#nuclear imagery

[tame-the-lion-writes]

and it's you -- it's you -- again

A little something I made about 2.5 years ago in a creative writing class and now I know I'll never peak again wHOOPs

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”

“A million times over – and I beg you, no more.”

The first time they met, their footsteps faded in the sand by the ocean – by the edges of a then-world in the garden his father had built for them. Where she was wild and free, and new and different. And she scaled the great heights of every tree. There, she dipped her fingers in starlight, painted the world with gold and crimson, and together, they shared each and every night beneath a shining sky. It was perfect back then, and they were young, and naive. And they thought that hiding love would be enough to preserve it. Because then, their love was against the rules, because she was meant for another, and he was never meant for happy endings. And because she was meant for another, and because there were no happy endings, the fire that painted his world gold and crimson became the very fire that destroyed it. And her replacement, he tempted in anger, with envy, with a fruit – and with the intent that his father would realize a perfect universe was lost without her. Perhaps, to an extent, it worked – if not in the most mocking of ways. For they met a second time, a third, a fourth, fifth– 

And now– 

He sits alone.

In the corner of a downtown diner.

Coffee set nearby and scribbling idly in the yellow pages of a blood-and-tea-stained journal.

For the most part, it’s quiet. At least in the corner, it’s quiet. Nobody bothers him, not when they’re distracted with the colored TV blaring on in the background. It’s crackled now and again by static – red, green, and blue clustered in corners – while the radio in the back has been silenced, gathering cobwebs in spite of itself. And on the channel, the announcer goes–

TONIGHT – breaking news – on political relations with the east. Tonight, on the locust swarm threatening America’s food supply. Tonight, we discuss the new variant of the black plague. And tonight, we talk about the mysterious disease threatening cattle. And– tonight–

He ignores it, too busy with his own mind.

His ignorance, his busy-ness, is the reason there were girls here and there – just temporary flings to fill in the void. Not that he hurt them and tossed them aside – he waited, as he did with her, until their wicks burned out, and he was alone once more. In his boredom, and aside from them, he watched the world go round – go on without him. And as it went on, soldiers left their homes – twice, thrice, a hundred – a thousand times over while claiming peace and the intent to end all wars. He was blamed for it all, unsurprisingly, while he sat still – a mere yet ultimate arbitrator who, like men claim to be, simply encouraged humanity to decide its ending. For, as he’d learned throughout the years, only endings bring about true peace.

And the way humanity was going, now was the perfect time for such an ending.

– but it’s you – yes, it’s you – and it’s you – it’s you – again.

“Sir, are you alright?”

“Yeah, lost in thought. Been distracted lately. Sorry.”

The red-haired woman across the counter tilts her head aside in worry, brow furrowed together, and faint wrinkles knit tightly – yet she sends him a sympathetic smile as if he were a puppy, thrown out on the side of the road, left to wander, to roam. But she didn’t linger on the topic.

“Just checking in – diner closes at ten.”

She wipes the counter free of crumbs, and from the motion, he sees she’s not wearing a ring – but it’s the umpteenth time around, and maybe he’s early, and she won’t accept one from him – and if she did, it wouldn’t last. It would be a desire half filled.

 “You’ve been here for a while, too, so sorry if it’s a touchy topic, but I know there’s a lot of bars around. Need me to call someone to pick you up?”

At that, he shakes his head, a half amused chuckle leaving his throat.

“No, no. I know it’s late, but I’m not drunk or crazy – really. I’m just… thinking. Promise. Can’t get drunk easy anyway.”

“And the crazy part?”

“Well– regarding crazy – actually, I dunno yet.”

Now her smile is equally amused as he is, and she leans her forearms across the counter. “Is that what the notebook’s for, then? To write down crazy thoughts?”

“Something like that, yeah. At least, I used to write – not so much anymore. Apparently it’s better to talk to yourself through writing instead of saying it aloud. If I did the latter, then people would really think I’m crazy, and they wouldn’t be far off the mark.”

“The real question isn’t if you’re crazy – it’s if you’re dangerous. Are you?”

“About that… maybe.”

She nods but doesn’t believe the possibility. No – she looks mildly skeptical, if not somehow confused, and for once, that skepticism is a step back from the forward momentum of evolution. From the wild and free to responsible and tight-laced – it’s difficult to think she’s here again. She’s her again. She’s her.

“Well, if you need anything, I’ll be here – just gimme a call. I know I said the diner closes at ten, but closing shift ends at eleven. So– maybe–” she says, imitating his vague answer– “I’ll let you stay a few more minutes.”

She tops up his cold coffee with fresh bittersweet brew – not even asking if he wants more – only to freeze and face the screen – where the TV – tonight – is interrupted by a call.

TONIGHT – breaking news – we are receiving reports that we are under attack.

And there’s babies crying, children crying. Adults and seniors, too. And above the crying, screaming, wails, and whispered prayers that fall on deaf ears. There’s people rushing to the train station, and the waitress turns, hurries – out the door. But she’s not going for herself – she’s going for all of them, and she’s helping them down the steps, she’s helping them follow the light–

– and he stares. What was that song again?

… I don’t want to set the world on fire.

It’s only by her example that he follows suit.

Soon he’s guiding an old woman and her husband down to the next door subway. They thank him while he’s lifting their weight, but really, he’s lifting his weight – because he never wanted their endings, he only wanted his own. So he doesn’t join her – or them –  he doesn’t join them there. He returns to the diner, to the counter, sits and stirs his coffee, and in the back of his mind, the song continues – a melody from a far off place. Speaking of intentions once pure, regretful. Then corrupted, pure no more.

I just want to start a flame in your heart.

The people were half the noise, the TV and siren otherwise. But even with the TV still on, even with a siren’s grand alarm, he feels no different now. No different in his solitude. Though perhaps, that in itself is a lie, for he feels a little sadder at heart. There’s even a little discomfort, too, something gnawing and bubbling like an iceberg shoved underwater. It’s a volcanic eruption waiting to burst – something familiar and unfamiliar, something lost and once again new– or maybe was always there –

And he doesn’t quite know why.

The diner will remain dingy as ever – the floors just barely swept. There’ll be dust bunnies beneath each tabletop, and oily handprints leftover on windowsills. And the ground beneath it is even older – hundreds of feet down, the same ground since creation.  And in the odd quiet, he slides back his sleeve to watch a mechanical device go tick tick tick.

Oh–

“I don’t wanna set the world on fire, honey,” he recites to himself. “I love you too much.”

I just – 

“Mister?”

– wanna start –

“Hey, mister?”

– a great big flame –

“C’mon, we needa get to–”

– down in your heart –

– “the shelter.”

“It’s fine. Leave me be.” He sips his coffee again. “I know what it’s like, thinking the world will end. You always think it will, but it won’t.”

“What kind of death wish– god– is that why you came back?” She scrunches her nose, tugging at his sleeve, hair in disarray. “Look, mister. I-I don’t know you, and– and you don’t know me. But I’m not letting you sit out here while the world falls apart. If you’re gonna die, at least die trying, instead of waiting for some bomb to drop on you.”

“Trust me. I’m telling you. I’m not going to die.”

She grabs his hand, ignores his words – he clasps hers – then remembers himself – and ultimately lets go. He tells her again–

“I’m not going to die. But Lilith, you– you have died. A million times over. And I’ve watched every single time. And as much as it pains me, you always come back, and as much as I love you, it’s nothing but torture. So please. Please. Leave me be. You go – live a little longer this time around. Choose something other than him – him or me.”

He looks up and sees tears streaming down her face, and suddenly – no, as always – she’s as beautiful as the first time they met. The first time, yes, and every moment from then onwards. Yes, she’s as beautiful as the sunset, as beautiful as the sunrise, and in that moment, the way he used to look at the night sky is the way he looks at her now. Like he knows he’ll have to let go again – that the light he sees is a projection, the remaining shadow of a living dying star, the remaining evidence it ever existed. And that – like the night sky where she dipped her hands in the starlight – the power of endless suns would annihilate the darkness.

And she spoke– again–

“Lucifer, please.”

Oh. Oh. Oh– it’s been so long– since he remembered his own name, because until then, all he could think about was–

You.

Because it’s–

You – and it’s you – yes, it's you – it’s you – again.

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”

“A million times over – and I beg you, no more.”

And on the channel, the announcer goes–

– For those in the city, follow the flashing lights and direct yourself to the nearest shelter. If you are in an isolated area, avoid – I repeat, avoid – populated areas. We believe attacks will be concentrated in the following cities: Washington DC. NYC. San Francisco, LA –

The list goes on and on, but he’s quick to turn off the TV, and he lets her pull him up, arms wrapped tight around a trembling body. And it’s him that’s trembling, though they’re both undeniably afraid.

“It’s cruel, isn’t it?” she whispered. “That I only remember now?”

“Fitting when it’s all my fault. I’m the one who led you astray. I’m the one who ended the world, because I wanted– I wanted– I’m sorry–”

“No, you – you gave me a choice. I was created for someone else, but you – yes, it's you – that I chose. And again – Lucifer – it’s you I’ll always choose. I know you want the world to end, that you want all of this to end, but if I could, I’d remember you – I’d love you – again. A million times over, and a million times more.”

