#he know he’s going west and he should see other lands at some point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

txttletale · 7 months

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so when Palestine fights back by killing civilians, including children, you go: it's justified

but when Russia invades Ukraine and kills civilians, including children, and Ukraine fights back in defense, you go, Ukraine should settle for peace

and you say Israel can just stop the occupation, they have that power and then they could avoid their civilians dying by simply deciding to that, yet you don't see that the Ukraine war stop just as "easily", by Russia stopping the invasion. They invaded, they started the war, just like Israel occupied Palestine, they are the one who can stop it

I know these are two different situations but I cant help but notice how different your approaches are, like adjusting your theory according to who is attacking who.

also, you said it would be strategically impossible (im paraphrasing you) for Russia to stop their invasion, well, wouldn't it also be strategically impossible for Israel to stop their occupation.

Also, if Ukraine settle for peace (I want them to, I generally agree with your points on the topic) and Russia gains something from it (as their peace treaty will most definitely assign a lot of Ukraine land to Russia), then Russia gets the message that invading other countries is successful and a good way to go about things. I mean, obviously the peace work will begin after they settle for peace, preferably working with Russia, im just curious to hear your thoughts.

English isnt my first language but I hope you understand

volodymyr zelensky might have something to say about this comparison. obviously to be clear his comparison is fucking ridiculous, but is illustrative of a key difference--that all of the force of NATO are arrayed behind ukraine (a privilege not enjoyed by palestine) and that the government of ukraine is aligned with NATO rather than its own people--which is why it's selling everything that's not nailed down to the predatory west.

i do of course think that russia should stop the invasion! i respond flippantly to most people asking this because they rarely ask in good faith, but let me say it unequivocally--i'm a communist, i think that the fall of the soviet union was a tragedy and the oligarchic mafia state that rose from its ashes is an insult to everything it stood for. putin is a far-right anticommunist and the oligarchs that he represents are scum. in the case of russia vs. ukraine, russia is straightforwardly the agressor and it would be a good thing if russia withdrew immediately.

but when i talk about the need for a peace settlement, i'm not (no matter how much nationalists and the NATO fandom will yell that i am) advocating for an unconditional ukrainian surrender. i'm talking about the maximalist positions about 'punishing russia' and ensuring some imaginary total defeat that the NATO bloc advocate for and push the ukrainian position towards. the US and their allies have made no secret of they fact that they seek to prolong the war, use it as an opportunity to open ukraine up to US investors, and don't care about ukrainian casualties:

[1] [2] [3] [4]

& ultimately, there is the fact that i (and almost all my followers) live in the imperial core--as communists there is nothing any of us can do to push russia towards peace. that's a task for the russian communist and peace movements. what we can do, however, is obstruct and protest NATO's involvement in the war. this is what the union of ukrainian communists have said in their statement on the war:

We appeal to the Russian workers as a fraternal class, bearing all the burdens of war on its shoulders, also suffering from impoverishment, unemployment, and the elimination of fundamental rights and freedoms: seek the defeat of the bourgeois power in Russia, turn your weapons against the Russian oligarchs and their political acolytes. We are ready to fight with you to turn the imperialist war into a class war against the power of capital and for the communist revolution. We appeal to the workers of the countries belonging to NATO: To stop the threat of the destruction of humankind in the nuclear clash of imperialist war is only possible in a struggle not for abstract peace, but for the overthrow of the power of the bourgeoisie of their countries, who are waging these wars and profiting from them. Work for the defeat of the bourgeois governments and the NATO bloc in this war, put forward the task of turning the war between nations into a war between classes, turn the weapons produced by workers' hands not against the workers of other countries, but against the capitalists of your own countries, against their power.

—Union of Communists of Ukraine, On The War And The Tasks Of The Working Class

so--people in the west are powerless to do anything to prevent or weaken russian imperialism, short of supporting their own imperialist powers--which, if you care at all about human life or the working class, is robbing peter to pay paul. however, those same bourgeois western governments are the ones supporting the israeli genocide--this is a case in which the Western proletariat can and should mobilize to suppress the imperialism and colonialism of the aggressor, because they live in countries that directly support it.

of course, there are also massive differences in the actual circumstances of the relations between russia and ukraine--russia is not, for example, built on stolen ukrainian land, nor is ukraine an open-air concentration camp whose water and electricity are provided by russia only sparingly, nor has ukraine seen in peacetime regular brutal massacre, invasion, bombing, and murder as palestine does every single year of so-called 'peace' that passes between israel and palestine. the situation of 'peace' between russia and ukraine before 2022 was not one of totally intolerable one-sided massacre, as the situation of 'peace' between israel and palestine has been.

as such, there are in fact multiple parties who can pursue peace in ukraine, including parties that we, communists in the West--who are the people i blog as and for--can pressure and organize against effectively. there is only one party that can pursue peace in israel. the situation is not comparable, either on its face or in the relation the West and as a result communists in the West have to it.

#ask #tbc i know abotu the war in the donbass #which is still not in any way comparable to the situation in gaza or the west bank

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edosianorchids901 · 4 months

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Hope Rekindled

Ace Omens Hugfest 2024 prompt - "a reunion hug"

Utah, 1869

Really, Crowley wanted to be asleep. Preferably back in London, asleep, but asleep back in New York would do. Even asleep in any random hotel in the middle of nowhere would do.

But no. He’d gotten himself into this, by talking up how great railroads were for sin and crime and everything, not to mention how much they could expedite demonic work without as many travel expenses. And now, for some reason, Hell wanted a report on two railroads joining up. Big deal.

A twinge of grief tugged at his stomach, and he tried to ignore it as he steered his horse around a bend. Normally, he would think this was a big deal. He’d even tried to get excited about it with the aid of copious amounts of alcohol. But without Aziraphale in his life, everything just seemed pointless.

At least soon, he’d be able to stop riding around following the progress of the Union Pacific and go back to somewhere with a more reliable source of alcohol. Maybe he’d go investigate the rampant corruption of the railroad’s operations. That should make Hell—

“Awfully sorry, but I’ve gotten a bit turned around, do you know the way to—”

Slowly, Crowley raised his head. There, coming around the bend from the opposite direction, was Aziraphale. On a light palomino, dressed in fancy beige clothes that really didn’t belong in this rough and tumble territory. Staring at Crowley with the same shocked horror that Crowley could feel on his own face.

They hadn’t spoken since Crowley asked for holy water. It might be smarter to turn around, to head back in the opposite direction. Aziraphale had to be pissed off at him, for that whole thing.

Crowley gulped and scrambled for words. “Er. Hi. What’re you doing here?”

“Um.” Aziraphale’s lip trembled, and he fumbled with his reins. His horse pinned its ears at the restless fidgeting. “Heaven, um, sent me to witness this great act of unity.”

“‘Course that’s how they see it. Never mind the corruption or theft of land or…” Crowley cut off. Normally, he and Aziraphale would have a rousing debate, a fun debate. But it seemed too risky now. “Hell wants me to witness the expansion of greed n’ stuff.”

“Of course that’s how they see it.” A small, nervous smile tugged at Aziraphale’s expression, and he gestured. “Um, would you ride with me? I’m afraid you’ll have to lead, though. I’m lost. I’ve been following the railroad—”

“No, I’ve been following the railroad,” Crowley interrupted. “I’d definitely have seen you.”

Aziraphale pointed to the west, towards the Central Pacific’s line. “The other railroad, dear boy.”

“Oh. Right. Opposite Sides, of course.” Frowning, Crowley tried to figure out why Heaven would be backing them. “Are they somehow less shady than the Union Pacific? At least, in Heaven’s eyes.”

“I believe they’re both rather reprehensible. But I happened to be in San Francisco, fomenting peace.”

“Right. I happened to be in New York, fomenting chaos.”

They stared at each other, their horses now both looking impatient. Finally, Aziraphale gave a little sigh. “Well, do you know where we’re supposed to be going?”

“Er. No, actually. I’m slightly lost too.” Crowley looked around, but he couldn’t catch a glimpse of any of the trails or sections of rail from here. “Guess we could just ride until we find the railroad, follow that.”

A very familiar look crossed Aziraphale’s face now, shy but mischievous. “Or. We could, um. Share a drink and a snack. I still have a very nice bottle of wine that I brought with me from San Francisco. And some absolutely lovely little cakes that I got at the last town. I’m sure the newspapers will paint a vivid enough picture for us to write our own reports.”

“Really?” Startled, Crowley pushed his hat back to see the angel more clearly. Aziraphale was blushing a little. “Wow, am I just that bad of an influence, or have you been dodging your duties this whole time?”

“Well, you are a dreadful influence.” Aziraphale gestured to a shrubby patch of trees. “But in truth, I’d much rather enjoy the serenity of nature than to watch humans get into a measuring contest over whose railroad tie is longer.”

Crowley sputtered, and Aziraphale gave him an entirely innocent smile. As always, it was impossible to be completely sure whether Aziraphale was completely oblivious or fully aware of the innuendo.

“Right. Okay.” Yielding, Crowley tipped his hat and struggled off his horse. His hips and legs throbbed, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Riding horses was always a torture of its own.

“I’ll tie the horses, shall I?” Aziraphale asked, already taking the reins.

His fingers brushed against Crowley’s, and both of them froze. Crowley battled the urges that barraged him. To babble apologies, to demand apologies, to wrap Aziraphale in a hug and never let go again.

Before Crowley could make up his mind, Aziraphale did. The angel dropped both sets of reins, stepped forward, breaths shaky, and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist. It was a tentative hug, shy and unsure, his fingers worrying at the fabric of Crowley’s jacket.

“I missed you,” Aziraphale whispered, and tried to pull away.

But Crowley had finally regained his senses. He hugged Aziraphale back, holding him close, and pressed his face into the soft curls. Their hats knocked together, his own nearly sliding off. “Missed you too.”

Apparently, Aziraphale found this just as embarrassing as Crowley did. When they let go of each other and stepped back, they studiously avoided each other’s gaze. Aziraphale took the horses over and tied them to a sturdier tree, and Crowley snapped a blanket into existence for himself and Aziraphale to sit on.

“Here we are.” Still avoiding eye contact, Aziraphale joined him with the wine and cakes. “I don’t suppose you have any goodies to contribute?”

“Unfortunately not. Haven’t been hungry lately.” Crowley’s hand shook, but he held it out anyway. “Today, cake sounds terrific.”

As Aziraphale passed him a little iced cake, their eyes met. Aziraphale smiled, just a little, and Crowley smiled back.

At first it was awkward, talking again after all that had happened. They skirted around any complicated topics, mostly just updating each other on things. But after only a few minutes, it became easier. And in no time, as they drank wine, ate cakes, and laughed together, it was as if they’d never been upset with each other at all.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #art #ace omens hugfest 2024

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sturn777 · 27 days

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ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴍᴀꜱʜ!

chris sturniolo x naomi west

outfit / pt2

tags: @st7rnioioss @its-jennarose @timmyscomputer @kriissy4gov @liz-stxrn @sunrisemill @mattssluttywaist @riasturns @mx0qin @junnniiieee07 @alorsxsturn @annasturn0lo

Naomi had landed in Chicago the night before her entrance on stage to rap with Playboy Carti - the rapper who had reached out to her after she blew up for the first time and had been close ever since.

The two had a brother and sister bond, always looking out for each other and hyping the other up. Once Carti got the phone-call asking to perform at Summer Smash, he immediately knew he would ask her to join him on stage - and of course she said yes.

Naomi was wondering round in front of the large stage, trying to find the room Rico Nasty was in so she could say hello to her before she went up on stage.

“Oh my god! Naomi?” A voice said from behind the girl. Naomi looked back to see a girl with her friend looking at her hopefully.

Naomi nodded with a smile, “Hey whats up?” the girls squealed slightly before asking for a photo - which Naomi accepted before rushing off to find Rico again.

Security let her past the tents, so she poked her head into the first on only to find it full of boys. “Oh I’m sorry I didn’t mean- Skies?” Naomi started apologising before she saw Lil Skies sitting on a couch.

He got up and gave the girl a hug, “Naomi what are you doing here?” he asked, pulling away from the hug. Naomi smiled cheekily with shrug to which Skies grinned at. “My bad man, this is Chris and his brother Matt. You heard of them?”

After Skies introduced the brothers she gave each of them a hug to greet them, “No I haven’t ‘m sorry. I’m Naomi West.”

The one on the right smiled and nodded, a small camera in his hand pointed down at the floor - one of his arms was covered in tattoos - Matt. The other one, Chris, smiled. “Is it okay if we put you on our vlog?”

Naomi nodded with a smile, Matt raising the camera to which she waved and Chris stood next to her. Skies pulled his arm away from around the girls shoulders as he got a phone call.

“We here with Naomi West! Wanna say hi?”

“Heyy y’all! Whats up?” She laughed and smiled, some of her grills sparkling under the sunlight. “Y’all should subscribe to Chris, his onlyfans or whatever this is!”

Chris laughed and blushed slightly, shaking his head. Matt turned the camera off and listened to her and Chris’ conversation. “So you here to listen to music?” he asked the girl, a hand on his hip whilst the other scratched his neck.

“Nah, I’m on stage with Carti actually. Just don’t tell your fans.” Naomi raised a finger to her lips jokingly, Chris’ eyes following her movements. “Who are you on stage with?” she asked after looking down at the wrist-band on his wrist.

He shrugged, “I’m up with Skies.”

Naomi nodded with a smile, eyeing the boy who was actually rather attractive the more she looked up at him. “I know this is weird but can I get your number? I don’t know—!”

“Yeah! Yeah, um sure.” Chris exclaimed before clearing his throat, pulling his phone out and taking her phone from her hand - sending himself a text on Naomis phone to make sure it went through.

Her conversation was interrupted when your manager came in the tent, “Girl get your ass out of here! You gotta be on stage in five!” she sasses at her, making Naomi laugh and eye the woman.

“Um, I gotta go I’ll text you though.” She kept it short, eyeing him flirtatiously before exiting the tent and giggling with her manager - not allowing Chris to say anything. Allowing Chris to stay standing with a small tent in his shorts.

He was really hoping you would text him.

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alatismeni-theitsa · 1 year

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Ancient Greek and Roman music Masterpost

As our national epic, the Odyssey, did I'll start from the middle. Please listen to the sound of medieval Greek music and then come back. It's an exercise, I command you!

Middle Ages Greek music is speculated to be "slowed down ancient Greek music"! 😁 So, take notes on that!

youtube

Christodoulos Halaris - Anthology of Byzantine Secular Music

(Christodoulos Halaris was a prominent Greek composer, researcher, and musicologist. He focused on secular Byzantine and traditional music, incorporating his extensive research into a solid and singular musical language.)

After your warm-up (and perhaps some confusion) let's get into what you came here to see.

What Ancient Greek and Roman Music Sounded Like - A Beginner's Introduction

youtube

Α fantastic introduction by a composer, musician, and researcher who calls himself:

OKAY, OKAY, HE IS FARYA FARAJI, YOU GOT ME.

So, this is going to be another excellent video where he spits facts. He gives a great impression of how ancient Greek and Roman music sounded like.

