. You wince at the pressure. It’s on the thin edge of pain.

“So…you’d tell me if there was anything new in your life, anyone?”

Your pulse quickens. The lie aches as it rises from your throat this time. Needles of deceit. You aren’t used to lying to your brother. 

“Of course, Rafe. You’d be the first to know,” you chime, forcing a false, wobbly smile on your face.

He stares at you for so long that it grows unnerving. After an eternity, his grip on your hand slackens. You rub your pulsing fingers, a frown wrinkling your brow. 

He crosses his arms over the railing, eyes fixated on the night as he mumbles under his breath, “Good.”

You don’t know how to answer that, a wave of unease, cooler than the night chill, passing through you somehow. 

[pirateshelly]

One thing that really fascinates me about interview with the vampire (the show) is this sort of tension between power and powerlessness in all of the characters. Because it doesn't present becoming a vampire as something that just gives you power and magically makes you completely detached from all human concerns and struggles.

And that seems to be something Lestat does very much want to believe, and he's in enough of a position of privilege that he's able to convince himself it's true, and it's a fundamental area where he just cannot understand Louis because Louis CAN'T pretend even if he wants to. (And of course Lestat cannot ACTUALLY separate himself from "human troubles" the way he likes to think he can, he just has an easier time pretending than most). Because as much as becoming a vampire grants these characters supernatural power it doesn't just magically take away the very tangible human ways that they were previously vulnerable or powerless.

Becoming a vampire doesn't negate Louis' struggles with racism; in some ways it amplifies them with how he is alienated from his own family and community; his closest connection becomes Lestat. He loses his economic independence and becomes socially dependent on Lestat in a way he wasn't to anyone as a human because in some ways becoming a vampire made him MORE vulnerable, despite granting him physical strength/speed/etc. The promise of freedom in vampirism Lestat presents to Louis (that I do think he does genuinely mean, but "freedom" means very different things to Louis than it does to Lestat) is never fulfilled.

Likewise Claudia learns the hard way with Bruce and later with the coven that she may be a vampire but the world still looks at her and sees a vulnerable young black girl and that will always put her in danger.

Claudia rescues Madeleine then turns her into a vampire, but rather than protect her from future harm the "crime" of turning her becomes the very thing that gets her killed by yet another angry mob.

And 514 years as a vampire will never be enough for Armand to truly trust or believe in his own power. Because the first 200 or so years of his life he was literally never once allowed any agency at all over his own identity or his own body (child slave sold to a brothel, sold to an abusive master, captured and violently indoctrinated into a vampire cult for centuries). No amount of material strength and power is going to undo the psychological effects of that. (And I know some people like to read his frequently passive demeanor as simply manipulation and a way of catching people off guard (because how could someone so old and powerful possibly feel a genuine sense of fear/vulnerability/etc 🙄) but to me that's an incredibly disingenuous reading of him. But that's a different rant for another time!). Being a vampire does not save him from being horrifically abused, nor does it save him from the lasting emotional effects of that abuse.

And I think there's something interesting to be said about the way that, in order to survive safely, they have to feed on the most vulnerable members of society (people undesirable and therefore least likely to arouse suspicion) in order to go unnoticed. If they want to live they have to prey on those vulnerable in possibly the same ways they themselves once were (and in many ways still are).

There's a frequent argument I dislike that we shouldn't be viewing any of these characters through too human of a lense because they're literal monsters (to be honest it's an argument I see most often made when people simply don't want to talk about the show's complex depiction of racism/misogyny/abuse/etc and used to dismiss those as issues "too human" to be relevant to a story about a bunch of monsters with a supposedly alien sense of morality), but I think the show itself makes a huge argument that for these characters there is no escaping or separating themselves from the very human struggles and vulnerabilities that marked them before they ever became vampires. It's like a sort deconstructed power fantasy.

[ivanttakethis]

Inspired by @shakingparadigm’s post discussing Alien Stage outfits and their meaning. It’s interesting that Till seems to be mourning Round 1 Mizi rather than Round 5 Mizi.

You would think he would mourn her as he last saw her, especially considering how dramatic her exit was; wearing white, full of rage and covered in blood.

It's like he can't square the version of Mizi he's built up in his head (bubbly, full of life, always smiling, perfect) and Mizi as she actually was (an imperfect, grief stricken person, capable of expressing ugly emotions). So he doesn't (or can't) acknowledge that true version of Mizi.

It would destroy his entire worldview if he did. The glass is cracked, though.

I think this cracking of Till's worldview caused him to lean further into his idealized version of Mizi.

In the club scene where Till hallucinates seeing her, Mizi looks more like her child self. This version of Mizi is even more innocent and "pure" than Round 1 Mizi.

To me, innocence what Till covets about Mizi the most. She's "untouched" by the evils of the world that he knows all too well. Or, at least, she was.

Then there's Round 6 and Ivan.

There are already a lot of similarities between Round 6 and Round 5 (the choking, the round ending in a untraditional way, etc.), but I think it's notable that Ivan, like Mizi, wears white.

And Ivan, like Mizi, tests Till’s worldview again.

While we can’t say with 100% certainty what Till truly thought of Ivan, we can make some inferences based on what we’ve seen.

To Till, Ivan probably comes across as weird and annoying and somewhat emotionless. He definitely doesn’t think Ivan cares about him, let alone loves him. Does Till even consider Ivan a friend? Hard to say.

Regardless, Till’s worldview likely dictates that Ivan doesn’t care about him/takes pleasure in his misfortune.

He goes into Round 6 ready to die and doesn’t think anyone will try to stop him.

But then Ivan does.

Ivan sacrifices himself so Till can live.

Ivan shatters Till’s worldview at his own expense.

Whether Till understands what Ivan was trying to convey in that kiss or not, sacrifice is not done without care.

It is not done without at least a little bit of love for the other person, no matter what form it takes.

Till’s destruction came wearing white and exacting violence.

In the aftermath, he’s the only one who can pick up the pieces.

[lucysarah-c]

Do you think that Canon Levi (While he is in the scouts, not post-war) would want a serious relationship or even a family? I love reading fanfictions about him falling in love with someone who is also on the scouts and even having a wife or kids, but he canonically is not a huge fan of marriages and Idk, maybe he doesn't like the idea of putting children in such a dangerous world, you know what I mean? What's your opinion? 

Hi, sweetheart! How are you? Ah, first of all, thank you for stopping by my inbox and asking for my opinion. I always get a little giggly when people ask for my thoughts on anything haha. I promise to do my best to reply to everything to the best of my abilities!

I agree with you to a certain degree, especially since you mentioned not "post-war Levi." I think post-war Levi is a completely different story, you know? This man sat down with two kids to tell them about his childhood and mother. Let's remember that Hange didn't even know about Kenny's existence during the Uprising Arc, which leads me to think that Levi didn't speak to anyone about his past before. Now he does? I mean, yes, it's a literary device—using characters completely alien to the idea to present a first-person POV of the character telling their past. I've used it myself in my main fic. But let's say that's not the case, and Levi is opening up like never before. He seems to be redoing his life and living happily after the war. I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to pursue a partner and kids for himself (if he wants, as kids and romantic relationships aren't necessary for happiness).

But Canon Scout Levi? Let me tell you, first of all, I don't think Levi really "believes" in marriage per se. I think he would treat his girlfriend as if she were his wife; he doesn't think of marriage much beyond "a tradition." Now, I do see him getting married if it would enhance the life or rights of his girlfriend. What do I mean by this? Let's say there's "social judgment" if his girlfriend is publicly in a relationship with him and "being with a man outside of wedlock" causes her social scrutiny—he may marry her. He knows firsthand how women are judged based on their "status" by his mother, so if he can step up and do the right thing, he will. For example, if he were to die and his partner couldn't land jobs because people judge that she's unmarried at her age, he would marry her. Or if she could get a pension from being married to a soldier, and every coin counts, Levi wouldn't mind it. That's what I personally think. Levi knows he won't be the one getting the sour end from not making it official, so he sees it as beneficial to make it legally official.

