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littlefreya · 5 years ago

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The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

#august walker #Henry Cavill #August Walker Fanfiction #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x ofc #Henry Cavill x ofc #August Walker Fanfic #augustwalker #henrycavill

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inkribbon796 · 3 years ago

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The Emissaries of Death and War Ch. 2: Not So Different

Summary: After stopping Wil, old enemies get to talk.

Chapters: 1, 2

After a little bit of a chase and a struggle, Dark, Techno, and Philza were able to stop Wil. Techno being the one to physically knock down and keep a hold on the madman.

Dark sent Wil to the Void and held him there until he calmed down. It took a while but the next time Wil saw Techno he seemed to be fine.

Wilford was being brought back in while Techno was conducting something of a report on the fight.

“Not too bad, you raised a couple half decent fighters, well except for the new one,” Techno told Dark. “Or, I assume he’s your newest, the other two are better fighters, so . . .”

As Techno trailed off, Bim felt his face heat with shame. Yes, he was the youngest, but he was not the newest. He was Dark’s kid!

“Geez, Techno, you didn’t rough them up too much did yah[1]?” Philza cackled. “Hardly fair. We should’a gone ta find Tommy. That would have been more fair, man.”[2]

“Nah, against these three?” Techno scoffed angrily, “they would have torn through him like wet tissue paper.”

“Come on, mate, he’s not that bad,” Philza tried to defend from the other room.

Philza had paused to look at the large portrait in the hall, and smiled before only now starting to catch up with the rest of the group.

Techno took a couple steps so Phil could see his face and fixed him with a baleful glare.

Rolling his eyes, Phil added, “Okay, so he’s a shitehead[3] who’s done some shite[4] things, but he’s not a half bad fighter.”

“Uhh, brat was discorporated for the first time during a fist fight, you do the math,” Techno reminded coldly.

Phil frowned at him, huffing and looked around to see that the Entity was out on the back balcony. So as Wilford and Techno were talking with the three spawnlings, Phil decided he needed a change of company.

“How do you feel about anarchy?” Techno smiled at Wil, as Philza shook one of his wings and then pulled a bottle of Chardonnay out of it.

“What’s that?” Wilford asked with a huge smile on his face.

Techno gave a huge grin that Phil couldn’t help but copy that smile as Techno began to launch into — as Philza called it — his “fuck the government” spiel.

Instead of joining in, Philza walked out on the balcony to smile at Dark with his bottle of Chardonnay in his hands. “Come on, Ent, I’ve got your favorite.”

“I don’t get drunk anymore,” Dark warned, but summoned two glasses for them.

“Shame,” Phil chuckled. “You’re a fun drunk.”

“I have been rather reliably told that I become insufferable and impossible to deal with,” Dark corrected, opening the bottle and pouring out two drinks.

“By who?” Phil took the glass he was offered, swirling his aura in it a bit, Dark copying him before they both took the first sips. “You were a riot after Agra.”

“Exactly,” Dark pointedly didn’t answer the first question. “Besides, I have too much to worry about to get drunk on top of it.”

“Right, right, anyways I thought I saw traces ‘a[5] Phantom’s aura in town, thought he was with you,” Phil began. “What’s he up ta[6] these days?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Dark snarled.

“Ohhh,” Phil took another sip, “it was that bad huh? Sounds like yeh[1] traded up.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dark warned.

“Fair,” Phil allowed. “So what’s the new pact mate like, you two dating? Seems like it, looks all domestic in here.”

“We work together,” Dark answered, “everything else is our business.”

“True, true,” Philza agreed. “I’m just curious, we come inta[7] town and find out you’ve got a new pact mate, some spawnlings, and a body. Wanted to figure out how much had changed.”

Dark didn’t give a real comment to that, sipping on his wine.

“How many you got?” Phil leaned in a bit.

Dark considered for a second if Philza was going to talk to Phantom, then he said, “Six.”

“Oh yeah,” Phil whistled, “I saw the painting.”

“I need to move that thing back into my office, two of Wil’s boys insisted it be on display in the hall,” Dark scoffed. “We don’t even have guests over, I don’t know who they expect to see it.”

“Six is a lot, mate,” Phil reminded. “Sounds like you’ve been up ta[6] some mad fun. How old are they?”

“None of your business,” Dark told him firmly.

“Right,” Phil agreed. “But I gotta ask because I have to answer someone else’s question, it’s not about your spawnlings, it’s about mine.”

“You do have a reputation of picking fights with every lord and vizier in the world, unsurprising,” Dark responded. “How many did you keep?”

“I had two, one is, uh,” Philza paused and downed the rest of his glass before reaching to fill it up again. “He’s dead, and the other is off doing his own thing. An empath and a glitch.”

“Hmm,” Dark hummed as he sipped on his wine.

“Which do you have?” Phil asked.

Dark thought on if he should tell the avian, but figured that anyone who looked at the Lost Ones long enough could probably figure it out on their own. “Two deal makers, a showman, and the other three are all empaths, I’m fairly certain.”

“Are they all yours, or did your friend split some ‘a[5] them off?” Philza asked, if he was surprised or impressed he didn’t show it.

Dark wasn’t going to answer, was about to brush it off, but the Entity felt a deep twinge of pain. It wasn’t bad, but it did hurt, and Dark fought the urge to cough.

Phil looked over Dark’s shoulder and smiled, “Hello, who are you? You one ‘a[5] his lot?”

Grabbing his chest, Dark looked around at his echoes, his red was fine, but his blue one was clutching his chest in obvious pain. But that wasn’t the real problem.

His echo didn’t look like him, he looked like Damien! Dark almost screamed in surprise but after a second or two of shock, his aura shot out and dragged his blue soul back in and the echo of course screamed and tried to fight him out of fear. The outside balcony lights flickered, but eventually everything was still and calm again and Dark told Phil, who was just staring at him, “Ignore him, that is not a spawnling.”

“I didn’t hit yah[1] too hard, did I, mate?” Philza asked in concern. “You splitting?”

“I’m fine,” Dark snapped, and slammed his fists down and her body changed to match her red one, forcing her blue soul deep into the back of their soul.

“That’s a neat trick,” Phil commented, “now I can’t see why you’re in a body if it does that.”

“Yes,” Dark stood up, “now, I think we’ve left the others alone for too long.”

Philza was quiet for a moment before he stood up as well, “Yeah, probably. Don’t know how yours are, but Techno’s usually good ta[6] leave to his own devices. He’s not the one I was always worried about.”

“Really?” Dark commented, her aura holding the door open for Phil.

“Oh yeah, anytime I left my two boys alone they always got into some trouble,” Phil smiled warmly. “Tommy still gets inta[7] trouble.”

“Spawnlings do tend to do that,” Dark agreed and they saw the group sitting in the living room as Wil was telling one of his stories and Techno occasionally cutting in with comments or his own stories.

Dark was able to stay calm and collected during the rest of the visit. Techno did give an eyebrow raise at her changed body but didn’t give any other type of comment. Wil did naturally fawn over her but after their guests left so did the Host, saying his goodbyes and Dark sent him back to the heroes’ base.

It was quite possibly the only time she was happy to see the Host go. As much as Dark cared for the young man, Host tended to be a bit nosy and he always seemed like he knew what was going on.

And Dark didn’t need that right now. She needed to sort out what had been bothering her aura. For weeks she’d been wondering, and now she knew.

There was something wrong with her blue soul! That’s what the problem was! Which explained why she could hide it better when she was using her red one.

Dark had let this go on for too long, and she had to act fast before her blue soul did irreparable damage.

Techno and Philza were halfway out of Egoton, heading out of the city through Brighton, when Illinois caught up with them. He wasn’t really trying to disguise his approach and Philza’s crows warned him the young man was following them before Techno heard him coming.

Techno’s sword came out and the voices began clamor for a new fight. “Round two then?”

“Nah,” Illinois was flipping his lucky coin in the air. “Just wanted to talk without my mom listening in. She tends to get a little antsy when I’m on my own.”

“Illinois right?” Philza smiled.

“Heh,” Techno snickered, “were you born there?”

Illinois took a deep breath, “I was born in Ohio.”

“Missed opportunity, then,” Techno chuckled, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s a name,” Illinois defended. “Anyways, I came to ask you two something.”

“Sure,” Techno glanced at Phil.

“I kindly request you leave my brothers and sister out of whatever fight you have with our father,” Illinois told them. “You deal with him, and me, and that’s it.”

“Oh is that how it is?” Techno stared at Illinois with a fire burning in his eyes.

“You two strike me as the type to like a good fight, I’m more powerful, as you saw with my baby brother, besides me and Host they don’t really have a lot of aura worthy of a good fight.”

Techno thought on that for a second, “You know you’re starting to speak more of my language.”

Illinois smiled back, “So let’s leave the little kids out of it.”

“Careful Junior,” Phil warned and watched Illinois’s eye twitch angrily at the nickname. “Yer[8] a kid yourself. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“We have a deal or not?” Illinois redirected the conversation.