And he understands. He knows – he realizes why the rules have changed. The old woman, her husband – yes, he never wanted their endings. Though in that moment, he doesn’t respond. No – forgetting all else but his love, he turns on the radio, embraces her in return. Rests his chin in those crimson gold locks, humming softly as the world turns. And they dance  – together. For the first time – they fly, they soar. For the first time, they share a second – a breath since the beginning of the world. 

And like the missiles, the journal burns, the radio – sings:

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim. I just want to be the one you love. And with your admission that you feel the same, I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of. Believe me– I don’t want to set the world on fire. I just want to start a flame in your heart.

[determinedowl23]

So obsessed with when a Nintendo game releases and the fans just go “nah…… I could do it better” and make some of the greatest aus known to mankind

[royalreef]

(( Glad to say that the new Glass Animals album has the perfect song for Miranda in it.

[privateolives]

GRHJGUMERGJMERGAM YOU HAVE SMT OCs??? I wanna know more

I sure do. Long long ago when SMT//Imagine was still novelty me and my roleplaying crew at the time decided to make a roleplay guild called Clan Volatile. Because these fuckers were all ticking time bombs in their own right.

My ticking timebomb of choice was a young man called Dastolle Kobayashi, the resident clan tank and horribly abused workhorse.

So for those of you not in the know, SMT Imagine was an MMO set in the interrim between SMT1 and SMT2. My roleplay group at the time decided to set up an rp guild in the game, exploring the first generations of humans who wouldn't remember the days before the nuclear fallout of SMT1. None of them would survive to make it to SMT2, which was also part of the concept. Having a good ol' look at those people who perished when things started to get ugly again.

He's a sweet guy, if not the smartest... though he's still smarter than people give him credit for. Unfourtunately he's also incredibly traumatised and suffer from intense amounts of anger (secret) that's being kept in check only by his intense fear of abandonment (Apparent to anyone with eyes).

He's unquestionably loyal to his clan. Why? Because he doesn't trust his own judgement on who he can trust or not - and his departed mentor promised him that these people would be his friends.

It... didn't go so well. He's the "best friend" of an incredibly abusive clan leader who's sanity is probably compromised by his demon fusion wings (remember the freaky lore with the demon accessories?) and something of a (rather objectifying) interest to said leader's twin sister.

They're all C-rank demon busters, so only in the about level 20s or so. Real nobodies doing grunt work that noone has time to keep much of an eye on. They can survive, and that's good enough.

He doesn't like books (they're religious items that steal people away) and may or may not be trying to burn a clanmate's bible without him finding out. He's staunchely neutral due to both his parents leaving him for each their faction when he was younger, and mostly uses beast demons. They're nice and simple. His primary demon is a fire-breathing unicorn who likes to mess with people and has a narcisism problem.

He took up smithing as a secondary clan-job. He mostly makes swords for their leader, he likes his hammer.

I also had a cool thing going where I had reaction images drawn both with and without the visor that let ME know when he was being mildly deranged under the cover of the visor, but other people wouldn't tell because they couldn't see his eyes. There was a lot of interesting psychology going on with him.

Dastolle is a docile guy who works hard to try and ensure his "friends" won't abandon him out of an extreme fear of being alone again. It's the only thing keeping an increasingly boiling anger down.... for now. But he's got a dark and bloody future ahead of him.

I can talk more about his story if there's any interest.

[sleepy-hisui]

HEY, HUMAN.

YOU KNOW THESE THINGS?

YEAH, THESE THINGS.

IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT THESE THINGS ARE ONLY A CONCEPT IN YOUR WORLD, A MANMADE WARNING TO FUTURE GENERATIONS.

THEY'RE NOT, IN MINE.

(I RAN OUT OF PICTURES)

THESE FUCKING THINGS. THESE GOD DAMN SPIKES. GOD I HATE THEM SO MUCH. THEY'RE SCARS ON THE WORLD BECAUSE OUR FUCKING ARCEUS CAN'T BEHAVE FOR HALF A FUCKING MINUTE.

THIS STUPID MOTHERFUCKER. THIS GOD DAMN IDIOT. HE DISGUISES HIMSELF AS A LITTLE HUMAN AND GOES AND MINGLES WHEN HE'S NOT FUCKIN UP IN THE HEAVENS SLEEPING, HE DISGUISES HIMSELF AND HE GOES AND GETS HIS WEAK LITTLE HEART BROKEN

AND THEN HE FUCKIN!!! SIGNS UP FOR WAR!!! THIS STUPID ASSHOLE MOTHERFUCKER PARTICIPATED IN WAR!!!!!!!!

AND IT'S NOT JUST THAT EITHER. ONE TIME I KEPT TESTING THE LIMITS OF HOW FAR I COULD SPREAD MY DISTORTION AND

INSTEAD OF FUCKING TALKING!! TO ME!! ABOUT IT!!

THIS STUPID MOTHERFUCKER

THIS GOD DAMN IDIOT

DECIDED TO COME AND FUCK SHIT UP AT MY *******HOME*******

SO WE HAVE A NEW BIOME CALLED "DISTORTION SPIKE WASTES" WHICH ARE FUCKING UNLIVABLE TO EVEN ME BECAUSE THIS STUPID BITCH LIKES TO MAKE HIS POISON LINGER IN THE PLACES HE'S CORRUPTED

ARCEUS ISN'T YOUR PERFECT LITTLE WOOBY GOD HE'S ACTUALLY KIND OF A HUGE DICK AND I HATE HIM

PSA OVER

[bubbysneurosiszone]

I think the idea of priests keeping the knowledge of the care of nuclear waste is so cool and they can be a little crazy as a treat

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i think probably the core issue of lorien legacies, beyond anything to do with individual characters, is the mixed metaphors.

more specifically, about politics.

[longpost after the cut; a lot of talk about racism, xenophobia, fascism--including ecofascism--genocide, and all of the above being poorly handled. also some deeply upsetting anti-indigenous awfulness wrt the w-word.]

the writers try to make the series Heavy-Hitting and Deep and Socially Conscious by addressing real-world political issues like racism, fascism, religious fundamentalism, dictatorship, colonialism, genocide, and so on... and instead of trying to build it into a coherent dynamic with any kind of real statement about any of it, they just blindly grab at every political issue they can find and slap it together into a jumbled mess.

they don't actually understand any of the things they're talking about. and the most disturbing part is that they don't even limit themselves to drawing on bad neoliberal takes, and/or captain-obvious shit like 'genocide bad.' they ALSO draw on the politics of fascists and racists--sometimes unironically, sometimes putting it in the mouths of random protagonists without reason after establishing that it's supposed to be a bad thing, sometimes doing shit that strawmans itself into confirming the Bad Guy Fascism and what have you--and often they mix those metaphors in ways that are anywhere from bizarre to horrific.

('ya so the great replacement theory was completely right actually! the people you're genociding a hundred percent have dedicated their entire life, purpose, and remaining culture to exterminating yours. it doesn't matter if their survivors are down to the single digits, if you fail to kill even a single one of them they WILL successfully wipe you out. they will literally have your last few survivors rounded up and put into prison camps. three cheers for them!' jesus fucking christ.)

(don't get me started on shit like tossing blatant racist caricatures of north korea and its political issues into the mogadorians at some point, because why the fuck not, and then piling on the anti-japanese racism with a dump truck at the end of the first series and throughout the second. internment camps.)

(jesus fucking christ.)

and like. people don't react to this shit the way they realistically would. you cannot tell me that not a single one of the majority-POC cast in the second series would not rip a black hole into nine's irl-racist and scifi-MAGA, white-man-in-a-position-of-authority ass, or the shit that john's white-man-in-a-position-of-authority ass brings about himself under the guise of ~kindness and peace.~

and there's no logic to the kind of shit people will say and do about this stuff, especially in the sequel series. sometimes they'll express, like, basic antifascist/anti-racist/humanitarian/decent-in-general beliefs, and other times the most absolutely wild shit will come out of their mouths which either directly contradicts things they've said before--and might say after--or pulls from other blatant parts of that same horrific ideology. there is no rhyme or reason to most of it. it's just a clown car of racist/fascist/xenophobic nonsequiturs. what the hell.

and when i say nine is irl-racist in reborn i mean he casually calls a native american child the w-word as a '''lighthearted''' punny joke about his legacy. the kid is not even from any tribe whose culture they originate from; they never specify, because of course they couldn't be bothered lol, but miki is from alaska. on top of that, they had the dick ass and balls to have him randomly throw in a Very Special Episode scene where he talks about how his family are the direct-action variety of activists who he got separated from when they blew up an oil pipeline.

and he does not fucking blink at this. he doesn't say anything about it, he doesn't uncomfortably not say anything about it, he just goes on with the friendly conversation about his legacies which nine just called him a w-word for without missing a single beat.

and the ecofascism. good unholy fucking god the ecofascism. probably the most fundamental driving force of the entire first series is that if you don't ~take care of your environment~ your entire race/ethnicity/culture deserve to suffer and die slowly in the results. yes, all of them. it doesn't matter who was responsible. every last one. including the masses we see protesting on mogadore in flashbacks/visions.

also did i mention the Great Fascist Cult Leader who is responsible for the loric's genocide is a race traitor who took charge of wiping out his own? because that is a thing. it's a thing.

like. man i could go on. i could go on. and in other posts i probably will, because WOW is there a lot to unpack here. but it really does all come down to the fact that the writers wanted to sound meaningful and important and socially conscious, because that's what seems to be hip with the youth nowadays, and they don't have anything to say.

it's just gibberish. gibberish that arranges in some very telling ways as to the beliefs of their own that they are putting into the books. but gibberish.

and it pisses me off in a different way to have realized this, but god damn does it make it less tear-my-hair-out distressing than racking my brain trying to figure out what in the goddamn fuck am i looking at here.