Then about kids, I don't see Levi "seeking" kids while he's in the Scouts. It's rather clear that Levi likes kids across the story, but he probably wants to give his kids the childhood he didn't have. And yeah, "kids only need someone who loves them, etc.," but the truth is kids need time, dedication, and MONEY. Three things that Scout Levi doesn't have lmao. So I don't see him canonically "seeking to become a dad." If there's contraception in Paradis, he's for sure using it. If there isn't, or accidents happen, and his girlfriend ends up pregnant, he would probably state that it's not the best timing for kids (especially if she's a Scout, as I doubt a woman would be allowed to be a soldier and also raise a kid. She would lose her job and stay behind to be a mother, which was usually the case back in the day). But if she decides to carry on, Levi, being an adult doing adult stuff, will take responsibility and be the best father he can given the circumstances.

Finally, about relationships… I'm a firm believer that you don't truly choose to fall in love or not haha. Like when it happens, it happens, like the cat distribution system lol. Once it knocks at your door, it's your time. Once again, I don't picture Levi going out of his way "searching" for romance. But if he slowly gets to know someone and likes them, and that person likes him back, then well… I don't know. Now that I'm rereading the manga, I'm more sure about this. Levi hardly seems "unapproachable," like "I'm so hurt, I don't want to let anyone in." On the contrary, you see he has good relationships with almost all the Scouts, even telling Nifa about Kenny out of nowhere. He's not one to fall easily, but if it happens, it happens.

I hope this was a good enough answer <3 Thank you so much for your ask.

Have a lovely day!

Stay safe!

[stellarbit]

Grief

Word Count: 2.1k Pairing: None, platonic comfort Warnings: grieving the death of a pet, panic attacks, grief in general Summary: After the loss of your pet, you come to the Batch for distraction. a/n: Recently, I lost the center of my world and I'm devastated. This is a self indulgent attempt at comfort.

Grief threatened to crush your chest. Every breath was unnatural and hours of crying left your face raw. Hours that came from days of pain and fear - fear that the world was forever wrong.

Losing them tore you in half. Their death carved a hole in your life that consumed every thought of your future. A future you now constantly had to remember would never be the same.

In the immediate days following their passing, the world seemed an alien landscape without them. Hunger eventually drove you from the isolation of your quarters, but it was desperation for distraction that kept you from returning. That same desperation now found you at the skyport of Ord Mantel, standing silently at Tech’s feet while he worked under the ship.

No one had seen you in three days, but with your companion’s decline in health - it wasn’t a hard connection to make. Your extended absence made it so that the sight of you caught Echo off guard when he rounded the Marauder. Your sudden appearance nearly sent the spanner in his hand into orbit.

You remained silent as you stared down at Tech’s feet with a ghostlike appearance, not truly seeing. There was no life in your sunken stance - a stark contrast to your usual vibrant self. In lieu of calling out to you, Echo quietly approached.

Your lack of response was jarring. Normally, you wouldn’t have missed Echo’s presence, but your typical alertness was replaced by a hollow vacancy.

Then again, all other times you had a living shadow acting as an extension of you. It seemed that nearly a decade with this creature had made you dependent on their presence. They were woven into the very fabric of your day-to-day existence.

When he was only a few paces from you and you still hadn’t noticed him, Echo hesitated but broke the silence. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” His voice was low and cautious.

Against his expectations, Echo’s greeting didn’t jolt you. Instead, you gradually drifted your dead-eyed gaze to him with a flinch of a smile.

Echo’s greeting caught Tech’s attention. Finally noticing you, Tech ducked out from under his ship to find you looking back down at him. As he crouched his way out he said with pleasant surprise, “Oh, I did not notice you.”

Despite anticipating your next visit to be a solitary one, your unaccompanied presence unsettled Tech. The absence of your side kick felt was very off kilter and he'd not seen you quite this withdrawn before. 

You gestured to the Marauder, asking, “Need a hand?” Contrary to your haggard appearance, your voice was smooth as any other day.

From the bay door, Omega watched you hunch under the Marauder, settling into place as Tech and Echo left your side. As they stepped away, Tech shared a quiet look with Echo - it was worse than they had imagined.

Hunter appeared beside Omega, tracking your movements as Echo and Tech joined them. “How’s she doing?” Hunter asked as he assessed you from a distance.

“She seems to be holding up.” Echo sighed, turning to check on you again.

Tech’s hands squirmed at his sides. He wanted to scour his datapad and distract him from the discomfort of your company, but he remained present, albeit uncharacteristically quiet. “There is something off about her though.” Tech added in an unsure tone.

Omega shook her head in disagreement. “Of course she’s off.” Her eyes dropped momentarily, finding it painful to look at you for too long. “Seeing her alone is weird…” Glancing between her brothers, she shrugged a shoulder in your direction. “Imagine what it’s like for her, for years it was just the two of them. Now, she’s all alone.”

Determination worked its way through Omega the more she watched on. Watching you struggle stirred a deep desire to help. “We have to do something for her,” she announced, her voice firm with resolve.

Echo saw the cogs working in her head, saw the worried expression so similar to the ones sent his way. Having endured the void left by his core squadron, he understood the depths of loss and the scar it could leave. It was a scar he saw in your future.

“Omega,” Echo said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “There are some things we can’t help with.” Omega’s expression drooped, it hurt Echo to tell her and hurt her to hear. He struggled to find the right words to explain the rest. “This… what she’s going through… it-it’s something we can’t fully understand.”

Her expression hardened, determined once more. “But she shouldn’t have to go through it alone.”

Omega’s pure intentions warmed Echo. “You’re half right, Omega,” he responded softly. “While it’s true she shouldn’t be alone, this is something she ultimately has to face by herself.”

It was an experience solely singular to you. A pain only you could feel the full breadth of, but one your friends desperately wanted to share the burden of. 

“She should get off-world,” Omega suggested with a hopeful tone. “Be somewhere without memories.”

Hunter considered the idea for a moment. Seeing you work at half your normal pace discouraged further consideration. Gently, Hunter redirected the young girl, “That might be a tall order right now.”

Gently, Echo patted his sister’s shoulder. “Keeping her busy might be all we can do.”

Tech listened intently, his eyes never straying from you. His mind raced through a catalog of possible interventions, calculations and logic running their course. Ultimately, he concluded that there was nothing in his, or his squad’s, arsenal that could truly mend what had been broken. 

You’d lost an irreplaceable part of your life and were now alone in a way you hadn’t been in a long time - almost as long as Tech had been alive.  The magnitude of your loss was difficult for him to fully comprehend, as his attachments, though deep, were largely confined to his squad.

Tech recognized the stark contrast between how he and you approached the world. While he offered his expertise to strangers with a calculated detachment, you freely extended love and support, the kind that had been so generously bestowed upon you by your companion. 

He’d always wondered where that kindness was rooted. Now, the true source of your strength was painfully clear to him.

Without a word, Tech left his siblings to discuss their idea for helping you. He knew there was nothing he could say or do to remedy your loss, but he could at least make sure you weren’t physically alone.

Echo left to find Wrecker while Hunter and Omega headed back to Cid’s. They were all planning on sharing dinner with you. Even Cid, typically detached, showed her concern by agreeing to host the dinner, her gruff exterior softened by the situation.

So Tech watched you work, instructing you through the repairs and making a conscious effort to be more gentle than usual. You remained stoic, following his instructions with such precision that you might have been mistaken for a droid. Occasionally, Tech glanced at his datapad, instinctively seeking brief escapes from the heavy air that hung between you. While his intention was to support you, the task proved more challenging than he had expected.

Initially, the mechanical work seemed to distract you effectively. However, the relief was fleeting. As you delved deeper into the mechanics, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to your lost companion. The pain momentarily subsided was swiftly replaced by a resurgence of grief, disrupting your focus.

Your attention wavered enough that your wrench slipped and stripped the bolting you were adjusting. Panic took hold and you attempted to crank the bolt again, further stripping it.

Tech, noticing the commotion from a distance, set his datapad aside and approached to assess the situation. As he drew closer, he saw the growing panic in your actions; your hands shook so violently that the wrench couldn't find its mark.

Gently, he came up beside you, his movements deliberate and calm. Without a word, he took the tool from your quivering hands.

You hung your head low, collapsing onto your ass. Folding yourself into your hands, you murmured, “Sorry, Tech.” Your previously steady tone was now watery and broken.

“There is no need to apologize.” Tech said, lowering himself beside. He adjusted his goggles for a better look at the spot above you. “It is a minor fix.”

You didn’t - couldn’t - respond, only nodding. The mistake had thrown you right back into despair. The quaking in your hands took hold of your entire body. 

Watching you, knowing there was so little he could do, made him feel helpless. Tech diverted his eyes to the tool in hand. Feeling a profound helplessness, he gripped the tool tighter, his voice gentle as he ventured, “Is there anything I can do?”