Techno hummed, “That depends on how much of an iron-booted tyrant your old man is, but the fact that your brothers don’t seem to be all that beholden to authority is very intriguing.”

“Of course they wouldn’t,” Illinois scoffed. “They don’t have to help run the business.”

The two veteran warriors glanced at each other before Phil chuckled, “We’ll make yeh[1] a counter-deal, mate, your siblings don’t mess with us and we’ll pretend that Ent only has one kid.”

Illinois glared at them but flipped his coin again before stowing it back into his pocket. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.”

“It is, now if you’ll excuse us, we have a train to catch and all,” Phil grinned and they left, Phil’s wings fluttering as he walked and Techno always keeping an eye on him.

When he was sure they were out of the city, Illinois returned to the Manor to talk with Dark, while Techno and Philza got on a train that led from Brighton to Northern Scotland where they were currently hiding out. Phil had paid extra to make sure their trip stayed as quiet and private as possible, in that if he had to he bought extra tickets.

The Blood God did have to make his face look a touch more human instead of the mask he always wore so they weren’t given much trouble.

Techno was settling down for a long nap, trying to calm the voices on his head enough to relax, and only sleep could grant that calm silence to him.

Besides them, the car they were in had a couple other people but their little four-seat section was empty apart from them.

Until someone came over to sit down.

Initially, Phil wanted to chew the guy out but he saw the green hoodie and the familiar face, along with the white smiley face mask in his hands. So instead he just groaned and poked his blood brother in the arm, “Tech.”

“Hnghmmm,” Techno groaned, still awake enough for Phil to rouse him back to consciousness. “What do you want, Dream? I was kinda busy sleeping.”

“Yes, I wanted to talk with you before you drifted off again,” Dream told them. “I need you two to come back to Gainesville. I need you to find someone for me.”

“Dude we just got on this thing, yeh[1] couldn’t have called us earlier?” Phil groaned, looking out the window. “We’ve got Tech’s dogs ta[6] feed back home.”

“You cashing in your favor so soon?” Techno smiled eagerly, leaning in. “You calling it in?”

“What?” Dream smiled deviously. “For something this petty? No, I just figured you might want in on this. But if you want to head back to Inverness, that’s fine. I won’t stop you.”

“So, what’s the problem, mate?” Phil sighed.

“There’s a Legate in Gainesville, I’ve been tracking his legion’s movements for a while now, and he apparently hates making himself known,” Dream explained.

“You sure it’s not just an empath with a ton of spawnlings,” Techno rolled his eyes. “Everytime I go to find and fight one it’s always some empath hoarding their kids.”

“Positive, I wasn’t sure a couple weeks ago, which is why I didn’t waste your time with it before,” Dream dismissed cooly. “But he’s real, and this Legion has apparently been operating in Gainesville for the past twenty-five, thirty, years or so. The Entity hasn’t even seen him, he’s that secretive. His legion is apparently seven strong.”

Phil hummed in uncertainty but Techno was all smiles.

“We’re still heading back home, got some things ta[6] sort out, mate,” Phil gave Techno a look.

“Fine, I need to train anyways,” Techno huffed, a nasal growl in his voice. “Don’t wanna[9] be rusty.”

“That’s fair,” Dream stood up, taking a fair sized green box out of his pocket and giving it to. “You two know where to find me.”

“If you can get me some scents, I might bring some of my dogs over,” Techno promised.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Dream gave him a huge smile and put on his mask before walking off the train.

Another five minutes passed and the train started moving. Techno took his much needed rest, and Philza settled down with a book in his hands as they train bypassed the barrier from the conjoined city and into the UK proper where it rocketed towards Scotland. The stars in the night sky above.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations:

1. you

2. Hardly fair. We should have gone to find Tommy. That would have been more fair, man.

3. shithead

4. shit

5. of

6. to

7. into

8. You’re

9. want to

#superhero au #masks and maladies #dream smp #footnotes #Darkiplier #wilford warfstache #illinois the adventurer #ahwm illinois #Bim Trimmer #the Host #technoblade #Philza #Phil and Techno are brothers #Dream #making deals with devils #Dark is keeping secrets #drinking with old friends #past bad relationships

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jd-arts319 · 5 years ago

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Emberblade official bio

Designation: Emberblade

Former name: ashblade(past-formerly),Cinderblade(present-formerly)

Nickname:emby,berry,Em,Emy,Cindy/indy

Age: late 20’s

Gender: (Mech, Femme)

Status: (Single, Taken)single-taken

Appearance:

- Dark purple & blue with teal & yellow truck

2nd:

-dark blue/navy blue & pale gold truck

Size: 7’0 ft

Alt Mode: customize petro-built truck & jet(windblades jet alt-mode)

Armor colors:

Primary:purple(formerly),dark/Navy blue(currently)

Secondary:blue(formerly),pale gold(currently)

Accents:teal & blue

Speed Limits:

- 145

Weapon(s):

- scythes,saber swords,Spears,bare servos,

Universe: (G1, Animated, Prime, RID,Beast wars, Beast Machines, Armada, Energon, Cybertron, Bayverse,TF machinimas/combiner wars,power of the primes,war of Cybertron,IDW,Cyberverse)

-G1,animated,Prime-RID,TF machinimas/combiner wars,war of Cybertron,power of the primes,movieverse,cyberverse,IDW,

Sparkmate:Optimus prime

Sexuality:BI

Faction: (Autobot, Deceptcion, Neutral, Own creation)

-Autobot neutral

Role:

Movieverse:espionage-leader,animated:scientist & inventor,Prime-RID:leader,scientist,inventor,POTP:chosen/ascendant of solus prime,IDW:vigilante leader & a cityspeaking oracle from Caminus,TF CV:(same as prime-RID),G1:Scientist,inventor & medic

Primary Class Function: scientist & inventor,leader

Secondary Class Function: espionage,medic

Subroutine Function: scout

Personality:

- crazy,perky,playful,kind,cunning,empathetic,intelligent,mild-tempered(don't test her),protective,mature,stern yet gentle,calm & patient(also never test it...)

Background story:

she was once died as a science experiment from another timeline & reborn in Cybertron,she tries not to let herself be centered of attention & try to live like the rest of Cybertronian normally,however it was an avoidable as she ends up meeting alpha Trion then Orion pax,she became orion’s crazy amica endura.

{becoming orion’s amica endura}

-She was only known as Ashblades & stayed at iacon,she lives in a apartment when she was given a place to stay,skyfire was a jet who had let her stay on his complex for. While,she starts exploring iacon, she got interested when she saw they also had arts-based as well & she always had Fond of arts,so she decided to get herself a supply & digital art pads,for days she had done this,until she crossed path with Orion by accident,there where their friendship blossoms.

{meeting megatronus in kaon}

-She met him when she goes to one of his matches,after the match is over,she goes to get his autograph for Orion,but she ends up running into some mech’s(2) who ends up flirting & harassing her,Megatronus heard noise,he thought she was in trouble but he ends seeing her beat down the last mech with her pedes,she grumbles until she sees him,both end up feeling awkward but she did get the autograph however it ends with her,being invited by him to his matches,leading up to her with Orion being friends with megatronus.

{Orion becoming a prime & the start of the war}

-She had gone with megatronus & Orion to the council about megatronus ideal prospect to be heard,unfortunately it turns out he plans anarchy against them,however Orion had given his own ideals leading to the council being moved by his words,chosen as a prime & had megatronus start the war,both she & orion-now as Optimus-are in trouble.

{meeting Optimus & the humans}

-When the evacuation of Cybertron happens,she got evacuate earlier than before by accident,that Optimus thought she was dead since he can't feel her bond,fast forward years later,they met again when she saved the humans(jack,Miko,& Raf) from some vehicons,the three only know her as neutral Cybertronian,none had told the autobots about her until she revealed herself when she saved Miko from her reckless behavior again,she & Optimus had a lot of catching up to do.

Strengths:

- her friends & family,her confidence,her mind

Weakness:

- her spark,herself her past,her nightmares,being hated,being ignored for too long,her self-esteem.

Abilities:

-telepathy,precognition & recognition,telekinesis, weapon summoning, Enhanced strength & speed,combat skills,teleportation,Telekinesis,weapon & soul manipulation,Enhanced intelligent.

