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sheluvv-gambino · 6 months

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You should actually do a part 2 for e42 miles x British reader and don't worry take your time!♡♡♡

"I don't have an accent, you do!"

A/N: Yes i been gone, i go to college now doing work. Your girl has been busy. Anyways here I am getting to requests. No I didn't proof read so yes if there is mistakes, im very aware.

pairings : e-42 miles morales x black fem!reader

summary : You and Miles start to get closer whilst you share a class.

Yeah icl your gonna have to read this >>> Part 1

After finishing your lunch you start to head to your last two classes, which happend to have none your new friends.

Lucky me...Room 14b.

When you got to the door your face graced a smile as you saw the fine stranger that helped you earlier on today.

Miles.

"Wassup' British girl?" Miles asked looking you up down with a glint in his eyes.

"I have a name you know?!" You laughed as you walked in finding a free seat to sit down in the new setting.

"You think 'ion know that, pretty girl? It's a pretty name for a very pretty girl. I didn't know they made such gorgeous girls in England." Miles grinned following you to a seat next to you that just so happend to be free.

You looked down and smiled shyly not making eye contact with him.

"Uh uh, don't go all shy on me now."

Looking up to meet his eyes you say, "Well from what I hear you're quite the antisocial. Apparently your cold to anyone who's not your friend? You don't even get seen talking to girls!" You slyly said, your accent rolling right off your tounge captivating Miles right in that moment. You could've sworn you saw his pupils dilate.

"Well maybe I only just found the right girl to be warm too."

But before you could even respond the teacher had started the lesson

"So do any of you know what you would need to know if you answered a 'True or False' quiz to get zero percent...?"

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

"C'mon Y/N you gotta come out with us!"

"Yeah it's your first night in in New York with friends."

Your friends pleaded with you to come out with them after curfew, apparently everyone sneaks out to chill after ours.

What you didn't know is that Miles' friend group and yours had been conspiring behind both of your backs.

Miles' friends had heard him talk about the girl with the 'Pretty accent' all day long and they knew if they didn't get you two together quick they were never gonna hear the end of it.

Your friends on the other hand just wanted their new British to experience love so they could have a new couple to gush over.

They both came to the conclusion that they needed you together for their own reasons but most of all because they had both seen first hand that what you had going on despite only meeting only a few days ago. It was love blooming right in their faces and both groups refused to let that light go out.

"Alright fine, I will come out. Does that make you lot happy or what?!" You asked chuckling at their anticts

"Yes very much!"

"It makes us so so happy."

"Now get that ass in pants that makes it looks great, you never know who you could see Y/N!"

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

"This is where you dragged me to in the middle of the night? Don't take the piss." You asked looking unimpressed as you looked around the slightly crowded basketball court with music blasting from every direction.

"Yes, trust me you are going to love it in a minute." One of your friends replied as they dragged you somewhere.

The rest of your friends giggled as you got closer to another group.

You glared at them suspiciously not liking being left out of a topic surrounding yourself.

"We just want to talk to another group of friends. They're guys but trust me they are so nice. You might even meet one you like." Another one said with a fat grin on her face.

"I doubt it." You denied as you finally met with the other group.

Suddenly your friends started talking to the other members of the guy friends, leaving you alone with one with a purple puffer.

Great... now awkward silence.

"Oh it's pretty girl with the pretty accent!"

You look up at the sound of the familiar face and laugh when you see who it is.

"I don't have an accent, you do!"

"You do realise you're the one in a different country? You didn't notice this being New York did you?" He smirked at you looking down to see your bottoms fitting snug around your hips.

"Ha ha so funny Miles," You deadpan "So what do you hang out here regularly?"

"Yeah something like that," He answered licking his lips. He couldn't help it, you just looked too fine. "Now you look exceptionaly fine, do a spin f'me mami."

He took one hand up in the air as you slowly spun around to show him your body.

He stopped you spinning by putting one hand on your hips and pulled you in.

He dropped his face to your ear level leaning down and whispered, "Y'know I'm glad you came to Visions, I really am. I want to get to know the pretty british girl."

You pulled away slightly and looked into his eyes with hope in your eyes as he cupped your face in his hands and put his plumped lips on your pillow lips kissing you slow with passion.

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

"Are they kissing yet, I can't see."

"Well Harry if you moved your fat ass head then maybe you would know!"

"Shut up you too, can we just be glad that we did this now instead of waiting to watch them pine for months before getting together by themselves."

"We'll tell them this story at their wedding."

#across the spiderverse #spiderverse #earth 42 miles #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles g morales #prowler miles #earth 42 miles fluff #miles morales earth 42 #black reader

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gotham-ruaidh · 3 months

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Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b: I Sing A Song of Love ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 15C: You Can Do This If You Try

Wilmington, North Carolina

Labor Day Weekend, 1988

Oh, take your time, don't live too fast Troubles will come and they will pass You'll find a woman, and you'll find love And don't forget, son, there is someone up above…

- “Simple Man”, Lynyrd Skynyrd (1973) [click here to listen]

“I really appreciate you helping me with this.”

Jamie shrugged, and took a long drink from the thermos of Gillian’s sweet tea. “It’s the least I can do. You gave me and Claire a place to stay this weekend. Away from everything. That’s a true gift.”

Dougal set his toolbox on a stump. “Thought you could use a bit of peace and quiet, here in the back country.”

Jamie nodded, and pulled his t-shirt over his head. “I think I’d forgotten what trees look like. Or the inside of a building that wasn’t an arena or a hotel.” He draped the t-shirt over the unbroken part of the fence, and bent to pick up one of the boards he’d hauled across the field in Dougal’s battered wheelbarrow. “The last time we were at a house was for our wedding – and it was Joe’s house, and we didn’t even stay there overnight.”

“I’m sure you’re staying in top of the line hotels, in their biggest suites. My guest room must be too normal for you and your bride.”

