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kateofthecanals · 1 month

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A Little Ditty About Jack and bi-Anne...

Welp, it's been nearly a decade since I discovered my last big ship hyperfixation -- shoutout to my aunt for texting my mom and me and telling us we HAVE to watch "Black Sails" on Netflix. So we did and WHOOPS, new OTP! And of course, as always with my OTPs, it's a ship that comes with some controversy. It just wouldn't be a ship of mine if there weren't some other, annoying competing ship that I constantly have to side-step in fandom spaces like a freaking minefield. What sets this one apart from those other ships, though, is the not insignificant number of posts I see from people claiming to be JackAnne shippers but who say things like "I love them they're just such good friends!" or calling them "platonic" or closing their eyes to ANY romantic aspects of their relationship. To which I have to say... well, A LOT.

For starters, I need to point out a very telling moment from the very first episode of the series. Jack and Anne are hanging out at the inn on Nassau when Max slinks over and sits on Jack's lap. Anne immediately reacts out of jealousy, rising from her seat and grabbing for her daggers, but Jack holds her off. (Max is not soliciting Jack for sex; she is trying to sell him the schedule that John Silver stole.) This seems to make it very clear that one of both of them considers themselves an exclusive couple. Apparently, Jack is not even allowed to partake in meaningless sex with the many prostitutes that populate the island! But that seems just fine with him, because, throughout the entire 4 seasons of this series, we never once see him even come close to hooking up with someone else. Like, he does not even entertain the notion. Even when he and Anne are on a "break" at the beginning of Season 3 when she is shacking up with Max, Jack has every opportunity to find himself another lover too, but he doesn't. The closest he gets is employing a prostitute to play cello for him while he takes a shit, lol. We later learn that Anne met Jack when she was 13; she's about 25 or so during the show, so they have been together for at least a decade (when they actually became lovers, though, is not clear). So, the fact that they are apparently in some form of a long-term monogamous relationship at the start of the series is a very important detail to keep in mind.

Now, my hot take (which I'll probably get hate mail for) is that Anne either (a) had always been openly attracted to women but never bothered to act on it out of her duty & loyalty to Jack, or (b) wasn't particularly interested in women at all prior to Max. Either way, I do not think Anne was "repressed" or anything and needed Max to, like, coax it out of her, because I don't think it was about that at all. It is clear that Max's particular gift of persuasion and seduction, coupled with their shared trauma and Anne's increasing need for intimacy and connection (which she was obviously lacking with Jack) is what led to their affair.

It's essential to look at Anne's arc through the lens of her backstory in order to properly contextualize it. She was a child bride, physically and sexually abused, with no real power until Jack gave it to her by killing her husband. (Note how she knows how to properly and gently administer the anti-pregnancy treatment to Max -- something she no doubt learned to do during her marriage.) It perfectly explains why Anne was so upset by Max's treatment on the beach and her willingness to go to such extreme lengths to free her. Even Jack -- who Anne insists would have backed her up even if he had known about it -- does not quite understand the effect the situation had on Anne. He outright says this, but is also still a bit dismissive of it. In fact, we frequently see Jack be quite insensitive toward Anne's feelings throughout Season 1. (Though, tbf, Anne herself is a bit inconsistent here -- she admonishes Jack for calling Max "the whore" but she herself refers to her as much... even after they started sleeping together!)

And this kicks off an increasing pattern of Jack seemingly becoming more and more dismissive of Anne on the whole. He stops including in her plans, and he is unable to remain aroused while having sex with Anne. She's angry, frustrated, and feeling unseen. Then there is Max, who is aggressively pursuing her. (There is a conversation to be had about the optics of Max's constant disrespecting of Anne's wishes to be left the fuck alone if she were a man but we won't go there now...) She not only offers Anne fulfilling sex but also something else that has been missing in her life -- intimacy. It's worth noting here that every sexual encounter between Jack and Anne that's on-camera is initiated by Anne. (Yes, even the tied-to-the-bed one, because she's topping and she's frustrated by his lack of interest, so it was most likely her idea.) This isn't someone who's, like, just laying back and thinking of England out of some sense of duty, like she probably did with her husband and his friends. She has an appetite and Jack is a willing participant. However, despite their love for and devotion to each other, it apparently kind of stops there. So it's no surprise that Anne finally gives in to Max. But when she finally does show up to Max's door, she looks like this:

This is not the face of someone who's anxious to start an affair. This is not the face of someone anticipating some world-changing discovery about herself. This is a face of... shame. This is the face of someone who knows they are about to betray someone else. Tbh if someone showed up to my door for a booty call looking like that, I'd tell them to just go back home.

But to Anne's surprise, Jack is... well, not exactly okay with it, but he accepts it, because it's clearly something Anne needs -- an itch she needs to scratch, as he puts it. And he's willing to give her that space rather than lose her completely. (Though Anne probably has mixed feelings about this too -- on the one hand relieved that Jack is accepting of it, but also partly wishing he would fight a little harder for her, that he didn't fly into a jealous rage... We all wanna be fought for, right?)

So Max opens up this whole new world for Anne, one where fucking can be something MORE. And whattyaknow, she wants to share this with Jack! Just because she is with Max doesn't mean she still doesn't want to be with Jack too. She could not be any more clear (save for actually SAYING so) that she wants to share this intimacy with him. The point is even driven home after their first threesome, when it's with JACK that she is doing her post-coital cuddling. Like DUDE she is trying to tell you something, PAY ATTENTION!

Just a coupla bros snuggling after sex ☺️

Meanwhile, Max is coming to the very swift conclusion that she will never truly have Anne all to herself, so she tries to further drive a wedge between them by initiating a little "moment" with Jack during another one of their trysts. This after Anne had told Jack that she's aware Max is probably playing her, so she needs Jack close by to make sure Max does not succeed in driving a wedge between them.

Anne: "I need you to watch my back in there, Jack."

Jack: "SAY LESS."

The ultimate wingman 👍

We also see Jack putting 2 and 2 together when he hears Max explaining to Idelle the difference between fucking and seducing (though he doesn't seem to take this hint for HIMSELF... sigh). So now another strike against Jack -- actually engaging with Max while in bed with her and Anne.

The NERVE!!!

Then comes the straw that breaks the camel's back... the ultimate betrayal. When Jack's new crew gives him an ultimatum between Anne and Max, he chooses Max (for business and financial reasons). This sends Anne into a spiral. She even tries to join another crew but they tell her that if even Jack Rackham doesn't want her any more, why would they? She then has a full-on mental breakdown. She murders two innocent people (one of which is a member of Captain Flint's crew) and instead of trying to flee, she stays at the scene of he crime and waits to be discovered, and face the inevitable consequence -- her own death. Luckily, Max finds her and tries to help her, and it's here that we (and Max) learn Anne's backstory. Anne laments that she doesn't know who she is without Jack and wonders who she could have been if they had never met, if she could have found a way to save herself instead. Then Max gives her an oversized dress to wear and Anne basically reverts to her previous self before she met Jack -- a scared little girl silently following a strange man into the bedroom. Freaking heartbreaking!!!

But Max affords Anne an opportunity to exist and operate outside of Jack by giving her a little spy assignment in another port. It's the longest period of time and furthest she has ever been separated from Jack and it gives her time to put things in perspective. She even at one point considers just taking off on her own somewhere entirely. But ultimately she decides to return to Nassau and to Jack, telling him that it was an impossible choice he was given. The way his eyes are all glassy and his voice cracks when they are reunited UGH....

He wants SO BAD to hear Anne say that she came back to be with him (and possibly make it official?) and even presses her about it the next day. Thus comes Anne's infamous "I can't be your wife" line, which always makes me 🤨 because uhhhhh you WERE his wife, gurl lmao. But in the context of everything that just happened, it makes sense -- she wants/needs an identity outside of Jack. However she still wants to be by his side until the day they die. Kind of the king of mixed messages there...

The tear!!! 😭

Following this, Anne enters her "Have Your Cake and Eat It Too" Era. She wants to continue her affair with Max, but she also wants to keep Jack near… ish. After returning to Nassau, she even moves out of Jack's room and into Max's(!!?). The threesome is over. She completely takes for granted that Jack will just always be there when or if things go sideways with Max (and lbr she’s right; he would 100% take her back no questions asked.) Jack complains that he barely even sees Anne anymore but he just has to suck it up and take it, even when it's being constantly rubbed in his face. Even so, it's never far from Max's mind that eventually Anne is going to have to choose between her and Jack and she will inevitably be left out in the cold. She even tells Jack this, even though he has his doubts. Anne resists the idea of breaking things off, but Max soon convinces her that they might as well call it sooner rather than later. And after all that initial hemmin' and hawin' and whimperin', Anne moves on pretty quick. Jack left her out of ONE sailing expedition and she became SUICIDAL, but she breaks up with Max, whom she is supposedly in love with, and she's sad for like a day, lol. Just sayin...

So now Jack and Anne are officially back together and making a clean break from Nassau to start a new life somewhere else with their cache of jewels. But of course, Jack being Jack, he's like "on second thought nah Imma go back get myself a pardon so I don't have to change my name brb!" He's obviously arrested immediately, setting off a whole insane chain of events that the entire rest of the series hinges on. (istg Jack is the Peter Quill of "Black Sails" lmao)

Now here is when Anne's declaration about not being Jack's "wife" enters shaky ground. This is also a good time to address the term "partner". This is a word bandied about and bounced around between several characters and dynamics throughout the course of the series, usually in reference to a financial or business alliance. Jack and Anne are frequently referred to as partners too, but when it comes to them, the term takes on a whole other more nuanced and deeper (and some might even say co-dependent) meaning. They are partners in every conceivable sense of the word -- they are partners in piracy, they are partners in companionship, they are partners in the bedroom, and they are partners in life. What is Jack's is also Anne's and vice versa. Any conversation about their futures is always intertwined with each other. After being captured by Woodes Rogers, Jack basically refers to Anne as his "wife" when positing a hypothetical scenario to Rogers in which their predicaments are switched. Meanwhile, Anne tells Flint that, in their plan to rescue Jack and recover the cache, Jack means more than the money or Flint's war, because "what I got to lose ain't so easy to recover from." So, you know, she can sit there and SAY she can't be his wife, but lbr.... SHE IS.

This point is driven home when she discovers Jack still alive in the wreckage of the carriage, she scrambles breathlessly inside, grabs him, and plants the biggest damn kiss on his lips. Yeaaahhhh Max WHOMST? ;-)

Just a coupla bros high-fiving… with their mouths ☺️👊

Now, it’s conceivable, though perhaps unlikely, that this is the first time Jack’s ever had a real brush with death, or the first time Anne has faced such a situation. Either way, things seemed to have changed from this point on. Because this is the first time we've seen them kiss! Again, unlikely they've never kissed before but this is the first time WE have seen it, so it must be significant... right?

So what changed? My best guess is that, with Max now out of the picture - and she having lied to Anne's face about Jack being tortured while under arrest to manipulate her into giving up the cache - and with their futures currently on extremely shaky ground now that Nassau has been taken over by Woodes Rogers, Jack is really the only stable thing in her life at this point. No matter what else happens in the world, they at least have each other, and that is the one thing she knows she can count on. And having faced the very real possibility of his imminent death (either by the noose in Port Royal or in the carriage crash), Anne is realizing that he is her world, and she is determined to hold onto that for dear life.

Soon the roles are reversed, when Jack and Anne are captured by Rogers while fighting on Blackbeard's crew. After brutally keelhauling Blackbeard, the rest of the crew are chained up in the hold and Jack forced to choose crewmembers to fight one of Rogers's thugs. One by one, the crewmen are picked off, until Anne convinces Jack to let them take her next, which he is obviously NOT about but reluctantly agrees. Indeed, she gets absolutely pummeled, and she severely injures her hands while attacking the thug with broken glass shards. She's able to get a hold of the keys and toss to the crewmen to break free, and they subdue/murder Rogers's thugs. But Anne is severely, almost fatally, injured. Jack cares for her as best he can with their meager resources on the ship.

Here, have a Renaissance painting.

When they get back to Nassau, Max confronts Jack and tells him that the best way to defeat Rogers is by going to Philadelphia and appealing to the now-dead Eleanor Guthrie's grandfather for help. Jack agrees to the plan, and even invites Max to come with him. Which made me wanna pull my hair about because DUDE, you JUST got Anne back to yourself and were THIS CLOSE to leaving Max completely behind y'all and now you want to reintroduce her into Anne's space again?? Either he's feeling super secure or he's an idiot. (Since it's Jack, I'm opting for the latter...)

As expected, the first thing Max wants to do when she gets on the ship is see Anne, which Jack allows (duuuuuude!!!!). Luckily, Anne tells her to get the fuck out, and AS ALWAYS, Max initially refuses. But Anne insists so she finally leaves. The next time Jack goes to tend to Anne, all of her mixed emotions are stirred up again, which is honestly the last thing she needs. Jack confirms that he told Max to not visit her again and says "You can murder her another day." Which confirms for me that he really does think he's sitting pretty with Anne now, because it seemed clear to me that that was not what Anne was thinking at all. She just didn't wanna deal with it.

So they get to Philly, and poor tropical-blooded Jack is completely ill-prepared for northern weather. He tells Max to stay on the ship because he's pretty sure she will double-cross him and serve him up on a platter for prosecution at the first opportunity. When Jack finally gets in to see Grandpa Guthrie (but not before telling Featherstone to find a proper doctor in the city to tend to Anne), he blows Jack off, but his wife takes him aside and presents herself as the real brains behind the operation and is intrigued by the proposal. So, new plan: Jack brings Max to the followup meeting hoping to appeal to Granny Guthrie's feminist ideals or whatever. It seems to work, and Granny agrees to the plan, but with one caveat -- she wants Flint dead, and she wants Jack to pull the trigger.

Soooo at this point, I'm pretty much convinced this is a death sentence for Jack, because, well, Flint is the main character, there's no way that, if Flint does die, it's gonna be at Jack's hands. Jack seems to be feeling the same way, as he returns to the ship as if condemned. Anne, who is now up and about (and looking very Virgin Mary-esque), greets him on the deck where he tells her what he has to do. She doesn't seem to doubt that he can accomplish it -- she is more worried about how he will be able to live with himself after. But he reminds her of why he is doing any of it in the first place -- for them. He prepares to leave, and they share the sweetest frickin' kiss in the history of mankind.

Just a coupla bros sharing a tender kiss

When I first saw this, I was nearly sobbing, because I was convinced this was the last time they would see each other. Jack may have thought so too, even if Anne didn't.

So Jack sets off to his fool's errand, leaving the door wide open for Max to turn Anne's head again. In the meantime, Anne, for some reason, enlisted Idelle to find her a list of other ships leaving Philly, because Anne intends on just peacing out, even though, as she tells Idelle, she's sure Jack will return. Sooooo, what, then Jack gets back, and she would just be gone?? Kind of a dick move! I have no idea why Anne was wanting to leave. There's a moment preceding Idelle's entrance where Anne attempts to slice a piece of bread but her injured hands won't work -- does she want to leave because she feels she would be useless now or something? That she would be some sort of hinderance to Jack? That she doesn't want to have to rely on him any more than she already does if it turns out she has lost some if not all of the use of her hands? And that she wants to leave while he's out to sea so that he doesn't have the chance to talk her out of it when he gets back? That is honestly all I can think of.

At any rate, Idelle then jumps into this whole dumb speech about how amazing and wonderful Max is, and how she wants to share all her successes and spoils with Anne. It's fucking annoying but LOOK, it seems to have kept Anne from getting on a boat and leaving Philly, so fine, whatever.

Meanwhile, Max has another meeting with Granny Guthrie, who has another caveat, this time for Max -- she wants her to marry the man she has picked out to be Nassau's next governor. It would be a completely political marriage, in name only. Max refuses. Why? Because it might interfere with her chances of getting back together with Anne.

CUE ALLLLLL THE EYE ROLLS.

Like GURL, did you not hear her?? She said SHAM MARRIAGE. Meaning, do whatever the fuck you want behind closed doors. Now, call me crazy, but I would have thought that Max would refuse this arrangement because, you know, she comes from slave culture where white men took advantage of brown girls in this way all the time? Max herself even gives this big speech at one point about how she had to sit back and watch the master of the plantation where she was a slave, who was her father, play with and dote on his other (white) daughter. You'd think THIS would have played a bigger role in her decision. But no. She's just really concerned about the minor possibility that she and Anne will hook up again. (Even Anne doesn't see an issue with the marriage proposal.) So, Max whimpers and whines all this to Anne, who doesn't say anything but holds out her hand to Max. Which was nice and all, but it really doesn't tell us much about Anne's intentions here. But it seems like Anne is indicating that she forgives Max for lying to her and that she at least is willing to be friends again.

Meanwhile, Jack finally reaches Skeleton Island, but instead of killing Flint, he rescues him, and together they decide to engage Rogers in one final battle. Indeed, they end up double-teaming him and defeating him and his crew. Jack refuses to kill him, though, deciding that getting Granny Guthrie to purchase and then default on Rogers's debts will be a fate worse than death for him.

And so, Jack returns to Philly, and Anne is right there to greet him, running through the busy streets and right into his waiting arms.

Just a coupla bros hugging it out.

The moment is slightly ruined, though, when Max comes out and stands watching from a distance with a pouty look on her face. Jack catches her eye and suddenly looks... guilty? For WHAT?? For having the love of his life wrapped out him like a shroud cuz she's so freaking happy to see him again?? GO AWAYYYY.

Anyway, this is the last time we even see Anne and Max in the same space together. The series, and the story of Jack and Anne, wraps up when we see Jack back in Nassau, now out of English hands again and being governed by Featherstone -- but with Max the true power behind the throne -- insisting to a young recruit named "Mark" Read that piracy no longer exists in Nassau but okayitkindadoesbutshhhh. He invites "Mark" onto his ship, where "Mark" is introduced to Anne, who clocks “him” immediately (of course it's Mary Read, y'all!). She and Jack then take stock of the new and improved flag for their ship, which turns out to be the now infamous and iconic skull-and-crossed-swords emblem we all now associate with pirate ships. Cue credits! The End!

So, WHEW, Jack and Anne both made it out of this series alive, which honestly I didn't see coming. AND they ended up together again, as they should be. Of course, it's kind of bittersweet, because if you know anything about the real Jack and Anne, you know that the introduction of Mark/Mary Read means the beginning of the end for them. Still, the series ends on a perfect note, and you cannot convince me that, after everything we saw just in Season 4 alone, that these two won't rekindle their romance at some point -- if they haven't already. Because they just aren't the same people that they were when the series started, and their relationship is on a different footing now too. And even if Anne does decide to restart things with Max, or anyone else for that matter, the fact is, that person will never have all of Anne. It was always be Anne and Jack; they are a package deal. I'm not talking about a throuple situation here (even when Anne was sleeping with both Max and Jack, it was never an actual threesome, because Jack and Max didn't really like or trust each other); I mean that that 3rd person is always going to have the knowledge looming over them that Jack is #1 in Anne's life. Even Max knew this, and she decidedly not to delay the inevitable by breaking things off with Anne prematurely ("you can't fire me, I quit!"). And that's how it will always be.

#black sails #jack rackham #anne bonny #jackanne #sorry i have a lot of THOTS #hope i didn't forget anything.... ;-P

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evrensadwrn · 6 months

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On the Marquis de Gramont’s backstory(personal theory and own opinions)

“He[Bill Skarsgård] came to be, he goes, ‘I want to do a little bit like fucked up French like Cajun accent.’ I’m like, ‘I have no idea what that sounds like.’ Some people gave us shit a little bit because it’s not a good French accent. I’m like, ‘Guys, it’s not supposed to be French.’ Like, he wasn’t trying to be French, he’s a guy that speaks French.”

— Chad Stahelski on the Josh Horowitz Happy, Sad, Confused podcast

(“Marquis(de Gramont)” and “Vincent” used interchangeably)

I know that the Marquis has like the most fucked up accent out of all John Wick characters seen so far but this line from the director himself, Chad “would beat us up for all the shit we say on Wickblr” Stahelski is just giving me a whole lot of ideas on his backstory.

Unlike the characters seen before, Vincent [the Marquis] is one of the characters whose backstories are not explained or even touched on upon like the Adjudicator and the Harbinger. Santino for example, and I’m gonna use Santino as an example because he and Vincent share parallels— What do we know about Santino? Santino was there to help John on the night of his impossible task, establishing a connection between antagonist and protagonist in writing, Santino has a sister named Gianna, Santino’s father dies and bestows his seat to his sister instead rather than her. And then, Santino also owns a museum in New York.

