#writing about the blackmail as if they’re not just as nasty by publishing their own rag. fuck offffffff

[philhoffman]

It really breaks my heart to see the media still exploiting Phil and his struggles for clicks. They’re just inconsequential vultures but gd it pisses me off. Writing about how Phil didn’t want his children reading certain things in the press… and then detailing those exact things in the same article. It’s cruel and disgusting

[dead-inside-mcgee]

Played for a sucker

A little good omens au I had to write, courtesy to @basiloaks

Summary: Henrik delivers some books. 

Relationships: Henrik Von Schneeplestein x Chase Brody

Word count:  1264

The click of Henrik’s shoes against the old tile, echoed ominously throughout the old abandoned church. In his hand, a large back full of every book of prophecy he could find, as requested. In the distance he could hear air raid sirens, wailing.

  He tried to stay calm. No matter how this little exchange went he would be fine, if at worst temporarily discorporated. The only thing he was really afraid of was all the paperwork he’d have to do if he was discorporated. 

  The two men sat down at a small table. Henrik forced his expression to remain neutral, least he blow his cover.

  “Mr. Septiceye. Mr. Jackson.” He greets.

  “You’re late.” One of them hissed. 

  He peeks at his watch. He was only a few minutes late, but he supposed at a time like this every second counted. 

  “You have brought all books for the fuehrer as requested, correct?” Mr. Jackson asked. 

  “Yes I do.” He places the bag on the table and opens it. “Books of prophecy. All first additions as requested.”

  Jackson stands up and begins taking them out and flipping through them. “There is one missing. The book in which all the prophecies are true. The fuehrer has made it clear that we need it. With the true prophecy book, the war is as good as won.” He chuckles. 

  “Ah. The nice and accurate prophecies of Sean McLoughlin, Witch. I’m afraid I had no luck getting it. It is the holy grail of prophetic books.”

  “The fuehrer also wants the holy grail,” Septiceye say, tossing a book down and standing it. “Should you run across it.”

  Henrik shifts awkwardly. 

  “Why are there no copies of Sean McLoughlin’s book? We have made it clear that money is no object. You would be a very rich man.”

  “I’m afraid the unsold copies of that book were burned by the publisher, which was well, all of them. It is rather unfortunate, but I was able to find the publisher's catalog, which listed one of his prophecies.”

  “Well? What was it?”

  “His prophecy for nineteen-seventy-two, “Do not buy betamax.”

  “Peter Max?” Septiceye asks, glancing at his associate.

  Jackson nods offhandedly. “I will pass it on to the fuehrer, along with the books, in Berlin. I’m sure he will be most grateful.” They begin sticking the books back into the bag. 

  “You have done exheadly well Dr. Schneeplestein,” Septiceye says, pulling out a gun and cocking it. “It is rather sad to say you must be eliminated, but take heart, just another death in the Blitz.”

  Henrik tensed, holding his breath and keeping a neutral look. “That’s not very nice.”

  “You don’t seem very worried,” Mr. Septiceye said suspiciously. 

  That’s because Henrik was a very good actor, also because a man stepped out from behind him, holding up a gun. 

 “He’s not worried,” the new person said, cocking said gun and stepping forward. 

 “Who is he?” The two nazis frown.

 “He, my double crossing, nazi accqentience, is the reason why those books will not be going to Berlin and the reason I will be another death in the Blitz!” Henrik grinned pridefully, happy to finally drop the act. 

  The two put their hands up and set the weapons down. 

  “Your nasty little spy ring is no more, and you two and everyone who works for you will spend the rest of the war behind bars. Let me introduce you to Captain Jackie Boyman.” 

  “Right. Thank you for that introduction.” Jackie smirks. 

  “Our side know a lot about you two. Why don’t you tell them.”

  Before Jackie could open his mouth Henrik went off, telling the nazis that the church was surrounded and would attack when they gave the word. The other three men just stare at him with blank expressions. 

  “It seems that you two have been- Oh what’s that lovely american expression?- Played for a sucker!” He smiles widely, giving Jackie the signal to call in the soldiers. 

  “Yes, about that-” Jackie spoke, turning and pointing that gun at his head. “A little change in plans.”

  Jackson couldn’t help but laugh. “Played for a sucker. I should use that some time.” 

  “Allow me to introduce Marvin Phoenix. He works for us.”

  Henrik gasps, feeling betrayed. Which makes since, sense he just was betrayed.

  Septiceye congratulates Marvin in German, not knowing or caring that that was Henrik’s first language. 

  “You can’t kill me!” He pleaded. “There will be paperwork.”

  The door to the church slams open and everyone turns to look at the source. 

  Chase walks in, or more like hops in, skipping a gasping like he was walking on hot coals. 

  “Sorry, consecrated ground,” he groans. “Oh! It’s like being at the beach in bare feet.” He holds onto the pews, attempting to stay off the floor. 

  “What are you doing here?” Henrik asked, trying not to raise his voice too much. 

  “I’m stopping you from getting into trouble. Seems I'm a little late.”

  “I should’ve known! These people are working for you, aren’t they?”

  “What!? No, they’re just a bunch of half witted nazi scum, going around blackmailing and murdering people. I’ve got nothing to do with it!” He shouts, offended. “I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.”  He dances around, in great pain.

  “Chase A. Brody. Your reputation precedes you.” 

  “Brody?”

  “What? Don’t like it?”

  “No. It actually seems rather fitting. What does the A stand for?”

  “It’s just an A really.” He stammers with a shrug, not ready to admit he made his name Chase Assman Brody. 

  “The famous Mr. Brody. It’s a pity you two much both die,” Marvin grumbles.

  “Look at that! A whole fontful of holy water without any guards or anything.” Chase points out. 

  “Enough babbling, hurry up and kill them.”

  “In about a minute a German bomber will release a bomb that will land on this church!” Chase blurted out. “But, if you run now you could possibly still survive. Trust me, you won’t enjoy dying, and you definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”

  “You expect us to believe that?” Septiceye scoffs. “The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”

  “You’re right! It would take a last minute demonic miracle to throw them off course. Just like it would take a real miracle for me and my friend here to survive, if a bomb did drop here in about thirty seconds.” Chase gives Henrik a look. 

  “A real miracle?” He mumbles. 

  “Kill them. They are very irritating.” 

  “You’re wasting your valuable runnin’ away time!” Chase had started doing a strange leg dance to keep from burning his feet. 

   He points to the ceiling and you could hear the air whistling as the bomb dropped. 

  Henrik coughs, dusting off his suit and looking around at the carnage around him while Chase cleaned off his sunglasses. 

  “That was very kind of you.” He says with a friendly smile. 

  “Don’t mention it. I mean seriously.” He puts the shades back on. “If hell knows I pulled a stunt like that they’ll have my head hung on the wall.” 

  “Well still. At least I won’t have as much paperwork.” He looks around for a moment before remembering something. “Oh the books! I forgot all the books!” 

  Chase walks forwards and pulls the bag out of the firm grip of Septiceye’s dead fist. “Little demonic miracle of my own. Ride home?” He walks out of the mess towards the car a little ways away from the church. 

  Henrik stood still for a moment, checking the books and staring at Chase. 

  And that was a moment the angel fell.