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babybatscreationsv2 · 4 years ago

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A King on a Leash ch3

Marvel | Starker

Tony Stark is a powerful man with a beautiful husband and a loyal crime family, but it looks like he didn't keep his husband on a short enough leash. After turning Peter lose on a Cuban gang leader, Peter's life is in danger. The real trouble is that Tony now realizes that Peter is the only thing in this world that he cares about and he never meant for that to happen.

Rating: Explicit

Full Fic

A Doll on a String

Warnings under the cut*

Warnings this chapter: mentions of violence and murder

Tony at sat at the dining table and stared at the far wall caught between a daydream and a serious self-flogging. He was the fucking Boss of a motherfucking crime family and here he was pouting and daydreaming about his husband. Peter had only been gone a few hours. He'd given him a kiss and then ran off to the theater for practice. Maybe he should start going to Peter's meetings. No... no Peter deserved the time and the privacy with his friends.

Tony took a deep breath and he caught scent of Peter's skin still clinging to him. He had scratches on his back from his manicured nails. Tony could hear the echoes of his cries as he'd clung to him, near sobbing in pain and pleasure. Tony licked his lips. Fuck, the way his angel had slaughtered that whole boat for his sake. God, he was hard.

He could call him and Peter would come running home. He could grab him, strip him down, lick every inch of his skin.

He couldn't do that though. They had the trust that they did because neither of them pulled stupid shit like that. He couldn't interrupt something important because he was needy and Peter's dancing was important to him.

Tony groaned. He slapped his own face. "Get it together, Stark. There's work to do."

He pulled himself up from his chair and went to take a shower. He indulged himself a little more, thinking about Peter waiting for him in a lounge chair, splattered with their enemy's blood. He got himself off then he washed away Peter's scent from his skin. No more distractions.

Dressed in his suit, all black to balance Peter's taste for pure while, he finally went to take care of business.

He drove himself, followed loosely by a guard. They made their way into the city and down to the warehouse. Tony stepped out of the car and smoothed the lapels of his suit. He let the guard enter first to check the room before he stepped inside. The day's product was being packaged. There were the gold bars that Peter had recovered, whatever drugs Bucky was peddling, not a lot going out of the warehouse today, but that wasn't really where the money was at anyway. The money was in the casinos, Sam Wilson's jewelry shop, Steve's cafe. Legitimate businesses, until you went into the back. The casinos were rigged, Sam sold illegal and precious jewels, and Steve had his girls. That was the funny thing about Steve. He was so straight laced and caring, but he made his money in prostitutes. He treated them well though. Well enough that even Natasha never bothered him about it.

Tony strode his way into the back, ignoring the greetings of the associates on the floor. He preferred them to fear him. If they thought he was friendly, then they would be inclined to betray him. They would expect mercy where they would find none.

Rhodey was waiting for him outside the office.

"You gotta put that boy on a leash, Tony," he said, not for the first time.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Who did he kill now?" He pushed open the door and Rhodey followed him inside.

"I'm talking about Suarez."

Tony turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "That second rate gang banger?"

Rhodey closed the door and stepped further into the room. "His men are going wild trying to track Peter down. They're not stupid. They know Peter was on that boat, they know he was an outsider, and they know that their boss never came home."

"So they haven't found his body yet?" Tony sat at his desk and picked up his book. Yinsen must have been too busy to stick around this morning. Sometimes he just dropped it off.

"They will. They have divers going down there this afternoon. From the story that's circulating the boys, it's gonna be pretty damn obvious what happened."

Tony asked, pointedly ignoring him. "Did Fisk get his diamonds back?"

Rhodey stared.

Tony sighed. "What's the big deal? They don't even know Peter's last name and there's a million Peters in New York. They'll never find him. They won't come after us. And if they do, I'm sure it'll be no big deal to sweep them off the board."

"You don't get it, Tony. Your boy goes and fucks with powerful people and then we all get fucked. When they find out who did it and then come looking for trouble we're gonna lose good people. I know you don't give a damn about our soldiers, but what happens when it's one of your Capos? The people you do give a shit about? What the fuck kind of family doesn't take care of their own?"

"You're going too fucking far, Rhodes," Tony snapped. He ground his teeth. He didn't want to fight with Rhodey, not him. He was the only one that ever made sense. Only now he wasn't.

"You stay the fuck out of my husband's business. Capiche?"

Rhodey took a step back. "Right. Got it?"

"Now, did Fisk get his diamonds?"

"Yeah, he got the fucking diamonds. Sent a fucking convoy to deliver them late last night. Didn't figure he'd wanna wait until morning."

"That's a good call. He'll appreciate that."

Rhodey sighed. "Why are you trying to win his favor anyway? He's a piece of shit. Word is he's still trafficking. Kids even."

Tony hardened himself, refused to hear the truth in it, refused to let it bother him. "I need someone to back me up at the meeting this weekend."

"What's going on?"

"Toomes keeps prodding at the whole Octavius bullshit."

"What do you mean?"

"He thinks Peter should pay for killing him, despite what happened."

Rhodey gave him a very 'I told you so look'.

"What? I'm supposed to throw him to the wolves? If it hadn't been him, it would have been you and you I can't protect."

"I'm not convinced you would try."

Tony ignored that too. He had enough to deal with. "He keeps trying to cast doubts on. Make him seem disloyal. I'm inclined to cut out his tongue for how many times he's put Peter's name in his mouth."

"You can't keep killing Bosses, Tony."

"I know that. But Toomes needs to be put in his place. He's getting too bold. Having Fisk on my side helps. Everyone respects him, or fears him at least."

Rhodey didn't say what Tony knew he was thinking. 'They used to respect you.' Maybe he did need to reign Peter in a little. At least make sure he doesn't murder anymore gang leaders. Let him keep pruning the weeds among the associates. Profits had been up since Peter joined the family. Plus it made his angel happy. It gave him a way to feel like he was protecting Tony without being in harm's way. Which meant that it was exactly what he needed to be doing. And he couldn't say he didn't like watching his baby go to town on some snitch... He had to stop thinking about Peter if he was going to get the books done.

Rhodey left him alone, though he left with a grim expression on his face. Tony cleared his mind and returned to his work.

Yinsen kept detailed records of every penny that came and went. He kept up with what each Capo was doing every day and made sure that proper records were kept of money and of behavior. Any suspicious activity from any Capo or soldier was reported to Tony twice per week. Unless of course, it were more serious. That's what the book was for. Yinsen insisted on keep paper records only. Things that could be destroyed at a moment's notice and could not be simply hacked into for information. It was occasionally inconvenient, but Tony understood his reasoning. Besides, Yinsen was one of the only people Tony had genuine trust for. After all, he'd been tortured near to death for Tony's sake. That had been Obediah's doing.

The books looked fairly clean. Money was flowing exactly as it should, but Yinsen had caught wind of a solider belonging to Steve who was misbehaving. Steve had already put him in check once. That meant it was Tony's turn and if Tony couldn't get him to fall in line, then Tony would let Peter have him.

It was a good system. One that Rhodey had no business questioning. He could be so soft sometimes.

Tony tucked the book away in his safe and stepped out of the office. His guards followed behind. They drove on down the road to park in the back of Steve's cafe 'Patriot Brew'. The name drew a handful of white supremacists who Steve was quick to take out back and deal with. The thing that amused Tony was that he hadn't picked the name as a sort of trap for domestic terrorists, he was just the sort who genuinely believed in his country. If Tony admired anything about the states, it was how easy it was for organized crime to thrive, but he didn't give a fuck about patriotism.

He knocked on the backdoor and was let in after a moment. He allowed one of his guards to enter first. Steve was in the kitchen, pulling cookies out of the oven. Tony leaned against counter and plucked up a cookie that was already cooled.

"Nice mitts, soldier boy." Tony pulled a piece off of his cookie and chewed it.

Steve set down his tray and each of his star-spangled oven mitts. "Do we really have to do it like this? Mark's a good guy?"

"You couldn't get him in line so now I have to," Tony said with a mouthful of cookie.

His shoulders sagged. "Would it really be so bad if he opened his own business?"

"Do I really have to answer that?" Tony took another bite of his cookie. "We both know he's not looking to open a bakery. And with him trying to go behind your back like that? How did you punish him anyway? Make him mop the floors?"

Steve stared. It was a look that conveyed both 'I'm not going to answer that' and 'You wouldn't like the answer' yet with Steve these things were not necessarily mutually inclusive.

"If a soldier wants to open a business you make him lick your boots first and then cut you thirty percent. Keep being soft on your boys and you'll wake up with a knife in your back."

"I encourage my people to be successful and on their own terms."

"They ask permission and they pay their dues. We have a system for a reason. What happens when your boy opens up a shop across the street? Who's gonna come here when there's something hot and new nearby? We don't create competition within the family. He could have had a place where he could have gotten all ambitious, but he lied and he went behind your back. He's lucky to be getting another chance."

Steve folded his arms across his chest. "If Peter had it his way, he wouldn't get another chance."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Why is everyone so soft today? We're the fucking mob, get used to it. Now where's your boy? Mark, was it?"

Steven sighed. "Make it clear I'm not allowing him to have his own girls, I don't trust anyone else with that."

"Why couldn't you tell him yourself, Rogers? Anyone else would have had this handled."

"So, I'm soft on my guys, alright? Does that make you happy? They're all the family I have."

"Family," Tony grumbled. "We're all a family. And sometimes moms and dads have to discipline the children."

"And who disciplines us?"

"God?" Tony shrugged. He walked past the man. "Box up some cookies for Peter. He likes the blue sprinkles."

He heard Steve huff when he left the room. If he didn't know how much his men liked Peter, he would worry about the way they talked. Maybe they thought he was a little wild, but they would let themselves get caught holding the knife to protect him. If he thought otherwise, he would kill every last one of them.

#starker #marvel #mafia au #a king on a leash

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holyfool-arcana · 4 years ago

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The Holy Fool: Chapter 2

The Waters Taketh Away

Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: Mentions of infant death and murder Rating: M Description: An Arcana AU set in a Vesuvia that is half-noir and half-fantasy.

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“Doctor Devorak, if you do not cease and desist, we will have no choice but to take you into custody!” snapped one voice, the annoyance in it softened by the fact that the owner of said voice was obviously trying to suppress a yawn.

“Shouldn’t we get this body to a morgue, get an autopsy report in, identify the corpse, inform the family?” another voice cuts in rapidly-- “That’s standard protocol, why would you just leave a dead baby lying around--”

Asra had trooped on ahead when Liuyin hesitated at the fringes of the forming crowd, tugging his companion after him till they reached the source of the voice.

“Ilya,” the magician greets, and the name almost seemed like a spell-- the tall, gangly man going red-faced from his haranguing had shut up, almost literally, his jaw clicking as he slammed his mouth shut.

His eyes widened, almost to a frantic degree, and Liuyin suspected this new flush was from something other than aggravation as he offers the two of them a small smile that bordered on nervous. “Ah, good morning Asra--”

“Magician,” Asra corrects steadily, seeming to grow increasingly unfazed the more flustered Doctor Devorak seemed. He gestured to Liuyin. “And this is--”

“Liuyin Mei, administer of last rites and curses, blessings, the such,” Liuyin replied, breaking the tension between them by offering their hand to the doctor. “Pleasure to meet you, Ilya.”

“Oh, it’s Julian now,” the man replied, stooping down and pressing a kiss to the back of Liuyin’s hand. “It’s wonderful to see such a lovely face in the midst of such chaos.”

A business card is pressed into their hands, and Liuyin had glanced between it and the man, now straightened to his full height, before they’d tucked the card into their sleeve. “Ilya, that’s enough--” Asra says, a faint note of vexation in his voice. “Constable Marlin, take us to the corpse, please.”

The mustachioed, portly gentleman nods, gesturing them forwards, whilst they shouldered past a few more civilians and reporters starting to gather around a cordoned-off area of the docks, where two bundles lay on the ground, side-by-side.

“When the salvage team found the body and the arm, was there anything else present?” Liuyin turned to a detective on the scene.

The detective turns to Liuyin, frowns, then shakes their head. “No, sir,” they’d replied. “Nothing turned up of note.”

“No coffin?” Liuyin cuts in, and received a strange look in turn.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because around three this morning, in fact, my aunt and I were preparing burial rites for a baby,” Liuyin replies. It wasn’t an outright lie, per se, just a small one-- truly, they hadn’t even seen the contents of the box yet before it was stolen-- “and someone had broken in and snatched it from our property. I think that because the box was so small, they might have mistaken the contents for valuables, and possibly dumped the body of the infant once they realized it wasn’t.”

“Very curious. Why didn’t you file a report?”

“Finding the body ought to have spooked the thief enough,” Liuyin reassured them.

“So this is yours, then?” the detective asks.

“Should be, yes,” Liuyin nodded, watching as Asra paced a slow circle around the larger of the two bundles, a calculated look in his eyes.

“So you’re saying,” furious scribbling commences, “That the corpse recovered from the water was dead before entry?”

“Isn’t that the job of the detectives to determine, sir?” Liuyin replies in response, a calculatedly aggravating response.

It works. An eye-roll of disgust and a sigh later from the detective, they’re told to simply “collect their things” and “get the hell out.”

Liuyin is all too happy to obey, even if it meant carrying a corpse in their arms through the streets of Vesuvia-- the docks were starting to get a little too crowded, too loud, and they felt a headache coming on.

“Asra, let’s go.”

The white-haired magician had glanced between them and the bundle of soaking white silk in the arms apologetically. “I have more investigations to do here,” he says, jerking his chin in the direction of the larger bundle-- the one that Liuyin knew concealed a metal prosthetic arm beneath it.

“I’ll stay--” Liuyin began to offer, about to reach into their pockets for some tiger balm to temporarily alleviate the burgeoning migraine, but Asra shook his head instead.

“Go home, Liuyin. You should get some rest.”

Liuyin opened their mouth to protest, but decided better of it, nodding instead. “Fine. Take care of yourself too,” they’d offered as parting words.

Navigating the sea of people was even harder by themselves, especially considering their cargo-- Liuyin had covered up the baby’s face so no one would take a look and frighten the mass into a panic, and then resigned themselves to elbowing and shouldering their way between the people.

A black-gloved hand reached out to them then, and Liuyin followed it up into the smirking face of one Doctor Devorak. “Need a hand?”

“What do you want?” they inquire in return, less than hostile but shrewd nonetheless, even as they accept the assistance.

“No need to be so suspicious,” the doctor drawls in return, quite cheerfully, using his height as an advantage to navigate through and around the crowds. “It’s quite a reasonable request, though I’m sure we ought to discuss it away from the crowds.”

Liuyin waits till they’re free of the worst of the gathered, before deftly stepping in front of him, their hand still in his, pacing backwards with measured steps and careful not to crash into anyone. From a distance, they’d almost look like two sweethearts with a newborn on a stroll, though in reality, he was just their new acquaintance who obviously held a torch for their best friend, and the newborn was, of course, dead.

“Talk,” Liuyin says tersely.

Doctor Devorak slows his steps down till they were nearly at a standstill in the middle of the sidewalk, dipping down till his wild auburn curls were brushing over Liuyin’s cheek.

“I want to perform an autopsy,” he says, the way someone else might whisper a sweet nothing, breath brushing against their ear and causing a few flyaways of hair to flutter up. “Aren’t you curious why a baby had to die, and why someone kept it so secretive?”

Liuyin couldn’t help it, they found this scene far too comical-- here he was, almost flirting, and here they were, a literal corpse in their arms being toted about like a loaf of bread.

They snorted, and then laughed, ignoring the affronted expression on Doctor Devorak’s face, pushing the dead infant into the doctor’s hands as they continued down the street. “By all means,” they said, giggling as they watched him fumble with the package before regaining his handling.

He was, in fact, quite adorable when flustered, the thought came unbidden to Liuyin.

They pushed it out of their mind and nodded on. “Come back to my shop, then. I’ve got a decent workspace.”

“Administer of funeral rites, right, right,” the doctor nodded, muttering to himself as they passed through the streets with trickles of conversation being passed around as if it were a strong liquor-- sparingly, with each their turn.

Gradually, he’d discovered that they were adopted by an aunt, their parents were unknown, and that Liuyin was frightened of creatures that crawled. In return, Liuyin found out Julian was orphaned as well, raised by a woman who was “practically a grandmother”, and was an apprentice to one of Secretary Satrinava’s children when he was learning his practice before joining the Ministry of Public Health.

They’d both known Asra for some time, though the doctor clammed up about the nature of that relationship when pressed-- and Liuyin was too polite and well-trained to ask further.

Finally, they’d reached the door of the shop-- a small property on the edge of the central district, white-walled, with evergreens peeking over the tops of the shingles. The double doors were thoroughly pasted with yellow talismans, layer upon layer over the years, till hardly any of the original wood underneath could be seen, strips of sun-bleached paper fluttering in a limp breeze.

“What are these?” the doctor asks, trying to make out the sigils and reaching for one of the slips of paper.

“Don’t touch it!” Liuyin says in a near-shout of alarm, throwing themselves onto his arm.

He retracted his hand back rapidly, blinking down with a query in his eyes.

Slowly, bit by bit, Liuyin let go of his arm. “Sorry I yelled…” they replied, eyes trailing right over where the button of his jacket opened at the dip of his collarbone. “Those are protective charms designed to keep intruders of the supernatural sort out.”

“I see,” he’d said, face settling into a look of consideration. “In that case--”

“Yinyin?” A slender, petite woman with dark hair in a high-collared dress over which she’d draped a dressing robe emerged from the opposite door. “I thought I heard your voice-- oh!”

Auntie Liya was staring somewhat judgmentally, at the two of them-- and Liuyin suddenly became aware of their proximity to Julian, pressed nearly chest-to-chest, the bundle in his arm held awkwardly at his hip to prevent getting crushed.

Their face lit on fire and they stepped back right into the door of talismans, pushing it open blindly and stumbling back into the courtyard. “C-come in, Doctor Devorak, we’ll set up a table for you.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Aunt Liya asks expectantly, hands on her hips.

Liuyin squeezes their eyes shut, as if praying for the ground to swallow their mortification, and then nods obligingly, painting a smile across their features. “Auntie, this is Doctor Devorak, who helped me recover the body that was stolen from us earlier this morning. Doctor Devorak, this is my Aunt Liya, who I’m apprenticed under.”

“Charmed,” the tall man replied, reaching to shake the matron’s hand.

He mustn’t have expected her to grab his hand, remove his glove, turn it palm-up, scan it, and then let it drop back with a, “Humph!” and a “that one’s nothing but trouble, Yinyin,” to her ward within the span of the few seconds he was caught off-guard, tossing the glove back to him in the meanwhile.

Doctor Devorak, to his credit, only fumbled briefly with the glove that she threw back at him, Liuyin taking the chance to transfer the bundle of corpse baby to their own arms, deeming it unstable in his current state of hesitance.

“A-Yi, Auntie, we really must be carrying on with the investigation,” Liuyin replied as they gestured the doctor to them with hurried movements, as if urging them to escape before Aunt Liya got around even further in passing judgement upon the two of them-- who were strictly professional, sorry and thank you.