(capitalism. capitalism is what i'm looking at here. and also racism, antisemitism, xenophobia, and just plain being fuckin stupid.)

lord.

[trendynewsnow]

China's Progress in Developing Nuclear-Powered Aircraft Carriers

China Advances Towards Nuclear-Powered Aircraft Carrier Development Recent analyses of satellite imagery and official documents from the Chinese government have revealed that China has constructed a land-based prototype nuclear reactor intended for a large naval vessel. This finding is one of the most compelling indicators to date that Beijing is making significant strides toward launching its…

[robsheridan]

[Update: Apocalypse in Pink part 2 is out now]

Before Barbenheimer, there was “Apocalypse in Pink,” the August 1983 theme of fashion/culture magazine SPECTAGORIA. The issue’s controversial imagery of Barbie-esque models attempting to stay gorgeous and glamorous amidst nuclear annihilation sought to, in the words of editor/photographer Sera Clairmont, “revel in the morbid absurdity of the new American condition,” an “anxiety vibrating underneath all our plastic smiles.”

“It’s The Hot Pink Cold War,” Clairmont wrote in her introduction. “It’s ‘Material Girl’ on the radio and ‘WarGames’ at the drive-in. It’s ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ interrupted by the emergency broadcast signal. We’re told to look sexy, dress fashionable, make money, and spend money, but be sure we’re just the right amount of terrified about the bomb. Get that Malibu dream home, keep working on that perfect body, sip cocktails by the pool in your little pink bikini and watching the stocks go up — but STAY VIGILANT! and for God’s sake vote Republican, because that dream home could melt into a pink plastic inferno at any given moment. Just don’t stop smiling as the blast liquefies your skin into bubbling ooze like a Barbie doll in a microwave - it’s bad for the economy.”

***Continued in PART 2***

---------

NOTE: This is a work of fiction created by me. This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and interconnected alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

[quantumtom]

No Monkey Business

I decided to do a Google image search on "field installation" thor 1957.

I was watching this video and I decided to do a Google image search on “field installation” thor 1957. I’m still not sure about what I’ve discovered. It appears to be a man in a monkey suit. And that gorilla is posing with a few costumed ladies as well. I’m not sure I really want to know the story here. But this is a Thor IRBM made by Douglas Aircraft back in 1957. So, you’re welcome? I…

[fuckyeahisawthat]

i rewatched Dune Part Two recently and one of the most striking shots for me was the one of the Fremen attacking the Sardaukar on wormback, while holding the Atreides flag.

Like, we just saw the Sardaukar forming up with their numerous flag bearers, even trying to maintain their flags raised after the nuclear detonation (in a shot that mirrored the famous "Raising the Flag in Iwo Jima" statue to me btw, nice nod to imperialism).

And then the Fremen arrive, but they're not bearing their colors, their flags, not fighting in their own names, instead it's the Atreides colors. The colors of their new, imperially appointed rulers. New pawns in the warfare between Great Houses, soldiers instead of freedom fighters. Urgh. Wish i could make gifsets.

Yeah yeah yeah it's horrifying!! You are watching a national liberation movement get successfully co-opted by a superpower and it's awful!

They did such a good job making it feel creepy and foreboding when the Atreides symbols and motifs start re-appearing in the last hour or so of the movie. The second Gurney shows up he immediately re-introduces the Atreides way of looking at the world, and it's disturbing how easily Paul falls back into thinking like that, seeing the planet and its people as tools to be used in an inter-imperial power play. (It's right after Gurney tells him about the family nukes that Paul has the signet ring out for the first time since the beginning of the second act and we're like OH NO.) This is before he drinks the Water of Life; he is already starting to think like a colonial duke again some time before he declares himself one.

After the opening montage where we see the piles of bodies being burnt, we don't see the stylized Atreides hawk symbol for most of the movie. The next time it appears is on a vault of nuclear weapons, which are never treated as anything but a curse. It's so important that Stilgar and Chani are with Paul and Gurney when they open the vault so we can see their horror at these weapons and the gleeful, casual way Gurney talks about them. Chani is also seeing an aspect of Paul that she hasn't really witnessed before--Paul, the Future of House Atreides--and she does not like it.

And then of course the whole ending battle is making the point over and over again with repeated imagery that Atreides and Harkonnens are exactly the fucking same. All the imagery from the initial Harkonnen attack on Arrakeen in Part One--which at least shows the Atreides as brave in the face of overwhelming odds--gets inverted into something that's supposed to make us shudder. That scene of Gurney hacking his way through the crowd of soldiers with someone carrying the Atreides flag behind him? Nightmarish.

All of this stuff is super important to what the movie is trying to say because it is very very easy for us to buy into the Atreides' propaganda about themselves being the good guys. If we're paying attention to what Chani tells us in the literal first 3 minutes of the first movie, we already know we should be viewing them with a bit of critical distance. And while I think there is plenty in the first movie to make us side-eye their noble image (Leto saying we will bring peace to Arrakis?? fucking yikes dude), it's easy to forget that because Leto generally seems like a good dude to the people close to him, and he dies tragically so we never get to see much of what kind of colonizer he would have become. And I think it's easy to start thinking well if only Leto the more reasonable parent had lived then things wouldn't have turned out this way.

But fucking desert power?? That was Leto's idea. This is Leto's dream being realized. The plan was always to use the Fremen as pawns in the power struggle between the Great Houses. Maybe not quite in the way that Paul does cause he definitely goes off with it, but the end result is just as much a product of Atreides imperialism as it is of Bene Gesserit religious colonialism. The Atreides aren't inherently any more noble or benevolent than the Harkonnens in their intentions, they just have better PR. But the end result is exactly the same: a pile of dead bodies being set on fire.

[thebiggerbear]

Call My Name - One - Phase One Is A Go

Summary: And so begins Phase 1.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

A/N: Without giving anything away, there will be some dark elements in this story. I will absolutely put those warnings when that chapter happens but I just want to give you guys a heads up early on in case.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Songs for chapter (also listened to while writing): Prison Fight - Tyler Bates; Run For Your Life - The Siege

Series Masterlist

Warnings: sanctioned assassination; violence/blood; implied gore/death/murder; Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy; language; implied sexual imagery; hints of manipulation

Word Count: 8515

Series Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl; @deangirl96; @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @ej13928; @rieleatiel

SB Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @just-levyy; @solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

Some days were tough. Some days were harder than most. But here you were, getting through each day with only one goal in mind. Everything you did, every decision you made, every breath you took — it was all leading towards one specific objective.

And that’s why you were here now, at a black op CIA site, watching as they pulled a comatose Soldier Boy out of containment.

“Are you sure about this?” Grace Mallory asked as you both stared down from the observation deck at Vought’s original Supe they had cooked up. It wasn’t too often that Grace showed her soft side; most didn’t even know she had one actually. But right now, out of the corner of your eye, you could see concern mixed with understanding topped off with a bit of careful hesitation. While you hated the concern and appreciated the understanding, you couldn’t blame her on the hesitation. Soldier Boy was basically a nuclear reactor in human form and he hadn’t gone down under the best circumstances, which was putting it lightly. Not only did he not want to go back under for another deep sleep, but Butcher and his team would be in his sights now. And based on what he did to the last team who betrayed him, you all were in for a shitstorm.

You knew this was a terrible idea, that you could very likely die before achieving your goal and you could bring hundreds if not thousands of people with you if you weren’t careful. But you were out of options and just like Butcher and company had arrived at the same decision some months earlier, you had chosen to unearth the strongest weapon you had in your arsenal in the battle between Supes and humans. 

Grace had fought you on it of course. The government had strongly agreed with her assessment; Soldier Boy was too much of a risk to allow him to gain consciousness never mind walk around free. And yet they had no answer when you questioned why they didn’t just destroy him and end it, making the world that much safer. You knew why; they wanted to be in possession of that power, that weapon deep within the Supe’s chest. And that you could work with.

The older woman already knew your backstory and when you pressed the right buttons, backed by Butcher of all people, eventually she came around. You had no idea who she spoke to or what favors she had called in, but sure enough, your mission was greenlit with barely any resistance though a ton of uneasiness. Not unexpected and not entirely unfathomable. Funnily enough, President Singer was kept in the dark on this one; he was too close to Vought and by extension, Homelander and Victoria Neuman. You didn’t exactly mind. It was better for you and the mission as a whole if no one knew that Soldier Boy was still alive. How Grace managed to keep his existence under wraps for all of this time, you had no idea, but you were grateful she was on your side. So when you got the go ahead, you and Butcher took the win and hightailed it to the CIA facility before anyone could change their minds, or worse, figure out what you were up to and try to stop you. 

