#Hatchett

[socialjusticeinamerica]

RIP big man 😢

[carvedfromglass]

[carriesthewind]

I reread the IA's contemporaneous post justifying their "National Emergency Library", and one of the things that struck me is just how selfish it was.

(It was also full of falsehoods, ranging from exaggeration to outright lies, but that's another matter.)

While 2020 feels like it was several decades in the past, it was actually only a few years ago. And I remember March of 2020! I was there! And oh my god, is this post right in line with every other selfish, demanding asshole determined to make a global pandemic all about themselves!

First of all, there is the language of the post - it is a "tremendous and historic outage" that books are unavailable to patrons because libraries are closed for the pandemic. "Right now, today, there are 650 million books that tax-paying citizens have paid to access that are sitting on shelves in closed libraries, inaccessible to them."

Missing from this outrage is a recognition that, like. Librarians are people. They get sick, and die.

They did get sick, and died.

Libraries were closed not only to protect patrons and the public, but librarians too. Libraries were closed to protect people, human beings. Because generally speaking, even the most enthusiastic supporters of access to books and knowledge, prioritize lives over books.

The AI's post, however, reeks of an entitlement to things that *my* tax dollars paid for. Libraries and library collections aren't a public good. They're something *I* should be able to access anytime I want, damn the context or the consequences.

(Was it also a historic outrage when I had to wait several months to check out Nona the Ninth, because so many other people were checking it out?)

Second, as I said, I remember early 2020. And in spring and summer of 2020, there was more free content on the internet than before or since. So many people and so many institutions were bending over backwards to provide people with books and tv shows and music and podcasts and virtual tours and collections and just about anything that someone could figure out how to digitize. So many people were giving away books for free, or writing/recording new content to give away for free. I can't even remember how many times I heard or read someone telling their readers or listeners just to pay what they could, if they could. So many people and institutions were giving away so much, do so much, to provide access to knowledge and books and entertainment and information.

And in that moment, the IA decided to steal from people. When so many people, so many authors, were acting so selflessly, they decided that it wasn't good enough. And instead of giving away themselves, they decided to steal from authors and pat themselves on the back for "meet[ing] this unprecedented need," when they didn't even actually do anything themselves. Or maybe more accurately, the only thing they did was something irrelevant to the actual needs of the community, something they wanted to do anyway, something to try to use a pandemic as an excuse to advance their agenda.

Because third, there is zero concern for the population of patrons actually most impacted by the closure. The IA cares, to a fault, only about information being digitized.* But many people who use physical libraries, many of the people most impacted by their closure, are people who do not have access to the AI's so-called "open library." And people who could access digital books generally continued to have access to their library's e-book services, and to tons of other free content. The patrons who were actually in the most need are ignored as irrelevant.

*And I want to be clear - they care that information is digitized, not about digital access. "Access" means more than information being digitized and theoretically being able to be read.

It's so clear that IA didn't really care about the patrons of physical libraries. Instead, they saw a real problem, and instead of working toward any solutions, decided to use it as a prop to push their own agenda. (Again, while people were dying.)

It's just all so deeply selfish.

[yogurtsoup]

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ introducing arden hatchett ⋆.˚

─ i'm really nervous to be posting gameplay but super excited to share this girl's story :) posts might be a little infrequent as i'm still learning how to edit but!! gameplay!! wooo!! everyone clap

[fordpinesmpreg]

I made a Backupsmore DDnD club. I know virtually nothing about DnD this was just for funsies :3

I wanna draw these guys again sometime

[eldritchmichael]

hello! i forgot about the fact i post on here, sorry. take a drawing.

[fitsofgloom]

The Glow In The Dark Night Sky Book. My father bought me this back in '88 or '89, and I still have it, and yes, it glows in the dark. I never really took to that aspect of Astronomy -- the starry firmament just looks random and patternless to me, not easily defined by connect-the-dots figuring that puts faces on the cosmos -- but I've always loved the Greek Myths, and it's illustrated with fantasy novel-style art to depict the constellations. It brings to mind the conclusions of both "Clash of The Titans" and "Hercules '83" with the Gods of Olympus drawing players into the stars at their conclusions.