“Investigation?” their aunt asks incredulously, and that was pretty much all the incentive Liuyin needed to grab Doctor Devorak’s free wrist and tug him insistently up the steps and through the open sliding doors to the left, into the coffin-house where the dead were banished. “Yinyin, you stupid child, come back out here!”

Liuyin led him through the white-sheets hanging from the entrance, skirting around a not-quite-fully burnt trough of incense sticks that was arranged in front of an altar housing the statue of a stern-faced man.

Liuyin had paused in front of it for a brief moment and bowing, murmuring a few words of supplication under their breath before they’d continued on, holding open yet another set of white curtains as they led him into another room.

He’d taken stock of the surroundings and deemed it acceptable-- a waist-high table, good lighting, and the area was evidently kept clean. Despite the number of corpses that must have gone through this coffin-house, it smelled more strongly of incense than of necrotic flesh, and though he was far too accustomed to less glamorous working conditions, he’d appreciated the meticulous care that the witch and their aunt had. “You can set it down on the surface of the table,” he’d informed them.

They’d concurred with the request, gingerly laying the bundle down. “I assume you brought tools with you,” they said.

“Of course, darling,” the doctor offered a smirk and cast off his coat, leaving it hanging on one of the hooks on the wall, before bringing out what looked like a leather portfolio, but bulkier, from one of the folds.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Liuyin says skeptically, eyeing the variety of sharp blades and implements he’d unravelled from the bag.

“Don’t want to stay for the show?” He asks, raising a brow.

Liuyin narrowed their eyes at him. Fine, two could play at the banter. “No,” they replied. “I’m going to just purify everything so the infant spirit doesn’t latch onto you and eat your spouse’s children in the womb.”

The doctor took it in stride. “Have fun!”

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not-a-space-alien · 5 years ago

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Anniversary - or the Horsepersons realise they can get together outside of work

Hi everyone, I just realized today that I never posted my work from this past holiday exchange! Here was my entry, hope you enjoy!

Title: Anniversary

Rating: G

Word Count: 6k

Summary: The horsepersons are summoned for a second attempt at Armageddon, but soon an irritating pattern emerges.

A note about my illustrations: I trace stock photos for a lot of my basic shapes because I’m not good at that and really only enjoy the detail work and coloring, so I consider my “art” more like photo manipulation than original artwork, so just keep that in mind! This one is also partially based in TV canon and partially in book canon fyi

On DW

On AO3

“Who exactly summons them?”

“Not my department.”

************************

The department that did, in fact, summon the horsepersons was not Gabriel’s department, which was the Department of Earthly Affairs. Summoning the horsepersons, overseeing the signs of the end times, the rains of fish, and all that unpleasant business was a job that nobody really wanted. It was thought of as something Hell was supposed to do, but Heaven had to take responsibility for it, roll up their sleeves, and make sure it was done properly. It was shunted off onto whichever angels were unlucky enough to be assigned to the Department of Armageddon, which Gabriel had actually fought tooth and nail to leave.

The Department of Armageddon’s entire purpose was to prepare for the end times: to meticulously plan it out and ensure it went off smoothly. As these things tend to go, the least desirable job got pushed off onto whomever was lowest on the command chain, or at least the one too polite or too much of a pushover to refuse the job. And nobody really wanted to interact with the horsepersons. The DoA was filled with poor souls who had been toughing out a job they’d hated for six-thousand years. It would take a toll on anyone.

The reader can probably imagine that Aziraphale is less popular with the Department of Armageddon than any other angels, who unfortunately already find him quite annoying.

But this story is not about Aziraphale. It’s not even about Ambriel, the angel responsible for summoning the horsepersons.

No, this story is about the horsepersons, who lined up for Armageddon in the year of 1991 with great fervor and excitement, giddily straddling their motorcycles, finally able to run wild. The way that one had fizzled out was quite a disappointment to them all.

Adam had banished them for a bit, and that had been no fun, but it’s impossible to do away with Famine, War, and Pollution as long as humans exist. So they eventually reformed, springing from the minds of men and being unleashed back onto the world.

Somewhere in Europe, freshly spilled blood steamed and boiled, and War rose up, with blood smeared over her naked body like a newborn baby. In Asia, in a field covered by vultures feasting on the carcass of an emaciated cow, Famine sat up, looking around disoriented and missing his fancy suits. On the West Coast of the United States, Pollution washed ashore, having drifted for a while after being spawned from the Great Pacific garbage patch. They picked seaweed out of their hair and took a few moments to orient themselves. The last thing they remembered was staring down Adam Young. And as they realised what had happened, they thought the exact same thing their two companions were thinking at that exact moment:

Aw, man!

*********************************

In August 1992, the brave soul known simply as ‘the deliveryman’ had been contracted once again. The request was again from someone named Ambriel, by whom he had been contracted at this precise time last year, and for the exact same reason: To make four deliveries in various parts of the world to varyingly strange customers.

He didn’t really want to go, but it was his job, so there he was braving the quite literally riotous streets of a war-torn country scouring the chaos for a particular woman.

War had gone back to doing her reporter schtick, but it was starting to bore her. She was interviewing an American soldier as he prattled on and on, pretending to write it down*, thinking about what her next possible career could be. Probably somewhere in the American Military-Industrial complex, she thought.

*******

*She was currently drawing a sketch of him decapitated on the battlefield.

*******

This is how the deliveryman found her. He doubled over panting from the exertion of running up to her, but managed to wheeze out, “Package for you, Miss.”

War turned to him, an intensely puzzled look on her face. “What?”

“Package for you.”

War turned her back on the soldier. “You again? Aren’t you the same…. You have another package for me?”

He held it out. It was suspiciously sword-shaped.

“But... “ She took the package and unwrapped it. It was indeed a sword, long and shiny polished metal glittering in the harsh sun. “But this means Armageddon is near. Again?”

The deliveryman held out the signature pad hopefully.

She looked at him.

“I need you to sign for it, miss.”

“But we just did this.”

“This, ma’am?”

“Receiving our artifacts. Riding to Armageddon. The whole nine yards.”

“I do recall delivering this same sword to you last year. Afraid I don’t know anything about it, though. I’m just the deliveryman.”

“Are we doing it all again?”

“Afraid I don’t know, ma’am. I just need you to sign for it, please.”

War held the sword out in both her hands, seeing her reflection in its length. “That was one year ago today,” she realised. “A year was all they decided to wait? It took six-thousand to get ready the first time.”

Hope fading, the deliveryman stretched his arms out to full length to get the pen and pad as close to her as possible. “Just need a signature, miss.”

War relented and took the pen, ripping the paper under the force of her signature. The deliveryman looked a bit put off and shuffled away, unenthusiastic about his next delivery, which would require him to pick along an extremely dirty industrial oil field.

The soldier waited around to hopefully continue bragging about how brave he was, but War ignored him. She simply continued to stare at the sword. All she said was:

“Huh.”

***************************************

“Here we all are, gathered together at last.”

Famine was the one to made this proclamation. He said this to both War and Pollution, who were uncertainly standing around their motorcycles. This time they had been summoned directly to the barren field of Armageddon, which was, as it had been at this time last year, distressingly empty.

“Just saw you last year,” said Pollution. “Not quite ‘at last’ anymore, is it?.”

Famine gave them a dirty look. “Yes, well, it’s what we said last year. Seems only right to say it again.”

“They’re trying to make Armageddon happen again on the anniversary of it failing,” said War. “Is that what’s up?”

“It is significant, isn’t it?” said Pollution. “I was thinking about having some sort of celebration anyway. One year and all that. Seems like we should commemorate it somehow.”

“That’s stupid,” said Famine. Famine usually hated commemorating things because anniversaries and celebrations always seemed to involve good food and drink. Eat, drink, and be miserable was usually how it went for him.

“Anyway,” said War, “what are we waiting for? The Big Guy’s not here yet, but shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, some sort of preliminaries going on? Wasn’t there all sorts of wacky stuff going on last year, storm in the sky, showers of fish and all that?”

A figure could be seen spiraling downwards from the sky, wings spread wide. Pollution shielded their face with their hand and stared up past the sun. “Who’s’at?”

The figure revealed itself to be an angel, a jaunty figure with a halo struggling to keep up with his erratic motion, floating just behind his head as he ran full-speed towards them.

“And who might you be?” said Famine.

The angel huffed and puffed. “The name’s--the name is Ambriel.” He caught his breath and looked around at the gathering. “Where is Death?”

As if on cue, Death appeared with a small pop of expanding air. I HAVE NEVER HAD TO KILL THE SAME HUMAN TWICE, said Death. AND I DO NOT ENJOY THE EXPERIENCE. NEITHER DID HE. WHATEVER YOU ARE PAYING THE DELIVERYMAN, YOU NEED TO PAY HIM MORE.

“Pay?” said Ambriel. “Oh, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers, and the deliveryman’s bank account balance was suddenly a few digits larger, for all the good it would do a dead man.

“So your name’s Ambriel,” said War. “But who are you?”

“I’m the one responsible for making sure the horsepersons are present at Armageddon!” he crowed.

Famine craned his neck towards the empty, blue, peaceful, quiet, decidedly-not-Armageddon sky. Pollution kicked a rock through the soft grass. War scratched her head.

WE ARE HERE, said Death.

“But where’s Armageddon?” said War. “We don’t start it. That’s the antichrist.”

“Ah,” said Ambriel, sweating. “Yes, well, we’re still working on that. It was supposed to happen a year ago, you see…”

“Yes, you summoned us on the anniversary,” said Pollution. “Are we going to do it again?”

“Turn the seas to blood?” said War, shaking her fists.

“Unleash ourselves upon the planet until nothing’s left but bones and bare rock?” said Famine, a sparkle in his eye.

“Bury humanity in the consequences of its own actions?” said Pollution giddily.

Ambriel grimaced as the three of them crowded in on him, pumping their fists in excitement.

THE FINAL REAPING, said Death.

“Yes,” said Ambriel. “Um, yes, for sure, about that…”

The excitement on their faces began to fade.

“Well, you see, I’d thought everything would be ready to go by now. The timeline they gave me for re-setting the Armageddon fittings was one year! It should be well underway by now, but…”

War and Famine looked at each other disappointedly. “But what?” said Pollution.

“But they’re not done with the paperwork yet,” said Ambriel, crumpling. “There’s been delays and delays and delays. Our field agent won’t cooperate. Hell won’t cooperate. The other departments won’t cooperate. It’s a bloody mess!”

“That sounds like your problem,” said War. “What do you want us to do about it?”

Ambriel wrung his hands. “Well, I...I don’t know.”

War pouted. “All right, well, this was a bust, then.” She spun on her heel and marched across the field. “Call me when there’s some action for me, then, love.”

“Wait!” cried Ambriel. “Don’t leave!”

“I’ll be down by the river,” said Pollution. “It’s been looking a bit too clean for my taste. Too many local community day cleanups, if you ask me.”

Ambriel nervously stuttered as Pollution sauntered away in the opposite direction. Then he looked at Famine. “I suppose you’re going to leave me, too?”

Famine checked his very expensive watch. “Well, my flight back to America doesn’t leave until five o’clock, so I might hang around a bit and see if you can kick off Armageddon in the next two hours.”

*************************************

August 25, 1993

Pollution was the first one to show up this time, bearing a wine bottle and a little party hat affixed in their pale hair. They’d worn the crown this whole time, so their head was starting to get a little crowded on top.

War had kept her sword. It was slung casually over her shoulder as she picked her way across the empty field where Armageddon ostensibly was supposed to take place. Only Famine had returned his artifact to Ambriel, because he thought modern electronic balances were much more efficient and chic than traditional balancing scales anyway, and he stood waiting to meet her empty-handed.

“Back again,” said War. “I just got a letter in the mail this time, no deliveryman. You?”

“The same,” said Famine. “They’re lucky I got it. Our mail gets filtered pretty thoroughly before it lands on my desk. Pretty rude too, I had to drop everything to run on over...I thin heaven should start reimbursing me for the travel costs.”

Death popped into existence beside Pollution. Ambriel was holding onto his arm, looking frightened.

THERE, YOU SEE? said Death. NO NEED TO KILL ANYONE TO GET A MESSAGE TO ME. WE CAN SKIP THAT AND HEAD RIGHT ON OVER TO ARMAGEDDON TOGETHER.

“Right,” said Ambriel. “Sorry.” He straightened his tunic and marched out in front of the semicircle of horsepersons. “Welcome to Armageddon!” he loudly announced. “It begins now!”

“I don’t see any signs of the end times--” Pollution began.

“Yet!” Ambriel thundered. “They shall begin any moment!”

Pollution popped open the wine bottle. “Yay.”

Ambriel, his hands still raised dramatically, began to sweat.

“The paperwork still isn’t done, is it?” said War.

“The paperwork still isn’t done,” said Ambriel, shoulders sagging.

“Then why did you call us here?” said Famine. “Look, I’m a busy man. I run a corporate empire, you know!”

“I thought it would be done!” said Ambriel, wringing his hands. “We’re just… We’re waiting on our field agent, Aziraphale. He hasn’t turned in his forms yet, and he won’t answer my messages.”

“Should we go find this Aziraphale guy and teach him a lesson?” said War.

“A lesson about punctuality in filling out paperwork?” said Pollution. “Are you sure you’re the best one to teach him that lesson?”

“All right, all right,” said Famine. “Look, Ambriel, is there anything we can do to move things along? This is the third time in a row--”

“The second anniversary,” Pollution interrupted.

“--Right, thanks, White--the third time we’ve done our ride and gone to Armageddon. It’s starting to get a bit anticlimactic.”

“That’s his job, not ours,” said War. “Pfft. Black, what’s next? You want to tempt sinners to Hell? Reap souls after death? Who else’s job do you want to do?”

Famine grew red. “I’m just saying--”

“Well, whatever,” said War, slinging her sword back into the sheath strapped across her back. She hooked her arm around Famine’s head and gave him a noogie. “We can kill some time while Ambriel finishes preparing for Armageddon.”

HMMM, said Death. YES...SINCE IT SEEMS LIKE TIME IS THE ONLY THING WE’LL BE KILLING.

******************************

August 25, 1994

Famine kept his scales this time. Their home for the next year was the corner of his desk in his office on top of 666 Fifth Avenue, right next to his extremely slim computer.

Famine played with the chain, strangely delicate and cold, when an email popped up on his computer.

To the Black horseperson of the apocalypse:

Please meet us at the appropriate place at the appropriate time. The end is nigh. The four horsemen shall ride and the world shall end in fire and blood..

Famine started to type a response. But before he could, his computer dinged with a reply: all to the previous email, from [email protected]:

Can I bring a plus one this time?

A few days and a few thousand miles later, Famine trekked over the dry ground of Armageddon with his scales in hand. Pollution and War were already standing in the middle of the field, the exact same place Ambriel had appeared the last three years.

War had a demoness hanging off her arm.

“Ah, Black!” said War. “Just in time. I was just in the process of introducing my girlfriend, Ashtarte.”

“Call me Ash,” said Ashtarte. A smile, too broad and with too many teeth that were too sharp, spread Cheshire cat-like across her features. She wore a punk mesh top, red boots, and had a little pair of horns and forked tail, like she was trying to impersonate a Halloween costume of a demon.

“Uh, okay, Ash,” said Famine.

“The Black horseperson of the apocalypse!” said Ash. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Big fan of your work!”

“Big fan?” said Famine. He straightened his tie. “Thanks very much.”

“We met over cocktails in a little bar in Saudia Arabia,” said War. “Making fun of the same reporters.”

Ash held up her hand in a “V” pose.

“None of us have ever really, uh…” said Famine.

“Had a girlfriend?” said War. “You don’t know that.”

Famine fidgeted. “So you have had a girlfriend?”

“Er, well, no, not really,” said War. She hefted Ash onto her shoulder and flexed her bicep; the smaller woman fit snugly into her shoulder. “But you should try it sometime! Armageddon keeps getting delayed, so we might as well enjoy our time here, right?”

“But what’s the appeal?”

“I think he doesn’t understand it,” said Pollution, “because he can’t even imagine how to get a girlfriend.”

Death appeared stormily, his biker boots thumping against the ground a bit too hard. AND WHERE IS OUR SUMMONER?

“Not here yet,” said Pollution, fiddling with the wine bottle they held. “But why don’t we have some drinks first? Enjoy our time here, right?”

They summoned a card table from somewhere, and Pollution pulled up a seat and patted the one next to them in the hope of coaxing Death to sit down. Famine ambivalently sat down next to War, who had Ash on her lap.

WE’RE NOT HAVING A PARTY, said Death. WE’RE HERE FOR BUSINESS REASONS.

“Sit down, big guy,” said Famine. “Nothing wrong with loosening up a little.”

Death remained motionless for a few moments, tense with annoyance. Then, his biker leathers crinkling, he lowered himself into a seat. BUT I WON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DRINK.

“Aw,” said Pollution, popping the cork off the bottle. “Do you not like it?”

Death’s helmet visor reflected Pollution’s face impassively back at them as they poured drinks.

“Have you never drunk alcohol before?” said War.

Death didn’t answer.

“You haven’t, have you?” said Famine. “Do you want to try some?”

Death lifted his helmet off his head, setting it on his lap. Then he removed one leather glove, revealing his bony hand. The white stalk snaked out and curled around a glass, bringing it to his skeletal grin. The wine dribbled through his jaw and onto his leather jacket.

Famine grimaced. Pollution thought his jacket looked better with stains on it, but didn’t say so. They passed the next half hour in jovial conversation, the wine warming their bodies and lifting their spirits. Ash withdrew a deck of cards from her pocket, which entertained them as they laughed and joked.

They were all quite drunk by the time Ambriel arrived. He sprinted over at top speed, careening into the table. “What are you all doing?”

“We’re having a drink!” said Ash, waving her glass in the air and sloshing wine.

“Wh—” Ambriel took a second to look very confused at the appearance of a fifth horseperson, then shook it off and decided it didn’t matter. “Whatever! Get up, put this stuff away! Armageddon is starting!”

“For real this time?” said Pollution.

A second angel could be seen descending from Heaven. “Yes, for real this time!” Ambriel exploded. “The archangel Michael is on his way! Now get ready!”

War rolled her eyes and folded up the table. Pollution disappointedly retrieved the half-empty wine bottle, sipping from it as they walked over to Ambriel.

Michael touched down, his impressive dusky wingspan battering them with dusty clouds. “Ambriel, I was told the armies of Hell are gathering here, yes?”

“Yes!” said Ambriel. “The antichrist is coming. He’s on his way now.”

“He’s…” Michael looked over the the horsepersons. Famine shrugged. War examined her nails. Pollution continued to sip from their bottle. Death very stormily crossed his arms.

“He’s supposed to already be here,” said Michael. “I don’t see any of the signs of Armageddon…”

“I gave the antichrist Adam Young a very stern lecture about his role, and demanded he come to Armageddon,” said Ambriel. “And he said he was coming.”

Pollution cocked their head. “He said he was coming?”

“Yes. His exact words were, ‘Okay, Boomer.’”