And no, they didn't sound like the watered-down (north)-eurocentric "ancient Greek music" on youtube videos you find. (who's surprised at this point, after all this Northwestern appropriation) Unless they are made by Farya Faraji because… the man knows his shit (and our shit 😂)

By the way, I called it "watered down", not because I believe western music is lame, but because the performers apply western rules to ancient Greek music, stripping it of all the Heterophonic complexity.

In the video above, you'll learn how the lyre should actually be played!!! And what instruments have been in continuous use in Greece for more than 2.000 years! And see all the ways our ancient and traditional music is more complex than Western music - such as Western music can be more complex than ours in other ways! (as also stated in the video)

And before you ask: Why does ancient Greek and Byzantine/traditional Greek music sound Oriental? Well, that's just your ear and biases and Hollywood stereotypes, my dear friend. See, these sounds are not (just) Oriental! They are originally Greek, too!

Many tunes and the way of singing the West associates today with the Middle East came from the Greek world (where these tunes are still in use, mind you) or other Mediterranean countries. That's not to say that Middle Eastern nations didn't have these scales and twirls for a long time - because they did. That's their ancient music, too.

Please see the video below to make more sense of my ramblings:

The Greco-Roman Influence on Middle-Eastern Music

youtube

All of Farya's videos have their sources in the description so make sure to check them out!

Now you can better enjoy the Epitaph of Sekeilos you heard in the first Middle Ages video! You can also listen to another great version by Farya, where he uses the above ancient Greek principles he mentioned in his video. That's why his version actually feels fun to listen to, thank god! (Of course Chalaris also orchestrates the Epitaoh in an excellent way)

youtube

Personal commentary: I am happy to share Farya's work online because he put into words why reconstructions of ancient Greek music online don't sound Greek at all. Greeks have a hard time relating to it because... that's not our folk music. They sound boring like Chopin playing piano when he was 3 years old. (But by now you know why! 😉)

Of course, ancient and traditional Greek music are not identical and no one expects them to be. But given our history, our music history, and cultural evolution, we know the sounds of our music - as all people can identify the music of their land and area. I am glad my gut feeling was right and the music wasn't actually that simple. With the complexity of our ancient chants and the plethora of instruments we had in antiquity, there was no excuse for our ancient melodies to be that simple.

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poraphia · 7 months

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hello! Idk if you’re still doing siren requests but could you do a siren x reader where reader is a hero but a more captain puffy type hero than dream team hero and they were best friends at school, but completely oblivious to each others’ identities? I’m not sure, this is a more vague one. But just an idea, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want :)

"Just A Hero and a Villain Catching Up"

pairing • siren x hero!reader 1967 words • 9.25.23 containing • reader and wilbur are long term besties, reader doesn't really like being a hero, tommy teasing wilbs and reader my masterlist ~! ღ mrs. mania ღ on Tumblr

"You're my best friend, but I've been keeping a secret from you. Little did I know, you've been keeping a secret from me."

♡♡♡

“Alright, team, I think we did amazing work here!” Dream exclaimed as he held the once stolen artifact in his hand with pride. I breathed a sigh of exhaustion as the other heroes cheered. Dream looked at me, held tilted with his beady stare through his mask. As the other heroes congratulated and supported one another, he approached me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“We’re doing a good thing here, Nymph. We protected an ancient piece of art, and we should be proud of the work we did.” He reassured, rubbing my shoulder. I let out a small grumble as I fiddled with my sleeves.

“Yeah, but didn’t Eastside’s museum get robbed too last week? Only two heroes showed up, and that was including me who volunteered to go.” I questioned. I looked up at him, staring at his smiling mask. He returned the gaze blankly without saying a word.

Dream broke the silence before letting a loud sigh that sounded almost annoyed. My eyebrows furrowed under my mask. “We both know that the headquarters aren’t exactly on our side sometimes,” He said. “but that isn’t necessarily in our control.” I didn’t say anything in response. Instead I brushed his hand off of my shoulder and checked my watch.

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled. Dream tilted his head curiously. I turned to him, pointing at my watch. “I have to go, but I’ll check in at HQ before midnight. See you, Dream.” Before I could hear or see his farewell goodbye, I formed a cloud so that I could fly away from the scene. As I glided through the city from West End to Eastside, I stared at the sky, thinking to myself.

I feel like I haven’t been the best friend to Wil.

And it’s not because we’ve been barely seeing each other, or we don’t joke around like how we used to when we were in high school, but it’s because I’ve been keeping this huge secret.

It’s not something I can just confess and get over with. No, no. I trust and love Wil with all my heart, but if he ever figured out my identity, that would put him in grave danger. I could never live with myself if I knew something happened to him all because I couldn’t keep one little detail about me.

So I kept my mouth shut.

It’s been months since we sat down and talked to each other because of how busy we were. The moment I’m free is the moment he has to go to an important meeting. The moment he’s free I’m searching through the whole city looking for runaway villains. But after months of planning in advance, we were finally able to schedule a whole afternoon to ourselves at the local cafe in Eastside.

I go to the Cloudy Cafe every so often to catch up with my past mentor, Puffy. She taught me in her final years of being a hero before retiring. My cloud slowly evaporated away as I landed safely behind the cafe building. Using a spare key she gave me, I unlocked the door and retrieved my backpack that was hidden into some storage shelves. I changed into some casual fitted clothes before stuffing my mask and costume into my bag , leaving the backroom, and locking the door behind me. Before I turned the corner, I noticed a familiar bright yellow sweater and mess of brown hair running into the cafe, followed by a blonde boy wearing a red and white shirt. With a raised eyebrow, I let them run into the cafe first before following in a minute later.

I was welcomed to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods. The blonde boy I saw run in earlier was talking to Puffy, who was sat at a circular table in the corner of the cafe. Deciding that I’ll just talk to her later, I scanned the cafe, finally finding Wilbur sitting at a two person table with his laptop out. He was panting with his face a little red from exhaustion. Pushing my curiousity aside, I walked up to his table while smiling.

“Wilbur!” I exclaimed. Immediately his head perked up and a huge smile formed on his face.

“(y/n)!” He beamed. Wilbur stumbled up. His tall figure nearly towered over mine as he engulfed me in his long, lengthy limbs. Giggling, I wrapped my arms around his torso and buried myself into his chest. after a moment of us snuggled into each other’s warmth, I pulled away, looking at his face.

“I haven’t seen your face in literally so long! Did you get handsomer?” I joked. Wilbur flushed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Eh, you could say that.” He said bashfully. We both took our seats at our table. Wil closed his laptop and placed it in his bag. I placed my backpack under the table to leave us with more room on the table. He sat across from me with his hands folded onto the surface. “Seriously, how have you been, (y/n)? Has work been treating you well?” He asked.

I bit my tongue from letting out a tired huff. A bit of me wanted to unravel all my stress onto him, raving about how tiring this workforce is and how I feel as if this system isn’t as innocent as we’re made to believe. But instead, I just shook my head.

“It’s… Alright.” I managed out. Instantly, Wil saw right through me.

“Oh? I know that tone, y’know. C’mon, spit it out.” He teased. His hand trailed around to where my hands were sprawled out. I sighed, a little annoyed that he still knows how to decipher pieces of me.

“It’s just… It’s not exactly what I signed up for, y’know? I thought it would be about doing good for the world, but if anything, I think we’re doing worse.” I ranted, using my hands a little to convey my words. He sat and stared at me; eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated. “I don’t know. Sometimes I want to leave, but the other times I feel like I could make a change. Lately, it’s been feeling hopeless though, y’know?”

My fingers quickly pressed against my lips, realizing that I was probably saying too much. Wil, in turn, nodded, as if understanding my words. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about. Where did you say you work at again?” He asked.

“I— Uh— Just some human services organization that helps aid people and things like that.” I said, waving my hand off. I watched his expression soften, as if he was relieved to hear my words. I smiled reassuringly at him.

“Order for Wilby and his lovely, oh so loved partner!” The blonde barista called out from behind the counter. With an audible groan, Wilbur got up from his seat and trotted over to the counter. He quietly lectured the blonde boy as he just smiled cheekily. Once he was finished, he returned to our table with one iced coffee and one hot coffee.

“Sorry about that,” he chuckled. He slid the ice coffee order to me, in which I happily took a sip from. He took his seat in front of me, placing his cup on the table. “That’s my brother, Tom. He’s an odd one honestly.” I titled my head curiously.

“You have another brother? I thought it was just you, Techno, and Phil.” I noted.

“Ah, well,” he took a sip of his coffee before speaking again. “He was a new addition only like a couple months ago. It’s been a crazy year honestly.” He laughed. “Speaking of family, you should come by our house sometime soon to say hi.”

“Oh, absolutely!” I grinned. “I would love to spar with Techno again, or even just hearing stories from Phil.”

“Great!” He replied. “Oh, you just came from West End, right?”

I hummed in response, curious as to where this was going. “Yeah, why?” I asked.

He hesitated a bit, his lips briefly thinning before speaking. “I was wondering if you caught a glimpse of the fight near the museum. I heard it was kinda big.”

Oh, you mean the fight I was just in fifteen minutes ago that nearly led to some building collapsing and dozens of people injured?

“Oh, yeah!” I fiddled with the ends of my sleeve. “I saw a glimpse of it, but not much. If anything it was just the cause of my traffic.” I chuckled. My leg rapidly shook from under the table. Wilbur I beg, please be oblivious just this once.

Wil smiled before looking out the window. “Yeah, I caught a little bit of it too as we were headed here. Nymph really was causing a huge storm! Nearly scared the crap out of me from all that thunder.” My heart stopped at the mere mention of my superhero name. The identity I didn’t want him knowing.

“Ah, yeah, it was a giant.” I smiled. “I heard she was causing such a storm to muffle out Siren’s commands.” I commented, which wasn’t a lie. Siren was about to unleash a load of commands to brainwash all of the heroes fighting, so in an act of quick thinking, I summoned a huge storm with thunder so that no one could hear his voice.

“Well, Siren is pretty cool like that,” Wil laughed. Though something about it seemed… Fake in a way. His shoulders were tensed up and he refused to make eye contact. But maybe I was just looking too into it. “What do you think of the Syndicate? If you don’t mind me asking.” He turned to me now with his head resting in his palm. I leaned back in my chair, thinking about what to say.

“I think the Syndicate gets more exaggerated than they really are on media.” I said blankly. Wil raised an eyebrow, as if asking me to continue on. I took a sip from my drink before speaking again. My eyes glued onto my hands as I rubbed my own knuckles. “Well, nobody really stops and interviews the Syndicate about why they do their crimes, now do they? Maybe it’s just the little conspiracy theorist in me, but I feel like media hides the truth behind the rivalry of the Syndicate and Heroes Society.” I shrugged. When I looked up, Wil had the expression of a sweet puppy tilting his head out of curiosity. If I didn’t have any self-control, I would’ve expressed my admiration for such an adorable sight. Instead, I returned the tilted head gesture.

“Pff, what?” I chuckled as my hair cascaded down my shoulder. Wil hummed before returning his head posture back to normal.

“Nothing. It’s just you don’t really hear about people trying to understand the Syndicate. It’s really interesting.” He smiled. He has this glossy look in his eyes that almost sparkled.

“Ah, well,” I reached over the table, shaking my near empty drink. “it looks like my coffee is almost done. Let’s say we get out of here and walk along the pier or something?” I suggested.

Wil looked at me before turning his gaze to the blonde boy behind the counter. In the least subtle way possible, the barista was pointing at the back of his throat while making gagging noises. He scoffed at the sight before returning that beautiful gaze of his to me.

“I would love to, but first, let me go beat up Tom over there.

♡♡♡

a / n ~ sleepy mania over here. hope you guys enjoyed. thank you sososo much for the support! sorry i havent updated my masterlists though. trying to get more organized. reblogs, replies, even likes are super duper appreciated!

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot oneshots #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x reader #will gold #poraphiafanfics #siren wilbur soot #siren x reader #siren my beloved #wilbursoot #clinic!wilbur x reader #clinic!wilbur

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mutable-manifestation · 1 year

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The Heart of the Matter Ch. 6

Chapter 1 (Parts 1-3), Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

So this took forever. The whole ‘hey dude ur dead btw’ convo fought me something fierce. I deleted like three versions. RIP

***

As soon as they clear the ground into open air, Danny flies them - invisible and intangible - straight to the heart of Gotham.

He could more than likely make it to the Fenton portal fast enough to avoid being traced beyond ‘somewhere in Illinois,’ but the point of running isn’t to escape.

He wants the Green Lantern to follow.

He isn’t sure about Batman and his allies, isn’t sure where he stands on the Anti-Ecto Acts or if he even knows they exist, given the GIW’s relentless efforts to keep what happened - what still sometimes happens - in Amity Park buried.

He’s less sure after seeing the surety with which they almost sent Jason away to….

He shakes his head.

If they could be convinced to help, all the better. If they truly cared for Jason they’d do a good enough job beating themselves up over it later.

Not that he wouldn’t still be sending them Jazz’s way to have a talk about respecting boundaries in non-emergency situations rather than steamrolling them just because an ally or friend sounds like they know what they’re doing.

But before all of that, he wants a chance to get Jason up to speed first.

And to get some ecto in the guy, but given the way his core feels, the betrayal-fest he just phased in on, and his somehow near-complete lack of knowledge about what he is, he doubts he’s going to just accept eating mysterious, neon, glowing sludge without an explanation.

He zips through a Malmart and snags a large hoodie and sweats - he’ll pay them back later - and ends the flight by landing them in the bathroom of a crowded coffee shop.

No one should notice the two of them appearing out of nowhere when there are so many other people to draw attention, and hopefully the crowd will deter the Lantern - and the Bats - from causing a scene.

Or at least, a scene beyond the one that would already be caused by their mere presence in the place.

---------------------

Jason only takes his eyes off of Jordan when he’s jostled from a sudden drop. He looks up just in time to see batarangs sink into the wall just above space-ice-crown-guy’s head.

He follows their trajectory back to see Damian unsheathing his blades.

Nightwing and Black Bat are already airborne, and lunging towards them.

A strange sensation washes over him. Crown-guy doesn’t move this time, unbothered by the swinging limbs and grasping hands headed their way.

The pair pass right through them as if they aren’t even there.

Jason feels betrayed and furious and wrung out all at once; he just wants to leave.

And then they do, horrifying green baseball bat close behind as crown guy throws them straight at the ceiling.

They sink into-and-through the earth, and they’re in the sky far above the manor before Jason even has a chance to do more than take a shaky breath.

Then they’re heading for Gotham.

Wayne Manor is twelve miles from the city’s border.

They’re in the heart of Old Gotham inside two minutes - after stopping by an Upper West Side Malmart to…steal clothing?

He’d be concerned about Red Hood being seen flying around with some random meta - about being too much of an easy target in the open air, flying in a mostly straight line - but the two of them are barely visibly, mere outlines of twisted space, like the distorted air above the heat of a flame.

He can barely make himself out, and the people they paused right next to in the store had appeared to notice even less.

When they do stop, it’s in the bathroom of a crowded coffee shop that is - frankly miraculously - blessedly empty.

Crown guy gently but swiftly sets him on his feet - hand on his shoulder just until he’s steady - and shoves the stolen clothing into his chest with a simple ‘here’ before Jason has a chance to say anything.

