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envihellbender · 1 year ago

Note

The Powers as serial killer avatars? :3c

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: (OCs) Noor Essa, Darja Bič, Aubrey Marsh, Meyer Brody, Roxen Vilatte, Nina Kova / Hazel de la Croix, Devyn Fraser, Bertrand Hardie, Milo de Verley, Jamie Barrett, Aidan McKennon, Sara Bayat, Cora McKenna, Rhiannon Powell,

Content: buried alive, germophobia, fear of the dark, parental abuse, murder, factory farms, arson, suicide, drowning, dolls,

The Buried

Noor Essa is a runaway who lives in the Sahara desert. They are known to the people of Cairo, although considered something of a myth. It is known people go missing, but it is often debated as to whether that is a serial killer, a mystical figure who hides in the tombs, animals, or simply exposure to the elements.

Most refer to them as a graverobber which is not entirely accurate, whilst they encase themselves in the pyramids and tombs they feel most at peace in they never actually take anything from within them. They are horrified at that prospect, they were raised to worship the dead and always find peace amongst them.

Their victims are often historians, thieves, and tourists who’ve gotten lost in the desert. They only come out at night because the daytime is too hot and dangerous in the Sahara. They kill for food, and also bury them by the tomb they currently live in as a tribute to the corpse who is sharing their home with them.

The Corruption

Darja Bič was meticulously clean, everything in her lab was sterilised several times over. That included herself, her skin was permanently a sore pink from how often she’d scrubbed at it. Ever since she’d became apart of the Corruption and those insects had begun to follow her, those worms … it had gotten worse. She was determined to be clean. Healthy. Including the victims she captured.

She wore medical gloves and a mask the entire time she touched them outside of her lab. Her breath was starting to grow short and shaken from the damp that had collected behind the medically certified mask, and her hands grew cracked, easily cut open and often infected. She always came up behind her victim, walking with her coat zipped up to the top and her hood up. She was unapproachable but seemingly harmless, until she injected them in the neck.

It was disease she was fascinated with, she simply despised the worms she had to step on five thousand times a day. She’d always been scared of them bastards and now they were everywhere. Her victims were strapped to her table screaming into their gag and pulling on their steel restraints. Today, she was going inject the handsome young man, with a combination of measles, typhoid, and anthrax.

The Dark

Aubrey Marsh was fourteen when it started. They suppose it was because their father had locked them in the cellar, they always did enjoy the dark so it hardly seemed like the punishment it was supposed to be. Their bedroom was down there now, the mattress in the floor next to the dripping water from the old, creaking boiler. The liquid became darker every day. They didn’t plan on killing their father, but after he’d killed their mother and left the corpse to rot down there with them it seemed only fair. When the creature came to them in the Dark, a promise to take care of them and help kill their father was all too enticing.

When their father came down one day, with a dog dish full of food and a bottle of water, the light switch wouldn’t turn on. He cursed, yelling at Aubrey asking what they’d done now. He should have noticed that it wasn’t the standard dark, it was pure blackness. He should have felt the two thin hands shove him down the stairs, but he didn’t. He hit the stone floor at the bottom without knowing a single thing. Aubrey stood over his corpse, and kicked him in the head. They didn’t think about their mother before they left, the one they’d killed him for.

Aubrey enjoyed dark, damp places, and began living in abandoned factories. Thankfully there were a lot of them on the outskirts of Bradford. Enough that they could stay in them for months at a time, seeing their fair few urban explorers, photographers, and occasional ghost hunters. Aubrey had fun following them, watching them grow anxious as they made their surroundings darker and darker, and had silhouettes follow them around. Leading them to the tall, wooden stairs, barely registering the small thin hands that pushed them.

The Desolation

Meyer Brody had been an arsonist for a long time before the Desolation came to him. It started when he was eight with old mattresses that people abandoned under the flyover. He’d become fixated and snorted with laughter if there happened to be a rodent sleeping in one. He didn’t watch or torture it really, is how he saw it, he was observing the flames. The death of an animal was just a coincidence. It would normally run away, still alight. He soon got bored of this however, graduating to burning down bushes and trees. He found his favourite part was going to them days later to see how they had been completely, and utterly destroyed. That became his new fascination, the flames had grown boring… now it was seeing something be turned to ashes.

It was after his third stint in juvie that he escalated. He was finally home, age sixteen, and his mother was ranting at him for how he was throwing his life away. This time it was her disapproval about how he’d refused to go to Temple with her, but let it go enough to go by herself. She said if his father was alive today he’d know what to do with him. That’s what gave Meyer the idea to go to his father’s graveside that evening, after his mother had locked the door. He snuck out through his bedroom window, and picked the lock to the shed, pulling out some of his fathers old things. A shovel and pick axe. He ended up walking instead of taking his bike.

His original plan was to dig up his father and set alight to the body, but when he saw a group of irritating boys from school there he couldn’t help but feel anger running through his chest. They saw him, shouted antisemitic slurs and called him a freak, as they always did. He wasn’t really thinking when he picked up his shovel, nor when he smacked each one over and over again. The one who tried to run away he didn’t hit quite so cleanly, the metal sliced through his temples, and his shovel slammed through his victim’s skull.

He piled them all in an open grave of his own creation, and of course he set them alight. It became a tradition after that, he’d find people, anyone would do, and watch them burn to death. He wasn’t sure when the Desolation came to him, he supposed it was when he met Jude, and when she introduced him to Agnes. He didn’t have quite the same devotion to her that Jude did, all he could think about was how he’d appreciate what Agnes had far, far more than she did.

The End

Roxen Vilatte could often be found in the corner of the Sweetwater brewery, despite the fact he never ordered a drink no one told him to leave or even paid him any mind. He sat there with a book and a chess set - an ancient, battered thing. People didn’t look at him twice, they either didn’t think anything was odd about this or they simply found him too frightening to ask. The only time anyone spoke to him was to challenge him to a game of chess, he’d smirk and agree, his voice a thick Louisiana drawl. He’d roll up the sleeves of his red plaid shirt and watch his opponent intently, always choosing black. He won, of course. The player would always leave him pale and shaking, as if they’d looked into the face of the devil himself. Strangely enough, not a single one managed to live until the end of the week.

Was Roxen killing them? Certainly. Well. In a sense. You see, they killed themselves he always said. They chose the chess game, they should have known from the strange carvings on the side of the board there was something odd about it. He never forced anyone to play, or even approached anyone for a game. He always waited for them to come to him. The fact he was more clear and inviting to a certain type of person and forgotten by others was a strange coincidence. The fact they all were killed from suicides, despite none having any history of mental illness or suicidal thoughts prior to this was also an odd little connection. Nothing to do with him, of course.

One day, a tall, thin young man with a thatch of red hair and bright green eyes came in, sitting opposite Roxen. He was somewhat known in the town as the strange boy in the old farmhouse who lived with his grandmother. He wasn’t old enough to drink yet but that didn’t stop the bar from serving him a good whiskey and coke. He sipped at it as he sat down challenging Roxen to a game, immediately Roxen did not like the young man. For one thing, he hadn’t chosen to appeal to him - he simply… approached. For another, he was smug, and that was infuriating to Roxen. He accepted the offer against his better judgement, and they played for hours. By the time the what had been the mid afternoon sun had set, the young man proudly declared checkmate - the first one to ever beat Roxen. As he stood astounded, staring at the board the young man simply said: “well, guess I gone an’ escaped death today.”

The Eye

Few knew of Nina Kova, the Dutch immigrant living in Paris, but her professional alias of Madame Hazel La Croix was known all over mainland Europe in the right circles. Her shop was on the river Seine, and came to life at night. Large neon lights declared precisely who she was to anyone who would pass: MADAME HAZEL LA CROIX’S MAGICAL EMPORIUM. Underneath it declared her as a psychic medium who offered one-to-one sessions, groups, performances, and seances, as well as expensive and specialised store of everything from new age to occult to witchcraft related tems. Customers often came from all over Europe, and sometimes further afield, to see her, or buy her stock. She refused interviews and any filmed performances, which increased her credibility to many.