Pollution choked, wine shooting out their nose.

***************************

August 25, 1998

“Can we meet at your restaurant next time?”

Famine turned to Pollution, the only other figure with him at the yet again empty field of Armageddon. “What?”

“The next time this happens, can we meet at one of your restaurants?”

Famine sighed. The first few times this had happened, he’d argued that they didn’t know there was going to be a ‘next time,’ but by now, the anniversary of the Apocalypse usually heralded them gathering to stand around for a while and not much else. “I doubt Ambriel would go for that. We’re supposed to be in this spot.”

Pollution shifted from foot to foot. “But the Newtrition corp has expanded, right? It has branches around here now. It wouldn’t be that far.”

“You don’t want to eat at my restaurant,” said Famine, trying to hide his shock that Pollution was so familiar with his franchise. He hadn’t thought any of the other horsepersons had cared about his silly little business. Although it was nice that someone was paying attention. “Why not?” said Pollution. “It seems nice. It produces lots of waste paper. And styrofoam cartons. Love those things.”

“It doesn’t serve actual food,” said Famine. “Just a bunch of nonsense. It has no nutritional value.”

“Well,” said Pollution. “We don’t actually need to eat, do we? Back in the forties, I went a good decade without eating. Too busy with the mills in Pittsburgh to stop and eat.”

Famine opened his mouth to deliver a snappy retort, only to find he didn’t have one.

“‘Course that was before I took the crown from Pestilence, so I was just a minor horseperson then. Well, my point is, it’s not like we’ll be affected by malnutrition. As long as it tastes good, right?”

Famine lit a cigarette. “If you want to look at it that way, I suppose.”

The rumble of a motorcycle filled the air, and War pulled up with Ash perched on the back of her bike.

“We can’t meet at my restaurant,” said Famine. “That’s inappropriate.” He wasn’t sure why the idea made him so uncomfortable, and he turned to greet War. “Red.”

“Black,” said War, dismounting. She put her bike helmet on the saddle as Ash fell off behind her. “Hey, you don’t have to call me ‘Red,’ you know.”

Famine stopped. “What?”

“I have a name.”

Famine bristled. “Whatever. Where’s that stupid little twig of an angel this time?”

“Geez, who pissed in your cereal,” said Ash, dusting herself off.

“I’m just getting a little tired of this!” said Famine. “I have to fly over from America every year in August only to be told to go right back home!”

Pollution opened a bag of crisps, savoring the grease. They looked disappointedly into the bag. “Black.”

“What?”

“Don’t ruin my crisps!”

“I’m not ruining your—” Famine suddenly realised he was ruining the crisps, because he was so damn frustrated by how inefficient Heaven and Armageddon and this whole thing was. He was used to running things like a well-oiled machine, and this….

“Black, stop ruining the poor kid’s crisps,” said War.

“You’ve never appreciated my work,” Famine snapped.

Ambriel chose this moment to appear. “All right, everyone!” he said. “This time I’ve really—”

“Black, I was very much looking forward to my crisps!” Pollution said.

“You all only notice how hard I work when it affects you!” said Famine. “I’m the only one putting real effortinto building an empire—”

“You’re the only one?” said Pollution.

Scared, Ambriel hid behind his clipboard, unsure of how to wrangle them.

Famine suddenly realised that War was gleefully egging on the fight between him and Pollution with her horseperson powers. “Red!”

The tension in the air immediately dissipated, and War slunk back, looking chastised.

His head more clear now, Famine smoothed out his tie. The booted footsteps of Death reverberated in the air before he made his appearance. AND HOW MANY ANNIVERSARIES IS THIS NOW? I’VE LOST COUNT.

“You’re late,” said Ambriel snootily.

Death turned to him. Even though he had no face to speak of, and still had his helmet on, everyone could clearly imagine the expression he would make.

“Seven,” said Pollution through a mouthful of crisps.

A second angel descended from the sky, this one unhurried, dragging its proverbial feet.

AND DO I HAVE ANYTHING TO BE LATE FOR THIS TIME? said Death.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Ambriel. “Because I have with me the field agent who was responsible for delaying Armageddon last time. So now he’s going to kick it off.”

A chubby angel with oodles of curly hair touched down, looking around guiltily. “Er, hello...I’m Aziraphale.”

“Oh, you looked nicer in a dress,” said Pollution.

“All right,” said Ambriel. “Let’s go, then. Go on.”

Aziraphale shuffled his feet.

“Don’t we need the antichrist?” volunteered Famine.

“The antichrist is unavailable,” said Ambriel icily. “We’ll have to make do without him.”

“Unavailable?!” exclaimed War.

“He means Adam Young doesn’t want Armageddon to happen,” said Aziraphale, who then shut up right quick at an elbow jab from Ambriel.

“You can make it happen without the antichrist?” said Pollution, crunching through a mouthful of crisps. “Thought was the whole point of him. So how does it work?”

“Ahem,” said Ambriel. “That is none of your concern. Just worry about your own part. Now, let’s begin.”

Ambriel stepped forward to direct the horsepersons. War kept looking up at the sky, noticing Armageddon didn’t seem to be happening. Pollution licked their fingers, other hand firmly stuck in their crisps packet.

“And now Aziraphale will--Aziraphale?”

While Ambriel had had his back turned, Aziraphale had scuttled off, wings drawn wide and flapping erratically like a prey animal running from a fox. “Ahhh! Get back here!”

Ambriel went off chasing him. War stood where she was, sword poised, and watched him go. “Um…”

Pollution finished their packet of crisps and dropped it on the ground, wiping their hands on their shirt. “Is he coming back?”

They stayed there for about half an hour waiting for Ambriel, and decided he wasn’t coming back. Ash sweet-talked War into hitting the bars after that. They managed to convince everyone but Death to come along, too.

*************************

August 25, 2001

“Hey, why does it take an apocalypse for us to get together?” said War.

Pollution picked idly at the tablecloth on the little picnic table they had summoned. They were trying to decide if ketchup or mustard would make better stains on it. “Hmm?”

War straddled the bench, picking at the picnic basket. “I mean, I know not everyone likes to spend time with their coworkers outside of work, but there’s nothing stopping us from getting together outside of Armageddon, right?”

Pollution stopped. “Hmm?”

“She’s saying she wants to spend more time with you guys,” said Ash.

“We can do that?!” Pollution said.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” said War.

Pollution’s eyes sparkled.

“Come sit down and enjoy this little basket you put together,” said Ash. “It looks lovely.”

The weather was fabulous, once again with no signs of the inclement weather heralding Armageddon, and a delicious breeze tugged at them and whipping waves through the dry summer grass. Pollution fished out some plastic utensils and set them out on the table.

Ash took a sandwich from the basket. It definitely had worms of some sort in it, but being from Hell, she was used to such things.

“Where’s Famine, anyway?” said Pollution, setting a pile of napkins on the table and watching them immediately blow away in the wind.

“Oh, he’s coming!” said War. “And he said he was bringing a plus one this year.”

“A plus one?”

“Sounds like he’s got a girlfriend too. Or boyfriend. Or what-have-you.”

Pollution scratched their head. “Wonder who it could be.”

With a rustle of grass, Death stood beside them.

“Come sit down!” said War. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

Death looked at them contemplatively. I DIDN’T RECEIVE A SUMMONS THIS YEAR.

“Huh,” said Pollution, letting their sandwich wrapper fall to the ground. “I just realised, neither did I.”

“Yeah,” said War, waving her hand dismissively. “But after doing this annually for ten years, I think we get the point, right?”

Death stood like a silent sentinel. Death was rarely the type to display any emotion at all, but to War and Pollution, it looked like he was fighting to not indulge in some unconventional display of sentiment.

A smile spread across War’s face. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I JUST WANTED TO SEE IF I WAS NEEDED THIS YEAR, said Death.

“Well, Armageddon is probably delayed again,” said War. “So you’re not, really. You’re free to leave.”

Death stood still.

“Come sit down,” said Ash, patting the bench. “You’re always so serious.”

Death clomped over and swung his enormous legs over the wooden bench.

“Heard Famine’s got himself a new squeeze,” gossiped War.

OH, said Death. YES…

The grass in the field next to them dried up, swirling brittle pieces making a small tornado, and with a mournful nicker, a skeletal horse materialized. Its emaciated frame was oozing with dripping wounds and festering decay. Atop its back was a figure in a white robe with a long, beaked mask.

Famine pulled up on his motorcycle. “Fellas, good to see you again!”

“It’s been a very long time,” said the newcomer, although no, he wasn’t new at all…

“You brought Pestilence!” Pollution yelled. “He’s not a horseperson anymore! I replaced him!”

“Tsk tsk, you young punk,” said Pestilence, dismounting. “No respect at all.”

Pollution glared.

“He’s not here as a horseperson,” said Famine. “He’s my plus one.”

“That’s cheating!” said Pollution.

Pestilence winked, which was absolutely infuriating.

Pollution crossed their arms as Famine and Pestilence took their seats. “This looks delightful,” said Pestilence, taking a crisp from a bowl.

Pollution grumbled. Famine was a little disgruntled that they had set up a nice meal, but he muttered an echo of Pestilence’s praise.

“It’s just weird,” said Pollution. “It’s like you’re dating my dad.”

“I’m not your Dad,” said Pestilence. “We barely met before you kicked me out.”

“I think you just don’t like Pestilence,” said Famine.

Pollution bristled. “Maybe.”

Famine shrugged. Somewhere in the world, the minor horseperson of Awkward Interpersonal Issues felt their power surge.

“It��s because they’re afraid I’ll wrangle the job of horseperson #3 from them,” said Pestilence. “The anti-vax moms in the United States are making them nervous.”

Pollution’s cheeks went red.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” said Pestilence. “I don’t want to be one of the Main Four anymore. It’s quite dull. The humans’ attitude towards smallpox ruined the fun for me. Some of my best work, all down the drain. Feff.” He sipped some cola. “But you seem to be doing a splendid job. I hear nowadays everyone’s mad about straws, of all things.”

Pollution perked up. The atmosphere at the table was much lighter after that.

“Isn’t Ambriel going to show up?” said War. “Usually right about now is when he comes down, babbling about how Armageddon is really going to happen this time, and how we need to get ready.”

Pestilence scratched his head. “Ambriel? He’s the one who had to come tell me they were swapping me out for Pollution. He still works in the Department of Armageddon? Poor sod always got the worst jobs pushed onto him.”

Ambriel did, in fact, show up eventually. He had none of his usual bravado. He dragged his sandaled feet through the dirt and flopped down to join them at the picnic table. The four of them shared a look, then looked back at Ambriel. “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?” said Famine.

“Useless,” said Ambriel. “It’s all useless. Nothing I do ever works. No matter how hard I try, Heaven can’t get its crap together to make Armageddon happen. Oh, pardon my language.”

“Hey, cheer up,” said Pollution. “The first time we tried, the four of us got beaten by little kids with sticks and rocks. That’s way more humiliating than anything you’ve had to go through.”

Famine glared at Pollution. Pollution unwrapped a lolly, enjoying the crinkling of the wrapper.

Ambriel thunked his head on the table, groaning. “No use, it’s no use!”

“Well, we’re all having a lovely time anyway!” said Ash. “August 25 is my favorite day of the year now!”

“It’s supposed to be Armageddon,” moaned Ambriel. “It’s not supposed to be a celebration.”

War stabbed a little cocktail weiner with her Bowie knife. “We’ve been known to celebrate in unconventional ways.”

***************************

Present day

“1845.”

“No, that was you?”

Pollution sucked on their choco-whippy milkshake, eyes bouncing from War to Pestilence.

“Yep,” said Pestilence, leaning back, looking very pleased with himself.

“I thought for sure that was Famine,” said War.

“I wish,” said Famine. “I had been working in Ireland for a few years at that point, but hadn’t had much success.”

“Phytophthora infestans,” said Pestilence. “One of my favorites.

“He refuses to lend it to me,” said Famine. “Greedy bastard.”

“Not your jurisdiction.”

They all shared a hearty laugh.

“Oh, Pollution,” said War, snapping her fingers. “I just remembered. That science project we were talking about the other day, the bacteria that humans were cultivating to break down plastic.”

Pollution’s face screwed up in displeasure.

“I was working on trying to divert some of the NHS’s funding into more bioweapon applications. Maybe if you do me a little favor in return, I can get their funding pulled?”

Pollution nodded happily, sucking through their straw.

“Hey, here he comes!” said War, throwing up her hand.

Death strode over, standing at the edge of the table.

“Sit down,” said Ash, patting the seat. “We’re having a lovely time.”

I HAVE… said Death. If it were possible, he seemed embarrassed.

“What?” said Pollution.

I HAVE ALSO BROUGHT A PLUS ONE.

“What, a boyfriend?” said Pestilence.

NOT LIKE THAT…. said Death. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small bundle of fur, which blinked and mewled.

Ash had stars in her eyes, putting her hands on her head as though to keep her brain from exploding out. “Is that a kitten?”

I FOUND IT OUTSIDE.

“It’s so cute!” said Pollution.

I HAD NEVER NOTICED THEM BEFORE, said Death. THEY ARE...NICE.

“Well, nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures of the world,” said Famine. “Since it seems like we’ll be here for a while.”

Death sat down, putting the cat on the table. The minimum wage employees scrambling to make the food didn’t have the time to notice or care.

“We were just discussing some of the other anniversaries we have besides August 25,” said War. “Turns out we have quite a lot of them! We should share.”

Death was silent.

“February 14,” said War. “The start of the first War in Mesopotamia. That was my favorite one. I find the date so deliciously funny with what they’ve done with it now.”

“September 27,” said Pollution. “When the first mass-produced automobile left the factory.”

“What about you?” siad Famine.

“Black’s right,” said Pollution. “You must have one.”

Death hummed for a minute. Then: NOVEMBER 16. THE DAY THE FIRST MAN DIED.

“And kicked all this off,” said Famine. “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their glasses against each other’s.

“Hey,” said Famine. “You guys have been calling me ‘Black,’ this whole time, and while I guess it’s technically what I am…. Well, I picked a name. A more human name. You could use it, if you like.”

“Would you like that?” said Pollution.

“I think so. It’s Sable.”

“Raven Sable,” said War. “That’s right. I like it.”

“What about you?” said Sable. “Don’t you have one?”

“Oh, yeah!” said War. “Wouldn’t that just be great! Call me Carmine.”

“It’s such a good name!” said Ash joyfully.

Carmine beamed. She’d never known this would feel good, but it did.

Pollution shyly tapped their fingers on the table. “Chalk, please.”

All eyes turned towards Death.

“Well?” said Chalk. “Only if you want to.”

AZRAEL.

“It’s perfect,” said Ash.

Sable snapped his fingers. “Guys, hold on a second, I just remembered something.”

“Hm?” said Chalk.

“August 25. Armageddon.”

“So?” said Carmine. “That never happens anyway.”

“Well, we were so excited to meet we forgot we were supposed to go to Armageddon first.”

Carmine choked on the pickle she had been eating. “Oh yeah,” said Ash, very slowly. “I guess that’s fine, though. But, oh dear… Did anyone tell Ambriel?”

Azrael grinned, moreso than a regular skeletal grin. I’M SURE HE’S DOING JUST FINE.

“I’ve got it! I’ve finally got it!”

Ambriel, almost tripping over his robes, waved his papers in the air as he sprinted towards Armageddon. “I finally have all the departments in accord, the stars have aligned, the paperwork is signed, the—”

Ambriel stopped and beheld the field of Armageddon, butterflies floating by and flowers bouncing merrily, very conspicuously empty and peaceful and not trodden by the harbingers of Armageddon.

“Oh, dear…”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic #gohe

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ltleflrt · 6 years ago

Note

prompt please: dean/cas panties

Okay so fun fact about this story: This is actually the first seed of an idea that developed into Satin and Sawdust, but I ended up not being able to use the premise for Reasons. I always wanted to do this little meet cute ficlet though, so thanks for giving me an excuse. Also thanks to @pallasperilous for helping me get over the tiny hurdle that I ran into with the plot :D

Working from home means pajamas as a uniform. There’s a lot of advice against it; stuff about “getting into aprofessional mindset” by “dressing like you’re going to the office” and otherbullshit that probably works for others, but Castiel doesn’t subscribe to thosenotions. Especially not before he’s on his third cup of coffee, and eventhen, why dirty another set of clothing? He hates doing laundry.

Of course, he does haveto leave his apartment sometimes. For meetings, or to deliver thefinished product to the office. But for the short trips to the office topick up his mail and deliveries, pajamas are just fine. It’snot like a t-shirt and some Ninja Turtle patterned sleep pants are indecent, oranything.

Not that he cares whatpeople think about how he’s dressed. He’s only on coffee number two, andsocial functioning doesn’t start until halfway through cup three.

He’s more alert thanusual this morning though, even if he isn’t awake enough to justify changinginto normal daytime clothing. A new neighbor has moved in across thehall, and Castiel catches him leaving for work sometimes. The eye candy is almost equal to a third andfourth dose of caffenation. Brown hair, scruff, freckles, and eithergreen or hazel eyes--maybe light brown?--plus a body built to kneel before inworship and supplication… The guy’s practically built to Castiel’s taste.

And oh how he’d like ataste.

Maybe he should startthe caffeine infusion earlier. So he’ll feel fortified enough to start aconversation one of these days instead of just exchanging a smile, a wave, anda quiet hello before they go their separate ways. And he can finally getclose enough to figure out the guy’s true eye color. It would be worth getting up earlier. He’s not a fan of mornings, but he’s a fan ofhot potentially single guys. He can make an exception.

Unfortunately he seemsto have missed the object of his desire this morning. The door across thehall stays firmly closed for the few minutes Castiel lingers, hoping to get hisother morning fix. But he decides it’s just a little too chilly out toloiter any longer, and he heads down to the office to pick up his mail.

There’s three packagesfor him today, and he’s pleasantly surprised because he wasn’t expecting one ofthem for another day or two. That means he can get started on the nextproject earlier than he’d promised. Hecan use the extra time that saves him to stock up a few pre-made things for hisEtsy shop.

He goes over a mentalplan for what kind of crazy sweaters he can design for the shop as he opens theboxes. He smiles as he unpacks the Alpaca yarn, pausing to pet the softgreen. This one is for himself, and hepromises he won’t use it for any commissions this time. He’s got a lovelyscarf in mind, and since the weather is getting cooler, he needs to get startedsoon if he wants to use it this winter.

The second box is fullof regular wool, and he checks to make sure all the colors he requested wereincluded. Last time his order had been short a few hanks, and it had beena huge pain in the ass to get everything straightened out with his supplier. Everything is fine this time though, and he’ll still be on track for hiscurrent projects.

The third box shouldcontain the vegan yarns. Not his favorite to work with, but he respectsthat people choose a lifestyle that requires it, and they still want mittens,scarves, and sweaters. Plus they’re usually okay with paying extra forthe cotton yarn instead of the acrylic. So as long as they’re willing to shell out the cash, he’s willing to knitout the goods.