Then a ring of light appears around his waist, splitting to slide both up and down like some kind of scanner.

Where it goes, crown guy changes.

His build, his facial structure, the cut of his hair - all the broad strokes stay the same. What changes are the details.

Lazarus green eyes are replaced by a vibrant blue that better matches the now-absent crown - it still feels a bit cool, standing near him, but he’s not sure he’d have noticed if he wasn’t looking for it.

Impossibly white hair becomes a deep black - now matching the unchanged eyebrows - and the ears curve where they’d once been pointed.

His skin is paler like this - like he’d spent most of his life indoors, hiding away from the sun - the freckles now a light tan. As though the colors had traded places.

He lands lightly on his feet as the transformation ends, standing just slightly shorter than Jason now that they’re on even ground, and his physique is lithe but muscular; a swimmer’s build.

His clothes are the starkest difference, in Jason’s opinion: otherworldly fabrics and colors swapped out for simple blue jeans and a contrastingly dark red shirt and shoes.

No sign of the cape.

No hint of that otherworldly glow.

Unless you count the sparkle in his eyes as he raises a pointed brow and coughs.

Jason mentally berates himself for staring so obviously. He knew how to be more subtle than that.

Outwardly, he points to his mask.

“Great plan with the clothes, no-more-crown-guy, but they won’t exactly cover this.”

The guy just smiles and shakes his head.

“It’s Danny,” he snorts. “And you can just shove the mask in a pocket or something. I already know who you are, Jason Todd.”

The guy - Danny - snaps his hands up in surrender the moment Jason reaches for one of his guns.

“Easy,” he says, voice still relaxed. Soothing. The aura of strength-safety-protection-calm unchanged. “You being Red Hood is none of my business. I’m not here for Red Hood, I’m here for Jason.”

“What, need an inside scoop for the next article on ‘Watching the Waynes?’ Or is this a ransom thing?” he sneers, hand firmly on his gun as he closes the distance to loom threateningly.

For all that he’s glad to be out of the batcave, that doesn’t mean this guy is an ally; he won’t be swayed by some meta emotional manipulation. Bringing them to such a crowded location could be as much a threat as it could a reassurance, given the knowledge of his vigilante nature - a building full of eyes to make Jason feel better?

Or a building full of hostages?

“No,” Danny denies calmly, matter-of-factly, expression unworried despite the sudden decrease in personal space. “Someone told me you were in danger, and I could help you, so I did. I can also help you with the fact that you’re starving-”

“I’m not-”

“-and I can tell you why you’re so scared of Green Lantern.”

Jason is very willing to hear him out at that. Maybe he shouldn't be. He wants to stay suspicious; he will stay cautious.

But....

He has to know.

He has to know what's going on before it drives him crazy.

Crazier, if you ask his 'family.'

And doesn't that just burn? How quick they'd been to ignore his feelings when he didn't have any concrete information to back them up. How it hadn't taken more than a promise of maybe help for them to trust Green Latern.

Help with something he'd already gotten mostly under control.

He knows it scared them; how much he'd changed when he came back. How long he'd spent letting his anger take the driver's seat.

But he died. And then he came back to find his killer was walking around fresh as a fucking daisy. Jason was entitled to a little anger, in his own humble opinion.

Maybe he'd gone a bit far, but things had finally started going back to normal. He'd almost started to forgive them for not avenging him. For replacing him. They'd even started working together again, more and more often with every passing day. Jason had worked on reigning in his anger instead of letting it take the reigns, controlling the Pit Rage instead of sinking into it.

It was a hard transition to make; hate cradles you, as they say. But he tried.

Maybe he had some relapses occasionally, some outbursts here and there, but he was making progress.

But they had been willing to throw him at the mercy of someone that terrified him for reasons he didn't understand the second they offered maybe a 'solution' to his 'green little problem.'

As if it wasn't mostly 'solved' already.

As if they hadn't been working on it for years now.

As if he wasn't capable of making his own damn decisions.

Mind made up, he takes breath, takes a step back, glances at the door - which he very quickly locks when he realizes how much they’ve been playing with fire - and drops the hand from his gun.

“Why bring us somewhere so crowded?”

“Your pals are less likely to attack us if we’re surrounded by civilians and not doing anything wrong. Plus, background noise. As long as we’re relatively quiet we’re unlikely to be overheard or bothered,” he answers, then points at the abandoned stolen clothing on the floor, a brow raised. “But if it’s all the same, I’d prefer to explain more when we’re not in a bathroom.”

Jason stares at him for another long moment.

Someone jiggles the handle and knocks.

“Fuck it.”

He throws on the baggy outfit, grateful for the drawstring - which is the only thing keeping the pants up - at least the excess fabric covers his shoes enough to be less obviously Not Normal (™).

He whips off the mask and shoves it in the pocket of the hoodie - which hits him upper-mid thigh.

Seriously.

‘This guy is pants at guessing sizes.’

It takes a lot of inner strength to avoid facepalming when he realizes his unintentional pun.

Once dressed, Danny wastes no time opening up the door to leave, and he follows him out and into the coffee line, ignoring the wide-eyed look on the face of the guy who’d knocked.

They grab coffee and snag an outside table - even more background noise with all the traffic, Danny explains as they sit.

---------------------

“So, Danny. Who, exactly, sent you to ‘help’ me?” Jason asks, leaning back in his seat.

Danny snorts at the theatrics, taking a sip of his own drink before he answers.

“He didn’t send me, he just told me you were in danger. I’m here because I want to be. But his name is Clockwork, the ghost that watches over the timestream.”

Danny sighs.

“We probably don't have a lot of time before Greenie and the Furries catch up, and they’ll need to hear a lot of what I have to tell you,” he says. “But, the basic - and more personal - details which only you really need to know-” he holds up a finger “-my parents have always been obsessed with ghosts and made it their life’s mission to open a portal to the afterlife - which they call the ‘Ghost Zone.’”

A second finger joins the first.

“They succeeded when I was 14, except they didn’t manage to make it turn on because they miswired an emergency off-switch on the inside to have an accompanying ‘on’ button that needed to be activated before it would work.”

A third.

“A friend dared me to go in and I, being a dumb kid, did. Then promptly tripped and hit the on-button and got electrocuted half to death. I say ‘half’ because in the midst of me dying the portal turned on, and the ectoplasm bonded to my living DNA and reached a sort of balance. This turned me into a halfa - a being that is half-human and half-ghost. Half alive and half dead. A human form and a ghost form.”

A fourth, Danny studiously ignoring Jason’s bewildered blinking.

“Halfa’s, due to the nature of our existences, are exceedingly rare. The first that I know of was created in an accident 20 years ago. I was the second. The third was already a halfa when she was created, being a clone of me - long story. The fourth, that I know of,” Danny leans forward, fingers curling back over to leave the hand pointing at Jason. “Is you.”

Danny can see the roiling mix of confusion-comprehension-horror-denial-fear-anger building up in him - anger the one that appeared to be winning - so he rushes to explain, holding his hands up placatingly - deja-vu.

“Clockwork only told me about you, like, an hour ago. He told me about how you didn’t know you were a halfa, how there’s barely enough ambient ectoplasm in this city to sustain you, that what is here is kind of garbage, that you don’t know how to get more - or that you need more. Or what ecto is - it’s like carbon for ghosts, I guess? Like living people are made of carbon but food is too?”

He squints. Shrugs.

“Ghosts are made of ecto and need it to be healthy. As halfas, we need both. There’s a lot more to ‘how to be a halfa’ but that’s the most important thing right now given I can literally sense how ecto-deprived you are. Your ecto-signature is literally so weak I could almost mistake you for a blob ghost, which is incredibly not-healthy. I nabbed a thermos from my fridge on the way here, so like. I know it probably sounds sus and your experience with green liquids-” he notes Jason tense back toward anger from where he’d been moving into confusion territory “-is probably historically bad, but I promise it’s safe. I’ll even drink some myself to prove it if that helps.”

A beat.

“Green liquids.”

It’s not a question, but Danny answers anyway, reaching into his chest to pull out the thermos, ignoring the strangled noise Jason makes and the aborted movement from where he’d begun to stand before crashing back down and staring as he uncaps the cylinder and pours a little of the ectoplasm into the cap before sliding the rest towards him.

“Ectoplasm!” Danny chirps, downing his like a shot only to find Jason staring, mouth slightly open in horror.

---------------------

Jason has known Danny for less than five minutes, and the guy has already said and done the most unhinged things Jason has ever seen anyone do.

In five. Minutes.

Here’s the thing; Jason hates everything he’s saying.

That Jason is still dead.

That he needs to start drinking lazarus water.

That there was some time guy out there stalking him (as if he needed another nosy bastard hanging over his shoulder. He was just starting to barely-kind of-sorta tolerate the ones he knew about).

That Danny died in his parents’ basement because they were experimenting with lazarus water.

Jason had barely begun to process the insane shit he said when the guy shoves his hand through his fucking chest.

For a moment, he was fully convinced he was going to rip out his heart or something.

Instead, he’d apparently just been using his chest cavity as a storage location for a thermos of lazarus water.

Ya know, as you fucking do.

In keeping with his general vibe of ‘one-insane-thing-after-another-without-pause’ he immediately pours himself a glass and downs it like a fucking shot.

It hasn’t even been 24 hours since this nightmare started and Jason thinks he might be going prematurely gray by now (no the white part does not count, he died when he was 15, Tim).

Finally, mercifully, the guy stops talking and/or doing things.

He closes his hanging jaw, noting the unchanged blue of the guys’ eyes.

Danny is still calm. In control. Unaffected by a bit of eau de lazarus.

Jason takes a steadying breath, bracing himself for the smell of decay and mildew and blood that the waters always carry with them…and gets something completely different.

His eyes snap down to the still-open thermos laid before him.

Looking closer, he notes the lack of bubbles. The color is the same, but the glow itself is somehow brighter. Softer.

It doesn’t smell like lazarus water.

It smells like chamomile tea. Like the lavender cookies Alfred used to make post-patrol sometimes, trying to incite them to go to bed sooner rather than staying up at all hours.

It smells delicious.

He can feel his mouth water, and his stomach growls loudly, suddenly.

He’d had that oatmeal less than two hours ago, but he suddenly feels like he hadn’t eaten at all.

He sips his coffee instead, staring down the container of pure temptation, straining against the urge to pick it up and chug.

Danny watches on, silent, patient. He looks hopeful, Jason thinks, but not expectant.

Not that he couldn’t just be a really good actor. And just because the lazarus water smells good doesn’t mean it’s safe. Doesn’t mean he should just go for it.

Even if it does smell like chamomile tea and lavender cookies.

Alfred’s lavender cookies.

Which he’d never been able to resist.

‘He drank some,’ Jason thinks as he picks up the thermos. ‘He’s still fine,’ he tells himself. ‘If he wanted to he could’ve just dropped me directly into one of the pits. If he wanted to hurt me he could’ve phased poison directly into my bloodstream, probably.’

The not-quite-lazarus water tastes just like it smells.

Jason wants to chug the whole canister, but he has enough self-control to take sips instead, letting the flavors play out on his tongue.

No hint of almonds.

No odd textures.

Just chamomile and lavender and bliss.

Three sips and a solid ten seconds in and he still feels fine - no feeling faint or frothing at the mouth. Instead, he feels lighter.

Warmer.

Calmer.

Ravenous.

He chugs the rest, tension leaving his body, nerves settling, the hunger he hadn’t known was there until the scent first hit him abating enough to be ignored.

He takes a moment to look at the empty cylinder and reflect on the fact that he just voluntarily drank lazarus water.

Except not really. Lazarus water is vile; even Danny had said the ‘ecto’ he’d encountered was 'garbage.'

'What, did Ra's forget to install a damn pool-filter or something???

He shakes the thought from his head and looks back at his…rescuer? Danny only looks relieved; noticeably more relaxed than the apparently false-calm he’d been projecting before.

Jason chews his lip in thought. Frowns.

“Okay. I have many questions, comments, and concerns about…everything that just happened, to be honest. But before anything else, I want answers about Green Lantern.”

Danny nods, expression grave.

“Let me tell you a story….”

***

Fun Fact: Ectoplasm smelling like wild stuff is fun, but also it’s everywhere in the zone. Ghosts have to live in it & smell it/smell like it all the time. Sooooo….

In this AU I’m going with: ecto smells like ranch 2 (lime & batteries) to humans bc they can’t process it properly.

To ghosts, ectoplasm smells like the thing they want the most at that moment. Right now, Jason wants home - as it was when it was safe - so the ecto smells like something that reminds him of that.

---------------------

Next time: Back at the batcave! If that scene doesn’t stretch too long, also reunion! Or at least Jason pov of being pissed when they have the audacity to want to talk!

Tags!

@skulld3mort-1fan @kyrianclawraith @jesimilu @bleuyellow93 @ocearnawrites @undead-essence @violet-catsarelife @sunsetdew0101 @tsukihimeyfan @the-legal-shipper @spideypoolalways @mariendall @jesus-camp-the-sequel @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair @akikoyuii @mrowsters @do3y @aikoiya @joaniejustwokeup @wwwwyamd @fox-sama97

#dpxdc #danny phantom #red hood #jason todd #long post #fic

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moxiebustion · 4 months

Text

I had an idea for the Old Guard and Sherlock Holmes a few months back, which goes like this.

John Watson is an immortal.

He doesn't remember the year he was born, but it was after Andy and just before Quynh; and in any case the calendar has changed over more than a couple of times since then.

He is, in an incredibly unlikely scenario, killed by Andy the first time, because this was way back in Andy's crusading days and there have been plenty of invaders to Albion. They kill each other and dumb chance has one of them getting washed away by a river or something and hey, look at that, no dreams, because technically they have met before. Hardly a meeting to engender the warm fuzzies in any case. Life goes on.

Andy goes back to her wandering.

Watson, after many aimless years believing himself to be cursed to be a walking ghost, watching all the people he falls in love with die, falls in with a leader of men - a truly unique mind - and it lights a spark and gives him a purpose, finally. When the king dies, he makes John swear that he will defend his lands and his people until his last breath, which, you know, might be a while. Watson vows it, and Watson is not a man who breaks promises.

Sometime in the ensuing centuries and far to the east, Andy finds Quynh (or more accurately, Quynh finds her) and oh, hey, those dreams were about an actual person, they're real, Andy is not alone. There is much rejoicing, etc, etc, and Quynh says hey, we might have to go find the other one.

And Andy is like... what the fuck?

So they head back west and lo and behold, it's the damn random soldier that wouldn't quit and got tossed into a river for his trouble. And he's amazed, astounded, enthralled. Well, he is after they've clashed swards a few times; in Watson's defense, he has no idea what the fuck is happening. He's been haunted by weird dreams of a lady getting it on with his murderer for years and, you know, this is centuries pre-Jung, he has no explanation at all for this except that he might be going ever so slightly, benignly insane.

So, anyway. Blood is spilled, then swords are disarmed, explanations are had, amazed, astounded, enthralled etc etc.

Andy says you should come with us.

John, channeling his inner Hobbit two and a half millennia before JRR Tolkien was even conceived offer her a polite thanks ever so much, but, um, no.