The reason for Hazel’s esteem was how accurate everything she said was. Many sceptics tried to go to catch her out, but they couldn’t deny that when her eyes switched from their soft brown to a bright green and she asked if you had a grandfather named Manuel who died of a stroke and used to take you walking in Per Lachaise cemetery with his dog… it was hard to dispute. Every time she asked a question she had a smirk on her lips as she stared directly into your soul. She knew precisely how accurate what she was saying was. She knew. Sceptics would try to deny it on occasion but they’d splutter and she’d sigh, asking if they could please be honest.

Despite her fame, that did not mean she stopped her hobby she’d developed from childhood. It started with her mother, she’d pretend to give her messages from their dead father, through automatic writing and knocks in the walls. Her mother believed it and quickly Hazel found herself being displayed to leering adults who’d poke and prod and ask intrusive questions. They were happy to use her as a party trick, and despite her hating the whole ordeal she learned to use it to her advantage. Her mother would charge obscene amounts of money, and Hazel tormented her with horrible messages from her father. “He” said how she was a monster who he never loved, how he was having affairs throughout their entire marriage, that she should atone through acts that greatly benefited her daughter. When her mother has been driven mad, Hazel grew bored and decided to have her father declare she should hang herself. Hazel found she could be extremely persuasive, and she never quite understood why. She giggled as she saw her mother hanging. So naturally when she was gifted with the Eye, there was only one thing to do.

The Flesh

People didn’t expect Devyn Fraser to be a vegetarian, they were a chef at a high end restaurant that regularly served meals like veal and foie gras, how on earth could they be? They had a simple answer for that, everyone who eats meat or harms an animal would get what was coming to them. They said with a smirk as the smell of duck and steak filled the restaurant. They’d then laugh, as if it was a joke, setting the everyone around them at ease. As if they weren’t sizing up the man who’d ordered a bloody steak, who joked he wanted it still alive. Or the woman who asked for veal without batting an eyelid. They wouldn’t be eating at the restaurant again, not that they knew it when they left happy and full. Sometimes laughing with their friends or partner. They didn’t see the tall, chubby cook who was watching them intently - already having asked for the customers payment information.

Devyn enjoyed making their victims suffer the way the animals they had a part in killing suffered. The domain of the Flesh was a factory farm after all, and they enjoyed bringing them through the torment until they got bored of the new meat. A customer who ordered the veal, in this case a tall, willowy woman with a button nose and smug expression, was locked in a dark room. It was so small she couldn’t sit up comfortably, she’d been stripped to just her underwear, fed only lard and water through tubes that were pressed through the wall into her mouth. She couldn’t scream, her throat was too dry for that, all she could do was wait and think. She was completely alone with her thoughts, waiting to die, just like the animal she ate.

Those who are the steak got a similar death, in this case a stout man with curly brown hair and a crooked jaw. He awoke completely naked squeezed in a cage with other men like him, he attempted to speak with them but they looked at him with glassy expressions and only spoke in low grunts. Once a day an attendant, a tall, misshapen man, appeared. His torso was bumpy in some places and also oddly thin and lacking any muscle definition in others, his arms and legs had too many joints and bulged out at the wrist and ankles. He injected them all with a strange cocktail of medications, based on the way their chests grew and muscles depleted it seemed to be some form of hormones. Their troughs were filled with slop, and Devyn only came to see them when they walked them to the abattoir, asking if they enjoyed their last meal. They did work very hard on it after all.

The Hunt

Bertrand Hardie arranged the Hunt every year, and it was always quite the success. The attendees were those devoted to his same patron, regardless of whether they were avatars, agents, or his old friends. The Hunt was based on a tradition his great grandfather had created, of taking his friends and those of his class on a gigantic hunting trip once a year. The difference was that they traditionally hunted animals - foxes, rabbits, badgers, moles, and the like. Upon being chosen to become apart of the Hunt Bertrand had took in his stride, he was delighted by the prospect even. It also gave him an idea, the annual Hardie Family Hunt would he reborn, it had last taken place until a few years before Bertrand’s father’s health had declined. After the man’s death and Bertrand’s rebirth it seemed right to bring it back. Only this time, there would be one crucial difference. The prey, game, or whatever you like to call them were people.

The victims were collected in the months leading up to it - often they were captured from the streets, hiking in the highlands, or anywhere else stragglers tended to hang out. It would rarely be Bertrand, he obviously did not lower himself to talk to them directly before he started the game. The agents who picked up the game were charming, offering a kind ear, and in a lot of cases a warm meal and a place to sleep. In Aberdeen itself it was harder, they were more streetwise and on watch there. People actually looked out for each other. That was a problem. It was the outlying towns were no one blinked when a homeless twenty something disappeared. Between the time they were caught and the Hunt, the agents brought them back to the holding cells, as Bertrand called them. In reality it was a large country manor, and each prey was looked inside one of the bedrooms, they were well furnished enough with en-suite bathrooms… but having to ask for help with the slightest thing, such as how they kept the hot water and electricity off unless they requested it. And they needed a good reason.

Bertrand stood on the outskirts of the mountain, the one owned by the Hardie family with manned barriers around the edges to make sure no one escaped. He wore a smart tartan flat cap, a large coat, and held a obscenely sized shot gun. As the Hunt took over his body, his nose and chin grew into something representing a snout, his teeth sharper, and his eyes narrowed. His body grew taller and his muscles developed. He didn’t wait for the beginning of the game to be announced, as soon as he caught the sent of the first human, he ran, fixated and unblinking on the path he needed to take. The game has been released all over the mountain, and now it was their job to find them.

The Lonely

Milo De Verley was a handsome young man, which was not harmed by his soft French accent and thick blonde eyelashes. His eyes were the shade of caramel, and his curls made him look almost angelic. So when he showed up at the house of a victim, claiming to be a long lost nephew, cousin, or perhaps the son of a dear friend, it was hard to accuse the man of lying. He had always fallen upon hard times, and desperately needed a family member or friend. He was polite and threw in a good story which painted him as the victim, and the target as a possible hero. People were eager to help him, and Milo had a type.

His victims all fit the following standards: lived alone, had friends or family visit less than once a month, divorced or widowed, no pets, and a generous income. The latter was the most important for the beginning of his plan. Somehow, when he spoke of barely being able to afford the hotel he was staying in, he’d get talked into spending the night at his target’s. He was family after all (or as good as.) He’d cook them breakfast as a thank you, what a charming boy he wasl. He did all their shopping to let them know he was grateful. In fact, with all his help they barely needed anyone outside their home at all. Soon they became dependent solely on him, they helped Milo, and now he’s as helping them, keeping them drugged and pliant.

When the victims were found, Milo played the teary eyed loved one so well. He seemed heartbroken, going on how they were all he had and the same was true the other way around. None of the deaths were treated as suspicious… which is strange, since every single one of them had an obscenely high level of arsenic in their blood.

The Slaughter

Kutlay Androu’s Battle & Glitch was a rare find these days, so when Jamie Barrett found it in Mega-Bytes, his local retro video game café/shop, he was convinced it was a fake. He remembered the story from his childhood in the nineties, it was all they talked about at St Joseph’s Primary School for a few months and he’d always been fascinated by the story. He didn’t actually know anyone who bought the game, but he saw the advert on TV. The premise was quite simple, it was a fighting game that seemed similar to Streets of Rage but you took advantage of ‘glitches’ in the game to attack your enemies. This could be causing them to be thrown up in the air with their limbs flying off, or zooming through them and causing them to explode. He remembered excitedly discussing it with his friends and begging his parents for the game. They insisted that he’d get it him for Christmas but by then every copy had been recalled from the shelves. Jamie decided whether this game was fake or not, for £6.50 he could take the risk.

