#You fucking treasonous collaborator

[bubbles-on-the-tide-of-empire]

Alright strap in folks. We're speculating wildly.

What if the opera singer:

Is actually this woman:

Margery Booth (According to her Wikipedia. All of this is Wikipedia. I haven't watched the 2014 movie yet) was a British born opera singer born in 1906. After studying opera in London and having a succesful career she married a German man named Dr Egon Strohm and moved to Germany early in the 1930's. She continued her opera career in Germany.

When WW2 broke out the Nazi's sort of trusted her, and she was sent to a place called Stalag III-D in Berlin. It was a camp for foreign-born people that Germnay was hoping to turn into spies against the Allies.

Margery however, was a fucking badass. Instead of spying for Germany, she worked with another prisoner to get the details of traitors in the camp and sent word to warn the Allies.

She sang for Hitler at least once while carrying secret papers hidden in her dress.

She was arrested by the fucking Gestapo in 1944 as a suspected spy, and didn't break under torture.

After the war she provided information that was used to help convict two men: American and British, both Nazi collaborators, both of whom were hung for treason.

Upon returning to London she was shunned because people thought she was a Nazi sympathizer. She moved to New York were she died of breast cancer in 1952, aged just 46.

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

Pros:

the apperances of both women match (if not perfectly, well enough)

She appears to be about the right age. If we're going with the WW2 theory and use a estimated year of 1944, Margery would've been about 36. My reading of the opera singers age is 35-45.

I read a little smirk of defiance in Opera Singer's face before she starts screaming. Does she have a secret?

Reading the scream as "You brought me here to dance for you, but you don't own me. I will perform because I must. But I am at this very second working against you" feels valid.

I think using her and the fact that she helped convict both a British and American fascist is a good "It's all of us. No one is immune from the stench and reach of facism" point.

I would not be suprised in any way to find out that Gerard knew about Margery and wanted to talk about her. From the very little I know (again, only her very short Wikipedia) she seems like a hero and an absolute badass. If he loves Joan of Arc, he'd love Margery.

Cons:

From the few pictures I can find of Margery the eyebrows don't match, and that's a very easy thing to fix with makeup.

This theory doesn't explain the reactions of the men at the beginning of the video.

Hitler is not in this video.

I have no reason to believe this theory other then two hours of googling trying to figure out if the Opera Singer looked like anyone famous and eventually ending up at the google search "were any german opera singers spies?"

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

Either way I'm glad I got to learn a little bit about Margery Booth. I feel sad for her. She died young and she died tragic. I hope she's at peace now.

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 킹덤/Kingdom.

Kingdom is a 2019-2020 Netflix series set in Joseon-era Korea, following the collaborative adventures of an exiled prince, a country doctor, and a scrappy mercenary who's pretty much the only one in this entire zombie outbreak who has a damn gun.

I have very complicated feelings about zombie media. See, in case you hadn't noticed, horror movies are never actually about what they're about. And a whole lot of modern zombie stories wind up being a) metaphors for fears of immigration by mindless subhuman hordes hell-bent on infecting the good, pure people, b) white male fantasies about how the downfall of civilization will put them back on top again and then all you DEI people will be sorry! and/or c) ways to let your protagonists just kill the shit out of a whole lot of humans but it's okay because they're not really human. Soooo yeah. A lot of zombie-flavored things I like, I have to like them despite all that.

But Korean zombie media tends to avoid a lot of these issues. (Maybe because Korea's experience with invasion is less Fox News Lies About Scary Brown Migrant Caravan Again and more [long list of actual historical incidents]? Who can say!) Kingdom is no exception. It's smart zombie fiction, where the zombies are mostly here to make the already-complicated mundane geopolitical situation just that much more of a fucking nightmare.

This is a bloody, violent, grimy, often downright gross drama, so if you're squeamish, you may want to pass on this. If you're into horror, though, and into zombie horror especially, go on and sink your teeth right into these five reasons I think you should watch it.

1. No one here has ever seen a zombie movie

You know how one of the frustrating things about watching a zombie property is seeing a bunch of otherwise competent, regular people act like they had all their cultural awareness of zombies surgically removed, down to making up cute words that aren't "zombie" to keep from saying the word "zombie"?

Everybody in this show has the excuse that they are living several centuries before even the possibility of zombie movies.

This story starts out pretty standard for a historical drama: a sick king, a pregnant queen, a crown prince in a precarious position, questions of succession, accusations of treason, wealth and class dynamics oppressing the poor, shady backroom politics -- you know, the usual stuff. And it never stops being about all that! It just also has zombies. Evil bastards don't stop being evil just because decomposing hordes are breaking down the door. In fact, that just makes them worse! And our heroes are at ends because they have no natural immunity to the genre they've walked into.

Sure, there are some moments of comic relief, but for the most part, Kingdom plays its premise absolutely straight-faced. How would 17th-century Koreans deal with a bunch of walking corpses? With period-appropriate tools, tactics, and mindsets!

In your standard modern zombie setup, everybody has guns, and then some special badass rolls in with a katana and everyone oohs and ahhs. In Kingdom, the wealthy have swords, the common folk maybe have farm implements, and there's one measly matchlock rifle in the party. For a few lucky headshots, you've got archers. For everyone else, things are about to get real up close and personal.

The characters also have period-appropriate worldviews that both inform their reactions to the problem and are frankly bizarre by modern standards. What if you had to deal with zombies in a place with cultural taboos against dismembering or burning dead bodies? What if people felt compelled to treat the corpses of peasants differently from corpses of nobles? What if the scholars won't act in their own defense because it's insulting to ask them to wield weapons? What if you can't ask certain important people certain questions because it's literally treason to do so?

The real moral of Kingdom is that there's not a situation so bad that devotion to Confucian principles can't make it worse.

2. That scrappy bastard

I'm not going to play favorites here-- Wait, what am I saying, of course I am. It's Yeongshin.

You know how, in any given zombie movie, your hapless protagonists survive because early on they find a party member who's about ten levels higher than they are? That's Yeongshin. He's cagey as hell about his shady past -- to the point where we don't even learn his actual name -- but he's going to come in real handy here, because he is also the aforementioned only guy with a gun, and he fucking knows how to use it.

And okay, I'm exaggerating about the gun shortage, but not by much. Firearms are rare, you need training to be able to operate them, and no matter how good you are, they still take time to reload after each shot -- if they even fire at all. (Also, ignore the part where everyone's aim is far better than shitty matchlock rifling should allow.) Guns are not the go-to weapon in this zombie situation. You can't just shove a bunch of pistols in everybody's hands and count on at least a few lucky shots. You could amass all the period-appropriate firepower you wanted, but without specialists, it'd be useless.

Yeongshin is fueled by some very reasonable guilt, since, uh, a nonzero amount of the shit that goes down is kiiiiiinda his fault. But I love that instead of giving him a death wish, it makes him even more determined to survive and do what he can to mitigate the fallout of his unintentionally terrible decisions. He knows he's far more useful alive, so to hell with taking the easy way out. Whether his opponents are living or undead, he's going to make them wish they hadn't messed with him.

This is a good place to note that the whole cast is great, from the thunder-voiced head of the evil family to the prince's wife-guy manservant to the doll-faced bitch queen. And obviously Ju Jihoon and Bae Doona are captivating every second they're on the screen, because they are absolute acting powerhouses and I love to watch them work. His Prince Lee Chang and her physician Seobi are compelling, memorable main characters who perform the important zombie-movie function of being the people you care about when they get put into dangerous situations.

But I walked away from this unable to stop thinking about Yeongshin. Bare-headed in a world of very meaningful (and often very silly) hats, he's feral and bitey and completely unfit for polite society. So of course he's going to wind up side-by-side with the second most you-need-to-be-respectful-to-him guy in the land.

More than anything, I love watching him work. He's a very physical character, but all his stats are in speed and agility, so he will just literally throw himself full-body against doors or into fights and let his momentum do the work. His actor, the handsomely exhausted-looking Kim Sungkyu, brings such a great physicality to the role. Yeongshin may be the Gun Guy, but he's not sniping from the back row. He's right there on the front lines, pulling off stunts none of the other characters would dream of trying. I cannot stress enough what a delight his action sequences are. It's such a good visual counterpart to the zombies, who also have no sense of bodily self-preservation.

And speaking of the zombies...

3. Zombie rules

I find that Korean zombie properties are the best in particular at zombie physics. Their directors seem very interested in pondering exactly what the weight of that many bodies would do. The answer is usually pretty gruesome and visually fascinating!

Kingdom's main use of zombies is by volume. While there are a few (memorable!) one-on-one scenes, the show delights in seeing just how many zombies it can fit in the frame. The danger is always from the sheer number of hostile bodies. You can use those numbers against them, if you're clever, but wait too long and you run the risk of being completely overwhelmed.

I've seen some people criticize the zombie extras by accusing them of not moving like zombies, which is the kind of nonsense you say when your only exposure to zombies is Slow Zombies. Kingdom's zombies are Fast Zombies -- they don't shamble, they swarm. They all just plow on full speed ahead until something stops them, and they definitely don't watch where they're going. Those extras do some incredible work flinging their bodies over obstacles and into solid objects. I sure hope one of the benefits of all that voluminous period-appropriate costuming is how much good padding you can probably stuff under there.

Continuing the thought exercise about what a 17th-century zombie outbreak would look like, Kingdom does some clever things with putting humans and zombies alike in situations you wouldn't find in the modern world, ones made possible only by the time period. I really like that it never forgets that part of the fun of this whole enterprise is making the best of the social and technological concepts that would have been present then. It doesn't feel like a modern zombie movie with incidental hanbok -- it actually makes the most of what a rural medieval setting both gives and takes away.

The rules Kingdom makes for its zombies are also an interesting take. You, the modern viewer, know how zombies work in general, but you don't know all the quirks of these zombies in particular, so you're learning at the same time the characters are. And sometimes you learn wrong! Sometimes you have to rewrite your whole strategy because you realize at a critical moment that both you and the characters misunderstood something very badly.

...And yeah, okay, it plays a little fast and loose with those rules sometimes, but so what? You know how this works! You know that the lead actors will dodge more and get bitten less than the random extras will. You know that named characters will last longer than their NPC counterparts. If you're going to hold that against it, maybe horror movies aren't the thing for you. Go do a Rubik's Cube or something.

4. The parts without zombies

Plenty, plenty of people have made the Game of Thrones comparison, which ... yeah, sure, I can see it. It wouldn't have been my first thought, but I get where people are coming from. And you know what, if you're a Game of Thrones enjoyer, you'll probably like this too. It hits a lot of the same beats and has a lot of the same vibes. It's kind of like if you shrunk Game of Thrones in the wash, until there were only two warring families and not a conlang in sight.

This show isn't historically accurate to the letter -- think of it more as AU Joseon-Era Korea, where specific people are fictional but the larger context is more or less the way things would have been. You never get given a specific year, but from technology and various context clues, you can kinda narrow it down to the 1600s. It never commits to a single year, though, which dodges a lot of nitpicks. Its fictional aspects are nice, too, because that means you don't have to know any real history at all. The show will give you all the information you need to understand the campaign setting, just in case your knowledge of medieval Korean dynasties is not up to snuff.

The conceit of the series is that some very specific devious political backstabbing and corruption has been happening since before the show began, making everything vulnerable to catastrophe. Unsurprisingly, the sudden appearance of zombies does not magically mend those rifts and make everyone come together! In fact, the reason the zombies are happening at all is related to these treasonous power plays, and while we never learn the full story (see my later note on the drama's ending), we get a whole lot of it. And it's a good, complicated reason! Here we return to the idea that zombie movies are always metaphors for something else. Set against the backdrop of multiple Japanese invasions during this period, Kingdom sure does have some things to say about the dangers of considering certain lives disposable in the service of the greater good.

I will be the first to say that IT TURNED OUT MAN WAS THE REAL MONSTER ALL ALONG storylines are tedious, so I'm glad Kingdom didn't decide it needed to beat that drum. The truth is, nobody's surprised when the bastards who have treated other people like shit all their lives continue being bastards in a crisis situation. It's the Joseon Dynasty. Everybody's locked into a rigid neo-Confucianist hierarchy. They don't need an apocalypse to reveal how much the people at the top would sell them all for a single corn chip. They've been clear on that one for a long time.

What this means is, if you're not traditionally someone who goes in for zombie horror, but you like a good political thriller and can roll with some supernatural elements, you might consider giving this one a shot anyway! It's not some hugely complicated and sophisticated plot, but it's still plenty to chew on. (See what I did there?)

5. Time to spend that Netflix money!

This show is gorgeous. It looks beautiful and it sounds beautiful. It's shot beautifully against beautiful sets and even more beautiful landscapes. Everyone's wearing beautiful costumes. What little CG there is is even beautiful. It's just visually a treat.

Light is such an important part of the show that I can't not comment on Kingdom's use of it, production-wise. The show is often shadowy as hell, but in a high-contrast way, as opposed to the awkward near-blackness of so much prestige TV. Even when it's dark enough that faces and details are obscured, there are still light sources that provide visual interest. Besides, I'll cut it some slack because it is a horror property. You should be watching it in a dark room anyway! And sure, there's some awkward day-for-night stuff, and transitions around sunset can be downright goofy, but if that's the worst of the jank we have to suffer through, it's fine.

As beautiful as it is, it's also very ugly. The story takes place over a period of time so short that barely anyone has time to change their clothes, much less take a bath. The grime just accumulates: sweat, dust, mud, sewage, smoke, spit, and all kinds of blood and viscera. By the time the story's done, everyone looks realistically beat to shit. (Bless those poor makeup artists, having to keep such close track of all the damage characters have suffered.)