But what do we know about the Marquis? Other than how he came into the Table there is literally nothing else about him. Just like the Adjudicator, there’s nothing much else to know about him or his backstory.

“Although claiming to enforce the will of the High Table, the Marquis' primary ambition is to further his own power and he only cares about the Table's rules in as much as they advantage him. When they work against him, he is happy to bend or even fully disregard them.”

— John Wicki

John Wick is like a world of high people, it’s larger than life and it’s practically a near fantasy world filled with neon fight scenes and showy places and characters.

There’s no reason as to why the High Table chose him specifically to take down John but seeing as how brutal his character is, and how much remorse he lacks towards other people underneath him shows what kind of person the High Table is looking for. And Vincent manages to cloak his violent tendencies underneath a layer of sophistication.

“The Marquis is a young man of unknown origin who has quickly climbed the ladder within the High Table doing god knows what. I always saw him as someone from the gutter that now savors the glittery suits he’s wearing. He functions as the new sheriff set out to rid the world of John Wick once and for all. John’s getting old and tired, the Marquis is offering him a way out. To be the one who finally kills the Baba Yaga would secure his status and power within the High Table.”

— Bill Skarsgård on an on-set interview

I’ve always thought of Vincent as a sort of actor knowing the movies. He’s amazing at networking, it’s one of his only skills according to the Wiki other than multilingualism. This is a personal theory of mine, so you can disagree: but I go with Bill Skarsgård’s interpretation of his character’s backstory. Well, kind of. I agree with the fact that the Marquis climbed the ladder of the ranks, but I do not think he was struggling as a child considering the House of Gramont.

Since this is my own personal opinion and theory on his backstory, I personally believe that the Marquis may have just been another person in the criminal underworld/not even considering to be an agent.

I’ve always been a fan of the idea of characters starting from the bottom and then using non-violent measures to get to the top. And to me, Vincent is a very good example of this(in this theory). But he doesn’t agree to the rules, we see this in the very last scene where Vincent takes Caine’s gun to finish John off himself— but that proves horribly for him.

Like every other antagonist against John before him, the Marquis is arrogant and prideful— probably the wealthiest character we’ve seen so far(considering we haven’t seen the High Table).

And I can see where that arrogance and pride may come from. Now with Bill’s interview, I think he did climb the ranks however I don’t think he was struggling from poverty. In my opinion, he looks to have the mindset of a guy from the upper class/upper-middle class and coming back to Santino who Vincent shares a lot of traits with, I sort of believe Vincent to mirror Santino’s a lot more than just being from poverty or just a civilian.

So, to sum it up: he’s adopted by the House of Gramont. And in the middle of it all, he may have went through something that got him interested into getting more power.

In my own headcanon, I think he has a sort of trauma that leads him into getting desperate for power. We see it on the screen, Vincent gets upset and frustrated when he’s not being seen with respect or if his ego feels threatened.

have a nice day folks!! :33

#marquis de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #john wick 4 #john wick #bill skarsgård #chad stahelski #🪐evrenwrites #the marquis #now i didnt include this in the essay bc I would probably get beaten #but i think he has a personality disorder #cluster-b specifically #although not outright said i think he does #maybe npd or hpd

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dotthings · 2 years

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So every week of The Winchesters is going to steal the crown of MY FAVORITE EPISODE SO FAR. That's how this seems to be going.

TW 1.05 is SO GOOD. There's a lot to unpack here for the central characters and how this ties back to Dean's story and trauma.

AND OMG THE HEALING.

“Big bad wolves start out as nice pups” Carlos giving wisdom from his abuela that just cuts right to the heart of the point about what TW is doing with John. Why young John isn't what John becomes.

John's a nice pup right now. And it's tragic seeing the signs already of that potential for darkness in him. But right now he isn't just that, he leads with his heart, he's caring, and empathetic and capable of insight. That is the tragedy. The slow downspiral as he loses more and more pieces of himself.

Ada's backstory giving us more dimensions on Ada herself and it resonates more broadly too, echoing down spn canon.

Ali's story and Tony's story as well. The mothership has a bunch of precedent on monsters choosing to live a conscientious life. It's about the choices people make. There's Kate the werewolf, there's Garth and his family, there's Lenore the vampire.

And the interspecies love story. That ends tragically. In the case of Ada and Ali, because Ali tried to resist his djinn impulses and did good for a while but then downspiraled. Gave in.

Or...interspecies love story, that ends tragically, because the nonhuman character evolves his heart and his love so deeply, he sacrifices himself saving the person he loves.

It's right there. Just thinkin' thoughts.

Also Ali and Ada from different worlds. Ali not being human. Ada giving Mary advice from her experiences in her own complicated love story, saying “I followed my heart. I don’t think that’s ever a mistake.”

“Even if you’re scared?”

“Especially then. It’s just part of falling in love.”

The direct parallels are towards John/Mary but that's not the only parallel. Dean was told to follow his heart, in ep written by Robbie Thompson, who is the EP of The Winchesters. in a season where Dean is trying to save Cas, where Cas’s heart was the way to triangulate Dean, where the bond between Dean and Cas was more powerful than Amara’s thrall connection to Dean. Follow your heart.

Thinking more thoughts.

It's. It's all. Right there.

John's being more like older John in the early part of this ep. His tunnel vision, monsters are evil, no allowance for individual choices, have to kill them, who cares about feelings. But then he also understands, while in Mary’s dreams, punching isn’t the only solution, and John is leading with his feelings, his heart, to help Mary. It’s like we keep seeing the better sides of John, and the darker, colder sides, and we know the darker, colder side takes him over eventually. But it’s not all he is right now. But we know how hard John conditioned Dean. All monsters are evil no exceptions. We know where Dean got the idea. Whatever softening in view John got because of knowing Ada and her son, gets wiped away by John's grief and vengeance after Mary dies burning on the ceiling. Early on in the mothership, Dean starts questioning John's absolutism. Dean isn't John. There are echoes. John's still the shadow. But that is more about what Dean is afraid he is, not who he is. And the parallels lean a lot more to Dean and Mary. Dean is more like Mary...but he isn't Mary either. Same with Sam. Both of them have resemblances to their parents, but they emerge as themselves. Ada and her son Tony really drive the theme about generational trauma in. You are not your parents. You are you. And people can be the best parts of their parents not the worst. “I know you’re not your father. You’re not the worst parts of him, you’re not the worst parts of me”

Tony’s nightmares are about becoming his father. He's afraid of becoming like his father. Becoming like John was a specter that haunted both Sam and Dean throughout the series.

And then we get to Mary and her trauma.

“My parents told me the monsters I was afraid of were real and it would be my job one day to hunt them down and kill them”

Excuse me I have to go lie down on the floor for a minute.

It's Sam too, not just Dean. Sam said in the pilot of spn, "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45."

This is Sam and Dean's generational trauma, from John, but the Dean-Mary paralleling is very heavy. Dean who at the age of 4 had the world put on his shoulders and had a sawed off shotgun and knew about monsters and what John did, why he left his kids alone in motel rooms, younger than when Sam found out.

Tiny Mary slept with a knife under her pillow.

I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

Mary punching the wall is a Dean thing to do, and also a John thing--last week’s ep we saw John do it, when he punches the bathroom fixture. (Dean beating on the Impala, Dean punching a picture when Bobby is dying, Dean punching the sign outside reststop after Cas dies).

“I was five, John. Five. Every door to every future I could possibly have closed that night forever.”

THIS SERIES IS GOING FOR MY THROAT

“Those doors are not closed forever. Just be here, in this moment”

This John is still open and loving and seeing hope in the world. I'm sad.

“It’s okay to be scared. In fact it’s good to be scared. You can’t ever be brave if you aren’t scared. It’s going to be okay. Not in this moment, not today, but someday.” Thinking about Dean in Dead in the Water now: "You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too." Maybe Mary told some version of her speech to herself to toddler Dean, maybe toddler Dean was scared of a thunderstorm, or (imaginary) monsters under his bed. Maybe she comforted Dean that way. Maybe she told to her oldest son the things she didn't get for herself and that's how Dean already knew it.

Remember that Dean is telling this story. Dean is witnessing this. Via Mary’s story, Dean is again hearing what he needs to hear, about his trauma, after Mary died, we don't think John pushed a weapon into tiny Dean's hands, but first he put immense emotional weight on Dean, with John's vengeance obsession quest, and drill sergeant dad ways and Dean had to become stand-in parent to his baby brother when he was still a very small child.

And it wouldn't be long before John's putting a gun into his too-young hands.

I'm really glad Ada and Tony got to heal a little. Hopefully we'll see Tony again. And Lata sure seems to like him. Doesn't matter that he's not human.

I like Ada filling the MoL with green growing things, which I’m sure all have specific magical and medicinal purposes, a practical use, but I really like the symbolism of Ada filling the bunker with living plants.

I've made posts recently how Dean is like his grandmother Millie, and he is. Millie taught John how to fix engines, John taught Dean. But now as it turns out Mary knows how too, because her father taught her. Mary didn't get a chance to teach Dean that we saw, but Dean was 4 when she died. Maybe she sat with Dean at the kitchen table and showed him different tools. John then would have taught young Dean the direct practicalities of fixing engines hands on. Maybe...it was both of them.

John, in that scene with Mary near the end of the ep, seems to want to set Mary free. Maybe seeing Mary's pain in the djinn dream, he wants to make sure she has all the chances to pursue her possible futures. So he's letting her go and not confessing how he feels about her. (Wants her to be free to rake leaves). And gives her his father's motorcycle, for when she's ready to leave Lawrence.

#John Winchester #Mary Campbell #Ada Monroe #The Winchesters #spnwin #spnwin meta #The Winchesters spoilers

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mirtifero · 1 year

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May I ask about ur rogues :D ? Like, what's the basic backstory behind each one, and maybe if you have any drawing or just an idea of appearance :P

(HOLY FUCK THIS ENDED HUGE BECAUSE OF THE SCARECROW BIT)

I do have some doodles but I'm very insecure regarding them so I won't rlly show them.

Also putting this under read more because i fear it may get big lol

The rogues that I currently have are Joker, Harley, Ivy, Riddler and Scarecrow. I want to do a Scarface and Ventriloquist (I LOVE him very much) and also a Two Face (I also want to do a Gilda but she's not a rogue) but I don't have many ideas yet.

The only one with a backstory is John, Harley and Ivy have little drafts

Scarecrow

Tw: abuse, bullying, death, animal death, manipulation, unethical medical stuff, eh you get the idea

Jonathan has a similar backstory to Year One, being raised by his great granny in Georgia (not many details here because my brazilian ass doesn't know anything about Georgia). Because of the abuse he suffered from her, he became a bit of an isolated child and overall kinda numb to things around him (since he was constantly anxious and overthinking, he was also kinda unaware of whatever was happening around him). He was also very, very physically weak, which meant the work he did used to make him constantly physically sick and he constantly had to go to school during these times. Overall he was a very easy victim of bullying so that also shaped a lot of his life. His teachers didn't do much because, since it was a very conservative and religious town, the fact that he was a bastard child and "weird", "offputting", "sick" and overall "too fidgety/scared" to things around him, they used to think of him as less or as some sinful thing. Besides that his family didn't have a great reputation either so no reason for them to care, right? He did try to fight back or outsmart his bullies but it never really worked because why would it! He was sick and skinny and no one would ever try to protect him. He spent most of his time reading and mostly trying to understand what was wrong with him, which gave him a lot of medical and psychological knowladge later on.

By reading was when he started to obsess with fear. He knew that he HAD to have some sort of power over people so he made a sort of character for himself. Not really Scarecrow, he used to be very into gothic horror so he made a sort of ghost figure that didn't rely on him appearing to scare people. He would kill rats and other small animals, put them in lockers or doors, write with blood and just enjoy himself watching people freak out. He never made the hauntings talk about treating him better because he knew it would make things worse for him, he just wanted to see people freak out and have that euphoric feeling inside him that it was because of HIM. The town had rumours about being haunted now and it was because of HIM and that made his attitude towards people to shift a lot over time. He went from being shy and insecure to just quiet and egocentrical. John didn't, like, stutter much anymore, he'd just stare quietly at things. Over time that evolved to him being very manipulative and good at playing with people's emotions/playing with his own facade.

I'm not so sure about this part but I do think he manages to make his great granny have a heart attack once and that, like, he had that sudden shift to being happier with himself. According to him, he unfortunately had to pretend to be scared and sad about his great granny's death but he was EUPHORIC about it.

When he grew up he managed to get a scholarship to Gotham University, where he majored in psychology. He stopped his shenanigans for a while there, since he felt somewhat safer. People didn't really care much about the tall lanky man so he didn't care much either. He worked in small magazines and custumer service for a while to pay the bills while he kept studying. He has a master in medicine and a doctorate in psychochemestry. During his post grads is where things get funky again.

He started to research on Arkham, where he did not care whatsoever about the patients well being and overall kinda used that freedom he had to expand his research. He wanted to see how people reacted to fear, seeing its uses and overall how to cause fear in "very small amounts that multiply to a disaster". He basically fucking incentived self destructing and mayhem, "in very small amounts", kinda to see what happened (ps: Batman already existed by then).

His papers started doing numbers(tm) because, since he was very good at twisting things, he made all the unethical and destructive nature of his research go unseen. He managed to become a professor, a job that he really enjoyed! He basically went his days lecturing and doing research at Arkham, having basically two jobs at that point. Like, nice by day evil by night (?,????? AKSJANWH).

Anyways, at some point he wanted to start using his chemestry knowladge and he started working on the fear toxin, which he tested on arkham patients (Riddler was one of them btw but more on that later) which caused enough problems to call authorities attention.

He started getting criticized (rightfully so btw it was terrible stuff happening) on the academia which started to freak him out. He was very angry that he was on the edge of losing his teaching job (which was a great source of pleasure for him, he was even very nice to students!!!) but also horrified of the same thing. He wanted to keep his research at all costs because he was too far gone at that point and thought he was being bullied like when he was a kid, which, uh, yeah.

Because of him associating being rightfully criticized with his past, he decided to go back to his usual bullshittery. Except this time with a Scarecrow, since his research used a lot the idea of a metaphorical scarecrow and shit. He had a curious relationship with birds that I'll mention in a sec and he basically started training them to attack officials, students, started leaving dead stuff around, write shit and also poison people with toxin.

It was, in many ways, not nearly as calculated as his kid shenanigans, because he was in a different context where he tought he was going to lose the only thing he loved.

Anyways.

Batman got his ass. Yaay!!

Okay so other stuff:

He has a very complicated relationship with religion, he is scared of abandoning it but he also hates it with his very being.

Because of the above, his relationship with sex is even more complicated. He doesn't mind sex, people talking about it or even reading it in a book, he is just scared of him in specific being punished for anything sexual. Plus, he has a lot of internalized homophobia and he's gay, so, uh, there's a lot to unpack here.

Although he was scared of crows, when he started to become very fascinated by them. He daydreamed about being this tall being surrounded by crows and shit like he thought it'd be so badass.

During his teaching years he was actually quite nice to his students but tbh only to his students. Other than that he was just a smirking manipulative cunt and very serious looking.

After all the chaos his manipulative nature started to make him look very unnerving since he was constantly looking happy but it was very obvious he was either freaking out or incredibly angry. He is constantly smiling and acting calm but he is, very obviously, not okay.

He gets along with Harley okay. She reminds him of his students so she's, like, somewhat a close friend. She is neutral about him but considers him a friend. She hates what he did to patients tho.

His relationship with Edward is HORRIBLY UNSTABLE. More on that later.

He has such a fucking crush on Batman you don't get it. Part of him WANTED to get caught by Batman SPECIFICALLY during that mess. He denies it to his last breath but he wants to spin Batman on a microwave and dissecate his brain and he has such a crush it's horrible. He watches the news religiously wanting to see the batman bits.

Appearence wise he looks like a mixture of fear state and future state. Also a bit of arkham knight.

Joker

Tw: murder and reference to abuse

Okay so he doesn't have a backstory yet and he's, like, very different from usual Joker because I made him while angry at Joker AKWHNQHQKA

He's basically a manchild, a whiny annoying bitch that is very loud and colorful and laughing at literally everything. His jokes consist of murder and death and always connected to puns, sometimes nonsensical because he's having a moment.

He gets angry easily and screams a lot and is one of the, surprisingly, most deadly rogues (not on the top 3 but def on the top, idk, 10 or maybe 5).

He loves wearing eccentric clothing and acting like the world is a stage and he is very unpredictable when it comes to who is his next pun victim. He can be very manipulative and creepy if he's calmed down, but that's rare, so he's mostly just loud and obnoxious. No one likes him and he's mostly just very dangerous because of his unpredictable brutality.

He was Harley's patient and when she met his "calmer side" she was fascinated and wanted to understand him, which made him manipulate her a lot. More on that later. She left him when he freaked out and screamed at her and shit like he fr never loved her or whatever.

He's obsessed with the batman, believing he is the only one that can bring him some sort of wanted joy that he longs for so much. He never feels properly happy and he just believes Batman is the one who will bring this happiness to him like an angel. When he isn't causing mayhem full of makeup and bright clothing he is overall kinda sad and miserable looking.

That's kinda of it! He is a bit difficult to explain :(

Appearence wise he's like. A clown. His hair is spiky tho. (When he's not with makeup his hair kinda falls and it's very depressing like Kajwkqjsk)

Riddler

Tw: abuse, neglect, stuff like that

He is... oh where do I start.

Edward has a history of being treated like shit by people around him. As a child, he was actually very sweet and excited about everything! But his excitement was looked as something very annoying. People would beat the shit out of him or just treat him as less. That made him start to close with time and become a very quiet child, always playing with math and little puzzles. He was also very neglected so he wanted to constantly find ways of getting attention, by being the greatest, by convincing himself he was the greatest. He needed to survive, somehow.

Things didn't get better with time, his unstable behaviour making him become isolated and sometimes even physically harmed by people around him. That made him befome more aggressive and insecure and an overall mess. During most of his young years he cried a lot alone.

His backstory isn't complete yet, but this develops into him becoming incredibly selfish and egocentrical and to see himself as superior. He thinks people around him are trying to copy him or underestimate his abilities with tend to lead to him being really obnoxious.

I don't know how he snapped yet, but it was definitely him wanting attention and getting it in a very aggressive manner.

He is very obsessed with numbers and puzzles and needs to constantly do them otherwise he may end up self destructive. In the sense of "avoiding a single thought from occuring" yk?

He was one of John's patients and oh boy was that. Complicated.

John is fascinated by Edward, it's kind of a "I can make him so much worse". Jonathan even tested less his experiments on Edward because he wanted to just... dissect his brain in a way.

Edward however never really contributed. He hated John. He believed with all his heart that he was just trying to flatter him and "fix him". He also KNEW something was fucked up about John and did not want to take part in it, since he thought he was far superior to whatever lab rat John wanted Ed to be. The only time John used his toxin on Ed was out of curiosity on what Ed feared, and wanting him to get closer to him (it's kinda fucked up). This whole thing just makes him even more fascinated by Ed and yeah Ed hates his ass (rightfully so).

He's bi and has a complicated relationship with Batman. He is obsessed with wanting to outsmart him and/or also sees him as an equal and/or has a huge fucking crush.

He barely gets along with anyone tbh because he kinda hates everyone around him (even batman in a way).

He is still a draft like there's a lot I can add here!!! So sorry for the lack of stuff

Appearance wise he looks. He wears a silly hat and the suit it's kinda of a weird mix between yz and ak riddler.

Harley

Tw: abuse

Harley was a psychologist with the dream of helping people. She started as a teenage therapist and enjoyed it very much, specially with how she was able to incentive people to be genuine and start being chaotically happy, angry or anything like that.

She got a job at arkham and had to leave her other job for that. Shit with Joker happened blah blah blah and she kinda... okay let me explain

So, her whole thing was about self expressionx wasn't it? She thought by helping Joker to express himself she would also manage to become genuine and free from societal chains but she actually found herself even more trapled. She lost herself. She didn't know who she was anymore.

When she had a pretty bad fight with Joker she realized all of that and left. But she kinda got her ass dragged to arkham in the process. Where she had a lot of time to think.