The story of the game was that it had been found in the possession of six different mass murders. Jamie remembered them, and they all definitely happened. There was Erin Dunn - a fifteen year old in Dundee who killed eight civilians and six police officers with a hammer from her dad’s tool shed. She was a quiet, studious girl who never raised her voice, she’d never even got into a fight or argument with anyone. She had a good group of friends, a happy middle class home… no one could figure out what would cause her to snap. Then Robbie Turner from Inverness who took an axe to his work colleagues. One day he was a happy go lucky project manager, next he came in and slashed them to bits. The other one Jamie remembered was Breagha Lynch, when they found her at supermarket she stacked shelves at she was sat in her manager’s chair wearing his skin. Normally, this sort of thing would get dismissed as hysteria, but the fact each one played the game for three days straight before each attack seemed too much of a coincidence to ignore. From what the families’ of the killers said, this game hypnotised them for three days. On the third day, they got up as normal, and they had an extreme, intense anger. Erin trashed her living room before storming out of the house, Robbie threw his computer across the room before going on the attack, Breagha was seen chewing on a colleagues arm she’d ripped from their body. Whether it was the cause or not, the games were recalled.

Jamie was practically giddy as he set up his old mega drive, he’d sent a picture of it to a couple of his old school friends. Lyall responded with a few laughing emojis and adding that he better have an axe in hand. Austin on the other hand seemed less amused by it, after an hour or so he replied with a message begging Jamie not to play it. He assumed Austin was joking, but was a little perturbed by how serious he seemed. He decided to ignore it for now, instead setting up his new game. He sat on his floor cross-legged with a large packet of Doritos, grinning from ear to ear as the intro played. It seemed fairly standard, a muscular pixelated protagonist who couldn’t stand still and was surrounded by streets and blood splatters. When the name filled the screen there was a huge crack on the screen that was filled with static and jagged colours that then morphed into the word ‘Glitch’.

After two days, Austin MacKay - an old friend of Jamie’s - was sent an odd text message from him. Simply: “Do you think the Pied Piper had bagpipes?” He wasn’t sure how to respond, so decided to leave it. Another day later was even more peculiar, it was then he received: “it would’ve been funnier if Robbie Turner had played Golden Axe instead”. Austin wanted to phone the police then, but he didn’t have anything to go on other than an urban legend and a couple of strange text messages. Perhaps if he had have done, he thought for a long time afterwards, maybe Jamie wouldn’t driven his car through that shopping mall, driving through as many people as he possibly could.

The Spiral

Aidan McKennon enjoyed people thinking he was a faerie, he supposed it made sense - he grew up Ballymote and whilst it’s not that they believed in faeries exactly… It was that they didn’t test them just in case, and when Aidan became a strange, distorted being of fear… perhaps ‘faerie’ was the closest word most people could think of to describe something like him. Before he changed, he was five foot three, his long black curls went past his shoulders and he’d spent since the first day of his puberty fifteen years trying to hide his breasts and hips. When the Spiral took him, or rather when he happily and willingly ran through the doorway, knowing it would take him from his miserable, isolating life, he did it so that he could grow six inches, flatten his chest, and deepen his voice. Of course his limbs stretched even further, his fingers, arms, and legs. His hands were distorted, his blue eyes had become pits of black, and his hair more like an oil filled mass. Almost like the illustrations of the fae he’d seen, and he fully intended to use this to his advantage.

Aidan wandered around the foggy hills and mountains of County Sligo, tricking walkers and ramblers, and helping them get lost. He’d appeared as mirages, tempting them as a way out, a friendly face, but disappearing causing them to become even more lost in the wilderness. He’d sometimes talk to them, his voice could be a charming lilting tone, or it could be a menacing, angry growl. He switched between the two depending on what the situation called for. He could grow, and shrink. When he was cut or hurt, his wounds leaked moss, and healed over with mushrooms. When he walked, it was as if his legs were tree branches, spindly and rooting themselves into the ground. When it came to the stormy days, with heavy rain and dense fog, he didn’t bother trying to maintain his more human shape, instead he let the rain take care of his leaves and grass that grew in the crooks and folds of his body.

The fear of those lost in the countryside did keep Aidan sated, but every now and then he needed more. It was quite simple, he’d lead a curious tourist to a ring of mushrooms he’d planted - a “faerie ring” they were too stupid to ignore. They’d sometimes take photos, often step inside, and when they did that’s when Aidan would strike. He’d cause them to feel like they were being dragged into the grass beneath them. They’d willingly given themselves to him, and as a result he’d take them to his labyrinth. He’d sit above it, usually hanging upside down and swinging in the railing. He enjoyed watching his Minotaur follow them through it, and observing as they slowly realised the victims were trapped eternally.

The Stranger

Sara Bayat whistled as she put the finishing touches on the dress she was making for her new doll. The template she had drawn was based on the photograph of her mother back in Mashhad when she was a teenage girl. It reached her feet, the fabric a navy blue with gold and silver stars sewn into it. Her hijab was a beautiful silk, a navy that blended into her dress. She spoke to her sewing machine about how good of a job it was doing.

She put the finishing touches on the beautiful blonde curls made of real human hair on the wig she was putting together for the doll. Ever since she first came into contact with Nikola Orsinov she’d had the ability to breathe life into her toys. However, now she didn’t want to speak to people. She just wanted dolls. So there was an obvious, clear solution. She just had to make more dolls. The wig she was creating was based on another photograph on her notice board, a photo of Ingrid Burgman from Casablanca. She learned to make dolls from her mother, her grandparents own a nice little store in Mashhad. A toy store where they made nearly all of the products themselves, Sara had only seen it in photos - like everything in Mashhad. A strange city full of strangers who’s faces only stood out to her form colourful photographs. They weren’t real. None of them were real.

Sara stood proudly in front of her new doll, it was a few inches shorter than she was and slimmer. Sara carefully sewed on the doll’s wig, slapping her when she moved and cried too much. Sara would prick her doll in the scalp with every stitch, seemingly indifferent to the blood that dripped down her neck. Sara kissed her doll’s forehead, humming to herself as she thought of how well this one would fit in with all the others. Her army’s of dolls that would slowly be apart of Nikola’s circus alongside her mannequins.

The Vast

Cora McKenna had another photo printed in National Geographic. She’d gotten to the point where she stopped caring much - it was the fifteenth now after all - but she was particularly proud of this one. Her work had already been creating buzz in the art world, she specialised in underwater photography and had a knack for finding unique spaces. They said her work created a terrifying sense of open, unending dread. A sheer vastness unthinkable by the human mind. This photo had been marvellous, glorious, the best experience of her entire life.

It was deep sea diving in the North Sea with her then girlfriend Shona. Cora had been disappointed with how much Shona had struggled with diving, she complained the whole way there despite knowing how important it was to Cora. When she got there, she insisted she didn’t want to do it, Cora had to practically force her into the diving suit. She was tempted just to push her in, but she knew that would never work. Instead Cora gave her an ultimatum, she can be on the boat alone or come with her. Cora was very careful to highlight all of the things that could possibly go wrong on the boat, causing Shona to make the sensible decision.

Cora was glad she couldn’t hear Shona as she clumsily swam after her. She could sense her unease and anxiety, and was sure she would be complaining the entire time. Still, there was something satisfying and enthralling about how terrified Shona was behind her. Cora couldn’t explain how she knew where to go, her gut dragged her there. It dragged her down into the cave and through the tunnel. Shona tried to tap her many times to signal to her she was concerned but Cora ignored her. Eventually they reached the cavern, where Cora got her photograph.