I feel as though I should note for context that while I'm a horror movie fan, I'm still pretty squeamish when it comes to gore. I made it through Kingdom okay, but there were definitely parts I had to watch through my fingers. It hits the realism middle ground that gives me the wiggins, where it's neither absurdly chaste about bloodletting nor dumping comedic buckets of corn syrup on the actors. It suits the tone of the show perfectly! Just, you know, if you're a little tender (like I am), be ready to look away from the screen sometimes.

Korean historical dramas sure do have a real advantage on the wig front, in that most everyone is wearing some kind of historically appropriate hat or headband that covers the places their wig joins. And then you have Yeongshin, who looks so good all shaggy because that's clearly at least mostly Kim Sungkyu's real hair.

I've seen a lot of shitty low-budget horror in my day, sure -- but I've also seen a lot of shitty high-budget horror, where a production has a lot of money and spends it all on exactly the wrong things. Kingdom uses its funds wisely. It's not extravagant (except for the queen's amazing outfits). There are practical effects aplenty and some beautifully framed shots. It gets a little gimmicky with the camera work in season 2, but you know what? It's fun! The gimmicks are action-movie fun, and I will not criticize something for having fun in the midst of some otherwise grisly subject material.

It's also got great rewatch value. There are just enough secrets running throughout that going back for a second viewing makes a lot of things make more sense -- in, of course, a horrible way! But that's just the way we like it.

caveat: Beware of cliffhangers

The show is two seasons long, and it's clearly set up in expectation of a third season ... which never happened. What did happen was a separate, largely unsatisfying movie that tells the backstory of the cool character you meet in the last ten seconds of the last episode.

But that's it. There was also a prince-focused prequel planned, but that got scrapped before production even began, and that was four years ago. I'm not holding out much hope that we'll ever get anything more from the Kingdom universe.

I am not super-bothered by this, though, and here's why: The two seasons are enough to wrap up the main political plot. Most of what's left is zombie lore, and I am so bored by zombie lore. Still, would I have watched these characters roll around in that zombie lore for another six episodes? Without question! Are there loose ends I wish had gotten resolved? You better believe it! Do I want to know what the super-duper secret behind the zombies is? I sure do!

But I also don't feel like I got cheated out of an ending. Those two seasons hang on a story that's 90% the political succession crisis and 10% figuring out where on earth this whole zombie thing came from. That means what you get feels like 90% of an ending, which is pretty damn good by my standards.

Still, it's enough of a bummer that I feel I should give a little heads-up about it -- working, as I always do, on the principle that something can't disappoint you if you know it's coming. If you go in with the right mindset, you can be happy with what you get while not being sad about what you don't. And what you get in Kingdom is, in my little horror-loving opinion, worth it.

(Also, am I giving it extra credit points for how it did not sink my ship? Buddy, you better fucking believe I am.)

Ready to watch?

Netflix money means Netflix. It's got two seasons, and then you can make the decision about how much you care about the movie. I found it mostly disappointing with a few really cool moments, so it's your call if that's enough to justify your watching it.

The series itself is a pretty quick watch, too -- twelve episodes total, all 30-50 minutes long once you skip the opening and closing credits. You can blow through the whole thing easily in a single weekend, which is not something you can say about your standard Korean television season of sixteen hour-long episodes.

And then pretty please come back and do fan stuff for it! I couldn't find exactly what I wanted so I had to write my own. One Quiet Night remains one of my comfort fics that I self-soothe by rereading, which may be a weird thing to say about a smutty gay fanfic about a violent zombie drama, but hey, we all make our own fun.

Also, I know I usually end these with a cute behind-the-scenes photo, but this promo video is too adorable to leave out, so we're going with it instead. It's slightly spoilery for season 1, but not in a way that makes sense out of context. And if you didn't have a crush on Kim Sungkyu already, well, you will after this!

[cursedreverie1945]

Companies with ties to nazi Germany.

Hugo Boss - is probably one of the more famous ones.

Allianz Insurance - they denied claims because the concentration camps didn't issue death certificates. And that probably was more of their less notable actions.

Siemens - an electronics company that benefitted from slave labor. They tried to trademark the name Zyklon in 2002. Idiots.

Coca-Cola - Coke GmbH went ahead and threw a party honoring its 10th birthday and Hitler's 50th.

Christian Dior - He (and the company he worked for) and his sister's ties are quite different. They helped the resistance.

Coco Chanel - Collaboration horizontale. Spy and nazi supporter, she had a little thing going with a nazi. She should have had her head shaved, been tarred and feathered. This bitch. This fucking bitch. The brand name was owned by a Jewish family, Wertheimer. She tried to use the ayran laws to get their company. Luckily, the Wertheimer family sold to a Christian family to hold their business and still own it today.

Bertelsmann AG - you might not know the name, but you probably know one of the subsidiaries. Random House. They were a book publishing company that helped fuel Goebbels' propaganda machine.

Chase Bank - well, it's a bank. It's also one of the most popular banks in the US. Between 1936 and 1941, around $20 million was raised on U.S. soil for nazi Germany. It was illegal to send money to nazi Germany. Yanno, treason. Chase found a backdoor way to do so.

IBM - they found a way to keep a tally on the concentration camps, for the nazis.

If you would like to see more companies.

[littleoanh]

Being in a relationship with August Ruthven

Characters: August Ruthven x Human!Reader

Warnings: Split between SFW and NSFW, established relationship, mentions of eliminating (not towards reader) and being called 'blood bag' and 'food supply'.

A/N: @mekiza and I collaborated our ideas what it's like being with beautiful Lord Ruthven ♡. Thank you so much for indulging this with me, my love! Divider is made by @benkeibear.

SFW

August Ruthven is quite the perfect gentleman, he will treat you like royalty because you deserve nothing but the best. He enjoys spoiling you with food, clothes, bags, etc. Anything you want, you got it. Though he will tone it down if it gets too overwhelming for you.

You are the only person in the world that does not need to call him ‘Lord Ruthven’. You have special privileges to call him ‘August’. If anyone else calls him ‘August’, he will correct them with a dangerous glint in his eye that it’s ‘Lord Ruthven’ to them. 

He enjoys intimacy (not in a sensual way), he likes being so close to you. Holding your hand, placing his hand on your waist, sitting on his lap, or cuddling. He is the big spoon, but he secretly loves it when you cuddle him from behind. 

Leaves an imprint (a mark) on your neck to show you are his. If anyone dares sink their fangs on you, he will personally consider this as treason and have them be eliminated. 

He is a big and well built man, standing next to you makes him feel powerful and able to protect you from any harm. Also, he finds your height adorable because of how small you are compared to him (sorry if you happen to be taller than him).

 August loves listening to your heart beat at night, it brings him comfort and feel at peace. He can’t explain it, but he needs to have his hand on your heart. He may be a powerful and influential vampire, but you are his safe haven. 

This man DOES NOT get jealous easily, so good luck on trying to make him jealous. He is confident, put together, and financially stable. In fact, he finds it amusing to see other people trying to win your attention. There is no one better than him, therefore he knows what he is worth. 

He is usually a calm man BUT he will get triggered when someone dares call you his ‘blood bag’ or ‘food supply’. His eye color will change and the ground is shaking from his anger (don’t worry you are safe by him).

NSFW

Stating the obvious but it needs to be said … he has a big dick and a wide girth. The first time you see this, your jaw drops or maybe you’re drooling (take your pick). He finds it adorable when you are struggling to take him all in. But he will make sure to prep you, after all you are his precious human. He will not cause you any discomfort.

Has the biggest degradation kink. Grabbing your hair, talking down on you in bed and calling you by degrading names. What comes with his degradation kink is also praise. Calling you a good girl/boy when you follow his orders.

As I said before, August is a big man therefore he has a size kink. No matter what size you are, he can easily carry you without any struggle. He enjoys fucking while standing because of the faces you make when you are taking him so deep. 

August is a dom, you cannot make this man be submissive. If you try to, he can easily turn the table around. So there’s no point in trying. He enjoys being in control, taking the lead and showing his dominance.  

He loves leaving marks on your thighs, regardless if you’re ticklish he is strong enough to keep you in place. The more you squirm, the more aggressive his bites are. He will train you to get used to his kisses and bites on your thighs, this is his favorite body part.

His fingers are long and thick, he enjoys stuffing them in your holes. He finds it fascinating to see all the faces you make just by his fingers. It’s not even his cock and you are going crazy over them. After he’s done fingering you, he will lick his fingers to watch your expression changing into embarrassment. Again, he finds this adorable. 

Cockwarming. Sometimes duty calls where he can’t take time off and needs to handle proposals and paperwork. Having you on his lap, hearing your moans, whimpering or whining and watching you squirming on his big cock will make his work more tolerable.

Not interested in quickies, he prefers taking his time and having an emotional bond with you. He can take his time, pull several earth shattering orgasms out of you, and fill his load up over and over again.  

2023 © littleoanh — do not repost or translate my work on this platform or any other platform. likes, reblogs, and kind comments are welcome. must be 18+ to interact.

[egopocalypse]

We fought hard, folks. Thanks for those of you who voted for me.

Disclaimer: I couldn't follow your prompt exactly. I hope what I have instead is okay.

The night he wakes to a knife at his throat, Marvin was prepared for it.

The first spell flings out before he's fully out of bed, rolling out of the covers and under the frame for a better vantage point. From the shadows, a hand grabs him by the ankle and drags him out, but a light spell dispels it before the knife impales his throat.

He fires off a blasting spell, which his attacker dodges (and it destroys his dresser, how rude), but it puts space between them, enough for Marvin to stand and face his assailant for the first time in the fight.

"Could you have picked a better night to try and kill me? I have a very busy day tomorrow," Marvin says.

Anti grins, grip light on his knife, yet still poised to strike. "That isn't how you treat an old partner, is it, pet?"

Marvin rolls his eyes. "If you wanted to meet with me that bad, you could've found a nicer way than attacking me in my sleep."

"You've never complained before," Anti says. "It keeps you sharp; it keeps you active, alert. You never would've avoided the rest of that old mage group of yours without it. Without me."

Marvin grits his teeth. Seems the bastard is just as cocky as ever. The worst part is that Marvin can't help but admit he's right.

"What do you want?" he bites out.

Anti's eyes burn, an old, familiar rage boiling underneath the casual facade.

"I wanted to make you an offer, pet, but I might need to teach you a lesson instead."

Marvin hates how his heart rattles in his chest. Even after all these years, that damn contract and conditioning bites him in the ass.

"My apologies, sir," he says between clenched teeth. "What do you need of me?"

That damn smirk finds its way back on Anti's face. "Better, but we'll address that tone of yours later."

Anti leans against the wall next to the destroyed dresser.

"What do you know of IRIS?"

Marvin's eyebrow raises. "That little group? Why are they your targets?"

"Answer the question, pet," Anti snaps. "Neither of us have all night."

Ugh. Anti better leave him alone for a decade after this.

"They collaborate occasionally with the Magic Circle to capture, contain, and learn about abnormalities outside the realm of science," Marvin explains. "Abnormalities like you."

For some reason, Anti loses some of his aggression. The alarm clock on Marvin's nightstand finds power again, blinking on and off until he has a chance to reset it.

"So they're idiots foolish enough to think they can contain creatures like me, hmm?" he says in a low, threatening tone. "Now that sounds familiar."

Marvin stiffens, magic welling up in his chest, at his fingers as it perceives the threat. He wishes he was wearing his mask.

"What do you want with them?"

Anti grins. "You'd have to be a lot more subtle than that to get that information out of me, pet. Lucky for you, you've pleased me, so I'll hand it over with only one little string attached."

Marvin's pride burns. He's so sick of that nickname, of weighing his options between death for treason or live under this thing's servitude, but he bites his tongue. He remembers the last time he challenged Anti so flagrantly, when he tried to use its true name against it. Though the scars have faded, the memories remain.

He has to tread the line here, and unfortunately, that means shutting the fuck up.

"They currently have something that belongs to me," Anti explains. "I know where it is, but I require intel about any threats when I retrieve it. Give that to me, and I won't call on you for the next six months."

Well, it isn't as long as he'd hoped, but it's better than getting that damn knife shoved in his face again. Marvin sighs.

"What do you need to know?"

When Anti's satisfied and finally leaves, Marvin resets his alarm and pulls out his phone, calling the first contact on speed-dial.

There isn't a greeting when the other side picks up, but there doesn't need to be. Marvin knows they're listening.

"Your least favorite anomaly's going after IRIS. Whatever you have of his, get rid of it quickly or send it to me."

A series of taps erupt on the other end. Marvin listens to the full message and snarls.

"What do you mean you can't? You know what he'll do to grab it!"

A louder, more urgent series of taps begin. Marvin sags against his bedpost and rubs his face. He's going to have terrible eyebags tomorrow.

"Fine. I'll figure it out then. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He hangs up, not waiting for a response, then flings the phone across the room. He takes one glance at the damage around him before giving up and going back to bed.

He'll deal with this mess in the morning.

[actualmermaid]

NEW AND IMPROVED Sergius and Bacchus meme just dropped

Original commentary: "Since today is Memorial Day in the US and we're right on the doorstep of Pride Month, I have some more thoughts about Sergius and Bacchus. This was sharpened through discussion/debate with a friend who isn't sold on the anti-imperial roots of Christianity.

"Early Christian martyrdom was exceptionally rare. Persecutions of Christians were sporadic and interspersed with periods of grudging tolerance. Most Christians, when faced with persecution, recanted their faith or paid others to sacrifice to the Roman gods in their name. The prospect of death by public humiliation and torture is, understandably, enough to get most people to back down without a fight.

"Sergius and Bacchus, as Roman officers, would have been involved in orchestrating and carrying out such acts of state violence. Their official hagiography wasn't written down until about a hundred years after their memories were first preserved by their community, and it is layered with Byzantine imperial propaganda, including the false and heretical charge of 'Jewish deicide.' Their personal conversion narratives have been forgotten entirely.