Fighting style:

-Panzer kunst,Krav Maga,aikido,Brazilian jiu Jitsu,jeet kune do

Strength-10

Intelligence-9

Speed-10

Endurance-9

Rank-8

Courage-9

Firepower-10

Skill-10

Teamwork-9

Cooperation-9

Armor-9

Charisma-9

Dexterity-10

Stamina-10

Constitution-9

Wisdom-10

Family:

- Vita(creator),unknown parents(deceased)

Sparklings:

-Orpheus,Orion,bluewing

Friends:

- Orion pax/Optimus prime(amica/conjunx),ratchet(close friend),Skyfire,megatron,Dion pax/Ultra magnus, hot rod/rodimus prime,drift & wing(amica endura),eris,nightingale,pyra magna,elita-1,chromia & windblade, starscream,bumblebee(close friends),arcee,bulkhead,jazz(friends)

Enemies:

Tfp

-megatron,arachnid,M.E.C.H/silas,nemesis prime (formerly)

Bayverse

-Sentinel prime(formerly),KSI(formerly),astinger & savoy(currently/deceased),lockdown(deceased),Quintessons & Quintessa(unknown),nemesis prime(formerly)

Tfa

-Sentinel minor(refuse to acknowledge as a prime),council

Tf G1

-Quintessons,

Favorite Quotes to says:

-“it doesn't matter if you are in different Factions,I choose to help them because friend or foe,we are still Cybertronians,children of primus Themsleves”

2nd bio:bayverse

Transformers

{before TF1,meeting bumblebee}

-she first met him when he came down to earth,she was already hiding there & seeing his signal was an accident,she wants to avoid meeting him,but she did end up meeting him in the end,afterwards she decided to join bumblebee on finding the glasses,she became close friends with him for a long time,until she met Sam,mikaela & the rest of the Autobots.

Aftermath of TF1

-after the battle,she took the piece of the all spark from megatron’s chest,she kept it hidden & she was offered by Optimus to join to come with them,not only she protected Sam but she also saved jazz life,not long after she asked to join,she became an Autobot neutral,she now stayed at the N.E.S.T base with the Autobots & start a new life there,it took time but she grew closer with them,especially the leader himself.

ROTF

-when she & the others found out about the fallen,they decided to deal with it,leaving into more surprising aspects,when Optimus died,it broke her but she kept it in & decided to help Sam & the others get the matrix to Optimus,she protected Sam from megatron’s blast by shielding him but both end up getting hurt,only for Sam to meet the primes,after he gone back from passing out,he manage to revive Optimus,despite her major wounds she still ends up fighting along side with the others,then after the battle she pass out.

Aftermath of ROFT

-she woke up on the medbay with bumblebee,Sam & Optimus,she understood bumblebee & Sam,but surprised to see Optimus as well,the 4 end up talked about what happened,with Optimus thanking her & sam’s help,she was surprised & asked why? She understood Sam,but why her?,it turns out because of her protecting sam despite he passed out,suffered minor injuries,he was able to get to revive Optimus thanks to her,she brushed it off & said that is ok,she still didn't do much anyway,afterwards things gone off nicely but she & Sam grew closer,along with the certain leader as well.

DOTM

-after what happened,they rescued sentinel prime,they found out her made deal with megaton,but thanks to the orcale pendant,they manage to upper hand him before he can hurt anyone else,leaving Ironhide alive,they put him on stasis cuffs to make sure he will not escape,but Shockwave manage got to him & took the information by brutal force,leaving sentinel sacred,he ends up joining their sides,with the help thanks to ratchet,Optimus,& herself,they were able to defeat megatron.

Aftermath DOTM

-after the battle they stayed a few weeks before leaving,William found out that the pendant had warned them about Autobots & Decepticons no-all Cybertronians destruction,when the day the world broke their alliagance with them,before the government could even announce this,they already had left & gone into hiding.

AOE

-when they found out drift,crosshair & Hound are out there,she,Optimus,& bumblebee decided to go,leaving Sentinel & ratchet in charge of their hideout,they send a message that they will be gone a few months,inches months they too had gone into hiding as well,they end up meeting casualties,Optimus still end up meeting the Yeager family,everything had gone the same except the KSI,had most Decepticons & minimum of Autobots,while the others remain alive & are in the hiding,Optimus still end up leaving but left the leadership role to Emberblade & Bumblebee.

Aftermath of AOE

-after he left,Emberblade told bumblebee to call the others while she asked crosshair & drift to help her bring the Dinobot back to their hiding place,metroplex,a hidden city for all Cybertronians-a like,once they brought them back,she replayed the message that Optimus told her to the others & help them with the dinobots while she & other two left.

TF the last knight

-After a year.Optimus was gone,she & the others take refuge on a scrap yard with cade & his new companions Isabela & sqeeks,they end up meeting new Cybertronians,however they had a ran in with the TRF,ending with meeting sir Edmundo,hot rod,Cogman & Viviane,finding out about quintessa arrival on earth with Cybertron,the Knights of Cybertron & fighting nemesis prime & megatron-who now resurfaced once more,with the help of the others,they won the battle but.Something surrounds a mystery of earth itself.

Aftermath of TF the last knight

-all of them had gone back to metroplex,they decided to stay longer before departing back to Cybertron,but among those years,a surprising twist shocked them finding out that Ember & Optimus are gonna have a 2nd sparkling,it turns out they start courting each other after the Egypt incident,& sparkbonded after the Chicago incident,they had their 1st sparkling back in metroplex,before they met Hound, drift, & crosshair

Other: (other things about the character)

-she is my main TFverse oc

-She was an old oc who is shipped with Optimus prime

-A cyber Esper,also came from the colony planet Caminus,

-Same past as my main oc,Reine but goes differently

-this is TF(all media) X undertale crossover

________________________________________

She belongs to me-

All Transformers media belongs to Hasbro's & the aligned continuities

#original & stableverse #oc #inspiration #transformers #tfverse #chronoverse #archiveverse #ships #lmao

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years ago

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949.

1. When are you likely to be condescending? >> I don’t think there’s a specific situation that causes me to sometimes fall back into negative communication habits. I just learned some shitty ways of acting towards other people pretty early in life and sometimes it comes out reflexively. It’s definitely a lot better now, and I’m usually able to catch myself before I behave in a condescending manner, but I think sometimes I just don’t notice it until it’s already out there. 2. How do you treat people that you feel are somehow “lower” than you? >> I don’t feel anyone is “lower than” me. I get irritated with people sometimes for acting in certain ways, but I don’t think that necessarily translates into thinking I’m better than them. 3. Do you support the idea of anarchy? >> I don’t have a complete understanding of what anarchy is, so I can’t say. The most I’m aware of is “lack of government”, and although I can see the appeal of that, I think some sort of governmental system should exist to keep social and economic systems running and to guard against corruption. The concept of government may or may not be inherently flawed, but I’m not entirely sure what the alternative is supposed to be (or how it’s any better). 4. What do you think of the population of teenagers that considers college to be a waste of their time? >> I understand why they may think that. 5. Do you consider your education to be a waste of your time? >> No, but to be fair, my education is also not locked behind an exorbitant tuition that is bound to put me in debt for a large portion of my adult life while also not guaranteeing that I will make a living income in a gratifying career.

6. Every tattoo has a story behind it; if you have any, what are the stories behind yours? >> The one on my hand is a Mannaz rune and my then-friend did it for me with a tattoo kit they got off the internet. For all that, it didn’t come out bad at all -- it’s just thin in places where the ink didn’t get distributed evenly enough, you know. My thirty-dollar tattoo on my wrist that I got done in the Bronx (the number 19 in Roman numerals) is around the same level of quality. That was my first tattoo, the thirty-dollar one. There’s a spider dangling from it now that I got added on last year at Downtown Tattoo in New Orleans, which is also where I got the “scully, it’s me” on my upper inner arm a few years ago. That’s an X-Files reference; Sparrow has the matching one (”mulder, it’s me”). (The XIX and spider are references to The Dark Tower and my part in it, of course.) 7. Have you ever gone through a period of mass weight-gain/weight-loss? what was that time like for you? >> No. 8. What’s one incident that has majorly affected your self-esteem? Was it for better, or for worse? >> There is no one incident that has majorly affected my self-esteem. My image of myself is the way it is because of years and years of being devalued, emotionally neglected, abused, and generally treated with a lack of care. And now after all those people have contributed to this, it’s up to one person -- me -- to fix it all. Amazing. What a joke life is sometimes. 9. Is the number of followers you have important to you? >> No. Well -- yeah. It’s important in the sense that if the number gets too high, I get antsy. LOL. 10. How many hours a day do you think is just entirely too many? >> What? 11. Do you have a close bond with your sibling(s)? Was it always this way, or has it been better/worse? >> --- 12. Have you ever behaved like a stalker? >> I don’t think so. I’ve been a little creepy when I was younger, but nothing I could see being arrested for. 13. How are you feeling today? >> A little tired -- my sleep schedule is always getting disrupted by factors I can’t pinpoint or control. But mostly okay. 15. Do you cook your own meals or do your parents? >> Sparrow does 99% of the cooking. I mostly just eat easy-to-prepare things otherwise. 16. Have you used Limewire before? >> I sure have. 17. Are you/were you in a band? if so, what was your band name? >> No. 18. Who do you envy the most, if anyone at all? >> I’m not sure. 19. Has the last person you kissed met your father? >> No one I’ve kissed has met my father. 20. Who knows you better than you know yourself? >> Can Calah.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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daisywords · 6 years ago

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Characters But No Plot?

I’ve been struggling with the exact same issue for a long time, and now I feel like my wip is finally emerging (albeit slowly) from its chrysalis with maybe some semblance of a plot !? so here’s what I’ve learned:

So you have characters? lovely.