There were stipulations as you figured there would be: daily briefings, a carefully selected unit of CIA under Grace’s command would be monitoring your every move closely, they reserved the right to pull the plug at any time and put Soldier Boy back into containment, and while you were in charge of the op, Butcher was who you had to answer to in Grace’s absence. That definitely set your teeth on edge. You and Butcher had different ideas on how to get things done, but you reminded yourself that you both had the same goal and that was all that really mattered. So you begrudgingly agreed and now here you were ordering the staff to begin the process of waking the original Supe up. 

You watched as two men in Hazmat suits appeared to be choosing who would pull the figurative straw. You rolled your eyes; they were wasting time. Before you could hit a button and bark out an order, the one on your right seemed to be the one who had lost and warily approached Soldier Boy to remove his mask, practically darting away once he was finished. The staffer on the left was holding a radiation meter in his hand. From your viewpoint, you could see the levels slowly begin to rise. Sure enough, when you flicked your eyes over to the Supe, you could see movement underneath his eyelids, as if he were having an intense dream.

Grace saw it, too, and she ordered the two men out at once. There was no hesitation in following her command. Once they were out, Grace nodded to the staffer on her other side and he stayed at the ready, finger hovering over a button that you assumed would flood the room with Novichok gas within seconds if needed. Another employee darkened the windows in front of you. You could still see out but Soldier Boy wouldn’t be able to see in. A switch was flipped somewhere and the lights went down. The backup power source came on and the room was flooded with a red halo from the emergency lights. An alarm started to sound throughout the facility, as if someone had infiltrated the building, but everyone’s lack of movement and surprise confirmed there were no intruders. Instead, everyone’s focus was on the Supe who was going to open his eyes at any second. 

Grace turned back to you. “Are you ready for this?”

You grabbed the gas mask that had been given to you as a contingency. “Butcher and his team ready?”

“Ready and standing by,” someone informed you both.

You gave Grace a nod and turned to leave the room. 

“Hey,” she called, stopping you in your tracks. You glanced back over your shoulder to see that concern again, this time framed by the cold steel you’d gotten to know over the last few months. “If it looks like it’s not going to happen…” She let her warning trail off; both of you knew what would happen if things started to go sideways. She’d do her best to get you out before you got killed, but there was a high chance it wouldn’t happen. Then you’d be sealed in with a live nuclear reactor and that would be the end of you, and all of that would be before Soldier Boy could choose to unleash any of his wrath on you.

Giving a curt nod, you swiveled your head back in the direction you were headed in, determination filling your veins no matter the outcome. People cleared the path for you, fear plain as day on their faces. Not fear of you or even for you, but fear of what lay beyond in that chamber. Fear of what you had lobbied hard for to be woken up that would have been better left sleeping, for all eternity if some of them had their way. You didn’t pay them any mind and held your head up higher, a familiar blanket of cold indifference settling over you. You ignored their terrified gasps as you pulled one of your swords out of its sheath and headed for the open door. Once you were past it, after a few feet, you stopped right before the entrance to what could very well be your death, ignoring the sound of the door sealing shut behind you. 

You waited to be confronted by a group that had been specifically chosen for this op by Grace and Butcher. You could hear them approaching, talking low amongst themselves and trying to formulate a plan, which from some of their tones you could tell it wouldn’t hold up very well and not even that long even if you weren’t there to stop them. Sure enough, as you knew would happen with a few more footsteps, they rounded the corner, looking for an exit, only to find you.

The group of men had been dressed as security for the facility and the six of them varied in size. The one in front, a big burly guy who appeared to have declared himself as leader, sneered over at you. “Well, what do we have here?”

The way he looked at you, the vibe coming off of him as well as a few of the others… They had been chosen well; you could already feel the urge to wipe them off the map radiating throughout your body. Your thoughts were running rampant and as one of them leered, you could sense an all-too familiar rage attempting to burn brightly within you that you then masterfully directed throughout your body.

You swung your sword in your hand and tensed, getting ready. 

The leader laughed, turned to the other five, and ordered, “Get the bitch.”

The corner of your lips lifted in response. This was going to be a fun little workout for you that you could get in right before facing off with the final boss. Three men came charging at you and your sword flew with incredible precision as you spun in a dance you’d practiced a thousand times during training. You sliced open one and cut the other’s throat before either of them could even dream of laying a hand on you. When the third came closer, you made short work of him, and as you were about to injure the leader, he took one of the other two that had been hesitant to engage you, practically cowering, and used him as a human shield. He shoved the lanky man forward, right into your sword. You left it there and pulled your other one, kicking the dying man to the side. The sixth man cursed out loud and began running in the other direction. You pulled one of your knives from your belt and sent it careening into the back of his head, making him fall flat on his face. You then turned towards the one you had purposely saved for last. 

“You fucking bitch,” he hissed. “You want some of this? Then come get it!” He pulled your sword out of the guy he’d thrust onto it and began trying to swing at you. You effortlessly dodged each of his blows and you waited for him to lose energy. He wasn’t even worth parrying with. Sure enough, when you saw the arc of his arm begin to slow down, you made your move. You avoided the blade coming for your torso by dropping to your knees and sliding over to him and cutting into his side with your sword. Your movement propelled you forward, cutting deeply, and he let out the loudest yell you’d heard yet. He pathetically tried to point the sword in your direction but you easily sidestepped the movement, watching him begin to bleed everywhere. 

He tried to weakly lift the weapon once more as he held a hand over his gaping wound but you stopped him by bringing your blade down on his arm, effectively removing the limb and forcing him to scream out in pain again. It was like music to your ears and you stood there before him, glaring down at the piece of shit who didn’t deserve to be alive to even have come across you. You had a sneaky suspicion that Grace had chosen this one. 

“Now you know what they felt,” you snarled quietly.

He scowled back at you and spit blood in your direction, with you stepping back to avoid the spray. “Fuck you, you dumb bitch! Just like all the rest!” 

You gave him a nod and lifted your sword, his eyes slightly going wide at the sight. “Like all the rest,” you echoed and brought the blade down, hard. 

Though his screams turned piercing, you took him apart piece by piece within seconds, making sure he felt everything before you finally ended him. It was more mercy than he deserved. He was worse than all of the others combined, not that they were angels themselves. Blood coated you and both swords so you used one of the others’ shirts to wipe the red stains from one of the blades. You pushed it into its sheath on your back once you were finished and held the other aloft as you pulled out the security key card Grace had given you. You could hear Soldier Boy’s breathing increase and you knew you had to get into his room and fast. 

You made your way to the control panel on the left side of the doors, scanned the card, and tossed it once the green light appeared. The tell-tale sound of the doors opening sounded and you readied yourself, sword in hand.

Once the doors had pulled aside and a low level of smoke cleared which you suspected was gas (perhaps Grace had to keep him subdued while you were meting out justice on that asshole), you saw exactly what you had come for.

There stood Soldier Boy, glaring at you, his chest rising and falling, his hands in fists. Obviously, having just woken up and gotten to his feet, he was still a bit disoriented but not enough that you could take him by surprise and win. You could also see a sheen of yellow beginning to form in the center of his figure and you knew you only had seconds.

You stepped into the room, knowing there was no going back now and that Grace was watching every move from behind the dark glass. The yellow glow started to manifest and you took a quiet breath in. His eyes narrowed and he moved to face off with you, his right fist clenching harder. 

You held up your free hand. “I’m not here to fight you. I’m here to break you out.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “You’re with the Reds, aren’t you? You Commie motherfuckers expect me to believe that again?” He roared with a rasp, the color of the light in his chest turning from yellow to a luminous gold with a pinkish haze. 

You lifted your sword and placed it into the other waiting sheath on your back. At the action, Soldier Boy tensed further and took a step towards you.

You raised your other hand. “I’m not here to harm you.” He eyed you sharply, disbelief all over his face. “We’re not in Russia. We’re in the US, in upstate New York, at a black op CIA facility. You’ve been here for the past six months and I’m here to get you out.”

His expression didn’t change. “Why?”

“We can talk about it later. Right now, we—”

“Why?” The Supe yelled, fury lacing his tone, and the gold light got even brighter.

Gas suddenly began to flow into the room from vents in the ceiling and another loud alarm sounded, one you hadn’t heard yet. Shit. Grace was getting ready to lock it down. You’d had your shot and it hadn’t worked. You literally had one minute to get the hell out of there. But you were nothing if not stubborn and determined to see this through. 

You pulled the gas mask from underneath your thin coat and held it up for him to see. You tossed it over at him and he caught it just like you hoped he would. His eyes snapped up at you, distrust and anger still clearly in his green gaze. You really couldn’t blame him but right now, you didn’t have the time.

“Like I said, I’m here to help. We don’t have time for me to explain right now. So unless you want to go back on ice…” You nodded your head towards the billowing gas making its way rapidly down to him. He glanced back in the direction you indicated and he cursed, quickly slipping the mask on. You noticed the light in his chest didn’t get any brighter but that didn’t mean he wasn’t locked and loaded, able to go off at any moment. 

He met your eyes again and you inclined your head back towards the doors that were just beginning to close. “I suggest you come with me,” you threw at him and then spun on your heel, making your way out of the room. You walked a few feet and stopped, glancing back over your shoulder, hoping like hell he would follow you.