Andy's like, what the fuck?

And Watson is like, well, I made a promise, and you don't break promises, do you? I swore to protect these lands and by gum, I'm going to do just that, thank you.

And Quynh says, aren't you bored though?

And Watson just give her a slight smile because at this point he's had three wives and two husbands and has raised innumerable orphans and says well, no. Not really. Wherever I go I find interesting people. Truly unique minds. My king rises again, you see. And so do all my friends. They rise again and again. I see them everywhere, in every genius, every artist, every eccentric who takes a chisel to the universe and cracks it open. They're always there if you care to look. And I swore I would protect them and I'll keep my word, so I will.

Andy looks at him like he's insane, but shrugs and says, well, when you change your mind come and find us, we'll be out there doing some actual good.

And Watson just gives her a little smile and said gods go with you then, Andromache the Scythian. You'll have a hope and a sword arm with me if needed, but otherwise I'm staying right here, thank you very much.

And that's that.

Andy expects Watson to join them eventually. He never does. It drives her fucking mental, which means she respects the hell out of him for it.

Time goes on. Life goes on. Seven husbands and three wives later, Watson meets the new guys. He adores Nicky and Joe - he's known as Galvagin by this period of history, and Nicky and Joe are fascinated by this immortal who has travelled every continent in earth (and married on them), but never wanders. He has a home. He has people who know he's immortal in his home. His spouses all knew, so do most of his children. They keep the secret. He becomes a local cryptid of sorts. Oh, yes, that's just the old soldier's house, ha ha, they say he's immortal, ha ha. And no one ever examines the joke too closely. Besides, some old-fashioned jingoism helps keep the secret too. He's their immortal, isn't he? Proper British and all that. It's not as if he's some foreigner.

The Old Guard come and go through the years. Sometimes Watson will join them on a grand adventure or a fight for a few years, but he'll always head home. Sometimes they'll lodge with him and explore every nook and cranny he knows of the isles. Andy and Watson's relationship becomes strained after Quynh is lost, because look at you, why do you defend them?? But Watson gave his word and he will not break it, even for Andy. What people are without sins, he asks, without treachery and cruelty and ignorance? The Old Guard has helped plenty of pretty shady regimes in their time. They can only be made better, only helped to change. He will search every inch of the coast, he promises, he will chase every rumour and every hint that comes to him. He will sail every boat that might conceivably travel across where she might be. He will try. But he will not leave.

He does help search. But eventually the others, grieving and in despair, must leave again. Watson promises to keep his eyes peeled in the meantime, a solitary watchman.

Watson doesn't see them again - except for letters - until the advent of Booker. He connects with Booker over his grief - oh, how many children has Watson lost! Spouses too! And over an astounding number of stories of unique minds, his resurrected friends, that Watson has found over the years. Watson is himself a very interesting man, and a good storyteller and Booker shares this love of stories. He tells him if he ever needs respite, he can come to Watson's home for a while.

Booker opts to stay with the Old Guard only because he still doesn't like the English very much, and also because running into jobs and missions sometimes distracts from the wailing grief inside his head.

When they finally all meet again, Victoria is on the throne, steam trains are ascendant and Watson has shacked up with another unique mind at 221B Baker Street.

He's an interesting one, Watson, who is now Watson properly on paper. And he smiles. He has found another friend, risen again.

Why John? Andy asked.

Boring, Joe says, who is still somewhat smarting over Joseph Jones.

John shrugs and says: There's enough Johns to make it commonplace, and I'm pretty commonplace. And Watson because, what son am I, where is my father? I do not remember.

Besides, he adds ruefully, no one uses Galvagin these days. No one east of Wales can pronounce Gwalchmei correctly...

(Booker nods in fellow feeling).

And Gawain just sounds pretentious. So... John.

It is a good name, Nicky Smith smiles.

And in the corner Sherlock is losing his goddamn mind because he had a) no fucking idea what kind of mismatched pidgin they are speaking and b) every single logical deduction he tries to make about these people all make perfect sense until they open their mouths and start talking about their lives, and then it's like OUT OF CHEESE ERROR, REINSTALL UNIVERSE AND REBOOT.

The problem with John Watson is that you have to eliminate the impossible, and the marker for that keeps fucking moving.

(Mycroft, on the other hand, as this era's Copley, sweats bullets every time John gets within spitting distance of the Stone of Scone)

#the old guard #sherlock holmes #john watson #immortal watson au #andromache the scythian #quynh the old guard #nicolo di genova #nicky di genova #yusuf al kaysani #joe al kaysani #sebastien le livre #booker #tog #the three garridebs would run so much differently in this au #watson resurrects after being shot in the head #and holmes is like I HAVE CONNECTED TWO DOTS #and watson says fondly you didn't connect shit sherlock

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heliads · 2 years

Text

Iced Out Mind (Part Two)

Based on this request: "A second part of Iced Out Mind. Snowstorm is still an active superhero. Y/N and Isaac watch John Walker become the new Captain America. Sam, Bucky, and Y/N see John use the shield to kill one of the Flag Smashers. Y/N calls Isaac and gives him an update. Sam invites Bucky, Y/N, and Isaac to the pier."

part one / masterlist

Isaac Lahey was not supposed to get this far. No, really, he wasn’t.

The way he thought about it, the way he has always thought about it, Isaac was destined for an early grave. That’s what it means to be anything but human, after all, to know that your life is on the line every single time you draw breath. Isaac always assumed that a hunter or other rival werewolf would get him at some point, so he never much bothered with making future plans. Why think about the life you could have if you know you’ll never be able to stick around long enough to make it real?

So, when Isaac blinks one day and realizes that he’s only a handful of years away from thirty, long out of high school and somewhat distant from his college graduation, he has to take a moment or two to steady himself. This is defying the odds to the max. Isaac was meant to die the second he received the bite, and yet somehow, he hasn’t. How do you go about your normal life with a declaration like that?

It is enough to drive anyone a little mad, but fortunately, Isaac has a fairly good support system set up to keep him from losing it. He still stays in contact with the Beacon Hills clan, even if he doesn’t see them all that often anymore. Most of Scott’s pack still stays on the west coast, pretending they can escape that life just long enough to come spiraling back down when yet another attack happens.

Sometimes, Isaac wonders if he’s unreasonably selfish to think that he should be the one to get to leave it all behind when everyone else has to stay there forever, trapped in that cycle of healing and hurting, protecting and dying, all in the same strains as before. Surely he is not be the one to deserve a release. Surely the free man should be Scott, whom the world owes everything, or Allison, who should have gotten the chance to live into her twenties, or any one of those friends who Isaac sees more often on a Christmas card than in real life.

Yet it’s him nonetheless, him standing in an apartment in New York City and wondering how he got this lucky. Members of the pack come up every now and then, it’s not like Isaac is totally cut off. They’ll visit about once a year or so, every trip up the same. Some old friend stands on Isaac’s streets and murmurs something about how wild the city is. They’ll stay a few days then send themselves back down to exile in the hunter’s land of Beacon Hills. Isaac always offers to keep them longer. At least here, they’re mostly out of danger, but no one ever takes him up on it.

He’s been able to shrug most of his survivor’s guilt from his shoulders through the slow realization that all of his friends want the danger, in some way. They feel called to it. If they cannot protect others, how can they protect themselves? It may end in their early deaths, and for some, it already has, but they would choose that path over and over again anyway.

They’re not the only ones to share in such a fate. Isaac turns and walks further into his apartment, where his eyes rest on another survivor. Y/N L/N, once a stranger he’d seen on the news and then a friend he’d wanted to keep more than any other, is now more to Isaac than he ever imagined possible. After that first meeting in a diner after Isaac had accidentally realized that she was Snowstorm, one of the Avengers, they kept crossing paths.

Soon enough, Isaac realized that he didn’t ever want to go through another goodbye at the end of a wonderful date, that he wished they could have a world in which he connected one hour after another, an endless string of moments in which it was just the two of them. Nothing more, nothing less. He wanted her forever, even if Isaac’s forevers tend to find themselves broken after a matter of years.

Nothing has happened to ruin them yet, however. Even daring to voice the thought in his head seems like a great temptation of fate to Isaac, but he stands by it anyway. Let this be a promise to a world that has only ever hurt him: Isaac chooses the good now, the happy ending. He will have what he wants, and that will be the love of his life. He can have his contented resolution with Y/N L/N, and there is absolutely nothing that can get in the way of that.

That won’t stop Fate from trying, though. For now, they’re alright. Isaac holds out an arm to the girl he loves, and she leans into him. He’s long since learned to stop taking it personally when Y/N’s heartbeat flares for a brief instant of panic every time someone comes as close to her as Isaac dares. Those are just the habits of a bygone era, if one that still haunts her every time she thinks about it. Y/N is a product of the labs, and Isaac will never hold that against her.

They’ve gotten better, the two of them. Y/N may never forgive the world for loving the torture she was put through all in the name of receiving super powers. Isaac may never stop flinching away from full moons and even the barest hint of someone who could be a hunter. The system made them like this, and the system stops them from being fully human, both in physical composition and mental habits.

They’re used to it, though, and they’re used to each other. If you have to be an outsider in a world that was once your own, Isaac has found that it’s best to do it with someone you care about by your side. That’s why Isaac is able to look at Y/N’s left hand and smile at the ring on her finger. It’s a promise he made to her about a month or two ago that he would never stop trying to make her feel at home, even on the days when she’s sure that she would never belong anywhere but a battleground. It’s an oath that he intends to take to his grave.

He spent a fair amount of time picking out the ring, too. Everything had to be perfect for Y/N, you know? The stone itself is crystalline white, one bit of ice and snow that Y/N can accept by the virtue of her own choice instead of being shaped only from bad memories. It’s a way to reclaim all that she has been through, a way to make it her own. Isaac intends to be with her throughout that journey, and this ring symbolizes his decision to make that permanent.

He doesn’t entirely know when the wedding will happen. With lives like theirs, important dates tend to get sidetracked. He does know that it will occur one day, though, and even such a casual promise as that is enough for Isaac. They’re both looking forward to it and that’s enough for now.

Isaac would be fine with spending the rest of today, and perhaps all days after it, in standing here in easy tandem with Y/N, breathing in and out in unison. They can push off the world and its difficulties for another month. It will find other martyrs to damn in their absence.

However, the call to action is impossible to ignore, especially when it comes in the form of the alarming news broadcast currently radiating out from the TV in the corner of their apartment. They have a habit of leaving it on in case they see something related to either the supernatural world or the Avengers or some combination of both, and they aren’t disappointed now.

A man named John Walker looms onscreen, proudly decked out in stars and stripes. He carries a round vibranium shield, the very one that was supposed to be in a museum as dictated by Sam Wilson. That declaration doesn’t seem to have stopped John Walker from being appointed as the new Captain America, however.

Y/N tenses. “This isn’t good.”

Isaac tilts his head to the side. “Because it’s disrespecting Steve’s legacy?”

Her lips press together as she thinks. “Partially. Also because it’s disrespecting Sam. If this Walker guy has the shield, it means Sam wasn’t consulted on this in the slightest. People are just setting up heroes as puppets whose strings they can pull whenever they decide on it. I have a feeling that this isn’t going to end well.”

As if to prove her point, Y/N’s phone goes off. She checks the screen and reads off a few disgruntled messages from Bucky Barnes, no surprises there. If there’s one guy who’d hate to see Steve’s shield tossed around by some imposter, it would have to be the original Captain America’s childhood friend.

Isaac would like to think that this whole situation would blow itself over in due time. Maybe Walker would realize that the spangled uniform isn’t worth the risks, or that being Captain America is a dream that no one other than Steve Rogers can actualize.

However, the passage of time only brings with it more problems, not less. The arrival of a mysterious group called the Flag Smashers tears Y/N from her quiet epilogue with Isaac and towards the fight once more. Isaac can see it in her face, how much she hates the fact that she will never be free of conflict. Y/N has tried to wash her hands of all this blood more than once, and no matter how many times people promise that this one will be her last job, really, they just keep calling.

It’s not even Sam or Bucky’s fault this time. The unhappy fact of life is that peace will always need to be defended, and there’s no one better for the job than Y/N. The world will always be some desperate thing one inch from death, and it rewards its protectors with yet another cause to hurt. Isaac insists on going with her, and it takes Y/N reminding him on about a dozen occasions how bad it would be if he was revealed as a werewolf on camera for him to be convinced to stay at home.

The least Isaac can do is take up the mantle of neighborhood protector while Y/N is out. They’ve done this a few times before, actually, patrolling the streets of the city in search of criminals to punish. With Isaac’s reflexes and skills with fighting, he makes a decent hero. He never thought of such a title, but Y/N makes him want to pursue it more than ever.

Such is the life of Isaac Lahey without his best girl; he stops carjackers, he beats thieves into more of a pulp than is strictly necessary. He’s just stressed, that’s all. Stressed and terrified that this might be Y/N’s last war, not because she’s finally no longer bound to the unspoken rules that Avengers will fight until their last but because she will actually be at her last. Isaac can’t lose Y/N. He doesn’t even want to think about it.

Y/N will not be the one who is lost, however. She calls him, dazed, just a short while later. She doesn’t even have to explain the cause for her concern, Isaac already knows. It’s hard to think about anything other than the fact that the latest Captain America pretender has brutally murdered a man, and that the clips are spreading like wildfire across the Internet. The second Isaac saw the news, he just pulled out his phone and waited.

Y/N called about thirty seconds after Isaac found it out. He can hear from her stuttering responses, the way his usually confident fiancée is now tripping over herself in a failing effort to relate just how horrifying all of this is, that she’s been severely affected. Who wouldn’t be affected, after all? To see that in person? Isaac feels sick to his stomach and he wasn’t even there. Y/N had to watch all of that go down.

In a way, she says at last, she was expecting something like this to happen. Clearly not on the level of bloodlust that she just witnessed, but something. Walker was bound to snap. That’s what happens when you spend all this time surrounded by people who aren’t human and feel like you have to convince yourself that you’re fine with it, after all. Isaac saw it with the hunters, and he sees it with John Walker now. At some point, you get so desperate to prove that you’re human that you do something to show that you’re anything but. Walker may have set out to change the world as a regular man, but what he has now done has made him a monster.

They’re only able to talk for a brief while before Y/N has to go. Damage control has to make its rounds, and now Sam’s finally in agreement with Bucky and Y/N that they need to take back the shield before Walker does anything worse. Y/N texts a while later that the deed is done, no specifics mentioned. Isaac doesn’t need to hear the intricacies of her heartbeat with the clarity of supernatural hearing to know how rattled she is by the whole encounter.

Despite his strongest, deepest fears, Y/N does come back to him. A little quieter, a little more shaken, but she is there nonetheless. That’s all Isaac could ever ask for. He has had years of watching his friends shrink away into nothingness because they felt like they could only ever walk towards their impending sacrifice. If he can provide a home for Y/N to return to at the end of missions like that one, well, Isaac would give his own life to make sure it would happen.