"With that in mind: pious mythology, propaganda, and censorship cannot truly obscure what it would have meant for these two powerful young men to stand before the Emperor and refuse to sacrifice to his supreme god, to the point of giving up their own lives. On a community level, refusing to sacrifice to approved Roman cults was an organized boycott of Imperial institutions. On Sergius and Bacchus' level, it was a deliberate and calculated act of civil disobedience. It was a declaration of treason against the imperial machine. We don't know why they did this, but I can only interpret it as an act of solidarity with the marginalized people they went to church with. Public executions like theirs served as a form of entertainment for the masses, satisfying the bloodlust of the crowd and quelling dissent. I wonder if Sergius and Bacchus said "we can take this, so our congregation won't have to."

"In any case, we know what happened next. The Empire (with the help of Christian collaborators) co-opted the Christian movement, and Sergius and Bacchus became patrons of the Byzantine army. It would be convenient for the Empire to hold them up as examples of men who "died for Christ" in order to inspire their now-Christian imperial legions, and to sidestep the scandal of "it's actually just the same empire wearing a different hat." It would be convenient to ignore or obscure what it actually meant for someone of rank to reject the power and privilege that would be given to them if they just did one little sacrifice to the Imperial gods.

"It's also SO very interesting how neatly this lines up to corporate/institutional lip service to the celebration of Pride. Brands want gay cops and soldiers and beer cans, not trans women throwing bricks. The Byzantine Empire wanted courageous Christian martyrs, not public to-the-death protests by their brightest young officers.

"This is not to say that their motivations were purely "practical," or that their faith in Christ was a later, propagandistic addition to the story. We all encounter Christ in our own way, through the lenses of our personal experiences. Sergius and Bacchus encountered Christ through the lenses they had as cops: cogs in the machine, tasked with carrying out the cruelest, bloodiest acts of imperial domination. They gave it all up. They let themselves be brought low, understanding that Christ is the first and the last, the alpha and the omega, the king of kings and the "least among you." They died for him, as he died for them, whispering "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

"Fuck cops. All cops are bastards. But the moment that Sergius and Bacchus chose love and self-sacrifice over the demands and promises of the State, they ceased to be cops.

"I was raised in deeply militarized American religious conservatism. I grew up around cops and soldiers, and was taught to venerate "the troops" and "blue lives." "I have come to see this for what it is. As an adult, I know many former soldiers who have left that world, bringing many kinds of trauma home with them and dedicating themselves to the service of the poor and marginalized. They are loved and cared for. Sergius and Bacchus are praying for them, too."

[tehamelie]

It's shitty, but you (American citizen who may read this) are already in it. You're born complicit. Please, please don't let it bother you enough to question your vote. Voting isn't a marriage, as the saying goes, it's just the "very least" thing you can do to change anything.

You know, the Right fucking hates every Right wing candidate they bring forth. At least since Reagan. Every single presidential candidate. Nobody wants them, nobody thinks they will represent their interests in a useful way. But they still show up to vote. It's the Left that has a problem with voting for anyone who doesn't 100% embody every single virtue and speaks the correct opinion on every single issue.

Here in Sweden we have eight parties that make up the federal Parliament and for the most part regional and city governments, church leadership and municipal court officials, aka the mainstream parties. From Right to Left, the Ethnonationalists, the Christofascists, the Neoliberals, the Neoliberals part 2, the Neoliberals again, the neoliberal Social Democrats, the Environmentalist special interest, and the Left. Me, I always vote Leftist in every election that I can; some year I'll probably even rejoin the church just to be able to vote in their elections. I don't agree with the Left party on a lot of things, they have gone right a lot lately, even collaborating with the ethnonationalist party on some issues (relating to national independence from the EU and NATO).

All of which is to say, I know the feeling of having no good options to vote for, even if the two party opera of the US is an uncommonly grim theater. But your choice is still to vote for the baby killers or the baby killers who ALSO dabble in pedophilia, treason, child labor and fraud. It's not a complicated or subtle distinction. You have the task of marginally protecting democracy from its enemies, bu that is still an enviable and important task, for all of us who believe in democracy.

"Biden is funding a literal genocide!"

Yeah - and so will Trump. Like, if you don't vote for Biden, Trump will win, and he will continue to send aid to Israel - in fact, he will likely send MORE aid to Israel. That's the reality of the world we live in.

And, to be honest, any US president will support Israel. Because the USA is Israel's ally. That's how foreign policy works.

So who do you prefer?

Biden, who has helped lgbtq rights, reproductive rights, infrastructure, the environment, lowered medication costs, supported unions, and done MANY good, progressive things,

Or Trump, who we already know is awful. Who we already know will destroy any human rights Biden managed to gain. Who will not help the environment. Who will not help trans people, or immigrants, or women.

Because those are your two choices. And if you think they're the same, you are dangerous to all marginalized people.

[tarydarrington]

(Also on ao3 now, if you prefer!)

These are the facts. Essek Thelyss is a traitor to the Dynasty. He has collaborated with the Cerberus Assembly on dunamantic research. His loyalties are an entirely unknown quantity, and likely nonexistent. He is, above all else, a liar.

Also, he all but lives in the neighborhood now, and it’s very uncomfortable.

Astrid ducks her head down to glare at the pavement as she passes Bren’s place. Last week, on the way to the market, she had made the mistake of taking a peek at one of the windows and made eye contact with the drow. Or rather, with the sun elf she knows is the drow underneath. Why Bren takes the risk of having him over so often is beyond her. Why he agrees is beyond her. If he’s caught, there will be hell to pay - he must know that.

No, there must be a reason. He’s up to something. High-level government spies do not simply decide to stop scheming when their positions change. It’s the magic, she suspects; Bren has put together a fair number of spells of his own design, and anyone inclined to harness the arcane would be interested. Or perhaps he’s bleeding Bren of information about the Assembly. She pulls her coat tighter around her shoulders. He could be learning about her own movements, waiting for an opportune time to strike, and she would never know.

He’s using Bren for something. Of that, she’s certain. And when whatever house of cards he’s built falls down around his shoulders, he’ll cut and run without a second thought.

It’s still on her mind when she makes it to her own doorstep, eyes lingering for a moment on the vibrant, yellow hyacinths in the window box - a parting gift from their time in the Blooming Grove. Astrid had thought they were certainly doomed this past winter, but at the last second, they had sprung back to health as though by magic.

The firbolgs would probably twist that into a metaphor about something or other. Astrid makes a face and pushes through the door.

Wulf is seated in his chair with a book when she enters. She spares him only a passing glance before striding straight past toward the staircase.

“All right,” Wulf calls before she reaches it. “Something’s on your mind. What?”

Astrid lets out an irritated breath as she lets the conversation pull her back into the living room. “That drow,” she admits. “I want to know what his business is with… with this city. He is here far too often.”

She’s already plotting. Contacting either the elf or Bren himself directly is out of the question, but she can pull off some subtle surveillance. The results will not come as quickly as she would like, that way, but it’s the safest route. Spend a few evenings lurking nearby and tail him when he leaves the house, see where he goes. It will give her a lead to follow, at least. She can work from there.

“Thelyss?” Eadwulf says without looking up. “He’s fucking Caleb.”

Astrid's head snaps up. "What?" She rests her satchel on the table before her grip can tear a hole in it. "How do you know?"

Astrid has personally kept eyes their old friend; his treasonous tendencies require it for his own safety as much as hers. But she has yet to come up with that particular tidbit, and spying from the bushes has simply never been Eadwulf's way. Besides, he's claimed time and again to be through with the political game.

Wulf shrugs and flips to the next page. "Asked."

She blinks. "When?"

"Ah…" He looks up from his book, at last, to frown at the calendar on the wall. "A week ago, maybe."

"A week?" Before he can return to his reading, Astrid ducks down into his eyeline with a glare. "You spoke to Bren a week ago?"

"No."

"Then how did you--"

"I spoke to Essek."

She does not at all appreciate the laugh she gets for the look on her face.

“You went to Bren’s house,” she says flatly. “Without telling me. What if he had--”

“Don’t be so paranoid,” Wulf says. “I would never go there without backup.”

“Where, then?” she demands.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but the way he’s retreated behind his book says he knows he’s in trouble. Essek Thelyss, in their house. If anyone had seen--

“Why was he here?” Astrid presses when he fails to elaborate.

Wulf shifts uncomfortably, and she knows she’ll hate the answer. He clears his throat.

“He was helping me with something.”

She raises an eyebrow. “With what?”

He mutters something under his breath, and Astrid leans closer, eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

Wulf sighs, letting the book whump closed in his lap. “Your flowers were dying.”

Her flowers? She turns back to the door with a frown, as though she could see them through the wall.

“Wulf, my flowers have been flourishing since spring.” They’d had a rough winter, to be sure, but ever since the turn of the season-- oh, no. Oh, he wouldn’t. She braces her hands on the arms of his chair. “Wulf,” she repeats pointedly. “My flowers have been flourishing since spring.”

Wulf meets her gaze head-on, looking unimpressed. “Maybe you should thank him, sometime,” he suggests casually. “They look pretty good.”

“Wulf!”

“What?”

“What if he was seen?”

“Then he was in disguise. Do you think we’re stupid?”

She certainly thinks they’re something. Astrid pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. The headache birthing itself in her temples is bound to take days to wear off. Essek Thelyss, the former Shadowhand, wanted by his own government and under constant threat of assassination from her own superiors, has been tending her garden. For half a year. She doesn’t know what’s worse: that Wulf has been condoning it behind her back, or that she never suspected a thing.

“Fine,” she says thinly, because this is an issue that will take more than a moment’s conversation to resolve. "Thelyss is... with Bren. And he, what, volunteered this information?"

"Told you, I asked."

"You asked if he was in bed with Bren."

"No, I asked if he'd like to get in bed with me."

"Wulf."

"What?"

She groans. "That man is dangerous."

He grins. "Yeah."

"Wulf."

Wulf looks at her skeptically. "He still has those little flowery gloves, you know." He wiggles the fingers on one hand to illustrate. “Tools of a cold-blooded killer.”

She levels him with a glare, but it has little impact. Instead, he cocks an eyebrow at her, daring her to ask what he knows she's wondering. She presses her lips together.

"Well?" she asks.

"Well…?" Wulf prompts with infuriating smugness.

Astrid sighs and addresses the ceiling. "Well, did you… what did he say?"

She can hear him grinning. "Told you," he says. "He said he's fucking Caleb."

Astrid has trouble imagining the word fuck slipping between that man's teeth, but the point is clear enough. This farce of a relationship is exclusive. It makes sense. Keep everyone else’s prying eyes away, and the elf is free to pull Bren’s strings in whatever way he wishes.

The gears are already turning. That must be it; she’s more convinced now than ever that whatever he’s up to, he needs Bren on his side. Perhaps he saw the tides changing against him and jumped ship before he could get hurt. Ingratiated himself with the person he thought could provide the best protection. Perhaps he’s manipulating Bren as a means to keep himself safe. It’s what she would do.

“No, it isn’t,” Eadwulf points out when she voices the thought. “Things turned against us, too, and that’s not what you did.”

She frowns, straightening her coat. “I would have,” she says. “If it had been what the situation called for.”

But it does make her angry - more so than she would have expected. Bren has not been hers for years - has not been Bren for years - but that doesn’t make it sit right that someone else is… using him this way. He has always been the softest of them, even when they were children. He was too weak to handle their education, and now someone else is here to prey on that very same weakness. That soft heart. That idiot man who refuses to believe anything but the best of the people around him.

“Astrid.”

Wulf’s hands close around hers, and only then does she realize her nails have dug crescents into her palms. She stretches her fingers out, avoiding Wulf’s gaze as he digs his fingertips into the muscles there.

“You’re very cold and heartless, I know,” he tells her with the tone of one agreeing with a child who has declared herself a unicorn. “Thelyss, though - he’s… soft.”

Her derisive breath of laughter has him rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, okay. The woman who keeps pretty yellow flowers by the window and the man who comes over and tends for them every week--”

“Every week, Wulf?”

“--are both hardened manipulators. Hearts of stone, these two.” He presses a kiss to the back of one of her palms, then lets her hands drop to her sides.

“Ikithon had a garden,” she mutters. Hobbies aren’t everything. People like them don’t change. With a frustrated sigh, she turns back to the door. “We’re running low on fruit. I’m overdue for a trip to the market.”

Wulf sits back with a deep breath as she retrieves her satchel. He doesn’t say another word as she heads for the door, but he doesn’t have to. He knows what she’s really up to, but he also knows there will be no stopping her.

It’s not out of care for Bren that she finds herself lingering discreetly outside his house. If the elf is up to subterfuge, the Archmage of Civil Influence ought to know about it. She ought to root it out as a matter of national security. Regardless of Thelyss’s target, she would have done the same.

Besides, they really are running low on fruit.

In a stroke of luck, the front door swings open after only a quarter hour of waiting. And to her surprise, Bren is not alone when he steps outside. She ducks her head down as they pass, then falls into step behind them.

The two of them weave their way through the crowd a block or so ahead of her, arm in arm like a pair of lovesick fools, Thelyss wearing the familiar sun elf’s face. From this angle and this distance, only snatches of conversation float their way over the din to her; every word is completely mundane, as though the two of them really are the picture of domesticity. Which vegetables should they get for tonight’s stew? Should they pick something up for so-and-so’s son? How late ought Bren to be awake tonight?

It’s quite the act. She’ll give him that.

Then, the two of them stop to examine a cart of apples, and through the ebb and flow of the crowd, Bren’s eyes flick up to meet hers.