Right before the doors could close the last few feet, Soldier Boy slipped past them and came to a stop in front of you. He yanked the gas mask off but held onto it, breathing deeply of the clean air. You had made it out of the room, gotten him out of it — you’d survived the first phase of the plan and now you just needed to get through the next. 

His eyes roamed over the remnants of the scene you both were standing in, seeing the bodies and blood everywhere, and landed on the mask in his hand. His gaze snapped up to you and his expression hardened, his tone dark and dangerous. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because,” you took a step towards him, staring into his eyes, pretending not to notice him tense in preparation for a fight. “I need your help.”

He huffed out a chuckle that was lacking any amusement. “Always a fucking catch. What do you want?”

You took another step towards him and you observed his jaw tightening. “We can talk about it later but right now, we really need to keep m—”

“What do you want?” He repeated.

“I need your help to take someone out.”

“Based on your handiwork,” He gestured to the scene around you with a hand. “I’d say you don’t need any help there, doll.”

Your own jaw clenched. “It’s a Supe.”

His eyes flashed and you knew that he was now aware of just who you were talking about. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, you knew that. There was only one Supe in existence that Soldier Boy had been made to go up against before; the only one that had been as strong as him and he had been evenly matched with; the only one that he would be woken out of a Novichok coma like King Kong and sent to go fight Godzilla. “Homelander,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

You gave a nod of confirmation.

He watched you for a moment and then scrubbed a hand at his jaw. “Why the fuck would I help you?”

You lifted your chin. “He’s always been a problem but he’s only gotten more dangerous and more unstable since you were put under.”

“Not my problem.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes but trying to keep the rage boiling within you in check. “Actually, it is your problem. He wouldn’t even exist if you hadn’t given Vogelbaum a sample of your DNA to work with.”

He approached you quickly, the fury radiating off of him and the rose gold pulsing in his chest. You stood your ground. “I didn’t know that Vought would make a fucking kid with it!” He roared.

You wanted to ask just what he thought the mad doctor would do with his sperm but you kept that thought to yourself, knowing this wasn’t the time. You never broke eye contact and you watched as he panted harshly, his hands in fists again, the gas mask dangling from one. You remained quiet, waiting to see what would transpire. One wrong move here and you’d be toast, gone before you could even begin the most important mission of your life. One you were determined to see through no matter the cost. 

Seeing that you weren’t going to respond or react in any way, the gold light dimmed slightly and his hands slowly relaxed. “I didn’t ask for them to betray me and hand me over to the Reds where I was tortured every goddamn day for years. I didn’t ask for them to whip up some wannabe replacement behind my back. I didn’t ask to be forgotten,” he hissed.

You were a little surprised when you noticed the hurt and betrayal shadowing his gaze, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. You watched as he turned to glance behind him, presumably to glare back at the room he’d been held in. But you knew he was also attempting to mask the tiny piece of vulnerability that had unexpectedly come through. You’d seen the videos of the torture he’d endured back in Russia, read his file back to back, sat through his crappy films, and you’d been fully briefed by Grace, Butcher, and the rest of the team who had exclusive dealings with him the first time he’d returned to the States six months ago. You’d also delved deep into Payback’s history and studied up on each and every one of its members. You knew about his PTSD, how he tended to self-medicate with booze, drugs, and women though he was in denial about having the disorder. You also knew that while some of his toxic beliefs and archaic attitudes were still in place, he was not entirely the same person he’d been before he was strapped to a table and Russian scientists proceeded to check off a list of several hundred different ways to try to kill him. The cocky swagger that had come so naturally to him before that was no longer the real deal. If anything, he overcompensated to try to make people believe he was the same Supe he’d been and just as dangerous as ever, with the added bonus of a nuclear threat sitting inside his chest.  

“Maybe not,” you agreed quietly. He turned back towards you. “I can make it worth your while.”

A sly smile began to form on his face as his gaze roved over you. “Appreciate the offer, sweetheart, but you’re not my type. I like ‘em a little older. Although, I will say the swords and the blood, you walking in there like some goddamn avenging angel…kinda hot.”

You fought not to roll your eyes. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

“Well then, unless you’ve got some fucktastic pussy waiting for me to wreck it along with some Bennies and grade A reefer, we’ve got nothing to talk about.” He lifted the mask up in a gesture of thanks and turned to slip down the hallway past you.

Watching him step barefoot in the blood, you waited until he had made it a few feet before saying, “Your freedom.”

He froze at that, turning his head slightly to the side, listening.

You walked up to him, only stopping a foot or so away. “You help me with Homelander, and you get your freedom. No more Vought, no more government, no more pulling of your strings. You’ll be free.”

He slowly turned to face you, his expression hardened though you didn’t miss the tiny glimmer of hope carefully hidden away in his gaze. “Bullshit. You don’t have that kind of pull no matter how you found me and got me out.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Grace Mallory does.”

“Who the fuck is Grace Mallory?”

You took a step closer, noting how this time he didn’t tense in preparation. In his mind, he had already dismissed you as someone he needed to worry about. While that was a good development for your plan, it irked you a little. You may not be Homelander, but you were certainly no weakling. And with this guy, guaranteed he automatically dismissed you as a threat because he saw you as weaker than him, and also because you were a woman. “Someone who does have that kind of pull.” You took yet another step towards him, confirming your theory when he only glared down at you. “You should know, you’ve met her before.”

At his knitted brow, you supplied, “Nicaragua, 1984.”

You watched as he searched through his memories, realization dawning on his features when he found the right one, his brows arching in slight surprise. “Captain Lesbo?”

You gave him a scowl that would have made a lesser man curl up in a ball. Grace and Hughie had warned you about his outdated and toxic takes on the world around him. 

That sly smile was back on his face. “She was gorgeous back then. I bet she’s aged like a real fine wine by now.” His tongue ran along his bottom lip and you felt queasy at his obvious lustful thoughts of the older woman. Right. Butcher and Hughie had given you a heads up on that, too.

Before he could get too lost in that fantasy, you made sure to interrupt with “She’s got the pull. So, are you in?”

He eyed you sharply, thinking over the offer. You also knew that he was thinking over how to secure the freedom you had dangled in front of him without having to deal with you or Grace. The sound of approaching security had you both snapping your gazes towards the noise. This was a group you couldn’t dispatch as easily as you had the first considering they were the real deal. Well, you could but you wouldn’t. You snuck a glance at his chest, seeing the gold beginning to shimmer underneath his skin once more. You had to get him out of here before the guards showed up.

He glanced back at you. “What do you get out of this?”

“I told you. Homelander dead.”

“No,” he ground out, taking a step towards you, his eyes burning into you and the light in his chest shining a golden halo on your face from his close proximity. This time, you were the one tensing, preparing to defend yourself. “What do you get?”

“My freedom as well,” you informed him, never breaking eye contact or stepping away. You were telling him the truth. Once the strongest Supe on the planet was no more, you would be free, in a way. He didn’t need to know how, though.

His eyes roved over you and he let out a disgusted huff. “You’re a Supe.”

You didn’t respond; you didn’t need to. “So, do we have a deal?” You both could hear the men getting closer. “Tick tock,” you reminded him.

The anger never faded from his expression but the light in his chest began to grow a little brighter. “How about I blow this place to hell instead and you come with me? I could do with a little entertainment after being locked away in this shithole.” He let his gaze roam over you appreciatively and you could see just what kind of entertainment he had in mind.

You squared your jaw, not at all in the mood for his womanizing machismo bullshit. “If you blow this place up, the deal is off the table. Mallory won’t stand for it and considering my freedom is on the line, neither will I. I don’t need a bunch of CIA crawling up my ass while I go after Soldier Boy Junior. As for entertainment, now’s a good time for you to get reacquainted with your right hand because there’s no way you’re getting any of that from me,” you snarled. “So either take the deal or I leave you to be hunted down by every single agency and military across the globe once word gets out that you’re still alive. And it will get out.”

You both continued glaring at one another but he didn’t say a word. The men were getting closer.

“Best of luck with that,” you snapped, and turned to slip past him, intent on leaving him behind. Your anger wasn’t feigned; you were pissed. You knew he would be stubborn, mistrustful even, given what he’d been through, but this was just beyond irritating. You didn’t have time to stop and hammer out details; you were now on the run for Christ’s sake.

You headed in the opposite direction of the guards, pulling one of your swords, readying yourself for the sprint to the exit you’d planned for. Grace must be pissing her pants right about now; she’d given you both plenty of time to get out of the building. And if she was pissing her pants, you knew Butcher and his team were crapping theirs. Soldier Boy was awake and now it was up to Grace and the CIA to put him back under, your plan a complete failure. It wasn’t your fault that the Supe was indeed the most idiotic one as Grace had stated him to be. You’d given it your best shot. 

You surged forward, planning to keep casualties as low as possible should you come across anyone. A hand gripped your shoulder, hard, and turned you to face one very pissed off Soldier Boy. You got ready to start the battle of your life, knowing you were most likely going to lose, but you stopped when you noticed his chest was no longer glowing. 

“You got a way out of here?”

You arched a brow up at him. “You’re taking the deal?”

He snorted and released you, his eyes flicking back towards the opposite end of the hallway you were in before returning to you. “You get us out of here, get me some food and the shit I ask for, and we’ll talk.”

