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what-gs-watching · 1 year ago

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“It all looked so simple in Jane Austen.”

So after I finished Good Omens (and sobbed, and got deep into fanfic, and sobbed some more, and then immediately started it over, and over) I harassed my sister into watching both seasons, she’s on maternity leave and was looking for something. I made her text me along her journey and I was sooo excited for her to get to the end, I was literally tracking her and squealing about it to my husband.

Gang. After she watched the finale, she just said “I never got a romantic vibe from them….”

Like. I can’t. I literally said “c’mon that’s not real” but she doubled down. I understand we’re different people and we watch things differently but jesus. It was extremely disappointing. This is why she always wanted to unsubscribe from What G’s Watching, clearly.

But we’re gonna shake it off, and talk about it. Season 2 episode 6. And how absolutely fucking crushing it is. Thank god for the internet.

Right. So Aziraphale starts enacting his own plan while Shax tries to be menacing outside, setting up his portal to heaven. It looks good on baby boy, not going to lie, guardian of the Eastern gate comes out, it’s that ‘little bit of a bastard’ we’ve been looking for all season.

Up in heaven Crowley gives a rousing speech about bees to convince Muriel to take him to her office, and then changes his getup after they call him a “murder hornet, or a snake…” Bravo to whoever designed this outfit, the tracksuit and the little sandals and his painted nails. He’s hippity hoppity Crowley and it’s so endearing.

Muriel is fairly upset when they realize they’re helping a demon but they produce Gabriel’s file anyway because they can’t open it, so why not; “you need to be a throne or dominion or above.” But Crowley can. And I know there are a ton of theories out there about why he can, but my favorite likens Crowley to an engineer (he did create the stars, afterall) that’s been fired by a lazy startup who never changes their API keys. Of course, that’s not as salacious as the thought that he was an important angel before he fell, but it’s my favorite thought. I love engineers.

Come to find out that Gabriel had decided that he didn’t want to do Armageddon 2: Electric Boogaloo, refusing to use his powers as Supreme Archangel, and the rest of the crew were none too happy about it. Saraquel shows up while they’re watching the scene unfold, and again Crowley doesn’t remember someone he supposedly worked closely with (more implications, but I can’t right now) and so she lets Crowley see Gabriel’s resulting “trial”.

Surprise, Metatron is running the thing - Gabriel thinks he’ll be sent down to hell but he says no, one archangel cast down is a good story but two makes it look like an institutional problem (it absolutely is) and so instead he’ll have his memory wiped, and become a scrivener, one level below Muriel. Crowley gives her a sweet little pat on the arm when she’s proud of that, it’s so endearing.

Gabriel seems to take it in stride, asks if he can clean out his desk and they let him, because sure, and he makes a break for it. You can see him stripping out of his heavenly suit while wielding the box he showed up to Az’s shop with, scribbling something on the bottom and then dropping the matchbox as he enters the elevator.

When they realize he’s doing something squirrely, they try to wipe his memory without him present (y’all dicks) only to realize he’s no longer in heaven. Metatron is none too happy, it’s clear that mofo is pulling the strings entirely, and instead of sounding the alarm, he wants the other angels to find him, quickly and quietly.

Back at the shop, Shax tries to convince Maggie and Nina into letting them in, taunting Maggie who is suddenly very brave , butMaggie accidentally tells them to come in and say their insults to her face. So, they do.

And Aziraphale’s trick with the portal works for a bit, stupid demons keep stepping in and getting vaporized, but that’s not going to work for long so they retreat up the spiral stairs while the demons advance.

At the top, Nina and Maggie arm themselves with fire extinguishers, a lot of fire extinguishers. Which I’m sure we all imagine is Crowley’s doing, I can see him trying to clandestinely fill the bookshop with them after the devastating fire. I guarantee it’s his (not so) irrational fear. And you know Aziraphale noticed but said nothing about it, because why would they talk about those horrible feelings.

So as the demons try to climb the stairs the girls are spraying the extinguishers and that works a bit too. Shax is back at trying to be menacing, though she does a bit of a better job - calling Az Crowley’s emotional support angel, she accuses him, “the softest touch, the one who went native”, sneering at him about big human meals and sushi. And you can see it gets to him. He’s probably thinking he should be more ferocious in the face of all this.

And then the girls run out of extinguishers and they ask if they can throw books and he hates the idea, they offer encyclopedias and he acquiesces. I love the look on his face while they’re hurling the books though, he has gone native but it’s in the sweetest little ways. He loves knowledge; Crowley gave humans knowledge.

It’s now time for Aziraphale to do something, really do something, so he goes for broke. He steels himself and he removes his halo from seemingly nothing and he throws it down into the shop. One of the demons toe at it gently and then TADA! All demons (except Shax) are blown to bits. Guardian Aziraphale says “I may have just started a war”, because of course he did.

In heaven, Crowley, Muriel and Saraquel see alarm bells so they decide to head back down to get involved in Aziraphale’s mess, and I love the scene in the elevator with all the angels huddled against one side while Crowley grins at them from the other and his clothes change back, “funny old world, isn't’ it?”

When they show up in the bookshop Az is so excited and Crowley asks what he did to them all. He’s not proud to admit he “did the thing with the halo” but Crowley absolutely loves it; yes he loves to rescue Aziraphale but he also loves when Aziraphale stands up for himself. Boy is tickled over it.

But of course shit’s about to get real, Beelzebub shows up with a handful of demons all thrilled that they’re finally at war. Crowley isn’t having it, he’s commanding a room full of idiot angels and idiot demons and he asks Az for the box Jim/Gabriel showed up with so they can sort this shit out. On the bottom, he’d written “I’m in the FLY!”

So they turn it over to Beez, who finds the fly that’s been sneaking around the entire season, and she says “it’s familiar.” she coaxes it over to her, sweetly, “look at you, you’re perfect.” It’s a turnaround for her - we haven’t seen much of her this season but last season she was absolutely not any kind of soft.

She gives the fly to Gabriel, tells him to take it gently and open it. And he does.

Is this part a little rushed? Yes. We see Gabriel traveling through his memories, meeting Beezlebub during the apocalypse-that-wasn’t, commiserating over their jobs. And then they meet in a pub to talk about apocalypse mark II, but their hearts don’t seem exactly in it. A third meeting, where Gabriel proposes they maybe don’t armageddon at all - Beez is intrigued, and agrees, and they hear “Everyday” playing on the pub’s speakers. Beezlebub says she likes it, and Gabriel decides that if she does, he does too.

Every time they meet they say there’s no reason to ever meet again. And then a fourth time, Gabriel takes Beez to his statue in Edinburgh (which I think is absolutely hilarious, calling back to the conversation in 1827 wherein Crowley suggests he comes down to stare at it and marvel at his own beauty. Bingo.)

They go to the Resurrectionist pub afterward and they sit in a cozy little booth at the back. Gabriel miracles the jukebox to play “Everyday”, he tells Beez it’ll always be there on, to ease the afflicted, and she’s appreciative of the gesture. She gives him a gift in return, the fly, which she says is a container. Gabriel says “no one’s ever actually given me anything before.”

And that’s all it takes, y’all. Heaven is so sterile and unfeeling and clean and cold that all it takes for an archangel to think ‘fuck it’ is a small gesture of kindness, of thought. For someone to give him something. Crowley’s been giving Aziraphale things for 6,000 years.

In the shop, Gabriel is full Gabriel now and everyone realizes slowly what’s going on. Beezlebub is called a traitor for collaborating with heaven, but she says she didn’t collaborate any more than Gabriel did. And then she says:

“I just found something that mattered more to me than choosing sides.”

The LOOK on Aziraphale’s face, he reaches out and grabs Crowley’s shoulder. Sweet angel is incredulous and excited and hopeful. And it’s what Crowley has been trying to tell him ALL ALONG. They matter more than choosing sides, they always have.

Is it infuriating that Gabriel and Beezlebub can figure this out in what must feel like, 30 seconds to them? Absolutely. But the problem is, neither one of them gives a shit about earth or humanity. Crowley and Az are on their own side, but that side has always included the stupid little planet that brought them together. So it can’t be as simple. Nothing can ever be as simple.

Meanwhile, Nina and Maggie are still in the shop but they need to be ushered out so as not to turn into pillars of salt. Crowley says he’ll take them but Aziraphale is still holding his shoulder and when he breaks away you can see Az take a few steps forward still reaching for him. He’s so close to getting what he wants, if they can just wrap this situation up.

The point is, Beezlebub and Gabriel want to go off together and be left alone. Crowley tells the Alpha Centauri is nice, he always wanted to go, and Aziraphale’s face, again, jesus Michael Sheen and that face. The flicker of recognition and understanding, my poor heart. Beez tells Shax she can be a duke of hell to discourage her from looking for them, and then they hold each other’s hands and disappear while singing “Everyday”. Annoying yes, but still sweet.

In the coffee shop, there’s a slightly familiar old man, fucking Metraton, ordering a coffee from Nina and he asks her if anyone ever asks for ‘death’, gesturing at the name of the shop. She says no, they don’t, he says “No I don’t suppose they do, so predictable.”

This asshole takes the coffee he ordered and heads over to the bookshop, interrupting the threats to be erased from the book of life being hurled at Aziraphale. The angels don’t recognize him. But Crowley does. Metraton tells the angels they don't have the authority to do what they’re suggesting, and he sends them back upstairs (minus Muriel) after they ask if they’ve done anything wrong and he tells them that remains to be seen.

Metatron asks Az if they can talk, and Aziraphale says there’s nothing to discuss, since his position has been made pretty goddamn clear. But Metatron offers him the coffee, goads him into taking it and having a sip. No one ever asks for death. He looks back to Crowley to figure out what to do (instinctual, heartbreaking) and Crowley tells him to go on. So he does.

Muriel is still in the shop though, and Crowley tries to get her to go, he tells her that when Az returns they’re going to need “us time” (swoon, again), he says he wants to have an extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz. He thinks the worst is behind them for now and he just wants to be with Aziraphale, and it’s just so dear. He gives Muriel a book and she leaves, and he sets himself to cleaning up the shop, fixing the bookshelves and covering the portal and messing about with Aziraphale’s chair, he’s anxious but he’s removing the obstacles in the way of his planned little trip. He just wants to be with the angel in a place that’s meaningful for them.