Jamie smiled, just a bit sadly. “I don’t know what normal is anymore, Dougal.”

Dougal fished in his pocket for a nail. “I won’t even pretend to understand what your life is like right now.” Carefully, methodically he hammered the nail, fastening the board to the fence post. “But I have to tell you, I’m so impressed you’re still sober.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dougal rolled his eyes. “Oh, I can think of some reasons. Like, every single thing you were addicted to, is front and center of your life on the road. We talked about this a lot last year when you were with us at The Ridge. You’re back on the road – meaning, that all that shit is in front of you all the time again.”

Jamie nodded. “I remember. You said it wasn’t me you were worried about – it was everybody around me. That I was surrounded by people who enabled me.”

“Exactly.”

“Well – things are different now. I fired the bloodsucker that was my manager. I found Colum. I had some very honest conversations with him, and now all of those people and all the shit they used to put in front of me are out of my life. Plus, one very important new person is now in it.”

“And what does she make of everything?”

Jamie held up another board, and Dougal hammered it into place.

Giving him space.

“I thought I was ready to be back on the road,” Jamie added, after a while. “I really did. But I had no idea just how fucking hard it would be.”

He set the board against the fence post. Dougal began hammering another nail.

“And?”

“And…this time, I decided to just be open about it with everyone. It’s definitely gotten easier to talk about it – addiction, and sobriety, and recovery. And people do respect what I ask. They keep the substances and the groupies away from me. Obviously it’s still there – I just can’t see it.” He paused, thinking. “On the one hand I think they understand why I can’t be around that anymore, and they understand how terrible addiction is, and how fucking difficult sobriety is. But on the other hand – let’s be real, they know they have to listen to me and do what I ask. I’m the star of the show. I get what I want.”

Dougal took a nail out of his mouth, and hammered the other side of the board. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Jamie leaned against the fence post. “I think about it all the time. Drinking. Cocaine. Being in my dressing room with three girls at once.”

Dougal stood up straight, stretching. Squinting in the harsh midday sun.

“I don’t want to do any of that shit anymore, of course. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.”

“And what exactly does that have to do with your wife?” Dougal asked patiently.

Jamie’s eyes were inscrutable behind his aviators.

“Because I flash back to the shit I used to do, and then I blink and she’s there with me, in the same rooms where I used to get really fucked up. And she holds my hand, and tells me she loves me, and then I tell her everything.” He jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I can be straight with her, and she doesn’t care. She wants to know all of this shit about me, especially the shit I’m really not proud of. Because it helps her understand what I’m working on, and why I don’t want to be that guy anymore.” He cleared his throat. “Why I’m not that guy anymore.”

“What does she say when you bring up all the shit you used to do?”

Jamie pursed his lips. “I know it hurts her. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt her. But I’d hurt her more by not telling her the truth.” He ran his fingers through his hair – almost back to shoulder length. “And every time I tell her something, she tells me something. What it was like to go through high school without parents. Or one time when her miserable excuse for an ex-husband hit her and she fixed her own busted lip in the bathroom. How she’d do surgery while high. How she destroyed pretty much all of her friendships when the pills became the most important thing in her life.”

A blue jay settled on the fence, chirping.

“I didn’t want to tell her all the shit about me, and what I’d do when I was using. The man I was. I don’t want that to…to trigger her or anything, and compromise her sobriety. But because we share it, and we talk about it, it makes us accountable to each other to not fuck it up.”

“So as much as you depend on her for sobriety, she depends on you for hers.”

Jamie nodded. “We’re tied together in so many ways, it’s insane. We are addicts. We were at the top of our professions and we were miserable. We’re terrified that one day we’ll wake up and the other person will be gone. And…” he swallowed. “When we’re together, when we love, it’s…I can’t find the words, Dougal. We waited for intimacy until our wedding night. And I’m so fucking glad we did. Because if I knew what kind of magic we can create, there’s no way I would have ever agreed to go on tour and spend even a few hours every day away from her.”

Dougal leaned against the fence post. “You never think that this could all be too much for her? It’s a tremendous amount of pressure. And both of you being in recovery just complicates things.”

Jamie pursed his lips.

“It’s like I told you last night – she’s my high. Knowing she’s there. Touching her. Sleeping beside her. Loving her…all of that keeps me grounded and focused. I wrote a song about it, and it’s the fucking title track of the new album. She’s my addiction.”

“But is that asking too much of her?” Dougal pointed to the tattoo above Jamie’s heart. “You don’t want to develop too much of a dependency. She’s not a drug. I know that love is intense, Jamie – you know my story with Gillian. But neither of you should completely lose yourself.”

Jamie shifted uncomfortably. “If you’re asking if I have other ways to cope with the stress – I have my guitar, and I have my wife. And I have a few people like you, who I trust. Right now I don’t have much time for anything else.”

Dougal crossed his arms. “You need to make the time. If not for you, for her. Especially if you’ll be touring next year. Going all around the world, far from home – your stress levels will be off the charts.”

Jamie sighed. “They already are. I’ve been having panic attacks.”

Dougal sat next to Jamie on the fence. “Has that happened to you before?”

Jamie shook his head. “Not until this tour. And not every day. We’re in early September, and we’ve been on the road since May…maybe fifteen times since then.”

“Is there one particular thing that triggers it?”

“Not that we can tell. Thank God Claire’s a doctor – she’s helped me figure out when it’s starting, and she helps me get to a quiet place away from everyone.” He swiped his eyes beneath his sunglasses. “I usually end up not being able to breathe, and crying, and freaking the fuck out, and my wife is the only thing that physically holds me together. It’s fucking scary, Dougal, and it’s so not fair to her. It’s yet another thing that stresses her out. She has had so much shit in her life these last few years, I can’t fucking stand that she has to see me like that. Deal with yet another level of my bullshit.”