“No deal, no dice.” 

You went to move past him when he stopped you again, his hand gripping your upper arm. You could feel the superior strength behind it; if he wanted to, he could snap your arm like a twig, exerting very little pressure. But thankfully, he seemed more focused on getting you to listen to him rather than harming you. “You want me to help you kill Homelander?” At your nod, he let out an angry breath. “Done. I would have hunted down that sniveling pussy on my own, anyway. But after you give me what I just asked for. And then I get my freedom,” he dictated.

“We both do,” you tacked on, still shocked that you had managed to get him to agree.

His eyes roamed over your face and then he gave you a nod, letting you go. “So which way to the fucking exit?”

Just then, the guards broke through the door and spilled out into the hallway, spotting you and shouting at one another to take you both down. Soldier Boy turned a ferocious glare on them and began to step around you to take them on when you grabbed his bicep. The action prompted him to glance down at your hand, his gaze then lifting to yours. “This way,” you urged, and began to run. Thankfully, he fell in step right behind you. Bullets were suddenly being fired in your direction and you had to practically fly out of there. Those bullets might ricochet off Soldier Boy but they wouldn’t bounce so easily off of you. 

As you were passing a small vehicle that you’d seen security guards traversing in on your last visit, he picked it up and launched it at the guards pursuing you. You heard the sickening sounds of machinery crunching flesh and you could only hope no one had died or had life threatening injuries. Instead, all you could manage to do now was to distract the Supe and get him out of there.

“Through here,” you called back to him. Relief pooled in your chest when you glanced back to find his attention on you. He hurried over towards you and you punched in the code Grace had given you to memorize. The door opened and you ducked as you pushed past it, hearing the sounds of more bullets flying your way. Soldier Boy was right behind you and you hit the button to close the door. Once it was shut you used your strength to punch the control panel and destroy it so the guards couldn’t follow.

You turned to find Soldier Boy’s brows arched at you in surprise before a leering smirk appeared on his face. “Well, that answers that.”

You let out a quiet scoff and slipped your sword back into the empty sheath on your back. “Like I said, that’s not happening.”

“A shame,” he practically purred at you, amusement clear as day in his eyes alongside a fire you hadn’t seen there before. It became quickly apparent just what that fire was. The image of you both tangled up in one another, the blood still on your skin, and him slamming into you up against the walls of the hallway you were now in made the queasiness from earlier reappear. It got even worse when the image transformed into one of you emerging into the room he’d been held in and him taking you right on the gurney he’d been laid out on, neither of you caring who showed up, who watched, or who ended up dying when he was finished. The queasiness had become full blown nausea at this point, and you forced it back down. You had a job to do after all.

You ignored his eyes roaming over your body and lifted your chin. “Time to go.”

You marched past him and continued on the route you and Grace had planned. Thankfully, he followed and the images began to peter out the closer you got to the outside. You were beyond grateful for that; you could only see his face contorted in pleasure as he rutted into you so many times before you would actually throw up. Not for the first time since you’d been turned, you cursed this gift you had been given.

“I take it Captain Lesbo gave you the code back there?” He asked.

“Who do you think told me where to find you?” You countered.

You led the way through another tunnel until you came to a heavy door that supposedly led to the parking lot outside. You yanked out both swords, pulled your hood up, and flicked your gaze over to the Supe. “Ready?”

You watched as his hands clenched into fists once more. “Lead the way.”

You tested the door. It swung open and suddenly both of you were engulfed in the bright light of the sun. You scanned the parking lot when you noticed the office supplies van parked about three hundred feet away, right where Grace said it would be. “It’s a short run but we’ve got to make it fast. She’ll only be able to get us a blind spot from the cameras for a few minutes. We’re headed for that van over there.” You gestured in the vehicle’s direction. “So when I say go, we run like hell.”

The man gave you a curt nod and held a hand over his eyes, looking over the lot as well. 

You waited, tensed and prepared for a fight, hoping it wouldn’t be a long one. Grace should have eyes on you by now and Team B should be ready to engage you the moment you both stepped out further. You really wished you had an earpiece for this part but due to Soldier Boy’s extra sharp hearing, it had been decided across the board that it was too much to risk. You would just have to keep trusting in the timing of the plan you had come up with. You could hear the rumbling of a motor coming closer, picking up speed and gaining momentum. You held up a hand near the Supe and began to manually count down from 5. 

A box truck was about to pass by as you got to 2, signaling to you that Phase 3 was a go, when suddenly everything went to hell. Soldier Boy stepped out in front of the vehicle, unflinching as it made impact with his body. To your absolute amazement, you silently watched as his feet stayed stationary and the truck began to wrap itself around the Supe, the object needing to go somewhere, and split right down the middle. You could hear the loud screeching of the metal and the terrified yell of the driver before it was abruptly cut off. Your brain barely had time to process what you were seeing when Soldier Boy picked up one half of the sliced truck and launched it in the air as if it were a football. It was aimed at a location where you knew reinforcements were waiting to rush out and engage you from. You heard the tell-tale screams and ensuing splat. Mallory was going to be pissed.

The Supe then turned a glower back onto you. “No need to run now.” You could see that though he had been attracted to you a few minutes ago, had mostly agreed to your deal, and you had broken him out, he still didn’t trust you completely. You could understand that, respect it even. But you couldn’t have him going off script like this if your plan was to succeed. And the plan could not fail. Something you would make clear to him once you were both far away from here.

Truthfully, you should have anticipated something like this. Soldier Boy was volatile, unpredictable at best, but once you had gotten him to switch off the nuke in his chest, you had naively thought you could get him out with a low body count. That certainly wasn’t the case now. You were grateful that you were already mid-op because you knew if you weren’t, Mallory would have immediately shut you down. No way in hell was that happening. 

That last thought spurred you into action. You nodded and sheathed both of your swords, heading towards the van. A strong hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Choose something else,” he ordered.

You shot him an irritated glare. “That’s the vehicle they have set up for us. Which means there’s keys, gas — the works.”

“It also means they can track us.” You were slightly surprised but you kept it off of your features. “Butcher and his cumguzzler thought I wasn’t listening to their bitchfests when they were tracking down my old team for me.” His eyes snapped to yours. “I was.”

Of course he had been. You could see now that this was something everyone had missed when dealing with him in the past, his most recent foray into the modern world included. Butcher and his team had been so focused on the danger the Supe presented and his lethality, that they hadn’t realized just how closely he had been listening and watching. Several examples of this behavior flickered through his mind quickly and you saw every single one which had always turned things to his advantage while turning badly (sometimes deadly) for others. Butcher and Hughie had easily dismissed him as a fossil who didn’t know what a smartphone was. Even Mallory had said he was the most idiotic of all the Supes to ever exist. And he had let them. He let them think he was the Soldier Boy they had seen on their TV screens once upon a time, in old newspaper clippings, and what had been jotted down in his file over the years he had been active with Vought: the public persona and the demanding celebrity personality behind all of that. But this Soldier Boy…this one was far more clever, calculating, and you knew then that this was where the real danger resided. A quick flash of a woman you recognized as Crimson Countess bound to a chair in a double wide followed by an explosion and another image of her charred corpse afterwards confirmed your suspicions. 

Right now, any other person having realized what you just did, they might have turned back. Or they would get him to the next location and bow out, let Butcher and Mallory handle it from there on out. But you weren’t that person and you were fully in this. You had started this and you were committed to see it all the way through. And see it through you would, come hell or high water or murderous Supes. There was no other option; there never had been from the moment you woke up with a foreign chemical running through your veins, enhanced abilities, and fine-tuned senses. What you just discovered about the Supe currently glaring you down could only help the plan in the long run while also ensuring you were even more careful than you already planned to be.

You turned to face him fully and stared into his eyes. “Understood.” You wanted him to know that you knew, even if he didn’t know how yet, and that despite that, you were still sticking to the plan which included him.

He studied you for a moment and you could see that while he was still unsure about you, he was deciding to trust you…for now. He released your shoulder and slightly relaxed his stance. 

“Any ideas?” Since he had changed this part of the plan, you figured he could offer up an alternative.

“Don’t care as long as it runs.” He glanced towards the lot filled with other heavy duty vehicles. 

“Agreed. But we still need to move. We don’t have long before the cameras turn back on.” You immediately made your way towards a dark blue SUV sitting parked near a curb. You had a feeling this may have belonged to some of the agents he had just killed, but it only meant three things to you: keys, gas, and a working car that could handle the speed and damage you would need to get out of here. You tried the back door, finding it unlocked, and you immediately knew you had been right. No one was coming to reclaim this vehicle, not for a while anyway. 

You quickly removed the scabbard from your back and slipped it into the backseat before jumping behind the wheel. Soldier Boy hopped in next to you, watching you as you turned the engine over. You didn’t bother mentioning that once Mallory and Butcher figured out you were in this vehicle, they could track it as well; that would only be counterproductive to the plan and make him more suspicious of you. 

You pulled away from the curb and sped out of the lot. When you got near the security booth, a platoon of armed guards tried to flag you down. This was one of the reasons why the office supplies van had been selected. You could have removed your gear and passed yourself off as a delivery driver; Mallory had already greenlit that part of the plan. This…well, you would need to improvise. 