The situation does have a happy ending, after all, or at least the closest any of them can truly come to a happy ending: peace. Sam Wilson has a place out in Louisiana, a corner of the world where the sunsets are always golden and the laughter always flows free and long. There, undisturbed, Isaac and Y/N get to experience a Wilson family dinner out on the pier. They talk for hours. Isaac may never have met some of these people before, but he walks away from it all thinking that this is it, this is what a home should feel like.

It reminds Isaac that they’re going to be okay. They are all destined to die at some point, heroes and supernaturals alike, but somewhere in between their rude awakenings and their eventual last breaths, there are moments like these when all is well. Perhaps Isaac will meet his fate tomorrow, or in a month, or not for many years. Regardless, he can face it with open arms. It might be the first time in his life that such acceptance has come over him, but he can guess at why. Isaac is not alone, nor will he ever be alone. No claws or fangs have ever protected him as much as that blessed knowledge.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

teen wolf tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @23victoria

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagines #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey oneshot #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf oneshot #teen wolf isaac #teen wolf isaac imagines #teen wolf isaac x reader #teen wolf isaac oneshot #mcu crossover #marvel crossover #tfatws

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ceescedasticity · 1 year

Text

'Unforsaken' cutting room floor

From where they're first talking about the possible warden. I guess I decided this got more detailed than it needed to be? I kind of like it…

------

Anyone know where Radagast is these days?

Celeborn says he was present when they were disassembling Dol Guldur and trying to restore things, but left even before the Ringbearers sailed.

Elrohir says Estel was mostly sure Radagast was helping with ecological restoration in Mordor for a while, but never actually caught sight of him and hasn't heard anything for a while. Maybe he went farther into Sauron's old territory?

So, no one knows where Radagast is in any useful way.

They might actually have some idea where one of the Blue Wizards is, or at least was: the Magus Caerulus who is or was very influential on the Men living in the lands just west of Pelndoru. Khitwê and Risyind don't know much more than that, but they assume the Men who live there would.

So they could, if they choose, go most of the way to Pelndoru and see if they can pick up the trail of a wizard.

A wizard who's apparently involved in human politics, Celeborn points out. That's not an obvious good sign.

(Okay look, it is not easy coordinating resistance to Sauron when you have no Eldar or Edain in your arsenal — Avari and other humans have the heart and the will to fight the Shadow, but they mostly don't have lingering bits of Valar-favor. If the Magi Caeruli didn't stay personally involved the people of the East and South just wouldn't have any tools to protect themselves. It's gotten a lot better! Almost no one thinks they're gods now and they're definitely not kings!)

(In a different incarnation of this fic, with additional digressions about the Blue Wizards and even more outrageous OCs— Well, never mind.)

Still: Going most of the way to Pelndoru and talking their way into meeting the Magus Caerulus is an option.

…Assuming they're still there.

Getting a wizard would be a long-term and chancy endeavor, and no one is very enthusiastic about it.

"Besides," Celegorm says, "it's not like you need to be a maia to fight a maia."

"Strictly speaking no, but…"

(Celegorm is thinking: Finrod actually didn't do too badly against Sauron until he lost his nerve, and Maglor is a much better bard than Finrod, and the Warden is — he assumes — weaker than Sauron, so this should be workable if Maglor gets in the right frame of mind.)

(Maglor and Turgon are thinking: True, but all balrog-killers died doing it and this thing may be stronger, so let's not get cocky.)

(Glorfindel, Celeborn, Elladan, and Elrohir are thinking: How much of Glorfindel's Second Age pre-return-to-Middle-earth power-up is still lingering? Is this hypothetical Warden bigger or smaller than a balrog, figuratively speaking? Also there's the Saruman comparison, Mithrandir did a lot to break his power but he was definitely vulnerable to other attacks, what kind of shape is this thing in—)

(Khitwê and Risyind are thinking: Wait, what's a maia again? Is it the same as a wizard or not?)

(Whiterot is thinking: About something else entirely because she doesn't want to think about maiar.)

(Sharlinnu is thinking: Is it too late to start taking notes?)

It's still not like anyone is planning to let this stop them either, so Elrohir asks if there's any procedure of arming for umaiar.

"Fire-resistant armor and the best weapons you have," says Turgon.

"That's balrogs specifically," Celeborn says. "More generally, you need to be aware of the mental and spiritual influence — like the Black Breath of the Ringwraiths, but possibly much worse — and be prepared to resist it."

"Just about anything dies if you cut its head off," Celegorm offers.

Maglor gives Celegorm a 'I know you are not actually this book-dumb, will you stop embarrassing me' look, which Celegorm ignores. "There are seventeen known repeating types of umaiar, and any individual might be unique. What Lord Celeborn said is the only consistent rule."

"Mithrandir left Glamdring here, though," Elladan says, half-joking. "He killed a balrog with Glamdring, so it could be considered a weapon for use on umaiar?"

"Hmmmm."

"I forgot to mention that," Glorfindel says to Turgon. "Glamdring is here — we don't know how it got to Eriador, but after it surfaced Mithrandir wielded it until he sailed — do you want it back?"

"…No thank you," says Turgon. "I don't think it would like being wielded by an orc."

Is there anything in the armory that would? They'll have to check.

Anyway, what about Maglor's anti-maia capacity? Clearly he's been keeping in practice driving orcs into the Sea…

Maglor wants to avoid admitting to weakness in front of Turgon, Celeborn, and the children more than he wants to yell at Celegorm for having unreasonable expectations. He says he can play a harp if necessary, but it's been a while since he did anything big.

Turgon says he thought they were already counting on Maglor to break the Crucible open. Asking him to fight the Warden at the same time seems a bit much.

Sharlinnu asks how the Dark Lord was defeated, anyway.

…They don't know?

Well, they know it happened fast and unexpectedly and Mount Doom erupted—

The One Ring was destroyed in Mount Doom, that's how.

…Wait, do they know what the One Ring is?

Yes, they know what the One Ring is.

…Actually Whiterot and Sharlinnu are a little vague on that.

Okay, if anyone wants details, there's a book. Suffice to say: No one actually fought Sauron.

All right, so there's no one — other than Glorfindel and Maglor, hopefully — particularly equipped to fight the hypothetical warden. Are there other people they could call on for more strength in general?

Well, there's Thranduil. He's pretty busy right now, though.

And while he's been easy-going about old Sindarin grudges in general asking him to work directly with Maglor Fëanorion might be a bit much to ask for.

Not to mention the orcs. Thranduil still struggles with dwarves.

Whiterot asks if knowing he has a… personal stake… would make it easier for him to handle it.

Nimloth? Maybe…

No, Oropher.

…

(Turgon, Celegorm, and Sharlinnu actually do all recognize the name — highest-priority Greenwood target in the Second Age. —Also Reckless and Sly really wanted to kill him. None of them had any idea he's an orc, though.)

(Celeborn is horrified, but not as shocked as he would be if Celebrían hadn't identified Ningloreth of Lórinand, who died in the same battle as Oropher and had less of a reputation for obstinacy.)

(Maglor never heard the King of Greenwood's name while he was king of the Greenwood, but recognizes the name from old intelligence on Iathrin nobility. He does not mention this.)

(Khitwê remembers the name from various history lessons in Imladris and has to remind Risyind.)

Personal stakes notwithstanding, Thranduil is still very busy and not guaranteed to keep his temper even when he's trying very hard. Celeborn would rather not involve him in this and would really rather not tell him about Oropher.

Círdan? Probably not.

…Although they should probably keep him in the loop.

Maglor sighs dramatically and asks if anyone knows where Daeron is.

Sailed under a false name, Celeborn says. So much for that idea.

What about dwarves? Or Men?

Dwarves might be able to help if not with a warden specifically, but… this isn't really their problem, is it? It's an elven problem. (It could be the dwarves' problem if it turns out there's a warden and it can trigger orcs multiplying, but that's never happened that they know of.)

It's an old, terrible, horrific, even shameful elven problem. Elves should take care of it.

#orc bank unforsaken #orc bank

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seventeendeer · 1 year

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I’d like to hear more about the unstoppable sand dune

haha thANK YOU anon for enabling me, I feel the world should know about the killer sand dune. it's so special to me

DISCLAIMER that this is all an ameteur sillyguy’s observations after one (1) day of researching the dune. do not trust my word on the dune. I’m just very excited and I want to talk about a cool thing I learned about. I will link a wikipedia article at the end of this post so anyone who wants to do proper research will have a place to start. this is simply me trying to infect you with excitement for the dune so that anyone who thinks this sounds cool can do their own research.

SO ANYWAY ABOUT THE DUNE !

for context, I live in denmark, which is 1. small, 2. flat and 3. generally very, very low-risk of natural disasters or extreme weather conditions. we generally don’t get big earthquakes or massive wildfires or tsunamis or even all that intense storms or anything like that. this is important to note because it is part of the reason my mind is blown by the giant fucking sand dune that apparently exists up north that used to DESTROY EVERYTHING IN ITS PATH up to and including entire forests and at least one town

the largest chunk of danish land is a narrow peninsula sticking up in a northern direction from germany. because there’s a little small ocean to the east and a fuck-off huge ocean to the west, the wind almost always blows from the western sea across the country, toward the eastern sea.

at one point a few hundred years ago, massive amounts of sand on the west coast just ... got up and left. the harsh wind and lack of vegetation to anchor the sand made it just sort of ... start creeping across the peninsula in the form of a gigantic dune. in a couple more hundred years, it will have fully crossed the peninsula and come up on the east coast.

some fun facts about the Giant Killer Dune:

- again, ate at least one town. the tower of a church is the only remnant of the town still sticking out of the dune.

- there was once an attempt to anchor the dune by planting grasses and pine trees on and near to it. this disturbed the dune’s eco system, however, so the state decided to buy up all the land on and around the dune in order to preserve it and allow it to continue on its path unhindered. the dune has acquired rights

- I can’t help but notice that if the dune continues on its path as predicted, it will eventually destroy roads and other infrastructure connecting the northernmost part of the peninsula to the rest of the country. I’m going to go ahead and assume someone is going to be doing something about that and we’re not just leaving Skagen to go full mad max fury road

- because the sand moves so slowly, the dune eviscerates any natural areas it comes across. it has eaten entire forests. nothing can survive under the sand long enough to see the light of day again. however, because of how dirt works, the dune also leaves behind gaps in the earth that fill with water, creating ponds and lakes, which eventually enable new vegetation to move in and start new densely-vegetated areas. the killer dune is apparently also the lifegiving dune, if you feel like being generous and Very patient

- if you’re less patient, be a bird! the dune is home to and a pitstop for several different types of birds, who have come to depend on it. this part gets me so fucking hyped. imagine being a bird on that dune. he can’t help but feel like his summer house has moved ever so slightly to the right compared to last year. his bird friends tell him he’s being weird but he knows the truth

- and here comes another part that is SO COOL. METAL SAND! THE PALE SAND IS STRIPED WITH METAL SANDS LIKE A PAINTING!! I have distant memories of visiting the dune as a child and using a magnet to draw out dark sand and seperate it from the pale sand. I still have a vial of the metal sand I keep with my rock collection. I have no idea if stealing from the dune is legal or ethical (surely not? there’s a lot of dune but not enough for everyone to take home souvenirs surely ???), but I didn’t realize. I have however treasured this sand for over a decade, which is ultimately what made me decide to look up the dune and learn all this cool stuff in the first place. now that I have an adult brain with adult context for how fucking cool this dune is. the magnetic sand is nicknamed ‘stardust’ by locals that I would very much like to meet and personally congratulate for somehow making the really cool dune even cooler

- its name, Råbjerg Mile, is also metal, but in the badass sense. “rå” = “raw” or “harsh”, “bjerg” = “mountain”, “mile” = “wandering dune.” they really named this thing “giant pile of sand coming to kick your ass”

here’s the english wikipedia link to the dune for anyone curious!!

all jokes aside, I really am so enchanted by this thing. I never even knew giant moving sand dunes like this existed! this is a mini biome that has only existed for a few hundred years and will eventually end the same way it began! and yet it’s become so important to the land and the animals that live and pass through here that people have fought to give it legal protection in the limited time it has yet to exist! I’m so glad it’s being taken care of and protected. what an absolute wonder. I’m so, so glad I took the time to read about it. god. geography you guys !!!!!!!

#asktheherd #once again thanking wikipedia for being a great starting point to just look up random stuff that will blow ur mind

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alarici · 16 days

Note

[jessaerys here] prompt: meronia + las vegas seedy underbelly >:) OR. high stakes and guns. make of that what you will

@jessaerys

1607 words, not edited, rating M?

vaguely related to armageddon/kill game but could be anything.

"Let's go to Vegas."

Near packs a bag. Three changes of identical clothing. Toy sets that aren't too heavy nor bulky. The usual travel pack.

Mello doesn't tell him what to bring. He acts like Near should know. Mello said they should go to Vegas, that he had some friends he wanted to see. Near had figured--yeah. Let's go to Vegas.

Near was so relived that Mello even asked him. In almost every scenario, Mello just left, and Near would have nothing to do about that.

Vegas, where Roger said Near should never go. Least of all because of Mello. Mostly because Vegas was a land of Sin, and Near would surely perish in souch an inhospitable place.

"Degenerates," he'd said. But Near had wrapped his fists loosely around the cock of some anonymous man at the jazz clubs of Berlin, the ones Roger told him to go to when there was nothing else to be done, and Roger had a soft spot for jazz and for telling Near he had to get out more. And Near had tried some of what Matt called weed and Near knew was the dried buds of the Cannabis indica plant. In Roger's mind, Near was no degenerate. He worked hard to hide all the ways he was unfit, or else nobody saw when he didn't bother to hide any of it.

Near sits plastered to the side of the humming plastic casing of the Airbus A350, economy class, that Mello guides him through the terminals to. Near knows how to do airports. He would rather follow Mello, if Mello walks confidently through the terminals and menages security (gets his hands swabbed, twice) and Near can stare at his ass without discretion. Mello wears his usual leather pants on the plane and sleeps with his head back against the seat.

Near doesn't want to offer his shoulder. He doesn't know what he'd do if Mello took it.

When they stand at the end of the flight, queuing to leave the plane, Near grasps Mello's sleeve. Mello doesn't pull his arm away. Near is faintly lightheaded. It's typical. His legs are weak, but fine enough to walk. Mello says nothing, takes both their carry-ons, without taunting, and leads them off the plane.

Near is sure he would hate Vegas if he came alone. But he's not alone, and this makes all the difference.

The hotel is like no other. First, it's a giant pyramid. It's owned by a casino chain. Of course it is. The thing is, it's large enough that people are far enough away that they can be mostly ignored. The place is beautiful in only the way manufactured American luxury can be.

Mello talks about a few things. He never talks nonsense, nor small talk, but he doesn't expect Near to speak. No anger, this time. It'll come back, but they both feel it. The drain from the recent fight. Two against one, Mello and Near gripping each other hard enough to bruise through it.

Mello lets him sleep through the jet lag. But Mello is awake. Near feels the dip, bounce of the mattress each time he leaves the hotel room. The blackout curtains stay drawn. But Mello is in and out.

Eight hours after they land in Paradise, Mello is sitting at the desk over a legal pad, scribbling with the hotel's complimentary ball point. Near watches, and doesn't stop when Mello shifts to show he knows Near's up. Near folds back the cover.