Dougal turned back towards the house. Watched Claire and Gillian on the porch, shaded from the sunshine, enjoying the rocking chairs. Watched William chase around their dog Bram, knowing it would exhaust them both before lunchtime.

“I’ll be straight with you, Jamie, because it’s what you deserve. Claire told Gillian about the panic attacks, and that you were considering bringing a therapist with you on tour next year.”

Jamie crossed his arms. The flames and flowers of his tattoos flexed.

“Gillian and I – let us help you find someone. Someone you can trust implicitly. With the panic attacks, and with your sobriety, and in managing all of the stress. Someone who can help Claire, too. Because the last thing you want, Jamie, is to be in some random city in some random country and it’s two AM after a show and Claire is somewhere else and some asshole backstage has left a baggie of cocaine on your chair and you have a panic attack. And you’re all alone, or with people who you don’t want to see you like that.”

Jamie scuffed his boots in the grass.

“More importantly, you don’t want Claire to start resenting you, for being the person to hold you together.”

Jamie, surprised, whirled to face Dougal. “I don’t think – ”

Dougal raised a hand. “I’m not saying she ever would. I’ve seen you two together. What you have…it can’t be described. But don’t you agree, that you don’t ever want to do anything to fuck that up?”

Jamie pursed his lips. “I promise her every day that I won’t.”

Dougal stepped closer to Jamie. Grabbed his sweaty shoulder. “Then let me help you. Please.”

Jamie slipped off his sunglasses to meet Dougal’s eye. “OK. Thank you.”

Dougal smiled. “Consider it our wedding present. Now come on – just a few more boards.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #little bit better than i used to be

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xieyaohuan · 11 months

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Homelander's "bedroom"

I made a long two-part post (pt 1; pt 2) reconstructing the layout of Homelander's penthouse today. One of the things I had been suspecting and set out to either confirm or disprove was the idea that Homelander's bedroom is not separate but part of his large open plan space, behind his large TV wall.

And it totally is!!

Most of this was already posted in the longer penthouse post, but I wanted to make a separate post explaining just why I am now officially and 100% convinced that Homelander has no real "bedroom" per se and instead has his bed essentially in his living room (which has no door, so pretty much anyone can walk in).

Beyond the obvious implications this has for writing fic, it's another super fascinating insight into the character of Homelander.

We never get a full picture of his bed in the show. Instead, what we got were some additional promo pics of Homelander standing in front of his bed:

And of the mirror ceiling above his bed:

In the various episodes of season 3, we never get a full visual of Homelander's bed, BUT we do get glimpses of it:

In S3E7, there's this:

This is the weakest evidence, but this scene is what first made me think Homelander's bed was probably behind the wall with the large TV. I mean, that looks like a bed. Also note the mirror wall beside the bed:

In S3E6, we get another glimpse of the bed in the Mirrorlander scene, including the paintings and nightstand on the left hand side of the bed.

The visual is not super super clear, but:

However, the clearest evidence is in S3E1, when Homelander checks up on Stormfront, and we get this snapshot:

The bedroom corner is the left part of the picture, and both "Birth of our Nation's Flag" and "President Lincoln, writing the Proclamation of Freedom" (see here for a more complete list of paintings) are clearly recognizable.

There are some additional paintings in the S3E1 scene/screenshot when compared to the promo pic on top, BUT those additional paintings also show up in the mirror ceiling still that was released separately (you can see the top of the frame of the additional painting in the bottom right hand corner):

These three scenes taken together allow us to place his bed pretty definitely here, on the opposite wall from the window:

Stormfront's bed was in the right-hand corner by the window, but she's dead, so it has been removed. What we can also see in this picture is another mirror wall, marked in orange. (On the other side of this mirror wall is Homelander's big TV).

So, tl;dr, his bed is placed inside the open space of his penthouse facing his large glass front and has large mirrors to the left, the right, and on the ceiling.

Here is where it is relative to everything else:

The bed is marked number 6, and the mirror walls to the left and right are marked as 14 and 14b. I'm not going to explain all the other numbers (they're all explained here and here), but a couple for reference are

1: The huge TV screen; 2: the doorless entrance area; 5: the ugly brown couch; 12: the staircase leading upstairs; 13: the large US flag on the wall; 15: where Stormfront's bed used to stand; and 17: the Mirrorlander mirror.

Happy fic writing and psycho-analysing, all!

#homelander's bed #homelander's bedroom #fandom resources #fic resources #homelander analysis #homelander #the boys

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turtlevariabilis · 1 month

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<- INDEX

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

-> Screenshots Season 1

Episode 1 Mystic Mayhem (part 1/2)

Episode 1 Mystic Mayhem (part 2/2)

Episode 2a Origami Tsunami

Episode 2b Donnie’s Gifts

Episode 3a War and Pizza

Episode 3b Newsworthy

Episode 4a Repo Mantis

Episode 4b Down with the Sickness

Episode 5a The Fast and the Furriest

Episode 5b Mascot Melee

Episode 6a Shell in a Cell

Episode 6b Minotaur Maze

Episode 7 Bug Busters (part 1/2)

Episode 7 Bug Busters (part 2/2)

Episode 8a The Longest Fight

Episode 8b Hypno! Part Deux!

Episode 9a The Gumbus

Episode 9b Mrs. Cuddles

Episode 10a Stuck on You

Episode 10b Al Be Back

Episode 11a The Purple Jacket

Episode 11b Pizza Pit

Episode 12a Smart Lair

Episode 12b Hot Soup: The Game

Episode 13 The Evil League of Mutants (part 1/2)

Episode 13 The Evil League of Mutants (part 2/2)

Episode 14a Late Fee

Episode 14b Bullhop

Episode 15a Mind Meld

Episode 15b Nothing But Truffle

Episode 16 Shadow of Evil

Episode 17a Portal Jacked!