When she looked up, she couldn’t even see the sky, and she swore that when she turned around the cave had disappeared too. All she was was the glorious empty sea, a gorgeous free landscape of pure water. She closed her eyes and let her limbs hang there as she saved moon ured it, ignoring Shona tugging on her arm. When Cora opened her eyes she saw them, a mass of moon jellyfish beneath her feet. One rose up in front of her eyes, a lone jellyfish against the empty void of sea. She took a glorious photo, the jellyfish barely a foot in front of her face with the mass of water behind her. When she turned round, expecting to see Shona’s excitement instead she was crying, rambling something as if she forgot Cora couldn’t hear her. She sighed and did what she always had to do, she grabbed Shona’s oxygen tube and yanked it out. Smirking as she saw Shona struggle, confusion and betrayal in her eyes as Cora saw her process that she was going to die alone in a gigantic sea of nothingness. Her body would be stuck there forever. When Shona drifted off Cora sighed, this was the eighth girl she’d brought here. It was a shame no one appreciated it like she did.

The Web

Rhiannon Powell was very good at her job, she worked for her local church in Beaumaris and volunteered for the mental health hotline. She was easily the most asked for whenever anyone had a request, the young woman worked the night shift mostly, and did so without expecting a single thing in return. She had a bright smile, blonde hair tied back in a sensible ponytail and wore jeans and a blouse every day. She was often alone, meaning when she was actually there she had the power to do and say whatever she liked. The Chaplin trusted her to do her best, and after all, so many of their callers asked for Rhiannon personally, as she’d helped them before. Of course, he wasn’t wrong… He simply didn’t realise that what Rhiannon considered her best wasn’t quite what he predicted.

The brilliance of the phone line is that it was completely anonymous, if the caller wished to tell the operator their name that was fine but meant Rhiannon suddenly was not interested in them. If they didn’t have a name, no identifying features then they were the perfect prey. She would always start of the same way, a bright “hello, love, how can I help?” She had a way of setting the customer at ease, after a few moments of small talks and getting down to the real problem Rhiannon would say something along the lines of: “Well, if you really want your partner to understand how you’re feeling perhaps you need to show them. A few scratches on the wrist is easy to ignore, you half conscious in a bath tub of your own blood is much more difficult.” In her sweet voice it sounded gentle, encouraging, and as if it was coming from their mother.

She always kept up with each of the suicides, she felt a string of her web pull her towards each person she spoke to. Sometimes she visited those who were still alive, she nipped in for a cup of tea and add a cheery “well, since your still alive you can’t have been feeling that bad. Thank goodness.” Knowing full well it will send them into a spiral of self doubt. She gave advice about taking care of knives to keep them sharp, the best medications to take for overdosing, and a few affirmations to repeat about how selfless and pure suicide was. She had managed to help 220 callers commit suicide after all, and she was still adamant to keep adding to that total and not let any of them escape her.

#envi writes #the Magnus archives #tma the buried #tma the corruption #tma the dark #tma the desolation #tma the end #tma the eye #tma the flesh #tma the hunt #tma the lonely #tma the slaughter #tma the spiral #tma the stranger #tma the vast #tma the web

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danwhobrowses · 1 year ago

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My Highlights of AEW x NJPW Forbidden Door 2023

Well it's time to open the door again as AEW and NJPW put on another big card PPV

Last year it was perhaps one of the best PPVs of the year, let's see how this one holds up

Spoilers for the Show

Zero Hour

Despy reluctant to participate in Chaos' Best Friendsery, including the hug

As much as I'd have loved it on the main card, it's such a big deal that AEW put Billie Starkz on a PPV show match, for a tournament, against Athena! And she held her ground

Also if you haven't been watching Athena on ROH, fix that she is practically the company's Ace

ELP's LED J A C K E T

It goes understated just how crisp both Stu and ELP are respectively, Stu never got much time because Dark Order are always set to lose while ELP is best known now for his chicanery but they are very good at the wrestling

BUSHI with the Venom half-mask

Hiromu and Cobb had a fun little mini-feud going in their match

Main Card

That fan's reaction from receiving a fistbump from Tanahashi

MJF's 'New Japan is an Indie' on his robes

The callback of using 'Coward' to goad Max against running away

And brothers, sisters and every other pronoun you declare; we ain't in Kansas, and we ain't in Chicago anymore Toto

I have my opinions on Punk, not all of them good, but I also know that AEW right now are sitting on a gold mine with these reactions to ol' CM Trunks

Also appreciate the Kojima lore to validate him being in the Owen, training in the Hart Dungeon is a good feather in your cap to use

The chop sell on the Barricade

For a man who quotes The Thing's catchphrase that's sure a lot of Hulk-isms there, brother

I am just gonna stop here and just win the whole lot of shithousery Punk is doing

Also a Stan Hansen reference in commentary, nice

Since they mentioned All Out I gotta gush about the fact that I got All In tickets, also I am intrigued with how they intend to book 2 PPVs on back to back weeks

Also how fucking lucky are we seeing Shibata in a wrestling ring this past year?

It should be scientifically studied how Garcia got that stupid dance over

Shibata and OC's handshake is meme potential I can see it

Red Shoes chant

JB finally snaps with the heel turn, that was a nasty lariat too

Eddie bringing back the 'Redeem Deez Nuts' shirt

Eddie vs Mox is still THAT FEUD

Claudio's opportunistic heel work was good here with him ducking Eddie, and taking cheap shots in front of Mox - who seems pretty reluctant about that

The Cinnabon Gone Bad being able to floor Ishii with a forearm, he knocked out ISHII, the stone pitbull, the man with no neck, the G1 bane of Kenneth Jerome Omega, and the mans just fucking decked him, I had to rewind just to watch that again like in the best way possible what the fuck?

And Hangman is still the top babyface of the company

I did not expect Eddie to save Mox from the Superkicks, that's muscle memory there

Super surprised that BCC, Shooter and Takeshita lost but it was kinda nice that Ishii got the pin

Excalibur vs Despy when?

Meaty DVD on the apron by Willow

Every time I hear it, I fucking love Elevated, top 10 modern entrance themes

It's been a hot minute since I've seen Ospreay whip out the shooting star while their opponent was on the ropes

I feel like Ospreay licking blood of his bicep was purely for his wife and the Ao3 community

Kenny empowered by the Canadian flag

The rope break unglued the crowd

OWA at 1!

Tiger Driver 91 Fucker Me!

KAZE NI NARE

Sammy has 'Brodie Forever' on his jacket which is nice

Joker Sting!?

You know, I would take a feud between Darby and Suzuki, you've got the daredevil and the man who dares the devil

Jericho 'tag me' Suzuki 'no'

Suzuki with the pose, man does what he wants

They went and got the Final Countdown for Bryan, Mr Tempest is going to the bank for this one

One of these days Okada's just gonna come out wearing Nick Jackson's attire that he's stolen and I wait for that day

Knowing in advance that Bryan fractured his right arm during this match gives me a lot more respect towards how much he did without it

Okada's dropkicks are absolutely picture perfect

Not only did Bryan beat Okada, he submitted Okada! Don't think anyone expected that

Conclusion

There were high expectations going into Forbidden Door, but if anyone tries to tell you that it's a 'two match card' feel free to slap them, because they'd probably jizz over the one Bloodline match per PPV and call it the best thing ever. This PPV had its downsides for sure, a lot of weak finishes - a couple maybe done due to injuries or Sting feeling a little loopy - so it didn't come out to its full potential, but it was still a really good night for wrestling.