She spent a lot of time very depressed, her whole goal was to make people genuine and authentic individuals and she found herself being a shadow. Harley wanted a fresh start, so after shaving her head she started trying new things, reading new books and yeah experimenting overall. She enjoyed the idea of being a villain in the eyes of people if it meant being authentic, in a way, but she needed to find herself for that.

Fun fact, while she was Joker's shadow, she was called "The Columbine" after the character from commedia dell'arte, she changed it for "Harley Quinn" after that. Because it was cooler and sounded more like her.

She started to enjoy a lot drawing and skating and breaking shit. Hashtag self expression.

She met Ivy on arkham while she tried gardening, and Ivy went like "you suck at this" and they slowly fell in love and they are girlfrieneddsss!!!! :33

Harley tries to get along with everyone (she's one of the only people who KINDA can KINDA get along with Eddie but it's a very KINDA)

This is also a draft so yeah! She's bi and also ethnically jewish, not veeery religious but still enjoys her culture a lot.

She also knows how to play baseball. And is very good at rollerskating. And both at the same time. She sometimes does insane shit around gotham just because and it's very easy to know she went somewhere since everything is kinda thrown around and painted with graffiti and shit. She looves it!

She looks like future state her because i love that design so much

Ivy

Tw: cannibalism (oopsie!)

Scientist gone mad type of stuff. Straight up ecoterrorist, not a good person whatsoever.

Her backstory is very similar to unburied. Except there's a whole lot of murder and at some specific points cannibalism as a form of establishing dominance. Since all the ideas are kinda thrown around I'm unable to properly explain them in a "story time" way :(

She became a plant like monstrocity and managed to develop photosynthesis too (before that she straight up ate human meat because she refused to eat animals or plants).

She is a very obnoxious individual, but surprisingly quiet. She just looks at other people like she could murder them and they shut up. She is rude, overall mean but also kinda sensitive, specially when it comes to plants. She feels like she just wants to protect herself and others and doesn't see the evil in her actions, and she feels a lot of pain when plants are hurt. So her being mean is kind of a means of self defense, because chances are she cries a lot when she's alone.

She used to feel like she was weak, useless, so she found a way to become powerful and used that against people who hurt her, who hurt her plants.

Her appearence is silly because it's like, kinda similar to sale's version of her hair wise, and body wise it's complicated. She cannot wear clothes since they physically hurt, she is green and like. There's probably a whole ecosystem inside her lol. Her eyes are also kinda funky.

She loves Harley a lot, and her hair even blossoms when she's around her. Harley teaches her to be angry, sad, to be herself and she cares a lot about her. Harley's probably the only human Ivy genuenely cares about.

She's also a lesbian because I'm a lesbian and I said so????

She spends a lot of time quiet and unmoving inside arkham's gardens, maybe humming to herself. She looks like a plant and it's quite creepy. In a good way!

***

Okay so that's kinda all I have aksjaksj sorry for HOW HUGE scarecrow's bit is I'm. Mentally unwell. Very normal about him.

Also the amount of self projection here was insane sorry abt that.

Yay! :D

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takaraphoenix · 2 years

Text

The Evolution of Heat Wave’s Origins

Today, I’d like to talk about Mick Rory, aka Heat Wave, and more specifically about his origins and his motivation.

Now, DC Comics are incredibly notoriously known for their retcons, particularly for their unnecessary retcons of changing characters’ origin stories.

But Mick’s retcon rubs me so much the wrong way because it essentially makes him a whole different character. Erases his core-personality and replaces it with empty cruelty.

(The Flash Vol 1 #140 The Heat is On For Captain Cold, 1963)

Above the very first appearance of Heat Wave in the comics and his first version of an origin story. He was a fire-eater who got bored with his job and turned to crime for “private reasons”.

The private reasons, given in this issue, are a woman. The very same woman Len was also trying to impress with his crime-spree that issue. And so their rivalry was born; not from the heat v cold of their natures, but because they both have the same taste in women and the same approach to trying to woo them.

(Secret Origins Vol 2 #41, A Rogue by Any Other Name, 1989)

The next thing we learn about Mick is why he became a fire-eater in the first place.

As a child, he went exploring in a butchery and accidentally got locked into the freezer. The cold traumatized him and ever since, he came to despise it and to seek heat and warmth, particularly in the form of fire.

I like this addition, because it contrasts Lenny even more - Leonard became Captain Cold and became obsessed with the cold, because his father was abusive toward him and his sister, but his grandfather was a good man, who delivered frozen goods, and the afternoons of escaping his abusive home and riding along to deliveries with his grandpa are some of the only positive memories of his childhood that Lenny has. To Leonard Snart, the cold is associated with safety and with happiness.

And to Mick Rory, the cold became something awful he tried to avoid, something he could never really shake off. Beautiful contrast in their origin stories, I just love when two characters really are a perfect foil for each other in such a complimenting manner.

And that was it. For forty years, Mick Rory’s backstory was just that he was a fire-eater who became a criminal to impress a girl, a man obsessed with heat because he feared the cold. A man who gave up crime rather early to instead become an upstanding citizen, dedicating his life to helping fire fighters and to fighting fire himself. Which was also a testament to his intelligence; this man came up with brilliant inventions that made fire fighting quicker, easier and safer.

And then came Geoff Johns and that man fucked Mick Rory over so hard, his Mick Rory just has nothing to do with the original character anymore and it infuriates me.

(The Flash Vol 2 #218 Rogue Profile: Heat Wave, 2005)

So Mick now heated the cold since he was a little boy, just for reasons I guess. And he was obsessed with fire. To the point of just... starting one, in his family home, while his entire family was inside the house and he stood outside watching them burn alive. For absolutely no reason at all.

See, you can make him a pyromaniac. It makes sense with his theme of fire. He was never a pyromaniac before - seeing as his obsession was more with warmth, or how he dedicated his life to putting out fires after giving up crimes.

But to just make him a cold-blooded killer. He’s a young boy. But he kills his entire family - not abusive, by the way. The page before that, he even says how much he loved their farm and life there and that his family were good people. But he kills them all, just because Johns has to be edgy, I guess.

And it does Mick such a huge disservice. Mick was never a cold-blooded killer. Forty years of character history, twenty+ of those years dedicated to doing good, and Johns sets it all back and turns Mick into someone who’s just... obsessed with fire and doesn’t mind killing people.

The meat-locker story comes after this. After he killed his family. When it’s just entirely unnecessary anymore, seeing as being locked into a freezer was the reason for his obsession with warmth and fire. But it still happens. This time, not as an accident either, but a prank from a classmate. And kid!Mick kills that kid and the kid’s entire family in revenge too.

He also still becomes a fire-eater before he turns to crime. But his obsession with fire is still so bad, he burns the entire circus and the people who had become family to him, down with it.

He had a good life at the circus, even had a girl. But he kills her and everyone else. Just because.

No. No, Mick Rory did not just kill without a care!! That was the special thing about him! He was the Rogue with the biggest conscience, damn it! Out of all the Rogues, he was the first one to reform, he felt the most guilty for those things he had done, he had never just killed for fun, even as Heat Wave, he hadn’t been a cold-blooded killer!

But Johns decided to make him a cold-blooded killer as a little boy already.

And basically reduce adult!Mick entirely to being a cold-blooded killer. He’s all glares and grunts and “fire pretty”.

The love-sick puppy of a man who became a criminal to impress a lady and who worked so hard to fight fires after he’d been redeemed is now just a pyromaniac obsessed with burning things, and people, down.

And it’s just so unnecessarily brutal and edgy.

It’s such a bad retcon. It’s also so lazy - making the guy with the fire-theme obsessed with burning things down, when before, it had just been him utilizing a skill he already had to make a name for himself. The character of Mick Rory was very gray, he had layers, he had morals, he had depth and now he’s just the fire-dude who likes to kill.

#Mick Rory #Heat Wave #The Flash Vol 1 #The Flash Vol 2 #Phoe Reading DC #Phoe's Random Comic Rants

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the-cookie-of-doom · 5 years

Text

POSSESSION

n. 1. The state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Stiles climbed out onto the roof where Mitch was sitting, looking out at the stars. For the first time since Stiles had met him, he looked peaceful. He got the impression that peace wasn't something Mitch saw a lot of, in his line of work.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Mitch told him, not turning around. Stiles shrugged even though he knew Mitch wouldn't see. At this point, he wasn't surprised that Mitch knew he was there, no matter how quiet he was being.

"Not tired yet."

"Try closing your eyes."

"In a few minutes." Stiles careful climbed down to sit beside Mitch, warily eyeing the edge. He'd never been particularly graceful, and if ever there was a time for him to fall and break his neck, with his luck it would be now. Casting a glance at Mitch, he saw that the exorcist didn't appear to care about the height. Of course he didn't; he'd seen much scarier things than a fifteen foot drop onto soft grass.

"This doesn't work if you don't go to sleep."

"I will, just…" Stiles chewed his bottom lip. He knew what the truth was, that he was afraid, but he didn't want to say that. Not to Mitch, who was never afraid of anything, never even surprised. "Just not yet."

"I don't like it when people waste my time, Stiles."

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to."

"Then stop lying to me." Mitch finally turned to face Stiles. His features were mostly cast in shadows, backlit by the light down the street. Not that it would make a difference; Stiles could never get a read on him. Mitch was closed off, better at hiding his emotions than anyone else Stiles had ever met. It made him feel at a disadvantage; Mitch never had any trouble reading him like an open book, even if they were strangers.

"I don't know what's going to happen after I go to sleep," Stiles said after a while, Mitch watching him in impassive silence, waiting.

"You're worried you'll hurt someone." The teen nodded, looking down. "I won't let you." Stiles laughed humorlessly, pulling his knees up to his chest. Mitch made it sound so simple, when it was anything but.

"Will you kill me?"

"Do you want me to?"

"It's rude to answer a question with a question."

"You're evading."

Stiles thought he might have seen the shadow of a smile out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn't be sure. Probably just a trick of the light, since Mitch had never actually smiled around him. He wondered what his smile looked like. He wondered if he would ever get to see it.

"I'm losing time. It started with just a few minutes here and there, and then hours at a time. Now it's full nights. And when I wake up, I'm dirty, but I have no idea where I've gone, and I think… I think I might be hurting people. No one believes me when I try to tell them, not even my dad." Stiles took a deep breath, hugging his legs tighter. He could feel Mitch's eyes on him, heavy and scrutinizing, simultaneously making him want to hide and bare everything. "I don't want to keep living like this. Even if I'm not the one killing people, there's still something wrong with me, and if even you don't know what it is, what hope do I have?"

"I don't know everything. If I can't help you, then someone else can."

"Or maybe no one can." Stiles rubbed harshly at his eyes when he felt them stinging, wetness spilling over. "I just—It feels like God must hate me, or something. It's like I'm cursed. Either I'm insane, or I'm possessed, or it's some as-yet-unheard-of problem, and I just—I can't deal with it. And if this is just some divine plan or whatever—" Mitch scoffed, cutting him off. Stiles' attention snapped up to him.

"God doesn't care about you. He's a kid with an ant-farm and a magnifying glass. Those unfortunate enough to make him want to take a closer look just get burned."

"How can you say that, knowing what you know?"

"I can say it because of what I know."

"Then why did you become an exorcist?" Mitch wasn't looking at him anymore, face tilted up towards the stars. After a minute passed, Stiles thought he wasn't going to answer. He was almost surprised when Mitch finally did.

"This is my penance for the life I took."

It was on the tip of Stiles' tongue to ask what that meant. Then Mitch took out a pack of cigarettes and held one to his lips. When he flicked his lighter to life, Stiles saw the gruesome scar running down his wrist, silvery-white in the light, and he knew there was undoubtedly a match to it on his other arm.

The flame died a second later, once again casting them in darkness with nothing but the stars and moon for light. Stiles felt like he'd briefly glimpsed a sliver of Mitch's soul.

Mitch didn't tell him to go inside again, letting Stiles stay out on the roof with him. Maybe because he knew what Stiles was going through; the constant self-doubt about what was real and what wasn't, the feeling that God had condemned him. The crushing loneliness. Maybe, just for tonight, Mitch had decided he didn't want to be alone anymore either, finding a kindred spirit in Stiles.

After Mitch put his lighter away, his body language changed. If not quite welcoming, it was at least open, leaning back on his arms with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Stiles hesitated, still bound up tight with the way he was sitting, but gradually he relaxed as well. Slowly he moved closer to Mitch, waiting to be pushed away like always, but the rejection never came. Mitch just rhythmically tapped his cigarette on the asphalt shingle, like a metronome. Stiles wondered if it was a nervous habit, and almost immediately cast that thought aside; he was the last thing in the world that would make Mitch nervous.

Stiles watched his nimble fingers move, Mitch's arm not quite around Stiles' waist, but close enough that it would only take a small movement to put it there. Stiles wished he would.

As Stiles watched the cigarette slowly turn to ash, burned away to nothing, Mitch would occasionally bring it to his lips for a deep drag. Each time Stiles would lean a little closer. Each time Mitch would let him.

"Can I have one?" Stiles asked when Mitch put out the cigarette a while later, expecting him to reach for another.

"No."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

Stiles turned so that he could better see Mitch, carefully pitched forward on his hands and knees to keep from falling, the position all but putting him in the exorcist's lap. Whatever question he had died on the tip of his tongue, or maybe it was just an excuse. Permission for something he didn't realize he was going to do until he met Mitch's dark eyes.

When he kissed Mitch he could taste the bitter nicotine on his tongue, sharp and unpleasant. But he didn't care because Mitch kissed him back, pulling him closer with a hand curled around the back of his neck, and it was everything Stiles has been dreaming of ever since Mitch pinned him up against the door with his hand around Stiles' throat that first night. Mitch kissed him breathless, until Stiles' lips were swollen and tingly, and he gave a soft whine of disappointment Mitch broke it.

"You should go to bed," he whispered, lips brushing Stiles' like he didn't want to pull away either.

"I don't want to."

"Stiles."

"Come with me," Stiles quietly pleaded. "I don't want to sleep alone." He knew there were seventeen reasons why this was a bad idea, but he couldn't help but want. And he knew Mitch wanted it too, could feel it in the way he kissed, like he was holding himself back. For a moment, it seemed like Mitch would go with him. Then he took Stiles by the shoulder and shoved him away.

"No," Mitch decided, his tone harsh, final. "Either you leave or I will."

Stiles reeled back as if he had been slapped. He didn't expect such a cold rejection, especially after that kiss, and it stung. More than he would like to admit, sudden tears stinging his eyes from the humiliation.

Not wanting to show how much Mitch cut him, Stiles pulled away and stalked back to his window, climbing through and slamming it close hard enough to make the glass rattle.

Mitch swore, closing his eyes against the emotional whiplash he was picking up on from Stiles, the closed window doing nothing to serve as a barrier against his projections. Usually Mitch was able to block him out, a skill that had been hard earned, but he was starting to get a migraine.

He'd never seen anything like Stiles before; he wasn't a half-breed, or any kind of psychic, and yet his will was strong enough to get through years' worth of defenses Mitch had built up in an effort to not hear the thoughts of everyone around him. Or maybe he was just distracted by the kiss, by his desire. It had been a long time since he'd wanted someone as much as he wanted Stiles. But the last thing he needed was a teenager panting after him like a puppy, especially when said teenager's father was the local sheriff.

Bruising the kid's pride now and showing him that Mitch was not the kind of person he wanted was in both of their best interests. But even as Mitch tried to convince himself of that, Gabriel's words came to him, haunting.

There is nothing you have ever done for someone else that wasn't first and foremost self-serving. You can dress it up however you like, but you're a selfish prick through and through, and that is why you will never buy your way into heaven.

In his room, the humiliation and longing and loneliness and a dozen other emotions were pouring off of Stiles like poison, and Mitch cursed because he knew what he was going to do as soon as he saw the tears gathering in Stiles’ eyes.

"Fuck me," he said, bitter, and got up. His soul was damned anyway, right?

Stiles sat up in bed when he heard the window slide open, the wood grating against itself in protest. A second later Mitch was climbing through like a spider, all black-clad long limbs and grace. He hadn’t expected Mitch to come after him, and he felt cornered, hiding in his bed with blotchy-red cheeks. He felt like a stupid kid after a temper-tantrum compared to the cool and confident exorcist.

“What do you want?” he asked, proud that he managed to keep his voice steady. It was probably pointless; Mitch could read him like a book before, and that was without Stiles wearing his emotions on his face.

That was the question, wasn’t it? What did he want. To save his soul, mostly. To not have to spend eternity in hell for the mistake he made when he was fifteen and saw no other way out. To deport as many demons as he could. To get the hell out of this shitty little town that had a way of getting under his skin.

But none of that mattered to him now. He didn’t want to leave Beacon Hills if it meant leaving Stiles, and the furthest thing from his mind was saving his soul, when all he could think of was ways to damn it further.

When Stiles got out of bed and cautiously approached, Mitch gave him the raw, unadulterated, sinful truth.

“You. I want you.”

#cookie writes #I never actually posted this did I lol #stiles stilinski #mitch rapp #teen wolf #in which mitch is a psychic and an exorcist #and stiles is SomethingTM #inspired by consantine #well mitch is ayway #I gave him johns backstory of trying to kill himself #bc like that kid totally could have been young mitch #just sayin

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rainbowdelicgalore · 3 years

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My Theory(s) on Chucky's Backstory

The theory post yall been waiting for!!

For this post, I shall be describing theories I, along with my dad, came up with for Chucky's backstory, why everything happened, Chucky's mentality/perspective and the true reasons to Chucky's descent to a serial killer and why he did what he did (aka killing his mother and in turn saying he "helped")

This was manipulation on Charles' dad's killer's part. Up until the incident, I think that the killer had been stalking Charles' family for MONTHES in advance so he could see how Charles "ticked", giving subtle hints (like giving Charles the razor apple) to have him "take notice" of his dark side. And since the killer would've been watching Charles closely, he would know basically everything he needed to know in order to use it as an advantage. And now Chucky is borrowing this method and is now using it on Jake: manipulating a "weird kid" into killing.

The "push" that Chucky was talking about was the fear and trauma of watching his father getting murdered by a stranger, especially since his father's last words were telling him to run. This also would've caused Charles to gain the fear of oblivion. All of this combined with Charles most likely being closest with his father, would've caused a moment of weakness in Charles making him ask himself: "Is it gonna be me or her"? Thinking that they would both die that night, Charles chose to save himself. Also since I saw this said somewhere: the reason why Charles told the killer that he "helped" was so he wouldn't become a target and to seem like he was on the killer's side just so he'd leave, while taking his advice so Charles can make sure that he WOULDN'T COME BACK!

Chucky possibly didn't actually tell Jake everything about what happened. Yes, he told Jake the surface details and just a basic timeline from the time he woke up in bed to the end where he killed his mom and chatted with the killer. He DID NOT tell Jake much of his feelings and thought process at the time, what he and his parents were like as people (just bare bones stuff) or even what happened to him after the murders. Chucky sure as hell doesn't want to fully open up to Jake since he has plans he doesn't want to mess up. The only people who truly know fully what happened are Tiffany, his kids, and what very few close friends he has (for example; in my AUs, John Bishop and Eddie Caputo know since they're childhood friends).

So basically, a weirdo serial killer stalked the Ray family for monthes, gave subtle hints to a young Charles (via the razor apple) since he noticed that his oddness could turn into "something more", made up a horrible, traumatic event for Charles to behold so he could be "pushed" into killing and now Chucky is trying to do the same thing to Jake (and possibly Caroline) so he could have more killer's for his cult, and in turn, prove to the killer (wherever he is) that HE is better than him and not to fuck with him!

I know this is a most likely unpopular theory but fuck it I really wanted to share it somehow! Enjoy!!

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musingsofmyown · 2 years

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Because I am becoming increasingly bored, here's a list of my main OCs:

Saoirse Holmes (Sherlock)-

Age: 22 (sometimes depicted as 16 but she's usually in her early 20s) Mycroft Holmes' child, biologically Short backstory: Born to Mycroft and Kirk (deceased) Holmes. Kirk was shot and killed trying to save Saoirse from a hostage situation. Sherlock got sober and stepped in to help Mycroft through mourning. Mycroft erased all digital records of her and only has a paper copy of her birth certificate, if she doesn't exist, she can't be hurt to get to him.