Episode 17b Warren & Hypno, Sitting in a Tree

Episode 18a Operation: Normal

Episode 18b Sparring Partner

Episode 19a You Got Served

Episode 19b How to Make Enemies and Bend People to Your Will

Episode 20a Mystic Library

Episode 20b The Purple Game

Episode 21a Man Vs. Sewer

Episode 21b The Mutant Menace

Episode 22a Turtle-dega Nights: The Ballad of Rat Man

Episode 22b The Ancient Art of Ninja Hide and Seek

Episode 23a One Man’s Junk

Episode 23b Snow Day

Episode 24a Cloak and Swaggart

Episode 24b Jupiter Jim Ahoy!

Episode 25 Insane in the Mama Train (part 1/2)

Episode 25 Insane in the Mama Train (part 2/2)

Episode 26 End Game (part 1/2)

Episode 26 End Game (part 2/2)

-> Screenshots Season 2

-> Screenshots The movie

If you encounter any URL issues, please let me know through private message.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rise of tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt season 1 #rottmnt screenshot

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bloomingflowersthings · 1 year

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Blooming prompts!!

Hello guys!! I’ve finally gathered some prompts that you can use when requesting fics, so it’s easier for both parts!! I’ve used some prompts from @goldenempyrean , @somber-sapphic , @thewidowintheweb and @budzdorovanatasha and some from random posts!!

Sickie!!

1A. “I can't be sick, I feel fine.”

2A. “I’ll be okay.”

3A. “Can you dim the lights a little?”

4A. “I feel strange…”

5A. “I don’t have time to sleep off a little cold.”

6A. “I’m freezin’, can we cuddle?”

7A. “Don’t leave me.”

8A. “Ugh, sorry. My cold made me sneeze.”

9A. “Relax, it’s just a cold.”

10A. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

11A. “Is it cold in here, or is it just me?”

12A. “Baby, can you pass me the tissues?”

13A. “Do we have any coughdrops?”

14A. "I’ll rest later! I have really important work stuff to finish.”

15A. “We ran out of tissues.”

16A. “I thought the medicine was non-drowsy…”

17A. “I’m just trying to get all this work done! I have no time to rest.”

18A. “You probably shouldn’t kiss me.”

19A. “You need to stop worrying about me.”

20A. “I’m a little out of it today.”

21A. “I do not have a cold!”

22A. “I’m just a little under the weather that’s all.”

23A. “It’s just a silly little cold.”

24A. “I just can’t stop sneezing!”

25A. “We were meant to go out tonight!”

26A. “You’re literally my favourite person on earth right now.”

27A. “My boss won’t let me take a sick day.”

28A. “It’s just cold in here, you all feel that, don’t you?”

29A. “I'll be okay after I take a quick nap.”

30A. “It’s just allergies.”

Caretaker!!

1B. "let me take you home, baby. you're clearly not feeling good."

2B. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m taking your temperature.”

3B. "Go back to sleep, honey."

4B. “Don’t even think about going to work/class today.”

5B. “You’re really not feeling well, are you?”

6B. “You’ve got a fever. Still want to pretend it’s just allergies?”

7B. “Stay put while I get the thermometer.”

8B. “You’re burning up!”

9B. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

10B. “We need to get this fever down.”

11B. “Are you feeling any better?”

12B. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this sick…”

13B. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”

14B. “I thought you said you didn’t have any allergies?”

15B. “Bless you! Are you sure you’re ok? You never sneeze this much.”

16B. "Bless you!… since when do you sneeze more than once?

17B. ”There’s no way you’re going to stay home alone like this.”

18B. “Please just sit down for a moment.”

19B. “You shouldn’t be walking around when you’re this sick.”

20B. ”Bless you… Bless you! Are you okay- bless you again!”

21B. “Maybe you should just take it easy.”

22B. “Somebody’s certainly sneezy today.”

23B. “You’re sweating.”

24B. “Those sniffles of yours really turning into something, huh?”

25B. “It sounds like you’ve caught that bug going round.”

26B. “I think your fever is spiking.”

27B. “I think you have the flu, nobody’s ever this sick with a cold.”

28B. “You’re kinda cute when you’re all sick and needy like this.”

29B. “Are you done pretending you’re fine?”

30B. “After all of the times I’ve told you it’s a bad idea, you still insist on going out to play in the rain.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

🏷️ Taglist: @natashamyl0ve @wandanats-goodgirl @goldenempyrean

#blooming prompts #sickfic #sickfic prompts #prompts #prompt list

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rainbowchewynuggets · 1 year

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TMA Encore #14b

Not-Martin cannot reach his partner.

Not-Jon isn’t listening. Even now, as the man drags his screeching nightmare of a body around, the end of which is held in unseen space by his masters. The worst part is that he knows it. He knows he has failed to control the hunger, and he still won’t stop. With his back against the wall, he managed to phase through it into a whole new realm of delusion.

NJ: It’s still happening all over the world. We can’t just leave it like this.

Not-Martin could hear Not-Jon’s voice carried through the field of obstacles set between them just after the hellscape had risen.

NM: We weren’t supposed to fix the entire world. We only wanted to undo our part in it.

Not-Jon then told him what he saw in his flash of true omniscience. The apocalypse could still happen a hundred different ways. Not as closely managed as theirs had been, but still teetering on certainty more than either of them had dared to fear.

Not-Martin could almost see it as the image crept out of the crack in the barrier Not-Jon holds between himself and his partner. Not-Martin had had just enough time to question if it’s only true of this world or of every world they’ve attempted to save before perishing the entire possibility. He begged and threatened, finding no argument beyond what has driven them so far. Their mission is over. They don’t belong here. They have no future here. It’s time to go.

He cannot reach his partner.