You have a setting? amazing.

You don’t have anything remotely resembling a plot? relatable, my dude.

So here’s what we’re going to do:

Step 1: feel out the general aesthetic/baseline that you want the plot to involve—epic battles? ocean’s-eleven-esqe heist? long meandering quest? political intrigue? lots of romance? tons of secrets? self discovery? solving mysteries? petty drama?

how big of a scale will this plot be on? what are the stakes?

is the fate of the world at risk? or just the fate of a relationship? are multiple countries in play, or do the characters never leave their small town?

This will depend on the characters you have, if their backstories are already fleshed out. And obviously the setting and worldbuilding you’ve already done.

Don’t be afraid to have a tight story with relatively small stakes. Not everything has to be about saving the whole world. On the other hand, if you’re really feeling juggling all the politics and diplomacy across an entire continent, you do you.

Step 2: Mash your setting and characters. It’s time to get more specific with all your enlightenment from step one.

Think about your setting, your world—what kinds of problems could exist that match the kind of plot you wanted in step one?

Which problems would specifically apply/relate to your characters?

Specific is the key. Don’t just give me “a war” or “a monster” or “an oppressive government.” Give me “Tina can’t get the supplies she needs for her healing spells because the collapse of a neighboring country’s government really did a number on the safety/success rate of trade routes” or “Prince Gary’s four older brothers have all mysteriously died, and now he’s the heir to the throne, even though he’s been raised in a monastery since he was three and has no idea what’s going on.”

Step 2.5: Why is your main character the Main Character? Or: Make the Stakes Personal

Part of specific is specific to your character. Your protagonist doens’t need to be some over-candied mary sue chosen one. But they need to be relevant. So make the plot/problem relevant to them, in a way that it isn’t relevant to others.

Sure, Tina could just shut her witch-doctor business down, except now her sister has the plague and she really needs that healing spell, so Tina’s just going to have to journey into anarchy-land to get that frickin flower, now isn’t she

Gary could just do what he’s told and shrug his shoulders’ except looks like his brothers were assassinated and he’s the next target. Hard to relax when you’re personally fearing for your life and can’t trust anyone around you.

Except maybe things aren’t working out. Maybe you don’t want to write about Tina or Gary as your precious MC.

Maybe you want to write about a young apprentice named Jane, or a cowardly monk named Sebastian.

So maybe little Jane is the one with the sick sister, the one who begs Tina for the cure, and sets off to find that missing ingredient when Tina explains the problem.

Or maybe Sebastian, Gary’s friend from the monastery is brought along as court scholar, and it’s he who has to prevent Gary’s assassination, because Gary won’t believe that he’s in danger.

Basically: What motivates your MC to get involved in all this nasty business in the first place?

Step 3: Who/What is your antagonist?

You know that problem? The one that’s going to suck for your poor little protagonist? Put a face on it. You might already have a fleshed out antagonist. Great.

(You might not want one specific person, and that’s fine. Man vs. society, man vs. nature, etc. stories can be great and you do you. But I’m going to discuss this like a single person for now.)

Ok so the problem. It’s now caused by a person. Was this intentional, or just a side effect of some bigger plan? What is that plan? What is concrete thing is motivating the antagonist? What inner desire is motivating the antagonist?

Warlord Ren, who overthrew Westland’s government, doesn’t care about Jay’s sister. He probably isn’t even aware that people in Eastland can’t get their medicine. He definitely isn’t doing any of this to hurt Jane. In fact Warlord Ren is the leader of a once-marginalized group in Westland, who were sick of being treated as second-class citizens. Warlord Ren is out for revenge. Violent Revenge.

Lizzy, Gary’s first cousin once-removed, has a two-year-old son who just happens to be next in line for the throne after Gary. If her son were to become the heir, she could be guaranteed lifelong financial security and independence—and the ability to leave her terrible marriage. Too bad so many people have to die.

Step 4: What logical step would your protagonist take to solve their problem?

This is where things start being a plot. Like you get real events.

It goes like this: action > consequence > (re)action > consequence etc etcetec

Once the consequences extend wide enough that they affect the antagonist, that’s when we get the actual protagonist vs. antagonist dynamic we know and love.

So the consequences can start being actions of the antagonist as well.

There’s safety in numbers, so Jane teams up with a caravan also trying to cross Westland. But they turn out to be thieves, who rob her blind the first night on the road.

Sebastian, worried about Gary being poisoned, insists on being present for the entire preparation and serving process of anything Gary eats. However, Gary finds this unnecessary and frustrating, causing friction in their friendship. Better/worse yet, Lizzy hears about this arrangement, and thus knows that Sebastian is on her trail. Maybe she’ll try to discredit him, or get him thrown out of court. Maybe she’ll even frame him for an assassination attempt.

Step 4.5: Put your characters where the action is.

I feel like this is one of the main problems people run into when they kinda have the basis of a plot (the problem) but no real events: The most interesting things are happening elsewhere and are heard about in passing, instead of actually becoming those real plot events.

Bonus: Not sure where the action is? Try this: put your characters where the antagonist is.

This seems obvious, but sometimes it’s hard, because you have to reframe the concept you’ve had in your head for so long. You have to be flexible. You have to be willing to deviate from your original vision. You also have to maneuver things around sometimes in unexpected ways. But guess what? You’re in charge.

Maybe Warlord Ren is up to some wicked schemes. You wanted your story to be all about Jane’s quest through Westland. But if Jane just keeps traveling through different towns and getting stuck in different shenanigans, she’s never going to even hear about those wicked schemes, let alone be put into direct conflict with Warlord Ren. So we sacrifice our journey narrative a little to really spice things up: Jane joins Ren’s army. After all, she was just robbed; if she joins just until the next paycheck, she’ll be able to have the means to continue her journey.

Sebastian, a court scholar, wouldn’t be along on a hunting trip, right? so I guess he’s just have to hear about Gary’s near-death “accident” after the fact, right? Wrong. Turns out Gary feels bad after their fight about ��poison paranoia” and invites Sebastian along on the trip. It’s very unconventional, but Gary wasn’t raised as a prince, remember? And the crown prince gets what he wants. Good thing Sebastion is going to be right next to Gary to keep that accident just “nearly fatal” instead of full-on fatal.

Step 5: Reexamine the problem(s)

So things should have escalated by now. Maybe the initial problem is what drew our MC into this whole mess, but things should be a lot messier by now.

So we’re supposed to have a climax, right? But how?

Do not fear, friend. Here’s what we need:

- The most exciting/action based problem

- The problem that tests your character/engages internal conflict the most

- the original problem (from the beginning)

And now put them in the blender. Turn it on. That’s good. A good smoothie. It’s climax flavored. It’s exciting. It’s action-packed. It’s emotionally compelling. It’s structurally sound and resonant.

Jane has turned out to be quite a capable soldier. She’s managed to get quite high in the ranks, and has managed to impress Warlord Ren himself. The trouble is, she’s had to do more and more things she feels wrong about, and is slowly losing the ability to justify her actions based on her desire to save her sister. She’s also witnessed the harsh punishments given to attempted deserters, which makes her plan to join only for a little while seem less feasible. Now, Jane’s been given an assignment to lead a squadron on a killing spree, of people who she suspects are just innocent civilians. If she follows orders, she will be awarded a high-ranking position, granting her the ability to ensure a safe trade route so her sister an finally get her medicine. But this still doesn’t feel right…

Lizzy has successfully framed Sebastion for attempting to assassinate Gary. Sebastian is now facing execution. His friendship with Gary is severely damaged, maybe even beyond repair. Gary believes that he really is guilty. But that’s not all: Sebastian knows that Lizzy has plans to kill Gary herself that very night, while he is locked in the dungeon. Even if he manages to break out, Sebastian has always been a nonviolent pacifist. Will he choose to use violence in order to save his friend, even thought Gary doesn’t trust him?

Step 6: Resolve Everything

And that’s all, folks

#writing help #characters but no plot #what to do with your oc #writing advice #finding a plot #And I mean actually resolve everything #don't just leave us hanging like I just did #My examples always have terrible names #Idk if this will work for any of you guys but here #obviously not just talking about fantasy but this was originally in response to someone's fantasy wip struggles

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 6 years ago

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Tomorrow Never Came PT. 4

You have one job - travel decades into the past and save your mother from a horrible future. You can’t fail or you’ll have to start over again completely, and you have to act on your own. Already having broken rule number two, a new revelation forces you to reflect on how much impact you’ll truly have, not just on your mother’s life, but on other’s as well.

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here

(a/n: i wish i could have put more deacon in this ksdkfjsd i love him but it felt forced if i put too much in there. anyways big things happening here hehe ok not huge but still wild. im gonna go to a basketball game now pray that the nacho cheese is good bc im craving a walking taco)

“So you were just working and you heard this loud boom? That’s terrible!” Brian exclaimed, leaning forward from between you and John. His abnormally long legs were spread out, leaving you scarcely any room to sit comfortably as the six of you chatted away.