Kirk Manning/Holmes (Sherlock)-

Age: 42 (deceased) Mycroft Holmes' late husband, Captain of MI6 ops Short Backstory: Kirk comes from east-asian heritage. Years after moving to London, he finds himself under the direction of Mycroft Holmes, head of British Secret Security, and also falling head over heels in love with him. They date, much to the dismay of the other higher-ups, and get married after three years. After their 10th anniversary, they decide to have a child, all the surrogacy papers are filled out, Mycroft is set to be the donor and all is well. One night, they decide to leave Saoirse with a babysitter to go on a dinner date, though it goes horribly wrong and Saoirse is held for ransom and a request for diplomatic immunity signed by Mycroft. They run the ops, but Kirk, unfortunately, gets shot protecting Saoirse from one of the captors who had an itchy trigger finger.

Sterling Lestrade (Sherlock)-

Age: 24 Greg Lestrade's daughter

Zion Ross (Sherlock)

Age: 53 Greg Lestrade's older sister

Thomas Lestrade (Sherlock)-

Age: 32 (deceased) Can you tell I like giving Lestrade family? I'm not even done with him yet.

Lawson Lestrade (Sherlock)-

Age: 45 Greg Lestrade's younger brother Okay Now I'm done

Basil Astor (Sherlock)-

Age: 23 (deceased) Sherlock's Ex (hear me out, you're going to love him) Not-so-short backstory: Basil was a part of the Cambridge exchange student programme at the same time Sherlock was going to university. They were both studying Chemistry and had the same classes. Basil is essentially a French golden retriever boyfriend. He and Sherlock started dating after their first year of knowing each other and they were madly in love. Basil would write him poems and take pictures of him with the expensive polaroid camera he owned. Sherlock adored him so much even though sometimes he wondered if there was a single braincell in that man's head. One day, he didn't come home from work. Sherlock shrugged it off thinking he got caught up at the pub or a club with some of his friends, so he went to bed. The next morning, he gets woken up by a sharp, loud knock on his door. "Are you Sherlock Holmes?" The policewoman asked as he opened the door. "Yes." "I'm sorry for your loss, sir. Basil Astor was found dead early this morning. We searched his body and your name was the last thing written in his notebook." Therefore, Sherlock is afraid to confess to John because he's worried John will be taken away from him as well

Alva R. Othe/Alvaroth (Good Omens)-

Age: (?) idk they're a supernatural entity Lord of Limbo/Purgatory Short Backstory: Being of the highest order of angels (Seraphim) during the Great Fall, God gave them a choice: fall or choose to stay. They chose to become a neutral party, serving Heaven, Hell and Earth. This lead to the creation of Purgatory (aka the sand dunes where Crowley took them during the lil pep talk) which is a neutral ground for angels, demons and humans alike. Purgatory also manages what major events happen on earth: world wars, extinction events, plagues, etc. You could imagine that the early apocalypse pissed them off.

Royal Catalei (TMA)-

Age: 25 Avatar of The Imagined Short backstory: Within The Dark, there is a sub-entity, The Imagined. This is where all the folklore and fantasy creatures reside (mothman, bigfoot, yeti, bogeyman, etc.) They feed off of the fear of what could be in the dark, what stories men have created over the years to comprehend the unseen. Being the child of the two previous Avatars (Anika and Holt) they are the first 'pure' avatar, completely intertwined with the entity itself.

Celestine Rivera (WTNV)-

Age: 20 (completely WIP because I've just recently gotten her up so like- yeah)

#Sherlock OCs #bbc sherlock #TMA #WTNV #OC list #aspen writes

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 3 years

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Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Ep. 4 Takeaway

Uh. No. No, I was not in any way, shape, or form prepared for that heart-wrenching opening. That raw emotion. The gut-punching fear. The devastation. The soul massive relief from under all that fear and pain. No, I was not ready.

“She’s just a kid.” This is why Sam should be Captain America. Look, no one can replace Steve Rogers. There will never be another Steve Rogers. But that’s not the point. Sam isn’t meant to replace anyone. He’s meant to be his own Captain America. A man who has the heart and soul of a person who doesn’t go looking for a fight. A man who will fight when it needs to be done. A man who reaches out with compassion first and fists second. Sam is the Captain America this world needs in these modern times and tbh it doesn’t deserve him.

“Those are our friends you’re talking about.” “The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Thank you for your contribution, Bucky. 😂 No, but, I really liked the our friends. Not just my friends, but our friends and Bucky concurring with that by pointing out who Sam means.

Sam sharing the story about his TT. His family means so much to him as does community and I think that’s why he can relate to Karli and what she wants to do but also cannot condone how she’s going about it.

Yes, if anyone wondered, Baron Zemo would sell out his family to the White Witch for some Turkish Delight.

I do like Zemo stepping back into the more villainous role. While I enjoyed the humor from last episode, it never really sat right with me that they gave Zemo a “tragic” backstory. He was Hydra in the comics and it feels weird to me to change it in such a way. He was a supremacist so his new anti-supremacist ideals is...off-putting to me.

“It wasn’t just one community coming together. It was the entire world.” Hence why Sam can understand Karli’s goals.

Sam assuming the leadership role so much in the episode. So much foreshadowing to what’s (hopefully) to come.

When Bucky loses it with Zemo and Sam is like “Don’t engage. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.” Not only is this more leadership from Sam it’s also showing how much he pays attention. He knows all their social cues. He knew Zemo was gonna do that probably before Zemo even did. In other words, Sam Wilson is remarkable.

Sam calling Sharon for help. I wasn’t expecting her again so soon. Yay!!

As soon as John Walker steps on screen I want to punch something.

“He’s dealt with worth. And he’s not my partner.” Look at Bucky backing Sam up while trying to play it cool. We all know you love him, Buck.

Sam talking to Karli. Coming to her from a place of understanding and genuinely trying to earn her trust because he does understand her pain. He’s filled with so much compassion and so much empathy and he knows how to employ both of them to better a situation and the world at large instead of coming in guns blazing. He gets it. And he wants Karli to know that he gets it. His approach to getting her to see that she’s going about it in the wrong way. But while she’s okay with acceptable loss, she in fact expects it, Sam is not. “No, it’s not a better place if you’re killing people. It’s just different.” Again, this is what makes him a good Captain America.

“He knows what he’s doing.” Bucky’s faith and trust in Sam when Walker is literally itching for a fight. That...cold, obsessed look in Walker’s eyes was chilling. (I’ve given kudos to Mackie and Seb for their acting but I should also acknowledge Wyatt Russel’s chilling performance))

Thank you, John Walker, for coming in and making things better oh wait, no. Just come in a fuck things up. Super of you.

Sam’s immediate “no” when Zemo asked if he’d take the serum if he was offered it and asking about Bucky being included in the “super soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.” “Blood isn’t always the solution.” Sam is just. I’m running out of words.

I’m now walking a thin line of patience with Bucky criticizing Sam over not taking the Shield. Like, yes, he’s right in that Steve’s wishes were not honored, but Sam is living the consequences wanting to do the right thing by giving the Shield to a museum. He did not and would not have ever handed it over to anyone to use, especially not a man like John Walker. Sam didn’t give it to him. The government did. The same way they’d’ve given the serum to a man like Gilmore Hodge. The same way they forced it upon Isiah Bradley and then experimented on him and locked him away. The same way they “agreed” that Sam was doing the right thing by turning the Shield over and then handing it to John Walker. This is not Sam’s fault.

I could take hours of Ayo and the Dora Milaje kicking John Walker’s ass.

Ayo and the Dora Milaje.

Did I mention Ayo and the Dora Milaje?

I really want to know what Ayo said to Bucky there**. After everything the Wakandans did for him, I can understand why she did what she did. She helped give his freedom and his mind back to him. I know Bucky only intercepted in that particular fight because Sam asked him to and he didn’t (not totally) want them to hurt Walker but. They gave him this place of freedom and his actions (breaking Zemo out, getting involved in their fight) did disrespect them.

The Dora stepping on and catching the Shield. SWOON.

“They weren’t even super soldiers.” Oh, boo freaking hoo. You don’t need the serum to be a superhero, dude. And the fact that you’re basing so much of this on that plus your obesssion to gt it just proves you’re not worthy of it.

“Power just makes a person more of themselves, right?” Vs. “Because a strong man, who has known power all his life, will lose respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows compassion."

Seriously, the expressions John Walker makes sends chills down my spine.

Karli calling Sarah. I actually thought she’d show up in person. Sarah’s comments about “Captain America” and her assurances that Sam is not working for Walker.

Sam’s immediate protectiveness when Sarah calls him and Bucky’s worry on his behalf. Sam’s anger with Karli when they meet again and the fact that he didn’t argue with Bucky for him wanting to come rather than Sam going in alone.

Sam and Bucky working together (anyone notice a lot less bickering??) is so amazing. I love them as a team.

Sam’s face when he realizes that Walker took the serum.

Quite honestly, if Bucky Barnes wanted to stab me with knives all night long, I’d let him.

Not happy with them killing Lemar for white man pain. I’m sure there were other ways they could have had Walker rage out.

That amazing parallel between Steve slamming the Shield down in Civil War to defend himself and Bucky and Walker killing a person who was just with Karli.

Speaking of parallels, there was SO many in this episode. The serum vials being shattered. The bursting through the doors Shield first. The jumping out of the window with the Shield. Just wow.

“The Whole World is Watching”. A quote from Black Panther when T’Challa did not kill Klaue, an actual terrorist. The title of this episode when John Walker kills a man who didn’t even incite his rage.

And, of course, that final image. I’m still shaking over it. If there’s a better image for what America represents to the rest of the world, idk what is. I just want to cry after seeing what this man is doing with it. This is why he’s U.S. Agent who represents the “power” and “strength” and “might” of the United States. Not Captain America who represents the ideals and hopes of what any country can be.

The acting in this is utterly incredible. The story has me reeling. My mind has been blown by each and every episode and I can’t believe there are only two left.

**Edit: Got it now! Thanks to those who messaged/replied!!

#Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #John Walker #Falcon and the winter soldier #Lemar Hoskins #Baron Zemo #marvel #Sharon Carter #mcu shows #fws spoilers #mcu #long post #my stuff #thoughts

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maxineswritingcenter · 3 years

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Maybe in Another Life - Dean x fem!reader part 4

In this universe, Chuck had won, Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) were the only ones left. They must find another reality to live so they can find a way to bring back their own. But after getting separated, (Y/N) must find her Dean while working with this universe’s hunters.

Also Season 15 spoilers

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2005

(Y/N) was a young hunter down on her luck. She was on her last twenty bucks and her last tank of gas. She wanted to get this hunt done so she could go down to Vegas to hustle a couple old men out of a couple hundred bucks. Selling pictures of her body wasn’t honest work, but it was work.

For right now, hunting was more of a duty than a pay bill, her parents had been killed by a vampire clan with (Y/N) narrowly escaping. So when she heard that the vampires who killed her parents were back in town, she wanted revenge. The only problem was that she had to team up with John Winchester. The guy was a complete hardass, military-like instructions. He had little to no respect for anyone, including his own kid.

After the hunt and telling Mr. Winchester the place on her body that he could place his dusty, crusty lips on, she was walking back to her car or as she liked to call it, the mansion. Behind her, she could hear a car pull up and John Winchester saying he would be back soon. She looked over her shoulder, seeing John getting in a car and his son, Dean watching the car leave.

His eyes then landed on her. Dean started jogging towards her car. This outta be good. The guy was a flirt... A good flirt, but a flirt nonetheless. But something told her that behind shell was a heart of gold and so much trauma, it reminded her a lot of herself. Alone in a dark world that kept getting darker.

“What’s wrong? Daddy dearest kick you out?” She asked as she opened the door and threw her bag into the passenger seat.

“Uh no, he went out on his own for a hunt.” He looked at the ground awkwardly, “I wanna apologize about him. He’s kind of-”

“An asshole?” She finished the sentence.

Dean slipped his hands into his pockets, “I was gonna say rough around the edges.”

“If by rough you mean sandpaper.” She looked at him, “Sure.”

Dean smiled, his bright green eyes sparkling, “I guess. Uh, where you headed?”

She sighed and looked at him, “I dunno. Wherever I can earn my next dollar.” She got into her car and closed the door, turning the key. And turning the key. The key, turning. Car not starting.

“Son of a bitch!” She slammed her hand against the wheel. Dean gave her a innocent looked, leaning down into her window.

“Did you know this model is notorious for just not working?”

She looked back at him, “I am well aware.” She rested her head against the steering wheel, “It was all I could afford at the time. And now I’m screwed.”

“Well...” He opened her door, “You could hitch a ride with me.” She turned her head, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What’s the catch? Because this.” She motioned to her body, “Aint free.”

Dean backed off quickly, holding his hands up in surrender, “Woah woah, sweetheart. I ain’t that kinda guy. Not that you’re not...” He looked her up in down, “Incredibly beautiful. But I feel like you deserve it after my dad said what he said.”

“You mean when he told me that the reason the vampires killed my parents was because I wasn’t strong enough at the ripe age of ten?” She got out of the car, grabbing her bag.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He smirked, “I also wanted to apologize for that over a slice of pie at that diner we passed on the way into town.” She hummed, tapping her chin as she walked to the back of her car, hitting it just right so that the trunk opened.

“I don’t have any money.” She said, “So I can’t pay you back until later.”

“I don’t have money either.” He shrugged, reaching into the trunk and grabbing a suitcase of all her worldly possessions, “I’m just really good at shooting pool.”

“Hey dad, it’s Dean again... Why aren’t you answering your phone? And what the hell was that voicemail you left me?” (Y/N) watched Dean grip onto the payphone tightly. They were sitting outside an apartment near Stanford university where Dean was going to talk his brother into trying to find their dad on a hunt that he hadn’t come back and hadn’t answered his phone. In the days since Dean and (Y/N) had been driving, they had actually gotten to know each other very well, they were becoming close friends.

After the line went dead, Dean got back into the Impala and cursed, gripping onto the steering wheel.

“Look, you don’t have to be apart of this if you don’t want to.” Dean looked at (Y/N).

She shook her head, “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Dean-Bean.” She reached into her bag of cherry twizzlers, taking a bite, “Plus.” She said around the candy, “He may be an asshole, but he probably needs help.”

Dean chuckled, leaning over and taking a bite of the twizzler in her hand, “I appreciate it, sweetheart.” He winked.

“Awh.” She pouted dramatically, “I don’t get a fun nickname?”

“How about snookums?”

“Oh absolutely not.” She laughed.

“Honeybunches?”

“No.”

“Sugar booger?”

“The Spanish word for no is no.”

Dean shook his head, “Alright, alright. How about sweetheart when you’re sweet, and sweet-tart when you’re a little crabby?”

“I do not get crabby.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

She rolled her eyes, reaching down on the floor of the car in front of her and pulling a burger out of the bag, “Shut up and eat.”

2006

After the semi truck crashed into them, John, Sam, and (Y/N) were left with minor injuries while Dean was left in critical condition. He was in a coma, hooked up to a wall of machinery and a breathing tube in his throat.

(Y/N) had been confined to her room with a broken ankle, kept in touch by Sam who would come in to explain what was happening. Dean was in the space between life and death and John was going to summon the demon he had been searching for to get revenge against him for... well, for everything.

As she lay in her bed, tears in her eyes, she spoke to no one, but hoped he was listening.

“I don’t know if you’re hear right now, Dean. But...” She inhaled deeply, “But I want you to know that I love you.” She chuckled, “And I know you’re probably thinking that I’m only saying this because you’re having your out of body experience moment and you could die. The reality is that I love you. You put up that flirty, whore persona, but I know who you really are. Those nights when we’re alone and we talk about our lives together and depression backstories. I’ve never trusted anyone more. And I love you. So...” She looked around, “So please, don’t die on me. I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

Finally, (Y/N) had managed to get into a wheel chair in the night, the night that Dean woke up. The night John died in the basement of the hospital, giving his life for Dean’s.

Sam was passed out asleep in a chair next to Dean’s bed while Dean was wide awake, staring out the window.

“Hey...” She said softly, rolling up to the side of his bed. He glanced at her, a small smile pulled at his lips.

“How’s it goin’, hot wheels?”

She sighed, “You were literally in limbo this morning, but now we’re laughs?”

“Gotta get through the pain somehow.” He looked back towards the window. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a slight squeeze.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” She said, “My last words weren’t kind to him. If I would have known...”

Dean shook his head, “Nah, you had every right to talk to him like that. Especially after the last few days.” He looked down at her, “I heard you by the way.”

Her eyes widened, “No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“No, no, you didn’t.”

“You called me a whore.” He spoke in a hushed voice, taking a small glance at Sam before looking back at (Y/N).

“Well, you are.” She shrugged, “Kinda.”

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed, “Look... My point is... The feelings are mutual.” Her eyes widened.

“I was on death’s door, I’m not gonna deny what I’m feeling anymore.” He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on her knuckles, “I love you.”

As they started searching around the town, Sam was finally able to get ahold of Dean.

“Dean? Dean, is everything alright?” Sam asked into the phone. Jack and (Y/N) head’s snapped back towards Sam on the phone. Her heart felt a little less heavy then. Dean was alive and that meant she hadn’t lost everything.

“Okay, we’re in downtown Hastings, we really need to plan out our next move.” Sam said. After a moment, Sam looked up at her, “Yeah, she’s still here.”

That was the other thing that made her heart feel heavy, call it survivors guilt. She came from a dead universe, just like all those hunters had, and she was still there.

It was scary being on an empty planet. You never realize how much noise the world made until the world had gone silent. Everyone in Hastings was gone. Everyone in Minnesota was gone. The whole world. They were all that was left. They made to an intersection on an empty street. Cars stopped or crashed where they were last operated. The soft puttering of the Impala made them pause. Dean parked it on the street corner, getting out and looking around the abandoned town.

Dean walked over to the group, closest to (Y/N), reaching down and holding her hand. She welcomed this touch, knowing it well. He was devastated, he needed something to ground to the world. He was shaking slightly, not enough to be detected by the human eye.

“Everyone's gone.” Sam said, “You see anybody on the way here?”

“No.” Dean answered, sounding like he didn’t believe it himself.

“I couldn't save anybody. Billie-”

“It wasn't Billie. It was Chuck.” Dean said.

“What?” Sam and (Y/N) asked together.

“Where's Cas?” Jack asked. It was only then that she realized that Cas was no where to be found. And when Jack said his name, Dean’s hand clenched down on hers.

“Dean?” Sam asked hesitantly.

Dean looked everywhere but the Nephilim, “He saved me. Billie was coming after us, and Cas summoned the Empty. It took her. And it took him. Cas is gone.” Jack looked like his whole world had fallen apart, and it had. His father was gone.

“This can't be happening.” Sam shook his head. Maybe in a state of shock.

“It is, Sam. I think everyone's gone.” Sam shook his head, bringing his phone out and making a call.

Dean dropped her hand, walking to the young boy, “Jack, I'm sorry.” (Y/N) stayed in his position in the street, looking around.

This was impossible. They had no option. No plan. It all seemed so hopeless. Maybe she couldn’t save them... She couldn’t save this world. How could she save a world that was already gone?

They made their way to a diner in town and made their way inside to regroup. The diner looked like everyone had dropped what they were doing - eating- and disappeared. Food was still on the table, the fryer was still crackling in the kitchen. On the television was what was supposed to be a football game, but all the screen showed was an empty stadium and an empty field.

“Hey,” Dean motioned to the TV, “It brings a whole new meaning to the term "sudden death." He turned the bar’s tap off so the stream of beer coming from the stout ceased.

“Do you think we're it?” Sam asked, “All that's left?”

Dean chuckled darkly, “Yeah. You, me, her, Jack.” He looked out to the window where Jack was sitting on a large cement planter. He asked for space to come to terms with the fact that Castiel was gone. He needed it. Honestly, they all needed it. She had lost Cas before, but losing him again was twice as hard. Dean had poured himself a pint. Alcohol had always been his vice.

Soon enough though, Jack made his way inside, staring at the hunters, “Hey. So, um, what now?”

“I did this.” Sam spoke up, “We could have just given Chuck what he wanted, you know, his grand finale. But I resisted. I pulled the thread. I thought we could beat this game, do it better. We tried to rewrite him, and the whole world paid the price.” Sam looked at (Y/N), “I’m sorry. But you’re mission to save us... I ruined it.”