Not-Martin moves silently through bucking, shifting halls. There is no choice but to do his worst. The long sharp piece of industrial steel in his hand should be enough. The enigma that used to be the prison can’t hurt him at this point, and it isn’t trying to. Not-Jon can barely make controlled use of his abilities and doesn’t want to. He only tries to push Not-Martin away. The two know each other too well for the contest to be swift. Only now, Not-Jon is marred by the degradation of his body and the panic of the threat of premature death. Not-Martin can feel his vulnerability. It draws him forward.

Then, he finds him cornered. Motionless. Staring.

Not-Martin has the perfect shot to do it. Multiple shots. The makeshift dagger twitches in his grip but doesn’t move. He can’t even take a step closer. The grisly fate of being the stronger candidate to carry out this Extinction wrests his will. Cradling Jon as he died and waking up alone in the house on Hill Top Road stretch on for eternity in his memory. A hint slips through the barrier of the sheer enormity of the hunger’s pressure. He feels the fear that the Entities soak up from Not-Jon. The creature knows that if he surrenders, he’d be leaving his heart behind with all of his pain. If they shared it, it would grow until they tore at each other before eventually moving on to the rest of the world. He can’t bring himself to kill them both. It paralyzes him just as it does Not-Martin. He can’t die. He has to hold it all down just the way it is, or the Entities will win.

Not-Martin tries to shut it out, but the hellscape seizes the exposure of fear. It divides the chamber in two and pulls their occupants miles apart. Not-Martin is dragged down through the floor and encased in a cell within layers of brick and cement. Feeling like he’s out of moves, he surrenders to his isolation.

He cannot reach his partner.

Tim and Sasha sit in silence on the peninsula as the cracked tape plays.

It stops with a click.

Listening to the tape wasn’t very comforting. It at least prompts them to break the quiet and process things aloud for a while.

Neither of them fully forgive Jon. They had already gleaned that Jon’s worst nature was being pressed by an entity that knew him inside and out. They did try to warn him. Though, they do give him points for realizing his mistake, if too late. They’re both in the same boat with him, really.

Sasha ponders her relationship to agency and risk. When she found out about her death at the hands of the Stranger, she was so afraid and upset because she felt like she had had her life and participation in something important torn away and misused. But now that she’s here, after making her best efforts not to die and not to sit out, she finds that she has still been made into a tool. In hindsight, the right thing to do really was not to participate at all. How could she have known? The trap was shut before she knew it was there.

Tim takes the time to unravel some grief. After losing Danny, he had investigated the death as hard as he did because part of him hoped that he could hunt down whatever did this. As if it could be held accountable. Getting confirmation from Not-Jon that it was something real and evil that could potentially be killed was gratifying. But it all turned out to be so much bigger and deeper than he’d imagined. And now, it’s made its way inside him and his friends. They’re part of that “other”. If he gets up now, his drive to see things set right will only be used against them.

Martin is the most worrying case. It had at first seemed that his outbursts of bravery were signs of him coming out of his shell. In hindsight, it was a sign of something much worse.

They think that perhaps the best, most resilient thing they can do against their tormentors now is nothing.

In his quest to find Not-Jon, Martin stumbles upon Not-Martin’s cell through a small hole in the surrounding materials. He almost passed by, thinking it was empty at first. It’s hard to see through the haze that now follows him everywhere.

Not-Martin fails to express his surprise that Martin made it this far and the clear reason why, based on his faded pallor. Martin’s face is unreadable. He reacts mechanically without a word, trying to pry the door of the cell. Not-Martin stops him. It would be better if he stayed. His voice is low, like the hum of air flowing through an empty vessel. Martin lets his discomfort show, if only slightly.

Martin: You could have told me that this apathy thing was part of the Lonely.

Not-Martin muses humorlessly that he wouldn’t have been able to abstain from the Entities’ power either way. This way, he has some leverage.

Martin stifles a bitter frown.

NM: Are you going after him?

Martin: *heavy sigh* Yep.

NM: Take this.

He gives Martin the sharpened steel. He admits that he’s never going to be able to stop Not-Jon. Martin will have a better chance since Not-Jon won’t be expecting him. He hasn’t been watching Martin for a while. If he’s remorseful enough, he might even hold back.

Martin: It’d be smart to take care of you first, wouldn’t it?

The sharp end of the steel gravitates toward his double’s throat.

NM: Well, I think I’d be good for it at this point. But he won’t play fair if you do. I’ll try my best to stay put.

Martin takes a minute to consider.

He leaves.

The fog that follows Martin begins to dissipate as he arrives at the wreckage of the Institute at the very top of the island’s interior. The field of loose boards and shrapnel creates a consistent chaos that makes it difficult to distinguish out-of-place shapes.

He wades further into the wreckage.

Further. Further.

Suddenly, a mass of metal tines and canvas pulls itself deeper into the junkheap with the sound of crunching glass. He follows.

The heap grades down into a steep hill where larger pieces of rooms slowly drift. There, he finds his target half-submerged in the debris. It shoves away slabs of brick wall and window from the center of the pit, making awful noise. It doesn’t appear to notice as Martin approaches under the din.

Dark purple tissue rises and falls beneath the missing ribs on Not-Jon’s right side. Martin readies the steel dagger.

Closer…

Martin tightens his fingers and plunges the weapon into the gap. Wet reeking soil and maggots spill out, covering his hand.

Nothing else happens. Martin retracts.

The tissue tightens, but the creature ignores him.

Martin looks for another spot, wondering if he could get away with tearing the thing open neck to hip so that it can’t move.

As if reading his mind, the creature raises its head.

NJ: Your hands are cold.

It speaks in a voice nearly unrecognizable. The faint remains of the voice he knows are what freezes him solid.

NJ: You should have turned around while you still had the chance.

Martin readies himself for an attack, but one doesn’t come.

Not-Jon stops. He hoists himself out of the wreckage and looks at a figure cresting the lip of the pit. Martin turns, and an incredulous thought crosses his mind.

Oh my god, is that Jon?