It’s uncanny how quickly they slip into their old language. Bren tilts his head in silent question, and Astrid nods with her chin towards Essek. He follows the motion easily, brows knit together apprehensively when he looks back to her. A question he still trusts her enough to ask: is she here on behalf of the Assembly? She shakes her head just once and watches his posture relax almost imperceptibly.

She watches it settle in on his face what her true purpose is. They always have read each other like a pair of picture books.

Bren holds her gaze for a moment longer. The silent request comes across: watch. She crosses her arms over his chest, a signal of compliance. For now.

Breaking eye contact at last, Bren turns to casually drape an arm around Essek’s shoulders. Astrid’s frown deepens at the way the elf twitches instinctively before relaxing into the touch. This isn’t natural for him. Bren should see that. Bren should know that. He isn’t even hiding it well.

But if Bren has noticed the slip, he gives no sign. Instead, he steers Essek about until she can see their faces. Something she refuses to name twists in her stomach at the way Bren smiles down at him.

The din of the market drowns out the sound when he speaks, but Astrid can read his lips. The thing in her stomach tightens. Schatz. Very original. Whatever it is she's supposed to get from this display, he had better deliver it quickly. Otherwise, she'll need to find an alley suitable for vomit.

Then, he kisses the elf on the nose. And there in the middle of the market, his disguise flickers.

Wide-eyed and red-faced, Thelyss snaps the spell back under control almost as soon as it wavers. Careful, Schatz, Astrid reads Bren’s lips - but his eyes read only fondness. Thelyss frowns up at him in reply, but the affection bubbling through is Bren’s perfect mirror. Something catches in Astrid’s chest.

When Thelyss turns away again, Bren catches her eye with a challenging smile. He’s already looked away again before she can glare back with the proper degree of heat. Instead, she trains her eyes on the elf. The little viper is flustered by affection, that’s plain enough. Proof of very little aside from his lack of comfort with such things. The look in his eyes, though… Astrid shakes herself, shoving the image to the back of her mind. It doesn’t fit with the rest of the puzzle, the way he looks at Bren.

But-- there.

Essek’s hand tucks behind his back, and while Caleb is looking the other direction, Astrid can follow the subtle muscle movements that betray spellcasting.

Foregoing subtlety for the moment, Astrid shoulders her way through the crowd closer to the pair. The motions for a counterspell ready at her fingertips. Starting a fight with this many eyes is a bad idea - she’ll need to incapacitate him quickly, make sure that no one sees either her or Bren, see to it that the three of them are teleported as quickly as possible to a secure location where she and Bren will have the upper hand. They’ve been through worse before - they can do it again. Through the bodies still between them, Astrid watches as the elf draws his hand from behind his back, angled toward Caleb, and…

And presents him with a vibrant, orange flower.

The counterspell fizzles out of her grasp. The thing in her stomach begins to claw its way up to her heart at the soft, fond surprise on Bren’s face as Essek tucks it gingerly behind his ear.

Essek Thelyss is a liar, a traitor, and a thief - but an actor, he is not. It shows every time Bren places a hand on his shoulder, every time he brushes their hands together at their sides, every time he leans into the elf’s space and the elf flinches just the slightest bit.

Why, then, is the look on his face when he gazes up at Bren the perfect picture of-- of--

He’s fucking Caleb, Wulf had told her - but that’s not it. That’s not all. Astrid tugs her hood up over her head, ducking into the crowd without another glance. The flow of foot traffic carries her out of the market and down a series of streets she doesn’t bother to register. For a while, the tides of the city buoy her where they will; then, at last, Astrid takes a deep breath, orients herself, and heads for home.

These are the facts. Essek Thelyss is a traitor to the Dynasty, a loose end for the Cerberus Assembly and a liability for herself and those to whom she is connected. She would, very likely, be better off were he to disappear under mysterious circumstances before another sunrise.

But these are the facts, as well. He loves Bren and Bren loves him. Wulf likes him, enough to secret his presence away from her for half a year. The bright yellow flowers in her window box survived to see the frost thaw.

Astrid tucks it all into the file in her head, then closes it and sorts it away somewhere out of sight. She doesn’t trust him - not by a longshot. People don’t change. Not her, and not Essek Thelyss.

Sure, says Wulf’s voice in her head, keep telling yourself that.

She shakes herself, paying no mind to the flowers as she pushes through the front door. It doesn’t matter. But if he wants to continue to throw himself directly into danger by coming here, well. She won’t be the one to make him stop.

She’ll have to find another route to the market.

[qqueenofhades]

Do you reckon there's any way Trump and his cronies aren't going to have to face the consequences of his actions at this point (i.e. avoid prison)? Provided he doesn't die before then ofc.

I mean.... if it's true that the CIA admitted in October 2021 to losing an unusually high number of informants (and it appears that it is; here is the NYT article about it), when Trump stole those documents nine months earlier in January 2021 and had access to them since he became president in January 2017, when this unusually high loss happened "in the last few years" and he is under formal criminal investigation for espionage and/or foreign collaboration...

I'm just saying, fuck the CIA, which is generally a terrible organization that has done a lot of harm around the world, but at least one of its main purposes is serving as the US foreign intelligence standard-bearer in matters of national security/counterterrorism/etc etc, and if Trump was in any way involved in LITERALLY SELLING OUT CIA INFORMANTS TO FOREIGN GOVERNMENTS IN ORDER TO GET THEM KILLED, that is so much treason, y'all. Like, regardless of your feelings on the US military-industrial surveillance state, in simple plain legal black-and-white, that is high treason. Like, death-penalty level treason. And while they would do nothing if not try, since Rand Paul already called for the repeal of the Espionage Act after finding out Trump was being investigated for violations of such, "we defend the guy who got American informants killed in order to collect paychecks from Russian and/or Saudi fat-cat friends" is, uh, bad.

Again, I'm not saying this is undoubtedly the case; there are clearly lots of other problems at the CIA, and maybe this was all just a case of unfortunate timing. But when we're hearing that the raid was literally prompted by the DOJ's deep worry over Trump unlawfully having access to those HUMINT documents with the names/identities of those clandestine sources, and the Espionage Act is involved... two plus two, etcetera. In other words, legally speaking, his goose is beyond fucking cooked. I suspect that the DOJ hasn't moved to arrest him yet because a) they want their case to be watertight, and b) it will get racist white people WILDLY up in arms, which is going to be a problem no matter when it happens. I do think that now it's pretty much impossible not to criminally indict Trump (and other members of his family) on multiple serious federal felonies which would ordinary come with stiff (and possibly lifetime) jail sentences. What actually comes after the indictment in terms of formal penalties is anyone's guess, but yeah, there's absolutely no way this ends well for them.

[nonwal]

so like. you’re the elf equivalent of a 19 year old who's working on his second PhD while also in a powerful political position. everyone is super impressed with you but also, you’re a fucking baby to them. They’re all hundreds if not thousands of years old with multiple lifetimes under their belt, and all they see is someone on his first life who has spent far too much of his first hundred years buried in books.

it’s not that they don’t think you’ve earned your place. but you are quite literally peerless. you substitute your own growing ambition and thirst for knowledge for friends. you’ve accomplished more in one century than most of these pretentious fuckers have in a millennia. you don’t need them. you need them to let you do your work.

but they’re too obsessed with ~religion~ to let you do anything interesting. so. you make a deal with mages from the empire. you’re basically committing an act of both treason and heresy, but like. hey. if they’re going to stick to their stupid rules and grudges at the expense of progress and knowledge, someone’s gonna have to do it.

obviously everyone is super upset over this, but you figure they’ll figure out how to fucking deal with it. things are tense but more or less okay for a decade-ish. no one suspects you, and you begin to think that you got away with it. then shit falls apart, and you realize you don’t have control over the situation anymore. your country goes to war, which turns out to be incredibly inconvenient, because your job during wartime is 1000% suckier and you barely have time to study things you’re actually interested in.

then some foreigners show up with the beacon you traded away, claiming they want to end the war.

you try not to panic. you keep an eye on them, try to figure out what these shifty weirdos know, what pieces of information they continue to uncover. one of them is a wizard with direct ties to your collaborators, and you’re not sure if this a test or some bizarre coincidence.

but shifty as they are, they do seem to be telling the truth, or at least an abbreviated version of it. they’re bizarre and unpredictable and have no sense of decorum, but they’re endearing and they’re trying so hard. 

and. they seem to like you? treat you as a confidant of sorts, send you ridiculous messages at inopportune moments, ask you to teleport them around to find an ancient dragon (how are these idiots still alive) or chase after their lost friend (whoops we actually meant a different spot) or or or

you try to be annoyed. you try to view it as a transactional relationship. you tell yourself this is a preventative measure to prevent them from uncovering your secret. but they’re trying so hard, and you want them to succeed. and that feels. 

bad. 

because you have always been the enemy they're hunting, long before you wanted to be their friend. you started this fucking war they’re trying to end—indirectly, yes, but callously, knowing it was a possibility and not caring.

and now you care about someone besides yourself. it is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you. it used to be that discovery would mean your death. now it means that you will die knowing that the mighty nein hate you. betraying your country meant almost nothing, but this—

Essek. We don’t know anything about you, we just realized—do they suspect?—we should really hang out more. Are you single? Do you have kids? Swipe right? Also, mom’s name? 

...you don’t deserve this. you’re going to go over for dinner anyway, aren’t you? 

(they ask you what the worst thing you’ve ever done is and for one insane moment you want to tell the truth.)

you help them and use them in the same breath. you want—need—this war to end. if you do things carefully, they never have to know, right? you’ve lost your resolve, your unwavering confidence in your own arrogant importance, but it’s worth the trade. you can simmer in your own private guilt for years, lifetimes, as long as you don’t have to see a look of betrayal on their faces.

you’ve never regretted anything this much. you’re starting to hate yourself.

then. of course. they’re on the fucking ship. you feel as if you are being watched, but maybe that is just your newfound conscience hounding you. you go to the damned party. you avoid them. it is in Jester’s nature to be completely unavoidable. she makes idle chitchat while you stew in your own anxiety and guilt. you’re terrified. you’re tired. you take a sip of your drink.

[girls--complex]

I dunno if you'll care, but a subject of endless fascination for me/something that looks aligned to your interests is the following:

Arguably, the first trans woman writer writing an explicitly trans novel was Irene Clyde/Thomas Baty

Her 1909 book "Beatrice the sixteenth" is, in so many words, a transfem sexless utopia where trans girls have slaves and buy them as well as new citizens from neighbouring countries

They're all vegan and they fight with spears and blowdarts

They're capitalists

They have a monarchy and the trans girl queen has a sword

Thomas Baty, the author, was one of the main scholars of international law and an Oxford graduate

She was also a British tory and radical feminist/pacifist/vegetarian

She accepted a job as international legal advisor to the imperial Japanese government

Where she justified the hell out of war crimes, the invasion of Manchuria and China, pillaging, the rape of nankin and whatnot

Whilst she wrote Christian essays on transness (Eve's sour apples (1934))

At like, the same time

She crossdressed in public around a lot of foreign dignitaries in Japan whilst contributing to the radical feminist lesbian zine her college friends still published in the U.K

She didn't get prosecuted for treason because she was too old by the end of the war (77)

She died alone in Japan in the mid-50's

She's mainly remembered for her legal work and the self-pitying biography she wrote in her mid-80's where she 1) desperately denies being a collaborator and says "someone else in the same job would have done the same thing" 2) talks about the grief of losing her sister and mother, who both followed her to Japan 3) talks about experimenting with Japanese gendered pronouns 4) begs queen Elizabeth to allow her to return to the U.K

She died a virgin

In conclusion: the intersection of the military, capitalism, imperialism, weird christianity, dogshit moral ambiguity, fucked-up relationship with sexuality and hypocritical radical politics in all good trans girl media is probably a leftover gene from that bitch

Hope you enjoyed

WHOAH... what a biography... never heard of this person but she sounds fascinating. Goes to show the twisted potential of the androgyne intellect I guess. Thank you for sharing anon truly I will be googling about this 

[cyber-flight]

Notes from the AHWM Explanation Livestream

This will be long, so fair warning! If you're on computer, you can press the spacebar to skip this post if you want!