“Sam, we can-”

“We can what?” Sam interrupted his brother, “There's nothing left, Dean. No one left to save. Everybody's gone.”

“You can't just give up.” Jack spoke up.

“What other choice do we have?” Sam snapped back.

Sam and Dean decided to hash it out with Chuck, agree to his ending of brother against brother. If it meant that they could get things back to the way it was, maybe they could try something new. They had dropped (Y/N) and Jack off at the bunker before leaving.

The two were left at the bunker, hoping the plan would work, but frankly their nerves were shot that hope seemed like a fever dream. (Y/N) had made food but both of them were too emotionally devastated to really eat.

As (Y/N) was cleaning up dishes, Jack walked into the kitchen silently.

“(Y/N)?” He asked.

She turned and gave him a soft smile, “Yeah?”

Jack came around, grabbing a dish towel and slowly drying off a bowl, “I was just wondering what I was like in your world.”

She hummed, “You’re pretty much the same. I think you ate a little more nougat though.”

“I feel like I was happier.” He said, drying a cup.

“Why’s that?”

Jack paused his drying and looked up at her, “Because I would have had you since the beginning. You have been so kind and warm to me. Even after all the things I’ve done.”

She looked at him, handing him a plate, “Jack-a-bug, you have powers that angels have had millennia to master.” She looked at him, “You’re still learning. When you’re learning sometimes you do things you didn’t mean to and you feel awful. But for how long you’ve been with us, with how much you’ve learned, I think you’re doing great.”

Jack nodded and then looked at her with a head tilt that reminded her so much of her friend in the trench coat, “Jack-a-bug?” He asked.

She let out a small laugh, “Oh yeah.” She shook her head, “That’s what I called my Jack. I had a lot of nicknames for you. Sweet boy, Dean two, Jack-a-bug. I’m pretty sure he hated it though.”

“No.” He said, “I like them. They make me feel... Special.”

She smiled, cupping his cheek, “That’s because you are. Not because you’re a Nephilim. Because you’re ours.” He smiled weakly, then excused himself to bed.

(Y/N) was sitting at the world map table, waiting for the brothers to get home. When they did, she stood up from the table, look expectantly. Sam only shook his head and went straight to his room. Dean however stood in the entrance of the room.

“What’d he say?” She asked. She had an idea of the answer, but she needed to hear it.

“Uh, he wants us to rot here.” He said casually. He walked into the room, cupping her cheeks in his hands, “So what do you say me and you play catch-up over some whiskey?”

“Dean-” She said, holding his wrists to take them off her cheeks.

“Sweet-tart.” He sighed, looking down at her, “There’s nothing we can do right now. Or maybe at all. Please.” He rested his forehead on hers, “Can we please just... Let’s just have tonight. No universe difference, no your Dean my (Y/N). Just be mine for tonight.”

“Okay.” She said softly, giving his hands a squeeze, “But if you call me sweet-tart again, I’m gonna drink your good whiskey that you hide in garage.”

He narrowed his eyes, a sly smile on his face, “How do you know where I hid that?"

She hummed and leaned up, rubbing her nose on his, "Who do you think put it there in the first place."

He chuckled, dropping his hands from her face to her hands, pulling her towards the garage.

-------------

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vostokovasmelina · 4 years

Text

loyalty.

for anonymous.

pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k+

warning: this starts out slightly smutty, so don’t be too surprised; also a little bit of death and a whole lot of messy writing

request: Can you write something for Thomas with #3 of the fluff list and #2 of the angst list with the reader being kimbers younger sister and Tommy heavily falling for her but the Shelbys are against it and want to talk him out of it but she's the one who kills Kimber in order to stop the war between them and the shelbys and they realizes she's good for him

prompts:

fluff #3 - “I think I’m in love with you.”

angst #2 - “Please, don’t go out that door.”

a/n: i know this was requested for the blurb week but it’s too long and i like this idea too much to only write a blurb, so here it goes; my brain is also struggling to function properly, therefore this is trash but i gave up trying a long time ago

His hand was resting lazily on your stomach, weighing it down just the right amount to call it pleasant. You could feel the warmth of his hand, the perfect contrast of the cold tips of his toes tickling your feet. You let out a silent sigh and turned your head towards him slowly, fingers trailing unrecognisable patterns on the back of his hand. Your heart jumped up into your throat at the sight of him- so raw, so human as he was sleeping soundly in your bed, under your blankets, next to you, his body warming yours all night long. Oh how you wished the morning hadn’t come so early, the time for goodbyes hadn’t approached so rapidly. You wanted this moment to last forever, you wanted Thomas Shelby to stay in your bed and never leave it again.

You were watching as he blinked his dreams away and laid his gaze on you, a soft smile lingering in the corner of his mouth. You shifted closer under his arm and he pulled you towards himself, his left hand grabbing the soft skin right above your butt with the right amount of force. Tommy pulled you on top of himself and you obliged as his right hand traced its way up your spine, awakening goosebumps everywhere they went and delicate fingers finally arrived at the back of your neck to tug gently but with passion at your H/C locks. You leaned down and your lips crashed with unappeasable hunger on both sides, yours parting just slightly to give way to your tongue into Tommy’s mouth. He let out a throaty groan as you positioned yourself on his bare thighs, your soft skin getting close enough to his crotch to tease him and you pulled away just enough to give space to a playful smile creeping its way onto your face.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Tommy mumbled into your open mouth right before biting down on your bottom lip and now it was your turn to moan and his to smirk.

“Yeah? What would your family say, Mr Shelby?” You teased, your grip on his throat tightening just enough to make his breathing a tad more audible and his eyes filled with lust as he raised his glance at your ruffled hair and parted lips. Right before you could lean back down, Tommy grabbed your waist with both hands and threw you on your back, earning a surprised gasp from you as he climbed on top of you, his weight pushing you into the mattress. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, peppering your soft skin with gentle kisses before leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“Who the fuck cares what they’d say?” He finally replied, making you grin and you could’ve sworn you had found your place among the stars when Tommy kissed your lips as if his life depended on it.

However, deep down, you knew that you cared and you knew that no matter what he had said, Tommy cared, too. After all, you were the member of the Shelbys’ biggest rival clan and it didn’t matter that it was practically only your name linking you to the Kimbers. It also didn’t matter that you were neutral to all their businesses and didn’t even know the details of any of them- all the Shelbys heard was your surname and it was enough for them to paint a picture of you. A picture they would definitely not make a part of their collection. And no matter how hard Tommy had been trying to make them accept you and believe you when you said you didn’t share your brother’s views, they stayed entirely uncompromising. You didn’t even ask them to fully lay their trust in you- you simply wanted the Shelbys to accept the fact that he clearly loved you and you loved him and to leave you and Tommy alone.

You even accidentally eardropped on one of Polly and Tom’s conversation about the topic when the older woman thought they were alone. It was more like a monologue than a proper conversation, really, and most of it was Polly Gray accusing you of crimes you had never committed even in your wildest dreams. She seemed so eager to remove you from her nephew’s side that you just knew she had already made up a horrifying backstory to scare Tommy away and would have used it against you if you hadn’t cleared your throat behind her. That was the moment the pair of Shelbys realised you had heard everything.

Tommy’s gaze softened as he spotted you, only to turn cold again when you sent him a sad smile, picking your coat from the hanger and nodding at Polly who simply frowned at you in return. Your boyfriend pushed himself up and out of the chair and called out for you right before you could turn the doorknob.

“Y/N! Please, don’t go out that door,” he pleaded, finding himself exactly in the middle between you and his aunt. You shot him one last regretful glance before turning and stepping out into the cold Birmingham night, but Tom had already made up his mind and his aunt wasn’t enough to stop him from following you, choosing you over peace in his family. And you might have been the happiest person alive when Tommy pulled you into himself from behind and accompanied you home that night, but it also meant that you would have to put up with your own family’s bullshit as well. You were not easily intimidated by your brother’s methods, but you were sick to the stomach of always having to hide the man you loved from his men in order to not get Tom killed.

As he placed one last kiss on your lips and slipped out of bed to get dressed, you turned on your side to watch him doing so, trying to enjoy your final moments together that day. You swallowed hard to get rid of the bittersweet taste in your mouth but the closer you got to the moment Tommy would leave, the harder it got to ignore your feelings. It was exceptionally difficult to say goodbye to him now that you knew where he was off to.

“Are you sure guns should be involved?” You questioned, your gaze following his every movement.

“This is a question you should be asking your brother,” Tommy murmured, tying his shoelaces and putting on his peaked hat, offering you his hand one last time. You hesitated before taking it and let him pull you out of your warm and messy bed and into his embrace. “I can take care of myself. And there won’t be blood shed if we can talk it out,” he promised, raising your hands to his lips to shower them with soft kisses.

“Oh, I know that. It’s my brother’s intentions I’m worried about,” you added, leaning your forehead against your boyfriend’s, inhaling his familiar scent deeply as if you were trying to engrave it into your memories.

“I’ll take care of him,” he whispered to you, his voice hardly audible. Little did he know that you had already decided you’d take care of your brother yourself.

Tommy didn’t take his eyes off of you the whole time while they took your brother’s lifeless body away, his blood leaving a long trail behind him. When you appeared with the gun already cocked in your hand, Thomas was going to jump in and pull his own trigger, protecting you from your family’s wrath and revenge. However, you were determined and you were going to go through with it, not even Tom being able to stop you. And even after you had seen the bullet from the gun in your hand break its way into your brothers skull, you felt nothing even close to regret. He had pushed you away a long time ago and was only a shadow of the person you remembered him to be once, so it almost felt like killing a stranger, a rival even. But as easy as pulling the trigger was, recovering from the shock your first kill had caused you seemed to be a rather difficult task.

Tommy finally approached you and turned you away from the sight of your dead brother, burying your face in his chest and ordering the Peaky Blinders to deal with your family, so they wouldn’t get the chance to take their revenge. You gripped Tom’s shirt, the smooth material wrinkling between your fingers and his own slender ones sent shivers down your spine as they traced their way through your hair.

“Why did you do that?” You heard him whisper in your ear, not quite believing that any of this had just happened. Tommy couldn’t help but blame himself for letting you do the dirty work, his dirty work, for not stepping in sooner and stopping you from dipping your hands in your brother’s blood. He had never wanted for you to get a taste of this life, because once you had, there was no going back.

You finally pushed him away from you so you could look around freely, searching for any of your family members hiding somewhere and waiting for the perfect moment to put a bullet through your head. However, you could only see the Peaky Blinders standing in a messy circle around you, all of them looking you up and down as if you were the oddest creature they had ever seen.

“What the fuck?” You heard John yell from behind you but the only thing you cared about at that moment was Tommy’s pale blue eyes piercing into your tired E/C ones and his lips slightly parted in a failed attempt to say something. You offered him an exhausted smile, one that was mostly visible in the corner of your eyes and took his hands gently in yours.

“It was time I had shown loyalty.”

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not-wholly-unheroic · 4 years

Text

On the Origins of Hook: The Complicated and Often Contradictory Backstory of a Villain

The story of Peter Pan has been told and retold in writing, on the stage, and on the big screen countless times, yet in the original storyline, we are thrust into a world with a pre-established (and presumably long-standing) relationship between its hero and villain with little information regarding their pasts. So far as the audience is concerned, Peter and Hook have always been a part of the Neverland...yet as evidenced by the many retellings that attempt to answer the question of these characters’ origins, clearly, people want to know more. Barrie, however, leaves a great deal to the imagination and while he tackles a bit of Peter’s past in The Little White Bird, there is significantly less information about Hook in his writings, and much of it is up for debate, as Barrie arguably contradicts himself.

In terms of canon (which for the purposes of this article I am limiting to Barrie’s final published version of the novel), much of what we know about Hook can only be inferred from a few brief passages. In the initial introduction of the pirates, Barrie gives us the following description of Hook:

In the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark setting, reclined James Hook, or as he wrote himself, Jas. Hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the Sea-Cook feared. He lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and instead of a right hand he had the iron hook with which ever and anon he encouraged them to increase their pace. As dogs this terrible man treated and addressed them, and as dogs they obeyed him. In person he was cadaverous and blackavized, and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expression to his handsome countenance. His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly. In manner, something of the grand seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and I have been told that he was a raconteur [storyteller] of repute. He was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different cast from his crew. A man of indomitable courage, it was said that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour. In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated Stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once. But undoubtedly the grimmest part of him was his iron claw.

From this, we may be able to draw a few conclusions about who Hook was before he came to the island. (1) He was likely a sailor, if not a pirate, BEFORE he met Peter, given that he had previous interactions with “The Sea Cook”--that is, Long John Silver. (2) He was alive and most likely an adult by the mid 1700s, as in Treasure Island, Billy Bones--a former crewmate of Silver’s--has the date 1745 in his log and the dates 1750 and 1754 on his treasure maps. (3) Hook’s hairstyle and fashion is similar to that of Charles II, whose reign ended with his death in 1685.

We are also informed by John that Hook was supposed to have been Blackbeard’s bosun. Blackbeard was born somewhere around 1680 and may have been a privateer earlier in his career at sea, but he didn’t actually take up piracy until 1716 and had only a very brief reign of terror before he was killed off the coast of North Carolina in 1718. Assuming Hook was meant to be Blackbeard’s bosun after he went pirate, this gives us a pretty narrow window of time during which Hook might have interacted with him. And, if we take the comment about the Sea Cook seriously, then Hook must have been pretty young at the time he worked for Blackbeard, given that there is a twenty-seven year gap between Blackbeard’s death and the earliest date Billy Bones offers in connection with Silver.

Hook also uses words and phrases such as, “Pan, who and what art thou?” which would seem to indicate that he is from a time period centuries before the Darlings come to visit. (“Thee” and “thou” had pretty much completely fallen out of common use in English by the late 1700s/early 1800s.)

So far, so good. The dates might make it a bit of a stretch, but we can pretty comfortably say that prior to Neverland, Hook was a sailor--and probably a pirate--during the 1700s, was likely born in the late 1600s, and was possibly a related to Charles II, who had many illegitimate children. This possibility fits nicely with Barrie’s statement that, “Hook was not his true name. To reveal who he really was would even at this date set the country in a blaze.”

We don’t know much about his parentage, however, except that Hook’s voice cracks when he is speaking to Smee about mothers regarding the neverbird’s refusal to leave her eggs even after the nest falls into the water. Whether this is because he was close to his own mother and is lamenting her loss or he had a rather indifferent (or even cruel) mother and he is lamenting his own lack of a loving childhood is up for debate, though the official sequel, Peter Pan in Scarlet--written in 2006 by Geraldine McCaughrean--favors the second interpretation. (Again, however, for the purposes of this article, I am only considering Barrie’s published novel as canon.)

We also learn that Hook attended Eton, a rather prestigious school for boys between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. Assuming Hook completed his schooling there and was, therefore, at least eighteen by the time he joined up with Blackbeard, it would place his being born somewhere close to 1700. Assuming his interaction with Long John Silver was, at the earliest, probably around 1745, and that this interaction happened prior to his visiting the Neverland, it puts Hook (physically) at approximately age 45 by the time we meet him in the book, give or take a bit.

There are two potential problems with that timeline, however. (1) In Barrie’s original novel, only Peter stays young forever. The boys can technically grow up, and Peter “thins them out” when they do. (Decide for yourself whether that means banishment or something worse.) If this is the case, Hook shouldn’t still be alive or, even if the aging process is slowed down, at the very least, he should be an old man, given that the Darlings visit in the early 1900s...making him at least two hundred years old. (2) Near the end of the book, when Hook is trying to convince the boys to join his pirate crew and John asks innocently whether they would still be loyal subjects of the king, Hook responds with, “You would have to swear, ‘Down with King George!’” John (and likely the audience) assumes here that Hook is talking about King George V, who would have been the present king of England at the time the novel was published. If this is the case, how does Hook know who the king is? Has he been able to leave the island and find out this information? Or is Hook, perhaps, from a more modern era than we suspect? Cleverly, Barrie leaves this question open-ended, as Hook could just as easily have been referring to King George the First, who ruled England from 1714 until 1727.

As for personal hobbies, we know only that he loves flowers and plays the harpsichord--an instrument that was once quite popular but which had fallen out of favor by the 1800s, replaced by the piano.

The rest of the information we get from Barrie about Hook’s origins comes primarily from his “Hook at Eton” speech, delivered in 1927--many years after his original play (1904) and novel (1911). And here’s where things get interesting (read: contradictory). Because he wrote the speech so many years later, as a sort of afterthought, and because of the inconsistences with the novel, I personally reject this information as canon. Nevertheless, it is Barrie’s take on his own character and, therefore, is worth at least considering.

In this work, we are told that Hook not only attended Eton but also--at least briefly--went to Oxford. This in and of itself poses no major problems for the timeline suggested by the novel. What DOES pose a problem, however, is the fact that Barrie claims to have been in contact with Hook’s “Aunt Emily”--apparently his closest surviving relative--and has been in search of possible photographs of Hook during his time there. This would indicate that Hook MUST be from a much later, more modern era than the book suggests, as photography didn’t really come into fashion until the mid-1800s, and even if “Aunt Emily” is quite old (and she is likely a good fifteen to twenty years OLDER than Hook if we assume she is near in age to one of his parents) at the time of Barrie’s supposed meeting with her, she couldn’t have reasonably been expected to have been born before the early 1800s, placing Hook’s own birth nearer to the 1850s. While some of the information in the novel might be explained away to fit with this date (his choice of dress and hairstyle, for instance), he could not possibly have interacted with Blackbeard or Long John Silver. In fact, he could not have been a pirate--at least, not in the traditional sense--at all, as the Golden Age of Piracy (1650s--1730s) had long passed and the Age of Sail ended in the 1860s. Because of this inconsistency, some have argued that Barrie may have intended Hook to be a more modern man who essentially became trapped in a child’s fantasy land. He became a “pirate” only AFTER his interactions with Pan--that is, he took on the role of a villain because that is how Peter and the children imagined him--and that John’s assertions about his interactions with Blackbeard and Silver are merely rumors that the boy has heard.

Setting aside this apparent contradiction in the timeline, we DO learn some other interesting facts about Hook. For instance, Hook’s blood (which was said in the novel to be thick and strangely colored), is specified as having been yellow. This, along with his appearance having been described in the novel as “cadaverous” has lead some to conclude that Hook was likely rather sickly as a child. We also learn that Hook enjoyed the Lake poets and strawberry mess (a dessert), collected keys, performed well in sports while at Eton (though he did not like water sports as he rather surprisingly hated the feeling of water on his skin), and played the flute. We also learn that he was politically conservative and was probably never in a romantic relationship.

There are a few other bits of information about Barrie’s idea of Hook that can be found in the early manuscripts for the play, which feature “deleted scenes.” One such manuscript--the earliest, I believe--can be found here. (Though good luck with reading it without going cross-eyed because Barrie’s handwriting is BAD.) However, I think this post has gone on long enough, yet we are still left with many unanswered questions. But perhaps this is what Barrie intended all along. Perhaps, fittingly, we are ultimately left to fill in the blanks about this villain of the Neverland with our own imagination.

_____

Thanks to @katherinenotgreat for asking me to do a post on Hook’s origins. Thanks also to @concordia-cum-sinistro for your input. Feel free to add your own information regarding the original manuscript drafts, as I know you are more familiar with them than I am.

#peter pan #captain hook #captain james hook #james hook #jm barrie

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abluescarfonwaston · 3 years

Text

dgs no death au

No death au where Wilson isn’t killed in the first trial and is on the boat back to England with Herlock and our main cast. Spoilers for case 2/ minor potential spoilers up to the start of case 5 (and Iris’s backstory) under the cut.

Since the swan lady didn’t murder Wilson he was onboard and saved Kazuma’s life (don’t ask me how a doctor in that period would save someone with a broken neck idk but case 4 gave me Vibes) So he lives. Case 2 plays out much the same way except with the ‘He’s not dead yet’ reminders like case 4.

In the end they figure it out and Ryunosuke spends his time at Kazuma’s bedside taking care of him. There is some combo of Herlock/Wilson advocating that Ryunosuke not be sent back because 1. back up lawyer potentially if Kazuma doesn’t recover quick enough maybe? and 2. he will recover quicker with the additional care and support. Herlock and Wilson are gay and have clearly adopted these baby gays no I will not be accepting criticism on this - Herlock did that same thing with Ryunosuke (hey same trauma! Okay come live with us)

They manage to convince customs to not send him home (maybe thats why they had to take case 3/4) Anyway that’s not important. What’s important is the new fourth case.