[advisortotheadvisor]

love how canis is low-key the "came back wrong" trope but only specifically for Howard Hatchett

like Hatchett very much believed that Tobias Clay was gone, like turned into a monster, no hope of ever seeing him again gone. as dead as he can be with still technically being alive with a magic wolf piloting his corpse

so finding out the man he thought was dead and whose nonexistence forms the basis for the life he's built? who Hatchett could've possibly helped if he'd told a single magic-user in a town full of them that the Big Bad Wolf used to be a human, so there might be a way to change him back? Terrifying. Absolute worst case scenario.

But then...nothing happens. Nobody seems to care that his fairytale is full of lies. Cue the creeping realization that it's not that nobody cares; nobody knows. Tobias hasn't told anyone, can't tell anyone because as far as he knows, Tobias doesn't exist. There's only Canis, who lives with the Grimms and has always been a monster and who looks Hatchett in the eyes without a shred of recognition

Canis is a dead man who came back wrong and for twenty years, Howard Hatchett is the only person knows

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Albarrán Cabrera

* * * * “When I Say I Forgive You,  Know This I did not bury the hatchet.  I have the hatchet in my hands.  I am building myself a new house.” “Forgive Me My Salt,” Brenna Twohy.

[alive on all channels]

[rolandrockover]

The Hide Your Heart Dilemma Pt. 2 of 3

Molly Hatchett (1989) Their music, I have to admit, is largely unfamiliar to me, but that doesn't matter, because at least here they sound a bit like the Dire Straits, who are all the more close, only in more American. And that turns out to be a doubly good thing and pretty much the most original version, if you can say that. I.e. small variations in the arrangement with emphasis on lead guitar, quite identical dramaturgy, but at least with small moments of surprise (for someone who only knew the Kiss or Ace versions), and the somewhat too round and galloping bass almost turns it into a rousing feel good track. But hey, this is as close as I get to a Dire Straits version of Hide Your Heart, and I don't want to complain. Jukebox music where people take their whole family out for a BBQ or burger comes to mind.

The solo: An unexpected real burner, and doesn't sound like the Knopflers at all, but more like a turbocharged, red-hot, flaming and smoking battery drill burning itself into the ear canals or just about anything else. But that should mean something good.

Molly Hatchett (1989)

Ace Frehley (1989) comes closest to the Kiss version, but only in terms of the straight chords. Ace's voice is his weakness, so you get much less drama, but somehow likeable rocking buddy music. As if the three musketeers were going out for a few beers together because one of them was having problems with his girlfriend, the other two were trying to infect him halfway through the evening with a good buddy mood out of loyalty alone, but all three ended up warbling this beautiful song on the way back to their musketeer lives until dawn. Apparently even Peter Criss is singing along somewhere in the background. Why didn't he cover it too? I will never find out.

The solo: What solo? Rather a short extra intermezzo to compensate for the lack of drama. It would fit quite well as a musical illustration in a sequence for a youth sports movie, in which the young protagonist does a few extra training laps to demonstrate how seriously he takes his training, and of course wins the competition the following day, with a few extra dramatic complications. I had always assumed that an Ace Frehley solo would sound a little different.

Ace Frehley (1989)

To be continued…

[little-peril-stories]

Intro: The Queen of Lies

AU for The Prince of Thieves / WC: keeps changing, will let you know someday

Masterlist | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

I sold myself to a loveless thing / And I walk'd to the altar and there I lied

C.W.S., Harper's Weekly, 7 July 1866

At a Glance

Genres: romance, historical, whump

POV/tense: 3rd-person, past tense

Small main cast; single narrator two narrators lol

You can enjoy the story without reading TPOT - the side characters just won't feel nearly as fleshed out here (I think so, anyway.)

tbh it's a romance with added bonus of torture, captivity, dread, angst, intimidation, and fun whumpy happenings

Description

THE QUEEN OF LIES is a tale of quiet courage, inner strength, and forbidden love—and the ways we can change our lives for the better if only we dare to take a leap of faith.