“Yes, it was quite terrifying, really,” Mary practically gushed, leaning over Freddie’s lap as they lounged on the floor together, Freddie’s back against the side of the chair Roger was casually seated in. “There were hundreds of us in there, I’d never learned any protocol on how to handle a bomb threat. Closed us down until a few days ago, the back room was in shambles!”

“Who did it?” you questioned, genuinely curious about who would have a beef with Biba in this day and age. That being said, you also knew this day and age almost purely in textbook definitions and whatever the limited scope of your world had to offer you in the last two months – so basically, you only knew 70’s Kensington.

“Wasn’t it the Angry Brigade?” John chimed in, rifling through a magazine lackadaisically as he spoke. “I think I read that they claimed it in IT.”

“What have they got to be so angry about?” you asked, Roger snorting and letting his head fall back against the chair as he rested a leg on Freddie’s shoulder, quickly getting it brushed off. Giving Freddie a sour look, he hooked his legs over the armrest instead, lazing back in the chair and getting extra comfortable as he began to speak.

“I’d be angry if I had horrid taste in clothing too. Imagine wanting to bomb Biba and thinking ‘Wow, I’m really letting those fashionable fuckers have it! Anarchy!’”

Freddie toyed with Mary’s hair as she draped herself over his lap completely. Smiling at the sweet gesture, you hugged your knees to your chest and rested your chin on your right knee, looking down at the couch in front of you and tugging on a frayed fabric.

“Well, at least you’ve got a job again,” Freddie directed at Mary, who nodded and smiled as she leaned into his hand that was running through her hair.

“And you’ve got a place to come pester me besides my flat,” she added, laughing when Freddie retracted his hand and gave her a resentful glance before crossing his arms. “I’m joking, I love when you come see me at work, lovie! Don’t stop playing with my hair, I like it.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Freddie sighed before going back to running his fingers through her hair. You were observing their conversation all the while, so when they quieted, you looked up and found that Roger had also been watching them. He looked up and met your gaze, pretending to gag himself with his middle finger and making you laugh as you turned away from him.

“What’s so funny? Surely, it’s not Roger.” Brian’s tone held a sort of faux innocence, but he was clearly prying at Roger’s patience – what was new, though? In the handful of times you’d been around this rag tag group of friends for the past two months, they had tested each other’s patience in every way possible. Yet here everyone was, laughing and having a good time with each other over a couple bottles of cheap wine. You regretted that you didn’t get to spend more time with them – you used overtime hours at the café as an excuse, but you knew that it was mainly because you really didn’t want to cry any harder than you already were going to when you had to return to your actual reality.

“I’ll have you know, Brian, I’m a regular comedian!” Roger protested, taking a sip of his wine as he glared over the rim at the curly-haired giant next to you. “Y/N was laughing at me, in fact. Or maybe it was your pants, who knows?”

Brian looked down at his admittedly hideous trousers, a shitty shade of brown that did not compliment his skin tone well at all. On top of that, they were a horrendous pinstripe pattern, and they didn’t match the striped green jumper he had on. “I’d rather accept that than even entertain the notion that you were remotely funny enough to make anyone laugh.”

“Salty today, Brian?” you asked, giving him a gently nudge with your elbow and receiving a nudge in response as he chuckled, crossing his arms.

Suddenly, Roger was giggling gleefully to himself, playing with a kerchief he’d had around his neck as he seemed extremely amused by it. “Brian,” you thought you’d heard him mumble, and you raised an eyebrow as you watched his snickers intensify, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. He was clearly enjoying something, and you were eager to know what was so funny about what you’d just said.

“Rog, what in the hell are you going on about over there?” Brian asked, doing the dirty work for you as you watched expectantly, Roger’s eyes raising to meet the gazes of both of you.

His cheeks reddened a bit and he nervously let his eyes fall back to his kerchief, fiddling with it. “Nothing, I just thought of something funny.”

“Let’s hear it then,” you encouraged, giving him a smile as he chuckled and glanced at you quickly, giving an almost ashamed smile while he tried to decide whether he should say it or not. He felt anxious, like he was under a microscope suddenly, and he knew that the joke he’d said in his head was cringe-worthy at best. But you looked so insistent and so supportive of him that he finally grumbled and dropped the kerchief to his lap.

“I was laughing because I thought you called him Brine.”

The look on your face faltered as you struggled to comprehend what he was saying. “You thought I called him Brian? Isn’t that his name?”

“No!” Roger whined, Brian cocking his head to the side and making Roger groan as he pressed a hand to his forehead. “I mean, yes, that’s his name! But I thought you called him Brine, like salt water brine, and I laughed because it’s salty and so is Brine. I mean, Brian. Damn it! It’s fucking funny, okay?” He quickly shot up out of his seat, stomping towards the kitchen as you watched, still just as confused as ever, but Brian was laughing.

“You ever notice how much faster he moves when he’s wrong?” Brian noted, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he rose from his seat, following Roger into the kitchen as he refused to pass up an opportunity to keep giving him hell. Today, and only today, Brian seemed to have time to keep up with Roger.

Keeping up with Roger any other day? Now that was a chore. As much as you tried to focus on the sole reason you were here in 1970’s London, you couldn’t help but be intrigued by Roger as an individual. He was an enigma, his motives, knowledge, and way with words completely baffling to you. With people like Brian, it was easy. Brian, although reserved, was very much an intellectual when he spoke, and he always had a sort of predictability to him. Sure, he was a wild man when he’d had a few pints, but not like Roger. Roger was a wild man every single day, and it excited you so much that it simultaneously exhausted you.

You were lulled out of your thoughts by the feeling of the couch sinking down next to you again, and you found that Roger was now seated next to you instead, in the midst of an argument with Brian.

“Brian, you’re just upset because you’re so clearly up your own arse that you can’t understand anyone else’s humor! Get a grip, mate.” Watching Roger, you observed as he glared at the taller man, who sunk down into the chair that Roger had been in just moments ago.

“Or you just have an unrefined sense of humor?” Brian suggested, his voice laced with the slightest bit of animosity as he tried and nearly failed to ignore the “up your arse” comment. When Roger rolled his eyes and began mocking him in a high-pitched, feminine voice, Brian scoffed and looked down at Freddie, who’d been watching the exchange quietly. “What a pathetic display. I’m genuinely ashamed God made me a man.”

“Yeah, well I don’t think God’s doing a lot of bragging either!” Roger spit back, fire practically shooting out of Brian’s eyes as his head whipped up so he was staring at Roger.

“You fucking wanker! You’re just showing off and trying to be all funny because Y/N is here,” Brian accused, his usually gentle hazel eyes brimming with hostility. Your eyes widened at the tension that settled between the two of them, a heavy weight in the air as you desperately looked at Freddie for some help. Freddie just shrugged, though, offering no assistance and pretending to ignore the petty argument as he braided a small section of Mary’s hair.

“Um, should I go?” you asked, pointing at the door as you glanced between Brian and Roger. Obviously, this tiff had something to do with you, and while you had no idea how, you figured it was best for you to just let them figure it out. Rising to your feet, you tugged your pajama shorts down before grabbing your glass of wine and padding off to Roger’s room as Roger yelled at Brian once again.

“Now you’ve done it, you big moron. You’ve scared our roommate out of her own room! God, you’re really something, Brian.”

Snickering at the fiery words, you shook your head and entered Roger’s semi-messy room, crossing over to the window and curling up in one of the two beanbags situated next to it. Tucking your legs underneath you, you sipped your wine and stared out at the twilight sky, a creamy semidarkness to the horizon that framed the city’s buildings. You could just see the outlines of the church across the street, which made you scowl as you imagined your mom’s haggard face, her head leaning back against that damned rocking chair, just sitting there motionlessly. “Fucking prick,” you muttered, the fleeting thought of your father and the two men from the church poisoning your thoughts, a bitter reminder of your current purpose.

“Yeah, Brian can be a bit of a headcase, but he’s alright sometimes.” You jumped as you suddenly heard Roger’s voice behind you, and you turned to look at him as he crossed the room and stood opposite of you, leaning against the window frame.. “Definitely a fucking prick, though.”

“Oh,” you breathed out softly, furrowing your eyebrows as you pushed all of your previous thoughts out. “Yeah, he’s mental. Funny guy, though.”

“Don’t say that,” Roger groaned, giving you a small grin before he looked out the window as well. “Fred wants you back out there. Says he’s got an announcement.”

“I suppose I better bless the room with my presence then, huh?” you teased, Roger chuckling and pulling you to your feet before letting you lead the way. As you exited his room, he tried and failed to ignore the way your pajama shorts were riding up, just revealing the curve of your ass beneath it. Catching his tongue between his teeth, he had a brief ‘Lord help me’ moment before it was ended all too soon by your hand reaching down to tug the shorts back into their original place again.

Following you out to the main room again, Roger resumed his spot on the couch next to you as Deacon chatted with Mary politely, quieting down when he realized everyone was there again. Brian shifted uncomfortably in the chair, avoiding looking at you or Roger as he waited for Freddie, who was now in the kitchen, to speak.