Jon, a dot in the distance, shouts and throws a pipe at the creature. It misses by several feet, but the creature recoils all the same. The trash starts to shift, rapidly increasing the distance between them and Jon. The creature itself dives into the wreckage and out of sight. Jon scrambles forward, hopelessly outpaced by the still expanding ground.

Martin doesn’t move. Or, he doesn’t try to. The world around him twists and loses definition. The myriad images taken by each movement of his eyes suddenly don’t add up. He feels dizzy. He doesn’t move.

When it finally stops, Jon slides in next to him, panting. He steadies himself on Martin’s arm.

Jon: Are you alright? I-I didn’t mean to do it like that. I was just scared I wouldn’t find you again.

Martin: You... you did that?

Jon has to sit down, more than a little dizzy himself. He gets Martin caught up on his strange developments. When he’s finished, he pushes his disheveled hair back and looks up at him. Martin looks positively ghostly to Jon.

Jon: It’s happening to you too, isn’t it?

Martin nods, sitting down next to him. Up close, he can see that Jon’s clothes are torn and stained in more places than they had been before. So are his own. Two scraggy little rats huddling in a monster’s trash yard. He puts down the dagger.

Martin: It didn’t work. He shrugged it off.

Jon winces and lets his head list forward.

Jon: Right. Of course he did.

Martin: I should have been more suspicious when Not-Martin told me to go for it. But I couldn’t… stop myself, I guess.

He swallows hard.

Marin: Turns out he’s as tied in with the Entities as the other Jon, after all. For all we know, they’ve both been having their strings pulled this whole time.

Jon: And I think I know what their masters want.

Jon outlines a theory he’s been formulating since their departure at the waterfall. He’s being marked on purpose to prepare him to replace Not-Jon as their avatar. Not-Jon is dying too quickly, and Not-Martin is too unmotivated. If Martin marks him with the Lonely, him killing Not-Jon would replicate the replacement ritual that killed the first Jonah. He’s already close with the power he has. That’s why the creature was afraid of Jon. Why he tried to separate him from Martin.

Martin observes that they would just be repeating the cycle again. Jon defeatedly says that he doesn’t think they can escape the cycle, but they can mitigate its trajectory from here. If Jon had control of the hellscape, he could let the others go free. Then, they could come back with a cement truck before Jon loses the will to stay in the enigma. He, Not-Martin, and the intruding Entities would be left to die. The rest of them could go on.

Fog thickens around them.

Martin was seriously considering the plan up until that last part. Assuming that he wouldn't make it out alive had excused him from having to think about where this escapade would lead. If he survived, he would have to live on with the guilt of dooming Jon and being stuck as a creature of the Lonely. The Fears might still escape through him. Reflex tells him to push the thought away, but it doesn’t go. It’s too important.

Blood suddenly rushes through his brain, as if he’d slammed the brake at high speed just before he would have rammed into traffic. His pulse pushes the coldness in his veins out into the air.

The sureness of the plan vanishes. It feels like desperate haggling with a devil that controls all the variables.

Martin: No. I can’t. You can’t. It’s not gonna fix it. You said so before.

Jon: It’s too late, Martin. We have to!

Jon’s voice quivers with palpable uncertainty.

Martin is speechless.

The Lonely turns on them, closes in, and swallows them both.

The fear that had just gripped Martin materializes. He can’t find Jon or anyone. The more he calls out, the more he can feel the ice in his body, needling through his muscles and bones. He can’t move. His legs are lead. He has to go find Jon.

Move damn, it. Move.

Hot sears on cold as he takes a single step. Every impulse tells him to stop. They warn that he’s giving up on the only power that gives him an edge. He’ll be vulnerable. Killed. Used.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t want this.

Another step. He nearly falls. He wants to live. They are going to live through this. It’s the only way.

Jon appears to be outside. The hellscape has spread. The civilians all around him are suffering in terror. Their screams and writhing forms are muted and gauzy, as if he exists on a plane apart from them.

He isn’t one of them anymore. He did this to them.

His shadow is too long, too large. He looks down, and all we see is color. Above, the Entities fill the sky.

He feels his connection with them as a person identifies an appendage as an extension of themself. They’re not as devious as he had imagined. Dull, abstract amalgams of the fears of the living more than creatures in their own right. Their “voices” are loud, but they don’t command him with speech. They act on impulse. Their base repulsion at impending death and the desperation to feed are only reflections of that which dwells in their creators. In Jon.

It’s human. Almost pitiful. Though, their endless size makes Jon acutely aware that he is their appendage. They pay no heed as he pleads, “Stop… stop… stop… stop.”

The only path clear of victims lies straight ahead of him, stretching on toward another enormous shape on the horizon. He resolves to follow that path to its conclusion. The haunting chorus wanes behind him as he walks. His shadow passes over a sliver of black. The dagger. He picks it up.

The enormous shape ahead begins to shrink, as if retreating further into the distance. Jon quickens pace to catch it. That coward. He’s not going to let it get away.

The shape shrinks further and further and further until…

Not-Jon tries to talk Jon out of it as he approaches. He tells him about the other possibilities he saw for the apocalypse.

Jon doesn’t reply.

Not-Jon says Jon will never be able to stay in the enigma any more than he has been able to entomb himself. He always knew that he should have and tried many times, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The urge to get out and act always won out.

Jon: I’ll risk it.

Not-Jon: You don’t want this.

Jon: I have to.

Not-Jon: No, you don’t. You shouldn’t.

Jon’s expression twitches, but he keeps coming. He can feel his emotions twist and pull him back form the inside. From the Web. From the Eye. He's sick of being manipulated.

NJ: I’m sorry. I never should have laid this all on your shoulders. I thought that if I had the right to torment anyone over this, it was you. But I could hardly have prevented what happened to me any more than you could prevent what’s happening to you. Trying to take control now–believe me, it won’t make you feel better.

Jon lunges.