Four years ago, Breanna Cooper made a choice that altered the course of her life forever.

She stayed.

Instead of running away from a man she knew did not and could not love her, she remained—and became Mrs. Breanna Hatchett. Now she exists quietly in a life half-lived, striving to be the perfect wife and always falling short.

One day, a chance encounter in Constable Baden Hatchett’s prison brings her face to face with a captured thief from the notorious thieving gang Iustitia aecum. Though she swears she will forget the boy to whose brutal punishment she bears witness, it soon becomes clear that forgetting him is something she simply cannot do.

On a whim, for the first time in years, Breanna takes a chance and seeks out the thief—and yet again, her life is changed forever.

Vibes & Tropes

Forbidden love

Tragic backstory

“Who did this to you?”

Gazing through cell bars

"I'll fight for you"

“Why are you helping me?”

Gloomy skies, autumn leaves, rain & thunder

Against all logic and reason…

"I will always find you"

Alternatively, if you are a music-minded person, I collected some song lyrics that make me think of this story.

Cast of Characters

Main & Major Characters

BREANNA HATCHETT: Our heroine. Four years ago, she married into an abusive relationship, and since then she has been going through her life like a ghost, doing as her husband says and trying to be the perfect wife. When fate sends her careening into the story of an imprisoned thief, her entire world is rocked to its core.

FOX/THE THIEF: Our hero. If you’re new here, enjoy spending 50% of the story not knowing his name. Sharp-tongued and defiant, impulsive and reckless, the thief is determined to take his secrets to his grave to protect his family, if that’s what it takes. He is slowly losing hope…that is, until he is granted unexpected kindness by the least likely person imaginable. Suddenly, there’s more hope and light in his life than he ever expected to see again.

CONSTABLE BADEN HATCHETT: Our bad guy. Breanna’s husband. Vindictive, controlling, and manipulative, he wields his power and influence inside and outside the prison where he works as a constable. Above all things, he despises disobedience and disorder the most. When Breanna begins to take her life into her own hands, he will stop at nothing to gain control over her once again. Whatever it takes.

JUNIOR CONSTABLE CURTIS LENTON: A constable who is not-so-secretly pining for Breanna. He is a friend to her in the only way he knows how, but this means he is sometimes overprotective of her—to a fault.

DR. ALLAN ARMSTRONG DALE: A newly employed doctor who has a habit of getting in over his head no matter what universe he's in.

SPIDER: An elusive woman who helps to run the thieving gang Iustitia aecum.

HARE: The fourth and final member of IA’s inner circle.

WOLF/THE THIEF’S BROTHER: A mysterious character whose identity the thief goes to great lengths to protect.

ALICE: Breanna’s friend who encourages her to take more risks in her life.

Other Characters

MRS. BRISTOW: A nurse working at the prison. Better at the job than the medic.

MRS. DENNISON: The Hatchetts' housekeeper.

MR. GYSBORNE: The prison medic.

JUNIOR CONSTABLE MICHAELSON: A vicious officer who works under Baden Hatchett. Notable for his leering gaze and sadistic tendencies.

MARGUERITE: Breanna’s other friend.

DR. RICHARDS: The other, not-so-nice doctor.

INSPECTOR BULWELL: The head of the prison where Baden works.

MISS DUGFORD: A cruel bully of a nurse

FAQ

What will I like about TQOL?

Well, if you liked the thief’s snark in TPOT, then it’s, like, tripled, especially in the early chapters here. But this is a different story—far more romantic—and you might like getting to see a much softer side of him, too.

You might like Breanna’s character development from a very frightened and sheltered wife to a courageous young woman who is willing to take risks and face her fears.

If you like romantic tension, forced proximity, pining, and lots of caretaking/comfort, then I hope you’ll like this story!

How do I know if this story is for me?

You can check out the Contents/Warnings here. There are spoilers in that post, so click at your own risk.

For TPOT readers:

>>>>>

stop here if you don't want any vague spoilers for The Prince of Thieves!

>>>>>

What are the biggest differences between TPOT and TQOL?