There was CG smoke for the bomb

The last shot was running after the bomb goes off, filmed during the day

Many cursed images

(0:56 - Guns Blazing) November 5th = gunpowder treason & plot (a reference)

Ethan is the one yelling during the run

Helicopter/Car was filmed in a place formerly known as Spiderwoods (spiders, snakes, and bugs everywhere)

Mark's patented method to get rid of snakes is to tell them to fuck off

There was big black snake near the library

Chica snore-grumbles

Most of the choices were pretty evenly split in the video data

The guy who owned the field in Helicopter/Car also owned the helicopter

It was hard to get the cameraman to know that the camera is an interacting character

They filmed up to 10 pages a day

Prison was the first 2 days of shooting, as well as the part with the most characters/extras (12 people)

Mick gets typecasted in roles of authority

The Prison location is a functioning mental hospital

John was a Prisoner, first mate, and is a realtor IRL

There is no "why" to recording this to keep a broad audience and have fun after Mark was in a depression and made WKM

The Gregory Brothers / Schmoyoho made 2 renditions of I Don't Wanna Be Free (which is on Apple/iTunes/Spotify)

The musical was a production/recording nightmare on the 2nd day

They had 20 minutes max. to learn each segment; they had a choreographer helping them learn the dances

The original vocals didn't have the accent

Mark had to do the vocals, acting, blocking, etc. in 30 mins

Mick was supposed to cross frame during the top-hats-part, but they had already recorded it; the producers weren't comfortable telling Mark "no" yet, so they had Amy do it

The smashed bricks were styrofoam; Mark was typed to a rope that was pulled

The director of photography was Phillip J Roy; he took a pay cut to work on this project

Yancy's sleeve tattoo is the whole map again

Yancy's tattoos are Tiny Box Tim and Mark/Dark across his knuckles; those were Makeup's ideas

The Musical was only 1/4 of a recording day

There was 3 work weeks of shooting (15 days)

Day By Dave made a remix

Yancy was named "Prison Mark" until the fight scene started to be made in post-production, where he needed a name; Mark liked Yancy and Amy was very against it originally

Yancy killed both of his parents; Mark knew people were gonna fall in love with him anyway

"Yancy stans, go, march on"

Yancy has an emoji bandaid

Heapass (canonically) makes an appearance in Thanks and also Yes Please; he had "Heapass" on a cast, but it was on the wrong side from the camera

Holt Boggs (the cell guard) is an amazing man; he was overqualified ("soft hands")

The cell was in a green-screen soundstage, so there was more improve

Yancy was supposed to be hidden in the ceiling or beside the bed, but under the bed turned out better; he's hidden under the bed the whole scene

The Red Gemini was the camera that they used for this project

Mark just runs off frame in Thanks and also Yes Please

The audio-only part was very convenient for filming and fitting for a 1st-person perspective

Yancy's talk at the gate was Mark real-acting & the late shot of the 1st day of filming, which made all of them realize that the project could actually work

Yancy WANTS to be in prison; he knows all the ways out - he'd leave if he wanted to

The items in the box are more representational achievements

Mark needs our help to promote AHWM, through liking the video(s), commenting good things, and spreading the project; the performance of this dictates the ability to make another similar project

Mark worked for FREE for 5 months, taking no cut of the budget for himself

"Yancy is just Prison Mark with amnesia" "There could be a time-skip there; it could work"

Robert Rex, "a god walking amongst mere morals;" has always wearing the same thing; Mark didn't know that he was going to do different accents

Amy is the hand with the feather-duster

The Warden's desk moves into the hallway after a smash-cut

Mick's line had to be rewritten so it can be ambiguous; you can only tell if you were looking

The Warden embodies "big strong hands," something Mark writes into dialogue a lot (along with "trust you me"); everytime he touches something it cracks (his desk, Yancy's shoulder)

Pulling stuff from behind Mark's back was on-the-spot

The dirt joke was a prop-person and Mark throwing buckets

Mark helped Holt Boggs make a short video

HOLT BOGGS

The truck in Prison was a one-take-wonder; they actually bashed the truck through the wall in a such a cartoony, perfect way

The Bob/Wade skit was a reference to Prop Hunt

Mark comparing the disappointment of people not liking the video to a cup of dirt under the Christmas tree

The lid to the sewer says "a heist with markiplier"

The sewer was in an actual sewer treatment plant, which took about a week of filming; some parts were flooded so they couldn't film there; this place was scheduled to be torn down

Mark forces us to choose the Light Tunnel first

Cranbersher, GrittySugar, and Lixian collaborated for the Light Tunnel; it was originally going to be live action with a green-screen and a pre-made raft; Cranberser offered when he had a 3-month break from other projects

Amy notes that Mark did a lot of "falling"

Mark had to carry a 200 pound man and a heavy camera rig to carry Y/N

There was poison ivy, snakes, spiders, etc. on the island

The Game Grumps voiced the aliens; Erin originally was meant to play the Warden & Danny was meant to play one of the guards

Many roles fluctuated due to scheduling

Getting abducted is a reference to ADWM ("not again!")

Mark loves MatPat's scenes and acting (Build a Shelter)

There were so many mosquitos near the Cave and the actors couldn't put on bug spray because they had to preserve their makeups

There was a giant hole in the Cave from which grasshoppers rained down

They were a mile into the cave; they weren't able to staff them for 3 days, so they recorded for 2 days and had fo cut some shots

The Cave freeze-frame was unscripted; the camera director didn't tell cut and it was too funny

The Hermit was originally supposed to be Jacksepticeye but scheduling errors were in the way

Mick was originally supposed to be Crazy Ed

When the sound-guy didnt have a sound effect, one of them riffed something at the mic and it was modulated to fit as best as possible

Mark's camera loses signal/battery power

Mark has done the hot-wire-while-moving in Car before (van videos)

The blue flash during Car is you from the future/another timeline

Mark was actually driving the car; someone flashed the blue light so it was a bit dangerous

Tyler and Ethan make appearances as Zombies

Tyler actually let Mark hit him with a rock

There was a dead beaver in the shed during the Zombie Apocalypse

The Zombie Apocalypse shots were in VERY hot weather

The barricaded front door but very open back door was intentional humour

Ethan's zombie handshake was thought up on the spot

Moe was the man screaming from the fire and zombie attack, making everyone behind the camera laugh

Rosanna Pansino sings opera & speaks Chinese

The Scientist had to be broken up (the cuts are in the gunshots)

243 is a chemical identification symbol in an actual laboratory, nothing meaningful to the plot

The code leads to the AHWM website

What's truly inside the box is the real timeline, which is the team making the project

The room where the monitor was in (Amy, script manager, etc.) was locked out and no one could see what was going on, only hear it through headsets

Mark threw 2 dummies (main video, Absolutely Not!)

Chica likes to climb through the cords underneath Mark's desk

The true/canon ending is For The Greater Good, which leads to ADWM

SodaPopIn hasn't really done this before, but he went with it because he was told Mark was nice; he continued even during harsh weather, many planes, and a long take/monologue

The sandwiches are a callback to ADWM

The montage endings were inspired by the ones Amy made for ADWM

There was never any time set aside to get photos for the montages, so they had to continuously get pictures

Catherine makes an appearance in the Warfstache bit

Warfstache is just a meta joke > you respond by writing in the comments as a survey, producer Catherine is more powerful than the video-editing, ringing the bell for notifications

They rented the same place for the Warfstache bit that they used to film all the other previous Warfstache bits

Dark inserts himself wherever he feels like being

There is charity (#TeamTrees) merch for each of the egos/Mark characters in this project (including the new ones)

Edge of Sleep's last episode aired yesterday (as of the stream - 6/11/19)

A "reverse" charity livestream is happening soon

The next project(s) are already in the works

SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT HEIST

Amy originally wasn't going to work on this project until they went to Texas; she became Creative Producer once Mark put himself into too many places

Iba originally auditioned for the man in the burning truck, but his voice was so good he became the seer/guide

The project has been "cooking" since May

The next project would be a completely different project, not a continuation

SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT HEIST

Regular uploads start again tomorrow (7/11/19)

[aperrywilliams]

I don’t know you anymore/Part IV (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

———————

Summary: The case is resolved and Reader is exonerated, but she must now think about what to do with her life from now on.

Word Count: 4159.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences. Angst.

Warnings: References to murders, dead bodies, drug traffic, illicit activities, curses, degradation words.

A/N: This is Part IV of “I don’t know you anymore”. Thanks to everyone who read this! This will end in Part V. I don’t know how to end it yet, so if you have some ideas, share with the class!

——————–

Springtime in the city Always such a relief from winter freeze The snow was more lonely than cold if you know what I mean Everyone's got an agenda Don't stop keep that chin up you'll be alright Can you believe what a year it's been Are you still the same? Has your opinion changed?

The trip to my apartment was longer than I would have expected. Fortunately, the police officer was silent the entire time. I was in no mood to talk. Upon arriving at the building, I thanked him and immediately went up to my apartment. I just wanted to shower and go to bed. Tears were streaming from my eyes. I didn't expect to have to relive things that still seemed painful to me, nor did I expect to have to find out horrible things like the ones I had to hear.

When I was going to open the apartment door I noticed something strange: the door was closed but not locked. I tried to remember if I had forgotten to locked it when I left to the police station. When I entered I began to look for the switch to turn on the light, when I was about to reach it, I felt some arms pulling me into the apartment, one hand covered my mouth to prevent me from screaming and the other slamming the door to close it. Everything happened so fast I didn't even try to scream, I was speechless with fear and stupor.

“(Y/N), it's me… don't make any noise. I'm not going to hurt you…". There I recognized the voice of Hunter who still had not removed his hand from my mouth. "I'm going to release you, but please don't scream...". I don't know if he expected me to do something different, but I just tried to nod. After a few seconds, he released me so I could turn around to try to look at him. It was dark, but my eyes were already getting used to the gloom so I could at least make out his figure.

"What the fuck, Hunter? What is all this?. Everyone is looking for you…”. My initial stupor was quickly moving to anger and need for answers.

"I know, I know. I know the FBI was interrogation you this afternoon...".  I grab the switch of lamp settled on the hall table and turned on the light. I needed to look him in the eye.

"Well, sure they did question me. What's the list they said?... Hunter, there are dead women!... What's going on?” I said with a lot of concern.

“I can only tell you I didn’t do it. I didn't kill those women, you have to believe me..." he tried to hold my hands but I didn’t let him.

"Don't ask me to believe you because I don't even know what's going on..."

"I didn’t do it. And the list thing is a long story. The important thing now is you are in danger… we are both in danger…”

"Why me?..."

"Did you see the photos of the murdered women?... Didn't that seem familiar?" They all look like you (Y/N). Who killed them will come for you... and for me... that's why I'm here. To prevent him from doing something to you”. That was a detail I had repaired but I wanted to ignore. Neither detective Gibson nor Emily made any reference to it when they showed me the pictures, but I had noticed.

"Who is he?... what does he want?... please tell me something so I can understand...". My nerves made me finally burst into tears.

"Gabriel... he... he worked with me. He's mad at me and that's why he wants to hurt you, to hurt me. He knows we are together now and he knows I’d do anything for you…”. He couldn’t continue speaking because he was interrupted by a noise at first I didn’t know where it came from. When I was able to react and turn around, I saw a man who had kicked open the apartment’s door and was pointing a gun at us.

"Don't move!... Don't even try!... both of you stay quiet!" he was screaming frantically.

“Gabriel… hey! Man... take it easy. We're not going to do anything stupid…”. Hunter started to speak.

"Of course you’re not. I was hoping you would get my message sooner and repair this shit, but apparently it wasn't enough. I had to come to the source..."

"What the hell is this guy talking about?...". I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Not even the fear I felt at that time was able to keep me silent.

"Shut your mouth! You're the reason for this damn bitch!..." he answered screaming and pointing his gun straight at me.

"No! She isn’t to blame. I wanted to get out of this…”. Hunter tried to convince him, to avoid shooting me. He seemed determined to do it.

"For her!... You´re a fucking coward, you fell in love with this slut and forgot all the important things...". Gabriel said waving his gun and pointing it at me directly.

"She doesn't even know what we do... come on man! Leave her out of this...". Hunter yelled.

“I don't give a damn she doesn’t know. As long as she is alive you’ll remain to be a stupid coward. You even collaborated with the FBI!, you're a fucking shit!...”

"That was years ago!...". Hunter yelled back.

"I don't care if it was yesterday or 10 years ago. That’s treason and you have to pay for that…”. Gabriel said, with a voice so sinister it could make your hair stand on end just listening to it.

"Therefore, kill me. If you're so upset, kill me now!...”

"I will, but first it’s this bitch’s turn...". I froze. I felt him release the safety of the gun and aimed directly at me adjusting the view to pull the trigger. I saw my life go by in three seconds. Not even my instinct for preservation was activated. I just closed my eyes, waiting for the outcome. In this bizarre situation, I didn't care about anything anymore. I just wanted it to be over, and if that meant I had to die, well, it would have to be.

I heard the noise of a gunshot, but felt nothing in my body. I wondered if it had been so fast I was already dead and not having noticed. In the background I felt a body fall followed by a scream "Stop! FBI!” and a second shot. Another body fell to the floor. It was only then I was able to open my eyes. I looked down and saw Hunter lying across from me with a wound on his chest. Two meters ahead Gabriel was face down with a head shot and Spencer stood in the doorway still with his gun raised.

"Fuck..." was all I managed to say before my legs completely buckled and I fell to my knees on the floor.

***

I ran out of the car and saw an injured police officer at the entrance. He was the one who had brought (Y/N) and who was assigned for her protection. I approached him and he just told me he had been hit in the head but he had already called reinforcements and the suspect had come up to (Y/N) department. It was on the 3rd floor. I hurried up the stairs, I had already drawn my gun. Arriving at the floor I heard the screams of two men arguing. My heart was pumping desperately, I didn't hear (Y/N)’s voice and that terrified me. When I reached the threshold of the door I saw how one of the unsub opened fire in the direction of (Y/N), but the other unsub who was in the room managed to get in the line of fire himself receiving the shot in the chest. I yelled at the other subject to alert him to my presence and dissuade him to lower the gun, but I immediately saw he was going to shoot another shot in the same direction, so I didn’t hesitate and shot him. The impact went straight to his head, falling to the floor immediately. When I looked at (Y/N), had eyes closed and her arms instinctively raised trying to protect her face. Seeing her alive I managed to breathe again. She opened her eyes and saw what had happened around her. First she noticed the body of the man who had come between her and the gunman, then the gunman upside down on the floor and then me. She fell to her knees trembling. I lowered my gun and ran to see if she was okay.

"(Y/N)... are you okay?... Are you hurt?...". She was shaking her head but couldn't speak. I didn't know whether to get too close. If I hug her maybe it would make things worse. I just dared to kneel in front of her and touch her shoulder to see if she reacted. Suddenly she raised her head and looked at me. With eyes full of tears, she hugged me and began to cry. I held her tight to try to calm her down. "It’s ok, it's over. It's all over. It’s ok, everything will be fine…” was the only thing I could tell her. A few minutes passed and the room filled with police. Behind them Emily, J.J., Luke and Rossi who upon seeing the scene immediately knew what had happened.

I knew what was coming. Maybe we should go to the police station again. (Y/N) and I would be questioned about what happened. But first I had to get (Y/N) to calm down and check if she was okay, at least physically. Paramedics arrived on the scene at that minute.