And then we see Nina and Maggie bickering a bit in the shop, Maggie wants to talk to Az and Crowley but Nina doesn’t think it will help, though she gives in anyway. They bust in on Crowley and tell them they have to talk to him, these girls are gonna call him on his shit. They tell him they’re real people, they aren’t toys to be played with, and he tries to defend the little charade that he and Az both had put on for them, but they don’t care.

They tell him he needs to talk to Aziraphale. And he says they talk all the time, they’ve talked for millions of years. Except we all know that’s not talking, it’s not communicating. THEY’RE TALKING PAST EACH OTHER. They tell him that he needs to actually say what’s on his mind. And he seems to understand, finally.

Woof. Okay. And then, Aziraphale comes back into the shop. And everyone holds their fucking breath.

Crowley tries to dive into it, he really does “if I don’t start talking I won’t ever start talking” but Aziraphale stops him because he can’t pick up on social cues?! Or how nervous Crowley is right now??! Or how serious he’s being?? I can’t.

It tumbles out of Aziraphale, he tells him that Metatron has asked him to replace Gabriel, because he’s a leader, and he doesn’t tell people what they want to hear. And Aziraphale resists at first, saying that he doesn’t want to go back to heaven. But Metatron pulls Crowley in, saying that their arrangement has been irregular, but if Az was archangel, he could restore his friend to full angelic status. The more you watch this part, the more it sounds like a fucking threat. And it is. Everyone asks for coffee, they never ask for death - Aziraphale took the coffee hesitantly, and if he doesn’t fully accept it, it really is death, but not for him.

He paints a prettier picture for Crowley though, he seems to be excited and thrilled with the idea even though it’s not truly shining through. “You could come back to heaven and everything, like old times, only nicer!” Which Crowley hears as a slap in the face. Hears it as ‘I’ve been tolerating you but I’d really like to go back to the way things were’, hears it as a million different terrible things.

So he explodes a little bit and tells Aziraphale he’s better than that, “we’re better than that!”They don’t need them, they’re toxic. He says they wanted him to be a duke of hell and he refused and fucking Aziraphale says obviously he said no to that, “you’re the bad guys”. My dude is choosing all of the wrong words. You’re gonna say “you’re” there? For real? Jesus christ. Because heaven is the side of “truth and light” and really baby, you are so far off the reservation right now. How the fuck do you truly think that anymore?

Crowley tells him: “When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it.” And it’s so crucially important but what he should have said was - ‘they’re not going to give up on trying to destroy everything and they’re tricking you into helping them’ but he doesn’t. And he’s so angry, he wants Azirphale to tell him that he said no, the second time he repeats it it’s so deflated, defeated, sad. But Az is convinced he can make a difference.

This is where that familiar trope would come in wherein the character that was trying to confess how they really feel gives up, but I have to give this man credit, Crowley decides he’s going to power through it, he’s gonna say the things he needs to say, even if he already knows the outcome.

And everyone is still fucking holding their breath. Because poor Crowley is too, trying to get it all out. David Tennant is a beautiful disaster, huffing and stumbling and looking away and looking back. And it falls apart spectacularly.

“We've known each other a long time. We've been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me. I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't. I mean, the last few years, not really. And I would like to spend...I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can. Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an ‘us’. You and me, what do you say?”

How Aziraphale doesn’t crumple at all of this, I will never understand. Like, are you hearing what this beautiful demon is offering you? Maybe he shouldn’t have insinuated that you’d ‘leave’ together, he doesn’t want to go anywhere, not really but my brother in christ, he puts his heart on a platter all trussed up and still you’re not hearing him. Now would be a good time to tell him you don’t really have a choice, but oooh baby, you’re gonna lie through your teeth. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.

Instead, he asks Crowley to come to heaven and be his second in command (so fucking laughable) and insists again they can make a difference. Poor demon says “you can’t leave this bookshop” at that, and Az tells him nothing lasts forever. The girls had told Crowley to say what he’s really thinking, but he still isn’t doing it - you can’t leave me, you can’t leave earth, you can’t leave what we’ve built together.

Hurdling onward, Crowley puts his sunglasses back on at that, he’d given his little confession without his ever-present protection, and he just says “Good luck.” At which point, Aziraphale makes a go of it himself, saying “Work with me! We can be together! Angels, doing good!” (and the ‘angels’ part is where he fucked up, he knows Crowley would never, ever, ever want to be an angel again).

When Crowley’s not moved, he’s got one last thing, squeaking out: “I…need you!” and those are the wrong three words. We all know it. It’s there in his hesitation. And then he’s a little bit of an asshole, to protect himself: “I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.” Which is essentially protection, a nowhere-near-perfect-but-maybe-it-can-be-enough way to be together.

Crowley tells him “I think I understand a whole lot better than you do” because that’s true, he knows neither of them would be safe there, it’s a fucking TRAP, why isn’t he screaming it’s a trap?! I get it, he wants Aziraphale to say no because he should be enough, because Aziraphale needs to fully accept they’re on their own side for once, but the poor little one is not working off enough information, he hasn’t been. And It’s not fair to keep it from him, but here we are.

Sad little demon has to twist the knife a little bit, and he asks “do you hear that?” and of course there’s nothing to hear. He says, “No nightingales” and it breaks Aziraphale like it should. The song that had been playing at the Ritz when they toasted to the world. That was supposed to imply they’d get their happy ending. The words do what they need to do.

Has anyone breathed this entire time? How was I simultaneously holding it in and screaming at the two of them at the same time? Crowley waits a beat and he says “You idiot…we could have been us” and I guarantee you there’s no air in the room and Aziraphale looks like he’s going to cry (or is likely crying already) and Crowley crosses the room and he grabs the angel by his lapels and

Crowley kisses him.

Like he’s desperate. Like it’s a ‘hail mary’ that he knows isn’t going to work. Like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. And it isn’t sweet, it isn’t tender, it isn’t a vavoom under an awning or a sudden revelation during a slow dance.

Aziraphale looks like he’s in pain, and his hands flutter around a bit, one of them resting on Crowley’s shoulder briefly, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do, it’s not like it should be at all, and it’s fucking agonizing to watch. It’s a fucking gut punch. For them, for everyone.

When they break away, Aziraphale does crumple (as much as he can anyway) and then he says the worst thing he could possibly say. “I forgive you.” It’s the most devastating of the wrong three words he could possibly choose. There’s hesitation again, but he still chose wrong. No more Guardian of the Eastern Gate, no more bravery. Always wrong.

Crowley tells him not to bother, and then he’s gone. At this point, we need to give all the awards to Michael Sheen - Aziraphale’s face is a mash of anguish and anger and desperation and frustration and confusion and broken and he just puts his hands to his lips (so did I). Utter devastation.

We all know the rest: Metatron comes back and ushers Aziraphale out of the bookshop even though he does half-heartedly try to say maybe he’s changed his mind, it doesn’t matter now though, he’s done too much damage and he knows it. So he goes. And Crowley’s there outside, standing stock fucking still against the Bentley, staring through his shades. You know his eyes never leave Aziraphale, you know the angel can feel every ounce of it, and before he gets on the elevator he does dare to look back, but he steps in anyway.

Oh, the grand plan, by the way? The one Aziraphale is perfect to lead? The second coming.

Crowley gets in the Bentley once they’ve gone, and the radio plays him “A nightingale sang in berkeley square”. He lets it, briefly, then shut it off and drives away. The credits show their faces side by side, Crowley hidden behind his glasses but dejected, resigned, Aziraphale trying to plaster on his best ‘jolly good’ face. It goes on for minutes. And it breaks you.

And so. TFL;DDR (too fucking long, definitely didn’t read): somehow an angel and a demon hiding a amnesiac archangel in a quiet bookshop turns into a 6000-year-long love story that will rip your fucking guts out, make you believe in soul mates, shatter your emotional processing skills, hurt you in a way you can’t exactly define, and leave you in a puddle of goo, dazed and wondering what the fuck just happened. Or maybe that’s just me.

I haven’t connected to a show like this in a long time. And I’m so grateful for it. Like I said, a love story, in the most beautiful and worst ways possible.

#what g's watching #good omens season 2 #aziraphale x crowley #ineffible husbands #ineffable idiots #gomens #good omens kiss #ineffable divorce #crowley loves aziraphale

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zenzen-dame-da · 9 months ago

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im gonna be completely real with you: if you're on the "voting doesn't matter, biden is a genocidal fascist and i won't vote for him for any reason, trump isn't the one supporting genocide right now and i hope america crashes and burns anyway" train, like, feel free to unfollow me because i do not and will never agree with you

i cannot believe that this has become an extremely controversial take that is going to get me called a genocide apologist but "let things get worse for literally everyone because our country is complicit in evil" is not a coherent political ideology.

if you don't live in a swing state and you don't want to vote, fine. whatever. you should probably go vote in not-presidential elections but whatever. if you're in a swing state and are actively not voting or are voting third party because you refuse to vote for the lesser of two evils and/or genuinely believe biden is just as bad or worse than trump, i don't know what to tell you, but i don't really want to associate with you, because our beliefs are fundamentally incompatible

i have literally never heard an argument against "you know trump would be equally bad if not worse about the genocide, right" that isn't some variant of "you could at least have the decency to shut up about voting for a murderer 🙄" or "the united states is unsalvageable and by voting for either of them you are complicit" and those are like. literally meaningless arguments that just come down to "i cannot feel morally superior to others if i vote for biden"

sorry i've been very much Not Talking About This because it makes my brain buzz like a hornets nest but i am in a bad mood. feel free to unfollow me i am too old and tired to care.