Shorter. Fewer but often longer chapters. 3rd-person past tense.

There's the whole name thing. The name "Cooper" only shows up 3 times in the whole thing. "Mrs. Hatchett," on the other hand...

In TPOT, we know the thief’s name right away because he and two other inner circle members are POV characters. Breanna is the only POV character in TQOL........uh....listen. We just have to wait until she learns his name. For stylistic reasons.

Since Breanna didn't run away and never joined IA, all her serendipitous meetings with the thief in her past never happened. Her first encounter with him is in Chapter 1.

Obviously, since they're married, the relationship between Baden and Breanna—while strained and 100% toxic, problematic, and unhealthy—is not as antagonistic as it is in TPOT.

In the beginning, we get a little less existential dread because the thief isn’t expecting execution but rather long-term imprisonment, labour, or exile to a penal colony (no actual plot reason for this, I just wanted to play with the stakes and see how it changed the dynamics. because I can). This means that Ezra Johnston (the captured runner from TPOT) was never hanged and so we catch up with the thief in a slightly better mental state than the same point in TPOT.

Wolf and Jr. Constable Michaelson have reduced roles (compared to TPOT), while Jr. Constable Lenton (who literally only appears in two TPOT chapters) has an elevated role and gets a first name.

The time period is slightly different (because of reasons), but I doubt this is actually noticeable in the writing, only in my brain. I had to do a decent amount of research for this one particular plot thread, so now I know what decade we’re in lol.

What’s the same between TPOT and TQOL?

Well, Hatchett is still an asshole, and actually, so is the thief (affectionate)...he's still a snarky, potty-mouthed rascal. The IA setup is pretty much the same, the tattoo hasn’t changed, and the thief’s determination to keep the inner circle safe and out of Hatchett’s clutches is as strong as ever. On the IA end, everything up to the flogging has played out pretty much the same (see above q for a few lil differences). It's Breanna's life that has been wildly different.

In terms of tropes/plots….yes, I repeated a few. I don’t want to say them here bc spoilers but if you really want to know, send me a DM and I’ll spill which TPOT parts get their own AU twist.

Thanks for reading! <3 Hope you like it!

If you've made it this far, here's your reward:

Image ID: a square image of the external wall of a brick building with barred windows. White text reads: “No, not a hanging. It’s not for ladies to see or think of. No need to trouble yourself with such things.” End ID.

[emdoesstufff]

Cars Picrews Pt 2

Junior Weathers (Cal Weathers Jr)

Kiara Swift

Alice Hatchett

Chase Hardley

Danny Swervez

I was inspired by my fanfic to make more of these for my oc's and Danny. Chase's hair is supposed to be more orange, but this is all this picrew had.

Again I don't own this picrew, just used it to make these.

There's the link to the fic if anyone wants read it.

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: Are You the Invention of a Delirious Dream?

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03! | Playlist | Story Intro

Warnings: mention of getting shot, severely doubting reality, angst

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Have fun being inside Will's brain! It's a super organized, lucid, and coherent place.

Word count: 3342 || Approx reading time: 14 mins

Are You the Invention of a Delirious Dream?

Teaser: I was so alone in there until Bree got tossed in the cell next door. Then she was gone. Now I’m alone again.

Will

Something—everything—about the bed, the house, the warmth, the food, and the lack of people threatening to kill me is unsettling. What’s-Her-Name—Colette’s sister, Colette’s goddamn sister in her enormous goddamn house that to me feels like it could be a royal goddamn palace—leads me around like I’m a lost puppy, and I let her. I think everything Hatchett said about me being a dumb fucking brainless fool is true because the thought of trying to make a single decision right now is too much. So I just let her make them all.

How much time passes, I’m not sure. I think I fell asleep, but I don’t know exactly when that happened. When I wake, I look down at my hands and they’re clean. There are bruises on my wrists, too visible now that they’re not half-hidden by dirt and blood. Too visible against soft sheets that are maybe the softest things I’ve ever felt in my life. Anyone will look at those bruises and know what made them.