When he opens the box, hesmiles when he’s greeted with a rainbow of colors and reaches in to pull outthe plastic wrapped skeins. He rips at the plastic, and then hissub-optimally caffeinated brain catches up with reality and he realizes thathe’s not holding yarn at all, but something satiny. Whole cloth, not thematerials to make it.

It’s a pair of panties.

Castiel blinks at thered satin in his hand. “This is not what I ordered.”

He pulls out a few moreplastic wrapped bundles. All panties. What the hell?

Finally he reaches theorder sheet. And when he reads the information printed at the top, horrorcreeps through him. This package wasn’t meant for him. He doesn’t recognize the name, but hedefinitely recognizes the apartment number. It’s for… his new neighbor.

“Oh, no.”

***

Dean is more than readyto get home and relax after the day he’s had. Too many fires to put outat the job site, and feathers to unruffle when he had to advise the client thatthe new timeline they were requesting wouldn’t be tenable. Seriously whatis up with folks agreeing to an estimated finish date, and then wanting it donein half the time? Entitled bastards.

At least it’s Friday,and he shouldn’t be needed for anything for the weekend. He’s going tocozy up to a few beers and the episodes of Doctor Sexy building up in his DVRand relax.

Plus, he’s got a packagewaiting for him that he’s been looking forward to for days. Just thethought of it puts an extra bounce in his step as he locks up his car and headsfor the office.

Ten minutes later, hisgood mood goes up in a puff of metaphorical smoke. The package isn’tactually there.

“Are you sure the emailsaid it was delivered today?” the receptionist asks for the third time.

He waves his smartphoneat her. “Got the delivery notification email right here.”

Her vaguely hopefulexpression crumbles and she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, it’s reallynot here. I even checked to see if itgot left on someone’s desk instead of in the mail room. There isn’tanything addressed to you.”

Dean sighs and tucks hisphone away. Well there goes part of his weekend plans. And on topof it he has to deal with reporting a lost shipment to the vendor. Funstuff. “Thanks for checking anyway.”

She smilessympathetically. “Have a good evening.”

Despite hisdisappointment about the missing package, his plans aren’t totally ruined. So his smile is mostly genuine. “Thanks, you too.”

A few minutes later helets himself into his apartment, and he leans back against the door and justbreathes for a few seconds. It’s quiet and dark and it’s nice not havinganyone needing his attention. It reallyhad been a rough week, and he feels like he hasn’t had a minute to stand stillfor days. The only bright spots in his week have been the notificationthat his present to himself had been delivered, and the few times he’d caught aglimpse of his hot neighbor across the way.

Those are always gooddays. It’s become something of an obsession for him to see what kind ofwacky pajama bottoms the guy’ll be wearing each time they meet. Dude’sgot quite the collection, ranging from bumble bees, to kittens, to hammers andsaws, to superheroes. Plus he’s fuckingsexy with his sleepy eyes and mumbled greetings. He never quite lookslike he’s all the way awake, but he always greets Dean with a warm smile and adorky little wave that leaves Dean feeling light and bouncy all the way to hiscar.

Maybe when thisconstruction project is done he’ll take a few less intensive jobs. He can seeif his hot neighbor wants to hang out a bit. Even if he’s not into dudes,it would be nice to make a friend in the new place. Dean’s used to having a roommate, but nowthat he’s living on his own, it’s a little lonely in his down time.

“Oh well,” he says intothe empty apartment. “At least I’ve still got Doctor Sexy.”

A light knock betweenhis shoulder blades startles him away from the door. He looks at itsuspiciously for a moment before putting his eye to the peephole to see who’sknocking. When he gets a glimpse of wild dark hair and blue eyes, hejerks back in surprise.

Why is Hot Neighborknocking on his door?

Only one way to find out.

When he opens the door,Hot Neighbor seems startled. He stares up at Dean with wide, very blueeyes, that immediately make Dean’s world fall away for a few seconds.

“Oh,” Hot Neighborbreathes. “Green.”

The non-sequitur bringeverything back. “What?”

“What?” his neighborparrots, squinting in confusion.

Oh no, he’s cute. Dean’s internal monologue sometimes has a knack for stating theobvious. He shakes his head, dislodging the thought and dismissing the previousexchange. “Uh, hi.”

Hot Neighbor shakes hishead too, apparently also needing the mental reset. “Hello,” he says, anddamn his voice is just as sexy when he’s fully awake as it is when he’s sleepy. “You’re Dean, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. How did you--?” The question cuts off when he realizes that Hot Neighboris holding a box. That’s been opened. “Oh.”

Heat rushes into hischeeks when he realizes that this guy has probably seen what exactly is in thatbox. It’s only slightly reassuring when he also blushes, all the way tohis hairline. At least Dean’s not alonein his mortification.

“Sorry, I picked this upwith my other packages,” his neighbor says, holding the box out to Dean. He clears his throat and smiles. It looks forced. “Your girlfriendhas excellent taste.”

Maybe it’s because he’stired, or maybe it’s shock from the situation, or maybe he’s just a dumbass,but Dean’s mouth opens and the truth comes out. “No, these are for me.”

If the increased heat inhis cheeks is any indication, he’s about to spontaneously combust.

“Oh, um…”His neighbor lifts the box in Dean’s direction again. His smile turns tosomething far more genuine. There’shumor there, but also… maybe interest? “Well, you haveexcellent taste.”

Okay yeah that’sprobably interest.

Dean finally takes thebox, unsure how else to respond to the compliment other than “thanks, man.”

The guy nods and grinsbrightly. “Anyway, uh… have a good evening, Dean.” He does hisdorky little wave and turns back to his own apartment.

Before he can open thedoor, Dean’s brain finally shifts into the correct gear. “Wait, what’syour name?”

Hot Neighbor turns withhis hand on the knob. “Oh, I’m Castiel. Or Cas. People call me Cas.”

“Castiel,” Dean says,relishing the way it feels to say. “I was going to veg out with a beerand some trashy TV. I got a few extrabeers if you’d like a drink.”

HotNeighbor--Castiel--Cas, beams so brightly that Dean’s a little dazzled by it. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Thrilled, Dean stepsaside and gestures for Castiel to come inside. When he shuts the doorbehind them, his eyes fall on Castiel’s ass. Through his admiration of the shapely body he notices that Cas is stillwearing pajamas. They’re covered in Ninja Turtles. “Dude, your pants are awesome.”

Castiel turns and flickshis eyes down at the box in Dean’s hands then meets his eyes. “Yours too.”

“Maybe we can do afashion show for each other some time,” Dean suggests, feeling brave. IfCas was going to be weird about the panties, he wouldn’t be here now, right?

“I think I’d like that very much.”

Oh yeah, they’re goingto get along great.

Unless…

“I’ve got a bunch ofDoctor Sexy on the DVR. That sound okay?”

Castiel practicallyglows with excitement. “It’s my favorite show.”

Dean grins. “Awesome. Have a seat, I’ll getyou that beer after I put these away.”

Yup. Definitelygoing to get along like a house on fire.

#destiel #oops i ficced #au mashup #queenandthree

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buckyhoneyno · 6 years ago

Text

A Dumbasses Guide To Saving The World (Chapter 2)

Just two girls with stupid dumb luck

Read along as two girls are thrown into the supernatural world when they are mistaken for hunters and decided that they fake it till they make it.

Updating every Saturday because Saturdays are for the boys

I’m updating early cause finals are making me sad

Sam x reader

Dean x reader

masterlist

Chapter 2 \\ We’re Gonna WendiGo Now \\

The three found themselves at the towns local steak house hours later. The girls attempted to get Bobby to socialize with them about everyday things but soon noticed it was like banging your head against a brick wall. Really pointless and you look dumb doing it. When their food arrived, Bobby dug in while the girls gave each other looks to see who would ask the question first.

Charlotte rolled her eyes for a moment before looking at the man who seemed content to just eat in silence. Taking a large sip from her Vodka sprite she got ready to start the crazy fest.

“So, you were going to tell us more about Hunting,” She prompted waiting for him to finish chewing.

“What do you want to know,”

“Well to be honest we know next to nothing,” Maddie said honestly. “No one ever taught us,”

“Someone had to have taught you something for yall to take out a vampire nest that large,”

“Let’s pretend for a second that we know absolutely nothing,” Charlotte said with a shrug flipping her pony tail over her shoulder as she stabbed a fork into her salad.

“Fine,” he grunted. “Hunters kill what goes bump in the night, what the regular person doesn’t know exist.” Taking a bite of his steak before throwing back the rest of his drink. “vampires, werewolves, shifters, pissed off ghost, you know the gig,” he said with a nod.

“Ye-p, yeah we do,” Maddie stuttered slightly before looking back to her phone which was in her lap. She quickly started googling Hunting and monsters but only pulled up some book series called Supernatural that she quickly ignored.

“is there anything that can tell us more about the monsters…or at least” Charlie looked around for a moment making sure no one was listening to their table before whispering. “how to kill them,”

“Most hunters keep journals that have different Ghouls and such in it.”

“You don’t happen to have an extra hand book with you?” Charlotte joked but her face showed that she was serious.

“Not with me at the moment, I could ship you one once I get home. I’m sure I have a spare one somewhere,” He stated gruffly while nodding at the waitress who brought him another drink. “That would be great,” Maddie said while putting her phone away, giving up for now on research. She doubted any of the information google gave her would explain the crazy that was coming out of this man’s mouth. She was all for reading books about myths and monsters though so she kept the man talking. Never one to say no to a book.

Charlotte exchanged information with Bobby as they talked more about the Hunters books. She gave him the PO box address that the two girls shared, their apartment had an issue with people stealing packages so they paid the small amount of money for the PO box. She wasn’t too worried about the man having her number though, blocking someone’s number was an easy three clicks away.

“So, what brought you to our little town,” Maddie questioned after taking a long sip from her own beer setting it down closer to her friend. Charlotte looked at the beer with a slight grimace before turning her attention to Bobby.

“there’s been quite a few deaths a couple towns over that all were adding up to be a wendigo, I made a stop her and found out there were vamps in the area. Decided I would do a bit of investigating to see if I could gank em while I was here. Thankfully you already took care of that so half my job is done already,” with that statement he raised his glass as if to cheers us before taking another long drink. “I went to the coroner’s office earlier today though, the wounds on what was left of the victims all point to wendigo, not to mention the amount of people that are missing.

“Wendigo?” Charlotte said leaning forward in interest.

“Tall, skinny and pale,” Bobby started as if stating the obvious.

“Sounds like my ex,” Maddie muttered making Charlotte let out a soft laugh that she covered with a cough as Bobby gave them both a glare. “Sorry continue,” the man huffed while rolling his eyes but started again.

“They eat people,” he stated matter of fact.

“oh yeah,” Charlotte said with a nod. “see I just forgot what they were called,” Maddie shrugged before draining the rest of her beer as a distraction.

“Here,” Bobby slide some pictures across the table to the girls who picked them up. “If you look at the bite marks you can see how it is about the width of a wendigo, also not many creatures can rip a man limb from limb.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Charlotte whispered while turning an almost green shade as she tried to hold in her nausea at the sight of the severed wounds. Looking at her salad she slowly pushed it away from herself.

“it’s just a picture,” Maddie teased. “lil bitch,” she muttered under her breath as she stared at the pictures. She couldn’t help but feel slightly unnerved though. The wounds were concerning. The girls had heard about people going missing a few towns over, they weren’t hermits. It just wasn’t anything that made them wonder too much, the news reports all came back saying it was animal attacks. Neither of the woman were known for taking nature hikes so they didn’t take it to serious.

Looking at the pictures now they were having a hard time believing a bear or wild cat did this kind of damage. Though neither of them believed in the slightest that it was whatever Bobby was talking about. Charlotte couldn’t help but start to get more freaked out.

“s’cuse me for a second,” Bobby stated suddenly when his phone went off, “what do you idgits need no-” Bobby’s voice drifted with him as he walked away from their table.

“Maddie this is getting a little too weird for me,”

“Char come on, it’s not real,”

“Yeah, I know that, but he had pictures of dead people. Stuff like that isn’t just in the newspaper, and I don’t know a lot about coroner’s offices but I don’t think you can just walk in and ask to take pictures of the dead bodies,” Charlotte rushed out watching as her words seemed to take seed in her best friend’s mind.

“Let’s just keep him talking a little longer and then call it a night so we don’t seem suspicious. Then we can just put this whole thing behind us,” Maddie said before bumping shoulders with the other girl signaling that the man was coming back.

Bobby sat down and went back to eating. His expression annoyed but other than that calm.

“So that wendigo,” Maddie prompted. “How do you kill it,” she asked getting right to the point. “You know in case it decides to hop towns and come this way,”

“Nothing can really harm it, but if you set it on fire like the nest you did today then it'll be ganked for sure.” He stated with a shrug before setting his fork down giving them both hard stares as if analyzing them. “You two don’t know much about this, do you?” He said like he was finally getting that we weren’t lying about knowing next to nothing when it came to what he was talking about. “guess you really do need that journal,” the last part was more said to himself but they still heard it.

“Sounds easy enough,” Charlotte said sarcastically with a fake smile to follow it. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” He said with a shrug.

“Okay,” she replied before pursing her lips, holding back the words that wanted to come out. Instead choosing to pick up her drink and quickly suck down the rest of it. Catching the waitresses attention, she raised her glass and then said a quick thank you. “I think I’m to sober for this,”

“Your telling me,” Maddie muttered back as she played with the neck of her beer bottle.

The rest of their meal was filled with forced conversation on Bobby’s part and awkward chatter on the two girls. They got him to tell them a few more basic things about being a hunter. Their nerves finally showing through once he had finished a rather detailed story about how to correctly kill a poltergeist. Luckily though it was all done quickly, with the girls paying the bill, Bobby was full and content for the moment being. He wouldn’t tell them but he surprisingly enjoyed the dinner, they reminded him of those two idgits. Though they still held an innocence about them that he prayed would stay just a little longer.

See y’all next Saturday

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

taglist

@deanismygodwiththatwhistle @real-demon-huntress @beckywiththatgooddean @periodottea91 @this-glitter-pussay @takenbymyfandoms @oneshoeshort @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @getnaildbyme @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl @musiclovinchic93 @lolabean1998 @kramabitchy @myinconnelly1 @bunnybaby121115 @of-sebstan-and-chrisevans @dammitsammy @wingedcatninja @darkswanordie @ellen-reincarnated1967 @salt-n-burn-em-all @supernxturxl @drkeyed-dreamer @were-not-the-losechesters @ashrey95 @alwaysthefangirl @arbitranox @shotgunshutstheircakehole1967 @fellowmaya @jmb959 @capsiclesbeard @hoesforshows @healojane @cross-roads-blues @lolimeverywherebitch @yllwtaxi @sleepyindie

#a dumbasses guide to saving the world #supernatural series #supernatural one shot #supernatural imagine #supernatural #dean winchester series #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester one shot #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #bobby singer #castiel x reader #castiel

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strrne · 6 years ago

Text

The Masterplan, Ch.1-2

AO3

Chapters: 2/?

Words (so far): 5028

Summary: In the midst of the endless galactic conflict, Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala have made a shocking discovery that brings more questions than answers. And maybe, just maybe, an end to the never-ending war.

Note: a sequel to Give Me a Signal that you should be able to understand without reading GMAS but that WILL SPOIL the ending of GMAS for you. entirely up to you! <3

also a special-shout out to Crimson_Guard (on AO3), @praetor-canis & anon for specifically requesting a sequel. hope I can live up to that pompous title.

Chapter 1: Superhuman

It was supposed to be just another covert mission.

Well, that wasn’t really true. But however extraordinary the circumstances might have been, it was not as though they had been a great deviation from the normal amount of extraordinary in the daily lives of Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

“I think… the truth is not on the battlefield.”

And logically, they should have expected something like this.

“But – can we – to put our trust in someone like – “

They had come looking for information.

”My Lord…”

They had quite literally been spying on covert networks, listening to an unknown frequency on top of the main reception tower of Scipio, to try and expose the truth behind the rise and fall of the newly-crowned Head of the Banking Clan.

“I feel as though your plans concerning young Skywalker are becoming increasingly… specific.”

So why were they so shocked to find it? Should they not have rejoiced in their success?

“He already holds an abundance of darkness within. This entire takeover could have been accomplished without him unwittingly playing his part.”

Had they not struck kyber?

”And do you know what they say about little drops and mighty oceans, Tyranus?”

What did they say about little drops and mighty oceans?

That one could drink a thousand drops, and it wouldn't make a difference?

Or poison a single droplet, and kill all life in the ocean?

“So are you guys about done packing yet?!”

Anakin could hardly hear himself for the barrage of blaster fire as he screamed into his comlink. He could just about picture Obi-Wan recoiling on the other end with disgust and impatience. And somehow, Anakin knew exactly how his Master would respond.

“Believe it or not, we have something of a situation over here as well! I specifically told you not to go there, Anakin, especially without back-up!”

Admitting that Obi-Wan was right did not get easier over time. And neither was this battle: what had started out as a simple, if slightly defiant-spirited bit of scouting had turned into a skirmish against what felt like at least a company of B2-series super battle droids. And a company, normally, he would have still been able to handle, or at least survive – he was Anakin Skywalker – but this specific batch seemed to be either increasing in number or magically regenerating at regular intervals. The worst part was, the thickset clankers would have probably remained dormant had it not been for Anakin's unauthorized intrusion into this stupid cave.

At least he had been right about it looking suspicious.

Usually, at this point, the young General would have already been joined by those much-needed back-up forces. Or rescued, more like… But naturally, the one time he needed it, no one could be spared to help him. He would meet his end on this tiny, inconsequential shrimp of a moon, that had somehow become the most critically important site of war overnight, and whose new-found significance would then quickly fade with his own rotting remains.

Indeed, there were plenty of parallels to be drawn between himself and Vanqor 1 – Anakin felt like he could almost relate to it: its mildly poisonous air, ominously hanging mist, faintly glowing, hard and uneven surface – pretty package, sharp edges.

Anakin would have retreated long ago, but truthfully his sense of direction was failing him, and even the Force was of no help in the heat of the battle, with no respite nor room for distraction. His defeat was imminent – unless, of course, his skin would be saved by the surprising secondary programming that some of the droids were suddenly starting to exhibit.

“Is this not Anakin Skywalker?” a back-row silver soldier wondered to a fellow slacker, as their more industrious friends kept closing in on Anakin. “One of the Generals we have permission to apprehend alive?”

“Fool!” the other one reprimanded. “Killing a Jedi is way easier than capturing one.”

“But killing a Jedi is almost impossible,” the first one pointed out.

Normally, Anakin would have gleefully agreed, maybe quipped about how they sounded just like their lesser B1 cousins. Now, there just seemed to be a cruel irony to the statement, and an alarming emphasis on the word 'almost'.

“Commander Cody,” Obi-Wan let his mask of stoicism waver ever so slightly while giving orders to his second-in-command, “I'm sorry, but you must take over from here. No one is more tired than I am of General Skywalker's whims, but I'm afraid there is no one better-qualified to neutralize them, either.”

Cody nodded, already multitasking; shooting down gray-plated droids and avoiding their fire while receiving a report from his comlink.