I would still say in spite of everything it was still a success, but I also feel like AEW and New Japan need to consider making it a 2-Day event to fit more talent on the show, we still lacked names on AEW's side like FTR, HoB, Acclaimed, BCG (if they wanted to come on I'm not sure how Jay feels about using FD as a loophole), Miro, Ethan, Dark Order, PAC, Keith Lee, TNT Champion Christian I mean Luchasaurus, Wardlow, Samoa Joe, and names on NJPW's side like Bullet Club, GoD, Alex Zayne, Nagata, Team Filthy, Bishamon, Great O Khan, Toru Yano (let Yano and Mox face off you cowards!), Master Wato, and KUSHIDA, and this is not even bringing up all the women we could've used - which frankly, we should try to schedule an All-Women's crossover PPV with Stardom featuring DDT/TJPW, AEW/ROH and maybe even other companies' talents.

But I digress, a lot of match finishes were poor but a lot of the wrestling in matches were enjoyable, I had fun and we set up some new directions and potential rematches down the line.

Match of the Night: This is probably gonna be controversial to some but I felt that the 10 Man Tag was the best of the night. Omega/Ospreay and Okada/Danielson were really good, but they also took time to get going, and I do prefer a high-energy wrestling match to a slower technical bout. Best Attire: Tetsuya Naito, man looks like he stepped out of a masquerade party and since SANADA is just his 'regular guy' persona rather than the cold skull and we had no extended Omega attire he's really the only choice. Best Performance: I want to give it to Eddie for carrying the emotional weight of the 10-man, I also want to give it to Punk for being a proper shithouse to a mixed crowd, I also really want to give it to Danielson for wrestling a clinic with a fractured arm, but I do have to give it to Omega and Ospreay as a tie they wrestled their butts off Spot of the Night: As much as I still love Takeshita decking Ishii, it's Omega kicking out of the OWA at 1

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stvrlyte · 2 years ago

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mobile rules

- General RP rules apply, no godmodding or toe stepping, lets just have fun, yeah? Mun is 21+ and blog is 18+. Open, but lightly selective, not mutual exclusive, and OC and fandom friendly! Female muses are welcome as well, everyone is, I don’t mind at all! Multi-verse, multi-ship.

- I am low, sporadic activity for the simple fact that I work evenings in retail. Which also means I tend to be on mobile as well, but I’m still usually around to chat! I have a discord as well for mutuals who want to plot (I do NOT rp on discord, sorry!)

- I don’t do reblog karma, but lightly encourage you instead. I’m not going to come for you for anything, we’re adults here with our own focuses, I just want to have some fun here

- I do not write smut. It’s just not my cup of tea, I prefer the fade to black or insinuating.

- I don’t have any triggers but I will be happy to tag anything if anyone needs me to. I tag triggers as “content tw”

- In general, I’m pretty laid back, so if you wanna vibe with me, let's vibe. I don’t post hate or drama, you can take that outside, and I don’t have any issue with problematic content. Write what you wanna write! Be cool and we’ll have a good time.

- I only use faceless icons since the majority of my faceclaims have little to no resources. Credit for my gifs are here: xx , xx , xx , xx , xx , xx , xx , xx , xx FC gifs for Marius provided by my bae @wynterlanding

- I also don’t have any banned faceclaims per se, however I do have a list of FCs that I and close friends use that I am not as inclined to write against. They are (BOLD are hard nos):

Hozier

Emma Stone

David Mazouz

Adam Brody

Eric Dane

Troy Baker and Ryan Gosling

Ben Wiggins

Jodelle Ferland

Charlotte Ritchie

Donnie Yen

Parker Sawyers

Bradley James

Emmett J. Scanlan

Halle Bailey

Nitin Chauhan

Kayla Itsines

Phil Brooks “CM Punk”

Other’s FCs:

Penn Badgley

Ryan Destiny

Gugu Mbatha-Raw

Manny Montana (unless it’s a canon character)

Eiza Gonzalez

Bryan Dechart

list of other blogs(where I could be if I’m not here):

@itsagraywcrld (original character)

@dvrklyte (canon multimuse)

@godccmplex (original character)

@sclcmcn (original character)

#mobile rules

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karihighman · 4 years ago

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the o.c.’s seth & ryan // degrassi’s peter & sean – dressing like the other 😂

#degrassi #the oc #degrassi: tng #degrassi the next generation #the O.C.#seth cohen #ryan atwood #sean cameron #peter stone #adam brody #ben mckenzie #daniel clark #jamie johnston #wifebeaters #white tank tops #muscle tees #bad boys #i love it when my shows have parallels #my fangirl heart is happy

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godccmplex · 3 years ago

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Mobile rules

General RP rules apply, no godmodding or toe stepping, lets just have fun, yeah? Mun is 28+ and blog is 18+. Open, but lightly selective, not mutual exclusive, and OC and fandom friendly! Female muses are welcome as well, everyone is, I don’t mind at all! Multi-verse, multi-ship.

I am low, sporadic activity for the simple fact that I work evenings in retail. Which also means I tend to be on mobile as well, but I’m still usually around to chat! I have a discord as well for mutuals who want to plot (I do NOT rp on discord, sorry!)

I don’t do reblog karma, but lightly encourage you instead. I’m not going to come for you for anything, we’re adults here with our own focuses, I just want to have some fun here

I do not write smut. It’s just not my cup of tea, I prefer the fade to black or insinuating.

I don’t have any triggers but I will be happy to tag anything if anyone needs me to. I tag triggers as “content tw”

In general, I’m pretty laid back, so if you wanna vibe with me, let’s vibe. I don’t post hate or drama, you can take that outside, and I don’t have any issue with problematic content. Write what you wanna write! Be cool and we’ll have a good time.

- I also don’t have any banned faceclaims per se, however I do have a list of FCs that I and close friends use that I am not as inclined to write against. They are (BOLD are hard nos):

Hozier

Emma Stone

David Mazouz

Adam Brody

Eric Dane

Troy Baker and Ryan Gosling

Ben Wiggins

Jodelle Ferland

Charlotte Ritchie

Donnie Yen

Parker Sawyers

Bradley James

Emmett J. Scanlan

Halle Bailey

Nitin Chauhan

Kayla Itsines

Phil Brooks “CM Punk”

Other’s FCs:

Penn Badgley

Ryan Destiny

Gugu Mbatha-Raw

Manny Montana (unless it’s a canon character)

Eiza Gonzalez

Bryan Dechart

#× мσтнєявσαя∂ × { ooc }#mobile rules

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kevrocksicehouse · 4 years ago

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The Dig

The Dig. D: Simon Stone (2021). The Dig gives good taste a good name. The story of an archeological dig in Great Britain on land owned by Edith Pretty (Carey Mulligan) a middle-class widow, and her platonic friendship with Basil Brown (Ralph Fiennes) a self-taught lower-class excavator has shades of “Downton Abbey” to it (especially given cinematographer Mike Ely’s beautiful depiction of the English countryside ). Pretty hires Brown to look at some mounds she has a hunch about. They find much more than she expected, the remains of a buried ship of a person of importance. The event is a milestone in archaeology which leads to a feeding frenzy by established archaeologists to claim the dig for England. Stone doesn’t make too much drama out of this and uses it to bring in a pair of married diggers (Lily James, Ben Chaplin) whose marital troubles provide an interesting subplot. Still, the films keeps a focus on Fiennes, as a man whose class leaves him consistently underrated by more educated archaeologists and Mulligan, gauntly beautiful as a woman whose health starts to fail and has more than one reason to ruminate on what might be left behind and what may someday be unearthed. It’s a lovely performance in a lovely movie. The Dig is showing on Netflix.