I lift my gaze to the ceiling. I’m relieved to find that it’s just a ceiling, no ornate designs or carvings or whatever. If there were, if it was fancy enough to look like some sort of fucking palace I maybe saw in a painting once, I don’t know, I’m not even sure where these ideas are coming from, then I’d know none of this was fucking real and maybe I was still in jail or maybe I got shot and am actually bleeding out on the ground. Which would make sense, actually, because there’s no way this is Colette’s house and this is her family and there’s no way they’re helping us, that they’re actually being kind, and then Colette’s name isn’t her name, and then there’s Colette’s fucking sister, her sister who calls her Lettie and fuck, now that I’m thinking about it, there’s no way any of this can be real, because none of this makes any sense, so I must be dead or dying or maybe I’m still in the cell and this is all in my head. Maybe there was never a trade at all. Maybe that medic got sick of my shit after I shoved him one too many times, and all this is a bizarre hallucination from something he gave me so I’d stop fighting him. I’m still there, and none of this is real, and I’ll be there until I die, and I’ll never see Jamie again. Why isn’t Jamie here? Why would my dumb fucking brain give me a fever dream without my brother in it? I don’t get it, I don’t understand, I don’t—

“Hey, Will?”

I look away from the ceiling and the room comes back. Colette’s sister is in the doorway, inching closer.

“You look upset,” she says. “Are you hurting? Tell me what you need. I’ll get it for you.”

What I need? I don’t even know how to begin to answer.

“I forgot your name,” I say instead. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is rude, but I don’t have the energy to care. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right.” She steps a little closer. “It’s Verity.”

I glance around. The room is nice but pretty empty other than a desk, an old wardrobe, and the bed. It sinks in that Geoff isn’t in here. I mean, I knew I was alone, but I didn’t really think about it until this moment. “Geoff?”

“He went out,” she says, her voice quiet. “He’s with Lettie. And my father. They went to get…” Her voice trails off.

None of that makes any sense either. The back of my neck prickles. Is this a dream?

I was so alone in there until Bree got tossed in the cell next door. Then she was gone. Now I’m alone again with nothing but a weird goddamn hallucination to keep me company.

I stare at the window and pretend I’m on the other side of it. The whole day has passed, it seems. Night is falling.

“Um. Will?”

This strange girl is still there. For some reason.

“I’m going to bring you some food, all right? I don’t think… I don’t think we’re doing a proper meal tonight. But you must eat. Is there anything you’d like? I can see if we have it or if our cook can make some.” 

If she leaves the room, she’ll disappear into the mists of this dream just like the others, just like Jamie and Bree and Colette and Geoff, there and then gone. And I’ll be completely alone again. “I’m not hungry. It’s all right.”

They say they’re sisters, but they look nothing alike. Colette is slim and tall and all sharp angles, thick dark curls that graze her back that she loves to keep free if she’s not running a job or wearing some sort of disguise. Verity is soft and tiny and round and pale, with silky yellow hair that’s pinned back away from her face. Her dress is pink and covered in roses. I’m sure it would look nice on Colette but I don’t think she’d go anywhere near it.

“Are you really sisters?” I don’t want her to disappear into the dream-graveyard. I don’t want to be alone.

She giggles. “Of course we are! Stepsisters are sisters, after all.”

Stepsisters. That makes more sense.

“Why didn’t she ever mention you?” Please tell me something real. Please be real.

Her face falls a little, but she doesn’t balk. “It’s a… Well, families aren’t always easy or peaceful, are they? Perhaps you’d better ask her.”

My heart sinks. No details, nothing specific. Not a genuine answer.

Nodding, I sigh and wonder why my dying brain has conjured her. I’ve never thought much about Colette’s life before IA. I know it used to drive Jamie mad that she didn’t talk about it, but I never really cared much. So why would I make up some random sister of hers to keep me company instead of my own family?

I must be staring at her, because there’s a bright red flush creeping up her neck into her cheeks. She takes a step back. “I think I’m going to find you some food, anyway. Are you sure there’s nothing you want?”

I shake my head. Well. Guess she wants to leave. No point in keeping her here, then. If she’s not real, she’s not real. Not much I can do about it. Can’t blame her, really. I don’t want to be stuck in my head, either.