"Let's go somewhere."

Mello doesn't look surprise. Near is almost disappointed.

They go to the Neon Museum.

-----------

"Yo! Mihael! This your bitch? Didn't you you were into..." Spruce, the elevated grunt of the west coast's small name Bratva, greets Mello with a clap--a meaty slap--on the back of the shoulder. Mello holds his shoulders taught all the time, and he smirks when Spruce makes a face. Not even these men who don't leave their bedrooms without packing heat can rival the set of Mello's shoulders. Matt had once tried to give him the approximation of a shoulder massage--"bored, lemme,"--and pinched at muscle so knotted the prodding of Matt's dirty fingers did nothing but sting.

Before Mello can say anything, Near opens his mouth, "I am Near."

Near's voice is a few shades deeper than anyone expects, and oddly melodic below the monotone. It's frustrating that it's a voice that quietly commands respect in a way that Mello has had to fight for in other ways. Mello had to teach himself to talk so people would just fucking listen. For years, he fought with voice breaks and the occasional squeal of words. The ghosts of two accents--nothing taken seriously. When Mello stood face-to-face with Near, the voice didn't surprise. But it has, since.

With the looks they're getting, Mello wants to shove Near behind him, and then into the nearby broom closet. They're meeting at a local elementary school for mob business. Who knew there were echoing old public schools in Vegas? Somehow someone knows a guy and this is the kosher meetup spot. Whatever happened to the respect for children the Manhattan gangs had? A stoppage of the daily rendezvous and the pistols when the schools let out. A truce in West Bronx during the 3 o'clock dismissal.

It's none of Mello's business. Least of all when Spruce looks disturbed by the sound of Near's voice. Mello doesn't know if Near looks like a chick or what--he's just Near. His hair has grown past his shoulders by now, and Mello realizes he has no intentions of cutting it as it falls in frizzed, limp curls down his back, but he's just Near. If Mello squints, the hair might make him look a bit girly. But the girls Mello knows wear dark lipstick and clothing that shows off their bodies, and Near isn't even wearing outside clothes, today.

There's a pause before someone says, "Dude, that's not a chick."

Near tilts his head. Mello thinks he knows that he should shut up.

"You know what I want, Danya," Mello says, deciding to move past it. The ceiling is peeling. Only half the lights work. Is this an art classroom? They should get someone to fix the bulb.

"You've been MIA for what, eight months, now? We don't owe you anything," Spruce says. Nobody glares at him, but nobody regards him. Mello watches Near's eyes travel between the Cold 1911 on a desk low enough for a grade schooler to sit at and the boots of the Bratva's little men.

"Yes, you do." Mello didn't want to shove his Beretta into his pants, but he's owed more than these men's lives, and it was a field trip he had to take sooner than later. And Near had given him eyes over being left at the casino, so here they are.

"You just rigged a few pony bets for us, Mihael. Let it, and we'll let you out free."

Mello sees Near open his mouth as though to speak and considers grabbing him by the shirt collar and walking out. It's true, Mello doesn't need the money. But people will talk if he doesn't fight for it. So much about reputation. Mello's back in town, watch out for the Poker kid. Fucking watch out, didn't they send the mob after him? Didn't he cut a deal with them?

"You expected Mihael to come alone. You didn't want a civilian witness for this." Near says, calmly.

Mello half-expects someone to reach for a gun.

There's the legal and there's the illegal, in Vegas. There's the opulent, and there's the downright vile. Mello is testing himself, testing the limits of Near's stoicism. His willingness to follow Mello into the humid jungle of Vegas sin.

The club is scattered with poker tables, and smoke of every kind hangs low and thick against the tin-copper ceiling tiles.

It's an awful place. Smells like sweat and funk. The music is whatever the bikers like, which has been the same rotation of aggressive guitars and percussive noise since the '80s.

Mello sits down at a pool table and draws his cards. Nobody's playing poker tonight. Everyone's waiting for the whale to arrive.

Mello thinks it's possible Near will find the back exist and loiter with the off-duty bottle girls. Or--whatever counts as a bottle girl in a mob joint off the beaten path. The place for locals and tourists who think themselves made of tougher stuff.

A woman whose nipple piercings show through her white, ribbed shirt sets a glass of vodka (sans rocks, yuck) on the table next to Mello's hand. She doesn't smile. Mello thinks he remembers her name is Oleksandra, and she's trying to pay her plane ticket back home to Mariupol. She'd declined when Mello offered the $500, all of them sitting in the back. Mello worked a few shifts during a bad month, and she'd been kind to him. Since she's likely made enough by now, it's a suprise to see her face. He nails clink on the glass.

"You've brought your boy, eh, Misha?" Her green eyes are black in the sour light.

Mello looks up and realizes Near has sat across the table and taken a hand of his own.

They're starting off with Texas Hold 'Em. Mello doesn't tamp down his excitement. A real game.

He's going to punch a wall if Near gets lucky. Get's good. Near can do the calculations, no doubt about that. Mello had spent days sitting on the floor or whatever apartment, memorizing every way to chip at the odds. What are the chances of king given queen? Four of a kind given one on the table? Probability theory had laughed in his face, but he'd mastered it eventually.

#a.personal #brought 2 u by windows notepad so i can keep myself honest re:spell check dependancy #hence the scuffed em dashes and everything

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rainontherooftops · 1 year

Text

Six Wives - Part 1 of ?

Summary: After being honorably discharged, Pero Tovar moved to London where his old friend got him a job as a security guard. His new job? Guarding the ladies of he Muscial “Six”. And one of the Queen Bees on stage might just be what the doctor ordered to get the grumpy ex-military man out of his shell.

Fandom: The Great Wall - Pedro Pascal as PERO TOVAR Genre: Modern! AU, Romance, Colleagues to Friends to Lovers, Drama Pairing: Modern! Pero Tovar x plus size reader Triggers (Chapter): Mentions of War, Gunshotwounds Rating Chapter: All Ages Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTER PERO TOVAR or THE RIGHTS TO THE MUSCIAL "SIX". THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION FOR PRIVATE ENTERTAINMENT ONLY.

Song used in this chapter: EX-WIVES - SIX Muscial

Pero did not often thank the gods. In fact, he didn’t really believe in a god – or gods for that matter.

But he was thankful for Will, his old friend, who had gotten him a job after his honorable discharge from the army.

He had no attachments anywhere in the world, so he could have moved anywhere – but London it turned out to be. While he had still been pointing guns at soldiers and innocents alike in the warzones of the world, Will had founded his own security firm and had invited Pero to come work for him.

That was three months ago, four months after a bullet to the gut had ended his career.

London’s West End was like a warzone in a lot of ways. Chaos, loud noises, people all around – and emotions that could boil up at any minute due to the shows that were showing.

People were leaving the theatres crying, laughing, with broken hearts or just starstruck.

No wonder Will thought that guarding the ladies of one of the shows would be a job fit for him.

Today he was just here to watch a rehearsal and get to know the team, get introduced by the director to the rest of the crew. And to get a lay of the land a.k.a. the theatre.

It was still early afternoon when he got off the tube at Leicester Square station. The people of London were buzzing about like busy bees, either going or coming for work, looking for a drink or eager to get home or see a show.

“Stage Door, Stage Door”, Pero mumbled, holding a hand drawn map from Will in his hand, trying to find the right alley to turn into. It took him a while to find the right one until he found the right door; only to find it locked.

Taking a few steps back and looking for a bell or some kind of knocker, he didn’t look where he was going – and promptly had someone knock into his back.

“Eeep!”

He turned around, alarmed, to see that a woman only half his size was sitting on her butt, looking up at him.

She was wearing a pair of black trainers, a green pair of leggings, a hoodie and carried a gym bag and a purse. The screeching-pink headphones she had worn had slipped off one of her ears. She had some healthy meat on her ribs and thankfully didn’t seem to be hurt.

“Sorry”, he grumbled, holding out his hand. “You okay?”

Typical. First day on the job and he had already knocked someone down.

“ ‘m fine…”, the woman said, accepting his hand letting him pull her up. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Late for practice.”

Just then the Stage Door opened and the stage manager, who Pero knew from a video call, peeked his head out.

“Thought I heard a ruckus out here. Mr. Tovar! You’re here!”

Pero only nodded.

“Wife number Five, the others are waiting. Chop chop, off to practice.”

The woman excused herself and ran into the building to join the cast he was soon to guard.

It took about an hour for the Stage Manager to show him around the theatre, show him all the emergency exits, the staff rooms, the workshops and his own room where he would be able to put his gear.

“All that’s left”, said the manager – Gary – as he showed Pero through another door, “is to meet the ladies. They should be up for a break soon.”

They were standing in the lobby of the theatre and Pero could hear music coming from the stage behind the wooden doors to the auditorium.

Gary put a finger to his lips to bid him to be quiet and follow him. As soon as he pushed the doors open, the voices and the booming voices of six women, singing their hearts and lungs out.

Welcome to the show, to the histo-remix Switching up the flow, as we add the prefix Everybody knows that we used to be six wives

Raising up the roof, 'til we hit the ceiling Get ready for the truth that we'll be revealing Everybody knows that we used to be six wives But now we're ex-wives

The music was not to Pero’s liking. Too much… he couldn’t even explain it. Techno-y? Pop-y? But for some reason the lyrics were catching his attention and sticking with him. The harmony and melody of the six women on stage was mesmerizing.

They were dancing and singing in work-out clothes and hand-microphones, going through a dance routine.

Gary stopped walking and started watching.

“Her you already know, I think..:”, he whispered, as the woman who had bumped into him took up the microphone to sing her solo part.

Prick up your ears, I'm the Katherine who lost her head For my promiscuity outside of wed Lock up your husbands, lock up your sons K Howard is here, and the fun's begun

Pero knew that the show was about the six wives of Henry VIII – but not that it would be so flashy, colorful and modern.

He didn’t know what to think. But he had read some of the reviews on the internet to prepare – and apparently SIX was popular.

The song continued and the six ex-wives of Henry told everyone about their lament, while having a blast on stage. Pero was astounded that his heartbeat was adjusting to the beat of the music and the women singing.

Intriguing.

His gaze stuck with the woman he had met at the Stage Door – Wife Number Five – and he wondered where the sheer volume and power of her voice was hiding in her body. She was booming. They all were.

Pero himself didn’t have a single musical bone in his body, but even he could hear that the ladies were extremely talented.

I bet you wanna know how I got this far I said, I bet you wanna know how I got this far

Do you wanna know how we got this far?

Pero realized that – as the lyrics said – the six Queen Bees on stages were now his to protect. And he would do anything in his power to do so.

AN: Welcome to my AU! Pero fic. Sit back and enjoy the show!

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #modern! AU #pedro pascal fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #six the musical #pero tovar x reader #plus size reader #modern pero x reader

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tathrin · 1 year

Note

What's exactly is an Elf-Lord? I assume that the uncapitalized version is just an elf who holds the title of a Lord.

I don't consider myself any sort of expert on Tolkien's Legendarium (I mean, I haven't even read any of the Unfinished Tales yet, just for baseline starters!) so I am not a good choice to ask this of, tbh. And if you're asking specifically in regards to the way I used it in my fic The Names of My Fathers (which I'm guessing is the case, because I can't think what else I've done or posted recently that involves that particular term; if I'm off-base please feel free to provide more context!) then I should caution you that that was actually the first story I started working on during my recent re-obsession with LotR, and I was sooooo rusty on my Tolkien Canon then that I fucked-up the timeline of the Quenya Ban, for fuck's sake—something I definitely knew better about! So, take the following with an entire shaker of salt is what I'm saying.

Anyway. Elf-lord is a term that crops-up in Tolkien's work (I count seventeen uses in LotR but that's at a quick glance; I may be missing some), but not one that I've ever seen a clear definition on. It seems to be one of those things that falls under a "you know it when you see it" banner. An Elf-lord is an elf of particular power, might, or prominence; someone who can command, whether that be by the strength of their political position, their lineage, or simply their raw power. Someone whom others respect, and whose words carry weight.

Lord, of course, gets used as a term of rank; one could probably assume that any Elf who is called a Lord at any point (Celeborn, for instance) could likewise be described as an Elf-lord—but I don't think it's just a case of "you have x rank, congrats you're an Elf-lord now."

Glorfindel is repeatedly called an Elf-lord, even though he never ruled any lands. He is described to Frodo as being of "a house of princes," so one might claim on those grounds that it's a rank-thing only—but his status as an Elf-lord is also referenced explicitly in regards to the Ringwraiths being "dismayed" to see "an Elf-lord revealed in his wrath," so I think there's a more-than-just-political power aspect to it as well. It's not just about rank; it's also stature, majesty. Power. Any Elf who has a lordship over land or people would be called Lord [name], but would he be called an Elf-lord if he wasn't also mighty on his own merits? Hard to say. (Of course, the fact that those who wield command in Tolkien's stories are almost always people who are mighty, conveniently, muddies those waters a little; we've got aspects of that whole "divine right" thing going on, in a story written by an Englishman! Shocking I know!)

(If you're wondering why I'm only referencing LotR and not the Silmarillion, despite there being way more Elf-lords in the latter, it's because I don't know the Silm off the top of my head well enough to go snag quotes and references without having to actually page through it. Sorry. But we're talking Third/Fourth Age stuff anyway if we're talking about the fic I think we are, so let's say I'm sticking to topically appropriate references rather than being lazy. Shh.)

Anyway. "Elf-lord" also gets used as a comparison term to indicate that someone is particularly great in a particularly elvish way. For instance, after Galadriel arrays him in finery, Aragorn is described like this: "Then more than any king of Men he appeared, and seemed rather an Elf-lord from the Isles of the West." High praise, indeed, and to me the way it's used in that section of the Appendixes is being done to indicate that he is worthy of Arwen, for all that he's a mere mortal. "Not an Elf-lord, but really close! honest!" is basically how it comes off, to me. Likewise Elladan and Elrohir are said to be "fair and gallant as elven-lords." Ergo they do not quite rank the term themselves, because they are peredhil like their father rather than elves, but they are considered to possess comparable greatness.

Conversely, I'm assuming it's not a term that is simply a fancy way of saying elf, because it only seems to be used for elves who merit greater regard than the average. The term is used more than once during the Council of Elrond in reference to some of the elves gathered there to discuss the fate of the Ring in a general way ("What of the Three Tings of the Elves? Very mighty Rings, it is said. Do not the Elf-lords keep them?...I see Elf-lords here. Will they not say?") but not in such a general way as to be referring to just any elves; it seems evident to me that Glóin is using the term to specifically indicate elves of greater-than-average position or might, rather than simply talking about elves as a whole people, although he doesn't specify anyone in particular (since it's a secret who has the Three and he does not know).

Legolas is (unless I've missed an instance somewhere) never referred to as an Elf-lord. When Elrond is discussing who to send with the Fellowship, Gandalf says, "Even if you choose for us an Elf-lord, such as Glorfindel, he could not storm the Dark Tower..." and he says this after Legolas has already been named to the Fellowship as their elvish representative; ergo while once again the text doesn't explicitly state that Legolas doesn't qualify as an Elf-lord, I think it's fair to infer that he isn't considered one; neither Elrond nor Gandalf, at least, think of him an Elf-lord, because they wouldn't have been talking about Glorfindel being an Elf-lord who could theoretically be sent along if the Fellowship already had one Elf-lord in their number.