"Hey, we need the paramedics to check you up, okay?" I said in the softest voice I could. She nodded, not saying a word yet. I got up to allow the paramedics to do their job. She looked at me with pleading eyes, as if she didn't want me to leave. "I’ll be here. I won’t leave. I'm just going to talk to my boss and wait for you to be checked, ok?”. She nodded again. I approached Prentiss to tell her what had happened.

"Reid... what the hell happened here...?" Prentiss said with visible confusion on her face.

"Emily, if I was one minute late, (Y/N) would be dead...". Prentiss snorted.

"Do you think she can stand another interrogation?" she asked looking at (Y/N).

"I don’t know. But I don't think it's a good idea to take her to the station again. Besides, we already know what happened here”. I said, trying to dissuade her from that idea.

"But she can't stay here, it's a crime scene" said Emily.

“Can we get her to stay in a hotel while…? I don't think she want to go where someone she knows and has no family here”. I said, trying to ponder options.

"It's okay. Yes. We can fix that. Will you stay with her?” She asked me.

"Only if she wants to. If not, can we ask someone from the team to stay with her for today?”. I wasn't sure if she would reject me, but I also didn't want her to be alone.

"Yes. We can. Let me know”. Emily said before turning to speak to the officers who were photographing the scene. I stood there waiting for the paramedics to finish checking on (Y/N). When they turned away from her, I asked them about her condition.

"Physically she is ok, just some bruises on her wrists, but nothing else. But she's just coming out of shock. It is important to be watched and take a tranquilizer later night. I just gave her one now, so she should be quieter” said the paramedic before retiring. I thanked him and approached (Y/N). She still looked at me with watery eyes, but she felt somewhat calmer.

"How do you feel…?" was the only thing I could think to ask. Stupid question, but I had to say something.

"I don't know... I don't even know what just happened..." she said as took a visual tour of her living room.

"Yes. I imagine you are confused. I can explain more about this, but we should go somewhere else. You cannot stay here. We’ll make an arrangement for you to stay in a hotel today, unless you want to go to a friend…”. I said, analyzing her reaction.

"No... I can't let people see me in this condition. I can go to a hostel for tonight. Spencer, don't worry about me, I can manage on my own…”. It was the first time she said my name. It was impossible my memory didn’t go through our moments together and all the times that 'Spencer' ever came out of her mouth.

“I know you can… but… I wouldn't want you to be alone… today at least. If you don't want me to come with you, someone from the team can do it. And don't worry about the hotel, it's the least the FBI can do given the events…”. Did not answer. She was silent, inspecting the place again with her eyes.

"I need to get my clothes... or some of them at least..." she said almost to herself as she went to the bedroom. I figured I should wait for her so I nodded and stood in the same place. After a few minutes she left the bedroom with a bag. I gestured to her to leave the apartment, still full of police officers and CSI’s.

I opened the passenger door for (Y/N) so she could get in and left the bag on the back seat. I started driving on the way to the hotel where she could stay, it was the same one where we were spending the night so I knew the road. Neither said a word the whole trip. I felt like she wasn't there. Absorbed in her thoughts only with her gaze fixed on the window. When we arrived, I took out her bag and we reached the lobby.

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI, I need the key to the room assigned to (Y/N) (Y/L/N) reserved a while ago..." I said. (Y/N) wasn't looking at me, just had her eyes on the lobby decor or whatever else caught her eye. With the key we went to the elevator and went up to the 4th floor where the room was. I opened the door and let her in first. Then I entered and put her bag on the side of the hall. I stood to the side of the door. I didn't want to be intrusive and she sure wanted me to go.

"I... I’ll go to my room. It's right downstairs. You can settle in. If you want you can take a shower and change your clothes, or maybe you want to go to bed. Maybe you're hungry, I can ask you some food to room service, just tell me if you need something…”. I said trying to be brief, but of course, that has never been my strength. She turned to look at me. I think in the last few hours this was the first time she really 'saw' me.

"Could you... stay... a while?. I’ll do all you said, but I also need to understand and someone explain what happened. I need to know why Hunter is dead now and why I'm in the middle of this. Could you do that for me?... I don't really trust anyone else right now..." she said in a muffled voice, something that deeply touched me. Her confusion mixed with sadness further plunged the stake through my stomach. After all... I had some responsibility at the origin of this tragedy.

"Yes, what you need. While you shower and change I can order something to eat. You’re ok with that?...". She nodded, taking her bag and locking herself in the bathroom. I picked up the phone and called room service to order something to eat. I sat in the armchair at the entrance to the room and took my cell phone. I had a message from J.J.

"How is she? Are you going to need someone to stay with her? We are leaving the police station and going to the hotel. Emily said we were leaving for DC tomorrow at noon”. I wrote her everything was ok for now and thanks.

(Y/N) left the bathroom a while later. She had changed her clothes. She put her bag down on the side of the wall and sat on the couch. The food had arrived, so I moved the cart closer to the couch and uncapped the containers. I took a chair and sat in front of the sofa and next to the car with the food.

"It’ll be good you eat now. Surely you haven't done it all afternoon and night…”. I said, showing her the food. She nodded. A faint smile appeared on her face when she noticed one of the dishes was a pastrami sandwich, her favorite. Or at least it was when we were together. I had also asked for a hot chocolate, which I also remembered as one of her favorite drinks when it was cold.

"Thank you. I see there are things you have not forgotten…” she said, taking the sandwich.

"I assumed it was still your favorite..." I said with a small smile.

"Aren't you going to eat...?" She asked.

"Yes, I ordered another sandwich and a coffee..." I replied pointing to the rest of the things in the cart. With that said, I started eating myself. We were silent until we finished eating. She took a napkin, wiped her lips, her hands and left it in the cart.

"Well... while the medicine effect lasts... please tell me what all this was. Don't skip details. I need to know” she said, crossing arms over her chest and resting her back completely on the couch. I nodded and started to speak. I related to her from the beginning, that is, since we were assigned the case in Quantico. I told her about the deaths, where the list had come from. Hunter's relationship with the FBI, about the ‘cleaned’ properties, drugs, his partner... everything. As I spoke I watched her reactions and her body language. While I could see how she tensed each time I added more information, I could also see that things were making sense in her mind, as if she were putting together the pieces of a complicated puzzle. When I finished talking, she let out a sigh and bit her lower lip as if trying to hold her thoughts.

“So… it could have been me from the start. So those women shouldn't have died…” said (Y/N) shaking her head.

"Don’t say that... all women on the list were potential victims..." I tried to take out the thought from her mind.

"But I was the source of his anger... he said that to me". (Y/N) tried to refute me.

“You just channeled it. Hunter was his source of anger…”. I replied. I knew she was looking to blame herself and it wasn't fair.

"And now he's dead..." she said with tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I’m so sorry... I know you were together. I'm sorry you lost the man you fell in love with…”. I said trying to offer condolences for her loss. She lowered her head.

"You know?, Hunter was a very good man to me. Always patient, attentive, loving. It hurts me I couldn't ... reciprocate ... even though it was a small part of the love he felt for me. The poor man ended up losing his life for a woman who… would never love him as he loved her…” (Y/N) said outlining a sad smile. I didn't know exactly how to react to that. So she didn't love him? Did that give me a chance? Did she ever stop loving me?

"He made his decisions. You can't blame yourself for that. Finally... we cannot pretend what we aren’t or do not feel..." I said.

“Yes, they were not very smart decisions. But I don't blame him, I haven't made the smartest decisions in my life either…”. Was she talking about us? Why couldn't I get that out of my head? I didn't want to say it, but it just came out. I had to know.

“(Y/N)… I know maybe this is not the time to talk about this… but since you are talking about the decisions we make in life… when you told me we had to end our relationship to have at least a nice memory of what was… was it true? Did it end up being a good memory for you…?” I asked, leaning over the chair, resting my arms on my knees. She thought for a moment.

"It is. In fact. It was a wonderful three years Spencer…” she said giving me a warm smile. I felt I had a hard time swallowing. I wanted to tell her everything that was stuck in my chest, but I couldn't do it.

"Also for me…". It was the only thing I could say. An uncomfortable silence settled between us. I broke it by changing the subject. "What will you do now? Do you plan to stay in Philadelphia?..."

"I don’t know. At the moment I have my work here. I’ll have to find a place to live, but it should not be difficult. But I don't know, maybe I don't want to be here anymore. Maybe now I should try luck in Chicago…” she said with a shrug. I nodded.

“I know there is a lot to think about. But it's late and you should rest. Tomorrow you can start to see what to do. I can help you in whatever you need. Now you should try to sleep. If you need anything, I’m in room 321, you can call me directly from here…”. I said as I got up from my chair to go to my room.

"When are you going back to DC? ..." she asked.

"Tomorrow, at noon..." I said with a grimace as I walked to the door. She nodded.

"Okay. Well ... thanks Spencer. You saved my life after all. Gabriel was going to shoot again if you hadn't stopped him…” she said scratching his forehead as if trying to get the image out of her head. I just nodded. I didn't know how to respond to that.

"Try to sleep (Y/N). Tomorrow morning I’ll call you to ask how you are…”. It was the only thing that came out of my mouth.

"I'll try". She came over and gave me a hug. "Thanks again". When I tried to hug her back she was already away. I was awkwardly silent and left the room. She closed the door behind me. And I didn't say anything. Everything was still as stuck in my chest as before. Defeated, I returned to my room. I had one night to try to think what I was going to do. Would I let her go again? Would I let her get on with her life? Life that was so much more fragile than when we arrived in Philadelphia. At least now she was in no danger. But was that enough for me? I wanted her. How could I get her back?

I made my way to the bathroom. I took a short shower and went to bed. I lay on my back looking at the ceiling. My head was spinning. I couldn't force (Y/N) to do something she didn't want to do. She had to make her own decisions, it was her life and I had no right to interfere. But I could honestly express my feelings. I could never really tell her I was sorry, despite having broken my promises I still loved her and even being with another woman there was not a day I didn’t want to be with her again.

I was deep in my thoughts and insomnia when I felt two knocks on the door. I jumped out of bed, something could have happened to (Y/N) and maybe she needed my help. Without even looking through the peephole I opened the door. In front of me was the very (Y/N), with a jacket over her pajamas. She didn’t move or say anything.

"(Y/N)... did something happen? Are you okay?...". I asked with concern. She didn't say anything, just got close enough to me that I could feel the heat radiating from her body. She stood up on her feet and as she wrapped her arms around my neck pressing her lips to mine. With no time to lose, I reciprocated the kiss by wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her into the room as I slammed the door shut with one leg. Was this my chance? My last chance? Maybe I was about to find out.

———————

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Dream SMP Good Omens AU

I wrote a Good Omens AU! It’s on AO3 here, but I’m also posting it here

Sixteen years before the apocalypse, three babies were dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage. Two of them were human as human can be, while the third was prophesied to bring about the great war between heaven and hell, start the apocalypse, and just have a generally fun time. 

How exactly did the antichrist get left on a doorstep on a rainy night?

A few hours before

Our journey starts in a graveyard, where Baby No. 1 was found. 

Now, when I say "Baby No. 1", know that I mean the great destroyer, future doom of the world, bringer of death, currently wrapped in a fluffy blue blanket in a wicker basket, etc. 

He glanced around at the tombstones almost judgmentally, as though to say I don't think this is where one-day-old children go, but hey, I don't know enough about existence to dispute this. 

The wicker basket remained tucked away in the graveyard for a while, a few drops of rain gently falling down. Apparently, the poor weather was what Baby No. 1's escort was looking for, as he appeared as the mist began to gather. 

Wilbur Soot always had a penchant for dramatic atmosphere.

Quite a few lords of hell would call Wilbur the worst demon ever to walk the pit. This was absolutely untrue. Wilbur was a fairly mediocre demon that happened to be walking the pit, but certainly not the worst, putting that stupid fiddle contest bet aside. 

The gossip-mongers would only say things like that (and other, harsher things) because Wilbur had been one of the best fallen angels to ever swear vengeance on a broken sword. 

But it's frankly hard to keep up an emo phase for 6,000 years.

He strolled over to the basket, checked to make sure that there was still a baby in it, and waited impatiently for the thing's ride to arrive. Technically, he was supposed to be the one driving the antichrist to St. Beryl's Orphanage, but he had tickets to see Heathers that night and decided to use that most clever trick: Getting someone else to do his work instead. 

Still, he didn't have much trust in the guy he'd asked, and wanted to make sure that the child actually got from the graveyard to the car.

It was already five minutes past the scheduled time, and the weather was terrible, and he was fine with starting the end of days, but why did he have to work overtime? At least Schlatt wasn't here to laugh at him being on babysitting duty. 

Almost on cue, a raspy laugh came from the shadows of the church in the center of the graveyard. Ugh. Speak of the angel. 

Almost everyone would call JSchlatt the worst angel to ever wear a suit. 

And they would be absolutely right. 

He had no care for heaven, or the great war, or any sort of noble deed. The only predictable thing about him was his biting snark and the ever-present stink of cheap alcohol. 

When he entered a room, everyone there knew that they would soon regret not keeping him out by any means necessary, and he knew that they knew, and he enjoyed that. 

The greatest miracle ever performed in all of earthly and non-earthly history was that he hadn't been thrown out of heaven by his horns yet.

"Are you on babysitting duty, Wilbur?". Wilbur crossed his arms, trying and failing to hide the annoyance on his face. He could have had a cool arch-nemesis, but no. He was stuck with this dick.

"Laugh all you like, Schlatt-"

"Oh, trust me, I am."

"But once the child reaches 16, he's going to bring about the finale of this pathetic excuse for an earth".

Okay, so maybe he wasn't entirely rid of that emo phase. Schlatt looked at him, smug.