So I let her disappear. Lie back in the pillows. 

Maybe I doze off. I try not to for as long as I can manage. It’s not like I want to wake up back in jail. But I can’t help it. Eventually sleep pulls me under again.

When I open my eyes, she’s back. And I’m still in bed. Still half under a blanket, slumped but mostly upright. That ever-present ache still throbbing away in my chest.

Maybe—maybe this might be real after all?

“Why don’t you come downstairs?” she says, holding out her hand. “There’s something you should see.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to move. What if moving is what will wake me up? What if the floor crumbles and falls away beneath my feet? If the polished wood turns to grimy stone?

“Come down.” She holds out her hand, pursing her lip stubbornly when I don’t take it. After a moment, she reaches down and presses her fingers against mine. “I promise it’s worth it. Just come with me.”

You’re bossy, you know that?

I prefer persistent.

“Let’s go,” Verity says, and gently, she tugs at my arm until I get to my feet.

“Verie! Where’d you go?” Colette is back, from the sound of it, calling to her sister quietly. “Make sure when you get him, you warn him—”

I step into the room where her voice is coming from, and what I see punches me in the fucking gut.

That goddamn medic.

The pain leaching through my body—all but forgotten. I hurl myself at him, I’ll fucking tear him apart, because what, what is he doing here—

“No.” Geoff catches me by the arm. I’d struggle to get away from him on my best day; there’s no way I’m escaping his hold now. “Wait.”

“Wait for what?” He’s here, he’s one of them and he’s here, and that means—that means that I was fucking right, that this is nothing but a dream and reality is leaking in, and I don’t want it, I don’t want it to—

“Get out,” I say to Allan Armstrong Dale. “Get out of this house. Get out of my head. Whichever one it is, I don’t know, I don’t fucking care, get out, get out—”

“Shit,” I hear Colette whisper. Geoff’s grip tightens.

“Will, listen—” Armstrong and Colette speak the same words at the same time. It’s Colette who gets an extra few out. “—we brought him with us because—” 

“No, you listen!” I’m not ready, I’m not, I was just lying upstairs and close to comfortable for the first time in weeks, I knew all of this might not be real, but now that I know it’s not, it hurts, it hurts so fucking much, and I’m not ready to face the cell again, and seeing him here means I have… How long? Before the dream cracks open and I’m back there? “What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even get here? And why? What did you do to me? What did you give me?”

His face contorts—he has the gall to look genuinely confused. “What are you—”

“I’ll kill you—”

Verity touches my arm, and I can’t stop myself from flinching away from her. She stares at me sadly for a moment, then pulls her hand away, nodding her head toward the door across the room. “Look.”

I follow her gaze even though I’m afraid of what I’ll see. If I walk through that door, will I wake up?

“Come on,” she says, and I hate her for being so fucking calm, although I guess that’s easy for her since she isn’t real. “Just look.”

She tucks her arm into mine, and the only reason I don’t shove her away is that I know even fake-hallucination-Colette will kick my ass if I hurt her fake-hallucination-sister. No matter how much I want to rip Armstrong’s limbs from his body. No matter how much he deserves it for being one of them.

“What was he talking about?” I can hear Geoff murmuring to the others. “Not making sense…”

“No idea, but..”

Their words don’t reach me when I realize what—no, who—Verity is leading me to see.

“Jamie?” I can barely get his name last my lips.

No. This—I was so sure—This can’t be—

“Lettie found him,” Verity says, beaming up at me. “That’s your brother, right?”

I stumble forward like a fucking newborn deer, unable to stand, hardly able to breathe. “Alive?”

“Yes, of course he’s—”

“Jamie!” He doesn’t respond, and as I spin wildly to look at Verity again, I see that Colette and Geoff have slipped into the room, too. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’ll be fine,” Colette says, hurrying over, grabbing my hands. “Listen, all right? Look at me. Are you lis—Will. Will.”

How am I supposed to—

She squeezes my fingers just a little tighter. “Look at me. Listen. It’s all right. He’s all right.”