Promising Young Woman

Promising Young Woman. D: Emerald Fennell (2020). Mulligan stars in another recently released film that is neither lovely nor tasteful, but incendiary and provocative. She plays Cassandra a thirty-year-old woman, still living with her parents who, every weekend goes to bars, acts falling-down drunk and waits for a nice guy to offer to get her home. The “nice guy” invariably tries to take some kind of advantage, at which point she snaps awake and humiliates him for his self-deluded swinishness. The first quarter of the movie is a cringy satire of buried misogyny in the back of dating culture and it doesn’t miss a note (It’s a nice touch that a lot of her “victims” are played by actors who’ve played charming nerds on TV - the OC’s Adam Brody is the first jerk she unmasks). When we get into the trauma that drives her to her ritual (involving a friend’s drunken rape) the film becomes a more standard revenge story but Mulligan intensifies her performance and becomes harder and scarier – we wonder how far she might go. And when she meets an old med-school buddy (Bo Burnham) and the film ventures into rom-com territory it ups the tension. We see her capacity for happiness and know that the shoe will drop any second. The movie keeps us guessing and even when its tonal shifts start to feel contrived Mulligan is always fascinating as she barrels forward on a kamikaze-ride towards a bitter last laugh. Promising Young Woman is available for rental on Amazon Prime for full ticket price.

#carey mulligan #ralph fiennes #the dig #promising young woman #review

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venii-vidii-vicii · 3 years ago

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The gangsters and their partners

Maximus: boss, asshole, narcissist, and a whole lot of unchecked anger. The only thing he loves more than himself is his bf, Frankie. Has mommy issues and struggles with the neverending need to fill his life up with SOMETHING.

Brody: runs a bowling alley as a cover up for his cartel business. Boss. Super chill. Likes to gamble and annoy Sarg who is his long time friend.

Sarg: military man except he's not. Dickhead boss. He likes to scare children by taking out his fake eye. Very short. Don't ask him how the weather is down there. He gets very angy very fast.

Franklin: musician who plays every instrument under the sun, hates cops, works at a garage, greaser. Max's boyfriend. Probably the only one with brains around here.

Glester: underground boxer, just trying to survive, didn't wanna get roped into this gang business but Brody likes him so too bad. He didn't choose the thug life, Brody and Sarg chose it for him.

Tinba: Hacker and criminal mastermind. They're the puppetmaster and the one that runs the show behind the curtain. Tinba is trans and no records of who they were before their transition exists.

Big Guy: Tinba's bodyguard. Lost his arm a long time ago and felt a new sense of purpose after Tinba had created a cyberarm for him. Now he has sworn to protect the one that gave his life meaning.

Tinba provides security and contracts for gangs, gives them intel, data, and details. They arrange heists and makes sure the gangs succeeds then split the porfit. While the three bosses all control certian districts of the city and they try to not start turf wars with one another. They're rivals but also not really. Their idea of settling their differences could be a drinking contest or something dumb like that.

#ocs #original character #oc: max #oc: frankie #oc: Brody Stone #oc: Glester Dixslaine #oc: Sarg #oc: tinba #oc: big guy #mafia #gangsters #limelight

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cb-conceptlibrary · 4 years ago

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TW: Archaeology, booby traps, adventure, stealing ancient artifacts, racing against enemies to get an artifact, near death experiences, snakes, spiders, 1930s, post WWI setting, stereotypes in foreign places, spies, parent-child relationships, mention of double agents, mention of Nazis, rituals, death, gore, sacrifice, hypnosis

Welcome to the Librarian’s Suggestions!

Today’s theme: Indiana Jones (Film series)

Plot: The original 3 films are set between the two World Wars. A young professor and archaeologist sets out to find rare artifacts that have been missing for years. Often he sets out, seeking help from allies to find the artifacts before rival archaeologists and Nazis come across them. Decked in an iconic, weather-worn fedora, trusty bullwhip and pistol in hand, he manages to outwit the bad guys and save the day, all with a bit of luck and tough grit.

The first film Raiders of the Lost Ark centers on the archaeologist trying to locate the fabled Ark of the Covenant, before his Belgian rival and the Nazis locate it. He crosses paths with an old flame who was the daughter of his mentor and she aids him in quest, albeit a bit reluctantly.

The second film Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom was treated as a prequel to the first film, set in 1935 when the archaeologist and his young sidekick, along with a helpless showgirl, escape the Shanghai mob and find themselves in India. They agree to help the locals locate an ancient stone, one of the five Sankara Stones, which was stolen from their village, along with many of the children, who have gone missing. They eventually discover that a cult has located three of the stones and plans to use them for dark, ritualistic purposes.

The third film Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade was a sequel to Raiders of the Lost Ark, in which the archaeologist receives a distressing letter about his missing father, also an archaeologist, who was looking for the Holy Grail. He eventually finds his father has been kidnapped by the Nazis, who are seeking the Holy Grail for their ruler. Along with his allies, father, and a double agent, he locates the Holy Grail’s location, and under duress, is forced to retrieve it to save his father during a shoot-out.

Later, a fourth film titled Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull came out. Set in the late 1950s, the archaeologist races against the Soviets to locate a crystal skull with mysterious origins. He is aided by a young man, who is revealed to his son from a previous relationship with his old flame from the first film.

Characters

Dr. Henry Walton “Indiana” Jones Jr.: The hero and main character of the film franchise. He is an archaeologist and teaches at an American university. Knowledgeable, quick on his feet, and brave, he tends to focus on getting the artifacts he’s hunting and to ensure they’re out of enemy hands. Skilled with a gun and a trusty bullwhip during his adventures. Despite his rough exterior, he has a caring side and is popular with the ladies. He has a fear of snakes. During his adventures, he encounters many female interests, one being Marion Ravenwood, the daughter of his late mentor. His main fear is snakes.

Marion Ravenwood: The daughter of Indy’s mentor who was in a relationship with him years ago prior to the start of the first film. He parted ways with his mentor, which hurt Marion deeply, who was madly in love with him. After her father moves to Nepal, she eventually grows up and owns a bar there, tending and challenging locals to drinking contests. Her father left her with the medallion that shows part of a map to the Ark of the Covenant, which she wears under her shirt. Years later, Indy approaches her for help with finding the Ark and she reluctantly accompanies him when thugs destroy her bar, seeking the medallion. She cares about Indy and it’s implied between the first and fourth films that they did rekindle their relationship and she gave birth to a son.

René Belloq: Indy’s rival who always follows him, steals the artifacts, and take credit for Indiana’s achievements. In the first film, he is hired by the Nazis to locate the Ark of the Covenant. He hopes to use it to talk to God. In the end, the power of the Ark kills him and the Nazis.

Marcus Brody: A curator and close friend of Indiana Jones. He is sharp and curious, often supporting Indy as a surrogate father figure.

Sallah: An Egyptian excavator who works with Indy whenever he needs help related to archaeological digs and finding rare artifacts. He has a large family and known for his hospitality to his friends. He has many connections in Egypt, often calling on them to help Indy look at objects, including the medallion leading to the Ark of the Covenant. He has a bright disposition and is always curious to see what adventures Indiana gets into.

Willie Scott: A showgirl that Indiana encounters in the prequel while trying to escape Shanghai. Originally from the US, she left for Shanghai when her Hollywood career failed to take off. She is used to living a pampered life and is quickly thrust into a dangerous adventure when she accompanies Indiana and his sidekick Short Round.

Henry Jones Sr.: Indiana’s father and a fellow respected archaeologist. When Indy was a boy, his father often neglected him, obsessed with finding the Holy Grail. Their relationship is estranged and the pair do not see each other, until Indiana is forced to look for his father when he goes missing.

There are many characters across all four films, but the list is too extensive to list in this post. Please refer to the respective Wiki for more information.

Possible Plots

Your muse is searching for a lost artifact and seeks Indiana’s assistance.

Your muse is taken as a hostage, due to enemies thinking they have some knowledge of where a rare artifact or location is. Indiana Jones helps you escape and you both seek out the artifact/location.

Your muse works for the enemy and is a double agent. After crossing paths with Indiana Jones, they have a change of heart and decide to turn good.

Your muse accompanies Indiana Jones but becomes jaded for whatever reason and decides to turn against him.

Your muse is rivals with Indiana Jones.