“Crys says the weapon is almost loaded. The team request permission for take-off with no commanding officer on board.”

“Granted,” Obi-Wan grunted with a hand-wave. It was not his preferred plan of action, but what had he expected, with his former Padawan co-leading? Where on this puny excuse for a moon had Anakin even found this many B2's to set into the wild? Not far, apparently, since they had found their way to pester him and Cody at the command center, and almost compromise the entire operation.

Obi-Wan laid an encouraging hand on Cody's shoulder before starting towards a long-awaited opening in the enemy lines. He nodded at the rest of the squad as well, and they returned the gesture from behind their screaming blasters, unable to salute at the present moment.

“Their numbers are decreasing,” the General observed. “I'm going to go get Anakin.”

Rarely, if ever, had Anakin found himself this exhausted with a swarm of simplistic destructive programming with ridiculous swollen torsos. There were simply too many. He was already on the ground, inhaling way too much of the musty, toxic oxygen, leaning onto some kind of crystalline structure, sharp enough to impale him should he lean too far behind. What wouldn't have he given to be able to send Padmé some kind of goodbye message through the Force (“I love you, my angel – tell Obi-Wan to tone it down with the jokes at my funeral – and if Ahsoka isn't invited to attend, what is even the point? – also, I was the one who poured wine on that cream-colored senate gown.”)

Anakin was already going through his remaining options, the truly desperate ones, such as requesting to be taken prisoner instead, like the two droids had discussed – when it suddenly struck him again.

A vague sense of paranoia - a sense of everything happening for a reason. The feeling of being controlled - of everything being carefully calculated.

Was there a reason behind the droids' alternate set of orders? Anakin had long known himself to be valuable – but now he knew something he was never supposed to. That he was not just wanted by the enemy for information, or for leverage. He was wanted by the Sith.

By Dooku – if reluctantly – and his Sith Master.

Wanted as an ally – an asset.

Wanted for his 'darkness'.

Padmé had heard it too, on top of that tower. In the heat of the moment, they had sought comfort in each other, promised wordlessly to face this next ordeal together.

But the moment had passed, and real world had awaited them on the ground. The war had ravaged on without them, he’d been on assigned on another mission, she invited to a thousand more meetings, and suddenly, surrounded by hundreds of people – hundreds of ‘allies’ – they had both found themselves alone.

And Anakin had realized that the ‘darkness’ was his and his alone. His cross to carry, his burden to bear. All of this was his fault, none of it hers. And he didn’t even know what ‘all of it’ was.

But Padmé had not given up. She had begged and begged him to talk about it – fearing that he would try to block it all out, to deny what he'd heard. And for good reason – those sickening words would pop into his head, uninvited, at the worst possible times and situations, making him want to vomit whatever terrible ration food he'd had that day, and then his empty stomach. And yet, he was already having trouble recalling what the words had been about, why he was upset at all – and it had only been a few days.

Now he remembered, in perfect detail, and it was hardly any better.

Admitting Padmé was right actually had gotten easier over time – not that she'd ever given him a choice. Or been wrong very often.

What wouldn't have he given to be able to sit down with her right now to have any unpleasant conversation – if only he'd been able to deflect thatspecific blaster bolt, aimed at his heart, but he only had two hands and a single glowing kyber stick –

“Anakin!”

Involuntarily, Anakin turned his head towards the familiar voice, to just be able to discern Obi-Wan through the darkness, and somehow, miraculously, the movement made him miss the fatal bolt.

Instead, the blaster fire hit the crystal formation behind him, and then everything went black.

“Anakin, can you hear me?”

Obi-Wan sighed. When had gentle suggestions and cautious inquiries ever worked with this boy?

“Anakin!” he screamed at his apprentice's bandaged face, stopping just short of slapping it and potentially causing more damage. Obi-Wan sensed Cody starting behind him (when did his even-tempered General ever lose his cool like that?), but Anakin still remained unresponsive.

Obi-Wan shot an accusing glance at the ship's medbay crew.

“You told me he was okay!”

“And he is, General Kenobi,” a young nurse reassured him, then added with a sardonic edge, “Please feel free to consult the Force on that. And maybe run him by the Jedi healers once we get to Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan nodded, too worried to question the girl’s attitude. But really – a bruise here, probably a minor fracture there, and of course, the bi-weekly concussion – come on, he told himself, he had seen Anakin in much worse shapes and situations. So why was he feeling so anxious, and why did all his anxious feelings seem to revolve around Anakin lately?

They had literally just stolen a mysterious Separatist weapon – why not fret about that instead?

Obi-Wan scanned the room for a seat, when Anakin suddenly drew a deep and hoarse breath, eyes flicking open, and immediately jolted up on the bed to his elbows.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan exclaimed in relief, while the nurse tried to convince the patient to keep lying down.

Bad at following orders as usual, Anakin just stared at Obi-Wan with his mouth open, blinking – as though he had expected to wake up to something else – or had not expected to wake up at all.

“I'm sorry!” he then cried without warning, gripping his Master by the upper arm. The nurse threw up her hands in resignation. Obi-Wan made a mildly confused face at Anakin, then turned towards Cody. The commander nodded, then proceeded to kindly ask the medical staff to excuse themselves, following in their wake.

“About what?” Obi-Wan asked Anakin once they were alone.

“I shouldn't have left my post, Master,” Anakin spluttered, not letting go of Obi-Wan's arm. “The droids – I might have activated–“

“Two companies’ worth of them, yes,” Obi-Wan interrupted. Anakin looked horrified. “But don't worry,” Obi-Wan added. “We looked into it, and it now appears that the weapon might not have been abandoned at all – in which case it stands to reason that there would be safety measures in place. Whether or not you personally activated them, we may never know, but –“

“At least tell me there were no casualties."

“No casualties,” Obi-Wan reassured him. “I must say, this is all very… odd. The droids might have put up quite an impressive fight, but I don't understand why they would be stationed at half a klick's distance from the weapon they were guarding. And without sentient commanding officers? No… no, the weapon must have been abandoned after a–“

Obi-Wan caught himself only as Anakin inclined his head back again, hissing in pain and gritting his teeth. They both probably should have taken it a little slower.

Anakin should have been back by now. There were plenty of reasons to hate the war, to oppose it, and this was the most selfish one, Padmé realized – but still, oh, she'd never get used to this feeling. Mentally preparing herself for the worst, while also denying the mere possibility of it – because her husband was a survivor, he was superhuman, certainly far more immortal than she would ever prove to be… and yet, he always made her wait. For a reunion that, while an immense relief and joy, always played out much the same way.

He’d greet her cheerfully, put up a brave face while pretending he didn't have half a dozen brand new stories about what had almost happened. Sometimes accidentally share one such story. Squirm awkwardly before her and then change the subject.

Same thing every time. Only, this time… well, 'same' wasn't the word for it. Nothing had been 'the same' since Scipio.

For fear that Anakin would try to forget (which she could understand), Padmé had taken it upon herself to memorize everything perfectly: every word they had heard; every syllable and every intonation, and even that awful, chilling voice that had seemed to devour the whole room. Without understanding a single thing, she had committed herself to do so anyway. To follow her thoughts through to a logical conclusion. And in the end, the truth had appeared remarkably simple: the Sith wanted Anakin.

Dooku and… whoever. ‘Tyranus’ and whoever. Dooku, and who surely must be the most despicable being in the Galaxy.

For his ‘darkness’. For his powers. Powers that she – once again – didn’t really understand.

Anakin’s darkness, on the other hand – she had slowly come to understand a little. Or perhaps she had always understood it. Perhaps she had been too understanding.

Padmé gave a forlorn sigh as she made towards the window to admire the beautiful and anxiety-inducing night sky of Coruscant. It was difficult not to wallow in self-blame when Anakin had completely closed himself off, and was probably feeling something far more profoundly terrible than guilt. She wished he would just come home now, even just to be silent, just sulk in the corner, while she would gently stroke his shoulder, run her fingers through his hair, tell him everything was okay, that she was here for him and would always be –

“Uh, I’m home…”

Padmé whirled around toward her husband’s voice, coming from the balcony as usual, before she could even process her relief.

But the creature standing on the ledge – against the backdrop of swooping skyspeeders that suddenly looked like blaster bolts – then made that relief disappear like smoke.

“Anakin, what happened to you?” Padmé cried as she darted towards him, extending both her arms. Anakin was shaking his head dismissively as he obediently took both her hands in his and allowed himself to be helped down.

“No, no,” he reassured her, his gaze wandering, “the doctor said I’m fine.”

Padmé stared at him incredulously – mostly at the widespread, deep violet bruises on both his cheeks, his neck, and – she didn’t even dare imagine what was hiding underneath those filthy Jedi tunics. She wanted to embrace him, squeeze him tight, touch him everywhere, but she could have sworn she had seen Anakin suppress a wince when she had clasped his hands.

“I know it looks bad,” Anakin grunted while still avoiding her gaze. “The bruises appeared later… think I kinda freaked some people out before I realized.”

“You’re freaking me out right now!” Padmé nearly shouted. “I’ve never seen you like this – don’t you usually have those – go to those – Jedi treatments?”

She couldn’t help but gently touch his cheek, even at the risk of making him flinch – Anakin had often said she had a healing touch. Oh, how she wished that wasn’t just a metaphor now.

“I’m fine,” Anakin insisted. “They’re just bruises.”

“They don’t even look like regular bruises –“

“Listen, I would have gone to the temple healers, but I needed to see you. I… I had to.”

Padmé stopped her fussing for a moment.

“I think…” Anakin began, still mostly staring at her squeaky clean floor. “I think it’s maybe time we… talked about it. This war is – this whole time, I thought I knew what I was doing. What I was fighting for. And now I’m just… confused. Nothing makes sense anymore. I…”

Padmé was already nodding, in intense agreement, but also mentally shaking her head. Now he wanted to have this conversation?

“Let me just get my medical droid. I love you, Anakin, but you’re crazy, you know that? And I swear, if you say ‘crazy about you’ one more time…”

He gave a laughter that turned into a cough.

Chapter 2: How Quickly You Forget

“Young Skywalker is not superhuman,” Dooku declared haughtily. “I have personally had the great pleasure to defeat him on more than one occasion.” The Count extended his right arm and studied it in a knowing manner. “Some defeats more humiliating than others.”

Sidious smirked at the words, delivered with such absolute self-assurance.

“You may twist and turn that arm to your heart's content, but do you truly believe you can twist mine?”

“What I mean to say, My Lord, is that I have had several opportunities to kill him. Skywalker may be powerful, but he is undisciplined, impulsive, and incredibly careless. I realize that this is all a test for him, but it is one that he has already failed as many times, and in as many ways as he has triumphed. And obviously, you intend to keep him alive until you can find a way to harness that… raw potential.”

“Oh, where there’s a will, there’s a way. And please do not worry about young Skywalker being ‘careless’. I do not believe I have misjudged his abilities, even if you are still the superior swordsman, Tyranus. But if I have, well, I have little interest in someone who’ll perish by a single stray blaster bolt. Those modified droids did their job admirably back when we still took Jedi prisoners, but I think it is time we retired them, and focused our energies on the Jedi’s extinction… don’t you think?”

“Quite, My Lord. Then it shall be up to Skywalker to prove his own worth…” Dooku gave a deep sigh. “And Master Kenobi to keep him alive.”

Padmé was still alternating between looking away with a grimace and staring at the swollen, lavender lump that had still a few hours ago been Anakin’s face, as her GH-series medidroid whirred into the room.

“Good evening, Master Skywalker,” the lamp-eyed little machine greeted, and Anakin smiled at it. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“First you need to explain to him what happened,” Padmé instructed, and Anakin couldn't help but shoot her an 'I know that!' sort of look. He could tell that she was worried sick – a state of mind that the former Queen had rarely exhibited before, ever – not until very, very recently.

Strangely, the longer the war had gone on, the less accustomed she had grown to Anakin's prominent role in it, and the more vividly she seemed to picture what exactly went on every day in his perilous life. Sure, she had never been under any illusions about the horrors of warfare, and they had even been in a few tight spots together. But that was different – it was the fear of what she didn't see, what he wouldn't tell her, that seemed to be getting to her sometimes.

Although, at the moment, Anakin was nothing if not extremely visible and present, and still she was not happy.

“We were on the first moon of Vanqor,” Anakin recounted to the droid, trying to remember to meet his wife's eyes at times, and not be annoyed when she flinched at the sight. “The one with the somewhat breathable air… somewhat.”

“Accessing database – Vanqor 1,” the droid peeped up.

“So I was fighting a bunch of B2-series battle droids. With some funny programming, but that's besides the point.” He deliberately looked at Padmé again. She seemed to have now calmed down a little, perhaps even gotten used to her husband's new jogan fruit colored face. “…I was in some sort of cave, where they had stored the droids, or…” Anakin paused as he felt a sudden headache somewhere around his forehead, and it immediately cost him his train of thought. Come on... It had been a fairly simple mission – even if he had ended up complicating it – so why was he having trouble remembering the details? “They might have been guarding this weapon, or… I don't know!”

He caught himself screaming out the last few words. Padmé had now completely regained her composure, and instead of looking shocked, she merely raised an eyebrow at him. Right… the anger issues.

But the truth was – the problem was – that he didn’t know. No matter how he looked at it, something inside him had changed profoundly since Scipio. Somehow, it felt as though his eyes had been opened – or maybe just cracked ajar – that he was slowly realizing he was fighting a war he didn't completely understand, and could never completely control – perhaps, never end. Conducting missions he didn't really know the true purpose of… just like he hadn't known his own.

Not the way the Sith did.

“Vanqor 1 – primary terrain: caves and crystalline formations similar to those found on the mother planet.”

“Yeah, that's right,” Anakin tried to focus again.

“Would you like to hear my analysis, Master Skywalker?” the droid asked.

“Huh? I haven't even gotten to the part where I… lose consciousness, I think? Not that I remember any of it.”

“Analysis complete: inside the caves on the first moon of Vanqor, there is typically a lower level of oxygen and a higher concentration of toxins. Human skin, particularly when the body is strained, will be more vulnerable to absorb the toxins in this environment. Scanners are currently detecting… mild levels of toxic substance in the patient's blood. However, it is likely that the level will rise to... moderate, as most of the toxins will take up to 72 hours to take effect or even show in a scan.”

Padmé shook her head and got up from her bed before Anakin could say a word.

“Okay, I've heard enough, thank you, GH-8.” The droid tried to protest, but Padmé sent it on its way, before turning back to Anakin, and gently taking his ‘bruised’ hand in hers. There was little gentleness in her expression, however.

“Come on, to the medcenter we go.”

“I'm,” Anakin objected, “I'm really supposed to go to the temple for these things. And I already skipped that to come talk to you…”

“Did you even hear what he said? You have toxins in your blood. Temple or medcenter, your choice.”

Padmé's visible worry and anxiety were now gone, and instead she had assumed her full-on no-prisoners problem solving mode. And in this case, Anakin was the problem.

But she was right – coming here had been a bad idea. Obi-Wan had probably sent an admission note to the Halls of Healing hours before they had even landed, and yet, here Anakin was, once again, avoiding the temple to be with his wife. And possibly dying as a result.

“Fine, temple it is.”

Too soon, they were already kissing goodbye in the temple courtyard. In Anakin’s fantasies, anyway. Toxins, and all.

An awful lot of Anakin's life these days seemed to pass by in a complete blur. Although he recognized Master Windu's face, Anakin couldn’t for the life of him figure out why that would be the first thing he saw upon waking up – instead of Padmé, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, or a torture device.

“We don't normally find our Jedi Knights sprawled unconscious on the floor,” the Jedi Master observed.

Before Anakin had time to prepare for the contact, or even remember his hands were hurting along with the rest of his body, Windu had already grabbed them both and helped him to a standing position – which Anakin could just barely maintain.

“I'm sorry, Master Windu,” he apologized. “I was on my way to the Halls of Healing…”

“Where you should have been admitted about 12 hours ago. And where you clearly should stay for the better part of the week…” Windu's voice trailed off as he reassessed the statement. Anakin could sense his meaning – more Jedi Generals were needed on the battlefield, as always.

“Let me show you the way, Skywalker,” Windu volunteered, emphasizing every word as though talking to a small child, or a clueless tourist, as he started leading him down the hallway.

“You were the one who found me?” Anakin asked groggily.

“No… I was alerted by a very frightened group of younglings and their trainer. May I ask what is wrong with you, Skywalker?”

It took Anakin a second before he realized Master Windu meant health-wise – probably.

“Got some kind of poisoning on Vanqor 1.”

“Ah, yes… the Separatist weapon.”

Anakin had almost forgotten about the weapon. He sensed some rare uncertainty floating around the usually self-assured Windu, and ventured to ask about it.

“And have you started studying the weapon, Master? I have yet to see it, myself.”

“Please, do not trouble yourself with that right now.”

As they arrived at the entrance to the Halls, Windu summoned an attendant, and at their swift arrival, wouldn’t let Anakin speak for himself, but immediately ordered an examination, a body scan, as well as a bacta tank to be filled – and no, he didn’t care if they were all taken, he was a member of the Jedi Council and this was one of the Republic’s best Generals.

Anakin couldn’t help a small smirk at the compliment, even if it was mostly just an argument that wasn’t even directed at him.

Before Windu could practically shove him into through the entrance to follow the attendant, Anakin remembered something with a jolt.

“Master Windu, where is Obi-Wan?”

“On his way back to Vanqor 1,” Windu replied impatiently. “For further investigation. Please –“

“What?” Anakin gasped. “No, that can’t be right – why would he have taken the ship back here only to –“

“Because you were on that ship, young one, and you were injured. Trust me, Kenobi and I already had this conversation, and it did not end in a very Jedi-like manner.”

“No, no, no, no, you don’t understand,” Anakin protested, trying the patience of yet another nurse that was waiting to attend to him. “You need to contact them now. It was Master Obi-Wan who rescued me from that cave.�� At least, Anakin assumed it had been, and suddenly sidetracked into wondering how Obi-Wan had even managed that. Just how many droids had he... “Long story short, turns out the air on Vanqor 1 is way more poisonous than we initially thought, especially in the caves. You need to tell them to put masks on and get themselves checked at the medbay, now.”

Windu seemed mildly affronted by Anakin’s openly authoritative tone, but seemed inclined to believe him. Anakin's current appearance was probably lending him credibility.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Skywalker.” He then placed a firm hand on Anakin’s arm and pointed at the attendant. “Examination, now.”

All non-Jedi were obviously prohibited from entering the temple, so Padmé had little choice but to assume that her dear daredevil of a husband was currently sleeping peacefully on the softest of beds, receiving the best treatment possible, and no one was needlessly chastising him for anything. Sometimes it truly felt as though she was the only one who knew how to confront Anakin in a way that didn’t leave him feeling completely humiliated and vaguely angry – no offense. Even Obi-Wan was a bit hit-and-miss.

While scrolling through the notes on her holopad to prepare for the morning session at the Senate, Padmé’s mind wandered. If only Anakin had led a slightly less hazardous life, and they could have talked things through last night.