Jon: Stop groveling. Do you really expect me to just let it happen and pretend I couldn’t have done anything?

Not-Jon recognizes the exhausted contempt in his rival’s voice. Just as it had from a version of Martin he once knew, who had petrified and ground down to become the one he knows now. Just as it had from the friends he lost a lifetime ago.

He could keep trying to scare his younger self out of this, but he suddenly thinks he’s already done enough damage. Instead, he reaches with difficulty into a long-buried vault to offer something more compassionate. He can feel himself tearing apart as he does.

NJ: It doesn’t have to be that dire.

He says that the best successes he ever had were small–trying to help other people through the ordeal rather than directly tackling a force that always outmatched him. It added up, and lives were spared. It helped him keep going.

Jon’s expression grows complicated.

Jon: They won’t be spared if they die at the end.

NJ: They might not.

Jon: Prove it.

He searches his double’s eyes when an answer doesn’t come.

Jon: You don’t believe a word of what you’re saying.

The worn, scarred hands that hold the dagger back tremble with exhaustion.

Not-Jon: No. I… I can’t.

Jon pushes with all his might, the dagger’s edges biting at his hand. But the broken man is still made of iron. Still trying to force him to obey with the power he insists he doesn’t want.

Frustration boils in Jon’s chest. With little hesitation, he burrows into Not-Jon’s mind to force him to give up rather than being coerced himself. To tear away whatever resilience is still holding the creature up.

That’s where he finds it. The obsession that has grown in him like a tumor over decades. There is nothing to hold or take away. It is an absence. An abyssal certainty of doom.

Grasping at the nothing inside of Not-Jon brings Jon an epiphany.

It only makes sense. Thinking that life could continue after the worst-case scenario would contradict the urgency of the mission that keeps him from giving in to the Entities. At the same time, his masters need that fear to manipulate their puppet and sustain themselves.

The cycle turns on that certainty. Questioning it might be the only way out.

Jon could radically, illogically trust the road ahead and hope for the best, making whatever improvements are within his reach. In that way, at least, he cannot be controlled by his fear or despair.

The thought is asinine. It goes against every value of logic he has. The thought of the inherent risk alone is killing him.

Not-Jon reads it in his face, the jagged steel point inches from his chest.

NJ: You understand now, don’t you?

Jon sets his jaw.

Jon: You lied to us–threatened us–because you said it was the only way. But did you actually try trusting us before? Or was that another lie?

NJ: We did. Many times. They always got to you in the end and drove you apart. Most of you didn’t even make it past Prentiss. I had to try something else when I felt the ceiling starting to come down on me.

Jon: So it was more reliable to manipulate us to put us where you wanted us. You didn’t actually intend for us to get killed.

Not-Jon needs a moment to summon another breath.

NJ: Wasn’t planning on it.

Jon: But if it hadn’t worked, you would have done worse.

The creature has to steady itself, but he manages a nod without looking away.

Jon: Because what can’t you afford to do when the alternative is oblivion?

Not-Jon holds his steadfast gaze.

NJ: Would you honestly have done any better if you were me?

Jon: Well, like you said. I don’t have to be you.

————

First

Index

#the magnus archives #mag200 spoilers #magnus pod #tma fancomic #tma encore 14 #tma encore 14b #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #cw rotten flesh #cw parasites #cw decomposition #cw cutting #cw scopophobia #cw existential dread

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marvin-trilogy-song-tournament · 6 months

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Round one of polls will be going out soon!

Key for the poll numbers, forexample, with 12B, 1 is the round number, 2 is the group number, and B is what side of the bracket it is on

Round one Match ups:

11A:March of the Falsettos vs. The Nausea Before the Game

12A:I Swear I Won't Ever Again (Part 3) vs. Unlikely Lovers

13A:I Swear I Won't Ever Again (Part 2) vs. Set Those Sails

14A:Love Me for What I Am vs. Wedding Song (Part 2)

11B:Father to Son vs. Miracle of Judaism

12B:A Breakfast Over Sugar vs. My Chance to Survive the Night

13B:Wedding Song vs. Trinas Song

14B: I'm Breaking Down vs. The Baseball Game

I should be able to get round one out by the absolute latest tomorrow night 🤞

#marvin trilogy #the marvin trilogy #falsettos musical #falsettos fandom #march of the falsettos #falsettoland #falsettos #william finn #in trousers #in trousers musical

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hederasgarden · 2 years

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Thanks for writing for Officer K 😭 Giving him love has healed my heart a little after watching BR2049 again over the weekend lol. Your writing is so immersive!

What an amazing compliment, ty! We need more Officer K fanfic!

Here's a sneak peek from part 2. Warnings for some physical violence and threats.

You don’t see the man until it’s too late. He throws you up against the wall, hard enough to knock the wind from your lungs. You sputter and cough, the bag slipping from your fingers and falling to the wet ground.

“Stay away from the skinjob,” he warns you. His breath stinks, old beer and something rotten that makes your stomach curdle. “Humans and replicants shouldn’t mix.”

His grip on your jaw is painful and tears leak from the corner of your eyes. A second later the pressure is gone when the man is thrown on the floor hard enough that he coughs up a little blood and groans. K stands over him.

“Stay down,” he warns the other man, turning to face you. His hand hovers beside your cheek and you blink rapidly to clear the wetness from your eyes. At your nod he touches you, rough fingertips skating over your jaw and up to your temple. “Are you okay?” He asks quietly.

You make a small sound, tapping your chest. “Just took my breath,” you promise him, seeing the way his hand shakes. “I’m okay,” you promise him. “Really.”

Behind K, the man gets to his feet, swaying and spitting blood. “I’m going to report you,” he slurs. “Get your ass retired.”

“Penal code 12, section 14B says I’m allowed to intervene between two humans when one is in danger,” K replies automatically, tone devoid of any emotion. “I am also allowed to use lethal force. Remember that next time.”