Notes

While the character of Indiana Jones is male, the concept can be applied to anyone who seeks adventure and finding truth in rumored places and artifacts.

Storyline is set between the two World Wars for the first three movies and post WWII for the fourth film. It is possible to adjust the years slightly for another time period.

Can overlay on top of traveler or adventurer themes.

Great mix of characters to choose from.

@yanlee (OG) @detectivexsicheng @lawyer-mingyu @mafia-chae @hanjisung-bot @softboijisung @lixielee-chatbot @mafiafelixlee @your-seunghun @vampiremomo @yoursjennie @movie-itz-twice @mleee @sydney-oc @seleneminnie @dandyboyseungminie @nvrendngstry @doll-seungmin @doll-hyunjin @doll-soobin @doll-jeongin @parisian-doyeon @scholar-lia @subbyhyunjinchatbot @yandere-bc @soft-hyunjin-chatbot @domyukhei @dungeonhybrids @yourgirl-cb @guitar-sihyeon @softiehyunjinie @darkfaeskz @fairy-yeji @retro-chae @tattooistchannie @alexandersss @playgirljennie @skz-cb @eboyfelixbot @yourdaddychan @mafiajjh @djxningning @demon-lee @moonlit-jaemin @model-lucy

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eirian-houpe · 3 years ago

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Tuesday - Chapter 2

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle (Once Upon a Time)/Nicholas Rush

Characters: Nicholas Rush, Gloria Rush, Belle (Once Upon a Time), unnamed OC

Additional Tags: going round in circles, Time Travel, Alternate Universe, Angst, Eventual Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: When you go poking around in time, you might sometimes find that it pushes back, as Nick Rush finds out… the hard way.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 2 - Do I know you

The windshield wipers moved back and forth across his field of vision so quickly they were a blur, and still he could barely see for the driving rain. Exhaustion pulled at Nicholas Rush like a man that had lived ten thousand years in a single lifetime.

“Shit!” He voiced the sudden epiphany aloud and slammed on the brakes, then spent the next few seconds turning the wheel one way and then the other, using more energy than he had, to control the slide as the tires lost traction on the rain soaked road and the car glided almost gracefully into the hedgerow, and the ditch before it.

He hissed out the expletive as the seat belt tightened around his chest to prevent his fall.

“Fuck!” he snarled again and slapped both hands against the steering wheel, before reaching for the key to try and restart the stalled vehicle. The engine coughed, but nothing more. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference even if he had got it going again. He’d never be able to get out of the ditch, not by himself. He had no choice but to call for help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that he had communicated across galaxies, and yet as he struggled to pull his cell phone out of his pocket, the words, No Service, glared at him from the top of his screen. He let out another snarling string of colorful language that became a fragile, humorless chuckle as he remembered that he hadn’t done any of that yet, and wondered whether this was the reason the Ancients had created the communication stones in the first place. He knew otherwise, but it was an amusing fantasy and stopped him from losing his temper completely.

He turned and peered into the darkness, seeing nothing but the driving rain. It would do him no good to stay with the car, if the last few hours were anything to go by, this was a road not often traveled. There would be no one come by any time soon.

With a sigh, he slipped the phone back into his jeans pocket and reached for his jacket from the back of the car, trying a second time once he’d released the seat belt, and twisted one way then another to pull it on before he opened the door.

No sooner that, than the wind driven rain blew into his face, and he began to sink into the rain soaked mud underfoot as he stepped out of the car. He leaned back in to pick up the things from the passenger seat, then slammed the door and hurried to the higher, firmer ground of the black top.

A faint feeling of Deja Vu gripped him as he looked first one way and then the other. He’d done this before, and he still had no idea where he was, or which direction he needed to go, but figured that since he hadn’t passed anywhere that looked as though it had a phone he could use, it would serve him better to continue on in the direction he’d been driving. That would be for the best.

He was soaked within seconds, and cursed himself for a fool with almost ever step, until the faint, golden glitter of light ahead sparkled off the falling rain. He breathed a sigh of relief, and put his head down, to move more quickly through the downpour.

By the time he reached the cottage, he was soaked right through to his underwear, and after knocking tried to wait as patiently as he could, listening to the faint sounds of movement from within, but after several long moments of standing with the cold rain trickling down the back of his neck, he lifted his hand to knock again.

The door was opened by a small brunette, who had a shocking white stripe descending from one temple. His belly tugged at him, sending the smallest of waves lower, to center in his groin, and he covered the sensation with an apologetic cough.

“I erm… I wonder if you have a phone I could use?” he began as the blue eyes looked him up and down. “I had a wee accident further down the road and—”

She smiled and stood aside with a gesture for him to come in. It cut him off mid explanation, and as she closed the door behind him she said, “I’ll find you some towels. Can’t have you standing there wet through, you’ll catch your death.”

The sense of deja vu fluttered though his belly again as did the strengthening of the unexplained attraction that had warmth building in his groin, and her familiarity pulled at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch or an elusive word on the tip of his tongue.

…He wrapped an arm around her waist, another into her hair, to tug her closer as they shared the heated, desperate kiss, tongues tangling…

He jumped and gasped slightly as her soft voice shattered the unexpected vision, but he could still feel her, taste her, smell the rose of her perfume.

“There’s a fire lit, if you want to get warm.”

“Thank you,” he managed, his voice thick with the desire he remembered, but knew he had never shared, and as a distraction to his obviously addled, sleep deprived mind, started to follow the sound of the crackling wood that beckoned, warm and inviting, as was the faint aroma of cinnamon that replaced the scent of roses which he smelled with every breath.

She returned a moment later, carrying a towel under one arm, and what looked like pajama pants and a folded bath robe in her hands. These she set down on the chair beside the fireplace.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Nicholas?”

The question, asked so casually, almost stopped his breath, and frowning, he looked down at her again, finally entertaining that the feelings of deja vu meant something more than his mind playing games with him.

“We’ve…”

He turned her, releasing her with one arm to sweep the things from the top of the desk in almost the same moment that he lifted her to it, and she giggled playfully as she started in on the buttons of his shirt.

“…met, haven’t we?” he asked, his tone tight with the effects of the new vision.

The homeowner chuckled and pressed the towel against the middle of his soaked chest. “We have,” she said. “But it was quite some time ago.”

“You’re going to have to try and be a bit more specific than that,” Rush glanced round at Brody, the illusion with which Destiny was currently tormenting him, “if you expect me to produce the desired results instead of, oh, I don’t know, flying us straight into the sun instead of around it?”

“There’s no need to be quite so testy, Doctor Rush.” Brody-Destiny said.

“Testy,” Rush actually looked up from the small notepad in which he was scribbling as, ahead of them, the star loomed closer and closer. “That’s rich coming from the likes of you.”

Brody… Destiny said nothing.

About to return to his work, Rush thought better of it and pointed at Brody for a moment as he said, “In fact, ever since I set foot aboard this ship, you have been the most objectionable piece of hardware I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with. Your interface is counter intuitive. Your AI, quite frankly, is temperamental at best and bordering on hostile most of the time, and when you don’t get your own way you resort to threats to make sure that we do as you say.”

He turned back to his notes then, consulting the complex mathematics he was working over multiple pages, and making cautious inputs into the navigation array in front of him.

“Wow.” It wasn’t Brody’s voice that answered him, but Gloria and a part of him cringed inwardly. What the hell made Destiny think she would be able to motivate him to solve the equations. “I love you too, Nick.”

She reached up to run her fingers through his long hair, but he swatted away the touch, much as he would have done a mosquito.

“Again,” he said with exaggerated patience, “the possibility of survival, provided I get my calculations right, or certain destruction in the heart of a dying star. Your choice.”

“Fine,” Gloria said and took a step back. “Calculate away. Don’t let me stop you.”