Indeed, in Appendix E there is a sentence that specifically delineates Elves and Elf-lords as separate, distinct terms: "...the tongue of all those Elves and Elf-lords that appear in this history," Tolkien writes.

So that's how I used it: as not necessarily a specific rank that someone can be given or earn or be appointed to, but as a way of signifying extra respect and might. Hence Legolas's not-exactly-joke that Oropher would probably have called himself an Elf-lord, but that none of the other Elf-lords were likely to have agreed with his claiming the title. Now technically as a king, Oropher would qualify as an Elf-lord...but in that part of the story, I wanted to lean into the lingering bitterness that Mirkwood feels about the disdainful way they feel they were treated during the Last Alliance, and the high price they paid because of it. So, would the Elf-lords who marched to war with Gil-galad have ranked Oropher as one of them, just because he had a bunch of scruffy archers under his command? I mean, they very well might have, even if solely as a gesture of respect—a courtesy title, so to speak. But Legolas wasn't there, so he's just going off the vibes that have endured, and in my take on Green/Mirkwood those vibes are not exactly enthusiastic towards the other elves of Middle-earth; the ones that they think looked down on them and didn't stand by them and left them to fight alone against the Shadow for so long.

Legolas does use the term to refer to his father near the end of the book, when talking about how he's going to ask Thranduil to let him bring some elves from Mirkwood to help spruce-up Minas Tirith; but he says it as "my Elven-lord," rather than just saying "and Thranduil, an Elf-Lord who blah blah..." so it seems in this case to be more about the fact that Thranduil has the rank of a lord over Legolas, being king of Mirkwood, and less that he's an Elf-lord, specifically. Of course, as a king, Thranduil would likely merit the term—but is it one that non-Mirkwood elves would use for their "more dangerous, less wise" kinsmen sitting out there in the half-feral spider-tree kingdom? Hmmm, maybe; he is a king, even if he's not going around tearing down walls with his willpower and chasing the Nazgûl out of Dol Guldur by force of his shiny presence alone...but I think it also probably depends on the situation. If we were talking about "mighty Elf-lords" like Galadriel and Glorfindel? Maybe not so much. If it were a discussion of various elven leaders, including him on behalf of Green/Mirkwood, then he'd have a better shot.

So that's how I see it, anyway. As with any term without a precise definition, there's wiggle-room to interpret it in different ways, clearly. You may look at it completely differently, and that's fine! But you asked for my definition, so there you go.

Oh, also re: capitalization...yeah, that's just called me being inconsistent with capitalization, because Tolkien capitalizes pretty much EVERYTHING and I...don't. I put it down to reading too much other fantasy that doesn't capitalize every use of Elf and Dwarf, and the inconsistency of species capitalization across spec-fic in general. I should capitalize it in Tolkienian fanfiction, because the source material does; but that doesn't come naturally to me when I write those words (as you'll notice when you read this post), so sometimes I remember to do it and sometimes I don't. Sorry for the confusion!

*I invite anyone who knows more about Tolkien minutia to chime-in with their greater knowledge on the Elf-lords subject btw!

#lotr #jrr tolkien #elves #lotr canon #lord of the rings #elf lords #my stuff #oropher #glorfindel #thranduil #legolas #elladan #elrohir

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naminethewriter · 8 months

Text

How It All Began

Chapter One: A Lonely Island, Right?

Masterpost | Next | Ao3

Story Summary: Remus, son of a simple fisherman, had worked hard to become the captain of his own pirate ship. And in his humble opinion, it was going great! His crew was small but reliable and they had just stolen something that could them some nice cash from a military vessel they happened to cross on the open sea. They just needed to hide it somewhere until it was safe to sell. How lucky for them that they come across a nice, uninhabited island.

Little did Remus know just who he would find on that little piece of land and how it would change his life entirely.

Content Warning: Pirates, Innuendo, Minor Violence, Pistols

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Land ahoy!”

Remus could just hear Sloane’s shout through the open porthole in his captain quarters. With a hum he put away the star chart he’d been studying before standing up to look out the window onto the unusually calm sea. According to his maps, they weren’t close to any inhabited islands, which meant that he should be able to find a good hiding place for his newest acquisition.

He glanced over to the box he had placed the seal in when a knock sounded from his door.

“Captain?” It was Patton. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, daddy-o, if you wanna take the risk!” He could practically see Patton hesitating, wondering if he was ‘indecent’ as he called it. Still, a few moments later the door opened and his friend poked his head in, prepared to flee if Remus was not properly dressed after all. He let out a sigh of relief to see his Captain wearing all his clothes.

“Sloane spotted an island. What should we do?” Normally, Remus would tease him a bit about his continued shyness even after travelling with them for over two years now, but he had more important things to deal with at the moment.

“I’ll take a look myself.” He grabbed his hat and with measured steps moved past Patton, who closed the door behind him and followed. “Anything suspicious so far?”

“Not that I know of. We haven’t come across anymore ships since the Admiral’s. And I still have a bad feeling about that one, how come it was only the one ship and not a fleet?” Out of the corner of his eyes, Remus could see Patton wringing his hands together nervously. Remus couldn’t understand how he was still so uncomfortable with the pirate lifestyle. At least he wore the outfit with more confidence, his light brown curls held back by a bandana and his skin having a healthy tan.

“There’re all kinds of reasons that could happen, Pat, it’s not unheard of. And nobody’s following us, so there’s no need to worry about it anymore anyway. We did the hit, we got something out of it, nobody saw us. Everything’s peachy.”

“Well, if you say so…”

“I do. Trust your Captain, Paps, by the time they’ve noticed that the seal’s gone, we won’t have it on board anymore. In a few months, when they stop the extra controls to look for it, we’ll get it back and sell it for a nice price.”

They reached the main deck at that point so Patton didn’t bother to respond. Remy spotted them immediately and yelled, “Capt’n on deck!” Upon his call, Sloane hurried down from the crow’s nest, hurried over to them and handed Remus a spyglass. The lithe young man could have been an acrobat in a circus with how skilled he descended the rope ladder, his dark blond hair dancing in the wind.

“It’s right over there,” Slone said as he came to a stop next to Remus, pointing north-west, a little off their current course. “So far I haven’t spotted anything in the vicinity.”

“Should probably do a sail around to be sure,” Remy commented, also now standing next to them. “The forest on there’s pretty thick, we can’t see the other side.”

“Boatswain! Your thoughts?” Remus called up to Corbin currently at the helm. Of course he trusted Remy as his First Mate and he probably would order a sail around anyway, but he liked to hear the opinion of his crew on matters like this.

Corbin was a great navigator with a more calculated approach that was very unlike Remus’ style, so it was nice to hand off the more responsible stuff to him. But it also meant that sometimes he had to wait for Corbin to finish thinking things through and Remus hated waiting. He used the time to take a look at the island himself with the spyglass Sloane had handed him.

It wasn’t a big chunk of land. He estimated they would need about three hours to sail around it with the wind they were having today, and they should be able to do that before sundown. The forest, as Remy had called it, was more akin to a jungle, which for the purposes of hiding stuff was always preferrable. Maybe he could even find a cave or two in the cliff faces surrounding the eastern side.

“I agree with the First Mate,” Corbin finally called. “We should make a wider berth in case of reefs since this part of the ocean isn’t as well chartered yet.”

“Let’s do that then. Pat, inform the rest of the crew, we’ll most likely drop anchor there tonight.”

“Aye aye, Captain!”

“And you go back to your post, Sloane.”

“Aye aye!” With that both of them were gone and he was left alone with Remy.

“Anything to report?” Remus asked, not really expecting much of an answer. Don’t get him wrong, he liked Remy and he was a good First Mate most of the time, but in situations like this where they’ve been just sailing for a while, he tended to slack off a bit.

“Nah, everyone’s fine as far as I know. Well, Toby’s a bit salty that we didn’t shoot at the Admiral but other than that.”

“What else is new?” Remus chuckled. Toby was a more than enthusiastic Man-at-arms with a love for explosives, though he preferred to shoot at objects and not people. He had practically begged Remus to let him fire at least one shot at the Admiral’s ship as they sailed away, but giving up their cover for that was chaos even Remus didn’t endorse.

Remy snorted in response before looking more serious.

“What are your orders for when we land? Who stays, who comes with?”

“If the cost is clear and we land, I’ll go alone. The rest of you have some free time.”

“You sure?” Remy glanced at his captain over the rim of his darkened glasses. “We’ve got no idea what’s on that island.”

“’Course I’m sure. The less you all know of what we got and where it is, the better. I can handle myself against whatever inhabitants there are.”

“If you say so,” Remy shrugs. “I won’t say no to an evening off.”

“Didn’t think you would.”

“I’m gonna go prepare for landing then.”