#i live in a deep red state now so my vote is garbage anyway #anyway this is basically a tumblr-suicide note #as in a note for tumblr-suicide not a suicide note on tumblr #or maybe no one will notice cause no one reads my personals

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cranberryvishnu · 2 years ago

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Cranberry - Bloody Tom and the Coffin Riders

I crossed paths with the infamous Bloody Tom purely by chance. The day had started out rather uneventfully. I was leading Enkidu through the meadow not far from Emerald Station.

We had been having a marvelous time picking wild flowers and herbs to bring back to camp, when I suddenly felt the hot rush of air as a bullet ripped past my cheek followed swiftly by a sharp report that split the sky. I crouched down and lowered my gun to show I was not a threat, but another bullet sailed just over my head - we were under attack!

I leapt upon Enkidu and raced towards Emerald Ranch as fast as he could go. I was hoping to find some form of cover from my unknown assailant.

The bullets were buzzing past my head like angry steel hornets and although my assailant was far in the distance, his accuracy and murderous intentions were quite apparent.

Arriving at one of the outbuildings, I ducked behind the wall to get my bearings and see if I could reason with this person.

What does he want? Why is he trying to kill me?? It doesn't make the slightest bit of sense!

I began to slowly poke my head around the corner of the building and my lucky hat was immediately shot off!

I tried climbing to the top of the building to get a better view. If I could only spot this person then I'd have a chance...

Once on the roof, I was able to see the glint of sunlight catching on the barrel of my antagonists weapon. It was hard to tell what he was using at such a distance, but it was a large caliber weapon and not to be trifled with. I sighted and shot back and sent his silly hat flying flying into the air.

I only had a moment to gloat before he answered back with two more shots, one going through the loose sleeve of my shirt and the other striking my shoulder, spinning me like a child's top. I tumbled back off of the roof and landed with a bone jarring thud, flat on my back!

I was stunned from the fall and feeling sick from the shock of the bullet strike. As I slowly regained consciousness, I realized how much blood I was losing. My desperation was matched only by my indignation as I called out with all the strength I had left.

"Why are you attacking me?! I'm not an enemy you... you... (it was the worst thing I could think of to say, so I said it) dim-bulb!"

To my relief - I heard an answer float over the hills. The voice was rough and angry.

"I'm TRYING to fight with another guy! NOT YOU - He's been having his posse surround me - I thought you were one of them - goddammit!"

At this point I had slid along the wall and was able to make it inside the stable. As I hugged the central support beam - my vision was swimming and all the color was fading from the surrounding environment. The door to the outside was bright... blinding. I was dimly aware that my gun was still on the ground next to my feet. It just felt too impossibly far to reach.

I could see my adversary stalking through the barn towards me... His gun was pointed right at my face, there was nothing I could do - he could kill me easily, but I simply refused to let this slide...

"Y-you - scoundrel... I lowered my gun... I crouched down... showed no threat and yet, you shot at me all... huh - all the same. You... you're the one who needs - you're a dim bul- bulb. Yes - I said it twice, and you don't...dare - uff."

As I fell, he caught me and lowered me to the ground. After he did, He plucked that awful looking hat from his head, smiled and stuck his finger through the hole I had shot in it.

"You're a pretty kick ass sniper, I must say."

As everything faded to black, I remember thinking.

What is it about "kicking asses" that fascinates Americans so much? I just can't comprehend it. Asses are kind and gentle beasts with no malice in them. They don't deserve such treatment. Yet everyone seems to... think... it is perfectly... natural to kick... -

#cranberryvishnu #rdo character #bloody tom #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #cranberry

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iliiuan · 8 months ago

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Babylon 5 S1E10 Believers

Every Alien of the Week ™️ looks like a Cardassian on this show.

"In my culture, sharing my feelings with a stranger would bring great shame, but since you're not from my culture..."

I hate this debate. Fucking antimedicine religious freaks. You are not chosen. Your child is not special. Your child suffering is unnecessary. Cutting him for surgery does not make him a food animal. Your moral base is garbage and I hate you for it.

Ivonova. You do not knit.

Hoo hoo hoo, doc is taking no prisoners with his colleague.

Aw, doc gave the kid a placebo task. That's so sweet.

Lady doc doesn't believe in providing emotional support to patients.

The legal realities of medical ethics. Delicious.

Ooh, Ivonova gets to play with the toys this week. Finally Sinclair is letting someone else do the exciting work.

If you cut him, he loses his soul. Wait, are they going to murder their child to prevent his spiritual death?

Oh. They're going to the commander. My bad.

I really don't understand how there's not a laproscopic procedure for this disease.

Ha! G'Kar isn't interested. You forgot to make it benefit him. Rookie mistake.

Londo's pretending to be sympathetic is hilarious.

Kosh doesn't even pretend sympathy 🤣 "The avalanche has already started. It is too late for the pebbles to vote." Someone's butthurt about getting medical treatment, I see.

"You're refusing because of your beliefs?" Lady, that's what this whole fiasco is about, isn't it? You are the one refusing because of your beliefs. Delenn is simply not getting involved. "Whose belief is correct, and how do we prove it?"

Earth Central won't even get involved. That's rich.

Wait, why you comparing yourself to Pontius Pilot? Dude chose to release the nastiest criminal instead of the political target. That's decidedly not what you're doing.

I like this kid. He sees through the doc's placebo egg.

I guess the kid can share sacred knowledge with the commander?

How very American of you, Doc. I believe, however, that you have misinterpreted the first amendment.

Ooh, doc. Are you operating without consent? Dangerous.

You really thought lady doc wouldn't have your back?

Ivonova is also disobeying orders, I see.

Oh shit Ivonova. You poked the hornet's nest, didn't you?

Who's going to raise this poor child now, doc?

Uh oh. What happened lady doc?

The parents are oddly... placid. What are they up to? Yeah. That was ominous.

Fucking psycho parents. I hate you fuckers. "He's just a shell." No, he's not. He's your child, and you killed him.

Ivonova got to be the minor hero at least I guess.

Oh, Franklin. Now you know what it's like to work with zealots. You needed to protect the poor child from them. As soon as they called him a devil and pulled knives, you should have known.

#Babylon 5 #Babylon 5 S1E10

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feralphoenix · 3 years ago

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a thing that i really love about hollow knight is that part of its incredibly strict Show Don’t Tell policy means it works a lot in juxtapositions. comparisons and parallels.

like, rather than Telling us what makes for a good and responsible ruler, we get to know about various different heads of state in the various nations of the crater, and we can observe how they handled international relations, public policy, etc and the consequences/effects of their choices, and draw conclusions by ourselves.

there are lots of different parent-child relationships, and sibling relationships, so that we have many examples to compare ghost and their family to.

there are also a number of higher beings around and you can compare them to each other to understand their different approaches to godhood, how they handled being the center of a culture & the responsibilities that entails (radi, unn, tpk) or the ways they sidestepped those roles (white lady, grimm). in addition to forming our opinions of these characters this also contextualizes what ghost does when they attain godhood in the godseeker endings & after the delicate flower variant, in godseeker mode.

like you can use these points of reference for a lot of different analysis topics!!! but one of the things that always Gets Me In My Emotions is the direct juxtaposition between herrah, radiance, and tpk and how differently these three characters handle the cost of fighting Existential Crisis.

the pale king’s policy is officially No Cost Too Great, but just like the hunter says in hollow’s bestiary entry, for tpk “cost” was a thing for other people to pay, and he was not willing to risk any sort of harm to his own person. his plan to deal with the infection involved sacrificing the dreamers & the hollow knight, and his plan to create a hollow knight involved birthing hundreds of thousands of children who were designed to be expendable - they were there so he could experiment on them, select a candidate, cull the failures, and then sacrifice said candidate.

the worst tpk might have experienced through all this is emotional turmoil, and it’s left ambiguous in-game whether he was actually conflicted about the child sacrifice/felt attachment to hollow or whether his personal low point throughout all this was being butthurt about his wife walking out rather than birth a second batch of vessels for the slaughter. (he must’ve been pretty darn butthurt to have lied to the kingdom that the white lady was dead.)

as soon as his plan failed and he had no other recourse, tpk fled rather than expose himself to any potential harm. he was willing to - perhaps desperate enough to - expend any number of chess pieces if it would save hallownest, but his own life and safety was NEVER on the table.

just like tpk, radiance is trying to protect herself and her people. just like tpk and herrah, she too is willing to go to any lengths necessary to get the settlers to fucking step off, give her children back, and leave her alone.

for her this entails being willing to bend her own principles - i’ve talked about this in depth before so you can find all that in my essay tag if you’re interested, but in-game evidence points to radiance having been a pacifist like the rest of her tribe pre-hallownest. and the infection is a curse that’s only sometimes fatal, but it causes extreme amounts of harm and fear and chaos to inflicted parties. and this level of harm is something she’s willing to do just to threaten/pressure tpk into backing down.

her method also causes a large amount of collateral damage (including lateral harm to other indigenous bugs!), suggesting that she either doesn’t have the emotional wherewithal to worry about who might get hurt, or just plain doesn’t care. if you squint, it’s possible to make the argument that radiance might have warned unn before her counterattack against hallownest, but even then forewarning was the only mitigation she was able and willing to provide. if this is what it takes to protect herself and her tribe, then so be it.

so, compared to tpk, who chose to actively sacrifice the lives of individuals to protect the institution of hallownest, and radiance, who doesn’t care about splash damage to bystanders as long as she can save her tribe... what i find extraordinary about herrah is that when she determined that sacrifice was necessary to protect deepnest, she took all that sacrifice upon herself.

most obviously herrah accepts the role of dreamer in hopes of ending the plague, sacrificing her life. in order to keep tpk from taking advantage of that to conquer deepnest, she also negotiates that he has to provide her with an heir, thus ensuring deepnest’s sovereignty... but this means she has to have sex with the very creature who has been trying to commit genocide against the spiders for generations. she has to let her lifelong worst enemy who she’s been fighting alone since the death of her husband impregnate her. this decision had to have come with some form of emotional distress for her, and yet herrah shoulders it and soldiers through it.