“Now that we’ve decided to take the band more seriously, I figured I should start taking myself more serious now too.” Freddie walked out with an envelope of things, pulling out what looked like a passport and handing it to Brian, then pulling out a few sketches and handing them to Deacon, who marveled at the artwork as Brian looked up at Freddie. There was an amused look on his face, and you listened curiously as they spoke while you sipped your wine.

“Mercury? Like our song?”

“Freddie fucking Mercury. Doesn’t that sound delightful?” You choked on your sip of wine, turning beet red as they all glanced at you. This was news. Freddie Bulsara was actually Freddie Mercury, standing right here in front of you, your roommate and closest friend for two months, and you’d had no idea. “Well, if you didn’t like it dear, you could have just said so!” Freddie laughed, handing you a paper towel so you could wipe the wine off of your nose.

You laughed nervously with him, cleaning yourself up as you stared up at him, still floored at this development. “Just went down the wrong pipe,” you replied quietly, in awe at the living legend who’d just handed you a paper towel because you were a moron who didn’t put two and two together for actual months. If that was Freddie Mercury, then this must be Queen. It had to be Queen.

Your suspicions were confirmed as Deacon handed the sketches over to Roger, who ooh’ed and aah’ed at them as he eyed the details. There was the Queen crest, and you felt dizzy as you realized how blind you’d been all this time. You were casually rooming with two rock legends and you thought you’d just been slumming with a few students that had side gigs as musicians.

“Mercury seems like a bit much, but then again, you are a bit much,” Brian taunted, Freddie tossing a pillow at him as he sat back down again, chuckling.

“Well, as some illustrious person once said, ‘You can tell a lot about a man by his name.’”

“You just made that up, didn’t you?” Brian asked, raising an eyebrow at Freddie, who laughed once again.

“Maybe. But I do stand by it, honest!”

It all made sense now. Your mom had been a huge fan of these guys – you, not so much, for you were admittedly out of touch with the 80’s and 70’s. But you very vaguely knew about them, and of course, the two remaining members were still bigshots as far as your country was concerned. John Deacon, the bass player who’d dropped off the face of the Earth in the 90’s, lounging at the end of the couch. Brian May, the guitar legend who’d once played on top of Buckingham, squinting at Freddie’s passport and turning it in his hands. And next to you, ogling at the newly designed logo for his band, Roger fucking Taylor, a legend as far as drumming was concerned and one hell of a singer from what your mom had said.

You’d never asked him about the band or about the name. You really had thought they’d just been playing in pubs for fun, which at this point, they might very well be. And you’d never been around to hear them practicing or talking about the band – you’d been too busy in your own little world of the café and the church that you hadn’t paid any mind to their musical work. Now, you realized that you very well should have.

“You want to have a look?” Roger suddenly asked, grabbing your attention again as he offered you the papers, which you accepted shakily. It felt like your head was spinning as you stared down at the iconic crest, the two lions that framed the crown and letter Q, which was topped by a crab. Two fairy women stared up at the Q from below, and a phoenix stole the show at the top of it all, encompassing the entire work and bringing it all around into one big individual crest.

“Don’t hog it, I want to see,” Brian complained, and Roger rolled his eyes as you took a deep breath and handed it to Brian, who switched you for the passport. There was Freddie, long hair, clean-shaven face. This was not the iconic Freddie photo you knew. You only knew Freddie from the mustache, from the unique voice. This was a young Freddie, an inexperienced Freddie – this was not the same rock legend that your mom adored back in the present.

Oh, God. “I need some air, I’m getting a bit overheated,” you murmured, handing off the passport to Roger, who glanced at you curiously before looking over the document with Deacon. Excusing yourself, you tiptoed back to Roger’s room and opened the window, leaning out as your heart sank in your chest, heavy with the weight of what you knew.

Freddie Mercury was dead long before you’d even been born. AIDs had prematurely ended his life, his career, and that was something that even you knew. A man you considered to be one of your best friends as of currently would be dead in 20 years, and there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t stay here for a whole two decades, monitoring Freddie, keeping him out of harm’s way. Who knew how he’d contracted the horrible disease? It could have been anything at any time. And that killed you inside.

On the other hand, you had to watch yourself. This was literally Queen you were talking about here - if you meddled any more than you currently were, who knows what kind of shit could happen to the band? How big of an impact were you going to have here? Anything you say could alter their path irreversibly. If it was bad enough, you’d have to restart your mission completely, setting you back months in your progress already. God, this is some Butterfly Effect-type shit. I miss Brooklyn 99 and not having an existential crisis every time I make a choice.

“Freddie asked me to bring this to you, I figured you’d be in here again.” Roger’s voice once again interrupted your train of thought, and you sighed as you waved listlessly at the floor next to you, leaving your head resting on your other arm in the window frame. “You alright? You’re not gonna keel over on me, are you? ‘Cause I’d prefer if you bit the big one in Freddie’s room.”

“Fuck off,” you laughed weakly, sliding back into the room and dragging yourself onto one of the bean bags as you picked up the refilled wine glass that he’d brought you. When you looked up at him, he shrugged and took a seat across from you, his legs tangled with yours in the small space. “Sorry for being a party pooper. Just have a lot on my mind, and I’m tired.”

“Well, you are working a lot,” Roger remarked, a worried expression crossing his face as he crossed his arms. He was undeniably gorgeous, even in the dark. The streetlights coming in from the window highlighted his face in a way that made his cheekbones seem even more prominent, his jawline sharper than usual, casting an angular shadow on his neck. Light played around in his eyes, making them paler but just as striking as he observed you with a concerned eye. “Maybe you should take some time off, you’ll catch your death if you don’t relax a bit.”

His words were sinfully calming to you, and you beat yourself up inside as you sipped at your wine glass, tearing your eyes away from his irresistible gaze to look out the window at the now-night sky. “No, I need to focus on work,” you murmured, an uneasy look passing over your face as you avoided his piercing gaze, refusing to falter. You had to focus. Your mom’s livelihood was in your hands. “It’s too important.”

“Are you not important too?” he questioned, making your heart race. You couldn’t help yourself – you met his gaze once more, chewing on your lip as the intimidating stare seemed to try and pick you apart, piece by piece. He was worried about you - this meant he was genuinely attached to you, and that terrified you. But you couldn’t help yourself once again - you had to pry.

“I don’t know. Am I?”

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3

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EDIT: HI IM SORRY I FUCKED UP THE LAYOUT ON MOBILE I LITERALLY HATE TUMBLR MOBILE WITH MY WHOLE BEING HAHAHAHAA FUCK

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #queen imagine #time travel #time travel imagine

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smoliboops · 6 years ago

Text

so i woke up this morning (so apologies if i sound a bit off or groggy in this haha) but i awoke to a lot of posts discussing about “drama” and speciffically first saw @turquoisemagpie ‘s geniuinely curious post about the community’s status.

i’ll start off by saying 1) im also genuinely curious about all this. i care about this community and ive been in the tumblr one specifically for 4 years now, and this seems to be the first anomaly ive seen in my time here that hasn’t been one off but “underlying”.

2) im human, lol. i’ll be honest, ive never gotten involved with stuff like this (the only one i think would barely count was when the community was debating over anti’s portrayal back in december 2017). this is just what i think in as objective and analytical of a way i can place it, and it’s not wrong nor right. just my own thoughts. (also note, i have two exams tomorrow, so i probs wont be on here afterwards anyway cos i need to study else i die lol, but i just wanted to chime in like anyone else would)

ok first point- the drama is not shallow enough to solely revolved around the intro outro changing.

it is not the issue itself; rather it is the situation, or window that is giving us a bigger picture in the new, wierd mood that the community has been in for a while.

im human, but personally, in the large amount of time ive spent everyday scrolling thru the tag i have not legitamentely seen a post saying “oh i dont like that jack isnt doing the intro anymore im unsubscribing.” it doesnt seem logical to me that someone who dedicates themselves enough to the channel that they are a active member of the tumbtlr community, to throw all that away just for an intro.

what i have seen instead are 2 things:

1) usually when i scroll thru the tag and see a current hot topic, i try to scroll back up til i find the post that probably originally started it all. this, along with the first type ive seen in the tag, are people saying that “some people are unsubscribing cos of outro...how can they do that..they have to understand change is normal...people act like children sometimes...i cant believe it those people are not part of the community they should just leave...etc

2)the people i have seen saying “ah man i miss the intro and outro....i miss them it feels a little weird without them...i hope they dont go away forever i’d miss it”..etc

number 2 does not match with the people number 1 are talking about. unless i am wrong (i am human so if you have actually seen this on tumblr send me a link to the person’s blog or post) the people missing the outros have never said they would leave the community. Simply expressing a sentiment for something that has always been the norm that is now changing, that’s all it is for most people.