“Go ahead.” Remus watched Remy walk away. No doubt his First Mate was off to grab some booze and his boyfriend instead of actually doing what they need to drop anchor. Well, he couldn’t blame him, in his shoes he would do the same. After all, they’ve done this exact same thing a million times before. Still, as Remus caught sight of Elliot hurrying across deck, he told them to get everything ready for landing instead. Better prepared than dead is a philosophy even Remus could get behind.

~~~

By the time the rowboat with Remus, Patton and Elliot hit the shore of the island, it was nearing sundown. Remus guessed he had about another hour or so to scope out the place for a good hiding spot. For now, he had left the box containing the seal on the ship but it would be ideal if he could get rid of it early tomorrow morning and then they could sail off to the nearest harbor.

Not wanting to waste more time, he turned to his two crewmembers.

“I’ll take a look around and come back. Neither of you get off this beach unless it’s life or death, you hear me?”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Patton agreed while Elliot simply nodded. They seemed tired, so Remus thought giving them a break off of the ship and away from everyone for a few hours would do them some good. Patton could keep an eye out for trouble. With a grin, Remus pulled out his machete and made his way across the beach and into the jungle.

The smell in the air shifted quite noticeably as Remus continued into the greenery. He couldn’t place the scents, but it was a much heavier air than on the open sea. His eyes flitted about, searching for any dangers. He could hear animals rustling in the leaves and spotted shadows move but nothing big enough to truly worry him. He knew how to look out for snakes and spiders that might be venomous, but he didn’t feel like risking getting attacked by an ape or something similar, though the island was too small to house them anyway.

Remus made his way through the greenery, hacking away with his machete when he couldn’t find another way through the underbrush when he spotted what looked like a path. Not a well-travelled one, but a path nonetheless. Once he reached it, he crouched down to look for tracks on the ground, either human or a large animal. He found what looked like boot imprints, though several days old. Still, they were fresh enough for him to identify. But they hadn’t seen any ships or even rowboats on their sail around, so he couldn’t imagine someone remained on here.

Curiosity beckoned him along the path however, and he continued forward, keeping his machete in hand. He had to duck under some branches here and there – he paid attention to keeping his hat, he liked this one and was not keen on trying to find a replacement – but otherwise it was a quiet trip. Remus figured it was about time he started heading back to his crew when the path lead past a chasm that looked somewhat deep. Now that he thought about it, he might have been travelling on an incline. From where he stood, Remus couldn’t see the bottom of the pit. Maybe he should throw a rock and listen to how long it took to land? Or maybe just take one small step closer, get a better vantage point?

“I would advise you to stay away from the edge. The ground is quite unstable, and the fall would surely lead to death.”

Remus spun around, raising his machete towards the stranger that had suddenly appeared behind him. The man looked at him through a pair of glasses that looked like they went out of fashion several decades ago. His clothes didn’t look better, though they were rather plain looking. Pants, a long-sleeved shirt that was rolled up to his elbows and a vest. Still, something was off about the outfit to Remus. He narrowed his eyes until it hit him – the clothes were worn down sure, but otherwise the stranger looked too clean for someone who apparently lived on an abandoned island. His black hair was neatly tied into a ponytail and not a single hair was on his face, nobody bothered to shave when they’re trapped on an island!

The stranger continued staring at Remus, his brown eyes drilling into him and suddenly he remembered how to speak.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” he exclaimed. The other cocked his head before motioning towards the path leading further into the jungle.

“I came from my camp. I was on my way to examine some fungal growth I have been observing for my research. Where did you come from?”

“My ship.” Remus gestured behind himself as he slowly moved away from the chasm towards the direction he came. The stranger looked harmless, but he knew that appearances can’t tell you everything. For all he knew that man could try to attack him at any moment and standing next to a cliff definitely wasn’t where he wanted to be in that moment.

“We did a sail around. There were no other ships.”

“Indeed.”

“Then you shipwrecked?”

“No, I came here on purpose.”

“Without a way back?”

“Without a ship, yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“For research purposes. There are many species that only live on this island or can develop freely here without the influence of humans.” The calmness of the stranger was very unnerving to Remus. He was holding a big ass knife after all, but the man didn’t seem bothered by it in the least. Instead, his eyes wandered around until he seemed to spot something of interest on the ground and casually kneeled down a few feet away to inspect it. Remus used that opportunity to switch the machete for his pistol.

“You are a scientist then?”

“Yes. And you are a pirate, I presume?” Remus narrowed his eyes. He grew up the son of a fisherman, he knows when something smells fishy. And this stranger smelled very strongly.

“What off it?”

“Nothing. I was merely attempting to converse with you. Whatever your business on this island is, it’s no concern of mine as long as it doesn’t interfere with my research. So please try to not disturb the wildlife as much as possible during your stay.”

“Why did you approach me if you didn’t care about what I do here?”

“Because I feared you might fall.”

“The fuck do you care whether I fall or not?”

“I simply do, is that so surprising?” The stranger stood, apparently done inspecting the ground. He watched Remus, seemingly very curious about his answer.

“Well, yeah. Most people I’ve met don’t care about others just ‘cause. ‘Specially not a castaway.”

“I am not a castaway.”

“Yeah, just a weirdo on a deserted island.”

“Think of me whatever you like, it is none of my concern,” the man sighed before looking up to the sky. Remus followed his glance for a second, seeing the first stars appear. He needed to make his way back.

“You should return to your ship,” the stranger said as if he read his mind and that was just too freaky for Remus to handle. Without another thought he took aim at the stranger’s shoulder and pulled the trigger. He hit his mark – of course he did, he was one of the best shooters on the seas – causing the man to stumble. To stumble right towards the chasm.

To Remus it was like time slowed down as he watched the ground under the stranger break away. He lost his footing and suddenly, he was out of sight. Remus stood frozen, listening to the sounds of the body colliding with stone several times before a loud crunch announced its arrival at the bottom. The man was surely dead.

Another look towards the sky reminded Remus that he should make his way back to the ship pronto. He pulled out his compass just to make sure he didn’t get lost on the way back. A last glance towards the chasm before he disappeared back the way he came. It wasn’t the first time he killed on accident. By tomorrow, the weird feeling in his stomach would be gone. He was sure of it.

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apocalypse-shuffle · 2 years

Text

ADRIAN CHASE | VIGILANTE (peacemaker)

────────────────────

“Interesting” (Adrian Chase x Gn!Reader)

| Vigilante begs you to team up after seeing you fight once. He stalks you and then refuses to stop bothering you for the rest of one night, so you decide to take him along on a mission. It’s better than the alternative at least.

| Reader is always black unless I say differently

| NSFW, (TW: no sex or sexual hints, canon typical violence and language. Race issues and police brutality discussed some throughout.) - v/n = vigilante name; I just left that up to y’all

| 3k+ words

“Fine, how about this. If you help me out for the rest of the night maybe I’ll consider actually teaming up.” He fist pumps the air and you roll your eyes. “But no more of that black people image stuff either. Stop that shit.”

“Ohhhh. I didn’t mean it like that. I think you’re awesome as fuck, it’s just also good for my image if people see me with you and stuff. I just don’t hang around a lot of black people so I didn’t know how it could come off.”

You nod. Slowly.

“I hope you don’t wonder why.”

Your answer, for whatever reason, makes him crack the hell up. The man quite literally bends over to slap his knee.

You purse your lips with a nod. Okaaaay. Clearly this was going to be a long rest of your night.

You sigh, “Vigilante?”

He straightens up and cocks his head, you get the distinct impression that he’s smiling at you.

“What’s up?”

“The next time you feel like stalking me I will stab your ass.”

“But…what if I shoot you on reflex right before you stab me?”

“That-“ you shake your head and blow out air from you nose. “Alright, fair enough, but stop stalking me.”

Vigilante stands straighter and holds up his right hand. “I won’t stalk you outside of uniform…anymore.”

You stare at him.

“You’ve stalked my civilian identity?”

He laughs, it squeaks out of him.

“Of course noooot. Heh, that would be crazy. It’s not like you go into an alleyway in costume and then leave in civilian clothes out of the same exact alleyway all the time. Which you should probably work on by the way. But nope I’ve totally only trailed you in uniform.”

He nods resolutely as he finishes. His left hand’s also behind his back.

Your lip twitches into a scowl.

“Somehow I don’t believe you, but I refuse to touch that right now,” you turn on your heel and start climbing the fire escape to the roof. “Just don’t get in my way.”

You hear him climbing after you, “Alrighty!”

In your head you start shuffling things around. Vigilante, or anyone else, was not a part of your plan tonight. You worked alone, mostly diffusing couples disputes and small crimes here and there. Mainly what you focused on was fucking with the police officers that came to your side of town looking for something to piss them off. It made you extremely unpopular with them, but that fact made your day regularly. Better you had their attention than some unlucky black kids.

That was your main problem with Vigilante. He might not have realized until recently, but the stuff he killed people for did look bad, and the types of people looked even worse. But you were good at diffusion and subversion, and if you could just get his ass to think some more you could eliminate one more problem.

That would be a win for you.

And you liked to win.

You hop over the corner of the roof, landing silently and making sure not to cast shadows as you run to the other side. You’re glad Vigilante caught on and was moving through the shadows in a similar manner as you.

You need to get closer to the junction between west and south so you hop rooftops and skywalks to get there, almost daring for the other to keep up with you as you flip through the sky. And the man might not be particularly graceful, but he keeps up with you just fine, and he’s got envyable balance.

Sometimes.

He does slip on an ac unit he didn’t make out in the moonlight at one point. You’re fast enough to catch him, but not strong enough to pull his heavy ass back up, so it takes about three minutes off of your initial schedule before he’s able to catch his footing and use you to pull himself up.

Normally, since you always planned ahead, three minutes wouldn’t do a damn thing to hinder you. Vigilante had messed with that spectacularly though. You’d had to take a few minutes to assess what to do after noticing him following you, divert your path so you could corner him, and then take even more minutes finding out what his deal was. In total it’d taken you roughly 30 minutes to get back on mission, and the three wasted just now tick down in the back of your mind.

You naw on the inside of your lip while walking off. You’ve reached your destination, the cut off between the west and the beginning of the small patch of suburbs that took over some of the south side.

“Good?”

“Yup! Thanks for that, you’re pretty strong.”

“Not strong enough to save time,” you chirp back.

“Save time?”

You nod, stopping in the middle of the roof, Vigilante comes up beside you.

“Yeah, I like to plan. You gotta be able to throw away a plan when it’s hindering more than helping, of course, but they keep me from going in blind. Keep me from getting killed.”

He lapses into silence and so you move past his question and gesture him to the far side of the roof. You both hunker down and look over the edge.

“So did I like…mess with your timetable?”

“You did indeed,” you tap the side of your head. “But I planned for this possibility so I’ve traveled from curbing the urge to kill you to curbing the urge to maim you. So you’re fine enough for now.”

He nods, “That’s good.”

You scoff, “Sure.”

He doesn’t mind your tone, instead softly clapping his hands and then rubbing them together.

“Alright so since you haven’t told me yet, what’s the plan?”

“Don’t remind me,” you murmur.

Vigilante was an unknown you wouldn’t have normally let slide, but you had zero idea how to get rid of him without getting yourself killed also. So you’d let him follow you some more, but at least you could see him this time around.

You suck your teeth. Why was today so goddamn irritating.

“You see the house across from us? It looks kind of decrepit but that’s just the outside, on the inside is where all the really corrupt cops hang out. Now, I think the whole systems fucked beyond repair, but these guys definitely got to go,” you watch him as you speak. The mask isn't giving you much but he hasn’t stopped nodding along with you so you take that as a good enough sign.

“You still with me?”

“Yup! Cops suck ass, these ones suck harder, you want them outta your way.”

Behind your mask your eyebrows raise excitedly. “Exactly.” Your brows furrow soon after. “You don’t want to know what they’ve been doing?”

Vigilante shrugs, “Not really. If you say they’re bad guys I trust you.” He waves his hands. “But by all means if it fits with your plan you can run me through it. I got a pretty good idea already though, but it’s not like I can go after almost a whole precinct by myself so…”

He shrugs again. You just look at him.

Well.

“Interesting,” you snort and lean into his space. “Hmm. You’re workable yet, Vigilante.”

“Hmm good or hmm bad?”

“Hmm, undecided,” you murmur. He’s watching you just as hard as you're watching him before you blink yourself out of it.

You turn your head, “Let me get through the rest of the plan and then follow my lead. Got it?”

“100 percent, Temporary Boss.”

He even adds a little solute. Cute.

- - -

“Holy balls!”

From the back room you’re in you hear Vigilante yell and the sound of wood crashing against the wall a second later.

Seems like he’s having fun.

You shuffle backwards, dodging the meat cleaver in the hand of one of the three men that liked to ramp up and down your neighborhood causing trouble the most. You crouch, move to punch him in the dick, and when he keels over you pick up the cleaver he dropped then roll to the side.

When you bounce to your feet the redhead’s recovered enough that he’s standing (?). Though he’s bent over, halfway between the desire to lash out at you and to protect his nethers. You laugh and then fling the cleaver.

Before he can react it plants itself into his skull. He keels over. You go to stand over the man and watch as his body twitches and his eyes rove around. You spit. The thick glob lands on his chin and begins dripping into his clavicle as someone screams out behind you.

You whip around to face the source.

“You're crying out for this piece of shit?”

Taking in the badge clipped to her belt you scoff. “Well yeah makes sense.”

A dagger flies out of your hand and into the muzzle of her gun as she fires the firearm a blink later. The gun explodes and the woman screams. You move closer as she’s busy being distraught over her mangled hands and kick her in the face. She falls back in the doorway and you pick up one of the burning hot pieces of what’s left of your dagger and shove it deep into her throat.

You leave her to die to turn your attention to the man you saw run into the closet when you broke down the entrance.

Snatching the doors open you watch as he frightfully takes in your dark silhouette staring down at his huddled form.

“Please I didn’t do anything to him. That was just them.”

Your jaw ticks as you study him.

“But you did stand there and watch, did you not?”

He did. You’d fucking seen him not do anything as Khalid screamed, as Fatima screamed with her son. The police had confiscated the video from his father’s phone, but you’d gone into evidence to find it.

He shakes his head, “I -I uh.”

You roll your eyes, already knowing whatever excuse he’s searching for is irrelevant.

One of your daggers cuts through his shoulder as you hear Vigilante come up beside you. He shows up in your peripheral with his gun drawn and you both watch the man struggle, weakly reaching for his slippery shoulder as he wiggles around.

You sigh, “Last week he watched a child be beaten to death with a smile with everyone else in this house. Some of them held back the people trying to get to Khalid as the big guy over there-” you nod to the redhead with a cleaver in his head. “killed him. Then of course some of them simply didn’t do anything.”

Your voice takes on a mocking edge towards the end as you revel in the man staring down the barrel of Vigilante’s gun.

“Huh,” said man grunts before you hear the click of his weapon. “Sounds like a bad guy to me.”

You don’t fight the smirk on your face as the officer looks up at you two with wide shining eyes. The gunshot rings around the space alongside the sound of his body thumping softly on the floor.

You get your dagger back from him and then you both start to leave the room.

“So you do all of this to get back at these types of guys?”

“For the most part, I guess. It’s not the kind of vengeance Fatima wants, and she’ll pray for them a little, yeah, but she won’t miss them. What I do is draw attention so that she can fight with the courts, and the precinct is so busy dealing with me they can’t start forging shit and forcing false confessions.”

“What I do is a distraction, it's not a solution. I just make it a little easier for the people that have a solution to get shit done,” you smile. “And abate my own separate…needs.”

“So…what’s that mean exactly?”

“It means I’ve got a lot of anger and the cause of some of it is ripe for the picking. Call it reparations. Or don’t, I don’t give a fuck.”

You bend down to retrieve another one of your daggers in the doorway. You’re fully aware that what you do isn’t some righteous deed, but it’s not meant to be. A good part of what you do is because things need to change, but some of it is your own penchant for violence. You’d be doing things like everyone else if you didn’t enjoy killing.

But people didn’t become vigilantes because they were mentally stable.

Vigilante nods slowly, “Well I kill because it’s fun. But only bad guys.”

“I did catch that, yes,” you respond while yanking your dagger out of the woman you took care of after you cleavered the big redhead.

You both step over her to get to the main room.

He stands at the back door while you take another knife out of someone else you took out. You take in the six people he killed.

“You are excessively violent…creative even,” you tilt your head, taking in the deliberate way one person is skewed through with two wooden armrests. “Really creative.”

Vigilante shrugs.

“Yup, and youuuu are very sloppy. Though you have amazing aim.”

You wipe the blood from the third knife on your pant leg.

“Well not everyone went to school for this shit,” you shrug. “But thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, and I didn’t go to school either.” He pauses. “I’m just a natural badass.”

You make sure to look right at him as you roll your eyes. It’s a full body action and he laughs.

You both briefly lapse into silence. You grab and sheath a fourth knife as he watches you.

“You know who I think we’re like?”

You grunt at his words, busy going back around to pick up your throwing knives. You pull a fifth one from some guy's jugular as you answer him.

“No, but I know what you’re like: Goofy. Now are you gonna help me with this or not?”

Vigilante snorts quietly but starts pulling knives from bodies without complaint. You murmur another thanks to him.

“You think I’m goofy?”

You hear him grunt a little as he bends down to dig one of your weapons out from where it's embedded into a woman’s stomach. At his tone you glance over at him and see he’s more hunched than he should be even as he stands to get a second knife.

Did he just sound disappointed? You sigh, a few hours ago you wouldn’t have been able to toss out a stray fuck towards this jackass’s feelings and now here you were.

“I mean, not in a bad way, you’re just unfamiliar.” His head’s still hanging off his shoulders though, so behind your mask you huff and try again. “You’re surprisingly fun Vigilante, and I’d be up to doing this again if you are.”

Physically the change isn’t egregious but the way he visibly perks to listen more closely is. So is the way his voice lilts up.

“Really?” The next knife he pulls out he then flips, blood and sinew splatter on his suit. It doesn’t make much difference.

He sounds like he’s shocked but you figure that’s fair, you hadn’t exactly wanted him anywhere near you two hours ago.

“Mhm,” you nod, twisting a knife from someone’s neck and watching the blood spurt weakly out at you. Fun. You wonder if he choked to death before the blood loss got to him.

You’re startled from your light musings when Vigilante cheers.

“Oh yeah, you like me! V/n likes me!”

You chuckle and point at him as you pull your last knife from someone’s femur.

“I'm giving you a chance,” you correct in a similar musical tone as him.

He doesn’t at all stop his celebrating, just points back at you after dancing in a circle.

“You’re giving me a chance!”

It’s a ridiculous dance and it goes on for almost two minutes. You join in at around the last 30 seconds. It’d have been pretty lame to just stand around watching him dance like a killjoy. Which is absolutely the main reason you joined in.

The only reason.

Hem.

He hands over your knives in varying states of covered in blood and eventually you both resettle, you morso than Vigilante, who keeps dancing while he talks.

“So we’re officially doing team ups now, right?”

You narrow your eyes at him, jaw working for a couple moments before you nod once.

“As long as we work on the way you chose your targets,” you speak over his now whispered chant. He nods, helmet rattling some at the speed, while still doing a tamer version of his happy dance.

His whole body is vibrating with energy when he holds out his hand for you. You don’t think too long before you clasp it back.

“Deal!”

The two of you shake on it.

You wouldn’t mind having his energy bothering you more often. You suppose he’s not too much of a problem.

For the rest of your time you do a typical circuit route.

You help Max and his grandfather move supplies into their family shop, Tamar breaks her foot and she lets you carry her back to her mom (Vigilante carrying her scooter).

Trinity and Iyaka tip you to escort them to their cars, which you would’ve done for free, but you weren’t gonna pass up money either. They watch Vigilante funny but otherwise don’t speak on it, sticking closer to you. If the other notices he doesn’t comment.

You go to the grocery and Mrs. Linda waves at you from the main register, you buy a candy bar for one of the little kids so Mr. Jackson will stop staring at him so hard (technically it’s Vigilante’s money but still), and you get sandwiches to give to the group of kids that are always playing at the community park.

Throughout the morning Vigilante almost stabs himself in the foot, you laugh, you trip over some uneven sidewalk and he returns your same energy in kind, then the quiet of early morning turns to the stirring noises of daybreak and you wind down.

It’s not until the light starts peeking in the horizon, you’re out longer than usual and you're taking in the sun cresting in the sky that you usually don’t see, that he remembers what he was going to say earlier.

“Oh!” He bumps your shoulders while you two are walking to his Vigilante Mobile (which you quickly find out is just his regular ass car -and he was talking to you about keeping your secret identity safe). “Earlier I was trying to say that we’re like Kirk and Spock. Oh! Or like Han and Leia since she’s a lady and they’re cooler.”

You huff, but a smile still manages to etch itself to your face.

“Whatever floats your boat, Vig.”

NOTE: I’m just telling a story. You make your own decisions and form your own options. Bye. Hope you enjoyed!

Is this too much? Not enough? Constructive feedback would be lovely.

And my gun knowledge is rudimentary at best just so we’re all adequately aware.

#adrian chase #black!reader #adrian chase x gender neutral reader #adrian chase x black reader #adrian chase x black gender neutral reader #adrian chase x reader #black gn reader #peacemaker dc #peacemaker #vigilante #adrian chase x black!reader #black y/n

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