and then even through this, it’s implied in the white lady and midwife’s dialogue (+ posed in the dev notes/style guide) that tpk snatched up hornet when she was a child to raise her in the white palace. it’s unclear whether he did this to keep hornet as a hostage to make sure herrah couldn’t renege on their treaty now she’d got what she wanted out of the bargain, to ensure his offspring would be raised in the culture he created rather than in deepnest, which he clearly believed to be barbaric and uncivilized, or both.

yet instead of calling bullshit and flouncing on the deal or trying to steal hornet back, thereby exposing deepnest to the threat of both the infection And aggression from hallownest once more, herrah stuck with it. midwife says that herrah paid dearly for her involvement with this plan, but herrah valued deepnest’s survival over her own individual life, and saw it through to the end no matter how tpk’s plan caused her to suffer or hurt her dignity.

there’s an incredible amount of nobility and integrity herrah shows here. she refuses to let any harm come to her country, and insists that any and all sacrifice required of her as a leader be her sole responsibility. her courage, her political intelligence, and her strength of character as a leader are all nothing short of awe-inspiring.

at the same time, there is still a downside to herrah’s spirit of self-sacrifice. as anyone who’s ever watched steven universe can tell you, self-sacrifice is actually kind of a shitty solution to one’s problems because self-destruction hurts the people who love you.

we get glimpses of hornet’s intense emotional torment over her mother’s fate and her understanding that it’s necessary to let ghost murder herrah to change the status quo; similarly we can understand the crushing amount of personal responsibility hornet feels towards the whole crater comes from knowing the cost of her own birth, and having front row seats to her parents’ political power struggle.

we hear from herrah herself that everything she does is done for hornet, so hornet’s pain is probably the last thing herrah would have wanted, but ironically what hornet goes through in hollow knight is a direct consequence of herrah choosing to martyr herself.

anyway all of this speaks SO much for herrah and radi and tpk’s individual priorities and problem-solving strategies and also their blind spots... plus, there’s a lot about herrah’s character that goes underappreciated and this is one of those unsung aspects. fandom... fandom blease be SAD about SPIDER MAMA with me

#hollow knight #herrah the beast #the radiance #the pale king #hollow knight meta #essay #this got longer than i meant it to be i just have a lot of FEELINGS about HERRAH HOLLOWKNIGHT #also about radi hollowknight too but everyone knows that already lol

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themadauthorshatter · 3 years ago

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... I just love OTPs, I can't help it.

OTP HEADCANONS: 2020 Edition

These will include the series of Red Queen, Dorothy Must Die, SGE, The Folk of The Air, and Nightmare Before Christmas(I'll throw in the Skellington kids, too, because I love them💙)

MAJOR TW FOR ALL THE EVENTS THAT OCCURED IN 2020, AND THAT INCLUDES QUARANTINE.

RED QUEEN:

At the news of a Pandemic, Mare and Cal are equally confused and scared, but at least they're not on the battlefield.

They hold up in Paradise Valley until the quarantine is lifted.

It starts off fine with them doing puzzles, hiking, and doing some exercises to pass the time. Then 3 weeks pass and both are bored; Mare's bored enough to drink coffee onto of the fridge and Cal's sitting in a chair upside down because fuck court etiquette, he's so bored.

Cal contemplates luring wolves with dinner scraps again.

They had a mini argument that meant nothing because Cal's hair got long and he wanted Mare to cut it, she but only offered to shave his stubble, not cut his hair.

They both get a lot of sleep, and have a lot of nightmares, which they comfort each other from.

They also really enjoy the silence.

Cal gets into poetry and Mare paints. Both are surprised at how good the other is at their new hobbies.

They talk. A lot. It begins awkwardly and ends with the two in each other's arms.

Cal becomes more of a punner, and Mare loves and hates it.

There's tall of getting a dog, but there's one problem: Paradise Valley doesn't have any shelters, and they'll be arrested or forced ro turn back hime, regardless of rank.

Mare grows taller... by 2 inches. She almost killed Cal for how much he laughed.

When they're allowed to go out, Mare often forgets to bring her mask.

Cal's good at remembering their masks.

Mare REFUSES to leave when she hears about the murder hornets.

Cal gets repellent to calm her down.

They also recover some Old Era TV Shows.

ENDLESS quotes from The Office, Friends, and many more shows.

Cal visits Maven's grave more. Mare comes with every now and then, but usually lets him go alone.

They don't usually argue, but those arguments never last.

They tried a bit of ability training, and greed that they should be careful when Mare summoned a bolt of lightning from the sky and Cal almost set fire to everything around them.

They read a lot, too, but Cal reads more than Mare because she falls asleep, usually on him.

DOROTHY MUST DIE:

Nox had no clue what a Pandemic was, or what the big deal was about going outside and not being near people, until Amy explained it.

First day of online school crashed and burned because Nox had NO IDEA what he was doing, which led to Amy 'accompanying' him in classes.

Amy puts her college plans on hold for a little while.

Nox is more emotional and neither of them know how to handle it.

They have more nightmares, since there's nothing to keep their minds busy, but Amy is more reserved about it. Nox prefers to write about what he dreams, anyway.

Nox stays up, from all the nightmares, but Amy sits with him to keep him company.

When Amy heard about the murder hornets, Nox held up a fly swatter and opened all the windows.

Amy does fine, but Nox dies from boredom, when they're done with school. And I don't mean he just sits and groans, he lies face down on the couch as Amy tries to get him up.

They spend A LOT of time in Nox's apartment, and it's literally spotless because Nox is THAT bored.

They binge a lot of TV shows, and Nox falls in love with shows like Peaky Blinders.

They tried watching Game of Thrones. It didn't go well; negative past experiences.

Nox figured out the plot twist to The Umbrella Academy WAY before Amy did.

They watched Heathers and Amy asked Nox what he'd do if she was dealing with trash friends and guys who don't take 'no' for an answer. The look on his face when he asked who it was reminded Amy of who he was before meeting her.

Nox finds YouTube and discovers the guy that makes knives out of anything and makes it his mission to copy each and every video, come Hell or high water.

Amy walked in on him doing this and genuinely wondered if he was okay, and asked if she could help him.

They also binged musicals. Nox isn't a huge music person, but he still loves them; Kansas has its own magic that he finds intriguing.

Amy once found Nox crouching ontop of the fridge while drinking a mug of coffee.

Madison stopped by and dropped off some rhinestones, lash glue, and a tool to apply the stones. Amy spent a lot of time putting the stones on her face while Nox watched, with Madison and Dustin also watching via Facetime, sitting backwards in a chair and wondering what her plan was, even making very Julien Solomita-esque comments, mixed with very 'I used to be a fighter and a spy' comments that made Amy, Madison, and Dustin laugh. Some if those comments:

"I know Glamora told you to lighten up, but I don't she'd expect this."

"If those were real diamonds, you wouldn't need any armor or a weapon. Just headbutt them, and you're good."

"Don't be upset, but it's the beginning of summer, so I don't think winter's coming any time soon."

"Whichever chandelier you made out with, I will find them, damn it."

After a little while, Amy asked if Nox wanted a rhinestone face. He agreed, but only as long as she took out all the red stones. He could handle pink, but no red.

It took them an hour to get the stones off.

Their hair gets long and they agree to cut each other's hair. Nox cuts her hair chin length and Amy tries to be as style his hair. They don't look the best, but they at least look good.

They absolutely watch Unus Annus, and start quoting that.

When they get the news they can go out wearing a mask, Nox got confused and got 3 different masks: a masquerade mask, a normal face mask, and a gas mask, which he wears all the time to annoy Amy.

They do stay in shape as much as possible, but there is evidence that they could have been more active, with their muscles shrinking and both having lost a little weight.

Nox NEVER drops his guard, and quarantine didn't help.

They tried dying their hair, but it didn't work as well as they'd hoped.

SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND EVIL:

Tedros worries about Agatha and everyone else, but Agatha keeps him in check.

Crime drops big time, so that's a plus for Tedros and Agatha.

They have more time to breathe, with everyone being inside and avoiding each other.

Tedros hates the quiet at first, but Agatha helps him adjust.

They spend a lot of time wandering the castle and answering whatever call there is, if any.

The SGE is out for a little while, so they don't hear too much from there.

Tedros, without normal king business to distract him, has more nightmares and starts losing sleep because he doesn't want to dream about what's happened to him and his friends.

Agatha has nightmares, too, but she's better at hiding it.

They do talk about it and agree to be more open with what's going on in their heads.

They also agree that they'll help each other through these times.

Tedros helps Agatha with swordplay and Agatha both gets him into reading more and tries to help him with his magic.

Whenever there's something they need outside, Agatha gets it because she's not that afraid of getting sick; she grew up eating frog and lizard soup.

Tedros worries about her, but doesn't really stop her because she's taller, and having fun trying to stop Agatha once she's committed to doing something.

Tedros finds a new hobby: origami.

Agatha doesn't join in, per se, she more watches because she's never seen Tedros be so patient with something.

They play around with each other's hair, as it grows longer. Agatha ties Tedros's hair back and Tedros braids her hair.

They write to Sophie or anyone else, like people who have some sort of report of a crime or complaint duch as infertile soil, so their penmanship improves.

Tedros grows a bit of a stubble and, after some prickly kiss attacks, Agatha threatens to shave it off herself, if he doesn't. It's all in good fun, but she sort of did mean it because his face and cheeks were really scratchy.

Tedros REFUSES to let Agatha go out alone, even when she's masked up.

When they go out, Tedros always carries a sword.

Picnics in the woods.

Star gazing at night.

Agatha starts wearing pants, as an experiment, and her "dresser"/dress designer is APPALLED.

There are times they argue, but they stay together and communicate because relationship goals.

THE CRUEL PRINCE:

At the news of a Pandemic/plague, Cardan ordered all the human servants to get as healthy as they could so they'd be able to go outside. He would accompany them, but they could not let Jude go out.

She's not happy, when she finds out

Cardan asks if she can avoid going to the human world, so she doesn't get sick.

She goes anyway and returns unscathed.

Cardan considers glamoring the human servants to keeep Jude healthy, but Jude almost pincushions him for it.