You glanced over at Soldier Boy who was scowling in their direction. “Hang on,” you warned. Not that he needed to; he’d already proven that nothing could damage or even dent that super strong body of his. You, on the other hand, had to duck down as you pressed the gas pedal to the floor, gunning it. Bullets began flying towards your car but you didn’t let up, not even when you presumably hit a couple of the guards in your bid to escape. You felt Soldier Boy’s hand roughly push you down further in your seat and his other hand land next to yours on the wheel. A few more sickening thuds, pings from bullets, and wet crunches when the car jumped up slightly as your wheels mowed over those who hadn’t moved, and then you were scot free.

“We’re clear,” Soldier Boy gruffed out next to you, releasing you and moving back into his seat. 

You lifted up and glanced in your sideview mirror, seeing the destruction you had just caused getting further and further away. You tried to feel remorse about it, you really did, but that emotion — any emotion — was the gateway to weakness and you couldn’t afford that. Especially not now. 

“You injured?” 

You weren’t but you slid your hood back and automatically glanced down at yourself to double check. “Nope. You?”

You looked up at him and as expected, his bare muscular chest was smooth, free of any injuries. His arms and face contained barely a shadow of a bruise, never mind an actual wound. He noticed your perusal of him and his lips twisted into a cocky smirk. An image of him railing you in the backseat had you turning back to the road, trying to mask your disgust. 

“I’m good, doll,” he assured you. “Real good. Fucking horny as shit, though. It’s been a while. Think you can find us a place to pull over and let me fuck you quick?”

This was going to be a long ride. “Seems to me your right hand is free.”

Instead of being annoyed at your answer, he only smirked wider. “Is that your way of telling me you’d like me to start us off by jerking it while you look for a place?”

“No,” You met his gaze head on. “That’s my way of telling you not to let your wrist cramp up on this mission because you’re going to be jerking it quite a bit.”

He seemed completely unbothered by your words. “You want to see my dick?”

You scoffed in disgust and focused back on the road.

“I’m fully hard right now and let me tell you, it is a fucking sight to behold. Extra strength wasn’t the only thing the V gave me.” His teeth dug into his bottom lip as he continued trying to convince you. “Women love my dick. There isn’t a woman I’ve fucked that has ever walked right again.”

“Wow,” you quipped. “Quite the selling point.”

He ignored your snarkiness. “You see it for yourself, dollface, and I guarantee you’ll be changing your mind. All I’ve gotta do is pull it out, right here, right now, and you’ll be begging for me to slip it inside you.”

You had noticed the bugle in his sweats out of the corner of your eye before you turned away just before; you knew he was telling you the truth. He was horny, hard, and literally about to whip it out. Not unless you shut him down hard. You may not be able to keep him from pleasuring himself right there next to you, but at least he would know there was no way in hell you were going anywhere near his supposedly legendary manhood. You wished you could tell that he was lying but you could only see images of women worshiping him and his body as he thought back over his vast amount of conquests. When you saw his hand reaching into his sweats from your peripherals, you decided the time to make your firm boundaries on this subject known was now.

“I’m never having sex with you so don’t even bother. I’m here to do a job and that job isn’t you, as much as you might like it to be. When we get to the motel, if you want to find an old lady willing to help you with your problem, fine by me. But this,” you gestured between the two of you. “Is never happening.”

He snickered next to you. “You say that now but I’m telling you, doll, one peek at my dick might change your mind. Or when you hear how fucking good I’m giving it to some other gal.” He turned another filthy smile on you. “But just know that when I’m wrecking that pussy, I’ll be thinking of you and how good I know you’d feel squeezing around me.”

The images of you in the throes of pleasure returned and you tensed, your jaw tightening, but you forced yourself to think only of the plan. “What every girl hopes to hear,” you muttered. You glanced in the rearview mirror and very far back, you noticed Butcher’s vehicle following you. You weren’t surprised; Mallory had never really turned the cameras off and it’s not like you hadn’t left a big blinking neon sign back there to get her attention on where you had exited the compound. 

Soldier Boy’s hand rubbed over the bulge in his pants a few times before he chuckled under his breath and went to look out his window. “So, you know who I am, you know my name… I don’t know yours. Why don’t you tell me?”

You clenched your fingers on the wheel and held your breath, focusing your vision on the rearview. 

A moment later, Soldier Boy turned to look at you, smirking. You subtly let out your breath and relaxed your grip on the wheel, placing your eyes back on the road. “I bet it’s a real pretty one. Come on, tell me.”

You could hear him dialing up the flirtation, switching from being direct to now trying to charm you. “Name’s Persephone.”

“Persephone? That is pretty but it sounds like a Supe name.”

You briefly glanced over at him. “It is.”

He seemed to think it over, nodding after a moment in approval. “What’s your real name?”

“Nope.” You shook your head.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You met his eyes once more. “Because you haven’t earned that yet.” You waited another moment before finally breaking away from his intense gaze.

You could see as he took you in, how his eyes roamed over you hungrily, and you knew the moment he decided to accept the challenge he was determined that you presented. Another chuckle escaped him and he looked out his window again. “Alright, doll. We’ll play it your way, for now. Besides, it’s really my name that matters in this situation here.”

Your brows began to furrow and you did your best to get a read on him. What was he talking about? “How so?”

You watched as he turned to look at you and you could feel the rush of desire that immediately ran through him as images of you screaming, begging, and moaning “Ben! Oh my god, Ben! Ben, don’t ever stop fucking me, please! Fuck, Ben! Fucking give it to me! Oh fuck, right there!” floated to the forefront of his mind. You knew what his words would be before he even said them. “Because you’ll be screaming it before long.”

The nausea from earlier was back but you tamped it down and waited until he turned away from you again. Your eyes flickered to the rearview mirror and relief consumed you when you noticed Butcher’s vehicle was no longer anywhere to be seen. Not only had you successfully distracted the Supe but the moment Soldier Boy became interested in the topic of you, Phase 4 of the overall plan began. Now you only had to get him to the motel, get him rested and recharged, and then your work could truly begin. Leading you all down the path to the only thing that mattered: the eradication of Vought, and the end of Homelander once and for all.

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[canmom]

Do you think Hideaki Anno is right-wing or is it too difficult to tell from his works?

Haha that's a question.

I'll focus on nationalism rather than trying to get into, say, gender politics here, since that's the accusation that most seems to follow Anno around.

Anno's politics are... hard to pin down from his work alone, I think. He's like... a prototypical case of that generation of 'apolitical' otaku that followed after the Anpo generation, with Eva pretty much the definitive statement of the 90s psychological turn. But that said... I can definitely see the argument that there are nationalist themes in some of his works like Gunbuster, though I definitely don't buy every reading in this series (lots of dubious kanji reading). He definitely has that otaku fascination with war machinery and war media (apparently he's a big fan of The Battle for Okinawa and watched it over 100 times), which can easily blend into imperialist ideology.

But there's complications here. For example, the Animekritik series cites the setting of Gunbuster in Okinawa as something formative to the nationalist ideology they are trying to illustrate - in part in relation to the ongoing controversy over American military bases in Okinawa. Anno has at least been on record as saying he's disinterested in Western culture, and I can see the reading of Jung-Freud as an external Other who is shown up by the Japanese girls, somehow simultaneously representing the USSR, Europe and the States. But anti-Americanism in Japan can come in both left and right wing flavours (c.f. Anpo). Communists want the Americans out too! Portraying Okinawa as a military training camp in a Japan-led military coalition certainly comes across as a more nationalist take on that whole matter, but I feel like it's got about the same level of serious nationalist commitment as Doctor Who putting random British people all over space.

When Gainax has played around with nationalist imagery it's usually been in a kind of ironic sendup way - see Ash's writeup about the Aikoku Sentai Dai Nippon controversy, in which Daicon Film staff were disdainful at the accusation that their goofy toku film reflected a genuine nationalist sentiment. While Imaishi takes it further, a lot of Anno's work is also about playfully reappropriating past works. In Anno's case a lot of that is classic tokusatsu, Ultraman in particular, and also Leiji Matsumoto's scifi, notably Space Battleship Yamato, which, well... you know the deal there lol. But it's not so simple to go from that to 'Anno is a nationalist'.

Eva doesn't tend to attract these accusations, but I recall the controversy came back around with Shin Godzilla, though to my mind it's hard to find a straightforwardly nationalist reading of that movie. (It's a film about the experience of the earthquake and Fukushima nuclear plant meltdown, and it's critical of Japan's bureaucracy, but equally one where the JSDF repeatedly get their shit handed to them and civilian infrastructure is what actually stops Godzilla - not to mention Godzilla is painted as quite a tragic figure here!) It all feels pretty tenuous.

I haven't seen as many of Anno's live action films as I'd like, so I can't comment as much on the more recent Shin films, Love & Pop, Shiki-Jitsu etc. And it's always possible for subtler allusions to slip by the anglophone viewer. Still, I don't personally think Anno's post-Gunbuster work is particularly nationalist in outlook. I certainly haven't seen any evidence of him favouring, say, war crime denial, anti-Korean sentiment, remilitarisation, etc etc. - he's definitely not as dubious a figure as someone like Hajime Isayama. But it's not like, anti-nationalist either! It's just kind of hard to read in those terms.