“He didn’t answer me,” I say. My voice cracks.

“I know. That’s because Allan gave him something for his pain and it put him to sleep, all right? He got shot after the trade, but he’s fine. He’s going to live.”

“Allan…” Even though I know Allan is Armstrong and Armstrong is that fucking medic, it still takes me a moment to realize who she means. “Shot…”

“Say it,” Colette says. “Say it with me. He’s all right. He’s going to live.”

I’m not a child, I want to say. What comes out is, “This is real?”

Colette blinks. “What?”

“This is real? You’re real?”

“Will—of course—”

“This isn’t a dream?”

“No…”

“It’s really real?”

I’ve never seen Colette burst into tears, but she does now.

“Oh, Lettie,” Verity whispers, crossing the room to throw her arms around her sister. To me, she says gently, “It’s real. I promise.”

It’s real.

This is all real.

When I look up, Allan Armstrong Dale has come in, too, and he’s inching his way across the room. Toward Jamie. Toward me.

I feel more than hear or see Geoff shift a little closer, obviously ready to grab me again if I decide to go for Armstrong’s throat. Which I still might do.

“I understand that you don’t trust me and might never trust me,” Armstrong says, raising his hands. “I promise. I’m only here to help.”

Barely audible, Geoff says to me, “Jamie’d be dead if it weren’t for him.”

The only thing I can think of to say is, “I’m not leaving this room.”

Armstrong nods, apparently unsurprised and unbothered, and Verity and Colette pull away from each other, the former mumbling something about bringing chairs. Not that it matters to me. If I have to sit up on the floor day and night, I’ll do it. My brother is here and he’s alive.

I end up falling asleep again at some point, upright with my back pressed against the couch where they laid Jamie once they brought him in. When I wake, my neck and back in as much pain as my ribs, Armstrong tries to get me to let him look me over. I tell him if he touches me, I’ll rip his whole fucking hand off, and he doesn’t waste any time scurrying out of the room.

“Will?”

Relief so fierce it hurts rushes through me.

“You’re…alive…”

Never has such an obvious fucking statement ever made me so happy in my entire life.

Jamie grunts as he turns his head toward me. God, he’s pale.

But alive. He’s alive, too.

I don’t know how to answer his question, so I say, “Why are you lying around in bed? Get your lazy ass up and do some work like the rest of us.”

He laughs for a split second before the movement makes him groan in pain again.

“You don’t know how happy I am to see your annoying, stupid face,” I say.

“The feeling is mutual.” He doesn’t say more, but takes a few long minutes to breathe.

“Is everyone here?” He takes his gaze off the ceiling and looks at me. I wish his skin didn’t look so grey, or his voice sound so strained.

“Geoff,” I start, knowing whose name he’ll want first, “Colette, Allan, me, Colette’s sister—did you fucking know she had a sister? A whole goddamn family in a nice mansion?”

“Not till yesterday, or today, or whenever the hell it was,” he mumbles. “I can’t believe she never said anything.”

“Me neither.”

“I can hear you two jackasses in there,” Colette says, poking her head through the doorway. “Did I ever pester you about your life before? Do you want me to know everything about your damn childhood? Hmm? No? Then shut the fuck up.”

From somewhere in the other room, a timid voice says, “Lettie, your language!”

Laughing at that makes my ribs ache even more, but I don’t care, because Jamie is here next to me and Colette is in front of me getting chastised by her sister who calls her—

“Yeah, Lettie,” I say, watching a deep flush rise in her cheeks, “watch your mouth.”

“Will Wardrew, I swear to god—”

Someone, either Verity or Geoff, probably, tugs her away and out of sight.

“You’re still an asshole, then,” Jamie says, his eyes closed again. He’s sweating now. “Will, I was so…”

I do not know enough words to describe everything that rises inside me when I look at my brother who is lying immobile before me, who I thought had to be dead or a figment of my imagination, who nearly died to get me back my freedom, who never gave up on me when I was sure he had and who could’ve skipped town and never come back but chose not to.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Again—not the words I meant to say. They slip out anyway.