Anxious? Worried? Psh! Don't be silly. Cardan becomes somethimg if a paranoid maniac because he's scared of Jude getting sick and dying because he's Fae and she's Mortal, so she's more susceptible to illnesses and he doesn't know wnoufh about mortals to get her healthy agaun were she to get sick, but there's nothing wroung with him, really.

Whenever they're not ruling, Jude practices her swordplay while Cardan reads, major plus being that he reads full series to not worry about Jude so much.

Jude helps Cardan with sword fighting, using wooden practice swords not metal, and Cardan helps her try to get into reading, reading to her as she rests her head on his chest when she doesn't want to read read.

Cardan discovers manga and graphic novels and is too confused for Jude NOT to laugh; "He's in armor made if IRON. How is he able to fly!?" "I've seen a lot people different people, and none of them have made this face." "... So is Spiderman THIS one or THIS one?"

Sword practice usually ends with Cardan on the ground exhausted while Jude simply stands and chuckles for him to get up.

Cardan doesn't get beat smd scarred, he gets poked and minorly bruised, which he was not ready for because of how he was treated by Balekin.

One day, while Cardan was reading some Sherlock Holmes, Jude slipped hoop bracelets on and tied ribbons to his tail, at least as many as she could before she got caught; she only realized as such when his tail started flicking out of her reach and curling around her wrist, and saw Cardan grinning at her.

They do visit Taryn and Vivi still, but Cardan only wears a mask to remind Jude, who does not forget ever.

Cardan thinks about his 'friendship' Nicasia, Locke, and Valerian and semi-realizes that Valerian and Locke may have been using him while Nicasia was at least a little genuine.

They talk about Locke and equally wish that they had helped Taryn in killing Locke. If not, then they wish that they at least watched. They agreed that if time travel was real, Jude could help Trayn kill Locke and Cardan could watch, as long as he helped dispose of the body.

They laughed at that a couple minutes later.

THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS(Featuring the Skellington kids(I'd say Skull Kids, but I feel like Skull Kid(s) was taken)):

Jack knows what a Pandemic is; he lived through one while he was alive.

Sally knew it would happen because she knows one happens about every two hundred years/whenever a year ends in 20.

The triplets know what a plague is, but have never seen one actually happen.

When they explored the human world at night and noticed there were absolutely no humans in sight, Luna reminded her brothers that the humans were told to stay inside to prevent any spreading.

Jacob takes the opportunity to MAKE SURE people actually stay inside.

Pro: he got Instagram famous. Con: Jack and Sally were not happy at all with how reckless he was.

Let's say, for the sake of the story, Halloween had to be cancelled worldwide because regulation and a need for things to get better.

Upon hearing the news of Halloween getting cancelled, Jack was very salty about it; "Why cancel Halloween, if the 4th of July was still allowed to be celebrated?"

All of Halloween Town was very upset; the living are so fragile, it ruins the fun of scaring them.

The Mayor was in deep, DEEP distress, but Jack made it up to him, and the rest of the town, by saying next year's Halloween would be ine no one would ever forget, and it's not because he's 'borrowing' a holiday again, it's because they'll all have a year of scaring shenanigans built up inside them all that will make up for what was missed.

Everyone rejoiced and Jack, once he got back inside his house with his wife and children, sighed and mentally kicked himself for saying no one would forget next year's Halloween; there was one Halloween in particular he sure as hell isn't forgetting any time soon.

Daemon's carving more intricate pumpkins and plans on giving the humans mini-scares so they keep quarantining, hiding a 'surprise' for any entitled Karens he finds.

Luna is the most obedient of the triplets by staying in Halloween Town and instead studying what she calls a 'counter-plague' so there's no need for a Pandemic; she refuses to call it a vaccine because that would imply sje wants to help the humans that shot down and could have killed her dad. She still has a bone to pick.

Jack doesn't spiral out like in the movie, he has Sally to help and the triplets to keep his mind busy.

While Jacob and Daemon keep the humans from leaving their houses, Luna researches the current events and learns of murder hornets that are large, sting like all hell, and cause death to anyone unfortunate enough to get stung.

Jack gets very intrigued and they collect as many as they can and keep them in a jar, but take one out to study it.

They were not impressed; murder hornets? Jack has seen worse.

Since there wasn't a Halloween, Jack decided to walk through the streets, seeing as how Daemon and Jacob already did a lot of the scaring for him(thise little shits). He had to admit, it was nice to walk in the night and only hear the animal sounds and not screams.

Luna did not find a 'counter-plague,' even with Sally's help, but she did discover some poisons she could use against her brothers. Sally made her promise not to do so.

On the Halloween night where nothing happened, Jack took his family out to a picnic/star gazing session. Genuinely one of his favorite Halloweens to date.

HENRY STICKMIM COLLECTION:

Henry and Ellie knew it was going to happen and were more than surprised to also see Charles planning ahead by making a list for what they needed, even admitting he'd been following the news and rumors and stocking up on ADD medicine so he wouldn't have to go out to get them.

The other soldiers weren't worried until they were told to go home and take a break for a little bit.

Triple Threat wasn't really effected until day 24.

On day 1, they just hung out and were relatively calm, working online, doing workouts to stay fit, and just being as normal as possible.

On day 24, all three are more than a little bored. Henry's bored enough to andwer calls from telemarketers and prank them, Ellie's contemplating bleaching her hair with peroxide, and Charles is playing with fidget toys he's bough and collected over the years, though he's doing it more because he's a little stressed than bored.

Henry and Ellie are surprised to this this, but Charles admits he used to bite his nails a lot, but stopped after a LONG while.

Speaking of names, Ellie paints hers and the boys', though while Henry paints his in clear coat, Charles paints one hand black and the other in red, mint, and glittery pink on one nail because try stopping him.

It makes Ellie laugh and pisses off Henry so much.

Ellie gets calls from her family saying they want her to come home, or closer to home, because they're worried and she instead blocks their numbers.

They watch a lot of horror movies as a reason to stay inside.

When they get bored of American horror and try Japanese, Asian, and more western horror movies.

Instant regret.

They watched the movie Audition and Henry looked at a very unimpressed Charles, who said the antagonist was being sloppy, and hid all the kitchen knives, saws, and sharp and blunt objects, including tools(must've remembered Human Piece).

He stopped after a week of Charles being himself and literally shaking at Hannibal Lecter as they watched the Silence of The Lambs series.

All three open up more about their lives. It's ugly, there's yelling, conflicting life philosophies, and even some insults thrown. Henry admits that gotten screwed over by the law enough times while fending for himself to have as little faith in it as possible, Ellie admits she ran away from home and would rather die than go back because of how tight of a leash they kept her on, and Charles admits that while he has thought about quitting on the government and turning to a life of crime, he never did because that would have been to easy of a choice. Training for the military was and still is hard as hell, which Henry and Ellie can tell because Charles can physically do more than them(if they ran a mile, Henry and Ellie would be exhausted and Charles wouldn't even be out of breath), but he's never given up on it because he knew his parents would skin him, if they were still alive.

There were tears at the end, and the team all needing to be alone for a little bit, but they were back together and agreed to be a little more open with each other, since they were a team now.

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inexplicifics · 3 years ago

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Figured I saw how you liked peeps putting their own flair into your universe so thought id actually sit down and join in, because ive had Thoughts about my own self insert in your universe already so why not share! Anyway heres a bullet list about them, Purnella of the Crane School!

first off gen. trivia—

-Was fifteen and fresh from their trials when Ciri was brought to Kaer Morhen

-Was one of the late comers to join the Warlord, since word is slow coming when you’re at sea without a sorcerer or xenovox

-Has a sketchbook filled with ink sketches of all the various creatures theyve come to know in their experience, and they use these illustrations to narrow down what a victim has seen because You have No Idea how little ‘It looked like a giant snake with pointy teeth and white eyes!’ narrows it down when it comes to sea creatures. They use the ribbon their best friend gave them as a bookmark in it.

-All cranes love gadgets. This is common knowledge. But the amount of different and unique devices Purnella uses is insane even by their standards— harpoon gun, crossbow with a grappling hook shot, pistol rounds that explode into a net when fired to easily take down and entangle targets without wounding them, and their favorite— a little wrist mounted hooking/trolley device that lets them navigate ship rigging like a zipline.

(this is just part one btw;;)

(ok heres part two)

now further plot slash backstory because im incredibly hyper-focused on character plots

-Early childhood was spent in an orphanage after being dropped off there as an infant, matron was never certain but most assumed they were born under a black sun

-Matron was always very strict when it came to chores, telling them if they dont make themselves useful , shell turn them out on the streets alone. Was probably never truly serious, but Purnella assumed she was and internalized the idea that ‘If I make myself useful, I get to stay with my friends/my school/the crew/etc’

-As a result they overworked themselves to the point of exhaustion for years, until they actually got sat down by Triss for it when the sorcerers joined them in the keep.

-Had a best friend named Shiloh, a elven girl who also lived in the orphanage (this is literally just my oc from dragon age inquisition, ive put a version of her and cole(a canon character from da:i) into quite a few diff medias because im unhealthily attached to them both. purnella is already my self insert im being self indulgent already so why not) who gifted her a little lilac ribbon the day they left after being ‘adopted’. Shiloh calls them Purnie. Shiloh also once taught them how to fold paper into shapes that look like various animals. no this isnt a joke about paper cranes what are you saying—

-Was ‘adopted’ by a noble who fancied himself a scientist and wanted to discover what makes the children of the black sun dangerous, as well as figure out if theres any distinct sign that someone was born under the black sun in general

-As a result, even before becoming a witcher they were covered in scars from multiple experiments. the main one being scars from a procedure more similar to a vivisection or autopsy than an actual surgery(they were ‘lucky’ enough that the bastard was rich enough to have proper medicine because he damn well wasnt properly trained)

-His manse laid on a seaside cliff, and when he had a Specially Important Visitor interested in his ‘findings’, Purnella was able to free themselves from their cell and launch themselves through a window, over the cliff, and into the sea

- cough cough it was stregobor the visitor was stregobor

-Purnella woke up on a ship, where theyd been pulled aboard after the crew had noticed something floating in the sea water

-This boat had a crane witcher on it, resulting in Purnella eventually being taken ‘under his wing’ as a trainee.