Your response was a shake of the head, morphing into sobs that you barely managed to voice through.  “Can you bring them back?” The bite in your voice was discounted by a subsequent sob.

The idea had occurred to Tech. As a genetic replica of a man he didn’t even know, Tech could speak to the efficacy of cloning. Unfortunately, the idea was dimmed when it came to recreating the soul of your companion.

After all, it wasn’t the physical being you so loved, but their soul and their love. 

He’d seen the unique bond you shared. It was in the way they looked at you like you were their moon and stars, moved in perfect sync with you, and seemed to want nothing more than to see you smile.

They were, in every sense, irreplaceable 

Defeated, Tech could only confess, “I cannot.”

You already knew that, yet hearing it confirmed broke you again. You curled inward, your body shaking as sobs wracked through you. Suddenly, your head snapped up, a gasp slicing through the heavy air. “Oh, stars,” you choked out, the realization hitting you over and over.

Squeezing your eyes shut, tears fell down your face. In broken, sobbing words you said, “They were sick and I didn’t even realize. I waited too long”

Tech’s eyes widened slightly. “Do you blame yourself?”

A feral intensity flashed through you, and you whipped around to face Tech. “Of course I do!” you yelled;

Tech, unflinching, met your gaze steadily. “They were receiving treatment, you were—”

“They were getting worse and I didn’t catch it!” Your anger at yourself flared high. Shaking your head, a far off, horrified expression came over you as you slowly crumpled again. “I thought they were… oh stars.”

Discarding the tool, Tech slid closer to place a hand on your back. He lowered his voice, trying to anchor you back from the brink of despair. “You did what you thought was best based on what you knew.”

The hyperventilation calmed, but it left behind a vacant stare. “Then they deserved better than me,” you murmured, the guilt in your voice like a physical weight.

Tech’s response was immediate and resolute, “You cannot say that,” he countered. His voice carried a hint of urgency, not just to contradict but to correct a harmful thought. “They were cared for and you cherished them - that is what they deserved and exactly what you gave. Grief might cloud your view, but it doesn’t change the care you devoted to them.”

His grip firmed on your back and he insisted, “You cannot let your regret taint your love for them or their memory.”

You blinked at Tech, tears continuing to fall as you whispered. “Tech, there is a happiness I will never taste again.”

Tech resisted the urge to confirm that sad truth aloud, choosing instead to offer comfort through actions - a gesture he had learned from Omega. Rubbing circles on your back, he coaxed out another pained whine from you.

“I miss them so much,” you confessed, your voice breaking with each word.

“I know.” Tech hesitated for a moment, considering the breadth of your anguish. Slowly, he closed the gap between you, tucking his arm around you in a rare display of overt affection. “I believe they miss you too.”

There was no fixing this for you. There was nothing to stop your pain. He didn’t understand all of the complexities in your loss, there was no one who could, but he could remind you of a few things.

Of the flawed perspectives born in your grief. Of it not being your fault. Of the bond he’d witnessed. 

In hopes of calming your nervous system, he squeezed you a little tighter. “We may not understand every detail of what you’re feeling, but we’re here. We’ll stay with you, for as long as you need.”

****

taglist: @baddest-batchers @jetii @bruh-myguy-what

a/n: I love you, Seneca.

[lookingforhappy]

i think it's pretty fundamental to a story to be able to understand the perspectives of both the main protagonist and the main antagonist.

so i'm pretty disappointed in tua for fucking up reginald so badly.

now i'm no writer, and i'm not an especially perceptive audience either, but i'm going to break this down as well as i'm able:

in s1 of tua we learn:

reginald left his dying (alien? future-human?) wife, abigail, to retreat from an unspecified disaster - she tells him that "the world needs [him]", and that he should give her violin "to someone who will love it".

reginald has known of the (s1) apocalypse since, or possibly before, oct 1st 1989.

reginald adopted the brellies specifically to stop the apocalypse.

reginald was willing to sacrifice his own life in order to prevent the apocalypse.

so it seems to me...

reginald's goal is: to prevent the apocalypse through any means necessary.

reginald's motivation is to: carry out his wife's dying wish to be needed by the world or to somehow benefit the world.

his goal is admirable and selfless, but his methods are unethical at best.

we also have a few unanswered questions:

how did reginald know about the s1 apocalypse?

did he know viktor was the cause?

what did reginald need to talk to klaus about in the afterlife?

what was his plan/how were the brellies supposed to prevent the apocalypse?

in s2 we learn:

reginald is an alien, not just a future-human.

reginald moved on to have a relationship with Texan Grace in the 1960s (and might have had several other relationships post abigail).

reginald has "interests" on the dark side of the moon.

reginald has no interest in preventing/knowledge of the (s2) apocalypse - or he feels it isn't a threat or the siblings r lying.

nothing truly contradicts s1 here, but it does change the theorised goal, so now...

reginald's goal: to achieve personal happiness through power, money, fame and relationships.

reginald's motivation: personal gain.

his goals are selfish and self-serving, and his methods remain unethical at best.

s2 raises a few questions for events in s1, namely:

if he's been openly living in the same building, under the same name, not aging for at least 60 years... why is no one suspicious of him?

what are his interests on the moon?

was luther's moon mission related to his interests on the dark side of the moon? or was it truly pointless as s1 leads us to believe?

if he's willing to let the 60s s2 apocalypse happen then what happened to make him care about the s1 apocalypse 60 years later?

was reginald genuinely suicidal all along?

did he know about the s2 apocalypse? if not then why didn't he want to prevent it?

0/4 of the s1 questions were answered:

how did reginald know about the s1 apocalypse?

did he know viktor was the cause?

what did reginald need to talk to klaus about in the afterlife?

what was his plan/how were the brellies supposed to prevent the apocalypse?

in s3 we learn:

reginald has been looking for oblivion in order to reset the universe (in his image) since before he arrived on earth.

he supposedly only settled on earth because it's the location of oblivion.

before reginald acquired his company/fame (s1e10), he found and built the hotel obsidian (a multi year/decade project) - he was one of/the first to live in The City.

reg knew that he would need a minimum of 7 of the 43 children in order to reset the universe + himself to code it.

which is consistent with s2's reg and his goals

reginald's goal: to achieve personal happiness through power, money, fame and relationships.

reginald's motivation: personal gain.

his goals are selfish and self-serving, and his methods remain unethical at best - the only positive is that he wants to revive/save his wife's life.

however, this wildly contradicts s1 reg and creates plotholes.

reg needs 7 children to power oblivion + himself to code it - s1 he kills himself and has 1 child left (who is currently going insane on the moon).

his plan to reset the universe and revive his wife? failed once five left at 13, in 2002. then it just continued to fall apart - ben dies at 16 in 2005, diego and allison leave/defect at 17 - 18 in 2006/7, then viktor sometime prior to 2015 then finally klaus and the only one left to go to oblivion is luther.

reg cannot force them into oblivion, s3 proved that. so... what was his plan in s1?

how did reginald know about the s1 apocalypse?

did he know viktor was the cause?

what did reginald need to talk to klaus about in the afterlife?

what was his plan/how were the brellies supposed to prevent the apocalypse?

if he's been openly living in the same building, under the same name, not aging for at least 60 years... why is no one suspicious of him?

was luther's moon mission related to his interests on the dark side of the moon? or was it truly pointless as s1 leads us to believe?

if he's willing to let the 60s s2 apocalypse happen then what happened to make him care about the s1 apocalypse 60 years later?

was reginald genuinely suicidal all along?

did he know about the s2 apocalypse? if not then why didn't he want to prevent it?

so far. nothing has explained this and p much all the creators are silent so it seems that all of s1's mysteries have been forgotten and overwritten.

speaking of which, here is a couple ideas of things they can do to fix said plotholes:

explicitly explain that due to all the time travel/altering in 1960s reg's plans changed to be ultimately selfish and ignore his wife's wishes - for him to be needed by/benefit the world & give her violin to someone who would love it - leading to an obsession to revive her via oblivion which he began investigating using a weaker version of time travel (to prevent further plotholes - make his time travel limited to a certain number of years, so that he could go back to try to save abigail from her illness, but learned of it too late to have any affect. since we already know reg is long lived/immortal, we can assume abigail was too so going backwards 50ish years isn't enough to save her but is enough to locate oblivions entrance in 1918 post 1963 apocalypse revelations).

explicitly explain that reg had originally planned to use oblivion prior to s1, but had decided instead to fulfill his wifes wishes and abandon that plan (possibly due to viktor developing a love for violin like abigial?)

or just... something??? it's really annoying that they drained him of nuance and yknow.. understandable motives...

i just feel like your main antagonist should have better/consistent motivations/goals

like idc if you change his whole personality you have to keep his reasoning consistent or else you get plotholes like this that just break the entire series.