Ryunosuke catches a cold. Now this man is living with two actual doctors but that doesn’t mean he’s fighting them any less on his refusal of care. Kazuma is So stressed out because ‘get down off the fireplace and let them help you! No don’t shot glass the medicine you-’ Susato is stressed cause Asogi’s apparent husband (I didn’t even know they were that close before this but if the fact he smuggled him along risking both our study abroad And the fragile peace between our nations then I guess he’s important) is acting like this. John is just trying to get the kid some supportive care. Iris is loading a knockout weapon to take him down with. Herlock is dying cause this is hilarious.

The crowd shifts.

‘It’s now or never!’

Naruhodo flees out the door into the chilly winter streets. We are launched into an ‘investigation’ section where your aim is to find him.

Too little too late- by the time they find him he’s somehow found himself at the heart of a murder case and is the prime suspect.

We get all that good Kazuma defending Ryunosuke stuff from the first trial but with the layer of defending him from Van Zieks and the causal racism of the courthouse because ‘I’ll tolerate you saying that to me but not to HIM not when he’s sick and innocent and should be in bed right now not here!’

We get a Naruhodo variation of the Feenie sick sprites as he tries to help out. Offering his observations and them resisting the ‘what he saw can’t be trusted. He’s both the accused, ill and Japanese! All untrustworthy!’ (’Kazuma please sheath your sword your going to make things worse if you attack him.’ ‘draw your blade Zieks and I’ll cut your saber in fucking half you bastard-’) point to unravel the case.

At some point the jury calls for a guilty verdict. Naruhodo passes out both due to stress/fever into Kazuma’s arms. Holding him with that serious and tender expression of his. Holding him as John Garrideb held his wife. Its definitely not a heavy handed parallel, no.

They manage to delay the verdict and get a recess.

John trying to lower Naruhodo's fever as he burns up on the couch in the lobby while Iris and Shlomes present some new evidence they acquired to help turn the case around. (if he can get the jury to rescind their verdict that is)

Kazuma brushing through his sweaty hair. Kneeling beside him as Ryunosuke did for him during those long weeks at sea and telling him 'Ryunosuke I'm not doing to let this happen. Trust me.' and Ryuu opening those fever bright eyes and telling him 'I know. I do. I do trust you.'

Obviously they manage to pull it off and secure a victory. Naruhodo falls asleep on Asogi’s shoulder as Susato is filling out the release paperwork and they all go home.

It ends with Kazuma sitting at Ryunosuke’s bedside much like how Ryunosuke sat at his side during those long weeks of recovery from his near fatal injury. Herlock and Wilson keeping a quite and close eye on the two boys who remind themselves quite a lot of each other.

#tgaa #dgs #naruhodou x asougi #ryuunosuke naruhodou #kazuma asougi #no death au #and iris gets to hug her daddy and her papa #actively cooridinating the rewrite of case 5 as i go for this #look don't touch me i'm thinking about how it must have hurt herlock to correct her #cause he was her papa and john was her daddy #but if she Said that #also john please be a better father but anyway not what this is about #this is a sicfic #full of love

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heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Nine): Lazarus Rises

Notes: I’m on a roll with writing this. I’m honestly, a little nervous with sharing this chapter since i go more into Johnny’s backstory and like...my headcanon of it since CDPR gave us nothing. But hopefully it works. I also haven't written Johnny's voice in a while, so ahhhh.

Word Count: 12098

Chapter Warnings: Death, brief mentions of child abuse, drug use, alcohol, war, ableism, pov switches but not in the usual way.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

Oblivion wraps around her like a blanket.

There is no existence.

No pain.

No world.

No V.

No Aidan.

Every anxious little thought, every guilt soaked burden; swept away with the reaper’s scythe. Years of running and death has finally caught her.

Then all at once it seems to let her go.

It's a flicker at first, neurons firing up again, rewriting and rebuilding themselves. No true sensation or senses; just existence. World still dark and lost to her, but not she is not lost to it, or some version of her isn’t.

Pain hits her before anything else, a crack in her skull, or where her skull should be. She has no sense of her body, only the vague notion she exists and is in pain. And when every sense returns, the world coming back….

It’s not her own.

There’s a fog around her, a fuzzy filter muting it all. Like trying to recall a memory from too long ago. And she sees and she hears, in a body that isn’t hers. She’s smaller, the world seeming to tower around her. A blazing sun burning overhead in the bright blue of the sky. Playing outside on a sweltering day with bruised knees and grass stains on cheap children’s jeans. A mothers voice calling for Robbie to come home for lunch. She catches a reflection in a puddle, there’s a blur to it, but the dirt smeared face of a dark haired boy looks back at her...at himself… for a moment.

The world shifts and with it comes a pain she can’t truly feel, a belt whipping through the air and welting a back that isn’t her own. Vision blocked by skinny arms marked with cigarette burns, hiding a face from the next lash. A boot gnashing into his side, the thick fog protecting V from the pain he feels. When he clambers to his feet, spitting blood she can’t taste, despite seeing vignettes through his eyes. He walks through a musty home, where the floorboards creak and threaten to break under his feet. A mirror showing a dark eyed boy with a split lip.

Then she’s watching the hands of this boy she doesn’t know, playing guitar. He plucks and strums at strings until they bite into his fingers, until he leaves them speckled with blood. And then he plays more. Gifted an acoustic, stole his first electric but forgot to klep the amp alongside it.

Playing in a musty crowded garage with a young boy with olive skin. Each playing away on instruments, the sounds and words all muffled to V. The pair play badly until they play great, she doesn’t hear, but she knows…

Tequila and cigarettes before he’s old enough to buy them. V can faintly feel the burn of the booze and the warmth of the smoke.

Stealing anything that can be tucked away in his pockets. Spray painting every wall he sees. Cherry bombs in mailboxes, picking a fight with anyone who sets him off and most people do. The faint burning of anger in his chest, she can feel it as if it’s her own. In and out of detention centers, a system that can put him away for petty theft, but never lift a hand to stop his father...

Military reps scouting out young, poor troubled boys, seeing nothing but canon fodder when they look at him.

Knocking on the door and that same olive-skinned, dark haired friend answering. She can hear the words but knows what’s being said without them. Both fog and clarity. ‘Robbie’ is enlisting, off to say his final goodbye to Kerry, a name she doesn’t know how she knows. He comes running down the street after him, before ‘Robbie’ can get too far away. Neither old enough, children. One made of lank and the other with baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. But the military knows boys can take bullets just as well as men. They need bodies, age irrelevant. Forged documents with Robert John Linder scratched across it. That name...

Blurs of training, a mop of dark hair shaved from his head. Separated from Kerry, stationed in different platoons, finding another friend who sticks by his side; both hardened by the military. Lank becoming muscle. Give optics, interface plugs, tech he doesn’t want, but they pry open his skin and put it in anyway. Anything to make him a better soldier.

Then they’re in combat, muffled gunfire. People brutalized; shot, blown apart and chrome shoved into whatever remains; treated cruelly both by the enemy and the corps that shipped them out there. The heat of Mexico and the smell of gunpowder. Enemy ambush, the faint ting of a grenade hitting the ground. Then Robert is on the ground, shoved there and the body of a friend draped over his own. A heavy boom, shrapnel tearing through his left arm and size, burns across the skin. But nothing compared to his friend… A grenade meant for him is taken by another, the pair rushed away to medical attention when the air clears.

He wakes up without a left arm and scars across his torso, pulling tight at his skin. His friend gone, remains thrown out and tags offered to Johnny, the man who died for him nothing but a number, canon fodder in the corp’s war. Not even a day passes before they’re shoving chrome onto what’s left of Robert’s shoulder, eager to give him another chance to die for them.

So, he runs, deserting and heading to a Night City that V has never seen. He climbs into a dirty motel bed and refuses to crawl back out, watching a ceiling fan turn until Kerry pulls him out. Older, more weathered, still young but neither of them quite the children they were before they saw the war.

And music becomes his life. Kerry and him scream their words into any microphone they can find. Blaring concerts, they sound as if they’re coming from three rooms over to the merc, but she can feel the energy through the memory. Long nights writing lyrics and melodies. A band forming around them, three more members coming into the fold. Grimy smoke filled clubs and a cramped pathetic excuse of a tour bus. Shows that turn into riots.

Cigarettes and tequila aren’t enough anymore. He pops pills like candy, snorts anything that will go up his nose, drinks everything but vodka, and fucks any pretty thing that looks his way.

A woman with freckles and blue mohawk kicks his ass when she catches him balls deep inside a groupie.

A blonde thrown into the back of a van.

An anger and rage burning like wildfire in his chest.

It all blurs and rushes; V never fully feeling what’s going on. All senses are fogged, seeing the snapshots of someone’s life through his own eyes. But she doesn’t feel linked, still distanced from it all. Barely able to think or decipher what she sees through the haze of it all. Just watching blips of a life not her own flickering by, with knowledge she shouldn’t have.

Its the feeling of graffiti covered steel pressing against hands that first pushes through the fog. Hands that feel like they’re hers, but aren’t. One inked flesh and the other chrome. V can feel the body move as if it’s her own, but she has no command of it, muscles flexing to open double doors. Surrounded by the halls of a grimy little club. She can smell smoke and sweat, she’d gag but she can’t seem too.

There’s music somewhere, muffled by distance but nothing else now.

Fog lifted, she's both connected enough to it to feel everything, but separate enough to question what the hell is going on? There’s a tangled mess of emotions in her...his…. Their head. Her own fear, anxiety, mingled with a burning rage pitting in his core.

There’s a girl leaning against the dirty wall of the club, watching V...or whoever she’s stuck inside of as they walk down the hell. A little smile playing on her lips. Thoughts flitter around V, in a voice that’s not her own. Chick’s cute enough, might of been worth a quick fuck, if he wasn’t rushin’ for time.

“Hey…”

V wants to ask her what’s going on, if the girl has any idea, what the girl sees when she looks at her. But her hands don’t move to sign and when she feels her mouth move, a different voice, different words, come out. The same rough voice that thought of fucking the girl in a dressing room.

“Hey.”

“You all right?”

No, none of this is alright. V screams inside a head not her own, but she can feel the pride rolling in his chest, a smirk on his face. There’s an anger mixed with it, he’s going to settle a score, leave a mark. Those thoughts and feelings rattling around.

“Never been better.”

“Sure don't look it…’

There’s a scoff in his throat, she’s got no idea what he’s got planned. He continues around the corner, a man at the end of the hall standing before a set of double doors. The letters above say its backstage. Green hued fluorescent lights only draw attention to the grime as his boots click over the floor. That smell of cigarettes and sweat still hangs heavy around her, she thinks it may be coming from him, the man she’s playing passenger in. Oh god, that smell is him, isn’t it…

What the hell is even happening? Dex killed her, didn’t he?

“I can't let you on!” The man yells out at him.

The fuck he can’t. His anger flares, a sliver left arm brought up, slammed into the guy's throat as he’s shoved into a wall, a gun held in chrome fingers. There’s a mirror against it and V can see the man she’s living life through now. And those foggy vignettes press at her, he’s much older now. Face angry and with a scruffy beard, dark hair grown to his shoulders.

His name was Robbie..? Robert.. ? Something, like that.

“Hey hey, we're chill,” the man begs ‘Robert’. He certainly looks too old to be a Robbie.

‘Robert’ lets the guy go with sneer, furious the guy would ever try to get in his way as he marches towards the doors. Abandoned music equipment and the music shoots in volume, a man blocking ‘Robert’ from getting up to a stage. Where four people play what sounds like older dad punk rock.

‘That smack, drag drunken roll

Chips are bashin' in my top

Ridin' high, my slots are shot

Metal burnin' beneath my skin

I'm chippin' in, chippin' in’

V would wince if she had control of her face, his face, does she even have a face anymore? The music is good, but painfully loud, something she could enjoy if only she could lower the volume. Phantom limbs she no longer has urge to turn the volume down on hearing aids that don’t exist.

“Heh… 'course you're high.” The bouncer in front of the stairs rolls his eyes at ‘Robert’ then steps aside.

‘Robert’ climbs up the short staircase, music painfully loud to V but exactly where he feels at him, bright lights down on him. A familiar face, Kerry from ‘Robert’s’ memories, is the one who sings.

Until he’s pushed out of the way, gun still in ‘Robert’s’ hand as he grabs the microphone. Looking out into a crowd of people who stare up at him, an entire club room of people cheering and yelling for him. Shirts with tha bright red demon symbol, Samurai across it. Adoring fans, hearing his words, people who know his message, heard it loud and clear. Common men and women beaten down by the corps that rule their lives, that tear them all down for the chance to make an eddie. And tonight he’ll show them all there’s a bite to his bark; he’ll make his mark, topple Arasaka and do what he should have done years ago.

“Tonight I'm…” he pauses, leaving that mark may be the death of him, he’s damn near sure it will be, “I'm here to say goodbye to all of you.

And he begins to play to the cheering crowd, a final show before he changes the world. V would cry out if she had the mouth to do it. Music shakes the venue, ‘Robert’ playing guitar and screaming lyrics into a mic, completely taking the show from Kerry. He channels his anger, his fury, into his music. Screams his rage into the mic. And it's a cacophony for the merc tucked in the back of his skull. She can feel her own stress and pain, but she also feels his energy, his love of this. Even through the anger, he knows that this is the place he belongs.

This is hell, she thinks as he sings. The idea that every hell is tailored to an individual, everyone has their own personal idea of torment. This is her’s. She died and now she’s doomed to live in the head of some foul smelling rocker who plays nothing but music her sort of ex liked. Surrounded by loud sounds, foul smells, and no control. This is hell, her own special little hell. And she’ll be stuck here forever, for being an atheist or bi or a whore or a murderer… one of those did it.

After an agonizing hour, the show closes down. More sweat is now clinging to her current vessel’s body and V mentally screams at him to take a shower, but no panicked thoughts seem to reach him. He’s completely unaware of her...presence… in his head. Sweat slick, ‘Robert’ puts away his axe and lights up a cigarette; smoke settles in his lungs, the cloying taste of tar sticking to his mouth. But there’s a relief in him, a tension leaving him, nicotine soothing him if only for a moment.

Two women are settled down on the steps of the stage, in clinging tacky clothes. Groupies there to claw their way into the pants of anyone who’ll have them, entire fucking lives dedicated to riding the dick of someone more important than them. Because playing fleshlight to a rockerboy is the closest they’ll ever get to making a difference in this world.

“You're wastin' your lives, followin' us around like dogs.”

If she had hands she’d hit him. The women scowl at him, obviously taken back at the rockerboy talking down to them, like he hadn’t been thinking of fucking a girl just before the show. Like his eyes didn’t look over the curve of their asses and cleavage. If one of them asked he’d be inside of them in a moment, just has to make them feel like shit first.

“What crawled up your ass?’

‘Robert’ sneers and rolls his eyes, walking past the stage. His fingers wrapping around the door handle, he was thinking about something he was going to do, toppling Arasaka. There’s a determination in his walk, a goal he’s marching off too, still hints of a soldier in his steadfast gait. The hell is he planning? How could some rockerboy take down a mega corp? There’s a faint but steady sound past the door, a whirring sound.

“Johnny, wait up!”

He turns, answering to the name she hasn’t heard until now and it’s Kerry running towards him; chasing after him like he did all those years ago, when he followed ‘Robbie’ right to war. She’s not sure if it’s her or ‘Johnny’ remembering it.

Kerry is older now than he was in the memories, though he looks younger than Johnny. A tall fluffy mullet of dark hair, a scraggly mustache, and a half finished sleeve of ink on his left arm. His hand wraps around Johnny’s wrist, pulling him the rocker closer.

“Don't do this,” Kerry warns, “You can still change your mind.”

“Get over here man,” Johnny pulls Kerry in closer, a hand cupped to his friend’s face,“Fuck this band. Not your crowd, not your noise, do your own thing.’

They’re close enough to see the scar above Kerry’s lip and the freckles that dot his neck. Johnny taps his finger against Kerry’s chest as he brings his hand from the shorter man’s face. Kerry’s always cared more for the music than the message, more about fame than impact, Samurai more Johnny’s baby then his. But fears kept Kerry from chasing that solo dream as much as he wants, dipping his toes but never taking the chance to fully dive in. Kerry always needed a good kick in the ass to get where he needs to be, might be the last one Johnny can ever give him.

“Bastard. Tsh… Gonna miss you something awful.”

There’s a softness in Kerry’s voice and smile, a fondness that only comes from lifelong friends. A soft warmth nestles in Johnny’s chest as well, for the first time she feels his lips pull into something she can almost call a smile.

“See ya in the next life, friend.”

With that Johnny puffs on his cigarette and turns, leaving out the door, the whirring growing louder. The source of it shown; a helicopter landed outside the club, blades spinning and whipping up dust. A woman stands nearby, a wild teal mohawk, someone Johnny knows, fuzzy memories of a tumultuous past.

“You're late,” she yells out over the sound of the chopper. Hands on her hips, eyes glaring at him. Always tries to play like she’s pissed, but never could resist him.

“Love it when you're mad. Gets my southern blood pumpin',” he teases with a grin and V can feel the reality of his words, a throb in his dick behind his leather pants. And she doesn’t like that, her discomfort at feeling what it’s like to have a dick oddly mingling with his lust.

“Get in. 'Fore I change my mind.”

Johnny makes his way to the helicopter, climbing inside, blades achingly loud. Two people already sit in the chopper. A man with chromed skin and fatigues, a woman fiddling with a computer. Her face is obscured by a helmet and visor, only black painted lips showing.

“Silverhand,” the man greets him.

Johnny...Silverhand…

“Hey, Shaitan,” he greets as gears start to turn in V’s head, a head she no longer has.

Johnny’s ex, Rogue, comes walking towards the helicopter as he turns back to the open doorway. Her name only known through Johnny’s thoughts skittering around her, but it sounds strangely familiar to V as well. Johnny extends a hand to help Rogue into the chopper, but she ignores him. Prideful bitch, he rolls his eyes.

“Get us in the air,” Rogue yells to the unseen pilot, shoving a headset into Johnny’s hands, “here, put this on, and it stays on, got it?”

Johnny pulls it on and the helicopter starts to take off, the world falling further and further below them. The sign at the top of the club comes into view; The Hammer, Johnny taking another drag on his cigarette as Kerry steps out the back door. Silverhand flicks the out onto the cement as his friend watches the chopper fly off.

As the helicopter flies through skyscrapers and towers, V struggles to take in where they are. Night City, but not. Towering buildings and screens blasting ads, par for the course in the city of broken dreams. But the ads are for products she hasn’t heard of or ones discontinued and no longer sold. The buildings look rougher, not quite the same slick clean look of the city she’s come to know.

A city consumed by corps, a vile cesspit with ads as far as the eye can see, each desperate to wring out one last eddie from the masses. The entire system designed to crush people too apathetic to do a damn thing about it. Exploited, violated, used for a profit, and thrown out the second the corps get what they wanted. And the people just take it. No longer questioning why there’s no more farms, only land stripped for profits and nomads forced to abandon their homes. No longer questioning why real food is a rarity, why the priciest drink on the market is filth free water. No longer questioning why someone like saburo is pushing a hundred and the average Night City citizen won’t see forty. Corruption and apathy, best friends united to create the city of broken dreams. He’d burn it all down if he could, but truthfully can’t imagine himself anywhere else…

So… he’ll burn it all down, die for it if he must, and something better can be built in it’s ashes.

A building in City Center holds a large holo-display showing the time and date; August 20, 2023… Fifty years in the past, the day Arasaka Tower was destroyed. And given his thoughts, she knows where Johnny is headed. That name, Johnny Silverhead, rattles through her. She’s heard it before, a few times. Half listened to conversations with Ava about music, where V would just nod and hope it earned her pity kiss. A name brought up by Jackie when discussing the tower being blown up, shots thrown back in… Rogue’s bar. The older woman with gray hair and the young adult with a wild teal mullet are one in the same.

V is in the foul smelling, cigarette smoking body of a rockerboy turned wannabe terrorist on his way to set off a nuke that will kill over a quarter million people.

“Piers're on fire. Pacifica's cut off, shut down. APCs on the streets of Watson,” Shaitan explains, stationed at the machine gun turret beside Johnny.