"Whatever you say, Soot. Hey, did the lower-downs tell you who's watching over your little finale?"

"I am. I'm watching over the antichrist, being a "corrupting influence" (whatever that means), that sort of thing."

"Well, my higher-ups had a similar idea. They seem to think that if the kid is nudged in the right direction, he'll start the apocalypse and fight on heaven's side. Bla bla bla, defeating Satan and/or Slimecicle, honestly I zoned out during the briefing. Long story short, they thought the kid needed a positive role model, and my name got picked.". 

The idea of "positive role model" and "Schlatt" being considered at all similar rattled Wilbur enough that it took a few seconds for the implications to sink in.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. We're going to be neighbors!"

"No, no, no, no-"

"Isn't this exciting?". Wilbur barely restrained a scream, and only shuddered in horror. Before he could lose what was left of his sanity and discorporate anyone, a car horn beeped. It's about time.

He half walked, half sprinted over to the black car. The window cranked open, revealing a nervous foxlike face.

The general consensus was that Fundy was too mediocre of a demon to be worth any notice. 

He'd never been seen doing anything appropriately horrible or failed spectacularly, so according to most of hell he didn't exist. 

In truth, Fundy was about to prove tonight that he was much worse of a demon than they thought.

"Sorry I'm late, I forgot I cursed a major highway, and then I had to drive on that highway to get here, and-"

"Just take the kid.". The basket was passed to Fundy, who looked at it with fear and wonder.

Baby No. 1 didn't look like an antichrist (I mean, he was the only antichrist at this point and could only look like himself, but he didn't look like how one would expect an antichrist to look). He just looked like any one-day-old baby. Fundy tried to disguise how grateful he was about that. Maybe, just maybe, the plan could work. 

He looked back up to Wilbur.

"So, what was the important demonic business?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, you said you had "important demonic business", and that's why you couldn't drive the kid yourself."

"Ah, yes. That important demonic business. Well, Fundy, that's for me to know and you to not know.". Wilbur shifted, hiding the Heathers tickets in his coat sleeve.

"Enjoy your drive!". With that, he teleported away from the graveyard. Schlatt shrugged, and continued eating protein powder out of the jar.

-----------

Fundy drove like a maniac down the highway, swerving off the road to avoid the cursed-induced traffic. 

He'd pulled off hundreds of scams before, but they were all on the humans. He'd never scammed the forces of heaven and hell simultaneously before. He was pretty sure that was called "treason". Which was punishable by death if he got caught. This is the worst idea of my entire fucking existence. 

As he sped down the road regretting his life choices, rain pouring down on the windshield, his co-conspirator teleported into the passenger seat.

"Hey, you ready to do something illegal?"

The executives in heaven had no idea what to make of Quackity. 

They could hardly call him the worst angel when there was Schlatt running about drunk off his ass, and he was even good at his job most of the time. Even now, the executives couldn't quite pin down a time he'd directly broken a rule.

However, he had a habit of taking the rulebook, shaking it out, finding whatever loopholes existed, and using them to do whatever he pleased.

There wasn't a rule saying he couldn't wear yeezys and sunglasses to important board meetings. 

There wasn't a rule saying that he couldn't try to seduce the archangels, that was implied at best. 

And there wasn't a rule saying that he couldn't get attached to the human world. The higher-ups had never considered that anyone would, so it hadn't been written down in the paperwork. 

Their mistake.

Here was the truth: Quackity didn't want the apocalypse to happen. If you spend 6,000 years in any place, how can you not care about it? Sure, humans are there and gone in the blink of an eye, but the things they make to show they were here can stay for centuries.

He knew too much history about the place to just stand back and let it get set on fire. 

So, he'd searched through all of heaven for a collaborator. There was no one willing to help him there, their reactions ranging from "I'd love to help, but I don't want to get hellfire poured on my face" to "If you're insinuating what I think you are, I'll turn you in to get hellfire poured on your face".

So, he took the escalator down to the basement. It took him a while to find someone, even there, but eventually he met a familiar fox-faced demon, and a plan was hatched.

Why did Fundy join in on a dangerous scheme like this one?

Attention, mostly. Humans were the only ones to really acknowledge his existence, even if it was almost all negative attention. Which was fair. He did steal their things a lot.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Great.". Quackity looked into the basket containing Baby No.1, breathed a sigh of relief that he looked like a normal human, and revealed a cardboard box. Inside the cardboard box was Baby No. 2, wrapped in a green blanket.

When I say "Baby No. 2", know that I mean a quiet mortal child with wisps of light blond hair, born to a regular human that didn't want him.

"I found him on the side of the road.". The two of them sat in silence for a while at that, before Fundy brought up the plan again.

"So, we drop them both at St. Beryl's."

"Yeah."

"And then they think that this kid is the antichrist, and the antichrist is the kid."

"Yeah."

"And our bosses try to raise the kid and sway them to the dark side or whatever, while we raise the antichrist and keep them from destroying the world."

"Yeah."

"Um. Quick question."

"Yeah?"

"If we're putting them both on the doorstep at the same time, how do we know they won't think the antichrist is the antichrist and the kid is the kid?"

"....I didn't think about that.”. They pondered the problem together. Eventually, Fundy conjured a sharpie and wrote "antichrist, this side up" on the side of the cardboard box in bold letters.

"That should work. Also, you need to stop teleporting into my car while it's moving. You could fuse with the seats, and that would suck to clean up."

And so, Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2 were dropped off on the doorstep of St. Beryl's Orphanage. It was harder than expected to say goodbye to Baby No. 2, but they managed. 

The duo was somewhat confused by the third baby on the doorstep, who hadn't been put there by any of them, and actually just so happened to be dropped off at the wrong orphanage at the wrong time.

Baby No. 3 was in a red blanket, and when I say "Baby No. 3", know that I mean a human child that was currently doing what he would be doing for much of his life: Screaming at the top of his lungs. 

It is assumed that he was born to humans since he was one, but the kid could have been dropped off by a galaxy for all we know.

All that we need to know is that fate had not favored Baby No. 3, and that would continue for a while.

And so, three babies were dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage, sixteen years before the apocalypse.

--------

Quite a few people (and things that at least looked like people) were excited about this. It was supposed to be a secret that the antichrist was at St. Beryl's Orphanage, so obviously everyone from purgatory to Portland had heard the news.

The lobby was jam-packed with a few demons with extremely good disguises, far more demons with very bad disguises, a mafia-style group of angels, another mafia-style group of angels but they were pretending to be a book club for some convoluted reason, a few very lost ghosts who didn't even want to be there in the first place, the man who was going to burn the orphanage to the ground in a couple of hours, the dread Charlie Slimecicle, hassled orphanage staff, and, notably, the owners of two motorcycles in the parking lot. 

The two motorcycles were a sickly hospital white and an empty-seeming black respectively, and their riders were lowkey famous (not that they liked to brag about it or anything). 

Any and all apocalypse enthusiasts knew their names (or at least their titles), and once they met up with two more friends Doomsday would truly be underway.

But that party wouldn't be started for another sixteen years. 

For now, only two out of the set of four were gathered, and tonight was less about the apocalypse than the drama and firsthand gossip to get. They sat in the corner, watching the chaos unfold with reflective eyes.

-----------

Now, someone would eventually have to adopt these babies. The antichrist would have to grow up among the mortals, and St. Beryl's Orphanage was always more of an apocalypse creating scheme than an orphanage to begin with, so they would have to find some unwitting soul to take Baby No. 2 and Baby No. 3 soon. 

Thankfully for everyone involved, three humans that showed up that day ready to adopt, with varying degrees of dread.

The first was a man seemingly in his late thirties, wearing a green coat that could almost be considered a cloak.

The second was a young adult with sunglasses and an almost royal quality about them.

And the third was a sweet-looking young woman in a soft striped sweater, who clutched an ancient book tightly under her arm.

They were quickly hustled through the lobby by the head of the orphanage, who tried her best to keep anyone in the group from seeing anything odd happening around them (Which is a bit of a challenge when certain demons think that a fake mustache from a corner store is enough to look completely non-supernatural). 

She rushed around from the tiny waiting room with the potential parents to the room with the babies to the stampede outside, internally wishing that she'd done what she'd planned in college and been a therapist instead of running an orphanage/doomsday cult.

All of the humans in the waiting room were understandably confused, but their questions were unheeded. 

The three of them sat in silence for several minutes. When it became clear that no one would be coming to check on them, small talk was attempted. 

Names were learned (The first parent went by the name Philza, while the second was named Eret, and the third Niki), the weather thoroughly discussed, and finally, the conversation turned to the inevitable:

"So, why are you here?". The question was asked by Eret, who seemed genuinely curious. Phil looked down from the clock he'd been watching, annoyed.

"To adopt a child. Why else?"

"I figured that, but what led you here? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I'm just trying to break the silence.". Phil continued staring at the wall, preparing his words.

Half an hour before

"You want me to what?"

Phil had been driving home when he got the call. If he really had a say in the matter, he would have sent that to voicemail in two seconds flat, but his caller wasn't the kind of person you could hang up on ("person" wasn't even accurate to him). The rain was falling down on the windshield, the traffic was abysmal, and apparently he was supposed to adopt a child. 

"Listen, with all due respect, I owe you nothing anymore. I don't have to do missions for you, I don't have to kill for you, and I especially don't have to take care of a baby for sixteen years for you.". He nodded along as the other side of the call said his bit, before responding.

"Sixteen years is quick? Maybe to the likes of you it's quick, for me it's actually a sizeable chunk of time! I don't care that I have to 'just keep him alive-'". He was cut off, and he waited impatiently for his chance to speak again, which he got.

"You and I have gone our separate ways. Me and Technoblade are both in retirement, and there's no way in hell I'm adopting a child. That's my final word.". 

The voice on the other side of the call spoke how he usually did: Methodical, calm, devoid of mercy. Mentioning Techno had been a mistake, and the conversation eased into detailed and pointed threats. Finally, he gave up.

"If I do this, you'll finally leave me and Techno alone?". An affirmative answer. Phil sighed, already weary of the experience.

"Fine. Screw you, but fine. I'll take your stupid project."

Current

Phil folded his arms, a scowl on his face.

"I'm just very paternal."

For some reason, Eret doubted that, but they nodded anyway.

"I decided I wanted to adopt a few months ago. I mean, I have the money for it, and there are so many kids without parents. I think I just wanted to do something about it, and try to give some kid a good childhood.". They laughed quietly under their breath.

"Sometimes I feel like something else put the idea in my head.". Phil and Eret looked towards Niki, expecting her to speak. She held her book close to her, fingers drumming on the cover.

"I've known for a while that I was going to adopt a baby today. St. Beryl's Orphanage, April 1st, the year I turn 19."

"How did you know?". Niki opened the book, re-reading the same familiar page.

"It's just fate."

-----------

Meanwhile, the two horsemen of the apocalypse were tired of just watching. 

If they stayed any longer without doing anything, this trip wouldn't be worth the motorcycle fuel. 

They rose from the seats in unison and slipped casually into the baby room. The head of the orphanage had been slumped against the wall, exhausted. However, when the duo entered the room, she leapt to her feet.

"Excuse me, no demons, no angels, nothing dead or dying, no refunds, no Charlie, and no one I don't want here is allowed in this room!". The one cloaked in black stepped forward, hands raised in a pacifying gesture and a kind smile on his face.

"Well, I'm none of those things! My name's BadBoyHalo, but most people are kind of formal and call me Famine.". That last bit of the sentence was accompanied by a sheepish eye roll, as though to say I know it's silly, but I can't help being well-known.

"My friend over there is George. What's your name?". The head of the orphanage tried very hard to feel suspicious. There were two strangers in the most important room there, she should have her guard up as far as possible. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't feel any distrust for the Famine in front of her.

"My name is Puffy. Why are you here?"

"Us? We're just here for a look. Right, George?". George hadn't really been interested in the conversation, although it was hard to tell what he was thinking about behind his white sunglasses. He raised his head, looking bored.

"Yeah. Sure.". 

Puffy could see several concerning things about letting two horsemen of the apocalypse take a quick look at the antichrist, but she couldn't quite think clearly.

She tried to focus on the current situation, but all she could think about was how much she wanted a good night's sleep, and a vacation, and a different life. Bad's smile remained constant, cheerful and understanding.

"Is this the job you want, Puffy?". She shook her head, eyes glassy.

"When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hero. Help out people who needed helping. I really have no idea how I got here.". Bad nodded.

"Well, Puffy, you seem tired. There's a lot of muffin-heads outside making a racket, and it seems like a lot to deal with. If you want to just go upstairs and take a quick nap, we can handle things for you!". Puffy quietly agreed and walked out of the room in a daze. Already, she could tell something was wrong, but she felt sapped of the strength to care.

As her head hit the pillow, she made a vow to herself that if she came back and the kids were harmed in any way, she'd personally bring hell to their doorsteps.

-----------

"Bad, did you seriously hypnotize a woman so you could hold a baby?"

"Not just a baby, George! Three babies!"

"That makes it much better, yes.”

"You're just upset that they like me more.". Bad bounced around the babies, cooing over them.

"Who's the cutest little antichrist? Who's the tiniest omen of doom? You are!". He picked up Baby No. 2 and tapped his nose.

"Boop!". George stood there quietly.

"He's going to be mad if he finds out we came here."

"Exactly, if he finds out. Besides, he needs us."

"I know he needs me. You, on the other hand, are kind of on thin ice."

"Calm yourself. Hold a baby.". Bad picked up Baby No. 2 from his box, where antichrist: this side up was clearly visible, and handed him to George. George held the green-blanketed baby, staring intently into his eyes. 

Baby No. 3 started screaming once more, and Bad ran over to pick him up and shush him.