BUT, the misunderstanding/missalignment i see between 1 and 2, is that people in 2 is either being generalized/misslabeled/or lumped by others as the “leaving the community” group. and this can even apply to number 1, where some who genuine simplly want to say “the outro might be gone, but it’s ok to change” are grouped into the others saying “leave the community you kids dont belong here” and this is the window into the main problem i think in the community.

jack is changing. this is the happiest ive seen him be in 4 years and you have no idea how happy i am for him that he is choosing to take care of himself more and finding/discovering what he truly wants for himself, his style of commentary, the channel, and the community.

No one wants to get in the way of that. not 1, not 2, no one here wants to legit do that because we all so so deeply care about him. he brought us so much happiness, friendships, friggin several couples proposed in front of him over the years cause he indirectly helped them find love. we care about jack so much, that as a community we’re trying our best to give him the best atmosphere to change. but it’s a big community, so of course people have different ways of doing so.

we love him fiercely, so we either protect fiercely or we speak up fiercely. and then the whole tag is on fire. you’re on fire. you try pouring comforting pics on it oh no that was gasoline help-

people want to help jack and the channel/community through feedback; if something is felt to be wrong by a person, they’d want to let the captain know that something’s amiss and how/why it is and if they can fix it.

people want to help jack and the channel/community by protecting/managing it; if we dont want to sink the ship, we have to keep up and remember the duties as a member what we should be doing so that if we see a hurricane coming, we can deal with it the best without getting the ship damaged.

both are good, you can’t have one without the other. without proper management the ship will sink, but if there’s a solution outside of protocol it should be considered. if the new idea/solution/feedback is faulty enough that it would put us at even greater peril, the rules serve as a guide of judgement in doing what’s best for the ship.

no one side is right on its own. if there’s no way of feedback or communication to the captain, or anarchy is assumed among the members and the captain is overthrown, the ship will sink.

cooperation is key. nothing is black and white, its gray and our relationship with jack is a conversation.

agree or disagree, we need to not dismiss one in favor of ourself, we need to listen, be open, and use other’s ideas (whether good or bad, evil or rightous, selfish or selfless, or just plain neutral) in forming our own and vice versa, creating a cycle of healthy conversation rather than attacking or defending blindly.

and as well, the captain has had years of hard work, dedication, knowledge, and experience to get to his position. and ultimately it is Jack who is the one to decide how to run this ship. there can be members whose feedback is unjustified, or even hate-filled. there can be members who feel a one particular way is the right one over all else . but Jack is the one who chooses what to take into himself and the channel. does he think this feedback is valid? he’s open to taking it into consideration. does he disagree with it? that’s ok too, he still decides what he’ll take from it, good or bad, and move on.

experiencing things, toxic or healthy, we as individuals have the power to choose what to take in, not take in, and how we proceed with the information we take in. the actions of others have no rule over you, you rule over yourself. you choose what to take in and how. if we restrain ourselves/others, or protect ourselves/others, from this, then that right to choose is taken away before we even get a chance to choose. we just become isolated and very very, very alone.

tl;dr: TALK, FOR THE LOVE OF ANALOGIES AND GOD AND EVERYONE, JUST TALK CIVILLY AND NORMALLY WITH EACH OTHER. WE’RE ADULTS. JACK IS AN ADULT. CONVERSATE. NO ONE IS PROBLEMATIC AND NO ONE IS UNPROBLEMATIC. WE’RE ALL HUMAN, WE’RE ALL GRAY. WE ALL LOVE JACK WE ALL LOVE THIS COMMUNITY AND WE’RE ALL SO VERY GRAY AND SO SO SO COMPLEX AND HUMAN. SO PLEASE, P L E A S E

why dont you just talk to each other....

#jacksepticeye

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willtasker · 3 years ago

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Science Fiction Legend David Gerrold On Why Snowpiercer Is Bad

All right, so let's talk about SNOWPIERCER, a brilliantly produced movie that ultimately fails in the two most important ways a science fiction film can fail.

I'll take the easy one first -- the audience will suspend disbelief, they will not suspend common sense.

The idea here is that the Earth has frozen over. The only survivors are living on a train that circles the globe endlessly.

1) The Earth is frozen over because scientists have decided to put something called CW7 in the atmosphere to halt global warming. They do it with chem trails. It works too well. The planet gets too cold, everything freezes down so cold you'll freeze to death in minutes.

Now, look -- whatever that CW7 stuff is -- you're gonna have to put several million tons of it into the atmosphere to cools down the planet. That's a lot of chem trails. It's going to take a long time. Years. Decades perhaps. Even if you could retro-fit every jet plane in the world on its next scheduled maintenance, it would still take millions of miles. And you would think that as soon as the temperature gradients start falling too fast, not matching the projections, the scientists -- or whatever agency behind it -- would stop the process to evaluate the results. But no -- whatever this CW7 is ... bam, it freezes everything to a giant planet-sized popsicle.

2) Where did all that water come from? Even in this planet's worst ice ages, there wasn't enough H2o to make enough snow to cover every continent.

3) Now let's talk about that train. Supposedly there's a track that spans the entire globe -- we get a quick glimpse of the map. That train has been running for 17 years, non-stop. Who's maintaining the rails? Who's replacing the worn out bearings? Who's maintaining the bridges. What's it using for fuel? Any machine with moving parts wears out quickly. Even with the best materials available -- friction takes its toll. This train is made out of bolognium....

4) When there's an avalanche blocking the track -- does the train slow down and burn the ice away? No, it roars into it at high speed, cracking the ice like a bullet. Nothing derails. The engine doesn't even get dented.

5) The McGuffin is industrial waste that produces hallucinogenic effects, but can also be compiled to make a bomb. Uh ... really?

6) The people at the tail end of the train are have-nots who are fed protein derived from crushed cockroaches. They are living in a slum. The people in the front of the train are the 1%.

Okay -- why is there such a dichotomy? It's never really justified. Why are these people even allowed on the train if they're just there to be poor slobs?

7) The train is a completely closed eco-system. We see a farm, we see an aquarium car, but we don't really see enough to suggest an eco-system that can support all these people. And after 17 years, you'd think they'd have run out of steaks by now.

8) At the end, an Asian girl rescues a black boy, blows a hole in the side of the engine, which triggers an avalanche, which destroys the entire train. She and the boy are the only survivors. But it's all right -- they see a polar bear, so life is possible. Maybe -- but if that polar bear is hungry enough, their life is over too.

9) About that polar bear. Polar bears eat seals or whale blubber if they can find a dead whale. So if that polar bear is alive, seals must be alive. And if seals are alive, then fish are still alive. And if fish are still alive, then plankton is still alive, and that means the oceans aren't frozen over because plankton need sunlight to grow.

Should I continue?

Okay, now some of the above can be fixed. For instance, the people living at the tail end of the train are the maintenance crew and the servants for the one-percenters. Everything from grease-monkeys to sex-workers.

From time to time the train arrives at some kind of underground facility where parts, fuel, and supplies are stored. The train is the only mechanism for moving supplies from one station to the next. So there are some survivors maintaining the stations, but the train brings its own repair and maintenance crew, because life in the supply bunkers is probably pretty bad too.

There, now right there, we have a more believable world situation. The maintenance crew is also responsible for clearing the tracks ahead of the train, checking that the bridges are holding up, and melting or blowing up avalanches. So there's a luxury train and a crew train -- and you have the set up for the story you want to tell.

But that's not the movie that got made -- the movie that got made defies the laws of physics and a lot of the laws of common sense -- so it's not a science fiction movie based on science. It's an ... (wait for it) ... ALLEGORY. It's an allegory about a revolution by the have-nots against the haves.

Now, the acting in this is pretty good. And if you ignore the gaping plot holes, the directing is fast-paced and keeps us moving forward. The costumes, the sets, the details of this thing, all look pretty good -- almost enough to be convincing. And I like trains, so I'm aboard to see where they're going.

Unfortunately ... even as an ALLEGORY this thing doesn't work.

That's the second and much bigger failure.

So the have-nots fight their way forward to capture the engine and the emperor of the train who lives in the engine. He's played by Ed Harris who reveals that the entire revolution was scheduled to happen, because there are too many people on the train.

See, along the way, the rebels meet Tilda Swinton who talks to them about ecological balance, how life on the train can only exist because everything has to be balanced and everybody and everything has to stay in its appropriate place.

Ed Harris repeats this to our hero -- the leader and last survivor of the rebellion -- that there are too many people on the train for the train to support them all, so the rebellion was engineered so that the extras could be terminated. 74 of them have to die. Or is it 74%? Doesn't matter. It's a cold equation.

It's a very cold equation. The coldest possible. And it doesn't take too much of a leap to realize that the train is an allegory for the planet and there are too many people on the planet Earth -- and um ... we really shouldn't have this many people on the planet because the planet can't support us all and ... well, um, see, here's the thing ... Ed Harris is getting old and he's dying and he needs to find a successor, someone who can be ruthless, and gee, wouldn't it be really a good thing if the leader of the rebellion became the new emperor of the train? The engineer. But of course, you'll have to engineer future genocides.