For Padmé already had a theory – or at least the beginning of a suspicion. She had remembered something else – or rather, something had finally clicked into place – about the mysterious holo call they had intercepted on Scipio. Something that – had she only been an intrepid politician and not the wife of a powerful Jedi – would have probably caught her attention from the beginning.

“This entire takeover could have been accomplished without him unwittingly playing his part.“

Dooku had said that. Dooku, the leader of the Separatists. Only… that didn’t make any sense, not even a little. To be sure, the Confederacy had been blackmailing the newly stated head of the Clan, but… ‘takeover’? Was it not the Republic that had 'taken over'? The Republic that had declared ownership of the banks only hours later?

What possible ‘takeover’ on the Confederacy's part could Dooku have been referring to? Were they still working from behind the scenes? Not a far-fetched thought, but one that terrified Padmé to her core.

“The Sith control everything. You just don’t know it.”

Dooku had said that too, to Anakin. It was when he had dueled Dooku on Naboo a few months ago, before being taken hostage by the Count and eventually traded for General Grievous – by Padmé’s selfish decision. Anakin had then been forced to report the entire series of events to the Council, and once again gotten blamed for everything.

Only Padmé (and Jar Jar) had asked him if he was okay – mostly referring to the torture – but instead Anakin had told them what the Count had said to him before the duel, about the incident that started it all – the Battle of Naboo all those years ago. And how little had changed since then.

"The Sith control everything. You just don’t –"

“Senator Amidala, are you quite ready?”

Padmé started, afraid that she had just made a very un-politician-like face. Moteé, sitting next to her, was looking at her funnily, as though asking if she should answer the Chancellor’s question for her. Padmé raised her gaze embarrassedly.

“Yes, of course, Chancellor.”

#anidala #Anakin Skywalker #padme amidala #the clone wars #sw prequels #this will... probably be a bit more gen than gmas #like the anidala is there but srsly i literally can't write romance except as a subplot #which is dangerous with star wars because i still have no idea just how many facts i'm getting wrong #with the... main plot and the depiction of gffa #i always have to add at least 6 brand new plot elements of my own #but i tried to research stuff i rly did #aaaanyway #rly thank u guys for requesting a sequel that actually made me rly happy even though i wasn't planning on it #hope this will be... adequate.#star wars #fanfic #also sorry to post this late #again

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sayofchains88 · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter Nine: Dawn and Midnight Paranoia by OrangeLetters88~

"Were going to be meeting two famous late night talk show hosts of Midnight Paranoia, plus we doing a pact with them because it is very hard to get one scheduled with them." Steele shouts excited more than usual.

"Sounds nice to me, getting out would be really nice after the ordeal I went through." He replies nervously shaking. She puts her hands on his to get them to stop. "Sorry...I am not okay. Now were okay. I mean I feel better, but I feel for now I still feel scared. I...I was so scared Steel!"

She tips his head on her shoulder. "I am so sorry it took so long to find you. We almost had no leads. Forgive me."

"No...you are fine. I forgive them, but they really messed with me. I want to hate them so badly, but I can't...everyone is so messed up inside I realize now." He places his palm on face trying to not to cry.

"Shhh...it's okay Alex...this is not something to come out of easily. What happened became your life for what was a month. A lesser man would be destroyed by this, but you came out on top." Steel says trying to comfort him.

"What's worse is Alice barely recognizing me. It was a nightmare and I tried so hard to ignore it because if I did try to convince her I would surely go mad..." He pours his heart. It is so heavy with grief. " I have a trouble looking at blood right now. It makes me sick to my stomach, but I can't tell anyone."

"Alex, calm down please! I promise you are safe now and we will take care of you on the trip okay?" Steel almost in tears from seeing Alex lost in what happened. "Please...calm down."

"I will be okay..." Alex replies upset breathing in and out slowly holding his chest with eyes closed. Christian comes out stretching his arms.

"I couldn't sleep. You two are out are early this morning." He said yawning.

"Christian...I have one request of you and Alice please..."

"Yeah, what's up man?" Christian responds confused.

"Never call me Master. I mean never ever never! I am no one's master." He replies miserably.

"You are brother, my bud, my mentor, my friend. After all the bullshit we been through I am sure you see us as equals." Christian responds lighting a cigarette.

"When did you start smoking?"

"I always have, but with everything I picked it back up due to stress. I have never had to be a detective before. You know the best part is when we couldn't make a perfect plan..." Christian explains slightly muffled with the cig in his mouth pointing to his head. "I thought well think like Alex and walk in like at Coopers."

"I should expect that...I am not really a good influence, am I?"

"No brother, you teach me to put it forward. Life isn't like some movie on the big screen, but I am sure you learned that pretty quickly as well." Christian counters taking another hit of the cigarette before putting it out. "Most of all I missed you and Alice. I was by myself even though I am with Mars, but it just felt empty is all."

"He wouldn't stop chain smoking. Had a hard time to get him to go hunting for prey or taking blood. He was much too worried."

"Steel, shhh. I have had blood since then. I knew if I got weak I couldn't help you Alex..." Christian says a little embarrassed. "Anyways we will be leaving soon. I volunteered switches with Clarence for driving since it's awhile away."

"Where is Colleen at?" Alex questions.

"Because of you she wants to make good on her life with her human father. We will see her when she is back..." Steel confirms.

Mars comes out with a backpack full of clothes running to the car. Alice follows behind with a small suit case and Clarence carrying a full carry on with wheels at the bottom. "You guys are much too excited." Steel laughs recalls she hasn't fully packed her bags and darts to the room.

Alex sluggishly makes his way to the room he was staying to pack. "Alex, please package the vials of blood? They will only last a day so we need a scrubber and insert brushes to wash them as well!" Alice shouts from the doorway.

After he packs he makes his way to the storage room. He takes a deep breathe seeing the vials packed in a long square of ten on the rack. The bubble wrap in squares to the side in a rogue box that is tilting.

His hands shake; he brings his hand to chin wondering if he should say he is busy and needs someone else to get the vials. Some reason he can feel himself hyperventilate the closer he gets. He stoops as he tries to pull it together, but passes out.

Moments later he is looking up at Steel who came too late. "Don't tell anyone Steel. I got to find a way to get over this. I feel like a failure of a vampire now."

She helps him get up on his feet dusting him off. She wraps the vials and sticks them in a sealed box to keep them from view. "I should have gotten the vials instead of you. I knew, but was a little per-occupied."Steels says blushing.

"I will think I will just wait in the car." He gets in the car taking the window spot so he could lean into the window. The car ride is hard on him due to being trapped in a small space. He tells himself it's only temporary.

Half way there they stop to get gas and stretch. Steel walks when she is pushed by a robber, she does a quick back flip kicking him on his butt with just a push of her leg and snatching him by the back of jacket.

The lady comes out shocked. "Are you a performer?" She says on the cell phone with the police.

"I accidentally did that on reflex, but glad you are safe at least." Steel replies nervously. Steel hands money for the fuel and takes off before any cops come.

"Why are we popping off so fast? Shouldn't we wait to take report?" Christian questions Steel who seemed guilty driving off.

"Most of the cops in this area are already suspicious of vampires. I tend forget you are new, but never stay long in any area...one knows me very well. I am not looking forward to seeing him."

"Oh...so what happens if they realize you are vampire?" Christian replies even more curious.

"We will never be able to retrieve you. We call these cases clean cut disappearances even though we know what they are. Usually they become brainwashed slaves like K-9. They have their own case squad once identified."

Christian shivered at the thought of it. Alex covers his head with hands. Alice semi wraps her arms around him when she observes him dunking into his arms. He looks at her with a smile. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just can't wait till we get there is all."

"The smell of new blood is enticing." Clarence interrupts envisioning causing him to slick his back.

"Calm down Romeo. Not even there yet and you are already thinking about it." Steel says pinching his arm.

"I can't help it; fresh blood tastes better than old blood for me...I also can't eat food like some of you!" Clarence points out to Steel. She pulls in to a hotel. Their room is a shared with four beds, two to each room.

"We have rules when I do trips. We travel in pairs, when we meet Joshua and Alan we will all be together. This town is huge and known for kidnappings and killings due to the high volume of tourists it gets down here! "Steel lays down the rules for Alex's group.

Mars looks around a little till he takes notice of Clarence gone. "Steel, your man is gone."

"He what?" Steel shouts running out the door with her card key. Mars ends up laughing before stopping.

"Christian, want to get a bite with me?" Mars asks kicking his feet out. Christian gets his jacket on his way out patting Alex's head. Alice follows behind leaving Alex in the joint room by himself.

He drops on the bed face first with his hands out. "I don't want to be here...I don't know where I want to be..."

The television flickers on by itself. "Hello my name Joshua! And my name is Alan! This is Midnight Paranoia. We got back from break so let's start at new caller. Hello who is this? What exactly have you come here for today?"

"Hi, umm well you see well first off my name Dawn. I am right outside your door Alex..."

Alex scrambles to open the door. "Hello Alex. It's been a very long time. I knew you were coming."

He shuts the door behind hearing it click behind, but also knows Mars and Steel have the keys.

"Dawn, what's going on? Why now?"

"Because..." She said giving him a small kiss on the lips. "I saw a vision something bad is going to happen in the town. I need your help."

"My book is inside...I accidentally locked myself out." He cries. "Also how did you do that? Vampires can't do that? Can they?"

"Before I became a vampire I was on my way to becoming a witch so I know a little up my sleeve, but it's slowly fading. I am out of practice now. Being a vampire already expands most of my energy..." Dawn replies.

She takes his hand and runs. "Where are we going?"

"To Midnight Paranoia, I have tickets for the backdoor bang!"

"Backdoor bang, what in the world is being carried out at something called backdoor bang?

"It's literally where we drink blood and chill. Come on like old times!" She says when he drops her hand. He stands still; he expresses horror instead of interest.

"Look right now I am not hungry; I will go sniff my clan mates out." He replies walking the other direction.

"How can you not be hungry in this place? It is a paradise of human tourists. What happened to you?

"I don't want to go into it today Dawn. Maybe another time..."

"I mean you are locked out anyways. Just come and join me." Dawn laughed.

He gives up and comes with her after much pleading. It seems maybe she just missed his presence. The hotel was surprisingly not far from the late night crowds of college students on spring break shouting at the DJ who making beats literally on a cherry picker. Strobe lights, party lights and beams of colored lights mixing and matching with each other in the chaos of weed smokers, bongs and dancers.

The whole scene is a wild affair to Alex. You could not tell a human from a vampire in this display of madness. He wondered if Steel and Clarence was attracted to these events and why?

Walking through the crowds he would spot some people looking directly at him before glancing away. Making it to a back door, walls covered for soundproof from the outside. Dawn flashes the tickets.

Two twins sit there with their legs crossed in position from each other. They are dressed down in silk blouses and black leather pants. Their sexuality there on display pouring blood from a large label-less bottle tinted green.

"I am Joshua! Welcome to the backdoor bang. Judging your boyfriends expression he never been here before or been anywhere like living a den..." He says examining Alex before lighting up a cigarette.

"Oh no he isn't a boyfriend, but why do you say?" Dawn says laughing taking a seat.

"My name is Alan and lately we just get horny groupie girls. It's nice to see an actual fellow vampire want to drink with us."

"No one suspects?" Alex asks. Alan lights his bong reclining back.

"We pay them off. They don't care about us or the show plus we get ton of girls who would volunteer to give us blood anyways. The heat of the moment gets them off ya know?" Joshua replies proud. "But we will never turn them. No matter how much they beat on me. Their yells of disappointment often echo late into the morning when we tell them, but no one hears their pains."

"Share a drink with us!" Alan says giving them wine glasses. Alex pushes his glass away. Dawn gladly accepts. "Come on...it's not every day or is there another reason?"

"N-nothing is wrong. I just am not feeling it." Alex almost stutters. Joshua gets up touching his face.

"Those black rings tell me otherwise. You had been starving yourself, but most likely only a couple days at most."

"There is something you don't want to talk about?" Dawn questions never noticing.

"Hey I am not judging, but most vampires go into a rage by default without it."

"I am sorry; I can't be here at the moment. Thank you for the hospitality. Good day Dawn." With that Alex makes his way out the door to get a breath of fresh air. He walks around to sit at the tables further away from the crazy club in front a local bar and radio DJ station.

Not drinking blood has made him feel weak, he could practically see a female tourists veins. Her sweet smell enticing as a flower in the full bloom in the noon sun, she walks away when someone practically knocks him over.

"Clarence! Put the bottle down already!" Steel shouts pissed.

"Steel!" Alex stands up catching Clarence drunk off his ass. He settles down. His head tips forward. He drops the wine smashing the bottle against the hard cement.

"He has been getting drunk like a mad man throwing him off his straight game. The prey isn't even hard prey. Girls are easily swayed for well-dressed onlookers."

"Let's bring him back to the hotel."

A crowd screams, the cherry picker knocks on to its side wrecking expensive equipment along the way. A couple people are pinned under the cherry picker. The DJ seems to be breathing on the ground. People are frantically on their cells calling for 911.

"We need to get back now. We shouldn't interfere in human affairs plus you are in no condition to help them yourself."

They drive back to the hotel. Getting inside it seems they are all alone. Mars, Christian and Alice seem to be out still. Steel loosens Clarence's tie tossing it on the floor with his gloves and setting his jacket on the chair.

Steel sits down in the chair beside Clarence. "Look Alex we need to talk about this food avoidance problem."

"Steel...please."

"No, I need you to talk to me. What can I do for you? You can't keep it up forever."

She hands him a small vial. Alex looks up at her not wanting to deal with this subject. He opens the vial shaking downing a small amount before it comes back up making him run to the sink. Steel pats his back sympathetic.

"Edwin and Joseph did really horrible things to you did they?"

His eyes began to tear up as he lifts his facing the mirror. "I want to forget...I just need time Steel. Hopefully it clears up soon. I will drink soon I promise, but please don't force me anymore." Alex bows his head over the sink.

"Don't overdo it. We need to meet people in a couple days' time. Stay healthy Alex..."

Clarence stumbles over to the bathroom. "I-I am o-only a little drunk Steel my love..." before throwing up everything in his stomach on the floor. Steels dress now covered in throw up and blood.

"You bastard, this is one of my favorite dresses!" She says pulling him over the toilet seat pulling back his hair. Alex helps hold up Clarence. Mars, Christian and Alice come back plopping down on the beds.

Alice walks over to help Steel with Clarence who is evidently very drunk back to his bed. He will continue to sleep deep through the night and most of the day to recover.

Day two and takes Clarence almost all day to recover. He wakes up being forced into shower and brushing teeth to clean up. He irons his blazer and makes sure his white gloves are pressed to perfection. His pants have to be cleaned; he has to change his shirt under causing him a bit of panic.

"You are such a neat freak for someone who got that shit faced last night." Christian laughs while he irons out wrinkles.

"Don't make fun of me. I need to be dressed and ready to go. My suit is my whole personality. It is my intimidation tactic."

A knock on the door has Alex look first. He notes it is Dawn again. "Looks like my nightly activity has arrived so looks like I will be out a little. Don't wait for me!" Alex says nervously squeezing the door.

This time he takes her hand running down the corridors and down the elevator. He huffs after they get far. "I wanted to say sorry about before..."

"Nothing to be sorry about, I just have a lot going on in my mind."

They walk together just catching till she stops. "Look...I have something you tell you."

Alex pushes her out of the way throwing himself in front of the arrow. He cries out, a man comes from the shadows. "I am guessing you mean this is what you wanted to warn about..."

The man dressed in olive green shirt with leather jacket and dusty jeans. Forcefully takes the arrow out. Dawn gets in front with her hands out. "Darren, I thought we discussed you need to stop aiming it recklessly."

"Oh I see..."He said pacing around Alex. "She hasn't told you has she?"

"He needs help you jackass! Can't this wait another time?"

"No, that arrow was edged blade so he is probably going to die if he bleeds anymore, but at least he will know."

"Know..what?" Alex grunts on the ground leaning against Dawn holds his arm where the bladed arrow unwillingly was taken.

"She is labeled a traitor." He said aiming another arrow into his leg. "She killed pappy, his ashy corpse a symbol of our operation not too long from here."

"Darren...stop please..."

"Stop what? You almost got him when he went into the backdoor bang session, but he decided to leave."

"Wait...that was a rigged operation then, you and Dawn...I..." Alex gets up with a severe limp.

"But we can no longer let you leave because we have told you about the rig. Why do you think it's not common for vampire to go to backdoor bangs?"

Alex darts for it even though his chances small he would survive. "I will not be held captive again. I would much rather die."

Darren launches another arrow into his back sending him to the ground. "That explains a lot."

Another arrow is fired and caught. "And here I thought fang hunters were only a legend." Clarence states holding the arrow between his fingers, walking forward he grabs hold of Alex.

"How long were you standing there?"

"I just got here. What do kids call it these days? Spidey senses?" His clear his voice with a smile. Dawn hides behind Darren. "But I know enough that you are Alex's old clan mate..."

"You aren't a normal vampire..."

"No I am not. What do you plan to do about it?"

Clarence walks away slowly with Alex limped over his shoulders. Instead of acting out Darren stays in position, Dawn tries to walk behind. Clarence throws his hand out holding a calling card and letting it drift to the ground.

They get back into the door. "Why are you out without Steel?" Alex asks in pain.

"We had a fight. She went with the rest bar hopping. Stop asking me stupid questions! I should be asking why you were alone and with a fang hunter!"

He rips the arrows out and scissors away his clothes allowing for a temporary dressing. Clarence hands Alex two vials of blood after he gets dressed in new top and bottom. "Lately you been acting stubborn, but this no time for that. Blood will help you heal faster."

He downs them immediately holding his mouth so he doesn't throw up allowing it to go down he can feel come back up through his throat, before long everyone is getting back through the door when he throws it up passing out.

Steel runs to Alex. "Why is he covered in bandages?"

"We need to cancel the plans for the meet. This town is full of fang hunters. Alex was lured by a bait vampire..." Clarence explains. Alex lifts his hand.

"I am not out of it. It was just a second...my old clan member killed Pappy."

He gets up leaning into the wall. Alice touches his shoulders lightly. "At least you learned who it was..."

"I have to face Dawn and the fang hunter before this is all over. I suggest everyone pack their stuff." Alex shouts. "We will find a lower standing motel further in the meantime."

"You won't be alone this time. We are all in this together." Clarence confides.

"After what happened we all know you are having a hard time dealing with some issues Alex...you don't have to hide them anymore..." Christian softly replies.

Alex turns around to face them. "I am your mentor Alex! I would never let something get worse well worse than the last situation..."

Mars starts to pack everything up. "I will be your drive. I have not really activated my serpent entity, but more than willing to do my part."

"I have an idea where the ashes are...but now they know of us...they aren't going to play pretty." Alex hobbles over to his phone.

"You nearly got killed. You can barely move! What do you plan to do?" Clarence asks confused.

"That's why I am bait...but you have to trust me."