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

I mentioned this in the tags of an earlier post, but I wanted to explain a bit more about the alienated, shattered, exiled, othered imagery of the Divine in Judaism, and how that image of the Divine speaks deeply to me as a queer, non-binary Jew.

The Shechinah, the Divine Presence, is described in feminine terms and She goes with the Jewish people into galus, exile, at the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. What does it mean, for us to imagine G-d as being in exile with us? It's a profound image. We are exiled from our land, from the Beis HaMikdash and the closeness to the Divine Presence that it allowed, yes. But we are not totally cut off; the grief we feel is shared by Hashem Herself as we build a sacred remnant together in the diaspora. What does it mean, for the Divine Presence to be in exile with us, instead of whole? What do we learn from the idea that the sacred feminine is broken, exiled, and alienated along with the rest of klal Yisrael from the masculine Malchus? What does it say that the world will only be perfected (takken olam) when Hashem is One and Ha-Shem is One?

There is another image of the Divine that I've described here before, the holy darkness. The sacred dark that was before the beginning, that begins our days with ma'ariv, and that teaches us the lessons of infinity as the backdrop of the universe. To me it is a beautiful image, this idea that we are all sheltering under the wings of the Shechinah - that our darkness is the protective dark of an embrace. That we are held in a sukkat shalom - a shelter of peace. Like our sukkot, this does not mean we are safe or protected from the elements, but more that our home - our true home - is under the stars, and that no matter what, we are not alone. This article had a lot more fascinating things to say about this as well.

And finally, this image of a hidden G-d, a G-d that weeps for our suffering in G-d's hidden place (mistarim), who speaks silently, in the still small voice within our hearts. There's a drash that I'm still trying to track down about this because it was from several years ago, but it was about this hidden place of Hashem that G-d retreats to in order to grieve the sorrows of the world and how, if we truly want to be close to G-d, we will sit silently in that hidden place alongside Him.

These images and metaphors for G-d are not what is typically imagined. Most concepts of G-d are majestic in scope and elevated in stature. They are filled with the piercing bright light of clarity and gilded with the gold of the Mishkan, the First Temple, and the Second Temple. But we live in a humbler time. Hashem is Avinu Malkeinu - our compassionate, forgiving Father and the Ruler of the Universe, but what does that divine concept do for us when we live in a broken and unredeemed world? How can that traditional understanding of G-d speak to us when we are calling out to G-d from the depths? And especially for those of us who are seen as broken, dwelling in darkness, often hiding our true selves, and exiled from where we belong, how much more powerful is an understanding of G-d that goes into that exile with us and holds us in our grief and hard-won joy, as we endure together?

[crustyfloor]

FUCK THEM UPPPPPPP TILL OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD

The visuals of Till's splash art (in my humble opinion, the best one so far) is STUNNING. AND very interesting.

For Till specifically to cover All-In is an interesting message to give off, All-In is a song about freedom. A type of freedom that allows you to live confidently and freely, creating whatever type of world you want, the stage is yours, so make what you want of it. living confidently in YOUR OWN SKIN. And living freely "cause you only got one life to live"

Freedom is something Till fights for relentlessly, and confidence is a bravado, as by far the most uncontrolled and tested person in the cast, he still fights for his boundaries and self-expression even when he's punished, molded into something he's not, or beaten into obedience, tested far past the limit; he never loses his bite. A wild dog can never be tamed.

This is the cover that follows what becomes of Till after round 6, and still, in Till's all-in, he sounds so raw, pained, energized, and passionate desperation is evident. It's a contrast from HyunA's celebratory cheers and upbeat mood because Till isn't celebrating the idea of freedom; he's angrily proving to everyone, especially the aliens, that he isn't backing down yet and he'll still keep fighting and that he can fight for his own freedom.

Till's cover of All-in is truly the most powerful depiction of Till's fighting spirit, after everything he's gone through, the pain, the grief. It's all in his voice and the way he sings he's pained the entire time he sings and he's aggressive because the fire of his spirit is lit once again. He's going "all-in" so to speak and expressing himself.

The tape around his neck--

It's a contrast to HyunA who doesn't mind showing her brand, even proudly showing it off as a form of reclaiming her individualism.

Till is different. Because being reminded that he is and was once a pet is not something he would want to remember about himself, he will always bitterly try to distance himself from that fact in any way he can, HyunA feels free from the system when she can own it, but when Till sees his branding, he'll still always feel that collar. It's a testament to his self-deprecation, as long as the evidence of his past is present, and he still feels all the pain the aliens inflicted on him, It'd be presumptuous to think he'd ever feel like he can relate and fit in with the other "fools" who are so free.

It'd be presumptuous to think he'd ever feel free. That's what the aliens wanted, right?

Another interesting part of this is that the name 'All-in" is actually a real-life poker reference, to go "all-in" in poker is to voluntarily bet all of your remaining chips, there is nothing else you can do but hope for the best after that point (and hope you win).

When HyunA sings All-in, she deceives you into thinking she has the upper hand or good hand, and that she will win. When Till sings it, he's giving it all away recklessly, he's showing all he has. Basically, him saying fuck it. he doesn't know if he'll win or not but says, "Let's go all-in and risk it all anyways" Even if internally he knows that this is stupid and risky, this is his foolish rebellion.

At this point he has nothing to lose and nothing to gain, it's his final stand as he lets his heart out not for the crowd, but for the family he lost, himself, a form of self-expression. He will be so nervous, so aggrieved but it's the freest he will ever feel on that stage.

The color symbolism also drives me CRAZY.

For his other two splash art, he's been represented with a color close enough to teal. In both songs, he's open when he sings and fully serene. Teal is a generally calming color, and it's not too evocative. It's more emotional (and has it's own reservations)

And then, we have green, which is a general symbol of growth, new beginnings, and freshness. After all, Till has been through all-in is a sign of his growth. And a new era of his life, or in other words a sudden tonal shift from his depressive state in round 6.

And for my favorite (it's not.) part! the head shot, (interesting how his has nearly the biggest impact out of them all.)

A bit of a theory.

It's a bit similar to one particular art of him, he has a little shape that's almost akin to impact from a gunshot near the same area.

So, I think this is tell-tale symbolism for a future injury, but the gun portrayed is a bubble gun. I believe it is symbolism for the wound being non-fatal, so even if Till loses and gets shot, he'll survive, fundamentally changed. and will probably join the rebellion, too.

/side note

The heartbeats in Till's version of all-in are faster and louder than HyunA's version, similar to CURE.

[aceass1n]

Ok hear me out

We always talk about how Till is Ivan's sun but Ivan is also Till's sun.

(ROUND SIX SPOILERS)

Part 2 here

From a young age, we're taught that we cannot look directly at the sun—that to do so would damage our eyes permanently, would ruin our sight. We can only appreciate the sun in obliques, in asides; we appreciate its warmth, we delight in its light, we gasp in wonder at the colour it allows us to see. But never can we adore it directly; even eclipsed, it remains deadly, dangerous.

Till only looks at Ivan—truly, fully looks at Ivan—once and he is ruined.

For the rest of his life, he will be blinking away the afterimage of Ivan. Ivan's smile will be seared into his eyes, doomed to flicker into sight with every blink.

For so long, he knew Ivan only by his unwavering attention, reserved for Till and Till alone. The weight of his gaze was Till's warmth; his protectiveness allowed Till even a modicum of colour in his life. After all, without Ivan there to watch out for him, to keep him safe, could he have adored Mizi so completely, so without risk? Ivan ran back into hell for him; if Ivan had left anyways back then, what would have been left of Till by the time Alien Stage begins? Without the sun's warmth, what could possibly have blossomed?

So Till knows. Till knows that Ivan loves him, and that it is not a love he can afford to look at directly. It is a love that stands at Till's back, in his periphery (always in his peripheral vision, nothing more); it is a love that keeps Till warm with its constancy, that allows him even the briefest light of freedom when it can afford to do so.