Jamie’s eyes fly open. “For what?”

“For getting arrested. For ruining everything.”

IA is dead now; it has to be. How can it go on? Our runners are gone. Our home is gone. Hatchett knows all our names.

Hatchett. And suddenly that’s the only thing I can think of. Where is Hatchett? Is he alive? Dead? Looking for us as we speak? What if he…

“Will, don’t you dare try to apol—”

“Hatchett.” The new thought spills out before he can finish his, burning my tongue like live flames. “Is he…”

Jamie’s protestations and reassurances—as if there’s anything he can say to convince me it isn’t my fault IA is over now—die. “Alive, last I saw.”

Fuck.

“He’s never getting close to you ever again,” Jamie says. “I let—I let him go. I had to. But.” God. He sounds so pained. “But if. If I have to. I will kill him myself.”

No. If anyone is going to kill Baden Hatchett, it’s going to be me.

“She told me.” His voice is tight. “What he did. How he tricked you—”

She.

“Fuck! Bree!”

It strikes me only right fucking now that she didn’t come back with Jamie and the medic. “Where is she?”

Jamie blinks, and something cold slithers through me. He doesn’t know, either.

“Shit,” Colette says from the other room.

Her quiet cursing is immediately followed by, “I better make some tea.” Geoff’s footsteps grow distant.

“Colette, what the hell happened to her?” I’d run out of this room if I could. If it wouldn’t hurt so bad, I’d hurl myself into the other room to see the look in Colette’s eyes and hear her tell me…

God, god, what is wrong with me? I didn’t even realize until this moment that one of us was missing.

Slowly, Colette reappears. She comes into Jamie’s room fully this time instead of hovering in the doorway, and the look on her face makes the hairs stand up on my neck. No. No, if something terrible had happened to Bree, if she was recaptured, if she was dead, they’d say, they would tell me.

“When we went to bring everyone back here, no one could find her. She was gone.” From her pocket, Colette pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I don’t know where she went. She left this. It’s for you.”

She’s gone.

“Yeah. Left that and made off with my old pocket watch and a bag of coins,” Armstrong says, invisible on the other side of the wall.

I’d be laughing about how she pulled the old IA treatment on him if Colette’s words weren’t bouncing around the inside of my skull. She’s gone. She left. She’s gone. She left.

“I’m sorry,” Colette says gently, holding out the note.

I take the paper but drop it on the floor next to me. Suddenly my chest is hurting extra bad, worse than it was a few minutes ago, and my jaw aches. Feels tight. “All right. Thanks.”

She’s gone.

What do I care if she left? I don’t. I don’t care. It’s probably fucking better this way. What would I even say to her, if I were looking at her now?

Thanks for coming back for me. Thanks for finding Jamie. Thanks for not letting me die.

I really wish we could have gotten to know each other under better circumstances.

I hope you get to see the ocean.

I wish we had…

No. There’s nothing I’d say to her, actually. It’s better she ran away without saying goodbye. I’m glad.

Both Jamie and Colette are staring at me. “Will?”

“What?”

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say. I’m out of jail. Jamie’s alive. Hatchett can’t find me here. I’m fine.

Everything’s fine.

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Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles, @whither-wander-whump 💕

[carriesthewind]

"But this characterization confuses IA’s practices with traditional library lending of print books. IA does not perform the traditional functions of a library; it prepares derivatives of Publishers’ Works and delivers those derivatives to its users in full. That Section 108 allows libraries to make a small number of copies for preservation and replacement purposes does not mean that IA can prepare and distribute derivative works en masse and assert that it is simply performing the traditional functions of a library." Hachette Book Group, Inc. v. Internet Archive, No. 23-1260, at 31 (2nd Cir. Sept. 4, 2024).

[yogurtsoup]

˖⁺‧₊˚ hot girls play league in their underwear (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)/ ˚₊‧⁺˖

─ she is never wearing clothes except at work this girl has NO SHAME. idk how i feel ab the editing on these but oh well we ball

[belongstocaptaindoyle]

KARL | JESSE APPRECIATION POST (PART I.)