Our hero, who has finally accepted his role as a moral man, never really gets a chance to say no, he will not do it.

And then -- the Asian girl blows up the train, killing the hero, the engineer, and everyone else aboard. And she and the black kid, the only survivors, see a polar bear, and we're supposed to see her as a heroine, mother to the civilization to come.

Oh, hell no.

As an allegory, this one sucks -- it says that even if the have-nots can fight their way to the front of the train and confront the haves, they're still part of the larger process of keeping the whole shitty system running smoothly. And if they don't accept, then the only responsible answer is to blow up the train, bring the whole system down, kill everybody, and maybe start over -- if the survivors don't get eaten by bears.

Okay, this part of the allegory is kinda fixable. What if ... when the hero is confronted with the choice to become the new engineer and live in luxury, what if he says, "Okay, I'll do it." And what if it's his intention to change things for the better, so everyone has a fair chance at a decent life -- and what if, to his horror, he discovers that's not really possible, that the system isn't designed for equality, that the system requires that some people have to be maintenance workers and some people have to be cleaners and some people have to be farmers and that all of this needs real management and ... the system can't be changed.

Then, like Orwell's Animal Farm, we see the real horror of this allegory -- that it doesn't matter what your intentions are, the system overrules your idealism.

But no -- these filmmakers just blow up the train. And the takeaway from this is that the only answer to inequality is to destroy the system that keeps everyone alive -- including your friends, your family, and all the innocent people who were just doing their best to make it from one day to the next. Fuck that. That's not a rebellion for justice -- that's nihilistic anarchy.

So ... as I said when I started, Snowpiercer fails twice. First, it ignores the laws of physics and the truth about how machines really work -- and second, the underlying allegory collapses like a bad souffle because instead of making a valid and poignant point, the filmmakers decided it was easier to just blow up the train and suggest that life was possible outside the train after all ....

No. Just no.

Part of writing science fiction is getting your science right. You have to do your research. A good writer takes the time to learn about ice ages, learn how trains work, and in this case learns how to create a self-sufficient society in a hostile environment. And then, a great writer thinks about the theme of his story.

If you're going to show people being heroic in search of justice, there has to be a victory. The moral arc of this story leads the audience to believe there will be a victory, or at least some kind of enlightenment waiting for us at the head of the train. Instead, no -- there is no victory. Yes, there is enlightenment -- the train is a balanced eco-system, but instead of dealing with that philosophical dead-end, they just give up and blow it all to bits.

But in its failure, by what isn't here, by allowing us to look at what's missing, the picture reveals something about what we expect/demand from a great story.

See, the thing about a science fiction story -- it has to have two endings. It has to have a satisfying resolution to the scientific puzzle or dilemma and it has to have a satisfying resolution to the hero's situation. This picture fails twice, but it's a useful failure.

More shortly.

#Snowpiercer #david gerrold #scifi #movies #science ficiton #science ficiton movies #action #dystopia #chris evans

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massielandnetwork · 4 years ago

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Important Economic Trends During Anarchy

2021 – Let the Games Begin

16. A Christian Secession – Consent of the Governed

As you read this blog I will be sitting on a deck looking at the Atlantic Ocean sipping a mug of sweet tea and reading. It has been 16 months since I had a break so I have 16 months of periodicals and books waiting for me. Sounds awesome.

In the third grade I attended a rural, two story school with wood stoves for heat. The teachers were superb and I constantly use the lessons I learned. One lesson was the importance of thinking for myself. In a memorable exchange, a teacher asked me if told me to jump off the roof of the school would I do it? The correct answer was “No”. Think, do not follow.

If you are looking for the events, daily more and more Americans are realizing that they no longer can simply follow the directions of those in leadership positions because most “elected” officials are only thinking about themselves. This trend is critical to the health of the USA. Without the consent of the governed, “leaders” are the equivalent of drum majors marching down a street with no one following them.

Some examples:

1. The audits of Arizona, Antrim County Michigan, and others uncovering fraud are now sparking a call for annual financial audits of all elected politicians. ABSOLUTELY.

2. The United Methodist Church is divided between progressive and conservative interoperation of The Bible. The progressive bishop in the North Georgia Conference abruptly tried to transfer the conservative pastor who is the head minister of the largest UMC congregation in the North Georgia Conference. The pastor refused, resigned his credentials, and the congregation hired him as their head pastor. Amen.

Two quick items we learned this week about the Biden:

1. Trump had cut off funding for the PLO but Biden sent $90 Million in aid to the PLO last month. Apparently, the PLO used the money to buy rockets to launch into Israel. Here is a fun game - identify all the idiots in that equation.

2. Americans in the eastern USA states suffered a shortage of gasoline at gas stations. What was the Biden’s response? “If you were driving electric cars, you would not care about the gasoline shortage.” In contrast, here is an adult question – “If we were all driving electric cars would there be enough electricity in the grid?” Nope.

There are many important questions facing the USA. The answers will describe the future of the USA, our economy, and therefore our land market. Here are some of them.

1. Are we on the front edge of destructive inflation?

That is the highest probability. The annual rate of inflation for the 12 months ending April was 4.2% BUT the April rate of inflation was 0.8% (9.8% per year). The impact of the $1.9 Trillion in deficit spending passes earlier this year and the proposed $6 Trillion that has passed the House is a year away. That spending is on top of the normal budge deficit our government had already approved. That vibration you feel is the wheels of this little wagon wobbling and about to fall off.

2. Why is the Department of Justice not prosecuting anyone for the material from Jeffrey Epstein’s pedophilia network much less the Hunter Biden laptop?

Logic suggests that the only reason that information has not led to prosecution of pedophiles is that it is being used in some other way. The videos and other records were used by Epstein to accumulate wealth, probably from blackmail. It would be interesting to match the list of Epstein Alumni with a list of the top business leaders and government officials so see if it explains their behavior and many of the illogical positions companies are taking publicly.

3. What is the real benefit of the two Biden proposed “Infrastructure” bills?

In the Obama stimulus bill, billions of Dollars went to Democratic Party related organizations such as Organize America. Those Democratic Party affiliates prospered and folks associated with those organizations became wealthy on our taxpayer dollars. The highest probability is that Biden’s bills are not about physical infrastructure, but about power.

4. What is the importance to our society that Ford moved a $1 Billion proposed manufacturing facility from the USA to Mexico and U.S. Steel scrapped a $1.5 Billion manufacturing facility proposed two years ago to be built in Pennsylvania?

They return the USA to the continuation of two trends the Democrats and some Republicans want to continue – (a) the hollowing out of America’s manufacturing base, and (b) the preservation of the mercantile state known as China. It would be interesting to know which government officials are profiting from those trends.

5. If noting happens in Russia without Putin’s approval and nothing happens in China without Xi’s approval, why are Russians launching ransomware attacks against the USA while massing troops along the Ukrainian border and China rattling sabers about Taiwan?

Both leaders plus the rest of the world recognize that Biden is incompetent and our government is being run by a committee of DMs who bring a new definition to the word “Idiot”.

6. How does “Pay to Play” affect the Leadership of Congress?

Congressional leadership positions are based upon who can raise the most money, not their ability – leadership or otherwise. This form of “Pay to Play” is a major reason that elected officials become and are corrupted by money. In their world, Money Buys Everything.

China has played this situation perfectly by “investment” opportunities for spouses (if the elected official’s spouse receives a “financial benefit” that is deemed okay by Congressional rules. I would love to know the wealth of each Congressional spouse and the source of that wealth.

For example, over the years there have been rumors about the rapidly growing wealth of Pelosi’s husband. She is Speaker because she bought it by funding other Democrats running for the House. Is China her source of money? Congress is a game and we taxpayers are the losers paying the tab.

Keep watching the activity about the fraudulent election last November.

1. Michigan – The Antrim County investigation results are in and they prove massive fraud. Previously the Michigan Supreme Court previously ruled that the Michigan Secretary of State exceeded her authority when she approved a variety of changes to the state’s election laws. Was the “certified” election in Michigan a fraud? YES.

2. The Arizona legislature authorized recount of 2.1 Million votes in Maricopa County, Arizona is rolling despite the DMs attempt to prevent it. I have read that the Department of Justice has 100 attorneys assigned to shut down the audit. Do you find it interesting that the DM’s do not want the election audited?

3. Lawsuits have been filed and counter filed by Mike Lindell, Sidney Powell, and Dominion (the voting machine company). Stay tuned, much more to come.

128 days into the DMs’ coup, I am tired of losing and exhausted with self-important politicians and bureaucrats who in the real world would be recognized as idiots.

A great piece of land remains The Best investment long term. Capitalism builds wealth, Marxism/Socialism consumes it in self destruction. Pray for a return to honest elections in the USA. God is in control. Men make plans, but God ALWAYS wins.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds so that you may discern what is the will of God – what is good and acceptable and perfect.”

(Romans 12:2) New Revised Standard Version, Oxford University Press)

Stay healthy,

Ned

May 19, 2021

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