Till thinks Mizi is his sun, and allows his world to fall into darkness when she is gone. But he forgets himself, forgets the steady warmth of Ivan's hands as he undoes the collar again and again, forgets the light in his snaggle-toothed smile. All their lives, Ivan has been eclipsed by Mizi, and even unveiled, Till cannot bring himself to face Ivan properly.

But Round 6—oh, round 6. Ivan takes the harmonies, takes the contramelody, lets Till shine. Once again, his love allows Till to fill the world with colour; it illuminates Till to his own detriment. Even when he dies, he dies giving Till a chance to live, just as the sun promises life to so many things which dwell on Earth.

And, like a sunflower too long deprived of light, Till looks.

Only once, but it's enough.

Ivan as the sun. Ivan as the eclipse. Ivan as destroyer, as lifebringer, as light and flame and ruin and hope.

Ivan as afterimage. Always to linger in Till's vision, an apparition darkening his sight with every blink, superimposed onto Till's world.

Ivan as ghost.

It's too late for Till to rearrange his worldview, too late to abandon the false god, the false sun that Mizi was for him—it wouldn't do him any good. But what can he do in the face of such a supernova but worship the wreckage that Ivan has made of his life?

The memory of Ivan, the afterimage of him, is (at least for now) enough to sustain him. Perhaps when he dies—perhaps then he will find his sun again.

[anonymous-gambito]

Word of God/movie backstory aside, it suddenly came to me that there is one other gap of knowledge that has probably contributed to a significant part of the alienation between Touga and Nanami, and it's something that existed throughout all of Nanami's life, so it's given that she wouldn't truly notice it: Touga knows they're adopted, Nanami does not. I think that makes a big difference.

Touga's backstory is bound not to be the exact same as the movie (After all, Nanami isn't even there with him), so I'll let myself speculate a bit. Their biological parents could have died, they could have abandoned them or sold them, or the siblings could have been removed from their care, and unless Nanami was brought in later to wherever Touga was, it's safe to assume that he spent at least 5 years with his original parents. He has memories of a different family, and of losing that family. Nanami doesn't even know about any of it. She doesn't realize there is a side of her brother that she never got to meet.

"Blood" is very important to Nanami. Blood is what Nanami uses to try and reassure herself that the parents who are cold and distant to her, and the brother who's grown cold and distant too, have an eternal unbreakable bond. It's very brittle though. Nanami constantly fears being replaced, discarded or harmed by her family. Most often by Touga, who ironically, happens to be her only blood relative there.

Her anxiety can be very easily explained by her experiences with how she was treated growing up in the Kiryuu household, but I do wonder if there's some subconscious parts of her that tap into these knowledge gaps too. I already felt like it was there, in the way her love for her brother is as protective as it is possessive, and how to protect him from harm, be it real or perceived, she can go feral, often shooting wildly at whoever she thinks is to blame, always hitting the wrong targets; and so maybe, I thought, it is possible that her anxieties are also tied to these repressed early childhood memories. Ones of once having a family, and then losing that world, being thrown someplace unfamiliar. Vague mostly forgotten memories fueling her fear of abandonment, working like a constant little nagging at the back of her head signaling to her how little blood ties really matter in the end.

"Blood" doesn't matter to Touga in the same way. He doesn't hold into a rose colored view of it. He knows by experience how easily those ties can be severed, how fickle they are. That's why when he found a little girl in a coffin, a little girl who spoke of there not being anything eternal, of how those you care about are bound to leave you, and questioning what's even the point of living then, he couldn't give her anything. He couldn't save her. He didn't know the answer for himself either.

[mudisgranapat]

III. Where the sun doesn't reach

Word count: 3,2 k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X F!Reader Content: zombie apocalypse, children, enemies to lovers, slow burn

Taglist: @poohkie90 @gaida-511 @synthe4u @beebeechaos Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Note: Sorry it took so long to update, I'll try to be more consistent. This one was hard to write because there is a lot of information i needed to put out there and i wanted to make sure it made sense. if it doesn't, please let me know so i can explain better on the next chapter. Enjoy :)

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There was something alien about seeing life growing in a rotting world. Her soft baby skin was a contrast to everyone around her, who wore their skins dirty, scarred, and calloused. He hadn’t truly noticed the baby at first. He had seen her, because soldiers like him were trained to see everything: a child, around a year old, with dark hair and dark eyes. 

As the Humvee hit a bumpy road, he noticed how her curly brown hair was secured in place by two pink elastic bands, the locks on the pigtails moving side to side. She held a pink stuffed dolphin with her chubby hands and swung her feet, making the pink socks go back and forth. She wore a pink jumper that seemed a number too big and was covered in drawings of pink unicorns and rainbow clouds. In Simon’s opinion, it was an obscene amount of pink. He didn’t know if he was more astounded by the combination or by the fact that it had been put together in the middle of an apocalypse. 

Her eyes were hazel, and they bore into Simon’s skull with innocence he thought he would never see again. Especially in a vehicle like that, made for war and destruction. They sat on the back of it, on the seats that faced each other, like he used to do when going on missions, and ‘odd’ didn’t even begin to describe seeing Cami there. Cami. It felt weird to know her name when all the other boys didn’t. Like it was their secret to share. As if she could read his mind, Cami giggled, somehow not fazed by his mask. He was used to people cowering in front of him, children hiding behind their mothers and peeking at him from behind their legs. The opposite seemed to apply to the baby in front of him, as she grinned showing her scarce teeth. 

“Stop staring at my baby.” He rolls his eyes, redirecting his stare to her with a new layer of hardness. The woman looked like she was in her early twenties, but she spoke with the authority of someone who had lived a dozen lives. Her nose and cheeks were covered in scarce freckles from the sun exposure, and her hair was tied in a ponytail, with loose strands now matted to her face in dried blood. Unlike Cami, she hadn’t escaped the crash unscathed. There was a large gash on her forehead from when she probably hit her face on the steering wheel, now covered in gaze from the medkit. Her lip was split and her nose bleeding. During the crash, the instrument panel from the car had collapsed, causing a gnarly knee injury. “Stop staring at me”. He didn’t. She rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, don’t mind Ghost. He does that sometimes.” Johnny said in a joking tone, but lightly kicked Simon’s foot, secretly telling him to quit it. “I think it’s about time we do some proper introductions around here, don’t you think?” She gives him a small smile of approval, moving Cami in her arms. “My name is John McTavish, but you can call me Johnny or Soap, since the old man behind the wheel is also John. We usually call him by his last name, Price. Or Captain, but I feel like that won’t be exactly your vibe” 

“I’m not old, Johnny.” Price says behind the wheel with a sigh. 

“Sure, Grandpa.” Soap retorts, and Price lets another defeated sigh, focusing back on the road. Y/N laughs, and Cami laughs too, even though she has no idea what she is laughing at. 

“I’m Kyle Garrick, but you can call me Gaz. We still use our callsigns from when we served together.” He explains, poking his tongue out at Cami and making her laugh even more. This time, she even claps, letting her pink dolphin fall to the floor. She immediately frowns. Not even the car crash had been able to separate her from the toy, her little hands crushing it as she cried in the backseat, and now her face was starting to contort like the crying was going to start again. 

Simon reaches out to it at the same time Y/N does, but grabs it first due to his longer arms. “Ghost.” He introduces himself shortly, looking her in the eye. Neither of them breaks eye contact until Cami stretches her hands out towards the toy. 

“Dodo!” she screams, shaking a demanding hand in front of Simon. He’s taken aback by the sound of her voice, not expecting her to be able to talk. He hands her the dolphin and she gives him a big smile. He smiles behind the mask in return, a secret infatuation that he buries under the skull. He notices her gaze on him now, studying his reaction, and he has the urge to say ‘Stop staring at me’.

“Kamila is just learning how to talk”. At the mention of her name, she turns her head to Y/N, and shows her the stuffed animal with excitement. Kami wasn’t the only one to hang onto her personal belongings; Y/N had managed to grab a backpack she had taken with her from the house. “She is a bit shy, but once she gets used to you she can be quite the talker, although most of it is in her own language.” 

“It’s a beautiful name. Suits her well.” Soap says, smiling at them. 

“It’s Arabic, spelled with a K. Means ‘perfect’.” She kisses Kami on her nose. “What about ‘Soap’? What does it mean?”

“Let’s just say I’m pretty good at what I do. Clean with it.” He says with a smug grin on his face. “What about you? Any nicknames?”