"Aww, it's okay. You're not going to die for another 16 years, you have nothing to scream about now!". Baby No. 3 seemed to take in his words for a few seconds, before shrieking even louder. 

The door was flung open by the ominous angelic book club, who tried to shove their way to the child in George's arms. Bad sighed, exasperated, and shifted into a more monstrous form.

"Seems like I have to do some security work. Can you hold this one too?". Without waiting for an answer, he passed Baby No. 3 to George and walked out into the hallway, using his hollow iron scales to push otherworldly paparazzi aside.

After the first act of Heathers, Wilbur slipped out of the theater. It wasn't a particularly good production, and he didn't see the point in staying. 

He decided that if he wasn't going to do anything else, he should probably teleport to St. Beryl's and do his job. 

The orphanage was even more chaotic than before, and he had to light one or two minor demons on fire to clear his way. 

Finally, he reached the room with the antichrist. The room was mostly empty, except for one basket in the corner, and a familiar stranger holding two babies and panicking slightly.

The stranger turned to face Wilbur, and he realized who he was speaking to. He'd never met a horseman of the apocalypse before, but he'd heard of their reputations and seen them from afar.

"Pestilence. Pleasure to meet you.". Pestilence leaned nonchalantly in the doorway with a smile, which was quite a feat for someone holding two sobbing children.

"Please, call me George."

"George. Interesting name, for someone with your position."

“What's wrong with it?"

"It's fine, your colleagues have just mostly had ridiculous names. I mean, who in their right mind names themself Sapnap? No offense, don't discorporate me."

"Well, relatively speaking, I'm pretty new to the job. Stick around another 500 years, and who knows what will happen?"

"With your name, or with discorporating me?"

"Both, I guess.". Wilbur checked his pocket watch (it had been broken sometime in the 1910s, and he hadn't had the time to get it fixed, but he still liked the idea of checking a pocket watch).

"Fun as this conversation is, I was thinking that I should be the one to deliver the child to his parent.". George opened his mouth, probably to say no, but the sound of the babies crying increased. He stopped, irritated, and nodded.

"Why not? It's not like I actually work here."

"Excellent. Just give me the antichrist, and I'll be out of your hair. Unless you want to meet up again after this-"

"I'm good."

"Alright.". George held Baby No. 2 and Baby No. 3 side by side, as if weighing them. He titled his head from the child wrapped in a green blanket to the child wrapped in a red blanket. Finally, he handed the one in red to Wilbur.

"I'm pretty sure this is the antichrist. I'm a bit colorblind.". The sentence was accompanied by an airy laugh and a small grin, and Wilbur smiled back before leaving the room with Baby No. 3.

-----------

Phil was going to murder him. 

The guy couldn't die, but he was going to murder him anyway. Of all the petty things, he had to threaten Philza and his loved ones just for him to sit in a room for hours for absolutely no reason. 

Was this that creature's sick idea of a prank? 

Five seconds before he was going to storm out, agreement be damned, there was a polite knock on the door. He got up to open it, and Baby No. 3 lay on the floor, silent and peacefully sleeping for the first time in his short existence. 

Phil shrugged, deciding not to question it.

He gently picked the baby up from the ground, and headed home. 

(If he'd been looking more intently, he would have noticed 1) A certain demon sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, having decided that he probably shouldn't come face to face with someone he was supposed to spy on, and 2) His closest friend hiding behind a newspaper in the lobby, ready for some good old fashioned arson).

-----------

Anyway, once the antichrist was safely adopted (or so they thought), all that was left was to find a place to put all of these bonus babies. George picked up Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2, and headed for the waiting room, where Eret and Niki regarded each other as friends already.

Unfortunately, Quackity decided that he had some meddling left in him for the evening, and he decided to make sure everything was going according to plan. He teleported into the orphanage seamlessly, folding his wings into his coat and looking over his sunglasses.

George strolled into the waiting room.

"Pick a child, any child. I don't have all day.". Eret tilted their head in confusion.

"Isn't there paperwork, or an application process, or something official we're supposed to-"

"Do you want the kid or not?". Niki reached for Baby No. 2, and Eret shrugged and took Baby No. 1.

Quackity watched the process take place through the keyhole. 

This seemed alright. They both seemed like non-horrible humans, and he'd be fine watching over either of them for the 16 years. Then, he noticed the book under the young woman's arm. 

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. First edition, which should be impossible, unless she's some kind of descendant. And I'm not dealing with lying to a witch. 

He tried to remember which kid was the actual antichrist and which was the fraud. 

The green one and the blue one were both important. The blue one was the fake, and the green one was the real deal, right? Or was the green one the fake, and the blue one fake? Wasn't there a red one at one point? Fuck. 

At the last moment, Quackity decided that he couldn't just stand still and risk it. He did the first thing that came to mind and killed the lights. 

The lightbulbs exploded, leaving everyone in darkness. In the chaos, he telekinetically switched the babies.

Alright. No witches today, thanks. I'll just follow the other one home from afar, and everything will be fine.

----------

Later that night, when the orphanage was almost empty, a man set his newspaper aside and crept through the building. 

He lit Molotov cocktails with precision and chucked them wherever a fireball seemed needed. Flames weren't his usual method of destruction, but he had to get creative sometimes. 

His plan had been slowed down by Phil showing up at this "orphanage", but once he left the game was back on.

If anyone wanted to start the apocalypse and take away everything the two of them had worked for, they'd have to go through Technoblade.

The entire building was consumed and burnt to the ground. The arson case would remain unsolved, like most of his work, and Techno hadn't seen any potential casualties that would make people want to investigate. 

Sadly, there was one person left in the building when it burned, and she couldn't wake up from her dreams of the sea and a sword in her hands to smell the smoke.

----------

Wilbur followed Philza home unnoticed, disguised as wisps of shadow and cigarette ash. 

In lieu of a cradle, Phil temporarily arranged a drawer as a bed for Baby No. 3 and set him down. Once the baby seemed safe and calm, he left to collapse on the couch. 

Wilbur frowned. Where's his name? Names were important. They could be bargained with, broken, foretell fate, and be used as a lifeline if need be. You didn't just leave a child without a name.

This had to be remedied. He conjured a post-it note and a pen, and snuck over to the drawer considering the merits of different names. 

Kraken? Should I name him Kraken? No, he doesn't seem like a Kraken. The child stirred once, yawning, bright blue eyes nearly opening.

His name is Tommy.

The realization hit Wilbur all at once. Tommy wasn't a particularly demonic name, but it just felt too right to pick anything else. 

So, he wrote "Tommy" on the post-it note and stuck it on the blanket, hoping that Phil would think it had been there the whole time. 

The baby grabbed his finger as he pulled back his hand, not letting go. Wilbur's heart wasn't melted at all. Not a bit.

"I'm going to need that back, Tommy.". Carefully, he took his finger out of the tiny hand's grasp.

"It's very nice to meet you. My name's Wilbur. I'm your guardian, Tommy, and you're going to burn down the world one day."

-----------

At the same time, Quackity followed Eret back to their home (although mansion might be more accurate. Was the chandelier really necessary?). 

They'd been planning for this for months, and anything that Quackity could worry about had already been taken care of five minutes ago. Baby No. 2 was even named quickly and with care.

The angel breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing evil could be named "Tubbo", right? 

Eret disappeared to a nearby room, allowing Quackity the chance to formally meet him and Fundy's charge. He teleported down to the cradle and contemplated the kid.

"Hey, I know that this has been a long day, but I'm Quackity. Me and my friend are going to be looking after you for a few years, because Tubbo? It's up to you to save the world. Good luck."

-----------

At the same time, Niki went back to her home. 

The rain finally stopped, and she put the Nice and Accurate Prophecies back on the shelf to hold Baby No. 1, the real prophesied end of days. 

I don't know if I'm ready for this. I don't know anything about being a mother, or stopping the apocalypse, but I'm expected to do both.

The child opened his eyes. They were the one usual thing about an otherwise average baby: One eye was a fiery red, while one was a leafy green. They vaguely reminded Niki of a forest fire.

She set up the cradle and cast various charms, determined to get this right. 

She was so focused on protecting her son (for he was her son, now) that she didn't notice a skeletal green hand reach out of the shadows for her book and cut out select pages and phrases with a knife of bone. 

Niki gently put her child down, already full of intense care for him.

You're going to be okay. I don't know about heaven or hell or any of those idiots, but I can promise you one thing, Ranboo: I'll make sure you're safe. I swear it.

Hope you enjoyed!

[qqueenofhades]

Hi, hope you don't mind me asking questions but I'll admit my government and legalize on this side is weaker and I'm watching multiple sources to try to get a clear idea on some of this but you also seem knowledgeable and passionate so also asking questions. Before the order to release the redacted affidavit many said it wouldn't happen cause they don't do that and from my understanding Trump never actually filed anything to have it happen. Do you think they did it to cut that argument before Trump could get followers to turn up the heat/donate money or why do you think/know they did that?

Well, it depends on who you mean by "many said," because the idiots on Twitter who are suddenly an expert on whatever socio- or geopolitical issue happens to be going on (COVID, electoral law, the war in Ukraine, gas prices, and now evidently the niceties and nuances of federal criminal investigations against former presidents) usually don't have a clue, and are just making up shit as they please. Plus, this is all in unprecedented territory, legally speaking, so actually nobody knows what's going to happen. We can make educated guesses (some, uh, more educated than others), but yeah, the peanut gallery of public opinion is especially bad as a barometer of such.

It's true, as far as I know, that they don't do this for most cases, but then, most cases aren't against, again, the former president of the USA who is under actual, literal investigation for treason, collaboration, sedition, plans to overthrow the government, etc. I mean, it sounds like a bad James Patterson novel; it's that far-fetched. The DOJ cited "public interest" in filing to release the warrant in the first place, because obviously it became a huge issue, Trump's crazy followers were busy threatening MORE treason (they just can't help themselves) and Trump himself is still the de facto head of a major American political party that has lurched wildly to the fascist right in the unfortunate few years since he came onto the scene. So there are a lot of levels here that simply aren't the case for ordinary DOJ proceedings (which lbr, nobody cares about anyway unless it's literally their job to do so). Hence, relying on "precedent" doesn't work here, because again... there is no precedent. This is totally new.

As I understand it, the DOJ moved to release the redacted affidavit because Trump was threatening to request it released UNredacted (since he's too much of a fucking idiot to stop making things worse for himself). He almost undoubtedly wanted this so his crazy followers could have access to the names of the FBI agent(s) who filed the affidavit and carried out the search, since the MAGAts have now declared war on the whole agency anyway. But seeing as almost the whole damn thing was blacked out, that means there's stuff in there that the DOJ can't release for fear of compromising their investigation and/or which is too sensitive for public dissemination (not surprising, given the materials involved). All of this is information which Trump may or may not know, and if he learns exactly what they have against him, he's obviously going to try to blow it up. So the DOJ made the move first to get permission to seal the original and only release the redacted version, because yet again, as with their whole "RELEASE THE WARRANT!" screaming that quickly went quiet when Merrick Garland called their bluff and did exactly that, they somehow think that actually releasing MORE proof will not be EVEN WORSE for them. Which, uh. Is not working the way they expected.

So yes: the DOJ needs to keep a lot of this stuff out of the public eye, they can't have it widely known for fear of compromising what they're doing against Trump, they need to protect the FBI people involved with this, and they obviously know that Trump's calls to RELEASE STUFF are only going to backfire on him, because everything that comes out only makes him look worse and worse (which was difficult, but here we are). So that's why they did it.

[stirringwinds]

Though they probably wouldn’t admit it do you think Al and Arthur love and relatively care about each other? Like deep down they struggle with the fact that they want to see the other get hurt but they don’t at the same time? Or is a father/son relationship to complex for the countries to really grasp, especially with their history and of course modern politics?

nah, i don’t see familial ties as being beyond hetalia nations’ contemplation. despite their eldritchy natures. ngl i love centering the father-son relationship in interpreting arthur and alfred through the ages. they may be pretty dysfunctional in my interpretation but at the same time...that’s also very human. sons who grow up to be like the fathers they hate. the politics of it all feels analogous to all those royal families where politics is personal and everyone’s plotting against their own relatives. arthur is the old king, alfred is the young prince.

the way i see it, they mellow more with the 20th century. part of that is with the end of arthur’s empire...they’re no longer quite so much direct rivals as in the 19th century or before WWII. there’s fewer venues for them to be directly in conflict (fewer incidents like the suez crisis), more room for collaboration except arthur of course has to get used to his son calling the shots. the cold war kind of helps. if ivan is a bigger threat, well, it’s fortunate alfred is so terribly strong, isn’t it? the geopolitical realignment also attenuates quite a bit of enmity. post-imperial afterlife for arthur. alfred is still his favourite son after all this time, and part of that is because of how similar they can be underneath their seemingly very different dispositions: that pride and ambition. alfred would snort if he had to talk about love and Father™ in the same sentence, but i’d say he shows it more with actions. he no longer seriously thinks of going to war against the old man, and as i’ve mentioned—yep, throws him a lifeline with Lend Lease even if outwardly he does go ‘it’s not my problem.’

before that, in the late 18th and early 19th century i do see alfred’s relationship with arthur being pretty bad. and it’s also at a point where arthur seems far more powerful. alfred definitely wished him ill. the mighty british empire. because father seems invincible—and wishing God ill seems immaterial doesn’t it? hurl a curse at the Almighty, what does it do? for arthur; i think his feelings were a little bit more restrained once he calmed the fuck down. he’s older than alfred, and treason or not, shit it’s his eldest son. more of a ‘that fool will realise how it is without my protection. he’ll have to learn the hard way, then.’ but he couldn’t resist always having one eye on how the wretched firstborn was doing during that time, all the same. alfred’s like ‘haha the old man hates me most of all’ to his siblings and y’know, they know it isn’t quite so.