“Sons of bitches.”

“Skull-crackin' out there… that us?” A voice, the pilot maybe, asks over the headset.

“Johnny's idea. Weyland's drawing Arasaka's attention away from the tower.”

“Collateral damage part of the plan, too?”

“This isn't the cub scouts, Thompson, Chew it up, spit it out,” Rogue tells him, no hint of fear or remorse in her voice as the chopper starts to come around a tower.

A pillar of black metal with the Arasaka logo emblazoned at the top of it in silver. Levels of the tower get smaller towards the roof, from the distance there’s the bright red flash of holo warning signs forbidding entry. As they ascend higher and higher, the barrage of Arasaka soldiers and turrets atop the tower come into view.

“Target range acquired.”

“Make it rain,” Rogue commands and Shaitan begins shooting off the machine gun turret.

Gunfire rings through the air, Arasaka soldiers yelling out as they fire back, automated turrets beginning to fire at Shaitan. The chopper stays rotating, hovering but never still, to avoid being shot out of the air as the chromed sniper works to clear the roof. Blood painting across the metal as Shaitan blasts through them.

“Fuck!”

Enemy fire, Arasaka fire, blasts through, Pinging against chrome and metal, practically sparking. A lucky shot, or three, ripping through Shaitan’s shoulder and he screams in pain, falling onto his back. Rogue yelling out as she kneels down to check on him, Shaitan convulsing in pain.

“Taking over!”

Johnny takes over the machine gun, optics connecting with the turret sights. Arasaka soldiers flood the roof, nearly impossible to keep track of them; not even a moment passes before Johnny is firing off the gun. It's rapid and brutal, an onslaught as the reverberation of it shakes his body. But there is a hint of strategy beneath, taking out the automatic turrets first, blasting each one until they explode into shrapnel. Only when the final one is in sparks does he turn to the soldiers, Their sidearms can’t compare to the heavy fire. Blasted full of hole at rapid fire, blood and brains spraying.

A body of corpses and shrapnel left across the roof. He pulls away from the gun, unzipping a duffle bag. A white constructed mechanism, wire, switches, and a giant nuclear energy warning across it. He’s about to plant a nuke in Arasaka. Fucking stop it, you idiot, all you do is cause more harm than good. She tries to scream inside his head, but nothing comes of it. The helicopter lowers down closer to the tower roof.

“Murphy?” Rogue calls out.

“Found our access point. Get moving.”

“Johnny, remember the plan?” Rogue asks as Johnny zips the duffle bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“Get the payload on the elevator,” he jumps from the helicopter, “arm it, let gravity do its thing. Explosion rocks the foundation, tower crumbles - chaos, screaming, roll credits.”

He pulls out a gun, a heavy duty pistol, Malorian Arms 3516, Last True Friend etched in it.He spins it between his silver fingers, flourishing and completely unneeded. It’s smartlink tech, synching with his cybernetic arm. And she can feel a sort of dampening of his feelings and emotions, that rage burning in his chest starting to simmer down, a colder more calculated anger taking over.

Rogue and Murphy run ahead of him, across the roof, through the piles of bodies. Johnny follows behind them down a flight of stairs on the side of the building.

“Exit window's gonna be tight,” Rogue tells him, brandishing her own side arm as she comes to wait by a door.

“Jacking in,” Murphy connects a small computer into an interface, “Is grass green, do birds fly, do cats eat bats, do rats shit gnats?”

“Mainframe's not your playground, Murphy, c'mon. Evac announcement - broadcast it across all frequencies and let's get movin’.”

“Sheesh, who wrote this manifesto?”

“Really need me to answer that question?”

“Jesus, Johnny, you've gone of the deep end. And that's comin' from chairjock,” Murphy tells him, interface with a spider avatar drifting across the door, before it slides open.

Johnny rushes through and down a flight of stairs as Arasaka guards running to meet him. He shoots the first in the head, point blank, brains splattering. The gun is powerful, devastating, sending a reverberation through Johnny’s silver arm. Enough that bone would have broken in the recoil. The guard no longer recognizable.

The second guard stays further back, at the bottom of the second step. Johnny slams a trigger on the back of his gun, shooting flames out towards the guard. The man screams and staggers back, flesh burning as Johnny follows up with a shot through his chest.

A third one follow, stumbling over burning remains, when three shots go through his skull, Rogue taking him down. The two continue down the spiraling stairs, stepping through blood and ash. The meet another guard at the end, who fires off his hand gun rapid fire.

“Shred the whole fuckin' lot!”

The pair take cover behind the corner banister, Johnny reloading his gun with another twirl, before jumping back up. He shoots twice through the guards chest, watching the man fall in a bloody heap as they reach the end of the staircase.

They go through a doorway and two more guards greet them, gun’s trained on the two edgerunners.

“End him already! That’s an or-”

The guard's yell is cut off by a bullet ripping through his shoulder, a second through his chest. His underling going down a mere moment later, with a headshot from Rogue; room cleared. Blood soaking into silver and marble floors. Johnny’s eyes focusing on the elevator across the room.

“Murph?” Rogue calls out the netrunner’s name, her avatar showing on Johnny’s optics as she starts to hack the elevator.

“She sought it with thimbles, she sought it with care, pursued it with forks and hope…” Poem finished, the elevator doors open.

“Johnny payload.” Rogue yells out, but Johnny’s already across the room, making his way to the elevator. He brings the bag down off his shoulder, placing it down, crouching, and unzipping it.

“Bushido II - bomb's name was what?” He asks, in a slow sly voice, entertaining at least himself if no one else.

“Wrap it up, we gotta delta!”

“The ‘Demolitron’,” he sets the charges with a light hand, “we're good to blow.”

He stands up and leaves the elevator, no hurry, only determination in him as he walks back towards Rogue. Like this is just a regular Thursday night.

“'Saka elites incoming! Run for it!”

“Get the fuck out of there, Johnny,” Rogue yells as he steps away, “shoot the cables!”

He does just that, blasting through the elevator cables, the carriage with the bomb dropping down through the lower levels.

“Get the rotors spinning! We're on our way!” Rogue yells out to their pilot, but there’s something rattling around in Johnny’s chest. He’s got to save her. It’s his only chance.

“Not done yet still need to feed this to their subnet,” he waves a small handheld computer in the air. Rogue’s face twists and grimaces, infuriated.

“I fucking knew it!” she swings her hand through the air, fingers clenched like she could strangle him, “This was never about "corporate colonialism" - this was about your groupie output wasn't it?!”

“Nah, you wouldn’t understand, Rogue.”

“Givin' you four fuckin' minutes. Chopper's not gonna wait one sec longer.”

“Door lock breached. Arasaka sons-a-bitches incoming,”

“Love you, Spider,” he jokes as he pushes through double doors, the woodwork of a lobby greeting him a moment before an armed guard can.

“Whole world loves me.’

“Fuuuck!” He yells out, something between a frustration and excitement as he blasts a hole through a guard's chest.

Johnny reloads before stepping out further, quickly having to pull back into the doorway for cover through the marble passageway. Two guards coming from a corridor on the left, a third from the right. The tower is made of rectangular balconies wrapping around, corners and curves to hide around. He fires around the corner at the guard on the left, taking a leg before a second shot takes their hide.

A bullet whips past his head and he pulls back, guard coming to him, in front of the passageway. He slams his hand on the trigger, a plume of flames engulfing his enemy, before finishing them off with another shot. He rounds the corner and slams forwards into the third guard, knocking them off balance for a moment. Johnny swings his fist out, rings colliding against their jaw, they hit the ground. He fires a shot point blank into their head, continuing on his way.

A staircase in the left of the room, across from the stone garden in the midst of the balonied section. He rushes up two sets of stairs, reloading along the way. It brings him to the upper level of the stacked balconies, a guard directly across the gap on the other side. The first shot Johnny fires splits the banister in front of the guard, the second shot rips through them.

Three guards rush out from another room and Johnny pulls back, stepping down some steps, reloading. The movement forces the guards to come through the doorway, one at a time, letting him line up a shot that blasts through two at once, the third gagging as his friends' brains splatter and cling to his face. But he barely gets a moment to process before he’s dead too.

Johnny runs up the stairs, stomping over corpses, as he goes around the corner. There’s a doorway that leads down to what looks to be a board room. One more guard down with a quick clean headshot, brains now sprayed across a vase of flowers on the table. He walks over them around the corner and towards a paneled wall.

“Closing in on the access point,” he tells Murphy and the panel opens up, revealing a main frame.

“Slot in.”

Johnny pulls out a little computer, stickers across the top of it. He flips it open and plugs it into the terminal. A little interface coming across his optics, Uploading Virus: Liberator.

“Sweet ICE-breaker,” the runner speaks up again, “Foreign, right? Just, wonder if we know anyone who can switch the subnet protocol…”

“Hilarious. You gonna help or not?”

“Do spiders spin webs? It's time we caught some flies.”

“Thanks, Murph.”

“Now, just for good measure…”Murphy trails off for just a moment, “Holy cybercow, we’re on TV! Take a look.”

A large TV mounted on the wall pings on, tuned to a news cast. Johnny shifts to the side to watch it. Brief clips of chaos flashing by in snapshots as the anchor talks over them.

“And we turn now to Arasaka Tower, its evacuation ongoing after an unidentified terrorist organization released a manifesto threatening violence. The terrorists stating their desire to, quote-unquote, "topple a monument to corporate colonialism." Night City's mayor, Mbole Ebunike, has issued a statement declaring that he will bring the full force of the law to bear in response to any act of terrorism. Going now to our reporter on the scene at Arasaka Tower. Hopefully, he can shed some light on this situation as events unfold.”

People might finally wake up. There’s a swell of pride in Johnny’s chest, that this will finally send his message, finally change the world for the better. And V thinks of the rebuilt tower, now with remembrance monuments, but rebuilt and still standing proud fifty years later. The virus finishes uploading, Johnny unplugging his computer and tucking it back in his pocket.

Took too long, but better than never. Stay safe, Alt.

“All set. Now get outta there. They're movin' up! Hit the roof, quick!”

Johnny rushes through the board room and around the bends of the squared balcony, heading straight to the double doors on the other side. Just as he reaches it there’s a heavy blast, wood and metal shredding as Johnny is forced backwards.

Pain shoots through his back as it collides with the floor, looking up where the door was blown through. A man stands in the destroyed remains of it. A tall man in heavily armored Arasaka garb, wielding a heavy duty shotgun. Cybernetic arms, a black cyberware jawed, and adornments of metal across his forehead.

“Shit! That's Adam Smasher!”

Adam Smasher, the same borged out man protecting Yorinobu? He jumps down from the ledge, hitting the floor in front of Johnny with a heavy thud. He’s different than in 2077, more human, a healthy more flesh colored face behind the cyberware. Fuck, Johnny curses mentally and starts firing shots at Adam. The devastation of his Malorian doing nothing as they fire into Adam’s cybernetic arms, the top of the line chrome holding up under each fire.

“Johnny, run!”

He wants to fight, wants to teach Smasher a lesson the borged fucker won’t ever forget. Every fiber of his being screaming at him to stand and fight. But there’s a nuke on a timer, falling down to the depths of the tower. There’s a helicopter getting ready to fly off. And while he doesn’t mind dying today, expects he just might, Rogue and Spider are waiting on him. He doesn’t need the last thing he hears to be their nagging… or for Rogue to make the chopper wait on him. So, he swallows his pride, as foul as it tastes, and makes a run for it.

Johnny pistol whips and shoots an Arasaka soldier on his way out the door, reaching the stairs back out to the roof. The door shuts behind him before any more soldiers can come after him.

“Murphy!?”

“Door's sealed, but it won't hold for long. Run, Johnny. Like the wind.”

He can see Rogue ahead of him running up the stairs. She should have been back in the chopper by now, she waited on Johnny. Rogue will bitch him out and nag until she’s blue in the face, but she’d never leave him behind. Wrapped around his finger, no matter what he’s done. Johnny runs quickly up the stairs, to the roof, three steps behind Rogue as she jumps into the chopper, as it starts to lift off without him.

“Johnny! Move!”

He jumps, grabbing Rogue’s outstretched arm, fingers wrapping tight around her forearm. Rogue tries to pull him inside to safety, when his fingers begin to slip. Something fires in the background a whistling noise, as his hand catches in Rouge’s, fingers twisting tightly together as she pulls. A boom rings out, hitting against the chopper with a spark and a shake, he slips right from Rogue’s grip, world going out from under him as she plummets back down to the tower roof. His back hits the metal with a crash, head bouncing against the cement, pain shooting through his body. Pain blurs his vision as the helicopter spins overhead, watching as the pilot regains control and they’re forced to fly off without the ill-fated rockerboy.

Boots thunder against the floor around him, Smasher coming into view. Johnny’s silver arm shakes as he tries to reach for his gun, nerves on fire after the fall. Smasher throws down his heavy shot gun, kicking the gun away from Johnny’s fingers.

“Smasher.”

“Told ya, Johnny boy. Told you I'd end you someday,” Smasher all but snarls, a compartment in his cybernetic arm opening, Johnny’s staring down the barrel of the hidden weapon.

Johnny holds his arm out, only for it to be shot, chrome sparking as it’s blasted. Vision going out as he passes out. It only feels like a moment, a blink and the world returns.

The rattling of wheels against cement, strapped to a gurney. Bright and silver, a moon hangs high above the skyscrapers. Dirt and dust fly through the air, dancing around him like confetti. Faintly he hears sirens, hears screaming, hears cries. And when he shifts his head, to look further back, he can see the plumes of fire and smoke.

“Yes, he’s still alive,” the Arasaka doctor wheeling him says, spoken in Japanese, but understood by Johnny...and by extension the merc tucked in the corner of his mind. Everything hurts, no other memory so sharp, so clear. Able to feel every bruise and cut, like she’s truly him.

“Understood. We're en route,” the worker says above his head.

And Johnny falls back into darkness again, unable to keep conscious, the sound of explosions and chaos erupting around him as he passes out. It’s impossible to know how long, black void blanketing it all, time losing its meaning and grip on them.

It's a sharp slap across his face that wakes him back up, blood clinging to his lips. Blinking as he tries to take in his surroundings. He’s tied down to a chair, two guards standing before him. In a slick little room, a stretch of windows across the back wall, a bright mushroom cloud of destruction going off in the distance. Charge should have finished going off by now…

“Your associates - who are they? How did you acquire fissile material?” The guard questions him.

“Gonna give good cop over there a chance to say something? C'mooon…” Johnny sasses his interrogator, looking at the second quiet guard.

Then the guard sucker punches him, knuckles slamming into Johnny’s gut with a sharp crushing pain.

“Which terrorist organization do you belong to? How did you acquire fissile material?”

Another slap, backhanded and harsh against his face. His head forced to the side where he sees a man walking into the room; an older Japanese man, Saburo Arasaka. The corporate leader walks with his hands behind his back, a younger woman in all black following closely behind.

“Old man don’t look too impressed with your efforts,” Johnny taunts.

Saburo and the guards bow to each other, the old man speaking in Japanese, “leave us. I wish to look him in the eye.”

“Hot damn,” Johnny rolls his eyes, “done and gone.”

Saburo keeps his back turned to Johnny as the guards leave. The woman sets up a tech station by his chair. Her flingers click against a keyboard, looking at a screen before she finally speaks in a soft voice.

“My husband died in that tower.”

And Johnny’s stomach drops, pits with something akin to guilt. He can still see the burning clouds, the explosions in the distance through the window. Something went wrong, charges weren’t meant to be that strong. An evac announcement, charges just meant for the tower, a message. Not this. Casualties sure, everyone knew that was inevitable, but…

“But there are fates worse than death,” the woman tells him, fixing a metal wreath over his head. Wires connecting it back to her computer system.

“I… didn’t want him to die.”

“Why did you do this?” Saburo asks in his native tongue.

“To bring an end to the madness you wreak.”

“I have found that people lie, most often deceiving themselves. Not So the dead…”

Saburo finally turns to face Silverhand walking closer, stalking closer. And Johnny spits at him, blood and saliva now sticking to Saburo’s face, red staining the wrinkled skin. There’s barely a twitch to the old man’s face as he wipes the spittle and blood from his face. Disgusted but not stopped.

“Fuck you!” Johnny yells out for good measure, voice rough in his throat.

“The dead are so very, very loud,” Saburo scowls, “And yet, lying is not in their nature. It is so… humbling - to listen to the dead speak… Begin.”

The techie turns a switch and Johnny’s optics start to glitch, distort. Cyan fuzz piercing through the world as a UI screen appears. Soulkiller Primed: Commencing Engram Transfer. An crackle of electricity starts to course through him, a scream leaving him as his body convulses, Neurons cracking and frying as the world around his shakes, trembles, then finally cracks apart.

And V dies, not for the first time.

Darkness overtakes him, near oblivion. Only the vaguest notion of existence, suspended in time and reality. In a cold black choking void. Enough awareness, just enough, to know fear. Overwhelming fear, terror, trapped under the thumb of Arasaka. Never knowing when, if, there’s an escape. Never knowing what can, will, or has happened.

Time loses all meaning in digital purgatory.

And then sunlight starts to breach through. A haze over his vision, like watching sunlight through fogged glass. He can see the sunlight but he can’t feel it, maybe it’s an Arasaka trick. Trying to convince him he’s free, that he’ll ever see the sun again, just to rip it away before he can ever feel it’s warmth on his skin.

Then the view shifts, like someone turning their head, seeing the world through someone’s eyes. The sun beating down on a campsite, nomads, but their cuts and colors unlike any he’s seen. Not the Aldecaldos for sure, that much he knows. Might be some sort of experiment? Corps have never been above testing shit on people, nomads seen as less than human by most folks in the city, means they get away with it.

Someone calls the name Aidan, a mother calling for her child, the girl...he’s seeing the world through That feeling that knowledge seeping into him. A tent with an older woman and a young girl, a mirror in the tent catches a reflection, showing him Aidan. A young sunburnt nomad child with dark hair and gray eyes Nearly identical to the other child he’d just seen.

And in a blink, like a slide changing, the world changes again. Training sessions for the nomad kids. Taught to be strong. The kids made to fight each other, to spar, and losing meant going without food for the rest of the day if they were lucky. A beating if they were considered particularly pathetic. Some nights she won. Other nights watching other kids eat. The worst nights spent in a tent, mother rubbing salve on her injuries.

She’s taught how to load a gun, repair an engine, and kill without shaking before she’s seen her seventh birthday.

Members of the ‘family’ culled before everyone. Because they were sick. Because they were weak. Because they were a burden. They could drag the rest of the family down, The Herd must be culled so that they can stay strong. For the best of the family.

Gareth, an older man of the nomad family, gets sick. cancer running rampant in his body, treatment available but timely… expensive. He’d sneak toasted marshmallows to Aidan on nights she’d be made to go without anything….

He begs to die on his feet rather than his knees like most cullings.

His wish is denied.

Aidan’s father forces a dying man to his knees, pressing a captive bolt pistol to the back of his skull and killing him in front of the family. For their own good.

And one day, Aidan gets sick too. Johnny can’t feel it through her, through the snapshots, too disconnected. But he gets a rumbling of it through her. Body aching, head in agony, world constantly spinning enough to make her puke.

She tells no one. Refuses to be the next one culled, no doubt her father’s rules apply to her. Her sister, the same age and near a picture perfect copy, frets over her as they go to pick through a landfill. Instructed to spend evenings in search of anything useful to the family, to earn their keep. A ringing in her ears, world spinning as the noise builds and builds until silence strikes and she drops to the ground.

The world has gone silent. She wakes up in a med tent, but can hear nothing. A world of noises and chaos now silent.

And a stone faced father comes barging in, he’s saying something, but she doesn’t know what. Flinching in threadbare sheets, knowing the signs of his cold anger, but not what’s driving it, not how to fix it. Nails dig into her shoulder, dragged from the medical tent and out into the midst of the camp sigh. Vision blurred by tears. She yells out what’s happening, but can’t hear the words.

But she knows the press of the barrel against her head, the touch of the captive bolt pistol, how they cull the herd. She was weak, defective, broken. Nomad family gathered around, watching her cry and scream, unable to hear herself. Weak and pathetic before them all.

Then a pair of hands grab her, save her, pull her away and into a hug. Her mother holds her tight, crying, screaming, then kissing the top of her daughter’s head. Whispering words she knows won’t reach her. Aidan is saved, she doesn’t know what’s said. What spared her life. But she’s allowed to live on.