“Well, there was a crackhead near my house that used to call me ‘strawberry’, because I liked to wear red lipstick. Until one day I got hit by a bicycle in front of him so he changed it to ‘smoothie’, since ‘I got mushed’.” She says using air quotes. 

Soap and Gaz burst out in laughter and Simon snorts, holding in his laugh out of ego. Price is too focused on the radio with Laswell to listen, probably debriefing her about what happened and the new addition to the group. “Peaceful neighborhood, I see”. Gaz tries to recompose, while the Scot is still doubled over, slapping his own knee. “Whereabouts did you live?”

“At that time, Liverpool, but I moved around a lot. My mother was a Journalist.” Her voice sounded distant at the last part. For most people, it was hard to talk about the past. They had lives that were worth living and never thought that they would have to watch it slip through their fingers. In that sense, being a soldier made things easier. They were always ready to pack their lives into one bag, and most of them had made peace with the thought that they might not come home whenever they stepped foot on the tarmac. Others, like Simon, didn’t have a home to come back to and found solace in the nomad nature of the profession. She coughs in an attempt to clear her voice and continues. “I followed in her footsteps, so that’s how I ended up here. I was investigating a corruption scandal in the Government.” 

“Always chasing a story. Is that how you got in trouble with the Resistance?” Gaz was good at getting information out of people. Like Price, he had a trusting face and a calming voice that quickly tore down people’s walls. 

Although Y/N had been previously reluctant to share information about her past, she knew that she didn’t have a choice now. They had saved her life and jumped into the crossfire to rescue her and Kami. She owed them answers. Taking a deep breath and rearranging Kamila in her arms, she starts talking. “When the first people got infected, I got curious. The story I had been writing had come to a halt after my main source stopped cooperating with the investigation, so I had been looking for a break. The virus seemed unrelated at first, but interesting enough to write a story about. So I started digging and came across some familiar names. The people I had been investigating for corruption had been dislocating funds from the Government for an unsanctioned project on biological weapons.”

The Humvee was quiet, except for the sound of the engine and Y/N’s voice. She looked at Kami again, now fast asleep in her arms. There was a softness in her eyes that Simon yearned for in his darkest thoughts. He dreamed of caring eyes that pulled him out of his nightmares, only to wake up alone, drenched in sweat. During nights like that, he would pour a glass of moonshine and sit on the old kitchen chair in the base. Time would pass as he stared at the glass, each second increasing the burning in his lungs. He ached to scream, to punch, to tackle the thoughts that tormented him and sink a knife in its gut. But he couldn’t, so he would just sit and stare at the alcohol-filled glass, imagining the liquid burning down his throat and numbing the ache in his chest. He would then get up and empty the glass on the sink, because the only thing he could hate more than himself was his father. He relished watching the moonshine go down the drain, a small victory in his demise, a promise that he would never become the man who buries his sorrow with glasses of booze. 

“I found a guy willing to talk to me. His name was Eric Rhodes, a brilliant scientist. He had been working on the project but got fired for asking the wrong questions. He thought that the virus he had been working on before he got sacked was the same one that was turning people into… Well, zombies. I guess that’s the technical term for it. At first, I thought it was just some conspiracy theory, you know? The guy gets angry because he got fired and needs to find someone to blame. But then he showed me solid leads, names, and notes he had been able to keep, detailing what he was doing in the lab.” 

“Did you believe in him?” Price asks from the front, now engaged in the story. Laswell had the same theory, that the apocalypse was a result of a biological weapon gone wrong, but hadn’t been able to prove it. Not that it would change a thing: they were already doomed, and whoever was to blame was probably dead by now.

“I didn’t, in the beginning. But after he showed me the documents… Yeah, I did. He stopped talking to me after that. I figured he got scared that I was going to rat him out. The virus was spiraling out of control by then, so I decided to reach out to him while the phones still worked.” She pauses, looking at Kami again as if to check that she is still safe in her arms. “His younger brother, Killian, picked up the phone. Told me they had sent someone to kill Eric, burn his house down with all the evidence. He said Eric had told him about me and asked for us to meet. He wanted to know more about the reason his brother was killed.”

“Killian Rhodes. That’s the guy who started the Resistance.” Simon points out in a low voice. He knows his tone is suggestive, that she is way deeper into this than they had previously thought. The silence is palpable in the atmosphere by that point. 

“Yes. He did. It wasn’t all bad in the beginning.” Simon scoffs and leans back on his seat. Her voice is more pleading now, trying to resonate with them. “Killian wanted to avenge his brother. I told him about the virus, and how Eric thought it was a biological weapon built by the Government. It was never meant to turn into this, I know it’s not what he wanted.” 

“You’re defending him? He tried to kill you. He sent people out to kill you and your kid!” Soap shook his head, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Killian died protecting me and our daughter!” Her eyes were glossy, but she refused to cry. She was determined not to show any weakness. “Don’t you dare try and blame this on him.” Her tone was angry and bitter. It wakes up Kami, and she tries to put her back to sleep, but to no avail. 

“Mommy sad?”

“No, mommy is fine, love. Go back to sleep.” But she doesn’t, alarmed now, looking at her mom with worried eyes. Gaz, Soap, and Simon also look at her, surprised by the revelation that Killian Rhodes is Kamila’s father. But she doesn’t give them time to digest the new information. “We made it to the first quarantine zone together, when things started to get bad. Killian had always been good at convincing people, talking about how the government was dirty and that they were better off on their own. With the rations and the way the soldiers were treating people, it didn’t take long before an insurgence was formed. We took them over and that’s when we started the Resistance.”

We. Simon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wanted to laugh and say ‘I told you so’ to Johnny, but the disbelief on the Seargent’s face was satisfying enough for him. If they thought they were helping an innocent girl, they were wrong. They were harboring the founder of the most prominent and deadly rebellion created in the apocalypse. Not that they were sophisticated criminals before, but they had caused enough trouble to get their reputation: either you were with them, or against them. And now they seemed to be more keen on that policy than ever. 

Price stops the car, looking at the backseats through the rearview mirror. “You have a lot of explaining to do.” Simon recognized that tone, and it meant that whoever it was directed to was in deep shit. 

She huffs. “I never asked for you to take me in. In fact, if I remember correctly, I was dragged here.” She gives Simon a pointed look, that aggravates him even more. 

“Then leave.” Simon stares her down. “But you won’t, will you? You know you don’t stand a chance against them on your own, so start talking.” His voice is low and threatening. He doesn’t look at Kami when he speaks. He knows his voice would falter. 

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head, looking at the ceiling, trying to find shelter from the prying eyes that stare at her. “People started coming in from other quarantine zones, escaping totalitarian groups and ill-intended people. Other communities began to rise, but they weren’t as strong as we were. They wanted to weaken the Resistance so they spread word that Killian’s brother, Eric, was the one that created the virus. It drove him crazy. His brother had died trying to find the truth and now people were blaming him, trying to use his brother to taint his name. We were forced to step down and give up everything we had built. There was too much invested in the Resistance, too many people with too much to lose. Leadership changed, and we had to sit back and watch as what we stood for was deprived of its meaning. We just wanted to help people. We thought we could stop what would come next but we were wrong.”

���You killed people before that.” John said in a stern voice. 

“That was different. We didn’t start battles, we were forced into them. You can’t blame us for fighting back. There is no revolution without war.” She shifts Kamila in her arms again. “For fuck’s sake, you were in the army. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Don’t act like you haven’t done worse.” She says the last sentence looking directly at Simon. This time, he looks away. He knows he has done worse, much worse. For some reason, the fact that she would assume that of him hurts. 

“You did more than fight back. We’ve heard about what the Resistance has done.” Simon wants to hurt her back, remind her that no one gets to be innocent their whole life. 

“That was after Killian and I were forced to step down. We didn’t know what was going on. We thought that the foundation that we had built would be strong enough to last after we were gone, but things changed completely”

“Look, lass. We want to believe you. We really do. But you have to be honest with us.” Sometimes Simon wants to grab Johnny by the shoulders and shake him, so he would stop being so trusting, so willing. But it is also the reason why they became friends in the first place. Soap never judged him, as broken as he was. Whether he was Simon or Ghost, Soap would crack jokes and share a pint, and for that he was grateful.