They packed up making their way to the location Alex pinned as Pappy's place of death. Holding his book on his lap, when they make to the forest edge Alex waves Mars on away from the location.

He staggers to the location. The ground a char black mark in the grass, but the ash long since has been done with rain. "Even when wounded you still tried to find it." Alan says laughing from high in to the treetops.

Joshua and Alan block his way to move. They know he can't run far. "We already know you were picked next in line for vampire leader." Darren states. He slowly walks in holding Dawn with his hands around her neck.

"I already knew you would come. I decided to settle it my way. A single vampire is fruitless. Intimidation depends on sexiness and sometimes on looks even were just cute. I realized I have none of these so I need to rely on my wits." Alex responds pointing at his head. "Plus I came to save Dawn."

A tire wrench hits Alan in the back of the head knocking him out. Clarence comes from behind like the suave man he is. Grasping Joshua's neck from behind, Steel's steel traps are now visible locking them all in.

"Why would you want to save a traitor?" Joshua asks kneeling in front of Alan.

"Everyone deserves a second chance Joshua...vampires of offspring of the sinned of Lilith therefore we bare her cross. Humans are sins of their God. Dawn deserves freedom..."

Alex explains, his flashbacks of how he could kill Edwin and Joseph, but their deeds were mis-understood. They deserved their own happiness despite his suffering.

"You act as though hunting vampire for their fangs is any better." Clarence replies.

Steel positions herself behind Darren bringing her steel strings to his neck till he lets go of Dawn. He activates the crossbow with the customized steak firing into Dawns back. He loads another from his position going clear through her chest.

She reaches for Alex from the ground before her body slowly forms to ash. "Dawn..." He becomes enraged pushing his way to Darren breaking the steel string completely knocking over Steel from her trap unwinding the arena tossing Christian from a nearby tree.

His elongated nails digging into Darren's throat, about to slash his stomach open Steel gets in front taking the hit. His nails sink into her chest. "Remember your humanity, that's what you taught me..."

He snaps out of it catching Steel who loses consciousness. Clarence kicks Darren down making him drop his weapon. Alan and Joshua seem to back on their feet. "You must feel so proud being baiters..."

Christian and Clarence make their way to the car fast after Alex signals. From the distance Alex watches Dawns body's ashes catch to the wind. His vision fades.

He wakes up in Steels house and walks to the med bay. "Clarence...how is Steel?"

"Steel is fine. You didn't dig too deeply. She has been receiving full care so she will be okay." Clarence says happily.

"I don't know what came over me."

"Grief...grief came over you and that is okay. Killing the fang hunter would not have brought Dawn back. Steel was right to intervene."

"Yeah...while Steel is healing Christian and Alice need to settle last humanely affairs back in their town then we will back here. Please take care of Mars till were back. It shouldn't be long."

"No worries, it about time they realize this is their life now..."

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/269037735/write/1067834117 Please support my works at wattpad if you like please~

#original story #vampire #drama #death #love

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

Text

How Hunt A Killer Expands the Blair Witch Universe with New Horror Game

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The manila envelope is unmarked and tightly sealed. It takes some effort to tear it open, as if the envelope itself is warning me: “Are you sure you want to see what’s inside? Are you entirely certain you’re up for this?”

I answer the question by tearing the package open. As the 10 objects within slide across my desk – a journal, incident report, map, newspaper clipping, and more – it would seem I’ve accepted my role as a detective on the case.

And it looks like I’m delving into the dark history, and ongoing mystery, of Burkittsville, Maryland, the home of the Blair Witch.

This is the Blair Witch tabletop experience by Hunt A Killer in partnership with Lionsgate and marks the first time the interactive murder mystery subscription box company has invited players into a story tied into an existing franchise. And with the first of six monthly “episodes” of Hunt A Killer: Horror – Blair Witch available now, a yarn is unfolding in real time that references the Blair Witch movies – and shares several characters with the Blair Witch video game — while still remaining accessible to the uninitiated.

Speaking of yarns, whether you choose to crack open the case each month on your own (as I did with this episode) or with a group of friends, you don’t need a corkboard with red yarn to connect the dots in this story — but it might be fun to have nonetheless.

“Blair Witch has a rich playground of storytelling,” says Melissa LaMartina, Hunt A Killer’s Director of Production, and someone who grew up in Maryland close to the real-world Burkittsville. “And there is this sense of mystery and exploration and discovery sort of inherent in the world of Blair Witch.”

When developing the Hunt A Killer: Horror – Blair Witch story, LaMartina says showrunner Elinor Haney – along with writers Travis Madden, Tatiana Nya Ford, and Will Rogers, and designer Alaska S. Kellum – revisited the franchise installments and identified commonalities within the universe. And while observing guidelines and rules to the universe, she said she and the team viewed Blair Witch as a “perfect metaphor of just walking into a dark wood,” with all the fears and mystery humans carry about wild, unknown reaches of nature.

But ultimately LaMartina said this Hunt a Killer series is about plucking out a single person, or single family, and exploring how they might fit within this established mythology.

So who is this family?

As the detective on this first installment, I learn about Rosemary Kent, a woman who lives on the edge of the infamous Black Hills Forest. Her son Liam has gone missing under mysterious circumstances, and the Burkittsville Sheriff’s Office has failed to turn up any information. Rosemary has asked me (and all players) to investigate the events of the day Liam went missing, as well as Liam’s connection to the legend of the Blair Witch, to move the case forward.

To reunite the Kent family I will need to explore the mysterious forest, uncover the truth about recent disappearances, and learn about the supernatural forces behind them. However, to do so, as the story’s logline challenges, I must be willing to “face down the wrath of the Blair Witch and those loyal to her.”

The Hunt a Killer: Horror – Blair Witch experience intrigues me straightaway. To preserve the mystery, I don’t want to reveal every item in that Episode One manila envelope. But if you look at the main image on the Hunt A Killer website for this series, you’ll get a sense of what to expect.

Players are dropped in the middle of this narrative-driven drama, and everything is a clue, but there is no map of where to begin. Well, there is a map, but that’s a literal map of Burkittsville.

Where to begin?

The first thing I read is a letter from Rosemary, which begins with:

“It’s been weeks since I’ve felt any sliver of hope, and frankly, I was starting to lose my mind a little before I found you.”

The words sound like a concerned mother, and she draws me in as she breaks down what she knows. Everything looks and feels legit, like what a Sheriff might say during a press conference or witness interview, or how a magazine or teenager’s journal might read (down to the chicken scratch handwriting).

My approach is to read and absorb everything before trying to piece it together. Before I get to know Liam, I want to learn about the town, and what others might have to say about the Kent family. As for Liam himself, some of his belongings included in the packet give me a sense of who the missing boy is.

In addition to the artifacts and documents mailed to me for the first episode, I also discover an in-world website where I gather more evidence, interact with characters, and access digital files. (There is also an out-of-world site where hints, recaps, and solutions can be accessed if a detective gets stumped).

There is a verisimilitude to the items in the Hunt A Killer kit. And designer Kellum – who has likewise created a very cool “Creepy Baltimore” print on her own site – leans into the horror elements, and the aesthetic of the foreboding woods (and what may be lurking in them) without straining the reality of the proceedings. There is a hidden Episode One clue that particularly struck me with its eeriness when I discovered it.

Go back to Burkittsville with Hunt A Killer: Horror – Blair Witch

Names, locations, and little details begin to recur, which all spur questions. Where was this person at this time of day of Liam’s disappearance? And how does that person quoted in one document connect to the landmark and date on the map?

I find myself having a moment like Charlie’s Pepe Silvia meme from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I’m piecing it together when I discover THE clue, the detail that opens up the door to answers in this episode, and then subsequently presents more questions.

Over the course of a couple of hours of investigating (Hunt A Killer anticipates between 90 minutes to three hours of gameplay experience per episode, depending on number of players, and other factors), I find a sense of escalation and anticipation setting in. Yes, I am uncovering clues, but things feel like they are just beginning.

That is intentional, says LaMartina. When approaching the story, she says they set out to recreate the feeling of having senses engaged while watching a horror movie in the dark. But, like any compelling narrative, she adds that “a lot of that comes from the way you’re engaging with the characters” over the course of six months.

“You really come to care for the fate of these people with whom you’re interacting,” she says. “You’re not only getting the story of this individual and this woman who’s desperately reaching out to you for help, but you are also really, immediately, fully immersed in that larger world of the Blair Witch….And I love the idea of people opening these boxes and starting to sift through these documents and just getting this uneasiness settling in, because it’s very much a world in which things just are not right, you know?”

I find this to be true in my own adventure with the first episode. While I feel empathy for Rosemary, I am already suspicious of other characters who are popping up in the story. And then I find myself questioning those suspicions, because of course any good mystery will involve some sleight-of-hand and misdirection where a person is looking one way, while the real villain can operate undetected. And in a town like Burkittsville, I develop a keen sense that everyone has something to hide.

For the two hours I was working the Blair Witch case, and then when I interacted on the 132 thousand-strong Facebook Group, I did feel like the immersive nature of the Blair Witch experience taps into something I’ve been craving during the long months of a pandemic where I’ve been unable to go to the cinema or gather in large groups. The sense of discovery is cinematic at times, and I found it exciting to compare notes with players online to see who had trouble with certain clues, and who solved the episode faster than I.

Can you survive the woods?

“There is a shared sense of unfolding the mystery, and a shared human experience when we’re living our lives so much more online now, in Zoom meetings solid for eight hours a day,” said LaMartina. “I think this is a way of feeling more connected and knowing that as you are playing this game, we have a whole community of people who are also playing; it’s just another way to reclaim some of that human connection.”

And that is a connection that can be pursued over the next six months for any player who chooses to take on the strange case of Liam Kent and the Blair Witch story in Burkittsville, Maryland.

But as I learn, the mystery is just beginning. At the end of my investigation, I reach a cliffhanger. There is much more detective work ahead of me over the next several months before I get to the other side of this case.

However, if you go down this rabbit hole, or have already cracked Episode One of Hunt A Killer: Horror – Blair Witch, then perhaps you can make use of this exclusive Episode Two clue provided by the game company.

But first, ask yourself, are you certain that you can handle a horror story where you are the main character?

Hunt A Killer: Horror – Blair Witch Episode Two Tease…

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

In Episode 2, you’ll be introduced to a mysterious figure with strong ties to the Black Hills Forest. Who is this figure, and what could they want with Liam Kent? The clue raises questions of how they were communicating and what their relationship is.

The post How Hunt A Killer Expands the Blair Witch Universe with New Horror Game appeared first on Den of Geek.

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that-is-vexing · 8 years ago

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I started writing this at 1:40 AM, fueled by three cups of coffee. It is now 4:12 AM and I’m crying steadily.

R is not welcome, has never been welcome, will never be welcome. He is an outsider, an outlier. He is a black-hat-turned-white and no one trusts him.

They only took him because he was too dangerous to leave alone. They stuck him in a cell, forced him to undo all the damage he’d inflicted, and then they brought him to this... Q-branch. The Quartermaster, Boothroyd, had said, “I have a job for you, son.”

R had said nothing.

“It will test you.”

Nothing has tested him since he was in nappies.

“It’ll be thankless and no one will trust you.”

He doesn’t want trust.

“You’ll be under watch every moment, but we’ll give you free reign. On everything but us.”

He’d twitched. “...Everything?”

Boothroyd had smiled, and R had found a ruthless soul to match his own. “Absobloodylutely.”

R is hated.

He is too good at his job. He is too clever, too quiet, too obedient, too ruthless. He does what he’s told, as long as what he’s told is interesting. He does no menial chores, takes no punishments. Boothroyd hates him too, often casts him dark and suspicious looks. But R is too clever. No one can ever pin anything on him.

He does no harm to the United Kingdom. The rest of the world, however... oh, it is his playground. He makes fools of corrupt governments. He exposes his former “friends”, because they would do the same in his position. He aids in the arrest of foreign leaders. He chooses sides and plays the world like chess.

All of this, he does from his computer in Q-branch.

Sometimes he takes over handling a mission. He is R, after all. The agents hate him, too, but he never leads them wrong. It is safe here, in the bowels of MI6. He will not lose this precarious safety.

He is walking briskly down a hall, tapping away on his tablet, when they jump him.

They have been threatening to for months. He has mastered several forms of self-defense in that time, and he puts his training to good use. Nevertheless, fists and feet land, and he begins to feel it. There are ten of them, and they are trained, too. They didn’t expect him to fight back, but they have numbers.

He fights dirty. Someone screams. He doesn’t care. They won’t stop until he is dead. He will fight until then.

Suddenly, two others enter the fray. They seem to be on his side, but they do not break bones like he does; they simply and efficiently remove people from the equation. Finally, the only three standing are R and the two newcomers.

They are both taller than him, broader, blond; one has blue eyes and the other has green. They are looking at R with curious expressions. He looks around, finds his tablet (remarkably intact), picks it up, and begins to walk away.

“Your lip is bleeding,” one of the blonds calls after him.

“Yes, I know,” he answers over his shoulder, and turns the corner.

“So that’s him.”

James sighs and looks around at the ten groaning junior agents sprawled on the floor. “Yes, I suppose it was,” he murmurs.

Alec grins. “Fights like a wildcat,” he comments.

“Looks like a kitten.”

“Those ones are the most fun.”

James sighs again at the familiar glint in Alec’s eye. “You can’t have him. He’s a black hat.”

“Even better. Come on, let’s get out of here, before the little ones wake up.”

R is no longer simply hated; he is feared.

He walks into Q-branch with a split lip, two black eyes, and a limp, but he is calm and efficient and pays no attention to the pain. He’s had worse.

Boothroyd calls R into his office five minutes after R sits down. He pushes his chair back, locks his computer, and walks over.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking?!” Boothroyd bursts out, glaring, as soon as the soundproof door is closed. “You’ve made enemies of the whole agency now!”

“With respect, sir, everyone was already an enemy,” R answers matter of factly.

For some reason, that makes Boothroyd pause, and squint at him. R returns his gaze steadily. Everyone is an enemy. He learned that when his mother, the only person he ever loved, tried to drown him. Everyone wants you dead for some reason or another. Fight back, or you’ll find out which Hell is the real one.

“Haven’t you got any allies?” Boothroyd asks softly.

R shakes his head, gingerly. “They all hate me. It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

All R can do is shrug.

His wounds heal. No one attacks him again.

The blond men, he knows now. 006 and 007. They seem fascinated by R, cautiously. He ignores them. They hang around Q-branch, ask questions about R. They follow him around sometimes. He finds out later that they’re the reason no one has tried to knife him yet. He shrugs when he learns this, and moves on with his life.

And then he’s handler for 007.

At first it’s just the boring monotony of ordering the agent around. Then 007 breaks from R, and he frowns, but adapts to the change in plans. Then 007 breaks the plan, again, and again, and again. R grows angry; what, does 007 think R doesn’t know what he’s doing? Does he think this is funny?

“Obviously, you can do this on your own,” R finally snaps. “Goodbye, 007.”

“What? R, wait--”

But R has already disconnected.

Boothroyd is angry, of course. R lays out his arguments patiently, and waits for Boothroyd to have that heart attack he’s been threatening ever since R entered the picture, four years ago now. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns on the comms and barks, “007, report!”

“Thank fucking christ! Whip that fucking arsehole of a child, will you?” 007 spits furiously amidst a hail of gunfire. “I’m pinned down. Am I on camera?”

R clicks a few keys and 007 pops up on screen. “Yes,” Boothroyd grinds out, worry tightening his face. R finds this fascinating, that Boothroyd... what is the word? Cares. Boothroyd cares if these overgrown children live or die. R doesn’t. But he sits quietly and does what Boothroyd tells him to.

He isn’t allowed to handle any more missions. He’s fine with that. It gives him more time to work on his engineering, coding, and hacking. It doesn’t seem possible for everyone to hate him even more, but they do. 007 is something of a favorite.

R remains on his toes for a full year after the incident where he left 007 for dead. He doesn’t even relax in his cell, where he spends his nights when he isn’t pulling all-nighters on difficult or fiddly bits of work. He cat-naps. He takes to testing his food and tea for poison. He remains wary always, although not quite paranoid.

Suddenly, on the one year anniversary of the Incident, 007 enters Q-branch and heads straight for R. People scurry out of his way, all with triumphant smirks and evil glee glittering in their eyes. They think 007 is about to kill R.

R doesn’t ever turn from his computer. “Hello, 007,” he greets the man absently.

“Hello, R,” 007 replies coolly. He watches R work for a moment, then asks suddenly, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” R answers, picking a color at random. “Why?”

“No reason.” And 007 walks out of Q-branch.

006 brings R a package two days later, grinning like a shark, all teeth and coldness. He sets the package down on a corner of R’s desk and says cheerfully, “Special delivery, courtesy of the double-0 program.”

R looks up at him, patiently awaiting explanation.

But 006 doesn’t want to talk. He simply wiggles his fingers in a mocking wave and saunters out of Q-branch.

R doesn’t open the package--a plain brown shipping box--until five minutes before he’s to be escorted back to his cell. He finds a boxcutter somewhere and opens the box.

Inside is a cardigan of a deep emerald green. R frowns, takes out his scanner, and touches the device to the cardigan. The scanner senses no unpleasant surprises. So he takes it out, carefully, and lays it flat over his desk, which is remarkably clean. It’s... lovely.

There’s a card at the bottom of the box. All it says is “007″.

“Huh,” R murmurs, and packs the cardigan away again.

He wears it the next day. It is quite comfortable.

When he finds a rat nibbling at the firewalls, he engages it in combat.

They are good. They are very good. But they aren’t R. He defeats them, and sends a report to Boothroyd.

The rat returns the next day. And the next. And the next. R frowns, rebuilds the firewalls (after getting approval from Boothroyd, of course), and traces the source. No, it’s bouncing all over the globe. It would take him months to properly trace it, even if he were a robot (which he often wishes he were).

007 is killed at some point, but it’s barely a blip on R’s radar, even though everyone else goes into deep mourning.

006 walks into Q-branch the day after the announcement. He’s unshaven, unkempt, wild-eyed and hideously angry. He slams a bottle of some expensive scotch on R’s desk, making him twitch.

“Drink with me,” he demands.

“I’m busy,” R murmurs.

But 006 has already poured a generous serving into R’s empty tea-mug. R sighs quietly and obediently takes a sip. It’s very good.

006 sits beside R, brooding, watching him fight the Rat, drinking straight from the bottle. When the bottle is finished, 006 plants a wet kiss on R’s cheek and leaves.

R stares after him, surprised. It’s the first time anyone’s broken through his haze of coding since he was a child.

And the Rat takes the opening.

When the building blows, R survives, although his leg is broken by a falling chunk of ceiling.

Boothroyd does not survive.

At first, the news does nothing to him. Then something snaps in his chest. His chin wobbles. His eyes widen. His heart throbs with pain he’s not felt since the failed drowning.

And then he’s crying, sobbing, ugly and rusty and bent in half by this sudden up-welling of pain he’s never felt before. Not even when his little sister died in his arms. He clutches his chest and stomach and cries until his head is a solid cannonball of pain and his eyes feel ready to pop from their sockets and his throat is raw from restrained screams. How can anyone feel this kind of pain and survive?