-Shiloh eventually shows up at Kaer Morhen to entreaty the White Wolf to help her avenge her friend, who never ended up visiting her again after being adopted by a man who has gone on to experiment and murder Several More children of the black sun since then

-Tbh Purnellas mostly just happy to see Shiloh and learn that she remembered them, and should probably be worried about the situation but is mostly just! rlly happy!!

—also side note shiloh had No Idea their friend purnie was actually Alive! and There!! so shes extremely happy. also she grew up to become someone with an encyclopedic knowledge of veterinarian medicine and animal trivia, so she ends up staying at the keep as their trusty vet along with her boyfriend cole who isnt actually human, hes a garkain, but hes shy and kind and helpful and doesnt hurt anyone and im Refusing to separate Shiloh and Cole in Any Universe i put them in, and so there

is this all an excuse to have them hunt down and go to war with/murder stregobor? yes because fuck him— and i cannot stress this enough— in the face with a chainsaw covered in pissed off hornets.

anyway im a big fan and keep coming back to this series for more so i hope you liked this slash wasnt annoyed by the ramblings;; have a good day!

Purnella sounds like a delight! I am extremely pleased to know you're having such fun in my sandbox.

(I couldn't figure in how to copy over the picrew but Purnella looks great!)

#questions answered #fic of my fic

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

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The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

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

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout

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ladyideal · 4 years ago

Text

The Faceless Shadow: I

Word Count: 2073

Warnings: spoilers of s1 finale, mention of rape, mention of murder, Billy Butcher, language, alcohol

Summary: Five years later, you enjoy life after years of hardwork bringing NYC under one rule.

A/n: yeah... let's just yeah.

Five Years Later

$1.50

You frowned at the prices of the last stack of newspaper in front of the glass window. Billy Butcher's face smirking up at you from the front cover aggravated you. Sure it'd been some time since the Mallory incident, but you'd lost men to Lamplighter when Frenchie left his post. Begrudgingly, you threw in the needed money and snatched the old, wrinkly paper out of its casing.

Using people was what he enjoyed doing, and what he would continue doing in his quest for vengeance. Losing an associate was pitiful, but to one of your made men? There wasn't going to be a second chance. Zero wasn't happy, and you certainly were ticked off at the past still. Tucking the newspaper clip into your jacket, you headed back to the club.

Ten fronts. All ranging from clubs to restaurants. Mostly legitimate, in terms of paying taxes. New York City was divided into Staten Island, Queens, Manhattan, Bronx, and Brooklyn. Zero headed Queens, and your third took over Staten Island. Although your main headquarters was situated in Brooklyn, you enjoyed the sights and the skyscrapers of Manhattan.

Including Vought Tower.

Vought. The head of supes and all things capitalism. The main reason why you kept all business on the very down low, despite the very club that even some of The Seven visited regularly. Blackmail: A very old fashioned, but reliable form of silence.

Rounding a few corners, you slowed to a halt in front of the vip line. The DJ was in by now, and the lines outside grew by the minute as the sun dipped below the horizon. Two bouncers in black stood outside, flanking both sides of the entrance and refusing bribes for those wanting to enter early. The Vortex was a popular club, and business was booming. Noticing you, the two bouncers stepped aside. And with a polite nod, you entered the club, much to the dismay and protests from behind.

Music pulsate as lights from the dance floor shined and glittered within the dark. The DJ was in, and every body cheered. Rounded tables littered around the edges with plenty of people of all ages, drinking, grinding on one another, and flirting with the multitude of waitresses and sex workers. Smoking was prohibited within, but all was allowed on the outdoor spaces filled with recliners, a pool, and a jacuzzi.

Ignoring the cat calls thrown your way from those relaxing in the lounges, you headed deeper within the nightclub. Taking a few turns into a less populated section and nodding again at the bouncers standing guard at the bottom of the VIP stairs, you headed up. At the landing, all eyes nervously turned to you.

And rightly so.

Most knew you were high up in the family. You've made it that way for a reason. The less people knew, the better. Very few people knew who you truly were. With a quick wave, a smile, and a polite hello, you ducked onto another flight of stairs towards your office.

"Oi, dick face, what are you looking at them for?" Came from behind. Last you knew before you closed the door, was the sound of a brawl. Sighing, you plopped into your office chair and-

"Boss, I've got the year's expenses on your desk." Grace spoke from the speakerphone, effectively shattering your peace.

"Thanks Grace," You mumbled, pushing the stack of documents to the side. All you wanted was to grab a drink, keep an eye on the offshore accounts, and call it a night. Definitely didn't want a headache with the financial advisor on how to keep your fronts legit. Taxes could go fuck themselves, if you had a say in it. "I'll take a look at them later. Just log it in for next year's tax season."

"Oh and one more thing."

"Yeah?" You reached down into your mini fridge for a beer.

"Well- it's." A nervous pause. "There's someone on the line asking for you." Another pause.

"Who is it?" You asked, popping the cap off and leaning back into your chair.

"Butcher."

There was a long pause of silence as you tumbled the name on your lips. It had been years since you last saw him, much less even contacted. Ever since the Mallory incident, you immediately cut ties with the former SAS Special Force. Two of your men were burned by Lamplighter, and you haven't quite forgiven him.

"No. Tell him I'm busy. I don't want to speak with him. He can go find help elsewhere."

"He insisted."

Unfurling the newspaper from within your jacket, you laid it out on your desk, frowning down at the same man that wanted to speak with you. The small picture of Butcher himself scowled up at you on the front page, making headlines for brutally murdering Vought's VP. You sighed.

"I'm sorry, I tried. But he's a-" A nervous chuckle. "He's a weasel."

You waved the apology away. "Put him through. We'll talk about this later."

An audible gulp. "He's on line 2 whenever you're ready."

Green light above Line 2 flashed steadily on your landline. Rather reluctantly, you leaned forward and plucked the landline phone up, already regretting giving Butcher your office number. Leaning back once more, you dimmed the lights down and closed your eyes. "We agreed to never contact again."

"Hello love." A familiar voice spoke loudly against the backdrop of New York traffic.

"No. Whatever the hell you have planned, I don't want part of it. Things are finally looking up, and I'm not going to fuck up this chance. Vought's stocks are booming. I'm making money, don't have to worry constantly on anyone placing a hit on me. Zero is having the time of their life. I'm out of that mercenary life, found a different calling. "

An annoyed sigh. "How is Zero?"

"Married with their husband. Life is good," You shrugged. "If you've got nothing else to say, then I'm heading off to finish this fucking beer. Goodbye Butcher."

"Give me one fucking minute, love. I'll explain everything."

Got nothing to lose. "Forty five seconds and counting."

"Becca. I found Becca. Me wife has a son, Homelander's son. The cunt fucking raped my wife, fucking hid her away for so long. I was there. I saw her. Green lawn. White picket. I can find her with your help. You, mate, as a person of your skills." A pause. "Sitting behind a desk. Wasted."

"Look what Lamplighter did. Burned two of my men. Burned Mallory's grandchildren. Nothing to bring back home, not even their teeths," You hissed, slamming the beer onto the office table. Bubbles sloshed down the bottle, pooled, and dripped down onto the carpet. "It has always been about Becca with you. Becca this, Becca that. No, Butcher. Screwed up that one chance. I'm not doing it. You just don't care. You use your friends, then throw them to the side like fucking garbage when you're done."

"It'll be different this go. None of that "secrets and lies" bollocks. And that Mallory shit ain't gonna happen this time. I swear to God."

Drip. Drip.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, hating every syllable the man on the other line breathed out. With a shake of your head, you sighed, reigning in your anger and pulling out a cabinet for paper towels. "Alright, motherfucker. What did you do? The cameras at the club picked you up."

"We just dusted a supe." Butcher smugly spoke, confidence oozing through the line.

"Bullshit."

"Translucent."

That cheeky bastard. "How the fuck did you do it?"

"Well. Big lump of C-4, packed right up his fudger. Boom," He was excited. "Boom. Claret everywhere. Fucking diabolical."

"But…?" You cut into his amazement.

"He coughed up a solid lead. Spilled the beans in a big way. Now, we play this right, we could shake up the whole hornets' nest, bring down Seven and Vought at the same time. Y/N, you are the only one I can trust."

You raised an eyebrow at the mention of your name, dance so delicately on his tongue. It was as if the man was putting you on a pedestal. "Names are powerful, Butcher. You know this. However, since when have you ever trusted anybody?"

There was a sly pause on the other end.

Fights were less often nowadays. Since the fall of the fifth family of New York, there was no need for the heightened anxiety to be on the lookout. Nowadays with your tight grip, it was just petty gangsters that riddle the streets, pretending to be big and bad. Some killed, robbed, or graffitied, all in the name of trying to impress you. No action, no thrilling action that needed your every second of attention.

And if you were going to be honest with yourself, you missed the action, the absolute adrenaline pumping thrill of physically working towards a common goal. There was a camaraderie in that sense, where no place else could ever replicate, but neck deep in shit.

"Oh, fuck me," You mumbled in defeat.

Eats Everything: @asraime @aspiring-ginger @mournthewicked @bluesclues-1234 @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @groovyfluxie @keijibum @also-fangirlinsweden @mysoulshideaway @fandom-imagination-ss @your-sparklywinnercollection @yakuzussian-2nd @supergeekfangirl @mayday1284 @sayanythingcreations

Karl Urban: @fandomsfeelsandfamily @justa-traaash @yueci @writerdee1701 @hlabounty96 @lacychick

The Boys: @space-cowboy2227

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys #billy butcher series #the faceless shadow #x mob boss reader #deb writes

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 3 years ago

Photo

“ANGRY SCENE IN HOUSE OVER RELIEF,” The Province (Vancouver). March 10, 1932. Page 3. ---- Minister and Labor M. P. Are Disciplined By Speaker. ---- "WORKLESS LIVING ON DUMP HEAPS" ---- Woodsworth Speech Brings Chorus of Protest From Tories. ---- OTTAWA, March 10. - The House of Commons was thrown into a tumultuous scene yesterday by the three-letter word "lie." J. S. Woodsworth, Labor, Winnipeg North Centre, hurled the little word, and then refused to withdraw it. The Irish blood of R. J. Manion, minister of railways, was stung, and before the House realized it, a parliamentary hornet's nest was stirred.