“When we were forced to leave the leadership, Lawrence took over. He was ruthless and thought that the Resistance should be more than a safe harbor for people. Those are the stories you have heard, of civilians killing each other for no reason. We didn’t know how bad it was for the people outside, how Lawrence had been looking for groups and attacking them, forcing them to join the Resistance or killing them. He had no purpose, no direction, he just wanted power and he kept us blind to it all.”

“I’ve heard of Lawrence. He was killed.” Price’s voice still carries a somber tone. 

“I left right after that. He had been talking about how they were finally going to rise to their full potential, about how the Resistance was going to control what was left of the world. He was delusional, talking about how they were going to have enough firepower to kill whoever stood in their way. Killian and I knew we needed to leave by then, that the principles we had stood for were long gone and now the Resistance was just a power-thirsty militia. We only understood how serious things were when the military group arrived. They killed Lawrence and took control of what was left. Killian sacrificed his life so I could run away with Kami.”

“But why are they after you and Kami?” Price pressed further. “Why would a military group want to kill two civilians?”

“Because I’m the only one who knows their identity and their plans. I ran away with documents that could compromise them, photos and names of who operates the Resistance now.” She gestures towards the backpack that she had salvaged from the crash. 

“Why would they take over the Resistance but want to hide their identity? That makes no sense” Simon inquires, still skeptical of the story.

“Because they like to operate in the dark. That’s why they call themselves The Shadow Company.”

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me writing that plot twist: 🤭😝🤓

[freesia-writes]

Ch 22: Departure

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 2.2k

Song: Where Is My Mind? by Pixies

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“Will I see you at the Fish Dance? I know those hips do more than I’ve seen,” Luciana said, swaying her own with a little snicker as she stood across the bar from Hunter. It was a balmy day, the warm rays of sun tempered by a gentle sea breeze, yet the slump of his shoulders remained.

“Fish Dance?” he echoed, brows lowering at the name.

“I know… Who came up with that?” she giggled with a shrug, polishing a glass as she gave Hunter a wink.

“Since it takes place immediately following the annual Fishing Derby, I suppose it would be the simplest and most natural option,” Tech observed, not taking his eyes from his datapad where it lay on the counter beside his brother. He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Although it does conjure imagery of the fish being the ones dancing, which is as humorous as it is physically impossible. Perhaps that adds to the tongue-in-cheek element…”

“Not really my scene,” Hunter interrupted, shaking his head at Luciana as Tech drifted off. 

“Aw, come on. You’ve been moping for months, Xyrgio. We all get our hearts broken sometimes. It gives us a chance to build up our love for ourselves instead of relying on receiving it from others, and we move on with more confidence and fortitude. Live and learn, baby. But don’t let it keep you down.” She put the glass down and placed a warm palm over his fist, which clenched slightly beneath her grasp. He hated how it made him feel, but was distracted when she leaned a bit closer, soft green eyes intent on his as she patted his hand. “You’re too delicious for that. So have a little fun. Find yourself again, you know? It’ll be like a breath of fresh air.”

He didn’t know what to do with that. Her life had clearly been so different from his own that it felt entirely alien. Self-love? Heartbreak? All this relational stuff wasn’t part of his engineering, and the whole ordeal with Lyra had shown him why. But still, he was expected to continue living this civilian life, to continue trying to act normal in a world that wasn’t made for him. He leaned back and rubbed his forehead. He’d thought he was doing better, losing himself in extra hunting time. He and Wrecker had completed an entire project on his cabin that expanded Omega’s room to provide her a space to work in a cozy room made of windows where she could enjoy the view. He’d cleaned the butcher shop from corner to corner and had experimented with new ways of cutting the meat. But the last few days had felt increasingly restless, and the repeated sleepless nights spent tossing and turning had given him enough brain fog that he didn’t feel like he cared much about anything anymore. 

“Alright,” he said with a sigh of surrender.

“Really?” Luciana asked, brightening considerably after a moment of utter shock.

“Why not,” he grumbled with a shrug, running a hand through his hair and ignoring Tech’s blatant stare at the side of his face. 

“Well alright!” she said, beaming at him. “It’s a date!” she exclaimed before rushing off to answer a rowdy customer at the other end.

“A curious choice in rebound options,” Tech observed, and now it was Hunter who was staring at him. 

“Rebound?” he said in disbelief.

“Most commonly used as a literal term where an item bounces back after hitting another object, usually in a sports context, ‘rebound’ is also frequently applied to relationships where an individual is still affected by the emotional distress caused by the termination of a romantic or sexual engagement. It is often characterized by unusual choices or atypical behavior.”

“That’s not–”

“It is an entirely human response, I assure you. In fact, it’s fascinatingly nuanced in the psychological sense because it reveals the various layers of one’s concept of self–”

“No, I… Nevermind.”

He felt truly lost.

* * * 

The Fishing Derby was a hit, drawing people from multiple islands to enjoy a spirited day on the beaches and seas nearby. Wrecker had joined enthusiastically, bringing Omega and Crosshair along, and as the sun set on the horizon, everyone was reclined together in one of the large seating areas on the beach outside the bar. The tables and chairs had been moved out onto the sand to clear an area for dancing beneath the string lights on the tiki patio, and additional cushions and pillows were thrown together under gazebos made of wooden frames and a light, gauzy material that fluttered gently in the breeze. 

“You nailed that big one!” Wrecker declared jubilantly, clapping Crosshair on the back so hard that his toothpick shot out of his mouth. “That was a great shot!”

“A fortunate twist of fate,” the sniper muttered, staring at his forlorn little piece of wood now nestled in the sand.

“That was pretty fun,” Omega admitted, a content smile on her face as she nursed a fruity little drink.

“We should have figured out a way to promote the Academy here,” Echo said, noting the large crowds milling all around. 

“You’ve got enough on your hands, no?” Hunter muttered, staring at the sky from his messily flopped position across a corner seat, his own liquor bottle dangling from a hand thrown over the back of the cushions. It was an uncharacteristically careless position for him, and Phee squinted slightly from her seat beside Tech.

“Enough on his hand, you mean,” came Crosshair’s little jab, quickly answered by a wadded-up paper wrapper hitting him in the face from Echo’s finished ronto wrap. 

“Only need one to kick your ass, egghead,” Echo began, suddenly cut off by a new arrival.

“Sounds like he knows my move,” Luciana announced, winking at Crosshair as she appeared from the buildings with a large pitcher and a stack of cups in her hands. She was wearing a dusty blue dress with dainty white dots that hugged her curves from her chest to her thighs, and its ruched top was framed by frilly sleeves that hung off her shoulders. Her hair was down for once, rippling in rich red waves to her collarbone where a few small gold chains dangled above her cleavage. “Now who needs a refill?”

“I thought you weren’t working today!” Wrecker said as she sat the goods down on the low table in the middle of their space and invited others to help themselves.

“I’m not! For once!” she said triumphantly, pushing her way toward Hunter’s corner and perching herself neatly right on top of one of his spread thighs. His head jerked up, surprised, and he scooted to sit upright, nudging her off his leg onto the seat beside him. Nonplussed, she poured herself a glass of the brightly-colored cocktail, then pulled her legs up onto the cushion beside her, leaning onto the backrest. 

“Make yourself at home,” Crosshair muttered, smirking as he caught sight of Tech and Phee both staring at her with unfettered curiosity.

“Thanks babe,” she returned, pursing her lips at the sniper and lifting her glass toward him. “So. How’s the week been for everyone?”

It was silent for a beat, then Echo offered something. “Got a batch graduating from the Academy tomorrow. We’ll see how many are hung over after tonight…”

Luciana laughed, casting a glance back toward the patio where the music was growing louder and the dancers were in full swing. “Yeah, any excuse to cut loose these days, eh?” 

“Hey, fishing is an important part of island life!” Wrecker exclaimed with a grin.

“No argument there!” she answered, flashing him a bright smile of her own. “Tell me all about your catches!”

He needed no encouragement, immediately launching into a blow-by-blow recollection of the day’s escapade. Luciana sipped her drink, punctuating her active listening with occasional small glances to Hunter that were filled with a warmth and subtlety that seemed reserved only for him. The conversation wore on, the group settling around her presence as she navigated effortlessly between each of them, asking thoughtful questions and genuinely delighting in their answers. 

Some eventually broke off into their own little conversations, dissolving into a contented hubbub, and Hunter was struck by the general sense of peace. Luciana was enraptured by Omega’s recount of her most recent internship, and he’d been surprised at some of the insightful suggestions the bartender offered as Omega shared her ongoing insecurities about her friend group. The music from the patio quieted to give way to the DJ’s announcement of the party “officially” starting, inviting everyone to come dance and be merry, then the persistent beat resumed, louder now as the shouts of the enthusiastic attendees accompanied it. 