The man grimaces and sways, anger twisting his face as he stumbles back to the street, muttering under his breath. You sag against the wall and K steps closer. His breath is warm over your skin as he leans in. The unnaturally quick way his eyes dart over your face and chest as searches for any visible wounds is a reminder of what he really is. You push that thought down and let him turn you around and inspect the back of your head. It throbs but he assures you there’s no blood.

“It’s cold. We should go inside,” he says.

You acquiesce and let him hold your canvas bag. He keeps a firm grip on your arm as you slowly make your way up the steps of the building. People watch as you pass but you ignore them, tired and in pain. No one bothers you at least and when you glance over at K you understand why. His normally blank expression is hard, meeting the eyes of anyone who looks at you with a challenging stare you’ve not seen before.

#is #officer k x reader #officer k imagine #officer k #officer k x you #blade runner 2049 #blade runner fanfic

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archangelween · 4 months

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Color analysis of god's opening monologue

TLDR: God's a liar.

The meaning of colors.

War becomes warning, both bright red and shot with black that becomes navy: the war is a lie, a deceit, but there's still going to be D/death. The warning to kids is saying it will be disregarded, and that there will be death because of that.

It is shown on a tv screen because we are watching all of this with god, who is also watching this through some recorded medium and not in-person. God seems to not have omnipresence.

The theories of the universe are in white, green, or light blue with a backing of dark red and navy: these are the real rules of the universe, the truth, and are built with love and follow the cycles of life and death. Science is part of the rules, part of god's game, and we are meant to figure that out. One symbol is lit in orange, meaning it's doing god's will. There's only one in black/navy and I don't know what the symbol is:

The "unofficial start" of the universe is colored in defiant yellow and red. The 14B age is labeled in gold and white: this is a fact, and god was there all those years. So the universe had a creator, but it did start 14B years ago, and the green on the tvs in this same sequence tells us this was part of the game. God is blatantly lying when she says these dates are incorrect, and she's doing it to gain power over us. Same deal with the medieval scholars: all doused in black. They show up from dark red to bright to orange to yellow: their wrong dates are motivated at first by true desire to understand, then by power, then claimed god wanted them to, then did it to be contrary.

James Ussher did not claim the earth was created on Sunday Oct 21, 4004 BC. He claimed it was at 6pm Oct 22 4004 BC, which according to today's dating would have been a Friday. God is lying, as evidenced by the black print and James himself being full of black. He is also red that turns to gold when god changes the time from "incorrect" to "correct". The pop out letters are white with glowing light blue because life did already exist at that time, and the clock behind this is red and gold/orange shot with the deception of black. I think that means this is wrong, god's deliberately lying to you and using these tools to do it. Possibly this is a warning that clocks are her tools, time is a tool of hers through which she makes you believe whatever she wants.

We get confirmation of that in the next sequence: she is playing a game with us, and green marks pawns in that game. When she says 4004 BC is "correct", she is again lying, and this is part of her game. You can see in the background a light green clock: time is her toy. She uses it to lie. We have seen continuity errors, timeline inconsistencies, in both s1 and s2.

The dinos are brown surrounded by black, their names and outlines in white, the skeleton arm green and black, another in red tones and black with yellow teeth, another outline in yellow. Another huge skeleton in white. God is lying to us as she's telling us the dinos were a joke, and this is again part of her game with us. The dinos are a powerplay against us to see if we'll defy her. The big blue eye as god says the dinos are a lie tells us god's lying: black of deceit, blue of life, wrapped in the truth that the dinos really lived. Using truth to lie, as Crowley and Aziraphle make use of to hide their relationship and hide how they save people against H/H's plans.

There's some writing in green and then in red that I can't identify. A drawing of what appears to be heliocentric gravity in gold, and possibly planet orbits in purple, then definitely orbits in orange. God makes the planets go round, no big surprise there. It also means she was involved in planning gravity, which Crowley also helped with.

Tarot cards, I do not know which ones. One of them repeats 5 times, plus 3 others. Lots of infinity symbols, perhaps this means she plays her games repetitively until she gets the results she wants. Aka she cheats.

This is the tarot that shows up repetitively.

This is the design on the deck of cards in the dealer's hands, it's a specific design but I don't know what it is.

I don't think the earth is a libra since it's glowing light blue, but what she says about being a libra is written in gold. She's trying to tell us that life should be in balance and harmony, ie not at war/conflict. The gold of the libra horoscope means god is looking for these things: this is her story, what she's entertained by. This is alongside white Pisces, white/yellow Scorpio, and what appears to be a cupid glowing dark red, but is actually a Sagittarius, with dark red glowing playing cards. There are several other Sagittarius glowing blue zooming around. I think this means the earth is actually a Pisces, a negative mutable sign, and god wants to see if people can defy her to become the scorpio (passion, excitement, and living life to the fullest) or sagittarius (dynamic blend of passion, curiosity, intensity, and adaptability, seeking answers in places and spaces others wouldn't dare venture) to find love or figure out her game. She is deliberately setting up conflicts with her just to see what happens. War: that was the point.

We see what appear to be purple and white onion rings, slices of hard boiled eggs, and apples floating in space with some kind of nut or lettuce head. Food is a sex metaphor, so god telling us that "avoiding salads is wrong" is her telling us sex is great for your health. Starting in a garden, which is the source of food, is thus also about sex. I think this means that Aziraphale and Crowley got it on in Eden, and probably before then too. It's going to end in a garden, so they're going to end up happily in bed too.

The astrology wheel that shows up is mirrored, and it's telling us that tarot/zodiac/etc is real in this universe. I think the mirroring means that from earth we would see it correctly, but from god's POV we see it backwards--this is more evidence we're looking from god's POV on a recorded/screen medium. Basically we're watching god's security cams, so things are not how we would see them as humans on earth. She is an unreliable narrator.

#good omens #color analysis #opening monologue #god

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