The Winnipeg Laborite first roused the ire of government supporters by referring to Premier B. B. Bennett as the "Millionaire Prime Minister," and picturing him "surrounded by a heavy guard" and "undertaking to lecture" a deputation of unemployed men. This stirred government supporters to cries of "Shame!" and "Withdraw!"

REFUSES TO WITHDRAW. But when he charged Conservatives with "implying that people who are out of work, today do not want to work which is a lie," a regular parliamentary battle began.

"Withdraw!" shouted government supporters.

"I refuse to withdraw." Insisted Mr. Woodsworth. A general hubbub arose In the House, and members trooped Into the Chamber from the adjoining lobbies. Mr. Speaker George Black ruled "the inference Is not parliamentary and should be withdrawn."

Mr. Woodsworth again refused. Points of order and Interjections punctuated the next few minutes. Finally, the Winnipeg Laborite prefaced his statement with the two-letter word "if," making it hypothetical, rather than a statement of fact, and escaped the Speaker's ruling.

MANION CALLED TO ORDER Then Dr. Manion entered the fray. But he, likewise, ran foul of parliamentary rules. First, he called Mr. Woodsworth a "demagogue" and was forced to withdraw. Next, he accused the Labor leader of making a "false statement" relating to the Prime Minister. This also was taken back. Then the sentence was changed to "a statement not in accordance with the facts" but this also was unparliamentary, ruled the Speaker.

Another angle then was adopted by Dr. Manion. He said he knew "of only one country of which Mr. Woodsworth ever has a good word to say: Russia." The Labor leader "has stated in this House many times that he Is not a Communist - he has stated that - and I accept his statement, but I do say that If he were a Communist, he would talk exactly as he is talking."

SCORES SOVIET SYSTEM. Russia, proceeded the railway minister, "is the same country that murdered the royal family, it is the same Russia that has been endeavoring ever since the present group in power took charge, to wipe out the intelligentsia, to coerce the workers and in every way to compel them to labor practically as slaves." Reference was made to Russia's repudiation of International debts, its secret police, the spreading of Soviet propaganda, the abolition of religion and the treatment of peasant farmers.

Turning more specifically to unemployment questions, Dr. Manion made a plea for united parliamentary effort. "Instead of the captious criticism in which they (the opposition) have been Indulging, they should come forward and help us during these trying days. They should stand shoulder to shoulder with us In an endeavor to help us solve the problem Instead of doing everything they can to block us."

The House was considering the government resolution to extend until May 1 the life of the Unemployment Relief Act of last session the "blank cheque legislation." The debate will continue.

DEBATING SOCIETY. Mr. Woodsworth started off by saying Parliament was becoming a debating society. "Hear, hear," Conservative members interjected, and the House laughed. Dictatorship was not In the Interests of the common people, he said, in criticizing the "peace, order and good government" provisions of the bill. Certain firms had been allowed to get gold from the treasury and send it to the United States to pay their debts, giving only Dominion notes to the treasury.

Dr. Manion objected. No special groups were so treated, the minister declared. "Any application for the obtaining of gold from the treasury had been dealt with on Its merits."

"Some of my friends tried for it and were refused," said Mr. Woodsworth.

"Probably for a good reason," returned Dr. Manion. He declared the Prime Minister had objected to the "dole" to unemployment Insurance. The government had adopted a worse policy than that, in the "hand-out" system which was being followed. People were living on the "dump heaps" and going in and out of missions and other places and were being demoralized by "charity."

Some people had wealth and others were out of work, but neither was due to virtue hut to social conditions or "arrangements of society." "NEW LINEUP COMING." "When the millionaire Prime Minister of this country," he began.

"Soap box stuff" - "shame' - "order" were heard among the cries of protest which broke out at the remark of the Labor member.

The country was reaching a state, Mr. Woodsworth said, where it could not pay the dividends which were being demanded by those with wealth and at the same time pay wages.

"A new lineup la coming," declared the Labor member. "The old Liberal and Conservative parties will not amount to much; and do not amount to much now." It was going to be a lineup of the special interests and the masses of the people," said Mr. Woodsworth.

Dr. Manion went on to say that the member for North Centre Winnipeg appeared to be anxious to get after those people who were drawing bond interest. He had taken the trouble to check up holders of Dominion of Canada bonds, and he found that 318,000 Canadians had bonds under $2000 In value. These were not wealthy people, they were thrifty people who have saved their money and invested it in a small way In bonds. Should they be condemned for their thrift and saving? They were not millionaires - they were poor people.

#house of commons #parliament of canada #canadian politics #parliamentary debate #bennett government #unemployment relief #capitalism in canada #capitalism in crisis #conservative party of canada #j. s. woodsworth #labour party #prairie socialism #socialism in canada #anti-communism #left wing politics #great depression in canada #working class politics

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eve-of-halloween · 4 years ago

Note

I asked Pastel a similar question and loved her response, so now I’m curious. Of all your characters and crack characters, who of them would play Among Us? Who would be the best at it? Worst?

I was hoping id get this question. Oh my morons are a mess.

Hornet: the best liar of the bunch. This bitch is a fucking terrifying imposter because she plays smart. She has to make sure shes muted though cause she giggles each time she claps her husband or brother in electrical then locks the corpse alone in there.

WingDing: hes always sussed and always ejected. Someone could watch him do the medbay scan and they will still eject his ass. Its the matter of principle at this point. Never gets to be imposter no matter how much he wants to be it.

Bunky: hes the worst. He has no idea what the fuck he is doing and is usually the first to die cause he always somehow ends up alone in electrical with both imposters. He hates starting the reactor because he will get like half way through it and some bitch will either kill him or call a meeting.

Deadstick: if Bunky isnt killed in round one, you bet your ass Deadstick is. This man is nothing but anxiety when playing and the second the imp kills him he screams or cries cause they scared him.

Fire Ant: hacks the game so she doesnt have a cool down then goes on a murder spree. In the few times she actually plays legit shes a master of vent killing. Pair her up with Hornet and they wipe the map.

Vanity: She isnt the best crewmate of the game cause if she dies she refuses to do task as a ghost cause shes petty and vindictive. But is always found out to be the imp cause she will always kill Hornet first.

Override: gets all his tasks done like a good boy and is usually the first to sniff out the the imps are. So he is usually manipulated or killed off quick by them. He cant tell how many times hes played the game had Hornet run up to him, him turn around like "hi honey" and she fucking puts a cap in his ass.

Shutter: Sabotages everything as the imp and spam locks doors annoying all the players. Will call a meeting just to type "hi I missed you guys thats all" in the chat to annoy them. Shes basically a third imp even if they Only play on 2 imp maps.

Fringe: likes to kill then self report and throw the other imposter under the bus by saying they killed the person instead. Even if the other imp hasn't even left spawn yet.

Launchpad: "why are both my and X names red?"

Trigger: doesnt hesitate to kill even infront of other players.

Timeout: forgets to mute and is caught laughing as she kills every time.

Tripwire: deadly imposter crewmember combo. She always has the best excuses as to why she is innocent. And always catches the imp in the act.

Bronzewing: very calculative and strategic. Rage quites when his teammates are so fucking stupid they seem to have zero braincells when voting. He fucking told them he watched cyan do a scan and they are innocent, and then they vote cyan off.

Silverlace: his only defense of himself when caught venting is "Does it look like my juicy dummy zhick ass can fit in a vent?"

Goldplate: takes 20 tries to scan his id card, starts to cry as he still cant get it and is voted off for it being sus cause hes at the table that long.

Queen Bee: insert angry button mashing and juvenile swearing as shes voted off here

Poly: a deadly stratigest. Put them on a team with Hornet, Fire Ant, or Tripewire and there is no winning for the crewmates.

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antivirus-mh-au · 4 years ago

Text

Antivirus - Chapter 3

TW: Discussions of homophobia, angst Ships: Jam Chapter 1 here Chapter 2 here Ao3 link

If you like this, please leave a like, reblog, or send me an ask! It encourages me so much.

He could already tell sleep wasn’t happening tonight.

Tim sat with his legs dangling out the side doors of his van. His fingers ached for a second cigarette, but he’d reached his personal limit for the night. If he smoked again, he’d run out before dawn, and that was as bad for his health as rescuing people. He was the prize of a race between death by cancer and the Operator. However his life ended, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

He’d parked in the outer edges of a Walmart. If he’d planned on sleeping, he would’ve gone inside, bought a few things, let the manager know he was hanging around for the night. But this was just another stop in a road trip that never ended. One way or another, tonight he’d get back on the road, and drive until his body had enough.

But where would he go? Up north, or east, towards Alabama?

He took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. Most people didn’t know he wore contacts, but then again, most people didn’t stick around long enough in his life to ask. The last time anyone actually found out was Jay. The look on his face when he saw Tim in glasses… Even now, Tim’s face broke into a smile at the memory.

Jay… Tim put his glasses back on. Picking up the tablet sitting next to him, Tim flipped through a few apps he’d left open until he got to the one he wanted. He glanced up, eyes scanning the parking lot. In the distance, someone laughed, a car door slammed, people walked back to their cars with their carts full of bags. Tim looked back to the photos.

Meredith had sent all of them, so she said. Said there might be more on the flash drive she was sent, but she wasn’t comfortable connecting it to her computer and finding out. Once he found a spot to claim as his headquarters, he’d have her send it to him. But there were enough photos to prove the sender’s point. Enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

They were taken from a distance, some zoomed in by the taker, stalker style. Probably on a phone of some kind. He wasn’t an expert in analyzing photos and he didn’t have anyone that could help with that. Didn’t matter, the content was clear enough.