“Care to dance?” Luciana asked Hunter, once Omega had turned back to Wrecker. He regarded her impassively as though trying to discern her motive, then he shook his head, leaning forward to drop his empty bottle on the table. 

“Don’t know how.” 

She caught the tiniest slur in his speech, smirking at the slight detour from his typically stoic and borderline uptight behavior. “There isn’t a ‘right’ way,” she nudged, leaning into him a bit more with a satisfied smile as he allowed it. “You deserve some fun.” Her voice was softer now, as was her fond gaze. “Consider it exercise,” she offered with a laugh, pinching his muffin top that had grown slightly after the previous months of Lyra’s savory cooking. “Then it’s a good and responsible and disciplined thing to do. Right?”

His brows dropped into a bit of a glare, then he surprised her with a laugh of his own, shaking his head. The motion combined with the pleasant buzz of the liquor sent a flurry of dizziness through him. Some of his plight was starting to make sense, if he were honest with himself. His entire life had been a heavy, burdensome plod through struggle after struggle. Now that he was free, what was keeping him from throwing caution to the wind and seeing what he’d missed? His family was thriving, happy, and safe. Things had settled into a predictable, reassuring rhythm. Perhaps he was holding too tightly to the past instead of accepting life as it was now. And he’d seen, repeatedly, where his frantic need to ensure safety and responsibility had gotten him. 

A gentle tug on his shirt brought him back to the present, as Luciana’s small fingers toyed with his hem where it was buttoned together. Her doe eyes activated a little burst of tingles in his gut and he relented, rising to his feet as she pulled him by the hand. As he stood, stretching for a moment before following her toward the patio, it felt as though he were shedding the weight of a million regrets that had haunted him for far too long, and he felt a bubbly lightness, watching her slender form weave through the crowd in front of him as he left the curious and confused glances of his family behind.

“It’s about time,” she purred, turning to face him as they reached the corner of the dance floor. She took both his hands, inviting him to join her, and he did, leaning closer. 

“What?”

“It’s about time!” she yelled, still nearly drowned out by the music. 

“For what?” Hunter said, clearly a bit foggy as she stepped in close, staggering her legs between his and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. A wave of heat rushed from his head to his toes.

“For us to have some fun!” She pressed her body against his, shifting side to side in time with the music, and he tentatively placed his own hands on her waist, still unable to shake the suspicion from his face despite the waves of pleasant buzz. “Hunter,” she said, giving him a serious look from a few inches away. Her use of his actual name, instead of the litany of pet names she typically employed, struck him to the core, and he pulled back a little to see her whole face, which was both earnest and profound. “I’m not playing games. In case it hasn’t been obvious, I think you’re amazing.” She smiled, brushing a few stray hairs out of his face before resting her hand on the back of his neck, emanating an adoration that was simultaneously confident and sheepish. “I’ve had a fat crush on you for ages. Not hiding anything, no sneaky motives, just… you’re frickin hot and I think we’d have a blast if you’d let your hair down a bit and stop holding back out of fear or duty or whatever it is. If you’re not into it, that’s alright, but if it’s just your own martyr tendencies stopping you, I think you should let go of that for just a little bit and see what life could be like.” 

He stared at her, reeling from the sheer overload of her admission, the pounding music, the cacophony of voices, the faint tipsiness, the myriad of smells punctuated by her sweet perfume, and the evocative sensation of her lithe body against his own. Closing his eyes for a moment, he sought any kind of guidance, anything that could ground him… but found none. 

“Alright Salentino,” he murmured, feeling his body loosening up at his acceptance. “Show me what I’ve been missing.” 

She beamed at him, tapped the tip of his nose, then leaned into him, losing herself in the rhythm and the pure joy of the festivities as she danced freely against him. Hunter felt fragmented for a moment, confused and frustrated, then closed his eyes too, departing from himself in an inexplicable way.

.

Author's Note: The story takes a turn, as you've seen, and I think there may be elements that seem out of character for Hunter. But I was operating under the perspective that he's just been through so much, that past failures rest so heavily on his shoulders, and that he was so betrayed/shocked/hurt when he was just thinking he could do this whole civilian life thing... That it kind of drives him to just say "F it all" in a way. Is it not a super smart or responsible response? Yes. Is he being more emotionally reactive than strategic? Yes. We've all been there, let's be honest. ;)

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[youryurigoddess]

The Small Back Room — Hour of Glory (1949)

Good Omens 2 begins with the visit to The Small Back Room not because it was meant to serve as an exposition scene for Maggie and her record shop. It’s a substantial foreshadowing of the main plot and the relationship changes between Aziraphale and Crowley.

As all the other classics referenced throughout the show, this 1949 Powell and Pressburger production is easily available online — whenever you have 100 minutes to spare, I highly encourage you to watch it.

Our story begins with the arrival of Stuart, a British military captain, who makes his way through a labyrinth of offices towards a small building — the research section led by an eccentric, queer-coded, bow tie wearing professor Mair — to ask for help with a secret Nazi weapon.

That’s when the professor calls our hero, Sammy Rice — an engineer and bomb disposal expert in the service of Her Majesty’s government and, not accidentally, the most brooding, wounded man in Powell and Pressburger’s impressive canon of dysfunctional and alienated characters.

Due to a prosthetic foot keeping him from active service and confining to work in the titular back room instead, Rice is dramatically slipping into alcoholism. Haunted by self-loathing and disappointment with the internal politics, he can’t see the point of his research anymore.

Sammy is also conducting a clandestine affair with the secretary of his research unit, Susan. They live in the same building and meet regularly, but can’t openly enjoy their company or even dance due to his injury, which makes him even more bitter and pathologically determined to wear her angelic patience down.

Susan puts up with it until the minister is forced to resign. She knows that if non-scientists take over, their section will become useless, Rice even more difficult, and the war possibly lost. She urges him to take action and when he dramatically refuses to make a difference, she leaves him.

Seemingly at his lowest now, Rice becomes a sudden chance to redeem himself. Captain Stuart calls him about two unexploded booby traps found in Wales, but left to himself, he dies during a heroic attempt to dismantle one of the thermos-like devices before our engineer arrives at the scene.

In a nerve-jangling finale, Stuart’s notes help Rice dismantle the second device. He becomes a hero, gets an officer commission as head of the new scientific unit, and discovers that Susan not only came back in the meantime, but repaired everything he drunkenly destroyed in the apartment after their breakup.

The parallels seem straightforward enough for me to add that in this context the role of Maggie through most of S2 may particularly reflect Crowley’s stagnancy in both work and love life. And if you’re unsure why the demon identifies with the heroic roles and characters, you might want to read this post on the subject.

Now, The Small Back Room was distributed in the US under another title — Hour of Glory. Which happens to be a specific Bible term referring to Christ’s “hour”, the period supposed to consummate all of his work on Earth and reveal God’s ultimate plan of salvation: the Son’s death.

John 12:20-36 Jesus replied, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me; and where I am, my servant also will be. My Father will honor the one who serves me. Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and will glorify it again.” The crowd that was there and heard it said it had thundered; others said an angel had spoken to him. Jesus said, “This voice was for your benefit, not mine. Now is the time for judgment on this world; now the prince of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”

Christ’s hour began in the garden — this time the garden of Gethsemane — as he prayed passionately for the cup to be passed from him, similarly to Aziraphale declining Metatron’s offers on screen, both regarding the hot drink and his reinstatement as part of the Heavenly Host:

Luke 22:42 “Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want your will to be done, not mine.”

All throughout the Old Testament, we see God’s wrath being described as a cup poured out on sin and those guilty of it. By accepting it, Jesus took the toll of all the sins — from Eden up until the last one to be committed right before his Second Coming — on himself, for the sake of his beloved humanity.

The passion of Christ continued as Judas betrayed him with a kiss, his disciples abandoned him, and the high priest accused him of crimes he was not guilty of. Even Pilate, the prefect of Rome, pretended to uphold the law; and remember we already expect a S3 trial based on another Archers movie.

All in all, it’s an hour of great injustice and pain, but also glory of God. We’re led to believe that the Ineffable Plan will similarly triumph over the great one (or whatever Metatron tries to implement at the moment), as it did in S1. And its ending will be a good one, back in a garden.