So I lean towards your second option, I'm not convinced he's a nationalist or particularly right wing. He happily associates with Hayao Miyazaki, who's definitely not a right wing guy. But Anno'll also let hilariously cooked stuff like whatever On A Gloomy Night was supposed to be into the Animator Expo. So I don't think he's particularly left wing either, he's no Ikuni! But Anno's fiction is very individual focused, full of psychoanalytic themes and internal conflict. He can vividly portray trauma and complex power dynamics. There's a lot to appreciate in works like Eva from a left-wing angle. I don't really know why this association of nationalism follows him around.

Idk, maybe there's a bunch of interviews I'm missing! Presumably you have a reason for asking this question...

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Prophecies of Nostradamus, Toho's most controversial disaster film, turns 50 today. Survivors of the Hiroshima atomic bombing protested its scenes of monstrous humans poisoned by radiation; while Toho trimmed those moments partway through its theatrical run, it hasn't been shown in Japan since 1980. A genuinely prophetic scene, in which an earthquake destroys the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant, all but guarantees Toho's self-imposed ban will remain in effect indefinitely.

The only way to watch the uncut film today is a shoddy-looking bootleg of a master that Toho prepared in 1986 for a VHS and LaserDisc release but decided not to use (much like Half Human). It's a fascinating look into the concerns of the day—overpopulation, global cooling, and even the psychological hazards of large cities among them. The back half is packed with haunting imagery as the consequences of rampant industrial growth fall upon Japan one after another. The people despair, riot, kill themselves and each other, all to that haunting, whistling Isao Tomita score. Unfortunately, the film is also overwritten, full of lectures about humanity's excesses from Tetsuro Tamba's Dr. Nishiyama. It didn't need to be 114 minutes long.

As a mid-70s Toho tokusatsu film, Prophecies of Nostradamus naturally has plenty of staff and cast overlap with the Godzilla series. Yoshimitsu Banno of Godzilla vs. Hedorah fame was the associate director and co-wrote the script; Teruyoshi Nakano directed the special effects; and Takashi Shimura, Akihiko Hirata, Hiroshi Koizumi, and Katsuhiko Sasaki all have small roles. It's well worth watching if you're intrigued by the idea of those folks working on a much bleaker sci-fi film.

[sirfrogsworth]

Just some "nazi adjacent" imagery from the 40s.

This argument that movies in the past hid all of their progressive political messages in subtext is just nonsense.

Some did and some didn't.

Just like today.

Only today we release 10 times more content.

But there was never a shortage of movies and TV shows with overt progressive messages. Hell, the end of the first Rambo movie was not a big shootout. No big explosions. It was just a speech from a depressed veteran about the horrors of war and PTSD.

The movie was also a great commentary on police brutality. People only remember him being a badass forest ninja and seem to forget about the other stuff.

Apocalypse Now. The Deer Hunter. Dr. Strangelove.

Dog Day Afternoon is about a guy who tries to rob a bank so he can pay for his trans partner's gender affirming surgery.

That was released in 1975.

Here is a 1980s TV movie called The Day After where a bunch of people get nuked into skeletons.

It was a national event and it freaked out the entire country and started a huge conversation about nuclear proliferation.

THEY SPELLED THINGS OUT.

[sagetsukimura]

Anyway, here ya go. 2 a.m. painting ideas generated by my attempts to apply coping strategies regarding my feelings about the Gaza, Israel situation.

Prayed For- two weeping figures embrace in a devastated landscape, lit with golden sunlight and signs of aid finally being rendered. There is both grief and relief here, a possible end to the suffering. (It's pretty obvious what inspired this one. If I could have anything happen at this moment, it would be a ceasefire.)

There is Only Suffering- a weeping figure, kneeling in the rubble, howling at the sky. There is no way to identify the bodies around them into sides. There is only ruin here. (Pretty self-explanatory, grief and despair at what has occurred, and the innocent lives lost, regardless of who they belonged to.)

Grief, The Toll- a few figures observe a massive, rowed mass grave. The bodies are covered, and a mix of Palestinian and Israeli, soldier and civilian alike. All shapes, all sizes. Some figures carry shovels, some weep, and some seem unconcerned. There is only death here, and those who are left to bear witness. (The mass grave is a connection to the Holocaust, and Genocide in general. But instead of being buried separately, there are so many dead that it's best to just bury them all together. 'All are equal in death.' This is, in a way. what I fear will occur.)

Do Not Let This Come To Pass- A single figure stands before a row of graves, back to the viewer, a stack of unused blankets in her arms. All that remains here feels like too little, too late. (This is drawn from my own feelings of helplessness, guilt, and the knowledge that for so many, it's too little, too late. The propaganda machine is good at its job, I'm proof enough of that. Biblical language is meant to give a prophetic tone, while the title is, in and of itself, a prayer.)

Outreach- the image is split by a wall, people on both sides either push or pull desperately at a locked gate, some weeping, some raging, some seeking to climb; all desperate to reach each other. Perhaps a single child is in the process of being handed up and lifted to safety? The sky itself wails. There is so much grief and desperation here, that no one can breathe. All fear that the gate will not open. (This is an image of helplessness and desperation. Despite pleas from across the globe, very VERY little aid has made it into Gaza. Emotionally, so many of us, so far away, are also clawing at those gates. I am just as trapped, only able to watch, on the other side, it feels)

Let My People Go- a single figure stands in front of a large, barred door. Fences line either side and people reach through in desperation. The figure is kneeling, pounding on the door. (Mark the door with blood, show bomb flashes in the back- your god would not want this) (A tweet on Twitter passed through my feed, calling for the release of Gaza civilians, to allow them to leave. They used those words, and it reminded me of a song. The Prince of Egypt has an amazing soundtrack, and the idea that the Israeli government has become like the very monster their forefathers fled from seems to be something many Jews outside of Israel are struggling with. (This is one of the ideas I am really uncertain about.))

The 'Holy Land'- it's all in ruins, from the river to the sea, every modern landmark and ancient structure. The ground is covered in a shallow layer of blood. There is nothing of value here. No honor to be found. The sky weeps and paper prayers vanish under the dust and dark. (Again, inspired by a tweet, one I saw on the first day. At the time, it horrified me, but as time has passed, I better understand the feeling behind the words, even as more and more of the landscape becomes a wasteland. They called for everyone in the region to be removed, and the entirety of it to be irradiated. Whoever wanted the ashes could have it, they said.' With the amount of blood spilled over that slice of 'Holy Land', how much longer will could anyone consider it 'Holy?')

GAZA, ISRAEL and PAINTING

So I sat down and brainstormed painting ideas. The things I am struggling with, the things I wish to say, want to be heard. Therapeutic at least, and if I do ever finish, maybe art that will speak to people. Well...

Turns out I have a lot I want to say about what's happening in Gaza. In Israel, the West Bank, and the US.

(Context?) I've been informed I'm very 'moderate'. I try very hard to look into the historical context, to see the motivations from both sides and understand them from each viewpoint before applying my oven life to them. It's put me in some interesting places, irl.

So it's easy for me to look at what's happening and want to scream. Emotions are running high, everything is happening way too fast, and too many people are talking in absolutes. (Less than usual, however. I cannot emphasize this enough. Because of the posts from people on the ground in Gaza, so many people are able to see the conflict from both sides. To see the nuance in the situation. It's harder to dehumanize people when you've been chatting with them on and off on the internet for the last couple of years.)

And what we can see is the same thing history has always told us, and the victorious have always tried to hide. The people who suffer are not the ones giving the orders. All there is, in truth, on either side, is Horror.

(I'm not going to pick apart everything in this post. Tumblr seems pretty educated on the apartheid Palestinians have been under, even if they were only recently made aware. (Propaganda and censorship, gotta love politics) and the Big News has done a good job of showcasing the devastation occurring on the Israeli side. Trying to narrow this conflict down to two sides is absolute bullshit and I think everyone here knows it. People are not their government, and not all members of a population are good. That leaves a minimum of 6 different viewpoints that would need to be considered, and all of it narrows down to innocent people suffering, and they shouldn't be.)

(I'm sorry, it's late, I can't write out the entire balancing act analysis tonight)

Anyway, back to art. A picture is worth a thousand words, but having words for your picture is great before you put paint on canvas.

So, below are the many painting ideas I've had in the last 2 hours. Just, straight from my brain, onto my clipboard, to here.

DISCLAIMER- PLEASE NOTE- I wrote these without basic filtering. I did not police my thoughts. The use of Christian imagery to convey themes and ideas happens. I don't know if that would be considered offensive, it's 2 a.m. My hope at this time (2 a.m.) is that the use of Christian imagery helps convey the message to someone of that background who would not normally pause to consider the work (In this case, part of the target audience, IE those who have so far managed to avoid giving the horror of this situation any of their time or consideration because of propaganda) The use of Christian imagery is not meant to say that one religion is better than another, simply that my mind made connections with past experiences and this is what popped out.

So feel free to inform me of your opinion on the imagery used. In the end, these are ideas, and honestly just brainstorming was very therapeutic)

I encourage others to do this themselves if they think it would help, You don't even have to post, just think of 3 or 4 paintings you would do, no matter how talented an artist you were, and what you would name them. It really helped me today, maybe it can help you.