Alex standing at a crosswalk, one hand on the strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. Alex sitting on a park bench, his eyes closed in pain or sorrow. Alex in front of a row of canned soup, looking almost confused. A little older, a little thinner, gray hair on his temples and stubble coating his chin, but it was Alex. It could only be Alex.

None of the photos gave a clear look at Alex’s neck. Should he be grateful for that?

So… somehow, Alex… Survive wasn’t the word. Tim felt the life going out of Alex that miserable day, felt his heart stop pumping and saw the eyes behind the glasses glaze over in death. There was no surviving that. Unless he’d hallucinated the whole thing, but, no, he wasn’t going to consider that. He’d killed Alex. He’d murdered Alex. And now, he was alive again.

Tim shuddered. Could It have done this? The Operator was powerful beyond belief, but did It have control over life and death?

Mysteries of how he came back aside, it was definitely Alex in the photos. The ones supposedly showing Jay, though...

He looked at all of them. Really, he stared at all of them, lingering over the slightly grainy photos. They were taken just like the ones of Alex, but somehow, they felt even more… secretive. As if the photographer tried to hide instead of being subtle about what they were doing. They were clear enough, though.

Clear enough to convince Tim it wasn’t Jay.

Jay was untouched. The same weight, the same hair, the same face, without grays or wrinkles. A man in his youth, the so-called prime of his life, somewhere in his mid-twenties. The clothes were different, his green jacket replaced by a black one, his hat gone from his head. And no cameras.

… He looked… happy. Even in the pictures he wasn’t smiling in, the light shone out through his eyes. His clothes were often wrinkled or dirty, his shoes old or secondhand, but it didn't seem to matter to him. Jay stood without tension in his body, arms loose, head held high. As if nothing had ever happened to him. As if he hadn't bled out slowly in an abandoned building, all alone.

Tim twisted around and reached, setting the tablet on the small table that folded out from the walls of his van. Turning his back on the night, he crawled inside his home and slammed the doors shut behind him.

Modifying this van had taken him years, working on and off in between cases. Now it was a pretty comfortable place to live. A kitchen with fridge, range and sink, a bed that folded out into a couch, a small table, and all the storage space he could need, not that he needed much. It would fit two people comfortably, but he didn't need it to take care of anyone but himself.

Next to his tablet was a book he'd bought from the library he'd visited earlier in the day, some cheap fiction novel. Tim had both bookmarks inside it, waiting to be read when he had the time. Like now. Sitting down on the couch, he opened to the first page, but his mind drifted.

"I wasn't as good a mother to him as I should've been," Meredith had said. "My love had limits, even though I didn't know it at the time."

He was used to this, the painful stories told without him asking for them. Being the last resort for a lot of loved ones, they treated him like a confidant as much as a private investigator. They needed to talk about it. They needed someone to tell them it would be okay. Tim was okay being that person, but it was different when he knew the missing people himself.

But Meredith didn't know that.

"I know it seems impossible," she'd said, "but I'd recognize Jay and Alex no matter what disguise they wore. They were both my sons. It's definitely them in the photos. It can't be anyone but them."

"Mrs. Frederickson," he'd started, but his first sentence died on his lips. "I have no reason to doubt you," he lied, "but why do you think this is something I can help you with?"

Meredith inhaled. "No one else will take this job. I tried five different companies. They refused because of the infamy of the Marble Hornets videos. And the note in the package…"

She looked down, bit her lip, just like Jay did ten years before.

"It said you were the only one that could help."

Tim blinked the memories away. He glanced at the book in his hands, and tossed it aside. Reading wasn't happening tonight. Sleeping wasn't happening tonight. What was going to happen tonight?

Outside the van, the trees shifted in the hot Louisiana wind. Cars cruised the highway. Lights blocked out the stars.

I would know him anywhere, she'd said. But if it wasn't Jay, he'd be dragging a complete stranger into a hell that most people couldn't imagine. Even if he kept It away, It would have plenty of time to ruin this man's life before he could save him.

Just like he couldn't save the actual Jay.

I can’t do this, he thought.

I have to do this, he thought.

He yanked his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. Meredith’s number was already saved, and it wasn’t too late. Two rings, and she picked up.

“Mrs. Fredrickson?” His tone didn’t give away the way his thoughts raced through his head. “Thank you for your patience. I’ve decided to take your case. No,” he cut her off. “No, you don’t need to pay me in advance-” He jerked. “That’s - that’s far more than my rates - I really don’t need that much - yes I will absolutely let you know once I’ve established a base in the area - Breathe, Mrs. Fredrickson-”

The conversation ended with joyful tears from Meredith, Tim being only too grateful to hang up. He stared at his phone until the screen went black again, heart hurting. What a liar he was. He wasn’t going to find Jay. He was doing this to find Alex.

Once he was in Alabama, it would be easy to confirm the identity of the doppelganger in the photos, without actually speaking to him. Assuming the Operator didn’t sense Tim’s interest and attempt to infect him just to be an asshole. But Alex? That was definitely him. The age, the wear and tear on his body, the stupid fucking glasses - Tim would know him anywhere.

Jay was dead. Alex wasn’t. And it was Alex’s fucking fault Jay was dead, it was Alex that pulled the trigger and Alex that taunted him for not being able to save him. It was Alex who Tim saw in his nightmares even now, shooting Jay, over and over. The more he thought about it, the more his blood burned. How could Alex live knowing what he’d done? What right did Alex have to live when Jay didn’t?

Meredith had forgiven Alex. Tim wasn’t ready to.

Tim took a deep breath, calming his fury. He’d deal with that when the time came. Right now, he had to drive. He had a long way to go back to Alabama.

… He hadn’t really thought about that. That doing this meant going back to Alabama. Of course he knew what it meant to take this case. He had to go back to Alabama to do it. But once he left Alabama, he swore he’d never go back, no matter what happened. Even if the world ended, he’d never return. It was there, Rosswood was there, the memories that stood intact, buried forever in the walls of the buildings they’d visited, were there.

The Operator was stronger in Alabama than anywhere else in the world, far as Tim could tell. It seemed centered in Rosswood. Within that state, It could seemingly do anything. Would his gift, his ability to repel it, work within the state borders? What if he couldn’t protect anyone there - including himself?

He could be walking into a trap.

But Jay…

Leaning back on the cushion behind him, Tim closed his eyes.

“My love had limits,” Meredith said.

“What do you mean?” Tim had asked.

Meredith took a breath, and her eyes, so much like Jay’s, met Tim’s.

“Jay was - is gay,” she said. “We knew it at the time, but we didn’t want to believe it. We were wealthy people, we thought we were Christians, we had standards… We thought he was going through a college phase, the kind a lot of young adults go through when they’re free from their parents. But looking back…” She shook her head. “I was wrong. What I did, what I believed, it was wrong. I want to apologize to him for it, if I can. If he’ll let me.”

Jay is gay. The words hit hard as a punch to the chest. Pieces of the past he hadn’t known were out of place lined up. Little things Jay did, little looks, little words, little winces and cringes and pained expressions at the things people said or did. Things he hadn’t even thought of made sense in a way that could’ve knocked him over. How Tim kept his cool after that, he couldn’t remember. How he kept from crying, he didn’t know.

Jay is… was gay. Of course he kept that a secret from everyone, they lived in fucking Alabama. Things had improved in the past ten years, but back then, to be openly gay was to have a target on your back, for ridicule if not violence. Their college campus didn’t even allow a LGBT club, or a gay-straight alliance. It just wasn’t done. If Jay had been alive now, he would’ve thrived the way he was always supposed to.

Jay. Alive. Happy. Living in another state. Dating another man, someone other than Tim.

Had Jay felt the way for Tim, the way Tim felt for his ghost? The memories of a man he lost too soon burned strong through his life, in a way Tim for years felt he shouldn’t. Homophobia nothing, he hadn’t known Jay for very long. Was it right to feel that way for him? Did he really love Jay, or did he love the man he put together from his memories and pain? He didn’t have any answers. He tried to keep up with cases so he didn’t think about it but it looked like he wasn’t going to have a choice anymore.

Something chattered in the back of his mind, an anxious, angry, wordless voice. Tim took a deep breath, then another. He wasn’t going to think about this. This was going back in the box until he could process it. There was a long way to go from here, and the road wouldn’t be as smooth as the pavement he normally drove on.

Buckle up, he told himself as he stood and moved for the driver’s seat. This is only going to get harder from here.

---

And in the wooden seat he swayed, swayed from side to side, the tumbling words dying from his lips. The man groaned, his eyes closed behind the blindfold. He was alone in this room, no windows, one door, a chair, a table, a laptop, a microphone, himself.

He swayed, he swayed, and in the electronic silence the little tings of the assembled viewers in their little box rang out sweet as bells. It meant nothing to him, what they said, what they did, what they believed. It was enough to serve.

The man let out a moan, his voice hoarse, his lips dry and cracked. The strings were cut, the God had pulled away. Now he was alone, alone in this room with the wooden walls and floor, his breathing echoing, the light above buzzing and flickering. Where are you God? Why did you leave me? Have I done something wrong? Have I displeased you?

And like a light pouring from an open door in his mind--

Euphoria. A joy unlike anything he’d ever tasted, an endless rush of wind that swept him from his thoughts. Joy, relief, pride, and the sweet undercurrent of plans that stretched millennia and into realms that his human mind would never understand. It was God, speaking to him, letting him feel Its emotions, letting him taste the infinity of Its existence. In this moment, he could feel Heaven wrapping warm tendrils around his robed body, carrying his soul free, just for this moment.

No rapture would ever be this wonderful.

Blood poured from his closed eyes, his nose and ears, dripping onto his folded hands, onto the folding table. But there was no pain. There was only joy. His God felt joy.

He let the words fall from his lips, even though he did not understand.

“He’s coming.”

And a darkness swept over him, the joy lulling him into the night. The Neophyte fell from his chair onto the cold floor, unconscious and unaware of the shockwaves now shooting through his audience.

#marble hornets #marble hornets fanfiction #mh antivirus au #mh fanfiction #mh tim wright #mh tim #marble hornets tim

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