He put his head back down to his calculations for barely a moment before he felt Gloria’s eyes - well Destiny’s replica of Gloria anyway - boring into the back of his head and with a sigh, he half turned and said, “With you looking over my shoulder, that’s not likely to happen, is it?”

“Oh, I… would you perhaps like someone,” Gloria said, directly over his shoulder this time.

“…Less distracting,” Doctor Jackson finished, from the exact same spot.

“I’d prefer y’weren’t here at all, actually,” Rush snapped. “It’s not helpful and it’s not going to make me work any faster.”

“Killjoy!” Jackson snorted, “I knew someone once, had a bumper sticker on the back of their car that said, The closer you get, the slower I drive. They thought it was hilarious but—”

“Doctor Jackson!” Rush looked pointedly over at the far side of the room.

“Fine, fine,” Jackson muttered, moving away.

“Anyone would think you find him threatening.” Brody again, and this time, Rush looked up and almost snarled at him.

“If you must be here, then I wish you’d at least stick with one form instead of changing every two seconds.”

“Well, who would we—” Brody cut himself off. “Oh, I know. How about…”

“Hello, Nicholas.”

Rush was fairly sure he’d never heard the voice before, though was somewhat surprised - or perhaps disappointed - that Destiny hadn’t chosen Amanda to be her spokesperson. He glanced up from the calculations again, to take in the small brunette with the deepest blue eyes he thought he’d ever seen. A complete stranger to him though, and yet also intimately familiar.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” he said, a ridiculous question as of course he knew her. She was Destiny.

“Not yet,” she answered enigmatically, “but you will… quite well, as a matter of fact.”

He stared at her as though she had suddenly grown an extra head. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, surprised beyond measure - completely caught off guard.

“The star, Nicholas,” she answered softly, nodding toward the view screen. “You can satisfy your curiosity later - when we’re not all in imminent danger of being toasted to a crisp.”

“Hmm?” At his confused, distracted query she gestured again to the star fast approaching - though the truth were the other way around - Destiny’s forward viewer. “Yes, yes of course.”

Rush turned his full attention to the remaining elements of the calculation, and began rapidly punching data into the console on the arm of the pilot’s seat. He glanced over his shoulder at the figure still standing, calmly, watching the approaching star, a strange look of fond amusement on her face.

“You might want to hold on for this,” he said.

Brilliant heat and light stretched reality, like molten glass being blown on the end of a glass worker’s tube, and around him, Destiny stretched and buckled, and the light grew until it became too bright for him to see, and he screwed up his eyes, until at last, the light faded.

"Okay, who can tell me the significance of Shaw’s algorithm?”

The student stood, answered, his words all bending into one meaningless speech. He’d heard it before, it was no more helpful now than it was then.

It made his head ache at the temples. This was where it originated anyway and he remembered, if memory was what this was; if seeing visions of some point in time that he was visiting, painfully so, again and again could be called memory, risking everything in order to gain… what?

The future-memories were already fading, faster this time than the last. That wouldn’t do… that would never do.

If he forgot now, he’d just go through the motions, same old, same old - wouldn’t remember that the Gloria he carried in his head told him… will tell him… that he was not the man she fell in love with and that it was her death made him callous. Was that true? Had he… would he become that way?

He shook his head at himself. He had to find a tense for this - a way to refer to events in this never ending loop. A way to remember. Longer.

If he could do that, perhaps he could find that one key moment around which everything pivoted, and could make a change, a real change. Break the cycle. Find the answer.

Did you find what you were looking for?

He blinked, just as Gloria’s friend came running down the corridor after him… calling his name, reminding him that he had somewhere to be. Could this be it? Could this be the one factor that would send his life, and those of everyone else, veering off down another, gentler path?

He made it from the university to the oncology department in record time - less time than it should have taken. His dashboard clock read 4:06 as he hurriedly parked the car, barely pausing to lock it, before racing for Doctor Browning’s office, arriving breathless just as Gloria was being shown into the ‘inner sanctum.’ Surprised to see him - hadn’t he told her he wouldn’t be there - she smiled up at him as she sat down, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, both to her and to the Doctor who entered from another door with a file folder in his hand. “Traffic.”

“It’s all right,” Gloria told him, and took his hand to squeeze it tightly as he pulled up a chair beside her. She wasn’t to know that on every other occasion, she’d been there alone.

He sat in his office, chewing on the side of his finger as he contemplated the argument in one of the student’s papers and almost jumped when the phone rang.”

“Yes,” he answered curtly, only then noticing the time - 4:46.

“It’s back.” Her voice sounded tight. As though she were trying not appear upset or anything other than resigned.

“I had a feeling,” he said.

“You did? You… you never said so.”

“No,” he confessed, guilt crowding in on him. He should have said. He shouldn’t have blown her off that morning with empty platitudes, when the real reason he didn’t want to go with her to the doctor’s appointment was that he was afraid. Terribly afraid.

“I can’t go through this again, I can’t.” She wept then, and he didn’t know what he should say - what he could say. “Nick? Nick are you there?”

He squeezed back as the doctor sat, opened the file, and took a breath, preparing to tell them what they both feared. This wasn’t his answer.

The room above his head spun as he levered himself up, reaching for the bottle and the glass, bring them together to pour a stream of amber liquid into the tumbler, and then straight into his mouth. Half of his drunken self wondered why he didn’t just abandon the glass altogether.

“Cut out the middle man,” he slurred, even while pouring another couple of fingers into the whiskey glass.

“Pardon?” A voice interrupted his valiant attempt to get so hammered that he didn’t remember he’d lost— He frowned then. How the hell did this man get into his house. Hadn’t he locked the door? Doctor Jackson evidently caught his sour expression, and immediately added, “I’m… sorry, I… I rang the bell several times, the er… door was open.”

“Yes,” he agreed, sitting up and rubbing at his bleary eyes.

“I’ve got some great news,” Jackson said. “Our source among the Lucian Alliance has come through. We’ve got the location of a planet that just might suit our power requirements.”

He looked up at the man, blinking as he picked up his glasses, and put them on. The world became clearer, but no less unstable… still spinning. “Then let’s go,” he said, and when Jackson made no move he added, “What are we waiting for?”

“I’m… thinking maybe it’d be better if we, er… You should maybe sober up first, hmm?” Jackson leaned down to help him up, and Rush could tell by the expression on his face that he must smell as bad as he suddenly felt, a thought confirmed a moment later, when Doctor Jackson added, “Aaand maybe a shower and a change of clothes.”

Water, like hot needles fell down over his head, cascading onto his body, chasing away the fog that marred his brain, but forming a swirling mist at his feet. He covered his hands with soap, and used the soap to scrub away the foul sweat that his body expelled, remnants of the alcohol with which he was drowning himself, numbing himself to his grief.

As the numbness lifted, memories flooded in. Her face, her smile, the way he’d let her down - put work before his love for her, for fear of losing her, and losing her anyway; throwing himself into the depth of despair that could only be born by driving himself to the edge of exhaustion with work, or as then, at the bottom of a bottle.

He laid his forehead on the class of the shower, his mouth open, his body wracked with silent sobs, swallowed by the steam still rising in the captive compartment and…

…Rush shuddered, taking a huge, uncomfortable breath as the stasis field faded, then blinked out and he slumped against the perspex door that began to lift away, rising to deposit him on the cold of the deck; his shallow breath fogged in the frigid air.

“No, no, no,” he gasped.

Coughing, still shivering, Rush rolled onto his back, forcing his eyes open and searching through the blurred vision for something, anything, that might get him out of the deadly nature of his situation. He spotted the lone EVA suit against the glass of the last closed and functioning stasis chamber.

He reached with a hand that was fast becoming numb, grasped the ridge of the wall and began to drag himself toward it.

“Not again… Not. Again.”

#rushbelle #au #time travel #going round in circles #angst #eventual smut #hurt/comfort #tuesday

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