Survive he does.

He will always survive.

He doesn’t want to anymore.

Maybe he’d loved Boothroyd, he doesn’t know. As a father, as a friend, it doesn’t matter. The point is that he shouldn’t have lived when a good man like Boothroyd is dead.

He tries to kill himself, injecting himself with immense quantities of morphine, but the doctors revive him. He will live. He must live, they insist. He is Q now. He must live; he is Q now.

He wants to scream at them, claw at their eyes, for daring to suggest that R could ever take Boothroyd’s place. He wants to die. He just wants to die.

M herself comes to his hospital room and scolds him like a child. He cries again. Confesses. Confesses everything.

“I can’t,” he sobs when he’s wound down. “I can’t, I just can’t.”

“You can and you will,” M says with an iron will.

R will never believe her.

James and Alec visit the new Q. He’s still shaking, pale, fragile, like if you touched him wrong he’d shatter into dust; but he walks, and stands, and orders his subordinates around. They do as he says, quiet and obedient. The way the new Q had crumbled so completely, and then built his walls again in a night, is impressive. Frightening.

James and Alec have faced more than their share of frightening people. But the new Q still makes them uneasy.

Neither smile when Q looks at them. There’s a distant pain still in his eyes, and he doesn’t seem to see them.

“Ah, yes. You’re here for your kits,” Q says, and his voice is distant too. “Jenny can help you.”

James and Alec glance at each other. Then they move off to Jenny, who’s already got their briefcases out.

“How is he?” James asks lowly when they’re in reach.

Jenny chews her bottom lip, glancing at Q. “He’s... not good,” she whispered back. “He won’t use Q’s--Boothroyd’s office. He won’t eat. He won’t drink anything except tea. I think he’s seriously trying to kill himself.”

R is escorted to his cell, refuses food, drinks only subpar tea, reads John Keats until the letters begin to blur on the page. Then he curls up under his thin blanket and cries himself to sleep. As usual.

When Silva hacks them, he wants to die.

The only thing that keeps him from going to his office and overdosing on pain medication is 007 demanding his help.

“You do recall what happened the last time we tried this.”

“Please.”

Q is so desperate to repent, to repay, that he agrees. And he agrees again, when 007 asks for a trail of breadcrumbs. And he agrees quietly when 007 mutters, his voice cracked with grief, “We’re all fools, aren’t we?”

#00Q #James Bond

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octoberinspo · 8 years ago

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RESONANCE OF FATE mission-based plots.

Because I love this game so much, I took the time to mine some potential plots based off of some of the main and optional guests in the game. Feel free to use them as listed, or as a base for a bigger/longer plotline. The quotes in the parenthesis are the overviews for the mission the plot was inspired from; they are merely there as examples. (Source for mission overviews.)

An inconvenienced mother needs Muse A to deliver some goods to Muse B. They could be something simple like cooking utensils or hardware, or something else entirely. ( “Ooh. You've come along at the perfect time! I need your help, and it's urgent! My son is on his way to Core Lift 1. Please get these knives to him!” )

There’s a small herd of either wild animals or monsters lurking close to a commute area, and Muse B has called Muse A to help come and deal with the issue, because they’re an expert at handling these sorts of things. ( “Could somebody please do something about the pack of Stray Curs roaming around on the other side of Rainy Bridge? So dangerous, they are!” )

Someone’s lost an item of sentimental value to them. Maybe it’s Muse A, maybe it’s Muse B, maybe it’s someone else entirely. And either both muses are out on an area-wide search for this item, or one’s in search of the item that belongs to the other. ( “I have a problem. I wonder if you could help me with. You see, I lost an irreplaceable watch the other day. I was hoping you could recover it for me. I believe it must have fallen out while I was on the way to Cardinal Jean Paulet's manor.” )

There’s a terrorist threat in the area. Either Muses A and B are tasked with helping in the effort of eliminating this threat. ( “A group seeking to overthrow the world order has arisen. They have become increasingly active with many sightings reported around the Core Lift on Level 4. The terrorist threat must be neutralized. Hunters in the area are to aid in their suppression.” )

In a variation to the above plot, Muse A is on the side of the resistance effort and Muse B is the leader of said terrorist threat. ( “We want you to clear out the rebels who are occupying Mine 24 on Level 11. The ringleader is a former military man by the name of Gelsey. This matter must be kept quiet. We therefore cannot order a major military deployment. Surely you can take care of this?” )

Muse A is called by Muse B under the pretense that they have an emergency that they need to have taken care of right away... only to find out that the reason they were called was just so they could fetch a bottle of liquor for them. ( “Come see me right away at my manor in Chandelier. I'm in a terrible pinch, and I'll simply perish if you don't hurry.” / “Run along to the Refridgia in the Silver Canyon on Level 7 and scrounge up a bottle of red wine, would you darlings?” )

Muse A has a very keen interest, and seeks to use Muse B as a test subject for their next project. ( “I've developed an interest in the clothing and fashions of the inhabitants in the lower levels. So, what I would like to see is one of you, how do you say it, out-decked totally in casual fashion. Let me decide... The younger male! You shall be the model! From the tops of the hairs on your head to the tippity toes, transform yourself casually.” )

Muse A calls Muse B for help in delivering a package, but doesn’t offer much details on the contents of the package. Muse B becomes rightfully suspicious, especially when the two find themselves seized on multiple occasions in the interest of claiming the dubious cargo. ( “I need this parcel transported to Ebel City. Something smells about this job, but... Can you be trusted with this?” )

Muse A is a hunter who is called in to help with a pack of wild beasts that Muse B, a less seasoned and experienced hunter, has attempted to deal with only to retreat. In the interest of sweetening the deal, they offer compensation for Muse A’s trouble. ( “I accepted an extermination job, but I'm outclassed. But walking away from the job's not in the cards. I'm not putting a dent in my good name and reputation! So, could I get you to take down the Piledriver Giant that appeared around the Freud Remnants on Level 8.” / “Three Grass Yetis sprang up from under the Waterless Bridge on Level 8. I tried to put them down before they could do much damage, but couldn't handle them alone. Please defeat them for me!” )

Muse A enlists Muse B’s assistance an acquiring a rare item of interest. Because the artifact was left behind on dangerous grounds, Muse B decides it’d be best if they went with someone backing them up. ( “Are you familiar with the Freud Remnants on Level 8, perchance? Apparently, a certain hunter found a copy of the ancient texts there. But they just left it, claiming to have no interest in such a thing. I must have the ancient texts. Please, find the artefact for me.” )

Muse A is the sole survivor of an expedition their commander (Muse B) had sent them on. While the two haven’t been in touch for some time since then for obvious reasons, Muse B decides to reach out to Muse A in the interest of investigating the site of the expedition, due to either unnatural occurrences in the area, an interest in reconciling the failures of the last expedition, or both. ( “I must have words with you at my manor in Chandelier. The great tragedy of Lucia... I have something to ask of you, the sole survivor.” / “Search for a sacred sign thought to be in Lucia on Level 6.” )

Muse A is an experiment gone horribly wrong, transformed into either an entirely different beast, or something superhuman with no sense of control over its new powers. It doesn’t help that its mind is shattered thanks to the experiments. Because the situation has spiraled out of control, Muse B is the one who’s sent in to detain Muse A through any means necessary. ( There is no mission overview of this, but this is literally one of the openings of the game. )

#Resonance of Fate #rp plots #plot ideas #indie rp #indie rp plots

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omegasupremeconservative · 6 years ago

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Fake News Watch: CNN Says Trump Is Leading A Hate Movement Against The Media

CNN never ceases to amaze me at just how dedicated they are to putting out fake news. Sure you may find some truth “somewhere” in their reporting but they have such a blatant disregard for the principles of journalism and reporting it should be clear to everyone their agenda isn’t for the betterment of the American public.

It’s time we properly categorized what CNN largely is which is Opinion Journalism. As Wikipedia states this is the type of journalism that “makes no claim of objectivity”. “Unlike advocacy journalism, opinion journalism has a reduced focus on facts or research and its perspective is often of a more personalized variety. Its product may be only one component of a generally objective news outlet, rather than the dominant feature of an entire publication or broadcast network.”

At the same time most of the media in my analysis engages in Advocacy Journalism or a combination of advocacy journalism and opinion journalism.

“Advocacy journalism is a genre of journalism that intentionally and transparently adopts a non-objective viewpoint, usually for some social or political purpose. Because it is intended to be factual, it is distinguished from propaganda. It is also distinct from instances of media bias and failures of objectivity in media outlets, since the bias is intended. ”

I’m not sure there are any journalistic standards that CNN follows but the Canadian Association of Journalists offered some advice for advocacy journalists to follow:

Acknowledge your perspective up front.

Be truthful, accurate, and credible. Don’t spread propaganda, don’t take quotes or facts out of context, “don’t fabricate or falsify”, and “don’t judge or suppress vital facts or present half-truths”

Don’t give your opponents equal time, but don’t ignore them, either.

Explore arguments that challenge your perspective, and report embarrassing facts that support the opposition. Ask critical questions of people who agree with you.

Avoid slogans, ranting, and polemics. Instead, “articulate complex issues clearly and carefully.”

Be fair and thorough.

Make use of neutral sources to establish facts.

Let’s look at the latest claims from Brian Stetler a news anchor on CNN.

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Stelter makes the connection that a Trump Tweet at 3:14am instigated and encouraged someone to stick a pipe bomb in the mail and send it to CNN.

Funny how lowly rated CNN, and others, can criticize me at will, even blaming me for the current spate of Bombs and ridiculously comparing this to September 11th and the Oklahoma City bombing, yet when I criticize them they go wild and scream, “it’s just not Presidential!”

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) October 26, 2018

Then we see Brian Stelter attempt to research more into Trump and his rallies by asking the question WHAT IS TRUMP ACCOMPLISHING WITH HIS RALLIES?

Notable quotes from his commentary:

“when your in that pen you really do feel like a zoo animal” he is referring to the area the press uses to record, shoot video and report on the event at the Trump rally.

“before the rally people are gawking at you, saying your fake news, enemy of the people”.

“parts of the crowd are primed to chant CNN sucks, but then after they did that one of the men walked over and said hey nothing personal”.

“Trump is leading a hate movement against the media” he does acknowledge that “not everyone in his crowd believes it but some do and that is dangerous”.

What is a hate movement? There is no common definition for a hate movement but Wikipedia defines a hate group as this “A hate group is a social group that advocates and practices hatred, hostility, or violence towards members of a race, ethnicity, nation, religion, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation or any other designated sector of society. According to the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), a hate group’s “primary purpose is to promote animosity, hostility, and malice against persons belonging to a race, religion, disability, sexual orientation, or ethnicity/national origin which differs from that of the members of the organization.”

If you analyze the MAGA Make America Great Again movement you would find out that MAGA people love their country, they are very patriotic, they could be religious but not always, they believe in helping America First but they don’t hate or dislike our friends around the globe. Conservatives have been treated very unfairly in the media and yes many conservatives and Republicans HATE the media but in a way that someone would hate their in-laws or hate rush our traffic or hate their boss, or hate it when their taxes go up.

There is anger and resentment towards the mainstream media and cable news outlets like CNN and rightly so. CNN tries to be slick and suggest that Trumps creating a hate movement and the result is what we saw last week with various pipe bombs mailed to prominent critics of Donald Trump which CNN called TRUMPS TARGETS.

CNN needs to frame Trump and his supporters as a hate movement to subjugate MAGA. To remove any credibility of it being a peaceful movement. This is why CNN and other media outlets will be quick to highlight and use anything they can to point out that Trump is riling up his followers and making people hate the media.

The Real Problem The Media Has

More and more people everyday are beginning to distrust the media and Donald Trump has been very effective at challenging the ruling class in the press who aren’t used to being challenged. CNN can write a fake story and within an instance one of Trump’s tweets can vaporize the impact of it. Trump has shown that he is light years ahead of the mainstream media in terms of persuading and attracting loyal followers. PERSUATION IS THE KEY WORD.

Scott Adams does an amazing job of outling and explaining the difference between Trump’s persuasion skills and Hillary’s. Note Scott Adams is a trained hypnotist and persuasion expert along with being the creator of the cartoon Dilbert.

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CNN Wants True Leadership

It is an important skill to look at someone whom you want to believe, someone who looks good or talks good, someone personable and likeable and be able to determine when they are telling you the truth or not.

Let’s analyze and summarize what social narrative engineer aka news anchor Anderson Cooper is trying to do here:

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He tells us suspicious packages have been sent to very prominent opponents of Donald Trump.

Whoever sent them is still on the loose (not as of the date of writing this blog)

He tells us we are learning far more about the “pieces of this plot” (in other words who is responsible DONALD TRUMP)

He’s “keeping them honest” by focusing on what those “pieces add up to”. Insert the word circumstance for pieces.

He tells us that the President of the United States can’t seem to see what these “pieces add up to”. In other words why can’t Trump see HE is the problem.

He proceeds to engage his scare tactic by telling us to remember IF those devices had exploded the country would be making funeral arrangements right now for 2 MURDERED ex presidents, a former vice president, a former secretary of state, a sitting Congresswomen, a former head of the CIA, a renowned actor and the people we work alongside of everyday. Not to mention potentially postal workers, and police or any number of bystanders. The phrase 2 murdered ex presidents was included in his prewritten monologue to heighten the emotional response that the viewers would have.

Cooper then introduces an authority figure into his routine “as Presidential Historian Douglass Brinkley pointed out earlier today the sheer number of targets and devices is unprecendented and given who was being targeted this is the kind of event when Presidents traditionally might become aware of the awesome responsibility they have to all Americans of all political stripes. It is a moment that traditionally inspires deep humility, its a moment of leadership. I am reminded that Donald Trump is not a traditional President, nor right now is he acting like a traditional leader.

This is a play on words, Anderson Cooper suggests that in moments of crisis or events a leader is supposed to have deep humility. What he really means is this event happened to your critics why don’t you stop attacking them politically because something bad almost happened to them.

Watch the rest of the video and play it extra slow so you can begin to see he is artfully using language as a weapon to influence you in a calm sympathetic tone. CNN spends very little time discussing the actual culprit who has now been caught, the culprit in their eyes is Donald Trump.

Mark Levin Goes Postal On Left-Wing Caller

This is another instructive video, just listen to this short 7 minute video or you can read the transcript below. The liberal caller believes that the influence of the President is much greater than any senators, congress person, or anyone else in our society as such his rhetoric has triggered someone to commit acts of violence against his enemies. His example is when Donald Trump talked about punching someone in the face at one of his rallies. Yes it’s true. Barack Obama also talked about bringing a gun to a knife fight. Neither of these comments disturb me by the way.

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Audio Transcript Courtesy of Trump Fan Network YouTube Channel

Robert Garland Texas the great WBA PA liberal GO.

Hello Marc I listen to your show often I don’t agree with you almost ever but I have up until now respected you greatly because I think that everything you said is sincere.

Okay right sir now don’t psychoanalyze me go ahead and make your point you don’t know me you know nothing about me I don’t know you just make your point.

My point is that you are trying to say that others in America whether they’re senators or whatever have the same amount of weight in what they say as the President of the United States.

I absolutely didn’t say that but I will say that the president of the United States has said nothing nothing that would trigger somebody to do something like this nothing.

At his rallies he has literally called and said I wish it was the time where we could just punch people in the face.

Yeah he mentioned once punching but let me ask you a question sir do you know who Oscar Lopez Rivera is?

Let me ask you question I want to have a discussion with you if you will allow it, do you know who Oscare Lopez Rivera is?

I’m gonna ask you one more time do you know who Oscar Lopez Rivera is it’s not a trick yes or no?

Yes but that is not what we are talking about.

Who is he who is he? Get him off the air he’s a liar.

He was the head of the FALN bombers in this country that resulted in the death of a police officer two police officers and several bombings and Barak Obama commuted his sentence and all the rest of them that were involved in that gang Bill Clinton pardoned them.

Now you want to talk about presidential responsibility let’s talk about presidential responsibility.

Barack Obama best buddies with Ayers another bomber Bernardine Dohrn another bomber commutes the sentence of Oscar Lopez Rivera who never recant who never backed off what he did even Clinton wouldn’t commute his sentence while commuting all the others.

I don’t need lectures from you people on the left and neither does the President of the United States you are full of it.

“The Presidents said punch somebody in the mouth” these guys were bombing the country! Civilians police officers and you elected Obama president and you reelected Clinton president shocking.

Absolutely shocking and I have to listen to the moral outrage of the left the moral outrage of the media it’s preposterous it’s disgusting it’s like this khashoggi matter you’ve this Iran that slaughters journalists left and right slaughters gay people left and right slaughters Christians left and right the second highest execution rate in the world behind China Obama facilitates a deal in which he gives them a hundred and fifty billion dollars and one and a half billion dollars in the cover of darkness what foreign currency they killed American soldiers and suddenly the left is upset with Trump’s rhetoric.

They’re not upset with their own rhetoric I never get a caller here from the left complaining about Antifa it is a violent left-wing militia group a Marxist militia group and we had individuals on CNN like Don Lemon people on MSNBC who downplayed their violence.

They train they come armed, excuses are made for them but Trump’s rhetoric you see is what’s pushing the country over the edge.

One of the biggest animals in human history is Adolf Hitler they call him Hitler they call American citizens who voted for him Nazis racists.

But it’s Trump you see if the left and the Democrats and the media had accepted the results of this last election in 2016 criticized a president of course but try to destroy him come up with Russian conspiracy theories.

Act like they’re the National Enquirer with every allegation try and force him from office talk about his mental illness and on and on and on.

If they accepted his legitimacy as president and criticized his policies or what he was saying that’s one thing but that’s not what’s going on in this country that’s not what’s going on in this country and we all know it.

So don’t call your little whiny ass to me and sayyes but Trump said you had no idea who Oscar Lopez Rivera was none and you don’t give a damn you didn’t care about Bill Ayers you didn’t care about Bernardine Dohrn Khalidi another one you don’t care about any of them.

Incredible really incredible really and what exactly has Trump said that would cause somebody to try and blow up 12 other people or threatened 12 other people.

What does he say? He says punch somebody in the face?

So when Obama said get in the face when holder said kick them when they’re down and I go on and on and on did that spark some Republican? No.

When Bernie Sanders goes on and on about how horrible America how about how unjust it is how people are discriminated against how racist we are on and on and on what kind of support does that build for a society or does it cause some nut to go to a baseball field in Alexandria Virginia with a sniper rifle and start shooting Republicans with a list in his pocket. We don’t need any lectures from you leftist that’s for sure or you clowns in the media I’ll be right back.

Not many people can go off like Mark Levin. CNN is going to lose this information battle. This battle for the minds of good Patriotic people. They will lose because the truth will always prevail.

The post Fake News Watch: CNN Says Trump Is Leading A Hate Movement Against The Media appeared first on Alternative News Source, Research and Analysis.

source http://ugetinformed.com/politics/fake-news-watch-cnn-says-trump-is-leading-a-hate-movement-against-the-media

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