Her mother and sister learn ASL with her; the only two who never shun her, protecting her too much if anything. The implication clear whether in kindness or anger, she’s weak now. Defected. But her father expects her to work harder, to prove his mercy wasn’t a mistake. That this child earned her right to live.

She earns hearing aids years later[ and cries when she first puts them in; the world is too loud, too painful. Aidan keeps them low and continues using ASL.

A homeless teenage girl in a town they ransack; long dark hair and heavy makeup. Calls herself Avarice, they call her Ava. She tries to sign to Aidan and the young nomad girl is in love that easy, desperate for someone who cares enough to meet her even halfway. Despite it all, she begs Ava to join The Herd. Because maybe hell is more bearable when you’re in love.

She’s dragged to the med tent one night, told she needs a checkup, no rhyme or reason. Knowing better than to fight her father when he’s barking orders. They sedate her, clan doctor holding her down and forcing her into unconsciousness. She awakes with a scar across her lower stomach. Sterilized. So, she’ll never pass along defective genes.

The next snapshot doesn’t feel much longer after, older but not by much, a year maybe. When The Herd is swarmed by an rival nomad clan, one they’ve fucked over one time too many. Aidan trying to drive one of the cars to get her sister and mother away from the ambush. When a rival vehicle slams into them, a screech of tires, the gnash of metal. Eira and Aidan safe, but their mother is pinned between a caved-in door and the center console, bleeding where shrapnel pierces deep into her legs.

Trapped until Aidan’s father and a group from the family find them, The three women pulled from a crushed vehicle, the mother the only one gravely injured. Aidan follows as she’s dragged to an emergency medical set up.

Legs too damaged, it'd require a double amputation, prosthetics or cyberware. Easily doable. Nowhere near beyond saving if they’d act in time, take the time. But they never do, never truly will. Aidan begs for her mother’s life, like her mother did for her. For her father to have mercy just one more time.

And the bolt pistol is put in her hands. She’s told to do it. To cull her mother, to be strong, to put the family above the individual. A test of her strength.

She refuses, screams, and points the gun at him. And he mocks her tears, mocks the way her hands shake. He rips the pistol from her hands, she fights and pulls with him. But he’s over a foot taller, stronger, leaves her black and blue; crying on the ground with his boot on her back as he takes the gun and kills her mother.

And once her mother’s body is burned to ash, she runs.

Years of traveling, towns across NUSA, some faces are kinder than others. Eira and Ava sent to track her down, to kill the traitor.

Eventually she finds herself in Night City, but not the one Johnny knows. Newer, slicker, brighter. But the corruption and apathy remain, chrome even more common place than it was before. Folks more metal than flesh, every ripper doc with back alley tech.

She meets a friend, Jackie, Johnny knows his name despite never hearing it. A big ‘tino fucker covered in gaudy gold chains who helps her settle in. Taken into his home. Merc work, scummy nothing jobs, merc janitors at best. Jackie pulls her into a tight hug, the nomad unsure of what to do as his arms wrap around her, face pressed into his chest.

Then there’s a sharp pain, nerves and neurons firing off as everything is suddenly real. No haze or glass between him and her memories. Face tucked in against fabric, a chest, but there’s no warmth. No heartbeat. Arms wrapped tight around a body that’s cold and limp, one hurting like it’s been ripped open. They feel like his own, it feels like it’s his body.

He can feel the movement of muscles, the beat of the body’s heart. How the face is twisted up with tears running wet and hot down the cheeks. It feels like him, but it's not. Smaller, thinner.

No more ‘chicas’, ‘jainas’, or the odd ‘mija’. No more smiles that outshine the sun. No more nagging her to look on the bright side. No more bear hugs or hands the size of her head ruffling through her hair. No more Jackie….

Thoughts not his own swim around his head, the voice feminine. What the hell is Arasaka playing at? Playing someone else’s memories, trying to make him sit in the backseat of someone else's life? An experiment, they going to try to twist him, fuck with his head?

“Mr. Welles has passed. Where shall I take his remains?” An AI voice asks, in some tech cab with a bleached digital butler staring at her.

He’s got to find a way out, there’s got to be a way? But how do you leave someone’s head?

The body, her body, moves without his permission. Able to feel it like it’s his own and he can see just who’s corpse she was clinging to. Jackie… The same guy who took her in, now dead in the back of a cab. There’s a pit in her stomach, a tightness in her chest; he can feel her pain…

He’s both separate and intrinsically connected, his thoughts and feelings distinct enough, but her own still overwhelming.

”W-what?” She says...what was her name Aidan, Brayden, Hayden, some shit... Frat boy name on a nomad brat.

She stumbles over her words, sounds like she barely knows how to talk, might be the blubbering. Fuck if he knows or cares. Her grief, while he can feel it around him, surrounding him from where he sits in her head, is her own. He’s got bigger worries, bigger fish to fry. Former nomad, now a merc, but that doesn’t meant she can’t be with Arasaka. Corps hire mercs, use nomads as scapegoats, all sorts of shit. She could be in on whatever the fuck this is.

He’s just got to figure out what exactly the fuck this is, what Arasaka’s plan is. A way to get intel from him? Prodding at memories by seeing if someone else’s sparks something?

“The Excelsior package provides for the disposal of passenger remains free of charge. I merely require a destination.”

“I…he-he’d want to be with his family.”

“Mr. Welles' closest blood relative is Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, proprietress of the El Coyote Cojo bar. I will make sure to deliver him safely. Mr. DeShawn awaits you in room number two-oh-four. ”

Her hands are stained with blood, her forearm has a gash down it. He can see the traces of Mantis Blades, one ripped out. Something happened, flashes of dangling off an Arasaka branded hotel, holding her friend up. Red everywhere, fighting Arasaka guards. Doesn’t mean she didn’t work with them, how else would they somehow plant him in her head, in her memories.

She squeezes her friend’s shoulders and presses her forehead to his, feeling the cold of his corpse.

“See ya in the major leagues, Jack…”

She gets out of the back of the cab, she’s dressed like a corpo, he realizes when her eyesight catches her body. White blouse, stained red with blood, black slacks. Rain is pouring down on her, as she walks through a dirty alley. She doesn’t seem to notice Johnny’s existence, his presence in her head. Everything he thinks, tries to scream without a mouth, doesn’t earn him a response.

Then again, if she is with Arasaka, might be told to ignore him. He’d be pulling his hair out if he had a body, if he existed beyond some former tarmac rat’s mind. She walks through a door into a filthy excuse for a motel, the No-Tell. There's chatter around them and he catches the rambling of a tv, something about Saburo Arasaka. But she doesn’t stay to linger, doesn’t let him fully hear it. Something about the old fucker’s life.

But she’s at the door of a hotel room before he can hear much, bloodied knuckles knocking against the door.

“It's V,” She says, knocking again when there’s no answer. V? Since when is she V? Where the fuck did she get V from?

The door opens and a guy comes out, giant fucker around a foot or so taller than her, so was her newly departed friend. Which begs the question, how tall is she?

God, he’s stuck in the skull of some munchkin merc, isn’t he?

Everyone, everything is… bigger. A hand on her shoulder, nearly the size of her head stops her from stepping forward. And he hates it, someone putting hands on him, controlling him so easily, he tries to force her hands to punch the ugly fucker. But it doesn’t happen, hands clenched at her side. How the hell does she fight anyone like this anyway, she’s half the height of everyone she meets.

“He waiting.”

V, Aidan; whatever dumb fuck name she has is allowed into the motel room. A man inside, puffing away on a cigar, watching the news. He can feel her worry swelling inside of her as she clears her throat, the man doesn’t look Arasaka. But the little runt of a merc has to be attached to them somehow. He’s not one to give Arasaka too much credit, be none if he had his way, but they’re not dumb enough to put his engram in any klepto punk’s head.

Arasaka uploaded his engram, scorching him with Soukiller, he remembers that. Mikoshi is where they store them, digital souls tucked away, where they got the tech to play with the human mind. If she made it there, they had to have trusted her.

“WNS… N54… Even the pirate networks… You blowin' up everywhere! And the Jackster? He out in the car?”

“He’s...dead.” Having to say it, having to hear it from her own lips. Stuck in the whiny mind of an Arasaka asslicker, wonderful.

“Condolences friend and the relic?”

The relic? Arasaka’s ultimate project, what they needed Soulkiller before. There’s always been a constant murmur about it, Arasaka looking to commodify the human soul. Must have finally rolled it out after they fried him.

“Here,” she explains by tapping her chipslot, is that how he’s here?

“Hmm, I was afraid of that…”

“What?!”

But the relic, they advertised it like imaginary friends, or some shit. If he was on that, she’d be able to see and hear him right? Unless Arasaka fucked up…

“Saburo Arasaka,” the man, Dex, paces, “Dead…?! You got any notion of the shit you pulled me into?! You offed the fuckin' emperor! His majesty! Anyone with so much as a pinky toe dipped in this mess is as good as dead!”

Saburo’s dead, old sack of shit finally kicked it… and Johnny’s in the killer’s head. Memories, her’s, creep up. Ones he didn’t get in the brief glitches of memories before. Saburo’s body, dead limp and collapsed on a hotel floor. Ripping the dogtags from his bruised neck. Means Johnny won’t get the satisfaction of offing the bastard himself.

“I didn’t kill Saburo! I- I-”

She stumbles and trips over every word; can she act like she didn’t fuck up any of this? Like she has no role in Jackie and Bug’s deaths… He’d gag on her feelings if he could, a blubbering child, those memories may be a mystery to him right now. But he buys it, if he couldn’t manage to kill Saburo, he doubts some miserable little half pint could, chick can barely get a sentence out. Which means he very well may still be tripping around in the neurons of some shitty nomad turned bootlicker.

"No shit?l Tell that to the ‘Saka ninjas they send after you!”

“We...we got to leave Night City.”

“You don’t say.”

“Call Parker, we close the deal, collect our eddies, and go off the radar.”

“A’ight, settle down, Gotta be tactical about this. Parker, eddies, then we leave the city limits behind. But first… Your face… got blood all over it. Bathroom's there. Go get yourself cleaned up.”

She nods and makes her, their, way to the bathroom. Dex is going to trick her, pull some shit, Johnny can see it a mile away. Chick’s outnumbered, outstrength, if they think she’s a risk and Dex made it clear he does, he’ll drop her. But she doesn’t see it, walking into the bathroom and settling at the sink. The mirror lights up, showing her face, giving him the first good look at her since those foggy memories of childhood.

He sees traces of that kid; gray eyes and her face is soft. Young, delicate, but with a heavy layer of blood coating iit.

Her blood and Jackie’s.

He can taste the bile in her throat, as if his own, can feel the burn of it and the churn of her gut as she pukes into the sink. It's not the first time he’s ended up with the taste of someone elses puke in his mouth, though it’s her mouth, he supposes. She pushes her bleached blonde hair off her face as she retches, streaking blood through it.

If she would have refused the job.

If she had gotten them up the ladder.

If she had been stronger.

If she had been stealthier.

If she had gotten them through the lobby quicker.

If she could have convinced Delamain to get him to a doc.

If she knew better first aid.

He tries to shut it out, the knots in her guts, the ache in her chest. Her thoughts spinning around her head and what feels like his. Surrounded by the feelings of another, he can’t fucking live like this, there’s got to be a way out.

She washes the blood from her hands and face; Jackie wanted this for her, one of the only people who ever wanted anything good for her. If only for him, she owes it to him to finish this job.

Can she fucking hear him? He tries to mentally scream at her, he’s going to find a way out of this, if he has to claw his way out of her damn head! Slamming him in the head of some grieving merc, that Saburo’s idea of a sick final joke? Making him feel someone else’s pain meant to make him talk? Meant to give everything away? If hell exists, Saburo better be burning or Johnny will set the son of a bitch on fire himself.

Nothing works, nothing seems to draw her attention. Johnny thinking to a void as she leaves the bathroom.

She’s punched clean in the head as soon as she steps out the door, to the surprise of no one but her, the rattling of her skull and shock of pain hitting Johnny like it’s his own head. The merc is knocked to the floor and a boot kicks into her gut for good measure. Her head stomped on, beaten to the ground like all five feet of her is a truly dangerous threat.

“Can’t risk it, V,” Dex levels a pistol with her temple as she writhes on the ground, “‘Member our first convo?”

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Seems I've chosen the quiet life, after all. No blaze o' glory for me.”

And Dex pulls the trigger, a bang in the dirty motel room as he fires a shot into the merc’s head. Agony and terror, gagging on blood, darkness, cold, and fear… then nothing.

And Johnny dies, not for the first time.

Death relived, but through the eyes of another. The bullet hits. Soulkiller scorches. And the world around the two rewrites at the moment of their second deaths. Reconstructs and digitizes. A liminal space within the net. Structures like the squared mazes of balconies and stairs within Arasaka Tower of 2023.

But everything made up of digital matter, pixels of color collected loosely to form the shapes against a black backdrop. Nearly everything a shade of blue, but hints of red bleeding through.

Nothing moves or feels like reality, floatier, less certain. And it all moves, pixels twitching, it all shifts, all seems… alive.

That where V finds herself, dying again but through Johnny, an echo of the pain from his torture still seeming to stick to her. But when she looks down, it’s her, but not. Like the world around her she knows seems to be constructed of these pixels, data, a bright red hue to her But it all forms to be her. Her arms, her painted nails, her freckles, her scars. They move with her permission, no one else’s.

But what is happening?

The biochip, maybe? But it’s meant to show someone like an imaginary friend, not put you in their lives, then send you to the net. At least she thinks this is the net, remembering descriptions Bug had given her. And by all intents and purposes, she should be dead.

Data around her shakes, reverberates, brightens and stretches across the hall around her. There’s a thrum to it all, that she can hear, no physical limitation in the net… Then it stops only to reveal something new. A flash of bright red, standing out in a sea of blue data. It forms the shape of a person, composed of red data and negative space, their back to her as they lean forward on the banister.

V signs from instinct, but finds no translator, forcing her to speak, “Hey!”

She rushes towards the figure, they don’t answer her call, maybe they know what’s happening? But as she gets close, they push off the banister and turn. Their figure blurs as they move away from her, but she sees a closer glimpse.

It’s a man, not as tall as Jackie, but still over a foot taller than her. Shoulder length dark hair and what looks to be the outline of sunglasses on his digital form. Even in the strange form, she recognizes him. The man’s who’s death she just lived, moment after her own. Johnny Silverhand. He blips away as he turns.

The flash of red, his form, now further away, on the stairs of the lobby.

“Hey, sir!” she calls out again, trying to sound vaguely polite as she rushes towards the stairs, he has to know what’s going on. He stands from the stairs and blips away just as she reaches them.

She runs up that first set of steps seeing his form sitting on the second, “Johnny!”

And he’s gone as soon as she reaches him, like they’re playing some sort of game, does he not hear her? She knows damn well he’s not deaf, if she can hear in this place, he should be able to. She reaches the top of the stairs, reaching another balcony railing, him around the corner on the adjacent side of the square floor. His back is to the banister, hands on it. Paying her no mind.

“Robert!” She yells his full first name, remembering seeing it scrawled in chicken scratch across an enlistment form. But she turns the corner and he’s gone.

But when she turns her head she sees his back again, down a narrow passageway made of more negative space than blue data. She walks across the negative space, hands skimming the data that forms it’s walls, each step taking her closer to him. She heard three different names, unsure of which may earn her an answer.

“Robbie! Robert!”

Neither name spurs a reaction, he doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak. Only stands at the end of hall, shifting in pace, as she continues her way to him. And she stops when she’s within arm’s reach, he hasn’t blipped away, hasn’t ran off. Able to see fully now, the red data particles that form a bullet proof vest, the cyberware left arm. V reaches out and taps a finger against his shoulder.

“Johnny?”

He turns to face her and she doesn’t know if she should feel relieved, or terrified.

“And you? Who are you?”

Her answer catches in her throat, mouth half open when it hits. White hot blinding pain ripping through every nerve, head and world shattering as she screams. Like she’s been torn open, every part of her stripped raw and set on fire. Everything vanishes from her sight as she cries out.

V’s contact UI blips, blurry as data fills it, system reboot. Her senses return to her, slowly and steadily as systems reload. The arm her blade was ripped from burns, open nerves exposed to the air. Her head feels shattered, aching as if it’s been broken apart. There’s a stench of trash and filth around her. There’s a weight on top of her, heavy, firm, crushing down onto her lungs. The warmth and stick mess of blood clings to everything. Caked across her skull, down her neck, her arm.

The diagnostics flicker away, but her vision still struggles. A cyan fuzz clings around and distorts it all. Her depth of field is cut off, half her vision seemingly gone. Not aided by the fact that it’s dark, looking around she can see trash thrown atop her. a cold sheet of metal lays on top of her. Metal and plastic of discarded goods lay beneath and around her, jabbing uncomfortably into her flesh.

A landfill, if she were to wager a guess, Dex tossed her out like trash. How is she not dead? How hasn’t she bled out?

She doesn’t know the answer, but she knows if she doesn’t do something, she’ll die anyway. Favoring her left arm, the right still damaged, she pushes up on the sheet of metal. Muscles scream in protest, pain shooting through them as she forces herself to put her weight into it. And she rolls it off of her and she can breathe a little easier, move a little better. A bit more light allowed on her. But she still can’t see very well, like her right eye is closed.

Tempting fate, she presses her hand to it, sees nothing, when she closes her left. The world goes black. She touches the lid, feeling the blood that mats her eyelashes, she pries her eyelid open with her fingers. Nothing. Down a blade and an eye, she needs to move. Vik can fix those, he can fix this.

She shoves a TV off of her legs, twists up s to see the sky. Silver and orange light color the world, moonlight and fire, plumes of dark smoke coming from somewhere she’s in some sort of pit or ravine within the landfill, a wall of dirt and trash around her. An upward climb to save herself.

V forces her body to move even as it aches and screams in pain, forces her shredded arm to grip even as she can see the tendons twitching through the mangled remains of it. She forces blood soaked fingernails to dig into dirt and grip abandoned pizza boxes for traction, slips her aching feet in between wires and appliances for foot holds.

“Fuck!” she screams out loud, but can’t hear it, as she loses her traction and starts to slip. She extends her left blade, sinking it into the wall of muck and trash. Her right arm stings, throbs, begs to release a tool it no longer has.

She uses her blade to help pulls herself, dragging herself up and up with every sink of it into the muck. V’s thankful she’s lost her hearing aids in the process, hell maybe Dex stole them back to recoup some losses, but it means she can’t hear her own curses, her own groans of pain, her own rattling breaths with bruised lungs

And she reaches the surface. Rusted remains of god knows what surrounds her and a trashcan fire burns not far away, but she’s out of the pit. She pulls her feet under her and she tries to stand, body shaking, swaying, trembling with blood loss and pain.

But for a moment, she rises.

She stands, looking out across the landfill of trash, cyan fuzz still glitching around her, and for a moment...maybe she’s okay. Maybe she can walk out of this, find Vik, maybe she can be okay.

V collapses with the next step, body all at once going out from under her, mocking her hope. Mocking her moment of stupid fucking hope as her back meets the mud. It mingles with blood, collides with her gore, and sticks to her open wounds. She lays there in muck, just breathing, her lungs ache with the strength needed just to do that. Each one feels fainter than the last. Her eyes start to close, feel too heavy, her right one might very well already be shut… she wouldn’t know. A mangled mess of who she once was, now laying in filth, surrounded by trash.

Maybe she’ll not move again… maybe this is a fitting end. A childhood of scavenging landfills, thrown in a dumpster her first night in the city, and dying in a landfill; maybe the world has been trying to tell her something all along. She’d never have to face Mama Welles, Misty, or Vik; never have to tell them she failed Jackie. Maybe she’ll just let all go, never even have time to grieve, maybe it’s best to just let it all go…

“Wake the fuck up, Samurai. We got a city to burn.”

A rasp of a voice rings out and she gasps, opening her eyes. A man kneeled over her, one she knows well, but he’s no longer digitized and she’s not looking through his eyes. Silver fingers pull his aviators off of his face, dark brown eyes scrutinizing her. His form isn’t solid, glitches like old vhs footage.

But...

She heard him.

#cyberpunk 2077 #silverv #johnny silverhand #cp2077 #fem v #aidan v becker #aidan becker

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